Alphabetical Vocabularies of the Clallum and Lummi

In Short

This book serves as a vital archival record of the Clallam and Lummi languages as they existed in the Washington Territory during the 1850s. Compiled by a surveyor connected to the Northwest Boundary Commission, the work catalogs hundreds of essential terms—ranging from flora and fauna to complex social concepts—and maps the indigenous nomenclature of the region’s landscape. It endures as a primary source for ethnographers and linguists, offering a rare, stabilized glimpse into the vocabulary and cultural geography of two specific Coast Salish communities before their traditional linguistic landscapes shifted permanently.

The Story

The text begins with a scholarly preface that situates the Clallam and Lummi peoples within the broader Selish (Salish) language family. The author establishes the geographical bounds of these tribes: the Clallam along the southern shore of Fuca Strait, and the Lummi in the vicinity of Simiamoo Bay. From this foundational context, the book transitions into its core purpose: the preservation of vocabulary. It presents two expansive lists, organized alphabetically, that function as dictionaries of daily life.

These lists are not merely sterile word-banks; they capture the material reality of the mid-1800s. Readers encounter terms for the natural world—"Oregon grape," "surf duck," and various salmon species—alongside the tools of survival, such as "fish gig," "cedar bark basket," and "dog-hair blanket." The structure of these vocabularies reveals how the people classified their environment and their society. By including verbs and common phrases, the author illustrates how these speakers expressed action and intent, from the mundane act of building a canoe to the social necessity of trade.

As the book progresses, it shifts from general vocabulary to "Local Nomenclature." This section functions as an indigenous gazetteer, listing place names—creeks, bays, points, and village sites—that anchor these people to the Salish Sea. The ending of the book is anchored in the specific political and social reality of the time, concluding with a list of Lummi chiefs and their lineage. This final act of recording names serves as a bridge between the linguistic data and the human beings who carried these traditions. The narrative arc is one of steady, precise documentation, moving from the broad definitions of a language family to the granular reality of a specific mountain or a particular leader’s family name, effectively freezing a moment in time for future generations to study.

How It Unfolds

Linguistic classification The author defines the tribes' positions within the Selish family while correcting previous misidentifications by earlier European scholars. He clarifies the geographic extent of these groups, noting the rivers and straits that serve as their traditional borders.

Vocabulary collection The core of the text presents extensive alphabetical lists for both Clallam and Lummi. Each entry translates indigenous terms into English, covering body parts, seasonal descriptors, and basic verbs.

Cultural categorization The vocabularies break down the environment into specific taxonomies, listing extensive bird and fish species alongside the materials used to hunt and harvest them. This provides a clear window into the subsistence strategies and daily material culture of the speakers.

Geographic mapping The book moves into local nomenclature, naming specific geographical features and village sites with their indigenous designations. These lists reveal how the tribes perceived and occupied their landscape, linking physical geography to cultural history.

Leadership and legacy The final section identifies the Lummi chiefs, documenting the lines of authority within the tribe. It concludes the book by asserting the presence and legitimacy of these individuals within their specific, mapped territory.

The People

The book is primarily a work of documentation, but it centers on the Clallam and Lummi peoples as the active, speaking subjects of the record. The Clallam are depicted as a group inhabiting the Fuca Strait, defined by their interactions with neighboring tribes and their specific linguistic connection to the Sokes and Songhus. The Lummi are portrayed through their connection to the coastal environment of Simiamoo Bay, where the author gathered their specific vocabulary.

The author, George Gibbs, acts as the objective observer. He expresses a clear intention to document these languages before they are lost to the pressures of an expanding frontier. While he is the gatherer, he remains aware of his limitations, acknowledging that his work is a "partial revision" and subject to the inaccuracies of a foreign ear. The chiefs—such as the late Sa-hop-kan and his sons, Chil-luek and Chau-its-hut—appear as the final subjects of his survey. By naming them, the author attempts to ground his abstract linguistic data in the real, historical figures who held authority over the Lummi at the time of the Boundary Commission’s arrival.

In Its Own Voice

The tribe of Clallams, as they are usually called by the residents of Washington Territory--by the neighboring Indians named S'klal'am, and denominated by themselves N[=u]s-klai y[=u]m--inhabit the southern shore of Fuca Strait.

This passage from the preface establishes the tension between external labeling and internal identity.

The term Atna, it may be mentioned, is improperly applied as a family name to these languages, as it is a Takulli (Athabascan or Chepewyan) word, signifying, according to Mr. A. C. Anderson, "strangers."

The author corrects a common, erroneous label, revealing his commitment to precise nomenclature.

It is this which has been referred to by Drs. Scouler and Latham as the "Nusdalum," undoubtedly, in the first instance, a misprint.

The author displays his critical engagement with previous anthropological work, prioritizing the correction of scholarly errors.

What It's Really About

This book is fundamentally about the act of preservation through naming. It argues, implicitly, that to categorize a language is to map a civilization. The work explores the relationship between a people and their geography, suggesting that a language cannot be understood apart from the specific flora, fauna, and landmarks it names. By recording the terminology for fish weirs, berry harvests, and mythological demons, the author captures the intersection of physical survival and spiritual belief. Underneath the lists lies a question about the transience of culture: how much of a world is contained in the names its people use, and what is lost when those names are no longer spoken?

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of the Pacific Northwest or the mechanics of linguistics will find this volume a compelling, if demanding, artifact. It is not a narrative in the traditional sense; it is a reference work that functions as a time capsule. Reading it feels like looking through the lens of a nineteenth-century observer who recognized that a profound cultural shift was underway and sought to capture the details before they faded.

Modern readers should be prepared for the book's stark, technical nature. The pages are dense with lists, diacritical marks, and archaic spellings that reflect the period's attempt to transcribe non-European sounds into the Roman alphabet. The text also carries the attitudes of its time, viewing these languages through the lens of a mid-1800s ethnographic framework. However, for those who value the preservation of indigenous knowledge, the book offers a wealth of detail that remains deeply moving. To read it is to encounter the Clallam and Lummi people not as ghosts, but as speakers of a complex, rooted language—a reminder of the layers of history that exist beneath the modern geography of the Salish Sea.