s the most wonderful part it ever played was in the great drama
that held the stage of Europe, and incidentally all the world during
the stormy days of the first Napoleon.

Throughout Canada I have never failed to find an amazing knowledge of
Napoleon Bonaparte amongst the very old and "uncivilized" Indians.
Perhaps they may be unfamiliar with every other historical character
from Adam down, but they will all tell you they have heard of the
"Great French Fighter," as they call the wonderful little Corsican.

Whether this knowledge was obtained through the fact that our earliest
settlers and pioneers were French, or whether Napoleon's almost magical
fighting career attracted the Indian mind to the exclusion of lesser
warriors, I have never yet decided. But the fact remains that the
Indians of our generation are not as familiar with Bonaparte's name as
were their fathers and grandfathers, so either the predominance of
English-speaking settlers or the thinning of their ancient war-loving
blood by modern civilization and peaceful times, must one or the other
account for the younger Indian's ignorance of the Emperor of the French.

In telling me the legend of The Lost Talisman, my good tillicum, the
late Chief Capilano, began the story with the almost amazing question,
Had I ever heard of Napoleon Bonaparte? It was some moments before I
just caught the name, for his English, always quaint and beautiful, was
at times a little halting; but when he said by way of explanation, "You
know big fighter, Frenchman. The English they beat him in big battle,"
I grasped immediately of whom he spoke.

"What do you know of him?" I asked.

His voice lowered, almost as if he spoke a state secret. "I know how
it is that English they beat him."

I have read many historians on this event, but to hear the Squamish
version was a novel and absorbing thing. "Yes?" I said--my usual
"leading" word to lure him into channels of tradition.

"Yes," he affirmed. Then, still in a half whisper, he proceeded to
tell me that it all happened through the agency of a single joint from
the vertebra of a sea-serpent.

In telling me the story of Brockton Point and the valiant boy who
killed the monster, he dwelt lightly on the fact that all people who
approach the vicinity of the creature are palsied, both mentally and
physically--bewitched, in fact--so that their bones become disjointed
and their brains incapable; but to-day he elaborated upon this