"As the crew boarded the sealer, the women watching from the shore observed strange contortions seize many of the men; some fell on the deck; some crouched, shaking as with palsy; some writhed for a moment, then fell limp and seemingly boneless; only the two Frenchmen stood erect and strong and vital—the Squamish talisman had already overcome their foes. As the little sealer set sail up the gulf she was commanded by a crew of two Frenchmen—men who had entered these waters as captives, who were leaving them as conquerors. The palsied Russians were worse than useless, and what became of them the chief could not state; presumably they were flung overboard, and by some trick of a kindly fate the Frenchmen at last reached the coast of France.
"Tradition is so indefinite about their movements subsequent to sailing out of the Inlet that even the ever-romantic and vividly colored imaginations of the Squamish people have never supplied the details of this beautifully childish, yet strangely historical fairy-tale. But the voices of the trumpets of war, the beat of drums throughout Europe heralded back to the wilds of the Pacific Coast forests the intelligence that the great Squamish 'charm' eventually reached the person of Napoleon; that from this time onward his career was one vast victory, that he won battle after battle, conquered nation after nation, and, but for the direst calamity that could befall a warrior, would eventually have been master of the world."
"What was this calamity, Chief?" I asked, amazed at his knowledge of the great historical soldier and strategist.
The chief's voice again lowered to a whisper—his face was almost rigid with intentness as he replied:
"He lost the Squamish charm—lost it just before one great fight with the English people."
I looked at him curiously; he had been telling me the oddest mixture of history and superstition, of intelligence and ignorance, the most whimsically absurd, yet impressive, tale I ever heard from Indian lips.
"What was the name of the great fight—did you ever hear it?" I asked, wondering how much he knew of events which took place at the other side of the world a century agone.
"Yes," he said, carefully, thoughtfully; "I hear the name sometime in London when I there. Railroad station there—same name."
"Was it Waterloo?" I asked.
He nodded quickly, without a shadow of hesitation. "That the one," he replied. "That's it, Waterloo."