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

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

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Again they gave utterance to loud lamentation and wailing for the
unavoidable separation they were doomed to experience from their
husbands. The men they had selected for their partners, who were to
protect and feed them, to cherish and make them happy, left them exposed
to hunger and a thousand enemies, while they courted dangers in distant
regions. Or, if they followed their husbands, they were exposed in a
greater degree than those husbands themselves to the risks attending the
perilous warfare.

Then the young maidens took up the song, and painted the share of
sorrows which fell to them. Often, when beloved by a youthful hunter,
their hearts were doomed to wither in the pang of an eternal separation.
The eyes they so loved to look upon were soon to be deprived of their
lustre--the step so noble, fearless, and commanding led them but to
death. They called passionately upon their countrymen and upon the
Iroquois to put a stop to war. They conjured them, by every thing that
was dear to them, to take pity on the sufferings of their wives and
helpless infants, their weeping mothers, and beloved maidens; to turn
their faces once more towards their homes, families, and friends; to
forgive the wrongs each nation had suffered from the other, lay aside
their weapons, and smoke together in the pipe of peace and amity. They
had each given sufficient proofs of courage; the contending nations were
alike high-minded and brave: why should they not embrace as friends who
had been respected as enemies?

Thus spoke the women, at the prompting of the artful Mengwe; it is not
necessary to say that they were listened to. The Delawares at length
came to believe that it would be an honour to a powerful nation, who
could not be suspected of wanting either courage or strength, with arms
in their hands and recent victory perched on the staff of their nation,
to assume that station by which they would be the means, and the only
means, of saving the Indian race from utter extirpation.

To the voice of the women the artful Mengwe added many arguments, which
were of weight with the unsuspecting Delawares, and many pleas
addressed to their generosity. There remained, they said, no resource
for them but that some magnanimous nation should assume the part and
situation of _the woman_(2).

It could not be given to a weak and contemptible tribe; such would not
be listened to: it must be given to a valiant and honoured tribe, and
such were the Delawares--one who should command influence and respect.
As men, they had been justly dreaded; as women, they would be respected
and honoured; none would be so daring or base as to attack or insult
them; as women, they would have a right to interfere in all the quarrels
of other nations, and to stop or prevent the effusion of Indian blood.
They entreated them, therefore, to become _the woman_ in name and in
fact; to lay down their arms and all the insignia of warriors; to devote
themselves to planting corn and other pacific pursuits, and thus become
the means of preserving peace and harmony among the nations.

Unhappily, our nation listened to this croaking of a raven; and forgot
how many times it had been heard before disturbing their slumbers and
ringing its echoes in the hollow night. They knew it was true that the
Indian nations, excited by their own wild passions, were in the way of
total extirpation by each other's hand. And, foolish men! they believed,
notwithstanding all past experience, that the Mengwe were sincere, and
only wished the preservation of the Indian race. As if the panther could
forget its nature, or the rattlesnake cease to remember its means of
defence; as if the Mengwe had forgotten the blood of their race, which
had been shed by the sons of the Lenape, and could think of forgiveness
while their defeats were the subject of every dream.

In a luckless hour, the Delawares gave their consent, and agreed to
become women. Then the Iroquois appointed a great feast, and invited the
Delaware nation to it. They came at the bidding of their treacherous
foes, and were declared by them, in the following words, to be no longer
men and warriors, but women and peace-makers. "We dress you," said the
orator, "in a woman's long habit, reaching down to your feet, and we
adorn your ears with rings," meaning that they should no more take up
arms. "We hang a calabash, filled with oil and medicines, upon your arm.
With the oil you shall cleanse the ears of other nations, that they may
attend to good and not to bad words; and with the medicine you shall
heal those who are walking in foolish ways, that they may return to
their senses, and incline their hearts to peace. And we deliver into
your hands a plant of Indian corn and a hoe, which shall be the emblems
of your future calling and pursuits." So the great peace-belt, the chain
of friendship, was laid upon the shoulders of the new mediator, who
became a woman, buried the tomahawk, planted the corn, and forgot the
glories which Areskoui confers upon the successful and dauntless
warrior.

Before this, no Mengwe had been permitted, even when at peace, to visit
the country of the Delawares. Whenever such had appeared, whenever the
blue feather of an Iroquois was seen in a glade of the Lenape
wihittuck[A], its possessor was hunted down as one hunts a wolf or a
bear. But, now _the woman_ had voluntarily abandoned her bow and her
spear, what had she to do with weapons of war? The former warrior needed
now no paints, unless to attract the eye of a maiden; the Mengwe needed
not to fear the Lenape women. Then the pleasant glades of the Lenape
wihittuck became thronged with curious eyes and false hearts; hostile
feet threaded the mazes of her forest; hostile hands were laid upon the
most fertile spots of her territory. To-day, came a few Iroquois; they
wished for but a little piece of land--they had it. To-morrow, came
another band; they wanted permission to kill a very few deer--it was
granted them, and the cry of the hunter of the lakes was heard from the
sea to the mountains. One remained, that the seeds of peace might not
wither; another, to protect, oh changed times! _the woman_, who was the
peace-maker, from the tomahawks of hostile tribes. But, while they were
amusing the Lenape with flattering tales and the songs of mocking-birds,
they were concerting measures to destroy them. They left war-clubs, such
as the Delawares used, in the lands of the Cherokees, to incite them to
fall upon us. Why delays my tongue to finish its tale? The fatal
unmanning of our tribe wrought our ruin. The white people encroached
upon us, because we were women and could not resent; the men of our own
colour were not more just or generous. The Delawares stand abased by the
children of their grandchild, overthrown by men defeated in a hundred
battles. They are no longer warriors, but women.

[Footnote A: Lenape wihittuck, river of the Lenape.]

Brothers, I would weep, were I not a man, for the downfall of my nation.

NOTES.

* * * * *

(1) _Sacred Calumet_.--p. 89.

The text deserves an elaborate comment, as connected with the wars of
the savages; in other words, their sole employment. The pipe of peace,
which is termed by the French the _Calumet_, for what reason has never
been learned, is about four feet long[A]. The bowl is made of red marble,
and the stem is of light wood, curiously painted with hieroglyphics in
various colours, and adorned with feathers of the most beautiful
birds; but it is not in the power of language to convey an idea of the
various tints and pleasing ornaments of this much esteemed Indian
implement.

[Footnote A: La Hontan explains the meaning of the word thus: "Calumet,
in general, signifies a pipe, being a Norman word, derived from
_Chalumeau_." The definition displays, in a remarkable degree, the
silliness of that writer. The savages do not understand this word. "The
Pipe of Peace is called, in the Iroquois language, _Ganondaoe_, and by
the other savages, _Poayem_." So says the accurate Carver.]

Every nation has a different method of decorating these pipes, and they
can at first sight tell to what band it belongs. It is used as an
introduction to all treaties, and great ceremony attends the use of it
on these occasions.

The assistant of the great warrior, when the chiefs are assembled and
seated, fills it with tobacco mixed with certain herbs, taking care, at
the same time, that no part of it touches the ground. When it is filled,
he takes a coal that is thoroughly kindled, from a fire which is
generally kept burning in the midst of the assembly, and places it on
the tobacco.

As soon as it is sufficiently lighted, he throws off the coal. He then
turns the stem of it towards the heavens, after this, towards the earth,
and now holding it horizontally, moves himself round till he has
completed a circle, by which first action he is supposed to present it
to the Great Spirit, whose aid is thereby supplicated; by the second, to
avert any malicious interposition of the Evil Spirits; and, by the
third, to gain the protection of the Spirits inhabiting the earth, the
air, and the waters. Having thus secured the favour of those invisible
agents, in whose power they suppose it is either to forward or obstruct
the issue of their present deliberations, he presents it to the
hereditary chief, who, having taken two or three whiffs, blows the smoke
from his mouth, first towards heaven, and then around him upon the
ground.

It is afterwards put in the same manner into the mouths of the
ambassadors or strangers, who observe the same ceremony; then to the
chief of the warriors, and to all the other chiefs in turn, according to
their gradation. During this time, the person who executes this
honourable office holds the pipe slightly in his hand, as if he feared
to press the sacred instrument, nor does any one presume to touch it but
with his lips.

The calumet of the savages, is properly the tube of peace, but they
comprehend under this name the pipe also, as well as its tube. The
custom is to smoke in the calumet when you accept it, and perhaps there
is no instance where the agreement has been violated, which was made by
this acceptance. The savages are at least persuaded that the Great
Spirit would not hare met a breach of faith unpunished. If, in the midst
of a battle, the enemy presents a calumet, it is allowable to refuse it;
but, if they receive it, they most instantly lay down their arms. There
are calumets for every kind of treaty. In trade, when they have agreed
upon the exchange, they present a calumet to confirm it, which readers
it, in some manner, sacred. When it concerns war, not only the tube, but
the feathers which adorn it, are painted red.

La Hontan enters into many speculations as to the origin of this
instrument and practice, and very properly scoots the idea that it was
derived from the ancient caduceus of Mercury. He supposes that it arose
from their habit of using the pipe while deliberating in council.

(2) _Assume the part and situation of the woman_.--p. 94.

This signifies the _disarming of a man_, who thenceforth may become a
mediator or peace-maker, and is never allowed to resume the weapons or
practices of warfare. In addition to this, the "metaphorical woman" is
liable to be called to take part with the real woman in the labours of
the field and the cabin.

THE MARRIAGE OF THE SNAIL AND THE BEAVER.

If my brother knows anything of the Osages, as they are called by the
people of his nation, but by themselves, and all the neighbouring
tribes, the Wasbashas, he knows that they live on the banks of the large
and beautiful river, the Osage, which empties itself into the Missouri,
at the distance of a hunter's journey of three suns from its mouth. Once
the people of my nation were all united like a family of children which
have but one mother, but subdivisions of the original stock have taken
place, and they are now divided into three tribes, the Great Osages and
the Little Osages, who have raised their cabins on the south bank of the
river, and the sister's sons who broil their meat on the banks of the
stream which our white brother calls the Vermilion. Are we brave and
valiant? Ask the nations around us. Behold the Dahcotah scalps drying in
the smoke of our cabins! Are we strong? Here is the bow of an Osage
boy--bend it. Are our women beautiful? Look at them, and be convinced.

The story which our fathers told us of our origin is this, and they
believed it, for their lips never dealt in falsehood, nor were their
tongues forked. The father of our nation was a SNAIL. It was when the
earth was young and little: it was before the rivers had become wide and
long, or the mountains lifted their peaks among the clouds, that this
snail found himself passing a quiet existence on the banks of our own
beloved river. His wants and his wishes were but few and well supplied,
and as quiet and rest, and the freedom to move neither often nor much,
were to him the height of happiness, he was happy. He seldom hunted,
and, when he did, it was in the immediate neighbourhood of his lodge,
never moving unless at the call of hunger, and then according to his
nature he satisfied his appetite upon whatever was nearest at hand,
rather than take the chance of faring better by going further. And thus
lived our great forefather, the snail.

At length the region of the Missouri was visited by one of those great
storms which so often scatter desolation over it, and the river,
overflowed by the melted currents of snow and ice from the regions of
the mountains, swept away every thing from its banks, and among other
things the drowsy snail. Seated upon a log, and enjoying greatly a
circumstance which gave him all the pleasure of travel without its
fatigue, our lazy ancestor drifted down many a day's journey, till the
torrent, subsiding, left him and his log upon the bank of the River of
Fish. He mow found himself in a strange country, but there was plenty of
slime, both on ground and leaf, and there was no occasion for rapid
motion; then what cared he? It was in the middle of the season of hot
suns, which beamed fiercely upon him, till he became baked in the slime
to the earth, and found himself as incapable of moving as the clod upon
which he dwelt. Gradually he grew in size and stature, and his form
experienced a change, till at length what was once a snail, creeping
upon all-fours on the earth, ripened into man, erect, tall, and stately,
strong of limb, rugged of purpose, and formed to overcome by either
strength or cunning, every thing which dwelt on the earth, or in the
air, or in the water. For a long time after his change from a beast to a
human being, he remained stupified, not knowing what he was, where he
was, or by what means to sustain life. At length recollection returned
to him: he remembered that he was once a snail, and dwelt upon another
river--he remembered where that river lay. He now became animated with a
wish to return to his old haunts, and accordingly directed his steps
towards that part of the great island[A] from which he had been removed.
Hunger now began to prey upon him, and bade fair to close his eyes
before he should again behold his beloved haunts on the banks of the
Osage. The beasts of the forest were many, but their speed outstripped
his; he could not catch them: the birds of the air fluttered upon sprays
beyond his reach; the fish, gliding through the waves at his feet, were
nimbler than he, and eluded his grasp. Each moment be grew weaker, the
films gathered before his eyes, and in his ears there rang sounds like
the whistling of winds through the woods in the month before the snows.
At length, wearied and exhausted, he had laid himself down upon a grassy
bank to die.

[Footnote A: The Indians always speak of the earth as a "great island."]

As he lay, thinking of nothing but food and the means of obtaining it,
some one at his side said, with a voice soft as the bleat of a young
kid, "Wasbasha?"

Our father, who had heard birds sing and wail, and beasts cry and growl,
but never till now had heard one utter intelligible sounds, answered
"Eh!" Raising himself with difficulty, upon his side he beheld that
which spoke to him. He saw, mounted upon a noble beast, white as the
snow of winter, a being, like to nothing which is seen among the sons of
the earth. He was tall of stature, his eyes glittered like the stars of
morning, or the tears of a young maiden who weeps for joy, and his hair
shone like the blush of sunset upon the folds of a cloud. His was indeed
a glorious form; and power as well as beauty sate enthroned upon it:
while the Wasbasha gazed, he trembled like a fawn caught in the toils of
the hunter, or the wolf penned in the crevice of a rock. Again the
glorious being spoke to our terrified but admiring father.

"Why does he who is the kernel of the snail look terrified, and why is
be faint and weary?"

"That I tremble," answered our father, "is because I fear thy power, and
quail before the lightnings of thine eye--that I am faint is because I
lack food."

"As regards thy trembling, be composed; the Master of Breath punishes
not till sin is committed--thou hast not sinned, be calm. But art thou
hungry?"

"I have eaten nothing," replied our father, "since I ceased to be a
snail."

Upon hearing this the Great Spirit drew from under his robe a bow and
arrow, and bade our father observe what he would do with it. On the
topmost limb of a lofty maple, at the distance of a bowshot, sat a
beautiful bird, with its bright green neck and train of variegated
feathers, singing and fluttering among the red leaves of its
nestling-tree. Bending the bow, he placed before it an arrow, and,
letting it fly, the bird dropped dead upon the earth. A deer was seen at
a still greater distance, browzing upon the tree which supplies its
best-loved food. Again the skilful archer drew his bow, and the animal
lay food for the son of the snail.

"There are victuals for you," said the Spirit, "enough to last you till
your strength enables you to beat up the haunts of the deer and the
moose. And here is the bow and arrow--the heart of the fir supplies the
one, the other is the thigh-bone of the buck. Son of the mighty river,
you are naked and must be clothed. The winter is coming; the snows will
descend, and the winds will leave their caverns in the mountains towards
the setting sun, to war upon the unsheltered kernel of the snail.--You
must be clothed."

Saying this, the Great Being called our father to him, and taught him
how to skin the deer, and how to apply it for the protection of his
person from the frost, and the wind, and the snow. Having done this, and
given him the beasts, and fishes, and all feathered creatures, to be his
food and his raiment, he bade our father farewell, and took his
departure for his home beyond the mountains; and he who had received the
gifts proceeded on his journey towards the Osage.

Strengthened, and rendered cheerful and buoyant, by invigorating food
and refreshing sleep, our father's steps were light, and his journey was
soon near its completion. He soon trod upon the banks of his beloved
river; a few more suns and he would sit down upon the very spot, where,
for so many seasons, he had crawled on the slimy leaf, so often dragged
his lazy legs over the muddy pool. He had seated himself upon the bank
of the river, and was meditating deeply on these things, when up crept
from the water a stranger looking animal with four legs, a broad tail
covered with scales like a fish, and two short ears nearly hidden by the
long fur which covered his body. His colour was that of the berry which
grows within a prickly husk,[A] and is eaten by our Indian people with
their roasted opossums. Approaching our father in a saucy and menacing
manner, and displaying a set of teeth which were none of the handsomest,
he demanded, in an angry tone, "Who are you?"

[Footnote A: The chesnut.]

"I am a snail," answered our father. "Who are you?"

"I am head-warrior of the nation of beavers," answered the other. "By
what authority have you come to disturb my possession of this river? We
have held it from the time that Chappewee's musk-rat brought up the
earth from the bottom of the deep waters. By what right do you come to
disturb our possession of this river?"

"It is not your river," answered the Wasbasha. "It has been mine ever
since the melted snows ran into it. It was mine while I was a weak, and
foolish, and lazy snail; and it is surely mine now I am a wise and
valiant man, and a courageous and expert hunter."

While they stood quarreling hard, and at the point of coming to blows,
there crept out of the water another creature--a young maiden
beaver--just like the one who was disputing our father's right to his
land, only far more beautiful and glossy. She enquired what they were
quarrelling about.

"Why," answered the chief warrior of the beavers, "the strange creature
with whom I was talking, and who, I am sure, is nothing but a polecat
sewed up in a deer-skin, says he owns all the river. He says the Great
Being who is over man and beast, the Master whom even beavers worship,
gave it to him."

"Is that all?" replied the maiden; "but you need not answer, for I
listened with a curious ear to your discourse, and heard it all. It is
not worth going to war about, father--make peace with the stranger, and
each of you retain a sufficiency of the water of the river for his
purposes; and then you can help each other when enemies assail you." And
then, casting a fond look upon the Osage, she called her father aside,
and whispered a long time in his ear, frequently turning her beautiful
eyes, bright with love, upon our ancestor. When they had done talking,
the old warrior came up to the son of the snail and asked him, in an
altered tone, to go home with him to his cabin. So the Osage went home
with the chief beaver and his beautiful daughter.

They soon came to a number of small cabins built on the banks of the
river, and into one of these they entered, the beaver bidding the Osage
first wipe his feet upon the mat which lay beside the door. The Osage
found the floor of the cabin strewed with the newly-gathered branches of
the box and fir. The roof and walls were white as the robe which our
white brother folds around his breast, and a cool, refreshing air
entered the building through the windows which opened on the river.
Around the room--which was four steps of a long-legged man each
way--were hung skins, and skulls, and scalps of otters--trophies of the
wars which the beavers had waged with that nation. In one corner of the
room sat a beaver-woman, combing the heads of some little beavers, whose
ears she boxed very soundly when they would not lie still. The warrior
whispered the Osage that she was his second wife, and was very apt to be
cross when there was work to be done, which prevented her from going to
see her neighbours. Those whose heads she was combing were her children,
he said, and she who had made them rub their noses against each other
and be friends was his eldest daughter.

Then calling aloud, "Wife," said he, "what have you to eat? The stranger
is undoubtedly hungry; see, he is pale, his eye has no fire, and his
step is like that of a moose."

Without replying to him, for it was a sulky day with her, she called
aloud, and a dirty-looking beaver entered. "Go," said she, "and fetch
the stranger something to eat."

With that the beaver-girl passed through a small door into another room,
from which she soon returned, bringing some large pieces of willow-bark,
which she laid at the feet of the warrior and his guest. While the
warrior-beaver was chewing the willow, and the Osage was pretending to
do so, they fell to talking over many matters, particularly the wars of
the Beavers with the Otters, and their frequent victories over them. He
told our father by what means the beavers felled large trees, and moved
them to the places where they wished to make dams; how they raised to an
erect position the poles for their lodges, and how they plastered them
so as to keep out rain. Then he spoke of their employments when they had
buried the hatchet; of the peace, and happiness, and tranquillity, they
enjoyed when, gathered into companies, they rested from their labours,
and passed their time in talking, and feasting, and bathing, and playing
the game of bones, and making love. All the while the young
beaver-maiden sat with her eyes fixed upon the son of the snail, at
every pause moving a little nearer, till at length she was at his side
with her fore-paw upon his arm; a minute more and she had placed it
around his neck, and was rubbing her soft furry cheek against his. Our
ancestor, on his part, betrayed no disinclination to receive her
caresses, but returned them with equal ardour. The old beaver, seeing
what was going on, turned his back upon them, and suffered them to be as
kind to each other as they pleased.

At last, turning quickly round, while the maiden, suspecting what was
coming and pretending to be abashed, ran behind her mother, said he,
"To end the foolery, what say you, son of the snail, to marrying my
daughter? She is well brought up, and is the moat industrious girl in
the village. She will flap more wall with her tail in a day than any
maiden in the nation; she will gnaw down a larger tree betwixt the
rising of the sun and the coming of the shadows than many a smart beaver
of the other sex. As for her wit, try her at the game of the dish, and
see who gets up master; and for cleanliness, look at her petticoat."

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