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CHAPTER 2

Episcopalianism Comes to Nets’aii Country

Gwich’in Christianity has become a way to affirm and embrace the old ways and the new ways, without losing cultural cohesiveness and solidarity. The Gwich’in are brilliant theologians. Gwich’in traditional culture is much closer to Christianity and Jesus than the dominating culture—Christian or not.

— Rev. Mark MacDonald, Bishop of Alaska (2001)

It is impossible to separate the settlement of the Nets’aii Gwich’in at Arctic Village from the concomitant arrival of Episcopalian Christianity to the region. What is significant and must be kept in mind here is that, unlike other aspects of imposed colonial culture, the Christian Church remains exceptional in the community as an institution that, despite its White European origins, is still largely loved and embraced by most, though not all, community members. The reasons, I contend, for why the Church in specific and Christianity in general are able to enjoy this exceptional status are rooted in their history and in how they came into the community from the outset.

In this chapter, I set out to look at the history of Christianity’s arrival to the Yukon Flats region, specifically Arctic Village. However, this religion’s appearance cannot be separated from a significant and charismatic figure in village history, Albert E. Tritt—nor, as one of the founding fathers of the village, can Tritt’s role be overstated. Yet, those who saw him as a role model—in terms of his position as both a religious and political leader—were at times at odds with other community members. This “rift” of sorts within the community was to play out throughout the twentieth century (Nickelson 2013); Tritt’s family was often in conflict with other village residents (G. James 2002), creating an uneasy dynamic.

Further still, Tritt’s building of the Bishop Rowe Chapel secured his role in the community and, further, finally made permanent the settlement of the Nets’aii Gwich’in at Arctic Village. In turn, the building also further concretized the role of Christianity within the community. The triangular relationship of the institution of Episcopalian Christianity, the leadership of Rev. Albert E. Tritt, and the physical presence of the Bishop Rowe Chapel together served as key anchors in the social development of what would eventually become the permanent community of Arctic Village, Alaska.

Traditional Nets’aii Gwich’in Spirituality

It is rather difficult to acquire information about Nets’aii Gwich’in spirituality prior to the arrival of Christianity that is not filtered through the perspective of outside or White observers. Relatively little is known among the community members themselves. Understanding of the pre-Christian period was limited at best. As one elder put it: “They were good people, but they didn’t know the Christian way. You do something wrong and you die. You’re stuck. If you fool around, you’re not living very long. That’s what the old people told the young” (I. Tritt 1987b).

One excellent source of information about the days before European contact is Johnny Frank’s testimony, found in Neerihiinjik, edited by Craig Mishler. Quoting Frank at length:

In those days, we didn’t know anything about God. Still, something really odd happened. People still say there is no secret about us up in heaven. But besides this they also talked about the Devil … The Russians were the first to help the Indians around here. We also heard that after them the English people landed somewhere down that way. But we didn’t get any help from them. Because of them many Alaskan Indians died off from all the diseases they brought over. But before that, our people didn’t die from diseases, and people didn’t get hurt. And it was really because of lots of people that they lived so well.

Nobody knows how long there have been men on this earth. Even the small animals that were alive back then were people, they say. The wolverines, the wolves, and the brown bears were all people. Even the foxes were people. The fish in the water were people, they say. But there were no moose in those days. They say all the animals died from the great flood long, long ago … In those days all the fish and all the small animals and big animals were human. And yet they all spoke one language, they say. (1995: 17, 19, 21)

Another noted exception is the Arctic Village minister and traditional chief Rev. Trimble Gilbert, one of the very few village residents who is familiar with the pre-Christian era and who acknowledges that this period even existed (Hadleigh-West 1963: 36). Understandably, however, his perspective concerning the early days before contact tends to emphasize the degree to which the arrival of Christianity was a positive force (Gilbert 1996). For example, he writes that early on, before Christianity arrived in the region, life was very difficult for the Nets’aii Gwich’in, and many struggled and starved:

And there’s a lot of different ways that people have problems during that time. And when Jesus was preaching on his sermon on the mount in Matthew chapter five and Jesus was talking about the pour people, the ones that are really thirsty, people suffering, there are many different ways people suffer in there before Jesus come and Jesus talk about people. That’s the same way I look at that [period] now [before the] first clergy arrive from Canada. People love to hear it, the Word of God, and they all believed, have true faith. Once they hear the good news. And they really become, they all become very strong Christians in this country. (Gilbert 1996)

Gilbert goes on to explain that once the Nets’aii Gwich’in were introduced to Christianity, they embraced it fully, reading from the Bible and holding prayer services, both on a daily basis. He emphasizes too that those who prayed hard worked hard and that prayer, work, and contemplation all were facets of early life in the new village settlement. He writes:

And when people travel and they make sure they are going to have service in the evening after all the hunting is done during the daytime and the people coming home from long hiking with snowshoes break trail all day looking for animals. After everybody come home, and they know for sure they going to have serve that night. Evening service. Sounds like there is a lot of people, a whole camp, I don’t know what they’ve been using for bibles maybe the small one … they carry around … everybody goes, once everybody ready for the service, then they all put on their snowshoes and they all run or walk to that camp and the evening service …

And I think that during that time in the cold winter when they traveled without food that they never stop believing in God, that they still follow, and Jesus and all they can, and all they depend on is in our heavenly father … And this is the way that they survive and many, many years they having hard time but they never did leave this country …

And the way I look at [the early village leaders] is that they never stop working even when they are eighty years old. They work hard for a living and I remember they get up early in the morning all of them early in the morning and they cook for themselves three times a day and they don’t stay up very late either in the camp, they all go to sleep and they get up early in the morning, around five. And they do something in the morning. So my thought about later on is that they are very strong and healthy and trained people. So what they teach us is the true life. So many of them said if you take the word which is good for your life and learn more about bibles, what bible says is true if you live by it you’re going to have long life. This is one of the good teachings for everyone. So this is the way our Episcopal Church came into this country many years ago in 1847 and some later in the whole Yukon flat people are very strong Christian people. So that Church is still there and we should really think about our Great grandfathers and grandmothers who used to live in this community why did they have a good life. (Gilbert 1996)

Gilbert’s thoughts, as well as Johnny Frank’s, are instructive. As elders, their observations provide much to the younger generations who may know little about their own history and heritage. In addition, much of our knowledge of precontact Nets’aii Gwich’in spirituality also comes from external sources. By combining the observations of the outsider with those of communal memory, a broader picture of spiritual development may begin to take shape.

For instance, Western sources generally accept that Nets’aii Gwich’in spirituality was similar to other Alaska Native traditions; as an example, Nets’aii Gwich’in tradition traced creation to supernatural spirits in the region. As hunters and gatherers, a connection with the land was understandably strong. The Nets’aii Gwich’in held that there was little if any distinction between the human and animal worlds. This was most especially true when it came to the caribou, an animal believed to share a physical connection with the human race in a literal sense (Dinero 2003a: 9).

Gwich’in spirituality prior to contact also included belief in a variety of supernatural beings. Most prominent among them was the bushman, or the “Na’in” (Hadleigh-West 1963: 37; McKennan 1965: 77; Osgood 1936: 160; Slobodin 1981: 527). Outsiders or others encountered in the bush who were not recognized by community members were at times thought to be such creatures. White authors have written about such topics with romantic fascination, suggesting, for example, that bushmen were humans who at one point were forced by starvation to resort to cannibalism. As a result, they left the community and lived in the bush in caves or underground. In effect, these men were pushed to the periphery of the community through blood feuds or other communal strife, forced to live outside of the village in holes or other unenviable places (Mason 1924: 60).

As Richard Slobodin suggests, bushmen may be viewed as isolated men who became ostracized by the broader community for failing to offer mutual support in times of need. Though stronger than humans, due to their supernatural condition, these beings could be “overmatched” and overpowered under the right circumstances, but their origins stemmed from their dysfunctional or inadequate role in the community:

If [a] family happened to find game and was unable to bring food to the main party in time, so that the others died, tradition holds that the line family of survivors avoided other people thenceforth. As an informant put it, “They were too sad to be with other people. And besides, they were afraid of the people.” The survivors, it is said, would build a pit lodge with a carefully camouflaged dome roof, avoiding the use of fire whenever other humans were in the vicinity. Such people became bush men. Other bush men were individuals, sole survivors of single or paired families whose other members had fallen victims to misfortune. (Slobodin 1960: 127)

In addition to the bushmen, some authors also mention the “brush man” or Tinjih Rui (Gwich’in, the “black man”), who was said to be tall and thin with an odd appearance and held miraculous powers, including exceptional abilities of locomotion (Mason 1924: 58–59). Some suggest that this being was similar but not identical to the bushman or Na’in, although Cornelius Osgood believes that the differences between these beings was limited at best and that they are likely various aspects of the same creature (1936: 160). In any case, Mason contends that there are differences and that belief in the “wild bushmen” tended to be more common among the men, while women and children were inclined to fear the brush man (1924: 60–61).

Robert McKennan notes that belief in such supernatural beings was said to exist up until the early decades of the twentieth century (1965: 77). Slobodin notes too (1960: 127) that by the 1930s, elders continued to press forward with this belief while more “modern” sensibilities began to prevail among the younger generations. Yet, when I personally encountered someone (or something) I could not identify while hiking Dachan Lee Mountain in the summer of 2011, no one I told seemed surprised.

In short, the “person” I saw was no more than 50 to 75 meters ahead of me—male, with short straight dark hair and clearly Gwich’in in appearance. He was tall—easily 6 feet—stood ramrod straight with his arms stiffly held at his sides, and wore jeans and a black leather jacket. His feet were never visible to me, but was not difficult to spot; at that point on the mountain, I was above the tree line (the meaning of “Dachan Lee” in English), where one can see for several meters in any given direction. I called out to him several times, although I had never seen him before. No reaction, no response. The village is so small; I had been there several times over the years. How was it possible that there was someone here I had never seen before, and more to the point, how did he get up here? Villagers rarely hike the mountain; they use their ATVs. Moreover, he was alone. Why?

What happened next was even more implausible. As I got closer to him, he literally glided straight up the mountainside, as if he were on an escalator. He just seemed to coast in one smooth motion. Anyone who has climbed this mountain knows that at this point the incline is somewhat steep, covered with boulders that one must bypass with care—but not, apparently, this fellow. I followed in close pursuit. Reaching the top minutes after he did, I looked around. There is nothing on the crest of that mountain but sun-bleached caribou antlers, caribou and bear sign, old rusted cans, and charred lichen where campfires once burned. No trees. No bushes. And on that sunny July morning, no other people for miles around either.

Initially, I was gently ribbed about what I saw or may have seen when I caught up with friends later (perhaps because, as Michael Mason notes [1924: 66], discussion of such beings with outsiders requires caution in the “modern” era for fear of ridicule of one’s cultural beliefs). However, I was eventually regaled with several stories of what others had also seen during their numerous trips “up mountain” over the years. By comparison, my story was neither unique nor all that bizarre or extraordinary.

Indeed, the supernatural aspects of traditional Gwich’in spirituality cannot and should not be easily dismissed, as they provide a significant scaffolding and support structure that transcend every aspect of pre-Christian society. Shamans, for example, also played an important role in traditional Gwich’in society and culture. A shaman was said to develop his powers in his mid-teens. In time, once this power was fully developed, shamans would adopt a “companion animal” and carry various animal-related paraphernalia with them, such as the head of that animal.

Shamans served in a variety of functions. Economically, they assisted in bringing success to the hunt. Their ability to intercede between the animal and human worlds was essential in drawing the two together in order to facilitate success in acquiring food in a harsh and unforgiving environment (Osgood 1936: 158). Moses Sam, for example, told the following story in this regard (1987):

One old-timer told me a story that a long time ago people starving and don’t know where he’s gonna get food. And medicine man, he talked to him. And he make a big fire, people circle around, circle around just singing. And the medicine man just sing. And all the people follow. Circle around to the fire. The medicine man, he sing. The big pile of snow, he just go in there and he grab a caribou horn … [then] he pull it out.

That’s medicine man. Then in the early morning people just go out. Everybody go out there. When the daylight come, they see caribou. He use the bone marrow to find it. The caribou try to run away but he had the bone marrow. So he saved the people’s life.

Shamans also acted as medical professionals. They knew the land and its resources well and could use various plants and animal resources to cure sickness, help with childbirth, and aid in other similar needs. Again, the shaman served as intermediary, being most familiar with the natural world and recognizing what is foreign or abnormal. His role was to remove or eliminate that which was harmful or unnatural, using all means at his disposal (Dinero 2003a: 10).

Upon European contact and the arrival of Christianity to the region, the role of the shaman saw immediate decline, but shamanistic behaviors, values, and beliefs would persist for decades to come (Dinero 2003a: 12). The “meshing” of the traditional with the White, Western, Christian, European system of religious thought was revolutionary, with ramifications reverberating to the present day.

The History of the Church and the Role of Albert E. Tritt

The early origins of Episcopalian Christianity in the Alaska Interior follow a trajectory of White imperial intervention and conquest. The Church came to the region, via Anglican Canada, after the Hudson’s Bay Company built a trading post at Fort Yukon in 1847 (Mishler 1990: 121). However, it was not until the latter part of the nineteenth century that the Church penetrated the most distant Native communities in the territory, home to the Nets’aii Gwich’in Athabascans of the northeast region. Both White anthropologists and Church officials have documented the events that occurred during this period and their early aftermath (McDonald 1863; Nelson 1986; Slobodin 1981; Stuck 1916, 1920; Wooten 1967).

Archbishop Hudson Stuck, the first archdeacon of the Alaskan diocese, for example, writes of how this region of Alaska was allotted to the Episcopal Church as part of what amounted to a “gentlemen’s agreement” (1920: 13):

A meeting of the secretaries of the principal missionary boards was held at which an informal working agreement as to the allotment of certain regions … was reached … It was a wise, statesmanlike thing to do; it has resulted in an almost complete absence in Alaska of the unfortunate, discreditable conflicts between rival religious bodies which have not been unknown elsewhere.

The missionaries of the day were apparently willing to recognize that each church had “limited resources” and it was only “reasonable” that those who had already converted to a particular faith of Christianity were to be left alone (Mishler 1990: 122). Still, Mishler suggests, the Episcopal Church succeeded in winning over the hearts and minds of the Nets’aii Gwich’in by the mid-1860s (1990: 125) only after a lively competition had ensued with the Catholic Church, during which this “agreement” was often ignored.

The missionizing of this region of Alaska used a multipronged approach. On the one hand, missionaries such as Rev. W.W. Kirkby, who arrived in 1861, were sent directly into the field to work with the population and to teach them about Christian beliefs and values. Successful aspects of the appeal to Gwich’in sensibilities included speaking the local language and showing an appreciation for local customs and habits; additionally, Mishler suggests, some locals were “bribed” into conversion through the attractive offer of tobacco (1990: 122). But perhaps to greater effect, these same missionaries located and educated Native community members, who were to prove equally if not even more effective in transmitting Christian views to the people in a more easily understood and accepted way (Dinero 2003a: 7; Mishler 1990: 125). The millennia-old culture, beliefs, and traditions of the Nets’aii Gwich’in were all now under attack from insidious means that were difficult to detect or fend off. Another missionary, Rev. Robert McDonald, made his first visit to the region in 1863 and found that the Gwich’in were a curious people, eager to hear about Christianity and to adopt its practices (McDonald 1863; see Dinero 2003a: 7).

Such unguarded receptivity also appears to have come at a high price, for those carrying the message of Christian teachings and beliefs were firm in their convictions, and non-Christian behaviors were viewed with contempt—or worse. Archbishop Stuck was beloved by many in the Native community; he strove to respect Native culture and traditions and was thus highly regarded. Yet, when it came to the question of traditional spirituality, Stuck was firm in his highly ethnocentric and imperialist views. He writes:

The “animism” of the Yukon Indians was a gloomy and degrading superstition. It had not anywhere, I think, the horrible accompaniments of human sacrifice and cannibalism found elsewhere, but it lived in a constant dread of the baleful activities of disembodied spirits, and in constant subjection to the shaman or medicine man, who possessed the secret of propitiating these spirits and of subjecting them to his own commands … Many of the thaumaturgic stories told of these conjurors suggest the possession of clairvoyant and hypnotic powers. The people, without exception, cowered under this sordid tyranny, a prey to its panic terrors …

[T]hat the Indian race of interior Alaska is threatened with extinction, there is unhappily little room to doubt; and that the threat may be averted is the hope and labour of the missionaries amongst them. (Stuck 1916: 317 as quoted in Dinero 2003a, emphasis added)

The contempt for traditional Nets’aii Gwich’in values and culture that underpinned the views of one of the Natives’ most influential and highly regarded longtime friends and supporters is not likely to surprise the twenty-first century reader. Given the era, the values of the missionary effort, and the mentality of those who led this movement, imperialistic attitudes were to be expected. Of far greater interest here, however, is the question of how the Gwich’in were socially encapsulated into this new mindset—for it is one thing for outsiders to degrade or undervalue one’s history, heritage, and cultural traditions. It is another thing entirely to foster a sentiment through which a community begins to alter course, slowly but surely accepting foreign set of values and beliefs that vary from, if not contradict entirely, the bedrock ideologies of the past.

By the turn of the twentieth century, the conversion of most of the Gwich’in to Episcopalian Christianity was clearly well under way. Yet, as the furthermost northern Gwich’in community, the Nets’aii of the region who were slowly settling at Arctic Village continued to practice more traditional aspects of pre-Christian spirituality. In this regard, the most significant figure in this transition was Rev. Albert E. Tritt. By all accounts, Tritt may be viewed as one of if not the central founding fathers of Arctic Village, though his biography has yet to be written. Lincoln Tritt, one of his grandchildren, was perhaps best suited to this task (L. Tritt 1999), but when he passed suddenly in late October 2012 while still working on Tritt’s papers, few were able to quickly step in and fill his shoes. I have previously documented a portion of what exists in written form by Western observers (see Dinero 2003a). In addition to Tritt’s own materials, there is some unpublished material about the man and his beliefs that further an understanding of who he was and, more importantly, his contribution to the evolution and development of the Gwich’in community as it has moved into the twenty-first century.

In short, Tritt must be recognized as an exceptional spiritual leader who had numerous charismatic qualities as well as unique talents and abilities in hunting, fishing, and gathering. He was—to quote one of his grandsons, now a village elder—“an amazing man. He was spiritual and traditional and he was a good hunter” (G. James 2002). Rev. Tritt (1875–1955) was the first Nets’aii Gwich’in Episcopalian deacon to come from Arctic Village. From all indications, his conversion to Christianity did not seem to occur by chance. Indeed, his father had studied under Rev. McDonald during his time in the region in the 1860s. Throughout his journals, Tritt discusses the important role his father played in imbuing him and his siblings with reverence for the Bible and its teachings.

In 1895, at the age of 20—not at the age of 15 (see McKennan 1965: 87)—or possibly as early as 1887 according to his son (see I. Tritt 1987a), Tritt saw his first Christian Bible, which made a great impression on him. He was determined to learn more, but only in 1914 did he acquire his own copy after having used others’ copies over the years. As Tritt recalls in one of his journal entries: “When I am walking I first think all about the Bible. There [are] not any boys like me [and] that is why I think about it all the time and I am learning it quick[ly]. My father tell[s] me the words that I don’t know [and] when Sunday come[s] my father talks [about] the Bible [with me]” (A. Tritt n.d.).

It is, of course, difficult in retrospect to fully analyze Albert Tritt’s attitudes or motivations during this key period. He was young, intelligent, and impressionable, seeking new insights that quite clearly resonated for him in the Gospels. However, what is notable here is that Tritt recognized Christianity by its very roots as a means to ever-greater strength and power. He had access to the Christian liturgy in Takudh (pronounced “Dago’o”), developed by the Anglican Canadian Archdeacon Robert McDonald in the 1870s. This written version of Gwich’in well served the community for decades, providing a considerable sense of spiritual unity and identity through the written Word.

Still, Tritt’s desire to embrace Christian teachings and his eventual movement toward becoming one of if not the most influential missionizing influences in Gwich’in history stemmed, in part or in whole, from his belief that the White man’s elevated status came from his ability to read and write. Thus, by embracing Christianity and its primary text, the English-language Bible, Tritt approached Christian teachings with exceptional commitment and fervor. His son Isaac once said of his father: “He believes it pretty bad. He read the Book … all of it. And they [his friends and followers] read it too … Then he makes a Sunday school too. And he makes a service every night, every day … [and] they learn pretty quick … because it’s in their own language” (I. Tritt 1987a).

McKennan writes in his 1933 journals that Tritt literally spoke English in the manner of the Bible, something he found “most astonishing” (Mishler and Simeone 2006: 176). Tritt even wrote his own journals in a biblical fashion, following a manner similar to the Book of Genesis. For example, he began his journals by listing the many names of those who lived in the region at the time, before entering a narrative of his thoughts, experiences, and ideas. As Lincoln Tritt (1999) studied these readings, he realized that in many ways, how Rev. Tritt wrote down his ideas was as important as what he wrote:

At first, I thought he was copying the format of the Bible, but then I realized that in order to learn about our past, we have to be able to identify with it. As a result, we learn about “who we are” and “where we came from.” These two knowledges of identity are what gives us our humanity. As a result, we acquire the ability to learn instead of being programmed. This was the way the people in the past learned and the way my generation learned as children in the woods. This was where we learned how to use all our senses, sight, hearing, smell, taste, and feeling with all our nervous system. These heightened our awareness and it also made us a part of our environment.

In a 1987 interview, Rev. Isaac Tritt Sr., Lincoln’s father and Albert’s son, confirms Lincoln’s beliefs. Speaking to an interviewer from Fairbanks, he repeated, in brief, the genealogical history of the Nets’aii Gwich’in as he had learned it. The story is remarkably biblical in its basic elements but also reflects the challenging conditions that had once existed in the region and how only struggle and perseverance to hunt and gather food saved the people:

Way before, the people and the Eskimo were not friends together. Jealous I guess. So they make a war. Not Arctic Village area but down by Venetie and Allakaket. Two hundred fifty or two hundred years ago, there is war; they fight together. They killed them all. Only four woman left and one man. They made a life some way. At the same time he’s married [to them].

The first woman he has five children I think, and the second one, I don’t know how many, but the third one had a big family. The fourth didn’t have any, no children. These are the ones that come out to Venetie and Arctic Village.

So they make their living there with water, fish. But it’s hard to make a living there with fish. At that time no fish net, no hook, no fish wheel, nothing. They don’t know how to make a fish wheel, nothing. So people are hungry. So they come here, they hear about the caribou, so they come up here. So lots of people come up here.

That first woman, a generation in Arctic Village, and the second woman is in Venetie, their last name is Roberts, and first one is here and the last name its Tritt, and here I know by this time, the last name is Sam. And the fourth woman didn’t have no kids. And these are the original people of Venetie and Arctic Village—one Gwich’in, one people. (I. Tritt 1987a, edited lightly in order to preserve the tone and verbiage used as spoken)

Indeed, Albert Tritt’s ability to draw together the teachings of the Christian Church with a subsistence lifestyle in such a remote Arctic region (later to be perpetuated by his children and grandchildren) and to guide the people to a better understanding of their place within the physical and spiritual worlds is considerably significant. His conversion seemed to follow a model straight out of the scriptures that he had so strongly embraced.

McKennan (1965: 87) writes that Tritt related an exceptional story to him about the events that unfolded during this transitional process of conversion. After returning from a Christmas service in Fort Yukon, Tritt went home to Arctic Village with his mind filled with questions about Christianity. “For forty days I wandered crying in the wilderness,” he told McKennan, trying to understand the Bible. During this quest for understanding, in true apocalyptic fashion, he was struck by a blinding flash of light and fell in a faint. When Tritt recovered consciousness, he was a new man who knew his vocation lay in bringing the Gospels to his people together with reading and writing. As Mackenzie explains, Tritt’s learning continued throughout extended stays in Fort Yukon. He initially served as a lay reader in Arctic Village, where he earned a stipend of $10 per month, and was ordained as a deacon in 1925 (1985: 112, 116). The Episcopalian Church’s use of community members as unordained lay readers in Native regions was not unprecedented; on the contrary, such individuals were extremely helpful to the Church’s evangelizing efforts, given their familiarity with the indigenous cultures and languages of the communities they served.

The level of Tritt’s Christian learning during this time is noted by John Fredson, himself a Native missionary, in his documentation of “A Trip to Arctic Village” in December 1922 (Fredson and Sapir 1982). As I discuss in greater depth in one of my earlier works, Tritt’s reputation continued to spread far and wide, though not everyone within Arctic Village was enamored with his directives (Dinero 2003a). Village elders Chief Esaias and especially Chief Christian had been recognized as the first official “chiefs” in the village who acquired their status via wealth and position as “big” men (see also Stern 2005: 33). They oftentimes served as Tritt’s primary political rivals in the community, seeking to counter and question his ideas and motives, and to draw the villagers’ loyalties in a more pragmatic-leaning direction. Clearly, Tritt was highly intelligent and gifted, but he was a man of the cloth with ideas that struck some as fantastic if not difficult to fully comprehend; White outsiders, in the meantime, only further perpetuated a narrative that suggested his exceptionality was freakish rather than uniquely gifted (McKennan 1965).

Nevertheless, others invited Fredson and Dr. Grafton Burke, a medical missionary from Fort Yukon, to travel to Arctic Village. Notably, Burke would be the first White man to ever visit Arctic Village (Mac­kenzie 1985: 116), ushering in a new era of exposure to Outside values, attitudes, and beliefs. Fredson tells of his meeting a young man whose name was “Drit” (that is, “Tritt”) upon arriving at the village in the winter of 1922. Tritt told Fredson that he wanted to know more about the Bible. As Fredson explains: “Until long past midnight he asked us questions about the Bible. As he always studied it, he knew quite a bit about it” (Fredson and Sapir 1982: 41–43).

By this time, Tritt had been studying the Bible for several years but would seek to further his understanding of its meanings throughout his lifetime. An ordained priest, Burke led the services during the fiveday stay at the village, during which a wedding took place and a child was baptized. Overall, Burke and Fredson later noted the high level of participation from adults and children alike, further evidence of Tritt’s teaching efforts and talents among the congregation. Indeed, the level of Christian observance in the community attracted the attention of Archdeacon F.B. Drane, who took over Hudson Stuck’s duties upon his death in 1920. As a result, Drane also visited Arctic Village in 1923. Drane’s reaction was similarly filled with praise, only further confirming the contention that Tritt was a highly motivated, intense figure.

This intensity was reflected in McKennan’s journals, written a decade later, in which he describes a man so strongly committed to his quest: “Verily he is half-mad, a mystic and a seer of the type that in another age and another culture would have been a St. Augustine or a St. Francis, or possibly a Cromwell. After my visit with him I think I know why the natives of this village decamped so suddenly after his arrival” (Mishler and Simeone 2006: 177).