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.

It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,
And we two dreaming the dusk away,
Beneath the drift of a twilight gray-Beneath the drowse of an ending day
And the curve of a golden moon.
It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and — you,
And gone is the golden moon.

O! lure of the Lost Lagoon-I dream tonight that my paddle blurs The purple shade where the seaweed stirs-I hear the call of the singing firs In the hush of the golden moon.

FOR many minutes we stood silently, leaning on the western rail of the bridge as we watched the sun set across that beautiful little basin of water known as Coal Harbor. I have always resented that jarring, unattractive name, for years ago, when I first plied paddle across the gunwale of a light little canoe that idled above its margin, I named the sheltered little cove the Lost Lagoon. This was just to please my own fancy, for as that perfect summer month drifted on, the ever-restless tides left the harbor devoid of water at my favorite canoeing hour, and my pet idling place was lost for many days-hence my fancy to call it the Lost Lagoon. But the chief, Indian-like, immediately adopted the name, at least when he spoke of the place to me, and as we watched the sun slip behind the rim of firs, he expressed the wish that his dugout were here instead of lying beached at the farther side of the park.

“If canoe was here, you and I we paddle close to shores all ’round your Lost Lagoon: we make track just like half moon. Then we paddle under this bridge, and go channel between Deadman’s Island and park. Then ’round where cannon speak time at nine o’clock. Then ‘cross Inlet to Indian side of Narrows.”

I turned to look eastward, following in fancy the course he had sketched; the waters were still as the footstep of the oncoming twilight, and, floating in a pool of soft purple, Deadman’s Island rested like a large circle of candle moss. “Have you ever been on it?” he asked as he caught my gaze centering on the irregular outline of the island pines.

“I have prowled the length and depth of it,” I told him. “Climbed over every rock on its shores, crept under every tangled growth of its interior, explored its overgrown trails, and more than once nearly got lost in its very heart.” “Yes,” he half laughed, “it pretty wild; not much good for anything.” “People seem to think it valuable,” I said. “There is a lot of litigation — of fighting going on now about it.”

“Oh! that the way always,” he said as though speaking of a long accepted fact. “Always fight over that place. Hundreds of years ago they fight about it; Indian people; they say hundreds of years to come everybody will still fight — never be settled what that place is, who it belong to, who has right to it. No, never settle. Deadman’s Island always mean fight for someone.”

“So the Indians fought amongst themselves about it?” I remarked, seemingly without guile, although my ears tingled for the legend I knew was coming. “Fought like lynx at close quarters,” he answered. “Fought, killed each other, until the island ran with blood redder than that sunset, and the sea water about it was stained flame color — it was then, my people say, that the scarlet fire-flower was first seen growing along this coast.”

“It is a beautiful color — the fire-flower,” I said.

“It should be fine color, for it was born and grew from the hearts of fine tribes-people-very fine people,” he emphasized.

We crossed to the eastern rail of the bridge, and stood watching the deep shadows that gathered slowly and silently about the island; I have seldom looked upon anything more peaceful.

The chief sighed. “We have no such men now, no fighters like those men, no hearts, no courage like theirs. But I tell you the story; you understand it then. Now all peace; tonight all good Tillicum’s; even dead man’s spirit does not fight now, but long time after it happen those spirits fought.”

“And the legend?” I ventured.

“Oh! yes,” he replied, as if suddenly returning to the present from out a far country in the realm of time. “Indian people, they call it the ‘Legend of the Island of Dead Men.’

“There was war everywhere. Fierce tribes from the northern coast, savage tribes from the south all met here and battled and raided, burned and captured, tortured and killed their enemies. The forests smoked with camp fires, the Narrows were choked with war canoes, and the Sagalie Tyee — He who is a man of peace — turned His face away from His Indian children. About this island there was dispute and contention. The medicine men from the North claimed it as their chanting ground. The medicine men from the South laid equal claim to it. Each wanted it as the stronghold of their witchcraft, their magic. Great bands of these medicine men met on the small space, using every sorcery in their power to drive their opponents away. The witch doctors of the North made their camp on the northern rim of the island; those from the South settled along the southern edge, looking towards what is now the great city of Vancouver. Both factions danced, chanted, burned their magic powders, built their magic fires, beat their magic rattles, but neither would give way, yet neither conquered. About them, on the waters, on the mainland’s, raged the warfare of their respective tribes — the Sagalie Tyee had forgotten His Indian children.

“After many months, the warriors on both sides weakened. They said the incantations of the rival medicine men were bewitching them, were making their hearts like children’s, and their arms nerveless as women’s. So friend and foe arose as one man and drove the medicine men from the island, hounded them down the Inlet, herded them through the Narrows and banished them out to sea, where they took refuge on one of the outer islands of the gulf. Then the tribes once more fell upon each other in battle.

“The warrior blood of the North will always conquer. They are the stronger, bolder, more alert, more keen. The snows and the ice of their country make swifter pulse than the sleepy suns of the South can awake in a man; their muscles are of sterner stuff, their endurance greater. Yes, the northern tribes will always be victors.* But the craft and the strategy of the southern tribes are hard things to battle against. While those of the North followed the medicine men farther out to sea to make sure of their banishment, those from the South returned under cover of night and seized the women and children and the old, enfeebled men in their enemy’s camp, transported them all to the Island of Dead Men, and there held them as captives. Their war canoes circled the island like a fortification, through which drifted the sobs of the imprisoned women, the mutterings of the aged men, the wail of little children.

“Again and again the men of the North assailed that circle of canoes, and again and again were repulsed. The air was thick with poisoned arrows, the water stained with blood. But day by day the circle of southern canoes grew thinner and thinner; the northern arrows were telling and truer of aim. Canoes drifted everywhere, empty, or worse still, manned only by dead men. The pick of the southern warriors had already fallen, when their greatest Tyee mounted a large rock on the eastern shore. Brave and unmindful of a thousand weapons aimed at his heart, he uplifted his hand, palm outward — the signal for conference.

Instantly every northern arrow was lowered, and every northern ear listened for his words.

“‘Oh! men of the upper coast,’ he said, ‘you are more numerous than we are; your tribe is larger; your endurance greater. We are growing hungry, we are growing less in numbers. Our captives — your women and children and old men — have lessened, too, our stores of food. If you refuse our terms we will yet fight to the finish. Tomorrow we will kill all our captives before your eyes, for we can feed them no longer, or you can have your wives, your mothers, your fathers, your children, by giving us for each and every one of them one of your best and bravest young warriors, who will consent to suffer death in their stead. Speak! You have your choice.’

“In the northern canoes scores and scores of young warriors leapt to their feet. The air was filled with glad cries, with exultant shouts. The whole world seemed to ring with the voices of those young men who called loudly, with glorious courage:

“‘Take me, but give me back my old father.’
“‘Take me, but spare to my tribe my little sister.’
“‘Take me, but release my wife and boy baby.’

“So the compact was made. Two hundred heroic, magnificent young men paddled up to the island, broke through the fortifying circle of canoes and stepped ashore. They flaunted their eagle plumes with the spirit and boldness of young gods. Their shoulders were erect, their step was firm, their hearts strong. Into their canoes they crowded the two hundred captives. Once more their women sobbed, their old men muttered, their children wailed, but those young copper-colored gods never flinched, never faltered. Their weak and their feeble were saved. What mattered to them such a little thing as death?

“The released captives were quickly surrounded by their own people, but the flower of their splendid nation was in the hands of their enemies, those valorous young men who thought so little of life that they willingly, gladly laid it down to serve and to save those they loved and cared for. Amongst them were war-tried warriors who had fought fifty battles, and boys not yet full grown, who were drawing a bow string for the first time, but their hearts, their courage, their self-sacrifice were as one.

“Out before a long file of southern warriors they stood. Their chins uplifted, their eyes defiant, their breasts bared. Each leaned forward and laid his weapons at his feet, then stood erect, with empty hands, and laughed forth their challenge to death. A thousand arrows ripped the air, two hundred gallant northern throats flung forth a death cry exultant, triumphant as conquering kings — then two hundred fearless northern hearts ceased to beat.

“But in the morning the southern tribes found the spot where they fell peopled with flaming fire-flowers. Dread terror seized upon them. They abandoned the island, and when night again shrouded them they manned their canoes and noiselessly slipped through the Narrows, turned their bows southward and this coast line knew them no more.”

“What glorious men,” I half whispered as the chief concluded the strange legend.

“Yes, men!” he echoed. “The white people call it Deadman’s Island. That is their way; but we of the Squamish call it The Island of Dead Men.”

The clustering pines and the outlines of the island’s margin were now dusky and indistinct. Peace, peace lay over the waters, and the purple of the summer twilight had turned to gray, but I knew that in the depths of the undergrowth on Deadman’s Island there blossomed a flower of flaming beauty; its colors were veiled in the coming nightfall, but somewhere down in the sanctuary of its petals pulsed the heart’s blood of many and valiant men.

Chinook Texts by Franz Boas. [1894] (U.S. Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin, no 20.)

Chinook oral legend has it that the first MEN of the tribe came from the sky becuase they were the offspring of Thunderbird. The men then found and plucked women, (who were in various stages of development), from the valley floor. This was the first Chinook tribe.

Also, the rock where the first Chinook woman was plucked still exists. It has a hole all the way through it where her arms passed right through the middle of the rock. I’ve never seen it but have been told how to get there and where it is. Very few people know about this place (until now), and I’m not at liberty to tell of it’s whereabouts.

The Chinook creation story centers in Oregon, on Saddle Mountain. That’s where Thunderbird layed its eggs. Thunderbird was part man, part spirit being. An Ogress rolled five of Thunderbirds eggs down Saddle Mountain, and five men, each of different color, were born. They found their women growing in various states of development in the valley below. The chief man plucked his wife from a rock. Her arms went through the rock, as if she was hugging it. There is a rock with this feature in the Pacific Northwest. This group formed the first tribe split up as they kept moving further and further along the Columbia River.

http://www.indigenouspeople.net/chinook.htm

Talapas (Creator) gave life to the surface of the Earth. It grew in abundance. Later, he placed the animal forms of all the Totem Spirits on the surface of the Earth Mother, and they prospered. Talapas then instructed T’soona (Thunderbird) to carry these special eggs from the other place, and place them on the top of Kaheese, a mountain near the Yakaitl-Wimakl (Columbia River).

T’soona did so.

The Old Giantess, not wanting these special eggs to hatch, began to break the eggs. The vengeful Spirit Bird swiftly swooped down from Otelagh (the sun) and pursued the Old Giantess, and consumed her with fire, in revenge for her injustice.

Soon the remaining eggs became the T’sinuk (Chinook).

http://www.indigenouspeople.net/chinook.htm

Coyote was coming. He came to Gôt’a't. There he met a heavy surf. He was afraid that he might be drifted away and went up to the spruce trees. He stayed there a long time. Then he took some sand and threw it upon that surf: “This shall be a prairie and no surf. The future generations shall walk on this prairie.” Thus Clatsop became a prairie. The surf became a prairie.

At Niâ’xaqcê a creek originated. He went and built a house at Niâ’xaqcê. He went out and stayed at the month of Niâ’xaqcê. Then he speared two silver-side salmon, a steel-head salmon, and a fall salmon. Then he threw the salmon and the fall salmon away, saying: “This creek is too small. I do not like to see here salmon and fall salmon. It shall be a bad omen when a fall salmon is killed here; somebody shall die; also when a salmon is killed. When a female salmon or fall salmon is killed a woman shall die; when a male is killed a man shall die.” Now he carried only the silver-side salmon to his house. When he arrived there he cut it at once, steamed it and ate it. On the next day he took his harpoon and went again to the mouth of Niâ’xaqcê. He did not see anything, and the flood tide set in. He went home. On the next day he went again and did not see anything. Then he became angry and went home. He defecated and said to his excrements: “Why have these silver-side salmon disappeared?” “Oh, you with your bandy legs, you have no sense. When the first silver-side salmon is killed it must not be cut. It must be split along its back and roasted. It must not be steamed. Only when they go up river then they may be steamed.” Coyote went home. On the next day he went again and speared three. He went home and made three spits. He roasted each salmon on a spit. He had three salmon and three spits. On the next day he went again and stood at the month of the creek. He did not see anything until the flood tide set in. Then he became angry and went home. He defecated. He spoke and asked his excrements: “Why have these silver-side salmon disappeared?” His excrements said to him: “I told you, you with your bandy legs, when the first silver-side salmon are killed spits must be made, one for the head, one for the back, one for the roe, one for the body. The gills must be burnt.” “Yes,” said Coyote. On the next day he went again. He killed again three silver-side salmon. When he arrived at home he cut them all and made many spits. He roasted them all separately. The spits of the breast, body, head, back, and roe were at separate places. Coyote, roasted them. On the next morning he went again. He speared ten silver-side salmon. Coyote, was very glad. He came home and split part of the fish. The other part he left and went to sleep. On the next morning he roasted the rest. Then he went again and stood at the mouth of the river. He did not see anything before the flood tide set in. He went home. On the next morning he went again, but again he did not see anything. He went home angry. He defecated and asked his excrements: “Why have these silver-side salmon disappeared?” His excrements scolded him: “When the first silver-side salmon are killed, they are not left raw. All must be roasted. When many are caught, they must all be roasted before you go to sleep.” On the next morning Coyote went and stood at the mouth of the river. He speared ten. Then he made many double spits, and remained awake until all were roasted that he had caught. Now he had learned all that is forbidden in regard to silver-side salmon when they arrive first at Niâ’xaqcê. He remained there and said: “The Indians shall always do as I had to do. If a man who prepares corpses eats a silver-side salmon, they shall disappear at once. If a murderer eats silver-side salmon, they shall at once disappear. They shall also disappear when a girl who has just reached maturity or when a menstruating woman eats them. Even I got tired.

“Now he came this way. At some distance he met a number of women who were digging roots. He asked them: “What are you doing?” “We are digging gamass.” “How can you dig gamass at Clatsop? You shall dig [a root, species?] and thistle [?] roots in this country. No gamass will be dug here.” Now they gathered [a root, species?] and thistle [?] roots. He left these women and spoiled that land. He transformed the gamass into small onions.

Then he came to Clatsop. It was the spring of the year. Then he met his younger brother the snake. He said to him: “Let us make nets.” The snake replied: “As you wish.” Now they bought material for twine, and paid the frog and the newt to spin it. Now Coyote cleaned all the material for twine while the snake was crawling about. Then the frog and the newt spun it. Then Coyote said to his younger brother: “Clean it, clean it. You crawl about all day.” Thus he spoke to the snake. Coyote continued: “You shall make one side of the net, I make the other.” Coyote finished his twine and said to the snake: “Quick! quick! you let me wait. Make your net.” The snake replied: “You let me wait.” Thus he spoke to Coyote. Now, Coyote made his net. He finished it all. The two women made the ropes, Coyote made the net buoys; while the snake crawled about. Coyote said: “Make your net buoys; you let me wait.” Thus he said to the snake. The snake replied: “Make haste! you let me wait.” Coyote finished his net buoys. Then he went to look for stones, and the snake accompanied him. They went for stones to Tongue point. The snake crawled about among the stones, while Coyote carried them down. They went home.After they reached home Coyote went to gather spruce roots. The snake accompanied him. Coyote dug, up the ground and the snake crawled about at the same place. They went home. Coyote split the spruce roots. “Go on; work,” he spoke to the snake; “you let me wait.” The snake replied: “Quick, quick; work! you let me wait.” Now Coyote tied his net to the buoys and laid it down flat on a large mat. Then he tied it to the buoys. The snake crawled about at the same place. Coyote finished his net and hung it up outside. Early the next morning he stepped out of the house, and there hung already the net of the snake. “Oh, brother,” he said, “you got the better of me.” Coyote was ashamed. The snake had won over him. Coyote said: “When a person makes a net, he shall get tired before he finishes it. It would not be well if he would not get tired.” The snake said to him: “I told you that you would let me wait.”

It got day. Then they went to catch salmon in their net. They laid the net and caught two in it. Coyote jumped over the net. Now they intended to catch more salmon, but the flood-tide set in. They had caught only two before the flood-tide set in. Now they went home. Coyote said that he was hungry, and he split the salmon at once. They roasted them. When they were done they ate. The frog and the newt were their cousins. The next morning they went fishing with their net. The newt looked after the rope, the snake stood at the upper end of the net, Coyote at the lower end. They intended to catch salmon, but they did not get anything until the flood-tide set in. They went home. Coyote was angry. He defecated and spoke to his excrements: “You are a liar.” They said to him: “You with your bandy-legs. When people kill a salmon they do not jump over the net. You must not step over your net. When the first salmon are killed, they are not cut until the afternoon.” “Oh,” said Coyote, “You told me enough.” On the next morning they went fishing. When they had killed a salmon they did not jump over the net. They laid their net twice. Enough salmon were in the net. Then he ordered the newt: “Bail out the canoe, it is full of water.” She bailed it out. Then they intended to fish again, but the flood-tide set in. They went home and put down what they had caught in the house. In the afternoon Coyote split the salmon. He split them in the same way as the silver-side salmon. He placed the head, the back, the body, and the roe in separate places and on separate double spits. They were done. The next morning they went fishing. They did not kill anything. Coyote became angry and defecated. He said to his excrements: “Tell me, why have these salmon disappeared?” His excrements scolded him: “Do you think their taboo is the same as that of the silver-side salmon? It is different. When you go fishing salmon and they go into your net., you may lay it three times. No more salmon will go into it. It is enough then. Never bail out your canoe. When you come home and cut the salmon, you must split it at the sides and roast belly and back on separate double spits. Then put four sticks vertically into the ground [so that they form a square] and lay two horizontal sticks across them. On top of this frame place the back with the head and the tail attached to it.” He said to his excrements: “You told me enough.” On the next morning they went fishing and killed three salmon. They did not bail out their canoe. Then he said to the newt: “Fetch a stick from the woods. We will make a club.” She went and brought a stick. Then they laid their net again. Again a salmon was in it and he killed it with his club. They intended to continue fishing, but the flood-tide set in. They killed four only. They put down their salmon. In the afternoon Coyote cut them and put four sticks into the ground. Now he did as his excrements had told him.

When they were done he broke the backbone at once. On the next morning they went fishing. They did not kill anything before the flood-tide set in. They went home. Coyote was angry and defecated. “Why have these salmon disappeared?” he asked his excrements. “I told you,” they said to Coyote; “do you think their taboo is the same as that of the silver-side salmon? It is different. When you kill a salmon you must never strike it with a stick. When they may be boiled, then you may strike them with a stick. When it is almost autumn you may strike them with a stick. Do not break a salmon’s backbone when they just begin to come. When you have killed a salmon take sand, strew it on its eye, and press it with your fist. Do not club it.” Coyote said: “You have told me enough.” On the next morning they went fishing. Salmon went into the net; three went into the net immediately. He strewed sand on each and pressed each. He killed many salmon. They went home and roasted them. When they were done he distributed them among the people of the town above Clatsop. Now they dried them. On the next morning they went fishing. They tried to fish but did not catch anything before the flood-tide set in. They went home. Coyote was angry. He defecated: “Why have these salmon disappeared?” “I told you. you lean one, with your bandy-legs. There are many taboos relating to the salmon. When you have killed many salmon you must never carry them outside the house. You must roast and eat them at the same place. When part is left they must stay it the same place. When you want to dry them you must do so when the flood-tide sets in on the day after you have caught them.” He said to them: “You have told me enough.” On the next morning they went fishing again. They killed many salmon. They roasted them all. When they were done he invited the people. The newt was sent out. They came to eat in Coyote’s house. They finished eating. Then they left there what they had not eaten. Now it was low water in the morning. They went out early to lay their net, but they did not catch anything. They fished until the flood-tide set in. They did not kill anything. They were unsuccessful. Twice they tried to go fishing early in the morning, but they were unsuccessful; they did not catch anything. Coyote defecated and said to his excrements: “Why have the salmon disappeared?” Coyote received the answer: “I told you, you lean one, that the salmon has many taboos. When you go fishing and it is ebb-tide early in the morning, you must not lay your net before sunrise. The salmon must not be carried outside until a crow takes one and carries it outside. Then it must be distributed raw. No fire must be made until daylight; the breast must not be eaten before the next day. When salmon are roasted at a tire and they are done, water must be poured into the fire.” He said to his excrements: “You have told me enough. The Indians shall always do this way. Thus shall be the taboos for all generations of Indians. Even I got tired. “Thus spoke Coyote about the taboos of Clatsop. He said to his cousins: “We will move to the other side.” The newt made herself ready. Then the snake looked at the frog, who was growling. The snake reached her, struck, and killed her.

Now they arrived here on this side. They went fishing and killed salmon. He did the same way as in Clatsop. He strewed sand on the eye of that salmon. He pressed its eye. Then they intended to fish again, but they did not kill anything. They went home. On the following morning they went again fishing, but they did not kill anything On the next morning they went fishing again, but they did not kill anything. Coyote scolded. He defecated: “Why have these salmon disappeared?” “Oh, you foolish Coyote. When you kill a salmon you must kick it. Do you think it is the same here as at Clatsop?” “Oh, said Coyote. On the next morning they went fishing again. They laid their net and caught two salmon. They laid their net again and caught three salmon. He threw one ashore. It fell down head first so that the mouth struck the sand. They tried to lay their net again but they did not kill anything. They tried to fish until the flood tide set in. They had not killed anything. They had caught five only. They went home. In the evening Coyote cut the salmon and roasted them. They were done. The following morning they went fishing, but did not kill anything. Coyote scolded. He defecated: “Why have these salmon disappeared?” “Oh, you foolish Coyote. Do you think it is the same here as at Clatsop? Do not throw salmon ashore so that the head is downward. It is taboo. When you kill a salmon go and pick salmon berries. When you have caught many salmon put salmonberries into the mouth of each.” “Oh, you have told me enough,” he said to his excrements. The next morning they again went fishing. They killed many salmon. He sent the newt to pick salmonberries. The newt brought salmonberries. Now they put those berries into the mouths of those salmon. It got day and they went fishing again. They met fishermen on the water. A short distance down river they laid their net. They laid it several times and went up the river a short distance. They passed the canoes of those fishermen. They laid their net and intended to fish, but they did not kill anything. They were unsuccessful. They went home. Coyote scolded. He defecated: “Why have these salmon disappeared?” “You lean one! When yon kill a salmon, and you have laid your net at one place and you kill one more, you must lay your net at the same place. You must not pass a canoe with fishermen in it. It is taboo.” “Yes,” said Coyote. On the next day they went again fishing. Coyote said: “Even I got tired. The Indians shall always do in the same manner. Murderers, those who prepare corpses, girls who are just mature, menstruating women, widows and widowers shall not eat salmon. Thus shall be the taboos for all generations of people.”

Chinook Texts by Franz Boas. [1894] (U.S. Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin, no 20.)