These songs are a dull monotony. For though they have a few variations and are high and low, and the [transitions are] sometimes so very sudden that it requires a particular command of the throat to sing them, and to me [are] so difficult, I should, I believe, require a seven years apprenticeship even with Esculapius (But I believe it is Pluto or Pan who teaches the songs.) himself for me to learn them. There is certainly no musick in them, though some few that I've heard many years ago, passing a winter with them, I found pleasing enough. But perhaps more from the solemnity with which all was going on was I struck than anything else. Indeed we had great reason to be solemn, for we were dreadfully pinched by hunger.
[Ceremonies and Songs Related to Starvation]
When oppressed through starvation, they have a variety of ceremonies which they perform. And though the songs be different, as also the ceremonies themselves, still are they intended to answer the same purpose. I shall endeavour to describe a couple to you from which you may form a pretty just idea of the rest.
It was the latter end of January or beginning of February 1804. Four of us, only white people mind, were pitching off, or rather flying off from our houses we had built in the fall on account of the enemies. We had a small stock of dry provisions and speared a few fish once or twice. But there were so many of us that we were soon brought to short commons, as the strip of country we were then going through contained no other animals but a few stragling bears. But these animals at this season could not be found notwithstanding all the exertions of our hunters. One evening on my return to our lodges, one of the women told me that the oldest man of our band, a great doctor, or conjurer, as we frequently denominate them, said that if I were to pay him half a carrot (one and a half pounds) tobacco, he would conjure and be assured of success, for it required payment. Though I suspected there was a trick in this, I did not hesitate but gave him his demand. The first night their songs and ceremonies were as usual. "Tomorrow, my familiar tells me, we shall get a bear."
All the hunters returned at evening mais tous à blanc. The second night, the rattler, songs, speeches, smoking, and medicine bags opened. "Tomorrow we will assuredly get something." But the same as the day before. The third night, the same, but everything conducted with a sort of awful silence and solemnity that surprised me a good deal. I was harassed with constant walking, weake through hunger, and tired with their bêtises as the French say. But the manner of their conduct kept me that time from growling.
"Oh! Now tomorrow indeed, we shall not fail. We shall certainly eat flesh for the old man is a great conjurer and well liked. He prayed to the Master or Giver of Life, and his dreamed have promised him success."
But we get no more than before. In these conjuring boutes they made no use of drums, but instead of that had cut a small hollow tree of maple, about five feet long and scooped it out, after splitting so that it resembled a semicircle or stove pipe split down. This hollow board had been well dressed—reduced to about half an inch in thickness and well polished. There were, to the best of my memory, four men seated tailor fashion and held a small stick about three quarters of an inch diameter and about fifteen inches long in each hand. With these they beat time to the tune and another moved or shaked the rattler in the same manner. All this however was to no purpose.
There was another Indian in company with us, but tenting by himself (and his family). This Indian, who was very fond of me, would frequently call me in and give me a share of what he had to eat. "Well!" said he, "What success have your great men?"
I answered I did not expect much.
"No." replied he.