CHAPTER V.

[Contents]CHAPTER V.LOVE, MUSIC, AND POETRY.It has been the conclusion of historians generally, and of travellers and students almost universally, that the North American Indians were entirely destitute ofla belle passion—that “of the marvellous passion which originates in a higher development of the powers of the human heart, and is founded upon a cultivation of the affections between the sexes, they were entirely ignorant.” I shall not attempt to refute learned historians or philosophers, neither will I assert a different opinion. Yet there are many among the wise and thinking who say this cannot be.In reading very extensively, and conversing with those who have lived many years a forest life, I have learned many things which might be cited to prove a more pleasant theory, but they may possibly be onlyexceptions to the rule, and I shall therefore merely relate the facts, leaving my readers to theorize for themselves.In the contents of this chapter I have not confined myself to the Iroquois, but roamed among all the northern nations, and have by no means appropriated all that has been written and said on the subject.It is the impression among all people this side of the Mediterranean, that the women of Turkey all live in harems; but our Minister, who has just returned from a[84]four years’ sojourn in Constantinople, says he has never found in that city arespectable Turk who had more than one wife! This is the law of God, and to disobey it wars against nature. Among the Indians, polygamy was sometimes practised, but was by no means common, and was ever disgraceful. It is insisted, too, by their aged people, that before they were corrupted by their conquerors, there was scarcely any thing among them which Christian principle would condemn as vice.To excel in oratory certainly requires a very superior development, and in this no people excelled the Iroquois. Love, in all its purity, dwells very little among even Christian people, and something far worse than polygamy prevails in the most cultivated circles among civilized nations.There is not so much of nature’s nobility among the peasantry of Europe as among the forest Indians; yet their capability of love and the domestic affections is not disputed, and it is this alone which renders life endurable; were it not for this they would be desperadoes whom all the fetters of despotism could not trammel or subdue. But they are dwellers in one place, whilst the Indian is a rover, quite independent of home and domestic comfort.The manner in which marriages were contracted, made it impossible that there should be courtships or long romantic love affairs among the children of the wilderness, and their habits of life made social intercourse almost impossible. Young men and maidens, had very little opportunity to become acquainted, and if there sprang up in their bosoms a mutual attachment, it could not be cultivated without the consent of the friends of both parties, and so accustomed were they to obedience, that the thought of defying those who had authority over them was[85]seldom or never indulged. I have smiled, as I have heard an Indian youth speak of the opportunities he had enjoyed for being married, in the same way as young women make this boast among us. And this may be done without compromising the delicacy of those alluded to, as it is not supposed that the parties most concerned know any thing of the matter.The grandmothers, if living, if not the mothers, and when there are no mothers, the aunts, or nearest relatives, make the propositions. If it is considered desirable that a son, or daughter, marry the son or daughter in a neighboring lodge, a present of some kind is left at the door in a basket. This signifies to all within that a marriage negotiation is contemplated. If it is agreeable, the basket is brought in, and its contents being accepted, it is returned with a present which indicates thatthe way is opento further negotiation. If the proposal is rejected, the basket is left standing without the door, and she who brought it comes after there has been time for deliberation and takes it home. This is a decided refusal. If it is returned replenished, she sends another present of a different kind, and soon afterwards enters herself and consults with the matrons of the family with whom she seeks an alliance, and if all are pleased that it should take place, each family informs the son and daughter, for the first time, of the pending negotiation. Then, if there is no objection, presents are again exchanged, and there is another meeting of the matrons at which the children are present. Very serious advice is given them concerning their deportment, and the duties of husbands and wives, and then the seat is prepared in the home of the bride and bridegroom, which is in future to be exclusively theirs, and in the presence of all they repair to it, and are henceforth husband and wife. Their wedding tour is a[86]hunting excursion, or rather this was the custom of the olden time; now there is usually a feast, and there is also an acre of land set apart by the bride’s friends as her marriage portion. The father takes no interest in the matter, and is merelyinformedof the marriage when it is consummated. The children are of the tribe of the mother, as are the children’s children to the latest generation, and they are also of the same nation. If the mother is a Cayuga, the children are Cayugas; and if a Mohawk, the children are Mohawks. If the marriage proves unhappy, the parties are allowed to separate, and each is at liberty to marry again. But the mother has the sole right to the disposal of the children. She keeps them all if she chooses, and to their father they are ever mere strangers.In regard to property, too, the wife retains whatever belonged to her before marriage, distinct from her husband, and can dispose of it as she pleases without his consent, and if she separates from him, takes it with her, and at her death, either before or after separation, her children inherit all she possessed.A white man was once remonstrating with an Indian upon allowing the matrimonial bond to be so lightly broken, when the Indian replied: “You marry squaw, she know you always keep her, so she scold, scold, scold, and not cook your venison. I marry squaw, and she know I leave her if she not good. So she not scold, but cook my venison, and always pleasant, we live long together.”There were few penalties for any species of crime. To call a thingbadwas usually sufficient in Indian communities to deter from all that they considered evil. That which we denounce as criminal, was not called so by them.The staid and burly Englishman, never mingled with[87]the Indians in a way to gain their confidence or learn their true character. Their way of life was repulsive to him, but the Frenchman could become a hunter and roam for years in the forests, or live in a wigwam, and conform in all things to Indian customs with the samenonchalanceas he could walk upon tapestry and recline upon divans. This is the reason we usually have so much more pleasing pictures of Indian life from French than English traders. Englishmen would not be very likely to become theconfidantsof hunters or warriors, or to have an opportunity to listen to the love songs of Indian maidens.It is certainly wonderful that a people who knew nothing of physiology, and had no learned treatises upon physical degeneracy, should have so thoroughly provided against deterioration by laws concerning intermarriage. Their wigwams were built for the convenience of several families. A lodge was constructed, and when it became necessary, additions were made till it became one or two hundred feet in length, and the abode of a little multitude, but all who occupied it were within the degrees of consanguinity which forbade marriage—they were brothers and sisters, and treated each other as such. But disputing and wrangling form no part of the nurseries of an Indian cabin. It is quite amazing how many will live together in harmony and love.But I have heard of several instances of suicide for disappointed affection which would compare well in recklessness and desperation with any recorded in French or Italian novels. It sometimes happened that the husband or wife whom the friends chose, proved so unsuitable that the nuptial tie was broken almost as soon as formed. And when this happened I believe the parties were left the second time to select for themselves. It sometimes, too, became impossible for the friends to force upon young[88]people a yoke which they felt they could never bear. And often, as among the aristocratic circles of court society, it was worn a little while and then thrown off by one, leaving the other disconsolate and wretched. It, of course, most frequently happens that the wife is the deserted one.Mrs. Hemans has immortalized the heart-broken one who perished in the Falls of St. Anthony some years ago, as related by a missionary. Her name was Ampatd Sapa.“The husband was a successful hunter, and they lived happily together many years, and had two children, who played around their fire, and whom they were glad to call their children. Many families by degrees settled around them, and built wigwams near theirs. Wishing to become more closely connected with them, they represented to the hunter that he ought to have several wives, as by that means he would become of more importance, and might before long be elected chief of the tribe.”He was well pleased with this counsel, and privately took a new wife; but, in order to bring her into his wigwam without displeasing his first wife, the mother of his children, he said to her:“Thou knowest that I can never love any other woman as tenderly as I love thee: but I have seen that the labor of taking care of me and the children is too great for thee, and I have therefore determined to take another wife, who shall be thy servant; but thou shalt be the principal one in the dwelling.”The wife was very much distressed when she heard these words. She prayed him to reflect on their former affection—their happiness during many years—their children. She besought him not to bring this second wife into their dwelling.In vain. The next evening the husband brought the new wife into his wigwam.[89]“In the early dawn of the following morning a death song was heard on the Mississippi. A young Indian woman sat in a little canoe with her two small children, and rowed it out into the river in the direction of the falls. It was Ampatd Sapa. She sang in lamenting tones the sorrow of her heart, of her husband’s infidelity, and her determination to die. Her friends heard the song, and saw her intention, but too late to prevent it.“Her voice was soon silenced in the roar of the fall. The boat paused for a moment on the brink of the precipice, and the next was carried over it, and vanished in the foaming deep.”The Indians still believe that in the early dawn may be heard the lamenting song, deploring the infidelity of the husband; and they fancy that at times may be seen the mother, with the children clasped to her breast, in the misty shapes which arise from the fall around the Spirit Island.“Roll on; my warrior’s eye hath looked upon another’s face,And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam’s trace;My shadow comes not o’er his path, my whisper to his dream,He flings away the broken reed; roll swifter yet, thou stream!The voice that spoke of other days is hushed withinhisbreast;But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest.It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone;I cannot live without that light—Father of Waves, roll on!Will he not miss the bounding step, that met him from the chase?The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?The hand that spread the hunter’s board, and decked his couch of yore?He will not!—roll, dark, foaming stream, on to the better shore!And there, my babe! though born, like me, for woman’s weary lot;Smile! to that wasting of the heart; my own I leave thee not.Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath must waft away,The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.”[90]The words are another’s, but the sentiment is the same as uttered by the deserted one, and the same as uttered by a deserted one on the banks of Lake Erie. “I cannot live longer,” said she, and swallowed the poisoned draught her own hands had mixed.Not many specimens of Indian poetry have been preserved, yet they were ever singing.They had a great variety of tunes, and are said to have had a good perception of time. They had not the regular intervals of tones and semitones, but a thousand different sounds recurring at as many irregular intervals. The music and the words of their songs were oftenimpromptu, but the war-songs were in regular verses, and sung as they danced.The voice of the Indian is very rich and capable of high cultivation; and as they become Christianized, this part of public worship is their great delight. During the August of 1790 an Italian nobleman, Count Adriana, visited Mr. Kirkland, at his mission station in Oneida, and was particularly charmed with the musical powers of the Indians, saying—“The melody of their music, and the softness and richness of their voices, he thought were equal to any he ever heard in Italy!”During the French war a party of Indians came from the far north-west to visit Quebec. On their way they stopped at the Moravian Mission, on the banks of Lake Superior, and there a young Algonquin fell in love with a Chippewa maiden, who as ardently returned his passion. As she sailed away in her light canoe she uttered her love and sadness in the following wild strain:—“I shall go with you my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”“Alas,” I replied, “my native country is far, far away—my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”[91]When I looked back again, where we parted, he was still looking after me, my sweet heart, my Algonquin,He was still standing on a fallen tree, that had fallen in the water, my sweet heart, my Algonquin.Alas, when I think of him, when I think of him, it is when I think of him—my Algonquin.The following is another strain almost as simple, but less wild and sad:—“I looked across the water,I bent o’er it and listened,I thought it was my lover,My true love’s paddle glistened.Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.“I see the fallen maple,Where he stood his red scarf waving,Though waters nearly buryBoughs they then were merely laving,I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.”This is a literal translation, but there is the true spirit of thelove-lorn maiden, and a high development of the poetic sentiment. There has been only now and then a wanderer among the forests, who could appreciate or discern the beautiful, though there have been poems, and novels in abundance concerning wild forest life, by those who wrote the wanderings of their imagination and their fancy. The bright picture has been too bright, and the dark picture too dark.In the war songs of the Indian, there is never allusion to blood and carnage; and revenge is not made prominent among the natives for pursuing the enemy. Bold and[92]daring deeds are incited as worthy of imitation, and fortitude and heroism are exalted as the loftiest virtues. They had characteristics, generated by their peculiar life, but there is nothing about them to prevent their becominglike unto others. White men have lived among them and learned to prefer the hunter’s life. Indians have learned to prefer the habits of civilization, and shown themselves capable of education and refinement equal to any attained by any nation.When children, they have the same joyous nature, the same quick perceptions, and exhibit the same varieties of character.“As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined,”is as true of them as of pale-faced children.The following lines are a translation of a song heard among a troop of Chippewa children as they were playing at twilight around their dwellings, and the air was filled with myriads of fire-flies, which they were trying to catch. I have seen few prettier things among the children’s songs of any people.“Fire-fly, fire-fly, bright little thing,Light me to bed, and my song I will sing;Give me your light, as you fly o’er my head,That I may merrily go to my bed;Give me your light o’er the grass as you creep,That I may joyfully go to my sleep;Come little fire-fly—Come little beast—Come! and I’ll make you to-morrow a feast.Come, little candle, that flies as I sing,Bright little fairy bug,—night’s little king;Come, and I’ll dance as you guide me along,Come, and I’ll pay you my bug with a song.”In their legends there is often allusion tofalling in[93]love, in the way the same event takes place among other people. The following is obtained from a very authentic source, and certainly appears very natural:—[Contents]A LOVE LEGEND.Iroquois.Over a deep gulf, not far from Canandaigua Lake, hangs a wild and fearful precipice, which has been known to the Indian as far back as tradition goes, by the name of “Lover’s Leap,” for here two lovers preferred to die together rather than live apart.When the Senecas and Algonquins were at war, a young Algonquin Chief was taken prisoner, and condemned to die. While in the “cabin of death,” to wait his doom, the youthful and beautiful daughter of the Sachem brought him food. He too was rich in all those manly gifts which an Indian maiden is taught to admire in warrior and in chieftain, and though her father’s enemy, she loved him, and resolved to save his life.Ere the morning watch, when the gray dawn was just stealing from behind the hill-tops, she stole with stealthy tread to the side of the noble captive, and cutting the thongs which bound him, bade him in breathless accents to follow her.The sentinel, weary with his night-watchings, had fallen asleep, but ere they had descended the winding pathway which led to the lake on whose gentle bosom they had hoped to rest, the shrill war-whoop fell on their ears and they knew they were pursued. Like the fawn or the squirrel they bounded through the thick woods and down the steeps to the border of the lake, where the light canoe awaited them, and plied the dashing paddles with the desperate energy of those who row for life. But it[94]was in vain; nearer came the terrific yell and then the splashing of a dozen oars, and as many savage warriors swiftly gliding over the waters in full view of the fugitives.They reached the shore and fled through a woody pathway over the hills; but, seeing the brave youth by her side was fainting from his still bleeding wounds, the maiden turned quickly and came to a table-crested rock that overlooked the gulf. There, hand in hand, they paused, and calmly gazed on the group below, who instantly filled the air with shrieks, as they perceived the pair, and knew them to be within their reach. The damsel knew her father by his eagle plume, and when he saw his victim he bent his bow and pointed the poisoned arrow at his heart; but ere the string was snapped, Wun-nut-hay, the beautiful, stood between her lover and the stern old man, and falling at the feet of the warrior begged him to spare the youth; “nay,” said she, “we will plunge together over the precipice rather than that one shall die and the other live.”But rage now blinded him to her tears and shut his ears to her entreaties; he commanded his followers to seize the lad, and warrior after warrior bounded up the cliffs in obedience to his command, but at the moment they put forth their hands to grasp the foe, the lovers, locked in firm embrace, flung themselves“From the steep rock and perished!”Then the father’s breast was rent, but too late to save his child. At the bottom of the gulf, one hundred and fifty feet from where he stood, lay the mangled bodies of the two, and there he commanded that they should be buried. Two hollows like sunken graves are to this day pointed out as the “burial place of the lovers.” It is a wild, romantic[95]haunt, but quiet now, save where a brook slowly murmurs along as if to chant a requiem for the dead.Col. McKenney, who was for seventeen years at the head of the Indian department at Washington, and who has mingled with Indians of every nation and tribe, in the wildest and the most civilized state, does not hesitate to confirm them in the assertion always to be heard among themselves, that they arethe people. He is as genuine a Saxon as myself, but is willing to allow the red children the preference in all that is truly noble and good. Not among any people whose history I have read, have I found instances of stronger attachment, whether of love, of conjugal or parental affection, than he relates; and the most strong heart would melt in listening to the touching incidents of which his memory is so full; and that they are full of pathos and awake to the tenderest sympathy, cannot now be ascribed to the youthful enthusiasm of the narrator, or his unripe judgment.His head is now hoary with the frosts of many winters, and he must be considered good authority; and he says no people on the wide earth have hearts so warm and true as the genuine forest Indian.In Jefferson’s answers to the theories of Count de Buffon, concerning the deteriorating influence of American climate and soil upon animals and vegetables, he says there is no difference between the Indian and European, except what is produced by customs and modes of living. The Indian was taught to consider war as the noblest of pursuits. “Every thing he sees and hears tends to inspire him with an ardent desire for military fame. If a young man were to discover a fondness for women before he has been to war, he would become the contempt of the men, and the scorn and ridicule of the women. Or if he were to offer violence to a captive for selfish gratification, he[96]would incur indelible disgrace. Their frigidity is the effect of manners, and not a defect of nature. Besides, a celebrated warrior is oftener courted by the females, than he has the occasion to court; and this is a point of honor which the men aim at. Instances similar to that of Ruth and Boaz are not uncommon among them. For though the women are modest and diffident, and so bashful that they seldom lift up their eyes, and scarce ever look a man full in the face, yet customs and manners reconcile them to modes of acting which, judged of by Europeans, would be deemed inconsistent with the rules of female decorum and propriety.”“When Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of a heap of corn, and Ruth came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.”“Instances like this,” continues the same author, “are not uncommon among them. I once saw a young widow, whose husband, a warrior, had died about eight days before, hastening to finish her grief, tearing her hair and beating her breast, drinking spirits to make the tears flow, that she might grieve much in a short space of time, and be married that evening to another young warrior. Old men, whose wives are also advanced in years, often marry young women, though polygamy is not common among them. Neither do they seem to be deficient in natural affection. I have seen both fathers and mothers in the deepest affliction when their children have been dangerously ill. It is also said they are averse to society and social life. Can any thing be more inapplicable than this to a people who always live in towns or clans? Or can they be said to have no ‘republic,’ who conduct all their affairs in national councils, who pride themselves in national character, who consider an insult or injury done to[97]an individual, as done to the whole, and resent it accordingly?”I have quoted this author at some length, as he must be considered good authority, and says he writes what he knows. And as this is one of the great points of dispute concerning Indians, between philosophers and historians of the old world and the new, and is also a very interesting one, I have thought it worthy much pains in adducing opinions. The Iroquois were not justly called a wild or barbarous people at all. They were not all alike. Among their lodges there were degrees of order and neatness, the same as among us. Those who visit the rude log cabins of white settlers in the wilderness far away from the comforts and luxuries of cultivated circles, may have all their sensibilities shocked quite as much as our forefathers had in the wigwam. They had rules of etiquette, and were truly formalists in the management of public and social matters. Not to say I thank you, after partaking of a meal in a friend’s or stranger’s house, was considered quite an insult, and they did not consider it polite to enter a village without uttering some note of announcement.Much less ought they to be characterized as a people of no vivacity, and who are excited to action or motion only by the call of hunger and thirst. Their dances, in which they so much delight, and which to an European would be the severest exercise, fully contradict this.All the Indians of North America were in the habit of using various symbols to represent ideas, and by some this was carried so far as to deserve the name of picture writing. If a hunter was alone in the forest, wherever he encamped he would mark upon the smooth bark of a tree the device of his tribe, a bear, or heron, or deer, whichever it might be; the shape of the moon at the time, to indicate the day of the month; and so nice were their observations,[98]that they drew the quarters, half and full moon with wonderful exactness; an arrow pointing in the direction he was going; straight lines to denote the number of days he had been from home, and the forms of the various animals he had killed in the chase.If there was a large party, the number of persons was shown by the faces or figures being drawn; if it was a war party, a knife drawn across the throat designated how many had been killed.They were in the habit of marking their tribal device, very generally denominatedtotem, over the doors of their cabins, and sometimes upon their bodies. Among the western nations and the Indians of New England, scrolls of bark were used, and their symbols were very much like those in use among eastern nations before the invention of letters. The events of a war expedition have been found so definitely pictured that they could be easily understood by those who originally knew nothing of the matter; and parties of travellers have found descriptions of their movements, upon pieces of bark fastened to a pole and set up in the forest, so that it was easily recognized when read by one acquainted with their signs.The following is a love song written in this way, and curious only as showing the amount they could communicate and the sentiments they could express by picture writing:“It is my form and person that makes me great.Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;I shield myself with secret coverings.All your thoughts are known to me; blush!I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;Though you were in another hemisphere;I speak to your naked heart!”[99]The following seems to be an imaginary address of the frogs to the snow flakes and ice in spring, when they are weary of being imprisoned, and long to burst their bonds, and commence their rejoicings, for the return of the warm sun and the sweet breath of spring.They are interesting only as specimens of Indian imagination and poetry:SONG OF THE OKOGISS, OR FROGS, IN SPRING.See how the white spirit presses—Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?HAWK CHANT OF THE SAGINAWS.The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;They turn to look back on their flight;The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.They fly with their messages swift;They look as they fearfully go;They look to the farthermost end of the world,Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.Their war songs, as translated, do not convey to us any just idea of what they were to the Indian. It is true of every thing national of whatever people, that those alone can understand its true import who have the same associations; who have been subject to the same influences, and whose enthusiasm is awakened by the same suggestions.To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs[100]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.BABY FRAME.BABY FRAME.The Indian mother has certainly invented the most convenient method of carrying and lullabying her baby. All babies are nearly of the same size, and nobody need to be told how long or wide a baby frame is made. It is a straight board, sometimes with side pieces, and always with a hoop over the head from which to suspend a curtain for the protection of the little eyes from the sun, and thus enveloped in a blanket and laced to the frame, they were carried upon the back of the mother by a stay which came over her forehead, and with much less fatigue than in the arms. The baby is kept in the frame a great portion of the time when it is an infant, and it is astonishing how contented it remains in its little prison. When the mother is at work in the field she hangs her baby on a low limb of a tree, where it is rocked by the wind. When she is busy in the house, she suspends it on a nail or seats it in the corner, and sometimes hangs it where she can swing it to and fro as she passes, “singing as she goes.”The following is a baby song, which will compare well with the songs of a similar sentiment among any people; and as in other cases, the translation is not so good as the original:CRADLE SONG.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.[102]‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.As an instance of the appreciation in which the Iroquois held the noble qualities of the heart, their enthusiasm, and the honors they thought it not wrong to bestow upon woman, may be related the story of the daughter of Black Chief, who was a Seneca Sachem residing at Squawky Hill, in the valley of the Genesee:Black Chief was one of their brave men in time of war, and also endowed with all the noble, generous qualities which win love and honor in time of peace. He had an only daughter, who was greatly endeared to her people, because, like her father, she had a soul ever prompting her to generous deeds. She was also very beautiful, and possessed a mind of superior order, and was in every way gifted, worthy to be the Chieftain’s daughter. When her father died they honored her above all other women, and gave to her the title and authority of Princess.They had a superstition, that during her life, the Iroquois would again be restored to their ancient power, and take a place among the nations of the earth. So, many were the prayers which ascended to the Great Spirit for the long life of their young queen. They gathered flowers and strewed in her path when she went forth, and brought to her the finest venison and the rarest fruits for her table. She was not made haughty and imperious by her honors,[103]but continued gentle and affectionate, though it was but a little while that she remained to receive these tokens of unaffected homage. The Great Spirit did not see fit to answer their prayers. In an evil hour the pestilence swept the land, and whole villages were desolated in a night. In the midst of their calamities, they thought less of themselves than of the daughter of their beloved Chief. Whilst the hand of the destroyer left her unharmed, they were not made utterly wretched. But when their lamentations were dying away, and health again brought cheerfulness to their dwellings, she was stricken, and the light which had been so beautiful in their eyes went out in utter darkness. Now the wail of the mourners around the couch of the dead was sincere and heart-rending. They did not build for her the “Cabin of Death,” but constructed a scaffold among the trees of a neighboring grove, and adorning her with all that their skill or taste could devise, placed her upon it in a sitting posture, and from far and near all the people gathered together to join in the solemn rites, which were to testify their love for the living and their grief for the dead. Her lifeless form was embowered with roses and running vines, and garlands of flowers were wreathed at her feet. All that the Indian considered most valuable—golden ears of his beloved maize, and the most costly furs, were scattered in profusion around her.Every night fires were lighted and watchmen stationed to guard her body from danger, and every morning they again assembled to renew the utterance of their grief.The mourning continued many days, and when it was no longer possible to preserve her in their sight, she was buried, while at her grave was chanted a solemn dirge by the mingled voices of a great multitude,whichfilled the air with such plaintive wailings as can come only from broken hearts.[104]I cannot help pausing here to ask, if such a people deserve no better doom than annihilation? if those who call themselves Christians “have done what they could,” to tune these harps of the wilderness to accord with those of the cherubim and seraphim in the choirs above?Indian Snowshoe.[105]

[Contents]CHAPTER V.LOVE, MUSIC, AND POETRY.It has been the conclusion of historians generally, and of travellers and students almost universally, that the North American Indians were entirely destitute ofla belle passion—that “of the marvellous passion which originates in a higher development of the powers of the human heart, and is founded upon a cultivation of the affections between the sexes, they were entirely ignorant.” I shall not attempt to refute learned historians or philosophers, neither will I assert a different opinion. Yet there are many among the wise and thinking who say this cannot be.In reading very extensively, and conversing with those who have lived many years a forest life, I have learned many things which might be cited to prove a more pleasant theory, but they may possibly be onlyexceptions to the rule, and I shall therefore merely relate the facts, leaving my readers to theorize for themselves.In the contents of this chapter I have not confined myself to the Iroquois, but roamed among all the northern nations, and have by no means appropriated all that has been written and said on the subject.It is the impression among all people this side of the Mediterranean, that the women of Turkey all live in harems; but our Minister, who has just returned from a[84]four years’ sojourn in Constantinople, says he has never found in that city arespectable Turk who had more than one wife! This is the law of God, and to disobey it wars against nature. Among the Indians, polygamy was sometimes practised, but was by no means common, and was ever disgraceful. It is insisted, too, by their aged people, that before they were corrupted by their conquerors, there was scarcely any thing among them which Christian principle would condemn as vice.To excel in oratory certainly requires a very superior development, and in this no people excelled the Iroquois. Love, in all its purity, dwells very little among even Christian people, and something far worse than polygamy prevails in the most cultivated circles among civilized nations.There is not so much of nature’s nobility among the peasantry of Europe as among the forest Indians; yet their capability of love and the domestic affections is not disputed, and it is this alone which renders life endurable; were it not for this they would be desperadoes whom all the fetters of despotism could not trammel or subdue. But they are dwellers in one place, whilst the Indian is a rover, quite independent of home and domestic comfort.The manner in which marriages were contracted, made it impossible that there should be courtships or long romantic love affairs among the children of the wilderness, and their habits of life made social intercourse almost impossible. Young men and maidens, had very little opportunity to become acquainted, and if there sprang up in their bosoms a mutual attachment, it could not be cultivated without the consent of the friends of both parties, and so accustomed were they to obedience, that the thought of defying those who had authority over them was[85]seldom or never indulged. I have smiled, as I have heard an Indian youth speak of the opportunities he had enjoyed for being married, in the same way as young women make this boast among us. And this may be done without compromising the delicacy of those alluded to, as it is not supposed that the parties most concerned know any thing of the matter.The grandmothers, if living, if not the mothers, and when there are no mothers, the aunts, or nearest relatives, make the propositions. If it is considered desirable that a son, or daughter, marry the son or daughter in a neighboring lodge, a present of some kind is left at the door in a basket. This signifies to all within that a marriage negotiation is contemplated. If it is agreeable, the basket is brought in, and its contents being accepted, it is returned with a present which indicates thatthe way is opento further negotiation. If the proposal is rejected, the basket is left standing without the door, and she who brought it comes after there has been time for deliberation and takes it home. This is a decided refusal. If it is returned replenished, she sends another present of a different kind, and soon afterwards enters herself and consults with the matrons of the family with whom she seeks an alliance, and if all are pleased that it should take place, each family informs the son and daughter, for the first time, of the pending negotiation. Then, if there is no objection, presents are again exchanged, and there is another meeting of the matrons at which the children are present. Very serious advice is given them concerning their deportment, and the duties of husbands and wives, and then the seat is prepared in the home of the bride and bridegroom, which is in future to be exclusively theirs, and in the presence of all they repair to it, and are henceforth husband and wife. Their wedding tour is a[86]hunting excursion, or rather this was the custom of the olden time; now there is usually a feast, and there is also an acre of land set apart by the bride’s friends as her marriage portion. The father takes no interest in the matter, and is merelyinformedof the marriage when it is consummated. The children are of the tribe of the mother, as are the children’s children to the latest generation, and they are also of the same nation. If the mother is a Cayuga, the children are Cayugas; and if a Mohawk, the children are Mohawks. If the marriage proves unhappy, the parties are allowed to separate, and each is at liberty to marry again. But the mother has the sole right to the disposal of the children. She keeps them all if she chooses, and to their father they are ever mere strangers.In regard to property, too, the wife retains whatever belonged to her before marriage, distinct from her husband, and can dispose of it as she pleases without his consent, and if she separates from him, takes it with her, and at her death, either before or after separation, her children inherit all she possessed.A white man was once remonstrating with an Indian upon allowing the matrimonial bond to be so lightly broken, when the Indian replied: “You marry squaw, she know you always keep her, so she scold, scold, scold, and not cook your venison. I marry squaw, and she know I leave her if she not good. So she not scold, but cook my venison, and always pleasant, we live long together.”There were few penalties for any species of crime. To call a thingbadwas usually sufficient in Indian communities to deter from all that they considered evil. That which we denounce as criminal, was not called so by them.The staid and burly Englishman, never mingled with[87]the Indians in a way to gain their confidence or learn their true character. Their way of life was repulsive to him, but the Frenchman could become a hunter and roam for years in the forests, or live in a wigwam, and conform in all things to Indian customs with the samenonchalanceas he could walk upon tapestry and recline upon divans. This is the reason we usually have so much more pleasing pictures of Indian life from French than English traders. Englishmen would not be very likely to become theconfidantsof hunters or warriors, or to have an opportunity to listen to the love songs of Indian maidens.It is certainly wonderful that a people who knew nothing of physiology, and had no learned treatises upon physical degeneracy, should have so thoroughly provided against deterioration by laws concerning intermarriage. Their wigwams were built for the convenience of several families. A lodge was constructed, and when it became necessary, additions were made till it became one or two hundred feet in length, and the abode of a little multitude, but all who occupied it were within the degrees of consanguinity which forbade marriage—they were brothers and sisters, and treated each other as such. But disputing and wrangling form no part of the nurseries of an Indian cabin. It is quite amazing how many will live together in harmony and love.But I have heard of several instances of suicide for disappointed affection which would compare well in recklessness and desperation with any recorded in French or Italian novels. It sometimes happened that the husband or wife whom the friends chose, proved so unsuitable that the nuptial tie was broken almost as soon as formed. And when this happened I believe the parties were left the second time to select for themselves. It sometimes, too, became impossible for the friends to force upon young[88]people a yoke which they felt they could never bear. And often, as among the aristocratic circles of court society, it was worn a little while and then thrown off by one, leaving the other disconsolate and wretched. It, of course, most frequently happens that the wife is the deserted one.Mrs. Hemans has immortalized the heart-broken one who perished in the Falls of St. Anthony some years ago, as related by a missionary. Her name was Ampatd Sapa.“The husband was a successful hunter, and they lived happily together many years, and had two children, who played around their fire, and whom they were glad to call their children. Many families by degrees settled around them, and built wigwams near theirs. Wishing to become more closely connected with them, they represented to the hunter that he ought to have several wives, as by that means he would become of more importance, and might before long be elected chief of the tribe.”He was well pleased with this counsel, and privately took a new wife; but, in order to bring her into his wigwam without displeasing his first wife, the mother of his children, he said to her:“Thou knowest that I can never love any other woman as tenderly as I love thee: but I have seen that the labor of taking care of me and the children is too great for thee, and I have therefore determined to take another wife, who shall be thy servant; but thou shalt be the principal one in the dwelling.”The wife was very much distressed when she heard these words. She prayed him to reflect on their former affection—their happiness during many years—their children. She besought him not to bring this second wife into their dwelling.In vain. The next evening the husband brought the new wife into his wigwam.[89]“In the early dawn of the following morning a death song was heard on the Mississippi. A young Indian woman sat in a little canoe with her two small children, and rowed it out into the river in the direction of the falls. It was Ampatd Sapa. She sang in lamenting tones the sorrow of her heart, of her husband’s infidelity, and her determination to die. Her friends heard the song, and saw her intention, but too late to prevent it.“Her voice was soon silenced in the roar of the fall. The boat paused for a moment on the brink of the precipice, and the next was carried over it, and vanished in the foaming deep.”The Indians still believe that in the early dawn may be heard the lamenting song, deploring the infidelity of the husband; and they fancy that at times may be seen the mother, with the children clasped to her breast, in the misty shapes which arise from the fall around the Spirit Island.“Roll on; my warrior’s eye hath looked upon another’s face,And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam’s trace;My shadow comes not o’er his path, my whisper to his dream,He flings away the broken reed; roll swifter yet, thou stream!The voice that spoke of other days is hushed withinhisbreast;But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest.It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone;I cannot live without that light—Father of Waves, roll on!Will he not miss the bounding step, that met him from the chase?The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?The hand that spread the hunter’s board, and decked his couch of yore?He will not!—roll, dark, foaming stream, on to the better shore!And there, my babe! though born, like me, for woman’s weary lot;Smile! to that wasting of the heart; my own I leave thee not.Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath must waft away,The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.”[90]The words are another’s, but the sentiment is the same as uttered by the deserted one, and the same as uttered by a deserted one on the banks of Lake Erie. “I cannot live longer,” said she, and swallowed the poisoned draught her own hands had mixed.Not many specimens of Indian poetry have been preserved, yet they were ever singing.They had a great variety of tunes, and are said to have had a good perception of time. They had not the regular intervals of tones and semitones, but a thousand different sounds recurring at as many irregular intervals. The music and the words of their songs were oftenimpromptu, but the war-songs were in regular verses, and sung as they danced.The voice of the Indian is very rich and capable of high cultivation; and as they become Christianized, this part of public worship is their great delight. During the August of 1790 an Italian nobleman, Count Adriana, visited Mr. Kirkland, at his mission station in Oneida, and was particularly charmed with the musical powers of the Indians, saying—“The melody of their music, and the softness and richness of their voices, he thought were equal to any he ever heard in Italy!”During the French war a party of Indians came from the far north-west to visit Quebec. On their way they stopped at the Moravian Mission, on the banks of Lake Superior, and there a young Algonquin fell in love with a Chippewa maiden, who as ardently returned his passion. As she sailed away in her light canoe she uttered her love and sadness in the following wild strain:—“I shall go with you my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”“Alas,” I replied, “my native country is far, far away—my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”[91]When I looked back again, where we parted, he was still looking after me, my sweet heart, my Algonquin,He was still standing on a fallen tree, that had fallen in the water, my sweet heart, my Algonquin.Alas, when I think of him, when I think of him, it is when I think of him—my Algonquin.The following is another strain almost as simple, but less wild and sad:—“I looked across the water,I bent o’er it and listened,I thought it was my lover,My true love’s paddle glistened.Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.“I see the fallen maple,Where he stood his red scarf waving,Though waters nearly buryBoughs they then were merely laving,I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.”This is a literal translation, but there is the true spirit of thelove-lorn maiden, and a high development of the poetic sentiment. There has been only now and then a wanderer among the forests, who could appreciate or discern the beautiful, though there have been poems, and novels in abundance concerning wild forest life, by those who wrote the wanderings of their imagination and their fancy. The bright picture has been too bright, and the dark picture too dark.In the war songs of the Indian, there is never allusion to blood and carnage; and revenge is not made prominent among the natives for pursuing the enemy. Bold and[92]daring deeds are incited as worthy of imitation, and fortitude and heroism are exalted as the loftiest virtues. They had characteristics, generated by their peculiar life, but there is nothing about them to prevent their becominglike unto others. White men have lived among them and learned to prefer the hunter’s life. Indians have learned to prefer the habits of civilization, and shown themselves capable of education and refinement equal to any attained by any nation.When children, they have the same joyous nature, the same quick perceptions, and exhibit the same varieties of character.“As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined,”is as true of them as of pale-faced children.The following lines are a translation of a song heard among a troop of Chippewa children as they were playing at twilight around their dwellings, and the air was filled with myriads of fire-flies, which they were trying to catch. I have seen few prettier things among the children’s songs of any people.“Fire-fly, fire-fly, bright little thing,Light me to bed, and my song I will sing;Give me your light, as you fly o’er my head,That I may merrily go to my bed;Give me your light o’er the grass as you creep,That I may joyfully go to my sleep;Come little fire-fly—Come little beast—Come! and I’ll make you to-morrow a feast.Come, little candle, that flies as I sing,Bright little fairy bug,—night’s little king;Come, and I’ll dance as you guide me along,Come, and I’ll pay you my bug with a song.”In their legends there is often allusion tofalling in[93]love, in the way the same event takes place among other people. The following is obtained from a very authentic source, and certainly appears very natural:—[Contents]A LOVE LEGEND.Iroquois.Over a deep gulf, not far from Canandaigua Lake, hangs a wild and fearful precipice, which has been known to the Indian as far back as tradition goes, by the name of “Lover’s Leap,” for here two lovers preferred to die together rather than live apart.When the Senecas and Algonquins were at war, a young Algonquin Chief was taken prisoner, and condemned to die. While in the “cabin of death,” to wait his doom, the youthful and beautiful daughter of the Sachem brought him food. He too was rich in all those manly gifts which an Indian maiden is taught to admire in warrior and in chieftain, and though her father’s enemy, she loved him, and resolved to save his life.Ere the morning watch, when the gray dawn was just stealing from behind the hill-tops, she stole with stealthy tread to the side of the noble captive, and cutting the thongs which bound him, bade him in breathless accents to follow her.The sentinel, weary with his night-watchings, had fallen asleep, but ere they had descended the winding pathway which led to the lake on whose gentle bosom they had hoped to rest, the shrill war-whoop fell on their ears and they knew they were pursued. Like the fawn or the squirrel they bounded through the thick woods and down the steeps to the border of the lake, where the light canoe awaited them, and plied the dashing paddles with the desperate energy of those who row for life. But it[94]was in vain; nearer came the terrific yell and then the splashing of a dozen oars, and as many savage warriors swiftly gliding over the waters in full view of the fugitives.They reached the shore and fled through a woody pathway over the hills; but, seeing the brave youth by her side was fainting from his still bleeding wounds, the maiden turned quickly and came to a table-crested rock that overlooked the gulf. There, hand in hand, they paused, and calmly gazed on the group below, who instantly filled the air with shrieks, as they perceived the pair, and knew them to be within their reach. The damsel knew her father by his eagle plume, and when he saw his victim he bent his bow and pointed the poisoned arrow at his heart; but ere the string was snapped, Wun-nut-hay, the beautiful, stood between her lover and the stern old man, and falling at the feet of the warrior begged him to spare the youth; “nay,” said she, “we will plunge together over the precipice rather than that one shall die and the other live.”But rage now blinded him to her tears and shut his ears to her entreaties; he commanded his followers to seize the lad, and warrior after warrior bounded up the cliffs in obedience to his command, but at the moment they put forth their hands to grasp the foe, the lovers, locked in firm embrace, flung themselves“From the steep rock and perished!”Then the father’s breast was rent, but too late to save his child. At the bottom of the gulf, one hundred and fifty feet from where he stood, lay the mangled bodies of the two, and there he commanded that they should be buried. Two hollows like sunken graves are to this day pointed out as the “burial place of the lovers.” It is a wild, romantic[95]haunt, but quiet now, save where a brook slowly murmurs along as if to chant a requiem for the dead.Col. McKenney, who was for seventeen years at the head of the Indian department at Washington, and who has mingled with Indians of every nation and tribe, in the wildest and the most civilized state, does not hesitate to confirm them in the assertion always to be heard among themselves, that they arethe people. He is as genuine a Saxon as myself, but is willing to allow the red children the preference in all that is truly noble and good. Not among any people whose history I have read, have I found instances of stronger attachment, whether of love, of conjugal or parental affection, than he relates; and the most strong heart would melt in listening to the touching incidents of which his memory is so full; and that they are full of pathos and awake to the tenderest sympathy, cannot now be ascribed to the youthful enthusiasm of the narrator, or his unripe judgment.His head is now hoary with the frosts of many winters, and he must be considered good authority; and he says no people on the wide earth have hearts so warm and true as the genuine forest Indian.In Jefferson’s answers to the theories of Count de Buffon, concerning the deteriorating influence of American climate and soil upon animals and vegetables, he says there is no difference between the Indian and European, except what is produced by customs and modes of living. The Indian was taught to consider war as the noblest of pursuits. “Every thing he sees and hears tends to inspire him with an ardent desire for military fame. If a young man were to discover a fondness for women before he has been to war, he would become the contempt of the men, and the scorn and ridicule of the women. Or if he were to offer violence to a captive for selfish gratification, he[96]would incur indelible disgrace. Their frigidity is the effect of manners, and not a defect of nature. Besides, a celebrated warrior is oftener courted by the females, than he has the occasion to court; and this is a point of honor which the men aim at. Instances similar to that of Ruth and Boaz are not uncommon among them. For though the women are modest and diffident, and so bashful that they seldom lift up their eyes, and scarce ever look a man full in the face, yet customs and manners reconcile them to modes of acting which, judged of by Europeans, would be deemed inconsistent with the rules of female decorum and propriety.”“When Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of a heap of corn, and Ruth came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.”“Instances like this,” continues the same author, “are not uncommon among them. I once saw a young widow, whose husband, a warrior, had died about eight days before, hastening to finish her grief, tearing her hair and beating her breast, drinking spirits to make the tears flow, that she might grieve much in a short space of time, and be married that evening to another young warrior. Old men, whose wives are also advanced in years, often marry young women, though polygamy is not common among them. Neither do they seem to be deficient in natural affection. I have seen both fathers and mothers in the deepest affliction when their children have been dangerously ill. It is also said they are averse to society and social life. Can any thing be more inapplicable than this to a people who always live in towns or clans? Or can they be said to have no ‘republic,’ who conduct all their affairs in national councils, who pride themselves in national character, who consider an insult or injury done to[97]an individual, as done to the whole, and resent it accordingly?”I have quoted this author at some length, as he must be considered good authority, and says he writes what he knows. And as this is one of the great points of dispute concerning Indians, between philosophers and historians of the old world and the new, and is also a very interesting one, I have thought it worthy much pains in adducing opinions. The Iroquois were not justly called a wild or barbarous people at all. They were not all alike. Among their lodges there were degrees of order and neatness, the same as among us. Those who visit the rude log cabins of white settlers in the wilderness far away from the comforts and luxuries of cultivated circles, may have all their sensibilities shocked quite as much as our forefathers had in the wigwam. They had rules of etiquette, and were truly formalists in the management of public and social matters. Not to say I thank you, after partaking of a meal in a friend’s or stranger’s house, was considered quite an insult, and they did not consider it polite to enter a village without uttering some note of announcement.Much less ought they to be characterized as a people of no vivacity, and who are excited to action or motion only by the call of hunger and thirst. Their dances, in which they so much delight, and which to an European would be the severest exercise, fully contradict this.All the Indians of North America were in the habit of using various symbols to represent ideas, and by some this was carried so far as to deserve the name of picture writing. If a hunter was alone in the forest, wherever he encamped he would mark upon the smooth bark of a tree the device of his tribe, a bear, or heron, or deer, whichever it might be; the shape of the moon at the time, to indicate the day of the month; and so nice were their observations,[98]that they drew the quarters, half and full moon with wonderful exactness; an arrow pointing in the direction he was going; straight lines to denote the number of days he had been from home, and the forms of the various animals he had killed in the chase.If there was a large party, the number of persons was shown by the faces or figures being drawn; if it was a war party, a knife drawn across the throat designated how many had been killed.They were in the habit of marking their tribal device, very generally denominatedtotem, over the doors of their cabins, and sometimes upon their bodies. Among the western nations and the Indians of New England, scrolls of bark were used, and their symbols were very much like those in use among eastern nations before the invention of letters. The events of a war expedition have been found so definitely pictured that they could be easily understood by those who originally knew nothing of the matter; and parties of travellers have found descriptions of their movements, upon pieces of bark fastened to a pole and set up in the forest, so that it was easily recognized when read by one acquainted with their signs.The following is a love song written in this way, and curious only as showing the amount they could communicate and the sentiments they could express by picture writing:“It is my form and person that makes me great.Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;I shield myself with secret coverings.All your thoughts are known to me; blush!I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;Though you were in another hemisphere;I speak to your naked heart!”[99]The following seems to be an imaginary address of the frogs to the snow flakes and ice in spring, when they are weary of being imprisoned, and long to burst their bonds, and commence their rejoicings, for the return of the warm sun and the sweet breath of spring.They are interesting only as specimens of Indian imagination and poetry:SONG OF THE OKOGISS, OR FROGS, IN SPRING.See how the white spirit presses—Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?HAWK CHANT OF THE SAGINAWS.The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;They turn to look back on their flight;The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.They fly with their messages swift;They look as they fearfully go;They look to the farthermost end of the world,Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.Their war songs, as translated, do not convey to us any just idea of what they were to the Indian. It is true of every thing national of whatever people, that those alone can understand its true import who have the same associations; who have been subject to the same influences, and whose enthusiasm is awakened by the same suggestions.To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs[100]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.BABY FRAME.BABY FRAME.The Indian mother has certainly invented the most convenient method of carrying and lullabying her baby. All babies are nearly of the same size, and nobody need to be told how long or wide a baby frame is made. It is a straight board, sometimes with side pieces, and always with a hoop over the head from which to suspend a curtain for the protection of the little eyes from the sun, and thus enveloped in a blanket and laced to the frame, they were carried upon the back of the mother by a stay which came over her forehead, and with much less fatigue than in the arms. The baby is kept in the frame a great portion of the time when it is an infant, and it is astonishing how contented it remains in its little prison. When the mother is at work in the field she hangs her baby on a low limb of a tree, where it is rocked by the wind. When she is busy in the house, she suspends it on a nail or seats it in the corner, and sometimes hangs it where she can swing it to and fro as she passes, “singing as she goes.”The following is a baby song, which will compare well with the songs of a similar sentiment among any people; and as in other cases, the translation is not so good as the original:CRADLE SONG.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.[102]‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.As an instance of the appreciation in which the Iroquois held the noble qualities of the heart, their enthusiasm, and the honors they thought it not wrong to bestow upon woman, may be related the story of the daughter of Black Chief, who was a Seneca Sachem residing at Squawky Hill, in the valley of the Genesee:Black Chief was one of their brave men in time of war, and also endowed with all the noble, generous qualities which win love and honor in time of peace. He had an only daughter, who was greatly endeared to her people, because, like her father, she had a soul ever prompting her to generous deeds. She was also very beautiful, and possessed a mind of superior order, and was in every way gifted, worthy to be the Chieftain’s daughter. When her father died they honored her above all other women, and gave to her the title and authority of Princess.They had a superstition, that during her life, the Iroquois would again be restored to their ancient power, and take a place among the nations of the earth. So, many were the prayers which ascended to the Great Spirit for the long life of their young queen. They gathered flowers and strewed in her path when she went forth, and brought to her the finest venison and the rarest fruits for her table. She was not made haughty and imperious by her honors,[103]but continued gentle and affectionate, though it was but a little while that she remained to receive these tokens of unaffected homage. The Great Spirit did not see fit to answer their prayers. In an evil hour the pestilence swept the land, and whole villages were desolated in a night. In the midst of their calamities, they thought less of themselves than of the daughter of their beloved Chief. Whilst the hand of the destroyer left her unharmed, they were not made utterly wretched. But when their lamentations were dying away, and health again brought cheerfulness to their dwellings, she was stricken, and the light which had been so beautiful in their eyes went out in utter darkness. Now the wail of the mourners around the couch of the dead was sincere and heart-rending. They did not build for her the “Cabin of Death,” but constructed a scaffold among the trees of a neighboring grove, and adorning her with all that their skill or taste could devise, placed her upon it in a sitting posture, and from far and near all the people gathered together to join in the solemn rites, which were to testify their love for the living and their grief for the dead. Her lifeless form was embowered with roses and running vines, and garlands of flowers were wreathed at her feet. All that the Indian considered most valuable—golden ears of his beloved maize, and the most costly furs, were scattered in profusion around her.Every night fires were lighted and watchmen stationed to guard her body from danger, and every morning they again assembled to renew the utterance of their grief.The mourning continued many days, and when it was no longer possible to preserve her in their sight, she was buried, while at her grave was chanted a solemn dirge by the mingled voices of a great multitude,whichfilled the air with such plaintive wailings as can come only from broken hearts.[104]I cannot help pausing here to ask, if such a people deserve no better doom than annihilation? if those who call themselves Christians “have done what they could,” to tune these harps of the wilderness to accord with those of the cherubim and seraphim in the choirs above?Indian Snowshoe.[105]

CHAPTER V.LOVE, MUSIC, AND POETRY.

It has been the conclusion of historians generally, and of travellers and students almost universally, that the North American Indians were entirely destitute ofla belle passion—that “of the marvellous passion which originates in a higher development of the powers of the human heart, and is founded upon a cultivation of the affections between the sexes, they were entirely ignorant.” I shall not attempt to refute learned historians or philosophers, neither will I assert a different opinion. Yet there are many among the wise and thinking who say this cannot be.In reading very extensively, and conversing with those who have lived many years a forest life, I have learned many things which might be cited to prove a more pleasant theory, but they may possibly be onlyexceptions to the rule, and I shall therefore merely relate the facts, leaving my readers to theorize for themselves.In the contents of this chapter I have not confined myself to the Iroquois, but roamed among all the northern nations, and have by no means appropriated all that has been written and said on the subject.It is the impression among all people this side of the Mediterranean, that the women of Turkey all live in harems; but our Minister, who has just returned from a[84]four years’ sojourn in Constantinople, says he has never found in that city arespectable Turk who had more than one wife! This is the law of God, and to disobey it wars against nature. Among the Indians, polygamy was sometimes practised, but was by no means common, and was ever disgraceful. It is insisted, too, by their aged people, that before they were corrupted by their conquerors, there was scarcely any thing among them which Christian principle would condemn as vice.To excel in oratory certainly requires a very superior development, and in this no people excelled the Iroquois. Love, in all its purity, dwells very little among even Christian people, and something far worse than polygamy prevails in the most cultivated circles among civilized nations.There is not so much of nature’s nobility among the peasantry of Europe as among the forest Indians; yet their capability of love and the domestic affections is not disputed, and it is this alone which renders life endurable; were it not for this they would be desperadoes whom all the fetters of despotism could not trammel or subdue. But they are dwellers in one place, whilst the Indian is a rover, quite independent of home and domestic comfort.The manner in which marriages were contracted, made it impossible that there should be courtships or long romantic love affairs among the children of the wilderness, and their habits of life made social intercourse almost impossible. Young men and maidens, had very little opportunity to become acquainted, and if there sprang up in their bosoms a mutual attachment, it could not be cultivated without the consent of the friends of both parties, and so accustomed were they to obedience, that the thought of defying those who had authority over them was[85]seldom or never indulged. I have smiled, as I have heard an Indian youth speak of the opportunities he had enjoyed for being married, in the same way as young women make this boast among us. And this may be done without compromising the delicacy of those alluded to, as it is not supposed that the parties most concerned know any thing of the matter.The grandmothers, if living, if not the mothers, and when there are no mothers, the aunts, or nearest relatives, make the propositions. If it is considered desirable that a son, or daughter, marry the son or daughter in a neighboring lodge, a present of some kind is left at the door in a basket. This signifies to all within that a marriage negotiation is contemplated. If it is agreeable, the basket is brought in, and its contents being accepted, it is returned with a present which indicates thatthe way is opento further negotiation. If the proposal is rejected, the basket is left standing without the door, and she who brought it comes after there has been time for deliberation and takes it home. This is a decided refusal. If it is returned replenished, she sends another present of a different kind, and soon afterwards enters herself and consults with the matrons of the family with whom she seeks an alliance, and if all are pleased that it should take place, each family informs the son and daughter, for the first time, of the pending negotiation. Then, if there is no objection, presents are again exchanged, and there is another meeting of the matrons at which the children are present. Very serious advice is given them concerning their deportment, and the duties of husbands and wives, and then the seat is prepared in the home of the bride and bridegroom, which is in future to be exclusively theirs, and in the presence of all they repair to it, and are henceforth husband and wife. Their wedding tour is a[86]hunting excursion, or rather this was the custom of the olden time; now there is usually a feast, and there is also an acre of land set apart by the bride’s friends as her marriage portion. The father takes no interest in the matter, and is merelyinformedof the marriage when it is consummated. The children are of the tribe of the mother, as are the children’s children to the latest generation, and they are also of the same nation. If the mother is a Cayuga, the children are Cayugas; and if a Mohawk, the children are Mohawks. If the marriage proves unhappy, the parties are allowed to separate, and each is at liberty to marry again. But the mother has the sole right to the disposal of the children. She keeps them all if she chooses, and to their father they are ever mere strangers.In regard to property, too, the wife retains whatever belonged to her before marriage, distinct from her husband, and can dispose of it as she pleases without his consent, and if she separates from him, takes it with her, and at her death, either before or after separation, her children inherit all she possessed.A white man was once remonstrating with an Indian upon allowing the matrimonial bond to be so lightly broken, when the Indian replied: “You marry squaw, she know you always keep her, so she scold, scold, scold, and not cook your venison. I marry squaw, and she know I leave her if she not good. So she not scold, but cook my venison, and always pleasant, we live long together.”There were few penalties for any species of crime. To call a thingbadwas usually sufficient in Indian communities to deter from all that they considered evil. That which we denounce as criminal, was not called so by them.The staid and burly Englishman, never mingled with[87]the Indians in a way to gain their confidence or learn their true character. Their way of life was repulsive to him, but the Frenchman could become a hunter and roam for years in the forests, or live in a wigwam, and conform in all things to Indian customs with the samenonchalanceas he could walk upon tapestry and recline upon divans. This is the reason we usually have so much more pleasing pictures of Indian life from French than English traders. Englishmen would not be very likely to become theconfidantsof hunters or warriors, or to have an opportunity to listen to the love songs of Indian maidens.It is certainly wonderful that a people who knew nothing of physiology, and had no learned treatises upon physical degeneracy, should have so thoroughly provided against deterioration by laws concerning intermarriage. Their wigwams were built for the convenience of several families. A lodge was constructed, and when it became necessary, additions were made till it became one or two hundred feet in length, and the abode of a little multitude, but all who occupied it were within the degrees of consanguinity which forbade marriage—they were brothers and sisters, and treated each other as such. But disputing and wrangling form no part of the nurseries of an Indian cabin. It is quite amazing how many will live together in harmony and love.But I have heard of several instances of suicide for disappointed affection which would compare well in recklessness and desperation with any recorded in French or Italian novels. It sometimes happened that the husband or wife whom the friends chose, proved so unsuitable that the nuptial tie was broken almost as soon as formed. And when this happened I believe the parties were left the second time to select for themselves. It sometimes, too, became impossible for the friends to force upon young[88]people a yoke which they felt they could never bear. And often, as among the aristocratic circles of court society, it was worn a little while and then thrown off by one, leaving the other disconsolate and wretched. It, of course, most frequently happens that the wife is the deserted one.Mrs. Hemans has immortalized the heart-broken one who perished in the Falls of St. Anthony some years ago, as related by a missionary. Her name was Ampatd Sapa.“The husband was a successful hunter, and they lived happily together many years, and had two children, who played around their fire, and whom they were glad to call their children. Many families by degrees settled around them, and built wigwams near theirs. Wishing to become more closely connected with them, they represented to the hunter that he ought to have several wives, as by that means he would become of more importance, and might before long be elected chief of the tribe.”He was well pleased with this counsel, and privately took a new wife; but, in order to bring her into his wigwam without displeasing his first wife, the mother of his children, he said to her:“Thou knowest that I can never love any other woman as tenderly as I love thee: but I have seen that the labor of taking care of me and the children is too great for thee, and I have therefore determined to take another wife, who shall be thy servant; but thou shalt be the principal one in the dwelling.”The wife was very much distressed when she heard these words. She prayed him to reflect on their former affection—their happiness during many years—their children. She besought him not to bring this second wife into their dwelling.In vain. The next evening the husband brought the new wife into his wigwam.[89]“In the early dawn of the following morning a death song was heard on the Mississippi. A young Indian woman sat in a little canoe with her two small children, and rowed it out into the river in the direction of the falls. It was Ampatd Sapa. She sang in lamenting tones the sorrow of her heart, of her husband’s infidelity, and her determination to die. Her friends heard the song, and saw her intention, but too late to prevent it.“Her voice was soon silenced in the roar of the fall. The boat paused for a moment on the brink of the precipice, and the next was carried over it, and vanished in the foaming deep.”The Indians still believe that in the early dawn may be heard the lamenting song, deploring the infidelity of the husband; and they fancy that at times may be seen the mother, with the children clasped to her breast, in the misty shapes which arise from the fall around the Spirit Island.“Roll on; my warrior’s eye hath looked upon another’s face,And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam’s trace;My shadow comes not o’er his path, my whisper to his dream,He flings away the broken reed; roll swifter yet, thou stream!The voice that spoke of other days is hushed withinhisbreast;But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest.It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone;I cannot live without that light—Father of Waves, roll on!Will he not miss the bounding step, that met him from the chase?The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?The hand that spread the hunter’s board, and decked his couch of yore?He will not!—roll, dark, foaming stream, on to the better shore!And there, my babe! though born, like me, for woman’s weary lot;Smile! to that wasting of the heart; my own I leave thee not.Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath must waft away,The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.”[90]The words are another’s, but the sentiment is the same as uttered by the deserted one, and the same as uttered by a deserted one on the banks of Lake Erie. “I cannot live longer,” said she, and swallowed the poisoned draught her own hands had mixed.Not many specimens of Indian poetry have been preserved, yet they were ever singing.They had a great variety of tunes, and are said to have had a good perception of time. They had not the regular intervals of tones and semitones, but a thousand different sounds recurring at as many irregular intervals. The music and the words of their songs were oftenimpromptu, but the war-songs were in regular verses, and sung as they danced.The voice of the Indian is very rich and capable of high cultivation; and as they become Christianized, this part of public worship is their great delight. During the August of 1790 an Italian nobleman, Count Adriana, visited Mr. Kirkland, at his mission station in Oneida, and was particularly charmed with the musical powers of the Indians, saying—“The melody of their music, and the softness and richness of their voices, he thought were equal to any he ever heard in Italy!”During the French war a party of Indians came from the far north-west to visit Quebec. On their way they stopped at the Moravian Mission, on the banks of Lake Superior, and there a young Algonquin fell in love with a Chippewa maiden, who as ardently returned his passion. As she sailed away in her light canoe she uttered her love and sadness in the following wild strain:—“I shall go with you my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”“Alas,” I replied, “my native country is far, far away—my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”[91]When I looked back again, where we parted, he was still looking after me, my sweet heart, my Algonquin,He was still standing on a fallen tree, that had fallen in the water, my sweet heart, my Algonquin.Alas, when I think of him, when I think of him, it is when I think of him—my Algonquin.The following is another strain almost as simple, but less wild and sad:—“I looked across the water,I bent o’er it and listened,I thought it was my lover,My true love’s paddle glistened.Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.“I see the fallen maple,Where he stood his red scarf waving,Though waters nearly buryBoughs they then were merely laving,I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.”This is a literal translation, but there is the true spirit of thelove-lorn maiden, and a high development of the poetic sentiment. There has been only now and then a wanderer among the forests, who could appreciate or discern the beautiful, though there have been poems, and novels in abundance concerning wild forest life, by those who wrote the wanderings of their imagination and their fancy. The bright picture has been too bright, and the dark picture too dark.In the war songs of the Indian, there is never allusion to blood and carnage; and revenge is not made prominent among the natives for pursuing the enemy. Bold and[92]daring deeds are incited as worthy of imitation, and fortitude and heroism are exalted as the loftiest virtues. They had characteristics, generated by their peculiar life, but there is nothing about them to prevent their becominglike unto others. White men have lived among them and learned to prefer the hunter’s life. Indians have learned to prefer the habits of civilization, and shown themselves capable of education and refinement equal to any attained by any nation.When children, they have the same joyous nature, the same quick perceptions, and exhibit the same varieties of character.“As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined,”is as true of them as of pale-faced children.The following lines are a translation of a song heard among a troop of Chippewa children as they were playing at twilight around their dwellings, and the air was filled with myriads of fire-flies, which they were trying to catch. I have seen few prettier things among the children’s songs of any people.“Fire-fly, fire-fly, bright little thing,Light me to bed, and my song I will sing;Give me your light, as you fly o’er my head,That I may merrily go to my bed;Give me your light o’er the grass as you creep,That I may joyfully go to my sleep;Come little fire-fly—Come little beast—Come! and I’ll make you to-morrow a feast.Come, little candle, that flies as I sing,Bright little fairy bug,—night’s little king;Come, and I’ll dance as you guide me along,Come, and I’ll pay you my bug with a song.”In their legends there is often allusion tofalling in[93]love, in the way the same event takes place among other people. The following is obtained from a very authentic source, and certainly appears very natural:—[Contents]A LOVE LEGEND.Iroquois.Over a deep gulf, not far from Canandaigua Lake, hangs a wild and fearful precipice, which has been known to the Indian as far back as tradition goes, by the name of “Lover’s Leap,” for here two lovers preferred to die together rather than live apart.When the Senecas and Algonquins were at war, a young Algonquin Chief was taken prisoner, and condemned to die. While in the “cabin of death,” to wait his doom, the youthful and beautiful daughter of the Sachem brought him food. He too was rich in all those manly gifts which an Indian maiden is taught to admire in warrior and in chieftain, and though her father’s enemy, she loved him, and resolved to save his life.Ere the morning watch, when the gray dawn was just stealing from behind the hill-tops, she stole with stealthy tread to the side of the noble captive, and cutting the thongs which bound him, bade him in breathless accents to follow her.The sentinel, weary with his night-watchings, had fallen asleep, but ere they had descended the winding pathway which led to the lake on whose gentle bosom they had hoped to rest, the shrill war-whoop fell on their ears and they knew they were pursued. Like the fawn or the squirrel they bounded through the thick woods and down the steeps to the border of the lake, where the light canoe awaited them, and plied the dashing paddles with the desperate energy of those who row for life. But it[94]was in vain; nearer came the terrific yell and then the splashing of a dozen oars, and as many savage warriors swiftly gliding over the waters in full view of the fugitives.They reached the shore and fled through a woody pathway over the hills; but, seeing the brave youth by her side was fainting from his still bleeding wounds, the maiden turned quickly and came to a table-crested rock that overlooked the gulf. There, hand in hand, they paused, and calmly gazed on the group below, who instantly filled the air with shrieks, as they perceived the pair, and knew them to be within their reach. The damsel knew her father by his eagle plume, and when he saw his victim he bent his bow and pointed the poisoned arrow at his heart; but ere the string was snapped, Wun-nut-hay, the beautiful, stood between her lover and the stern old man, and falling at the feet of the warrior begged him to spare the youth; “nay,” said she, “we will plunge together over the precipice rather than that one shall die and the other live.”But rage now blinded him to her tears and shut his ears to her entreaties; he commanded his followers to seize the lad, and warrior after warrior bounded up the cliffs in obedience to his command, but at the moment they put forth their hands to grasp the foe, the lovers, locked in firm embrace, flung themselves“From the steep rock and perished!”Then the father’s breast was rent, but too late to save his child. At the bottom of the gulf, one hundred and fifty feet from where he stood, lay the mangled bodies of the two, and there he commanded that they should be buried. Two hollows like sunken graves are to this day pointed out as the “burial place of the lovers.” It is a wild, romantic[95]haunt, but quiet now, save where a brook slowly murmurs along as if to chant a requiem for the dead.Col. McKenney, who was for seventeen years at the head of the Indian department at Washington, and who has mingled with Indians of every nation and tribe, in the wildest and the most civilized state, does not hesitate to confirm them in the assertion always to be heard among themselves, that they arethe people. He is as genuine a Saxon as myself, but is willing to allow the red children the preference in all that is truly noble and good. Not among any people whose history I have read, have I found instances of stronger attachment, whether of love, of conjugal or parental affection, than he relates; and the most strong heart would melt in listening to the touching incidents of which his memory is so full; and that they are full of pathos and awake to the tenderest sympathy, cannot now be ascribed to the youthful enthusiasm of the narrator, or his unripe judgment.His head is now hoary with the frosts of many winters, and he must be considered good authority; and he says no people on the wide earth have hearts so warm and true as the genuine forest Indian.In Jefferson’s answers to the theories of Count de Buffon, concerning the deteriorating influence of American climate and soil upon animals and vegetables, he says there is no difference between the Indian and European, except what is produced by customs and modes of living. The Indian was taught to consider war as the noblest of pursuits. “Every thing he sees and hears tends to inspire him with an ardent desire for military fame. If a young man were to discover a fondness for women before he has been to war, he would become the contempt of the men, and the scorn and ridicule of the women. Or if he were to offer violence to a captive for selfish gratification, he[96]would incur indelible disgrace. Their frigidity is the effect of manners, and not a defect of nature. Besides, a celebrated warrior is oftener courted by the females, than he has the occasion to court; and this is a point of honor which the men aim at. Instances similar to that of Ruth and Boaz are not uncommon among them. For though the women are modest and diffident, and so bashful that they seldom lift up their eyes, and scarce ever look a man full in the face, yet customs and manners reconcile them to modes of acting which, judged of by Europeans, would be deemed inconsistent with the rules of female decorum and propriety.”“When Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of a heap of corn, and Ruth came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.”“Instances like this,” continues the same author, “are not uncommon among them. I once saw a young widow, whose husband, a warrior, had died about eight days before, hastening to finish her grief, tearing her hair and beating her breast, drinking spirits to make the tears flow, that she might grieve much in a short space of time, and be married that evening to another young warrior. Old men, whose wives are also advanced in years, often marry young women, though polygamy is not common among them. Neither do they seem to be deficient in natural affection. I have seen both fathers and mothers in the deepest affliction when their children have been dangerously ill. It is also said they are averse to society and social life. Can any thing be more inapplicable than this to a people who always live in towns or clans? Or can they be said to have no ‘republic,’ who conduct all their affairs in national councils, who pride themselves in national character, who consider an insult or injury done to[97]an individual, as done to the whole, and resent it accordingly?”I have quoted this author at some length, as he must be considered good authority, and says he writes what he knows. And as this is one of the great points of dispute concerning Indians, between philosophers and historians of the old world and the new, and is also a very interesting one, I have thought it worthy much pains in adducing opinions. The Iroquois were not justly called a wild or barbarous people at all. They were not all alike. Among their lodges there were degrees of order and neatness, the same as among us. Those who visit the rude log cabins of white settlers in the wilderness far away from the comforts and luxuries of cultivated circles, may have all their sensibilities shocked quite as much as our forefathers had in the wigwam. They had rules of etiquette, and were truly formalists in the management of public and social matters. Not to say I thank you, after partaking of a meal in a friend’s or stranger’s house, was considered quite an insult, and they did not consider it polite to enter a village without uttering some note of announcement.Much less ought they to be characterized as a people of no vivacity, and who are excited to action or motion only by the call of hunger and thirst. Their dances, in which they so much delight, and which to an European would be the severest exercise, fully contradict this.All the Indians of North America were in the habit of using various symbols to represent ideas, and by some this was carried so far as to deserve the name of picture writing. If a hunter was alone in the forest, wherever he encamped he would mark upon the smooth bark of a tree the device of his tribe, a bear, or heron, or deer, whichever it might be; the shape of the moon at the time, to indicate the day of the month; and so nice were their observations,[98]that they drew the quarters, half and full moon with wonderful exactness; an arrow pointing in the direction he was going; straight lines to denote the number of days he had been from home, and the forms of the various animals he had killed in the chase.If there was a large party, the number of persons was shown by the faces or figures being drawn; if it was a war party, a knife drawn across the throat designated how many had been killed.They were in the habit of marking their tribal device, very generally denominatedtotem, over the doors of their cabins, and sometimes upon their bodies. Among the western nations and the Indians of New England, scrolls of bark were used, and their symbols were very much like those in use among eastern nations before the invention of letters. The events of a war expedition have been found so definitely pictured that they could be easily understood by those who originally knew nothing of the matter; and parties of travellers have found descriptions of their movements, upon pieces of bark fastened to a pole and set up in the forest, so that it was easily recognized when read by one acquainted with their signs.The following is a love song written in this way, and curious only as showing the amount they could communicate and the sentiments they could express by picture writing:“It is my form and person that makes me great.Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;I shield myself with secret coverings.All your thoughts are known to me; blush!I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;Though you were in another hemisphere;I speak to your naked heart!”[99]The following seems to be an imaginary address of the frogs to the snow flakes and ice in spring, when they are weary of being imprisoned, and long to burst their bonds, and commence their rejoicings, for the return of the warm sun and the sweet breath of spring.They are interesting only as specimens of Indian imagination and poetry:SONG OF THE OKOGISS, OR FROGS, IN SPRING.See how the white spirit presses—Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?HAWK CHANT OF THE SAGINAWS.The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;They turn to look back on their flight;The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.They fly with their messages swift;They look as they fearfully go;They look to the farthermost end of the world,Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.Their war songs, as translated, do not convey to us any just idea of what they were to the Indian. It is true of every thing national of whatever people, that those alone can understand its true import who have the same associations; who have been subject to the same influences, and whose enthusiasm is awakened by the same suggestions.To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs[100]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.BABY FRAME.BABY FRAME.The Indian mother has certainly invented the most convenient method of carrying and lullabying her baby. All babies are nearly of the same size, and nobody need to be told how long or wide a baby frame is made. It is a straight board, sometimes with side pieces, and always with a hoop over the head from which to suspend a curtain for the protection of the little eyes from the sun, and thus enveloped in a blanket and laced to the frame, they were carried upon the back of the mother by a stay which came over her forehead, and with much less fatigue than in the arms. The baby is kept in the frame a great portion of the time when it is an infant, and it is astonishing how contented it remains in its little prison. When the mother is at work in the field she hangs her baby on a low limb of a tree, where it is rocked by the wind. When she is busy in the house, she suspends it on a nail or seats it in the corner, and sometimes hangs it where she can swing it to and fro as she passes, “singing as she goes.”The following is a baby song, which will compare well with the songs of a similar sentiment among any people; and as in other cases, the translation is not so good as the original:CRADLE SONG.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.[102]‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.As an instance of the appreciation in which the Iroquois held the noble qualities of the heart, their enthusiasm, and the honors they thought it not wrong to bestow upon woman, may be related the story of the daughter of Black Chief, who was a Seneca Sachem residing at Squawky Hill, in the valley of the Genesee:Black Chief was one of their brave men in time of war, and also endowed with all the noble, generous qualities which win love and honor in time of peace. He had an only daughter, who was greatly endeared to her people, because, like her father, she had a soul ever prompting her to generous deeds. She was also very beautiful, and possessed a mind of superior order, and was in every way gifted, worthy to be the Chieftain’s daughter. When her father died they honored her above all other women, and gave to her the title and authority of Princess.They had a superstition, that during her life, the Iroquois would again be restored to their ancient power, and take a place among the nations of the earth. So, many were the prayers which ascended to the Great Spirit for the long life of their young queen. They gathered flowers and strewed in her path when she went forth, and brought to her the finest venison and the rarest fruits for her table. She was not made haughty and imperious by her honors,[103]but continued gentle and affectionate, though it was but a little while that she remained to receive these tokens of unaffected homage. The Great Spirit did not see fit to answer their prayers. In an evil hour the pestilence swept the land, and whole villages were desolated in a night. In the midst of their calamities, they thought less of themselves than of the daughter of their beloved Chief. Whilst the hand of the destroyer left her unharmed, they were not made utterly wretched. But when their lamentations were dying away, and health again brought cheerfulness to their dwellings, she was stricken, and the light which had been so beautiful in their eyes went out in utter darkness. Now the wail of the mourners around the couch of the dead was sincere and heart-rending. They did not build for her the “Cabin of Death,” but constructed a scaffold among the trees of a neighboring grove, and adorning her with all that their skill or taste could devise, placed her upon it in a sitting posture, and from far and near all the people gathered together to join in the solemn rites, which were to testify their love for the living and their grief for the dead. Her lifeless form was embowered with roses and running vines, and garlands of flowers were wreathed at her feet. All that the Indian considered most valuable—golden ears of his beloved maize, and the most costly furs, were scattered in profusion around her.Every night fires were lighted and watchmen stationed to guard her body from danger, and every morning they again assembled to renew the utterance of their grief.The mourning continued many days, and when it was no longer possible to preserve her in their sight, she was buried, while at her grave was chanted a solemn dirge by the mingled voices of a great multitude,whichfilled the air with such plaintive wailings as can come only from broken hearts.[104]I cannot help pausing here to ask, if such a people deserve no better doom than annihilation? if those who call themselves Christians “have done what they could,” to tune these harps of the wilderness to accord with those of the cherubim and seraphim in the choirs above?Indian Snowshoe.[105]

It has been the conclusion of historians generally, and of travellers and students almost universally, that the North American Indians were entirely destitute ofla belle passion—that “of the marvellous passion which originates in a higher development of the powers of the human heart, and is founded upon a cultivation of the affections between the sexes, they were entirely ignorant.” I shall not attempt to refute learned historians or philosophers, neither will I assert a different opinion. Yet there are many among the wise and thinking who say this cannot be.

In reading very extensively, and conversing with those who have lived many years a forest life, I have learned many things which might be cited to prove a more pleasant theory, but they may possibly be onlyexceptions to the rule, and I shall therefore merely relate the facts, leaving my readers to theorize for themselves.

In the contents of this chapter I have not confined myself to the Iroquois, but roamed among all the northern nations, and have by no means appropriated all that has been written and said on the subject.

It is the impression among all people this side of the Mediterranean, that the women of Turkey all live in harems; but our Minister, who has just returned from a[84]four years’ sojourn in Constantinople, says he has never found in that city arespectable Turk who had more than one wife! This is the law of God, and to disobey it wars against nature. Among the Indians, polygamy was sometimes practised, but was by no means common, and was ever disgraceful. It is insisted, too, by their aged people, that before they were corrupted by their conquerors, there was scarcely any thing among them which Christian principle would condemn as vice.

To excel in oratory certainly requires a very superior development, and in this no people excelled the Iroquois. Love, in all its purity, dwells very little among even Christian people, and something far worse than polygamy prevails in the most cultivated circles among civilized nations.

There is not so much of nature’s nobility among the peasantry of Europe as among the forest Indians; yet their capability of love and the domestic affections is not disputed, and it is this alone which renders life endurable; were it not for this they would be desperadoes whom all the fetters of despotism could not trammel or subdue. But they are dwellers in one place, whilst the Indian is a rover, quite independent of home and domestic comfort.

The manner in which marriages were contracted, made it impossible that there should be courtships or long romantic love affairs among the children of the wilderness, and their habits of life made social intercourse almost impossible. Young men and maidens, had very little opportunity to become acquainted, and if there sprang up in their bosoms a mutual attachment, it could not be cultivated without the consent of the friends of both parties, and so accustomed were they to obedience, that the thought of defying those who had authority over them was[85]seldom or never indulged. I have smiled, as I have heard an Indian youth speak of the opportunities he had enjoyed for being married, in the same way as young women make this boast among us. And this may be done without compromising the delicacy of those alluded to, as it is not supposed that the parties most concerned know any thing of the matter.

The grandmothers, if living, if not the mothers, and when there are no mothers, the aunts, or nearest relatives, make the propositions. If it is considered desirable that a son, or daughter, marry the son or daughter in a neighboring lodge, a present of some kind is left at the door in a basket. This signifies to all within that a marriage negotiation is contemplated. If it is agreeable, the basket is brought in, and its contents being accepted, it is returned with a present which indicates thatthe way is opento further negotiation. If the proposal is rejected, the basket is left standing without the door, and she who brought it comes after there has been time for deliberation and takes it home. This is a decided refusal. If it is returned replenished, she sends another present of a different kind, and soon afterwards enters herself and consults with the matrons of the family with whom she seeks an alliance, and if all are pleased that it should take place, each family informs the son and daughter, for the first time, of the pending negotiation. Then, if there is no objection, presents are again exchanged, and there is another meeting of the matrons at which the children are present. Very serious advice is given them concerning their deportment, and the duties of husbands and wives, and then the seat is prepared in the home of the bride and bridegroom, which is in future to be exclusively theirs, and in the presence of all they repair to it, and are henceforth husband and wife. Their wedding tour is a[86]hunting excursion, or rather this was the custom of the olden time; now there is usually a feast, and there is also an acre of land set apart by the bride’s friends as her marriage portion. The father takes no interest in the matter, and is merelyinformedof the marriage when it is consummated. The children are of the tribe of the mother, as are the children’s children to the latest generation, and they are also of the same nation. If the mother is a Cayuga, the children are Cayugas; and if a Mohawk, the children are Mohawks. If the marriage proves unhappy, the parties are allowed to separate, and each is at liberty to marry again. But the mother has the sole right to the disposal of the children. She keeps them all if she chooses, and to their father they are ever mere strangers.

In regard to property, too, the wife retains whatever belonged to her before marriage, distinct from her husband, and can dispose of it as she pleases without his consent, and if she separates from him, takes it with her, and at her death, either before or after separation, her children inherit all she possessed.

A white man was once remonstrating with an Indian upon allowing the matrimonial bond to be so lightly broken, when the Indian replied: “You marry squaw, she know you always keep her, so she scold, scold, scold, and not cook your venison. I marry squaw, and she know I leave her if she not good. So she not scold, but cook my venison, and always pleasant, we live long together.”

There were few penalties for any species of crime. To call a thingbadwas usually sufficient in Indian communities to deter from all that they considered evil. That which we denounce as criminal, was not called so by them.

The staid and burly Englishman, never mingled with[87]the Indians in a way to gain their confidence or learn their true character. Their way of life was repulsive to him, but the Frenchman could become a hunter and roam for years in the forests, or live in a wigwam, and conform in all things to Indian customs with the samenonchalanceas he could walk upon tapestry and recline upon divans. This is the reason we usually have so much more pleasing pictures of Indian life from French than English traders. Englishmen would not be very likely to become theconfidantsof hunters or warriors, or to have an opportunity to listen to the love songs of Indian maidens.

It is certainly wonderful that a people who knew nothing of physiology, and had no learned treatises upon physical degeneracy, should have so thoroughly provided against deterioration by laws concerning intermarriage. Their wigwams were built for the convenience of several families. A lodge was constructed, and when it became necessary, additions were made till it became one or two hundred feet in length, and the abode of a little multitude, but all who occupied it were within the degrees of consanguinity which forbade marriage—they were brothers and sisters, and treated each other as such. But disputing and wrangling form no part of the nurseries of an Indian cabin. It is quite amazing how many will live together in harmony and love.

But I have heard of several instances of suicide for disappointed affection which would compare well in recklessness and desperation with any recorded in French or Italian novels. It sometimes happened that the husband or wife whom the friends chose, proved so unsuitable that the nuptial tie was broken almost as soon as formed. And when this happened I believe the parties were left the second time to select for themselves. It sometimes, too, became impossible for the friends to force upon young[88]people a yoke which they felt they could never bear. And often, as among the aristocratic circles of court society, it was worn a little while and then thrown off by one, leaving the other disconsolate and wretched. It, of course, most frequently happens that the wife is the deserted one.

Mrs. Hemans has immortalized the heart-broken one who perished in the Falls of St. Anthony some years ago, as related by a missionary. Her name was Ampatd Sapa.

“The husband was a successful hunter, and they lived happily together many years, and had two children, who played around their fire, and whom they were glad to call their children. Many families by degrees settled around them, and built wigwams near theirs. Wishing to become more closely connected with them, they represented to the hunter that he ought to have several wives, as by that means he would become of more importance, and might before long be elected chief of the tribe.”

He was well pleased with this counsel, and privately took a new wife; but, in order to bring her into his wigwam without displeasing his first wife, the mother of his children, he said to her:

“Thou knowest that I can never love any other woman as tenderly as I love thee: but I have seen that the labor of taking care of me and the children is too great for thee, and I have therefore determined to take another wife, who shall be thy servant; but thou shalt be the principal one in the dwelling.”

The wife was very much distressed when she heard these words. She prayed him to reflect on their former affection—their happiness during many years—their children. She besought him not to bring this second wife into their dwelling.

In vain. The next evening the husband brought the new wife into his wigwam.[89]

“In the early dawn of the following morning a death song was heard on the Mississippi. A young Indian woman sat in a little canoe with her two small children, and rowed it out into the river in the direction of the falls. It was Ampatd Sapa. She sang in lamenting tones the sorrow of her heart, of her husband’s infidelity, and her determination to die. Her friends heard the song, and saw her intention, but too late to prevent it.

“Her voice was soon silenced in the roar of the fall. The boat paused for a moment on the brink of the precipice, and the next was carried over it, and vanished in the foaming deep.”

The Indians still believe that in the early dawn may be heard the lamenting song, deploring the infidelity of the husband; and they fancy that at times may be seen the mother, with the children clasped to her breast, in the misty shapes which arise from the fall around the Spirit Island.

“Roll on; my warrior’s eye hath looked upon another’s face,And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam’s trace;My shadow comes not o’er his path, my whisper to his dream,He flings away the broken reed; roll swifter yet, thou stream!The voice that spoke of other days is hushed withinhisbreast;But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest.It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone;I cannot live without that light—Father of Waves, roll on!Will he not miss the bounding step, that met him from the chase?The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?The hand that spread the hunter’s board, and decked his couch of yore?He will not!—roll, dark, foaming stream, on to the better shore!And there, my babe! though born, like me, for woman’s weary lot;Smile! to that wasting of the heart; my own I leave thee not.Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath must waft away,The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.”

“Roll on; my warrior’s eye hath looked upon another’s face,

And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam’s trace;

My shadow comes not o’er his path, my whisper to his dream,

He flings away the broken reed; roll swifter yet, thou stream!

The voice that spoke of other days is hushed withinhisbreast;

But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest.

It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone;

I cannot live without that light—Father of Waves, roll on!

Will he not miss the bounding step, that met him from the chase?

The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?

The hand that spread the hunter’s board, and decked his couch of yore?

He will not!—roll, dark, foaming stream, on to the better shore!

And there, my babe! though born, like me, for woman’s weary lot;

Smile! to that wasting of the heart; my own I leave thee not.

Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath must waft away,

The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.”

[90]

The words are another’s, but the sentiment is the same as uttered by the deserted one, and the same as uttered by a deserted one on the banks of Lake Erie. “I cannot live longer,” said she, and swallowed the poisoned draught her own hands had mixed.

Not many specimens of Indian poetry have been preserved, yet they were ever singing.

They had a great variety of tunes, and are said to have had a good perception of time. They had not the regular intervals of tones and semitones, but a thousand different sounds recurring at as many irregular intervals. The music and the words of their songs were oftenimpromptu, but the war-songs were in regular verses, and sung as they danced.

The voice of the Indian is very rich and capable of high cultivation; and as they become Christianized, this part of public worship is their great delight. During the August of 1790 an Italian nobleman, Count Adriana, visited Mr. Kirkland, at his mission station in Oneida, and was particularly charmed with the musical powers of the Indians, saying—“The melody of their music, and the softness and richness of their voices, he thought were equal to any he ever heard in Italy!”

During the French war a party of Indians came from the far north-west to visit Quebec. On their way they stopped at the Moravian Mission, on the banks of Lake Superior, and there a young Algonquin fell in love with a Chippewa maiden, who as ardently returned his passion. As she sailed away in her light canoe she uttered her love and sadness in the following wild strain:—

“I shall go with you my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”“Alas,” I replied, “my native country is far, far away—my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”[91]When I looked back again, where we parted, he was still looking after me, my sweet heart, my Algonquin,He was still standing on a fallen tree, that had fallen in the water, my sweet heart, my Algonquin.Alas, when I think of him, when I think of him, it is when I think of him—my Algonquin.

“I shall go with you my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”

“Alas,” I replied, “my native country is far, far away—my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”[91]

When I looked back again, where we parted, he was still looking after me, my sweet heart, my Algonquin,

He was still standing on a fallen tree, that had fallen in the water, my sweet heart, my Algonquin.

Alas, when I think of him, when I think of him, it is when I think of him—my Algonquin.

The following is another strain almost as simple, but less wild and sad:—

“I looked across the water,I bent o’er it and listened,I thought it was my lover,My true love’s paddle glistened.Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.“I see the fallen maple,Where he stood his red scarf waving,Though waters nearly buryBoughs they then were merely laving,I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.”

“I looked across the water,I bent o’er it and listened,I thought it was my lover,My true love’s paddle glistened.Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.

“I looked across the water,

I bent o’er it and listened,

I thought it was my lover,

My true love’s paddle glistened.

Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,

But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;

Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.

“I see the fallen maple,Where he stood his red scarf waving,Though waters nearly buryBoughs they then were merely laving,I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.”

“I see the fallen maple,

Where he stood his red scarf waving,

Though waters nearly bury

Boughs they then were merely laving,

I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,

But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;

Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.”

This is a literal translation, but there is the true spirit of thelove-lorn maiden, and a high development of the poetic sentiment. There has been only now and then a wanderer among the forests, who could appreciate or discern the beautiful, though there have been poems, and novels in abundance concerning wild forest life, by those who wrote the wanderings of their imagination and their fancy. The bright picture has been too bright, and the dark picture too dark.

In the war songs of the Indian, there is never allusion to blood and carnage; and revenge is not made prominent among the natives for pursuing the enemy. Bold and[92]daring deeds are incited as worthy of imitation, and fortitude and heroism are exalted as the loftiest virtues. They had characteristics, generated by their peculiar life, but there is nothing about them to prevent their becominglike unto others. White men have lived among them and learned to prefer the hunter’s life. Indians have learned to prefer the habits of civilization, and shown themselves capable of education and refinement equal to any attained by any nation.

When children, they have the same joyous nature, the same quick perceptions, and exhibit the same varieties of character.

“As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined,”

“As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined,”

is as true of them as of pale-faced children.

The following lines are a translation of a song heard among a troop of Chippewa children as they were playing at twilight around their dwellings, and the air was filled with myriads of fire-flies, which they were trying to catch. I have seen few prettier things among the children’s songs of any people.

“Fire-fly, fire-fly, bright little thing,Light me to bed, and my song I will sing;Give me your light, as you fly o’er my head,That I may merrily go to my bed;Give me your light o’er the grass as you creep,That I may joyfully go to my sleep;Come little fire-fly—Come little beast—Come! and I’ll make you to-morrow a feast.Come, little candle, that flies as I sing,Bright little fairy bug,—night’s little king;Come, and I’ll dance as you guide me along,Come, and I’ll pay you my bug with a song.”

“Fire-fly, fire-fly, bright little thing,

Light me to bed, and my song I will sing;

Give me your light, as you fly o’er my head,

That I may merrily go to my bed;

Give me your light o’er the grass as you creep,

That I may joyfully go to my sleep;

Come little fire-fly—Come little beast—

Come! and I’ll make you to-morrow a feast.

Come, little candle, that flies as I sing,

Bright little fairy bug,—night’s little king;

Come, and I’ll dance as you guide me along,

Come, and I’ll pay you my bug with a song.”

In their legends there is often allusion tofalling in[93]love, in the way the same event takes place among other people. The following is obtained from a very authentic source, and certainly appears very natural:—

[Contents]A LOVE LEGEND.Iroquois.Over a deep gulf, not far from Canandaigua Lake, hangs a wild and fearful precipice, which has been known to the Indian as far back as tradition goes, by the name of “Lover’s Leap,” for here two lovers preferred to die together rather than live apart.When the Senecas and Algonquins were at war, a young Algonquin Chief was taken prisoner, and condemned to die. While in the “cabin of death,” to wait his doom, the youthful and beautiful daughter of the Sachem brought him food. He too was rich in all those manly gifts which an Indian maiden is taught to admire in warrior and in chieftain, and though her father’s enemy, she loved him, and resolved to save his life.Ere the morning watch, when the gray dawn was just stealing from behind the hill-tops, she stole with stealthy tread to the side of the noble captive, and cutting the thongs which bound him, bade him in breathless accents to follow her.The sentinel, weary with his night-watchings, had fallen asleep, but ere they had descended the winding pathway which led to the lake on whose gentle bosom they had hoped to rest, the shrill war-whoop fell on their ears and they knew they were pursued. Like the fawn or the squirrel they bounded through the thick woods and down the steeps to the border of the lake, where the light canoe awaited them, and plied the dashing paddles with the desperate energy of those who row for life. But it[94]was in vain; nearer came the terrific yell and then the splashing of a dozen oars, and as many savage warriors swiftly gliding over the waters in full view of the fugitives.They reached the shore and fled through a woody pathway over the hills; but, seeing the brave youth by her side was fainting from his still bleeding wounds, the maiden turned quickly and came to a table-crested rock that overlooked the gulf. There, hand in hand, they paused, and calmly gazed on the group below, who instantly filled the air with shrieks, as they perceived the pair, and knew them to be within their reach. The damsel knew her father by his eagle plume, and when he saw his victim he bent his bow and pointed the poisoned arrow at his heart; but ere the string was snapped, Wun-nut-hay, the beautiful, stood between her lover and the stern old man, and falling at the feet of the warrior begged him to spare the youth; “nay,” said she, “we will plunge together over the precipice rather than that one shall die and the other live.”But rage now blinded him to her tears and shut his ears to her entreaties; he commanded his followers to seize the lad, and warrior after warrior bounded up the cliffs in obedience to his command, but at the moment they put forth their hands to grasp the foe, the lovers, locked in firm embrace, flung themselves“From the steep rock and perished!”Then the father’s breast was rent, but too late to save his child. At the bottom of the gulf, one hundred and fifty feet from where he stood, lay the mangled bodies of the two, and there he commanded that they should be buried. Two hollows like sunken graves are to this day pointed out as the “burial place of the lovers.” It is a wild, romantic[95]haunt, but quiet now, save where a brook slowly murmurs along as if to chant a requiem for the dead.Col. McKenney, who was for seventeen years at the head of the Indian department at Washington, and who has mingled with Indians of every nation and tribe, in the wildest and the most civilized state, does not hesitate to confirm them in the assertion always to be heard among themselves, that they arethe people. He is as genuine a Saxon as myself, but is willing to allow the red children the preference in all that is truly noble and good. Not among any people whose history I have read, have I found instances of stronger attachment, whether of love, of conjugal or parental affection, than he relates; and the most strong heart would melt in listening to the touching incidents of which his memory is so full; and that they are full of pathos and awake to the tenderest sympathy, cannot now be ascribed to the youthful enthusiasm of the narrator, or his unripe judgment.His head is now hoary with the frosts of many winters, and he must be considered good authority; and he says no people on the wide earth have hearts so warm and true as the genuine forest Indian.In Jefferson’s answers to the theories of Count de Buffon, concerning the deteriorating influence of American climate and soil upon animals and vegetables, he says there is no difference between the Indian and European, except what is produced by customs and modes of living. The Indian was taught to consider war as the noblest of pursuits. “Every thing he sees and hears tends to inspire him with an ardent desire for military fame. If a young man were to discover a fondness for women before he has been to war, he would become the contempt of the men, and the scorn and ridicule of the women. Or if he were to offer violence to a captive for selfish gratification, he[96]would incur indelible disgrace. Their frigidity is the effect of manners, and not a defect of nature. Besides, a celebrated warrior is oftener courted by the females, than he has the occasion to court; and this is a point of honor which the men aim at. Instances similar to that of Ruth and Boaz are not uncommon among them. For though the women are modest and diffident, and so bashful that they seldom lift up their eyes, and scarce ever look a man full in the face, yet customs and manners reconcile them to modes of acting which, judged of by Europeans, would be deemed inconsistent with the rules of female decorum and propriety.”“When Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of a heap of corn, and Ruth came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.”“Instances like this,” continues the same author, “are not uncommon among them. I once saw a young widow, whose husband, a warrior, had died about eight days before, hastening to finish her grief, tearing her hair and beating her breast, drinking spirits to make the tears flow, that she might grieve much in a short space of time, and be married that evening to another young warrior. Old men, whose wives are also advanced in years, often marry young women, though polygamy is not common among them. Neither do they seem to be deficient in natural affection. I have seen both fathers and mothers in the deepest affliction when their children have been dangerously ill. It is also said they are averse to society and social life. Can any thing be more inapplicable than this to a people who always live in towns or clans? Or can they be said to have no ‘republic,’ who conduct all their affairs in national councils, who pride themselves in national character, who consider an insult or injury done to[97]an individual, as done to the whole, and resent it accordingly?”I have quoted this author at some length, as he must be considered good authority, and says he writes what he knows. And as this is one of the great points of dispute concerning Indians, between philosophers and historians of the old world and the new, and is also a very interesting one, I have thought it worthy much pains in adducing opinions. The Iroquois were not justly called a wild or barbarous people at all. They were not all alike. Among their lodges there were degrees of order and neatness, the same as among us. Those who visit the rude log cabins of white settlers in the wilderness far away from the comforts and luxuries of cultivated circles, may have all their sensibilities shocked quite as much as our forefathers had in the wigwam. They had rules of etiquette, and were truly formalists in the management of public and social matters. Not to say I thank you, after partaking of a meal in a friend’s or stranger’s house, was considered quite an insult, and they did not consider it polite to enter a village without uttering some note of announcement.Much less ought they to be characterized as a people of no vivacity, and who are excited to action or motion only by the call of hunger and thirst. Their dances, in which they so much delight, and which to an European would be the severest exercise, fully contradict this.All the Indians of North America were in the habit of using various symbols to represent ideas, and by some this was carried so far as to deserve the name of picture writing. If a hunter was alone in the forest, wherever he encamped he would mark upon the smooth bark of a tree the device of his tribe, a bear, or heron, or deer, whichever it might be; the shape of the moon at the time, to indicate the day of the month; and so nice were their observations,[98]that they drew the quarters, half and full moon with wonderful exactness; an arrow pointing in the direction he was going; straight lines to denote the number of days he had been from home, and the forms of the various animals he had killed in the chase.If there was a large party, the number of persons was shown by the faces or figures being drawn; if it was a war party, a knife drawn across the throat designated how many had been killed.They were in the habit of marking their tribal device, very generally denominatedtotem, over the doors of their cabins, and sometimes upon their bodies. Among the western nations and the Indians of New England, scrolls of bark were used, and their symbols were very much like those in use among eastern nations before the invention of letters. The events of a war expedition have been found so definitely pictured that they could be easily understood by those who originally knew nothing of the matter; and parties of travellers have found descriptions of their movements, upon pieces of bark fastened to a pole and set up in the forest, so that it was easily recognized when read by one acquainted with their signs.The following is a love song written in this way, and curious only as showing the amount they could communicate and the sentiments they could express by picture writing:“It is my form and person that makes me great.Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;I shield myself with secret coverings.All your thoughts are known to me; blush!I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;Though you were in another hemisphere;I speak to your naked heart!”[99]The following seems to be an imaginary address of the frogs to the snow flakes and ice in spring, when they are weary of being imprisoned, and long to burst their bonds, and commence their rejoicings, for the return of the warm sun and the sweet breath of spring.They are interesting only as specimens of Indian imagination and poetry:SONG OF THE OKOGISS, OR FROGS, IN SPRING.See how the white spirit presses—Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?HAWK CHANT OF THE SAGINAWS.The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;They turn to look back on their flight;The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.They fly with their messages swift;They look as they fearfully go;They look to the farthermost end of the world,Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.Their war songs, as translated, do not convey to us any just idea of what they were to the Indian. It is true of every thing national of whatever people, that those alone can understand its true import who have the same associations; who have been subject to the same influences, and whose enthusiasm is awakened by the same suggestions.To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs[100]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.BABY FRAME.BABY FRAME.The Indian mother has certainly invented the most convenient method of carrying and lullabying her baby. All babies are nearly of the same size, and nobody need to be told how long or wide a baby frame is made. It is a straight board, sometimes with side pieces, and always with a hoop over the head from which to suspend a curtain for the protection of the little eyes from the sun, and thus enveloped in a blanket and laced to the frame, they were carried upon the back of the mother by a stay which came over her forehead, and with much less fatigue than in the arms. The baby is kept in the frame a great portion of the time when it is an infant, and it is astonishing how contented it remains in its little prison. When the mother is at work in the field she hangs her baby on a low limb of a tree, where it is rocked by the wind. When she is busy in the house, she suspends it on a nail or seats it in the corner, and sometimes hangs it where she can swing it to and fro as she passes, “singing as she goes.”The following is a baby song, which will compare well with the songs of a similar sentiment among any people; and as in other cases, the translation is not so good as the original:CRADLE SONG.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.[102]‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.As an instance of the appreciation in which the Iroquois held the noble qualities of the heart, their enthusiasm, and the honors they thought it not wrong to bestow upon woman, may be related the story of the daughter of Black Chief, who was a Seneca Sachem residing at Squawky Hill, in the valley of the Genesee:Black Chief was one of their brave men in time of war, and also endowed with all the noble, generous qualities which win love and honor in time of peace. He had an only daughter, who was greatly endeared to her people, because, like her father, she had a soul ever prompting her to generous deeds. She was also very beautiful, and possessed a mind of superior order, and was in every way gifted, worthy to be the Chieftain’s daughter. When her father died they honored her above all other women, and gave to her the title and authority of Princess.They had a superstition, that during her life, the Iroquois would again be restored to their ancient power, and take a place among the nations of the earth. So, many were the prayers which ascended to the Great Spirit for the long life of their young queen. They gathered flowers and strewed in her path when she went forth, and brought to her the finest venison and the rarest fruits for her table. She was not made haughty and imperious by her honors,[103]but continued gentle and affectionate, though it was but a little while that she remained to receive these tokens of unaffected homage. The Great Spirit did not see fit to answer their prayers. In an evil hour the pestilence swept the land, and whole villages were desolated in a night. In the midst of their calamities, they thought less of themselves than of the daughter of their beloved Chief. Whilst the hand of the destroyer left her unharmed, they were not made utterly wretched. But when their lamentations were dying away, and health again brought cheerfulness to their dwellings, she was stricken, and the light which had been so beautiful in their eyes went out in utter darkness. Now the wail of the mourners around the couch of the dead was sincere and heart-rending. They did not build for her the “Cabin of Death,” but constructed a scaffold among the trees of a neighboring grove, and adorning her with all that their skill or taste could devise, placed her upon it in a sitting posture, and from far and near all the people gathered together to join in the solemn rites, which were to testify their love for the living and their grief for the dead. Her lifeless form was embowered with roses and running vines, and garlands of flowers were wreathed at her feet. All that the Indian considered most valuable—golden ears of his beloved maize, and the most costly furs, were scattered in profusion around her.Every night fires were lighted and watchmen stationed to guard her body from danger, and every morning they again assembled to renew the utterance of their grief.The mourning continued many days, and when it was no longer possible to preserve her in their sight, she was buried, while at her grave was chanted a solemn dirge by the mingled voices of a great multitude,whichfilled the air with such plaintive wailings as can come only from broken hearts.[104]I cannot help pausing here to ask, if such a people deserve no better doom than annihilation? if those who call themselves Christians “have done what they could,” to tune these harps of the wilderness to accord with those of the cherubim and seraphim in the choirs above?Indian Snowshoe.[105]

A LOVE LEGEND.

Iroquois.Over a deep gulf, not far from Canandaigua Lake, hangs a wild and fearful precipice, which has been known to the Indian as far back as tradition goes, by the name of “Lover’s Leap,” for here two lovers preferred to die together rather than live apart.When the Senecas and Algonquins were at war, a young Algonquin Chief was taken prisoner, and condemned to die. While in the “cabin of death,” to wait his doom, the youthful and beautiful daughter of the Sachem brought him food. He too was rich in all those manly gifts which an Indian maiden is taught to admire in warrior and in chieftain, and though her father’s enemy, she loved him, and resolved to save his life.Ere the morning watch, when the gray dawn was just stealing from behind the hill-tops, she stole with stealthy tread to the side of the noble captive, and cutting the thongs which bound him, bade him in breathless accents to follow her.The sentinel, weary with his night-watchings, had fallen asleep, but ere they had descended the winding pathway which led to the lake on whose gentle bosom they had hoped to rest, the shrill war-whoop fell on their ears and they knew they were pursued. Like the fawn or the squirrel they bounded through the thick woods and down the steeps to the border of the lake, where the light canoe awaited them, and plied the dashing paddles with the desperate energy of those who row for life. But it[94]was in vain; nearer came the terrific yell and then the splashing of a dozen oars, and as many savage warriors swiftly gliding over the waters in full view of the fugitives.They reached the shore and fled through a woody pathway over the hills; but, seeing the brave youth by her side was fainting from his still bleeding wounds, the maiden turned quickly and came to a table-crested rock that overlooked the gulf. There, hand in hand, they paused, and calmly gazed on the group below, who instantly filled the air with shrieks, as they perceived the pair, and knew them to be within their reach. The damsel knew her father by his eagle plume, and when he saw his victim he bent his bow and pointed the poisoned arrow at his heart; but ere the string was snapped, Wun-nut-hay, the beautiful, stood between her lover and the stern old man, and falling at the feet of the warrior begged him to spare the youth; “nay,” said she, “we will plunge together over the precipice rather than that one shall die and the other live.”But rage now blinded him to her tears and shut his ears to her entreaties; he commanded his followers to seize the lad, and warrior after warrior bounded up the cliffs in obedience to his command, but at the moment they put forth their hands to grasp the foe, the lovers, locked in firm embrace, flung themselves“From the steep rock and perished!”Then the father’s breast was rent, but too late to save his child. At the bottom of the gulf, one hundred and fifty feet from where he stood, lay the mangled bodies of the two, and there he commanded that they should be buried. Two hollows like sunken graves are to this day pointed out as the “burial place of the lovers.” It is a wild, romantic[95]haunt, but quiet now, save where a brook slowly murmurs along as if to chant a requiem for the dead.Col. McKenney, who was for seventeen years at the head of the Indian department at Washington, and who has mingled with Indians of every nation and tribe, in the wildest and the most civilized state, does not hesitate to confirm them in the assertion always to be heard among themselves, that they arethe people. He is as genuine a Saxon as myself, but is willing to allow the red children the preference in all that is truly noble and good. Not among any people whose history I have read, have I found instances of stronger attachment, whether of love, of conjugal or parental affection, than he relates; and the most strong heart would melt in listening to the touching incidents of which his memory is so full; and that they are full of pathos and awake to the tenderest sympathy, cannot now be ascribed to the youthful enthusiasm of the narrator, or his unripe judgment.His head is now hoary with the frosts of many winters, and he must be considered good authority; and he says no people on the wide earth have hearts so warm and true as the genuine forest Indian.In Jefferson’s answers to the theories of Count de Buffon, concerning the deteriorating influence of American climate and soil upon animals and vegetables, he says there is no difference between the Indian and European, except what is produced by customs and modes of living. The Indian was taught to consider war as the noblest of pursuits. “Every thing he sees and hears tends to inspire him with an ardent desire for military fame. If a young man were to discover a fondness for women before he has been to war, he would become the contempt of the men, and the scorn and ridicule of the women. Or if he were to offer violence to a captive for selfish gratification, he[96]would incur indelible disgrace. Their frigidity is the effect of manners, and not a defect of nature. Besides, a celebrated warrior is oftener courted by the females, than he has the occasion to court; and this is a point of honor which the men aim at. Instances similar to that of Ruth and Boaz are not uncommon among them. For though the women are modest and diffident, and so bashful that they seldom lift up their eyes, and scarce ever look a man full in the face, yet customs and manners reconcile them to modes of acting which, judged of by Europeans, would be deemed inconsistent with the rules of female decorum and propriety.”“When Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of a heap of corn, and Ruth came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.”“Instances like this,” continues the same author, “are not uncommon among them. I once saw a young widow, whose husband, a warrior, had died about eight days before, hastening to finish her grief, tearing her hair and beating her breast, drinking spirits to make the tears flow, that she might grieve much in a short space of time, and be married that evening to another young warrior. Old men, whose wives are also advanced in years, often marry young women, though polygamy is not common among them. Neither do they seem to be deficient in natural affection. I have seen both fathers and mothers in the deepest affliction when their children have been dangerously ill. It is also said they are averse to society and social life. Can any thing be more inapplicable than this to a people who always live in towns or clans? Or can they be said to have no ‘republic,’ who conduct all their affairs in national councils, who pride themselves in national character, who consider an insult or injury done to[97]an individual, as done to the whole, and resent it accordingly?”I have quoted this author at some length, as he must be considered good authority, and says he writes what he knows. And as this is one of the great points of dispute concerning Indians, between philosophers and historians of the old world and the new, and is also a very interesting one, I have thought it worthy much pains in adducing opinions. The Iroquois were not justly called a wild or barbarous people at all. They were not all alike. Among their lodges there were degrees of order and neatness, the same as among us. Those who visit the rude log cabins of white settlers in the wilderness far away from the comforts and luxuries of cultivated circles, may have all their sensibilities shocked quite as much as our forefathers had in the wigwam. They had rules of etiquette, and were truly formalists in the management of public and social matters. Not to say I thank you, after partaking of a meal in a friend’s or stranger’s house, was considered quite an insult, and they did not consider it polite to enter a village without uttering some note of announcement.Much less ought they to be characterized as a people of no vivacity, and who are excited to action or motion only by the call of hunger and thirst. Their dances, in which they so much delight, and which to an European would be the severest exercise, fully contradict this.All the Indians of North America were in the habit of using various symbols to represent ideas, and by some this was carried so far as to deserve the name of picture writing. If a hunter was alone in the forest, wherever he encamped he would mark upon the smooth bark of a tree the device of his tribe, a bear, or heron, or deer, whichever it might be; the shape of the moon at the time, to indicate the day of the month; and so nice were their observations,[98]that they drew the quarters, half and full moon with wonderful exactness; an arrow pointing in the direction he was going; straight lines to denote the number of days he had been from home, and the forms of the various animals he had killed in the chase.If there was a large party, the number of persons was shown by the faces or figures being drawn; if it was a war party, a knife drawn across the throat designated how many had been killed.They were in the habit of marking their tribal device, very generally denominatedtotem, over the doors of their cabins, and sometimes upon their bodies. Among the western nations and the Indians of New England, scrolls of bark were used, and their symbols were very much like those in use among eastern nations before the invention of letters. The events of a war expedition have been found so definitely pictured that they could be easily understood by those who originally knew nothing of the matter; and parties of travellers have found descriptions of their movements, upon pieces of bark fastened to a pole and set up in the forest, so that it was easily recognized when read by one acquainted with their signs.The following is a love song written in this way, and curious only as showing the amount they could communicate and the sentiments they could express by picture writing:“It is my form and person that makes me great.Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;I shield myself with secret coverings.All your thoughts are known to me; blush!I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;Though you were in another hemisphere;I speak to your naked heart!”[99]The following seems to be an imaginary address of the frogs to the snow flakes and ice in spring, when they are weary of being imprisoned, and long to burst their bonds, and commence their rejoicings, for the return of the warm sun and the sweet breath of spring.They are interesting only as specimens of Indian imagination and poetry:SONG OF THE OKOGISS, OR FROGS, IN SPRING.See how the white spirit presses—Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?HAWK CHANT OF THE SAGINAWS.The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;They turn to look back on their flight;The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.They fly with their messages swift;They look as they fearfully go;They look to the farthermost end of the world,Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.Their war songs, as translated, do not convey to us any just idea of what they were to the Indian. It is true of every thing national of whatever people, that those alone can understand its true import who have the same associations; who have been subject to the same influences, and whose enthusiasm is awakened by the same suggestions.To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs[100]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.BABY FRAME.BABY FRAME.The Indian mother has certainly invented the most convenient method of carrying and lullabying her baby. All babies are nearly of the same size, and nobody need to be told how long or wide a baby frame is made. It is a straight board, sometimes with side pieces, and always with a hoop over the head from which to suspend a curtain for the protection of the little eyes from the sun, and thus enveloped in a blanket and laced to the frame, they were carried upon the back of the mother by a stay which came over her forehead, and with much less fatigue than in the arms. The baby is kept in the frame a great portion of the time when it is an infant, and it is astonishing how contented it remains in its little prison. When the mother is at work in the field she hangs her baby on a low limb of a tree, where it is rocked by the wind. When she is busy in the house, she suspends it on a nail or seats it in the corner, and sometimes hangs it where she can swing it to and fro as she passes, “singing as she goes.”The following is a baby song, which will compare well with the songs of a similar sentiment among any people; and as in other cases, the translation is not so good as the original:CRADLE SONG.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.[102]‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.As an instance of the appreciation in which the Iroquois held the noble qualities of the heart, their enthusiasm, and the honors they thought it not wrong to bestow upon woman, may be related the story of the daughter of Black Chief, who was a Seneca Sachem residing at Squawky Hill, in the valley of the Genesee:Black Chief was one of their brave men in time of war, and also endowed with all the noble, generous qualities which win love and honor in time of peace. He had an only daughter, who was greatly endeared to her people, because, like her father, she had a soul ever prompting her to generous deeds. She was also very beautiful, and possessed a mind of superior order, and was in every way gifted, worthy to be the Chieftain’s daughter. When her father died they honored her above all other women, and gave to her the title and authority of Princess.They had a superstition, that during her life, the Iroquois would again be restored to their ancient power, and take a place among the nations of the earth. So, many were the prayers which ascended to the Great Spirit for the long life of their young queen. They gathered flowers and strewed in her path when she went forth, and brought to her the finest venison and the rarest fruits for her table. She was not made haughty and imperious by her honors,[103]but continued gentle and affectionate, though it was but a little while that she remained to receive these tokens of unaffected homage. The Great Spirit did not see fit to answer their prayers. In an evil hour the pestilence swept the land, and whole villages were desolated in a night. In the midst of their calamities, they thought less of themselves than of the daughter of their beloved Chief. Whilst the hand of the destroyer left her unharmed, they were not made utterly wretched. But when their lamentations were dying away, and health again brought cheerfulness to their dwellings, she was stricken, and the light which had been so beautiful in their eyes went out in utter darkness. Now the wail of the mourners around the couch of the dead was sincere and heart-rending. They did not build for her the “Cabin of Death,” but constructed a scaffold among the trees of a neighboring grove, and adorning her with all that their skill or taste could devise, placed her upon it in a sitting posture, and from far and near all the people gathered together to join in the solemn rites, which were to testify their love for the living and their grief for the dead. Her lifeless form was embowered with roses and running vines, and garlands of flowers were wreathed at her feet. All that the Indian considered most valuable—golden ears of his beloved maize, and the most costly furs, were scattered in profusion around her.Every night fires were lighted and watchmen stationed to guard her body from danger, and every morning they again assembled to renew the utterance of their grief.The mourning continued many days, and when it was no longer possible to preserve her in their sight, she was buried, while at her grave was chanted a solemn dirge by the mingled voices of a great multitude,whichfilled the air with such plaintive wailings as can come only from broken hearts.[104]I cannot help pausing here to ask, if such a people deserve no better doom than annihilation? if those who call themselves Christians “have done what they could,” to tune these harps of the wilderness to accord with those of the cherubim and seraphim in the choirs above?Indian Snowshoe.[105]

Iroquois.

Over a deep gulf, not far from Canandaigua Lake, hangs a wild and fearful precipice, which has been known to the Indian as far back as tradition goes, by the name of “Lover’s Leap,” for here two lovers preferred to die together rather than live apart.

When the Senecas and Algonquins were at war, a young Algonquin Chief was taken prisoner, and condemned to die. While in the “cabin of death,” to wait his doom, the youthful and beautiful daughter of the Sachem brought him food. He too was rich in all those manly gifts which an Indian maiden is taught to admire in warrior and in chieftain, and though her father’s enemy, she loved him, and resolved to save his life.

Ere the morning watch, when the gray dawn was just stealing from behind the hill-tops, she stole with stealthy tread to the side of the noble captive, and cutting the thongs which bound him, bade him in breathless accents to follow her.

The sentinel, weary with his night-watchings, had fallen asleep, but ere they had descended the winding pathway which led to the lake on whose gentle bosom they had hoped to rest, the shrill war-whoop fell on their ears and they knew they were pursued. Like the fawn or the squirrel they bounded through the thick woods and down the steeps to the border of the lake, where the light canoe awaited them, and plied the dashing paddles with the desperate energy of those who row for life. But it[94]was in vain; nearer came the terrific yell and then the splashing of a dozen oars, and as many savage warriors swiftly gliding over the waters in full view of the fugitives.

They reached the shore and fled through a woody pathway over the hills; but, seeing the brave youth by her side was fainting from his still bleeding wounds, the maiden turned quickly and came to a table-crested rock that overlooked the gulf. There, hand in hand, they paused, and calmly gazed on the group below, who instantly filled the air with shrieks, as they perceived the pair, and knew them to be within their reach. The damsel knew her father by his eagle plume, and when he saw his victim he bent his bow and pointed the poisoned arrow at his heart; but ere the string was snapped, Wun-nut-hay, the beautiful, stood between her lover and the stern old man, and falling at the feet of the warrior begged him to spare the youth; “nay,” said she, “we will plunge together over the precipice rather than that one shall die and the other live.”

But rage now blinded him to her tears and shut his ears to her entreaties; he commanded his followers to seize the lad, and warrior after warrior bounded up the cliffs in obedience to his command, but at the moment they put forth their hands to grasp the foe, the lovers, locked in firm embrace, flung themselves

“From the steep rock and perished!”

“From the steep rock and perished!”

Then the father’s breast was rent, but too late to save his child. At the bottom of the gulf, one hundred and fifty feet from where he stood, lay the mangled bodies of the two, and there he commanded that they should be buried. Two hollows like sunken graves are to this day pointed out as the “burial place of the lovers.” It is a wild, romantic[95]haunt, but quiet now, save where a brook slowly murmurs along as if to chant a requiem for the dead.

Col. McKenney, who was for seventeen years at the head of the Indian department at Washington, and who has mingled with Indians of every nation and tribe, in the wildest and the most civilized state, does not hesitate to confirm them in the assertion always to be heard among themselves, that they arethe people. He is as genuine a Saxon as myself, but is willing to allow the red children the preference in all that is truly noble and good. Not among any people whose history I have read, have I found instances of stronger attachment, whether of love, of conjugal or parental affection, than he relates; and the most strong heart would melt in listening to the touching incidents of which his memory is so full; and that they are full of pathos and awake to the tenderest sympathy, cannot now be ascribed to the youthful enthusiasm of the narrator, or his unripe judgment.

His head is now hoary with the frosts of many winters, and he must be considered good authority; and he says no people on the wide earth have hearts so warm and true as the genuine forest Indian.

In Jefferson’s answers to the theories of Count de Buffon, concerning the deteriorating influence of American climate and soil upon animals and vegetables, he says there is no difference between the Indian and European, except what is produced by customs and modes of living. The Indian was taught to consider war as the noblest of pursuits. “Every thing he sees and hears tends to inspire him with an ardent desire for military fame. If a young man were to discover a fondness for women before he has been to war, he would become the contempt of the men, and the scorn and ridicule of the women. Or if he were to offer violence to a captive for selfish gratification, he[96]would incur indelible disgrace. Their frigidity is the effect of manners, and not a defect of nature. Besides, a celebrated warrior is oftener courted by the females, than he has the occasion to court; and this is a point of honor which the men aim at. Instances similar to that of Ruth and Boaz are not uncommon among them. For though the women are modest and diffident, and so bashful that they seldom lift up their eyes, and scarce ever look a man full in the face, yet customs and manners reconcile them to modes of acting which, judged of by Europeans, would be deemed inconsistent with the rules of female decorum and propriety.”

“When Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of a heap of corn, and Ruth came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.”

“Instances like this,” continues the same author, “are not uncommon among them. I once saw a young widow, whose husband, a warrior, had died about eight days before, hastening to finish her grief, tearing her hair and beating her breast, drinking spirits to make the tears flow, that she might grieve much in a short space of time, and be married that evening to another young warrior. Old men, whose wives are also advanced in years, often marry young women, though polygamy is not common among them. Neither do they seem to be deficient in natural affection. I have seen both fathers and mothers in the deepest affliction when their children have been dangerously ill. It is also said they are averse to society and social life. Can any thing be more inapplicable than this to a people who always live in towns or clans? Or can they be said to have no ‘republic,’ who conduct all their affairs in national councils, who pride themselves in national character, who consider an insult or injury done to[97]an individual, as done to the whole, and resent it accordingly?”

I have quoted this author at some length, as he must be considered good authority, and says he writes what he knows. And as this is one of the great points of dispute concerning Indians, between philosophers and historians of the old world and the new, and is also a very interesting one, I have thought it worthy much pains in adducing opinions. The Iroquois were not justly called a wild or barbarous people at all. They were not all alike. Among their lodges there were degrees of order and neatness, the same as among us. Those who visit the rude log cabins of white settlers in the wilderness far away from the comforts and luxuries of cultivated circles, may have all their sensibilities shocked quite as much as our forefathers had in the wigwam. They had rules of etiquette, and were truly formalists in the management of public and social matters. Not to say I thank you, after partaking of a meal in a friend’s or stranger’s house, was considered quite an insult, and they did not consider it polite to enter a village without uttering some note of announcement.Much less ought they to be characterized as a people of no vivacity, and who are excited to action or motion only by the call of hunger and thirst. Their dances, in which they so much delight, and which to an European would be the severest exercise, fully contradict this.

All the Indians of North America were in the habit of using various symbols to represent ideas, and by some this was carried so far as to deserve the name of picture writing. If a hunter was alone in the forest, wherever he encamped he would mark upon the smooth bark of a tree the device of his tribe, a bear, or heron, or deer, whichever it might be; the shape of the moon at the time, to indicate the day of the month; and so nice were their observations,[98]that they drew the quarters, half and full moon with wonderful exactness; an arrow pointing in the direction he was going; straight lines to denote the number of days he had been from home, and the forms of the various animals he had killed in the chase.

If there was a large party, the number of persons was shown by the faces or figures being drawn; if it was a war party, a knife drawn across the throat designated how many had been killed.

They were in the habit of marking their tribal device, very generally denominatedtotem, over the doors of their cabins, and sometimes upon their bodies. Among the western nations and the Indians of New England, scrolls of bark were used, and their symbols were very much like those in use among eastern nations before the invention of letters. The events of a war expedition have been found so definitely pictured that they could be easily understood by those who originally knew nothing of the matter; and parties of travellers have found descriptions of their movements, upon pieces of bark fastened to a pole and set up in the forest, so that it was easily recognized when read by one acquainted with their signs.

The following is a love song written in this way, and curious only as showing the amount they could communicate and the sentiments they could express by picture writing:

“It is my form and person that makes me great.Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;I shield myself with secret coverings.All your thoughts are known to me; blush!I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;Though you were in another hemisphere;I speak to your naked heart!”

“It is my form and person that makes me great.

Hear the voice of my song—it is my voice;

I shield myself with secret coverings.

All your thoughts are known to me; blush!

I could draw you hence were you on a distant island;

Though you were in another hemisphere;

I speak to your naked heart!”

[99]

The following seems to be an imaginary address of the frogs to the snow flakes and ice in spring, when they are weary of being imprisoned, and long to burst their bonds, and commence their rejoicings, for the return of the warm sun and the sweet breath of spring.

They are interesting only as specimens of Indian imagination and poetry:

SONG OF THE OKOGISS, OR FROGS, IN SPRING.See how the white spirit presses—Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?

See how the white spirit presses—

Presses us—presses us, heavy and long;

Presses us down to the frost-bitten earth;

Alas! ye are heavy, ye spirits so white;

Alas! you are cold—you are cold, you are cold.

Ah! cease shining spirits that fell from the skies;

Ah! cease to crush us and keep us in dread;

Ah! when will ye vanish and Seegwin return?

HAWK CHANT OF THE SAGINAWS.The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;They turn to look back on their flight;The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.They fly with their messages swift;They look as they fearfully go;They look to the farthermost end of the world,Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.

The hawks turn their heads nimbly around;

They turn to look back on their flight;

The spirits of sunplace have whispered the words.

They fly with their messages swift;

They look as they fearfully go;

They look to the farthermost end of the world,

Their eyes glancing bright and their beaks boding harm.

Their war songs, as translated, do not convey to us any just idea of what they were to the Indian. It is true of every thing national of whatever people, that those alone can understand its true import who have the same associations; who have been subject to the same influences, and whose enthusiasm is awakened by the same suggestions.

To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs[100]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.

The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:

But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.

But who are my foes? they shall die.They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.

But who are my foes? they shall die.

They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;

They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,

Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.

Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,While mourning our warriors slain,Till our youth grown to menFor the battle path trained,Our days like our father’s we’ll end.

Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,

While mourning our warriors slain,

Till our youth grown to men

For the battle path trained,

Our days like our father’s we’ll end.

Ye are dead noble men! ye are goneMy brother—my fellow—my friend!——On the death path where brave men must go;But we live to revenge you! we hasteTo die as our forefathers died.

Ye are dead noble men! ye are gone

My brother—my fellow—my friend!——

On the death path where brave men must go;

But we live to revenge you! we haste

To die as our forefathers died.

The eagles scream on high;They whet their forked beaks,Raise, raise the battle cry,‘Tis fame our leader seeks.

The eagles scream on high;

They whet their forked beaks,

Raise, raise the battle cry,

‘Tis fame our leader seeks.

The battle birds swoop from the sky,They thirst for the warrior’s heart;They look from their circles on high,And scorn every flesh but the brave.

The battle birds swoop from the sky,

They thirst for the warrior’s heart;

They look from their circles on high,

And scorn every flesh but the brave.

I fall, but my body shall lie,A name for the gallant to tell;The gods shall repeat it on high,And young men grow brave at the sound.

I fall, but my body shall lie,

A name for the gallant to tell;

The gods shall repeat it on high,

And young men grow brave at the sound.

Hear my voice ye heroes!On that day when our warriors sprangWith shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]Just vengeance my heart burned to takeOn the cruel and treacherous breed,The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.

Hear my voice ye heroes!

On that day when our warriors sprang

With shouts on the dastardly foe,[101]

Just vengeance my heart burned to take

On the cruel and treacherous breed,

The Bwoin—the Fox—the Sauk.

And here, on my breast, have I bled;See—see! my battle scars!Ye mountains tremble at my yell!I strike for life.

And here, on my breast, have I bled;

See—see! my battle scars!

Ye mountains tremble at my yell!

I strike for life.

BABY FRAME.BABY FRAME.

BABY FRAME.

The Indian mother has certainly invented the most convenient method of carrying and lullabying her baby. All babies are nearly of the same size, and nobody need to be told how long or wide a baby frame is made. It is a straight board, sometimes with side pieces, and always with a hoop over the head from which to suspend a curtain for the protection of the little eyes from the sun, and thus enveloped in a blanket and laced to the frame, they were carried upon the back of the mother by a stay which came over her forehead, and with much less fatigue than in the arms. The baby is kept in the frame a great portion of the time when it is an infant, and it is astonishing how contented it remains in its little prison. When the mother is at work in the field she hangs her baby on a low limb of a tree, where it is rocked by the wind. When she is busy in the house, she suspends it on a nail or seats it in the corner, and sometimes hangs it where she can swing it to and fro as she passes, “singing as she goes.”

The following is a baby song, which will compare well with the songs of a similar sentiment among any people; and as in other cases, the translation is not so good as the original:

CRADLE SONG.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.[102]‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.

Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, little daughter sleep,‘Tis your mother watching by;Swinging, swinging she will keepLittle daughter lullaby.

Swinging, swinging, lullaby,

Sleep, little daughter sleep,

‘Tis your mother watching by;

Swinging, swinging she will keep

Little daughter lullaby.

[102]

‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,Baby, baby do not weep,Little daughter lullaby.

‘Tis your mother loves you dearest,

Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep;

Swinging, swinging, ever nearest,

Baby, baby do not weep,

Little daughter lullaby.

Swinging, swinging, lullaby,Sleep, sleep little one,And thy mother will be nigh;Swing, swing, not alone,Little baby lullaby.

Swinging, swinging, lullaby,

Sleep, sleep little one,

And thy mother will be nigh;

Swing, swing, not alone,

Little baby lullaby.

As an instance of the appreciation in which the Iroquois held the noble qualities of the heart, their enthusiasm, and the honors they thought it not wrong to bestow upon woman, may be related the story of the daughter of Black Chief, who was a Seneca Sachem residing at Squawky Hill, in the valley of the Genesee:

Black Chief was one of their brave men in time of war, and also endowed with all the noble, generous qualities which win love and honor in time of peace. He had an only daughter, who was greatly endeared to her people, because, like her father, she had a soul ever prompting her to generous deeds. She was also very beautiful, and possessed a mind of superior order, and was in every way gifted, worthy to be the Chieftain’s daughter. When her father died they honored her above all other women, and gave to her the title and authority of Princess.

They had a superstition, that during her life, the Iroquois would again be restored to their ancient power, and take a place among the nations of the earth. So, many were the prayers which ascended to the Great Spirit for the long life of their young queen. They gathered flowers and strewed in her path when she went forth, and brought to her the finest venison and the rarest fruits for her table. She was not made haughty and imperious by her honors,[103]but continued gentle and affectionate, though it was but a little while that she remained to receive these tokens of unaffected homage. The Great Spirit did not see fit to answer their prayers. In an evil hour the pestilence swept the land, and whole villages were desolated in a night. In the midst of their calamities, they thought less of themselves than of the daughter of their beloved Chief. Whilst the hand of the destroyer left her unharmed, they were not made utterly wretched. But when their lamentations were dying away, and health again brought cheerfulness to their dwellings, she was stricken, and the light which had been so beautiful in their eyes went out in utter darkness. Now the wail of the mourners around the couch of the dead was sincere and heart-rending. They did not build for her the “Cabin of Death,” but constructed a scaffold among the trees of a neighboring grove, and adorning her with all that their skill or taste could devise, placed her upon it in a sitting posture, and from far and near all the people gathered together to join in the solemn rites, which were to testify their love for the living and their grief for the dead. Her lifeless form was embowered with roses and running vines, and garlands of flowers were wreathed at her feet. All that the Indian considered most valuable—golden ears of his beloved maize, and the most costly furs, were scattered in profusion around her.

Every night fires were lighted and watchmen stationed to guard her body from danger, and every morning they again assembled to renew the utterance of their grief.

The mourning continued many days, and when it was no longer possible to preserve her in their sight, she was buried, while at her grave was chanted a solemn dirge by the mingled voices of a great multitude,whichfilled the air with such plaintive wailings as can come only from broken hearts.[104]

I cannot help pausing here to ask, if such a people deserve no better doom than annihilation? if those who call themselves Christians “have done what they could,” to tune these harps of the wilderness to accord with those of the cherubim and seraphim in the choirs above?

Indian Snowshoe.

[105]

Back to IndexNext