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The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., December 2, 1915, page 1

INDIAN LEGENDS ARE BEAUTIFUL
Klickitat Language Wonderful
E.L. Smith Has Gathered from Red Men Many Stories of Interest - Memaloose Island

Beautiful though they are when one, ignorant of the charms that Indian legendary lore weaves around them, beholds them, how much more interesting and appealing is a view of the grand points of the Columbia river highway after the sightseer has learned something of their significance in the history of the Redman! While many beautiful stories are extant in the writings of contemporary authors and in the articles and books of pioneer men and women, who have passed away, an investigator by talking with the older Indians that survive along the mid-Colombia district may find that many legends have ever become but little known.
Every Indian tribe had its historian. The histories and stories were passed from generation to generation by word of mouth. Each tribe had a different dialect. The names of the gods and heroes are different. From The Dalles down the Columbia to the sea, where the Chinook and Clatsop dialects prevailed, the great spirit was known as Talapus. While across the Columbia in southern Washington, where the Klickitat dialect was supreme, the chief god was called Saghalie.
In all the Pacific Northwest no man has ever taken greater interest in the legends of the Indians, among whom his close friends have been numbered by the scores, than E.L. Smith, who removed 40 years ago from Tacoma, Wash., where he had been secretary of Washington territory, to Hood River.
While he has retired from a life of active business, Mr. Smith maintained an office in a building owned by him, and he may be found in his office a part of every week day. In former days the Indians in other regions came to ask his counsel, and his pioneer neighbors came to consult with him on matters of business. Today a few Indians left in the district continue to confide in Mr. Smith as to their troubles, hopes and joys. He will ever remain their "Boston Man," and they and Mr. Smith often recall incidents of early history and talk over legendary history of the scenic region. Whenever anyone desires to secure information on pioneer days or Indian legendary history, he makes a visit to Mr. Smith. Nor is the list of visitors limited to local people; he receives callers and queries from numerous different points in the northwest.
"Of all the 30 dialect of tribes with which I have been familiar," says Mr. Smith, "that of the Klickitats is the most beautiful. Their names for our points of grandeur along the Columbia should be preserved. I made an attempt at one time to have the Smithsonian Institution collect the words of the language. A Catholic priest at Goldendale was engaged for many years in the task, but I have not heard of him for several years. Rev. Waters, of the Toppenish community, a full blood Indian won marked recognition as a Methodist minister, is perhaps more familiar with the language than any man in the northwest.
During the early years of Hood River history, Mr. Smith was accustomed to make long trips of exploration in the neighboring mountains. Indians were used as guides, and on those these journeys of penetration into the wilds while others of the party would be asleep or engaged in conversation, Mr. Smith would be seated in seclusion at the foot of some of leviathan of the forest hearing marvelous tales from his Indian guide. Often Dr. T.L. Eliott, pastor emeritus of the First Unitarian church of Portland, would accompany Mr. Smith and other friends on these long jaunts of investigation of the wilderness country.
"I recall a time when Dr. Eliott and I were on a trip of exploration at the base of Mount Adams," says Mr. Smith. "We have often laughed together since at the philosophy of our guide. It was in the evening, and as we sat around the camp fire after supper I asked the guide where an Indian went and what he did after he died. The fellow, a strapping and handsome buck replied: "I don't know. I find out after I get there."
Just opposite Hood River, near the town of White Salmon, high on the mighty precipitous side of the Columbia gorge, is a huge dial shaped rock. Most of the people of Hood River have seen it and have wondered if it had a meaning. To the Indians, according to the legends gathered by Mr. Smith, it had a very significant meaning. The great rock is supposed to be Waupash, a mighty chieftaness of the White Salmon Indians in early days. The Indian woman was proud of her people and was zealous in her protection of them.
For many days Waupash had seen Spelyai, the next of the gods in authority to Saghalie, the chief diety, prowling over her beloved hills. She accosted him one morning as he came up from the Columbia and ordered him to leave the region and not show himself there again, for she feared that he meant to harm to her tribe. Now this was no way to address a god, and Spelyai, angered beyond reason, cast a spell over the woman and turned her into the great rock, and she sits there on the great gorge and watches until this day.
The legend that has come to Mr. Smith about Oneonta Falls, known for the most part as Horsetail Falls, is somewhat different from other legendary history. Far back in the old grandfathers' day, according to the story, there were two handsome Indian chiefs who fell in love with a beautiful maiden. The men fought over the girl, who by her coquettish ways angered the Great Spirit, as did the men, and to punish them, one of the chiefs was turned into Rooster Rock and the other into Castle Rock. The girl was transformed into Oneonta Falls. The great stream of water is supposed to represent her hair, whichever streams out from the great barrier of rocks over which she is trying to climb.
Just beyond the Hood River County line, one of Mr. Smith's old Indian friends has told them, is the falls of the Widow's Tears. A tiny stream dashes over the top of the high canyon and is soon lost in spray. "The Indians called it the Widow's Tears," said Mr. Smith, " because it disappeared so quickly."
One of the most beautiful of all the legends told by Mr. Smith is that connected with Memaloose Island, the Indian burial ground near the middle of the Columbia's stream just west of Lyle. Since time immemorial the Indians have place the dead on the island. The bones of thousands of Warriors, men and women have bleached and decayed in the sands there. Formerly the Indians visited the island frequently. The legend, which follows, explains why the Red Man have ceased to go to Memaloose except to deposit the bodies of relatives who souls have passed on to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
In ancient days the Indians were accustomed to assemble in large numbers at Wishram, a village just opposite The Dalles, on the Washington side of the Columbia. At one of the gatherings came a handsome young chief, as perfectly formed as Apollo, and a maiden, the daughter of a chief, whose beauty was known throughout the land. The girl was wooed by a handsome young man, and the two were wed.
This young man and woman made a prolonged honeymoon, traveling through the country and visiting the peoples of many regions. But their happiness was finally smitten by the death of the husband, whose body was born away in state to Memaloose. The grief of the young widow of knew no bounds. One night she dreamed that the spirit of her husband came to her and urged that she come to visit him at the island.
The girl complied with the wishes of their husband and visited the island. As the sun went down behind the Cascade range a wonderful metamorphosis was worked at Memaloose. The graves gave up their dead. Sounds of music filled the air and the spirits of the dead, with the form of mortals again taken on, danced and made merry. Dressed in a glorious raiment, the husband came to her and the two spent the night together in happiness. They finally repaired to his couch, were the next morning, on being awakened by the sunshine, she found a skeleton arm round her body.
Returning to her home she told her story. A great council of all the wise men was called. After much deliberation it was decided that since the maiden belonged to the man during life, she must still be his even though he was dead, and she was commanded to return to the island to live with him.
The dead were permitted to return from the graves at night, and during the hours of darkness all was as though some great feast were being participated in on the islands, but the forms gradually lost themselves as daylight approached, and during the days Memaloose presented only sights of horror. White bones glinted in the sunlight and the stench of decaying flesh filled the nostrils.
Finally the girl gave birth to a child. The Indian maiden desired that her mother come seen her grandson, and a messenger was sent to carry her the glad tidings. The mother came, but she was enjoined not to look upon the little one for at least 10 days after her arrival; she was told that if she did so her grandson would die. But the eagerness of the grandmother she thought it would do no harm in she would lift up his little blanket and take a single look. However, no sooner had her eyes fallen on the little form than it sickened and straightway died.
This death of the infant was taken by the Indians as a sign to point to them that they had erred in allowing the girl to visit the island, and it was ruled by a great council that thereafter none should visit Memaloose except to deposit the bones of the dead.
Memaloose until this day is the burying ground with the Indians of The Dalles region. Because of the treasure of beads and elks teeth buried with the dead it was formerly visited by numerous curio seekers, who despoiled the graves, sacred to the Red Man. The government has now prohibited the visits of white men for this purpose.
Passengers on river steamers are attracted by a single white shaft rearing itself from a rock based on the island. This is a monument created to Victor Treavitt, the only white man buried on Memaloose. Victor Treavitt was a great friend of the Indians of the mid-Colombia district. His body was placed among those of his friends at his own request.