The Legends of San Francisco | Page 3

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 the last reverberation?Died away into the distance,?And the trade winds from the ocean?Blew away the smoke and vapors,?Those remaining of the Tamals?Gazed with wonder at a mountain?That was standing, new, before them,?For upon it lay the maiden?With her face upturned to heaven,?As it was when she was praying?To her God to save her people.?On her youthful breast and body?Lay a forest, like a mantle,?New