"It is well! upon that condition I will save you."
So saying he arose, and, taking up from the pool in the middle of the valley a handful of slime, he rounded it into a ball, the while breathing upon it until it became of the colour of his face; when he had done this, he placed it upon the great toe of his right foot, and, giving it a kick into the air, and calling it by the name of "Chepiasquit," commanded it "to lead the good people, the Nansemonds, to a place of safety." So saying, he turned to the warriors and bade them follow their guide, who would soon conduct them out of difficulty; and he bade them not forget their promise to fire a prairie in the time of a high wind in honour of him who ruled over that element. Having spoken these words, he began to fade from their view, as a fire goes out which is left unsupplied with fuel. First, the sparks from his eyes disappeared—then his breath ceased to be hot and scorching, and his eyes red and glowing—and soon there was remaining but the indistinct resemblance of a being with the shape of a man. A little while, and even that faint glimmering had ceased to be.
The Nansemonds arose and followed with confidence the fiery ball down the valley. After travelling in an open path for some time, they came all at once to the shore of the lake; they saw its little waves dashing upon the smooth sand, and the stars reflected in the bosom of the clear waters. The fiery ball now changed its course along the shore. Following it, they came at the distance of three bowshots to a little bay, where they found a number of canoes well provided with paddles, and in each a calebash of good nesh-caminnick, and a piece of roasted deer's flesh. They entered these canoes, and committed themselves to the lake. Again the Spirit-ball coaxed them on. Darkness now hid the moon and stars, but it only rendered their guiding light more visible. After following it till the dawn of day, they landed again, and to their great joy found themselves at the foot of the well known path, which led from the lake to their own country. The Spirit-ball had disappeared, but it had first placed them beyond the reach of danger. A few suns, and our fathers once more stood upon the banks of their own pleasant river, the Nansemond, and listened to the joyous prattle of their children, and looked into the bright eyes of their fond wives.
Nor did they forget their promise to the Spirit. Yearly, in the time of a high wind, they kindled a fire in the dry prairie, that their deliverer might enjoy the glorious prospect of seeing it swept by the devouring flame. The warriors know that the custom is still preserved; they know that every year, in the Corn-Moon, when the grass on the prairie is ripe and dry, the chief, or the priest, goes to the spot, and, placing a lighted coal in the grass, makes a bow to it, pronouncing these words: "Thank you, Spirit!" when the grass immediately blazes up, and the prairie becomes enveloped in flames.
THE ORIGIN OF WOMEN.
There was a time, when, throughout the Island, neither on land nor in the water, in field or forest, was there a woman to be found. Vain things were plenty—there was the turkey, and the swan, and the blue jay, and the wood-duck, and the wakon bird; and noisy, chattering, singing creatures, such as the daw, and the thrush, and the rook, and the prairie-dog, abounded—indeed there were more of each than was pleasing to the ear—but of women, vain, noisy, laughing, chattering women, there were none. It was, indeed, quite a still world to what it is now. Whether it is better and happier, will depend much upon the opinion men entertain of those, who have changed its character from calm and peaceable to boisterous and noisy. Some will think it is much improved by the circumstance which deprived the Kickapoos of their tails—while others will greatly deplore its occurrence.
At the time of which I am telling my brother, the Kickapoos, and indeed all red men, wherever found—and at that time there were none but red men in the world—were furnished with long tails like horses and buffaloes. It was very handy to have these appendages in a country where flies were numerous and troublesome, as they were in the land of the Kickapoos—tails being much more sudden in their movements than hands, and more conveniently situated, as every body must see, for whisking off the flies which light upon the back. Then they were very beautiful things, these long tails, especially when handsomely painted and ornamented, as their owners used to ornament them, with beads, and shells, and wampum—and being intended as a natural decoration to the creature, the depriving him of it may well have produced, as it did, a great deal of sport and merriment among the other animals, who were not compelled to submit to the deprivation. The fox, who is rather impudent, for a long time after they were chopped off, sent to the Kickapoos every day to enquire "how their tails were;" and the bear shook his fat sides with laughter at the joke, which he thought a very good one, of sending one of his cubs with a request for a "dozen spare tails."
I have said, that throughout the land there were no women. There were men—a plenty, the land was thronged with them—not born, but created of clay—and left to bake in the sun till they received life—and these men were very contented and happy. Wars were very few then, for no one need be told that half the wars which have arisen have grown out of quarrels on account of love of women, and the other half on account of their maintenance. There was universal peace and harmony throughout the land. The Kickapoos ate their deer's flesh with the Potowatomies, hunted the otter with the Osages, and the beaver with the Hurons; and the fierce Iroquois, instead of waking the wild shout of war, went to the land of the Sauks and Ioways to buy wampum, wherewith to decorate their tails. Happy would it have been for the red men if they were still furnished with these appendages, and wanted those which have been supplied in their place—women!
But the consequence which usually attends prosperity happened to the Indians. They became very proud and vain, and forgot their creator and preserver. They no more offered the fattest and choicest of their game upon the memahoppa, or altar-stone, nor evinced any gratitude, nor sung, nor danced in his praise, when he sent his rains to cleanse the earth and his lightnings to cool and purify the air. When their corn grew ripe and tall, they imputed it to their own good conduct and management; when their hunt was successful, to their own skill and perseverance. Reckoning not, as in times past, of the superintendence of the Great Spirit over all things, they banished him altogether from their proud and haughty hearts, teaching them to forget that there was aught greater or more powerful than himself.