“Many, many moons ago, long before the Pale Faces invaded the land
which the Indians called Al-ay-ek-sa (Alaska, “Big Country”), the Great
Spirit caused the waters to rise and blot out all the land, even to the
tops of the highest mountains.”
So runs an ancient Indian legend.
“At that time there was a mighty roaring like the pounding of the waves
upon a rocky shore, and suddenly death and destruction were upon the
people. Some of the terror-stricken natives fled to the mountains, but
the water overtook them and they were drowned. Only a very few escaped
in their canoes. These drifted around until the water went down and
their canoes grated and came to rest on dry land. There they settled
and built their lodges and continued to follow the customs of their
people.
“This is how blood relations became so widely separated. So a stranger
in an Indian village may enter any lodge before which stands a totem
surmounted by the crest of his family. He is given food and shelter and
may take freely that which he needs.
“In the days when slaves were as plentiful as the salmon berries that
grow by the running water an Indian chief would free all his prisoners
whose crest was the crest of his clan, even if their tongue was unknown
to him and sounded hostile in his ears.
“But a member of the Raven clan may not marry a raven or an eagle an
eagle. They belong to the same family and are forbidden to marry.”
In that long ago time when every Indian village had its honored Story
Teller, this and many other tales were told around the campfire while
the smoke curled upward and the moon crept over the mountain. The old
men grunted assent and the young men kept silent, listening. For upon
them must fall the task of handing down the legends and customs of
their people.
But since the coming of the white man these Story Tellers are passing
away. Only a few remain and they are very old. The youths and maidens
listen not to the tales of their ancestors, and soon there shall be no
one to keep alive the traditions of their people who journeyed long ago
to the cold land of the North.
So we have set down some of the legends told by the Red Men to their
children in the Land of the Midnight Sun, where sometimes in the
heavens are seen long, gorgeous-hued fingers of light flashing here and
there—“Spirits of departed warriors returned to dance once more their
war dances.”
Would you know the legend of the Sun, Moon, Star and Rainbow Houses?
Then read the tale as it was told by one of the last great Indian Story
Tellers.