NOTE.
(1) High-mindedness of the Indian.—p. 39.
The Indians very frequently evince a pride and greatness of mind which would not have disgraced the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome. "The greatest part of them," says Charlevoix, "have truly a nobleness and an equality of soul which we cannot arrive at with all the helps we can obtain from philosophy and religion." Always master of themselves, in the most sudden misfortunes, we cannot perceive the least alteration in their countenances. A prisoner who knows not in what his captivity will end, or which is perhaps still more surprising, who is still uncertain of his fate, does not lose on this account a quarter of an hour's sleep. Even the first emotions do not find them at fault. The following well attested stories shew their high-mindedness, and one of them their singular chivalry of character.
A Huron Captain was one day insulted and struck by a young man. Those who were present would have punished this audaciousness on the spot. "Let him alone," said the Captain, "Did you feel the earth tremble? He is sufficiently informed of his folly."—Charlevoix, ii. 64.
This passion of the Indians, which I have called pride, but which might perhaps be better denominated high-mindedness, is generally combined with a great sense of honour, and not seldom produces actions of the most heroic kind. An Indian of the Lenape nation, who was considered a very dangerous person, and was much dreaded on that account, had publicly declared that as soon as another Indian, who was then gone to Sandusky, should return from thence, he would certainly kill him. This dangerous Indian called in one day at my house on the Muskingum, to ask me for some tobacco. While this unwelcome guest was smoking his pipe by my fire, behold! the other Indian whom he had threatened to kill, and who at that moment had just arrived, also entered the house. I was much frightened, as I feared the bad Indian would take that opportunity to carry his threat into execution, and that my house would be made the scene of a horrid murder. I walked to the door, in order not to witness a crime that I could not prevent, when, to my great astonishment, I heard the Indian whom I thought in danger address the other in these words: "Uncle, you have threatened to kill me—you have declared that you would do it, the first time we should meet. Now I am here, and we are together. And I take it for granted that you are in earnest, and that you are really determined to take my life as you have declared. Am I now to consider you as my avowed enemy, and, in order to secure my own life against your murderous designs, to be the first to strike you, and imbrue my hands in your blood? I will not, I cannot do it. Your heart is bad, it is true, but still you appear to be a generous foe, for you gave me notice of what you intended to do; you have put me on my guard, and did not attempt to assassinate me by surprise; I therefore will spare you until you lift up your arm to strike, and then, uncle, it will be seen which of us shall fall." The murderer was thunderstruck, and, without replying a word, slunk off, and left the house.—Heckew. 161, 2.
Mr. Heckewelder relates another instance of Indian heroism and magnanimity, not below the preceding. In the year 1782, a young white prisoner had been sent by the war-chief of the Wyandots of Lower Sandusky as a present to another chief, who was called the Half-King of Upper Sandusky, for the purpose of being adopted into his family in the place of one of his sons, who had been killed the preceding year, while at war with the people on the Ohio. The wife of the Half-King refused to receive the prisoner in lieu of her son, and this amounted to a sentence of death. The young man was therefore taken away for the purpose of being tortured and burnt on the pile. While the dreadful preparations were making near the village, the unhappy victim being already tied to the stake, and the Indians arriving from all quarters to join in the cruel act, or to witness it, two English traders, Messrs. Arundel and Robbins, shocked at the idea of the cruelties which were about to be perpetrated, and moved by feelings of pity and humanity, resolved to unite their exertions to endeavour to save the prisoner's life, by offering a ransom to the war-chief, which he, however, refused, because he said it was an established rule among them, that when a prisoner, who had been given as a present, was refused adoption, he was irrevocably doomed to the stake, and it was not in the power of any one to save his life. The two generous Englishmen, however, were not discouraged, and determined to try a last effort. They well knew what effects the high-minded pride of an Indian is capable of producing, and, to this strong and noble passion they directed their attacks. "But," said they in reply to the answer which the chief had made them, "among all those chiefs whom you have mentioned, there is none who equals you in greatness; you are considered not only as the greatest and bravest, but as the best man in the nation." "Do you really believe as you say?" said the Indian, looking them full in the face. "Indeed we do." Then, without saying another word, he blackened himself, and, taking his knife and tomahawk in his hand, made his way through the crowd to the unhappy victim, crying out with a loud voice, "What have you to do with my prisoner?" and at once cutting the cords with which he was tied, took him to his house.—Heckew. 162, 3.
Nutall, in his Travels through the Arkansa territory, says, among the most extraordinary actions which they (the Arkansas) performed against the Chickasaws is the story which has been related to me by Major Lewismore Vaugin, one of the most respectable residents in this territory. The Chickasaws, instead of standing their ground against the Quapaws (a band of Arkansaws) were retreating before the Quapaws, whom they had descried at a distance, in consequence of the want of ammunition. The latter, understanding the occasion, were determined to obviate the excuse, whether real or pretended, and desired the Chickasaws to land on an adjoining sand-beach of the Mississippi, giving them the unexpected promise of supplying them with powder for the contest. The chief of the Quapaws then ordered all his men to empty their powder-horns into a blanket, after which he divided the whole with a spoon, and gave the half to the Chickasaws. They then proceeded to the combat, which terminated in the killing of ten Chickasaws, and the loss of five prisoners, with the death of a single Quapaw.—Page 85.
THE KING OF THE ELKS.
When the Great Beaver, the spirit who next to Michabou had the greatest share in the creation and government of men and things, made the animals, he endowed certain of them with wisdom, and all with the powers of speech. The black bear could then converse with the cayman, and the whispers of the porpoise in the ears of the walruss and the flounder expressed the thoughts which were passing in his mind. The wants which the heron and the goosander now express by nods and winks, were then conveyed by plain, straightforward words; and the grunts and squeaks of the hog, and the bleating of the kid, and the neighing of the horse, and the howl of the dog, and the crowing of the cock, and the cackling of the hen, and the other means by which beasts, and birds, and other creatures, at this day make known their wants and wishes, were then unknown. If the ox was hungry, or the dog wished to visit a cousin, he said so, and if the hog wanted his belly scratched, he spoke out like a man. If the cock felt proud, instead of jumping upon a pole, and flapping his wings, and uttering a senseless cock-a-doodle-doo, as the vain thing does now, he asked the pullet "if she did not think he was a handsome fellow," and she replied ay or no, as she thought. The panther told his mother, in plain intelligible words, if he wanted a wife; and when the hen had excluded her egg, instead of cackling, she said, "There!" There was then no difficulty in understanding the beasts, for they told their wants and wishes in good plain Indian, which was far better than it is now, when you are obliged to guess at half they say. And not only could they convey their meaning better, but their meaning was worth more when you knew it. In truth the beasts at that time were much wiser and more cunning than men, and where the Indian caught one beaver in his trap, the beaver caught ten Indians in his. In war and peace their schemes and stratagems were better devised, and more successfully executed, and their talks[13] were as full of sweet and wise words as the sky is of wild pigeons in the season of their flight from the rigours of approaching winter. What a pity that the folly of the Great Chief of the Elks should have lost the beasts the most important faculties conferred upon them by the Great Hare, and led to the withdrawing of the all-glorious gift of speech.
There was among the Ottawas, that lived on the banks of the Lake of the Great Beaver(1), a young man whose origin none knew with certainty, but who was supposed by all to be a son of the god. Sixteen snows before the time of which I am speaking, there was found in the great village of our people, upon the morning of a warm day in the Frog-Moon, a little boy who might have seen the flowers bloom twice—older he could not have been. None knew whence he came, nor could he tell them, or give any information whereby it could be ascertained who were his parents, or what the place of his birth, or why he was abandoned. He did not belong to the tribe—of that they were certain; nor did the features of his face resemble those of any of the surrounding nations, nor were his words, or the tones of his voice, such as ever had been listened to by Ottawa ears. Indeed there were evidences that he owed his being to the love of the god of the lake for one wearing the human form. He was shaped like a man—that is, he stood upright, and his feet and hands, and legs and arms, were fashioned like those of an Ottawa, save that the former were flat, and webbed and clawed like the paws of a white beaver(2). The head, which was placed upon a pair of shoulders similar to those of a man, resembled more nearly those heads which the hunter sees looking out of the cabins of the cunning little people[14] than the heads of men. It was shaped very nearly like the head of a mountain-rat; the nose was long, the eyes little and red, the ears short and round, hairy on the outside, and smooth within. Then to the form the boy added the habits of the beaver. Every day he would repair to the lake, and sport for half a sun in its clear, cool bosom. The food he preferred further indicated from whom he sprung. He would undertake a journey of half a sun to find a crawfish; he would climb with great labour, and at the risk of his neck, the tallest poplar of the forest for its juicy buds, and the slender tree for its frightened and bashful leaves, that wither and die if one do but so much as touch them. He had much cunning and subtlety, as well he might have, if the blood of the god whom Indians adore ran in his veins.
This boy, if boy it was, or young beaver, if my brothers think it was a beaver—let them settle the matter for themselves—grew up with the form of a man, tall as a man, and with the speech of a man, but endowed with many of the attributes of a beaver—indeed he bore in his faculties a greater resemblance to that animal than to man, and his actions were more nearly patterned after the four-legged animal than the two-legged. His temper was very mild and good, and his industry equalled that of the cunning little people from whom he derived his origin. He was always doing something; night, noon, morning, wet or dry, he was at work for himself or others. While the lazy Ottawas were sleeping on the sunny side of their cabins, he was fetching home wood for the fire, or mending the nets, or weeding the corn. And then he was so peaceable that, for the eighteen snows that he lived in the great village of the Ottawas, none had ever beheld him angry, or seen disquietude in his eye, or heard repining from his lips. He coveted not distinction in war, he never spoke of the field of strife, nor sang a war-song, nor fasted to procure bloody dreams, nor shaved his crown to the gallant scalp-lock, nor painted his cheeks and brow with the ochre of wrath, nor taught himself to dance the war-dance—his actions and pursuits were those of a woman, and his thoughts and wishes all for peace. Among a people so valiant, and so fond of eating their foes[15], as the Ottawas, a disposition so feeble and woman-like as that possessed by the Child of the Hare would have drawn down great anger and contempt upon its possessor. But, believing that the youth had their favourite god for his father, they never reproached him for his cowardice and preference of peace to war, but contented themselves with saying that "he was a very, very good boy, but he would never become a chief of a people more warlike than the wren or the prairie dog." The laugh that would follow these speeches had nothing of ill-nature in it, for all loved the boy, cowardly and ugly as he was, and each would have shielded him from harm at the risk of his own life. And thus lived the Child of the Hare till the snows of the seventeenth winter had melted and gone to the embrace of the Great Lake.
It was then that the boy, who had become a man in stature, was seen to absent himself from the village, and to shun the toils which had once been pleasures to him. No one knew whither he went, or for what purpose. Usually, at the going down of the sun, he would repair to the forest, and be absent for the greater portion of the period of darkness. Sometimes his journeys were undertaken by daylight. The aged men asked him whither he went—he made no answer; the young maidens, always famous for coming at the bottom of secrets, and tracking mysteries as one tracks a badger, sought to win the secret, but with no greater success. At last, a cunning old woman found out—what will not a cunning old woman find out—the secret.
Upon a large plain, which stretched from very near the great village of the Ottawas, a full day's journey towards the land of the rising sun, there dwelt a people, with whom the Ottawas had always been at peace. They were a set of very awkwardly-shaped beings, of a stature not exceeding the stubborn little beast's which our white brother rode hither, with four legs, and a beard upon the neck as long as that worn by the people one sees at the City of the Rock. Their heads were very long, their muzzles very thick, their nostrils very wide, and each wore upon his head, even before he was married, a pair of long and wide-spreading horns. They were covered with long hair, the colour of which was a mixture of light gray, and dark red. Though they were apparently a very heavy, clumsy, unwieldy people, the Ottawas, when they joined them on hunting expeditions, or assisted them in their wars against their enemies, found it no small labour to keep at their side, so long and steady was their trot. It was only when there had been a deep snow, which, melting somewhat, and being afterwards frozen, would not bear their weight, that our people proved a match for them in speed of travelling. For the foot of the strange people, being forked, broke through the crust which the frost had formed on the surface of the snow, and they went plunging and plunging with little progress till their strength was exhausted.
The Elks—for this was the name of these odd neighbours of the Ottawas—were upon the whole a very good-tempered, friendly people. But, when they were once angered, it was a great deal best to keep out of their way till they had cooled—a course one should pursue at all times with passionate folks. Whenever an Elk was enraged with an Ottawa, the latter hid himself till he had become pleased again. So upon the whole the two nations rubbed their noses together with more sincerity than any two nations of the wilds. It was not for the interest of either people to throw down the hatchet; they were of great and frequent service to each other. Whenever an Ottawa woman was hard to do with the pains of travail[16], she sent for a wise Old Elk, who speedily delivered her; and, when the Carcajous picked quarrels, as they were always doing with their pacific neighbours, the Ottawas became either mediators, or the allies of the Elks. There could be no doubt that but for our Braves, the Carcajous and the Foxes, who always make war in company(3), would have destroyed the Elks from the face of the Great Island. But the Ottawas joined the weaker party, which made them more than a match(4) for any thing breathing, as doubtless our brother knows. And it is because our people rescued the good Elks from the fangs of their cruel and merciless ancestors that the Carcajous have been, and to this day are, such bitter enemies to our people, and open their jugulars, and take their scalps whenever they can.
I am not able to tell my brother in what moon it was that a woman of our nation, determined to learn why the Child of the Hare absented himself so frequently from the village, followed him at early nightfall into the thick and gloomy forest which adjoined the lands of the Ottawas. It was a dark, and wild, and thickly wooded, dell, into which this fearless woman precipitated herself at early nightfall, but she had a powerful motive to encounter danger—there was a secret to be caught, a mystery to be unravelled, and she went with alacrity and pleasure. It is much that a woman will do to come at the bottom of a mystery, which has for some time baffled her and put her nose at fault; and many dangers and inconveniences, and much toil and trouble, must that journey promise, whose danger and inconvenience, and toil and trouble, shall deter her from attempting it when its object is the learning what, in spite of her, has long remained hidden. So the curious woman followed the Child of the Hare into the deep dell at early nightfall.
They travelled onward, he ahead, and she behind, keeping him constantly in view for a long time, until they came, all at once, just as the sun was rising, to a deep valley surrounded by high hills, through which there was but one path—a beaten and travelled path—that in which they came. But what most surprised this adventurous woman was, that though this valley lay but a little boy's journey of half a sun from the Ottawa village, and though she had, as she supposed, visited every part of the contiguous wilderness, she had never beheld it till now, nor heard it spoken of by her people. But that circumstance did not prevent her from admiring the beautiful spot—it was indeed the most lovely ever beheld by mortal eyes, and well did it deserve the many fond epithets she heaped upon it. Stretched out as far as the eye could reach, this valley lay green and glossy as a grove of oaks in the Buck-Moon, when their leaves are fully expanded to meet the warm and cheering rays of the great star of day. In the centre of this valley was a small lake fringed with willows, alders, pemines, and grape-vines. It was not altogether bare of trees, though they were few and scattered as a party of shamefaced warriors straggling home from a beaten field. Here perhaps stood a lofty pine with several little ones around it, resembling a happy father with his children at his knee partaking of the fruits of his hunt—yonder, a cedar, lone and solitary as a man whose friends have all been killed by an unskilful autmoin(5) in the Fever-Moon. Well did the woman deem that the cold breath of the boisterous and stormy Matcomek[17] had never reached the spot—it seemed as if it had never been visited by anything more rough than the south wind in the time of spring.
As this woman, who had followed the child of the Hare into the woods at early nightfall, stood chewing a piece of the hot root which takes away the crying sin of barrenness, and renders women fruitful and beloved[18], there came to her ears a sound as of many angry voices mingling their accents together. Filled with a womanly curiosity to know what it was, and anxious to behold the combat which it promised, she stepped quickly over the small hillock which intercepted her view of a part of the valley. What a scene burst upon her eyes! Upon a grassy knoll, shaded from the beams of the rising sun by the range of hills I have spoken of, were assembled a greater number of Elks than even my brother could count by the aid of his great medicine[19]. In the centre of the assembled nation, stood an Elk of wondrous stature, the great chief, or as my brother would call it, the King of the Valley. He was so large, that the biggest of his people seemed but musquitoes by the side of a buffalo. His legs were so long, that the deepest snow-drift was no impediment to his running his blithest race; and his skin, which was covered with red and grey hair, was proof against the utmost fury of the Ottawa bender of the bow. From each of his shoulders proceeded an arm, which well supplied the place, and performed the uses, of the same limb among our people. His eyes were of the size of the largest bison-hide, and the antlers, which towered above his head, resembled an oak which decay has stricken to the disrobing of its leaves, and the dismantling of its smaller, but not its larger limbs. Not the mighty animal which strode down from the mountains of thunder to slaughter the buffaloes of the prairies[20], was at all to be compared with him for size. At least, so said the woman, who followed the Child of the Hare into the deep dell at early nightfall.
"What brought you here?" demanded one of the Elks, a very elderly one, who was named the Broadhorns, of the woman, as she approached the outside of the circle. "Do you not know that it is death for any one to come into the camp of the Great Chief of the Elks, unless he is sent for? What brought you here?"
"I followed the Child of the Beaver."
"Oho, and so you have come to the marriage, but you are too late."
"What marriage?" demanded the woman, straining her eyes still wider than my pale-faced brother does at this moment. "Who? How? What! Who's to be married?"
"Oh, you know nothing of the matter I see," answered the Elk Broadhorns. "Why, the youth, whom the Ottawas call the Child of the Hare, but whom the Elks call the Pig-faced Boy of the Ottawas, has married the daughter of a wise old man, who is akin to the Great Elk."
"Oho, and is that the cause of the hubbub?" demanded the woman.
"Not altogether," answered the Broadhorns; "you see gathered together but the usual number that attend the steps of our great chief, running of his errands, and doing him homage. But, come along, you must go and spread the blanket of friendship before the great man, whom all the Elks, no matter where found, as well as the inhabitants of the valley, worship and obey."
With that, the old Elk, who appeared to be an Elk of authority, spoke to the crowd, commanding them to make way for the woman who had come from the camp of their friends, the Ottawas, to visit the Great Chief. Immediately an opening was made in the crowd, through which the woman and her conductor reached the presence of the mighty king of the valley. Behold her, then, before the being of whom she had heard her people talk morning, noon, and night, but whom no Ottawa had ever beheld till now. She was beginning to deprecate his anger at her intrusion on his dominions, when, in a tone intended to be very kind, but which, nevertheless, was louder than the loudest tones of the manza ouackanche[21], he spoke, and bade her say, "why she had come uninvited to the marriage-feast of the Pig-faced boy of the Ottawas."
The woman, gathering boldness from the mild and gentle behaviour of the questioner, answered, that, for a long time, the young man, whom the Ottawas called the Child of the Hare, but whom the Elks, it appeared, knew by another name, had wandered at the beginning of night, often continuing absent for days together, without their being able to discover what became of him; and that curiosity had induced her to follow his footsteps, with the idea of finding out the cause of his absence. This was all, and here she was.
The reason she gave seemed to content the Great Chief, who merely laughed a little, and said something about "curiosity"—"a woman napping"—"a weazel asleep." Then, calling to him the old man, who had assisted her through the crowd, he bade him bring the Pig-face and the Little Maiden before him. The old man, making a very low bow after the fashion of the white people, which is also the fashion of the bear, and the "child of the Evil Spirit," who are both very mannerly—especially the last, unless you provoke him, when he is a very naughty fellow—departed immediately on the mission, leaving the adventurous Ottawa woman surrounded by the whole nation of the Elks. Does not my brother suspect that she began to regret that she followed the Pig-face into the glen at early nightfall?
While he was absent, which was not long, the Great Chief amused himself with talking to the woman. He asked her a great many questions about her people, and praised them much for their singular courage and valour, and their great sagacity, and their coolness and resolution in bearing the torments inflicted by their enemies. He talked of the wisdom of his own nation, and told her all about the fits they were so subject to, and how they cured themselves by rubbing their ears with their hind feet, till the blood came, and how their hoofs were a medicine to drive away all kinds of falling sickness, except that occasioned by drinking the strong water that is made of women's tongues and warriors' hearts[22]. He was going on to relate long stories of the wars of the Elks with their inveterate enemies, the Carcajous, when there arose, upon the outside of the camp, a great noise, which prevented his proceeding. The sound was like that of a dozen old women, engaged in scolding their husbands for their lack of good fortune in the hunt. Soon a space was cleared, and that which made the noise appeared in the midst, in the shape of a mighty hare, whose tongue went faster than the wings of a wild duck escaping from a fowler. Awe, and fear, and trembling, seized on the Ottawa woman, for she knew that she stood in the presence of the god of her people, the Great Michabou. Nor was that awe and fear diminished, when the angry god spoke in a voice of thunder to the Great Elk, demanding why he had enticed the son whom he loved into a marriage with the daughter of a paltry Elk.
The Great Chief, notwithstanding his seeming courage, trembled like a leaf, while he answered, that it was not a match of his making.
"Now you lie," answered the god. "You know that you have dared to do it, because it was told you by a wise Ottawa priest—no thanks to him—that from the marriage of the Pig-face with a maiden Elk a being should spring, who should destroy his father's father, and make the Great Chief of the Elks a spirit to rule in his place."
The Great Elk, caught with a lie in his mouth, continued silent, as a warrior who is stealing on his sleeping foe, while the Great Hare continued:
"I cannot prevent the marriage, for that is accomplished, and what is done cannot be undone, even by a god. But I can prevent the consequences which you hoped would ensue. I can take away from the beasts, particularly the Elks, the wisdom to devise stratagems to effect their purpose of usurping my power; and I can take away their speech, which will further spoil their sport."
Turning to the Ottawa woman, he bade her draw a thread from her robe of woven mulberry-bark, which she did, and gave it to him. Then, going up to the Great Elk, he bade him, in a very angry voice, hold out his tongue. The trembling monster obeyed, displaying a tongue which would have furnished the whole tribe of Ottawas with food for a season. The god then made, with the sharp point of a thorn, a hole in the under part of his tongue, half way between the root and the end, and another in the skin upon the inner side of his jaw, and passing through these holes the thread obtained from the Ottawa woman, he tied down the tongue effectually. When he had done this, patting the Ottawa woman on the shoulder, he bade her run, like a good woman, as she was, to the nearest grove, and fetch him some black mushrooms, some pemine berries, a handful of leaves from the squaw maple[23], and a small quantity of the flowers of the dog-wood. She did as she was directed, and brought them and laid them at his feet. These he caused to be pounded, beaten together, moistened with the spittle of the Great Elk, and fashioned into many little balls about the bigness of the eye-balls of a humming-bird[24]. When the mass had been all made into balls, he commanded all to be silent. When the camp had become so hushed, that the chirp of a grasshopper or the hum of a bee might have been heard from limit to limit, he cried with a loud voice:—
"Ruling spirits of the beasts, and birds, and fishes, come hither! Presiding Manitous of all, save man, that inhabit the earth, the air, the water, hear and obey the voice of Michabou."
He had scarcely done speaking, when the air was darkened with wings of Manitous hastening to the spot, and, but that the footsteps of spirits are lighter than the shade which falls upon the earth at sun-set, the valley had shaken with the weight of the hoofs and feet which pressed it. There were the spirits of all the fish in the waters, and fowls and birds in the air, and beasts and four-legged or more-legged creatures on or in the earth, and some very strange-looking creatures there were(6). To each of these spirits, as he presented himself, the Great Hare gave one of the little round balls, commanding him to swallow it. All obeyed readily, except the Manitou of the Mocking-Birds and the Manitou of the strange bird with a hooked nose, which Ononthio's[25] people have taught to cry, "Damn the Indians." The last bit off only a small piece of this ball, and the first, after chewing his, spat it all out with great disdain. That is the reason that these two still retain a portion of their speech—all the other creatures swallowed their balls, and thenceforth never spoke with the tongues of men.
The Great Hare, having deprived the beasts of the faculty of speech, and taken from them a principal portion of the wit and wisdom which they were about to make such bad use of, turned to the Ottawa woman, and kindly offered her all the little balls that were left. She took them, and carefully wrapped them up in a corner of her robe. Before she died, which was not till her years were more than the years of a tortoise, she called her eldest daughter to the side of her couch and gave her the balls, telling her to bestow them upon her eldest daughter, with such directions as would ensure their remaining among the Ottawas as long as grass shall grow and water run. They have been handed down from daughter to daughter, and son to son, till the present time. And that my brother may not think that I have a forked tongue, but speak the words of truth, I will show him the little balls. There they are, wrapped up in a piece of the robe which was worn at the time by the Ottawa woman, to whom they were given by the Great Hare.
So saying, the Ottawa story-teller unrolled a piece of dressed deer skin, and took from thence a number of small balls, about the size of pills sold by apothecaries, which he gave to M. Verdier.