The Log School-House on the Columbia

by Hezekiah Butterworth

  CHAPTER IX.

  GRETCHEN'S VISIT TO THE OLD CHIEF OF THE CASCADES.

  "Go to the chief's lodge, Gretchen, and stay until the Potlatch, and Iwill come to visit you." Such were the words of Mrs. Woods, as her finaldecision, after long considering the chief's request.

  The forest lodge of the old chief of the Cascades was picturesque withoutand within. Outwardly, it was a mere tent of skins and curiouspictography, under the shadows of gigantic trees, looking down on theglistening waters of the Columbia; inwardly, it was a museum of relics ofthe supposed era of the giant-killers, and of the deep regions of thetooth and claw; of Potlatches, masques and charms of _medas_ and_wabenoes_; of curious pipes; of odd, curious feathers, and beautifulshells and feather-work and pearls. But, though all things here were rudeand primitive, the old chief had a strong poetic sense, and the place andthe arrangement of everything in it were very picturesque in its effect,and would have delighted an artist. On a hill near were grave-posts, and asacred grove, in which were bark coffins in trees. Near by was an openfield where the Indian hunters were accustomed to gather their peltries,and where visiting bands of Indians came to be hospitably entertained, andfeasts were given _a la mode de sauvage_. From the plateau of the royallodge ran long forest trails and pathways of blazed trees; and near theopening to the tent rose two poles, to indicate the royal rank of theoccupant. These were ornamented with ideographic devices of a historicaland religious character.

  The family of Umatilla consisted of his squaw, an old woman partlydemented, and Benjamin, who was now much of the time away with theschoolmaster.

  The old chief was very kind to his unfortunate wife, and treated her likea child or a doll. Benjamin was about to take as his bride an Indian girlwhom the English called Fair Cloud, and she was a frequent visitor at thetent.

  To this patriarchal family Gretchen came one day, bringing her violin.Fair Cloud was there to receive her, and the crazy old squaw seemed to bemade happy by the sight of her white face, and she did all that she couldin her simple way to make her welcome. She gave her ornaments of shells,and pointed out to her a wabeno-tree, in whose tops spirits were supposedto whisper, and around which Indian visitors sometimes danced in thesummer evenings.

  The Indian maid was eager to hear the violin, but the old chief said: "Itis the voice of the Merciful; let it be still--the god should not speakmuch."

  He seemed to wish to reserve the influence of the instrument for thePotlatch, to make it an object of wonder and veneration for a time, thatits voice might be more magical when it should be heard.

  There was a kind of tambourine, ornamented with fan-like feathers, in thelodge. Fair Cloud used to play upon it, or rather shake it in a rhythmicway. There was also a war-drum in the lodge, and an Indian calledBlackhoof used to beat it, and say:

  "I walk upon the sky, My war-drum 'tis you hear; When the sun goes out at noon, My war-drum 'tis you hear!

  "When forked lightnings flash, My war-drum 'tis you hear. I walk upon the sky, And call the clouds; be still, My war-drum 'tis you hear!"

  The tribes of the Oregon at this time were numerous but small. Theyconsisted chiefly of the Chinooks, Vancouvers, the Walla Wallas, theYacomars, the Spokans, the Cayuses, the Nez-Perces, the Skagits, theCascades, and many tribes that were scarcely more than families. They werefor the most part friendly with each other, and they found in the Oregonor Columbia a common fishing-ground, and a water-way to all theirterritories. They lived easily. The woods were full of game, and the riverof salmon, and berries loaded the plateaus. Red whortleberries filled thewoodland pastures and blackberries the margins of the woods.

  The climate was an almost continuous April; there was a cloudy season inwinter with rainy nights, but the Japanese winds ate up the snows, and theponies grazed out of doors in mid-winter, and spring came in February. Itwas almost an ideal existence that these old tribes or families of Indianslived.

  _An Indian village on the Columbia._]

  Among the early friends of these people was Dick Trevette, whose tombstartles the tourist on the Columbia as he passes Mamaloose, or the Islandof the Dead. He died in California, and his last request was that he mightbe buried in the Indian graveyard on the Columbia River, among a racewhose hearts had always been true to him.

  The old chief taught Gretchen to fish in the Columbia, and the witheredcrone cooked the fish that she caught.

  Strange visitors came to the lodge, among them an Indian girl who broughther old, withered father strapped upon her back. The aged Indian wished topay his last respects to Umatilla.

  Indians of other tribes came, and they were usually entertained at afeast, and in the evening were invited to dance about the whispering tree.

  The song for the reception of strangers, which was sung at the dance, wascurious, and it was accompanied by striking the hand upon the breast overthe heart at the words "Here, here, here":

  "You resemble a friend of mine, A friend I would have in my heart-- Here, here, _here_.

  "My heart is linked to thine; You are like a friend of mine-- Here, here, _here_.

  "Are we not brothers, then; Shall we not meet again-- Here, here, _here_?

  "Mi, yes, we brothers be, So my fond heart sings to thee-- Here, here, _here_.

  "Ah! yes, we brothers be; Will you not answer me-- Here, here, _here_?"

  Gretchen was happy in the new kind of life. She did not fear the Indians;in fact, the thing that she feared most was the promised visit of Mrs.Woods. She was sure that her foster-mother's spirit would change towardthe Indians, but the change had not yet come.

  One evening the schoolmaster came to call. He was bent upon a mission, asalways. The family gave him a seat outside of the tent, and gatheredaround him, and they talked until the stars came out and were mirrored inthe Columbia.

  One of the first questions asked by the old chief was, "Is Eagle's Plume(Benjamin) brave?" (a good scholar).

  "Yes, brave at times; he must learn to be brave always. He must alwayskeep his better self. The world would be good if people would learn tokeep their better selves. Do you see?"

  "Yes."

  "A chief should conquer himself first; obey the will of the GreatManitou--do you see?"

  "Yes, but how can we know his will?"

  "It is his will that we be our best minds. Forgive, and so make bad peoplegood, and return good for bad. Do you see?"

  "Yes, boy, do you see?" (to Benjamin).

  "Yes, yes, I see what white man means. But white man do not so. Hecheat--he kill."

  "_Boston tilicum_, what do you say?" asked the chief.

  "White man does not follow his best heart when he cheats and kills. It iswrong. All men should be brothers--see?"

  "Yes, I have tried to be a brother. I have no shed blood--I live inpeace--like yonder river. The stars love to shine on the peaceful river.Benjamin will learn. I go away when the swallows go, and no more come whenthe swallows bring the spring on their wings again. Teach Benjamin to behis good self all the time; make him good _here_."

  All the Indian visitors who came to the place examined the violincautiously, and the Indian hunters seemed to regard Gretchen withsuspicion. When any asked her to play for them, the old chief wouldanswer: "Not now, but at the Potlatch--then it speak and you will hear;you will hear what it says."

  But, of all the people that came to the lodge, no one could have been morecurious than Mrs. Woods. She had been living in terror of the threatenedevents of the October feast, and yet she wished to make the Indiansbelieve that she was indifferent to their ill-will, and that she possessedsome hidden power that gave her security.

  She approached the lodge slowly on the occasion of her visit, picking redwhortleberries by the way. Benjamin watched her nervous motions, and feltthat they implied a want of respect, and he grew silent and lookedstoical. Gretchen went out to meet her, and brought her to the old chief.

&nb
sp; _Afar loomed Mount Hood._]

  It was a beautiful day, one of those long dreams of golden splendor thatglorify the banks of the Oregon. Eccentric Victor Trevette and his Indianwife were at the lodge, and the company were joined by the Rev. Jason Lee,who had come up the Columbia in the interests of the mission in theWillamette Valley. Seattle[B] was there, from the Willamette, thenyoung, and not yet the titular chief of Governor Stevens.[C] It was acompany of diverse spirits--Trevette, the reputed gambler, but the truefriend of the Indian races; Lee, who had beheld Oregon in his earlyvisions, and now saw the future of the mountain-domed country in dreams;sharp-tongued but industrious and warm-hearted Mrs. Woods; the musicalGerman girl, with memories of the Rhine; and the Indian chief and hisfamily. The Columbia rolled below the tall palisades, the opposite bankwas full of cool shadows of overhanging rocks, sunless retreats, anddripping cascades of glacier-water. Afar loomed Mount Hood in grandeurunsurpassed, if we except Tacoma, inswathed in forests and covered withcrystal crowns. The Chinook winds were blowing coolly, coming from theKuro Siwo, or placid ocean-river from Japan; odoriferous, as thoughspice-laden from the flowery isles of the Yellow Sea. Warm in winter, coolin summer, like the Gulf winds of Floridian shores, the good angel of thePuget Sea territories is the Chinook wind from far Asia, a mysteriouscountry, of which the old chief and his family knew no more than of theblessed isles.

  "It is a day of the Great Manitou," said the old chief. "He lights thesun, and lifts his wings for a shadow, and breathes on the earth. He fillsour hearts with peace. I am glad."

  "I only wish my people in the East knew how wonderful this country is,"said Jason Lee. "I am blamed and distrusted because I leave my missionwork to see what great resources here await mankind. I do it only for thegood of others--something within me impels me to do it, yet they say Ineglect my work to become a political pioneer. As well might they censureJoshua."

  "As a missionary," said the old hunter, "you would teach the Indianstruth; as a pioneer, you would bring colonies here to rob them of theirlands and rights. I can respect the missionary, but not the pioneer. Seethe happiness of all these tribal families. Benjamin is right--Mrs. Woodshas no business here."

  "Adventurer," said Mrs. Woods, rising upon her feet, "I am aworking-woman--I came out here to work and improve the country, and youcame here to live on your Injun wife. The world belongs to those who work,and not to the idle. It is running water that freshens the earth. Husbandand I built our house with our own hands, and I made my garden with my ownhands, and I have defended my property with my own hands against bearsand Injuns, and have kept husband to work at the block-house to earn moneyfor the day of trouble and helplessness that is sure some day to come tous all. I raise my own garden-sass and all other sass. I'm an honestwoman, that's what I am, and have asked nothing in the world but what Ihave earned, and don't you dare to question my rights to anything Ipossess! I never had a dollar that I did not earn, and that honestly, andwhat is mine is mine."

  "Be careful, woman," said the hunter. "It will not be yours very longunless you have a different temper and tongue. There are black wings inthe sky, and you would not be so cool if you had heard the things thathave come to my ears."

  Mrs. Woods was secretly alarmed. She felt that her assumed boldness wasinsincere, and that any insincerity is weakness. She glanced up a longladder of rods or poles which were hung with Potlatch masks--fearful andmerciless visages, fit to cover the faces of crime. She had heard thatUmatilla would never put on a mask himself, although he allowed the customat the tribal dances. Mrs. Woods dropped her black eyes from the ominousmasks to the honest face of the chief.

  "There," said she, lifting her arm, "there sits an honest man. He nevercovered his heart with a mask--he never covered his face with a mask. Hehas promised me protection. He has promised to protect the school. I cantrust a man who never wears a mask. Most people wear masks--Death takesthe masks away; when Death comes to Umatilla, he will find great Umatillaonly, fearless and noble--honest and true, but no mask. He never wore amask."

  "But, woman," said Umatilla, "you are wearing a mask; you are afraid."

  "Yes, but I can trust your word."

  "You seek to please me for your own good."

  "Yes--but, Umatilla, I can trust your word."

  "The word of Umatilla was never broken. Death will come to Umatilla forhis mask, and will go away with an empty hand. I have tried to make mypeople better.--Brother Lee, you have come here to instruct me--I honoryou. Listen to an old Indian's story. Sit down all. I have something thatI would say to you."

  The company sat down and listened to the old chief. They expected that hewould speak in a parable, and he did. He told them in Chinook the story of

  _THE WOLF BROTHER._

  An old Indian hunter was dying in his lodge. The barks were lifted toadmit the air. The winds of the seas came and revived him, and he calledhis three children to him and made his last bequests.

  "My son," he said, "I am going out into the unknown life whence I came.Give yourself to those who need you most, and always be true to youryounger brother."

  "My daughter," he said, "be a mother to your younger brother. Give himyour love, or for want of it he may become lonely and as savage as theanimals are."

  The two older children promised, and the father died at sunset, and wentinto the unknown life whence he came.

  The old Indian had lived apart from the villages of men for the sake ofpeace; but now, after his death, the oldest son sought the villages and hedesired to live in them. "My sister," he said, "can look out for my littlebrother. I must look out for myself."

  But the sister tired of solitude, and longed to go to the villages. So oneday she said to her little brother: "I am going away to find our brotherwho has taken up his abode in the villages. I will come back in a fewmoons. Stay you here."

  But she married in the villages, and did not return.

  The little brother was left all alone, and lived on roots and berries. Heone day found a den of young wolves and fed them, and the mother-wolfseemed so friendly that he visited her daily. So he made the acquaintanceof the great wolf family, and came to like them, and roam about with them,and he no longer was lonesome or wished for the company of men.

  One day the pack of wolves came near the villages, and the little boy sawhis brother fishing and his sister weaving under a tree. He drew nearthem, and they recognized him.

  "Come to us, little brother," said they, sorry that they had left him tothe animals.

  "No--no!" said he. "I would rather be a wolf. The wolves have been kinderto me than you.

  "My brother, My brother, I am turning-- am turning Into a wolf. You made me so!

  "My sister, My sister, I am turning-- I am turning Into a wolf. You made me so!"

  "O little brother, forgive me," said the sister; "forgive me!"

  "It is too late now. See, I _am_ a wolf!"

  He howled, and ran away with the pack of wolves, and they never saw himagain.

  * * * * *

  "Jason Lee, be good to my people when I am gone, lest they become like thelittle brother.

  "Victor Trevette, be good to my people when I am gone, lest they becomelike the little brother."

  The tall form of Marlowe Mann now appeared before the open entrance of thelodge. The Yankee schoolmaster had been listening to the story. The oldchief bent his eye upon him, and said, "And, Boston tilicum, do you begood to Benjamin when I am gone, so that he shall not become like thelittle brother."

  "You may play, Gretchen, now--it is a solemn hour; the voices of the godsshould speak."

  Gretchen took her violin. Standing near the door of the tent, she raisedit to her arm, and the strains of some old German music rose in theglimmering air, and drifted over the Columbia.

  "I think that there are worlds around this," said the old chief. "TheGreat Spirit is good."

  The sun was going down. High in the air the wild fowls wer
e flying, withthe bright light yet on their wings. The glaciers of Mount Hood wereflushed with crimson--a sea of glass mingled with fire. It was a pastoralscene; in it the old history of Oregon was coming to an end, after themysteries of a thousand years, and the new history of civilization wasbeginning.

  Evening came, and the company dispersed, but the old chief and Gretchensat down outside of the tent, and listened to the murmuring music of theDalles of the Columbia, and breathed the vital air. The Columbia is a milewide in some places, but it narrows at the Dalles, or shelves and poursover the stone steps the gathered force of its many tides and streams.Across the river a waterfall filled the air with misty beauty, and acastellated crag arose solitary and solemn--the remnant of some greatupheaval in the volcanic ages.

  _A castellated crag arose solitary and solemn._]

  The red ashes of the sunset lingered after the fires of the long day hadgone down, and the stars came out slowly. The old chief was sad andthoughtful.

  "Sit down by my feet, my child," he said to Gretchen, or in words of thismeaning. "I have been thinking what it is that makes the music in theviolin. Let us talk together, for something whispers in the leaves that mydays are almost done."

  "Let me get the violin and play to you, father; we are alone."

  "Yes, yes; get the music, child, and you shall play, and we will talk. Youshall sit down at my feet and play, and we will talk. Go, my littlespirit."

  Gretchen brought her violin, and sat down at his feet and tuned it. Shethen drew her bow, and threw on the air a haunting strain.

  "Stop there, little spirit. It is beautiful. But what made it beautiful?"

  "My bow--don't you see?"

  Gretchen drew her bow, and again lifted the same haunting air.

  "No--no--my girl--not the bow--something behind the bow."

  "The strings?"

  "No--no--something behind the strings."

  "My fingers--so?"

  "No--no--something behind the fingers."

  "My head--_here_?"

  "No--something behind that."

  "My heart?"

  "No--no--something behind that."

  "I?"

  "Yes--you, but something behind that. I have not seen it, my girl--yourspirit. It is that that makes the music; but there is something behindthat. I can feel what I can not see. I am going away, girl--going away tothe source of the stream. Then I will know everything good isbeautiful--it is good that makes you beautiful, and the music beautiful.It is good that makes the river beautiful, and the stars. I am going awaywhere all is beautiful. When I am gone, teach my poor people."

  Gretchen drew his red hand to her lips and kissed it. The chief bent lowhis plumed head and said:

  "That was so beautiful, my little spirit, that I am in a haste to go. Onemoon, and I will go. Play."

  Gretchen obeyed. When the strain died, the two sat and listened to themurmuring of the waters, as the river glided down the shelves, and both ofthem felt that the Spirit of Eternal Goodness with a Father's lovewatched over everything.

  The old chief rose, and said again:

  "When I am gone to my fathers, teach my poor people." He added: "The voiceof the good spirits ask it--the All-Good asks it--I shall go away--to theland whence the light comes. You stay--teach. You will?"

  "Yes," said Gretchen--a consciousness of her true calling in life comingupon her, as in an open vision--"I will be their teacher."

  The old chief seemed satisfied, and said: "It is well; I am going away."

  Much of the chief's talk was acted. If he wished to speak of a star, hewould point to it; and he would imitate a bird's call to designate a bird,and the gurgle of water when speaking of a running stream. He spokeChinook freely, and to see him when he was speaking was to learn from hismotions his meaning.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [Footnote B: See Historical Notes.]

  [Footnote C: See Historical Notes.]