Ênts!X’s grandmother was Upê’qciuc. She always asked him to go elk hunting. Early every morning he started, but he killed only chipmunks and squirrels; sometimes he killed mice. Oftentimes he went and stayed on a prairie. He shouted: “Come down from the woods, elk! we will fight, we will dance.” Down came the rabbit. “You are the one I have called, your ears are like spoons with long handles.” Then the rabbit cried and went back. Then he called again: “Come down from the woods, elk! we will fight, we will dance.” Down came a deer. “You are the one I have called, your eyes are like huckleberries.” Then the deer cried and went back. He called again: “Come down from the woods, elk! we will fight, we will dance.” Down came a female elk. “You are the one whom I have called!” He called again: “Come down from the woods, elk! we will fight, we will dance.” Then a male elk came down. Now Êntsx danced and sang: “Where shall I go into him? Where shall I go into him? I think I will go into his mouth. No, he will spit and I shall get full of saliva. I think I will go into his nostrils. No he will snort and I shall get full of mucus. I think I will go into his ear. No, he will shake himself and I shall fall down. I think I shall go into his anus. No, he will defecate and I shall get full of excrements.” After some time he entered his anus. Now he cut his stomach to pieces. After a little while the elk fell down and died. Then Êntsx skinned and dissected it. He cut off the hind-legs; he cut off the fore-legs. He cut off the head, the neck, the ribs, and the rump bone. Then he went home. When he came to his grandmother he said: “I killed an elk, grandmother!” “Perhaps it was a mouse.” “No, it has horns, it has horns, it is an elk.” “Then perhaps it was a snail.” “No, no, I killed an elk, an elk.” “Perhaps it was a chipmunk.” “No, no, I killed an elk, an elk.” “Perhaps it was a squirrel.” Then she got tired and they went into the woods. They arrived at the place where the elk lay. Êntsx asked: “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its head?” “It will pull me down headlong, grandson.” “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its neck?” “It will pull me down headlong, grandson.” “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its hind-legs?” “They will pull me down headlong, grandson.” “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its fore-legs?” “They will pull me down headlong, grandson.” “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its breast?” “It will pull me down headlong, grandson.” “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its back?” “It will pull me down headlong, grandson.” “What do you want to carry, grandmother? Do you want to carry its rump bone?” “Tie it tip, tie it up, grandson.” Then he tied it up, she put it up, she raised it on her back. The old woman ran ahead of her grandson, who carried the rest of the elk. They went home. After a little while he came near his grandmother, who had put her load on the ground and pushed it to and fro, singing at the same time.

He reached her and asked: “What are you doing there, grandmother?” “It pulled me down headlong, grandson.” Then she took it again on her back and ran. He went on. Then he saw her again sitting down and pushing her load to and fro and singing. [He asked:] “What are you doing there, grandmother?” “It pulled me down headlong, grandson.” Five times he overtook her, when they reached home.

[Êntsx said:] “Now go and bring some water, grandmother, we will boil the elk.” His grandmother took five buckets and went out. She went a short distance, urinated and filled all the buckets. Then she went home. Her grandson asked her: “Where did you get that water, grandmother?” She named a river. Then he took up another bucket and asked: Where did you get this water, grandmother?” “This I took from the upper fork of Bear creek,” she replied. Thus she named a new creek for each bucket.

Now they boiled the elk. The old woman turned her back toward the fire and made holes in Êntsx’s shell spoons, wooden spoons, and born dishes. When the food was done they took it away from the fire. Êntsx said: “Bring me my shell spoon which I used when I was a child.” “There is a hole in it, grandson.” “Then give me my wooden spoon which I used when I was a child.” “There is a hole in it, grandson.” “Then give me the spoon made of mountain-sheep horn.” “There is a hole in it, grandson.” “Then give me my toy canoes which I used when I was a child.” “There are holes in them, grandson.”

“Have they all holes?” he said. Then he took the boiling food and poured it over his grandmother,. She was scalded and her legs and arms became doubled up. Then he rolled her up in the elk skin, threw her into the river and she drifted down to a place where Winter Robin and Blue-Jay were fishing with a dipnet.

Robin saw an elk skin drifting down and said: “Ah! an elk comes down to me.” Then Blue-Jay said: “Robin, do you hear? they call us?” Then Robin said: “Ah! an elk comes down to me.” Then Blue-Jay said: “Ah! hahahaha.” Five times Robin said: “An elk comes down to me.” Then Blue-Jay understood what he said and called himself: “Ah! an elk comes down to me.” “Where does it come?” [Blue-Jay pointed out.] “Here, here, here” [pointing in all directions because he did not see it]. Then they saw the elk and took it. They put it into their canoe [and saw that] it was tied up. They unfastened the strings and [out came] their aunt. “Oh, behold our aunt!” “How shall we wail for her, Robin?” Then Robin sung: “O Êntsx, Êntsx, he killed her, he killed her, our aunt, our aunt.” “That is a good song,” said Blue-Jay. Now they went home, and when they came near their town they began to wail. Oh, the poor ones, how they do wail?” said the people. They sang: “Êntsx, Êntsx, he killed her, he killed her, our aunt, our aunt.” They landed and the people went down to see them. Then they carried the body of Upê’qciuc up to the house. They tried to cure her. After a while she recovered. Then they asked her: “What [?].” She named [a bird]. “She named the eldest one,” said Blue-Jay. “Pull his canoes into the water.” Again they asked her. She named Robin. “She named the eldest one,” said Blue-Jay. She named all the people. Last of all she named Blue-Jay. Now they launched his canoes and they went to make war upon Ênts!x. Two canoes full of people went.

They went a long distance and met two people asleep, a man and a woman. Blue-Jay went ashore. He took the man by his hair in his right hand and he took the woman in his left. Then he took them to his canoe and made them his slaves. When they traveled along these two persons were dancing [in Blue-Jay's canoe]. The latter said: “Robin! These two persons were our grandfather’s slaves; they always carried me on the, back and led you by the hand. They were our great-great-grandfather’s slaves.” “Iä-a, they are only your slaves. Do you think that I do not know my slaves?” replied Robin. “Pshaw! he is older than I am and does not remember it!” Now the two persons danced and sang: “Near the trees we always dance, watlala guyu, guyu, guyu, guyu.”

Then Blue-Jay said: “They always say: ‘Close to the trees, close to the trees’”. “Iä” replied Robin, “thus they will run away from you.” And indeed so it happened. [When they got a little farther they came to] a tree which hung over the water. [The man and the woman] jumped up and escaped by running [over the tree]. Blue-Jay ran in pursuit. He came inland. Then he called anah, anah. When he came back to the canoe his legs were full of blood [and he said to his brother Robin]: “Why did you not go inland? They nearly killed me. That man took hold of my head and the woman struck my legs.” [Robin laughed and replied:] “Iä, they were the squirrel and chipmunk whom you caught.”

They traveled on. They went a long distance and met one man who was sitting in his canoe. He fished with a dipnet. Blue-Jay said: “My nephew, you have a pretty canoe.” “I borrowed it.” “My nephew, you have a pretty paddle.” “I borrowed it.” “My nephew, you have a pretty bailer.” “I borrowed it.” “My nephew, you have a pretty dip-net.” “I borrowed it.” “My nephew, you have a pretty mat in your canoe.” “I borrowed it.” [Then Blue-Jay got angry and said:] “Do you borrow everything?” He took hold of his head and threw him into his canoe. He said: “Give me that rope and I will tie him.” [The man whom he had caught replied:] “I shall scratch your ropes to pieces.” [Then Blue-Jay said:] “Give me a rope of spruce limbs.” “I shall scratch it to pieces.” “What shall I take to tie him with? Give me strings of dentalia. “I shall scratch them to pieces. “Ha, ha, ha,” he cried then; “sea-grass, sea-grass!” “Give me sea-grass, give me sea-grass, quick Robin.” Now he tied the hands and the feet of that man. Then he threw him into the water. The water began to boil where they had thrown him down. [Blue-jay cried:] “O, my nephew, he scolds. I killed my nephew.” [Robin remarked:] “Iä, he is laughing at you here.” “Pshaw, a man does not laugh when he is thrown into the water” [said Blue-Jay].

Now the people went on, and after awhile they saw a person who held arrows in his hands. [He said:] “Tell me the news, Blue-Jay!” “I have nothing to tell you, only that I threw my relative down there into the water.” “I am the one,” said that person. “Iä,” cried Robin, “that is the one whom you threw into the water.”

They went on to Ênts!x’s house. They surrounded it and set it on fire. When it began to burn Ênts!x flew out through a knothole. When the, whole house was burnt, Blue-Jay found a [mink's] head. “Oh that is Ênts!x’s head!” he shouted. But Robin said: be went out already.” Now the people went home and left Ênts!x.

Chinook Texts, by Franz Boas; U.S. Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin no. 20; US Government Printing Office; [1894] and is now in the public domain.

When a hunter has killed a male elk far away, then twelve men go to fetch it. When he has killed a female elk, eight go to fetch it. When a hunter has killed two elks, many people go to fetch it. When he has killed many, then it is dried in the woods [it is not carried away]. The people go home when it is dry, and the hunter distributes the meat among all the people.

A menstruating woman must not take the head of an elk. Women do not eat the tongue; only men eat it. They do not break the bones of the forelegs. These are carried faraway, else a menstruating woman might see them. When such a woman eats the feet and hoofs, the hunter will be unlucky. When she steps over an elk’s head, she will be sick with dropsy. Just so a girl who has just reached maturity. She does not look at an elk, else she will be sick with dropsy. When a hunter is unsuccessful, his child must not go near the water. When it goes near water, it will fall sick and die at once. When he goes hunting, his wife and children sit motionless. His wife must not go anywhere. When his children make noise, one of them will fall sick if the hunter is unsuccessful.

Chinook Texts, by Franz Boas; U.S. Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin no. 20; US Government Printing Office; [1894] and is now in the public domain.

A youth was in the habit of setting traps. He always killed bears. One year he had set his traps [as usual], and when he went to look after them [he heard] a woman crying in a trap. He reached her. Her hand was caught in the trap. She was a pretty woman. Her hair was brown, her feet and her hands were tattooed. He opened the trap and took her hand out of it. She said to him: “You will excel all the people. You have caught even me in your trap. You will be a great hunter.” The youth said: “I shall carry you to our town.” Thus he spoke to his supernatural helper. “I shall show you to the Indians.” Now he carried her home. His relatives saw her and all died. He died also.

After many years another boy saw her. He had no father and no mother. He was poor. He was a small boy. She said to him: “When you have grown a little larger, you will excel all hunters. I did not tell the first Indian [not to show me] and behold, he showed me to the people. When you go elk hunting carry only a stick in your hand and paint that stick.” The boy grew up and became a youth. Then he sang: “I did not tell him thus, the first one, and behold, he showed me to the Indians.I did not tell him thus, the first one. Behold!”

He also sang: “If the orphan boy remembers what is told of olden times, If the orphan boy remembers what is told of olden times, He shall excel all others.” The people helped him singing. An old man was brought there who came to listen. He had been a hunter. He listened to the singer and said: “Oh, help our boy sing; he saw a supernatural being. He saw the hunter spirit.” He sang five days. Cedar bark was dyed red and put on him. A stick was painted red and given to him. Then he went up the river. He went a long distance. He sang when he was going into the woods. Now he drove the elks [toward the water]. His relatives had remained in the town. One of them said: “An elk is coming down to the water.” They took their arrows. Another one came; again one and again one came. They counted them, but when they had counted seventy they lost the number. The old man said: “Let the elks alone; do not shoot them; perhaps the boy who sings is driving these elks.” They stood near the water and the opening was quite full of them. Then the boy came down singing. He took that stick and pointed seaward to the water. The elks stood there a short while and then they swam seaward. When the boy came to the sea he shouted, and all the elks died. Now he called the wind to blow landward and a northerly wind arose. The elks drifted ashore, and the beach in front of the town was full of them. Now his relatives went down to the beach. They cut up only the fat ones. The lean ones were skinned merely. Then the houses of his relatives became full. Now, whenever he went to hunt elk, he carried only a stick, and shouted. As soon as an elk met him it died. He excelled all hunters,

Few white men ventured inland, a century ago, in the days of the first Chief Capilano, when the spoils of the mighty Fraser River poured into copper-colored hands, but did not find their way to the remotest corners of the earth, as in our times, when the gold from its sources, the salmon from its mouth, the timber from its shores are world-known riches.

The fisherman’s craft, the hunter’s cunning were plied where now cities and industries, trade and commerce, buying and selling hold sway. In those days the moccasined foot awoke no echo in the forest trails. Primitive weapons, arms, implements, and utensils were the only means of the Indians’ food-getting. His livelihood depended upon his own personal prowess, his skill in woodcraft and water lore. And, as this is a story of an elk-bone spear, the reader must first be in sympathy with the fact that this rude instrument, deftly fashioned, was of priceless value to the first Capilano, to whom it had come through three generations of ancestors, all of whom had been experienced hunters and dexterous fishermen.

Capilano himself was without a rival as a spearsman. He knew the moods of the Fraser River, the habits of its thronging tenants, as no other man has ever known them before or since. He knew every isle and inlet along the coast, every boulder, the sand-bars, the still pools, the temper of the tides. He knew the spawning grounds, the secret streams that fed the larger rivers, the outlets of rock-bound lakes, the turns and tricks of swirling rapids. He knew the haunts of bird and beast and fish and fowl, and was master of the arts and artifice that man must use when matching his brain against the eluding wiles of the untamed creatures of the wilderness.

Once only did his cunning fail him, once only did Nature baffle him with her mysterious fabric of waterways and land lures. It was when he was led to the mouth of the unknown river, which has evaded discovery through all the centuries, but which – so say the Indians — still sings on its way through some buried channel that leads from the lake to the sea.

He had been sealing along the shores of what is now known as Point Grey. His canoe had gradually crept inland, skirting up the coast to the mouth of False Creek. Here he encountered a very king of seals, a colossal creature that gladdened the hunter’s eyes as game worthy of his skill. For this particular prize he would cast the elk-bone spear. It had never failed his sire, his grandsire, his greatgrandsire. He knew it would not fail him now. A long, pliable, cedar-fiber rope lay in his canoe. Many expert fingers had woven and plaited that rope, had beaten and oiled it until it was soft and flexible as a serpent. This he attached to the spearhead, and with deft, unerring aim cast it at the king seal. The weapon struck home.

The gigantic creature shuddered and, with a cry like a hurt child, it plunged down into the sea. With the rapidity and strength of a giant fish it scudded inland with the rising tide, while Capilano paid out the rope its entire length, and, as it stretched taut, felt the canoe leap forward, propelled by the mighty strength of the creature which lashed the waters into whirlpools, as though it was possessed with the power and properties of a whale.

Up the stretch of False Creek the man and monster drove their course, where a century hence great city bridges were to over-arch the waters. They strove and struggled each for the mastery, neither of them weakened, neither of them faltered — the one dragging, the other driving. In the end it was to be a matching of brute and human wits, not forces. As they neared the point where now Main Street bridge flings its shadow across the waters, the brute leaped high into the air, then plunged headlong into the depths. The impact ripped the rope from Capilano’s hands. It rattled across the gunwale.

Hestood staring at the spot where it had disappeared – the brute had been victorious. At low tide the Indian made search. No trace of his game, of his precious elk-bone spear, of his cedar-fiber rope, could be found. With the loss of the latter he firmly believed his luck as a hunter would be gone. Sohe patrolled the mouth of False Creek for many moons. His graceful, high-bowed canoe rarely touched other waters, but the seal king had disappeared. Often he thought long strands of drifting sea grasses were his lost cedar-fiber rope. With other spears, with other cedar-fibers, with paddle blade and cunning traps he dislodged the weeds from their moorings, but they slipped their slimy lengths through his eager hands: his best spear with its attendant coil was gone.

The following year he was sealing again off the coast of Point Grey, and one night after sunset he observed the red reflection from the west, which seemed to transfer itself to the eastern skies. Far into the night dashes of flaming scarlet pulsed far beyond the head of False Creek. The color rose and fell like a beckoning hand, and, Indian-like, he immediately attached some portentous meaning to the unusual sight. That it was some omen he never doubted, so he paddled inland, beached his canoe, and took the trail towards the little group of lakes that crowd themselves into the area that lies between the present cities of Vancouver and New Westminster. But long before he reached the shores of Deer Lake he discovered that the beckoning hand was in reality flame. The little body of water was surrounded by forest fires. One avenue alone stood open. It was a group of giant trees that as yet the flames had not reached. As he neared the point he saw a great moving mass of living things leaving the lake and hurrying northward through this one egress. He stood, listening, intently watching with alert eyes; the swirl of myriad’s of little traveling feet caught his quick ear — the moving mass was an immense colony of beaver. Thousands upon thousands of them. Scores of baby beavers staggered along, following their mothers; scores of older beavers that had felled trees and built dams through many seasons; a countless army of trekking fur beavers, all under the generalship of a wise old leader, who, as king of the colony, advanced some few yards ahead of his battalions. Out of the waters through the forest towards the country to the north they journeyed. Wandering hunters said they saw them cross Burrard Inlet at the Second Narrows, heading inland as they reached the farther shore. But where that mighty army of royal little Canadians set up their new colony, no man knows. Not even the astuteness of the first Capilano ever discovered their destination. Only one thing was certain, Deer Lake knew them no more.

After their passing, the Indian retraced their trail to the water’s edge. In the red glare of the encircling fires he saw what he at first thought was some dead and dethroned king beaver on the shore. A huge carcass lay half in, half out, of the lake. Approaching it he saw the wasted body of a giant seal. There could never be two seals of that marvelous size. His intuition now grasped the meaning of the omen of the beckoning flame that had called him from the far coasts of Point Grey. He stooped above his dead conqueror and found, embedded in its decaying flesh, the elkbone spear of his forefathers, and trailing away at the water’s rim was a long flexible cedar-fiber rope.

As he extracted this treasured heirloom he felt the “power,” that men of magic possess, creep up his sinewy arms. It entered his heart, his blood, his brain. For a long time he sat and chanted songs that only great medicine men may sing, and, as the hours drifted by, the heat of the forest fires subsided, the flames diminished into smoldering blackness. At daybreak the forest fire was dead, but its beckoning fingers had served their purpose. The magic elk-bone spear had come back to its own.

Until the day of his death the first Capilano searched for the unknown river up which the seal traveled from False Creek to Deer Lake, but its channel is a secret that even Indian eyes have not seen. But although those of the Suquamish tribe tell and believe that the river still sings through its hidden trail that leads from Deer Lake to the sea, its course is as unknown, its channel is as hopelessly lost as the brave little army of beavers that a century ago marshaled their forces and traveled up into the great lone north.

When a person dies who has many relatives, much property, and many slaves, his relatives tie [dentalia] to his body. Two young men are selected to prepare the corpse. If [the deceased] had a good canoe, he is placed into it and it is put up. It is painted and two holes are made in its stern. The people go down to the beach and wash and comb themselves. They cut their hair–men, women, and children. After they have cut their hair, they take other names. Women, men, and children change their names. Then the dentalia of the deceased are distributed. His relatives take them as well as his slaves and canoes. If the deceased liked one of his relatives [particularly] he would say. “He shall take my wife after I am dead.” If he had two wives he speaks in this way to two persons. Now the women are taken to his relatives. When a woman loves her husband and she is near her death, she will say to her elder sister: “Your brother-in-law shall marry you;” or she may say so to her younger sister. When an old man dies and his widow is young, she is taken to his younger brother. In the same way [when and old woman dies and her widower is young, he is given his wife's younger sister].

When there is a chief, he takes the [deceased chief's name a long time, after the death of the latter]. His relative takes his name. Two people are told to name him. Now two people give him the name. They are given much property [for performing this service]. This is done when a man, a woman, or a child is named. After a year the corpse is cleaned. Two young men are hired, who also rearrange the canoe and paint it.

When a man dies who has a guardian spirit, his baton is placed next to the canoe. When a shaman dies, his baton is placed next to the canoe. His rattle of bear claws is hung on to the stern of the canoe. When he had a rattle made of shell, it is hung in the same place. When a shaman has many children, his baton is carried far into the woods. His rattle is carried there also. When a brave dies, his headdress is placed on top of a pole near his canoe burial. When he had a shell rattle, it is hung on to the canoe. When a woman dies, only her coat is hung on the canoe burial.

When anybody takes the dentalia away from a corpse, the person who took them is killed. When anybody makes fun of a canoe burial, and [the relatives of the deceased] learn about it, he must give away many dentalia, else he is killed. If he gives away many dentalia he is not killed.

When the child of a chief dies, he becomes very sad. He says to his relatives: “Let us go to the chief of that town.” The chief tries to please him. Now the people go to another town. Then he is given three slaves, canoes, and dentalia by the chief whom he visits. He receives many dentalia. He distributes all these dentalia and canoes among his relatives. He keeps only two slaves. If [the chief of] that town does not give him any dentalia they fight. Many people are killed, and now a feud originates. When a relative [of the chief] who has given dentalia dies, he assembles all his relatives and goes to the man whom he had given dentalia. Now the same is done [as before]. They give him slaves, dentalia, and canoes. His heart becomes glad.

When a chief dies, his relatives are sad. They speak to each other and go to war. They kill the chief of another town.

When a person has been killed, an old man who has a guardian spirit is asked to work over the murderer. The old man takes coal and mixes it with grease. He puts it onto the face [of the murderer]. He gives him a head ring of cedar bark. Cedar bark is also tied around his ankles and knees and around his wrists. For five days he does not drink water. He does not sleep, and does not lie down. He always, stands. At, night he walks about and whistles on bone whistles. He always says ä ä ä. For five days he does not wash his face. Then on the next morning the old man washes his face. He takes off that coal. He removes the black paint from his face. He puts red paint on his face. A little coal is mixed with the red paint. The old man puts this again on to his face. Sometimes this is done by an old man, sometimes by an old woman. The cedar bark which was tied to his legs and arms is taken off and buckskin straps are tied around his arms and his legs. Now, after five days he is given water. He is given a bucket, out of which he drinks. Now food is roasted for him, until it is burned. When it is burned black it is given to him. He eats standing. He takes five mouthsful, and no more. After thirty days he is painted with new red paint. Good red paint is taken. Now he carries his head ring and his bucket to a spruce tree and hangs it on top of the tree. [Then the tree will dry up.] People never eat in company of a murderer. He never eats sitting, but always standing. When he sits down [to rest] he kneels on one leg. The murderer never looks at a child and must not see people while they are eating.

When a woman’s husband dies she becomes a widow. Then she goes up the river. [There she stays] sometimes one day, sometimes two days. She bathes. For thirty days she does not eat fresh food. She also does not look at a child or at a sick person. She bathes every day. She rubs her body with sweet-smelling herbs. She never wears a good blanket. Her blanket is always bad. For one year she must not laugh. Then her dead husband’s relatives tell her: “Now be glad; your brother-in-law will marry you;” then she puts on a good blanket. When she laughs shortly after becoming a widow, her husband’s relatives are not pleased. When she marries again quickly, they ask a shaman to send disease to her and she dies. When a widow has a child which is small, her dead husband’s relatives say to her soon: “Now be glad,” and, indeed, she gets glad.

Chinook Texts, by Franz Boas; U.S. Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin no. 20; US Government Printing Office; [1894] and is now in the public domain.