The nest is empty; both young birds fledged this morning and the mother is gone. They have become unobtainable vibrations of color and feather among the branches.
And I am left with two exposed plates. What will they hold? Can it be that I have caught something at last? Yet I will not risk any drop of sunlight that might ruin them in developing. I must wait for dark.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
August 14, 1885
St. Michael’s
Bradley Tillman is dead. It does not seem possible, yet it is so.
At 5 this morning, I woke to shouts, then gunshots. Tillman’s voice. —?Come on, there. We’re all having a good time here, aren’t we?
I could tell from his speech that he was drunk, as were they all.
I hurried to pull on my clothes when I heard Tillman’s voice again. I have come to know Tillman well enough to guess that events might get out of hand.
Yet he was not the one looking for a fight this time. He was drunk & happy. As I approached the trading post, in the gray morning light I saw a man pointing a rifle at the crowd that had gathered outside. Before I could speak, Tillman step towards him with a friendly hand out. The man shot him just then. Tillman slumped to the ground. He was not to be revived. The crowd broke into confusion. The shooter dropped the rifle & ran.
I have only come to understand the details as this day progresses. It was Mr. Jacob Wheeler, the one who had scuffled with Tillman aboard the steamship. It seems Mr. Wheeler spent this past evening drinking more than he should, fuming over the incident. At some point, he perceived that he had been slighted by Tillman, who had jostled into him during the dancing. Mr. Wheeler retrieved his rifle from his tent, began to shout & fire rounds outside the trading company.
The noise brought many of the revelers out of doors, who thought the shooting was part of the night-long festivities. Tillman seems to have been the first to notice that the man was in a bad temper. Tillman approached, hand out in reconciliation. Like a child who steps thoughtlessly into the street to retrieve his toy even as a carriage bears down upon him. The man shot him once in the chest.
Mr. Wheeler was later found hiding beneath one of the Innuits’ skin boats on the beach. He will be taken by the revenue cutter to stand trial in San Francisco. For now he is locked in a closet in the trading post under guard. It is as much for his own protection, I suspect. I would have delivered upon him considerably more than a bloodied face if Mr. Troyer had not interceded.
There is no counting the deaths of my comrades, yet it does not lessen my grief. Tillman was never measured in his ways, but he possessed a kind & self-less nature. That is a rarity amongst men. The General was right to appoint him to my party. I am sorry beyond words that I do not bring him home to his family.
I have written dozens of such letters. This one will be no easier, though they have most likely expected such news for some time. Bradley Tillman was never one to stick to safer trails.
August 16
Nat’aaggi left this morning at dawn. I watched as she & Boyo disappeared into the willows. She carried her bow & quiver of arrows; she & the dog both wore their packs.
I do not know what to make of her journey. It is impossible, of course, but if one allows that it might be, then it is a noble & terrible thing. For myself, I would not willingly enter those mountain storms again.
Despite my reservations, if I had known she would leave today, I would have arranged transport for her up the Yukon. I would have provided her with supplies.
She will need boat passage along the way, but she knows where she can find safe help?—?Pruitt, Mrs. Lowe, the friendly camps we encountered. Perhaps she can travel quietly & unnoticed through the more dangerous territory until she gets to the mountains.
When I saw her go, I wanted to call out to her. I wanted to tell her it’s no use, but what do I know?
She sang a song over his body yesterday in the Russian church, before we had built a coffin, so Tillman was wrapped only in fabric. She knelt by his body & sang. Her words were both English & Midnoosky, but still I could not make out all she said. I had a senseless & fleeting thought?—?Where was Tillman to translate for me?
I understood only this much:
We walk by the river.
Not the same words.
Not the same [?—?]
We walk beside the river.
My friend, my [?—?]5
My friend
I cry to you.
[?—?] in the mountains where kay’egay spirits walk & sing
I go to look for you.
Will you walk out of the clouds?10
My friend, my [?—?]
I cry to you.
[?—?] in the mountains.
That kay’egay place.
I come to look for you.15
I cry to you.
I come to you.
At times like this, I wish I were a praying man.
I wonder that Nat’aaggi didn’t give it to me herself, but maybe she feared I would try to stop her leaving.