LETTER XV. 169 



round the grave in the night season, and until 

 morning dawns carouse madly with the corpse. 

 Then at last they lay the poor bones to rest in 

 their deep dark house of silence, where neither 

 howl of gray wolf nor sneaking coyote can dis- 

 turb the chieftain's sleep. Far away, four days' 

 journey from his village, they believe that Tumisco 

 burns his solitary fire on the lonely camping- 

 grounds of the Hereafter. 



So goes the legend of Tumisco and his fellows, 

 when In-cow-market is the story-teller, and the 

 legend gives a very faithful picture of the death, 

 at any rate, of an Indian chief in the Cascades. 



It is not in every case that the relatives choke 

 out the last struggling sighs with blankets and 

 buffalo robes, but it is undoubtedly true that, if 

 the Indians want to move their camp, and an in- 

 valid whose life is despaired of is inconveniently 

 long in dying, his friends smother him. 



The funeral feasts of which the legend tells are 

 costly ceremonies, as you may judge from the 

 following facts in connection with a recent ' wake ' 

 at Princetown. The deceased was only a child, 

 but the guests were nearly 100, and the feast 

 lasted two nights. Each night at sunset a beast 

 was slain, and at sunrise not an ounce of flesh 

 was left. One hundred pounds of flour, half a 

 sack of rice, dried apples, peaches, etc., were also 



