Chapter 1
THE HAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT.“We view as one who hath an evil sight,”
He answered, “plainly objects far remote.”
Carey: Dante.
The night came to an end at last,—a night not soon forgotten by
the Oregon Indians, and destined to be remembered in tale and
tomanowos lore long after that generation had passed away.
The sky was thick with clouds; the atmosphere was heavy with smoke,
which, dense and low-hanging in the still weather, shut out the
entire horizon. The volcano was invisible in the smoky air, but its
low mutterings came to them from time to time.
The chiefs met early in the grove of council. Multnomah’s
countenance told nothing of the night before, but almost all the
rest showed something yet of superstitious fear. Mishlah’s face was
haggard, his air startled
