It was a summer day, and my birchen canoe, paddled by a party of
Chippeway Indians, was gliding along the southern shore of Lake
Superior. We had left the Apostle Islands, and were wending our way
towards the mouth of the Ontonagon, where we intended to spend the
night. Behind us reposed in beauty the Emerald Islands, in our front
appeared the Porcupine Mountains, the sky above was without a cloud, and
the waste of sleeping waters was only broken by the presence of a lonely
swan, which seemed to be following in our wake, apparently for the sake
of our companionship. I was delighted with the scene which surrounded
me, and having requested my comrades to refill their pipes from my
tobacco-pouch, I inquired for an adventure or a story connected with
this portion of the lake. I waited but for a moment, when the chief of
the party, _O-gee-maw-ge-zhick_, or Chief of the Sky, signified his
intention by a sudden exclamation, and proceeded with the following
historical tradition:
The Indian warrior of other days seldom thought that distance ought to
be considered when he went forth to battle against his enemies, provided
he was certain of winning the applause of his fellow men. Fatigue and
hunger were alike looked upon as unimportant considerations, and both
endured without a murmur.
The white man had not yet become the owner of this wilderness, and our
nation was at war with the Iroquois, who had invaded our territory. At
this time it was that a party of six Iroquois runners had been sent by
their leading chiefs from Ke-wa-we-non, on the southern shore of Lake
Superior, to examine the position of the Chippeways, who were supposed
to be on an island called Moo-ne-quah-na-kon-ing. The spies having
arrived opposite to the island where their enemies were encamped (which
island was about three miles from the main shore), they built a
war-canoe out of the bark of an elm-tree, launched it at the hour of
midnight, and, having implored the god of war to smile upon them and
keep the lake in peace, they landed on the island, and were soon
prowling through the village of the unconscious Chippeways.
They were so cautious in all their movements, that their footsteps did
not even awaken the sleeping dogs. It so happened, however, that they
were discovered, and that, too, by a young woman, who, according to
ancient custom, was leading a solitary life previous to becoming a
mother. In her wakefulness she saw them pass near her lodge and heard
them speak, but could not understand their words, though she thought
them to be of the Na-do-was tribe. When they had passed, she stole out
of her own wigwam to that of her aged grandmother, whom she informed of
what she had seen and heard. The aged woman only reprimanded her
daughter for her imprudence, and did not heed her words. “But, mother,”
replied the girl, “I speak the truth; the dreaded Na-do-was are in our
village; and if the warriors of the Buffalo Race do not heed the story
of a foolish girl, their women and their children must perish.” The
words of the girl were finally believed, and the warriors of the Crane
and Buffalo tribes prepared themselves for the capture. The war-whoop
echoed to the sky; and the rattling of bows and arrows was heard in
every part of the island. In about an hour, the main shore was lined
with about eight hundred canoes, whose occupants were anxiously waiting
for the appearance of the spies. These desperate men, however, had made
up their minds to try the mettle of their oars to the utmost, and, as
the day was breaking, they launched their canoe from a woody cove, shot
round the island, and started in the direction of the Porcupine
Mountains, which were about sixty miles distant. Soon as they came in
sight of the Chippeways, the latter became quite frantic, and, giving
their accustomed yell, the whole multitude started after them swift as
the flight of gulls. The mighty lake was without a ripple; and the
beautiful fish in its bosom wandered about their rocky haunts in perfect
peace, unconscious of the dreadful strife which was going on above. The
canoes of the pursued and the pursuers moved with magic speed. The
Iroquois were some two miles ahead, and while they strained every nerve
for life, one voice rose high into the air, with a song of invocation to
the spirits of their race for protection; and, in answer to their
petition, a thick fog fell upon the water, and caused great confusion.
One of the Chippeway warriors laid down his paddle, seized his
mysterious rattle (made of deer’s hoof), and, in a strange, wild song,
implored the spirits of his race to clear away the fog, that they might
only see their enemies. The burthen of the song was:—
“Mon e-tou ne bah bah me tah wah
Ke shig ne bah bah me tah goon
Ah bee ne nah wah goom me goon
Men ke che dah awas—awas.”