The mother thought they would perhaps spare the children, but did not on this account take courage, for it seemed to her better that they should die, than live to become the companions of such a people, and grow up very probably to be like them. Mary was the only one old enough to understand her injunctions, and to her she was allowed to speak before they were separated for the night, and, as she feared, for ever.
She said, “My daughter, you, I think, will be permitted to live; but they will deprive you of your father and mother, and perhaps of your brothers and sisters, so [[141]]that you will be alone. But endeavor in all things to please the Indians, and they will be more kind to you. Do not forget your own language, and never fail to repeat your catechism and the Lord’s prayer every morning and evening while you live.” This she promised to do, and having kissed her child, the mother was removed from her sight, and never more saw one of all the little party who were happy in the little cottage together only a few hours before.
Mary was not permitted to ask concerning her friends, and only knew their fate by recognizing their scalps as they were prepared to dry. Her mother’s she knew by the long sandy hair, which was neatly combed and braided. Her little brother had soft flaxen curls, which still retained their sunny hue, and hung in glossy waves over the edges of the hoop on which the skin was stretched. She could not restrain the tears, but dared utter no moan that she had been thus cruelly severed from all she loved.
She must at this time have been ten years of age; but it was less sad for her than if she had been older, for now she could easily assimilate her tastes to those of her new friends, and would naturally soon forget her home and the customs of her people.
She was afterwards told, when she could understand the Indian language, that they should not have killed her parents if the captors had not been pursued, and that a little boy, who was the son of a neighbor, and was also taken, was given to the French, two of whom were of the party.
In the marches of the Indians it was the custom for one to linger behind and poke up the grass with a stick, after a party had passed along, to conceal all traces of their foot-steps, so that a pursuit was seldom successful. In deviating from a direct course, in order not to get lost, [[142]]they noticed the moss upon the trees, which always grew thickest upon the north side, as the south side, being most exposed to the sun, became soonest dry. They also had some knowledge of the stars, and knew from the positions of certain clusters, that were to be seen at certain seasons, which was east and which west.
Mary was carried far down the Ohio, and found her captors to be a party of Shawanese, and by them she was adopted in place of two brothers, who had fallen in battle, and for whom the lamentations had not yet died away.
The ceremony of adoption is very solemn, requiring the deliberations of a council and the formal bestowing of a name, as a sort of baptism, from which time the captive is not allowed to speak any language but the Indian, and must in all things conform to Indian habits and tastes.
It is the custom among them to give children a name which corresponds with the sports and dependence of childhood, and when they arrive at maturity, to change it for one that corresponds with the duties and employments of manhood and womanhood. The first name is given by the relatives, and afterwards publicly announced in council. The second is bestowed in the same way, and by this they are ever afterwards called, except on becoming a Sachem, and sometimes on becoming a chief or warrior, another is taken, and each denotes definitely the new position. Each clan, too, had its peculiar names, so that when a person’s name was mentioned it was immediately known to what clan he belonged.
A curious feature in the Indian code of etiquette is, that it is exceedingly impolite to ask a person his name, or to speak it in his presence. In the social circle and all private conversation, the person spoken of is described, if it is necessary to allude to him, as the person who sits [[143]]there, or who lives in that house, or wears such a dress. If I ask a woman, whose husband is present, if that is Mr. P——, she blushes, and stammers, and replies, “It is my child’s father,” in order to avoid speaking his name in his presence, which would offend him. On asking a man his name he remained silent; not understanding the reason, the question was repeated, when he indignantly replied, “Do you think that I am an owl, to go about hooting my name every where?” the name of the owl in Seneca, corresponding exactly to the note he continually utters.