I mentioned to Mrs. Lowe that he had lost much of his appetite these past weeks, which has only worsened his condition. She seems confident, however, that within a week or two of such remedies, Pruitt will improve.
I remarked to Mrs. Lowe on the hardship of mothering so many children in a remote place such as this, with supplies so unreliable. She admitted that it has often been lonely & difficult. Last winter she lost her second youngest child to fever. It seems that her husband was again away on his mission work, so she faced the tragedy alone.
July 25
We helped Mrs. Lowe with some repairs to the roof of her woodshed, which had been damaged in high winds during the winter. She then cooked us an extravagant dinner of caribou roast, potatoes, carrots. She also served a dessert of biscuits with blueberry jam.
She would not let Pruitt have his, however, until he had drank his usual bowl of rabbit innards. Though he is still gaunt & weakened, he seems to be recovering something of his natural character. He has taken up his journal again & notes the various plants along the river.
I learn more about the Lowes. They are of the Moravian Church, of which I know very little. The husband was assigned this mission in ’80 but they did not arrive until ’82.
Mrs. Lowe has adapted remarkably to the extreme conditions here. She butchers the game birds her oldest son hunts, hauls firewood by sled. In her husband’s absence, she has even shot several caribou when the herd has traveled close enough to their home.
In ’83 the Lowes met Lieut. Frederick Schwatka as he completed his renowned journey down the Yukon River.
She says he was a very different kind of Army man than I seem to be. I asked how so.
?—?He was not so reserved, & he had little humility.
I remarked that any man who has spent time in Alaska should be nothing if not humble.
Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka, 3rd Cavalry,
Military Reconnaissance in Alaska made in 1883 as reported to Commanding Department of the Columbia, Vancouver Barracks, Washington Territory
Yukon River
We camped at 8:30 p.m. near several Indian graves, about a mile or two above the mouth of the Whymper River, which comes in from the left, and just on the upper boundary of the conspicuous valley of that stream. There were quite a number of graves at this point, forming the first and only burying place we saw on the river that might be called a family graveyard, i.e., a spot where a number, say six or seven, were buried in a row within a single enclosure. From its posts at the corners and sides were the usual totems and old rags flying, two of the carvings representing, I think, a duck and a bear, respectively, while the others could not be made out.
?.?.?.?Dr. Wilson tried to get a skull out of the many we assumed were at hand, to send to the Army Museum’s large craniological collection, but although several very old-looking sites were opened, the skulls were too fresh to be properly prepared in the brief time at our disposal.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
July 26, 1885
Mrs. Lowe confided in me that her husband has fathered a child with an Innuit woman, is gone more than he is home. She believes he has taken the native woman as a kind of second wife.
Why does she remain? Does she not have family to assist her? & wouldn’t the church dismiss him if they knew of his misconduct?
?—?I must leave it to the Lord, she said.
She asked if I have such faith. I admitted that I do not.
?—?Sometimes I fear that our prayers are not strong enough for this wild place, she said.
This evening I sit outside the wall-tent. I notice for the first time a true darkening in the sky with sunset. The air is cool. Autumn comes early to this country.
Tillman & Nat’aaggi play their hoop game down at the river. They race each other & laugh. When once they both threw rocks into the hoop at the same time, he grabbed her at the waist & lifted her into the air.
It is selfish, but the sight of them causes me some loneliness.
July 27
It is good that Tillman came for me tonight.
I stayed too late in Mrs. Lowe’s home. She & I talked of our families in the East, our childhoods. She had visited Boston often when she was a young girl. When it grew late, she helped the older children into their beds in the attic, lit a lamp at the table. I stood to go, but she asked if I might stay to visit a while longer. The children were soon asleep, all but the infant that suckled at her breast.
When the babe had fallen asleep, she gently pulled its mouth from her breast. I could not look away. The wet milk upon the child’s lips. The soft curve of her full breast. She did not hurry to cover herself, but sat there for a moment, then she brought her eyes up to mine.
The world narrowed to such a small point so that I forgot all but that warm flame of the lamp.
Then came the sergeant’s knock. —?Sir, it is late. You wanted to rise early.
I cannot sleep. I sit outside the wall-tent where Pruitt & Tillman are still in bed. I hold in my hand Sophie’s letter & the silver hair comb.