As circumstances, which I have yet to relate, have prevented my return
to the Shoshones, and I shall have no more to say of their movements in
these pages, I would fain pay them a just tribute before I continue my
narrative. I wish the reader to perceive how much higher the Western
Indians are in the scale of humanity than the tribes of the East, so
well described by Cooper and other American writers. There is a
chivalrous spirit in these rangers of the western prairies not to be
exceeded in history or modern times.
The four tribes of Shoshones, Arrapahoes, Comanches, and Apaches never
attempt, like the Dahcotah and Algonquin, and other tribes of the East,
to surprise an enemy; they take his scalp, it is true, but they take it
in the broad day; neither will they ever murder the squaws, children,
and old men, who may be left unprotected when the war-parties are out.
In fact, they are honourable and noble foes, sincere and trustworthy
friends. In many points they have the uses of ancient chivalry among
them, so much so as to induce me to surmise that they may have brought
them over with them when they first took possession of the territory.
Every warrior has his nephew, who is selected as his page; he performs
the duty of a squire, in ancient knight errantry, takes charge of his
horse, arms, and accoutrements; and he remains in this office until he
is old enough to gain his own spurs. Hawking is also a favourite
amusement, and the chiefs ride out with the falcon, or small eagle, on
their wrist or shoulder.
Even in their warfare, you often may imagine that you were among the
knights of ancient days. An Arrapahoe and a Shoshone warrior armed with
a buckler and their long lances, will single out and challenge each
other; they run a tilt, and as each has warded off the blow, and passed
unhurt, they will courteously turn back and salute each other, as an
acknowledgment of their enemy's bravery and skill. When these
challenges take place, or indeed in any single combat without challenge,
none of these Indians will take advantage of possessing a superior
weapon. If one has a rifle and knows that his opponent has not, he will
throw his rifle down, and only use the same weapon as his adversary.
I will now relate some few traits of character, which will prove the
nobility of these Indians. [See note 1.]
Every year during the season dedicated to the performing of the
religious ceremonies, premiums are given by the holy men and elders of
the tribe to those among the young men who have the most distinguished
themselves. The best warrior receives feather of the black eagle; the
most successful hunter obtains robe of buffalo-skin, painted inside, and
representing some of his most daring exploits; the most virtuous has for
his share coronet made either of gold or silver; and these premiums an
suspended in their wigwams, as marks of honour, and handed down to their
posterity. In fact, they become a kind of ecusson which ennobles a
family.
Once during the distribution of these much-coveted prizes, a young man
of twenty-two was called by the chiefs to receive the premium of virtue.
The Indian advanced towards his chiefs when an elder of the tribe
rising, addressed the whole audience. He pointed the young man out, as
one whose example should be followed, and recorded, among many other
praiseworthy actions that three squaws, with many children, having been
reduced to misery by the death of their husbands in the last war agains
the Crows; this young man, although the deceased were the greatest foes
of his family, undertook to provide for their widow and children till
the boys, grown up, would be able to provide for themselves and their
mothers. Since that time, he had given them the produce of his chase,
reserving to himself nothing but what was strictly necessary to sustain
the wants of nature. This was a noble and virtuous act, one that
pleased the Manitou. It was an example which all the Shoshones should
follow.
The young man bowed, and as the venerable chief was stooping to put the
coronet upon his head, he started back and, to the astonishment of all,
refused the premium.
"Chiefs, warriors, elders of the Shoshones, pardon me! You know the
good which I have done, but you know not in what I have erred. My first
feeling was to receive the coronet, and conceal what wrong I had done;
but a voice in my heart forbids my taking what others have perchance
better deserved.
"Hear me, Shoshones! the truth must be told; hear my shame! One day, I
was hungry; it was in the great prairies. I had killed no game, and I
was afraid to return among our young men with empty hands. I remained
four days hunting, and still I saw neither buffaloes nor bears. At
last, I perceived the tent of an Arrapahoe. I went in; there was no one
there, and it was full of well-cured meat. I had not eaten for five
days; I was hungry, and I became a thief. I took away a large piece,
and ran away like a cowardly wolf. I have said: the prize cannot be
mine."
A murmur ran through the assembly, and the chiefs, holy men, and elders
consulted together. At last, the ancient chief advanced once more
towards the young man, and took his two hands between his own. "My
son," he said, "good, noble, and brave; thy acknowledgment of thy fault
and self-denial in such a moment make thee as pure as a good spirit in
the eyes of the great Manitou. Evil, when confessed and repented of, is
forgotten; bend thy head, my son, and let me crown thee. The premium is
twice deserved and twice due."
A Shoshone warrior possessed a beautiful mare; no horse in the prairie
could outspeed her, and in the buffalo or bear hunt she would enjoy the
sport as much as her master, and run alongside the huge beast with great
courage and spirit. Many propositions were made to the warrior to sell
or exchange the animal; but he would not hear of it. The dumb brute was
his friend, his sole companion; they had both shared the dangers of
battle and the privations of prairie travelling; why should he part with
her? The fame of that mare extended so far, that in a trip he made to
San Francisco, several Mexicans offered him large sums of money;
nothing, however, could shake him in his resolution. In those
countries, though horses will often be purchased at the low price of one
dollar, it often happens that a steed, well-known as a good hunter or a
rapid pacer, will bring sums equal to those paid in England for a fine
race-horse.
One of the Mexicans, a wild young man, resolved to obtain the mare,
whether or no. One evening, when the Indian was returning from some
neighbouring plantation, the Mexican laid down in some bushes at a short
distance from the road, and moaned as if in the greatest pain. The good
and kind-hearted Indian having reached the spot, heard his cries of
distress, dismounted from his mare, and offered any assistance: it was
nearly dark, and although he knew the sufferer to be a Pale-face, yet he
could not distinguish his features. The Mexican begged for a drop of
water, and the Indian dashed into a neighbouring thicket to procure it
for him. As soon as the Indian was sufficiently distant, the Mexican
vaulted upon the mare, and apostrophised the Indian:--
"You fool of a Red-skin, not cunning enough for a Mexican: you refused
my gold; now I have the mare for nothing, and I will make the trappers
laugh when I tell them how easily I have outwitted a Shoshone."
The Indian looked at the Mexican for a few moments in silence, for his
heart was big, and the shameful treachery wounded him to the very core.
At last, he spoke:--
"Pale-face," said he, "for the sake of others, I may not kill thee.
Keep the mare, since thou art dishonest enough to steal the only
property of a poor man; keep her, but never say a word how thou camest
by her, lest hereafter a Shoshone, having learned distrust, should not
hearken to the voice of grief and woe. Away, away with her! let me
never see her again, or in an evil hour the desire of vengeance may make
a bad man of me."
The Mexican was wild, inconsiderate, and not over-scrupulous, but not
without feeling: he dismounted from his horse, and putting the bridle in
the hand of the Shoshone, "Brother," said he, "I have done wrong, pardon
me! from an Indian I learn virtue, and for the future, when I would
commit any deed of injustice, I will think of thee."
Two Apaches loved the same girl; one was a great chief, the other a
young warrior, who had entered the war-path but a short time. Of
course, the parents of the young girl rejected the warrior's suit, as
soon as the chief proposed himself. Time passed, and the young man,
broken-hearted, left all the martial exercises, in which he had
excelled. He sought solitude, starting early in the morning from the
wigwam, and returning but late in the night, when the fires were out.
The very day on which he was to lead the young girl to his lodge, the
chief went bear-hunting among the hills of the neighbourhood. Meeting
with a grizzly bear, he fired at him; but at the moment he pulled the
trigger his foot slipped, and he fell down, only wounding the fierce
animal, which now, smarting and infuriated with pain, rushed upon him.
The chief had been hurt in his fall, he was incapable of defence, and
knew that he was lost; he shut his eyes, and waited for his death-blow,
when the report of a rifle, and the springing of the bear in the agonies
of death, made him once more open his eyes; he started upon his feet,
there lay the huge monster, and near him stood the young warrior who had
thus timely rescued him.
The chief recognised his rival, and his gratitude overpowering all other
feelings, he took the warrior by the hand and grasped it firmly.
"Brother," he said, "thou hast saved my life at a time when it was
sweet, more so than usual; let us be brothers."
The young man's breast heaved with contending passions, but he, too, was
a noble fellow.
"Chief," answered line, "when I saw the bear rushing upon thee, I
thought it was the Manitou who had taken compassion on my sufferings, my
heart for an instant felt light and happy; but as death was near thee,
very near, the Good Spirit whispered his wishes, and I have saved thee
for happiness. It is I who must die! I am nothing, have no friends, no
one to care for me, to love me, to make pleasant in the lodge the dull
hours of night. Chief; farewell!"