STICKEEN


In the summer of 1880 I set out from Fort Wrangel in a canoe to continue
the exploration of the icy region of southeastern Alaska, begun in the
fall of 1879. After the necessary provisions, blankets, etc., had been
collected and stowed away, and my Indian crew were in their places ready
to start, while a crowd of their relatives and friends on the wharf were
bidding them good-by and good-luck, my companion, the Rev. S.H. Young,
for whom we were waiting, at last came aboard, followed by a little
black dog, that immediately made himself at home by curling up in a
hollow among the baggage. I like dogs, but this one seemed so small and
worthless that I objected to his going, and asked the missionary why he
was taking him.

"Such a little helpless creature will only be in the way," I said; "you
had better pass him up to the Indian boys on the wharf, to be taken home
to play with the children. This trip is not likely to be good for
toy-dogs. The poor silly thing will be in rain and snow for weeks or
months, and will require care like a baby."

But his master assured me that he would be no trouble at all; that he
was a perfect wonder of a dog, could endure cold and hunger like a bear,
swim like a seal, and was wondrous wise and cunning, etc., making out a
list of virtues to show he might be the most interesting member of the
party.

Nobody could hope to unravel the lines of his ancestry. In all the