USA > Oregon > Pioneer days of Oregon history, Vol. I > Part 10
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this heroic band made a treaty of eternal peace with the Calipooias that never was violated, and peaceably occupied the mountain foothills region where they found game in plenty and all sorts of berries and roots to supply their needs. Thus they had pleasant homes, were clothed with skins and furs, and grew and prospered until they occupied all the mountain sides that bordered the Wah-lam-ut Valley.
But they lived and died with terrible vengeance in their hearts toward their Cayuse relatives who had driven them into the wilderness. They transmitted to their descendants this hate, with orders to sometime summon the Cayuses to fight it out. They were Cayuses no longer, but took the name of Molallas, grew and thrived and became numerous and powerful. So, in obedience to the commands of their forefathers, after one time holding a great council, they de- termined to send a challenge to the Cayuses to come with a band of their best warriors and fight it out. They chose a spot not far from the base of Mount Jefferson for the battle-ground, and there the Cayuses met them.
The Cayuses were as brave as anybody, and would not take a dare from any source whatever. It was a long road from the Walla Walla country to the Cascades, certainly over two hundred miles, but they were too proud to receive such a challenge, and most likely were glad of a chance to settle old scores, though many years must have passed since the secession of the Molallas. The story is confirmed by the fact that the Molallas spoke the Cayuse language, though so far separated.
In the very heart of the Cascade Range there is a beautiful hill region, at least twenty-five miles each way, surrounded by great ranges. Clasped in among them it reaches to near
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the base of Mount Jefferson, one of the great snow peaks we are so proud of. The old trail that followed the ancient pass wound around the base of Jefferson, came down into this sylvan paradise and passed through it, so there was no trouble to locate the spot. The messenger waited until he got his answer, and when all was understood he took his way back by the same route that went past Jefferson. The Molallas were notified that their challenge was accepted and had their forces equipped and ready for the time set.
When the appointed time came that beautiful region was wakened from its rest of the ages and there went echoing through the forest arches the war-cries and yells of men of Cayuse blood who were bound for revenge. It was a fierce fight ; when it was over there were not so many Molallas as in the beginning, not by half ; and the other half were hardly able to bury the dead.
The Cayuses went home in triumph, and very naturally supposed they had taken most of the conceit out of their seceding relatives. There was no more heard of the quarrel for long years ; but the boys who were born at the time of this fierce battle grew to be men, but as their fathers be- queathed to them their ancient hate and enjoined upon them that they too must seek revenge, so it was that when this young generation of Molallas came on the stage they also sent word to the Cayuse nation that they would meet them on the same battle-ground. The challenge was again ac- cepted, another battle was fought and again the Cayuses were victorious-only, this time there were so few of the Molalla fighting men left that they as a nation never could afford to again take the war-path. Thereafter, there was peace between those people, but one result of the conflict was
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that this last battle had been fought in the very pass where the old trail went over the mountains. The Indian dreads death and will never willingly pass where any one is buried; so strong was the feeling that they forever abandoned the best pass that existed across the great range rather than travel it when they knew so many of their kindred dead were buried there.
This, then, is the legend of the Molallas. They were an independent people and usually able to hold their own. As mountain men and hunters they were famous, and whenever there was a great fair held at the Dalles they appeared with their skins and dried venison and traded and gambled with the best of them.
CHAPTER XIX
THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS. A LEGEND OF THE CASCADES
One of the most remarkable of the Indian legends was told by the Klickitats who occupied the Great Gorge of the Columbia. They had given this legend to the members of the fur companies, and retold it to the early emigrants of the forties as they made the portage descending the Columbia. The story lacks scientific foundation, though science proves that some convulsion occurred, in a not very remote past, that created the cascades by obstructing the river there. The legend has value as showing that the abor- iginal race possessed traditions involving eras of time, for science shows that the time was when the river's flow was un- interrupted in its course through that mountain range.
The Klickitat legend asserts that in the long ago their canoes went up or down the placid current without obstruc- tion ; that in the olden age Mount Hood, that now rises so superbly to the south, stood close to the river, and Mount Adams, whose rounded summit rises thirty miles among the crests to the north, stood facing Hood on the north shore.
They say each mountain was the home of a powerful genius and continual jealousy existed between them on ques- tions of precedence. Each was proud of its own grandeur and envied the magnificence of the other. The Great Spirit, or Sahulla Tyee, looked on with displeasure at the existing unpleasantness, for he especially disliked when they became
THE CASCADES OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER
Place where the legendary " Bridge of the Gods ' is said to have existed. From a photograph by Lee Moorhouse. Pendleton, Oregon.
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furious in their hatefulness, throwing red hot rocks and burning lava around recklessly. He thought to let them fight it out and get tired of it, but instead of becoming tired and giving up the war, these genii grew worse and worse, until at last they upset the Sahulla's plans and spoiled his calculations to an unpardonable degree.
The wonder of that past, that divided attention with the great peaks, was a vast span of rock that formed an arch, or bridge, with one base on the side of Mount Hood, the other resting on Mount Adams, rising in majestic form that far surpassed all human architecture. This constituted the "Bridge of the Gods," that has formed the theme for much of Indian song and story that is even retold in our day.
This supreme arch seemed to have been a pet scheme with the Great Spirit, who probably had made a special effort in this vast work, so had pardonable pride in its stability. Anyway, the great arch had stood there so long that it seemed able to hold on and justify the faith and pride of the supreme projector.
As canoes went or came they passed under its shadow, while passengers and crew admired its grandeur and adored the mighty architect. It was a notable feature, as it stood there through the ages and saw the cycles as they came and vanished. As no one interfered the rivals grew more and more enraged, until, in their infernal wrath they shook the foundations and so disturbed the equilibrium of things that the arch lost its balance, collapsed, fell and blocked the river's flow, that it had before so admirably ornamented.
The Great Spirit was so enraged that he determined to teach the warring genii a lesson of summary justice. With a mighty heave he lifted Mount Adams and sent it whirling
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through space until it landed where now it rises to charm the ranges with supernal snows. If there is grace in form, and grandeur in mountain summit in all the world, it is where Hood lifts its everlasting snows to overlook the ranges, as I saw it from off the ocean, one hundred and fifty miles away, half a century gone. With another supernal effort the Great Spirit lifted Hood, also, tossing it thirty miles to the south, where it wears its robe of summer snows and win- ter frosts as imperiously as ever it did in days of old.
Such was the Indian legend of "The Bridge of the Gods," that was celebrated in song and story when the Klickitats had their Thermopyle at the Cascades and levied tribute on all passers by.
In an interesting treatise on this subject, W. Hampton Smith gives the scientific phases of the river and the obstruc- tions at the Cascades. He shows that about a thousand years ago the river flowed without obstruction, and judges that, from present rate of erosion, in fifteen hundred years more it will again flow unvexed to the sea. The basalt, that was originally thrown out as lava, in the eruptive period, over- laid sedimentary rock in which the canal made around the Cascades by government was excavated. He shows that for miles the river sides and hills are destitute of the lava flow that forms the adjacent mountains ; that glacial drift covers the sedimentary strata, and glacial ridges parallel the river between it and the mountains, which proves that no such bridge was possible.
Within two thousand years some cause created these cas- cades, raising the river so that it overflowed and has buried under its flood shores that had been covered with fir forests. The main trunks, with jagged limbs, stand to-day-just
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above the cascades-in their original order. I saw these forests as we rode over them on the river, in 1852, and they extend for many miles above the cascades. Mr. Hampton Smith shows scientific conclusion that these trees have been thus preserved for perhaps two thousand years; the river must have raised forty feet to overthrow them as we see to-day, and it must have occurred at least eleven hundred years ago.
Scientific investigation shows that the original channel was on the north, at the upper cascades ; that abrupt moun- tains rose on the north; that annual floods undermined the basalt cliffs so they toppled from their sandstone founda- tions, where they rose thousands of feet, filling the deep channel, leaving a mass of mingled construction that works all the time toward the river. On the south this is known as the "moving mountain," that continually pushes toward the river, making necessary new alignment of railroad tracks occasionally. This fact I wrote up many years ago, and it was quoted far and near.
The Indians were correct in claiming that the Columbia's flow was once placid from the Dalles to the ocean ; that some convulsion choked its volume in the past was certainly true, but love of mystery, poetic fancy and vivid imaginations caused this story to take form and receive additions as gen- erations passed, with romance of the supernatural as native genius thought fit to complete it.
CHAPTER XX
LEGEND OF NEHALEM
South of the Columbia, after passing Clatsop Plains, the mountains come down abruptly to the ocean and the way is so rough that no wheel has ever traversed it. The old Indian trail followed the sandy beach when the tide was out, and at the full the waves wash precipitous bluffs that buttress the shore line, at which time travelers follow where winding trails creep up and over the beetling heights.
The shore line of the Pacific is all abrupt, with occasional indentations where streams from the coast ranges pour down from their summit fountains to reach the sea, or, occasion- ally, beautiful bays are indented, forming sheltered havens where Indian villages nestled of old, and the white man makes his home to-day. Now there are homes and civilized industries where the scene of this story is laid. The com- merce of a great river invades the solitudes, where frowning heights bristle with cannon ; but over it all there is a wealtlı of tradition from which we will wrest the following story, handed down by six generations, from a time that anteceded the discovery of the Columbia River.
The Indians claim that their earliest knowledge of other races came from prehistoric wrecks along the coast, extend- ing from California, on the south, to the shores of Van- couver's Island on the north. There was also unmistakable evidence that voyagers from the Orient ventured far from their home seas to lay the bones of their junks on these for-
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bidding shores. There is also tradition that some who were saved made their homes with the coast Indians, married and left almond-eyed descendants to confirm the legend. Other tales tell of armed boats that landed at the base of stern Mount Necarney, conveyed a treasure chest to the mountain benches, to bury there, first slaying a victim to bury with it, so to awe the wondering savages that they would never dare to unearth the buried treasure.
Certain it is, that the frowning front of Necarney yet overlooks the sea and throws back the breakers; that under its mighty base the sea, or some of old Neptune's journey- men, have hewn out caves, or grottoes-the same where the natives say their fathers told of other treasure being hid away. Yes; Necarney is there, and over its benches and through its ravines the credulous white man has dug and delved to find the buried treasure of which the legends of Tillamook and Nehalem have borne such witness.
But this is not a tale of treasure lost or trove, but of ship- wreck long before white men were known here, or the Colum- bia was discovered. To the south of Necarney there is a strip of sandy beach, between the Nehalem River and the sea. At the very base of the mountain there is a pleasant bay, where the legend landed that crew and left wrecks bedded in the sands. The Nehalem River courses seaward among the coast ranges for a hundred miles ; striking the base of Necarney it turns south, runs for three miles paral- lel with the ocean, then enters it and is lost in the fathomless waters.
All the bands south of the Columbia are kindred, and this river stretch-bowered in by lofty cottonwoods, ash, alder, and maple-was the winter home of the Nehalem band. The
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Clatsops were not far north, and the Tillamooks lived on a beautiful bay of that name a few miles to the south. All along the sounding shore fantastic rocks stand, waist deep among the breakers, on which the wandering gull will build its nest, or the vagrant sea crab climb. The predaceous seal watches there, from convenient ledges, for some unwary fish to come anear, and has especial relish for the toothsome sal- mon when it seeks to enter the river of its birth. When its appetite is thus sated it may be seen on this same ledge ; then, the wary native would of old waylay the unwary seal from the vantage ground of his canoe.
Below Clatsop is Tillamook Head; its outlying spur- Tillamook Rock-rises from the waves and has stood there, seeming to laugh at the impotent rage of the worst the sou- west gales can do. Summit crowns summit as the wild shore- line moves southward, until, at last, bold Necarney inspires the scene with weirdest front of all! The waves break against its base, but a winding path creeps upward, sur- mounts the cliffs and follows a terrace eight hundred feet above.
From age to age, Necarney has been handed down as the scene of many an episode, as tradition has given birth to legendry that lingers yet in annals of the Nehalem. They summered among the mountains to catch the silver side sal- mon in the fall, and wintered on that sheltered shore.
Elk and deer and bear abounded and no people were more blessed with abundance. They fished the ocean, the bays and the streams; ranged the plains, the forests and the mountains ; all the fruits of the earth they cared for were to be had for the taking. Nature was generous in her bounty, and, fenced in by the sea, they had little to fear.
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The sea brought warm winds and currents from Asia, so they knew few of the vicissitudes of summer or winter. Clustering underneath the spicy groves, on the sandy penin- sula, the Nehalems hauled their canoes on the beach and were ready, as occasion demanded, to climb the ranges for game or push out on the waves for whatever the sea could offer them, and schools of spouting whales oftimes gave challenge for them to do and dare.
It was about the winter of 1760 that a sou-west storm had raged on this wild coast, tearing the waves to tatters to drench the shore with mingled brine and rainfall, when one December night the clamor of the storm was varied by sights and sounds that terrified the natives, for no past had ever known the like. Out on the raging waters lights were seen to gleam, and wild cries of human voices rose above the storm, while cannon sounded the alarm.
Among the villagers was a family of three-an Indian of more than average renown, his wife and daughter. Their home was near the ocean, half hid by woods and under- growth. We will call him Nehala; the mother's name was Wena, the daughter's, Ona-a girl whose soul was full of all the fancies that mountain, shore and sea could furnish.
As an only child she was made much of, much more than was usual if families were large. Ona heard the storm, saw the lights and recognized sounds of distress, which so worked on her that she could not sleep. With the first glimpse of dawn she woke her mother to accompany her to the beach.
The storm yet raged; the winds shrieked and almost tore the mantles of skins they wore from their grasp, and driving rain pelted them fiercely as they pressed to the beach. It
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was not far; they soon saw it was strewn with wreckage, scattered fragments of which were spread where wave and storm had left them.
They were first comers, and as they went on, the winds drove the angry sea-foam in their faces as if to warn them to keep away. Looking along the beach, Wena exclaimed that she saw a human form among the wreckage. Hasten- ing on, they found a bearded, bronze face upturned, as dark as their own, lying prone where the waves had thrown it- dead, and cold, and still.
Passing on, they came to yet another body of a man, also dark and bearded-as silent and as dead. The waves that bore them from seaward had thrown them on the sand and no later wave had claimed them for the sea again.
By this time others came who had seen and heard as the night wore on. One of these was a disreputable character, who was even by them considered a savage. Ona saw him stop where a third body was overlaid with wreckage; she saw a movement that she thought indicated life in this one, and noted with wonder that it belonged to a man who seemed to her to be the model of beauty ; for the face was white and the clustering hair and beard were red-something new to the people of Nehalem. As she watched, the ruffian stooped to pick up a piece of wreckage and lifted it to beat out the life remaining in the victim. Quick as a flash Ona was by his side, wrenched the weapon from his hand and struck him senseless with it. Leaving others to care for the one she struck down, she and her mother bore the white-faced sailor to their home, where Nehala told them to lay him face down by the fire and gave other treatment to rescue the
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drowned. He was indeed alive, and we can imagine the strangeness of the scene when his blue eyes first saw the anxious faces of the women who had saved his life.
Such a wreck was a revelation to simple natives who had never seen a white man, never heard of a vessel larger than their own canoes, and had no comprehension of such wealth as was strewn on that remote shore. Most of them sought the spoil the sea sent them and some manned their canoes to go out in search of more. But Wena and Ona were content to watch the progress of their guest as he went on recover- ing from death to life. They wondered if he was of supernal birth.
In a few days this young man with a white face and red beard grew to be so much alive as to accompany his rescuers to the shore, where he found a chest partly buried in the sands. They aided to excavate it and revealed, to his de- light, a very arsenal of guns, swords, axes, spears and weapons, such as the natives of Nehalem had never dreamed of.
This stranger-who spent his life with this family-left no name or sign of nationality, but what is known indicates that he was of Scotch origin ; strangest of all, he never learned the Indian language; all his conversation was by signs, by which he soon made himself understood. Sandy was one of the silent ones who waste no words but are potent in action.
Previous to his coming, a brother of the Tillamook chief had aspired to possess Ona. She was an only child and occupied a place daughters seldom attain among the In- dians. She was blessed with so winsome a nature that her parents were in no haste to part with her. Whatever chance
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the young Tillamook might have had, the coming of Sandy seemed to leave him no hope.
When Ona saw that Sandy appreciated the fact that she had saved his life, it made an impression on her warm na- ture, for he seemed to be her personal property. It was pleasure to see him return to life; see the blue eys open to look at her, close again as if to dispel some vision, then open to find it still there. She cared for him-and, indeed, he was a manly fellow and won regards of both mother and daugh- ter by a considerate kindness no Indian woman expects of any man. He also won the respect of the father by a brave propensity he had to hold his own, when necessary. It was natural that he should remain with them, and, as a matter of course, the rest of the world commenced to talk of him and of them. There is harmony, or the want of it, in all human nature, so this Indian village had to undergo the same gossip and jealousy that civilized communities are sure to realize.
Young Tillamook supposed that his hold on Ona and her family was permanent, so it must have been inconvenient for him that a red-bearded, white-faced, blue-eyed Scot was so entirely at home in the family. That Ona, herself, was bound up in him, was the worst of all. The child had a very romantic nature and this man's story went to her heart. She was used to see women treated as mere beasts of burden, and here comes this Scot, with his canny ways, who lost no opportunity to do kindness and show courteous attention. They had saved his life and Ona had fought for him ; and it would have been no true Scot that would not have been kindly to them.
It was easy to win the regards of mother and daughter,
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but Nehala was made of sterner stuff ; yet, in time, he also was won, for he discovered that Sandy was willing to tackle the fierce brown bear and expert in hunting deer and elk, even in wielding the paddle to skim the breezy seas and spear the ocean dwellers ; so the stalwart sire gave him his good will also.
But all this while the Tillamook lover was raging with jealousy and mad with schemes for vengeance. Your wild savage knows no degrees between love and hate. If crossed in love there is only left the deadly recourse of revenge. It was a welcome sight one day when he saw Sandy shoulder his rifle to take the trail to the mountains on a hunt for elk. He had learned where elk were to be found and knew that meat was always in demand, so with wonderful assurance he strode off to the hunt.
Wena and Ona knew of the feeling in Tillamook's soul, of which Sandy had no idea, and felt apprehension that in- creased when Ona saw the jealous one and a friend of his start with bows and full quivers to make a detour, as she believed, to waylay Sandy to his death. Then the brave girl took her own bow and quiver to follow their trail. She over- took him as he was stalking an elk and tried to telegraph him that he was in danger; but he nodded as if he understood and was not afraid. She saw the other creeping through the wilds and managed to keep between him and them, which angered them so they turned their wrath on her. When she could not see them she heard the whiz of an arrow that struck a tree by her side. She followed where Sandy led, and hearing the report of his gun, she drew near. He had killed the elk, and when dressed and quartered he motioned to her to come to him, as she supposed, to carry the meat
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home; but he gave her his gun to carry, and himself shoul- dered half the elk meat, carried it to camp and told Nehala where the rest could be found. To Wena and Ona this was unheard-of consideration, as it was the native woman's duty to bear all the burdens.
One day Nehala went to fish for salmon, as the spring run was then in the river. He used a spear and was sur- prised when Sandy, seeing a lordly fish sway past in the depths, took the spear, and poising it, easily threw it so that it pierced the fish. Turning to wife and daughter, the father said: "He has done that before." Which was very likely true, as salmon run in Scotland's streams.
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