CHAPTER II.
THE CHIEF OF THE CASCADES.
Marlowe Mann was a graduate of Harvard in the classic period of thecollege. He had many scholarly gifts, and as many noble qualities of soulas mental endowments. He was used to the oratory of Henry Ware and youngEdward Everett, and had known Charles Sumner and Wendell Phillips atcollege, when the Greek mind and models led the young student in his finedevelopment, and made him a Pericles in his dreams.
But the young student of this heroic training, no matter how wellconditioned his family, usually turned from his graduation to someespecial mission in life. "I must put myself into a cause," said youngWendell Phillips. Charles Sumner espoused the struggle of the negro forfreedom, and said: "To this cause do I offer all I have." Marlowe Mann wasa member of the historic Old South Church, like Phillips in his earlyyears. There was an enthusiasm for missions in the churches of Bostonthen, and he began to dream of Oregon and the mysterious empire of thegreat Northwest, as pictured by the old schoolmaster, Kelley; just at thistime came Dr. Whitman to the East, half frozen from his long ride, andasked to lead an emigration to Walla Walla, to save the Northern empire tothe territory of the States. He heard the doctor's thrilling story of howhe had unfurled the flag over the open Bible on the crags that looked downon the valleys of the Oregon, and his resolution was made. He did notfollow Dr. Whitman on the first expedition of colonists, but joined him ayear or two afterward. He built him a log-cabin on the Columbia, and gavehis whole soul to teaching, missionary work among the Indians, and tobringing emigrants from the East.
The country thrilled him--its magnificent scenery, the grandeur of theColumbia, the vastness of the territory, and the fertility of the soil.Here were mountains grander than Olympus, and harbors and water-courses aswonderful as the AEgean. He was almost afraid to map the truth in hisextensive correspondence with the East, lest it should seem so incredibleas to defeat his purpose.
_The North Puyallup Glacier, Mount Tacoma._]
When the log school-house was building, Mr. Mann had gone to the oldChief of the Cascades and had invited him to send his Indian boy to theschool. He had shown him what an advantage it would be to the young chiefto understand more thoroughly Chinook and English. He was wise and politicin the matter as well as large-hearted, for he felt that the school mightneed the friendliness of the old chief, and in no way could it be bettersecured.
"The world treats you as you treat the world," he said; "and what you areto the world, the world is to you. Tell me only what kind of aneighborhood you come from, and I will tell you what kind of aneighborhood you are going to; we all see the world in ourselves. I willeducate the boy, and his father will protect the school. The Indian heartis hot and revengeful, but it is honest and true. I intend to be honestwith the Indians in all things, and if there should occur a dance of theevil spirits at the Potlatch, no harm will ever come to the logschool-house; and I do not believe that such a dance with evil intent tothe settlers will ever take place. Human nature is all one bookeverywhere."
As he stood there that morning, with uncovered head, an unexpected eventhappened. The children suddenly said:
"Look!" and "Umatilla!"
Out of the forest came an aged Indian, of gigantic stature--Umatilla, oneof the chiefs of the Cascades; and beside him walked his only son, theLight of the Eagle's Plume, or, as he had been named by the English,Benjamin.
Umatilla, like Massasoit, of the early colonial history of Plymouth, was aremarkable person. Surrounded by warlike tribes, he had been a man ofpeace. He was a lover of Nature, and every shining cloud to his eye was achariot. He personified everything, like the ancient Greeks. He talked inpoetic figures; to him the sky was alive, every event had a soul, and hismind had dwelt upon the great truths of Nature until he had become more ofa philosopher than a ruler.
He had been the father of a large family, but six of his sons had died ofthe plague, or rather of the treatment which the medicine-men had used inthe disease, which was to sweat the victims in hot earthen ovens, and thenplunge them into the Columbia.
His whole heart in his old age was fixed upon his only son, Benjamin. Thetwo were seldom separated. To make the boy happy was the end of the oldchief's life.
The two approached the courtly schoolmaster.
"White master," said the old chief, "I have brought to you the Light ofthe Eagle's Plume. He is my heart, and will be the heart of my people whenmy suns are all passed over and my stars gone out. Will you teach him tobe a good chief? I want him to know English, and how to worship the Masterof Life. Will you take him to your school lodge?"
The tall master bowed low, and took the Indian boy by the hand.
The boy was a princely youth. His figure would have held the eye of asculptor in long admiration. The chisel of a Phidias could hardly haveexceeded such a form. His features were like the Roman, his eye quick andlustrous, and his lips noble and kindly. He wore a blanket over hisshoulders, gathered in a long sash, ornamented with shells, about hisloins, and a crest of eagle plumes and shells on his head indicated hisrank and dignity. He could speak some words of Chinook, and Englishimperfectly. He had mingled much with the officers of the Hudson BayCompany, and so had learned many of the customs of civilization.
"I am honored," said the courtly, tall schoolmaster, "in having such ayouth for my pupil. Chief of the Umatillas, I thank thee. All that is goodin me will I give to your noble boy. I live with my eye upon the future;the work of my life is to lead people to follow their better natures andto be true to their best selves. There is a good angel in all menhere"--he put his hand on his heart--"it leads men away from evil; itseeks the way of life; its end is yonder with the Infinite. Chief of theUmatillas, I will try to teach the young man to follow it. Do youunderstand?"
The aged chief bowed. He caught the meaning of the thought, if not of therather formal words. He comprehended the idea that the tall schoolmasterbelieved goodness to be immortal. The regions of the Cascades were indeedbeautiful with their ancient forests and gleaming mountain walls, but hehad been taught to believe that the great Master of Life had providedeternal scenes that transcended these for those who were worthy to receivethem.
An unexpected turn came to this stately and pacific interview. Mrs. Woodswas piqued at the deference that the tall schoolmaster had shown to thechief and his son. She walked about restlessly, cut a rod from one of thetrees with a large knife which she always carried with her, and at lastcalled the master aside again.
"Say, mister, here. You ain't going to take that young Injun into yourschool, are you? There'll be trouble, now, if you do. Know Injuns--youdon't. You are young, but 'tain't best for you to eat all your applesgreen. I've always been very particular about the company I keep, if I wasborn poor and have had to work hard, and never studied no foreignlanguages. I warn you!"
She raised her voice, and Benjamin heard what she had said. He suspectedher ill-will toward him from her manner, but he comprehended the meaningof her last words.
He at first looked puzzled and grieved, then suddenly his thin lips werepressed together; the passion of anger was possessing him, soon to befollowed by the purpose of revenge.
Mrs. Woods saw that she had gone too far in the matter, and that herspirit and meaning had been discovered by the son of the chief. The dangerto which she had exposed herself made her nervous. But she began to act onher old principle never to show fear in the presence of an Indian.
"Here, mister, I must go now," she said, in a loud voice. "Take this rod,and govern your school like a man. If I were a teacher, I'd make myscholars smart in more ways than one." She held out the rod to the master.
There was a movement in the air like a flash. Benjamin, with noiselessfeet, had slipped up behind her. He had conceived the idea that the offerof the rod somehow meant enmity to him. He seized the rod from behind thewoman, and, sweeping it through the air, with kindled eye and glowingcheeks, wheeled before the master.
"Boston tilicum, don't you dare!"
"Boston til
icum" was the Chinook for an American, and the Chinook or tradelanguage had become common to all the tribes on the Columbia. The earlyAmerican traders on the Northern Pacific coast were from Boston.
He raised the rod aloft defiantly like a young champion, and presented aheroic figure, which excited the tremulous admiration and wonder of thelittle group. He then pointed it toward Mrs. Woods, and saidcontemptuously in Chinook:
"Cloochman!" (woman).
The scene changed to the comical. Mrs. Woods snatched off her broadsun-bonnet, revealing her gray hair, and assumed an appearance ofdefiance, though her heart was really trembling with fear.
"I ain't afraid of no Injuns," she said, "and I don't take any impudencefrom anybody. I've had to fight the whole world all my life, and I'vealways conquered. There--now--there!"
She whipped the rod out of the young Indian's hand.
Benjamin's eyes blazed.
"Closche nanitch" (look out), he said. "I am an Umatilla. Siwash (Indian)will remember. There are hawks in the sky."
"Kamooks" (dog), returned Mrs. Woods, defiantly. "Kamooks."
She would have said "cultus" had she dared. "Cultus" is the most insultingword that can be applied to an Indian, and, when it is used, it invitesthe most deadly revenge. The word had come to her lips, but she had notthe courage to invoke the consequences of such a taunt.
But the young Indian further excited her. He shook the rod at her, and herpassion mastered her prudence. She struggled with herself, and was silentfor a few moments. But, suddenly catching the young Indian's eye, whichhad in it a savage triumph, she exclaimed:
"Cultus Umatilla--"
The old chief stepped forward and lifted his hands.
"Pil-pil" (blood), said Benjamin. "There are hawks in the air--"
"Be still!" said the chief.
"--they whet their beaks," continued Benjamin. "Potlatch!"
The whole company were filled with excitement or terror. Gretchentrembled, and began to cry. Three Indians were seen coming down the trail,and the sight seemed to fill Benjamin with a mysterious delight. Mrs.Woods saw them with secret fear, and the master with apprehension. Severalof the children began to cry, and there was a look of pain, terror, ordistress on all the faces.
Suddenly Gretchen stepped apart from the group and lifted to her shoulderher violin.
A hunting strain rose on the bright morning air. It seemed like the flightof a singing bird.
The chief's arms dropped. The music arose like a sweet memory of all thatis good and beautiful.
The three Indians stopped to listen. The music became more sweet andentrancing. The anger went out of Benjamin's face, and there came betterfeelings into his soul.
The music breathed of the Rhine, of vineyards and festivals, but heunderstood it not; to him it recalled the mysterious legends of theUmatillas, the mysteries of life, and the glory of the heroes who slepton the island of the dead or amid the sweetly sighing branches of thetrees. The air was the _Traumerei_.
When the music ceased there was a long silence. In it Mrs. Woods turnedaway slowly, with a word of advice to Gretchen that under othercircumstances would have appeared amusing:
"Behave yourself like a lady," she said, "and remember your bringing up.Good-morning to ye all."
The little group watched her as she moved safely away. A little black bearcrossed her path as she was entering the wood, and stopped on the way. Buther steps were growing rapid, and, as she did not seem to regard him as amatter of any consequence, he turned and ran. The company smiled, and sothe peril of the morning seemed to pass away.
The scene would have been comical but for the painful look in the kindlyface of the old Chief of the Cascades. He had come toward the school-housewith high hopes, and what had happened caused him pain. The word"Potlatch," spoken by the Indian boy, had caused his brow to cloud and hisface to turn dark.
"We will all go into the house," said the master. "Umatilla, will you nothonor us with a visit this morning?"
"No--me come this afternoon for the boy; me wait for him outside. Bostontilicum, let me speak to you a little. I am a father."
"Yes, and a good father."
"I am a father--you no understand--Boston tilicum--father. I want you toteach him like a father--not you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Father--teacher--you, Boston tilicum."
"Yes, I understand, and I will be a father teacher to your Benjamin."
"I die some day. You understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"You understand, Boston tilicum, you understand. What I want my boy tobecome that I am for my boy. That you be."
"Yes, Umatilla, I believe an Indian's word--you may trust mine. I will beto your boy what you may have him become. The Indian is true to hisfriends. I believe in _you_. I will be true."
The old chief drew his blanket round him proudly.
"Boston tilicum," said he, "if ever the day of trouble comes, I willprotect you and the log school-house. You may trust my word. Indian speaktrue."
The tall schoolmaster bowed.
"Nika atte cepa" (I like you much), said the chief. "Potlatch shall noharm you. Klahyam klahhye--am!" (Good-by).
Mrs. Woods hurried homeward and tried to calm her excited mind by singinga very heroic old hymn:
"Come on, my partners in distress, My comrades in the wilderness, Who still your bodies feel."
The blue skies gleamed before her, and overhead wheeled a golden eagle. Toher it was an emblem, a good omen, and her spirit became quiet and happyamid all the contradictions of her rough life. She sat down at last on thelog before her door, with the somewhat strange remark:
"I do hate Injuns; _nevertheless_--"
Mrs. Woods was accustomed to correct the wrong tendencies of her heart andtongue by this word "nevertheless," which she used as an incompletesentence. This "nevertheless" seemed to express her better self; tocorrect the rude tendencies of her nature. Had she been educated in herearly days, this tendency to self-correction would have made her an idealwoman, but she owed nearly all her intellectual training to the sermons ofthe Rev. Jason Lee, which she had heard in some obscure corner of a room,or in Methodist chapel, or under the trees.
Her early experience with the Indians had not made her a friend to thenative races, notwithstanding the missionary labors of the Rev. Jason Lee.The first Indian that made her a visit on the donation claim did not leavea favorable impression on her mind.
This Indian had come to her door while she was engaged in the very hardwork of sawing wood. He had never seen a saw before, and, as it seemed tohim to be a part of the woman herself, he approached her with awe andwonder. That the saw should eat through the wood appeared to him averitable miracle.
Mrs. Woods, unaware of her visitor, paused to take breath, looked up,beheld the tall form with staring eyes, and started back.
"Medicine-woman--conjure!" said the Indian, in Chinook.
Mrs. Woods was filled with terror, but a moment's thought recalled herresolution. She lifted her hand, and, pointing to the saw in the wood, shesaid, with a commanding tone:
"Saw!"
The Indian obeyed awkwardly, and wondering at the progress of the teeth ofthe saw through the wood. It was a hot day; the poor Indian soon becametired, and stopped work with a beating heart and bursting veins.
"Saw--saw!" said Mrs. Woods, with a sweep of her hands, as though somemysterious fate depended upon the order.
The saw went very hard now, for he did not know how to use it, and thewood was hard, and the Indian's only thought seemed to be how to escape.Mrs. Woods held him in her power by a kind of mental magnetism, like thatwhich Queen Margaret exercised over the robber.
"Water!" at last gasped the Indian.
"Saw--saw!" said Mrs. Woods; then turned away to bring him water.
When she looked around again, an unexpected sight met her eyes. The Indianwas flying away, taking the saw with him. She never beheld either again,and it was a long time before
any Indian appeared at the clearing afterthis odd event, though Mrs. Woods ultimately had many adventures amongthe wandering Siwashes.
A saw was no common loss in these times of but few mechanical implementsin Oregon, and Mrs. Woods did not soon forgive the Indian for taking awaywhat he probably regarded as an instrument of torture.
"I do hate Injuns!" she would often say; but quite likely would soon afterbe heard singing one of the hymns of the missionaries at the Dalles:
"O'er Columbia's wide-spread forests Haste, ye heralds of the Lamb; Teach the red man, wildly roaming, Faith in Immanuel's name,"
which, if poor poetry, was very inspiring.