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I 
 
 THE SHAMAN'S GRAVE: AN ALASKAN LHGHND. 
 
 ^HIC ordinary tourists who "do" Alaska, tarrying not in any 
 plate for longer than a day, will rarry away with 
 them, indeed, abiding memories of islanil-dotted waters, 
 majestic mountains, serene and land-locketl Ixiys, crystal 
 glaciers emerakl-h'ied, so vast and towering that they 
 seem to \yi the oKUjue walls of the Kternal City, and 
 will recall in their far-distant homes, amid the sunshine 
 and splendour of wealth and civilisation, these (juaint 
 pec/pIe, who from time immemorial have lived and dieil 
 along the Alaskan coast, lK'(jueathing to their posterity 
 the curious customs inherited from an ancestry whose 
 origin is lost in the mists of the Northern Ocean. Hut 
 these travellers (jver water-ways furrowed by the keels 
 
 of many big ships never know how much they lose of that nameless mystery which 
 
 broods |)er|)etually among the secluded and little-visited places hidden away in 
 
 the estuar s of the sea, unnoted from 
 
 the " inland jxissage " — whose waters 
 
 are unbroken except by the gliding of 
 
 a canoe and the sweep of a native 
 
 paddle. In silent and lonely places. 
 
 save when sea-wandering birds fly in 
 
 for shelter from wild western storms, 
 
 or some great white-hooded eagle 
 
 sweeps down from the near mountains .* 
 
 on fish intent, one gets the true aroma 
 
 of Alaskan davs and comes to know •'^** 
 
 * '^ « M,- -.T 1 
 
 '"Hr 
 
 
 '^B I 
 
 Vol. X. —No. 41. 
 
 lul 
 
 8 
 
102 
 
 THE PALL MALL MAGAZINE. 
 
 in some intanj^ihle way true stories of the native |>copIe. This holds good even of 
 Sitka, that much-visited, niuch-talked-«f rehc of old Russian times : 
 
 ** With its ancient Castle, stained and brown, 
 Like a yellow sea liinl, lu<ikin|; down 
 On the dingy roofs of the (|uaint old town." 
 
 After three vears of residence there, sent on olVuial dutv, I came to think 
 of it as a (;imiliar frieml. I did not l)elieve there was a legend connected with it 
 or its [K-'ople which had not l)een confided to me, and some of them I have 
 carefully treasureil as one guards a secret or the key t(j the cui)lx)ard where the 
 family skeleton is locked up. I fimdly imagined that within a radius of many 
 miles no nook was left unexplored by me which gave promise of a story — and I 
 was (juite sure that no legend of the elder time had esca|x.'d me. One summer 
 day, when the ambient air and the silver sea were too seductive for denial, I 
 employed an aged native with a lettered canoe to jxiddle me wheresoever fancy 
 dictated. Now, my knowledge of Thlinket is very limited ; and for good comradeship, 
 and lx.'cause of his proficiency in the native tongue, I asked my interpreter, Metinoff, 
 to accompany us. He gladly assented. 
 
 Just below the present native village, and near its north-west boundary, a Ixild 
 l)ut not very commanding promontory runs out into the sea. It is thickly wooded 
 from base to summit, and all overgrown with clamlx-'ring vines, clinging mosses, 
 graceful ferns and devil's clul)s, and all those myriad growths that give the coast- 
 line almost a tropical appearance. Something, I know not what — some intuition, 
 maybe, in which I have abiding faith — made me greatly desire to go ashore at 
 the foot of the promonton.* and explore its summit. I noticed that the native 
 hesitated, and it was not until Metinoff had sharply reproved him that he Ix^ached 
 his canoe. The native characteristics in some ways are similar to those of the 
 Americans : when they hesitate alx)ut anything, Ix; sure it is something worthy of 
 your curiosity ; when they are radiant and (juick and willing, evidently there is 
 little to learn and less to see : and so I knew that somewhere on that rocky outlet 
 was a hidden mysterj', or else some legend hallowed it in the heart of this native, 
 whose name was Klanaut ; and we pushed our way through the tangled undergrowth. 
 It was tiresome lalx)ur ; many trees had fallen, and year after year the fading foliage 
 from the living had covered with a gentle tenderness the prone forms of the dead. 
 At last we reached the top : and there, eml)owered in shade, and so overgrown with 
 woodland greener)- as to make it difiicult to distinguish from nature's own handiwork, 
 we found a native " Kaht Tah ah Kah ye tea,'' or, small house for the dead. It 
 was built quite carefully of sturdy timliers, but here and there the vandal breath of 
 the winds had blown away the rix)f and left the interior exjKJsed to the elements. 
 IJeside the structure on the ground, and almost level with its surface, lay a large 
 canoe, and inside of it a smaller one. Both were lichen and moss covered, and 
 broken, and hall filled with leaves and decayed vegetation, from which innumerable 
 ferns and wild flowers drew rich nourishment. 
 
 To me there is much of pathos in a stranded lx)at, even near tide water ; but a 
 canoe on a hill top, shattered and verdure-clad, and resting Ix-side a grave, is very 
 like a |)oem in the saddest of minor keys. A native "dead house" is usually a 
 chief or a "Shaman's" place of sepulture, and when Metinoff said "Some big ty/iee 
 lies here, but I do not understand the little canoe," I was not surprised. Together 
 we approached the enclosure, and lifting a plank from its low roof we looked in. 
 There we saw two bundles securely wrapjK-d in kakfi, the native name for 
 matting, and tied with the split fibres of some .^,inewy root. 
 
 I 
 
 bot 
 
 hun 
 
 larg« 
 
 not 
 
 rem 
 
 of s 
 
 was 
 
 bee; 
 
 com 
 
T 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 THE SHAMAN'S CRAVE: AN ALASKAN LEGEND. 
 
 >o3 
 
 They lay side by side, on^' much smaller than the otiier. We knew what they 
 both contained, — at the feet of each was a native box, and many household and 
 hunting implements were laid beside them. We made an aperture through the roof 
 large enough to admit of our entrance ; and, although it seemed a desecration, I did 
 not object when MetinofT's nimble fingers untied the smaller bundle and Ix'gan to 
 remove the matting and layers of bark which we knew enclosed all that was mortal 
 of some human form. When the little skeleton was uncovered we saw at once it 
 was that of a white girl. The long yellow hair was untouched by decay, and had 
 been nicely braided. It still retained its lustre, and a glint of rare Alaskan sunshine 
 coming in through the bioken roof touched it gently, and it seemed to rtsixjnd 
 
I04 
 
 TUF PALI. MALI. MACAZINH. 
 
 \vil!i a noUU-n smile while outside the winds held their breath and sl«iw wavelets 
 caressed the stony lieaeh with a sound as of kisses and whis|)ers. 
 
 Mctinofl" and I were t'K> surprised for comnient ; and when we found inMdc 
 the wrappings a small and well-worn Knglish 'I'estanient iK-aring on its titk-iagc 
 the words " I5ainbridi;e iV Co., Printers, London, 17HH,' we were ver>- still and 
 (|uiet for a long time. Surmises and fancies were many, and we determirK-tl tu 
 know, if |)ussil>le, how and whence came this little golden-haired warulcrcr who 
 fell asleep Ix'side the sea ix-fore the white man's advent. 
 
 Very reverently and tenderly we replaced the little Testament and all ihe 
 wrappings al)out the fragile Itones, and, re|Kiiring the roof as l)est we could, went 
 Iwck to our canoe. 
 
 Klanaut was very still and reticent when wc first came, with a s< t, dciir.nirHrl 
 look u|x>n his stolid face ; Init when he s;iw that we were empty-handed, and had 
 not des|N)iled the grave, as is the custom of curio collectors here as elsewhere, he 
 was visibly pleased : Init in res|M)nse to our eager intiuines he woulil make no reply 
 until after we had left the promontory out of sight and hail gone ashore on one 
 of the numerous islets that nuke the Hay of Sitka on a summer day like a silver 
 shield close set with emeralds. Here he built a little tire and delilieralely sat 
 tlown and l(M>ked seaward f<»r a long time. Presently he .s;»id to me, " I will tell 
 the story as it was told to me by my |K:ople long ago " ; and what follows is tlte talc 
 he told, and which, after making all sorts of iiupiiries for corrolM>ration, 1 lielieve 
 to l)e true. I shall tell it here not, i)erhaps, as picturesipiely ami futhetically 
 as it came to me from my interpreter f<jr long since I found out how entirely 
 im|)ossible it is tt> tell a native story as the natives tell them— but I shall follow as 
 closely as 1 can. 
 
 Long ago, in the far, far time, Ix'fore any big ships or white men had come to 
 our coast, when the missionary men and women were all asleep, and there was not 
 one Christian siwash in .\laska, there lived at Sitka not this Sitka, but old Sitka, 
 ilown there seven miles — a shaman, a big metlicine man, who was very great and 
 powerful, and who was feareil by every chief and triln.'. He had done many strange 
 and wonderful things, and Ixrcause of those things, antl also Ix-Tause he was 
 very cruel and afraid of no man, his fame had gone out all along the sca<~oast, 
 and even up the rivers among the trilK-s of the interior, so that his worils were 
 law and no one dareil disolx-y them. He was a very large, strong man. and could 
 tL-11 a witch by just looking at one. He killed all the witches he could find : and 
 hw" found many, iK-cause there were numl)ers of men, women and children whom 
 he did not like, and there was more room for him in this world if he sent them to 
 the other, and so he used to have a great time torturing witches until they died. 
 He was a very ugly-looking shaman. When he was a youth he had fought and 
 killed a large Ix-^ar single-handed in the mountains ; but the lx.'ar ha<l knocked one 
 of his eyes out and torn out jiart of his nose and one side of his face, so that 
 when it healetl up he looked like a worse devil than any he could tell abouL 
 Sometimes he would go to a /VV /<//<•//— which, as you know, is a feast where the 
 chief or head of a family who entertains gives away many presents — and if he were 
 not satisfied with his gifts he would at once denounce some of the chiefs family, 
 or the chief himself, as a witch, and woald compel the assembled guests to lead 
 them out to death or torture. 
 
 These tortures were fearful things— .so bad, sometimes, that the rutives would 
 go away and leave him alone with his victims, coming back after a long time to 
 find him mutilating their dead bodies. 
 
Tin: SHAMANS (IRAVK: AN ALASKAN LEdKND. 
 
 I OS 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 This evil spirit grew iijM)n him year by year, and all the trills dreaded his 
 presence - for his coming surely meant death to some of their |)eople. Hut they 
 l)elieved in him at the siime time, or they would have killed him. One woman, 
 whose huslwnd and three children had Ix-en tortured to death ai different times, 
 followed him to his house for that purpose. She waited until he slept, anil then 
 crept close to him, raising a " sealing club " to knock out his brams ; but a big black 
 raven Hew in at the <loor and pulled him by the long hair, so that he awoke (]uickly 
 and seized the woman and tied her, and fed her piecemeal to his dogs. That was the 
 story he told, and it was Ijelieveil, for the Kiooti/iimin never came back to deny it 
 
 One time a great feast was held at Sitka, and i'hlinkets came to it from long 
 distances, and there were great numl)ers of them. 'I'he (!hilkats came in great state 
 They were very fierce and warlike, and since unremembered time had made the 
 'I'hlinkets, who lived in the interior, juiy tribute l)efore they would j)ermit them to 
 come down to the sea. They came with many big war canoes, 
 and all their family chiefs came also. With the family of the 
 (Ireat Tyhee was a golden-haired white girl, ten years old 
 jx-'rhaps. She was as pretty to look at as a salmon- berry 
 blossom, and the (.'hilkats were very kind and attentive to 
 her. They saitl she had come to them from the sea 
 three winters before, antl she had been with them 
 ever since. Slvj had learnt to talk Thiinket, and 
 
 would 
 tmic to 
 
T 
 
 1 06 
 
 THE I'ALL MALL MAdA/INL. 
 
 her littlu fingers were very deft at making Ixiskets and in weaving the long hair 
 uf the mountain goat into blankets. She had an iitiis, which site looked at 
 closely, and told them stories which she s;iid the iitiis told to her. 'I'he.se stories 
 were different from any they had ever heard l)efore, and they lx.'lieved them to 
 be all lies and nonsense. 1 now understand that the ictus was a book the 
 missionaries talk through when they teach us to Im; go<Ml, Well, the girl was given 
 an honoured place at t!ie feast, and the big Shanuxn of the Sitkans sat opiMisite 
 to her, and looked at her fiercely out of his one eye. Hut she was not afraid of 
 him, nor of any one, and she sang some sad songs in a language that none of the 
 Thlinkets understood. Now, after two or three days of feasting and potlatc/tinf^, 
 the Chilkats made ready to go away, and it was the last night of the feast, 
 when suddenly the S/tainan denounced the little white girl as a witch, and 
 demanded that she Ix; tied up and given to him. To this the Chilkats objected, 
 but the Shaman had on his death-mask, and was so awfid in his anger that they 
 were frightened — brave men as they were ; and they went away, leaving the little 
 white girl crying bitterly and lx.'seeching them to take her home. Immediately 
 after they had gone she took her little lx)ok, which all my jK-'ople then called an 
 ictus, and Ixjgan to look at it very carefully ; and she did that until they Iwund her 
 hand and foot and delivered her over to the Shaman ; and he carried her to the 
 shore, and placed her, tied as slie was, in his canoe, and jiaddled away. 
 
 All this time the tenas Klootchman (little girl) had Ix-en very quiet, but her 
 
 big blue eyes had a far-away, longing look in them, as if she saw a fairer land 
 
 somewhere, or was watching for the coming of some one she loved. Very many of 
 
 the Sitkan badly for her sake; but their intense fear of the Shaman, and 
 
 their superst.. us lx;lief in his power over the unseen mysteries, prevented them 
 
 making any objection or trying to interfere between the child and the awful fate 
 
 that awaited her. After the canoe and its occujKints had faded out of sight, one 
 
 strong-minded but tender-hearted middle-aged woman lifted her arms with an 
 
 imploring gesture toward the sky and then ran away and hid in her hut. Tour 
 
 nights and days passed, and just at evening time the Shaman came l>ack alone. 
 
 He was very stern and ugly, and if any one ventured to mention the child he 
 
 scowled so fiercely that they were all glad to keep silence alx)ut her. But he acted 
 
 very queerly. He took from his own dwelling all his beautiful dancing robes and 
 
 his fine blankets, and he bought from an ancestor of mine a blanket made of 
 
 snow-white ermine, and he collected all the dainty things he could find and carried 
 
 them away to his boat and placed them carefully in it ; and it was noticed then that 
 
 he was not so rude and cruel as was his usual way, for when little children were in 
 
 his pathway he did not run against and knock them about, but put them gently to 
 
 one side. Then he stood in the water near his loaded canoe and said, "Good-bye, 
 
 my people," a thing he had never done Ix'fore ; and all our people were amazed, 
 
 and watched him wonderingly so long as they could see. And at that time he had 
 
 a long talk alone with the woman who had expressed her sorrow at the going 
 
 away of the child, and the woman went away with him. He had greatly changed 
 
 in every way ; his clothing was clean, and his manners were ver)' tender for a Sitkan 
 
 Shaman ; and our people were greatly puzzled, and would have followed him, but 
 
 this he would not permit, and for many moons the Shaman and the woman were 
 
 absent. Then one warm sunshiny day, when the men, the women and the children 
 
 were sitting lazily watching the sea, they saw coming from out of the shadows of a 
 
 distant island a wonderful canoe. It carried a tall mast, with cordage running from 
 
 its top to the stem and stern of the cancw, and all the cordage was hung with 
 
 flags of strange devices ; and from the very top, over all the rest, there floated a 
 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
T 
 
 TIIK SliAMANS (IRAVli: AN ALASKAN l-KdKND. 
 
 107 
 
 m;; liair 
 okcd at 
 L* stories 
 them to 
 >(H>k the 
 us given 
 ()|>|M)site 
 afraid of 
 • of the 
 
 ic feast, 
 tch, ami 
 objected, 
 liat they 
 the Httic 
 nediately 
 called an 
 ound her 
 LT to the 
 
 hut her 
 lirer land 
 
 many of 
 man, and 
 ted them 
 iwful fate 
 sight, one 
 
 with an 
 ut. Four 
 ick alone. 
 
 child he 
 ; he acted 
 rol)cs and 
 
 made of 
 nd carried 
 
 then that 
 ;n were in 
 
 gently to 
 Good-bye, 
 e amazed, 
 ne he had 
 the going 
 y changed 
 r a Sitkan 
 I him, but 
 )man were 
 le children 
 dows of a 
 ming from 
 hung with 
 ; floated a 
 
 snow-white flag, with a broad ri'd cross worked on its centre ; and as tliey came 
 nearer they saw the S/ufiimii and the native wonian. He was at the stern and the 
 woman forward, and as they paildled there could Ik* heard tlie wail for the Sitkan 
 dea<l. As tiuy canie mar tin- sliorc, my |K'op|e saw, resting on a s((rt bed of deer- 
 skins, with her litlk' hands folded across her br..asi and her lithe body wrapjted in the 
 
 I 
 
 spotless folds of the ermine rolK', the white child whom the S/iiitnan had taken away 
 to slay as a witch. She Icjoked very l)eautiful, and her long hair had the lustre of a 
 sea-trout freshly caught, and it shone in the sunlight like threads of gold. W illing 
 hands drew the canoe high on the l)each above the water-line, but the Shaimin sat 
 as one in a dream gazing into the face of the dead child, as silent as she. 
 
io8 
 
 THK PALI. MAM. MA(;AZINE. 
 
 I 
 
 And my people s[)akc never one word, but waited with a kind of awe. 
 
 Presently he stepiied carefully out u|)on the land, turned his scarred face towards 
 the heavens, then swept the sea-line as one who waits, and thus he s|)ake : •' My 
 |)eople, my kindred, I know this day that you are all my brothers and my sisters. 
 I was born among you ; my jjcbyhood, my youth, my manhood have Ixien lived 
 here with you by the great waters. I have lived thus fur the life of a Sitkan Shaman 
 of the olden time. I have l)een very harsh and very cruel ; 1 have lived the life of 
 a murderer, a liar and a thief Although you have deemed me brave, I know that 
 I have lx.'en a wicked coward, and I have brought back to you to-day the tenas 
 KhMtchman who has made me know these bitter things. 
 
 " She is dead, but Ixifore she went away 1 promised her to tell the .story to you ; 
 so it is not only I who talk, but it is her lips, her heart which speaks through 
 mine. When she first came to us from the Chilkats I coveted her possession, and 
 when I carried her away to my hut in the mountains my intentions were very cruel 
 and wicked. I know this now ; I did not know it then. It is a day's journey 
 to my mountain home, and soon after leaving here \ untied her, and she came 
 trustingly and sat at my feet m the bottom of the canoe, and laid her head on my 
 knee, and looked up into my face out of eyes like a young fawn's. I turned the 
 disfigured side of my face away from her, so that she might not see ; but she 
 noticed it, and put up her little hand.s, and turned it back again, and caressed it. 
 She did not scorn it, nor put it away from her; and I felt like a hunting dog 
 caressed by his master. No living man or woman had ever been gentle to me 
 before in all my recollection. 
 
 "Then she made me tell her about it, and when I had finished she called me 
 ' brave ' and stroked the scarred places, saying, ' Poor face, poor face 1 ' 
 
 " I don't know what it was, but I had a pain in my heart, and something came 
 up in my throat and made me gasp. Then she said she would tell me a story, and 
 she told me of One who was the Son of God, the Great Tyhee, who made the 
 world and the sky, the sun, the moon and the stars ; and how, because of wicked 
 men like me, this Son of God gave His own life and died a cruel death, so that I 
 might not suffer for my own sins if I would lx;lieve in Him. She told me He was 
 gentle and harmless as a child, although He possessed mighty power and could 
 accomplish all things. After this she went to sleep, and I sat very still for fear of 
 waking her, and watched her face, and thought about this wonderful thing she had 
 told me. I was not in a hurry to take her to my home, and I ceased paddling 
 and let the canoe swing lazily to the motion of the sea. Far out beyond the 
 islands, where the sky bends to the waters, it seemed to me as if the day was 
 breaking, for instead of growing darker it grew brighter and brighter, and I could 
 see the glimmer of the white gulls as if the sun shone on them ; but here, where 
 we now stand, and all along the mountain side, it was so black that I could not 
 distinguish anything. Now I thought this was a sign and a mystery, and I wondered 
 if the child's God was coming over the western waters to visit her, for she had told 
 me * He was a bright and shining One,' and so I waited and watched while the child 
 slept. Suddenly the light faded out, and a cold wind came off from the sea, and 
 1 heard the familiar witch voices talking, and my heart was hardened, and I awoke 
 the child rudely and pushed her from me, and commenced paddling furiously ; but 
 1 had drifted whither I knew not, and before the light had faded out I had forgotten 
 to notice where we were. I was frightened, for I had never lost m > \ ay Ijcfore, 
 and I had never seen so black a night; and because I was cruel ai a ugly, I told 
 the child that we were going to die, that a sea witch was pullin} us lo her home, 
 where we v/ould lie killed and eaten. Then the child came and kne't <i »wn at my 
 
THE SHAMAN'S CRAVE: AN ALASKAN LE(;EN1). 
 
 109 
 
 towards 
 
 : "My 
 
 sisters, 
 in lived 
 Shaman 
 : life of 
 low that 
 le tenas 
 
 to you ; 
 through 
 ion, and 
 ;ry cruel 
 journey 
 le came 
 1 on my 
 rned the 
 but she 
 essed it. 
 iting dog 
 le to me 
 
 ailed me 
 
 ing came 
 itory, and 
 nade the 
 if wicked 
 so that I 
 ! He was 
 id could 
 »r fear of 
 she had 
 paddling 
 lyond the 
 day was 
 I could 
 re, where 
 :ould not 
 wondered 
 ; had told 
 the child 
 sea, and 
 1 I awoke 
 msly ; but 
 forgotten 
 ay Ijcforc, 
 5ly, I told 
 ler home, 
 \s'x\ at my 
 
 feet, and, putting up her little hands, said many words in a strange tongue. At 
 last she said in 'I'hinklet, ' *' He not afraid, fur I am with you always " : this is the 
 promise of ')ur (Jod, yours and mine, and He will save us.' And very soon after 
 that the wings of the darkness lifted, and it flew away, and I knew where we were— 
 not far from my landing-place ; and I beached the canoe and carried the child 
 up the steep trail to my mountain hut, and I could not t)e cruel or harsh to her. 
 She told me such wonderful stories of her Ciod: that I was one of His children; 
 and about a lieautiful country where He waited for our coming ; and that by living 
 kindly and wronging no man, and lx:lieving in Him, and doing good, we would, 
 after our death here, Ix; welcomed there, and never have any more sorrow or pain. 
 
 "And I never had Ix^en so happy in all my life. I carried her all the things 
 that I prized most, and she made the hut in the mountains a beautiful place, and 
 1 loved her as a mother loves her l)aby, and I would have suffered all things for 
 her sake. 
 
 " One day she told me that ( jod was calling her, and she must olx;y, and leave 
 me for a time. Then I wished to see Him fare to face, and fight to keep her with 
 me ; but she told me that God was with nv every day and hour, and that He 
 could only l)e conquered by love and resignation j and much more she told me, 
 until my stormy heart rested in peace. And then 1 saw her fading away like a 
 flower each day, and near the end she could not walk nor even feed herself, and 
 I came here after Ne-that-la, whom you all know for a kindly woman. She went 
 with me, and tended and nourished the white blossom as best she could until the 
 time came when God touched her heart and it was still. 
 
 "Just lx.-fore she left us for His Ix'autiful country she made us both promise to 
 try and come to her, and to lead as many of our people as we could to follow us. 
 She said she ' would wait for us on the shore ' ; and because of that promise, and 
 lx:cause I who loved her wished to live with her for ever, I have brought her dead 
 body here to rest among my own people, and when I die I wish to lie laid by her 
 side on the hill which I have chosen as my last resting-place. And oh, my people, 
 if you will listen and obey the counsels of a Sitkan Shaman who has learned to 
 love and he tender, you will believe in one God only — the God of this little child." 
 
 Then he ceased, and the women of the tribe prepared the poor little body for 
 its long rest in the house of the dead ; and they placed her book ictus in her bosom, 
 and the ermine robe they folded around her, and all the presents from the Shaman 
 in a box and laid it at her feet ; and day after day the Shaman waited alone on the 
 hill l)eside her body, and night after night, through storms and starlight, he watched 
 to see that no harm came to it ; and one morning, after a great gale, he did not 
 come to the village, and when a long time had passed some of the people went in 
 search of him, and found him dead, sitting beside the hou.se, holding to it strongly 
 as if he would not Ix: torn away. And my people laid him beside the girl, and 
 placed his war canoe near by, with a smaller one for the child. 
 
 That is all I know. 
 
 Here Klanaut ceased talking. I believe there was a tremulous flutter in MetinofT's 
 eyelids and my own, and a suspicious moisture, which perhaps was blown from ofi" 
 the sea. But 1 have visited the place many times since, and I think of the fair 
 child, and picture her as graceful as the fern^ which sway about her last resting-place ; 
 and I wonder if the Shaman found her — waiting on the " other shore." 
 
 Arthur hlliers.