July 7, 1887.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



811 



brought down from the interior, where he had lived since 

 his blindness, and from another direction was summoned 

 one of the coast Indians, nearly or quite as old as the 

 islander, but much more intelligent. The coast Indian 

 was a "capitan" or chief of his scanty tribe. His eye 

 sight was impaired through age; his hearing was 

 defective, and his speech muffled by loss of teeth, but the 

 brightness of his mind was surprising. 



These two interesting people lived for some time in a 

 roomy adobe house under the care of my Mexican friend. 

 There I interviewed them for several successive days, 

 taking down partial vocabularies of their language and 

 writing out at dictation animal stories and accounts of 

 the manners and customs of the lost tribes. Both of the 

 Indians spoke Spanish and were hi so far easy to com- 

 municate, with. On the last day of our meeting we had 

 progressed far enough to take up the subject of music, 

 and this was the occasion of some excitement. Some 

 part of the small presents I had given the Indians had 

 been exchanged secretly for rum, as was perceived by the 

 breath and demeanor of the two culprits, but the amount 

 drunk was luckily not enough to dampen their artist ic 

 ardor, rather to inflame it. 



Dresses and native rattles had been provided, but tho 

 latter alone were used, the performers being clad in modi- 

 fications of civilized clothes. Four songs in all were 

 taken down in the Indian tongue. I attempted to get 

 the right metre for all these by marking the accented 

 syllables. Complete success in this matter was only had 

 iii the "canoe" song. The others are nearly right but not 

 certainly so. The English translations given preserve the 

 metre and the idea as near as may be, though not pre- 

 cisely literal. 



The difficulties experienced in getting even these short 

 songs were great. The singers could not, it seemed, give 

 any part of the song without going back to the beginning. 

 You would catch the first few words and ask for a repeti- 

 tion of the next. Then the performer would start his 

 rapid shouting and go over the whole thing, leaving you 

 to understand what you could; just as children repeating 

 by rote have often to recur to the very beginning in order 

 to remember the connection of words. 



The "airs" of all these songs were, I was told, of Chuma 

 or island origin, while in process of time the early words 

 had been replaced by those of the " Mish-khon-a-ka' " 

 dialect spoken by the Indians of Ventura. The melody, 

 so to call it, did not appeal to our ears, but there was 

 clearly a fixed succession of notes, some low and some high 

 in the scale. The many repetitions made this sure. In 

 measure, however, or beat, the songs were remarkable, and 

 when accompanied by dancing, the dancer's movements 

 also were in perfect time. 



This feature is found, I think, in most of the barbarous 

 systems of music, though some Asiatics, as the Chinese, 

 seem to regard neither time nor melody, valuing noise 

 alone. 



For two of the songs dances were given— the bear 

 dance and the canoe dance. So much spirit and vigor 

 were shown in these renderings that I feared the police 

 would come to check the flow of science. This danger, 

 however, was avoided. 



With this long preface I proceed to the songs. 



SrX-TI-WEU-EUSH — sonq. 

 Ka-yu-wa wil'-le-le 

 Ni'-mu-stu m6-sip-pokhsh 

 Si'-rnus-il ka-t.eush-weu 

 Sa-li-o li-6 

 Lw6u-neu 



Now will I tell you all. 

 Uneasy my troubled heart. 

 Charm-stone is lost by me. 

 Sad am I; am I. 

 Sad, sad. 



This describes the grief of a man who has lost the magic 

 stone which, when hung around the neck, protected the 

 wearer from the arrows of the enemy and gave him 

 strange powers. 



Each line was repeated many times in this as in the 

 other songs. The last two lines were groaned out with 

 lengthened despair. 



The next song I can give only in the Indian tongue, 

 and for that reason the words will be left out. It is all 

 the more interesting, however, for that, if I may be 

 allowed the enigma. 



The song was entitled "El-ye-weun" — The Swordfish. 

 It was repeated many times in the same exact way, sylla- 

 ble for syllable and tone for tone. The singular part of 

 it was that the Indians did not know the meaning of a 

 word of it except the title, winch was of recent origin. 

 The rest was said to have been comprehensible to the 

 tribe that formerly lived on the island of Santa Catalina, 

 near San Pedro, far to the eastward. This fact is a curi- 

 ous commentary on the investigations of some scientific 

 men who declare, if I remember aright, from skull meas- 

 urements, that the race living on Santa Catalina differed 

 from those on the other islands. The swordfish song 

 snowed more decided trace of melody than the others and 

 wa s elaborate in its composition, there being three divi- 

 sions, one singer taking the first part, another the second, 

 and both joining in the third. 



The title of the next song is "Wi'-ma" or the "Canoe." 

 Wi'-ma is also a proper name signifying a former Indian 

 village on Santa Rosa Island. The village was probably 

 named from the canoe, but the derivation goes yet 

 further back. Wi'-ma in the Chuma language meant a 

 red-wood tree. This tree does not grow here and the 

 early Indians only got those trunks that floated down 

 from the Northern coast on the ocean. These prized logs 

 were the material for their canoes. 



WI'-MA— CANOE SONG. 



Li'-sa li'-sa lis' po 

 Ki'-la-pak ten-pa 

 Sli'-a-kas kha-min 

 Was-ku-pa s6-mu 

 Ya-ki-sis te'ks 



Come now. Oome now. Come now. 

 With your hands kindle 

 Flames in the mid-sea. 

 Thus shall we slaughter 

 Those that live there. 



The song ended with a powerful stress on the word 

 *'teks." somewhat as in the Yale song of "Saw my Leg 



off" the final word "short" is brought out with great erh- 

 phasis. 



The song was used as a religious ceremonial before 

 going fishing to give the fisherman luck. The idea of 

 Idndling a flame in the ocean's heart has the poetry of 

 bold imagining at the least. 



With this song we had a dance. Perfect time was 

 kept by the excited performers, and it is to be noticed 

 that the dancer goes through a dramatic act and does not 

 attempt to sing the words of the song; while the singer 

 who shouts and rattles does not dance. 



The dancer in this case went through the motions of 

 shooting with the bow in vivid style. This may be partly 

 because fish were sometimes taken in that way . Store 

 probably it is because the dancer's movements have be- 

 come more or less conventional in the course of time, 

 and that the shooting motions appropriate to so many 

 subjects are applied also to other and foreign ideas. 



NE-WUS-T-KHUS— THE BEAU. 



A'-pi-ii tak-tak 

 Sakh-khive-khc-wan-a-las-pai 

 Si'-wu-lu lii-khe-mi shup 

 Sa-li-shu-a-lakh shik' 

 Ek-shi-spu-kii 



Listen 1 men. Listen! 

 Grumbles the monster above; 

 Solid earth crumbles beneath. 

 Painful the bones of his foot. 

 Ah! how it hurts. 



The song was acted out by the old blind Indian with great 

 effect. It represents the lumbering march of the bear, so 

 ponderous as to injure his own feet, and the last fine is 

 accompanied by hea^y stamping. 



The apparent confusion in the song arises from the 

 fact that the second line represents the feelings of the 

 bear divinities in the sky, sympathizing with their 

 awkward earthly brother, whose mischance is related in 

 the latter part of the performance. 



This ended the list of songs that I was able to take 

 down at this time. They form, however, but a small 

 part of the repertory of the Indians, and much matter 

 of great interest can be amassed by a careful patient 

 observer who has time to spare. If the observer be 

 skilled in musical notation the result will be still more 

 valuable. 



I will give here two more songs, known as bear songs, 

 taken down from the words of an Indian of the Tsa-ma-la 

 band that lived at and near the Santa Ynez Mission. 



The words are in a dialect differing somewhat from 

 that of the songs given before. 



My brother, a cultivated musician, spent a morning in 

 getting the music written just as the Indian gave it. 



The air, if you can call it so, is more monotonous than 

 the airs of the previous songs, but has a similar, though 

 less marked, character. 



-*=-mdt_* m — zj«= 



I - wa - wt - ya shup - n - a - lash a - ku - lu - 

 Through the place of peo -pie's meet - ing ecli - oes tranrp- 



* - lush, I - wa - wi - ya shup - n - a - lush a - ku - lu - 

 -ling, Thro' the place of peo - pie's meet - ing ech - oes tramp- 



' - lush, Su - tn - In - tu - In ki - ti - won. 

 - ling. Be - gins now to start In mo - tion 



m 



Ta ha - sa mo - moi, 

 The migh - ty fog bank 



Si - tu - lu - tu - In 

 Be - gins now to start 



a a——t=3 



ki - ti - won, 

 in mo - tion, 



Ta 

 The 



ha - sa mo 

 migh - ty fog 



•mmm 



■ moi, I - wa - wi - 

 bank, Thro' the place 



shup - n - a la. , 

 peo - pie's meet - ing. 



The words show, to a striking degree, how far the 

 songs had lost any devotional meaning or tendency to in- 

 vocation. 



Ye - pe ve - pe ne - mi suup - u ni - cual - a 

 Throbs the earth be-neathmy footsteps when I march 



ki - ti - won A - la - ft - wai - ya ni cual a 

 to the place where the peo - pie dance, Wheu I march 



kl - ti - won A - la - li - wai - ya. 

 to the place where the peo - pie dance, 



Te - pe 

 Throbs the 



1. . Z * * * * L>L * - * 



ye - pe ne - mi shup - u ni — 

 earth be - neath my foot - steps when 



cual - a. 

 1 march. 



I asked the old man what the fog bank in the second 

 piece had to do with the bear, and he answered, logically 

 enough, that it had just as much to do with him as the 

 dancing place had. The music had, in fact, become con- 

 ventional; merely the melodic accompaniment of tribal 

 dances. 



The two words A-la-li-wai-ya and I-wa-wi'-ya are proper 

 names, the first referring to a place consecrated to Indian 

 dances in a valley called the Alamo Pintado, near Santa 

 Ynez, and the second to another locality devoted to the 

 same rites. 



Notwithstanding this fact it is noticeable that in all 

 the music that refers to the bear you find the lumberinr 

 power of the brute's march a prominent idea. Cloude! 

 as the subject may be by later and incongruous applica- 

 tions, the central conception still remains, clothed often 

 with strongly poetic language. H. G. DtJLOG. 



CANOEING IN MAINE WATERS. 



THERE were two of us besides the canoe. We speak of the 

 canoe as almost a personality, so strong grew our affection 

 for the fragile little bark before we reached our journey's end. 

 The less important members of the expedition were a young man 

 usually called Mell, Af. T. Gates and the chronicler. 



We left Bangor Aug. 2, by the Piscataquis 1:30 freight, reaching 

 . pper Abbott station at about sunset. We slept In the station 

 loft that night or tried to. The heat was so intense, sleep was 

 almost out of the question any where. We drew what consolation 

 we could from the thought that our faces were toward the north. 

 At daylight next morning a friend appeared with a team, tookus, 

 our canoe and camp furniture aboard, and before noon we were 

 at Greenville, a small village at the foot of Moosehead Lake. 

 About. 3 o'clock we put ourselv es and all our belongings aboard a 

 steamer for the forty-mile trip up the lake, passed picturesque, 

 beautiful Kineo half way up, reaching the head of the lake, North- 

 east Carry, a little after sunset. The Winnegarnock House stands 

 at the bead of the lake in a wilderness of scrub growth. We took 

 a room there for the night, leaving our traps piled up out of doors, 

 with instructions to have tbem hauled across the carry early in 

 the morning. 



We were out at daybreak, and finding our canoe and luggage 

 loaded on a wagon just going over the carry, we concluded to go 

 with it and eat breakfast on the bank of the Penobscot River. 

 Here a short two miles divide the waters of Maine's largest rivers, 

 the Penobscot and the Kennebec. The Kennebec drains Moose- 

 head Lake. The part of the river we launched upon is the west 

 branch of the Penobscot, some 75yds. in width, with little current 

 at that point. As our eyes took in certain interesting topograph- 

 ical facts we were speedily made conscious of another fact not so 

 agreeable, viz., that the location was favorable to the develop- 

 ment of that lively outrage upon man, the cheerful mosquito. 

 When he is around he usually has the cheerfulness all to himself. 

 It is hard for any one else, to keep much unless he be a hardened 

 camper. As we set about breakfast he made it known that it was 

 his breakfast, time too. The west branch mosquito is as wide- 

 awake, enterprising, persistent a type of his kind as can be found, 

 not excepting even his far-famed Jersey relative. We don't swear 

 either of us, but we did not bless the mosquito, and his blood- 

 thirsty fellow pirate, the black fly, save in a vague left-handed 

 way which could not by any possible twist of language be con- 

 strued into a compliment. Many songs in the night did the former 

 give us. He was lots of company, though not what we should have 

 chosen if we had been allowed voice in the matter. 



Mell took the bow, 1 the stern, and off we set in the charming 

 morning. Eighteen miles would bring us to Chesuncook Lake. 

 The way was between plain wooded banks, amid unvarying scen- 

 ery and through alternating stretches of quick and dead water. 

 tt was a warm day, and we were glad when the help of a smart 

 current, with an easy glide, came in to aid the paddles. There, 

 were stretches, however, where the current was a little too zeal- 

 ous; too much in a hurry to comport with vacation moderatiou. 

 We had no guide and had never been over the course before, but 

 had heard of two places in this part of the river where we should 

 need to be well awike. These are Rocky Rips and Pine Stream 

 Falls. The first is down a sharp grade, in water made very ragged 

 by the boulders that fill the channel; but we ran it without a drop 

 of wafer slopping in, Mell handling the setting pole, I the paddle. 

 We did this so easily that we approached Pine Stream Falls, amile 

 beyond, with a good degree of confidence. Perhaps we felt, too 

 proud. H* so, pride, as well as water, had a fall that afternoon. 

 As a faithful historian, I must tell all the truth. I can't tell a lie, 

 or, at least, I will not about this, for Mell would tell the truth and 

 I should be found out. These falls have three distinct pitches, 

 each qnite a drop off. The first is the worst. We did not take it 

 in the right place. Our canoe pitched over, struck and stuck. In- 

 stantly our poles were out, but we could not lift off. Water began 

 to pour over the gunwale. There was nothing else to do but jump 

 out. into leg-deep water, lift off, leap in again and paddle ashore to 

 empty out the water before running the rest of it. Nothing was 

 damaged except our good feelings. We humbly accepted the 

 hustling received, and with meekness and caution safely ran the 

 other two falls. Two miles more through slack water brought us 

 to Chesuncook Lake, which is little more than a bulge in the river. 

 It is eighteen miles long and from one to three miles wide. As we 

 rounded a bend in the river and advanced upon the lake we ob- 

 tained our first view of Mt, Katahdin, standing like a grim old 

 king in the midst of a bodyguard of lesser heights. We worked 

 down the lake about five miles and camped on a ledge point on the 

 right shore. 



Refreshed by a long sleep which we very much needed, we 

 leisurely made ready for a start next morning and got away 

 at about, half-past seven. The day was clear and hot, we were in 

 no hurry, so we paddled slowly, reaching the foot of the lake 

 about noon. Here is a dam, built to aid in driving logs out. From 

 Chesuncook Lake the water flows over a succession of falls to 

 Ripogenus Lake, half a mile below. Of course we had to carry by 

 this. " There was a good road, made by the driving crews, and be- 

 fore dark we were comfortably camped on the Ripogenus with 

 beans simmering in the bean hole. The next day was Sunday, 

 and we were glad of a day of rest. It was a lovely spot for a halt. 

 Ripogenus is a gem of a lake, with bold, bluffy shores in part, and 

 a good view of Katahdin from our tent door. Beans for break- 

 fast made it seem quite like Sunday, despite our novel surround- 

 ings. We had a minister with us, but as the audience did not 

 care to go to meeting that day we did not have the regular 

 service— we had beans. And how good they tasted. This sort of 

 life is an astonishing appetizer as we had* demonstrated several 

 times before. As an ominous destructiveness of victuals rapidly 

 developed, the usual anxious question was raised on the very eve 

 of the expedition, have we rations enough to last through? Hor- 

 rible doubt! 



We were astir early Monday morning, and after breakfast 

 struck tent, loaded everything into the canoe, and launched out 

 to fish in what we deemed the best part of the day. We got- plenty 

 of fishing but no fish. It appeared that no part of that day was a 

 good time to catch trout in Ripogenus Lake, at least where we 

 dropped hook. We finally brought up at the foot of the lake near 

 where the river makes out of it. A shower threatening we pitched 

 tent, stowed our baggage within, then took our fishing rods to ex- 

 plore and fish the river below. And a very tumultuous river it is 

 for two miles and a half. A good part of the distance it leaps like 

 an arrow through a wild gorge between rocky walls, sometimes 

 100ft. in height. In places the river is narrowed to 13 or 15yds. 

 The Big Heater and Little Heater, so named from their fancied 

 resemblance to flat irons, are curious freaks of nature. In the 

 rase of the Big Heater, the rock is rifted to the depth of 100ft. in 

 two channels, leaving the Heater between its top on a level with 

 the lofty banks. The grandeur of nature's display well repaid us 

 for our "tramp of a mile and a half, though we took no fish. Rain 

 began to fall before we reached camp. When we came to our tent 

 we found a party of four pitching tent close by us. They proved 

 to be Messrs. Mudgett, Blakir and Garland, and Knox, the guide, 

 the two former from Bangor, the other from Bradley. Very 

 pleasant, companionable gentlemen we found them. 



At the foot of Ripogenus Lake, by the angry water just noticed, 

 a carry of two and a half miles was before us. Here is where the 

 fun does not so much come in. A mile is a long thing when you 

 are measuring it with a canoe or big pack on your back. But 

 before starting on this adventure we had learned just how much 

 lugging there would be and were never put out by a mile or more 

 of carry. Ripogenus Carry is the longest by much of any on this 

 trip. But we had been on the way three days and had not seen a 

 trout. Where were the trout? About a mile along this portage is 

 a small pond called Carry Pond. We had heard of it and had 

 planned to visit it. The rain holding up after dinner, Will and I 

 took our canoe along to this pond. It is a shoal little affair, and 

 at first we doubted the propriety of catching a fish fool enough to 

 live in such a place. Over in a small cove some cold springs send 

 their waters into this pond, and the fish there are some of the 

 smartest, prettiest trout we have ever seen, and we had sampled 

 the genus in many localities. They were not so very large, rang- 

 ing in weight from half a pound to a pound and a half, but their 

 flesh was hard and delicious owing to the cold water in which they 

 live. It showered at intervals, but. what true fisherman cares for 

 rain when the rish are biting. Hoeing corn in the rain is alto- 

 • 'ether a different matter, and an unspeakable hardship. Six 

 ] i angry men had more trout for supper that night than they could 

 cat. Rain, in the form of showers strung on streaks of lightning 

 feU nearly all through the night. They have a saying, "It always 

 rains on the Ripogenus," and we saw no reason while we were 

 round there to dispute the truth of the proverb. The abundance 

 of water in this region, and the Katahdin Mountains near by to 

 condense its vapor, combine to give copious rains, sent largely as 

 thunder showers. ' . . 



Early next morning tho members of the other party began trans- 

 porting their effects across the carry. About nine we took each 

 B load of our stuff two-thirds of the way over, to what they call 

 the "putting in" place, where some take to the water again, but 

 most carry all the way. We returned to the old camp, and after 

 dinner shouldered the rest of our property, bade good-bye to 

 Ripogenus Lake, carried as far as the pond, and went out to try 

 the fish again. We quickly had the bottom of the canoe lined 

 with trout. There was no more apprehension of a trout famine. 

 We carried everything except the canoe to the "putting in" place 



