l
k

SS

is KLATSASSAN.

road from the coast, at Bute Inlet, to the interior. There
were seventeen of them, and of this number fourteen had
been killed, two of the survivors being wounded, and

|one alone escaping unhurt. Among the killed, was

Brewster, the foreman of the party. The scene of this
disaster was the Homathco River, about forty miles
from Bute Inlet. The following were the circumstances
which led to it.

In the fall of the preceding year, a party who had gone
to Bute Inlet to survey for the new road, left there on
their departure some twenty-five sacks of flour in a log-
house in charge of an Indian named Chesuss, one of the
Chilcoaten tribe. Chesuss, however, appears to have left
the neighbourhood, and, during his absence, another tribe
passing that way, had broken into the log-house and
stolen the flour. When, in the spring of 1864, our people
returned to Bute Inlet, finding their flour gone, and no
Indian near the place, they naturally caused inquiry to be
made far and near. At last they got hold of some

Chilcoaten Indians, and asked them what had become of |

the flour. The Indians were surly, and would say nothing.
At length one of them said, “ You are in our country;
you owe us bread.”

On this the man in charge (it is needless to mention
his name, he did not act with wisdom), began to take
down, from the mouth of the interpreter, the names of all
the Indians present. Whenhe had finished, he asked if they
knew what hehaddone. They said, “No.” “TI have taken
down your names,” he told them, “ because you would not
tell me who stole the flour.” At this the Indians looked
frightened, and he went on: “All the Chilecoatens are
going to die. We shall send sickness into the country,
which will kill them all.” A foolish word, lightly spoken,
but one which was to be dearly expiated.

The Indians were much alarmed and distressed by these
proceedings. They have, be it observed, a very special
horror of having their names written down. They look
upon paper as a very awful thing, they tremble to see
the working ofa pen. Writing is, they imagine, a dread
mystery. By it the mighty whites seem to carry on an
intercourse with unseen powers. When they are writing,
there's no telling what they may be doing. They may be
bidding a pestilence come over the land, or ordering the
rain to stay in the west, or giving directions for the
salmon to remain in the ocean. Especially is the Indian
appalled when he sees his own name put on paper. To
him the name is not distinct from the person who owns
it. If his name is writ down, he is writ down: if his
mame is passed over to the demons which people his
hierarchy, he is sure to be bewitched and given Over a
prey into the teeth of his invisible foes. So when those
Chilcoatens saw their names taken down and heard them-
selves threatened with disease, they were only too ready
to believe the threat. They talked about it a great deal
among themselves. They recollected that something of
the same sort had been said by another white man two
years before, at a place called Puntzeen, in the interior ;
he had said small-pox was coming, and in the winter of
1862-63 it had come—ay, and carried off the best part of
whole tribes. Had not the Shuschwaps lost many of
their warriors? and the Indians who lived away at
Lillooet, on the great river, lost as many as two-thirds
ef their whole tribe? It was only too likely that those
awful whites would fulfil their threat, and send the foulest
of all the diseases which ever came forth from the jaws

of hell, to sweep their tribes away into everlasting
night.

It was not long before the news of this threat reached
| the ears of Klatsassan. On hearing it the chief at once
formed his resolution. He would kill off the whites before
they should have time to carry their threat into
execution, and send small-pox to destroy the Indians.
He accordingly called a council of the Chilcoatens, to
consult as to the best way of exterminating the whites.
They simply agreed to kill all they could lay their hands
on. They were to begin with the party of men engaged
on the new road. Accordingly, on the night appointed,
the Indians met near the white men’s tents. First
Klatsassan gave out to his comrades, that whatever
Indians were in the tents of the whites must be called
home. One of them was Chiddeki or George, who had
long been a faithful servant of the whites. This George
was asleep in the tent of some of the road party, whose
servant he was. Thither his father-in-law, Taloot, was sent
to fetch him. Taloot quietly raising the tent-door, looked
in, and seeing George lying there, awoke him, and said in
a whisper, “ Why sleep you so long, Chiddeki? Rise up,
Klatsassan wants you.” On this George got up, and
putting on only a blanket, for he thought something
wrong was afoot, went after Taloot. As soon as he was
brought into Klatsassan’s tent, the chief caught hold of
him, and made him sit beside him. “Have you a good
heart towards the whites,” he asked him, “or the con-
trary?” ‘My heart is good towards the whites,” said
George ; “ they have given me money and food these three
years.” Then Klatsassan looked keenly at him, and said,
“Tam going to kill all the whites. You know, they
have killed most of our men with small-pox, and they have
taken our names on paper to kill us nexf. Will you join
us against the enemies of Owhalmewha? Will you help
us to wipe them out of the land?” Chiddeki sat for some
time in silence. The chief then said, “ If you will not go
with us, go back to your masters, and we shall do to you
as we do to them.”

Chiddeki was very much frightened and readily en-
gaged to do whatever Klatsassan desired. Then, every
thing being ready, the chief proposed they should say
their morning prayer. This they did, but sotta voce, lest
they should awake their victims. The history of civilized
nations acquaints us, I believe, with similar consecrations
of deeds of butchery. Matins ended, they sallied forth
innocent of apparel and black with war-paint on their
bloodthirsty enterprise. Armed with guns and axes
they stealthily approached to where the roadmakers’
tents, to the number of seven, stood silent and white in
the grey of the morning. Close beside flowed the dark
stream of the Homathco, and the only sound that broke
the stillness was the noise of its waters, as they strove
with the rocks and boulders which obstructed their
course,

The whites, two or three in a tent, were still sleeping
the heavy sleep of hardworking men; for indeed road-
making in a rough new country is no light work. But
their hour was come. In an instant their tent-poles
were cut down with axes; the tents fell on them; and as
the unhappy men, in the confusion of waking, feebly
endeavoured to disentangle themselves from the folds of
the canvas, they were brutally butchered. Some were
killed by blows on the head with axes, others, who con-

| trived to escape from the tent-folds, were shot down as