Part 2 (1/2)
We tried to talk with Tommy a little about the _memaloost_. He said it was all the same with an Indian, whether he was _memaloost_, or on the _illahie_ (the earth); meaning that he was equally alive. We were told at the store, that Tommy still bought sugar and biscuits for his child who had died.
When we reached the other side of the portage, the surf roared so loud, it seemed frightful to launch the canoe in it; but Tommy praised R. as _skook.u.m_ (very strong) in helping to conduct it over. He seemed much more good-natured than the Indians we had travelled with before. He smiled at the loon floating past us, and spoke to it.
When we reached Dungeness, he represented that it would be very rough outside, in the straits. So he took us to a farmhouse. I began to suspect his motive, when I saw that there was a large Indian encampment there, and he pointed to some one he said was all the same as his mamma.
It was the exact representation of a sphinx,--an old gray creature lying on the sand, with the upper part of her body raised, and her lower limbs concealed by her blanket. I expected to see Tommy run and embrace her: but he walked coolly by, without giving her any greeting whatever; and she remained perfectly imperturbable, never stirred, and her expression did not change in the least. I was horror-stricken, but afterwards altered my views of her, and came to the conclusion that she was a good, kind mother, only that it was their way to refrain from all appearance of emotion. When we started the next morning, she came down to the canoe with the little _klootchman_, loaded with presents, which she carried in a basket on her back, supported by a broad band round her head,--smoking-hot venison, and a looking-gla.s.s for the child's grave, among them. The old lady waded into the water, and pushed us off with great energy and strong e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns.
As we approached Port Angeles, we had a fine view of the Olympic Range of mountains,--s.h.i.+ning peaks of silver in clear outline; later, only dark points emerging from seas of yellow light. Little clouds were drawn towards them, and seemed like birds hovering over them, sometimes lighting, or sailing slowly off.
EDIZ HOOK LIGHT, September 23, 1865.
This light-house is at the end of a long, narrow sand-spit, known by the unpoetical name of Ediz Hook, which runs out for three miles into the Straits of Fuca, in a graceful curve, forming the bay of Port Angeles.
Outside are the roaring surf and heavy swell of the sea; inside that slender arm, a safe shelter.
In a desolate little house near by, lives Mrs. S., whose husband was recently lost at sea. She is a woman who awakens my deepest wonder, from her being so able to dispense with all that most women depend on. She prefers still to live here (her husband's father keeps the light), and finds her company in her great organ. One of the last things her husband did was to order it for her, and it arrived after his death. I think the sailors must hear it as they pa.s.s the light, and wonder where the beautiful music comes from. There is something very soft and sweet in her voice and touch.
Sometimes I see the four children out in the boat. The little girls are only four and six years old, yet they handle the oars with ease. As I look at their bare bright heads in the suns.h.i.+ne, they seem as pretty as pond-lilies. I feel as if they were as safe, they are so used to the water.
PORT ANGELES, October 1, 1865.
Port Angeles has been the scene of a grand ceremony,--the marriage of Yeomans's daughter to the son of a Makah chief. Many of the Makah tribe attended it. They came in a fleet of fifty canoes,--large, handsome boats, their high pointed beaks painted and carved, and decorated with gay colors. The chiefs had eagle-feathers on their heads, great feather-fans in their hands, and were dressed in black bear-skins. Our Flat-heads in their blankets looked quite tame in contrast with them.
They approached the sh.o.r.e slowly, standing in the canoes. When they reached the landing in front of Yeomans's ranch, the congratulations began, with wild gesticulations, leapings, and contortions. They were tall, savage-looking men. Some of them had rings in their noses; and all had a much more primitive, uncivilized look, than our Indians on the Sound. I could hardly believe that the gentlemanly old Yeomans would deliver up his pretty daughter to the barbarians that came to claim her, and looked to see some one step forward and forbid the banns; but the ceremony proceeded as if every thing were satisfactory. There may be more of the true old Indian in him than I imagined; or perhaps this is a political movement to consolidate the friends.h.i.+p of the tribes. When they landed, they formed a procession, bearing a hundred new blankets, red and white, as a _potlach_ to the tribe. They brought also some of the much-prized blue blankets, reserved for special ceremonies and the use of chiefs.
What occurred inside the lodge, we could not tell; but were quite touched at seeing Yeomans's son take the flag from his dead sister's grave, and plant it on the beach at high-water mark, as if it were a kind of partic.i.p.ation, on the part of the dead girl, in the joy of the occasion.
OCTOBER 5, 1865.
Flocks of crows hover continually about the Indian villages. The most proverbially suspicious of all birds is here familiar and confiding. The Indian exercises superst.i.tious care over them, but whether from love or fear we could never discover. It is very difficult to find out what an Indian believes. We have sometimes heard that they consider the crows their ancestors. It is a curious fact, that the Indians, in talking, make so much use of the palate,--_kl_ and other guttural sounds occurring so often,--and that the crow, in his deep ”caw, caw,” uses the same organ. It may be significant of some psychological relations.h.i.+p between them.
III.
Indian Chief Seattle.--Frogs and Indians.--Spring Flowers and Birds.--The Red _Tamahnous_.--The little Pend d'Oreille.--Indian Legend.--From Seattle to Fort Colville.--Crossing the Columbia River Bar.--The River and its Surroundings.--Its Former Magnitude.--The Grande Coulee.--Early Explorers, Heceta, Meares, Vancouver, Grey.--Curious Burial-Place.--Chinese Miners.--Umatilla.--Walla Walla.--Sage-Brush and Bunch-Gra.s.s.--Flowers in the Desert.--”Stick”
Indians.--Klickatats.--Spokane Indian.--Snakes.--Dead Chiefs.--A Kamas-Field.--Basaltic Rocks.
SEATTLE, WAs.h.i.+NGTON TERRITORY, November 5, 1865.
We saw here a very dignified Indian, old and poor, but with something about him that led us to suspect that he was a chief. We found, upon inquiry, that it was Seattle, the old chief for whom the town was named, and the head of all the tribes on the Sound. He had with him a little brown sprite, that seemed an embodiment of the wind,--such a swift, elastic little creature,--his great-grandson, with no clothes about him, though it was a cold November day. To him, motion seemed as natural as rest.
Here we first saw Mount Rainier. It was called by the Indians _Tacoma_ (The nouris.h.i.+ng breast). It is also claimed that the true Indian name is _Tahoma_ (Almost to heaven). It stands alone, nearly as high as Mont Blanc, triple-pointed, and covered with snow, most grand and inaccessible-looking.
We have a great laurel-tree beside our house. It looks so Southern, it is strange to see it among the firs. It has a dark outer bark, and a soft inner skin; both of which are stripped away by the tree in growing, and the trunk and branches are left bare and flesh-colored. It has glossy evergreen leaves, and bright red berries, that look very cheerful in contrast with the snow.
APRIL 6, 1866.
The frogs have begun to sing in the marsh, and the Indians in their camps. How well their voices chime together! All the bright autumn days, we used to listen to the Indians at sunset; but after that, we heard no sound of them for several months. They sympathize too much with Nature to sing in the winter. Now the warm, soft air inspires them anew. All through the cold and rainy months, as I looked out from my window, there was always the little black figure in the canoe, as free and as unembarra.s.sed by any superfluities as the birds that circled around it.
It seemed a mistake, when the most severe weather came, for them to have made no preparation whatever to meet it. It drove the women into our houses, with their little bundles of ”fire-sticks” (pitch-wood) to sell.