A SIWASH VILLAGE 13

One day I visited the house of my Indian gaffer
and found a most curious mixture of civilization and
barbarism. The house itself, which was one of the regu-
lar big wooden box-like affairs, consisted of one large
room. It boasted a gramophone and a sewing machine,
however, and hanging on the walls were a couple of
modern Winchester repeating rifles, while thrown into
one of the corners were some hideously carved and
painted wooden masks, used during the dances or
“‘Potlatches,”” which are a sort of religious ceremony,
but usually end in drunken orgies.

In the neighbourhood was an Indian burial ground.
The graves were neatly fenced-in with wooden fences,
and over it all brooded an enormous carved and painted
bird, the “‘ Thunder Bird” of the Indians.

The Indians inhabiting the shores of the Vancouver
Island and the islands to the north are excellent canoe-
men and build most beautitul canoes, hollowed out of a
single large trunk. They make their living as fisher-
men and hunters, and fish for the various salmon
canneries which abound along the coast.