When I left my five brothers, said he, I crossed the river that glides by my cabin, and travelled towards the mountains which are called by Indians the Backbone of the Great Spirit. Upon the sixth day, I came to the hither part of the mountain, and sat down upon its eastern edge to rest my wearied limbs. It was near the hour of evening; the sun had not retired from the earth, but the lofty peaks of the mountains hid his beams from those who sat in the shade of those peaks, making it night to them. At length the sun set, and a thick veil of darkness was cast over the face of the earth. The ugly bat came forth, the mournful night-bird began his song, the wise owl hooted on the limb of the tree, and the dazzling little fire-fly twinkled in the glades, and among the trunks of the giant oaks. Then it was that a distant sound of music came to the ears of Apaumax the Nanticoke, who is myself. He listened, and caught the words, of a song issuing from a valley near the hillock upon which he sate. Softer than the plaintive cry of the dove, sweeter than the love-notes of the song-sparrow, was that song. Presently other voices could be heard laughing or singing, singly, or in concert. The Nanticoke was so greatly charmed with those notes that he determined to know whence they issued, and whose were the voices that sang them. So, descending the hill, he approached cautiously the spot where he had heard them, until he came suddenly upon a company of strange women who were dancing upon a green spot in the valley. They were the greater part of them very small, many being not taller than the sprout of three moons; but there were others, whose stature arose to the height of a full-grown person. Of the latter there was one whom the whole seemed to obey, the tallest woman of the group, and the most beautiful. She did not seem very youthful; at least her features spoke not of youth, nor did they imply age, but the period of life when woman is like a ripe grape, the sweetness of which is diminished by being suffered to hang a single day more on the vine untasted. She had a pale skin—ye see how pale—her cheeks were red as the flower that blooms among thorns, and her eye shone like the little flower which emulates the blue of the sky. Her lips were red and pouting, and her teeth whiter than the lily. Beautiful creature! lovely and beloved woman!
Cautiously did the Nanticoke approach the merry dancers, and, seating himself upon the earth where they could not observe him, he watched their sprightly and rapid motions. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the dances, or the grace of the dancers, or the sweetness of the tunes to which they danced. At last, one of the little maidens, in a fit of frolic, ran out of the circle of dancers, and by chance came to the spot where the Nanticoke had seated himself; a loud scream told him that he was discovered. When they found that a stranger had hidden near them, and witnessed their mystic dances, they were filled with great wrath, and all, as one, rushed up to the spot where he had concealed himself. He, knowing no fear, stood up boldly amongst them, and suffered them to scrutinize his person, rightly judging that nothing would so soon mollify their anger as to look upon his handsome and finely proportioned form. When they had gazed as much as they liked, she, the tallest, the one whom all obeyed, spoke in a stern voice, and asked, why he had dared to steal upon them while they were dancing the Sacred Dance of Darkness, and singing the Spirit's Song of Midnight? Did he not know that they were Spirits, the Spirits of the Mountain, who, for many hundred years, had nightly come, while summer lasted, to this green spot, to hold their joyous carousals, mixing music with mirth, and drinking the sweet drink which they found in the cups of the flowers and mottling the leaves of the rose. What had he to say why death should not be inflicted upon him?
The Nanticoke answered that he had much to say why death should not be inflicted upon him; that, having heard tones sweeter than those of the mocking-bird, and wishing to see who they were that laughed so merrily, and sung so sweetly, he had approached cautiously for that purpose. When he beheld the most beautiful creatures of the earth or the air engaged in dancing, and heard them singing their sweet songs, he was struck with wonder, astonishment, and admiration; and, fearing lest his discovering himself should frighten them away, he had hidden himself. This was all the crime he had committed. And, as for punishment, rather than die he was content to take the tall young woman to wife.
Upon this the spirits all laughed, except the one thus singled out, and she held down her head, though apparently not displeased. The Nanticoke, emboldened by her silence, whispered in her ear that he loved her; and, notwithstanding that her manner was at first repulsive, and she pretended to be displeased, and to frown upon the confident Apaumax, he could perceive that she had not suffered his words to fall to the ground. At first her face was averted, presently he caught a view of her mouth, and at last her face was actually turned towards him, and she was smiling bashfully upon the bold lover. Before the moon had advanced to the highest part of the heavens, they had given each other the kiss of love, and she had promised the Nanticoke to leave the cold regions of the mountain, and to go with him to his own sunny clime.
Brothers, I am that Nanticoke, and the tall, beautiful woman is she that sits at my side, and the child that is playing at my feet is the child of our love.
When Apaumax had finished his story, the fifth Nanticoke, whose name dwells not in my memory, rose and said:
When I left my five brothers, I went according to my agreement with them to the land of the warm sun, the smiling south. I travelled many days, and became hungry, faint, and weary. I saw no beasts upon which I could exercise my bow, no fish gliding about the waters, provoking the thrust of my spear. Here and there were scattered a few birds, but they were those upon which none can afford to feed, but a very patient man, or one that has nothing to do but eat. So, finding a pleasant resting-place, I lay down, and tried to call to my aid the Good Spirit, that refreshes the soul of man with pleasant dreams. He came and bade me arise with the morning sun, and travel further on, following the bend of the little river, at whose source I stood. I should come, he said, to a little hill upon the banks of a lake, filled with shining fish, and not far from the Great River. And, so saying, he left me to the sleep of night.
I rose refreshed by my slumbers, and pursued the route pointed out by the Spirit. Travelling in this path, I came on the morning of the next day to a little hill on the backs of a lake, and saw in its clear current the shining fish which had been spoken of by the spirit of dreams, and by this I knew that I had travelled right. The hill was a very little hill, and the lake was a very little lake, and the fish were very little fish. The hill was scarce half so high as the flight of an arrow; the lake was not broader than twice the flight of the same, when impelled by a vigorous arm; and the fishes were minnows indeed. Upon either side of the lake arose tall trees, around which grape-vines had wreathed themselves, and upon which fruit, ripe, black, and delicious, hung temptingly exposed to the eye of the traveller. The birds were twittering about the boughs, and swallows were skimming the bosom of the lake. But what most astonished the Nanticoke was, the great number of little cabins scattered along its shores. They were none of them higher than his hip, and were built of mud and grass. The Nanticoke, who loved to look upon the fair things of nature, the sun, and moon, and stars, and leafy woods, and green meads, and quiet waters, and other beautiful things of nature, sat down upon the border of the lake, and permitted the throb of delight to enter his bosom, through the medium of his eyes. While he sate thus absorbed, he saw a little black creature, with four legs, creep out of the water near him, and stretch itself at its length upon the green sod. It was black, glossy, and not longer than a man's arm. While it was devouring its food, which in this instance was roots dug from the marsh, it raised itself upon its two hind legs, to an upright posture, sitting erect as a Nanticoke, until it had finished. During the time it was eating, it was continually talking and chattering to itself, in a language, which the Nanticoke could discover, by the few words which reached his ear, to be that in which he himself spoke. Astonished, beyond the power of words to express, at hearing a beast speak, a beast, too, of such a mean appearance, he rose and advanced towards it. When it saw him coming, instead of retreating to the water, as beasts which are untamed usually do at the approach of man, whom all inferior creatures thus acknowledge as their chief, it advanced to meet him, made the sign of friendship in use among the Nanticokes, and spoke to him thus:
"Stranger! I bid thee welcome to the waters of the Lake of Musk-rats. Thou hast come to a region, rich in sunny skies, and yielding abundance of fruit. Thou hast come to the great village of my race, to the spot where we have dwelt ever since ourselves, and this lake, and that hill, were formed at the nod of the Great Spirit. Hitherto we have dwelt in peace, unvisited by one of thy race, but reason, and instinct alike inform me that thou wilt become the enemy of my tribe. Hitherto we have dwelt in peace, with none to vex us, or make us afraid—that period is past, and now thou wilt destroy us, unless something is done to unite us in the bonds of firm friendship. Thou hast proclaimed thyself a Nanticoke—one of the six that found themselves sitting upon the shores of the Great Lake, in the latter part of a warm and pleasant day, in the Moon in which the shad leave the waters that are salt, and journey to those that are fresh. It is well. Thou must be joined with the nation of Musk-rats in a lasting league. Come to my cabin."