“OUT FOR OFFICE IN
ALASKA”
On account of the publicity which
has been given to an article as above
entitled in The Alaska Weekly, print
ed at Seattle on June 12th, it seems
necessary for this paper to make the
following statement:
William L. Paul is not now, nor
has he ever been, a candidate for the
office of United States District At
torney in the First Division. Nor is
he now, nor has he ever been, a
candidate for any other Federal ap
pointment. It seems impossible to
convince a great many people that
the interest which Mr. Paul is tak
ing in politics is not for the purpose
of advancing his private fortune*
or to get on the federal payroll.
The trip which he took East re
cently was to attend to a law case
tried in the City of Minneapolis,
Minnesota, and since he was so far
East he went on to visit his brother,
Samuel K. Paul, and other relatives
in the vicinity of New York City,
stopping at Washington on his way
there.
At the time Mr. Paul was in
Washington, John W. Frame seeme l
to be duly recognized as the Na
tional Committee man from Alaska,
and Charles H. Miller was still the
Assistant United States District At
torney, with headquarters at Ketchi
kan, Alaska, but on leave at Wash
ington, D. C. While at that place
he is being consulted daily in regards
to Alaska affairs.
We found the Honorable Dan Suth
erland to be in very much improved
health, and eagerly looking forward
to the convening of the next Con
gress, when he expects to renew his
fight for the correct solution of our
fishery problems with all the vigor
and force that he can muster. On
account of the rumors which have
been repeated in Alaska, to the ef
fect that he would not be a candi
date to succeed himself, we asked
him the direct question: “Have you
determined not to enter the race for
Congress at the next general elec
tion/’ To which he replied: “For a
time I had expected to drop out of:
political life, on gccount of my
health. It is generally known that >
was a very sick man during the last
election. I cannot say what I will
a year from now, but do not feel
that I can withdraw from the race
at this time. And unless conditions
change very materially, I will file
again for the office of Delegate.”
“Did you ever notice that a loud
talker is usually an ignorant per
son ?”
“Well, you needn’t shout. I’m not
deaf.”
0. WELL!!
I’ve put in time on the ragged edge,
I’ve lived with the idle rich;
I’ve breathed the air of the moun
tain’s top and the fumes of the
sewer ditch.
I’ve stood my trick on the rolling
bridge, I’ve reeked in the fire’s
glow;
I’ve timed my chant to the engine’s
throb with the black watch down
below.
I’ve marched with the legions of dis
content, I’ve stood with the sat
isfied;
I’ve groped my way in the gloom ot
sin, I’ve prayed with the sanctified.
I’ve danced and wined where the lilt
was gay and the lights a brilliant
red;
I’ve heard the bark of the gunman’s
gat and the truculent whine of
lead.
I’ve mushed o’er trackless wastes of
snow, and camped in the trailless
glen
Where those who failed are known
no more; where those who came
thro’ were men.
I’ve heard the siren song of gold and
the far away call of home;
I’ve panned the gravels from Ketchi
kan to the ocean strand of Nome.
I’ve trolled the sea for salmon where
the waves were crested white
And the sou’east scuds were hiding
every point of land from sight.
I’ve trekked the lonely trap line and
I’ve swung the woodman’s ax;
I’ve wrestled many a legend on the
granite mat of facts.
I’ve seen my fair Alaska thrive in
days of wild stampede;
I’ve seen her wilt in the grafter'*
clutch like a plant that has gone
to seed.
I’ve seen the silver horde decrease,
the game and the fur grow less;
I’ve seen the claws of the paper
trust sink deep in the wilderness.
I’ve seen the wealth of the land flow
South as tides on the ocean floor,
And naught returns but the master’s
voice in his wireless calls for more.
I’ve felt the stare of the empty shack,
I’ve heard the march of years
On rotting, moss grown village streets
where trod our pioneers.
I’ve done my share and my game’s
been fair no odds where I played
my hand;
In the trying race I’ve held the pace,
but I don’t understand
Why the painted things in their
crimson wings, and the vampire
bats of night
Can cast their votes while I am
barred because I cannot write.
O, well!!!
There are morals clean if you look
for them where vice is the atmos
phere;
There are hearts as big as barrels
along our last frontier.
There are minds that can’t be sul
lied in the mill of shady tricks,
There’s shining gold in the silt and
mud and slime of our politics.
AHN-KUTTY,
Kake, Alaska.
WHAT MAKES THE DEMO
CRATS SORE
In the anxiety of Tom Donohoe 1o
get a lot of votes for his candidates
last November he sent his other self,
named Babe Hayes, to Eyak, an In
dian village near Cordova, and there,
with the help of two or three women,
succeeded in getting about thirty-fi 'o
Natives out to the polls early on
election morning. They went in
style, being conveyed thither in au
tomobiles at no cost to them. These
Natives were carefully schooled to
vote for Frank Boyle for Delegate.
They were even furnished with sam
ple ballots carefully marked after
the manner to which the Democrats
objected down in the First Division.
These Indians looked like fools, and
Babe Hayes thought he had secured
thirty-five Boyle votes. But when
these Native Sons of Alaska went to
cast their ballot they showed that
they had their own ideas on the sub
ject, and in every case voted for
Dan Sutherland. This incident proves
two things. First: That these .so
called illiterate Natives know their
own friends, and they are not at all
fooled by the lying propaganda of
the Cordova Times. Secondly: Tho
reason the Democrats are opposed
to the Indians voting is because the
said Democrats cannot get the vote.
This is due to several reasons. First:
The character of the Democratic
leaders themselves. Secondly. The
policies pursued by these leaders is
entirely against the interests of the
Natives, and indeed against the
working men and the small mer
chants who depend upon this class
of laborers.
Smith is a young lawyer, clever in
many respects, but very forgetful.
He had been sent to a distant city
to interview an important client,
when the head of his firm received
this telegram: “Have forgotten name
of client. Please wire at once.”
The reply he received was a mas
terpiece of sarcasm, irony or some
thing. Tt ran: “Client’s rame Jen
kins. Your name Smith.”
“Willie, stop asking so many ques
tion. Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Mother, what did the cat want
to know?”