My main object in the present paper is to record a complete account of
the ceremonies which were once practised by the Cherokee Indians, in
connection with their principal agricultural pursuit of raising maize or
Indian corn. For the great majority of my facts I am indebted to Mr.
Preston Starritt, of Tennessee. While this is the case, however, I beg
my readers to understand that I shall speak of the tribe in question as
it existed in the times of old, when its members were the sole
proprietors of the southern Alleghanies. Let us, then, banish from our
minds the unhappy relations which brood over the Cherokees at the
present time, and, by the aid of our fancy, mingle with the nation as it
existed when in its pristine glory.
The snows of winter have melted from the mountain peaks, the rains are
over and gone, the frosts are out of the ground, and the voice of the
turtle is heard in the land. The beautiful valley to which we have
journeyed is entirely surrounded with mountains, about five miles
square, watered by a charming stream, and inhabited by two thousand
aborigines, who are divided into seven clans, and located in seven
villages. The ruling men of the tribe have signified to their people
that the period for planting corn has arrived, and that they must gather
themselves together for the purpose of submitting to the annual
ceremonies of purification. For doing this they have a double object:
they would, in the first place, expunge from their bodies every vestige
of all the colds and diseases with which they may have been afflicted
during the past winter; and, in the second place, they would propitiate
the Great Spirit, so as to secure his blessing upon the crops which they
are about to deposite in the ground. The moon being now at its full, and
a fitting location having been selected, the chiefs and magicians
congregate together, and the preliminary measures are thus managed. A
magic circle is made to keep out all evil spirits and enemies, and the
medicine men then proceed to walk in single file, and with measured
steps, completely around the spot which they would render sacred, and
which is generally half a mile in diameter, marking their route by
plucking a single leaf from every tree or bush which they may happen to
pass, all these leaves being carefully deposited in a pouch carried for
the purpose. In the mean time, the brotherhood of chiefs have not been
unemployed, for while the most aged individual of all has been making a
collection of roots, the remainder have built a rude dam, and thereby
formed a pond or pool of water on the creek which invariably waters the
sacred enclosure. The entire population of the valley are now summoned
to the outskirts of the sacred enclosure, and a general invitation
extended to all to approach and join the chiefs and magicians in the
rite they are about to perform; it being understood, however, that no
man, under penalty of death, shall venture to participate who has left a
single wrong unrevenged or committed any unmanly deed, and no woman who
has given birth to a child since the preceding full moon. In the centre
of the sacred ground, and in the vicinity of the pool, a large fire is
now made, around which the multitude are congregated. The night is
clear, and the moon and stars are flooding the earth with light. An
earthen pot is now placed upon the fire, the roots gathered by the old
chief, numbering seven varieties, are placed therein, also the leaves
plucked by the magicians, when the pot is filled with water by seven
virgins, who are promoted to this honor by the appointment of the senior
chief. After the contents of the pot have been thoroughly boiled, and a
most bitter but medicinal beverage been made, all the persons present
are called upon to take seven sips of the bitter liquid, and then
directed to bathe no less than seven times in the neighboring pool, the
waters of which have been rendered sacred by the incantations of the
priests. All these things being done, the multitude assemble around the
fire once more, and, to the music of a strange wild singing, they dance
until the break of day, and then disperse to their several homes. The
friendship of the Great Spirit has now been secured, and therefore, as
opportunity offers, the Indians proceed to loosen their ground, as best
they may, and then plant their corn. This labor is performed chiefly by
the women, and the planted fields are considered as under their especial
charge. Though planted in the greatest disorder, they keep their
cornfields entirely free of weeds, and the soil immediately around the
corn in a loose condition. At every full moon they are commonly
apprehensive that some calamity may befall their crop, and, by way of
keeping the Great Spirit on their side, the women have a custom of
disrobing themselves, at the dead hour of night, and of walking entirely
around the field of corn.
And now that the sunshine and showers of summer are performing their
ministry of good in bringing the corn to its wonted perfection, it may
be well to make the reader acquainted with the following facts: As the
Indians purify themselves and perform all their religious rites only
when the moon is at its full, so do they refrain from plucking a single
ear of corn until they have partaken of their annual harvest or
green-corn feast. This feast occurs on that night of the full moon
nearest to the period when the corn becomes ripe; and, by a time-honored
law of the nation, no man, woman, or child is ever permitted, under
penalty of death, to pluck a single roasting-ear. So rigidly enforced is
this law that many Cherokees are known to have lost their lives for
disobeying it, while many families have suffered the pangs of hunger for
many days, even while their fields were filled with corn, merely because
the harvest moon had not yet arrived, and they had not partaken of their
annual feast. If a full moon should occur only one week after the corn
has become suitable to pluck, the Indians will not touch a single ear
until the next moon, even if it should then be so hard as to require
pounding before becoming suitable for food. During the ripening period
the cornfields are watched with jealous care, and the first stalk that
throws out its silken plume is designated by a distinguishing mark. In
assigning reasons for this peculiar care, the Indians allege that until
the harvest feast has taken place the corn is exclusively the property
of the Great Spirit, and that they are only its appointed guardians; and
they also maintain that, when the corn is plucked before the appointed
moon has arrived, the field which has thus been trespassed upon is sure
to be prostrated by a storm or be afflicted with the rot; and wherefore
it is that they are always greatly alarmed when they discover that a
cornfield has been touched, as they say, by the Evil One.
But the harvest moon is now near at hand, and the chiefs and medicine
men have summoned the people of the several villages to prepare
themselves for the autumnal festival. Another spot of ground is
selected, and the same sanctifying ceremony is performed that was
performed in the previous spring. The most expert hunter in each village
has been commissioned to obtain game, and while he is engaged in the
hunt the people of his village are securing the blessing of the Great
Spirit by drinking, with many mystic ceremonies, the liquid made from
seven of the most bitter roots to be found among the mountains. Of all
the game which may be obtained by the hunters, not a single animal is to
be served up at the feast whose bones have been broken or mutilated; nor
shall a rejected animal be brought within the magic circle, but shall be
given to those of the tribe who, by some misdeed, have rendered
themselves unworthy to partake of the feast. The hunters are always
compelled to return from the chase at the sunset hour, and long before
they come in sight of their villages they invariably give a shrill
whistle, as a signal of good luck, whereupon the villagers make ready to
receive them with a wild song of welcome and rejoicing.
The pall of night has once more settled upon the earth, the moon is in
its glory, the watch-fire has been lighted within the magic circle, and
the inhabitants of the valley are again assembled together in one great
multitude. From all the cornfields in the valley the magicians have
collected the marked ears of corn, and deposited them in the kettles
with the various kinds of game which may have been slaughtered, from the
bear, the deer, and the turkey, to the opossum, the squirrel, and the
quail. The entire night is devoted to eating, and the feast comes not to
an end until all the food has been dispatched, when, in answer to an
appropriate signal from the medicine men, the bones which have been
stripped of their flesh are collected together and pounded to a kind of
powder, and scattered through the air. The seven days following this
feast are devoted to dancing and carousing, and at the termination of
this period the inhabitants of the valley retire to their various
villages, and proceed to gather in their crops of the sweet maize or
Indian corn.
THE OVERFLOWING WATERS.
A TRADITION OF THE CHOCTAWS.
The world was in its prime, and time rolled on with its accustomed
regularity. The tiny streams among the hills and mountains shouted with
joy, and the broad rivers wound their wonted course along the peaceful
valleys. Many a tall oak had grown from the acorn, spread its rich
foliage to the summer winds, decayed with age, and mingled with its
mother earth. The moon and stars had long made the night-skies
beautiful, and guided the Indian hunter through the wilderness. The sun,
which the red man calls the glory of the summer time, had never failed
to appear at his appointed periods. Many generations of men had lived
and passed away.
In process of time the aspect of the world became changed. Brother
quarreled with brother, and cruel wars frequently covered the earth with
blood. The Great Spirit saw all these things and was displeased. A
terrible wind swept over the wilderness, and the red men knew that they
had done wrong, but they lived as if they did not care. Finally a
stranger prophet made his appearance among them, and proclaimed in every
village the news that the human race was to be destroyed. None believed
his words, and the moons of summer again came and disappeared. It was
now the autumn of the year. Many cloudy days had occurred, and then a
total darkness came upon the earth, and the sun seemed to have departed
forever. It was very dark and very cold. Men laid themselves down to
sleep, but they were troubled with unhappy dreams. They arose when they
thought it was time for the day to dawn, but only to see the sky covered
with a darkness deeper than the heaviest cloud. The moon and stars had
all disappeared, and there was constantly a dismal bellowing of thunder
in the upper air. Men now believed that the sun would never return, and
there was great consternation throughout the land. The great men of the
Choctaw nation spoke despondingly to their fellows, and sung their death
songs, but those songs were faintly heard in the gloom of the great
night. It was a most unhappy time indeed, and darkness reigned for a
great while. Men visited each other by torch-light. The grains and
fruits of the land became mouldy, and the wild animals of the forest
became tame and gathered around the watch-fires of the Indians, entering
even into the villages.
A louder peal of thunder than was ever before heard now echoed through
the firmament, and a light was seen in the North. It was not the light
of the sun, but the gleam of distant waters. They made a mighty roar,
and, in billows like the mountains, they rolled over the earth. They
swallowed up the entire human race in their career, and destroyed
everything which had made the earth beautiful. Only one human being was
saved, and that was the mysterious prophet who had foretold the
wonderful calamity. He had built him a raft of sassafras logs, and upon
this did he float safely above the deep waters. A large black bird came
and flew in circles above his head. He called upon it for aid, but it
shrieked aloud, and flew away and returned to him no more. A smaller
bird, of a bluish color, with scarlet eyes and beak, now came hovering
over the prophet’s head. He spoke to it, and asked if there was a spot
of dry land in any part of the waste of waters. It fluttered its wings,
uttered a sweet moan, and flew directly towards that part of the sky
where the newly-born sun was just sinking in the waves. A strong wind
now arose, and the raft of the prophet was rapidly borne in the same
direction which the bird had pursued. The moon and stars again made
their appearance, and the prophet landed upon a green island, where he
encamped. Here he enjoyed a long and refreshing sleep, and when morning
dawned he found that the island was covered with every variety of
animals, excepting the great _Shakanli_, or mammoth, which had been
destroyed. Birds, too, he also found here in great abundance. He
recognized the identical black one which had abandoned him to his fate
upon the waters, and, as it was a wicked bird and had sharp claws, he
called it _Ful luh-chitto_, or bird of the Evil One. He also discovered,
and with great joy, the bluish bird which had caused the wind to blow
him upon the island, and because of its kindness to him and its beauty,
he called it _Puch che-yon-sho-ba_, or the soft-voiced pigeon. The
waters finally passed away, and in process of time that bird became a
woman and the wife of the prophet, from whom the people now living upon
the earth are all descended. And so endeth the story of The Overflowing
Waters.