Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan Cousin - Mary F. Nixon Roulet
"It's just this way, son," Mr. Strong explained to him. "I'm here in
government employ, taking government pay to do government work. I must do
it and do it well in the shortest time possible. You will have a far
better time on the island with Kalitan than you could possibly have
loafing around the camp here. You couldn't go to many places where I am
going, and, if my mind is easy about you, I can take Chetwoof and do my
work in half the time. I'll come to the island in three or four weeks,
and we'll take a week's vacation together, and then we'll hit the trail
for the gold-fields. Are you satisfied with this arrangement?"
"Yes, sir." Ted's tone was dubious, but his face soon cleared up. "A
month won't be very long, father."
"No, I'll wager you'll be sorry to leave when I come for you. Try and not
make any trouble. Of course Indian ways are not ours, but you'll get
used to it all and enjoy it. It's a chance most boys would be crazy over,
and you'll have tales to tell when you get home to make your playmates
envy you. I'm glad I have a son I can trust to keep straight when he is
out of my sight," and he laid his hand affectionately on the boy's
shoulder. Ted looked his father squarely in the eye, but gave only a
little nod in answer, then he laughed his clear, ringing laugh.
"Wouldn't mother have spasms!" he exclaimed. Mr. Strong laughed
too, but said:
"You'll be just as well off tumbling around with Kalitan as falling off a
glacier or two, as you would be certain to do if you were with me."
Teddy felt a little blue when he said good-bye to his father, but Kalitan
quickly dispelled his gloom by a great piece of news. "Great time on
island," he said, as the canoe glided toward the dim outline of land to
which Ted's thoughts had so often turned. "Tyee's whale came ashore. We
go to see him cut up."
"Hurrah!" cried Ted, delighted. "To think I shall see all that! What else
will we do, Kalitan?"
"Hunt, fish, hear old Kala-kash stories. See berry dance if you stay long
enough, perhaps a potlatch; do many things," said the Indian.
One of the Indian paddlers said something to Kalitan, and he laughed a
little, and Ted asked, curiously: "What did he say?"
"Said Kalitan Tenas learned to talk as much as a Boston boy," said
Kalitan, laughing heartily, and Ted laughed, too.
The canoes were nearing the shore of a wooded island, and Ted saw a
fringe of trees and some native houses clustered picturesquely against
them at the crest of a small hill which sloped down to the water's edge
where stood a group of people awaiting the canoes.
"My home," said Kalitan, pointing to the largest house, "my people."
There was a great deal of pride in his tone and look, and he received a
warm welcome as the canoes touched land and their occupants sprang on
shore. The boys crowded around the young Indian and chattered and
gesticulated toward Ted, while a bright-looking little Malamute sprang
upon Kalitan and nearly knocked him down, covering his face with eager
puppy kisses.
The girls were less boisterous, and regarded Teddy with shy curiosity.
Some of them were quite pretty, and the babies were as cunning as the
puppies. They barked every time the dogs did, in a funny, hoarse
little way, and, indeed, Alaskan babies learn to bark long before they
learn to talk.
The Tyee's wife received Teddy kindly, and he soon found himself quite
at home among these hospitable people, who seemed always friendly and
natural. Nearly all spoke some English, and he rapidly added to his store
of Chinook, so that he had no trouble in making himself understood or in
understanding. Of course he missed his father, but he had little time to
be lonely. Life in the village was anything but uneventful.
At first there was the whale to be attended to, and all the village
turned out for that. The huge creature had drifted ashore on the farther
side of the island, and Ted was much interested in seeing him gradually
disposed of. Great masses of blubber were stripped from the sides to be
used later both for food and fuel, the whalebone was carefully secured to
be sold to the traders, and it seemed to Ted that there was not one thing
in that vast carcass for which the Indians did not have some use.
Ted soon tired of watching the many things done with the whale, but there
was plenty to do and see in the village. The village houses were all
alike. There was one large room in which the people cooked, ate, and
slept. The girls had blankets strung across one corner, behind which were
their beds. Teddy was given one also for his corner of the great room in
the Tyee's house.
He learned to eat the food and to like it very much. There was dried
fish, herons' eggs, berries, or those put up in seal oil, which is
obtained by frying the fat out of the blubber of the seal. The Alaskans
use this oil in nearly all their cooking, and are very fond of it. Ted
ate also dried seaweed, chopped and boiled in seal oil, which tasted very
much like boiled and salted leather, but he liked it very well. Indeed he
grew so strong and well, out-of-doors all day in the clear air and bright
sunshine of the Alaskan June, that he could eat anything and tramp all
day without being too tired to sleep like a top all night, and wake ready
for a new day with a zest he never felt at home.
Fresh fish were plentiful. The boys caught salmon, smelts, and whitefish,
and many were dried for the coming winter, while clams, gum-boots,
sea-cucumbers, and devil-fish, found on the rocks of the shore, were
every-day diet.
Kalitan's sister and Ted became great friends. She was older than
Kalitan, and, though only fifteen, was soon to be married to Tah-ge-ah, a
fine young Indian who was ready to pay high for her, which was not
strange, for she was both pretty and sweet.
"At the next full moon," said Kalitan, "there will be a potlatch, and
Tanana will be sold to Tah-ge-ah. He says he will give four hundred
blankets for her, and my uncle is well pleased. Many only pay ten
blankets for a wife, but of course we would not sell my sister for that.
She is of high caste, chief's daughter, niece, and sister," the boy
spoke proudly, and Ted answered:
"She's so pretty, too. She's not like the Indian girls I saw at Wrangel
and Juneau. Why, there the women sat around as dirty as dogs on the
sidewalk, and didn't seem to care how they looked. They had baskets to
sell, and were too lazy to care whether any one bought them or not. They
weren't a bit like Tanana. She's as pretty as a Japanese."
Kalitan smiled, well pleased, and Ted added, "I guess the Thlinkits must
be the best Indians in Alaska."
Kalitan laughed outright at this.
"Thlinkits pretty good," he said. "Tanana good girl. She learned much
good at the mission school, marry Tah-ge-ah, and make people better. She
can weave blankets, make fine baskets, and keep house like a white girl."
"She's all right," said Ted. "But, Kalitan, what is a potlatch?"
"Potlatch is a good-will feast," said his friend, "Very fine thing, but
white men do not like. Say Indian feasts are all bad. Why is it bad when
an Indian gives away all his goods for others? That is what a great
potlatch is. When white men give us whiskey and it is drunk too much,
then it is very bad. But Tyee will not have that for Tanana's feast. We
will drink only quass[8], as my people made it before they learned evil
drinks and fire-water, which make them crazy."
[Footnote 8: Quass is a native drink, harmless and acid, made with rye
and water fermented. The bad Indians mix it with sugar, flour, dried
apples, and hops, and make a terribly intoxicating drink.]
"I guess Tyee Klake was right when he said all men were alike," said Ted,
sagely. "It seems to me that there are good and bad ones in all
countries. It's a pity you have had such bad white ones here in Alaska,
but I guess you have had good ones, too."
"Plenty good, plenty bad, Thlinkit men and Boston men," said Kalitan,
"all same."
CHAPTER VII
TWILIGHT TALES AND TOTEMS
"Once a small girl child went by night to bring water. In the skies above
she saw the Moon shining brightly, pale and placid, and she put forth her
tongue at it, which was an evil thing, for the Moon is old, and a
Thlinkit child should show respect for age. So the Moon would not endure
so rude a thing from a girl child, and it came down from the sky and took
her thither. She cried out in fear and caught at the long grass to keep
herself from going up, but the Moon was strong and took her with her
water-bucket and her bunch of grass, and she never came back. Her mother
wept for her, but her father said: 'Cease. We have other girl children;
she is now wedded to the Moon; to him we need not give a potlatch.'
"You may see her still, if you will look at the Moon, there, grass in one
hand, bucket in the other, and when the new Moon tips to one side and
the water spills from the clouds and it is the months of rain, it is the
bad Moon maiden tipping over her water-bucket upon the earth. No Thlinkit
child would dare ever to put her tongue forth at the Moon, for fear of a
like fate to that of Squiance, the Moon maiden."
Tanana's voice was soft and low and she looked very pretty as she sat in
the moonlight at the door of the hut and told Kalitan and Ted quaint old
stories. Ted was delighted with her tales, and begged for another and yet
another, and Tanana told the quaint story of Kagamil.
"A mighty _toyon_[9] dwelt on the island of Kagamil. By name he was
Kat-haya-koochat, and he was of great strength and much to be feared. He
had long had a death feud with people of the next totem, but the bold
warrior Yakaga, chieftain of the tribe, married the toyon's daughter, and
there was no more feud. Zampa was the son of Kat-haya-koochat, and his
pride. He built for this son a fine _bidarka_,[10] and the boy launched
it on the sea. His father watched him sail and called him to return, lest
evil befall. But Zampa heard not his father's voice and pursued diving
birds,[11] and, lo! he was far from land and the dark fell. He sailed to
the nearest shore and beheld the village of Yakaga, where the people of
his sister's husband made him welcome, though Yakaga was not within his
hut. There was feasting and merry-making, and, according to their custom,
he, the stranger, was given a chieftain's daughter to wife, and her name
was Kitt-a-youx; and Zampa loved her and she him, and he returned not
home. But Kitt-a-youx's father liked him not, and treated him with
rudeness because of the old enmity with his Tyee father, so Zampa said to
Kitt-a-youx: 'Let us go hence. We cannot be happy here. Let us go from
your father, who is unfriendly to me, and seek the _barrabora_ of my
father, the mighty chief, that happiness may come upon us,' and
Kitt-a-youx said: 'What my lord says is well.'
[Footnote 9: Chieftain.]
[Footnote 10: Canoe.]
[Footnote 11: Ducks.]
"Then Zampa placed her in his canoe, and alone beneath the stars they
sailed and it was well, and Zampa's arm was strong at his paddle. But,
lo! they heard another paddle, and one came after them, and soon arrows
flew about them, arrows swift and cruel, and one struck his paddle from
his hand and his canoe was overturned. The pursuer came and placed
Kitt-a-youx in his canoe, seeking, too, for Zampa, but, alas! Zampa was
drowned. And when his pursuer dragged his body to the surface, he gave a
mighty cry, for, lo! it was his brother-in-law whom he had pursued, for
he was Yakaga. Then fearing the terrible rage of Zampa's father, he dared
not return with the body, so he left it with the overturned canoe in the
kelp and weeds. Kitt-a-youx he bore with him to his own island. There she
was sad as the sea-gull's scream, for the lord she loved was dead. And
her father gave her to another _toyon_, who was cruel to her, and her
life was as a slave's, and she loathed her life until Zampa's child was
born to her, and for it she lived. Alas, it was a girl child and her
husband hated it, and Kitt-a-youx saw nothing for it but to be sold as a
slave as was she herself. And she looked by day and by night at the sea,
and its cold, cold waves seemed warmer to her than the arms of men. 'With
my girl child I shall go hence,' she whispered to herself, 'and the Great
Unknown Spirit will be kind.'
"So by night she stole away in a canoe and steered to sea, ere she knew
where she was, reaching the seaweeds where she had journeyed with her
young husband. The morning broke, and she saw the weeds and the kelp
where her lover had gone from her sight, and, with a glad sigh, she
clasped Zampa's child to her breast and sank down among the weeds where
he had died. So her tired spirit was at rest, for a woman is happier who
dies with him she loves.
"Now Zampa's father had found his boy's body and mourned over it, and
buried it in a mighty cave, the which he had once made for his furs and
stores. With it he placed bows and arrows and many valuables in respect
for the dead. And Zampa's sister, going to his funeral feast, fell upon a
stone with her child, so that both were killed. Then broke the old
chief's heart. Beside her brother he laid her in the cave, and gave
orders that he himself should be placed there as well, when grief should
have made way with him. Then he died of sorrow for his children, and his
people interred him in his burial cave, and with him they put much wealth
and blankets and weapons.
"When, therefore, the people of his tribe found the bodies of Kitt-a-youx
and her child among the kelp, having heard of her love for Zampa, they
bore them to the same cave, and, wrapping them in furs, they placed
Kitt-a-youx beside her beloved husband, and in her burial she found her
home and felt the kindness of the Great Spirit. This, then, is the story
of the burial cave of Kagamil, and since that day no man dwelt upon the
island, and it is known as the 'island of the dead.'"
"I'd like to see it, I can tell you," said Ted. "Are there any burial
caves around here?"
"The Thlinkits do not bury in caves," said Tanana. "We used to burn our
dead, but often we place them in totem-poles."
"I thought those great poles by your doors were totems," said Ted,
puzzled.
"Yes," said the girl. "They are caste totems, and all who are of any rank
have them. As we belong to the Raven, or Bear, or Eagle clan, we have the
carved poles to show our rank, but the totem of the dead is quite
different. It does not stand beside the door, but far away. It is alone,
as the soul of the dead in whose honour it is made. It is but little
carved. A square hole is cut at the back of the pole, and the body of the
dead, wrapped in a matting of cedar bark, is placed within, a board being
nailed so that the body will not fall to the ground. A potlatch is given,
and food from the feast is put in the fire for the dead person."
"It seems queer to put weapons and blankets and things to eat on people's
graves," said Ted. "Why do they do it?"
"Of the dead we know nothing," said Tanana, "Perhaps the warrior spirit
wishes his arrows in the Land of the Great Unknown."
"Yes, but he can't come back for them," persisted Ted.
"At Wrangel, Boston man put flowers on his girl's grave," said Kalitan,
drily. "She come back and smell posy?"
Having no answer ready, Ted changed the subject and asked:
"Why do you have the raven at the top of your totem pole?"
"Indian cannot marry same totem," said Kalitan. "My father was eagle
totem, my mother was raven totem. He carve her totem at the top of the
pole, then his totem and those of the family are carved below. The
greater the family the taller the totem."
"How do you get these totems?" demanded Ted.
"Clan totems we take from our parents, but a man may choose his own
totem. Before he becomes a man he must go alone into the forest to fast,
and there he chooses his totem, and he is brother to that animal all his
life, and may not kill it. When he comes forth, he may take part in all
the ceremonies of his tribe."
"Why, it is something like knighthood and the vigil at arms and
escutcheons, and all those Round-Table things," exclaimed Ted, in
delight, for he dearly loved the stirring tales of King Arthur and his
knights and the doughty deeds of Camelot.
"Tell us about that," said Kalitan, so Ted told them many tales in the
moonlight, as they sat beneath the shadows of the quaint and curious
totem-poles of Kalitan's tribe.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BERRY DANCE
Teddy's month upon the island stretched out into two. His father came and
went, finding the boy so happy and well that he left him with an easy
mind. Ted's fair skin was tanned to a warm brown, and, clad in Indian
clothes, save for his aureole of copper-coloured hair, so strong a
contrast to the straight black locks of his Indian brothers, he could
hardly be told from one of the island lads who roamed all day by wood and
shore. They called him "Yakso pil chicamin,"[12] and all the village
liked him.
[Footnote 12: Copper hair.]
Tanana's marriage-feast was held, and she and Tah-ge-ah went to
housekeeping in a little hut, where the one room was as clean and neat
as could be, and not a bit like the dirty rooms of some of the natives.
Tanana spent all her spare time weaving beautiful baskets, for her slim
fingers were very skillful. Some of the baskets which she made out of the
inner bark of the willow-tree were woven so closely that they would hold
water, and Teddy never tired of watching her weave the gay colours in and
out, nor of seeing the wonderful patterns grow. Tahgeah would take them
to the mainland when she had enough made, and sell them to the travellers
from the States. Meantime Tah-ge-ah himself was very, very busy carving
the totem-pole for his new home, for Tanana was a chieftain's daughter,
and he, too, was of high caste, and their totem must be carved and stand
one hundred feet high beside their door, lest they be reproached.
Ted also enjoyed seeing old Kala-kash carve, for he was the finest carver
among the Indians, and it was wonderful to see him cut strange figures
out of bone, wood, horn, fish-bones, and anything his gnarled old fingers
could get hold of, and he would carve grasshoppers, bears, minnows,
whales, sea-gulls, babies, or idols. He made, too, a canoe for Ted, a
real Alaskan dugout, shaping the shell from a log and making it soft by
steam, filling the hole with water and throwing in red-hot stones. The
wood was then left to season, and Ted could hardly wait patiently until
sun and wind and rain had made his precious craft seaworthy. Then it was
painted with paint made by rubbing a certain rock over the surface of a
coarse stone and the powder mixed with oil or water.
At last it was done, a shapely thing, more beautiful in Ted's eyes than
any launch or yacht he had ever seen at home. His canoe had a carved
stern and a sharp prow which came out of the water, and which had carved
upon it a fine eagle. Kalakash had not asked Ted what his totem was, but
supposing that the American eagle on the buttons of the boy's coat was
his emblem, had carved the rampant bird upon the canoe as the boy's
totem. Ted learned to paddle and to fish, never so well as Kalitan, of
course, for he was born to it, but still he did very well, and enjoyed
it hugely.
Happily waned the summer days, and then came the time of the berry dance,
which Kalitan had spoken of so often that Ted was very anxious to see it.
The salmon-berry was fully ripe, a large and luscious berry, found in two
colours, yellow and dark red. Besides these there were other small
berries, maruskins, like the New England dewberries, huckleberries, and
whortleberries.
"We have five kinds of berries on our island," said Kalitan. "All good.
The birds, flying from the mainland, first brought the seeds, and our
berries grow larger than almost any place in Alaska."
"They're certainly good," said Ted, his mouth full as he spoke. "These
salmon-berries are a kind of a half-way between our blackberries and
strawberries. I never saw anything prettier than the way the red and
yellow berries grow so thick on the same bush--"
"There come the canoes!" interrupted Kalitan, and the two boys ran down
to the water's edge, eager to be the first to greet the visitors. Tyee
Klake was giving a feast to the people of the neighbouring islands, and a
dozen canoes glided over the water from different directions. The canoes
were all gaily decorated, and they came swiftly onward to the weird chant
of the paddlers, which the breeze wafted to the listeners' ears in a
monotonous melody.
Every one in the village had been astir since daybreak, preparing for the
great event. Parallel lines had been strung from the chief's house to the
shore, and from these were hung gay blankets, pieces of bright calico,
and festoons of leaves and flowers. As the canoes landed their
occupants, the dancers thronged to welcome their guests. The great drum
sounded its loud note, and the dancers, arrayed in wonderful blankets
woven in all manner of fanciful designs and trimmed with long woollen
fringes, swayed back and forth, up and down, to and fro, in a very
graceful manner, keeping time to the music.
In the centre of the largest canoe stood the Tyee of a neighbouring
island, a tall Indian, dressed in a superb blanket with fringe a foot
long, fringed leggins and moccasins of walrus hide, and the chiefs hat to
show his rank. It was a peculiar head-dress half a foot high, trimmed in
down and feathers.
The Tyee, in perfect time to the music, swayed back and forth, never
ceasing for a moment, shaking his head so that the down was wafted in a
snowy cloud all over him.
As the canoes reached the shallows, the shore Indians dashed into the
water to draw them up to land, and the company was joyously received.
Teddy was delighted, for in one of the canoes was his father, whom he had
not seen for several weeks. After the greetings were over, the dancers
arranged themselves in opposite lines, men on one side, women on the
other, and swayed their bodies while the drum kept up its unceasing
tum-tum-tum.
"It's a little bit like square dances at home," said Ted. "It's ever so
pretty, isn't it? First they sway to the right, then to the left, over
and over and over; then they bend their bodies forward and backward
without bending their knees, then sway again, and bend to one side and
then the other, singing all the time. Isn't it odd, father?"
"It certainly is, but it's very graceful," said Mr. Strong. "Some of
the girls are quite pretty, gentle-looking creatures, but the older
women are ugly."
"The very old women look like the mummies in the museum at home," said
Ted. "There's one old woman, over a hundred years old, whose skin is like
a piece of parchment, and she wears the hideous lip-button which most of
the Thlinkits have stopped using. Kalitan says all the women used to wear
them. The girls used to make a cut in their chins between the lip and the
chin, and put in a piece of wood, changing it every few days for a piece
a little larger until the opening was stretched like a second mouth. When
they grew up, a wooden button like the bowl of a spoon was set in the
hole and constantly enlarged. The largest I have seen was three inches
long. Isn't it a curious idea father?"
"It certainly is, but there is no telling what women will admire. A
Chinese lady binds her feet, and an American her waist; a Maori woman
slits her nose, and an English belle pierces her ears. It's on the same
principle that your Thlinkit friends slit their chins for the
lip-button."
"I'm mighty glad they don't do it now, for Tanana's as pretty as a
pink, and it would be a shame to spoil her face that way," said Ted.
"The dancing has stopped, father; let's see what they'll do next. There
comes Kalitan."
A feast of berries was to follow the dance, and Kalitan led Mr. Strong
and Ted to the chief's house, which was gaily decorated with blankets and
bits of bright cloth. A table covered with a cloth was laid around three
sides of the room, and on this was spread hardtack and huge bowls of
berries of different colours. These were beaten up with sugar into a
foamy mixture, pink, purple, and yellow, according to the colour of the
berries, which tasted good and looked pretty.
Ted and Kalitan had helped gather the berries, and their appetites were
quite of the best. Mr. Strong smiled to see how the once fussy little
gentleman helped himself with a right good-will to the Indian dainties of
his friends.
Many pieces of goods had been provided for the potlatch; and these were
given away, given and received with dignified politeness. There was
laughing and merriment with the feast, and when it was all over, the
canoes floated away as they had come, into the sunset, which gilded all
the sea to rosy, golden beauty.
Ted's share of the potlatch was a beautiful blanket of Tanana's weaving,
and he was delighted beyond measure.
"You're a lucky boy, Ted," said his father. "People pay as high as
sixty-five dollars for an Alaskan blanket, and not always a perfect one
at that. Many of the Indians are using dyed yarns to weave them, but
yours is the genuine article, made from white goat's wool, long and soft,
and dyed only in the native reds and blacks. We shall have to do
something nice for Tanana when you leave."