THE COUNCIL
The miners' cabins at Klassan were erected on a level strip of land along the Kaslo River. Upon the hill above nestled the Indian camps, secure from the wild north wind in winter, and the over-flowing stream in the springtime. At the foot of the hill was a space of ground, covered in summer with wild grass, but now denuded of every sign of vegetation. This spot was chosen by the Indians for the holding of the Council as being half way between the two settlements. Here, too, the earth was dry, free from the mud which was found so abundantly elsewhere. Near by stood several fir trees, gaunt and half dead, through whose naked branches the storms had howled for many years.
It was a bright spring day, and the sun riding high poured its hot beams upon the land. Masses of fleecy clouds drifted overhead, and early-returned birds flitted through the air or chirped and twittered among the trees. Everything in Nature spoke of peace; peace in the great blue vault above; peace in the air, and peace on earth. Most fitting was the day for men of different tongues, different races and different modes of life to meet together in sacred Council for the settling of their disputes.
No intimation was given, no sign was vouchsafed to the miners as they gathered there, that miles up the river millions of tons of water were ready to burst their bonds, and sweep down upon them their fearful besom of destruction.
It was late ere the Indians arrived, and the miners became much impatient. When at length they did appear, they seemed to the white men like an army marching to battle. The old chief led the way with uncertain steps. Behind him came scores of hunters, great, stalwart men some of them, regular Anaks in girth and stature.
They were a proud race of men, unsubdued and untarnished by contact with civilization. And good reason was there for their proud bearing and firm, elastic step as they moved along the trail. Was not the land theirs? Had they not received it from a long line of ancestors? No sword had ever conquered them, and no foreign yoke had ever been placed upon their necks. The birds of the air, the fishes of the streams, the lordly moose of the forests, and the bighorn sheep of the mountains—all were theirs. And so they came to the Council, not as suppliants, not as beggars, but as free men, in whose veins flowed the blood of a race which will break, but not bend. How many, oh, how many before them, throughout the length and breadth of North America, had drawn near in the same spirit to greet their pale-face brothers in open Council. They too had assembled with weapons laid aside, with confidence in their faces, and peace in their hearts, only to find in the end treachery for goodwill, betrayal for trust, and contempt for respect. Could these sturdy Tukudhs have looked forward to the day when their land would be flooded by thousands of greedy gold seekers, their game slaughtered, and their sons and daughters demoralized by bad whiskey, their attitude would have been very different to these fore-lopers of a foreign race.
On the ground a wolf-skin robe was placed, and upon this the old chief squatted, facing the miners. Around him gathered the hunters of his band, two hundred strong, in the form of a semicircle. There was no haste, no jostling one another as they took their various positions. Everything was done quietly and with much decorum, the younger giving the foremost places to their elders.
By the side of the chief stood Amos, who was to act as interpreter, dressed in a simple hunting costume. His face bore an expression of care, and ever and anon he cast anxious glances towards the Indians and then at the white men. To him the day had been one of severe strain, and he knew the end was not yet. In the Indian Council he had fought a hard battle against the hot-headed youths who thirsted for revenge upon the miners. With infinite patience, much tact and burning eloquence he had pleaded for the Christlike virtue of forgiveness. He listened to their harangues, settled disputes and appealed to their higher nature. He sketched their mode of living ten years before, and emphasized the changes which had taken place upon the arrival of the missionary. After hours of discussion the matter reached a deadlock, so it was left for the old chief to decide. He favoured peace, and gave as his reasons for this conclusion the Christian teaching he had received, and the friendly visit of the pale-face maiden to his lodge."
"Let the guilty men be punished," he had said in conclusion. "Let us not do it in the spirit of revenge, but only as a warning to others."
Squatting upon the wolf-skin robe the chief now scanned the miners as intently as his weak eyes would permit, and then addressed a few words to the interpreter.