She was attending not a mission school for Indians but the regular white school, and apparently she was doing well, for she could converse easily on subjects like music and geography: 'I'd like to see Seattle. Girls tell me it's a fine place.'
'It is,' Tom assured her.
'Did you live in Seattle?' she asked as they approached the turn to the north which would take them to the glacier.
'Yes.'
'You born there?'
'No, Chicago. But I lived in Seattle half a year.'
'Many ships? Many people?'
'Just like your friends said.'
'I would like to see, but I would never want to leave Alaska.' She turned to face Tom: 'Which do you like, Seattle or Juneau?' and he replied truthfully: 'I long to get back to that city. Maybe with R&R, after my apprenticeship ...'
'What's that?'
'The years when you learn how to work. When I know all about stores and ships and other parts of Alaska, maybe I'll be allowed to work in Seattle.'
'There she is!' Bigears cried as they reached a crest from which the great glacier first became visible, and it was both bigger and more impressive than Tom had imagined from the many photographs he had seen. It was not green-blue, as so many said, but a rather dirty white as centuries of snow, tight-packed, reached the breaking-off point where the crawling glacier died.
He was surprised that Nancy was able to drive the carriage almost to the entrance to a cave in the ice. Here Bigears stayed with the horses while Nancy led Tom inside to a deep cavern. As he stood there, looking about, he saw in the ceiling a spot thinner than the rest where the sun shone through the crystal ice, showing it to be the green-blue he had expected. It was radiant, a glorious touch of nature that not many would ever see, this splendid, vibrating cavern in which sun and ice met.
'My people say the raven was born in this cave,' she told Tom, and in his ignorance he asked: 'Is the raven something special ... with you, I mean?' and she said proudly:
'I'm a raven,' and there deep within the birth-cavern of her totem he learned of how the world was divided between the eagles and the ravens, and he said, reflecting on his study of American history: 'I suppose I would be an eagle,' and she nodded:
'Ravens are more clever. They win the rope games, but eagles are necessary too.'
They did not, on Tom's first visit to the glacier, see any icebergs calve; Nancy thought that happened more frequently at other glaciers to the north, but when they left the cave and Tom threw rocks at the snout he could see fragments of ice break away, and he understood the mechanism of how the iceberg which had visited his store had formed and broken away.
Bigears had additional information, gathered by his people over many centuries: 'You didn't see no glaciers in Nome, did you? I tell you why. Not so much rain up there in summer, not so much snow in winter. North of Yukon, even north of Kuskokwim, no glaciers. Not enough snow. But down here, much rain, much snow, it fall, it fall, and never melt.'
'Where does the ice come from?'
'You pack snow down, this year, next year, many years, it cannot melt. Snow get hard, make ice. Hundred years, thick ice. Thousand years, very thick.'
'But how does it crawl along the valleys?'
Tee comes, it stays, it says like the salmon: "I got to get to the ocean," and down it crawls, little bit each year, many years many big icebergs break off, but always crawling to the sea.'
'Next year, will that cave still be there?'
'Next week, maybe gone. Always crawling toward the sea.'
In the days following the trip to the glacier, Tom was distressed by the fact that Sam Bigears did not report for work, nor was there any word from him, and Tom had to proceed without him. One of the white carpenters, who had come to depend on Bigears for much of the important woodwork, said: 'You can't never rely on them Tlingits.
Good people for the most part, but when you really need 'em they're never on hand.'
'What do you suppose has happened?' Tom asked with real concern, for he missed Bigears, and the carpenter said: 'Any one of fifty reasons. His aunt is ill, bad cold, and he feels he must be with her. Pollock have come into the area and he feels he must fish while they're here. Or most likely, he felt that he needed a walk in the woods. He'll probably come sauntering back, Tlingit style, one of these days.'
That was a fair prediction, because after two weeks' absence Bigears did come drifting back to resume his carpentering, and when he reported to work as if he had never been absent, he explained to Tom: 'I got to get things ready.' That was all he volunteered, and when Tom asked: 'What things? Where?' he said cryptically: 'Store look pretty good. Be finish soon. Then you, me, we go my home.'
'But we tore that shack down.'
'I mean my real home. Pleiades River.'
Tom noticed that he had not brought his daughter back with him, and this vaguely disappointed him, but he supposed that she had been left at the other home, and when the time came, in late August, that the store was, as Bigears had pointed out, in good shape, with only a few refinements left to be finished, Tom judged that he could with safety take a couple days off, so he told Bigears: 'We could leave tomorrow, if you can get your canoe ready,' and on a bright morning, with the sun rising over the great ice fields back of Juneau, the two set forth for the easy paddle to Taku Inlet.
But anyone in Juneau who took a sunny day for granted was a fool, and they had not progressed far down Gastineau Channel before rain began to fall. For some hours they traveled through it without complaint, for a Juneau rain was not like that of other places: it did not fall in big drops, or any drops at all, but came down as a kind of benevolent mist which permeated everything without getting any particular item really wet.
The canoe ride was a fresh experience for Tom, a trip of unusual beauty. Bigears was a strong paddler who kept the canoe thrusting forward and Tom added youthful vigor from the prow, from where he studied the changing landscape. Prior to entering the inlet, he saw about him the hills that protected Juneau on all sides, making its waterways alluring channels, but when they turned into the inlet the scene changed dramatically. Now they faced that chain of high peaks which crowned the Alaska-Canada border, and for the first time Tom felt as if he were entering one of the fjords he had read about as a boy. But most of all, he was aware that he was heading into a primitive wilderness, with not a sign of human occupancy anywhere, and his stroke grew stronger as they glided silently up the inlet.
They had not progressed far when Tom spied a sight so lovely and balanced that its parts seemed to have been placed where they were by an artist. From the west came down a small glacier, sparkling blue in color, in what seemed an attempt to meet a large rock which barely emerged from the middle of the inlet, while beyond rose the great mountains of Canada. 'This is something!' Tom called back, and Bigears said: 'Low water like now, we see the Walrus, high water no see.' When Tom asked what the Walrus was, Sam pointed to a half-submerged rock which did indeed resemble a walrus rising from the sea to catch a breath.
As they passed the face of the glacier Tom cried: 'This is a fine trip, Sam,' but to paddle nearly thirty miles, even when the water was relatively smooth, took time, and when sunset approached, Tom called back: 'Will we get there tonight?' and Bigears replied as he gave the canoe an extra thrust forward: 'Pretty soon dark come, we see lights,' and just as dusk appeared ready to encompass the inlet, straight ahead on the left bank Tom saw the last rays of sunlight striking the face of a glacier whose ice glistened like a waterfall of emeralds, while atop a headland on the right bank glowed the light coming from the windows of a log cabin.
'Halloo there! Halloo!' Bigears shouted, and on the headland Tom could see movement, but they were now at the southern end of the estuary formed by the entry of the Pleiades River, and they had to do some stiff paddling before they crossed it. As they did, Tom saw an Indian woman and a young girl coming down to the water's edge to greet them.
'This my wife,' Bigears said as his powerful hands dragg
ed the canoe well onshore.
'You know Nancy.'
Mrs. Bigears was shorter than her husband and rounder. She was a taciturn woman who was never surprised at what her enterprising husband did; her task was to supervise whatever house they occupied, and it was clear that she had done a good job at this cabin, for the grounds about it were neat and the interior a model of traditional Tlingit habitation. She spoke no English, but with her right hand indicated that her husband's young guest would occupy a kind of alcove; Nancy, apparently, would have her own corner, while mother and father would take the large spruce-needled bed.
On the iron stove which Sam had purchased some years before in Juneau, various pots were producing an aroma which augured well, but Tom was exhausted from that long day's paddling and fell asleep long before the Bigears family was prepared to eat.
They did not waken him.
In the morning, after a huge breakfast of sourdough pancakes and venison sausage, Nancy said: 'You must see where we are,' and she led him about the wedge of land on which her ancestors had built their refuge from the Russians. 'We have this protected hill. Across the inlet we see the green glacier. Down there the bay where the Pleiades River empties. And wherever we look, the mountains that watch over us.'
Tom was still admiring the site, so well suited for a cabin, when with a wide sweep of her arm she indicated the spacious land to the east: 'In these woods, deer to feed us. In the river, salmon every year. Soon we catch many salmon, dry them on those racks.'
As Tom looked toward the drying racks, he saw lying on the ground behind the cabin a large white object stretching a considerable distance, with many chips of some kind scattered about. 'What's that?' he asked, and Nancy cried with a mixture of delight and reverence: 'That's why my father wanted you to come,' and she led him to an extraordinary object which was to have a permanent influence in his life.
It was the trunk of a large fir tree transported here from a considerable distance.
Its bark had been carefully peeled away, exposing the pale-cream wood on which Sam had been working, and when Tom saw the kind of work his carpenter had been doing, he was awed. For this was a Tlingit totem pole in the making, a majestic work of art symbolizing the experiences of its people. In its present position, prostrate on the ground and stretching immoderately, it created a powerful impression, the figures comprising it seeming to flow and crawl and twist in a bewildering confusion.
Tom gasped: 'It's so big! Did your father carve it all?'
'He's worked on it for a long time.'
'Is it finished?'
'I think so. But it's not cut off at the top, so I don't know.'
'What do the figures mean?'
'We better ask Pop.' And when she called her father, Sam came out with the tools he had used to carve this masterpiece: an adz, two chisels, a gouge, a mallet, and now a saw for the final act of cutting away the top.
'What does it mean?' Tom asked, and Bigears laid his tools aside, all except the saw, which he kept in his right hand as a wand with which to indicate the twisting figures.
'First the frog who brought us here. Then the face of my grandfather-grandfather who built the fort at Sitka. Then the deer that fed us, the ship that brought the Russians, the trees.'
'And the man in the top hat?'
'Governor Baranov.'
'Wasn't he your enemy? Didn't he fight you and kill your warriors?'
'Yes, but he won.'
'And now he sits at the top of everything?'
'Not quite. Today I finish.'
And throughout that entire day Tom Venn sat beside Nancy Bigears as her mother brought food to her husband while he applied his tools vigorously to the wood at the top of the totem. First he sawed off the tip of the fir, leaving two feet of exposed wood. Then, with his rude gouge, he began to hack away the huge chunks that protruded from the top of Baranov's big hat, and his work appeared to be so aimless that Tom asked 'What are you doing, Sam?' but received no answer, for it seemed that the carver was working in a kind of trance.
By midafternoon, with a misty rain replacing the morning sunlight, Tom was completely mystified, but now Bigears began working with his adz, using strokes and cuts much less flamboyant than before. Gradually from the top of the fallen tree emerged the shadowy form of a bird and no one spoke. Now, with rapid, sure strokes, the Tlingit artist gave vibrant form to his topmost figure, and in a triumphant conclusion he brought forth the raven, symbol of his tribe and his people. The Russians in their tall hats had triumphed momentarily, but in conformance with history, atop the Russians stood the raven. In their quiet way, the Tlingits had also triumphed.
'How are you going to get it upright?' Tom asked, and Bigears, willing to talk at last, indicated a raised spot from which the totem would be visible for miles up and down the inlet, and on the river too.
'We dig hole there, you, me, Nancy.'
'But how will we drag the totem there?'
'Potlatch.'
Tom did not understand either the word or its meaning, but he accepted the fact that a Tlingit miracle of some kind would move the totem to the top of the mound and then erect it in an upright position, but what this mysterious potlatch would consist of, he could not guess.
When the totem was finished, all its rough spots smoothed away, Bigears mysteriously disappeared in his canoe, and when Tom asked where he had gone, Nancy said simply:
'To tell the others,' and for six days they did not see him.
In the waiting period Nancy suggested that her mother pack a little bundle of food which she and Tom could take with them on an excursion to a lake at the head of the river: 'It's a beautiful place. Quiet. All mountains. Nine miles, easy walk.'
So off they started on a fine September morning, and as they hiked along, with Nancy showing the way on a footpath long used by her people, Tom experienced the quiet charm of this part of Alaska, so different from the bleak power of the Yukon and the vast emptiness of Nome and the Bering Sea. He liked the trees, the waterfalls, the ferns lending grace to the scene, and the ever-present rippling of the little river.
'Any fish in there?' he asked, and Nancy replied: 'A few salmon come all the time.
But in September, many, many come.'
'Salmon? In this tiny stream?'
'They come to the lake. Soon we'll be there.' And at the end of their climb Tom saw one of the choice spots of southeastern Alaska, Lake Pleiades, rimmed by its six mountains.
'This was worth the effort,' he cried as he looked at the placid water with the mountains reflected in its surface. Beside its quiet shore they ate their lunch, and then Tom showed Nancy how he could skip flat stones across the surface of the water, and she said that he must have many skills.
On the way back to the cabin, with a bright sun winking at them as they passed the waterfalls, Nancy was in the lead, some twenty feet ahead, when Tom became aware that someone was coming up behind him, and supposing that it was some Tlingit on his way to the Bigears cabin, he turned to speak, and found himself facing a rather large grizzly bear approaching rapidly.
Since the bear was still some distance away, Tom erroneously supposed that he could escape by running from it, but as he started to dig in his toes and speed to safety he recalled a tale told one wintry night by an old man with half a face: 'No man can outrun a grizzly. I tried. It caught me from behind. One sweep of its claw. Look at me.'
Driven by an anguished fear, Tom increased his speed, heard the bear gaining, and screamed: 'Nancy! Help!'
When she heard his cry she turned and saw with horror that he had no chance of outrunning the bear, for the animal, reveling in the chase, was forging ahead with even greater strides and must soon leap upon Tom from the rear. She was terrified, for she knew that the bear would not stop until it had overpowered its target. With one swipe of a gigantic paw with its swordlike claws, it would rip away Tom's face and perhaps sever his windpipe.
In that instant Nancy Bigears knew what she must do, what her Tlingit ancesto
rs had learned through the centuries when they confronted the grizzly on lands they shared with the fierce creature. 'You can do three things,' her grandmother had told her.
'Run away and be killed. Climb a tree and maybe live. Or stand and talk to the bear, making him think you're bigger than you are."
There were trees at hand, but none close enough to run to, nor fit for climbing if one did reach them. The only hope lay in talking to the bear, and with almost spontaneous bravery Nancy dashed back toward Tom, who was close to being overtaken by the speeding bear, grabbed his hand, and brought him to a stop.
Holding him firmly, she turned him to face the bear, who lumbered up, stopped abruptly about ten feet away, and blinked at the object that now blocked its path.
The bear had exceptional powers of smell, and these assured him that what it had been chasing was still at hand, but its eyesight was limited at best and often defective, so it could not determine what it was that stood before it. And then came that low, powerful, unfrightened voice in Tlingit: 'Sir Bear, do not be afraid. We are your friends and we mean you no harm.'
The bear remained motionless, cocking its ears to hear the reassuring sounds: 'Stop where you are, Sir Bear. Go your way and we shall go ours.'
Its small brain became confused. In chasing the man, it had been playing a kind of game, no more, and had it overtaken him, as soon it must, it would probably have killed, more in sport than anger. It knew it was not threatened by the man, whom it saw merely as an intruder upon its stream banks, and as long as Tom fled he remained an attractive target to be chased. But now everything was changed, for there was nothing to chase, no slim moving thing to be played with. Instead, there was this big immovable thing, these firm sounds coming from it, this sense of mystery and confusion. In the flash of a moment everything was altered.
Slowly the bear turned around, stared over its shoulder at the strange object in its path, and took a powerful first bound of its retreat. In its ears as it went it could hear those quiet but forceful sounds: 'Go your way, Sir Bear. Go to your salmon spot and may the fishing be good.'