The Naturalist in Vancouver Island and British Columbia, Volume 1 (of 2)Lord, John Keast
History
The Naturalist in Vancouver Island and British Columbia, Volume 1 (of 2)
Lord, John Keast
British Columbia -- Description and travel; Natural history -- British Columbia; Vancouver Island (B.C.) -- Description and travel
Face to face I stand alone with the dreaded chief—more like bearding
a hog in its stye than the Forest Monarch, or the Scottish Douglas,
in his stronghold. On a few filthy skins squats a flabby, red-eyed,
dirt-begrimed savage, his regal robe a ragged blanket tied round his
waist. Sot and sensualist are legibly written on his face, and greed,
cruelty, and cunning visible in every twist of the mouth and twinkle
of the piglike eyes. My heart misgives me when I think my men, the
government property, and my own life, are entirely in the hands of this
degraded beast.
Addressing him in Chinook, which he fortunately understood, I explained
what my mission was, asked him what he meant by sending armed braves in
full war-paint, without any squaws, amongst my mules and men; that I
was a ‘King George’s’ chief, and what was more, that another and a much
greater chief was awaiting my arrival on the banks of the Columbia,
and if I failed to come when so many suns had set over the hills, he
would seek me, and if harm had befallen me, would surely burn up all
the lodges, drive off the horses, kill the braves, and perhaps hang the
chief.
Handing me the all-potent pipe, he replied—‘I am your brother; my
heart is good; my people are assembling for a war-trail; I mean you no
harm. Give me two bags of flour, to pay me for the grass your mules
eat.’ This I consent to, bolt through the hole like a fox, and gallop
with all speed back to my camp. Not one word of all this do I believe;
but take additional precautions to guard my mules, and quietly await
the tide of events. About dusk the chief arrives in full war-paint,
which consists of alternate stripes of vermilion and white, arranged
in all sorts of directions, and extending from his waist to his hair.
We smoked together; the pipe passing round the circle of ‘braves’ (that
might have been more justly styled ‘ragged ruffians,’ if they had worn
clothes), the chief’s bodyguard.
The chief of course wanted everything he saw, as a present; but this,
at all hazards, I sternly refused. Finding nothing more was to be
obtained by fair means, on receiving the promised payment, he left for
the village.
The lake near which I am camped is a magnificent sheet of water, forty
miles in length, with an average breadth of fifteen, shut in by steep
hills not very heavily timbered, between which are fine open grassy
valleys. Wildfowl in swarms dot its surface, and it abounds with
fish—so the Indians tell me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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