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Read Ebook: Yosemite Legends by Smith Bertha H Lundborg Florence Illustrator
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Ebook has 1101 lines and 56423 words, and 23 pages
Illustrator: Florence Lundborg
YOSEMITE LEGENDS
BY BERTHA H. SMITH
WITH DRAWINGS BY FLORENCE LUNDBORG
PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO
The Legends
Page Yo-sem-i-te, Large Grizzly Bear 1
Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind 11
Hum-moo, the Lost Arrow 19
Py-we-ack, the White Water 31
Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah and Tis-sa-ack 45
Kom-po-pai-ses, Leaping Frog Rocks 55
Mirror Lake 1
A Grizzly Facing page 6
Oaks 11
Po-ho-no in Bridal Veil Facing page 14
The Lost Arrow 19
Tee-hee-neh Facing page 26
Cloud's Rest 31
Spirits of Vernal Falls Facing page 38
El Capitan 45
The Spirit of Tis-sa-ack Facing page 52
The Three Brothers 55
The Patriarch's Prayer Facing page 60
Yo-sem-i-te, Large Grizzly Bear
When the world was made, the Great Spirit tore out the heart of Kay-o-pha, the Sky Mountains, and left the gash unhealed. He sent the Coyote to people the valley with a strong and hardy race of men, who called their home Ah-wah-nee, and themselves, the Ah-wah-nee-chees.
As time went by, the Ah-wah-nee-chees, in their pride of power, forgot the Great Spirit who had given them their stronghold and made them feared of all their race. And the Great Spirit, turning upon them in his wrath, loosed his evil forces in their midst, scourging them with a black sickness that swept all before it as a hot wind blights the grain at harvest time.
The air of the valley was a poison breath, in which the death shade hovered darkly. Before the Evil Spirit medicine men were powerless. Their mystic spells and incantations were a weird mockery, performed among the dying and the dead; and when at last the Evil One passed onward in his cursed flight, the once proud and powerful band of Ah-wah-nee-chees was like a straggling pack of gaunt gray wolves. Their eyes gleamed dully in their shrunken faces, and the skin hung in loose folds on their wasted bodies.
Those who were able fled from the valley, which was now a haunted place, eerie with flitting shadows of funeral fires and ghostly echoes of the funeral wail. They scattered among the tribes beyond the mountains, and Ah-wah-nee was deserted.
A vast stillness settled upon the valley, broken only by the songs of birds and the roar of Cho-look when Spring sent the mountain torrents crashing over his head. The mountain lion and the grizzly roamed at will among the rocks and tangled chinquapin, fearless of arrows; the doe led her young by an open path to the river, where trout flashed their colors boldly in the sun. In the autumn the choke-cherries and manzanita berries dried upon their stems, and ripened acorns rotted to dust upon the ground after the squirrels had gathered their winter store. The homeless Ah-wah-nee-chees circled wide in passing the valley.
Ten-ie-ya grew up among his mother's people, but the fire of a warrior chief was in his blood and he liked not to live where the word of another was law. The fire in his blood was kept aflame by the words of an old man, the patriarch of his father's tribe, who urged him to return to Ah-wah-nee, the home of his ancestors, and gather about him the people whose chief he was by right of birth.
So Ten-ie-ya went back across the mountains by a trail abandoned long ago, and from the camps of other tribes came those in whose veins was any trace of Ah-wah-nee-chee blood; and, as before, the number was increased by lawless braves of weaker bands who liked a greater freedom for their lawlessness. Again, under the favor of the Great Spirit, the Ah-wah-nee-chees flourished and by their fierce strength and daring became to other tribes as the mountain lion to the wolf and the coyote and the mountain sheep.
And it chanced that one day while Ten-ie-ya and his warriors were camped near Le-ham-i-te, the Ca?on of the Arrow-wood, a young brave went out in the early morning to the lake of Ke-koo-too-yem, the Sleeping Water, to spear fish. His lithe, strong limbs took no heed of the rocky talus in his path, and he leaped from boulder to boulder, following the wall that rose sheer above him and cut the blue sky overhead.
As he reached the base of Scho-ko-ni, the cliff that arches like the shade of an Indian cradle basket, he came suddenly upon a monster grizzly that had just crept forth from his winter cave. The grizzly knows no man for his friend; least of all, the man who surprises him at the first meal after his long sleep. The rivals of Ah-wah-nee were face to face.
The Ah-wah-nee-chee had no weapon save his fish spear, useless as a reed; yet he had the fearlessness of youth and the courage of a race to whom valorous deeds are more than strings of wampum, piles of pelt or many cattle. He faced the grizzly boldly as the clumsy hulk rose to its full height, at bay and keen for attack. With instinctive love of conflict roused, the young chief seized a broken limb that lay at his feet, and gave the grizzly blow for blow.
The claws of the maddened brute raked his flesh. The blood ran warm over his glistening skin and matted the bristled yellow fur of the grizzly.
The Ah-wah-nee-chee fought bravely. While there was blood in his body, he could fight; when the blood was gone, he could die; but with the traditions of his ancestors firing his brain, he could not flee.
Furious with pain, blinded by the blows from the young chief's club and by the blood from the young chief's torn flesh, the grizzly struggled savagely. He, too, was driven by the law of his breed, the universal law of the forest, the law of Indian and grizzly alike,--which is to kill.
Such a battle could not last. With a low growl the crippled grizzly brought himself together and struck with the full force of his powerful arm. The blow fell short.
Urging his waning strength to one last effort, the Ah-wah-nee-chee raised his club high above his head and brought it down with a heavy, well-aimed stroke that crushed the grizzly's skull and sent him rolling among the boulders, dead.
That night as the Ah-wah-nee-chees feasted themselves on bear meat, the story of the young chief's bravery was told, and told again; and from that hour he was known as Yo-sem-i-te, the Large Grizzly Bear.
In time the name Yo-sem-i-te was given to all the tribe of Ah-wah-nee-chees, who for fearlessness and lawlessness were rivaled only by the grizzly with whom they shared their mountain fastness. And when long afterward the white man came and took Ah-wah-nee for his own, he gave it the name by which Ten-ie-ya's band was known; and Cho-look, the high fall that makes the earth tremble with its mighty roar, he also called by the name of the Large Grizzly Bear, Yo-sem-i-te.
Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind
The white man calls it Bridal Veil. To the Indian it is Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind.
The Indian, if chance brings him near this waterfall, hurries on with face averted, a vague dread in his heart; for in the meshes of the Bridal Veil hides an eerie spirit, a mischievous, evil one--Po-ho-no. In the ripple of the water as it falls among the rocks, the Indian hears Po-ho-no's voice. In the tossing spray he sees the limp forms and waving arms of hapless victims lured by the voice to their destruction.
The Indian's mistrust of Po-ho-no dates back to a day of long ago, a bright blue day of early spring such as the children of Ah-wah-nee love, when the valley has thrown off its white winter blanket, and dogwood blooms, and the oaks unfurl their soft green banners in welcome of the coming summer. It was the time when deer begin to trail, leaving the lowlands of the river for the higher ranges; and while the men hunted in the forest, the women went forth to gather roots and berries for the feast.
The Sun had come back from the south; and as he stood high in the heavens looking into the valley over the shoulder of Lo-yah, the Sentinel, three women were tempted to stray from the others and wander along a trail that led high above the valley to the spot whence the misty spray of the waterfall flutters downward.
They talked with what zest women may whose simple lives give them no secrets to hold or betray. They laughed as they filled their baskets, stooping to scrape the earth from a tender root, to strip the seed from a stalk, or gather grasses used in basketry; and their voices were as the purling of lazy waters gliding over stones. They were happy, for as yet they knew naught of the joy-sapping fever of discontent.
Of a sudden the laughter ceased, and in its stead arose the mocking wail of Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind. The youngest of the women, venturing near the edge of the cliff to pick an overhanging wisp of grass, had stepped upon a rock where moss grew like a thick-woven blanket. She did not know that the soft, wet moss was a snare of the Evil One, and even as the others cried out in warning, Po-ho-no seized her and hurled her down among the rocks.
A pair of helpless arms waving in despair; long, loose hair sweeping across a face, half veiling one last look of terror--and she was gone. If she uttered a cry, the sound was lost in the gleeful chatter of Po-ho-no and his impish host.
The two women left above dared not go near the treacherous ledge, lest they too come within reach of the vengeful Spirit. Afraid even to give a backward glance, they hurried down the steep path to spread the alarm. Scarce was their story told before a band of daring braves rushed to the rescue of the maiden; but though they searched till night among the rocks where the water swirls and leaps to catch the rainbow thrown there by the western sun, they found no trace of her. The maiden's spirit had joined the forces of Po-ho-no, and could know no rest, nor be released from his hateful thrall, until by her aid another victim was drawn to his doom. Here she must stay, hidden by the mist from watchful eyes, beckoning always, tempting always, luring another soul to pay the forfeit of her own release. Then, and then only, would the spirit of the maiden be free to pass on to the home of the Great Spirit in the West.
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