beds and into the sea. There he waved to us and we waved back. The rising sun made a silver trail across the water. Along this trail he disappeared into the east.
The rest of the day we talked about the journey. Would Kimki ever reach this far country about which nothing was known? Would he come back before the winter was over? Or never?
That night we sat around the fire and talked while the wind blew and the waves crashed against the shore.
6
After Kimki had been gone one moon, we began to watch for his return. Every day someone went to the cliff to scan the sea. Even on stormy days we went, and on days when fog shrouded the island. During the day there was always a watcher on the cliff and each night as we sat around our fires we wondered if the next sun would bring him home.
But the spring came and left and the sea was empty. Kimki did not return!
There were few storms that winter and rain was light and ended early. This meant that we would need to be careful of water. In the old days the springs sometimes ran low and no one worried, but now everything seemed to cause alarm. Many were afraid that we would die of thirst.
‘There are other things more important to ponder,’ said Matasaip who had taken Kimki's place.
Matasaip meant the Aleuts, for it was now the time of year when they had come before. Watchers on the cliff began to look for the red sails and a meeting was held to plan what to do if the Aleuts came. We lacked the men to keep them from landing or to save our lives if they attacked us, which we were certain they would. Plans were therefore made to flee as soon as their ship was sighted.
Food and water were stored in canoes and these were hidden on the rocks at the south end of the island. The cliffs were steep here and very high, but we wove a stout rope of bull kelp and fastened it to rocks at the top of the cliff so that it hung to the water. As soon as the Aleut ship was sighted we would all go to the cliff and let ourselves down, one at a time. We would then leave in our canoes for the island of Santa Catalina.
Although the entrance to Coral Cove was too narrow for a ship to pass through safely at night, men were sent there to watch the cove from dusk to dawn, besides those who watched during the day.
Shortly afterwards, on a night of fine moon, one of the men came running back to the village. Everyone was asleep, but his cries quickly awakened us.
‘The Aleuts!’ he shouted. ‘The Aleuts!’
It was news we expected. We were prepared for it, yet there was much fear in the village of Ghalas-at. Matasaip strode from hut to hut telling everyone to be calm and not to lose time packing things that would not be needed. I took my skirt of yucca fibre, however, for I had spent many days making it and it was very pretty, and also my otter cape.
Quietly we filed out of the village along the trail that led towards the place where our canoes were hidden. The moon was growing pale and there was a faint light in the east, but a strong wind began to blow.
We had gone no farther than half a league when we were overtaken by the man who had given the warning. He spoke to Matasaip, but we all gathered around to listen to him.
‘I went back to the cove after I gave the alarm,’ he said. ‘When I got there I could see the ship clearly. It is beyond the rocks that guard the harbour. It is a smaller ship than the one which belonged to the Aleuts. The sails are white instead of red.’
‘Could you see anyone?’ Matasaip asked.
‘No.’
‘It is not the same ship which was here last spring?’
‘No.’
Matasaip was silent, pondering the news. Then he told us to go on to where the canoes were and wait for him, for he was going back. It was light now and we went quickly over the dunes to the edge of the cliff and stood there while the sun rose.
The wind grew cold, but fearing that those on the ship would see the smoke we did not start a fire, though we had meal to cook for breakfast. Instead we ate a small quantity of dried abalone, and afterwards my brother Ramo climbed over the cliff. No one had been down to the rocks since the canoes were hidden so we did not know whether they were still safe or not.
While he was gone we saw a man running across the dunes. It was Nanko, carrying a message from Matasaip. He was sweating in spite of the cold and he stood trying to catch his breath. We all waited, urging him to talk, but his face was happy and we knew that he brought good news.
‘Speak!’ everyone said in a chorus.
‘I have been running for more than a league,’ he said. ‘I cannot talk.’
‘You are talking,’ someone said.
‘Speak, Nanko, speak,’ cried many voices.
Nanko was having fun with us. He threw out his chest and took a deep breath. He looked around at the circle of faces as if he did not understand why everyone was staring at him.
‘The ship,’ he said at last, saying the words slowly, ‘does not belong to our enemies, the Aleuts. There are white men on this ship and they have come from that place where Kimki went when he left our island.’
‘Has Kimki returned?’ an old man broke in.
‘No, but it is he who saw the white men and told them to come here.’
‘What do they look like?’ Ulape asked.
‘Are there boys on the ship?’ asked Ramo, who had come back with his mouth full of something.
Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
Nanko made his face stern, which was hard for him to do because his mouth had been cut in the battle with the Aleuts and ever since it had always seemed to smile. He held up his hand for silence.
‘The ship has come for one reason,’ he said. ‘To take us away from Ghalas-at.’
‘To what place?’ I asked.
It was good news that the ship did not belong to the Aleuts. But where would the white men take us?
‘I do not know to what place,’ he said. ‘Kimki knows and he has asked the white men to take us there.’
Saying no more, Nanko turned back and we followed him. We were fearful of where we were going, yet we were happy, too.
7
We took nothing with us when we thought we would have to flee, so there was much excitement as we packed our baskets. Nanko strode up and down outside the houses, urging us to hurry.
‘The wind grows strong,’ he shouted. ‘The ship will leave you.’
I filled two baskets with the things I wished to take. Three fine needles of whalebone, an awl for making holes, a good stone knife for scraping hides, two cooking pots, and a small box made from a shell with many ear- rings in it.
Ulape had two boxes of ear-rings, for she was vainer than I, and when she put them into her baskets, she drew a thin mark with blue clay across her nose and cheekbones. The mark meant that she was unmarried.
‘The ship leaves,’ shouted Nanko.
‘If it goes,’ Ulape shouted back, ‘it will come again after the storm.’
My sister was in love with Nanko, but she laughed at him.
‘Other men will come to the island,’ she said. ‘They will be far more handsome and brave than those who leave.’
‘You are all women of such ugliness that they will be afraid and soon go away.’
The wind blew in fierce gusts as we left the village, stinging our faces with sand. Ramo hopped along far in
