7 
available to make the event a memorable one. Their social rank at large 
depended upon their power and wealth as displayed in these festivals, 
which they termed yaok. Thus the whole kin became sponsor for the new 
chief and shared with him the cost of the new carved memorial and the 
pomp of its dedication. 
The long-acknowledged means of securing public recognition was 
to hire other families for manual or ceremonial services. The relatives 
themselves, however distant, could not assume any other burden but 
that of contributing toward the expenses of the yaok. The labour of 
cutting a large cedar tree and hauling it where it could be carved, of pre- 
paring and standing it at the chosen spot, fell wholly to strangers, that is 
people who belonged to a different phratry.^ 
If strangers at large alone could sanction the devolution of inherited 
rights, the privilege of carving the pole and rendering specific ceremonial 
services for a liberal stipend fell to a smaller circle of strangers, who may 
be termed allies or relatives by marriage. Not every artist, though a 
stranger, could be invited to carve a pole, as has often been supposed even 
among ethnologists. Far from it. He must, indeed, be selected from 
among the “fathers” of the deceased or his heir; in other words, he must 
be either one of the “fathers” of the members of this family or one of their 
immediate relatives according to native computation.^ The “fathers” 
always belonged to another phratry, as no one was ever allowed to marry 
within one’s own phratry, even with the members of a clan wholly unrelated. 
The carver whose services were sought was as a rule the best available 
from among the “fathers.” When he lacked the required ability, he 
himself appointed a substitute who did the actual work while he “stood 
over him,” as the saying goes. He otherwise assumed the credit of the 
work. This sometimes made it difficult to find the name of the actual 
carvers, after the lapse of many years. 
The pole was left to stand as many years as nature unaided would 
permit. Two or three poles are often found that belong to the same family 
and commemorate the same name as borne in as many succeeding genera- 
tions. They as a rule stand side by side in front of the owner’s house. 
It is not the custom to mend or transplant a pole, however precarious its 
condition, for this operation would involve the same ceremonial process 
of calling the “fathers,” paying for their services, and lavishly entertaining 
many guests from far and wide. Violation of this custom never happened 
in any circumstances. At best a prop or two are still at times resorted to, 
so as to retard the collapse of the memorial when it leans dangerously 
over a house or a footpath. Once fallen, the pole is pushed aside, if it is 
in the way, and decays gradually or is cut up and burnt as firewood. Only 
one of them among the Gitksan® has been cut down and disposed of to a 
museum, a few years ago; and this forfeiture could happen only after the 
total collapse of the ancient customs and memories. 
Many poles on the North West Coast have met with wanton destruc- 
tion in the past twenty years; others have found their way to public parks 
'It is a question to be discussed elsewhere whether some absolutely unrelated clan within the same phratry 
was not occasionally allowed to share in the privilege of rendering such ceremonial services. 
rrhat is, eiclusively on the side of the mother. 
•The White-owl of Gitludahl, at Kispayaks (Plate XVI, figure 1), which was sold to the American Museum 
of Natural History, New York, about 1925. The young owner had many reasons to regret his deed, when it was too 
late. He was forced to yield to his relatives the initial cost of the pole, that is, far beyond what he claimed to have 
received in payment. 
