Legends & Tales Of Mount St. Helens

Umatilla's Story-- The Dalles Tribe Version

--Ida Dorman Morris (June 8th 1901)

--Pg. 143-149

'Years ago, when the earth was young; Mount Hood was the home of the Storm Spirit, and Mount Adams of the Fire Spirit. Across the vale that spread between them stretched a mighty bridge of stone joining peak to peak. On this altar 'The Bridge Of The Gods', the Indian laid his offering of fish and dressed skins for Nanne (Possible interpretation of Mount St. Helens), the goddess of summer.

These two spirits; Storm and Fire, both loving the fair goddess grew jealous of each other and fell to fighting.

A perfect gale of fire, lightning, splintered trees, and rocks swept the bridge, but the brave goddess courageously kept her place on this strange altar.

In the deep shadows of the rocks, a warrior who had loved her long but hopelessly, kept watch. The storm waxed stronger, the altar trembled, and the earth to its very center shook.

The young chief sprang forward and caught Nanne in his arms, a crash and the beautiful goddess and the brave warrior were buried under the debris forever. The Columbia now goes whirling, tossing, and dashing over that old altar and hurrying on to the sea.

The Spirits of Storm and Fire still linger in their old haunts; but never again will they see the fair Nanne.

The Indian invariably mixes a grain of truth with much that is wild, weird, and strange. It was Umatilla, chief of the Indians at the Cascades who brought about peace between the white man and his red brother. He had lost all of his children by the plague except his youngest son; Black Eagle as his father called him; and Benjamin as the white man called him.

Black Eagle was still a lad when an eastern man built a little schoolhouse by the river and began teaching the Indians. A warm friendship sprang up between teacher and pupil.

One sad day, Black Eagle fell ill with the plague. Umatilla received the news that his son could not live, with all the stoicism of his race, hilt he went away alone into the wood, returning at the dawn of day. When he returned Black Eagle was dying. Slowly the pale lids closed over the sunken eyes, a breath and the brave lad had trusted his soul to the white man's God.

The broken-hearted old chief sat the long night through by the corpse of his son. When morning came, he called the tribe together and told them he wished to follow his last child to the grave, but he wanted them to promise him that they would cease to war with the white man and seek his friendship.

At first many of the warriors refused, but Umatilla had been a good chief, and always had given them tine presents at the potlatches. Consulting among themselves they finally consented. When the grave was ready, the braves laid the body of Black Eagle to rest...then said the old chief:

"My heart is in the grave with my son. Be always kind to the white man as you have promised me, and bury us together. One last look into the grave of him I loved and Umatilla too shall die." 

The next instant the gentle, kind hearted old chief dropped to the ground dead. Peace to his ashes. They buried him as he had requested and a little later sought the teacher's friendship, asking him to guide them.

That year saw the end of the trouble between the Indians and the white race at The Dalles. The old chief still lives in the history of his country. Umatilla is a familiar name in Dalles City. The principal hotel bears the name of Umatilla.

Up toward The Dalles on the Washington side of the river, are three springs.

These springs have long been considered by the Indians a veritable fountain of youth. Long before the coming of the white man they carried their sick and aged to these springs, across the 'Bridge Of The Gods.'

Just above Dalles City lies The Dalles which obstructs navigation for twelve miles. Beyond this point the river is navigable two hundred miles. Here, too, legends play an important part.

When the volcanoes of the northwest were blazing forth their storm of fire; ashes and lava; a tribe known as the Fire Fiends walked the earth and held high revelry in this wild country. When Mount Rainier had ceased to burn, the Devil called the leaders of the tribe together one day and proposed that they follow nature's mood and live more peaceably, and that they quit killing and eating each other. A howl met this proposal.

The Devil deemed it wise just at this moment to move on, so off he set, a thousand Fire Fiends after him. Now his majesty could easily whip a score of Fiends, but he was no match for a thousand, lie lashed his wondrous tail about and broke a great chasm in the ground. Many of the Fiends fell in, but the greater part leaped the rent and came on.

A second time the ponderous tail came down with such force that a large ravine was cracked out of the rocks, the earth breaking away into an inland sea. The flood engulfed the Fiends to a man. The bed of the sea is now a prairie and the three strokes of the Devil's tail are plainly visible in the bed of the Columbia at The Dalles.