As to the origin of this last-mentioned custom nothing is known; but there exists among the Chippewas a legend which may be worth the reader’s perusal as throwing some light on the subject.
“Once upon a time, many years ago, a war raged between the Chippewas and their enemies, and the lands of the hostile tribes were red with blood. It was then that a party of the Chippewas met a band of their foes upon an open plain in the country of the Great Lakes. Meteewan, the leader of the Chippewas, was a brave; his martial deeds were the song of every youth who looked to obtain renown in the warpath; and the young squaws talked of them at the fires. And never did the chief act with more bravery or prudence than on this occasion. After he had, by the strength of his arm, turned the battle against his enemies, and while he was giving the great shout of victory, an arrow quivered in his breast, and he fell upon the plain. No Indian warrior killed thus is ever buried. According to old custom, he was placed in a sitting posture upon the field of battle, his back supported by a tree, and his face turned towards the path in which his enemies had fled. His spear and club were placed in his hands, and his bow and quiver leaned against his shoulder. So they left him.
“He heard them recount their valiant deeds.”
“But was he gone to the land of spirits? Though he could not move, nor speak, he heard all that had been said by his friends. He heard them bewail his death and could not comfort them; he heard them speak of his great deeds; he heard them depict the grief of his wife when she should be told he was dead. He felt the touch of their hands, but his limbs were bound in chains of strength, and he could not burst them. His thoughts flowed as free as the great rivers; but his limbs were like the fallen branches. His anguish, when he felt himself thus abandoned, was heavy; but he was compelled to bear it. His wish to follow his friends who were about to return to their wigwams so filled his mind, that, after making a violent exertion, he rose, or seemed to rise, and followed them.
But he was invisible; they neither saw his form nor heard his voice. Astonishment, disappointment, rage filled him, while he attempted to make himself heard, seen, or felt, and could not; but still he followed on their track. “Wherever they went, he went; when they walked, he walked; when they ran, he ran; when they built their fires, and sat down, his feet were in the embers; when they slept, he slept; when they awoke, he awoke. He heard them recount their valiant deeds, but he was unable to tell them how much his own exceeded theirs; he heard them paint the joys which awaited their return to their wigwams, but could not say how much peace and how much love was in his.
“At length the war-party reached their village, and the women and children came out to welcome their return. The old warrior whom weakness had compelled to throw down the bow and the spear, and the eagle-eyed boy who was fast hastening to take them up, did each his part in making joy. The wife came forward with embraces, the timid maiden with love weighing on her eyelids, to meet their braves. And if an old warrior found not his son, he knew he had fallen bravely, and grieved not; and if the wife found not her husband, she wept only a little while: for was he not gone to the great Hunting Grounds?
“Still no one seemed conscious of the presence of the wounded chief. He heard many ask for him; he heard them say that he had fought, conquered, and fallen, pierced through his breast with an arrow, and that his body had been left among the slain.
“‘It is not true,’ replied the indignant chief with a loud voice. ‘I am here; I live! I move! See me! touch me! I shall again raise my spear and bend my bow in the war path; I shall again sound my drum at the feast.’ But nobody knew of his presence; they mistook the loudest tones of his voice for the softest whisperings of the winds. He walked to his own lodge; he saw his wife tearing her hair, and bewailing him. He endeavoured to undeceive her, but she also was insensible to his presence or his voice. She sat despairing, with her head upon her hands. He told her to bind up his wounds, but she made no reply. He then placed his mouth close to her ear and shouted, ‘Give me food.’ The wife said, ‘It is a fly buzzing.’ Her enraged husband struck her upon the forehead. She placed her hand to her head and said, ‘It is a little arrow of pain.’
“Foiled thus in every attempt to make himself known, the chief began to think upon what he had heard the priests and wise men say, that the spirit sometimes left the body, and might wander. He reflected that possibly his body had remained upon the field of battle, while his spirit only accompanied his returning companions. He determined then to return upon their track, though it was four days’ journey. He went. For three days he pursued his way, and saw nothing; but on the fourth, at evening, as he came to the skirts of the battle-field, he saw a fire in the path. He walked on one side to avoid stepping into it, but the fire also went aside, and was still before him. He went another way, but the fire still burned in his path. ‘Demon!’ he exclaimed at length, ‘why dost thou keep my feet from the field of battle, where my body lies? Knowest thou not that I am a spirit also, and seek again to enter that body? Or dost thou say I shall return and do it not? Know that I am a chief and a warrior, well tried in many a hard battle—I will not be turned back.’