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diff --git a/28815-h/28815-h.htm b/28815-h/28815-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4319255 --- /dev/null +++ b/28815-h/28815-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9791 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bridge of the Gods, by Frederic Homer Balch</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:0.9em;} + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 110%;} + hr.fn {width:3em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; margin-left:0; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em;} + h4 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.1em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: 30%; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + hr.p100t {width:100%; margin-top:0.2em; margin-bottom:2em; border:none; border-bottom:3px solid black;} + hr.micro {width: 6%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both; margin: 2em auto;} + hr.mini {width: 10%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both; margin: 1.5em auto;} + .caption {font-size:0.9em;} + hr.p100b {width:100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom:0.3em; border:none; border-bottom:3px solid black;} + hr.tb {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 2.0em;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bridge of the Gods, by Frederic Homer +Balch, Illustrated by L. Maynard Dixon</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Bridge of the Gods</p> +<p> A Romance of Indian Oregon. 19th Edition.</p> +<p>Author: Frederic Homer Balch</p> +<p>Release Date: May 14, 2009 [eBook #28815]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<table summary="transcriber notes" style='margin:3em auto 0 auto; width:35em; border:1px solid; color:#778899; padding:5px;'> + +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Transcriber’s Notes: <br /><br /> + +Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved as printed in the original book except as noted at the end of this text. A list of these changes can be found <a href="#ATN">there.</a><br /><br /> + +Variations in the spelling of the Molalla Indian tribe have been retained.<br /><br /> + +Missing or extra quotation marks and minor inconsistencies of punctuationwere silently corrected. However, punctuation has not been changed to comply with modern standards. Inconsistency in hyphenation also has been retained.<br /><br /> + +Footnotes have been renumbered consecutively and placed at the end of each chapter.<br /><br /> + +Illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph.<br /><br /> + +All missing page numbers were intentionally omitted in the original publication. +<br /></p> +</td></tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 297px; height: 438px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 297px;'> +“<i>What think you now, Tohomish?</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table style='margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border:none;' summary="Title Page"> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:2.4em; font-weight:bold; letter-spacing:0.21em;'>THE BRIDGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:2.4em; font-weight:bold; letter-spacing:0.14em;'>OF THE GODS</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:1.6em; letter-spacing:0.01em; font-style:italic;'>A Romance of Indian Oregon</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:1.7em;word-spacing:0.2em;letter-spacing:0.3em'>By F. H. BALCH</span></td></tr> +<tr><td><hr class='p100t' /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:0.8em; font-style:italic'>With eight full-page illustrations by</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:1.1em; font-variant:small-caps; letter-spacing:0.13em;'>L. Maynard Dixon</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:0.7em; text-align:center; margin:3.5em 0 0;'>NINETEENTH EDITION</p></td></tr> +<tr><td style='text-align:center; height: 12em;'><img src="images/bridge-emb.png" alt='emblem' /></td></tr> +<tr><td><hr class='p100b' /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:1.1em; word-spacing:0.4em;'>CHICAGO . A. C. McCLURG & CO.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<span style='font-size:1.0em; word-spacing:0.7em; letter-spacing:0.06em; font-style:italic;'>NINETEEN HUNDRED & FIFTEEN</span></td></tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Copyright</span><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A. C. McClurg & Co.</span><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>1890 and 1902</span><br /></p> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:0.7em; margin-top:3.0em;'>W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>PUBLISHERS’ NOTE</h2> +<hr class='mini' /> +<p>Encouraged by the steady demand for Mr. Balch’s +“The Bridge of the Gods,” since its publication +twelve years ago, the publishers have decided to issue a +new edition beautified with drawings from the pencil of +Mr. L. Maynard Dixon. This tale of the Indians of the +far West has fairly earned its lasting popularity, not only +by the intense interest of the story, but by its faithful +delineations of Indian character.</p> +<p>In his boyhood Mr. Balch enjoyed exceptional opportunities +to inform himself regarding the character and +manners of the Indians: he visited them in their homes, +watched their industries, heard their legends, saw their +gambling games, listened to their conversation; he questioned +the Indians and the white pioneers, and he read +many books for information on Indian history, traditions, +and legends. By personal inquiry among old natives he +learned that the Bridge which suggested the title of his +romance was no fabric of the imagination, but was a great +natural bridge that in early days spanned the Columbia, +and later, according to tradition, was destroyed by an +earthquake.</p> +<p>Before his death the author had the satisfaction of +knowing that his work was stamped with the approval of +the press and the public; his satisfaction would have +been more complete could he have foreseen that that +approval would be so lasting.</p> +<p> <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>July 1, 1902.</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> +<hr class='mini' /> +<p>In attempting to present with romantic setting a +truthful and realistic picture of the powerful and +picturesque Indian tribes that inhabited the Oregon +country two centuries ago, the author could not be +indifferent to the many serious difficulties inseparable +from such an enterprise. Of the literary success with +which his work has been accomplished, he must of course +leave others to judge; but he may without immodesty +speak briefly of his preparation for his task, and of the +foundation of some of the facts and legends which form +the framework of his story. Indian life and character +have long been a favorite study with him, and in these +pages he has attempted to describe them, not from an +ideal standpoint, but as he knew them in his own boyhood +on the Upper Columbia. Many of the incidents +related in the story have come under his personal observation; +others have been told him by aged pioneers, or +gleaned from old books of Northwestern travel. The +every-day life of the Indians, their food, their dress, their +methods of making their mats, of building their houses, +of shaping their canoes, their gambling games, their religious +beliefs, their legends, their subjects of conversation, +the sports and pastimes of their children,—all these +have been studied at first hand, and with the advantages +of familiar and friendly intercourse with these people in +their own homes. By constant questioning, many facts +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_viii' name='page_viii'></a>viii</span> +have been gained regarding their ancestry, and the fragments +of history, tradition, and legend that have come +down from them. Indian antiquities have been studied +through every available source of information. All the +antiquarian collections in Oregon and California have +been consulted, old trading-posts visited, and old pioneers +and early missionaries conversed with. Nothing has been +discarded as trivial or insignificant that could aid in the +slightest degree in affording an insight into Indian character +and customs of a by-gone age.</p> +<p>As to the great Confederacy of the Wauna, it may +be said that Gray’s “History of Oregon” tells us of an +alliance of several tribes on the Upper Columbia for mutual +protection and defence; and students of Northwestern +history will recall the great confederacy that the +Yakima war-chief Kamyakin formed against the whites +in the war of 1856, when the Indian tribes were in revolt +from the British Possessions to the California line. +Signal-fires announcing war against the whites leaped +from hill to hill, flashing out in the night, till the line of +fire beginning at the wild Okanogan ended a thousand +miles south, on the foot-hills of Mount Shasta. Knowing +such a confederacy as this to be an historical fact, there +seems nothing improbable in that part of the legend +which tells us that in ancient times the Indian tribes +on either side of the Cascade Range united under the +great war-chief Multnomah against their hereditary foes +the Shoshones. Even this would not be so extensive a +confederacy as that which Kamyakin formed a hundred +and fifty years later.</p> +<p>It may be asked if there was ever a great natural bridge +over the Columbia,—a “Bridge of the Gods,” such as the +legend describes. The answer is emphatically, “Yes.” +Everywhere along the mid-Columbia the Indians tell of +a great bridge that once spanned the river where the +cascades now are, but where at that time the placid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_ix' name='page_ix'></a>ix</span> +current flowed under an arch of stone; that this bridge +was <i>tomanowos</i>, built by the gods; that the Great Spirit +shook the earth, and the bridge crashed down into the +river, forming the present obstruction of the cascades. +All of the Columbian tribes tell this story, in different +versions and in different dialects, but all agreeing upon +its essential features as one of the great facts of their +past history.</p> +<p>“<i>Ancutta</i> (long time back),” say the Tumwater Indians, +“the salmon he no pass Tumwater falls. It too +much big leap. Snake Indian he no catch um fish +above falls. By and by great <i>tomanowos</i> bridge at +cascades he fall in, dam up water, make river higher all +way up to Tumwater; then salmon he get over. Then +Snake Indian all time catch um plenty.”</p> +<p>“My father talk one time,” said an old Klickitat to a +pioneer at White Salmon, Washington; “long time ago +liddle boy, him in canoe, his mother paddle, paddle up +Columbia, then come to <i>tomanowos</i> bridge. Squaw paddle +canoe under; all dark under bridge. He look up, all +like one big roof, shut out sky, no see um sun. Indian +afraid, paddle quick, get past soon, no good. Liddle +boy no forget how bridge look.”</p> +<p>Local proof also is not wanting. In the fall, when the +freshets are over and the waters of the Columbia are +clear, one going out in a small boat just above the cascades +and looking down into the transparent depths can +see submerged forest trees beneath him, still standing +upright as they stood before the bridge fell in and the +river was raised above them. It is a strange, weird sight, +this forest beneath the river; the waters wash over the +broken tree-tops, fish swim among the leafless branches: +it is desolate, spectre-like, beyond all words. Scientific +men who have examined the field with a view to determining +the credibility of the legend about the bridge are +convinced that it is essentially true. Believed in by many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_x' name='page_x'></a>x</span> +tribes, attested by the appearance of the locality, and +confirmed by geological investigation, it is surely entitled +to be received as a historic fact.</p> +<p>The shipwreck of an Oriental vessel on the Oregon +coast, which furnishes one of the most romantic elements +in our story, is an altogether probable historic incident, as +explained more fully in a foot-note on <a href="#page75">page 75.</a></p> +<p>The spelling of Indian names, in which authorities differ +so widely, has been made as accurate as possible; and, +as in the name “Wallulah,” the oldest and most Indian-like +form has been chosen. An exception has been made +in the case of the modernized and corrupted “Willamette,” +which is used instead of the original Indian name, “Wallamet.” +But the meaningless “Willamette” has unfortunately +passed into such general use that one is almost +compelled to accept it. Another verbal irregularity should +be noticed: Wauna, the name given by all the Indians in +the story to the Columbia, was only the Klickitat name for +it. The Indians had no general name for the Columbia, +but each tribe had a special name, if any, for it. Some +had no name for it at all. It was simply “the big water,” +“<i>the</i> river,” “the big salmon water.” What Wauna, the +Klickitat name, or Wemath, the Wasco name, signifies, +the author has been unable to learn, even from the Indians +who gave him the names. They do not know; +they say their fathers knew, but it is forgotten now.</p> +<p>A rich and splendid treasure of legend and lore has +passed away with the old pioneers and the Indians of the +earlier generation. All that may be found interesting +in this or any other book on the Indians, compared to +what has been lost, is like “a torn leaf from some old +romance.”</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>F. H. B.<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><span style='margin-left: 0.78125em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Oakland, California</span>,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2.0em;'>September, 1890.</span><br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<hr class='micro' /> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; height:30px;'><img src="images/book1.png" alt='book1' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; padding-bottom:10px; padding-top:10px;'><span style='font-size:1em;letter-spacing:0.05em; font-style:italic;'>THE APOSTLE TO THE INDIANS.</span></td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The New England Meeting</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_NEW_ENGLAND_MEETING'>13</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Minister’s Home</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_MINISTERS_HOME'>21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Darkened Fireside</span> </td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_A_DARKENED_FIRESIDE'>31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Council of Ordination</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_THE_COUNCIL_OF_ORDINATION'>39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Into Trackless Wilds</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_INTO_TRACKLESS_WILDS'>47</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3'> </td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; height:45px;'><img src="images/book2.png" alt='book2' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; padding-bottom:10px;'><span style='font-size:1em; letter-spacing:0.05em; font-style:italic;'>THE OPENING OF THE DRAMA.</span></td></tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Shall the Great Council be Held</span>? </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_SHALL_THE_GREAT_COUNCIL_BE_HELD'>53</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The War-chief and the Seer</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_WARCHIEF_AND_THE_SEER'>69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Wallulah</span> </td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_WALLULAH'>74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Sending out the Runners</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_SENDING_OUT_THE_RUNNERS'>87</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3'> </td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; height:45px;'><img src="images/book3.png" alt='book3' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; padding-bottom:10px;'><span style='font-size:1em; letter-spacing:0.05em; font-style:italic;'>THE GATHERING OF THE TRIBES.</span></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Broken Peace-Pipe</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_BROKEN_PEACEPIPE'>91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On the Way to the Council</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_ON_THE_WAY_TO_THE_COUNCIL'>103</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Great Camp on the Island</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_THE_GREAT_CAMP_ON_THE_ISLAND'>120</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>An Indian Trial</span> </td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_AN_INDIAN_TRIAL'>131</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Sentenced to the Wolf-death</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_SENTENCED_TO_THE_WOLFDEATH'>142</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3'> </td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; height:45px;'><img src="images/book4.png" alt='book4' /><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xii' name='page_xii'></a>xii</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; padding-bottom:10px;'><span style='font-size:1em; letter-spacing:0.05em; font-style:italic;'>THE LOVE TALE.</span></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Indian Town</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_INDIAN_TOWN'>151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The White Woman in the Wood</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_WHITE_WOMAN_IN_THE_WOOD'>159</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Cecil and the War-chief</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_CECIL_AND_THE_WARCHIEF'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Archery and Gambling</span> </td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_ARCHERY_AND_GAMBLING'>176</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Dead Queen’s Jewels</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_A_DEAD_QUEENS_JEWELS'>181</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Twilight Tale</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_THE_TWILIGHT_TALE'>191</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Orator Against Orator</span> </td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_ORATOR_AGAINST_ORATOR'>200</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>In the Dark</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_IN_THE_DARK'>210</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Questioning the Dead</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_QUESTIONING_THE_DEAD'>217</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3'> </td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; height:45px;'><img src="images/book5.png" alt='book5' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='3' style='text-align:center; padding-bottom:10px;'><span style='font-size:1em; letter-spacing:0.05em; font-style:italic;'>THE SHADOW OF THE END.</span></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Hand of the Great Spirit</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_HAND_OF_THE_GREAT_SPIRIT'>227</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Marriage and the Breaking Up</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_MARRIAGE_AND_THE_BREAKING_UP'>241</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>At The Cascades</span> </td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_AT_THE_CASCADES'>248</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Multnomah’s Death-canoe</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_MULTNOMAHS_DEATHCANOE'>260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>As Was Writ in the Book of Fate</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_AS_WAS_WRIT_IN_THE_BOOK_OF_FATE'>268</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> +<hr class='micro' /> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:70%;' /> +<col style='width:30%;' /> + +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“‘What think you now, Tohomish?’”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“‘I have spoken; I will not turn back from my words’”</td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'><i>Facing page </i>50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“‘The Earth hears us, the Sun sees us’”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'><i>Facing page </i>88</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Great “Witch Mountain” of the Indians</td> + + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'><i>Facing page </i>108</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“‘I Will kill him!’”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'><i>Facing page </i>168</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“It was the Death-song of the Willamettes”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'><i>Facing page </i>204</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“‘Come back! Come back!’”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_7'><i>Facing page </i>224</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Multnomah’s Death-canoe</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_8'><i>Facing page </i>264</a></td> + +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +What tall and tawny men were these,<br /> +As sombre, silent, as the trees<br /> +They moved among! and sad some way<br /> +With tempered sadness, ever they,<br /> +Yet not with sorrow born of fear,<br /> +The shadows of their destinies<br /> +They saw approaching year by year,<br /> +And murmured not.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p style='text-align:center; letter-spacing:1em; font-weight:bold;'>. . . . .</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +They turned to death as to a sleep,<br /> +And died with eager hands held out<br /> +To reaching hands beyond the deep;<br /> +And died with choicest bow at hand,<br /> +And quiver full and arrow drawn<br /> +For use, when sweet to-morrow’s dawn<br /> +Should wake them in the Spirit Land.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Joaquin Miller.</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS.</h1> +<hr class='mini' /> +<h2>BOOK I.</h2> +<h4><i>THE APOSTLE TO THE INDIANS.</i></h4> +<hr class='mini' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_NEW_ENGLAND_MEETING' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_NEW_ENGLAND_MEETING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>THE NEW ENGLAND MEETING.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Such as sit in darkness and the shadow of death.—<i>Bible</i>.<br /> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>One Sabbath morning more than two hundred +years ago, the dawn broke clear and beautiful +over New England. It was one of those lovely +mornings that seem like a benediction, a smile of +God upon the earth, so calm are they, so full of unutterable +rest and quiet. Over the sea, with its endless +line of beach and promontory washed softly by +the ocean swells; over the towns of the coast,—Boston +and Salem,—already large, giving splendid promise +of the future; over the farms and hamlets of the +interior, and into the rude clearings where the outer +limits of civilization mingled with the primeval forest, +came a flood of light as the sun rose above the blue +line of eastern sea. And still beyond, across the +Alleghanies, into the depth of the wilderness, passed +the sweet, calm radiance, as if bearing a gleam of +gospel sunshine to the Indians of the forest.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div> +<p>Nowhere did the Sunday seem more peaceful +than in a sheltered valley in Massachusetts. Beautiful +indeed were the thrifty orchards, the rustic farmhouses, +the meadows where the charred stumps that +marked the last clearing were festooned with running +vines, the fields green with Indian corn, and around +all the sweep of hills dark with the ancient wood. +Even the grim unpainted meeting-house on the hill, +which was wont to look the very personification of +the rigid Calvinistic theology preached within it, +seemed a little less bare and forbidding on that +sweet June Sabbath.</p> +<p>As the hour for morning service drew near, the +drummer took his accustomed stand before the +church and began to thunder forth his summons,—a +summons not unfitting those stern Puritans whose +idea of religion was that of a life-long warfare against +the world, the flesh, and the devil.</p> +<p>Soon the people began to gather,—grave men and +women, dressed in the sober-colored garb of the day, +and little children, clad in their “Sunday best,” undergoing +the awful process of “going to meeting,” yet +some of them, at least, looking at the cool shadowed +wood as they passed, and thinking how pleasant it +would be to hunt berries or birds’ nests in those +sylvan retreats instead of listening to a two hours’ +sermon, under imminent danger of perdition if they +went to sleep,—for in such seductive guise did the +Evil One tempt the souls of these youthful Puritans. +Solemn of visage and garb were the groups, although +here and there the gleam of a bit of ribbon at the +throat of some young maiden, or a bonnet tastefully +adorned, showed that “the world, the flesh, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +the devil” were not yet wholly subdued among +them.</p> +<p>As the audience filed through the open door, the +men and women divided, the former taking one side +of the house, the latter the other,—the aisle forming +a dividing line between them. The floor was uncarpeted, +the walls bare, the pulpit undraped, and +upon it the hour-glass stood beside the open Bible. +Anything more stiff and barren than the interior of +the meeting-house it would be difficult to find.</p> +<p>An unwonted stir breaks the silence and solemnity +of the waiting congregation, as an official party enters. +It is the Governor of the colony and his staff, who are +making a tour of the province, and have stopped over +Sunday in the little frontier settlement,—for although +the Governor is an august man, even he may not presume +to travel on the Sabbath in this land of the +Puritans. The new-comers are richly dressed. There +is something heavy, massive, and splendid in their +garb, especially in the Governor’s. He is a stately +military-looking man, and wears his ample vestments, +his embroidered gloves, his lace and ruffles, with a +magisterial air.</p> +<p>A rustle goes through the audience as the distinguished +visitors pass up the aisle to the front seats +assigned, as the custom was, to dignitaries. Young +people steal curious glances at them; children turn +around in their seats to stare, provoking divers shakes +of the head from their elders, and in one instance +the boxing of an ear, at which the culprit sets up a +smothered howl, is ignominiously shaken, and sits +swelling and choking with indignant grief during the +remainder of the service.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></div> +<p>At length the drum ceased, indicating both the +arrival of the minister and the time for service to +begin.</p> +<p>The minister took his place in the pulpit. He was +a young man, of delicate mould, with a pale and intellectual +face. Exquisite sensitiveness was in the +large gray eyes, the white brow, the delicate lips, the +long slender fingers; yet will and energy and command +were in them all. His was that rare union of +extreme sensibility with strong resolution that has +given the world its religious leaders,—its Savonarolas +and Chrysostoms; men whose nerves shrank at a discord +in music, but when inspired by some grand +cause, were like steel to suffer and endure.</p> +<p>Something of this was in the minister’s aspect, as +he stood before the people that morning. His eyes +shone and dilated, and his slight figure gathered dignity +as his gaze met that of the assembly. There +was no organ, that instrument being deemed a device +of the Prince of Darkness to lead the hearts of the +unwary off to popery; but the opening hymn was +heartily sung. Then came the Scripture reading,—usually +a very monotonous performance on the part +of Puritan divines; but as given in the young minister’s +thoughtfully modulated voice, nothing could +have been more expressive. Every word had its +meaning, every metaphor was a picture; the whole +psalm seemed to breathe with life and power: +“Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all +generations.”</p> +<p>Majestic, mournful, yet thrilling with deathless +hope, was the minister’s voice; and the people were +deeply moved. The prayer followed,—not the endless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +monologue of the average Puritan clergyman, but +pointed, significant, full of meaning. Again his face +was lifted before them as he rose to announce the +text. It was paler now; the eyes were glowing and +luminous; the long, expressive fingers were tremulous +with excitement. It was evident to all that no common +subject was to be introduced, no common effort +to be made. Always composed, the audience grew +more quiet still. The very children felt the hush of +expectation, and gazed wonderingly at the minister. +Even that great man, the Governor, lost his air of +unbending grandeur, and leaned expectantly forward.</p> +<p>The subject was Paul’s vision of the man in Macedonia +crying for help. The speaker portrayed in burning +words the condition of Macedonia, the heathen +gloom and utter hopelessness of her people, the vision +that came to Paul, and his going to preach to them. +Then, passing to England under the Druids, he described +the dark paganism, the blood-stained altars, +the brutal priesthood of the age; and told of the cry +that went forth for light,—a cry that touched the +heart of the Roman Gregory into sending missionaries +to show them the better way.</p> +<p>Like some royal poem was the discourse, as it +showed how, through the storms and perils of more +than a thousand years, amid the persecution of popes, +the wars of barons, and the tyranny of kings, England +had kept the torch burning, till in these latter times +it had filled the world with light. Beautiful was the +tribute he paid to the more recent defenders of the +faith, and most intense the interest of the listeners; +for men sat there who had come over the seas because +of their loyalty to the faith,—old and grizzled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +men, whose youth had known Cromwell and Charles +Stuart, and who had in more recent years fought for +“King Monmouth” and shared the dark fortunes of +Argyle.</p> +<p>The old Governor was roused like a veteran war-horse +at the sound of the trumpet; many faces were +flushed with martial ardor. The young minister +paused reflectively at the enthusiasm he had kindled. +A sorrowful smile flitted around his lips, though the +glow of inspiration was still burning in his eyes. +Would they be as enthusiastic when he made the application +of his discourse?</p> +<p>And yet England, yea, even New England, was +false, disloyal. She had but half kept the faith. +When the cry of pagan England had gone forth for +light, it had been heard; the light had been given. +But now in her day of illumination, when the Macedonian +cry came to her, she closed her ears and listened +not. On her skirts was the blood of the souls +of men; and at the last day the wail of the heathen +as they went down into the gulf of flame would bear +witness against her.</p> +<p>Grave and impassioned, with an undertone of warning +and sorrow, rang the voice of the minister, and +the hearts of the people were shaken as though a +prophet were speaking.</p> +<p>“Out from the forests around us come the cry of +heathen folk, and ye will not listen. Ye have the +light, and they perish in darkness and go down to +the pit. Generation after generation has grown up +here in forest and mountain, and has lived and died +without God and without hope. Generation has followed +generation, stumbling blindly downward to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +dust like the brutes that perish. And now their children, +bound in iron and sitting under the shadow of +death, reach out their hands from the wilderness with +a blind cry to you for help. Will ye hear?”</p> +<p>He lifted his hands to them as he spoke; there +was infinite pathos in his voice; for a moment it +seemed as if all the wild people of the wilderness +were pleading through him for light. Tears were in +many eyes; yet in spite of the wonderful power of +his oratory, there were faces that grew stern as he +spoke,—for only a few years had passed since the +Pequod war, and the feeling against the Indians was +bitter. The Governor now sat erect and indignant.</p> +<p>Strong and vehement was the minister’s plea for +missionaries to be sent to the Indians; fearlessly +was the colonial government arraigned for its deficiencies +in this regard; and the sands in the hour-glass +were almost run out when the sermon was concluded +and the minister sank flushed and exhausted +into his seat.</p> +<p>The closing psalm was sung, and the audience was +dismissed. Slow and lingering were the words of the +benediction, as if the preacher were conscious of defeat +and longed to plead still further with his people. +Then the gathering broke up, the congregation +filing out with the same solemnity that had marked +the entrance. But when the open air was reached, +the pent-up excitement burst forth in a general murmur +of comment.</p> +<p>“A good man,” remarked the Governor to his +staff, “but young, quite young.” And they smiled +approvingly at the grim irony of the tone.</p> +<p>“Our pastor is a fine speaker,” said another, “but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +why will he bring such unpleasant things into the pulpit? +A good doctrinal sermon, now, would have +strengthened our faith and edified us all.”</p> +<p>“Ay, a sermon on the errors of Episcopacy, for +instance.”</p> +<p>“Such talk makes me angry,” growled a third. +“Missionaries for the Indians! when the bones of +the good folk they have killed are yet bleaching amid +the ashes of their cabins! Missionaries for those red +demons! an’ had it been powder and shot for them +it had been a righteous sermon.”</p> +<p>So the murmur of disapprobation went on among +those slowly dispersing groups who dreaded and hated +the Indian with an intensity such as we now can hardly +realize. And among them came the minister, pale +and downcast, realizing that he had dashed himself +in vain against the stern prejudice of his people and +his age.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_MINISTERS_HOME' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_MINISTERS_HOME'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>THE MINISTER’S HOME.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Sore have I panted at the sun’s decline,<br /> +To pass with him into the crimson West,<br /> +And see the peoples of the evening.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Edwin Arnold.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The Reverend Cecil Grey,—for such was our +young minister’s name,—proceeded immediately +after the service to his home. Before we cross +its threshold with him, let us pause for a moment to +look back over his past life.</p> +<p>Born in New England, he first received from his +father, who was a fine scholar, a careful home training, +and was then sent to England to complete his +education. At Magdalen College, Oxford, he spent +six years. Time passed very happily with him in the +quiet cloisters of that most beautiful of English colleges, +with its memories of Pole and Rupert, and the +more courtly traditions of the state that Richard and +Edward had held there. But when, in 1687, James +II. attempted to trample on the privileges of the Fellows +and force upon them a popish president, Cecil +was one of those who made the famous protest against +it; and when protests availed nothing, he left Oxford, +as also did a number of others. Returning to America, +he was appointed pastor of a New England +church, becoming one of the many who carried the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +flower of scholarship and eloquence into the bleak +wilds of the New World.</p> +<p>Restless, sensitive, ardent, he was a man to whom +a settled pastorate was impossible. Daring enterprises, +great undertakings of a religious nature yet full +of peril, were the things for which he was naturally +fitted; and amid the monotonous routine of parish +duties he longed for a greater activity. Two centuries +later he might have become distinguished as a revivalist +or as a champion of new and startling views of +theology; earlier, he might have been a reformer, a +follower of Luther or Loyola; as it was, he was out +of his sphere.</p> +<p>But for a time the Reverend Mr. Grey tried hard +to mould himself to his new work. He went with +anxious fidelity through all the labors of the country +pastorate. He visited and prayed with the sick, he +read the Bible to the old and dim-sighted, he tried to +reconcile petty quarrels, he wrestled with his own +discontent, and strove hard to grind down all the +aspirations of his nature and shut out the larger +horizon of life.</p> +<p>And for a time he was successful; but during it he +was induced to take a very fatal step. He was young, +handsome, a clergyman, and unmarried. Now a +young unmarried minister is pre-eminently one of +sorrows and acquainted with grief. For that large +body of well-meaning people who are by nature incapacitated +from attending to their own business take +him in hand without mercy. Innumerable are the +ways in which he is informed that he ought to be married. +Subtle and past finding out are the plots laid by +all the old ladies and match-makers of his church to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +promote that desired event. He is told that he can +never succeed in the ministry till he is married. The +praises of Matilda Jane Tompkins or Lucinda Brown +are sounded in his ears till he almost wishes that +both were in a better world,—a world more worthy +their virtues. At length, wearily capitulating, he +marries some wooden-faced or angular saint, and is +unhappy for life.</p> +<p>Now there was in Mr. Grey’s church a good, gentle +girl, narrow but not wooden-faced, famous for her +neatness and her housekeeping abilities, who was +supposed to be the pattern for a minister’s wife. In +time gone by she had set her heart on a graceless +sailor lad who was drowned at sea, much to the relief +of her parents. Ruth Anderson had mourned for him +quietly, shutting up her sorrow in her own breast and +going about her work as before; for hers was one of +those subdued, practical natures that seek relief from +trouble in hard work.</p> +<p>She seemed in the judgment of all the old women +in the church the “very one” for Mr. Grey; and it +likewise seemed that Mr. Grey was the “very one” for +her. So divers hints were dropped and divers things +were said, until each began to wonder if marriage +were not a duty. The Reverend Cecil Grey began +to take unusual pains with his toilet, and wended his +way up the hill to Mr. Anderson’s with very much the +aspect of a man who is going to be hanged. And his +attempts at conversation with the maiden were not at +all what might have been expected from the young +minister whose graceful presence and fluent eloquence +had been the boast of Magdalen. On her part the +embarrassment was equally great. At length they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +were married,—a marriage based on a false idea of +duty on each side. But no idea of duty, however +strong or however false, could blind the eyes of this +married pair to the terrible fact that not only love but +mental sympathy was wanting. Day by day Cecil +felt that his wife did not love him, that her thoughts +were not for him, that it was an effort for her to act +the part of a wife toward him. Day by day she felt +that his interests lay beyond her reach, and that all +the tenderness in his manner toward her came from +a sense of duty, not from love.</p> +<p>But she strove in all ways to be a faithful wife, and +he tried hard to be a kind and devoted husband. +He had been especially attentive to her of late, for +her health had been failing, and the old doctor had +shaken his head very gravely over her. For a week +or more she had grown steadily worse, and was now +unable even to walk without help. Her malady was +one of those that sap away the life with a swift and +deadly power against which all human skill seems +unavailing.</p> +<p>Mr. Grey on returning from church entered the +living room. The invalid sat at the window, a heavy +shawl wrapped about her, her pale face turned to the +far blue line of sea, visible through a gap in the hills. +A pang wrenched his heart keenly at the sight. Why +<i>would</i> she always sit at that window looking so sorrowfully, +so abstractedly at the sea, as if her heart +was buried there with her dead lover?</p> +<p>She started as she heard his footstep, and turned +her head quickly toward him, a faint flush tinging her +cheek and a forced smile quivering around her lips. +Her greeting was very gentle, and he saw that her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +heart was reproaching her for being so disloyal to +him as to think of her lost lover; and yet he felt +her fingers tremble and shrink away from his as he +took her hand.</p> +<p>“God forgive me!” he thought, with infinite self-accusation. +“How repugnant I must be to her,—an +intruder, thrusting myself into the heart that is +sacred to the dead.”</p> +<p>But he let her see nothing of this in his voice or +manner as he inquired how she had been. She replied +wearily that she was no better, that she longed +to get well again and be at work.</p> +<p>“I missed your sermon to-day,” she said, with that +strained, pathetic smile upon her lips again. “You +must tell me about it now.”</p> +<p>He drew his chair to her side and began to give +an outline of the sermon. She listened, but it was +with forced attention, without sympathy, without in +the least entering into the spirit of what he was saying. +It pained him. He knew that her nature was +so narrow, so conventional, that it was impossible +for her to comprehend his grand scheme of Indian +evangelization. But he checked his impatience, and +gave her a full synopsis of the discourse.</p> +<p>“It is useless, useless. They cannot understand. +A whole race is perishing around them, and they will +not put forth a hand save to mistreat a Quaker or +throw a stone at a Churchman. Our Puritanism is +like iron to resist tyranny,—but alas! it is like iron, +too, when one tries to bend it to some generous +undertaking.”</p> +<p>He stopped, checking back other and more bitter +words. All his soul rose up in revolt against the prejudice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +by which he was surrounded. Then Ruth +spoke timidly.</p> +<p>“Seeing that it is so, would it not be best to let +this missionary subject go, and preach on practical +every-day matters? I am not wise in these things, I +know; but would it not be better to preach on common +subjects, showing us how we ought to live from +day to day, than to discourse of those larger things +that the people do not understand?”</p> +<p>His face darkened, though not angrily. This was +the same prejudice he had just encountered in the +meeting-house, though in a different form. He arose +and paced back and forth with quick, impatient steps. +Then he came and stood before her with folded arms +and resolute face.</p> +<p>“Ruth, I have tried that so often, tried it with prayers +and tears, but it is utterly impossible. I cannot +bring myself to it. You know what the physicians +say of my disease of the heart,—that my life may be +very short; and I want it to be noble. I want to +live for the greatest possibilities within my reach. I +want to set some great work in motion that will +light up thousands of darkened lives,—yea, and +grow in might and power even after my lips are sealed +in death.”</p> +<p>The little figure on the chair moved uneasily under +his animated though kindly gaze.</p> +<p>“I do not quite comprehend you. I think the best +work is to do what God gives us to do, and to do it well. +To me he has given to labor in caring for the house,”—there +was a patient weariness in her tone that did +not escape Cecil,—“to you he has given the duties +of a pastor, to strengthen the weak, cheer the sorrowing, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +comfort the old. Is it not better to do those +things faithfully than to spend our time longing for +some more ideal work not given us?”</p> +<p>“But suppose the ideal work is given? Suppose +a man is called to proclaim new truths, and be the +leader in a new reform? For him the quiet pastorate +is impossible; nay, were it possible, it would be +wrong, for would he not be keeping back the message +God had given him? He would be one called +to a work, yet entering not upon it; and upon him +would come the curse that fell on the unfaithful +prophets of old.”</p> +<p>All the gloom of the theology of his age was on +him as he spoke. Refined and poetic as was his +nature, it was thoroughly imbued with the Calvinism +of early New England.</p> +<p>She lifted her hand wearily and passed it over her +aching brow.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” she said; “I have never thought +of such things, only it seems to me that God knew +best when he gave us our lots in life. Surely wherever +we find ourselves, there he intended us to be, +and there we should patiently work, leaving our +higher aspirations to his will. Is not the ideal life, +after all, the one that is kindest and humblest?”</p> +<p>“But, Ruth,” replied the minister, sadly, “while +the work you describe is certainly noble, I have yet +felt for a long time that it is not what God calls me +to. Day after day, night after night, I think of the +wild races that roam the forests to the west, of which +no man knows the end. Sometimes I think that I +am called to stand before the rulers of the colony +and plead that missionaries be sent to the Indians. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +Sometimes I feel that I am called to go and preach +to them myself. Often in my dreams I plead with +dark-browed sachems or with mighty gatherings of +warriors to cast away their blood-stained weapons +and accept Christ, till I awake all trembling with the +effort. And always the deadly pain at my heart +warns me that what is done must be done quickly.”</p> +<p>The burning ardor that had given such intensity to +his sermon came into his voice as he spoke. The invalid +moved nervously on her chair, and he saw that +his enthusiasm merely jarred on her without awakening +any response.</p> +<p>“Forgive me,” he said hurriedly, “I forgot that +you were not well enough to talk of those things. +Sometime when you are better we will speak of them +again.”</p> +<p>And then he talked of other and to her more interesting +topics, while a keen pang rankled in his +breast to find her irresponsive to that which was so +dear to him.</p> +<p>But he was very kind to her; and when after a +while the old Indian woman, Cecil’s nurse in childhood +and their only servant now, came to tell him +that dinner was ready, he would not go until he had +first brought his wife her dinner and waited on her +with his own hands.</p> +<p>After his own repast was finished he must hasten +away to preach his afternoon sermon. But he came +to her first and bent over her; for though love never +had been, perhaps never could be, between them, there +was a deep domestic feeling in his nature.</p> +<p>“How good and patient you are in your sickness,” +he said, gazing down into the quiet, wistful face that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +was so honest and true, yet so thoroughly prosaic and +commonplace. “What a sermon you have been +preaching me, sitting here so uncomplainingly.”</p> +<p>“Do you think so?” she said, looking up gratefully. +“I am glad. I so want to do my duty by +you.”</p> +<p>He had meant to kiss her as he bent over her, +though such caresses were rare between them, but +there was something in her tones that chilled him, +and he merely raised a tress of her hair to his lips +instead. At the door he bade her a pleasant farewell, +but his countenance grew sorrowful as he went down +the path.</p> +<p>“Duty,” he murmured, “always duty, never love. +Well, the fault is my own that we were ever married. +God help me to be true and kind to her always. She +shall never know that I miss anything in her.”</p> +<p>And he preached to his congregation that afternoon +a sermon on burden-bearing, showing how each +should bear his own burden patiently,—not darkening +the lives of others by complaint, but always saying +loving words, no matter how much of heartache lay +beneath them. He told how near God is to us all, +ready to heal and to strengthen; and closed by showing +how sweet and beautiful even a common life may +grow through brave and self-sacrificing endurance of +trouble.</p> +<p>It was a helpful sermon, a sermon that brought +the listeners nearer God. More than one heart was +touched by those earnest words that seemed to breathe +divine sympathy and compassion.</p> +<p>He went home feeling more at peace than he had +done for many days. His wife’s room was still, as he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +entered it. She was in her easy-chair at the window, +lying back among the pillows asleep. Her face was +flushed and feverish, her long lashes wet with tears. +The wraps had fallen away from her, and he stooped +over to replace them. As he did so her lips moved +in her half-delirious slumber, and she murmured some +name sounding like his own. A wild throb of joy +thrilled through him, and he bent closer to listen. +Again she spoke the name, spoke it sorrowfully, longingly. +It was the name of her lover drowned at sea.</p> +<p>The long, nervous fingers that held the half-drawn +wraps shook convulsively as with acutest pain, then +drew the coverings gently around her.</p> +<p>“God help her, God help her!” he murmured, as +he turned softly away, his eyes filling with tears,—tears +for her sorrow rather than his own.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_A_DARKENED_FIRESIDE' id='CHAPTER_III_A_DARKENED_FIRESIDE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>A DARKENED FIRESIDE.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +<span style='margin-left: 3.90625em;'>... Her way is parted from my way;</span><br /> +Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we meet?<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dante Rossetti.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Ruth was much worse in the evening, but at +last, after Cecil had watched at her side till a +late hour, she sank into a troubled sleep. Then the +old Indian servant insisted on taking his place at the +sufferer’s bedside, for she saw that he was much worn +by the labors of the day and by anxiety for his wife. +At first he refused; but she was a skilled nurse, and +he knew that the invalid would fare better in her +hands than his own, so at last he consented on condition +that she would call him if his wife grew worse. +The woman promised, and he withdrew into the +library, where a temporary bed had been made for +him. At the door he turned and looked back.</p> +<p>His wife lay with closed eyes and flushed face amid +the white pillows. The robe over her breast stirred +with her difficult breathing, and her head turned now +and then from side to side while she uttered broken, +feverish words. By her sat the swarthy nurse, watching +her every movement and ready with observant +eye and gentle touch to minister to all her needs.</p> +<p>A yearning tenderness and pity came into his gaze. +“Poor child, poor child!” he thought. “If I could +only make her well and happy! If I could only bring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +her dead lover back to life, how gladly would I put +her in his arms and go away forever!” And it +seemed to him in some dim way that he had wronged +the poor sufferer; that he was to blame for her +sorrow.</p> +<p>He went on into the library. A lamp was burning +on the table; a Hebrew Bible and a copy of Homer lay +beside it. Along the walls were arranged those heavy +and ponderous tomes in which the theology of the age +was wont to clothe itself.</p> +<p>He seated himself at the table and took up his +Homer; for he was too agitated to sleep. But it was +in vain that he tried to interest himself in it. The +rhythm had lost its music, the thought its power; it +was in vain that he tried to forget himself in the +reply of Achilles, or the struggle over the body of +Patroclus.</p> +<p>Hawthorne tells us that a person of artistic temperament +may at a time of mental depression wander +through the Roman galleries and see nothing in the +finest masterpieces of Raphael or Angelo. The +grace is gone from the picture, the inspiration from +the marble; the one is a meaningless collection of +colors, the other a dull effigy carved in stone.</p> +<p>Something of this mood was on Cecil to-night. +Irresponsive to the grand beauty of the poem he felt +only its undertone of heartache and woe.</p> +<p>“It is like human life,” he thought, as he listlessly +turned the pages; “it is bright on the surface, but +dark and terrible with pain below. What a black +mystery is life! what bitter irony of justice! Hector +is dragged at Achilles’ chariot-wheel, and Paris goes +free. Helen returns to her home in triumph, while +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +Andromache is left desolate. Did Homer write in +satire, and is the Iliad but a splendid mockery of +justice, human and divine? Or is life so sad that +every tale woven of it must needs become a tragedy?”</p> +<p>He pondered the gloomy puzzle of human existence +long that night. At length his brain grew +over-weary, and he slept sitting in his chair, his head +resting on the pages of the open book.</p> +<p>How long he slept he knew not, but he awoke with +a start to find a hand laid on his shoulder and the tall +figure of the Indian woman standing beside him. He +sprang up in sudden fear.</p> +<p>“Is she worse?” he cried. But the woman, with +that light noiseless step, that mute stolidity so characteristic +of her race, had already glided to the door; +and there was no need for her to answer, for already +his own apprehensions had replied.</p> +<p>He was in the room almost as soon as she. His +wife was much worse; and hastening through the +night to a neighboring farmhouse, he roused its inmates, +despatched a messenger for the physician, and +returned, accompanied by several members of the +neighbor’s family.</p> +<p>The slow moments dragged away like years as they +watched around her. It seemed as if the doctor +would never come. To the end of his life Cecil never +forgot the long-drawn agony of that night.</p> +<p>At length their strained hearing caught the quick +tread of horses’ hoofs on the turf without.</p> +<p>“The doctor, the doctor!” came simultaneously +from the lips of Cecil and the watchers. The doctor,—there +was hope in the very name.</p> +<p>How eagerly they watched his face as he bent over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +the patient! It was a calm, self-contained face, but +they saw a shadow flit over it, a sudden almost imperceptible +change of expression that said “Death” as +plainly as if he had spoken it. They could do nothing, +he said,—nothing but wait for the end to come.</p> +<p>How the moments lingered! Sometimes Cecil bent +over the sufferer with every muscle quivering to her +paroxysms; sometimes he could endure it no longer +and went out into the cool night air or into the library, +where with the mere mechanical instinct of a +student he picked up a book, reading a few lines in it, +then throwing it aside. Yet wherever he was he felt +her sufferings as acutely as when standing by her side. +His whole frame was in keenest sympathy with hers, +his whole being full of pain. So sharp were his sensations +that they imparted an abnormal vigor to his +mind. Every line his eyes met in reading stood out +on the page with wonderful distinctness. The words +seemed pictorial, and his mind grasped abstruse propositions +or involved expressions with marvellous facility.</p> +<p>He noted it, and remembered afterward that he +thought at the time how curious it was that his tortured +sympathies should give him such startling acuteness +of perception.</p> +<p>The slow night waned, the slow dawn crept over +the eastern hills. Cecil stood with haggard eyes at the +foot of the bed, watching the sleeper’s face. As the +daylight brightened, blending with the light of the still +burning lamps, he saw a change come over her countenance; +the set face relaxed, the look lost its wildness. +A great hope shone in his hollow eyes.</p> +<p>“She is getting better, she is coming out of her +sufferings,” he whispered to the doctor.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></div> +<p>“She will be out of her sufferings very soon,” he +replied sadly; and then Cecil knew that the end was +at hand. Was it because the peace, the profound +serenity which sometimes is the prelude of death, filling +her being, penetrated his, that he grew so strangely +calm? An inexpressible solemnity came to him as +he looked at her, and all his agitation left him.</p> +<p>Her face grew very sweet and calm, and full of +peace. Her eyes met Cecil’s, and there was in them +something that seemed to thank him for all his goodness +and patience,—something that was both benediction +and farewell. Her lips moved, but she was +past the power of speech, and only her eyes thanked +him in a tender, grateful glance.</p> +<p>The sun’s edge flashed above the horizon, and its +first rays fell through the uncurtained window full +upon her face. She turned toward them, smiling +faintly, and her face grew tenderly, radiantly beautiful, +as if on that beam of sunshine the spirit of her +dead lover had come to greet her from the sea. +Then the sparkle died out of her eyes and the smile +faded from her lips. It was only a white, dead face +that lay there bathed in golden light.</p> +<p>A moment after, Cecil left the house with swift +footsteps and plunged into the adjacent wood. There +under a spreading oak he flung himself prone upon +the earth, and buried his face in his hands. A seething +turmoil of thoughts swept his mind. The past +rose before him like a panorama. All his married +life rushed back upon him, and every memory was +regret and accusation.</p> +<p>“I might have been kinder to her, I might have +been better,” he murmured, while the hot tears gushed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +from his eyes. “I might have been so much better +to her,” he repeated over and over,—he, whose whole +thought had been to shut up his sorrow in his own heart +and show her only tenderness and consideration.</p> +<p>By and by he grew calmer and sat up, leaning +against the tree and looking out into vacancy with +dim eyes that saw nothing. His heart was desolate, +emptied of everything. What was he to do? What +was he to set before himself? He had not loved +her, but still she had been a part of his life; with +what was he to fill it now?</p> +<p>As he sat there depressed and troubled, a strange +thing happened.</p> +<p>He was looking, as has been said, blindly into vacancy. +It may have been an optical illusion, it may +have been a mere vagary born of an over-wrought +brain; but a picture formed before him. In the distance, +toward the west, he saw something that looked +like a great arch of stone, a natural bridge, rugged +with crags and dark with pine. Beneath it swept a +wide blue river, and on it wild horsemen were crossing +and recrossing, with plumed hair and rude lances. +Their faces were Indian, yet of a type different from +any he had ever seen. The bridge was in the heart +of a mighty mountain-range. On either side rose +sharp and lofty peaks, their sides worn by the action +of water in some remote age.</p> +<p>These details he noted as in a dream; then the +strangeness of it all burst upon him. Even as it did +so, the vision dissolved; the bridge wavered and passed +away, the mountain-peaks sank in shadow. He leaped +to his feet and gazed eagerly. A fine mist seemed +passing before his sight; then he saw only the reach +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +of hill and woodland, with the morning light resting +upon it.</p> +<p>While the vision faded, he felt springing up within +him an irrepressible desire to follow it. A mysterious +fascination seized him, a wild desire to seek the phantom +bridge. His whole being was swayed as by a supernatural +power toward the west whence the vision +had passed. He started forward eagerly, then checked +himself in bewilderment. What could it mean?</p> +<p>In the nineteenth century, one similarly affected +would think it meant a fevered, a disordered brain; +but in the seventeenth, when statesmen like Cromwell +believed in dreams and omens, and <i>roués</i> like Monmouth +carried charms in their pockets, these things +were differently regarded.</p> +<p>The Puritan ministry, whose minds were imbued +with the gloomy supernaturalism of the Old Testament +on which they fed, were especially men to +whom anything resembling an apparition had a prophetic +significance. And Cecil Grey, though liberal +beyond most New England clergymen, was liable by +the keenness of his susceptibilities and the extreme +sensitiveness of his organization to be influenced by +such delusions,—if delusions they be. So he stood +awed and trembling, questioning within himself, like +some seer to whom a dark and uncertain revelation +has been made.</p> +<p>Suddenly the answer came.</p> +<p>“The Lord hath revealed his will unto me and +shown me the path wherein I am to walk,” he murmured +in a hushed and stricken tone. “Ruth was +taken from me that I might be free to go where he +should send me. The vision of the Indians and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +bridge which faded into the west, and the strange +desire that was given me to follow it, show that the +Lord has another work for me to do. And when I +find the land of the bridge and of the wild people I +saw upon it, then will I find the mission that God has +given me to do. ‘Lord God of Israel, I thank Thee. +Thou hast shown me the way, and I will walk in it, +though all its stones be fire and its end be death.’”</p> +<p>He stood a moment with bowed head, communing +with his God. Then he returned to his lonely home.</p> +<p>The friends whose kindly sympathies had brought +them to the house of mourning wondered at the erect +carriage, the rapt, exalted manner of the man. His +face was pale, almost as pale as that within the +darkened room; but his eyes shone, and his lips were +closely, resolutely set.</p> +<p>A little while, and that determined face was all sorrowful +and pitying again, as he bent over the still, cold +body of his dead.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_THE_COUNCIL_OF_ORDINATION' id='CHAPTER_IV_THE_COUNCIL_OF_ORDINATION'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>THE COUNCIL OF ORDINATION.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also<br /> +Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.953125em;'>the Gospel....</span><br /> +After the Puritan way and the laudable custom of Holland.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><i>The Courtship of Miles Standish.</i></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>A few days after the funeral, letters missive from +the little society went out to all the neighboring +churches, calling a council to ordain the Reverend +Cecil Grey a missionary to the Indians.</p> +<p>It was a novel thing, in spite of the noble example +that Roger Williams had set not many years before; +and the summons met with a general response.</p> +<p>All the churches, far and near, sent delegates. If +one could only have taken a peep, the day before the +council, into the households of that part of New England, +what a glimpse he would have gotten of Puritan +domestic life! What a brushing up there was of +black coats, what a careful starching and ironing of +bands; and above all, in Cecil’s own neighborhood, +what a mighty cookery for the ordination dinner the +next day! For verily the capacity of the clerical +stomach is marvellous, and is in fact the one thing in +theology that does not change. New departures alter +doctrines, creeds are modified, but the appetite of +the clergy is not subject to such mutations.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<p>The morrow came, and with it the expected guests. +The meeting house was crowded. There were many +ministers and lay delegates in the council. In the +chair sat a venerable preacher, not unknown in the +records of those days,—a portly man, with a shrewd +and kindly face. Sterner faces were there also. The +council wore a grave aspect, more like a court of +judges before whom a criminal is cited to appear +than an assembly of clergymen about to ordain a +missionary.</p> +<p>After some preliminaries, Cecil was called on to +give a statement of his reasons for wishing to go as +an evangelist to the Indians. He rose before them. +There was a singular contrast between his slight form +and expressive features and the stout frames and grim +countenances of the others. But the graceful presence +of the man had in it a quiet dignity that commanded +the respect of all.</p> +<p>In obedience to the command, he told how he had +thought of the unknown tribes beyond the Alleghanies, +living in the gloom of paganism and perishing +in darkness, till an intangible sympathy inclined him +toward them,—till, as it seemed to him, their great +desire for light had entered into and possessed him, +drawing him toward them by a mysterious and irresistible +attraction. He felt called of God to go and +minister to their spiritual needs, and that it was his +duty to leave everything and obey the call.</p> +<p>“Is this all?” he was asked.</p> +<p>He hesitated a moment, and then described his +vision in the wood the morning of his wife’s death. +It made a deep impression on his hearers. There +was scarcely a man in the assembly who was not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +tinged with the superstition of the age; and all listened, +not lightly or sceptically, but in awe, as if it +brought them to the threshold of the supernatural.</p> +<p>When the narration was ended, the chairman requested +him to retire, pending the decision of the +council; but first he was asked,—</p> +<p>“Are you willing to abide by the decision of this +council, whatever it may be?”</p> +<p>He raised his head confidently, and his reply came +frank and fearless.</p> +<p>“I shall respect the opinions of my brethren, +no matter how they may decide; but I shall abide +by the will of God and my own convictions of +duty.”</p> +<p>The grave Puritan bent his head, half in acknowledgment +of the reply, half in involuntary admiration +of its brave manhood; then Cecil left the room, the +silent, watchful crowd that filled the aisles parting +respectfully to let him pass.</p> +<p>“Now, brethren,” said the chairman, “the matter +is before you. Let us hear from each his judgment +upon it.”</p> +<p>Solemn and weighty were the opinions delivered. +One brother thought that Mr. Grey had plenty of +work to do at home without going off on a wild-goose +chase after the heathen folk of the wilderness. His +church needed him; to leave it thus would be a shameful +neglect of duty.</p> +<p>Another thought that the Indians were descendants +of the ten lost tribes of Israel, and as such should be +left in the hands of God. To attempt to evangelize +them was to fly in the face of Providence.</p> +<p>Another thought the same; but then, how about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +that vision of Mr. Grey? He couldn’t get around +that vision.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, brethren, I don’t know!” he concluded, +shaking his head.</p> +<p>Still another declared positively for Mr. Grey. The +good people of the colonies owed it to the savages to +do something for their religious enlightenment. It +was wrong that so little had been done. They had +taken their land from them, they had pushed them +back into the wilds at the point of the sword; now let +them try to save their souls. This man had been +plainly called of God to be an apostle to the Indians; +the least that they could do was to bid him +Godspeed and let him go.</p> +<p>So it went on. At length the venerable chairman, +who had twice turned the hour-glass upon the table +before him, rose to close the discussion. His speech +was a singular mixture of shrewdness, benevolence, +and superstition.</p> +<p>He said that, as Christians, they certainly owed a +duty to the Indians,—a duty that had not been performed. +Mr. Grey wished to help fulfil that neglected +obligation, and would go at his own expense. +It would not cost the church a shilling. His vision +was certainly a revelation of the will of the Lord, and +<i>he</i> dared not stand in the way.</p> +<p>A vote was taken, and the majority were found to +be in favor of ordination. The chairman pronounced +himself pleased, and Mr. Grey was recalled and informed +of the result.</p> +<p>“I thank you,” he said simply, with a glad and +grateful smile.</p> +<p>“Now, brethren,” said the worthy chairman with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +much unction, “the hour of dinner is nigh at hand, +and the good people of this place have prepared entertainment +for us; so we will e’en put off the ceremony +of ordination till the afternoon. Let us look to +the Lord for his blessing, and be dismissed.”</p> +<p>And so with a murmur of talk and comment the +council broke up, its members going to the places +where they were to be entertained. Happy was the +man who returned to his home accompanied by a +minister, while those not so fortunate were fain to be +content with a lay delegate. Indeed, the hospitality +of the settlement was so bounteous that the supply +exceeded the demand. There were not enough +visitors to go around; and more than one good +housewife who had baked, boiled, and roasted all the +day before was moved to righteous indignation at +the sight of the good man of the house returning +guestless from the meeting.</p> +<p>Early in the afternoon entertainers and entertained +gathered again at the meeting-house. Almost the +entire country side was there,—old and young alike. +The house was packed, for never before had that +part of New England seen a man ordained to carry +the gospel to the Indians. It occurred, too, in that +dreary interval between the persecution of the Quakers +and the persecution of the witches, and was +therefore doubly welcome.</p> +<p>When Cecil arrived, the throng made way reverently +for him. Was he not going, perchance like the +martyrs of old, to the fagot and the stake? To +those who had long known him he seemed hardly +like the same man. He was lifted to a higher plane, +surrounded by an atmosphere of sanctity and heroism, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +and made sacred by the high mission given him +of God, to which was now to be added the sanction +of holy men.</p> +<p>So they made way for him, as the Florentines had +made way for “il Frate” and as the people of God had +made way for Francis Xavier when he left them to +stir the heart of the East with his eloquence, and, +alas! to die on the bleak sea-coast of China, clasping +the crucifix to his breast and praying for those who +had cast him out.</p> +<p>Cecil’s face, though pale, was calm and noble. All +his nature responded to the moral grandeur of the +occasion. It would be difficult to put into words the +reverent and tender exaltation of feeling that animated +him that day. Perhaps only those upon whose +own heads the hands of ordination have been laid +can enter into or understand it.</p> +<p>The charge was earnest, but it was not needed, for +Cecil’s ardent enthusiasm went far beyond all that the +speaker urged upon him. As he listened, pausing as +it were on the threshold of an unknown future, he +wondered if he should ever hear a sermon again,—he, +so soon to be swallowed by darkness, swept, self-yielded, +into the abyss of savagery.</p> +<p>Heartfelt and touching was the prayer of ordination,—that +God might accept and bless Cecil’s consecration, +that the divine presence might always abide +with him, that savage hearts might be touched and softened, +that savage lives might be lighted up through +his instrumentality, and that seed might be sown in +the wilderness which would spring up and cause the +waste places to be glad and the desert to blossom as +the rose.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></div> +<p>“And so,” said the old minister, his voice faltering +and his hands trembling as they rested on Cecil’s +bowed head, “so we give him into Thine own hand +and send him forth into the wilderness. Thou only +knowest what is before him, whether it be a harvest +of souls, or torture and death. But we know that, +for the Christian, persecutions and trials are but +stepping-stones leading to God; yea, and that death +itself is victory. And if he is faithful, we know that +whatever his lot may be it will be glorious; that +whatever the end may be, it will be but a door opening +into the presence of the Most High.”</p> +<p>Strong and triumphant rang the old man’s tones, as +he closed his prayer committing Cecil into the hands +of God. To him, as he listened, it seemed as if the +last tie that bound him to New England was severed, +and he stood consecrated and anointed for his +mission. When he raised his face, more than one of +the onlookers thought of those words of the Book +where it speaks of Stephen,—“And they saw his face +as it had been the face of an angel.”</p> +<p>A psalm was sung, the benediction given, and the +solemn service was over. It was long, however, before +the people left the house. They lingered around +Cecil, bidding him farewell, for he was to go forth at +dawn the next day upon his mission. They pressed +his hand, some with warm words of sympathy, some +silently and with wet eyes. Many affectionate words +were said, for they had never known before how +much they loved their pastor; and now he seemed +no longer a pastor, but a martyr and a saint. More +than one mother brought him her child to bless;—others +strangers from a distance—lifted their children +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +up, so that they could see him above the press, +while they whispered to them that they must always +remember that they had seen the good Mr. Grey, +who was going far off into the west to tell the Indians +about God.</p> +<p>Long afterward, when nearly all that generation +had passed away and the storm of the Revolution was +beginning to gather over the colonies, there were a +few aged men still living who sometimes told how, +when they were children, they had seen Cecil Grey +bidding the people farewell at the old meeting-house; +and through all the lapse of years they remembered +what a wonderful brightness was on his face, and how +sweet and kind were his words to each as he bade +them good-by forever.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_INTO_TRACKLESS_WILDS' id='CHAPTER_V_INTO_TRACKLESS_WILDS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>INTO TRACKLESS WILDS.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“I will depart,” he said, “the hour is come,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.390625em;'>And in the silence of yon sky I read</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.390625em;'>My fated message flashing.”</span><br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Edwin Arnold.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The next morning Cecil rose early after a sleepless +night. On that day he was to go out from +all that was sweet and precious in life and take the +path into the wilderness. At first his heart sank +within him; then his strength of purpose revived, and +he was resolute again.</p> +<p>He must go, and soon. The briefer the parting +the briefer the pang. He had already bidden his +friends good-by; his parents were long since dead; +it only remained to part from the old Indian woman, +his nurse in childhood, now his faithful housekeeper +and the only inmate of his home.</p> +<p>He went to the kitchen,—for usually at this hour +she was up and preparing breakfast. She was not +there, and the room looked cold and cheerless in the +gray dawn. He went to her door and knocked; +there was no response. He called her; the room +was as still as death. Alarmed, he opened the door; +no one was within; she was gone,—had evidently +been gone all night, for the bed was untouched.</p> +<p>He was pained and bewildered at this desertion, +for only the day before he had given her a paper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +legally drawn up, securing to her the little property he +possessed and making her independent for the rest +of her life. She had taken it, listened in silence to +the kindly expressions that accompanied the gift, and +turned away without a word. Now she was gone; +what could it mean?</p> +<p>Slowly he made the simple preparations that were +needed for the journey—putting a little food, his +Bible, and other necessaries into a kind of knapsack +and strapping it upon his back. Then taking his +staff, he went out from his home, never to return.</p> +<p>The sun was rising, the air was fresh and dewy, but +his heart was sad. Yet through it ran a strange thrill +of joy, a strange blending of pain and gladness.</p> +<p>“The parting is bitter, bitter almost unto death, but +He will keep me,” murmured the white lips, as he +went down the walk.</p> +<p>The sound of voices fell on his ears, and he looked +up. At the gate, awaiting him, was a group of his +parishioners, who had come to look once more on +the face of their pastor. One by whose bedside he +had prayed in the hour of sickness; another, whom +his counsel had saved when direly tempted; a little +lame child, who loved him for his kindness; and an +aged, dim-sighted woman, to whom he had often read +the Scriptures.</p> +<p>He opened the gate and came out among them.</p> +<p>“God bless you, sir,” said the old woman, “we +wanted to see your bonny face again before you +left us.”</p> +<p>The little lame boy said nothing, but came up to +Cecil, took his hand, and pressed it to his cheek in +a manner more eloquent than words.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></div> +<p>“Friends,” said Cecil, in a faltering voice, “I +thank you. It is very sweet to know that you care +for me thus.”</p> +<p>One by one they came and clasped his hand in +tearful farewell. For each he had a loving word. It +was an impressive scene,—the sorrow-stricken group, +the pastor with his pale spiritual face full of calm resolve, +and around them the solemn hush of morning.</p> +<p>When all had been spoken, the minister reverently +uncovered his head; the others did the same. “It +is for the last time,” he said; “let us pray.”</p> +<p>After a few earnest words commending them to the +care of God, he drew his hand gently from the lame +boy’s cheek and rested it on his head in silent benediction. +Then giving them one last look of unutterable +love, a look they never forgot,—</p> +<p>“Good-by,” he said softly, “God bless you all.”</p> +<p>“Good-by, God bless <i>you</i>, sir,” came back in +answer; and they saw his face no more.</p> +<p>One more farewell was yet to be said. The winding +path led close by the country graveyard. He +entered it and knelt by the side of the new-made +grave. Upon the wooden headboard was inscribed +the name of her who slept beneath,—“Ruth Grey.”</p> +<p>He kissed the cold sod, his tears falling fast +upon it.</p> +<p>“Forgive me,” he whispered, as if the dull ear of +death could hear. “Forgive me for everything +wherein I failed you. Forgive me, and—Farewell.”</p> +<p>Again he was on his way. At the entrance to the +wood he saw a figure sitting on a rock beside the +path. As he drew nearer he observed it was clad in +Indian garb, and evidently awaited his coming. Who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +was it? Might it not be some chief, who, having +heard of his intended mission, had come forth to +meet him?</p> +<p>He hastened his steps. When he came nearer, he +saw that it was only an Indian woman; a little closer, +and to his inexpressible astonishment he recognized +his old nurse.</p> +<p>“What does this mean?” he exclaimed. “What +are you doing here, and in Indian garb, too?”</p> +<p>She rose to her feet with simple, natural dignity.</p> +<p>“It means,” she said, “that I go with you. Was +I not your nurse in childhood? Did I not carry you +in my arms then, and has not your roof sheltered me +since? Can I forsake him who is as my own child? +My heart has twined around you too long to be +torn away. Your path shall be my path; we go +together.”</p> +<p>It was in vain that Cecil protested, reasoned, +argued.</p> +<p>“I have spoken,” she said. “I will not turn back +from my words while life is left me.”</p> +<p>He would have pleaded longer, but she threw a +light pack upon her back and went on into the forest. +She had made her decision, and he knew she would +adhere to it with the inflexible obstinacy of her race.</p> +<p>He could only follow her regretfully; and yet he +could not but be grateful for her loyalty.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-050.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 269px; height: 421px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 269px;'> +“<i>I have spoken; I will not turn back from my words.</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></div> +<p>At the edge of the wood he paused and looked +back. Before him lay the farms and orchards of the +Puritans. Here and there a flock of sheep was being +driven from the fold into the pasture, and a girl, +bucket in hand, was taking her way to the milking +shed. From each farmhouse a column of smoke rose +into the clear air. Over all shone the glory of the +morning sun. It was civilization; it was New England; +it was <i>home</i>.</p> +<p>For a moment, the scene seemed literally to lay +hold of him and pull him back. For a moment, all +the domestic feelings, all the refinement in his nature, +rose up in revolt against the rude contact with barbarism +before him. It seemed as if he could not go on, +as if he must go back. He shook like a leaf with the +mighty conflict.</p> +<p>“My God!” he cried out, throwing up his arms +with a despairing gesture, “must I give up everything, +everything?”</p> +<p>He felt his resolution giving way; his gray eyes +were dark and dilated with excitement and pain; his +long fingers twitched and quivered; before he knew +what he was doing, he was walking back toward the +settlement.</p> +<p>That brought him to himself; that re-awakened the +latent energy and decision of his character.</p> +<p>“What! shall I turn back from the very threshold +of my work? God forgive me—never!”</p> +<p>His delicate frame grew strong and hardy under the +power of his indomitable spirit. Again his dauntless +enthusiasm came back; again he was the Apostle to +the Indians.</p> +<p>One long last look, and he disappeared in the +shadows of the wood, passing forever from the ken +of the white man; for only vague rumors floated +back to the colonies from those mysterious wilds into +which he had plunged. The strange and wondrous +tale of his after-life New England never knew.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>BOOK II.</h2> +<h4><i>THE OPENING OF THE DRAMA.</i></h4> +<hr class='mini' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_SHALL_THE_GREAT_COUNCIL_BE_HELD' id='CHAPTER_I_SHALL_THE_GREAT_COUNCIL_BE_HELD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>SHALL THE GREAT COUNCIL BE HELD?</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +The comet burns the wings of night,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.78125em;'>And dazzles elements and spheres;</span><br /> +Then dies in beauty and a blaze of light<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.78125em;'>Blown far through other years.</span><br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Joaquin Miller.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Two hundred years ago—as near as we can +estimate the time from the dim and shadowy legends +that have come down to us—the confederacy +of the Wauna or Columbia was one of the most powerful +the New World has ever seen. It was apparently not +inferior to that of the Six Nations, or to the more +transitory leagues with which Tecumseh or Pontiac +stayed for a moment the onward march of the white +man. It was a union of the Indian tribes of Oregon +and Washington, with the Willamettes at the head, +against their great hereditary enemies, the Nootkas, +the Shoshones, and the Spokanes.</p> +<p>Sonorous and picturesque was the language of the +old Oregon Indians in telling the first white traders +the story of the great alliance.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></div> +<p>“Once, long before my father’s time and before +his father’s time, all the tribes were as one tribe and +the Willamettes were <i>tyee</i> [chief]. The Willamettes +were strong and none could stand against them. The +heart of the Willamette was battle and his hand was +blood. When he lifted his arm in war, his enemy’s +lodge became ashes and his council silence and death.</p> +<p>“The war-trails of the Willamette went north and +south and east, and there was no grass on them. He +called the Chinook and Sound Indians, who were weak, +his children, and the Yakima, Cayuse, and Wasco, +who loved war, his brothers; but <i>he</i> was elder brother. +And the Spokanes and the Shoshones might fast and +cut themselves with thorns and knives, and dance the +medicine dance, and drink the blood of horses, but +nothing could make their hearts as strong as the hearts +of the Willamettes; for the One up in the sky had told +the old men and the dreamers that the Willamettes +should be the strongest of all the tribes as long as the +Bridge of the Gods should stand. That was their +<i>tomanowos</i>.”</p> +<p>But whenever the white listener asked about this +superstition of the bridge and the legend connected +with it, the Indian would at once become uncommunicative, +and say, “You can’t understand,” or more +frequently, “I don’t know.” For the main difficulty +in collecting these ancient tales—“old-man talk,” as +the Siwashes call them—was, that there was much +superstition interwoven with them; and the Indians +were so reticent about their religious beliefs, that if +one was not exceedingly cautious, the lively, gesticulating +talker of one moment was liable to become the +personification of sullen obstinacy the next.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></div> +<p>But if the listener was fortunate enough to strike +the golden mean, being neither too anxious nor too +indifferent, and if above all he had by the gift of +bounteous <i>muck-a-muck</i> [food] touched the chord +to which the savage heart always responds, the Indian +might go on and tell in broken English or crude +Chinook the strange, dark legend of the bridge, which +is the subject of our tale.</p> +<p>At the time our story opens, this confederacy was +at the height of its power. It was a rough-hewn, barbarian +realm, the most heterogeneous, the most rudimentary +of alliances. The exact manner of its union, +its laws, its extent, and its origin are all involved in the +darkness which everywhere covers the history of Indian +Oregon,—a darkness into which our legend casts +but a ray of light that makes the shadows seem +the denser. It gives us, however, a glimpse of the +diverse and squalid tribes that made up the confederacy. +This included the “Canoe Indians” of the +Sound and of the Oregon sea-coast, whose flat heads, +greasy squat bodies, and crooked legs were in marked +contrast with their skill and dexterity in managing +their canoes and fish-spears; the hardy Indians of +the Willamette Valley and the Cascade Range; and +the bold, predatory riders of eastern Oregon and +Washington,—buffalo hunters and horse tamers, passionately +fond, long before the advent of the white +man, of racing and gambling. It comprised also +the Okanogans, who disposed of their dead by tying +them upright to a tree; the Yakimas, who buried +them under cairns of stone; the Klickitats, who +swathed them like mummies and laid them in low, +rude huts on the <i>mimaluse</i>, or “death islands” of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +the Columbia; the Chinooks, who stretched them in +canoes with paddles and fishing implements by their +side; and the Kalamaths, who burned them with the +maddest saturnalia of dancing, howling, and leaping +through the flames of the funeral pyre. Over sixty +or seventy petty tribes stretched the wild empire, +welded together by the pressure of common foes +and held in the grasp of the hereditary war-chief of +the Willamettes.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The chiefs of the Willamettes had gathered on +Wappatto Island, from time immemorial the council-ground +of the tribes. The white man has changed +its name to “Sauvie’s” Island; but its wonderful +beauty is unchangeable. Lying at the mouth of the +Willamette River and extending for many miles down +the Columbia, rich in wide meadows and crystal lakes, +its interior dotted with majestic oaks and its shores +fringed with cottonwoods, around it the blue and +sweeping rivers, the wooded hills, and the far white +snow peaks,—it is the most picturesque spot in +Oregon.</p> +<p>The chiefs were assembled in secret council, and +only those of pure Willamette blood were present, +for the question to be considered was not one to be +known by even the most trusted ally.</p> +<p>All the confederated tribes beyond the Cascade +Range were in a ferment of rebellion. One of the +petty tribes of eastern Oregon had recently risen up +against the Willamette supremacy; and after a short +but bloody struggle, the insurrection had been put +down and the rebels almost exterminated by the victorious +Willamettes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></div> +<p>But it was known that the chief of the malcontents +had passed from tribe to tribe before the struggle +commenced, inciting them to revolt, and it was +suspected that a secret league had been formed; +though when matters came to a crisis, the confederates, +afraid to face openly the fierce warriors of the +Willamette, had stood sullenly back, giving assistance +to neither side. It was evident, however, that a spirit +of angry discontent was rife among them. Threatening +language had been used by the restless chiefs beyond +the mountains; braves had talked around the +camp-fire of the freedom of the days before the yoke +of the confederacy was known; and the gray old +dreamers, with whom the <i>mimaluse tillicums</i> [dead +people] talked, had said that the fall of the Willamettes +was near at hand.</p> +<p>The sachems of the Willamettes, advised of everything, +were met in council in the soft Oregon spring-tide. +They were gathered under the cottonwood +trees, not far from the bank of the Columbia. The +air was fresh with the scent of the waters, and the +young leaves were just putting forth on the “trees of +council,” whose branches swayed gently in the breeze. +Beneath them, their bronze faces more swarthy still +as the dancing sunbeams fell upon them through the +moving boughs, thirty sachems sat in close semi-circle +before their great war-chief, Multnomah.</p> +<p>It was a strange, a sombre assembly. The chiefs +were for the most part tall, well-built men, warriors and +hunters from their youth up. There was something +fierce and haughty in their bearing, something menacing, +violent, and lawless in their saturnine faces and +black, glittering eyes. Most of them wore their hair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +long; some plaited, others flowing loosely over their +shoulders. Their ears were loaded with <i>hiagua</i> shells; +their dress was composed of buckskin leggings and +moccasins, and a short robe of dressed skin that came +from the shoulders to the knees, to which was added +a kind of blanket woven of the wool of the mountain +sheep, or an outer robe of skins or furs, stained various +colors and always drawn close around the body +when sitting or standing. Seated on rude mats of +rushes, wrapped each in his outer blanket and doubly +wrapped in Indian stoicism, the warriors were ranged +before their chief.</p> +<p>His garb did not differ from that of the others, except +that his blanket was of the richest fur known to +the Indians, so doubled that the fur showed on either +side. His bare arms were clasped each with a rough +band of gold; his hair was cut short, in sign of +mourning for his favorite wife, and his neck was +adorned with a collar of large bear-claws, showing he +had accomplished that proudest of all achievements +for the Indian,—the killing of a grizzly.</p> +<p>Until the last chief had entered the grove and +taken his place in the semi-circle, Multnomah sat like +a statue of stone. He leaned forward reclining on +his bow, a fine unstrung weapon tipped with gold. +He was about sixty years old, his form tall and stately, +his brow high, his eyes black, overhung with shaggy +gray eyebrows and piercing as an eagle’s. His dark, +grandly impassive face, with its imposing regularity of +feature, showed a penetration that read everything, a +reserve that revealed nothing, a dominating power +that gave strength and command to every line. The +lip, the brow, the very grip of the hand on the bow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +told of a despotic temper and an indomitable will. +The glance that flashed out from this reserved and +resolute face—sharp, searching, and imperious—may +complete the portrait of Multnomah, the silent, +the secret, the terrible.</p> +<p>When the last late-entering chief had taken his +place, Multnomah rose and began to speak, using +the royal language; for like the Cayuses and several +other tribes of the Northwest, the Willamettes had +two languages,—the common, for every-day use, and +the royal, spoken only by the chiefs in council.</p> +<p>In grave, strong words he laid before them the +troubles that threatened to break up the confederacy +and his plan for meeting them. It was to send out +runners calling a council of all the tribes, including +the doubtful allies, and to try before them and execute +the rebellious chief, who had been taken alive +and was now reserved for the torture. Such a council, +with the terrible warning of the rebel’s death +enacted before it, would awe the malcontents into +submission or drive them into open revolt. Long +enough had the allies spoken with two tongues; long +enough had they smoked the peace-pipe with both +the Willamettes and their enemies. They must come +now to peace that should be peace, or to open war. +The chief made no gestures, his voice did not vary +its stern, deliberate accents from first to last; but +there was an indefinable something in word and +manner that told how his warlike soul thirsted for +battle, how the iron resolution, the ferocity beneath +his stoicism, burned with desire of vengeance.</p> +<p>There was perfect attention while he spoke,—not +so much as a glance or a whisper aside. When he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +had ceased and resumed his seat, silence reigned for +a little while. Then Tla-wau-wau, chief of the Klackamas, +a sub-tribe of the Willamette, rose. He laid +aside his outer robe, leaving bare his arms and shoulders, +which were deeply scarred; for Tla-wau-wau +was a mighty warrior, and as such commanded. With +measured deliberation he spoke in the royal tongue.</p> +<p>“Tla-wau-wau has seen many winters, and his hair +is very gray. Many times has he watched the grass +spring up and grow brown and wither, and the snows +come and go, and those things have brought him wisdom, +and what he has seen of life and death has given +him strong thoughts. It is not well to leap headlong +into a muddy stream, lest there be rocks under the +black water. Shall we call the tribes to meet us here +on the island of council? When they are all gathered +together they are more numerous than we. Is +it wise to call those that are stronger than ourselves +into our wigwam, when their hearts are bitter against +us? Who knows what plots they might lay, or how +suddenly they might fall on us at night or in the day +when we were unprepared? Can we trust them? +Does not the Klickitat’s name mean ‘he that steals +horses’? The Yakima would smoke the peace-pipe +with the knife that was to stab you hid under his +blanket. The Wasco’s heart is a lie, and his tongue +is a trap.</p> +<p>“No, let us wait. The tribes talk great swelling +words now and their hearts are hot, but if we wait, +the fire will die down and the words grow small. Then +we can have a council and be knit together again. +Let us wait till another winter has come and gone; +then let us meet in council, and the tribes will listen.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></div> +<p>“Tla-wau-wau says, ‘wait, and all will be well.’”</p> +<p>His earnest, emphatic words ended, the chief took +his seat and resumed his former look of stolid indifference. +A moment before he had been all animation, +every glance and gesture eloquent with meaning; now +he sat seemingly impassive and unconcerned.</p> +<p>There was another pause. It was so still that the +rustling of the boughs overhead was startlingly distinct. +Saving the restless glitter of black eyes, it was +a tableau of stoicism. Then another spoke, advising +caution, setting forth the danger of plunging into a +contest with the allies. Speaker followed speaker in +the same strain.</p> +<p>As they uttered the words counselling delay, the +glance of the war-chief grew ever brighter, and his grip +upon the bow on which he leaned grew harder. But +the cold face did not relax a muscle. At length rose +Mishlah the Cougar, chief of the Mollalies. His was +one of the most singular faces there. His tangled +hair fell around a sinister, bestial countenance, all +scarred and seamed by wounds received in battle. +His head was almost flat, running back from his +eyebrows so obliquely that when he stood erect he +seemed to have no forehead at all; while the back and +lower part of his head showed an enormous development,—a +development that was all animal. He knew +nothing but battle, and was one of the most dreaded +warriors of the Willamettes.</p> +<p>He spoke,—not in the royal language, as did the +others, but in the common dialect, the only one of +which he was master.</p> +<p>“My heart is as the heart of Multnomah. Mishlah +is hungry for war. If the tribes that are our younger +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +brothers are faithful, they will come to the council +and smoke the pipe of peace with us; if they are +not, let us know it. Mishlah knows not what it is to +wait. You all talk words, words, words; and the +tribes laugh and say, ‘The Willamettes have become +women and sit in the lodge sewing moccasins +and are afraid to fight.’ Send out the runners. Call +the council. Let us find who are our enemies; then +let us strike!”</p> +<p>The hands of the chief closed involuntarily as if +they clutched a weapon, and his voice rang harsh and +grating. The eyes of Multnomah flashed fire, and +the war-lust kindled for a moment on the dark faces +of the listeners.</p> +<p>Then rose the grotesque figure of an Indian, ancient, +withered, with matted locks and haggard face, +who had just joined the council, gliding in noiselessly +from the neighboring wood. His cheek-bones were +unusually high, his lower lip thick and protruding, his +eyes deeply sunken, his face drawn, austere, and dismal +beyond description. The mis-shapen, degraded +features repelled at first sight; but a second glance +revealed a great dim sadness in the eyes, a gloomy +foreboding on brow and lip that were weirdly fascinating, +so sombre were they, so full of woe. There +was a wild dignity in his mien; and he wore the robe +of furs, though soiled and torn, that only the richest +chiefs were able to wear. Such was Tohomish, or +Pine Voice, chief of the Santiam tribe of the Willamettes, +the most eloquent orator and potent medicine +or <i>tomanowos</i> man in the confederacy.</p> +<p>There was a perceptible movement of expectation, +a lighting up of faces as he arose, and a shadow of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +anxiety swept over Multnomah’s impassive features. +For this man’s eloquence was wonderful, and his soft +magnetic tones could sway the passions of his hearers +to his will with a power that seemed more than human +to the superstitious Indians. Would he declare for +the council or against it; for peace or for war?</p> +<p>He threw back the tangled locks that hung over +his face, and spoke.</p> +<p>“Chiefs and warriors, who dwell in lodges and talk +with men, Tohomish, who dwells in caves and talks +with the dead, says greeting, and by him the dead +send greeting also.”</p> +<p>His voice was wonderfully musical, thrilling, and +pathetic; and as he spoke the salutation from the +dead, a shudder went through the wild audience +before him,—through all but Multnomah, who +did not shrink nor drop his searching eyes from +the speaker’s face. What cared he for the salutation +of the living or the dead? Would this man +whose influence was so powerful declare for action +or delay?</p> +<p>“It has been long since Tohomish has stood in the +light of the sun and looked on the faces of his brothers +or heard their voices. Other faces has he looked +upon and other voices has he heard. He has learned +the language of the birds and the trees, and has talked +with the People of Old who dwell in the serpent and +the cayote; and they have taught him their secrets. +But of late terrible things have come to Tohomish.”</p> +<p>He paused, and the silence was breathless, for the +Indians looked on this man as a seer to whom the +future was as luminous as the past. But Multnomah’s +brow darkened; he felt that Tohomish also +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +was against him, and the soul of the warrior rose up +stern and resentful against the prophet.</p> +<p>“A few suns ago, as I wandered in the forest by +the Santiam, I heard the death-wail in the distance. +I said, ‘Some one is dead, and that is the cry of the +mourners. I will go and lift up my voice with them.’ +But as I sought them up the hill and through the +thickets the cry grew fainter and farther, till at last it +died out amid distant rocks and crags. And then I +knew that I had heard no human voice lamenting the +dead, but that it was the Spirit Indian-of-the-Wood +wailing for the living whose feet go down to the darkness +and whose faces the sun shall soon see no more. +Then my heart grew heavy and bitter, for I knew that +woe had come to the Willamettes.</p> +<p>“I went to my den in the mountains, and sought +to know of those that dwell in the night the meaning +of this. I built the medicine-fire, I fasted, I refused +to sleep. Day and night I kept the fire burning; +day and night I danced the <i>tomanowos</i> dance around +the flames, or leaped through them, singing the song +that brings the <i>Spee-ough</i>, till at last the life went +from my limbs and my head grew sick and everything +was a whirl of fire. Then I knew that the +power was on me, and I fell, and all grew black.</p> +<p>“I dreamed a dream.</p> +<p>“I stood by the death-trail that leads to the spirit-land. +The souls of those who had just died were +passing; and as I gazed, the wail I had heard in the +forest came back, but nearer than before. And as +the wail sounded, the throng on the death-trail grew +thicker and their tread swifter. The warrior passed +with his bow in his hand and his quiver swinging from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +his shoulder; the squaw followed with his food upon +her back; the old tottered by. It was a whole +people on the way to the spirit-land. But when I +tried to see their faces, to know them, if they were +Willamette or Shoshone or our brother tribes, I could +not. But the wail grew ever louder and the dead +grew ever thicker as they passed. Then it all faded +out, and I slept. When I awoke, it was night; the +fire had burned into ashes and the medicine wolf was +howling on the hills. The voices that are in the air +came to me and said, ‘Go to the council and tell +what you have seen;’ but I refused, and went far +into the wood to avoid them. But the voices would +not let me rest, and my spirit burned within me, and +I came. Beware of the great council. Send out no +runners. Call not the tribes together. Voices and +omens and dreams tell Tohomish of something terrible +to come. The trees whisper it; it is in the air, +in the waters. It has made my spirit bitter and +heavy until my drink seems blood and my food has +the taste of death. Warriors, Tohomish has shown +his heart. His words are ended.”</p> +<p>He resumed his seat and drew his robe about him, +muffling the lower part of his face. The matted hair +fell once more over his drooping brow and repulsive +countenance, from which the light faded the moment +he ceased to speak. Again the silence was profound. +The Indians sat spell-bound, charmed by the +mournful music of the prophet’s voice and awed by +the dread vision he had revealed. All the superstition +within them was aroused. When Tohomish took +his seat, every Indian was ready to oppose the calling +of the council with all his might. Even Mishlah, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +superstitious as blood-thirsty, was startled and perplexed. +The war-chief stood alone.</p> +<p>He knew it, but it only made his despotic will the +stronger. Against the opposition of the council and +the warning of Tohomish, against <i>tomanowos</i> and +<i>Spee-ough</i>, ominous as they were even to him, rose up +the instinct which was as much a part of him as life +itself,—the instinct to battle and to conquer. He +was resolved with all the grand strength of his nature +to bend the council to his will, and with more than +Indian subtility saw how it might be done.</p> +<p>He rose to his feet and stood for a moment in +silence, sweeping with his glance the circle of chiefs. +As he did so, the mere personality of the man began +to produce a reaction. For forty years he had been +the great war-chief of the tribes of the Wauna, and +had never known defeat. The ancient enemies of +his race dreaded him; the wandering bands of the +prairies had carried his name far and wide; and even +beyond the Rockies, Sioux and Pawnee had heard +rumors of the powerful chief by the Big River of the +West. He stood before them a huge, stern warrior, +himself a living assurance of victory and dominion.</p> +<p>As was customary with Indian orators in preparing +the way for a special appeal, he began to recount the +deeds of the fathers, the valor of the ancient heroes +of the race. His stoicism fell from him as he half +spoke, half chanted the harangue. The passion that +was burning within him made his words like pictures, +so vivid they were, and thrilled his tones with electric +power. As he went on, the sullen faces of his hearers +grew animated; the superstitious fears that Tohomish +had awakened fell from them. Again they were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +warriors, and their blood kindled and their pulses +throbbed to the words of their invincible leader. He +saw it, and began to speak of the battles they themselves +had fought and the victories they had gained. +More than one dark cheek flushed darker and more +than one hand moved unconsciously to the knife. He +alluded to the recent war and to the rebellious tribe +that had been destroyed.</p> +<p>“<i>That</i>,” said he, “was the people Tohomish saw +passing over the death-trail in his dream. What +wonder that the thought of death should fill the air, +when we have slain a whole people at a single blow! +Do we not know too that their spirits would try to +frighten our dreamers with omens and bad <i>tomanowos</i>? +Was it not bad <i>tomanowos</i> that Tohomish saw? +It could not have come from the Great Spirit, for +he spoke to our fathers and said that we should be +strongest of all the tribes as long as the Bridge of the +Gods should stand. Have the stones of that bridge +begun to crumble, that our hearts should grow +weak?”</p> +<p>He then described the natural bridge which, as tradition +and geology alike tell us, spanned at that time +the Columbia at the Cascades. The Great Spirit, he +declared, had spoken; and as he had said, so it would +be. Dreams and omens were mist and shadow, but +the bridge was rock, and the word of the Great Spirit +stood forever. On this tradition the chief dwelt with +tremendous force, setting against the superstition that +Tohomish had roused the still more powerful superstition +of the bridge,—a superstition so interwoven +with every thought and hope of the Willamettes that +it had become a part of their character as a tribe.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div> +<p>And now when their martial enthusiasm and fatalistic +courage were all aglow, when the recital of +their fathers’ deeds had stirred their blood and the +portrayal of their own victories filled them again with +the fierce joy of conflict, when the mountain of stone +that arched the Columbia had risen before them in +assurance of dominion as eternal as itself,—now, +when in every eye gleamed desire of battle and every +heart was aflame, the chief made (and it was characteristic +of him) in one terse sentence his crowning +appeal,—</p> +<p>“Chiefs, speak your heart. Shall the runners be +sent out to call the council?”</p> +<p>There was a moment of intense silence. Then a +low, deep murmur of consent came from the excited +listeners: a half-smothered war-cry burst from the +lips of Mishlah, and the victory was won.</p> +<p>One only sat silent and apart, his robe drawn +close, his head bent down, seemingly oblivious of +all around him, as if resigned to inevitable doom.</p> +<p>“To-morrow at dawn, while the light is yet young, +the runners will go out. Let the chiefs meet here +in the grove to hear the message given them to be +carried to the tribes. The talk is ended.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_WARCHIEF_AND_THE_SEER' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_WARCHIEF_AND_THE_SEER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>THE WAR-CHIEF AND THE SEER.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Cassandra’s wild voice prophesying woe.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Philip Bourke Marston.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The war-chief left the grove as soon as he had +dismissed the council. Tohomish went with +him. For some distance they walked together, the +one erect and majestic, the other gliding like a +shadow by his side.</p> +<p>At length Multnomah stopped under a giant cottonwood +and looked sternly at Tohomish.</p> +<p>“You frightened the council to-day with bad <i>mimaluse</i> +[death] talk. Why did you do it? Why did +you bring into a council of warriors dreams fit only +for old men that lie sleeping in the sun by the door +of the wigwam?”</p> +<p>“I said what my eyes saw and my ears heard, and +it was true.”</p> +<p>“It cannot be true, for the Great Spirit has said +that the Willamettes shall rule the tribes as long as +the bridge shall stand; and how can it fall when it +is a mountain of stone?”</p> +<p>A strange expression crossed Tohomish’s sullen +face.</p> +<p>“Multnomah, beware how you rest on the prophecy +of the bridge. Lean not your hand on it, for it is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +as if you put it forth to lean it on a coiled rattlesnake.”</p> +<p>“Your sayings are dark,” replied the chief impatiently. +“Speak plainly.”</p> +<p>Tohomish shook his head, and the gloomy look +habitual to him came back.</p> +<p>“I cannot. Dreams and omens I can tell, but the +secret of the bridge is the secret of the Great Spirit; +and I cannot tell it lest he become angry and take +from me my power of moving men with burning +words.”</p> +<p>“The secret of the Great Spirit! What black +thing is it you are hiding and covering up with words? +Bring it forth into the light, that I may see it.”</p> +<p>“No, it is my <i>tomanowos</i>. Were I to tell it the +gift of eloquence would go from me, the fire would +die from my heart and the words from my lips, and +my life would wither up within me.”</p> +<p>Multnomah was silent. Massive and commanding +as was his character he was still an Indian, and the +words of the seer had touched the latent superstition +in his nature. They referred to that strongest and +most powerful of all the strange beliefs of the Oregon +savages,—the spirit possession or devil worship of +the <i>tomanowos</i>.</p> +<p>As soon as an Oregon Indian was old enough to +aspire to a place among the braves, he was sent +into the hills alone. There he fasted, prayed, and +danced, chanted the medicine-chant, and cut himself +with knife or thorn till he fell exhausted to the +ground. Whatever he saw then, in waking delirium +or feverish sleep, was the charm that was to control +his future. Be it bird or beast, dream or mystic revelation, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +it was his <i>totem</i> or <i>tomanowos</i>, and gave him +strength, cunning, or swiftness, sometimes knowledge +of the future, imparting to him its own characteristics. +But <i>what</i> it was, its name or nature, was +the one secret that must go with him to his grave. +Woe unto him if he told the name of his <i>totem</i>. In +that moment it would desert him, taking from him all +strength and power, leaving him a shattered wreck, +an outcast from camp and war-party.</p> +<p>“Multnomah says well that it is a black secret, but +it is my <i>totem</i> and may not be told. For many winters +Tohomish has carried it in his breast, till its poisoned +sap has filled his heart with bitterness, till for +him gladness and warmth have gone out of the light, +laughter has grown a sob of pain, and sorrow and +death have become what the feast, the battle, and the +chase are to other men. It is the black secret, the +secret of the coming trouble, that makes Tohomish’s +voice like the voice of a pine; so that men say it has +in it sweetness and mystery and haunting woe, moving +the heart as no other can. And if he tells the secret, +eloquence and life go with it. Shall Tohomish tell +it? Will Multnomah listen while Tohomish shows +what is to befall the bridge and the Willamettes in +the time that is to come?”</p> +<p>The war-chief gazed at him earnestly. In that +troubled, determined look, superstition struggled for +a moment and then gave way to the invincible +obstinacy of his resolve.</p> +<p>“No. Multnomah knows that his own heart is +strong and will not fail him, come what may; and +that is all he cares to know. If you told me, the +<i>tomanowos</i> would be angry, and drain your spirit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +from you and cast you aside as the serpent casts its +skin. And you must be the most eloquent of all at +the great council; for there the arm of Multnomah +and the voice of Tohomish must bend the bad chiefs +before them.”</p> +<p>His accents had the same undertone of arbitrary +will, of inflexible determination, that had been in +them when he spoke in the council. Though the +shadows fell more and more ominous and threatening +across his path, to turn back did not occur to him. +The stubborn tenacity of the man could not let go his +settled purpose.</p> +<p>“Tohomish will be at the council and speak for +his chief and his tribe?” asked Multnomah, in a tone +that was half inquiry, half command; for the seer +whose mysterious power as an orator gave him +so strong an influence over the Indians must be +there.</p> +<p>Tohomish’s haggard and repulsive face had settled +back into the look of mournful apathy habitual to him. +He had not, since the council, attempted to change +the chief’s decision by a single word, but seemed to +have resigned himself with true Indian fatalism to that +which was to come.</p> +<p>“Tohomish will go to the council,” he said in +those soft and lingering accents, indescribably sweet +and sad, with which his degraded face contrasted so +strongly. “Yes, he will go to the council, and his +voice shall bend and turn the hearts of men as never +before. Strong will be the words that he shall say, for +with him it will be sunset and his voice will be heard +no more.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></div> +<p>“Where will you go when the council is ended, that +we shall see you no more?” asked Multnomah.</p> +<p>“On the death-trail to the spirit-land,—nor will +I go alone,” was the startling reply; and the seer +glided noiselessly away and disappeared among the +trees.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_WALLULAH' id='CHAPTER_III_WALLULAH'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>WALLULAH.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +<span style='margin-left: 7.8125em;'>Ne’er was seen</span><br /> +In art or nature, aught so passing sweet<br /> +As was the form that in its beauteous frame<br /> +Inclosed her, and is scattered now in dust.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Carey:</span> <i>Dante</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Multnomah passed on to seek the lodge of +his daughter Wallulah, a half Asiatic, and the +most beautiful woman in all the land of the Wauna.</p> +<p>Reader, would you know the tale of the fair oriental +of whom was born the sweet beauty of Wallulah?</p> +<p>Eighteen years before the time of our story, an +East Indian ship was wrecked on the Columbia bar, +the crew and cargo falling into the hands of the +Indians. Among the rescued was a young and exceedingly +lovely woman, who was hospitably entertained +by the chief of the tribe. He and his people +were deeply impressed by the grace of the fair +stranger, whose dainty beauty won for her the name +of “Sea-Flower,” because the sea, that is ever drifting +weeds, had for once wafted a flower to the shore.</p> +<p>As she sat on the mat in the rude bark lodge, the +stern chief softened his voice, trying to talk with +her; the uncouth women gently stroked her long soft +hair, and some of the bolder and more curious +touched her white hands wonderingly, while the +throng of dusky faces pressed close round the pale, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +sweet creature whose eyes looked at them with a +deep, dumb woe they could not understand.</p> +<p>When she had become familiar with the Willamette +tongue, she told them that she was the daughter of a +chief far away across the great water, who ruled a +country as broad as the land of the Wauna and far +richer. He had sent her as a bride to the ruler of +another land, with a fabulous dowry of jewels and +a thousand gifts besides. But the ship that bore her +and her splendid treasures had been turned from its +course by a terrible storm. Day after day it was +driven through a waste of blackness and foam,—the +sails rent, the masts swept away, the shattered hulk +hurled onward like a straw by the fury of the wind. +When the tempest had spent itself, they found themselves +in a strange sea under strange stars. Compass +and chart were gone; they knew not where they +were, and caught in some unknown current, they +could only drift blindly on and on. Never sighting +land, seeing naught but the everlasting sweep of wave +and sky, it began to be whispered in terror that this +ocean had no further shore, that they might sail on +forever, seeing nothing but the boundless waters. At +length, when the superstitious sailors began to talk of +throwing their fair charge overboard as an offering to +the gods, the blue peaks of the Coast Range rose out +of the water, and the ever rain-freshened green of the +Oregon forests dawned upon them. <a name="page75"></a>Then came the +attempt to enter the Columbia, and the wreck on +the bar.<a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[1]</a></p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></div> +<p>Multnomah made the lovely princess his wife, and +Sea-Flower showed the spirit of a queen. She +tried to introduce among the Indians something of +the refinement of her oriental home. From her the +degraded medicine-men and dreamers caught a gleam +of the majestic lore of Buddha; to the chiefs-in-council +she taught something of the grave, inexorable +justice of the East, that seemed like a higher development +of their own grim unwritten code. Her influence +was very great, for she was naturally eloquent +and of noble presence. More than one sachem felt +the inspiration of better, purer thoughts than he had +ever known before when the “war-chief’s woman” +spoke in council. Strange gatherings were those: +blood-stained chiefs and savage warriors listening all +intent to the sweetest of Indian tongues spoken +in modulations that were music; the wild heart of +the empire stirred by the perfumed breath of a +woman!</p> +<p>She had died three years before the events we +have been narrating, and had left to her daughter +the heritage of her refinement and her beauty. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +Wallulah was the only child of the war-chief and +his Asiatic wife, the sole heir of her father’s +sovereignty.</p> +<p>Two miles from the council grove, in the interior +of the island, was Wallulah’s lodge. The path that +Multnomah took led through a pleasant sylvan lawn. +The grass was green, and the air full of the scent of buds +and flowers. Here and there a butterfly floated like +a sunbeam through the woodland shadows, and a +humming-bird darted in winged beauty from bloom +to bloom. The lark’s song came vibrating through +the air, and in the more open spaces innumerable birds +flew twittering in the sun. The dewy freshness, the +exquisite softness of spring, was everywhere.</p> +<p>In the golden weather, through shadowed wood and +sunny opening, the war-chief sought his daughter’s +lodge.</p> +<p>Suddenly a familiar sound attracted his attention, +and he turned toward it. A few steps, and he came +to the margin of a small lake. Several snow-white +swans were floating on it; and near the edge of the +water, but concealed from the swans by the tall reeds +that grew along the shore, was his daughter, watching +them.</p> +<p>She was attired in a simple dress of some oriental +fabric. Her form was small and delicately moulded; +her long black hair fell in rich masses about her +shoulders; and her profile, turned toward him, was +sweetly feminine. The Indian type showed plainly, +but was softened with her mother’s grace. Her face +was sad, with large appealing eyes and mournful lips, +and full of haunting loveliness; a face whose strange +mournfulness was deepened by the splendor of its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +beauty; a face the like of which is rarely seen, but +once seen can never be forgotten.</p> +<p>There was something despondent even in her pose, +as she sat with her shoulders drooping slightly forward +and her dark eyes fixed absently on the swans, +watching them through the bending reeds. Now one +uttered its note, and she listened, seeming to vibrate +to the deep, plaintive cry; then she raised to her +lips a flute that she held in her hands, and answered it +with a perfect intonation,—an intonation that breathed +the very spirit of the swan. So successful was the +mimicry that the swans replied, thinking it the cry +of a hidden mate; and again she softly, rhythmically +responded.</p> +<p>“Wallulah!” said the chief.</p> +<p>She sprang to her feet and turned toward him. +Her dark face lighted with an expressive flash, her +black eyes shone, her features glowed with joy and +surprise. It was like the breaking forth of an inner +illumination. There was now nothing of the Indian +in her face.</p> +<p>“My father!” she exclaimed, springing to him and +kissing his hand, greeting him as her mother had +taught her to do from childhood. “Welcome! Were +you searching for me?”</p> +<p>“Yes, you were well hidden, but Multnomah is a +good hunter and can always track the fawn to its +covert,” replied the chief, with the faint semblance +of a smile. All that there was of gentleness +in his nature came out when talking with his +daughter.</p> +<p>“You have come from the council? Are you not +weary and hungry? Come to the lodge, and let Wallulah +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +give you food, and spread a mat for you to rest +upon.”</p> +<p>“No, I am hungry only to see Wallulah and hear +her talk. Sit down on the log again.” She seated +herself, and her father stood beside her with an abstracted +gaze, his hand stroking her long, soft tresses. +He was thinking of the darker, richer tresses of another, +whose proud, sad face and mournful eyes with their +wistful meaning, so like Wallulah’s own, he, a barbarian +prince, could never understand.</p> +<p>Although, according to the superstitious custom of +the Willamettes, he never spoke the name of Sea-Flower +or alluded to her in any way, he loved his +lost wife with a deep and unchanging affection. She +had been a fair frail thing whose grace and refinement +perplexed and fascinated him, moving him to +unwonted tenderness and yearning. He had brought +to her the spoils of the chase and of battle. The +finest mat was braided for her lodge, the choicest +skins and furs spread for her bed, and the chieftainess’s +string of <i>hiagua</i> shells and grizzly bear’s claws +had been put around her white neck by Multnomah’s +own hand. In spite of all this, she drooped and +saddened year by year; the very hands that sought +to cherish her seemed but to bruise; and she sickened +and died, the delicate woman, in the arms of +the iron war-chief, like a flower in the grasp of a +mailed hand.</p> +<p>Why did she die? Why did she always seem so +sad? Why did she so often steal away to weep over +her child? Was not the best food hers, and the +warm place by the lodge fire, and the softest bearskin +to rest on; and was she not the wife of Multnomah,—the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +big chief’s woman? Why then should +she droop and die like a winged bird that one tries +to tame by tying it to the wigwam stake and tossing +it food?</p> +<p>Often the old chief brooded over these questions, +but it was unknown to all, even to Wallulah. Only +his raven tresses, cut close year by year in sign of +perpetual mourning, told that he had not forgotten, +could never forget.</p> +<p>The swans had taken flight, and their long lingering +note sounded faint in the distance.</p> +<p>“You have frightened away my swans,” said Wallulah, +looking up at him smilingly.</p> +<p>A shadow crossed his brow.</p> +<p>“Wallulah,” he said, and his voice had now the +stern ring habitual to it, “you waste your life with +the birds and trees and that thing of sweet sounds,”—pointing +to the flute. “Better be learning to think +on the things a war-chief’s daughter should care for,—the +feast and the council, the war-parties and the +welcome to the braves when they come back to the +camp with the spoil.”</p> +<p>The bright look died out of her face.</p> +<p>“You say those words so often,” she replied sorrowfully, +“and I try to obey, but cannot. War is +terrible to me.”</p> +<p>His countenance grew harsher, his hand ceased to +stroke her hair.</p> +<p>“And has Multnomah, chief of the Willamettes +and war-chief of the Wauna, lived to hear his daughter +say that war is terrible to her? Have you nothing +of your father in you? Remember the tales of +the brave women of Multnomah’s race,—the women +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +whose blood is in your veins. Remember that they +spoke burning words in the council, and went forth +with the men to battle, and came back with their own +garments stained with blood. You shudder! Is it +at the thought of blood?”</p> +<p>The old wistful look came back, the old sadness +was on the beautiful face again. One could see now +why it was there.</p> +<p>“My father,” she said sorrowfully, “Wallulah has +tried to love those things, but she cannot. She cannot +change the heart the Great Spirit has given her. +She cannot bring herself to be a woman of battle any +more than she can sound a war-cry on her flute,” and +she lifted it as she spoke.</p> +<p>He took it into his own hands.</p> +<p>“It is this,” he said, breaking down the sensitive +girl in the same despotic way in which he bent the +wills of warriors; “it is this that makes you weak. +Is it a charm that draws the life from your heart? If +so, it can be broken.”</p> +<p>Another moment and the flute would have been +broken in his ruthless hands and its fragments flung +into the lake; but Wallulah, startled, caught it from +him with a plaintive cry.</p> +<p>“It was my mother’s. If you break it you will +break my heart!”</p> +<p>The chief’s angry features quivered at the mention +of her mother, and he instantly released the flute. +Wallulah clasped it to her bosom as if it represented +in some way the mother she had lost, and her eyes +filled with tears. Again her father’s hand rested on +her head, and she knew that he too was thinking of +her mother. Her nature rose up in revolt against the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +Indian custom which forbade talking of the dead. +Oh, if she might only talk with her father about her +mother, though it were but a few brief words! Never +since her mother’s death had her name been mentioned +between them. She lifted her eyes, pathetic +with three years’ hunger, to his. As their glances +met, it seemed as if the veil that had been between +their diverse natures was for a moment lifted, and +they understood each other better than they ever had +before. While his look imposed silence and sealed +her lips as with a spoken command, there was a gleam +of tenderness in it that said, “I understand, I too +remember; but it must not be spoken.”</p> +<p>There came to her a sense of getting closer to her +father’s heart, even while his eyes held her back and +bade her be silent.</p> +<p>At length the chief spoke, this time very gently.</p> +<p>“Now I shall talk to you not as to a girl but as to +a woman. You are Multnomah’s only child. When +he dies there will be no one but you to take his place. +Are your shoulders strong enough to bear the weight +of power, the weight that crushes men? Can you +break down revolt and read the hearts of plotters,—yes, +and detect conspiracy when it is but a whisper +in the air? Can you sway council and battle to your +will as the warrior bends his bow? No; it takes +men, men strong of heart, to rule the races of the +Wauna. Therefore there is but one way left me +whereby the line of Multnomah may still be head of +the confederacy when he is gone. I must wed you +to a great warrior who can take my place when I am +dead and shelter you with his strength. Then the +name and the power of Multnomah will still live +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +among the tribes, though Multnomah himself be +crumbled into dust.”</p> +<p>She made no reply, but sat looking confused and +pained, by no means elated at the future he had +described.</p> +<p>“Have you never thought of this,—that some time +I must give you to a warrior?”</p> +<p>Her head drooped lower and her cheek faintly +flushed.</p> +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> +<p>“But you have chosen no one?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” she faltered.</p> +<p>Her father’s hand still rested on her head, +but there was an expression on his face that showed +he would not hesitate to sacrifice her happiness to +his ambition.</p> +<p>“You have chosen, then? Is he a chief? No, I +will not ask that; the daughter of Multnomah could +love no one but a chief. I have already selected a +husband for you. Tear this other love from your +heart and cast it aside.”</p> +<p>The flush died out of her cheek, leaving it cold and +ashen; and her fingers worked nervously with the +flute in her lap.</p> +<p>He continued coldly,—</p> +<p>“The fame of your beauty has gone out through +all the land. The chief of the Chopponish<a name='FNanchor_0002' id='FNanchor_0002'></a><a href='#Footnote_0002' class='fnanchor'>[2]</a> has offered +many horses for you, and the chief of the Spokanes, +our ancient foes, has said there would be peace between +us if I gave you to him. But I have promised +you to another. Your marriage to him will knit the +bravest tribe of the confederacy to us; he will take +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +my place when I am dead, and our people will still +be strong.”</p> +<p>She made no reply. What could she do against +her father’s granite will? All the grace and mobility +were gone from her face, and it was drooping and +dull almost to impassiveness. She was only an Indian +girl now, waiting to learn the name of him who +was to be her master.</p> +<p>“What is the name of the one you love? Speak +it once, then never speak it again.”</p> +<p>“Snoqualmie, chief of the Cayuses,” faltered her +tremulous lips.</p> +<p>A quick change of expression came into the gaze +that was bent on her.</p> +<p>“Now lift your head and meet your fate like +the daughter of a chief. Do not let me see +your face change while I tell you whom I have +chosen.”</p> +<p>She lifted her face in a tumult of fear and dread, +and her eyes fastened pathetically on the chief.</p> +<p>“His name is—” she clasped her hands and her +whole soul went out to her father in the mute supplication +of her gaze—“the chief Snoqualmie, him of +whom you have thought.”</p> +<p>Her face was bewilderment itself for an instant; +the next, the sudden light, the quick flash of expression +which transfigured it in a moment of joy or surprise, +came to her, and she raised his hand and kissed +it. Was that all? Remember she had in her the deep, +mute Indian nature that meets joy or anguish alike in +silence. She had early learned to repress and control +her emotions. Perhaps that was why she was so sad +and brooding now.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></div> +<p>“Where have you seen Snoqualmie?” asked Multnomah. +“Not in your father’s lodge, surely, for when +strange chiefs came to him you always fled like a +frightened bird.”</p> +<p>“Once only have I seen him,” she replied, flushing +and confused. “He had come here alone to tell you +that some of the tribes were plotting against you. I +saw him as he went back through the wood to the +place where his canoe was drawn up on the bank of +the river. He was tall; his black hair fell below his +shoulders; and his look was very proud and strong. +His back was to the setting sun, and it shone around +him robing him with fire, and I thought he looked +like the Indian sun-god.”</p> +<p>“I am glad it is pleasant for you to obey me. Now, +listen while I tell you what you must do as the wife +of Snoqualmie.”</p> +<p>Stilling the sweet tumult in her breast, she tried hard +to listen while he told her of the plans, the treaties, +the friendships, and the enmities she must urge on +her husband, when he became war-chief and was carrying +on her father’s work; and in part she understood, +for her imagination was captivated by the +splendid though barbarian dream of empire he set +before her.</p> +<p>At length, as the sun was setting, one came to tell +Multnomah that a runner from a tribe beyond the +mountains had come to see him. Then her father +left her; but Wallulah still sat on the mossy log, while +all the woodland was golden in the glory of sunset.</p> +<p>Her beloved flute was pressed close to her cheek, +and her face was bright and joyous; she was thinking +of Snoqualmie, the handsome stately chief whom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +she had seen but once, but whose appearance, as she +saw him then, had filled her girlish heart.</p> +<p>And all the time she knew not that this Snoqualmie, +to whom she was to be given, was one of the +most cruel and inhuman of men, terrible even to +the grim warriors of the Wauna for his deeds of +blood.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[1]</span></a> +<p> +Shipwrecks of Asiatic vessels are not uncommon on the Pacific +Coast, several having occurred during the present century,—notably +that of a Japanese junk in 1833, from which three passengers were saved at the hands of the Indians; while the cases of beeswax that +have been disinterred on the sea-coast, the oriental words that are found +ingrafted in the native languages, and the Asiatic type of countenance +shown by many of the natives, prove such wrecks to have been frequent +in prehistoric times. One of the most romantic stories of the Oregon +coast is that which the Indians tell of a buried treasure at Mount Nehalem, +left there generations ago by shipwrecked men of strange garb +and curious arms,—treasure which, like that of Captain Kidd, has been +often sought but never found. There is also an Indian legend of a shipwrecked +white man named Soto, and his comrades (See Mrs. Victor’s +“Oregon and Washington”), who lived long with the mid-Columbia +Indians and then left them to seek some settlement of their own people +in the south. All of these legends point to the not infrequent occurrence +of such a wreck as our story describes. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0002' id='Footnote_0002'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0002'><span class='label'>[2]</span></a> +<p> +Indian name of the Nez Percés. +</p></div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_SENDING_OUT_THE_RUNNERS' id='CHAPTER_IV_SENDING_OUT_THE_RUNNERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>SENDING OUT THE RUNNERS.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Speed, Malise, speed; the dun deer’s hide<br /> +On fleeter foot was never tied;<br /> +Herald of battle, fate and fear<br /> +Stretch around thy fleet career.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Scott.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>At early morning, the sachems had gathered in the +council-grove, Multnomah on the seat of the +war-chief, and twenty runners before him. They +were the flower of the Willamette youth, every one +of royal birth, handsome in shape and limb, fleet-footed +as the deer. They were slender and sinewy +in build, with aquiline features and sharp searching +eyes.</p> +<p>Their garb was light. Leggins and moccasins had +been laid aside; even the <i>hiagua</i> shells were stripped +from their ears. All stood nerved and eager for the +race, waiting for the word that was to scatter them +throughout the Indian empire, living thunderbolts +bearing the summons of Multnomah.</p> +<p>The message had been given them, and they waited +only to pledge themselves to its faithful delivery.</p> +<p>“You promise,” said the chief, while his flashing +glance read every messenger to the heart, “you +promise that neither cougar nor cataract nor ambuscade +shall deter you from the delivery of this summons; +that you will not turn back, though the spears +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +of the enemy are thicker in your path than ferns +along the Santiam? You promise that though you fall +in death, the summons shall go on?”</p> +<p>The spokesman of the runners, the runner to the +Chopponish, stepped forward. With gestures of perfect +grace, and in a voice that rang like a silver +trumpet, he repeated the ancient oath of the Willamettes,—the +oath used by the Shoshones to-day.</p> +<p>“The earth hears us, the sun sees us. Shall we +fail in fidelity to our chief?”</p> +<p>There was a pause. The distant cry of swans +came from the river; the great trees of council rustled +in the breeze. Multnomah rose from his seat, +gripping the bow on which he leaned. Into that +one moment he seemed gathering yet repressing all +the fierceness of his passion, all the grandeur of his +will. Far in the shade he saw Tohomish raise his +hand imploringly, but the eyes of the orator sank +once more under the glance of the war-chief.</p> +<p>“Go!”</p> +<p>An electric shock passed through all who heard; +and except for the chiefs standing on its outskirts +like sombre shadows, the grove was empty in a +moment.</p> +<p>Beyond the waters that girdled the island, one +runner took the trail to Puyallup, one the trail to +Umatilla, one the path to Chelon, and one the path +to Shasta; another departed toward the volcano-rent +desert of Klamath, and still another toward the sea-washed +shores of Puget Sound.</p> +<p>The irrevocable summons had gone forth; the +council was inevitable,—the crisis must come.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-088.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 280px; height: 435px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 280px;'> +“<i>The Earth hears us, the Sun sees us.</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div> +<p>Long did Multnomah and his chiefs sit in council +that day. Resolute were the speeches that came +from all, though many secretly regretted that they +had allowed Multnomah’s oratory to persuade them +into declaring for the council: but there was no +retreat.</p> +<p>Across hills and canyons sped the fleet runners, on +to the huge bark lodges of Puget Sound, the fisheries +of the Columbia, and the crowded race-courses of the +Yakima. Into camps of wandering prairie tribes, +where the lodges stood like a city to-day and were +rolled up and strapped on the backs of horses to-morrow; +into councils where sinister chiefs were talking +low of war against the Willamettes; into wild +midnight dances of plotting dreamers and medicine-men,—they +came with the brief stern summons, and +passed on to speak it to the tribes beyond.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>BOOK III.</h2> +<h4><i>THE GATHERING OF THE TRIBES.</i></h4> +<hr class='mini' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_BROKEN_PEACEPIPE' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_BROKEN_PEACEPIPE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>THE BROKEN PEACE-PIPE.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +My full defiance, hate, and scorn.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Scott.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>It is the day after the departure of the runners to +call the great council,—eight years since Cecil +Grey went out into the wilderness. Smoke is curling +slowly upward from an Indian camp on the prairie +not far from the Blue Mountains of eastern Oregon. +Fifteen or twenty cone-shaped lodges, each made of +mats stretched on a frame-work of poles, compose +the village. It swarms with wolfish-looking dogs and +dirty, unclad children. Heaps of refuse, heads and +feet of game, lie decaying among the wigwams, tainting +the air with their disgusting odor. Here and +there an ancient withered specimen of humanity sits +in the sun, absorbing its rays with a dull animal-like +sense of enjoyment, and a group of warriors lie idly +talking. Some of the squaws are preparing food, +boiling it in water-tight willow baskets by filling them +with water and putting in hot stones.<a name='FNanchor_0003' id='FNanchor_0003'></a><a href='#Footnote_0003' class='fnanchor'>[3]</a> Horses are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +tethered near the lodges, and others are running loose +on the prairie.</p> +<p>There are not many of them. The Indians have +only scores now where a century later Lewis and +Clark found thousands; and there are old men in +the camp who can recall the time when the first +horses ever seen among them were bought or stolen +from the tribes to the south.</p> +<p>On every side the prairie sweeps away in long +grassy swells and hollows, rolling off to the base of +the Blue Mountains.</p> +<p>The camp has the sluggish aspect that an Indian +camp always presents at noonday.</p> +<p>Suddenly a keen-sighted warrior points to a dim +speck far over the prairie toward the land of the +Bannocks. A white man would have scarcely noticed +it; or if he had, would have thought it only some +wandering deer or antelope. But the Indians, glancing +at the moving object, have already recognized it +as a horseman coming straight toward the camp.</p> +<p>Some messenger it is, doubtless, from the Bannocks. +Once the whole camp would have rushed to arms at +the approach of a rider from that direction, for the +two tribes had been at bitter enmity; but of late the +peace-pipe has been smoked between them, and +the old feud is at an end. Still, the sight arouses +considerable curiosity and much speculation as to the +object of the visitor.</p> +<p>He is a good rider, his horse is fleet, and in less +time than would have been thought possible reaches +the camp. He gallops up, stops near the lodges that +are farthest out, and springs lightly to the ground. +He does not go on into the camp, but stands beside +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +his horse till advances are made on the other +side.</p> +<p>The dogs bark at him; his steed, a fiery black, +tosses its head and paws the ground; he stands beside +it immovably, and to all appearance is ready so to +stand till sunset. Some of the warriors recognize him +as one of the bravest of the Bannocks. He looks like +a daring, resolute man, yet wary and self-contained.</p> +<p>After a while one of the Cayuse warriors (for this +was a camp of the Cayuses) advanced toward him, +and a grave salutation was exchanged. Then the +Bannock said that he wanted to see the Cayuse chief, +Snoqualmie, in the council-lodge, for the chief of the +Bannocks had sent a “talk” to the Cayuses.</p> +<p>The warrior left him to speak with Snoqualmie. In +a short time he returned, saying that the chief and +the warriors had gone to the council-lodge and were +ready to hear the “talk” that their brother, the chief +of the Bannocks, had sent them. The messenger +tied his horse by its lariat, or long hair-rope, to a +bush, and followed the brave to the lodge.</p> +<p>It was a large wigwam in the centre of the village. +A crowd of old men, women, and children had already +gathered around the door. Within, on one +side of the room, sat in three rows a semi-circle of +braves, facing the chief, who sat on the opposite side. +Near the door was a clear space where the messenger +was to stand while speaking.</p> +<p>He entered, and the doorway behind him was immediately +blocked up by the motley crowd excluded +from the interior. Not a warrior in the council looked +at him; even the chief, Snoqualmie, did not turn his +head. The messenger advanced a few paces into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +room, stopped, and stood as impassive as the rest. +Then, when the demands of Indian stoicism had been +satisfied, Snoqualmie turned his face, a handsome but +treacherous and cruel face, upon the messenger.</p> +<p>“The warrior comes to speak the words of our +brother, the chief of the Bannocks; he is welcome. +Shall we smoke the pipe of peace before we hear our +brother’s words?”</p> +<p>The Bannock gazed steadily at Snoqualmie. In +that fierce and proud regard was something the +Cayuse could not fathom.</p> +<p>“Why should the peace-pipe be smoked?” he +asked. “Was it not smoked in the great council a +moon ago? Did not Snoqualmie say then that the +two tribes should henceforth be as one tribe, and that +the Bannocks should be the brethren of the Cayuses +forever?”</p> +<p>“Those were the words,” replied the chief with +dignity. “Snoqualmie has not forgotten them.”</p> +<p>All eyes were now turned on the messenger; they +saw that something unexpected was coming. The +Bannock drew his form up to its full height, and his +resolute features expressed the bitterest scorn.</p> +<p>“Nor have the Bannocks forgotten. At the council +you talked ‘peace, peace.’ Last night some of your +young men surprised a little camp of Bannocks,—a +few old men and boys who were watching horses,—and +slew them and ran off the horses. Is that your +peace? The Bannocks will have no such peace. <i>This</i> +is the word the chief of the Bannocks sends you!”</p> +<p>Holding up the peace-pipe that had been smoked +at the great council and afterward given to the medicine-men +of the Bannocks as a pledge of Cayuse sincerity, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +he broke the long slender stem twice, thrice, +crushed the bowl in his fingers, and dashed the pieces +at Snoqualmie’s feet. It was a defiance, a contemptuous +rejection of peace, a declaration of war more +disdainful than any words could have made it.</p> +<p>Then, before they could recover from their astonishment, +the Bannock turned and leaped through the +crowd at the door,—for an instant’s stay was death. +Even as he leaped, Snoqualmie’s tomahawk whizzed +after him, and a dozen warriors were on their feet, +weapon in hand. But the swift, wild drama had been +played like lightning, and he was gone. Only, a +brave who had tried to intercept his passage lay on +the ground outside the lodge, stabbed to the heart. +They rushed to the door in time to see him throw +himself on his horse and dash off, looking back to +give a yell of triumph and defiance.</p> +<p>In less time than it takes to describe it, the horses +tethered near the lodges were mounted and twenty +riders were in pursuit. But the Bannock was considerably +in advance now, and the fine black horse +he rode held its own nobly. Out over the prairie +flew the pursuing Cayuses, yelling like demons, the +fugitive turning now and then to utter a shout of +derision.</p> +<p>Back at the lodges, the crowd of spectators looked +on with excited comments.</p> +<p>“His horse is tired, ours are fresh!” “They gain +on him!” “No, he is getting farther from them!” +“See, he throws away his blanket!” “They are +closer, closer!” “No, no, his horse goes like a deer.”</p> +<p>Out over the prairies, fleeting like the shadow of a +hurrying cloud, passed the race, the black horse +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +leading, the Cayuse riders close behind, their long +hair outstreaming, their moccasins pressed against +their horses’ sides, their whips falling without mercy. +Down a canyon they swept in pursuit and passed from +the ken of the watchers at the camp, the black horse +still in the van.</p> +<p>But it could not cope with the fresh horses of the +Cayuses, and they gained steadily. At last the pursuers +came within bowshot, but they did not shoot; +the fugitive knew too well the reason why. Woe unto +him if he fell alive into their hands! He leaned low +along his horse’s neck, chanting a weird refrain as if +charming it to its utmost speed, and ever and anon +looked back with that heart-shaking shout of defiance. +But steadily his pursuers gained on him; and one, +outstripping the rest, rode alongside and reached out +to seize his rein. Even as he touched it, the Bannock’s +war-club swung in air and the Cayuse reeled +dead from his saddle. A howl of rage burst from the +others, a whoop of exultation from the fugitive.</p> +<p>But at length his horse’s breath grew short and +broken, he felt its body tremble as it ran, and his +enemies closed in around him.</p> +<p>Thrice the war-club rose and fell, thrice was a +saddle emptied; but all in vain. Quickly his horse +was caught, he was dragged from the saddle and +bound hand and foot.</p> +<p>He was thrown across a horse and brought back to +the village. What a chorus of triumph went up from +the camp, when it was seen that they were bringing +him back! It was an ominous sound, with something +of wolfish ferocity in it. But the Bannock only smiled +grimly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></div> +<p>He is bound to a post,—a charred, bloodstained +post to which others of his race have been bound +before him. The women and children taunt him, +jeer at him, strike him even. The warriors do not. +They will presently do more than that. Some busy +themselves building a fire near by; others bring +pieces of flint, spear points, jagged fragments of rock, +and heat them in it. The prisoner, dusty, torn, +parched with thirst, and bleeding from many wounds, +looks on with perfect indifference. Snoqualmie comes +and gazes at him; the prisoner does not notice him, +is seemingly unconscious of his presence.</p> +<p>By and by a band of hunters ride up from a long +excursion. They have heard nothing of the trouble. +With them is a young Bannock who is visiting the +tribe. He rides up with his Cayuse comrades, laughing, +gesticulating in a lively way. The jest dies on +his lips when he recognizes the Bannock who is tied +to the stake. Before he can even think of flight, he +is dragged from his horse and bound,—his whilom +comrades, as soon as they understand the situation, +becoming his bitterest assailants.</p> +<p>For it is war again, war to the death between the +tribes, until, two centuries later, both shall alike be +crushed by the white man.</p> +<p>At length the preparations are complete, and the +women and children, who have been swarming around +and taunting the captives, are brushed aside like so +many flies by the stern warriors. First, the young +Bannock who has just come in is put where he must +have a full view of the other. Neither speaks, but +a glance passes between them that is like a mutual +charge to die bravely. Snoqualmie comes and stands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +close by the prisoner and gives directions for the +torture to begin.</p> +<p>The Bannock is stripped. The stone blades that +have been in the fire are brought, all red and glowing +with heat, and pressed against his bare flesh. It +burns and hisses under the fiery torture, but the +warrior only sneers.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t hurt; you can’t hurt me. You are +fools. You don’t know how to torture.”<a name='FNanchor_0004' id='FNanchor_0004'></a><a href='#Footnote_0004' class='fnanchor'>[4]</a></p> +<p>No refinement of cruelty could wring a complaint +from him. It was in vain that they burned him, cut +the flesh from his fingers, branded his cheek with the +heated bowl of the pipe he had broken.</p> +<p>“Try it again,” he said mockingly, while his flesh +smoked. “I feel no pain. We torture your people +a great deal better, for we make them cry out like +little children.”</p> +<p>More and more murderous and terrible grew the +wrath of his tormentors, as this stream of vituperation +fell on their ears. Again and again weapons were +lifted to slay him, but Snoqualmie put them back.</p> +<p>“He can suffer more yet,” he said; and the words +were like a glimpse into the cold, merciless heart of +the man. Other and fiercer tortures were devised by +the chief, who stood over him, pointing out where and +how the keenest pain could be given, the bitterest +pang inflicted on that burned and broken body. +At last it seemed no longer a man, but a bleeding, +scorched, mutilated mass of flesh that hung to the +stake; only the lips still breathed defiance and the +eyes gleamed deathless hate. Looking upon one and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +another, he boasted of how he had slain their friends +and relatives. Many of his boasts were undoubtedly +false, but they were very bitter.</p> +<p>“It was by my arrow that you lost your eye,” he +said to one; “I scalped your father,” to another; +and every taunt provoked counter-taunts accompanied +with blows.</p> +<p>At length he looked at Snoqualmie,—a look so +ghastly, so disfigured, that it was like something seen +in a horrible dream.</p> +<p>“I took your sister prisoner last winter; you never +knew,—you thought she had wandered from home +and was lost in a storm. We put out her eyes, we +tore out her tongue, and then we told her to go out +in the snow and find food. Ah-h-h! you should have +seen her tears as she went out into the storm, and––”</p> +<p>The sentence was never finished. While the last +word lingered on his lips, his body sunk into a lifeless +heap under a terrific blow, and Snoqualmie put back +his blood-stained tomahawk into his belt.</p> +<p>“Shall we kill the other?” demanded the warriors, +gathering around the surviving Bannock, who had +been a stoical spectator of his companion’s sufferings. +A ferocious clamor from the women and children +hailed the suggestion of new torture; they thronged +around the captive, the children struck him, the women +abused him, spat upon him even, but not a muscle +of his face quivered; he merely looked at them with +stolid indifference.</p> +<p>“Kill him, kill him!” “Stretch him on red hot +stones!” “We will make <i>him</i> cry!”</p> +<p>Snoqualmie hesitated. He wished to save this man +for another purpose, and yet the Indian blood-thirst +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +was on him; chief and warrior alike were drunken +with fury, mad with the lust of cruelty.</p> +<p>As he hesitated, a white man clad in the garb of +an Indian hunter pushed his way through the crowd. +Silence fell upon the throng; the clamor of the +women, the fierce questioning of the warriors ceased. +The personality of this man was so full of tenderness +and sympathy, so strong and commanding, that it impressed +the most savage nature. Amid the silence, he +came and looked first at the dead body that yet hung +motionless from the stake, then sorrowfully, reproachfully, +at the circle of faces around. An expression +half of sullen shame, half of defiance, crossed more +than one countenance as his glance fell upon it.</p> +<p>“Friends,” said he, sadly, pointing at the dead, +“is this your peace with the Bannocks,—the peace +you prayed the Great Spirit to bless, the peace that +was to last forever?”</p> +<p>“The Bannocks sent back the peace-pipe by this +man, and he broke it and cast the pieces in our +teeth,” answered one, stubbornly.</p> +<p>“And you slew him for it? Why not have sent +runners to his tribe asking why it was returned, and +demanding to know what wrong you had done, that +you might right it? Now there will be war. When +you lie down to sleep at night, the surprise may be +on you and massacre come while your eyes are heavy +with slumber; when you are gone on the buffalo +trail the tomahawk may fall on the women and children +at home. Death will lurk for you in every thicket +and creep round every encampment. The Great +Spirit is angry because you have stained your hands +in blood without cause.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p>There was no reply. This white man, coming +from far eastern lands lying they knew not where, +who told them God had sent him to warn them to be +better, had a singular influence over them. There +was none of his hearers who did not dimly feel that +he had done wrong in burning and scarring the poor +mass of humanity before him, and that the Great +Spirit was angry with him for it.</p> +<p>Back in the crowd, some of the children, young +demons hungering for blood, began to clamor again +for the death of the surviving Bannock. Cecil Grey +looked at him pityingly.</p> +<p>“At least you can let him go.”</p> +<p>There was no answer. Better impulses, better desires, +were struggling in their degraded minds; but +cruelty was deeply rooted within them, the vague +shame and misgiving his words had roused was not +so strong as the dark animalism of their natures.</p> +<p>Cecil turned to Snoqualmie.</p> +<p>“I saved your life once, will you not give me his?”</p> +<p>The chief regarded him coldly.</p> +<p>“Take it,” he said after a pause. Cecil stooped +over and untied the thongs that bound the captive, +who rose to his feet amid a low angry murmur from +those around. Snoqualmie silenced it with an imperious +gesture. Then he turned to the young +Bannock.</p> +<p>“Dog, one of a race of dogs! go back to your +people and tell them what you have seen to-day. Tell +them how we burned and tortured their messenger, +and that we let you go only to tell the tale. Tell +them, too, that Snoqualmie knows his sister died by +their hand last winter, and that for every hair upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +her head he will burn a Bannock warrior at the stake. +Go, and be quick, lest my war-party overtake you on +the trail.”</p> +<p>The Bannock left without a word, taking the trail +across the prairie toward the land of his tribe.</p> +<p>“The gift was given, but there was that given with +it that made it bitter. And now may I bury this +dead body?”</p> +<p>“It is only a Bannock; who cares what is done +with it?” replied Snoqualmie. “But remember, my +debt is paid. Ask of me no more gifts,” and the +chief turned abruptly away.</p> +<p>“Who will help me bury this man?” asked Cecil. +No one replied; and he went alone and cut the +thongs that bound the body to the stake. But as he +stooped to raise it, a tall fine-looking man, a renegade +from the Shoshones, who had taken no part in +the torture, came forward to help him. Together +they bore the corpse away from the camp to the hillside; +together they hollowed out a shallow grave and +stretched the body in it, covering it with earth and +heaping stones on top, that the cayote might not disturb +the last sleep of the dead.</p> +<p>When they returned to the camp, they found a war-party +already in the saddle, with Snoqualmie at their +head, ready to take the Bannock trail. But before +they left the camp, a runner entered it with a summons +from Multnomah calling them to the great +council of the tribes on Wappatto Island, for which +they must start on the morrow.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0003' id='Footnote_0003'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0003'><span class='label'>[3]</span></a> +<p> +See Bancroft’s “Native Races,” vol. i., p. 270. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0004' id='Footnote_0004'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0004'><span class='label'>[4]</span></a> +<p> +See Ross Cox’s “Adventures on the Columbia River” for a description of torture among the Columbia tribes. +</p></div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_ON_THE_WAY_TO_THE_COUNCIL' id='CHAPTER_II_ON_THE_WAY_TO_THE_COUNCIL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>ON THE WAY TO THE COUNCIL.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +They arrived at the village of Wishram.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Irving</span>: <i>Astoria</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The camp was all astir at dawn, for sunset must +see them far on the way. They must first cross +the prairies to the northward till they struck the +Columbia, then take the great trail leading down it +to the Willamette valley. It was a two days’ journey +at the least.</p> +<p>Squaws were preparing a hurried meal; lodge-poles +were being taken down and the mats that covered +them rolled up and strapped on the backs of horses; +Indians, yelling and vociferating, were driving up +bands of horses from which pack and riding ponies +were to be selected; unbroken animals were rearing +and plunging beneath their first burdens, while mongrel +curs ran barking at their heels. Here and there +unskilful hands were throwing the lasso amid the jeers +and laughter of the spectators. All was tumult and +excitement.</p> +<p>At length they were under way. First rode the +squaws, driving before them pack-horses and ponies, +for the herds and entire movable property of the +tribe accompanied it in all its marches. The squaws +rode astride, like men, in the rude wooden saddles +that one yet sees used by the wilder Indians of eastern +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +Oregon and Idaho,—very high, both before and behind, +looking like exaggerated pack-saddles. A hair +rope, tied around the lower jaw of the horse, answered +for a bridle. To this must be added the quirt, a +short double-lashed whip fastened into a hollow and +curiously carved handle. The application of this +whip was so constant as to keep the right arm in continual +motion; so that even to-day on the frontier an +Indian rider can be distinguished from a white man, +at a distance, by the constant rising and falling of the +whip arm. With the squaws were the children, some +of whom, not over four, five, and six years of age, rode +alone on horseback, tied in the high saddles; managing +their steeds with instinctive skill, and when the +journey became fatiguing, going to sleep, secured by +their fastenings from falling off.</p> +<p>Next came the men, on the best horses, unencumbered +by weight of any kind and armed with bow and +arrow. Here and there a lance pointed with flint, a +stone knife or hatchet, or a heavy war-club, hung at +the saddle; but the bow and arrow constituted their +chief weapon.</p> +<p>The men formed a kind of rear-guard, protecting the +migrating tribe from any sudden assault on the part +of the Bannocks. There were perhaps two hundred +fighting-men in all. Snoqualmie was at their head, +and beside him rode the young Willamette runner +who had brought the summons from Multnomah the +day before. The Willamette was on horseback for +the first time in his life. The inland or prairie tribes +of eastern Oregon, coming as they did in contact with +tribes whose neighbors bordered on Mexico, had +owned horses for perhaps a generation; but the sea-board +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +tribes owned very few, and there were tribes +on Puget Sound and at the mouth of the Columbia +who had never seen them. Even the Willamettes, +sovereign tribe of the confederacy though they were, +had but few horses.</p> +<p>This morning the young Willamette had bought a +colt, giving for it a whole string of <i>hiagua</i> shells. It +was a pretty, delicate thing, and he was proud of it, +and had shown his pride by slitting its ears and cutting +off its tail, as was the barbarous custom with +many of the Indians. He sat on the little creature +now; and loaded as it was with the double weight of +himself and the heavy wooden saddle, it could hardly +keep pace with the older and stronger horses.</p> +<p>In the rear of all rode Cecil Grey and the Shoshone +renegade who had helped him bury the dead Bannock +the evening before. Cecil’s form was as slight and +graceful in its Indian garb as in days gone by, and +his face was still the handsome, sensitive face it had +been eight years before. It was stronger now, more +resolute and mature, and from long intercourse with +the Indians there had come into it something grave +and Indian-like; but it only gave more of dignity to his +mien. His brown beard swept his breast, and his face +was bronzed; but the lips quivered under the beard, +and the cheek flushed and paled under the bronze.</p> +<p>What had he been doing in the eight years that +had elapsed since he left his New England home? +Let us listen to his story in his own words as he tells +it to the Shoshone renegade by his side.</p> +<p>“I lived in a land far to the east, beside a great +water. My people were white like myself. I was +one of an order of men whom the Great Spirit had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +appointed to preach of goodness, mercy, and truth, +and to explain to the people the sayings of a mighty +book which he had given to the fathers,—a book that +told how men should live in this world, and said that +a beautiful place in the next would be given those +who are good and true in this. But by and by the +Great Spirit began to whisper to me of the Indians in +the wilderness who knew nothing of the book or the +hope within it, and a longing rose within me to go +and tell them; but there were ties that held me to +my own people, and I knew not what to do. Death +cut those ties; and in my hour of grief there came +to me a vision of a great bridge far in the west, and +of Indians passing over it, and a voice spoke to me +and bade me go and seek the land of the bridge, for +the Great Spirit had a mission for me there; and I +went forth into the wilderness. I met many tribes +and tarried with them, telling them of God. Many +were evil and treated me harshly, others were kind +and listened. Some loved me and wished me to +abide always in their lodges and be one of them. But +even while they spoke the Great Spirit whispered to +me to go on, and an unrest rose within me, and I +could not stay.</p> +<p>“So the years went by, and I wandered farther and +farther to the west, across rivers and deserts, till I +reached this tribe; and they said that farther on, +toward the land of the Willamettes, a great river +flowed through the mountains, and across it was a +bridge of stone built by the gods when the world was +young. Then I knew that it was the bridge of my +vision, and the unrest came back and I arose to go. +But the tribe kept me, half as guest and half as prisoner, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +and would not let me depart; until last night the +runner came summoning them to the council. Now +they go, taking me with them. I shall see the land +of the bridge and perform the work the Great Spirit +has given me to do.”</p> +<p>The old grand enthusiasm shone in his look as he +closed. The Shoshone regarded him with grave +attention.</p> +<p>“What became of the book that told of God?” he +asked earnestly.</p> +<p>“A chief took it from me and burned it; but its +words were written on my heart, and they could not +be destroyed.”</p> +<p>They rode on for a time in silence. The way was +rugged, the country a succession of canyons and +ridges covered with green and waving grass but bare +of trees. Behind them, the Blue Mountains were +receding in the distance. To the west, Mt. Hood, +the great white “Witch Mountain” of the Indians, +towered over the prairie, streaking the sky with a long +floating wreath of volcanic smoke. Before them, +as they journeyed northward toward the Columbia, +stretched out the endless prairie. Now they descended +into a deep ravine, now they toiled up a +steep hillside. The country literally rolled, undulating +in immense ridges around and over which the long +file of squaws and warriors, herds and pack-horses, +wound like a serpent. From the bands ahead came +shouts and outcries,—the sounds of rude merriment; +and above all the long-drawn intonation so familiar +to those who have been much with Indian horsemen,—the +endlessly repeated “ho-ha, ho-ha, ho-ha,” a +kind of crude riding-song.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>After a while Cecil said, “I have told you the story +of my life, will you not tell me the story of yours?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the renegade, after a moment’s +thought; “you have shown me your heart as if you +were my brother. Now I will show you mine.</p> +<p>“I was a Shoshone warrior.<a name='FNanchor_0005' id='FNanchor_0005'></a><a href='#Footnote_0005' class='fnanchor'>[5]</a> There was a girl in +our village whom I had loved from childhood. We +played together; we talked of how, when I became +a man and a warrior, she should become my wife; +she should keep my wigwam; we would always love +one another. She grew up, and the chief offered many +horses for her. Her father took them. She became +the chief’s wife, and all my heart withered up. Everything +grew dark. I sat in my wigwam or wandered +in the forest, caring for nothing.</p> +<p>“When I met her, she turned her face aside, for +was she not the wife of another? Yet I knew her +heart hungered for me. The chief knew it too, and +when he spoke to her a cloud was ever on his brow +and sharp lightning on his tongue. But she was true. +Whose lodge was as clean as his? The wood was +always carried, the water at hand, the meat cooked. +She searched the very thought that was in his heart +to save him the trouble of speaking. He could never +say, ‘Why is it not done?’ But her heart was mine, +and he knew it; and he treated her like a dog and not +like a wife.</p> +<p>“Me too he tried to tread under foot. One day +we assembled to hunt the buffalo. Our horses were +all collected. Mine stood before my tent, and he +came and took them away, saying that they were his. +What could I do? He was a chief.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/illus-108.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 277px; height: 425px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 277px;'> +<i>The Great “Witch Mountain” of the Indians.</i><br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></div> +<p>“I came no more to the council, I shared no more +in the hunt and the war-dance. I was unhorsed, degraded, +dishonored. He told his wife what he had +done, and when she wept he beat her.</p> +<p>“One evening I stood on a knoll overlooking the +meadow where the horses were feeding; the chief’s +horses were there, and mine with them. I saw <i>him</i> +walking among them. The sight maddened me; my +blood burned; I leaped on him; with two blows I laid +him dead at my feet. I covered him with earth and +strewed leaves over the place. Then I went to <i>her</i> +and told her what I had done, and urged her to fly +with me. She answered only with tears. I reminded +her of all she had suffered, and told her I had done +only what was just. I urged her again to fly. She +only wept the more, and bade me go. My heart was +heavy but my eyes were dry.</p> +<p>“‘It is well,’ I said, ‘I will go alone to the desert. +None but the wild beasts of the wilderness will be +with me. The seekers of blood will follow on my +trail; they may come on me while I am asleep and +slay me, but you will be safe. I will go alone.’</p> +<p>“I turned to go. She sprang after me. ‘No,’ she +cried, ‘you shall not go alone. Wherever you go I +will go: you shall never part from me.’</p> +<p>“While we were talking, one who had seen me +slay the chief and had roused the camp, came with +others. We heard their steps approaching the door, +and knew that death came with them. We escaped +at the back of the lodge, but they saw us and their +arrows flew. She fell, and I caught her in my arms +and fled into the wood. When we were safe I looked +at her I carried, and she was dead. An arrow had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +pierced her heart. I buried her that night beneath +a heap of stones, and fled to the Cayuses. That is my +story.”</p> +<p>“What will you do now?” asked Cecil, deeply +touched.</p> +<p>“I shall live a man’s life. I shall hunt and go on +the war-trail, and say strong words in the council. +And when my life is ended, when the sunset and the +night come to me and I go forth into the darkness, I +know I shall find her I love waiting for me beside the +death-trail that leads to the spirit-land.”</p> +<p>The tears came into Cecil’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I too have known sorrow,” he said, “and like you +I am a wanderer from my own people. We are going +together into an unknown land, knowing not what +may befall us. Let us be friends.”</p> +<p>And he held out his hand. The Indian took it,—awkwardly, +as an Indian always takes the hand of a +white man, but warmly, heartily.</p> +<p>“We are brothers,” he said simply. And as Cecil +rode on with the wild troop into the unknown world +before him, he felt that there was one beside him who +would be faithful, no matter what befell.</p> +<p>The long day wore on; the sun rose to the zenith +and sunk, and still the Indians pushed forward. It +was a long, forced march, and Cecil was terribly +fatigued when at last one of the Indians told him that +they were near a big river where they would camp for +the night.</p> +<p>“One sun more,” said the Indian, pointing to the +sun now sinking in the west, “and you will see the +Bridge of the Gods.”</p> +<p>The news re-animated Cecil, and he hurried on. A +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +shout rose from the Indians in advance. He saw the +head of the long train of horses and riders pause and +look downward and the Indians at the rear gallop forward. +Cecil and his friend followed and joined them.</p> +<p>“The river! the river!” cried the Indians, as they +rode up. The scene below was one of gloomy but +magnificent beauty. Beneath them opened an immense +canyon, stupendous even in that land of canyons,—the +great canyon of the Columbia. The walls +were brown, destitute of verdure, sinking downward +from their feet in yawning precipices or steep slopes. +At the bottom, more than a thousand feet below, +wound a wide blue river, the gathered waters of half +a continent. Beneath them, the river plunged over a +long low precipice with a roar that filled the canyon +for miles. Farther on, the flat banks encroached upon +the stream till it seemed narrowed to a silver thread +among the jutting rocks. Still farther, it widened +again, swept grandly around a bend in the distance, +and passed from sight.</p> +<p>“<i>Tuum, tuum</i>,” said the Indians to Cecil, in tones +that imitated the roar of the cataract. It was the +“Tum” of Lewis and Clark, the “Tumwater” of +more recent times; and the place below, where the +compressed river wound like a silver thread among +the flat black rocks, was the far-famed Dalles of the +Columbia. It was superb, and yet there was something +profoundly lonely and desolate about it,—the +majestic river flowing on forever among barren rocks +and crags, shut in by mountain and desert, wrapped +in an awful solitude where from age to age scarce +a sound was heard save the cry of wild beasts or +wilder men.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>“It is the very river of death and of desolation,” +thought Cecil. “It looks lonely, forsaken, as if no +eye had beheld it from the day of creation until now.”</p> +<p>Looking again at the falls, he saw, what he had +not before noticed, a large camp of Indians on the +side nearest them. Glancing across the river, he +descried on a knoll on the opposite bank—what? +Houses! He could not believe his eyes; could it be +possible? Yes, they certainly were long, low houses, +roofed as the white man roofs his. A sudden wild +hope thrilled him; his brain grew dizzy. He turned +to one of the Indians.</p> +<p>“Who built those houses?” he exclaimed; “white +men like me?”</p> +<p>The other shook his head.</p> +<p>“No, Indians.”</p> +<p>Cecil’s heart died within him. “After all,” he +murmured, “it was absurd to expect to find a settlement +of white men here. How could I think that +any but Indians had built those houses?”</p> +<p>Still, as they descended the steep zigzag pathway +leading down to the river, he could not help gazing +again and again at the buildings that so reminded +him of home.</p> +<p>It was Wishram, the ancient village of the falls, +whose brave and insolent inhabitants, more than a century +later, were the dread of the early explorers and +fur traders of the Columbia. It was built at the last +and highest fishery on the Columbia, for the salmon +could not at that time ascend the river above the +falls. All the wandering tribes of the Upper Columbia +came there to fish or to buy salmon of the Wishram +fishers. There too the Indians of the Lower +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +Columbia and the Willamette met them, and bartered +the <i>hiagua</i> shells, the dried berries, and <i>wappatto</i> of +their country for the bear claws and buffalo robes of +the interior. It was a rendezvous where buying, selling, +gambling, dancing, feasting took the place of war +and the chase; though the ever burning enmities of +the tribes sometimes flamed into deadly feuds and the +fair-ground not infrequently became a field of battle.</p> +<p>The houses of Wishram were built of logs, the walls +low, the lower half being below the surface of the +ground, so that they were virtually half cellar. At +a distance, the log walls and arched roofs gave them +very much the appearance of a frontier town of the +whites.</p> +<p>As they descended to the river-side, Cecil looked +again and again at the village, so different from the +skin or bark lodges of the Rocky Mountain tribes he +had been with so long. But the broad and sweeping +river flowed between, and his gaze told him little +more than his first glance had done.</p> +<p>They were now approaching the camp. Some of +the younger braves at the head of the Cayuse train +dashed toward it, yelling and whooping in the wildest +manner. Through the encampment rang an answering +shout.</p> +<p>“The Cayuses! the Cayuses! and the white medicine-man!”</p> +<p>The news spread like wildfire, and men came running +from all directions to greet the latest arrivals. +It was a scene of abject squalor that met Cecil’s eyes +as he rode with the others into the camp. Never had +he seen among the Indian races aught so degraded as +those Columbia River tribes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></div> +<p>The air was putrid with decaying fish; the very +skins and mats that covered the lodge-poles were +black with rancid salmon and filth. Many of the men +were nude; most of the women wore only a short +garment of skin or woven cedar bark about the waist, +falling scarcely to the knees. The heads of many had +been artificially flattened; their faces were brutal; their +teeth worn to the gums with eating sanded salmon; +and here and there bleared and unsightly eyes showed +the terrible prevalence of ophthalmia. Salmon were +drying in the sun on platforms raised above the reach +of dogs. Half-starved horses whose raw and bleeding +mouths showed the effect of the hair-rope bridles, and +whose projecting ribs showed their principal nutriment +to be sage-brush and whip-lash, were picketed +among the lodges. Cayote-like dogs and unclad +children, shrill and impish, ran riot, fighting together +for half-dried, half-decayed pieces of salmon. Prevailing +over everything was the stench which is unique +and unparalleled among the stenches of the earth,—the +stench of an Indian camp at a Columbia fishery.<a name='FNanchor_0006' id='FNanchor_0006'></a><a href='#Footnote_0006' class='fnanchor'>[6]</a></p> +<p>Perhaps ten of the petty inland tribes had assembled +there as their starting-point for the great council +at Wappatto Island. All had heard rumors of +the white man who had appeared among the tribes +to the south saying that the Great Spirit had sent him +to warn the Indians to become better, and all were +anxious to see him. They pointed him out to one +another as he rode up,—the man of graceful presence +and delicate build; they thronged around him, naked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +men and half-clad women, squalid, fierce as wild +beasts, and gazed wonderingly.</p> +<p>“It is he, the white man,” they whispered among +themselves. “See the long beard.” “See the white +hands.” “Stand back, the Great Spirit sent him; he +is strong <i>tomanowos</i>; beware his anger.”</p> +<p>Now the horses were unpacked and the lodges +pitched, under the eyes of the larger part of the +encampment, who watched everything with insatiable +curiosity, and stole all that they could lay their hands +on. Especially did they hang on every motion of +Cecil; and he sank very much in their estimation +when they found that he helped his servant, the old +Indian woman, put up his lodge.</p> +<p>“Ugh, he does squaw’s work,” was the ungracious +comment. After awhile, when the lodge was up and +Cecil lay weary and exhausted upon his mat within it, +a messenger entered and told him that the Indians +were all collected near the river bank and wished him +to come and give them the “talk” he had brought +from the Great Spirit.</p> +<p>Worn as he was, Cecil arose and went. It was in +the interval between sunset and dark. The sun still +shone on the cliffs above the great canyon, but in the +spaces below the shadows were deepening. On the +flat rocks near the bank of the river, and close by +the falls of Tumwater, the Indians were gathered to +the number of several hundred, awaiting him,—some +squatting, Indian fashion, on the ground, others +standing upright, looking taller than human in the +dusky light. Mingled with the debased tribes that +made up the larger part of the gathering, Cecil saw +here and there warriors of a bolder and superior race,—Yakimas +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +and Klickitats, clad in skins or wrapped +in blankets woven of the wool of the mountain sheep.</p> +<p>Cecil stood before them and spoke, using the Willamette +tongue, the language of common intercourse +between the tribes, all of whom had different dialects. +The audience listened in silence while he told them +of the goodness and compassion of the Great Spirit; +how it grieved him to see his children at war among +themselves, and how he, Cecil, had been sent to warn +them to forsake their sins and live better lives. Long +familiarity with the Indians had imparted to him +somewhat of their manner of thinking and speaking; +his language had become picturesque with Indian imagery, +and his style of oratory had acquired a tinge +of Indian gravity. But the intense and vivid spirituality +that had ever been the charm of his eloquence +was in it still. There was something in his words +that for the moment, and unconsciously to them, lifted +his hearers to a higher plane. When he closed there +was upon them that vague remorse, that dim desire +to be better, that indefinable wistfulness, which his +earnest, tender words never failed to arouse in his +hearers.</p> +<p>When he lifted his hands at the close of his “talk,” +and prayed that the Great Spirit might pity them, that +he might take away from them the black and wicked +heart of war and hate and give them the new heart +of peace and love, the silence was almost breathless, +broken only by the unceasing roar of the falls and the +solemn pleading of the missionary’s voice.</p> +<p>He left them and returned through the deepening +shadows to his lodge. There he flung himself on the +couch of furs the old Indian woman had spread for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +him. Fatigued with the long ride of the day and the +heavy draught his address had made on an overtaxed +frame, he tried to sleep.</p> +<p>But he could not. The buildings of the town of +Wishram across the river, so like the buildings of the +white man, had awakened a thousand memories of +home. Vivid pictures of his life in New England +and in the cloisters of Magdalen came before his +sleepless eyes. The longing for the refined and +pleasant things that had filled his life rose strong and +irrepressible within him. Such thoughts were never +entirely absent from his mind, but at times they seemed +to dominate him completely, driving him into a perfect +fever of unrest and discontent. After tossing +for hours on his couch, he arose and went out into +the open air.</p> +<p>The stars were bright; the moon flooded the wide +canyon with lustre; the towering walls rose dim and +shadowy on either side of the river whose waters +gleamed white in the moonlight; the solemn roar of +the falls filled the silence of the night.</p> +<p>Around him was the barbarian encampment, with +here and there a fire burning and a group of warriors +talking beside it. He walked forth among the lodges. +Some were silent, save for the heavy breathing of the +sleepers; others were lighted up within, and he could +hear the murmur of voices.</p> +<p>At one place he found around a large fire a crowd +who were feasting, late as was the hour, and boasting +of their exploits. He stood in the shadow a moment +and listened. One of them concluded his tale by +springing to his feet, advancing a few paces from the +circle of firelight, and making a fierce speech to invisible +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +foes. Looking toward the land of the Shoshones, +he denounced them with the utmost fury, dared them +to face him, scorned them because they did not appear, +and ended by shaking his tomahawk in their direction, +amid the applause of his comrades.</p> +<p>Cecil passed on and reached the outer limit of the +camp. There, amid some large bowlders, he almost +stumbled on a band of Indians engaged in some grisly +ceremony. He saw them, however, in time to escape +observation and screen himself behind one of the +rocks.</p> +<p>One of the Indians held a rattlesnake pinned to +the ground with a forked stick. Another held out a +piece of liver to the snake and was provoking him to +bite it. Again and again the snake, quivering with +fury and rattling savagely, plunged his fangs into the +liver. Several Indians stood looking on, with arrows +in their hands. At length, when the meat was thoroughly +impregnated with the virus, the snake was +released and allowed to crawl away. Then they all +dipped the points of their arrows in the poisoned +liver,<a name='FNanchor_0007' id='FNanchor_0007'></a><a href='#Footnote_0007' class='fnanchor'>[7]</a> carefully marking the shaft of each in order to +distinguish it from those not poisoned. None of them +saw Cecil, and he left without being discovered.</p> +<p>Why did they wish to go to the council with +poisoned arrows?</p> +<p>Further on, among the rocks and remote from the +camp, he saw a great light and heard a loud hallooing. +He went cautiously toward it. He found a large fire +in an open space, and perhaps thirty savages, stripped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +and painted, dancing around it, brandishing their +weapons and chanting a kind of war-chant. On +every face, as the firelight fell on it, was mad ferocity +and lust of war. Near them lay the freshly killed +body of a horse whose blood they had been drinking. +Drunk with frenzy, drunk with blood, they danced +and whirled in that wild saturnalia till Cecil grew +dizzy with the sight.<a name='FNanchor_0008' id='FNanchor_0008'></a><a href='#Footnote_0008' class='fnanchor'>[8]</a></p> +<p>He made his way back to the camp and sought his +lodge. He heard the wolves howling on the hills, and +a dark presentiment of evil crept over him.</p> +<p>“It is not to council that these men are going, but +to war,” he murmured, as he threw himself on his +couch. “God help me to be faithful, whatever +comes! God help me to keep my life and my words +filled with his spirit, so that these savage men may be +drawn to him and made better, and my mission be +fulfilled! I can never hope to see the face of white +man again, but I can live and die faithful to the last.”</p> +<p>So thinking, a sweet and restful peace came to him, +and he fell asleep. And even while he thought how +impossible it was for him ever to reach the land of +the white man again, an English exploring-ship lay at +anchor at Yaquina Bay, only two days’ ride distant; +and on it were some who had known and loved him +in times gone by, but who had long since thought +him lost in the wilderness forever.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0005' id='Footnote_0005'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0005'><span class='label'>[5]</span></a> +<p> +See Bonneville’s Adventures, chapters xiii, and xlviii. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0006' id='Footnote_0006'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0006'><span class='label'>[6]</span></a> +<p> +See Townsend’s Narrative, pages 137, 138. Both Lewis and Clark +and Ross Cox substantiate his description; indeed, very much the same +thing can be seen at the Tumwater Fishery to-day. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0007' id='Footnote_0007'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0007'><span class='label'>[7]</span></a> +<p> +See Bancroft’s <i>Native Races</i>, article “Columbians.” A +bunch of arrows so poisoned is in the Museum of the Oregon State +University at Eugene. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0008' id='Footnote_0008'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0008'><span class='label'>[8]</span></a> +<p> +Irving’s “Astoria,” chap. xli. +</p></div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_THE_GREAT_CAMP_ON_THE_ISLAND' id='CHAPTER_III_THE_GREAT_CAMP_ON_THE_ISLAND'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>THE GREAT CAMP ON THE ISLAND.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Of different language, form and face,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2.34375em;'>A various race of men.</span><br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Scott.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“You say that we shall see the Bridge of the Gods +to-day?” asked Cecil of the young Willamette +runner the next morning. “Tell me about it; is it +high?”</p> +<p>The young Willamette rose to his full height, arched +his right hand above his eyes, looked skyward with a +strained expression as if gazing up at an immense +height, and emitted a prolonged “ah-h-h!”</p> +<p>That was all, but it was enough to bring the light +to Cecil’s eyes and a sudden triumphant gladness to +his heart. At last he approached the land of his +vision, at last he should find the bridge whose wraith +had faded before him into the west eight years before!</p> +<p>The Cayuse band had started early that morning. +The chief Snoqualmie was impatient of delay, and +wished to be one of the earliest at the council; he +wanted to signalize himself in the approaching struggle +by his loyalty to Multnomah, whose daughter he was +to marry and whom he was to succeed as war-chief.</p> +<p>The women were in advance, driving the pack-horses; +Cecil rode behind them with the Shoshone +renegade and the young Willamette runner; while +Snoqualmie brought up the rear, looking sharply after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +stragglers,—for some of his young men were very +much inclined to linger at the rendezvous and indulge +in a little gambling and horse-racing with the other +bands, who were not to start till later in the day.</p> +<p>The young Willamette still rode the pretty little +pony whose ears and tail he had so barbarously mutilated. +It reeled under him from sheer weakness, so +young was it and so worn by the journey of the day +before. In vain did Cecil expostulate. With true +Indian obtuseness and brutality, the Willamette refused +to see why he should be merciful to a horse.</p> +<p>“Suppose he rode me, what would <i>he</i> care? Now +I ride him, what do I care? Suppose he die, plenty +more <i>hiagua</i> shells, plenty more horses.”</p> +<p>After which logical answer he plied the whip harder +than ever, making the pony keep up with the stronger +and abler horses of the other riders. The long train of +squaws and warriors wound on down the trail by the +river-side. In a little while Wishram and Tumwater +passed from sight. The wind began to blow; the +ever drifting sand of the Columbia came sifting in +their faces. They passed the Dalles of the Columbia; +and the river that, as seen from the heights the +evening before, wound like a silver thread among the +rocks, was found to be a compressed torrent that +rushed foaming along the narrow passage,—literally, +as it has been described, “a river turned on edge.”</p> +<p>There too they passed the camp of the Wascos, +who were preparing to start, but suspended their +preparations at the approach of the cavalcade and +stood along the path eager to see the white man. +Cecil noticed that as they descended the river the +language of the local tribes became more gutteral, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +the custom of flattening the head prevailed more and +more.<a name='FNanchor_0009' id='FNanchor_0009'></a><a href='#Footnote_0009' class='fnanchor'>[9]</a></p> +<p>Below, the scenery was less barren; the river entered +the Cascade Range, and the steep banks, along +which wound the trail, grew dark with pines, relieved +here and there with brighter verdure. They saw +bands of Indians on the opposite shore, descending +the trail along that side on the way to the council. +Many were on foot, though some horses were among +them. They were Indians of the nine tribes of the +Klickitat, and as yet had but few horses. A century +later they owned thousands. Indian women never +accompanied war-parties; and Cecil noticed that some +of the bands were composed entirely of men, which +gave them the appearance of going to war. It had +an ominous and doubtful look.</p> +<p>At the Wau-coma (place of cottonwoods), the +modern Hood River, they found the tribe that inhabited +that beautiful valley already on the march, and +the two bands mingled and went on together. The +Wau-comas seemed to be peaceably inclined, for their +women were with them.</p> +<p>A short distance below the Wau-coma, the young +Willamette’s horse, urged till it could go no farther, +fell beneath him. The blood gushed from its nostrils; +in a few moments it was dead. The Willamette +extricated himself from it. “A bad horse, <i>cultus</i> +[no good]!” he said, beating it with his whip. After +venting his anger on it in that way, he strode forward +on foot.</p> +<p>And now Cecil was all expectation, on the alert +for the first sight of the bridge.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div> +<p>“Shall we see it soon?” he asked the young +Willamette.</p> +<p>“When the sun is there, we shall see it,” replied +the Indian, pointing to the zenith. The sun still +lacked several hours of noon, and Cecil had to restrain +his impatience as best he could.</p> +<p>Just then an incident occurred that for the time +effectually obliterated all thought of the bridge, and +made him a powerful enemy where he least desired one.</p> +<p>At a narrow place in the trail, the loose horses that +were being driven at the head of the column became +frightened and ran back upon their drivers. In a +moment, squaws, pack-horses, and ponies were all +mingled together. The squaws tried in vain to restore +order; it seemed as if there was going to be a general +stampede. The men dashed up from the rear, Snoqualmie +and Cecil among them. Cecil’s old nurse +happened to be in Snoqualmie’s way. The horse she +rode was slow and obstinate; and when she attempted +to turn aside to let Snoqualmie pass he would not +obey the rein, and the chief’s way was blocked. To +Snoqualmie an old Indian woman was little more than +a dog, and he raised his whip and struck her across +the face.</p> +<p>Like a flash, Cecil caught the chief’s rein and lifted +his own whip. An instant more, and the lash would +have fallen across the Indian’s face; but he remembered +that he was a missionary, that he was violating +his own precepts of forgiveness in the presence of +those whom he hoped to convert.</p> +<p>The blow did not fall; he grappled with his anger +and held it back; but Snoqualmie received from him +a look of scorn so withering, that it seemed when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +Cecil’s flashing eyes met his own as if he had been +struck, and he grasped his tomahawk. Cecil released +the rein and turned away without a word. Snoqualmie +seemed for a moment to deliberate within himself; +then he let go his weapon and passed on. Order +was restored and the march resumed.</p> +<p>“You are strong,” said the Shoshone renegade to +Cecil. He had seen the whole of the little drama. +“You are strong; you held your anger down, but +your eyes struck him as if he were a dog.”</p> +<p>Cecil made no reply, but rode on thinking that he +had made an enemy. He regretted what had happened; +and yet, when he recalled the insult, his blood +burned and he half regretted that the blow had not +been given. So, absorbed in painful thought, he rode +on, till a murmur passing down the line roused him.</p> +<p>“The bridge! The bridge!”</p> +<p>He looked up hastily, his whole frame responding +to the cry. There it was before him, and only a short +distance away,—a great natural bridge, a rugged ridge +of stone, pierced with a wide arched tunnel through +which the waters flowed, extending across the river. +It was covered with stunted pine and underbrush +growing in every nook and crevice; and on it were +Indian horsemen with plumed hair and rude lances. +It was the bridge of the Wauna, the Bridge of the +Gods, the bridge he had seen in his vision eight years +before.</p> +<p>For a moment his brain reeled, everything seemed +shadowy and unreal, and he half expected to see the +bridge melt, like the vision, into mist before his eyes.</p> +<p>Like one in a dream, he rode with the others to +the place where the path turned abruptly and led +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +over the bridge to the northern bank of the Columbia. +Like one in a dream he listened, while the +young Willamette told him in a low tone that this +bridge had been built by the gods when the world +was young, that it was the <i>tomanowos</i> of the Willamettes, +that while it stood they would be strongest of +all the tribes, and that if it fell they would fall with +it. As they crossed it, he noted how the great arch +rung to his horse’s hoofs; he noted the bushes growing +low down to the tunnel’s edge; he noted how +majestic was the current as it swept into the vast dark +opening below, how stately the trees on either bank. +Then the trail turned down the river-bank again +toward the Willamette, and the dense fir forest shut +out the mysterious bridge from Cecil’s backward gaze.</p> +<p>Solemnity and awe came to him. He had seen the +bridge of his vision; he had in truth been divinely +called to his work. He felt that the sight of the +bridge was both the visible seal of God upon his +mission and a sign that its accomplishment was close +at hand. He bowed his head involuntarily, as in the +presence of the Most High. He felt that he rode to +his destiny, that for him all things converged and culminated +at the great council.</p> +<p>They had not advanced far into the wood ere the +whole train came to a sudden halt. Riding forward, +Cecil found a band of horsemen awaiting them. They +were Klickitats, mounted on good ponies; neither +women nor pack-horses were with them; they were +armed and painted, and their stern and menacing +aspect was more like that of men who were on the +war-trail than of men who were riding to a “peace-talk.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div> +<p>The Cayuses halted a short distance away. Snoqualmie +rode forward and met the Klickitat chief in +the space between the two bands. A few words +passed, fierce and questioning on the part of the +Klickitat, guarded and reserved on the part of the +Cayuse. Then the Klickitat seemed to suggest something +at which the Cayuse shook his head indignantly. +The other instantly wheeled his horse, rode back to +his band, and apparently reported what Snoqualmie +had said; for they all set up a taunting shout, and +after flinging derisive words and gestures at the Cayuses, +turned around and dashed at full gallop down +the trail, leaving the Cayuses covered with a cloud of +dust.</p> +<p>And then Cecil knew that the spectacle meant war.</p> +<p>The air grew softer and more moist as they +descended the western slope of the Cascade Range. +The pines gave way to forests of fir, the underwood +became denser, and ferns grew thick along the trail. +It had rained the night before, and the boughs and +bushes hung heavy with pendant drops. Now and +then an Indian rider, brushing against some vine or +maple or low swaying bough, brought down upon himself +a drenching shower. The disgusted “ugh!” +of the victim and the laughter of the others would +bring a smile to even Cecil’s lips.</p> +<p>And so approaching the sea, they entered the great, +wooded, rainy valley of the lower Columbia. It was +like a different world from the desert sands and prairies +of the upper Columbia. It seemed as if they +were entering a land of perpetual spring. They +passed through groves of spreading oaks; they skirted +lowlands purple with blooming <i>camas</i>; they crossed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +prairies where the grass waved rank and high, and +sunny banks where the strawberries were ripening in +scarlet masses. And ever and anon they caught sight +of a far snow peak lifted above the endless reach +of forest, and through openings in the trees caught +glimpses of the Columbia spreading wide and beautiful +between densely wooded shores whose bending +foliage was literally washed by the waters.</p> +<p>At length, as the sun was setting, they emerged +from the wood upon a wide and level beach. Before +them swept the Columbia, broader and grander than at +any previous view, steadily widening as it neared the +sea. Opposite them, another river, not as large as +the Columbia, but still a great river, flowed into it.</p> +<p>“Willamette,” said the young runner, pointing to +this new river. “Wappatto Island,” he added, indicating +a magnificent prospect of wood and meadow +that lay just below the mouth of the Willamette down +along the Columbia. Cecil could not see the channel +that separated it from the mainland on the other side, +and to him it seemed, not an island, but a part of the +opposite shore.</p> +<p>Around them on the beach were groups of Indians, +representatives of various petty tribes who had not +yet passed to the island of council. Horses were +tethered to the driftwood strewed along the beach; +packs and saddles were heaped on the banks awaiting +the canoes that were to carry them over. Across the +river, Cecil could see upon the island scattered bands +of ponies feeding and many Indians passing to and +fro. Innumerable lodges showed among the trees. +The river was dotted with canoes. Never before had +he beheld so large an encampment, not even among +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +the Six Nations or the Sioux. It seemed as if all +the tribes of Puget Sound and the Columbia were +there.</p> +<p>As they halted on the bank, a little canoe came +skimming over the water like a bird. It bore a messenger +from Multnomah, who had seen the Cayuses as +soon as they emerged on the beach.</p> +<p>“Send your packs over in canoes, swim your +horses, camp on the island,” was the laconic message. +Evidently, in view of the coming struggle, Multnomah +wanted the loyal Cayuses close at hand.</p> +<p>In a little while the horses were stripped of their +packs, which were heaped in the canoes that had followed +the messenger, and the crossing began. A hair +rope was put around the neck of a horse, and the end +given to a man in a canoe. The canoe was then paddled +out into the stream, and the horse partly pulled, +partly pushed into the river. The others after much +beating followed their leader; and in a little while a +long line of half submerged horses and riders was +struggling across the river, while the loaded canoes +brought up the rear. The rapid current swept them +downward, and they landed on the opposite bank at +a point far below that from which they started.</p> +<p>On the bank of the Columbia, near Morgan’s Lake, +an old gnarled cottonwood still marks the ancient +landing-place; and traces remain of the historic trail +which led up from the river-bank into the interior of +the island,—a trail traversed perhaps for centuries,—the +great Indian road from the upper Columbia to the +Willamette valley.</p> +<p>The bank was black with people crowding out to +see the latest arrivals. It was a thronging multitude +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +of dusky faces and diverse costumes. The Nootka +with his tattooed face was there, clad in his woollen +blanket, his gigantic form pushing aside the short +Chinook of the lower Columbia, with his crooked legs, +his half-naked body glistening with grease, his slit nose +and ears loaded with <i>hiagua</i> shells. Choppunish +women, clad in garments of buckskin carefully whitened +with clay, looked with scorn on the women of +the Cowlitz and Clatsop tribes, whose only dress was +a fringe of cedar bark hanging from the waist. The +abject Siawash of Puget Sound, attired in a scanty +patch-work of rabbit and woodrat skin, stood beside +the lordly Yakima, who wore deerskin robe and leggins. +And among them all, conscious of his supremacy, +moved the keen and imperious Willamette.</p> +<p>They all gazed wonderingly at Cecil, “the white +man,” the “long beard,” the “man that came from +the Great Spirit,” the “<i>shaman</i> of strong magic,”—for +rumors of Cecil and his mission had spread from +tribe to tribe.</p> +<p>Though accustomed to savage sights, this seemed +to Cecil the most savage of all. Flat heads and round +heads; faces scarred, tattooed, and painted; faces as +wild as beasts’; faces proud and haughty, degraded +and debased; hair cut close to the head, tangled, +matted, clogged with filth, carefully smoothed and +braided,—every phase of barbarism in its most bloodthirsty +ferocity, its most abject squalor, met his glance +as he looked around him. It seemed like some wild +phantasmagoria, some weird and wondrous dream; +and the discord of tongues, the confusion of dialects, +completed the bewildering scene.</p> +<p>Through the surging crowd they found their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +way to the place where their lodges were to be +pitched.</p> +<p>On the morrow the great council was to begin,—the +council that to the passions of that mob of savages +might be as the torch to dry brushwood. On the +morrow Multnomah would try and would condemn to +death a rebel chief in the presence of the very ones +who were in secret league with him; and the setting +sun would see the Willamette power supreme and +undisputed, or the confederacy would be broken +forever in the death-grapple of the tribes.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0009' id='Footnote_0009'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0009'><span class='label'>[9]</span></a> +<p> +Lewis and Clark. See also Irving’s “Astoria.” +</p></div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_AN_INDIAN_TRIAL' id='CHAPTER_IV_AN_INDIAN_TRIAL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>AN INDIAN TRIAL.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Like flame within the naked hand<br /> +His body bore his burning heart.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dante Rossetti.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Wappatto Island had seen many gatherings of +the tribes, but never before had it seen so +large an assembly as on the opening day of the council. +The great cottonwoods of the council-grove +waved over an audience of sachems and warriors +the like of which the oldest living Indian could not +remember.</p> +<p>No weapons were to be seen, for Multnomah had +commanded that all arms be left that day in the +lodges. But the dissatisfied Indians had come with +weapons hidden under their robes of deer or wolf +skin, which no one should have known better than +Multnomah. Had he taken any precautions against +surprise? Evidently not. A large body of Willamette +warriors, muffled in their blankets, lounged carelessly +around the grove, with not a weapon visible +among them; behind them thronged the vast and +motley assemblage of doubtful allies; and back of +them, on the outskirts of the crowd, were the faithful +Cayuses, unarmed like the Willamettes. Had Multnomah’s +wonderful astuteness failed him now when it +was never needed more?</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></div> +<p>He was on the council-seat, a stone covered with +furs; the Willamette sachems sat in their places facing +him; and mats were spread for the chiefs of the +tributaries. On a bearskin before the stern war-chief +lay a peace-pipe and a tomahawk; and to the +Indians, accustomed to signs and symbols, the two +had a grim significance.</p> +<p>One by one the chiefs entered the circle and took +their seats on the mats provided for them. Those +who were friendly to Multnomah first laid presents +before him; those who were not, took their places +without offering him either gift or salutation. Multnomah, +however, seemed unconscious of any neglect.</p> +<p>The chief of a Klamath tribe offered him a brilliantly +dyed blanket; another, a finely fringed quiver, +full of arrows; another, a long and massive string of +<i>hiagua</i> shells. Each laid his gift before Multnomah +and took his seat in silence.</p> +<p>The chief of the Chopponish presented him with a +fine horse, the best belonging to his tribe. Multnomah +accepted it, and a slave led it away. Then came +Snoqualmie, bringing with him Cecil Grey. The +chief’s hour of vengeance was at hand.</p> +<p>“Behold the white man from the land where the +sun rises, the white <i>shaman</i> of whom all the tribes +have heard. He is thine. Let him be the white +slave of Multnomah. All the chiefs have slaves, but +who will have a white slave like Multnomah?”</p> +<p>Cecil saw the abyss of slavery yawning before him, +and grew pale to the lips. His heart sank within +him; then the resolute purpose that never failed him +in time of peril returned; he lifted his head and +met Multnomah’s gaze with dignity. The war-chief +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +bent on him the glance which read men to the +heart.</p> +<p>“The white stranger has been a chief among his +own people,” he said to Cecil, more in the manner of +one asserting a fact than asking a question.</p> +<p>“I have often spoken to my people in the gatherings +to hear the word of the Great Spirit.”</p> +<p>Again the keen, inscrutable gaze of the great chief +seemed to probe his being to its core; again the +calm, grave stranger met it without shrinking. The +instinct, so common among savage races, of in some +way <i>knowing</i> what a man is, of intuitively grasping his +true merit, was possessed by Multnomah in a large +degree; and the royalty in his nature instinctively +recognized the royalty in Cecil’s.</p> +<p>“The white guest who comes into the land of +Multnomah shall be to him as a guest; the chief +should still be chief in any land. White stranger, +Multnomah gives you welcome; sit down among the +chiefs.”</p> +<p>Cecil took his place among them with all the composure +he could command, well knowing that he who +would be influential among the Indians must seem to +be unmoved by any change of fortune. He felt, however, +not only the joy of personal deliverance, but +mingled with it came the glad, triumphant thought +that he had now a voice in the deliberations of the +chiefs; it was a grand door opened for Indian evangelization. +As for Snoqualmie, his face was as impassive +as granite. One would have said that Cecil’s +victory was to him a matter of no moment at all. But +under the guise of indifference his anger burned fierce +and deadly,—not against Multnomah but against Cecil.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></div> +<p>The last chief had taken his place in the council. +There was a long, ceremonious pause. Then Multnomah +arose. He looked over the council, upon the +stern faces of the Willamettes and the loyal tributaries, +upon the sullen faces of the malcontents, upon the +fierce and lowering multitude beyond. Over the +throng he looked, and felt as one feels who stands +on the brink of a volcano; yet his strong voice never +rang stronger, the grand old chief never looked more +a chief than then.</p> +<p>“He is every inch a king,” thought Cecil. The +chief spoke in the common Willamette language, at +that time the medium of intercourse between the +tribes as the Chinook is now. The royal tongue was +not used in a mixed council.</p> +<p>“Warriors and chiefs, Multnomah gives you welcome. +He spreads the buffalo-robe.” He made the +Indian gesture of welcome, opening his hands to them +with a backward and downward gesture, as of one +spreading a robe. “To the warriors Multnomah says, +‘The grass upon my prairies is green for your horses; +behold the wood, the water, the game; they are +yours.’ To the chiefs he says, ‘The mat is spread for +you in my own lodge and the meat is cooked.’ The +hearts of the Willamettes change not as the winters +go by, and your welcome is the same as of old. Word +came to us that the tribes were angry and had spoken +bitter things against the Willamettes; yes, that they +longed for the confederacy to be broken and the +old days to come again when tribe was divided against +tribe and the Shoshones and Spokanes trampled upon +you all. But Multnomah trusted his allies; for had +they not smoked the peace-pipe with him and gone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +with him on the war-trail? So he stopped his ears and +would not listen, but let those rumors go past him like +thistle-down upon the wind.</p> +<p>“Warriors, Multnomah has shown his heart. What +say you? Shall the peace-pipe be lighted and the +talk begin?”</p> +<p>He resumed his seat. All eyes turned to where +the peace-pipe and the tomahawk lay side by side +before the council. Multnomah seemed waiting for +them to choose between the two.</p> +<p>Then Snoqualmie, the bravest and most loyal of the +tributaries, spoke.</p> +<p>“Let the peace-pipe be lighted; we come not for +strife, but to be knit together.”</p> +<p>The angry malcontents in the council only frowned +and drew their blankets closer around them. Tohomish +the seer, as the oldest chief and most renowned +medicine-man present, came forward and lighted the +pipe,—a long, thin piece of carving in black stone, +the workmanship of the Nootkas or Hydahs, who +made the more elaborate pipes used by the Indians +of the Columbia River.</p> +<p>Muttering some mystical incantation, he waved it +to the east and the west, to the north and the +south; and when the charm was complete, gave it +to Multnomah, who smoked it and passed it to Snoqualmie. +From chief to chief it circled around the +whole council, but among them were those who sat +with eyes fixed moodily on the ground and would +not so much as touch or look at it. As the pipe +passed round there was a subdued murmur and movement +in the multitude, a low threatening clamor, as +yet held in check by awe of Multnomah and dread +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +of the Willamette warriors. But the war-chief seemed +unconscious that any had refused the pipe. He now +arose and said,—</p> +<p>“The pipe is smoked. Are not our hearts as one? +Is there not perfect trust between us? Now let us +talk. First of all, Multnomah desires wise words from +his brethren. Last winter one of the tribes rose up +against Multnomah, saying that he should no longer be +elder brother and war-chief of the tribes. But the +rebels were beaten and all of them slain save the +chief, who was reserved to be tried before you. You +in your wisdom shall decide what shall be done with +the warrior who has rebelled against his chief and +stained his hands with the blood of his brethren.”</p> +<p>Two Willamette braves then entered the circle, +bringing with them one whose hands were tied behind +him, whose form was emaciated with hunger and +disease, but whose carriage was erect and haughty. +Behind came a squaw, following him into the very +presence of Multnomah, as if resolved to share his +fortunes to the last. It was his wife. She was instantly +thrust back and driven with brutal blows from +the council. But she lingered on the outskirts of the +crowd, watching and waiting with mute, sullen fidelity +the outcome of the trial. No one looked at her, no +one cared for her; even her husband’s sympathizers +jostled the poor shrinking form aside,—for she was +only a squaw, while he was a great brave.</p> +<p>He looked a great brave, standing there before +Multnomah and the chiefs with a dignity in his mien +that no reverse could crush, no torture could destroy. +Haggard, starved, bound, his eyes gleamed deathless +and unconquerable hate on council and war-chief alike. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +There were dark and menacing looks among the malcontents; +in the captive they saw personified their +own loss of freedom and the hated domination of +the Willamettes.</p> +<p>“Speak! You that were a chief, you whose people +sleep in the dust,—what have you to say in your +defence? The tribes are met together, and the chiefs +sit here to listen and to judge.”</p> +<p>The rebel sachem drew himself up proudly and +fixed his flashing eyes on Multnomah.</p> +<p>“The tongue of Multnomah is a trap. I am brought +not to be tried but to be condemned and slain, that +the tribes may see it and be afraid. No one knows +this better than Multnomah. Yet I will speak while +I still live, and stand here in the sun; for I go out +into the darkness, and the earth will cover my face, +and my voice shall be heard no more among men.</p> +<p>“Why should the Willamettes rule the other tribes? +Are they better than we? The Great Spirit gave us +freedom, and who may make himself master and take +it away?</p> +<p>“I was chief of a tribe; we dwelt in the land the +Great Spirit gave our fathers; their bones were in it; +it was ours. But the Willamettes said to us, ‘We +are your elder brethren, you must help us. Come, +go with us to fight the Shoshones.’ Our young men +went, for the Willamettes were strong and we could +not refuse them. Many were slain, and the women +wailed despairingly. The Willamettes hunted on our +hunting-grounds and dug the <i>camas</i> on our prairies, so +that there was not enough for us; and when winter +came, our children cried for food. Then the runners +of the Willamettes came to us through the snow, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +saying, ‘Come and join the war-party that goes to +fight the Bannocks.’</p> +<p>“But our hearts burned within us and we replied, +‘Our hunting-grounds and our food you have +taken; will you have our lives also? Go back and +tell your chief that if we must fight, we will fight him +and not the Bannocks.’ Then the Willamettes came +upon us and we fought them, for their tyranny was so +heavy that we could not breathe under it and death +had become better than life. But they were the +stronger, and when did the heart of a Willamette feel +pity? To-day I only am left, to say these words for +my race.</p> +<p>“Who made the Willamettes masters over us? The +Great Spirit gave us freedom, and none may take it +away. Was it not well to fight? Yes; free my hands +and give me back my people from the cairns and the +death-huts, and we will fight again! I go to my death, +but the words I have spoken will live. The hearts of +those listening here will treasure them up; they will +be told around the lodge-fires and repeated in the +war-dance. The words I speak will go out among +the tribes, and no man can destroy them. Yes, they +go out words, but they will come back arrows and +war in the day of vengeance when the tribes shall rise +against the oppressor.</p> +<p>“I have spoken, my words are done.”</p> +<p>He stood erect and motionless. The wrath and disdain +passed from his features, and stoicism settled +over them like a mask of stone. Multnomah’s cold +regard had not faltered a moment under the chief’s +invective. No denunciation could shake that iron +self-control.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>The rebellious chiefs interchanged meaning glances; +the throng of malcontents outside the grove pressed +closer upon the ring of Willamette warriors, who were +still standing or squatting idly around it. More +than one weapon could be seen among them in defiance +of the war-chief’s prohibition; and the presage +of a terrible storm darkened on those grim, wild +faces. The more peaceably disposed bands began to +draw themselves apart. An ominous silence crept +through the crowd as they felt the crisis approaching.</p> +<p>But Multnomah saw nothing, and the circle of Willamette +warriors were stolidly indifferent.</p> +<p>“Can they not see that the tribes are on the verge +of revolt?” thought Cecil, anxiously, fearing a bloody +massacre.</p> +<p>“You have heard the words of the rebel. What +have you to say? Let the white man speak first, as +he was the last to join us.”</p> +<p>Cecil rose and pictured in the common Willamette +tongue, with which he had familiarized himself during +his long stay with the Cayuses, the terrible results of +disunion, the desolating consequences of war,—tribe +clashing against tribe and their common enemies +trampling on them all. Even those who were on the +verge of insurrection listened reverently to the “white +wizard,” who had drawn wisdom from the Great Spirit; +but it did not shake their purpose. Their own dreamers +had talked with the Great Spirit too, in trance +and vision, and had promised them victory over +the Willamettes.</p> +<p>Tohomish followed; and Cecil, who had known +some of the finest orators in Europe, listened in +amazement to a voice the most musical he had ever +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +heard. He looked in wonder on the repulsive features +that seemed so much at variance with those +melodious intonations. Tohomish pleaded for union +and for the death of the rebel. It seemed for a moment +as if his soft, persuasive accents would win the day, +but it was only for a moment; the spell was broken +the instant he ceased. Then Snoqualmie spoke. One +by one, the great sachems of the Willamettes gave +their voices for death. Many of the friendly allies +did not give their decision at all, but said to +Multnomah,—</p> +<p>“You speak for us; your word shall be our word.”</p> +<p>When the dissatisfied chiefs were asked for their +counsel, the sullen reply was given,—</p> +<p>“I have no tongue to-day;” or “I do not know.”</p> +<p>Multnomah seemed not to notice their answers. +Only those who knew him best saw a gleam kindling +in his eyes that told of a terrible vengeance drawing +near. The captive waited passively, seeming neither +to see nor hear.</p> +<p>At length all had spoken or had an opportunity to +speak, and Multnomah rose to give the final decision. +Beyond the circle of Willamettes, who were still indifferent +and unconcerned, the discontented bands had +thrown aside all concealment, and stood with bared +weapons in their hands; all murmurs had ceased; +there was a deathlike silence in the dense mob, which +seemed gathering itself together for a forward rush,—the +commencement of a fearful massacre.</p> +<p>Behind it were the friendly Cayuses, but not a +weapon could be seen among them. The chief saw +all; saw too that his enemies only waited for him +to pronounce sentence upon the captive,—that that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +was the preconcerted signal for attack. Now among +some of the tribes sentence was pronounced not by +word but by gesture; there was the gesture for +acquittal, the gesture for condemnation.</p> +<p>Multnomah lifted his right hand. There was +breathless suspense. What would it be? Fixing his +eyes on the armed malcontents who were waiting to +spring, he clinched his hand and made a downward +gesture, as if striking a blow. It was the death-signal, +the death-sentence.</p> +<p>In an instant a deafening shout rang through the +grove, and the bloodthirsty mob surged forward to the +massacre.</p> +<p>Then, so suddenly that it blended with and seemed +a part of the same shout, the dreaded Willamette war-cry +shook the earth. Quick as thought, the Willamettes +who had been lounging so idly around the +grove were on their feet, their blankets thrown aside, +the weapons that had been concealed under them +ready in their hands. A wall of indomitable warriors +had leaped up around the grove. At the same moment, +the Cayuses in the rear bared their weapons +and shouted back the Willamette war-cry.</p> +<p>The rebels were staggered. The trap was sprung +on them before they knew that there was a trap. +Those in front shrank back from the iron warriors +of Multnomah, those in the rear wavered before the +fierce Cayuses. They paused, a swaying flood of +humanity, caught between two lines of rock.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_SENTENCED_TO_THE_WOLFDEATH' id='CHAPTER_V_SENTENCED_TO_THE_WOLFDEATH'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>SENTENCED TO THE WOLF-DEATH.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +The other, great of soul, changed not<br /> +Countenance stern.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dante.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>In that momentary pause Multnomah did something +that showed the cold disdainfulness of his character +as nothing else could have done. He had given +the death-sign; he had not yet told how or when death +was to be inflicted. He gave the sentence <i>now</i>, as if +in utter scorn of the battle-cloud that hung quivering, +ready to burst.</p> +<p>“He would have torn the confederacy to pieces; +let him be left bound in the wood of the wolves, and +torn limb from limb by them as he would have rent +the tribes asunder.”</p> +<p>The two warriors who had brought the criminal +into the council came forward, flung a covering over +his head and face, and led him away. Perhaps no +custom of the northwestern Indians was more sombre +than this,—the covering of the culprit’s eyes from +the time of his sentence till his death. Never again +were those eyes to behold the sun.</p> +<p>Then, and not till then, did Multnomah turn his +gaze on the malcontents, who stood, desperate but +hesitating, hemmed in by the Willamettes and the +Cayuses.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>“You have chosen the tomahawk instead of the +peace-pipe. Shall Multnomah choose the tomahawk +also? Know you not that Multnomah holds your lives +in his hand, and that he can crush you like an eggshell +if he chooses?”</p> +<p>The war-chief lifted his arm as he spoke, and slowly +closed his fingers till his hand was clinched. The +eyes of Willamette and tributary alike hung on those +slowly closing fingers, with their own strained on their +tomahawks. That was half the death-signal! Would +he give the other half,—the downward gesture? The +baffled rebels tasted all the bitterness of death in that +agonizing suspense. They felt that their lives were +literally in his grasp; and so the stern autocrat wished +them to feel, for he knew it was a lesson they would +never forget.</p> +<p>At length he spoke.</p> +<p>“Drop your weapons and Multnomah will forget +what he has seen, and all will be well. Strike but a +blow, and not one of you will ever go back over the +trail to his home.”</p> +<p>Then he turned to the chiefs, and there was that in +his tones which told them to expect no mercy.</p> +<p>“How comes it that your braves lift their tomahawks +against Multnomah in his own council and on +his own land? Speak! chiefs must answer for their +people.”</p> +<p>There was sullen silence for a little time; then one +of them muttered that it was the young men; their +blood was hot, they were rash, and the chiefs could +not control them.</p> +<p>“Can you not control your young men? Then +you are not fit to be chiefs, and are chiefs no longer.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +He gave a signal to certain of the Willamettes who +had come up behind the rebellious leaders, as they +stood confused and hesitating in the council. They +were seized and their hands bound ere they could +defend themselves; indeed, they made no effort to +do so, but submitted doggedly.</p> +<p>“Take them down the Wauna in the sea-canoes +and sell them as slaves to the Nootkas who hunt seal +along the coast. Their people shall see their faces +no more. Slaves in the ice-land of the North shall +they live and die.”</p> +<p>The swarthy cheeks of the captives grew ashen, and +a shudder went through that trapped and surrounded +mob of malcontents. Indian slavery was always terrible; +but to be slaves to the brutal Indians of the north, +starved, beaten, mutilated, chilled, and benumbed in +a land of perpetual frost; to perish at last in the +bleak snow and winter of almost arctic coasts,—that +was a fate worse than the torture-stake.</p> +<p>Dreadful as it was, not a chief asked for mercy. +Silently they went with their captors out of the grove +and down the bank to the river’s edge. A large sea-canoe, +manned by Chinook paddlers, was floating at +the beach. They quickly embarked, the paddles +dipped, the canoe glided out into the current and +down the stream. In a few moments the cottonwood +along the river’s edge hid it from sight, and +the rebels were forever beyond the hope of rescue.</p> +<p>Swift and merciless had the vengeance of Multnomah +fallen, and the insurrection had been crushed at +a blow. It had taken but a moment, and it had all +passed under the eyes of the malcontents, who were +still surrounded by the loyal warriors.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></div> +<p>When the canoe had disappeared and the gaze of +that startled and awed multitude came back to Multnomah, +he made a gesture of dismissal. The lines drew +aside and the rebels were free.</p> +<p>While they were still bewildered and uncertain what +to do, Multnomah instantly and with consummate +address called the attention of the council to other +things, thereby apparently assuming that the trouble +was ended and giving the malcontents to understand +that no further punishment was intended. Sullenly, +reluctantly, they seemed to accept the situation, +and no further indications of revolt were seen that +day.</p> +<p>Popular young men, the bravest of their several +tribes, were appointed by Multnomah to fill the vacant +chieftainships; and that did much toward allaying +the discontent. Moreover, some troubles between +different tribes of the confederacy, which had been +referred to him for arbitration, were decided with rare +sagacity. At length the council ended for the day, +the star of the Willamettes still in the ascendant, the +revolt seemingly subdued.</p> +<p>So the first great crisis passed.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>That evening a little band of Willamette warriors +led the rebel sachem, still bound and blindfolded, +down to the river’s bank, where a canoe lay waiting +them. His wife followed and tried to enter it with +him, as if determined to share his fortunes to the very +last; but the guard thrust her rudely away, and +started the canoe. As it moved away she caught +the prow wildly, despairingly, as if she could not let +her warrior go. One of the guards struck her hands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +brutally with his paddle, and she released her hold. +The boat glided out into the river. Not a word of +farewell had passed between the condemned man and +his wife, for each disdained to show emotion in the +presence of the enemy. She remained on the bank +looking after him, mute and despondent,—a forlorn +creature clothed in rags and emaciated with hunger, +an outcast from all the tribes. She might have been +regarded as a symbolic figure representing woman +among the Indians, as she stood there with her bruised +hands, throbbing with pain where the cruel blow had +fallen, hanging, in sullen scorn of pain, uncared for by +her side. So she stood watching the canoe glide down +the river, till it was swallowed up in the gathering +shadows of evening.</p> +<p>The canoe dropped down the river to a lonely point +on the northern shore, a place much frequented by +wolves. There, many miles below the encampment +on the island, they disembarked and took the captive +into the wood. He walked among them with a firm +and even tread; there was no sign of flinching, though +he must have known that his hour was close at hand. +They bound him prostrate at the foot of an oak, +tying him to the hard, tough roots that ran over the +ground like a network, and from which the earth had +been washed away, so that thongs could be passed +around them.</p> +<p>Head and foot they bound him, drawing the rawhide +thongs so tight that they sank into the flesh, and +knotting them, till no effort possible to him could +have disentangled him. It was on his lips to ask +them to leave one arm free, so that he might at least +die fighting, though it were with but one naked hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +But he hated them too much to ask even that small +favor, and so submitted in disdainful silence.</p> +<p>The warriors all went back to the canoe, except +one, an old hunter, famed for his skill in imitating +every cry of bird or beast. Standing beside the bound +and prostrate man, he sent forth into the forest the +cry of a wolf. It rang in a thousand echoes and died +away, evoking no response. He listened a moment +with bated breath, but could hear nothing but the +deep heart-beat of the man at his feet. Another cry, +with its myriad echoes, was followed by the oppressive +sense of stillness that succeeds an outcry in a lonely +wood. Then came a faint, a far-off sound, the answer +of a wolf to a supposed mate. The Indian replied, +and the answer sounded nearer; then another blended +with it, as the pack began to gather. Again the Indian +gave the cry, wild and wolfish, as only a barbarian, +half-beast by virtue of his own nature, could have +uttered it. An awful chorus of barking and howling +burst through the forest as the wolves came on, eager +for blood.</p> +<p>The Indian turned and rejoined his comrades at +the canoe. They pushed out into the river, but held +the boat in the current by an occasional paddle-stroke, +and waited listening. Back at the foot of the tree +the captive strained every nerve and muscle in one +mighty effort to break the cords that bound him; but +it was useless, and he lay back with set teeth and rigid +muscles, while his eyes sought in vain through their +thick covering to see the approach of his foes. Presently +a fierce outburst of howls and snarls told the +listeners that the wolves had found their prey. They +lingered and listened a little longer, but no sound or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +cry was heard to tell of the last agony under those +rending fangs; the chief died in silence. Then the +paddles were dipped again in the water, and the canoe +glided up the river to the camp.</p> +<p>When they reached the shore they found the rebel’s +wife awaiting them in the place where they had left +her. She asked no questions; she only came close +and looked at their faces in the dusk, and read there +the thing she sought to know. Then she went silently +away. In a little while the Indian wail for the dead +was sounding through the forest.</p> +<p>“What is that?” asked the groups around the +camp fires.</p> +<p>“The rebel chief’s wife wailing the death-wail for +her husband,” was the low reply; and in that way +the tribes knew that the sentence had been carried +out. Many bands were there, of many languages, but +all knew what that death-wail meant the instant it +fell upon their ears. Multnomah heard it as he sat +in council with his chiefs, and there was something +in it that shook even his iron heart; for all the wilder, +more superstitious elements of the Indians thrilled to +two things,—the war-cry and the death-wail. He +dismissed his chiefs and went to his lodge. On the +way he encountered Tohomish, lurking, as was his +wont, under the shadow of the trees.</p> +<p>“What think you now, Tohomish, you who love +darkness and shadow, what think you? Is not the +arm of the Willamette strong? Has it not put down +revolt to-day, and held the tribes together?”</p> +<p>The Pine Voice looked at him sorrowfully.</p> +<p>“The vision I told in the council has come back +to me again. The cry of woe I heard far off then is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +nearer now, and the throng on the death-trail passes +thicker and swifter. That which covered their faces +is lifted, and their faces are the faces of Willamettes, +and Multnomah is among them. The time is +close at hand.”</p> +<p>“Say this before our enemies, and, strong <i>tomanowos</i> +though you are, you die!” said the chief, laying +his hand on his tomahawk. But the seer was gone, +and Multnomah stood alone among the trees.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Every evening at dusk, the widow of the rebel +sachem went out into the woods near the camp and +wailed her dead. Every night that wild, desolate +lament was lifted and rang through the great encampment,—a +cry that was accusation, defiance, and +lament; and even Multnomah dared not silence her, +for among the Indians a woman lamenting her dead +was sacred. So, while Multnomah labored and plotted +for union by day, that mournful cry raised the +spirit of wrath and rebellion by night. And thus the +dead liberator was half avenged.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>BOOK IV.</h2> +<h4><i>THE LOVE TALE.</i></h4> +<hr class='mini' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_INDIAN_TOWN' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_INDIAN_TOWN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>THE INDIAN TOWN.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +The bare ground with hoarie mosse bestrowed<br /> +Must be their bed, their pillow was unsowed<br /> +And the frutes of the forrest was their feast.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><i>The Faërie Queene.</i></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Never before had there come to Cecil so grand +an opportunity for disseminating gospel truth. +The work of half a lifetime might be done in a few +days.</p> +<p>“The tribes are all gathered together in one encampment, +and I can talk with them all, tell them of +God, of the beauty of heaven and of the only Way. +Then, when they disperse, they will carry my teaching +in every direction, and so it will be scattered throughout +all this wild land.”</p> +<p>This was the thought that came to Cecil when he +awoke on the morning after the trial. Now was the +time to work! Now was the time for every element +of argument, persuasion, and enthusiasm to be exerted +to the utmost.</p> +<p>Earnestly did he pray that morning, kneeling in his +lodge beside his couch of furs, that God would be with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +and help him. And as he prayed, warm and glowing +was the love and tenderness that filled his heart. +When the day was a little more advanced, he entered +upon his work. The camp was astir with life; nearly +all had finished their morning meal, and the various +employments and diversions of the day were begun. +Each tribe or band had pitched its lodges apart, +though not far from the others. It was not so much +an encampment as a group of many encampments, +and the whole made up a scattered town of huts and +wigwams.</p> +<p>A precarious and uncertain quiet had succeeded the +agitation of the day before. Multnomah’s energy had +awed the malcontents into temporary submission, and +the different bands were mingling freely with one +another; though here and there a chief or warrior +looked on contemptuously, standing moodily apart, +wrapped in his blanket. Now and then when a Willamette +passed a group who were talking and gesticulating +animatedly they would become silent all at once +till the representative of the dreaded race was out of +hearing, when a storm of indignant gutterals would +burst forth; but there were no other indications of +hostility.</p> +<p>Groups were strolling from place to place observing +curiously the habits and customs of other tribes; the +common Willamette tongue, precursor of the more +modern Chinook jargon, furnishing a means of intercourse. +Everywhere Cecil found talk, barter, diversion. +It was a rude caricature of civilization, the +picture of society in its infancy, the rough dramatization +of that phase through which every race passes +in its evolution from barbarism.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div> +<p>At one place, a hunter from the interior was bartering +furs for <i>hiagua</i> shells to a native of the sea-coast. +At another, a brave skilled in wood-work had his stock +of bows and arrows spread out before him, and an admiring +crowd were standing around looking on. But +the taciturn brave sat coolly polishing and staining his +arrows as if he were totally unconscious of spectators, +until the magical word “buy” was mentioned, when +he at once awoke to life and drove a bargain in bow +and quiver <i>versus</i> dried berries and “ickters” that +would have done credit to a Yankee.</p> +<p>At one place sat an old warrior from the upper +Columbia, making arrow-heads, chipping off the little +scales of flint with infinite patience, literally <i>wearing</i> +the stone into the requisite shape. Beside him lay a +small pack of flints brought from beyond the mountains, +for such stone was rarely found along the lower +Columbia. Squaws sat in front of their wigwams sewing +mats,—carefully sorting the rushes, putting big +ends with little ends, piercing each with a bodkin, and +sewing them all together with a long bone needle +threaded with buckskin or sinew. Others were weaving +that water-tight wickerwork which was, perhaps, +the highest art to which the Oregon Indians ever +attained. Here a band of Indians were cooking, +feasting, laughing, shouting around a huge sturgeon +captured the night before. There a circle of gamblers +were playing “hand,”—passing a small stick secretly +from hand to hand and guessing whose hand contained +it,—singing as they played that monotonous “ho-ha, +ho-ha, ho-ha,” which was the inseparable accompaniment +of dancing, gambling, and horseback riding.</p> +<p>Among them all Cecil moved with the calm dignity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +he had acquired from long intercourse with the Indians. +Wherever he went there was silence and respect, +for was he not the great white medicine-man? +Gambling circles paused in the swift passage of the +stick and the monotone of the chant to look and to +comment; buyers and sellers stopped to gaze and to +question; children who had been building miniature +wigwams of sticks or floating bark canoes in the +puddles, ran away at his approach and took shelter +in the thickets, watching him with twinkling black +eyes.</p> +<p>Wherever there was opportunity, he stopped and +talked, scattering seed-thoughts in the dark minds +of the Indians. Wherever he paused a crowd would +gather; whenever he entered a wigwam a throng +collected at the door.</p> +<p>Let us glance for a moment into the domestic life +of the Indians as Cecil saw it that morning.</p> +<p>He enters one of the large bark huts of the Willamette +Indians, a long, low building, capable of sheltering +sixty or seventy persons. The part around the +door is painted to represent a man’s face, and the +entrance is through the mouth. Within, he finds a +spacious room perhaps eighty or a hundred feet long +by twenty wide, with rows of rude bunks rising tier +above tier on either side. In the centre are the +stones and ashes of the hearth; above is an aperture +in the roof for the escape of smoke; around the +hearth mats are spread to sit upon; the bare ground, +hard and trodden, forms the only floor, and the roof +is made of boards that have been split out with mallet +and wedges.</p> +<p>Cecil enters and stands a moment in silence; then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +the head of the house advances and welcomes him. +The best mat is spread for him to sit upon; food is +brought,—pounded fish, nuts, and berries, and a kind +of bread made of roots cooked, crushed together, and +cut in slices when cold. All this is served on a wooden +platter, and he must eat whether hungry or not; for +to refuse would be the grossest affront that could be +offered a Willamette host, especially if it were presented +by his own hands. The highest honor that a +western Oregon Indian could do his guest was to wait +on him instead of letting his squaw do it. The Indian +host stands beside Cecil and says, in good-humored +hospitality, “Eat, eat much,” nor is he quite pleased +if he thinks that his visitor slights the offered food. +When the guest can be no longer persuaded to eat +more, the food is removed, the platter is washed in +water, and dried with a wisp of twisted grass; a small +treasure of tobacco is produced from a little buckskin +pocket and a part of it carefully mixed with dried +leaves;<a name='FNanchor_0010' id='FNanchor_0010'></a><a href='#Footnote_0010' class='fnanchor'>[10]</a> the pipe is filled and smoked. Then, and +not till then, may the Indian host listen to the talk of +the white man.</p> +<p>So it was in lodge after lodge; he must first eat, be +it ever so little. Two centuries later, the Methodist +and Congregational missionaries found themselves confronted +with the same oppressive hospitality among +the Rocky Mountain Indians.<a name='FNanchor_0011' id='FNanchor_0011'></a><a href='#Footnote_0011' class='fnanchor'>[11]</a> Nay, they need not +visit a wigwam; let them but stroll abroad through +the village, and if they were popular and the camp +was well supplied with buffalo-meat, messengers would +come with appalling frequency, bearing the laconic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +invitation, “Come and eat;” and the missionary +must go, or give offence, even though he had already +gone to half a dozen wigwams on the same errand. +There is a grim humor in a missionary’s eating fresh +buffalo-meat in the cause of religion until he is +like to burst, and yet heroically going forth to choke +down a few mouthfuls more, lest he offend some +dusky convert.</p> +<p>At one house Cecil witnessed a painful yet comical +scene. The Willamettes were polygamists, each brave +having as many wives as he was able to buy; and +Cecil was in a lodge where the brother of the head +man of that lodge brought home his second wife. At +the entrance of the second wife, all gay in Indian +finery, the first did not manifest the sisterly spirit +proper for the occasion. After sitting awhile in sullen +silence, she arose and began to kick the fire about, +accompanying that performance with gutteral exclamations +addressed to no one in particular; she struck +the dog, which chanced to be in the way, sending it +yelping from the wigwam; and then, having worked +herself into a rage, began to scold her husband, who +listened grimly but said nothing. At last she turned +on her new-found sister, struck her, and began to lay +rending hands on the finery that their mutual husband +had given her. That was instantly resented; and in +a few moments the squaws were rolling on the floor, +biting, scratching, and pulling each other’s hair with +the fury of devils incarnate. The dogs, attracted by +the tumult, ran in and began to bark at them; the +Indians outside the hut gathered at the door, looking +in and laughing; the husband contemplated them as +they rolled fighting at his feet, and then looked at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +Cecil. It was undoubtedly trying to Indian dignity +but the warrior sustained his admirably. “Bad, very +bad,” was the only comment he allowed himself to +make. Cecil took his leave, and the brave kept up +his air of indifference until the white man had gone. +Then he quietly selected a cudgel from the heap of +fire-wood by the doorway, and in a short time peace +reigned in the wigwam.</p> +<p>In a lodge not far away, Cecil witnessed another +scene yet more barbarous than this. He found a +little blind boy sitting on the ground near the fire, +surrounded by a quantity of fish-bones which he had +been picking. He was made a subject for the taunting +jibes and laughter of a number of men and women +squatting around him. His mother sat by in the most +cruel apathy and unconcern, and only smiled when +Cecil expressed commiseration for her unfortunate +and peculiarly unhappy child. It had been neglected +and seemed almost starved. Those around apparently +took pleasure in tormenting it and rendering it miserable, +and vied with each other in applying to it insulting +and degrading epithets. The little articles that +Cecil gave to it, in the hope that the Indians seeing +him manifest an interest in it would treat it more tenderly, +it put to its mouth eagerly; but not finding +them eatable, it threw them aside in disgust. Cecil +turned away sick at heart. Worn, already weary, this +last sight was intolerable; and he went out into the +woods, away from the camp.</p> +<p>But as he walked along he seemed to see the child +again, so vividly had it impressed his imagination. It +rose before him in the wood, when the noise of the +camp lay far behind; it seemed to turn its sightless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +eyes upon him and reach out its emaciated arms as if +appealing for help.<a name='FNanchor_0012' id='FNanchor_0012'></a><a href='#Footnote_0012' class='fnanchor'>[12]</a></p> +<p>Out in the wood he came across an Indian sitting +on a log, his face buried in his hands, his attitude indicating +sickness or despondency. He looked up as +Cecil approached. It was the young Willamette runner +who had been his companion on the journey down +the Columbia. His face was haggard; he was evidently +very sick. The missionary stopped and tried +to talk with him, but could evoke little response, except +that he did not want to talk, and that he wanted +to be left alone. He seemed so moody and irritable +that Cecil thought it best to leave him. His experience +was that talking with a sick Indian was very much +like stirring up a wounded rattlesnake. So he left the +runner and went on into the forest, seeking the solitude +without which he could scarcely have lived amid +the degrading barbarism around him. His spirit required +frequent communion with God and Nature, +else he would have died of weariness and sickness +of heart.</p> +<p>Wandering listlessly, he went on further and further +from the camp, never dreaming of what lay before +him, or of the wild sweet destiny to which that dim +Indian trail was leading him through the shadowy +wood.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0010' id='Footnote_0010'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0010'><span class='label'>[10]</span></a> +<p> +Lewis and Clark. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0011' id='Footnote_0011'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0011'><span class='label'>[11]</span></a> +<p> +See Parkman’s “Oregon Trail,” also, Parker’s work on Oregon. +</p></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0012' id='Footnote_0012'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0012'><span class='label'>[12]</span></a> +<p> +See Townsend’s Narrative, pages 182-183. +</p></div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_WHITE_WOMAN_IN_THE_WOOD' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_WHITE_WOMAN_IN_THE_WOOD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>THE WHITE WOMAN IN THE WOOD.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +I seek a sail that never looms from out the purple haze<br /> +At rosy dawn, or fading eve, or in the noontide’s blaze.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Celia Thaxter.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Cecil walked listlessly on through the wood. He +was worn out by the day’s efforts, though it was +as yet but the middle of the afternoon. There was +a feeling of exhaustion in his lungs, a fluttering pain +about his heart, the result of years of over-work upon +a delicate frame. With this feeling of physical weakness +came always the fear that his strength might +give way ere his work was done. Nor was this all. +In these times of depression, the longing to see again +the faces of his friends, to have again the sweet graceful +things of the life that was forever closed to him, +rushed over him in a bitter flood.</p> +<p>The trail led him to the bank of the Columbia, +some distance below the encampment. He looked +out over the blue river sweeping majestically on, the +white snow-peaks, the canyons deep in the shadows +of afternoon, the dense forest beyond the river extending +away to the unknown and silent North as far +as his eyes could reach.</p> +<p>“It is wonderful, wonderful!” he thought. “But I +would give it all to look upon one white face.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></div> +<p>So musing, he passed on down the bank of the +river. He was now perhaps two miles from the camp +and seemingly in complete solitude. After a little the +path turned away from the beach and led toward the +interior. As he entered the woodland he came upon +several Indian sentinels who lay, bow in hand, beside +the path. They sprang up, as if to intercept his passage; +but seeing that it was the white <i>shaman</i> whom +Multnomah had honored, and who had sat at the +council with the great sachems, they let him go on. +Cecil indistinctly remembered having heard from +some of the Indians that this part of the island was +strictly guarded; he had forgotten why. So absorbed +was he in his gloomy reflections that he did not stop +to question the sentinels, but went on, not thinking +that he might be treading on forbidden ground. By +and by the path emerged from the wood upon a little +prairie; the cottonwoods shut out the Indians from +him, and he was again alone. The sunshine lay warm +and golden on the little meadow, and he strolled forward +mechanically, thinking how like it was to some +of the sylvan lawns of his own New England forests. +Again the shade of trees fell over the path. +He looked up, his mind full of New England memories, +and saw something that made his heart stand +still. For there, not far from him, stood a girl clad +in soft flowing drapery, the dress of a white woman. +In Massachusetts a woman’s dress would have been +the last thing Cecil would have noticed. Now, so +long accustomed to the Indian squaws’ rough garments +of skin or plaited bark, the sight of that graceful +woven cloth sent through him an indescribable +thrill.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<p>He went on, his eager eyes drinking in the welcome +sight, yet scarcely believing what he saw.</p> +<p>She had not yet observed him. The profile of her +half-averted face was very sweet and feminine; her +form was rounded, and her hair fell in long black +ringlets to the shoulders. He was in the presence of +a young and beautiful woman,—a white woman! All +this he noted at a glance; noted, too, the drooping +lashes, the wistful lines about the lips, the mournful +expression that shadowed the beauty of her face.</p> +<p>Who was she? Where could she have come from?</p> +<p>She heard the approaching footsteps and turned +toward him. Absolute bewilderment was on her face +for a moment, and then it glowed with light and joy. +Her dark, sad eyes sparkled. She was radiant, as if +some great, long-looked for happiness had come to +her. She came eagerly toward him, holding out her +hands in impetuous welcome; saying something in a +language he did not understand, but which he felt +could not be Indian, so refined and pleasing were +the tones.</p> +<p>He answered he knew not what, in his own tongue, +and she paused perplexed. Then he spoke again, +this time in Willamette.</p> +<p>She shrank back involuntarily.</p> +<p>“That language?” she replied in the same tongue, +but with a tremor of disappointment in her voice. +“I thought you were of my mother’s race and spoke +her language. But you <i>are</i> white, like her people?”</p> +<p>She had given him both her hands, and he stood +holding them; looking down into her eager, lifted +face, where a great hope and a great doubt in mingled +light and shadow strove together.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>“I am a white man. I came from a land far to +the East. But who are you, and how came you +here?”</p> +<p>She did not seem to hear the last words, only the +first.</p> +<p>“No, no,” she protested eagerly, “you came not +from the East but from the West, the land across the +sea that my mother came from in the ship that was +wrecked.” And she withdrew one hand and pointed +toward the wooded range beyond which lay the +Pacific.</p> +<p>He shook his head. “No, there are white people +in those lands too, but I never saw them. I came +from the East,” he said, beginning to surmise that +she must be an Asiatic. She drew away the hand +that he still held in his, and her eyes filled with +tears.</p> +<p>“I thought you were one of my mother’s people,” +she murmured; and he felt that the pang of an exceeding +disappointment was rilling her heart.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” he asked gently.</p> +<p>“The daughter of Multnomah.”</p> +<p>Cecil remembered now what he had heard of the +dead white wife of Multnomah, and of her daughter, +who, it was understood among the tribes, was to be +given to Snoqualmie. He noticed, too, for the first +time the trace of the Indian in her expression, as the +light faded from it and it settled back into the +despondent look habitual to it. All that was chivalrous +in his nature went out to the fair young creature; +all his being responded to the sting of her +disappointment.</p> +<p>“I am not what you hoped I was, but your face is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +like the face of the women of my own land. Shall we +not be friends?”</p> +<p>She looked up wistfully at the handsome and noble +countenance above her, so different from the stolid +visages she had known so long.</p> +<p>“Yes; you are not Indian.”</p> +<p>In that one expression she unconsciously told +Cecil how her sensitive nature shrank from the barbarism +around her; how the tastes and aspirations +she had inherited from her mother reached out for +better and higher things.</p> +<p>In a little while they were seated on a grassy bank +in the shade of the trees, talking together. She bade +him tell her of his people. She listened intently; the +bright, beautiful look came back as she heard the tale.</p> +<p>“They are kind to women, instead of making +them mere burden-bearers; they have pleasant +homes; they dwell in cities? Then they are like +my mother’s people.”</p> +<p>“They are gentle, kind, humane. They have all +the arts that light up life and make it beautiful,—not +like the tribes of this grim, bloodstained land.”</p> +<p>“<i>This</i> land!” Her face darkened and she lifted +her hand in a quick, repelling gesture. “This land +is a grave. The clouds lie black and heavy on the +spirit that longs for the sunlight and cannot reach it.” +She turned to him again. “Go on, your words are +music.”</p> +<p>He continued, and she listened till the story of +his country and his wanderings was done. When he +ended, she drew a glad, deep breath; her eyes were +sparkling with joy.</p> +<p>“I am content,” she said, in a voice in which there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +was a deep heart-thrill of happiness. “Since my +mother died I have been alone, all alone; and I +longed, oh so often, for some one who talked and felt +as she did to come to me, and now you have come. +I sat cold and shivering in the night a long time, but +the light and warmth have come at last. Truly, Allah +is good!”</p> +<p>“Allah!”</p> +<p>“Yes; he was my mother’s God, as the Great +Spirit is my father’s.”</p> +<p>“They are both names for the same All Father,” +replied Cecil. “They mean the same thing, even as +the sun is called by many names by many tribes, yet +there is but the one sun.”</p> +<p>“Then I am glad. It is good to learn that both +prayed to the one God, though they did not know +it. But my mother taught me to use the name of +Allah, and not the other. And while my father and +the tribes call me by my Indian name, ‘Wallulah,’ +she gave me another, a secret name, that I was never +to forget.”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“I have never told it, but I will tell you, for you +can understand.”</p> +<p>And she gave him a singularly melodious name, of +a character entirely different from any he had ever +heard, but which he guessed to be Arabic or Hindu.</p> +<p>“It means, ‘She who watches for the morning.’ +My mother told me never to forget it, and to remember +that I was not to let myself grow to be like the +Indians, but to pray to Allah, and to watch and hope, +and that sometime the morning would come and I +would be saved from the things around me. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +now you have come and the dawn comes with +you.”</p> +<p>Her glad, thankful glance met his; the latent grace +and mobility of her nature, all roused and vivid under +his influence, transfigured her face, making it delicately +lovely. A great pang of longing surged through +him.</p> +<p>“Oh,” he thought, “had I not become a missionary, +I might have met and loved some one like her! I +might have filled my life with much that is now gone +from it forever!”</p> +<p>For eight years he had seen only the faces of savage +women and still more savage men; for eight years his +life had been steeped in bitterness, and all that was +tender or romantic in his nature had been cramped, +as in iron fetters, by the coarseness and stolidity around +him. Now, after all that dreary time, he met one who +had the beauty and the refinement of his own race. +Was it any wonder that her glance, the touch of her +dress or hair, the soft tones of her voice, had for him +an indescribable charm? Was it any wonder that his +heart went out to her in a yearning tenderness that +although not love was dangerously akin to it?</p> +<p>He was startled at the sweet and burning tumult of +emotion she was kindling within him. What was he +thinking of? He must shake these feelings off, or +leave her. Leave her! The gloom of the savagery +that awaited him at the camp grew tenfold blacker +than ever. All the light earth held for him seemed +gathered into the presence of this dark-eyed girl who +sat talking so musically, so happily, by his side.</p> +<p>“I must go,” he forced himself to say at length, +“The sun is almost down.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></div> +<p>“Must you go so soon?”</p> +<p>“I will come again if you wish.”</p> +<p>“But you must not go yet; wait till the sun reaches +the mountain-tops yonder. I want you to tell me +more about your own land.”</p> +<p>So he lingered and talked while the sun sank lower +and lower in the west. It seemed to him that it had +never gone down so fast before.</p> +<p>“I must go now,” he said, rising as the sun’s red +disk sank behind the mountains.</p> +<p>“It is not late; see, the sun is shining yet on the +brow of the snow mountains.”</p> +<p>Both looked at the peaks that towered grandly in +the light of the sunken sun while all the world below +lay in shadow. Together they watched the mighty +miracle of the afterglow on Mount Tacoma, the soft +rose-flush that transfigured the mountain till it grew +transparent, delicate, wonderful.</p> +<p>“That is what my life is now,—since you have +brought the light to the ‘watcher for the morning;’” +and she looked up at him with a bright, trustful smile.</p> +<p>“Alas?” thought Cecil, “it is not the light of morning +but of sunset.”</p> +<p>Slowly the radiance faded, the rose tint passed; the +mountain grew white and cold under their gaze, like +the face of death. Wallulah shuddered as if it were +a prophecy.</p> +<p>“You will come back to-morrow?” she said, looking +at him with her large, appealing eyes.</p> +<p>“I will come,” he said.</p> +<p>“It will seem long till your return, yet I have lived +so many years waiting for that which has come at last +that I have learned to be patient.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>“Ask God to help you in your hours of loneliness +and they will not seem so long and dark,” said Cecil, +whose soul was one tumultuous self-reproach that he +had let the time go by without telling her more of +God.</p> +<p>“Ah!” she said in a strange, wistful way, “I have +prayed to him so much, but he could not fill <i>all</i> my +heart. I wanted so to touch a hand and look on a +face like my mother’s. But God has sent you, and +so I know he must be good.”</p> +<p>They parted, and he went back to the camp.</p> +<p>“Is my mission a failure?” he thought, as he +walked along, clinching his hands in furious anger +with himself. “Why do I let a girl’s beauty move +me thus, and she the promised wife of another? +How dare I think of aught beside the work God has +sent me here to do? Oh, the shame and guilt of +such weakness! I will be faithful. I will never look +upon her face again!”</p> +<p>He emerged from the wood into the camp; its +multitudinous sounds were all around him, and never +had the coarseness and savagery of Indian life seemed +so repellent as now, when he came back to it with his +mind full of Wallulah’s grace and loveliness. It was +harsh discord after music.</p> +<p>Stripped and painted barbarians were hallooing, +feasting, dancing; the whole camp was alive with +boisterous hilarity, the result of a day of good fellowship. +Mothers were calling their children in the +dusk and young men were sportively answering, +“Here I am, mother.” Here and there, Indians who +had been feasting all day lay like gorged anacondas +beside the remnant of their meal; others, who had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +been gambling, were talking loudly of the results of +the game.</p> +<p>Through it all the white man walked with swift +footsteps, looking neither to the right nor the left, +till he gained his lodge. He flung himself on his bed +and lay there, his fingers strained together convulsively, +his nerves throbbing with pain; vainly struggling +with regret, vainly repeating to himself that he +cared nothing for love and home, that he had put all +those things from him, that he was engrossed now +only in his work.</p> +<p>“Never, never! It can never be.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And the English exploring-ship in Yaquina Bay was +to weigh anchor on the morrow, and sail up nearer +along the unknown coast. The Indians had all deserted +the sea-board for the council. Would Cecil +hear? Would any one see the sail and bring the +news?</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/illus-168.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 286px; height: 411px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 286px;'> +“<i>I Will kill him!</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_CECIL_AND_THE_WARCHIEF' id='CHAPTER_III_CECIL_AND_THE_WARCHIEF'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>CECIL AND THE WAR-CHIEF.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Children of the sun, with whom revenge is virtue.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Young.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>On the next day came the races, the great diversion +of the Indians. Each tribe ran only one +horse,—the best it had. There were thirty tribes or +bands, each with its choicest racer on the track. The +Puget Sound and lower Columbia Indians, being destitute +of horses, were not represented. There had +been races every day on a small scale, but they were +only private trials of speed, while to-day was the great +day of racing for all the tribes, the day when the head +chiefs ran their horses.</p> +<p>The competition was close, but Snoqualmie the +Cayuse won the day. He rode the fine black horse +he had taken from the Bannock he had tortured to +death. Multnomah and the chiefs were present, and +the victory was won under the eyes of all the tribes. +The haughty, insolent Cayuse felt that he had gained +a splendid success. Only, as in the elation of victory +his glance swept over the crowd, he met the sad, unapplauding +gaze of Cecil, and it made his ever burning +resentment grow hotter still.</p> +<p>“I hate that man,” he thought. “I tried to thrust +him down into slavery, and Multnomah made him a +chief. My heart tells me that he is an enemy. I +hate him. I will kill him.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></div> +<p>“Poor Wallulah!” Cecil was thinking. “What a +terrible future is before her as the wife of that inhuman +torturer of men!”</p> +<p>And his sympathies went out to the lonely girl, the +golden thread of whose life was to be interwoven with +the bloodstained warp and woof of Snoqualmie’s. +But he tried hard not to think of her; he strove resolutely +that day to absorb himself in his work, and +the effort was not unsuccessful.</p> +<p>After the races were over, a solemn council was +held in the grove and some important questions discussed +and decided. Cecil took part, endeavoring in +a quiet way to set before the chiefs a higher ideal of +justice and mercy than their own. He was heard with +grave attention, and saw that more than one chief +seemed impressed by his words. Only Snoqualmie +was sullen and inattentive, and Mishlah the Cougar +was watchful and suspicious.</p> +<p>After the council was over Cecil went to his lodge. +On the way he found the young Willamette runner +sitting on a log by the path, looking even more woebegone +than he had the day before. Cecil stopped to +inquire how he was.</p> +<p>“<i>Cultus</i> [bad],” was grunted in response.</p> +<p>“Did you see the races?”</p> +<p>“Races bad. What do I care?”</p> +<p>“I hope you will be better soon.”</p> +<p>“Yes, better or worse by and by. What do I +care?”</p> +<p>“Can I do anything for you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Go.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></div> +<p>And he dropped his hand upon his knees, doubled +himself together, and refused to say another word. +As Cecil turned to go he found Multnomah standing +close by, watching him.</p> +<p>“Come,” said the stern despot, briefly. “I want +to talk with you.”</p> +<p>He led the way back through the noisy encampment +to the now deserted grove of council. Everything +there was quiet and solitary; the thick circle of +trees hid them from the camp, though its various +sounds floated faintly to them. They were quite +alone. Multnomah seated himself on the stone covered +with furs, that was his place in the council. +Cecil remained standing before him, wondering what +was on his mind. Was the war-chief aware of his +interview with Wallulah? If so, what then? Multnomah +fixed on him the gaze which few men met +without shrinking.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” he said, while it seemed to Cecil as if +that eagle glance read every secret of his innermost +heart, “tell me where your land is, and why you left +it, and the reason for your coming among us. Keep +no thought covered, for Multnomah will see it if you +do.”</p> +<p>Cecil’s eye kindled, his cheek flushed. Wallulah was +forgotten; his mission, and his mission only, was remembered. +He stood before one who held over the +many tribes of the Wauna the authority of a prince: +if <i>he</i> could but be won for Christ, what vast results +might follow!</p> +<p>He told it all,—the story of his home and his work, +his call of God to go to the Indians, his long wanderings, +the message he had to deliver, how it had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +received by some and rejected by many; now he was +here, a messenger sent by the Great Spirit to tell the +tribes of the Wauna the true way of life. He told it +all, and never had he been so eloquent. It was a +striking contrast, the grim Indian sitting there leaning +on his bow, his sharp, treacherous gaze bent like a +bird of prey on the delicately moulded man pleading +before him.</p> +<p>He listened till Cecil began to talk of love and +forgiveness as duties enjoined by the Great Spirit. +Then he spoke abruptly.</p> +<p>“When you stood up in the council the day the bad +chief was tried, and told of the weakness and the wars +that would come if the confederacy was broken up, +you talked wisely and like a great chief and warrior; +now you talk like a woman. Love! forgiveness!” +He repeated the words, looking at Cecil with a kind +of wondering scorn, as if he could not comprehend +such weakness in one who looked like a brave man. +“War and hate are the life of the Indian. They are +the strength of his heart. Take them away, and you +drain the blood from his veins; you break his spirit; +he becomes a squaw.”</p> +<p>“But my people love and forgive, yet they are not +squaws. They are brave and hardy in battle; their +towns are great; their country is like a garden.”</p> +<p>And he told Multnomah of the laws, the towns, the +schools, the settled habits and industry of New England. +The chief listened with growing impatience. +At length he threw his arm up with an indescribable +gesture of freedom, like a man rejecting a fetter.</p> +<p>“How can they breathe, shut in, bound down like +that? How can they live, so tied and burdened?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></div> +<p>“Is not that better than tribe forever warring +against tribe? Is it not better to live like men than +to lurk in dens and feed on roots like beasts? Yet +we will fight, too; the white man does not love war, +but he will go to battle when his cause is just and war +must be.”</p> +<p>“So will the deer and the cayote fight when they +can flee no longer. The Indian loves battle. He +loves to seek out his enemy, to grapple with him, and +to tread him down. That is a man’s life!”</p> +<p>There was a wild grandeur in the chief’s tone. All +the tameless spirit of his race seemed to speak through +him, the spirit that has met defeat and extermination +rather than bow its neck to the yoke of civilization. +Cecil realized that on the iron fibre of the war-chief’s +nature his pleading made no impression whatever, and +his heart sank within him.</p> +<p>Again he tried to speak of the ways of peace, but +the chief checked him impatiently.</p> +<p>“That is talk for squaws and old men. Multnomah +does not understand it. Talk like a man, if you wish +him to listen. Multnomah does not forgive; Multnomah +wants no peace with his enemies. If they are +weak he tramples on them and makes them slaves; if +they are strong he fights them. When the Shoshones +take from Multnomah, he takes from them; if they +give him war he gives them war; if they torture one +Willamette at the stake, Multnomah stretches two Shoshones +upon red-hot stones. Multnomah gives hate +for hate and war for war. This is the law the Great +Spirit has given the Indian. What law he has given +the white man, Multnomah knows not nor cares!”</p> +<p>Baffled in his attempt, Cecil resorted to another +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +line of persuasion. He set before Multnomah the +arts, the intelligence, the splendor of the white race.</p> +<p>“The Indian has his laws and customs, and that is +well; but why not council with the white people, even +as chiefs council together? Send an embassy to +ask that wise white men be sent you, so that you +may learn of their arts and laws; and what seems +wise and good you can accept, what seems not so +can be set aside. I know the ways that lead back to +the land of the white man; I myself would lead the +embassy.”</p> +<p>It was a noble conception,—that of making a treaty +between this magnificent Indian confederacy and New +England for the purpose of introducing civilization and +religion; and for a moment he lost sight of the insurmountable +obstacles in the way.</p> +<p>“No,” replied the chief, “neither alone nor as +leader of a peace party will your feet ever tread again +the path that leads back to the land of the white man. +We want not upon our shoulders the burden of his +arts and laws. We want not his teachers to tell us +how to be women. If the white man wants us, let +him find his way over the desert and through the +mountains, and we will grapple with him and see +which is the strongest.”</p> +<p>So saying, the war-chief rose and left him.</p> +<p>“He says that I shall never be allowed to go back,” +thought Cecil, with a bitter consciousness of defeat. +“Then my mission ends here in the land of the +Bridge, even as I have so often dreamed that it would. +So be it; I shall work the harder now that I see the +end approaching. I shall gather the chiefs in my +own lodge this evening and preach to them.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></div> +<p>While he was forming his resolution, there came +the recollection that Wallulah would look for him, +would be expecting him to come to her.</p> +<p>“I cannot,” he thought, though he yearned to go +to her. “I cannot go; I must be faithful to my +mission.”</p> +<p>Many chiefs came that night to his lodge; among +them, to his surprise, Tohomish the seer. Long and +animated was Cecil’s talk; beautiful and full of spiritual +fervor were the words in which he pointed them +to a better life. Tohomish was impassive, listening +in his usual brooding way. The others seemed interested; +but when he was done they all rose up and +went away without a word,—all except the Shoshone +renegade who had helped him bury the dead Bannock. +He came to Cecil before leaving the lodge.</p> +<p>“Sometime,” he said, “when it will be easier for +me to be good than it is now, I will try to live the +life you talked about to-night.”</p> +<p>Then he turned and went out before Cecil could +reply.</p> +<p>“There is one at least seeking to get nearer God,” +thought Cecil, joyfully. After awhile his enthusiasm +faded away, and he remembered how anxiously Wallulah +must have waited for him, and how bitterly she +must have been disappointed. Her face, pale and +stained with tears, rose plainly before him. A deep +remorse filled his heart.</p> +<p>“Poor child! I am the first white person she has +seen since her mother died; no wonder she longs for +my presence! I must go to her to-morrow. After +all, there is no danger of my caring for her. To me +my work is all in all.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_ARCHERY_AND_GAMBLING' id='CHAPTER_IV_ARCHERY_AND_GAMBLING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>ARCHERY AND GAMBLING.</h3> +</div> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>To gambling they are no less passionately addicted in the interior than on the coast.—<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Bancroft</span>: <i>Native Races</i>.</p> +<hr style='border:none; height:1em;' /> +<p>The next morning came the archery games. The +best marksmen of each tribe contended together +under the eyes of Multnomah, and Snoqualmie the +Cayuse won the day.</p> +<p>These diversions were beginning to produce the +result that the politic chief had intended they should. +Better feeling was springing up. The spirit of discontent +that had been rife was disappearing. Every day +good-fellowship grew more and more between the +Willamettes and their allies. Every day Snoqualmie +the Cayuse became more popular among the tribes, +and already he was second in influence to none but +Multnomah himself.</p> +<p>The great war-chief had triumphed over every +obstacle; and he waited now only for the last day of +the council, when his daughter should be given to +Snoqualmie and the chiefs should recognize him as +the future head of the confederacy.</p> +<p>Knowing this, the sight of Snoqualmie’s successful +archery was almost intolerable to Cecil, and he turned +away from the place where the games were held.</p> +<p>“I will seek the young Willamette who is sick,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +he said to himself. “Then this evening I will go and +visit Wallulah.”</p> +<p>The thought sent the blood coursing warmly through +his veins, but he chided himself for it. “It is but +duty, I go to her only as a missionary,” he repeated +to himself over and over again.</p> +<p>He went to the lodge of the young Willamette and +asked for him.</p> +<p>“He is not here,” the father of the youth told him. +“He is in the sweat-house. He is sick this morning, +<i>hieu</i> sick.”</p> +<p>And the old man emphasized the <i>hieu</i> [much], +with a prolonged intonation and a comprehensive +gesture as if the young man were very sick indeed. +To the sweat-house went Cecil forthwith. He found +it to be a little arched hut, made by sticking the ends +of bent willow-wands into the ground and covering +them over with skins, leaving only a small opening +for entrance. When a sick person wished to take one +of those “sweat baths” so common among the Indians, +stones were heated red hot and put within the hut, +and water was poured on them. The invalid, stripped +to the skin, entered, the opening was closed behind +him, and he was left to steam in the vapors.</p> +<p>When Cecil came up, the steam was pouring between +the overlapping edges of the skins, and he could hear +the young Willamette inside, chanting a low monotonous +song, an endlessly repeated invocation to his +<i>totem</i> to make him well. How he could sing or even +breathe in that stifling atmosphere was a mystery to +Cecil.</p> +<p>By and by the Willamette raised the flap that hung +over the entrance and crawled out, hot, steaming, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +perspiring at every pore. He rushed with unsteady +footsteps down to the river, only a few yards away, +and plunged into the cold water. After repeatedly +immersing himself, he waded back to the shore and +lay down to dry in the sun. The shock to his nervous +system of plunging from a hot steam-bath into ice-cold +water fresh from the snow peaks of the north +had roused all his latent vitality. He had recovered +enough to be sullen and resentful to Cecil when he +came up; and after vainly trying to talk with or help +him, the missionary left him.</p> +<p>It is characteristic of the Indian, perhaps of most +half-animal races, that their moral conduct depends +on physical feeling. Like the animal, they are good-humored, +even sportive, when all is well; like the +animal, they are sluggish and unreasoning in time of +sickness.</p> +<p>Cecil went back to the camp. He found that the +archery games were over, and that a great day of +gambling had begun. He was astonished at the +eagerness with which all the Indians flung themselves +into it. Multnomah alone took no part, and Tohomish, +visible only at the council, was not there. But +with those two exceptions, chiefs, warriors, all flung +themselves headlong into the game.</p> +<p>First, some of the leading chiefs played at “hand,” +and each tribe backed its chief. Furs, skins, weapons, +all manner of Indian wealth was heaped in piles behind +the gamblers, constituting the stakes; and they +were divided among the tribes of the winners,—each +player representing a tribe, and his winnings going, +not to himself, but to his people. This rule applied, +of course, only to the great public games; in private +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +games of “hand” each successful player kept his own +spoils.</p> +<p>Amid the monotonous chant that always accompanied +gambling, the two polished bits of bone (the +winning one marked, the other not) were passed +secretly from hand to hand. The bets were made +as to who held the marked stick and in which hand, +then a show of hands was made and the game was +lost and won.</p> +<p>From “hand” they passed to <i>ahikia</i>, a game like +that of dice, played with figured beaver teeth or +disks of ivory, which were tossed up, everything +depending on the combination of figures presented +in their fall. It was played recklessly. The Indians +were carried away by excitement. They bet anything +and everything they had. Wealthy chiefs +staked their all on the turn of the ivory disks, and +some were beggared, some enriched. Cecil noticed +in particular Mishlah the Cougar, chief of the Molallies. +He was like a man intoxicated. His huge +bestial face was all ablaze with excitement, his eyes +were glowing like coals. He had scarcely enough +intellect to understand the game, but enough combativeness +to fling himself into it body and soul. He +bet his horses and lost them; he bet his slaves and +lost again; he bet his lodges, with their rude furnishings +of mat and fur, and lost once more. Maddened, +furious, like a lion in the toils, the desperate savage +staked his wives and children on the throw of the +<i>ahikia</i>, and they were swept from him into perpetual +slavery.</p> +<p>Then he rose up and glared upon his opponents, +with his tomahawk clinched in his hand,—as if feeling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +dimly that he had been wronged, thirsting for vengeance, +ready to strike, yet not knowing upon whom +the blow should fall. There was death in his look, and +the chiefs shrunk from him, when his eyes met Multnomah’s, +who was looking on; and the war-chief +checked and awed him with his cold glance, as a +tamer of beasts might subdue a rebellious tiger. Then +the Molallie turned and went away, raging, desperate, +a chief still, but a chief without lodge or wife or +slave.</p> +<p>The sight was painful to Cecil, and he too went +away while the game was at its height. Drawn by an +influence that he could not resist, he took the trail +that led down the bank of the river to the retreat of +Wallulah.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_A_DEAD_QUEENS_JEWELS' id='CHAPTER_V_A_DEAD_QUEENS_JEWELS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>A DEAD QUEEN’S JEWELS.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +For round about the walls yclothed were<br /> +With goodly arras of great maiesty,<br /> +Woven with golde and silke so close and nere<br /> +That the rich metall lurked privily.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><i>The Faërie Queene.</i></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>He found the sentinels by the pathway half reluctant +to let him pass, but they did not forbid +him. Evidently it was only their awe of him as the +“Great White Prophet,” to whom Multnomah had +added the dignity of an Indian sachem, that overcame +their scruples. It was with a sense of doing +wrong that he went on. “If Multnomah knew,” he +thought, “what would he do?” And brave as Cecil +was, he shuddered, thinking how deadly the wrath +of the war-chief would be, if he knew of these secret +visits to his daughter.</p> +<p>“It is an abuse of hospitality; it is clandestine, +wrong,” he thought bitterly. “And yet she is lonely, +she needs me, and I must go to her; but I will never +go again.”</p> +<p>Where he had met her before, he found her waiting +for him now, a small, graceful figure, standing in the +shadow of the wood. She heard his footsteps before +he saw her, and the melancholy features were transfigured +with joy. She stood hesitating a moment like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +some shy creature of the forest, then sprang eagerly +forward to meet him.</p> +<p>“I knew you were coming!” she cried rapturously. +“I felt your approach long before I heard your footsteps.”</p> +<p>“How is that?” said Cecil, holding her hands and +looking down into her radiant eyes. Something of the +wild Indian mysticism flashed in them as she replied:</p> +<p>“I cannot tell; I knew it! my spirit heard your +steps long before my ears could catch the sound. +But oh!” she cried in sudden transition, her face +darkening, her eyes growing large and pathetic, “why +did you not come yesterday? I so longed for you +and you did not come. It seemed as if the day +would never end. I thought that perhaps the Indians +had killed you; I thought it might be that I should +never see you again; and all the world grew dark as +night, I felt so terribly alone. Promise me you will +never stay away so long again!”</p> +<p>“Never!” exclaimed Cecil, on the impulse of the +moment. An instant later he would have given the +world to have recalled the word.</p> +<p>“I am so glad!” she cried, clapping her hands in +girlish delight; and he could not pain her by an +explanation.</p> +<p>“After a while I will tell her how impossible it is +for me to come again,” he thought. “I cannot tell +her now.” And he seized upon every word and look +of the lovely unconscious girl, with a hunger of heart +born of eight years’ starvation.</p> +<p>“Now you must come with me to my lodge; you +are my guest, and I shall entertain you. I want you +to look at my treasures.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></div> +<p>Cecil went with her, wondering if they would meet +Multnomah at her lodge, and if so, what he would +say. He felt that he was doing wrong, yet so sweet +was it to be in her presence, so much did her beauty +fill the mighty craving of his nature, that it was not +possible for him to tear himself away.</p> +<p>Some fifteen minutes’ walk brought them to Wallulah’s +lodge. It was a large building, made of bark +set upright against a frame-work of poles, and roofed +with cedar boards,—in its external appearance like +all Willamette lodges. Several Indian girls, neatly +dressed and of more than ordinary intelligence, were +busied in various employments about the yard. They +looked in surprise at the white man and their mistress, +but said nothing. The two entered the lodge. +Cecil muttered an exclamation of amazement as he +crossed the threshold.</p> +<p>The interior was a glow of color, a bower of richness. +Silken tapestries draped and concealed the +bark walls; the floor of trodden earth was covered +with a superbly figured carpet. It was like the hall of +some Asiatic palace. Cecil looked at Wallulah, and +her eyes sparkled with merriment at his bewildered +expression. “I knew you would be astonished,” she +cried. “Is not this as fair as anything in your own +land? No, wait till I show you another room!”</p> +<p>She led the way to an inner apartment, drew back +the tapestry that hung over the doorway, and bade +him enter.</p> +<p>Never, not even at St. James or at Versailles, had +he seen such magnificence. The rich many-hued +products of Oriental looms covered the rough walls; +the carpet was like a cushion; mirrors sparkling with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +gems reflected his figure; luxurious divans invited to +repose. Everywhere his eye met graceful draperies +and artistically blended colors. Silk and gold combined +to make up a scene that was like a dream of +fable. Cecil’s dazzled eyes wandered over all this +splendor, then came back to Wallulah’s face again.</p> +<p>“I have seen nothing like this in my own land, not +even in the King’s palace. How came such beautiful +things here among the Indians?”</p> +<p>“They were saved from the vessel that was wrecked. +They were my mother’s, and she had them arranged +thus. This was her lodge. It is mine now. I have +never entered any other. I have never been inside +an Indian wigwam. My mother forbade it, for fear +that I might grow like the savage occupants.”</p> +<p>Cecil knew now how she had preserved her grace +and refinement amid her fierce and squalid surroundings. +Again her face changed and the wistful look +came back. Her wild delicate nature seemed to +change every moment, to break out in a hundred +varying impulses.</p> +<p>“I love beautiful things,” she said, drawing a fold +of tapestry against her cheek. “They seem half +human. I love to be among them and feel their +influence. These were my mother’s, and it seems +as if part of her life was in them. Sometimes, after +she died, I used to shut my eyes and put my cheek +against the soft hangings and try to think it was the +touch of her hand; or I would read from her favorite +poets and try to think that I heard her repeating +them to me again!”</p> +<p>“Read!” exclaimed Cecil; “then you have books?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I will show you all my treasures.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></div> +<p>She went into another apartment and returned +with a velvet case and a richly enchased casket. +She opened the case and took out several rolls of +parchment.</p> +<p>“Here they are, my dear old friends, that have +told me so many beautiful things.”</p> +<p>Cecil unrolled them with a scholar’s tenderness. +Their touch thrilled him; it was touching again some +familiar hand parted from years ago. The parchments +were covered with strange characters, in a language +entirely unknown to him. The initial letters +were splendidly illuminated, the margins ornamented +with elaborate designs. Cecil gazed on the scrolls, +as one who loves music but who is ignorant of its +technicalities might look at a sonata of Beethoven or +an opera of Wagner, and be moved by its suggested +melodies.</p> +<p>“I cannot read it,” he said a little sadly.</p> +<p>“Sometime I will teach you,” she replied; “and +you shall teach me your own language, and we will +talk in it instead of this wretched Indian tongue.”</p> +<p>“Tell me something about it now,” asked Cecil, +still gazing at the unknown lines.</p> +<p>“Not now, there is so much else to talk about; +but I will to-morrow.”</p> +<p>To-morrow! The word pierced him like a knife. +For him, a missionary among barbarians, for her, the +betrothed of a savage chief, the morrow could bring +only parting and woe; the sweet, fleeting present +was all they could hope for. For them there could +be no to-morrow. Wallulah, however, did not observe +his dejection. She had opened the casket, and +now placed it between them as they sat together on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +the divan. One by one, she took out the contents +and displayed them. A magnificent necklace of diamonds, +another of pearls; rings, brooches, jewelled +bracelets, flashed their splendor on him. Totally +ignorant of their great value, she showed them only +with a true woman’s love of beautiful things, showed +them as artlessly as if they were but pretty shells or +flowers.</p> +<p>“Are they not bright?” she would say, holding +them up to catch the light. “How they sparkle!”</p> +<p>One she took up a little reluctantly. It was an +opal, a very fine one. She held it out, turning it in +the light, so that he might see the splendid jewel +glow and pale.</p> +<p>“Is it not lovely?” she said; “like sun-tints on +the snow. But my mother said that in her land it is +called the stone of misfortune. It is beautiful, but it +brings trouble with it.”</p> +<p>He saw her fingers tremble nervously as they held +it, and she dropped it from them hurriedly into the +casket, as if it were some bright poisonous thing she +dreaded to touch.</p> +<p>After a while, when Cecil had sufficiently admired +the stones, she put them back into the casket and +took it and the parchments away. She came back +with her flute, and seating herself, looked at him +closely.</p> +<p>“You are sad; there are heavy thoughts on your +mind. How is that? He who brings me sunshine +must not carry a shadow on his own brow. Why are +you troubled?”</p> +<p>The trouble was that he realized now, and was +compelled to acknowledge to himself, that he loved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +this gentle, clinging girl, with a passionate love; that +he yearned to take her in his arms and shelter her +from the terrible savagery before her; and that he +felt it could not, must not be.</p> +<p>“It is but little,” he replied. “Every heart has +its burden, and perhaps I have mine. It is the lot +of man.”</p> +<p>She looked at him with a vague uneasiness; her +susceptible nature responded dimly to the tumultuous +emotions that he was trying by force of will to shut +up in his own heart.</p> +<p>“Trouble? Oh, do I not know how bitter it is! +Tell me, what do your people do when they have +trouble? Do they cut off their hair and blacken their +faces, as the Indians do, when they lose one they love?”</p> +<p>“No, they would scorn to do anything so degrading. +He is counted bravest who makes the least +display of grief and yet always cherishes a tender +remembrance of the dead.”</p> +<p>“So would I. My mother forbade me to cut off +my hair or blacken my face when she died, and so I +did not, though some of the Indians thought me +bad for not doing so. And your people are not +afraid to talk of the dead?”</p> +<p>“Most certainly not. Why should we be? We +know that they are in a better world, and their memories +are dear to us. It is very sweet sometimes to +talk of them.”</p> +<p>“But the Willamettes never talk of their dead, for +fear they may hear their names spoken and come +back. Why should they dread their coming back? +Ah, if my mother only <i>would</i> come back! How I +used to long and pray for it!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></div> +<p>Cecil began to talk to her about the love and +goodness of God. If he could only see her sheltered +in the Divine compassion, he could trust her to slip +from him into the unknown darkness of her future. +She listened earnestly.</p> +<p>“Your words are good,” she said in her quaint +phraseology; “and if trouble comes to me again I +shall remember them. But I am very happy now.”</p> +<p>The warmth and thankfulness of her glance sent +through him a great thrill of blended joy and pain.</p> +<p>“You forget,” he said, forcing himself to be calm, +“that you are soon to leave your home and become +the wife of Snoqualmie.”</p> +<p>Wallulah raised her hand as if to ward off a blow, +her features quivering with pain. She tried to reply, +but for an instant the words faltered on her lips. +He saw it, and a fierce delight leaped up in his heart. +“She does not love him, it is I whom she cares for,” +he thought; and then he thrust the thought down in +indignant self-reproach.</p> +<p>“I do not care for Snoqualmie; I once thought I +did, but—”</p> +<p>She hesitated, the quick color flushed her face; for +the first time she seemed in part, though not altogether, +aware of why she had changed.</p> +<p>For an instant Cecil felt as if he must speak; but +the consequences rose before him while the words +were almost on his lips. If he spoke and won her +love, Multnomah would force her into a marriage with +Snoqualmie just the same; and if the iron despot +were to consent and give her to Cecil, the result would +be a bloody war with Snoqualmie.</p> +<p>“I cannot, I must not,” thought Cecil. He rose +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +to his feet; his one impulse was to get away, to fight +out the battle with himself. Wallulah grew pale.</p> +<p>“You are going?” she said, rising also. “Something +in your face tells me you are not coming back,” +and she looked at him with strained, sad, wistful +eyes.</p> +<p>He stood hesitating, torn by conflicting emotions, +not knowing what to do.</p> +<p>“If you do not come back, I shall die,” she said +simply.</p> +<p>As they stood thus, her flute slipped from her relaxed +fingers and fell upon the floor. He picked it +up and gave it to her, partly through the born instinct +of the gentleman, which no familiarity with barbarism +can entirely crush out, partly through the tendency in +time of intense mental strain to relieve the mind by +doing any little thing.</p> +<p>She took it, lifted it to her lips, and, still looking at +him, began to play. The melody, strange, untaught, +artless as the song of a wood-bird, was infinitely sorrowful +and full of longing. Her very life seemed to +breathe through the music in fathomless yearning. +Cecil understood the plea, and the tears rushed unbidden +into his eyes. All his heart went out to her in +pitying tenderness and love; and yet he dared not +trust himself to speak.</p> +<p>“Promise to come back,” said the music, while her +dark eyes met his; “promise to come back. You are +my one friend, my light, my all; do not leave me to +perish in the dark. I shall die without you, I shall +die, I shall die!”</p> +<p>Could any man resist the appeal? Could Cecil, of +all men, thrilling through all his sensitive and ardent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +nature to the music, thrilling still more to a mighty +and resistless love?</p> +<p>“I will come back,” he said, and parted from her; +he dared not trust himself to say another word. But +the parting was not so abrupt as to prevent his seeing +the swift breaking-forth of light upon the melancholy +face that was becoming so beautiful to him and so +dear.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_THE_TWILIGHT_TALE' id='CHAPTER_VI_THE_TWILIGHT_TALE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<h3>THE TWILIGHT TALE.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +That eve I spoke those words again,<br /> +And then she hearkened what I said.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dante Rossetti.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The next day the Indians had a great hunt. A +circle of men on foot and on horseback was +drawn around a large tract of forest on the western +side of the Willamette River. Gradually, with much +shouting, hallooing, and beating of bushes, the circle +closed upon the game within it, like the folds of a +mighty serpent.</p> +<p>There was a prodigious slaughter, a mad scene of +butchery, in which the Indians exulted like fiends. +Late in the afternoon they returned to camp, stained +with blood and loaded with the spoils of the chase. +Snoqualmie distinguished himself by killing a large +bear, and its claws, newly severed and bleeding, +were added to his already ample necklace of similar +trophies.</p> +<p>Cecil remained in the almost deserted camp. He +tried in vain to talk with the few chiefs who had not +gone out to join in the hunt. Missionary work was +utterly impossible that day. Wallulah and the problem +of his love filled his thoughts. His mind, aroused +and burning, searched and analyzed the question +upon every side.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div> +<p>Should he tell Multnomah of Snoqualmie’s cruelty, +representing his unfitness to be the husband of the +gentle Wallulah?</p> +<p>To the stern war-chief that very cruelty would be +an argument in Snoqualmie’s favor. Should he himself +become a suitor for her hand? He knew full +well that Multnomah would reject him with disdain; +or, were he to consent, it would involve the Willamettes +in a war with the haughty and vindictive Cayuse. +Finally, should he attempt to fly with her to some +other land? Impossible. All the tribes of the northwest +were held in the iron grip of Multnomah. They +could never escape; and even if they could, the good +he had done among the Indians, the good he hoped +would grow from generation to generation, would be +all destroyed if it were told among them that he who +claimed to come to them with a message from God +had ended by stealing the chief’s daughter. And had +he a right to love any one?—had he a right to love +at all? God had sent him to do a work among the +Indians; was it not wicked for him to so much as +look either to the right or to the left till that work +was done?</p> +<p>Amid this maze of perplexities, his tense, agonized +soul sought in vain for some solution, some conclusion. +At times he sat in his lodge and brooded over these +things till he seemed wrought up almost to madness, +till his form trembled with excitement, and the old +pain at his heart grew sharp and deadly.</p> +<p>Then again, trying to shake it off, he went out +among the few Indians who were left in the camp and +attempted to do missionary work; but enthusiasm +was lacking, the glow and tenderness was gone from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +his words, the grand devotion that had inspired him +so long failed him at last. He was no longer a saintly +apostle to the Indians; he was only a human lover, +torn by stormy human doubts and fears.</p> +<p>Even the Indians felt that some intangible change +had come over him, and as they listened their hearts +no longer responded to his eloquence; they felt somehow +that the life was gone from his words. He saw +it too, and it gave him a keen pang.</p> +<p>He realized that the energy and concentration of +his character was gone, that a girl’s beauty had drawn +him aside from the mission on which God had +sent him.</p> +<p>“I will go and see her. I will, without letting her +know that I love her, give her to understand my +position and her own. She shall see how impossible +it is for us ever to be aught to each other. And I +shall urge her to cling to God and walk in the path +he has appointed for her, while I go on in mine.”</p> +<p>So thinking, he left his lodge that evening and +took the path to Wallulah’s home.</p> +<p>Some distance from the encampment he met an +Indian funeral procession. The young Willamette +runner had died that morning, and now they were +bearing him to the river, down which a canoe was to +waft the body and the mourners to the nearest <i>mimaluse</i> +island. The corpse was swathed in skins and +tied around with thongs; the father bore it on his +shoulder, for the dead had been but a slender lad. +Behind them came the mother and a few Indian +women. As they passed, the father chanted a rude +lament.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mox-mox, my son, why did you go away and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +leave our wigwam empty? You were not weak nor +sickly, and your life was young. Why did you go? +Oh, Mox-mox, dead, dead, dead!”</p> +<p>Then the women took up the doleful refrain,—</p> +<p>“Oh, Mox-mox, dead, dead, dead!”</p> +<p>Then the old man again,—</p> +<p>“Oh, Mox-mox, the sun was warm and food was +plenty, yet you went away; and when we reach out +for you, you are not there. Oh Mox-mox, dead, +dead, dead!”</p> +<p>Then the women again,—</p> +<p>“Oh, Mox-mox, dead, dead, dead!”</p> +<p>And so it went on, till they were embarked and the +canoe bore them from sight and hearing. Down on +some <i>mimaluse</i> island or rocky point, they would +stretch the corpse out in a canoe, with the bow and +arrows and fishing spear used in life beside it; then +turn over it another canoe like a cover, and so leave +the dead to his long sleep.</p> +<p>The sight gave an added bitterness to Cecil’s +meditations.</p> +<p>“After all,” he thought, “life is so short,—a shadow +fleeting onward to the night,—and love is so sweet! +Why not open my heart to the bliss it brings? The +black ending comes so soon! Why not fling all +thought of consequences to the winds, and gather into +my arms the love that is offered me? why not know +its warmth and thrill for one golden moment, even +though that moment ends in death?”</p> +<p>The blood rushed wildly through his veins, but he +resolutely put down the temptation. No, he would +be faithful, he would not allow himself even to think +of such a thing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div> +<p>Reluctantly, as before, the sentinels made way for +him and he went on through the wood to the trysting-place, +for such it had come to be. She was waiting. +But there was no longer the glad illumination +of face, the glad springing forward to meet him. She +advanced shyly, a delicate color in her cheek, a tremulous +grace in her manner, that he had not observed +before; the consciousness of love had come to her +and made her a woman. Never had she seemed so +fair to Cecil; yet his resolution did not falter.</p> +<p>“I have come, you see,—come to tell you that I +can come no more, and to talk with you about your +future.”</p> +<p>Her face grew very pale.</p> +<p>“Are you going away?” she asked sorrowfully, +“and shall I never see you again?”</p> +<p>“I cannot come back,” he replied gently. The +sight of her suffering cut him to the heart.</p> +<p>“It has been much to see you,” he continued, +while she stood before him, looking downward, without +reply. “It has been like meeting one of my own +people. I shall never forget you.”</p> +<p>She raised her head and strove to answer, but the +words died on her lips. How he loathed himself, +talking so smoothly to her while he hungered to take +her in his arms and tell her how he loved her!</p> +<p>Again he spoke.</p> +<p>“I hope you will be happy with Snoqualmie, +and—”</p> +<p>She lifted her eyes with a sudden light flashing in +their black depths.</p> +<p>“Do you want me to hate him? Never speak his +name to me again!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></div> +<p>“He is to be your husband; nay, it is the wish of +your father, and the great sachems approve it.”</p> +<p>“Can the sachems put love in my heart? Can +the sachems make my heart receive him as its lord? +Ah, this bitter custom of the father giving his daughter +to whomsoever he will, as if she were a dog! And +your lips sanction it!”</p> +<p>Her eyes were full of tears. Scarcely realizing +what he did, he tried to take her hand. The slender +fingers shrank from his and were drawn away.</p> +<p>“I do not sanction it, it is a bitter custom; but it +is to be, and I only wished to smooth your pathway. +I want to say or do something that will help you +when I am gone.”</p> +<p>“Do you know what it would be for me to be an +Indian’s wife? To cut the wood, and carry the +water, and prepare the food,—that would be sweet +to do for one I loved. But to toil amid dirt and +filth for a savage whom I could only abhor, to feel +myself growing coarse and squalid with my surroundings,—I +could not live!”</p> +<p>She shuddered as she spoke, as if the very thought +was horrible.</p> +<p>“You hate this degraded Indian life as much as +I do, and yet it is the life you would push me into,” +she continued, in a tone of mournful heart-broken +reproach. It stung him keenly.</p> +<p>“It is not the life I would push you into. God +knows I would give my life to take one thorn from +yours,” The mad longing within him rushed into +his voice in spite of himself, making it thrill with a +passionate tenderness that brought the color back +into her pallid cheek. “But I cannot remain,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +went on, “I dare not; all that I can do is to say +something that may help you in the future.”</p> +<p>She looked at him with dilated eyes full of pain and +bewilderment.</p> +<p>“I have no future if you go away. Why must +you go? What will be left me after you are gone? +Think how long I was here alone after my mother +died, with no one to understand me, no one to +talk to. Then you came, and I was happy. It was +like light shining in the darkness; now it goes out +and I can never hope again. Why must you go away +and leave Wallulah in the dark?”</p> +<p>There was a childlike plaintiveness and simplicity +in her tone; and she came close to him, looking up +in his face with wistful, pleading eyes, the beautiful +face wan and drawn with bewilderment and pain, yet +never so beautiful as now.</p> +<p>Cecil felt the unspeakable cruelty of his attitude +toward her, and his face grew white as death in an +awful struggle between love and duty. But he felt +that he must leave her or be disloyal to his God.</p> +<p>“I do not wish to go away. But God has called +me to a great work, and I must do it. I dare not +turn aside. You cannot know how dear your presence +is to me, or how bitter it is for me to part from +you. But our parting must be, else the work I have +done among the tribes will be scattered to the winds +and the curse of God will be on me as a false and +fallen prophet.”</p> +<p>He spoke with a kind of fierceness, striving blindly +to battle down the mad longing within, and his tones +had a harshness that he was too agitated to notice. +She drew back involuntarily. There came into her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +face a dignity he had never seen before. She was +but a recluse and a girl, but she was of royal lineage +by right of both her parents, and his words had roused +a spirit worthy the daughter of Multnomah.</p> +<p>“Am I a weight on you? Are you afraid I will +bring a curse upon you? Do not fear, I shall no +longer ask you to stay. Wallulah shall take herself +out of your life.”</p> +<p>She gave him a look full of despair, as if seeing all +hope go from her forever; then she said simply, +“Farewell,” and turned away.</p> +<p>But in spite of her dignity there was an anguish +written on her sweet pale face that he could not +resist. All his strength of resolve, all his conviction +of duty, crumbled into dust as she turned away; and +he was conscious only that he loved her, that he +could not let her go.</p> +<p>How it happened he never knew, but she was +clasped in his arms, his kisses were falling on brow +and cheek in a passionate outburst that could be +kept back no longer. At first, she trembled in his +arms and shrank away from him; then she nestled +close, as if sheltering herself in the love that was +hers at last. After awhile she lifted a face over +which a shadow of pain yet lingered.</p> +<p>“But you said I would bring you a curse; you +feared—”</p> +<p>He stopped her with a caress.</p> +<p>“Even curses would be sweet if they came through +you. Forget what I said, remember only that I love +you!”</p> +<p>And she was content.</p> +<p>Around them the twilight darkened into night; the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +hours came and went unheeded by these two, wrapped +in that golden love-dream which for a moment brings +Eden back again to this gray old earth, all desolate as +it is with centuries of woe and tears.</p> +<p>But while they talked there was on him a vague +dread, an indefinable misgiving, a feeling that he was +disloyal to his mission, disloyal to her; that their love +could have but one ending, and that a dark one.</p> +<p>Still he strove hard to forget everything, to shut out +all the world,—drinking to the full the bliss of the +present, blinding his eyes to the pain of the future.</p> +<p>But after they parted, when her presence was withdrawn +and he was alone, he felt like a man faithless +and dishonored; like a prophet who had bartered the +salvation of the people to whom he had been sent, in +exchange for a woman’s kisses, which could bring him +only disgrace and death.</p> +<p>As he went back to the camp in the stillness of +midnight, he was startled by a distant roar, and saw +through the tree-tops flames bursting from the far-off +crater of Mount Hood. The volcano was beginning +one of its periodical outbursts. But to Cecil’s mind, +imbued with the gloomy supernaturalism of early New +England, and unconsciously to himself, tinged in later +years with the superstition of the Indians among whom +he had lived so long, that ominous roar, those flames +leaping up into the black skies of night, seemed a +sign of the wrath of God.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_ORATOR_AGAINST_ORATOR' id='CHAPTER_VII_ORATOR_AGAINST_ORATOR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<h3>ORATOR AGAINST ORATOR.</h3> +</div> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>The gravity, fixed attention, and decorum of these sons of the forest was calculated to make for them a most favorable impression.—<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Gray:</span> <i>History of Oregon</i>.</p> +<hr style='border:none; height:1em;' /> +<p>The next day all the Indians were gathered around +the council grove. Multnomah presided, and +every sachem was in his place.</p> +<p>There was to be a trial of eloquence,—a tourney +of orators, to see which tribe had the best. Only one, +the most eloquent of each tribe, was to speak; and +Multnomah was to decide who was victor. The +mother of Wallulah had introduced the custom, and +it had become popular among the Indians.</p> +<p>Cecil was in his place among the chiefs, with worn +face and abstracted air; Snoqualmie was present, with +hawk-like glance and imperious mien; there was Mishlah, +with his sullen and brutal features; there, too, +wrapped closely in his robe of fur, sat Tohomish, +brooding, gloomy,—the wild empire’s mightiest master +of eloquence, and yet the most repulsive figure +of them all.</p> +<p>The Indians were strangely quiet that morning; +the hush of a superstitious awe was upon them. The +smoking mountains, Hood and Adams as the white +man calls them, Au-poo-tah and Au-ka-ken in the +Indian tongue, were becoming active of late. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +previous night flame had been seen bursting from the +top of Mount Hood and thick black smoke still puffed +upward from it, and on Mount Adams rested a heavy +cloud of volcanic vapors. Were the mountains angry? +Aged men told how in the old time there had been a +terrible outburst of flame and ashes from Mount Hood; +a rain of fire and stones had fallen over all the Willamette +valley; the very earth had trembled at the +great mountain’s wrath.</p> +<p>As the lower animals feel in the air the signs of a +coming storm, so these savages felt, by some kindred +intuition, that a mysterious convulsion of Nature was +at hand. They talked in low tones, they were subdued +in manner; any one coming suddenly upon them +would have been impressed by the air of uneasiness +and apprehension that everywhere prevailed. But the +chiefs were stoical, and Multnomah impassive as ever.</p> +<p>Could it have been that the stormy influences at +work in Nature lent energy to the orators that day? +They were unusually animated, at least for Indians, +though a white man would have found them intolerably +bombastic. Each speech was a boastful eulogy +of the speaker’s tribe, and an exaggerated account +of the wonderful exploits of its warriors.</p> +<p>This was rather dangerous ground; for all the +tribes had been at enmity in days gone by, and some +of their most renowned victories had been won over +each other. Every one took it in good part, however, +except Mishlah. When We-math, chief of the Klamaths, +recounting the exploits of his race, told how +in ancient times they had lorded it over the Mollalies, +Mishlah glared at him as if tempted to leap upon him +and strike him down. Fortunately the orator passed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +on to other things, and the wrath of the Mollalie chief +gradually cooled.</p> +<p>Then came Cecil. It was a grand opening. He +could speak of his own people, of their ancient savagery +and present splendor, and show how the gospel +of love and justice had been the cause of their +elevation. Then would come the appeal to the Indians +to accept this faith as their own and share in +its uplifting power. It was a magnificent opportunity, +the opportunity of a life-time.</p> +<p>But the mental conflict he had just passed through +had rent his mind like a volcanic upheaval. It possessed +no longer the intense concentration which had +been the source of its strength. Tenderness, benevolence, +missionary zeal, were still there, but no longer +sovereign. Other passions divided his heart; a hopeless +and burning love consumed his being.</p> +<p>He spoke, but the fire was gone from his delivery +and the vividness from his imagination. His eloquence +was not what it had been; his heart was no +longer in his work, and his oration was a failure.</p> +<p>Even the Indians noticed that something was lacking +in his oratory, and it no longer moved them as it +had done. Cecil realized it, and strove to speak with +more energy, but in vain; he could not arouse himself; +and it was with a consciousness of failure that he +brought his speech to a close and resumed his seat.</p> +<p>To a man of his morbid conscientiousness only one +conclusion was possible.</p> +<p>“God sent me to proclaim salvation to these children +of darkness,” he thought, “and I have turned +aside to fill my heart with a woman’s love. His wrath +is on me. He has taken his spirit from me. I am +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +a thing rejected and accursed, and this people will go +down to death because I have failed in my mission.”</p> +<p>While he sat absorbed in these bitter, self-accusing +thoughts, the speaking went on. Wau-ca-cus the +Klickitat made a strong “talk,” picturesque in Indian +metaphor, full of energy. But the chief that followed +surpassed him. Orator caught fire from orator; +thoughts not unworthy a civilized audience were +struck out by the intensity of the emulation; speakers +rose to heights which they had never reached before, +which they were destined never to reach again. +In listening to and admiring their champions, the +tribes forgot the smoking mountains and the feeling +of apprehension that had oppressed them. At length +Snoqualmie made a speech breathing his own daring +spirit in every word. It went immeasurably beyond +the others; it was the climax of all the darkly splendid +eloquence of the day.</p> +<p>No, not of all. From his place among the chiefs +rose a small and emaciated figure; the blanket that +had muffled his face was thrown aside, and the tribes +looked on the mis-shapen and degraded features of +Tohomish the Pine Voice. He stood silent at first, +his eyes bent on the ground, like a man in a trance. +For a moment the spectators forgot the wonderful +eloquence of the man in his ignoble appearance. +What could he do against Wau-ca-cus the Klickitat +and Snoqualmie the Cayuse, whose sonorous utterances +still rang in their ears, whose majestic presence +still filled their minds!</p> +<p>“The Willamettes are beaten at last,—the Willamette +speakers can no more be called the best,” was +the one exultant thought of the allies, and the Willamettes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +trembled for the fame of their orators. Back +in the shadow of the cottonwoods, an old Willamette +warrior put an arrow on the string and bent his bow +unseen on Tohomish.</p> +<p>“He cannot beat them, and it shall never be said +that Tohomish failed,” he muttered. At that moment, +even as death hung over him, the orator’s voice was +heard beginning his “talk;” and the warrior’s hand +fell, the bent bow was relaxed, the arrow dropped +from the string. For with the first accents of that soft +and lingering voice the tribes were thrilled as with the +beginning of music.</p> +<p>The orator’s head was still bent down, his manner +abstracted; he spoke of the legends and the glories of +the Willamette tribe, but spoke of them as if that tribe +belonged to the past, as if it had perished from the +earth, and he was telling the tale of a great dead race. +His tones were melodious but indescribably mournful. +When at length he lifted his face, his eyes shone with +a misty light, and his brutal features were illuminated +with a weird enthusiasm. A shudder went through +the vast and motley assembly. No boastful rant was +this, but a majestic story of the past, the story of a +nation gone forever. It was the death-song of the +Willamettes, solemnly rendered by the last and greatest +orator of the race.</p> +<p>At length he spoke of Multnomah and of the power +of the confederacy in his time, but spoke of it as of old +time, seen dimly through the lapse of years. Then, +when as it seemed he was about to go on and tell how +this power came to fall, he hesitated; the words faltered +on his lips; he suddenly broke off, took his +seat, and drew his robe again over his face.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +<img src='images/illus-204.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 297px; height: 486px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 297px;'> +“<i>It was the Death-song of the Willamettes.</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></div> +<p>The effect was indescribable. The portentous nature +of the whole speech needed only that last touch +of mystery. It sent through every heart a wild and +awesome thrill, as at the shadow of approaching +destiny.</p> +<p>The multitude were silent; the spell of the prophet’s +lofty and mournful eloquence still lingered over +them. Multnomah rose. With him rested the decision +as to who was the greatest orator. But the proud +old war-chief knew that all felt that Tohomish had far +surpassed his competitors, and he was resolved that +not his lips but the voice of the tribes should proclaim +their choice.</p> +<p>“Multnomah was to decide who has spoken best, +but he leaves the decision with you. You have heard +them all. Declare who is the greatest, and your word +shall be Multnomah’s word.”</p> +<p>There was an instant’s silence; then in a murmur +like the rush of the sea came back the voice of the +multitude.</p> +<p>“Tohomish! Tohomish! he is greatest!”</p> +<p>“He is greatest,” said Multnomah. But Tohomish, +sitting there dejectedly, seemed neither to see nor +hear.</p> +<p>“To-morrow,” said the war-chief, “while the sun +is new, the chiefs will meet in council and the great +talk shall be ended. And after it ends, Multnomah’s +daughter will be given to Snoqualmie, and Multnomah +will bestow a rich <i>potlatch</i> [a giving of gifts] on the +people. And then all will be done.”</p> +<p>The gathering broke up. Gradually, as the Indians +gazed on the smoking mountains, the excitement produced +by the oratory they had just heard wore off. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +Only Tohomish’s sombre eloquence, so darkly in +unison with the menacing aspect of Nature, yet lingered +in every mind. They were frightened and +startled, apprehensive of something to come. Legends, +superstitious lore of by-gone time connected +with the “smoking mountains,” were repeated that +afternoon wherever little groups of Indians had met +together. Through all these gathered tribes ran a +dread yet indefinable whisper of apprehension, like +the first low rustle of the leaves that foreruns the +coming storm.</p> +<p>Over the valley Mount Adams towered, wrapped in +dusky cloud; and from Mount Hood streamed intermittent +bursts of smoke and gleams of fire that grew +plainer as the twilight fell. Louder, as the hush of +evening deepened, came the sullen roar from the +crater of Mount Hood. Below the crater, the ice-fields +that had glistened in unbroken whiteness the +previous day were now furrowed with wide black +streaks, from which the vapor of melting snow and +burning lava ascended in dense wreaths. Men wiser +than these ignorant savages would have said that +some terrible convulsion was at hand.</p> +<p>Multnomah’s announcement in the council was a +dreadful blow to Cecil, though he had expected it. His +first thought was of a personal appeal to the chief, but +one glance at the iron features of the autocrat told him +that it would be a hopeless undertaking. No appeal +could turn Multnomah from his purpose. For Cecil, +such an undertaking might be death; it certainly +would be contemptuous refusal, and would call down +on Wallulah the terrible wrath before which the +bravest sachem quailed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></div> +<p>Cecil left the grove with the other chiefs and found +his way to his lodge. There he flung himself down +on his face upon his couch of furs. The Indian +woman, his old nurse, who still clung to him, was +absent, and for some time he was alone. After a +while the flap that hung over the entrance was lifted, +and some one came in with the noiseless tread of the +Indian. Cecil, lying in a maze of bitter thought, +became aware of the presence of another, and raised +his head. The Shoshone renegade stood beside him. +His gaze rested compassionately on Cecil’s sad, worn +face.</p> +<p>“What is it?” he asked. “Your words were slow +and heavy to-day. There was a weight on your spirit; +what is it? You said that we were friends, so I came +to ask if I could help.”</p> +<p>“You are good, and like a brother,” replied Cecil, +gently, “but I cannot tell you my trouble. Yet +this much I can tell,”—and he sat upon the couch, +his whole frame trembling with excitement. “I +have sinned a grievous sin, therefore the Great Spirit +took away the words from my lips to-day. My heart +has become evil, and God has punished me.”</p> +<p>It was a relief to his over-burdened conscience to +say those harsh things of himself, yet the relief was +bitter. Over the bronzed face of the Indian came an +expression of deep pity.</p> +<p>“The white man tears himself with his own claws +like a wounded beast, but it does not give him peace. +Has he done evil? Then let him remember what he +has so often told the Indians: ‘Forsake evil, turn +from sin, and the Great Spirit will forgive.’ Let my +white brother do this, and it will be well with him.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div> +<p>He gazed at Cecil an instant longer; then, with a +forbearance that more civilized men do not always +show, he left the lodge without another word.</p> +<p>But what he said had its effect. Through Cecil’s +veins leaped the impulse of a sudden resolve,—a +resolve that was both triumph and agony. He fell on +his knees beside the couch.</p> +<p>“Thou hast shown me my duty by the lips of the +Indian, and I will perform it. I will tear this forbidden +love from my heart. Father, help me. Once before +I resolved to do this and failed. Help me that I +fail not now. Give me strength. Give me the +mastery over the flesh, O God! Help me to put +this temptation from me. Help me to fulfil my +mission.”</p> +<p>The struggle was long and doubtful, but the victory +was won at last. When Cecil arose from his knees, +there was the same set and resolute look upon his +face that was there the morning he entered the wilderness, +leaving friends and home behind him forever,—the +look that some martyr of old might have +worn, putting from him the clinging arms of wife or +child, going forth to the dungeon and the stake.</p> +<p>“It is done,” murmured the white lips. “I have +put her from me. My mission to the Indians alone +fills my heart. But God help her! God help her!”</p> +<p>For the hardest part of it all was that he sacrificed +her as well as himself.</p> +<p>“It must be,” he thought; “I must give her up. I +will go now and tell her; then I will never look upon +her face again. But oh! what will become of her?”</p> +<p>And his long fingers were clinched as in acutest +pain. But his sensitive nerves, his intense susceptibilities +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +were held in abeyance by a will that, once +roused, was strong even unto death.</p> +<p>He went out. It was dark. Away to the east Mount +Hood lifted its blazing crater into the heavens like a +gigantic torch, and the roar of the eruption came +deep and hoarse through the stillness of night. Once, +twice it seemed to Cecil that the ground trembled +slightly under his feet. The Indians were huddled in +groups watching the burning crest of the volcano. +As the far-off flickering light fell on their faces, it +showed them to be full of abject fear.</p> +<p>“It is like the end of the world,” thought Cecil. +“Would that it were; then she and I might die +together.”</p> +<p>He left the camp and took the trail through the +wood to the trysting-place; for, late as it was, he +knew that she awaited him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_IN_THE_DARK' id='CHAPTER_VIII_IN_THE_DARK'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h3>IN THE DARK.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +There is not one upon life’s weariest way,<br /> +Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Swinburne.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The grim sentinels by the pathway, who had been +so reluctant to let Cecil pass the day before, were +still more reluctant this evening. One of them planted +himself in the trail directly in front of Cecil, and did +not offer to let him go on, but stood sullenly blocking +the way. Cecil touched the warrior’s arm and bade +him stand aside. For an instant it seemed that he +would refuse, but his superstitious respect for the white +<i>tomanowos</i> overcame his obstinacy,—and he stepped +unwillingly back.</p> +<p>But as Cecil went on he felt, and felt rightly, that +they would not let him pass again,—that the last act, +be it what it might, in his love drama, was drawing +to a close.</p> +<p>A few moments’ walk, and he saw in the dark the +little figure awaiting him under the trees. She came +slowly forward to meet him. He saw that her face +was very pale, her eyes large and full of woe. She +gave him her hands; they felt like ice. He bent over +her and kissed her with quivering lips.</p> +<p>“Poor child,” he said, putting his arms around her +slender form and drawing it close in his embrace, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +“how can I ever tell you what I have to tell you +to-night!”</p> +<p>She did not respond to his caress. At length, +looking up in a lifeless, stricken way, she spoke in a +mechanical voice, a voice that did not sound like +her own,—</p> +<p>“I know it already. My father came and told me +that to-morrow I must—” She shuddered; her voice +broke; then she threw her arms around his neck and +clung to him passionately. “But they can never tear +me away from you; never, never!”</p> +<p>How could he tell her that he came to put her +away from him, that he came to bid her farewell? +He clasped her the tighter in his arms. For an +instant his mind swept all the chances of flight with +her, only to realize their utter hopelessness; then he +remembered that even to think of such a thing was +treachery to the resolves he had just made. He +shook from head to foot with stormy emotion.</p> +<p>She lifted her head from his breast, where it was +pillowed.</p> +<p>“Let us get horses or a canoe, and fly to-night to +the desert or the sea,—anywhere, anywhere, only to +be away from here! Let us take the trail you came +on, and find our way to your people.”</p> +<p>“Alas,” replied Cecil, “how could we escape? +Every tribe, far and near, is tributary to your father. +The runners would rouse them as soon as we were +missed. The swiftest riders would be on our trail; +ambuscades would lurk for us in every thicket; we +could never escape; and even if we should, a whole +continent swarming with wild tribes lies between us +and my land.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div> +<p>She looked at him in anguish, with dim eyes, and +her arms slipped from around his neck.</p> +<p>“Do you no longer love Wallulah? Something +tells me that you would not wish to fly with me, even +if we could escape. There is something you have not +told me.”</p> +<p>Clasping her closely to him, he told her how he +felt it was the will of God that they must part. God +had sent him on a sacred mission, and he dared not +turn aside. Either her love or the redemption of the +tribes of the Wauna must be given up; and for their +sake love must be sacrificed.</p> +<p>“To-day God took away the words from my lips +and the spirit from my heart. My soul was lead. I +felt like one accursed. Then it came to me that it +was because I turned aside from my mission to love +you. We must part. Our ways diverge. I must +walk my own pathway alone wheresoever it leads me. +God commands, and I must obey.”</p> +<p>The old rapt look came back, the old set, determined +expression which showed that that delicate +organization could grow as strong as granite in its +power to endure.</p> +<p>Wallulah shrank away from him, and strove to free +herself from his embrace.</p> +<p>“Let me go,” she said, in a low, stifled tone. +“Oh, if I could only die!”</p> +<p>But he held her close, almost crushing the delicate +form against his breast. She felt his heart beat deeply +and painfully against her own, and in some way it +came to her that every throb was agony, that he was +in the extremity of mental and physical suffering.</p> +<p>“God help me!” he said; “how can I give you up?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></div> +<p>She realized by woman’s intuition that his whole +soul was wrung with pain, with an agony darker and +bitterer than her own; and the exceeding greatness +of his suffering gave her strength. A sudden revulsion +of feeling affected her. She looked up at him with +infinite tenderness.</p> +<p>“I wish I could take all the pain away from you +and bear it myself.”</p> +<p>“It is God’s will; we must submit to it.”</p> +<p>“His will!” Her voice was full of rebellion. “Why +does he give us such bitter suffering? Doesn’t he +care? I thought once that God was good, but it is all +dark now.”</p> +<p>“Hush, you must not think so. After all, it will be +only a little while till we meet in heaven, and there +no one can take you from me.”</p> +<p>“Heaven is so far off. The present is all that I +can see, and it is as black as death. Death! it would +be sweet to die now with your arms around me; but +to <i>live</i> year after year with him! How can I go to +him, now that I have known you? How can I bear +his presence, his touch?”</p> +<p>She shuddered there in Cecil’s arms. All her +being shrunk in repugnance at the thought of Snoqualmie.</p> +<p>“Thank God for death!” said Cecil, brokenly.</p> +<p>“It is so long to wait,” she murmured, “and I am +so young and strong.”</p> +<p>His kisses fell on cheek and brow. She drew down +his head and put her cheek against his and clung to +him as if she would never let him go.</p> +<p>It was a strange scene, the mournful parting of the +lovers in the gloom of the forest and the night. To +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +the east, through the black net-work of leaves and +branches, a dull red glow marked the crater of Mount +Hood, and its intermittent roar came to them through +the silence. It was a night of mystery and horror,—a +fitting night for their tragedy of love and woe. The +gloom and terror of their surroundings seemed to +throw a supernatural shadow over their farewell.</p> +<p>“The burning mountain is angry to-night,” said +Wallulah, at last. “Would that it might cover us up +with its ashes and stones, as the Indians say it once +did two lovers back in the old time.”</p> +<p>“Alas, death never comes to those who wish for it. +When the grace and sweetness are all fled from our +lives, and we would be glad to lie down in the grave +and be at rest, then it is that we must go on living. +Now I must go. The longer we delay our parting the +harder it will be.”</p> +<p>“Not yet, not yet!” cried Wallulah. “Think how +long I must be alone,—always alone until I die.”</p> +<p>“God help us!” said Cecil, setting his teeth. “I +will dash my mission to the winds and fly with you. +What if God does forsake us, and our souls are lost! +I would rather be in the outer darkness with you than +in heaven without you.”</p> +<p>His resolution had given way at last. But in such +cases, is it not always the woman that is strongest?</p> +<p>“No,” she said, “you told me that your God would +forsake you if you did. It must not be.”</p> +<p>She withdrew herself from his arms and stood looking +at him. He saw in the moonlight that her pale +tear-stained face had upon it a sorrowful resignation, +a mournful strength, born of very hopelessness.</p> +<p>“God keep you, Wallulah!” murmured Cecil, brokenly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +“If I could only feel that he would shelter +and shield you!”</p> +<p>“That may be as it will,” replied the sweet, patient +lips. “I do not know. I shut my eyes to the future. +I only want to take myself away from you, so that your +God will not be angry with you. Up there,” she said, +pointing, “I will meet you sometime and be with +you forever. God will not be angry then. Now +farewell.”</p> +<p>He advanced with outstretched arms. She motioned +him back.</p> +<p>“It will make it harder,” she said.</p> +<p>For a moment she looked into his eyes, her own +dark, dilated, full of love and sadness; for a moment +all that was within him thrilled to the passionate, yearning +tenderness of her gaze; then she turned and went +away without a word.</p> +<p>He could not bear to see her go, and yet he knew +it must end thus; he dared not follow her or call her +back. But so intense was his desire for her to return, +so vehemently did his life cry out after her, that for an +instant it seemed to him he <i>had</i> called out, “Come +back! come back!” The cry rose to his lips; but he +set his teeth and held it back. They <i>must</i> part; was +it not God’s will? The old pain at his heart returned, +a faintness was on him, and he reeled to the +ground.</p> +<p>Could it be that her spirit felt that unuttered cry, +and that it brought her back? Be this as it may, +while he was recovering from his deadly swoon he +dimly felt her presence beside him, and the soft cool +touch of her fingers on his brow. Then—or did he +imagine it?—her lips, cold as those of the dead, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +touched his own. But when consciousness entirely +returned, he was alone in the forest.</p> +<p>Blind, dizzy, staggering with weakness, he found +his way to the camp. Suddenly, as he drew near it +he felt the earth sway and move beneath him like a +living thing. He caught hold of a tree to escape +being thrown to the ground. There came an awful +burst of flame from Mount Hood. Burning cinders and +scoria lit up the eastern horizon like a fountain of fire. +Then down from the great canyon of the Columbia, +from the heart of the Cascade Range, broke a mighty +thundering sound, as if half a mountain had fallen. +Drowning for a moment the roar of the volcano, the +deep echo rolled from crag to crag, from hill to hill. +A wild chorus of outcries rang from the startled camp,—the +fierce, wild cry of many tribes mad with fear +yet breathing forth tremulous defiance, the cry of human +dread mingling with the last echoes of that +mysterious crash.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_QUESTIONING_THE_DEAD' id='CHAPTER_IX_QUESTIONING_THE_DEAD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<h3>QUESTIONING THE DEAD.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Then he said: “Cold lips and breast without breath,<br /> +Is there no voice, no language of death?”<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Edwin Arnold.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>While Cecil was on his way that evening to seek +Wallulah, a canoe with but a single occupant +was dropping down the Columbia toward one of the +many <i>mimaluse</i>, or death-islands, that are washed by +its waters.</p> +<p>An Indian is always stealthy, but there was an +almost more than Indian stealthiness about this +canoe-man’s movements. Noiselessly, as the twilight +deepened into darkness, the canoe glided out of a +secluded cove not far from the camp; noiselessly +the paddle dipped into the water, and the canoe +passed like a shadow into the night.</p> +<p>On the rocky <i>mimaluse</i> island, some distance below +the mouth of the Willamette, the Indian landed +and drew his boat up on the beach. He looked +around for a moment, glanced at the red glow that +lit the far-off crest of Mount Hood, then turned and +went up the pathway to the ancient burial hut.</p> +<p>Who was it that had dared to visit the island of the +dead after dark? The bravest warriors were not capable +of such temerity. Old men told how, away back +in the past, some braves had ventured upon the island +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +after nightfall, and had paid the awful forfeit. They +were struck by unseen hands. Weapons that had lain +for years beside the decaying corpses of forgotten +warriors wounded them in the dark. Fleeing to their +canoes in swiftest fear, they found the shadowy pursuit +was swifter still, and were overtaken and struck +down, while the whole island rung with mocking +laughter. One only escaped, plunging all torn and +bruised into the river and swimming to the farther +shore. When he looked back, the island was covered +with moving lights, and the shrill echo of fiendish +mirth came to him across the water. His companions +were never seen again. A little while afterward +the dogs barked all night around his lodge, and in the +morning he was found lying dead upon his couch, his +face ghastly and drawn with fear, as if at some frightful +apparition.</p> +<p>“He disturbed the <i>mimaluse tillicums</i> [dead people], +and they came for him,” said the old medicine +men, as they looked at him.</p> +<p>Since then, no one had been on the island except +in the daytime. Little bands of mourners had brought +hither the swathed bodies of their dead, laid them in +the burial hut, lifted the wail over them, and left upon +the first approach of evening.</p> +<p>Who, then, was this,—the first for generations to set +foot on the <i>mimaluse illahee</i> after dark?</p> +<p>It could be but one, the only one among all the +tribes who would have dared to come, and to come +alone,—Multnomah, the war-chief, who knew not +what it was to fear the living or the dead.</p> +<p>Startled by the outburst of the great smoking mountains, +which always presaged woe to the Willamettes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +perplexed by Tohomish’s mysterious hints of some +impending calamity, weighed down by a dread presentiment, +he came that night on a strange and superstitious +errand.</p> +<p>On the upper part of the island, above reach of +high water, the burial hut loomed dark and still in +the moonlight as the chief approached it.</p> +<p>Some of the Willamettes, like the Chinooks, practised +canoe burial, but the greater part laid their dead +in huts, as did also the Klickitats and the Cascades.</p> +<p>The war-chief entered the hut. The rude boards +that covered the roof were broken and decayed. The +moonlight shone through many openings, lighting +up the interior with a dim and ghostly radiance. +There, swathed in crumbling cerements, ghastly in +shrunken flesh and protruding bone, lay the dead of +the line of Multnomah,—the chiefs of the blood +royal who had ruled the Willamettes for many generations. +The giant bones of warriors rested beside +the more delicate skeletons of their women, or the +skeletons, slenderer still, of little children of the +ancient race. The warrior’s bow lay beside him with +rotting string; the child’s playthings were still clasped +in fleshless fingers; beside the squaw’s skull the ear-pendants +of <i>hiagua</i> shells lay where they had fallen +from the crumbling flesh years before.</p> +<p>Near the door, and where the slanting moonbeams +fell full upon it, was the last who had been borne to +the death hut, the mother of Wallulah. Six years before +Multnomah had brought her body,—brought it +alone, with no eye to behold his grief; and since +then no human tread had disturbed the royal burial-place.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></div> +<p>He came now and looked down upon the body. +It had been tightly swathed, fold upon fold, in some +oriental fabric; and the wrappings, stiffened by time +still showed what had once been a rare symmetry of +form. The face was covered with a linen cloth, yellow +now through age and fitting like a mask to the +features. The chief knelt down and drew away the +face-cloth. The countenance, though shrunken, was +almost perfectly preserved. Indeed, so well preserved +were many of the corpses the first white settlers +found on these <i>mimaluse</i> islands as to cause at +one time a belief that the Indians had some secret +process of embalming their dead. There was no such +process, however,—nothing save the antiseptic properties +of the ocean breeze which daily fanned the +burial islands of the lower Columbia.</p> +<p>Lovely indeed must the mother of Wallulah have +been in her life. Withered as her features were, +there was a delicate beauty in them still,—in the +graceful brow, the regular profile, the exquisitely chiselled +chin. Around the shoulders and the small +shapely head her hair had grown in rich luxuriant +masses.</p> +<p>The chief gazed long on the shrunken yet beautiful +face. His iron features grew soft, as none but +Wallulah had ever seen them grow. He touched +gently the hair of his dead wife, and put it back from +her brow with a wistful, caressing tenderness. He +had never understood her; she had always been a +mystery to him; the harsh savagery of his nature had +never been able to enter into or comprehend the +refined grace of hers; but he had loved her with all +the fierce, tenacious, secretive power of his being, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +power that neither time nor death could change. +Now he spoke to her, his low tones sounding weird +in that house of the dead,—a strange place for words +of love.</p> +<p>“My woman,—mine yet, for death itself cannot +take from Multnomah that which is his own; my +bird that came from the sea and made its nest for a +little while in the heart of Multnomah and then flew +away and left it empty,—I have been hungry to see +you, to touch your hair and look upon your face +again. Now I am here, and it is sweet to be with +you, but the heart of Multnomah listens to hear you +speak.”</p> +<p>He still went on stroking her hair softly, reverently. +It seemed the only caress of which he was capable, +but it had in it a stern and mournful tenderness.</p> +<p>“Speak to me! The dead talk to the <i>tomanowos</i> +men and the dreamers. You are mine; talk to me; +I am in need. The shadow of something terrible to +come is over the Willamette. The smoking mountains +are angry; the dreamers see only bad signs; +there are black things before Multnomah, and he cannot +see what they are. Tell me,—the dead are wise +and know that which comes,—what is this unknown +evil which threatens me and mine?”</p> +<p>He looked down at her with intense craving, intense +desire, as if his imperious will could reanimate +that silent clay and force to the mute lips the words +he so desired. But the still lips moved not, and the +face lay cold under his burning and commanding gaze. +The chief leaned closer over her; he called her name +aloud,—something that the Willamette Indians rarely +did, for they believed that if the names of the dead +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +were spoken, even in conversation, it would bring +them back; so they alluded to their lost ones only indirectly, +and always reluctantly and with fear.</p> +<p>“Come back!” said he, repeating the name he +had not spoken for six years. “You are my own, you +are my woman. Hear me, speak to me, you whom +I love; you who, living or dead, are still the wife of +Multnomah.”</p> +<p>No expression flitted over the changeless calm of +the face beneath him: no sound came back to his +straining ears except the low intermittent roar of the +far-off volcano.</p> +<p>A sorrowful look crossed his face. As has been +said, there was an indefinable something always between +them, which perhaps must ever be between +those of diverse race. It had been the one mystery +that puzzled him while she was living, and it seemed +to glide, viewless yet impenetrable, between them +now. He rose to his feet.</p> +<p>“It comes between us again,” he thought, looking +down at her mournfully. “It pushed me back when +she was living, and made me feel that I stood outside +her heart even while my arms were around her. It +comes between us now and will not let her speak. If +it was only something I could see and grapple with!”</p> +<p>And the fierce warrior felt his blood kindle within +him, that not only death but something still more +mysterious and incomprehensible should separate him +from the one he loved. He turned sadly away and +passed on to the interior of the hut. As he gazed +on the crumbling relics of humanity around him, the +wonted look of command came back to his brow. +These <i>should</i> obey; by iron strength of will and mystic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +charm he would sway them to his bidding. The +withered lips of death, or spirit voices, should tell him +what he wished to know. Abjectly superstitious as +was the idea it involved, there was yet something +grand in his savage despotic grasp after power that, +dominating all he knew of earth, sought to bend to +his will even the spirit-land.</p> +<p>The chief believed that the departed could talk to +him if they would; for did they not talk to the medicine +men and the dreamers? If so, why not to him, the +great chief, the master of all the tribes of the Wauna?</p> +<p>He knelt down, and began to sway his body back +and forth after the manner of the Nootka <i>shamans</i>, +and to chant a long, low, monotonous song, in which +the names of the dead who lay there were repeated +over and over again.</p> +<p>“Kamyah, Tlesco, Che-aqah, come back! come +back and tell me the secret, the black secret, the +death secret, the woe that is to come. Winelah, +Sic-mish, Tlaquatin, the land is dark with signs +and omens; the hearts of men are heavy with dread; +the dreamers say that the end is come for Multnomah +and his race. Is it true? Come and tell me. +I wait, I listen, I speak your names; come back, +come back!”</p> +<p>Tohomish himself would not have dared to repeat +those names in the charnel hut, lest those whom he +invoked should spring upon him and tear him to +pieces. No more potent or more perilous charm +was known to the Indians.</p> +<p>Ever as Multnomah chanted, the sullen roar of the +volcano came like an undertone and filled the pauses +of the wild incantation. And as he went on, it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +seemed to the chief that the air grew thick with +ghostly presences. There was a sense of breathing +life all around him. He felt that others, many others, +were with him; yet he saw nothing. When he paused +for some voice, some whisper of reply, this sense of +hyper-physical perception became so acute that he +could almost <i>see</i>, almost <i>hear</i>, in the thick blackness +and the silence; yet no answer came.</p> +<p>Again he resumed his mystic incantation, putting +all the force of his nature into the effort, until it +seemed that even those shadowy things of the night +must yield to his blended entreaty and command. +But there came no response. Thick and thronging +the viewless presences seemed to gather, to look, and +to listen; but no reply came to his ears, and no +sight met his eyes save the swathed corpses and the +white-gleaming bones on which the shifting moonbeams +fell.</p> +<p>Multnomah rose to his feet, baffled, thwarted, all +his soul glowing with anger that he should be so +scorned.</p> +<p>“Why is this?” said his stern voice in the silence. +“You come, but you give no reply; you look, you +listen, but you make no sound. Answer me, you who +know the future; tell me this secret!”</p> +<p>Still no response. Yet the air seemed full of dense, +magnetic life, of muffled heart-beats, of voiceless, unresponsive, +uncommunicative forms that he could almost +touch.</p> +<p>For perhaps the first time in his life the war-chief +found himself set at naught. His form grew erect; his +eyes gleamed with the terrible wrath which the tribes +dreaded as they dreaded the wrath of the Great Spirit.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_7' id='linki_7'></a> +<img src='images/illus-224.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 297px; height: 449px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 297px;'> +“<i>Come back! Come back!</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div> +<p>“Do you mock Multnomah? Am I not war-chief +of the Willamettes? Though you dwell in shadow +and your bodies are dust, you are Willamettes, and I +am still your chief. Give up your secret! If the +Great Spirit has sealed your lips so that you cannot +speak, give me a sign that will tell me. Answer by +word or sign; I say it,—I, Multnomah, your chief and +master.”</p> +<p>Silence again. The roar of the volcano had ceased; +and an ominous stillness brooded over Nature, as if all +things held their breath, anticipating some mighty +and imminent catastrophe. Multnomah’s hands were +clinched, and his strong face had on it now a fierceness +of command that no eye had ever seen before. +His indomitable will reached out to lay hold of those +unseen presences and compel them to reply.</p> +<p>A moment of strained, commanding expectation: +then the answer came; the sign was given. The earth +shook beneath him till he staggered, almost fell; the +hut creaked and swayed like a storm-driven wreck; and +through the crevices on the side toward Mount Hood +came a blinding burst of flame. Down from the great +gap in the Cascade Range through which flows the +Columbia rolled the far-off thundering crash which +had so startled Cecil and appalled the tribes. Then, +tenfold louder than before, came again the roar of the +volcano.</p> +<p>Too well Multnomah knew what had gone down in +that crash; too well did he read the sign that had +been given. For a moment it seemed as if all the +strength of his heart had broken with that which had +fallen; then the proud dignity of his character reasserted +itself, even in the face of doom.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></div> +<p>“It has come at last, as the wise men of old said it +would. The end is at hand; the Willamettes pass like +a shadow from the earth. The Great Spirit has forsaken +us, our <i>tomanowos</i> has failed us. But my own +heart fails me not, and my own arm is strong. Like a +war-chief will I meet that which is to come. Multnomah +falls, but he falls as the Bridge has fallen, with a +crash that will shake the earth, with a ruin that shall +crush all beneath him even as he goes down.”</p> +<p>Turning away, his eyes fell on the body of his wife +as he passed toward the door. Aroused and desperate +as he was, he stopped an instant and looked down +at her with a long, lingering look, a look that seemed +to say, “I shall meet you ere many suns. Death and +ruin but give you back to me the sooner. There +will be nothing between us then; I shall understand +you at last.”</p> +<p>Then he drew his robe close around him, and went +out into the night.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>BOOK V.</h2> +<h4><i>THE SHADOW OF THE END.</i></h4> +<hr class='mini' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_HAND_OF_THE_GREAT_SPIRIT' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_HAND_OF_THE_GREAT_SPIRIT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>THE HAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“We view as one who hath an evil sight,”<br /> +He answered, “plainly objects far remote.”<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Carey</span>: <i>Dante</i>.</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The night came to an end at last,—a night not +soon forgotten by the Oregon Indians, and +destined to be remembered in tale and <i>tomanowos</i> +lore long after that generation had passed away. +The sky was thick with clouds; the atmosphere was +heavy with smoke, which, dense and low-hanging in +the still weather, shut out the entire horizon. The +volcano was invisible in the smoky air, but its low +mutterings came to them from time to time.</p> +<p>The chiefs met early in the grove of council. +Multnomah’s countenance told nothing of the night +before, but almost all the rest showed something yet +of superstitious fear. Mishlah’s face was haggard, +his air startled and uneasy, like that of some forest +animal that had been terribly frightened; and even +Snoqualmie looked worn. But the greatest change of +all was in Tohomish. His face was as ghastly as that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +of a corpse, and he came into the council walking in +a dull lifeless way, as if hardly aware of what he was +doing. Those nearest to him shrank away, whispering +to one another that the seer looked like a dead +man.</p> +<p>Cecil came last. The severe mental conflict of the +past night had told almost fatally on a frame already +worn out by years of toil and sickness. His cheek +was pale, his eye hollow, his step slow and faltering +like one whose flame of life is burning very low. The +pain at his heart, always worse in times of exhaustion, +was sharp and piercing.</p> +<p>He looked agitated and restless; he had tried +hard to give Wallulah into the hands of God and feel +that she was safe, but he could not. For himself he +had no thought; but his whole soul was wrung with +pain for her. By virtue of his own keen sympathies, +he anticipated and felt all that the years had in store +for her,—the loneliness, the heartache, the trying to +care for one she loathed; until he shrank from her +desolate and hopeless future as if it had been his +own. All his soul went out to her in yearning tenderness, +in passionate desire to shield her and to take +away her burden.</p> +<p>But his resolution never wavered. Below the ebb +and flow of feeling, the decision to make their separation +final was as unchanging as granite. He could +not bear to look upon her face again; he could not +bear to see her wedded to Snoqualmie. He intended +to make one last appeal to the Indians this morning +to accept the gospel of peace; then he would leave +the council before Wallulah was brought to it. So +he sat there now, waiting for the “talk” to begin.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></div> +<p>The bands gathered around the grove were smaller +than usual. Many had fled from the valley at dawn +to escape from the dreaded vicinity of the smoking +mountains; many hundreds remained, but they were +awed and frightened. No war could have appalled +them as they were appalled by the shaking of the +solid earth under their feet. All the abject, superstition +of their natures was roused. They looked like +men who felt themselves caught in the grasp of some +supernatural power.</p> +<p>Multnomah opened the council by saying that two +runners had arrived with news that morning; the one +from the sea-coast, the other from up the Columbia. +They would come before the council and tell the +news they had brought.</p> +<p>The runner from the upper Columbia spoke first. +He had come thirty miles since dawn. He seemed +unnerved and fearful, like one about to announce +some unheard-of calamity. The most stoical bent +forward eagerly to hear.</p> +<p>“<i>The Great Spirit has shaken the earth, and the +Bridge of the Gods has fallen!</i>”</p> +<p>There was the silence of amazement; then through +the tribes passed in many tongues the wild and wondering +murmur, “The Bridge of the Gods has fallen! +The Bridge of the Gods has fallen!” With it, too, +went the recollection of the ancient prophecy that +when the Bridge fell the power of the Willamettes +would also fall. Now the Bridge was broken, and +the dominion of the Willamettes was broken forever +with it. At another time the slumbering jealousy of +the tribes would have burst forth in terrific vengeance +on the doomed race. But they were dejected and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +afraid. In the fall of the Bridge they saw the hand +of the Great Spirit, a visitation of God. And so +Willamette and tributary alike heard the news with +fear and apprehension. Only Multnomah, who knew +the message before it was spoken, listened with his +wonted composure.</p> +<p>“It is well,” he said, with more than Indian duplicity; +“the daughter of Multnomah is to become the +wife of Snoqualmie the Cayuse, and the new line +that commences with their children will give new +chiefs to head the confederacy of the Wauna. The +old gives way to the new. That is the sign that the +Great Spirit gives in the fall of the Bridge. Think +you it means that the war-strength is gone from us, +that we shall no longer prevail in battle? No, no! +who thinks it?”</p> +<p>The proud old sachem rose to his feet; his giant +form towered over the multitude, and every eye fell +before the haughty and scornful glance that swept +council and audience like a challenge to battle.</p> +<p>“Is there a chief here that thinks it? Let him +step out, let him grapple with Multnomah in the +death-grapple, and see. Is there a tribe that thinks +it? We reach out our arms to them; we are ready. +Let them meet us in battle now, to-day, and know if +our hearts have become the hearts of women. Will +you come? We will give you dark and bloody proof +that our tomahawks are still sharp and our arms are +strong.”</p> +<p>He stood with outstretched arms, from which the +robe of fur had fallen back. A thrill of dread went +through the assembly at the grim defiance; then +Snoqualmie spoke.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div> +<p>“The heart of all the tribes is as the heart of +Multnomah. Let there be peace.”</p> +<p>The chief resumed his seat. His force of will had +wrung one last victory from fate itself. Instantly, and +with consummate address, Multnomah preoccupied the +attention of the council before anything could be said +or done to impair the effect of his challenge. He +bade the other runner, the one from the sea-coast, +deliver his message.</p> +<p>It was, in effect, this:—</p> +<p>A large canoe, with great white wings like a bird, +had come gliding over the waters to the coast near the +mouth of the Wauna. Whence it came no one could +tell; but its crew were pale of skin like the great white +<i>shaman</i> there in the council, and seemed of his race. +Some of them came ashore in a small canoe to trade +with the Indians, but trouble rose between them and +there was a battle. The strangers slew many Indians +with their magic, darting fire at them from long black +tubes. Then they escaped to the great canoe, which +spread its wings and passed away from sight into the +sea. Many of the Indians were killed, but none of the +pale-faced intruders. Now the band who had suffered +demanded that the white man of whom they had heard—the +white chief at the council—be put to death +to pay the blood-debt.</p> +<p>All eyes turned on Cecil, and he felt that his hour +was come. Weak, exhausted in body and mind, wearied +almost to death, a sudden and awful peril was on +him. For a moment his heart sank, his brain grew +dizzy. How <i>could</i> he meet this emergency? All his +soul went out to God with a dumb prayer for help, +with an overwhelming sense of weakness. Then he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +heard Multnomah speaking to him in cold, hard +tones.</p> +<p>“The white man has heard the words of the runner. +What has he to say why his life should not pay the +blood-debt?”</p> +<p>Cecil rose to his feet. With one last effort he put +Wallulah, himself, his mission, into the hands of God; +with one last effort he forced himself to speak.</p> +<p>Men of nervous temperament, like Cecil, can bring +out of an exhausted body an energy, an outburst of +final and intense effort, of which those of stronger +physique do not seem capable. But it drains the +remaining vital forces, and the reaction is terrible. +Was it this flaming-up of the almost burned-out embers +of life that animated Cecil now? Or was it the +Divine Strength coming to him in answer to prayer? +Be this as it may, when he opened his lips to speak, +all the power of his consecration came back; physical +weakness and mental anxiety left him; he felt that +Wallulah was safe in the arms of the Infinite Compassion; +he felt his love for the Indians, his deep yearning +to help them, to bring them to God, rekindling +within him; and never had he been more grandly the +Apostle to the Indians than now.</p> +<p>In passionate tenderness, in burning appeal, in living +force and power of delivery, it was the supreme +effort of his life. He did not plead for himself; he ignored, +put aside, forgot his own personal danger; but +he set before his hearers the wickedness of their own +system of retaliation and revenge; he showed them +how it overshadowed their lives and lay like a deadening +weight on their better natures. The horror, the +cruelty, the brute animalism of the blood-thirst, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +war-lust, was set over against the love and forgiveness +to which the Great Spirit called them.</p> +<p>The hearts of the Indians were shaken within +them. The barbarism which was the outcome of +centuries of strife and revenge, the dark and cumulative +growth of ages, was stirred to its core by +the strong and tender eloquence of this one man. +As he spoke, there came to all those swarthy listeners, +in dim beauty, a glimpse of a better life; +there came to them a moment’s fleeting revelation +of something above their own vindictiveness and +ferocity. That vague longing, that indefinable wistfulness +which he had so often seen on the faces of +his savage audiences was on nearly every face when +he closed.</p> +<p>As he took his seat, the tide of inspiration went +from him, and a deadly faintness came over him. It +seemed as if in that awful reaction the last spark of +vitality was dying out; but somehow, through it all, +he felt at peace with God and man. A great quiet +was upon him; he was anxious for nothing, he cared +for nothing, he simply rested as on the living presence +of the Father.</p> +<p>Upon the sweet and lingering spell of his closing +words came Multnomah’s tones in stern contrast.</p> +<p>“What is the word of the council? Shall the white +man live or die?”</p> +<p>Snoqualmie was on his feet in an instant.</p> +<p>“Blood for blood. Let the white man die at the +torture-stake.”</p> +<p>One by one the chiefs gave their voice for death. +Shaken for but a moment, the ancient inherited barbarism +which was their very life reasserted itself, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +they could decide no other way. One, two, three of +the sachems gave no answer, but sat in silence. They +were men whose hearts had been touched before by +Cecil, and who were already desiring the better life +They could not condemn their teacher.</p> +<p>At length it came to Tohomish. He arose. His +face, always repulsive, was pallid now in the extreme. +The swathed corpses on <i>mimaluse</i> island looked not +more sunken and ghastly.</p> +<p>He essayed to speak; thrice the words faltered on +his lips; and when at last he spoke, it was in a weary, +lifeless way. His tones startled the audience like an +electric shock. The marvellous power and sweetness +were gone from his voice; its accents were discordant, +uncertain. Could the death’s head before them be +that of Tohomish? Could those harsh and broken +tones be those of the Pine Voice? He seemed like +a man whose animal life still survived, but whose soul +was dead.</p> +<p>What he said at first had no relation to the matter +before the council. Every Indian had his <i>tomanowos</i> +appointed him by the Great Spirit from his birth, +and that <i>tomanowos</i> was the strength of his life. Its +influence grew with his growth; the roots of his being +were fed in it; it imparted its characteristics to him. +But the name and nature of his <i>tomanowos</i> was the +one secret that must go with him to the grave. If it +was told, the charm was lost and the <i>tomanowos</i> deserted +him.</p> +<p>Tohomish’s <i>tomanowos</i> was the Bridge and the foreknowledge +of its fall: a black secret that had darkened +his whole life, and imparted the strange and mournful +mystery to his eloquence. Now that the Bridge was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +fallen, the strength was gone from Tohomish’s heart, +the music from his words.</p> +<p>“Tohomish has no voice now,” he continued; “he +is as one dead. He desires to say only this, then +his words shall be heard no more among men. The +fall of the Bridge is a sign that not only the Willamettes +but all the tribes of the Wauna shall fall and +pass away. Another people shall take our place, +another race shall reign in our stead, and the Indian +shall be forgotten, or remembered only as a dim +memory of the past.</p> +<p>“And who are they who bring us our doom? Look +on the face of the white wanderer there; listen to the +story of your brethren slain at the sea-coast by the +white men in the canoe, and you will know. They +come; they that are stronger, and push us out into the +dark. The white wanderer talks of peace; but the +Great Spirit has put death between the Indian and +the white man, and where he has put death there can +be no peace.</p> +<p>“Slay the white man as the white race will slay +your children in the time that is to come. Peace? +love? There can be only war and hate. Striking back +blow for blow like a wounded rattlesnake, shall the red +man pass; and when the bones of the last Indian of +the Wauna lie bleaching on the prairie far from the +<i>mimaluse</i> island of his fathers, then there will be peace.</p> +<p>“Tohomish has spoken; his words are ended, and +ended forever.”</p> +<p>The harsh, disjointed tones ceased. All eyes fell +again on Cecil, the representative of the race by which +the Willamettes were doomed. The wrath of all those +hundreds, the vengeance of all those gathered tribes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +of the Wauna, the hatred of the whole people he had +come to save, seemed to rise up and fall upon him +the frail invalid with the sharp pain throbbing at his +heart.</p> +<p>But that strange peace was on him still, and his +eyes, dilated and brilliant in the extremity of physical +pain, met those lowering brows with a look of exceeding +pity.</p> +<p>Multnomah rose to pronounce sentence. For him +there could be but one decision, and he gave it,—the +clinched hand, the downward gesture, that said, +“There is death between us. We will slay as we +shall be slain.”</p> +<p>Cecil was on his feet, though it seemed as if he +must fall within the moment. He fought down the pain +that pierced his heart like a knife; he gathered +the last resources of an exhausted frame for one more +effort. The executioners sprang forward with the +covering for his eyes that was to shut out the light +forever. His glance, his gesture held them back; +they paused irresolutely, even in the presence of Multnomah; +weak as Cecil was, he was the great white +<i>tomanowos</i> still, and they dared not touch him. +There was a pause, an intense silence.</p> +<p>“I gave up all to come and tell you of God, and +you have condemned me to die at the torture-stake,” +said the soft, low voice, sending through their stern +hearts its thrill and pathos for the last time. “But +you shall not bring this blood-stain upon your souls. +The hand of the Great Spirit is on me; he takes me +to himself. Remember—what I have said. The +Great Spirit loves you. Pray—forgive—be at +peace. Remember—”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></div> +<p>The quiver of agonizing pain disturbed the gentleness +of his look; he reeled, and sank to the ground. +For a moment the slight form shuddered convulsively +and the hands were clinched; then the struggle ceased +and a wonderful brightness shone upon his face. His +lips murmured something in his own tongue, something +into which came the name of Wallulah and the +name of God. Then his eyes grew dim and he lay +very still. Only the expression of perfect peace still +rested on the face. Sachems and warriors gazed in +awe upon the beauty, grand in death, of the one whom +the Great Spirit had taken from them. Perhaps the +iron heart of the war-chief was the only one that did +not feel remorse and self-reproach.</p> +<p>Ere the silence was broken, an old Indian woman +came forward from the crowd into the circle of chiefs. +She looked neither to the right nor to the left, but advanced +among the warrior-sachems, into whose presence +no woman had dared intrude herself, and bent +over the dead. She lifted the wasted body in her +arms and bore it away, with shut lips and downcast +eyes, asking no permission, saying no word. +The charm that had been around the white <i>shaman</i> in +life seemed to invest her with its power; for grim +chieftains made way, the crowd opened to let her +pass, and even Multnomah looked on in silence.</p> +<p>That afternoon, a little band of Indians were assembled +in Cecil’s lodge. Some of them were already +converts; some were only awakened and impressed; +but all were men who loved him.</p> +<p>They were gathered, men of huge frame, around a +dead body that lay upon a cougar skin. Their faces +were sad, their manner was solemn. In the corner +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +sat an aged squaw, her face resting in her hands, her +long gray hair falling dishevelled about her shoulders. +In that heart-broken attitude she had sat ever since +bringing Cecil to the hut. She did not weep or sob +but sat motionless, in stoical, dumb despair.</p> +<p>Around the dead the Indians stood or sat in +silence, each waiting for the other to say what was in +the hearts of all. At length the Shoshone renegade +who had so loved Cecil, spoke.</p> +<p>“Our white brother is gone from us, but the Great +Spirit lives and dies not. Let us turn from blood +and sin and walk in the way our brother showed us. +He said, ‘Remember;’ and shall we forget? I choose +now, while he can hear me, before he is laid in the +cold ground. I put away from me the old heart +of hate and revenge. I ask the Great Spirit to give +me the new heart of love and peace. I have chosen.”</p> +<p>One by one each told his resolve, the swarthy faces +lighting up, the stern lips saying unwonted words of +love. Dim and misty, the dawn had come to them; +reaching out in the dark, they had got hold of the +hand of God and felt that he was a Father. One +would have said that their dead teacher lying there +heard their vows, so calm and full of peace was the +white still face.</p> +<p>That night the first beams of the rising moon fell +on a new-made grave under the cottonwoods, not +far from the bank of the river. Beneath it, silent in +the last sleep, lay the student whose graceful presence +had been the pride of far-off Magdalen, the pastor +whose memory still lingered in New England, the +evangelist whose burning words had thrilled the tribes +of the wilderness like the words of some prophet of old.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></div> +<p>Beside the grave crouched the old Indian woman, +alone and forsaken in her despair,—the one mourner +out of all for whom his life had been given.</p> +<p>No, not the only one; for a tall warrior enters the +grove; the Shoshone renegade bends over her and +touches her gently on the shoulder.</p> +<p>“Come,” he says kindly, “our horses are saddled; +we take the trail up the Wauna to-night, I and my +friends. We will fly from this fated valley ere the +wrath of the Great Spirit falls upon it. Beyond the +mountains I will seek a new home with the Spokanes +or the Okanogans. Come; my home shall be your +home, because you cared for him that is gone.”</p> +<p>She shook her head and pointed to the grave.</p> +<p>“My heart is there; my life is buried with him. I +cannot go.”</p> +<p>Again he urged her.</p> +<p>“No, no,” she replied, with Indian stubbornness; +“I cannot leave him. Was I not like his mother? +How can I go and leave him for others? The roots +of the old tree grow not in new soil. If it is pulled +up it dies.”</p> +<p>“Come with me,” said the savage, with a gentleness +born of his new faith. “Be <i>my</i> mother. We will talk +of him; you shall tell me of him and his God. Come, +the horses wait.”</p> +<p>Again she shook her head; then fell forward on the +grave, her arms thrown out, as if to clasp it in her +embrace. He tried to lift her; her head fell back, +and she lay relaxed and motionless in his arms.</p> +<p>Another grave was made by Cecil’s; and the little +band rode through the mountain pass that night, +toward the country of the Okanogans, without her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div> +<p>And that same night, an English exploring vessel +far out at sea sailed southward, leaving behind the +unknown shores of Oregon,—her crew never dreaming +how near they had been to finding the lost +wanderer, Cecil Grey.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_MARRIAGE_AND_THE_BREAKING_UP' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_MARRIAGE_AND_THE_BREAKING_UP'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>THE MARRIAGE AND THE BREAKING UP.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Remembering love and all the dead delight,<br /> +And all that time was sweet with for a space.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Swinburne.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>After Cecil had been borne from the council-grove, +the Indians, rousing themselves from the +spell of the strange scene they had just witnessed, +looked around for Tohomish the seer. He was gone. +No one could remember seeing him go, yet he was +missing from his accustomed place, and never was he +seen or heard of more. Upon his fate, lost in the +common ruin that engulfed his race, the legend casts +no ray of light. It is certain that the fall of the +Bridge, with which his life was interwoven, had a +disastrous effect upon him, and as he said, that the +strength of his life was broken. It is probable that +the orator-seer, feeling within himself that his power +was gone, crept away into the forest to die. Perhaps, +had they searched for him, they would have found +him lying lifeless upon the leaves in some dense +thicket or at the foot of some lonely crag.</p> +<p>Whatever his fate, the Indians never looked upon +his face again.</p> +<p>Multnomah made no comment on the death of +Cecil, or on the prophecy of Tohomish, so much at +variance with his own interpretation of the fall of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +Bridge. Whatever he had to say was evidently held +in reserve for the closing talk with which he would +soon dismiss the council.</p> +<p>“You shall see Multnomah’s daughter given to +Snoqualmie, and then Multnomah will open his hand +and make you rich.”</p> +<p>So said the war-chief; and a runner was dispatched +with a summons to Wallulah. In a little while a band +of Indian girls was seen approaching the grove. Surrounded +by the maidens, as if they were a guard of +honor, came Wallulah, all unconscious of the tragedy +that had just been enacted.</p> +<p>Among the chiefs they passed, and stopped before +Multnomah. As they paused, Wallulah looked around +for Cecil in one quick glance; then, not seeing him, +she cast down her eyes despondingly. Multnomah +rose and beckoned Snoqualmie to him. He came +forward and stood beside the war-chief. The Indian +girls stepped back a little, in involuntary awe of the +two great sachems, and left Wallulah standing alone +before them.</p> +<p>Her face wore a patient look, as of one who is very +worn and weary, tired of the burdens of life, yet going +forward without hope, without thought even, to other +and still heavier burdens. She was clad in a soft +oriental fabric; her hair fell in luxuriant tresses upon +her shoulders; her flute hung at her belt by a slender +chain of gold.</p> +<p>There was something unspeakably sad and heart-broken +in her appearance, as she stood there, a +listless, dejected figure, before those two grim warriors, +awaiting her doom.</p> +<p>Multnomah took her hand; the fingers of the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +were clasped around her beloved flute, pressing it +closely, as if seeking help from its mute companionship. +The chief gave her hand into Snoqualmie’s; a +shudder passed through her as she felt his touch, and +she trembled from head to foot; then she controlled +herself by a strong effort. Snoqualmie’s fierce black +eyes searched her face, as if looking through and +through her, and she flushed faintly under their +penetrating gaze.</p> +<p>“She is yours,” said the war-chief. “Be kind to +her, for though she is your wife she is the daughter +of Multnomah.” So much did the Indian say for +love of his child, wondering at her strange, sad look, +and feeling vaguely that she was unhappy. She tried +to withdraw her fingers from Snoqualmie’s clasp the +moment her father was done speaking. He held +them tightly, however, and bending over her, spoke +in a low tone.</p> +<p>“My band starts for home at mid-day. Be ready +to go when I send for you.”</p> +<p>She looked up with startled, piteous eyes.</p> +<p>“To-day?” she asked in a choked voice.</p> +<p>“To-day,” came the abrupt reply; too low for the +others to hear, yet harsh enough to sting her through +and through. “Do you think Snoqualmie goes back +to his <i>illahee</i> and leaves his woman behind?”</p> +<p>Her spirit kindled in resentment. Never had the +chief’s daughter been spoken to so harshly; then all +at once it came to her that he <i>knew</i>,—that he must +have followed Cecil and witnessed one of their last +interviews. Jealous, revengeful, the Indian was her +master now. She grew pale to the lips. He released +her hand, and she shrank away from him, and left the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +council with her maidens. No one had heard the +few half-whispered words that passed between them +but those who stood nearest noticed the deadly pallor +that came over her face while Snoqualmie was speaking. +Multnomah saw it, and Snoqualmie caught from +him a glance that chilled even his haughty nature—a +glance that said, “Beware; she is the war-chief’s +daughter.”</p> +<p>But even if he had known all, Multnomah would +have sacrificed her. His plans must be carried out +even though her heart be crushed.</p> +<p>Now followed the <i>potlatch</i>,—the giving of gifts. +At a signal from the war-chief, his slaves appeared, +laden with presents. Large heaps of rich furs and +skins were laid on the ground near the chiefs. The +finest of bows and arrows, with gaily decorated quivers +and store of bow-strings, were brought. Untold treasure +of <i>hiagua</i> shells, money as well as ornament to +the Oregon Indians, was poured out upon the ground, +and lay glistening in the sun in bright-colored masses. +To the Indians they represented vast and splendid +wealth. Multnomah was the richest of all the Indians +of the Wauna; and the gifts displayed were the +spoil of many wars, treasures garnered during forty +years of sovereignty.</p> +<p>And now they were all given away. The chief +kept back nothing, except some cases of oriental +fabrics that had been saved from the wreck when +Wallulah’s mother was cast upon the shore. Well +would it have been for him and his race had they +been given too; for, little as they dreamed it, the +fate of the Willamettes lay sealed up in those unopened +cases of silk and damask.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></div> +<p>Again and again the slaves of Multnomah added +their burdens to the heaps, and went back for more, +till a murmur of wonder rose among the crowd. His +riches seemed exhaustless. At length, however, all was +brought. The chief stood up, and, opening his hands +to them in the Indian gesture for giving, said,—</p> +<p>“There is all that was Multnomah’s; it is yours; +your hands are full now and mine are empty.”</p> +<p>The chiefs and warriors rose up gravely and went +among the heaps of treasure; each selecting from +furs and skins, arms and <i>hiagua</i> shells, that which he +desired. There was no unseemly haste or snatching; +a quiet decorum prevailed among them. The women +and children were excluded from sharing in these +gifts, but provisions—dried meats and berries, and +bread of <i>camas</i> or Wappatto root—were thrown +among them on the outskirts of the crowd where +they were gathered. And unlike the men, they +scrambled for it like hungry animals; save where here +and there the wife or daughter of a chief stood looking +disdainfully on the food and those who snatched at it.</p> +<p>Such giving of gifts, or <i>potlatches</i>, are still known +among the Indians. On Puget Sound and the Okanogan, +one occasionally hears of some rich Indian +making a great <i>potlatch</i>,—giving away all his possessions, +and gaining nothing but a reputation for +disdain of wealth, a reputation which only Indian +stoicism would crave. Multnomah’s object was not +that so much as to make, before the dispersal of the +tribes, a last and most favorable impression.</p> +<p>When the presents were all divided, the chiefs resumed +their places to hear the last speech of Multnomah,—the +speech that closed the council.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div> +<p>It was a masterpiece of dignity, subtility, and command. +The prophecy of Tohomish was evaded, the +fall of the Bridge wrested into an omen propitious to +the Willamettes; and at last his hearers found themselves +believing as he wished them to believe, without +knowing how or why, so strongly did the overmastering +personality of Multnomah penetrate and sway +their lesser natures. He particularly dwelt on the +idea that they were all knit together now and were as +one race. Yet through the smooth words ran a latent +threat, a covert warning of the result of any revolt +against his authority based on what plotting dreamers +might say of the fall of the Bridge,—a half-expressed +menace, like the gleam of a sword half drawn from +the scabbard. And he closed by announcing that +ere another spring the young men of all the tribes +would go on the war-path against the Shoshones and +come back loaded with spoil. And so, kindling the +hatred of the chiefs against the common enemy, +Multnomah closed the great council.</p> +<p>In a little while the camp was all astir with preparation +for departure. Lodges were being taken down, +the mats that covered them rolled up and packed +on the backs of horses; all was bustle and tumult. +Troop after troop crossed the river and took the trail +toward the upper Columbia.</p> +<p>But when the bands passed from under the personal +influence of Multnomah, they talked of the ominous +things that had just happened; they said to each +other that the Great Spirit had forsaken the Willamettes, +and that when they came into the valley +again it would be to plunder and to slay. Multnomah +had stayed the tide but for a moment. The fall of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +the ancient <i>tomanowos</i> of the Willamettes had a tremendous +significance to the restless tributaries, and +already the confederacy of the Wauna was crumbling +like a rope of sand. Those tribes would meet no +more in peace on the island of council.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_AT_THE_CASCADES' id='CHAPTER_III_AT_THE_CASCADES'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>AT THE CASCADES.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Wails on the wind, fades out the sunset quite,<br /> +And in my heart and on the earth is night.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Philip Bourke Marston.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The main body of Snoqualmie’s followers crossed +to the north bank of the Columbia and took +the trail leading up the river toward the inland prairies. +But Snoqualmie and Wallulah went by canoe as +far as the now ruined Bridge of the Gods. There +were three canoes in their train. Snoqualmie and +Wallulah occupied the first; the other two were laden +with the rich things that had once made her lodge so +beautiful. It stood all bare and deserted now, the +splendor stripped from its rough bark walls even as +love and hope had been reft from the heart of its +mistress. Tapestries, divans, carpets, mirrors, were +heaped in the canoes like spoil torn from the enemy.</p> +<p>The farewell between Wallulah and her father had +been sorrowful. It was remembered afterward, by +those who were witnesses of it, that the war-chief had +shown a tenderness unusual with him, that he had +seemed reluctant to part with his daughter, and that +she had clung to him, pale and tearful, as if he were +her last hope on earth.</p> +<p>When Snoqualmie took her hand to lead her away, +she shuddered, withdrew her fingers from his clasp, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +and walked alone to the canoe. He entered after +her: the canoe-men dipped their paddles into the +water, and the vessel glided away from the island.</p> +<p>She sat reclining on a heap of furs, her elbows +sunk in them, her cheek resting on her hand, her +eyes turned back toward her island home. Between +it and her the expanse of waters grew ever broader, +and the trail the canoe left behind it sparkled in a +thousand silvery ripples. The island, with its green +prairies and its stately woods, receded fast. She felt +as she looked back as if everything was slipping away +from her. Lonely as her life had been before Cecil +came into it, she had still had her music and her +beautiful rooms in the bark lodge; and they seemed +infinitely sweet and precious now as she recalled them. +Oh, if she could only have them back again! And +those interviews with Cecil. How love and grief +shook the little figure as she thought! How loathingly +she shrunk from the presence of the barbarian +at her side! And all the time the island receded +farther and farther in the distance, and the canoe +glided forward like a merciless fate bearing her on +and on toward the savagery of the inland desert.</p> +<p>Snoqualmie sat watching her with glittering, triumphant +eyes. To him she was no more than some +lovely animal of which he had become the owner; +and ownership of course brought with it the right to +tantalize and to torture. A malicious smile crossed +his lips as he saw how sorrowfully her gaze rested on +her old home.</p> +<p>“Look forward,” he said, “not back; look forward +to your life with Snoqualmie and to the lodge that +awaits you in the land of the Cayuses.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></div> +<p>She started, and her face flushed painfully; then +without looking at him she replied,—</p> +<p>“Wallulah loves her home, and leaving it saddens +her.”</p> +<p>A sparkle of vindictive delight came into his eyes.</p> +<p>“Do the women of the Willamette feel sad when +they go to live with their husbands? It is not so +with the Cayuse women. They are glad; <i>they</i> care for +the one they belong to. They love to sit in the sun +at the door of the wigwam and say to the other +women, ‘My man is brave; he leads the war party; +he has many scalps at his belt. Who is brave like +my man?’”</p> +<p>Wallulah shuddered. He saw it, and the sparkle of +malice in his eyes flashed into sudden anger.</p> +<p>“Does the young squaw tremble at these things? +Then she must get used to them. She must learn to +bring wood and water for Snoqualmie’s lodge, too. +She must learn to wait on him as an Indian’s wife +ought. The old wrinkled squaws, who are good for +nothing but to be beasts of burden, shall teach her.”</p> +<p>There came before her a picture of the ancient +withered hags, the burden-bearers, the human vampires +of the Indian camps, the vile in word and +deed, the first to cry for the blood of captives, the +most eager to give taunts and blows to the helpless; +were they to be her associates, her teachers? Involuntarily +she lifted her hand, as if to push from her a +future so dreadful.</p> +<p>“Wallulah will bring the wood and the water. +Wallulah will work. The old women need not teach +her.”</p> +<p>“That is well. But one thing more you must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +learn; and that is to hold up your head and not look +like a drooping captive. Smile, laugh, be gay. Snoqualmie +will have no clouded face, no bent head in +his lodge.”</p> +<p>She looked at him imploringly. The huge form, +the swarthy face, seemed to dominate her, to crush +her down with their barbarian strength and ferocity. +She dropped her eyes again, and lay there on the +furs like some frightened bird shrinking from the +glance of a hawk.</p> +<p>“I will work; I will bear burdens,” she repeated, +in a trembling tone. “But I cannot smile and laugh +when my heart is heavy.”</p> +<p>He watched her with a half angry, half malicious +regard, a regard that seemed ruthlessly probing into +every secret of her nature.</p> +<p>She knew somehow that he was aware of her love +for Cecil, and she dreaded lest he should taunt her +with it. Anything but that. He knew it, and held +it back as his last and most cruel blow. Over his +bronzed face flitted no expression of pity. She was +to him like some delicate wounded creature of the +forest, that it was a pleasure to torture. So he had +often treated a maimed bird or fawn,—tantalizing it, +delighted by its fluttering and its pain, till the lust +of torture was gratified and the death-blow was +given.</p> +<p>He sat regarding her with a sneering, malicious +look for a little while; then he said,—</p> +<p>“It is hard to smile on Snoqualmie; but the white +man whom you met in the wood, it was not so with +him. It was easy to smile and look glad at him, but +it is hard to do so for Snoqualmie.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></div> +<p>Wallulah shrunk as if he had struck her a blow; +then she looked at him desperately, pleadingly.</p> +<p>“Do not say such cruel things. I will be a faithful +wife to you. I will never see the white man +again.”</p> +<p>The sneering malice in his eyes gave way to the +gleam of exultant anger.</p> +<p>“Faithful! You knew you were to be my woman +when you let him put his arms around you and say +soft things to you. Faithful! You would leave +Snoqualmie for him now, could it be so. But you +say well that you will never see him again.”</p> +<p>She gazed at him in terror.</p> +<p>“What do you mean? Has anything happened to +him? Have they harmed him?”</p> +<p>Over the chief’s face came the murderous expression +that was there when he slew the Bannock warrior +at the torture stake.</p> +<p>“Harmed him! Do you think that he could meet +you alone and say sweet things to you and caress +you,—you who were the same as my squaw,—and I +not harm him? He is dead; I slew him.”</p> +<p>False though it was, in so far as Snoqualmie claimed +to have himself slain Cecil, it was thoroughly in keeping +with Indian character. White captives were often +told, “I killed your brother,” or, “This is your husband’s +scalp,” when perhaps the person spoken of +was alive and well.</p> +<p>“Dead!”</p> +<p>He threw his tomahawk at her feet.</p> +<p>“His blood is on it. You are Snoqualmie’s squaw; +wash it off.”</p> +<p>Dead, dead, her lover was dead! That was all she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +could grasp. Snoqualmie’s insulting command passed +unheeded. She sat looking at the Indian with bright, +dazed eyes that saw nothing. All the world seemed +blotted out.</p> +<p>“I tell you that he is dead, and I slew him. Are +you asleep that you stare at me so? Awaken and +do as I bid you; wash your lover’s blood off my +tomahawk.”</p> +<p>At first she had been stunned by the terrible shock, +and she could realize only that Cecil was dead. Now +it came to her, dimly at first, then like a flash of fire, +that Snoqualmie had slain him. All her spirit leaped +up in uncontrollable hatred. For once, she was the +war-chief’s daughter. She drew her skirts away from +the tomahawk in unutterable horror; her eyes blazed +into Snoqualmie’s a defiance and scorn before which +his own sunk for the instant.</p> +<p>“You killed him! I hate you. I will never be +your wife. You have thrown the tomahawk between +us; it shall be between us forever. Murderer! You +have killed the one I love. Yes, I loved him; and I +hate you and will hate you till I die.”</p> +<p>The passion in her voice thrilled even the canoe-men, +and their paddle strokes fell confusedly for an +instant, though they did not understand; for both +Wallulah and Snoqualmie had spoken in the royal +tongue of the Willamettes. He sat abashed for an +instant, taken utterly by surprise.</p> +<p>Then the wild impulse of defiance passed, and +the awful sense of bereavement came back like the +falling of darkness over a sinking flame. Cecil was +gone from her, gone for all time. The world seemed +unreal, empty. She sunk among the furs like one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +stricken down. Snoqualmie, recovering from his momentary +rebuff, heaped bitter epithets and scornful +words upon her; but she neither saw nor heard, +and lay with wide, bright, staring eyes. Her seeming +indifference maddened him still more, and he +hurled at her the fiercest abuse. She looked at him +vaguely. He saw that she did not even know what +he was saying, and relapsed into sullen silence. She +lay mute and still, with a strained expression of pain +in her eyes. The canoe sped swiftly on.</p> +<p>One desolating thought repeated itself again and +again,—the thought of hopeless and irreparable loss. +By it past and present were blotted out. By and +by, when she awoke from the stupor of despair and +realized her future, destined to be passed with the +murderer of her lover, what then? But now she was +stunned with the shock of a grief that was mercy +compared with the awakening that must come.</p> +<p>They were in the heart of the Cascade Mountains, +and a low deep roar began to reach their ears, rousing +and startling all but Wallulah. It was the sound of +the cascades, of the new cataract formed by the fall +of the Great Bridge. Rounding a bend in the river +they came in sight of it. The mighty arch, the long +low mountain of stone, had fallen in, damming up the +waters of the Columbia, which were pouring over the +sunken mass in an ever-increasing volume. Above, +the river, raised by the enormous dam, had spread +out like a lake, almost submerging the trees that still +stood along the former bank. Below the new falls +the river was comparatively shallow, its rocky bed +half exposed by the sudden stoppage of the waters.</p> +<p>The Indians gazed with superstitious awe on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +vast barrier over which the white and foaming waters +were pouring. The unwonted roar of the falls, a roar +that seemed to increase every moment as the swelling +waters rushed over the rocks; the sight of the +wreck of the mysterious bridge, foreshadowing the +direst calamities,—all this awed the wild children +of the desert. They approached the falls slowly and +cautiously.</p> +<p>A brief command from Snoqualmie, and they landed +on the northern side of the river, not far from the foot +of the falls. There they must disembark, and the +canoes be carried around the falls on the shoulders +of Indians and launched above.</p> +<p>The roar of the Cascades roused Wallulah from her +stupor. She stepped ashore and looked in dazed +wonder on the strange new world around her. Snoqualmie +told her briefly that she must walk up the +bank to the place where the canoe was to be launched +again above the falls. She listened mutely, and started +to go. But the way was steep and rocky; the bank +was strewn with the débris of the ruined bridge; and +she was unused to such exertion. Snoqualmie saw +her stumble and almost fall. It moved him to a +sudden and unwonted pity, and he sprang forward to +help her. She pushed his hand from her as if it had +been the touch of a serpent, and went on alone. His +eyes flashed: for all this the reckoning should come, +and soon; woe unto her when it came.</p> +<p>The rough rocks bruised her delicately shod feet, +the steep ascent took away her breath. Again and +again she felt as if she must fall; but the bitter scorn +and loathing that Snoqualmie’s touch had kindled gave +her strength, and at last she completed the ascent.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>Above the falls and close to them, she sat down +upon a rock; a slight, drooping figure, whose dejected +pose told of a broken heart.</p> +<p>Before her, almost at her feet, the pent-up river was +widened to a vast flood. Here and there a half-submerged +pine lifted its crown above it; the surface +was ruffled by the wind, and white-crested waves +were rolling among the green tree-tops. She looked +with indifference upon the scene. She had not +heard that the Bridge had fallen, and was, of course, +ignorant of these new cascades; and they did not +impress her as being strange.</p> +<p>Her whole life was broken up; all the world appeared +shattered by the blow that had fallen on her, +and nothing could startle her now. She felt dimly +that some stupendous catastrophe had taken place; +yet it did not appear unnatural. A strange sense of +unreality possessed her; everything seemed an illusion, +as if she were a shadow in a land of shadows. +The thought came to her that she was dead, and +that her spirit was passing over the dim ghost trail to +the shadow-land. She tried to shake off the fancy, +but all was so vague and dreamlike that she hardly +knew where or what she was; yet over it all brooded +the consciousness of dull, heavy, torturing pain, like +the dumb agony that comes to us in fevered sleep, +burdening our dreams with a black oppressing weight +of horror.</p> +<p>Her hand, hanging listlessly at her side, touched +her flute, which was still suspended from her belt by +the golden chain. She raised it to her lips, but only +a faint inharmonious note came from it. The music +seemed gone from the flute, as hope was gone from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +her heart. To her overwrought nerves, it was the +last omen of all. The flute dropped from her fingers; +she covered her face with her hands, and the +hot tears coursed slowly down her cheeks.</p> +<p>Some one spoke to her, not ungently, and she +looked up. One of the canoe-men stood beside her. +He pointed to the canoe, now launched near by. +Snoqualmie was still below, at the foot of the falls, +superintending the removal of the other.</p> +<p>Slowly and wearily she entered the waiting canoe +and resumed her seat. The Indian paddlers took +their places. They told her that the chief Snoqualmie +had bidden them take her on without him. He +would follow in the other canoe. It was a relief to +be free from his presence, if only for a little while; +and the sadness on her face lightened for a moment +when they told her.</p> +<p>A few quick paddle-strokes, and the boat shot out +into the current above the cascades and then glided +forward. No, <i>not</i> forward. The canoe-men, unfamiliar +with the new cataract, had launched their vessel +too close to the falls; and the mighty current was +drawing it back. A cry of horror burst from their +lips as they realized their danger, and their paddles +were dashed into the water with frenzied violence. +The canoe hung quivering through all its slender +length between the desperate strokes that impelled +it forward and the tremendous suction that drew it +down. Had they been closer to the bank, they might +have saved themselves; but they were too far out in +the current. They felt the canoe slipping back in +spite of their frantic efforts, slowly at first, then more +swiftly; and they knew there was no hope.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></div> +<p>The paddles fell from their hands. One boatman +leaped from the canoe with the desperate idea of +swimming ashore, but the current instantly swept him +under and out of sight; the other sat motionless in +his place, awaiting the end with Indian stolidity.</p> +<p>The canoe was swept like a leaf to the verge of the +fall and downward into a gulf of mist and spray. As +it trembled on the edge of the cataract, and its horrors +opened beneath her, Wallulah realized her doom +for the first time; and in the moment she realised it, +it was upon her. There was a quick terror, a dreamlike +glimpse of white plunging waters, a deafening +roar, a sudden terrible shock as the canoe was splintered +on the rocks at the foot of the fall; then all +things were swallowed up in blackness, a blackness +that was death.</p> +<p>Below the falls, strong swimmers, leaping into the +water, brought the dead to land. Beneath a pine-tree +that grew close by the great Columbia trail and +not far from the falls, the bodies were laid. The +daughter of Multnomah lay in rude state upon a fawn-skin; +while at her feet were extended the brawny +forms of the two canoe-men who had died with her, +and who, according to Indian mythology, were to be +her slaves in the Land of the Hereafter. Her face +was very lovely, but its mournfulness remained. Her +flute, broken in the shock that had killed her, was +still attached to her belt. The Indians had placed +her hand at her side, resting upon the flute; and +they noticed in superstitious wonder that the cold +fingers seemed to half close around it, as if they +would clasp it lovingly, even in death. Indian +women knelt beside her, fanning her face with fragrant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +boughs of pine. Troop after troop, returning +over the trail to their homes, stopped to hear the +tale, and to gaze at the dead face that was so wonderfully +beautiful yet so sad.</p> +<p>All day long the bands gathered; each stopping, +none passing indifferently by. At length, when evening +came and the shadow of the wood fell long and +cool, the burials began. A shallow grave was scooped +at Wallulah’s feet for the bodies of the two canoe-men. +Then chiefs—for they only might bury Multnomah’s +daughter—entombed her in a cairn; being +Upper Columbia Indians, they buried her, after the +manner of their people, under a heap of stone. Rocks +and bowlders were built around and over her body, +yet without touching it, until the sad dead face was +shut out from view. And still the stones were piled +above her; higher and higher rose the great rock-heap, +till a mighty cairn marked the last resting-place +of Wallulah. And all the time the women lifted the +death-wail, and Snoqualmie stood looking on with +folded arms and sullen baffled brow. At length the +work was done. The wail ceased; the gathering +broke up, and the sachems and their bands rode away, +Snoqualmie and his troop departing with them.</p> +<p>Only the roar of the cascades broke the silence, as +night fell on the wild forest and the lonely river. +The pine-tree beside the trail swayed its branches in +the wind with a low soft murmur, as if lulling the +sorrow-worn sleeper beneath it into still deeper repose. +And she lay very still in the great cairn,—the +sweet and beautiful dead,—with the grim warriors +stretched at her feet, stern guardians of a slumber +never to be broken.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_MULTNOMAHS_DEATHCANOE' id='CHAPTER_IV_MULTNOMAHS_DEATHCANOE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>MULTNOMAH’S DEATH-CANOE.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +<span style='margin-left: 6.640625em;'>Gazing alone</span><br /> +To him are wild shadows shown.<br /> +Deep under deep unknown.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dante Rossetti.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>If Multnomah was grieved at his daughter’s death, +if his heart sunk at the unforeseen and terrible +blow that left his empire without an heir and withered +all his hopes, no one knew it; no eye beheld +his woe. Silent he had ever been, and he was silent +to the last. The grand, strong face only grew grander, +stronger, as the shadows darkened around him; the +unconquerable will only grew the fiercer and the more +unflinching. But ere the moon that shone first on +Wallulah’s new-made cairn had rounded to the full, +there was that upon him before which even his will +bowed and gave way,—death, swift and mysterious. +And it came in this wise.</p> +<p>We have told how at the great <i>potlatch</i> he gave +away his all, even to the bear-skins from his couch, reserving +only those cases of Asiatic textures never yet +opened,—all that now remained of the richly laden +ship of the Orient wrecked long ago upon his coast. +They were opened now. His bed was covered with +the magnificent fabrics; they were thrown carelessly +over the rude walls and seats, half-trailing on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +floor; exquisite folds of velvet and damask swept the +leaves and dust,—so that all men might see how rich +the chief still was, though he had given away so much. +And with his ostentation was mixed a secret pride +and tenderness that his dead wife had indirectly +given him this wealth. The war-chief’s woman had +brought him these treasures out of the sea; and now +that he had given away his all, even to the bare poles +of his lodge, she filled it with fine things and made +him rich again,—she who had been sleeping for +years in the death-hut on <i>mimaluse</i> island. Those +treasures, ere the vessel that carried them was +wrecked, had been sent as a present from one oriental +prince to another. Could it be that they had +been purposely impregnated with disease, so that +while the prince that sent them seemed to bestow a +graceful gift, he was in reality taking a treacherous +and terrible revenge? Such things were not infrequent +in Asiatic history; and even the history of +Europe, in the middle ages, tells us of poisoned +masks, of gloves and scarfs charged with disease.</p> +<p>Certain it is that shortly after the cases were +opened, a strange and fatal disease broke out among +Multnomah’s attendants. The howling of medicine-men +rang all day long in the royal lodge; each day +saw swathed corpses borne out to the funeral pyre +or <i>mimaluse</i> island. And no concoction of herbs,—however +skilfully compounded with stone mortar +and pestle,—no incantation of medicine-men or +steaming atmosphere of sweat-house, could stay the +mortality.</p> +<p>At length Multnomah caught the disease. It seemed +strange to the Indians that the war-chief should sicken, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +that Multnomah should show any of the weaknesses of +common flesh and blood; yet so it was. But while +the body yielded to the inroad of disease, the spirit +that for almost half a century had bent beneath it the +tribes of the Wauna never faltered. He lay for days +upon his couch, his system wasting with the plague, +his veins burning with fever, holding death off only by +might of will. He touched no remedies, for he felt +them to be useless; he refused the incantations of +the medicine-men; alone and in his own strength +the war-chief contended with his last enemy.</p> +<p>All over the Willamette Valley, through camp and +fishery, ran the whisper that Multnomah was dying; +and the hearts of the Indians sunk within them. Beyond +the mountains the whisper passed to the allied +tribes, once more ripe for revolt, and the news rang +among them like a trumpet call; it was of itself a +signal for rebellion. The fall of the magic Bridge, the +death of Wallulah, and the fatal illness of Multnomah +had sealed the doom of the Willamettes. The chiefs +stayed their followers only till they knew that he was +dead. But the grand old war-chief seemed determined +that he would not die. He struggled with +disease; he crushed down his sufferings; he fought +death with the same silent, indomitable tenacity with +which he had overthrown the obstacles of life.</p> +<p>In all his wasting agony he was the war-chief still, +and held his subjects in his grip. To the tribes that +were about to rebel he sent messages, short, abrupt, +but terrible in their threat of vengeance,—messages +that shook and awed the chiefs and pushed back +invasion. To the last, the great chief overawed the +tribes; the generation that had grown up under the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +shadow of his tyranny, even when they knew he was +dying, still obeyed him.</p> +<p>At length, one summer evening a few weeks after +the burial of Wallulah, there burst forth from the war-chief’s +lodge that peculiar wail which was lifted only +for the death of one of the royal blood. No need to +ask who it was, for only <i>one</i> remained of the ancient +line that had so long ruled the Willamettes; and for +him, the last of his race, was the wail lifted. It was +re-echoed by the inmates of the surrounding lodges; +it rang, foreboding, mournful, through the encampment +on Wappatto Island.</p> +<p>Soon, runners were seen departing in every direction +to bear the fatal news throughout the valley. +Twilight fell on them; the stars came out; the moon +rose and sunk; but the runners sped on, from camp +to camp, from village to village. Wherever there was +a cluster of Willamette lodges, by forest, river, or sea, +the tale was told, the wail was lifted. So all that night +the death-wail passed through the valley of the Willamette; +and in the morning the trails were thronged +with bands of Indians journeying for the last time to +the isle of council, to attend the obsequies of their +chief, and consult as to the choice of one to take his +place.</p> +<p>The pestilence that had so ravaged the household +of Multnomah was spread widely now; and every +band as it departed from the camp left death behind +it,—aye, took death with it; for in each company +were those whose haggard, sickly faces told of disease, +and in more than one were those so weakened that +they lagged behind and fell at last beside the trail to +die.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></div> +<p>The weather was very murky. It was one of the +smoky summers of Oregon, like that of the memorable +year 1849, when the smoke of wide-spread +forest fires hung dense and blinding over Western +Oregon for days, and it seemed to the white settlers +as if they were never to breathe the clear air or see +the sky again. But even that, the historic “smoky +time” of the white pioneers, was scarcely equal to the +smoky period of more than a century and a half before. +The forest fires were raging with unusual fury; +Mount Hood was still in course of eruption; and all +the valley was wrapped in settled cloud. Through +the thick atmosphere the tall firs loomed like spectres, +while the far-off roar of flames in the forest and the intermittent +sounds of the volcano came weirdly to the +Indians as they passed on their mournful way. What +wonder that the distant sounds seemed to them wild +voices in the air, prophecying woe; and objects in the +forest, half seen through the smoke, grotesque forms +attending them as they marched! And when the +bands had all gathered on the island, the shuddering +Indians told of dim and shadowy phantoms that had +followed and preceded them all the way; and of +gigantic shapes in the likeness of men that had +loomed through the smoke, warning them back with +outstretched arms. Ominous and unknown cries had +come to them through the gloom; and the spirits of +the dead had seemed to marshal them on their way, +or to oppose their coming,—they knew not which.</p> +<p>So, all day long, troop after troop crossed the river +to the island, emerging like shadows from the smoke +that seemed to wrap the world,—each with its sickly +faces, showing the terrible spread of the pestilence; +each helping to swell the great horror that brooded +over all, with its tale of the sick and dead at home, +and the wild things seen on the way. Band after band +the tribes gathered, and when the sun went down the +war-chief’s obsequies took place.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_8' id='linki_8'></a> +<img src='images/illus-264.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 286px; height: 449px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 286px;'> +<i>Multnomah’s Death-canoe.</i><br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></div> +<p>It was a strange funeral that they gave Multnomah, +yet it was in keeping with the dark, grand life he had +lived.</p> +<p>A large canoe was filled with pitch and with pine-knots,—the +most inflammable materials an Oregon +forest could furnish. Upon them was heaped all that +was left of the chief’s riches, all the silks and velvets +that remained of the cargo of the shipwrecked vessel +lost upon the coast long before. And finally, upon +the splendid heap of textures, upon the laces and the +damasks of the East, was laid the dead body of Multnomah, +dressed in buckskin; his moccasins on his +feet, his tomahawk and his pipe by his side, as became +a chief starting on his last journey.</p> +<p>Then as night came on, and the smoky air darkened +into deepest gloom, the canoe was taken out +into the main current of the Columbia, and fire was +set to the dry knots that made up the funeral pyre. +In an instant the contents of the canoe were in a +blaze, and it was set adrift in the current. Down the +river it floated, lighting the night with leaping flames. +On the shore, the assembled tribe watched it in silence, +mute, dejected, as they saw their great chief +borne from them forever. Promontory and dusky +fir, gleaming water and level beach, were brought into +startling relief against the background of night, as the +burning vessel neared them; then sank into shadow as +it passed onward. Overhead, the playing tongues of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +fire reddened the smoke that hung dense over the +water, and made it assume distorted and fantastic +shapes, which moved and writhed in the wavering +light, and to the Indians seemed spectres of the dead, +hovering over the canoe, reaching out their arms to +receive the soul of Multnomah.</p> +<p>“It is the dead people come for him,” the Willamettes +whispered to one another, as they stood upon +the bank, watching the canoe drift farther and farther +from them, with the wild play of light and shadow +over it. Down the river, like some giant torch that +was to light the war-chief along the shadowy ways +of death, passed the burning canoe. Rounding a +wooded point, it blazed a moment brilliantly beside +it, and as it drifted to the farther side, outlined the +intervening trees with fire, till every branch was +clearly relieved against a flaming background; then, +passing slowly on beyond the point, the light waned +gradually, and at last faded quite away.</p> +<p>And not till then was a sound heard among the +silent and impassive throng on the river-bank. But +when the burning canoe had vanished utterly, when +black and starless night fell again on wood and water, +the death-wail burst from the Indians with one impulse +and one voice,—a people’s cry for its lost +chief, a great tribe’s lament for the strength and glory +that had drifted from it, never to return.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Among a superstitious race, every fact becomes +mingled more or less with fable; every occurrence, +charged with fantastic meanings. And there sprang +up among the Indians, no one could tell how, a prophecy +that some night when the Willamettes were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +in their direst need, a great light would be seen +moving on the waters of the Columbia, and the war-chief +would come back in a canoe of fire to lead +them to victory as of old.</p> +<p>Dire and awful grew their need as the days went +on; swift and sweeping was the end. Long did the +few survivors of his race watch and wait for his return,—but +never more came back Multnomah to +his own.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_AS_WAS_WRIT_IN_THE_BOOK_OF_FATE' id='CHAPTER_V_AS_WAS_WRIT_IN_THE_BOOK_OF_FATE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>AS WAS WRIT IN THE BOOK OF FATE.</h3> +</div> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +A land of old upheaven from the abyss<br /> +By fire, to sink into the abyss again,<br /> +Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt.<br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Tennyson.</span></p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> + </p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>And now our tale draws to a close. There remains +but to tell how the last council was held +on Wappatto Island; how Mishlah the Cougar, chief +of the Mollalies, died; and how the prophecy of the +Bridge was fulfilled.</p> +<p>The morning after the obsequies of Multnomah, +the chiefs met in the grove where the great council +of the tribes had been held only a few weeks before. +The leaves, which had been green and glossy then, +were turning yellow and sickly now in the close hot +weather. All Nature seemed full of decay.</p> +<p>The chiefs were grouped before the vacant seat of +Multnomah; and the Willamette tribe, gathered from +canyon and prairie and fishery, looked on, sole spectators +of the proceedings,—for none of the allies +were present. The ravages of the pestilence had been +terrible. Many warriors were missing from the spectators; +many chiefs were absent from the council. +And there were some present from whom the others +shrunk away, whose hot breath and livid faces showed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +that they too were stricken with the plague. There +were emaciated Indians among the audience, whose +gaunt forms and hollow eyes told that they had +dragged themselves to the council-grove to die. The +wailing of the women at the camp, lamenting those just +dead; the howling of the medicine-men in the distance, +performing their incantations over the sick; the +mysterious sounds that came from the burning forest +and the volcano,—all these were heard. Round +the council the smoke folded thick and dark, veiling +the sun, and shutting out the light of heaven and +the mercy of the Great Spirit.</p> +<p>The chiefs sat long in silence, each waiting for +the other to speak. At length arose a stately warrior +famous among the Willamettes for wisdom and +prudence.</p> +<p>“We perish,” said the chief, “we melt away before +the breath of the pestilence, like snow before the +breath of the warm spring wind. And while we die +of disease in our lodges, war gathers against us beyond +the ranges. Even now the bands of our enemies +may be descending the mountains, and the +tomahawk may smite what the disease has spared. +What is to be done? What say the wise chiefs of +the Willamettes? Multnomah’s seat is empty: shall +we choose another war-chief?”</p> +<p>A pale and ghastly chief rose to reply. It was +evident that he was in the last extremity of disease.</p> +<p>“Shall we choose another war-chief to sit in +Multnomah’s place? We may; but will he be Multnomah? +The glory of the Willamettes is dead! +Talk no more of war, when our war-strength is gone +from us. The Bridge is fallen, the Great Spirit is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +against us. Let those who are to live talk of war. +It is time for us to learn how to die.”</p> +<p>He sunk flushed and exhausted upon the ground. +Then rose an aged chief, so old that it seemed as if +a century of time had passed over him. His hair +was a dirty gray, his eyes dull and sunken, his +face withered. He supported himself with tremulous +bony hands upon his staff. His voice was feeble, and +seemed like an echo from the long-perished past.</p> +<p>“I am old, the oldest of all the Willamettes. I +have seen so many winters that no man can count +them. I knew Multnomah’s father. I went forth to +battle with his father’s father; and even before that +I knew others, warriors of a forgotten time. Or do +I dream? I know not. The weight of the time +that I have lived is very heavy, and my mind sinks +under it. My form is bowed with the burden of +winters. Warriors, I have seen many councils, many +troubles, but never a trouble like this. Of what use +is your council? Can the words of wise men stay +disease? Can the edge of the tomahawk turn back +sickness? Can you fight against the Great Spirit? +He sent the white man to tell us of our sins and +warn us to be better, and you closed your ears and +would not listen. Nay, you would have slain him +had not the Great Spirit taken him away. These +things would not have come upon us had you listened +to the white <i>shaman</i>. You have offended the Great +Spirit, and he has broken the Bridge and sent disease +upon us; and all that your wisdom may devise can +avail naught to stay his wrath. You can but cover +your faces in silence, and die.”</p> +<p>For a moment the council was very still. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +memory of the white wanderer, his strong and tender +eloquence, his fearless denunciation, his loving and +passionate appeal, was on them all. <i>Was</i> the Great +Spirit angry with them because they had rejected +him?</p> +<p>“Who talks of dying?” said a fierce warrior, starting +to his feet. “Leave that to women and sick +men! Shall we stay here to perish while life is yet +strong within us? The valley is shadowed with +death; the air is disease; an awful sickness wastes +the people; our enemies rush in upon us. Shall we +then lie down like dogs and wait for death? No. +Let us leave this land; let us take our women and children, +and fly. Let us seek a new home beyond the +Klamath and the Shasta, in the South Land, where +the sun is always warm, and the grass is always green, +and the cold never comes. The spirits are against +us here, and to stay is to perish. Let us seek a new +home, where the spirits are not angry; even as our +fathers in the time that is far back left their old home +in the ice country of the Nootkas and came hither. +I have spoken.”</p> +<p>His daring words kindled a moment’s animation in +the despondent audience; then the ceaseless wailing +of the women and the panting of the sick chiefs in +the council filled the silence, and their hearts sank +within them again.</p> +<p>“My brother is brave,” said the grave chief who +had opened the council, “but are his words wise? +Many of our warriors are dead, many are sick, and +Multnomah is gone. The Willamettes are weak; it +is bitter to the lips to say it, but it is true. Our enemies +are strong. All the tribes who were once with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +us are against us. The passes are kept by many +warriors; and could we fight our way through them +to another land, the sickness would go with us. Why +fly from the disease here, to die with it in some far-off +land?”</p> +<p>“We cannot leave our own land,” said a dreamer, +or medicine-man. “The Great Spirit gave it to us, +the bones of our fathers are in it. It is <i>our</i> land,” +he repeated with touching emphasis. “The Willamette +cannot leave his old home, though the world +is breaking up all around him. The bones of our +people are here. Our brothers lie in the death-huts +on <i>mimaluse</i> island;—how can we leave them? +Here is the place where we must live; here, if death +comes, must we die!”</p> +<p>A murmur of assent came from the listeners. It +voiced the decision of the council. With stubborn +Indian fatalism, they would await the end; fighting +the rebels if attacked, and sullenly facing the disease +if unmolested. Now a voice was heard that never +had been heard in accents of despair,—a voice that +was still fierce and warlike in its resentment of the +course the council was taking. It was the voice of +Mishlah the Cougar, chief of the Mollalies. He, too, +had the plague, and had just reached the grove, +walking with slow and tottering steps, unlike the +Mishlah of other days. But his eyes glittered with all +the old ferocity that had given him the name of +Cougar. Alas, he was but a dying cougar now.</p> +<p>“Shall we stay here to die?” thundered the wild +chief, as he stood leaning on his stick, his sunken eyes +sweeping the assembly with a glance of fire. “Shall +we stand and tremble till the pestilence slays us all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +with its arrows, even as a herd of deer, driven into a +deep gulch and surrounded, stand till they are shot +down by the hunters? Shall we stay in our lodges, +and die without lifting a hand? Shall disease burn +out the life of our warriors, when they might fall in +battle? No! Let us slay the women and children, +cross the mountains, and die fighting the rebels! Is +it not better to fall in battle like warriors than to +perish of disease like dogs?”</p> +<p>The chief looked from face to face, but saw no responsive +flash in the eyes that met his own. The +settled apathy of despair was on every countenance. +Then the medicine-man answered,—</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> could never cross the mountains, even if we +did this thing. Your breath is hot with disease; the +mark of death is on your face; the snake of the pestilence +has bitten you. If we went out to battle, you +would fall by the wayside to die. Your time is short. +To-day you die.”</p> +<p>The grim Mollalie met the speaker’s glance, and +for a moment wavered. He felt within himself that +the words were true, that the plague had sapped his +life, that his hour was near at hand. Then his hesitation +passed, and he lifted his head with scornful +defiance.</p> +<p>“So be it! Mishlah accepts his doom. Come, you +that were once the warriors of Multnomah, but whose +hearts are become the hearts of women; come and +learn from a Mollalie how to die!”</p> +<p>Again his glance swept the circle of chiefs as if +summoning them to follow him,—then, with weak and +staggering footsteps, he left the grove; and it was as if +the last hope of the Willamettes went with him. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +dense atmosphere of smoke soon shut his form from +view. Silence fell on the council. The hearts of +the Indians were dead within them. Amid their portentous +surroundings,—the appalling signs of the +wrath of the Great Spirit,—the fatal apathy which is +the curse of their race crept over them.</p> +<p>Then rose the medicine-man, wild priest of a +wild and debasing superstition, reverenced as one +through whom the dead spoke to the living.</p> +<p>“Break up your council!” he said with fearful look +and gesture. “Councils are for those who expect to +live! and you!—the dead call you to them. Choose +no chief, for who will be left for him to rule? You +talk of plans for the future. Would you know what +that future will be? I will show you; listen!” He +flung up his hand as if imposing silence; and, taken +by surprise, they listened eagerly, expecting to hear +some supernatural voice or message prophetic of the +future. On their strained hearing fell only the +labored breathing of the sick chiefs in the council, +the ominous muttering of the far-off volcano, and +loud and shrill above all the desolate cry of the +women wailing their dead.</p> +<p>“You hear it? That death-wail tells all the future +holds for you. Before yonder red shadow of a sun”—pointing +to the sun, which shone dimly through +the smoke—“shall set, the bravest of the Mollalies +will be dead. Before the moon wanes to its close, the +Willamette race will have passed away. Think you +Multnomah’s seat is empty? The Pestilence sits in +Multnomah’s place, and you will all wither in his hot +and poisonous breath. Break up your council. Go +to your lodges. The sun of the Willamettes is set, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +and the night is upon us. Our wars are done; our +glory is ended. We are but a tale that old men tell +around the camp-fire, a handful of red dust gathered +from <i>mimaluse</i> island,—dust that once was man. +Go, you that are as the dead leaves of autumn; go, +whirled into everlasting darkness before the wind +of the wrath of the Great Spirit!”</p> +<p>He flung out his arms with a wild gesture, as if he +held all their lives and threw them forth like dead +leaves to be scattered upon the winds. Then he +turned away and left the grove. The crowd of warriors +who had been looking on broke up and went +away, and the chiefs began to leave the council, each +muffled in his blanket. The grave and stately sachem +who had opened the council tried for a little while to +stay the fatal breaking up, but in vain. And when he +saw that he could do nothing, he too left the grove, +wrapped in stoical pride, sullenly resigned to whatever +was to come.</p> +<p>And so the last council ended, in hopeless apathy, +in stubborn indecision,—indecision in everything +save the recognition that a doom was on them against +which it was useless to struggle.</p> +<p>And Mishlah? He returned to his lodge, painted +his face as if he were going to battle, and then went +out to a grove near the place where the war-dances of +the tribe were held. His braves followed him; others +joined them; all watched eagerly, knowing that the +end was close at hand, and wondering how he would +die.</p> +<p>He laid aside his blanket, exposing his stripped +body; and with his eagle plume, in his hair and his +stone tomahawk in his hand, began to dance the war-dance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +of his tribe and to chant the song of the battles +he had fought.</p> +<p>At first his utterance was broken and indistinct, his +step feeble. But as he went on his voice rang clearer +and stronger; his step grew quicker and firmer. Half +reciting, half chanting, he continued the wild tale of +blood, dancing faster and faster, haranguing louder and +louder, until he became a flame of barbaric excitement, +until he leaped and whirled in the very madness of +raging passion,—the Indian war-frenzy.</p> +<p>But it could not last long. His breath came quick +and short; his words grew inarticulate; his eyes +gleamed like coals of fire; his feet faltered in the +dance. With a final effort he brandished and flung +his tomahawk, uttering as he did so a last war-cry, +which thrilled all who heard it as of old when he led +them in battle. The tomahawk sunk to the head in +a neighboring tree, the handle breaking off short with +the violence of the shock; and the chief fell back—dead.</p> +<p>Thus passed the soul of the fierce Mollalie. For +years afterward, the tomahawk remained where it had +sunk in the tree, sole monument of Mishlah. His +bones lay unburied beneath, wasted by wind and rain, +till there was left only a narrow strip of red earth, with +the grass springing rankly around it, to show where +the body had been. And the few survivors of the +tribe who lingered in the valley were wont to point +to the tomahawk imbedded in the tree, and tell the +tale of the warrior and how he died.</p> +<p>Why dwell longer on scenes so terrible? Besides, +there is but little more to tell. The faithless allies +made a raid on the valley; but the shrouding atmosphere +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +of smoke and the frightful rumors they heard +of the great plague appalled them, and they retreated. +The pestilence protected the Willamettes. The Black +Death that the medicine-men saw sitting in Multnomah’s +place turned back the tide of invasion better +than the war-chief himself could have done.</p> +<p>Through the hot months of summer the mortality +continued. The valley was swept as with the besom +of destruction, and the drama of a people’s death was +enacted with a thousand variations of horror. When +spring came, the invaders entered the valley once +more. They found it deserted, with the exception +of a few wretched bands, sole survivors of a mighty +race. They rode through villages where the decaying +mats hung in tatters from the half-bare skeleton-like +wigwam poles, where the ashes had been cold for +months at the camp-fires; they rode by fisheries +where spear and net were rotting beside the canoe +upon the beach. And the dead—the dead lay everywhere: +in the lodges, beside the fisheries, along the +trail where they had been stricken down while trying +to escape,—everywhere were the ghastly and +repulsive forms.</p> +<p>The spirit of the few survivors was broken, and +they made little resistance to the invaders. Mongrel +bands from the interior and the coast settled in the +valley after the lapse of years; and, mixing with the +surviving Willamettes, produced the degenerate race +our own pioneers found there at their coming. These +hybrids were, within the memory of the white man, +overrun and conquered by the Yakimas, who subjugated +all the Indians upon Wappatto Island and +around the mouth of the Willamette in the early +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +part of the present century. Later on, the Yakimas +were driven back by the whites; so that there have +been three conquests of the lower Willamette Valley +since the fall of the ancient race,—two Indian +conquests before the white.</p> +<p>The once musical language of the Willamettes has +degenerated into the uncouth Chinook, and the blood +of the ancient race flows mixed and debased in the +veins of abject and squalid descendants; but the +story of the mighty bridge that once spanned the +Columbia at the Cascades is still told by the Oregon +Indians. Mingled with much of fable, overlaid with +myth and superstition, it is nevertheless one of the +historic legends of the Columbia, and as such will +never be forgotten.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>One word more of Cecil Gray, and our tale is done.</p> +<p>The Shoshone renegade, who resolved at Cecil’s +death to become a Christian, found his way with a +few followers to the Flat-Heads, and settled among +that tribe. He told them of what he had learned +from Cecil,—of the Way of Peace; and the wise +men of the tribe pondered his sayings in their hearts. +The Shoshone lived and died among them; but from +generation to generation the tradition of the white +man’s God was handed down, till in 1832 four Flat-Heads +were sent by the tribe to St. Louis, to ask that +teachers be given them to tell them about God.</p> +<p>Every student of history knows how that appeal +stirred the heart of the East, and caused the sending +out of the first missionaries to Oregon; and from the +movement then inaugurated have since sprung all the +missions to the Indians of the West.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></div> +<p>Thus he who gave his life for the Indians, and died +seemingly in vain, sowed seed that sprung up and +bore a harvest long after his death. And to-day, two +centuries since his body was laid in the lonely grave +on Wappatto Island, thousands of Indians are the +better for his having lived. No true, noble life can be +said to have been lived in vain. Defeated and beaten +though it may seem to have been, there has gone +out from it an influence for the better that has helped +in some degree to lighten the great heartache and +bitterness of the world. Truth, goodness, and self-sacrifice +are never beaten,—no, not by death itself. +The example and the influence of such things is +deathless, and lives after the individual is gone, +flowing on forever in the broad life of humanity.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I write these last lines on Sauvie’s Island—the +Wappatto of the Indians,—sitting upon the bank of +the river, beneath the gnarled and ancient cottonwood +that still marks the spot where the old Columbia +trail led up from the water to the interior of the island. +Stately and beautiful are the far snow-peaks and the +sweeping forests. The woods are rich in the colors +of an Oregon autumn. The white wappatto blooms +along the marshes, its roots ungathered, the dusky +hands that once reaped the harvest long crumbled +into dust. Blue and majestic in the sunlight flows +the Columbia, river of many names,—the Wauna +and Wemath of the Indians, the St. Roque of the +Spaniards, the Oregon of poetry,—always vast and +grand, always flowing placidly to the sea. Steamboats +of the present; batteaux of the fur traders; +ships, Grey’s and Vancouver’s, of discovery; Indian +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +canoes of the old unknown time,—the stately river +has seen them all come and go, and yet holds its +way past forest and promontory, still beautiful and unchanging. +Generation after generation, daring hunter, +ardent discoverer, silent Indian,—all the shadowy +peoples of the past have sailed its waters as we sail +them, have lived perplexed and haunted by mystery +as we live, have gone out into the Great Darkness +with hearts full of wistful doubt and questioning, as we +go; and still the river holds its course, bright, beautiful, +inscrutable. It stays; <i>we go</i>. Is there anything +<i>beyond</i> the darkness into which generation follows +generation and race follows race? Surely there is an +after-life, where light and peace shall come to all +who, however defeated, have tried to be true and +loyal; where the burden shall be lifted and the heartache +shall cease; where all the love and hope that +slipped away from us here shall be given back to +us again, and given back forever.</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;'><i>Via crucis, via lucis.</i></p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;'>THE END.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p><a name="ATN"></a></p> +<table summary="additional transcriber notes" style='margin:1em auto; width:35em; border:1px solid;color: #778899; padding:5px;'> + +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Additional Transcriber’s Notes:<br /><br /> + +The following changes were made to the original text.<br /><br /> + +List of Illustrations: Multomah’s changed to Multnomah’s (Multnomah’s Death-canoe)<br /><br /> + +Page 137: that changed to than (No one knows this better than Multnomah.)<br /><br /> + +Page 261: or changed to on (To the funeral pyre on <i>mimaluse</i> island.)<br /><br /> + +Illustration facing page 264: Multomah’s changed to Multnomah’s (<i>Multnomah’s Death-canoe.</i>)<br /><br /></p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 28815-h.txt or 28815-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/8/1/28815">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/8/1/28815</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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