62 THE BIG CANOE

All day long Weah thought of those astonishing
white people. The next day, when the noisy ceremonies
were finally over, and the shamans admitted that they
could not drive away the evil spirit which still rested
upon the waters of the cove, Weah stole once again
into the forest and made his way to the top of the
rocky headland. The weather had cleared and the sun
shone at intervals through fast-scudding clouds, so
that most of the sailors were busily working on deck,
where they could be plainly seen by the watching
lad.

“These people are repairing their canoe, just as the
Haidas repair theirs when an accident has befallen
them,” Weah reflected wisely, as he listened to the
sounds of ax and hammer, plainly heard above the
laughter and songs of the busy men. “They have been
in a great storm and their sails have been damaged.
I have just seen them take down an old one and put
up a new one. I am sure there is nothing evil about
this thing, sure that the shamans are wrong. I dare not
tell my father of my knowledge, lest I be punished
for my rashness, but my father, the chief, is wise.
Perhaps during the day he too will see and hear these
men at work and will believe as I do that we need
not fear them.”

That evening the entire tribe assembled once again
in the head chief’s big house and held solemn council
there.