ARCHITECTURE OF THE AHTS — SEMI-NOMADIC CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE — THE PERMANENT FRAMEWORK, AND MOVABLE WALLS AND ROOF — DIVISION OF THE HOUSE — RANK OF THE OCCUPANTS — OBJECT AND MODE OF MIGRATION — PIPES OF THE AHT TRIBES — LABOR EXPENDED IN THEIR MANUFACTURE — RELIGIOUS SYSTEM OF THE TRIBES — AN AHT PROMETHEUS — SOCIETY OF THE “ALLIED” — THE MEDICINE MEN AND THEIR EDUCATION — THE CANNIBALS AND DOG-EATERS — REVOLTING SCENES — THE TWO CANNIBALS — SACRED RATTLES — TERROR INSPIRED BY THE MEDICINE MEN — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD — RESPECT FOR THE CEMETERY.
From the account of the Roof-dance in the preceding chapter, it is evident that the houses are built very strongly, or they would not be able to endure the violent stamping and jumping which constitute the principal charms of the dance. The houses of the Ahts are constructed after a very peculiar manner, the posts and framework being stationary, and the roof and sides movable. The effect of this arrangement is to enable the people to shift from one place to another. At each of the spots to which they migrate they find the framework of their houses ready for them, and all that they have to do is to carry with them the roofs and walls. The mode of migrating will be presently described.
The framework of the houses consists of stout posts about twelve feet in diameter, and twelve feet or so in height, placed at distances of twenty feet from each other. The top of the post is hollowed so as to receive the cross pieces which connect them. A house is some eighty feet in length, and the ridgepole which supports the roof is made of a single tree trunk. The roof, which is gabled-shaped, but slopes gently from the back to the front of the house, so as to throw off the rain, is made of cedar boards, about five feet long and nearly two inches thick. The walls are made of similar boards lashed to small upright posts driven into the ground.
Just below the roof a rude framework is extended, on which the inhabitants keep their stores of food, their weapons, and similar articles. About six feet from the walls, a strong stockade is erected, so that each house becomes a sort of fortress. There are no windows, and the only chimney is formed by removing one of the roof-boards above the fireplace. In many of these houses, the large inside posts are ornamented by having great faces carved upon them, face-carving being an art in which these tribes excel, just as is the case with the New Zealanders. Mr. Sproat mentions, that he has seen a row of such houses extending for the third of a mile along a river’s bank, and that the depth of the houses varied from twenty-five to forty feet.
Inside the house, the earth is dug away for a foot or so in depth, in order to give additional height to the interior. Every house is partitioned off into several divisions, each of which is occupied by a family, which is thus separated from the other inhabitants by a sort of bulkhead about four feet high. These partitions are movable, so that on occasion of a great festival they can be taken away, and the whole of the space kept clear. There is a fire in the middle of each division, and around it are placed wooden couches, about nine inches from the floor, and covered with a whole series of mats by way of bedding.
There is to each building one main entrance, and other small doors, which are always in a corner of one of the divisions. The rank of the different occupants is marked by the position which they occupy in the house. For example, the chief of the house occupies the extreme end on the left of the building, the next in rank lives in the corresponding place at the other end, while the common people occupy the space between the two great men.
These houses are much more agreeable to the eye than to the nostrils. Having no windows, and all the stores of salt fish and other provisions being kept in them, the interior atmosphere is close, fishy, rank, and pungent, the last quality being due to the wood smoke of the several fires. Neither is the exterior air better than that of the interior, for the ground is covered with heaps of putrefying heads, tails, and bones of fish, decaying mollusks, and refuse of all kinds, which is simply flung into heaps and never removed, the nostrils of the natives being incapable of feeling any annoyance from the horrible odor that arises from the decomposing heaps.
The ownership of these houses is rather a complicated question. The framework of the house is generally considered as being in several divisions, each division being called after the name of the owner, while the planks are the common property of the inhabitants.
When the Ahts wish to move to another spot, which is done for the purpose of changing to better fishing, hunting, and fruit grounds, according to the time of year, they always migrate by water. They place two large canoes about five or six feet apart, and connect them together with the planks of the roof and walls, which thus form a platform on which can be placed the stores and household goods. Mr. Sproat remarks that he has seen this platform heaped to a height of fourteen feet, only just enough space being left for the passengers. As soon as they arrive at their destination, the travellers unpack the boats, and, assisted by the slaves who have been sent forward in readiness, fix the boards on the already existing framework, so that in a very short time the house is ready for the occupants.
These migrations have one beneficial effect. While the people have deserted their villages, the birds, aided by the elements, the only scavengers of Vancouver’s Island, clear away a considerable portion of the heaps of putrefying rubbish, which would otherwise become too much even for native endurance.
In the meetings which are held within these houses the pipe naturally plays an important part; and, as the pipes made by these tribes differ from those of any other part of the world, a short description is here given of them. Both in shape and material these pipes are most remarkable. They seem to have been made for the express object of expending the greatest possible amount of labor upon the clumsiest possible pipe. I have seen and tried many of these pipes, and, except that they draw the smoke very well, there is not a redeeming point about them.
In the first place, they are carved—stem and bowl—out of solid stone, a sort of very dark slate. The upper figure in illustration No 2, on page 1357, which represents one of these pipes in my collection, shows the lightest and least cumbrous form of pipe. Although only eight inches in length, it weighs six ounces, no trifle for a pipe of that description. As is usually the case with these pipes, it is adorned with a human figure and a human head. The figure evidently represents a man seated in a canoe. On account of the details of dress, it seems likely that it is intended to represent a native—possibly the carver himself—in European costume, the features being of a strongly-marked Indian type, while the dress is European. This pipe was presented to me by Lieut. Pusey.
Sometimes the natives absolutely run riot in pipe making, and expend infinite labor in making pipes which look utterly unlike pipes, and which cannot be smoked without the very greatest inconvenience. The lower specimens represent two views of a pipe of this kind, belonging to T. W. Wood, Esq., which has apparently been made for the purpose of trying how many heads of men and birds could be compressed into a certain space. As the reader may observe, the whole character of this carving bears a very strong resemblance to the art of the ancient Mexicans, so strong, indeed, that it might almost be passed off as a specimen of that art.
In total length it is a very little more than eight inches, but from bowl to the mouth-piece it only measures five inches, the remaining three inches being simply superabundant material. The number of heads that the carver has contrived to introduce into this pipe is really wonderful, the ingenuity of combination, together with force of effect, being worthy of all praise, especially when the rudeness of the workmanship is considered. Taken as a work of art, it is admirable; taken as a pipe, it is detestable. It is so heavy that the mere exertion of holding it is fatiguing, and it is so thick and clumsy that it does not at all adapt itself to the lips. And, in so cold a climate, to grasp or to put to the lips such a piece of hard, cold stone, must involve very great inconvenience.
The religious ideas of the Aht tribes are, as may be expected, exceedingly vague, and are rendered still more so by the reticence which a savage always exhibits on such subjects. Mr. Sproat remarks that he lived for two years among the Ahts, with his mind constantly directed toward this subject, before he could discover whether the people believed in any overruling power, or had any idea of a future existence. He then proceeds to say that “a traveller must have lived for many years among savages, really as one of themselves, before his opinion as to their mental and spiritual condition is of any value at all.” How true this statement is, none know better than the missionaries, who find that even their most promising converts are almost as unwilling to give information on such subjects as they were during their state of heathenism.
It is, however, ascertained that the Ahts really have a belief in a deity and in a future state, and that they possess several legends on these subjects. Some of these legends treat of a certain Quawteaht, who made the earth and the animals, but would not give them fire, this being concealed in the body of the cuttle-fish. In those days they needed fire, because the Indians, who were afterward to people the earth, were hidden in their bodies. At last the deer succeeded in discovering the fire, and carried away some of it in the joint of his hind leg. The reader will doubtless perceive the similarity of this legend to the old myth of Prometheus.
As far as can be understood, this Quawteaht is the chief of their deities, but they have a whole host of minor divinities, who preside over the sea, the woods, and their inmates, as well as rule the elements. So, if a native sees a sudden breeze curl the surface of the sea, he thinks it signifies the approval of some spirit; and if he should hear a rustling in the woods for which he cannot account, or a sound which he does not recognize, he immediately puts it down to the presence of some demon or other.
As might be expected, there are plenty of medicine men, who have great power over the people, and are implicitly trusted by them. They have to go through a long and unpleasant ordeal before they can be admitted into the order of the “Allied,” as the medicine men call themselves. When their education is nearly finished, they go into the bush alone, and remain there for several days, fasting until they have received the spiritual gifts. The society of the Allied is encouraged by the chiefs, not from religious motives, but because they become enriched by it. No one can become an Allied unless he possesses considerable wealth, the whole of which he must give away before he can be admitted into the society. The act of giving away his property is done as ostentatiously as possible, the candidate being escorted by a large body of men, who shout and make as great a noise as they can. In front of them goes the candidate, with one end of a large rope round his waist, the other end being held by fifteen or twenty men, who pretend that all their strength is required in order to hold him back.
Captain Mayne relates a curious anecdote respecting the doings of these medicine men. He was called one evening to see a moon on the beach. On arriving at the spot he found that the men had made a flat disk of wax to represent the moon, and had painted a man upon it,—they having the belief, which is still prevalent among the illiterate of our own country, respecting a man who lives in the moon. They had lighted a torch and placed it behind the artificial moon, so as to illuminate it, and were supposed to be holding converse with its inhabitant, much to the awe of the surrounding crowd.
These medicine men seem to be divided into three parties, or sects. One of them does not appear to be particularly distinguished, but the other two gradually rise in circumstances of horror. The former sect is called the Dog-eaters, a portion of whose initiation is described by Mr. Duncan, and is illustrated on page 1367.
“Early in the morning the pupils would be out on the beach or on the rocks, in a state of nudity. Each had a place in front of his own tribe, nor did intense cold interfere in the slightest degree. After the poor creature had crept about, jerking his head and screaming for some time, a party of men would rush out, and, after surrounding him, would commence singing. The dog-eating party occasionally carried a dead dog to their pupil, who forthwith commenced to tear it in the most dog-like manner. The party of attendants kept up a low, growling noise, or a whoop, which was seconded by a screeching noise made from an instrument which they believe to be the abode of a spirit.
“In a little time the naked youth would start up again, and proceed a few more yards in a crouching posture, with his arms pushed out behind him, and tossing his flowing black hair. All the while he is earnestly watched by the group about him, and when he pleases to sit down, they again surround him and commence singing. This kind of thing goes on, with several little additions, for a time.
“Before the prodigy finally retires, he takes a run into every house belonging to his tribe, and is followed by his train. When this is done, in some cases he has a ramble on the tops of the same houses, during which he is anxiously watched by his attendants, as if they expected his flight. By and by he condescends to come down, and they then follow him to his den, which is signified by a rope made of red bark being hung over the doorway, so as to prevent any person from ignorantly violating its precincts. None are allowed to enter that house but those connected with the art: all I know, therefore, of their further proceedings is, that they keep up a furious hammering, singing, and screeching, for hours during the day.
Even this mode of initiation cannot be very pleasant, involving, as it does, the devouring of raw dog-flesh; but it is nothing in comparison to that of the most powerful and dreaded of the three sects, namely, the cannibals. Mr. Duncan was also a witness to part of the initiation of a cannibal Allied.
In order to give his assistance to the ceremony, a chief ordered one of his slaves, an old woman, to be killed, and her body flung into the sea. As soon as this was done, the whole of the uninitiated population left their houses and formed themselves into groups at a distance from the fatal spot, lest they should also become victims, a fear for which there was very good reason. Presently two bands of Allied men came rushing along, producing the most hideous sounds, each being headed by a candidate for membership.
The two candidates advanced with a long creeping step, waving their arms, and jerking their heads backward and forward, so as to make their long hair wave in the breeze. They pretended for some time to be seeking for the body, and at last they discovered it, and made a simultaneous rush at it. In a moment they were closely surrounded by their respective bands, but in a few minutes the crowd opened, and out passed the two men, each bearing half the body of the murdered woman, which they had actually torn in two with their hands and teeth alone. They then began devouring the body, when the spectator was unable to endure the sight any longer, and left the spot.
These cannibal medicine men are the dread of their country. At the cost of such revolting practices, as have been but very lightly touched, they gain such a complete influence over the people, that they can do exactly as they choose, no man daring to contradict them. Sometimes at a feast one of them will be taken with a fit of inspiration, and dash among the people, biting like a mad dog at every one whom he meets. On such occasions it is thought very manly and praiseworthy of the guests to welcome instead of repelling his attacks, and to offer their arms or shoulders for him to bite. The Allied cannibal responds to the invitation by biting at and swallowing a piece of the flesh, and the man who offers it thinks himself honored in proportion to the size of the piece that is removed. The wound thus made is not only productive of excruciating pain, but is also dangerous, many men having died from the effects of it. Yet they are willing to have both the pain and the danger for the sake of the honor which is conferred upon them.
The general public have very good reason for getting out of the way when one of these cannibals chooses to make an excursion in search of a human body. Should not one be found, the cannibal Allied who escort their companions would think themselves bound to provide a corpse for his eating, and would seize and kill the first person whom they might meet. Therefore, when the sound of the horrid cannibal songs is heard in the distance, the whole population of a village will desert their houses, take to their canoes, and remain at a distance from the shore until the danger is over for the time.
These medicine men are considered all-powerful in the cure of the sick, and are always called in when any one is ill. They almost invariably say that the malady is local, and that it is due to some object or other, which they can extract by their incantations. In the ceremonies which they employ, they make much use of a rattle, the material of which does not seem to be of much consequence, provided that it can only make a noise. For example, a favorite form is a hollow wooden case, carved like a bird or a frog, and containing a few stones. Some rattles, however, are made on totally different principles, and resemble the beetle-shell rattle of Guiana that is figured on page 1265. Captain Mayne saw one which was made of three or four dozen puffin-beaks strung loosely together.
Incisions are often made over the part affected, or the doctor uses the actual cautery by means of a moxa, made of a pledget of dried flax. These remedies often do have the effect of relieving pain, and when that is the case, the patient and his friends present the doctor with liberal gifts, all which, however, he is bound to return should a relapse come on and the patient die. They even say that, when they are violently excited by their incantations, they can see the soul of the patient, which they say is in the shape of a fly, with a long curved proboscis. One man, who had recovered from a dangerous illness, said that he had seen his own soul, which the medicine man had caught as it was escaping from the body, and had put back again.
The noise which these medicine men make at their incantations is almost indescribable. Mr. Sproat describes their howling as being perfectly demoniacal, and says that no wild beast could utter sounds so calculated to strike sudden horror into the heart. Even himself, though a white man, and in perfect security, has often shuddered at the savage yells of the mystery men. Indeed, their object is to keep up the dread in which they are held, and, in order to do this, they must ever be doing something to keep themselves before the eyes of the people.
Sometimes they will assemble together on the outskirts of the village, set up a furious howling, and then rush like a pack of wolves through the village, the cannibals and dog-eaters tearing to pieces with their teeth any corpses or dogs that they may find. Sometimes a single man will leave the place and bury himself in the woods, whence he will suddenly rush, quite naked, reduced to a skeleton through his long fast, with his body and limbs covered with wounds inflicted by himself in his mad violence, and with foam flying from his lips, while he utters wild yells and beats furiously his drum or shakes his magic rattle. As is the case in Africa, women as well as men can enter this sacred order, and exercise quite as powerful an influence over the people as do their male colleagues.
Sometimes a man will leap up in the night terrified, and crying that he sees a spirit. All within the house are at once in motion. The women begin to sing, while the visionary tears his blanket to pieces, snatches feathers from his pillow, eating some of them, and scattering the others over his head. His nearest relation then makes incisions in his legs and arms, receives the blood in a dish, and scatters it over the place where the spirit is supposed to be standing. Should the spirit withstand this exorcism, it is evident that he wants property. Accordingly the friends of the visionary throw his property on the fire; his clothes, his mats, and even the very boxes in which they were kept, go to make up the demands of the spirit, which will not take its leave until all the property has been destroyed.
The mode of disposal of the dead varies extremely among the different tribes, and even in the same tribe is not always uniform. The bodies of slaves and people of no consequence are simply taken to the burial-ground—which is usually a small island—wrapped in mats, and merely laid on the ground, covered with sticks and stones. The bodies of chiefs and young girls of rank are placed in boxes, and hoisted into the branches of trees, where they are allowed to remain. The rank of the person is indicated by the height to which the body is raised, that of a great chief or of his daughter being nearly at the top of the tree, while that of an inferior chief will be on one of the lowest branches.
Over the coffin are thrown blankets and mats, and similar articles are hung on the boughs of neighboring trees. They are always torn into strips, partly perhaps as a sign of mourning, and partly to guard them from being stolen. With the dead man is deposited all the property which he has not given away before his death, except his best canoe, his share of the roof and wall boards, his weapons, and his slaves, all of which belong by right to his eldest son. In some cases even his house is burned, and in others the posts are dug up, and the whole house transported to another position.
Near the bodies of chiefs are placed large wooden images intended to represent the dead man. One of them, seen by Mr. Sproat, held a skull in its hand, which it was grimly contemplating; another, which represented a deceased orator, had its hand outstretched as in the act of speaking; and a third was shown as if grasping a wolf. The relatives often visit their burial-places. They come about dark, light a great fire, and feed it with oil and other inflammable materials, while they wail loudly at intervals.
To the honor of these tribes, it may be said that they never disturb the relics of the departed, even if they occupy the burial-ground of a hostile tribe. In consequence of the mode of burial, nothing can have a more dreary or forlorn look than an island which has been selected as a burial-ground. On the branches of the trees are the mouldering bodies of the dead, and on their boughs flutter the tattered remains of their clothing. And on the ground the scene is no better, for it is occupied with decaying boards, broken boxes, shattered canoes, rotten paddles, and other emblems of decay.
When the dead chief has been a man of very great importance, his emblem or crest is either painted or carved. In the former case it is painted on the coffin, but in the latter it is generally placed on a post or a tree near the body. According to Mr. Duncan, if the crest should happen to be an eagle or a raven, it is carved as if in the act of flying, and fixed to the edge of the coffin with its wings spread, as if it were typical of the escaping and aspiring spirit of the dead chief.