A PEN PICTURE OF BARKLEY SOUND

THE ANCIENT HOME OF THE SESHAHTS


To the lone Indian, who slowly paddles his canoe upon the waters of
this western sound, each tree of different kind by shade of green and
shape of crown is known; the Toh-a-mupt or Sitca spruce with scaley
bark and prickly spine; the feathery foliage of the Quilth-kla-mupt,
the western hemlock, relieved in spring by the light green of tender
shoots. The frond-like branches and aromatic scent betray to him the
much-prized Hohm-ess, the giant cedar tree, from which he carves his
staunch canoe. These form the woods which sweep from rocky shore to
topmost hill.

Small bays with sandy beaches white with broken clam shells mark the
shore, and if across the beach a stream of crystal water rippled
to the sea, one Indian lodge or more was sure to be erected on the
rising land behind; for Indians always choose to build their homes
on sheltered sandy bays where pure fresh water runs, and so in years
which are among those past and gone one could not fail to see the
blue wood smoke of Indian fires hanging like gauze above the little
bays; but most are now deserted and corner posts of old time houses
alone are seen, and beds of stinging nettle cover ancient kitchen
middens, and spirea and elderberry strive for space where once red
strips of salmon hung in the smoke of punk-wood fires, and stillness
reigns where once the Indians' mournful song was heard.

Between the bays are rugged rocky points, where, by the constant
wash of winter waves the rocks are carved in shapes uncouth and