The Legends of San Francisco | Page 6

for signal fires,?And in eager alternation?Held the Magic Yellow Iris.
Came at last the welcome singing?Of the Meadow Lark and Robin,?And above the eastern mountains?Flushed the rose-light of the morning;?Then again the sky was tinted?By the Elf who plays with colors,?And the sleeping poppies wakened?When the sunbeams kissed their eyelids.
From the Heights of Point Bonita?Rose a thread of smoke that lengthened,?Broadened, flaunted like a banner,?Black and ominous of evil.?"They are coming!" Yana whispered,?"See, the signal fires are lighted!?They are coming. Guardian Spirit?Of our native country, save us!"?And she pressed the Yellow Iris?Closely to her throbbing bosom.
Over northern rim of ocean?Came the war canoes by hundreds,?Came until the waters darkened?With the number of the warboats.?Never could the Tamals conquer?Such a multitude of foemen.?Swiftly rose and fell their paddles,?Flashing in the brilliant sunshine,?Trailing scarfs of foam behind them,?As they raced toward the harbor.
Tana searched the far horizon,?Saw the signal fires blazing?On the mountain tops and headlands,?Heard the war drums in the village?Roll in constant wild alarum.
Yana held the Yellow Iris?With the Magic in its petals,?Held and gazed with adoration?On the velvet mystic markings.?Then she plucked a magic petal,?Held it high, and ere it fluttered?To the breeze this prayer was uttered:
'Spirit of our Native Country,?Goddess guarding home and harbor,?Roll the fog-banks o'er the headlands,?Hide the narrows from the foemen;?Bring the west-wind from the ocean,?Drive their boats to crash and shatter?On the rocky surf-bound islands.?Bring the west-wind! Bring the fogbanks!'
From the ocean came the west-wind,?Blowing stronger, growing cooler,?Bringing in protecting fog-banks,?Sweeping landward o'er gray waters,?Flooding through the Golden Gateway,?Rolling over shore and headlands.
Through the fog the boats were racing?For the entrance to the harbor,?When they plunged into the smother?Of the breakers round the islands -?Crashed upon the rocks and splintered.?From the surf the foemen struggled?To the rocks and scrambled on them.
Then the Maiden plucked another?Petal from the Magic Iris,?And she prayed again, 'Oh, Spirit?Of our Native Country, hear us,?Change the foemen to Sea-creatures,?That they never more attack us.'
As the magic petal fluttered?To the ground the foe was changing.?Arms and paddles changed to flippers;?Legs were bound as in a bandage,?And their brown and hairy bodies?Wriggled on the rocks, and crowded,?Barking, fighting one another.
When the danger was averted,?When the enemy was helpless,?Sisters wept, embraced each other,?Thanked the Gods for their deliverance.
Still remained another petal?Of the Magic Yellow Iris.?'One more wish we have, one only.'?Said one sister to the other,?'Would we might remain forever,?As the guardians of the harbor,?To protect it from all foemen,?To invoke the fog and west-wind.'
Then, again The Poppy Maiden?Stood triumphantly before them.?'You have chosen well, my children,?Had you wished for wealth or beauty,?Robes or jewels for adornment,?Or for any selfish purpose,?Then the petals would have fallen?To the earth and lost their Magic.?My twin daughters, ever faithful,?All your thoughts are for your people;?Therefore, you shall be immortal,?Standing on the heights forever,?As the Guardians of the Harbor.?Draw your mantles around your shoulders,?Furs they are, but flowers they shall be.?As my garments are of flowers,?So shall yours be, golden poppies,?Lupins, blue, shall deck your mantle.?Blue and gold shall be your colors -?Blue, for purity of purpose;?Gold, for worth of soul and spirit.?While you stand above the harbor,?While you call the fog and west-wind,?While you wear your cloak of poppies,?Never shall a foeman enter?Through the Golden Gate with war-boats.?Pluck the petal, let it flutter?To the ground. Your wish is granted.?Stand forever, native daughters,?As Twin Peaks, to guard the harbor.'
That was long ago, my children,?When the earth was young, and people?Heard the voices of the Spirits -?Knew the language of the sea-birds.?To this day the ancient warriors?Flounder on the Sea Rock Islands,?Barking, roaring, crowding, fighting,?Near the gateway of the harbor.?Still the Sisters, as the Twin Peaks,?Guard the city and the harbor.?In the summer, at the season?When the ancient foes came southward,?They invoke the cooling west-wind?With its fog, to screen the harbor;?Yet, the sunlight seeks the valley?Where the ancient tepees clustered,?Beaming there in benediction,?While around it lie the shadows.'
That, my children, is the legend?Told beside the evening campfire?By the ancient Tamal woman,?In a grove of giant redwoods,?On the slopes of Tamalpais.
The Sea Gulls.
Round the boat the Sea Gulls hovered,?Soaring on their spreading pinions,?Floating on the air, but turning?Searching eyes upon the people;?Searching, searching, always searching,?Winging, swinging, darting, calling?In their plaintive tones, "Ah-we-a."
By my side my friend, the Tamal,?Stood and gazed upon the Sea Gulls.?Long he gazed in deep abstraction,?Then he said, "They still are searching,?Still are calling to Ah-we-a.?Would you know the Tamal legend?Of Ah-we-a and the Sea Gulls?
Know you, then, that these blue waters?Were not always calm and peaceful.?Once the Sea King, grim and moody,?Held his court within this harbor -?Held his carnivals of beauty,?And his wild and stormy revels.
In the cove of Sausalito,?Where the houses of the paleface?Terrace on the wooded hillside?And the sailboats ride at anchor,?Lived a tribe of fisher people,?Building homes among the crannies?Of the rocks