At length the party came upon a kind of path in the woods, which they followed for a considerable distance, and then suddenly stopped short. All at once a long shrill startling cry burst from them. It was the death-cry for their drowned companion. It rang through the old woods, and was returned in melancholy echoes from the neighbouring mountains. At its frightful sound the birds flew up from their nestling-places in the leafy thicket; the eagle, and the hawk, and the raven, soared aloft; and the deer was seen scampering away to a safer and more distant covert. When the last of their cries had died away, the party put their hands to their mouths, and uttered a second cry, modulated into wild notes by the motion of their fingers. An interval of silence ensued, which was at length broken by a confused sound of shrill voices at a distance, faintly heard at first, but growing every moment more audible. In a minute two young warriors, who seemed to come by a shorter way than the usual path, broke through the shrubs, and took their station, without speaking a word, by the party who were conducting the prisoner. Presently a crowd of women and children from the village appeared in the path, shouting and singing songs of victory; and these were followed by a group of old men, who walked in grave silence. As soon as they came up, the party resumed their march, and led their prisoner in triumph to the village.
The village consisted of a cluster of cabins, irregularly scattered, as Indian villages always are, over a large space. It stood in a natural opening of the great forest, on the banks of a stream which brawled over a shallow, stony bottom between rocky banks, on its way to mingle with the Great River. The Indian name of this wild stream was Mawenawasigh.
It happened well for the captive youth that the chiefs and principal warriors of the tribe were absent on a hunting expedition, and it was necessary, in so grave a matter, to delay the decision of the prisoner's fate until their return, which was expected in a few suns. He was therefore taken to an unoccupied cabin and placed on a mat, bound hand and foot, and fastened with a strong cord made of the sinews of the deer to a tall post in the centre, supporting the roof. It was the office of one of his captors to keep watch over him during the day time, and at night two of them slept in his cabin. For the first two suns his prison was thronged with the idle, the revengeful, and the curious. The relatives of the drowned man, and of him who was slain below the Mountains, came to taunt him on his helplessness, to assure him of the certainty of death by torture, and to exult in the prospect of a deadly vengeance. They pointed to him a stake driven in the earth, to which a young Mohegan should be lashed, and a fire kindled around him of the driest materials, while hot pincers were applied to know when his flesh was sufficiently roasted, to form a suitable dish for the banquet. Others came and gazed at him with unfeeling curiosity. I should have mentioned to my brother that he was of Mohawk parents, the son of a warrior adopted into a Mohegan tribe, and that he possessed the stately and manly form, and the bold look, and the calm eye, which belongs to the former nation, and may be traced wherever their blood is found. They spoke to each other, commending his fine warlike air, his lofty stature, and well-turned limbs, and said that he would die bravely. One only seemed to regard him with pity. A beautiful female face looked in several times at the door, and turned sorrowfully away.
As the time for the return of the warriors drew near, the captive's contempt for life, and his passion for a glorious death, diminished much. His sleep was filled with dreams of the clear and pleasant waters of his tribe, and his mind by day could not forbear busying itself with the plans of glory and ambition which he had formed. It was hard, too, to leave a world in which dwelt such lovely beings as she who had visited him with the tear of pity and sympathy bedewing her soft eye. It was worth while to live, he thought, if it were only that he might have the opportunity of convincing her that he was not ungrateful, and that his heart, though shut to the fear of death, was open to her beauty and goodness. The artificial fortitude to which he had wrought himself, in obedience to the principles which had been taught him, began to waver, and the glory of a death of torture, and calm endurance of pain, to lose its value in his eyes. "Would it not be better," said he to himself, "to share a long life with the beautiful maiden, who has just left me, to drive the deer and the wolf for her sake, and to come home loaded with game in the evening, to the hearth that she should keep burning brightly for my return?"
Night came, but it brought no sleep to the young warrior, until its watches had nearly expired. On awaking, he saw, through the opening that served as a door to the cabin, that the great star of day was risen, and the surly Indian who guarded him was standing before it. The moments passed heavily away; no one came to the cabin save an old woman, who brought him his morning meal. The curiosity of the tribe was satisfied, and the relatives of the deceased were weary of insulting him. At length the shadow of a human figure fell upon the green before the door, and the next instant, the well remembered form and face of beauty made its appearance. The maiden laid her hand on the shoulder of the sentinel, and pointed to the sky where a bold eagle was sailing away to the east. The majestic bird at length alighted on the top of a tall tree, at the distance of four or five bowshots, balanced himself for a moment on his talons, then closed his wings, and, settling on his perch, looked down into the village, as if seeking for his prey. "If thy bow be faithful, and thy arrow keen," said the maiden, "I will keep watch over the prisoner until thy return." The Indian threw a glance at the captive, as if to assure himself that everything was safe, and immediately disappeared in the forest.
The young maiden then entered the cabin. As she approached the captive, a blush stole to her dark cheek, her eye was downcast, and her step trembling, and, when she spoke, her voice was low, but soft as the whispers of the spring wind in a grove of willows.
"I come to offer thee freedom. There is no time to be lost; to-morrow the chiefs of my nation return, and then will thy guards for a sun be doubled; the beams of the next shall light thee to torture and death. Beneath their vigilance thy escape becomes impossible. Mohegan, I am here to restore to the young eagle his wings, and to cut the cords which bind the young panther of his tribe."
"And flies the young eagle forth alone? goes the young panther to the thicket without a companion?" demanded the warrior.
The maiden hid her eyes beneath their long black lashes, and said nothing. The Mohegan continued:—
"Thou wilt give me liberty of my limbs, but thou leavest my heart fettered. Wilt thou not, my beautiful deliverer, be the partner of my flight? What will liberty be to me if thou art not the light of my cabin? Almost would thy presence and thy pity compensate for the tortures which await me if I remain. Is it not better for me to die with thee beholding my constancy and patience in suffering, and rendering me the tribute of a tear as my spirit departs for the land of souls, than to go from thy presence sorrowing for the beautiful maiden with the bright eyes, and fair hair, and ripe lip, and fawn-like step, whom I have left in the land of my foes? And what, my beautiful deliverer, will be said by thy kindred if it be known, as it must be, that thou hast aided my escape, and thus disappointed the vengeance of thy tribe? I would rather die, Bird of Beauty! by the death of fire than expose thee to the slightest peril."
Why should I waste time in telling my brother what has been so often told? The heart of a young maiden in every nation is soft and susceptible, and, when besieged by love and compassion, is too certain to yield. The maiden made the warrior repeat over and over again his promises of affection and constancy, as if they would be a security against any unfortunate consequence of the imprudence she was going to commit. She ended by believing all he said, and by consenting to become his wife and the companion of his escape. "But I cannot go to thy tribe," said she, "for then thou wouldst be obliged to raise the tomahawk against my people, and I may not abide in the habitation of him who seeks to spill the blood of my friends. If thou wilt take me for the guide of thy path, I will bring thee to a hiding-place where the arrows of thy enemies cannot reach thee, and where we may remain sheltered till this cloud of war be overpast."
The youth hesitated. "Nay then," continued she, "I may not go with thee. I will cut thy cords, and the Good Spirit will guide thee to the land of thy friends."
This was enough: love prevailed for once over the desire of warlike glory, in the bosom of a descendant of the Mohawks, and it was settled that the flight should take place that night.
They had just arrived at this conclusion when the man who guarded the prisoner returned. He had been absent the longer because the eagle had changed his perch, and had alighted on a tree at a still greater distance than at first. He had succeeded in bringing down the bird, and was now displaying its huge wings with great satisfaction at the success of his aim. The maiden pulled from them a handful of the long gray feathers, as the reward of having shown the prize to the guard, and departed.
The midnight of that day found the captive awake in the cabin, and his keepers stretched on a mat asleep at the door. They had begun to regard him with less vigilance because he had made no attempt, and shown no disposition, to escape. He thought he heard the light sound of a footstep approaching; he raised his head, and listened attentively. Was it the rustling of leaves in the neighbouring wood that deceived him, or the heavily drawn breath of the sleepers, or the weltering of the river on whose banks the village stood, or the crawling of some beast of prey through the thicket, or the moving of a spirit? These were the only sounds he was now able to distinguish. A ray of moonlight shone through a crevice in the cabin, and fell across the body of his sleeping guards. As his eye rested on this, he saw it gradually widening, and, soon after, the mat that hung over the opening which served for a door-way was wholly withdrawn, and the light figure of the maiden appeared. She stepped cautiously and slowly over the slumbering guards, and, approaching the Mohegan with a sharp knife, severed, without noise, the cords which confined him, and, stealing back to the door, beckoned him to follow. He did so, planting his foot at every step gradually on the floor from the point to the heel, and pausing between, until he was out of the cabin. His heart bounded within him when he found himself standing in the free air and the white moonlight, with his limbs unbound. He beheld his old acquaintance, the stars, as bright and twinkling as ever, and saw with rapture the same river which rolled its dark and massy waters beside the dwelling of his father. They took a path which led westward through the woods, and, after following it for the distance of a bowshot, the maiden turned aside, and took, from a thick clump of cedars, a bow, a spear, and a well-filled quiver of arrows, which she put into his hands. She next handed him a wolf-skin mantle, which she motioned him to throw over his shoulder, and placed on his head a kind of cap on which nodded a tuft of feathers, which it may be remembered she had plucked from the wings of the eagle his sentinel had so lately killed. They then proceeded rapidly but in silence. It was not long before they heard the small waves of the river tapping the shore; they descended a deep bank, and the broad water lay glittering before them in the moonlight. A canoe—his own canoe—he knew it at a glance—lay moored under the bank, and rocking lightly on the tide. They entered it; the warrior took one oar, the maiden another; they pushed off from the shore, and were speedily on their way down the river.
They glided by the shore, past the steep bank covered with tall trees, and past where the moonlight dimly showed, embosomed among the mountains, a woody promontory, round which the river turned and disappeared from view.
They then reached the eastern shore, and passed close to the mouth of the Mattoavoan, where it quietly and sluggishly mingles with the great river, so close that they could hear from the depth of the woods the incessant dashing of the stream, leaping over the last of the precipices that cross its channel. They continued to pass along under the shore, until the roar of the Mattoavoan was lost to the ear. They were not far from the foot of the northernmost of the mountains washed by the Great River, when a softer and lighter rush of waters was heard. A rivulet, whose path was fenced on each side with thick trees and shrubs, bound together by vines of wild grape and ivy, came down over the loose stones, and fell with a merry gurgle into the waters below. It was the rivulet of Melsingah. The interlacing boughs and vines formed a low arch over its mouth, that looked like the entrance into a dark cavern. The young maiden pointed towards it, and intimated to the warrior that up that stream lay the path to that asylum whither she intended to conduct him. At this he took his oar from the water, and in a low voice began to remonstrate with her on the imprudence of remaining so near the haunts of his enemies. Long did they debate the matter, but when she had explained to him what he had heard something of before, the profound reverence in which the Cascade of Melsingah, intended by her as the place of their retreat, was held, and related the interposition of its benevolent spirit in behalf of her own life, he was satisfied, and turned his canoe to the shore. They landed, and the warrior taking the light barque on his shoulders, they passed through the arch of shrubs and vines up the path of the rivulet, and soon stood by the cascade. The maiden untied from her neck a string of beads, and copper ornaments, obtained from the Indians of the island of Manhahadoes, dropped them into the water, and murmured a prayer for safety and protection to the Manitou of the place. On the western side of the deep glen in which they found themselves was a shelf of rock projecting from the steep bank, which has long since crumbled away, and under this the warrior and his beautiful guide concluded to shelter themselves till morning.
Scarcely had they seated themselves upon this shelf of rock, when slowly uprose from the centre of the pool a being of immense proportions, habited in a wolf-skin robe, and wearing on his head a high tuft of eagle's feathers. It was the Manitou of the Cascade. Approaching the trembling pair, who feared his anger for their intrusion on his retreat, he said in a voice which resembled the rattling of his own waterfall, "Why are ye here?" The maiden related her story to him, and claimed his protection for herself and lover. He appeared to be a spirit of few words, for he only said in reply, "Ye shall have it. The disguise you have provided, the wolf-skin robe, and the tuft of eagle feathers, are of the earth—they will not disguise you—take mine." So saying, he gave the Mohegan his own robe and tuft, and received in exchange those which the cunning maiden had provided for her lover. After counselling them in brief words to apply to him whenever they were in difficulty, he disappeared in the pool.
The return of light showed the inhabitants of the Indian village on the Mawenawasigh in unwonted bustle and confusion. All the warriors were out; the track of the fugitives was sought for, discovered, and followed to the bank of the Great River. The print of their steps on the sand, the marks of the canoe where it had been fastened to the bank, and of the oars where they had been planted to shove it away from the shore, left no doubt that the warrior had carried off the beautiful maiden to his own tribe, and all pursuit was abandoned.
In the mean time, the warrior was occupied in constructing a habitation. A row of poles was placed against the projecting shelf of rock, which thus served for a roof; these were covered with leafy branches, and over the whole was laid a quantity of dead brushwood, so irregularly piled, as when seen at a little distance to give no suspicion of human design. The inmates of this rude dwelling subsisted on game found in the adjacent forest, on fish from the mouth of the rivulet, and on the fruits and roots of the soil. Their wants were few and easily supplied, and they were happy.
One day, as the lover was sitting at the door of his cabin, he heard the voices of two persons in the wood, who seemed to be approaching the place. He saw that if he attempted to hide himself by going in, they might enter the glen, and discover the secret of his retreat. As he was clothed in the dress of the spirit, he believed that it would be better to present himself boldly to their view, and trust for safety to his personation of the good Manitou. He therefore took up his bow, which was lying beside him, and placed himself in an upright motionless attitude on the edge of the pool, in front of the water falling over the rock. In a moment two Indians of the tribe of the maiden made their appearance coming through the trees. At sight of the majestic figure in the gray mantle and plumes, and armed with a bow, magnified by their fears to thrice the real weight and size, they started, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. He waved his bow, motioning them away. One of them threw towards him a couple of arrow heads, which he carried in his hand, and which fell into the water at the warrior's feet, sprinkling him with the spray they dashed up; and, making gestures of reverence and supplication, the two Indians instantly retired.
Thus the time passed—swiftly and pleasantly passed—from the end of the Planting Moon to the beginning of that of Harvest. As my brother knows the wants of Indian life are few, and easily supplied; and for the little inconveniences that might attend their situation, the tradition says that the inmates of the glen of Melsingah found a compensation in their mutual affection. Occasionally they saw the kind Manitou come forth from the Cascade to breathe the evening air, and when he did so, they invariably retired to their bower. At length, when the warrior had one day ventured across the ridge that rose south and east of the cascade, and was hunting in the deep valley beyond, he came suddenly upon an Indian of his own tribe, who immediately recognised him. An explanation took place, in the course of which he learned that a peace had been made between his nation, the Mohegans, and that which dwelt above the Mountains. The Mohawks, who lorded it over both nations with a rigid authority, and claimed the right of making war and peace for them, having heard of their differences, had despatched one of their chiefs to adjust them, and to command the two tribes to live in friendship. "My children," said Garangula, the Mohawk, in a council to which the chiefs of both tribes were called, "it is not good that ye who are brethren should spill each other's blood. If one of you have received wrong at the hands of the other, your fathers of the Five Nations will see that justice is done between you. Why should ye make each other few? Once ye destroyed yourselves by your wars, but, now that ye dwell together under the shadow of the great tree of the Five Nations, it is fitting that ye should be at rest, and bury the tomahawk for ever at its root. Learn of your own rivers. The streams of Mattoavoan, and Mawenawasigh, after struggling, and wasting their strength among the rocks, mingle at length in peace in the bosom of the father of waters, the Great River of the Mountains." The council, since they could do no better, approved of the words of Garangula; it was agreed that the relations of the hunter slain below the Mountain should be pacified by a present of a belt of wampum and shells, and the chiefs smoked the pipe of peace together, and delivered belts of wampum as the memorials of the treaty.
The warrior hastened to the glen of Melsingah to communicate the intelligence to his beloved maiden. Their retreat was instantly abandoned, not, however, without some regret at leaving a place where so many happy days had been passed; the birch canoe was borne to the mouth of the river, and after taking his bride, at her earnest entreaty, to visit her own tribe, the warrior descended with her to his friends below the mountains. Long was the waterfall visited by the Indians, and it is only since the axe of the white man has been heard in the adjoining forest that the good Manitou has retreated from the Cascade of Melsingah.
There was once amongst the Marshpees—a small tribe who have their hunting-grounds on the shores of the Great Lake, and near the Cape of Storms[52]—a woman whose name was Awashanks. She was rather silly and remarkably idle. For days together she would sit doing nothing, while the other females of the village were busily employed in weeding the corn, or bringing home fuel from the distant wood, or drying the fish, or thatching the cabins, or mending the nets, or their husbands' apparel, or preparing the weapons of the chace. Then she was so very ugly and ill-shapen that not one of the youths of the village would have aught to say to her by way of courtship or marriage. She squinted very much; her face was very long and thin; her nose excessively large and humped; her teeth crooked and projecting; her chin almost as sharp as the bill of a loon, and her ears as large as those of a deer and similarly shaped. Her arms, which were very long, were nothing but fleshless bones; and the legs upon which she stood seemed like two pine poles stript of their bark. Altogether she was a very odd and strangely formed woman, and wherever she went never failed to excite much laughter and derision among those who thought that ugliness and deformity were fit subjects for ridicule.
Though exceedingly ugly, as I have told my brother, there was one faculty she possessed in a more remarkable degree than any woman that had ever lived in the tribe—it was that of singing. Nothing—unless such could be found in the land of spirits—could equal the sweetness of her voice, or the beauty of her songs. Her favourite place of resort was a small hill, a little removed from the river of her people, and there, seated beneath the shady trees, she would while away the hours of summer with her charming songs. So soft and beautiful were the things she uttered, that, by the time she had sung a single sentence, the branches above her head would be filled with the birds that came thither to listen, and the thickets around her, and the waters rolling beside her, would be crowded with beasts and fishes attracted to the nearest brink or covert by the same sweet sounds. From the minnow to the porpoise, from the sparrow to the eagle, from the snail to the lobster, from the mouse to the mole—all hastened to the spot to listen to the charming songs of the hideous Marshpee maiden. And various, but sufficiently noisy and dissonant, were the means by which the creatures testified the delight and admiration produced by the sounds which had drawn them thither.
Amongst the fishes, who repaired every night to the vicinity of the Little Hillock, which was the chosen resting-place of the ugly songstress, was the great war-chief of the Trouts, a tribe of fishes inhabiting the river near by, and who, as my brother knows, generally make the cold and pebbly stream their place of residence. It is a chosen sport of theirs to hide among the roots of trees which stand near the brink of their favourite streams. They are a very cunning and shy people, and seldom fail, by their cunning and shyness, to escape all the snares laid for them by their enemies. The chief of the tribe, who dwelt in the river of the Marshpees, and who was also their guardian spirit, was of a far larger size than the people of his nation usually are, being as long as a man, and quite as thick, which my brother knows is a size that few of his people attain. But, to enable my brother to account for his great size, it is only necessary to tell him that the mother of this great trout was a monstrous flounder.
Of all the creatures which came to listen to the singing of Awashanks, none appeared to enjoy it so highly as the Chief of the Trouts. As his bulk prevented him from approaching as near as he wished, he, from time to time, in his eagerness to enjoy the music to the best advantage, ran his nose into the ground, and thus soon worked his way a considerable distance into the greensward. Nightly he continued his exertions to approach the source of the delightful sounds he heard; till at length he had ploughed out a wide and handsome brook, and effected his passage from the river to the hill whence that music issued—a distance exceeding an arrow's flight. Thither he repaired every night at the commencement of darkness, sure to meet the maiden who had become so necessary to his happiness. Soon he began to speak of the pleasure he enjoyed, and to fill the ears of Awashanks with fond protestations of his love and affection. Instead of listening, it was not long before he was listened to. It was something so new and strange to the maiden to hear the tones of love and courtship; a thing so unusual to be told that she was beautiful, and to be pressed to bestow her heart upon a suitor; that it is not strange that her head, never very strong, became completely turned by the new incident in her life, and that she began to think the gurgling speech of the lover the sweetest she had ever heard. There, upon the little hillock, beneath the shade of lofty trees, she would sit for a whole sleep, listening to the sweetest sounds her ears had ever heard; the while testifying her affection for her ardent lover by feeding him with roots and other food in which he delighted. But there were obstacles to the accomplishment of their mutual wishes, which they knew not how to overcome. He could not live on the land above two minutes at a time, nor she in the water above thrice that period. This state of things gave them much vexation, occasioning many tears to be shed by the maiden, and perplexing much her ardent lover.
They had met at the usual place one evening, discoursing of these things, and lamenting that two so fond and affectionate should be doomed to live apart, when a slight noise at the shoulder of the maiden caused her to turn her head. Terror filled her bosom when she found that it proceeded from a little striped man, scarcely higher than a tall boy of ten seasons. He wore around his neck a string of glittering shells, and his hair, green as ooze, was curiously woven with the long weeds which are found growing upon the rocks at the bottom of the Great Lake. His hands and feet were shaped like the fins of fish, and his head was that of a great haddock. His body was covered with scales like any other scaly fish; indeed, except that he walked erect like a human being, and had two legs, and two arms, and that his eyes were not placed as the eyes of fish are, he might well have been taken for a fish of a kind not before known. Having surveyed the lovers for a short time in silence, he demanded "why they were so gloomy and downcast."
The bashfulness of the maiden prevented her replying, but the Chief of the Trouts answered that "they loved each other, and wished to live together, but that the maiden could not exist in his element, nor he in her's; and hence it appeared they were never to know the joys which are tasted by those who have their dwelling in one cabin."
"Be not grieved nor hopeless," answered the Spirit; "the impediments can be removed. I am the genius that presides over the fishes, and was invested at the beginning with power to procure for them all the enjoyments they are susceptible of tasting. I cannot transform a trout into a man—that must be effected by a spirit of the earth—but I can work the transformation of a man into a trout—under my charm the Marshpee maiden shall become a beautiful fish of the same species with the chief."
With that he bade Awashanks follow him into the river. When they had waded in to a considerable depth, he took up a handful of water and threw it upon the head of the maiden, pronouncing certain words of which none but himself knew the meaning. Immediately a change commenced upon her, attended with such pain and distress that the very air resounded with her cries. Her body became in a few moments covered with scales; her ears, and nose, and chin, and arms, disappeared, and her two legs became joined, forming that part of a fish which is called the tail—she became a complete trout. Having fully accomplished the task of transformation, the Genius of the Fishes delivered her to the Chief of the Trouts. The pair were soon observed gliding side by side, very lovingly, into the deep and quiet waters. But, though she had become a trout, she did not forget the land of her birth. Every season, on the same night as that upon which her disappearance from the tribe had been wrought, there would be seen two trouts, of a magnitude surpassing fifty-fold any ever caught by the Marshpees, busily employed in ploughing out the brook. They continued the labour or sport, whichever it may be called, till the pale-faces came to the country, when, deeming themselves in danger from a people who paid no reverence to the spirits of the land, they bade adieu for ever toCoatuit, or the Brook of the Great Trout.
There was, among the Knisteneaux, in the days that are past, a very wise chief, who was also the greatest medicine-man that ever dwelt in the nation. He knew all the herbs, and plants, and roots, and barks, which were good for the curing of diseases: and, better still, the words, and charms, and prayers, and ceremonies, without which they were not effective. He could call down rain from the clouds, and foretell the approach of storms, and hail, and tempests, beyond any man that ever lived in the nation. Had not his worship of the Ki-jai Manitou, or Great Spirit, been sincere, frequent, and fervent, these things had not been; he would have found his prayers unheard, or unheeded, or unanswered—he would have seen his skill baffled, and his charms and medicines impotent and ineffective. But he was beloved by the Great Spirit, and thence came his wisdom, and power, and strength, and success; and thence, my brother knows—for he is himself a wise priest and a cunning man—come the wisdom, and strength, and power, and success, of all men, whether white like him, or red like myself.
But, if this good and prudent priest of the Knisteneaux was beloved by the Great Spirit, he was equally hated by the Matchi Manitou, or Spirit of Evil. This bad being, who is the opposite to him that sends good gifts to the Knisteneaux, delights in mischief, and is best pleased when he has wrought injury or distress to mankind, and brought upon them ruin and dismay, hunger, nakedness, want, sickness, pain, disgrace, seeing how much Makusue, for that was the name of the priest, interfered with his schemes of testifying his hatred to men, was always making him feel the weight of his vengeance, and thwarting his plans for the benefit of the nation by every means in his power. If Makusue went to gatherMoscharnewatchar[53], he was sure to find the Evil Spirit perched near, trying to frighten him away; if he went to dig theEhawshoga[54], his enemy had certainly caused the earth to freeze, that he might be defeated of his object. If Makusue wished to cross the lake, the wind was sure to blow violently the moment he entered his canoe, and rain to drench him before he left it. If he sought an opportunity to surprise the Coppermines, the Evil Spirit flew with the speed of a loon before a high wind to apprise them of his intentions. Equally great was the hatred of Makusue for the Evil Spirit. If he found any one disposed to worship him, he was indefatigable in his endeavours to detach him from him. He never failed to make sport and derision of him when he was raging, nor to shout and halloo after him when he saw him flying over, nor to set the dogs upon him, when he was prowling about the village at midnight. So there was a bitter warfare kindled between the Matchi Manitou and the good priest, and each did the other all the harm he could. Both grinned at each other whenever they met, like a couple of cross dogs who have found a bone, or a woman at her husband who brings a younger wife to supplant her in place and affection.
But, at length, the success of Makusue in drawing away worshippers from his enemy became so great, that the latter feared the utter dis-peopling of his Hunting-Grounds, or Land of Wicked Souls. To him the greatest enjoyment was that of tormenting the spirits of men, and this enjoyment, if Makusue continued his course of success, he was likely to be deprived of. So he went to the Great Spirit and spoke to him thus:—
"Whenwemade man, did we not agree that I should take the souls of the wicked, and thou those of the good?"
"We agreed that thou shouldst take the souls of the wicked, and I the souls of the good," answered the Great Spirit. "And wilt thou say that the agreement has not been kept?"
"Thou hast not broken it, nor have I, and yet it is broken."
"In what way, and by whom then, is it broken?"
"By Makusue, the priest and chief of the Knisteneaux."
"What has Makusue done?"
"Baffled and thwarted me in every pursuit: if one proposes to offer me sacrifice, along comes Makusue and extinguishes the fire. There is death written on the face of another, but Makusue speaks powerful words over themastinjay[55], the patient drinks it, gets well, and I am the loser. Thus I am deprived of the pleasing occupation of tormenting the wicked. There is nobody dies now that belongs to me."
"What wouldst thou have me do?" demanded the Great Spirit. "Makusue is a good servant, and a very honest priest. I cannot allow him to be harmed. But that thou mayst not altogether want business, I will allow thee to torment, for three suns and three sleeps, the souls of all the Knisteneaux that belong to me—the souls of the wicked remain thine. But thou shalt kindle the flames to burn them in the low and marshy grounds only."
"It is well," answered the Evil Spirit. "I will see that the fire shall be kindled in the low and marshy grounds only."
So the Evil Spirit, much pleased with his bargain, returned to the land of the Knisteneaux to watch for the souls of their dead, and the Great Spirit winged his way back to the Mountain of Thunder.
When it was told Makusue of the agreement which the Great Spirit had made with the Spirit of Evil, grief for his people filled the heart of the good priest. At nightfall he repaired to the hill, with olay upon his hair, and addressed his master thus:
"I have served thee long, and thou didst say faithfully, yet thou hast given the souls of my people that I have brought to thee into the hands of the Evil Spirit, to be tormented for three suns and three sleeps."
"I know that I have done this," answered the Master. "Is it not well!"
"Thou canst not do otherwise than well," answered the priest; "and yet why should those be punished, even for so short a period, whom thou hast deemed worthy to live in the Happy Hunting-Grounds for ever after?"
"What thou sayest has reason with it, Makusue," answered the Great Spirit. "It was not well advised in me to grant so great a favour to the Matchi Manitou. But it is said, and cannot be recalled."
"But it may be evaded," answered the cunning priest.
"How?" demanded the Master.
"Thou hast told the Evil Spirit that he may torment the souls of the Knisteneaux for three suns and three sleeps, taking care to kindle the fire in the low and marshy grounds only."
"I have."
"Let the souls of the dead, as thou hast said, repair to those spots, but let them first take a form which it shall not be in the power of the Evil Spirit to torture. Let them repair thither in the form of fog or vapour."
"It is well," answered the Great Spirit. So he bade the spirit of each Knisteneau, immediately on its leaving the body, to wear for three suns and three sleeps the form of fog or mist. It was by this trick of the wise Makusue's, that the souls of our people were reprieved from the tortures which the Matchi Manitou was preparing for them. And still does the same thing continue. When the breath of a Knisteneau leaves the body, it repairs for the allotted period to the low marshy grounds, where it becomes fog and vapour. If my brother will go to one of those spots, upon either of the three days next following the death of a Knisteneau, he will see that my words are not the words of a mocking-bird, but of a man who knows that the anger of the Great Spirit will be upon him, if he does not speak the truth.
A long time ago, before the occupation of the Island of Nope by the white people, there dwelt, upon the north side, and near its western end, a spirit or goblin—a very good-natured, peaceable, clever, old fellow, very fond of laughter and a good joke. The Indians called himMoshup, which signifies a very bad Spirit, but, when the white people came, they named him with reference to the little elbow, or promontory of land, where he had his usual residence, the Devil of Cape Higgin. There is another tradition, in which, it is said, that he once lived upon the main land, opposite Nope, and near the brook which was ploughed out by the Great Trout[56]. It was said, that Moshup came to Nope in search of some children, which had been carried away by a great bird, and finding the spot pleasant, people clever, and food abundant, concluded to take up his abode there[57].
Moshup, the Devil of Cape Higgin, was by no means so bad as his title implies. Faults he had, it is true, but no one is without faults. And then, compared with the vices of men, the vices of the devil sunk into mere trifles. He was a little loose in his morals, and withal, rather cross to his wife, but he made up for the latter fault by his unwearied attentions to the wives of his neighbours. He gave into very few indulgences, drank nothing stronger than water, and never ate more than a small whale, or five or six porpoises, at one meal. His greatest indulgence was in smoking the Indian weed, which he did to excess. He was moderate in his exactions from the Indians, requiring, as a tribute, only a tenth part of all the whales, grampusses, and finbacks, which might be taken by the inhabitants of the Island, together with all the porpoises caught in the Frog-Month. The evil of scarcity, so it was not occasioned by indolence, he bore with much composure. But, if a cheat were attempted to be practised upon him, by sending him the poorest fish, or if any part of his share was abstracted, if a porpoise or a halibut was hidden, or the head of a finback sunk, with a buoy attached to it, or the fin of a whale buried in the sand, he showed most terrific symptoms of wrath and anger, and never failed to make the Indians pay dearly for their roguery. But those who dwelt in his vicinity, indeed all liable to be called upon for tithes, little disposed at any time to battle with spirits and demons, paid their dues with great promptitude, and so seldom came in collision with their grim and powerful neighbour. To tell my brother the truth, it was not for their interest to quarrel with him. He was of much importance to them in many of their pursuits, and assisted them with a great deal of good advice and sound and profitable counsel. He frequently directed them to a fine school of black-fish, or bade them see whales, or man their canoes for the chase of the finback; he told them when to plant and gather in their corn, and foretold to them the approach of storms with an accuracy productive of the greatest advantages to them. He also assisted the young people in their courtships up to the time of joining hands, but this it was whispered he did from a disposition very proper to a naughty being like himself, who could not fail to find his account in multiplying human miseries, and thereby increasing the chances of their going to the dominions of Hobbamock, his master. Was any little rogue of a maiden solicited to become the wife of a youth, and her parents stood out to the time of more usquebagh, who but Moshup was called in to negociate for a less quantity? If a father said, "It shall not be," and Moshup could be prevailed on to say, "It shall be," the father was sure to find a pretext for changing his mind. If a young woman was beloved by one, and she pouted and pretended indifference, three words from Moshup were sure to make her reasonable. And, when women were much given to scolding, he had, somehow, a singular knack at taming them. Taking every circumstance into view, it will be readily concluded that he was a favourite with the Indians; indeed some of our fathers say, that he was once their grand Sachem; the greater part, however, think he was the first governor of the whites, and this I believe.
But spirits and demons, as well as the children of this world, whether white or red, are subject to changes of opinion and conduct—to many whims and phantasies. Moshup grew harsh and ill-natured as he grew older. The change was first felt in his own family, the peace of which was soon destroyed by continual strife and quarrelling. He would beat his old woman for nothing, and his children for a great deal less. He soon began to harass his subjects with new demands and querulous exactions. He now frequently demanded the half of a whale instead of a tenth, or took, without asking, the whole of a grampus or fin-back. Instead of contributing his aid to promote marriages, he was very diligent in preventing them; instead of healing love-quarrels, he did his best to make them irreconcileable. He broke many well-ordered matches, and soured much matrimonial bliss, set many friendly families by the ears, and created frequent wars between the different tribes of the Island. The wild ducks he frightened with terrific shouts, so that the Indian archer could no longer come near them; he cut the springes set for grouse and woodcocks—in short, he became a very troublesome and dangerous spirit. There was, however, no use in fretting; he was seated firmly on their necks, and there was no shaking him off. So the Indians bore his freaks with great patience, calmly took up with the offal of the whale, and only adopted the precaution of removing as far from him as possible. His harsh behaviour unpeopled his neighbourhood; and soon the little elbow of land, which the white people call Cape Higgin, had, for its only occupants, the Spirit Moshup and his family.
Upon the southern shore of the same Island of Nope, at a distance of ten or twelve miles from the residence of Moshup, lived, at the same period of time, Hiwassee, the proud and arbitrary Sachem of that portion of the Island which lies most exposed to the fogs of spring. He was a very rich and mighty man, had abundance of grape-vines, and a vast many ponds, well stocked with clams, oysters, perch, crabs, and wild fowl; many swamps filled with terrapins and cranberries; and much land, well adapted to the growing of maize and other good things. He was accounted the most powerful Sachem on the Island. He was, besides, on excellent terms with Moshup, and so escaped all taxes, contributions, and tenths, merely now and then making him a present of a few baskets of grapes, or a few terrapins. This Sachem had a daughter, young, and more beautiful than any maiden that had ever been seen in Nope. She was taller than Indian maidens generally are, her hair was long and glossy as the raven's, and her step very light and graceful. Then she excelled very far the women of her tribe in the exercises which belong to the other sex. None drew the bow with equal strength, or tortured the prisoner with so much ingenuity, or danced the war-dance with equal agility, or piped the war-song with lungs as efficient. I must tell my brother that, according to the tradition of our nation, the Indian females were first taught by her to introduce the crab's claw into the cartilage of the nose, and to insert the shell of a clam into the under-lip, as ornaments. She was, indeed, a beautiful creature, and understood better than any one else the art of attracting all the brave and best of the land; the love and admiration of the other sex followed her whithersoever she went. Her father's wigwam was filled with the suitors who came to solicit her love. There were the chiefs of the tribes which dwelt at Neshamoyes, Chabbaquiddic, Popannessit, Suckatasset, and many other places; warriors, famed and fearless, who asked her of the Grand Sachem in marriage. But no, she was deaf to their entreaties, laughed at all their presents of conch-shells, terrapins, and eagle's feathers, and carefully and scrupulously barred the doors of her father's wigwam against all the suitors, who, according to the Indian forms of courtship, came when the lights were extinguished and the parents were sleeping, to whisper soft tales at the side of her couch. The truth, which must be told my brother, is, that she had long before placed her affections upon a young warrior, stern to his enemies, but to her all gentleness, who dwelt at the western end of the Island, and was reckoned the favourite, some said he was the son, of the Devil of Cape Higgin. They had loved each other long, and with the truest affection(1), and all their hopes centered in a union.
But my brother knows—if he does not I will tell him—that fathers and mothers will not always permit daughters to have their own way in marriage. The proud father objected to the lover, because he had slain but three foes, and was not descended from a line of chiefs, distinguished by their wisdom or valour. What was to be done? The lovers talked the matter over and over again, and finally determined to apply to Moshup, for his aid and advice. They forthwith repaired to the usual residence of the goblin. It was a most auspicious moment; they found him in a delirium of joy. A school of whales, in a recent dark night, becoming bewildered, had foundered upon a neighbouring ledge of rocks, and a great many fine calves had been deposited at the mouth of his cave as his share. Withal a brother goblin, residing somewhere upon the main land, had sent him some excellent old tobacco; and these, with the occurrence at the happy moment of other enlivening circumstances, had wrought him up to such unusual good temper that he quite forgot his very recent determination to annoy all lovers, and promised to befriend the hapless pair. He rose from his seat, put a few hundred pounds of tobacco in his pouch, took a half-roasted grampus from the coals to pick by the way, and set off for Sanchequintacket, the place of Hiwassee's residence: the young warrior perched upon his shoulder, and the maiden, reposing on a litter formed by his arm, lay horizontally on his breast.
Moshup was no devil with wings, but he had two legs, and could use them to much advantage. So he set off at a pretty smart trot, and was very soon at the end of his journey. He found the Grand Sachem busy at a feast, but this did not prevent him from telling his errand at once. With great calmness and in perfect silence, for he was not in one of his talkative fits, he heard the maiden's father give his reasons for refusing his daughter to the lover. They were those which have been a thousand times urged before—"Poverty—poverty—low parentage—low parentage; not sufficiently known—not sufficiently celebrated."
"Is this all you have to say against the young man, you old fool?" asked Moshup. "What do you want? What must the young man have?"
"He must have a great deal of land—he must have an island," answered Hiwassee.
"Good," said Moshup, drawing a huge quantity of smoke into his mouth, and blowing it out through his nose: "follow me!"
At the time whereof I speak, the island of Nope extended to and comprehended the little island of Tuckanuck. The little island was then a part of the larger island; but once upon a time there came a great storm, the winds raged and the thunders rolled, and the storms beat upon the island, and it was disjointed and became two islands. To a high cliff, upon the eastern side of this same Tuckanuck, Moshup conducted Hiwassee, his daughter, her lover, and a great crowd of other Indians, who followed to see what wonderful feat he would perform. Being arrived, he sat down upon the ground, and commenced his charm. First he dug a great hole in the earth, into which he threw many heated stones, the while muttering many words, which no one but himself understood. Then he filled his pipe with tobacco, kindling it with the rays from a flash of lightning. When this was done, he bowed once to the rising sun, twice to the North Star, blew thrice in a conch-shell, muttered more unintelligible words, and commenced smoking at a great rate. In a few minutes it was as dark as the darkest night, and a terrible tempest arose. The thunders rolled awfully, the lightnings flashed, the rains poured down, and abundance of voices were heard in the east, puffing and blowing as of men in great labour. Presently there was a hissing sound, like that of live embers dropped into water—Moshup had emptied his pipe. There now came up a strong wind from the west, which, gradually dispersing the smoke he had created, displayed to their view a low dark something in the east. It was the promised island—the ashes from Moshup's pipe. The couple upon whom Moshup bestowed this island gave it the name of Nantucket, and such it bears at this day.
I have no more to say.
(1)Loved each other with the truest affection.—p. 327.
It has been the practice to accuse American Indians of great coldness of temper, and to represent them as incapable of sincere and permanent attachment. It is a mistake. It is true that on the part of the males all expressions of affection are repressed, from the belief that the display of any passion or emotion inflicts deep and indelible disgrace upon a man, especially if he is a warrior. This is the mere result of education, and proves nothing. It is certain that the females, whom the tyranny of opinion does not bind in this respect, are full of tenderness and assiduity. The story of Pocahontas is too well known to be repeated. When Mr. Nutall was with the Osages, he was near witnessing a tragical termination to a trifling dispute, from the belief of an Indian wife that harm was intended to her husband. She had been several years married to a French hunter, living with that tribe. Soon after the arrival of a trader at the Indian camp, intoxication had taken place, and a quarrel ensued between the husband of this woman and another of the French hunters. Their altercation filled her with terror, and she gave way to tears and lamentations, not doubting but that the antagonist, who was the aggressor, intended the death of her husband, as threats among Indians are the invariable preludes to fatal actions. When, at length, they began to struggle with each other, without any more ado she seized a hatchet, and would instantly have dispatched the man who fought with her husband, if she had not been prevented by the bystanders. In another instance an Omawhaw and his wife, on a solitary hunting expedition, were discovered at a distance from their temporary lodge, by a Sioux war-party. They endeavoured to escape from the enemy, but the wife was soon overtaken, struck to the ground, and subjected to the terrible operation of scalping. The husband, although at this time beyond the reach of the arrows of the Sioux, seeing his wife in their hands, immediately turned upon them, and drawing his knife, the only weapon he had, furiously rushed among them, in order to revenge her death, even with the inevitable sacrifice of his own life, but he was almost immediately dispatched, without having accomplished his heroic purpose.
When their affections have become deeply engaged, they will frequently affect insanity with a view to melt the heart of the obdurate beloved.
"A Chippewa, named Ogemans, who resided near the Dog Lake, was married to a woman called Demoya, but had conceived an affection for her sister, named Okoj, who lived in the same cabin; the latter having refused his offer to take her as a second wife, he affected insanity. His ravings were terrible; nothing could appease him but her presence; the moment he touched her hand or came near her, he was as gentle as they could wish. At one time, in the middle of a winter's night, he sprang from his couch, broke through the frail bark which formed his cabin, and escaped into the woods, howling and screaming in the wildest manner; his wife and her sister followed him, endeavouring to calm him and bring him home, but he seemed to have set all their powers at defiance. At last Okoj came near him, and the moment she laid her hand upon him, he became quite tractable. In this manner he continued for a long while, convincing all the Indians who saw him that he was possessed by a spirit, which nothing but the approach of Okoj could reduce. So deep was their conviction and her's, that she at last consented to become his wife, and never after was he troubled by a return of madness."
Another instance of a somewhat similar nature happened in the presence of the same interpreter, (Bruce). "A young Canadian had secured the affections of an Indian girl called Nisette, whose mother was a Squaw that had been converted by the missionaries; being very pious, the mother insisted that the young folks should be united by a clergyman. None being in the country at the time, they travelled to an Algonquin village, situated on the Lake of the Two Mountains, where there was a missionary. Meanwhile the Canadian's love cooled away, and by the time they reached the village he cared no more for the poor girl. Disappointed in her affections, she was observed to sicken; she became subject to fits, her intellect appeared disordered, and she was finally considered as quite insane. The only lucid intervals which she had were in the presence of her inconstant lover. Whenever he came near her, her reason would return, and she would appear the same as before. Flattered by what he deemed so strong an evidence of his influence over her, the Canadian felt a return of kindness towards her, and was finally induced to renew his attentions, which being well received, they were soon united by the clergyman. Her reason appeared to be restored, and her improving health showed that her happiness was complete. Although she never was charged with having resorted to a stratagem, our guide, who had been with her a long while, and who represented her as a modest, virtuous, and interesting girl, had always considered her insanity as assumed, with a view to work upon the feelings of her inconstant friend."
Their other affections, especially the maternal, are equally exquisite with those of civilised nations. I will relate one instance of maternal fondness, fromJames's Account of an Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, vol. i. p 223:—
"In the year 1814, a trader married a beautiful squaw of one of the most distinguished families in the Omawhaw nation. This match, on the part of the husband, was induced by the following circumstances. Being an active, intelligent, and enterprising man, he had introduced the American trade to the Missouri Indians, and had gained great influence amongst them by his bravery and ingenuous deportment. But he at length perceived that his influence was gradually declining, in consequence of the presence and wiles of many rival traders, to whom his enterprise had opened the way, and that his customers were gradually forsaking him.
"Thus circumstanced, in order to regain the ground he had lost, he determined to seek a matrimonial alliance with one of the most powerful families of the Omawhaws. In pursuance of this resolution, he selected a squaw whose family and friends were such as he desired. He addressed himself to her parents agreeably to the Indian custom, and informed them that he loved their daughter, that he was sorry to see her in the state of poverty common to her nation, and although he possessed a wife among the white people, yet he wished to have one also of the Omawhaw nation. If they would transfer their daughter to him in marriage, he would obligate himself to treat her kindly; and, as he had commenced a permanent trading establishment in their country, he would dwell during a portion of the year with her, and the remainder with the white people, as the nature of his occupation required. His establishment should be her home, and that of her people during his life, as he never intended to abandon the trade. In return, he expressed his expectation, that, for this act, the nation would give him the refusal of their peltries, in order that he might be enabled to comply with his engagement to them. He further promised, that if the match proved fruitful, the children should be made known to the white people, and would probably be qualified to continue the trade after his death.
"The parents replied with thanks for his liberal offers, and for his disposition to have pity on them; they would not object to the connection, and hoped that their daughter would accept of him as her husband.
"The parents then retired, and opened the subject to the daughter. They assured her that her proposed husband was a great man, greater than any of the Omawhaws; that he would do much for her and for them, and concluded by requesting her to acquiesce in the wishes of the white man. She replied, that all they said was, without doubt, true, and that, agreeably to his request, she was willing to become his wife.
"The agreement being thus concluded, the trader made presents, agreeably to the custom of the nation, and conducted his interesting prize to his house.
"The succeeding spring the trader departed for the settlements, leaving her of course at his trading house.
"The ensuing autumn she had the pleasure to see him return, having now conceived for him the most tender attachment. Upon his visit the following season, she presented him with a fine daughter, born during his absence, and whom she had nursed with the fondest attention. With the infant in her arms, she had daily seated herself on the bank of the river, and followed the downward course of the stream, with her eye, to gain the earliest notice of his approach. Thus time passed on. The second year the father greeted a son, and obtained his squaw's reluctant consent to take their daughter with him on his return voyage to the country of the white people. But, no sooner had he commenced his voyage, and although she had another charge upon which to lavish her caresses, than her maternal fondness overpowered her, and she ran crying and screaming along the river side in pursuit of the boat, tearing out her long flowing hair, and appearing to be almost bereft of reason. On her return home she gave away every thing she possessed, cut off her hair, went into deep mourning, and remained inconsolable. She would often say that she well knew that her daughter would be better treated than she could be at home, but she could not avoid regarding her own situation to be the same as if the Wahconda had taken away her offspring for ever.
"One day, in company with six other squaws, she was engaged in her agricultural labours, her infant boy being secured to his cradle-like board, which she had carefully reclined against a tree at a short distance. They were discovered by a war-party of Sioux, who rushed towards them, with the expectation of gratifying their vengeance by securing all their scalps. An exclamation from her companions directed her attention to the common enemy, and in her fright she fled precipitately, but, suddenly recollecting her child, she swiftly returned full in the face of the Sioux, snatched her child from the tree, and turned to save its life, more precious than her own. She was closely pursued by one of the enemy, when she arrived at a fence which separated her from the field of the trading-house. A moment's hesitation here would have been fatal; and, exerting all her strength, she threw the child, with its board, as far as she could on the opposite side.
"Four of the squaws were tomahawked, and the others escaped, of which number the mother was one, having succeeded in bearing off her child uninjured.
"The trader, on his arrival at the settlements, learned that his white or civilized wife had died during his absence, and after a short interval devoted to the usual formalities of mourning, he united his destinies with another and highly amiable lady. The second season his wife accompanied him on his annual voyage up the Missouri, to his trading-house, the abode of his squaw.
"Previously to his arrival, however, he dispatched a messenger to his dependents at the trading-house, directing them to prevent his squaw from appearing in the presence of his wife. She was accordingly sent off to the village of her nation, a distance of sixty or seventy miles. But she could not long remain there, and soon returned with her little boy on her back, and, accompanied by some of her friends, she encamped near her husband's residence. She sent her son to the trader, who treated him affectionately. On the succeeding day the trader sent for his squaw, and, after making her some presents, he directed her to accompany her friends, who were then on their way to their hunting-grounds.
"She departed without a murmur, as it is not unusual with the Omawhaws to send off one of their wives, on some occasions, while they remain with the favourite one.
"About two months afterwards the trader recalled her. Overjoyed with what she supposed to be her good fortune, she lost no time in presenting herself before the husband whom she tenderly loved. But great was her disappointment, when the husband demanded the surrender of the child, and renounced for the future any association with herself, directing her to return to her people, and to provide for her future well-being in any way she might choose.
"Overpowered by her feelings, on this demand and repudiation, she ran from the house, and finding a pirogue on the river shore, she paddled over to the opposite side and made her escape into the forest with her child. The night was cold, and attended with a fall of snow and hail. Reflecting upon her disconsolate condition, she resolved to return again in the morning, and with the feelings of a wife and a mother to plead her cause before the arbiter of her fate, and endeavour to mitigate the cruel sentence.
"Agreeably to this determination, she once more approached him upon whom she believed she had claims paramount to those of any other individual. 'Here is our child,' said she: 'I do not question your fondness for him, but he is still more dear to me. You say that you will keep him for yourself, and drive me far from you. But no, I will remain with him; I can find some hole or corner in which I may creep, in order to be near him, and sometimes to see him. If you will not give me food, I will, nevertheless, remain until I starve before your eyes.'
"The trader then offered her a considerable present, desiring her at the same time to go, and leave the child. But she said, 'Is my child a dog, that I should sell him for merchandize? You cannot drive me away; you may beat me, it is true, and otherwise abuse me, but I will still remain. When you married me, you promised to use me kindly as long as I should be faithful to you; that I have been so, no one can deny. Ours was not a marriage contracted for a season—it was to terminate only with our lives. I was then a young girl, and might have been united to an Omawhaw chief; but I am now an old woman, having had two children, and what Omawhaw will regard me? Is not my right paramount to that of your other wife; she had heard of me before you possessed her. It is true her skin is whiter than mine, but her heart cannot be more pure towards you, nor her fidelity more rigid. Do not take the child from my breast, I cannot bear to hear it cry, and not be present to relieve it[58]; permit me to retain it until the spring, when it will be able to eat, and then, if it must be so, take it from my sight, that I may part with it but once.'
"Seeing her thus inflexible, the trader informed her that she might remain there if she pleased, but that the child should be immediately sent down to the settlements.
"The affectionate mother had thus far sustained herself during the interview with the firmness of conscious virtue, and successfully resisted the impulse of her feelings; but nature now yielded, the tears coursed rapidly over her cheeks, and clasping her hands, and bowing her head, she burst into an agony of grief, exclaiming, 'Why did the Wahconda hate me so much, as to induce me to put my child again into your power?'
"The feelings of the unhappy mother were, however, soon relieved. Mr. Dougherty (an Indian trader), communicated the circumstance of the case to Major O'Fallon, (the agent), who immediately and peremptorily ordered the restoration of the child to its mother, and informed the trader that any future attempt to wrest it from her should be at his peril."
I will give an example of the generous self-devotion of an Omawhaw, to procure the escape of a brother, and with it end the volume.
"Two Omawhaw brothers had stolen a squaw from an individual of their nation, and were on their journey to seek a refuge in the Puncaw village. But they had the misfortune in a large prairie to meet with a war-party of Sioux, their implacable enemies. They immediately concealed themselves in a deep ravine, which at the bottom was covered with dry reed grass. The Sioux surrounded this spot, and set fire to it on the windward side of the reeds, in order to drive them out. When the conflagration had nearly reached the fugitives, one of the brothers remarked, that the Wahconda had certainly not created him to be smoked out like a racoon; the Indians smoke this animal out of hollow trees, by kindling a fire at the root: he urged his brother to attempt to escape in one direction, whilst he would attract the attention of the enemy, by sallying out upon them alone, and by endeavouring to destroy as many of them as possible, in anticipated revenge for that death which he considered as inevitable. 'One or both of us,' said he, 'must certainly be sacrificed; save yourself if you can; I will be the victim, and may fortunately receive a death-blow in the conflict, and thus escape the disgrace of captivity.' He then rushed forth amongst the Sioux, shot one, and with his knife wounded several before he was dispatched. His brother, availing himself of the diverted attention of the enemy, effected his escape, but the squaw was burned to death."
LONDON:F. SHOBERL, JUN., LAZENBY COURT, LONG ACRE.