Legends of San Francisco

Other Books by the Same Author:

Legends of Southern California. Oriental Rambles. Rainbow Stories. The Wizzywab. 

Legends of San Francisco

ByGeorge W. Caldwell, M. D. 

Dedication. 

My San Francisco on her seven hills is smiling, Beside an opalescent sunset sea;There is a magic in her bracing air beguiling, Yet filling all with tireless energy. The tingling tang of open sea the breeze is giving; The fog rolls in and drives heat languors out, And thrills her loyal subjects with the joy of living, And puts the love of idleness to rout. 

When in the valleys, fervent summer heat oppresses, And gives no, respite night or day, There is a City that the cooling fog caresses, Upon the breezy San Francisco Bay. When winter rains and sun have wrought in fragrant flowers A multicolored carpet on the land, A charm is in her circling hills and redwood bowers That only those who see can understand. 

She has a mystic charm in all the changing seasons - A lure that brings the stranger to her door, And in these pages I will give the Indian's reasons For charms and lures, never told before. The legends of the hills, the fog, the gulls, the waters Idealize the beautiful and true;Allow me, therefore, California's Native Daughters, To dedicate this book of verse to you. 

Contents. 

The Maid of TamalpaisThe Twin Guardians of the Golden GateThe Sea GullsThe Islands of the BayThe Lake of Merita

The Maid of Tamalpais. 

This she told me in the firelightAs I sat beside her campfire, In a grove of giant redwoods, On the slope of Tamalpais. 

Old she was, and bent and wrinkled, Lone survivor of the Tamals, Ancient tribe of Indian people, Who have left their name and legendOn the mountain they held sacred. On the ground she sat and brooded, With a blanket wrapped around her -Sat and gazed into the campfire. On her bronze and furrowed features, On her hair of snowy whiteness, Played the shadows and the firelight. Long she gazed into the embers, And I feared I had offendedIn the question I had asked her. Then she spoke in measured accents, Slowly, with a mournful cadence, And long intervals of silence. 

"You have asked me why my peopleWill not climb Mount Tamalpais -Why we hold the mountain sacred. I am old, and when the RavenCalls my spirit to the Father, None will know the ancient story, Sacred legend of the Tamals. Therefore, I will tell the story, I will tell and you shall write it, Else it will be lost forever;I will tell it that the palefaceMay respect our sacred mountain. "

"In the morning of creationAll the world was covered overWith the flood of troubled waters. Only Beaver and the TurtleSwam about upon the surface. Beaver said, 'I'm very weary. 'Turtle said, 'Dive to the bottom. 'Beaver dove and brought up gravel, Laid it on the back of Turtle;Dove again and brought a pebble, Then another and another. Pebbles grew to rocks and boulders, As a peak above the waters -Thus was Mount Diablo fashioned. 

Beaver sat upon the mountain, Gazing out across the waters;Saw a single feather floating;Feather grew into an Eagle;Eagle flew and sat by Beaver. Long they talked about creation, Counseled, planned, and reconsidered, Then they moulded clay with tules;Beaver placed his hair upon it, Eagle breathed into its nostrilsThus Coyote was created. Coyote barked and sat beside them. Many creatures were created;Some with hair, and some with feathers;Some with scales, or shells, or bristles. 

Other peaks and mountain ridgesThen appeared above the waters. Walls of hills were then continuedNorth and south, to hold the watersIn a mammoth lake, that, fillingAll the Sacramento Valley, Found its outlet to the oceanThrough the Russian River Canyon. Round the lake the blazing mountainsSpouted lava and hot ashes;Casting on the troubled watersLurid gleams and purple shadows. 

By the lake Coyote wandered -Sat and howled, for he was lonely, Lonely for a Man to tame himInto Dog as a companion. Then Coyote mixed dry tulesWith wet clay and made a figure. Sun God came and shone upon it;Spirit came and blew upon it, And a Man was thus created. Sun God made the Moon to guard him, And she stood before his tepee, Watching while the Sun was sleeping;But she loved the Sun and followedHim into the starry heavens, Always with her face turned to him. Still she watched the lonely tepee, And her heart was touched with pityFor the lonely man within it, So she made a lovely woman, Gave her constancy, and sent herOn a moonbeam to his tepee, As his helpmate and companion. Man then multiplied, and flourished, Building villages and lordingOver all the other creatures. 

On the sunny eastern marginOf the Bay of San Francisco, Grew the village of the Tamals;Fisher folk they were, and gentle, Seeking not for wars of conquest;Fishing in the purple watersFrom their boats of bark or rawhide;Wading in the limpid shallowsSeeking oysters, clams and mussels. In the course of generationsPiles of shells of many banquets, With the ashes of their campfires, Formed a mound upon the bay shore. Shell Mound Park, the people call it, And they gather in the shadowsOf the ancient oaks for pleasure, Roasting clams as in the old daysWhen the Tamals lived upon it. Gone are now the limpid shallows;Gone the oysters and the mussels, And no more are grassy meadowsDappled with the spreading oak trees;For great factories, grim and sordid, Sprawl in squalid blocks around it, And the smoke of forge and furnaceRise from stacks into the heavens. 

Paleface men with concave glasses, Learned in lore of printed pages, Dig into the mounds and gatherSpear and arrow heads and axes, Broken weapons and utensilsMade of flint, or bone, or seashell. 

To the northward, where great bouldersLie in tumbled piles and masses, And a Thousand Oaks are clustered, And the crags upthrust their fingersThrough the meadows of the uplands, Was another Indian village, Ancient stronghold of the Tamals. 

In the village on the hillsideMen were hunters, brave and fearless, Skillful with the bow and arrow, Artful with the snare and deadfall;Hunting deer and elk and bisonIn the open grassy meadows, Tracking wolf and mountain lionTo their lairs among the redwoods;Bearing on their backs the trophiesTo their camp when night was falling. 

In the village maids and matronsDressed the furs and tanned the buckskin, Dried the venison, and tradedWith the Shell Mound folks for salmon, Mussels, clams and abalones, Ornaments of bone or seashell, Weapons chipped from flint or jasper. From the oaks they gathered acorns, And beneath the fragrant bay treesAnd the heavy blooming buckeyes, Ground the acorns into flourTo be baked upon the hot-stones. 

To this day the smoke of campfiresMay be traced in caves, and cranniesWhere the overhanging cliffsidesGives protection from the rainstorms. If you search among the thicketsOf the low widespreading buckeyesYou will find their ancient mortarsIn the bedrock still remaining -Mortar holes ground deep, and polishedBy the toil of many womenPounding, grinding with a pestleFashioned from a stream-worn boulder. 

Gone are all those ancient people, Perished now for many ages. Many oaks have grown and withered, Many buckeyes bloomed and faded, Many tribes have fought and conquered, Lived for many generations, Then were driven out by others. Still the mortar holes will lingerAs our monuments forever. "

Fainter grew the voice, still fainter, Sinking almost to a whisper, With a hesitating quaver, As the picture came before herOf her disappearing people. Then I rose and piled more branchesOf the redwood on the campfire, And the flames and sparks leaped upward, Lighting up the mournful forest, Driving back the eerie shadows. 

Long she bowed her head in silence, Then resumed her rhythmic speaking. In the village lived a maiden, Fairest of all comely maidensEver born among the Tamals;Fair of face and pure of spirit, Kind in thought and quick in serviceTo the young and old and helpless;Ever eager for her duty, Ever singing at her labor. 

When she sat beneath the buckeyesGrinding acorns in the mortar, Humming birds came sipping honeyFrom the heavy scented blossoms;Wild birds came and sang their sweetestMusic as they perched above her;And the Fairies came to greet herDressed as Butterflies, and flutteredRound her head and whispered secrets -Secrets not revealed to others. 

Little wonder that the Chieftain, Young and brave and wise in counsel, Loved the maid and wished to take herAs his wife to rule his people. But she answered him with sadness, For she loved the youth, 'Beloved, This is not the time for lovers, But for warriors to make ready, For a danger comes upon us. God has sent a warning messageBy the Fairies, and they whisperedTo me as I ground the acornsIn the mortar 'neath the buckeyes. 

Rally all your braves around you, Sieze your strong bows, fill your quiversWith the long flintpointed arrows;Guard the ridges to the eastwardEre the foe shall fall upon us. '

To the eastward where DiabloRears its peak above the fog banksDrifting landward from the ocean, Lived a warlike tribe of people. Fierce they were, and grim and cruel, Worshiping the Fire DemonWho is crouching in the mountain. 

From their heights they saw the watersOf the Bay of San FranciscoLying crystal-clear and purple. Then no Sacramento RiverPoured its flood of silt into it, For a range of hills continued, All unbroken, from DiabloTo the distant smoking mountainWhich is now called Saint Helena. 

Long they watched the bay and marveledAt its strange, alluring beauty;Watched it in its changing colors -In the gray of misty mornings, In the blue of sunny mid-day, In the glories of the sunset, In the silver flood of moonlight -It enticed and seemed to beckon, Then, as ever, to the strangers. 

Long their Wizards danced, and rattledWith their gourds, to rouse the DemonOf the Mountain to assist them -Danced until they fell in frenzy, Prophesying wealth of plunder. Warriors danced and chanted war songs, Stamped and shouted, waved their war clubs, With the war paint on their bodies, Black and yellow and vermillion. Hideous and terrifyingWere they when they took the warpath. 

Oh, the terror of their coming!Oh, the horror of the battleOn the meadows of the uplands!Forward, by the strength of numbers, Pressed the Devils of Diablo;Slowly backward fell the TamalsTo the Stronghold of the Boulders. When the darkness of the midnightFell as a protecting blanket, Silently my tribe retreated, Ere the ring should be completedBy the merciless invaders. All the Tamals started northward -Men and women, little children -Through the open, grassy meadows, Through the forest to the ridgesCircling round the Bay below them. At the dawning of the morningThey were resting on a hilltop. To the west the Bay was sleepingUnderneath its misty blanket;To the east a lake was gleamingIn the rosy light of sunrise. 

While they rested on the mountain, Weary, footsore, and disheartened, Came pursuing scouts to spy them. Fierce and bloody was the combat, All the rocks were stained with crimson. Then the scouts, or those still living, Fled to tell their wicked ChieftainWhere to find the fleeing Tamals. 

Loud the wail of lamentationWhen the Tamals saw their warriorsWho had fallen in the combatLying lifeless on the mountain. Louder still, the cry of anguishWhen they found their Maid of MercyHelpless now, and sorely wounded. No more would her strong young shouldersBear the wounded braves to safety, Nor would she withdraw the arrows, Bind the wounds nor stanch the bleeding. 

On the shoulder of the ChieftainShe was carried, for no otherHad such strength and gentle manner. On his shoulder thus he bore her, Fleeing northward on the ridges, Bore her gladly, for he loved her. All the women were exhausted, All the children, tired and weeping;Half the warriors, dead or wounded -Slow and painful was the progress. 

On they fled, but often turning, Looking backward o'er their shoulders, Fearful lest the foe o'ertake themEre they reached a place of safety. 

Came a deadly fear upon them!'We are lost, ' they cried in terror, For a league behind them, followedSuch a host of men or devilsThat they could not hope to conquer. 'We are lost, ' they moaned, 'Their numberIs the number of the needlesOn the redwoods in the forest;And they follow as the foxesFollow rabbits in the open. '

'We shall die, oh, my beloved, 'Said the Chieftain to the maiden. 'And die gladly, ' said the maiden, 'If our people may not perish. As I sat beneath the buckeyeAt my mortar, grinding acorns, Fairy butterflies came to me, Fluttered round my head and told meThat an enemy was coming;And I warned you, oh, my lover. ''Aye, you did, my best beloved. ''And they promised, oh, my lover, That our God would save our peopleShould I offer up my spiritAs a sacrifice before Him. '

And the young Chief spoke, and answered, 'Life without you would be empty;Let my spirit travel with youThrough the spaces of the heavens, To the upper world of spirits. '

'It shall be as you have spoken, 'Said the maiden to her lover, 'And I know that God will answerWith a mighty sign from heaven. Stoop, and bow your head, my lover, That my face may turn to heaven. Mighty Father, save my people, Take my spirit and my lover'sTo the spirit land of lovers;Lift your hand and strike the mountain!Cut a chasm wide, between usAnd the wicked ones who follow;Save my people, oh, my Father, Strike the mountain! Strike the mountain!'

Came a rumble in the distance, Nearer, louder, terrifying!God had heard her prayer, and liftedUp his hand to strike the mountain. When the mighty blow descendedWith the crash of many thunders, All the mountains rocked and trembled, Rose and fell, and swayed and shuddered;And across the Coast Range MountainsYawned a chasm, hot and smoking;Into it careened the hillsides;Mountains swooned and fell into it. Through it, as a giant sluiceway, Rushed the roaring, boiling watersOf the lake, in tumbling tumult, Flooding all the bayside lowlands, Racing through the Golden GatewayIn a cataract stupendous. Saint Helena burst its craterWith a blast that leveled forests, And the falling sand and cindersBuried deep the fallen giants, To be petrified to agate. Through the steam and sulphurous vapors, Flashed the lightning on the mountains, And the din of quake and thunderBeat the air until it quivered. 

When God, his righteous wrath abating, Ceased to shake and rend and deluge, And the last reverberationDied away into the distance, And the trade winds from the oceanBlew away the smoke and vapors, Those remaining of the TamalsGazed with wonder at a mountainThat was standing, new, before them, For upon it lay the maidenWith her face upturned to heaven, As it was when she was prayingTo her God to save her people. On her youthful breast and bodyLay a forest, like a mantle, New and green, and decked with flowers. And her willing feet were restingNear the bay and new-made river;While the Chief, her faithful lover, Bending 'neath his sacred burden, Stretched his arms out to the valleysWhere his people would find shelter. 

Here for countless generationsWe have lived in peace and safety, Roaming through the wooded valleys, Hunting on the grassy meadows, Fishing in the bays and rivers. 

Now you know the sacred storyOf the Maid of Tamalpais -Why no Tamal ever venturedTo the holy crest above us. Would we tread upon the featuresOf the martyred Maid who saved us?Would we desecrate the rock-tombOf our Chief, her well beloved?

There she lies in all her beauty, Sacred Maid of Tamalpais!If her eyes should turn from heaven, She would see across the watersPiles of tumbled crags and bouldersIn the Grove of Thousand Oak Trees, Where the buckeye trees still blossomOver mortar holes, half hidden. Children play with merry laughterHide and seek among the boulders. Even now perhaps, the FairiesDressed as butterflies may whisperSecrets in the ears of children, If they listen to the voices. 

If her eyes should trace the steamersAs they thread the curving channelOpened by the ancient earthquake, She would see them pass an islandOn whose red and barren summitShe was wounded in the battle. White men call it Red Rock Island, Knowing not the crimson colorIs from blood, shed in the battleFought upon the lofty summitOf a mountain that was swallowedWhen the mighty chasm opened, Leaving but its peak projectingThrough the surface of the waters. 

There she lies in queenly beauty, Martyred Maid of Tamalpais, With her face upturned to heaven, As when praying, 'Take me, Father;Save my people; Save the Tamals. 'On her head the snows of winterLay a crown of shining crystals. Fog banks twine their arms about herTo embrace her and caress her. Passing rainclouds bathe her featuresWith their tear drops, shed in sorrow, And the rainbow arches overWith the glories of a halo. 

She is first to have the greetingOf the rising sun, and latestTo receive his goodnight kisses. On her sides the purple shadowsLinger longest in the twilight. For her robe the fairest wildflowersBloom throughout the changing seasons -Violets, and pink wild roses, Blue forget-me-nots, and liliesVie to give their sweetest perfumesTo the Maid of Tamalpais. 

Lovers climb the sacred mountain, Roam the hillsides, tread the wildwoods, Finding there new inspiration, Hope and happiness, not knowingThat the Maid of TamalpaisGives her spirit to all loversWho approach her mystic presence. 

I, the last of all the Tamals, Soon will turn my face to heavenWhere my own, my best beloved, Waits with outstretched arms, to greet me. 

Write the story for all people;It is finished; I have spoken. "Thus she spoke, that ancient woman, Lone survivor of the Tamals, By the campfire in the redwoods, On the slopes of Tamalpais. 

The Twin Guardians of the Golden Gate. 

Would you know the mystic legendOf the peaks of San Francisco -Of the Twin Peaks standing GuardianOf the gay and careless city, Ever laughing by the gatewayOf our Golden California?

Would you know what brings the westwind, With its cool and filmy vaporsTrailing like a scarf of chiffonThrough the narrow Golden Gateway, Screening shore and hills and harbor, While the country all around itBathes in floods of golden sunshine?

Would you know why great Sea LionsFlounder on the rocky islands, Standing by the Golden Gateway?Why they fight in baffled fury, Barking ever at the mainland?

Listen then, and I will tell youAs the legend was relatedBy an ancient Tamal woman, As she sat beside the campfireIn a grove of giant redwoodsOn the slopes of Tamalpais. 

"It was long ago, my children, Long ago, in mystic agesWhen the Gods lived near the people, Who, like infants newly mothered, Needed care and help and guidance. As the children call to parentsSo the people called to Spirits. Then the Gods were quick to listen, Quick to teach them and protect them, Quick to punish when they trespassedOn the rights of one another. 

Near the place where Holy FathersBuilt the Mission of DoloresWas a village of the Tamals, Vanished now for many ages. By it was a singing streamlet, Where the willows waved their banners;Round it giant redwoods clustered, Redolent with forest odors;Live oaks, bay trees, and madronasBillowed over plains and hillsides. 

Through the forest ranged the hunters, Seeking game in glen and canyon, Meat for food, and fur for raiment;Vanquishing the forest creaturesWith flint arrows and stone axes;Seeking fish in bay and riverWith the spear or net of sinew. On the bay the warriors paddledIn canoes of bark or rawhide, Or in mighty redwood dugoutsDared the currents of the narrowsTraining warriors to be readyTo defend their shores and harbor. 

From the North the foemen threatened, As an ever-present shadow. O'er the water came the foemen, In a mighty fleet of warboats;Every summer came the foemen, Came and fought and then retreated. 

In his tepee sat the ChieftainWith the Old Men, wise in counsel;All their hearts were solely troubled -Every summer brought the foemen, Those bronze men of fearless courage, Waxing stronger every season -Long they counseled with each other;Would the foemen come and conquer?Could the Tamals long withstand them?Thus they questioned in the CouncilWhile they planned their last defenses. 

To the Council came the sisters, Yana fair, and Tana fearless, Twins, and daughters of the Chieftain, Came and stood before the wise men, Came and bowed their heads and waited. 

Well the wise men knew the sisters, Maidens blooming into women, Loved them for their grace and beauty, For the joy they radiated, For the charm that emanatedFrom their chaste and gentle spirits, As the perfume that is waftedFrom the rose buds newly opened. 

Yet the Wise Men gave no welcome, Turned their eyes from Maids to Chieftain. "Why, my Daughters, have you venturedInto this, the warrior's council?Well you know it is forbidden;Neither man nor woman entersWhen the warriors plan for battle. "

"Let us speak, " the Maidens answered, "For we bring a warning message. As we wandered on the ridgesGathering the golden poppiesTo adorn our Mother's tepee, We were talking of the dangerFrom the foemen of the Northland, When a Maiden stood before us, Strangely fair, with golden tresses, Eyes of deep blue like the lupins, Dressed in garlands made of poppies. Hand in hand we stood and wondered, Till the lovely apparitionSmiled and caused our fears to vanish. 'I am the Spirit of the Country, 'Said the Maiden of the Poppies, 'And I choose you, my Twin Daughters, For the beauty of your bodies, And the worth of soul within you, As the saviors of your people, As the guardians of my harbor. Take the message to your Chieftain, That the foe comes from the Northland;Yet they shall not harm your peopleIf you stand upon the hilltopWith the talisman I give you. Take this Magic Iris with you, Guard it well for every petalHas a charm that brings an answerTo a prayer that is unselfish, To a prayer for all the peopleThat will live around your harbor. Never, while you guard the hilltop, Shall a foe invade your country. Petals three there are; three wishesShall be granted when you make them. 'Then the Poppy Maiden vanished, And we hastened to our village. Hand in hand, we ran so swiftlyThat our feet but touched the flowers;While above our heads the wild ducksFlying southward clamored hoarsely, 'They are coming; They are coming!'Sea gulls, winging from the ocean, Shrieked their warning, 'They are coming!'Then we dared to brave your CouncilWith the message of the Maiden, And the warning of the seabirds. 

'It is well, ' the Chieftain answered, 'Daughters with the eyes of springtimeAnd the faces of the flowers, It is well. The Gods have marked youWith their sign upon the forehead;You have stood before a Goddess, And her spirit is upon you. '

Long the Old Men sat and pondered. Well they knew the ears of childrenAre attuned to hear the voicesOf the Gods and Guardian Spirits. Well they knew that all wild creaturesSpeak to man if one is worthyTo receive their friendly warning;Knew that seabirds, swift and cunning, See the foemen while their war boatsStill are far beyond the sea-rim. Thus they reasoned in their council, Then they stood before the peopleWhile the Chieftain gave his orders. 

'Beat the war drums. Call the warriors. Man the war canoes, and stationSentinels upon the headlandsUp the coast-land to Bolinas. Let them light the lurid war fires, When they see the foemen coming. '

Swiftly northward raced the sentriesIn their light canoes of deerskin -Through the narrows to Bonita, On the ocean to Bolinas. All was tumult in the village;To each warrior was givenLong bows, strong bows, wrapped with sinews, Stores of arrows, eagle feathered, Newly tipped with sharpest flint-heads;Stone head war clubs, wrapped with rawhide;Shields of oakwood, tough and heavy. Women decked the braves with feathers, Robes of fur, and charms of seashell;Roused their courage with the storiesOf the prowess of their Fathers;Cheered with songs of deeds of valorOf the heroes of the Tamals;While the children, heavy hearted, Watched the scene in wide-eyed wonder. 

Every day the Chieftain's daughters, As twin sentinels were standingOn the hill between the valleyAnd the blue expanse of ocean. 

Every day they watched the MorningReach his rosy fingers upward, From behind the eastern mountains, Painting with an elfin fancy, Crimson edges on the cloudbanks;Then erasing and repaintingThem with gold or mauve or amber;Always changing, as his fancySwayed the child to blend the colors;Till Old Father Sun uprising, Drove his elfin son to shelterFrom the dazzle of his presence. 

All day long the faithful sistersStood upon the ridge and waited -Waited while the Sun ascended, Crossed the zenith, then descendedOn his daily westward journey. Watched him sink into the oceanAs a molten globe of metal;While the fleecy clouds above himCaught afire, and blazed in beauty, Radiating flaming colorsThrough the changing clouds, and lightingO'er the purple sea a pathwayGlinting in a golden glory. 

Evening came, and still they waited -While the heavenly dome turned purple, And the twinkling stars were lighted, One by one, until the darknessScintillated with their sparkle;And a milky way of star-dustArched across, to hold the heavensHigh above the reach of mortals. 

Through the night they watched and waited -While the silver moon was racingThrough the silken clouds, and floodingAll the bay and hills and oceanWith a pale illumination, Casting moving shadows earthwardWhen a dark cloud passed before her. Wild Coyotes broke the silenceOf the midnight with their barking, And the prowling Wolves crept nearer, Till the patter of their footstepsCould be heard in stealthy rushes. 

Still the fearless Sisters waited, Watched the north for signal fires, And in eager alternationHeld the Magic Yellow Iris. 

Came at last the welcome singingOf the Meadow Lark and Robin, And above the eastern mountainsFlushed the rose-light of the morning;Then again the sky was tintedBy the Elf who plays with colors, And the sleeping poppies wakenedWhen the sunbeams kissed their eyelids. 

From the Heights of Point BonitaRose 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 SpiritOf our native country, save us!"And she pressed the Yellow IrisClosely to her throbbing bosom. 

Over northern rim of oceanCame the war canoes by hundreds, Came until the waters darkenedWith the number of the warboats. Never could the Tamals conquerSuch 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 blazingOn the mountain tops and headlands, Heard the war drums in the villageRoll in constant wild alarum. 

Yana held the Yellow IrisWith the Magic in its petals, Held and gazed with adorationOn the velvet mystic markings. Then she plucked a magic petal, Held it high, and ere it flutteredTo 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 shatterOn 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 racingFor the entrance to the harbor, When they plunged into the smotherOf the breakers round the islands -Crashed upon the rocks and splintered. From the surf the foemen struggledTo the rocks and scrambled on them. 

Then the Maiden plucked anotherPetal from the Magic Iris, And she prayed again, 'Oh, SpiritOf our Native Country, hear us, Change the foemen to Sea-creatures, That they never more attack us. '

As the magic petal flutteredTo the ground the foe was changing. Arms and paddles changed to flippers;Legs were bound as in a bandage, And their brown and hairy bodiesWriggled 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 petalOf 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 MaidenStood 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 fallenTo 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 enterThrough the Golden Gate with war-boats. Pluck the petal, let it flutterTo 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 peopleHeard the voices of the Spirits -Knew the language of the sea-birds. To this day the ancient warriorsFlounder 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 seasonWhen the ancient foes came southward, They invoke the cooling west-windWith its fog, to screen the harbor;Yet, the sunlight seeks the valleyWhere the ancient tepees clustered, Beaming there in benediction, While around it lie the shadows. '

That, my children, is the legendTold beside the evening campfireBy 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 turningSearching eyes upon the people;Searching, searching, always searching, Winging, swinging, darting, callingIn 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 legendOf Ah-we-a and the Sea Gulls?

Know you, then, that these blue watersWere 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 palefaceTerrace on the wooded hillsideAnd the sailboats ride at anchor, Lived a tribe of fisher people, Building homes among the cranniesOf the rocks upon the bayshore, Fishing in the harbor watersFrom their light canoes of redwood -Fishing boldly in defianceOf the Sea King's fitful angerAt the raiding of his KingdomAnd the slaughter of his subjects. 

Oft the Sea King, in reprisal, Lashed the harbor with his west windTill the breakers leaped in frenzy, Overturning boats and claimingMany fishermen as victims. 

Those who clung in desperationTo their boats and reached the mainlandTold the tale of their encounterWith 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 horsesWith their manes of seafoam curlingFrom 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-banksOf the Furies at the paddles, Bending, dipping, throwing surgesFrom their mighty magic paddles, While the wake of foaming watersSeethed and boiled in whirlpool currents. 

Long the warfare had continued. Fishermen must live by fishing, And the Sea King claimed his victimsThrough a strategy of cunning, Seeking ever to beguile themTo the sea to work his vengeance. 

When day dawned in rosy splendorCalm and still the harbor watersAs a sea of purple satin, Only wrinkled into ruffles, Ever widening in a circleWhere 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 harborTill 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 seashoreAt the feet of wailing women. 

Queen Ah-we-a of the FishersMourned the sorrows of her people;Comforted the weeping widows;Cared for all the little orphans. Little wonder that her subjectsLoved the gentle Queen Ah-we-a. 

Long the Queen in silence ponderedOn the perils of her people. Long she stood upon the headlandWhere the wind-distorted cedarsCling upon the rocky hillside. Long she prayed to the Great SpiritFor his guidance and protection. Long she prayed and watched and waitedTill the moon came up and silveredAll the sea, and cast the shadowsOf the cedars, weird and lonely. 

From the harbor came the night windsRobed in tinsel veils of vapors, And they whispered in the branchesOf 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 resolutionFor a sacrifice was graven -For a sacrifice so nobleThat the Spirit in the HeavensSmiled and promised, in her absence, To protect her Fisher people. 

Morning dawned, with vapors broodingOn the silent glassy waters. Queen Ah-we-a called her peopleTo the sandy shore, and standingIn 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 youTill I come again to lead you. 'Then her paddle dipped the water, And her light canoe of deer skinWent into the fog and faded, Faded to a shadow outline, Then was gone into the silence. 

Long and watchfully the peopleWaited for the Queen Ah-we-a. Then a great fear came upon them. 'She is lost. The wicked Sea KingHolds her hostage on his war boat. '

Thus they mourned, and prayed the Father, The Great Spirit, that he give themWings to fly above the watersWhere the Sea King could not reach them. 'Give us wings, ' they prayed 'On pinionsWould 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 womenAnd their children changed to Sea Gulls. And the Father, ever mindfulOf his promise to Ah-we-a, Put into the hearts of mortalsUniversal love for Sea Gulls. Laws have even been enactedTo protect them from the hunters. 

To this day the faithful Sea GullsSearch 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, callingIn their plaintive tones, 'Ah-we-a;'For they know that when they find herThey will change to human beings, Subjects of the Queen Ah-we-a. 

Thus was told the ancient legendOf Ah-we-a and the Sea Gulls. 

The Islands of the Bay. 

Tamalpais wrapped her mantleOf 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 cabinOn 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 vaporsFloating, 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, exorcisingGhosts of Gloom and eerie phantoms;Bringing brightness and the odorOf the burning pitch that lingersAs the incense of the forests. 

By the fireplace sat the Tamal, Lone survivor of her people -Sat and listened to the patterOf the raindrops on the shingles, To the soughing of the west-windIn 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 IslandsOf 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 musicOf your sailor boys in training;Yet, if you observe them closely, You will see in one the profileOf an Albatross, a giantSea bird, sleeping on the water;While the other is a BeaverFacing always to the eastward. When the noon sun casts its shadowsYou may see his stony featuresFrom the deck of ferry steamersNear the pier that wades the shallowsOn the harbor's eastern border, Tamals call them Sacred IslandsOf the Albatross and Beaver, For upon their backs were carriedAll the Tamals through the deluge. 

Down the ages came the legend, Told by Fathers to the children, Told on rainy winter eveningsRound 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 flashesOf the lightning playing in them. Fell the rain as falls the torrentsIn 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 TamalpaisClimbed the people of the Tamals, While behind them crept the waters, Covering the hills and mountains. One by one the peaks were swallowedIn the flood of rising waters. On the gray and sullen watersFloated logs and trees uprooted;On the trunks and in the branchesCowered 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 pinionsEchoed 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 TamalsCould 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-peopleAll the world with men and women. I will give to them the spiritOf the Albatross who searchesDistant seas on tireless pinions. I will give to them the wisdomOf the Beaver who with patienceLabors, building and constructing. On the Albatross and BeaverYou shall ride, until the watersShall return to their own borders. '

On the Albatross and BeaverAll the Tamals rode in safety, While the swirling deluge coveredAll 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 TamalpaisAs an island to the surface;Down the slopes the flood recededBaring forests to the sunlight, Then the grass-lands of the valleysAnd the old familiar coastline. 

With rejoicing all the TamalsSought 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 TamalsBe the Albatross and Beaver;Search and Labor, be their motto;And, lest children of their childrenMay forget their mighty saviors, Giant Albatross and BeaverShall be changed to rocky Islands -Monuments to stand forever, In the Harbor of the Tamals. '

Thus the ancient Tamal womanTold the Legend of the Islands, While December rains were falling, And the fragrant pine was burningIn the fireplace of the cabinOn the slope of Tamalpais. 

The Lake of Merita. 

The lengthening shadows of eveningWere 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 sunlightPierced to the carpet of needles. Only the tinkling of water, Only the breeze in the branches, Only the call of the blue jaysBroke 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 creaturesGathered 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 forestsCame chattering, chirping and barking, Resenting, reproaching, complaining. 

I sat by the camp-fire and listenedIn 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 magicAre 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 meSinging 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 peopleWho 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 tressesGlossy and black as the feathersThat 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 breakingThe heart of some one of her people. The Gods taught Merita the languageOf birds that made nests in the oak trees, Of water fowl thronging the tules, Of all furry creatures that peopledThe hills and the valleys around them. They came from afar when she called them, Called with her song, and they hastenedTo 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 growingBeside a small stream that cascadedDown from the Peak of the Grizzlies. Refreshing herself with the berriesShe 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 chantingWas finished, the Blue Jays and Robins, Pigeons, and Bluebirds, and BlackbirdsFlew to the branches above her, And tipping their heads to observe herOpened their bills in complaining. Down from the canyon a white fawnCame with a shaft in her shoulder, Fell at the feet of Merita, Bleating her plea for protection. Quickly the arrow was takenOut 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 woundedA pet of the beautiful stranger. '

Under the arm of MeritaThe frightened fawn crept for protection. 

'I am Merita, the daughterOf Yado, the Chief of the FishersWho live by the Lake of the Oak Trees. The Fawn is my friend, and she answersMy call to all wild forest creatures. '

'I have a call, ' said Zarando, 'A call to decoy the wild creaturesInto the range of my arrows, Yet few are deceived by the pretense. Teach me your call, oh, Merita. 

'Nay, nay, Zarando; love onlyWill 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 abandonThe bow and the trap to secureThe charm that the Great Spirit gives you. Tell me the secret, Merita, Teach me to speak in the languageOf 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 oaksThat 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 FishersRivals, 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 treesStand on a point in the Lakelet. The water birds came at her calling, And thronged on the Lake of Merita, Holding conventions, and heedingThe 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 loversStill live in the oak trees that borderThe 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