After a very tiring day, I was standing to-night at the door of our
log-house, looking out upon the tranquil stars, and admiring the peace
and tranquillity which reigned all around. Within the house Mrs.
MacMurray was hearing a young Chippewa read the Gospel, and the light of
a lamp above fell upon her beautiful face--very beautiful it was at
that moment--and on the dusky features of the Indian boy, akin to her
own, and yet how different! and on his silver armlets and feathered
head-dress. It was about nine o'clock, and though a few of the camp
fires were yet burning, it seemed that almost all had gone to rest. At
this moment old Solomon, the interpreter, came up, and told me that the
warriors had arranged to give me an exhibition of their war-dance, and
were then painting and preparing. In a few minutes more, the drum, and
the shriek, and the long tremulous whoop, were heard. A large crowd had
gathered silently in front of the house, leaving an open space in the
midst; many of them carried great blazing torches, made of the bark of
the pine rolled up into a cylinder. The innermost circle of the
spectators sat down, and the rest stood around; some on the stumps of
the felled trees, which were still at hand. I remember that a large
piece of a flaming torch fell on the naked shoulder of a savage, and he
jumped up with a yell which made me start; but they all laughed, and so
did he, and sat himself down again quietly.
Meantime the drumming and yelling drew nearer, and all at once a man
leaped like a panther into the very middle of the circle, and, flinging
off his blanket, began to caper and to flourish his war-club; then
another, and another, till there were about forty; then they stamped
round and round, and gesticulated a sort of fiercely grotesque
pantomime, and sent forth their hideous yells, while the glare of the
torches fell on their painted and naked figures, producing an effect
altogether quite indescribable. Then a man suddenly stopped before me,
and began a speech at the very top of his voice, so that it sounded like
a reiteration of loud cries; it was, in fact, a string of exclamations,
which a gentleman standing behind me translated as he went on. They were
to this purport:--"I am a Red-skin! I am a warrior! look on me! I am a
warrior! I am brave! I have fought! I have killed! I have killed my
enemies! I have eaten the tops of the hearts of my enemies! I have drunk
their blood! I have struck down seven Long-knives! I have taken their
scalps!"
This last vaunt he repeated several times with exultation, thinking,
perhaps, it must be particularly agreeable to a daughter of the
Red-coats; nothing was ever less so! and the human being who was thus
boasting stood within half a yard of me, his grim painted face and
gleaming eyes looking into mine!
A-propos to scalps; I have seen many of the warriors here, who had one
or more of these suspended as decorations to their dress; and they
seemed to me so much a part and parcel of the _sauvagerie_ around me,
that I looked on them generally without emotion or pain. But there was
one thing I never _could_ see without a start, and a thrill of
horror,--the scalp of _long fair hair_.
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