A dance of this kind was held at the house of my old friend, Mary Green, one night. Her home was a good-sized log cabin, fairly furnished, and the feast was well attended. The boys ran around, imitating hungry crows, but with small chance of getting “the head.” The circle of women remained unbroken around the stove in the centre of the room, and on the stove was a big kettle of soup, with “the head” in the midst of all. The soup was hot, and the kettle inaccessible. Several tried to crawl through the circle on their hands and knees, but failed. At last one got through in the dark interval, burned his fingers indeed, but put the chicken in a pail and successfully made off. The triumphant crows were soon heard again.
The great medicine is made in a society called Ka-noo-tah, of which I may say more at another time. For ordinary ailments simple remedies are used, but the Onondagas are easily satisfied when told that the white man’s remedies may be best for the diseases he has introduced. When a man is bewitched, that is quite another thing. A Tuscarora once came to Onondaga, who thought he was bewitched, and Abram Island prescribed for him. He took three tender shoots each of the waxberry, choke and wild cherry, and the green osier, and scraped off the bark. This was placed in twelve quarts of hot water, and almost boiled. This was to be used as an emetic for twelve days. On the last day Island came again, carrying away what was last thrown up, but soon returning with a woolly bear caterpillar on a chip. This he had found in the matter, and it was the witch charm. It was placed in a paper bag and hung upon the wall. They were told it would revive and then die again. In a few days there was a rustling in the paper, and the caterpillar was taken out dead, but looking as though soaked in water. After so thorough a cleansing the man got well, of course.
I am promised the old Onondaga songs, both music and words, but my informant that is to be takes his own time. I have said that these songs are mostly meaningless. Some have been translated quite poetically, which the Indians assure me have strictly no meaning, though their associations have almost poetic force, and so the thought has been given rather than the actual interpretation. As long as there is time and sound, the singer often cares little what the words may be, but this is not an invariable rule. I have seen four kinds of rattles, two of which are antique,—the turtle shell and gourd. Some are made of cow’s horns, and once only have I seen a very ingenious one of bark. All are alike effective in dances and marches.
Some curious changes have come over the Onondagas of late. Heretofore the Green Corn Dance was held about as soon as green corn was fit for use, but some of the Indians have been giving exhibition dances at various gatherings, and found there was money in it. This year they deferred the feast until the autumnal equinox, having the principal dances on Sunday, September 24, 1893. In this case those who danced did not pay the piper, but the spectators did. As many as could be accommodated were admitted to the council-house, at fifteen cents per head; three dances were given, and then a new party was admitted. Of course this deprived the feast of all religious force, and made it a mere show; nor did it quite satisfy those who saw it.
A few days later the annuity of goods was delivered, a sight not without interest. So many Oneidas now live with the Onondagas that a large part of their annuity is distributed at the same time by the United States agent, Mr. A. W. Ferrin. The cotton cloth for the Oneidas was placed towards the west end of the council-house, and Henry Powliss, or Was-theel-go, “Throwing up pins,” checked off the Oneida list, while two chiefs measured off the cloth. Jaris Pierce, or Jah-dah-dieh, “Sailing Whale,” checked the Onondaga list, assisted in the same way. This lot was placed in the centre of the house, against the south door. There was some interpreting, and the scene was quite interesting. The men looked much like any farmers, but the women were quite picturesque.
This mingling of nations is not without many effects. Thus the Oneida salutation, Sa-go-lah, “How do you do?” has quite taken the place of the different and longer Onondaga greeting, and other phrases and words are in common use. The Seneca snow snake, differing in some respects from the Onondaga, is quite as frequently seen.
Until recently I had never seen two women pounding corn in one mortar, but the two pestles rose and fell quite harmoniously. This may be frequent, for two men seized each his double-headed pestle, to be photographed on another occasion. The old pestle and mortar are still quite in favor with most families.
W. M. Beauchamp.
SCOTTISH MYTHS FROM ONTARIO.[[4]]
In a certain part of Ontario (my stories being true, I must be reticent as to localities and persons) the country is peopled with Scotch Highlanders from Glenelg. If, as is often said, Scotch people are superstitious, the Glenelg men are superlatively so. Every nook and every grassy plot in that famous glen is haunted, and weird tales belong to every family, high and low, handed down from father to son. The Glenelg men in Canada whom I knew still have the traditional tales,—the ancestral ones, I mean,—and are very willing to tell them: but I greatly preferred to hear them recount the uncanny doings of their own Canadian township. They are the third generation in this country. It is an old part of Ontario,—one of the oldest, I think, for in a long-discarded burying-ground I found inscriptions bearing date of the last century. Although so long here, and tolerably fair farmers, they are curiously backward, preferring in their daily life to talk Gaelic; and it is even now very common to find children of eight without a word of English. Most of the very old people have only their native tongue. Their schools are so poor that it is difficult to believe one’s self in Ontario, where the standard of education is so high. They are handsome people,—nearly all very tall and well-built, bearing a family likeness. The men have none of the farmer slouch so usual in most country places; they are thorough Highlanders of the best type, and have the traditional grace and condescension of manner, even when speaking to an acknowledged superior. The impression of refinement is intensified by their speech. They came to this country understanding only Gaelic, had no schools until the present generation, and therefore received the whole of their education in church. Their speech is Scripture English, quaint, careful, and accurate. It was at first an astonishment to me, as my knowledge of rural life in western Ontario had prepared me to expect from farmers everywhere the horrible colloquialisms, nasal twang, and most wonderful idioms which perhaps some Montrealers have noticed in the townships, for it is the same there, I believe. It was a great pleasure to me to listen to the polished old English, and I soon recognized the cause, and was interested, and perhaps startled, to discover that the beautiful speech of one of the least progressive counties of Ontario is directly owing to the neglect of the government—in short, to their want of education.