'Maybe.'
'So if I built my cannery on that point to the south, opposite yours, I'd not have to worry too much about the wind, would I?'
'Maybe not.'
'Then why did you build your cabin up there where the wind hits?' and Sam replied:
'I like wind. It blow too hard, stay inside, build good fire.'
After several more twists, the steamer passed close to the sullen snout of Taku Glacier, immensely higher and wider than the earlier ones but lacking the intense blue color, its dirty ice standing in gray-brown pillars. They were, however, massively impressive, as if they were ready to tumble down upon any ship that came too close. As Ross watched, the captain came down to inform him that ships like this sometimes carried small cannon so that they could fire at glaciers, seeking to precipitate spectacular calving of icebergs, and he said: 'I'd bet a big one's about to let loose.'
'Have you a cannon?' Ross asked, and he was disappointed when the captain said that only passenger ships carried them. But the captain had another tactic: 'We'll go to just the right distance and give our whistle five or six short blasts. Sometimes that'll do the trick,' so the ship moved in surprisingly close, and when the blasts reverberated against the face of the glacier, the vibrations did cause a tall pillar of icy snow to break away and thunder down in a monstrous splash. It produced no lasting iceberg, for the snow was not tightly packed, but it did demonstrate how bergs were formed.
Passing the awesome glacier, the steamer ascended two more miles up near the head of the inlet, where a river tumbling out of Canada came into view, and Ross, watching the water churn and boil over huge boulders, asked: 'How can a salmon pick its way through that twisted affair?' and Bigears said: 'Coming home, they know every bend.
Remember from when they came down as smolts,' and Ross said: 'Encourage them to breed well. They're the ones who'll fill our cans.'
The steamer turned around at a point much farther up the inlet than later navigators would be able to go; in their day silt coming out of Canada would accumulate so that big ships would not even be able to reach Taku Glacier, but during the first years of the twentieth century this clogging of the waterway had not yet occurred.
On the trip back down the inlet, Ross stood at the railing, imagining himself a fierce Taku Wind blowing out of Canada, and as the ship neared Sam Bigears' cabin atop the bluff, Ross could feel himself soaring high over the headland and not coming back down till well past the southern side of the Pleiades estuary. Pointing triumphantly at this southern point, so available to shipping yet so well protected, he cried:
'We'll build our cannery on that point,' but Tom said: 'I think we'd better call Sam Bigears over.'
'Why?' Ross snapped.
'Because I think he owns both sides of the cove,' Tom said.
'Sites are allocated in Washington,' Ross said, indicating that he did not want to discuss the matter with Bigears. 'I'll get my man in Washington to get working on it right away.'
As the steamer departed from Taku Inlet he looked back at the compact, enchanting waterway with its cliffs and mountains and scintillating glaciers, and said to those about him: 'It's a proper location for Ross & Raglan. Practically made to order.'
To Tom's surprise, Mr. Ross remained in Juneau for two weeks, supervising the purchasing of materials for a major cannery, even though he had as yet no assured location for it, but on the thirteenth day a telegram arrived informing him that he had been granted exclusive rights to the cove at the mouth of the Pleiades River. 'Full speed ahead!'
Ross cried. 'Tom, rush that timber and machinery over to the cove. Start building like a madman, and have things ready to operate by April twenty-fifth.'
'Where do I get the boats?'
'That's my responsibility. They'll be here, believe me.'
'And what shall we call the place?'
Ross considered this for some moments. For some time now he had feared that the widely known name of Ross & Raglan was being attached to too many ventures; it could engender jealousy. Or a man who was angry at treatment he received aboard an R&R ship might stop trading at an R&R store. Then, too, customers in Alaska might grow resentful of the concentration of power in Seattle. For these and other good reasons he decided firmly against any further use of that designation: 'What we need, Thomas, is a name that echoes Alaska. Make local people proud of their affiliation with this new cannery.
Let me think about this tonight.'
An able man who had honestly striven to outfit thousands for Alaska in the gold-rush years, had provided good shipping and general merchandise needed in the growing communities, and now was planning a first-class cannery operation as opposed to certain fly-by-night enterprises which took money out of Alaska and plowed none back in, Malcolm Ross wanted his salmon venture to be an example of the best that enlightened capitalism could provide, and a name which proclaimed that quality was essential.
At breakfast he informed Tom that he had found the perfect solution: 'Totem Cannery.
On the labels for our cans, a fine drawing of a totem pole like the one I made when we sailed up Taku Inlet that first day.' And from his pocket he produced a lively sketch of Sam Bigears' totem, but with the amusing white man in the top hat eliminated.
In his place appeared a brown bear, with the original raven at the top.
Not only would Bigears' land at the mouth of the Pleiades be taken from him, but his totem would also be appropriated, and there would be nothing he could do about either theft. Malcolm Ross in Seattle and his agent in Washington would see to that.
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, TOM VENN HAD AMPLE opportunity to observe just how remarkable his employer was, for two large R&R steamers sailed into Taku Inlet with lumber and hardware for the four main buildings which would have to be in operation by mid-May. Along with these supplies came sixty-five artisans from Seattle, plus tents to house them temporarily and a big portable kitchen.
Within a week of landing, this army of men had dug the footings for the principal buildings and had unloaded from a barge the stone and cement that would form the foundations for the large structures whose vertical timbers would soon begin sprouting like a forest of growing stalks after a spring rain.
It was not preposterous for Mr. Ross to expect his buildings to be ready so quickly, for they were essentially barns in which a variety of machinery would be housed; no intricate architectural problems required to be solved. 'Get them up fast and strong,' he told the men whenever he visited the inlet, and when new ships arrived with the heavy iron retorts in which the stacks of filled cans would be cooked by steam pressure, a place was ready for them, and by the time they were installed, some thirty Indians had been hired to lug in the wood to stoke the fires.
The smaller building, in which wooden crates would be built for shipping the cans to Seattle and then to cities like New York and Atlanta, was erected in four days; slapped together would be a more appropriate term, perhaps. But the twin building in which the tin cans would be manufactured from raw stock required more time; it had to be sturdy enough to house the heavy tin-working machinery.
In the meantime, thirty-seven local fishermen had been hired to catch the salmon when the run began, and the two small steamers that would move among them to collect their haul and ferry it to the cannery were brought up from Seattle complete with crews. Along with them came a most useful vessel, a big, tough tug with a pile driver mounted on the stern, and on the deck several hundred long wooden piles which would be driven into the muddy bottom of Taku Inlet to form the wharf at which the large cargo ships would dock when loading the crates of canned salmon.
In early April the scene at Totem Cannery was one of intense activity of the most varied sort. Tom Venn, in charge of keeping the hours and pay scales for everyone working on the project, now had about nine different crews at their tasks twelve and fourteen hours a day. Mr. Ross had given specific orders: 'Spend money now and get the work done so that we can make real money in September.'
In mid-April he ordered all work on nonessentials to halt so that a long bunkhouse could be whipped into shape at breakneck speed: 'Just got word that our people in Seattle have found a gang of Chinese in San Francisco. They hired the lot and are shipping them north sooner than expected. I've been warned that keeping them happy is the secret of any good cannery operation, so we've got to have their sleeping area and mess hall ready in two weeks.'
But when Tom tried to decide which carpenters and builders could be taken from which jobs, he found that almost every building was just as essential as the bunkhouse, so he had to scout around for local artisans to fill in. His first thought was to approach his trusted friend Sam Bigears, but Mr. Ross had been told by his Washington lobbyist that 'no Eskimo, no Indian is worth a damn. Only white men can do the work needed to build in Alaska,' and this prejudice had become ingrained. Tlingit Indians in the Taku vicinity could be employed to dig trenches and unload cargo, but they must not be entrusted to build a bunkhouse, even though Chinese were to occupy it: 'I'll have no Indian carpenters, Tom. They can't be trusted.'
'Where did you get that idea?'
'Marvin Hoxey told me how they drink, work two days, then disappear.'
'Marvin Hoxey! He's never worked with Indians. All he knows are barroom stories.'
'He understands Alaska.'
Tom Venn, veteran of the Chilkoot Pass, the Yukon River, the frenzy of Dawson and Nome, had become a young man of twenty with the sound character of a man twice his age, and he was not going to have his hard-won wisdom dismissed by a man like Marvin Hoxey: 'Mr. Ross, I don't mean to contradict, because you know more about business than anyone I've met. But about Indians like the ones I'd hire for the bunkhouse, you've been given poor advice.'
'Hoxey has never let me down. Don't hire Indians for any important work on Totem Cannery.'
Tom laughed, and to his own surprise, took Mr. Ross by the arm: 'Who carved that totem pole over there that you admire so much? The Indian I want to hire. And who helped build your Juneau store in what you admitted was record time? That same Indian.
Mr. Ross, Sam Bigears you've met him, on the boat that first day he's twice as good a carpenter as any of the men you brought up from Seattle.'
Malcolm Ross had not become the head of a major Seattle enterprise through ignoring the advice of strong-minded men, for he had always been such a man himself. When his partner Peter Raglan grew afraid of the speed at which the original Ross & Raglan store was expanding under the whiplash of Ross, Malcolm had promptly bought Raglan's interest in the firm. He had taken enormous risks in starting his shipping line, and he was taking greater ones today in trying to open this cannery in such a short time. If a young man who had proved himself as repeatedly as Tom Venn wanted to hire a Tlingit Indian to rush a building to completion, so be it: 'If he's as good as you say, get him on the job today. But don't come wailing to me when he shows up drunk tomorrow.'
Tom saluted, smiled, and refrained from informing his boss that it was the Seattle carpenters who had smuggled whiskey ashore at the beginning of this hectic job and who mysteriously replenished their stocks whenever an R&R ship entered the inlet. Instead, he suggested that Mr. Ross accompany him in a skiff ride across the cove for an opportunity to see how a Tlingit Indian of noted rank lived.
'I'd like to do just that,' Ross said, and he perched in the rear of the skiff as two Indians who worked at unloading cargo took the boat across the cove to the informal landing place which Sam Bigears had scooped out for beaching his canoe and sailboat.
'Hey, Bigears!' Tom shouted as he and Ross climbed ashore. 'Boss man to see you.'
From the cabin atop the rise Sam appeared, standing for a moment between two doorposts carved and painted in totem style. When he saw Mr. Ross he called: 'Welcome. You build pretty fast over there.' He led them into his cabin, bare now because so many of its contents had been given away during the potlatch. However, the solidity of the structure was evident, and Ross asked: 'Did you build this?' and Bigears said:
'Wife and daughter help a lot.'
He called for Nancy, whose lovely oval face broke into a smile like her father's.
Not deferring in any special way to Mr. Ross, she gave a slight bow and said in lilting English: 'Tom is very proud to work for you, Mr. Ross. We're proud to have you in our home. My mother speaks no English, but in Tlingit she says the same.'
'I came on business, Mr. Bigears. Tom tells me that you're a fine carpenter.'
'I like wood.'
'He wants me to hire you to build the big bunkhouse right now, for the Chinese. They're coming soon.'
Sam Bigears said: 'Sit down, Mr. Ross,' and when the guests were seated, he asked bluntly: 'Why you bring in Chinese? Taku Inlet is Indian. Many Indians here work good as Chinese.'
'We've hired many of your people.'
'But not real work. Not building. Not making boxes. Not making cans.'
Ross was never loath to face inescapable unpleasantries: 'The fact is, Mr. Bigears, all the canneries have learned to rely on Chinese to do the major jobs crates, cans, preparing the salmon.'
'Why Chinese? Why not Tlingits?'
'Because Chinese work harder than any other men on earth. They learn quickly what has to be done, and they do it. They work like hell, they save their money, and they keep their mouths shut. No cannery could succeed without Chinese.'
Tlingits work like hell too.'
Ross was too considerate to say bluntly that yes, on a given day a Tlingit could work as well as a Chinese. He'd been told that by other cannery owners. But he. had also been told that after two or three days of intense work, the Indian liked to draw his pay and go fishing for himself, not for the cannery. Instead, he said: 'Will you help Tom build the bunkhouse?' and Sam Bigears replied: 'No. You bring in Chinese to take our jobs, so I not work for you. Not here at Pleiades. Not in Juneau no more.'
With great dignity he led Ross and Venn to the door, and as they left he said quietly:
'Many Chinese here, many troubles.' And the interview ended.
With what skilled help Tom could find along the waterfront in Juneau, and with a large crew of Tlingits, the shell of the bunkhouse was hastily erected, and as work started on the tiers of wooden bunks in which the imported workmen would sleep during their five-month campaign with the salmon, Venn felt for the first time that this massive project was going to be finished on time. It was the complexity of the action that day which generated this optimism: at the waterfront, the pile driver was hammering home the tall poles on which the floor of the dock would rest, twenty-two feet above the water at low tide; in the cooking shed, the retorts were being installed; in the big gutting shed, tables were being built at which the Chinese would clean the salmon with long, sharp knives; a rude sawmill was cutting Sitka spruce for the boxmakers soon to arrive; and in the tin-can building, intense fires were being prepared for the melting of solder to seal the lids of the cans when the packing was completed.
A gigantic operation was drawing to a successful climax; it had been an Alaska-type venture: big, undisciplined on many days, frenzied, exciting. As Tom said to one of the carpenters in the bunkhouse: 'You'd never do a job this way in Chicago.'
But what sealed this sense of euphoria was the arrival, from the printing house in Seattle, of the first hundred thousand labels to be glued onto the cans before shipping.
They were a bright red, the color of a mature sockeye, and the words printed in heavy black read:
PINK ALASKAN SALMON IT'S GOOD FOR YOU
and beneath that appeared the proud designation:
TOTEM CANNERY Pleiades Glacier, Alaska
But what caught the eye was a Seattle artist's conception of a totem pole, well drawn and printed in four colors with a blue-green glacier in the background.
It was a striking label, and when Mr. Ross had three samples glued onto the cans of a competing cannery, everyone who saw the result agreed that this was one of the most effective labels so far devised. Indeed, Tom was so pleas
ed with the cans' appearance that he asked to have one, which he took across the cove in hopes that when Sam Bigears saw what a fine product Pleiades Cove was going to produce, his animosity would be relaxed.
'Pretty fine, eh?' Tom said as he handed the can over to his friend. Sam accepted it, studied it for some time, and then handed it back, almost with contempt: 'All wrong.' When Tom showed that he did not understand what Sam was saying, the latter pointed to the label: 'My totem not on same side Taku with glacier. Man missing in totem. Look for yourself, no raven.' Tom was about to laugh, when Bigears voiced the real complaint of his people: 'Outside of can bad. Inside even badder.'
'What do you mean? Our salmon will be the freshest packed this year.'
'I mean inside have Tlingit salmon from Tlingit rivers packed by Chinese, and all money go to Seattle workmen, Seattle ship men, Seattle company.' Grabbing the can and holding it in the air, he said with great bitterness: 'Tlingit salmon make everybody rich but Tlingits. Seattle get everything, Alaska nothing.' Sadly, for he saw with cruel clarity the shape of the future, he handed the can back, and in that gesture cut himself off from his trusted friend. Both he and Tom knew that an unbridgeable alienation had risen between them. Tom henceforth would be of Seattle; Sam, of Alaska.
IN MID-MAY, WHEN RESIN STILL SEEPED FROM THE RAW boards in the long bunkhouse, an R&R steamer came into Taku Inlet, eased through the narrows, avoided Walrus Rock, and tied up alongside the newly finished dock. As soon as the gangplank was lashed tight, down streamed forty-eight Chinese who would get the cannery started. They were dressed in loose pajamas, black smocks, cheap rubber-soled shoes and no socks.
About a fifth of the number wore pigtails, and these established the character of the group. They were alien, of a different color, unable for the most part to speak English, and with a much different appetite; along with them came the one essential necessary for keeping Chinese workers contented at a cannery: several hundred sacks of rice. And hidden away in various clever places came another essential almost as important: small glass vials not much bigger than a thumb, filled with opium. Since the forty-eight men would have no women with them, no opportunity for ordinary recreation, no respite from twelve- and fourteen-hour days of backbreaking labor, no fraternization with white fellow workers, opium and gambling were about the only relaxation available, and these they would pursue assiduously.