There once lived in the royal Indian town of _E-ya-sho_ (Ya-zoo) the
only son of a war chief, who was eminently distinguished above all his
fellows for his elegant form and noble bearing. The old men of the
nation looked upon him with pride, and said that he was certainly born
to occupy a high position as a warrior. He was also an eloquent orator,
and none ever thought of doubting his courage. But, with all these
qualities, he was not allowed a seat in the councils of his nation,
because he had not distinguished himself in war. The renown of having
slain an enemy he could not claim, nor had he ever been fortunate enough
to take a single prisoner. He was universally beloved, and, as the name
of his childhood had been abandoned according to an ancient custom, and
he had not yet succeeded in winning a name worthy of his ability, he was
known among his kindred as the Nameless Choctaw.
In the town of E-ya-sho there also once lived the most beautiful maiden
of her tribe. She was the daughter of a hunter, and the betrothed of the
Nameless Choctaw. They met often at the great dances, but, because she
hoped to become his bride, she treated him as a stranger. Often, too,
did they meet at the setting of the sun, but then they listened to the
song of the whipporwill or watched the rising of the evening star, when
each could hear the throbbing of the other’s heart. They loved with a
wild passion and were very happy. At such times one thought alone
entered their minds to cast a shadow. It was this: They knew that the
laws of their nation were unalterable, and that she could not become his
bride until he had won a name. She knew that he could always place at
the door of her lodge an abundance of game, and would deck her with the
most beautiful of shells and wampum; but all this availed them nothing;
that he must go upon the war-path was inevitable. She belonged to a
proud family, and she never would consent to marry a man who had not a
loud sounding name, and who could not sit in the councils of her people.
She was willing to become his bride at any time, and therefore left him,
by his prowess, to decide upon that time.
It was now midsummer and the evening hour. The Nameless Lover had met
his promised bride upon the summit of a small hill, covered with pines.
From the centre of a neighboring plain arose the smoke of a large
watch-fire, around which were dancing a party of four hundred warriors.
They had planned an expedition against the Osages, and the present was
the fourth and last night of the preparation ceremonies. Up to that
evening the Nameless Choctaw had been the leader in the dances, and even
now his absence was only temporary, for he had stolen away to express
his parting vows to his beloved. The last embrace was given, and then
the maiden was alone upon the hill-top, looking down in sadness upon the
dancing warriors, among whom she beheld none who commanded more
attention than the being whom she loved.
Morning dawned, and the Choctaw warriors were upon the war-path leading
to the country of their enemies, far up on the headwaters of the
Arkansas. Upon that stream they found a cave, and in that cave, because
they were on a prairie land, they secreted themselves. Two men were then
selected to act as spies, one of whom (the Nameless Choctaw) was to
reconnoitre in the west and the other in the east. Night came, and the
party in the cave were discovered by an Osage hunter, who had traveled
thither for the purpose of sheltering himself until morning from the
heavy dews. By the light of the stars did he then travel to the nearest
village, and having warned his people of the proximity of their enemies,
they hurried in a large body to the cave. At its mouth they built a
fire, and when the sun rose into the horizon the entire party of
Choctaws had been smothered to death by the cunning of their enemies.
The Choctaw spy who had journeyed towards the east, had witnessed the
surprise and unhappy fate of his brother warriors, and, returning to his
own country, he called a council and revealed the sad intelligence. As
to the fate of the Nameless Choctaw, who had journeyed to the westward,
he knew that he too must have been overtaken and slain. Upon the heart
of one being this last intelligence fell with a most heavy weight, and
the promised bride of the Nameless Lover pined in melancholy grief. From
the night on which she was made wretched, she began to droop, and before
the reigning moon had passed away she died, and was buried on the
identical spot where she had parted with her lover.
But what became of the Nameless Choctaw? It was not true that he had
been overtaken and slain. He was indeed discovered by the Osages, and
far over the prairies and across the streams was he closely pursued. For
many days and through the watches of many nights did the race continue,
but the Choctaw warrior finally made his escape. His course had been
exceedingly winding, and when he came to a pause he was astonished to
find that the sun rose in the wrong quarter of the heavens. Everything
appeared to him wrong and out of order, and the truth was he became a
bewildered and forlorn man, and everywhere did he wander. He found
himself at the foot of a mighty range of mountains, which were covered
with grass and unlike any that he had ever before seen.
It so happened, however, at the close of a certain day, that he
sauntered into a wooded valley, and having built him a rude bower and
killed a rabbit, he lighted a fire, and prepared himself for one quiet
meal and a night of repose. Morning dawned, and he was still in trouble.
Many moons passed away and the Choctaw was still desolate and forlorn.
It was now summer, and he called upon the Great Spirit to make his
pathway plain; and having hunted the forests for a spotted deer, and
slain her, on a day when there was no wind he offered a sacrifice, and
that night supped upon a portion of the animal’s sweet flesh. His fire
burnt brightly, and though somewhat forlorn, he found that his heart was
at peace. But now he hears a footstep! A moment more, and a snow-white
wolf of immense size is crouching at his feet, and licking his torn
moccasins. “How came you in this strange country?” inquired the wolf;
and the poor Indian related the story of his unsuccessful exploit and
subsequent escape. The wolf took pity upon the Choctaw and told him that
he would conduct him in safety to the country of his kindred; and on the
following morning did they take their departure. Long, very long was the
journey, and many and very wild and turbulent the streams which they had
to cross. The wolf helped the Choctaw to kill game for their mutual
sustenance, and by the time that the moon for weeding the corn had
arrived the nameless Choctaw had entered his native village again. This
was on the anniversary of the day he had parted with his betrothed, and
he was sorely grieved to find his people mourning her untimely death.
Time and fatigue had so changed the returned Choctaw that his relatives
and friends did not recognize him, and he chose not to reveal himself.
From many a mouth, however, did he learn the story of her death, and
many a wild song, to the astonishment of all his friends, did he sing to
the memory of the departed, whom he called by the beautiful name of
Imma, or the idol of warriors. And on a cloudless night did he wander to
the grave of his beloved, and at a moment when the Great Spirit cast his
shadow upon the moon (alluding to an eclipse) did he throw himself
thereon and die. For three nights thereafter were the inhabitants of the
Choctaw village alarmed by the continual howling of a wolf, and when it
ceased, the pine forest, upon the hill where the lovers were resting in
peace, took up the dismal howl or moan, and has continued it to the
present time.