Lyman's History of old Walla Walla County, Vol. 1 / Embracing Walla Walla, Columbia, Garfield and Asotin counties

by William Denison Lyman

Like all primitive men, the Oregon Indians have an extensive mythology. With childlike interest in the stars and moon and sun and fire and water and forests, as well as plants and animal life and their own natures, they have sought out and passed on a wealth of legend and fancy which in its best features is worthy of a place with the exquisite creations of Norse and Hellenic fancy, even with much of the crude and grotesque. Yet it is not easy to secure these legends just as the Indians tell them. In the first place few of the early explorers knew how or cared to draw out the ideas of the first uncontaminated Indians. The early settlers generally had a stupid intolerance in dealing with Indians that made them shut right up like clams and withhold their stock of ideas. Later the missionaries generally inclined to give them the impression that their "heathen" legends and ideas were obstacles to their "salvation," and should be extirpated from their minds. Still further the few that did really get upon a sympathetic footing with them and draw out some of their myths, were likely to get them in fragments and piece them out with Bible stories or other civilized conceptions, and thus the native stories have become adulterated. It is difficult to get the Indians to talk freely, even with those whom they like and trust. Educated Indians seem to be ashamed of their native lore, and will generally avoid talking about it with whites at all, unless under exceptional conditions. Christianized Indians seem to consider the repetition of their old myths a relapse into heathenism, and hence will parry efforts to draw them out. In general, even when civilized, Indians are proud, reserved, suspicious, and on their guard. And with the primal Indians few can make much headway. The investigator must start in indirectly, not manifesting any eagerness, and simply suggest as if by accident some peculiar appearance or incident in sky or trees or water, and let the Indian move on in his own way to empty his own mind, never suspecting any effort by his listener to gather up and tell again his story. And even under the most favoring conditions, one may think he is getting along famously, when suddenly the Indian will pause, glance furtively at the listener, give a moody chuckle, relapse into stony and apathetic silence—that is the end of the tale.

Our stories have been derived mainly from the reports of those who have lived much among the Indians, and who have been able to embrace the rare occasions when, without self-consciousness or even much thought of outsiders, the natives could speak out freely. There is usually no very close way of judging of the accuracy of observation or correctness of report of these investigators, except as their statements are corroborated by others. These stories sometimes conflict, different tribes having quite different versions of certain stories. Then again the Indians have a peculiar habit of "continued stories," by which at the teepee fire one will take up some well known tale and add to it and so make a new story of it, or at least a new conclusion. As with the minstrels and minnesingers of feudal Europe at the tournaments, the best fellow is the one who tells the most thrilling tale.

One confusing condition that often arises with Indian names and stories is that some Indians use a word generically and others use the same word specifically. For instance the native name for Mount Adams, commonly given as "Pahtou," and Mount Rainier or Tacoma, better spelled "Takhoma," as sounded by the Indians, really means any high mountain. A Wasco Indian once told the author that his tribe called Mount Hood, "Pahtou," meaning the big mountain, but that the Indians on the other side of the Columbia River applied the same name to Adams. A very intelligent Puyallup Indian says that the name of the "Great White Mountain" was "Takhoma," with accent and prolonged sound on the second syllable, but that any snow peak was the same, with the second syllable not so prolonged according to height or distance of the peak. Mount St. Helens was also "Takhoma," but with the "ho" not so prolonged. But among some other Indians we find Mount St. Helens known as "Lawailaclough," and with some Mount Hood is known as "Yetsl." Still other names are "Loowit" for St. Helens and "Wiyeast" for Hood. Adams seems to be known to some as "Klickitat." "Koolshan" for Baker, meaning the "Great White Watcher," is one of the most attractive of Indian names and should be preserved. There is "Shuksan" or "The place of the Storm Wind," the only one of the northwestern peaks which has preserved its Indian name. In reference to "Takhoma," a Puyallup woman told the writer that among her people the name meant the "Breast that Feeds," or "The Breast of the Milk White Waters," referring to the glaciers or the white streams that issue from them. On the other hand, Winthrop in "Canoe and Saddle," states that the Indians applied the name "Takhoma" to any high snow peak. Mr. Edwin Eells of Tacoma has written that he derived from Rev. Father Hylebos of the same city the statement that the name "Takhoma" was compounded of "Tah" and "Koma," and that among certain Indians the word "Koma" meant any snow peak, while "Tah" is a superlative. Hence, "Tahkoma" means simply the great peak.

We find something of the same inconsistencies in regard to the Indian names of rivers. Our maps abound with supposed Indian names of rivers and yet an educated Nez Percé Indian named Luke, living at Kamiah, Idaho, says that the Indians, at least of that region, had no names of rivers, but only of localities. He told the author that "Kooskooskie," which Lewis and Clark understood to be the name of what we now call the Clearwater, was in reality a repetition of "Koos," their word for water, and they meant merely to say that it was a strong water. On the other hand we find many students of Indian languages who have understood that there were names for the large rivers, even for the Columbia. In the beautiful little book by B. H. Barrows, published and distributed by the Union Pacific Railroad Company, we find the name "Shocatilicum" or "Friendly Water" given as the Chinook name for the Columbia. It is interesting to notice that this same word for "friendly water" appears in Vol. II, of the Lewis and Clark Journal, but with different spelling, in one place being "Shocatilcum" and in another place "Chockalilum." Reverend Father Blanchet is authority for the statement in "Historical Magazine," II, 335, that the Chinook Indians used the name "Yakaitl Wimakl" for the Lower Columbia. A Yakima Indian called William Charley gives "Chewanna" as still another Indian name for the Columbia.

We have many supposed Indian names for God, as "Nekahni," or "Sahale," but Miss Kate McBeth, long a missionary among the Nez Perces, records in her book about them that those Indians had no native name for the deity. Of these Indian myths many deal with the chief God, as "Nekahni," "Sahale," "Dokidatl," "Snoqualm," or "Skomalt," while others have to do with the lesser grade of the supernatural beings, as the Coyote god, variously named "Tallapus," "Speelyi," or "Sinchaleep." Others may treat of "Skallalatoots" (Fairies), "Toomuck," (Devils), or the various forms of "Tomanowas" (magic). A large number of these myths describe the supposed origin of strange features of the natural world, rocks, lakes, whirlpools, winds and waterfalls. Some describe the "animal people," "Watetash," as the Klickitats call them. Some of the best are fire-myths. These myths seem to have been common among all Indians of the Columbia Valley.

In the preceding chapter we have given two of the best Indian myths, that of Wishpoosh and that of the Chinook Wind. We insert here two stories of a very different nature, derived from the same investigator as the two preceding, Dr. G. B. Kuykendall of Pomeroy, Washington.

There is a legend among the Yakima Indians which seems to have the same root in human nature as the beautiful Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, showing the instinctive desire of people on earth to bring back the spirits of the dead, and the impossibility of doing so. This myth sets forth how Speelyi and Whyama the eagle became at one time so grieved at the loss of their loved ones that they determined to go to the land of the spirits and bring them back. The two adventurers journeyed for a long distance over an unbroken plain, and came at last to a great lake, on the farther side of which they saw many houses. They called long and vainly for someone to come with a boat and ferry them over. But there was no sign of life and at last Whyama said that there could be no one there. Speelyi insisted, however, that the people were simply sleeping the sleep of the day and would come forth at night. Accordingly, when the sun went down and darkness began to come on, Speelyi started to sing. In a few minutes they saw four spirit men come to the bank, enter a boat and cross the lake to meet them. It seemed not necessary for them to row the boat, for apparently it skimmed over the water of its own accord. The spirit men, having landed, took Whyama and Speelyi with them in the boat and began their return to the island of the dead. The island seemed to be a very sacred place. There was a house of mats upon the shore, where music and dancing were in progress. Speelyi and Whyama begged leave to enter, and feeling hungry, they asked for food. The spirit land was so much less gross than the earth that they were satisfied by what was dipped with a feather out of a bottle. The spirit people now came to meet them dressed in most beautiful costumes, and so filled with joy that Speelyi and Whyama felt a great desire to share their happiness. By the time of the morning light, however, the festivities ceased and all the spirit people became wrapped in slumber for the day. Speelyi, observing that the moon was hung up inside the great banquet hall and seemed to be essential to the ongoings of the evening, stationed himself in such a place that he could seize it during the next night's meeting. As soon as night came on the spirits gathered again for the music and dance. While their festivities were in progress as usual, Speelyi suddenly swallowed the moon, leaving the entire place in darkness. Then he and Whyama brought in a box, which they had previously provided, and Whyama, flying swiftly about the room caught a number of the spirits and enclosed them in the box. Then the two proceeded to start for the earth, Speelyi carrying the box upon his back.

As the two adventurers went upon their long journey toward the earth with the precious box, the spirits, which at first were entirely imponderable, began to be transformed into men and to have weight. Soon they began to cry out on account of their crowded and uncomfortable position. Then they became so heavy that Speelyi could no longer carry them. In spite of the remonstrances of Whyama, he opened the box. They were astonished and overwhelmed with grief to see the partially transformed spirits flit away like autumn leaves and disappear in the direction from which they had come. Whyama thought that perhaps even as the buds grow in the spring, so the dead would come back with the blooming of the next flowers. But Speelyi deemed it best after this that the dead should remain in the land of the dead. Had it not been for this, as the Indians think, the dead would indeed return every spring with the opening of the leaves.

The Klickitat Indians, living along the Dalles of the Columbia, have another legend of the land of spirits. There was a young chief and a girl who were devoted to each other and seemed to be the happiest people in the tribe, but suddenly he sickened and died. The girl mourned for him almost to the point of death, and he, having reached the land of spirits, could find no happiness there on account of thinking of her.

And so it came to pass that a vision began to appear to the girl by night, telling her that she must herself go into the land of the spirits in order to console her lover. Now there is near that place one of the most weird and funereal of all the various "memaloose" islands, or death islands, of the Columbia. The writer himself has been upon this island and its spectral and volcanic desolation makes it a fitting location for ghostly tales. It lies just below the "great chute," and even yet has many skeletons upon it. In accordance with the directions of the vision, the girl's father made ready a canoe, placed her in it, and rowed out into the great river by night to the memaloose island. As the father and his child rowed across the dark and forbidding waters, they began to hear the sound of singing and dancing and great joy. Upon the shore of the island they were met by four spirit people, who took the girl but bade the father return, as it was not for him to see into the spirit country. Accordingly the girl was conducted to the great dance house of the spirits, and there she met her lover, far stronger and more beautiful than when upon earth. That night they spent in unspeakable bliss, but when the light began to break in the east and the song of the robins began to be heard from the willows on the shore, the singers and the dancers began to fall asleep.