Prevod
Umatilla, poglavar Indijancev pri kaskadah reke Columbia, je bil eden redkih rdečekožcev svojega časa, ki so zagovarjali mir z belimi naseljenci in niso odobravali divjih razuzdanosti »potlača«. Na teh »praznikih darov« so se divjaki v veri, da jih je »obsedel duh«, razvneli do blaznosti, ki jo je bilo večkrat mogoče pomiriti le s prelivanjem krvi. Pero črnega orla — ali Benjamin, kakor so ga imenovali naseljenci — je bil edini od otrok starega poglavarja, ki je preživel poletje kuge, in Umatilla je v tega dečka položil vse svoje upe in vso svojo ljubezen.
Deček je močno zaupal svojemu belemu učitelju, univerzitetno izobraženemu možu z Vzhoda, ki je ob reki Columbia zgradil majhno šolo in učil indijanske glave meriti še na kaj drugega kot na belce. Deček in njegov učitelj sta skupaj hodila na lov; potovala sta v istem kanuju; po isti stezi sta pešačila do velikih slapov Missourija; pri izviru Giant Spring pa sta opazovala Piegane, kako vanj mečejo darove v prepričanju, da jih bo tamkajšnji manitu v onstranstvu izročil bogu sonca, ki so ga častili. Nekega dne je Benjamin zbolel in učitelj je spoznal, da bo tudi on umrl za kugo. Stari Umatilla je novico sprejel z indijansko stoičnostjo, vendar je odšel v gozd, da bi bil nekaj časa sam.
Ko se je vrnil, se je že danilo in nad njimi je glasno gagala jata divjih gosi. Deček jih je slišal in vprašal: »Boston tilicum« (beli človek), »ali Veliki oče pove gosem, kam naj gredo?«
»Da.« »Potem bo povedal tudi meni?« »Da.« »Nikoli več se ne bova skupaj vrnila k Missouriju. Moj oče —« »Pazili bomo nanj.« »Tako je prav.« In čez nekaj ur je vodenje svoje duše skozi svet senc zaupal nevidnemu očetu belega človeka.
Umatilla je vso noč sedel ob truplu, zjutraj pa je sklical svoje ljudstvo. Povedal jim je, da je pripravljen slediti svojemu dečku s tega sveta, vendar je najprej hotel njihovo obljubo, da se ne bodo več vojskovali z belci, temveč bodo pri njih iskali prijateljstvo in vodstvo. Ob tem se je zaslišalo nekaj negodovanja, saj so bolj divji možje že snovali napad na naseljence, toda Umatilla jim je na zadnjem potlaču podaril veliko blaga in so nejevoljno privolili. Častitljivi poglavar jim je naročil, naj Benjaminu pripravijo grob, kakršnega imajo belci, in ko je bil izkopan, so štirje bojevniki vanj položili truplo njegovega sina. Nato je poglavar stoječ ob robu dejal: »Moje srce se ohlaja, saj je tam v grobu z mojim sinom. Ko naredim tri korake k njemu, bom tudi jaz umrl. Bodite dobri do belih ljudi, kakor ste obljubili, in pokopljite naju skupaj. Veliki duh, prihajam.« Zgrudil se je na tla in življenje je v enem samem dihu zapustilo starca. Njega in njegovega sina so pokopali v skupen grob, naslednji dan pa so odšli k učitelju in ga prosili, naj jih vodi in poučuje. In s tistim letom so se končali vsi spori med rdečekožci in belci ob reki Columbia.
Izvirnik
Umatilla, chief of the Indians at the Cascades of the Columbia, was one of the few red men of his time who favored peace with the white settlers and lent no countenance to the fierce revels of the “potlatch.” In these “feasts of gifts” the savages, believing themselves to be “possessed by the spirit,” lashed themselves into a frenzy that on several occasions was only quieted by the shedding of blood. Black Eagle's Feather--or Benjamin, as he was called by the settlers--was the only one of the children of the old chief who survived a summer of plague, and on this boy Umatilla had put all his hopes and affections.
The lad had formed a great trust in his white teacher, a college-bred man from the East, who had built a little school-house beside the Columbia and was teaching the Indian idea how to shoot something beside white people. This boy and his teacher had hunted together; they had journeyed in the same canoe; had tramped over the same trail to the great falls of the Missouri; and at the Giant Spring had seen the Piegans cast in their gifts, in the belief that the manitou of the place would deliver them in the hereafter to the sun-god, whom they worshipped. One day Benjamin fell ill, and the schoolmaster saw that he, too, was to die of the plague. Old Umatilla received the news with Indian stoicism, but he went into the forest to be alone for a time.
When he returned day was breaking and a flock of wild-geese trumpeted overhead. The boy heard them, and said, “Boston tilicum” (white man), “does the Great Father tell the geese where to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then he will tell me, too?”
“Yes.”
“We shall never go back to the Missouri together. My father--”
“We will watch over him.”
“That is well.” And, in a few hours, he had intrusted the guidance of his soul through the world of shadows to the white man's unseen father.
Umatilla sat beside the body through the night, and in the morning he called his people together. He told them that he was prepared to follow his boy out of the world, but that first he wanted to have their promise that they would no longer war on the whites, but look to them for friendship and guidance. There was some murmuring at this, for the ruder fellows were already plotting a descent on the settlers, but Umatilla had given them great store of goods at the last potlatch, and they reluctantly consented. The venerable chief ordered them to make a grave for Benjamin like the white man's, and, when it had been dug, four warriors laid the body of his son within it. Then, standing at the brink, the chief said, “My heart is growing cold, for it is in the grave there with my son. When I take three steps to the side of him, I, too, shall die. Be good to the white men, as you have said, and bury us both together. Great Spirit, I come.” And, sinking to the ground, the old man's life ebbed in a breath. They buried him and his son in a single grave, and next day they went to the teacher and asked him to lead and instruct them. And with that year ended all trouble between red and white men along the Columbia.
