Part 35 (2/2)

Yutestid denied that _his_ people ate dog when making black tama.n.u.se, but said the Sklallams did so.

”If I could speak better English or you better Chinook I could tell you lots of stories,” he averred. Chinook is so very meager, however, that an interpreter of the native tongue will be necessary to get these stories.

They politely shook hands and bade me ”Good-bye” to jog off through the rain to their camping place, Indian file, he following in the rear contentedly smoking a pipe. Yutestid is industrious, cultivating a patch of ground and yearly visiting the city of Seattle with fruit to sell.

THE CHIEF'S REPLY.

Yonder sky through ages weeping Tender tears o'er sire and son, O'er the dead in grave-banks sleeping, Dead and living loved as one, May turn cruel, harsh and brazen, Burn as with a tropic sun, But my words are true and changeless, Changeless as the season's run.

Waving gra.s.s-blades of wide prairie Shuttled by lithe foxes wary, As the eagle sees afar, So the pale-face people are; Like the lonely scattering pine-trees On a bleak and stormy sh.o.r.e, Few my brother warriors linger Faint and failing evermore.

Well I know you could command us To give o'er the land we love, With your warriors well withstand us And ne'er weep our graves above.

See on Whulch the South wind blowing And the waves are running free!

Once my people they were many Like the waves of Whulch's sea.

When our young men rise in anger, Gather in a war-bent band, Face black-painted and the musket In the fierce, relentless hand, Old men pleading, plead in vain, Their dark spirits none restrain.

If to you our land we barter, This we ask ere set of sun, To the graves of our forefathers, Till our days on earth are done, We may wander as our hearts are Wandering till our race is run.

Speak the hillsides and the waters, Speak the valleys, plains and groves, Waving trees and snow-robed mountains, Speak to him where'er he roves, To the red men's sons and daughters Of their joys, their woes and loves.

By the sh.o.r.e the rocks are ringing That to you seem wholly dumb, Ever with the waves are singing, Winds with songs forever come; Songs of sorrow for the partings Death and time make as of yore, Songs of war and peace and valor, Red men sang on Whulch's sh.o.r.e.

See! the ashes of our fathers, Mingling dust beneath our feet, Common earth to you, the strangers, Thrills us with a longing sweet.

Fills our pulses rhythmic beat.

At the midnight in your cities Empty seeming, silent streets Shall be peopled with the hosts Of returning warriors' ghosts.

Tho' I shall sink into the dust, My warning heed; be kind, be just, Or ghosts shall menace and avenge.

PART III.

INDIAN LIFE AND SETTLERS' BEGINNINGS.

CHAPTER I.

SAVAGE DEEDS OF SAVAGE MEN.

At Bean's Point, opposite Alki on Puget Sound, an Indian murdered, at night, a family of Indians who were camping there.

The Puyallups and Duwampsh came together in council at Bean's Point, held a trial and condemned and executed the murderer. Old Duwampsh Curley was among the members of this native court and likely Sealth and his counsellors.

One of the family escaped by wading out into the water where he might have become very cool, if not entirely cold, if it had not been that Captain Fay and George Martin, a Swedish sailor, were pa.s.sing by in their boat and the Indian begged to be taken in, a request they readily granted and landed him in a place of safety.

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