The Legends of San Francisco | Page 3

grim and cruel,
Worshiping the Fire Demon

Who is crouching in the mountain.

From their heights they saw the waters
Of the Bay of San Francisco

Lying crystal-clear and purple.
Then no Sacramento River

Poured its flood of silt into it,
For a range of hills continued,
All
unbroken, from Diablo
To the distant smoking mountain
Which is
now called Saint Helena.
Long they watched the bay and marveled
At its strange, alluring
beauty;
Watched it in its changing colors -
In the gray of misty
mornings,
In the blue of sunny mid-day,
In the glories of the sunset,

In the silver flood of moonlight -
It enticed and seemed to beckon,

Then, as ever, to the strangers.
Long their Wizards danced, and rattled
With their gourds, to rouse
the Demon
Of the Mountain to assist them -
Danced until they fell
in frenzy,
Prophesying wealth of plunder.
Warriors danced and
chanted war songs,
Stamped and shouted, waved their war clubs,

With the war paint on their bodies,
Black and yellow and vermillion.

Hideous and terrifying
Were they when they took the warpath.
Oh, the terror of their coming!
Oh, the horror of the battle
On the
meadows of the uplands!
Forward, by the strength of numbers,

Pressed the Devils of Diablo;
Slowly backward fell the Tamals
To
the Stronghold of the Boulders.
When the darkness of the midnight

Fell as a protecting blanket,
Silently my tribe retreated,
Ere the ring
should be completed
By the merciless invaders.
All the Tamals
started northward -
Men and women, little children -
Through the
open, grassy meadows,
Through the forest to the ridges
Circling
round the Bay below them.

At the dawning of the morning
They
were resting on a hilltop.
To the west the Bay was sleeping

Underneath its misty blanket;
To the east a lake was gleaming
In
the rosy light of sunrise.
While they rested on the mountain,
Weary, footsore, and disheartened,

Came pursuing scouts to spy them.
Fierce and bloody was the

combat,
All the rocks were stained with crimson.
Then the scouts,
or those still living,
Fled to tell their wicked Chieftain
Where to
find the fleeing Tamals.
Loud the wail of lamentation
When the Tamals saw their warriors

Who had fallen in the combat
Lying lifeless on the mountain.

Louder still, the cry of anguish
When they found their Maid of Mercy

Helpless now, and sorely wounded.
No more would her strong
young shoulders
Bear the wounded braves to safety,
Nor would she
withdraw the arrows,
Bind the wounds nor stanch the bleeding.
On the shoulder of the Chieftain
She was carried, for no other
Had
such strength and gentle manner.
On his shoulder thus he bore her,

Fleeing northward on the ridges,
Bore her gladly, for he loved her.

All the women were exhausted,
All the children, tired and weeping;

Half the warriors, dead or wounded -
Slow and painful was the
progress.
On they fled, but often turning,
Looking backward o'er their
shoulders,
Fearful lest the foe o'ertake them
Ere they reached a
place of safety.
Came a deadly fear upon them!
'We are lost,' they cried in terror,

For a league behind them, followed
Such a host of men or devils

That they could not hope to conquer.
'We are lost,' they moaned,
'Their number
Is the number of the needles
On the redwoods in the
forest;
And they follow as the foxes
Follow rabbits in the open.'
'We shall die, oh, my beloved,'
Said the Chieftain to the maiden.

'And die gladly,' said the maiden,
'If our people may not perish.
As
I sat beneath the buckeye
At my mortar, grinding acorns,
Fairy
butterflies came to me,

Fluttered round my head and told me
That
an enemy was coming;
And I warned you, oh, my lover.'
'Aye, you
did, my best beloved.'
'And they promised, oh, my lover,
That our

God would save our people
Should I offer up my spirit
As a
sacrifice before Him.'
And the young Chief spoke, and answered,
'Life without you would
be empty;
Let my spirit travel with you
Through the spaces of the
heavens,
To the upper world of spirits.'
'It shall be as you have spoken,'
Said the maiden to her lover,
'And I
know that God will answer
With a mighty sign from heaven.
Stoop,
and bow your head, my lover,
That my face may turn to heaven.

Mighty Father, save my people,
Take my spirit and my lover's
To
the spirit land of lovers;
Lift your hand and strike the mountain!
Cut
a chasm wide, between us
And the wicked ones who follow;
Save
my people, oh, my Father,
Strike the mountain! Strike the mountain!'
Came a rumble in the distance,
Nearer, louder, terrifying!
God had
heard her prayer, and lifted
Up his hand to strike the mountain.

When the mighty blow descended
With the crash of many thunders,

All the mountains rocked and trembled,
Rose and fell, and swayed
and shuddered;
And across the Coast Range Mountains
Yawned a
chasm, hot and smoking;
Into it careened the hillsides;
Mountains
swooned and fell into it.
Through it, as a giant sluiceway,
Rushed
the roaring, boiling waters
Of the lake, in tumbling tumult,

Flooding all the bayside lowlands,
Racing through the Golden
Gateway
In a cataract stupendous.
Saint Helena burst its crater

With a blast that leveled forests,
And the falling sand and cinders

Buried deep the fallen giants,
To be petrified to agate.

Through the
steam and sulphurous vapors,
Flashed the lightning on the mountains,

And the din of quake and thunder
Beat the air until it quivered.
When God, his righteous wrath abating,
Ceased to shake and rend
and deluge,
And