At the distance of a sun's journey from the creek, called in the
tongue of the white people the Knife Creek--which divides the larger
and smaller towns of the Minnatarees from each other by a valley not
much above four bowshots across--there are two little hills, situate
at a small distance from each other. These hills are famous,
throughout all the nations of the west, for the faculty they once
possessed of imparting relief to such women as resorted to them for
the purpose of crying and lamenting for the circumstance of their
having no children. It was there, that, if they were careful to say
proper prayers, and to use the proper lamentations, the reproach of
barrenness was removed; and those, whose arms had never enfolded a
babe of their own, whose ears had never listened to the innocent
prattle of children born of their own bodies, might enjoy that
greatest of human happinesses; might feel the exquisite pleasure
which arises, when the little creatures press to their knees, or draw
the food of life from their bosoms.
Once upon a time, many years ago, there was among the Minnatarees a
woman, whose name was Namata-washta, or the Pretty Tree. It had been
her misfortune to be married, when little more than a child, to a very
proud and bad man; who soon came to use her with great cruelty and
injustice. She was a very strict and devout worshipper of the Great
Spirit, and never failed, whether in the field or in the cabin, by
night or by day, to offer up prayers and a portion of every
acquisition to the Being who bestowed it upon her. The Great Spirit
saw her goodness, and loved her. He made her corn to grow much larger
than that of any other woman in the village; and the produce of her
garden was always much earlier and better. But she was a barren woman,
and thence resulted her misery. For seven weary seasons had she lived
in the lodge of her husband; and while his seven other wives had each
children at her knee, crying, "My mother!" there was none to address
her by that tender name, and to lisp in childish tones its delight,
when she returned from the labours of the field of maize--and to
bestow its innocent caresses upon her after the separations which
unavoidably take place in forest life. Thence arose the extreme
harshness of her husband, and the continued sneers and gibes of the
wives who had been blest with offspring. The good Namata-washta bore
their ill usage for a long time without repining; but, at length, the
oft-repeated cruelties of her husband and the incessant insults of her
companions became so painful, that she was wont to fly from them to
the solitude of the forest.
One evening, she wandered out from the cabin of her husband until she
came to the nearest of the two small hills, of which I have been
telling my brother. Upon this hill she seated herself, and was
occupied in bewailing her fatal misfortune of barrenness, and in
praying the Great Spirit to avert it, when some one whispered at her
shoulder, "Namata-washta!"
Looking up, she beheld a tall woman clothed in a long and flowing robe
of white goat-skin; her mocassins were of a blood-red colour; her eyes
were black as the shell of the butter-nut; her hair, which was also
black, was dressed with gay flowers. After surveying the weeping
Namata-washta for some time in silence, and with an appearance of much
compassion, she said to her in a gentle voice, "Woman, why art thou
weeping?"
"I am weeping," replied the poor Indian woman, "because I have borne
my husband no children!"
"And therefore thou weepest, deluded and infatuated woman! Rather
shouldst thou rejoice that thou hast not contributed to swell the
amount of human suffering. Happier far is she who has added nothing,
in respect of children, to the sum of human misery, than she who has
become a mother, to see her offspring perish in the strife of
warriors, or of hunger, or wretchedness, or wasting disease. That thou
hast given birth to no heirs of misery should afford thee joy, rather
than sorrow, Namata-washta!"
"But therefore I am held of little account, and of no value in the
house of my husband. My place is usurped by those who have children;
the other wives of my husband demand and exercise the right to impose
hard and disgraceful burdens upon me, because I am barren. My husband
beats me with blows, his wives assail me with taunts and
reproaches--even the children of the village, as I pass them at their
sports, cry out, 'A barren woman!' And thus do they incessantly worry
me, till I am compelled to fly to the wilderness for rest and peace!"
"Wouldst thou become the mother of children, Namata-washta?"
"I would."
"Thou shalt have thy wish. Listen to my words. The hill upon which
thou art sitting was once a beautiful woman, as its neighbour, the
other and larger hill, was a man and a warrior. The woman, who is the
hill upon which we now stand, was the first woman that ever lived, and
the first that ever became a mother. I will tell thee, Namata-washta,
who she was. When the Great Spirit determined to people the Island
with human beings, he bade them spring out of the earth, as maize and
vegetables do at this day; and bade each take the quality and nature
of the soil in which he germinated. The red man forced his head out of
a rich and hardy prairie surrounded by lofty trees; the white man took
root in a stony and crabbed hill: and both have retained their first
natures.
"The woman who became this hill sprung up in a deep and very fat soil,
and thence became very fruitful--the most fruitful woman ever known.
She came out of the earth on the first day of the Moon of Buffaloes,
and, ere it hung in the skies like a bended bow, she had a child at
her breast. Every moon, she bestowed upon her husband a son or a
daughter, and these sons and daughters were all equally fertile with
their mother. The Great Spirit, seeing that if mankind continued thus
prolific, the Island would soon be overstocked with inhabitants,
determined to take away from the pair the breath he had given them,
and with it the power of unlimited procreation and fecundity imparted
to their descendants. He changed them into these two hills. But, that
the faculty they possessed in so remarkable a degree might not be lost
to the world, but might continue to be dispensed to those who wanted
it, and should seek it in a proper manner, he said to the hill, which
was the fruitful woman: 'Whenever a barren woman approaches thee,
lamenting in sincerity her hard fate, and duly supplicating mercy,
thou shalt listen to her with pity and compassion. I endow thee with
power to grant her prayers. Thou shalt bid her return to her village
and repair to the couch of her husband. When twelve suns shall have
passed, she shall return to thee soon after the dawning of day. Upon a
near approach to thee, she shall see a child, perhaps two children,
very light of foot, and whose height shall scarce exceed that of a
squirrel. She must approach them, but they will run from her, nor will
her utmost speed enable her to overtake them. They will fly to thy
protection, nor must thou deny it--they must be received into thy
bosom. The chill of their cold hiding place will destroy them, and
their souls will enter into the womb of the suppliant woman, and she
will become a fruitful and honoured mother.'
"These were the words of the Great Spirit; and often has the power he
imparted to that hill been felt to the taking away the reproach from
the barren women. Namata-washta, go thou, and do likewise. Follow the
directions I have given thee, and, if the having children will render
thee happy, thou shalt be happy--if to be the mother of a more
numerous offspring than any wife in thy nation may make thee an
honoured woman, thou shalt be honoured."
With these words, the Spirit departed from before the eyes of
Namata-washta, who never beheld her again. She returned to the cabin
of her husband, obeyed the words of the stranger, and saw the results
take place which had been foretold. She became the mother of a more
numerous progeny than any woman of her nation, took the lead in the
lodge of her husband, and was more beloved by him than any other of
his wives. She became as much honoured by the people as she had been
before despised by them, and died with the reputation of having been
the greatest benefactress of the nation that had lived since the days
of the two wise boys who discovered the upper world[A].
[Footnote A: See the Tradition vol. i., p. 201.]
The faculty which this hill possessed of imparting fruitfulness was
retained till the wickedness of the Minnatarees became so crying,
that the Great Spirit, deeming that there would be full enough of
these bad people, if left to their natural means of increase, withdrew
it, and has never restored it.