The great sea between Northeastern Asia and Northwestern America, at one time known as the Sea of Kamchatka, and now known as Bering Sea, has been variously written Bhering Sea, Behring Sea, Beering Sea, Bering Sea, as well as all these forms with the addition of the apostrophe "s." I will not ask what is the correct name, as the question in this form seems to imply that there is a correct form, and all other forms are erroneous. The question should rather be, what form is it advisable to adopt with the view, let us hope, of securing its general adoption?
And this leads up to the question of possessives generally in specific geographic names. Many specific geographic names have the possessive form, while many others do not. Is it advisable to attempt to secure uniformity of usage in this regard? I will frankly avow my own conviction which has resulted from more or less consideration and study of the matter to be, that the use of the possessive form should be discouraged and abandoned as far as practicable. While it seems to me unwise to lay down a hard and fast rule, yet there are a very large number of cases in which the possessive form may be dropped to advantage and without, I think, arousing any general opposition to the practice. When the theory held that the King owned all, and geographic features were named for the royal family or for the nobility, the possessive form was very frequently used indicating possession or ownership, and this in cases where such possessive form has now disappeared from the maps. Why should not the possessive form be used to denote possession only? A pond, a hill, a swamp, lying on Smith's land may be properly designated as it often is, as Smith's pond, Smith's hill, etc. But nobody would think of saying Madison's Place, or Washington's Monument. There appears to be a certain principle involved. Those particular features which are of a public character, such as states, counties, towns, streets, parks, etc., which are named for individuals are almost universally named without the possessive form. And this commends itself as a reasonable practice. Without, therefore, cutting off possessives from all names where usage has now fixed them with considerable firmness, there yet remains a considerable body of geographic names in which the possessive form remains, but which are not strongly intrenched in public usage. In such cases it seems to me we may advantageously drop the possessive form. Let us say Donner Lake, not Donner's Lake, Hudson Bay, not Hudson's Bay, James Bay, not James' Bay, Baffin Bay, not Baffin's Bay, etc., etc.
MR. THOMPSON: I hardly know how I came to be brought into this discussion. The Secretary caught me in his net unawares and unprepared. I do not propose to trespass long on your time, nor do I suppose I shall add anything to a philosophical discussion of geographic nomenclature. I only wish to call your attention to a few principles that obviously should be followed in the selection of new geographic names and to show some absurdities and difficulties which are liable to occur if the sentiment in favor of Indian nomenclature is allowed full liberty. A geographic name should be short, euphonic, pronounced as spelled, and have a meaning or express some sentiment to help fix it in the memory. Especially should these principles govern when we consider that in childhood, in our school-days, we obtain by far the greater portion of our geographic knowledge.
The old Spanish explorers followed these rules largely in their geographic nomenclature, and although "Saint" and "Sierra" occur with alarming frequency, there is always some reason for the appellation; either they saw a line of peaks cut the horizon or the christening occurred on the natal day of the holy martyr. "Rio Dolores" and "Las Animas" are certainly better than "Sorrow Creek" or "Soul Wash," and even "Purgatoire"—though the Colorado cow-boy corrupts it into "Picket Wire"—is better than "Cottonwood Creek."
Some Indian names are very expressive, characterizing topographic features. In northern Arizona is a steep volcanic neck or needle, its sharp sides rising in one step twelve hundred feet above the surrounding country. From the base of this pinnacle, two long lava dykes stretch on either hand in a gentle curve across the mesa. The resemblance to the spreading wings of a bird is striking, and the Navajo Indian calls the rock "A-ga-thla"—the "Flying Bird." A name well worthy, it seems to me, of being placed on the maps of that region, as it is on the one I hold in my hand. But on the same map, close along side, is "Te-ze-ba-a-kit Lake," a barbarous appellation—unspellable, unpronounceable and unlovely. Nor can I say less in denunciation of "Zilh-le-ji-ni Mesa"—a name that needs intimate acquaintance with wigwam smoke and Navajo gutturals to handle lingually. But what shall we say of "Boo-koo-dot-klish Cañon;" the Navajo name for what the white man calls with better propriety, it seems to me, for our maps, "Bluestone Wash." "To-go-hol-tas-e Spring" could hardly be worse in English. And here is "Sa-hot-soid-be-azh-e Cañon" (pronounce it as you please or can) sandwiched between "Gothic Wash" and "Gypsum Valley"—one hardly knows which to prefer, Indian or English.
"Cañon del Muerto"—the Cañon of the Dead—so named from the discovery of mummified or rather dessicated Indian bodies in its cliffs—seems very appropriate, but its brother cañon—"Cañon de Chelly," pronounced Cañon de Shay, will be neither spoken nor written correctly.
On this same map are shown two small mesas, crowned with forests and standing beautiful and symmetric in the landscape. They attract attention at once and the Indian, with a fine sense of appropriateness, names them "Son-sa-la"—the "Twin Stars"; another name well worthy of being retained. Some patriotic American has named the deep gorge separating the "Stars" "Washington Pass," a good example of the right name in a wrong place.
The sense of broad humor that often characterizes the Indian leads him to sometimes give the inquirer a name expressive of contempt or bearing a meaning hardly translatable to ears polite—"Nic-doit-so-e Peak" is an example—and I confess, with considerable humiliation, that I was the victim in this case.
I present these instances, Mr. Chairman, to emphasize the necessity of adopting some guiding principles to aid us in the selection of geographic names.