西雅圖的天空

Yonder Sky (遙遠的天空)

1854年亨利．史密斯記錄，1887年10月29日刊於《The Seattle Sunday Star》

因故中斷的American Gods

Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion on our fathers for centuries untold, and which to us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast w/t clouds. MY words are like starS THat never set. WHAT seattle says, the great chief, Washington can rely upon, with as much certainty as our pale-face brothers can rely upon THE return of THE seasonS.

大酋長可以信賴 就像四季更替

The son of THE white chief says his father sendS us greetingS of friendship and good will. THis is kind, for we know he has little need of our friendship in return, because his ppl R many. They R like the grass that coverS THE vast prairies, while my ppl R few, and resemble the scattering trees of A storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume also good white chief sends us word that he wantS to buy our land but is willing to allow us TO reserve anough to live on comfortably. THis indeed appears generous, for THE red man no longer has rightS that he neeD respect, and the offer may be wise, also, for we R no longer in need of a great country.

There was a time,

when our ppl covereD the whole land, as the waveS of a wind-ruffled sea covers its shell-paved floor. But that time has long since passeD away w/t THE greatness of tribeS NOW almost forgotten. I will not mourn over our untimely decay, nor reproach my pale-face brotherS for hastening it, for we, too, may have been somewhat to blame. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wronG, and disfigure their faces w/t black paint, their hearts, also, R disfigured and turn black, and their cruelty is relentless and knowS no boundS, and our old men R not able to restrain them. True it is, that revenge, w/t our young braveS, is considered gain,even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and old women who have sons to lose, knoW better. Our great father Washington, for I presume he is now our father as well as urs, since George has moveD his boundaries to the north; our great and good father I say, sendS us word by his son, who no doubt, is a great chief among his ppl, that if we do as he desires, he will protect us. His brave armies will be to us a bristling(高聳) wall of strength, & his great ships of war will fill our harbors so that our ancient enemies far to the northward, the Simsiams & Hydas will no longer frighten our women and old men. Then he will be our father & we will be his children.

But can this ever be?

Ur God loves u & hates mine; he foldS his strong arms lovingly around the white mAn & leads him as a father leads his infant son, but he has forsaken his red childern; he makes ur ppl wax strong every day, and soon they will fill the land; while my ppl are ebbing away like a fast-receding tide, that will never flow again. The white man's God cannot love his red children or he would protect them. They seem to be orphans & can look nowhere for help. How can we become brothers? How can ur father become our father & bring us prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? Ur God seemS to us to be partial. He came to the white mAn. We never saw him. We never even heard His voice; He gave the white man laws but He had no words His red children whose teeming(繁盛/擁擠) millions filled this vast continent as the stars fill the firmament(蒼穹). No, we R two distinct races and must ever remain so. There is little in common between us. The ashes of our ancestors R sacred and their final resting place is hallowed ground, while u wander AWAY from the tombS of your fatherS seemingLY without regret. Your religion was written on tables of stone by the iron fingeR of AN angry God, lest you might forget it. The red-man could never remember nor comprehEnd it. Our religion is the traditionS of our ancestors, the dreams of our old men, given them by the great SpiriT and the visions of our sachemS, and is written in the hearts of our ppl. Your dead ceasE to love you and THE homes of their nativity as soon as they pass the portalS of the tomb. They wander far off beyond the stars, and soon forgotten, and never return. Our dead never forget the beautiful world that gave them begiN. They still love its winding rivers, its great mountains and its sequestered vales(溪谷), and they ever yearn(嚮往) in tenderest affection over the lonely hearted living and often return to visit and compfort them. Day and night cannot dwell together. The red mAn has ever fled the approach of the white man, (白所至紅奔逃) as the changing mists on the mountain side flee before the blazing morning sun. However, your proposition seems A just one, and I think my folks will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them, for the word of the great white chief seem to be the voice of nature speaking to my ppl out of the thick darkness that is fast gathering around them like a dense fog floating inwarD from A midnight sea.

It matters but little

where we pass the remainder of our days. THEY R NOT MANY. The Indian's night promises to be dark. No bright star hoverS abt the horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Some grim Nemsis of our race is on the red man's trail, and wherever he goes he will still hear the sure approaching footsteps of the fell destroyer and prepare to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hearS the approaching footsteps of the hunter. A few more moons, a few more winters and not one of all the mighty hosts THAT ONCE FILLED this broad land or bow roam in fragmentary bandS through these VAST solitudes will remain to weep over the tombS of a ppl ONCE as powerful and as hopeful as your own. But why should we repine(埋怨)? Why should I murmur at the fate of my ppl? TRIBES R made up of individuals and R no better than they. Men come and go like the waves of the sea. A tear, a tamanawus(禱告), a dirge(輓歌) and they are gone from our longing eyes forever. Even the white man, whose God walked and talked w/t him as frienD to frienD, is not exempt(豁免) from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see. We will ponder(思考) your proposition, and when we have decided we will tell you. But should we accept it(但如果我們接受), I here and now make this first condition; That we will not be denied the privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the graveS of our ancestors and friends. Every part of this country is sacred to my ppl. Every hill-side every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or sad experience of my tribe. EVEN THE ROCK that seem to lie dumb as they swelter in the sun ALONG the silent seashore in solemn(莊嚴) grandeur(宏偉) thrill w/t memories of past events connected w/t the fate of my ppl, and the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, b/c it is the ashes our ancestors, and our bare feet R conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich w/t the life of our kindred. THE SABLE BRAVES, and fond motherS, and glad-hearted maidenS, and THE little children who lived and rejoiced here, and whose very names R now forgotten, still love these solitudes, and THEIR deep fastness(牢固) at eventide(黃昏, 夜色因來靈而濃重) grow shadowy w/t the presence of dusky spirits.And when the last red man shall have PERISHED from the earth and his memory AMONG WHITE MAN shall have become a myth, THESE shores shall swarm w/t the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children shall think themselves along in the field, the STORE, the shop, upon the highway OR in the silence of the woods, they will not be along. IN all the earth there is no place dedicateD to solitude(世界上沒有地方是孤單的). At night, when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent, and you think them deserted, they will throng w/t the returning hosts THAT ONCE filled and STILL love this beautiful land. (充滿了那曾充滿且仍愛此靚地之魂魄). THE white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly w/t my ppl, FOR the dead R not altogether powerless.