Tom is a blind old man, whose staff may be heard any day stumping or
splashing along the village street of his tribal reservation, or up
or down the hillside that slopes to the smoke-drying huts massed by
the Somass river. He is an honored member of the Ts’isha’ath, a Nootka
tribe that is now permanently located a few miles up from the head of
Alberni Canal, the deepest inlet on the west coast of Vancouver Island.
The Ts’isha’ath fishes and harpoons along the river, the length of the
“Canal,” and down among the hundreds of islands that dot Barkley Sound,
the first of the large bays north of Cape Beale that are carved out on
the stormy coast line of the island.
Tom’s early life was passed at the now abandoned village of Hikwis,
whose row of houses looked out upon the main water of the Sound, but
for decades he has led an uneventful existence in his river reservation
and its vicinity, old summer fishing grounds that were conquered in the
first instance by his people from an alien tribe. Within convenient
reach are the slowly booming white men’s towns of Alberni and Port
Alberni, where one may lay in a supply of biscuits and oranges for
a tribal feast, or make periodic complaint to the Indian Agent.
Tom is now old and poverty-stricken, but the memory of his former
wealth is with his people. The many feasts he has given and the many
ceremonial dances and displays he has had performed have all had their
desired effect—they have shed luster on his sons and daughters and
grandchildren, they have “put his family high” among the Ts’isha’ath
tribe, and they have even carried his name to other, distant Nootka
tribes, and to tribes on the east coast of the island that are of alien
speech. Nowadays he spends much of his time by the fireside, tapping
his staff in accompaniment to old ritual tunes that he is never tired
of humming.
Tom’s present name is Sayach’apis, Stands-up-high-over-all. It is an
old man’s name of eight generations’ standing, that hails from the
Hisawist’ath, a now extinct Nootka tribe with which Tom is connected
through his father’s mother’s mother, who was herself a Hisawist’ath
on her mother’s side. The tribe is extinct, but its personal names,
like its songs and legends and distinctive ritualistic ceremonies,
linger on among the neighboring tribes through the fine spun network of
inheritance. The name “Stands-up-high-over-all,” like practically all
Nootka, and indeed all West Coast names, has its legendary background,
its own historical warrant. The first Nootka chief to bear the name,
obtained it in a dream. He was undergoing ritualistic training in the
woods in the pursuit of “power” for the attainment of wealth, and had
not slept for a long time. At last he fell into a heavy slumber, and
this is what he dreamed: The Sky Chief appeared to him and said, “Why
are you sleeping, Stands-up-high-over-all? You are not really desirous
of getting wealthy, are you? I was about to make you wealthy and to
give you the name Stands-up-high-over-all.” The ironical touch is a
characteristic nuance in these origin legends. And so the name, a
supernatural gift, was handed down the generations, now by direct male
inheritance, now as a dower to a son-in-law, resident at some village
remote from its place of origin. This is the normal manner, actually or
in theory, of the transmission of all privileges, and though the owner
of a privilege may be a villager a hundred miles or more distant from
its historical or legendary home, he has not completely established his
right to its use unless he has shown himself, directly or by reference
to a speaker acquainted with tribal lore, possessed of the origin
legend, the local provenance, and the genealogical tree or “historical”
nexus that binds him to the individual, that is believed to have been
the first to enjoy the privilege.
Tom did not always have the name of Sayach’apis, nor need he keep it
to the end of his days. He assumed it over thirty years ago on the
occasion of his great potlatch, a puberty feast in honor of his now
deceased oldest daughter. At that time he had the young man’s name of
Nawe’ik, now borne by his oldest son, Douglas. It is a name belonging
to the Nash’as’ath sept or tribal subdivision of the Ts’isha’ath, and
was first dreamt by Tom’s maternal grandfather. It is thus a name of
comparatively recent origin, nor does it possess that aura of noble
association that attaches to Tom’s present name. Its exact meaning is
unknown, but it is said to have been a command—“Come here!”—of a spirit
whale, dreamt of by its first possessor. Tom assumed it at a potlatch
he gave to his own tribe when he was not yet married. It was just about
the time that the discovery of placer gold in the Frazer river was
bringing a considerable influx of whites to British Columbia.
Before this, Tom was known as Kunnuh, a Nitinat young man’s name, “Wake
up!”, which is again based on the dream of a spirit whale. The Nitinat
Indians are a group of Nootka tribes that occupy the southwest coast of
the island, and Tom’s claim to the name and to other Nitinat privileges
comes to him through his paternal grandfather, himself a Nitinat
Indian. The name originated with his grandfather’s father’s father’s
father, who received it in a dream as he was training for “power” in
whaling. It was assumed by Tom when he was about ten years of age, at a
naming feast given the Ts’isha’ath Indians by his Nitinat grandfather.
It displaced the boy’s name Ha’wihlkumuktli, “Having-chiefs-behind,”
this time of true Ts’isha’ath origin and descending to Tom through his
paternal grandmother’s father’s father, who again received the name
in a dream from a spirit whale. This ancestor was having much success
in whaling and, becoming exceedingly wealthy, was “leaving other
chiefs behind him.” Tom was given the name at an ordinary feast by his
paternal grandfather.
The earliest name that Tom remembers having is Tl’i’nitsawa,
“Getting-whale-skin.” When the great chief Hohenikwop had his whale
booty towed to shore, the little boys used to come to the beach for
slices of whale skin, so he made up the name of “Getting-whale-skin”
for his son. The right to use it was inherited by his oldest son,
but was also passed on to the chief’s younger sister, who brought it
as a dowry to the father of Tom’s paternal grandfather. Tom himself
received the name on the occasion of a mourning potlatch given by his
paternal grandfather in honor of his son, Tom’s father, who had died
not long before. Before this, Tom had a child’s nickname, in other
words, a name bestowed not out of the inherited stock of names claimed
by his parents, but created on the spot for any chance reason whatever.
Such nicknames have no ceremonial value, are not privileges, and are
therefore not handed down as an inheritance or transferred as a dowry.
Tom has forgotten what his nickname was.
At the very outset, in the mere consideration of what Tom has called
himself at various times, we are introduced to the two great social
forces that give atmosphere to Nootka life. The first of these is
privilege, the right to something of value, practical or ceremonial.
Such a privilege is called “topati” by the Indians, and one cannot
penetrate very far into their life or beliefs without stumbling upon
one topati after another. The second is the network of descent and
kinship relation that determines the status of the North West Coast
Indian, not merely as a tribesman once for all, but in reference to
his claim to share in any activity of moment. The threads of the
genealogical past are wound tightly about the North West Coastman; he
is himself a traditional composite of social features that belong to
diverse localities, and involve him in diverse kinship relations.
As far back, then, as he can remember, Tom has been steeped in an
atmosphere of privilege, of rank, of conflicting claims to this or that
coveted right. As far back as he can remember, he has heard remarks
like this: “Old man Tootooch has no right to have such and such a
particular Thunder-bird dance performed at his potlatches. His claim to
it is not clear. In my grandfather’s days men were killed for less than
that, and the head chief of the Ahous’ath tribe, who has the primary
claim to the dance, would have called him sharply to order.” But he
has also heard Tootooch vigorously support his claim with arguments,
genealogical and other, that no one quite knows the right or wrong
of. And as far back as he can remember, Tom has been accustomed to
think of himself not merely as a Ts’isha’ath, though he is primarily
that by residence and immediate descent, but as a participant in the
traditions, in the social atmosphere, of several other Nootka tribes.
He has always known where to look for his remoter kinsmen, dwelling in
villages that are dotted here and there on a long coast line.
The first few years of Tom’s life were spent in a “cradle” of basketry,
in which he was tightly swathed by sundry wrappings and braids of
the soft, beaten inner bark of the cedar. Even now he has a vague
recollection of looking out over the sea from the erect vantage of a
cradling basket, looped behind his mother’s shoulders. He also thinks
he remembers crying bitterly one time when left all by himself in the
basket, stood up on end against the butt of a willow tree, while his
mother and four or five other women had strayed off to dig for edible
clover roots with their hard, pointed digging-sticks.
During the cradling period, Tom was having his head, or rather his
forehead, gradually flattened by means of cedar-bark pads, and the
upper and lower parts of his legs were bandaged so as to allow the
calves to bulge. The Indians believe that they do not like big
foreheads and slim legs, nor do they approve of wide eyebrows, which
are narrowed, if necessary, by plucking out some of the hairs. Later on
in life Tom was less particular about his natural appearance, having
been well “fixed” by his mother in infancy. Like the other men of his
tribe, he has never bothered to pluck out the scanty growth of hair
on his face. Some of the Indians of Tom’s acquaintance have tattooed
themselves, generally on the breast, with designs referring to their
hunting experiences, or to crest privileges—a quarter-moon or a sea
lion or a pair of Thunder-birds,—but Tom has never bothered to do
this. Aside from the head-flattening of infancy, Tom has never had any
portion of his body mutilated, unless the perforation of his ears and
the septum of his nose, for the attachment of ear and nose pendants of
the bright rainbow-like abalone, strung by sinew threads, be considered
a mutilation. These pendants, which he and other Indians have long
discarded, were worn purely for ornament; they had no importance as
ceremonial insignia.
In spite of the fact that neither razor nor tweezers have ever smoothed
out the hairy surface of his face, Tom has not altogether neglected
the care of his body. To prevent chapping, he has often rubbed himself
with tallow and red paint, and in his younger days he was in the habit
of keeping himself in good condition by a cold plunge, at daybreak, in
river or sea. The vigorous rubbing down with hemlock branches which
followed, until the skin all tingled red, helped to give tone to his
body. He could not afford to miss the plunge and rub-down for more than
two or three days at a time, if only because to have done so would
have brought upon him the contempt and derision of his comrades. No
aspiring young hunter of the seal and the sea lion could allow himself
to be called a woman. In the course of his long life Tom has painted
his face in a great variety of ways, whether for festive occasions, or
in the private quest of supernatural power in some secluded spot in
the woods. Some of these face paints—and there are hundreds of them in
use among the Nootka—are geometrical patterns, others are emblematic
of supernatural beings and animals. Many of them, like the songs and
dances with which they are associated, are looked upon as valuable
privileges.
It is long since Tom has worn or seen worn native costume—what little
there was of it—but he distinctly remembers the blankets and cedar-bark
garments that his people wore when he was a boy and, indeed, well
on into his days of manhood. The heavy rains of the Coast, and the
constant necessity of splashing in and out of the canoes along the
beach, made tight-fitting garments and cumbrous foot- and leg-wear
undesirable. The Nootka Indians wore no clinging shirts or leggings
or moccasins. They are a barefoot and a bare-legged people. Those
of the men who could afford more than a breechclout wore a blanket
robe loosely thrown about the body, either a hide—of bear or the far
more valuable sea otter—or a woven blanket, whether of the inner bark
strands of the “yellow cedar” or the long, fleecy hair of the native
dogs. The women wore cedar-bark “petticoats,” which are nothing but
loosely fitting girdles, fringed with long tassels of cedar bark. In
rainy weather, they also wore woven hats of cedar-bark strands or split
root fibers, round topped and cone-like. When the weather was thick and
heavy with rain—and this happens often enough in the winter—both men
and women wore raincapes of cedar-bark or rush matting. The children
ran about completely naked.
The food that Tom was accustomed to in his early days did not differ
materially from his present fare. It was then, and is now, chiefly
fish—boiled, steam-baked, spit-roasted, or smoked. In all his early
haunts, in the houses and along the beach, everywhere he was immersed
in grateful, fishy odors. From the earliest time that he can remember
anything at all, he has been daily confronted by some aspect of the
life of a fishing people, whether it be the catching of salmon trout
by the boys with their two-barbed fish spears; or the spearing or
trolling or netting of salmon by the older men; or the getting in the
sea of herrings with herring rakes, of halibut with the peculiar,
gracefully bent halibut hooks that every Indian even now has kicking
around in his box of odds and ends, of cod with twirling decoys and
spears that have two prongs of unequal length—“older” and “younger”; or
the hanging up of salmon in rows to dry in the smoke houses, so that
this all-important fish may still contribute his share of the food
supply, long after the last salmon of the late fall has ceased to run;
or the splitting up of the salmon by the women as a first preliminary
to cooking; or any one of the hundreds of other scenes that make of a
fisher folk a fish-handling and a fish-eating people.
Second in importance to fish are the various varieties of edible
shellfish and other soft bodied inhabitants of the sea—mussels and
clams and sea urchins, sea cucumbers, and octopuses. The flesh of the
octopus or “devil-fish,” though not an important article of food, was
considered quite a dainty, and feasts were often given in which it
figured as a special feature, like crab apples or like the apples or
oranges of present-day feasts. Far more important than these mushy
foods, though probably subsidiary, on the whole, to salmon and other
fish, was the flesh of sea mammals—the humpbacked whale, the California
whale, the sea otter, the sea lion, and, most important of all, the
hair seal.
Tom has harpooned his fill of seals in the course of his life and, like
most other Nootka men of the last generation, has done a considerable
amount of commercial sealing for white firms in Behring Sea. He has
caught a few sea otters, which are now all but extinct, but no sea
lions or whales, though he claims to have the hereditary privilege to
hunt these animals, and to possess the indispensable magical knowledge
without which their quest is believed by the Nootka to be doomed to
failure.
Boiled whale and seal meat were highly prized and there was no more
joyous event to break the monotony of tribal life than the towing
to shore of a harpooned whale, or the drifting to shore of a whale
carcass. In either case the flensing knives were quickly got ready,
the carcass cut up, and feasts held in the village. Tom remembers how
excitedly—he was then but a boy of ten or so—he once reported the
appearance of a drifting whale carcass a quarter-mile from shore, how
the whole village rushed into its canoes, and how they laboriously
floated it on to the sandy beach, with their stout lanyards of cedar
rope wound with nettle-fiber. The whale was cut up carefully, under the
direction of a “measurer” into its traditionally determined portions,
which were then distributed, according to hereditary right, to those
entitled to receive them. Tom himself got the meat about the navel as
a reward for his find. There was an unusual amount of whale oil tried
out that time, and the fires at the feasts leaped higher than ever as
the oil was thrown upon them, lighting up in lurid flashes the house
posts carved into the likenesses of legendary ancestors.
Tom ate very little meat of land animals in his early days. Indeed,
like most of the Coast people, he had a prejudice against deer meat
and it was not until, as a middle-aged man, he had come into contact
with some of the deer-hunting tribes of the interior of the island,
that he learned to prize it, though even to this day venison has not
for him the toothsome appeal of a chunk of whale meat. Fish and meat
were the staples, yet not the only foods. The women dug up a variety of
edible roots such as clover and fern root, which made a welcome change,
while blackberries, salmon berries, soapberries, and other varieties,
frequently dried and pressed for winter consumption, added a sweetening
to the somewhat monotonous fare. One relish Tom has never learned to
enjoy—salt. All the older Nootka Indians detest salt in their food.
As Tom grew up, he became initiated into the chief handicrafts of his
tribe. He got to be rather skillful at working in wood, both the soft
red cedar and the hard yew and spiræa, familiarizing himself with the
various wood-working processes—felling trees with wedges and stone
hammers, splitting out planks, smoothing with adzes, drilling, handling
the curved knife, steaming, and bending by the “kerfing” or notching
process. Even in his youngest years, iron-bladed and iron-pointed tools
had almost completely replaced the aboriginal implements of stone and
shell, but the forms themselves, of the manufactured objects, underwent
little or no modification down to the present day. In the course of
his long life Tom has made hundreds of wooden articles of use—boxes
with telescoping lids, paddles, bailers, fish clubbers, adze handles,
ladles, bows, arrow shafts, fire drills, latrines, root diggers, fish
spears, and shafts for sealing and whaling harpoons. He has also
assisted in making dugout canoes, and has often prepared and put in
position the heavy posts and beams of the large quadrangular houses
that were still being built in his youth. On the other hand, Tom has
never developed much aptitude in the artistic decoration of objects.
Such things as paintings on house boards and paddles, or realistic
carvings in masks, rattles, ornamental fish clubbers and house posts,
are rather beyond his power and have had to be made for him, when
required, by others more clever than himself. The one thing that Tom
grew to be most proficient in was the preparation of house planks of
desired lengths and widths. When he was a young man, he would travel
about in canoes from village to village with the stock of planks he
had on hand, and trade them for blankets, strings of dentalium shells,
dried fish, whale oil, and other exchangeable commodities. It was
through trading, rather than through personal success in fishing or
hunting, that Tom amassed in time a considerable share of wealth, and
it was through his wealth and the opportunity it gave him to make
lavish distributions at potlatches or feasts, rather than through
nobility of blood, that he came to occupy his present honorable
position among his tribesmen.
While Tom and the other men, when they were not busy “potlatching”
or visiting some relative, or taking a run down to Victoria, were
engaged in fishing and sea mammal hunting and wood-working, the women
prepared the food, dug for edible roots, gathered clams, and spent
what time they could spare from these and similar tasks in the weaving
and plaiting of blankets, matting, and baskets. What receptacles were
not of wood were of basketry, while mats of various sorts did duty for
tables, hangings, and carpeting. The materials of these baskets and
mats, the omnipresent cedar bark and the rush, frayed easily, so that
the women were kept constantly busy replenishing the household stock.
Even now one can hardly enter a Nootka house without seeing one or
more of the women twilling mats and baskets with strips of softened
cedar bark or twining the cedar-bark strands into cordage and bags, or
threading a rush mat with the long needles of polished spiræa. In the
old days, there was always in the house a great clatter of breaking up
the raw, yellow cedar bark with the corrugated bark beaters of bone
of whale, and of loosening up the hard strips of red cedar bark into
fibrous masses with the half-moon shredders. The women could work up
the bark into almost any degree of fineness; indeed, the cedar-bark
“wool” that was used to pad the cradles is almost as soft and fluffy in
feel as down or cotton batting. When Tom was a boy, the women made only
plain, unornamented baskets, whether twined or twilled, and ornamented
the mats with sober, but effective lines of alder-dyed red and
mud-dyed black. Since then, however, they have taken to making also
trinket baskets and plaques of the peculiar wrapped weave, beautifully
ornamented with realistic and geometrical designs in the black and
white weft of grass. This art came to Tom’s people from the Nitinats
or Southern Nootka, who in turn owe it to the Makah of Cape Flattery.
Trade with the whites is the chief incentive in the making of these
finer specimens of basketry.
Nowadays the Nootka live in small frame houses, a family, in our
narrower sense of the word, to a house. It was not so when Tom was
young. The village of Hikwis, in which he was raised, consisted of a
row of long plank houses, each constructed on a heavy quadrangular
frame of posts, which were the trimmed trunks of cedars, and of
crossbeams of circular section resting on the posts. The roofing and
walls were of cedar planks, running lengthwise of the house. The floor
was the bare earth, stamped smooth, and a slightly raised platform ran
along the rear and the long sides of the house. On the inner floor one
or more fires were built, the smoke escaping through openings in the
roof, provided by merely shoving a roofing plank or two to a side.
Tom early learned not to stand erect in the house any more than he
could help. The smoke circulating in the upper reaches of the house,
particularly in rainy weather when the smoke-hole rafters were closed,
was trying to the eyes, and people found it convenient to sit or crouch
on the floor as much as possible. Some of the houses, like the one
in which Tom was brought up, had paintings or carvings referring to
the crests or legendary escutcheons of the chief of the tribe, tribal
subdivision, or house group. In Tom’s house the main escutcheons were
two Thunder-birds, face to face, painted on the outside of the wall
planks; a series of round holes cut in the roof, and one in front that
served as a door, all representing moons; and paintings of wolves
on the boards that ran below the platforms. The chief of the house
group, together with his immediate family, occupied the rear of the
house; other families of lesser rank, kin to the chief by junior lines
of descent, occupied various positions along the sides. Slaves were
also housed in the long communal dwelling. They were not, like the
middle class, undistinguished relations of the chief’s families, but
strangers, captured in war or bartered off like any chattels. The mat
beds of the individual families were made on the platforms and were
screened off from one another as required.
In such a house Tom early learned his exact relationship to all his
kinsmen. He soon learned also the degree of his relationship to the
neighboring house groups. He applied the terms “brother” and “sister”
not only to his immediate brothers and sisters but to his cousins,
near and remote, of the same generation. He distinguished, among
all these remoter brothers and sisters, “older” and “younger,” not
according to their actual ages in relation to his own, but according
to whether they belonged to lines of descent that were senior or
junior to his own. Primogeniture, he gradually learned, both of self
and progenitor, meant superiority in rank and privilege. Hence the
terms “older” and “younger,” almost from the beginning, took on a
powerful secondary tinge of “superior” and “inferior.” The absurdity
of calling some little girl cousin, perhaps ten years his junior, his
“older sister” was for him immensely less evident because of his ever
present consciousness of her higher rank. As Tom grew older, he became
cognizant of an astonishing number of uncles and aunts, grandfathers
and grandmothers, of endless brothers-in-law—far and near. He was very
much at home in the world. Wherever he turned, he could say, “Younger
brother, come here!” or “Grandfather, let me have this.” The personal
names of most of his acquaintances were hardly more than tags for
calling out at a distance, or at ceremonial gatherings.
Along with his feeling of personal relationship to individuals there
grew up in Tom a consciousness of the existence of tribal subdivisions
in the village. The Ts’isha’ath tribe, with which he was identified by
residence, kinship, and upbringing, proved really to be a cluster of
various smaller tribal units, of which the Ts’isha’ath, that gave their
name to the whole, were the leading group. The other subdivisions were
originally independent tribes that had lost their isolated distinctness
through conquest, weakening in numbers, or friendly removal and union.
Each of the tribal subdivisions or “septs” had its own stock of
legends, its distinctive privileges, its own houses in the village, its
old village sites and distinctive fishing and hunting waters that were
still remembered in detail by its members. While the septs now lived
together as a single tribe, the basis of the sept division was really
a traditional local one. The sept grouping was perhaps most markedly
brought to light at ceremonial gatherings. Tom learned in time that
of all the honored seats recognized at a feast, a certain number of
contiguous seats in the rear of the house belonged to representatives
of the Ts’isha’ath sept, a certain number of others at the right corner
in the rear to those of another sept, and so on. Thus, the proper
ranking of the septs was ever kept before the eye by the definite
assignment of seats of higher and lower rank.
But it must not be supposed that Tom’s childhood and youth were spent
entirely in work and in the acquirement of social and ceremonial
knowledge. On the contrary, what interested him at least as much as
sociology was play. He spun his tops—rather clumsy looking, two-pegged
tops they were—threw his gaming spears in the spear and grass game
and in the hoop-rolling game, hit feathered billets with a flat bat,
threw beaver teeth dice (though this was chiefly a woman’s game),
and, when he grew older, took part in the favorite game of “lehal,”
the almost universal Western American guessing game, played with two
or four gambling bones to the accompaniment of stirring songs. More
properly belonging to the domain of sport was the somewhat dangerous
game of canoe-upsetting, in which the contestants upset their canoes
and quickly righted them at a hand-clap signal. This was an especially
favored game of Tom’s. All through his life, up to the time that he
lost his sight, he was as instinctively familiar with the run of water,
the dip and lurch of a canoe, and the turn of a paddle, as with the
movements of walking on the land. Indeed, for days on end, at certain
seasons, his life flowed on insistently to the very rhythm of rising
and falling wave.
In at least one class of activities and beliefs Tom constantly
received definite instruction from his father and maternal uncle.
This was the world of unseen things, the mysterious domain of magic,
of supernaturally compelling act and of preventive tabu. There were
hundreds of things he must be careful to do or to avoid if he would
have success in hunting and fishing, if he would be certain that unseen
but ever present powers favor him in his pursuits or, at the least,
desist from visiting harm upon him. He must be particularly careful not
to anger the supernatural powers, among whom are to be counted the
fish and mammals of the sea, by contamination with unclean things—and
most obnoxious of all unclean things is the presence or influence of
a menstruating or pregnant woman. For instance, a sealer or hunter of
sea lions must not drag his canoe down to the water’s edge, but have
it carried over, as otherwise it might run over offal or some spot
through which a menstruating woman had passed, and thus carry with it
a scent that would frighten away the game. And one must be careful
about his speech when hunting on the sea. A curious example of this
is the fiction by which fur seal hunting is spoken of as gathering
driftwood, the fur seal himself being referred to as “the one that sits
yonder under a tree.” It would not do to let him know too precisely
what is going on while he is being hunted! The various tabus that Tom
has learnt and practised in the course of his life are almost without
number, and his practical success and longevity he ascribes in no small
measure to his religious observance of them all.
The tabus are largely preventive measures. But Tom learned that there
are more positive ways of working one’s will in the world of magic. One
of these is the use of certain amulets on the person, hidden in the
house or woods, or in connection with hunting and fishing implements.
As a general good-luck amulet, Tom was fond of wearing in his hat the
spine of the “rat-fish.” When his father was about to die, he called
Tom to him and whispered in his ear an important secret. This was that
the chief life-guarding amulet of the family had been a fire drill
that was secreted at the bottom of an old box filled with all sorts of
odds and ends. Its efficacy depended largely on the fact that hardly
anybody knew of it. In general, secrecy helps tremendously in the
power of all magic objects and formulæ. An Indian likes to withhold as
much as possible, even from his nearest kin, until economic urgency or
the approach of death compels him to transmit the magical knowledge
to some one that is near and dear to him. Some of his most powerful
amulets Tom would secrete in the canoe or hide under the cherry bark
wrappings around the hafts of his hunting spears. These amulets were of
all sorts, but chiefly fragments of supernatural animals—blind snakes,
crabs, spiders, or the like—obtained in the woods.
Some men are fortunate in getting power for hunting, fishing, wealth,
love, doctoring, witchcraft, or whatever it may be, from supernatural
beings or visitations. Amulets are often obtained in connection
with these experiences, which regularly take place in mysterious or
out-of-the-way places—the open sea, a remote island, the summit of
a mountain, the heart of the woods,—and of all mysteries, it is the
mystery of the dark woods that most fascinates and inspires with dread
the coast villager, so much at home on the sandy beach and on open
sea spaces. The supernatural givers of power are a variegated and
grotesque lot—mysterious hands pointing up out of the earth; the scaly,
knife-tongued, lightning serpent; fairy-like beings; treacherous tree
nymphs; hobgoblins; ogres; and strange hybrid animals that seem to
have stepped out of nightmares. All these denizens of the supernatural
world have power to bestow that may not with impunity be refused. This
power, once obtained, must be carefully husbanded by the observance of
requisite tabus.
Tom has not had as many supernatural experiences as some men, but he
has nevertheless been favored by two or three striking visitations.
A gnome-like being of the beneficent, wealth-giving class known as
Chimimis, once appeared to him as he was sitting out at dusk in company
with two other men. Though these companions had their eyes directed
at the Chimimis, they could not perceive him. Tom alone, speechless
with astonishment, saw him place two spears on the roof of the house,
walk off to the neighboring house, and disappear, so it seemed, in a
log. When Tom came to himself, he scraped off those parts of the spear
shafts that the hand of the Chimimis had gripped. He preserved the
scrapings as an amulet and, in time, became one of the wealthiest men
of his tribe.
At another time Tom obtained power from a supernatural being known as
“Full-eyed,” a diminutive, brownie-like creature. He was lying very
ill in the house, gazing steadfastly at the fire, when the popping up
of a little cinder caused him to raise his eyes. He saw what seemed to
be a child circling the fire in a counter-clockwise direction, which
is the exact opposite of the Nootka direction in dancing. He knew
immediately that it was Full-eyed. The brownie carried a small storage
basket on his breast, and picked up from the floor anything he could
lay his hands on. Though Tom had been unable to sit up straight, this
supernatural experience infused him with such sudden strength that
he was now easily able to sit up. He believed also that, from this
time on, wealth rolled into his house more rapidly than ever. The
third of Tom’s supernatural experiences was less striking than the
other two, but apparently equally potent in its practical results. Tom
was reclining on the sleeping platform of the house, in the dead of
winter, when he observed a strange thing in one of the storage baskets
on the box that marked the head of his bed. He noticed that a big
black bumblebee gave birth to an infant bee. This seemed remarkable
and evidently significant in view of the fact that the young bees
ordinarily come into being in the summer, only. Because Tom was sole
witness to so strange an occurrence, he was more than ever favored in
the accumulation of wealth.
Such extraordinary occurrences as these are clearly in the nature
of accidents; they cannot be relied upon for the necessary aid in
the successful prosecution of life’s work. The standard, and on the
whole, the most useful means of securing this necessary aid is by the
performance of secret rituals. Nothing came to one who did not undergo
considerable hardship in training. This Tom learned early in life. If
he wished to be a successful fisherman, or a hunter of sea mammals, or
a land hunter, he had to retire at certain seasons to secret places
in the woods, known only to the respective families that frequented
them. Here, for days on end, he would bathe, rub himself down with
hemlock branches until the skin tingled with pain, pray to the Sky
Chief for long life and success, and, most important of all, carry
out secret, magical performances based on the principle of imitation.
If he wished to obtain power in sealing, he would build effigies of
twigs representing the seal, the harpooning outfit, and the hunting
canoe. The aspirants for success would dramatize the future hunt in its
magical setting. He himself performed imitative actions and offered
continuous prayers for success. These periods of preparation tested
physical endurance to the utmost; fasting, continuous wakefulness,
sexual continence, and the observance of all sorts of tabus formed part
of the training. There was little that one could not learn to do, if
only he were hardy enough to undergo the necessary magical preparation.
Such young men as were fired with extraordinary ambitions, say unusual
success in whaling or the acquirement of potent shamanistic power,
would train the will and chasten the cries of the flesh for incredibly
long periods, their spiritual eye fixed singly on the austerities of
magical procedure.
Tom never devoted himself to unusual rigors in the acquirement of
magical power. He contented himself with the normal routine enjoined
upon those planning to seal, to spear salmon, to troll, to catch
halibut with hooks, to spear cod with the aid of decoys, to accumulate
wealth, to prepare for ritualistic performances, and to obtain enough
shamanistic power to withstand the attempts of evil-minded people to
bewitch him. He never ventured upon the more difficult and exhausting
procedures required to make a successful whaler or hunter of sea
lions. Of the more unusual types of secret ritual, Tom attempted but
one. When past middle age, he was fired with the ambition to learn
how to interpret the speech of ravens. The ravens are believed to be
the supernatural messengers of the wolves, the most austere and eerie
of all beings, in the belief of the Nootka. Could Tom have learned to
unravel the mysteries concealed in the croakings of these supernatural
birds, there is little doubt that he would have been able to advance in
ritual power far beyond his fellow tribesmen. Unfortunately he found
the quest of this difficult knowledge too exhausting, too baffling. Tom
acknowledges his failure with a sigh.
The secret rituals could only be performed at auspicious periods, when
the moon was waxing and when the days were becoming progressively
long. It was for this reason that Tom was always very careful to keep
track of the passage of time, of the recurrence of the moons. If some
neighbor, less wise and observant, committed the error of taking one
moon for another and of performing magical rituals out of season,
Tom would say nothing. He would smile and keep counsel with himself,
knowing well that his neighbor’s efforts when the hunting season came
around, were doomed to failure. While Tom was one of those that never
went out of his way to bewitch his neighbors or to spoil their luck,
he was naturally not altogether displeased when they put themselves
at a disadvantage. It was none of his business to correct them, to
strengthen the hands of possible rivals.
Medicine men gained their power in a manner perfectly analogous to
all other quests for magical assistance. The difference was simply
that they sought aid of such beings as were known to grant power to
cure diseases and to counteract witchcraft. The material guardians
and amulets obtained by medicine men, generally certain birds and
rarer fish, were locked away in their breasts. When required for
the detection of sickness, for the cure of the diseased, or for the
overcoming of an evil opponent, they could be called upon to fly
invisibly to the desired goal and to return at will. Tom himself
obtained a modicum of power from the mallard ducks, but not enough to
warrant his considering himself a regular practitioner. He had, also,
a certain inherited, shamanistic power, or rather privilege, that came
to him from a Nitinat ancestor. This is why at public shamanistic
performances which form part of the Ts’ayek cult, Tom’s oldest son has
the right to initiate shamanistic novices at a certain point in the
ceremonial procedure, though he himself is not a practising medicine
man.
Many Nootka are accused of gaining power to bewitch their enemies
or rivals, whether by the handling of their food, nail parings, and
body effluvia, or by the pronouncing of direful spells in connection
with the name and effigy of the hated person. Tom never indulged in
such mean spirited pursuits, but he is very sure that many of his
acquaintances have done so. It is the constant fear of witchcraft that
even to this day causes the Indians to keep many dogs around the house,
and to lock their doors securely at night. The barking of the dogs is
useful in calling attention to malevolent “pains” or minute disease
objects that wander about, particularly at night, while the locking of
doors is essential in denying these objects an entrance.
The great supernatural beings of Nootka belief, such as the Sky Chief,
the Thunder-bird, and the Wolves, loomed very large in Tom’s life,
whether in prayer or in ritual. Certain Nootka are more deeply
religious than others. They are more fervent in their prayers and they
work themselves up to a greater ecstasy in the performance of rituals
that are sacred to divine powers. In contrast to men of this type, Tom
has always been rather sober, not a skeptic by any means, but not an
emotional enthusiast. His knowledge of religious ceremonials is vast,
but the spirit that animates this knowledge is rather one of order, of
legal particularity, not of spiritual ecstasy. The practical economical
world, the pursuit of gain, has always been more congenial to Tom’s
temperament. This does not mean that Tom is a rationalist in matters
relating to the unseen world. Only the educated or half-educated
half-breeds are rationalists, and more than one of them has angered Tom
by his ill-advised attempts to disturb him with skeptical arguments.
However, there has been no change in Tom. He knows, as firmly as he
knows his own name, that when the rumble of thunder is heard from the
mountain, it is because the Thunder-bird is leaving his house on the
peak, flapping his wings heavily, as he makes off for the sea to prey
upon the whales. He knows also that when those that are not blind
like himself tell him that there has been a flash of lightning, it is
because the Thunder-bird has dropped the belt wound about his middle.
This belt is the lightning serpent, zig-zagging down to the earth or
coiling in a flash around a cedar tree.
Aside from the elementary problem of making his living, a Nootka’s
main concern is to earn the esteem of his fellow tribesmen by a lavish
display of wealth. It is not enough for him to accumulate it and to
live in private ease. He must, from time to time, invite the other
families of his tribe, and the neighboring tribes, to public ceremonies
known as potlatches, in which one or more of the important privileges
to which he is entitled are shown and glorified by the distribution
of property to the guests. The exhibiting of privileges may take
several forms. The most important of them refer to ancestral crests,
which may be shown in a dramatic performance, as a picture on a board,
or latterly, on canvas, or symbolized in a dance. Ceremonial games
are another frequent type of exhibitions of privileges at certain
potlatches. Nearly all privileges have their proper songs, which are
themselves jealously guarded privileges, and which are sung on these
occasions.
There are two considerations that make the public performance of the
more important privileges a matter of the greatest moment. In the
first place, a man must clearly indicate his right to its performance
by recounting the origin myth that it dramatizes, and by tracing his
personal connection with the originator of the privilege. In the second
place, he must be careful to distribute at least as much property as
has already been distributed in his family, in connection with the
public presentation of the privilege. If it is at all possible, he
will try to exceed the record, so as to add to the public prestige
not only of himself and his immediate family, but of the privilege
itself. Should he fail in either of these essential respects, he is
shamed. Hence, an important potlatch is not to be lightly undertaken.
It requires much careful thought and preparation, and it necessitates
the gathering of enough wealth to pay for all the services rendered
by singers and other assistants, to present substantial gifts to the
guests, and to feed the crowd of men, women and children that are
present at the ceremony.
A potlatch is not often given as a mere display of wealth. Nearly
always it is combined with some definite social or religious function,
such as the giving of a name, the coming to marriageable age of
a daughter, marriage, a mourning ceremony, the Wolf ritual, or a
doctoring ceremony. Potlatching in its fundamental sense, in other
words the giving away of property to the guests, is an essential of
practically all ceremonies, big or little, religious or profane. Every
potlatch involves at least three parties, the giver, the guest or
guests, and the person in whose honor the potlatch is given. The last
of these is generally some young member of the family whose prestige
is thus furthered early in life, but it may be a stranger who has done
the giver a service. There are different kinds of gifts. Certain of
them are ceremonial grants to which the highest in rank of the tribe
are entitled, but which they are expected to return with one hundred
per cent interest at a subsequent potlatch. Another class of gifts,
which feature the most important and picturesque part of the potlatch,
is made to the highest in rank among the guests. There is no rigid
rule as to the return of these gifts, but in practice they are nearly
always liquidated at a return potlatch, with gifts of an equal, and in
many cases greater, value. Finally, towards the end of the potlatch,
there is a general distribution of smaller amounts to the crowd. Less
careful account is taken of the return of such gifts than of the first
two types. In part, the giving of a potlatch amounts to an investment
of value, though it is doubtful whether, among the Nootka, the greater
part of the expenditure incurred at a potlatch ever returned to its
owner.
A potlatch serves not only a definite social and economic purpose for
its giver, but affords, as well, an opportunity for minor distributions
of property, such as public payments for services, on the part of other
individuals present. Indeed any announcements of importance, such as
the handing over of a privilege or a change in name, would be most
appropriately made at a potlatch. The assembled tribesmen and guests
were, to all intents and purposes, witnesses to such announcements.
Tom began to give potlatches on his own account when still quite a
young man. The first one of any importance that he was responsible for,
was a potlatch in honor of his niece’s husband. This was a man of low
birth, whom Tom had vowed to have nothing to do with. When his niece,
however, gave birth to a child, Tom relented and, in order to wash
away the stain on his family’s honor, he called together thirty of his
relatives, and distributed four guns and a blanket to each. He also
sang two of his privileged songs, which he then and there transferred
to the child as its due privilege. This potlatch not only marked a
reconcilement with his low-born nephew, but gave the little youngster a
fair start in life in the race for status. The next of Tom’s potlatches
was a Wolf ritual, in which he himself performed two of the ceremonial
dances, those of the Thunder-bird and the Wolf circling about on all
fours.
Some time after this, Tom resolved to marry a Ts’isha’ath girl named
Witsah. In spite of the fact that she was a member of his own tribe,
Tom wooed the girl not as a Ts’isha’ath, but as a member of a Nitinat
tribe, among whom he had kinsmen on his father’s side. As his own
father was dead, he had ten of his Nitinat uncles woo the girl on
his behalf. The wooing is always an important part of the marriage
preliminaries, and consists chiefly in the placing of objects,
symbolizing one or more of the privileges of the suitor, outside
the house of the girl’s family. The suitor himself is not present.
Sometimes the objects are refused, when the suit may be continued until
an acceptance is gained, though this does not necessarily follow. The
suitor privileges deposited by Tom’s representatives consisted of ten
fires and a carving, representing the lightning serpent. These were
accepted and returned to Tom’s uncle as an indication of willingness on
the part of the bride’s parents to proceed with the marriage ceremony.
Not long after the return of the privileges, the marriage ceremony was
celebrated among the Ts’isha’ath people. The money distributed at that
time by Tom and his Nitinat relatives constituted a bridal purchase,
but when Tom’s first child was born, the property then distributed was
returned to Tom and the Nitinats with interest.
The greater part of the marriage ceremony consists of the performance
of ceremonial games, each of which is accompanied by special songs,
and followed by distributions of property. These games symbolize the
difficulty of obtaining the hand of the bride, referring as they do
to legendary tests that suitors were compelled to undergo in the past,
before they could be admitted by the bride’s father. One of the tests,
for instance, might be the lifting of an especially heavy stone, or
standing for some time without flinching between two fires. According
to legendary theory such tests should be endured by the bridegroom
himself, but in actual ceremonial practice any one of the bridegroom’s
party may be the winner in the contest, and receive the prize from the
bride’s father or whoever of her people is the proud possessor of that
particular marriage-game privilege.
Some time after his marriage Tom gave two potlatches in a single month.
The first of these was a puberty potlatch in behalf of a younger sister
of his. The second was a birth feast or, as the Nootka term it a “navel
feast” for his first child, a boy. About a year later Tom invited the
Ucluelet people, one of the Nootka tribes, to a feast at which many
dance privileges were performed and much property distributed. By this
time Tom was getting to be pretty well known among the tribes of the
west coast of Vancouver Island, for his rapidly growing wealth and
for his potlatches. It was, therefore, no surprise to him, though it
proved very gratifying, to have the chief of the Ahousat, one of the
most powerful of the northern Nootka tribes, especially invite him to
a potlatch at which he was given four of the chief’s ceremonial songs.
In return, Tom gave a potlatch to the Ahousat and the Comox, a tribe
of alien speech from the east coast of the Island. He distributed four
hundred blankets to the former, three hundred to the latter.
A year or two after this potlatch, occurred the decisive event in
Tom’s social career. This was the birth of his first daughter. The
most magnificent Nootka potlatches are generally given in connection
with a daughter’s puberty ceremony. Ever since his marriage, Tom had
been hoping to be able, in the fullness of time, to make a record in
potlatching among his people, and to show his most valued privileges at
the puberty potlatch of a daughter. Now that he was actually blessed by
the arrival of a little girl, Tom’s plans took immediate shape. He set
about the accumulation of property with more zest than ever, driving
many a sharp bargain with the Indians and whites, and he revolved
frequently in his mind what tribes he was to invite, and what dramatic
displays, dances and songs he was to use at the great ceremony. His
first concern was to build a large house of native construction that
the guests were to enter when invited to the Ts’isha’ath people.
Appropriate timbers for posts and beams are not easy to find,
especially since the white man’s sawmill has made its appearance in the
country. Hence, Tom was indefatigable in making inquiries of various
persons and keeping his eye out for sufficiently large and conveniently
located cedars. As he found such trees, he had them felled, hauled up
to the Ts’isha’ath village along the Somass river, and put in place as
opportunity presented itself. The actual construction of the house was
thus spread over a period of some ten or fifteen years.
At one time an unfortunate casualty occurred. One of the heavy
crossbeams fell to the ground, fortunately without injuring any one,
but the event was considered an ill omen. Nevertheless, Tom did
the best he could to ward off the evil influence by having a dance
performed in honor of the spirit of the beam. Special songs that he
possessed for this purpose were sung at the time.
Tom hoped that he could have the house completed before his daughter
arrived at maturity. He was doomed to disappointment. His house still
lacked one of the crossbeams and all the lighter wood-work, when his
wife announced to him one morning that their daughter had come of age,
was menstruating, in other words, for the first time. There was nothing
for it but to have the puberty ceremony performed at once, reserving
the main puberty potlatch for a few months later. Tom painted his face
red and invited the neighboring Hopach’as’ath tribe to the puberty
ceremony, the “torches standing on the ground,” as it is termed.
This ceremony marks the beginning of the period of seclusion of the
girl. She is painted and ornamented for the occasion, generally with
legendary insignia belonging to the family, is made to stand in front
of two long boards painted with representations of Thunder-birds and
whales, and has water thrown four times at her feet. Four or ten poles,
the so-called “torches,” are lighted and later distributed with gifts
to those entitled to receive them. Songs of various types are sung,
particularly satirical songs twitting the opposite sex. Ceremonial
games, some of them anticipating later marriage games, are also
performed and prizes are distributed. After a general distribution of
goods, the guests depart, leaving the girl to fast for four days and
to enter upon a secluded period of various tabus behind the painted
boards in the rear of the house.
After the puberty ceremony, Tom proceeded to Victoria to lay in his
store of supplies for the impending potlatch. He bought an enormous
number of boxes of biscuits, and to this day nothing pleases him
more than to tell of how he compelled the white merchant to give him
a special rate on the unusual order. As soon as the provisions were
safely deposited at his village, Tom invited twelve tribes to his
potlatch. To the nearer tribes he sent messengers; the more remote
tribes of the east coast he invited in person. When the appointed day
arrived, the Ts’isha’ath found that they had on their hands by far the
largest number of guests that had ever visited the tribe at a single
time. It was the proudest moment of Tom’s life. Everything went well.
There was enough food for all, the distributions of property were
generous, and all the privileges were interestingly presented. There
were a considerable number of these privileges performed, one or two
of them being fairly elaborate dramatic representations that were new
even to the most northern Nootka tribes, great potlatchers though they
are. Tom’s hereditary claim to the performances, the dances and the
songs, was carefully explained by the ceremonial speaker. The ancestral
legends were in every case recounted at length. Tom’s title to the
special crests of the whale and the Thunder-bird was duly set forth.
The explanation of the carved house posts took the speaker back to the
creation of the first Ts’isha’ath man from the thigh of a woman. Due
account, as usual in these origin legends, was taken of the flood. The
potlatch securely established Tom’s position among the Indians of the
Island. To this day it is often referred to by the Ts’isha’ath and
their neighbors. Tom’s family was “put high” as never before. More
than once, Tom’s grandson has found himself, when visiting comparative
strangers, say among the East Coast tribes, received with open arms
and honored with gifts of great value, all on the strength of his
grandfather’s potlatch.
Tom’s potlatching career did not end here. Some time later he
invited the Kyuquot, a Nootka tribe adjoining the Kwakiutl. At this
potlatch he gave a dramatic representation of a number of privileges,
including two Thunder-birds, a spouting whale, the supernatural
quartz-beings known as He’na, and a supernatural bird known as Mihtach,
a sort of mallard duck that haunts the top of the mountain called
“Two-bladders-on-its-summit.” The Heshkwiat tribe of Nootka was the
next to be invited to a potlatch. A year or two after this, the second
greatest ceremonial event in Tom’s career took place, in the form
of his second Wolf ritual or Tlokwana. The ritual was given for the
special benefit of his oldest son Douglas and his newly married wife.
These were the chief initiates in the ritual. Curiously enough, Tom’s
little grandson, as yet unborn, was also initiated. This is an extreme
instance of the tendency of the Nootka Indians to heap honors upon
their offspring at the earliest possible opportunity.
The Wolf ritual is the most awesome, the most fascinating and
fear-inspiring ceremony that the Nootka possess. Whatever religious
exaltation or frenzy they are capable of, finds expression in this
elaborate ritual. The performance, which generally lasts eight days,
preferably in the winter, is dominated throughout by the spirit of
the wolves who are believed to be hovering near at the outskirts of
the village. The more important parts of the ceremonial are open to
only such members of the tribe as have been initiated. Many tabus must
be observed by those participating, and an attitude of high-minded
seriousness must be maintained throughout. In the old days, frivolity
during the more strictly religious parts of the ritual, aside of course
from the ceremonial buffoonery, was very severely punished by the
marshaling attendants. Spearing to death on the spot was the penalty
for infraction of the most sacred tabus.
The ritual begins with the songs and other ceremonial activities of an
ordinary potlatch. Rumors are set going of the appearance of wolves in
the neighborhood of the village. These rumors, accentuated by tales
of narrow escapes and bloody casualties, act powerfully upon the
imagination of the children, who are soon reduced to a state of panic.
All of a sudden the lights are extinguished, and the four “wolves”
break through the side of the house. In the confusion that ensues
they make off with the youngsters that are to be initiated. From this
moment, begins the ritual proper. A certain number of the tribe have
the hereditary privilege to “play wolf,” that is, to act as wolves
during certain parts of the ritual beyond the confines of the village,
to make off with the novices, and keep these as supposed prisoners in
the woods. For a number of days, there are supposed to be unsuccessful
attempts to take back the captured novices, but the wolves remain
obdurate until certain songs are sung, when the novices are brought
out in view of the people and the series of attacks finally succeeds
in routing the wolves. The novices are supposed to be frenzied by the
spirits of various supernatural beings that possess them. They must be
brought back by force. Those privileged to do so lasso them, and, to
the accompaniment of sacred songs, the struggling novices are conducted
to the potlatch house, whistling furiously all the while. The hubbub of
mingled whistling, drumming and simultaneous singing of many distinct
ritual songs, continues for the greater part of the night. The din is
indescribable. During the following day is performed the most sacred
episode in the ritual. The whistling spirits that possess the novices
must be exorcised by means of sacred dances and songs. A purification
ceremony of bathing in the river or sea follows. The remainder of the
ritual consists of the performance of a number of special dances, each
of which is appropriate to the particular supernatural being that is
supposed to have possessed one of the initiates. There are many of
these dances, varying greatly in their prestige as privileges, and in
their character of religious frenzy. Probably the most austere of the
dances is that of the supernatural wolf, who crawls about in reckless
pursuit of destruction and has to be restrained with great difficulty
by a number of attendants. Other dances represent various types of
woodsy creatures or ogres. Many of them are pantomimic representations
of animals, while human activities of various kinds are represented in
still others.
With this Wolf ritual Tom’s ceremonial activities gradually lessened.
He continued to take an active interest in whatever potlatches were
given by his family, and he often helped with his advice and active
coöperation in the singing of songs and the delivering of ceremonial
addresses, particularly of the formal speeches of thanks. Now that he
had done his share in establishing the glory of his family, Tom sat
back and allowed his eldest son to take the initiative, at least in
theory, in all ceremonies affecting their standing in the tribe.
It is long since Tom has been able to do useful work. He is entirely
dependent on his oldest son’s family, with whom he lives, but they do
not feel his presence to be a burden. For one thing, he is uniformly
good-natured, very talkative about his own past and in judging his
neighbors, and always ready to help with his advice in matters of
importance, whether it be the preparations for a potlatch or some
contested sealing claim. But back of the garrulous, shabby Tom of the
present, looms up the Tom of the great potlatches of former days. It is
to this Tom that his children and grandchildren almost entirely owe the
high standing that they maintain among their people.
When Tom dies he will be put in a coffin and buried in the ground. This
was not the old Nootka custom. The more important families had caves in
which their deceased members were put away; others were laid in burial
boxes or rush mats which were then put up in trees back of the village.
Near the place of the burial there would be put up a grave post,
constructed of roof rafters of the house, on which would be painted one
of the crests of the deceased.
Though the old burial customs are no longer followed, some of the
beliefs and practices attending death have not yet died out. Thus, the
immediate personal effects of the deceased, as well as considerable
additional property, are always destroyed. In the old days the whole
house might be burned down, and tales are told of how the mourning
survivors would move off to another spot to build them a new house.
In all likelihood there will be performed immediately after Tom’s
death a ceremony intended to comfort the family of the deceased and to
induce Tom’s spirit to leave the house and its vicinity. Tom’s soul
will have left his body in the shape of a tiny shadow-like double of
himself, through the crown of his head, to assume eventually the form
of a full-fledged ghost. It is safe to assume that the tabu of the
dead person’s name will be carefully observed. Not only will Tom’s
name not be mentioned by his tribesmen for a stated period, but all
words that involve the main element of his name will be carefully
avoided. This element denotes the idea of “distant.” People will have
to get along as best they can without it, whether by beating about the
bush, by stretching the meaning of some other element so as to enable
it to take its place, or, if need be, by borrowing the corresponding
element, provided it be of different sound, from some other dialect.
Wailing sounds will be heard in the village for some time after Tom’s
death, and it is very likely that at a mourning potlatch a number of
privileges belonging to the family, say four songs, will be thrown
away. Such privileges are tabued during the mourning period. At the
end of the mourning period, which may be anything from a year to ten,
another potlatch is given by one of the family and the tabus are
lifted. When that time arrives Tom’s name will have passed into native
history. The name Sayach’apis, “Stands-up-high-over-all,” will then be
freely referred to with pride or with envy.