Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 2 (of 3)

J >> James Athearn Jones >> Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 2 (of 3)

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THE PORTIONING OF THE SONS.

The Great Being, who governs the world, having finished his work, and
cheated every thing which is found upon the land, in the air, or in
the water, called to him the red man, and his younger brother, the
white man, and said to them, "Children, come hither." So saying, he
carried them to a great pen or fold, upon one side of which stood a
large coop, and on the other a big pond of water. In the pen or fold
were a vast many animals, all four-legged, the deer, the bison, the
horse, the cow, the panther, the musk-ox, the antelope, the goat, and
the dog, with many more, such as the beaver, the otter, the mink, and
the musk-rat, which lay with their tails in the pond and their heads
in the pen; and others, such as the tortoise and the alligator, whose
snouts preferred water, while their tails stuck to the land. In the
coop were a vast many birds and fowls, some of beautiful and varied
plumage, while others were robed in dirty and dingy feathers; some
were very tender, and good to eat, and some were tough, and but
so-so. I need not particularise the fishes, for my brother knows well
enough what they are. When the young men had spent a long time in
examining the animals, and birds, and fishes, admiring and praising
them, as who would not that has never before seen them, the Great
Creator addressed them thus:

"My sons, I have created many creatures, and breathed into them the
breath of life; I have made the forests resound with the cry of bears,
and panthers, and bisons; I have caused the air to be so thickly
inhabited, that you can scarcely move without having your cheeks
fanned by the breath of the wings of my birds; I have made the rivers
populous with finny people. These--all things--I have created, are for
your use, and to you two I give them, equally and alike." So saying,
he began to divide the animals, and birds, and beasts, between them.
To the red son, whom he loved best, because he was strong and feared
nothing, he gave the beasts which partook of his own cunning and
courage--the bear, the dog, the panther, the fox, and the beaver, to
which he added for food, the deer, the elk, and the bison; to the
pale-faced son he gave the horse to carry him, because his legs were
weak, the cow, the hog, the sheep, and the cat. The white son took, of
the feathered tribes, the fowl which crows at the glimmering of
light, the duck and the goose, which love to dabble in mud, and the
turkey, which sings a song that is none of the best; and the red man
took the eagle, the owl, and all the rest of the birds. The fishes
were not divided, because they could not be kept apart, but the sons
agreed that the better marksman, the Indian, should prey upon those
which called for a true aim with the spear, while the pale face should
angle for those which required less skill, and were caught with less
trouble.

When the division had taken place, as far as it was ever to take
place, the white son took his gifts, and carried them carefully to a
pleasant and clean field, where there was a bright sun, much water
close at hand, and plenty of sweet and juicy grass. He then commenced
the task of making his animals tame and tractable. He put pieces of
trees across their necks, fastening them together by two and two, the
cow and the horse, the hog and the sheep, the cat and the dog; but the
hog pulled back so hard, and was so contrary, and the cat and the dog
quarrelled so much and fought so furiously, that he unyoked the two
last pair, and never attempted to make them work together again. With
the horse and cow, however, which he found exceeding tractable, he
succeeded in turning up the earth, for the planting of his corn, and
his beans, and his pumpkins. He also made the cow serviceable, by
obtaining a delicious drink from her udder, and he made the horse
further valuable and useful by fixing a string to his mouth, and by
throwing a bear-skin over his back, when, mounting him, he made him
carry him whithersoever he would. The sheep gave him a soft down
whereof he made his robes, and the blankets he sells to the Indians;
the hog furnished him with meat; the dog helped him in many ways; but
I know not to what use he put the cat. So the white son of the Great
Spirit brought all his animals to be tame and useful, either making
them afford him milk and meat, or help him to prepare the ground for
the seeds he was commanded to plant therein.

My brother demands what did the red man with the gifts which were
appointed to him. I will tell him. He looked on them very curiously
for a minute, then wrapped them up loosely in his blanket, and laid
them aside, intending to do with them the next day as his white
brother had done with his. Just then the remembrance of something came
across his mind, which led him astray from his purpose, and he thought
no more of the blanket or the creatures which it contained, until many
moons had passed away. When the remembrance of the imprisoned animals
returned to his mind, he repaired to the spot where he had deposited
them--nothing remained but the blanket. He immediately commenced a
search for them, and found the pleasure and excitement so great and
exhilarating, that ever since he has adopted this mode of obtaining
his meat, instead of the method of raising tame animals followed by
the foolish white men. It is still his favourite pursuit, and he no
longer regrets his want of care, or wishes to repair his error. While
the white man is doomed to hear the cackling of geese and the grunting
of hogs, the lowing of kine and the bleating of sheep, and to watch
over all and to tend all with the care and nursing which a mother
bestows upon her helpless child, the red man with his arrows slung to
his shoulder, and his mocassins tight-laced to his legs, escapes to
the howl of the panther, and finds joy in the cry of the wolf. Over
mountain, and through forest, goes the happy Indian, free as the air,
while the white man is chained to his dull and spiritless pursuits,
and fettered by his endless cares. The Great Being, doubtless,
intended the Indian good when he made the apportionment of the
creatures, but the Indian has never found fault with the incident
which released him from the care of them, and gave him the pleasant
occupation of hunting in lieu thereof.

THE MAIDEN'S ROCK.

If my brother has seen the River of Fish, he will know that, at the
distance of a few moons' journey, below the rush of waters which the
white man calls the Falls of St. Anthony, but which the Indians call
the Island of Eagles[A], there is a beautiful lake, which the same
people have named Lake Pepin. It is a place so beautiful to behold,
that distant Indian nations have journeyed thither, and white people
come from the city of Strong Walls, to look at it and admire. On one
side lies the rapid Mississippi, now in foam, and now in eddies,
sweeping every thing thrown upon its current with the rapidity that a
man walks, and winding, in devious courses, among many islands, some
of which are covered with lofty trees, and some are but banks of sand.
On the other side lies the lake, which presents to the eye but a
smooth sheet of water, on which there is neither wave nor ripple, and
unchequered by a single island. As the eye passes along its sluggish
surface, it rests at length upon the lofty bluffs which enclose it.
One of these, a high projecting point, a precipitous crag resting upon
a steep bank, whose base is washed away by the never-ceasing action of
the waters, is called _The Maiden's Rock_. It is known to every Indian
in those regions, by a gloomy story of unfortunate love. It was the
scene of one of the most melancholy transactions that has ever
occurred among our people.

[Footnote A: See the Tradition _post_.]

There was once upon a time in the village of Keoxa, in the tribe of
Wapasha, a young Indian woman, whose name was Winona, which means "the
first-born." She was good and beautiful, and much beloved by all. She
had conceived a strong attachment to a young hunter of her nation, who
loved her as much as she loved him. They had frequently met, sometimes
in the shady coverts of the wood, at others beneath the river's banks,
but, according to the forms of Indian courtship, more frequently at
the side of her couch, when all the village were at rest. They had
confessed their love, and agreed to be united as soon as the consent
of her family could be obtained. But, when he asked her of her parents,
he was denied, and told that she was to become the wife of a warrior
of distinction, who had sued for her. The warrior was a great
favourite with the nation; he had acquired a distinguished name by
the services he had rendered the village when it was attacked by the
Chippewas; yet, notwithstanding all this, and the support which he
received from her parents and brothers, Winona persisted in preferring
the hunter. To all their loud commendations of the warrior, she
replied that she loved another better; that she had made choice of a
man, who, being a professed hunter, would spend his life with her, and
secure to her comfort and subsistence, plenty of food, and abundant
happiness: while the warrior would be constantly intent upon martial
exploits, exposing her, if she staid at home, to the evils of want and
hunger; if she accompanied him, to the dangers of defeat and death.
Winona's expostulations were, however, of no avail; and her parents,
having succeeded in driving away him she preferred to all the world,
began to use harsh measures in order to compel her to marry the man of
their choice. To all her entreaties that she might not be forced into
a union with a man she did not love, they turned a deaf ear--to all
her tears they were blind. She begged to be allowed to live a single
life, and to spend her days watching the sleep, and preventing the
cares, of her father and mother: they answered, No. Winona had at all
times enjoyed a greater share in the affections of her family, and had
been indulged more than is usual among Indian females. She had not
been obliged to join in the labours of the field, nor in the more
arduous of those within doors. She planted no corn, and the fire-wood
and the buffalo's meat were brought home on other shoulders than hers.
Being a favourite with her brothers, they expressed a wish that her
consent to this union should be obtained by persuasive means, rather
than that she should be compelled to it against her inclination. With
a view to remove some of her objections, they took means to provide
for her future maintenance, and presented to the warrior all that in
their simple mode of life an Indian might covet. They furnished his
cabin with the various implements used in Indian housewifery--the
skins to form the bed, the boiling pot, and the roasting spit. About
that time, a party was formed to ascend from the village to Lake
Pepin, in order to lay in a store of the blue clay which is found upon
its banks, and which is used by the Indians to adorn their persons. It
was on the very day that they visited the lake that her brothers made
their presents to the warrior. Encouraged by these fresh signs of
their approbation, and inflamed by the beauties of the charming Indian
girl, he again solicited her in the most passionate language to become
his wife, but with the same ill success. Vexed at what they deemed an
unjustifiable obstinacy on her part--for seldom does love among
Indians urge to lengthened opposition on the part of the female--her
parents remonstrated in strong language, and even used threats to
compel her to obedience. They spoke, as parents always do, who have in
view a husband to their liking, and care little for the peace and
happiness of a daughter, so they see her possessed of what they covet.
"Well," said Winona, "you will drive me to despair. I said I loved not
the man of your choice, the warrior covered with the blood of peaceable
women, and helpless children, and painted to resemble only those
hideous things we see in sleep. I said I could not live with him and
be his wife. I wished to remain a maiden--my father's daughter, and my
brothers' sister--but you will not let me; you wish me to become a
wife. You say you love me; that you are my father, my brothers, my
relations, yet you have driven from my arms, and would now drive from
my heart, the only man with whom I wish to be united--the only man I
ever loved. You have persecuted him with wrongs; you have reviled and
taunted him; you have compelled him to withdraw from the village.
Alone, he now ranges through the gloomy and lonely forests, with no
one to assist him, none to comfort him, none to spread his blanket,
none to build his lodge, none to pound his corn. Yet, he was the man
of my choice, the only beloved of my heart. Often have you taken me on
your knee, and smoothed down my hair, and kissed my cheek, and said
you loved me. Is this your love? But it appears that even this is not
enough; you would have me do more--you would have me rejoice in the
absence of my beautiful hunter. While yet his parting words are in my
ear, the light of his eyes in remembrance beaming on me, and his
tender promises all unforgotten, you wish me to unite with another
man, with one whom I do not love, whose image comes before me but to
make me weep and shudder. Since this is your love, let it be so; but
soon you will have no daughter, sister, or relation, to torment with
your false professions of friendship. I will go to the happy land of
souls, where I shall be free from your threats and reproaches."

As she uttered these words, the canoe touched the shore in the
immediate vicinity of the high precipitous crag of which a description
has been before given. Heedless of her complaints, and wearied out
with what they regarded as a most unreasonable repugnance, her parents
at the moment decreed that Winona should that very day be united to
the warrior. Her resolution was at once taken; it was such a one as
could have been adopted only in a moment of deep love and deep
despair. While all were engaged in busy preparations for the festival,
she wound her way slowly to the top of the hill which overlooked the
scene of their gay and mirthful doings. When she had reached the
summit, boldly approaching the edge of the precipice, she called out
with a loud voice to her friends below, upbraiding them with their
cruelty to herself and her lover, and thanking the Good Spirit that
had put it in her power to baffle their designs, and laugh at their
tyranny. "You," said she, "were not satisfied with opposing my union
with the man whom I had chosen; you endeavoured, by deceitful words,
to make me faithless to him; but when you found me resolved to remain
single, you dared to threaten me: you knew me not, if you thought that
I could be terrified into obedience. Now, you are preparing the bridal
feast, but you shall see how well I can defeat your designs." She then
commenced a plaintive song of death, which ran thus:

WINONA'S DIRGE.

Adieu to these green vales,
And to the pleasant shades,
Where oft I sate and listened to the song
Of birds at morn, and, in the evening hour,
To that which gives the alarm, and bids the band
Of Indian warriors grasp their spears.
No more my ears shall hear those sounds,
In this my father's land;
The notes of singing-birds shall pass me by,
And the soft sighing of the month of buds;
But I shall hear no howl of wolves,
Nor cry of famished bears,
Nor hissing of envenomed snakes,
Nor what more chills the heart,
The tyranny of father, brothers, friends.

Nor shall I be compelled
For ever to behold a hated face,
And shudder at the voice of him who sleeps
Beneath my blanket;
Nor, when within my cabin,
Young faces smile on old ones, shall I wish
Another eye looked on their beaming cheeks;
When the storms howl, I shall not think of one,
Alone in the far forest,
With none to spread his blanket,
With none to build his lodge--
Cold, hungry, lonely, in the desert glen.

But I shall cross the sharp and fearful rock,
And reach the dwelling-place of happy souls.
No deeds shall bar me out.
I never told a lie;
Kind have I been to father and to mother.
Returning from the hunt or field of war,
His daughter handed him a lighted pipe;
And she who gave her birth sat in the sun
Upon her bench, beside the lodge's door,
While young Winona baked the buffalo,
And drew the crystal water from the stream.

And I shall go where there is peace,
And where joy wakes for ever:
There I shall meet my hunter;
He shall build our lodge beside the murmuring stream,
And thatch it with the vine, whose ripe, black grapes
Shall hang adown in clusters;
Our little babes shall pluck them.
Warrior, I shall not be your wife--
Father, you have no daughter--
Brothers, your sister lies upon the earth,
Cold, bleeding, lifeless, and too late you mourn!

The light wind which blew at the time wafted the bitter words of her
mournful dirge to the spot where her friends were. They immediately
rushed, some towards the summit of the hill to stop her, others to the
foot of the precipice to receive her in their arms, while all with
tears in their eyes entreated her to desist from her fatal purpose.
Her father promised her that no compulsive measures should be resorted
to, that she should marry or not as, she chose. Her brothers, who
loved her with great affection, urged every thing that they thought
likely to be of avail, but in vain. She was resolved, and, as she
concluded the words of her song, she threw herself from the precipice,
and fell at their feet, a corpse.

EXPEDITION OF THE LENNI LENAPES.

The Lenni Lenapes, who are the grandfather of nations[A], were quietly
reposing in their lodges on the banks of a shallow and noisy river,
that finds an outlet in the mighty waters beyond the great mountains,
and far, very far, towards the setting sun. If my brother would see
this river; if he would behold the cataract that impedes the progress
of the Indian canoe; if he would witness the strife that takes place
when the waters that are fresh first mingle with those that are salt,
let him call together his youngest and stoutest warriors, the nimble
of foot, and strong of heart--the faint and failing, the old and
trembling, the weak and cowardly, will not do, for the path is beset
with savage beasts and strong warriors, and hostile spirits. Let him
load his women with much provision, and make his mocassins of tanned
bear-skin, for many are the suns it will take to journey thither, and
rocky is the path that leads to that far abode. Mountains must be
crossed, which are covered with snow, and upon whose summits the
clouds break as the mist rises from the Oniagarah[B]. The warriors,
who shall be seen in its path, will not bow down their heads to the
axe of the stranger, till their spears are broken, and their quivers
are bare of arrows. Nor then will they die like women, but with songs
of past glory and present defiance in their mouths. And the spirits
will not be appeased unless they have many offerings, and there will
be in their paths the Dread Destroyer of Deer[C], he who laughed at
the avenging arrow of the Master of Life, and is gone to prey upon the
moose of the Lake of the Woods.

[Footnote A: The greater part of the Indians of the Western Continent
believe themselves descended from, or colonies of, the Lenni Lenapes,
and hence give to that tribe the epithet, "grandfather." Several of
the tribes have a tradition, that they came from beyond the Rocky
Mountains.]

[Footnote B: Oniagarah, Niagara: the former is the Indian
pronunciation of the name of that celebrated cataract.]

[Footnote C: See the note relating to the Mammoth in the tradition of
"The Coming of Miquon."]

The Lenapes were living in their lodges, warring upon the Flatheads,
feasting upon the salmon, and drinking the juice of the sacred
bean[A], when it happened to one of their young warriors, that he
dreamed a dream. Wangewaha, or the Hard Heart, though his years were
but few, was one of the most celebrated chiefs of the nation. His days
were but those of a young eagle; yet the bravest, even those who had
watched the nut-tree from its sprout to its bloom, ranged themselves
in battle under his faultless command, in the chase followed the ken
of his eagle eye. He had struck more dead bodies, he had stolen more
horses, he had taken more scalps, than any man of his nation. He could
follow the trail of a glass snake from sun to sun, he could see the
wake of a fish a fathom below the surface of the water. When he cast
his eye upon a young maiden, she became his without a wrestle(1); when
he told the revelations of the spirit of sleep, the aged men and wise
councillors never called their truth in question, but acted upon them
without reflection, believing them to be the voice of the Great
Spirit, speaking through his favourite son. If he excelled in war and
perilous pursuits, he excelled as much in those pastimes and games,
wherewith the warrior in times of peace and rest beguiles the tedious
hours. When Wangewaha struck the ball, its flight was above the
soaring of the bird of morning, and he never rose from the game of
bones(2) without giving proof that he was the favourite of heaven.

[Footnote A: Intoxicating bean.--See Long's First Expedition to the
Rocky Mountains.]

It was a beautiful night in the month in which the Indians gather
their first green corn, when, as the chief lay sleeping on his bed of
skins, with the mother of his youngest child on his arm, he saw
strange things in his slumbers. He dreamed that the bands of the Lenni
Lenapes had taken the bones of their fathers from the burying places
of the nation, loaded their women with pemmican and dried corn, folded
up their tents, and departed towards the regions of their great
father, the sun. He saw mountains, whose summits breathed fire, and
others, which were the abode of the snow spirit--now noisy with the
war of the Holy People above the clouds, and now with the hissing of
the Great Serpent in the deep, awful, and inaccessible valleys of the
bright old inhabitants.[A] They overcame, he thought, the impediments
of fire and storm; they charmed away the wrath of the evil spirits,
and looked at length from the eastern ridge of those mighty hills upon
the interminable glades and prairies spread out in their shade. Onward
they went, he thought, till at length they saw rolling before them a
mighty river, upon whose banks abode a nation of warriors, whose size
was much greater than that of the Lenape, and who dwelt behind hills
of their own making, whence they would make incursions into the
territories of the neighbouring tribes. Before him stood one of the
maidens of the land. She was beautiful as a straight tree, as a meadow
of flowers, as a tree covered with blossoms, as a clear sky lit up
with stars. Her voice was sweeter than the notes of the
Mocking-Bird[B], and her eye brighter and softer than the eye of the
mountain-goat. She wore a cloak made of the tender bark of the
mulberry-tree, interlaced with the white feathers of the swan, and the
gay plumage of the snake-bird, and the painted vulture. Strings of
shells depended from her ancles, and flowers were braided into her
hair. When she spoke to the young Lenape, it was with a soft voice, as
if it would assure him, that the heart which dwelt within was as
gentle as that voice, and as mild as that eye. He thought he wooed
that maiden to be his wife, but, when she would have become such, and
he would have pressed to his bosom the lovely flower of the giant
people, there only appeared a little white dove which flew away, and
nestled in the branches of the great medicine trees[C].

[Footnote A: See the tradition, entitled "The Valley of the Bright Old
Inhabitants."]

[Footnote B: When an Indian wishes to express his admiration of music,
he likens it to the notes of the Mocking-Bird. When the Winnabagoes
visited Philadelphia, in the winter of 1828, they went to the
Chesnut-street theatre, to hear Mrs. Knight sing: one of the chiefs,
wishing to testify his delight, plucked an eagle's feather, and sent
it to her by the box-keeper, with the message, that "she was a
mocking-bird squaw."--_American paper._]

[Footnote C: The _physic-nut_, or Indian olive. The Indians, when they
go in pursuit of deer, carry this fruit with them, supposing that it
has the power of charming or drawing that creature to them.]

Then the dream of the warrior took another direction, and he had
visions, and saw sights, and the phantoms of things more congenial to
his disposition than even the smiles of beautiful maidens. He heard,
in his sleep, the shrill war-cry of his nation, among whose foremost
warriors he stood; and his ears were open to a loud shout of defiance
from the enemy. He saw himself and his nation victorious, the Great
River crossed, and the last canoe of his enemies committed in flight
to its rapid bosom. The beautiful maiden became his wife. Again his
course was onward like a torrent unchecked, and again other mountains
opposed his course; but nothing offers insurmountable obstacles to the
ardent spirit of an Indian warrior. He stands on the sunny brink of
that mountain, and sees the beautiful lands spread out before his eye.
A voice speaks to him from the hollow wind, "Warrior of the Lenni
Lenape, how likest thou the land which I place before thee? The
rivers are beautiful--are they not? and yet thou canst not see, as I
see, their better part--the sleek and juicy fish which glide through
them, or the fowls which feed on their margin. The forests are
tall--are they not? but thine eyes do not pierce their glades as mine
do, to behold the stately bucks which browze in their flowery copses,
or the gay birds which sing their soft songs of love and joy, perched
on the lofty branches of the chesnut and the hickory. I have given
these lands to thy tribe, and thou shalt continue to occupy them till
the coming of Miquon."

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