Wigwam and War-path Or the Royal Chief in Chains Part 5

The scene on deck was novel. The tyee captain and the chief were teaching each other the words with which to give token of hospitality and grat.i.tude; half-sign, half-word language 'twas, though, in which exchanges of friendly sentiments were told.

The sailors, with the women and maidens, had organized a school, on a small scale. Merry laughter often broke at the clumsy efforts of white man's tongue to imitate Indian wa-wa (talk). The little ones received the touch of rough fingers on dimpled chin, and turned like frightened fawns away to listen to the tinkling of the little bells above their heads.

The chief had brought with him richest offerings of venison and fish; the women, specimens of handiwork in beads and necklaces, which they offered in exchange for such articles of bright-hued colors as the sailors might have bought in other lands.

The bargains were quickly made, each side proud of success in securing something to remind them of the visit.

The chief signified his intention to return to his home on the beach, when the good captain, not to be outdone in matters of courtesy, brought fresh supplies of various kinds, and had them stowed away in the "hollow-tree canoe."

When the parting came, to prove his good will, the tyee captain promised to return the visit. Oneatta had said to Theodore, the sailor, "Come;" and he, with eyes doing service for his lips, had made promise. The red chief and his family withdrew, and soon they were riding the laughing waves in the "hollow-tree canoe."

Thus the day had pa.s.sed and joined the happy ones gone before it; and bells had called the sailors to the deck, and the Indian chief reposed his limbs on the uncut swath of willow gra.s.s, and waited for the approach of night, that he might, by signal fires, call his kinsmen to the pil-pil dance; a dance in honor of each Indian maiden when she "comes out."

Oneatta had demanded of her parents this honor, and, since custom allowed this privilege, she on that day reached an era in her life, when she chose to be no longer a child.

Her father, the chief, wondered at this sudden change of manner wrought, but, yielding to his doating child, gave his a.s.sent. The picture I am making now is true to the life of many a maiden, who may follow Oneatta's history, whose faces take their hue of colors that give token of their race.

Some of them may recall their "coming out" 'neath dazzling chandeliers, on carpets of finest grain, in dresses trailing long, in which they stepped with timid gait to softest music, of silver lyre, or flute, or many-voiced piano.

But Oneatta's parlor was lighted up with glittering stars, that had done service long, and brighter grew to eyes of each new belle, who had, from time to time, lent first a listening ear to soft-voiced swain.

The carpets were brightest green, and sanded by waves stranded on the beach at the flowing of the tide.

The music was grandly wild, a combination of the hoa.r.s.e drum, or angry roar of sea-lions, mingling with the deep ba.s.s voice of waves, breaking on the rocks, while, soft and low, the human notes came in to make the harmony complete to ears long trained to nature's tunes.

The maiden, whose heart was now tumultuous as the scenes around her, had dressed with greatest care in skirts of scarlet cloth, embroidered with beads and trimmed with furs of seal and down of swan. Her arms, half bared, were circled with bands of metals; her neck, with hoofs of fawns, or talons of the mountain eagle; pendent from her ears, rattles of the spotted snake; the part.i.tion of her nose held fast a beautiful sh.e.l.l of slender mould; her cheeks, rosy with vermilion paints; while in her raven hair she wore a gift from her pale-faced lover, brought from some far-off sh.o.r.e, intended for some other than she who wore it now. It was but a tinsel, yet it fitted well to crown her whose eyes were dancing long before her beaded slippers had touched time upon the sanded floor.

The circular altar, built of pebbles of varied colors, was lighted up with choicest knots of pine from fallen trees.

The watch on board the "big canoe" was set, and down its swinging stairway the tyee captain, mate, and sailors descended to the waiting boat; then softly touched the oars to smiling waves, and steady arms kept time to seamen's song in stern and bow, guided, meanwhile, by the altar fire. Over the gla.s.sy bridge they flew, and touched the bank beside the "hollow-tree canoe."

With hearty hand the chieftains bade them welcome, and gave silent signal for the dance to begin, while the tyee captain and his men took station at respectful s.p.a.ce. The dancers came, and, forming round the maiden's altar fires, awaited still for her to come from lodge.

The pale-faces, lighted up with blaze from knotty wood, with folded arms and curious wonder stood gazing on the scene.

One among the number had scanned the merry circle of bashful Indian boys and timid girls; his face bespoke vexation at his disappointment, for he had failed to catch the eye of Oneatta.

She came, at length, tripping toward the festive throng, and spoke to him ere the dance began, not by smile, or deed, or word, but in Cupid's own appointed way, that never lies. He, as every other swain can do, read it in her eyes, and made answer in ways that do not make mistake.

When the circle had closed round the altar, the song of gladness broke forth from the lips of the tattooed and painted red chins, and from the drum of hoa.r.s.er sound, and then the happy dancers, without waiting for partners, went with lithesome step in gay procession round. Louder rang the music, quicker grew the steps, each time round; the little invisible arrows flew from sailor-boy to Indian maiden, and from maiden to sailor-boy; glancing each against the other, would rustle and then go straight to target sent, until at last the maiden tired grew, her bosom overladened with the arrows Cupid's quiver had supplied. She bade the dancers stop, and with native grace, and stately step, she stood beside her lover without a thought of wrong; for she was Nature's child, and had not felt the thongs of fas.h.i.+on's code, which forbid her to be honest.

Her tiny hand was pressed between the hard palms of the captive sailor, for he had been fighting a battle where each is conquered only to be a conqueror.

Oneatta led the sailor-boy to join those who, with wondering eyes, had waited for her return. He took his place beside his tutor now, to learn how a step unused by tamer people might make speech for joy and gladness.

The dance was ended. Pale faces, and red ones, too, had lost sight of the stars, and were lulled to sleep by the rocking tides or m.u.f.fled song of rippling waters, or by the breakers beating the rocky sh.o.r.es of Ya-quina.

Day followed day, and each had a history connecting it with its yesterday and prophesying for the morrow. The sailor-boy went not on duty now, for his "chummies" stood his watch. He spent much time at the e-li-he of the tree chief, or with Oneatta went out in a small canoe to watch the fishermen spear the fattened salmon.

Sometimes they rambled on the mountain side beneath the mansinetta trees, and exchanged lessons in worded language. He told her of his home, where cities and towns were like the forest of her native home; of people who outnumbered the stars above, and of bright-colored goods, of beautiful beads and sh.e.l.ls; and by degrees he won her consent to go from her native land, to leave country and kindred, all for the sake of the promised happiness he could give.

The sailor made confident of his captain, and glowing pictures painted of his princess, and what he would do with her when to his mother's home he came.

The honest captain found objection to the plan of carrying her away, and sent for "Tyee John" (for so they called the chieftain then), and made him understand how the young people had become betrothed.

The face of Tyee John grew dark at first, and he was impatient to be gone; but kindly words and presents hinted at brought him to consider. He proposed that the sailor-boy should become one of his tribe, and make his home with them, and then he could be his son.

The conference was transferred to the e-li-he of Tyee John. The sailor would not consent to remain on this wild sh.o.r.e, and made vows to come again and bring Oneatta.

At length by rich presents given, and promises of more when he should come, the compact was made, to the joy of the Indian maiden and her sailor lover.

The sea gave a favoring breeze. The sails repaired, the tyee captain made known his will to ride again the bounding waves. Oneatta bade farewell to sorrowing mothers, sisters, brothers, giving each a token to keep until her coming. O foolish Oneatta! you know not what you do! You act now from example of your fairer sisters, who listen to the wooing notes of foreign lips. We pity you as we do them. You have not thought how strange will be the customs, manners and life of those with whom you are to mingle. A time may come when you will long for the caresses of your rude mother, to hear the merry shouts of brothers, to gaze into the face of your dark-eyed father; perhaps long to hear love in native accents spoken by the young brave who has given you choicest gems of ocean's strand and mountain cliffs.

We see you yet when your kinsmen tell of you in song, or story, your dark eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears of hope and sorrow mingled.

You reach the side of the "big canoe." We see the brave and manly sailor-boy, who hastened to catch your trembling hand, and help you up the swinging steps, and when on deck you stand, we see the sailor's chums, from the s.h.i.+p-yards above, gaze down on you and him, with glances half of envy, and half of pleased surprise.

And now we see you startle at the fierce command of the mate, to heave the anchor up, then their response drawn out in lengthened "Aye-aye, sir," and singing, while they work, the seamen's song; and how wide your dark eyes open at sight of whitened sails, outspreading like some monster swan, and the troubled, anxious look you give to the humble e-li-he of childhood, as it pa.s.sed away, as if moving in itself, and the headlands that seem floating towards you, and the great water that came rus.h.i.+ng to meet you.

We see, too, your father, Tyee John, in his "hollow-tree canoe," leading the way, and pointing to some sunken rock, or shallow bar, or hidden reef, until he rounds to in proof of danger past to the "big canoe."

How its huge white wings fold up at a signal from the tyee captain! And then your father comes board, and stands in mute attention to the ceremonies of seamen's marriage law. And you, in innocence, give heed to word or sign until you are bound in law to the fortunes and freaks of a roving sailor-boy.

When Tyee John turns away, hiding his tears in his heart, while yours run down your cheeks, we see him reach his canoe, and you hanging over the sides of the s.h.i.+p to catch a last glance of his eye.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FAREWELL TO ONEATTA.]

And then the white wings are spread again, and soon he grows so small that his paddle seems but a dark feather in his hand, and your old home recedes, and you have caught the last glimpse you ever will, of the mountain sinking in the sea, and you, _alone_,--no, not alone, for your sailor-boy is with you, now drying the tears from your dusky cheeks.

Oneatta, we leave you, with a prayer that your life may not be as rough as the seas that drove the "big canoe" into Quina bay. Whether your hopes have blossomed into fruition, or have been blasted, we know not, nor if you still live to be loved or loathed. We only know that your silver-haired sire sits on the stony cliff, overlooking the mouth of the harbor, and watches pa.s.sing sails, or hastens to meet those that anchor, and repeat the old question over and over, Me-si-ka, is-c.u.m, ni-ka-hi-ak-close, ten-as-cluchman, Oneatta? (Have you brought back my beautiful daughter, Oneatta?)

When Cupid comes with pale-faced warrior to the dusky maiden now, they repeat the warning tale, with Ni-ka-c.u.m-tux Oneatta. (I remember Oneatta.)

CHAPTER VI.

SENATORIAL BRAINS BEATEN BY SAVAGE MUSCLE--PLEASANT WAY OF PAYING PENALTIES.

The story I have related is but one of the many that belong to this region, and for the truth of which, witnesses still live, both whites and Indians; another reason I introduce it here is to show my readers who may think otherwise, that Indians--savage as they are at times, often made savage by their religion--have _hearts_. Again and again shall I refer in this work to the red man's emotional nature, and to his religion. I cannot do so too often, as the reader will admit before he turns the last leaf.

This agency is located west of the coast range of mountains, and bordering on the Pacific Ocean. The valleys are small, irregular in shape, fertile and productive, with prairies interspersed with forests of fir; picturesque almost beyond description. At some points the mountains reach out into the ocean, forming high headlands whereon are built light-houses, to guard mariners against the dangers of the coast. Long white sandy beaches stretch away for miles, and are then cut off by craggy bluffs.

At the southern boundary of Siletz--two miles from the line--may be found a beautiful bay, navigable inland for thirty miles. The banks are varied in alt.i.tude; undulating hills, with rich alluvial bottom lands intervening. The greatest width of bay is perhaps four miles, and occasionally cut into channels by beautiful islands narrowing inland to receive the small river Ya-quina. Midway between the mouth of the river and the ocean entrance to the bay, extensive oyster-beds exist.

This "Chesapeake" of the Pacific was once a part of Siletz reservation.