Alaska (111 page)

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

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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 pleased 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

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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.

They were a silent, frightening crew as they came ashore, and it fell to Tom to lead them to their quarters. Ill-at-ease and not happy with the prospect of dealing through a long summer with these strange creatures, he walked in silence toward the newly finished bunkhouse, but he was stopped by a tugging at his sleeve and turned to face the one man on whom the success of this operation would come to depend.

He was a thin, frail Chinese who wore his hair in a thick pigtail that reached well down his back. Only slightly older than Tom and markedly shorter, he nevertheless had a commanding presence, and in that first moment of meeting, Venn noticed a peculiarity which he supposed would determine the man's behavior: His yellow face smiles, as if he knows that it will please me, but his eyes do not, because he doesn't give a damn what I think.

'My name Ah Ting. Work Ketchikan two time. Me bossman all Chinese. No trouble.'

Although suspicious of the man's motives, Tom was relieved to learn that someone at least spoke English, so he invited Ah Ting to walk with him, and even before they reached the bunkhouse it was clear that Totem Cannery was going to operate as Ah Ting directed, for the other Chinese accepted his leadership. When the line reached the building, the others waited till he allocated the plain board beds and distributed the two skimpy blankets to each man.

'We no eat on ship,' he said, and when Tom led the way to the mess hall reserved for the Chinese, Ah Ting quickly designated two cooks, who started at once to prepare the rice. After they had eaten, Ah Ting, and not Venn, divided the men into three groups. One would build crates; one would fabricate tin cans; and the main group, in addition to cleaning the buildings, would prepare the tables at which they would later behead and gut the salmon.

Tom could not guess how many of the forty-eight had worked in canneries before, but he found that he had to give instructions only once, and even though most of the Orientals could not understand his words, they showed an uncanny skill in catching his intention and jumped to do as he indicated. By two m the afternoon the work force was in place, with

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specialists identifying themselves and taking over the more important jobs, and by three, finished crates and tin cans were appearing.

For example, the making of tin cans to be shipped around the world was a precise task. The long rolls of tin had to be cut in strips for the body of the can, which then had to be rolled around a template and soldered carefully. Disks to close the bottom had to be punched out and then soldered firmly. Finally, disks of a different character were required for the top, and these would be set aside to be soldered in place when the can was filled with raw fish. A small opening had to be left for the suction machine to draw off remaining air and create a vacuum, and then that minute hole had to be soldered. By nightfall it was obvious that cans for Totem salmon were going to be first-class and in good supply.

As the end of May approached, all parts of this huge effort began to mesh: sixty-five white men from Seattle managed the offices, supervised the laborers, and commanded the steamers; the Chinese produced cans and crates for processing the fish; and the thirty natives continued to lift and carry. Now, also, the thirty small boats that would actually do the fishing and the seining two white men to each boat except for three that were manned by Indians moved into position, and on a bright morning in June a lookout on one of the large vessels shouted: 'Salmon are coming!' and when fishermen rushed to the railing to peer into the dark waters of Taku Inlet, they could see thousands of shadowy forms moving steadfastly up the waterway on their way to distant streams far inside Canada.

But those sailors who looked toward Pleiades Cove could see an impressive group of big sockeye separating from the main flow and heading for that beautiful cold stream down which they had come as smolt three years before.

'They keep comin'P men shouted from boat to boat, and that year's harvest, the first for Totem Cannery, was under way.

When Nancy Bigears heard the cry she alerted her father, and he went out to inspect the quality of this year's returning salmon, and he was so pleased with what he saw that he sent his daughter back to the house to fetch his dip net, and he was about to cast for his first fishing of the season when a cannery warden with a loud voice shouted from the other side of the cove: 'Hey, there! No fishing in this river.'

'This my river,' Bigears called back, but the warden explained: 'This river and the lake too, it's now restricted to Totem Cannery. Orders from Washington.'

'This my river. My grandfather-grandfather fished here.'

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'It's all different now,' the warden said as he climbed into a small boat to deliver'

the new instructions at closer range. When he climbed ashore, Bigears said: 'You better pull her higher. She'll drift away,' and when the warden looked back he saw that he would have lost his dory had Sam not spoken.

Consulting a paper, the warden said: 'You're Sam Bigears, I suppose,' and when Sam nodded, the man continued: 'Mr. Bigears, the cove has been deeded to us by the officials in Washington. We are to control fishing on this river and adjacent waters. We had to have that reassurance before we could spend so much money on the cannery over there.'

'But this my river.'

The warden ignored this, and in a tone of conciliation, as if he were granting a generous dispensation to a child, he said: 'We've notified Washington that we volunteer to respect your squatter's rights to your home over here plus six acres of land.'

'Squatter rights? What that mean?'

'Well, you have no title to your piece of land. It's not yours legally, it's ours.

But we're going to let you occupy your cabin during your lifetime.'

'It's my river . . . my land.'

'No, things have changed, Mr. Bigears. From here on, the government will say who owns what, and it has already said that our cannery has the right to this river.

And that naturally gives us the right to the salmon that come into our river.' When Bigears looked perplexed, the warden simplified the new instructions: 'You and your friends are not to fish in this river any longer. Only those who fish for the cannery.

It is closed. The government says so.'

He stood at the spot where the river began, wanting to be certain that the Tlingit did not break the new law, and when he saw Bigears put up his pole and trudge back to his house in bewilderment, he said to himself: Now that's a sensible Indian.

When the first big catch was hauled into the gutting shed, with all parts of the cannery functioning as planned, thousands of tall one-pound cans began sliding off the soldering tables and over to the men who pasted on the bright red labels of Totem Cannery. Mr. Ross, hearing that his plant was operating even better than he had hoped, came north, and after a few days' inspection, told Tom: 'This place will pay for itself in three years. After that, enormous profits.' He felt so gratified with how smoothly things were going that he made several gestures to let the workmen know that they were appreciated: 'It's standard R&R procedure. Give everybody who does well an unexpected reward.' An extra ration 680

of chicken and beef was issued to Ah Ting for his Chinese, who held in succession a feast, a gambling frolic and an opium session. Tlingit workers were given a small bonus and white workers a large one. Senior staff received chits entitling them to two weeks' extra vacation with pay at the end of the year's campaign, and Tom Venn was told: 'A raise for you, Tom, and when you've put everything to bed for the winter, Mrs. Ross and I want you to come down to Seattle for a well-earned rest.'

The prospect of visiting the city he admired so much set Tom to dreaming, and he speculated on the possibility that once at headquarters, he might be given a job there, or perhaps the management of one of the big R&R stores in Seattle. But before such a promotion could come to pass, he must perform the distasteful task which Mr.

Ross now threw his way: 'Tom, I've generated a grudging respect for that Indian friend of yours. He seems to be a man of character. I want you to row over to his cabin and assure him that whereas he can no longer fish in our river, we're not going to be niggardly with a man who, as you reminded me, helped build our store in Juneau.'

'What do you mean, sir?'

'When the catch is in and the end of season in sight, we'll tell the warden to be sure that Bigears well, see to it, Tom, that he gets a salmon or two. It's only fair.'

Mr. Ross directed Tom to make the initial gift of salmon right now, while he, RQSS, was still at the cannery, and Tom was given two fat sockeye, brilliant red in their spawning color, to take to the Tlingit. He did not want this job, for he appreciated the irony of offering Sam Bigears two salmon when his family had for generations held the right to all the fish in the Pleiades; but the order had been given, and as he had done with previous orders, he obeyed it.

He felt uneasy crossing the cove, and acutely distressed when he landed and started up the path to Sam's cabin. Rehearsing possible words he could use to disguise the ugliness of what he must do, he was relieved when Nancy and not her father came to the door. In her cheerful way she said: 'Hello, Tom. We've been wondering why we haven't seen you.”

'In a new cannery, there's a new job every day.'

'I've seen the big ships stopping by to pick up the crates. You send out so many.'

'Thirty-two thousand before we close.'

'What's in your hand? Looks like a fish.'

'It's two fish. Salmon.'

'Why?'

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'Mr. Ross wants your father to know that even though the river is closed and Indians can't fish here anymore . . .'

'We've heard,' she said gravely, and Tom was afraid that she was going to upbraid him, but she did not. She was fifteen now, a bright, knowledgeable young Indian girl who had enjoyed school and whose intuitions about the changing world of which she was a confused part were surprisingly shrewd. And now, even though she saw immediately the sad impropriety of what Tom was saying, she had to laugh, not scornfully, but with compassion for the fool that Tom was making of himself: 'Oh, Tom! You didn't come here to tell my father that even though you now own all his fish, you're going to let him have one or two each year? That is, if there's any left after you take what you need?'

Tom was shaken by the adroit way she had phrased her question, and he scarcely knew how to respond. 'Well,' he fumbled, 'that's exactly what Mr. Ross proposes.' When she laughed, he added lamely: 'But he did express it a little better,' Then, with force: 'He means well, Nancy, he really does.'