CHAPTER XI

FOOD FROM THE SEA

The voyagers worked on steadily through the day, and three or four hours before sundown they landed at Comox Spit, two or three miles from the village of Comox. All through the day numbers of hair-seals had been seen diligently fishing in the shoal waters, and often an old one was accompanied by her tiny young. There were hosts of water-fowl about the shore,--ducks of several kinds, seagulls, guillemots, and auks; while along the beach ran oyster catchers, turnstones, and many other shore birds. All these were picking a fat living there from the water or from the gravelly beach at the water's edge. The larger fowl fed on fish and mollusks on the bottom; the lesser ones on the small crustaceans, which are abundant among the vegetable life near the beach. At the end of the day the canoe passed through a great multitude of ducks, which seemed to contain many thousands of birds. Near these were hundreds of great seagulls, sitting on the sand spits which project from the islands far out into the water. As the canoe moved toward these great flocks of ducks, the noise of their rising, the whistling rush of their wings and the pattering of their feet upon the water made such a tumult as almost to drown ordinary conversation.

It was low water when they landed, and the boat's cargo had to be carried a long distance up to the meadow above the beach. After this had been done, the fire kindled and the tent put up, Charlie called to them: "Why don't you men try that mud flat for clams? You have a salmon to do to-night, but that won't last very long, and you had better try to get some more fresh meat."

Arming themselves with sharpened sticks, they scattered out over the mud flat, looking carefully for signs of clams, and before long were hard at work gathering them. Jack had dug clams in the East before, but this was new business for Hugh; and it was fun for Jack to tell him how to look for the clams and how to unearth them when found. It took them but a short time to gather over half a bushel of the bivalves, which were taken up to the camp and washed off and covered up.

Their dinner of salmon was greatly enjoyed. After dinner Jack and Fannin, seeing some fish jumping out at the mouth of the river, pushed off in the canoe and spent some time casting for them. But although they tried almost all their most attractive flies, they did not get a single rise, though the fish kept jumping all around them. While still occupied at this, the sun went down and before long the Indians began to make an extraordinary disturbance about the camp fire--shouting, rushing about, stooping down, and then throwing up their hands. When the two anglers reached the shore and inquired what had caused all the excitement, Hugh picked up by the wing and held aloft a tiny mottled owl. The little bird had been hunting about over the flat, and, attracted by the light of the fire, had flown about it several times; and the Indians, excited by its near approach, had begun to throw stones at it. A well-aimed shot by Jimmie had brought down the bird, which Charlie suggested would do for the next day's dinner.

"We haven't got down quite to eating owls," said Jack, with a laugh.

"Well," said Hugh, "I've eaten owl a number of times, and it's not at all bad eating, though, of course, it depends a little bit on how hungry you are. I guess most everything that runs or flies is pretty good to eat, if one only has appetite enough. I have tried a whole lot of things, and I put owl down among the things that are real good."

"How did you come to eat owl, Hugh?" asked Jack. "And when was it?"

"It's a good many years ago," said Hugh, "that I started, late in December, south from the Platte River with Lute North, expecting to load up a wagon with buffalo meat at once. We didn't take much grub with us as we meant to be gone only for a few days; and as buffalo had been plenty in the country to which we were going, we thought we could soon load the wagon.

"We travelled three days without seeing a head of game, and then crossed the Republican River and kept on south. In the river bottom we killed a turkey, but all the four-footed game seemed to have left the country. After going south two days longer and finding no game, not even an old bull, we turned back, for provisions were getting low. We crossed the Republican again, but got stuck in the quicksands; and the wagon sunk so low that the water came into the wagon box and wet our things, without doing much harm, however, for the sugar was the only thing that was spoiled. The flour got wet, and left us only about enough for two or three more loaves of bread. But we had a little piece of bacon left, so we had enough to carry us through. It took some hours to get the wagon out; and that afternoon, after leaving the river, we saw three old bulls feeding on the side of a ridge. At first Lute and I both intended to go after them; but as there was a better chance of approaching them if only one man went, and as Lute was a fine shot, I told him to go ahead, and I waited in the wagon. He took a circuit and got around the bulls so that the wind was right, then crept up behind a ridge until he was within a hundred yards, and fired--and the bulls ran off over the hills. When Lute came back, and I asked him how he came to miss them, he could give no explanation. 'I had as good a bead on that bull as I ever had on anything, and yet I missed him clean,' he said; 'shot clear over him.'

"We camped that night in a wide and deep ravine, and in the morning when we got up we found that we were covered with snow, which was two or three feet deep, and which still kept falling. This was certainly a bad state of things. We lay in camp all day, only leaving it to tie the horses up to some brush where they could get something to eat. It stopped snowing that night, and the next morning we started out to try to kill something, but had no luck. The snow was so deep in the ravine that we could not travel there, but on the divide the wind had blown it all off. Lute saw a wolf, but could not get a shot at it. I had seen nothing. We spent the rest of the evening trying to break a road out to the divide, and at night we made our last loaf of bread and ate half of it. It took us all the next day to get out to where the horses could travel, but we made some little distance, stopping at night and melting some snow for the horses, and for a cup of coffee apiece. Next morning, as we were hitching up, I saw a white owl hunting along the edge of the ravine. The bird alighted about half a mile away, and I took my rifle and went out to try to kill it. I got to within seventy-five yards of it, and then it saw me; so I fired, and it did not fly away. When I got hold of it I found that I had shot high, and that my ball had just cut the top of its head. Half an inch higher, and I would have missed. We ate half the owl that morning, and the rest that night. The next night we crossed the Platte. When within four or five miles of town, just when we didn't need it, we killed a white-tail deer."

"Well," said Jack, "you must have been pretty hungry when you got it."

"Yes," said Hugh, "but it isn't very hard to go without eating. A man feels pretty wolfish for the first twenty-four hours, but then he doesn't get any hungrier. After that he begins to get weak; not very fast, of course, but he can't do as much as he can when he's well fed. He can't walk as far or climb as hard. To go without water, though, is a very different thing. If a man can't drink, he suffers a great deal, and keeps getting worse all the time."

"Well," said Fannin, "in this country no man need suffer for want of water. These mountains are covered with it; it is running down them everywhere. There is usually food too, though sometimes fish and game, and seaweed and fern roots fail, and then the Indians get hungry. One thing the Indians eat, which I never saw eaten anywhere before, and that is the octopus or devil fish, as they're sometimes called. It isn't bad eating, and the Indians think a great deal of it. They cut off the arms and boil them, and then when the skin is peeled off, they are perfectly white, looking almost like stalks of celery. The meat is tender and quite good, though to tell the truth, it hasn't got much flavor to it."

"You speak of fern roots, Mr. Fannin," said Jack, "I didn't know that they were ever eaten."

"Yes," replied Fannin. "They're gathered and roasted in time of scarcity, and will support life for a time. The Indians here have quite a variety in the way of vegetable food in dulse, seaweed, and berries. They dry the berries of different kinds, making them into cakes when they're nearly dry, and using them as a sort of bread in winter. There's what is called the soap-berry, which they use as a sort of flavoring. The berries are dried and pressed into cakes. When they want to use it, a portion of a cake is broken off, crumbled into fine pieces and put into a bucket with a little water. Then a woman with bare arm begins to stir the mixture with her hand, and soon it becomes frothy. The more she stirs it, the more it foams up; and as the volume increases, more water is added, until at last the vessel which contains it, and which may hold several gallons, is full of this foam. Then the Indians sit about it, and scraping up the foam on their fingers, draw them between their lips. The taste of the foam is sharply bitter, something like the inner bark of the red willow. I've always supposed that these berries possessed some tonic quality like quinine. There are two or three kinds of seaweed that the Indians eat. One they boil, and it makes a dish a great deal like what we call 'greens.' The other is dried, pressed into cakes, and used later in soups. This seaweed seems to be full of gelatine and thickens the soup. It is still the custom in the villages which are far from the settlements, for young women to chew this seaweed fine before cooking it. It's necessary to make it small before the boiling will soften it. The Indians who live near the settlement, however, chop up the vegetable with a knife, a pair of scissors, or a tobacco cutter."

"Well," said Jack, "I guess we'll want to avoid any soup if we stop at any Indian villages."

"Well," said Fannin, "it might be a good idea to be on the lookout, but they use this seaweed chiefly in the winter, so I don't think we need to be alarmed."

Camp was broken early next morning, and a start made soon after daylight. There was a long day of paddling. Camp was made shortly before sundown, and soon after supper was eaten all hands went to bed.

Of course, efforts were made to procure fresh meat, but no more salmon were caught, nor any deer seen, though each day Fannin was lucky enough to kill a few ducks with a shot-gun.

Each night as the time for camping approached, Mr. Fannin and the Indians would be on the watch for a good landing-place. This had to be carefully chosen on account of the danger of scratching the bottom of the boat or striking it sharply on some rock or pebble, which might result in accident and cause several days' detention, or possibly even a serious calamity.

When a landing was made, it was the first duty of the party to unload the canoe, and then to drag it up on the beach, safe above reach of the waves. As has been stated, the prow of the canoe was turned away from the shore, and she was backed toward some place where the sand was smooth and free from stones, or else where the pebbles were smoothly spread out, and as nearly as possible of the same size. The approach to the shore was slow and made carefully, and the paddles of those in the stern were thrust, handles down, against the beach, to ease the shock of her touching. Then the steersman leaped overboard, and lifted and drew the canoe as far up the beach as he could. The others disembarked and helped to lift her still farther on to the beach. Then her load was taken out, and carried up above high-water mark. After the whole load had been transported to the spot selected for the camp, every one, except the cook, who at once busied himself with preparations for the meal, returned to the water's edge. The loose boards in the bottom of the canoe--put there to protect the bottom from the careless dropping of some heavy article, or from a too heavy footfall--were taken out and placed on the beach, so as to form a smooth roadway for the canoe to slide on, and she was then dragged well up above high-water mark. The Indians went into the forest to cut poles and pins for the tent, which was soon set up, and the beds made. Before dinner was ready, the camp was in complete order. Sometimes it happened that no satisfactory landing-place could be made, and then it was impossible to get the canoe out of the water on the rocks or the narrow beach where they were obliged to camp. In such cases the Indians, after they had eaten, would re-embark, take the canoe out some distance from the shore and anchor it there, and spend the night in the vessel. Next morning all the operations of unloading the canoe were reversed. While breakfast was being cooked the blankets were rolled up, the tent torn down, and everything but the mess kit and the provision boxes carried down to the canoe. After breakfast, and while the dishes were being washed, the canoe was loaded, the last thing put aboard being the mess kit and the provision boxes.

About noon the next day, upon rounding a point of land, some low houses were seen in a little bay, and Fannin, after speaking to the Indians, said to the others: "Here's the village of the Cape Mudge Indians. Had we not better stop here and see if we can't buy some dried salmon? We have got to have some provisions, unless you hunters can do better."

When they paddled up to the village they found that it consisted of large houses made of "shakes," somewhat like the Indian village that they had seen near Nanaimo. In front of several of the houses stood poles, from forty to sixty feet high and curiously carved. One such pole, not yet erected, and in process of being carved, bore on one end the head of a large bird, which by some stretch of imagination might be taken for that of an eagle. The Indians seen here, though little resembling the Indians Jack and Hugh were familiar with on the plains, were at least clad like Indians, that is to say, in breech-clout and blanket. Physically they bore little resemblance to the more symmetrical horse Indians of the plains, for, though their bodies seemed large and well developed, their legs were small and shrunken.

The party's stay here was short, but they succeeded in purchasing a few salmon and then pushed off again. Just outside of the village was a burial place of considerable size, in which were many small houses. The bodies of the dead were deposited in the small board houses, though those of poorer people were said to be placed in old canoes, which were then covered with boards. In front or at the side of each house stood a number of small poles, ten or twelve feet high, which indicated the number of potlatches or great feasts that the dead man had given, each pole standing for a potlatch. Fastened to stouter and larger poles were small profiles of canoes carved out of thin boards, which showed how many canoes the dead man had given away during his life. Over some of the houses stood large crosses, eight or ten feet high and covered with white cloth.

"You see," said Fannin, "a good many Indians along the coast here are supposed to be Christians, though it is pretty hard to tell just how much the Indians understand of what the missionaries tell them, and just how far their lives are influenced by their teachings. No matter how good Christians these Indians who are buried here may have been, every one of them has been fitted out by his relations with a canoe for use in the land of the future, for they can conceive of no country where there is no water, nor of any means of getting about except in a canoe."

That night after dinner as they were seated about the fire, Hugh and Fannin pulling at their pipes, Charlie smoking a cigarette, and the Indians--who that night slept aboard the canoe--singing one of their plaintive songs, Jack asked Mr. Fannin to explain the meaning of the word "potlatch," which he had used earlier during the day.

"Well," said Fannin, "potlatch is a word of the Chinook jargon, and means to give, or a gift, according to the connection in which it is used. As we've been paddling along you've heard the Indians say, 'Potlatch tsook,' which means 'give water.' In other words, they want a drink. The great ambition of every Indian in this country is to get property in such quantity that he can give a big feast, call all the people together, sometimes one village, sometimes all the villages of the tribe, and then hand around presents to everybody. It is in this way, according to their estimation, that they become chiefs or men of importance. Wealth, in fact, seems to constitute a standard of rank among them, and the man who gives away the most is the biggest chief. Later, he receives the reward of his generosity, for at subsequent potlatches, given by other people, he receives a gift proportionate to the amount of his own potlatch. When, therefore, an Indian has accumulated money enough, he is likely to buy a great lot of food, crackers, tea, sugar, molasses, and flour, as well as calico and blankets. Then he proceeds to invite all his friends, up and down the coast, to a potlatch. The feast consists mainly of boiled deer meat and salmon and oolichan oil, with the other food I have just mentioned. Every guest has all the crackers he can eat. Perhaps there is a small canoe full of molasses. Each guest receives so many yards of calico, a part of the blankets are distributed among the visitors, and the remainder are scrambled for among the young men, the donor perhaps getting on top of a house and throwing the blankets down into the crowd below. The feasting and the giving may last for a week; and when the affair is over the guests go their several ways, leaving the giver of the potlatch a poor man. When the next potlatch takes place, however, he recovers a portion of his wealth, and after a few more have been given, he is better off than ever. Sometimes at these feasts canoes are given away, and even guns and ammunition; and the greater the gift, the more is due the giver when those who have received gifts from him themselves give potlatches."

"Well," said Jack, "that's a queer custom and a queer way of thinking. It seems, in certain ways, though, a good deal like the orders that were given in the Bible, to take all you have and give it to the poor. But I suppose as a matter of fact, instead of giving it to the poor, these men who give these potlatches try to give to the rich instead, so that they may receive their gifts back again."

"Well," said Hugh, "you will find among Indians everywhere, that one making a gift to another, or a contribution for any purpose, expects to receive it back again. If a man should die before he had paid back the gift, his relations are required to make it up."

"I guess Indians are alike everywhere," said Fannin. "Queer people, queer people."

"Well," said Hugh, "that's just exactly what the Indians say about us: 'the white people are queer.'"