THE SAUT DE ST. MARIE, &c.
The _Saut de St. Marie_, it may be understood, is the name given by
the French traders to the Falls, or rapids, which let the waters of
Lake Superior down to the level of Lake Huron. Anglice: the Falls, or
jump, or bound of St. Mary--or by personification, St. Mary’s leap down
from her dominion over the waters above to assert her empire over the
waters below. Whether I have got the exact clue to the imagination of
the French Catholics, in their application of this name, and am right
in my interpretation, I am not quite sure. But this has seemed to me
most natural. The Falls themselves are as lovely and as gentle, (shall
I say?) as the sudden rush of such a tremendous flood, down an equable
descent of twenty-two feet in a mile, can well be imagined; and if the
Spirit of the Tempest and of the Furies might be supposed to preside
over Niagara’s thundering Cataract, the imagination of a Catholic
might well be allowed to instal the Holy Virgin over the rapids, which
are honoured by her name--especially, as taking up his own residence
there, he might more conveniently invoke and secure her protection and
blessing. But he must needs have something for her to do--she must be
occupied. Why, then, say: these Falls are St. Mary--and their roaring
is her voice; and when he should stand in need of her assistance, he
was sure to find her there. Hence: the _Saut de St. Marie_.
On the occasion of the incident before narrated, of meeting the gallant
Indian canoe, propelled by eight men, and in such display of their
grotesque and glittering paraphernalia, shooting over the tops of the
waves, and scarcely touching them, I happened to be in conversation,
on the deck of the steamer, with a young lady, a native of the _Saut
de St. Marie_, whose father was a Scotchman, or Scotch-Irish, and her
mother an Indian. She was well educated, and was on her return home
from a visit at Detroit. She was even highly accomplished, and had
been used to the best society. Any common reader of the emotions,
passing in the mind, would have seen, that when this canoe first hove
in sight, this young lady’s feelings were in a lively and agreeable
excitement. The hands and arms of an infant child would not have been
opened and spread out with more expressive welcome, nor would his
eyes have sparkled with more vivacity, at the sudden appearance of a
loved object, that had been too long out of sight for his happiness,
than hers, at the sight of this Indian canoe. It was the genuine,
simple eloquence of nature, which opened the heart; on the bright
page of which, sparkling with satisfaction, might be read without
the possibility of mistake: ‘I am glad. This is home. That canoe
was launched from before my mother’s door this morning. I know what
it is--and who they are. That has been the delight of my youth--the
familiar object of my childhood--it was the wonder of my infancy--and
I shall be where it came from to-night.’
The sudden betraying of these emotions was so artless, as to be
unavoidable. She seemed conscious, that her feelings were partly
betrayed, and made a slight effort to check and conceal them. But I
encouraged the developement--for nothing could have delighted me more,
or given me a higher opinion of her character; and she in turn very
frankly confessed her partialities for these objects, which connected
her with home. While the canoe approached; and while it rested over
against us; and when it darted off and disappeared, as before
described; the whole scene gave new being to her affections, roused the
lurking and dormant sensibilities, which are naturally challenged by
such an incident; and they were played off without restraint, and in
such a style, as no one could fail to admire.
When I saw the next day, at the romantic and wild retreat of the Saut
de St. Marie, the humble cabin, where the infancy of this young lady
had been cradled, and where her earliest years had been spent--I
could but exclaim:--What is _home_? An accident; the creature of
wonted circumstances--of early and habitual associations; it is not a
place, but a mysterious centre of the affections, produced by these
casualties. It may be any where--on any spot of earth; it may be
floating on the deep, and never at rest; it may be in heaven, and ought
to be there.
But this was not all. When the _other_ canoe came in our wake, and hung
behind us on the tow-line, this young lady being our interpreter--my
attention was forcibly arrested during these interviews, at the moral
power of the Indian language, and of the conversations of Indians with
each other; which I have often had occasion since to remark in other
circumstances. The dependent condition of the American Aborigines on
each other for comfort and happiness, and as they religiously suppose,
on the high Providence above, whom they call the Great Spirit, for the
supply of their necessities--(for themselves are always improvident
and frequently in want)--has imparted to their language, or manner
of speaking, an indescribable softness and tenderness. It is a sweet
and perfect melody. As they never think, or talk abstrusely, nor
task their minds with concatenations of logic, but speak for present
convenience and gratification;--and as they need and love kindness,
their language is the very expression of kindness. Their dependent,
child-like feelings, a moral cause, have produced a physical effect
in the structure and use of the common medium of communication
between man and man. The entire character of the Indian’s voice, in
conversation, is altogether peculiar--and that character is always of
an affectionate, tender, and dependent cast. It proceeds from tender
feeling--and challenges and awakens the like affections. It has that
power, and will produce that effect, when not one word of the language
is understood. And it is especially remarkable, that when Indians have
acquired an European language, and while conversing in it, they use a
voice characteristically and entirely different from that, which they
employ in their own tongue. Neither are they themselves aware of the
fact. I once called the attention of a circle of Indian chiefs to this
circumstance, most of whom could speak English. At the moment, we were
_all_ speaking English. Soon after, for their own convenience, they
broke into their own language. “_There_,” said I--“do you see?”--they
proceeded, with their attention thus challenged and directed--and the
next moment, all of them burst into a loud laugh, expressive of their
own astonishment at the discovery. They never knew it before.
So when this canoe came under our stern, the first salutation between
this young lady and the crew, struck me with this remarkable fact; and
the protracted conversation between the parties, was very music itself.
On the announcement of every piece of news, or the starting of a new
thought, the listener, in Indian dialogue, receives it with an--_Eh?_
(Is it so?)--partly nasal, and partly ringing so mellifluously
in the chambers of the mouth, by an ascending and circumflex
intonation, falling at last into a sweet and expiring cadence--that
the stranger hangs upon it, as upon the dying notes of the sweetest
melodies--and holds his own breath in the suspense of regret, and
almost involuntarily sighs, when the last palpable sound has died
upon the ear. It cannot be imitated--it cannot be described. One must
have heard it, to know it; and to have heard it with attention,
is never to forget it. It is altogether of a moral character. It
expresses politeness, in all its scope; a thorough reciprocation of the
sentiment; thankfulness for the news, or suggestion; entire confidence
in the person speaking; and a complete and unreserved repose of all the
tender feelings on the second person of the dialogue: “_Eh? Eh. Is it
so? It is so. Indeed? Indeed._” And I have only been confirmed in these
peculiar attributes of Indian languages, by subsequent observation.
The women, indeed, have softer and more melodious voices, than the
men, as among all nations--and they give far better effect to these
peculiarities. But the voices of the men, in their own tongue, are no
less characteristically diverse in this particular.
An Indian dialogue, (and among themselves there is no people more
sociable) in connexion with the melody of their voice, and the
tenderness of the intonations and inflexions of their speech, is one
of the finest scenes of the kind in the world. And the specimens, now
under review, were peculiarly attractive and greatly eloquent, in
consideration of the circumstances, and of the _dramatis personæ_. The
canoes, which came along side of the steamer, while lying on sand bars
and at anchor, before her arrival at the _Saut_, were numerous;--and
this young lady was the interpreter, and the only colloquist on one
side. _She_, cultivated and accomplished, and well dressed,--bending
over the side of the vessel, to welcome and receive the welcomes of
this simple and untaught people;--and _they_, manifesting the most
evident satisfaction, on her return among them; and thus demonstrating,
how much she had made herself, by her winning condescensions, the
idol of a people, whom she was not ashamed to call her own. They
seemed delighted, and overjoyed to hear the sound of her voice. They
literally opened their mouths and swallowed her words; and the muscles
of their countenance might be seen working with the workings of their
thoughts, as they hung upon her lips. And she in turn listened to
their communications with reciprocal satisfaction--each party, as
they were alternate listeners, responding to every thought, in the
utterance of their own indescribable:--_Eh?_ And the effect of this
expression is not unlike the second to an air in a piece of music:--it
is an exquisite and harmonious accompaniment. It sets and keeps the
affections of all the parties in tune.