THE LIONS

You can see them as you look towards the north and the west, where the dream hills swim into the sky amid their ever-drifting clouds of pearl and grey.  They catch the earliest hint of sunrise, they hold the last color of sunset.  Twin mountains they are, lifting their twin peaks above the fairest city in all Canada, and known throughout the British Empire as “The Lions of Vancouver.”  Sometimes the smoke of forest fires blurs them until they gleam like opals in a purple atmosphere, too beautiful for words to paint.  Sometimes the slanting rains festoon scarfs of mist about their crests, and the peaks fade into shadowy outlines, melting, melting, forever melting into the distances.  But for most days in the year the sun circles the twin glories with a sweep of gold.  The moon washes them with a torrent of silver.  Often-times, when the city is shrouded in rain, the sun yellows their snows to a deep orange, but through sun and shadow they stand immovable, smiling westward above the waters of the restless Pacific, eastward above the superb beauty of the Capilano Canyon.  But the Indian tribes do not know these peaks as “The Lions.”  Even the Chief, whose feet have so recently wandered to the Happy Hunting Grounds, never heard the name given them until I mentioned it to him one dreamy August day, as together we followed the trail leading to the canyon.  He seemed so surprised at the name that I mentioned the reason it had been applied to them, asking him if he recalled the Landseer Lions in Trafalgar Square.  Yes, he remembered those splendid sculptures, and his quick eye saw the resemblance instantly.  It appeared to please him, and his fine face expressed the haunting memories of the far-away roar of Old London.  But the “call of the blood” was stronger, and presently he referred to the Indian legend of those peaks ­a legend that I have reason to believe is absolutely unknown to thousands of Palefaces who look upon “The Lions” daily, without the love for them that is in the Indian heart; without knowledge of the secret of “The Two Sisters.”  The legend was intensely fascinating as it left his lips in the quaint broken English that is never so dulcet as when it slips from an Indian tongue.  His inimitable gestures, strong, graceful, comprehensive, were like a perfectly chosen frame embracing a delicate painting, and his brooding eyes were as the light in which the picture hung.  “Many thousands of years ago,” he began, “there were no twin peaks like sentinels guarding the outposts of this sunset coast.  They were placed there long after the first creation, when the Sagalie Tyee moulded the mountains, and patterned the mighty rivers where the salmon run, because of His love for His Indian children, and His Wisdom for their necessities.  In those times there were many and mighty Indian tribes along the Pacific ­in the mountain ranges, at the shores and sources of the great Fraser River.  Indian law ruled the land.  Indian customs prevailed.  Indian beliefs were regarded.  Those were the legend-making ages when great things occurred to make the traditions we repeat to our children today.  Perhaps the greatest of these traditions is the story of ‘The Two Sisters,’ for they are known to us as ’The Chief’s Daughters,’ and to them we owe the Great Peace in which we live, and have lived for many countless moons.  There is an ancient custom amongst the Coast tribes that when our daughters step from childhood into the great world of womanhood the occasion must be made one of extreme rejoicing.  The being who possesses the possibility of someday mothering a man child, a warrior, a brave, receives much consideration in most nations, but to us, the Sunset Tribes, she is honored above all people.  The parents usually give a great potlatch, and a feast that lasts many days.  The entire tribe and the surrounding tribes are bidden to this festival.  More than that, sometimes when a great Tyee celebrates for his daughter, the tribes from far up the coast, from the distant north, from inland, from the island, from the Cariboo country, are gathered as guests to the feast.  During these days of rejoicing, the girl is placed in a high seat, an exalted position, for is she not marriageable?  And does not marriage mean motherhood?  And does not motherhood mean a vaster nation of brave sons and of gentle daughters, who, in their turn, will give us sons and daughters of their own?

“But it was many thousands of years ago that a great Tyee had two daughters that grew to womanhood at the same springtime, when the first great run of salmon thronged the rivers, and the ollallie bushes were heavy with blossoms.  These two daughters were young, lovable, and oh! very beautiful.  Their father, the great Tyee, prepared to make a feast such as the Coast had never seen.  There were to be days and days of rejoicing, the people were to come for many leagues, were to bring gifts to the girls and to receive gifts of great value from the Chief, and hospitality was to reign as long as pleasuring feet could dance, and enjoying lips could laugh, and mouths partake of the excellence of the Chief’s fish, game and ollallies.

“The only shadow on the joy of it all was war, for the tribe of the great Tyee was at war with the Upper Coast Indians, those who lived north, near what is named by the Paleface as the port of Prince Rupert.  Giant war canoes slipped along the entire coast, war parties paddled up and down, war songs broke the silences of the nights, hatred, vengeance, strife, horror festered everywhere like sores on the surface of the earth.  But the great Tyee, after warring for weeks, turned and laughed at the battle and the bloodshed, for he had been victor in every encounter, and he could well afford to leave the strife for a brief week and feast in his daughters’ honor, nor permit any mere enemy to come between him and the traditions of his race and household.  So he turned insultingly deaf ears to their war cries; he ignored with arrogant indifference their paddle dips that encroached within his own coast waters, and he prepared, as a great Tyee should, to royally entertain his tribesmen in honor of his daughters.

“But seven suns before the great feast, these two maidens came before him, hand clasped in hand.

“‘Oh! our father,’ they said, ‘may we speak?’

“’Speak, my daughters, my girls with the eyes of April, the hearts of June’” (early spring and early summer would be the more accurate Indian phrasing).

“’Some day, Oh! our father, we may mother a man child, who may grow to be just such a powerful Tyee as you are, and for this honor that may some day be ours we have come to crave a favor of you ­you, Oh! our father.’

“’It is your privilege at this celebration to receive any favor your hearts may wish,’ he replied graciously, placing his fingers beneath their girlish chins.  ’The favor is yours before you ask it, my daughters.’

“’Will you, for our sakes, invite the great northern hostile tribe ­the tribe you war upon ­to this, our feast?’ they asked fearlessly.

“‘To a peaceful feast, a feast in the honor of women?’ he exclaimed incredulously.

“‘So we would desire it,’ they answered.

“‘And so shall it be,’ he declared.  ’I can deny you nothing this day, and some time you may bear sons to bless this peace you have asked, and to bless their mother’s sire for granting it.’  Then he turned to all the young men of the tribe and commanded, ’Build fires at sunset on all the coast headlands ­fires of welcome.  Man your canoes and face the north, greet the enemy, and tell them that I, the Tyee of the Capilanos, ask ­no, command that they join me for a great feast in honor of my two daughters.’  And when the northern tribes got this invitation they flocked down the coast to this feast of a Great Peace.  They brought their women and their children:  they brought game and fish, gold and white stone beads, baskets and carven ladles, and wonderful woven blankets to lay at the feet of their now acknowledged ruler, the great Tyee.  And he, in turn, gave such a potlatch that nothing but tradition can vie with it.  There were long, glad days of joyousness, long pleasurable nights of dancing and camp fires, and vast quantities of food.  The war canoes were emptied of their deadly weapons and filled with the daily catch of salmon.  The hostile war songs ceased, and in their place were heard the soft shuffle of dancing feet, the singing voices of women, the play-games of the children of two powerful tribes which had been until now ancient enemies, for a great and lasting brotherhood was sealed between them ­their war songs were ended forever.

“Then the Sagalie Tyee smiled on His Indian children:  ’I will make these young-eyed maidens immortal,’ He said.  In the cup of His hands He lifted the Chief’s two daughters and set them forever in a high place, for they had borne two offspring ­Peace and Brotherhood ­each of which is now a great Tyee ruling this land.

“And on the mountain crest the Chief’s daughters can be seen wrapped in the suns, the snows, the stars of all seasons, for they have stood in this high place for thousands of years, and will stand for thousands of years to come, guarding the peace of the Pacific Coast and the quiet of the Capilano Canyon.”

This is the Indian legend of “The Lions of Vancouver” as I had it from one who will tell me no more the traditions of his people.