Indian Legends of Vancouver Island | Page 2

valuable information I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Cox. The illustrations are original and are the work of Mr. J. Semeyn of Victoria.
ALFRED CARMICHAEL, Victoria, B.C.

CONTENTS
By Way of Introduction A Pen Picture of Barkley Sound The Summer Home of the Seshahts The Legend of the Thunder Birds How Shewish Became a Great Whale Hunter The Finding of the Tsomass The Legend of Eut-le-ten--in the following parts:-- The Witch E-ish-so-oolth The Birth of Eut-le-ten The Quest The Death of E-ish-so-oolth The Ogre The Destruction of the Ogre The Release of the Children Further Adventures of Eut-le-ten including:-- The Arrow Chain to Heaven The Two Blind Squaws The Four Terrors Guarding the House of Nas-nas-shup The Trial by Fire Astronomy According to Eut-el-ten
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Lone Indian On Jutting Rocks the Black Klap-Poose, the Shag in Silence Sits A West Coast Indian Wearing the Kut-sack A Pictographic Painting--The Coat of Arms of Shewish, Seshaht Chief The Bark Gives Way and Comes in Strips from off the Trees We Dance Round our Fires and Sing Again Next Day E're Mid-day Came They Had Set Sail Brushing the Hemlock Boughs, he Walked Stealthily Ka-koop-et Stone Hammer Used by the Indians of Barkley Sound He Shot an Arrow Straight Above his Head Then Eut-le-ten Stood Within the Fire

A PEN PICTURE OF BARKLEY SOUND
THE ANCIENT HOME OF THE SESHAHTS
To the lone Indian, who slowly paddles his canoe upon the waters of this western sound, each tree of different kind by shade of green and shape of crown is known; the Toh-a-mupt or Sitca spruce with scaley bark and prickly spine; the feathery foliage of the Quilth-kla-mupt, the western hemlock, relieved in spring by the light green of tender shoots. The frond-like branches and aromatic scent betray to him the much-prized Hohm-ess, the giant cedar tree, from which he carves his staunch canoe. These form the woods which sweep from rocky shore to topmost hill.
Small bays with sandy beaches white with broken clam shells mark the shore, and if across the beach a stream of crystal water rippled to the sea, one Indian lodge or more was sure to be erected on the rising land behind; for Indians always choose to build their homes on sheltered sandy bays where pure fresh water runs, and so in years which are among those past and gone one could not fail to see the blue wood smoke of Indian fires hanging like gauze above the little bays; but most are now deserted and corner posts of old time houses alone are seen, and beds of stinging nettle cover ancient kitchen middens, and spirea and elderberry strive for space where once red strips of salmon hung in the smoke of punk-wood fires, and stillness reigns where once the Indians' mournful song was heard.
Between the bays are rugged rocky points, where, by the constant wash of winter waves the rocks are carved in shapes uncouth and weird--giants in stone, whose heads are crowned with scrubby conifers, upon whose feet the wild seas break, or in the summer time the gentle wavelets lap. On jutting rocks the black Klap-poose, the shag, in silence sits, while circling overhead the keen eyed gulls watch for the shoals of fry on which they feed.
[Illustration: ON JUTTING ROCKS THE BLACK KLAP-POOSE, THE SHAG IN SILENCE SITS]
Come now with me and I will guide you to some beauty spots, unknown, unguessed except to those who have explored the sea creeks and sheltered passage ways abounding on that western coast. Perhaps between two rugged rocks we may find an opening where it cuts its way deep into the land. In many parts, the lichen-covered canyon walls approach so close together that our canoe can scarcely pass, and more than likely we shall find the passage bridged by some old fallen tree, its ancient trunk enveloped in soft moss and seedling forest trees. Reflected in the water's surface are flowering berry shrubs, which adorn the banks on either side. We see the glossy-leaved shalal, the fruit of which the Indians gather to dry for winter use, and clumps of maiden hair and other ferns rooted in old tree trunks and rocky crevices. Such is the picture of many a salt sea creek found in the regions round fair Barkley Sound.
Perhaps our fancy leads among the islands of the sound. It may be that a storm has lately spent itself, and long deep swells are rolling in from the wide ocean lying to the west. Our staunch canoe is lost in the deep green waters of the heaving main. It climbs only to descend and climb once more, and thus we slowly cross the Middle Channel and reach calm water.
Soon what at first appeared to be unbroken shore breaks up into many passage ways. By one of these we enter, to