Until we rounded Cape St. James, the extreme southern portion of the islands, we encountered but little disagreeably rough sea. Opposite Barnaby Island, however, we were struck by a heavy squall, which swept our canoe over the surface of the water for more than 200 feet, and to within about twenty feet of a precipitous rocky shore, upon which the waves were dashing furiously, before we could recover the use of the oars. But, from the cape northwest, it was a continuous battle amidst storms from all quarters, encountering strong adverse winds and much of what the Indians called hyas solleks chuck (very rough sea). I could then understand why, before leaving, they had inquired so carefully of Mr. McGregor, who recommended them, if I had a skookum tumtum (a stout heart), and of me personally whether I was subject to sea sickness. We were four days rounding one point, making three unsuccessful attempts, the Indians turning back, but not until our canoe had been nearly swamped by heavy breakers. The skill of the natives in handling the canoe is something wonderful. When once at sea, I left its entire management to their judgment. On one occasion, when off a rocky point, we were struck by a heavy sea with alarming force. To advance was seen to be impossible, and to turn back was almost equally perilous. It was no time for indecision, for another great breaker was rolling toward us. With a single signal word from the helmsman, with perfect coolness, a few powerful strokes at just the right time reversed our little bark, and we were soon in safe water again.
For considerable distances on the west coast rocky precipitous mountains face the sea, in places not less than 1,500 feet in height, almost perpendicular, rising over 4,000 feet within a few miles back. When running the guantlet of the storms along these forbidding shores we looked into the mouths of several dark caverns of unknown depth. Twice Indian Tom raised his paddle, placed four small wads of tobacco thereon, and, with a supplicating motion of his right hand toward these caverns, made an offering to the spirits which are supposed to inhabit them, praying that we might have a safe voyage. Here we found what I believe to be the grandest scenery of the Queen Charlotte Islands. We had been pulling for six hours against head winds, squalls and rough seas along this rocky, high walled shore, which seemed to offer no place where a landing would be possible, when suddenly the canoe turned toward land, ran through a narrow rock bound passage into a little basin about fifty rods square, surrounded by mountains rising precipitously from 1500 to 2500 feet, down which ten cataracts were plunging. Grand View Inlet, or whatever it may be called, is situated about eight miles south of Tasso Harbor. As we were leaving it two land otters were seen swimming near the shore. Giving chase, one of them ran out upon the land, where, after an exciting hunt with dogs, it was killed. One evening, as we were camping in a rocky cove, Indian Sam suddenly seized his gun, ran down to the shore, and mounted a great rock where seal had been seen. Presently he fired, and then stripping off his shirt, dove headlong into the sea. He soon rose to the surface grasping a great seal, with which he swam to the shore. Although they had eaten a hearty supper, they sat up until midnight gorging themselves with its excessively fat meat. They had one continual feast from the beginning to the end of the expedition, devouring, besides the supplies taken with us, seal, wild geese, duck, octopus, clams, halibut, mussels, sea eggs, bird's eggs, fish spawn, salmon, etc., in great quantities. On the thirty-third day after leaving Massett, I returned to Skidegate through the Canoe Passage and Skidegate Channel, where I again refitted for the west coast of Graham Island and the Virago Sound country, next to be traversed.
NEWTON H. CHITTENDEN.
* * * * *
CORRESPONDENCE,
NO. III.
A forced detention at Skidegate for the recovery of a disabled hand, afforded an unexpected opportunity of becoming acquainted with Indian life in their village lodges and fishing camps, which I will more fully describe in another letter. The waters of Skidegate Inlet, during the months of June and July, were alive with canoe-loads of men, women and children, plying between the dog-fishing grounds, their villages and the works of the Skidegate Oil Company. The latter are situated on Sterling Bay, a beautiful little harbor on the north shore of the Inlet, about three miles from Skidegate. Here, as previously stated, were assembled at times a numerous fleet of canoes and hundreds of natives from all parts of the island, with their klootchmen, papooses and dogs. The latter gave us a series of concerts which will never be forgotten. Their number may be inferred from my having seen eleven dogs disembark from a medium-sized canoe, following one Indian, who alone arrived with it. The leaders of this remarkable band were ten dogs which belonged to a family of Hydah aristocracy, whose habitation was on the shore of a cosy cove about one mile distant, hidden from view by a rocky, wooded point. Three or four times during the twenty-four hours, they rounded the point, sat down on the shore, raised their noses heaven-ward at an angle of about forty-five degrees, when, with half-closed eyes, and the expression of a spirit medium when about to deliver an inspirational lecture, they abandoned themselves to paroxysms of howling and yelping.
To their first outburst, came a prompt and deafening response from every dog in the encampment, which continued with increasing vigor, until their united chorus quite baffles description. I have heard Chinese bands, Calliopes, the braying of jackasses, the love songs of Tom cats, operatic screechers, brass band and violin murderers, broken down hand organs and accordeons, Red River carts during the dry season, the maniacal howling of the bulls and bears of Broad Street, and many other noises of like character, but none of them are at all comparable to the voicings of these Hydah dogs, when thoroughly warmed up to their best efforts by a few hours' practice.
A VISIT WITH CHIEF NIN-GING-WASH.
Nin-Ging-Wash, the ranking chief of Skidegate, is about 65 years old, thick-set, broad-faced, with a grave expression, and quiet reserved manner. He was introduced to me as the richest Indian on the island, as having the best houses, finest canoes and youngest wife. A few years ago he gave away his second wife—growing old—and sued for the daughter of Seotsgi, the leading chieftain of the West Coast. Presently she made her appearance, a sprightly young woman about 26, and we all started in their canoe for their home at Skidegate, where I had been invited. En route while passing a pipe from the chief to his wife, my oar caught in the water, giving the canoe a sudden lurch which would have been quite alarming to most feminine nerves, but not to the Princess for she laughed so heartily over the mishap, that I saw a smile spread over the big face of the old chief. An hour brought us to the broad sandy beach of Skidegate, opposite the chiefs present residence, a plain comfortable frame house in the centre of the village. Two large splendid canoes were carefully housed in front. A small orchard in which a few half-grown apples were seen, next engaged the attention. The chief's wife carried the keys to the house and to the piles of trunks and boxes it contained. Their furniture embraced good modern beds, tables, dressing cases, mirrors, chairs, stove, lamps and other articles too numerous to mention. They opened trunk after trunk and box after box and showed me a very interesting collection of Indian wear; four masquerade head dresses reaching down to the waist covered with ermine skins valued at $30 each; several complete dancing suits including a beautiful one made by the princess; Indian blankets, woven by hand from the wool of the mountain sheep, masks, rattles, etc., and also a good supply of common blankets and other stores which they exhibited with evident pride.