Books: The Legends of San Francisco
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George W. Caldwell >> The Legends of San Francisco
Evening came, and still they waited -
While the heavenly dome turned purple,
And the twinkling stars were lighted,
One by one, until the darkness
Scintillated with their sparkle;
And a milky way of star-dust
Arched across, to hold the heavens
High above the reach of mortals.
Through the night they watched and waited -
While the silver moon was racing
Through the silken clouds, and flooding
All the bay and hills and ocean
With a pale illumination,
Casting moving shadows earthward
When a dark cloud passed before her.
Wild Coyotes broke the silence
Of the midnight with their barking,
And the prowling Wolves crept nearer,
Till the patter of their footsteps
Could be heard in stealthy rushes.
Still the fearless Sisters waited,
Watched the north for signal fires,
And in eager alternation
Held the Magic Yellow Iris.
Came at last the welcome singing
Of the Meadow Lark and Robin,
And above the eastern mountains
Flushed the rose-light of the morning;
Then again the sky was tinted
By the Elf who plays with colors,
And the sleeping poppies wakened
When the sunbeams kissed their eyelids.
From the Heights of Point Bonita
Rose a thread of smoke that lengthened,
Broadened, flaunted like a banner,
Black and ominous of evil.
"They are coming!" Yana whispered,
"See, the signal fires are lighted!
They are coming. Guardian Spirit
Of our native country, save us!"
And she pressed the Yellow Iris
Closely to her throbbing bosom.
Over northern rim of ocean
Came the war canoes by hundreds,
Came until the waters darkened
With the number of the warboats.
Never could the Tamals conquer
Such a multitude of foemen.
Swiftly rose and fell their paddles,
Flashing in the brilliant sunshine,
Trailing scarfs of foam behind them,
As they raced toward the harbor.
Tana searched the far horizon,
Saw the signal fires blazing
On the mountain tops and headlands,
Heard the war drums in the village
Roll in constant wild alarum.
Yana held the Yellow Iris
With the Magic in its petals,
Held and gazed with adoration
On the velvet mystic markings.
Then she plucked a magic petal,
Held it high, and ere it fluttered
To the breeze this prayer was uttered:
'Spirit of our Native Country,
Goddess guarding home and harbor,
Roll the fog-banks o'er the headlands,
Hide the narrows from the foemen;
Bring the west-wind from the ocean,
Drive their boats to crash and shatter
On the rocky surf-bound islands.
Bring the west-wind! Bring the fogbanks!'
From the ocean came the west-wind,
Blowing stronger, growing cooler,
Bringing in protecting fog-banks,
Sweeping landward o'er gray waters,
Flooding through the Golden Gateway,
Rolling over shore and headlands.
Through the fog the boats were racing
For the entrance to the harbor,
When they plunged into the smother
Of the breakers round the islands -
Crashed upon the rocks and splintered.
From the surf the foemen struggled
To the rocks and scrambled on them.
Then the Maiden plucked another
Petal from the Magic Iris,
And she prayed again, 'Oh, Spirit
Of our Native Country, hear us,
Change the foemen to Sea-creatures,
That they never more attack us.'
As the magic petal fluttered
To the ground the foe was changing.
Arms and paddles changed to flippers;
Legs were bound as in a bandage,
And their brown and hairy bodies
Wriggled on the rocks, and crowded,
Barking, fighting one another.
When the danger was averted,
When the enemy was helpless,
Sisters wept, embraced each other,
Thanked the Gods for their deliverance.
Still remained another petal
Of the Magic Yellow Iris.
'One more wish we have, one only.'
Said one sister to the other,
'Would we might remain forever,
As the guardians of the harbor,
To protect it from all foemen,
To invoke the fog and west-wind.'
Then, again The Poppy Maiden
Stood triumphantly before them.
'You have chosen well, my children,
Had you wished for wealth or beauty,
Robes or jewels for adornment,
Or for any selfish purpose,
Then the petals would have fallen
To the earth and lost their Magic.
My twin daughters, ever faithful,
All your thoughts are for your people;
Therefore, you shall be immortal,
Standing on the heights forever,
As the Guardians of the Harbor.
Draw your mantles around your shoulders,
Furs they are, but flowers they shall be.
As my garments are of flowers,
So shall yours be, golden poppies,
Lupins, blue, shall deck your mantle.
Blue and gold shall be your colors -
Blue, for purity of purpose;
Gold, for worth of soul and spirit.
While you stand above the harbor,
While you call the fog and west-wind,
While you wear your cloak of poppies,
Never shall a foeman enter
Through the Golden Gate with war-boats.
Pluck the petal, let it flutter
To the ground. Your wish is granted.
Stand forever, native daughters,
As Twin Peaks, to guard the harbor.'
That was long ago, my children,
When the earth was young, and people
Heard the voices of the Spirits -
Knew the language of the sea-birds.
To this day the ancient warriors
Flounder on the Sea Rock Islands,
Barking, roaring, crowding, fighting,
Near the gateway of the harbor.
Still the Sisters, as the Twin Peaks,
Guard the city and the harbor.
In the summer, at the season
When the ancient foes came southward,
They invoke the cooling west-wind
With its fog, to screen the harbor;
Yet, the sunlight seeks the valley
Where the ancient tepees clustered,
Beaming there in benediction,
While around it lie the shadows.'
That, my children, is the legend
Told beside the evening campfire
By the ancient Tamal woman,
In a grove of giant redwoods,
On the slopes of Tamalpais.
The Sea Gulls.
Round the boat the Sea Gulls hovered,
Soaring on their spreading pinions,
Floating on the air, but turning
Searching eyes upon the people;
Searching, searching, always searching,
Winging, swinging, darting, calling
In their plaintive tones, "Ah-we-a."
By my side my friend, the Tamal,
Stood and gazed upon the Sea Gulls.
Long he gazed in deep abstraction,
Then he said, "They still are searching,
Still are calling to Ah-we-a.
Would you know the Tamal legend
Of Ah-we-a and the Sea Gulls?
Know you, then, that these blue waters
Were not always calm and peaceful.
Once the Sea King, grim and moody,
Held his court within this harbor -
Held his carnivals of beauty,
And his wild and stormy revels.
In the cove of Sausalito,
Where the houses of the paleface
Terrace on the wooded hillside
And the sailboats ride at anchor,
Lived a tribe of fisher people,
Building homes among the crannies
Of the rocks upon the bayshore,
Fishing in the harbor waters
From their light canoes of redwood -
Fishing boldly in defiance
Of the Sea King's fitful anger
At the raiding of his Kingdom
And the slaughter of his subjects.
Oft the Sea King, in reprisal,
Lashed the harbor with his west wind
Till the breakers leaped in frenzy,
Overturning boats and claiming
Many fishermen as victims.
Those who clung in desperation
To their boats and reached the mainland
Told the tale of their encounter
With the Sea King in the tempest.
Through the smother of the surges,
Through the driving rain and fog-banks,
Came the Sea King's boat upon them,
Drawn by floundering sea horses
With their manes of seafoam curling
From the prow and backward trailing.
Through the mist they saw it faintly,
As a ghostly apparition,
Riding down upon the billows -
Phantom ship, at times transparent,
White or gray - to ride them over;
Racing nearer, nearer, nearer,
Then dissolving into vapor;
Or, at times, it darted past them.
Giving glimpses through the fog-banks
Of the Furies at the paddles,
Bending, dipping, throwing surges
From their mighty magic paddles,
While the wake of foaming waters
Seethed and boiled in whirlpool currents.
Long the warfare had continued.
Fishermen must live by fishing,
And the Sea King claimed his victims
Through a strategy of cunning,
Seeking ever to beguile them
To the sea to work his vengeance.
When day dawned in rosy splendor
Calm and still the harbor waters
As a sea of purple satin,
Only wrinkled into ruffles,
Ever widening in a circle
Where the fishes leaped the surface.
Fishermen with song and laughter,
Waved farewell to wives and children,
Paddled off into the silence;
Then, without a sign of warning,
Gales arose and lashed the harbor
Till the waters writhed and tumbled,
Wave on wave, in thundering tumult;
And the Sea King, in his anger,
Dashed the boats, o'erturned and empty,
High upon the rocky seashore
At the feet of wailing women.
Queen Ah-we-a of the Fishers
Mourned the sorrows of her people;
Comforted the weeping widows;
Cared for all the little orphans.
Little wonder that her subjects
Loved the gentle Queen Ah-we-a.
Long the Queen in silence pondered
On the perils of her people.
Long she stood upon the headland
Where the wind-distorted cedars
Cling upon the rocky hillside.
Long she prayed to the Great Spirit
For his guidance and protection.
Long she prayed and watched and waited
Till the moon came up and silvered
All the sea, and cast the shadows
Of the cedars, weird and lonely.
From the harbor came the night winds
Robed in tinsel veils of vapors,
And they whispered in the branches
Of the cedar trees above her -
Whispered of the King, their master,
Whispered terms for ceasing warfare.
Ah-we-a heard the hard conditions,
Bowed her head as in submission.
On her face the resolution
For a sacrifice was graven -
For a sacrifice so noble
That the Spirit in the Heavens
Smiled and promised, in her absence,
To protect her Fisher people.
Morning dawned, with vapors brooding
On the silent glassy waters.
Queen Ah-we-a called her people
To the sandy shore, and standing
In her light canoe of deer skin,
Told them of her nightlong vigil.
'Now I go,' she said in parting,
'To the great boat of the Sea King,
There to plead that storms be banished,
Banished from our bay forever.
The Great Spirit will protect you
Till I come again to lead you.'
Then her paddle dipped the water,
And her light canoe of deer skin
Went into the fog and faded,
Faded to a shadow outline,
Then was gone into the silence.
Long and watchfully the people
Waited for the Queen Ah-we-a.
Then a great fear came upon them.
'She is lost. The wicked Sea King
Holds her hostage on his war boat.'
Thus they mourned, and prayed the Father,
The Great Spirit, that he give them
Wings to fly above the waters
Where the Sea King could not reach them.
'Give us wings,' they prayed 'On pinions
Would we fly to find Ah-we-a.
Change us, Father, into sea birds.
Let us search and find Ah-we-a,
And at last, when we have found her,
Change us back to Fisher People.
In the flicker of an eyelid,
All the fisher men and women
And their children changed to Sea Gulls.
And the Father, ever mindful
Of his promise to Ah-we-a,
Put into the hearts of mortals
Universal love for Sea Gulls.
Laws have even been enacted
To protect them from the hunters.
To this day the faithful Sea Gulls
Search the Bay, now free from tempests;
Search the ferry boats and steamers,
Soaring by on spreading pinions,
Peering into people's faces,
Searching for their Queen Ah-we-a.
Winging, swinging, darting, calling
In their plaintive tones, 'Ah-we-a;'
For they know that when they find her
They will change to human beings,
Subjects of the Queen Ah-we-a.
Thus was told the ancient legend
Of Ah-we-a and the Sea Gulls.
The Islands of the Bay.
Tamalpais wrapped her mantle
Of the clouds about her shoulders.
Gray the day, and melancholy,
For December rains were falling,
Falling in a steady downpour.
Mournful branches of the redwoods,
Drooping, dripping, swayed above us;
Moaned above the lonely cabin
On the slope of Tamalpais.
Raindrops pattered on the shingles,
Beat against the eastern windows,
Flooding down the glass in torrents.
Through the veil of slanting rainfall.
Could be seen the distant harbor,
With its flecks of fleecy vapors
Floating, merging, disappearing.
In the fireplace of the cabin,
Logs and knots of pine were blazing,
Snapping with the pitch imprisoned;
Flocks of sparks were flying upward;
Flags of flame were waving welcome,
Warming, cheering, exorcising
Ghosts of Gloom and eerie phantoms;
Bringing brightness and the odor
Of the burning pitch that lingers
As the incense of the forests.
By the fireplace sat the Tamal,
Lone survivor of her people -
Sat and listened to the patter
Of the raindrops on the shingles,
To the soughing of the west-wind
In the branches of the redwoods.
Long she gazed upon the harbor,
Lying leaden-gray below us.
Then, she told this ancient legend -
Legend of her tribe, the Tamals,
Legend of an ancient deluge.
"Do you see," she said, "the Islands
Of the Albatross and Beaver?
By another name you call them.
One is crested by a prison,
Grim and somber, melancholy;
One is gay with flags and bunting,
Ringing with the martial music
Of your sailor boys in training;
Yet, if you observe them closely,
You will see in one the profile
Of an Albatross, a giant
Sea bird, sleeping on the water;
While the other is a Beaver
Facing always to the eastward.
When the noon sun casts its shadows
You may see his stony features
From the deck of ferry steamers
Near the pier that wades the shallows
On the harbor's eastern border,
Tamals call them Sacred Islands
Of the Albatross and Beaver,
For upon their backs were carried
All the Tamals through the deluge.
Down the ages came the legend,
Told by Fathers to the children,
Told on rainy winter evenings
Round the campfires of the Tamals.
From the ocean rolled the rain-clouds,
Came unceasingly the rain-clouds.
Black and heavy were the rain-clouds,
Lighted only by the flashes
Of the lightning playing in them.
Fell the rain as falls the torrents
In the waterfalls of rivers,
Fell through days of murky darkness,
Fell through nights of inky blackness,
Fell for days and nights unnumbered.
Waters covered plains and valleys.
On the coast the sea was rising,
Flooding all the lower country,
Creeping up the mountain foothills;
Still the rains in floods descended.
Up the slopes of Tamalpais
Climbed the people of the Tamals,
While behind them crept the waters,
Covering the hills and mountains.
One by one the peaks were swallowed
In the flood of rising waters.
On the gray and sullen waters
Floated logs and trees uprooted;
On the trunks and in the branches
Cowered creatures of the forests,
Then the people prayed the Spirit -
Prayed the Father in the Heavens -
That he save his tribe, the Tamals,
Ere the waters rise above them;
And the Spirit heard their pleading,
Sent the Albatross and Beaver,
Giant messengers from Heaven,
As the Saviors of the Tamals.
Albatross came from the westward,
Through the lightning of the storm-clouds,
Growing larger, coming nearer,
Till the thunder of his pinions
Echoed from the cliffs above them,
Then he rested on the waters.
From the eastward came the Beaver,
Swimming through the turbid waters,
Growing, growing, ever growing,
Till he had become a Giant,
On whose back the tribe of Tamals
Could find refuge from the waters.
Then a voice spoke from the storm-clouds,
Spoke in mighty tones of thunder:
'I have heard your prayer, Oh Tamals;
You shall live, and shall re-people
All the world with men and women.
I will give to them the spirit
Of the Albatross who searches
Distant seas on tireless pinions.
I will give to them the wisdom
Of the Beaver who with patience
Labors, building and constructing.
On the Albatross and Beaver
You shall ride, until the waters
Shall return to their own borders.'
On the Albatross and Beaver
All the Tamals rode in safety,
While the swirling deluge covered
All the foothills and the mountains.
Then the northwind, dry and scorching,
Drove the rain-clouds to the ocean,
And the sun-rays, piercing through them,
Glinted on the troubled waters.
Came the peak of Tamalpais
As an island to the surface;
Down the slopes the flood receded
Baring forests to the sunlight,
Then the grass-lands of the valleys
And the old familiar coastline.
With rejoicing all the Tamals
Sought their homes along the bayshore,
Singing thanks to the Great Spirit,
Singing praises to their saviors,
Giant Albatross and Beaver,
Resting then, within the harbor.
Then again, in voice of thunder,
Spoke the Spirit from the Heavens;
'Let the Totem of the Tamals
Be the Albatross and Beaver;
Search and Labor, be their motto;
And, lest children of their children
May forget their mighty saviors,
Giant Albatross and Beaver
Shall be changed to rocky Islands -
Monuments to stand forever,
In the Harbor of the Tamals.'
Thus the ancient Tamal woman
Told the Legend of the Islands,
While December rains were falling,
And the fragrant pine was burning
In the fireplace of the cabin
On the slope of Tamalpais.
The Lake of Merita.
The lengthening shadows of evening
Were creeping on Mount Tamalpais,
Painting with purple the valleys,
Gilding the ridges and summit.
Green were the groves of the redwoods,
Lacing their branches together;
Through them the last rays of sunlight
Pierced to the carpet of needles.
Only the tinkling of water,
Only the breeze in the branches,
Only the call of the blue jays
Broke the mysterious silence.
Far through the canyon I wandered,
Far to her camp in the redwoods -
The home of the Indian woman,
Wrinkled and old and decrepit,
Learned in the lore of the Tamals.
Nearing her camp-fire, I saw her,
And halted in fear, lest I trespass.
She sat like a Priestess of Forests,
Chanting with weird intonations,
Slowly, with strange repetitions,
Swaying in rhythmical measure.
Round her the wild forest creatures
Gathered and sat at attention.
Birds ceased their anthems of evening,
Fluttered to branches above her,
Listened as if fascinated.
The singing was hushed when she saw me;
Away fled the wild things to cover.
"Welcome, my friend," said the Tamal.
"A seat at my camp-fire is waiting."
Her welcome was hearty and friendly,
But out of the shade of the forests
Came chattering, chirping and barking,
Resenting, reproaching, complaining.
I sat by the camp-fire and listened
In wonder. The scene was uncanny.
At last, when the plaints had subsided,
Or faded away in the distance,
I said , "Tell me, friend, by what magic
Are wild creatures called to your camp-fire.
Is it a secret you cherish?
May you reveal it to others?"
She gazed in the flickering embers,
Dreamily gazed in the embers,
Then she replied, "You have heard me
Singing the song of Merita,
The magical song of Merita,
Merita, the friend of wild creatures,
Wearers of fur or of feathers,
Creatures of forest and mountain,
Birds of the sea and the marshes.
I will tell you the tale of Merita,
Merita, the daughter of Yado,
Chief of the fishermen people
Who lived by the Lake of the Oak Trees,
Far to the east of the harbor.
Slender and tall was Merita,
Dark were her eyes, and her tresses
Glossy and black as the feathers
That gleam on the wings of the raven.
Gentle and kind was Merita,
Serving the young and the aged,
Nursing the sick and the wounded,
Cheering when sorrow was breaking
The heart of some one of her people.
The Gods taught Merita the language
Of birds that made nests in the oak trees,
Of water fowl thronging the tules,
Of all furry creatures that peopled
The hills and the valleys around them.
They came from afar when she called them,
Called with her song, and they hastened
To tell her their troubles and sorrows.
She bound up their wounds and caressed them,
And told them the wiles of the hunters.
Wandering one day to the northward,
She came to a creek where strawberries,
Ripe and delicious were growing
Beside a small stream that cascaded
Down from the Peak of the Grizzlies.
Refreshing herself with the berries
She sat in the shade of the live oaks,
The ancient and widespreading live oaks,
And called to the wild forest creatures,
Singing the Song of Merita.
'Come, come, come, birds of the air,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, tell how you fare,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, wild creatures, know
That I love you.
Come, come, come, tell me your woe,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, you will I serve,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, you well deserve,
And I love you.
Come, come, come, I bring you aid,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, be not afraid,
For I love you.
Come, come, come - come - come - come.'
Before the monotonous chanting
Was finished, the Blue Jays and Robins,
Pigeons, and Bluebirds, and Blackbirds
Flew to the branches above her,
And tipping their heads to observe her
Opened their bills in complaining.
Down from the canyon a white fawn
Came with a shaft in her shoulder,
Fell at the feet of Merita,
Bleating her plea for protection.
Quickly the arrow was taken
Out of her quivering shoulder.
Then came the hunter, pursuing -
Halted, and gazed in amazement.
'I am Zarando, the Tamal,
Chief of the Thousand Oaks People.
Pardon me, if I have wounded
A pet of the beautiful stranger.'
Under the arm of Merita
The frightened fawn crept for protection.
'I am Merita, the daughter
Of Yado, the Chief of the Fishers
Who live by the Lake of the Oak Trees.
The Fawn is my friend, and she answers
My call to all wild forest creatures.'
'I have a call,' said Zarando,
'A call to decoy the wild creatures
Into the range of my arrows,
Yet few are deceived by the pretense.
Teach me your call, oh, Merita.
'Nay, nay, Zarando; love only
Will draw the wild creatures around you.
Love does not change cannot injure -
The shaft is not aimed at a loved one.
If you would draw the wild creatures,
Love them, and guard them from danger.'
'I am a hunter, Merita,
And yet would I gladly abandon
The bow and the trap to secure
The charm that the Great Spirit gives you.
Tell me the secret, Merita,
Teach me to speak in the language
Of all the wild creatures around you;
Teach me to know and to love them.'
Then were the first lessons given,
Where now gather thousands of students,
Beneath the old widespreading live oaks
That stand by the stream in the Campus.
There the first Teacher and Pupil,
Merita and young Chief Zarando,
Met on the mornings that followed,
Met for the love of the study,
And then for the love of each other.
No more were the Tamals and Fishers
Rivals, at war with each other;
United they lived as one people -
One people around the great harbor.
Zarando, their chief ruled with justice;
Merita, their Queen ruled with mercy.
Their village grew up where the oak trees
Stand on a point in the Lakelet.
The water birds came at her calling,
And thronged on the Lake of Merita,
Holding conventions, and heeding
The judgments she gave in their quarrels.
No one disturbed them nor harmed them;
There was a refuge from danger.
It is said that souls of the lovers
Still live in the oak trees that border
The shore of the Lake of Merita;
And that water-birds come at their calling,
And throng, unafraid, on the waters,
Hearing the song of Merita:
'Come, come, come, birds of the air,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, tell how you fare,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, I bring you aid,
For I love you.
Come, come, come, be not afraid,
For I love you.'
Come, come, come,
Come,
Come,
Come."
The End