Where is the land of the Chepewyans? Where have that tribe of valiant
warriors and expert hunters built their lodges? I will tell you. It is
in the regions of almost perpetual snows; regions whose suns are never
warm enough to pierce the frozen earth, which, therefore, produces
nothing but moss. No sweet ears of corn grow to reward the toils of the
woman; no wild flowers spring up for the youthful maiden to pluck. The
child wanders forth to gather no berries; no bird of sweet music sings
on the branch; no butterfly flits in the valley. Chill and dreary are
the autumns, cold and bitter the winters; men drink melted ice, when in
other lands buds are bursting open, and wear for a summer garment the
skins of the otter and the beaver. Instead of the mild and whispering
breezes of southern skies, we have the wild winds rushing impetuously
forth from their caves in the icy north, and the sun of the land of the
Chepewyans, knowing his uselessness, and the inability of his beams to
rend the fetters which ice has thrown around our bleak hills and
verdureless plains, stays with us but for a little season, leaving us
for many weary days to be lighted only by the glare of the moon and
stars, on the field of ice and snow. Yet the Chepewyan is not without
his pleasures, as those who live in the land of the sun have their
pains. He may drive from their frozen dens the beasts that make their
beds in the bank of snow, and he may pursue the bear on the iceberg, and
the musk-ox in the glade. In summer he may strike the salmon as he
glides through the waters of the Bear Lake, and send his darts through
the brown eagle, and make captive the white owl, hidden in the foliage
of the dwarf-pine. In the winter, when the storm of hail rattles around
his lodge of ice, stretched out on his bed of moss, he may recount the
glories of his nation, and the great deeds of his fathers; And he may
solace himself for the privations he endures, in his present state of
being, by fancying those he will enjoy in that land of rest upon which
he will enter when his spirit goes hence, and returns to the body no
more.
A Chepewyan chief sat by the fire of his cabin in the time of winter,
and the hour of a fall of snow, and told, in the ears of the listening
tribe, a legend of the land of souls, the Chepewyan tradition of the
Happy Hunting-Grounds. Let the assembled nations listen, and hear it
repeated by the tongue of his son, who sat with open ears at his
father's knee, drinking in the beloved words of beloved lips, and
engraving them deeply on the core of his heart.
"Once upon a time," my father began, "there lived in our nation a most
beautiful maiden, the flower of the wilderness--the delight and wonder
of all who saw her. She was called the Rock-rose, and was beloved by a
youthful hunter, whose advances she met with an equal ardour. No one but
the brave Outalissa was permitted to whisper tales of love by the side
of her nocturnal couch in the hour of darkness(1). The rock-moss he
gathered was always the sweetest; and the produce of his hunt, however
old and tough, was, in her opinion, the youngest and tenderest. They had
loved from childhood, and with the deepest affection. But it was not
permitted them to become inhabitants of one lodge, the occupants of one
conch. Death came to the flower of the Chepewyans, in the morning of her
days, and the body of the tender maiden was laid in the dust with the
customary rites of burial. First, dressed in the richest garb she
possessed, the gay-tinted robe of curiously woven feathers, and decked
out with the ornaments bestowed upon her by the youth she loved, they
placed her in the grave, lined with pine branches, amidst the groans
and lamentations of the whole nation. The men howled loud and long, and
the women cut off their hair, and scarred their flesh, and pierced their
arms with sharp knives, and blackened their faces with charred wood.
When the earth covered her from human sight, then woke their loudest
burst of sorrow--all wept, save him who had most cause to weep; he stood
motionless as a tree in the hour of calm, as the wave that is frozen up
by the breath of the cold wind.
"Joy came no more to the bereaved lover. The chase afforded him no
pleasure, for who was to share his spoils? He found no joy in pursuing
the salmon, for no one lived to reward his successful quest with the
smile of approbation. He told his discontent in the ears of his people,
and spoke of his determination, at all events, to rejoin his beloved
maiden. She had but removed, he said, to some happier region, as the
Arctic birds fly south at the approach of winter; and it required but
due diligence on his part to find her. Having prepared himself, as a
hunter prepares himself, with a store of pemmican, or dried beef, and
armed himself with his war-spear and bow and arrow, he set out upon his
journey to the Land of Souls. Directed by the old tradition of his
fathers, he travelled south to reach that region, leaving behind him the
great star, and the fields of eternal ice. As he moved onwards he found
a more pleasant region succeeding to that in which he had lived. Daily,
hourly, he remarked the change. The ice grew thinner, the air warmer,
the trees taller. Birds, such as he had never seen before, sang in the
bushes, and fowls of many kinds, before unknown, were pluming themselves
in the warm sun on the shores of the lake. The gay woodpecker was
tapping the hollow beech; the swallow and the martin were skimming along
the level of the green vales. He heard no more the cracking of branches
of trees beneath the weight of icicles and snow;--he saw no more the
spirits of departed men dancing wild dances on the skirts of the
Northern clouds(2); and the farther he travelled the milder grew the
skies, the longer was the period of the sun's stay upon the earth, and
the softer, though less brilliant, the light of the moon. Noting these
changes as he went with a joyful heart--for they were indications of his
near approach to the land of joy and delight--he came at length to a
cabin, situated on the brow of a steep hill, in the middle of a narrow
road. At the door of this cabin stood a man of a most ancient and
venerable appearance. He was bent nearly double with age; his locks were
white as snow; his eyes were sunk very far into his head, and the flesh
was wasted from his bones till they were like trees from which the bark
had been peeled. He was clothed in a robe of white goat-skin, and a long
staff supported his tottering limbs whithersoever he walked. The
Chepewyan began to tell him who he was, and why he had come thither, but
the aged man prevented him, by saying that he knew all. "There had
passed," he said, "to the beautiful island, a little while before, the
soul of a tender and lovely maiden, well known to the son of the Red
Elk. Being fatigued with her long journey, he had rested awhile in his
cabin, and had then told him the story of their long and affectionate
attachment, and her persuasion that her lover would attempt to follow
her to the Lake of Spirits. She had but just passed, and a little more
speed on his part would enable him to overtake her. But he could not be
permitted to carry his body, nor the body of his dog, nor his bow, nor
his war-spear, beyond the door of the cabin, which was the gate of the
land. He must leave them in his charge till his return, but he need not
fear that harm would happen to them. So saying, he opened the gate, and
gave him a glimpse of the wide and spacious road beyond.""
The Chepewyan was not long in disincumbering himself of the deadening
clog of mortality. Leaving his body, and the bodies of his dog, and
spear, and bow, in the hands of the gatekeeper, with a charge to have
them delivered to his friends if he should not return, he entered upon
the road to the Blissful Island. He had travelled but a couple of
bowshots, when it met his view still more beautiful than his fathers had
painted it. He stood upon the brow of a hill, sloping gently away to a
smooth lake, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Upon its banks
were groves of beautiful trees of all kinds, and many, very many canoes
were seen gliding over its waters. A light breeze ruffled its waves--so
light that they only reminded him of the opposition which a weak man
makes to the will of the strong. Afar, in the centre of the lake, lay
the beautiful island appointed for the residence of the good Chepewyan.
And scarcely three bowshots from him, leaning upon a bank of flowers, in
contemplation of the glorious scene, was the soul of her so fondly
loved. Beautiful vision! The sight lends to his steps the fleetness of
an antelope; he bounds forward, and is soon at her side. Into his arms
she flies, and though they clasp but thin air, embrace but her
resemblance, yet the doing so gives a hundred times the joy it could
have done, when his spirit was clogged with the grossness of mortality,
and he folded to his breast a corporeal form.
At length they reached the lake. They found upon its bank, chained by a
rope of sand to the shade of a willow, two canoes made of a white stone
that glittered in the sun like a field of ice. There were paddles in
each canoe of the same material. The lovers were prepared for this by
the tradition of their fathers, which informed them that a canoe of
stone was the conveyance by which they were to reach the happy mansions.
They also knew that each soul must have its separate conveyance, because
the passage was to give rise to the judgment which permitted them to sit
down in the happy dwellings, or doomed them to the punishment prepared
for the wicked. Casting off the rope of sand, each stepped into a canoe,
and committed it to the Water of Judgment. Who can describe their joy
and satisfaction, when they found that, though the actions of their
life-time had not been entirely pure; though the man had sometimes
slaughtered more musk-oxen than he could eat, speared salmon to be
devoured by the brown eagle, and gathered rock-moss to rot in the rain;
though he had once made mock of a priest, and once trembled at the
war-cry of the Knisteneaux, and once forgotten to throw into the fire
the tongue of a beaver as an offering to the Being who bade it cross his
hunting-path in a season of scarcity; and though the maiden had suffered
her father to wear tattered mocassins, and her brothers broken
snow-shoes, and thought of her lover when she should have been thinking
of the Master of Life--still the canoes did not sink, but floated slowly
on, level with the water, towards the Happy Island. They found that the
paddles were not needed--once passed the Judgment test, once pronounced
fit for the happy lands, the canoe moved, self-impelled, to the
appointed harbour. As they floated onwards, their eyes and ears were
pained by a thousand sights and sounds of horror. Now they saw a canoe
sink from under the person it was appointed to judge--a father, perhaps,
with his children in view; a husband, or wife, or friend, with the
object dearest to their hearts, to listen to the bubling cry of their
agony, as they sank to their chins in the water, there to remain for
ever, beholding and regretting the rewards enjoyed by the good, and
doomed to struggle, till the stars shall cease to shine, in unavailing
endeavours to reach the blissful island. They beheld the lake thick and
black with the heads of the unhappy swimmers, as the surface of the
Great Bear Lake is dotted in summer with the wild fowl that seek
subsistence in its bosom.
At length the happy pair reached the island. It is impossible to tell
the delights with which they found it filled. Mild and soft winds, clear
and sweet waters, cool and refreshing shades, perpetual verdure,
inexhaustible fertility, adorned the retreats of the Island of Souls.
There were no tempests of wind laden with snows to smother the unhappy
Chepewyan caught at a distance from his cabin; no rains to sweep the
hills of ice into the vales where he gathered his rock-moss, or tear his
fishing-nets and weirs from their place in the river. Gladly would the
son of the Red Elk have remained for ever with his beloved Rock-rose in
the happy island, but the words of the Master were heard in the pauses
of the breeze, discoursing to him thus:--
"Return to thy father-land, hunter, and tell in the ears of thy nation
the things thou hast seen. Paint to them the joys of the Happy Island,
but be careful to say that they can be enjoyed by the spirits of those
only whose good actions predominate over their evil ones. Say that the
Master does not expect perfection in man, but he expects that man will
do all he can to deserve his love; he expects that sooner than suffer
the wife of his bosom, or the children of his love, to be hungry, he
will journey even to the far Coppermine for salmon, and hunt the white
bear on the distant shores of the Frozen Sea. He expects from him good
temper in his cabin; fearlessness and daring in war; patience and
assiduity in the chase, and great and unceasing kindness to the father
that begot, and the mother that bore him. What, though he have several
times slaughtered more musk-beef than he can eat, speared salmon to be
devoured by the brown eagle, and gathered rock-moss to rot in the
rain?--what, though he have once made game of a priest, and once
trembled at the war-cry of the Knistenaux, and once forgotten to throw
into the fire the tongue of the beaver, as an offering to the Being who
bade it cross his path in a season of scarcity?--and what though _she_
have suffered her father to wear tattered mocassins, and her brothers
broken snow-shoes, and thought of her lover when she should have been
thinking of me, yet will I forgive them, and endow them with felicity,
if their good deeds outweigh the bad. The Master does not expect that
man will never commit folly or error. The clearest stream will sometimes
become turbid; the sky cannot always be cloudless; the stars will
sometimes become erratic--even snow will fall tinged with a colouring
which was not in its nature when I ordered it to be. Man of the
Chepewyans, write down these words on the green leaf of thy memory, nor
suffer them to fade as the leaf grows dry. Be good, and thy spirit in a
few more moons shall rejoin that of thy beloved rock-rose in the
blissful island. Depart, son of the Red Elk; the canoe which brought
thee hither will waft thee hence. Thou lingerest!--it is well! I know
thy thoughts and wishes--clasp her to thy heart then. It is well! The
recollection of the embrace will do more to keep thy spirit purified
than all the sayings of thy fathers, and the traditional learning of thy
priests. Away!"