Aleutian Indian and English Dictionary: Common Words in the Dialects of the Aleutian Indian Language as Spoken by the Oogashik, Egashik, Anangashuk and Misremie Tribes Around Sulima River and Neighboring Parts of the Alaska Peninsula

In Short

This work is a specialized glossary compiled in 1896, designed to facilitate communication between Alaska’s indigenous peoples—specifically those of the Oogashik, Egashik, Egegik, Anangashuk, and Misremie tribes—and the travelers, traders, or settlers arriving on the Alaska Peninsula. By listing common words, phrases, and numerical systems, it serves as a linguistic bridge for commerce and daily interaction. While framed by the era’s utilitarian objectives, it remains a rare, archival snapshot of the regional dialects spoken along the Sulima River during a period of significant geographical and cultural transition.

The Story

The narrative of this work is one of structured encounter. It begins with the author’s preface, which establishes the premise: the indigenous people of the Alaskan Peninsula have no written language, and therefore, an external agent must provide a system of transcription to allow outsiders to function within the territory. The author positions himself as an experienced resident, someone whose years of local interaction grant him the authority to codify the spoken word for the benefit of "travelers or traders."

The body of the book follows a rigid, alphabetical progression, starting with the most basic nouns and verbs required for survival and exchange. The vocabulary reflects a world defined by the harsh environment and the arrival of global trade goods. Early entries include items like "Anchor," "Arrow," and "Beaver," but quickly shift to list imported commodities such as "Bread," "Butter," "Beer," "Coffee," and "Sugar." This reflects the reality of the 1896 Alaskan frontier, where traditional hunting life intersected with the supply lines of the Alaska Commercial Company.

As the text proceeds, the language reveals the dynamics of this contact. There are entries for "Church" and "Church warden," noting the influence of Orthodox Christianity, alongside terms for "Russian" money, reflecting the historical legacy of the territory’s previous colonial administration. The dictionary does not offer philosophical or poetic insight; it is strictly functional. It provides phrases for simple requests—asking for food, identifying goods, or navigating the weather—and even includes specific vocabulary for the "native" technology of the region, such as the various sizes of the "cayak" (canoe) and the "barkey" (skin overcoat).

The work concludes with a series of appendices that shift the focus from the general to the specific. It details numerical systems and currency conversions, grounding the language in the practicalities of trade. The final, most revealing portion of the text is a list of individuals and companies who have been "re-christened" with local names. By recording how the local tribes named specific visitors, the author unintentionally captures the process of mutual identification. The book ends not with a grand conclusion, but with a practical directory of trading posts and names, signaling the finality of the author's intent: to render a vast, complex, and ancient linguistic landscape into a convenient, pocket-sized ledger for the convenience of the outsider.

How It Unfolds

The framework is established The preface sets a pragmatic tone, justifying the dictionary's existence as a tool for "mutual benefit" between the indigenous population and the encroaching commercial interests. It highlights the author’s claim of local expertise as the primary qualification for transcribing a language that possessed no written form.

The vocabulary begins The initial entries focus on concrete objects and essential human experiences, ranging from body parts to natural elements like fire and water. This section establishes the basic, survival-oriented lexicon necessary for a trader to interact with the environment and the people who inhabit it.

The influx of trade and influence The dictionary expands to include terminology for imported goods, religious institutions, and modern machinery. This central beat demonstrates how the language adapted to accommodate the arrival of Russian, American, and other commercial influences in the region.

The transactional reality The later sections move into the specifics of numbers and currency conversion, emphasizing the economic motivation behind the book. By detailing how prices were calculated in rubles and cents, the author maps the transition from a traditional economy to a monetary one.

The final identification The book concludes with a list of "re-christened" figures, showing how local tribes categorized the outsiders who arrived among them. This appendix provides a rare, if limited, glimpse into the social hierarchy of the Sulima River area at the end of the 19th century.

The People

The "people" in this work are not characters in a traditional sense, but archetypes defined by their role in a colonial-era exchange. The primary figure is the author, Charles A. Lee, who presents himself as a seasoned, practical intermediary. He is motivated by a sense of utility; he views the language as a commodity that can be organized, packaged, and sold to the "traveler" or "trader." He does not engage with the culture as a scholar might, but as a resident who believes he is providing a necessary service to the advancement of commerce.

Opposite him are the indigenous tribes—the Oogashik, Egashik, Egegik, Anangashuk, and Misremie. They appear in the text as the source of the language, yet they are kept at a distance. They are the subjects of the dictionary, defined by their tools, their clothing, and their capacity for trade. While the author records their names for the white settlers and company agents, the indigenous people themselves remain silent and passive in the text. They are the providers of the information, yet their own voices are filtered entirely through the author's phonetic interpretation. Finally, there are the "re-christened" individuals, such as the staff of the Alaska Commercial Company. They represent the new, institutional presence in Alaska—the captains and merchants who, through these entries, have been folded into the local linguistic map, effectively becoming part of the region's landscape through their newly assigned names.

In Its Own Voice

The aborigines of this far away country have no written language, and this work aims to put before the traveler or trader a means of communication with this people which it is hoped will be of mutual benefit to both.

This passage from the preface states the author's primary justification for the dictionary’s creation.

It is the custom among these people to give persons and companies a name in their own language.

This introduction to the appendix explains the cultural practice behind the list of assigned names for local traders and officials.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an artifact of the collision between indigenous sovereignty and commercial expansion. It explores the power dynamic inherent in translation: the act of "putting a language on paper" is an act of containment. By reducing a complex, oral culture to a series of dictionary entries, the book illustrates how the demands of the market—trade, navigation, and labor—inevitably reshape the way cultures perceive and speak to one another. It asks, implicitly, whether communication is truly possible when the framework is designed entirely for the benefit of the outsider, and it captures the moment when a traditional society is forced to develop a vocabulary for the commodities of a globalized, industrial world.

Why Read It Today

Reading this work today is a challenging, often sobering experience. Those interested in linguistic history or the specific colonial development of the Alaska Peninsula will find it valuable as a primary source, capturing the phonetic nuances of dialects that have shifted or disappeared over the last 130 years. It provides a stark, unvarnished look at how the 19th-century frontier functioned, stripped of romanticism and focused on the transactional reality of life in the Bering Sea region.

However, the reader must be prepared for the period attitudes that saturate the preface and the selection of vocabulary. The text reflects the era’s "civilizing" assumptions and a strictly instrumental view of indigenous culture. Because it is a product of its time, the dictionary is incomplete, occasionally idiosyncratic in its phonetic spelling, and entirely devoid of the cultural context that would give these words depth. It is not a book to be read for narrative pleasure; it is a rigid, utilitarian document. Yet, for the patient reader, it serves as a powerful, if flawed, window into a vanished era, preserving a fragment of an indigenous voice that was otherwise excluded from the written record of its own land. What stays with the reader is the chilling clarity of the commerce-focused language—the way "money" and "trade" occupy as much space as the natural world.