Steamboat Girl

S’Klallam Folklore

 

 

Day breaks on the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

At the edge of the shore, a girl, ten years old, stands erect, straight as a stick. She sheds her robe. Frothing up in between the seaweed grasses, the copper water feels almost tepid. Elated, she leaps and dips.

Reemerging, in between her feet she notices a stick. Her feet begin to stamp out a rhythm on the hard sand. The stick keeps time in the air.

Instantly, she freezes.

From out of the belly of Mount Baker, a steamer appears. The churning monster advances, belching black water.

The girl peers at it through her spread-out fingers.

The moment she looks at it, she collapses.

Dead.

This could be the end of this story.

But it’s not the end.

This is the beginning.

Her spirit peels off and lifts up. For a time, her soul hovers, peering at the scene below: At the edge of the water, her naked body, curled up on the sand in a crescent moon. Beneath her, two stacks coughing steam. The side-wheel, grinding. The black stack on top of the ship sucks in the vapor from a bilious cloud. Six seconds later, the chimney vomits out her soul.

The steamship is a carrier of disease.

This only adds to her power.

Not long after, her spirit returns to her body. The lids open; her eyes collimate the light. After a minute, she is able stand up. One more, and she can dance. In her fist the black stick leaps up, like a piece of iron animated by lightning.

This girl has passed from one world into the next and survived. Now she can do anything. From then on, with the skill and strength of a warrior, Steamboat Girl protects her people.

For example, in winter a group of children, including a baby as portable as a stick of firewood, disappear. Kidnapped by a fierce tribe from the North. Soon to be slaves.

The girl blackens her face with fish oil. She tracks down the culprits, saluting them with a SCHWACK! from her bone club. KER-ACK! The sound of her weapon on top of their skulls invokes the thunder. Her older brothers, out fishing, note the surge of white lightning through the billow of clouds. By the time they return, the children are playing a game with shells and rocks on top of their cedar mats.

That night, in the dim of the longhouse lit by a central fire, the village celebrates the safe return of their children. The girl-warrior dances like never before.

Next to the smoldering fire, she thrusts her straight black stick into the earth. Instantly, in its place, grows a noble cedar, a center post for the longhouse.

Her kin, old and young, gather round.

The girl declares, “This is my power.”

She adds, “This is my last dance.”

She collapses. The girl stretches out her body on top of the hard-packed earth. Softly, she sings, hour upon hour.

Then, she sits up.

Steamboat girl announces, “Invaders are on the way. They mean to end it all. I have seen them. Stop them.”

And dies.

Of course the people believe her. But what can they do? The girl is gone. Her power remains, yet no one is sure how to use it.