AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE
"HOW does it happen that you speak English, Kalitan?" asked Mr. Strong
as they sat around the camp-fire that evening. The snow had continued
during the afternoon, and the boys had had an exciting time coasting and
snow-balling and enjoying themselves generally.
"I went for a few months to the Mission School at Wrangel," said
Kalitan. "I learned much there. They teach the boys to read and write
and do sums and to work the ground besides. They learn much more than
the girls."
"Huh!" said the old chief, grimly. "Girls learn too much. They no good
for Indian wives, and white men not marry them. Best for girls to stay
at home at the will of their fathers until they get husbands."
"So you've been in Wrangel," said Ted to Kalitan. "We went there, too.
It's a dandy place. Do you remember the fringe of white mountains back
of the harbour? The people said the woods were full of game, but we
didn't have time to go hunting. There are a few shops there, but it
seemed to me a very small place to have been built since 1834. In the
States whole towns grow up in two or three weeks."
"Huh!" said Kalitan, with a quick shrug of his shoulders, "quick grow,
sun fade and wind blow down."
"I don't think the sun could ever fade in Wrangel," laughed Ted. "They
told me there it hadn't shone but fifteen days in three months. It
rained all the time."
"Rain is nothing," said Kalitan. "It is when the Ice Spirit speaks in
the North Wind's roar and in the crackling of the floes that we
tremble. The glaciers are the children of the Mountain Spirit whom our
fathers worshipped. He is angry, and lo! he hurls down icebergs in his
wrath, he tosses them about, upon the streams he tosses the _kyaks_ like
feathers and washes the land with the waves of Sitth. When our people
are buried in the ground instead of being burnt with the fire, they must
go for ever to the place of Sitth, of everlasting cold, where never sun
abides, nor rain, nor warmth."
Ted had listened spellbound to this poetic speech and gazed at Kalitan
in open-mouthed amazement. A boy who could talk like that was a new and
delightful playmate, and he said:
"Tell me more about things, Kalitan," but the Indian was silent, ashamed
of having spoken.
"What do you do all day when you are at home?" persisted the American.
"In winter there is nothing to do but to hunt and fish," said Kalitan.
"Sometimes we do not find much game, then we think of how, when a
Thlinkit dies, he has plenty. If he has lived as a good tribesman, his
kyak glides smoothly over the silver waters into the sunset, until, o'er
gently flowing currents, it reaches the place of the mighty forest. A
bad warrior's canoe passes dark whirlpools and terrible rapids until he
reaches the place we speak not of, where reigns Sitth.
"In the summer-time we still hunt and fish. Many have learned to till
the ground, and we gather berries and wood for the winter. The other
side of the inlet, the tree-trunks drift from the Yukon and are stranded
on the islands, so there is plenty for firewood. But upon our island the
women gather a vine and dry it. They collect seaweed for food in the
early spring, and dry it and press it into square cakes, which make good
food after they have hung long in the sun. They make baskets and sell
them to the white people. Often my uncle and I take them to Valdez, and
once we brought back fifty dollars for those my mother made. There is
always much to do."
"Don't you get terribly cold hunting in the winter?" asked Ted.
"Thlinkit boy not a baby," said Kalitan, a trifle scornfully. "We begin
to be hardened when we are babies. When I was five years old, I left my
father and went to my uncle to be taught. Every morning I bathed in the
ocean, even if I had to break ice to find water, and then I rolled in
the snow. After that my uncle brushed me with a switch bundle, and not
lightly, for his arm is strong. I must not cry out, no matter if he
hurt, for a chief's son must never show pain nor fear. That would give
his people shame."
"Don't you get sick?" asked Ted, who felt cold all over at the idea of
being treated in such a heroic manner.
"The _Kooshta_[3] comes sometimes," said Kalitan. "The Shaman[4] used to
cast him out, but now the white doctor can do it, unless the _kooshta_
is too strong."
Ted was puzzled as to Kalitan's exact meaning, but did not like to ask
too many questions for fear of being impolite, so he only said:
"Being sick is not very nice, anyhow."
"To be bewitched is the most terrible," said Kalitan, gravely.
"How does that happen?" asked Ted, eagerly, but Kalitan shook his head.
"It is not good to hear," he said. "The medicine-man must come with his
drum and rattle, and he is very terrible. If the white men will not
allow any more the punishing of the witches, they should send more of
the white medicine-men, if we are not to have any more of our own."
"Boys should not talk about big things," said the old chief suddenly. He
had been sitting quietly over the fire, and spoke so suddenly that
Kalitan collapsed into silence. Ted, too, quieted down at the old
chief's stern voice and manner, and both boys sat and listened to the
men talking, while the snow still swirled about them.
Tyee Klake told Mr. Strong many interesting things about the coast
country, and gave him valuable information as to the route he should
pursue in his search for interesting things in the mountains.
"It will be two weeks before the snow will break so you can travel in
comfort," he said. "Camp with us. We remain here one week, then we go to
the island. We can take you there, you will see many things, and your
boy will hunt with Kalitan."
"Where is your island?" asked Mr. Strong.
Ted said nothing, but his eyes were fixed eagerly upon his father. It
was easy to see that he wished to accept the invitation.
"Out there." Tyee Klake pointed toward where the white coast-line seemed
to fade into silvery blue.
"There are many islands; on some lives no one, but we have a village.
Soon it will be nearly deserted, for many of our people rove during the
summer, and wander from one camping-ground to another, seeking the best
game or fish. But Kalitan's people remain always on the island. Him I
take with me to hunt the whale and seal, to gather the berries, and to
trap the little animals who bear fur. We find even seal upon our shores,
though fewer since your people have come among us."
"Which were the best, Russians or Americans?" asked Mr. Strong, curious
to see what the old Indian would say, but the Tyee was not to be caught
napping.
"Men all alike," he said. "Thlinkit, Russian, American, some good, some
bad. Russians used Indians more, gave them hunting and fishing, and only
took part of the skins. Americans like to hunt and fish all themselves
and leave nothing for the Indians. Russians teach _quass_, Americans
teach whiskey. Before white men came, Indians were healthy. They ate
fish, game, berries; now they must have other foods, and they are not
good for Indians here,"--he touched his stomach. "Indian used to dress
in skins and furs, now he must copy white man and shiver with cold. He
soon has the coughing sickness and then he goes into the unknown.
"But the government of the Americans is best because it tries to do some
things for the Indian. It teaches our boys useful things in the
schools, and, if some of its people are bad, some Indians are bad, too.
Men all alike," he repeated with the calm stoicism of his race.
"The government is far away," said Mr. Strong, "and should not be blamed
for the doings of all its servants. I should like to see this island
home of yours, and think we must accept your invitation; shall we, Ted?"
he smiled at the boy.
"Yes, indeed; thank you, sir," said Ted, and he and Kalitan grinned at
each other happily.
"We shall stay in camp until the blue jay comes," said the old chief,
smiling, "and then seek the village of my people."
"What does the blue jay mean?" asked Ted, timidly, for he was very much
in awe of this grave old man.
Kalitan said something in Thlinkit to his uncle, and the old chief,
looking kindly at the boy, replied with a nod:
"I will tell you the story of the blue jay," he said.
"My story is of the far, far north. Beside a salmon stream there dwelt
people rich in slaves. These caught and dried the salmon for the winter,
and nothing is better to eat than dried salmon dipped in seal oil. All
the fish were caught and stored away, when lo! the whiteness fell from
heaven and the snows were upon them. It was the time of snow and they
should not have complained, but the chief was evil and he cursed the
whiteness. No one should dare to speak evil of the Snow Spirit, which
comes from the Unknown! Deeper and deeper grew the snow. It flew like
feathers about the _eglu_,[5] and the slaves had many troubles in
putting in limbs for the fire. Then the snow came in flakes so large
they seemed like the wings of birds, and the house was covered, and they
could no longer keep their _kyaks_ on top of the snow. All were shut
tight in the house, and their fire and food ran low. They knew not how
many days they were shut in, for there was no way to tell the day from
night, only they knew they were sore hungry and that the Snow Spirit was
angry and terrible in his anger.
"But each one spoke not; he only chose a place where he should lie down
and die when he could bear no more.
"Only the chief spoke, and he once. 'Snow Spirit,' he said aloud, 'I
alone am evil. These are not so. Slay me and spare!' But the Snow Spirit
answered not, only the wind screamed around the _eglu_, and his screams
were terrible and sad. Then hope left the heart of the chief and he
prepared to die with all his people and all his slaves.
"But on the day when their last bit of food was gone, lo! something
pecked at the top of the smoke-hole, and it sang 'Nuck-tee,' and it was
a blue jay. The chief heard and saw and wondered, and, looking 'neath
the smoke-hole, he saw a scarlet something upon the floor. Picking it
up, he found it was a bunch of Indian tomato berries, red and ripe, and
quickly hope sprang in his breast.
"'Somewhere is summer,' he cried. 'Let us up and away.'
"Then the slaves hastened to dig out the canoe, and they drew it with
mighty labour, for they were weak from fasting, over the snows to the
shore, and there they launched it without sail or paddle, with all the
people rejoicing. And after a time the wind carried them to a beach
where all was summer. Birds sang, flowers bloomed, and berries gleamed
scarlet in the sun, and there were salmon jumping in the blue water.
They ate and were satisfied, for it was summer on the earth and summer
in their hearts.
"That is how the Thlinkits came to our island, and so we say when the
snow breaks, that now comes the blue jay."
"Thank you for telling us such a dandy story," cried Ted, who had not
lost a word of this quaint tale, told so graphically over the camp-fire
of the old chief Klake.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Kooshta, a spirit in animal's form which inhabits the body of sick
persons and must be cast out, according to Thlinkit belief.
[4] Shaman, native medicine-man.
[5] Hut.