The chiefs arose and made breakfast on foreign teas and island sugars, and when in new attire, with cluchman in beads and fine tattoo (an adornment of savage tribes), with noses pierced by long polished shells, that made an uncouth imitation of a dandy’s moustache, with pappoose in basket hung with bells, or lashed to boards with wild-deer thongs, and slung on mother’s back, secured with sealskin belts worn on the brow. To make the whole a complete picture of Indian life, the dogs were taken in, and then sitting in the prow to give command, the “hollow-tree canoe” was pointed toward the ship. The loud hurrah of sailors, that was intended to give welcome, was at
first construed to be a warning, and quick the “hollow-tree canoe” was turned about, each paddle playing in concert to carry the frightened visitors away, while cluchmen and maidens, with woman’s privilege, screamed in terror of expected harm.
The chief soothing them, and looking back descried the tyee captain, with beckoning hand and signs recalling him to fulfil his purpose, and make the visit. He bade the oarsman cease, and, while his canoe moved on from acquired motion, though slower going, while he backward gazed, he, with noiseless paddle, again brought the prow towards the sides of the “big canoe.”
Slowly and cautiously he, with his precious cargo, floated nearer and nearer still, with eyes wide open, to detect any sign of treachery, sometimes half stopping at suggestions of frightened mothers or timid maidens, and then anon would forward move; still, however, with great caution, until at last the two canoes were rocking on the gentle tide in closest friendship.
The seamen who made this welcome port came on deck, with a sailor’s pride of dress, wide-legged trowsers, and wider collars to their shirts over their shoulders falling, and with wide-topped, brimless caps. When the new-comers had passed their fright, and the old chief had climbed on deck to be sure that all was safe, he called his family, and, though the jolly tars went down to assist them, they remained waiting for some further proof of friendship.
While their eyes were upward turned, and Jack’s were downward bent, two pairs (at least) met midway, and told the old, old tale over again.
On deck, and leaning over the rail, stood a youthful
sailor, with deep, earnest eyes. These had met the gaze of another, the daughter of the pilot chief. Silently the arrows flew; and, without honeyed word, or war-whoop, the battle went on, until, by special invitation of looks, Oneatta came aboard, and stood beside the smiling pale-face; and soon the older women followed with the baby baskets until all were there except the dogs, who cried at the partiality shown to the master and his family.
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 gratitude; 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.