A MAIDEN more beautiful than had ever before been seen came into the
house of a great chief and grew to womanhood by his fireside. All the
tribes within a distance of many long journeys paid her homage, for,
though her eyes were as dark as the depths of the pool in the rocks, her
skin was as fair as that of the palefaces who came thousands of years
afterwards, and her hair was borrowed from the rays of the sun.
The great chief was honored above all his people on account of his
beautiful daughter, for she could work charms that drove away the evil
spirits of sickness, and when her father went to battle or followed the
chase he was ever successful, for he carried with him the maiden's smiles
to daze and blind his enemies, or to aid in his search for the hidden
trail. Her songs were so full of music that when she sang the wild birds
were silent in the branches of the trees, and listened that they might
catch the tones of her voice. When she laughed the waters in the mountain
streams sought the deep pools and for very shame stopped their noisy
clamor. Her feet were so small and delicate that only the skins of fawns
were used to make her moccasins. The snow that lay over the earth in
winter was no whiter than her skin, and her cheeks were like the first
coming of the sun on the mornings when the corn is ripe. Never before had
the Indians seen one so beautiful, and the wise men whispered that she
had been sent by the Great Spirit from the Happy Hunting-Grounds to teach
the Indians what beauties awaited them when they had journeyed to their
long home.
Over all the land spread the story of this wondrous maiden, like the
tidings of a bountiful harvest or the boastings of a successful chase.
From the villages far away came the young chiefs and warriors, and
when they had looked upon this lily of the forest and heard the music
of her voice they no longer had hearts for the hunt, but spent their
days in trying to win approving glances from the dark eyes of Oniata,
the daughter of Tiogaughwa. They brought for her the most gorgeous and
elaborate head-dresses of wampum, in which were woven the quills and
feathers of the birds their cunning had been able to ensnare. They
performed the most wonderful feats of agility and endurance, often vying
with each other until even their rugged natures could not withstand the
terrible self-imposed ordeals, and some sank exhausted or dying, while
the more fortunate ones shouted cries of triumph and victory, loudly
boasting of their own powers and strength.
Tiogaughwa, the father of Oniata, was filled with pride at the attention
shown his daughter. His lodge was rich with presents of rare furs and
strings of wampum that had been laid at her feet; the medicine of the
wisest chiefs was freely placed at his disposal; he could have allied
his tribe with the most powerful--for the greatest chiefs and the most
renowned warriors sought to wed the beautiful Oniata.
But there came a change to these happy days of the old chief, Tiogaughwa.
One day the chiefs and warriors were surprised to see the council-place
filled with the women and maidens from all the country around. They
deserted their lodges, left the fires to the care of the old men and
children, and, without heeding the dark looks of their husbands, sons or
brothers, took the places usually occupied by the wise men of the nation.
When all were assembled, the wives of five of the principal chiefs
were sent to ask Tiogaughwa and the chiefs and wise men to come to the
council-fires.
When the chiefs and wise men were seated a silence fell on the
assemblage. At last it was broken by the first faint notes of the
mourning song of an Indian maiden for a lover who had been slain in
battle. Others joined the chant and the weird chorus was caught up by the
hundreds of women assembled, and filled the forests with notes of sorrow.
The song ceased, but its last note had scarcely died away before another
took its place. The Indian wives commenced chanting the sorrowful story
it was the custom of a deserted wife to sing in her lonely lodge when her
husband had left her to join another more congenial to his fancy. When
their complaint had ended, the women sat a long time with bowed heads.
Finally the wife of one of the chiefs--a tall, lithe, beautiful young
princess--stepped before the chiefs and sachems and said:
"We have come to the council-fires, oh! my brothers, that we might
together tell the Great Spirit that the lovers of the Indian maidens
are dead, and to ask him to meet them at the borders of the Happy
Hunting-Grounds. We have come, too, oh! my brothers, to tell the Great
Spirit that the bad spirits have caught the ears of our husbands and have
told them tales that have led them from our lodges, and their wives and
papooses are sick with hunger. No longer is the smile of the dark maiden
sought by the young braves. She plaits her hair with flowers and wampum
and sits in the forests to await the coming of her mate; but the young
braves come no more to woo her, nor can they be found on the track of the
bear or the panther. They loll with the dogs in the shadow of Oniata's
wigwam and glare like the hard-wounded boar at the dark maidens who
approach them. They are dead, and the hearts of the Indian maidens are
full of sorrow.
"The wives cover their heads with wolf skins and tell the Great Spirit
that their husbands have deserted them. Day after day they have kept the
lodge fires burning, but the hunters come not to sit in the light and
tell the stories of the chase. The feeble old men and boys have tried to
follow the hunt that they might provide the women with food. The papooses
have sickened and died, and the death-song has been raised many times.
But the warriors come not. They have forgotten their homes, as they lie
in their camps near the lodge of the white lily, where they are held in
sleep by the smiles of the Oniata.
"Have the dark maidens lost their beauty, that their glances can never
again bring life to the hearts of the young braves? Have the dark wives
refused to do the bidding of their husbands that they should be deserted
like sick and wounded dogs fallen in the chase?
"My brothers, Waunopeta, the wife of Torwauquanda, has spoken, and her
sisters have told her to say that if they no longer please the hearts
of the red men they ask to be sent on the long journey to the Happy
Hunting-Grounds."
As Waunopeta ceased speaking and took her place among the crouching forms
of the women, there was a movement on the outer edge of the circle, and
in an instant Oniata stood in the centre of the council-place. There
was an exclamation of interest as this vision of wonderful beauty burst
upon them. Many had never seen her, and they were almost blinded by
a loveliness that was previous to that time unknown to the race. She
was clothed in the richest of skins, and her hair fell like a cloud of
sun-kissed mist over her beautiful shoulders. Her cheeks burned with
tints that betrayed her common ancestry with her dark sisters whom she
had unwittingly troubled.
"Oniata is here!" she cried, as she looked around at the dark faces
before her, with eyes like those of the hunted fawn. "Oniata is here to
say that she has not asked for the smiles of the young braves. They
came around her wigwam and drove away the dream-god with their cries
and love-songs; but she covered her ears with the skins of the beaver
and would not listen to them. When Oniata went forth to the forest they
appeared before her like the thunder clouds, and she went back to her
wigwam and could not look at her father, the sun. The warriors came to
the lodge of the white lily and with shouts and cries told the Oniata
that their wives and children should be the white lily's slaves if she
would look out of her lodge upon them. But the Oniata called the women
of her wigwam about her and they laughed in the faces of the warriors.
Oniata loves her sisters, but they are angry at the white lily and ask
that she be sent away to the long home where she shall be seen no more
by the braves and warriors. She will go from the home of the red men and
her dark sisters--far away beyond the mountains and the great lakes--and
the braves will return to life for the dark maidens and seek them with
love-songs in the forests, while the warriors will once more go to their
wigwams where their wives and papooses await them. But her people will
remember the Oniata, for she will kiss the flowers in the forests as she
goes.
"My sisters, the Oniata, daughter of the sun and the great chief
Tiogaughwa, has spoken."
She waved her hand, and the circle of listening men and women parted
that she might walk through. The chief, Torwauquanda, started forward to
follow her, but the dark princess, Waunopeta, stood in his pathway, and
he knew by the looks of the menacing faces about him that the white lily
would go alone.
Tiogaughwa rose as his daughter moved rapidly away, and said: "Oniata has
spoken well. She will go in peace. The scalp-lock of the warrior that
follows her will hang in Tiogaughwa's wigwam."
The old chief turned and folded his arms over his breast, watching with
pathetic love the fast disappearing form of his daughter.
Out into the forest went the Oniata--the loved of the sunshine, the dream
of the Indian--and the solemn council sat in silence as the beautiful
vision faded forever from their view.
Far away from her people she wandered, never stopping to look back toward
the home she had loved. The sun warmed her pathway for many days, and at
night the sister of the sun smiled through the branches of the trees and
lighted the forest so the Oniata would not miss her lodge-fire as she
slept. When she rested beside the clear streams she caught to her bosom
the blossoms that covered the banks and breathed into their faces the
love she had borne for her dark sisters and her home. The fragrance of
her love filled their hearts and from that time they have freely given
their love to others, as Oniata bade them when she pressed them to her
lips and kissed them in her loneliness. When the clouds came and the
rain fell, Oniata was sheltered by the thick branches of the trees, and
when the rain had ceased she pulled the branches down, and pressing her
cheeks against them, thanked them for their kindness. The trees learned
gentleness from the maiden, and their blossoms have ever since spread
their grateful perfume on the air.
Many moons passed. The dark maidens were again wooed by the young braves,
and the wives of the warriors were happy in the return of their husbands.
The winter came and cast its white cloud over the land, and the frosts
locked the rivers in prison houses of ice. But Oniata came not to the
home of her people.
The great Tiogaughwa mourned his daughter in his lonely wigwam, and his
heart sang her death-song as he sat before the fire-place, in which no
fire was lighted, and bowed his head in mournful silence.
The warm winds came again, and the young men and maidens were once more
filling the forests with their love-songs, while with laughter they
chanted the praises of their mates. Tiogaughwa saw all this, but his
heart was heavy and he had no words for the council-fire, no strength for
the chase. He left his people and walked away in the path that had been
taken by Oniata. Wherever he went the wild flowers raised their heads
and told him they had been kissed by Oniata, and the great Tiogaughwa
fell down beside them and caught the fragrance of her breath. When the
dew and the rain were upon them he could see once more the beauty of her
eyes, and the gentle songs of the soft winds through the trees that had
sheltered Oniata and had felt the loving touch of her caresses, told the
great Tiogaughwa that the light of his wigwam awaited his coming in the
long home.