Chapter 1

Graduation

Waiting in line while all the other boys went into the little room to be interviewed by Dr. Sheldon Jackson had been like waiting for ice on the Yukon River to break up in the spring. But it had been Adam’s choice to slip to the back of the line and let the other thirteen boys go first. If I’m the last one Dr. Jackson speaks to, thought Adam, he’ll remember me best.

In his four years at Sitka Industrial and Training School, Adam Christian had never met Dr. Jackson. But today, Alaska’s agent of education had come for the graduation ceremony, and—most important to Adam—he had come to announce the winner of the scholarship award. The winner would travel with Dr. Jackson all the way to the great white chief’s village of Washington, D.C., in the United States.

As Adam waited, he brushed a speck of lint off the front of his black suit and straightened his starched white shirt. He was a handsome lad with square features that were not so flat as the Eskimos along Alaska’s northwestern coast nor so hawkish as the Tlingit and Tsimshian Indians near Sitka. He was a Tananan from the Yukon River. But he would not call that home much longer if he won the award. With his fingers he combed his thick black hair off his forehead and stood straighter.

If he won, he would escape Alaska, get away from the frozen tundra, and make a new start in the white man’s world.

The contestants for the award came from all the Indian and Eskimo schools that Dr. Jackson had founded throughout Alaska, but Adam was sure the winner would be selected from the Sitka School—after all, it was the oldest and best school—and he had worked very hard to be its best student.

Today he would find out if he had reached his goal, and he was next in line.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

"Adam Christian," the voice of Superintendent Kelly, his Sitka schoolmaster, came through the closed door. Mustering all his confidence, Adam turned the door handle and entered.

Three men were standing behind a table. The one on the right was Superintendent Kelly, with his high forehead, beady eyes, and a black beard so full that the students sometimes joked that he had no mouth. Of course, Adam already knew him. But the other two men were unfamiliar.

The tall, muscular man on the left drew Adam’s attention first. He had a huge walrus mustache and short black hair streaked with gray. His nose was wide, and his skin was as dark and weathered as any Indian’s, yet he wore the uniform of a ship’s captain. For just a moment the man’s green eyes smiled at Adam from under their heavy lids; then his face resumed the sad look of someone who had seen far too much trouble.

But it was the little man in the center who reached his hand out. Without meaning to, Adam stared. Could this be Dr. Jackson? Finally, he grasped the man’s hand, shaking it firmly . . . though not for too long. But he’s so small, thought Adam. Everyone speaks of Dr. Jackson as a great man. I thought he’d be a big man, but he’s not even as tall as I am.

Indeed, Sheldon Jackson was a mere five feet two inches tall. He wore platform shoes and—except when indoors—a high-crowned derby hat. In every way, he attempted to give himself the appearance of a little more height than God had given him. His stiff white beard had been trimmed to a point below his chin, and he wore steel-rimed, oval-shaped spectacles, not much larger than his intense blue eyes. Sharp eyes, tiny spectacles, pointed beard, and the frown lines between his up-slanting eyebrows—he looked like a hawk ready to attack.

In an unusually friendly voice Dr. Jackson said, "Adam Christian, please sit down, my boy." Then he and the other men took their seats.

But Adam remained standing stiffly before them.

He focused his eyes on a picture on the wall behind the three men. It was a cross-stitch, needlework sampler of the alphabet with some flowers around the edge. In his nervousness, Adam couldn’t help but read the letters one at a time.

"I see in your records," said Dr. Jackson, shuffling some papers on the table before him, "that you came from the Tananan people up along the Yukon River. What is your Indian name?"

Adam dropped his head and mumbled, "Gnob."

"Did you say, ‘Gnob’?" interrupted the tall, dark man on the left. "Wasn’t that the name of a Tanana chief some time back?"

Adam nodded and said, "My grandfather."

"Well," said Dr. Jackson, "but now you go by the name of . . ." He glanced again at the paper in front of him. "Adam Christian. Did one of the priests at the Episcopal mission there give you that name?"

"No, sir," said Adam, still staring straight ahead. "I chose it for myself."

"Is that so? And what made you choose such an interesting name?"

"Since Adam in the Bible was the first man," explained the boy, "I wanted to be the first man from my Tananan tribe to make it in the outside world. I also wanted everyone to know that I am a Christian. So I am Adam Christian."

"Well, now," said Jackson, puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster and turning to the large man by his side, "what do you think of that, Captain Healy? I told you some of these Indians have ambition."

Captain Michael Healy, thought Adam. Of course that’s who the big man is. Adam had never met the captain, but everyone in Alaska had heard of him. He captained the revenue cutter the Bear along Alaska’s coast, stopping poachers from killing seals, walrus, and whales out of season. He and the Bear had rescued many fishermen. And he was always arresting the crew of some ship trying to smuggle whiskey and rum to the Eskimos and Indians. Adam had seen a sparkling three-masted cutter with one smokestack anchored in Sitka’s harbor earlier that morning. It must have been the Bear.

Adam stole a glance at Dr. Jackson. The little man had an impish grin on his face as he looked over the top of his spectacles at the captain. The boy’s hopes rose. He straightened his shoulders again. Maybe he was making a good impression on the doctor.

Captain Healy, however, turned disinterestedly away and pulled at the right corner of his mustache. "You know, Doctor," he said with a sigh, "I’ve never doubted for a moment the ambition of these young people. The only question is, in what direction will you point it?"

"Indeed, indeed so," said Dr. Jackson with the confidence of the first robin in spring. "And that’s why I offered this scholarship. I knew any number of boys would work hard for a trip to Washington." He turned back to Adam, who quickly averted his eyes back up to the needlework on the wall. "What do you say, son—is that something you’d like?"

"Oh yes, sir. I would like it very much." He paused for a moment, trying to think of what he could say that would demonstrate his seriousness. "I would consider it an important educational opportunity," he said, pronouncing the big words with care.

"Very good, very good," said Jackson, rubbing his two small hands rapidly together as though he were generating heat. "But tell me, why didn’t you go to the St. James Mission school near your home on the Yukon? Don’t you miss your family?"

Adam had answered this question many times for his teachers and others at Sitka who wondered why he traveled over seven hundred miles south when another school was close to home. But this time his answer had to do more than satisfy someone’s curiosity. This time he would show the only person who really mattered what he intended to do with his life. He looked directly at Dr. Jackson and said, "I came to the Sitka Industrial and Training School—the school you started, sir—because it is the best school in Alaska, and I wanted the best training so I could become a success in the United States."

At this comment, Dr. Jackson stared off into space, his crooked smile almost erasing the frown lines between his eyebrows. The windows of the Sitka school had been opened to let in the fresh mountain air on that relatively warm Friday afternoon of June 11, 1897. Finally Captain Healy broke the silence.

"Yes, it’s good to want to be a success," he said. "We all want that for you—and the other students, as well. But why not be a success among your Tananan people? Why do you want to go to the States?"

Adam shrugged. "Why would I want to go back to my tribe?"

"Don’t you want to help your people—teach them what you have learned here?" asked the captain.

Adam hesitated slightly. "I . . . don’t want to live like an Indian," he murmured in a voice so quiet it could barely be heard, even in the small room.

"Of course not," put in Dr. Jackson. "And you would never again live like an Indian, not after what you have learned here. You’ll help your people by becoming a success wherever you go. Maybe you’ll become a . . . teacher or even a missionary like Peter McKay or Rev. Edward Marsden—now, they were Indians like yourself. I’m sure that would make your family very proud. You know Rev. Marsden, don’t you? He did very well at Marietta College and Lane Theological Seminary. And I’m confident that the mission board will send him as the new pastor to the village of Saxman by next summer. Think of that, son. You could follow in his footsteps."

Adam took a breath. "But I don’t want to follow in his footsteps," he said stubbornly. He wanted to sound grateful, but he had his own goals. He had never met Edward Marsden personally, but he had heard enough about him around Sitka. The full-blooded native was often mentioned as one of the school’s model graduates from years past. But as Dr. Jackson had just noted, Edward Marsden was going back to live among his Indian people, something Adam had no intention of doing. "What I want to do," said Adam in a quiet voice, "is become a success like you, Dr. Jackson."

A warm smile spread slowly across Dr. Jackson’s sharp features. "Well," he said, looking down at his papers again, "can you recite something for me, son? I need to know whether you have a good grasp of the king’s English."

"But, Sheldon, whatever for?" said Captain Healy impatiently. "Let the lad go. You have his records . . . along with the records of all the others. Obviously he understands and speaks English well enough to get—"

" ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ " interrupted Adam. " ‘I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me—’ "

"That’ll do. That’ll do," said Captain Healy, waving his left hand before his face as though brushing away a mosquito. "We’ve been here all afternoon, Sheldon. Why must this boy give us a recitation?"

"I need to know," said Dr. Jackson in a quiet but determined voice. "I need to know how he might come across . . . in public."

Adam spoke up. "I speak good English because I am the only Tananan here. No one else knows my tribal language, so I learned English quickly—more quickly than the other boys," he added, hoping Dr. Jackson would take note of his intelligence. He paused and looked from one man to the other. When no one said anything for a moment, Adam continued reciting Psalm 23. " ‘. . . he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness—’ "

"Good heavens." Healy threw up his hands and hissed through his lips like steam leaking from a ship’s boiler. "Must I also endure a sermon? I haven’t been drinking that much on this trip, but you’ll try anything to convert me, won’t you, Sheldon?" He stopped, then suddenly twisted in his chair to face Sheldon Jackson and slammed his huge right fist into the palm of his left hand. "That’s it! Isn’t it?" he said with a look of wonderment on his face. "I can’t believe it, Sheldon. You will try anything! You’re planning a circus. You want to parade one of these poor fools in front of your Presbyterian missionary societies in the States so you can raise more money."

"Well, what if I do? They deserve to know that their contributions have been wisely spent." Jackson’s voice was tense, but his tone changed to polite gentleness when he said, "Thank you, Adam. I trust that will be all. We’ll see you tonight at the graduation."

G G G G

That evening, with the summer sun still bright over the many small islands in Sitka Bay and the forested mountains rising steeply to snowy peaks behind the school, the graduating class of fourteen boys and five girls marched toward the small campus chapel. A light breeze slid down from the mountains behind the school, bringing with it the scent of cedar and pine, of damp moss in the shadows and dashing ice-cold brooks.

Inside the crowded chapel awaited the younger students, a few of the leading citizens from town, and the proud parents of the graduates—all, that is, except Adam’s parents. But he didn’t care. This was still an evening to remember.

The graduates walked somberly down the aisle and onto the platform while the little pump organ wheezed and whined its way through all five verses of "O God, Our Help in Ages Past." Then there were introductions by Superintendent Kelly and a speech by Dr. Jackson, but Adam was too excited to pay attention. He already knew that he was going to graduate. The only question was, would he win the award?

The graduation ceremony dragged on until Superintendent Kelly began reading the names of the graduates. Each one walked forward to receive a diploma and shake the superintendent’s and Dr. Jackson’s hands. When Adam’s name was called, he tried to be as dignified as everyone else, but he felt like thousands of mosquitoes were buzzing inside him.

He watched Dr. Jackson’s face as they shook hands. The doctor smiled and nodded to him, but it was nothing different than how he had greeted each of the other students. Adam felt uneasy as he made his way back to his place at the back of the platform. If Dr. Jackson had selected him for the award, wouldn’t he have announced it when Adam came forward? Or if that was not the time for the announcement, wouldn’t he have at least revealed his pleasure somehow to Adam when they shook hands?

Adam watched more carefully as the last two girls and one boy were called forward for their diplomas. But Dr. Jackson’s response to them was no different than he had received. His heart sank. It was all over. He hadn’t been selected for the award. Probably Dr. Jackson had decided on someone from one of the other schools.

It had all been a waste. Why had he allowed himself to dream such big dreams? It was foolish to pin all his hopes on one thing. Now he would have to go back to his village.

Just then Adam caught sight of a movement out of the corner of his eye. Over to the left side of the stage, behind the edge of a curtain out of sight of the audience, stood Captain Healy, his arms folded across his chest and his feet set wide apart as though he were on the deck of a pitching ship. He nodded ever so slightly when he saw Adam looking at him, and suddenly Adam was convinced that he had been the person who blocked his selection for the award.

That had to be it. He thought back over the interview and remembered that Healy and Jackson disagreed over him for some reason. Whatever it was, Healy must have talked Dr. Jackson out of choosing him for the award. A bitterness seized Adam as he stared at the rugged sea captain.

But the man was nodding at Adam. His eyes got big, and he pointed with little jerking motions toward the front of the platform. The audience was clapping, and the boy next to Adam nudged him.

"Adam Christian," Dr. Jackson was saying, "would you please come forward?"

In utter surprise, Adam put a hand to his chest and looked from side to side.

"Yes, you, my boy. You have won the scholarship award. Come forward and say something to the people."