* The Iroquois,
Nevertheless, the mother wept with joy on remarking the stranger’s politeness. As we were thus occupied, a young man came up and said, “Daughter of Céluta, take down our child: we will no longer sojourn in this place; we will set off at the rising of the next sun.” I then said, “Brother, I wish you a blue sky, plenty of game, a beaver cloak, and hope! You are not of the desert, then?”
“No,” replied the young man; “we are exiles, and we are going to seek a country.” Saying that, the warrior lowered his head upon his breast, and began knocking off the heads of some flowers with the end of his bow. I saw that there were tears at the bottom of this story, so I remained silent. The mother took her son’s body down from the branch of the tree, and gave it to her spouse to carry. I then said, “Will you allow me to light your fire to-night?”
“We have no cottage,” replied the warrior; “but if you desire to follow us, we are going to camp on the border of the Falls.”
“With pleasure,” I replied; and we started off together.
We soon arrived at the border of the cataract, which announced itself with frightful roarings. It is formed by the river Niagara, which takes its rise in Lake Erie, and falls into Lake Ontario. Its perpendicular height is one hundred and forty-four feet. From Lake Erie to the Falls, the river flows with a rapid inclination; and at the leap it is less a river than a sea whose torrents crush each other in the yawning mouth of an abyss. The cataract is divided into two branches, and bends like a horse-shoe. Between the two falls there is an island, hollow underneath, and which hangs with all its trees over the chaos of the waves. The mass of the river which rushes towards the north, assumes the form of a vast cylinder, unrolling itself into a field of snow, and shining with every color in the sun; that which flows to the east descends into a fearful shade, and might be taken for a column of the water of the Deluge. A thousand rainbows bend and cross each other above the abyss. Striking against the shaken rock, the water rebounds in whirlwinds of froth that rise above the forests like smoke from a vast burning mass. Pine-trees, walnut-trees, and rocks worn into fantastic forms, ornament the scene. Eagles, carried along by the current of air, are whirled down to the bottom of the gulf; and carcajous, hanging by their flexible tails to the ends of the fallen branches, wait to seize in the abyss the crushed bodies of bears and elks.
Whilst I was contemplating this spectacle with a sort of pleasure mixed with terror, the Indian and his spouse left me. I looked for them as I ascended the river-side above the Falls, and soon discovered them in a place suited to their grief. They were lying down upon the grass, with a number of old men, near some human bones wrapped in bear-skins. Astonished at everything I had seen during the last few hours, I sat down near the young mother, and said, “What is all this, my sister?” She replied: “My brother, the earth of our country and the ashes of our forefathers follow us in our exile.”
“And how,” I asked, “have you been reduced to such a misfortune?” The daughter of Céluta responded, “We are the remains of the Natchez. After the massacre of our nation by the French, to avenge their compatriots, those of our brothers who escaped from the conquerors found refuge with our neighbors, the Chikassas. We remained tranquilly with them for some time; but seven moons ago, the white men from Virginia took possession of our fields, affirming that they had been given to them by a king of Europe. So we raised our eyes to heaven, and, laden with the remains of our forefathers, started on our way across the desert. I was confined during the march, and as my milk was bad on account of my grief, it caused my child to die.” As she spoke, the mother wiped her eyes with her hair. I wept also.
After a while I said, “My sister, let us adore the Great Spirit; everything happens by His command. We are all travellers; our fathers were the same; but there is a place where we shall find rest. If I were not afraid of my tongue being as indiscreet as that of a white man, I would ask of you if you have heard speak of Chactas the Natchez.”
At these words the Indian woman looked at me, and asked, ‘’Who has spoken to you of Chactas the Natchez? “I replied, “Wisdom.” The Indian rejoined, “I will tell you what I know, because you drove away the flies from the body of my son, and uttered good words concerning the Great Spirit. I am the daughter of the daughter of René, the European whom Chactas had adopted. Chactas, who had received baptism, and René, my unfortunate grandfather, perished in the massacre.”