Legacy of the Chief, Chapter 23, Pt 2: "Cap Tells His Story - 1916" |
click on picture for larger image: some of these images appear in the book for this chapter. |
“George, I am impressed. I know I really owe you for all this, and believe me I won’t forget, but can I ask one more small favor?” “What else can you possibly want, Cap?” “George, I want to get there on my own. How about loaning me one of those hand-trams. I don’t want a gas-powered one. I want to power it myself. I’ll send it back up to you on the next train.” “Something’s up down there, isn’t it, Cap? No, don’t tell me. Just take one of the hand-cars from the warehouse down there.” He pointed to the small building at the south end of the loading platform. “I know I’ll get it back soon enough. Don’t let any bad news reach me. We’ve stretched our necks out for you and Johnny. Now you’re on your way, so get out of here.” You have to hand it to old George, he could certainly be helpful and even understanding when it came to us Natives. I guess it helped that he was married to one of our own women. So now I was on my way--new name, war paint, rough hide clothes and bandanna and that dog Yew-nee--and my hunting rifle and knife with my bedroll consisting of a Hudson Bay potlatch blanket. George sent me off once the northbound train had come through. I was headed down forty-two miles of track. Thank the Great Creator that the railroad was almost completely level in that section of track. Even better, it had a slight decline heading south. It was a long way to be pumping a hand car. Needless to say, I made numerous stops to rest and get water. I must have been quite a sight to the railroad hands at Chitina when I took the hand truck and loaded the dog. I was wearing my war paint and special garb. They sure stared. It felt good. It was almost as if we Natives were taking back the railroad line. I loved it. There are several trestles within a few miles south of Chitina. The first one was O’Brien Creek at CRNW mile 129. It spanned a wide, relatively deep canyon. I found the ride over the tall trestle exhilarating. Words you would not expect from an Indian, right? Largely thanks to my sla’cheen brother Johnny, I have a good education. Johnny shamed me into it. We have always had a friendly competition going between us, whether it involved wrestling, drinking, playing billiards or poker, getting the better girl, or being able to read and understand some obscure passage in a book at school.
It was when I found I needed help with my reading and my math in school that I realized that we made a good team, especially if I let him do most the talking. I preferred not to stand out too much. Johnny was better at that. He loved the role. I just had to try to keep up with Johnny. I learned to appreciate reading, because it exercises the mind. Neither Johnny nor I was prepared to leave all the benefits of education to the whites. I will always be indebted to Johnny for making sure I made it through school successfully. After O’Brien Creek, the track passed a number of old burial sites. One of those grave yards near Eskilida camp got the railroad in trouble with Nicolai. My father, Chief Goodlataw, actually took the railroad to court over the matter. That’s when we learned about white-man courts. The court was in Cordova. It was owned by the Alaska Syndicate. Oh, I know they call themselves Kennecott Corporation, but they’re still the syndicate. They won the case, just as everyone expected they would, but Nicolai and the elders got even with them anyway. That was because of something Nicolai and the other sleep-doctors did at Taral. No one would talk about Nicolai’s Curse, but we all knew about it. Aside from the curse, for many months and even years, relations between the white railroad workers and the Indians in the village were very bad. None of us have forgotten the indignity caused by the workers who vandalized and robbed our graves at Eskilida Creek, but most of us have moved on, trying to put those evil things in the past. The workers who caused the damage eventually became victims of the curse in a way that left no doubt. Several of us Natives witnessed the hex take those men to their well-earned and long-anticipated rewards. Beyond O’Brien Creek, my hand-powered car crossed trestles at Fox Creek, Eskilida Creek and Haley Creek. The trestles spanned steeply-cut ravines containing icy-cold rushing creeks consisting mostly of snow-melt. Beyond those trestles were a series of three tunnels leading up to Uranatina. There was another tunnel on each side of Tiekel. The last one was the 300-foot-long tunnel closest to Cascade. Between Uranatina and Tiekel, the railbed followed along many miles of a steep embankment right along the river. The rotary snowplow routinely returned to Cordova after turning around at Tiekel--thirty miles south of Chitina. Along the entire railroad line, there were only four turn-around loops ever built. Besides the one at Tiekel, there was our large one around Town Lake in Chitina. There was one at Childs Glacier that was later replaced by a wye, and another large one existed in front of Railroad Row in the yard by the roundhouse in Cordova. The dog and I passed several line shacks and two section-houses on the way south. All of them appeared unoccupied, as if the line was deserted. It was strange. Eerie, almost. I almost felt as though I had wasted a lot of effort with my war-paint. There was no one to see it. Even at Tiekel Station, no one was in sight. I traveled the entire distance without seeing anyone along the line after leaving Chitina.
I was determined that I would give as war-like an appearance as possible so that it would appear to the Irishmen better to back down than challenge both me and my sla’cheen brother Johnny. Johnny could not defend himself well, but the odds were too heavily stacked against him. He had a legendary left hook going back to the school days when he was constantly involved in fights. He rarely lost. Whenever I fought beside him, we never lost a round to anyone, no matter of there were half a dozen of them. We always won. He was not treated well by the other Natives because he was a half-breed. I grew up with him in my father’s home. He was my brother. I would help him anyway I could. Besides, I always enjoyed a good scrap. I was prepared for a tough fight as my hand-car approached Cascade. My adrenaline began to build. I was really looking forward to a fight, but I knew it would mean the end of the job for both of us. The hand-car slid into Cascade station with me wearing my dark-brown and bright-red war-paint. I also wore a leather headband. My clothing was a crude, tanned-hide of the old style from the days before the white man. The large dog Kay-yew-nee was a very good choice for a companion. He was a willing accomplice, wild and vicious-appearing, and ready to do battle with me. During the entire trip, the large dog sat in front of the hand-car like a furry, wooden ship’s head. He seemed to sense his mission, as if he were reading my mind. He looked great up there, remaining almost motionless as long as I kept the tram moving. When I slid the car to a stop at Cascade, Kay-yew-nee immediately jumped off and looked menacingly toward the section house door.
The first one to spot us was one of O’Malley’s men. It was getting late. The men were all inside. All the Irishmen rushed out, ready to do battle. Johnny emerged from behind. He sized up the situation immediately, joining my side as I stepped off the hand-car. He looked enormously relieved to see me, though I believe he wanted to burst out laughing at my appearance. “I was ready to give it up, Michael. Not now. My sla’cheen is here. Let’s go!” I nodded and winked. “It’s Cap, now. Call me Cap. I work for the company, now, just like you Johnny.” One of the larger Irishmen started to move toward me. Yew-nee growled a deep, unmistakable warning. The three of us--two Chitina Indians and a large Siberian--were facing down the four of them. O’Malley held up his hand to keep the others at bay. He walked up to me. I handed O’Malley the paper signed by George Brown. He scowled, quietly nodded and signaled to the others to back off. He did not want to fight this one out. There would be no more Irishmen in his crew. Now O’Malley was stuck with two Chitina Indians. I took the bunk just above Johnny’s. The dog settled at the foot of the bed. That was that. We were in. There was no arguing. We were both officially a part of the railroad now. Life for both of us had just taken a big turn. We had taken the first step toward making the railroad our own. I never wore the war-paint again. Grandfather told us long ago that we would have to become a part of the railroad. Better to take it as our own than let it run us over. Grandfather was really telling us that we must adapt, while at the same time remaining true to our own ways. He already knew we were there at Cascade--We, Saghani Utsuuy--the Raven Clan. We had taken the first step toward reclaiming what was ours. And we had won. He would be proud.
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