HALIBUT FISHING—DOGFISH—A TRIP TO FORT RUPERT—RANSOMING A
SLAVE—A PROMENADE WITH A REDSKIN—BAGGING A CHIEF’S HEAD—QUEEN
CHARLOTTE’S ISLANDERS AT NANAIMO.
HALIBUT.—The Halibut, a giant amongst flat-fishes, is taken by
the Indians on the western side of Vancouver Island; a veritable
ground-feeder, frequenting deep-sea sandbanks, and devouring anything
and everything that comes within reach of his terrible mouth. The
halibut, at Vancouver Island, attains to an immense size, 300 lbs.
being no unfrequent weight.
The Indians are most skilful in securing this leviathan of the deep,
as I had an opportunity of seeing, when visiting the northern end of
the island. Picture to yourselves an Indian village, built on a plateau
overlooking an open roadstead; a crowd of Indians on the shingly beach,
watching the departure of a large canoe, manned by four savages,
awaiting my arrival. This being a special occasion, they were more
elaborately painted than usual. A brief description of one will serve
to portray the other three. Tailors are entirely unknown in the land
of the redskin; a small piece of blanket or fur, tied round the waist,
constitutes the court, evening, and morning costume of both chief and
subject.
My crew were _kilted_ with pieces of scarlet blanket. Imagine, if you
can, a dark swarthy copper-coloured figure leaning on a canoe-paddle,
his jet-black hair hanging down nearly to the middle of his back, the
front hair being clipped close in a straight line across the forehead.
Neither beard, whisker, nor moustache ever adorns the face of the
redskin, the hair being tweezered out by squaws in early life, and
thus destroyed. A line of vermilion extends from the centre of the
forehead to the tip of the nose, and from this ‘trunk line’ others
radiate over and under the eyes and across the cheeks. Between these
red lines white and blue streaks alternately fill the interstices. A
similar pattern ornaments chest, arms, and back, the frescoing being
artistically arranged to give apparent width to the chest; the legs and
feet are naked. A ‘fire-bag,’ made from the skin of the medicine-otter,
elaborately decorated with beads, scarlet cloth, bells, and brass
buttons, slung round the neck by a broad belt of wampum, completed the
costume of my coxswain.
The canoe was what is commonly called a ‘dug-out,’ that is, made from
a solid log of wood. Coiled round the sharp bow of the canoe, like a
huge snake, was a strong line about sixty fathoms in length, made from
the inner bark of the cypress, neatly twisted. Lying along each side,
extending far beyond both bow and stern, were two light spear-hafts,
about sixty feet long; whilst stowed away in the bow were a dozen
shorter spears, one end being barbed, the other constructed to fit on
the longer spear, but so contrived that the spearman can readily detach
it by a skilful jerk. Tied lightly to the centre of each of the smaller
spears was a bladder made from sealskin, blown full of air, the line
attaching it being about three fathoms in length.
I had hardly completed my investigation of the canoe, its crew, and
contents, when, to my intense astonishment, the four Indians lifted me,
as they would a bale of fur, or a barrel of pork, and without a word
deposited me in the bottom of the canoe, where I was enjoined to sit,
much in the same position enforced on a culprit in the parish stocks.
I may mention, incidentally, that a canoe is not half as enjoyable
as poets and novelists, who are prone to draw imaginary sketches,
would lead the uninitiated to believe. It would be impossible to trust
oneself in a more uncomfortable, dangerous, damp, disagreeable kind
of boat—generally designated a ‘fairy barque,’ that ‘rides, dances,
glides, threads its silvery course over seas and lakes, or, arrow-like,
shoots foaming rapids.’ All a miserable delusion and a myth! Getting
in (unless lifted, as I was, bodily, like baggage) is to any but an
Indian a dangerous and difficult process; the least preponderance
of weight to either side, and out you tumble into the water to a
certainty. Again, lowering oneself into the bottom is quite as bad,
if not worse, requiring extreme care to keep an even balance, and a
flexibility of back and limb seldom possessed by any save tumblers and
tightrope-dancers. Down safely, then, as I have said, you are compelled
to sit in a most painful position, and the least attempt to alter it
generally results in a sudden heeling-over of the canoe, when you find
yourself sitting in a foot of cold water.
We are off, and, swiftly crossing the harbour, the beach grows
indistinct in the distance; but we still see the dusky forms of
the Indians, the rough gaudily painted huts, the gleam of many
lodge-fires, and wreaths of white smoke slowly ascending through the
still air; the square substantial pickets shutting in the trade-fort,
its roof and chimneys just peeping above, backed by the sombre green of
the pine-trees, altogether presented a picture novel and pretty in all
its details.
A few minutes and we rounded the jutting headland, keeping close
along the rocky shore of the island, gliding past snug bays and
cozy little land-locked harbours, the homes and haunts of countless
wildfowl; soon we leave the shore, and stand away to sea. The breeze
is fresher here, and a ripple, that would be nothing in a boat, makes
the flat-bottomed canoe unpleasantly lively. Save a wetting from
the spray, and occasional surge of water over the gunwale, all goes
pleasantly. The far-away land is barely distinguishable in the grey
haze. No canoes are to be seen in the dark-blue water; the only sign of
living things—a flock of sea-gulls waging war on a shoal of fish, the
distant spouting of a whale, and the glossy backs of the black fish as
they roll lazily through the ripple. The line at the bow is uncoiled, a
heavy stone enclosed in a net attached as a sinker, a large hook made
of bone and hardwood, baited with a piece of the octopus, (a species of
cuttlefish), is made fast to the long line by a piece of hemp-cord;
then comes a heavy plunge of the sinker, the rattle of the line as
it runs over the side of the canoe, and—we wait in silence for the
expected bite.
A tug, that came unpleasantly near to upsetting all hands, lets us
know that a halibut was bolting the tempting morsel, hook and all. A
few minutes gave him time fairly to swallow it, and now a sudden twick
buries the hook deeply in the fleshy throat; the huge flatfish finds,
to his cost, that his dinner is likely seriously to disagree with him,
whilst in the canoe all hands are in full employ. The bowman, kneeling,
holds on tightly with both hands to the line; the savage next him takes
one of the long spears, and quickly places on the end of it a shorter
one, baited and bladdered; the other two paddle warily.
At first the hooked fish was sulky, and remained obstinately at the
bottom, until continued jerks at the line ruffled his temper, and
excited his curiosity sufficiently to induce a sudden ascent to the
surface; perhaps to have a peep at his persecutors. Awaiting his
appearance stood the spearman, and when the canoe was sufficiently
near, in he sent the spear, plucking the long haft or handle from the
shorter barbed spear, which remained in the fish, the bladder, floating
like a life-buoy, marking the fish’s whereabouts. The halibut, finding
his reception anything but agreeable, tries to descend again into
the lower regions, a performance now difficult to accomplish, as the
bladder is a serious obstacle. Soon reappearing on the surface, another
spear was sent into him, and so on, until he was compelled to remain
floating. During all this time the paddlers, aided by the line-man,
followed all the twistings and windings of the fish, as a greyhound
courses a doubling hare.
For some time the contest was a very equal one, after the huge fish
was buoyed and prevented from diving. On the one side the halibut
made desperate efforts to escape by swimming, and on the other the
Indians, keeping a tight line, made him tow the canoe. Evident signs
of weariness at last began to exhibit themselves, his swimming became
slower, and the attempts to escape more feeble and less frequent.
Several times the canoe came close up to him, but a desperate struggle
enabled him once more to get away. Again and again we were all but
over; the fish, literally flying through the water, sometimes towed
the canoe nearly under, and at others spun it suddenly round, like
a whipped top; nothing but the wonderful dexterity of the paddlers
saved us from instant shipwreck and the certainty of drowning. I
would have given much to have stood up; but no; if I only moved on one
side to peep over, a sudden yell from the steersman, accompanied by a
flourish of the braining-club—mildly admonitory, no doubt, but vastly
significant—ensured instant obedience. I forgot cold, wet, and fright,
and indeed everything but the all-absorbing excitement attendant on
this ocean-chase. The skill and tact of uneducated men, pitted against
a huge sea-monster of tenfold strength, was a sight a lover of sport
would travel any distance to witness.
Slowly and steadily the sturdy paddlers worked towards the shore,
towing the fish, but keeping the canoe stern-first, so as to be enabled
to pay out line and follow him, should he suddenly grow restive: in
this way the Indians gradually coaxed the flat monster towards the
beach; a weak, powerless, exhausted giant, outwitted, captured, and
subdued, prevented from diving into his deep-sea realms by, what were
to him, anything but life-buoys. We beached him at last and he yielded
his life to the knife and club of the redskin.
I believe the species to be the _Pleuronectes hippoglossus_ of
Linnæus, but of this I am by no means perfectly clear, as I had only
an opportunity of examining this single specimen, that I estimated as
weighing over 300 lbs.; and it was quite impossible to investigate its
specific character, inasmuch as the Indians immediately set to work to
cut the body in pieces, some to be there and then devoured, after a
very brief roasting on a temporary fire; the remainder, packed into the
canoe, was taken to the village.
Halibut are said to spawn in the middle of February; the roe, which is
bright red, being esteemed a great dainty by all the Coast Indians.
COD.—The true Cod, although I never saw it offered for sale in the
Victoria market, is taken both at the northern extremity of Vancouver
Island, and near Cape Flattery, at its southern end. The Indians fish
for them with hooks and lines, and adopt very much the same system for
landing heavy obstinate fish as I have already described as used to
subdue the halibut. No regular system of deep sea fishing had, when I
left the island, been tried by white men; neither had the trawl ever
dragged up the treasures hidden at the bottom; so that deep-sea fish
are still comparatively unknown. But of this I am quite sure—whenever
fisheries are established along the island coasts, the trawl and
deep-sea line, used by experienced hands, will bring up treasures from
mines of wealth as yet unworked, to which gold and fur are nothing.
DOGFISH.—The Western Dogfish (_Acanthius Suckleyi_), Grd., Proc.
Acad., Nat. Sc. Phil., vii. 1854.—_Sp. Ch._: Head contained in a sixth
of the entire length; snout blunt, nostrils near to its apex. Eye large
and bright, sea-green in the newly-taken fish. Anterior margin of the
first dorsal, midway betwixt the pupil and anterior margin of the
second dorsal. Colour reddish brown, above thickly spotted with white,
over-spread with bronze reflections.
This most predaceous race of sharks, although they never grow to
a size dangerous to man, are nevertheless most bloodthirsty and
implacable enemies to all the finny tribes inhabiting the waters of
the North-west. They appear to live everywhere, in every harbour, up
the long inland canals, in the lagoons, and nearly as far as the tide
flows; the dogfish is ever to be found up the tidal rivers. Hunting in
packs like wolves, they often chase a shoal of fish upon the shingle,
then bite and maim six times as many as they can possibly eat. I have
often seen them seize dead and even wounded birds, drag them below the
surface, and tear them into shreds.
Angling where there are dogfish, and it is hard to discover a spot
where they are not plentiful, is simply to waste time, and lose one’s
temper; your bait hardly touches the water ere it is gorged, and an
ugly dogfish dangles at the end of the line. To unhook the thief is a
service of danger, unless knocked senseless, and his fearfully-armed
jaws are propped open with a piece of stick. But, with all his faults,
the dogfish is most useful and valuable to the Indians, who spear
incredible numbers, split them, and take out their livers. From
these fatty livers a quantity of clear oil is extracted, by heat and
pressure, applied in such a clumsy manner, that at least one-third is
wasted. I was credibly informed that one small tribe of Indians, living
on the west coast of Vancouver Island, by their bungling process of
oil-making, managed to obtain seven cwt. of oil in one season: surely
oil making alone would pay a company a handsome return for a judicious
outlay of skill and capital. Several naval surgeons have assured me
they had fairly tested its curative powers—in diseases where oil is
said to be efficacious—and found it in every respect quite equal to
the finest cod-liver oil.
• • • • •
Whilst occupied in collecting the fishes previously described, the
Honourable Hudson’s Bay Company’s steamer ‘Otter’ was about to make her
usual trip to Fort Rupert, in order to carry up the necessary supplies
to the chief trader in charge of the fort, and bring back to Victoria
the furs traded during the year. Being a good opportunity to visit so
remote a part of Vancouver Island (not accessible, at that time, in any
other way), leave was obtained from His Excellency the Governor, and a
passage provided for me.
On a bright but cold morning in October the ‘Otter’ twisted, puffed,
and worked her way through the somewhat intricate passage leading out
of Victoria Harbour. Leaving the harbour, the scenery opens out like
a magnificent panorama, indescribably wild and beautiful. In front,
the sharp jagged mountains of the coast range, wooded to the sea-line,
tower in the far distance to the regions of eternal snow; to the left,
the rounder hills of the island slope easily to the water’s edge, in
grassy glades and lawnlike openings, belted with scrub-oaks; higher up,
the hillsides are overshadowed by the Douglas pines and cedars; whilst
just visible in our course, like a green speck, is the famed island of
St. Juan; and bending away to the right, as far as eye could reach,
dense forests look like one vast unbroken sea of green.
We had a delightful run along the coast and amidst islands, and
anchored in the evening near the narrows. These same narrows are only
used by the initiated as a short cut, being too risky for large vessels
navigated by unskilled hands. There is a channel, a quarter of a mile
long and seventy yards wide, between a small island and the Island
of Vancouver. Through this rocky canal the tide rushes with fearful
velocity. We ran it safely in the morning, although it struck me as
being the most ticklish bit of navigation I ever experienced. Through
these narrows, we were soon in Nanaimo, where we called for a supply
of coals; the town, at this early stage of its history, consisting of
about a dozen log-shanties, inhabited by the coal-miners and employés
of the fur-trading establishment.
Whilst ‘coaling,’ a deputation of Indian braves, headed by a young
chief, waited on the captain of the steamer. Squatted in a circle on
the deck, and the all-essential pipe smoked, the object of their visit
was disclosed. The Fort Rupert Indians, residing at the Indian village
and trading-post we were _en route_ to visit, had very recently made
a raid on the Nanaimo savages. In the foray, the old chief had been
killed, several braves seriously injured, and, what was worse than
all, the favourite wife of the deceased dignitary had been seized, and
carried off a slave. The young chief, it seems, had loved the wife
of his predecessor, and was willing to pay any ransom for his lost
darling. After a long ‘wa-wa’ (talk), the captain consented to effect a
purchase, if possible, and bring back, on our return, the lost one to
the arms of her sable lover.
We had a pleasant run across the Gulf of Georgia, and anchored at 10
P.M. in Billings’ Harbour (much like a small duck-pond), in Faveda
Island. The next morning, again under weigh at 6 A.M., raining, as the
captain said, ‘marlinespikes,’ we steamed past a group of islands,
behind which is Malospina Strait. From this strait, Jarvis’s Inlet runs
like an immense canal for a distance (I believe) of fifty miles inland.
Here the gulf widens out like the open sea, and little can be seen
of the land until the extreme south-east point of Valdes Island is
reached, known as Point Mudge, betwixt which and Vancouver Island is a
narrow channel, not more than a mile in width, called Discovery Passage.
About a mile from its entrance, we passed a large Indian village, the
home of the Tah-cul-tas, a powerful band, of most predatory habits, and
generally at war with the different tribes north and south of them;
they own a large fleet of canoes, a great many slaves, and scalp and
plunder all they can lay hands on.
For a distance of fourteen miles Discovery Passage is much the same
width, until reaching Menzies Bay, where the rapids commence. At the
base of these rapids, the channel, barely a quarter of a mile wide,
suddenly opens out into a large pond-like space. The tide rushes down
the narrow passage at the rate of ten knots an hour, and to get up
through it was as much as our little steamer could accomplish. Panting
and struggling, and sometimes hardly moving, at others she was carried
violently against the shore, until by slow degrees she breasted the
current and got safely through. I could not help wondering how Captain
Vancouver ever managed to get his ship up this terrible place, so
difficult even when aided by the power of steam.
Above the rapids the passage again widens to Point Chatham, the
north-west termination of Discovery Passage. We puff by Thurlow Island,
divided from Valdes Island by the Nodales Canal, and anchor in a snug
harbour named Blenkinsop’s Anchorage. We start again at sun-up, the
fifth morning since leaving Victoria. As we steamed steadily along
through Johnston’s Straits, I could recall to my remembrance no
scenery that was comparable, in wild grandeur and picturesque grouping,
to the scenery on my left. The coast-line of Vancouver Island presented
a series of small projecting headlands; the bays and creeks between,
seldom rippled by the breeze, are very Edens for wildfowl. In the
background, the hills rise sharp and conical, at this time crowned
with snow, but all alike densely timbered. In the distance, Hardwicke
Island, like a floating emerald, hid the water beyond it. To the right,
islands of all sizes and shapes, so thick that one might suppose it
had rained islands at some time or other: on the least of them grew
pine-trees, any of which would have made a mainmast for the largest
ship ever built. I have again and again threaded the intricate passages
through the ‘Lake of a Thousand Islands,’ in the Great St. Lawrence;
but I say, without fear of contradiction, that the scenery from Chatham
Point to the mouth of the Nimkish river is wilder, bolder, and in every
respect more beautiful, lovely as I admit the Canadian scenery to be.
The ship-channel hugs the shore of Vancouver Island, passing close
to Cormorant, Haddington, and Malcolm Islands, and the mouth of the
Nimkish river, navigable for canoes some considerable distance. This
stream is used by the Hudson’s Bay traders to reach the western side of
Vancouver Island. Ascending it in canoes as far as practicable, about
two days’ walking brings them to Nootka Sound.
At the mouth of the river, I saw the village of the Nimkish Indians,
situated on a table-land overhanging the sea, and inaccessible save
by ascending a vertical cliff of smooth rock—a feat nothing but a
fly could manage, unaided; but the redskins have a ladder, made of
cedar-bark rope, which they can haul up and lower at will. The ladder
up, the place is impregnable. Safe themselves, they can quietly bowl
over their enemies, and sink their canoes.
These Nimkish Indians speak of another tribe that they call
Sau-kau-lutuck, who have never seen or traded with white people. Their
story, as interpreted for me by Mr. Moffat, the chief trader at Fort
Rupert—who told me he quite believed it to be true—was as follows:—
‘In crossing over to the west side of the island, on a war-path, the
Nimkis discovered these Indians by accident, took several of them
prisoners, whom they subsequently used as slaves, taking also skins,
and what other property they had worth plundering. They are said to
live on the edge of a lake, and subsist principally on deer and bear,
and such fish as they can take in the lake. They own no canoes, neither
do they know the use of firearms, their only weapons being the bow,
arrow, and spear.’
The wind came on to blow as we left this interesting spot, and soon
increased to a gale from the south-east, making the Otter rock most
unpleasantly in the cradle of the deep. About 10 A.M. we ran into
Beaver Harbour, our destination. This so-called harbour, being nothing
more than an open roadstead, is disagreeably rough; a heavy sea rolls
angrily in, dashing in foamy breakers on the rocky coast.
We anchor about a mile from shore, the captain deeming it unsafe to
venture nearer. To announce our arrival, a gun is to be fired: this, I
observed, was rather a service of danger to the sailor who had to touch
it off, as it was just an equal chance whether the bulk of the charge
came through the barrel or the touch-hole; the latter having become so
capacious from rust and long usage, as to necessitate the employment
of an enormously long wand, with a piece of lighted slow-match tied to
the end of it. All hands having cleared away, and carefully concealed
themselves, the wand slowly appears from a secure hiding-place, and
the wheezy bang proclaims ‘all’s safe.’
The report was still echoing through the distant hills, when countless
tiny specks were discernible, dancing over the waves like birds. On
they came, a perfect shoal of them, nearer and nearer, all evidently
bound for the ship. I could make out clearly now, that these specks
were canoes filled with Indians. By this time our boat was lowered; how
I got into it, I never clearly remember: I have a dim recollection of
descending a rope with great rapidity, and finding myself sprawling in
the bottom, and being dragged up by the captain, much after the fashion
adopted by clowns in a pantomime to reinstate the prostrate pantaloon
upon his legs. At any rate I was safe, and the boat, propelled by four
sturdy rowers, neared the shore.
On looking round, I observed the canoes had all turned towards us, and
we were soon surrounded by the most extraordinary fleet I had ever
beheld. The canoes were of all sizes, varying from those used for war
purposes, holding thirty men, to the cockleshell paddled by a squaw.
With the exception of a bit of skin, or an old blanket tied round the
waist, the savages were all perfectly nude; their long black hair hung
in tangled elf-locks down their backs, their faces and bodies painted
in most fantastic patterns, with red and white. Keeping steadily along
with us, they continually relieved their feelings by giving utterance
to the most wild and fiendish yells that ever came from human throats.
As we neared the landing, I could see the chief trader of the Hudson’s
Bay Company, conspicuously white amidst a group of redskins, waiting
to receive us. The boat grated on the shingle some distance from the
beach, white with spray. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to go ashore like
a seal?’ I appealingly enquired of the captain. Before he had time to
reply, four powerful savages, up to their waists in water, fisted me
out of the boat; and two taking my heels, and two my shoulders, they
bore me safely to the shore.
Having handed my letters of introduction from his Excellency the
Governor to the chief trader, I was presented to the chiefs as a _Hyas
tyee_ (great chief), one of ‘King George’s’ men. So we shook hands, and
I attempted to move towards the fort; it was not to be done. To use the
mildest term, I was ‘mobbed;’ old savages and young savages, old squaws
and young squaws, even to boy and girl savage, rushed and scrambled to
shake hands with me. Had I been a ‘pump’ on a desert, surrounded by
thirst-famished Indians, and each arm a handle, they could not have
been more vigorously plied. Being rescued at last by the combined
efforts of trader and captain, I was marched into the fort, the gates
shut with a heavy clang, and most thankful was I to be safe from any
further demonstrations of friendship. The evening passed rapidly and
pleasantly; mine host was a thorough sportsman, full of anecdote, and
hospitable to a fault.
Awaking early, I wandered out, and up into the bastion of the fort.
The sun was creeping from behind the ragged peaks of the Cascade
Mountains, tinting with rosy light their snow-clad summits; the wind
had lulled, or gone off to sea on some boisterous errand; the harbour,
quite smooth, looked like burnished silver. There was a wild grandeur
about the scene, that awoke feelings of awe rather than admiration;
everywhere vast piles of craggy mountains, clad from the snow-line to
the sea with dense pine-forests; not an open grassy spot, or even a
naked mass of rock, peeped out to break the fearful monotony of these
interminable hills.
The trading-post is a square, enclosed by immense trees, one end sunk
in the ground; the trees are lashed together. A platform, about the
height of an ordinary man from the top of these pickets, is carried
along the sides of this square, so as to enable anyone to peep over
without being in danger from an arrow or bullet. The entrance is closed
by two massive gates, an inner and outer; all the houses—the chief
trader’s, employés’, trading-house, fur-room, and stores—are within
the square. The trade-room is cleverly contrived so as to prevent a
sudden rush of Indians; the approach, from outside the pickets, is by
a long narrow passage, bent at an acute angle near the window of the
trade-room, and only of a sufficient width to admit one savage at a
time. (This precaution is necessary, inasmuch as, were the passage
straight, they would inevitably shoot the trader.)
At the angles nearest the Indian village are two bastions, octagonal in
shape, and of a very doubtful style of architecture. Four embrasures
in each bastion would lead the uninitiated to believe in the existence
of as many formidable cannon, with rammers, sponges, neat piles of
round-shot and grape, magazines of powder, and ready hands to load and
fire—and, at the slightest symptom of hostility, to work havoc and
destruction, on any red-skinned rebels daring to dispute the supremacy
of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Imagine my surprise, on entering this
fortress, to discover all this a pleasant fiction, two small rusty
carronades, buried in the accumulated dust and rubbish of years, that
no human power could load, were the sole occupants of the mouldy old
turrets.
The bell for breakfast recalling me, I jokingly inquired of the trader
if he had ever been obliged to use this cannon for defensive purposes.
He laughed as he replied, ‘There is a tradition that, at some remote
period, the guns were actually fired, not at the rebellious natives,
but over their heads; instead of being terror-stricken at the white
man’s thunder, away they all scampered in pursuit of the ball, found
it, and, marching in triumph back to the fort-gate offered to trade it,
that it might be fired again!’
Breakfast finished, the trader, captain, and myself started for the
village. Clear of the gates, we scrambled down a rocky path, crossed
a mountain-burn, dividing the Indians from the fort, and entered ‘the
city of the redskins;’ which consists of a long row of huts, each but
nearly square, the exterior fantastically frescoed in hieroglyphic
patterns, in white, red, and blue; having however a symbolical meaning
or heraldic value, like the _totum_ of the Indians east of the Rocky
Mountains; four immense trees, barked and worked smooth, support each
corner; the tops are carved to resemble some horrible monster: the hut
is constructed of cedar-plank, chipped from the solid tree with chisels
and hatchets made of stone: many hands combine to accomplish this;
hence a hut becomes the joint property of several families. Five tribes
live in this village:—
Qua-kars, numbering about 800 warriors.
Qual-quilths 〃 〃 100 〃
Kum-cutes 〃 〃 70 〃
Wan-lish 〃 〃 50 〃
Lock-qua-lillas 〃 〃 80 〃
The entire population, even to the dogs, turned out on our advent; it
was puzzling to imagine where they all came from. We soon formed the
centre of the vilest assemblage man ever beheld. The object of our
visit made known, a ring was immediately formed by chiefs and braves,
the squaws and children being outside. Had any charming princess,
captive in an enchanted castle, been guarded by such a collection of
painted ragamuffins as now surrounded us, he would have been a valorous
knight that dared venture to release her.
The first question discussed being the price, a much larger sum was
asked than we felt disposed to pay. Although the slave belonged solely
to one Indian, the power to sell resting with him only, still every
one had their say. Men gurgled and spluttered strange unintelligible
noises, women chattered and screamed like furies, whilst children
engaged in small battles outside the ring.
Thirty blankets and two trade-guns—equal to about 50_£._
sterling—were the terms at last agreed on. We then adjourned to
the shed where the slave was a prisoner. I was in a great state of
expectation, picturing to myself an Indian Hebe, limbs exquisitely
moulded, native grace and elegance in every movement, gorgeous in
‘wampum,’ paint, and waving feathers, such as I had read of as
‘Laughing Water,’ or ‘Prairie Flower.’
Being carried, so to speak, into the shed—a waif in the stream of
savages rushing like a human torrent to get in—with all the breath
squeezed out of me, I was deposited somewhere but as my head was
enveloped in a dense cloud of pungent smoke, it was some time ere I
discovered I was close to the captain. ‘Sit down,’ he roared; ‘you
will die of suffocation if you keep your head in the smoke.’ At once
I seated myself on the floor, and now quite understand what being
suffocated in a chimney is like.
Once more enabled to see, it was easy to discover the secret: there
being no place for the smoke to escape, it accumulates at the top of
the shed, and one literally, not figuratively, ‘lives under a cloud.’
There was a hum and a burr, as in a nest of angry hornets; a din
increased by the dogs, that fought and rolled in where I sat; and being
by no means particular whether they bit my legs or any other man’s, it
required unwonted agility to keep clear.
During an interval of peace, it was easy to make out that the slave
was coming. Alas! how fleeting are imaginary pictures—poetic
dreams—castles in the air! Half crouching, and waddling rather than
walking, came my ideal; her only covering, a ragged, filthy old
blanket, her face begrimed with the dirt and paint of a lifetime;
short, fat, repulsive, the incarnation of ugliness, a very Hecate!
All my romance vanished like a dissolving-view. For this had I been
squeezed nearly to death, suffocated, poisoned with a noxious stench,
my legs imperilled by infuriated curs, my ears deafened, half devoured
by insatiable blood-suckers?—to aid in paying 50_£._ for the ugliest
old savage eyes ever beheld!
All the chiefs assembled at the fort in the evening to receive payment,
and hand over the slave. Squatting on their heels, nose and knees
together, their backs against the wall, they formed a circle. The pipe
produced (nothing can be done without it); I say pipe, for _one_ only
is used; filled and lighted, it passes from mouth to mouth; each,
taking a good pull, puffs the smoke slowly from his nostrils. The
thirty blankets and two guns being piled in the centre of this strange
assemblage, the slave was led in. Each blanket underwent a most careful
inspection; the guns, snapped and pointed, were finally approved of.
A husky grunt, from each of the council, denoting general approval,
the guns and blankets were carried off in triumph, and we became the
fortunate possessors of this strange purchase.
Whilst in the fort I was tolerably exempt from the insatiable and most
annoying curiosity, that induces Indians to watch everything a stranger
does. One oily old chief, however, always contrived to get into my room
in time to see me dress. He used to stalk in, squat down rolled in a
dirty blanket, and testify his pleasure by a series of grunts slightly
varied in tone. He was certainly the most blubbery-looking man I ever
beheld. Everything about him was suggestive of oil, from his head to
his heels, blanket included; like a compound of salmon and seal’s
flesh, he smelt quite as oily as he looked. Outside, however, there was
no help for it: go where I would, a bodyguard of savages (real untamed
savages too, not semi-civilised articles) was always in attendance.
Once I managed to escape through the pickets at the back of the
fort, and stealthily reaching the beach, under cover of the trees,
imagined myself safe. A light misty rain fell thickly, and a flock
of sanderlings, running along in the ripple, completely absorbed my
attention. I was suddenly startled by hearing the ‘crunch, crunch’
of a foot in the shingle behind me. I had looked right and left on
reaching the beach, but not a trace of Indian was visible. Turning
suddenly round, you can picture my surprise at finding myself face to
face with a savage, unclad from head to heel, carrying—what should
you imagine?—not a scalping-knife, or a war-club, or bow or spear or
gory scalp: it was an immense green gingham umbrella, a thoroughbred
‘Gamp,’ with horn crook, battered brass ferule, furled with a ring such
as curtains are hung on. He politely offered me a part, and scarcely
deeming it safe to refuse, I paraded the beach, linked arm-in-arm with
the ugliest specimen of humanity eyes ever beheld. I wonder if, before
or since, a naked savage and civilised man ever walked together on the
sea-beach, listening to ‘what the wild waves were saying,’ sheltered
from the rain by a green gingham umbrella! I trow not. I should have
been no more astonished at seeing a seal, or old Neptune himself, with
an umbrella, than I was at a naked Indian so protected on the beach at
Fort Rupert.
This was not my only adventure whilst staying at the fort. The beach
runs out very flat for a long distance seaward; the rocks appear
a slaty kind of shingle, with seams of coal cropping out in every
direction. The pines (_Abies Douglassii_) grow down to highwater-mark,
attaining a height of 250 feet and over, straight as a flagstaff. On
the branches are placed quaint-looking affairs, that you discover, on
inquiry, to be coffins; but how the friends of the departed get the
boxes up into the trees, or how they keep them there when they are up,
is more than I can tell. The coffin is usually an old canoe, lashed
round and round, like an Egyptian mummy-case, with the inner bark of
the cedar-tree; but of this, and other singular customs, I shall have
to speak more at length in a future chapter.
Near one of these arboreal cemeteries, I observed a high pole, and
dangling from it a head, fresh, bloody, and ghastly; the scalp had
been removed, and a rope, passing through the under-jaw, served to
suspend it. Horribly revolting as the face appeared, still I could
not help going close to it. Never had I seen so singular a head; it
looked in shape like a sugarloaf, the apex of the skull terminating in
a sharp point. On returning to the fort, I inquired if they could tell
me anything about this mysterious head. It appeared that, a day or so
before our arrival, a war-party of the Qua-kars had returned from a
raid on the mainland coast, and brought with them a number of slaves.
(Prisoners taken in war, or in any other manner, are invariably used as
slaves, bought and sold, whipped or killed, as best befits the whim or
caprice of their owner.) Amongst the wretched captives, was a chief.
Soon after landing, he was made fast to a temporary cross erected on
the beach, shot, scalped, and beheaded, and it was his head I had seen
in my rambles. On hearing further that the tribe to which he belonged
was one that elongate instead of flatten the head, I determined at any
risk to have the skull.[4] Extreme caution was needed, or a like fate
would probably be mine; a white chief’s hairless head might possibly
adorn the same pole as that of the painted savage. I made several
attempts, but each time signally failed to accomplish my purpose.
The night preceding our departure, all hopes of obtaining the coveted
head were nearly abandoned. Fortune at last smiled upon me; unobserved,
I upset the pole, and _bagged_ the head; and pushing it into my
game-bag, got safely into the fort. Still in terror of being seen, I
hid it in the bastion, and eventually headed it into a pork barrel,
with stones and sand; then had it rolled boldly out, and put on board
the steamer.
On our departure the following morning, I was rejoiced to find the
head had not been missed, but somewhat frightened, on learning I was
to be paddled to the steamer, in the state-canoe of the chief to whom
the trophy belonged. In grand procession, we marched from the fort to
the canoe, marshalled by the dingy dignitary, who, in happy ignorance
of the wrong I had done him, was all smiles and grins; the final
hand-shaking being accomplished, I was lifted into the canoe in the
same fashion as I had been previously lifted out, and rapidly reached
the steamer.
The chief came on board the steamer whilst the anchor was being
weighed. Imagine what I felt when he seated himself deliberately upon
the cask wherein I had hid his property. The wished-for moment came,
the wheels splashed slowly round, my plundered friend was bowed over
the side, and not until the smoke of the lodge-fires, and the fading
outline of the village, grew dim in the distance, did I feel my scalp
safe. The head is now in the Osteological Room of the British Museum,
and well worth investigation by any who may be curious to compare the
effect of circular pressure with that of the flat-head.[5] Skulls
similarly flattened were also brought by me from Vancouver Island.
We again called at Nanaimo on our return, and, whilst ‘coaling,’
delivered the ransomed lady safely into the hands of her owner. At
the same time three hundred Indians from Queen Charlotte’s Island
landed, _en route_ to Victoria, arriving in large canoes, each holding
about twenty Indians and their baggage. These canoes were not at all
similar to any I had seen at Fort Rupert, or to those used by the
Coast and Fraser river Indians. The shape was similar to the boats one
sees in very old pictures, filled with sailors in armour, the bow and
stern carved to represent a neck, bearing on it some hideous grinning
monster’s head.
Their chief, named Edin-saw, once saved the crew of a small schooner,
the ‘Susan Sturges,’ from being killed by the islanders under his
control. The vessel was wrecked on Queen Charlotte’s Island, and
the crew subsequently ransomed. This little army of savages reached
Victoria safely, having taken four months to make the voyage threading
all the difficult and dangerous straits, with the risk of capture from
other tribes, exposed to all the vicissitudes of weather, in open
canoes as easily upset as a child’s cradle.
Reaching Victoria in safety, I proceeded up the Fraser, and for the
first time witnessed sturgeon-spearing.