The general drift of many of the foregoing myths would go to indicate a wide-spread belief in the theory of an evolution of man from animals.[II-63] Traditions are not wanting, however, whose teaching is precisely the reverse. The Salish, the Nisquallies, and the Yakimas of Washington, all hold that beasts, fishes, and even edible roots are descended from human originals. One account of this inverse Darwinian development is this: The son of the Sun—whoever he may have been—caused certain individuals to swim through a lake of magic oil, a liquid of such Circean potency that the unfortunates immersed were transformed as above related. The peculiarities of organism of the various animals, are the results of incidents of their passage; the bear dived, and is therefore fat all over; the goose swam high, and is consequently fat only up to the water-line; and so on through all the list.[II-64]
Moving north to the Tacullies of British Columbia, we find the Musk-rat an active agent in the work of creation. The flat earth, following the Tacully cosmogony, was at first wholly covered with water. On the water a Musk-rat swam to and fro, seeking food. Finding none there, he dived to the bottom and brought up a mouthful of mud, but only to spit it out again when he came to the surface. All this he did again and again till quite an island was formed and by degrees the whole earth. In some unexplained way this earth became afterwards peopled in every part, and so remained, until a fierce fire of several days' duration swept over it, destroying all life, with two exceptions; one man and one woman hid themselves in a deep cave in the heart of a mountain, and from these two has the world been since repeopled.[II-65]
YEHL, THE CREATOR OF THE THLINKEETS.
From the Tacully country we pass north and west to the coast inhabited by the Thlinkeets, among whom the myth of a great Bird, or of a great hero-deity, whose favorite disguise is the shape of a bird, assumes the most elaborate proportions and importance. Here the name of this great Somebody is Yehl, the Crow or Raven, creator of most things, and especially of the Thlinkeets. Very dark, damp, and chaotic was the world in the beginning; nothing with breath or body moved there except Yehl; in the likeness of a raven he brooded over the mist, his black wings beat down the vast confusion, the waters went back before him and the dry land appeared. The Thlinkeets were placed on the earth—though how or when does not exactly appear—while the world was still in darkness, and without sun or moon or stars. A certain Thlinkeet, we are further informed, had a wife and a sister. Of the wife he was devouringly jealous, and when employed in the woods at his trade of building canoes, he had her constantly watched by eight red birds of the kind called kun. To make assurance surer, he even used to coop her up in a kind of box every time he left home. All this while his sister, a widow it would appear, was bringing up certain sons she had, fine tall fellows, rapidly approaching manhood. The jealous uncle could not endure the thought of their being in the neighborhood of his wife. So he inveigled them one by one, time after time, out to sea with him on pretense of fishing, and drowned them there. The poor mother was left desolate, she went to the sea-shore to weep for her children. A dolphin—some say a whale—saw her there, and pitied her; the beast told her to swallow a small pebble and drink some sea-water. She did so, and in eight months was delivered of a child. That child was Yehl, who thus took upon himself a human shape, and grew up a mighty hunter and notable archer. One day a large bird appeared to him, having a long tail like a magpie, and a long glittering bill as of metal; the name of the bird was Kutzghatushl, that is, Crane that can soar to heaven. Yehl shot the bird, skinned it, and whenever he wished to fly used to clothe himself in its skin.
Now Yehl had grown to manhood, and he determined to avenge himself upon his uncle for the death of his brothers; so he opened the box in which the well-guarded wife was shut up. Instantly the eight faithful birds flew off and told the husband, who set out for his home in a murderous mood. Most cunning, however, in his patience, he greeted Yehl with composure, and invited him into his canoe for a short trip to sea. Having paddled out some way, he flung himself on the young man and forced him overboard: Then he put his canoe about and made leisurely for the land, rid as he thought of another enemy. But Yehl swam in quietly another way, and stood up in his uncle's house. The baffled murderer was beside himself with fury, he imprecated with a potent curse a deluge upon all the earth, well content to perish himself so he involved his rival in the common destruction, for jealousy is cruel as the grave. The flood came, the waters rose and rose; but Yehl clothed himself in his bird-skin, and soared up to heaven, where he struck his beak into a cloud, and remained till the waters were assuaged.
ADVENTURES OF YEHL AND KHANUKH.
After this affair Yehl had many other adventures, so many that "one man cannot know them all," as the Thlinkeets say. One of the most useful things he did was to supply light to mankind—with whom, as appears, the earth had been again peopled after the deluge. Now all the light in the world was stored away in three boxes, among the riches of a certain mysterious old Chief, who guarded his treasure closely. Yehl set his wits to work to secure the boxes; he determined to be born into the chief's family. The old fellow had one daughter upon whom he doted, and Yehl transforming himself into a blade of grass, got into the girl's drinking-cup and was swallowed by her. In due time she gave birth to a son, who was Yehl, thus a second time born of a woman into the world. Very proud was the old chief of his grandson, loving him even as he loved his daughter, so that Yehl came to be a decidedly spoiled child. He fell a crying one day, working himself almost into a fit; he kicked and scratched and howled, and turned the family hut into a little pandemonium as only an infant plague can. He screamed for one of the three boxes; he would have a box; nothing but a box should ever appease him! The indulgent grandfather gave him one of the boxes; he clutched it, stopped crying, and crawled off into the yard to play. Playing, he contrived to wrench the lid off, and lo! the beautiful heaven was thick with stars, and the box empty. The old man wept for the loss of his stars, but he did not scold his grandson, he loved him too blindly for that. Yehl had succeeded in getting the stars into the firmament, and he proceeded to repeat his successful trick, to do the like by the moon and sun. As may be imagined, the difficulty was much increased; still he gained his end. He first let the moon out into the sky, and some time afterward, getting possession of the box that held the sun, he changed himself into a raven and flew away with his greatest prize of all. When he set up the blazing light in heaven, the people that saw it were at first afraid. Many hid themselves in the mountains, and in the forests, and even in the water, and were changed into the various kinds of animals that frequent these places.
There are still other feats of Yehl's replete with the happiest consequences to mankind. There was a time, for instance, when all the fire in the world was hid away in an island of the ocean. Thither flew the indefatigable deity, fetching back a brand in his mouth. The distance, however, was so great that most of the wood was burned away and a part of his beak, before he reached the Thlinkeet shore. Arrived there, he dropped the embers at once, and the sparks flew about in all directions among various sticks and stones; therefore it is that by striking these stones, and by friction on this wood, fire is always to be obtained.
Light they now had, and fire; but one thing was still wanting to men; they had no fresh water. A personage called Khanukh[II-66] kept all the fresh water in his well, in an island to the east of Sitka, and over the mouth of the well, for its better custody, he had built his hut. Yehl set out to the island in his boat, to secure the water, and on his way he met Khanukh himself, paddling along in another boat. Khanukh spoke first: How long hast thou been living in the world? Proudly Yehl answered: Before the world stood in its place, I was there. Yehl in his turn questioned Khanukh: But how long hast thou lived in the world? To which Khanukh replied: Ever since the time that the liver came out from below.[II-67] Then said Yehl: Thou art older than I. Upon this Khanukh, to show that his power was as great as his age, took off his hat, and there rose a dense fog, so that the one could no longer see the other. Yehl then became afraid, and cried out to Khanukh; but Khanukh answered nothing. At last when Yehl found himself completely helpless in the darkness, he began to weep and howl; upon which the old sorcerer put on his hat again, and the fog vanished. Khanukh then invited Yehl to his house, and entertained him handsomely with many luxuries, among which was fresh water. The meal over, host and guest sat down, and the latter began a long relation of his many exploits and adventures. Khanukh listened as attentively as he could, but the story was really so interminable that he at last fell asleep across the cover of his well. This frustrated Yehl's intention of stealing the water while its owner slept, so he resorted to another stratagem: he put some filth under the sleeper, then waking him up, made him believe he had bewrayed himself. Khanukh, whose own nose abhorred him, at once hurried off to the sea to wash, and his deceiver as quickly set about securing the precious water. Just as All-father Odin, the Raven-god, stole Suttung's mead, drinking it up and escaping in the form of a bird, so Yehl drank what fresh water he could, filling himself to the very beak, then took the form of a raven and attempted to fly off through the chimney of the hut. He stuck in the flue however, and Khanukh returning at that instant recognized his guest in the struggling bird. The old man comprehended the situation, and quietly piling up a roaring fire, he sat down comfortably to watch the choking and scorching of his crafty guest. The raven had always been a white bird, but so thoroughly was he smoked in the chimney on this occasion that he has ever since remained the sootiest of fowls. At last Khanukh watching the fire, became drowsy and fell asleep; so Yehl escaped from the island with the water. He flew back to the continent, where he scattered it in every direction; and wherever small drops fell there are now springs and creeks, while the large drops have produced lakes and rivers. This is the end of the exploits of Yehl; having thus done everything necessary to the happiness of mankind, he returned to his habitation, which is in the east, and into which no other spirit, nor any man can possibly enter.
The existing difference in language between the Thlinkeets and other people is one of the consequences of a great flood—perhaps that flood already described as having been brought on through the jealousy of the canoe-builder. Many persons escaped drowning by taking refuge in a great floating building. When the waters fell, this vessel grounded upon a rock, and was broken into two pieces; in the one fragment were left those whose descendants speak the Thlinkeet language, in the other remained all whose descendants employ a different idiom.