Ghost Canoe (8 page)

Nathan was sitting on the front stoop of the cottage, looking out to sea, when he first saw them, far off in the waters of the Strait. He studied the shimmering shapes, trying to figure out what they could be. For a long time they appeared to be sea serpents, twenty or more sea serpents lifting their tall heads above the waters.

They were nearing Neah Bay, very gradually nearing. Suddenly he recognized them for what they were—high-prowed, very large canoes. Then he remembered that this was the day that the Makahs' distant relations from the west coast of Vancouver Island were arriving for the big potlatch. Jefferson was celebrating an event in his family; a marriage, Nathan thought it was.

Even from a mile away, Nathan could see that large
numbers of Makahs were gathering on the beach to welcome the Nitinats. He called to his mother, and she came out of the cottage to watch the flotilla of canoes approaching. “Let's go see the welcome together,” she said.

It proved a pageant Nathan would never forget. Long before any faces were visible in the canoes, there came the beat of drums across the water, to which the Makah responded in kind. At last the two canoes in the lead, and their occupants, began to take shape. Dancing on a plank across the gunwales just behind the prow of one canoe, a grizzly bear was raking the air with one paw and then the next. “Surely it's a man inside a bear skin,” Elizabeth MacAllister whispered, but the deception was so complete that Nathan had to wonder for a moment.

A man-sized raven with a bill nearly three feet long was dancing at the prow of the other lead canoe. Wings, shaggy throat feathers, and body feathers completed the mischievous caricature suggested by the carved black mask.

From the corner of his eye, Nathan noticed that Bim, at the rear of the crowd on the beach, was watching as well. Earlier in the summer, Nathan would have gone to him to hear his comments. Nearly two weeks had passed since Bim had accused him of stealing all his money, and still it was difficult to be around the trader. They both knew they were avoiding each other; the feelings between them were much too strong. He hadn't even asked Bim what he thought when the Makahs reported another fishing canoe missing just two days after Bim's money was stolen.

As the high-prowed canoes of the visitors hovered
on the swell just outside the breaking waves, the Makahs sang a welcome song. The visitors responded by removing their paddles from the water and resting them upright on the gunwales of the canoes, blades in the air. There were no fishing canoes here; these were the great canoes, every one. Each canoe carried upward of fifteen men, women, and children.

Holding a carved staff, a white-haired chief at the stern of the grizzly canoe stood and made a speech, which was answered by one from the
hyas tyee
of the Makahs, old Jefferson, who was clutching a similar emblem of his office.

As soon as the people disembarked and the canoes were unloaded and skidded above the high-tide line on the beach, a parade ensued, with the Makahs and their visitors walking up and down the beach in all their finery and singing. Like many of the women, Rebecca wore a dress fashioned from a red blanket and festooned with white buttons. Lighthouse George, in addition to a grand red cape, was wearing a three-piece suit with abalone buttons that matched the abalone earrings he wore for the occasion.

The parade was followed by canoe races to Waadah Island and back, with bets of jewelry and blankets being placed all during the race. Four canoes from each tribe, seven men pulling plus the rudder paddler, raced to Waadah Island and back. Dolla Bill had tried to enlist for each of the four Makah canoes, including Lighthouse George's, and had been turned down by every one. “Don't feel bad,” Nathan told him as the race began.

“Poor Dolla Bill,” he said. “Poor Dolla Bill. George
feed me, but George don't love me. Captain Bim, same, same.”

Nathan knew that what Dolla Bill had said was true. But he wanted to console the outcast, even if he might be a thief. “I didn't even try to join George's canoe,” Nathan said. “We're not as strong as those men—look at the size of their backs. George wants to win.”

Dolla Bill's face contorted with anger. “Strong as two men!” he declared.

It occurred to Nathan that Dolla Bill should be acting differently in some way if he actually was in possession of a boxful of gold coins. If he really had all that money, wouldn't it show?

The outcast watched the entire race with keen attentiveness. Competition was fierce as the canoes neared the beach, and Dolla Bill took to jumping up and down like a frenzied dog on a short leash. It was a Makah canoe, though not George's, that won by a mere prow's length at the very last.

An announcement was made by one of the Makah chiefs, and everyone went streaming toward the carved doorposts of the Potlatch House, the largest of the longhouses. Nathan's mother, who was tired and heading home, suggested he go see what happened next, so he would be able to tell her all about it.

More people crammed inside the Potlatch House than Nathan would have thought humanly possible. Inside, a feast was laid out, with Makah delicacies including kelp leaves upon which herring had laid their eggs, octopus stew, and fermented salmon eggs that had the consistency of cheese. People washed down their meat and fish—dried, smoked, roasted, and
boiled—with quantities of eulachon oil. For himself, Nathan gorged on pilot bread, which he lathered with blackstrap molasses.

When the people were done eating, everyone turned toward one end of the hall, where all manner of goods were arrayed beside Jefferson, who began to give them away to his guests: blankets, clothes, bentwood cedar boxes filled with eulachon oil and seal oil, baskets, cedar household implements, bows and arrows, harpoons, lengths of fishing and sealing line, halibut hooks, sealskins, bearskins, woven mats, carved totems, a barrel of raw sugar and one of molasses, plug tobacco…anything and everything.

Nathan stayed awake through the first dances of the mythical figures in carved and painted masks, but he didn't understand the stories the dances were telling, and he was no longer able to keep his eyelids apart. He was awakened much later by the excitement of the crowd. A man on the platform where the dancers had performed was twirling a musket around his body faster than the eye could see. Limber as a snake and all muscle, the man had shaved his head and painted his body a reddish yellow from the waist up. In the light of the longhouse torches, his body glowed as if on fire.

To the amazement of the crowd, the performer began to juggle three long-bladed knives. The juggler's eyes never followed the knives; they stared straight ahead all the while. Nathan recognized those eyes, and then the pockmarks showing from under the paint. It was Dolla Bill.

Setting two of the knives aside, Dolla Bill appeared to swallow the third, then drew it back out of his
throat. His entire audience gasped in appreciation.

The outcast had become the center of attention, glorying in it, and he was only getting started. Dolla Bill shattered a piece of glass, then ate it, after which he drew an endless stream of paper out of his mouth. He rolled a cannonball around his shoulders and along his arms, as if it weighed nothing. Returning to the stage, he ended the night by eating fire from one of the longhouse torches, then breathing it back out as a dragon might, in an explosive burst of flame.

“
Skookum-man
,” people were whispering as they left the Potlatch House.

“Obviously,” Bim explained, “Dolla Bill has worked in Barnum's circus somewhere. But I've never seen the equal of his performance. He truly is a
skookum-man
, a demon as well as a thief.”

Nathan was reminded of another
skookum-man
. “Strong as ten men,” Dolla Bill had described the phantom. “Swims like a fish.” What had become of him?

He'd paddled away, Nathan had to concede, escaped by sea. Now he would never be able to prove the fugitive really existed, that the phantom hadn't been, as everyone said, a product of his imagination.

Around noon on the second day of the potlatch, the
Anna Rose
appeared offshore on its weekly rounds. Nathan barely noticed the canoes paddling out to meet the steamer and returning. He was absorbed with the progress of a gambling game between the Makahs and the Nitinats that was being played on the beach above the high-tide line.

A line of Makah men was sitting cross-legged opposite a line of Nitinat men, with about twenty feet separating the opposing players. Lighthouse George had a bone cylinder hidden in each of his hands, virtually identical to the ones Nathan had seen in the small cedar box in the ghost canoe. One cylinder had a band of black around its middle, while the other was unmarked. Nathan had determined that the object of the game was to guess which hand hid the unmarked
bone. The bone handler's team—at this moment the Makahs—did everything in their power to make the guessing as difficult as possible.

As Lighthouse George moved his arms in a wild figure-eight pattern, sometimes tossing a bone in the air and sometimes perhaps exchanging bones between his hands, his team members were making a tremendous racket. They pounded on hand drums and beat sticks on a long board laid in front of them. In addition to making so much noise, the Makah team was chanting, and their wild chant was joined by all the Makahs standing behind them. The effect, as the minutes went by, was a rising, confusing, unbearable tide of pressure directed at the guesser. Sometimes as much as ten minutes went by before the guesser from the opposing team thought he was sure, and hazarded his guess. Nathan had been watching since morning. They called the game
sla hal
.

Now he knew why the bones had been placed in the ghost canoe. In addition to his hunting weapons, as he paddled into eternity, the chief would need his gambling bones for playing
sla hal
.

More and more goods had been added to the wagered pile between the two sides, until it had become a sizable heap. It seemed an opportunity for the Makahs to win back a small portion of all that Jefferson had given away the night before, but that didn't seem likely. The way the game worked, if the guesser guessed right, the bones were turned over to his team. An incorrect guess, and the guesser's team had to hand over a counter stick to the opposition. The game had started hours before, and the Nitinats had won all but two of the twenty counter sticks.
The Makahs had nearly been defeated, but Nathan was confident that Lighthouse George would turn the tide.

Suddenly the Nitinat guesser extended his left hand, signaling his guess. In an instant, all the drumming, pounding, and chanting from the Makah side ceased. George's face told it all—he opened the fingers of his left hand to reveal the unmarked bone. He had failed to win a counter back for his side, and the bones were going over to a new Nitinat handler.

Now it was the Nitinats' turn to handle the bones, to pound their sticks on their board, to chant and drum and create confusion, and it was Lighthouse George's turn to guess for the Makahs.

When the moment came, after only three or four minutes, Lighthouse George threw out his right hand, and his guess proved correct.

The bones came to the next Makah, who was Dolla Bill. Nathan wondered why the Makahs had included him in the game, but then recalled the sleight of hand Dolla Bill had demonstrated the night before.

The outcast closed his fingers on the bones, and then his hands, arms, and elbows went flying, weaving a pattern in and out that seemed a blur, it was done so fast. The Makahs beat harder than ever on the board in front of them and chanted louder than ever. The guesser, incapable of keeping up with Dolla Bill's hands, tried to read his eyes. But his eyes stared straight ahead, as they had the night before when he was juggling the knives. Empty of expression, his eyes told nothing.

Finally the Nitinat guesser threw out his left hand,
and Dolla Bill stopped instantly. As he uncurled the fingers of his own left hand, the black band of the marked bone was revealed, to the delight of the Makahs and the dismay of their guests.

A counter stick came over, and soon a second and a third and a fourth. The spectators kept looking at each other, wondering how long Dolla Bill's streak could last. Nathan looked up during the height of the noise and confusion and the feints and the flailing of the tattooed man's arms, and he noticed a white man was watching, a man he had never seen before. Nathan realized that the man must have arrived with the
Anna Rose—
one of the occasional tourists that the steamer brought to Neah Bay, from the looks of him. He was a natty dresser, sporting a straw Panama hat, a white suit, and white shoes.

Nathan guessed the visitor to be ten years younger than his father. His rugged face seemed to have been similarly sculpted by the elements, appearing at odds with the gentleman's apparel he was wearing. What struck Nathan most was the intensity of the man's eyes, piercingly blue, the bluest he had ever seen. Those blue eyes were locked on Dolla Bill, as were everyone's. A grin was playing at the man's lips. Nathan wasn't surprised to see Captain Bim sidle over to the stranger's side and strike up a conversation. The Makah's clamor reached a fever pitch, and the Nitinat guesser made his guess. Wrong again, and another counter went over.

Into the afternoon the game continued, with more and more goods being wagered by the Makahs as the counters went over to their side one by one. Dolla Bill
seemed somehow to have achieved a plateau of invincibility. It seemed that no one on either side really believed that he could be outguessed.

The Makahs now owned all the counters but one. The excitement was unbearable. The last guesser made his guess—wrong—and the last counter came over to the Makahs. From the crowd's reaction, Nathan could tell that no one had ever seen such a winning streak at
sla hal. “Skookum-man
,” people were saying. “
Skookum-Bill
.”

Even though Dolla Bill was their champion, the Makahs still avoided him afterward. At the trading post, where they had no choice but to come face to face with him, they averted their eyes and skittered away quickly once they'd done business with him. Nathan felt the same way. Even a glance at Bill's eyes was unnerving.

A second feast was held that night in the Potlatch House, and Jefferson gave away as many gifts as he had the night before. Captain Bim brought the gentleman tourist to witness the spectacle. They were close enough that Nathan could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, which was almost completely one-sided. From what Nathan could gather, Bim was trying to interest the visitor in buying the trading post. At the same time, he was extolling the charms of Neah Bay and the Makah nation.

The man in the white suit seemed bored by all the giving, which went on and on, and he was bored by the dances. But when Dolla Bill was brought back to the platform for a repeat performance of the act he'd done the evening before, the visitor came to life and watched with intense concentration. Everyone did.
The grin that Nathan had seen at the bone game reappeared on the man's lips and remained there until Dolla Bill had left the platform.

During the third day of potlatch, Nathan brought a basket of pastries to the trading post. His mother had baked them for Captain Bim, to try to improve his melancholy spirits.

“Come in, come in,” Bim cried, in surprisingly good humor, as Nathan tried to hand the basket through the door. “Sit down and have coffee with us.”

Nathan was introduced to the man in the white suit, who sat at the table. They shook hands. The visitor's name was Jack Kane. He was a strikingly handsome man with a rugged, clean-shaven, weathered face under wavy blond hair. “I'm very pleased to meet you,” Kane said warmly. His handshake was mild, though self-assured, like his voice. Nathan thought that this man might be easier to be around than the moody and unpredictable Captain Bim.

The stranger flashed a smile. “So you're the young man Captain Bim has been telling me about—the son of the lighthouse keeper.”

Nathan was putting a third spoonful of sugar in his coffee. “Yes, sir. I hope he didn't tell you anything too bad.”

“By no means,” the blue-eyed Kane replied. “He says I'd be lucky to have you work in the store—if I bought the business, that is.”

“You're considering it?”

“Considering, yes.”

“Where are you from?” As soon as Nathan had asked, he glanced at Bim, wondering if it was something he shouldn't have said. He didn't want to hurt
Bim's delicate negotiations. He saw no signal from the trader.

“San Francisco. Would you indeed work in the store?”

“Sorry,” Nathan said quickly. “I'm Lighthouse George's fishing partner. And to tell you the truth, I can't stand to be cooped up.”

Kane laughed. “I feel much the same way. But I expect I'll find plenty of opportunities to lead the outdoor life in Neah Bay.”

“I had recommended that Mr. Kane find a replacement for Dolla Bill,” Bim explained. “Bill is a performer, not a clerk.”

A smile came to the visitor's face. “Dolla Bill fascinates me. A remarkable performer, really.”

“He keeps on winning at
sla hal
,” Nathan said. “I'm going to watch some more this morning.”

“The bone game intrigues me as well. The pieces have a charm to them—works of art, really.”

Nathan drank down the rest of his coffee fast. “Well, I have to get going!”

Captain Bim nodded his head in approval. Nathan shook hands with the prospective buyer and left wondering how the trader was faring with his negotiations. Nathan hoped Kane was serious and would stay in Neah Bay.

The potlatch continued for a third day, and a fourth, until Jefferson had given away everything he had, including his canoe and his paddle, his clothes, and nearly a thousand dollars in gold and silver coin. Nathan's mother said that the Indian agent was furious. “We can teach them to operate sewing machines and we can teach them carpentry and mechanics until the
cows come home,” he had told her, “but until we outlaw potlatch, they'll never progress. They need to learn the importance of private property. How can they ever get ahead as long as they'll give away their wealth to enhance their honor?”

“It's like Christmas,” his mother had suggested. “And from what I understand, the Nitinats will host the Makahs and do all the giving next time.”

The agent, whom she didn't especially like, had been cross with her. “It's barbarous,” he'd insisted. “All that will have to go, along with the longhouses and the smokehouses and all the rest of it. Completely unsanitary—the fishing, the sealing, the whaling, and all the rest. We need to teach them a whole different way of life. They need to be farmers.”

“I hope they're better farmers than I,” his mother had told the agent. “With the poor soil, the wind, and the salty sea spray, my flowers are stunted and my vegetables are puny.”

On the morning of the fifth day, Nathan and his mother watched from the cottage stoop as the great canoes, drawing deeply in the water with all the wealth they were taking home, paddled out into the bay. Gradually, the canoes grew smaller and smaller. For a long time, when he could no longer make out the canoes distinctly, Nathan could see the light reflecting from the paddles all pulling in unison.

“Take a good look, son,” his mother said, with deep emotion. “One day you'll be able to say you saw those beautiful canoes.”

“You think they'll all be gone, Mother?”

“Everything will, Nathan. Everything passes, everything changes.”

He was surprised by the sadness in her voice. His mother never gave in to melancholy.

As they watched, the last trace of the canoes vanished in the sparkling waters of the Strait.

 

Change was in the offing, as his mother seemed to have predicted. When the
Anna Rose
returned to Neah Bay a few days later, Nathan helped the Makahs paddle Captain Bim out to the steamer. Bim had sold the trading post and his cottage to mild-speaking Jack Kane, the man with the intense blue eyes.

As Captain Bim was paddled across Neah Bay toward the
Anna Rose
, which was anchored near Waadah Island, Bim wasn't looking ahead, toward the steamer. He was looking back, toward Neah Bay, at the canoes coming and going, and at the longhouses behind. “Twenty-two years,” the trader mused.

“You'll miss it,” Nathan said.

“Aye. Those little shacks people are building as they move out of the longhouses—none of those were here when I came.”

“You'll have your ice-cream parlor?”

Captain Bim's foot struck his sea chest. Nathan could hear the rattle of coins inside. “He paid me half as much as was stolen from me. It's the best I could do, a better price than I would have guessed, and he paid cash. I can only hope it's enough.”

“Lucky Mr. Kane had his money with him.”

The broken bear of a man smiled his knowing smile and picked at the tangles of his beard. “Of course, Kane came to Neah Bay expressly to buy the business. I figured that out, boy. He must have heard
about it in Port Townsend, obviously. He was a good card player, Kane was. Never acted very interested in Neah Bay.”

“Is the trading post a good business?”

“Of course it is! There's no competition. I suppose I was a fool to sell it, but I'm ready to move on. These last weeks since I was robbed, my heart just wasn't in it.”

“Do you still think Dolla Bill did it?”

“He loves money, that much is certain. As I warned Kane, for everything Bill does, he thinks he should be paid on the spot. He doesn't comprehend the idea of a salary.”

“Why would Dolla Bill keep working in the store if he has a whole lot of money hidden somewhere?”

“I don't know, I don't know. I can't pretend to understand the workings of Dolla Bill's mind. Perhaps it was your phantom fugitive from the Cape who discovered my box. I can almost see him now, living in the finest rooms of the finest hotel on Nob Hill in San Francisco, enjoying the finest meals, the finest wines—at my expense.”