Identifier: outing51newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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ty. A savage with eyes close together, lowforehead and wrinkled brows—Pete byname—greeted me. The village was allscarlet and green, and foetor. Row afterrow of gutted salmon hung under grassthatches. Frowsy girls with bare legs andtattered skirts, two to each laden pole,scurried the dried fish into cache or smokehouse, hustled out the newly cleaned, forthe sun was flashing through a scud ofcloud. Hard-beaten paths joined the huts,through grass up to my waist, choked bypiles of offal where it was sickening to stepand sink. A big black and white mongrel,a white mans dog, dove viciously at me;then, seeing that he was more akin to methan to his master (Aleuts have no dogs), heslinked shamefacedly near; and how Ipitied him as he licked my hand! A nakedchild ran away shrieking as if she had seena corpse. All the children had scarredor twisted necks, shortened hips, or thegrooved teeth of the nameless whitemans curse. Qua-coo-ook ! squawked theflabby ravens, puffed with rottenness, tilt-
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On the Chase for Volcanoes 663 ing on the church cross, on the cast-iron gate of the graveyard patch. Qua-coo-ook! they swooped on the fish gutsdecaying on the beach, or sneaked com-placent overhead, with silky wings rustlinglike new grave clothes. For here on theouter rim of the world, where life clings onand on, hopeless and in darkness, they aresymbols of Gods ever-imminent negation—death. I loathe them. Had I to live in anAleut village, Id slaughter them all beforeI slept. Qua-coo-ook! Qua-coo-ook! Pete took me to his hut. The outerroom was deep in dry grass on its earthfloor, with a clay smoke chimney andrafters heavy with salmon; the inner,floored with hewn drift logs. Over itssingle window hung his small gilt ikon, hisgaudy prints of tsar, tsarina and family;and he had two grimy, feather-stuffedbeds. From a post of one hung an oldbeer bottle, full of holy water. 1 pointedto the quilt. You bed? I asked. Henodded. And indicating the other, I said,You wife? He shook his head. No

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