James Athearn Jones - "Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 1 (of 3)"

Arthur Elson - "Woman's Work in Music"

Moliere (Poquelin) - "The Shopkeeper Turned Gentleman"

Lord Dunsany [Edward J. M. D. Plunkett] - "Fifty One Tales"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 1 (of 3)

J >> James Athearn Jones >> Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 1 (of 3)




As the time fixed for the convening of the grand council approached,
Indians were observed in every direction proceeding to the rendezvous.
Never within the memory of the Indian had there been so full a council.
There were plenipotentiaries from many of the New England tribes, from
some who lived far down the Mississippi, and others who hunted in the
shade of the Rocky Mountains--to say nothing of those who came from the
regions of Polar ice. Their lodges covered a thousand acres. The spot
selected for their encampment was a _prairie_ of almost boundless
extent, having on one side a forest impervious save to an Indian hunter.
This forest abounded with game, and vast herds of buffaloes were
feeding on the skirts of the _prairie_. It may be observed in passing,
that sites for the temporary sojourn of the Savages are always chosen
with reference to facilities for the prosecution of the chace, and for
obtaining water and fuel. That, selected in this case, afforded each of
these in abundance, and to our traveller a prospect as replete with
natural beauty as it was with novelty. He beheld, stretched out before
him, a green meadow extending farther than the eye could reach, diversified
only by groupes of Indian bark huts, and parties of hunters going to
or returning from the chace--of women employed in the various duties
imposed upon them in savage life, and children playing at the simple
games of savage childhood. There, was a hunter, stately and tall, his
eye like the eagle's, and his foot like the antelope's, cautiously
approaching an angle of the grove, where his wary eye detected a deer;
here, a proud chief, his crest surmounted by an eagle's feather,
haranguing the warriors of his tribe with far more dignity and grace
than Alexander displayed in giving audience to the Scythian
ambassadors, or Hannibal in his address to his army before the battle
of Cannae. It was a novel scene to M. Verdier, and he enjoyed it with
all the zest of a profound and philosophic observer of human
character.

When the nations were all assembled, Shongo Tongo, or the Big Horse, a
chief of the Ottoes, rose, and said:--

"Father, you see before you the warriors of many nations. All
the red men of the land are gathered together in the great
plain where no trees grow. They have come at your bidding, and
at your bidding have buried their war-clubs. They forget that
they have been enemies. They smoke in the calumet of peace,
and are friends because you wish them to be so. Is it well?

"My father, your children will dance before your tent. It is
thus we honour the brave. It is thus we honour the stranger."

To this speech, M. Verdier returned a suitable answer, adapting his
words to their simple comprehension, yet using the metaphorical style so
common among them. He was glad, he told them, that "words of peace were
in their mouths; that there was a mild sky, and that the winds were low.
He wished it was always so."

They heard him without giving any tokens of approbation, for it is very
uncommon for the Indian to bestow such upon an orator. When he had
finished his speech, their wild dances commenced by the striking up of
their instrumental and vocal music. The instruments were a gong made of
a large keg, over one of the ends of which was stretched a skin which
was struck by a small stick, and an instrument consisting of a stick of
firm wood, notched like a saw, over the teeth of which a smaller stick
was rubbed forcibly backward and forward. They had besides rattles made
of strings of deer's hoofs, and also parts of the intestines of an
animal inflated, inclosing small stones, which produced a sound like
pebbles in a small gourd. With these, rude as they were, very good time
was preserved with the vocal performers, seated around them, and by all
the natives as they sat, in the inflection of their bodies, or the
movements of their limbs. After the lapse of a little time, three
individuals leaped up and danced around for a few minutes; then, at a
concerted signal from the master of the ceremonies, the music ceased,
and they retired to their seats uttering a loud noise, which, by patting
the mouth rapidly with the hand, was broken into a succession of sounds,
somewhat like the hurried barking of a dog. In the intervals of dancing,
a warrior would step forward, and, striking the flagstaff they had
erected with a stick or a whip, would recount his martial deeds. This
ceremony was called _striking the post_, and whatever was then said
might be relied upon as truth, for the custom bound every warrior to
expose the falsehood of the _striker_, and disgrace him for
exaggeration if he indulged in it.

A tall, grey-headed chief rose, and, after lashing the post with his
whip, commenced the narration of his exploits. He was succeeded by a
young and ardent warrior, whose soul apparently was full of poetry, and
burning with love of martial glory. After walking leisurely twice or
thrice around the post, he quickened his step, and broke out into the
following wild song of boasting and triumph:--

Down I took my spear, my tough spear--
Down I took my bow, my good bow,
Fill'd my quiver with sharp arrows,
Slung my hatchet to my shoulder.
Forth I wander'd to the wild wood.
Who comes yonder?
Red his forehead with the war-paint--
Ha! I know him by his feather--
Leader of the Ottawas,
Eagle of his warlike nation,
And he comes to dip that feather
In a vanquish'd Maqua's blood.

Then I pois'd my tough ash spear,
Then I bent my pride of bows,
From my quiver drew an arrow,
Rais'd my war-cry--ha! he falls!
From his crest I took the feather,
From his crown I tore the scalp-lock.
Shout his friends their cry of vengeance--
What avails it? are they eagles?
Nought else may o'ertake the Maqua.

Came the Hurons to our border--
Hurons from the Lake of Thunder--
Hurons far renown'd for valour--
Forth I went with six to meet them:
In my cabin hang ten scalp-locks.
Should I fear a mortal warrior?
No--a Maqua never trembles.

Why should I fear?
I never told a lie,
Kind have I been to father and to mother,
I never turn'd my back upon a foe.
I slew my people's enemies--
Why should I fear to die?
Let the flame be kindled round me,
Let them tear my flesh with pincers,
Probe me with a burning arrow,
I can teach a coward Mingo
How a valiant man should die.

These were not exactly the kind of tales which M. Verdier had crossed
the ocean and threaded the forest to hear, but he patiently awaited
their conclusion. At a signal from a venerated chief, their martial
narratives were dropped, and all retired to their seats. The dance was
succeeded by a feast, of which the chiefs and warriors, together with
their guest, first partook, and afterwards the men of inferior note.
Before a mouthful was tasted, however, the best and juiciest pieces of
the deer were selected as an offering to the Great Spirit. They were not
laid upon the fire till the priest had been called to the performance of
certain rites and ceremonies by the following hymn, chanted in their
peculiarly solemn and impressive manner:--

INDIAN HYMN, OR INVOCATION.

From the wilderness we bring
The fat buck we have slain,
We have laid him on the coals:
Lord of Life!
Lord of Life!
We have opened the door,
That the smoke may ascend
To thy nostrils, and please thee,
Great Master of Breath,
Of our breath!

We will call the wise priest--
He will come!
He will come!
He will utter thy name with his lips;
He will ask that thy hand may be light
On our race, in thy wrath,
In thy wrath!

When the priest had performed certain ceremonies over the holocaust, he
retired, and the hymn was resumed as follows:--

We have call'd the wise priest--
He has come!
He has come!
He has utter'd thy name with his lips,
He has open'd his breast to thine eye,
He has ask'd that thy hand may be light
On our race, in thy wrath,
In thy wrath.

Hear us, Master of Breath!
Nor destroy,
Nor destroy:
If thou wieldest the bolt of thy rage,
If thou callest thy thunder to shake,
If thou biddest thy lightning to smite,
We must pass to the feast of the worm,
Of the worm.

Oh! grant us our prayers,
Lord of life!
Lord of life!
Make us victors o'er every foe,
Make us strong in the den of the bear,
Make us swift in the haunts of the buck,
Great Master of Breath,
Of our breath!

When the feast and sacrifices were concluded, M. Verdier rose and
addressed the assembly in these words:

"Brothers and warriors, I have come from a far country to
listen to the words of an Indian's mouth. I have left behind
me my father, and my mother, and my wife, and my children, and
the burial-places of my ancestors, and the council-fire of my
great chief, and the temples of the Master of Life, to dwell
with the Indians in their wigwams, to go with them to the
chace, to feast with them, to talk with them, to offer
sacrifices with them. I knew the dangers I must encounter
before I could enter their habitations. I knew how dreadful
was the rage of the Great Ocean, and how dismal the howling of
the winds upon it, in the season of darkness, but I said I
will despise the dangers, for I want to look upon the face of
the red man, and smoke with him in the calumet of peace.

"Brothers and warriors, I am here--I am glad I came. I have
seen the red man--I love him. And I have called together all
the red men of the land, that I may learn more of their
thoughts and love them more; that I may be able to carry back
to my sons, and to the chiefs and the warriors of my own land,
proofs of their wisdom, and sagacity, and valour.

"Brothers and warriors, the history of the red man is found
only in his traditions, it exists but in his memory. Will you
instruct me in those traditions? Will you relate to me the
tales which have been handed down to you from old times--the
traditions which tell of the great actions of your fathers, of
the favours, and mercies, and punishments, of the Great
Spirit? These are the things I would hear. I came hither to
hear them. The Great Spirit forbid you should refuse my
request!"

When M. Verdier had finished his speech, Meshewa, a young warrior of the
Shawano nation, rose and said:

"Brothers and warriors, I am a little man, no higher than the
shoulder of my brother Meshepeshe, yet I must speak, the Great
Spirit bids me speak. He says to me, Wild Horse, rise and
relate a tradition of your nation. I will relate this
tradition, but I will tell you no lie. Who is there that ever
saw Meshewa look upon the ground, or hold his hand before his
eyes, when he told his story? He looks up bold as an eagle, he
opens his mouth fearlessly, and they who hear his words write
them down on the green leaf of their memory.

"Brothers and chiefs, we have here with us a man, whose face
is of the colour of the skin of a plucked plover--he listens.
He has come, as he has told you, from a land which lies beyond
the Great Salt Lake. I believe him, for he does not hide his
face, or look ashamed when he speaks.

"Chiefs and brothers, this man was once a warrior, but, when
he was no higher than the tree of twelve moons, he offered
sacrifice in his own country to the Great Spirit, and knew all
the rites proper to be observed in his worship. When the
winter snows are rushing to the embrace of the Great River,
and the birds have returned to their bowers, and the sap is
recruiting the soul of the thirsty tree, he will go to his
wife and children, who live very far towards the morning sun.
The woman with the bright eyes will come out of her wigwam to
meet him, and will ask him if he has brought back his heart.
His son will climb to his knee, and weep to have the
traditions of our country told him. Our brother will not fear
to answer the questions of the woman, for he is prudent and
wise. And shall we not teach him to still the cry of the boy?
We shall.

"Brothers and chiefs, the stranger loves to hear our words,
ask him if he does not. He desires that our mouths should
open, and repeat the stories which have been told us by our
fathers, and the fathers and mothers of our fathers--stories
of deeds which were done when the oak trees, now dying of age,
were saplings no higher than my knee. Shall he hear them? He
shall. The Good Spirit bids us speak, but he bids us speak
only truth. If we lie he will be angry with us, and will give
us up to our enemies, or the beasts of prey. He will spoil our
harvests. And when were deer ever found in the hunting-path of
the liar?

"Brothers and chiefs, I am young. The sprout from the seed of
the oak, planted on the day I was born, yet bends to the earth
with the weight of the wild cat. The knees of my father are
not feeble with age, nor is his hair thin or white. My mother
has a young panther in her lodge, she gives it her own milk.
Yet I will tell you a story. It is a tale of my nation, a tale
of an old day, delivered from father to son till it has
reached my time. Listen!"

The youthful chief then rose, and related the Shawano tradition,
entitled "The Man of Ashes."




TALES OF AN INDIAN CAMP.

* * * * *

THE MAN OF ASHES.


A great while ago, the Shawanos nation took up the war-talk against the
Walkullas, who lived on their own lands, on the borders of the Great
Salt Lake[A], and near the Burning Water[B]. Part of the nation were not
well pleased with the war. The head chief and the counsellors said the
Walkullas were very brave and cunning, and the priests said their god
was mightier than ours. The old and experienced warriors said the
counsellors were wise, and had spoken well; but the Mad Buffalo(1), and
the young warriors, and all who wished for war, would not listen to
their words. They said that our fathers had beaten their fathers in many
battles, and that the Shawanos were as brave and strong now as they ever
were, and the Walkullas much weaker and more cowardly. They said, the
old and timid, the faint heart, and the failing knee, might stay at home
and take care of the women and children, and sleep and dream of those
who had never dared bend a bow, or look upon a painted cheek, or listen
to a war-whoop; while the young warriors went to war, and drank much
blood. And, when two moons were gone, they would come back with many
prisoners and scalps, and have a great feast, and eat Walkullas roasted
in the fire. The arguments of the fiery young orators prevailed with all
the youthful warriors; but the elder and wiser listened to the priests
and the counsellors, and remained in their villages, to see the leaf
fall and the grass grow, and to gather in the nut and follow the trail
of the deer.

[Footnote A: Great Salt Lake, the ocean.]

[Footnote B: A boiling stream, near the mouth of the river Walkulla, in
Florida.]

Two moons had passed--then a third--then came the night enlivened by
many stars--but the warriors returned not. As the land of the Walkullas
lay but a woman's journey of six suns from the villages of our nation,
our people began to fear that our young men had been overcome in battle,
and were all slain. The head chief and the counsellors, and all the
warriors who had remained behind, came together in the great wigwam[A],
and called the priests, to tell them where their sons were. Chenos, who
was the wisest of them all, as well he might be (for he was older than
the oak-tree whose top dies by the hand of Time), answered that they
were killed by their enemies, the Walkullas, assisted by men of a
strange speech and colour, who lived beyond the Great Salt Lake, fought
with thunder and lightning, and came to our enemies on the back of a
great bird with many white wings. When he had thus made known to our
people the fate of the warriors, there was a dreadful shout of horror
throughout the village. The women wept aloud, and the men sprung up and
seized their bows and arrows, to go to war upon the Walkullas, and the
strange warriors who had helped to slay their sons; but Chenos bade them
sit down. "There is one yet living," said he. "He will soon be here. The
sound is in my ear of his footsteps, as he crosses the hollow hills. He
has killed many of his enemies; he has glutted his vengeance fully; he
has drunk blood in plenteous draughts. Long he fought with the men of
his own race, and many fell before him; but he fled from the men who
came to the battle armed with the red lightning, and hurling unseen
death. Even now I see him coming. The shallow streams he has forded, the
deep rivers he has swum. He is tired and hungry; and his quiver has no
arrows, but he brings a prisoner in his arms. Lay the deer's flesh on
the coals, and bring hither the pounded corn. Taunt him not, for he is
valiant, and has fought like a hungry lion."

[Footnote A: Great wigwam, an Indian expression, signifying the
council-house.]

As the wise Chenos spoke these words to the grey-headed counsellors and
warriors, the Mad Buffalo walked, calm and cool, into the midst of them.
There he stood, tall and straight as a young pine; but he spoke no word,
looking with a full eye on the head chief and the counsellors. There was
blood upon his body, dried on by the sun, and the arm next his heart was
bound up with the skin of the deer. His eye looked hollow, and his body
gaunt, as though he had fasted long. His quiver had no arrows; but he
had seven scalps hanging to the pole on his back, six of which had long
black hair, but that which grew upon the seventh was yellow as the
fallen leaf, and curled like the tendrils of the wild ivy.

"Where are our sons?" enquired the head chief of the warrior.

"Ask the wolf and the panther," he answered.

"Brother, tell us where are our sons!" exclaimed the head chief, louder
than before. "Our women ask us for their sons--they want their sons.
Where are they?"

"Where are the snows of the last year?" asked the head warrior. "Have
they not gone down the swelling river into the Great Lake? They have,
and even so have your sons descended the stream of Time into the lake of
Death. The great star sees them as they lie by the water of the
Walkulla, but they see him not. The panther and the wolf howl unheeded
at their feet, and the eagle screams, but they hear him not. The vulture
whets his beak on their bones; the wild cat rends their flesh: both are
unfelt--because they are dead."

When the head warrior had told these things to our people, they set up
their loud death-howl. The women cried; but the men sprung up, and took
down their war-spears, and their bows and arrows(2), and filled their
skins with parched corn, and prepared to dry meat for their journey,
intending to go to war with the Walkullas and their allies, the slayers
of their sons. But the chief warrior rose again, and said--

"Fathers and warriors, hear me, and believe my words, for I will tell
you the truth. Who ever heard the Mad Buffalo lie, and who ever saw him
afraid of his enemies? Never, since the time that he chewed the bitter
root, and put on the new mocassins(3), has he lied, or fled from his
foes. He has neither a forked tongue nor a faint heart. Fathers, the
Walkullas are weaker than we; their arms are not so strong, their hearts
are not so big, as ours. As well might the timid deer make war upon a
hungry wolf, as the Walkullas upon the Shawanos. We could slay them as
easily as a hawk pounces into a dove's nest and steals away her
unfeathered little ones; the Mad Buffalo alone could have taken the
scalps of half the nation. But a strange tribe has come among them--men
whose skin is as white as the folds of the cloud, and whose hair shines
like the great star of day. They do not fight, as we fight, with bows
and arrows and with war-axes, but with spears[A], which thunder and
lighten and send unseen death. The Shawanos fall before it, as the
grapes and acorns fall when the forest is shaken by the wind in the
Beaver-Moon(4). Look at the arm nearest ray heart; it was stricken by a
bolt from the stranger's thunder. But he fell by the hand of the Mad
Buffalo, who fears nothing but shame, and his scalp lies at the feet of
the head chief.

[Footnote A: Muskets, which were termed "spears" by the Indians in the
earlier part of their intercourse with the Europeans.]

"Fathers, this was our battle. We came upon the Walkullas, I and my
brothers, when they were unprepared. They were just going to hold the
dance of the green corn. The whole nation had come to the dance; there
were none left behind, save the sick and the very old. None were
painted; they were all for peace, and were as women. We crept close to
them, and hid in the thick hazles which grew upon the edge of their
camp; for the Shawanos are the cunning adder, and not the foolish
rattlesnake. We saw them preparing to offer a sacrifice to the Great
Spirit. We saw them clean the deer, and hang his head, and his horns,
and his entrails, upon the great white pole with a forked top, which
stood over the roof of the council-wigwam. They did not know that the
Master of Life(5) had sent the Shawanos to mix blood with the
sacrifices. We saw them take the new corn, and rub it upon their hands,
and breasts, and faces. Then the head chief, having first thanked the
Master of Life for his great goodness to the Walkullas, got up, and gave
his brethren a talk. He told them that the Great Spirit loved them, and
had made them victorious over all their enemies; that he had sent a
great many fat bears, and deer, and mooses, to their hunting-grounds;
and had given them fish, whose heads were very small and bodies very
big; that he had made their corn grow tall and sweet; and had ordered
his suns to ripen it in the beginning of the harvest-moon, that they
might make a great feast for the strangers, who had come from a far
country on the wings of a great bird to warm themselves at the
Walkullas' fire. He told them they must love the Great Spirit, take care
of the old men(6), tell no lies, and never break the faith of the pipe
of peace; that they must not harm the strangers, for they were their
brothers, but must live in peace with them, and give them lands, and
wives from among their women. If they should do these things, the Great
Spirit, he said, would make their corn grow taller than ever, and direct
them to hunting-grounds where the mooses should be as thick as the
stars.

"Fathers and warriors, we heard these words, but we knew not what to do.
We feared not the Walkullas; the God of War(7), we saw, had given them
into our hands. But who were the strange tribe? Were they armed as we
were, and was their Great Medicine[A] like ours? Warriors, you all knew
the Young Eagle, the son of the Old Eagle, who is here with us; but his
wings are feeble, and he flies no more to the feast of blood. Now, the
Young Eagle feared nothing but shame. He said, 'I see many men sit
around a fire, I will go and see who they are.' He went. The Old Eagle
looks at me as if he would say, Why went not the head warrior himself? I
will tell you. The Mad Buffalo is a head taller than the tallest man of
his tribe. Can the moose crawl into the fox's hole?--can the swan hide
himself under a hazle-leaf? The Young Eagle was little, save in his
soul. He was not full grown, save in his heart. He could go, and not be
seen or heard. He was the cunning black snake, which creeps silently in
the grass, and none think him near till he strikes; not the foolish
rattlesnake, which makes a great noise to let you know he is coming.

[Footnote A: Great Medicine, Supreme Being; medicine simply means a
spirit.]

"He came back, and told us that which made us weep. He told us, there
were many strange men a little way from us, whose faces were white, and
who wore no skins, whose cabins were white as the snow upon the Backbone
of the Great Spirit[A], flat at the top, and moving with the wind like
the reeds on the bank of a river; that they did not talk like the
Walkullas, but spoke a strange tongue, the like of which he had never
heard before. Many of our warriors would have turned back to their own
lands; the Flying Squirrel said it was not cowardice to do so. But the
Mad Buffalo never turns on his heel till he has tasted of the blood of
his foes. And the Young Eagle said he had eaten the bitter root, and put
on the new mocassins, and had been made a man, and his father and the
old warriors would cry shame on him if he took no scalp. Both he and the
Mad Buffalo said they would go and attack the Walkullas and their allies
alone. But the young warriors said they would also go to the battle, and
with a great heart, as their fathers had done. And then the Shawanos
rushed upon their foes.

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