Many a winter has passed away, and many a season's snow mixed with the
deep current of the great lake Superior, since the fame of Wanawosh was
sounded along its shores. He was the son of an ancient line, who had
preserved the chieftainship in their family from the remotest times. His
fathers had all been renowned warriors and hunters, and hence he
cherished a lofty pride of ancestry, and the belief that he himself, as
well as they, were better than those by whom he was surrounded. To the
reputation of his descent from eminent ancestors he added the advantages
of a tall and commanding person, and the dazzling qualities of great
personal strength and activity--qualities ever appreciated most highly
by those who are deficient in mental power. His bow was renowned
throughout the surrounding tribes, for its weight and extraordinary
dimensions; and there were few that could raise his ponderous war-club,
or poise his mighty spear. He was often known to have shot one of his
flint-headed arrows through the body of a deer, and to have beat in the
skull of a male buffalo with a single blow of his club. His counsel was
as much sought as his prowess was feared, so that he came in tune to be
equally famed as a hunter, a warrior, and a sage. But he had now passed
the meridian of his days, and the term Akkeewaisee, "one who had been
long above the earth," was familiarly applied to him. Such was Wanawosh,
to whom the united voice of the nation awarded the first place in their
esteem and the highest seat in authority. Even had he wanted the
hereditary power and dignity, the esteem, and affection, and veneration,
of his people, would have conferred upon him rule, quite as potential in
its nature as that which he enjoyed by his birthright. But pride was the
ruling passion of this great chieftain, and to that he sacrificed every
other passion.
Wanawosh had an only daughter, who had now lived to witness the budding
of the leaves for the eighteenth spring. Her father was not more
celebrated for his deeds of strength and valour, than his gentle
daughter for her goodness, her slender and graceful form, her dark and
beaming eyes, and her black and flowing hair. There had never been seen,
among the Indian nations, so lovely and perfect a maiden as the daughter
of Wanawosh. Warriors came from distant tribes to court the fair
daughter of the chieftain but they departed, some with bitter reproofs
for their presumption, and none with encouragement or permission to
hope.
Among others, her hand was sought by a youth of humble parentage, one
who had no other merits to recommend him, but such as might arise from a
graceful person, a manly step, and an eye beaming with the fires of
youth and love. These were sufficient to attract the favourable notice
of the daughter; but they were by no means satisfactory to the father,
who sought an alliance more suitable to his rank and the high
pretensions of his family. Little thought he of the happiness of his
daughter, so that he secured for his son-in-law a warrior of celebrity.
"Listen to me, young man," he replied to the trembling hunter, who had
sought the interview, "and be attentive to what you hear. You ask me to
bestow upon you my daughter, the chief solace of my age, and my choicest
gift from the Master of Life. Others have asked of me this boon, who
were as young, as active, and as ardent, as yourself. Some of these
persons had better claims to become my son-in-law than you. Some of them
had _struck_ the enemies of their country in distant forests, others had
been leaders of successful expeditions. Young man, have you considered
well who it is that you would choose for a father-in-law? Have you
reflected upon the deeds which have raised me in authority, and made my
name known to every one who has ever heard of the Chippewas, and dreaded
as the bolt of death by all the enemies of my nation? Where is a chief
who is not proud to be considered the friend of Wanawosh? Where is a
hunter who can bend the bow of Wanawosh? or a warrior who can wield his
club, or poise his weighty lance? And who is he, whose proudest wish is
not, that he may some day be equal in bravery to Wanawosh? Have you not
also heard, that my fathers came, ages ago, from the land of the rising
sun, decked with plumes, and clothed with authority? Have you not heard,
that my family have been chiefs of the Chippewas ever since the
moss-covered oaks on the hills were little sprouts?
"And what, young man, have you to boast that you should claim an
alliance with my warlike line? Have you ever met your enemies on the
field of battle? Have you ever brought home a trophy of victory? Where
are the prisoners your arm has made; where have you hung your scalps?
Have you ever proved your fortitude, by suffering protracted pain,
enduring continued hunger, or sustaining great fatigue? Is your name
known beyond the humble limits of your native village? Do the warriors
of distant tribes relate your splendid deeds, and, when they speak of a
war with the Chippewas, take into account the lance of the son of
Kayneewee? Go then, young man, and earn a name for yourself. It is none
but the brave that can ever hope to claim an alliance with the house of
Wanawosh. Think not my ancient and honoured blood shall mingle with the
humble mark of the Awausees, fit _totem_ for fishermen."
The intimidated lover departed, but he resolved to do a deed that should
render him worthy of the daughter of Wanawosh, or perish in the attempt.
He called together several of his young companions and equals in years,
imparted to them his design of conducting an expedition against the
enemy, and requested their assistance. Several embraced the proposal
immediately; others were soon brought to acquiesce, and, before ten suns
had set, he saw himself at the head of a formidable party of young
warriors, all eager, like himself, to distinguish themselves in battle.
Each warrior was armed, according to the custom of the period, with a
bow and quiver of arrows, tipped with flint or jasper, and each carried
a _mushkeemoot_ upon his back, provided with a small quantity of parched
and pounded corn, mixed with a little pemmican or pounded meat. Each was
furnished with a kind of stone knife, and a war-club of hard wood,
fastened to a girth of deer-skin. In addition to this, some carried the
ancient sheemaugun or Indian lance, consisting of a smooth pole above
one fathom in length, with a spear of flint firmly tied on with splints
of hard wood, bound down with deer's sinews. Thus equipped, and each
warrior painted in a manner to suit his fancy, and ornamented with
appropriate feathers, they repaired to the spot appointed for the
war-dance.[A]
[Footnote A: See the description of this dance in a note to The
Expedition of the Lenni Lenape in vol. ii.]
A level grassy plain extended for some distance from the lodge of
Wanawosh, towards a point of land jutting into the lake. Lodges of green
bark were promiscuously interspersed over this spot, with here and there
a cluster of trees, or a solitary pine, which had escaped the fury of
tempests for a thousand years. A belt of yellow sand skirted the lake
shore in front, and a tall forest of oaks, pines, and poplars, formed
the back-ground. In the centre of this green, stood a large pine,
shattered and branchless from the conflicts of the elements, with a
clear space around, famous as the scene of the war-dance, time out of
mind. Here the youths assembled with their tall and graceful leader,
distinguished, not only by his bearing, but by the feathers of the white
eagle, which he wore on his head. A bright fire of pine-wood blazed
upon the green, throwing its gleams upon the surrounding darkness. The
young warrior led his men twice or thrice in a circular manner around
this fire, with a measured step and solemn chant. Then, suddenly
halting, the war-whoop was raised, and the dance immediately begun. An
old man, sitting at the head of the ring, beat time upon the drum, while
the grim array of warriors made the woods re-echo with their yells. Each
warrior chanted alternately the verse of a song, all the rest joining in
chorus:--
The eagles scream on high;
They whet their forked beaks;
Raise--raise the battle-cry,
'Tis fame our leader seeks.
Thus they continued the dance for two days and nights, with short
intermissions; when, dropping off, one by one, from the fire, each
sought his several way to the place appointed for the rendezvous, on the
confines of the enemy's country. A braver or more determined war-party
never left the village of the Chippewas. Their leader was not among the
last to depart; but he did not quit the village without bidding a tender
adieu to the daughter of Wanawosh. He imparted to her his firm
determination, to perform an act that should establish his name as a
warrior, or die in the attempt. He told her of the hitter pangs he had
felt at her father's taunts--that his soul spurned the imputations of
effeminacy and cowardice, implied by his language. He declared, that he
never could be happy, either with or without her, until he had proved to
the whole tribe the strength of his heart, which is the Indian term for
courage. He said, that his dreams had not been so propitious as he could
wish; but that he should not cease to invoke the favour of the Great
Spirit in his behalf. He repeated his protestations of inviolable
attachment, which she returned, and, pledging vows of mutual fidelity,
they separated.
They never met again. The war-party, which he led, were conducted by him
to victory. After having distinguished himself by most heroic bravery,
he received an arrow in his breast, just as the enemy had fled, with the
loss of many of their best warriors. On examining his wound, it was
perceived to be beyond the power of cure. He languished a short time,
and expired in the arms of his friends.
From the hour that she received the intelligence of his death, from the
moment that the ominous death-howl met her ear, no smile was ever seen
in the once happy lodge of Wanawosh. His daughter pined away by day and
by night. Tears and sighs sorrow and lamentations, were heard
continually. No efforts to amuse were capable of restoring her lost
serenity of mind. Persuasives and reproofs were alternately employed,
but employed in vain. It became her favourite custom to fly to a
sequestered spot in the woods, and there sit under a shady tree, and
sing her mournful laments. She would do so for days together. The
following fragment of one of these songs is yet repeated:--
Oh! how can I sing the praise of my love!
His spirit still lingers around me.
The grass which grows upon his bed of earth
Is yet too low;
Its sighs cannot be heard upon the wind.
Oh, he was beautiful!
And he was brave!
I must not break the silence,
The quiet of his still retreat,
Nor waste the time in song,
When his spirit still whispers to mine.
I hear his gentle voice
In the sounds of the newly-budded leaves;
It tells me that he yet lingers near me;
It says he loves in death
Her whom he loved in life,
Though deeply buried in the cold, cold earth.
Whisper, spirit, to me, whisper.
And I shall sing; my song,
When the green grass answers to my plaint,
When in sighs respond to my moan,
Then my voice shall be heard in his praise:
Linger, lover, linger!
Stay, spirit, stay!
The spirit of my love will soon leave me.
He goes to the land of joyful repose;
He gees to prepare my bridal bower.
Sorrowing, I must wait,
Until he comes, to call my soul away.
Hasten, lover, hasten!
Come, spirit, come!
Thus she daily repeated her plaintive song. It was not long before a
small bird of beautiful plumage flew upon the tree, beneath which she
usually sat, and, with its sweet and artless notes, seemed to respond to
her voice. It was a bird of strange character, such as she had never
seen before. It came every day and sang to her, remaining until it
became dark. Her fond imagination soon led her to suppose that it was
the spirit of her lover, and her visits to the favourite spot were
repeated with greater frequency. She now gave herself up to singing and
fasting. Thus she pined away, until that death which she had so
fervently desired came to her relief. After her decease, the bird was
never more seen. It became a popular opinion with her nation, that this
mysterious bird had flown away with her soul to the land of bliss. But
the bitter tears of remorse fell in the tent of Wanawosh, and he lived
many years to regret his false pride and his harsh treatment of the
unfortunate youth.