{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20827/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20827","id":"gutenberg_20827","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20827","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Indians of North America -- Folklore","Native America"],"text":"Produced by David Schaal, Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by the Canadian Institute for\nHistorical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org))\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFRONTISPIECE.\n\n_Vol. 2._\n\n[Illustration: _Designed & Etched by W. H. Brooks, A. R. E. A._\nShe is gone! that beautiful form is but shadow. _page 87._]\n_London, Published by Colburn & Bentley, April 1830_.\n\n\n\n\nTRADITIONS OF THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS:\n\n               BEING\n\n    A SECOND AND REVISED EDITION OF\n\n      \"TALES OF AN INDIAN CAMP.\"\n\n                  BY\n\n         JAMES ATHEARN JONES.\n\n           IN THREE VOLUMES.\n\n                VOL. II.\n\n\nLONDON:\nHENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,\nNEW BURLINGTON STREET.\n1830.\nF. SHOBERL, JUN., LONG ACRE.\n\n\n\n\n\nPLATES.\n\nVOL. I.\n                                    PAGE.\n\nFrontispiece               _to face the title_\nThe Wahconda's Son                   159\n\nVOL. II.\n\nFrontispiece               _to face the title_\nCaverns of the Kickapoo              204\n\nVOL. III.\n\nFrontispiece               _to face the title_\nGaranga                              204\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\nOF\nTHE SECOND VOLUME.\n\n                                                                   Page.\n  Legends of the Creation.\n      I.   The Two Chappewees. A Tradition of the Dog-Rib Tribe        1\n     II.   Sakechak, the Hunter                                       21\n    III.   The Bird of Ages                                           35\n     IV.   The Great Hare                                             43\n      V.   The Six Nanticokes                                         49\n     VI.   The Universal Mother                                       93\n  The Coming of Miquon                                                99\n  The Funeral Fire                                                   115\n  The Portioning of the Sons                                         125\n  The Maiden's Rock                                                  131\n  The Expedition of the Lenni Lenapes                                141\n  Gittahee Gauzinee                                                  181\n  Ampato Sapa                                                        189\n  The Caverns of the Kickapoo                                        201\n  The Mountain of Little Spirits                                     207\n  The Valley of the Bright Old Inhabitants                           223\n  The Legend of Moshup                                               261\n  The Phantom Woman. A Tradition of the Winnebagoes                  273\n  The Two Ghosts                                                     285\n  The Vision of the Abnakis Chief                                    303\n\n\n\n\nTALES OF AN INDIAN CAMP.\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF THE CREATION.\n\n\nI. THE TWO CHAPPEWEES.\nA TRADITION OF THE TRIBE OF THE DOG-RIBS.\n\nUpon a narrow strait, between two tempestuous and stormy seas, lived\nthe young man Chappewee, whose father, the old man Chappewee, was the\nfirst of men. The old man Chappewee, the first of men, when he first\nlanded on the earth, near where the present Dog-ribs have their\nhunting-grounds, found the world a beautiful world, well stocked with\nfood, and abounding with pleasant things. There is nothing in the\nworld now which was not in it then, save red clay, a canoe with twelve\npaddles, and the white man's rum. Then, as now, whales were disporting\nin the liquid element; musk-oxen filled the glades, and deer, and\nbears, and wolves, were browzing on the hills, or prowling about the\nforest. But there was at that time no canoe, for there was nobody to\npaddle it; no rum, for who would drink it? and red clay was not found\ntill a long time afterwards, when the young man Chappewee's nose bled,\nand coloured the earth, a portion of which has since been red.\n\nWhen the old man Chappewee came upon the earth, he found no man, woman,\nor child, upon it. Knowing that it was not good to be alone, he created\nchildren. To these children he gave two kinds of fruit, the black and\nthe white, but forbade them to eat the black. Having issued his\ncommands for the government and guidance of his family, and laid up\nplenty of provisions for them, he took leave of them for a time, to go\ninto a far country where the sun dwelt, for the purpose of conducting\nhim to the world, which was yet unvisited by his beams. So, taking\nwith him three thousand large roasted porpoises, oceans of black fish,\nthirty large whales, and a good deal of tobacco, that he might do by\nthe way those necessary things, eat and smoke, he departed for the\nresidence of the sun. After a very long journey and a long absence, he\nreturned, bringing with him the glorious orb, which ever since has\nlighted the earth, in some countries, for a portion of the hours of\neach day, and, in other countries, for a part of the days of each\nyear. When he returned, he found to his great joy that his children\nhad remained obedient; had eaten only of the white fruit; and were\ntherefore, as yet, beyond the reach of disease and death. So he left\nthem again, to go on another distant expedition. He saw that the great\nluminary he had given the world lighted it only for a part of the\nhours of each day; and, in the frozen regions of the North, only for a\nportion of the days of each year. Now, in the land from which the old\nman Chappewee fetched the sun, he saw another orb, formed to be the\nlamp of the dark hours. It was to conduct this second sun to the\nborders of his land, that he again bade adieu to his children and\ndwelling, and departed upon the second expedition.\n\nWhile the old man Chappewee was absent on his first expedition, his\nchildren ate up all the white fruit, and he forgot, before he left\nthem on the second, to replenish their stock. For a long time they\nresisted the imperious calls of hunger, but, at length, their cravings\nfor food became so importunate, that they devoured the forbidden\ngift--the black fruit. Chappewee soon returned, bringing with him the\nbeautiful bright round moon, the lamp of the dark hours, and the\nglory of the season when the sun is away. He had no sooner come, than\nhe saw in the eyes of his children that they had transgressed his\ncommands, and had eaten the fruit of disease and death. He saw it in\nthe countenance of one stretched out on the bed of sickness; there was\nspeedy death written in the eyes of another; and the slighter pains\nincidental to the human frame on the brow of a third. He was very much\ndispleased with them, and told them, that in future the earth should\nproduce bad fruits; that sickness should lay them on beds of leaves,\nand pains rack their bones; that their lives should be lives of\nfatigue and danger, and their deaths, deaths of doubt and agony--penalties\nwhich have attached to his descendants to this day.\n\nHaving brought the sun and moon to the earth, the old man Chappewee\nrested from his labours, and made no more distant expeditions. Many,\nvery many, years he lived, and death came not to him. But, to all\naround him, the consequences were what he denounced, and he had the\nunhappiness to see his prediction verified. The earth produced bad\nfruits; the cranberry and the whortleberry rotted on the frost-nipped\nbushes, and the strawberry shrivelled on the mildewed vine. He saw\ntrees grow up crooked, that, before the disobedience of his children,\ngrew only straight; and animals, which before were only sleek and\nround, now were poor and emaciated. He saw sickness lay his children\non beds of leaves, and pains rack their bones; he saw their lives,\nlives of fatigue and danger; and their deaths, deaths of doubt and\nagony. He saw their spirits again in the mist of the Falls, and heard\nthe music of their voices, while their bodies lay in the sacred shed.\nStill death came not to him. He had now lived so long, that his throat\nwas worn out, and he could no longer enjoy life, but he was unable to\ndie. His teeth had rotted out, and had been renewed a hundred times;\nhis tongue had been repeatedly chafed out, and replaced; and of eyes,\nblue, white, and grey, he had had very many pair. Finding that life\nwas a gift which he could not part with easily, perhaps, not without\nsome stratagem, he called to him one of his people--it was not his\nson, nor his son's son; no, nor one of the twentieth generation--all\nthese had passed away.\n\n\"Go,\" said he, \"to the river of the Bear Lake, and fetch me a man of\nthe Little Wise People.[A] Let it be one with a brown ring round the\nend of the tail, and a white spot on the tip of the nose. Let him be\njust two seasons old, upon the first day of the coming Frog-Moon, and\nsee that his belly be not too big, and see that his teeth be sharp.\nAnd make haste, that I may die.\"\n\n[Footnote A: Little Wise People, the Beavers, so called by the\nAssiniboins. The Indians, though they kill this animal whenever they\ncan, nevertheless esteem him scarcely inferior to man in wisdom. A bit\nof his skin, or his paw, or any part of him, is esteemed a very\npowerful \"medicine\" or amulet.]\n\nThe man did as he was directed. He went to the river of Bear Lake, and\nbrought a man of the Wise Four-Legged People. He had a brown ring\nround the end of his tail, and a white spot on the tip of his nose. He\nwas just two seasons old, upon the first day of the Frog-Moon, and his\nteeth were very sharp, as any one would find that put his fingers\nbetween them. He brought him by force, for he was very unwilling to\ncome to the old man Chappewee, who gave the following directions for\nhis treatment.\n\n\"Take the Wise Four-Legged Man,\" said he, \"to the head of the\nCoppermine river, and dip his four paws in the bubbling spring which\ngives it birth. Give him a little neshcaminnick to drink, and comb his\nhair, and scratch his belly, to put him in good temper. Whisper in his\near words of encouragement. Tell him not to disgrace himself, nor\nshame the heroism of his race by cries, nor tears, nor groans, but\nbear pain like a man. And, when you have spoken the words of comfort,\npull from his jaws seven of his teeth.\"\n\nSo they did as the old man Chappewee bade them. They went to the\nBeaver, and spoke to him thus:\n\n\"Wise Little Man of the Four-Legged Race, the old man Chappewee has\ncommanded us to dip your four paws in the bubbling spring, which gives\nrise to the Coppermine, to give you to drink a little cup of the\npleasant juice of the neshcaminnick, and to put you in good temper by\ncombing your hair and scratching your belly. And he begs that you will\nnot disgrace yourself, nor shame the boasted sagacity of your race, by\ncries, nor tears, nor groans; but bear pain like a man, as you are.\nAnd we are directed, after our words of peace have been spoken, to\npull out seven of your teeth.\"\n\nTo this speech the beaver replied, as every other man in captivity\nreplies. He professed himself \"much pleased to part with seven of his\nteeth to oblige the old man Chappewee, and had no objection to dip his\npaws in the head waters of the Coppermine, provided he were carried\nthither. A draught of neshcaminnick none but a fool would refuse; and\nthe having his head combed, and his belly scratched, was almost as\ngood as a feast.\" Which was all mere stuff, as every body knows.\n\nThe things which Chappewee asked being all performed, they brought the\nseven sharp teeth of the Wise Four-Legged Man to the old man\nChappewee. He bade them call all his descendants around him; and, when\nthey were gathered together, he thus addressed them:--\n\n\"I am old--the old man Chappewee indeed. My throat is worn out, and I\ncan no longer enjoy life; my tongue has repeatedly been chafed out,\nand renewed; my teeth have been replaced a hundred times; and I have\nlooked upon the beautiful things of the earth, and the glorious ones\nof the sky, upon trees, and flowers, and fruits, and the bright stars,\nand the pale moon, and the glorious orb of day, with eyes of many\ndifferent colours. But I am tired of life, and wish to sleep the sleep\nof death. When I look upon the beings and things around me, and see\nthe pain, and sickness, and sorrow, and want, which have become the\nbitter portion of all, since the disobedience of my children, I lose\nthe wish for a new pair of eyes, nor ask longer use of the fading\nvision of those which are now in their sockets. I will go hence.\nTake the seven teeth of the Wise Little Four-Legged Man, and drive\nthem--one into each temple, and one into the middle of my forehead,\none into each breast, one into the hollow of my back, and one into\nthe great toe of my right foot.\" They did as he bade them, and drove\nthe teeth into his body at the appointed places. The old man gave\nthree groans when the tooth was driven into his great toe, and then he\ndied.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nUpon a narrow strait, between two noisy and tempestuous seas, lived\nthe young man Chappewee, whose ancestor was the old man Chappewee, and\nwith him resided his family. He lived by hunting and fishing, but more\nby the latter, because of the great ease with which he caught the\nvarious kinds of fishes, which travelled from one sea to the other,\nthrough the narrow strait. He had but to cast his net into the water,\nand to draw it out full; his spear, thrown at random into the strait,\nmight almost be said to be sure of attaching to it a good fat fish.\nOnce upon a time, having constructed a weir to catch fish, such a vast\nquantity were caught, that the strait was choked up, and the water\nrose and overflowed the whole face of the earth. To save himself and\nhis family from the dreadful deluge, he embarked them all in his great\ncanoe, taking with him all manner of beasts and birds. The water\ncovered the earth for many moons, and their food was nearly exhausted,\na few roasted sharks, and a little boiled sea-ooze, being all that was\nleft them. Still there was no sign of the abating of the victorious\nelement from the face of the conquered earth. No land was visible, and\nthe sun, which sometimes by his beams upon the waves indicates where\nland lies sunk beneath the ocean, gave not now the evidence of\nsubsiding waters. The young man Chappewee, finding how matters were\ngoing, said to his family, \"We cannot live thus, we must find land\nagain, or we shall die; we and all the animals we have with us.\" So he\ncalled a great council of all the creatures, and proposed that one of\nthem should dive into the great abyss, and fetch up some mud to make a\nworld of. The ox, being asked to undertake the hazardous service,\ndeclined, because, he said, his tail was in the way; the mammoth\nrefused because of his trunk; the elk and deer pleaded their horns;\nthe legs of the musk-ox, were 'too short'; in fact, all the animals\nmade some excuse except the beaver. He professed his willingness to\nencounter a risk, which must be encountered by some one, and, without\nany ado, down he went, amidst the applauses of all the animals. Soon\nhis carcase was seen floating on the surface of the waters, and they\nknew that he had fallen a victim to his courage and intrepidity.\n\nAnother attempt was necessary, and, after much persuasion, the\nmusk-rat was induced to make it. He was gone a long, very long time,\nand was supposed by them to have met the same fate as the unfortunate\nbeaver; but, just as they had given him over, and were preparing to\nchuse by lot a third animal for the same errand, he appeared, nearly\ndead with fatigue, but he had a little earth in his paws. The sight of\nthe earth very much rejoiced the young man Chappewee; but his first\ncare was about the safety of his faithful servant, the rat, which he\nrubbed gently with his hands, and cherished in his bosom until it\nrevived. He next took up the earth, and, moulding it with his fingers\ninto a ball, he placed it on the waters, where it increased by\ndegrees, until it formed a little island in the ocean. His next care\nwas to furnish this island with man, beast, and bird. A wolf, which he\nwas anxious to put out of the way, he being a sad snarler, was the\nfirst animal which the young man Chappewee placed on the infant earth;\nbut the weight of the creature was so great, that it began to sink\nupon one side, and was in danger of turning over. To prevent this\naccident, the wolf was directed to keep moving with a quick step round\nthe island, which he did for a whole year; and, in that time, the\nearth increased so much in size, that all on board the canoe were able\nto disembark upon it. After a long and perilous drifting of the canoe\nhither and thither, its voyagers were at length able to lay their\nheads down at night upon solid land, and to sleep unrocked by the\ntempestuous billow.\n\nChappewee, on landing, saw that there were no trees on the earth: he\nwould have some. He stuck a piece of a stick into the ground; it\nbecame a fir-tree, and grew with such amazing rapidity, that its top\nsoon reached the skies. Once upon a time, Chappewee being out hunting,\nsaw a squirrel, and gave chase to it. The nimble animal ran up the\nfir-tree, pursued by the hunter, who endeavoured to knock it down, but\nhe could not overtake it. He continued the chase, however, until he\nreached the country of the stars. As he went, he saw many curious\nthings, meteors, comets, departed friends dancing their dances in the\nNorthern sky; clouds of every kind and colour; spirits flying about\nthe air. Now he felt keen winds, and now warm breezes; now he passed a\ncompany of storms marching down upon the earth; or a lightning or two\nstraggling back again to the skies; or a thunder riding a cloud; or a\ntroop of hail rushing to battle with a deal of bluster and fury; or a\ncrowd of snows looking for colder weather and a roosting-place. At\nlast, he reached the country of the stars. He found a land far more\nbeautiful than that he had left behind him, upon the narrow strait,\nbetween the two tempestuous and stormy seas. He found it one vast\nplain, over which led a wide and smooth-beaten road, but he did not\nsee the squirrel. After feasting his eyes awhile upon the surrounding\nsplendours, and regaling his ears with soft music, which came he knew\nnot whence, nor from whom, he bethought him of setting, in the road,\nwith a view to catch the squirrel, a snare made of his sister's hair.\nThis done, he descended the tree till he came to the earth. The next\nmorning the sun appeared as usual in the heavens; but, at noon, it was\ncaught by the snare which Chappewee had set for the squirrel, and the\nsky was instantly darkened. This, never having happened before,\ncreated much surprise and consternation among the people that dwelt at\nthe narrow strait, between the two tempestuous and stormy seas.\nChappewee's wife said to him, \"You must have done something very wrong\nwhen you were up the tree, for we no longer enjoy the light of the\nday. The glorious orb, which the old man Chappewee brought to us,\nbefore his children ate of the black fruit, has disappeared. Alas, for\nus, who have lost our best friend, the sun! Alas, for us, who, it may\nbe, are involved in a night that will never know an end!\"\n\nThe young man Chappewee replied to his wife, \"I have indeed done\nsomething very wrong, but it was not intentionally. I see through the\nwhole business. The sun is caught in the snare I set for the squirrel.\nIt must be liberated, and enabled again to light our steps, for a\ncertain number of the months of the year, and a portion of the hours\nof each day.\"\n\nWith a view to repair the fault he had committed, he called to him the\ncarcajou, and bade him go up the tree, and release the sun by cutting\nthe snare.\n\nThe courageous cat of the mountains readily obeyed, but the heat of\nthat luminary was so intense, that it reduced him to ashes. After him\nthe bear, the wolverine, the wolf, and the panther, were severally\nsent, but they all experienced the same fate. The efforts of the more\nactive animals being thus frustrated, Chappewee knew not what to do,\nnor could any one in the great council tell him. After a long period\nof silence, the ground-mole got up, and said he would make the attempt.\nWhereupon, there was a loud and general titter among all the beasts,\nthat such an awkward and grovelling creature as he was should propose\nto himself such a dangerous and distant task. The wolf laughed in the\nshape of a hideous growl; the fox chuckled as much as if he had\ncommitted a successful theft; the horse neighed and kicked, as usual\nwith him in moments of extravagant joy or anger; and the bear shook\nhis sides till they nearly split.\n\n\"Week, week, week, what a fool!\" squeaked the pig.\n\n\"Bah, what a nincompoop!\" cried the sheep.\n\n\"Bow, wow, wow, where's my tail?\" cried the dog, running round to find\nit, as he always does when much delighted. All the animals, in some\nway or other, testified their scorn of the good little creature who\nhad kindly made the offer. But, awkward and grovelling as he was, and\nmuch as they laughed at him, he succeeded in performing it, by\nburrowing under the road in the sky, until he reached and cut asunder\nthe snare which bound the sun. He lost his eyes, however, the instant\nhe thrust his head into the light, and his nose and teeth have ever\nsince been brown, as if burnt. During these transactions, Chappewee's\nisland had continued growing, till it had increased to the present\nsize of the great island.\n\nAnd now the young man Chappewee prepared his island for the residence\nof creatures. He first traced out the courses of the rivers, by\ndrawing his fingers through the earth, and scraped out the lakes with\nhis spoon. When he came to the mountains, he made a stop. \"What shall\nI do with these heaps of earth?\" demanded he of himself. After\nreflecting a long time upon the labour which would attend their\nremoval, he concluded to let them remain. Hitherto, all the animals,\nbeasts, fishes, &c. had dwelt indifferently on the land or in the\nwater. The shark and the porpoise, though very clumsy and easily\ntired, could nevertheless walk some, and the whale, though his\nwaddling gait would have made you laugh, yet contrived to go over a\nconsiderable piece of dry ground in a short time. Chappewee now\nallotted to the quadrupeds, birds, and fishes, their proper stations\nand habitations, and, endowing them with certain capacities, he told\nthem that they were in future to provide for their own safety, because\nman would destroy them whenever he found their tracks; but, to console\nthem, he said to them kindly, \"when you die, you shall be as a seed of\ngrass, which, when thrown into water, springs again into life.\" The\nanimals objected to this arrangement, and the hog who did the talking\nsaid, \"No, let us when we die be as a stone, which, when thrown into a\nlake, disappears for ever from the sight of man.\" So it was ordered\nthat the ceasing of the beast to breathe should be his utter\nannihilation, and that the dog only should be the companion of man\nafter death.\n\nThe family of the young man Chappewee complained of the penalty of\ndeath, entailed upon them by the old man Chappewee for eating the\nblack fruit, and they petitioned for an alteration of the sentence; on\nwhich he granted, that such of them as dreamed certain dreams should\nbe men of medicine, capable of curing certain diseases and of\nprolonging life. In order to preserve this virtue, they were directed\nnot to tell their dreams until a certain period had elapsed. To\nacquire the power of foretelling events, to gain the eye which should\nsee the dark secrets of futurity, to hear the words of fate in the cry\nof the winds, and to see the character of unknown things in the aspect\nof the heavens, they were ordered to insert a live ant under the skin\nof the left hand, without letting any one know that they had done so.\nAnd, whenever they felt it stirring in the flesh, they were commanded\nto bind over their eyes the skin of a young badger, lay down their\nheads upon a bundle of the leaves of the black hornbeam, and sleep as\nsoon as possible. The first dream which they should have thereafter\nwould always prove true.\n\nFor a long time, Chappewee's descendants were united as one family,\nbut at length, some young men being killed in a game, a quarrel\nensued, and a general dispersion of mankind took place. Some--a great\nmany--went beyond the mountains, which the young man Chappewee\nneglected to level. Others went to the brink of the ocean, where the\nwalrusses dwelt; others again to the lands which have the beams of the\nsun from the Buck-Moon till it comes again. Some went to the shores of\nthe sea that is never thawed; and some to the brink of the waters that\nnever freeze. One Indian fixed his residence on the borders of the\nGreat Bear Lake, taking with him only a dog big with young. In due\ntime, this dog brought forth eight pups. Whenever the Indian went out\nto fish, he tied up the pups, to prevent the straying of the litter.\nSeveral times, as he approached his tent, he heard noises proceeding\nfrom it, which sounded like the talking, the laughing, the crying, the\nwail, and the merriment of children; but, on entering it, he only\nperceived the pups tied up as usual. His curiosity being excited by\nthe noises he had heard, he determined to watch and learn whence those\nsounds proceeded, and what they were. One day he pretended to go out\nto fish, but, instead of doing so, he concealed himself in a\nconvenient place. In a short time he again heard voices, and, rushing\nsuddenly into the tent, beheld some beautiful children sporting and\nlaughing, with the dog-skins lying by their side. He threw the\ndog-skins into the fire, and the children, retaining their proper\nforms, grew up, and were the ancestors of the Dog-rib nation.\n\n\nII. SAKECHAK, THE HUNTER.\n\nThere was, in the land of the Caddos, a good and devout hunter and\nfisherman, named Sakechak, or \"he that tricks the otter.\" He dwelt\nwith his family upon the little hill Wecheganawaw, on the border of\nthe lake Caddoque. He was a tall man, spare in flesh, but very active,\nand able to endure more fatigue than the wolf or the wild cat--able to\nlive six days without food, and feast the next six days without\nintermission. None had eyes like Sakechak to follow the trail of a\nlight-footed animal over the frozen earth; none like him could strike,\nunerringly, a salmon at twice the depth of a man. Nor was this hunter\nwithout the qualities of a warrior. When the Padoucas came, with\nhostile intent, to the borders of the lake Caddoque; among those who\nfirst took down the spear, and braided the scalp-lock, was Sakechak,\nthe hunter of the little hill Wecheganawaw. He it was who first\nsounded the war-whoop; he it was who took the first Padouca scalp; he\nit was who pursued farthest the retreating enemy, and he who returned\nfrom the weary pursuit to dance longest the dance of Triumph. And\nSakechak was as wise as brave, and as good as wise. Never was he\ncaught suffering his feelings to escape from his controul or\nmanagement; his word was esteemed in the council as the word of\nwisdom; his warning of danger was regarded as the cry of the owl.\nNever did he mock the wretched, or laugh, or scoff at the insane; he\nwas always respectful to the aged; and he daily cried to the Master of\nLife, from the high grounds, with clay spread thick upon his hair, and\nat every successful hunt offered, to the same Great Judge and\nprotecting guide of man, the best part of the animals he had caught.\nThat Great Being regarded him with more love than he regards other\nmortals, and showed it by many signs. The fish he speared were always\nfatter than those taken by other hunters; the deer that lay at the\nfoot of the wife of Sakechak could not be lifted like other men's by a\nmere boy. The thunder that shattered, and the wind that prostrated,\nthe forest-trees in other places were never known to do the like by\nthe tall oaks that sheltered the hill Wecheganawaw. The corn of this\ngood hunter came out of the ground two suns sooner than other men's,\nand the tobacco in his garden was ripe, yellow, and fit for use, while\nthat of his neighbours was green, and food for the worm. The\nCaddoques, and the other Indians, might have seen enough of the\nrewards bestowed upon goodness, in the person of Sakechak, to have\nmade them leave off their wickedness. But no, they kept on sinning,\nuntil the Great Being deemed them unfit longer to live upon the earth\nwhich he had created for their use.\n\nOnce upon a time, as Sakechak was about to rest his limbs for the\nperiod of darkness, he felt the stirring of the ant which lay under\nthe skin of his left hand, and, binding over his eyes the hide of the\nyoung badger, he laid his head upon a bundle of the leaves of the\nblack hornbeam, and slept as soon as possible[A]. His dream was\nstrange and wonderful, and it was accomplished. He saw the Master of\nLife, being the first Caddoque who had ever seen him. He was a very\ntall and big man, shaped like an Indian in all save his hands, which\nwere each a sharp spear of terrible proportions, and his tongue was an\nimmense arrow. His eyes were bright as the sun, and each much larger;\nhis hair was very long, and swept the earth, and he wore a great white\nhat[B]. Each of his feet was larger than the lake Caddoque. He spoke\nto the dreamer in his lowest whisper, which, nevertheless, was louder\nthan the loudest thunder, and his words were these:--\n\n[Footnote A: See this superstition in the last tale.]\n\n[Footnote B: The Indians always give a corporeal form to the Supreme\nBeing, and, in every instance that I have heard of, when supposing him\nto have a human form, imagine him with some kind of covering upon his\nhead. Since their introduction to the white people, they have\ninvariably supposed this covering to be a hat.]\n\n\"Sakechak!\"\n\nThe hunter replied, \"I hear.\"\n\n\"The world is getting very wicked, Sakechak.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" answered the hunter.\n\n\"I hear no longer the voices of men supplicating me for\nfavours--soliciting my lightnings to cool the air, nor my rains to\nrefresh the earth, nor my suns to ripen the harvest. They no longer\nthank me for the fat bears, and mooses, and deer, and bisons, which I\nsend to their hunting-grounds, nor the salmon, and other juicy fish,\nwhich I bid to their waters, nor the corn which I command to grow tall\nand sweet for their use, nor the rich grapes which I make to bow their\nvines to the earth. I must sweep, and wash, and purify, the earth; I\nmust destroy all living creatures from off the face of it.\"\n\nThen Sakechak said, \"What have I done, Master of Life! that I should\nbe involved in this general destruction? Have I not offered thee the\nbest of my spoils?--Have I ever neglected to solicit thy favour upon\nmy labours, or to thank thee for the rich gifts thou hast showered\nupon me and my family--health, plenty, and cheerful hearts?\"\n\nThe Master answered, \"No, Sakechak, thou hast indeed been a good\nservant; it hath never been my purpose to destroy thee; I will except\nthee from the general doom: but I will thee to assist in the\ndestruction of thy brethren. Listen!\n\n\"Go now, and cut thee a young hemlock, from the spot which my\nlightnings struck in the last Fever-Moon. Let it be not more than ten\nseasons old--straight, well-grown, a finely-proportioned trunk, with\nthriving branches, full of cones, and with leaves of dark green. Knock\noff the cones, and bring them, together with the trunk and leaves, to\nthe bottom of the hill Wecheganawaw, when the sun of the morning is\ntinging the eastern clouds with his brightness. Burn them in a fire\nmade of the dry branches of the oak, kindled with the straw of the\nwild rice. When the heap is completely reduced to ashes, take the\nashes, and strew them in a circle around the hill Wecheganawaw.\nNothing need be gathered within the circle of the hill, for the living\ncreatures will, of themselves, retreat to it for safety; and, when\nthis is done, take the trunk of the hemlock, divested of its branches,\nand strike it into the earth, at the spot where the large tuft of\ngreen grass is seen growing on the dry and barren hill. There lies the\ngreat fountain of the waters; and when the staff is struck into the\nearth, the fountain shall burst forth, and the earth be swept, and\nwashed, and purified, by the great deluge that shall overwhelm it.\nSakechak and his family shall alone, of all the inhabitants of the\nearth, be saved, and the creatures he assembles around him on the\nlittle hill Wecheganawaw be alone those exempted from the all-sweeping\ndestruction.\"\n\nSo saying, the Great Being retreated from the vision of the sleeping\nhunter, who awoke with the dream fixed on his mind, and, in obedience\nto the orders he had received, prepared to do his part towards its\naccomplishment. He went to the spot which the Master had pointed\nout--the place which the lightnings had stricken in the last\nFever-Moon--and he cut from the grove of hemlocks a young tree, full\nof cones, with a finely shaped trunk, and with thriving branches and\ndark green leaves. This trunk, with the leaves, he brought to the hill\nWecheganawaw, when the sun of the morning was tinging the eastern\nclouds with his brightness. He burnt them all, save the trunk, in a\nfire made of the dry branches of the oak, kindled with the straw of\nthe wild rice. When the heap was completely reduced to ashes,\nhe took the ashes and strewed them in a circle around the hill\nWecheganawaw.--Then he took the staff, or trunk of the hemlock\ndivested of its branches, and struck it deep into the earth, at the\nspot on the hill where the large tuft of green grass sprung up amidst\nbarrenness. When he did so, the great fountain was broken up, and the\nwaters burst out in a mighty volume. Slowly and gradually the element\nbegan to cover the earth, while the hunter and his family looked on.\nNow the low grounds appeared but as they appear in the season of\nshowers, here a little water, and there a little water; soon they\nbecame one vast sheet. Now a little hill sunk from view, then the tops\nof the trees disappeared; again a tall hill was observed to be hiding\nits summits in the overmastering water. At length the waves rose so\nhigh that Sakechak could see nothing more: he stood as it were in a\nwell. The waters were piled up on every side of him, restrained from\nharming him, or his, by the magic belt of hemlock ashes. While the\nwaters had been rising, the animals in the vicinity of the hill had\nbeen running to it for shelter; and there now stood gathered around\nhim a pair of each of the different species of animals.\n\n\"Sakechak!\" said a voice, which the hunter knew to be that of him he\nhad heard in his sleep.\n\nThe hunter answered, \"I hear.\"\n\n\"When the Moon is exactly over thy head, Sakechak, she will draw the\nwaters on to the hill Wecheganawaw. She is angry with me because I\nflogged a comet to whom she had taken a liking, and wishes to be\nrevenged on me. I cannot prevent that unless I destroy her, which I\ncannot do, for she is my wife, and bore me many sons, which are the\nstars thou seest, and she is besides necessary to the existence of the\nworld, which shall re-appear swept, and washed, and purified, for the\nuse of thee and thy descendants. Sakechak!\"\n\nThe hunter answered, \"I hear.\"\n\n\"Bid every living creature which is on the hill take off the nail from\nthe little finger of his right hand, if a man; if a bird, or beast, of\nthe right foot or claw. When each has done this, bid him blow in the\nhollow of the nail with the right eye shut, pronouncing these\nwords--'_Shake Tebe skahpeshim ose_,' that is, 'Nail become a canoe,\nand save me from the wrath of the moon.' The nail so besought will\nbecome a large canoe, and in this canoe will its owner be safe.\"\n\nThe Master of Life ceased speaking, and the hunter rose to see that\nhis commands were obeyed, both by his family and the beasts. Soon was\neach supplied with a vehicle of safety, by the side of which he stood\nas the influence of the mother of the stars caused the waters to flow\nin upon the hill Wecheganawaw. The canoes rose buoyant upon the element,\nand soon floated upon the surface of the waters which covered the\nface of the earth. That they might not be dispersed Sakechak caused\nthem all to be bound together by thongs of buffalo-skin.\n\nThey continued floating for a long time upon the surface of the\nwaters, till at last Sakechak said, \"This will not do--we must have\nland. Go,\" said he, to a raven which sat in her canoe near him, \"and\nfetch me a little earth from the bottom of the abyss. I will send a\nwoman, because the eyes of a woman are so curious, and searching, and\ninquisitive, that if it is wished to find anything hidden in utter\ndarkness, and lost to all else, a woman will be sure to find it before\nyou have counted your fingers over twice.\"\n\nThe raven, proud of the praise bestowed on her sex, answered, that she\nhad no objection to undertake the commission. So, leaving her\ntail-feathers at home, she dived into the abyss. She was gone a long\ntime, but, notwithstanding her being a woman, she returned baffled of\nher object. Whereupon Sakechak said to the otter, \"My little man, I\nwill send you to the bottom, and see if your industry and perseverance\nwill enable you to accomplish what has been left undone by the wit and\ncunning of the raven.\" So the otter departed upon his dangerous\nexpedition.\n\nHe accomplished its object. When he again appeared on the earth, he\nheld in his paw a lump of black mud, as large as the tip of the thumb\nof a full-grown man. This he gave into the hands of Sakechak. But the\nhunter of the hill Wecheganawaw was without the wisdom which would\nmake the mud avail to the re-production of the world. He fell on his\nknees, and besought the Great Master of all to endow him with the\nknowledge which should lead to the re-establishment of things as they\nwere before the deluge. The Master answered not; but his intentions to\ncommunicate his wishes to the good hunter were made known by the ant.\nSo Sakechak slept and dreamed, and this was his dream:--\n\nHe saw again the Great Master, who bade him divide the lump of mud\ninto five portions. The central portion--that which came out of the\nmiddle of the lump--he was commanded to take into the hollow of his\nhand, to wet with spittle, and to mould into a cake, a little highest\nin the middle, and flattened all around the edges. He was commanded,\nwhen he had done this, to blow a bubble upon the water, and set the\nlittle cake afloat in the bubble; with these words:--_I-yah\nask-ke_--\"I make an earth.\" He was not to suffer the little world to\nbreak away, but was to attach it to his canoe by a string formed of\nthe sinews of the mud-turtle. As it increased in size, he was to strew\nupon it the remaining portions of mud, which he was enjoined to be\nvery careful to crumble fine, and rub thoroughly to dust. The voice\ntold him, that in less than three moons the lump would be so swelled\nthat he might disembark upon it, he and all the creatures that were\nwith him.\n\nSakechak did as the voice of the Master bade him. He divided the lump\ninto five portions, and that which came out of the middle of the lump\nhe moulded into a cake, a little highest in the middle, and flattened\nall around the edges. He blew the bubble upon the water, and he set\nthe cake afloat in the bubble, having first fastened it to his canoe\nwith a string formed of the sinews of the mud-turtle. As it increased\nin size, he strewed upon it a part of the remaining portions of the\nlump, first crumbling them very fine, and rubbing them thoroughly into\ndust. The wind, which was high at the time, blew the yellow dust,\nwhich was lightest, into his eyes, and thence the eyes of the Indian\nhave always been tinged with yellow. The little cake increased rapidly\nin size. One day, as Sakechak had taken up the third portion of the\nmud to prepare it, by crumbling and rubbing, for strewing upon the\nearth, his wife discovered a star--the first which had been seen since\nthe breaking up of the fountain. The loud shout of joy which burst\nfrom her, and her cry \"A star! a star!\" so discomposed Sakechak, that\nhe forget what he was about, and threw down the lumps, unrubbed or\nuncrumbled. This carelessness occasioned the unevenness of the earth;\nthe mountains and the rocks which are now found upon it are the lumps\nwhich he threw down unrubbed. He, however, strewed upon it the\nremaining portion, which is the reason why rocks are found so far\nbelow the surface. And the earth, so formed from the mud brought up by\nthe otter, grew so fast that, upon the seventh sun of the third moon,\nthe hunter Sakechak, and his family, and all the beasts, birds, and\nother living things which were with him, left their canoes for the dry\nand stable earth, which thenceforth became, and has since continued,\ntheir residence.\n\nUpon the earth thus created trees soon sprung up; but they were only\ntrunks destitute of branches. But the wit of Sakechak soon gave them\nwhat they wanted. He shot arrows into the trunks, and these became\nbranches, and took the nature of the trunks. Each became an oak, or a\npine, or a tulip, or a sweet gum, following the nature of the trunks.\nMany seasons passed away, however, before the hills were all clothed\nwith trees, or the dense cloud of leaves hid the bosom of the valleys.\n\nThe earth was re-peopled from the loins of Sakechak; from him, from\none family of Caddos, are all men descended. No matter whither they\nhave been carried; whether they have covered their tent with leaves\nbeneath the warm sky of the south, or built it of ice, where the earth\nnever thaws; whether they are red like myself, or white like the wise\nman at whose bidding we are gathered together; they are descended from\none man, the hunter Sakechak, of the hill Wecheganawaw.\n\n\nIII. THE BIRD OF AGES.\n\nThe waters were spread over the face of the earth; there was nothing\nto be seen but one vast and entire ocean, save the mighty Bird of\nAges, which had lived from the beginning of time, whose eyes were\nfire, whose glances were lightning, and the clapping of whose wings\nwas thunder. He had lived long in the skies above the stars; but, when\nhe heard the rushing and dashing about of the waters, he descended\nfrom his seat to the ocean, and touching it, the earth instantly rose,\nand remained on the surface of the water. It rose of its present size,\ncovered with verdure, as the low grounds which have been flooded by\nwinter rains are green when these rains are withdrawn from them. The\nmountains, then as now, towered to the skies, and the valleys were\ndeep, and the rivers rushed impetuously over the steeps which\nattempted to impede their course. Winters locked up a portion of the\nearth, and the summer suns beamed fiercely and intensely upon another\nportion. The stars shone by day, and the beams of the moon gladdened\nthe hours of darkness. Winds swept the vast expanse of ocean, and a\npart of the time was calm as a part of the time is now. The world\nwas very like what it is at this day, save that, within its mighty\nboundaries, over all its far limits, neither on mountain, hill,\nvalley, tree, nor bush, in den nor burrow, in water nor air, dwelt a\nliving creature. No gentle song of bird arose to break the stillness\nof morning, no cry of wild beast to disturb the unbroken hush of\nmidnight; the noise of the winds chasing each other over the vast\nwaste was all that was heard breaking the monotonous repose of the\nearth.\n\n\"This will not do,\" said the bird, talking to himself; \"here is a fine\nworld and nobody to occupy it. Here are stars, beautiful as anything\ncan be; a moon, that sheds her mild light on--what?--and a sun so\nbright that not even the Bird of Ages can look steadily on his\nbeams--with that bird alone to behold him or them. How balmy is the\nair which I feel fanning my feathers!--but it cannot breathe to revive\nthe human heart after sickness or toil, or gladden the spirit of the\nbeast which lies panting in the shade from excessive heat. It is lost,\nwasted, and so are the beams of the sun, the moon, and the stars; and\nso are the sweet fruits that grow spontaneously about the earth, and\nthe beautiful flowers that waste their fragrance on the desert air.\nThis must not be,\" repeated the Bird.\n\nSo he flew up to the highest pinnacle of the Mountain of the Thunders,\nand there fell to musing, the while scratching the side of his head\nwith his mighty claw. At last he bethought himself of a spell or\ncharm, which was taught him by his father, who lived before time was,\nand survived its commencement many ages. He recollected that this\nvenerable and wise bird, who did not die till his claws were rotted\noff, and his feathers all dispersed to the winds, told him that if one\nof his descendants were to eat nothing for seven days, and to quench\nhis thirst with the dew which should lie upon the mountain-laurel, he\nwould enjoy the power to accomplish that which ought to be done.\n\"Nothing can be clearer,\" said the Bird of Ages to himself, \"than that\nthe world ought to be inhabited. Now I, by fasting seven days, and\nquenching my thirst with the dew of the mountain-laurel alone, shall,\naccording to the word of my father, be enabled to see this earth\ntenanted by beautiful creatures; the seeds, which now lie dormant in\nthe earth, will spring up to furnish food for innumerable creatures,\nand those innumerable creatures will enjoy the bounties spread out in\nsuch profusion before them! How delightful it will be to see and hear\nthe birds of soft notes and splendid plumage, singing and hopping\nabout on bush and tree; and the kid, and the fawn, and the lamb,\ngambolling on the sunny hill-side, and the fishes disporting in their\nown element; and Man, the lord of all, painted on his cheek and brow\nwith the ochre of wrath, and wearing the gallant scalp-lock, decked\nwith the plumes of the eagle; and to hear his cry of battle, rising\nfrom the gathering place of warriors, and to mark the pole of red\nscalps, and better yet the resolution of the captive, when the\ntorments are inflicted upon him, when the pincers tear his flesh, when\nthe hot stones sear his eye-balls. All these pleasures will delight\nthe eyes and ears of those who shall live on this beautiful world,\nwhen I shall have done what I conceive ought to have been done.\"\n\nSo he commenced his fast. Seven days he ate no food, and quenched his\nthirst with only the dew which lay upon the mountain-laurel. Upon the\nmorning of the eighth day he began his task. \"There ought to be a vast\nnumber of fishes,\" said he, \"and of different sizes, for each must\nfeed upon the other and smaller.\" So he called into existence all the\nfishes that people the waters. Then he said to the quadrupeds and\nfour-footed beasts, to worms and snakes, and every thing else which\nare not fishes, \"Be, for you ought to be;\" and they were. So the earth\nbecame peopled and inhabited. All were called into existence then,\nand in that manner, except the Chepewyans, and they had their origin\nages after, from the loins of a dog; which was performed thus:\n\nThere was among the Crees a man, whose upper lip was split, displaying\nthe upper teeth to every one that saw him; he was not a courageous\nman, but feared every thing in the shape of danger; even the cry of\nbeasts and the singing of birds, and the growl of the bear, and the\nsong of the bittern, alarmed him. He was very fond of dogs, and\npossessed the power of transforming them into the shape of men, though\nhe was without the power to make them continue in that shape for a\nlonger period than that between sun and sun. He could make a wolf-dog\nstep into the form of a handsome hunter; he could clothe an old cur\nwith the skin of a very wise _powwow_. After his charm was spoken over\na spaniel sneaking with his tail between his legs, you would see, in\nhis stead, a white man doing the very same mean act of cowardice, with\nhis back upon his enemy. A hoity-toity little she-puppy would become\nin a twinkling a very pretty girl; and an ugly old snarling she-wolf,\na crabbed and sour old squaw. But, when the sun arose, the handsome\nhunter became again the wolf-dog; and the very wise powwow, the old\ncur; and the white man running from his enemy, the spaniel sneaking\noff with his tail between his legs; and the very pretty girl, the\nhoity-toity little she-puppy; and the crabbed and sour old squaw, the\nugly and snarling old she wolf-dog. He would have been very glad to\nhave made them retain the form of human beings, but he possessed not\nthe power. At last, he bethought himself of the mighty Bird of Ages,\nwho dwelt among the lofty peaks of the Mountain of Thunders. To this\nbird he repaired, and telling him what he had come for, he received\nthe command to go to the Lake of the Woods, and bring thence a flat,\nwhite stone, which lay upon the southern shore of that lake. It\npossessed, the mighty Bird said, the power to enable almost any thing\nto be done which should be asked of it by men of the Cree nation; by\nthe great ancestor of which it had been endued with its present power.\n\nThe man did as he was bidden. He went to the southern shore of the\nLake of the Woods, and brought away the great white _memahoppa_, or\nmedicine-stone, which has ever since remained with the Crees. Having\nplaced this stone in the corner of his cabin, and addressed it as his\ntutelar deity, he proceeded to make the transformation of a fine,\nhandsome, courageous, young dog into the shape of a man. When this was\neffected, he led the man to the memahoppa, and first praying the\nsacred stone to protect him against the power of change, he placed the\nman upon it. The charm was effective. The wonderful properties of the\nmedicine-stone operated to keep the man a man. And this man married a\nwoman of the Crees, and from them are the Chepewyans descended.\n\nWhen the mighty Bird of Ages had finished his work of calling into\nexistence the different creatures, he made a great arrow to be the\nsign of the deeds he had done; with the command that it should remain\nlodged in the great council-house of the Chepewyans, until time should\nbe no more. As long as they should obey this command, they should ever\nbe victorious over their enemies, and fortunate in all their hunting\nexpeditions; their word should be law to all the tribes and nations,\nfrom the Frozen Sea to the land of the Shawanos, from the towns of the\nIroquois to the Mountains of Thunder. But, whenever they should by\ncarelessness lose it, they should be doomed to encounter their full\nshare of the losses and defeats, and difficulties, and disappointments,\nwhich belong to other and less favoured tribes. They should sometimes\nbe overcome by a force of inferior numbers; and often seek the beasts\nof the chace for many weary days without finding them. And, saying\nthus, he gave the arrow into the hands of the chief man of the\nChepewyans.\n\nFor many, very many ages, the Chepewyans scrupulously remembered the\ninjunctions of the mighty Bird respecting the arrow, and kept it\ntreasured up in the house of the great council. While they did so,\nthey were the most fortunate tribe on the earth, and became lords over\nall, conquerors in every battle, and the most fortunate hunters the\nworld has ever known. But, at length carelessness got the better of\nprudence, and they suffered the arrow to be stolen; the sacrilege so\nenraged the Bird of Ages, that he quitted the earth, and winged his\nway to the place he inhabited before he descended from above. He has\nnever been seen on earth since; but the Chepewyans, and other tribes\nwhom this tale has reached, believe that the thunder of the hot moons\nis the clapping of his wings, and the lightning which accompanies it,\nthe glancing of his eye. When a dark cloud that has no rain crosses\nthe earth, they say he is flying between it and the sun; and they\nbelieve that the snow of the winter is the down which he strips from\nhis breast.\n\n\nIV. THE GREAT HARE.\n\nMichabou, or the Great Hare, sat upon the face of the waters--he, and\nhis creatures, which were all four-legged. The form of this Being was\nunlike that of any thing ever seen on the earth, before or since. He\nhad four legs, or rather two legs and two arms, but he used them all\nas if they were legs, and he used the two arms for purposes for which\nlegs could not be used to advantage. So he had four legs and two arms,\nand yet there were but four in all. Each of his creatures was unlike\nthe others: all were known and distinguished by something which did\nnot belong to another. Some had but one leg, some had twenty; some had\nno legs, but many arms; and some had neither legs nor arms. The same\ndiversity prevailed with regard to the eyes, and mouth, and nose, and\nears. Indeed they were a strange crowd of creatures, and not the least\nstrange of all was Michabou himself, the head chief, or rather great\nfather of all the creatures which moved over the face of the mighty\nwaters.\n\nMichabou was married to a woman quite as odd and deformed as himself,\nwho bore him many children, of strange and various shapes. When the\ntime had come for her to bring forth her one thousandth child, she\nhad a strange dream. She dreamed that the child within her refused\nto see the light, till he had something firm and stable to stand\nupon--something which would permit him to enjoy rest undisturbed by\nmotion. She told this dream to her husband, whom it puzzled very much.\nAt length he made out that he was to create a world. He knew before,\nthat the bottom of the ocean was covered with sand. So he dived down,\nand brought up from thence a glittering grain to serve as the germ of\nthe world.\n\nHaving taken this grain of glittering sand into the hollow of his\nhand, Michabou blew upon it until it so expanded, that it became a\nlittle earth. He then set it afloat upon the waters, where it\ncontinued increasing in magnitude, until it was large enough to\nsustain, without sinking, the child which the wife of the great chief,\nafter bearing about her for forty seasons, brought forth to the light\nof day. This child, upon being born, had the form of a man, and was\nplaced upon the earth thus created. He was the first being which had\never borne the form of a man, and the first occupier of the earth.\nThey gave him the name of Atoacan, which signifies the \"great father,\nor beginner of a race.\" When he was born, he was larger in stature\nthan any man that has been born since, and he increased in size, until\nhis head towered above the tallest woods.\n\nBut Atoacan was alone, and life soon became a burthen to him. He was\nsolitary and sad, and found no pleasure in the beautiful things which\nwere daily, hourly, springing up on the earth. He saw the flowers\nbloom, and scent the air, but they afforded no pleasure to his eyes,\nno refreshment to his soul. Sweet fruits were bending the bushes to\nthe earth, or clustering on the boughs, but they were tasteless;\nfor it was in his nature to enjoy nothing, prize nothing, unless\nparticipated in by another--the counterpart of himself. So he put\nclay upon his head, and cried loud to his father, the Great Hare,\nfor a companion. Michabou, perceiving that he and his strange-shaped\ncreatures would be supplanted in power by the son whom he had begotten,\nthe new creature _man_, had ascended to the heavens: he heard the prayer\nof his son, and listened to it.\n\nThere was among the people of the skies a beautiful maiden, whose name\nwas Atahensic. She was fairest of all the daughters of the air,\nbeautiful as the sun, mild as the moon, and sportive as the stars.\nMichabou asked her if she would descend to the earth, and become the\ncompanion and wife of his son; and she, delighted as women always are,\nat the prospect of a journey, no matter whither, consented. So\nMichabou made a long string of the sinews and tendons of the various\nland animals, and by this string he lowered Atahensic into the arms of\nhis delighted son.\n\nThe man, no longer solitary, but furnished with the being, intended\nby the constitution of nature and the Great Master of all for the\ncompanion and comfort of his life, set about appropriating to his use\nthe various things he saw. He was no longer solitary, but met the\ndifficulties which spring up in the path of human life, and the\nlabours which he is compelled to bestow upon the procuring of food,\nwith cheerfulness and alacrity. He now went in the morning to the\nforest glade to hunt the red deer, and his toils were not thought of,\nbecause, when they were ended, when the woods, made dark by the coming\nshades of night, rang shrill with the lay of the fire-bird, and his\nshafts were all spent, he could bear home the spoils they had won, and\nbe rejoiced by the smiles of his companion and wife.\n\nAtahensic bore her husband two children, a son and a daughter. These\ntwo married, and built themselves a lodge far from their parents. They\nhad many children, but Michabou, who came down now and then, to see\nhow things were going on, observing the slow rate at which the world\nwas peopling, determined to adopt another plan. So he told Atoacan\nthat, upon the death of every animal, he must skin it. He must burn\nthe skin, drop a drop of his own blood upon the carcase, and cover it\nup carefully with dry leaves from the forest trees. Upon the fourth\nday after he had covered it with leaves, if he would remove the\nleaves, he would find beneath them a sleeping infant, which, upon\nwaking, would utter a cry of surprise, at finding itself no longer a\nbeast but a human being. Each of these beings would possess the power\nto assist in the like multiplication of the species, but be denied\nother power of procreation. Having thus left directions for the speedy\npeopling of the world, Michabou again ascended to the heavens, which\nhe has not left since.\n\nAtoacan and his son carefully obeyed the commands which had been laid\nupon them, and of every beast or four-footed creature that died he\nformed a human being. These human beings were gifted with the\nqualities and passions which belonged to them in life: these they have\nretained, and thence it is that, at this day, the dispositions of men\nare so various. We see one crafty and subtle--he has the blood of the\nfox; another cruel, malicious, blood-thirsty--he is descended from\nthe wolf. The red skin is courageous--the horse was his father; the\nwhite man is a coward--his mother was a sheep. One is full of\nsprightliness and agility--he is of the blood of the mountain-cat;\nanother is clumsy--the musk-ox was his father. Strange and various are\nthe dispositions which men have--cunning, subtle, sly, wise, brave,\nprudent, careless, cowardly, peaceable, blood-thirsty. These are\nqualities derived from the beasts, which died as beasts, and became\nmen and the ancestors of the tribes living on the earth.\n\n\nV. THE SIX NANTICOKES.\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a very bright and sunny day on the earth,\nand, upon this day so bright and sunny, a strange thing happened. It\nwas in the country inhabited by the tribe of Nanticokes, and upon the\nborders of the Great Lake. It was in the morning of the day, and the\nmoon was the moon in which the shad, leaving the waters which are\nsalt, make their journey to those which are fresh. Beautiful was the\nday; the salt and bitter waters lay as motionless as a little child\nsleeping on the bosom of its mother. The winds were hushed in the\ncaverns of the earth, and the beams of the sun fell gladdening and\nrefreshing every thing beneath them. They shone upon field and forest,\nhill and valley; upon bird and beast, and fish and reptile, and many\nother things, beautiful or ugly, curious or strange; but they fell not\nupon man, for he was not. The tall and erect form, which commands\nobedience from all other creatures, was not then seen walking among\nthe glades of the forest, with the firm step and haughty eye which\ndistinguishes him. Beasts were many, birds were many, fishes were\nmany, but of men, the lords of all, there were none.\n\nBefore the sun descended behind the mountains of the West, he shone\nupon man also. Six Indians, the first men that were ever on earth, and\nthe ancestors of the tribe of Nanticokes, all at once, they knew not\nhow, nor by what means, found themselves sitting upon the same shore,\nupon the verge of the ocean. Whether they were created on the spot, or\ncame from some other place beyond the seas; whether they had swum up\nfrom the waters, or crawled out of the mud, or bounded from the depths\nof the forest, or alighted from the regions of the air, and were\nchanged into men, receiving a gift to forget their former state, they\nknew not, or if they dropped from the skies, and forgot whence they\ncame through dizziness and the violence of the fall. But this they\nknew, that they found themselves sitting on the shores of the Great\nLake, in the country now inhabited by the Nanticokes, on the latter\npart of a warm and pleasant day, in the moon in which the shad leave\nthe waters which are salt, and make their journey to those which are\nfresh. And they knew that there were six of them, and this was all\nthey knew.\n\nThese six Indians were all men; there was not amongst them, nor on the\nearth, a single woman. The song-sparrow, and the mocking-bird, and the\ndove, and the crested wren, and the spotted lynx, and the gorgeous\nwoodpecker, and the fish with shining scales, and all the other\nbeautiful creatures that have since lived, and now live, were then\nupon the earth, even in greater numbers, and possessed of greater\nbeauty than now; but woman, more beautiful than any, the most glorious\nthing that walks the earth, lived not then. It was soon that these\nIndians found out their wants, and began to provide themselves with\nfood and clothing by means of hunting. They built themselves canoes,\nand made them bows and arrows, wherewith they took the spoils of land\nand water; and they set springes for birds, and traps for those\ncreatures which live alike on the land and water. And they cultivated\nthe various plants which they found growing spontaneously--corn, and\ntobacco, and roots; and gathered ripe grapes, and abundance of\ndelicious berries. They lived well enough, and had they been wise\nwould have sought no further; but they took it into their heads, that\nthey could not live without women. So, led by the gloomy and solitary\nfeeling of a vacant heart, they left the cabins which they had built,\nand wandered forth in search of the coveted objects. That their chance\nof success might be greater, they agreed to separate, and each to\ntravel on different paths, and so they parted. One went towards the\nclime of the snows, another towards the land of the summer winds, the\nthird sought the distant east, the fourth bent his steps towards the\nmountains of the setting sun, the fifth descended into the bowels of\nthe earth, and the sixth climbed a sunbeam. Before they separated,\nthey agreed that those who were living when the Moon of Grapes again\ncame round, should repair to the same great tree in the shade of which\nthey were then sitting, and there, while the pipe of friendship was\npassing around, recount their adventures.\n\nThe Moon of Grapes again came round, and found, upon one of its\npleasantest days, these six Nanticokes sitting beneath the great tree,\non the bank of the river which gives its name to the tribe. With them\nsate six beautiful women, and laughing, and sporting, and rolling\nabout on the green and grassy sod at their feet, lay six beautiful\nchildren. The six Indians and their wives appeared very happy, and\nwhile they passed the pipe about, laughed and talked very loud and\njoyfully, and were very, very merry, as though they had been drinking\nsomething much stronger than water. At last, one of them, whose name\nwas Sinipuxent, rose and said:\n\nBrothers! it was in the Moon of Grapes of the last year, that we found\nourselves sitting on the shore of the Great Lake, endued with the\nfaculties that we now exercise. It was in the Moon of Grapes, that we\ndeparted in quest of the beloved beings who are now the light of our\neyes. And we agreed, that those who were living when the next\nGrape-Moon came round should repair to the same great tree, beneath\nwhose shade we then sate, and there, while the pipe of friendship was\npassing round, we should relate what had befallen us. The Great Spirit\nhas permitted our return to that spot, and the beautiful beings, whom\nwe have brought with us from countries so far apart, are proofs that\nadventures have befallen us, which are worth recounting. Brothers, you\nshall hear of what befel Sinipuxent, who left you to climb the sunbeam.\n\nWhen he parted from his five brothers, he climbed a sunbeam for many\ndays, until he came to the land where the glorious luminary of the\nearth, the Sun, takes his refreshment of sleep and rest during the\ndark hours. It was in the morning of the day, and the great light of\nthe world had risen from his couch, and set out upon his journey, but\nhis wife and his children were all, save one, stretched out in\nprofound sleep. That one, the most beautiful of all creatures--look at\nher, and say if she is not!--sat bathing her lovely cheeks and stately\nneck in the morning dew, and brushing off the stray drops with the\nwhite lily of the lake. Her little feet were carelessly thrust into\nthe clear stream gliding by her, beneath which they glittered like the\nsparkling sands washed from the mountains into the river of the\nNanticokes. Her long bright hair, coloured by the beams of her father,\nthe Sun, lay floating over her naked shoulders and bosom, more\nbeautiful--but ye behold her. Beautiful creature! she saw not the\nNanticoke till he stood at her side. When she raised her head, and\nfound a stranger standing near her, she would have fled, but he\ndetained her gently with these words:\n\n\"Beautiful creature! what is it thou fearest? I am not he that would\nharm thee. On the contrary, I would encounter any risk, brave any\nperil, rather than harm one of the glossy hairs that is straying over\nthy beautiful brow. My heart tells me, gentle creature, that thou art\nthe object for which my soul hath panted, ever since I first knew that\nI was. I love thee, deeply and fervently, and wish thee to be mine. I\nask thee to leave the clime of thy father, and go with me to the\npleasant land and beautiful river of the Nanticokes. Though its skies\nbe not so bright as those in which thou wert born, yet are they\nmellower. And the waters of the land are clear, cool, and sweet, and\nthe shades are refreshing. The vines are bending to the earth with\nrich ripe grapes, berries are loading every bush, and the earth is\ncovered with flowers. Thou shalt become my companion in the cabin I\nhave built me beside the Nanticoke; and even as that river, when\nunvexed by the swell of rains, glides along in the months of summer,\nso shall our lives pass away. Thou shalt be the wife of my bosom, and\ntogether will we live, till we are called to the land revealed to us\nby our dreams as the land of souls.\"\n\nThe lovely maiden heard the words of the Nanticoke, and answered that\nshe knew not well what she should say. She knew not where the land of\nthe Nanticokes lay, nor did she know who was he that spoke to her. But\nshe timidly confessed that she loved him, and would become the wife of\nhis bosom, if the consent of her father and mother could be obtained.\nSo he asked the mother, who gave her consent at once, if that of her\nhusband could be procured.\n\nWhen the Sun came home at night, his wife said to him, \"One of the six\nIndians that dropped from the North Star, on the shores of the Great\nLake in the Frog-Moon, has come hither, and demanded our daughter\nAtahensic in marriage. He appears to be a bold and handsome youth, and\nour daughter loves him.\"\n\n\"But he shall not have her,\" answered the fiery father; \"the blood of\nthe Sun shall not mingle with the blood of the beings of the earth.\"\n\nThen he called the Nanticoke to him, and spoke to him thus: \"Thou\ncanst not have my daughter--thy blood cannot mingle with mine.--Depart.\"\n\nThe Nanticoke, who, like all the others of that tribe, was brave and\nfearless, but prudent, held his peace, but departed not. When the Sun\nwas asleep he wooed the maiden; when he was awake, and his eyes were\npeering into every spot however obscure, and every dingle however\ndark, he hid himself where even those rays could not penetrate. And\noften was the beautiful maiden of his love prevailed upon to hide\nherself with him. But he had suffered himself to forget the\nconsequences of a mutual and unrestrained love. The beautiful\nAtahensic gave evidence that she should in due time become a mother.\nThe quick-eyed father soon discovered what had happened, and heard the\nwhole from the lips of his weeping daughter. Nothing could equal the\nrage of the mighty king of the skies, when he learned the disgrace\ninflicted upon his family. In the frenzy of the moment, he seized both\nthe daughter and her lover, and hurled them from the highest part of\nthe skies to the region where the land of the Nanticokes lay. But the\nkind mother protected both from the consequences of the fall, and the\nearth, by her command, received them unhurt upon her lap. Brothers, I\nam that Nanticoke, and the beautiful Atahensic is the woman by my\nside, and the child at her feet is the child of our love. I have no\nmore to say.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the first Nanticoke had finished his story, the second, whose\nname was Conestogo, rose, and thus addressed his brothers:\n\nListen, said he, and you shall hear of what befel Conestogo, who left\nyou to travel into the bowels of the earth.\n\nWhen he parted from his five brothers, he went to the deep cavern\nwhich lies among the mountains west of the river of the Nanticokes,\nand into this cavern he entered at the time of nightfall. After having\ngroped his way for many days through deep darkness, over rocks and\nmany other obstructions, living on the dried meat he had taken with\nhim, all at once, upon passing through a small door or opening, he\ncame to a great chamber, vaulted like the rooms which are unfolded to\nour eyes, when we enter those great houses in the City of the Rock,\nwhere men dressed in glittering robes, and little boys clothed in\nwhite, call upon the Great Spirit, and sing loud songs to his praise.\nAround the sides of this great room were tall pillars, which looked\nliked icicles, and glittered like them when they are visited by the\nbeams of the sun. Over-head was a vast field of ice, of many different\ncolours, green, red, white, yellow; the reflection of which on the\nfloor of the mighty building occasioned a strange blending of rays.\nBeautiful, wonderful, was the appearance of this room, and of all\nwithin it.\n\nBut the most beautiful, wonderful things of the cavern remain to be\nspoken of. In the further corner of this spacious apartment was a\ncompany of beautiful maidens, clothed in robes of the same colours as\nthose which glittered on the roof and walls of the building; the\ndazzling beauty of their dress may be guessed, but who shall paint\ntheir own charms? who shall describe their bright black eyes, long\nblack locks, and voice like the music of the streams in spring? their\nbeautiful necks, and little feet and hands, their swelling bosoms, and\ngraceful footsteps? When I entered they were employed in chasing each\nother around the apartment, and amongst the lofty pillars; but, when\nthey saw a stranger invade their retirement, they uttered a shrill cry\nof terror, and fled along the vaulted passages. The Nanticoke pursued\nthem until he came to an inner range of apartments, all glittering\nlike that he had left, but smaller in dimensions; there were a great\nmany little recesses, and behind those pillars he saw many little\nheads peering out, which he knew to be those of the beautiful maidens\nwho had escaped from the room of mighty pillars. He could see upon\ntheir countenances that they were not so fearful as they pretended to\nbe; but when they hid, always preferred to be found. There was an arch\nsmile upon their beautiful little faces, and their red lips were\npursed up in affected contempt of the Nanticoke. He, whom nature\nquickly taught the best means of winning woman's love, which was not\nto seem over-anxious to obtain it, said nothing; but, seating himself\nupon a broken pillar, leisurely drew out his pipe and fell to smoking,\nrightly judging that if the fair creatures were not sought they would\nseek. It was not long that they remained hidden. First one contrived\nto put forth her little hand or foot; then a head became visible;\nstill the Nanticoke affected to see neither. At last, finding that\nConestogo would not play their childish game, one stepped forth, then\nanother, and soon the whole stood visible. They now came up to the\nhunter, and, with many soft smiles, bade him welcome. Seating\nthemselves upon the smooth floor around him, they commenced asking\nquestions. \"Who was he? what was he? how old was he? where did he come\nfrom? how far was he going? who was his father? what was the name of\nhis mother? how many brothers had he? how many sisters? was his\ngrandmother living? how long would he stay with them? to what place\nwould he go when he left them?\" and many other questions, which,\nfortunately for him, were asked with so little pause, that he had no\nopportunity to answer one of them. Nor did they seem to expect an\nanswer, but appeared to ask, only that they might have the pleasure of\ntalking. All were not so talkative, however. There was one beautiful\ncreature, the most beautiful of all the company, who sat apart from\nthe rest, said nothing with her tongue, but spoke a language with her\ndowncast eyes, which the smitten Nanticoke interpreted into that of\nbashful love. While the rest were talking and laughing, displaying\ntheir white teeth, and shaking their black hair over their polished\nforeheads, he was thinking only of the silent woman, and contrasting\nher modest and quiet deportment with the noisy and boisterous mirth\nof her sisters. When she saw that the stranger bent his eyes a great\nportion of the time on herself, and that their expression denoted the\nsame sentiment in him as filled her own bosom, she turned her face\naway to fix them in listless gaze upon a distant object.\n\nAfter the beautiful maidens had laughed, and chattered, and questioned,\nas much as they would, they left the Nanticoke to enjoy his slumbers.\nThe silent maiden retired last, and the look which she gave him, as\nshe left the little chamber, did not quit his soul till more than half\nof the hours of darkness had run through. The next morning he rose\nearly, and wandered about till he came to a little spring, which\nrattled over a bed of pebbles, and fell into a cavern beneath; it was\na beautiful little spring, and its waters were cold and sweet, and as\nclear as the sky. He had just placed himself by the side of this\nlittle stream, when the silent maiden came thither also. The Nanticoke\nsat hidden from observation by one of the pillars, while she whispered\nher soft tale of love to the echoes of the cavern. She told them that\nshe loved the stranger with the black hair, and sunny eyes, and proud\nmien; that she wished them to carry to the Great Spirit her wishes\nthat he should ask her to become his own--his companion--his wife.\nMore she would have said, but the Nanticoke caught her gently in his\narms, preventing her slight screams with the kiss of love. \"Thou shalt\nbecome my own--my companion--my wife,\" said he. \"Lovely, and gentle,\nand dearly beloved creature! I had feared thou hadst no tongue,\nbecause to hear thee silent for a little while was something so new\nand strange in thy sex. But thou hast found a tongue to tell the\nechoes what thy bashful lips would not have dared tell me. I thank the\nGreat Spirit that I overheard thy soft confession; it has removed\nthose impediments which thy bashful timidity would else have\ninterposed to our immediate union. Lovely maiden! with the black hair,\nand the bright forehead, and the slender waist, and the beautiful hand\nand foot, and the white teeth, what prevents thy accompanying me at\nonce--to-day--this minute, to the land where I have taken up my abode,\nthe pleasant and fruitful land of the Nanticokes? Again thou art\nsilent, but the soft smile upon thy features tells me that thou art\nnot averse to my proposal. I see in the look of thy sunny eye, in thy\ndecreasing hesitation, and yielding reluctance, that thou wilt become\nthe star of my pleasant cabin, the hope, the solace, and the joy of my\nlife. Let us go then; ere ten suns be passed, thou shalt find thyself\nseated upon a bank, whose flowers are only less sweet than thyself.\nThou shalt listen to a stream whose voice is only less musical than\nthine own, and see the beautiful night lit up by its very many\nglorious lamps.\n\n\"Brothers, I am that Nanticoke, and the beautiful maiden is she that\nsits by my side, and the child that rolls about on the green sod is\nthe child of our love. I have no more to say.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe story of the second Nanticoke being finished, the third, whose\nname was Appomattox, rose, and thus addressed his brothers:--\n\nListen, said he, and you shall hear what befel Appomattox, who left\nyou to travel eastward.\n\nWhen he parted from his five brothers, he crossed the Great Arm[A] of\nthe Salt Lake, and, in consequence of the revelations made by the\nspirit of a dream, pursued his journey towards the land of the cold\nspring-storms. He travelled fast, till he had wearied himself out, and\nthen, building a small hut of bark to protect him from the rains and\nnight-dews, he laid himself down to repose. He had not slept long, for\nthe moon, that was a far way up when he sunk to sleep, had not\nreached the highest part of the heavens, when he heard a voice crying,\n\"Appomattox! Appomattox!\"\n\n[Footnote A: Chesapeak Bay.]\n\n\"Here I am,\" answered the Nanticoke. As he spoke, he raised himself up\nfrom his couch of leaves, and saw standing at his feet a strange-looking\ncreature, whom the beams of the moon revealed to be a little, ugly,\nsquat, brown man, not much higher than an Indian's hip. His shape was\nodd and singular, beyond anything the Nanticoke had ever seen. His\nlegs were each as large as his body, and his feet were quite as much\nout of proportion. But his arms and hands were not larger than the\narms and hands of the child which is playing at my feet, and his head\nwas of the size of the head of a small dog, and similarly shaped. His\neyes were red as the leaf of the maple in autumn; his skin was green\nas the bosom of the meadow in spring; yellow hair, as coarse as\nrock-moss, fell over his shoulders; and his nose was turned up till it\nreached his forehead; his ears were scarce larger than a man's\nthumb-nail, and his mouth than the blade of a pipe. It would have been\na matter of wonder with the Nanticoke, how he could get the victuals\ninto such a little mouth, if he had not been employed in noting the\nodd actions of the strange creature, and in listening to the tones of\nhis voice, which resembled those of a cat when you tread upon its\ntail.\n\n\"Who are you!\" asked the strange creature, and then gave a jump,\nturning himself head over heels, and stood upon his feet as before.\n\n\"I am a Nanticoke--one of the six who found themselves, in the morning\nof a clear day, in the Frog-Moon, standing upon the shores of the\nGreat Lake, in the country where we have built cabins, and planted\ncorn and tobacco. We know not how we were carried thither. We were,\nwhen we first knew we were--that is all we know. And who are you?\"\n\n\"And that is as much as anybody knows,\" squeaked, or rather snarled,\nthe strange creature, and again he took his tumble. \"Wherever you came\nfrom, you seem a fine fellow, and I don't doubt wish for a wife. Come,\ngo home with me. I live in a cave, in the hill close by, and will give\nyou some fine fat toads, stewed with greens, for supper--or, if you\nlike better, you shall have a roasted rabbit. As to who I am, I don't\nknow myself. I only know that I am an odd sort of a fish.\"\n\nThe Nanticoke, who had not tasted food for many days, liked the offer\nof the rabbit very well, though he felt no relish for the stewed\ntoads. So he went home with the strange creature to his dwelling in\nthe hill. When they came to the the door of the cabin, the creature\ngave a knock with his foot, when the door was opened by a creature,\nstranger, if possible, than that which had conducted him to the cave.\nUpon entering, he beheld, scattered about the floor, a great many\nlittle children, quite as ugly and misshapen as the parents. Here lay\none with a large leg and a little one, a full arm and a shrunken one,\none-handed, or one-footed, or one-eyed. One had no hair: one was\ncompletely enveloped in it--in truth, the shapes were most various and\nsingular. But all were not thus. Upon a bench, upon one side of the\ncave, sat a very little maiden--ye see how very little, and ye see how\nbeautiful. When the Nanticoke entered, she drew her furred mantle\naround her, and pretended to hide her face, but she hid not her eyes,\nwhich were bent on the stranger youth. He had seen enough of her\ncountenance to judge that she was very beautiful, and he loved her\nslight form, which he saw was light and graceful as the young fawn. He\nnow entered into conversation with the old man, and they talked of\nmany matters--he conversing quite like a sensible man, except that now\nand then he would take his strange tumble. At length, victuals were\nplaced before them, and they sat down. The beautiful little maiden--with\nthe usual pride of woman--dressed herself, and her black locks, with\nmuch care, and then came and placed herself at the table at which they\nwere eating. Soft and fond glances were interchanged; and, before they\nhad finished their meal, each had as good as said \"I love.\" When they\nhad done eating, the old man and woman arose, and under some pretence\nor other left the room, carrying with them the whole brood of odd and\nbeast-like creatures. So the Nanticoke was left alone with the\nbeautiful little maiden, to press her soft little hand, and to say in\nher ears those affectionate things which are always held sweeter by\nlovers for being told in whispers. Not much persuasion was necessary\nto obtain her consent to leave her father's house, and go with\nAppomattox to the spot where he had taken up his abode--to the cabin\nhe had built beside the beautiful river Nanticoke. Their journey\nthither was not long--upon the sixth sun, they sat down upon the\nlittle plat of grass before the door of the cabin, and plucked the\nripe grapes from the vines that leant upon its roof, and drank of the\ncrystal stream which rattled over the pebbly bottom to the gentle\nriver, and gathered the delicious berries that hung on every bush. And\nthey saw the glorious sun illumine the earth, and the moon and stars\nlighting up the night, and the northern skies red with the dance of\ndeparted friends, and both blessed the moment that carried the\nNanticoke to the hut of the very odd fish.\n\nBrothers, I am that Nanticoke; and the beautiful little creature is\nshe that sits at my side, and the little child that rolls about on the\ngrass is the child of our love. My story is told.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd then the fourth Nanticoke rose, and told his story in the\nfollowing words:\n\nWhen I left my five brothers, said he, I crossed the river that glides\nby my cabin, and travelled towards the mountains which are called by\nIndians the Backbone of the Great Spirit. Upon the sixth day, I came\nto the hither part of the mountain, and sat down upon its eastern edge\nto rest my wearied limbs. It was near the hour of evening; the sun had\nnot retired from the earth, but the lofty peaks of the mountains hid\nhis beams from those who sat in the shade of those peaks, making it\nnight to them. At length the sun set, and a thick veil of darkness was\ncast over the face of the earth. The ugly bat came forth, the mournful\nnight-bird began his song, the wise owl hooted on the limb of the\ntree, and the dazzling little fire-fly twinkled in the glades, and\namong the trunks of the giant oaks. Then it was that a distant sound\nof music came to the ears of Apaumax the Nanticoke, who is myself. He\nlistened, and caught the words, of a song issuing from a valley near\nthe hillock upon which he sate. Softer than the plaintive cry of the\ndove, sweeter than the love-notes of the song-sparrow, was that song.\nPresently other voices could be heard laughing or singing, singly, or\nin concert. The Nanticoke was so greatly charmed with those notes that\nhe determined to know whence they issued, and whose were the voices\nthat sang them. So, descending the hill, he approached cautiously the\nspot where he had heard them, until he came suddenly upon a company of\nstrange women who were dancing upon a green spot in the valley. They\nwere the greater part of them very small, many being not taller than\nthe sprout of three moons; but there were others, whose stature arose\nto the height of a full-grown person. Of the latter there was one whom\nthe whole seemed to obey, the tallest woman of the group, and the most\nbeautiful. She did not seem very youthful; at least her features spoke\nnot of youth, nor did they imply age, but the period of life when\nwoman is like a ripe grape, the sweetness of which is diminished by\nbeing suffered to hang a single day more on the vine untasted. She had\na pale skin--ye see how pale--her cheeks were red as the flower that\nblooms among thorns, and her eye shone like the little flower which\nemulates the blue of the sky. Her lips were red and pouting, and her\nteeth whiter than the lily. Beautiful creature! lovely and beloved\nwoman!\n\nCautiously did the Nanticoke approach the merry dancers, and, seating\nhimself upon the earth where they could not observe him, he watched\ntheir sprightly and rapid motions. Nothing could exceed the beauty of\nthe dances, or the grace of the dancers, or the sweetness of the tunes\nto which they danced. At last, one of the little maidens, in a fit of\nfrolic, ran out of the circle of dancers, and by chance came to the\nspot where the Nanticoke had seated himself; a loud scream told him\nthat he was discovered. When they found that a stranger had hidden\nnear them, and witnessed their mystic dances, they were filled with\ngreat wrath, and all, as one, rushed up to the spot where he had\nconcealed himself. He, knowing no fear, stood up boldly amongst them,\nand suffered them to scrutinize his person, rightly judging that\nnothing would so soon mollify their anger as to look upon his handsome\nand finely proportioned form. When they had gazed as much as they\nliked, she, the tallest, the one whom all obeyed, spoke in a stern\nvoice, and asked, why he had dared to steal upon them while they were\ndancing the Sacred Dance of Darkness, and singing the Spirit's Song of\nMidnight? Did he not know that they were Spirits, the Spirits of the\nMountain, who, for many hundred years, had nightly come, while summer\nlasted, to this green spot, to hold their joyous carousals, mixing\nmusic with mirth, and drinking the sweet drink which they found in the\ncups of the flowers and mottling the leaves of the rose. What had he\nto say why death should not be inflicted upon him?\n\nThe Nanticoke answered that he had much to say why death should not be\ninflicted upon him; that, having heard tones sweeter than those of the\nmocking-bird, and wishing to see who they were that laughed so\nmerrily, and sung so sweetly, he had approached cautiously for that\npurpose. When he beheld the most beautiful creatures of the earth or\nthe air engaged in dancing, and heard them singing their sweet songs,\nhe was struck with wonder, astonishment, and admiration; and, fearing\nlest his discovering himself should frighten them away, he had hidden\nhimself. This was all the crime he had committed. And, as for\npunishment, rather than die he was content to take the tall young\nwoman to wife.\n\nUpon this the spirits all laughed, except the one thus singled out,\nand she held down her head, though apparently not displeased. The\nNanticoke, emboldened by her silence, whispered in her ear that he\nloved her; and, notwithstanding that her manner was at first\nrepulsive, and she pretended to be displeased, and to frown upon the\nconfident Apaumax, he could perceive that she had not suffered his\nwords to fall to the ground. At first her face was averted, presently\nhe caught a view of her mouth, and at last her face was actually\nturned towards him, and she was smiling bashfully upon the bold lover.\nBefore the moon had advanced to the highest part of the heavens, they\nhad given each other the kiss of love, and she had promised the\nNanticoke to leave the cold regions of the mountain, and to go with\nhim to his own sunny clime.\n\nBrothers, I am that Nanticoke, and the tall, beautiful woman is she\nthat sits at my side, and the child that is playing at my feet is the\nchild of our love.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Apaumax had finished his story, the fifth Nanticoke, whose name\ndwells not in my memory, rose and said:\n\nWhen I left my five brothers, I went according to my agreement with\nthem to the land of the warm sun, the smiling south. I travelled many\ndays, and became hungry, faint, and weary. I saw no beasts upon which\nI could exercise my bow, no fish gliding about the waters, provoking\nthe thrust of my spear. Here and there were scattered a few birds, but\nthey were those upon which none can afford to feed, but a very patient\nman, or one that has nothing to do but eat. So, finding a pleasant\nresting-place, I lay down, and tried to call to my aid the Good Spirit,\nthat refreshes the soul of man with pleasant dreams. He came and bade\nme arise with the morning sun, and travel further on, following the\nbend of the little river, at whose source I stood. I should come, he\nsaid, to a little hill upon the banks of a lake, filled with shining\nfish, and not far from the Great River. And, so saying, he left me to\nthe sleep of night.\n\nI rose refreshed by my slumbers, and pursued the route pointed out by\nthe Spirit. Travelling in this path, I came on the morning of the next\nday to a little hill on the backs of a lake, and saw in its clear\ncurrent the shining fish which had been spoken of by the spirit of\ndreams, and by this I knew that I had travelled right. The hill was a\nvery little hill, and the lake was a very little lake, and the fish\nwere very little fish. The hill was scarce half so high as the flight\nof an arrow; the lake was not broader than twice the flight of the\nsame, when impelled by a vigorous arm; and the fishes were minnows\nindeed. Upon either side of the lake arose tall trees, around which\ngrape-vines had wreathed themselves, and upon which fruit, ripe,\nblack, and delicious, hung temptingly exposed to the eye of the\ntraveller. The birds were twittering about the boughs, and swallows\nwere skimming the bosom of the lake. But what most astonished the\nNanticoke was, the great number of little cabins scattered along its\nshores. They were none of them higher than his hip, and were built of\nmud and grass. The Nanticoke, who loved to look upon the fair things\nof nature, the sun, and moon, and stars, and leafy woods, and green\nmeads, and quiet waters, and other beautiful things of nature, sat\ndown upon the border of the lake, and permitted the throb of delight\nto enter his bosom, through the medium of his eyes. While he sate thus\nabsorbed, he saw a little black creature, with four legs, creep out of\nthe water near him, and stretch itself at its length upon the green\nsod. It was black, glossy, and not longer than a man's arm. While it\nwas devouring its food, which in this instance was roots dug from the\nmarsh, it raised itself upon its two hind legs, to an upright posture,\nsitting erect as a Nanticoke, until it had finished. During the time\nit was eating, it was continually talking and chattering to itself, in\na language, which the Nanticoke could discover, by the few words\nwhich reached his ear, to be that in which he himself spoke. Astonished,\nbeyond the power of words to express, at hearing a beast speak, a\nbeast, too, of such a mean appearance, he rose and advanced towards\nit. When it saw him coming, instead of retreating to the water, as\nbeasts which are untamed usually do at the approach of man, whom all\ninferior creatures thus acknowledge as their chief, it advanced to\nmeet him, made the sign of friendship in use among the Nanticokes, and\nspoke to him thus:\n\n\"Stranger! I bid thee welcome to the waters of the Lake of Musk-rats.\nThou hast come to a region, rich in sunny skies, and yielding\nabundance of fruit. Thou hast come to the great village of my race, to\nthe spot where we have dwelt ever since ourselves, and this lake, and\nthat hill, were formed at the nod of the Great Spirit. Hitherto we\nhave dwelt in peace, unvisited by one of thy race, but reason, and\ninstinct alike inform me that thou wilt become the enemy of my tribe.\nHitherto we have dwelt in peace, with none to vex us, or make us\nafraid--that period is past, and now thou wilt destroy us, unless\nsomething is done to unite us in the bonds of firm friendship. Thou\nhast proclaimed thyself a Nanticoke--one of the six that found\nthemselves sitting upon the shores of the Great Lake, in the latter\npart of a warm and pleasant day, in the Moon in which the shad leave\nthe waters that are salt, and journey to those that are fresh. It is\nwell. Thou must be joined with the nation of Musk-rats in a lasting\nleague. Come to my cabin.\"\n\nSo saying, the grave old Musk-rat led the Nanticoke to his dwelling,\nwhich stood at the farther part of the lake. It was built like the\nrest of the cabins in the village, but it was very much larger and\nhandsomer than the rest, and there were a great many doors to it, and\nlittle houses around it, all of which showed it to be the residence of\na Musk-rat of honour and eminence, a chief of high degree among his\npeople. The chief of the Musk-rats bade the Nanticoke enter this\ncabin, but a moment after he said, \"No, no, that cannot be done. It is\nnot high enough for such a tall, strapping gawky as you are. So sit\nyou here, while I go and fetch you food.\" So the Nanticoke seated\nhimself on the sward, while the chief of the Musk-rats went to his\nhouse to fetch food for his guest.\n\nHe soon returned, and brought with him a variety of things to eat,\nwhich he placed on the sward, beside the Nanticoke. Some were such\nthings as men may well eat, and some were only fit for a Musk-rat. The\nNanticoke drew out his flint, and struck fire, while the chief of the\nMusk-rats, who had never seen fire before, sat looking on and\nexpressing loud amazement. After they had finished the meal, the chief\ngave a loud cry, upon which a number of little Musk-rats ran out of\nthe house, and approached the spot where they were sitting. They were\nof all sizes, fat, sleek, glossy, little things, which seemed to\ndelight in the pure air, and to enjoy greatly a roll about on the\ngrassy sod. Approaching the Nanticoke, those which were old enough,\nwith a very pretty nod, bade him welcome to the village of the\nMusk-rats--which showed that they had been taught good manners, though\nthey were four-legged creatures. Shortly after, a beautiful Musk-rat\nwas observed to leave the cabin of the chief, and to approach them\ncircuitously. It came timidly, the beautiful creature, and sat down at\na short distance from them. The chief of the Musk-rats upon this spoke\nto the Nanticoke, and asked him what he thought of his little\ndaughter. The Nanticoke who, like all other good and brave men, always\nspoke the truth, answered that \"she was indeed a most beautiful\nMusk-rat--what a pity that she was still a Musk-rat!\"\n\n\"True, but she is the finest Musk-rat in the waters of the lake,\"\nanswered the father; \"and she knows better than any other the best\nmethod of keeping a house tidy. And as for her knowledge--Musk-rat\nknowledge--who has more? and for cunning and stratagem, match me my\nlittle daughter among all the females of the lakes. What say you to\nmarrying her?\"\n\n\"All you have said in praise of your daughter, no doubt, is very\ntrue,\" answered the Nanticoke, \"but she has four legs, and besides is\ntoo little to be the wife of a big fellow like myself.\"\n\n\"She has no more legs than you have,\" answered the wise creature.\n\"What are your arms pray, but legs? But all her faults can be\nremedied. Wait here till I return.\"\n\nSo saying, the chief of the Musk-rats retired behind a little hillock,\nand, digging a small hole in the earth, he filled it with a kind of\nred sand mixed with mud. When he had done this, he dropped into it\nseven drops of a kind of green water, and seven times repeated the\nword \"Tuscaloosa,\" which was, as he said, the name of the guardian\nSpirit of the Musk-rats. When he had done invoking the name, he laid\nhimself down upon the earth, hid his head between his paws, and his\ntail between his legs, and pretended to be sleeping. Presently, the\nNanticoke saw arise from the bottom of the lake a creature shaped like\na Musk-rat, but larger than any beast he had ever seen. Each of his\nlegs was as large as a tree, and his tail was broader than the length\nof a man, and his ears were of great size. He had a great white ring\naround his neck, and around each leg, and his belly was as red as the\nleaf of the maple in autumn. But the most singular things about him\nwere his face, which was like the face of a man, and his fore-paws,\nwhich were like the hands of a man. The strange creature, who was the\nguardian Spirit of the nation of Musk-rats, came swimming along as a\nfrog swims, and in scarce more than two breaths landed upon the shore\nwhere they sat. Going up to the chief of the Musk-rats, he gave him a\nslight blow on the back, exclaiming:\n\n\"What is your wish?\"\n\n\"Take away from my daughter the shape of a Musk-rat, and give her the\nshape of a Nanticoke,\" answered the father.\n\n\"Not of me, but of my master must the favour be asked,\" answered the\nSpirit. \"I will try what can be done for you.\" So saying, he went to\nthe side of the little maiden Musk-rat, and whispered certain words in\nher ear. When he had done this, he went to the forest near them, cut\ndown a young pine-tree, dug up a root of the hemlock, took a spruce\ncone, an oak acorn, a hickery nut, and a birch-leaf, and laid them all\nin the fire which the Nanticoke had kindled. While they were burning,\nhe walked round the fire muttering many words in an unknown tongue,\nand striking the earth repeatedly with the stone staff which he held\nin his hand. When the different things he had put in the fire were\nreduced to ashes, he gathered the ashes into the hollow of his hand,\ndropped upon them seven drops of a kind of green water, and seven\ntimes cried aloud to his master, with his mouth applied to the ear of\nthe earth. Ere the echo of the last cry had died away among the hills,\na little red man crept out of the hole which had been dug by the chief\nof the Musk-rats, and stood before them. He was shaped like a\nNanticoke, but he was exceeding small. His face was very beautiful,\nhis eyes shone like the blue of the sky, and his hair like the blush\nof sunset. When he came, all the Musk-rats, as well as the genius who\npresided over them, bowed themselves to the earth, and remained with\ntheir eyes hidden, while he addressed them thus:\n\n\"What would you with the Master of Life, Musk-rats, that you summon\nhim from his house of shining stone, in the bowels of the earth, to\nsmell the tainted breezes of the upper air?\"\n\nThe Spirit told his master what was wanted by the Musk-rats. \"It shall\nbe done,\" said the kind and beneficent Master. \"Man of the Six\nNanticokes, who found themselves, all at once, they knew not how, nor\nby what means, sitting upon the shores of the Great Lake, upon a sunny\nday in the Frog-Moon, rise, take thy bride, and lead her to the border\nof the lake. When thou shalt come to the water, bid her dip her feet\nin the water, while thou, standing over her, shalt pronounce these\nwords: \"For the last time as a Musk-rat, for the first time as a\nwoman. Go in a beast--come out a human being. In the name of the\nMaster of Life, I command thee to wear no more the form of an animal,\nbut to assume that shape which is appointed by Him to be the ruler,\nthe head chief, the governor of all. This do, and thou shalt see the\nchange that will come.\"\"\n\nThe Master ceased speaking, and the Nanticoke did as he was bid. He\ntook the glossy little maiden Musk-rat by the paw, led her to the\nborder of the lake, and, while she dipped her feet in the water, he\npronounced aloud the words: \"For the last time as a Musk-rat, for the\nfirst time as a woman. Go in a beast--come out a human being. In the\nname of the Master of Life, I command thee to wear no more the form of\nan animal, but to assume that shape which is appointed by Him to be\nthe ruler, the head chief, the governor of all.\"\n\nScarcely were the words spoken, when the change commenced upon the\nlittle animal. Her body was observed to be assuming the posture of a\nhuman being, gradually erecting itself, as a sapling, which has been\nbent to the earth, re-ascends to its upright position. When the little\nanimal became erect, the skin began to fall from the head and neck,\nand gradually unveiling the body to the very feet, displayed to all\naround the form of a maiden, beautiful as the flowery mead, or the\nblue sky filled with stars, or the north, lit up by the dance of\ndeparted friends, or the rainbow, which precedes, or follows the\nsummer rain; but not so large as the little child which stands at my\nfeet. Her hand was scarce larger than a hazel-leaf, and her foot not\nlonger than the wing of the ring-dove. Her arm was so very slight,\nthat it seemed the breeze might break it. The Nanticoke gazed with\ndelight on his beauteous bride, and how was his delight heightened\nwhen he saw that she was gradually increasing in stature, and swelling\nto the fair size and proportions of a human being, as exhibited in\nhimself! Before the great star of day had retired beyond the mountains\nof the west, she stood fair in size as matchless in charms, and was\npressed to the heart of the Nanticoke, with a suitable acknowledgment\nto the Great Being, who had bestowed her upon him.\n\nBrothers, I am that Nanticoke, and the beautiful woman that was once a\nMusk-rat is she that sits at my side, and the child that is playing\nat my feet is the child of our love. And this is all I have to say.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe last of the Six Nanticokes commenced his story thus:\n\nI left my brothers, and travelled towards the regions of cold and\nsnow--the land of perpetual ice and frost. I travelled many, very many\ndays, over hill and through dale, now encountering the keen air of the\nmountains, and now the damp fogs of the low grounds, when I came, at\nthe hour of noon, to the bottom of a deep valley. In the bottom of\nthis valley, was a well dug in the earth, and which appeared to have\nno bottom. It was half as wide over as the flight of an arrow, and how\ndeep no one could say. The waters which met the eye at a vast distance\nbelow the surface of the earth were green as grass, and, what seemed\nmost strange to those who saw them, appeared to be full of eyes,\nbright shining eyes, resembling what bubbles blown upon the water\nwould be, if they could be lit up by the beams of the sun. And whether\nit was that there were winds uttering sounds in the well or not, could\nnot be told, but certain it is that whispers proceeded therefrom like\nthose of human voices, sounding in deep caves. Fatigued by my long\njourney, I lay down upon the earth by the side of the well, intending\nto sleep. But the spirit which presides over the night came not at my\nsummoning, and I lay restless and discontented, until the moon had\nclimbed the tops of the highest hills. Then it was that shapes of\nstrange appearance, Spirits, which bore the likeness of human beings\nin all save their eyes, began to come out of the well. They were of\nall colours and sizes, tall, short, thick, spare, black, white, grey,\ngreen, yellow, red. But in colour the eyes of all were alike--all were\nbright, and shining, and glittering like the blush of sunset. There\nwere both men and women, and there were also many children. As soon as\nthe Spirits of the Well stood upon the earth, they immediately formed\nthemselves into a circle, and began dancing. Lightly did they trip\naway on the green sod, dancing without intermission for the whole\nperiod between their first appearance on the earth and the first\nglimmer of day upon the tall peaks of the mountains. When the red\ntinge which announces the approach of the sun first appeared, they all\nstole into their hiding-place, and again were the waters of the well\nfilled with eyes, resembling sun-lit bubbles, and again whispers\nproceeded therefrom like those of human voices sounding from deep caves.\n\nThe Nanticoke--that is myself--who was now burning with curiosity to\nknow something more of the strange creatures dwelling in the well,\ndetermined to stay yet another night to accost them, and to learn who\nand what they were. So he built him a hut of bark near, and reposed\nbeneath it, until the shadows of night again descended upon the earth.\nWith the beam of the rising moon again ascended these merry dancers,\nthe Spirits of the Well, and commenced their gambols on the green sod.\nBut what most astonished him was, that on neither night had they\nspoken to him, or given indications that they considered him a living\nbeing. In performing their mazy dances, they had several times come\nwithin a few feet of him, and once one of the agile creatures, running\nout of the circle, cleared his head with a bound, which showed that\nthe impediment was observed and avoided. Determined to make himself\nknown to them, if words could do so, the Nanticoke, a stranger to\nfear, approaching the circle of dancers, thrust himself into the midst\nof them. Yet was his object unaccomplished. They danced around him,\nthey crossed their hands touching him, they leaped over him, in\nappearance they ran against him, though he felt them not. Still none\nof the circumstances produced recognition. He hallooed, apparently\nthey heard him not; he danced with them, they heeded not his motions.\nDetermined, whatever it might cost him, to make them know him, he\ncaught at a passing form, selecting, for the object of his embrace,\nthe most beautiful of all the dancers, a lovely woman, whose beauties\ncannot be described. What did he embrace? A shadow! a mere phantom!\nThat beautiful form is a shade! He draws not to his bosom a creature\ninvested with the attributes of humanity, with its virtues, its\nfaults, its weaknesses. He feels not the soft breath of woman fanning\nhis cheek, nor the throb of her little heart bounding against his own.\nThere comes a cold, clammy air to his brow, like that of water in a\ncold morning, and the pulsation of his heart is checked instead of\nquickened. She is gone. He finds he has no more power to retain her in\nhis arms, or to awaken in her a knowledge of his existence, than he\nhas to arrest the march of the summer wind, or to hold conversation\nwith the stars of night. Another, and another, and yet another\nfruitless attempt to clasp that form, for whom he begins to feel a\nnew, and strange, and predominating interest, convince him that they\nare not of his order, but exist unapproachable by beings of clay.\nAgain the morning dawns, and again they fly to their damp and chill\nretreat.\n\nThe Nanticoke, exhausted by long watching, and wearied out by\nincessant exertion to embrace the beautiful phantom, lay down upon the\nearth, and sunk into a deep sleep. Then it was that the Manitou of\nDreams came to his couch, and whispered in his ear these words:\n\n\"Nanticoke! the shadows which nightly appear to thee are the Spirits\nof the Well. In this well for many hundred years have they dwelt, and\nevery night do they visit the upper air to respire its breezes. Unlike\nother spirits, they see not human beings, nor can they by any means,\nshort of the direct interference of the Master of Life, be made\nsensible of their presence. Blows touch them not, nor do their eyes\nbehold those things which mortals behold, but those which mortals\nbehold not. They have a world of their own, which, though it be\ncomprised within the space of the world we inhabit, is distinctly\nseparate in its nature and properties, and requires things of a\ndifferent order to inhabit it. They wear, as you see, the shape of a\nhuman being, but they have none of its properties save the shape.\n\n\"How shall I make myself known to them? how shall I make myself known\nto the beautiful creature I have so often tried to clasp in my arms?\"\ndemanded the Nanticoke.\n\n\"It is to tell thee how that I am now at thine ear,\" answered the\nMaster of Dreams. \"Listen.\"\n\n\"Peel from the vine that bears no fruit its inner bark, and of this\ntwist thee a long cord that shall carry to the water of the well the\nthing thou shalt tie to it. When it is finished, attach to it the\nwhite flat stone having in it little shining specks, which thou shalt\nfind lying upon the edge of the near rivulet, where the feet of deer\nhave worn a deep and broad path. Thou must let this stone descend with\na quick motion till it reach the water, the whilst crying aloud, 'Come\nforth, maiden spirit with the bright eyes, and assume the corporeal\nstate which shall fit thee for becoming a resident of the upper earth.\nQuit the impalpable form thou didst wear in the world of thine own,\nand be flesh, and blood, and bones, and marrow, in ours. Be no more\nthe cold and chilled inhabitant of a dark, damp, and murky well, but\nbecome a warm and impassioned woman. Awake to the joys and sorrows,\nand hopes and fears, and doubts and disappointments, and cares and\nanxieties, which belong to human life. Awake to the throbs of love,\nand the joys of maternity.'\" So saying, the Spirit departed to the\nplace of his rest in the land of dreams.\n\nThe Nanticoke arose, and did as he was bidden. He peeled from the vine\nthat bore no fruit its inner bark, and with it he made a cord of\nsufficient length to reach the water of the well. He searched for the\nflat, white stone with little shining specks in it, and having found\nit he attached it to the cord, and let it descend with a quick motion\ntill it reached the water. Whilst it was descending, he cried aloud,\n\"Come forth, maiden spirit with the bright eyes, and assume the\ncorporeal state of a human being. Quit the impalpable form thou didst\nwear in the world of thine own, and be flesh, and blood, and bones,\nand marrow, in ours. Be no more the cold and chilled inhabitant of a\ndark, damp, and murky well, but become a warm and impassioned woman.\nAwake to the joys and sorrows, and hopes and fears, and doubts and\ndisappointments, and cares and anxieties, which belong to human life.\nAwake to the throbs of love, and the feelings of maternity.\"\n\nScarce had the words escaped from his lips, when, by a ray of light\nwhich beamed into the well, he saw her he loved, her whose beauteous\nform he had so often attempted to clasp to his breast, ascending. Now\nshe rises, suspended as it were, by nothing, now she has gained the\nearth. Already has she felt the change which has come over her,\nalready she knows herself invested with other feelings and properties\nthan those which have accompanied her in the state which she has\nquitted. Sounds are ringing in her ears which never rang there till\nnow; visions are before her eyes which are now awakened for the first\ntime. The music of birds, and the hum of bees, and the rattling of the\ndistant rill, and the sighing of the wind, greet her ear, and her eyes\nare made happy by all the bright things which the Great Being has\nplaced in this glorious world. And, most of all the objects which meet\nher eye, does the form of the Nanticoke please and gratify her. Her\nbeautiful cheek is covered with a blush, her eye grows mellower, and\nher heart beats with a new, and till now unfelt passion. Few minutes\npass ere she is in his arms, and has given and received the kiss of\naffection. She has awoke to the feelings of humanity, her heart has\nfelt the throb of love, her bosom has been pained by the fear that it\nmay not be returned; and anxiety, and joy, and grief, and many of the\nother passions of human nature, have visited her bosom. Beautiful\ncreature! she has blushed on the Nanticoke her consent to be his, she\nhas whispered in his delighted ear her happiness and pleasure; and,\nwhile she sits on the green sod at his side, she lays her head on his\nshoulder, and sings a sweet song of happy lovers, in the language of\nthe Nanticoke which has become her own. I recollect not the words of\nthat song, but it came to the ears of the enraptured Indian as the\nfirst word of a little child to the ears of its mother.\n\nBrothers! I am that Nanticoke, and the beautiful spirit is she that\nsits at my side, and the child at my feet is the child she bore me.\nAnd this is all I have to say.\n\n\nVI. THE UNIVERSAL MOTHER.\n\nBefore the world existed, and before mountains, men, and animals, were\ncreated; while the sky was yet without a sun, ere the moon and stars\nwere hung up for the lamps of darkness, the Great Being, who is alike\nthe preserver and sustainer of the red man and his younger brother the\nwhite man, was with the woman, the beautiful spirit, the Universal\nMother. This woman was not of the same nature as the Great Being. He\nwas a spirit, bloodless, fleshless, bodiless; she bore the form, and\nwas gifted with the properties of a human being.\n\nAt that time all was water, at least water covered all things. No eye\ncould have discovered aught else, had there been an eye to see. That\nwhich existed was darkness--all was darkness--darkness.--Darkness was\nall, in all, and over all. There were no sounds abroad, no winds swept\nthe face of the waters, which lay black, still, and stagnant, as the\nslime of a pool surrounded by a thick copse. The waters were rotted by\ntheir long continued stagnation, and the winds could not exist in the\nheavy and murky air.\n\nUpon a certain time, this beautiful woman descended from heaven, till\nshe came to the sleeping and stagnant waters. She was pregnant by the\nGreat Being; and her immense proportions denoted that she would bring\nforth more than one. When she struck the waters, in her fall, she did\nnot sink deep into them, but where she settled down, immediately land\nappeared, upon which she rested, and continued sitting. The land grew\nby degrees, and increased around her, so that in a short time there was\nso much spare room, that she could draw up her legs out of the water,\nin which they had hung for so long a time, that they were covered with\ngrass, like logs which have been floating in the sea. And still wider\ngrew the space of solid earth, like that which would appear when the\nwater recedes from sand which it had previously covered. Gradually the\nland spread itself from the seat of the beautiful woman, until its\nextent was soon beyond the reach of the eye. And, as the land\nincreased, the motion of the waves, from the rush of the new-born\nwinds, threw it up into the heaps and piles which are the hills and\nmountains, leaving, along its low spaces, the waters, which are the\nrills and rivers of the earth.\n\nWhile the woman sat thus, watching the growth of the earth, she\nperceived unusual appearances upon its surface. Grass and herbs began\nto appear; trees, both fruitful and unfruitful, sprang up; and, in a\nshort time, all things proceeded, and grew as they now are. Soon was a\nrobe of grass and flowers spread over the naked sod; and soon, though\nnot so soon, was it shadowed by a thick and almost impervious forest.\nThe pine, and the oak, and the walnut, and the spruce, and the\nhemlock, broke through the crust of the earth, and the inferior shrubs\nmade themselves a way to the light of the air. Soon all things\nproceeded, and grew as they now are, and the world became the\nbeautifully green, and verdant, and flourishing, world it is now.\n\nWhen the earth had grown to its present size, and had become covered\nwith grass, the beautiful woman, who had carried her burthen in her\nwomb for forty seasons, gave it to the light. She was delivered of\nthree kinds of fruit. The first was like a deer, in every respect; the\nsecond had the shape of a bear; the third had the form and nature of a\nwolf. The woman nursed these fruits with great care and tenderness,\nuntil they had attained their full growth. Then she took all the three\nsons, or kinds of fruit, as husbands, living with each by turns. The\nresult of this connexion or cohabitation was the production of other\nanimals, always more than one at a birth, and from these sprung all\nthe other animals of the various kinds and species to be seen at this\nday. In time, as well from natural instinct as suitableness, each\nassociated, with its own kind and species, and has so continued to do\never since. But the connexion did not always produce progeny of\nthe same nature and stock as the parents. Every production and\nre-production further diversified the animal race, until the almost\ninfinite variety of creatures was produced. The dog was the son of the\nwolf, and the house-cat was the daughter of the panther; the teal was\nof the children of the grey goose; and who fathered the sparrow-hawk\nbut the eagle?\n\nWhen all things were properly disposed, and placed in a condition to\nsubsist, and to continue of themselves, the Universal Mother, having\naccomplished her designs, joyfully ascended to the sky which she had\nleft. In the mean time, she told the Great Being what she had done. He\nsaid to her, \"You have done well as far as you have done, but you have\nleft undone one thing you ought to have done. You have created an\ninnumerable number of beasts, but they are without a head. You ought\nto have made a being endowed with wisdom, to govern, with a little of\nmy help, the affairs of the world, and to preserve its less important\nmatters in some kind of order. The animals and creatures you have made\nare, many of them, great fools, and none very wise, and, besides, are\nwithout souls competent to receive instruction. There is not one of\nthem that has understanding enough to direct the feet of his neighbour\nin the path he should go--it would be the blind leading the blind, and\ntogether would they fall into the ditch. What more would the bear do,\nif he were made ruler, than train his subjects to perform great feats\nof strength, or to climb a tree, or to suck their paws through the\nlong nights of winter?--The panther would teach them savage cruelty\nand a speedy step, and the deer would counsel them to fly from the\npursuit of a snail, or a land-tortoise, or the cry of a wren, or the\nprate of a jackdaw; the fox might teach them cunning, and the dog\nsagacity, and the wild cat nimbleness, and the antelope fleetness, and\nthe wolf courage, and the owl an insight into my ways. But there must\nbe a being to repress the insolence, and controul the rage, of the\nmore savage creatures, and to protect, as far as he can, the weaker\nfrom the oppression of the stronger. Such a being must be created, and\nbe called MAN. Descend, once more, to the earth, beautiful and\nUniversal Mother! and give birth to one more being, who shall be the\nlord of all the creatures that live, move, or breathe, on the land, in\nthe air, or in the water.\"\n\nUpon receiving this command, the Universal Mother again descended to\nthe earth. She selected for her husband, in order to the production of\nthe new being, a very subtle owl, who was the half-brother of a bear\nand a wolf, the cousin of a dog and a deer, and distantly related to\nthe panther, the fox, the eagle, and the adder. By him she had, at one\nbirth, two children. Men take their qualities from the beasts, to whom\nthey are related, and most from those of whose blood they have most in\ntheir veins. If they have most of their great father's, the owl, they\nare wise, and generally become priests; if the wolf predominates, they\nare bloody-minded; if the bear, they are dirty and sluggish, great\neaters, and love to lick their fingers; if the deer, they are exceedingly\ntimorous and feeble; if the fox, cruel and sly; the eagle, bold,\ndaring, and courageous, and the adder, treacherous. Thus men have, all\ntheir different natures and properties from the brutes, and oftentimes\nare worse than brutes.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMING OF MIQUON.\n\n\nWill my brother listen? will he hear what a Mohegan has to say of the\nmanner in which his nation first became acquainted with the white\npeople?\n\nA great many seasons ago, when men with a white skin had never been\nseen in the land of the Mohegans, before the Fire-eater had come to\ntake the place of the Yagesho(1), or the pale-face had succeeded to\nthe less destructive Mammoth(2); some men of our nation, who were out\nat a place where the sea widens, espied, far away on the bosom of the\nGreat Lake, a very large creature floating on the water. It was such\nan object as they had never seen before. Fear of this creature\nimmediately filling their bosoms, they hastily returned to the shore.\nHaving apprised their countrymen of what they had seen, they pressed\nthem to accompany them, and make further discoveries of its nature and\nits purpose in coming thither. Launching their canoes, they hurried\nout together, and saw with increased astonishment the wonderful object\nwhich was approaching. Their conjectures were very various as to what\nit was; some believed it to be a great fish, or animal; while others\nwere of opinion that it was a very big house floating on the bosom of\nthe Great Lake. They were not long in concluding that this wonderful\nand mysterious object was moving towards the land, and they also saw\nthat it was endued with life. Deeming it proper to inform all their\nbrethren, to whom intelligence could be conveyed, of what was coming,\nthat they might be on their guard, they dispatched swift runners and\nfast rowers in every direction, to the east, west, and north, to carry\nthe news to the scattered chiefs, and tribes, that they might gather\ntheir warriors together, and prepare to combat, if need were, the\nstrange creature. Soon, the chiefs and warriors of the neighbouring\ntribes were collected in great numbers, at that part of the shore\nwhich the strange creature was clearly approaching. It soon came so\nnear that they were able to make it out to be a large moving house,\n(though they had never beheld such) in which, as they supposed, the\nGreat Spirit himself was present, and coming to visit them.\n\nWishing to receive him in a manner which should mark their sense of\nhis goodness to them and their fathers, to the giver of the corn, and\nthe meat, and the victory over their enemies, they deliberated in\nwhat manner that object could be best accomplished. The first thing\nwas to provide plenty of meat for a sacrifice, and with this view the\nbest hunters were dispatched to the forest, in quest of those animals\nsupposed to be most acceptable to the mighty guest. The women were\ndirected to prepare _tasmanane_ and pottage in the best manner. All\nthe idols were brought out, examined, and put in order. As a grand\ndance was always supposed to be an agreeable entertainment to the\nGreat Spirit, one was ordered, not only for his gratification, but\nthat it might, with the aid of a sacrifice, appease him, if he were\nangry with them, and induce him to stay his hand, rather than slay\nthem. The priests and _powwows_ were called, and set to work to\ndetermine, if possible, what this remarkable event portended, and what\nthe possible result might be. They came habited in their robes of\nmagic, skins of black bears, the head, nose, ears, teeth, as also the\nlegs, with the long claws, appearing the same as when the animal\nlived, with a huge pair of buffalo-horns upon the head, and a large\nbushy tail projecting from behind. Some were frightfully painted, some\nhad the skin of an owl drawn over their heads, and some had snakes\nwreathed around their bodies. To them, and to the chiefs and wise men\nof the nation, the women and children, and the men of inferior note,\nwere looking up for advice and protection. And now, filling their\ngourds with water from the stump of a fallen cypress, they began their\nwork of incantation, by muttering over the magic water a charm that\nhad hitherto been of potent influence, and words that called upon many\nspirits to assist in effecting the wishes of the masters of the spell.\nThe spirits answered not, and the priests became so distracted with\nfears at the unusual deafness of those who had given them their power,\nthat they increased the fever of apprehension they should have\nassisted to calm. The gourds, with the charmed water, fell from their\nhands, and, though the dance was commenced with fervour and\nenthusiasm, yet, such was the alarm, that it did not possess the\nregularity and order with which the Great Spirit through songs,\ndances, and sacrifices, must be approached.\n\nWhile in this situation, those men in canoes who had approached\nnearest to the strange object returned, and declared that it was a\ngreat house painted of various colours, and crowded with human beings.\nThey thought it certain that it was the Great Spirit, bringing them\nsome gift which they did not possess before. Other messengers soon\narrived, who had seen the inhabitants of the house, and made a report\nwhich did not lessen their wonder, fear, or curiosity. They told\ntheir friends that they were men of a different colour from the\nIndians, and differently dressed; they were white as the flesh of a\nplucked bird, and wore no skins; and one of them, who must be the\nGreat Spirit himself, was dressed entirely in red. The great house, or\nwhatever it was, continued to approach. While approaching, some one in\nit cried to them in a loud voice, and in a language which they could\nnot understand, yet they shouted in reply, according to the custom of\nthe Mohegans. Much frightened at the strange voices, and at the still\nstranger creature which floated towards them, many proposed to retreat\nto the hills for security; others opposed this, lest offence should be\ngiven to their visiter, who would find them out and destroy them. At\nlast, the strange creature, which they now found to be a great canoe,\nstopped, and, at once, the robes white as snow, which were spread over\nits numerous arms, and covered its three heads, fluttered in the winds\nlike clouds in the season of ripe corn. Soon were many of the strange\nmen employed in gathering these robes into folds, as Indians pack\nskins. Presently a canoe of smaller size approached the shore where\nthe Indians sat, having in it the man who was dressed in red and many\nothers. When he had landed, leaving his canoe with some of his men to\nguard it, he approached the Mohegan chiefs and warriors who were\nassembled in council, and had seated themselves in a circle, as is\ntheir custom when about to receive ambassadors and messengers of\npeace. The man in red walked fearlessly into the midst of them, and\nsaluted them all with great kindness, taking a hand of each, which he\nshook very hard. The Indians, on their part, testified their gladness,\nand their friendship, and their emotions of joy and satisfaction at\ntheir arrival, by loud shouts, and by rubbing their cheeks against\nthose of their new acquaintance, and by patting them on the back. Lost\nin admiration of the strangers, of their dress, so gay and so\ndissimilar to that of the Indians, their manners so unlike, their\nfeatures so different, and their language so utterly unknown, the\nMohegans could do nothing but wonder and applaud. A large portion of\ntheir admiration, was however, reserved for the man who wore the\nglittering red coat, and who, they doubted not, was the Great Spirit.\nThe curiosity of the people was expressed in a thousand different\nways; the priests wondered whether the Great Spirit knew and\nrecognised them as old acquaintances; the warriors, whether the men\nwho accompanied him were fleet, and courageous as themselves; and the\nwomen were very curious to know if the men were like our own men, and\nloudly expressed their determination to ascertain the fact. All\nagreed in this, that whether beings of this world, or of the land of\ndreams, they must be treated with great kindness(3), and fed upon the\nchoicest viands of the tribe.\n\nMeanwhile, a large hackhack, or gourd, was brought to the man in red\nby one of his servants, from which he poured an unknown liquor\nresembling rain-water, into a small cup of such an appearance as the\nIndians had never before seen. He drank the liquor from this cup, and,\nfilling it again, he handed it to the Mohegan chief standing next him.\nThe chief received it, smelt to it, and passed it untested to the\nchief standing by him, who did the same, till it had been handled and\nsmelt to by all the Indians in the circle, while not one had tasted\nit. The man who last took the cup was upon the point of returning it\nto the supposed Manitou in red; when the Bender of the Pine Bow, one\nof the bravest Mohegans, and the stoutest warrior in the nation, rose\nand spoke to his brothers thus:\n\n\"It is not right for us to return the cup with its contents untested.\nIt is handed to us by the Manitou, that we may drink as he has done.\nTo follow his example will be pleasing to him; it will show our\nconfidence in him, and the courage which we have been told is highly\nvalued by him. To return the cup with its contents untasted, will\ngive him reason to think that we believe it to be the juice of the\npoison-tree; it will provoke his anger and bring destruction upon us\nall. It is for the good of the nation that the contents of the cup\nshould be swallowed, and, as no one else will do it, the Bender of the\nPine Bow devotes himself to the killing draught. It is better that one\nman should perish than that a whole nation should be destroyed.\"\n\nThe Bender of the Pine Bow then took the glass, and, giving many\ndirections, and bidding a solemn farewell to his family and friends,\nresolutely drank its fearful contents. Every eye was fixed upon the\nbrave man, to see what effect the strange liquor would produce. Soon\nhe began to stagger, to whine fearfully, to roll up the whites of his\neyes, to loll out his tongue, to shout, and to act a thousand other\nextravagancies. At last, he fell prostrate on the ground, and a deep\nsleep came over him. His companions, supposing him dead, fell to\nbemoaning his fate, and his wife set up the death-howl; all thought\nhim a martyr to his valour and his love for his nation. But the man in\nred only laughed at their grief, and by signs gave them to understand\nthat he would rise again. He told them true: the chief awoke, and\ndeclared to his friends that he had enjoyed, while apparently lifeless,\nthe most delicious sensations, and that he had never before felt so\nhappy as after he had drunk the cup. He asked the stranger in red for\nmore; his wish was granted: the other Indians made the same request,\nand so was theirs; the whole assembly tasted the contents of the cup,\nand all became as mad and intoxicated as their leader. Soon was the\nMohegan camp a scene of noise and tumult, brawl and bloodshed.\n\nAfter the general madness had ceased, the man in red and his\nassociates, who, while it lasted, had confined themselves to their\ncanoe, returned to the shore, and distributed presents, such as beads\nand axes, among the Indians. The two nations soon became familiar with\neach other, and a conversation ensued, wherein the wants and wishes of\neach, as far as they could be made intelligible, were conveyed by\nsigns. The strangers gave them to understand that they must recross\nthe Great Salt Lake, to the vales which contained their wives and\nlittle ones; but that they would be back again when the season of\nsnows should have passed, and would bring with them more and richer\npresents. With these promises, they departed.\n\nWhen the season of flowers came round again, it brought with it the\nman in red, and a great band of followers. The Indians were very glad\nto see the pale faces, who appeared equally pleased at the meeting.\nBut the latter were much diverted, and made a great laugh at the uses\nto which the Indians had put their presents, for they had suspended\nthe axes and hoes around their necks, and used the stockings for\ntobacco-pouches. The visiters now taught them the proper use of those\nimplements. Having put handles to the axes and hoes, with the former\nthey felled great trees, making the forest ring with their blows; with\nthe latter they cut up the weeds which choked the maize. The various\nbenefits conferred upon the Indians by their visiters confirmed them\nin the belief that they were indeed spiritual beings, he in red being\nin their estimation the Supreme Manitou, and his attendants, the\ninferior Manitous. The visiters did not this time all go back in the\ncanoes; many of them continued to abide with the Indians, who gave or\nsold them land(4), and lived very contentedly with them until they\nwished to dispossess them of the very grounds where they had buried\nthe bones of their fathers. Wars were then commenced, and the Indians\nwere soon dispossessed of the soil which was theirs by their birthright.\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _The Yagesho._--p. 99.\n\nI have not the means of judging whether this is an imaginary beast or\nnot, probably it was. The following is the Indian account: The\nTagisho, or Yagesho, was an animal much superior to the largest bear,\nremarkably long-bodied, broad down by his shoulders, but thin or\nnarrow just at its hind legs. It had a large head and fearful look.\nIts legs were short and thick; its paws (at the toes of which were\nnails or claws, nearly as long as an Indian's finger), spread very\nwide. It was almost bare of hair, except the hinder part of its legs,\nin which places the hair was very long. For this reason, the Indians\ngave it the name of \"_Naked Bear_.\" Several of these animals had been\ndestroyed by the Indians, but the one of which the following account\nis given, had escaped them, and for years had from time to time\ndestroyed many Indians, particularly women and children when they were\nout in the woods gathering nuts, digging roots, or at work in the\nfields. Hunters, when overtaken by this animal, had no way of\nescaping, except where a river or lake was at hand, by plunging into\nit, and swimming out or down the stream to a great distance; when this\nwas the case, and the beast was not able to pursue further, then he\nwould set up such a roaring noise, that every Indian hearing it would\ntremble. This animal preyed on every beast he could lay hold of; he\nwould catch and kill the largest bears and devour them; while bears\nwere plenty, the Indians had not so much to dread from him; but, when\nthis was not the case, he would run about the woods, searching for the\ntrack or scent of hunters, following them up, and making prey of them.\nThe women were so afraid of going out to work, that the men assembled\nto deliberate on the manner or plan of killing him. At, or near a lake\n(Hoosink), whence the water flowed two ways, one on the northern and\nthe other on the southern end, this beast had his residence, of which\nthe Indians were well informed. A resolute party, well provided with\nbows, arrows, and spears, made towards the lake; on a high\nperpendicular rock they stationed themselves, climbing up this rock by\nmeans of Indian ladders, and then drawing these after them. After\nbeing well fixed, and having taken up a number of stones, they began\nto imitate the voices and cries of the various beasts of the woods,\nand even that of children, to decoy him thither. Having spent some\ndays without success, a detached party took a stroll to some distance\nfrom the rock. Before they had reached the rock again, this beast had\ngot scent, and was in full pursuit of them; yet they reached it before\nhe arrived. When he came to it, he was in great anger, and sprung\nagainst it with his mouth wide open, grinning and seizing the flinty\nsubstance as if he would tear it to pieces. He had several times\nsprung nearly up. During all this time, numbers of arrows and stones\nwere discharged at him, until his death was finally effected, and he\ndropped down and expired.\n\n\n(2) _The Mammoth._--p. 99.\n\n\"An Indian chief of the Delaware tribe, who visited the governor of\nVirginia, during the Revolution, informed him that it was a tradition\nhanded down from their fathers, that in ancient times a herd of these\ntremendous animals came to the Big-bone Licks, and began a universal\ndestruction of the bear, deer, elk, buffalo, and other animals, which\nhad been created for the use of the Indians. The Great Man above,\nlooking down and seeing this, was so enraged that he seized his\nlightning, descended on the earth, seated himself on a neighbouring\nmountain, on a rock, (on which his seat and the prints of his feet are\nto be seen to this day) and hurled his bolts among them, till the\nwhole were slaughtered, except a big bull, who, presenting his\nforehead to the shafts, shook them off as they fell; but, missing one\nat length, it wounded him on the side, whereon, springing round, he\nbounded over the Ohio, the Wabash, and the Illinois, and finally over\nthe great lakes, where he is living at this day.\"--_Jefferson's Notes\non Virginia._\n\n\n(3) _White People treated with great kindness._--p. 105.\n\nIn every instance the white people, on their first interview with the\nIndians, were treated well. Varrazano (see _Hakluyt's Voyages_, vol.\nii, p. 295, 300, Lond. 1600.) upon his landing on the North American\ncoast, (which was near Wilmington, North Carolina), found the natives\nvery hospitable. \"Great store of people,\" says he, \"came to the sea\nside, and, seeing us approach, they fled away, and sometimes would\nstand still and look back, beholding us with great admiration; but\nafterwards, being animated and assured with signs that we made them,\nsome of them came hard to the sea-side, seeming to rejoice much at the\nsight of us, and marvelling greatly at our apparel, shape, and\nwhiteness; and shewed us, by sundry signs, where we might most\ncommodiously come to land with our boat; offering us also of their\nvictuals to eat.\" Again, at another place, one of the sailors who had\nlanded with a few articles designed as presents, found himself treated\nin the kindest manner. \"These guileless people conducted him to the\nshore, and held him some time in a close embrace, with great love,\nclapping him fast about, in order to evince their regret at\nparting.\"--_See Varrazano's Letter in Hakluyt, and New York Hist.\nCollect._\n\nThe treatment experienced by Columbus was equally kind. When Americus\nVesputius landed, he was treated as a superior Being; all the early\nvoyagers, the Cabots, Jacques Cartier, Sir Humphry Gilbert, Hudson,\nspeak of the unbounded kindness and hospitality they experienced from\nthe Indians. In the first report of Sir Walter Raleigh's Captain, it\nis said that they were entertained with as much bounty as could\npossibly be devised. They found the people most gentle, loving, and\nfaithful, void of all guile and treason, and such as live after the\nmanner of the golden age.--_See Hakluyt._\n\nIn the first sermon ever preached in New England, the preacher says of\nthe Indians: \"They have been to us like lambs, so kind, so submissive\nand trusty, as a man may truly say many Christians are not so kind and\nsincere. When we first came into this country, we were few, and many\nof us were sick, and many died by reason of the cold and wet, it\nbeing the depth of winter, and we having no houses nor shelter; yet,\nwhen there were not six able persons among us, and that they came\ndaily to us by hundreds, with their sachems or kings, and might, in\none hour, have made a dispatch of us, &c. yet they never offered us\nthe least injury.\"--_Sermon_ printed 1622, reprinted Bost. 1815.\n\n(4) _Gave or sold them land._--p. 99.\n\nAt Stoke Pogis, Buckinghamshire, the seat of John Penn, Esq. the\ngrandson of the founder of Pennsylvania, is preserved a portion of\nthe trunk of a tree, supported on a marble base. On a brass plate\nis this inscription:\n\n\"This part of the great elm, under which the treaty was held,\nA. D. 1681, between Penn and the first inhabitants of America, in\nthe neighbourhood of Philadelphia, and which was blown down A. D.\n1810, is a present from some of the Society of Friends or Quakers,\nresiding in Pennsylvania.\"\n\nIt is added: \"The tree was in some danger during the American war,\nwhile the British army was in possession of that city, it being often\nnecessary to cut down the trees in its vicinity for firing. But the\nlate General Simcoe, who had the command of the district in which it\ngrew, was induced, by his esteem for the character of William Penn,\nand the history connected with it, to order a guard of British\nsoldiers to protect it from the axe.\"\n\nBy the side are some portraits of the Indian chiefs who signed the\nfollowing deed:\n\n\"This indenture witnesseth, that we, Packenah, Jaultham Jickals,\nPartsequolt, Jerois Essepimank, Felktroy, Hekellappace, Eromas,\nMacloah, Wissy Powy, Indian kings, sackmakers, right owners of all\nlands from Quing Quingus, called Duck Creek, all along by the west\nside of Delaware river, and so between the said creeks backwards as\nfar as a man can ride in two days with a horse, for and in\nconsideration of these following goods, and as paid in hand and\nsecured by William Penn, proprietary and governor of the province of\nPennsylvania and territories thereof; viz. 20 guns, 20 fathoms\nmatchcoat, 20 fathoms stroud-water, 20 blankets, 20 kettles, 20 lbs.\nof powder, 100 bars of lead, 40 tomahawks, 100 knives, 40 pairs of\nstockings, 1 barrel of beer, 20 lbs. of red lead, 100 fathoms of\nwampum, 30 glass bottles, 30 pewter spoons, 100 awl-blades, 300\ntobacco-pipes, 100 hands of tobacco, 20 tobacco-tongs, 20 steels, 300\nflints, 30 pair of scissars, 30 combs, 60 looking-glasses, 200\nneedles, 1 skipple of salt, 30 lbs. of sugar, 8 gallons of molasses,\n20 tobacco-boxes, 100 jews' harps, 20 hoes, 30 gimblets, 30 wooden\nscrew boxes, 100 strings of beads; do hereby acknowledge, &c. &c.\nGiven under our hand at Newcastle, 2d day of the 8th month, 1685.\"\n\nThe above is certified to be a true copy taken from the original, in\nDec. 1813, by Ephraim Morton, of Washington, Pennsylvania, formerly a\nclerk in the land-office.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FUNERAL FIRE.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, many years ago, a war raged between the Chippewas\nand their enemies, and the lands of the hostile tribes were red with\nblood. It was then that a small party of the former nation encountered\na band of the latter upon an open plain in the country of the Great\nLakes. Meteewan, the leader of the Chippewas, was a brave and\ndistinguished warrior; his martial deeds were the theme of every youth\nwho looked to obtain renown in arms, and formed one of the principal\nsubjects of discourse among the different tribes of the land. And\nnever did the chief act with greater bravery, or more distinguish\nhimself for prudence and personal prowess, than on this occasion.\nAfter he had, by the valour of his arm, turned the tide of battle\nagainst his enemies, and while he was giving the great shout of\nvictory, he received an arrow in his breast, and fell dead upon the\nplain. No Indian warrior killed thus is ever buried. According to\nancient custom, he was placed in a sitting posture upon the field of\nbattle, his back supported by a tree, and his face turned towards the\npath in which their enemies had fled. His head-dress, with all its\nfeathers and decorations, his martial equipments, his spear, and club,\nwere accurately adjusted, and his bow and quiver leaned against his\nshoulder. In this posture his companions left him. A fate which\nappeared so evident to all proved deceptive however in the result.\nAlthough deprived of the power of utterance, and the ability to move,\nhe heard distinctly all that had been said by his friends. He heard\nthem lament his death without the power to contradict it; he heard\nthem speak of his great deeds; he heard them depict the grief of his\nwife when she should be made acquainted with his fate. He felt the\ntouch of their hands as they adjusted his posture, without the power\nto reciprocate it. His limbs, and all his faculties, except those of\nthought, were bound in chains of terrible strength, and he could not\nburst them. His thoughts flowed as freely as ever, but his limbs\nrefused to second their commands. His anguish, when he felt himself\nthus abandoned, was raised to a dreadful height; but he was compelled\nto bear it, for no endeavours of his could allay it. His wish to\nfollow his friends, who were about to return to their homes, so\ncompletely filled his mind, that, after making a violent exertion, he\nrose, or seemed to himself to rise and follow them. But he was\ninvisible to them; they neither saw his form, nor heard his voice or\nsteps, and this gave new cause for surprise. Astonishment,\ndisappointment, rage, alternately filled his breast, while he\nattempted to make himself heard, seen, or felt, and found that he had\nlost the power to do either. He followed their track, however, with\ngreat diligence. Whereever they went, he went; when they walked, he\nwalked; when they ran, he ran; when they encamped, he encamped; when\nthey slept, he slept; when they awoke, he awoke. In short, he mingled\nin all their labours and toils; but he was excluded from all the\nsources of refreshment and enjoyment, except that of sleeping, and\nfrom participating in their conversation, for nothing, he said, was\nattended to. He saw them eat the sweet flesh of the deer, and the\ndelicious dish compounded of corn and bison-meat, but no portion came\nto him; he saw them bend joyfully over the pleasant fire, which\nadministered no reviving warmth to his shuddering limbs. He heard them\nrecount their valiant deeds, but he was unable to tell them how much\nhis own exceeded theirs; he heard them paint the joys which awaited\ntheir return to their homes, but wanted the power to say that he too\nhad relatives and kindred not less loving and beloved than theirs.\n\n\"Is it possible,\" he exclaimed, with bitterness, \"that you do not hear\nme--that you do not understand me? Will you suffer me to bleed to\ndeath without offering to stanch my wounds?--Will you give me no\nvictuals to eat while your kettles are overflowing with the product of\na fortunate hunt, and even the dogs are fed upon the savoury bison\nhump?--Have those whom I have so often led to war, so often enabled to\ncry the shrill cry of victory, and display the pole filled with scalps\nof hostile warriors, have they forgotten me?--Is there no one who\nrecollects me, or who will offer me a morsel of food in my\ndistress?--Am I indeed, as I fear, invisible to all?--Do I cease to\nwear the human form, and is my voice no longer a thing to be heard?\"\nThus he continued to upbraid his friends at every stage of the\njourney, but no one seemed to hear his words, or, if they heard his\nvoice, they mistook its sound for the winds of summer rustling among\nthe green leaves, and shaking the branches of the trees.\n\nAt length, the returning war-party reached their village, and their\nwomen and children came out, according to custom, to welcome their\nreturn, and proclaim their praises. _Kumaudjeewug! Kumaudjeewug!\nKumaudjeewug!_ they have met, fought, and conquered, was shouted from\nevery mouth, and resounded through the most distant parts of the\nvillage. The aged warrior, whom weakness and decrepitude had compelled\nto throw down the bow and the spear, and the eagle-eyed boy, who was\nfast gaining upon the ripened period when he should take them up, did\neach his part in celebrating the feats which the one had equalled, and\nthe other hoped to outdo. The wife, with a proud mien, came forward to\nmeet the embraces of her renowned husband; the timid maiden, with a\ndowncast eye, to steal a look at her valiant lover. Those who had lost\nfriends came eagerly to enquire their fate, and to know whether they\nhad died like men. The decrepid father consoled himself for the loss\nof his son with the reflection that he had fallen manfully, and the\nwidow half forgot her sorrow amid the praises that were bestowed on\nthe bravery of her departed husband. The breasts of the youths glowed\nwith martial ardour as they heard these flattering praises, and\nchildren joined in the shouts of which they hardly knew the meaning,\nexcept that they related to the scalps suspended from the bloody pole.\nBut, amidst all this uproar and bustle, no one seemed conscious of the\npresence of the wounded chief. He heard many inquiries about his own\nfate; he heard them say that he had fought, conquered, and fallen,\npierced through his breast with an arrow, and that his body had been\nleft among the slain.\n\n\"It is not true,\" replied the indignant chief, with a loud voice,\n\"that I was killed and left upon the field--I am here. I live! I\nmove!--See me! Touch me! I shall again raise my lance, and bend my bow\nin battle; I shall again sound my drum at the feast. My voice will\nagain be tuned to sing my exploits in the ears of listening youth, and\nmy arm raised to strike the painted post preparatory to the hostile\nincursion.\" But nobody seemed conscious of his presence, and they\nmistook the loudest tones of his voice for the mildest whispering of\nthe winds. He now walked to his own lodge; he saw his wife within,\ntearing her hair, and raising her lamentations over his fate: he\nendeavoured to undeceive her, but she also seemed equally insensible\nto his presence or his voice: she sat in a despairing manner, with her\nhead reclining upon her hands: he asked her to bind up his wounds, but\nshe made no reply: he then placed his mouth close to her ear, and\nvociferated, \"I am hungry, give me some food.\" The wife thought she\nheard a buzzing in her ear, and remarked it to one who sat near her.\nThe enraged husband, now summoning all his strength, struck her a blow\nupon the forehead. She only complained of feeling a shooting pain\nthere, such as is not unfrequent, and, raising her hand to her head,\nremarked, \"I feel a slight head-ache.\"\n\nFoiled thus in every attempt to make himself known, the warrior chief\nbegan to reflect upon what he had heard the priests and wise men say,\nthat the spirit was sometimes permitted to leave the body, and wander\nabout. He reflected that possibly his body had remained upon the field\nof battle, while his spirit only accompanied his returning companions.\nThe part he had presented before the eyes of his apparently neglectful\nfriends might have been that which mere human eyes see not. He\ndetermined to return upon their track, although it was four days'\njourney to the place. He accordingly began his immediately. For three\ndays he pursued his way without meeting with any thing uncommon, but,\non the fourth, towards evening, as he came to the skirts of the\nbattle-field, he saw a fire in the path before him. He walked to one\nside of the path to avoid stepping into it, but the fire also changed\nits position, and was still before him. He then went in another\ndirection, but the mysterious fire still crossed his path, and seemed\nto bar his entrance to the scene of conflict. In short, whichever way\nhe took, the fire was still before him: no expedient seemed capable of\neluding it. \"Thou demon,\" he exclaimed at length, \"why dost thou bar\nmy approach to the field of battle, to the spot which contains my own\ninanimate body? Knowest thou not that I am a spirit also, and that I\nseek again to enter that body from which I have so lately been\ndriven?--Or dost thou presume that I shall return without effecting my\nobject because of thy opposition?--Know that I am a chief and a\nwarrior, tried in many a hard battle, and never known to flinch. I\nhave never been defeated by the enemies of my nation, and I will not\nbe defeated by thee.\" So saying, he made a vigorous effort, and\nsucceeded in forcing a passage through the flame. In this exertion he\nawoke from his trance, having lain eight days on the field of battle.\nHe found himself sitting on the ground, with his back supported by a\ntree, and his bow leaning against his shoulder, having all his warlike\ndress and implements upon his body, the same as they had been left by\nhis friends on the day of battle. Looking up, he beheld a large\n_canieu_, or war-eagle, sitting upon the tree above his head. He\nimmediately recognised this bird to be the same he had dreamt of in\nhis youth, and whom he had selected as his guardian spirit or personal\nManitou. While his body had lain in its breathless and soulless state,\nthis friendly bird had watched it, and prevented other ravenous birds\nfrom devouring it. He got up, and stood some time upon his feet, but\nhe was weak and exhausted, and it was a long time before respiration\nbecame full and perfect, and the blood coursed in his veins as it was\nwont to do before its transient suspension. The blood upon his wound\nhad stanched itself, and he now bound it up. Possessing, as every\nIndian does, the knowledge of such roots as were efficacious for its\ncure, he sought diligently in the woods for them, and obtained\nsufficient for his purpose. Some of them he pounded between stones and\napplied externally; others he chewed and swallowed. In a short time he\nfound himself so much recovered as to be able to commence his journey,\nbut he suffered greatly from hunger, not being able to see any large\nanimals. With his bow and arrows, however, he killed small birds\nduring the day, which he roasted before the fire at night. In this way\nhe sustained himself, until he came to a water that separated his wife\nand friends from him. He then gave that peculiar whoop which indicates\nthe safe return of an absent friend. The signal was instantly known,\nand a canoe dispatched to bring him across. But, while this canoe was\nabsent, conjecture was exhausting itself in designating the unknown\nperson who had given this friendly intimation of his approach. All who\nhad been of the war-party had returned, except those who were killed\non the field. There was no hunter absent. It might be a hunter of\nsome neighbouring nation. It might be some deep deception or stratagem\nof their enemies. It was rash to send a canoe without knowing whether\nit was a friend or foe. In the height of these conjectures, the\nwarrior chief was landed amidst the shouts of his friends and\nrelations, who thronged from every lodge to welcome their faithful\nleader. When the first wild burst of joy and wonder had subsided, and\nsome degree of quiet was restored in the village, he related to his\npeople the account of his adventures which has been given. He then\nconcluded his narration by telling them that it is pleasing to the\nspirit of a deceased person to have a fire built upon his grave for\nfour nights after his interment; that it is four days' journey to the\nland appointed for the residence of the spirit; that, in its journey\nthither, the spirit stood in need of a fire every night at the place\nof its encampment; that, if the friends kindled this funeral fire upon\nthe place where the body was deposited, the spirit had the benefit of\nits light and warmth in its sojourning; but, if they neglected this\nrite, the spirit would itself be subjected to the irksome task of\nbuilding its own fire at night.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PORTIONING OF THE SONS.\n\n\nThe Great Being, who governs the world, having finished his work, and\ncheated every thing which is found upon the land, in the air, or in\nthe water, called to him the red man, and his younger brother, the\nwhite man, and said to them, \"Children, come hither.\" So saying, he\ncarried them to a great pen or fold, upon one side of which stood a\nlarge coop, and on the other a big pond of water. In the pen or fold\nwere a vast many animals, all four-legged, the deer, the bison, the\nhorse, the cow, the panther, the musk-ox, the antelope, the goat, and\nthe dog, with many more, such as the beaver, the otter, the mink, and\nthe musk-rat, which lay with their tails in the pond and their heads\nin the pen; and others, such as the tortoise and the alligator, whose\nsnouts preferred water, while their tails stuck to the land. In the\ncoop were a vast many birds and fowls, some of beautiful and varied\nplumage, while others were robed in dirty and dingy feathers; some\nwere very tender, and good to eat, and some were tough, and but\nso-so. I need not particularise the fishes, for my brother knows well\nenough what they are. When the young men had spent a long time in\nexamining the animals, and birds, and fishes, admiring and praising\nthem, as who would not that has never before seen them, the Great\nCreator addressed them thus:\n\n\"My sons, I have created many creatures, and breathed into them the\nbreath of life; I have made the forests resound with the cry of bears,\nand panthers, and bisons; I have caused the air to be so thickly\ninhabited, that you can scarcely move without having your cheeks\nfanned by the breath of the wings of my birds; I have made the rivers\npopulous with finny people. These--all things--I have created, are for\nyour use, and to you two I give them, equally and alike.\" So saying,\nhe began to divide the animals, and birds, and beasts, between them.\nTo the red son, whom he loved best, because he was strong and feared\nnothing, he gave the beasts which partook of his own cunning and\ncourage--the bear, the dog, the panther, the fox, and the beaver, to\nwhich he added for food, the deer, the elk, and the bison; to the\npale-faced son he gave the horse to carry him, because his legs were\nweak, the cow, the hog, the sheep, and the cat. The white son took, of\nthe feathered tribes, the fowl which crows at the glimmering of\nlight, the duck and the goose, which love to dabble in mud, and the\nturkey, which sings a song that is none of the best; and the red man\ntook the eagle, the owl, and all the rest of the birds. The fishes\nwere not divided, because they could not be kept apart, but the sons\nagreed that the better marksman, the Indian, should prey upon those\nwhich called for a true aim with the spear, while the pale face should\nangle for those which required less skill, and were caught with less\ntrouble.\n\nWhen the division had taken place, as far as it was ever to take\nplace, the white son took his gifts, and carried them carefully to a\npleasant and clean field, where there was a bright sun, much water\nclose at hand, and plenty of sweet and juicy grass. He then commenced\nthe task of making his animals tame and tractable. He put pieces of\ntrees across their necks, fastening them together by two and two, the\ncow and the horse, the hog and the sheep, the cat and the dog; but the\nhog pulled back so hard, and was so contrary, and the cat and the dog\nquarrelled so much and fought so furiously, that he unyoked the two\nlast pair, and never attempted to make them work together again. With\nthe horse and cow, however, which he found exceeding tractable, he\nsucceeded in turning up the earth, for the planting of his corn, and\nhis beans, and his pumpkins. He also made the cow serviceable, by\nobtaining a delicious drink from her udder, and he made the horse\nfurther valuable and useful by fixing a string to his mouth, and by\nthrowing a bear-skin over his back, when, mounting him, he made him\ncarry him whithersoever he would. The sheep gave him a soft down\nwhereof he made his robes, and the blankets he sells to the Indians;\nthe hog furnished him with meat; the dog helped him in many ways; but\nI know not to what use he put the cat. So the white son of the Great\nSpirit brought all his animals to be tame and useful, either making\nthem afford him milk and meat, or help him to prepare the ground for\nthe seeds he was commanded to plant therein.\n\nMy brother demands what did the red man with the gifts which were\nappointed to him. I will tell him. He looked on them very curiously\nfor a minute, then wrapped them up loosely in his blanket, and laid\nthem aside, intending to do with them the next day as his white\nbrother had done with his. Just then the remembrance of something came\nacross his mind, which led him astray from his purpose, and he thought\nno more of the blanket or the creatures which it contained, until many\nmoons had passed away. When the remembrance of the imprisoned animals\nreturned to his mind, he repaired to the spot where he had deposited\nthem--nothing remained but the blanket. He immediately commenced a\nsearch for them, and found the pleasure and excitement so great and\nexhilarating, that ever since he has adopted this mode of obtaining\nhis meat, instead of the method of raising tame animals followed by\nthe foolish white men. It is still his favourite pursuit, and he no\nlonger regrets his want of care, or wishes to repair his error. While\nthe white man is doomed to hear the cackling of geese and the grunting\nof hogs, the lowing of kine and the bleating of sheep, and to watch\nover all and to tend all with the care and nursing which a mother\nbestows upon her helpless child, the red man with his arrows slung to\nhis shoulder, and his mocassins tight-laced to his legs, escapes to\nthe howl of the panther, and finds joy in the cry of the wolf. Over\nmountain, and through forest, goes the happy Indian, free as the air,\nwhile the white man is chained to his dull and spiritless pursuits,\nand fettered by his endless cares. The Great Being, doubtless,\nintended the Indian good when he made the apportionment of the\ncreatures, but the Indian has never found fault with the incident\nwhich released him from the care of them, and gave him the pleasant\noccupation of hunting in lieu thereof.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN'S ROCK.\n\n\nIf my brother has seen the River of Fish, he will know that, at the\ndistance of a few moons' journey, below the rush of waters which the\nwhite man calls the Falls of St. Anthony, but which the Indians call\nthe Island of Eagles[A], there is a beautiful lake, which the same\npeople have named Lake Pepin. It is a place so beautiful to behold,\nthat distant Indian nations have journeyed thither, and white people\ncome from the city of Strong Walls, to look at it and admire. On one\nside lies the rapid Mississippi, now in foam, and now in eddies,\nsweeping every thing thrown upon its current with the rapidity that a\nman walks, and winding, in devious courses, among many islands, some\nof which are covered with lofty trees, and some are but banks of sand.\nOn the other side lies the lake, which presents to the eye but a\nsmooth sheet of water, on which there is neither wave nor ripple, and\nunchequered by a single island. As the eye passes along its sluggish\nsurface, it rests at length upon the lofty bluffs which enclose it.\nOne of these, a high projecting point, a precipitous crag resting upon\na steep bank, whose base is washed away by the never-ceasing action of\nthe waters, is called _The Maiden's Rock_. It is known to every Indian\nin those regions, by a gloomy story of unfortunate love. It was the\nscene of one of the most melancholy transactions that has ever\noccurred among our people.\n\n[Footnote A: See the Tradition _post_.]\n\nThere was once upon a time in the village of Keoxa, in the tribe of\nWapasha, a young Indian woman, whose name was Winona, which means \"the\nfirst-born.\" She was good and beautiful, and much beloved by all. She\nhad conceived a strong attachment to a young hunter of her nation, who\nloved her as much as she loved him. They had frequently met, sometimes\nin the shady coverts of the wood, at others beneath the river's banks,\nbut, according to the forms of Indian courtship, more frequently at\nthe side of her couch, when all the village were at rest. They had\nconfessed their love, and agreed to be united as soon as the consent\nof her family could be obtained. But, when he asked her of her parents,\nhe was denied, and told that she was to become the wife of a warrior\nof distinction, who had sued for her. The warrior was a great\nfavourite with the nation; he had acquired a distinguished name by\nthe services he had rendered the village when it was attacked by the\nChippewas; yet, notwithstanding all this, and the support which he\nreceived from her parents and brothers, Winona persisted in preferring\nthe hunter. To all their loud commendations of the warrior, she\nreplied that she loved another better; that she had made choice of a\nman, who, being a professed hunter, would spend his life with her, and\nsecure to her comfort and subsistence, plenty of food, and abundant\nhappiness: while the warrior would be constantly intent upon martial\nexploits, exposing her, if she staid at home, to the evils of want and\nhunger; if she accompanied him, to the dangers of defeat and death.\nWinona's expostulations were, however, of no avail; and her parents,\nhaving succeeded in driving away him she preferred to all the world,\nbegan to use harsh measures in order to compel her to marry the man of\ntheir choice. To all her entreaties that she might not be forced into\na union with a man she did not love, they turned a deaf ear--to all\nher tears they were blind. She begged to be allowed to live a single\nlife, and to spend her days watching the sleep, and preventing the\ncares, of her father and mother: they answered, No. Winona had at all\ntimes enjoyed a greater share in the affections of her family, and had\nbeen indulged more than is usual among Indian females. She had not\nbeen obliged to join in the labours of the field, nor in the more\narduous of those within doors. She planted no corn, and the fire-wood\nand the buffalo's meat were brought home on other shoulders than hers.\nBeing a favourite with her brothers, they expressed a wish that her\nconsent to this union should be obtained by persuasive means, rather\nthan that she should be compelled to it against her inclination. With\na view to remove some of her objections, they took means to provide\nfor her future maintenance, and presented to the warrior all that in\ntheir simple mode of life an Indian might covet. They furnished his\ncabin with the various implements used in Indian housewifery--the\nskins to form the bed, the boiling pot, and the roasting spit. About\nthat time, a party was formed to ascend from the village to Lake\nPepin, in order to lay in a store of the blue clay which is found upon\nits banks, and which is used by the Indians to adorn their persons. It\nwas on the very day that they visited the lake that her brothers made\ntheir presents to the warrior. Encouraged by these fresh signs of\ntheir approbation, and inflamed by the beauties of the charming Indian\ngirl, he again solicited her in the most passionate language to become\nhis wife, but with the same ill success. Vexed at what they deemed an\nunjustifiable obstinacy on her part--for seldom does love among\nIndians urge to lengthened opposition on the part of the female--her\nparents remonstrated in strong language, and even used threats to\ncompel her to obedience. They spoke, as parents always do, who have in\nview a husband to their liking, and care little for the peace and\nhappiness of a daughter, so they see her possessed of what they covet.\n\"Well,\" said Winona, \"you will drive me to despair. I said I loved not\nthe man of your choice, the warrior covered with the blood of peaceable\nwomen, and helpless children, and painted to resemble only those\nhideous things we see in sleep. I said I could not live with him and\nbe his wife. I wished to remain a maiden--my father's daughter, and my\nbrothers' sister--but you will not let me; you wish me to become a\nwife. You say you love me; that you are my father, my brothers, my\nrelations, yet you have driven from my arms, and would now drive from\nmy heart, the only man with whom I wish to be united--the only man I\never loved. You have persecuted him with wrongs; you have reviled and\ntaunted him; you have compelled him to withdraw from the village.\nAlone, he now ranges through the gloomy and lonely forests, with no\none to assist him, none to comfort him, none to spread his blanket,\nnone to build his lodge, none to pound his corn. Yet, he was the man\nof my choice, the only beloved of my heart. Often have you taken me on\nyour knee, and smoothed down my hair, and kissed my cheek, and said\nyou loved me. Is this your love? But it appears that even this is not\nenough; you would have me do more--you would have me rejoice in the\nabsence of my beautiful hunter. While yet his parting words are in my\near, the light of his eyes in remembrance beaming on me, and his\ntender promises all unforgotten, you wish me to unite with another\nman, with one whom I do not love, whose image comes before me but to\nmake me weep and shudder. Since this is your love, let it be so; but\nsoon you will have no daughter, sister, or relation, to torment with\nyour false professions of friendship. I will go to the happy land of\nsouls, where I shall be free from your threats and reproaches.\"\n\nAs she uttered these words, the canoe touched the shore in the\nimmediate vicinity of the high precipitous crag of which a description\nhas been before given. Heedless of her complaints, and wearied out\nwith what they regarded as a most unreasonable repugnance, her parents\nat the moment decreed that Winona should that very day be united to\nthe warrior. Her resolution was at once taken; it was such a one as\ncould have been adopted only in a moment of deep love and deep\ndespair. While all were engaged in busy preparations for the festival,\nshe wound her way slowly to the top of the hill which overlooked the\nscene of their gay and mirthful doings. When she had reached the\nsummit, boldly approaching the edge of the precipice, she called out\nwith a loud voice to her friends below, upbraiding them with their\ncruelty to herself and her lover, and thanking the Good Spirit that\nhad put it in her power to baffle their designs, and laugh at their\ntyranny. \"You,\" said she, \"were not satisfied with opposing my union\nwith the man whom I had chosen; you endeavoured, by deceitful words,\nto make me faithless to him; but when you found me resolved to remain\nsingle, you dared to threaten me: you knew me not, if you thought that\nI could be terrified into obedience. Now, you are preparing the bridal\nfeast, but you shall see how well I can defeat your designs.\" She then\ncommenced a plaintive song of death, which ran thus:\n\n    WINONA'S DIRGE.\n\n    Adieu to these green vales,\n    And to the pleasant shades,\n    Where oft I sate and listened to the song\n    Of birds at morn, and, in the evening hour,\n    To that which gives the alarm, and bids the band\n    Of Indian warriors grasp their spears.\n    No more my ears shall hear those sounds,\n    In this my father's land;\n    The notes of singing-birds shall pass me by,\n    And the soft sighing of the month of buds;\n    But I shall hear no howl of wolves,\n    Nor cry of famished bears,\n    Nor hissing of envenomed snakes,\n    Nor what more chills the heart,\n    The tyranny of father, brothers, friends.\n\n    Nor shall I be compelled\n    For ever to behold a hated face,\n    And shudder at the voice of him who sleeps\n    Beneath my blanket;\n    Nor, when within my cabin,\n    Young faces smile on old ones, shall I wish\n    Another eye looked on their beaming cheeks;\n    When the storms howl, I shall not think of one,\n    Alone in the far forest,\n    With none to spread his blanket,\n    With none to build his lodge--\n    Cold, hungry, lonely, in the desert glen.\n\n    But I shall cross the sharp and fearful rock,\n    And reach the dwelling-place of happy souls.\n    No deeds shall bar me out.\n    I never told a lie;\n    Kind have I been to father and to mother.\n    Returning from the hunt or field of war,\n    His daughter handed him a lighted pipe;\n    And she who gave her birth sat in the sun\n    Upon her bench, beside the lodge's door,\n    While young Winona baked the buffalo,\n    And drew the crystal water from the stream.\n\n    And I shall go where there is peace,\n    And where joy wakes for ever:\n    There I shall meet my hunter;\n    He shall build our lodge beside the murmuring stream,\n    And thatch it with the vine, whose ripe, black grapes\n    Shall hang adown in clusters;\n    Our little babes shall pluck them.\n    Warrior, I shall not be your wife--\n    Father, you have no daughter--\n    Brothers, your sister lies upon the earth,\n    Cold, bleeding, lifeless, and too late you mourn!\n\nThe light wind which blew at the time wafted the bitter words of her\nmournful dirge to the spot where her friends were. They immediately\nrushed, some towards the summit of the hill to stop her, others to the\nfoot of the precipice to receive her in their arms, while all with\ntears in their eyes entreated her to desist from her fatal purpose.\nHer father promised her that no compulsive measures should be resorted\nto, that she should marry or not as, she chose. Her brothers, who\nloved her with great affection, urged every thing that they thought\nlikely to be of avail, but in vain. She was resolved, and, as she\nconcluded the words of her song, she threw herself from the precipice,\nand fell at their feet, a corpse.\n\n\n\n\nEXPEDITION OF THE LENNI LENAPES.\n\n\nThe Lenni Lenapes, who are the grandfather of nations[A], were quietly\nreposing in their lodges on the banks of a shallow and noisy river,\nthat finds an outlet in the mighty waters beyond the great mountains,\nand far, very far, towards the setting sun. If my brother would see\nthis river; if he would behold the cataract that impedes the progress\nof the Indian canoe; if he would witness the strife that takes place\nwhen the waters that are fresh first mingle with those that are salt,\nlet him call together his youngest and stoutest warriors, the nimble\nof foot, and strong of heart--the faint and failing, the old and\ntrembling, the weak and cowardly, will not do, for the path is beset\nwith savage beasts and strong warriors, and hostile spirits. Let him\nload his women with much provision, and make his mocassins of tanned\nbear-skin, for many are the suns it will take to journey thither, and\nrocky is the path that leads to that far abode. Mountains must be\ncrossed, which are covered with snow, and upon whose summits the\nclouds break as the mist rises from the Oniagarah[B]. The warriors,\nwho shall be seen in its path, will not bow down their heads to the\naxe of the stranger, till their spears are broken, and their quivers\nare bare of arrows. Nor then will they die like women, but with songs\nof past glory and present defiance in their mouths. And the spirits\nwill not be appeased unless they have many offerings, and there will\nbe in their paths the Dread Destroyer of Deer[C], he who laughed at\nthe avenging arrow of the Master of Life, and is gone to prey upon the\nmoose of the Lake of the Woods.\n\n[Footnote A: The greater part of the Indians of the Western Continent\nbelieve themselves descended from, or colonies of, the Lenni Lenapes,\nand hence give to that tribe the epithet, \"grandfather.\" Several of\nthe tribes have a tradition, that they came from beyond the Rocky\nMountains.]\n\n[Footnote B: Oniagarah, Niagara: the former is the Indian\npronunciation of the name of that celebrated cataract.]\n\n[Footnote C: See the note relating to the Mammoth in the tradition of\n\"The Coming of Miquon.\"]\n\nThe Lenapes were living in their lodges, warring upon the Flatheads,\nfeasting upon the salmon, and drinking the juice of the sacred\nbean[A], when it happened to one of their young warriors, that he\ndreamed a dream. Wangewaha, or the Hard Heart, though his years were\nbut few, was one of the most celebrated chiefs of the nation. His days\nwere but those of a young eagle; yet the bravest, even those who had\nwatched the nut-tree from its sprout to its bloom, ranged themselves\nin battle under his faultless command, in the chase followed the ken\nof his eagle eye. He had struck more dead bodies, he had stolen more\nhorses, he had taken more scalps, than any man of his nation. He could\nfollow the trail of a glass snake from sun to sun, he could see the\nwake of a fish a fathom below the surface of the water. When he cast\nhis eye upon a young maiden, she became his without a wrestle(1); when\nhe told the revelations of the spirit of sleep, the aged men and wise\ncouncillors never called their truth in question, but acted upon them\nwithout reflection, believing them to be the voice of the Great\nSpirit, speaking through his favourite son. If he excelled in war and\nperilous pursuits, he excelled as much in those pastimes and games,\nwherewith the warrior in times of peace and rest beguiles the tedious\nhours. When Wangewaha struck the ball, its flight was above the\nsoaring of the bird of morning, and he never rose from the game of\nbones(2) without giving proof that he was the favourite of heaven.\n\n[Footnote A: Intoxicating bean.--See Long's First Expedition to the\nRocky Mountains.]\n\nIt was a beautiful night in the month in which the Indians gather\ntheir first green corn, when, as the chief lay sleeping on his bed of\nskins, with the mother of his youngest child on his arm, he saw\nstrange things in his slumbers. He dreamed that the bands of the Lenni\nLenapes had taken the bones of their fathers from the burying places\nof the nation, loaded their women with pemmican and dried corn, folded\nup their tents, and departed towards the regions of their great\nfather, the sun. He saw mountains, whose summits breathed fire, and\nothers, which were the abode of the snow spirit--now noisy with the\nwar of the Holy People above the clouds, and now with the hissing of\nthe Great Serpent in the deep, awful, and inaccessible valleys of the\nbright old inhabitants.[A] They overcame, he thought, the impediments\nof fire and storm; they charmed away the wrath of the evil spirits,\nand looked at length from the eastern ridge of those mighty hills upon\nthe interminable glades and prairies spread out in their shade. Onward\nthey went, he thought, till at length they saw rolling before them a\nmighty river, upon whose banks abode a nation of warriors, whose size\nwas much greater than that of the Lenape, and who dwelt behind hills\nof their own making, whence they would make incursions into the\nterritories of the neighbouring tribes. Before him stood one of the\nmaidens of the land. She was beautiful as a straight tree, as a meadow\nof flowers, as a tree covered with blossoms, as a clear sky lit up\nwith stars. Her voice was sweeter than the notes of the\nMocking-Bird[B], and her eye brighter and softer than the eye of the\nmountain-goat. She wore a cloak made of the tender bark of the\nmulberry-tree, interlaced with the white feathers of the swan, and the\ngay plumage of the snake-bird, and the painted vulture. Strings of\nshells depended from her ancles, and flowers were braided into her\nhair. When she spoke to the young Lenape, it was with a soft voice, as\nif it would assure him, that the heart which dwelt within was as\ngentle as that voice, and as mild as that eye. He thought he wooed\nthat maiden to be his wife, but, when she would have become such, and\nhe would have pressed to his bosom the lovely flower of the giant\npeople, there only appeared a little white dove which flew away, and\nnestled in the branches of the great medicine trees[C].\n\n[Footnote A: See the tradition, entitled \"The Valley of the Bright Old\nInhabitants.\"]\n\n[Footnote B: When an Indian wishes to express his admiration of music,\nhe likens it to the notes of the Mocking-Bird. When the Winnabagoes\nvisited Philadelphia, in the winter of 1828, they went to the\nChesnut-street theatre, to hear Mrs. Knight sing: one of the chiefs,\nwishing to testify his delight, plucked an eagle's feather, and sent\nit to her by the box-keeper, with the message, that \"she was a\nmocking-bird squaw.\"--_American paper._]\n\n[Footnote C: The _physic-nut_, or Indian olive. The Indians, when they\ngo in pursuit of deer, carry this fruit with them, supposing that it\nhas the power of charming or drawing that creature to them.]\n\nThen the dream of the warrior took another direction, and he had\nvisions, and saw sights, and the phantoms of things more congenial to\nhis disposition than even the smiles of beautiful maidens. He heard,\nin his sleep, the shrill war-cry of his nation, among whose foremost\nwarriors he stood; and his ears were open to a loud shout of defiance\nfrom the enemy. He saw himself and his nation victorious, the Great\nRiver crossed, and the last canoe of his enemies committed in flight\nto its rapid bosom. The beautiful maiden became his wife. Again his\ncourse was onward like a torrent unchecked, and again other mountains\nopposed his course; but nothing offers insurmountable obstacles to the\nardent spirit of an Indian warrior. He stands on the sunny brink of\nthat mountain, and sees the beautiful lands spread out before his eye.\nA voice speaks to him from the hollow wind, \"Warrior of the Lenni\nLenape, how likest thou the land which I place before thee? The\nrivers are beautiful--are they not? and yet thou canst not see, as I\nsee, their better part--the sleek and juicy fish which glide through\nthem, or the fowls which feed on their margin. The forests are\ntall--are they not? but thine eyes do not pierce their glades as mine\ndo, to behold the stately bucks which browze in their flowery copses,\nor the gay birds which sing their soft songs of love and joy, perched\non the lofty branches of the chesnut and the hickory. I have given\nthese lands to thy tribe, and thou shalt continue to occupy them till\nthe coming of Miquon.\"\n\nWangewaha, or the Hard Heart, awoke from his dream, and calling\ntogether the priests and conjurors of the nation, related to them the\nstrange things he had seen and heard in his sleep. The expounders of\ndreams gave it as their opinion, that the Great Spirit had bidden the\nfamiliar genius of the warrior to reveal to him the work to which he\nhad ordained the Lenapes. They were unanimous in this opinion. Yet\nthey advised, that the Master of Life should be consulted by\nsacrifices, after the due fasts should have been kept, and that his\nassistance should be supplicated by songs and dances(3), as they were\never wont to be. The advice of the expounders of dreams was followed,\nand the priests prepared for the fast. First they feasted themselves,\nand the chiefs, and warriors. The remains of the feast were then\nremoved to the outside of the camp, and the crumbs carefully swept\nout, till the cabin, in which the fast was to be held, was as clean as\nthe brow of a grassy hill after a summer rain. Then it was proclaimed\naloud by the head priest, that the warriors and chiefs of the Lenape\nnation should enter the cabin, and observe the fast, and that the\nwomen and children, and all who are uninitiated in war, who had never\nhung up a scalp-lock in the temple of the Wahconda, nor offered a\nvictim to the Great Star, should keep apart from those who had done\nboth. When those who had bound themselves to observe the sacred\nceremonial had entered the holy square appointed for the fast, a man\narmed with the weapons of war was stationed at each of the corners, to\nkeep out every thing except the initiated. If a dog had but dared to\nbreathe upon the sacred spot, he had met the fate of a thievish\nFlathead.\n\nThen the Lenapes drank, as is their wont, of the root[A], which purges\naway their evil and cowardly inclinations and propensities, making\nthem tellers of nothing but truth, bold and strong in war, cunning and\ndexterous in the theft of horses, patient in scarcity, and beneath the\ntorments of the victor. The while they filled the air with loud\ninvocations to the great Wahconda, and with petitions to him, that, in\nthe succeeding sacrifice, he would reveal the meaning of the dream\nwhich had so filled their minds. Lest the unexpiated sins of the\nuninitiated, the women and the children, should stifle their own purer\nvoices, the priest sent by the hands of the oldest of the women a\nportion of the small green leaves of the beloved weed[B] to the\nsinners. And thus, for three suns, the priests and warriors of the\nLenapes ate no food, but mortified their sinful appetites to please\nthe Master of Life.\n\n[Footnote A: Button snakeroot.]\n\n[Footnote B: Tobacco.]\n\nThe fast being over, and the expiation made, according to the customs\nof the nation, the multitude assembled to the feast and sacrifice.\nProclamation was made, that, the holy rites being performed, it was\nlawful for the hungry to taste food. But first came the sacrifice. The\ndeer's flesh was laid on the burning coals, and the warriors who had\nfasted danced their most solemn dance around the hearth of sacrifice.\nThe priest most reputed for intimacy with the Great Spirit, he who had\noftenest, by his incantations, procured plentiful crops of maize, who\nhad oftenest charmed the bisons to the unsheltered prairies, called\nthe deer from the tangled coverts, and the horses from the hills of\nthe Men of Black Garments[A], and given to the enemies of the Lenape\nthe heart of the bird that runs low among the grass[B], arose, and\nbegan his hymn of supplication:\n\n    SONG OF THE LENAPE PRIEST.\n\n    Wangewaha dreamed a dream,\n    The Hard Heart slept,\n    When to him came the Manitou of Night,\n    And visions danced before his eyes.\n    What did Wangewaha see?\n    This he saw.\n\n    He saw the valiant warriors of his land,\n    Assembled as for warfare; wives and babes\n    Were at their feet; the aged on their sheds.\n    The dogs were harnessed;\n    The bones of many generations\n    Were taken from the burial places, where\n    They had reposed for countless suns;\n    The food was all prepared,\n    Dried corn and pemmican,\n    And folded tents proclaimed that the Lenapes\n    Had shod their mocassins for lengthened travel.\n\n    Dread Master of the earth,\n    Wahconda of the thunder, and the winds,\n    Who bid'st the earth shake, and the hills be thick\n    With hail and snow,\n    Shall we arise, and take\n    Our father's relics from the burial shed?\n    Shall we depart, and wilt thou guide\n    Our feet to fairer lands?\n    Does success await us,\n    In this, our distant pilgrimage?\n    Will these, our young men, strike and overcome?\n    Shall we possess the lands the dreamer saw?\n    And will their maidens look with favouring eyes\n    Upon our warriors?\n    Answer us, Spirit of the Mighty Voice!\n\n[Footnote A: The Spaniards.]\n\n[Footnote B: The partridge, a common figure with the Indians to\nexpress cowardice.]\n\nScarcely had the song of the priest ceased, when the voice of the\nWahconda was heard sounding as sweetly as the notes of the\nmocking-bird rejoicing for the return of her mate, whom she chides for\nhis long absence. The chiefs and warriors understood not the words he\nspoke, but they were heard by the priest, who repeated them to the\nawe-struck crowd. The Wahconda bade them gather up the bones of their\nfathers, burn them, and take the ashes, with which, and their women\nand children, and every thing they held valuable, they were to depart.\nThey were to repair to the great Memahoppa, or Medicine Stone, which\nstood in the midst of a prairie, many suns beyond their hunting-grounds;\nand to this stone they were to be directed by a mighty wise man, of\nvery low stature and of cross and passionate disposition, wearing a\nparticoloured robe, and carrying a bag of rattles. Upon this memahoppa\nthey would find further directions for their march engraved. Having\npointed out their path, he gave them his blessing for brave men and\nexpert horse-stealers, and his parting voice was as sweet as the voice\nof a maiden, who has died from ill-requited affection, and revisits\nthe shades of earth in the form of a little white dove.\n\nThe Lenapes, having obeyed the orders of the Wahconda, set out on\ntheir march. The moment that their knapsacks were slung to their\nshoulders, and their journey made certain, the spirits of their\ndeparted friends struck up their glorious dance[A], far away over the\ngreat lakes, the favourite regions of the spirits of winds and\ntempests. The northern sky became lit all over with an effulgence\nbrighter than that which glimmers in the Path of the Master of\nLife[B]. It was our departed friends who were showing their joy at the\ncontemplated removal of our nation to the pleasant shades of the\nLenape wihittuck, and the rich and beautiful lands which fringe its\nborder.\n\n[Footnote A: Northern lights, _aurora borealis_.]\n\n[Footnote B: The milky way.]\n\nThe Lenapes had not travelled very far, when they heard in the grass\nnear them a loud shaking, which sounded like the rattling of nuts in a\ndry gourd, and soon they saw a little head with open jaws, and a\ntongue moving quicker than the sparkle of the fire-fly, peering out of\nthe low grass. The Lenapes knew not what it was, but they saw that it\nassumed a menacing posture: so one went forward with his raised\nwar-club to dispatch it. When he drew near, the unknown creature threw\nitself into the form which our white brother gives to his whip; the\nmotion of his tail became so rapid, that it seemed but the soul of a\nvapour; his body swelled through excessive rage, till it became four\ntimes its former size, rising and falling like the Longknife's wind\nmedicine[A]; his beautiful skin became speckled and rough, his head\nand neck flattened, his cheeks swollen with ungovernable anger, his\nlips drawn up, showing his dreadful fangs, his eyes red as burning\ncoals, and his forked tongue of the colour of the hottest flame.\n\n[Footnote A: The name given by the Indians to the bellows.]\n\n\"Back, back,\" said he, \"I am very passionate; I shall bite you. If you\nvalue your safety, go back before I make you very sorry that you have\nbit your thumb at me. Or, if you are really mad, let me know, that I\nmay pity you, and not harm you.\"\n\nShamonekusse drew back with astonishment, and called the priest to\ncome and talk with the strange creature. The priest, having made a\nshort petition to his guardian Okki, which was the stuffed skin of a\nhorned owl, came forward, and demanded of the strange creature, \"Who\nare you?\"\n\n\"I am,\" answered he, \"the partisan leader of the rattlesnakes. I am\nthe 'mighty wise man of very low stature, and of cross and passionate\ndisposition, wearing a particoloured robe, and carrying a bag of\nrattles,' spoken of by the Great Wahconda, as he who was ordered to\nguide the Lenapes to the River of Fish.\"\n\n\"We are the Lenapes,\" answered the priest.\n\n\"Then you are the men I expected and was looking for,\" answered the\nchief of the rattlesnakes. \"But why were you about to declare war\nagainst me--me, who alone possess, under the Wahconda, the means of\nconducting you in safety to the end of your journey? You are too brave\nand valiant, too hasty and choleric, Lenapes; it will be good for you\nto lose some of your blood to make you tamer.\"\n\n\"We are very sorry,\" answered the priest, perceiving the wisdom of\nconciliating the old fellow, \"that the war-club was raised, and the\nhatchet raked up. It is our wish that the hatchet shall be buried\nagain, and that there shall be a clear sky between us. Shall it be so,\nrattlesnake?\"\n\n\"The hatchet shall be buried again, and there shall be a clear sky\nbetween us,\" answered the snake. \"Yet, a little bird tells me that a\nblack cloud shall arise, and that the hatchet may as well be put under\nthe bedstead[A], whence it may be easily drawn forth. The rattlesnakes\nand the Lenapes, ere many suns shall pass, will be enemies, and each\nattempt the extermination of the other.\"\n\n[Footnote A: Put the hatchet under the bedstead, an Indian figure,\nsignifying that peace will not last long.]\n\n\"Oh, we will not talk of that now,\" answered the priest; \"we will put\nall thoughts of the evil day afar off. We will smoke with you, snake.\"\nSo the Lenapes smoked with their new acquaintance; a firm league of\npeace was made between the two nations, and they became very good\nfriends. They chatted for a long time of various matters, of the wars\nwhich the rattlesnakes had waged against the black snakes, the\ncopperheads, the hornsnakes, and other warlike tribes of snakes. Again\nthey moved on, the rattlesnake leading the way, till, much fatigued,\ntheir mocassins torn, and their wives cross, they spread their tents,\nand a night's encampment took place[A]. Again their course was onward,\nand again they encamped for another night. Spies were sent to search\nout the land, while the Lenapes travelled after at their leisure. At\nlength the cunning old reptile, who still continued to guide them,\ndeclared that he saw, in the dry grass, foot-prints of men who were\nbefore them. While they halted, one went forward to reconnoitre. Soon\nhe returned, and told our people that there was a band of Indians\nencamped in the path of the Lenapes, at a little distance from us. Our\nhot-blooded young warriors were for attacking them, but the wise old\nsnake said, No. After offering many good reasons why peace should, at\nall times, be preferred to war, he advised, that a belt of wampum\nshould be sent, and a league formed with them. The belt of wampum is\ndelivered to a brave young warrior, Mottschujinga, or the Little\nGrizzly Bear. This redoubted chief clothes himself in his best robe;\nhe puts on his richest leggings; he fastens to his war-pipe the\n_trotters_ of the fawn, and the cock-spurs of the wild turkey; he\nplaces in his scalp-lock the wing of the red-bird, the crest of the\nbittern, and the tail feathers of the pole-pecker. He paints one side\nof his face, to show that he can smoke in the war-pipe, which hangs in\nhis belt, as gracefully and willingly as in the pipe of peace he\ncarries in his hand, and as a fearless warrior, that his thoughts are\nquite as much of war as peace.\n\n[Footnote A: A night's encampment is a halt of one year at a place.]\n\nAs he approaches the camp of the strange people, he puts on his most\nmartial airs, and commences his song. He sings the lofty and warlike\ncharacter of his nation, who never retreated from a foe, nor quailed\nbefore the stern glance of warriors; who can fast for seven suns, and,\non the eighth, tire out the deer in his flight. He sings, that his\nfathers have been conquerors of all the tribes who roam between the\nmountains and the distant sea. He sings, that the maidens of his\nnation have eyes and feet like the antelope, that their songs are\nsweeter than the melodies of the song-sparrow, and their motions more\ngraceful than the motions of a young willow, bowed by the wind. He\nsings, that the men of his tribe will smoke in the pipe of peace with\nthe strange warriors, or they will throw a war-club into the\ncouncil-house, as best suits them. The Lenapes are neither women nor\ndeer, they are not suing for peace, but they ask themselves why the\ngreat storm of war should arise, and the sky be overcast with the\nblustering clouds of tumult and quarrel. The Lenapes wish to go to\nthe land of the rising sun; why should their path be shut up? their\ncourse is over a great river; why should it be made red with the blood\nof either nation? As he concluded his song, he held up the pipe of\npeace, the bowl of which was of red marble, the stem of which was of\nalder curiously carved, painted, and adorned with beautiful feathers.\nThis, my brother must know is the symbol of peace among all the tribes\nof the wilderness.\n\nA Brave, painted for war, met the messenger from the Lenape camp, and,\nafter he had given his blanket to the winds, conducted him to the\ncabin of the assembled chiefs of his nation, not, however, before he\nhad received the curses of the old women, and had been called \"a\nwrinkled old man with a hairy chin and a flat nose.\"\n\nThen meat was placed before the Lenape messenger. When he had\nsatisfied his hunger, he pulled off his mocassins[A], and presented\nthe pipe to the Brave who had been his conductor, who, filling it with\ntobacco and sweet herbs, handed it to him again. Then the youngest\nchief present took a coal from the fire, which flamed high in the\ncentre of the council-cabin, and placed it on the beloved herb, which\nwas made to smoke high. Mottschujinga then turned the stem of the pipe\ntowards the field of the stars, to supplicate the aid of the Great\nSpirit, and then towards the bosom of his great mother, the earth,\nthat the Evil Spirits might be appeased; now holding it horizontally,\nhe moved round till he had made a circle, whereby he intimated that he\nsought to gain the protection of the spirits who sit on the clouds,\nand move in the winds of the air, of those who dwell in the deep and\nfearful glens and caverns, in the hollows of old and decayed oaks, on\nthe summits of inaccessible hills, and within the limits of the great\ncouncil-fire[B] of Michabou[C]. Having secured the aid of those\ninvisible beings, in whose power it is to blow away the smoke of the\npipe of peace, so that men shall speak from their lips only, and not\nfrom their hearts, and in consequence their promises shall be but as\nthe song of a bird that has flown over, Mottschujinga presented his\npipe to the great chief of the strangers, who, before he would smoke\nin it, arose and made a speech.\n\n[Footnote A: The Shoshonees, a tribe living west of the Rocky\nMountains, to indicate the sincerity of their professions, pull off\ntheir mocassins before they smoke in the pipe of peace, an action\nwhich imprecates on themselves the misery of going barefoot for ever,\nif they are faithless to their words.]\n\n[Footnote B: \"Great council fire\" means all the land or territory\npossessed by the nation.]\n\n[Footnote C: Michabou is generally the Indian Neptune: sometimes,\nhowever, they mean by this title the Great Spirit.]\n\n\"Our tribe,\" said the chief, \"are called Mengwe. We too have come from\na distant country, and we also are bound to the land of the rising\nsun. We will smoke in the Lenape's pipe, and bury the war-club very\ndeep; we will assist to make the Lenapes very strong, and will never\nsuffer the grass to grow in our war-path when the Lenapes are assailed\nby enemies. We will draw out the thorns from your feet, oil your\nstiffened limbs, and wipe your bodies with soft down. We will lift\neach other up from this place, and the burthen shall be set down at\neach other's dwelling-place. And the peace we make shall last as long\nas the sun shall shine, or the rivers flow. And this is all I have to\nsay.\"\n\nSo a league was made, though no war had been, and the two nations\nfreely intermingled. Each man unclosed his hand to his neighbour, the\nLenape warrior took the Mengwe maiden to his tent, and her brother had\na woman of the former nation to roast his buffalo-hump, and boil his\ncorn.\n\nAnd now the spies, who had been sent forward for the purpose of\nreconnoitring, returned. They had seen many things so strange, that\nwhen they reported them, our people half-believed them to be dreams,\nand for a while regarded them but as the songs of birds. They told,\nthat they had found the further bank of the River of Fish inhabited by\na very powerful people, who dwelt in great villages, surrounded by\nhigh walls. They were very tall--so tall that the head of the tallest\nLenape could not reach their arms, and their women were of higher\nstature and heavier limbs than the loftiest and largest man in the\nconfederate nations. They were called the Allegewi, and were men\ndelighting in red and black paint, and the shrill war-whoop, and the\nstrife of the spear. Such was the relation made by the spies to their\ncountrymen.\n\nThis report of the spies increased the fears and dissatisfaction of\nthe Lenapes to such a height, that part agreed to remain in the lands\nin which they then were, and not to attempt to cross the river\noccupied by so many hostile warriors. But the greater part declared\nthat they were men, and rather than turn back from a foe, however\nstrong, or leave a battle-field without a blow or a war-whoop, they\nwould march to certain death, and leave their bones in a hostile camp.\nSo one band, the strongest of the Lenapes, remained beyond the\nMississippi, while the others prepared to encounter the nations who\nwere the present lords of the soil. But, ere they committed their\nfortunes to battle, they fasted, and mortified their flesh, to gain\nthe favour of the being who presides over war, and their priests were\nconsulted to learn whether he would be propitious to them. \"Shall we\nconquer?\" \"Shall we overcome?\" was eagerly asked. The priests replied,\n\"The Lenapes shall overcome, when they have obtained the great war\nmedicine.\" They asked what it was; the priests replied, \"It shall be\nmade known to you on the morrow.\" The morrow came, and the priests\nmade known the great war medicine, whose properties brought certain\nvictory to those possessed of it. In old times, the wild cat had\ndevoured their people; they set a trap for him and caught him in it,\nburned his bones, and preserved the ashes. These ashes had been\ncarefully kept by the priests, and they now brought them forth. The\ngreat old snake, the father of strife, was in the water; the old men\ngathered together and sang, and he shewed himself; they sang again,\nand he showed himself a little further out of the water; the third\ntime he showed his horns. They were enabled to cut off one of the\nhorns. He showed himself a fourth time, and they cut off the other\nhorn. A piece of these horns, and the ashes of the bones of the wild\ncat compounded, was the great war medicine of our nation. Prepared\nwith a medicine of such potency, the confederated nations moved\ntowards the land of reported giants. When they had arrived on the\nbanks of the Mississippi, they sent a message to the Allegewi, to\nrequest permission to settle themselves in their neighbourhood. That\nhaughty people refused the request, but they gave them leave to pass\nthrough their country, and seek a settlement farther towards the land\nof the rising sun. The Lenapes accordingly began to cross the\nMississippi, when the Allegewi, seeing that their bands were very\nnumerous, outnumbering the birds on the trees or the fish in the\nwaters, made a furious attack upon those who had crossed, threatening\nall with destruction, if they dared to persist in coming to their side\nof the river. Fired at the treachery of these people, and maddened\nwith the loss of their brothers in arms, the Lenapes retired to the\nthick covert to consult on what was best to be done. It was\ndeliberated in council, whether it was better to retreat in the best\nmanner they could, or put forth their utmost strength, and let the\nenemy see they were not cowards, but men--brave men, who would not\nsuffer themselves to be driven into the woods, before they had tested\nthe strength of the enemy, and seen the power of their arms in hurling\nthe spear, and striking with the war-club, and the truth of their eye\nin levelling the bow. It was determined, that brave men never turned\nback, that the Lenape were brave men, and must steep their mocassins\nin the blood of their enemies. The Mengwe, who till now had only\nlooked on while our nation had done the fighting, offered to join our\nwarriors, if, when the country was conquered, they should be allowed\nto share it with us. The proposal pleased our councillors, and the two\nnations renewed the faith of the calumet, resolved to conquer or die.\nThe next sun was fixed on to attack the Allegewi in their\nintrenchments.\n\nIt was night; the bands of the confederate nations were sleeping in\ntheir cabins, dreaming dreams of victory and glory, when Wangewaha, or\nthe Hard Heart, sleeping in his tent, was aroused by the tread of a\nlight foot on the earth at his side, and the music of a voice sweeter\nthan that of the linnet or the thrush. Looking up he saw, by the beams\nof the moon, a tall and beautiful woman, straight as a hickory, and\ngraceful as a young antelope. She wore over her shoulders a cloak made\nof the tender bark of the mulberry, interlaced with the white feathers\nof the swan, and the gay plumage of the snake bird and the painted\nvulture. Wangewaha started from his sleep, for he knew her to be the\nbeautiful maiden whom he had seen in his dream, ere he quitted the\nland of his father's bones--the shape tall and erect, the eye black\nand sparkling, the foot small and swift, the teeth white and even, the\nglossy dark hair, and the small plump hand. He spoke to the beautiful\nstranger in mild accents, and the tones of her reply were as sweet as\nthe breathings of a babe rocked to rest on the bough of a tree. He\nasked her who she was, and she replied she was a maiden from the camp\nof the Allegewi. \"Why,\" he demanded, \"had she come hither? Why had one\nso young and fair adventured her person in a hostile camp, in the dark\nhours of night, among fierce warriors, who had sworn the destruction\nof her nation?\"\n\n\"I have come hither,\" replied the beautiful creature, \"because I would\nescape the persecutions of a young warrior, the favourite of my\nfather, who solicits me to become his wife. I love him not, I have\ntold him so, yet he wishes to have me, while my heart revolts at the\nthought of becoming the companion of one, who boasts only the merit of\nbeing able to slay men weaker than himself; and of showing cheeks\npainted for war, and hands red with blood.\"\n\nThe Hard Heart, who felt not towards beautiful women the feeling which\nhis name intimates, spoke to her words of consolation, and bade her\ngo sleep with his sister, whom he called to him from another part of\nthe cabin. But the passion of love arose in the warrior's heart, and\nhe determined that, if the Great Spirit should give him victory in the\napproaching contest, the beautiful maiden should become his wife.\n\nThe sun of the next morning shone on fields of slaughter and prodigies\nof valour. The confederated nations met the giant people; a great\nbattle was fought, and many, very many, warriors fell. With the potent\nwar-medicine of the Lenapes, borne by a priest, the confederates\nattacked their enemies, and were victors. The beaten and discomfited\nAllegewi retreated within the high banks which surrounded their\nvillages and great towns, and there awaited the assault of our brave\nand fearless warriors. They were attacked, and numbers, greater than\nthe forest leaves, fell in the first engagement. None were spared; the\nman who asked for quarter sooner received the arrow in his\nbosom--sooner felt the thrust of the spear, than he who was too brave\nto beg the poor boon of a few days longer stay on a cold and bleak\nearth, and preferred going hence without dishonour. Again, and again,\nwere the Lenapes victorious. Beaten in many battles, and finding that\ncomplete extirpation awaited them, if they longer delayed flight, the\nAllegewi loaded their canoes with their wives and children, and took\ntheir course adown the broad bosom of the Mississippi. Never more were\nthey or their descendants seen upon the lands where the Lenapes found\nthem. Of all the countless throngs of the Allegewi, the beautiful\nmaiden alone remained in our tents, and she was soon after taken to\nsleep in the bosom of Wangewaha.\n\n\"And now,\" said the chief of the rattlesnakes, \"what do you propose to\ngive me for my services? I have been a faithful and true guide, and\nhave brought you safe through many dangers, to a land of plenty and\nglory. I deserve a recompense, surely.\"\n\n\"You do,\" answered the Hard Heart; \"suppose we give you a pair of\nmocassins.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha! don't mention the thing again; it will throw me into a rage,\"\nanswered the old fellow, beginning to flatten and swell at the joke.\n\"But if you come to giving mocassins, they must be very many, for you\nknow I have many legs. Suppose you give me a Lenape maiden to wife.\"\n\n\"Lenape maiden to wife! What will you do with a Lenape wife? Say,\nsnake, what would be the cross between a rattlesnake and a Lenape?\"\n\n\"Don't name the thing again, for I am very passionate,\" cried the old\nsnake. \"I shall bite. What would be the cross, say you? Why, the\ncleverest possible cross--the cross between a wise and valiant snake,\nand a beautiful woman, for a beautiful woman she will be, if I have\nthe choosing of her. But, I demand as a recompense for my services,\nthat I be allowed to unite myself in marriage with a woman of your\nnation. So set about it at once, for I am very hasty in these matters,\nand besides, wish to return to my nation, who have been for a long\ntime without a leader.\"\n\nUpon receiving this strange proposition, the Lenape chief to whom it\nwas addressed called together the counsellors of the nation, and\ndebated with them whether the request should be acceded to. Many were\nthe arguments which were used for and against, but, at length, they\ncame to the determination, that the wise old rattlesnake should have\nhis choice of the Lenape maidens for a wife. The old fellow heard the\nacceptance of his proposal with much joy, for, as he said, he was of a\nvery impatient temper, and in proportion as he bore crosses with a\ntotal want of patience, was his excessive joy, when he succeeded in\nhis views and wishes. So the maidens were brought out, and he made\nchoice of a beautiful girl, who had not seen the flowers bloom more\nthan fifteen times. A tear trembled in the dark eye of this lovely\nmaiden for a moment, at the thought of the strange and unequal match\nshe was about to contract. But she was dazzled, as all women are, by\nthe promised glory of becoming the bride of the great chief of a\nnation, and she wiped away the tears of regret, as women have often\ndone before, with a leaf from the tree of consolation, and became\njoyous and light-hearted. They set off the next morning for the Valley\nof the Bright Old Inhabitants, and for greater speed she bore him on\nher shoulders, being the first bride that ever, as far as my knowledge\ngoes, carried home her husband in a basket.\n\nThe confederates divided the lands they had conquered. The Mengwe took\nthe lands which lay on the shores of the lakes of the north; the\nLenapes chose those which received the beams of the warm suns of the\nsouth. Many, many ages passed away, the two nations continued at\npeace, the war-whoop was banished from the shades of either, and their\nnumbers waxed very great. At length, some of our young hunters and\nwarriors crossed the great glades[A], and travelled onward till they\ncame to the beautiful Lenape wihittuck, where they have remained ever\nsince. And this is the story which is told throughout the tribes of\nthe wilderness, of the emigration of our people, and their victory\nover the original proprietors of the soil. I have done.\n\n[Footnote A: The mountains.]\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _She became his without a wrestle._--p. 143.\n\nHearne, in his Journey to the Frozen Ocean, says:--\"It has ever been\nthe custom, among those people, for the men to wrestle for any woman\nto whom they are attached; and, of course, the strongest party always\ncarries off the prize. A weak man, unless he be a good hunter, and\nwell beloved, is seldom permitted to keep a wife that a stronger man\nthinks worth his notice; for at any time when the wives of those\nstrong wrestlers are heavily laden either with furs or provisions,\nthey make no scruple of tearing any other man's wife from his bosom,\nand making her bear a part of his luggage. This custom prevails\nthroughout all their tribes, and causes a great spirit of emulation\namong their youth, who are, upon all occasions, from their childhood,\ntrying their strength and skill in wrestling ... The way in which they\ntear their women and children from one another, though it has the\nappearance of the greatest brutality, can scarcely be called\nfighting ... On these wrestling occasions the by-standers never\nattempt to interfere in the contest. It sometimes happens that one of\nthe wrestlers is superior in strength to the other, and, if a woman be\nthe cause of the contest, the weaker is frequently unwilling to yield,\nnotwithstanding he is greatly overpowered. I observed that very few of\nthose people were dissatisfied with the wives which had fallen to\ntheir lot, for, whenever any considerable number of them were in\ncompany, scarcely a day passed without some overtures being made for\ncontests of this kind, and it was often very unpleasant to me to see\nthe object of the contest sitting in pensive silence watching her\nfate, while her husband and his rival were contending for his prize. I\nhave, indeed, not only felt pity for those poor wretched victims, but\nthe utmost indignation, when I have seen them won, perhaps by a man\nwhom they mortally hated. On these occasions, their grief and\nreluctance to follow their new lord has been so great, that the\nbusiness has often ended in the greatest brutality; for, in the\nstruggle, I have seen the poor girls stripped quite naked, and carried\nby main force to their new lodgings. At other times it was pleasant\nenough to see a fine girl led off the field from the husband she\ndisliked, with a tear in one eye, and a finger in the other; for\ncustom, or delicacy, if you please, has taught them to think it\nnecessary to whimper a little, let the change be ever so much to their\ninclination.\"\n\n\n(2) _Game of bones--gambling--games of chance._--p. 143.\n\nGaming seems to be a natural passion of man, and is carried to a great\nexcess among the American Indians. The games they play are various,\nbut all are for the acquisition of coveted wealth; they never play\nwithout a stake, and that, considering the amount of their\npossessions, a very heavy one. They are emphatically gamblers. I have\nsupposed that a description of their principal games may not be\nuninteresting to the reader, and have therefore subjoined the\nfollowing:--\n\nThe game of the dish, which they call the _game of the little bones_,\nis only played by two persons. Each has six or eight little bones,\nwhich at first sight may be taken for apricot stones; they are of that\nshape and bigness. They make them jump up by striking the ground or\nthe table with a round and hollow dish, which contains them, and which\nthey twirl round first. When they have no dish, they throw the bones\nup in the air with their hands. If in falling they come all of one\ncolour, he who plays wins five. The game is forty up, and they\nsubtract the numbers gained by the adverse party. Five bones of the\nsame colour win but one for the first time, but the second time they\nwin the game. A less number wins nothing.\n\nHe that wins the game continues playing. The loser gives his place to\nanother, who is named by the markers of his side; for they make\nparties at first, and often the whole village is concerned in the\ngame. Oftentimes also, one village plays against another. Each party\nchoses a marker, but he withdraws when he pleases, which never happens\nbut when he loses. At every throw, especially if it happens to be\ndecisive, they make great shouts. The players appear like people\npossessed, and the spectators are not more calm. They make a thousand\ncontortions, talk to the bones, load the spirits of the adverse party\nwith curses, and the whole village echoes with imprecations. If all\nthis does not recover their luck, the losers may put off their party\ntill next day. It costs them only a small treat from the company.\n\nThen they prepare to return to the engagement. Each invokes his\ngenius, and throws some tobacco in the fire to his honour. They ask\nhim above all things for lucky dreams. As soon as day appears, they go\nagain to play; but, if the losers fancy that the goods in their cabins\nmade them unlucky, the first thing they do is to change them all. The\ngreat parties commonly last five or six days, and often continue all\nnight. In the meantime, as all the persons present are in an agitation\nthat deprives them of reason, they quarrel and fight, which never\nhappens among the savages but on these occasions, and when they are\ndrunk. One may judge, if, when they have done playing, they do not\nwant rest.\n\nIt sometimes happens that these parties of play are made by order of\nthe physician, or at the request of the sick. There needs no more for\nthis purpose than a dream of one, or the other. This dream is always\ntaken for the order of some spirit, and then they prepare themselves\nfor play with a great deal of care. They assemble for several nights\nto try and to see who has the luckiest hand. They consult their genii,\nthey fast, the married persons observe continence; and all to obtain a\nfavourable dream. Every morning they relate what dreams they have had,\nand all things they have dreamt of, which they think lucky; and they\nmake a collection of all, and put them into little bags, which they\ncarry about with them; and, if any one has the reputation of being\nlucky, _that is_, in the opinion of these people, of having a familiar\nspirit more powerful, or more inclined to do good, they never fail to\nmake him keep near him who holds the dish, they even go a great way to\nfetch him; and, if through age or any infirmity he cannot walk, they\nwill carry him on their shoulders.\n\nThere is a game played by the Miamis, which is called the _game of\nstraws_. These straws are small reeds, about the size of wheat straws,\nand about six inches long. They take a parcel, which are commonly two\nhundred and one, and always an odd number. After having shuffled them\nin well together, making a thousand contortions, and invoking the\ngenii, they separate them with a kind of awl, or a pointed bone, into\nparcels of ten each: every one takes his own at a venture, and he that\nhappens to get the parcel with eleven, gains a certain number of\npoints that are agreed on. The whole game is sixty or eighty **** They\nhave two games more, the first of which is called the _game of the\nbat_. They play at it with a ball, and sticks bent, and ending with a\nkind of racket. They set up two posts, which serve for bounds, and\nwhich are distant from each other according to the number of players.\nFor instance, if they are eighty, there is half a league distance\nbetween the two posts. The players are divided into two bands, which\nhave each their post. Their business is to strike the ball to the post\nof the adverse party without letting it fall to the ground, and\nwithout touching it with the hand; for, in either of these cases, they\nlose the game, unless he who makes the fault repairs it by striking\nthe ball at one blow to the post, which is often impossible. These\nsavages are so dexterous at catching the ball with their bats, that\nsometimes one game will last many days together.\n\nThe game described by Mackenzie, and called the _game of the platter_,\nis the same game, I think, that Charlevoix calls the \"Game of the\nBones.\" Of the passion for gaming of the Beaver Indians, see his\nJournal, 149. The same author (page 311), describes another game\nplayed by the Indians of the Rocky Mountains. It was played by two\npersons, each of whom had a \"bundle of about fifty small sticks,\nneatly polished, of the size of a quill, and five inches long; a\ncertain number of these sticks had red lines round them; and as many\nof these as one of the players might find convenient were curiously\nrolled up in dry grass, and, according to the judgment of his\nantagonist, respecting their number and marks, he lost or won.\"\n\n\n(3) _Songs and Dances._--p. 147.\n\nDancing is the favourite amusement of the savage, and one of his\nmethods of propitiating the Deity. Does he feel cheerful, he dances;\nhas he received benefits from a fellow-creature, he makes a dance to\nhis honour; if from the Supreme Being, he gathers his tribe to his\ncabin, and gives thanks in a dance. When he has reason to fear his God\nis offended, or when an occurrence takes place, from which he draws an\ninference of his displeasure, he begins a solemn dance. Thus we have\nseen, that when the Dutch first landed on New York Island, the\ninhabitants, who believed them to be celestial beings, began a dance\nin order to propitiate them.\n\nThe dances of the savages are the common dance, and the dances which\nare held upon particular occasions, and the manner of dancing, varies\nsomewhat. In dancing the _common dance_, they form a circle, and\nalways have a leader, whom the whole company attend to. The men go\nbefore, and the women close the circle. The latter dance with great\ndecency, as if engaged in the most serious business; they never speak\na word to the men, much less joke with them, which would injure their\ncharacter. They neither jump nor skip, but move lightly forward, and\nthen backward, yet so as to advance gradually, till they reach a\ncertain spot, and then retire in the same manner. They keep their\nbodies straight, and their arms hanging down close to their bodies.\nBut the men shout, leap, and stamp, with such violence, that the\nground trembles under their feet. Their extreme agility and lightness\nof foot is never displayed to more advantage than in dancing.\n\nOf the dances held on particular occasions, there are many, and,\nunlike the last, these are frequent. \"Of these,\" says Loskiel, \"the\nchief is the _dance of peace_, called also the calumet or pipe dance,\nbecause the calumet or pipe of peace is handed about during the dance.\nThis is the most pleasing to strangers who attend as spectators. The\ndancers join hands, and leap in a ring for some time. Suddenly the\nleader lets go the hand of one of his partners, keeping hold of the\nother. He then springs forward and turns round several times, by which\nhe draws the whole company around, so as to be enclosed by them, when\nthey stand close together. They disengage themselves as suddenly, yet\nkeeping their hold of each other's hands during all the different\nrevolutions and changes in the dance, which, as they explain it,\nrepresents the chain of friendship.\" This writer, who is in general\nvery indifferent authority for what concerns the Indians, and must\nhave made up his book from the relations of very careless or very\nstupid observers, never, I think from his own observation, differs\nvery much in his account of this dance from Charlevoix, whose book\ngenerally is by far the best which has treated of the North American\nsavages. He says, (vol. ii. p. 68) \"They were young people equipped as\nwhen they prepare for the march; they had painted their faces with all\nsorts of colours, their heads were adorned with feathers, and they\nheld some in their hands like fans. The calumet was also adorned with\nfeathers, and was set up in the most conspicuous place. The band of\nmusic and the dancers were round about it, the spectators divided here\nand there in little companies, the women separate from the men. Before\nthe door of the commandant's lodging, they had set up a post, on\nwhich, at the end of every dance, a warrior came up, and gave a stroke\nwith his hatchet; at this signal there was a great silence, and this\nman repeated, with a loud voice, some of his great feats, and then\nreceived the applause of the spectators. When the dance of the calumet\nis intended, as it generally is, to conclude a peace, or a treaty of\nalliance against a common enemy, they grave a serpent on one side of\nthe tube of the pipe, and set on one side of it a board, on which is\nrepresented two men of the two confederate nations, with the enemy\nunder their feet, by the mark of his nation.\"\n\nOf the two accounts which, it may be seen, differ essentially, I\nprefer Loskiel's. I think Charlevoix mistook another dance for the\ncalumet dance, especially as he confesses they did him (the\ncommandant) none of the honours which are mentioned. \"I did not see\nthe calumet presented to him, and there were no men holding the\ncalumet in their hands.\"\n\nThe _war dance_, held either before or after a campaign, is their\ngreatest dance. It is a dreadful spectacle, the object being to\ninspire terror in the spectators. No one takes a share in it, except\nthe warriors themselves. They appear armed, as if going to battle. One\ncarries his gun or hatchet, another a large knife, the third a\ntomahawk, the fourth a large club, or they all appear armed with\ntomahawks. These they brandish in the air, to signify how they intend\nto treat, or have treated, their enemies. They affect such an anger or\nfury on the occasion, that it makes a spectator shudder to behold\nthem. A chief leads the dance, and sings the warlike deeds of himself\nor his ancestors. At the end of every celebrated feat of valour, he\nstrikes his tomahawk with all his might against a post fixed in the\nground. He is then followed by the rest, each finishing his round by a\nblow against the post. Then they dance all together, and this is the\nmost frightful scene. They affect the most horrible and dreadful\ngestures, threatening to beat, cut, and stab each other. To complete\nthe horror of the scene, they howl as dreadfully as in actual fight,\nso that they appear as raving madmen. Heckewelder's description agrees\nherewith. He remarks, that \"Previous to going out on a warlike\ncampaign, the war dance is always performed around the painted post.\nIt is the Indian mode of recruiting. Whoever joins in the dance is\nconsidered as having enlisted for the campaign, and is obliged to go\nwith the party.\"--_Heck. Hist. Acc._ p. 202. The description which\nCharlevoix gives of what he calls the \"_dance of discovery_\" among the\nIroquois, agrees so fully with the above account of the war dance,\nthat we may presume it is the same, and that his is a new name for an\nold thing.\n\nCharlevoix describes another dance, which he calls the _dance of fire_.\n\nThis last author describes another dance which is not mentioned by any\nother traveller; it is called, he says, the _dance of the bull_, and\nis thus described by him: \"The dancers form several circles or rings,\nand the music, which is always the drum and the chickicoue, is in the\nmidst of the place. They never separate those of the same family. They\ndo not join hands, and every one carries on his head his arms and his\nbuckler. All the circles do not turn the same way, and though they\ncaper much, and very high, they always keep time and measure. From\ntime to time, a chief of the family presents his shield: they all\nstrike upon it, and at every stroke he repeats some of his exploits.\nThen he goes, and cuts a piece of tobacco at a post, where they have\nfastened a certain quantity, and gives it to one of his friends,\"\n&c.--_Charlevoix_, ii. 72.\n\nThe _dance of the green corn_, referred to in the text, or, more\nproperly speaking, \"the ceremony of thanksgiving for the first fruits\nof the earth,\" is described by Col. Johnston in vol. i. p. 286, of the\nArchaelogia Americana. It does not differ materially from their common\nfeasts. The principal ceremonies are described in the text.\n\nThe following is a description of the Powwah or black dance, by which\nthe devil was supposed to be raised. \"Lord's Day, September 1st.--I\nspent the day with the Indians on the island. As soon as they were up\nin the morning, I attempted to instruct them, and laboured to get them\ntogether, but quickly found they had something else to do; for they\ngathered together all their powwows, and set about a dozen of them to\nplaying their tricks, and acting their frantic postures, in order to\nfind out why they were so sickly, numbers of them being at that time\ndisordered with a fever and bloody flux. In this they were engaged for\nseveral hours, making all the wild, distracted motions imaginable,\nsometimes singing, sometimes howling, sometimes extending their hands\nto the utmost stretch, spreading all their fingers, and seemed to push\nwith them, as if they designed to fright something away, or at least\nkeep it at arm's end; sometimes sitting flat on the earth, then bowing\ndown their faces to the ground, wringing their sides, as if in pain\nand anguish, twisting their faces, turning up their eyes, grunting or\npuffing. These monstrous actions seemed to have something in them\npeculiarly fitted to raise the devil, if he could be raised by any\nthing odd and frightful. Some of them were much more fervent in the\nbusiness than the others, and seemed to chant, peep, and mutter, with\na great degree of warmth and vigour.\"--_Brainerd's Diary, E_.\n\n\n\n\nGITTSHEE GAUZINEE.\n\n\nBefore the Bigknives or their fathers came to the land of the red men,\nthe Indians generally, and the Chippewas in particular, were in the\nhabit of burying many articles with the dead--if a warrior died, his\nweapons of war, his spear, his war-club, and his most valued trophies;\nif a hunter, his instruments of hunting were committed to the earth\nwith him. His beaver-trap, his clothes, even a piece of roasted meat,\nand a piece of bread, were deposited with him in his grave. The scalps\nhe had taken from the heads of his enemies, the skins of the bears\nslain by him in encounter foot to foot, were laid by his side, and,\nwhen the earth was thrown upon his breast, the utensils of less moment\nwere laid upon his grave. If it was a woman who demanded the rites of\nburial, various articles which had been most useful to her in life\nwere destined to the same service. As it was supposed that it would be\nher lot in the other world to perform, for the shades of her husband\nand family, the duties which she had performed for them while they\nwere living in this, the various domestic implements used in the cabin\nwere buried with her. This practice, once so universal, has been\nlimited, since the coming of the white men among us, to comparatively\na very few articles, such as the deceased was particularly fond of, or\nexpressed a desire to have deposited with his or her body. The change\nI speak of was made in consequence of the following incident, which\noccurred in the life of a celebrated chief of former days, who had\noften led the Chippewas to victory and glory.\n\nGittshee Gauzinee, after an illness of only a few days, expired\nsuddenly in the presence of his numerous friends, by whom he was\ngreatly beloved, and deeply lamented. He had been an expert hunter,\nand had traversed the wild forests, and threaded the mazes of the\nwilderness, with a success rarely equalled. As a warrior there was\nnone to surpass him: he could transfix two enemies with the same\nspear; his arm could bend a bow of twice the size of that bent by an\nordinary arm; and his war-whoop sounded loud as the thunder of the\nmoon of early corn. He was in the habit of cherishing, with deep and\nstudious care, the weapons of war which had given him his glory, and\namong these he particularly attached great value to a fine gun which\nhe had purchased of the first white man that had come to the city of\nthe High Rock. It was with this gun that he had acquired his principal\ntrophies, in remembrance of which he requested that it might be buried\nwith him. But the importance attached to this article, which then was\nrarely met with among our people, and of great value, induced his\nfriends to pause as to this injunction.\n\nIn the meantime, there were some who supposed that his death was not\nreal, but that the functions of life were merely suspended, and would\nagain be restored. On this account the body was not interred, but laid\naside in a separate lodge, where it was carefully watched by his\nafflicted and weeping widow. It came to her mind that his spirit might\nnot have left the tenement of clay; and she was inspired with fresh\nhopes of his restoration to life, when, upon laying her hand upon his\nbreast above his heart, she could perceive a feeble pulsation. After\nthe lapse of four days, their sanguine hopes were realised; he awoke,\nas if from a deep sleep, and complained of great thirst. By the kind\nattentions of his friends, and the use of certain drugs, with which\nevery Indian is familiar, his health began to mend rapidly, and he was\nsoon able to return to the hunt. When he was completely restored, he\nrelated the following account of his death, and recovery to life.\n\nHe felt, he said, cold chills creeping over him; his respiration\nbecame impeded; the dim and shapeless forms of things floated before\nhis eyes, and sounds such as he had never heard before were ringing in\nhis ears. He felt his breath come and go like the flashes of heat\nwhich dance before the wind on a summer's day. At length it went out\nto return no more, and he died.\n\nAfter death he travelled on in the path of the dead for three days,\nwithout meeting with any thing extraordinary. He kept the road in\nwhich souls go to the Cheke Checkecame, and over mountains, and\nthrough valleys, pursued his way steadily. Hunger at length visited\nhim, and he began to suffer much from want of food. When he came in\nsight of the village of the dead, he saw immense droves of stately\ndeer, mooses, and other large and fat animals, browzing tamely near\nhis path. This only served to aggravate his craving appetite, and\nexcite more eagerly the feeling of hunger, because he had brought\nnothing with him wherewith to kill them. The animals themselves seemed\nsensible of his inability to do them harm, frolicking fearlessly\naround him, now bounding away over the plain in mimic terror, now\nadvancing in gambols to his very feet. The deer skipped lightly along,\nwhile the moose followed with a more clumsy step; the wild cat\nsuspended himself by his tail from the trees, while the bear rolled\nand tumbled on the green sod. Gittshee Gauzinee now bethought himself\nof the fine gun which he had left at home, and at once resolved to\nreturn and obtain it. On his way back, he met a great concourse of\npeople, men, women, and children, travelling onward to the residence\nof the dead. But he observed that they were all very heavily laden\nwith axes, kettles, guns, meat, and other things, and that each one as\nthey passed uttered loud complaints of the grievous burdens with which\nthe officious and mistaken kindness of their friends had loaded them.\nAmong others, he met a man bowed down by age and infirmity, wearily\njourneying to the land of the dead, who stopped him to complain of the\nburthen his friends had imposed upon him, and this aged man concluded\nhis address by offering him his gun, begging him to do so much towards\nrelieving him of his load. Shortly after, he met a very old woman who\noffered him a kettle, and, a little further on, a young man who\noffered him an axe. He saw a beautiful and slender young maiden so\nheavily laden that she was compelled to rest her load against a tree,\nand a warrior bending under a weight twice as great as any that had\never yet been put on his shoulders. Gittshee Gauzinee accepted the\nvarious presents made him, out of courtesy and good nature, for he\nhad determined to go back for his own gun, and other implements, and\ntherefore stood little in need of these: so he journeyed back.\n\nWhen he came near his own lodge, he could discover nothing but a long\nline of waving fire, which seemed completely to encircle it. How to\nget across he could not devise, for, whenever he attempted to advance\ntowards those places where the blaze seemed to be expiring, it would\nsuddenly shoot up into brilliant cones, and pyramids of flame, and\nthis was repeated as often as he approached it. At last he drew back a\nlittle, and made a desperate leap into the flames. The united effects\nof the heat, the violent exertion, and the fear of being burned in the\ndesperate attempt, resulted in his restoration of life. He awoke from\nhis trance, and, though weak and exhausted, he soon recovered his\nhealth and strength, and again made the valleys echo with his shouts\nof war and the hunt.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said he to his friends, one night after his\nrecovery, \"of one practice in which our fathers have been wrong, very\nwrong. It has been their custom to bury too many things with the dead.\nSuch burthens have been imposed upon them that their journey to the\nland of the dead has been made one of extreme labour and tediousness.\nThey have complained to me of this, and I would now warn my brethren\nagainst a continuance of the practice. Not only is it painful to them,\nbut it retards their progress in their journey. Therefore only put\nsuch things in the grave as will not be irksome to carry. The dress\nwhich the deceased was most fond of while living he should be clothed\nin when dead. His feathers, his head dress, and his other ornaments,\nare but light, and will be very agreeable to his spirit. His pipe also\nwill afford him amusement on the road. If he has any thing more, let\nit be divided among his nearest relatives and friends, but on no\naccount incumber his spirit with heavy and useless articles.\"\n\n\n\n\nAMPATO SAPA.\n\n\nNothing, M. Verdier says, can be more picturesque and beautiful than\nthe cascade of St. Anthony, so renowned in the topography of the\nwestern world. The irregular outline of the Fall, by dividing its\nbreadth, gives it a more impressive character, and enables the eye\nmore easily to take in its beauties. An island, stretching in the\nriver both above and below the Fall, separates it into two unequal\nparts. From the nature of the rock which breaks into angular, and\napparently rhomboidal fragments of a huge size, this fall is\nsubdivided into small cascades, which adhere to each other, so as to\nform a sheet of water, unrent, but composed of an alternation of\nretiring and salient angles, and presenting a great variety of shapes\nand shades. Each of these forms is in itself a perfect cascade. When\ntaken in one comprehensive view they assume a beauty of which we could\nscarcely have deemed them susceptible. Few falls assume a wilder and\nmore picturesque aspect than these. The thick growth of oaks, hickory,\nwalnut, &c. upon the island, imparts to it a gloomy and sombre\naspect, contrasting pleasingly with the bright surface of the watery\nsheet which reflects the sun in many differently coloured hues. All\ntravellers have spoken of it as possessing wonderful beauties, and the\npoor unenlightened Indian, who ascribes every thing of an imposing, a\nsublime, and a magnificent character, every thing which has phenomena\nhe cannot comprehend to a superior being, and who fancies a governing\nspirit in every deep glen in the wilderness, has associated many of\nhis wild and fanciful traditions with this singular spot. The\nfollowing favourite tale of, the Dahcotah is not the only tradition\nconnected with this romantic spot.\n\nAn Indian of the Dahcotah nation had united himself early in life to a\nyouthful female, whose name was Ampato Sapa, which signifies, in the\nDahcotah language, the _Dark-day_. With her he lived for many years\nvery happily; their days glided on like a clear stream in the summer\nnoon. There were few husbands and wives who enjoyed as much nuptial\nhappiness as fell to the lot of this Indian couple. Among that people\nthe duties allotted to the female sex are both laborious and\nincessant; with Ampato Sapa, they were ameliorated by the kindness of\nher husband, who, in defiance of the customs of our people, performed\nthe greater part of her tasks herself. Their union had been blessed\nwith two children, upon whom both parents doated with a depth of\nfeeling unknown to those who have other treasures besides those which\nspring from nature. The man had acquired a reputation as a hunter,\nwhich drew around him many families who were happy to place themselves\nunder his protection, and avail themselves of such part of his chace,\nas he needed not for the support of his family. Desirous of\nstrengthening their interest with him, some of them invited him to\nform a connexion with their family, observing, at the same time, that\na man of his talents, and present and increasing importance, required\nmore than one woman, to wait upon the numerous guests whom his\nreputation would induce to visit his lodge. They assured him that he\nwould soon be acknowledged as a chief, and that in this case a second\nwife was indispensable. Their pleadings and flattery infused new ideas\ninto his mind, and ambition soon succeeded in dispelling love, and the\nremembrance of years of conjugal endearment. Fired with the thought of\nobtaining high honours, he resolved to increase his importance by a\nunion with the daughter of an influential man of his tribe. He had\naccordingly taken a second wife, without having ever mentioned the\nsubject to his former companion, being desirous to introduce his\nbride into his lodge, in the manner which should be least offensive to\nthe mother of his children, for whom he yet retained much regard,\nthough bad ambition \"had induced him to countenance a divided bed and\naffections.\" It became necessary, however, that he should break the\nmatter to her, which he did as follows: \"You know,\" said he, \"that I\ncan love no woman so fondly as I doat upon you. You were the first\nwoman I loved, and you are the only one. With regret have I seen you\nof late subjected to toils which must be oppressive to you, and from\nwhich I would gladly relieve you, yet I know of no other way of doing\nso, than by associating to you, in the household duties, one who shall\nrelieve you from the trouble of entertaining the numerous guests whom\nmy growing importance in the nation collects around me. I have,\ntherefore, resolved to take another wife, but she shall always be\nsubject to your controul, as she will always rank in my affections\nsecond to you.\"\n\nWith the utmost anxiety and deepest concern did his companion listen\nto this unexpected proposal. She expostulated in the kindest terms;\nentreated him with all the arguments which undisguised love and the\npurest conjugal affection could suggest. She replied to all the\nobjections he had raised, and endeavoured to dispel all the clouds\nhis seemingly disinterested kindness had thrown over her present\nsituation. Desirous of winning her from her opposition, he concealed\nthe secret of his union with another, while she redoubled her care and\nexertion, to convince him that she was equal to all the tasks imposed\nupon her by his increasing reputation and notoriety. When he again\nspoke on the subject, she pleaded all the endearments of their past\nlife; she spoke of his former kindness for her, of his regard for her\nhappiness, and that of their mutual offspring; she bade him beware of\nthe fatal consequences of this purpose of his. Finding her bent upon\nwithholding her consent to his plan, he informed her that all\nopposition on her part was unavailing, as he had already selected\nanother partner; and that, if she could not see his new wife as a\nfriend, she must receive her as a necessary incumbrance, for he was\nresolved that she should be an inmate in his house. The poor Dark-Day\nheard these words in silent consternation. Watching her opportunity,\nshe stole away from the cabin with her infants, and fled to her\nfather, who lived at a considerable distance from the place of her\nhusband's residence. With him she remained until a party of Dahcotahs\nwent up the Mississippi, on a winter's hunt. Not caring whither she\nwent, so it was not to the lodge of her faithless husband, she\naccompanied them. All hope had left her bosom, and even her interest\nin her children had faded with the decay of the impassioned love she\nhad felt for their father. The world, the simple pleasures of Indian\nlife, had no farther charm for Ampato Sapa. She would wander for\nhours, listless and tearful, by the shaded river bank, or gaze in the\nnight with a distracted look upon the silver moon and star-lit sky. At\ntimes, as if fearful of impending pursuit, she would snatch up her\nchildren, and rush out into the woods. The Red Man of the forest has a\nkind of instinctive veneration for madness(1) in every form; the mere\nsupposition of such a misfortune has procured the liberation of a\nvictim bound to the stake, whom no arts or persuasion could operate to\nsave. The people of her tribe saw, with deep commiseration, the\nseeming aberration of intellect of the poor Indian woman, but, knowing\nlittle of the feeling which possessed her bosom, could apply no\nhealing medicine.\n\nIn the spring, as they were returning with their canoes loaded with\nfurs, they encamped near the falls which our white brother has seen,\nand which have became so celebrated in Indian story for the many\ntragical scenes connected with them. In the morning, as they left\ntheir encamping ground on the border of the river, she for a while\nlingered near the spot, as if working up her mind to some terrible\nfeat of despair. Then, launching her light canoe, she entered it with\nher children, and paddled down the stream, singing her death-song. The\nair was one of those melancholy airs which are sung by our people when\nin deep distress, or about to end the journey of life.\n\n    DEATH-SONG OF AMPATO SAPA.\n\n    I loved him long and well.\n    And he to me\n    Was the soft sun, which makes the young trees bud.\n    In gentle spring,\n    And bids the glad birds sing,\n    From out the boughs, their song of love and joy.\n    And he would sit beside me on the grass,\n    And plait my hair with beads,\n    And tell the trees, and flowers, and birds,\n    That Dark-Day was more beautiful than they.\n\n    I lov'd him long and well.\n    And he to me\n    Was as the tree which props the tender vine,\n    Or clustering ivy, letting them embrace\n    His strength and pride.\n    When he withdraws from them,\n    They fall, and I must die.\n\n    He lov'd me once,\n    And lov'd his little babes;\n    And he would go with morning to the hills,\n    And chase the buffalo.\n\n    But he would come\n    And press me in his arms, when darkness hid\n    Both beast and bird from the clear hunter's eye.\n    Then he would creep to where our children slept,\n    And smile--but sweeter smile upon their mother.\n\n    He loves another now.\n    A younger bird is in his nest,\n    And sings sweet songs from Dark-Days once fair bower,\n    And I am lov'd no more.\n    He will be no more to me as the sun,\n    Which gives the young trees life in gentle spring.\n    Nor as the tree which props the tender vine.\n    He loves another better than Dark-Day--\n    He cares not for her,\n    Nor for his children:\n    No, he cares not for them.\n\n    I will die;\n    I will go to the happy lands,\n    Beyond the mighty river.\n    There I shall see again my tender mother,\n    There I shall meet the warriors of my tribe,\n    And they shall make my sons good men.\n    There I shall meet, ere many moons be past,\n    My husband reconcil'd to me, and he\n    Again shall sit beside me on the grass,\n    And plait my hair with beads,\n    And tell the trees, and birds, and flowers,\n    That Dark-Day is more beautiful than they.\n\nAs she paddled her canoe down the stream, her friends perceived her\nintent, but too late; their persuasions and attempts to prevent her\nfrom proceeding were of no avail. She continued to sing, in a mournful\nvoice, the past pleasures which she had enjoyed while she was the\nundivided object of her husband's affections: at length, her voice was\ndrowned in the sound of the cataract; the current carried down her\nfrail bark with inconceivable rapidity; it came to the edge of the\nprecipice, was seen for a moment enveloped with spray, but never after\nwas a trace of the canoe or its passengers discovered. Yet the Indians\nimagine that often in the morning a voice is heard singing a mournful\nsong along the edge of the fall, and that it dwells on the inconstancy\nof a husband. They assert that sometimes a white dove is seen hovering\nover the neighbouring sprays; at other times, Ampato Sapa wanders in\nher proper person near the spot, with her children wrapped in skins,\nand pressed to her bosom.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n(1) _Instinctive veneration for madness._--p. 194.\n\nInsanity is not common among the Indians. Men in this unhappy\nsituation are always considered as objects of pity. Every one, young\nand old, feels compassion for their misfortune; to laugh or scoff at\nthem would be considered as a crime, much more so to insult or molest\nthem. Heckewelder tells the following story concerning their treatment\nof one suspected of insanity, which proves their peculiar feeling with\nregard to this unfortunate class of men:--\n\n\"About the commencement of the Indian war of 1763, a trading Jew, who\nwas going up the Detroit river with a bateau load of goods which he\nhad brought from Albany, was taken by some Indians of the Chippewas\nnation, and destined to be put to death. A Frenchman, impelled by\nmotives of friendship and humanity, found means to steal the prisoner,\nand kept him so concealed for some time, that, although the most\ndiligent search was made, the place of his confinement could not\ndiscovered. At last, however, the unfortunate man was betrayed by some\nfalse friend, and again fell into the power of the Indians, who took\nhim across the river to be burned and tortured. Tied to the stake,\nand the fire burning by his side, his thirst from the great heat\nbecame intolerable, and he begged that some drink might be given him.\nIt is a custom with the Indians, previous, to a prisoner being put to\ndeath, to give him what they call his last meal; a bowl of pottage or\nbroth was therefore brought to him for that purpose. Eager to quench\nhis thirst, he put the bowl immediately to his lips, and, the liquor\nbeing very hot, he was dreadfully scalded. Being a man of a very quick\ntemper, the moment he felt his mouth burned, he threw the bowl with\nits contents full into the face of the man who had handed it to him.\n'He is mad! he is mad!' resounded from all quarters. The by-standers\nconsidered his conduct as an act of insanity, and immediately untied\nthe cords with which he was bound, and let him go where he pleased.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAVERNS OF THE KICKAPOO.\n\n\nThe scenery of the Prairie _des Chiens_ is among the most beautiful of\nthe western wilderness--nothing presents finer views than may be had\nfrom the lofty hills, which lie east of the Wisconsan. The prairie\nextends about ten miles along the eastern bank of the river, and is\nlimited on that side by the before-mentioned hills, which rise to the\nheight of about four hundred feet, and run parallel with the course of\nthe river, at a distance of about a mile and a half from it. On the\nwestern bank, the bluffs which rise to the same elevation are washed\nat their base by the river. From the top of this majestic hill, which\nis called Pike's Mountain, there is a beautiful and magnificent view\nof the two rivers, Wisconsan and Mississippi, which mingle their\nwaters at its foot. The prairie has retained its old French\nappellation, derived from an Indian who formerly resided there, and\nwas called the Dog. The hill, or Pike's Mountain, has no particular\nlimits in regard to extension, being merely a part of the river\nbluffs, which stretch along the margin of the river on the west for\nseveral miles, and retain nearly the same elevation above the water.\nThe side fronting upon the river is so abrupt as to render the summit\ncompletely inaccessible even to a pedestrian, except in a very few\nplaces, where he may ascend by taking hold of the bushes and rocks\nthat cover the slope. In general the acclivity is made up of\nprecipices arranged one above another, some of which are a hundred and\nfifty feet high.\n\nIn one of the niches or recesses formed by one of these precipices, in\nthe cavern of Kickapoo creek, which is a tributary of the Wisconsan,\nthere is a gigantic mass of stone presenting the appearance of a human\nfigure. It is so sheltered by the overhanging rocks, and by the sides\nof the recess in which it stands, as to assume a dark and gloomy\ncharacter.\n\nHas my brother--said the Indian chief to the traveller--ever heard how\na beautiful woman of my nation became an image of stone? If he has,\nlet him say so; if he has not, the Guard of the Red Arrows will tell\nhim the story.\n\nOnce upon a time, many, very many ages ago, there lived in my nation a\nwoman who was called Shenanska, or the White Buffalo Robe. She was an\ninhabitant of the prairie, a dweller in the cabins which stand upon\nthe verge of the hills. She was the pride of our nation, not so much\nfor her beauty, though she was exceedingly beautiful, as for her\ngoodness, which made her beloved of all. The breath of the summer wind\nwas not milder than the temper of Shenanska, the face of the sun was\nnot fairer than her face. There was never a gust in the one, never a\ncloud passed over the other. Who but Shenanska dressed the wounds of\nthe Brave when he returned from battle? who but she interceded for the\nwarrior who came back from the fight without a blow? yet who was it\nencouraged him to wipe the black paint from the memory of his tribe by\nbrave deeds? It was she who dreamed the dreams that led to the\nslaughter of the Sauks and the Foxes; it was she who pointed out the\nfavourite haunts of the deer and the bison. When the warriors returned\nvictorious from the field of blood, it was she who came out with songs\nsweeter than the music of the dove; and, when they brought no scalps,\nit was she who comforted them with stories of past victories, and\ndreams of those which were yet to be. Before she had seen the flowers\nbloom twice ten times, she had been by turns the wife of many\nwarriors, for all loved her.\n\nAt length, it became the fortune of our tribe to be surprised in our\nencampment on the banks of the Kickapoo, by a numerous band of the\nbloody and warlike Mengwe. Many of our nation fell fighting bravely,\nthe greater part of the women and children were scalped, and the\nremainder were compelled to fly to the wilds for safety. It was the\nfortune of Shenanska to escape from death, and perhaps worse evils.\nWhen the alarm of the war-whoop reached her ear, as she was sleeping\nin her lodge in the arms of her husband; she arose, and seizing her\nlance, and bow and arrows, she rushed with the Braves to battle. When\nshe saw half of the men of her nation lying dead around, then she\nfled, and not till then. Though badly wounded, she succeeded in\neffecting her escape to the hills. Weakened by loss of blood, she had\nnot strength enough left to hunt for a supply of food; she was near\nperishing with hunger.\n\n[Illustration: _Designed & Etched by W. H. Brooks, A. R. E. A._\nThe Spirit breathed on her & she became Stone.\n                                                  _page 104._\n_London, Published by Colburn & Bentley, April 1830_]\n\nWhile she lay in this languishing state beneath the shade of a tree,\nthere came to her a Being, who was not of this world. He said to her,\nin a gentle and soothing voice, \"Shenanska! thou art wounded and\nhungry, shall I heal thee and feed thee? Wilt thou return to the lands\nof thy tribe, and live to be old, a widow and alone, or go now to the\nland of departed spirits, and join the shade of thy husband? The\nchoice is thine. If thou wilt live crippled, and bowed down by wounds\nand disease, thou mayest; if thou better likest to rejoin thy\nfriends in the country beyond the Great River, say so.\" Shenanska\nreplied, that she wished to die. The Spirit then took her in his arms,\nand placed her in one of the recesses of the cavern, overshadowed by\nhanging rocks. He then spoke some low words, and, breathing on her,\nshe became stone. Determined that a woman so good and so beautiful\nshould not be forgotten by the world, nor be deprived of the ability\nof protecting herself from mutilation, he imparted to her statue the\npower of killing suddenly any Indian that approached near it. For a\nlong time the statue relentlessly exercised this power. Many an\nunconscious Indian, venturing too near, fell dead without wound or\nbruise. At length, tired of the havoc it had made, the guardian Spirit\ntook away the power he had given. At this day the statue may be\napproached with safety. Yet the Indian people hold it in fear and\nveneration, and none passes it without paying it the homage of a\nsacrifice. This is my story.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN OF LITTLE SPIRITS.\n\n\nAt the distance of a woman's walk of a day from the mouth of the river\ncalled by the pale-faces the Whitestone, in the country of the Sioux,\nin the middle of a large plain, stands a lofty hill or mound. Its\nwonderful roundness, together with the circumstance of its standing\napart from all other hills, like a fir-tree in the midst of a wide\nprairie, or a man whose friends and kindred have all descended to the\ndust, has made it known to all the tribes of the West. Whether it was\ncreated by the Great Spirit, or piled up by the sons of men, whether\nit was done in the morning of the world, or when it had grown fat and\nstately, ask not me, for I cannot tell you. Those things are known to\none, and to one only. I know it is called by all the tribes of the\nland the Hill of Little People, or the Mountain of Little Spirits. And\nthe tradition is yet freshly traced out on the green leaf of my\nmemory, which has made it the terror of all the surrounding nations,\nand which fills the Sioux, the Mahas, the Ottoes, and all the\nneighbouring tribes, with great fear and trembling, whenever their\nincautious feet have approached the sacred spot, or their avocation\ncompels them to look at the work of spirits. No gift can induce an\nIndian to visit it, for why should he incur the anger of the Little\nPeople who dwell within it, and, sacrificed upon the fire of their\nwrath, behold his wife and children no more? In all the marches and\ncountermarches of the Indians; in all their goings and returnings; in\nall their wanderings, by day and by night, to and from lands which lie\nbeyond it; their paths are so ordered that none approach near enough\nto disturb the tiny inhabitants of the hill. The memory of the red man\nof the forest has preserved but one instance where their privacy was\nviolated, since it was known through the tribes that they wished for\nno intercourse with mortals. Before that time many Indians were\nmissing every year. No one knew what became of them, but they were\ngone, and left no trace nor story behind. Valiant warriors filled\ntheir baskets with dried corn, and their quivers with tough arrow\nshafts and sharp points; put new strings to their bows; new shod their\nmocassins, and sallied out to acquire glory in combat: but there was\nno wailing in the camp of our foes; their arrows were not felt, their\nshouts were not heard. Yet they fell not by the hands of their foes;\nbut perished, we know not where or how. At length, the sun shone on\nthe mystery, and the parted clouds displayed a clear spot. Listen!\n\nMany seasons ago, there lived within the limits of the great\ncouncil-fire of the Mahas, a chief who was renowned for his valour and\nvictories in the field, his wisdom in the council, his dexterity and\nsuccess in the chase. His name was Mahtoree, or the White Crane. He\nwas celebrated throughout the vast regions of the west, from the\nMississippi to the Hills of the Serpent[A], from the Missouri to the\nPlains of Bitter Frost, for all those qualities which render an Indian\nwarrior famous and feared. He was the terror of his enemies, whom in\nthe conflict he never spared; the delight as well as refuge of his\nfriends, whom he never deserted. Yet, brave as he was, and fierce and\nreckless when met in the strife of warriors, never did his valour, or\nhis fierceness, or his recklessness of danger, betray him into those\nexcesses of wrath and cruelty, which, after great victories purchased\nby much blood and loss of dear and valued friends, will often be seen\nin the camp of the red man of the forest. Never by his counsels was\nthe captive tortured--never by his command were weak and defenceless\nwomen and children delivered over to slaughter. He had frequently been\nknown, at the voice of pity crying at the door of the heart, and at\nthe suggestions of a great and proud mind, to cut the bonds which\nbound the victim to the stake, thereby exposing himself to the wrath\nand anger of his stern warriors, and to rage which, but for the\nunequalled valour and daring boldness and wisdom of his career, both\nas a warrior and a man, would have been attended with death to\nhimself, and the entailment of infamy upon his name. It has already\nbeen told our brother, that none but a noted and approved warrior dare\ntake upon himself the liberation of a prisoner, devoted by the spirit\nof Indian warfare to tortures and death.\n\n[Footnote A: Hills of the Serpent, the Rocky Mountains. I have before\nmentioned the Indian superstition that thunder is the hissing of a\ngreat serpent, which has his residence among those mountains.]\n\nIn one of the war expeditions of the Pawnee Mahas against the\nBurntwood Tetons, it was the good fortune of the former to overcome,\nand to take many prisoners--men, women, and children. One of the\ncaptives, Sakeajah, or the Bird-Girl, a beautiful creature in the\nmorning of life, after being adopted into one of the Mahas families,\nbecame the favourite wife of the chief warrior of the nation. Great\nwas the love and affection which the White Crane bore his beautiful\nwife, and it grew yet stronger in his soul, when she had brought him\nfour sons--a gift the more highly prized by the wise and sagacious\nchief, because, as my brother can see, for he is not a fool, it was\nthe pledge of continued power and importance in the tribe, when his\nown strength and vigour should have passed away, when the hand of age\nshould no more find joy in bending the bow, and the trembling knee be\nbest pleased to rest upon soft skins by the warm fire of the cabin.\nAmong the children of the forest he is most valued who has provided\nmost plentifully the means to maintain the honour, and secure the\nsafety, of his people; and hence he who can reckon the most brave and\nwarlike sons is esteemed the greatest of benefactors. Among all the\nred men of the land, that wife acquires the strongest hold on the\naffections of her husband who has given him the largest family, as\nthat husband acquires the greatest consequence in the eyes of his\nnation, who sees the most birds in his nest, and is able to carry most\nvultures to prey upon the corpses of his enemies. Is the barren woman\nbeloved by her husband? Ask me if the male bird watches by the nest of\nher who sits on addled eggs. I shall tell you \"No,\" nor does the\nhusband love or value the wife who lives alone in his cabin with none\nto call her mother.\n\nThe beautiful Sakeajah gave her husband but one daughter, and upon her\ndid her parents lavish all those affections which had not their origin\nin war and bloodshed. The sons were loved for the promise they gave of\nbending their father's bow, and raising his massy club in battle, and\nshouting his terrible war-cry with the ability to make good the\nthreats it contained--with the daughter were linked the few pacific\nremembrances which find entrance into that stony thing--an Indian's\nheart. And well was Tatoka, or the Antelope, for that was the name of\nthe daughter of Mahtoree and Sakeajah, worthy to be loved. She was\nbeautiful, as young Indian maidens generally are, before the hard\nduties of the field and the cabin have bowed their limbs, and\nservitude has chilled the fire of their hearts. Her skin was but\nlittle darker than that of the chief from the far land who is\nlistening to my story. Her eyes were large and bright as those of the\nbison-ox, and her hair black and braided with beads, brushed, as she\nwalked, the dew from the flowers upon the prairies. Her temper was\nsoft and placable, and her voice--what is so sweet as the voice of an\nIndian maiden when tuned to gladness! what so moves the hearer to\ngrief and melancholy by its tones of sorrow and anguish! Our brother\nhas heard them--let him say if the birds of his own forests, the dove\nof his nest, have sweeter notes than those he hears warbled in the\ncabin of the red man. His eyes say no. It is well.\n\nIt may not be doubted that the beautiful Tatoka had many lovers; there\nwas not a youth in the nation, whose character authorised the\napplication, that did not become a suitor to the fair daughter of the\nWhite Crane. But the heart of the maiden was touched by none of them;\nshe bade them all depart as they came; she rejected them all. The\nfather who loved his daughter too well to sell her as he would a\nbeaver-trap or a moose-skin, or to compel her to become a wife, would\nhave been glad to see her choose a protector from among the many\nBraves who solicited her affections. But, with the perverseness which\nis often seen among women, who are but fools at best, though made to\nbe loved, she had placed her affections upon a youth, who had\ndistinguished himself by no valiant deeds in war, nor even by industry\nor dexterity in the chase. His name had never reached the surrounding\nnations; his own nation knew him not, unless it was as a weak and\nimbecile man: he was poor in every thing that constitutes the riches\nof Indian life, and poorer still in spirit and acquirements. Who had\nheard the twanging of Karkapaha's bow in the retreats of the bear? or\nwho beheld the war-paint on his cheek or brow?--Where were the scalps\nor the prisoners that betokened his valour or daring? No song of\nvaliant exploits had been heard from his lips, for he had none to\nboast of--if he had done aught becoming a man, he had done it when\nnone were by. The beautiful Tatoka, who knew and lamented the\ndeficiencies of her lover, strove long to conquer her passion; but,\nfinding the undertaking beyond her strength, surrendered herself to\nthe sweets of unrepressed affection, and urged her heart no more to\nthe unequal task of subduing her love. Their stolen interviews were\nmanaged with much care, and for a long time no one suspected them; but\nat length the secret of their love and the story of their shame became\nso apparent as to do away the possibility of further concealment. The\nlovers were in an agony of fear and terror. Though beloved by her\nfather, she had no reason to hope that he would so far forget his\ndignity and the honour of his family, and so far sacrifice his views\nof aggrandizement, as to admit into his family a man who was neither\nhunter nor warrior, and whose want of qualifications would have\nensured his rejection by families of ordinary note--how much more from\nthat of a proud and haughty chief! Love conquers the strongest; and,\nrather than be separated, those who love each other well will dare\nevery danger. Rather than be torn apart, the fond pair, whose\naffections were strengthened by the pledge of love which Tatoka bore\nabout her, determined to fly the anger of the father. The preparations\nfor flight were made, the night fixed upon came, and they left the\nvillage of the Mahas and the lodge of Mahtoree for the wilderness.\n\nWith all their precautions, and supposed exemption from suspicion,\ntheir flight was not unmarked: their intimacy had been for some time\nsuspected; but it was only the day preceding their elopement that the\nmother had discovered undoubted proofs of their guilty intimacy. When\nthe justly indignant father was made acquainted with the disgrace\nwhich had befallen his house, he called his young men around him, and\nbade them pursue the fugitives, promising his daughter to whomsoever\nshould slay the ravisher. Immediate pursuit was made, and soon a\nhundred eager youths were on the track of the hapless pair. With that\nunerring skill and sagacity in discovering foot-prints which mark our\nrace, their steps were tracked, and themselves soon discovered\nretreating. But what was the surprise and consternation of the\npursuers, when they found that the path taken by the hapless pair\nwould carry them to the Mountain of Little Spirits, and that they were\nsufficiently in advance to reach it before the pursuers could come up\nwith them! None durst venture within the supposed limits, and they\nhalted till the White Crane should be informed of their having put\nthemselves under the protection of the spirits.\n\nIn the mean time the lovers pursued their journey towards the fearful\nresidence of the little people of the hill. Despair lent them courage\nto do an act to which the stoutest Indian resolution had hitherto been\ninadequate. They determined, as a last resource, to tell their story\nto the spirits, and demand their protection. They were within a few\nfeet of the hill, when, in a breath, its brow, upon which no object\ntill now had been visible, became covered with little people, the\ntallest of whom was not higher than the knee of the maiden, and many\nof them, but these children, were of lower stature than the squirrel.\nTheir voice was sharp and quick, like the barking of the prairie dog;\na little wing came out at each shoulder; each had a single eye, which\neye was a right in the men, and in the women a left; and their feet\nstood out at each side. They were armed as Indians are armed, with\ntomahawks, spears, and bows and arrows. He who appeared to be the head\nchief, for he wore the air of command and the eagle feather of a\nleader, came up to them, and spoke as follows:--\n\n\"Why have you invaded the village of a race whose wrath has been so\nfatal to your people? How dare you venture within the sacred limits of\nour residence? Know you not that your lives are forfeited?\"\n\nThe trembling pair fell on their knees before the little people, and\nTatoka, for her lover had less than the heart of a doe, and was\nspeechless, related her story. She told them how long she had loved\nKarkapaha, and holding down her head confessed her fatal indiscretion.\nThen she pictured the wrath of her father, the pursuit which was\nmaking, doubtless with a view to the punishment by death of her lover,\nand concluded her tale of sorrow with a burst of tears, which came\nfrom her eyes like the rain from a summer cloud, and sighs which might\nbe compared to summer winds breathing from a bed of flowers. The\nlittle man who wore the eagle's feather appeared very much moved with\nthe sorrows of the pair, and calling around him a large number of men,\nwho were doubtless the chiefs and counsellors of the nation, a long\nconsultation took place. The result was a determination to favour and\nprotect the lovers. They had but just talked themselves into a\nresolution to inflict vengeance on all who should approach the hill\nwith the intent to injure the pair who had thrown themselves upon\ntheir protection, when Shongotongo, or the Big Horse, one of the\nBraves whom Mahtoree had dispatched in quest of his daughter, appeared\nin view in pursuit of the fugitives. It was not till Mahtoree had\ntaxed his courage that the Big Horse had ventured on the perilous and\nfearful quest. He approached with the strength of heart and singleness\nof purpose which accompany an Indian warrior who deems the eyes of his\nnation upon him. When first the Brave was discovered thus wantonly,\nand with no other purpose but the shedding of blood, intruding on the\ndominions of the spirits, no words can tell the rage which appeared to\npossess their bosoms, manifesting itself in a thousand wild and\nsingular freaks of passion and coarseness of language. Secure in the\nknowledge of their power to repel the attacks of every living thing,\nthe intrepid Maha was permitted to advance within a few steps of\nKarkapaha. He had just raised his spear to strike the unmanly lover,\nwhen, all at once, he found himself riveted to the ground: his feet\nrefused to move; his hands, which he attempted to raise, hung\npowerless at his side; his tongue, when he attempted to speak, refused\nto utter a word. The bow and arrow fell from his hand, and his spear\nlay powerless. A little child, not so high as the fourth leaf of the\nthistle, came and spat upon him, and a company of young maidens,\nwhose feet were not longer than the blue feather upon the wing of the\nteal, danced a mirthsome dance around him, singing a taunting song of\nwhich he was the burthen. All and each of the tiny spirits did their\npart towards inflicting pain and ignominy on the hapless Maha. When\nthey had finished their task of punishing by preparatory torture, a\nthousand little Spirits drew their bows, and a thousand winged arrows\npierced his heart. In a moment, a thousand mattocks, of the size of an\nIndian's thumb-nail, were employed in preparing him a grave. And he\nwas hidden from the eyes of the living, ere Tatoka could have thrice\ncounted over the fingers of her hand.\n\nWhen this was done, the chief of the Little Spirits called Karkapaha\nto his seat, and spoke to him thus:--\"Maha, you have the heart of a\ndoe; you would fly from a roused wren. Cowards find no favour in the\neyes of the spirits of the air, who do not know what fear is, save\nwhen they see it painted on the cheeks of a mortal. We have not spared\nyou because you deserved to be spared, but because the maiden loves\nyou, and we would pleasure her. It is for this purpose that we will\ngive you the heart of a man, that you may return to the village of the\nMahas, and find favour in the eyes of Mahtoree and the Braves of the\nnation. We will take away your cowardly spirit, and will give you the\nspirit of the warrior whom we slew, whose heart was firm as a rock,\nand whose knees would have trembled when mountains caught the touch of\nfear, and not before. Sleep, man of little soul, and wake to be better\nworthy the love of the beauteous Antelope.\"\n\nThen a deep sleep came over the Maha lover. How long he slept he knew\nnot, but when he woke he felt at once that a change had taken place in\nhis feelings and temper. The first thought that came to his mind was a\nbow and arrow; the second the beautiful Indian girl who lay sleeping\nat his side. The Little Spirits had disappeared--not a solitary being,\nof the many thousands, who, but a few minutes before, peopled the hill\nand filled the air with their discordant cries, was now to be seen or\nheard. At the feet of Karkapaha lay a tremendous bow, larger than any\nbowman ever yet used, and a sheaf of arrows of proportionate size, and\na spear of a weight which no Maha could wield. Wonder of wonders! the\nweak and slender Karkapaha could draw that bow, as an Indian boy bends\na willow twig, and the spear seemed in his hand but a reed, or a\nfeather. The shrill war-whoop burst unconsciously from his lips, and\nhis nostrils seemed dilated with the fire and impatience of a\nnewly-awakened courage. The heart of the fond Indian girl dissolved\nin tears, when she saw these proofs of strength and those evidences of\nspirit, which, she knew, if they were coupled with valour--and how\ncould she doubt the completeness of the gift to effect the purposes of\nthe giver!--would thaw the iced feelings of her father, and tune his\nheart to the song of forgiveness. Yet, it was not without many fears,\nand tears, and misgivings, on the part of the maiden, that they began\ntheir march for the Maha village. The lover, now a stranger to fear,\nused his endeavours to quiet the beautiful Tatoka, and in some measure\nsucceeded.\n\nUpon finding that his daughter and her lover had gone to the Hill of\nthe Spirits, and that Shongotongo did not return from his perilous\nadventure, the chief of the Mahas had recalled his Braves from the\npursuit, and was listening to the history of the pair, as far as the\nreturned warriors were acquainted with it, when his daughter and her\nlover made their appearance. With a bold and fearless step the once\nfaint-hearted Karkapaha walked up to the offended father, and, folding\nhis arms on his breast, stood erect as a pine, and motionless as that\ntree when the winds of the earth are chained above the clouds. It was\nthe first time that Karkapaha had ever looked on angry men without\ntrembling, and a demeanour so unusual in him excited universal\nsurprise.\n\n\"Karkapaha is a thief,\" said the White Crane.\n\n\"It is the father of my beautiful and beloved Tatoka that says it,\"\nanswered the lover; \"else would Karkapaha say it was the song of a\nbird that has flown over.\"\n\n\"My warriors say it.\"\n\n\"Your warriors are singing-birds; they are wrens; Karkapaha says they\ndo not speak the truth.--Karkapaha has the heart of a tiger, and the\nstrength of a bear; let the Braves try him. He has thrown away the\nwoman's heart; he has become a man.\"\n\n\"Karkapaha _is_ changed,\" said the chief thoughtfully, \"but when,\nand how?\"\n\n\"The Little Spirits of the Mountain have given him a new soul. Bid\nyour Braves draw this bow; bid them poise this spear. Their eyes say\nthey can do neither. Then is Karkapaha the strong man of his tribe;\"\nand as he said this he flourished the ponderous spear over his head as\na man would poise a reed, and drew the bow as a child would bend a\nwillow twig.\n\n\"Karkapaha is the husband of Tatoka,\" said Mahtoree, springing to his\nfeet, and he gave the beautiful maiden to her lover. The traditionary\nlore of the Mahas is full of the exploits, both in war and the chase,\nof Karkapaha, who was made a man by the Spirits of the Mountain.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE BRIGHT OLD INHABITANTS.\n\n\nOn the northern branch of the river of the Cherokees, the most\nnumerous and powerful tribe of the south, there are two high mountains\nnearly covered with mossy rocks, and lofty cedars, and pines. These\nmountains, rugged and terrible to behold, are made yet more fearful to\nthe mind of the red man of the forest, who sees the Great Being in the\nclouds, and hears him in the winds, and fancies a spirit in every\nthing that moves, by the horrid sights and awful sounds which proceed\nfrom them. Often, as the sun sinks behind those mountains, persons who\nhave their eyes intently fixed upon them will see lofty forms whose\nheads stretch far into the sky, standing upon their summits, or\noftener leaping from one mountain to the other clean across the wide\nvalley which separates them. Those shapes we can see wear the shape of\nman, yet their actions do not seem to belong to a race of mortals, and\nwe deem them spirits--giant spirits, which never had the sinews, and\nbones, and muscle, and flesh, of men. And often, in the midnight\nhour, the listener hears sounds proceeding from those mountains--the\nwhispers of love, the loud tones of strife, or the merry ones of\njoy--laughing and weeping--wooing and strife--expressing all the\nvarious passions and emotions which find a place in the bosoms of\nmortals. With these mighty spirits no mortal hath had communication,\nfor they never leave the mountain--and who shall dare approach their\nvillages? No one has heard their story, no one knows their creator,\nnor when they were born, nor when they shall die, if death be\nappointed to them. They have lived in mystery: showing their forms as\nthe trunk of a decayed, and branch-less tree shows itself from out a\nmorning mist, and raising their voices but as a thunder-cloud in\nsummer, they will depart as a spirit departs, noiselessly, and go no\none knows whither.\n\nBetween these two lofty and dreaded mountains, there is a deep valley,\nor rather a succession of deep valleys, for the occurrence at short\nspaces of low hills breaks the continuousness of that with which the\nspace between those mountains commences. In these valleys the beams of\nthe sun are concentrated and drawn together, creating at times a heat\nso great, that nothing can live in them but those reptiles, which are\nripened and fattened to full growth only by suns which scorch like\nfire. In these same valleys have dwelt, ever since the earth was first\nplaced on the back of the great tortoise, those Kind Old Kings, the\n_Bright Old Inhabitants_(1), which are rattlesnakes of a most\nprodigious size, possessed of singular properties, and endowed with\ntremendous and fearful powers. It is death to venture within their\nlimits, and equally fatal to displease them. So well convinced are the\npeople of my nation of their power to inflict an instant and dreadful\ndeath on all, that no temptation can induce them to betray their\nsecret recesses to the wanton stranger. They well know that, if they\ndo so, they shall be exposed to the unceasing attacks of all the\ninferior species of snakes who love their kings, which are these\nBright Old Inhabitants, and know by instinct those who injure, or\nattempt to injure them. They know that, let but those kings issue\ntheir commands, there is not a snake that crawls but will open his\nmouth or use his sting to inflict the greatest possible degree of\nvengeance in his power on the enemies and oppressors of those whom he\nloves and obeys. Hence the place of residence of the Kind Old Kings is\nkept a secret by our people. For a long time they did not know it\nthemselves, and only became acquainted with it when the occurrence\ntook place which I am about to relate to my brother.\n\nOnce upon a time, many years ago, there lived among the Cherokees a\nman who was neither a warrior nor a hunter, yet was the most\ncelebrated man of his nation, and further known than its proudest\nwarrior or most expert hunter. He was a priest, and knew the secret\nways, and the will, and the wishes, of his master, the Great Spirit.\nNot only was he skilled in the wisdom of the land of souls, but he was\nlearned in matters which affect the dwellers in the body. He knew how\nto cure the ailments of the body, as well as to give answers to the\nquestions which related to the ways and doings of the Being above all.\nHe could tell at what time in the morning men should go to the Hill of\nPrayer, with clay on their heads, to cry for mercy and aid, and when\nthey should repair to the Cave of Sacrifice, to gather the will of the\nGreat Spirit from the hollow voice[A] within it. He alone, of all the\nmighty nation of the Cherokees, had seen that Spirit; he alone had\nheard him speak, and to none other would that Spirit deign to listen,\nor to give reply. Chepiasquit, for that was the name of this famous\npriest, was indeed a very wise man, and his sayings were reckoned of\nscarcely less authority then the words of his master. Whatever he said\nhad a weight which other men's words had not; and all his actions,\nhowever trifling in their nature, were magnified into actions of\nimportance, and became invested with a character, which did not\nbelong to those of men in other respects more gifted than he. Yet the\nunbounded respect in which his nation held him was not undeserved.\nWisdom he possessed, and he used it to the furthering of the\ninterests, and the advancing of the happiness, of his people. If they\nwanted rain, they asked Chepiasquit for it, and he gave it to them. If\ntoo much fell, they had only to complain to him, and the clouds\nwitheld their floods, and the waters were locked up in the hollow of\nthe hand of him that created them. If the thunders were heard to roll\nawfully, and the fearful lightnings were seen to flash along the black\nsky, they spoke to Chepiasquit, who uttered a short prayer to Him who\ncontrouls the elements as well as man, and all became hushed and\nstill; the black clouds passed away, and the bright stars looked out\nfrom their places of rest in the clear blue sky. All things seemed\nobedient to him, when he chose to open his lips in supplication to his\nmaster. The fame which he had acquired by this intimacy and friendship\nwith the Great Spirit was the means of giving peace to his nation. His\nreputation being spread far and near, no tribe durst try their\nstrength in war, or measure their weapons in combat, with a people who\nwere possessed of such a friend, protector, leader, and priest. So the\nCherokees rested in peace, and the earth was no more made red with\nblood, but wore the robe which nature provided for it--the robe of\ngreen. They planted their corn in the Budding-Moon, and lived to see\nit harvested in the Moon of Falling Leaves. They left the doors of\ntheir cabins unlatched at night, and the sentinel slept as sound and\nas long as the new-born babe. Their arrows were eaten up by the rust\nof sloth and inactivity, and the strings of their bows were rotted by\nthe mildew of carelessness and idleness. The aged met not now in the\ngreat council-house, to plan distant expeditions, or frustrate\nexpected invasions; the youth spent their time in courting and\nmarrying. The fame of Chepiasquit changed the character of the nation\nfrom warlike to peaceable, and banished from the land the vulture of\nwar and havoc, to give place to the dove of peace and tranquillity.\n\n[Footnote A: Hollow voice--echo.]\n\nFour wives had this wise priest; they bore him many children: but,\ngreat as was his power with the Master of the World, it did not enable\nhim to obtain for them a continuance of life beyond the second moon of\ntheir birth. All, save one, died while they were yet swinging in their\ncradles of willow-bark from the bough of the tree--that one, a\ndaughter, was spared to his entreaties and prayers. Winona, or the\nfirst-born, for that was the name bestowed on the child, grew up in\nthe cabin of her father, beautiful beyond any maiden that ever graced\nthe nation of Cherokees. How shall I describe to my brother from the\nfar country the matchless charms of Chepiasquit's virgin daughter!\nShall I tell him that her eyes were the eyes of the mountain kid, and\nher hair long and glossier than the plumage of the raven, and her\nteeth white and even, and her hand delicate and plump, and her foot\nsmall and speedy? Shall I say that her voice was joyful as the voice\nof a mated bird in spring, and her temper cheerful, sweet, mild, kind,\nand always the same? Shall I increase his admiration for the beautiful\ncreature, by telling him that she best loved to sit by the quiet\nhearth of her parents, leaving it to lighter and less amiable maidens\nto rove on idle errands and frivolous pursuits through the village.\nFor, let my brother learn, she was that wonder, a woman, contented and\nhappy in her own house, with none but her own father to listen or\nreply. During the long evenings of the period when the sun is away\nfrom the earth for so great a portion of the day, she would sit on her\nsoft couch of skins and dried moss, listening to the tales he would\nrepeat of the wonderful things he had seen and heard; the dreams of\nstrange and fearful creatures which had troubled his hours of sleep,\nand the actual appearance to him, when sleep was far from his eyelids,\nof beings or phantoms not of this world; and the traditions which\ntold of the love, or hatred, or favour, or punishment, of the Great\nSpirit--of his bounties sent to the Cherokees, when famine reared his\ngaunt form among them, or of wrath provoked, and punishment inflicted,\nwhen pride dwelt in their villages, when their thoughts were far from\nhim, when no clay was put on their heads, when the tender and juicy\nflesh of the deer smoked not in his sacrifice. Wars he had seen,\nthough he had left victory to be achieved by others, for he had been a\nman of peace. To the tales of her beloved father would the fair maiden\nlisten with great delight, for they accorded with the belief in\nwonderful events and supernatural appearances, which is early\nimpressed on the mind of every Indian, and never leaves him but with\nlife. She would sit for hours with her little head rested on her palm,\nher whole soul absorbed by the wild narratives, which, during the long\nseason of winter, are related to while away the hours spared from war\nand the chace.\n\nBeloved with a greater degree of affection than is usually felt even\namong those whose lives are little subject to the incidents which\nweaken or destroy attachments, the beautiful daughter of the Cherokee\npriest grew up to womanhood, the cherished idol of all her friends,\nthe boast and pride of the nation. The young and ardent Braves sought\nher hand in marriage; but she was deaf to all their entreaties and\nprotestations, and refused all their offers. Yet she did it with so\nmuch kindness, and said so many sweet words to blunt the severity of\nthe refusal, that all her lovers became her friends, and each, with\naffectionate kindness, blended with the bold bearing of one who says\nwhat he knows he has courage to perform, promised that his love\nmellowed into friendship should remain firmly fixed in his heart, and\nthat he would defend its object, should danger cross her path, as long\nas strength was given him to carry a spear. The rejection by the fair\nWinona of so many youths, most of whom were deemed worthy of her\nchoice, gave the father pain; but he loved his daughter too well to\nwish to make her unhappy by a marriage with one she did not love. He\nhad seen--and who does not?--that the bird selects for its mate the\nbird it likes best; that love and affection go to the pairing of all\ncreatures, save man and woman; and that only with them is it a practice\nto bind together, and fetter for life, those whose hearts are far\napart. And he knew, that the Great Spirit disliked that force or\nconstraint should be used in affairs of this kind. So, in obedience to\nthe will of his master, as well as the dictates of his own reason,\nand the affection he bore her, he permitted his lovely and gentle\nchild to remain unmarried in his house.\n\nBut it was not decreed by him who governs all things that the\nbeautiful maiden should always remain a stranger to the delightful\npains and agonising pleasures of love. It was in the second month of\nspring, when all nature feels the influence of the returning sun, when\nbirds are carolling on every spray, and the grass and flowers are\nwaking up from their long and chilled, sleep, and the joyous deer is\nout to nip the young buds, that a company of young hunters from the\ndistant but far-famed nation of the Muscogulgees, passing through the\nlands of the Cherokees, stopped for rest and refreshment, and to try\nthe strength of our young men in the exercises which youth love, at\nthe village in which the father of the beautiful maiden abode. These\nyoung hunters were the flower of that valiant nation, bred up to\npursue with equal courage and ardour the savage bear into his fearful\nretreats, and the foe, notwithstanding his treacherous ambuscades,\nthrough the dark and almost impervious forest. War was their natural\nand most beloved pursuit; but now they had doffed their martial\nhabiliments, wiped off their war-paint, and taken up the bow and spear\nto pursue the peaceful occupation of hunting. The leader of this\nyouthful band of Muscogulgees, was a tall and stately youth, formed in\nthe noblest and most animated mould of the human form, straight as a\nyoung cedar, with eyes that indicated the fire of his soul, and brow,\nand cheek, and lip, that showed the mildness of his heart. With a\nsmall eagle feather, the badge of his chieftainship in his hair, his\nrobe of dressed deer-skin thrown lightly over his shoulder, at which\nhung his bow and well filled quiver, he walked among the admiring\nyouths and maidens of our nation, a thing to be feared, dreaded, and\nloved. He and his company of chosen young Braves now received the\nwelcome, and experienced, the hospitality, which, in every situation,\nand at every season, the red man of the forest offers to those who\nvisit him. They were feasted and caressed by each and all. The painted\npole was erected and the feast prepared, that an opportunity might be\nafforded them of recounting their exploits in the ears of the\nlistening Braves of our nation; the wrestling ring was formed, that\ntheir skill and strength, if they possessed such, in that exercise,\nmight be shown; games of chance were appointed, that the favour of the\nGreat Spirit, and the strength of the protecting _okkis_ of each\nnation and individual, might be demonstrated. In every undertaking,\nwas the superior skill and strength of the youthful leader of the\nMuscogulgee band made apparent. In the wrestling ring, the strongest\nman of the Cherokees was but a child in his hands; his voice, in the\nsong of his own exploits, and the recital of the glories of his\nnation, was sweeter than the sighing of the gentlest spring wind, and\nclearer than the prattling music of the waterfall. In the games which\nwere played he was equally successful, and he rose from the _match of\nstraws_ winner of half the valued treasures and trophies of the\nopposing Braves. Was it strange, that one so bold and brave should\ningratiate himself with the beautiful maidens of our tribe? Was it\nstrange, that bright eyes should glisten with tears, and soft bosoms\nbe filled with throbs, and red lips be fraught with sighs, when the\nGuard of the Red Arrows passed before the eyes of beauty? Was it any\nthing to excite especial wonder, that the beautiful daughter of the\npriest should suffer the fires of love to be lit in her tender bosom?\nor that the valiant and handsome Muscogulgee should think her the\nfairest creature he had ever seen, should reciprocate the soft passion\nwhich glowed in her bosom, and wish to transfer the lovely flower of\nthe Cherokees from the cabin of her father to his distant home?\n\nThe Guard of the Red Arrows said to the father of the maiden, \"I love\nyour daughter. Her bright black eyes, and long black locks, her\nmelodious voice, and her gentleness, and her sweet temper, and her\nwinning air, have caught my heart, as a bird is entangled in the snare\nof the fowler, or a deer entrapped in the toils of the hunter. She has\nbecome the light of my soul--when I see her not, all is darkness. I\nhave no eyes but for her; my ears drink in no other accents than hers;\nmy last thought when I sink to rest is of the beautiful Fawn, my first\nwhen I awake of the bright-eyed little maiden who gits by the\ncabin-fire of the wise priest of her nation. I hare opened my heart to\nthis charming maiden, and have heard from her lips a soft confession\nof her love for the Muscogulgee. She consents to leave the house of\nher father, and the home of her childhood, to go, with the Guard of\nthe Red Arrows, to the cabin he has built himself beside the beautiful\nand rapid river of his nation.\"\n\nThe father answered, \"I cannot spare my daughter to go to the far home\nof him who asks her hand. She is the light of my eyes, and the joy of\nmy heart. What would her mother say, and how should I answer the fond\nquestions which, with eyes streaming with tears, she would ask, if I\npermitted the little fawn she has nursed with so much care to go forth\nto a distant land--to be in the morning of her youth separated from\nall her friends and companions, and taken to a new and unknown abode?\nGloom would be in my cabin, and tears would rush from the eyes, that\nfor seventeen harvests have been accustomed to see the gentle maiden\nperforming her acts of dutiful kindness, and gliding with a foot\nnoiseless as snow around the couches of her beloved parents. We should\nlisten in the morning for the carol of the sweetest of all birds, and\nmiss in the evening the tread of the lightest mortal foot that ever\nbrushed the dew from the flowers of the prairie. There would be one\nmissing from the repast of meat; one from the dance of maidens beneath\nthe shady oak; one from the couch of moss where we sleep. No,\nMuscogulgee! I cannot spare the fawn. How should I answer the fond\nquestions of her mother, when, with eyes streaming with tears, she\nshould ask me for her daughter? When I told her the truth, she would\ncry, 'Hard and cruel man! thou hast torn from me the darling of my\nheart, the idol of my soul.--What shall become of me--of thee, thus\ndeprived of our sweet child?' No, Muscogulgee! I must refuse thee my\ndaughter. And yet, if thou wilt renounce thine own nation, and come\nand take up thy residence in the native land of her thou lovest, or\npretendest to love, the maiden shall be thine. Thou shalt have a cabin\nbuilt beside my own, and, as is our Indian wont, the friends of thy\nbride shall place within it all the household implements needed in our\nsimple life. Her friends shall be thy friends, and her father thy\nfather, and her mother thy mother. When there is thunder and darkness\nin the sky of the Cherokees, it shall thunder and be dark in the sky\nof the Muscogulgee sojourner among them, and with whomsoever the\nCherokees have buried the hatchet of war, and made a league of amity,\nwith that tribe or people shall the Muscogulgee keep terms of peace.\"\n\nThe Muscogulgee answered, as became him, that \"his father, and his\nmother, and his brothers, and his sisters, and all the friends of his\nyouth, were dwelling in the land of his birth--the land of his\nfather's bones--how could he quit it? Why should he fly his\nfather-land, a land pleasant to look upon, and healthful to live in,\nabounding in quiet glades where the deer loved to browze, in pleasant\nstreams filled with fish, in smooth and tranquil lakes, fanned by the\nwings of the innumerable fowls which went thither for food. Much as he\nloved the beautiful flower of the Cherokees, and much as he wished to\nmake her his bride, he could not become an exile to obtain her. Why\nshould her father object to her following the steps of him she loved,\nand who would be unto her father, mother, sister, brother, friend, in\nthat one word _husband_?\"\n\nAnd thus pleaded the lover, but he pleaded in vain, for the father\nremained deaf to his entreaties and prayers. Not so the daughter. She\nhad drunk the sweet poison of his words, and, when he clasped her to\nhis breast, felt that there was more bliss in that clasp than could be\ncommunicated by the kindest words, and fondest looks, and richest\ngifts, of those who were the authors of her being. She heard his fond\nwords, and believed them true; she saw his face, and knew it fair, and\nshe trusted him. It was agreed between them, that when the moon had\nhid herself behind the lofty woods which skirted the village of her\nbirth, she should fly from the house of her father, with the Guard of\nthe Red Arrows, to the cabin he had built him beside the beautiful\nriver of his nation. But they forgot--these fond and foolish\nlovers!--that the Great Spirit was the friend of Chepiasquit, and made\nhim acquainted with all the secret doings of those who would harm him,\nor interfere with his family concerns. They forgot,--simple\nchildren!--that the wise powwow had but to feel the stirring of the\nant under the skin of the left hand, when, binding over his eyes the\nhide of a young badger, and laying his head upon a pillow composed of\nthe leaves of the black hornbeam, the Manitou of Dreams would make\nknown to him every machination of his enemies. The plans of the\nyouthful pair for flight were soon revealed to the cunning powwow by\nhis faithful spirit, and he arose in the morning, knowing what the\nnight would bring forth, and fully prepared to punish the attempts\nwhich were to be made against the peace of his family. He made all\nthose careful preparations for impending danger which a wise and\nprudent chief should make. He shut up his daughter in his lodge, and,\ncalling around him the Braves of his nation, he made them acquainted\nwith the designs of the Muscogulgee, and bade them keep guard around\nthe endangered cabin and its coveted treasure, but on no account--if\nit could be dispensed with--to do harm to the strangers. Having\nprepared to oppose violence by violence, if need should be, he,\nwishing to prevent bloodshed, for he was a man of peace, called to him\nthe lover of his daughter, and addressed him thus:\n\n\"I did say thou couldst not have my daughter, but upon one\ncondition--I recall my word, and add thereto a second. She shall be,\nwith the consent of her father, the companies of thy homeward journey,\nif thy heart be strong enough to undertake one quest, and it be the\nwill of the Great Spirit that thou be spared to accomplish it. Let the\nvaliant Muscogulgee, who has man written on his brow and eye, though\nthe down on his cheek proclaims him boy, listen to the words of the\nfather of Winona, and remember that the manifestation of a strong\nheart, at this time, may avail much to gain him the object he so\nardently covets.\n\n\"Between the two mountains which rear their lofty heads on the\nnorthern branch of the river of the Cherokees, there is a deep valley,\nin which the beams of the sun, being concentrated and drawn together,\ncreate a heat so insupportable that nothing can live there but those\nreptiles, which are ripened and fattened to full growth only by fervid\nand burning suns. In these deep valleys have dwelt, ever since the\nbeginning of the world, those Bright Old Inhabitants, the chiefs and\nfathers of the rattlesnakes, who are called by our nation the \"Kind\nOld Kings,\" being, indeed, the sovereigns of all the tribes or species\nof snakes to be found on the earth. It has been death to venture\nwithin their limits, and almost as fatal to displease them by speaking\nill of them, or by harming any of their subjects. Hence we know\nnothing of their villages, or their numbers, or their policy--whether\nthey die like ourselves, or if the copy of nature be eternal in them.\nThese things would I know; but above all would I know if the lights\nwhich shine so transcendently in those valleys be, as many say, the\neyes of those Kind Old Kings, or be substances not connected with\nthem--precious stones lit up by the beams of the sun, or dazzling\nmeteors shining by their own light. Go, brave young man, visit this\nvalley; confer with the wise old reptiles that inhabit it: above all\nsee if the lights which illumine it be the eyes of those snakes, or\ndazzling meteors shining by their own light, or precious stones lit up\nby the beams of the sun. And thou must bring me a tooth from the jaw\nof a living king, and a rattle from his tail, and an eye from his\nskull. When thou shalt bring us an account of these things, the hand\nof my daughter shall accompany her heart, and the one shall become, as\nthe other hath been, the property of the valiant Muscogulgee. But,\nuntil thou hast performed the required task, my daughter remains\nguarded in my cabin.\"\n\nThe Muscogulgee heard the words of the father, and grief filled his\nsoul. He had heard--for who in those wilds was ignorant of the\ntradition?--of the \"bright old inhabitants,\" and he knew how deadly\nthe enmity which they bear to those who trespass upon their sacred and\nsecluded retreats. He knew that, in undertaking this invasion of their\nsolitudes, small chance remained to him of escaping death from their\ndreadful fangs. Though they were called the Kind Old Kings, they were\nknown not to deserve that appellation when just cause was given for\nanger. These considerations presented themselves to the young\nMuscogulgee, but they did not appal him. He loved the beautiful\ndaughter of the priest, and, deeming that life passed without her\nwould not be worth possessing, he determined to attempt the task which\nwould end it, or give to his arms the object of his love, the bright\nand blooming Cherokee maiden. So he made answer to Chepiasquit, that\nhe would do, or attempt to do, the thing required of him, and received\nfrom the wise old _powwow_ a renewal of his promise, that the maiden\nshould be his when his task should be accomplished. Then, turning to\nhis companions, who had gathered around him, he bade them return\nimmediately to the land of the Muscogulgees, and impart to his friends\na knowledge of the hazardous expedition which he had undertaken. And\nthen, in the presence of her father and mother, he bade adieu to the\nblushing maiden, who received, with many tears, the kiss of affection\nupon her soft cheek, and raised her wet eyes in speechless prayer to\nthe Great Spirit that he might be returned to her arms.\n\nThe powwow said to the Muscogulgee, \"Thou hast undertaken a fearful\nthing, and one which I warn thee will require much and deep thought\nand caution, and great valour and wisdom. Thou shalt have my aid and\ncounsel, but they may not avail so much as thine own steadiness of\nsoul, and strength of arm. Nevertheless, I will give thee a charm, a\npotent charm, and see thou rememberest my directions for its use.\"\n\nSo saying, he drew forth from his basket of amulets the skin of a\nmountain cat, in which was a medicine, compounded of those powerful\nsubstances which nature furnishes, to enable men to acquire command\nover their own and the inferior species. There were the vine which\nnever bore fruit, the dry cones of the pine, steeped in the dew that\ndrops from the leaves of the mountain-laurel, the claws of the tiger,\nthe teeth of the alligator, the thighbone of the tortoise, and the\nribs of the snail, reduced to a powder, and mixed up with water\ndropped from the shell of the butternut, through the ochre of war. The\nwise master of the spell had drawn from field, and forest, earth, air,\nand water, from beast and bird, and fish and reptile, and insect and\ntree, and flower and fruit, all the various properties which have an\nagency in subduing things to the will of him, to whom those properties\nhave been taught. From these he had compounded a medicine, the mighty\npower of which was unknown even to himself. Placing this amulet in\nthe hands of the wondering youth, he bade him remember to repeat aloud\nthe following words, and in the following manner, should he deem there\nwas occasion for its use. \"I am lost! I am lost! save me! save me! In\nthe name of the seven men that were bewildered in a foggy morning, and\ncooked for the breakfast of the Kind Old Kings, I call upon thee,\nMaiden in Green, to protect me from the like fate.\" The youthful lover\nreceived the sacred amulet, with all the reverence which it ought to\ninspire, and, before the great star of day had sunk to sleep behind\nthe hills of the west, he had slung his bow and quiver to his\nshoulder, and taken up the line of his march to the fated valley.\n\nTravelling onward with great expedition, he came near the close of the\nnext day to the entrance of the eventful spot. He saw the high\nmountains covered with mossy rocks, and tall cedars, and pines, and\nbeheld the \"lofty forms, whose heads stretched far into the sky,\" and\nheard the sounds which proceeded from their lips, the soft whispers of\nlove, the loud tones of strife, or the merry ones of joy, laughing and\nweeping, wooing and strife, signs that they were possessed of the\nvarious passions and emotions which find a place in the breasts of\nmortals. Between these mountains lay the deep valley spoken of, but\nwhat it was which glittered and glistened in it, he knew not. Whatever\nit was, it shone with a splendour which eclipsed the meridian beams of\nthe sun. The whole space between the two mountains seemed a glare of\nlight, which dazzled even more than the fiercest glare of noon in the\nMonth of Thunder. What still more astonished and perplexed the youth\nwas, that the light seemed of various colours, ever changing, never\nfor a moment wearing the same appearance. Now it wore the hue of the\nmaple leaf in autumn, now of the tuft of the blue heron--now it was\npurple, now green, now yellow, and then it seemed a mixture of them\nall, a blending of all the colours ever beheld into one. Astonished\nand dismayed, but still determined to win the hand of the beautiful\nWinona or perish, the Guard of the Red Arrows undauntedly entered the\nvalley, and approached the scene of wondrous splendour. Moving with\ngreat difficulty, for the entrance was overrun with briars and many\nother vicious impediments, he came all at once to a clear field, and\nbeheld what had so enchanted and spell-bound at a distance--what so\nfilled with horror now it was nearer beheld. He saw the earth covered\nwith rattlesnakes of a more enormous size than any ever beheld by man,\nay, beyond what even his imagination had pictured in his most\nrestless and diseased hours of sleep. The bodies of many of them were\nlarger than the trunks of the largest forest trees, and so unwieldy\nthat, when they would turn round, they were compelled to take a circle\nalmost as wide as their length. But bountiful nature, which always\ncompensates for a defect or disadvantage by adding an excellence, made\nup for the heavy motion of their bodies by bestowing upon them the\npower of irresistible fascination. She gave to them an eye--to each a\nsingle eye--placing it in the centre of their foreheads, possessing\nthe power to draw to them every living creature. It was this eye which\nemitted the wonderful light which had so dazzled the Muscogulgee at a\ndistance, and still more dazzled now that he was within reach of the\nhorrid fascination. These eyes were of every possible colour, and the\nlight they sent forth was as various as the colour of the eyes. Nor\ncould the colour of any one of those eyes be set down as positively\nthis or that, for each moment was it changing. Now the green eye\nbecame blue as the midnight sky--look again, it was yellow as the\nfallen leaf; a fourth time, the scarlet hue was entering upon one\nside, while the yellow was retreating from the other, leaving the\nmiddle a strange combination of both. Long might the Muscogulgee have\ngazed on the brilliant, but terrible scene--a field, stretching\nfarther than the eye could reach, and all covered with immense snakes,\nhissing with a sound loud as the roar of the tempest, shaking their\nrattles with a noise like thunder, the while their eyes emitted the\nlight which he shuddered to look at, and yet, such was their power of\nfascination, he was unable to turn from--long, I repeat, might he have\ngazed on the scene, but he found himself irresistibly impelled to\nenter the field of light. His feet were irresistibly drawn forward,\nhis mouth was opened to deprecate the anger of the Great Being, his\nhands were upraised at what he knew must be instant destruction, for\nalready were their dreadful jaws expanded, and their hideous tongues,\nred as burning coals, twinkling with a motion so quick that it seemed\nbut the soul of a vapour, when he bethought himself of the charm given\nto him by the wise priest, and drew it forth. Bowing, as he was\nbidden, to the spirit of storms, who rules the east, to the kind\ngenius of the south, to the master of the west wind, and to the North\nStar, which is the best friend of hunters and bewildered men, he\nthrice called upon the Great Spirit, crying in a loud voice, \"I am\nlost! I am lost! save me! save me! In the name of the seven men who\nwere bewildered in a foggy morning, and cooked for the breakfast of\nthe Kind Old Kings, I call upon thee, Maiden in Green, to protect me\nfrom a like fate.\" Is my brother prepared to hear what was the effect\nproduced by these words? Does he wish to know if that shrill cry\ncalled up a being unable to protect him, or if the rattles were\nstilled, and the jaws were closed, and if darkness was imparted to\nthose glittering eyes, and silence to those wicked tongues? Listen.\n\nThere came to the ears of the Muscogulgee youth, from the summit of\nthe Northern mountains, a sound of distant thunder, which in a moment\nwas succeeded by the sweetest song that ever was breathed upon mortal\nears. He could not distinguish all the words, but he heard enough to\nteach him that it was a song of supplication to the Great Spirit for a\n\"brave and good Muscogulgee hunter, about to be caught in the fangs of\nthe Kind Old Kings.\" The moment the thunder and the song were heard,\nthe rattles were still, the bright eyes sent forth no more light, and\nthe fiery tongues retreated within the closed and recumbent jaws. Of\nall that body of hideous reptiles not one seemed to be imbued with\nbreath. Nearer and nearer came the song, and as it came the hunter\nfancied that it was the music of a being moving level with the earth,\nif not beneath its surface. He was right. Soon, in the grass at his\nfeet, appeared a little snake scarcely thicker than his little finger,\nand not longer than the space between his hand and his shoulder. The\ncolours of this little reptile were as various and beautiful as those\nof the eyes of the Kind Old Kings, but these were fixed and permanent,\nthose as I have said changeable and changing as a woman's mind. The\nhead was green, the sides were yellow, the belly white, down its back\nran two red stripes, and there were rings of bright crimson around its\ntail. Elevating its head as it drew near, it remained stationary and\nsilent for a moment, and then addressed the Muscogulgee in these\nwords:--\n\n\"I am the spirit raised by the potent _medicine_ of the Cherokee priest;\nand, invoked by thy call, I have hastened hither at thy cry of distress,\nto tell thee thou art not _lost_. Though thou didst a foolish thing to\ncome to this valley of death, and he, at whose bidding the thing was\nundertaken, a wicked one in sending thee, yet thou shalt not die this\ntime. I am the Maiden in Green, the ruling Spirit of both mountain and\nvalley, having power over even the Bright Old Inhabitants, and they\nshall not harm thee. Thou art, if I remember right, commanded, as the\nprice of the beautiful daughter of the Cherokee _powwow_, to carry to\nhim a tooth from the jaw of a living King and a rattle from his tail,\nand an eye from his skull; and to report of sundry things not\nnecessary to be named. Thou shalt have my aid to accomplish these\nthings.\"\n\nSo saying, the Maiden in Green re-commenced her song, the while making\na circuit around the prisoner at a small distance from him. When she\nhad finished the circuit, she changed her song to one which seemed a\nsong of reproach and threatening. Whatever was the subject, it had the\neffect of rekindling the Bright Old Inhabitants to their former state\nof wrath. Their eyes were relit with the glittering beams, and the\nhissing and the rattling re-commenced. Seemingly determined to take\ninstant vengeance upon the intruder, they were now seen making such\nhaste as their natural tardiness admitted of, towards the Muscogulgee.\nFrom every part of the valley heads could be seen displaying forked\ntongues, and all pressing towards the alarmed warrior. But he stood\ninvulnerable to them, though he knew it not, within the charmed circle\nmade by his protecting spirit. Their powers of fascination had been\ntaken away by the Maiden in Green, or rather the counter-fascination,\nwhich kept him within the charmed space, was more powerful than the\ninfluence of their eyes.\n\nCalling to one of the largest of the Kind Old Kings to come near, the\nMaiden in Green spoke to him thus:--\"This youth is a brave youth, and\nhe is a Muscogulgee. He loves the beautiful daughter of the _powwow_\nChepiasquit, and has asked her of her father to wife. The father has\nimposed on him the task to visit your valley, and make report whether\nyour eyes are dazzling meteors, or precious stones. And he has bidden\nhim bring a tooth from the jaw of a living King, and a rattle from his\ntail, and an eye from his skull, the which, being faithfully and fully\naccomplished, entitles him to claim, as a pledged boon, the hand of\nthe lovely Winona. What say you, chief of the kings, shall he return\nand be made happy?\"\n\nThe chief of the kings answered that he knew of no one who would\nwillingly spare an eye, or a tooth, or a rattle. For himself, he had\nfound them all of use, and could spare neither eye, tooth, nor rattle.\nAnd he bade the Spirit remember, that though queen of both valley and\nmountain, her sway extended but to protect, and not to injure. She had\nno right to demand from the Kind Old Kings a thing which should\ninflict pain or death upon them. And did she not know that, whenever\none of those eyes of light should be carried beyond the limits of the\nvalley, the transcendent power and brightness which their owners now\npossessed should be enjoyed by them no more. Such was the will of the\nGreat Being; strange that the Maiden in Green should be ignorant of it.\n\nThe Spirit answered that she knew not this, yet she was prepared to\nsay that the decree should be revoked, if they would, without any\nfurther molestation, impart to the Muscogulgee the required\ninformation, and bestow upon him the gift which would make him happy\nand prosperous in his suit to the Cherokee maiden. Should they favour\nhis request, brilliancy should be added to, rather than taken from,\ntheir eyes, and their rattles should grow in size, and increase in\nnumber and speed of motion. But, if they refused to grant him the\nboon, the eye, and the tooth, and the rattle, should be taken from\nthem by force, whereby they would lose the benefit of having done\nsomething to be thanked for.\n\nUpon hearing this, the chief of the Wise Old Kings called a council of\nhis nation. I know not what was said in this council, but I can tell\nmy brother what was done. They drew lots among them, and he upon whom\nthe lot fell submitted to lose an eye, and a tooth, and a rattle.\nHaving given these to the Muscogulgee, the eldest of the Kings\ninstructed him in their history, their laws, and their policy,\nreplying particularly to the questions suggested by the Cherokee\n_powwow_.\n\n\"We were created,\" said he, \"after all the other beings were created,\nand were formed from the variegated sand which is found on the shores\nof the distant Lake of the Woods. It was in a pleasant and sunny\nmorning in the Buck-Moon, that the Great Spirit, having nothing else\nto do, amused himself, as he sat in the warm sun on the bank of this\nlake, with twisting ropes of those particoloured sands. Having\ntwisted, in mere sport, a considerable number, and laid them aside, it\ncame to his mind that amidst all the variety of creatures he had\nformed, whose means of locomotion were walking, flying, swimming,\nhopping, trotting, running, there were none ordained to move\naltogether by crawling. 'Now,' said he to himself, 'if I were breathe\ninto these ropes the breath of life, and to invest them with the power\nto run about, would it not be a sight worth seeing?--would it not\ncreate a deal of sport among the other animals? But I will make them\nmore wonderful yet.'\n\n\"So saying, he selected a number of small round stones, of which he\nthrust several into one end of the ropes. Before him, upon the shore,\nwere scattered many stones of different hues, but all of surpassing\nbrilliancy, and each outshining the beams of the meridian sun. He\nplaced one of these shining gems in the other end of each rope, and\nthen blew upon them until they exhibited signs of life. When the ropes\nbegan to move, their strange and zigzag motions, and the rattling of\ntheir tails, excited the mirth of the Great Being, who laughed loud\nand long at the oddity he had formed. That portion of them to which he\nhad given rattles and the shining eye were appointed rulers over all\nthe other and inferior species of snakes. And he bade them remember\nthat he had formed them to crawl in the dust all the days of their\nlives, and on no account to attempt an upright posture. 'But,' said\nhe, as he concluded the word which bade them be ever of the dust,\n'this is no place for your tribes. Ye are a thin-skinned, or rather a\nskinless race, and should have a habitation and a name only where\nfervid suns beam, and the frosts and snows of winter are little known.\nYe could never reach that land if left to your own exertions--I must\nassist you.' So saying, he gathered all the new-born reptiles into his\nhand, and, hiding them in the folds of his robe, took his departure\ntowards the warm regions of the South. A few hours sufficed to bring\nhim to the valley which we now occupy, and here he committed us, and\nall the tribes over which we are appointed rulers, to the fostering\ncare of the bright and glorious star of day. Having created us, and\nbreathed into us the breath of life, he bade us, as he had done all\nthe other creatures, each, for the future, to provide for his own\nwants. We who carried the rattles were to live for ever; all the\nothers were to die at an appointed time. We were commanded never to\nleave the valley, and, as a compensation for being restricted in our\nwalks, we were to exercise for ever dominion over all the other\nspecies of snakes. And, as a protection from those who might wage a\nwar of invasion against us, our eyes were gifted with the power to\nfascinate, and attract to us, every living creature that came within\nthe scope of their vision, save those who were specially favoured by\nthe Spirit of the Mountain. And thus it is. We, the Kind Old Kings,\nare the identical ropes of sand which were twisted in the beginning of\nthe world by the Maker of all; those of small stature, which ye see\naround us, are our children, and the children of our children. _They_\ndie, but to us who carry the dazzling eyes, death is not appointed.\nYet we increase in stature, and shall continue increasing in stature,\ntill the Great Tortoise upon which the earth reposes shall sink into\nthe endless abyss of waters, carrying with him that earth and all its\nnumerous creatures.\n\n\"You may thank the Spirit of the Mountain, Muscogulgee, for your life.\nIt was forfeited, and would have been taken, but for the intervention\nof the Maiden in Green. You may now return--the bearer of what never\nbefore left the valley of the Bright Old Inhabitants--an eye, and a\ntooth, and a rattle--wisdom gathered from my words, and instruction\nfrom my lips. They shall not avail him for whom they are intended,\nsince their possession would convey to him a power which the Great\nSpirit would not--could not, without danger to himself--permit a\nmortal to exercise. I hand you a tooth: already does the great\n_powwow_ of the Cherokees feel, with the increase of the strength of\nhis mind, the decrease of the strength of his body: here is the\nrattle, his strength is ebbing away; the eye, I behold him helpless on\nthe bed of death. His face is bright with the wisdom and knowledge\nimparted by the gifts he hath obtained from us, but, alas! his tongue\nis nerveless, he may not communicate the knowledge he hath gained.\nHasten back in peace, Muscogulgee, deliver to him the gifts which seal\nhis fate and thine--his, to die ere the moon be two days older--thine,\nto gain the maiden thou so ardently longest for, and with her to\ndescend the stream of time, loving and beloved--the happiest of the\nhappy. But, remember, let none of thy race or name presume again to\nvisit this valley, lest the most dreadful fate be theirs.\"\n\nSo spoke the eldest of the Wise Old Kings, and his words were\nrepeated by all his brothers. They permitted the Muscogulgee to depart\nin peace, and he returned to the village of the Cherokee priest. He\ndelivered the gifts as he had been directed, and witnessed the end he\nhad been taught to expect. He saw the countenance of the _powwow_\nlighted up with intelligence more than mortal, but, at the delivery of\neach gift, he beheld a third part of the vigour of animal life fade\naway, as the eye, the bright, the unfading, but fatal eye, was placed\nin his trembling hand, he saw the spark of life quivering like a lamp\nin the socket. The priest had just time to beckon to him his lovely\ndaughter, when, placing her hand in that of the Muscogulgee youth, he\nexpired.\n\nBrother, I am a Muscogulgee, and my mother was the beautiful daughter\nof the Cherokee priest, and my father the brave youth who adventured\ninto the valley of the Bright Old Inhabitants. I have done.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n(1) _Valley of the Bright Old Inhabitants._--p. 225.\n\nSeveral of the Indian nations believe themselves descended from\nrattlesnakes, and all, more or less, profess relationship with that\nreptile. A Seneca chief told me that his maternal ancestor was a\nmaiden rattlesnake, but he destroyed the sublimity of the fiction by\nasserting that on their nuptial night she bit off her husband's nose.\n\nHeckewelder, after remarking that some of the Tuscaroras claim\naffinity with the rabbit and the ground hog, says: \"I found also that\nthe Indians, for a similar reason, paid great respect to the\nrattlesnake, whom they called their _grandfather_, and would on no\naccount destroy him. One day, as I was walking with an elderly Indian\non the banks of the Muskingum, I saw a large rattlesnake lying across\nthe path, which I was going to kill. The Indian immediately forbade my\ndoing so, 'for,' said he, 'the rattlesnake is grandfather to the\nIndians, and is placed here on purpose to guard us, and to give us\nwarning of impending danger by his rattles, which is the same as if he\nwere to tell us 'Look about!' 'Now, added he,' if we were to kill one\nof those, the others would soon know it, and the whole race would\nrise upon us, and bite us.' I observed to him that the white people\nwere not afraid of this, for they killed all the rattlesnakes they met\nwith. On this he enquired whether any white man had been bitten by\nthose animals, and of course I answered in the affirmative. 'No\nwonder, then,' he replied, 'you have to blame yourselves for that.\nTake care you do not irritate them in our country, they and their\ngrandchildren are on good terms, and neither will hurt the other.'\"\n\nAdair, after killing one which infested the camp of the Seminoles,\nfound himself in serious danger, whereupon he remarks in a note page\n263, that the Seminoles \"never kill the rattlesnake.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF MOSHUP.\n\n\nThe sound or strait, which divides Nope[A] from the main land and the\nislands of Nashawn, was not, in the days of our fathers, so wide as it\nis now. The small bays which now indent the northern shore of Nope,\nand the slight promontories, which, at intervals of a mile or two, jut\nout along its coast of a sun's journey, were then wanting; neither the\none nor the other obtruded on its round and exact outline. The strong\ncurrent of waters from the boundless bosom of the Great Lake, sweeping\ndown between this island and the opposite little islands of Nashawn\nand its sisters, has made great encroachments upon the former,\nwidening to a journey of two hours what was once only the work of one\nto perform. My brothers, who are with me from the lands of the\nPawkunnawkuts, know that my words are true. They know that the air has\nalso changed as much as the shape of the shores of Nope. In the times\nof our grandfathers, the waves which roll between these islands were\nalways frozen over, from the hunting month to the month of the red\nsinging bird. During the cold months, the canoe of the Indian hunter\nand fisherman was not permitted to traverse its dark and angry waters\nin quest of finny spoil, or in chase of the wild fowl. Then, to\nprocure his food he took down his spear, and wandered far out on the\nfrozen water to catch the foolish duck, which had suffered itself to\nbe imbedded in the congealed clement; or, nearer to his cabin, he cut\nholes in the ice, and, as the stupid and benumbed fish glided across\nthe opening, applied his unerring dart, and threw him to his delighted\nwoman.\n\n[Footnote A: Martha's Vineyard, a little island upon the coast of New\nEngland.]\n\nBut the face of Nope changed, and with it the winters grew milder and\nmilder. The hunting month was no longer the month of early snow, and\nwhen the red singing bird came, he hopped on an opening bud, and\nlistened to the croaking of frogs. The alarm of the great sentinel[A]\nwas heard no longer in the hour of darkness in the depth of the woods.\nThere was too much sun for the hardy old warrior, and he followed his\ngreat chief, the brown eagle, to the regions of the north. Meantime\nthe waters, no longer bound up with a chain by the Manitou of Cold,\nscooped out bays and heaped up headlands, till they made the shores\nof Nope crooked as the path of a bewildered white man, or the thread\nof a story which has no truth.\n\n[Footnote A: The owl. See the tradition, vol. 1. p. 61.]\n\nOnce upon a time, in the month of bleak winds, a Pawkunnawkut Indian,\nwho lived upon the main land, near the brook which was ploughed out by\nthe great trout[A], was caught with his dog upon one of the pieces of\nfloating ice, and carried in spite of his endeavours to Nope.\nHitherto, it had remained unknown, and, as our people supposed,\nunapproachable. Several times they had attempted to visit it, but\ntheir canoes had always been swept away, or pushed back by some\ninvisible hand, some friendly Manitou of the water, who feared danger\nto them, or some angry spirit of the island, who, by these signs,\nforbade their approach to his dominions. For many years, and ever\nsince the memory of our fathers, the Indians, supposing it the\nresidence of Hobbamock, the being who rules over evil men, sends\ndisease and death to the Indians, breeds storms in the air, and utters\nthe fearful sound in the black clouds, had carefully abstained from\nattempting to visit it. Nor was it altogether a mere uncertain dread\nof evil, which had operated on their minds to people it with living\nand moving beings. They could see at times men of monstrous stature\nmoving rapidly over the island, and at all seasons in the calm\nevening, or when the winds blew from it, could hear sounds of anger or\nwailing, or of music and merriment, proceeding from its gloomy shades.\nAnd some pretended to have seen distinctly the form of a tall man\nwading into the water to grasp whales. The forced visit to its shores\nof Tackanash, the Pawkunnawkut, made them see it was not the dream of\na sleeper who has eaten too much meat, but like that which men see\nwith their eyes when they are awake, and would talk only what the Good\nSpirit may hear.\n\n[Footnote A: A brook in Barnstable County, respecting which this\ntradition is current among the Indians.]\n\nWhen Tackanash and his dog arrived at Nope, he found the man whose\nexistence had been doubted by many of the Indians, and believed to\nhave been only seen by deceived eyes, heard by foolish ears, and\ntalked of by lying tongues, living in a deep cave near the end of the\nisland, nearest the setting sun. And this was the account which\nTackanash on his return gave the chiefs of the strange creature. He\nwas taller than the tallest tree upon Nope, and as large around him as\nthe spread of the tops of a vigorous pine, that has seen the years of\na full grown warrior. His skin was very black; but his beard, which he\nhad never plucked nor clipped, and the hair of his head, which had\nnever been shaved, were of the colour of the feathers of the grey\ngull. His eyes were very white, and his teeth, which were only two in\nnumber, were green as the ooze raked up by the winds from the bottom\nof the sea. He was always good-natured and cheerful, save when he\ncould not get plenty of meat, or when he missed his usual supply of\nthe Indian weed, and the strong drink which made him see whales\nchasing deer in the woods, and frogs digging _quawhogs_. His principal\nfood was the meat of whales, which he caught by wading after them into\nthe great sea, and tossing them out, as the Indian boys do black bugs\nfrom a puddle. He would, however, eat porpoises, when no larger fish\nwere to be had, and even tortoises, and deer, and rabbits, rather than\nbe hungry. The bones of the whales, and the coals of the fire in which\nhe roasted them, are to be seen now at the place where he lived. I\nhave not yet told my brothers the name of this big man of Nope--it\nwas Moshup.\n\nI hear the stranger ask, \"Who was he?\" I hear my brothers ask, \"Was he\na spirit from the shades of departed men, or did he come from the\nhills of the thunder? I answer, he was a Spirit, but whence he came,\nwhen first he landed in our Indian country, I know not. It was a long\ntime ago, and the Island[A] was then very young, being just placed on\nthe back of the Great Tortoise which now supports it. As it was very\nheavy the tortoise tried to roll it off, but the Great Spirit would\nnot let him, and whipped him till he lay still. Moshup told the\nPawkunnawkut that he once lived upon the main land. He said that much\npeople grew up around him, men who lived by hunting and fishing, while\ntheir women planted the corn, and beans, and pumpkins. They had\n_powwows_, he said, who dressed themselves in a strange dress,\nmuttered diabolical words, and frightened the Indians till they gave\nthem half their wampum. Our fathers knew by this, that they were their\nancestors, who were always led by the priests--the more fools they!\nOnce upon a time, Moshup said, a great bird whose wings were the\nflight of an arrow wide, whose body was the length of ten Indian\nstrides, and whose head when he stretched up his neck peered over the\ntall oak-woods, came to Moshup's neighbourhood. At first, he only\ncarried away deer and mooses; at last, many children were missing.\nThis continued for many moons. Nobody could catch him, nobody could\nkill him. The Indians feared him, and dared not go near him; he in his\nturn feared Moshup, and would seek the region of the clouds the moment\nhe saw him coming. When he caught children, he would immediately fly\nto the island which lay towards the hot winds. Moshup, angry that he\ncould not catch him, and fearing that, if the creature hatched others\nof equal appetite and ferocity, the race of Indians would become\nextinct, one day waded into the water after him, and continued in\npursuit till he had crossed to the island which sent the hot winds,\nand which is now called Nope. There, under a great tree, he found the\nbones of all the children which the great bird had carried away. A\nlittle further he found its nest, with seven hatched birds in it,\nwhich, together with the mother, he succeeded after a hard battle in\nkilling. Extremely fatigued, he lay down to sleep, and dreamed that he\nmust not quit the island again. When he waked, he wished much to\nsmoke, but, on searching the island for tobacco, and finding none, he\nfilled his pipe with _poke_, which our people sometimes use in the\nplace of tobacco. Seated upon the high hills of Wabsquoy, he puffed\nthe smoke from his pipe over the surface of the Great Lake, which soon\ngrew dim and misty. This was the beginning of fog, which since, for\nthe long space between the Frog-month and the Hunting-month, has at\ntimes obscured Nope and all the shores of the Indian people. This was\nthe story which Moshup told Tackanash and his dog. If it is not true,\nI am not the liar.\"\n\n[Footnote A: The Indians, as I have before remarked, believe the world\nto be an island, and always speak of it as such.]\n\nMoshup, at the time when Nope was visited by Tackanash, had a wife of\nequal size with himself, and four sons, and a daughter, the former\ntall, strong, and swift, very expert at catching fish, and nimble in\npursuit of deer, the latter beautiful, sweet-voiced, and bounding as\nthe fawn. She would sit in the first of the evening, when the dew\nbegan to fall, and the shadows of men lengthened, and sing to her\nfather songs of the land of the shades of evil men, songs which told\nof the crimes they had committed, and their repentance, and guilt, and\ncompunction, and shame, and death. Though Moshup appeared to care\nlittle for any body, he nevertheless loved his little daughter, as he\ncalled her, whose head peered over the tallest trees, and whose voice\nwas heard upon the main land. He shewed by many signs how much he\nloved his daughter. He strung up the teeth of the shark as a necklace\nfor her, gathered the finest shells for her anklets, and always gave\nher the fattest slice of whale's meat to her portion.\n\nThe story of Tackanash, who very soon returned to Waquoit, and his\ndescription of the beauties of Nope, carried many of the Pawkunnawkuts\nthither to live. It was indeed a pleasant place, pleasant to the\nIndian, for it abounded with all the things he covets. Its ponds were\nmany, and stocked with fine fish and fat wild ducks; its woods were\nfilled with deer, and the fertile banks of its streams overrun with\nwild vines, on which the grape thickly clustered, and where the walnut\nand the hazel-nut profusely loaded both bush and tree. Soon, the\nPawkunnawkuts, at peace among themselves, and blessed by the Good\nSpirit with every thing they needed, became very numerous. There was\nnot a pleasant spot on the island, from which did not arise the smoke\nof a cabin fire; nor a quiet lake, in which, in the months of flowers\nand fruits, you would not see Indian maidens laving their dusky limbs.\nThe wild duck found no rest in his sunny slumber on the banks of\nMenemshe, the _pokeshawit_ could no longer hide in the sedge, on the\nbanks of his favourite Quampeche, and the deer, that went to quench\nhis thirst in the Monnemoy, found the unerring arrow of the Indian in\nhis heart.\n\nBut to Moshup the increase of the Indians seemed to give pain--none\nknew why, since the only enjoyments he appeared to covet were still as\nnumerous as before. Whales were still plenty, _poke_ was still plenty,\nand sleep and sunshine as easily enjoyed as ever. Though he never\nharmed the Indians, he grew discontented and unhappy, cross and\npeevish in his family, and sour and unneighbourly to all around him.\nHe would beat his wife, if she did but so much as eat a falling scrap\nof the whale; toss his sons out of the cave, if, in the indulgence of\nboyish glee, they made the least noise while he was taking his nap;\nand box the ears of his little daughter, if she did but so much as\nlook at an Indian youth.\n\nOnce upon a time, he bade his children go and play ball upon the beach\nthat joins the hill[A] of White Paint to Nomensland, telling them that\nhe would look on and see the sport. When they had played awhile, he\nmade a mark with his great toe across the beach at each end, and so\ndeep that the water followed the mark, leaving them surrounded with\nit, and in great danger of being drowned. When the tide at length\nbegan to flow across the beach, covering with water the whole space\nbetween the two high lands, the brothers took their little sister, and\nheld her up out of the water, while Moshup, seated on the high cliffs,\nlooked on. He told them to act as if they were going to kill whales,\nwhich they did, and were all turned into the fish called _killers_, a\nfish which has ever since been an enemy to whales, and is its greatest\nterror; As the sister was always a gay girl, painting her cheeks of\nmany hues, and loving many-coloured ornaments, he commanded her to\nbecome, and she became, the striped killer. He bade her brothers be\nalways very kind to her, and they have obeyed him.\n\n[Footnote A: Gayhead, which has a chalk cliff.]\n\nWhen Moshup's wife learned the transformation of her children, she\ngrieved very much for their loss. Night and day she did nothing hut\nweep and call for them, till, at length, Moshup grew tired of her\nnoise, and, catching her up in his arms in a paroxysm of passion, he\nthrew her as far as he could towards the country of the Narragansetts.\nShe fell upon the point which juts far into the ocean, and over whose\nrocks the evil Manitou of the deep throws the great waves. The Indians\ncall it Seconet. There, seated upon the rocks, she began to make all\nwho came that way contribute to her support. She grew to be so cross\nand cruel, exacting so much from Indians, and making so much noise,\nthat the Great Spirit changed her into a huge rock; the entire shape\nof which remained many years. But, when the Yengees came, some of them\nbroke off her arms, fearing she would use them to their injury, and\nher head, lest she should plot mischief; but her body stands there now.\n\nMoshup did not stay long on Nope after he had thrown away his wife,\nbut while he did remain he was very good to the Indians, sending them\nmany whales and other good things. He did very little save watch on\nthe edge of the sea the sport of the killers, and in particular that\nwhich was striped, feeding it with certain pieces of fish, talking\nkindly to it, and always calling it by the name his daughter bore.\nSometimes he would remain for many suns perched on the high cliff of\nWhite Paint, looking eagerly towards the place where he had thrown his\nold woman. At last, he went away, no one could say with certainty\nwhither. Some of the Indians supposed they could see him at times\nwalking on the high hills beyond the tides; others thought that he had\ngone back to his master; the Evil Spirit.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PHANTOM WOMAN.\n\nA TRADITION OF THE WINNEBAGOES.\n\n\nThe days of Mishikinakwa, or the Little Turtle, were numbered, and the\nsigns made visible of his approaching dissolution. There had been\nvoices calling from the hills in the hour of the silent night, \"Come,\nMishikinakwa! she waits for thee.\" The _Nant-e-na_, or little spirits,\nwhich inhabit the earth, and the air, and the fire, and the water,\naccording to their different natures, had all been busy, proclaiming\nthe approaching translation of the chief from the troubles and\nhardships of this world to the happiness and quiet of another and a\nbetter. There were the rattling of their voices in the brook, and\ntheir whisperings in the air, and their hissings in the fire and their\ngroanings in the earth. There were the falling of green leaves in the\nhour of calm, and the whirl of dry ones in the wind, the hoot of the\ngrey owl on the ridge of his cabin, and the cry of the muckawiss in\nthe hollow woods. The _Hottuk Ishtohoollo_ or Holy People(1), with\ntheir relations the _Nana Ishtohoollo_, proclaimed from the clouds\nthe threatened danger to the life of the warrior; while the _Nana\nOokproose_, or accursed beings, howled out the tidings from their\ndwellings in the far west.\n\nHis years were not the years of an aged man; his hair was yet\nunstained by the frost of tune, his eye yet flashed with the fire of\nmanhood, his step remained strong and steady. Yet, without hunger,\nwithout want, without pain, without disease, without a wound, in the\nprime of life, in the vigour of manhood, beloved by his friends, and\nfeared by his enemies, the pride of the Winnebagoes was seen fast\napproaching the house of the dead.\n\nNone knew why, yet from one fatal day he was seen to droop, as a lily\nbends before, a fervid sun. From one fatal day his joy forsook him,\nand his eye became like a troubled water. His laugh had no more the\njoyousness of his healthful hour; his step was no more light and\nbuoyant; food no more pleased his palate; sleep refreshed him no more.\nThey came and sang the war-song at the door of his cabin, and he\nsuffered them to depart without the answering shout. It was sung in\nhis ears, \"The Potowatomies are in in our war-path,\" but he raised not\nhis head--\"The Hurons have the scalp of thy brother's son,\" and no cry\nof vengeance burst from his lips. Slowly and gradually he faded away,\nand the time soon came that he could move no more from his bed of\nsoft grass, but lay in silent expectation of the sound of the voice\nthat calls the spirit home. It was while he was thus laid on the couch\nof death that he called the tribe around him, and told them why peace\nhad departed from his soul, and why he waited anxiously the moment of\nhis release from the chains of the flesh.\n\n\"I launched my canoe,\" said he, \"upon the lake which has given its\nname to our nation, when the sun was getting low in the latter part of\nthe month of the blooming lilies. Stilness was abroad upon the face of\nthe waters, and the lake lay as calm as a babe rocked to sleep on the\nbreast of its mother. Not the slightest ripple broke upon its surface,\nwhich was smooth as a field of ice frozen in a calm. Nothing marred\nits beauty, save now and then a sportive fish gliding over its bosom,\nor the swallow skimming along, catching the flies as they rose from\nthe quenching of their thirst. The brown eagle was wheeling in spiral\nmazes towards his beloved sun, and I heard the chirping of the\ngrasshopper, and the hum of the bee, each carolling away in his\nlight-hearted labour. Afar lay the headlands, jutting into the lake,\nand the precipitous cliffs which rise over the deeper portion of its\nwaters. Behind me were the smokes of the cabins of my people, and\nbefore me the beautiful expanse of the unruffled lake.\n\n\"As I brushed my light bark along, I saw, standing on the water at a\ndistance from me, a very beautiful woman. My tongue has not the power\nto paint the charms of this stately and bright-eyed creature. She was\ntall, and as straight as a youthful fir, and her eyes shone with such\nbrilliancy, that you could not endure to look upon them, any more than\nupon the sun, but turned away to contemplate other objects. She was\nclothed in a garment which glittered in the sun like the sparkling\nsand of the Spirits' Island[A], and her locks, which were yellow as\nthe beams of that sun falling upon the folds of a cloud, flowed down\nher beautiful form till they swept the surface of the waters. Filled\nwith sudden love for this beautiful creature, and anxious to secure\nher to myself, I spread the blanket of friendship to the wind[B], and\npaddled my canoe towards her. As I came near her, I could perceive a\nstrange alteration in her appearance. Her shape gradually altered, her\narms imperceptibly disappeared, her complexion assumed a different\nhue, her cheek no more glowed with life, her eyes had lost their\nbrilliancy, her before glittering locks glittered no longer, and, when\nI came to the spot where she stood, I found only a shapeless monument\nof stone, having a human face and the fins and tail of a fish. For a\nlong time I sat in amazement and uncertainly of purpose, fearing\neither to approach nearer, or to speak to the once loved, but now\nfearful object. At length, having made an offering of tobacco to\npropitiate the spirit, and deprecated its wrath for having dared to\nlove it, I addressed it in these words:\n\n[Footnote A: See note, vol. i. page 59.]\n\n[Footnote B: See note, vol. i. page 253.]\n\n\"'Spirit, that wast beautiful but now, and hast only become divested of\nthy unequalled brilliancy because a poor mortal approaches thee!\nguardian spirit of our nation! messenger to myself from the Great\nSpirit! or whatever other name thou bearest, tell me why thou art\nchanged. Why has thy form, but now straight as the fir and scarcely\nless tall, become crooked and misshapen, and no higher than the oak of\ntwo summers? why has thine eye, but now so bright that my own were\npained by its brilliance, faded, and become of the lack-lustre colour\nof stone? And thy garments, which glittered like the folds of a cloud\ntinged by the beams of the setting sun--why have they partaken of the\nchange? And thy locks, which were yellow and shining as the sparkling\nsand of the Spirits' Island, why have they become of the hue of the\nbrown moth? Is it because I dared to think thee beautiful--because my\nheart dared to feel for thee the flame of sudden love! If thine anger\nhath been aroused at my presumption, forgive me, so thou wearest again\nthe beautiful form that was thine when I first saw thee.'\n\n\"Having addressed the beautiful spirit thus, I paused for her reply.\nIt came in tones soft and sweet as the wind of summer lightly sweeping\nthe bosom of a prairie, and these were the words which belonged to\nthem:\n\n\"'Mishikinakwa, it is not hatred of thee that makes me refuse to be\nseen by thee save at a distance, it is not hatred of thee which makes\nme refuse to re-animate that mass of stone and re-shape it to the\nproportions thou didst say were so beautiful. Oh no! I have seen thee\nbefore, chief of the Winnebagoes, and spirit as I am, have beheld thee\nwith the eyes of love. But the beings which are not of clay are not\nallowed to associate with flesh and blood. I permitted thee a distant\nview of my face and form, that if thou thoughtest them worth the pains\nof death, thou mightst encounter those pains, and thy spirit, divested\nof its fleshly form, might fly to the arms of thy Light of the Shades,\nand rove with her through the valley of endless bliss. Choose, then,\nbetween me, and a longer stay upon earth--between the pains of a life\nwhich must be assailed by woes and sorrows, by continual storm, angry\nwinter, parching thirst, pinching hunger, and chilling nakedness, and\nthe joys which will attend thee when thou art clasped in the arms of\nher thou lovest, and who will return thy love with equal ardour.\nUnlike the maidens of the earth, my charms can never fade; never, like\ntheirs, can my love be turned into hatred, or my heart grow cold, or\nmy eyes cease to regard the beloved object with favour. Loving on\nthrough all changes, and loving on for ever, thy mind cannot fancy\nhalf the bliss which will be thine--mine--ours--if thou darest to\ndie.'\n\n\"She ceased speaking, but my pleased ears remained listening long\nafter her gentle voice had died away. And the delighted breeze softly\nreturned from the calm and transparent waters, and the spirit of the\necho gently repeated from the neighbouring hills, 'Unlike the maidens\nof the earth, my charms can never fade; never like theirs can my love\nbe turned into hatred, or my heart grow cold, or my eyes cease to\nregard the beloved object with favour. Loving on through all changes,\nand loving on _for ever_, thy mind cannot fancy half the bliss which\nwill be thine--mine--ours--if thou darest to die.\n\n    'Come to me, lover, come!\n    I'll wait thy death,\n    In the evening's breath,\n    On the brow of the mountain,\n    That shadows the fountain,\n    Come, my lover, come!\n\n    'Come to me, lover, come!\n    Again will I wear\n    Bright gold in my hair,\n    And my eyes shall be bright\n    As the beam of light.\n    Come, my lover, come!\n\n    'Come quick, my lover, come!\n    And thou shall be prest\n    To a faithful breast,\n    And thou shalt be led\n    To a bridal bed.\n    Mishikinakwa, come!'\n\n\"Thus called to the shades of happiness by so bright, and beautiful,\nand beloved, a being, how can I remain on the earth? Since that moment\nI have wished much to die; every day have I asked the Master of Life\nto take from me the breath he has given, and permit me to go to the\nland that holds the spirit of my affianced wife. I loathe the vile\nchain which binds me from her; I hate all the things I see, for they\nare all less beautiful than she; and all sounds pain mine ear, for is\nit not filled with her voice, a hundred times sweeter than aught ever\nheard on earth? Ha! her voice again! She calls me to her arms! She\nbids me come and drink of the crystal streams in the land of souls;\nshe bids me come and chase with her the fawn and the kid, to bring her\nberries from the hills, and flowers from the vales, and to brush with\nour mingled footsteps, in early morning, the dew from the glades, and\nto blend in early evening the music of our lips, and the breath of our\nsighs, by the sides of the grass-wrapt fountain. She bids me come, and\nbe clasped to a faithful breast, and called to a bridal bed. I come,\nbeautiful spirit, to the appointed spot,\n\n    To the brow of the mountain,\n    That shadows the fountain.\n\nPut then the bright gold in thy rolling locks, and let thine eyes\nshine as when I first saw thee. Be again as straight as the young fir,\nand array thyself in the garment which glittered like the sands of the\nSpirits' Island.\"\n\nWith a convulsive start, the warrior raised himself upon his couch to\nan upright posture. Gazing wildly around for a moment, he threw his\narms forward, shouting \"I come, beloved, I come!\" and then falling\nback he lay a lifeless corpse. And so died Mishikinakwa, the Little\nTurtle of the Winnebagoes, of love for a phantom woman.\n\n\nNote.\n\n(1) _The Hottuk Ishtohoollo, or Holy People._--p. 273.\n\nAlmost every hill and cavern has, in the eye of the Indian, its\ntutelary deity. The tradition entitled \"The Mountain of Little\nSpirits\" is one which paints a genuine belief.\n\nAdair, in his History of the North American Indians, says, \"They (viz.\nthe Cherokees, Creeks, Choctaws, &c.) believe the higher regions to be\ninhabited by good spirits, whom they call _Hottuk Ishtohoollo_, and\n_Nana Ishtohoollo_, 'Holy People,' and relations to the 'Great Holy\nOne?' The _Hottuk Ookproose_, or _Nana Ookproose_, 'accursed people,'\nor 'accursed beings,' they say possess the dark regions of the West;\nthe former attend and favour the virtuous; and the latter in like\nmanner accompany and have power over the vicious. Several warriors\nhave told me,\" he says, \"that their _Nana Ishtohoollo_, 'concomitant\nHoly Spirits,' or angels, have forewarned them, as by intuition, of a\ndangerous ambuscade, which must have been attended with certain death,\nwhen they were alone and seemingly out of danger; and, by virtue of\nthe impulse, they immediately darted off, and with extreme difficulty\nescaped the crafty, pursuing enemy.\"\n\nAll the Northern Indians are very superstitious with respect to the\nexistence of fairies. One of their tribes, the Chepewyans, speak of a\nrace whom they call _Nant-e-na_, whom they say they frequently see,\nand who are supposed by them to inhabit the different elements of\nearth, sea, and air, according to their several qualities. To one or\nthe other of these fairies they usually attribute any change in their\ncircumstances either for better or worse; and, as they are led into\nthis way of thinking entirely by the art of the conjurors, there is no\nsuch thing as any general mode of belief; for those jugglers differ so\nmuch from each other in their accounts of these beings, that those who\nbelieve any thing they say have little to do but change their opinions\naccording to the will and caprice of the conjuror, who is almost daily\nrelating some new whim or extraordinary event.\n\nEvery thing which is not easily understood is a spirit. Among the\nCreek Indians the Whip-poor-will is a spirit; the Jack o' Lantern is\nthe same: and, with regard to the latter, they agree with the remnant\nof the Massachusett Indians, who believe it is the shape which the\nEvil Spirit takes in his visits to the sons of men. An old Indian\nwoman, who lived some time as a domestic in my father's family, and\nwas possessed of all the genuine traits of Indian character, was\nnearly thrown into convulsions by being caught a few rods from the\nhouse when one of these meteors made its appearance.\n\nTonti, in his account of De la Salle's Expedition, says: \"They are so\nextravagant as to believe that every thing in the world has a spirit.\nIt is upon this principle that are grounded all the foolish\nsuperstitions of their jugglers or Manitous, who are their priests or\nmagicians.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO GHOSTS.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, many ages ago, there lived, near the shores of Lake\nSuperior, a hunter, who was considered the most intrepid and expert in\nhis vocation of all the hunters of the wilderness. His lodge, which\nwas built with the steady reference to the wants of nature, which are\nalways seen in the location of an Indian village or habitation, was\nsituated in a remote part of the forest, at the distance of many days'\njourney from any other dwelling. Here, alone, and free from the bloody\nspirit of warfare which distinguished the men of his tribe, his days\nglided on like the quiet flow of a river that has no fall. He spent\nthe period of light in the noble amusement of hunting, and his\nevenings in relating to his beautiful and bright-eyed wife the\nincidents which had befallen him that day in the chace; or he detailed\nthose which had happened to him before she became the star of his\nlodge; or he spoke of their long-tried, and mutual love; or he fondly\nsketched scenes of future bliss; or he held on his knee, and pressed\nto his heart, the little pledge of their love, which now, for the\nfirst time, began to venture across the floor of his cabin without a\nhand to sustain it. As game was then very abundant, he seldom failed\nto bring home in the evening a store of meats sufficient to last them\nuntil the succeeding evening; and, while they were seated beside the\npleasant fire of their lodge, partaking of the fruits of his labour,\nhe would relate those tales, and enforce those precepts, which every\ngood Indian thinks necessary for the instruction of his wife and\nchildren. This was his occupation, these were his pleasures. Who could\nask a better or nobler than the first? who desire more intense, or\npurer, than the last? Far removed from all sources of disquiet,\nsurrounded with all that they deemed necessary to their comfort,\ntenderly loving, and thence completely happy, their lives passed away\nwith scarcely less bliss than that of the disembodied spirits of the\ngood in the Happy Shades. The breast of the hunter had never felt the\npangs of remorse, for he had been a just man in all his dealings. He\nhad never violated the laws of his tribe, by encroaching upon the\nhunting-grounds of his neighbours, or by taking that which did not of\nright belong to him. No offended hunter waylaid his steps to revenge\nan interference with his rights, no haughty chief came to the door of\nhis lodge, to say, \"Chippewa, give back that which you have stolen.\"\nNo dream of the fame to be acquired by war--by the frequent slaughter\nof unoffending women and children, or even of hardy warriors, his\nequals in strength and valour--danced before his eyes, filling his\nsleep with bloody images and sights of horror. The white man had not\nyet come to fill the mind of the poor Indian with cravings for things\nwhich were not needed till they were known; as yet, he had not been\ntaught that clothes and blankets were necessary to his comfort, or\nthat game could not be killed without guns. The skin of the buffalo,\nthe moose, the bear, and the deer, answered the purpose of protecting\nhim from the heat and the cold; and the bow and arrow well supplied\nthe place of the gun, especially when pointed by the steady hand and\nunerring eye of an Indian hunter. Having then, no more than now,\noccasion to fell large trees, the axes of stone in use among us when\nwhite men landed on our shores answered all the simple purposes of\nIndian life. Iron and powder, which, with _one_ other fatal gift, have\nalready led to the almost total, and will soon effect the total,\nextinction of the race by furnishing us with a surer mode of\ndestruction, had not yet found their way into those remote and\npeaceful forests, nor had the white man poured that one other fatal\ngift, his wrathful phial of liquid fire[A] upon our devoted Indian\nrace. Our wants were then few, easily supplied, and totally\nindependent of white men.\n\n[Footnote A: \"Wrathful phial of liquid fire\" is a literal translation\nof the Chippewa word for ardent spirit.]\n\nPeacefully glided away the life of the Chippewa hunter, happy in his\nignorance, but still happier in his simplicity. Relying fully upon the\nsuperintending care of an overruling Great Spirit, whom he had always\nserved, no anxious dread of present want, no fears for the future\nfilled his bosom. His life was as unruffled as the surface of a lake\nin the calm of the summer.\n\nOne evening, during the winter season, when snow covered the earth,\nand ice locked up the waters of the Great Lake, it chanced that this\nhappy Chippewa hunter remained out much later than usual. His wife\nsate lonesome in her tent, and began to be agitated with fears that\nsome fatal accident had befallen him. Darkness had already veiled the\nface of nature, and gathering gloom rested upon the brow of night. She\nlistened attentively, to catch the sounds of coming footsteps, but\nnothing could be heard but the wind whistling around the sides of\ntheir slender lodge, and through the creaking branches of the\nsurrounding forest of oaks and pines. Time passed away in this state\nof suspense; he came not, and every moment augmented her fears, and\nadded to the loneliness of her heart. With the little pledge of their\nmutual love clasped to her bosom, she sat counting every moment as it\nflew, with difficulty commanding her tears, and singing them down with\nfragments of some of the simple songs which all the sons of the earth\nare in the habit of using, to while away hours rendered weary by any\npassing occurrence. At length her heart gave way, and she burst into a\ndeep and fervent passion of tears. Suddenly she heard the sound of\napproaching footsteps upon the frozen surface of snow. Not doubting\nthat it must be her beloved husband, she quickly undid the loop, which\nheld, by an inner fastening, the door of the lodge, and, throwing it\nopen, beheld two strange females standing in front of it. She could\nnot hesitate what course to pursue. She bade them enter and warm\nthemselves, knowing, from the distance to the nearest cabin, that they\nmust have walked a long way. When they had entered she invited them to\nremain. She soon observed that they were total strangers in that part\nof the country, and the more closely she scrutinized their manners,\ntheir dress, and their dignified deportment, the stronger grew her\nconviction that they were persons of no ordinary character. No\nefforts, no persuasions, could induce them to come near the fire; they\ntook their seats in a remote part of the lodge, and drew their\ngarments about their persons in such a manner as almost completely to\nhide their faces. They seemed shy and taciturn, spoke not, and\nremained as motionless as stones fixed in the earth. Occasionally,\nthough but seldom, glimpses could be caught of their faces, which were\npale and ghastly, even to the hue of death. Their eyes she saw were\nvivid but sunken, their cheek-bones as prominent as if all flesh had\nleft them, and their whole persons, as far as could be judged,\nemaciated and fleshless. Seeing that her strange guests, of whom she\nnow began to feel much fear, avoided all conversation, and appeared\nanxious to escape observation, she forbore to question them, and sat\nin silence until her husband entered. He had been led farther than\nusual in pursuit of game, but returned with the carcase of a large and\nvery fat deer. No sooner had he laid his spoil on the floor of his\ncabin, than the mysterious females, exclaiming, \"Behold! what a fine,\nfat animal!\" immediately ran up, and pulled off pieces of the whitest\nfat, which they ate with great avidity. As this is esteemed the\nchoicest part of the animal, and is generally, by Indian courtesy,\nleft to the share of the master of the lodge, such conduct appeared\nvery strange to the hunter. Supposing, however, that they had been a\nlong time without food, for he attributed their extreme leanness and\nghastliness to hunger and privation, he forbore to accuse them of\nrudeness, and his wife, following her husband's example, was equally\nguarded in her language. On the following evening, the same scene was\nrepeated. He brought home the best portions of the deer he had killed,\nand, while in the act of laying it down before his wife, according to\ncustom, the two females again ran up, and tore off, as on the first\nnight, the choicest and most delicate portions, which they ate with\nthe same eagerness and unappeasable avidity as before. Such unhandsome\nbehaviour, such repeated abuses of his hospitality, were calculated to\nraise displeasure on the brow of the hunter, but still the deference\ndue to strange guests induced him to pass it over in silence.\nObserving their partiality for this part of the animal, he resolved\nthe next day to anticipate their wants, by cutting off and tying up a\nportion of the fat for each. These parcels he placed upon the top of\nhis burthen, and, as soon as he entered the lodge, he gave to each\nher portion. Still the guests appeared dissatisfied, and took more\nfrom the carcass lying before the wife. Many persons would have\nrepressed this forwardness, by some look, word, or action, but this\nman, being a just and prudent man, slow to provocation, and patient\nunder afflictions of every kind, abstained from any of them. He was,\nperhaps, the more disposed to this quiet spirit of forbearance, from a\nsuspicion that his guests were persons of distinguished rank, who\nchose thus to visit him in disguise, and also from reflecting, that\nthe best luck had attended him in hunting, since the residence of the\nmysterious strangers beneath his roof.\n\nIn other respects, the deportment of the females was unexceptionable,\nthough marked with some peculiarities. They were quiet, modest, and\ndiscreet. They maintained a cautious silence through the day, neither\nuttering a word nor moving, but folded up in their skin mantles they\nremained in the corner of their lodge. When it became dark, they would\nget up, and, taking those instruments which were then used in breaking\nup and preparing fuel, would repair to the forest. There they would\nbusy themselves in seeking dry limbs and fragments of trees, blown\ndown by tempests. When a sufficient quantity had been gathered to last\ntill the succeeding night, they carried it home upon their shoulders;\nthen, carefully putting every thing in its proper place within the\nlodge, they resumed their seats and their studied silence. They were\never careful to return from their nocturnal labours before the dawning\nof day, and were never known to go out before the hour of dusk. In\nthis manner they repaid, in some measure, the kindness of the hunter,\nand relieved his wife from her most laborious duties.\n\nThus nearly the whole winter passed away, every day leading to some\nnew development of character or office of friendship, which served to\nendear the parties to each other. Their faces daily lost something of\nthat deathlike hue which had at first marked them, and they visibly\nimproved in strength. They began to throw off some of that cold\nreserve and forbidding austerity, which had kept the hunter so long in\nignorance of their true character. Every day, their appearance and\nbehaviour approximated more nearly to that of the beings of ordinary\nlife. One evening the hunter returned very late, after having spent\nthe day in toilsome exertion. Again he deposited the product of his\nhunt at the feet of his wife, and again the silent females began to\ntear off the flesh as before, though with still greater rudeness and\nill-breeding. The patience of the wife was completely lost, she could\nno longer controul her feelings, and suffered the thought to pass her\nmind, \"Their conduct is certainly very strange! how can I bear with it\nany longer!\" She did not, however, give utterance to her feelings in\nwords. But an immediate change was seen in the females. They became\nunusually reserved, and gave evident signs of being uneasy in their\nsituation. The good hunter immediately perceived this change, and,\nfearful that they had taken offence, so soon as they had retired to\nrest, he enquired of his wife whether any harsh expression had escaped\nher lips during the day. She replied that she had uttered nothing to\ngive the least offence. He now tried to compose himself to sleep, but\nhe felt restless and uneasy, for he could plainly hear the sighs and\nhalf-smothered lamentations of the two females. Every moment added to\nhis conviction that his guests had taken deep offence, and, as he\ncould not banish this idea from his mind, he raised himself on his\ncouch, and addressed the sobbing inmates thus:\n\n\"Tell me, ye women that have so long been the inmates of my lodge,\nwhat is it that causes you pain of mind, and makes you unceasingly\nutter these sighs? Has the wife of my bosom given you any cause of\noffence while I was absent in the chase? My fears persuade me that, in\nsome unguarded moment, she has forgotten what is due to the rights of\nhospitality, and used expressions ill befitting the mysterious\ncharacter which you seem to sustain. Tell me, ye strangers from a\nstrange country--ye women who appear to be not of this world--what is\nit that causes you pain of mind, and makes you utter these unceasing\nsighs?\"\n\n\"It is not for this that we weep; it is not for this that we sigh,\"\nreplied the mysterious women. \"No unkind expressions have been used\ntowards us since our residence in your hospitable lodge. We have\nreceived from you all the affectionate attentions which we could\nexpect, far more than could reasonably be asked of one who procures\nhis food and supports his family by a life of incessant toil and\nlabour. We thank you for all your kindness. No, it is not for this: it\nis not for ourselves that we weep. We are weeping for the fate of\nmankind. We are weeping for the fate of mortals whom death awaits at\nevery stage of their existence--weak mortals! whom death cuts down\nequally while the bloom of youth is on their cheek, and when their\nhair is whitened by the frosts of time--proud, vain men! whom hunger\npinches, cold benumbs, and poverty emaciates--frail beings! who are\nborn in tears, who are nurtured in tears, who die in tears, and whose\nwhole course is marked upon the thirsty sands of life in a broad line\nof tears. It is for these that we weep.\n\n\"You have spoken truly, brother; we are not of this world. We are\nSpirits from the land of the dead, sent upon the earth to try the\nsincerity of the living. It is not for the dead but the living that we\nmourn. It is not for the dead, whose flesh quietly reposes in the\ndust, and whose souls repair to the mansions of happiness, that we\nmourn, but for the living who are subjected to many, many pains, and\nbeset with innumerable troubles and anxieties. It was by no means\nnecessary that your wife should express her thoughts by words; we knew\nthem ere they were spoken. We saw that for once displeasure towards us\nhad arisen in her heart. It is enough--our mission is ended. We came\nhither but to try you. We knew before we came that you were a kind\nhusband, an affectionate father, a temperate and honest man. We saw,\nfrom the mansions of the blest, the patience with which you bore your\ndisappointments in the chace; the gratitude to the Great Spirit which\nyou always evinced; the tribute to his goodness which you always paid\nwhen your hunts were successful, and you were enabled to return to\nyour cabin with the wealth of the forest. Still we find that you have\nsome of the weaknesses of a mortal, and your wife is found still more\nwanting in our eyes. But it is not for you alone that we weep; it is\nfor the fate of mankind.\n\n\"Often, very often, has the widowed husband exclaimed, 'Oh death, how\ncruel, how relentless thou art, to take from me my best friend, my\nbeloved wife, in the spring of her youth, in the prime of her\nstrength, in the morning of her usefulness, in the bloom of her\nbeauty! Just when I had come to know her best, and to love her most,\nthou didst take her from my arms, leaving me to pine in unavailing\nregrets. If thou wilt permit her, just Judge! to return once more to\nmy arms, and again be the star of my humble abode, my gratitude shall\nnever cease; my thankfulness shall be daily manifested in songs and\nsacrifices to thy name. The high hill shall hear the cry of a man with\nclay in his hair, and the valley shall be filled with the smoke of a\nsacrificial flame. I will raise my voice continually to thank the\nMaster of Life for the return to my arms of his excellent gift. And to\nher shall the return be productive of unbounded felicity. I will\ndevote my time to study how I can best promote her happiness, while\nshe is permitted to remain, and our lives shall roll away, like a\npleasant stream through a vale of flowers.' If a parent has been\nbereaved of a child rendered dear by its innocence and sportive\nfondness, he has said, while tears were furrowing his cheek, 'Great\nManitou, wilt thou return this beloved child for a few more years to\nmy bosom? It was but young and little. Its voice, softer than the\nbreath of spring, had not fashioned its tones of tenderness into\nwords. I had not heard it thank me for the gift of life; it was a\nflower blasted in the bud. If thou wilt permit its return, it shall be\ntaught to sing thy praises; it shall be made to walk in the straight\npath; it shall be a just hunter and a true warrior.' The bereft lover\nhas besought the Great Spirit for the return of his deceased mistress:\nhis petition has painted the charms of her voice sweet as the south\nwind; her step light and graceful as the fawn's; her locks clustering\nlike grapes. And, 'Oh!' he has said, 'will it disarrange the harmony\nof thy system, if she may but for a little while return to my arms; if\nbut for a few, a very few years, she may illumine the darkness of my\nlodge by the splendour of her eyes, and send joy to my soul by the\nsoft tones of her voice, and the sound of her steps?' Thus, also, has\nthe mother prayed for her daughter; the wife for her husband; the\nsister for her brother; the friend for his bosom-companion, until the\nsounds of mourning, and the cries of the living, have pierced the very\nrecesses of the dead. Among those who have wished their departed\nfriends to return, were many who were cruel and unkind to them while\nliving. These have not failed to promise the most endearing conduct,\nshould their relatives be allowed to return.\n\n\"The Great Spirit has, at length, consented to make a trial of their\nsincerity, by sending us upon the earth at a very severe season of the\nyear, and in a time of general scarcity. He did this to see how we\nshould be received, coming as strangers, no one knowing whence. It was\nnecessary that this severity of proof should be exacted. Three months\nwere allowed us to make the trial; and if, during that time, no\nirksomeness of feeling had been evinced, no angry passions excited, at\nthe place where we should have taken up our abode, all those in the\nland of spirits, whom their relations had desired to return, would\nhave been restored to them. We had already passed more than half the\ntime assigned to us, and had already dared to hope for a successful\ntermination of our mission. Had your wife maintained those feelings of\nunmixed generosity and kindness which have heretofore marked her\nconduct, the ransom would have been complete. When the leaves began to\nbud, and the birds to sing their sweet songs of love, and to warble\ntheir gentle burdens of gratitude for the return of their beloved\nspring, our mission would have been successfully terminated. The\ndeceased husband and wife would then have been each returned to the\narms of his or her rejoicing partner, the maiden to the arms of her\ntender lover, the infant to the bosom of its adoring mother. But it is\nnow too late. Our trial is finished, and we are called to the pleasant\nfields, and beautiful shades, whence we came. It is not for those who\nremain in those shades; it is not for the souls we left in the abode\nof happy spirits, that we grieve, but for you that are left on earth.\n\n\"Brothers, it is necessary and proper, that one man should die to make\nroom for another who is born in his place; otherwise the world would\nbe filled to overflowing. It is just, that the goods gathered by one\nshould be left to be divided by others, for in the land of spirits\nthere is no want. There is neither sorrow nor hunger, death nor pain,\nin that land. Pleasant fields filled with game lie spread before the\neye, and birds of most beautiful plumage and shapes are singing on\nevery bush. Every stream is filled with fat fish, and every hill is\ncrowned with groves of trees, whose fruit is sweet and pleasant to the\ntaste and beautiful to the eye. No piercing winds rack the bones, no\nstorms, no whirlwinds, assail the ear. All kinds of games have been\ninvented to amuse, and many, very many, instruments to play upon. It\nis not here, brother, but _there_, that men begin truly to live. It is\nnot for those that rejoice through those pleasant groves, but for you\nthat are left behind, that we weep.\n\n\"Brother, take our thanks for your hospitality. Regret not our\ndeparture. We go not in anger with thee, nor with thy wife. Fear not\nevil. Thy luck shall still be good in the chace, and a bright sky\nprevail over thy lodge. Mourn not for us, for no corn will spring up\nfrom tears; but join us in lamentations for the fate of mankind. Mourn\nfor mortals whom death awaits at every stage of their existence; whom\ndeath cuts down equally while the bloom of youth is on their cheek,\nand when their hair is whitened by the frosts of time--proud, vain\nmen, whom hunger pinches, cold benumbs, and poverty emaciates--frail\nbeings, who are born in tears, nurtured in tears, die in tears, and\nwhose whole course is marked upon the thirsty sands of life by a broad\nline of tears. It is for those that we weep.\"\n\nThe spirits ceased; but the hunter had no power over his voice to\nreply. As they continued their address, he saw a light beaming from\ntheir faces, and gradually a blue vapour filling the whole lodge with\nan unnatural light. As soon as the females ceased speaking, a deep and\ndense darkness prevailed. He listened, but the sobs of the spirits\nhad ceased. He heard the door of his tent open and shut, but he never\nsaw more of his mysterious visitors. Their promise was not forgotten;\nhe found the success which they spoke of. He became a most celebrated\nhunter, and never wanted for any thing necessary to his ease. He\nbecame the father of many children, all of whom grew up to manhood:\nand health, peace, and long life, were the rewards of his\nhospitality.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VISION OF THE ABNAKIS CHIEF.\n\n\nWangewaha, the great chief of the Abnakis, in one of his hunting\nexcursions, lay down beneath the shade of a stately fir, on the shore\nof the stormy lake, beside which he was born, and the spirit of sleep\ncame over him. He dreamed a dream, the like of which was never dreamed\nbefore among the red men of the forest. That dream hath come to pass;\neach jot and tittle of it has been performed; the things were done\nbefore mine own eyes, and the words spoken into mine own ears. Listen\nto the dream of Wangewaha, the great war chief of the Abnakis.\n\nHe saw, far in the east, upon the face of the waters, a white cloud\nwhich seemed to be impelled by a strong wind, and it was approaching\nthe shores of the same land in which the Abnakis dwelt. Along its\nlower extremity appeared a narrow outline of exceeding blackness, and\never and anon the cloud became larger or grew less, now increased and\nnow diminished, as the wind, or other causes, spread it out, or\ncontracted it. At length, the wind, which before blew towards the\nland, veered and blew from it, but, strange to tell, the cloud was not\ncarried back, but kept its course onward in defiance of the wind, and\nthus fared the cloud.\n\nUpon the shore, watching with extreme and undivided interest the\nprogress of the cloud, stood many of the sons of the forest. Wonder\nand astonishment had seized their souls, at the strange and hitherto\nunheard-of sight of a low, compact, dark cloud, moving rapidly against\na strong wind. They saw that it was of unusual shape, and that there\nwere other circumstances connected with it, such as are not usual with\nthe spirit-mists of the air. Rightly deeming it a cloud from some very\nfar region, perhaps some aerial messenger sent by the Great Spirit to\ncommunicate an important errand, they awaited in silent awe the\nprogress of that to which they could not give a name. Yet, deeming it\npossible that grim war might in some one of his thousand forms be\nhidden under the semblance of a cloud--that hostile beings might\ninhabit what appeared but thin air--they prepared to oppose violence\nwith violence, and to meet battle with manful battle. Some went and\ncut new lance poles, others tough and elastic bows. The priests\nprepared sacrifices to appease the spirit, if spirit it were, and\nsang propitiatory songs, in which they first called it a good Spirit,\nand thanked it as such for the fat deer and mooses it had sent to\ntheir hunting-grounds, and the juicy fish which filled their waters,\nand the tender fowls which stocked their lakes. Then they addressed it\nas the Spirit of Evil, deprecating its wrath, and imploring its mercy,\nbeseeching it, if it came in anger, to go away and discharge its venom\nelsewhere; if it came to bring them rich gifts, to be speedy about it,\nfor such never came too soon.\n\nIn the mean time, the cloud came every moment nearer, till, at last,\nit was scarcely the flight of an arrow distant from the shore. Then\ngradually it disappeared, and, in its stead, appeared a large animal,\nwith innumerable arms and legs of all sizes and shapes, and of all\nlengths, and of several colours. Perched on various parts of the legs\nand arms of this strange animal were other animals, whose appearance\nwas unlike any other being ever beheld by the Indians. They wore in\nsome respects the character of man--were gifted with his strength and\nwisdom, his power and capacities--were by turns a prey to lust,\nambition, hate, despair, revenge--commencing life with tears, and\ndying with a sigh. Their fangs were for venom the fangs of a snake;\ntheir cunning, the cunning of a fox; and their fierceness, the\nfierceness of a mountain cat, or a panther. Very nimble they seemed,\nand sprang about the legs and arms of the bigger animal, like a\nsquirrel leaping from one branch of a tree to another branch. One ran\nup a rope till it had reached one of the arms; another slid down in\nlike manner; a third was perched half-way up; a fourth was running to\nand fro on the back of the animal. At length, one of the little\nanimals dropped a great rope, to which was appended an enormous forked\ntree, and this operated to tie up the bigger animal, which rolled\nabout very much, as if in vain attempts to liberate itself from the\nthraldom to which they had subjected it.\n\nAfter a while, there was a smaller animal seen leaving the side of the\nbigger, as a kid leaves the side of its mother, similar in shape to\nthe bigger, but having neither arms nor legs; and, upon the back of\nthis animal, many of the smaller animals sought the shore. When they\nhad arrived, they presented themselves to the eyes of the astonished\nAbnakis, in a shape which seemed to the sleeper to be that of a\npanther, wearing the shape of man, yet fierce and cruel as any ever\nfound in the wilds of the river of the Abnakis. With this fierce and\ncruel disposition was coupled a cunning beyond that of the fox, and a\nmalignity greater than the rattlesnake's. Their fierceness and\ncruelty, and the malignity and savage ferocity of their natures, were\nhidden, however, under a show of peace. They laughed, and grinned, and\ndid the other things, which mortals do when they are, or pretend to\nbe, pleased, making the unsuspecting Abnakis think that they were\ntheir very good friends, when they were only waiting for a chance to\nrend them limb from limb. Nor was their disposition wholly hidden by\nthe mask, which these worthless and wicked beasts had only assumed for\nthe purpose of beguiling the poor red man. Occasionally the panther\nwould show his teeth, and the rattlesnake his malignity, though the\ncunning of the fox would soon throw a veil over the one, and hush the\nnoise of the other.\n\nStrange, indeed were the bodies, tempers, and dispositions of the\nbeasts, which thus passed in sleep before the eyes of the dreaming\nchief. He saw them invested with the habits and feelings of men, as\nthey appeared to be gifted with their capacities and acquirements.\nThey had courage, not indeed as the Abnakis have it, not the courage\nwhich delights in the post of danger, and encounters difficulties for\nthe mere honour of overcoming them, but in another, and less active\nform, that of endurance. And their wisdom and power were greater than\nthe wisdom and power of the Abnakis priests, who could draw water\nfrom the clouds, and foretell the coming of tempests and storms(1).\nThe wisdom and power of the strange beasts was very great--they were\nsubtler than the fox or the beaver, and stronger than the bear.\n\nAmong these beasts, there was one of most transcendent beauty, who\nappeared to be their queen. She bore the form of a stately woman. She\nwas clothed, not as beasts generally are, in fur, but in a robe of an\nunknown material, that reached to her feet, which were shrouded in a\nveil of so thin a texture, that the pure flesh was transparent through\nthem, and not shod with mocassins, but with something of a different\nform. Around her head was bound a grape-vine, from which hung\nbeautiful clusters of rich, ripe grapes, intermingled with locks of\nhair, of a hue resembling the yellow leaf. Her round and plump arms\nwere bound with bracelets of a very bright material; and, upon her\nlong and slender fingers, were rings set with sparkling stones, of\nvarious and exceedingly radiant hues--green, blue, purple, white. In\none of her delicate hands, she carried a small bunch of grain, of a\nkind which was never seen before by the Abnakis, but the ears of which\nbent over like the wings of a hawk hovering over his prey, or or a\nbird settling upon its perch. The same fair hand carried the\ninstrument wherewith it was reaped. The other hand bore a huge shell\nand a three-forked sceptre, emblems of her dominion upon the element,\nwhich supported the cloud upon which she came. Upon her breast she\nwore a shield, on which was painted the likeness of two animals, one\nof them wearing a shaggy mane, and both looking exceedingly fierce and\nwarlike. There were upon this shield other paintings and devices,\nwhich even the ingenuity of the priests could not explain. Altogether,\nthe appearance of the being, animal, or whatever it was, which the\nAbnakis dreamer saw, was exceedingly noble and beautiful. They who\ncame with her said she was the genius of the land beyond the Great\nWater, the guardian spirit of an island more powerful than all the\nworld besides. And surely great power was written in her countenance,\nand authoritative command engraved on the lines of her face.\n\nThen Wangewaha saw, and a being also wearing the appearance of a woman\ncame down from the shades, and confronted the stranger. She was of a\nstill taller stature than the other, and of the same complexion as the\ninhabitants of the land, her skin red, black her hair, her eyes\nshining, her step yet more noble and commanding, and her bearing\nprouder and more haughty than that of her who appeared to be her\nyounger sister. Her hair, long, straight, and black, hung over her\nshoulders till it reached her feet; her mocassins were of the gaudiest\ncolours; and beads, and shells, and wampum, were profusely employed in\nadorning her person. Above her head towered feathers, the canieu's or\nwar-eagle's, and the painted vulture's--in her hands she carried a\nspear and a sheaf of arrows. A bow hung at one of her shoulders, while\nover the other was carelessly thrown the game slain by her archery.\nHer robe was made of the furs of the gayest forest animals, and her\nemblems were an ear of maize and the antlers of a buck. Stately she\nmoved, as a wild swan on a calm lake, or a black cloud over the brow\nof a mountain; and the boldness of her demeanour, and the fierceness\nof her eyes, contrasted strongly with the softness and effeminacy of\nher that seemed her younger, and more delicate, sister.\n\nAnon, these two sisters entered into speech with each other, and the\nartless and unsuspecting soul of the one was contrasted strongly with\nthe cunning of the other. Said the stranger to her who was of the\nland, \"Thou hast a most beautiful land.\"\n\n\"It is indeed a most beautiful land,\" answered the other.\n\n\"It has lofty mountains.\"\n\n\"Its mountains are very lofty.\"\n\n\"It has many beautiful and rapid rivers.\"\n\n\"It has.\"\n\n\"Its suns--\"\n\n\"Are bright as the eyes of a dove.\"\n\n\"Its winds--\"\n\n\"Soft as the breath of a young maiden.\"\n\n\"Methinks I should like to live in thy cabin--to rove uncontrolled\nthrough thy green glades, and to listen in dreamy and indolent repose\nto the merry music of thy waterfalls.\"\n\n\"Do, and thou shalt be welcome,\" replied the dark but beautiful, the\nstern but guileless, genius of the land.\n\n\"Knowest thou not that we are sisters?\" asked the bright-eyed,\nfair-skinned, stranger.\n\n\"Nay, I knew it not,\" replied she of the wilderness.\n\n\"We are, and we have two others--thou, the youngest, and I thy next\nelder. I am come hither to direct thy footsteps, and to render thee my\nassistance in beautifying the clime so beautiful in itself, and to\ngive to those over whom thou presidest the light of the knowledge I\nhave conducted to my own realms. I have brought with me those who are\nthe pioneers of my footsteps whithersoever I go.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" answered the genius of the wilderness. \"Take as much as\nthou wilt of my lands. Choose for thyself the fairest spots--make my\npeople as thine own--we are sisters, thou sayest, and I believe thee,\nfor I love thee--sisters should dwell together in peace and love. Yon\nriver bank is very fertile.\"\n\n\"It is indeed very fertile,\" answered the strange genius, her\ncountenance brightening up as she surveyed the beautiful spot to which\nher attention was directed.\n\n\"Thou shalt have it for thine own,\" said the elder sister kindly.\n\n\"Thou art very good,\" answered the other. \"What use dost thou make of\nyonder broad, and beautiful, and rapid river?\"\n\n\"It furnishes food to my people. In the summer moons, the light canoes\nof my beloved red men are seen gliding over it in swift pursuit of the\nsturgeon; the fishes which sport in its clear bosom are the sweetest\nin all the waters of my wide domain.\"\n\n\"I should like to have that river to be mine own,\" said the pale\ngenius.\n\n\"I can spare it,\" answered the other kindly. \"It is thine.\"\n\n\"Yon is a beautiful lake,\" said the younger. \"How calm and unruffled\nis its surface!\"\n\n\"It is a very beautiful lake, but thou hast not seen it in its most\nbeautiful season,\" answered the elder. \"Thou shouldst behold it when\nit waves a wide sea of water-lilies, white as the snow of winter, or\nwhen myriads of gay wild-fowl skim its level surface, or settle down\nupon its pellucid bosom, to take their repast. Then it is indeed\nbeautiful--very beautiful.\"\n\n\"A river and a lake should go together,\" said the younger.\n\n\"They should,\" answered she of the land, \"nor will I be the one to\nseparate them. I give thee the lake.\"\n\n\"How much loftier than all the mountains of my own clime is that which\nI see towering in the distance towards the land of the warm breezes!\"\n\n\"That mountain is indeed very lofty,\" answered the dark Genius.\n\n\"I have a noble river, with a flowery bank rising above it, and I have\na level lake, but thou hast not given me a mountain, to whose cool and\nrefreshing breezes I may retire, when the fervid and scorching suns of\nsummer invade the lowlands. I would--thou wilt deem me greedy as the\nhawk or the heron--I would have some such spot, whose breezes, when\nthey kindly dispense health, nerve the soul to great actions, and\nwithin whose wild and inaccessible fastnesses, which, ever since Time\nwas, have been the keepers of the free, the weak may find a\nresting-place, and the wearied by oppression a refuge.\"\n\n\"Take thou the mountain, and name what else thou wilt have.\"\n\n\"Only a few more rivers and a few more vales, which thou canst easily\nspare, and another mountain for a further refuge, and some more lakes\nto breed more wild-fowl in, and a forest or two well stocked with\ndeer, and a part of the Great Lake to put my whales in--nothing more,\nexcept it be another vale, and another mountain, and another river,\nand a piece more of the sea.\"\n\nThe dark Genius of the land smiled at the _narrow_ wishes of her\nyounger sister, and replied, that she could spare them all. So the\nyounger sister appropriated to herself the highest mountains, and the\nmost pleasant vales, and the broadest lakes, and the most rapid\nrivers, and a large piece of the sea to put whales in, and some\nforests well stocked with deer, and said, \"she had taken so little it\nwas scarcely worth thanking for.\"\n\nThen the dreamer saw in his sleep that, at her bidding, the strange\nbeasts which came in the cloud issued forth to take possession. How\ntheir eyes gloated upon the fair gifts which had been made them by\nthe kind spirit of the land! And how grateful they appeared to be, and\nhow exceedingly kind and affectionate they were to the poor Indians!\nThey stroked their heads gently with one hand, while with the other\nthey released them from their oppressive burdens--their beaver skins\nand their maize--indeed they were too kind. Then to gratify them still\nfurther, they produced a burning water[A], which they distributed\namong them, assuring them of its power to create pleasing images in\nthe mind, and to make bright visions dance before the eyes of those\nwho drank it. The Indians drank as they were bidden, and realised the\npredicted effects. What a wonderful medicine was the strong water!\nUnder its potent influence, the mirror of the soul became enlarged,\nand a thousand images, till then unseen, floated before the mental\neye. Then might a man receive certain intimations of the object he\nshould choose as his protecting spirit, and astonish his brothers by a\nmedicine of strange proportions and great power. And secrets of the\nland of souls--the way to pass the \"narrow bridge over the fearful\nriver,\" and how to stay the anger of the dog that guards it at the\npoint where the Huron passes--how to tread the sharp and steep rock\nupon which the Chippewa finds entrance to his land of rest--all this,\nand much more, to be attained by no other means, was learned from the\nstrong waters given to the Abnakis by the strange spirit. And\nWangewaha, the dreamer, woke from his sleep, rubbed his eyes, and\nindulged in deep thought of what the dream might portend.\n\n[Footnote A: Burning water, ardent spirits, commonly called by them\nthe \"fire-eater.\"]\n\nAgain he sunk to sleep, and again he dreamed. Still his dream was of\nstrange creatures, aliens to his land, and usurpers of the rights of\nits native sons. But they had multiplied till their numbers were as\nthe sands upon the sea shore. He stood in imagination upon a lofty\nhill, and cast his eyes upon the broad lands beneath him. How changed!\nThe forests had been swept away, the land was cleared of its mossy old\noaks, and lofty pines, and cedars, but, where they once raised their\nleafy heads to the winds of heaven, now rose cabins, white as the\nfolds of a cloud, and glittering in the sun like a sheet of ice in a\nwinter's day. The broad and rapid river, as well as the waters of the\nGreat Lake, was marked in streaks of white foam by the many clouds\ntraversing it, like that he had seen in his first dream. The lofty\nmountains were seamed like the breast of a tattooed warrior(2), by the\nroads which the strangers had made over it. The vales waved with the\nyellow wheat, and, herds of tame bisons lay resting on the grassy\nknolls, or stood grouped at the outlets of the fields, which the\nindustrious strangers had girded in with fences of rock.\n\nAnd what had become of the former inhabitants of the soil? where were\nthe dusky men who met the strange creatures upon the shore, and bade\nthem welcome, and gave them the fat things of the sea and the land for\ntheir subsistence, and warm furs to protect them from the searching\nwinds of the Snow-Moon, and taught them how to follow the trail of\nforest animals, and to thread, unerringly, their way for many\nsuccessive nights through the lonely wilderness, by the flow of\nstreams and the course of fishes, and the light of the Hunter's Star,\nand the moss upon the oaks, and the flight of birds? Listen, and I\nwill tell you.\n\nHe sees upon the edge of a stream, overgrown with a thick grove of\nalders and luxuriant vines, an Indian man and woman. The woman held in\nher arms a dying child--at the feet of the man, lay a lean and\nfamished dog. Deep thought was in the eye of the one, and absorbing\ngrief in that of the other. Now the hunter cast his eyes into the\ndepths of the river in anxious search for the signs of the approach of\nthe finny people; now he laid his ear to the earth after the manner of\nhis race, when they would detect the sound of footsteps.\n\n\"Didst thou see aught in the current, which thine eye is searching?\"\nasked the wife tremulously, fixing her bright black eye, moistened\nwith a tear, upon her hungry infant.\n\n\"I saw nothing in the current,\" answered the hunter. \"The net of the\nstranger hath swept from the flood that which was in part the food of\nour tribes, when he first became acquainted with these shores. The\nbarbed spear no more brings up the sleeping conger; the Indian throws\nhis hook into the once populous stream, but it returns with the bait\nuntouched.\"\n\n\"Did thy quick ear catch the sound of aught in the mazes of the wood?\"\nasked the fond mother, and her tears fell thick on the cheeks of her\nlittle babe.\n\n\"My ear caught no sound in the mazes of the wood,\" answered the\nhunter. \"How should it? The stranger hath left nothing save the mouse,\nand the mole, and few of them. He has swept away the beloved retreats\nof the bounding beauty of the forest, the nimble deer, and none are\nleft in the glades, where once they were thicker than the stars. The\nbear, and the wolf, and the panther, love not their crafty brother,\nand have gone yet deeper into the forest. The wild duck feeds now in\nthe deep waters only, the mother teaches her brood that death lurks\nbehind the wood-skirted shore.\"\n\n\"Then must this little child--thine and mine--our first-born, die of\nhunger. Yet bethink thee. I see among yonder lofty trees a cabin, the\nwhiteness of which tells us that one of the despoilers of our joys\nhath there taken up his abode.\"\n\n\"Wouldst thou have the son of Alknomook--the son of the rightful\nlord--himself the rightful lord of these wide regions--beg bread from\nthe stranger?\"\n\n\"Not to save thy life or mine would I ask it, but what would I not do\nto save the life of this beautiful babe, which the Great Spirit\ngranted to my prayers, when for sixty moons I had lived in thy cabin a\ndisgraced woman(3).\"\n\n\"Not therefore should the soul of an Indian warrior bend to a master.\nI cannot beg.\"\n\n\"What was the dream which thou hadst in the last Worm-Moon?\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well--it was of vengeance had by means of the boy. The\nson of Alknomook will humble his pride--he will wipe off the war\npaint, which he laid as deep on his face as the memory of his wrongs\nweigh on his heart, and he will supplicate the stranger to give him\nfood for his little one.\"\n\nStill the sleeping chief continued to take note of the things which\noccurred. He beheld the enfeebled and emaciated Indians at the\ndwelling of the proud stranger. The stranger sat at the door of his\nlofty cabin, and thus he addressed the friendless outcasts:\n\n\"Why have you dared to trespass on my soil, to bruise my pretty\nflowers with your rude feet, and to frighten my flocks and herds with\nyour shrill halloos?\"\n\nThe son of the forest was about to reply fiercely, when his ear caught\nthe plaintive moan of his famished child, and he controlled the\ntempest of wrath which was rising in his bosom.\n\n\"Thine eyes are the eyes of an owl by daylight,\" replied he calmly.\n\"They have seen a thing which has not happened. The son of Alknomook\ndid not bruise the flowers of the pale face, nor frighten his flocks\nand herds by his shrill halloos. Wilt thou give me a morsel of food\nfor my famished child?\"\n\n\"Begone, thou Indian dog!\" said the proud and cruel man. \"Thou shalt\nhave no food here.\"\n\n\"But my child will die of hunger.\"\n\n\"If thy child die of hunger, there will be a red skin less. Back to\nthy woods, and herd with wolves and panthers, thy fit associates.\"\n\nThe soul of the stern but generous warrior filled with ire and the\nspirit of vengeance, as he poured out his feelings in the emphatic\nlanguage of his people. \"Not so spoke the Abnakis to the weary,\nnaked, and hungry, men who came to their shores, and besought them to\ngrant them shelter,\" said he. \"We gave them the food from our own\nmouths, and took the skins which fenced our wigwams to protect them\nfrom the winds of the cold moon.\" Nor did he cease speaking till he\nhad denounced upon the pale faces the wrath of the Great Spirit for\nthe injuries they had inflicted upon the Indians.\n\nAh, what is that which draws tears to the eyes of the dreamer, and\nbrings sighs to his labouring heart? He beholds an Indian mother lying\ndead in the skirts of the forest. Upon her arm is laid a little child,\nand beside them, leaning on a bow, is the husband of the one and the\nfather of the other. Sorrow has bowed him down, as far as the soul of\nan Indian may be bowed--there are no tears in his eyes, yet distress\nis written on the features of his face, in letters of enduring agony.\nFor a while he surveys the scene of death in stern silence, but soon\nthe memory of his wrongs weighs upon his soul and rouses him to\naction. He springs upon his feet, and his shrill war-whoop rings\nthrough the forest, like the echo of the tap of the woodpecker on the\nhollow beech. His eye flashes fire as he grasps his war spear, and his\nlaugh, when he examines his good ash bow, is like the cry of a hungry\npanther. Is not vengeance his? Look at yonder flames! He hath kindled\nthem. Listen to that wail of many over the slaughtered corpses of\ntheir friends, who lay down to rest at the beginning of darkness, and\nwoke ere the sun came over the hills in the shades of the valley of\ndeath. Bitterly, deeply, deadly, has the son of Alknomook revenged his\nown, and the wrongs of his race.\n\nAgain the dreamer saw, and still his dream was of the land where he\ndwelt. He saw the two sister Genii sitting in the same spot where he\nhad at first beheld them. She who was of the far clime still retained\nthe beauty and grace which were her's when her little foot first\ntouched the greensward of the hitherto, by her, untrodden island.\nStill around her head was bound the grape-vine laden with rich, ripe,\nclusters, amongst which were intermingled locks of hair, of a hue\nresembling the yellow leaf. Still were her round and plump arms bound\nwith the shining bracelets, and her long and slender fingers adorned\nwith the glittering rings. The sheaf of nodding grain was still an\nemblem of her power, and the shell and sceptre another. But she wore\nno more the suppliant air which at first distinguished her. Pride and\nhaughtiness, and command and oppression, were now written on her face,\nand ruled her gestures.\n\nBy her side stood the other Genius, the spirit of the land, her elder\nsister--but oh, how changed! Her once glossy black locks now hung\nuncombed upon a shoulder once beautifully rounded, but rounded no\nlonger; her mocassins were torn and soiled; and missing from her\nwrists and ancles the gay ornaments of bead and shell-work which\nadorned them in the day of her prosperity and pride. The feathers of\nthe canieu or war-eagle, and the painted vulture, towered above her\nhead no more, and gone from her shoulder was the emblem of the race\nover which she had borne rule, the bow and the arrow.\n\nAnon these two sisters entered into speech with each other. She who\nwas of the land, from the moment that the Bird of Ages planted it in\nthe bosom of the waters, said to the other,\n\n\"Thou hast a most beautiful land.\"\n\n\"It is indeed a most beautiful land,\" answered the other, casting her\neye proudly over the space beneath her feet.\n\n\"It has lofty mountains.\"\n\n\"Its mountains are very lofty.\"\n\n\"It has many rapid and beautiful rivers.\"\n\n\"It has.\"\n\n\"Its suns--\"\n\n\"Are bright as the eyes of a dove in the moon of buds.\"\n\n\"Its winds--\"\n\n\"Soft and balm-scented as the breath of a young maiden.\"\n\n\"I should like to live in thy cabin, to range uncontrolled through thy\ngreen glades, and to listen in dreaming repose to the music of thy\nmerry waterfalls.\"\n\n\"Ah, no doubt thou wouldst, but dost thou think I would permit thee?\"\nreplied she, who was once a stranger in the land, but was a stranger\nno longer.\n\n\"Knowest thou not that we are sisters?\" asked the dark Genius timidly.\n\n\"Nay, I knew it not,\" replied the other.\n\n\"We are, and so thou didst say when thou camest in the white cloud,\nand I gave thee hills, and mountains, and rivers, and lakes, and\nglades, and a part of the sea.\"\n\n\"The more fool thou, for admitting one to wrest from thee thy fair\npossessions.\"\n\n\"I deemed thee in want, and then wert thou not my sister?\"\n\n\"If thou wert I have forgotten it,\" replied the other haughtily. \"If\nthou didst me favours, thine impertinence in remembering them hath\nmore than cancelled the obligation. Depart from me, and let me behold\nthy face no more.\"\n\nThe dark Genius withdrew at the bidding of her haughty sister, and the\nchief of the Abnakis awoke, and related his dream to his tribe. Hath\nit not come to pass? Look abroad on the land, and make answer. The\nrace of the red man hath disappeared from the earth, as the snows\ndisappear before the beams of a spring sun, or the hues of purple and\ngold on the western sky, at the approach of darkness. It is only in\nthe regions of the Hunter's Star, where the pale face dare not\nventure, that the red man may now be found.\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _Foretell the coming of tempests and storms._--p. 308.\n\nThe Indian jugglers--I am not now speaking of those who pretend to\ncure disease--are sometimes successful in their legerdemain, to a\ndegree, which almost makes a convert of the sceptic. The following\nstory is related by the interesting Carver.\n\n\"One day, whilst we were all expressing our wishes for this desirable\nevent, (the arrival of the traders with provisions) and looking from\nan eminence in hopes of seeing them come over the lake, the chief\npriest, belonging to the band of the Killistinoes, told us, that he\nwould endeavour to obtain a conference with the Great Spirit, and know\nfrom him when the traders would arrive. I paid little attention to\nthis declaration, supposing that it would be productive of some\njuggling trick, just sufficiently covered to deceive the ignorant\nIndians. But the king of that tribe telling me that this was chiefly\nundertaken by the priests, to alleviate my anxiety, and, at the same\ntime, to convince me how much interest he had with the Great Spirit, I\nthought it necessary to restrain my animadversions on his design.\n\n\"The following evening was fixed upon for this spiritual conference.\nWhen every thing had been properly prepared, the king came to me and\nled me to a capacious tent, the covering of which was drawn up, so as\nto render what was transacting within visible to those who stood\nwithout. We found the tent surrounded by a great number of the\nIndians, but we readily gained admission, and seated ourselves on\nskins laid on the ground for that purpose. In the centre, I observed\nthat there was a place of an oblong shape, which was composed of\nstakes stuck in the ground, with intervals between, so as to form a\nkind of chest or coffin, large enough to contain the body of a man.\nThese were of a middle size, and placed at such a distance from each\nother, that whatever lay within them was readily to be discerned. The\ntent was perfectly illuminated by a great number of torches, made of\nsplinters cut from the pine or birch tree, which the Indians held in\ntheir hands.\n\n\"In a few minutes the priest entered; when an amazing large elk's-skin\nbeing spread on the ground, just at my feet, he laid himself down upon\nit, after having stripped himself of every garment, except that which\nhe wore close about his middle. Being now prostrate on his back, he\nfirst laid hold of one side of the skin, and folded it over him, and\nthen the other, leaving only his head uncovered. This was no sooner\ndone, than two of the young men who stood by took about forty yards of\nstrong cord, made also of an elk's hide, and rolled it tight round his\nbody, so that he was completely swathed within the skins. Being thus\nbound up like an Egyptain Mummy, one took him by the heels and the\nother by the head, and lifted him over the pales into the enclosure. I\ncould also now discern him as plain as I had hitherto done, and I\ntook care not to turn my eyes a moment from the object before me, that\nI might the more readily detect the artifice; for such, I doubted not,\nbut that it would turn out to be.\n\n\"The priest had not lain in this situation more than a few seconds,\nwhen he began to mutter. This he continued to do for some time, and\nthen by degrees grew louder and louder, till at length he spoke\narticulately; however, what he uttered was in such a mixed jargon of\nthe Chippewas, Ottawas, and Killistinoe languages, that I could\nunderstand but very little of it. Having continued in this tone for a\nconsiderable while, he at last exerted his voice to its utmost pitch,\nsometimes raving and sometimes praying, till he had worked himself\ninto such an agitation, that he foamed at his mouth.\n\n\"After having remained nearly three quarters of an hour in the place,\nand continued his vociferation with unabated vigour, he seemed to be\nquite exhausted, and remained speechless. But in an instant he sprang\nupon his feet, notwithstanding, at the time he was put in, it appeared\nimpossible for him to move either his legs or arms; and, shaking off\nhis covering as quick as if the bands with which it had been bound\nwere burned asunder, he began to address those who stood around, in a\nfirm and audible voice. 'My brothers,' said he, 'the Great Spirit has\ndeigned to hold a talk with his servant, at my earnest request. He has\nnot, indeed, told me when the persons we expect will be here; but\nto-morrow, soon after the sun has reached his highest point in the\nheavens, a canoe will arrive, and the people in that will inform us\nwhen the traders will come.'\n\n\"Having said this, he stepped out of the enclosure, and, after he had\nput on his robes, dismissed the assembly.\n\n\"I own I was greatly astonished at what I had seen; but as I observed\nthat every eye in the company was fixed on me with a view to discover\nmy sentiments, I carefully concealed every emotion.\n\n\"The nest day the sun shone bright, and long before noon all the\nIndians were gathered together on the eminence that overlooked the\nlake. The old king came to me and asked me whether I had so much\nconfidence in what the priest had foretold, as to join his people on\nthe hill, and wait for the completion of it? I told him I was at a\nloss what opinion to form of the prediction, but that I would readily\nattend him. On this we walked together to the place where the others\nwere assembled. Every eye was again fixed by turns on me and on the\nlake; when, just as the sun had reached his zenith, agreeable to what\nthe priest had foretold, a canoe came round a point of land about a\nleague distant. The Indians no sooner beheld it, than they set up a\nuniversal shout, and by their looks seemed to triumph in the interest\ntheir priest thus evidently had with the Great Spirit.\"\n\nIt is related by a Madame de Marson, that she was one day very uneasy\nabout her husband, who commanded at that time a post in Acadia; he was\nstill absent, though the time be had fixed for his return was already\npast. An Indian woman, seeing Madame de Marson uneasy, asked her the\nreason of it, and, having learned it, told her, after musing some time\non it, not to vex herself, that her husband would return such a day at\nsuch an hour, naming both, with a grey hat on his head. As she\nperceived the lady gave no credit to her prediction, she returned to\nher at the day and hour she had assigned, and asked her whether she\nwould not come to see her husband arrive, and pressed her so strongly\nto follow her, that at last she led her to the bank of the river.\nThey had scarcely arrived there, when Mons. de Marson appeared in a\ncanoe, with a grey hat on his head, and being told what had passed,\nassured them that he was utterly at a loss to conceive which way the\nIndian woman could know the day and hour of his arrival.\n\nAnother well attested story of successful jugglery is related in a\nHistory of Virginia, the second edition of which appeared in 1722.\n\"Some years ago,\" says the author, \"there happened a very dry time,\ntowards the heads of the rivers, and especially on the upper parts of\nJames River, where Colonel Byrd had several quarters of negroes. This\ngentleman has been for a long time extremely respected and feared by\nall the Indians round about, who, without knowing the name of any\ngovernor, have ever been kept in order by him. During this drought, an\nIndian, well known to one of the Colonel's overseers, came to him, and\nasked if his tobacco was not like to be spoiled. The overseer\nanswered, yes, if they had not rain very suddenly. The Indian, who\npretended great kindness for his master, told the overseer, if he\nwould promise to give him two bottles of rum, he would bring him rain\nenough. The overseer did not believe anything of the matter, not\nseeing at that time the least appearance of rain, nor so much as a\ncloud in the sky; however, he promised to give him the rum when his\nmaster came thither, if he would be as good as his word; upon this the\nIndian went immediately a _pauwawing_, as they call it; and in about\nhalf an hour there came up a black cloud into the sky, that showered\ndown rain enough upon this gentleman's corn and tobacco, but none at\nall upon any of the neighbours, except a few drops of the skirts of\nthe shower.\"\n\nWith a belief that these tales of Indian _diablerie_ will not be\nuninteresting to the reader, I will relate one more. It is copied from\nLong's Expedition to the Source of St. Peter's River. \"About twenty\nyears ago, a large party of Indians, collected near Lake Travers, were\nquite destitute of tobacco; not knowing how to procure any, they\napplied to Tatankanaje (Standing Buffalo), a prophet of some\ndistinction, and the uncle of the present chief of the Kahras. This\nman usually carried about him a little stone idol, carved into a human\nshape; this he called his little man, and to it he always applied when\nconsulted in the way of his profession. Tatankanaje, being requested\nto advise the best means of obtaining tobacco, made answer to them,\nthat if they would go to a certain place which he pointed out to them,\nthey would find his idol, and, by examining it, they would observe in\nits hand a piece of tobacco. They did as he bade them, and found in\nthe little fellow's hand a piece about four inches long; this was\nbrought to the camp, and was thought to redound much to the credit\nboth of the prophet and the idol; but Tatankanaje then observed that\nhe would consult the little man, and ascertain where he had found the\ntobacco, and how he came by it. This he did by putting interrogatories\nto him, to which he pretended that audible answers were returned,\nthough of the many present not one heard them beside himself. The\npurport of these answers, however, as he subsequently informed them,\nwas, that at a spot on the St. Peter, near to Redwood River, there was\na boat loaded with goods; that her commander, a French trader, having\nbeen murdered by the Sioux, the crew had been alarmed, and had run\naway, leaving the boat unguarded, together with her cargo, consisting\nprincipally of tobacco; that the little man had seen her, and finding\na piece of tobacco on a keg, had brought it up. The prophet having\ninvited them to seek for it, they repaired to the spot, found the\nboat, took the tobacco, and returned the rest of the goods to the\nfirst French traders that passed up the river. This event happened, as\nwe were informed, in the presence of Renville and Freniers, two French\ntraders of reputation, both considered as intelligent and enlightened\nmen; they were the fathers of the two half-breed traders, with whom we\nwere acquainted. The story is given with all the particulars that\nmight be wished for; the name of the owner of the boat was Benjamin La\nGoterie, a name well known in that country. The story has been current\never since. The traders, who appear to credit it, state that it was\nimpossible for the prophet to have visited the spot and returned\nwithout his absence being known, as the distance exceeds one hundred\nmiles; from whom he received his intelligence they never knew. As to\nthe Dahcotahs themselves, they never considered it possible that it\nmight be a knavery of the prophet's, but attributed it altogether to\nhis mystic lore.\n\n\"On another occasion, Tatankanaje acquired great reputation in\nconsequence of a prediction that he would lead a war party; that, on\nthe day which he appointed, and at a particular spot which he\ndescribed, he would fall in with a camp of fifteen Assiniboin lodges;\nthat he would attack and defeat them, kill a certain number of the\nenemy, and make a stated amount of prisoners: he predicted, in like\nmanner, the loss of lives which would attend this victory. The event\njustified, as it is said, the prediction; not only as to the general\nresults, but even as to the circumstances of time, place, number of\nkilled and wounded on both sides, and amount of prisoners taken from\nthe enemy. Of course, so valuable a prophet was constantly resorted to\nfor the recovery of stolen property, or of goods that were lost, for a\nknowledge of the fate of persons that were travelling, for the cure of\ndiseases, and for all such other important points, upon which the\ncredulity both of civilized and savage man induces them to lend a\nwilling ear to the impositions of knaves. Of his talent in recovering\nproperty, we regret that we can only mention a circumstance in which\nthe object at stake was very trifling. Some one had ventured to steal\naway the prophet's bridle; it was concealed in a lodge that formed one\nin a camp of one hundred lodges. The prophet took a mirror in his\nhand, and walked round the village, until, as he said, he saw the lost\nbridle reflected in his mirror: he entered the adjoining lodge, and\nrecovered his property.\n\n\"Not only do they prophesy, but they perform tricks of legerdemain,\nall which they ascribe to the success of their incantations. We are\nindebted to Mr. Charles Hess, a French trader, with whom Mr. Say had\nseveral conferences at Fort St. Anthony, for the account of a trick\nperformed by an Assiniboin. The magician asserted, in Mr. Hess's\npresence, as well as in that of many Indians, that he could cause\nwater to flow into an empty keg, though he might at that time be upon\na dry prairie, and at a distance from any spring or stream. Mr. Hess\nhaving told him that he did not believe him, but that, if he\nsucceeded, he would give him a keg of whiskey, the Indian offered to\nrepeat the trick. He exhibited to them his keg, which they examined,\nand all judged to be empty. The bung was removed, the cask turned\nover, and no liquid issued from it. The Indian then commenced his\nincantations, raising his keg towards the heavens, dancing and\nperforming many unmeaning gestures; after which he presented it to the\nIndian chief that was present, bidding him to drink of the water which\nit contained; the latter drank of it, found it very good, and passed\nit to his neighbour; the cask was circulated, to the great\nsatisfaction of all the Indians, who drank of its contents, and even\nMr. Hess was convinced that the keg really held pure water.\"\n\n(2) _Tattooed Warrior._--p. 316.\n\nThis expression may be hardly used of the tribes to which the tale\nrelates. Tattooing, in the sense in which it is commonly spoken of,\nwas never, as far as I have learnt, in use among the Indians,\noccupying the tract of country which is now called New England.\n\nAmong those tribes with whom the practice is in use, the process of\ntattooing is performed by persons who make it a business of profit.\nTheir instrument consists of three or four needles, tied to a\ntruncated and flattened end of a stick, in such an arrangement, that\nthe points may form a straight line; the figure desired is traced upon\nthe skin, and some dissolved gunpowder, or pulverised charcoal, is\npricked in with the instrument, agreeably to the figure. It is said\nnot to be painful, but it is sometimes accompanied by inflammation and\nfever, and has been known to terminate fatally.\n\n(3) _Disgraced Woman._--p. 319.\n\nNot to have borne children is one of the deepest and most indelible\ndisgraces that can be endured by an Indian wife. She becomes a\nstanding theme of ridicule to those of her own sex who are blest with\nchildren. The pride and honour of parents among them depend upon the\nnumber of their family. Another reason why barrenness is disgraceful,\nis, that it is considered to be brought on by incontinence or wilful\nabortions.\n\n\n\nEND OF THE SECOND VOLUME.\n\n\nLONDON:\nF. SHOBERL, JUN., LAZENBY COURT, LONG ACRE.","title":"Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 2","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":75566}