Our Frail Shell Of A Canoe Was Tossed Like
A Bubble On The Swells Coming In From The Ocean.
Still, I suppose,
the danger was not so great as it seemed.
In a good canoe, skillfully
handled, you may safely sail from Victoria to Chilcat, a
thousand-mile voyage frequently made by Indians in their trading
operations before the coming of the whites. Our Indians, however,
dreaded this crossing so late in the season. They spoke of it
repeatedly before we reached it as the one great danger of our voyage.
John said to me just as we left the shore, "You and Mr. Young will be
scared to death on this broad water."
"Never mind us, John," we merrily replied, "perhaps some of you brave
Indian sailors may be the first to show fear."
Toyatte said he had not slept well a single night thinking of it, and
after we rounded Cape Gardner and entered the comparatively smooth
Chatham Strait, they all rejoiced, laughing and chatting like
frolicsome children.
We arrived at the first of the Hootsenoo villages on Admiralty Island
shortly after noon and were welcomed by everybody. Men, women, and
children made haste to the beach to meet us, the children staring as
if they had never before seen a Boston man. The chief, a remarkably
good-looking and intelligent fellow, stepped forward, shook hands
with us Boston fashion, and invited us to his house. Some of the
curious children crowded in after us and stood around the fire
staring like half-frightened wild animals. Two old women drove them
out of the house, making hideous gestures, but taking good care not
to hurt them. The merry throng poured through the round door,
laughing and enjoying the harsh gestures and threats of the women as
all a joke, indicating mild parental government in general. Indeed,
in all my travels I never saw a child, old or young, receive a blow
or even a harsh word. When our cook began to prepare luncheon our
host said through his interpreter that he was sorry we could not eat
Indian food, as he was anxious to entertain us. We thanked him, of
course, and expressed our sense of his kindness. His brother, in the
mean time, brought a dozen turnips, which he peeled and sliced and
served in a clean dish. These we ate raw as dessert, reminding me of
turnip-field feasts when I was a boy in Scotland. Then a box was
brought from some corner and opened. It seemed to be full of tallow
or butter. A sharp stick was thrust into it, and a lump of something
five or six inches long, three or four wide, and an inch thick was
dug up, which proved to be a section of the back fat of a deer,
preserved in fish oil and seasoned with boiled spruce and other spicy
roots. After stripping off the lard-like oil, it was cut into small
pieces and passed round. It seemed white and wholesome, but I was
unable to taste it even for manner's sake.
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