{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20828/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20828","id":"gutenberg_20828","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20828","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\n[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE. _Vol. 3._\n_Designed & Etched by W. H. Brooks A. R. H. A._\nIn a moment multitudes of bright beings start up--\"He is ours\"!!! _page 110._\n\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. III.\n\nLONDON:\nHENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,\nNEW BURLINGTON STREET.\n1830.\nF. SHOBERL, JUN., LONG ACRE.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nOF\n\nTHE THIRD VOLUME.\n\n Page\n The Lake of the White Canoe 1\n A Legend of the Bomelmeeks 33\n The King of the Elks 47\n The Daughters of the Sun 77\n The Maiden and the Bird 91\n The Island of Eagles 117\n Legend of Aton-Larre 145\n The Fire-Spirit 167\n The Origin of Women 175\n The Hill of Fecundity. A Tradition of the Minnatarees 183\n TALES OF A WHITE MAN'S GHOST.\n I. Garanga 191\n II. The Warning of Tekarrah 213\n III. The Legend of Pomperaug 237\n IV. The Son of Annawan 251\n V. The Cascade of Melsingah 279\n Legend of Coatuit Brook 305\n The Spirits of Vapour 313\n The Devil of Cape Higgin 321\n\n\n\n\nTALES OF AN INDIAN CAMP.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAKE OF THE WHITE CANOE.\n\n\n Wo! Wo! Wo\n Wo to the sons of the far-off land,\n Weak in heart and pale in face,\n Deer in battle, moose in a race,\n Panthers wanting claw and tooth\n Wo to the red man, strong of hand,\n Steady of purpose, lithe of limb,\n Calm in the toils of the foe,\n Knowing nor tears nor ruth\n Wo to them and him,\n If, cast by hard fate at the midnight damp,\n Or an hour of storm in the dismal swamp,\n That skirts the Lake of the White Canoe!\n\n Wo to him and them,\n If, when the night's dim lamps are veil'd,\n And the Hunter's Star is hid,\n And the moon has shut her lid,\n For their wearied limbs the only birth\n Be the cold and frosty earth,\n And their flesh be burnt by the gum exhal'd\n From the cedar's poisonous stem,\n And steep'd in the blistering dew\n Of the barren vine in the birchen copse,\n Where rear the pines their giant tops\n Above the Lake of the White Canoe!\n\n My brother hears--'t is well--\n And let him shun the spot,\n The damp and dismal brake,\n That skirts the shallow lake,\n The brown and stagnant pool[A],\n The dark and miry fen,\n And let him never at nightfall spread\n His blanket among the isles that dot\n The surface of that lake;\n And let my brother tell\n The men of his race that the wolf hath fed\n Ere now on warriors brave and true,\n In the fearful Lake of the White Canoe.\n\n Wo! Wo! Wo!\n To him that sleeps in those dark fens!\n The she-wolf will stir the brake,\n And the copper-snake breathe in his ear,\n And the bitterns will start by tens,\n And the slender junipers shake\n With the weight of the nimble bear,\n And the pool resound with the cayman's plash,\n And the owl will hoot in the boughs of the ash,\n Where he sits so calm and cool;\n Above his head, the muckawiss[B]\n Will sing his gloomy song;\n Frogs will scold in the pool,\n To see the musk-rat carry along\n The perch to his hairy brood;\n And, coil'd at his feet, the horn-snake will hiss,\n Nor last nor least of the throng,\n The shades of the youth and maid so true,\n That haunt the Lake of the White Canoe.\n\n And, if he chance to sleep,\n Still will his _okki_ whisper wo,\n For hideous forms will rise:\n The spirits of the swamp\n Will come from their caverns dark and deep,\n Where the slimy currents flow,\n With the serpent and wolf to romp,\n And to whisper in the sleeper's ear\n Of wo and danger near;\n And mist will hide the pale, cold moon,\n And the stars will seem like the sparkling flies\n That twinkle in the prairie glades,\n In my brother's month of June--\n Murky shades, dim, dark shades,\n Shades of the cypress, pine, and yew,\n In the swamp of the Lake of the White Canoe.\n\n Wo! wo! wo!\n He will hear in the dead of the night--\n If the bittern will stay his toot,\n And the serpent will cease his hiss,\n And the wolf forget his howl,\n And the owl forbear his hoot,\n And the plaintive muckawiss,\n And his neighbour the frog, will be mute--\n A plash like the dip of a water-fowl,\n In the lake with mist so white;\n And two forms will float on his troubled view,\n O'er the brake, with a meteor light,\n And he'll hear the words of a tender song,\n Stealing like a spring-wind along\n The Lake of the White Canoe.\n\n That song will be a song of wo,\n Its burthen will be a gloomy tale;\n It will cause the rain to flow;\n It will tell of youthful love,\n Fond but blighted love;\n It will tell of father's cruelty;\n It will cause the rain to flow;\n It will tell of two lovely flowers\n That grew in the wilderness;\n And the mildew that touch'd the leaf;\n And the canker that struck the bud;\n And the lightning that wither'd the stem;\n And 't will speak of the Spirit-dove,\n That summon'd them away,\n Deeming them all too good and true,\n For aught save to paddle a White Canoe\n\n[Footnote A: The water of the little lake (Drummond's Pond), to which\nthis tradition relates, is coloured brown by the roots of the juniper\nand cedar.]\n\n[Footnote B: Whip-poor-will.]\n\nWith these wild stanzas, preliminary to a tradition current among the\ntribes of that region, Walk in the Water, a Roanoke chief of great\ncelebrity, commenced his tale. Undoubtedly most of the Indians present\nwere as well acquainted with the story as the narrator, but that\ncircumstance seemed to abate nothing of the interest with which it was\nlistened to; it certainly did not diminish the attention of the\naudience. In this respect, these wild foresters deserve to become a\npattern for careful imitation. They never interrupt a speaker. However\nincongruous or ill put together his tale, or insulting the matter or\nmanner of his speech, or revolting his opinions to their preconceived\nnotions and prejudices, he is heard patiently until he has said all\nthat he has to say. And, after he has seated himself, sufficient time\nis given him to recollect whether he has left unsaid any thing in his\nopinion of importance to the correct interpretation of his views.\n\nIt will be seen from the specimens interspersed through these volumes,\nthat the poetry of the Indians is in general of the warlike, or of the\ntender and pathetic kind. Their only poetry is found in their songs.\nThey are sung in a kind of measure, always harmonious to an Indian\near, and frequently to ours. The music is well adapted to the words.\nIt would be idle to attempt to give an idea of it by means of our\nmusical notes, as has been done by other writers; I should probably\nmeet with the fate of those who have tried in the same manner to\ndescribe the melodies of the ancient Greeks. They sing it in short\nlines or sentences, not always the whole at once, but most generally\nin detached parts, as time permits, and as the occasion or their\nfeelings prompt them. Their accent is very pathetic and melancholy; a\nby-stander unacquainted with their language would suppose that they\nwere details of some great affliction: both sexes sing in chorus,\nfirst the men and then the women. At times the women join in the\ngeneral song, or repeat the strain which the men have just finished.\nIt seems like two parties singing in questions and answers, and is,\nupon the whole, very agreeable and enlivening. After thus singing for\nabout a quarter of an hour, they conclude each song with a loud yell,\nnot unlike the cat-bird, which closes its pretty song with mewing like\na cat. The voices of the women are clear and full, and their\nintonations generally correct.\n\nThe Dismal Swamp, which gave rise to this genuine Indian tradition, is\none of the gloomiest spots on the face of the earth. It is situated in\nthe state of Virginia, and covers a very large space. On the south\nside of this wild and gloomy region the marshy border is thickly\novergrown with immense reeds, and, as far as the eye can take in,\nwaves slowly and heavily one dark green sea. Then, on all the other\nskirts of the forest itself, the lofty trees are covered to their\nsummits by the yellow jessamine, and other quick-growing creepers,\nbreathing odour, and alive with the chirping of insects and the melody\nof birds. In the open and less marshy skirts of the vast forest,\ngigantic tulip-trees shoot up their massy and regular-built trunks,\nstraight and pillar-like, until they put forth their broad arms\ncovered with the magnificent foliage of their glossy deep green\nleaves, interspersed with superb white and yellow tulip-shaped\nflowers. Under their shade are sheltered, like shrubs, trees which\nelsewhere would be the pride of the forest, or the park--the stately\ngum-tree, and the magnolia, with its broad shining leaves and\nbeautiful white flowers; whilst at their feet you force your way\nthrough tangles of the honeysuckle, or thickets of the moisture-loving\nbay, rich with its large rose-coloured clusters. But, the moment you\npenetrate beyond the sun's cheering influence into the deeper recesses\nof the swamp itself, how solemn is the change! There, the cypress and\nthe juniper, rising without a branch to interrupt the regularity of\ntheir tall trunks for a hundred feet, stand thick and close together,\nlike so many tall columns reared to support the roof of a vast temple.\nAll is silent as the grave. Not an insect buzzes or chirps about you;\nno cry or song of bird or beast is heard. You seem to have penetrated\nbeyond the bounds not only of human society and existence but of\nanimal life, and to be passing through the still and dark valley of\nthe shadow of death.\n\nAs the traveller pushes his doubtful way along, he will come upon some\nbroad, lake-like sheet of water, still, silent, and sluggish, calmly\nreflecting the quiet solemnity of the forest. I say still and silent,\nbut these little lakes are visited at certain seasons of the year by\nmyriads of wild fowl, the clapping of whose wings, as they rise from\nthe water, may be heard to a great distance. The water of all those\nlakes is of the same colour as the roots and bark of the juniper and\ncedar-trees, from which it receives its hue. And, when the sun flashes\non the amber-coloured lake, and the cypress forest throws its gloomy\nshade over its face, the traveller becomes thrilled with awe and\nastonishment. He fancies that he has never seen any spot so fitted to\nbe the residence of spirits of a malignant influence, and expects to\nsee evil eyes cast upon him from every copse. The bird and bat, as\nthey flit through the shades of night, magnified by the misty\nexhalations, seem the envious demons of the spot; and, foolish man! he\nmore regards the dangers which are unreal than those which are\nreal--is more afraid of the spirits which cannot harm, than of the\nravenous beasts and poisonous serpents with which he is environed, and\nwhose fangs are death in its most hideous shape.\n\nHaving introduced this not altogether gratuitous description of a spot\ncelebrated in America for its picturesque situation and horrors, I\nresume the rhythmical tale of the chief of the Roanokes.\n\n It was many seasons ago,\n How long I cannot tell my brother,\n That this sad thing befell;\n The tale was old in the time of my father,\n To whom it was told by my mother's mother.\n My brother hears--'tis well--\n Nor may he doubt my speech;\n The red man's mind receives a tale\n As snow the print of a mocassin;\n But, when he hath it once,\n It abides like a footstep chisell'd in rock,\n The hard and flinty rock.\n The pale man writes his tales\n Upon a loose and fluttering leaf,\n Then gives it to the winds that sweep\n Over the ocean of the mind;\n The red man his on the evergreen\n Of his trusty memory(1).\n When he from the far-off land would know\n The tales of his father's day,\n He unrolls the spirit-skin[A],\n And utters what it bids:\n The Indian pours from his memory\n His song, as a brook its babbling flood\n From a lofty rock into a dell,\n In the pleasant summer-moon.--\n My brother hears.--\n\n He hears my words--'tis well--\n And let him write them down\n Upon the spirit-skin,\n That, when he has cross'd the lake,\n The Great Salt Lake,\n The lake, where the gentle spring winds dwell,\n And the mighty fishes sport,\n And has called his babes to his knee,\n And his beauteous dove to his arms,\n And has smok'd in the calumet\n With the friends he left behind,\n And his father, and mother, and kin,\n Are gather'd around his fire,\n To learn what red men say,\n He may the skin unroll, and bid\n His Okki this tradition read[B]--\n The parting words of the Roanoke,\n And his tale of a lover and maiden true,\n Who paddle the Lake in a White Canoe.\n\n There liv'd upon the Great Arm's brink[C],\n In that far day,\n The warlike Roanokes,\n The masters of the wilds:\n They warr'd on distant lands,\n This valiant nation, victors every where;\n Their shouts rung through the hollow oaks,\n That beetle over the Spirit Bay[D],\n Where the red elk comes to drink;\n The frozen clime of the Hunter's Star\n Rang shrill with the shout of their bands,\n And the whistle of their cress[E];\n And they fought the distant Cherokee,\n The Chickasaw, and the Muscogulgee,\n And the Sioux of the West.\n They liv'd for nought but war,\n Though now and then would be caught a view\n Of a Roanoke in a White Canoe.\n\n Among this tribe, this valiant tribe,\n Of brave and warlike Roanokes,\n Were two--a youth and maid,\n Who lov'd each other well,\n Long and fondly lov'd,\n Lov'd from the childish hour,\n When, through the bosky dell,\n Together they fondly rov'd,\n In quest of the little flower,\n That likes to bloom in the quiet shade\n Of the tall and stately oaks.\n The pale face calls it the violet--\n 'Tis a beautiful child when its leaves are wet\n With the morning dew, and spread\n To the beam of the sun, and its little head\n Sinks low with the weight of the tear\n That gems its pale blue eye,\n Causing it to lie\n Like a maiden whose heart is broke.--\n Does my brother hear?\n\n He hears my words--'tis well--\n The names of this fond youth and maid\n Tell who they were,\n For he was Annawan, the Brave,\n And she Pequida, the girl of the braid,\n The fairest of the fair.\n Her foot was the foot of the nimble doe,\n That flies from a cruel carcajou,\n Deeming speed the means to save;\n Her eyes were the eyes of the yellow owl,\n That builds his nest by the River of Fish;\n Her hair was black as the wings of the fowl[F]\n That drew this world from the great abyss.\n Small and plump was her hand;\n Small and slender her foot;\n And, when she opened her lips to sing,\n Ripe red lips, soft sweet lips,\n Lips like the flower that the honey-bee sips,\n The birds in the grove were mute,\n The bittern forgot his toot,\n And the owl forbore his hoot,\n And the king-bird set his wing,\n And the woodpecker ceas'd his tap\n On the hollow beech,\n And the son of the loon on the neighbouring strand\n Gave over his idle screech,\n And fell to sleep in his mother's lap.\n\n And she was good as fair,\n This maid of the Roanokes;\n She was mild as a day in spring;\n Morning, noon, and night,\n Young Pequida smil'd on all,\n But most on one.\n She smil'd more sweet if he were there,\n And her laugh more joyous rung,\n And her step had a firmer spring,\n And her eye had a keener light,\n And her tongue dealt out blither jokes,\n And she had more songs to spare,\n And she better mock'd the blue jay's cry,\n When his dinner of maize was done;\n And better far, when he stood in view,\n Could she paddle the Lake in her White Canoe.\n\n And who was he she lov'd?\n The bravest he of the Roanokes,\n A leader, before his years\n Were the years of a full-grown man;\n A warrior, when his strength\n Was less than a warrior's need;\n But, when his limbs were grown,\n And he stood erect and tall,\n Who could bend the sprout of the oak\n Of which his bow was made?\n Who could poise his choice of spears,\n To him but a little reed?\n None in all the land.\n And who had a soul so warm?\n Who was so kind a friend(2)?\n And who so free to lend\n To the weary stranger bed and bread,\n Food for his stomach, rest for his head,\n As Annawan, the Roanoke,\n The valiant son of the chief Red Oak?\n\n They liv'd from infancy together;\n They seem'd two sides of a sparrow's feather;\n Together they roam'd o'er the rocky hill,\n And through the woody hollow,\n And by the river brink,\n And o'er the winter snows;\n And they sat for hours by the summer rill,\n To watch the stag as he came to drink,\n And to see the beaver wallow;\n And when the waters froze,\n They still had a sport to follow\n O'er the smooth ice, for, full in view,\n Lay the glassy Lake of the White Canoe.\n\n The youth was the son of a chief,\n And the maiden a warrior's daughter;\n Both were approv'd for deeds of blood;\n Both were fearless, strong, and brave:\n One was a Roanoke,\n The other a captive Maqua boy,\n In battle sav'd from slaughter(3)--\n A single ear from a blighted sheaf,\n Planted in Aragisken land[G];\n And these two men were foes.\n When they to manhood came,\n And each had skill and strength to bend\n A bow with a warrior's aim,\n And to wield the club of massy oak\n That a warrior-man should wield,\n And to pride themselves on a blood-red hand,\n And to deem its cleanness shame,\n Each claim'd to lead the band,\n And angry words arose,\n But the warriors chose Red Oak,\n Because his sire was a Roanoke.\n\n Then fill'd the Maqua's heart with ire,\n And out he spoke:\n \"Have his deeds equall'd mine?\n Three are the scalps on his pole[H]--\n In my smoke are nine;\n I have fought with a Cherokee;\n I have stricken a warrior's blow,\n Where the waves of Ontario roll;\n I have borne my lance where he dare not go;\n I have looked on a stunted pine\n In the realms of endless frost,\n And the path of the Knisteneau\n And the Abenaki crost.\n While the Red Oak planted the land,\n It was mine to lead the band.\"\n\n Then fiercely answer'd the rival Brave,\n And bitter strife arose;\n Loud and angry words,\n Noisy boasts and taunts,\n Menaces and blows,\n These foolish men each other gave;\n And each like a panther pants\n For the blood of his brother chief;\n Each himself with his war-club girds,\n And forth he madly goes,\n His wrath and ire to wreak;\n But the warriors interpose.\n Thenceforth they met as two eagles meet,\n When food but for one lies dead at their feet,\n And neither dare be the thief:\n Each is prompt to show his ire;\n The eye of each is an eye of fire,\n And trembles each hand to give\n The last and fatal blow;\n And thus my brother may see them live\n With the feelings that wolf-dogs know.\n\n And when each of these brave men\n Had built himself a lodge,\n And each had a bird in his nest,\n And each had a babe at his knee,\n Their hate had no abatement known,\n Still each was his brother's enemy.\n And thirsted for his blood.\n And when those babes had grown,\n The one to be a man\n In stature, years, and soul,\n With a warrior's eye and brow,\n And his poll a shaven poll[I],\n And his step as a wild colt's free,\n And his voice like the winter wind,\n Or the roaring of the sea;\n The other a maiden ripe,\n With a woman's tender heart,\n Full of soft and gentle wishes,\n Sighs by day and dreams by night,\n Their hostile fathers bade them roam\n Together no more o'er the rocky dell,\n And through the woody hollow,\n And by the river brink,\n And o'er the winter snows,\n Nor sit for hours by the summer rill,\n To watch the stag as he came to drink,\n And to see the beaver wallow,\n Nor when the waters froze,\n Have a pleasant sport to follow,\n O'er the smooth ice; they bade them shun,\n Each other as the stars the sun.\n\n What did they then--this youth and maid?\n Did they their fathers mind?--\n I will tell my brother.--\n They met--in secret met'Twas\n not in the rocky dell,\n Nor in the woody hollow,\n Nor by the river brink,\n Nor o'er the winter snows,\n Nor by the summer rill,\n Watching the stag as he came to drink,\n And to see the beaver wallow,\n That these two lovers met,\n Nor when the waters froze,\n Giving good sport to follow:\n But, when the sky was mild,\n And the moon's pale light was veil'd,\n And hushed was every breeze,\n In prairie, village, and wild,\n And the bittern had stayed his toot,\n And the serpent had ceased his hiss,\n And the wolf forgot his howl,\n And the owl forbore his hoot,\n And the plaintive wekolis[J],\n And his neighbour, the frog, were mute--\n Then would my brother have heard\n A plash like the dip of a water-fowl,\n In the lake with mist so white,\n And the smooth wave roll to the bank,\n And have seen the current stirr'd\n By something that seemed a White Canoe,\n Gliding past his troubled view.\n\n And thus for moons they met\n By night on the tranquil lake,\n When darkness veils the earth;\n Nought care they for the wolf,\n That stirs the brake on the bank;\n Nought that the junipers shake\n With the weight of the nimble bear,\n Nor that bitterns start by tens,\n Nor to hear the cayman's plash,\n Nor the hoot of the owl in the boughs of the ash,\n Where he sat so calm and cool:\n And thus each night they met,\n And thus a summer pass'd.\n\n Autumn came at length,\n With all its promised joys,\n Its host of glittering stars,\n Its fields of yellow corn,\n Its shrill and healthful winds,\n Its sports of field and flood.\n The buck in the grove was sleek and fat,\n The corn was ripe and tall;\n Grapes clustered thick on the vines;\n And the healing winds of the north\n Had left their cells to breathe\n On the fever'd cheeks of the Roanokes,\n And the skies were lit by brighter stars\n Than light them in the time of summer.\n Then said the father of the maid,\n \"My daughter, hear--\n A bird has whispered in my ear,\n That, often in the midnight hour,\n They who walk in the shades,\n The murky shades, dim, dark shades,\n Shades of the cypress, pine, and yew,\n That tower above the glassy lake,\n Will see glide past their troubled view\n Two forms as a meteor light,\n And will note a white canoe,\n Paddled along by two,\n And will bear the words of a tender song,\n Stealing like a spring-wind along;\n Tell me, my daughter, if either be you?\"\n\n Then down the daughter's cheek\n Ran drops like the summer rain,\n And thus she spoke:\n \"Father, I love the valiant Annawan;\n Too long have we roam'd o'er the rocky dell,\n And through the woody hollow,\n And by the river brink,\n And o'er the winter snows,\n To tear him from my heart:\n Too long have we sat by the summer rill,\n To watch the buck as he came to drink,\n And to see the beaver wallow,\n To live from him apart--\n My father hears.\"\n\n \"Thou lov'st the son of my foe,\n And know'st thou not the wrongs\n That foe hath heap'd on me?\n The nation made him chief--\n Why made they him a chief?\n Had his deeds equall'd mine?\n Three were the scalps on his pole,\n In my smoke were nine:\n I had fought with a Cherokee;\n I had struck a warrior's blow,\n Where the waves of Ontario roll;\n I had borne my lance where he dare not go;\n I had look'd on a stunted pine,\n In the realms of endless frost,\n And the path of the Knisteneau,\n And the Abenaki crost;\n While the Red Oak planted his land,\n It was mine to lead the band.\n Since then we never spoke,\n Unless to utter reproach,\n And bandy bitter words;\n We meet as two hungry eagles meet,\n When a badger lies dead at their feet--\n Each would use a spear on his foe,\n Each an arrow would put to his bow,\n And bid its goal be his foeman's breast,\n But the warriors interpose,\n And delay the vengeance I owe.\n Thou hear'st my words--'t is well.\n\n \"Then listen to my words--\n The soul of a Maqua never cools;\n His ire can never be assuag'd,\n But with the smell of gore\n I thirst for the Red Oak's blood;\n I live but for revenge;\n Thou shalt not wed his son;\n Choose thee a mate elsewhere,\n And see that ye roam no more\n By night o'er the rocky dell,\n And through the woody hollow,\n But when the sun its eye-lids closes,\n See that thine own the example follow.\"\n\n And the father of the youth\n Spake thus unto his son:\n \"A bird has whispered in my ear,\n That when the stars have gone to rest,\n And the moon her eye-lids hath clos'd,\n Who walk beside the lake\n Will see glide past their troubled view\n Two forms as a meteor light,\n And will note a white canoe\n Paddled along by two,\n And will hear the words of a tender song.\n Stealing like a spring wind along.\n Tell me, my son, if either be you?\"\n\n Then answer'd the valiant son,\n \"Mine is a warrior's soul,\n And mine is an arm of strength;\n I scorn to tell a lie;\n The bird has told thee true.\n And, father, hear my words:\n I now have come to man's estate;\n Who can bend the sprout of the oak,\n Of which my bow is made?\n Who can poise my choice of spears,\n To me but a slender reed?\n I fain would build myself a lodge,\n And take to that lodge a wife:\n And, father, hear thy son--\n I love the Red Oak's daughter.\"\n\n \"Thou lov'st the daughter of my foe;\n And know'st thou not the taunts\n His tongue hath heap'd on me:\n The nation made me chief,\n And thence his ire arose;\n Thence came foul wrongs and blows,\n And neither yet aveng'd.\n He boasted that his fame exceeded mine:\n Three, he said, were the scalps on my pole,\n While in his lodge were nine--\n He did not tell how many I _struck_,\n Nor spoke of my constancy,\n When the Nansemonds tore my flesh,\n With burning pincers tore;\n And he said he had fought with a Cherokee,\n And had struck a warrior's blow,\n Where the waves of Ontario roll,\n And had borne his lance where I dare not go,\n And had look'd on a stunted pine,\n In the realms of endless frost;\n And the path of the Knisteneau\n And the Abenaki crost:\n While--bitter taunt!--cruel taunt!\n And for it I'll drink his blood,\n And eat him broil'd in fire--\n The Red Oak planted his land,\n It was his to lead the band.\n\n \"And listen further to my words--\n My wrath can never be assuag'd;\n Thou shalt not wed his daughter,\n Choose thee a wife elsewhere;\n Choose thee one any where,\n Save in the Maqua's lodge.\n The Nansemonds have maidens fair,\n With bright black eyes, and long black locks,\n And voice like the music of rills;\n The Chippewa girls of the frosty north\n Have feet like the nimble antelopes'\n That bound on their native hills;\n And their voice is like the dove's in spring--\n Take one of those doves to thy cage;\n But see no more, by day or night,\n The Maqua warrior's daughter.\"\n And haughtily he turn'd away.\n\n Night was abroad on the earth;\n Mists were over the face of the moon,\n And the stars were like the sparkling flies\n That twinkle in the prairie glades,\n In my brother's month of June:\n And hideous forms had risen;\n The spirits of the swamp\n Had come from their caverns dark and deep,\n Where the slimy currents flow,\n With the serpent and wolf to romp,\n And to whisper in the sleeper's ear\n Of death and danger near.\n\n Then to the margin of the lake\n A beauteous maiden came;\n Tall she was as a youthful fir,\n Upon the river's bank;\n Her step was the step of the antelope;\n Her eye was the eye of the doe;\n Her hair was black as a coal-black horse;\n Her hand was plump and small;\n Her foot was slender and small;\n And her voice was the voice of a rill in the moon,\n Of the rill's most gentle song.\n Beautiful lips had she,\n Ripe red lips,\n Lips like the flower that the honey-bee sips,\n When its head is bow'd by dew.\n\n She stood beneath the shade\n Of the dark and lofty trees,\n That threw their image on the lake,\n And waited long in silence there.\n \"Why comes he not, my Annawan,\n My lover, brave and true?\n He knows his maiden waits for him\n Beneath the shade of the yew,\n To paddle the lake in her White Canoe.\"\n But Annawan came not:\n \"He has miss'd me sure,\" the maiden said,\n \"And skims the lake alone;\n Dark though it be, and the winds are high,\n I'll seek my warrior there.\"\n Then lightly to her white canoe\n The fair Pequida sprung,\n And is gone from the shore alone.\n\n Loud blew the mighty winds,\n The clouds were dense and black,\n Thunders rolled among the hills,\n Lightnings flash'd through the shades;\n The spirits cried aloud\n Their melancholy cries,\n Cries which assail the listening ear\n When danger and death are near:\n Who is he that stands on the shore,\n Uttering sounds of grief?\n 'Tis Annawan, the favour'd youth,\n Detain'd so long lest envious eyes\n Should know wherefore at midnight hour\n He seeks the lake alone.\n He finds the maiden gone,\n And anguish fills his soul,\n And yet, perchance in childish sport,\n She hides among the groves.\n Loudly he calls, \"My maiden fair,\n Thy Annawan is here!\n Where art thou, maid with the coal-black hair?\n What does thy bosom fear?\n If thou hast hid in playful mood\n In the shade of the pine, or the cypress wood,\n If the little heart that so gently heaves\n Is lightly pressing a bed of leaves;\n Tell me, maiden, by thy voice\n Bid thy lover's heart rejoice;\n Ope on him thy starry eyes;\n Let him clasp thee in his arms,\n Press thy ripe, red lips to his.\n Come, my fair Pequida, come!\"\n\n No answer meets the warrior's ears,\n But glimmering o'er the lake appears\n A solitary, twinkling light--\n It seems a fire-fly lamp;\n It moves, with motion quick and strange,\n Over the broad lake's breast.\n The lover sprung to his light canoe,\n And swiftly followed the meteor spark,\n But the winds were high, and the clouds were dark,\n He could not find the maid,\n Nor near the glittering lamp.\n\n He went to his father's lodge,\n And laid him on the earth,\n Calmly laid him down.\n Words he spoke to none,\n Looks bestow'd on none.\n They brought him food--he would not eat--\n They brought him drink--he would not drink--\n They brought him a spear and a bow,\n And a club, and an arrowy sheaf,\n And shouted the cry of war,\n And prais'd him, and nam'd him a Chief,\n And told how the treacherous Nanticokes\n Had slain three Braves of the Roanokes;\n That a man of the tribe who never ran\n Had vow'd to war on the Red Oak's son--\n But he show'd no signs of wrath;\n His thoughts were abroad in another path.\n\n Sudden he sprung to his feet,\n Like an arrow impell'd by a vigorous arm.\n \"You have dug her grave,\" said he,\n \"In a spot too cold and damp,\n All too cold and damp,\n For a soul so warm and true.\n Where, think ye, her soul has gone?\n Gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,\n Where all night long by a fire-fly lamp\n She paddles her White Canoe.\n And thither I will go!\"\n And with that he took his quiver and bow,\n And bade them all adieu.\n\n And the youth returned no more;\n And the maiden returned no more;\n Alive none saw them more;\n But oft their spirits are seen\n By him who sleeps in that swamp.\n When the night's dim lamps are veil'd,\n And the Hunter's Star is hid,\n And the moon has shut her lid,\n And the she-wolf stirs the brake,\n And the bitterns start by tens,\n And the slender junipers shake\n With the weight of the nimble bear,\n And the pool resounds with the cayman's plash,\n And the owl sings out of the boughs of the ash,\n Where he sits so calm and cool,\n And above his head the muckawiss\n Sings his gloomy song,\n And croak the frogs in the pool,\n And he hears at his feet the horn-snake's hiss;\n Then often flit along\n The shades of the youth and maid so true,\n That haunt the Lake of the White Canoe.\n\n[Footnote A: The Indians could never be brought to believe that paper\nwas any other than a tanned skin invested with the powers of a\nspirit.]\n\n[Footnote B: See note, vol. i. page 195.]\n\n[Footnote C: Chesapeak bay.]\n\n[Footnote D: Bay of Saganaum, in Lake Huron.]\n\n[Footnote E: Cress or _crease_, a poisoned arrow, seldom used,\nhowever, by the tribes east of the Rocky Mountains.]\n\n[Footnote F: Bird of Ages--See the Tradition vol. ii. page 35.]\n\n[Footnote G: Virginia.]\n\n[Footnote H: Scalps are suspended from a pole in the lodge, and\nusually in the smoke.]\n\n[Footnote I: Alluding to the custom of the Indian of shaving off all\nthe hair except the scalp-lock.]\n\n[Footnote J: _Wekolis_--another name for the whip-poor-will.]\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _Trusty memory._--p. 9.\n\nThe memory of the Indians is as astonishing as their native sagacity\nand penetration. They are entirely destitute of those helps which we\nhave invented to ease our memory, or supply the want of it; yet they\nare never at a loss to recall to their minds any particular\ncircumstance with which they would impress their hearers. On some\noccasions, they do indeed make use of little sticks to remind them of\nthe different subjects they have to discuss; and with ease they form a\nkind of local memory, and that so sure and infallible, that they will\nspeak for a great length of time--sometimes for three or four hours\ntogether--and display twenty different presents, each of which\nrequires an entire discourse, without forgetting any thing, and even\nwithout hesitation.\n\n(2) _Kind Friendship._--p. 14.\n\nEvery Indian has a friend nearly of the same age as himself, to whom\nhe attaches himself by the most indissoluble bonds. Two persons, thus\nunited by one common interest, are capable of undertaking and\nhazarding every thing in order to aid and mutually succour each other;\ndeath itself, according to their belief, can only separate them for a\ntime: they are well assured of meeting again in the other world never\nto part, where they are persuaded they shall have occasion for the\nsame services from one another. Charlevoix tells of an Indian who was\na christian, but who did not live according to the maxims of the\ngospel, and who, being threatened with hell by a Jesuit, asked this\nmissionary whether he thought his friend who was lately departed had\ngone into that place of torment; the father answered him that he had\ngood grounds to think that the Lord had had mercy upon him, and taken\nhim to heaven. \"Then, I won't go to hell, neither?\" replied the\nIndian, and this motive brought him to do every thing that was desired\nof him; that is to say he would have been full as willing to go to\nhell as heaven, had he thought to find his companion there.\n\nIt is said that these friends, when they happen to be at a distance\nfrom each other, reciprocally invoke one another in all dangers. The\nassistance they promise each other may be surely depended upon.\n\n(3) _A Maqua saved from slaughter._--p. 15.\n\nThe following is the practice and ceremony of adoption: A herald is\nsent round the village or camp, to give notice that such as have lost\nany relations in the late expedition are desired to attend the\ndistribution which is about to take place. Those women, who have lost\ntheir sons or husbands, are generally satisfied in the first place;\nafterwards, such as have been deprived of friends of a more remote\ndegree of consanguinity, or who choose to adopt some of the youth. The\ndivision being made, which is done as in other cases without the least\ndispute, those who have received any share lead them to their tents or\nhuts, and, having unbound them, wash and dress their wounds if they\nhappen to have received any; they then clothe them, and give them the\nmost comfortable and refreshing food their store will afford.\n\nWhilst their new domestics are feeding, they endeavour to administer\nconsolation to them; they tell them they are redeemed from death, they\nmust now be cheerful and happy; and, if they serve them well without\nmurmuring or repining, nothing shall be wanting to make them such\natonement for the loss of their country and friends as circumstances\nwill allow of.\n\nIf any men are spared, they are commonly given to the widows that have\nlost their husbands by the hands of the enemy, should there be any\nsuch, to whom, if they happen to prove agreeable, they are soon\nmarried. The women are usually distributed to the men, from whom they\ndo not fail of meeting with a favourable reception. The boys and girls\nare taken into the families of such as have need of them. The lot of\ntheir conquerors becomes in all things theirs.\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF THE BOMELMEEKS.\n\n\nTwenty-four men, and twenty-four women, from the twenty-four tribes of\nthe wilderness, were met upon the top of the hill Gerundewagh. There\nwere none upon the earth but those twenty-four tribes, and none upon\nthe hill but these twice twenty-four people. They were all friends,\nand as brothers. There was no strife in the land; no blood deluged the\nbeautiful vales of the wilderness; no cry of war shook the hills. Bows\nand arrows, and spears, were used for the destruction of bears, and\nwolves, and panthers; and the ochre, which now stains the brow of the\nIndian with the red hue of war, was used for the ornamenting of pipes.\nThere was but one language upon the earth--all the tribes understood\neach other. If a Bomelmeek said to an Algonquin, \"Give me meat or\ndrink,\" he brought him meat or drink--if he said, \"Smoke in my pipe,\"\nhe smoked in the proffered pledge of peace, or he refused. If an\nIroquois youth said to a girl of the Red Hurons, \"Give me thy heart,\nand become the star of my cabin,\" she gave him her heart, and became\nthe star of his cabin, or she bade him think of her no more. It was\nnot then as it is now, that men fell out, and came to blows, because\nthey mistook the words that were spoken. \"Yes\" was \"yes,\" and \"no\" was\n\"no,\" with all the tribes of the land, and interpreters were a thing\nunknown. So these twice twenty-four people from the twenty-four tribes\nof the earth sat down upon the top of the hill Gerundewagh, and smoked\ntheir pipes.\n\nWhilst they were puffing out clouds of smoke, and enjoying greatly the\npleasure which an Indian so covets, one of them, whose sight was\nkeener than the rest, casting his eye far over the western wilderness,\ncried out, that he saw two somethings whose heads peered far above\nthe woods. Very soon the rest of the people assembled at the hill\nGerundewagh were able to see the same somethings, which resembled much\nthe trunks of trees which have been divested of their branches, and\nlook out in the blush of the morning through the vapours of a damp\nvalley. What they were no human tongue could tell, but it was seen\nthat they were approaching the hill Gerundewagh. As the heads came\nnearer, people were seen flying before them, and the heads following\nin quick pursuit. At length the twice twenty-four on the hill were\nable to see that the heads belonged to two enormous snakes, which were\nmoving in devious paths about the land, devouring the inhabitants as\nfast as they were able to discover and swallow them. Seeing this, and\nthe danger to which they were exposed of becoming also food for the\nmonsters, they set about fortifying the high hill Gerundewagh, that\ntheir lives might be safe from the appalling danger, and within their\nfortification they collected all sorts of defensive materials. Having\nmade themselves tolerably secure, they had leisure to view the war of\nextermination, which the snakes waged with the sons of the land who\nwere not thus protected.\n\nIn the mean time, the snakes, having discovered by their acute power\nof smelling distant objects that the hill Gerundewagh contained human\nbodies, with whose flesh they were now become much in love, they\nimmediately bent their course to it. In coming thither, they were\ncompelled to cross, or rather to come down the river Mohawk, which,\nupon their thus getting lengthways of it, diverted from its natural\ncourse, overflowed its banks, sweeping away every impediment, and\nforming those beautiful meadows which have remained ever since covered\nwith a robe of green. Having at length reached the hill, around whose\nbase they threw themselves in many coils, they commenced the work of\ndeath by poisoning the air with their pernicious breath. Soon the\natmosphere, which before had been pure, was changed in its nature;\nappearances resembling the motions of the waves of the great lake\nSuperior when slightly agitated in the hot mornings of summer were\nseen in the horizon, and have never left it. Before, the rains\ndescended in soft showers in the pauses of gentle winds, now they fell\nin torrents, accompanied with howling tempests and cold hurricanes.\nLightnings, which before only played across the horizon, as the red\nlight of autumn evenings streaks the northern sky, now rent asunder\nthe flinty rock, and rived the knotty oak. Men, who had before died\nonly of old age, now poisoned by the breath of the monsters, fell sick\nin the morning of life, with the brightness of youthful hope in their\neye, and the down of unripe years on their cheek. The hair now often\ngrew grey ere the knee became feeble; the teeth rotted out while there\nwas enough to put between them; the eye often failed to see the\nbeautiful objects, and the ear to drink in the soft sounds, which the\nGreat Master of all created for the food of each. The heart now grew\nsometimes to be trembling and irresolute, and the soul to have its\nvisions of infelicity. But I speak of after-time; first let me talk of\nthat which is first.\n\nThe twice twenty-four, who were of a very bold and courageous nature,\nand feared nothing more than to be thought cowards, attacked the\nserpents with their bows and arrows. It was fruitless, however, to\nwage war with creatures covered with an impenetrable coat of scales.\nThe serpents were not even startled by the arrows, so that no resource\nbut death remained to the twice twenty-four. Their food being soon\ngone, they were compelled to venture out in quest of the means of\nsustaining life. As fast as they came out at the gate of the\nfortification, the one or other of the monsters snapped them up at a\nmouthful, until there remained of all those who occupied it at first\nbut ten women and eleven men. What was to be done? I could not have\ntold had I been there, but the eleventh man had the art and cunning to\ndeliver the land from the assaults of the venomous serpents. He said\nto his brothers, \"One of the serpents is a woman. I know it by her\neyes, which are very bright, and beguiling, and roving, and\ntreacherous. I know it by her sputtering, if all does not go right,\nand her frequent viewing herself in the waters of Lake Canandaigua,\nand the noisy chatter she is continually making about nothing. These\nare signs which cannot be misunderstood; she is a woman, I know. Now,\nif I can but catch the _old man_, asleep, I will make love to her,\nand it shall go hard but I will get her to assist in his destruction.\"\nSo the Eleventh Man--who was a curious creature for making love to\nwomen, and knew all the arts necessary to be used, and all the\nnonsense proper to be uttered, knew when to look, and when to shut his\neyes, when to be passionate, and when to be cold, and all that sort of\nthing--set about winning the love of the frail wife of the Great\nSnake. Whenever the old man took a nap, which was very often, then of\na certainty would you see the Bomelmeek on the top of the\nfortification, winking and blinking, ogling and sighing, and doing\nother fooleries, at the Squaw-Snake. And soon could it be seen that\nshe had noticed his declarations of love, and was not disposed to be\n_very_ cruel or \"ridiculous.\" Oh, it was a curious sight to see the\ncourtship, though not more curious than I have seen other courtships.\nWhen he winked, she winked; when he ogled her, she ogled him; when he\nsighed, she--taking care to turn her head the other way, for her\nbreath was not the myrtle's or the orange blossom's--sighed also, and\nvery loud. So foolery was exchanged for foolery, and the thing throve\nwell. Still the Eleventh Man dared not, for some time, venture out of\nthe fortification, for he had remarked her taste for human flesh, and\nher dexterity in snapping off heads, and did not know but her love\nfor him might extend to a wish to try the flavour of his meat, and\nthat she might, in a moment of soft dalliance, practise on him her\nskill in unjointing necks. Women have been known to inflict a greater\nevil than either on the man they have pretended to love. At least, so\nthe Eleventh Man said, and, as I have before told my brother, he was a\nknowing man in these matters. It soon became plain that something must\nbe done. There was no food remaining in the fort, and the speedy death\nof all must ensue, unless it were procured. The Eleventh Man, who was\nas courageous in war as he was in peace, with the high-mindedness\nwhich belongs to an Indian(1), said he would go and submit himself to\nthe good will of the _pretty_ creature. So, taking his spear, and his\nbow and arrow, for he knew that women like to be wooed by warriors,\nand delight in the handsome bearing and gay dress of lovers, and often\ndie and perish of a fever for feathers and gewgaws, he chose the\nmoment when the old man was wrapped in a deep sleep, and ventured out.\nA woman can hear the lightest step of a lover when she is fast asleep,\nand when the thunder of the western hills would not awake her. And so\nit was with the Squaw-Snake, who, though very drowsy with watching the\nstars, and squinting at the moonas folks always do when they are in\nlove--had no sooner heard the step of her beloved on the green sod\nthan she advanced to meet him. Now comes the perilous moment!\nBomelmeek, beware! She is raising her tail, at whose end is a horrible\nsting to clasp thee as with a pair of arms. And look, see her jaws,\nwhite with foam, and larger than the largest tree of the forest, are\nextended to kiss thy cheek, or scarcely worse to snap off thy head.\nBrave man! With what undaunted firmness he suffers himself to be taken\nto her arms--no, not to her arms, but her tail--and how patiently he\nsuffers his cheeks that have felt the breath of sweet lips to be\nslabbered by a nasty snake! Oh! if he fall a victim to his love for\nhis nation, he will deserve to live as long in the remembrance of the\nBomelmeeks, as their great founder, the Earwig.\n\nFond and long continued were the caresses of the Eleventh Man and the\nSquaw-Snake, and luckily they were not interrupted by the old man,\nwho, unlike many husbands I have known, contrived to sleep just as\nlong as they wished he should. Before he awaked, it had been agreed\nbetween them that the death of the old man should be accomplished. So\nshe bade him dip in the poison of her sting the points of two arrows,\nboth intended to be put to a good use. He did so, and then retired\nwithin the fortification. Drawing his bow to his ear, and pointing an\narrow at the head of the aged husband, he let fly with unerring skill.\nThis done, he levelled the other arrow with the same precision at the\nhead of the faithless wife. Wounded to death by the poisoned darts,\nthe horrid monsters rolled down the hill in great agony, sweeping\naway, in their descent, all the trees upon the side to its very\nbottom, and amidst their contortions disgorging the heads of the\nIndians they had swallowed. Those heads rolled into Lake Canandaigua,\nwhere they were converted into stones, and are to be found there to\nthis day. The Indian, as seated in his canoe he glides over the lake,\nfrequently sees them lying on its pebbly bottom, and the larger bark\nof the white man is often dashed to pieces against them. So the eleven\nmen and the ten women were freed from the serpents.\n\nBut now it was that the strangest circumstance was revealed to the\nsurvivors. The poison which the serpents had poured on the earth with\ntheir pernicious breath had so operated that a confusion of tongues\nhad taken place, and different nations no longer understood each\nother. The Iroquois could no longer speak in the dialect of the\nNatchez; the Bomelmeeks of the land of Frost no longer sung their\nwar-songs in the tongue of the Walkullas of the land of Flowers. The\nSenecas attempted in vain to make known their wishes to the Red\nHurons of the Lakes, who were alike puzzled to converse with the\nNarragansetts of the Land of Fish. A youth of one nation, if he wished\nto take a woman of another nation to wife, had now to talk with his\neyes, whereas before he made use of his tongue to tell his lies with.\n\nSo the land was re-peopled from the survivors of the hill Gerundewagh,\nand the confusion of tongues went on increasing, and has done so to\nthis day. The Bomelmeeks have faded from the land; the descendants of\nthe Eleventh Man, of whom there were very many, alone remaining, one\nof whom now tells this story, which is certainly true.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n(1) _High-mindedness of the Indian._--p. 39.\n\nThe Indians very frequently evince a pride and greatness of mind which\nwould not have disgraced the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome. \"The\ngreatest part of them,\" says Charlevoix, \"have truly a nobleness and\nan equality of soul which we cannot arrive at with all the helps we\ncan obtain from philosophy and religion.\" Always master of themselves,\nin the most sudden misfortunes, we cannot perceive the least\nalteration in their countenances. A prisoner who knows not in what his\ncaptivity will end, or which is perhaps still more surprising, who is\nstill uncertain of his fate, does not lose on this account a quarter\nof an hour's sleep. Even the first emotions do not find them at fault.\nThe following well attested stories shew their high-mindedness, and\none of them their singular chivalry of character.\n\nA Huron Captain was one day insulted and struck by a young man. Those\nwho were present would have punished this audaciousness on the spot.\n\"_Let him alone_,\" said the Captain, \"_Did you feel the earth tremble?\nHe is sufficiently informed of his folly._\"--_Charlevoix_, ii. 64.\n\nThis passion of the Indians, which I have called _pride_, but which\nmight perhaps be better denominated _high-mindedness_, is generally\ncombined with a great sense of honour, and not seldom produces actions\nof the most heroic kind. An Indian of the Lenape nation, who was\nconsidered a very dangerous person, and was much dreaded on that\naccount, had publicly declared that as soon as another Indian, who was\nthen gone to Sandusky, should return from thence, he would certainly\nkill him. This dangerous Indian called in one day at my house on the\nMuskingum, to ask me for some tobacco. While this unwelcome guest was\nsmoking his pipe by my fire, behold! the other Indian whom he had\nthreatened to kill, and who at that moment had just arrived, also\nentered the house. I was much frightened, as I feared the bad Indian\nwould take that opportunity to carry his threat into execution, and\nthat my house would be made the scene of a horrid murder. I walked to\nthe door, in order not to witness a crime that I could not prevent,\nwhen, to my great astonishment, I heard the Indian whom I thought in\ndanger address the other in these words: \"Uncle, you have threatened\nto kill me--you have declared that you would do it, the first time we\nshould meet. Now I am here, and we are together. And I take it for\ngranted that you are in earnest, and that you are really determined to\ntake my life as you have declared. Am I now to consider you as my\navowed enemy, and, in order to secure my own life against your\nmurderous designs, to be the first to strike you, and imbrue my hands\nin your blood? I will not, I cannot do it. Your heart is bad, it is\ntrue, but still you appear to be a generous foe, for you gave me\nnotice of what you intended to do; you have put me on my guard, and\ndid not attempt to assassinate me by surprise; I therefore will spare\nyou until you lift up your arm to strike, and then, uncle, it will be\nseen which of us shall fall.\" The murderer was thunderstruck, and,\nwithout replying a word, slunk off, and left the house.--_Heckew._\n161, 2.\n\nMr. Heckewelder relates another instance of Indian heroism and\nmagnanimity, not below the preceding. In the year 1782, a young white\nprisoner had been sent by the war-chief of the Wyandots of Lower\nSandusky as a present to another chief, who was called the _Half-King_\nof Upper Sandusky, for the purpose of being adopted into his family in\nthe place of one of his sons, who had been killed the preceding year,\nwhile at war with the people on the Ohio. The wife of the Half-King\nrefused to receive the prisoner in lieu of her son, and this amounted\nto a sentence of death. The young man was therefore taken away for the\npurpose of being tortured and burnt on the pile. While the dreadful\npreparations were making near the village, the unhappy victim being\nalready tied to the stake, and the Indians arriving from all quarters\nto join in the cruel act, or to witness it, two English traders,\nMessrs. Arundel and Robbins, shocked at the idea of the cruelties\nwhich were about to be perpetrated, and moved by feelings of pity and\nhumanity, resolved to unite their exertions to endeavour to save the\nprisoner's life, by offering a ransom to the war-chief, which he,\nhowever, refused, because he said it was an established rule among\nthem, that when a prisoner, who had been given as a present, was\nrefused adoption, he was irrevocably doomed to the stake, and it was\nnot in the power of any one to save his life. The two generous\nEnglishmen, however, were not discouraged, and determined to try a\nlast effort. They well knew what effects the high-minded pride of an\nIndian is capable of producing, and, to this strong and noble passion\nthey directed their attacks. \"But,\" said they in reply to the answer\nwhich the chief had made them, \"among all those chiefs whom you have\nmentioned, there is none who equals you in greatness; you are\nconsidered not only as the greatest and bravest, but as the best man\nin the nation.\" \"Do you really believe as you say?\" said the Indian,\nlooking them full in the face. \"Indeed we do.\" Then, without saying\nanother word, he blackened himself, and, taking his knife and tomahawk\nin his hand, made his way through the crowd to the unhappy victim,\ncrying out with a loud voice, \"What have you to do with my prisoner?\"\nand at once cutting the cords with which he was tied, took him to his\nhouse.--_Heckew._ 162, 3.\n\nNutall, in his Travels through the Arkansa territory, says, among the\nmost extraordinary actions which they (the Arkansas) performed against\nthe Chickasaws is the story which has been related to me by Major\nLewismore Vaugin, one of the most respectable residents in this\nterritory. The Chickasaws, instead of standing their ground against\nthe Quapaws (a band of Arkansaws) were retreating before the Quapaws,\nwhom they had descried at a distance, in consequence of the want of\nammunition. The latter, understanding the occasion, were determined to\nobviate the excuse, whether real or pretended, and desired the\nChickasaws to land on an adjoining sand-beach of the Mississippi,\ngiving them the unexpected promise of supplying them with powder for\nthe contest. The chief of the Quapaws then ordered all his men to\nempty their powder-horns into a blanket, after which he divided the\nwhole with a spoon, and gave the half to the Chickasaws. They then\nproceeded to the combat, which terminated in the killing of ten\nChickasaws, and the loss of five prisoners, with the death of a single\nQuapaw.--_Page 85._\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING OF THE ELKS.\n\n\nWhen the Great Beaver, the spirit who next to Michabou had the\ngreatest share in the creation and government of men and things, made\nthe animals, he endowed certain of them with wisdom, and all with the\npowers of speech. The black bear could then converse with the cayman,\nand the whispers of the porpoise in the ears of the walruss and the\nflounder expressed the thoughts which were passing in his mind. The\nwants which the heron and the goosander now express by nods and winks,\nwere then conveyed by plain, straightforward words; and the grunts and\nsqueaks of the hog, and the bleating of the kid, and the neighing of\nthe horse, and the howl of the dog, and the crowing of the cock, and\nthe cackling of the hen, and the other means by which beasts, and\nbirds, and other creatures, at this day make known their wants and\nwishes, were then unknown. If the ox was hungry, or the dog wished to\nvisit a cousin, he said so, and if the hog wanted his belly scratched,\nhe spoke out like a man. If the cock felt proud, instead of jumping\nupon a pole, and flapping his wings, and uttering a senseless\ncock-a-doodle-doo, as the vain thing does now, he asked the pullet \"if\nshe did not think he was a handsome fellow,\" and she replied _ay_ or\n_no_, as she thought. The panther told his mother, in plain\nintelligible words, if he wanted a wife; and when the hen had excluded\nher egg, instead of cackling, she said, \"There!\" There was then no\ndifficulty in understanding the beasts, for they told their wants and\nwishes in good plain Indian, which was far better than it is now, when\nyou are obliged to guess at half they say. And not only could they\nconvey their meaning better, but their meaning was worth more when you\nknew it. In truth the beasts at that time were much wiser and more\ncunning than men, and where the Indian caught one beaver in his trap,\nthe beaver caught ten Indians in his. In war and peace their schemes\nand stratagems were better devised, and more successfully executed,\nand their talks[A] were as full of sweet and wise words as the sky is\nof wild pigeons in the season of their flight from the rigours of\napproaching winter. What a pity that the folly of the Great Chief of\nthe Elks should have lost the beasts the most important faculties\nconferred upon them by the Great Hare, and led to the withdrawing of\nthe all-glorious gift of speech.\n\n[Footnote A: _Talk_--oration, also synonimous with \"cabinet council,\nor general meeting, with a view to matters of high importance.\"]\n\nThere was among the Ottawas, that lived on the banks of the Lake of\nthe Great Beaver(1), a young man whose origin none knew with\ncertainty, but who was supposed by all to be a son of the god. Sixteen\nsnows before the time of which I am speaking, there was found in the\ngreat village of our people, upon the morning of a warm day in the\nFrog-Moon, a little boy who might have seen the flowers bloom\ntwice--older he could not have been. None knew whence he came, nor\ncould he tell them, or give any information whereby it could be\nascertained who were his parents, or what the place of his birth, or\nwhy he was abandoned. He did not belong to the tribe--of that they\nwere certain; nor did the features of his face resemble those of any\nof the surrounding nations, nor were his words, or the tones of his\nvoice, such as ever had been listened to by Ottawa ears. Indeed there\nwere evidences that he owed his being to the love of the god of the\nlake for one wearing the human form. He was shaped like a man--that\nis, he stood upright, and his feet and hands, and legs and arms, were\nfashioned like those of an Ottawa, save that the former were flat, and\nwebbed and clawed like the paws of a white beaver(2). The head, which\nwas placed upon a pair of shoulders similar to those of a man,\nresembled more nearly those heads which the hunter sees looking out of\nthe cabins of the cunning little people[A] than the heads of men. It\nwas shaped very nearly like the head of a mountain-rat; the nose was\nlong, the eyes little and red, the ears short and round, hairy on the\noutside, and smooth within. Then to the form the boy added the habits\nof the beaver. Every day he would repair to the lake, and sport for\nhalf a sun in its clear, cool bosom. The food he preferred further\nindicated from whom he sprung. He would undertake a journey of half a\nsun to find a crawfish; he would climb with great labour, and at the\nrisk of his neck, the tallest poplar of the forest for its juicy buds,\nand the slender tree for its frightened and bashful leaves, that\nwither and die if one do but so much as touch them. He had much\ncunning and subtlety, as well he might have, if the blood of the god\nwhom Indians adore ran in his veins.\n\n[Footnote A: _Cunning little people_, the common Indian appellation\nfor those sagacious animals, the beavers.]\n\nThis boy, if boy it was, or young beaver, if my brothers think it was\na beaver--let them settle the matter for themselves--grew up with the\nform of a man, tall as a man, and with the speech of a man, but\nendowed with many of the attributes of a beaver--indeed he bore in\nhis faculties a greater resemblance to that animal than to man, and\nhis actions were more nearly patterned after the four-legged animal\nthan the two-legged. His temper was very mild and good, and his\nindustry equalled that of the cunning little people from whom he\nderived his origin. He was always doing something; night, noon,\nmorning, wet or dry, he was at work for himself or others. While the\nlazy Ottawas were sleeping on the sunny side of their cabins, he was\nfetching home wood for the fire, or mending the nets, or weeding the\ncorn. And then he was so peaceable that, for the eighteen snows that\nhe lived in the great village of the Ottawas, none had ever beheld him\nangry, or seen disquietude in his eye, or heard repining from his\nlips. He coveted not distinction in war, he never spoke of the field\nof strife, nor sang a war-song, nor fasted to procure bloody dreams,\nnor shaved his crown to the gallant scalp-lock, nor painted his cheeks\nand brow with the ochre of wrath, nor taught himself to dance the\nwar-dance--his actions and pursuits were those of a woman, and his\nthoughts and wishes all for peace. Among a people so valiant, and so\nfond of eating their foes[A], as the Ottawas, a disposition so feeble\nand woman-like as that possessed by the Child of the Hare would have\ndrawn down great anger and contempt upon its possessor. But, believing\nthat the youth had their favourite god for his father, they never\nreproached him for his cowardice and preference of peace to war, but\ncontented themselves with saying that \"he was a very, very good boy,\nbut he would never become a chief of a people more warlike than the\nwren or the prairie dog.\" The laugh that would follow these speeches\nhad nothing of ill-nature in it, for all loved the boy, cowardly and\nugly as he was, and each would have shielded him from harm at the risk\nof his own life. And thus lived the Child of the Hare till the snows\nof the seventeenth winter had melted and gone to the embrace of the\nGreat Lake.\n\n[Footnote A: As I have remarked in a note (vol. i, page 305.) this is\na metaphorical expression, signifying nothing more than that they will\nwage a bloody and destructive war.]\n\nIt was then that the boy, who had become a man in stature, was seen to\nabsent himself from the village, and to shun the toils which had once\nbeen pleasures to him. No one knew whither he went, or for what\npurpose. Usually, at the going down of the sun, he would repair to\nthe forest, and be absent for the greater portion of the period of\ndarkness. Sometimes his journeys were undertaken by daylight. The aged\nmen asked him whither he went--he made no answer; the young maidens,\nalways famous for coming at the bottom of secrets, and tracking\nmysteries as one tracks a badger, sought to win the secret, but with\nno greater success. At last, a cunning old woman found out--what will\nnot a cunning old woman find out--the secret.\n\nUpon a large plain, which stretched from very near the great village\nof the Ottawas, a full day's journey towards the land of the rising\nsun, there dwelt a people, with whom the Ottawas had always been at\npeace. They were a set of very awkwardly-shaped beings, of a stature\nnot exceeding the stubborn little beast's which our white brother rode\nhither, with four legs, and a beard upon the neck as long as that worn\nby the people one sees at the City of the Rock. Their heads were very\nlong, their muzzles very thick, their nostrils very wide, and each\nwore upon his head, even before he was married, a pair of long and\nwide-spreading horns. They were covered with long hair, the colour of\nwhich was a mixture of light gray, and dark red. Though they were\napparently a very heavy, clumsy, unwieldy people, the Ottawas, when\nthey joined them on hunting expeditions, or assisted them in their\nwars against their enemies, found it no small labour to keep at their\nside, so long and steady was their trot. It was only when there had\nbeen a deep snow, which, melting somewhat, and being afterwards\nfrozen, would not bear their weight, that our people proved a match\nfor them in speed of travelling. For the foot of the strange people,\nbeing forked, broke through the crust which the frost had formed on\nthe surface of the snow, and they went plunging and plunging with\nlittle progress till their strength was exhausted.\n\nThe Elks--for this was the name of these odd neighbours of the\nOttawas--were upon the whole a very good-tempered, friendly people.\nBut, when they were once angered, it was a great deal best to keep out\nof their way till they had cooled--a course one should pursue at all\ntimes with passionate folks. Whenever an Elk was enraged with an\nOttawa, the latter hid himself till he had become pleased again. So\nupon the whole the two nations rubbed their noses together with more\nsincerity than any two nations of the wilds. It was not for the\ninterest of either people to throw down the hatchet; they were of\ngreat and frequent service to each other. Whenever an Ottawa woman was\nhard to do with the pains of travail[A], she sent for a wise Old Elk,\nwho speedily delivered her; and, when the Carcajous picked quarrels,\nas they were always doing with their pacific neighbours, the Ottawas\nbecame either mediators, or the allies of the Elks. There could be no\ndoubt that but for our Braves, the Carcajous and the Foxes, who always\nmake war in company(3), would have destroyed the Elks from the face of\nthe Great Island. But the Ottawas joined the weaker party, which made\nthem more than a match(4) for any thing breathing, as doubtless our\nbrother knows. And it is because our people rescued the good Elks from\nthe fangs of their cruel and merciless ancestors that the Carcajous\nhave been, and to this day are, such bitter enemies to our people, and\nopen their jugulars, and take their scalps whenever they can.\n\n[Footnote A: The Indians affirm that the Elk has a bone in his heart,\nwhich, being reduced to powder, and taken in broth, facilitates\ndelivery, and softens the pains of child-bearing.--_Charlevoix._]\n\nI am not able to tell my brother in what moon it was that a woman of\nour nation, determined to learn why the Child of the Hare absented\nhimself so frequently from the village, followed him at early\nnightfall into the thick and gloomy forest which adjoined the lands of\nthe Ottawas. It was a dark, and wild, and thickly wooded, dell, into\nwhich this fearless woman precipitated herself at early nightfall, but\nshe had a powerful motive to encounter danger--there was a secret to\nbe caught, a mystery to be unravelled, and she went with alacrity and\npleasure. It is much that a woman will do to come at the bottom of a\nmystery, which has for some time baffled her and put her nose at\nfault; and many dangers and inconveniences, and much toil and trouble,\nmust that journey promise, whose danger and inconvenience, and toil\nand trouble, shall deter her from attempting it when its object is the\nlearning what, in spite of her, has long remained hidden. So the\ncurious woman followed the Child of the Hare into the deep dell at\nearly nightfall.\n\nThey travelled onward, he ahead, and she behind, keeping him\nconstantly in view for a long time, until they came, all at once, just\nas the sun was rising, to a deep valley surrounded by high hills,\nthrough which there was but one path--a beaten and travelled\npath--that in which they came. But what most surprised this\nadventurous woman was, that though this valley lay but a little boy's\njourney of half a sun from the Ottawa village, and though she had, as\nshe supposed, visited every part of the contiguous wilderness, she had\nnever beheld it till now, nor heard it spoken of by her people. But\nthat circumstance did not prevent her from admiring the beautiful\nspot--it was indeed the most lovely ever beheld by mortal eyes, and\nwell did it deserve the many fond epithets she heaped upon it.\nStretched out as far as the eye could reach, this valley lay green and\nglossy as a grove of oaks in the Buck-Moon, when their leaves are\nfully expanded to meet the warm and cheering rays of the great star\nof day. In the centre of this valley was a small lake fringed with\nwillows, alders, pemines, and grape-vines. It was not altogether bare\nof trees, though they were few and scattered as a party of shamefaced\nwarriors straggling home from a beaten field. Here perhaps stood a\nlofty pine with several little ones around it, resembling a happy\nfather with his children at his knee partaking of the fruits of his\nhunt--yonder, a cedar, lone and solitary as a man whose friends have\nall been killed by an unskilful _autmoin_(5) in the Fever-Moon. Well\ndid the woman deem that the cold breath of the boisterous and stormy\nMatcomek[A] had never reached the spot--it seemed as if it had never\nbeen visited by anything more rough than the south wind in the time of\nspring.\n\n[Footnote A: The God of the winter.]\n\nAs this woman, who had followed the child of the Hare into the woods\nat early nightfall, stood chewing a piece of the hot root which takes\naway the crying sin of barrenness, and renders women fruitful and\nbeloved[A], there came to her ears a sound as of many angry voices\nmingling their accents together. Filled with a womanly curiosity to\nknow what it was, and anxious to behold the combat which it promised,\nshe stepped quickly over the small hillock which intercepted her view\nof a part of the valley. What a scene burst upon her eyes! Upon a\ngrassy knoll, shaded from the beams of the rising sun by the range of\nhills I have spoken of, were assembled a greater number of Elks than\neven my brother could count by the aid of his great medicine[B]. In\nthe centre of the assembled nation, stood an Elk of wondrous stature,\nthe great chief, or as my brother would call it, the King of the\nValley. He was so large, that the biggest of his people seemed but\nmusquitoes by the side of a buffalo. His legs were so long, that the\ndeepest snow-drift was no impediment to his running his blithest race;\nand his skin, which was covered with red and grey hair, was proof\nagainst the utmost fury of the Ottawa bender of the bow. From each of\nhis shoulders proceeded an arm, which well supplied the place, and\nperformed the uses, of the same limb among our people. His eyes were\nof the size of the largest bison-hide, and the antlers, which towered\nabove his head, resembled an oak which decay has stricken to the\ndisrobing of its leaves, and the dismantling of its smaller, but not\nits larger limbs. Not the mighty animal which strode down from the\nmountains of thunder to slaughter the buffaloes of the prairies[C],\nwas at all to be compared with him for size. At least, so said the\nwoman, who followed the Child of the Hare into the deep dell at early\nnightfall.\n\n[Footnote A: Ginseng, called by the Potowatomies _Abesoatchenza_,\nwhich signifies a child. I presume it has acquired its name rather\nfrom the figure of its root than from the tradition. They make great\nuse of it in medicine.]\n\n[Footnote B: The implements of writing, especially paper, are esteemed\nby the Indians as medicines, or spirits, of great power. Books are\nviewed in the same light. Singing hymns from a book delights them\nmuch, as they conceive, that the book is a spirit, which teaches the\nsinger to sing for their diversion.]\n\n[Footnote C: The Mammoth. See note, vol. ii, p. 111.]\n\n\"What brought you here?\" demanded one of the Elks, a very elderly one,\nwho was named the Broadhorns, of the woman, as she approached the\noutside of the circle. \"Do you not know that it is death for any one\nto come into the camp of the Great Chief of the Elks, unless he is\nsent for? What brought you here?\"\n\n\"I followed the Child of the Beaver.\"\n\n\"Oho, and so you have come to the marriage, but you are too late.\"\n\n\"What marriage?\" demanded the woman, straining her eyes still wider\nthan my pale-faced brother does at this moment. \"Who? How? What! Who's\nto be married?\"\n\n\"Oh, you know nothing of the matter I see,\" answered the Elk\nBroadhorns. \"Why, the youth, whom the Ottawas call the Child of the\nHare, but whom the Elks call the Pig-faced Boy of the Ottawas, has\nmarried the daughter of a wise old man, who is akin to the Great Elk.\"\n\n\"Oho, and is that the cause of the hubbub?\" demanded the woman.\n\n\"Not altogether,\" answered the Broadhorns; \"you see gathered together\nbut the usual number that attend the steps of our great chief, running\nof his errands, and doing him homage. But, come along, you must go and\nspread the blanket of friendship before the great man, whom all the\nElks, no matter where found, as well as the inhabitants of the valley,\nworship and obey.\"\n\nWith that, the old Elk, who appeared to be an Elk of authority, spoke\nto the crowd, commanding them to make way for the woman who had come\nfrom the camp of their friends, the Ottawas, to visit the Great Chief.\nImmediately an opening was made in the crowd, through which the woman\nand her conductor reached the presence of the mighty king of the\nvalley. Behold her, then, before the being of whom she had heard her\npeople talk morning, noon, and night, but whom no Ottawa had ever\nbeheld till now. She was beginning to deprecate his anger at her\nintrusion on his dominions, when, in a tone intended to be very kind,\nbut which, nevertheless, was louder than the loudest tones of the\n_manza ouackanche_[A], he spoke, and bade her say, \"why she had come\nuninvited to the marriage-feast of the Pig-faced boy of the Ottawas.\"\n\n[Footnote A: \"Iron possessed by an evil spirit;\" their name for a gun\nor rifle.]\n\nThe woman, gathering boldness from the mild and gentle behaviour of\nthe questioner, answered, that, for a long time, the young man, whom\nthe Ottawas called the Child of the Hare, but whom the Elks, it\nappeared, knew by another name, had wandered at the beginning of\nnight, often continuing absent for days together, without their being\nable to discover what became of him; and that curiosity had induced\nher to follow his footsteps, with the idea of finding out the cause of\nhis absence. This was all, and here she was.\n\nThe reason she gave seemed to content the Great Chief, who merely\nlaughed a little, and said something about \"curiosity\"--\"a woman\nnapping\"--\"a weazel asleep.\" Then, calling to him the old man, who had\nassisted her through the crowd, he bade him bring the Pig-face and the\nLittle Maiden before him. The old man, making a very low bow after the\nfashion of the white people, which is also the fashion of the bear, and\nthe \"child of the Evil Spirit,\" who are both very mannerly--especially\nthe last, unless you provoke him, when he is a very naughty\nfellow--departed immediately on the mission, leaving the adventurous\nOttawa woman surrounded by the whole nation of the Elks. Does not my\nbrother suspect that she began to regret that she followed the\nPig-face into the glen at early nightfall?\n\nWhile he was absent, which was not long, the Great Chief amused\nhimself with talking to the woman. He asked her a great many questions\nabout her people, and praised them much for their singular courage and\nvalour, and their great sagacity, and their coolness and resolution in\nbearing the torments inflicted by their enemies. He talked of the\nwisdom of his own nation, and told her all about the fits they were so\nsubject to, and how they cured themselves by rubbing their ears with\ntheir hind feet, till the blood came, and how their hoofs were a\nmedicine to drive away all kinds of falling sickness, except that\noccasioned by drinking the strong water that is made of women's\ntongues and warriors' hearts[A]. He was going on to relate long\nstories of the wars of the Elks with their inveterate enemies, the\nCarcajous, when there arose, upon the outside of the camp, a great\nnoise, which prevented his proceeding. The sound was like that of a\ndozen old women, engaged in scolding their husbands for their lack of\ngood fortune in the hunt. Soon a space was cleared, and that which\nmade the noise appeared in the midst, in the shape of a mighty hare,\nwhose tongue went faster than the wings of a wild duck escaping from a\nfowler. Awe, and fear, and trembling, seized on the Ottawa woman, for\nshe knew that she stood in the presence of the god of her people, the\nGreat Michabou. Nor was that awe and fear diminished, when the angry\ngod spoke in a voice of thunder to the Great Elk, demanding why he had\nenticed the son whom he loved into a marriage with the daughter of a\npaltry Elk.\n\n[Footnote A: An Ottawa, who was a great drunkard, on being asked by\none of the French governors of Canada what he thought the brandy of\nwhich he was so fond was made of, replied: \"Of women's tongues and\nwarriors' hearts; for,\" said he, \"after I have drunk of it, I can talk\nfor ever, and fight the devil.\"]\n\nThe Great Chief, notwithstanding his seeming courage, trembled like a\nleaf, while he answered, that it was not a match of his making.\n\n\"Now you lie,\" answered the god. \"You know that you have dared to do\nit, because it was told you by a wise Ottawa priest--no thanks to\nhim--that from the marriage of the Pig-face with a maiden Elk a being\nshould spring, who should destroy his father's father, and make the\nGreat Chief of the Elks a spirit to rule in his place.\"\n\nThe Great Elk, caught with a lie in his mouth, continued silent, as a\nwarrior who is stealing on his sleeping foe, while the Great Hare\ncontinued:\n\n\"I cannot prevent the marriage, for that is accomplished, and what is\ndone cannot be undone, even by a god. But I can prevent the\nconsequences which you hoped would ensue. I can take away from the\nbeasts, particularly the Elks, the wisdom to devise stratagems to\neffect their purpose of usurping my power; and I can take away their\nspeech, which will further spoil their sport.\"\n\nTurning to the Ottawa woman, he bade her draw a thread from her robe\nof woven mulberry-bark, which she did, and gave it to him. Then, going\nup to the Great Elk, he bade him, in a very angry voice, hold out his\ntongue. The trembling monster obeyed, displaying a tongue which would\nhave furnished the whole tribe of Ottawas with food for a season. The\ngod then made, with the sharp point of a thorn, a hole in the under\npart of his tongue, half way between the root and the end, and another\nin the skin upon the inner side of his jaw, and passing through these\nholes the thread obtained from the Ottawa woman, he tied down the\ntongue effectually. When he had done this, patting the Ottawa woman on\nthe shoulder, he bade her run, like a good woman, as she was, to the\nnearest grove, and fetch him some black mushrooms, some pemine\nberries, a handful of leaves from the squaw maple[A], and a small\nquantity of the flowers of the dog-wood. She did as she was directed,\nand brought them and laid them at his feet. These he caused to be\npounded, beaten together, moistened with the spittle of the Great Elk,\nand fashioned into many little balls about the bigness of the\neye-balls of a humming-bird[B]. When the mass had been all made into\nballs, he commanded all to be silent. When the camp had become so\nhushed, that the chirp of a grasshopper or the hum of a bee might have\nbeen heard from limit to limit, he cried with a loud voice:--\n\n[Footnote A: The female maple, distinguished from the male by having\nits wood paler and more streaked.]\n\n[Footnote B: Called by the French Canadians, _l'Oiseau Mouche_, or the\nfly-bird. The name has two derivations; the first, from the smallness\nof the animal; the second, from the humming noise it makes with its\nwings. Its body is not larger than an ordinary May-bug.]\n\n\"Ruling spirits of the beasts, and birds, and fishes, come hither!\nPresiding Manitous of all, save man, that inhabit the earth, the air,\nthe water, hear and obey the voice of Michabou.\"\n\nHe had scarcely done speaking, when the air was darkened with wings of\nManitous hastening to the spot, and, but that the footsteps of spirits\nare lighter than the shade which falls upon the earth at sunset, the\nvalley had shaken with the weight of the hoofs and feet which pressed\nit. There were the spirits of all the fish in the waters, and fowls\nand birds in the air, and beasts and four-legged or more-legged\ncreatures on or in the earth, and some very strange-looking creatures\nthere were(6). To each of these spirits, as he presented himself, the\nGreat Hare gave one of the little round balls, commanding him to\nswallow it. All obeyed readily, except the Manitou of the\nMocking-Birds and the Manitou of the strange bird with a hooked nose,\nwhich Ononthio's[A] people have taught to cry, \"Damn the Indians.\" The\nlast bit off only a small piece of this ball, and the first, after\nchewing his, spat it all out with great disdain. That is the reason\nthat these two still retain a portion of their speech--all the other\ncreatures swallowed their balls, and thenceforth never spoke with the\ntongues of men.\n\n[Footnote A: _Great Mountain_, a name given to one of the early French\ngovernors, and continued to be used generally for the French as long\nas they held Canada. The story means a parrot probably.]\n\nThe Great Hare, having deprived the beasts of the faculty of speech,\nand taken from them a principal portion of the wit and wisdom which\nthey were about to make such bad use of, turned to the Ottawa woman,\nand kindly offered her all the little balls that were left. She took\nthem, and carefully wrapped them up in a corner of her robe. Before\nshe died, which was not till her years were more than the years of a\ntortoise, she called her eldest daughter to the side of her couch and\ngave her the balls, telling her to bestow them upon her eldest\ndaughter, with such directions as would ensure their remaining among\nthe Ottawas as long as grass shall grow and water run. They have been\nhanded down from daughter to daughter, and son to son, till the\npresent time. And that my brother may not think that I have a forked\ntongue, but speak the words of truth, I will show him the little\nballs. There they are, wrapped up in a piece of the robe which was\nworn at the time by the Ottawa woman, to whom they were given by the\nGreat Hare.\n\nSo saying, the Ottawa story-teller unrolled a piece of dressed deer\nskin, and took from thence a number of small balls, about the size of\npills sold by apothecaries, which he gave to M. Verdier.\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _Lake of the Great Beaver._--p. 49.\n\nAmong the Ottawas, the Great Beaver is, next to Michabou, the chief\ndeity. He it was who formed lake Nipissing; and all the rapids or\ncurrents, which are found in the river Ottawa, are the remains of the\ncauseway which he built in order to complete his design. They also\nadd, that he died in the same place, and that he is buried under a\nmountain which you perceive on the northern shore of lake Nipissing.\nIt has been observed that this mountain, viewed from one side,\nnaturally enough represents the figure of a beaver, which circumstance\nhas, no doubt, occasioned all these tales. The Indians, however,\nstoutly maintain that it was the Great Beaver who gave this form to\nthe mountain after he had made choice of it for his burial-place, and\nthey never pass by it without rendering him their homage by offering\nhim the smoke of their tobacco.\n\n(2) _White Beaver._--p. 49.\n\nIt has been asserted by travellers, that there is a species of the\nbeaver perfectly white. I doubt the story much. If there were white\nbeavers they would be found in the polar regions, yet it is a fact\nthat there they are quite black. Their colour, in temperate\ncountries, is brown, and it becomes lighter and lighter in proportion\nas they approach toward the south, yet no where becomes white.\n\n(3) _Carcajous and Foxes make war in company._--p. 55.\n\nThe carcajou, or wild cat, is the natural enemy of the elk, which, by\nthe by, has become almost as rare an animal on the western continent\nas the mastodon or mammoth. As soon as he comes up with the elk, he\nleaps upon him, and fastens upon his neck, about which he twists his\nlong tail, and then cuts his jugular. The elk has no means of shunning\nthis disaster, but by flying to the water the moment he is seized by\nthis dangerous enemy. The carcajou, who cannot endure the water, quits\nhis hold immediately; but, if the water happen to be at too great a\ndistance, he will destroy the elk before he reaches it. As this hunter\ndoes not possess the faculty of smelling with the greatest acuteness,\nhe carries with him three foxes, which he sends on the discovery. The\nmoment they have got scent of an elk, two of them place themselves by\nhis side, and the third takes post behind him. They manage the matter\nwith so much adroitness, that they compel him to go to the place where\nthey have left the carcajou, with whom they afterwards settle about\ndividing the prey. At least so say the Indians.\n\n(4) _Made them more than a match._--p. 55.\n\nThe North American Indians are the vainest people living. \"As ignorant\nas a white man,\" \"as foolish as a white man,\" are common expressions\nwith them. As they only value physical greatness, their low opinion of\nus proceeds from their observing how very deficient we are in the\nqualities which confer that species of superiority. They value,\nbeyond every other acquirement, that of apparent insensibility to\npain--we start, perhaps cry out, at the twinge of a tooth; in war we\nbecome the dupes of the commonest stratagem, while they can never be\nsurprised. They see that they excel us in hunting--in endurance of\npain--in the power of encountering the fatigues and perils of savage\nlife--indeed, in every kind of knowledge which is deemed by them of\nvalue--by their standard they are our superiors. \"You are almost as\nclever as an Indian,\" \"You are as stupid as a white man,\" are common\nexpressions with them. They consider themselves as created for the\nnoblest of purposes. The Great Spirit made them, that they should\nlive, hunt, and prepare medicines and charms, in which they fancy they\nexcel. White men, on the other hand, were doomed to the drudgeries of\nmanufacturing cloths, guns, &c., for the use of the Indians.\n\nThe Five Nations called themselves _Ougwe-hohougwe_, that is, men\nsurpassing all others. This opinion, which they took care to instil\ninto their children, gave them that courage which made them so\nterrible to their neighbours, and, indeed, to distant nations, for\ntheir hostile incursions extended as far as Florida.\n\n(5) _Unskilful Autmoin._--p. 57.\n\nThe Indian physicians possessed great skill as far as simples were\nconcerned. But it was their practice to profess to cure diseases,\nrather by jugglery and witchcraft, than by those means which were\nsimple and near at hand. Could they be brought to look upon a disease\nas purely natural, which they cannot, and treat it accordingly, their\nmateria medica would possess wonderful efficacy in their hands. The\ngreat use which they make of their simples is for the cure of wounds,\nfractures, dislocations, luxations, and ruptures. It is certain that\nthey are in possession of secrets and remedies which are admirable. A\nbroken bone is immediately set, and is perfectly solid in eight days'\ntime. It is related by a traveller, that a French soldier, who was in\ngarrison in a fort in Acadia, was seized with the epilepsy, and the\nfits were become almost daily, and extremely violent; an Indian woman\nthat happened to be present at one of his fits, made him two boluses\nof a pulverised root, the name of which she did not disclose, and\ndesired that one might be given him at his next fit, predicting\ncertain consequences and his complete cure by the second bolus, which\nactually took place, and he ever after enjoyed a perfect state of\nhealth.\n\nIn Acadia, the quacks or physicians were called by the name in the\ntext, _Autmoin_; it was commonly the chief of the village who was\ninvested with this dignity. The ceremonies and practices observed by\nthe Acadian jugglers being common to the \"profession\" throughout the\nIndian nations, I shall insert an account of them from Charlevoix.\n\nWhen they visited a patient, they first inspected him for a\nconsiderable time, after which they breathed upon him. If this\nproduced nothing, \"of certainty,\" said they, \"the devil is in him; he\nmust, however, very soon go out of him; but let every one be upon his\nguard, as this wicked spirit will, if he can, out of spite, attack\nsome here present.\" They then fell into a kind of rage, were shaken\nwith agony, shouted aloud, and threatened the pretended demon; they\nspoke to him, as if they had seen him with their eyes, made several\npasses at him, as if they would stab him, the whole being only\nintended to conceal their imposture.\n\nOn entering the cabin, they take care to fix into the ground a bit of\nwood, to which a cord is made fast. They afterwards present the end of\nthe cord to the spectators, inviting them at the same time to draw out\nthe bit of wood, and as scarce any one ever succeeds in it, they are\nsure to tell him it is the devil who holds it; afterwards making as if\nthey would stab this pretended devil, they loosen, by little and\nlittle, the piece of wood, by raking up the earth round it, after\nwhich they easily draw it up, the crowd shouting the while. To the\nunder part of this piece of wood was fastened a little bone, or some\nsuch thing, which was not at first perceived, and the quacks, shewing\nit to the company, \"Behold,\" cried they, \"the cause of the disease; it\nwas necessary to kill the devil to get at it.\"\n\nThis farce lasted three or four hours, after which the physician stood\nin need of rest and refreshment. He went away, assuring them that the\nsick person would infallibly be cured, provided the disease had not\nalready got the better, that is to say, provided the devil, before his\nretreat, had not given him his death-wound. The business was to know,\nwhether he had or not. This the autmoin pretended to discover by his\ndreams, but he took care never to speak clearly, till he saw what turn\nthe disease took. On perceiving it incurable, he went away; every one\nlikewise, after his example, abandoned the patient. If, after three\ndays were expired, he were still alive, \"The devil,\" said he, \"will\nneither allow him to be cured, nor suffer him to die; you must, out of\ncharity, put an end to his days.\" Immediately the greatest friend of\nthe patient brought cold water, and poured it on his face till he\nexpired.\n\nIn a note, vol. i., pages 141, 142, there is an account of the\nceremonies practised by the Delaware jugglers.\n\n(6) _Spirits of beasts._--p. 66.\n\nEvery species has its presiding genius, and to these the Indians\nfrequently address their prayers. Some of them are held in great\nestimation, some are little valued. The genius of the beavers is much\nrespected. They were formerly of opinion that beavers were endued with\nreason, and had a government, laws, and language, of their own; that\nthey had officers who assigned to each his task, and placed sentries\nto give the alarm at the approach of an enemy, and to punish the lazy.\nA volume would scarcely afford sufficient space to relate their\ntraditions about this animal.\n\nThe bear is also a venerated animal--it is not, however, deemed so\nauspicious to dream of the bear as of the beaver. Before setting out\nupon an expedition in search of him, a fast is necessary in order to\ninduce his guardian genius to discover where the greatest number can\nbe found. They also, at these fasts, invoke the spirits of the bears\nthey have killed in their former huntings. The skins of bears are\ncommonly worn by the jugglers while performing their feats of\npretended witchcraft, and their teeth, &c., are held to be powerful\namulets or charms.\n\nThey endeavour, on all occasions, to propitiate the spirits of the\nbeasts, being persuaded that every species of animals has a genius\nthat watches for their preservation. A Frenchman having one day thrown\naway a mouse he had just taken, a little girl took it up to eat it;\nthe father of the child, who perceived it, snatched it from her, and\nfell to caressing the dead animal. The Frenchman asked him the reason\nof it. \"It is,\" answered he, \"in order to appease the guardian spirit\nof the mice, that they may not torment my child after she has eaten\nit.\" After which he restored the animal to the girl, who ate it.\n\nAn Indian came to Mackenzie, requesting him to furnish him with a\nremedy that might be applied to the joints of his legs and thighs, of\nwhich he had, in a great measure, lost the use for five winters. This\naffliction he attributed to his cruelty about that time, when having\nfound a wolf with two whelps, in an old beaver lodge, he set fire to\nit and consumed them.--_Mackenzie's Journal of a Voyage, &c._ 4to.\nLondon, 1801.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DAUGHTERS OF THE SUN.\n\n\nIn the southern part of the lands which were once occupied by the\nCreeks, the Walkullas, and other tribes of Indians, lies the marsh\nOuaquaphenogan. On one side of it is the river Flint; on the other,\nthe Oakmulgee. This marsh is of very great extent, so great that it\ntakes several moons to travel around it. In the wet season, and when\nthe great rains of the southern sky are falling upon the earth, the\nwhole surface of this marsh appears a vast lake. It is interspersed\nhere and there with large islands and knolls of rich land, one of\nwhich, the largest island, situated in the centre of the lake, the\npresent generation of Creeks represent to be a most blissful spot of\nearth. They term this little island, also, Ouaquaphenogan, and relate\nthe following tradition of its discovery, which I will repeat to my\nbrother.\n\nOnce upon a time, many ages ago, there were four young hunters in the\nnation of the Creeks, and these four young hunters upon the morning of\na beautiful day in summer took their hunting spears, and their bows\nand arrows, and repaired to the forest. The hunting-ground to which\nthey directed their steps lay upon the skirt of this marsh. It was the\ndry season of the year, and the surface of the lake was again a bog or\nmorass. The four hunters, finding a narrow and crooked path, leading\nover the waste from the high grounds above the morass, determined,\nwith a view to ascertain if no kind of game dwelt upon it, to thread\nthis path for a short distance, but by no means to venture so far as\nto lose sight of the beacons which should guide their feet back to\ntheir village. They knew that very many hunters had been lost on this\nmarsh, that there were many who had lived to tell the story of their\nbewilderment, and many who, never having returned from the chace,\ncould only be supposed to have been tempted to the fatal morass, and\nperished in its mazes. Thus, armed with the knowledge of what had\nhappened to many, and was supposed to have happened to more, the\nhunters ventured into the narrow and crooked path, which led to the\nisland Ouaquaphenogan, in the lake of the same name.\n\nThe four hunters had not walked far, when one of them said to another,\n\"Where are the hills which glitter in the morning sun, behind the\ncabins of our fathers?\" The other answered, \"I see them not, nor do I\nknow which way they should be sought for. Deep fogs obscure the\nearth, and hide the sun from our eyes; the signs are wanting which\nshould direct our feet in the path of our return; for the moss grows\nequally on every side of the tree; the waters lie dead, and sleeping,\nand stagnant, so that no one may gather from their flow a knowledge of\nhis path; it is not the hour of the day for the Hunter's Star to shine\nupon the eyes of our judgment; no wind stirs to inform us whether it\ncomes from the flowery land of the South, or the cold hills of the\nNorth--how then can I assist my bewildered brothers, who am myself\nbewildered? I see not whence we came, I know not where we are; I only\nknow this--that we have ventured into a narrow and crooked path in the\nLake Ouaquaphenogan, and are lost, as many of our nation have been\nbefore, in the intricate mazes into which it is death to venture.\" So\nconcluded the young hunter.\n\nThe four bewildered hunters still continued their endeavours to\nretrace their path, but without success. Still more dark and dismal\ngrew those mazes--more wet and miry the morass. Night came, but it\nbrought no stars to enable them to find their road back to their\ndwellings, nor south nor north winds were abroad to direct their\nsteps--the waters were still stagnant, and still did moss grow upon\nevery side of the tree. No bird flew by, to direct by the course of\nhis flight to his roosting-place, or to the nest of his beloved, on\nthe dry hills beyond the waste--no plaint of animals, which love not\nthe water or damp grounds, was heard in the distance. They knew no\nbetter than a child of the last moon the path which should lead them\nback to safety.\n\nWhile they were wandering about in the mazes of the swamp, one said to\nanother, \"I hear the sound of voices.\" Listening, they were soon able\nto distinguish the sounds of music and merriment proceeding from a\nglade at a short distance, in the direction of the little path upon\nwhich they were entering. Pursuing that path, they soon came to a\nlittle knoll of high and rich land. Nothing could be more beautiful\nthan the appearance of this little spot. Here and there were clumps of\ntrees, covered with fruit in every stage of its growth, and blossoms\nscenting the air with their fragrance. The earth was covered with a\nrobe of flowers; birds were singing on the boughs, and hopping about\non the twigs, filling the air with sweet melody, and little rills were\nrattling away over the gentle slopes. Upon one side of the knoll lay a\nclear lake, in which swans, white as the lily, were disporting\nthemselves, and the red-headed, and the green-winged duck, and many\nother beautiful feathered creatures. But the most beautiful objects\nremain to be painted. These were four tall and slender maidens,\nbeautiful as the flower-clad trees and blossom-crowned hills of their\nown island, and sweet as the breath of a lemon-tree. Their eyes shone\nas bright as the beams of the morning sun; bright locks of surpassing\nbeauty clustered around their lovely brows; and their garments were\nwoven of many colours as brilliant as the rainbow. Their bosoms\nswelled like the heavings of the billows on a little lake, when it is\nbut slightly stirred by the breezes of spring. Their step--what can be\ncompared to it? A bird skimming the fields; a wind slightly stirring\nthe bushes; an antelope bounding over a mountain crag; a deer a little\nalarmed at the whoop of the hunter. Beautiful creatures! The Great\nSpirit never formed any thing, not even the trees, nor the flowers of\nspring, nor the field of ripe grain, nor the sun of whom those four\nmaidens were sisters, so beautiful as they were.\n\nThey came--these four beautiful maidens--to the four bewildered\ntravellers, whom they addressed thus, and their voice was sweeter than\nthe music of the song-sparrow--\"Who are ye?\" The hunters replied that\nthey were men of the Creek-nation who had ventured into the marsh\nOuaquaphenogan, and were bewildered in its inextricable mazes. Two\ndays, they said, they had been without food; they were faint and\nweary, and demanded refreshments, such as they would have given, had a\nhungry traveller come to their door, and said, \"Food I have none, give\nme or I faint.\" The beautiful maidens replied, that the men of their\nnation, having long ages ago been driven with much bloodshed into the\ninaccessible fastnesses of the island Ouaquaphenogan, in the lake of\nthe same name, by the ancestors of the present generation of Creeks,\nhad retained so deeply in their bosoms the memory of their wrongs,\nthat they were sure to inflict upon them most excruciating tortures,\nand to make them die a death of fire. Such, they said, would be the\nfate of the four bewildered hunters, should their fathers or brothers\ndiscover them now. They earnestly besought them to fly; but first,\nwith that tender and compassionate nature which belongs to women when\nthey see the other sex in distress, they brought from a little cabin\nwhich stood near, covered with beautiful vines in blossom, abundance\nof provisions, besides oranges, dates, and other fruit, sweet, ripe,\nand tempting, as their own beautiful selves. These they spread out on\nthe flowery earth, and invited the four hunters to partake. Placed\neach by the maiden of his choice, they fed upon the repast prepared by\nthe fair hands of the daughters of the sun, the while drinking in the\npassion of love from their large and lustrous eyes. Nor was the soft\nlanguage of looks alone the medium of thought; words of the tongue\nwere interchanged as sweet as those of the eyes. Wrought up at length\nto a phrenzy of passion, and emboldened by the melting glances of the\ndove-eyed girls, the youthful hunters besought them to bless them with\ntheir love--to become the wives of their heart. Faint was the shake of\nthe head, and scarcely heard the breathing of the \"No,\" and cast\nmeekly down upon the blue flowers at their feet the soft and tender\neyes, which could not have looked up and kept their secret. At length,\none of the maidens, the eldest sister--for they were sisters--began\nthus:\n\n\"Young and amiable strangers, it is proper that we tell you who we\nare, that you may think whether you will dare the danger, that will\nattend the union of one of our race with one of yours. We are born of\nmothers, and are the children of fathers, who are governed by the\ninfluences of the sun, even as tides obey the commands of their\nmistress the moon, and stars perform their round of service in the\nsky, at the command of the Master of all. Our disposition--the\ndisposition of our race--is as variable as that of the winds upon\nwhich our great father acts. Ye behold him fiery at times--even so are\nwe--a change comes over him, his beams grow mild and soft, dispensing\ngenial warmth and gladness; ours, like his, also soften, and, though\nthey cannot possess his power, yet they are fashioned on his pattern,\nand we in our kind moments bestow all the happiness we can upon those\nwe love. At those moments, were it possible to fill all the earth with\nlove, to make bush, tree, flower, man, beast, bird, utter the language\nof the soft passion, and hill, dale, mountain, and valley, echo it, we\nwould do it. Again do we change; and he that hath noted the quick\nobscuring of the sun in the Month of Buds, may estimate the\nvariableness of our temper. Then tears fall from our eyes in torrents,\nas showers fall from a cloud, and as hastily as a mist is dissipated\nby a bright morning beam do smiles re-illumine our countenances, and\nour faces and hearts become filled with gladness. Tempest and fair\nweather, darkness and sunshine, are in us strangely blended. There is\nin our nature a strange jarring of the elements of being. Can ye take\nto your bosoms wives, who will afflict you with mutabilities as great,\nsudden, various, as those of the elements which surround you? Ye are\npleased to think us beautiful, and it may be that we are; but remember\nthat ye see us in one of our pleased, pleasant, and happy, moments.\nWait till an accident or misfortune happens, till want or calamity\ncome, or contradiction ensue, or some of the crosses which belong to\nhuman life, as clouds and tempests to the constitution of nature,\nassail us. But, if you think your love could survive the hurricanes\nwhich will visit your dwellings when we are stormy; if you can bear to\nsee the lightnings of our eyes flashing wrath upon you, and our voices\nspeaking thunder in your ears--I speak for myself and sisters--take\nus, and we will assure you of many moments of bright sunshine, many\ndays of peace and happiness--uninterrupted sun, and cloudless skies.\"\nThe beautiful daughter of the sun, who spoke for herself and her\nsisters, concluded thus, and the eldest of the four hunters rose, and\nreplied in these words:\n\n\"Beautiful maiden, that speakest for thyself and sisters, do not think\nthat what thou hast said will affright us. I speak for myself and\nbrothers--we will take you with all your faults, with the chance of\nthe hurricanes and stormy weather, linked with the hope of the moments\nof bright sunshine and days of peace and happiness. Believe me,\ndove-eyed maidens, that the women of the lake Ouaquaphenogan, in the\nisland of the same name, are not alone in their disposition to be\nstormy at times. It need not be told the men of the Creek nation,\nthat a woman's face, of whatever country, may justly be likened to an\nApril day, alternately shining and showering, and that her soul is\nlike a morning in the Variable Moon, which one moment may be dressed\nin a thick mantle of clouds, and the next in a glittering robe of\nsolar glory. It need not be told the son of my mother, that a woman's\nvoice is sometimes the voice of a gentle rill, and at others, that of\na cloud charged with the poison of the heated and rarefied air. Are\nnot the Creeks men, and shall they be frightened by what is a mere\nmomentary delirium? No. Having looked upon a wintry storm and a summer\ntempest, and seen the bright stars succeeding one, and the warm and\ncheering sun the other, we can listen with calmness--even with\npleasure--to the tempest of a woman's anger, and survey, without\ntrembling, or hiding, or running away, the lightnings of her wrath,\nbecause we know that after a storm comes a calm. We know that the sun\nshines most gloriously when his beams are first unveiled by the\npassing away of the clouds which have obscured him; we know that a\nwoman's face is most beautiful, when she has wiped the tears of anger\nfrom her cheek, and dressed it in smiles to win back the love which\nher folly has endangered. We will take you, beautiful creatures,\nsubject to the becoming passions of which you speak, filled with all\nthe beautiful frenzies of woman's temper. We know that all women,\nwhether they dwell among the Creeks, or in the island Ouaquaphenogan,\nin the lake of the same name, are alike in their dispositions. It hath\nlong been taught, beautiful creatures, in our nation, and among all\nnations of which we have heard our fathers speak, that men should take\nthem wives, but it is only now that we have recalled the maxim to our\nminds, it is only now that we acknowledge the wisdom of our teachers.\nNow, if men chose those only whose tempers never varied, one, two, may\nbe three, among all the sons of men would take wives; if one sought\nfor a maiden with a never clouded brow and soul, it might become the\nlabour of a whole nation to furnish mocassins for the feet of one\ntravelling in quest of the bride. Therefore we take you with all your\nfaults, believing that you have them but in common with all your sex,\nand with no greater portion than belongs to others. And we bind on\nyour fair brows the flowers which betoken affection and constancy, and\nwe place in your soft and beautiful hands the emblems of the charge we\nconfide to them when we make you the wives of our bosoms.\"\n\nSo these four beautiful daughters of the sun became the affianced\nbrides of the four bewildered Creek hunters.\n\n\"But,\" said the beautiful maidens to their lovers, \"we have told you\nof the ferocity of our fathers and brothers, and of the hatred of our\nnation towards the descendants of the men who overthrew and massacred\nour ancestors. We cannot expose you to the danger of their wrath; you\nmust fly, but whithersoever that be, we will fly with you.\" So the\nfour beautiful daughters of the sun left for ever the island\nOuaquaphenogan, and the lake of the same name, and became the wives\nand mothers of hunters and warriors. They were at times very stormy in\ntheir tempers, but upon the whole not worse than other women. Their\nfaces were at times those of April days, alternately shining and\nshowery, but there were women in our nation, who were not at all akin\nto the sun, nor ever saw Ouaquaphenogan, that were as like them as if\nthey had been sisters. Their eyes did, indeed, sometimes send out\nvolleys of lightnings, and their tongues give forth heavy thunders,\nbut neither were louder nor sharper than those of the women, who had\nfor ages given the beam of the one and the music of the other to the\nmen of the Creeks. And, if they did at times term their husbands\n\"brutes,\" it was no more than other husbands had been called before.\nAnd if they did, in the moment of a hurricane, drive their husbands\nfrom their fire-sides, they were by no means the first who had done\nso. Upon the whole, the four hunters had no particular reason to\nregret their bewilderment in the marsh Ouaquaphenogan.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN AND THE BIRD.\n\n\nIt cannot be new to my pale-faced brother, for he has been told it\noften enough, that, besides the Great Master of Life, the red men of\nthe forest worship a great multitude of spirits with whom they believe\nevery part of the world to be peopled. According to our belief, a\nManitou dwells upon every hill, and in every valley; in every open\nglade and dark morass; in the chambers of every cavern, and the heart\nof every rock; in every fountain, and watery depth, and running\nstream. These spirits dislike white men very much, because they are\nalways intruding upon their quiet, robbing both hill and valley of\ntheir stately trees, breaking up the bosom of the earth, penetrating\ninto every dark morass and cavern, and polluting, by some means or\nother, every fountain, and watery depth, and running stream. Indians\ndo not wish to provoke them, and so try to propitiate them by innocent\nand unbloody offerings. We spread on the mountain tops, or hang on the\ncliffs, or lay on the shelves of the caves, or drop into the waters,\nwreaths of flowers, belts of wampum, clusters of the wild grape,\nshining ears of maize, and other gifts which attach them to us. When\nan Indian child is born, whether it is a man-child or woman-child, a\nspirit is immediately chosen to protect it, and its future life is\nexpected to be prosperous or not as the guardian spirit is powerful\nand well-disposed to his charge, or weak, and undertakes his task of\nprotection with reluctance.\n\nThe Little White Bear of the Iroquois was reposing by night in his\ncabin, on the banks of his own pleasant river, in the month of ripe\nberries, when he beheld, by the light of the moon, a forest-chief in\nall his pride enter the lodge. The step of the stranger was noiseless\nas the fall of snow, and of word or sound uttered he none. The chief\nof the Tuscaroras arose, and took down his sinewy bow, and drew from\nhis quiver a sharp and barbed arrow--the figure faded away like a\nmorning mist before the beams of the sun, and was gone from his eyes.\nTetontuaga woke his comrades, who lay scattered about in careless\nslumber--nothing had they seen, heard, or dreamed of. He lay down\nagain, and, drawing his buffalo cloak closely around him, tried to\nclose his eyes and ears, in oblivion of things, and to rein his fancy\nto look upon other shapes than those of air.\n\nNo sooner had he composed his limbs, and invoked the beneficent spirit\nwho presides over sleep to grant him a slumber unvisited by hideous\nor frowning forms, than the shadowy warrior again arose and stood at\nhis side. The Iroquois had now full opportunity to scan his form and\nfeatures. Of gigantic frame he seemed, and his dress was of a texture\nand fashion such as the chief had never seen before--of an age and a\nnation none might guess. He was a half taller than the tallest man of\nthe Five Nations, who are reputed the tallest of all the red men of\nthe land, and his limbs, arms, legs, hands, feet, were of twice the\nordinary size of an Iroquois warrior. His coal-black eyes were larger\nthan the buffalo's, but they were lustreless as those of the dead; his\nteeth, large and of the colour of bones bleached by the sun and rain,\nchattered like the teeth of a man overpowered by the cold of the\nBear-Moon. He wore over his shoulders a long robe of curiously dyed,\nor painted cloth, fastened at the throat by a piece of shining metal,\nand a fur cap made of the skin of an animal never seen by the\nIroquois, above which rose a high plume of feathers of a bird unknown\nin Indian lands. The mocassins were of one piece, reaching with no\nvisible seam to the knees, and he wore upon his sinewy thighs garments\nshaped like those worn by the white stranger. His language, when he\nspoke, was a strange and uncouth language, yet it was understood by\nthe Iroquois warrior, who felt, as he heard the strange sound, its\nmeaning seize his brain as a strong man seizes and binds him who is\nweak and powerless. Wondrous were the things which the fierce phantom\nrelated to the startled warrior of the Iroquois. He spoke of the wars\nof the Allegewi, and of the torrents of blood that ran into the\nMichigan, and the Erie, and the Huron, and the River of the\nMountains[A], and the Naemesi Sipu, discolouring their once clear, and\ncresting with red foam, their once calm and peaceful waters. He told\nhow the men of the Allegewi were beaten and driven no one but the\nGreat Being, and the Manitous, and the spirits in the Blessed Shades,\nknew whither, by the ancestors of the Iroquois, who came from the far\nnorth, across an arm of the Frozen Sea, encountered the Allegewi, the\nprimitive inhabitants of the soil, who were entrenched behind the\nstupendous mounds which still remain, and drove them into perpetual\nbanishment. He described the pigmy people, and the giant tribes whose\ngraves and mounds might yet be seen, exciting the wonder of the\ncurious, and bringing men even from the City of the Rock[B] to view\nthem, to open them, and to put down their thoughts about them upon\nthe fair white skin[C]. A wild and unnatural song of triumph, in a\ntone as hoarse as the croakings of the raven or the bittern, burst\nfrom his lips, of the valiant exploits of his tribe, his own among the\nnumber, in times long since--when the oak tree now dying with age was\na little child, and the huge rocks were within the strength of a full\ngrown warrior to poise. He spoke of nations whose names till then had\nnever reached the ears of the wondering Iroquois, and told of their\nloves, and their hatreds, and their forest warfare.\n\n[Footnote A: The Hudson.]\n\n[Footnote B: Quebec.]\n\n[Footnote C: The Indians could not be persuaded at first that paper\nwas any thing else than tanned leather.]\n\nThen he changed the theme, and spoke of the land of souls, the bright\nregion to which the spirits of the good retire when the body is to be\nchanged to dust. He painted the pleasures which are the portion of its\ninhabitants, and told in the ears of the warrior what description of\nmen were permitted to be received into it; what were the deeds which\npleased and conciliated the Great Being, and what the crimes which\nshut the gates of the Bridge of Souls against the wanderer thither. He\npainted minutely the happy land appointed for the residence of the\nsouls of the Iroquois--where the brave man's shade still pursues the\nforest herd, or clasps to his bosom the forms of the sunny-eyed\nmaidens of his own clime; and the green and happy isles where the\nHuron lovers reside, and the frozen and verdureless heath appointed to\nthe cowards of all the earth. When he had exhausted these subjects, he\nrelated to the warrior many traditions of the old time, tales of\nforest love, and of the valour of the men of ancient days. He\ncontinued to visit the lodge of the chief every night for the space of\na moon, entertaining him, with the same fixed and lustreless eye, and\nin the same hoarse tone, with these old tales. The Little White Bear\nof the Iroquois locked up those things in the great store-house of his\nmemory, and each day, when the sun returned to the earth, and with it\nthe ghost of the ancient man had departed, he related to his wondering\ntribe the traditions poured into his ear by the phantom warrior. And\nthis was the first.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe moon was shining brightly on tree and flower, on glade and river,\non land and water; stars were twinkling, and the winds slept in the\ncaverns of the earth, when a youth and a maiden--he, tall and straight\nas a forest tree; fierce as a panther to his enemies, but gentle as a\nkid to those he loved; she, little in stature as a sprout of a single\nseason, but the mildest and most beautiful of all mortal things--came\nout of the forest. The horse upon whose back they had escaped from\ntheir enemies lay exhausted at the verge of the wood, and now they\nstood alone by the river of silver.\n\n\"Here rest thee, my beloved,\" said the youth, \"we are safe. Our good\nsteed has sped like an arrow through the thicket; our pursuers, my\nrival, thy father, thy brother, and all thy tribe, lie foiled and\nfainting far behind us. There is no longer footfall or shout in the\nwind; the voices of angry men, calling the Algonquin by names he never\nowned and whose ignominy he may not avenge, have long since expired on\nour ears like the voice of a dying cloud in the Moon of Thunder. Rest\nthee, my beloved!--as a young bird that is weary of flying reposes on\nthe bough of a tree till its faintness has passed away, so must thou\nlie down on the green and verdant bank till thy strength returns. I go\nto yonder river, to seek a bark to bear us away to the lands of my\nnation, and to my pleasant cabin by the stream where I first drew\nbreath.\" And he rose to go.\n\n\"Oh leave me not!\" cried the maiden, her soft cheek bedewed with\ntears, and deep sighs proceeding from her oppressed heart. \"When thou\nart away, I tremble with terror. When I see not the light of thine\neyes, I am filled with dismay. My mother comes, in her anger, to chide\nme, and she does not spare; my stern brother storms like the winter's\ntempest; my sire rages and threatens; and then, like the panther that\nsprings across the path of the lone hunter, comes thy hated rival, to\noppress me with the tale of his love and the boast of his success.\"\n\n\"Nay, thou art dreaming, my beloved,\" said the young warrior. \"If\nfancy must sway thee, let thy visions be tinted with the cheerful ray\nof hope. There is no peril near thee, and soon will I bear my\nbeautiful bride to the lands of my nation, and to my pleasant cabin\nbeside the beautiful river where I first drew my breath.\"\n\nSo saying, he sprung lightly to the shore, and was lost to her sight.\nAt the moment of his disappearance, a cloud passed over the face of\nthe bright moon, obscuring her blessed light. The maiden, deeming it\nan inauspicious omen, sat down upon the green bank, and, leaning her\nhead upon her hand, suffered the tears to stream through her slender\nfingers. But vain was the presage--idle were her fears. The cloud has\npassed away from the face of the pale orb, and lo! there is her lover.\nHe comes with a joyous step and a laughing eye, as though he had been\nsuccessful in his search for the further means of flight. Cheer up,\nMekaia[A]; it is indeed thy Moscharr[B].\n\n[Footnote A: The star flower.]\n\n[Footnote B: The mountain plant.]\n\n\"Now haste, my beloved one,\" said the Mountain Plant. \"I have found\nthe object of my search. Here is a canoe, and soon shall it convey my\nStar-flower over the rapid tide. Soon will my little bark shoot over\nthe noisy current, and I and my beloved be altogether beyond the power\nof our pursuers.\"\n\nSo saying, he drew the unreluctant maiden swiftly forward. They gained\nthe shore, placed themselves in the canoe, and committed it to the\ncurrent. With her hand clasped in his, her head resting softly upon\nhis shoulder, while his arm fondly encircled her slender waist, they\nglided down the rapid River of the Mountains. No sail was raised to\ncatch the breeze; no oar was used to impel them through the water;\nyet, ere the maiden had time to breathe, the light canoe was gliding,\nrapid as thought, down the mid-waves of the current. Then the maiden\nspoke.\n\n\"Now say, O Moscharr, whither is it you are guiding the bark? Mark you\nnot, love, how we are gliding down the stream towards the dreadful\nOniagarah?\"\n\n\"Be calm, my Mekaia,\" answered the lover, \"I am but guiding you to\nyonder strand, upon which the current sets full and strong. Be calm,\nmy Mekaia, we are safe.\"\n\nThe maiden held her tongue, for was she not with him she loved? Away\nthen, away they went, and still onward, while faster, and fleeter, and\nmore boisterous, the foaming waters flowed around them, and less\ndistant every moment seemed the dreadful cataract. Its roar was like\nthat of an approaching cloud from which thunders are issuing. Again\nthe timid maiden addressed her lover:\n\n\"Now tell me, O Moscharr, whither is it you are guiding the bark? See,\nthe shore is more distant, and hark! what awful noise is that which\nstrikes mine ear from out of the black curtain ahead of us? It cannot\nbe the thunders, for there is no cloud; it cannot be the voice of the\nGreat Spirit, for he is the friend of the Ottawa girl.\"\n\n\"Be calm, my Mekaia,\" answered the lover, \"there is no danger; it is\nthy lover that guides the bark, and he will be careful of the flower\nof the forest maidens. I see the shore--I see the rock--and whenever I\nwill I can guide to either.\"\n\nAway then, away goes their light bark, and still they speed onward\nwith the swiftness of an arrow from a well drawn bow. The tall dark\nforests that rose above their starting-place are fast receding from\nview, and hark! pealing like the thunders of heaven, the roar of the\nmighty cataract, to come within whose influence is instant\ndestruction.\n\n\"Now tell me, O Moscharr, what dreadful sound is that which breaks in\nso loud and angry a tone upon my ear from out of the black curtain?\"\ndemanded the maiden.\n\n\"It is the surge breaking on the sandy shore, or the night winds\nrushing through the forest,\" answered he.\n\n\"And tell me what are those lifting their white heads before us, as\nthe snow, which has fallen in a calm, is swept about by the whirlwind\nwhich follows it?\"\n\n\"Billows breaking on the shoals that surround yon little island.\"\n\nAway then, away goes their little bark, dashing among the wild waves,\nlike a leaf caught up into air by the summer whirlwind, till all at\nonce burst upon the horror-stricken maiden, in their most tremendous\nand appalling aspect, the waters of the far-famed, the wondrous\nOniagarah. See the white sheet of foam which rises in spray, mocking\nthe soaring of the bird of morning. \"It is only the Great Spirit that\ncan save us now!\" exclaimed the frantic maiden. \"Lo, my Moscharr, we\nhasten to the land of souls!\"\n\n\"Not the Great Spirit himself, did he will it, could save us,\"\nanswered the lover in a tone which seemed to be that of impiety.\n\"Were he here himself, with all the Manitous of the earth, and the\nair, and the flood, and the fire, gathered together from mountain, and\nvalley, and wood, and prairie, he could not save us. Together, Mekaia,\nwe shall sleep in the stormy cataract.\"\n\nThe maiden heard the dreadful words in silence. But even then she\nshowed the depth of her affection. The love of a woman endures through\nall changes; she shrinks not at death, so the beloved one be at her\nside. When the beauteous flower of the forest saw her fate\napproaching, and so near, she sank into the arms of her Moscharr, as\nthough it were pleasanter to die there than elsewhere; and a soft\nsmile, for she smiled even in that dread moment, told that she was\nmost happy to die, if she could die on the breast of him she loved.\n\nBut hark, what voice is that calling upon thee, wretched maiden! Did\nnot he who won thy youthful heart, while yet it was little and\nfluttering, so pronounce the loved word \"Mekaia?\" Was not _that_ the\ntone and accent which oft rang through the hollow beech woods, when\ntogether ye went to gather the ripened mast, and chanced to separate\ntill the cry recalled? And look--see, one stands upon the beetling\nrock above thee, amidst the crash and thunder of the eddy into which\nthou art cast, his arms stretched towards thee, beautiful flower of\nthe wilderness, and his look one of unutterable agony and despair. It\nis Moscharr, beautiful Mekaia, it is he who sat by thy side in the\nplayful hours of infancy, and won thy little heart ere it knew\nwherefore it was beating. With the speed of the blast he has followed\nthy course down the shore of the cataract, and now he stands upon the\nedge of the terrible gulf, horror depicted in his countenance, his\neyes cast upward in supplication to the Great Spirit, that thou mayst\nyet be preserved, and agony and doubt written on his face, lest the\nprayer he breathes may not be heard. And if that be thy lover who\ncalls franticly upon thee from the beetling rock, who is he that sits\nat thy side, wearing the form and semblance of that lover, and\nspeaking with the soft and kind tones which were ever his when\naddressing the flower of the forest maids? Alas! rose of the\nwilderness, it is the ruling spirit of the angry flood, the dreadful\nMANITOU OF THE CATARACT!\n\nOne tearful look the maiden bestows upon her agonised lover, ere the\ncanoe glides over the precipice, and, swift as rocks hurled by spring\nrains down the side of the mountains, disappears in the horrid chasm\nbelow. One tearful look, one heart-rending shriek, which rises even\nabove the roar of the cataract, as the canoe plunges through the\nfoam, and she is gone from his eyes, like a feather caught up on the\nwings of a great wind.\n\nWhat beautiful little bird is that which descends from yon\nsilver-edged cloud, which is floating so high in the heavens that only\nthe vulture may venture a flight thither, or the gray eagle sweep to\nit in his pride? Beautiful creature! beautiful bird(1)! not so large\nas the swallow, its neck a bright green, its wings scarlet, mottled\nwith white, and having a train thrice as long as its body, in which\nare blended all the colours that adorn the rainbow. It came to the\nspot where the lover, unmanned by the dreadful catastrophe, stood\nmourning like a mother bereaved of her children, and, thrice circling\nhis head, invited his attention by all the means which could be used\nby mortals, except that of speech. The lover sees at length the\nbeautiful creature, and knows _whose_ messenger it is. But why comes\nthe herald of hope to him in his hour of despair? Can the Great\nSpirit, all-powerful as he is, succour him? Can joy be yet in store\nfor him? It must be so, else why has he sent down his own messenger\nfrom the sky? That Being is too kind and too good to hold out false\nhopes; it is not in his nature to intimate an intention of succouring\nunless he actually entertains such intention. Be comforted, Mountain\nPlant, thou hast a friend!\n\nAnd now commenced their toilsome journey down the side of the\ncataract. The spirit-bird led, and the bereaved lover followed. Poised\non joyful wing, the little messenger fluttered before him, singing\nsweet songs of promise, until they had descended into the frightful\nabyss, and its secrets stood revealed before them. Terrific sight!\ntremendous sound! Their eyes were appalled by the view of billows\nwhich mount to the very skies--of huge volumes of water, dashing down\nthe dreadful precipice into a vast basin, which seemed large enough to\nbe the tomb of the giant Chappewee; and their ears were saluted with\nsounds, whose loudness and violence were a thousand times beyond those\nof the tempest, or the thunder, or the earthquake. Onward they groped\ntheir desperate way beyond the fiercest fall, until all at once they\ncame to a dreadful cavern shrouded in the deepest night and gloom.\nNotwithstanding the whirl of waters, and the impetuous rush of the\nblast, and, though the earth rocked around them like a canoe on the\nstormy waves of the Spirits' Bay of Lake Huron(2), yet the brave and\npatient Moscharr, unwearied and fearless, followed through pass and\npitfall, by stream and steep, the flight of his little conductor.\nKeeping the lamp carried by the spirit-bird in view, he regarded not\nthe huge rocks toppling above his head, and each moment threatening\nhim with instant destruction, but fought on his perilous course, till\nthey had threaded the labyrinth, and found themselves in a cavern, as\nunlike the first, as the tranquil summer sky is unlike the blustering\nof the sky in the Moon of Storms.\n\nThe cavern, into which they now found entrance, was lit up by a blaze\nof effulgence, which seemed as great as would be that of a hundred\nsuns shining at one time. So astonishing was the brightness, so\nsurpassing the beauty of those things which served for the lamps of\nthis vast hall, that the Iroquois warrior for a moment forgot the\ncause which brought him thither, and stopped to admire the glories\nwhich were scattered around him. It was, indeed, filled with all that\nmight dazzle and ravish the sight. Above them glittered a firmament\nstudded, it seemed, with stars, yet flashing a light far more\nbrilliant than the stars of night ever gave. And the sides of the\ncavern glittered with the gorgeous hues reflected from the shining\nstones of many colours wherewith it was set.\n\nBut why halts the spirit-bird guide, and why does he veil his lamp?\nWhy looks he with anxious eyes to yonder bright chambers in the\ncavern? What beings are those which appear in that chamber, and whose\nare those accents that fall on the eager ears of the lovers? I behold\na couch formed of spar that glitters like icicles in the beams of the\nsun. It is covered with the softest grass that grows at the bottom of\nthe torrent, and upon it is laid, panting with weariness and fright, a\nbeautiful woman--it is the flower of the forest maidens, the lost\nMekaia! At her side, no longer counterfeiting the Iroquois warrior,\nbut showing himself in all his native ugliness, his body crooked and\ndisproportioned, his hair coarse as the weeds that grow on the rocks\nof the great salt sea, his eyes green as a meadow in spring, his mouth\nof enormous size, and his ears like those of a buffalo, stands her\npersecutor and ravisher, the Fiend of the Cataract. And thus he wooed\nthe fair helpless being that lay upon the couch of dazzling stone:\n\n\"Mekaia, beauteous Mekaia, the mighty Manitou of Oniagarah asks thy\nlove. If thou wilt give it me, I will give thee in return all the\ntreasures of earth and flood, the diamonds which lie in the depths of\nthe cataract, and the bright ore, which, in other lands, buys both the\nbodies and souls of men. The thing that thou wishest shall be within\nthe reach of thy hand as soon as wished; and, to please thee, my form\nshall again take the shape and appearance of him thou lovest. I go\nnow, fair maiden, but soon will I return to thee and love. But, if\nthou again refusest me, the Manitou shall come to woo thee like\nhimself, and, in his own proper form, of more hideous seeming than\nthat which he now wears, and invested with thrice his present terrors,\nenforce his claim. His wishes gratified, he will spurn thee from him,\nand cast forth thy corse to the torrent.\"\n\nWith this heavy threat the Manitou vanished. And now seize, seize, ye\nlovers, the happy minute! 'Tis a moment of fate. Fly, fly! and look,\nthe aerial messenger of Him who governs all things beckons them on.\nThey obey the mute appeal, and with the fleetness of the mountain goat\nrush from the cavern. Their way is dark and dreadful, but fear lends\nthem wings. They know from the lips of their beautiful guide, the\nSpirit-bird, which at length has opened its mouth to impart to them\nwords of kind encouragement, that with the dawning of day the fiend of\nthe flood is but mortal--that with the crowing of the cock his power\nis at an end; and they are urging their limbs to their utmost speed,\nfor see, the gleam of red tells that day is nigh. The little messenger\nfrom the Great Spirit still points the pathway, and under his care and\nguidance they speedily gain the mid-height. Alas for the lovers!\nHeaven preserve them in this their hour of extreme peril, for see, the\nhorrible fiend is on their track, straining every nerve in pursuit;\nand so rapidly does he gain upon them, that, unless aid be sent from\nsome superior power, they will be soon in his grasp.\n\nBut the brave Moscharr still clung to hopes of escape, and still\nexerted himself with almost superhuman power to accomplish it. With\none arm encircling the lifeless form of the maiden, he employed the\nother to draw himself, by means of the protruding shrubs, over the\nsteep precipices. A sudden thought enabled him to baffle for a while\nthe grim pursuer. His foot, applied to a loose rock, launched it in a\ntone of thunder upon the fiend, who was borne backward half the\ndistance of an arrow's flight by the ponderous mass. During the time\nhe was struggling to disengage himself from the weight that pinned him\nto the earth, the lover had nearly won the farthest bound of the\nManitou's kingdom. And see, the purple and grey breaks out from the\neast. It is day, and the power of the Manitou, as far as regards his\nspiritual nature, is ended. Summon, O Moscharr, all your strength and\nfleetness, and by one desperate effort escape his personal strength,\nas the fortunate coming of the daylight's beam has placed you beyond\nthe reach of his supernatural power! Hurry on! hurry on! The kingdom\nof the Manitou extends but to the lowest bubble of foam--it ends with\nthe last billow of the rapids--the goal is before you; it is scarce\nhalf a bowshot from you--haste, and it is won. Hurry on! hurry on! the\nmoment you have reached the boundary of the fiend-kingdom, multitudes\nof good spirits--friends to you, but deadly and implacable foes to\nyour enemy--will start up to assist you.\n\nWith the maiden on his arm, all wounded and bleeding, his own body\nlacerated and torn, yet unyielding as ever, does the brave Moscharr\npursue his flight. But he feels as if the moment of death was near at\nhand. Exhausted by his almost superhuman efforts to escape, he finds a\nweakness and trembling stealing over his limbs, and he faints, and\nfalls with his lovely burthen to the earth, at the very moment of\nvictory and safety. The Manitou has reached him, and, with a\nfiend-like laugh on his horrid face, bends exultingly forward to seize\nhis helpless victims. One hand he lays upon the tender arm of the\nforest-flower, the other is in the hair of the lover. But, as he bends\nforward, a sudden jerk of the Iroquois, occasioned by returning life,\ndraws him unwittingly over the line which marks the boundaries of his\nkingdom and sway. In a moment--in a breath--ere the eye could have\nwinked, or the spirit thought--multitudes of bright beings start up\nfrom each nook, and dell, and dingle--from field and flood. The deep\nspace, the rocks above them, below them, at their side, the air above\nand around them, as far as the eye can reach, is filled with\nbeneficent spirits. \"He is ours!\" they shout; \"he is ours! He has\npassed from the region over which he had sway; he has left the\ndominions and powers over which he held rule. He is ours! he is ours!\nNot in vain did we leave our verdant bowers in the distant Lake of the\nThousand Islands, to hasten to the succour of the maiden flower of the\nforest and her brave and faithful lover. It was the Great Spirit that\ninspired us to come hither, that we might save from death, and what\nwere far worse, the beautiful betrothed of the valiant Moscharr. He is\nours! he is ours! the Manitou is ours! Now launch your light barks,\nbrothers--launch your light barks! The skiffs that brought us hither\nmust be moored in the calm bays of our dear island before the broad\nsun looks over the tops of the eastern hills. But first we must punish\nour ruthless foe. Let us inflict on him the fate he threatened to\ninflict on the beauteous maiden--let us bind him and throw him down\nthese rugged rocks into the wave that rolls furiously below! He is\nours! he is ours!\"\n\nAt once--at the conclusion of their song of triumph--a thousand bright\nforms sprung upon the prostrate and powerless Manitou, and bound and\ndragged him to the steep. And while again arose their wild but\nmelodious cry, \"He is ours! he is ours!\" they launched him into the\nthundering torrent below, which swept his mangled and lifeless body\ninto utter oblivion.\n\nWhen the destruction of the fiend was accomplished, the beautiful\nspirit-bird, which, while the deed of his death was doing, sat eyeing\nthem intently from a broken crag above their heads, rose from its\nperch, and, after dropping upon the pair, from his radiant wings,\nshowers of light as the tokens of the love of its Master for them,\nsoared back to the skies whence it came. The happy Moscharr and his\nloved Mekaia then accompanied the friendly spirits, who had assisted\nin the overthrow of the bad Manitou, to their home in the beautiful\nLake of the Thousand Islands. The pair were welcomed with songs and\nrejoicings to the spirit shores, and loud were the revels, and\nboisterous the mirth, of its little inhabitants. Triumphs were made\nfor them, mingled with rejoicings, at the downfall of their\nlong-feared and much hated foe. And when they had displayed their love\nfor the pair, by all the means within their power--dancing, feasting,\nand kind speech--they dismissed them to their homes, with many\nblessings upon their heads, and invocations of the Good Spirit to\nprotect and prosper them. The brave Moscharr and his beautiful bride\nsoon reached the home of his people, and lived to see their children's\nchildren listen with mute astonishment to the tale of the escape of\ntheir father's parents from the Manitou of the Cataract.\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _Beautiful bird._--p. 104.\n\nThe Spirit-Bird or the Wakon Bird is the Indian bird of paradise. It\nis held in the utmost veneration by the Indians as the peculiar bird\nof the Great Spirit. The name they have given it is expressive of its\nsuperior excellence, and the veneration they have for it; the Wakon\nBird being, in their language, the bird of the Great Spirit. It is\nnearly the size of a swallow, of a brown colour, shaded about the neck\nwith a bright green; the wings are of a darker brown than the body;\nits tail is composed of four or five feathers, which are three times\nas long as its body, and which are beautifully shaded with green and\npurple. It carries this fine length of plumage in the same manner as a\npeacock does, but it is not known whether it ever raises it into the\nerect position which that bird sometimes does. The Naudowessies\nconsider it of superior rank to any other of the feathered creation.\n\n(2) _Louder than the thunder of the Spirits Bay of Lake\nHuron._--p. 105.\n\nNearly half-way between Saganaum Bay and the north-west corner of Lake\nHuron, lies a Bay, which is called Thunder Bay. The Indians, who have\nfrequented these parts from time immemorial, and every European\ntraveller that has passed through it, have unanimously agreed to call\nit by this name, on account of the continual thunder they have always\nobserved here. Whilst Carver was making over it a passage which lasted\nnear twenty-four hours--it thundered and lightened during the greatest\npart of the time to an excessive degree. It is difficult to account\nfor the phenomenon--perhaps the organic structure of the neighbouring\ncliffs invites the concentration of the electric fluid at this spot.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ISLAND OF EAGLES.\n\n\nAt a short distance below the Falls of St. Anthony, there is a small\nrocky island, covered with huge trees, oak, pine, and cypress, its\nwater-fretted shores and steep cliffs formed of ragged rocks, against\nwhich the waves of the cataract dash and foam in vain endeavours to\noverwhelm it. This little island, so annoyed by the mighty and\nwrathful fiends who sit in that surge, is famous throughout the Indian\nnations for being the abode of the spirits of the warriors of the\nAndirondacks--a tribe which no longer exist--who, once upon a time,\nmany ages ago, warring against the spirits of the cataract, were\ncompletely overthrown, and by the power of their enemies transformed\ninto eagles. As a punishment, they were bidden to dwell for ever on\nthat misty, foggy, and noisy island; doomed to a nicer perception of\nhearing than belongs to mortals, that their fate might be the more\nawful. If my brother wishes to hear the tradition, let him open wide\nthe doors of his understanding, and be silent.\n\nThe tribe of the Andirondacks were the mightiest tribe of the\nland--neither in numbers nor in valour had they their equal--their\nrule stretched from the broad Lake Huron to the river of the Osages,\nfrom the Alleghany to the Mississippi. All the tribes which dwelt in\ntheir neighbourhood were compelled to bow down their heads and pay\nthem tribute. The Hurons sent them beaver-skins; the Eries wove them\nwampum(1); even the Iroquois, that haughty and warlike nation, who\nlorded it over their eastern neighbours with the ferocity of wolves,\nbowed to those mighty warriors, the Andirondacks, whose number was\ngreater than that of the flights of pigeons in the month before the\nsnows, and who wielded spears, and bent bows, and shouted their\nwar-cry with more power than any other tribe or people in the land.\nSome of the more distant tribes, to secure themselves against\ninvasion, sent ambassadors with the pipe of peace wrapped in soft furs\nas a present; others offered their most beautiful women for wives to\nthe \"lords of the land\"--all, by various means, and in various ways,\ntestified their inability to cope with them in war, and their anxiety\nto become friends and neighbours. If the proud Andirondacks granted\nthe boon of peace, it was always with some hard condition annexed to\nit; not always did a favour granted by them prove a favour in the end.\n\nSo long and uninterrupted a course of prosperity begot pride and\narrogance in the bosom of the Andirondacks, and they forgot the Being\nwho had bestowed so many blessings upon them, making their wives\nfertile as a vine in a rich soil, giving them victory over all their\nenemies, and health, and bounteous harvests, and successful hunts.\nThey paid no more worship to that Great Being; no more offered him the\njuicy fruits of their hunt; no more ascended the high hills at the\nrising or setting of the sun, with their heads anointed with clay, to\npour out their souls in the song of gratitude for past, or in a prayer\nof supplication for future, favours; they no more scarified their\nbodies in deprecation of his anger, but, believing themselves--vain\nfools!--able to do without his aid, they shook off their duty and\nallegiance to him, and bade him, if not in words at least in their\ndeeds, defiance. Pride now possessed their souls, and hardness their\nhearts.\n\nIt need not be told my brother that the Great Spirit is slow to anger.\nKnowing his power to crush with a wink of his eye every living\ncreature; to rend asunder the mightiest hills, yea, shake to its\ncentre the very earth with a puff of his breath; he is loth to put\nforth his powers or to call into action the whirlwinds of his wrath.\nHe suffers men to revile him long before he attempts to punish them;\nhe permits them to raise the finger of defiance many times before he\nstrikes it down, and the tongue to utter many a scornful word before\nhe dooms it to the silence of death. It is so with the creatures of\nthis world, as my brother must know. The strongest man--he who feels\nmost confident of his power to repel aggression, and to command\nrespect and obedience, is slowest to provocation, and, when excited to\nanger, the easiest to be soothed and calmed. The prairie-dog oftener\nshows his teeth than the wolf; the imbecile adder than the\ndeath-dealing rattlesnake. And my pale-faced brother has told us the\nwondrous tale, that, in his own land beyond the Great Waters, the\nmighty animal which is called the King of Beasts is, save only when he\nlacks food, as mild as the dove or the song-sparrow. And thus it was\nwith the Great Spirit, as regarded the scoffing and wickedness of the\nAndirondacks. Long he resisted the importunities of the subordinate\nManitous, that the haughty tribe might be punished for their\ninsolence; long he waited with the hope that their eyes might be\nopened, and repentance seize their hearts, and amendment ensue. He\nwaited in vain, each day they grew worse, until at length they brought\ndown upon their heads the vengeance which could be no longer delayed.\n\nThere was among the Andirondacks a youth who, from the moment of his\nbirth, was the favourite of the being who rules the world. While yet\nan unfledged bird, his words were the words of grey-headed wisdom;\nwhile yet a boy his arm was the arm of a strong man, his eye the eye\nof a cool man, and his heart like the heart of a brave man. He was as\ncool as a warrior who has lived to be aged in scenes of war. While he\nsat in his cradle of woven willow, his father chanced to speak in his\nhearing of an expedition which the Braves were about to undertake\nagainst the distant Coppermines, who had their lodges on the skirts of\nthe sea of eternal ice. The wise child bade the father call the chiefs\nand counsellors of the nation around him, and to them he said, \"You\nwill not succeed in this war. The Coppermines dwell in the regions of\ngreat cold; before they can be met, icy hills and frozen lakes, and\nstormy winds and bleak tempests, must be encountered. If you meet\nthem, success would be doubtful, for they are on their own hills, with\nnerves fitted to endure the searching cold, and possessed of that\nwhich the Andirondacks want--a thorough knowledge of every path that\ncrosses their snow-clad vales and ice-bound waters. Stay at home,\nBraves, help your women to plant corn, and cut up the buffalo-meat,\nrather than go upon an expedition from which you will never return. Do\nI not see the torturing fires lighted, and Braves wearing the\nAndirondack mocassins bound to the stake of death? Do not mine ears\nhear a death-song in the Andirondack tongue? And are not these\nfearless sounds which come to mine ears the cries of the vulture and\nthe wolf, fighting for the remains of a human carcase, which hath the\nAndirondack tuft of hair? Stay at home, Andirondacks, help your women\nto plant corn, and cut up the buffalo-meat, rather than go upon an\nexpedition from which you will never return.\"\n\nBut the young and ardent warriors said this was the speech of a boy,\nand they would not listen to them. They said that, were the words of\nPiskaret the words of a man, they might hearken to them, but was he,\nwho sat in his willow cradle, a fit counsellor to gray-headed sages,\nor even to young Braves, who had eaten the bitter root, and put on new\nwar-shoes, and fasted for six suns, and been made men. In vain did the\nboy assure them that his _medicine_, the Great White Owl, had revealed\nto him many strange things, and among others this--that if the\nAndirondacks engaged in a war against the Coppermines, the wrath of\nthe Great Spirit, whose worship they had forsaken, would be upon\nthem, and of those who went not one should ever return. They laughed\nat his words, treating them as they would the song of a bird that has\nflown over. They bound on their mocassins, and, taking their spears,\nand bows and arrows, bade adieu to the land of their fathers' bones.\nDid these valiant youths return, and did the words of the prophet-boy\nfall to the ground? Let the wolf, and the vulture, and the\nmountain-cat, answer the question. They will tell my brother that\ntheir voracious tribes held a feast in the far country of the\nCoppermines, and that the remains of that feast were a huge heap of\nhuman bones. Were they the bones of Andirondacks? They were, and thus\nwere the prophetic words of the wise boy rendered true, and his\nreputation was established throughout the land.\n\nAnd when years came over him, and the fire of early manhood beamed in\nhis eye, the same signs of his being favoured of Heaven were\ndisplayed. He needed no practice to enable him to conquer in all the\nsports and exercises which are indulged in by the boys of his nation.\nHe went beyond them in all which bespoke possession of the skill and\ncourage necessary to make a patient and expert hunter, or a brave and\nsuccessful warrior. In the game of archery, his arrow was ever\nnearest the clout, and in hurling the spear, his oftenest clove\nasunder the reed which was fixed as the mark. Ere he had seen fifteen\nharvestings of the maize, he could throw the stoutest man of the tribe\nin the wrestle, and his feet in the race were swifter than the deer in\nits flight from the steps of the red hunter. When grey-headed men\nassembled in the council to deliberate upon the affairs of the tribe,\ntheir invasions, or their projected removals to other hunting-grounds,\nthey asked \"Where is the wise boy?\" If he were not present, he was\nsent for, and no determination was made till he came, and had\ndelivered his thoughts. And thus grew up the young Piskaret, till he\nhad reached his twentieth spring.\n\nThere was in the neighbouring nation of Ottawas a maiden who was as\nmuch celebrated for her beauty, and her charms, and her wit, as the\nAndirondack youth was for strength, and wisdom, and prudence. Her\nIndian name was Menana, which means the Daughter of the Flood. She had\nreached the sixteenth summer of her residence among the Ottawas, the\ngentlest and lightest hearted, the mildest and sweetest maiden, that\never gazed on the pale full moon, or the glittering stars, or listened\nto the song of the sparrow, or the waterfall. She knew how to do every\nthing that was beautiful, or useful. If you saw a piece of gorgeously\ndyed wampum, or a robe curiously plaited of the bark of the mulberry,\nor the feathers of the canieu or war-eagle, you needed not ask who did\nit--you might be sure it was Menana. Her voice was the sweetest thing\never heard, her face the most beautiful ever seen--the first had in it\nthe melody of birds, with the expression they can never have till they\nare gifted with the reason given to man--the last--but what is so\nbeautiful as the face of a beautiful woman! And then her laugh was as\njoyous as a dance of warriors after a great victory, and her foot was\nthe speediest foot that ever brushed the dew from the grass. Every\nbody loved her, and she loved every body. So kind, and so good, and so\nsweet-tempered, and so beautiful a maiden, was never known among the\nOttawas, famed as they are throughout the land for kind, and good, and\nsweet-tempered, and beautiful maidens.\n\nShe was not the daughter of an Ottawa woman, or any other woman, nor\nwas her father an Ottawa man, or any other man. She was the daughter\nof the mighty cataract. The moon in which she came to the land of the\nOttawas was the moon in which the forest trees put forth their\nearliest buds, and the blooming takes place of the little blue flower,\nwhich our forest maidens love to twine with their hair, and our forest\nboys to gather as the harbinger of returning warmth, and joy, and\ngladness. She came not at first to the village of the Ottawas in the\nperfect shape of a human being. It was many years before that, one\nmorning, as the head warrior of the nation went out, as was his wont,\nto look abroad on the early sky, he found sitting at his door a little\ncreature of a form such as he had never beheld, nor ever dreamed of.\nWoman she seemed from her waist upward, but fish or rather two fishes\nbelow. Her face was that of a most beautiful maiden in the charming\nhours when she begins to dream of tall youths; her eyes were blue as\nthe deepest tinge of the water, and mild as a summer morning, her\nteeth white as the teeth of a salmon, and her locks fell sweeping the\nvery earth. Her hands and arms were perfectly shaped, but they were\ncovered with scales, and here and there tinted with red, which\nglittered like the evening sun on the folds of a cloud. Her height was\nabout that of a small child who is just beginning to use its feet. The\nstrange little creature did not stir as the warrior approached it, but\nsuffered him to survey it unmoved, and, when he kindly wiped the dew\nfrom its waving locks, bent its eyes upon him with the deepest\ngratitude depicted in its countenance. As an Indian believes that\nevery thing, even trees, and rivers, and mountains, have souls, or\nspirits, and are all worthy to be adopted as his protecting _okkis_,\nthe warrior addressed the strange creature, and besought it to become\nhis intercessor with the Great Spirit, his _okki_ in peace and war.\nWhat was his surprise when it made reply to him, in a tone very nearly\nlike the tone of a human being, and in a dialect of the Ottawas, as\nfollows!\n\n\"I cannot be thy guardian spirit, for I am about to throw off my\nspiritual nature, and to become as thou art, a mortal, or rather I am\nto assume my former nature and state. Though I wear a form which is\nneither fish nor flesh, yet have I not always been thus. Once, many\nyears ago, I was a human being. Gazing one evening on the blue sky,\nfilled with shining lights, a passion came over my soul to behold them\nnearer. I besought the Master of Life to suffer me to ascend to the\nland of those bright things, and to visit the beautiful rainbows which\nhad been equally the objects of my fond contemplation. My prayer was\nheard; I fell asleep, and, when I awoke, found myself where I wished\nto be. I was among the stars, sailing with them as an eagle or a cloud\nis wafted along on the winds which sweep the lower world. I beheld\nthem glorious as you behold them from the earth, bright, round, and\ntwinkling balls of every size, all endued with life, and all busily\nengaged in dancing their intricate dances, to music which came from\nunseen hands. My words cannot describe the splendour of the scene. Yet\nshall I tell the Ottawa warrior that the scene and the dances soon\nceased to give pleasure. Who would wish to gaze for ever on the sun,\nbright and dazzling though he be? What one of all the fair things of\nthe earth may be looked on for ever with delight? Its lakes, its\nrivers, its mountains, its bold youths, and lovely maidens, and many\nother things, are very fair, but each would tire were the eye to be\nchained to that alone. I was soon tired of the splendour of the starry\nworld, and wished myself again upon the earth. I asked the Master of\nall for permission to return. He said, 'Thou hast been disembodied,\nthy flesh is decayed--thou art but a spirit, it may not be.' 'May I\nnot', said I, 're-animate some form from which the breath has just\ndeparted? may I not enter the corse of some child, and live out the\nremainder of the days of a favoured mortal?'\n\n\"The Great Spirit answered, 'It cannot be. But if thou art content to\nreturn to the earth and assume a form which shall be neither mortal\nnor immortal, neither man nor beast, be it so. Remember thou shalt not\nbe endowed with the shape of a human being till thou shalt hear in the\ncataract, where I doom thee to dwell, the voice of one crying, 'Now is\nthe time.' Then shalt thou leave the flood, repair to the land of my\nbeloved people, the Ottawas, and there gradually return to the shape\nwhich once was thine. But, an immortal soul shalt thou not possess\ntill thy bosom shall be lit up by the flame of love.'\n\n\"Thus spake the Great Being, and in a breath I found myself descending\nfrom the land of the stars upon the glorious rainbow. Speedy and\nuninterrupted was my descent, till I came to the mighty cataract; its\ncapacious and stormy bosom received me, and there have I dwelt with\nthe Spirits of the Flood, the adopted daughter of their chief, till\nnow. Lo, Ottawa! I am at thy door, a strange creature, but demanding\nhospitality and protection from thee. Wilt thou give it me till I am\npermitted to take that form which shall give me the powers of a human\nbeing, and feel my bosom lit up by that flame which may give me one\nbound to feed and protect me?\"\n\nThe Ottawa answered, that \"his cabin had a quiet corner, and there\nshould the strange maiden--if, indeed, she were a woman--rest; his\nhouse was always the abode of plenty, and of that should the stranger\npartake.\" So the creature, who was neither fish nor flesh, continued\nto reside in the cabin of the Ottawa warrior.\n\nBut each day was she observed to be assuming more and more the\nappearance of a mortal maiden. The scales fell from her arms and\nhands, which lost their red tints, and became soft and fair as the\nflesh of a new-born child. The two fishes gradually became two well\nproportioned legs. But though she had now become identified in form\nwith the human race, she retained many of the propensities of that\nwith which she had formerly dwelt. She loved to sport in the cataract,\nand lave herself in the lakes and rivers. Often would she fly from the\ncompany of the Ottawas to that of her old friends, the Spirits of the\nFlood. How her eyes would glow with childish delight, when the rain\ndashed from the clouds in torrents, and how mirthful she would be when\nthe spring thaws swelled the noise and the volume of the cataract! And\nshe better loved to feed on the ooze and the seeds of the grass, which\nwere found in the torrent, and on those species of fish which are made\nthe prey of the larger, than on the food prepared on the hearth of the\nOttawa. Gradually, however, and at length fully, did her tastes\nconform to the tastes of those with whom she dwelt.\n\nYet she had no soul--the spirit of a fish was in her, but not the\nspirit of a mortal. She could not weep with the afflicted, nor laugh\nwith the joyful. She knew indeed her Creator, for all things, whether\nanimate or inanimate, know Him; but the worship paid by her was not\nthe worship of one who has reason for what he does, but of one who\nfollows the prompting of instinct. She still retained her passion for\nthe evening, and the bright balls which light it, but better loved to\nsee their reflection in the water, than to behold them dancing about\nin the blue sky.\n\nAt length, there arose a black cloud in the atmosphere--the\nAndirondacks and the Ottawas were no longer friends. A little thing\nbreeds a quarrel among the sons of the wilderness. A word lightly\nspoken, a deer stricken an arrow's flight over a certain limit, an\ninsult of old date, but unavenged, a woman borne away from an approved\nlover, are each deemed of sufficient importance to enlist all the\nenergies of a nation in the purpose of revenge. A deputation of\nAndirondacks came to the chief village of the Ottawas, demanding\nsatisfaction for a trespass on their hunting-ground, and for doing the\nfoolish thing, so much reprobated by the red men of the forest as to\noccasion frequent wars--the slaying of beasts of venery out of season.\nAmong the chiefs was the youth Piskaret, who, although he had but just\nreached his twentieth summer, was, as I have before said, counted the\nstrongest, the wisest, and, by anticipation, the bravest, man of the\nnation. And with him came his aged father, the great chief of the\nAndirondacks.\n\nThe feast was made and eaten, the dance was concluded, and the chiefs,\nand counsellors, and warriors, were smoking in the great pipe of\npeace, when the beautiful maiden, who bore the name of Menana, entered\nthe council cabin. She had now lost all traces of her origin from the\nwaters, and to all appearance was a mortal woman. She entered without\nthat timid step which mortal maidens have when they find themselves\nsuddenly cast into a crowd of the other sex, with none of their own to\ngive them countenance. But Menana was not versed in the ways of\nmortals, and had none of the feelings which send the blush to the\ncheek and trembling to the heart of the maidens of the world. After\nsurveying the stern array of warriors for a moment, with a curious and\nenquiring look, she walked up to the youthful Piskaret, and said to\nhim in a sweet and soft tone, \"Thou art very beautiful. Tell me if I\nmay not win thy love?\"\n\nThe Brave, who was smitten with the charms of the fair creature,\npressing to her side, whispered that he loved her better than all the\nworld, and wished her to become the wife of his bosom. Then he\npainted, to her willing ear, the charms of his native land, and spoke\nof the tall old oaks which threw their giant shade over the banks of\nthe gentle and placid river, and the many thick glades filled with\nlusty deer, and lakes stocked with delicious wild fowl, which were to\nbe found within the hunting-grounds of his nation. He told her of the\nplenty that reigned in the cabins of the Andirondacks, and how much\nbetter their women fared than those of the surrounding tribes. The\nDaughter of the Flood smiled sweetly on the youth, and tears, the\nfirst she had ever shed--and sighs, the first she had ever\nbreathed--proofs of her having acquired a human soul--stole to her\nheart and her eyes.\n\nAnd now she had received a soul, and become possessed of those\nfaculties which confer pleasure and pain, and create for their\npossessor happiness and misery, and joy and sorrow. She was now alive\nto the hopes and fears which exalt or depress existence--had tears for\nthose that wept, and a laugh for those that laughed. She, who entered\nthat assembly of warriors, fearless as an eagle seated on the top of a\nlofty pine, now at once, in the twinkling of an eye, became filled\nwith trembling, and alarm, and apprehension, and strove to hide her\nblushes by half hiding her face in the bosom of him she loved.\n\nBut pride, which has often interrupted the course of love, as well as\nled to the downfall of nations, crept into the councils of the\nAndirondacks, and they refused to permit the young warrior to take to\nwife the maiden who was not of mortal parentage. They said that she\nwas of the blood of the spirits of the cataract, of a race who had\ndelighted to shed a cold and pestilential vapour over the villages of\ntheir nation, and had destroyed several Andirondacks, whose blood\nremained unrevenged. In vain did the youth plead his love; in vain did\nhe show, that if the spirits of the flood warred on their neighbours,\nwho were unable to inflict a wound on their adversaries, it furnished\nno reason why the beautiful maiden, so lovely and so inoffensive,\nshould be banned. She had not injured, then why should she be spurned?\nBut his argument availed not to influence the warriors, or to bend\ntheir stern hearts to pity. They drove the fair Menana from the arms\nof him she loved best, and, exerting the authority, so potent among\nthe red men of the wilderness, of a father, and of chiefs, and of\nelders, they carried away the lover from the village of the Ottawas,\nthus dividing those whom the Great Being had so clearly created for\neach other.\n\nBut my brother asks what became of the beautiful maiden. Let him\nlisten, and I will tell him. She pined away with grief at being\nseparated from the man she loved. She sang not the sweet song which\nyoung maidens sing, who know neither love nor care--but her song was\nlonely and sad, as that of the bird of night. She wandered by herself\nin the dark and gloomy woods, as the bird flits when deprived of its\nmate, or the deer which carries its death-wound from the shaft of the\nhunter. Each day her eye lost a portion of its light, and her step of\nits buoyancy. She laughed no more, nor joined the dance of maidens,\nnor went with them to gather wild flowers; but her amusements, if\namusements they could be called, were to weep and sigh, to wander\nalone with listless step, and to sit by the edge of the cataract,\ntelling her sad story to the spirits of the flood. The Great Spirit,\nseeing her grief, and knowing that a heart that is broken hath no more\nbusiness among the things of this world, bade her rejoin her friends\nin the surge of the cataract. She heard the well-known and\nwell-remembered voice, and prepared to obey. Calling around her the\nfriends whom her sweetness and good-humour had won her, she bade them\na tearful adieu, and received the like tribute of kindness. The young\nBraves, who had before attempted to win her love, crowded around her\nto catch her last farewell, anxious yet fearing to attempt to change a\nresolution which had been dictated by the Great Spirit. They had tough\nspears in their hands, and well filled quivers at their shoulders, and\ntheir cheeks and brows were stained with the hue of wrath, for they\nwere prepared to avenge on the haughty Andirondacks the slight and\ninjury done the beauteous Menana. The maidens came to witness her\ndeparture, with tears bedewing their cheeks. All accompanied her to\nthe brink of the cataract, and beheld her throw herself into its\nfearful bosom.\n\nNo sooner had she reached the waters of that boiling torrent, than\nuprose from its bosom the grisly heads of the fell spirits, who were\nits inhabitants. Rage filled their countenances, and horrid\nimprecations burst from their lips, as they vowed to be avenged on\nthat arrogant and wicked people, the Andirondacks, who had inflicted\nmisery upon an adopted and cherished daughter of the flood. The last\nthe Ottawas saw of them, they were soothing and comforting the\nbeautiful Menana, whom, after sustaining for a few moments upon the\nsurface of the water, they bore to their crystal dwelling beneath the\nfoaming torrent. They first, however, employed an Ottawa messenger to\nbear their defiance to their enemies, and to assure them of their\neternal hatred.\n\nIt was not long after that a large war-party of the Andirondacks,\ncomposed of the flower of that nation, and headed by Piskaret,\nascended the Mississippi, to make an incursion into the territories of\na nation who dwelt upon its borders above the Falls. It is the custom\nof the tribes, when travelling upon the river, to approach to the\nverge of the cataract, and then transport their canoes around it. The\nAndirondacks were within a bowshot of the cataract, when all at once\nthe surface of the water became covered with grisly heads, which\ngrinned hatred and defiance upon the Andirondacks, who, though filled\nwith courage to dare encounter with men of their own form and nature,\nshook with a new sense of fear, as they beheld the hideous\ncountenances and uplifted arms of the spirits of the flood. In the\ncentre of the array of water spirits, they beheld the face of the\nbeautiful Menana, still shining in all its former beauty, her eyes lit\nup by the fires of an unquenched and unquenchable love. Raising their\ndreadful shout of vengeance, the spirits now gathered about the canoes\nof the paralysed Andirondacks, and commenced their work of\ndestruction. But _one_ was protected by a being of their own\norder--the brave and youthful Piskaret found himself, ere an arrow had\nbeen impelled, or a thrust given by a spear, caught and shielded by\nthe arms of his faithful Menana. While the water-spirits were employed\nin dealing death among their enemies, whose resistance availed not,\nthe beautiful maiden drew her lover from his seat in his canoe, and\ndisappeared with him beneath the waters. The moment the lovers had\nsunk into the flood, the spirits, with a dreadful shout, sunk also,\nleaving but few of the Andirondacks survivors of their attack. Nearly\nthe whole had perished from the assaults of beings against whom human\nweapons were useless--who laughed at the puny resistance of mortals,\nand feared their battle less than the carcajou fears the mouse, or the\ncanieu the humming-bird.\n\nThe Great Being, at the prayer of the water-spirits, bade the souls of\nthe slaughtered Andirondacks assume the shape of eagles, commanding\nthem to dwell for ever on the little island which stands just below\nthe cataract, and within the full hearing of its incessant and\ntremendous roar. That they might receive the full reward of their\narrogance, and pride, and cruelty, he so refined their sense of\nhearing, that the shaking of the wings of the bat was to them as loud\nas the thunder of the hills to a man having but the usual ear. What\nthen must be the noise of the mighty cataract, which, leaping over a\nprecipice of rocks, upon a stony bed, flies back again in foam and\nspray, higher than an arrow impelled by the toughest bow, bent by the\nstrongest arm!\n\nIf my brother believes my story the song of a bird, let him visit the\ncataract, and use his own eyes and ears. If he do not behold that\nlittle island covered with eagles, whose wings never cleave any other\nair than its own; if he do not hear the angry voice of the spirits in\nthe boiling waters, ay, and if he do not see them after nightfall;\nthen let him call me a liar.\n\nI have no more to say.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n(1) _Wampum._--p. 118.\n\nWampum is an Indian word signifying a muscle. A number of these\nmuscles strung together is called a string of wampum, which when a\nfathom long is termed a belt of wampum, but the word string is\ncommonly used whether it be long or short. Before the English came to\nNorth America, the Indians used to make their strings of wampum\nchiefly of small pieces of wood of equal size, stained either black or\nwhite. Few were made of muscles, which were esteemed valuable and\ndifficult to make. But the Europeans soon contrived to make strings of\nwampum, both neat and elegant, and in great abundance. The Indians\nimmediately gave up the use of the old wooden substitutes for wampum,\nand procured those made of muscles, which, though fallen in price,\nwere always accounted valuable.\n\nThese muscles are chiefly found on the coast of Virginia and Maryland,\nand are valued according to their colour--which is brown, violet, and\nwhite. The former are sometimes of so dark a shade that they pass for\nblack, and are double the price of the white. Having first sawed them\ninto square pieces, about a quarter of an inch in length, and an\neighth in thickness, they grind them round or oval upon a common\ngrind-stone. Then, a hole being bored lengthways through each, large\nenough to admit a wire, whipcord or large thong, they are strung like\nbeads, and the string of wampum is completed. Four or six strings\njoined in one breadth, and fastened to each other with a fine thread,\nmake a belt of wampum, being about three or four inches wide, and\nthree feet long, containing, perhaps, four, eight, and twelve fathoms\nof wampum, in proportion to its required length and breadth. This is\ndetermined by the importance of the subject which these belts are\nintended to explain or confirm, or by the dignity of the persons to\nwhom they are to be delivered. Every thing of moment, transacted at\nsolemn councils, either between the Indians themselves or with the\nEuropeans, is ratified and made valid by strings and belts of wampum.\nFormerly they used to give sanction to their treaties by delivering a\nwing of some large bird, and this custom still prevails among the more\nwestern nations, in transacting business with the Delawares. Upon the\ndelivery of a string, a long speech may be made, and much said upon\nthe subject under consideration: but when a belt is given few words\nare spoken, but they must be words of great importance, frequently\nrequiring an explanation. Whenever the speaker has pronounced some\nimportant sentence, he delivers a string of wampum, adding, \"I give\nthis string of wampum as a confirmation of what I have spoken.\" But\nthe chief subject of his discourse he confirms with a belt. The\nanswers given to a speech thus delivered must also be confirmed by\nstrings and belts of wampum, of the same size and number as those\nreceived. Neither the colour nor the quality of the wampum is matter\nof indifference, but both have an immediate reference to those things\nwhich they are meant to confirm. The brown or deep violet, called\nblack by the Indians, always means something of a severe or doubtful\nimport, but white is the colour of peace. Thus, if a string or belt of\nwampum is intended to confirm a warning against evil, or an earnest\nreproof, it is delivered in black. When a nation is called upon to go\nto war, or war is declared against it, the belt is black, or marked\nwith red, called by them the _colour of blood_, having in the middle\nthe figure of a hatchet in white wampum.\n\nThe Indian women are very dexterous in weaving the strings of wampum\ninto belts, and marking them with different figures, perfectly\nagreeing with the different subjects contained in the speech. These\nfigures are marked with white wampum on the black, and with black upon\nthe white belts. For example, upon a belt of peace, they very\ndexterously represent in black wampum two hands joined. The belt of\npeace is a fathom long, and of the breadth of a hand. To distinguish\none belt from the other, each has its peculiar mark. No belt, except\nthe war-belt, must show any red colour. If they are obliged to use\nblack wampum instead of white, they daub it over with white clay, and,\nthough the black may shine through, yet in value and import it is\nconsidered as equal to white. These strings and belts of wampum are\nalso documents by which the Indians remember the chief articles of the\ntreaties made between themselves, or with the white people. They refer\nto them as to public records, carefully preserving them in a chest\nmade for that purpose. At certain seasons they meet to study their\nmeaning, and to renew the ideas of which they were an emblem and a\nconfirmation. On such occasions they sit down around the chest, take\nout one string or belt after the other, handing it about to every\nperson present; and, that they may all comprehend its meaning, they\nrepeat the words pronounced on its delivery in their whole connexion.\nBy these means they are enabled to remember the promises reciprocally\nmade by the different parties. And, as it is their custom to admit\neven young boys, who are related to the chiefs, to these assemblies,\nthey become early acquainted with all the affairs of state; and thus\nthe contents of their documents are transmitted to posterity, and\ncannot be easily forgotten.\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF ATON-LARRE[A].\n\n[Footnote A: The burnt weed.]\n\n\nWhen the Nansemonds occupied for their hunting-grounds the vast\nforests which lie between the Mountains and the Great Arm of the\nSea[B], they were the lords and masters of the wilds, and ruled them\naccording to their pleasure. Throughout the land there was none equal\nto them for swiftness and dexterity in the chase, and they were\nforemost amongst the nations for their prowess in war. When their\nshout was heard among the distant hills of the Lenapes, the craven cry\nof that timid people was, \"A Nansemond! a Nansemond!\"--when they launched\ntheir canoes upon the distant Mississippi, the men of that region fled,\nlike a startled deer or elk from the growl of the carcajou.\n\n[Footnote B: Chesapeak Bay.]\n\nTheir numbers have now become thinned; many populous villages have\ndisappeared--brother, the Nansemonds are not what they were, at least\nin numbers. But they have not lost their courage and valour, nor\ndegenerated from the ancient renown of their fathers, nor has the\nthinning of their nation in the least tarnished the reputation of the\nfew who yet live, or caused their enemies to deem them less than men.\nNone can say that they ever turned their backs upon a foe, or shunned\nencountering one who wished for combat. Even the Iroquois, whose arms\nhave always wielded a tomahawk against them, and who, in their turn,\nhave encountered their deadly vengeance, confess them very brave, and,\nwhenever they make them captives, honour them with the prolonged\ntorture, which it is the right of the brave and valiant only to suffer.\n\nThere was once upon a time, in this tribe, formerly so potent and\nrenowned, but now so few and feeble, a maiden, whose name was\nAton-Larre, one of whose souls--that which speaks of things understood\nby all, and discourses in a language intelligible to all--had left its\nhouse of flesh to go to the Cheke Checkecame, or land of departed\nspirits. The other soul yet abode in the body, but it was the soul\nwhich takes care that the mouth has meat and drink, administering to\nthe wants of the flesh which enshrouds it by supplying it with food\nand clothing, and protecting it from fire and frost. Yet, though the\nsensible soul had wandered out, it had not taken away her memory, nor\nher faculty of seeing things unseen by other mortals, or of relating\nentertaining stories.\n\nShe was very beautiful, but her beauty was of a strange character. Her\nform was very tall and commanding, and she was straight as a reed. Her\ndark eyes had, from the disordered state of her mind, received a very\nwild expression, but none that knew her feared her, for she was\ninnocent and harmless as a child. Her long black hair, which swept the\nearth at her feet, was interlaced with gay beads and shells, and gayer\nwild flowers, and around her wrists and ancles were fastened strings\nof the teeth of the alligator. It was her greatest pleasure to enter\nher canoe, and commit it to the current of the river. Then, while\ndrifting about, she would sing wild and melancholy songs, striking the\nwater at irregular intervals with a long paddle which she held in the\nmiddle, and which formed a kind of concert with the song, as though\ntwo persons were singing.\n\nIt was strange, but her people declared that the sensible soul left\nher while she was worshipping the Great Spirit in the _Quiccosan_[A].\nThere, while performing the sacred dance around the carved posts[B],\nher soul was called away to the happy regions, and her mind became\nlike a cloud in the time of a strong blast, or a dry leaf carried into\nthe sky by a whirlwind. Others asserted that she had dared to spit\nupon a _pawcorance_[C], and for that had been punished by the Great\nBeing with the loss of her senses. It matters little which was true,\nsince one of them must have been; for it is only the Great Spirit who\ncan take away the gift of reason which he bestows, and he only takes\nit away from those with whom he is angry. And thus lived the crazed\nAton-Larre--strange that her bosom should have felt the pangs of love,\nand that for a being so ugly and misshapen as the little Ohguesse.\n\n[Footnote A: Place of worship--church.]\n\n[Footnote B: The Indians, occupying what is now called Virginia, had\nposts fixed around the interior of their Quiccosan, or place of\nworship, with men's faces carved upon them. These tribes have long\nbeen extinct.]\n\n[Footnote C: Altar-stone. From this proceeds the great reverence these\ntribes had for a small bird, peculiar to that region, and which\ncontinually called out that name. They believed it was the soul of one\nof their princes, and thence permitted no one to harm it. But there\nwas once, they said, a wicked Indian, who, after abundance of fears\nand scruples, was, at last, bribed to kill one of them. But he paid\ndear for his presumption, for a few days after he was taken away, and\nnever more heard of.]\n\nThis Ohguesse was a youth, whose feet wanted the fleetness, and whose\narm lacked the strength, of a man's, but he was nevertheless the\nfavourite of the Great Spirit. He was less in stature than a man, and\ncrooked withal, his height being little more than that of the tall\nbird[A] which loves to strut along the sandy shore, picking up the\nfish as they flutter joyously along in the beams of the warm and\ncheering sun. But if he was diminutive in body he was great in his\nsoul--what others lacked in wisdom he supplied. His name was Ohguesse,\nwhich signifies a Partridge. His brothers gave him this name because\nof his preferring peace to war--of his liking better to hunt the less\ndangerous animals, the _makon_ than the _mackwah_[B], and to spear the\nfish that gave little trouble, and to snare peaceful birds--all sports\nunworthy of a man. But this tame and pacific spirit was forgiven in\nOhguesse, because he was little and misshapen, and, withal, the\nfavourite of the Great Spirit. None could call down rain from the\nclouds, or conjure them into a clear sky, or foretell the coming of\nstorms, like him. If he bade the women plant the maize, they might be\nsure that a shower was at hand; if he bade the warriors depart on a\ndistant expedition, they knew it would be successful. His blessing\nspoken over the seine was as good as its marriage[C]; his prayer to\nthe Great Spirit in the cave, or on the hill-top, procured health and\nplentiful harvests for his people. And such was Ohguesse.\n\n[Footnote A: The crane or pelican.]\n\n[Footnote B: _Mackwah_, an old bear; _makon_, a bear's cub.]\n\n[Footnote C: It is what they call the bosom-net, with which the\nIndians perform this singular ceremony. Before they use it they marry\nit to two virgins, and, during the marriage-feast, place it between\nthe brides; they afterwards exhort it to catch plenty of fish, and\nbelieve they do a great deal to obtain this favour by making large\npresents to the sham fathers-in-law.]\n\nSingular were the means by which Aton-Larre testified the affection\nshe bore the little man. She would wander for hours in search of sweet\nberries, because he loved them; and, when in the house of her father,\nthey were cooking the juicy buffalo's hump, she always begged the most\nsavoury parts to carry to him she loved. When the winter brought its\nsnows and storms, she went morning and evening to the cabin in which\nhe dwelt, to see that there was fire to keep him warm, and, if illness\nassailed him, and pain stretched him out on a bed of sickness, for his\nstrength was little and his body feeble, who but the crazed Aton-Larre\ngave him the drink which took the cramp from his limbs, and restored\nhim to health?\n\nNor was the little Ohguesse unmindful of her kindness--he met her love\nwith equal return. If she procured for him ripe berries, he testified\nhis gratitude in a way which repaid her fondness--and the meat she\ngave him, though it was ever so old and tough, was to him the juiciest\nthat ever touched the lips of man. He would sit on the bank of the\nriver for half a sun, watching her canoe, as she swept it over the\ncurrent, and listening to her charming songs in which his own name was\nmentioned with so much love. And, when fatigued by her labour she\nguided her bark to the shore, Ohguesse was sure to meet her with\noutstretched arms, and assist her in the labour of carrying the canoe\nto its shed of pine branches. In the long evenings of the moons of\nsnow and frost she would sit and relate to him--for her memory had not\nleft her--tales of the goodness of the Great Spirit and the wickedness\nof the Evil Spirit; of the wars of the tribe, and of the journeys she\nhad made to the land of souls, and of the dreams she dreamed, and of\nstrange fishes she had seen in the depths of the sea, and strange\nfowls in the upper regions of the air, and strange beasts in the wild\nforests. Many indeed were the wonderful things she had beheld, if you\nbelieved what she said--and who could do otherwise, since her soul had\ntravelled to the Happy Hunting-Grounds, and her eyes beheld with a\ndouble nature--the nature of a spirit and the nature of a mortal? It\nwas in one of these long and stormy winter nights that she related to\nthe tribe the story of the _Maqua that married a Rattlesnake_.\n\nThere was once upon a time, she began, in the tribe of the Maquas, the\nfoes of my nation, a young warrior whose name was Cayenguirago. He was\nthe bravest and most fearless of men--his deeds were the theme of\nevery tongue, from the stormy shores of the wild Abenakis to the\nmountain clime of the fierce Naudowessies. While he was yet a boy his\ndeeds were the deeds of a man--ere the suns of fifteen summers had\nbeamed on his head, he had followed in the war-path of the full-grown\nBraves to the haunts of the Mohicans on the borders of the Great Salt\nLake. And, before the snows of the succeeding winter had melted, he\nhad become a Brave and a werowance[A]. But with his great strength and\ndaring valour was mixed a bad and cruel disposition--his heart was\nvery wicked and impious. When the priests spoke to him of the Great\nSpirit, he told them he should never believe there was such a spirit\ntill he saw him--he omitted no opportunity of making scoff of that\ngood being, and laughing at his thunders. His mocks of those wise and\ngood men, the priests and prophets, whom the Great Spirit loves and\nhonours, by making them acquainted with his wishes and will, were\ncontinually poured out. He paid no respect to aged people; he took\nthe bison's meat from his father's famished mouth, and knocked the\ngourd of water from the lips of his thirsty mother. If he saw a man\nweaker than himself he took from him whatever he coveted, and made no\nrestitution of the things he found. If he cast his eyes upon a maiden,\nand she listened to his false tongue, erelong her tears were sure to\nflow faster than those of a roebuck[B] that is hard pressed by a\nhunter. The brothers and sisters that were in the cabin of his father,\nif they crossed him, were beaten like a dog caught in a theft; if he\ngave a pledge to follow a chief(1) he was sure to forget it; if he\nmade a vow to aid a friend in danger, he was sure to desert him, not\nfrom fear, but because it was a pleasure to him to do wrong and\ninflict injury. And thus lived Cayenguirago, the Great Arrow of the\nMaquas.\n\n[Footnote A: _Werowance_, a war-chief.]\n\n[Footnote B: I do not know whether the roebuck actually weeps when he\nis hard pushed--the Indians believe he does.]\n\nOnce upon a time, as this brave but bad chief was hunting alone in the\nwilderness, in a spot which the Great Spirit had forgotten to\nlevel(2), he came to a great cave in the side of a hill. It was in the\ntime of winter, and the hour of a fearful fall of rain and hail. To\nescape the wrath of the spirits of the air, he entered this deep cave\nin the side of the hill, carrying with him much wood, and the spoils\nhe had won in the chase. As he entered it he heard many strange and\nfearful noises, but Cayenguirago was a warrior, though a wicked one,\nand, little troubled at any time by frightful sounds, he pursued his\nway into the interior of the cave. It was dark as a cloudy night in\nthe time that follows the death of the moon, but he remarked that the\ncave was lit up and the darkness partially dispelled by what appeared\nto be little stars, exceedingly bright substances which resembled the\neyes of a wolf, though smaller and far brighter, and which were\ncontinually shifting about the cave with a slow and uncertain motion.\nThen, for sound there was an incessant rattling, and hissing, and\nslapping, which almost stunned him with noise. As he moved on he found\nhimself impeded by something into which his feet were continually\nsettling, and which he judged to be loose sand. When he had gone far\nenough from the entrance to be free from the current of air which\nentered the cavern by it, he laid down the deer's flesh which he had\nbrought upon his back, took out his flint and tinder-box, and struck\nfire. Having properly disposed of the wood he had brought, and kindled\na flame, he raised himself to an upright posture to survey the cavern.\nWho shall describe the terror which filled the soul of Cayenguirago,\nstout and fearless as he was, when he found himself in the middle of\nan immense body of rattlesnakes, and perceived that it was among these\ndeadly animals, of which there was a thick layer upon the floor of the\ncave, that he had been for some time wallowing? Their eyes it was that\nlit up the cavern, and theirs were the hissing, and rattling, and\nslapping, which saluted his ears. Under his feet and upon every side\nof him, as far as the eye could reach, were heads upreared with little\nfiery tongues projecting from green jaws, and moving with a motion\nmore rapid than a flash of summer lightning. The heads about the\ncavern were thicker than the thievish ravens in a field of milky corn.\nThe moment that the light of the fire he had kindled enabled them to\nsee the intruder, all of them rushed towards him, though none\nattempted to inflict injury. The nearest approached within a step;\nthose behind climbed over the backs of the more advanced, until they\nlay piled up on every side, as high as the shoulders of a tall man.\nSurrounded, as Cayenguirago was, by the most venomous and dreadful of\nall the animals formed by the Great Spirit, he did not forget to keep\nhis fire burning, nor to draw out his pouch filled with good tobacco.\nHaving recovered his coolness and composure, and become a man again,\nhe filled his pipe with the beloved weed, and, lighting it, began to\nroll out clouds of smoke. Each time he puffed, he observed that the\nsnakes retreated further from him, until at length they were seen\ngliding into the darkness which enshrouded the further part of the\ncavern.\n\nWhile he lay thus warming himself at the fire, and emitting clouds of\nfragrant smoke, some one near him exclaimed, in a very sharp and\nshrill voice, \"Booh!\" Looking up, Cayenguirago beheld standing behind\nhim a very ugly creature, but whether man or beast, he found it at\nfirst difficult to determine. His skin was black as soot, and his hair\nwhite as snow. His eyes, which were very large, were of the colour of\nthe green far-eyes[A] with which the pale faces survey distant\nobjects, and stood out so far from the head that, had one of them been\nplaced in the middle of the forehead, a tear dropping from it would\nhave hit the tip of the nose. His teeth, which were very large, were\nwhite as snow; his ears, which were yellow, were smaller than the leaf\nof the black walnut, and shaped exactly like it. His legs were not\nshaped like those of a human being, but were two straight bones\nwithout flesh or joint, and both black and glossy as charred birch.\nBut what rendered him yet more horrible to look at was that snakes,\npoisonous rattlesnakes, were wreathing themselves around his legs,\nand body, and arms--leaping from him, and upon him, tying themselves\nin knots around his neck, and doing other feats of horrid agility.\nAfter surveying this uncouth being and his fearful companions for a\nfew moments in deep silence, Cayenguirago addressed him thus:--\n\n[Footnote A: _Far-eyes_, the name the Indians gave to spectacles.]\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\n\"Thy master.\"\n\n\"The Maqua is a man,\" replied the warrior fiercely; \"his knee was\nnever bowed--he acknowledges no master.\"\n\n\"Thou hast served me long and well, Cayenguirago--I am Abamocho, the\nSpirit of Evil, and this is my dwelling-place.\"\n\n\"Thou hast chosen a dark abode, and strange companions,\" replied the\nwarrior.\n\n\"They are not my companions, but my warriors, my braves, my\ntormentors,\" answered the Spirit of Evil. \"It is with these that I\ntorment bad people, as the Maquas use old women to torment the\nprisoners they take in battle. But fear not, Cayenguirago, thou hast\nbeen a faithful servant to me--I will not suffer my people to harm\nthee. Dost thou know that I design to bestow my daughter upon thee for\na wife?\"\n\n\"I did not know it?\" answered the Maqua.\n\n\"She shall be thine,\" said the Evil Spirit. \"But I warn thee that\nthere have been very many pleasanter companions than she will make\nthee, for she is excessively irritable and passionate. Withal she is\nso fond of admiration, that I have no doubt she would give chace to\nthe ugliest toad that ever devoured a worm, so she could captivate\nhim. She is a true woman.\"\n\n\"What will the father give the Maqua that marries her?\"\n\n\"Wampum, much wampum--\"\n\n\"I will take her.\"\n\n\"Many beaver-skins, and much bear's meat--\"\n\n\"Cayenguirago will make her his wife.\"\n\n\"Revenge against the Hurons who slew so many of his warriors in the\nlast Beaver-Moon. He shall drink their blood in plentiful draughts, he\nshall eat their children roasted in the fire, and feed his men upon\nbroth made of the flesh of their Braves[A].\"\n\n[Footnote A: These, as I before observed, are mere metaphors,\nsignifying a deep revenge.]\n\n\"She is mine!\"\n\n\"Dost thou know that she is a rattlesnake?\"\n\n\"I care not, so she bring me as her portion the rich presents and the\nsweet revenge thou hast spoken of. Shall the Maqua behold the maiden?\"\n\n\"He shall, but the father bids him remember one thing. When the\nmarriage has taken place, let not the husband forget to cut off his\nwife's tail. Upon his remembering this injunction his life depends. If\nhe forget it the bride will be a widow ere she is a wife.\"\n\nWith this the Spirit departed into the inner part of the cavern. He\nsoon returned, bringing with him a huge unwieldy rattlesnake. \"This,\"\nsaid he, as he came up to the Maqua, \"is the maiden I spoke of, and\nthe wife I have long destined for thee. She is rather fatter than need\nbe--she will eat the less, however. Take her, thou hast been a good\nservant, and I owe thee a reward. Cayenguirago!\"\n\nThe warrior answered, \"I hear.\"\n\n\"I warn thee once more that my daughter is very irritable and\npassionate, and withal so fond of admiration, that nothing in the\nshape of a leer comes amiss to her. She likes a good squeeze above all\nthings. Evil, and the Father of Evil though I be, I am not so very\nwicked as to wish thee to marry a woman of that description without\nthy knowing what kind of treasure thou wilt possess.\"\n\n\"But thou hast promised me revenge against the Hurons, who slew so\nmany of my warriors in the last Beaver-Moon: remember that.\" And the\nchief commenced his song, which ran thus:--\n\n I shall taste revenge;\n I shall dip my hands in purple gore;\n I shall wet my lips with the blood of the men,\n Who overcame my Braves;\n I shall tinge the lake so blue\n With the hue which it wore,\n When I stood, like a mouse in a wild cat's den,\n And saw the Hurons dig the graves\n Of my Maquas good and true!\n\n I shall build a fire\n Of hickory branches dry,\n And knots of the gum-exuding pine,\n And cedar leaves and cones,\n Dry stubble shall kindle the pyre.\n And there shall the Huron die--\n Flesh, and blood, and bones!\n But first shall he know the pain\n Of a red-hot stone on the ball of his eye,\n And a red-hot spear in the spine.\n And, if he murmur a grain,\n What shouts shall rend the sky,\n To see the coward Huron flinch,\n As the Maquas rend him inch by inch?\n\nThe Maqua, having finished his song of blood, turned around to his\nbride, and spoke to her kindly, telling her how happy they should\nlive, and many other things usually said in such cases, and proving\ntrue as often as larks fall from the skies. The Evil Spirit now spoke\nto Cayenguirago, bidding him follow him to an inner room in the\ncavern, and finish the marriage at once. He obeyed, leading his pursy\nbride by a string which he tied around her neck. The whole body of\nrattlesnakes followed the couple--hissing, and slapping, and rattling\ntheir tails, and running out their forked tongues; but, whether for\njoy or sorrow, Cayenguirago either cared nothing, or did not think it\nworth his while to enquire. At last they came to a small room, which\nwas lighted up by a great blue fire burning in the centre. This, the\nEvil Spirit said, was his daughter's chamber, and there they would\npass the night, upon which the maiden pretended to be much ashamed.\nThe couple now went through the Indian form of marriage, and the Maqua\nbecame the husband of the rattlesnake--daughter of the Evil Spirit,\nAbamocho.\n\nThey spent the evening very pleasantly together, and so well was\nCayenguirago entertained with the pleasant stories she told him, and\nher wit, and good humour, and the kisses she gave him, that he\nentirely forgot the advice of her father. So, after they had spent\nsome time in talk and fondling, the bride crept to her bed of leaves,\nand the husband followed.\n\nBy and by the Maqua said to his wife, \"Thy flesh is very cold--lie a\nlittle further off.\"\n\n\"My flesh is warm,\" answered the other; \"but thou hast drawn to thy\nside all the covering, and the spirit of cold is breathing harshly\nupon me from the distant cavern.\"\n\nUpon that they fell to disputing fiercely about love, and hatred, and\ncold, and many other things, which need not be mentioned here. Louder\nand louder rose their voices, and more violent grew the dispute, until\nthe wife, losing the very little patience she possessed, applied the\ndeadly sting, which dooms to instant death, to bring her husband to\nher side of the argument. A horrid shout told the creeping of the\nsubtle poison through his veins. Few were the moments that elapsed\nbefore he lay a stiffened, and swollen, and blackened, corpse.\n\nAnd thus perished the wicked Maqua, that married a rattlesnake and\nforgot to cut off her tail.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe rattlesnake figures very frequently in the Indian traditions. They\nsuppose it to be endued with more sagacity than any other animal,\nexcept the owl, and to be peculiarly their intercessor with the Evil\nSpirit. Their _Okki_, or \"Medicine-spirit,\" is more frequently the\nrattlesnake than any other animal--his teeth and rattles are\ninvariably ingredients of their medicine-bags. They have a tradition\nthat there was once a great _talk_, or council, held between the\nMohawks and the Rattlesnakes, and a \"firm peace established between\nthe two nations,\" which lasted till the coming of the Whites.\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n(1) _Pledge to follow a chief._--p. 153.\n\nAll those who enlist themselves on a war expedition give the chief a\nbit of bark with their mark upon it, and he who after that draws back\nis scarcely safe while he lives; at least he would be dishonoured for\never.\n\nOnce enlisted, to turn back is, in their opinion, a disgrace of so\ndeep die that they encounter death rather than submit to it. They\ncarry this chivalrous principle to an extent which finds no parallel\nin modern, and scarcely in ancient, history. Lewis and Clarke, in\ntheir Expedition up the Missouri, (vol. 1. p. 60, Philadelphia, 1814),\nspeak of an association among the Yanktons, \"of the most brave and\nactive young men, who are bound to each other by attachment, secured\nby a vow _never to retreat before any danger, or give way to their\nenemies_. When the Yanktons were crossing the Missouri on the ice, a\nhole lay immediately in their course, which might easily have been\navoided by going round. This, the foremost of the band disdained to\ndo, but went straight forward, and was lost. The others would have\nfollowed his example, but were forcibly prevented by the rest of the\ntribe. There were twenty-two of these warriors at one time, but in a\nbattle with the Kite Indians of the Black Mountains eighteen of them\nwere killed; the remaining four were dragged from the field of battle\nby their companions.\"\n\n(2) _Spot which the Great Spirit had forgotten to level._--p. 153.\n\nThe Indians believe that the earth was at first very loosely thrown\ntogether, and not intended as a place of permanent occupation for any\none. Their opinions respecting the roughness of the surface are\nvarious and amusing. I asked a Cherokee what occasioned the surface of\nthe earth to be so very uneven. After a momentary hesitation he\nreplied, \"It was done in a wrestling and boxing-match between the\nGreat Spirit and the Evil Spirit. While they were scuffling, the\nlatter, finding himself moved about easily, occasionally worked his\nfeet into the earth to enable him to stand longer. The valleys were\nthe holes his feet occupied, and the hills and mountains the sand\nthrown out.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRE SPIRIT.\n\n\nMy brothers know, said a Nansemond warrior, that our tribe have a\ncustom of burning over, every season, the great glade, or prairie,\nwhich lies beyond the hill, which the Great Spirit struck with his\nlightnings in the Hot-Moon. Yearly they see the flames devouring the\ndry and ripe grass, but they do not know what led to this custom;\nprobably they have never heard that it is done in consequence of a\nsolemn promise made by their fathers to the Spirit of Fire. Let them\nlisten, and I will tell them the story.\n\nOnce upon a time, as the Nansemonds were warring against the Eries,\nwho have their residence upon the shores of the lake of that name,\nthey were caught in a narrow valley, or ravine, which lay between two\nhigh hills. One of the outlets to this valley opened into the lake;\nthe other, that by which they had entered, had been occupied soon\nafter their entrance into it, and, for a while, without their\nknowledge, by a strong party of their enemies. It may well be asked,\nwhy a band of warriors, cunning, sagacious, and experienced, as the\nNansemonds were, should thus be caught like a foolish beaver in a\ntrap. I will tell the warriors--they were decoyed into this dangerous\nvalley by the roguish and wanton tricks of the Spirit of Fire.\n\nThis hasty and hot-tempered spirit, who is very good and kind when his\nmaster keeps him in due subjection, but who, when he escapes from his\ncontrol, never fails to do a great deal of mischief, to burn up the\nmaize, and frighten away the beasts which the Great Spirit has given\nto the Indians--or to destroy their food--sent Chepiasquit[A] to lead\nthe Nansemonds--foolish men! they supposed it was to a camping-ground,\nwhere cool shade and sweet water should be found--and decoy them into\na spot where they should fall an easy prey to their enemies. No\nthought had they of entering this dangerous valley. It was soon after\nthe coming of the darkness that they saw this treacherous ball in the\nopen space before them, and, believing it to be a lamp held out by a\nfriendly spirit to conduct them, as I said before, to a place of rest\nand safety, they followed it without hesitation, and were thus placed\ncompletely in the power of their enemies. But they were good\nwarriors--men tried and approved in many deadly conflicts, and such\nnever feel the touch of fear, or show concern, even when they see the\nfire lighted and the tortures prepared for them. So, when they found\nthemselves in the toils of their enemies, like a herd of buffaloes\nsurrounded by a band of mounted hunters, they coolly sat down to think\nof the means and reckon the chances of escape.\n\n[Footnote A: Jack-with-the-Lantern.--This is an appearance which\nimpresses the Indians with inconceivable terror. They generally\nretreat to a place of safety, if such can be had, on its first\nappearance.]\n\nWhile they sat talking, suddenly there appeared under the shade of a\ntree near them a man of singular shape and proportions. He was squat,\nand so very fat, that he looked like a skinned pig which has been\nreared in a plentiful season of nuts and mast. His face was far wider\nthan it was long, and the flesh and fat fell in great folds, upon his\nbody, legs, and arms, which were entirely naked, and of the colour of\na bright fire; his hair stood out every way, like flames kindled in a\nbrisk wind; and, when he opened his mouth, the breath which issued\nfrom it was felt scorching and searing at the distance of half a\nbowshot. His eyes, which were two coals of fire, emitted sparks like a\npiece of birch wood which has been steeped in bitter water[A]. The\nNansemonds were stricken with great terror at the sight of this\nhideous Spirit, and it was a long time before they ventured to address\nhim. When they had called up a sufficient stock of courage, they went\ntowards him, and the leader of the band spoke to him thus:\n\n[Footnote A: Salt water.]\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\n\"The Spirit of Fire,\" he answered.\n\n\"Where is thy dwelling place?\"\n\n\"I have my dwelling place in many and various places--in the caverns\nof the earth, and where-ever mortals dwell, there am I found.\"\n\n\"Why hast thou, Spirit, beguiled us into the toils of our enemies, the\nEries? Behold us entrapped, as a wolf is entrapped by a cunning\nhunter.\"\n\n\"Then shall I taste revenge!\" answered the Spirit, and broke into a\nhissing laugh. \"Does not the chief of the Nansemonds remember that,\nwhen I had with my breath kindled a fire in the time of a high wind,\nand was enjoying the glorious prospect of giving the dry prairie to\nthe devouring flame, the men of his nation assembled, and first\nrepelled, and finally extinguished, that flame. From that moment I\nhave sought revenge--I have found it--the bravest of the Nansemonds\nare enclosed like a partridge in a net, soon like that partridge to be\nfood for the spoiler.\"\n\n\"Though we then sinned against thee,\" answered the chief, \"yet have we\nnot at all other times been thy true worshippers? When thy fiery\nmeteors have been seen traversing the valleys, and shooting like stars\nover the prairies, we have bowed down our heads or retreated to our\ncabins till they had passed, and in both cases failed not to deprecate\nthe anger of Him whom we deemed their master. And yet, Spirit, thou\nhast delivered us into the toils of our fierce enemies, the Eries!\"\n\nWith the singular laugh, which was between a hiss and a roar, the\nSpirit replied by asking: \"How know ye that I have delivered you into\nthe toils of your fierce enemies, the Eries?\"\n\n\"What is the width of the valley into which thy treacherous eye hath\ndecoyed us?\" demanded the haughty Chief.\n\n\"Scarcely two bowshots,\" replied the Spirit.\n\n\"At its entrance, planted on both sides of the narrow pass, are Eries,\nwell provided with bows and arrows and spears, waiting as a cunning\ncayman waits in the sedge for the unsuspecting water-duck.\"\n\n\"There are indeed Eries waiting on both sides of the narrow pass, as a\ncayman waits for a water-duck.\"\n\n\"Then have you led the Nansemonds into a danger from which there are\nno means of escape?\"\n\n\"Is there not another end to the valley?\"\n\n\"There is, and what will it avail? As much as a bow and arrow in the\nhands of him whose eyes have departed, or a spear in the grasp of a\npalsied man. Upon each side of the valley, jut far into the lake hills\nwhose precipitous sides no one but a spirit can climb; and where are\nthe canoes which shall transport us to a place of safety?\"\n\n\"What will the Nansemonds give if the Spirit of Fire will release them\nfrom the dangers which encompass them?\"\n\n\"They will yearly kindle a fire in the time of a high wind, that their\ndeliverer may have the glorious prospect of seeing the dry prairie\nswept by the devouring flame.\"\n\n\"It is well! upon that condition I will save you.\"\n\nSo saying he arose, and, taking up from the pool in the middle of the\nvalley a handful of slime, he rounded it into a ball, the while\nbreathing upon it until it became of the colour of his face; when he\nhad done this, he placed it upon the great toe of his right foot, and,\ngiving it a kick into the air, and calling it by the name of\n\"_Chepiasquit_,\" commanded it \"to lead the good people, the\nNansemonds, to a place of safety.\" So saying, he turned to the\nwarriors and bade them follow their guide, who would soon conduct them\nout of difficulty; and he bade them not forget their promise to fire a\nprairie in the time of a high wind in honour of him who ruled over\nthat element. Having spoken these words, he began to fade from their\nview, as a fire goes out which is left unsupplied with fuel. First,\nthe sparks from his eyes disappeared--then his breath ceased to be hot\nand scorching, and his eyes red and glowing--and soon there was\nremaining but the indistinct resemblance of a being with the shape of\na man. A little while, and even that faint glimmering had ceased to\nbe.\n\nThe Nansemonds arose and followed with confidence the fiery ball down\nthe valley. After travelling in an open path for some time, they came\nall at once to the shore of the lake; they saw its little waves\ndashing upon the smooth sand, and the stars reflected in the bosom of\nthe clear waters. The fiery ball now changed its course along the\nshore. Following it, they came at the distance of three bowshots to a\nlittle bay, where they found a number of canoes well provided with\npaddles, and in each a calebash of good nesh-caminnick, and a piece of\nroasted deer's flesh. They entered these canoes, and committed\nthemselves to the lake. Again the Spirit-ball coaxed them on. Darkness\nnow hid the moon and stars, but it only rendered their guiding light\nmore visible. After following it till the dawn of day, they landed\nagain, and to their great joy found themselves at the foot of the well\nknown path, which led from the lake to their own country. The\nSpirit-ball had disappeared, but it had first placed them beyond the\nreach of danger. A few suns, and our fathers once more stood upon the\nbanks of their own pleasant river, the Nansemond, and listened to the\njoyous prattle of their children, and looked into the bright eyes of\ntheir fond wives.\n\nNor did they forget their promise to the Spirit. Yearly, in the time\nof a high wind, they kindled a fire in the dry prairie, that their\ndeliverer might enjoy the glorious prospect of seeing it swept by the\ndevouring flame. The warriors know that the custom is still preserved;\nthey know that every year, in the Corn-Moon, when the grass on the\nprairie is ripe and dry, the chief, or the priest, goes to the spot,\nand, placing a lighted coal in the grass, makes a bow to it,\npronouncing these words: \"Thank you, Spirit!\" when the grass\nimmediately blazes up, and the prairie becomes enveloped in flames.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF WOMEN.\n\n\nThere was a time, when, throughout the Island, neither on land nor in\nthe water, in field or forest, was there a woman to be found. Vain\nthings were plenty--there was the turkey, and the swan, and the blue\njay, and the wood-duck, and the wakon bird; and noisy, chattering,\nsinging creatures, such as the daw, and the thrush, and the rook, and\nthe prairie-dog, abounded--indeed there were more of each than was\npleasing to the ear--but of women, vain, noisy, laughing, chattering\nwomen, there were none. It was, indeed, quite a still world to what it\nis now. Whether it is better and happier, will depend much upon the\nopinion men entertain of those, who have changed its character from\ncalm and peaceable to boisterous and noisy. Some will think it is much\nimproved by the circumstance which deprived the Kickapoos of their\ntails--while others will greatly deplore its occurrence.\n\nAt the time of which I am telling my brother, the Kickapoos, and\nindeed all red men, wherever found--and at that time there were none\nbut red men in the world--were furnished with long tails like horses\nand buffaloes. It was very handy to have these appendages in a country\nwhere flies were numerous and troublesome, as they were in the land of\nthe Kickapoos--tails being much more sudden in their movements than\nhands, and more conveniently situated, as every body must see, for\nwhisking off the flies which light upon the back. Then they were very\nbeautiful things, these long tails, especially when handsomely painted\nand ornamented, as their owners used to ornament them, with beads, and\nshells, and wampum--and being intended as a natural decoration to the\ncreature, the depriving him of it may well have produced, as it did, a\ngreat deal of sport and merriment among the other animals, who were\nnot compelled to submit to the deprivation. The fox, who is rather\nimpudent, for a long time after they were chopped off, sent to the\nKickapoos every day to enquire \"how their tails were;\" and the bear\nshook his fat sides with laughter at the joke, which he thought a very\ngood one, of sending one of his cubs with a request for a \"dozen spare\ntails.\"\n\nI have said, that throughout the land there were no women. There were\nmen--a plenty, the land was thronged with them--not born, but created\nof clay--and left to bake in the sun till they received life--and\nthese men were very contented and happy. Wars were very few then, for\nno one need be told that half the wars which have arisen have grown\nout of quarrels on account of love of women, and the other half on\naccount of their maintenance. There was universal peace and harmony\nthroughout the land. The Kickapoos ate their deer's flesh with the\nPotowatomies, hunted the otter with the Osages, and the beaver with\nthe Hurons; and the fierce Iroquois, instead of waking the wild shout\nof war, went to the land of the Sauks and Ioways to buy wampum,\nwherewith to decorate their tails. Happy would it have been for the\nred men if they were still furnished with these appendages, and wanted\nthose which have been supplied in their place--women!\n\nBut the consequence which usually attends prosperity happened to the\nIndians. They became very proud and vain, and forgot their creator and\npreserver. They no more offered the fattest and choicest of their game\nupon the _memahoppa_, or altar-stone, nor evinced any gratitude, nor\nsung, nor danced in his praise, when he sent his rains to cleanse the\nearth and his lightnings to cool and purify the air. When their corn\ngrew ripe and tall, they imputed it to their own good conduct and\nmanagement; when their hunt was successful, to their own skill and\nperseverance. Reckoning not, as in times past, of the superintendence\nof the Great Spirit over all things, they banished him altogether from\ntheir proud and haughty hearts, teaching them to forget that there was\naught greater or more powerful than himself.\n\nThough slow to anger, and waiting long before he remembers the\nprovocations he has received, the Great Spirit, in the end, and when\nno atonement is made, always inflicts an adequate punishment for every\noffence. Seeing how wicked the Indians had become, he said to his\nManitous: \"It is time that the Kickapoos and other red men were\npunished. They laugh at my thunders, they make mock of my lightnings\nand hurricanes, they use my bounties without thanking me for them.\nWhen their corn grows ripe and tall, instead of imputing its\nluxuriance to my warm suns and reviving showers, they say, 'We have\nmanaged it well;' when their hunt is successful, they place it to\naccount of their own skill and perseverance. Reckoning not, as in\ntimes past, of my superintendence over all things, they have banished\nme altogether from their haughty hearts, and taught themselves to\nforget that there is aught greater and more powerful than the Indian.\"\n\nSo saying, he bade his chief Manitou repair to the dwelling-places of\nthe red men, and, to punish them for their wickedness, deprive them of\nthat which they most valued, and bestow upon them a scourge and\naffliction adequate to their offences. The Spirit obeyed his master,\nand descended to the earth, lighting down upon the lands occupied by\nthe Kickapoos. It was not long before he discovered what it was which\nthat people and the other Indians most valued. He saw, from the pains\nthey took in decorating their tails with gay paints, and beads, and\nshells, and wampum, that they prized them above every other\npossession. Calling together all the red men, he acquainted them with\nthe will of his master, and demanded the instant sacrifice of the\narticle upon which they set so much value. It is impossible to\ndescribe the sorrow and compunction which filled their bosoms, when\nthey found that the forfeit for their wickedness was to be that\nbeautiful and beloved appendage. But their prayers and entreaties, to\nbe spared the humiliation and sacrifice, were in vain. The Spirit was\ninexorable, and they were compelled to place their tails on the block\nand to behold them amputated.\n\nThe punishment being in part performed, the Spirit next bethought\nhimself of a gift which should prove to them \"a scourge and affliction\nadequate to their offences.\" It was to convert the tails thus lopped\noff into vain, noisy, chattering, laughing creatures, whose faces\nshould he like the sky in the Moon of Plants, and whose hearts should\nbe treacherous, fickle, and inconstant; yet, strange to relate, who\nshould be loved above all other things on the earth or in the skies.\nFor them should life often be hazarded--reputation, fame, and virtue,\noften forfeited--pain and ignominy incurred. They were to be as a\nburden placed on the shoulders of an already overloaded man; and yet,\na burden he would rather strive to carry than abandon. He further\nappointed that they should retain the frisky nature of the material\nfrom which they were made, and they have retained it to this day.\n\nThe Great Spirit, deeming that the trouble wherewith he had provided\nthe red man would not sufficiently vex and punish him, determined to\nadd another infliction, whose sting, though not so potent and irksome,\nshould be without any alleviation whatever. He sent great swarms of\nmusquitoes. Deprived of tails, by which flies could be brushed away at\nthe pleasure of the wearers, the Indians dragged out for a long time a\nmiserable existence. The musquitoes stung them, and their tails\nteased them. The little insects worried them continually, and their\nfrisky companions, the women, were any thing but a cup of composing\ndrink. At length the Great Spirit, seeing how the poor Indians were\nafflicted, mercifully withdrew the greater part of the musquitoes,\nleaving a few as a memorial of the pest which had formerly annoyed\nthem. The Kickapoos petitioned that the women should also be taken\naway from them, and their old appendages returned--but the Great\nSpirit answered, that women were a necessary evil, and must remain.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HILL OF FECUNDITY.\n\nA TRADITION OF THE MINNATAREES.\n\n\nAt the distance of a sun's journey from the creek, called in the\ntongue of the white people the Knife Creek--which divides the larger\nand smaller towns of the Minnatarees from each other by a valley not\nmuch above four bowshots across--there are two little hills, situate\nat a small distance from each other. These hills are famous,\nthroughout all the nations of the west, for the faculty they once\npossessed of imparting relief to such women as resorted to them for\nthe purpose of crying and lamenting for the circumstance of their\nhaving no children. It was there, that, if they were careful to say\nproper prayers, and to use the proper lamentations, the reproach of\nbarrenness was removed; and those, whose arms had never enfolded a\nbabe of their own, whose ears had never listened to the innocent\nprattle of children born of their own bodies, might enjoy that\ngreatest of human happinesses; might feel the exquisite pleasure\nwhich arises, when the little creatures press to their knees, or draw\nthe food of life from their bosoms.\n\nOnce upon a time, many years ago, there was among the Minnatarees a\nwoman, whose name was Namata-washta, or the Pretty Tree. It had been\nher misfortune to be married, when little more than a child, to a very\nproud and bad man; who soon came to use her with great cruelty and\ninjustice. She was a very strict and devout worshipper of the Great\nSpirit, and never failed, whether in the field or in the cabin, by\nnight or by day, to offer up prayers and a portion of every\nacquisition to the Being who bestowed it upon her. The Great Spirit\nsaw her goodness, and loved her. He made her corn to grow much larger\nthan that of any other woman in the village; and the produce of her\ngarden was always much earlier and better. But she was a barren woman,\nand thence resulted her misery. For seven weary seasons had she lived\nin the lodge of her husband; and while his seven other wives had each\nchildren at her knee, crying, \"My mother!\" there was none to address\nher by that tender name, and to lisp in childish tones its delight,\nwhen she returned from the labours of the field of maize--and to\nbestow its innocent caresses upon her after the separations which\nunavoidably take place in forest life. Thence arose the extreme\nharshness of her husband, and the continued sneers and gibes of the\nwives who had been blest with offspring. The good Namata-washta bore\ntheir ill usage for a long time without repining; but, at length, the\noft-repeated cruelties of her husband and the incessant insults of her\ncompanions became so painful, that she was wont to fly from them to\nthe solitude of the forest.\n\nOne evening, she wandered out from the cabin of her husband until she\ncame to the nearest of the two small hills, of which I have been\ntelling my brother. Upon this hill she seated herself, and was\noccupied in bewailing her fatal misfortune of barrenness, and in\npraying the Great Spirit to avert it, when some one whispered at her\nshoulder, \"Namata-washta!\"\n\nLooking up, she beheld a tall woman clothed in a long and flowing robe\nof white goat-skin; her mocassins were of a blood-red colour; her eyes\nwere black as the shell of the butter-nut; her hair, which was also\nblack, was dressed with gay flowers. After surveying the weeping\nNamata-washta for some time in silence, and with an appearance of much\ncompassion, she said to her in a gentle voice, \"Woman, why art thou\nweeping?\"\n\n\"I am weeping,\" replied the poor Indian woman, \"because I have borne\nmy husband no children!\"\n\n\"And therefore thou weepest, deluded and infatuated woman! Rather\nshouldst thou rejoice that thou hast not contributed to swell the\namount of human suffering. Happier far is she who has added nothing,\nin respect of children, to the sum of human misery, than she who has\nbecome a mother, to see her offspring perish in the strife of\nwarriors, or of hunger, or wretchedness, or wasting disease. That thou\nhast given birth to no heirs of misery should afford thee joy, rather\nthan sorrow, Namata-washta!\"\n\n\"But therefore I am held of little account, and of no value in the\nhouse of my husband. My place is usurped by those who have children;\nthe other wives of my husband demand and exercise the right to impose\nhard and disgraceful burdens upon me, because I am barren. My husband\nbeats me with blows, his wives assail me with taunts and\nreproaches--even the children of the village, as I pass them at their\nsports, cry out, 'A barren woman!' And thus do they incessantly worry\nme, till I am compelled to fly to the wilderness for rest and peace!\"\n\n\"Wouldst thou become the mother of children, Namata-washta?\"\n\n\"I would.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt have thy wish. Listen to my words. The hill upon which\nthou art sitting was once a beautiful woman, as its neighbour, the\nother and larger hill, was a man and a warrior. The woman, who is the\nhill upon which we now stand, was the first woman that ever lived, and\nthe first that ever became a mother. I will tell thee, Namata-washta,\nwho she was. When the Great Spirit determined to people the Island\nwith human beings, he bade them spring out of the earth, as maize and\nvegetables do at this day; and bade each take the quality and nature\nof the soil in which he germinated. The red man forced his head out of\na rich and hardy prairie surrounded by lofty trees; the white man took\nroot in a stony and crabbed hill: and both have retained their first\nnatures.\n\n\"The woman who became this hill sprung up in a deep and very fat soil,\nand thence became very fruitful--the most fruitful woman ever known.\nShe came out of the earth on the first day of the Moon of Buffaloes,\nand, ere it hung in the skies like a bended bow, she had a child at\nher breast. Every moon, she bestowed upon her husband a son or a\ndaughter, and these sons and daughters were all equally fertile with\ntheir mother. The Great Spirit, seeing that if mankind continued thus\nprolific, the Island would soon be overstocked with inhabitants,\ndetermined to take away from the pair the breath he had given them,\nand with it the power of unlimited procreation and fecundity imparted\nto their descendants. He changed them into these two hills. But, that\nthe faculty they possessed in so remarkable a degree might not be lost\nto the world, but might continue to be dispensed to those who wanted\nit, and should seek it in a proper manner, he said to the hill, which\nwas the fruitful woman: 'Whenever a barren woman approaches thee,\nlamenting in sincerity her hard fate, and duly supplicating mercy,\nthou shalt listen to her with pity and compassion. I endow thee with\npower to grant her prayers. Thou shalt bid her return to her village\nand repair to the couch of her husband. When twelve suns shall have\npassed, she shall return to thee soon after the dawning of day. Upon a\nnear approach to thee, she shall see a child, perhaps two children,\nvery light of foot, and whose height shall scarce exceed that of a\nsquirrel. She must approach them, but they will run from her, nor will\nher utmost speed enable her to overtake them. They will fly to thy\nprotection, nor must thou deny it--they must be received into thy\nbosom. The chill of their cold hiding place will destroy them, and\ntheir souls will enter into the womb of the suppliant woman, and she\nwill become a fruitful and honoured mother.'\n\n\"These were the words of the Great Spirit; and often has the power he\nimparted to that hill been felt to the taking away the reproach from\nthe barren women. Namata-washta, go thou, and do likewise. Follow the\ndirections I have given thee, and, if the having children will render\nthee happy, thou shalt be happy--if to be the mother of a more\nnumerous offspring than any wife in thy nation may make thee an\nhonoured woman, thou shalt be honoured.\"\n\nWith these words, the Spirit departed from before the eyes of\nNamata-washta, who never beheld her again. She returned to the cabin\nof her husband, obeyed the words of the stranger, and saw the results\ntake place which had been foretold. She became the mother of a more\nnumerous progeny than any woman of her nation, took the lead in the\nlodge of her husband, and was more beloved by him than any other of\nhis wives. She became as much honoured by the people as she had been\nbefore despised by them, and died with the reputation of having been\nthe greatest benefactress of the nation that had lived since the days\nof the two wise boys who discovered the upper world[A].\n\n[Footnote A: See the Tradition vol. i., p. 201.]\n\nThe faculty which this hill possessed of imparting fruitfulness was\nretained till the wickedness of the Minnatarees became so crying,\nthat the Great Spirit, deeming that there would be full enough of\nthese bad people, if left to their natural means of increase, withdrew\nit, and has never restored it.\n\n\n\n\nTALES OF A WHITE MAN'S GHOST.\n\nI. GARANGA.\n\n\nIf the feet of my brother from the distant land have ever carried him\nto the spot where the Oswegatchie joins with the river called by the\npeople of his nation the St. Lawrence, he must have seen a broken wall\nof stone, which that same people built very soon after they had taken\npossession of the High Rock, and made it the great village of the pale\nfaces. At that time the red men of the wilderness were not very well\ndisposed towards the strangers who had come among them, viewing them\nas they do wolves, and panthers, and catamounts, which are very much\nin the way of Indians, and therefore they put them out of it as soon\nas possible. At length, the great chief or governor at the City of the\nHigh Rock, finding that the men whom he left within the big walls he\nhad built on the Oswegatchie were every moment in danger of being\nmassacred by their fierce and warlike neighbours, the Iroquois,\nrecalled his soldiers to his wing from their perilous flight, and bade\nthem soar no more in that dangerous direction. So the high walls he\nhad thrown up to serve as a barrier against the forest warrior fell to\nthe earth, and were never rebuilt. The grass grew up over them, the\nwinds whistled among them, and many spirits, white and red, came and\ntook up their residence in the corners and recesses of the deserted\nhabitation.\n\nAmong the white spirits that sojourned in the ruined fort there was\none who was very kind to the Indians, and often held long talks with\nthem, though they never saw him. Often, when the sun had retired to\nhis place of rest beyond the western mountains--for he would only hold\nconversation when darkness covered the earth--the Indians would repair\nto the outside of the ruins, and, calling upon the \"Good Little\nFellow,\" he would come and entertain them, until the purple and grey\ntints of morning shone in the eastern sky, with tales of his own pale\nrace, and of that other, the red, as connected with them. The eager\nlisteners would be told of cabins in which the Great Spirit was\nworshipped, that were twice the flight of an arrow broad, and three\ntimes its flight in length, and so high as to be beyond the daring of\nthe bird of morning. And he taught them to wonder much, and laugh a\nlittle, by telling them that when men went to worship the Being in\nwhose honour and for whose worship the cabin was built, they dressed\nthemselves in their most gorgeous apparel, and put on long robes,\npainted to look like the gay birds of the forest, and emulating in the\nbrightness of their dyes the bow in the clouds after a shower of rain.\nWhen the Indians laughed at this, he told them that the Great Spirit,\nthe white people thought, never listened to those who were not well\ndressed, and \"looked smart.\" He said the white people were not like\nthe Indians; they only worshipped the Master of Life on the seventh\nday of the week and a few other days, whereas the Indians worshipped\nhim every day--which was much the best way, he thought. And he told\nthe Indians many other things, respecting the white people living over\nthe Great Salt Lake, some of which made them think they were very\nwise, and valiant, and prudent, but the most of what he said went to\nprove them great fools. And when he told them that the men weeded the\ncorn, while the women sat doing nothing, or \"galloping from cabin to\ncabin,\" the Indians, who had become so well acquainted with him that\nthey could speak with freedom, bade him return and tell his people how\nmuch better the Indians managed these things.\n\nOnce upon a time, as he sat repeating his tales to the wondering\nIndian visiters, he said to them: Did you ever hear about Garanga,\nthe beautiful bird that was taken from her perch in the cabin of the\nWhite Crane, the great warrior of the Iroquois, by a man of my nation?\n\nThe Indians all answered, No; and so they would have answered had they\nheard it twenty times, for he varied his stories every time he\nrepeated them, as the pale faces always do; so they were sure to have\na new story though it had an old name. Then I will tell it you, said\nhe, and he began as follows.\n\nThere came to this fort, while it was yet standing in all its pride, a\nyoung chief of my nation to be its governor. He was a mere youth to be\nentrusted with so high and responsible an office, but, though young in\nyears, he was old in understanding. He was also very beautiful to look\nupon, and his stature was of the tallest of the sons of the earth. The\nIndian maidens that visited the fort with their fathers and brothers\nbestowed much praise upon his fine and manly form, and their friends\nof the other sex did the same upon his courageous spirit, and his\nsuperiority in those exercises in which one must excel if he would\ncommand the esteem, and excite the awe, of the red men of the forest.\nThe men likened him for swiftness to the deer, and for agility to the\nmountain-cat, and for strength to the bear, and for courage to all\nthat is courageous; the women compared his skin to the water-lily, and\nhis eyes to the blue sky when it is bluest, and his hair to the silken\ntassels of ripened corn, and his step to the stag's, and his voice to\nthe song-sparrow's. Whatever is beautiful among the works of nature\nwas brought in by comparison, to express their admiration of the\ngraceful and gallant stranger.\n\nAmong the bright-eyed maidens who visited the fort, as they said, to\nbuy beads and gay toys, but in reality to gaze upon the noble chief,\nwas the beautiful Garanga, the daughter of one of the principal\nwarriors of the Iroquois. The first time she saw him her little bosom\nwas filled with the flames of love, but she never spoke of it to any\none. While the other maidens sat repeating the soft words he had\nwhispered in their ears, for he had the forked tongue which the white\nman always possesses, the mild and lovely daughter of the White Crane\nsaid nothing, but sighed. Her heart had been taken captive at first\nsight, by the handsome stranger--her little bosom was filled with love\nfor the noble warrior. Nor were the charms of the maiden unmarked by\nhim she loved. He had singled her out among all the dusky maidens, in\nsome degree for her beauty, but more for her softness and her modesty,\nand had asked himself what one among the women of his own clime was\nsuperior to her in all that would give delight to him who should make\nher his own. His heart answered, None. So, learning from the tell-tale\neyes of the beautiful maiden, that she was entirely willing to become\nthe bird of his bower, his companion, his wife, he asked her of her\nfather. The chief, proud to be connected with so distinguished a\nwarrior, gave her to him, without hesitation, and she became his wife.\n\nThey were married in the Harvest-Moon, and a great feast was given,\nwhich made glad the hearts of both white and red. There was a great\nfiring of cannon, and the fire-eater was given to the Indians, who\nbecame very drunk, and made the woods ring again with their boisterous\nmirth. Before the month in which the Indians harvest their maize had\ncome round again, there was a young bird of the sex of its father, in\nthe house of the governor. Ere the child had lived a moon, the father\nsaid to the mother, thoughtfully but kindly,\n\n\"Dost thou love thy husband?\"\n\n\"The Great Spirit only knows how much, and how deeply,\" answered the\nfond wife.\n\n\"Hast thou joy in the bright eyes, and smiling cheeks, and lovely\nlaugh, of our little son?\"\n\n\"I have exceeding joy in our son,\" answered the mother, pressing her\ninfant with a warm embrace to her bosom. \"When I look upon his young\nface, and his little laugh rings in mine ear, and when I mark the\nbright light of his eyes shining like stars upon me, my heart leaps\nlike a deer stricken to death by the shaft of the hunter. And often\nwhile thou art slumbering by my side, do I lie sleepless, my eyes\nfilled with tears, to think that he may die. And yet I have exceeding\njoy in our child.\"\n\n\"Does it not grieve thee to think that thou, and he, and I, may not\nmeet together in the land of souls?\"\n\n\"May not meet together in the land of souls? Why? Thou hast sent an\narrow to my heart, my husband. Why are the gates of death to separate\nthose who loved each other in life?\"\n\n\"Our gods are not the same, and the abodes of the souls of the white\nman and the red man are far apart.\"\n\n\"Why wilt thou not come to the land which holds the spirits of the\ndeparted of _my_ race? Thou art a lover of the chace, and often\npreferrest the pastime of hunting the deer, and the bear, and the\npanther, through the wild forest, to reposing in the arms of thy\nGaranga. In the land--_my_ land of souls--thou wilt enjoy thy\nfavourite pursuit. There thou canst course the stag through flowery\nmeads, and over grassy hills, and know nothing of the bitter obstacles\nwhich impede the path of an earth-borne hunter. There will be a\npleasant cabin built for us beside the placid river of that land--and\nupon the green banks, beneath the wide-spreading shade of the\nevergreen larch and cypress, shall our rest be appointed. Come to _my_\nheaven, my beloved husband!\"\n\n\"Garanga! my beautiful Garanga! mother of my son! it may not be!\"\nreplied the husband. \"The Christian's heaven is unlike the heaven of\nthe infidel, nor does he picture to himself such delights as thou and\nthy nation fancy are to be the portion of the brave warrior and\nskilful hunter--of all who do their duty faithfully, and according to\nthe best of their power.\"\n\n\"Then I will go with thee to thy heaven, for I will not be separated\nfrom thee!\" replied the fond wife. \"Teach me how I shall worship _thy_\nMaster, for alas, I know not his ways.\"\n\nSo the beautiful Garanga forsook the religion of her own nation; and\nhung round her neck the silver cross and rosary, which marked the\nbelief of her beloved husband. In vain did her father and his people\nsolicit her to quit her husband, and return to them, and to the belief\nin which she had been bred. Her favourite brother, Mecumeh, came, and\nbesought her, by all the motives of national pride and family vanity,\nto return to her people in this world, that she might not be severed\nfrom them in the land of souls. But the young Garanga, whom her\nhusband called Marguerite, after a woman of his own nation, was bound\nby a threefold cord--her love to her husband, to her son, and to her\nreligion. Finding that he could not succeed by persuasion, the cunning\nMecumeh had recourse to stratagem. The husband was in the habit of\ngoing down the river often, on fishing excursions, and, when he\nreturned, he would fire his signal gun--and his wife would hasten,\nwith her little son, to meet him on the shore, and to place the fond\nkiss of welcome on his cheek.\n\nOn one occasion he had been gone longer than usual, by the space of\nnear a moon. Garanga was filled with apprehensions, natural enough\nto one fondly loving, and at a time when imminent dangers and\nhair-breadth escapes were of every-day occurrence--when it was known\nthat the people of her nation, displeased with her husband for drawing\nher away from the faith of her fathers, were studying deep plans of\nrevenge. She had sat in the lofty tower which overlooked the greater\npart of the surrounding country, and watched for the returning canoe\ntill the last beam of day had faded away from the waters, and that its\ngreat star had ever been, could only be gathered from a bright beam\nthat lingered about the folds of the western clouds. The deepening\nshadows of twilight played tricks with her imagination, and she\nfrequently saw things, which, to her, appeared the object her heart\nsought, but which were mere creations of a fancy moving at the\nsuggestions of hope. Once she was startled by a water-fowl, which, as\nit skimmed along the surface of the water, imaged to her fancy the\nlight canoe impelled by her husband's vigorous arm. Again she heard\nthe leap of the heavy Muskalongi, and the splashing waters sounded to\nher like the first dash of the oar. That passed away, and\ndisappointment and tears followed. The little boy was beside her; he\nbore the same name as his father, and inherited the warlike\ndisposition and love of daring which distinguished him among his\ncompanions. Born and bred among men of war, he understood the use of\nthe bow and the musket; courage and hardihood seemed to be his\ninstinct, and danger his element, and battles, wounds, and the deeds\nof the valiant, were household words with him. He laughed at his\nmother's fears, but, in spite of the boy's ridicule, they\nstrengthened till apprehension seemed reality, and she shed tears of\nsorrow for the fancied death of her beloved husband.\n\nSuddenly the sound of the signal gun broke on the stillness of night.\nBoth mother and son sprang on their feet with a cry of joy, and were\npressing, hand in hand, towards the outer gate, when a sentinel or\nsoldier, appointed to keep it, stopped them to remind them that it was\nher husband's order, that no one should venture without the walls\nafter sunset. She, however, insisted on passing, and telling the\nsoldier that she would answer to her husband for his breach of orders,\nshe passed the outer barrier. Young Louis held up his bow and arrow\nbefore the sentinel, saying gaily, \"I am my mother's body guard, you\nknow.\" The sentinel saw the tears of the affectionate wife, gave way,\nand permitted her to pass.\n\nThe distance from the fort to the place where the commander of the\nwhite men usually moored his canoe was trifling and quickly passed.\nGaranga and her little son flew along the narrow path, and soon\nreached the shore. But, alas! instead of the face she loved, and the\nform she fondly expected to press to her throbbing bosom, she beheld\nthe fierce Mecumeh. At a little distance from him were his companions.\nEntreaties and remonstrance were alike in vain. On the part of\nGaranga resistance was not attempted, but it was made with all the\nspirit of a warrior by young Louis, who snatched a knife from the\ngirdle of one of the Indians, and attempted to plunge it into the\nbosom of Mecumeh, as he was roughly attempting to bind his wampum-belt\nover Garanga's mouth to deaden her screams. The uncle wrested the\nknife from him, and smiled proudly on him, as if he recognized in the\nbrave boy a scion from his own noble and warlike stock. \"You will be\nthe eagle of your tribe,\" said he, \"which none will deem strange since\nshe that gave you birth was a daughter of the most valiant chief that\nroams the wilds. The child of the panther will have the spirit of the\npanther, nor need the young bear be taught to climb trees, nor the\neaglet to fly.\"\n\nThe Indians had two canoes: Garanga was conveyed to one, Louis to the\nother; and both canoes were rowed into the Oswegatchie, and up the\nstream as fast as it was possible to impel them against the current of\nthe river.\n\nNot a word nor a cry escaped the boy: he seemed intent on some\npurpose; and, when the canoe approached near the shore, he drew from\nhis head his fox-skin cap, and threw it so skilfully that it lodged\nwhere he meant it should--on the branch of a tree which projected over\nthe water. There was a long white feather in the cap. The Indians had\nobserved the boy's movements; they held up their oars for a moment,\nand seemed to consult whether they should return and remove the cap,\nbut, after a moment, they again dashed their oars in the water, and\nproceeded forward. They continued rowing for a few miles, and then\nlanded, hid their canoes behind some trees on the river bank, and\nplunged into the woods with their prisoners. It was the intention of\nthe Indians to return to their canoes in the morning; and they had not\nproceeded far from the shore, when they kindled a fire, and prepared\nsome food, and offered a share of it to Garanga and Louis. The poor\nGaranga had no mind to eat, but Louis ate as heartily as if he had\nbeen within the walls of the fort. When the Indians had fed, they\nstretched themselves before the fire, but not till they had taken the\nprecaution to bind Garanga to a tree, and to compel Louis to lie down\nin the arms of the brother of his mother. Neither of the prisoners\nclosed their eyes that night. Louis kept his fixed on his mother. She\nsat upright beside an oak tree; the cord was fastened around her\nwaist, and bound around the tree, which had been blasted by lightning.\nThe bright moon poured its beams through the naked branches upon her\nface, convulsed with the agony of despair and fear. With one hand she\nheld to her lips the now loved symbol of the faith of her husband--the\ncrucifix; the other grasped another symbol--the rosary. The sight of\nhis beloved mother in such a situation stirred up daring thoughts in\nthe bosom of the heroic boy, but he lay powerless in the naked and\nbrawny arms of the brother of his mother. He tried to disengage\nhimself, but, at the slightest movement, Mecumeh, though still\nsleeping, seemed conscious, and strained him closer to him. At last\nthe strong sleep that, in the depth of the night, steeps the senses in\nutter forgetfulness, overpowered him--his arms relaxed their hold, and\ndropped lifeless beside him, and left Louis free.\n\nThe boy rose cautiously--looked for a moment on the Indians, and\nassured himself that they all slept profoundly. He then possessed\nhimself of Mecumeh's knife, which lay at his feet, and severed the\ncord which bound his mother to the tree. Neither of them spoke a\nword--but with the least possible sound they resumed the way by which\nthey had come from the shore--Louis with the confidence, and Garanga\nwith the faint hope, of reaching it before they were overtaken.\n\nIt may easily be imagined by those who hear it how often the poor\nmother, timid as a fawn, was startled by the evening breeze stirring\nthe leaves, or the flight of a bird from among the boughs of the\ntrees, but the boy bounded forward with all the courage of his\nrace(1), as if there were neither fear nor danger in the world.\n\n[_Illustration: Designed & Etched by W. H. Brooks, A. R. H. A._\n\nThe Boy rose cautiously from the Warrior's grasp.\n\n_page 204_.\n\n_London, Published by Colburn & Bentley, April 1830._]\n\nThey had nearly attained the margin of the river where Louis meant to\nlaunch one of the canoes, and drop down the current, when the Indian\nyell, resounding through the woods, struck on their ears. They were\nmissed, pursued, and escape was impossible. Garanga, her bosom filled\nwith overmastering fear, sunk to the ground. Nothing could check the\ncareer of Louis. \"On!--on, mother!\" he cried, \"to the shore!\" She\nrose, and instinctively followed her boy. The sound of pursuit came\nnearer and nearer. They reached the shore, and there beheld three\ncanoes coming swiftly up the river. Animated with hope, Louis screamed\nthe watchword of the garrison, and was answered by his father's voice.\n\nThe possibility of escape, and the certain approach of her husband,\ninfused new life into Garanga. \"Your father cannot see us,\" she said,\n\"as we stand here in the shade of the trees; hide yourself in that\nthicket, I will plunge into the water.\" Louis crouched under the\nbushes, and was completely hidden by an overhanging grape-vine, while\nhis mother advanced a few steps into the water where she could be\ndistinctly seen. A shout from the canoes apprised her that she was\nrecognised, and, at the same moment, the Indians, who had now reached\nthe shore, rent the air with their cries of rage and defiance. They\nstood for a moment as if deliberating what next to do; Mecumeh\nmaintained an undaunted and resolved air, but, with his followers, who\ndid not possess the courage of their race, the aspect of armed men,\nand a force of thrice their number, had the effect to paralyze their\nsouls. They fled. He looked after them, cried \"Shame!\" and then with a\ndesperate yell leaped into the water, and stood beside Garanga. The\ncanoes were now within a few yards--he put his knife to her\nbosom--\"The daughter of the White Crane,\" he said, \"should have died\nby the judgment of our warriors, but now by her brother's hand she\nmust perish:\" and he drew back his arm to give vigour to the fatal\nstroke, when an arrow from the bow of the brave boy pierced his\nbreast, and he fell insensible at his sister's side. A moment after\nGaranga was in the arms of her husband, and Louis, with his bow\nunstrung, bounded from the shore, and was received in his father's\ncanoe; and the wild shores rung with the acclamations of the soldiers,\nwhile his father's tears were poured like rain upon his cheek.\n\nNor did the fierce Mecumeh die. He was conveyed to the fort, his wound\nwas healed, and he lived to be reckoned among the aged men of his\nnation. The affectionate Garanga prevailed upon him to embrace the\nreligion which had become her own, so that they who lived happily\ntogether in this life were not separated by the hand of death, but\nrepaired to the heaven of white men together.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n(1) _Courage of his race._--p. 205.\n\nThe North American Indian knows nothing of fear, he is perfectly\ninsensible to danger. I am not now referring to the wonderful\nfortitude he displays while his enemies are exercising their cunning\nand dexterity in devising, and carrying into effect, torments which\nbaffle description, but to the quality which is denominated courage\namong civilised nations. Tecumseh was one of the bravest men that ever\nlived, so was the celebrated Mackintosh. They must, however, be\nallowed to display their valour in their own peculiar manner. I shall\nfurther illustrate their remarkable and peculiar use of this quality\nby referring to some well attested instances of almost superhuman\ndaring. The first is of a young Andirondack or Algonquin chief named\nPiskaret. The story will further illustrate the mode of warfare used\nin these bloody expeditions.\n\n\"Piskaret set out for the country of the Five Nations, about the time\nthe snow began to melt, with the precaution of putting the hinder part\nof his snow-shoes forward, that if any should happen upon his\nfootsteps, they might think he was gone the contrary way; and, for\nfurther security, went along the ridges and high grounds, where the\nsnow was melted, that his track might be often lost; when he came near\none of the villages of the Five Nations, he hid himself till night,\nand then entered a cabin, while every body was fast asleep, murdered\nthe whole family, and carried their scalps into his lurking-place. The\nnext day, the people of the village searched for the murderer in vain.\nThe following night he murdered all he found in another cabin. The\ninhabitants next day searched likewise in vain for the murderer; but\nthe third night a watch was kept in every house. Piskaret, in the\nnight, bundled up the scalps he had taken the two former nights, to\ncarry, as the proof of his victory, and then stole privately from\nhouse to house, till at last he found an Indian nodding, who was upon\nthe watch in one of the houses; he knocked this man on the head: but,\nas this alarmed the rest, he was forced immediately to fly. He was,\nhowever, under no great concern from the pursuit, being more swift of\nfoot than any Indian then living. He let his pursuers come near him\nfrom time to time, and then would dart from them. This he did with\ndesign to tire them out with the hopes of overtaking him. As it began\nto grow dark, he hid himself, and his pursuers stopped to rest. They,\nnot being apprehensive of any danger from a single man, soon fell\nasleep, and the bold Piskaret observing this, knocked them all on the\nhead, and carried away their scalps with the rest.\"--_Colden's History\nof the Five Nations, Lond._ 1747, p. 26.\n\nAnother instance which I shall relate of courage and intrepidity will\nat the same time show the abolition of a bloody rite said to have been\npeculiar to the Pawnee Loups, of making propitiatory sacrifices to\nVenus, or the Great Star.\n\n\"An Ietan woman, who was brought captive into the village, was doomed\nto the Great Star, by the warrior, whose property she had become by\nthe fate of war. She underwent the usual preparations, and, on the\nappointed day, was led to the cross, amidst a great concourse of\npeople, as eager, perhaps, as their civilized fellow-men, to witness\nthe horrors of an execution. The victim was bound to the cross with\nthongs of skin, and the usual ceremonies being performed, her dread of\na more terrible death was about to be terminated by the tomahawk and\nthe arrow. At this critical juncture, Petalesharoo (son of the Knife\nChief), stepped forward into the area, and, in an hurried but firm\nmanner, declared that it was his father's wish to abolish this\nsacrifice; that, for himself, he had presented himself before them,\nfor the purpose of laying down his life upon the spot, or of releasing\nthe victim. He then cut the cords which bound her to the cross,\ncarried her swiftly through the crowd to a horse, which he presented\nto her, and having mounted another himself, he conveyed her beyond the\nreach of immediate pursuit; when, after having supplied her with food,\nand admonishing her to make the best of her way to her own nation,\nwhich was at the distance of at least four hundred miles, he was\nconstrained to return to his village. The emancipated Ietan had,\nhowever, the good fortune, on her journey of the subsequent day, to\nmeet with a war-party of her own people, by whom she was conveyed to\nher family in safety.\n\n\"Another display of the firmness and determination of the young\nwarrior was required to abolish this sacrifice, it is to be hoped for\never. The succeeding spring, a warrior, who had captured a fine\nSpanish boy, vowed to sacrifice him to the Great Star, and accordingly\nplaced him under the care of the magi for that purpose.\n\n\"The Knife Chief, learning the determination of the warrior, consulted\nwith his son, respecting the best means of preventing a repetition of\nthe horrible ceremony. 'I will rescue the boy,' said Petalesharoo, 'as\na warrior should, by force;' but the Knife Chief, unwilling that his\nson should again expose himself to a danger so imminent as that which\nhe had once encountered in this cause, hoped to compel the warrior to\nexchange his victim for a large quantity of merchandize, which he\nwould endeavour to obtain with that view. For this purpose, he\nrepaired to Mr. Pappan, who happened to be in the village for the\npurposes of trade, and communicated to him his intentions. Mr. Pappan\ngenerously contributed a considerable quantity of merchandize, and\nmuch was added by himself, by Petalesharoo, and other Indians.\n\n\"All this treasure was laid in a heap together, in the lodge of the\nKnife Chief, who thereupon summoned the warrior before him. The chief\narmed himself with his war-club, and explained the object of his call,\ncommanding the warrior to accept the merchandize, and yield up the\nboy, or prepare for instant death. The warrior refused, and the chief\nwaved his club in the air towards the warrior. 'Strike!' said\nPetalesharoo, who stood near to support his father; 'I will meet the\nvengeance of his friends.' But the more prudent and politic chief\nadded a few more articles to the mass of merchandize, in order to give\nthe warrior another opportunity of acquiescing without forfeiting his\nword.\n\n\"This expedient succeeded; the goods were reluctantly accepted, and\nthe boy was liberated.\"--_James's Account of an Expedition to the\nRocky Mountains_, ii, 81.\n\n\nII. THE WARNING OF TEKARRAH.\n\nIt was at early nightfall, on a warm and beautiful day, in the month\nwhich the white man calls June, but which the red man calls the Hot\nMoon, that a little fleet, consisting of three small bateaux, fitted\nout at Montreal, and conveying a body of pale-faced warriors, under\nthe command of one whose hair was white and whose face was seamed with\nscars, entered the mouth of the Oswego[A]. This petty armament was\njoined at the beginning of the following season of sleep by a great\nnumber of canoes that contained the traders, artizans, and labourers,\nwith their families, together with such tools and utensils as had been\ndeemed necessary for the commencement of a new settlement, which it\nwas the design of the chief of the strangers to establish on the south\nside of Lake Ontario. They brought with them, besides a great quantity\nof provisions, the usual articles wherewith to traffic with the\npossessors of the soil. The Oswego--as my red brothers know--is\nprincipally formed by the confluence of the outlets of those numerous\nlesser lakes that diversify and adorn the vast space of country that\nlies between the Great Ocean and the Lake of Storms[B]. Its course is\nnorthward, and, after whirling and foaming along the narrow and\nobstructed channel that nature seems to have grudgingly lent for its\npassage, it finds repose in the small harbour bearing its name, which\nmingles its contributions with the placid but mighty waters of the\nwest.\n\n[Footnote A: Rapid river.]\n\n[Footnote B: Lake Superior.]\n\nOn the eastern part of this harbour, and on a site sufficiently\nelevated to command its entrance, this party of daring adventurers\nbegan to construct a defence against the attacks of your race. Before\nthe frosts of winter had robbed the surrounding forest of its foliage,\nor compelled the wild-duck to seek a retreat in the secluded waters of\nthe warm south, or the deer had gathered to their couch of leaves in\nthe thicket, a rude but effectual barrier to hostile attack was raised\nand completed. The intervening summer had been passed by the artisans\nand labourers, not only in the building of the fortress, but in the\nerection of such cabins and lodging-places for warriors within its\nenclosure, as were deemed requisite for the protection of its inmates\nfrom the piercing winds, and cold rains, and chilling frosts, of\nwinter. In the mean time the traders had been diligently and\nsuccessfully employed in exchanging their beads and trinkets, their\nknives, blankets, and strong waters, with the men of the adjacent\nwoods, for fish and venison to supply the immediate wants of the\nwarriors, and furs and skins to send to the land of their birth. The\nIndians, with whom this intercourse and barter was carried on, were of\nthe tribe of the Onandagas. They inhabited a valley as fair as the sun\never shone upon. From a point in the interior--distant more than a\nsun's journey to the south, this capacious valley opens and widens as\nit advances northwardly--presenting, in its general outline, an\nimmense space, with three sides, the base of which, for the distance\nof half a sun's travel, is washed by the waters of the beautiful\nOntario. As it recedes from the lake, its surface rises gradually to\nthe point or tip, whence, did the strength of vision and the shape of\nthe earth permit, the eye might command a complete survey of the\nvalley, and of the inland ocean that spreads before it. On either\nside, it is bounded by steep and high hills that verge towards each\nother as they stretch to the south, and whose elevation increases,\nuntil they are lost among a range of lofty mountains, at the\ntermination of the valley.\n\nAt this precise point, there gushes forth, from beneath a huge and\nprecipitous rock, a large spring of pure and clear water, cool and\nrefreshing as the dark forest through which it glides, and which,\nafter a sinuous course along the centre of the dell, receiving as it\nflows the contributions of numerous lesser springs and streams,\ncommunicates its waters to the foaming current of the Oswego. Whether\nthis singular but beautiful region now presents the form in which it\nwas first fashioned by the Master of Life, or has since received the\nshape and appearance it bears from the disruption of some mighty mass\nof waters, from frightful earthquakes, or some other great convulsion\nof nature--neither I nor my red brothers can say. Yet does it appear\nplain that no convulsive heavings of an earthquake could have left its\noutline or its surface so smooth or regular. No bursting of waters\nfrom the top of a mountain (a mountain too, having no capacious bosom\nfor its reception) could have borne away such an immense body of earth\nas must have been scooped out from between the high and wide-spreading\nhills.\n\nBut, if this region was singular in its formation, it was not less so\nin the character and manners of the tribe by which it was peopled.\nThey claimed direct descent from the Great Spirit--the Creator of the\nworld. Regarding themselves as his offspring, they deemed themselves\nthe especial objects of his fatherly care. Deeply possessed with a\nsense of this superhuman relation, it will not be matter of surprise\nto my brothers that they should refer to it all the more important\nevents of their lives, and that it should impart its influence even to\nthe minuter circumstances of their daily intercourse both with\nstrangers and with each other. From their belief of their relationship\nto the Good Spirit, they were a good people. Hence they were,\naccording to their crude notions of religion, strictly a religious\npeople; and, although they worshipped the supposed founder of their\nrace, rather with the qualified adoration that one pays to a good\nfather watching over, and guiding from his dwelling among the stars,\nthe destinies of his earthly children; and, although they were\ninsensible to the deep and humble devotion, and piety, which belong to\nthe worshippers of the same Being in the land of the pale-faces; yet\nwas their superstition free from much of the grossness in which the\nidolatry of the people of the wilderness is usually buried. Their\nidols and images were indeed numerous and of rude workmanship, but,\nlike the images before whom kneel no small portion of the people of\nthe land which was mine, they were professed to be worshipped only as\nthe visible representations of invisible spirits. Human sacrifices\nwere not known among them--for they rightly held that the Great Spirit\nwas a kind and affectionate _Father_, and could not delight in the\nshedding of the blood of his children, or seeing them sacrificed on\nhis peaceful altars. They had numerous fasts and feasts, but they were\naccompanied by no cruel rites. Those who presided over the religious\nceremonies and observances of this simple people, united, as is usual\namong most, if not all unenlightened nations, the character and office\nof priest and prophet--of expounders of visions and dreams--and had\nthe ordering of fasts in the acceptable manner, and at the proper\ntime. They were few in number, and universally revered, beloved, and\nfeared. Their influence and authority were felt in every cabin in the\nnation. No restraint being imposed upon them, as it is upon the\npriests in the City of the Rock, they had no inclination to impose any\nunnatural restraint upon others. Assailed by no external temptations\nto indulgence themselves, their prohibitions were limited to the very\nfew gratifications that are inconsistent with the habits of Indian\nlife. Avarice was a passion of which neither they nor their tribe had,\nas yet, felt the influence. All things were in common; and individual\nappropriation of property was unknown. The \"strong waters\" of the\nwhite man, the fire which hath eaten into the bowels of the race of\nthe red man, had not yet diffused their poison, and drunkenness was a\nvice of which these people did not understand the meaning. A moral\ninfluence over the minds of their tribe was the only distinction to\nwhich the priests of Onondaga had aspired. This influence they sought\nto attain, not by inflicting penance upon the people, but by\npretending to immediate intercourse and communication with the Great\nSpirit. Reverencing that Spirit, these good sons of the forest could\nnot forbear to respect the channels through which his wise and\nbenevolent communications were made.\n\nNot only did these priests of the Manitou direct the devotions of the\npeople, and convey to them the responses of the same mighty Being in\ntimes of peril, but won their love and confidence by professing to\nheal their maladies. Identified with them in their ordinary pursuits,\nthey were, on common occasions, distinguished from them in exterior\ndecoration only by a bone which they wore on the left arm, like a\nbracelet, just above the wrist, and by the method of arranging their\nhair. On their bracelets were carved, in rude outline, the\nrepresentations of certain beasts; and on that of the eldest of the\nprophets were other cabalistic inscriptions, of which none but the\nwearers themselves could penetrate the meaning. Their hair, instead of\nhanging loosely over their foreheads and shoulders, as was usual with\ntheir tribe, in common with the other red men of the forest, was\ncollected into a roll at the top of the head, and tied round with a\nstring of red wampum, its extremities being suffered to fall on either\nside, as nature or accident might dispose it. When they would\nintercede with the Great Spirit, or know his will by divination, they\nassumed other dresses; the skins of bears or buffaloes, or mantles\ncuriously woven of feathers. They usually dwelt together on a sort of\nconsecrated ground, set apart for their special accommodation, and\nwhich was as unlike the rest of the valley, as the valley itself was\nunlike the ordinary conformation of the earth. The allotted ground, or\nspace set apart for their use, was called _The Prophets' Plain_, and\nwas situated on a projecting declivity of the western side of this\nbeautiful glen, whose banks, although they presented, as they opened\nand widened to the north, a regular outline, were, nevertheless,\nvaried in their actual surface by occasional deviations and\nsinuosities, arising as well from the unexplainable curvatures of its\noriginal structure, as from the narrow, deep ravines, that had been\nworn by the autumn floods and perennial streamlets from the adjacent\nhills. In like manner the surface of the bed of the valley was subject\nto frequent inequalities, produced, perhaps, by the nature of the soil\non which it rested. It was formed of a soft stone and a hard stone.\nWhere the latter prevailed, the surface was usually more elevated and\nundulating than where the former was found; and of that description\nwas the spot appropriated to the prophets of Onondaga. It was situated\nabout half a day's journey up the valley from the lake, and was\nsufficiently elevated above the circumjacent level to command a view\nof the broad bosom of the Ontario over the tops of the forest. Along\nits outer extremity glided the beautiful stream of the glen. Upon one\nside of the plain, where it was united to the hills, were the cabins\nof the prophets.\n\nThe whole range of the valley, including its bed, and steep lofty\nsides, was overspread with a dark and umbrageous forest. With this\ncircumstance, the few scattered patches appropriated to the\ncultivation of maize, and \"the openings,\" as they are denominated in\nthe western world, present a problem of no very easy solution. They\nare unique in the vegetable kingdom, being midway between the\nnakedness of a prairie and the thick gloom of a wilderness. The few\nscattered trees that grow upon them are uniformly oak. They are\nseparated from each other at unequal distances, but are rarely less\nthan sixty yards apart. They do not shoot up to a lofty height, and\ndestitute of branches like the tenants of the thick woods, but bow\ntheir heads, and spread their arms, as if conscious of their\ndependence upon the precarious charity of a long-cultivated country.\nBeneath them grows a coarse thin grass; but they are never encumbered\nwith the shrubs and underwood that usually form very serious obstacles\nin the way of the forest traveller. The Prophets' Plain was the only\nexception. Along the junction of the plain with the western hill, its\nmargin was thickly set with stunted pines, hemlocks, cedars, and,\nbeneath, tangled briars. No one ventured to penetrate these sacred\nrecesses, for there were extended, near the inner border, the few\nscattered wigwams of the prophets. Such was the character and\ndescription of the plain where the religious ceremonies of the\nOnondagas were performed, and where their council fires were lighted.\n\nIn the interval of eighteen seasons, that had rolled away since the\nerection of the fortress at Oswego, the character of the red men of\nthe valley had undergone a great and disastrous change.\n\nFrom the most peaceable, inoffensive, and happy, of all the sons of\nthe forest, they had become the most dissolute, quarrelsome, and\ndrunken. They were constantly seen about the villages of the whites\nbegging, bartering every thing they possessed, and performing every\ndrudgery, however servile or degrading, for the strong waters of the\npale-face. The free and lofty spirit that once animated the nation was\ngone; a spirit which, though it had not been often aroused to action,\nwas yet susceptible of the highest efforts of Indian heroism. Their\nencounters with the neighbouring tribes had not been frequent, yet,\nwhen they did take place, the Onondagas had displayed a spirit of\nintrepid daring, of craft, of patience, and of hardihood in suffering,\nthat had seldom been surpassed among the nations of the forest. But\nnow the spirit of the tribe was broken, and they were no longer\nnumbered among the fierce resenters of wrong. The Oneidas trespassed\nupon their hunting-grounds and slaughtered their people, yet their\nwarriors were too debased and abject to avenge the insult, or wipe\naway the memory of their wrongs with blood. They were, evidently,\nhastening to ruin. Their numbers were rapidly diminishing, as well\nfrom the usual effects of intoxication as from the exposures and\naccidents to which they were subjected from its influence; and, more\nthan all, from the constant quarrels and murders which daily took\nplace among them. In a few more years, if the course they then pursued\nhad been continued, the whole tribe must have become utterly extinct;\ntheir name existing but in the recollection of the story-teller, and\nthe green turf alone marking the lands they once inhabited. It\nfortunately happened, however, at the period alluded to, that the\nprophets, together with a few of the elder chiefs, who had stood aloof\nfrom the contaminating influence of the white men, were enabled to\narouse the almost extinguished energy of the people, so far as to\nassemble them round a council-fire, that was lighted at early dawn one\nfrosty morning, in the Moon of Falling Leaves, on the Prophets' Plain.\nThe whole tribe was called together. A solemn gravity, even beyond the\nordinary measure of Indian deliberation, sat upon the countenance of\neach chief and prophet, indicating that matters of high importance\nwere impending. These sat in a circle around the great fire, their\neyes cast upon the earth, and all silent as a grove of oaks in a calm\nmorning. Without the circle of chiefs and prophets stood promiscuously\ngrouped the remainder of the tribe--men, women, and children--all\ndiscovering more than common anxiety to learn the reason of the\nextraordinary call.\n\nBut let me not anticipate the circumstances that attended, nor the\nevents that followed, the _Warning_ of Tekarrah[A], as recited by\nWonnehush, chief of the Onondagas.\n\n[Footnote A: Tekarrah, i.e. [Greek: angelos], messenger, of the Great\nSpirit.]\n\nFrom a remote corner of the camp, this aged man intimated an intention\nto speak. A deep silence pervaded the whole crowd, and every eye was\nfixed upon him. After a short pause, he slowly rose, and cast an\nanxious eye around the room in which the fire was lighted. But his\neye, although it retained proof of its former power and lustre, had\nnow become dim with age. His furrowed brow, his whitened locks, and\nbended form, once as straight as the arrow that sped from his youthful\nbow, evinced the ravages which time had made on his noble form. Yet\nhis voice was still strong and clear. At length, adjusting the folds\nof his blanket, he stretched forth his withered arm, and, with the\ndignity of one from the Land of Souls, and with all the eloquence of\nhis race, thus addressed the wandering inmates of the camp:--\n\nBrothers, shall Wonnehush tell you a lie? No! Let the white man, whose\nheart is the heart of a fawn, and whose ways are the ways of the\nserpent, let him speak with a forked tongue. It is for him that lives\nin great towns, and buys his bread by selling strong waters, to poison\nthe red men--it is for him to deal in lies. The red man hunts the\nbuffalo, and traps the beaver in the woods that were given him by the\nGreat Spirit. He crosses the big mountain, and enters the deep valleys\nbeyond it, and no man dares to stop his path. He has a great heart,\nand scorns to tell a lie. Hear, then, the words of Wonnehush!\n\nBrothers, I am an oak of the forest. The snows of a hundred winters\nhave fallen on my branches. Once the tree was covered with green\nleaves, but they have dropped at my side, and the sap, which once made\nthe tree strong and flourishing, has left the trunk, and the moisture\nhas decayed from my roots.\n\nBrothers, I am an aged, a very aged man. I can no longer bend the bow\nof my youth, and my tomahawk falls short of its death-mark. But my\nears have been open, and my tongue can repeat to you the traditions of\nthe valley. Listen to the chief of Onondaga, and believe the words he\nwill tell you, for he never spoke other than the truth. He never in\nyouth had a forked tongue, or a faint heart, and why should he bear\nthem now?\n\nBrothers, the flowers of the prairie have blossomed and faded, and the\nleaves of the forest budded and withered, more than fifty times since\nthe canoes of the white men entered the mouth of the Rapid River. My\ntribe was then spread from the lake to the mountain, and the smoke of\ntheir cabins curled over the tops of the hemlocks, from Skeneateles to\nOneida. The Great Spirit was their kind father. He looked into their\nwigwams, and saw they were happy. They hunted the fat bear, the\nstately moose, and the delicious deer, through wide forests, and\nspeared the juicy fish of many waters. Their hearts were very stout,\nand their arms were very long. In war, who were so brave as the\nOnondagas?--The scalps of their enemies were strung as thick upon\ntheir belt-girdles as the stars in the path of the Master of Life.\nTheir wives were good and affectionate, their sons strong and brave,\nand their daughters sweet-tempered and beautiful. They were happy, for\nthey were virtuous, and favoured by the Great Spirit, for they did all\nthey could to deserve his love.\n\nBrothers, the white man came over the Great Lake, and settled down\nupon all the best spots of the land, as the wild-duck lights upon the\nlake which contains his favourite food. Soon his brothers joined him,\nand, to protect their coward hearts from the red men, they built a\nfort at Oswego. To that vile spot they enticed our young men, and our\nwomen, to bring them the spoils of the water and the land--the fish,\nvenison, and skins--and gave them wampum and the fire-eater in\nexchange. When they had swallowed the strong waters of the pale-faces,\nthey became as beasts, and fell about the earth like trees shivered by\nlightnings, or prostrated by the tempest. When they arose from the\nearth, it was to quarrel with each other. The ground was wet, and the\nwaters red, with the blood of Onandagas slain by the hands of their\nbrothers. They sought the deer, and the bear, and the moose, and the\nwolf, no more, or, if they sought, their hands were so enfeebled by\nthe strong waters that the quest was fruitless, and the maize which\nwas planted was suffered to be choked with weeds. Instead of the noble\npastimes of war and the chace, they loitered around the cabins of the\nwhite men; and, instead of the tongue which had been given them by\ntheir father, the Great Spirit, and with which they had spoken for\nmany, many ages, they learned the tongue of the stranger. The words\nand wise sayings of the prophets had no longer a charm for them, and\nthe traditions which once flowed from their lips to patient, and\npleased, and attentive, hearers, were neglected for the lying tales of\nthe stranger. The knees of the once swift runner shook like a reed in\nthe wind. The heart of the once fearless warrior had become softer\nthan woman's. The blood of his enemies no more reddened his tomahawk;\nhis shout of onset was heard no more among the hills of the Iroquois.\nHe became a prey to the cunning hatred of the strangers, whose anger\nwas kindled against him because he was the son of the Great Spirit.\nAnd they mixed the poisonous juices of herbs with the strong waters\nthey gave him, that his death might be sure. Is it strange that our\npeople have disappeared from the plain, as the dew in the morning or\nthe snows of the Planting-Moon before the beams of the noontide sun?\n\nBrothers, more than thirty years have passed since a council-fire was\nkindled on the Prophets' Plain, in the Moon of Early Frost. It was a\ngreat fire, for there were assembled all the people of the valley. In\nthe middle of the assembly stood the priests, next the chiefs and\nwarriors of Wonnehush, and without them the aged men and women, and\nthe children, and the wives of the warriors. Then the priests began\nthe dance and the howl, wherewith they commence their invocations to\nthe Great Spirit. Suddenly there appeared in the midst of the people a\nstranger who was a head taller than the tallest man of the nation. His\nform was noble and majestic beyond any thing ever seen by our people.\nHis eye had the brightness of the sunbeam, and his manner was\ngraceful as the waving of a field of corn. Upon the border of his\nmantle were strange figures; and his belt of wampum glittered like the\ngirdle of the heavens. He was one upon whom no Onondaga eye had ever\nbefore looked--a stranger in the valley--perhaps a warrior sent hither\nby one of the fierce tribes of the land to insult, by some reproach,\nfor their effeminacy and weakness, the terror and sin-stricken\nOnondagas.\n\nAt length he rose to speak, and every sound was hushed, not only in\nthe Indian camp, but in surrounding nature. Not a bird chirped; not a\nleaf was heard to rustle among the trees of the plain; the beasts of\nthe forests were still; the busy bee desisted from its hum; even the\nwinds were hushed and silent while the stranger delivered his solemn\nwarning.\n\n\"I am,\" said he, \"Tekarrah, the messenger of the Great Spirit.\nOnondagas, listen to my words! I am come from your father, that same\nSpirit, to speak the words of truth in your ears, and to tell you that\nhe is exceedingly angry with you. You have exchanged your broad and\nrich lands for useless toys; you have taken the maize and the meat\nfrom the mouths of your starving children, to purchase from the\nstrangers the strong waters which have made your warriors as timid as\nthe deer you once hunted through the forests. You have thrown away\nthe tongue which was given you by your Great Father, and have taken\nthat of your destroyers. You have forgotten the deeds of your fathers,\nwhich made them feared and honoured from the Falls of the Mohawk to\nLake Huron. The Great Spirit has spoken to you in his thunders, and by\nthe mouth of his priests, but you have heard neither; and, though his\nblessings were showered thick upon you, you have been like adders, and\nstung the hand which dispensed them.\n\n\"Onondagas! hear the warning words of the Great Spirit. If you will\nreturn to your cabins, and forget the things that were taught you, and\nunlearn the tongue of the white man, to use again the language of your\nfathers--if, instead of the rifle, you will shoot with the bow, and\ncause the arrow to whistle instead of the bullet--if you will cease to\ngive the spoils of the chace and the produce of your fields for beads\nand strong waters--if you will chase the Oneidas from your\nhunting-grounds, and again occupy them yourselves--then will the Great\nSpirit forgive you, and once more take you to his bosom. But, if you\nwill not hearken to his voice, nor to the voice of his prophets,\nlisten to the words of vengeance.\n\n\"Before twelve moons shall have faded from the skies, your tribe shall\nhave passed away. Not an Onondaga shall be left to tell the proud\nstory of the glory of his nation. The cabin of the pale-face shall be\nbuilt on the burial spot of your fathers, and his herds and flocks\nshall feed on the consecrated ground of the priests. The white man\nshall say to his children--'Here once lived a people called the\nOnondagas. They once were the bravest of all the tribes of the land,\nbut they became the most feeble and cowardly. It was the cunning of\nwhites which wrought their ruin. We gave them strong waters--they\ntasted the poison--they loved it--and lo! we dwell upon their ashes.'\"\n\nBrothers, a sudden blast of wind shook the branches of the trees, a\nblack cloud overspread the plain, and, although every eye seemed fixed\nupon the place where Tekarrah had stood, yet he was gone. He had come\nand vanished like one of those fiery balls that we see on a summer's\nevening, travelling in the misty valleys.\n\nBrothers, we returned to our cabins, and pondered upon his words. They\nsunk deep into our hearts, and our tribe profited by the warning. We\nforsook all trade with the white men, and forgot their tongue. We\nthrew away the rifle which was heard no more in our woods, and made\nthe bow and arrow, and the tomahawk, and the war-club, again our\nweapons. Again we were clothed with the skins of the animals we slew\nin the chace, and the meat we killed in the woods was applied as it\nshould be, to feed our young ones. The snows of more than thirty\nwinters have whitened our valley, since we have abstained from the\nstrong waters of the pale-faces. Our nation have since grown like the\noak, firm and strong-rooted, and the Oneidas dare no longer kindle\ntheir fires on our border. Our warriors have hearts as stout as our\nfathers in the olden time; our runners outstrip the wild cat for\nagility, and the roebuck for speed. Our people linger no more round\nthe settlement at Oswego, but are happy and contented in the deep\nshades of the forest, with the coarse but healthy enjoyments of Indian\nlife. The Great Spirit again smiles upon his children, and they smoke\nin the calumet of peace. Our tribe is strong and warlike, in the full\nvigour of health, while the red men of other nations are perishing\naround us.\n\nBrothers, hear me, for I am old, and your fathers were wont to hear\nthe council of the elders. Remember the tale of Wonnehush; he tells\nyou no lie. Carry his words to your tribes, and let the warning of\nTekarrah be heard in every wigwam beyond the mountains.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMuch has been said and written of the eloquence of the Indians, but it\nall conveys a very imperfect and inadequate idea of the beauty and\nexcellence of their orations. They are untranslatable by whites, for\nwe are without the nice perception of natural beauty and sublimity\nwhich the Indian possesses, and therefore cannot convey with accuracy\nand fulness his ideas of the external objects from which his figures\nand metaphors are drawn. If a bird flits before him, he discerns hues,\nand remarks circumstances in its notes and motions, which are\nimperceptible to the white man. The same acuteness which enabled an\nIndian scout to apprise his commander, and to apprise him correctly,\nthat an \"Indian, tall and very cowardly, with a new blanket, a short\ngun, and an old dog,\" had passed[A] where the utmost industry of his\nemployer could find no trace or footstep, is carried into every\npursuit, and forms a part of every faculty and quality of the Indian.\nBut to return to his elocution.\n\n[Footnote A: His stature he determined by the width of his stride, and\nhis cowardice by his avoidance of remote dangers, and the wide circuit\nhe took to escape contact with any one, his having a new blanket by\nthe portion of nap left on the branches of the trees among which he\npassed. His having a short gun he discovered by the mark left in the\nbark of the tree against which he had leaned the muzzle, and an old\ndog by the mumbling of a bone dropped in their path.]\n\nThat was a beautiful figure of Tecumseh's to an American, who speaking\nof the President of the United States had used the expression \"Your\nGreat Father.\" \"My great father!\" exclaimed the indignant chief; \"the\n_Sun_ is my father, and the earth is my mother, and I repose on her\nbosom.\"\n\nWhen the Seminoles were defeated by General Jackson, their chief came\ninto the presence of the victor with all the pride and firmness that\nbelong to an Indian warrior. The conqueror demanded why he had\nsurrendered so soon. \"I have not surrendered soon,\" answered the\nchief; \"I planted and harvested my corn on the right bank of the river\nof my people, while I fought the pale-faces on the left.\" This history\nof a warfare protracted to four months--for the period between the\nplanting and harvesting of maize is of that or greater duration--was\nbeautiful, though brief, but it was literally true. A gentleman\npresent assured me that the dignity of his manner, as well as the\nmatter of his speech, sent a thrill of awe to the bosom of every one\nof the assembly.\n\nOne of the most beautiful Indian speeches on record is that of Logan,\nthe Mingo chief. It is one of the most affecting narratives of\nindividual sorrow that I ever read. It has been frequently\nquoted--nevertheless there may be some to whom it may be new, and I\nshall transcribe it for their use. It is the language of truth and\nnature clothed in its most beautiful form.\n\n \"In the year 1774, a robbery having been committed by some\n Indians upon the white settlers on the Ohio, the latter\n undertook, in a summary way, to punish the outrage. They\n surprised, at different times, several of the Indian\n hunting parties, with their women and children, and murdered\n many of them. Among these was the family of Logan, a\n celebrated chief, who had always distinguished himself as\n the friend of the whites. This ungrateful return provoked\n his vengeance, and in the war which ensued he highly\n signalized himself. In the autumn of that year, the Indians\n were defeated in a decisive battle, and sued for peace.\n Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants.\n But, in order that no distrust might arise in the treaty on\n account of the absence of so celebrated a warrior, he sent,\n by the hands of General Gibson, the following speech, to be\n delivered to Lord Dunmore, the governor of Virginia:--\n\n \"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's\n cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat: if ever he came cold\n and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the\n last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin,\n an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that\n my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, 'Logan is\n the friend of white men.' I had even thought to have lived\n with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Crespal,\n the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all\n the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and\n children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of\n any living creature. This called on me for revenge; I have\n sought it; I have killed many; I have fully glutted my\n vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace;\n but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear.\n Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save\n his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan?--Not one.\"\n\n\nIII. THE LEGEND OF POMPERAUG.\n\nThree suns, and no more, would it take the feet of a fleet Mohawk to\njourney to the spot which contains the dust of Pomperaug, the last man\nof his tribe. The spot where that chief drew his breath was a small\nand level valley, surrounded by lofty and thickly wooded hills, with a\ncool, clear, bright, little stream, rippling through its green and\nflowery meadows. When he first saw the light of the great star, this\nspot was not divested of its trees; my countrymen, from the distant\nregions over the great waters, came with their sharp axes and lithe\narms, and swept away the loved retreats of the red inhabitants of the\nland. The beautiful trees which hung over the quiet little river of\nPomperaug and his people, like a mother bending over her sleeping\ninfant, fell before them like a field of corn bowed to the earth by a\ntempest of wind. And very soon was the tribe itself swept away by the\nsame resistless torrent which divested their land of its sylvan\nadornments. The Great Sachem of the East, who dwelt on the lofty\nHaup, having engaged in a war with my brethren, the Pomperaugs took\npart with the king of the Pequods, and a large part of them shared in\nhis destruction. The chief fell, pierced by the arrow of the Great\nKing. His son, still a boy, with a remnant of his father's people,\nwhen the war was finished by the death of the warlike and cunning\nSachem of Haup, returned to their native valley: and, submitting\nthemselves to their conquerors, sat down by the beloved river, and,\napparently were content to toil for the white man in the fields which\nhad once been their own. Yet it was with a deep remembrance of their\nwrongs, and a determination, at a convenient opportunity, to take a\ndeep and bloody revenge. The period had now arrived when the young\nchief had reached the age of manhood. He took, as was the custom of\nhis fathers, the name of his tribe, and was accordingly called\nPomperaug. A nobler youth was never seen, either red or white. He was\ntall, and finely formed, with an eye that gleamed like the flashes of\nthe diamond, and a brow, upon which were stamped the greatness of his\nmind, the lofty and honourable feelings which filled his soul. He was\nsuch a one as the Indian contemplates with delight, and gazes upon\nwith idolatry. His foot was swift as that of the deer; his arrow was\nsure as the pursuit of the eagle; his sagacity penetrating as the\nlight of the sun. The maidens of his own tribe looked upon him with\neyes of love; and there were not a few among the maidens of my own\ncolour who confessed that he was \"beautiful, and noble in form, and\nworthy to be loved by red and white.\"\n\nSuch was Pomperaug. But his nation was passing away, and but fifty of\nhis own tribe now dwelt in the valley in which his fathers, numberless\nas the leaves upon the oaks under which they dwelt, had hunted for\nmany ages. The day of their dominion was past. There was a spell over\nthe dark warrior. The Great Spirit had sealed his doom. He had sent\nstrange men to his shores--and a change had come over the face of the\nland. The thickly settled town--the lofty spire of the house where men\nassembled to worship the Great Being--the fields, green, and glowing\nwith the deep verdure of spring--the slopes of the hills, made smooth\nwith cultivation--had taken the place of the lofty forest, from which\narose the cry of the red warrior, as he rushed on his foes, or the\nplash of his oar, as he swept his light canoe on his expeditions of\nwar or love. The stranger had built his house upon the margin of his\nfavourite streams, whence a portion of his daily food was procured;\nand he, whose soil it was, had fled from the profanation of his\nfather's bones. One by one, like leaves in the Harvest-Moon, had they\ndropped from the vision of those around them. To-day, you saw a son of\nthe forest with an eye like the eagle's, and a foot like the\nantelope's; to-morrow, he was gone, and gone without a token. The\nwaters that lave the thirsty sands of the seashore sink not more\nsilently in their ebb than the Indians have disappeared from the\nvicinity of the abodes of white men. And in this same silent way\nfloated down the stream of oblivion the Indians of the valley of\nPomperaug. Perceiving that their doom was sealed, they patiently\nsubmitted to a fate which they could not avert.\n\nIt was, therefore, without resistance that they received into the\nheart of their little territory a company of the people of my nation.\nThey were in number about thirty. Their governor, who was also their\npriest, was a man of great age, though possessed of all the mental and\nbodily vigour of youth. His years were more than three score and ten,\nand his hair as white as snow, yet his feet were sprightly as those of\na young deer. His tall and broad form was still erect; his eye had\nlost none of its fire, nor his temper any of its energy; he was old in\nyears, but young in the vigour of his soul.\n\nThis aged priest had brought to the valley of Pomperaug the remnant of\na family of many souls. It was a maiden--the daughter of his only son\nwho, with his wife, had slept many years in the house of death. Her\nname was Mary, and well might she be the object of all the earthly\naffections which still beat in the bosom of one whom death had made\nacquainted with sorrow, and who but for her had been alone.\n\nMary had now seen the harvest gathered in seventeen times. She was the\nmost beautiful of all the maidens of the land. She was tall and\nslender, with a dark expressive eye, whose slow movements seemed full\nof soul and sincerity. Her hair was of a glossy black, parted upon a\nforehead of dazzling whiteness, and shading a cheek which vied in its\nblush with the pale rose of the wilds. And snow was not whiter than\nher stately neck, and rounded arm, and little hand.\n\nThey had been settled in the valley of Pomperaug but a few moons, when\nan application from the aged priest to purchase a portion of the young\nchief's lands brought him to the cabin of the former. It was a bright\nmorning in autumn, and, while he was talking with the priest at the\ndoor, the lovely maiden, who had been gathering flowers, the late\nflowers of the season, in the adjacent woods, passed by them, and\nentered the hut. The eye of the young chief followed her with the gaze\nof entrancement. His face shone as if he had seen a vision of more\nthan earthly beauty, some bright spirit of the air. But this emotion\nwas visible only for a moment. With the habitual self-command of those\nwho are trained in the wilds, he turned again to the aged priest, and\ncalmly pursued the subject which occasioned their meeting.\n\nPomperaug went away, but he carried the image of the beautiful maiden\nwith him. He retired to his wigwam, but it did not please him--a\nvacant and dissatisfied feeling filled his bosom. He went to the top\nof the high rock, at the foot of which his hut was situated, and,\nseating himself upon the broad flat stone, cast his eyes over the\nriver, upon which the beams of the morning were just beginning to cast\ntheir quivering light. The scene, once so pleasing, afforded him no\njoy. He turned away, and sent his long gaze over the checkered leaves\nof the forest, which spread like a sea over the beautiful valley. He\nwas still dissatisfied. With a bound he sprang from the rock into the\nvalley, and, alighting on his feet, snatched his bow, and took the\npath which led into the forest. In a few moments he returned listless\nand vacant, and, seating himself upon the rock, brooded for many hours\nin silence.\n\nThe sun of the next morning had been but a few minutes abroad on the\nearth, when Pomperaug repaired to the house of the aged priest to\nfinish the business of the preceding day. He had before signified his\nintention to part with his land on the terms offered him, but he now\ndeclined.\n\n\"Why will not the son of the chief, who fell in the Moon of Green\nCorn, give to the pale-face for the things he wants the lands he does\nnot plough, the woods that are bare of game, the waters whose fish\nglide unharmed by his spear?\" demanded the priest.\n\n\"Listen, father--hear a red man speak,\" answered the young chief.\n\"Mark yonder eagle--how joyous his flight among the clouds. The sky is\nhis home, he loves it, and grief seizes his heart when he leaves it.\nWill he barter it for the sea? No. Look into the river, and ask the\nfish that sports so happy in its clear bosom, if he will sell his\nbirth-place, and he will, if he speak at all, answer No. Shall the red\nman sell for a few strings of beads, and a piece of red cloth, the\nspot that contains his father's bones? No. Yet, father, I will part\nwith my forests, if thou wilt give me the beautiful singing-bird that\nis in thy nest.\"\n\n\"Savage,\" said the priest indignantly and haughtily, \"shall the lamb\nlie down in the den of the wolf? shall the fawn knock at the lair of\nthe panther, and enter and take up her abode? Never! Name not the\nthing again--I would sooner see her die! Name it not.\" As he spoke he\nstruck his cane forcibly on the ground, and his broad figure seemed to\nexpand and grow taller, while his eye gleamed, and the muscles of his\nbrow contracted, with a lowering and stern expression. The air and\nmanner of the Indian were changed. His countenance while pleading his\nsuit had worn an air of supplication unusual with his race, but his\neye flashed fire at the reproof and the refusal of the priest to\nsanction his love, and his manner assumed a proud dignity which it had\nnot before. As the dull colours of the snake, when he becomes enraged,\nare succeeded by the glowing hues of the rainbow, so was the meek look\nwhich Pomperaug had at first worn followed by one better befitting the\nuntamed and stern lord of the forest.\n\nThe priest and the chief parted, and Pomperaug refused to sell his\nlands. He was now changed to all around him. With the white people he\nheld no further communication, and said little to his own people,\nunless to cultivate in them a hatred of their neighbours. His whole\nsoul was filled with love for the beautiful pale-face. His old and\ncherished pursuits and pastimes no longer gave him pleasure; the bow\nlay unstrung in a corner of his cabin, and his canoe was no longer\nseen, impelled by his strong arm, gliding over the river.\n\nAs might have been expected from the bitter disappointment of\nPomperaug in not being able to obtain the maiden, and that of the\npriest at failing to obtain the coveted lands, difficulties soon grew\nup between the Indians and their neighbours, and violent feelings were\nshortly excited on both sides. This soon broke out into open quarrels,\nand one of the white men was shot by the arrow of an Indian hunter, as\nhe was returning through the woods to his home. The whites determined\nto seek instant revenge, and accordingly, gathering their men\ntogether, they followed the Indians into the broken and rocky regions\nwhich lie east of the valley of Pomperaug, whither, expecting pursuit,\nthey had retreated.\n\nIt was about an hour before sunset, when the Yengeese, consisting of\ntwenty men well armed after the fashion of the whites, and led by the\naged priest, who, old as he was, still retained the spirit of a\nyouthful warrior, were marching through a deep ravine, about two miles\neast of their village. The rocks on either side were lofty, and so\nnarrow was the dell, that the shadows of night had already gathered\nover it. The pursuers had sought their enemies the whole day in vain,\nand, having lost all traces of them, they were now returning to their\nhomes. Untaught by dear bought experience, they marched along heedless\nof the dangers which surrounded them--disregardful of the advantages\noffered to their cunning foes by the rocks and thickly wooded\neminences around them. Suddenly the shrill war-whoop burst from the\nrocks at their feet, and many armed Indians sprang up before them. An\narrow pierced the breast of the aged priest, and he fell dead in front\nof his band. Two Indians met their death at the hands of their foes,\nthe remainder sought the forest. Several of the Yengeese were wounded,\nbut none mortally, save the priest.\n\nWith mournful silence they bore back the body of their father to the\ndwelling his aged feet had left but a few hours before. He was buried\nin a lonely and sequestered nook of the valley, and the orphan maiden\nturned away with a desolate and breaking heart, to be for the first\ntime alone in the humble cabin in the wilderness.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA season had passed away, and another harvest had come. The tribe of\nPomperaug had disappeared, and the rock on which the priest met his\ndeath had been consecrated by many prayers of those who loved him. His\nblood was still visible upon the spot, and thither his people often\nrepaired to kneel, and offer up petitions for the repose of his\nspirit. They believed that their hearts were softened, and their\nspirits visited with the richest gifts of heavenly grace, when they\ncame to the spot where he had met his death.\n\nIt was a mild and beautiful evening in summer, when the maiden for the\nlast time went to spend an hour at this holy spot. Long had she knelt,\nand most fervently had she prayed to her kind creator. The sun went\ndown, and, as the veil of evening fell, the full moon climbed over the\nridge of rocks which rose on the east side of the valley, pouring its\nwhite light into the lone and quiet recesses and solitudes around her,\nand the good and beauteous maiden was still kneeling, still communing\nwith that Being whom every nation and tongue, civilized and savage,\nred and white, delight to honour and worship--at least with their\nlips, though their hearts may be far from him.\n\nAt length, a slight noise, like the crushing of a leaf, woke her from\nher trance, and, springing quickly on her feet, and filled with sudden\nand unusual fears, she set out on her return to the village. Alarmed\nat her distance from home at such an hour, and by the sounds from time\nto time repeated, she proceeded along with great rapidity. She was\nobliged to climb up the rocks with great care, as the darkness\nrendered it a critical and dangerous task. At length she reached the\ntop. Standing upon the verge of the cliff, she then turned a moment\nto look back upon the valley. The moon was shining full upon the vale,\nand she gazed with a mixture of awe and delight upon the sea of green\nleaves, which slept in death-like repose beneath her. She then turned\nto pursue her path homeward, but what was her amazement to see before\nher, in the full moonlight, the tall form of Pomperaug! She shrieked,\nand swift as his own arrow, sprang over the dizzy cliff. The young\nchief listened--there was a moment of silence--then a heavy sound like\nthe falling of a body upon the hard earth--and the dell was still as\nthe tomb.\n\nThe fate of the beautiful maiden was known only to Pomperaug. He\nburied her with a lover's care, amid the rocks of the glen. Then,\nbidding adieu to his native valley, with a bursting heart, he joined\nhis people, who had retired to the banks of the distant Housatonac.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMany years passed away, and the swift and stealthy hunter had been\nsucceeded by the patient and industrious white cultivator. Few traces\nof the Indian were remaining. The weak and irresolute--they who could\nsee unmoved the dwelling-places of their fathers usurped by strangers,\nhad found unhonoured graves in their own woods--the brave and\nresolute had gone yet farther into the forest. The rotten bow and\nquiver, and the rusted arrow, were frequently turned up by the plough,\nand little fields of scarce the breadth of an arrow's flight disclosed\nwhere the red man had once tasted his narrow enjoyments of home and\nshelter, and these were all that marked where he had been. The bitter\npersecutors of the rightful possessors of these wide-spread lands were\nin possession of every fertile spot, while the Indian roved in strange\nlands, a wanderer, and an outcast.\n\nIt was in the pleasant month when the birds build their nests on the\nboughs of trees, that a white man, seated on the margin of the river\nwhich swept along by the grave of the deceased maiden, saw a train of\nmen slowly approaching, bearing a human corpse. He crept into a\nsequestered spot, and watched their progress. Approaching the little\nhillock where the dust of the maiden reposed, they deposited their\nload on the earth, and commenced digging a fresh grave by its side.\nWhen it was finished, they placed the corpse in it, together with the\nimplements commonly buried with an Indian warrior, his bow, quiver of\narrows, spear, pipe, &c. The white man, fearing discovery, retreated,\nand left them to finish their solemn labours unobserved. In the\nmorning, the funeral train had departed, but the fresh earth and the\nlow heap of stones revealed the secret. They remain there to this day,\nand the two little mounds are shown by the villagers, as the graves of\nthe beautiful Mary and the faithful Pomperaug.\n\n\n\n\nIV. THE SON OF ANNAWAN.\n\n\nThe son of the white man sat in his house on the border of the Indian\nnations, when there came a red man to his door, leading a beautiful\nwoman with a little child in her arms, and spoke thus:--\n\n\"Dost thou see the sun?\"\n\n\"I see the sun,\" answered the white man, haughtily.\n\n\"Three times,\" said the Indian, \"has that sun risen, and thrice has he\nsunk from my eyes behind the dark hills of the west, since I or mine\nhave tasted food. For myself, I care little--I am a man of the woods,\na patient warrior; I can fast seven suns; I am not even now faint--but\na tender woman has not the soul of a strong warrior, and when she sees\nnot meat every day, she leans her head upon her hand, and when her\nchild droops for food she weeps. Give me food.\"\n\n\"Begone!\" said the white man, \"I earn my bread and meat by the sweat\nof my brow--\"\n\n\"On the lands of the Indian,\" interrupted the stern warrior.\n\n\"On my own lands--lands reclaimed from wildness--lands suffered to lie\nwaste for ages, and only made to be of use to human beings when my\nrace came hither with hard hands and patient souls, and felled the\ntrees, and rooted out the obstacles which kept out the beams of the\ncherishing and invigorating sun. Begone to thy den in the wilderness!\"\n\n\"Give me but food for the Sparrow and her little one, and the Hawk\nwill go without. He has yet strength enough left to enable him to\ncarry his feet to the wilds stocked with deer, and the Great Being\nwill himself direct the arrow which is to procure the means to sustain\nlife. But my wife and child, whose lives I value beyond my own, will\nfaint and die, ere that distant spot be gained.\"\n\n\"You shall have no food here; I will not feed lazy Indians,\" answered\nthe white man.\n\nThe Indian said nothing, but the pale and fainting mother looked on\nher sick infant and burst into tears.\n\nThere was sitting on the greensward at the Englishman's door a\nbeautiful little girl not yet grown to perfect womanhood, but on its\nverge--a fawn far in its second season--a tree wanting but a few more\nsuns to be clothed with the blossoms of maturity. She was the only\nchild of the white man--the only pledge of love left him by a beloved\nwife who slept in the earth. She was most tenderly beloved by her\nfather, and seldom asked any thing in vain. At her side sat a boy,\nperhaps two or three seasons older, playing with her the games of\nchildhood.\n\n\"Father,\" said she, rising and approaching him in a supplicating\nmanner, \"suppose your daughter was cast friendless and hungry among\nthe sons of the forest, and they denied her food. Would not the wrath\nof the Great Spirit be upon them for their inhumanity?\"\n\nThe father looked thoughtful, but made no reply.\n\n\"Father, do you love your child?--If you do, permit her to feed the\ngood Indian father who would starve himself so those he loves could be\nfed. Permit me to wipe the tears from the dark cheek of the mother,\nand to take a crumb of bread from your plenteous store to put in the\nmouth of the famished child.\"\n\nThe father could deny nothing to his beloved daughter, and, besides,\nthe little boy pleaded for the famished Pequods also, and he yielded.\nWith a light and bounding step the two children pursued the fainting\nIndians and brought them back. Food was set before them till their\nhunger was appeased; the little girl laid the little Indian babe on\nher own knee and fed it with her own hand, nor were they permitted to\ndepart till refreshed by a rest of two days. They then returned to\ntheir own homes in the wilderness, and their little benefactors\nattended them to the skirts of the forest, two miles from the cruel\nfather's dwelling.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSeveral seasons had passed away; the little girl, who had so kindly\ninterposed to feed the miserable Indians, had grown to womanhood, and\nhad become the wife of that boy and a mother. Her husband was a\ncultivator of the soil, and with the disposition to seek new lands,\nand try untried regions, which every where belongs to white men, he\nhad built himself a cabin very far from the spot where he and his wife\ndrew their breath. On the banks of a distant river, on a pleasantly\nsituated little hill, which enjoyed the bright morning sun, he erected\nhis cabin and sowed his wheat. He went not, however, to the wilderness\nalone: many other white men went with him, and, for protection against\nthe red men of the forest, whose wrongs had stirred them to bitter\nhatred and revenge, they built a fort, to which they might retreat in\ncase of danger. The cabin of the benefactors of the starving Indian\nfamily was at a distance of a mile from the fort--the husband being\nthe first who had ventured to reside at such a distance from a\ngarrison or fortified house.\n\n\"I shall return before dark,\" said he one day to his affectionate\nwife, as he was preparing to go down to the fort on some business.\n\"There is no danger, my beloved,\" continued he, as he took up his\nlittle son, and, kissing him, laid him in his fond mother's arms.\n\n\"But my dreams, my husband--my frightful dreams of tall savages and\nshrill war-whoops!\" said she.\n\n\"Oh! that should not frighten you,\" he replied. \"Remember, you had\nbeen listening all the evening to dark and terrific stories of what\nhad been done by the native warrior when he raised his arm in defence\nof his birth-place. Dreams are caused by that which most engrosses our\nthoughts--particularly just as we are going to sleep. There have not\nbeen any traces of the Indians discovered this season, and I should be\nsorry to raise an alarm among our friends merely upon account of a\ndream.\"\n\n\"But you know, my husband,\" said she, \"that they are a secret, as well\nas a terrible enemy--they are, you know, eagles for daring, panthers\nfor fierceness, adders for secrecy, and foxes for cunning.\" And she\nraised her mild eyes to her husband's face with that pleading\nexpression when tears seem ready to start, and are yet checked by the\nfear of giving pain to the one beloved. A fond husband finds it\nimpossible to withstand the tears of his wife, and he said, quickly,\n\"I will not go to the garrison to-day.\"\n\n\"But you promised your father, and he will expect you,\" answered she.\n\"You must go. I know my fears are the fears of a child, but they shall\nnot make me wicked. I am too apt to think my security depends on your\npresence. I forgot that the One mighty to save can defend me, and that\ntrust in Him is a shield to the believer. You must go.\"\n\n\"But I will not go without you,\" said her husband, who now began to\nfeel the fears she was endeavouring to shake off. \"Come, prepare the\nchild, and we will go down together. If there has been any alarm, we\nwill not return to-night, but pass it under the protection of the\nfort.\"\n\nThe wife paused a few moments, as if considering what she should do. I\nneed not tell you, for you know that nothing is so difficult to\nexplain--nothing so contradictory as the feelings and wishes of the\nhuman heart. A few moments since she would have thought that if she\ncould accompany her husband she should be perfectly safe--that his\npresence would obviate every danger ere it arose. But now other\nconsiderations presented themselves to her mind. If he went not to the\ncouncil, he might incur reproof for listening to a woman's fears and\ndreams; and dread of ridicule prevented her from accompanying him.\n\n\"I will have more fortitude,\" said she, smiling. \"I will not make a\nfool of you, though I appear like one myself--you shall not have\nreason to be ashamed of your wife--I will not go.\" And she sat down\nresolutely, determined to conquer her fears. It was in vain that her\nhusband urged her to accompany him. The more she saw his affectionate\nanxiety on her account, the more she laboured to suppress her fears,\ntill finally she persuaded him, and herself too, that she felt no\nuneasiness at all from the prospect of passing a lengthened period\nalone, and he departed.\n\nBut she had affected resolution which she was far from feeling. She\nfelt a presentiment that danger was nigh, and it weighed heavily on\nher heart. But she saw him depart without tears, and, after watching\nhim from the door till he entered the forest, betook herself to the\nusual duties of a woman in the house of her husband. Yet she could not\nforbear going frequently to the door, and sometimes she would wander\nforth, and gaze all around their little field, and then watch the\nprogress of the sun, with an expression of countenance, that, to an\nobserver, would instantly have revealed the agitation and anxiety\nwhich her heart was suffering. But she saw nothing to inspire\nfears--indeed there was much to tranquillize them. Every thing abroad\nwas in perfect quiet. There was scarcely a breath of air perceptible;\nand the waters of the beautiful Merrimack flowed without a ripple. The\ncalm sky of the last month of summer looked of a deeper and more\nheavenly blue, seen as it was by her from a spot circumscribed by tall\ntrees, now clothed with such a fulness of foliage as made the forest\nappear dark and almost impenetrable. Close around the house were\nplanted corn and vegetables; and a field of wheat, in front of the\ndwelling, stretched in unbroken green to the river's brink. There was\nnot a sound to be heard--save the chirping of a robin that had built\nher nest on a lofty chesnut which stood close to the south-east corner\nof the house--the only tree suffered to grow within the enclosure. The\nyoung birds were fully fledged, and, under the guidance of the\nparents, were about quitting their nest. The lovely wife watched their\nmovements; the old birds now encouraging, now seeming to chide, their\ntimid offspring, till finally they reached the woods, and all\ndisappeared. Slight as the circumstance was, it touched her with a\nfeeling of loneliness. \"Even the birds have left me,\" said she to\nherself, and, pressing her boy closer to her bosom, she burst into\ntears. She might well be excused these tears and feelings, for, though\na wife and mother, she had seen the leaves fall but seventeen times.\n\nShe watched the sun till it sunk behind the western hills, and then\nshe watched its beams on the clouds till the last faint tints had\ndeparted: and, fixing her eyes stedfastly on that part of the forest,\nfrom which she expected to see her husband emerge, she sat at the\ndoor, with her child in her arms, watching, in vain, for his\nappearance. As the evening waxed later, and her fears increased, she\nsometimes imagined she saw strange figures and ferocious faces, with\neyes beaming wrath and vengeance, such as she had beheld in her dream,\nmoving about the dusky apartment. Ashamed of these fears, and knowing\nthat her husband, when he came home, would chide her for thus exposing\nherself and her child to the evening dews, she breathed a short prayer\nto Him who stilled the tempest, and entered the house. Her first care,\nafter placing her infant in his cradle, was, to light a candle, and\nthen, more reassured, she took the sacred book from which white men\ngather their belief of the land of souls and of future happiness. That\nbook is the \"charm,\" and the protecting \"medicine\" of the white men.\nThey believe that it guards them from evil, and guides them to good;\nits pages are a direction in every difficulty--its promises a resource\nin every trial. She read and prayed alternately, mingling the idea of\nher husband, his safety and return, with every thought and wish, but\nstill he came not. She had no means of ascertaining the lapse of time,\nexcept by the stars, as there was no moon; but she conjectured that it\nmust be past the hour of midnight. Again and again she went forth, and\nexamined with a searching glance every thing around, but nothing could\nshe see, except the dark forest in the distance, and, close around her\ndwelling, the black stumps that stood like sentinels on guard--while\nnothing was heard, save the soft murmur of the water, and, at times, a\nlow rustling, as the breeze stirred the leaves of the chesnut-tree, or\nswept over the field of ripe wheat.\n\nAt length, as she stood at the corner of the cabin, beneath the shade\nof the chesnut, of which I have before spoken, looking earnestly\ntowards the distant woods, she saw, or thought she saw, something\nemerge from their shadow. Whatever it was, it vanished instantly. She\nkept her eyes fixed on the spot. A bright starlight enabled her to\ndiscern objects distinctly, even at a distance, especially when her\nfaculties were roused and stimulated, both by hope and fear. After\nsome time, she again and plainly saw a human figure. It rose from the\nground, looked and pointed towards her house, and then again\ndisappeared. She recollected her light. It could be seen from the\nwindow, and probably had attracted the notice of the Indians, who, she\ncould no longer doubt, were approaching. They had, as she fancied,\nwaylaid and killed her husband--and were now coming to destroy herself\nand her child. What should she do? She never thought of attempting to\nescape without her babe; but in what direction should she fly, when,\nperhaps, the Indians surrounded the cabin? There was one moment of\nterrible agony, when the mangled form of her husband seemed before\nher, and she heard, in idea, the shrieks of her babe beneath the\ntortures of your race, till her breath failed, and reason seemed\ndeserting her. But she made a strong effort to recall her wandering\nsenses, and then, with her eyes and clasped hands raised to that place\nwhere the white man believes his God to reside, she took her\nresolution. With a noiseless step she entered her dwelling,\nextinguished the light, took her infant in her arms, and again stole\nsoftly forth, creeping along in the shadow of the house, till she\nreached the spot whence she had first seen the object which alarmed\nher. Here she stood perfectly still. Her infant lay on her bosom in\nprofound sleep--as quiet and seemingly as breathless as though his\nspirit had already departed. She did not wait long before the same\ndark figure again rose, looked around, and then sank down as before.\nThe moment it disappeared, she passed swiftly and softly, as a shadow,\nover the space that separated the cabin from the chesnut-tree. This\ntree was an uncommonly large one, and there was a separation of the\ntrunk into two branches, about half the height of a tall man from the\nground, where the shuddering wife thought it possible that she might\nconceal herself. She gained it, and placed herself in a position which\nallowed her to watch the door of her dwelling. All was silent for a\nlong time--more than that space, which among my people, is called an\nhour, and she began to doubt the reality of what she had seen,\nimagining she had been deceived, and taken a stump for a human figure;\nand she was about to descend from the tree, where her situation had\nbecome uncomfortable, when suddenly a forest warrior stept by her,\nbetween the house and the tree. As another, and another, followed, it\nwas with difficulty she suppressed her screams. But she did suppress\nthem, and the only sign she gave of fear, was to press her infant\ncloser to her bosom. They reached the door, and a sound of surprise at\nfinding it open was muttered by the first who approached it, and\nreplied to by the second. After a short consultation they entered, and\nshe soon saw a light gleam, and supposed they had kindled it to search\nfor her. Her pulse beat wildly; yet, still she hoped to escape. It was\nnot probable that they would search a tree so near the cabin; they\nwould rather suppose she had fled to a distance. Presently a crackling\nnoise was heard in the cabin, and a bright light, as of flame, flashed\nfrom the door and window. Presently the Indians rushed out, and,\nraising their wild yell, danced around the cabin with their usual\ndemonstrations of joy, when they have accomplished a purpose of\nrevenge. The cabin was in flames.\n\nStill the only sign she gave of fear was, as she unloosed the\nhandkerchief from her neck and threw it over her child's face to\nscreen his eyes from the glare of light that might awaken him, to\npress him closer and closer to her heart.\n\nThe house was unfinished; there was nothing to delay, for a moment,\nthe progress of the fire which had been kindled in the centre of the\napartment, and fed by all the combustibles that could be found in the\ndwelling. The flame very soon caught the rafters and boards, and it\nseemed that she had scarcely time to breathe a dozen times, before the\nblaze burst through the roof. The atmosphere, rarified by the heat\naround the burning building, suddenly expanded, and the cold and more\ndense air rushing in, it seemed as if a sudden wind was blowing\nviolently. The current drove the thick smoke, and showered the burning\ncinders, directly on the chesnut-tree. She felt the scorching heat,\nwhile the suffocating vapour almost deprived her of the power of\nrespiration. She grew dizzy; yet still the only movement she made was,\nto turn her child a little in her arms, that he might be more\neffectually shielded from the smoke. At that moment, one of the\nwarriors approached, in the wild movements of his dance, close to the\ntree. An eddy of wind swept away the smoke; the light fell full on the\npale face of the horror-stricken woman; her eyes, as if by the power\nof fascination, were rivetted on the tall and dusky form of the son of\nthe forest; his fiery glance was raised toward her, and their gaze\nmet. She gave a start; and the note of his wild war-song was shriller\nas he intently regarded his victim. Suddenly he turned away. Murmuring\na short prayer to her God, the trembling woman resigned herself to\ndeath, as she heard them all send forth a prolonged whoop.\n\n\"My boy! My husband! We shall meet, we shall all meet in Heaven!\" she\ncried.\n\nBut why did not the Indians approach? She listened, looked around, and\nsoon saw them flying with the speed of frighted deer across the space\nof cleared land, illuminated by the bright glare, to the covert of the\nwood. She did not pause to consider what had caused their flight; but,\nobeying that instinct which bids us shun the present danger, perhaps\nto encounter a greater more remote, she sprang from the tree, and\nrushed towards the river. She recollected a spot where the bank\nprojected, beneath which, during the summer months, the bed of the\nriver was nearly dry; there she should, at least, be secure from the\nfire.\n\nAnd there she sheltered herself. Her feet were immersed in water, and\nshe stood in a stooping posture to screen herself from observation,\nshould the Indians return to seek her. In the mean time, her little\nboy slumbered peacefully, and regardless of surrounding perils. None\nof her fears or dangers disturbed his repose; and, when the morning\nlight allowed her to gaze on his sweet face, lit up by the smiles of\ninfantile joy, as he beheld the maternal eyes beaming love upon him,\ntears of bliss and thankfulness flowed fast down her cheeks that she\nhad been enabled thus to shield that dear innocent from death.\n\nSoon after the sun had risen she heard sounds as of people\napproaching, and soon recognised the voices of her friends from the\ngarrison. She was conveyed, with her child, to the fort, which her\nhusband had left, she learned, about sunset the preceding evening.\nNothing was known, or could be discovered, of his fate; no track nor\ntrace remained to show whether he was to be reckoned among the dead or\nthe living.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe husband of her, whose escape from the wrath of red men I have\nrelated to the Iroquois, was returning from the fort to his own\nhabitation, soon after the damps of evening were abroad on the earth.\nHe was joyous and merry at the thought of embracing his beloved wife\nand child, and whistled and sang, as he went, like a lark in the\nmorning. Just as he was entering the edge of a deep valley, which lay\nbetween his cabin and the protected dwellings of his friends, four\nPequods rushed from the thick woods upon him. One of them seized his\nrifle before he had time to use it; while another struck him a blow on\nthe head with his tomahawk, which deprived him of recollection, until\nnear the return of the light.\n\nWhen he did recover, he found himself lying at the foot of a tree, his\nhands bound, and an Indian guarding him. All efforts to escape he\nfound would be vain, and he silently submitted to his fate. About\nmid-day the other three of his captors joined the one who guarded him,\nand, after conversing hastily a few moments, they began a hurried\nmarch. The prisoner perceived one of them examining him often and\nattentively, viewing him in various situations, apparently\nendeavouring to make out a recognition of one formerly known. At\nlength, on the fourth day, as he was alone with the prisoner, he\nseated himself upon the smooth sward, and, bidding the other do the\nsame, he addressed him in the following language:--\n\n\"Listen!\"\n\n\"I listen,\" said the prisoner.\n\n\"Where hadst thou thy dwelling-place when thine arm was first able to\nbend a healthy sprout of a single season, and thy heart first began to\ncount upon its strength to look upon the glaring eye-ball of a mad\nwolf?\"\n\n\"Far from here,\" answered the prisoner, his eyes filling with tears,\nand sighs bursting from his heart, at the image of youthful love and\nbliss recalled to his mind by the allusion to his birth-place. \"Upon\nthe bank of a distant river, more than three suns travel from the spot\nwhere I became the captive of the red man.\"\n\n\"White men have forked tongues,\" answered the Pequod; \"but thou shalt\nmark it out on the smooth surface of the white birch, that my memory\nmay tell me if thou hast spoken true.\"\n\nThe prisoner, with a piece of coal taken from their fire, marked out\nthe dwelling in which he resided at the period alluded to by the\nIndian. He seemed satisfied.\n\n\"It is well,\" said he. \"Now show me the cabin to which thou wert\ngoing, when the red man paid a small part of his debt of vengeance on\nthy race, by taking thee captive.\"\n\nThe prisoner made a second drawing, representing his little field and\nhis cabin, including the chesnut-tree.\n\n\"Was there another bird in the nest of thy father when thy soul first\nbegan to feel the proud confidence and conciousness of approaching\nmanhood?\" demanded the Pequod, eyeing him intently.\n\n\"There was,\" answered the captive--\"a little maiden.\"\n\n\"And where is that bird now?\"\n\n\"She is the wife of my bosom. _Is_, did I say--Alas! she may not be\nliving--she has undoubtedly perished by the hands of the accursed\nbeings who fired my dwelling, and chained the feet that would have\ncarried me, with the speed of a deer, to her side--and bound the hands\nthat would have unsheathed the sword of vengeance for her rescue.\"\n\nThe Indian made no answer to this burst of passion, but looked for a\nmoment kindly and compassionately on the poor captive, and then\nrelapsed into silence.\n\nEarly the next morning, the prisoner was awakened by the same man, who\nmotioned him to rise and follow him. The rest of the party were not in\nsight. He obeyed, and they set out on their return, retracing their\nsteps with the ease and accuracy, which, in every clime, belong to the\nforest hunter. Travelling rapidly, in silence, for two days, they\nfound themselves on the morning of the third on the banks of his own\nriver, the dark rolling Merrimack. Before the sun had reached the\nhighest part of the heavens, they came to a little hill, well and\nfondly remembered by the affectionate husband, though now conveying\nagonizing hopes and fears. It overlooked the little valley where once\nhis cabin stood, and where the ripe wheat still bowed itself, in\ngraceful undulations, before the light breeze of summer; and the\nmighty chesnut-tree, blackened by the smoke of his burning dwelling,\nstill looked with lordly pride on all its less stately neighbours. \"My\nwife!\" he said, in an almost inaudible voice.\n\n\"Thy bird will meet thee on another bough,\" exclaimed the warrior. \"A\ncrust of bread, and a drink of cold water, offered to a famished\nIndian--a tear of pity, and a sigh of compassion, saved her and thee.\"\nAnd his own dusky countenance exhibited a touch of feeling but seldom\nsuffered to cross the face of him who deems it dishonour to betray an\nemotion of pity, or compassion, or gratitude, or love(1).\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" said the white man, prisoner no longer.\n\n\"Listen,\" said the warrior--\"The son of Annawan was caught, with the\ndove of his nest and her squab, far from his own dwelling, and among\nthe men of thy colour. Thy race had killed or driven away the beasts\nof the chace; and there was nothing upon which the red archer could\nshow the sleight of his hand and the truth of his eye. White men\nwould give him no food, but drove him from their cabins, saying, 'You\nare an Indian.' At the door of thy father--\"\n\n\"He was not my father,\" interrupted the other; \"he was the brother of\nmy mother.\"\n\n\"At the door of the brother of thy mother hard words were showered on\nthe poor red man, and he was bidden to seek elsewhere the food for\nwhich his soul panted--not that he might eat it himself, but bestow it\nupon his famished wife and sick babe. Listen!\n\n\"There was a little maiden sitting at the door of the cabin--she was\nnot grown to womanhood, nor dreamed yet of tender lovers--she was a\nfawn in its second season, a tree wanting but a few more suns to be\nclothed with the blossoms of maturity. By her side sat a boy, who\nmight be two or three harvests older. The little maiden rose from the\nsmooth sward where she sat, and throwing her white arms around the\nneck of her father, begged hard for the strangers. The boy came, and\njoined her in her prayers. The hardhearted man granted to the\nentreaties of his children what compassion would not bestow. The\nIndian was fed--his wife was fed--his babe was fed. Dost thou hear?\"\n\n\"I hear,\" said the delighted hunter, grasping the hand of the noble\nwarrior, while tears streamed down his sun-burnt cheek.\n\n\"That boy was the prisoner, whom the Pequods, four suns since, carried\naway from yonder vale--and the famished hunter was he who unbound thy\nlimbs, and who saved that compassionate maiden, by the song he poured\ninto the ears of his brothers, of an angry spirit, seen by the light\nof the blazing cabin among the boughs of the chesnut-tree.\n\n\"Learn, pale face, that an Indian can be grateful. A crust of bread,\nand a draught of water, bestowed upon the red man, or those he loves,\nweigh down the memory of a thousand wrongs--a kind look dispels the\nfrown from his brow--a kind word checks the purpose of vengeance,\nwhich, unchecked, is like a fire carried by a high wind to a field of\ndry grass. Thou and thine did me a deed of kindness--preserved the\nlife of her whose bright eyes are the light of my cabin--and of the\nboy who will, one day, bend the bow of a hunter, and be taught to\nutter the cry of vengeance on the hills--fear not, thou art safe in\nthe land whence his fathers were banished. Thou and thine did this for\nthe Son of Annawan, the Fleet Foot of his tribe, and he will never\nforget it--till the stars forget to shine, and the moon to become the\nlamp of the dark hours. Say, in the ears of the Fair Hair that I gave\nher cabin to the devouring flames, before I knew it was hers. But the\nseason will soon come when the beaver will be sleek and glossy; and an\notter worth more than an arrow--the spoils of the Fleet Foot's winter\nhunt shall rebuild the cabin of the flower of the the pale faces.\"\n\nSo saying, the Son of Annawan, the great chief, who once was the lord\nof those boundless regions, disappeared in the forest, and was seen no\nmore among white men.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n_Pity, or compassion, or gratitude, or love._--p. 270.\n\nThe Indians are extremely cool and circumspect in every word and\naction; there is nothing that hurries them into any intemperate\nwarmth, but that inveteracy to their enemies, which is rooted in every\nIndian heart, and can never be eradicated. In all other instances they\nare cool, and remarkably cautious, taking care not to betray on any\naccount their emotions. If an Indian has discovered that a friend is\nin danger of being intercepted and cut off by one to whom he has\nrendered himself obnoxious, he does not inform him in plain and\nexplicit terms of the danger he runs by pursuing the track near which\nthe enemy lies in wait for him, but he drily asks him which way he is\ngoing that day, and, having received his answer, with the same\nindifference tells him that he has been informed that a dog lies near\nthe spot, which might probably do him a mischief. This hint proves\nsufficient.\n\nThis apathy often shows itself on occasions that would call forth the\nfervour of a susceptible heart. If an Indian has been absent from his\nfamily and friends many months, either on a war or hunting party, when\nhis wife or children meet him at some distance from his habitation,\ninstead of the affectionate sensations that would naturally arise in\nthe breasts of more refined beings, and be productive of mutual\ncongratulations, he continues his course without paying the least\nattention to those who surround him, till he arrives at his home.\n\nHe there sits down, and, with the same unconcern as if he had not been\nabsent a day, smokes his pipe; those of his acquaintance who have\nfollowed him do the same, and perhaps it is several hours before he\nrelates to them the incidents which have befallen him during his\nabsence, though perhaps he has left a father, brother, or son, on the\nfield, whose loss he ought to have lamented.\n\nHas an Indian been engaged for several days in the chace, and by\naccident continued long without food, when he arrives at the tent of a\nfriend, where he knows his wants may be immediately supplied, he takes\ncare not to show the least symptom of impatience, or to betray the\nextreme hunger by which he is tortured; but, on being invited in, sits\ncontentedly down, and smokes his pipe with as much composure as if\nevery appetite was allayed, and he was perfectly at ease; he does the\nsame among strangers.\n\nIf you tell an Indian that his children have greatly signalized\nthemselves against an enemy, have taken many scalps, and brought home\nmany prisoners, he does not appear to feel any extraordinary pleasure\non the occasion; his answer generally is, \"It is well,\" and he makes\nvery little further enquiry about it. On the contrary, if you inform\nhim that his children are slain, or taken prisoners, he makes no\ncomplaints; he only replies, \"It does not signify,\" and probably, for\nsome time at least, asks not how it happened.\n\nTheir constancy in suffering pain exceeds any thing known of any other\npeople. Nothing is more common than to see persons of all ages, and of\nboth sexes, suffer for many hours, and sometimes many days, together,\nthe sharpest effects of fire, and all that the most ingenious cruelty\ncan invent to make it most painful, without letting a sigh escape.\n\nAccustomed from their youth to innumerable hardships, they soon become\nsuperior to a sense of danger, or the dread of death, and their\nfortitude, implanted by nature, and nurtured by example, by precept,\nand by accident, never experiences a moment's allay.\n\n\n\n\nV. THE CASCADE OF MELSINGAH.\n\n\nThe next night the ghost related to his eager listener the following\ntradition:--\n\nA very long time ago, many ages before the feet of a white man had\nleft their print on these shores, or the voice of his axe had been\nheard singing the song of destruction to the woods of our fathers,\nthere dwelt in the Cascade of Melsingah, having his residence by\ndaylight in the wave, and by night on the high rock which stood in its\ncentre, a Spirit much reverenced by all the Indian nations. He was\noften seen by the Indian hunter, who passed that way soon after the\ngoing down of the sun. When seen at that hour, he appeared under the\nfigure of a tall and mighty warrior, with abundance of the gray plumes\nof the eagle on his head, and a gray robe of wolf-skin thrown around\nhim, standing upright upon his rock in front of the waterfalls. In the\nday time his appearance was more equivocal. Those who supposed they\nsaw him saw something swimming about the cascade, as a frog swims\nunder the surface. But none were ever permitted to behold him near,\nand face to face. As the observer drew nigh, the figure gradually\ndisappeared, sinking into a kind of fog or mist; and in its place he\nfound only the white sheet of water that poured over the rock, falling\nheavily among the gathering shadows into the pool below. Sometimes,\nalso, but more rarely, he was seen in the early twilight before\nsun-rise, preparing to retreat from the fountain; and fortunate was\nthe hunter to whom he showed himself at that hour, for it was an omen\nof success in the chace. None of the spirits of the surrounding\ncountry were oftener beheld in dreams by the Indians that made their\nhaunts above the mountains; and, when the forms of the dead from the\nland of souls came to their friends in the visions of night, they were\noften led by the hand of the gigantic warrior in the wolf-skin and the\neagle-plumes. He was never known to inflict personal injury on any\none, and, therefore, was always considered as a kind and beneficent\ngenius, who would befriend mortals in all cases of distress, and loved\nto behold them peaceful and happy.\n\nSeveral generations have passed away--trees that were young and\nthrifty have become aged and mossy; and men have forgotten the number\nof the moons that have passed since there lived among the tribe who\nowned the broad lands above the mountains[A], whose banks frown upon\nthe rapid river, a beautiful maiden, the daughter of a proud chief,\nwhose name has not reached my time. But this we are told, that he was\nthe greatest warrior of his day, fierce as the panther, and cunning as\nthe fox; and she more beautiful than the sky lit up with stars, and\ngentler than a summer day, or a young fawn. She had lost her mother in\nearly childhood; and, ere the suns of ten seasons had beamed on her\nhead, her father, who loved her tenderly, and had brought her up not\nto do the tasks which are generally allotted to Indian women and\ngirls, fell by the hand of disease, and she was left alone. A\nremembrance of his affection, and of the agony she felt, and of the\ndeep tears she shed, at his loss, infused into her heart a softness\nand pity which continued through life, and rendered her ever after an\nunwilling witness of the scenes of fire and torture to which the\ncustoms of war among her countrymen gave occasion. When her beloved,\nand to her, kind father, left the earth for the land of spirits, she\nlived in the lodges of the older warriors who had been his companions\nin arms and brother councillors in the cabin where men met to debate\non war and peace. Not in the cabins of the aged alone was she met\nwith joy. She was welcomed wherever she went with kindness and\naffection; endeared to them as she was by the memory of the wise and\nbrave warrior, her father, and by her own gentle disposition. When\nthey spoke of her, they likened her, in their language, to whatever\nwas most beautiful, harmless, and timid, among the animals--the fawn\nof the wood, the yellow bird of the glades, a spring wind sweeping\nover a field of grass, a dove that had found its long absent mate.\n\n[Footnote A: The passage of the Highlands on the Hudson.]\n\nThe beautiful maiden, of whom I am telling my brother, had beheld in\nher childhood, when her foot was little, and her heart trembling, the\nCascade of Melsingah, and the form of the Manitou had once been\nrevealed to her, as the evening was setting in, standing in his\nwolf-skin robes before the waterfall. After that she saw him often in\nher dreams, and, when she came to that age at which the children of\nthe forest choose their protecting spirit, she chose for her's the\nSpirit of the Cascade of Melsingah. It was not long before a\ncircumstance took place which strengthened her reverence and that of\nher people for the good Spirit, and proved the interest he took in the\nwelfare of his beautiful charge.\n\nOne day she went alone to his abode, to pay him her customary\nofferings in behalf of herself, the friends she loved, and her\nnation; she carried in her hand a broad belt of wampum, and a white\nhoneycomb from the hollow oak; and on her way she stopped and plaited\na garland of the gayest flowers of the season. On arriving at the\nspot, she went down into the narrow little glen, through which the\nbrook flowed before it poured itself over the rock, and, standing near\nthe edge, she dropped her gifts, one by one, into the current which\ninstantly carried them to the waterfall. The pool, into which the\nwater descends, was deeper than it is now; the continual crumbling and\nfalling of the rocks from above, for many an age, having partially\nfilled up the deep blue basin. The stream, too, at that time, had been\nlately swelled by profuse rains, and rushed down the precipice with a\nheavier torrent, and a louder noise, than she had ever known it to do\nbefore. In approaching more nearly to the edge, and looking down to\nsee what had become of her offerings, she incautiously set her foot on\na stone covered with the slimy deposit of the brook; it slipped, and\nshe was precipitated headlong with the torrent into the pool below.\n\nWhat followed she did not recollect--darkness, as deep as that of the\ngrave, came over her, and all was still and hushed to her. When she\ncame to her senses, she found herself lying on the margin of the\npool, and awaking as if from an unpleasant sleep with a sensation of\nfaintness at the heart. She thought at first that she must have been\ntaken from the water by somebody who belonged to her nation, and\nlooked round to see if any of them were near. But there was no human\ntrace or sound to be discovered: she heard only the whisper of the\nwind, and the rush of the cascade, and beheld only the still trunks,\nand waving boughs, the motionless rock, and the gliding water. She\nspoke, thanking her deliverer, whoever he might be, in the softest\ntones of her soft voice, but there was no reply. On her return to the\nvillage where she lived, she made the most diligent enquiry to learn\nif any of her people had assisted her in the hour of danger, or if any\nthing was known of her adventure. Nobody had heard of it--none of the\ntribe had passed by the cascade that day; and the maiden and all her\npeople became fully convinced that she had been preserved from a\nviolent death by her guardian spirit--the Manitou of the waterfall.\nHer gratitude was in proportion to the benefit received; and ever\nafterwards she paid an annual visit to the cascade at the season when\nshe was thus miraculously rescued, sometimes alone, and sometimes in\ncompany with the young females of her age. On these occasions, the\ndark rocks around were hung with garlands of flowers and belts of\nwampum, and bracelets of beads were dropped into the clear water, and\na song was chanted, commemorating the maiden's deliverance by the\nbenevolent spirit of the place. The woods around reverberated with the\nmusic of those dark-haired maidens who had assembled to warble their\nhymns of gratitude to the Manitou of the cascade.\n\nThe Indians, who lived above the Mountains, and those who possessed\nthe country below, although belonging to the same great family of the\nLenni Lenape, were not always on friendly terms. At the time of which\nI am telling my brother, there was a great quarrel between them, and\nthe calumet had been buried in the hole from which the hatchet had\nbeen taken. An Indian of the tribe living above the mountains was\nfound encroaching on the hunting-grounds below, and was killed in a\nfierce dispute which ensued. His people anxiously sought an\nopportunity to revenge his death, nor was it long before it was put\ninto their hands. A young warrior of the lower tribe, burning with the\nardour of youth, and ambitious to signalize himself by some act of\nheroic daring, boasted that, notwithstanding what had happened, he\nwould bring a deer from the hunting-grounds to the north of where the\ngreat river broke through the mountains. Accordingly, he set out\nalone in one of the light canoes which are used by Indians, on his\nway up the river. He landed on the east bank, at the distance of a\nboy's walk of half a sun above the Cascade of Melsingah, and after no\nlong search had killed a deer, dragged the animal to the canoe, and\nput off from the shore. So far he had made good his boast, and was\nbusily employed in picturing to himself the glory that awaited him on\nhis return, the loud praises of the men, and the silent, though more\neloquent ones of the maidens, when his dreams were put to flight by\nthe sudden coming upon him of his fierce and cunning enemies. His\nmotions had been observed, and he had not yet gained the middle of the\nriver, when a canoe, in which were five northern Indians, made its\nappearance, coming round the extremity of a woody peninsula, that\nprojected with its steep bold shores far into the water. Immediately\none of them bent his bow, and, raising it to his eye, levelled it in\nthe direction of the young Mohegan; but another, who seemed to be the\nleader of the party, placed his hand deliberately on the arrow, which\nwas immediately laid down, and an oar taken up in its place. A single\nglance served to show the warrior that they were all well armed, and\nthat his only chance of escape lay in reaching the shore before them,\nand trusting to the swiftness of his feet to effect his escape. He\ntherefore plied his oar with great diligence, and his canoe shot\nrapidly over the water, but his enemies were gaining fast upon him,\nand it was now evident that they must overtake him before he could\nreach the land. In an instant he had leaped into the water, and\ndisappeared; but his pursuers were too well aware of his object to\nslacken their exertions, and held on their way towards the shore. When\nhe rose again to the surface, their canoe was at no great distance.\nTwo of the strongest of them plunged into the river; one of them,\nswimming with exceeding swiftness, soon overtook him, and seized him\nby the hair of the head. A desperate, but brief struggle ensued, in\nwhich both combatants went down. In a moment afterwards, the young\nwarrior re-appeared without his antagonist, who was seen no more: but\nhis pursuers had already surrounded him. They secured him without\ndifficulty, carried him to the shore, and there binding his hands\nbehind him with a strong grape-vine, led him towards their village.\n\nThe young Mohegan, finding all attempt to escape useless, resigned\nhimself to his fate, with all the indifference which an Indian always\nassumes, though he may not feel it. At first he scarcely thought that\nhe should be put to death, for he knew that the people into whose\nhands he had fallen were celebrated throughout the land for the\nmildness of their character, and their disposition to mercy; and he\nrelied still more on their known dread of his own warlike and\nformidable tribe, equally famous for their disposition to have blood\nfor blood, and to suffer no grass to grow in their paths till they had\ntasted the sweets of revenge. However, he prepared himself for the\nworst, and began to steel his heart against the fear of death. He did\nwell, for, soon after they began their march, his captors commanded\nhim to sing his death-song. The youth obeyed, and in a strong deep\nchant began the customary boast of endurance and defiance of pain. He\nsung of the glories of his nation, and how often they had made the\nhearts of their enemies, of his captors, leap with fear, and their\nknees shake, by their wild halloo of war. He told them that, though\nhis years were few, he had seen a Northern die in his grasp; though\nhis eyes were but young, they had looked on the last struggle of one\nof their brothers. He took up the strain at intervals, and in the\npauses his conductors preserved a deep and stern silence.\n\nAt length the party came upon a kind of path in the woods, which they\nfollowed for a considerable distance, and then suddenly stopped short.\nAll at once a long shrill startling cry burst from them. It was the\ndeath-cry for their drowned companion. It rang through the old woods,\nand was returned in melancholy echoes from the neighbouring mountains.\nAt its frightful sound the birds flew up from their nestling-places in\nthe leafy thicket; the eagle, and the hawk, and the raven, soared\naloft; and the deer was seen scampering away to a safer and more\ndistant covert. When the last of their cries had died away, the party\nput their hands to their mouths, and uttered a second cry, modulated\ninto wild notes by the motion of their fingers. An interval of silence\nensued, which was at length broken by a confused sound of shrill\nvoices at a distance, faintly heard at first, but growing every moment\nmore audible. In a minute two young warriors, who seemed to come by a\nshorter way than the usual path, broke through the shrubs, and took\ntheir station, without speaking a word, by the party who were\nconducting the prisoner. Presently a crowd of women and children from\nthe village appeared in the path, shouting and singing songs of\nvictory; and these were followed by a group of old men, who walked in\ngrave silence. As soon as they came up, the party resumed their march,\nand led their prisoner in triumph to the village.\n\nThe village consisted of a cluster of cabins, irregularly scattered,\nas Indian villages always are, over a large space. It stood in a\nnatural opening of the great forest, on the banks of a stream which\nbrawled over a shallow, stony bottom between rocky banks, on its way\nto mingle with the Great River. The Indian name of this wild stream\nwas Mawenawasigh.\n\nIt happened well for the captive youth that the chiefs and principal\nwarriors of the tribe were absent on a hunting expedition, and it was\nnecessary, in so grave a matter, to delay the decision of the\nprisoner's fate until their return, which was expected in a few suns.\nHe was therefore taken to an unoccupied cabin and placed on a mat,\nbound hand and foot, and fastened with a strong cord made of the\nsinews of the deer to a tall post in the centre, supporting the roof.\nIt was the office of one of his captors to keep watch over him during\nthe day time, and at night two of them slept in his cabin. For the\nfirst two suns his prison was thronged with the idle, the revengeful,\nand the curious. The relatives of the drowned man, and of him who was\nslain below the Mountains, came to taunt him on his helplessness, to\nassure him of the certainty of death by torture, and to exult in the\nprospect of a deadly vengeance. They pointed to him a stake driven in\nthe earth, to which a young Mohegan should be lashed, and a fire\nkindled around him of the driest materials, while hot pincers were\napplied to know when his flesh was sufficiently roasted, to form a\nsuitable dish for the banquet. Others came and gazed at him with\nunfeeling curiosity. I should have mentioned to my brother that he was\nof Mohawk parents, the son of a warrior adopted into a Mohegan tribe,\nand that he possessed the stately and manly form, and the bold look,\nand the calm eye, which belongs to the former nation, and may be\ntraced wherever their blood is found. They spoke to each other,\ncommending his fine warlike air, his lofty stature, and well-turned\nlimbs, and said that he would die bravely. One only seemed to regard\nhim with pity. A beautiful female face looked in several times at the\ndoor, and turned sorrowfully away.\n\nAs the time for the return of the warriors drew near, the captive's\ncontempt for life, and his passion for a glorious death, diminished\nmuch. His sleep was filled with dreams of the clear and pleasant\nwaters of his tribe, and his mind by day could not forbear busying\nitself with the plans of glory and ambition which he had formed. It\nwas hard, too, to leave a world in which dwelt such lovely beings as\nshe who had visited him with the tear of pity and sympathy bedewing\nher soft eye. It was worth while to live, he thought, if it were only\nthat he might have the opportunity of convincing her that he was not\nungrateful, and that his heart, though shut to the fear of death, was\nopen to her beauty and goodness. The artificial fortitude to which he\nhad wrought himself, in obedience to the principles which had been\ntaught him, began to waver, and the glory of a death of torture, and\ncalm endurance of pain, to lose its value in his eyes. \"Would it not\nbe better,\" said he to himself, \"to share a long life with the\nbeautiful maiden, who has just left me, to drive the deer and the wolf\nfor her sake, and to come home loaded with game in the evening, to the\nhearth that she should keep burning brightly for my return?\"\n\nNight came, but it brought no sleep to the young warrior, until its\nwatches had nearly expired. On awaking, he saw, through the opening\nthat served as a door to the cabin, that the great star of day was\nrisen, and the surly Indian who guarded him was standing before it.\nThe moments passed heavily away; no one came to the cabin save an old\nwoman, who brought him his morning meal. The curiosity of the tribe\nwas satisfied, and the relatives of the deceased were weary of\ninsulting him. At length the shadow of a human figure fell upon the\ngreen before the door, and the next instant, the well remembered form\nand face of beauty made its appearance. The maiden laid her hand on\nthe shoulder of the sentinel, and pointed to the sky where a bold\neagle was sailing away to the east. The majestic bird at length\nalighted on the top of a tall tree, at the distance of four or five\nbowshots, balanced himself for a moment on his talons, then closed his\nwings, and, settling on his perch, looked down into the village, as if\nseeking for his prey. \"If thy bow be faithful, and thy arrow keen,\"\nsaid the maiden, \"I will keep watch over the prisoner until thy\nreturn.\" The Indian threw a glance at the captive, as if to assure\nhimself that everything was safe, and immediately disappeared in the\nforest.\n\nThe young maiden then entered the cabin. As she approached the\ncaptive, a blush stole to her dark cheek, her eye was downcast, and\nher step trembling, and, when she spoke, her voice was low, but soft\nas the whispers of the spring wind in a grove of willows.\n\n\"I come to offer thee freedom. There is no time to be lost; to-morrow\nthe chiefs of my nation return, and then will thy guards for a sun be\ndoubled; the beams of the next shall light thee to torture and death.\nBeneath their vigilance thy escape becomes impossible. Mohegan, I am\nhere to restore to the young eagle his wings, and to cut the cords\nwhich bind the young panther of his tribe.\"\n\n\"And flies the young eagle forth alone? goes the young panther to the\nthicket without a companion?\" demanded the warrior.\n\nThe maiden hid her eyes beneath their long black lashes, and said\nnothing. The Mohegan continued:--\n\n\"Thou wilt give me liberty of my limbs, but thou leavest my heart\nfettered. Wilt thou not, my beautiful deliverer, be the partner of my\nflight? What will liberty be to me if thou art not the light of my\ncabin? Almost would thy presence and thy pity compensate for the\ntortures which await me if I remain. Is it not better for me to die\nwith thee beholding my constancy and patience in suffering, and\nrendering me the tribute of a tear as my spirit departs for the land\nof souls, than to go from thy presence sorrowing for the beautiful\nmaiden with the bright eyes, and fair hair, and ripe lip, and\nfawn-like step, whom I have left in the land of my foes? And what, my\nbeautiful deliverer, will be said by thy kindred if it be known, as it\nmust be, that thou hast aided my escape, and thus disappointed the\nvengeance of thy tribe? I would rather die, Bird of Beauty! by the\ndeath of fire than expose thee to the slightest peril.\"\n\nWhy should I waste time in telling my brother what has been so often\ntold? The heart of a young maiden in every nation is soft and\nsusceptible, and, when besieged by love and compassion, is too\ncertain to yield. The maiden made the warrior repeat over and over\nagain his promises of affection and constancy, as if they would be a\nsecurity against any unfortunate consequence of the imprudence she was\ngoing to commit. She ended by believing all he said, and by consenting\nto become his wife and the companion of his escape. \"But I cannot go\nto thy tribe,\" said she, \"for then thou wouldst be obliged to raise\nthe tomahawk against my people, and I may not abide in the habitation\nof him who seeks to spill the blood of my friends. If thou wilt take\nme for the guide of thy path, I will bring thee to a hiding-place\nwhere the arrows of thy enemies cannot reach thee, and where we may\nremain sheltered till this cloud of war be overpast.\"\n\nThe youth hesitated. \"Nay then,\" continued she, \"I may not go with\nthee. I will cut thy cords, and the Good Spirit will guide thee to the\nland of thy friends.\"\n\nThis was enough: love prevailed for once over the desire of warlike\nglory, in the bosom of a descendant of the Mohawks, and it was settled\nthat the flight should take place that night.\n\nThey had just arrived at this conclusion when the man who guarded the\nprisoner returned. He had been absent the longer because the eagle\nhad changed his perch, and had alighted on a tree at a still greater\ndistance than at first. He had succeeded in bringing down the bird,\nand was now displaying its huge wings with great satisfaction at the\nsuccess of his aim. The maiden pulled from them a handful of the long\ngray feathers, as the reward of having shown the prize to the guard,\nand departed.\n\nThe midnight of that day found the captive awake in the cabin, and his\nkeepers stretched on a mat asleep at the door. They had begun to\nregard him with less vigilance because he had made no attempt, and\nshown no disposition, to escape. He thought he heard the light sound\nof a footstep approaching; he raised his head, and listened\nattentively. Was it the rustling of leaves in the neighbouring wood\nthat deceived him, or the heavily drawn breath of the sleepers, or the\nweltering of the river on whose banks the village stood, or the\ncrawling of some beast of prey through the thicket, or the moving of a\nspirit? These were the only sounds he was now able to distinguish. A\nray of moonlight shone through a crevice in the cabin, and fell across\nthe body of his sleeping guards. As his eye rested on this, he saw it\ngradually widening, and, soon after, the mat that hung over the\nopening which served for a door-way was wholly withdrawn, and the\nlight figure of the maiden appeared. She stepped cautiously and\nslowly over the slumbering guards, and, approaching the Mohegan with a\nsharp knife, severed, without noise, the cords which confined him,\nand, stealing back to the door, beckoned him to follow. He did so,\nplanting his foot at every step gradually on the floor from the point\nto the heel, and pausing between, until he was out of the cabin. His\nheart bounded within him when he found himself standing in the free\nair and the white moonlight, with his limbs unbound. He beheld his old\nacquaintance, the stars, as bright and twinkling as ever, and saw with\nrapture the same river which rolled its dark and massy waters beside\nthe dwelling of his father. They took a path which led westward\nthrough the woods, and, after following it for the distance of a\nbowshot, the maiden turned aside, and took, from a thick clump of\ncedars, a bow, a spear, and a well-filled quiver of arrows, which she\nput into his hands. She next handed him a wolf-skin mantle, which she\nmotioned him to throw over his shoulder, and placed on his head a kind\nof cap on which nodded a tuft of feathers, which it may be remembered\nshe had plucked from the wings of the eagle his sentinel had so lately\nkilled. They then proceeded rapidly but in silence. It was not long\nbefore they heard the small waves of the river tapping the shore;\nthey descended a deep bank, and the broad water lay glittering before\nthem in the moonlight. A canoe--his own canoe--he knew it at a\nglance--lay moored under the bank, and rocking lightly on the tide.\nThey entered it; the warrior took one oar, the maiden another; they\npushed off from the shore, and were speedily on their way down the\nriver.\n\nThey glided by the shore, past the steep bank covered with tall trees,\nand past where the moonlight dimly showed, embosomed among the\nmountains, a woody promontory, round which the river turned and\ndisappeared from view.\n\nThey then reached the eastern shore, and passed close to the mouth of\nthe Mattoavoan, where it quietly and sluggishly mingles with the great\nriver, so close that they could hear from the depth of the woods the\nincessant dashing of the stream, leaping over the last of the\nprecipices that cross its channel. They continued to pass along under\nthe shore, until the roar of the Mattoavoan was lost to the ear. They\nwere not far from the foot of the northernmost of the mountains washed\nby the Great River, when a softer and lighter rush of waters was\nheard. A rivulet, whose path was fenced on each side with thick trees\nand shrubs, bound together by vines of wild grape and ivy, came down\nover the loose stones, and fell with a merry gurgle into the waters\nbelow. It was the rivulet of Melsingah. The interlacing boughs and\nvines formed a low arch over its mouth, that looked like the entrance\ninto a dark cavern. The young maiden pointed towards it, and intimated\nto the warrior that up that stream lay the path to that asylum whither\nshe intended to conduct him. At this he took his oar from the water,\nand in a low voice began to remonstrate with her on the imprudence of\nremaining so near the haunts of his enemies. Long did they debate the\nmatter, but when she had explained to him what he had heard something\nof before, the profound reverence in which the Cascade of Melsingah,\nintended by her as the place of their retreat, was held, and related\nthe interposition of its benevolent spirit in behalf of her own life,\nhe was satisfied, and turned his canoe to the shore. They landed, and\nthe warrior taking the light barque on his shoulders, they passed\nthrough the arch of shrubs and vines up the path of the rivulet, and\nsoon stood by the cascade. The maiden untied from her neck a string of\nbeads, and copper ornaments, obtained from the Indians of the island\nof Manhahadoes, dropped them into the water, and murmured a prayer for\nsafety and protection to the Manitou of the place. On the western side\nof the deep glen in which they found themselves was a shelf of rock\nprojecting from the steep bank, which has long since crumbled away,\nand under this the warrior and his beautiful guide concluded to\nshelter themselves till morning.\n\nScarcely had they seated themselves upon this shelf of rock, when\nslowly uprose from the centre of the pool a being of immense\nproportions, habited in a wolf-skin robe, and wearing on his head a\nhigh tuft of eagle's feathers. It was the Manitou of the Cascade.\nApproaching the trembling pair, who feared his anger for their\nintrusion on his retreat, he said in a voice which resembled the\nrattling of his own waterfall, \"Why are ye here?\" The maiden related\nher story to him, and claimed his protection for herself and lover. He\nappeared to be a spirit of few words, for he only said in reply, \"Ye\nshall have it. The disguise you have provided, the wolf-skin robe, and\nthe tuft of eagle feathers, are of the earth--they will not disguise\nyou--take mine.\" So saying, he gave the Mohegan his own robe and tuft,\nand received in exchange those which the cunning maiden had provided\nfor her lover. After counselling them in brief words to apply to him\nwhenever they were in difficulty, he disappeared in the pool.\n\nThe return of light showed the inhabitants of the Indian village on\nthe Mawenawasigh in unwonted bustle and confusion. All the warriors\nwere out; the track of the fugitives was sought for, discovered, and\nfollowed to the bank of the Great River. The print of their steps on\nthe sand, the marks of the canoe where it had been fastened to the\nbank, and of the oars where they had been planted to shove it away\nfrom the shore, left no doubt that the warrior had carried off the\nbeautiful maiden to his own tribe, and all pursuit was abandoned.\n\nIn the mean time, the warrior was occupied in constructing a\nhabitation. A row of poles was placed against the projecting shelf of\nrock, which thus served for a roof; these were covered with leafy\nbranches, and over the whole was laid a quantity of dead brushwood, so\nirregularly piled, as when seen at a little distance to give no\nsuspicion of human design. The inmates of this rude dwelling subsisted\non game found in the adjacent forest, on fish from the mouth of the\nrivulet, and on the fruits and roots of the soil. Their wants were few\nand easily supplied, and they were happy.\n\nOne day, as the lover was sitting at the door of his cabin, he heard\nthe voices of two persons in the wood, who seemed to be approaching\nthe place. He saw that if he attempted to hide himself by going in,\nthey might enter the glen, and discover the secret of his retreat. As\nhe was clothed in the dress of the spirit, he believed that it would\nbe better to present himself boldly to their view, and trust for\nsafety to his personation of the good Manitou. He therefore took up\nhis bow, which was lying beside him, and placed himself in an upright\nmotionless attitude on the edge of the pool, in front of the water\nfalling over the rock. In a moment two Indians of the tribe of the\nmaiden made their appearance coming through the trees. At sight of the\nmajestic figure in the gray mantle and plumes, and armed with a bow,\nmagnified by their fears to thrice the real weight and size, they\nstarted, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. He waved his bow,\nmotioning them away. One of them threw towards him a couple of arrow\nheads, which he carried in his hand, and which fell into the water at\nthe warrior's feet, sprinkling him with the spray they dashed up; and,\nmaking gestures of reverence and supplication, the two Indians\ninstantly retired.\n\nThus the time passed--swiftly and pleasantly passed--from the end of\nthe Planting Moon to the beginning of that of Harvest. As my brother\nknows the wants of Indian life are few, and easily supplied; and for\nthe little inconveniences that might attend their situation, the\ntradition says that the inmates of the glen of Melsingah found a\ncompensation in their mutual affection. Occasionally they saw the\nkind Manitou come forth from the Cascade to breathe the evening air,\nand when he did so, they invariably retired to their bower. At length,\nwhen the warrior had one day ventured across the ridge that rose south\nand east of the cascade, and was hunting in the deep valley beyond, he\ncame suddenly upon an Indian of his own tribe, who immediately\nrecognised him. An explanation took place, in the course of which he\nlearned that a peace had been made between his nation, the Mohegans,\nand that which dwelt above the Mountains. The Mohawks, who lorded it\nover both nations with a rigid authority, and claimed the right of\nmaking war and peace for them, having heard of their differences, had\ndespatched one of their chiefs to adjust them, and to command the two\ntribes to live in friendship. \"My children,\" said Garangula, the\nMohawk, in a council to which the chiefs of both tribes were called,\n\"it is not good that ye who are brethren should spill each other's\nblood. If one of you have received wrong at the hands of the other,\nyour fathers of the Five Nations will see that justice is done between\nyou. Why should ye make each other few? Once ye destroyed yourselves\nby your wars, but, now that ye dwell together under the shadow of the\ngreat tree of the Five Nations, it is fitting that ye should be at\nrest, and bury the tomahawk for ever at its root. Learn of your own\nrivers. The streams of Mattoavoan, and Mawenawasigh, after struggling,\nand wasting their strength among the rocks, mingle at length in peace\nin the bosom of the father of waters, the Great River of the\nMountains.\" The council, since they could do no better, approved of\nthe words of Garangula; it was agreed that the relations of the hunter\nslain below the Mountain should be pacified by a present of a belt of\nwampum and shells, and the chiefs smoked the pipe of peace together,\nand delivered belts of wampum as the memorials of the treaty.\n\nThe warrior hastened to the glen of Melsingah to communicate the\nintelligence to his beloved maiden. Their retreat was instantly\nabandoned, not, however, without some regret at leaving a place where\nso many happy days had been passed; the birch canoe was borne to the\nmouth of the river, and after taking his bride, at her earnest\nentreaty, to visit her own tribe, the warrior descended with her to\nhis friends below the mountains. Long was the waterfall visited by the\nIndians, and it is only since the axe of the white man has been heard\nin the adjoining forest that the good Manitou has retreated from the\nCascade of Melsingah.\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF COATUIT BROOK[A].\n\n[Footnote A: The genuine tradition imputed but a part of the labour of\nploughing out Coatuit Brook to the lover of Awashanks. It was\ncommenced, according to the Indians, from a motive of benevolence\nrather than love. The Indians were much in want of fresh water--a very\nlarge trout, with the intention of supplying it, forced his way from\nthe sea into the land. It proved too much for his strength, however,\nand he died in the attempt. It was finished by the heroine of this\nlegend, who ploughed the sward through to Sanctuit Pond.]\n\n\nThere was once amongst the Marshpees--a small tribe who have their\nhunting-grounds on the shores of the Great Lake, and near the Cape of\nStorms[A]--a woman whose name was Awashanks. She was rather silly and\nremarkably idle. For days together she would sit doing nothing, while\nthe other females of the village were busily employed in weeding the\ncorn, or bringing home fuel from the distant wood, or drying the fish,\nor thatching the cabins, or mending the nets, or their husbands'\napparel, or preparing the weapons of the chace. Then she was so very\nugly and ill-shapen that not one of the youths of the village would\nhave aught to say to her by way of courtship or marriage. She squinted\nvery much; her face was very long and thin; her nose excessively large\nand humped; her teeth crooked and projecting; her chin almost as sharp\nas the bill of a loon, and her ears as large as those of a deer and\nsimilarly shaped. Her arms, which were very long, were nothing but\nfleshless bones; and the legs upon which she stood seemed like two\npine poles stript of their bark. Altogether she was a very odd and\nstrangely formed woman, and wherever she went never failed to excite\nmuch laughter and derision among those who thought that ugliness and\ndeformity were fit subjects for ridicule.\n\n[Footnote A: Cape Cod.]\n\nThough exceedingly ugly, as I have told my brother, there was one\nfaculty she possessed in a more remarkable degree than any woman that\nhad ever lived in the tribe--it was that of singing. Nothing--unless\nsuch could be found in the land of spirits--could equal the sweetness\nof her voice, or the beauty of her songs. Her favourite place of\nresort was a small hill, a little removed from the river of her\npeople, and there, seated beneath the shady trees, she would while\naway the hours of summer with her charming songs. So soft and\nbeautiful were the things she uttered, that, by the time she had sung\na single sentence, the branches above her head would be filled with\nthe birds that came thither to listen, and the thickets around her,\nand the waters rolling beside her, would be crowded with beasts and\nfishes attracted to the nearest brink or covert by the same sweet\nsounds. From the minnow to the porpoise, from the sparrow to the\neagle, from the snail to the lobster, from the mouse to the mole--all\nhastened to the spot to listen to the charming songs of the hideous\nMarshpee maiden. And various, but sufficiently noisy and dissonant,\nwere the means by which the creatures testified the delight and\nadmiration produced by the sounds which had drawn them thither.\n\nAmongst the fishes, who repaired every night to the vicinity of the\nLittle Hillock, which was the chosen resting-place of the ugly\nsongstress, was the great war-chief of the Trouts, a tribe of fishes\ninhabiting the river near by, and who, as my brother knows, generally\nmake the cold and pebbly stream their place of residence. It is a\nchosen sport of theirs to hide among the roots of trees which stand\nnear the brink of their favourite streams. They are a very cunning and\nshy people, and seldom fail, by their cunning and shyness, to escape\nall the snares laid for them by their enemies. The chief of the\ntribe, who dwelt in the river of the Marshpees, and who was also their\nguardian spirit, was of a far larger size than the people of his\nnation usually are, being as long as a man, and quite as thick, which\nmy brother knows is a size that few of his people attain. But, to\nenable my brother to account for his great size, it is only necessary\nto tell him that the mother of this great trout was a monstrous\nflounder.\n\nOf all the creatures which came to listen to the singing of Awashanks,\nnone appeared to enjoy it so highly as the Chief of the Trouts. As his\nbulk prevented him from approaching as near as he wished, he, from\ntime to time, in his eagerness to enjoy the music to the best\nadvantage, ran his nose into the ground, and thus soon worked his way\na considerable distance into the greensward. Nightly he continued his\nexertions to approach the source of the delightful sounds he heard;\ntill at length he had ploughed out a wide and handsome brook, and\neffected his passage from the river to the hill whence that music\nissued--a distance exceeding an arrow's flight. Thither he repaired\nevery night at the commencement of darkness, sure to meet the maiden\nwho had become so necessary to his happiness. Soon he began to speak\nof the pleasure he enjoyed, and to fill the ears of Awashanks with\nfond protestations of his love and affection. Instead of listening, it\nwas not long before he was listened to. It was something so new and\nstrange to the maiden to hear the tones of love and courtship; a thing\nso unusual to be told that she was beautiful, and to be pressed to\nbestow her heart upon a suitor; that it is not strange that her head,\nnever very strong, became completely turned by the new incident in her\nlife, and that she began to think the gurgling speech of the lover the\nsweetest she had ever heard. There, upon the little hillock, beneath\nthe shade of lofty trees, she would sit for a whole sleep, listening\nto the sweetest sounds her ears had ever heard; the while testifying\nher affection for her ardent lover by feeding him with roots and other\nfood in which he delighted. But there were obstacles to the\naccomplishment of their mutual wishes, which they knew not how to\novercome. He could not live on the land above two minutes at a time,\nnor she in the water above thrice that period. This state of things\ngave them much vexation, occasioning many tears to be shed by the\nmaiden, and perplexing much her ardent lover.\n\nThey had met at the usual place one evening, discoursing of these\nthings, and lamenting that two so fond and affectionate should be\ndoomed to live apart, when a slight noise at the shoulder of the\nmaiden caused her to turn her head. Terror filled her bosom when she\nfound that it proceeded from a little striped man, scarcely higher\nthan a tall boy of ten seasons. He wore around his neck a string of\nglittering shells, and his hair, green as ooze, was curiously woven\nwith the long weeds which are found growing upon the rocks at the\nbottom of the Great Lake. His hands and feet were shaped like the fins\nof fish, and his head was that of a great haddock. His body was\ncovered with scales like any other scaly fish; indeed, except that he\nwalked erect like a human being, and had two legs, and two arms, and\nthat his eyes were not placed as the eyes of fish are, he might well\nhave been taken for a fish of a kind not before known. Having surveyed\nthe lovers for a short time in silence, he demanded \"why they were so\ngloomy and downcast.\"\n\nThe bashfulness of the maiden prevented her replying, but the Chief of\nthe Trouts answered that \"they loved each other, and wished to live\ntogether, but that the maiden could not exist in his element, nor he\nin her's; and hence it appeared they were never to know the joys which\nare tasted by those who have their dwelling in one cabin.\"\n\n\"Be not grieved nor hopeless,\" answered the Spirit; \"the impediments\ncan be removed. I am the genius that presides over the fishes, and was\ninvested at the beginning with power to procure for them all the\nenjoyments they are susceptible of tasting. I cannot transform a trout\ninto a man--that must be effected by a spirit of the earth--but I can\nwork the transformation of a man into a trout--under my charm the\nMarshpee maiden shall become a beautiful fish of the same species with\nthe chief.\"\n\nWith that he bade Awashanks follow him into the river. When they had\nwaded in to a considerable depth, he took up a handful of water and\nthrew it upon the head of the maiden, pronouncing certain words of\nwhich none but himself knew the meaning. Immediately a change\ncommenced upon her, attended with such pain and distress that the very\nair resounded with her cries. Her body became in a few moments covered\nwith scales; her ears, and nose, and chin, and arms, disappeared, and\nher two legs became joined, forming that part of a fish which is\ncalled the tail--she became a complete trout. Having fully\naccomplished the task of transformation, the Genius of the Fishes\ndelivered her to the Chief of the Trouts. The pair were soon observed\ngliding side by side, very lovingly, into the deep and quiet waters.\nBut, though she had become a trout, she did not forget the land of her\nbirth. Every season, on the same night as that upon which her\ndisappearance from the tribe had been wrought, there would be seen two\ntrouts, of a magnitude surpassing fifty-fold any ever caught by the\nMarshpees, busily employed in ploughing out the brook. They continued\nthe labour or sport, whichever it may be called, till the pale-faces\ncame to the country, when, deeming themselves in danger from a people\nwho paid no reverence to the spirits of the land, they bade adieu for\never to _Coatuit, or the Brook of the Great Trout_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPIRITS OF VAPOUR.\n\n\nThere was, among the Knisteneaux, in the days that are past, a very\nwise chief, who was also the greatest medicine-man that ever dwelt in\nthe nation. He knew all the herbs, and plants, and roots, and barks,\nwhich were good for the curing of diseases: and, better still, the\nwords, and charms, and prayers, and ceremonies, without which they\nwere not effective. He could call down rain from the clouds, and\nforetell the approach of storms, and hail, and tempests, beyond any\nman that ever lived in the nation. Had not his worship of the Ki-jai\nManitou, or Great Spirit, been sincere, frequent, and fervent, these\nthings had not been; he would have found his prayers unheard, or\nunheeded, or unanswered--he would have seen his skill baffled, and his\ncharms and medicines impotent and ineffective. But he was beloved by\nthe Great Spirit, and thence came his wisdom, and power, and strength,\nand success; and thence, my brother knows--for he is himself a wise\npriest and a cunning man--come the wisdom, and strength, and power,\nand success, of all men, whether white like him, or red like myself.\n\nBut, if this good and prudent priest of the Knisteneaux was beloved by\nthe Great Spirit, he was equally hated by the Matchi Manitou, or\nSpirit of Evil. This bad being, who is the opposite to him that sends\ngood gifts to the Knisteneaux, delights in mischief, and is best\npleased when he has wrought injury or distress to mankind, and brought\nupon them ruin and dismay, hunger, nakedness, want, sickness, pain,\ndisgrace, seeing how much Makusue, for that was the name of the\npriest, interfered with his schemes of testifying his hatred to men,\nwas always making him feel the weight of his vengeance, and thwarting\nhis plans for the benefit of the nation by every means in his power.\nIf Makusue went to gather _Moscharnewatchar_[A], he was sure to find\nthe Evil Spirit perched near, trying to frighten him away; if he went\nto dig the _Ehawshoga_[B], his enemy had certainly caused the earth to\nfreeze, that he might be defeated of his object. If Makusue wished to\ncross the lake, the wind was sure to blow violently the moment he\nentered his canoe, and rain to drench him before he left it. If he\nsought an opportunity to surprise the Coppermines, the Evil Spirit\nflew with the speed of a loon before a high wind to apprise them of\nhis intentions. Equally great was the hatred of Makusue for the Evil\nSpirit. If he found any one disposed to worship him, he was\nindefatigable in his endeavours to detach him from him. He never\nfailed to make sport and derision of him when he was raging, nor to\nshout and halloo after him when he saw him flying over, nor to set the\ndogs upon him, when he was prowling about the village at midnight. So\nthere was a bitter warfare kindled between the Matchi Manitou and the\ngood priest, and each did the other all the harm he could. Both\ngrinned at each other whenever they met, like a couple of cross dogs\nwho have found a bone, or a woman at her husband who brings a younger\nwife to supplant her in place and affection.\n\n[Footnote A: Mos-char-ne-wat-char--\"It causes heat and cold\"--Indian\nbalsam, said to be one of the most valuable articles belonging to the\nIndian class of remedies. They give an infusion of it in colds,\ncoughs, asthmas, and consumptions.]\n\n[Footnote B: Ehawshoga--\"Bite the mouth\"--Indian turnip, another of\ntheir remedies.]\n\nBut, at length, the success of Makusue in drawing away worshippers\nfrom his enemy became so great, that the latter feared the utter\ndis-peopling of his Hunting-Grounds, or Land of Wicked Souls. To him\nthe greatest enjoyment was that of tormenting the spirits of men, and\nthis enjoyment, if Makusue continued his course of success, he was\nlikely to be deprived of. So he went to the Great Spirit and spoke to\nhim thus:--\n\n\"When _we_ made man, did we not agree that I should take the souls of\nthe wicked, and thou those of the good?\"\n\n\"We agreed that thou shouldst take the souls of the wicked, and I the\nsouls of the good,\" answered the Great Spirit. \"And wilt thou say that\nthe agreement has not been kept?\"\n\n\"Thou hast not broken it, nor have I, and yet it is broken.\"\n\n\"In what way, and by whom then, is it broken?\"\n\n\"By Makusue, the priest and chief of the Knisteneaux.\"\n\n\"What has Makusue done?\"\n\n\"Baffled and thwarted me in every pursuit: if one proposes to offer me\nsacrifice, along comes Makusue and extinguishes the fire. There is\ndeath written on the face of another, but Makusue speaks powerful\nwords over the _mastinjay_[A], the patient drinks it, gets well, and I\nam the loser. Thus I am deprived of the pleasing occupation of\ntormenting the wicked. There is nobody dies now that belongs to me.\"\n\n[Footnote A: Dittany, used by the Indians as a remedy for various\ndiseases.]\n\n\"What wouldst thou have me do?\" demanded the Great Spirit. \"Makusue is\na good servant, and a very honest priest. I cannot allow him to be\nharmed. But that thou mayst not altogether want business, I will allow\nthee to torment, for three suns and three sleeps, the souls of all the\nKnisteneaux that belong to me--the souls of the wicked remain thine.\nBut thou shalt kindle the flames to burn them in the low and marshy\ngrounds only.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" answered the Evil Spirit. \"I will see that the fire\nshall be kindled in the low and marshy grounds only.\"\n\nSo the Evil Spirit, much pleased with his bargain, returned to the\nland of the Knisteneaux to watch for the souls of their dead, and the\nGreat Spirit winged his way back to the Mountain of Thunder.\n\nWhen it was told Makusue of the agreement which the Great Spirit had\nmade with the Spirit of Evil, grief for his people filled the heart of\nthe good priest. At nightfall he repaired to the hill, with olay upon\nhis hair, and addressed his master thus:\n\n\"I have served thee long, and thou didst say faithfully, yet thou hast\ngiven the souls of my people that I have brought to thee into the\nhands of the Evil Spirit, to be tormented for three suns and three\nsleeps.\"\n\n\"I know that I have done this,\" answered the Master. \"Is it not well!\"\n\n\"Thou canst not do otherwise than well,\" answered the priest; \"and yet\nwhy should those be punished, even for so short a period, whom thou\nhast deemed worthy to live in the Happy Hunting-Grounds for ever\nafter?\"\n\n\"What thou sayest has reason with it, Makusue,\" answered the Great\nSpirit. \"It was not well advised in me to grant so great a favour to\nthe Matchi Manitou. But it is said, and cannot be recalled.\"\n\n\"But it may be evaded,\" answered the cunning priest.\n\n\"How?\" demanded the Master.\n\n\"Thou hast told the Evil Spirit that he may torment the souls of the\nKnisteneaux for three suns and three sleeps, taking care to kindle the\nfire in the low and marshy grounds only.\"\n\n\"I have.\"\n\n\"Let the souls of the dead, as thou hast said, repair to those spots,\nbut let them first take a form which it shall not be in the power of\nthe Evil Spirit to torture. Let them repair thither in the form of fog\nor vapour.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" answered the Great Spirit. So he bade the spirit of each\nKnisteneau, immediately on its leaving the body, to wear for three\nsuns and three sleeps the form of fog or mist. It was by this trick\nof the wise Makusue's, that the souls of our people were reprieved\nfrom the tortures which the Matchi Manitou was preparing for them. And\nstill does the same thing continue. When the breath of a Knisteneau\nleaves the body, it repairs for the allotted period to the low marshy\ngrounds, where it becomes fog and vapour. If my brother will go to one\nof those spots, upon either of the three days next following the death\nof a Knisteneau, he will see that my words are not the words of a\nmocking-bird, but of a man who knows that the anger of the Great\nSpirit will be upon him, if he does not speak the truth.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEVIL OF CAPE HIGGIN.\n\n\nA long time ago, before the occupation of the Island of Nope by the\nwhite people, there dwelt, upon the north side, and near its western\nend, a spirit or goblin--a very good-natured, peaceable, clever, old\nfellow, very fond of laughter and a good joke. The Indians called him\n_Moshup_, which signifies a very bad Spirit, but, when the white\npeople came, they named him with reference to the little elbow, or\npromontory of land, where he had his usual residence, the Devil of\nCape Higgin. There is another tradition, in which, it is said, that he\nonce lived upon the main land, opposite Nope, and near the brook which\nwas ploughed out by the Great Trout[A]. It was said, that Moshup came\nto Nope in search of some children, which had been carried away by a\ngreat bird, and finding the spot pleasant, people clever, and food\nabundant, concluded to take up his abode there[B].\n\n[Footnote A: See the \"Legend of Coatuit Brook,\" p. 307 of this vol.]\n\n[Footnote B: See \"The Legend of Moshup,\" v. ii, p. 261.]\n\nMoshup, the Devil of Cape Higgin, was by no means so bad as his title\nimplies. Faults he had, it is true, but no one is without faults. And\nthen, compared with the vices of men, the vices of the devil sunk into\nmere trifles. He was a little loose in his morals, and withal, rather\ncross to his wife, but he made up for the latter fault by his\nunwearied attentions to the wives of his neighbours. He gave into very\nfew indulgences, drank nothing stronger than water, and never ate more\nthan a small whale, or five or six porpoises, at one meal. His\ngreatest indulgence was in smoking the Indian weed, which he did to\nexcess. He was moderate in his exactions from the Indians, requiring,\nas a tribute, only a tenth part of all the whales, grampusses, and\nfinbacks, which might be taken by the inhabitants of the Island,\ntogether with all the porpoises caught in the Frog-Month. The evil of\nscarcity, so it was not occasioned by indolence, he bore with much\ncomposure. But, if a cheat were attempted to be practised upon him, by\nsending him the poorest fish, or if any part of his share was\nabstracted, if a porpoise or a halibut was hidden, or the head of a\nfinback sunk, with a buoy attached to it, or the fin of a whale buried\nin the sand, he showed most terrific symptoms of wrath and anger, and\nnever failed to make the Indians pay dearly for their roguery. But\nthose who dwelt in his vicinity, indeed all liable to be called upon\nfor tithes, little disposed at any time to battle with spirits and\ndemons, paid their dues with great promptitude, and so seldom came in\ncollision with their grim and powerful neighbour. To tell my brother\nthe truth, it was not for their interest to quarrel with him. He was\nof much importance to them in many of their pursuits, and assisted\nthem with a great deal of good advice and sound and profitable\ncounsel. He frequently directed them to a fine school of black-fish,\nor bade them see whales, or man their canoes for the chase of the\nfinback; he told them when to plant and gather in their corn, and\nforetold to them the approach of storms with an accuracy productive of\nthe greatest advantages to them. He also assisted the young people in\ntheir courtships up to the time of joining hands, but this it was\nwhispered he did from a disposition very proper to a naughty being\nlike himself, who could not fail to find his account in multiplying\nhuman miseries, and thereby increasing the chances of their going to\nthe dominions of Hobbamock, his master. Was any little rogue of a\nmaiden solicited to become the wife of a youth, and her parents stood\nout to the time of more usquebagh, who but Moshup was called in to\nnegociate for a less quantity? If a father said, \"It shall not be,\"\nand Moshup could be prevailed on to say, \"It shall be,\" the father\nwas sure to find a pretext for changing his mind. If a young woman was\nbeloved by one, and she pouted and pretended indifference, three words\nfrom Moshup were sure to make her reasonable. And, when women were\nmuch given to scolding, he had, somehow, a singular knack at taming\nthem. Taking every circumstance into view, it will be readily\nconcluded that he was a favourite with the Indians; indeed some of our\nfathers say, that he was once their grand Sachem; the greater part,\nhowever, think he was the first governor of the whites, and this I\nbelieve.\n\nBut spirits and demons, as well as the children of this world, whether\nwhite or red, are subject to changes of opinion and conduct--to many\nwhims and phantasies. Moshup grew harsh and ill-natured as he grew\nolder. The change was first felt in his own family, the peace of which\nwas soon destroyed by continual strife and quarrelling. He would beat\nhis old woman for nothing, and his children for a great deal less. He\nsoon began to harass his subjects with new demands and querulous\nexactions. He now frequently demanded the half of a whale instead of a\ntenth, or took, without asking, the whole of a grampus or finback.\nInstead of contributing his aid to promote marriages, he was very\ndiligent in preventing them; instead of healing love-quarrels, he did\nhis best to make them irreconcileable. He broke many well-ordered\nmatches, and soured much matrimonial bliss, set many friendly families\nby the ears, and created frequent wars between the different tribes of\nthe Island. The wild ducks he frightened with terrific shouts, so that\nthe Indian archer could no longer come near them; he cut the springes\nset for grouse and woodcocks--in short, he became a very troublesome\nand dangerous spirit. There was, however, no use in fretting; he was\nseated firmly on their necks, and there was no shaking him off. So the\nIndians bore his freaks with great patience, calmly took up with the\noffal of the whale, and only adopted the precaution of removing as far\nfrom him as possible. His harsh behaviour unpeopled his neighbourhood;\nand soon the little elbow of land, which the white people call Cape\nHiggin, had, for its only occupants, the Spirit Moshup and his family.\n\nUpon the southern shore of the same Island of Nope, at a distance of\nten or twelve miles from the residence of Moshup, lived, at the same\nperiod of time, Hiwassee, the proud and arbitrary Sachem of that\nportion of the Island which lies most exposed to the fogs of spring.\nHe was a very rich and mighty man, had abundance of grape-vines, and a\nvast many ponds, well stocked with clams, oysters, perch, crabs, and\nwild fowl; many swamps filled with terrapins and cranberries; and much\nland, well adapted to the growing of maize and other good things. He\nwas accounted the most powerful Sachem on the Island. He was, besides,\non excellent terms with Moshup, and so escaped all taxes,\ncontributions, and tenths, merely now and then making him a present of\na few baskets of grapes, or a few terrapins. This Sachem had a\ndaughter, young, and more beautiful than any maiden that had ever been\nseen in Nope. She was taller than Indian maidens generally are, her\nhair was long and glossy as the raven's, and her step very light and\ngraceful. Then she excelled very far the women of her tribe in the\nexercises which belong to the other sex. None drew the bow with equal\nstrength, or tortured the prisoner with so much ingenuity, or danced\nthe war-dance with equal agility, or piped the war-song with lungs as\nefficient. I must tell my brother that, according to the tradition of\nour nation, the Indian females were first taught by her to introduce\nthe crab's claw into the cartilage of the nose, and to insert the\nshell of a clam into the under-lip, as ornaments. She was, indeed, a\nbeautiful creature, and understood better than any one else the art of\nattracting all the brave and best of the land; the love and\nadmiration of the other sex followed her whithersoever she went. Her\nfather's wigwam was filled with the suitors who came to solicit her\nlove. There were the chiefs of the tribes which dwelt at Neshamoyes,\nChabbaquiddic, Popannessit, Suckatasset, and many other places;\nwarriors, famed and fearless, who asked her of the Grand Sachem in\nmarriage. But no, she was deaf to their entreaties, laughed at all\ntheir presents of conch-shells, terrapins, and eagle's feathers, and\ncarefully and scrupulously barred the doors of her father's wigwam\nagainst all the suitors, who, according to the Indian forms of\ncourtship, came when the lights were extinguished and the parents were\nsleeping, to whisper soft tales at the side of her couch. The truth,\nwhich must be told my brother, is, that she had long before placed her\naffections upon a young warrior, stern to his enemies, but to her all\ngentleness, who dwelt at the western end of the Island, and was\nreckoned the favourite, some said he was the son, of the Devil of Cape\nHiggin. They had loved each other long, and with the truest\naffection(1), and all their hopes centered in a union.\n\nBut my brother knows--if he does not I will tell him--that fathers and\nmothers will not always permit daughters to have their own way in\nmarriage. The proud father objected to the lover, because he had\nslain but three foes, and was not descended from a line of chiefs,\ndistinguished by their wisdom or valour. What was to be done? The\nlovers talked the matter over and over again, and finally determined\nto apply to Moshup, for his aid and advice. They forthwith repaired to\nthe usual residence of the goblin. It was a most auspicious moment;\nthey found him in a delirium of joy. A school of whales, in a recent\ndark night, becoming bewildered, had foundered upon a neighbouring\nledge of rocks, and a great many fine calves had been deposited at the\nmouth of his cave as his share. Withal a brother goblin, residing\nsomewhere upon the main land, had sent him some excellent old tobacco;\nand these, with the occurrence at the happy moment of other enlivening\ncircumstances, had wrought him up to such unusual good temper that he\nquite forgot his very recent determination to annoy all lovers, and\npromised to befriend the hapless pair. He rose from his seat, put a\nfew hundred pounds of tobacco in his pouch, took a half-roasted\ngrampus from the coals to pick by the way, and set off for\nSanchequintacket, the place of Hiwassee's residence: the young warrior\nperched upon his shoulder, and the maiden, reposing on a litter formed\nby his arm, lay horizontally on his breast.\n\nMoshup was no devil with wings, but he had two legs, and could use\nthem to much advantage. So he set off at a pretty smart trot, and was\nvery soon at the end of his journey. He found the Grand Sachem busy at\na feast, but this did not prevent him from telling his errand at once.\nWith great calmness and in perfect silence, for he was not in one of\nhis talkative fits, he heard the maiden's father give his reasons for\nrefusing his daughter to the lover. They were those which have been a\nthousand times urged before--\"Poverty--poverty--low parentage--low\nparentage; not sufficiently known--not sufficiently celebrated.\"\n\n\"Is this all you have to say against the young man, you old fool?\"\nasked Moshup. \"What do you want? What must the young man have?\"\n\n\"He must have a great deal of land--he must have an island,\" answered\nHiwassee.\n\n\"Good,\" said Moshup, drawing a huge quantity of smoke into his mouth,\nand blowing it out through his nose: \"follow me!\"\n\nAt the time whereof I speak, the island of Nope extended to and\ncomprehended the little island of Tuckanuck. The little island was\nthen a part of the larger island; but once upon a time there came a\ngreat storm, the winds raged and the thunders rolled, and the storms\nbeat upon the island, and it was disjointed and became two islands. To\na high cliff, upon the eastern side of this same Tuckanuck, Moshup\nconducted Hiwassee, his daughter, her lover, and a great crowd of\nother Indians, who followed to see what wonderful feat he would\nperform. Being arrived, he sat down upon the ground, and commenced his\ncharm. First he dug a great hole in the earth, into which he threw\nmany heated stones, the while muttering many words, which no one but\nhimself understood. Then he filled his pipe with tobacco, kindling it\nwith the rays from a flash of lightning. When this was done, he bowed\nonce to the rising sun, twice to the North Star, blew thrice in a\nconch-shell, muttered more unintelligible words, and commenced smoking\nat a great rate. In a few minutes it was as dark as the darkest night,\nand a terrible tempest arose. The thunders rolled awfully, the\nlightnings flashed, the rains poured down, and abundance of voices\nwere heard in the east, puffing and blowing as of men in great labour.\nPresently there was a hissing sound, like that of live embers dropped\ninto water--Moshup had emptied his pipe. There now came up a strong\nwind from the west, which, gradually dispersing the smoke he had\ncreated, displayed to their view a low dark something in the east. It\nwas the promised island--the ashes from Moshup's pipe. The couple upon\nwhom Moshup bestowed this island gave it the name of Nantucket, and\nsuch it bears at this day.\n\nI have no more to say.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n(1) _Loved each other with the truest affection._--p. 327.\n\nIt has been the practice to accuse American Indians of great coldness\nof temper, and to represent them as incapable of sincere and permanent\nattachment. It is a mistake. It is true that on the part of the males\nall expressions of affection are repressed, from the belief that the\ndisplay of any passion or emotion inflicts deep and indelible disgrace\nupon a man, especially if he is a warrior. This is the mere result of\neducation, and proves nothing. It is certain that the females, whom\nthe tyranny of opinion does not bind in this respect, are full of\ntenderness and assiduity. The story of Pocahontas is too well known to\nbe repeated. When Mr. Nutall was with the Osages, he was near\nwitnessing a tragical termination to a trifling dispute, from the\nbelief of an Indian wife that harm was intended to her husband. She\nhad been several years married to a French hunter, living with that\ntribe. Soon after the arrival of a trader at the Indian camp,\nintoxication had taken place, and a quarrel ensued between the husband\nof this woman and another of the French hunters. Their altercation\nfilled her with terror, and she gave way to tears and lamentations,\nnot doubting but that the antagonist, who was the aggressor, intended\nthe death of her husband, as threats among Indians are the invariable\npreludes to fatal actions. When, at length, they began to struggle\nwith each other, without any more ado she seized a hatchet, and would\ninstantly have dispatched the man who fought with her husband, if she\nhad not been prevented by the bystanders. In another instance an\nOmawhaw and his wife, on a solitary hunting expedition, were\ndiscovered at a distance from their temporary lodge, by a Sioux\nwar-party. They endeavoured to escape from the enemy, but the wife was\nsoon overtaken, struck to the ground, and subjected to the terrible\noperation of scalping. The husband, although at this time beyond the\nreach of the arrows of the Sioux, seeing his wife in their hands,\nimmediately turned upon them, and drawing his knife, the only weapon\nhe had, furiously rushed among them, in order to revenge her death,\neven with the inevitable sacrifice of his own life, but he was almost\nimmediately dispatched, without having accomplished his heroic\npurpose.\n\nWhen their affections have become deeply engaged, they will frequently\naffect insanity with a view to melt the heart of the obdurate beloved.\n\n\"A Chippewa, named Ogemans, who resided near the Dog Lake, was married\nto a woman called Demoya, but had conceived an affection for her\nsister, named Okoj, who lived in the same cabin; the latter having\nrefused his offer to take her as a second wife, he affected insanity.\nHis ravings were terrible; nothing could appease him but her presence;\nthe moment he touched her hand or came near her, he was as gentle as\nthey could wish. At one time, in the middle of a winter's night, he\nsprang from his couch, broke through the frail bark which formed his\ncabin, and escaped into the woods, howling and screaming in the\nwildest manner; his wife and her sister followed him, endeavouring to\ncalm him and bring him home, but he seemed to have set all their\npowers at defiance. At last Okoj came near him, and the moment she\nlaid her hand upon him, he became quite tractable. In this manner he\ncontinued for a long while, convincing all the Indians who saw him\nthat he was possessed by a spirit, which nothing but the approach of\nOkoj could reduce. So deep was their conviction and her's, that she at\nlast consented to become his wife, and never after was he troubled by\na return of madness.\"\n\nAnother instance of a somewhat similar nature happened in the presence\nof the same interpreter, (Bruce). \"A young Canadian had secured the\naffections of an Indian girl called Nisette, whose mother was a Squaw\nthat had been converted by the missionaries; being very pious, the\nmother insisted that the young folks should be united by a clergyman.\nNone being in the country at the time, they travelled to an Algonquin\nvillage, situated on the Lake of the Two Mountains, where there was a\nmissionary. Meanwhile the Canadian's love cooled away, and by the time\nthey reached the village he cared no more for the poor girl.\nDisappointed in her affections, she was observed to sicken; she became\nsubject to fits, her intellect appeared disordered, and she was\nfinally considered as quite insane. The only lucid intervals which she\nhad were in the presence of her inconstant lover. Whenever he came\nnear her, her reason would return, and she would appear the same as\nbefore. Flattered by what he deemed so strong an evidence of his\ninfluence over her, the Canadian felt a return of kindness towards\nher, and was finally induced to renew his attentions, which being well\nreceived, they were soon united by the clergyman. Her reason appeared\nto be restored, and her improving health showed that her happiness was\ncomplete. Although she never was charged with having resorted to a\nstratagem, our guide, who had been with her a long while, and who\nrepresented her as a modest, virtuous, and interesting girl, had\nalways considered her insanity as assumed, with a view to work upon\nthe feelings of her inconstant friend.\"\n\nTheir other affections, especially the maternal, are equally exquisite\nwith those of civilised nations. I will relate one instance of\nmaternal fondness, from _James's Account of an Expedition to the Rocky\nMountains_, vol. i. p 223:--\n\n\"In the year 1814, a trader married a beautiful squaw of one of the\nmost distinguished families in the Omawhaw nation. This match, on the\npart of the husband, was induced by the following circumstances. Being\nan active, intelligent, and enterprising man, he had introduced the\nAmerican trade to the Missouri Indians, and had gained great influence\namongst them by his bravery and ingenuous deportment. But he at length\nperceived that his influence was gradually declining, in consequence\nof the presence and wiles of many rival traders, to whom his\nenterprise had opened the way, and that his customers were gradually\nforsaking him.\n\n\"Thus circumstanced, in order to regain the ground he had lost, he\ndetermined to seek a matrimonial alliance with one of the most\npowerful families of the Omawhaws. In pursuance of this resolution, he\nselected a squaw whose family and friends were such as he desired. He\naddressed himself to her parents agreeably to the Indian custom, and\ninformed them that he loved their daughter, that he was sorry to see\nher in the state of poverty common to her nation, and although he\npossessed a wife among the white people, yet he wished to have one\nalso of the Omawhaw nation. If they would transfer their daughter to\nhim in marriage, he would obligate himself to treat her kindly; and,\nas he had commenced a permanent trading establishment in their\ncountry, he would dwell during a portion of the year with her, and the\nremainder with the white people, as the nature of his occupation\nrequired. His establishment should be her home, and that of her people\nduring his life, as he never intended to abandon the trade. In return,\nhe expressed his expectation, that, for this act, the nation would\ngive him the refusal of their peltries, in order that he might be\nenabled to comply with his engagement to them. He further promised,\nthat if the match proved fruitful, the children should be made known\nto the white people, and would probably be qualified to continue the\ntrade after his death.\n\n\"The parents replied with thanks for his liberal offers, and for his\ndisposition to have pity on them; they would not object to the\nconnection, and hoped that their daughter would accept of him as her\nhusband.\n\n\"The parents then retired, and opened the subject to the daughter.\nThey assured her that her proposed husband was a great man, greater\nthan any of the Omawhaws; that he would do much for her and for them,\nand concluded by requesting her to acquiesce in the wishes of the\nwhite man. She replied, that all they said was, without doubt, true,\nand that, agreeably to his request, she was willing to become his\nwife.\n\n\"The agreement being thus concluded, the trader made presents,\nagreeably to the custom of the nation, and conducted his interesting\nprize to his house.\n\n\"The succeeding spring the trader departed for the settlements,\nleaving her of course at his trading house.\n\n\"The ensuing autumn she had the pleasure to see him return, having now\nconceived for him the most tender attachment. Upon his visit the\nfollowing season, she presented him with a fine daughter, born during\nhis absence, and whom she had nursed with the fondest attention. With\nthe infant in her arms, she had daily seated herself on the bank of\nthe river, and followed the downward course of the stream, with her\neye, to gain the earliest notice of his approach. Thus time passed on.\nThe second year the father greeted a son, and obtained his squaw's\nreluctant consent to take their daughter with him on his return voyage\nto the country of the white people. But, no sooner had he commenced\nhis voyage, and although she had another charge upon which to lavish\nher caresses, than her maternal fondness overpowered her, and she ran\ncrying and screaming along the river side in pursuit of the boat,\ntearing out her long flowing hair, and appearing to be almost bereft\nof reason. On her return home she gave away every thing she possessed,\ncut off her hair, went into deep mourning, and remained inconsolable.\nShe would often say that she well knew that her daughter would be\nbetter treated than she could be at home, but she could not avoid\nregarding her own situation to be the same as if the Wahconda had\ntaken away her offspring for ever.\n\n\"One day, in company with six other squaws, she was engaged in her\nagricultural labours, her infant boy being secured to his cradle-like\nboard, which she had carefully reclined against a tree at a short\ndistance. They were discovered by a war-party of Sioux, who rushed\ntowards them, with the expectation of gratifying their vengeance by\nsecuring all their scalps. An exclamation from her companions directed\nher attention to the common enemy, and in her fright she fled\nprecipitately, but, suddenly recollecting her child, she swiftly\nreturned full in the face of the Sioux, snatched her child from the\ntree, and turned to save its life, more precious than her own. She was\nclosely pursued by one of the enemy, when she arrived at a fence which\nseparated her from the field of the trading-house. A moment's\nhesitation here would have been fatal; and, exerting all her strength,\nshe threw the child, with its board, as far as she could on the\nopposite side.\n\n\"Four of the squaws were tomahawked, and the others escaped, of which\nnumber the mother was one, having succeeded in bearing off her child\nuninjured.\n\n\"The trader, on his arrival at the settlements, learned that his white\nor civilized wife had died during his absence, and after a short\ninterval devoted to the usual formalities of mourning, he united his\ndestinies with another and highly amiable lady. The second season his\nwife accompanied him on his annual voyage up the Missouri, to his\ntrading-house, the abode of his squaw.\n\n\"Previously to his arrival, however, he dispatched a messenger to his\ndependents at the trading-house, directing them to prevent his squaw\nfrom appearing in the presence of his wife. She was accordingly sent\noff to the village of her nation, a distance of sixty or seventy\nmiles. But she could not long remain there, and soon returned with her\nlittle boy on her back, and, accompanied by some of her friends, she\nencamped near her husband's residence. She sent her son to the trader,\nwho treated him affectionately. On the succeeding day the trader sent\nfor his squaw, and, after making her some presents, he directed her to\naccompany her friends, who were then on their way to their\nhunting-grounds.\n\n\"She departed without a murmur, as it is not unusual with the Omawhaws\nto send off one of their wives, on some occasions, while they remain\nwith the favourite one.\n\n\"About two months afterwards the trader recalled her. Overjoyed with\nwhat she supposed to be her good fortune, she lost no time in\npresenting herself before the husband whom she tenderly loved. But\ngreat was her disappointment, when the husband demanded the surrender\nof the child, and renounced for the future any association with\nherself, directing her to return to her people, and to provide for her\nfuture well-being in any way she might choose.\n\n\"Overpowered by her feelings, on this demand and repudiation, she ran\nfrom the house, and finding a pirogue on the river shore, she paddled\nover to the opposite side and made her escape into the forest with her\nchild. The night was cold, and attended with a fall of snow and hail.\nReflecting upon her disconsolate condition, she resolved to return\nagain in the morning, and with the feelings of a wife and a mother to\nplead her cause before the arbiter of her fate, and endeavour to\nmitigate the cruel sentence.\n\n\"Agreeably to this determination, she once more approached him upon\nwhom she believed she had claims paramount to those of any other\nindividual. 'Here is our child,' said she: 'I do not question your\nfondness for him, but he is still more dear to me. You say that you\nwill keep him for yourself, and drive me far from you. But no, I will\nremain with him; I can find some hole or corner in which I may creep,\nin order to be near him, and sometimes to see him. If you will not\ngive me food, I will, nevertheless, remain until I starve before your\neyes.'\n\n\"The trader then offered her a considerable present, desiring her at\nthe same time to go, and leave the child. But she said, 'Is my child a\ndog, that I should sell him for merchandize? You cannot drive me away;\nyou may beat me, it is true, and otherwise abuse me, but I will still\nremain. When you married me, you promised to use me kindly as long as\nI should be faithful to you; that I have been so, no one can deny.\nOurs was not a marriage contracted for a season--it was to terminate\nonly with our lives. I was then a young girl, and might have been\nunited to an Omawhaw chief; but I am now an old woman, having had two\nchildren, and what Omawhaw will regard me? Is not my right paramount\nto that of your other wife; she had heard of me before you possessed\nher. It is true her skin is whiter than mine, but her heart cannot be\nmore pure towards you, nor her fidelity more rigid. Do not take the\nchild from my breast, I cannot bear to hear it cry, and not be present\nto relieve it[A]; permit me to retain it until the spring, when it\nwill be able to eat, and then, if it must be so, take it from my\nsight, that I may part with it but once.'\n\n[Footnote A: A mode of expression common to the Indians who are in the\nhabit of communicating their ideas by allusions to the senses.]\n\n\"Seeing her thus inflexible, the trader informed her that she might\nremain there if she pleased, but that the child should be immediately\nsent down to the settlements.\n\n\"The affectionate mother had thus far sustained herself during the\ninterview with the firmness of conscious virtue, and successfully\nresisted the impulse of her feelings; but nature now yielded, the\ntears coursed rapidly over her cheeks, and clasping her hands, and\nbowing her head, she burst into an agony of grief, exclaiming, 'Why\ndid the Wahconda hate me so much, as to induce me to put my child\nagain into your power?'\n\n\"The feelings of the unhappy mother were, however, soon relieved. Mr.\nDougherty (an Indian trader), communicated the circumstance of the\ncase to Major O'Fallon, (the agent), who immediately and peremptorily\nordered the restoration of the child to its mother, and informed the\ntrader that any future attempt to wrest it from her should be at his\nperil.\"\n\nI will give an example of the generous self-devotion of an Omawhaw, to\nprocure the escape of a brother, and with it end the volume.\n\n\"Two Omawhaw brothers had stolen a squaw from an individual of their\nnation, and were on their journey to seek a refuge in the Puncaw\nvillage. But they had the misfortune in a large prairie to meet with a\nwar-party of Sioux, their implacable enemies. They immediately\nconcealed themselves in a deep ravine, which at the bottom was covered\nwith dry reed grass. The Sioux surrounded this spot, and set fire to\nit on the windward side of the reeds, in order to drive them out. When\nthe conflagration had nearly reached the fugitives, one of the\nbrothers remarked, that the Wahconda had certainly not created him to\nbe smoked out like a racoon; the Indians smoke this animal out of\nhollow trees, by kindling a fire at the root: he urged his brother to\nattempt to escape in one direction, whilst he would attract the\nattention of the enemy, by sallying out upon them alone, and by\nendeavouring to destroy as many of them as possible, in anticipated\nrevenge for that death which he considered as inevitable. 'One or both\nof us,' said he, 'must certainly be sacrificed; save yourself if you\ncan; I will be the victim, and may fortunately receive a death-blow in\nthe conflict, and thus escape the disgrace of captivity.' He then\nrushed forth amongst the Sioux, shot one, and with his knife wounded\nseveral before he was dispatched. His brother, availing himself of the\ndiverted attention of the enemy, effected his escape, but the squaw\nwas burned to death.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\nLONDON:\nF. SHOBERL, JUN., LAZENBY COURT, LONG ACRE.\n\n\n\n\nNEW WORKS\n\nBY DISTINGUISHED WRITERS\n\nPUBLISHED BY\n\nMESSRS. COLBURN AND BENTLEY,\n\nNEW BURLINGTON STREET.\n\n\n1. SOUTHENNAN, A TALE OF THE REIGN of QUEEN MARY. BY JOHN\nGALT, Esq. Author of \"Lawrie Todd,\" &c., &c. In 3 vols, post 8vo.\n\n\"This new work is illustrative of that period of Scottish history\nwhich intervened between the arrival of Queen Mary from France and the\nmurder of Rizzio. The story turns on the attachment of Chatelar to\nMary. Among other historical characters introduced are, the Earls of\nMurray and Morton, who were both afterwards Regents of\nScotland.\"--_Courier._\n\n2. LAWRIE TODD; OR, THE SETTLERS IN THE WOODS. BY JOHN GALT, Esq.\nAuthor of \"The Ayrshire Legatees,\" \"The Annals of the Parish,\" &c. In\n3 vols. post 8vo.\n\n\"Oh, that all real autobiographies were like this piece of admirable\nfiction! If we were to express the genuine feelings of delight and\nadmiration with which we have perused this work of Mr. GALT,\nwe should be thought guilty of extravagance. It has impressed us with\nso high an opinion of his genius, that it would be with hesitation\nthat we placed any other poet or fiction writer above\nhim.\"--_Spectator._\n\n3. WOMEN AS THEY ARE; OR THE MANNERS OF THE DAY. A\nNOVEL. Second Edition. In 3 vols. small 8vo.\n\n\"We may venture to predict, that this production will be frequently\nresorted to, not only as furnishing a degree of amusement seldom to be\nmet with in books of this class, but as an authentic record of _the\nmanners of the Day_; particularly of the state of female society at\nthe present time; which we think has never been so thoroughly\nexamined, and so attractively depicted. It is, in the true sense of\nthe word--a lady's book. Some of the comic personifications would not\ndisgrace the author of the School for Scandal.\"--_Literary Gazette._\n\n4. CARWELL; OR, CRIME AND SORROW. In 1 vol. post 8vo.\n\n\"This new tale of domestic life, which has for its second title 'Crime\nand Sorrow,' is from the pen of the widow of the late Mr. THOMAS\nSHERIDAN. The plan of the story is a complete departure from the\nbeaten track of fiction, and involves the rarest eloquence and pathos.\nThe authoress is mother to the Honourable Mrs. Norton, who has lately\ndistinguished herself in the literary world. The family of Sheridan is\nindeed illustrious for genius.\"--_Sun._\n\n5. GERTRUDE, A TALE OF THE REIGN OF HENRY IV. In 2 vols. post 8vo.\n\n\"A beautiful and romantic tale, written in the true spirit of the age\nit illustrates.\"--_Literary Gazette._\n\n6. TALES OF MY TIME. By the Author of \"Blue Stocking Hall.\" In 3 vols.\npost 8vo. 28_s._ 6_d._\n\n\"These Tales are written with much spirit and truth of\nobservation.\"--_Literary Gazette._\n\n7. THE BORDERERS. By the Author of \"The Red Rover,\" \"The Prairie,\" &c.\nIn 3 vols. post 8vo. 31_s._ 6_d._\n\n8. STORIES OF A BRIDE. By the Authoress of \"The Mummy.\" In 3 vols.\npost 8vo. 28_s._ 6_d._\n\n9. TALES OF A BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. In 3 vols. post 8vo. 28_s._ 6_d._\n\n\"The author of these Tales is evidently an acute observer of human\nnature--has witnessed some extraordinary incidents in life, and is\ngifted with the rare art of telling a story well. No occurrences\nwhatever more powerfully agitate the human mind, than those which\nsooner or later find their way to the confidence of the legal\nprofession.\"--_Courier._\n\n10. PAUL CLIFFORD. By the Author of \"Pelham,\" \"Devereux,\" and \"The\nDisowned.\" In 3 vols.\n\n11. WALTER COLYTON, A TALE OF THE REIGN OF JAMES II. By the Author of\n\"Brambletye House,\" \"The New Forest,\" &c. &c. In 3 vols.\n\n12. THE DENOUNCED. By the Author of \"Tales by the O'Hara Family,\" \"The\nNowlans,\" \"The Croppy,\" &c. 3 vols.\n\n13. CLOUDESLEY. A Novel, by W. GODWIN, Esq. Author of \"Caleb\nWilliams.\" In 3 vols.\n\n14. SYDENHAM; OR, MEMOIRS OF A MAN OF THE WORLD. In 3 vols.\n\n15. THE MUSSULMAN, OR LIFE IN TURKEY. By R. R. MADDEN, Esq.\nAuthor of \"Travels in Turkey, Egypt,\" &c. 3 vols.","title":"Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 3","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":75062}