LEGENDARY LITERATURE.
If, centuries ago, some amateur chronicler had wandered peacefully
among the North American Indians, making himself familiar with their
language and welcome at their firesides, that he might listen to their
legends and record them as they were related in their family circles,
in the same way as bands of Eastern wanderers were accustomed to revel
in Arabian tales, we might have had some idea of the poetry and
enthusiasm and glowing images of a people whose thoughts and fancies
soared so freely and wildly, and gave to their compositions a richness
and beauty, only rivalled on Grecian plains and among Celtic bards.
Tradition tells us that Homer was a blind ballad singer, and that his
immortal lines were gathered here and there among the people long after
he slept with his fathers.
The poems of Ossian were collected among the Highlands of Scotland,
from those who sang them as their fathers sang them, and were as
ignorant as the Indian of our forests of metrical rules and written
lore, yet they are the admiration of poets and sages, and considered
unparalleled by any thing civilization can boast.
On long winter evenings the Indian hunters gathered around their
firesides, to listen to the historical traditions, legends of war and
hunting, and their fairy tales, which had been handed down through
their fathers and fathers’ fathers with scarcely any variation for
centuries, kindling the enthusiasm of the warriors and inspiring the
little child with the desire some day to realize similar dreams, and
hand his name down to posterity as the author of similar exploits.
They have a superstitious fear of relating fables in summer; not till
after the snow comes will they talk of snakes, lest they should creep
into their beds, or of evil genii lest they in some way be revenged.
It is very difficult for a stranger to rightly understand the morale of
their stories, though it is said by those who know them best, that to
them the story was always an illustration of some important event or
principle.
To strangers they offer all the rites of hospitality, but do not open
their hearts. If you ask them they will tell you a story, but it will
not be such a story as they tell when alone. They will fear your
ridicule, and suppress their humor and their pathos; and so thoroughly
have they learned to distrust pale faces, that when they know that he
who is present is a friend, they will still shrink from admitting him
within the secret portals of their souls.
And when you have learned all that language can convey, there are still
a thousand images, suggestions and associations recurring to the
Indian, which can strike no chord in your heart. The myriad voices of
nature are dumb to you, but to him they are full of life and power.
LEGEND OF THE SENECAS CONCERNING THEIR ORIGIN.
All the legends when related by different people, have slight
variations, but the general features are the same, and are preserved
with remarkable exactness, considering that they have been handed down
for centuries in this oral way. The following is all the account the
Senecas can give concerning their origin.
They grew out of the crest of a mountain, at the head of Canandaigua
Lake. The mountain which gave them birth is Ge-nun-de-wah-gauh, or the
Great Hill. Hence they are called the Great Hill People.
A little boy during his rambles in the woods, found a pretty serpent,
which he carried home for a plaything. In the course of time the
serpent grew to be very large, and so voracious that he devoured all
who came within the reach of his monstrous jaws. At length he coiled
himself around the base of the mountain, so that none could pass to and
fro, without falling victims to his ravenous appetite, and besides, the
atmosphere was poisoned by his fetid breath. But starvation stared them
in the face, and the people determined upon a sally, hoping to destroy
the monster and escape unharmed. The serpent was so large that there
was no hope of leaping over his body, and there was no way but to
attempt a passage where the head and tail met. In a body all the people
rushed down, determined on victory or death, and were all destroyed,
except a little boy and his sister, who were left alone to defy the
monster. Then came a pleasant dream to the boy, which directed him to
string his bow with the silken tresses of his sister, and shoot the
serpent in the eye, or underneath a scale. The child obeyed, and the
arrow performed the work of death. In the convulsive throes of the
serpent, the heads of the multitudes which he had devoured, were thrown
upon the earth, and when he uncoiled, they rolled with him into the
lake, where being petrified by the water, they still remain in the form
of round stones, which cover the bed of the lake to this day!
This is about as marvellous as the preservation of Romulus and Remus,
and exhibits the same kind of propensity to account for what is
unaccountable, and give themselves “a local habitation and a name.” It
is also quite as credible as many of the stories concerning the early
history of the heroes of ancient history and fable, which are thought
worth recording by every author who writes of Greece and Rome, and are
read by every child with wonder.
MEDICINE LEGENDS.
The two following, are the legends concerning the principal medicines
used among the Iroquois. The ancient manner of administering them, was
to take a small wooden goblet, and go to a running stream, and dipping
towards the way which the stream ran, fill the goblet and return to set
it by the fire, with some tobacco near it. A prayer is offered, while
tobacco is thrown upon the fire, that the words may ascend upon the
smoke.
The medicine is placed upon a piece of skin near the goblet, and being
very finely pounded, is taken up with a wooden spoon and dusted upon
the water in three places, in spots in the form of a triangle, thus—⁂
The medicine man then looks at it critically, and if it spreads itself
over the surface of the water and whirls about, it is a sign that the
invalid will be healed. If it sinks directly in the places where it is
placed—there is no hope—the sick person will die, and they throw the
whole away.
Once in six months there is a great feast made, at the hunting season
in the fall and spring. On the night of the feast, as soon as it is
dark, all who are present assemble in one room, where no light or fire
is allowed to burn, and placing the medicine near the covered embers,
and the tobacco by its side, they commence singing something which
proclaims that the crow is coming to their feast, and also many other
birds, and various animals, the brains of whose species form part of
the medicine. At the end of the song, some one imitates the caw of the
crow, and the songs of the birds, and howl of the wolf, &c., as if the
animals were present.
Three times in the course of the night they offer a prayer, while
throwing tobacco upon the smothered flames, asking that the people may
be protected from all harm, and if they receive wounds that the
medicine may be effectual in healing them.
At the commencement of the ceremonies the doors are locked, and no one
is allowed to enter or leave the house while they continue. Neither is
any one allowed to sleep, as this would spoil the medicine. The feast
begins just before dawn of day. The master of ceremonies first takes a
deer’s head, and biting off a piece, imitates the cry of the crow, and
passes the head of the animal to another, who does the same, till all
have tasted, and imitated the peculiar note of some bird or animal.
As soon as it begins to be light, the presiding officer takes a duck’s
bill, and dipping it full of the medicine, gives it to each one
present, who puts it in a bit of skin, and wrapping it in several
coverings, keeps it carefully till the next semi-annual feast. The skin
of a panther is preferred for the first envelope, if it can be
obtained.
Those who take a part in the ceremonies are MEDICINE MEN; Chiefs are
allowed to be present, and any others who have been cured of any
disease by the medicine.
Without the building, the young people gather for merriment, and the
fragments of the feast are given to them when it is finished.
When the medicine is used which is described in the second legend, the
tune is sung which was heard at its discovery, both at the ceremonies
of the feast and the time of administering it.
They seem to think the ceremonies effectual in making the medicinal
qualities of the compound imperishable. Each medicine man has a large
quantity which he keeps in a bag, and in order not to exhaust the
whole, now and then adds pulverized corn roots, squash vines, &c., and
whenever it is administered, several persons assemble and sing. Both
kinds are considered especially useful in healing wounds received in
war.
In reading the first legend, there will be seen very humorous allusions
to the habits of the pigeon, the heron, and crow, and the whole is a
curious invention, inspiring faith in the means used for healing, and I
have seen many who affirmed that they had tested the wonderful powers
of each!
No. 1.
There once lived a man who was a great hunter. His generosity was the
theme of praise in all the country, for he not only supplied his own
family with food, but distributed game among his friends and neighbors,
and even called the birds and the animals of the forest to partake of
his abundance. For this reason he received the appellation of
“Protector of birds and animals.”
He lived a hunter’s life till war broke out between his own and some
distant nation, and then he took the war-path. He was as brave a
warrior as skilful hunter, and slew a great multitude of the enemy,
till all were lying dead around him, except one, who was a mighty man
of valor, and in an unguarded moment the hunter received a blow from
his tomahawk, in the head, which felled him to the earth. His enemy
then took his scalp and fled.
Some of his own party had seen what befell him, and, supposing him
dead, had left him on the field of battle; but a Fox who wandered this
way immediately recognized his old benefactor. Sorrowful indeed was he
to find him slain, and began to revolve in his mind some means of
restoring him to life. “Perhaps,” said he, “some of my friends may know
of a medicine by which his wounds may be healed, and he may live
again.” So saying, he ran into the forest and uttered the death lament,
which was the signal for all the animals to congregate. From far and
near they came, till hundreds and thousands of every name had assembled
around the body of the hunter, eagerly inquiring what had happened. The
Fox explains how he had accidentally come that way and found their
friend stretched lifeless upon the earth. The animals draw near and
examine him more closely, to be sure that life is extinct. They roll
him over and over upon the ground and are satisfied that he is
dead—there is not a single sign of life.
Then they hold a GRAND COUNCIL, of which the Bear is speaker. When all
are ready to listen, he asks if any one present is acquainted with any
medicine which would restore the dead man to life. With great alacrity
each one examines his medicine-box, but finds nothing adapted to this
purpose. Being defeated in their noble object of restoring their
friend, all join in a mournful howl—a requiem for the dead. This
attracted a singing bird—the Oriole, who came quickly to learn the
cause of the assembling of this great concourse, and their great
lamentation. The Bear made known the calamity which had befallen them,
and, as the birds would feel themselves equally afflicted, he requested
the Oriole to flee away and invite all the feathered tribes to come to
the council, and see if their united wisdom cannot devise a remedy that
will restore their friend to life.
Soon are assembled all the birds of the air, even the Great Eagle of
the Iroquois, who is seldom induced to appear upon the earth, hastens
to pay her respects to the remains of the renowned and benevolent
hunter. All being satisfied that he was really dead, the united council
of birds and animals, which remained convened, decided that his scalp
must be recovered, saying, any bird or animal who pleased might
volunteer to go upon this holy mission. The Fox was the first to offer
his services, and departed full of hope that his zeal would be crowned
with success. But after many days he returned, saying, he could find no
traces of man’s footsteps—not a chick or child belonged to any
settlement. The great love which they bore their friend prompted
several others to go upon the same mission; and to the animals belonged
the first right, as they had first found him. But at length the birds
were anxious to show their devotion, and the Pigeon Hawk begged leave
to make the first flight, as she was more swift of wing than any other,
and could visit the whole world in the shortest space of time. They had
scarcely missed him when he returned. He said he had been over the
entire earth and found it not; but they did not consider his voyage
satisfactory, as he had flown so swiftly that it was impossible for him
to see any thing distinctly by the way!
Next the White Heron proposed that she be sent, because she was so slow
of wing that she could see every object as she passed! On her aerial
voyage she discovered a plain covered with the vines of the wild bean,
laden with the delicious fruit. It was too great a temptation for the
Heron to resist, and she descended to enjoy a feast. So gluttonously
did she partake that she could not rise again from the earth, and the
council, after many days of anxious waiting, called for a substitute.
Here the Crow came forward and acknowledged his fitness for such an
office, as he also was slow of wing and was accustomed to hover over
settlements, and to discern them afar off! and he would not be
suspected of any particular design if he should linger near the one
that contained the scalp!
The warrior who possessed the coveted treasure, knew the birds and
animals were holding a council on the field of battle to devise means
to recover it; but when the crow drew near he was not alarmed. The
smoke of the wigwams indicated a settlement, and as the crow sailed
lazily through the air at a great height above the roofs of the cabins,
he espied a scalp which he knew must be the one he sought, stretched
out to dry.
After various unsuccessful stratagems, he was able to seize it, and
flew away to exhibit his trophy to the council.
Now they attempt to fit it to the head; but, being dry, it is
impossible, and search is made to find something with which to moisten
it; but it is in vain. Then slowly moves forward the Great Eagle, and
bids them listen to her words:
“My wings are never furled; night and day, for years and hundreds of
years, the dews of heaven have been collecting upon my back, as I sat
in my nest, above the clouds, and perhaps these waters may have a
virtue no earthly fountain can possess; we will see.”
Then she plucked a feather from her wing and dipped it in the dewy
elixir, which was applied to the shrivelled scalp, and lo! it became
pliable and fresh as if just removed. Now it would fit, but there must
be a healing power to cause the flesh to unite, and again to awaken
life.
All are anxious to do something in this great work, and therefore all
go forth to bring rare leaves and flowers and seeds and bark, the flesh
of animals and the brains of birds, to form a healing mixture. When
they return it is prepared, and being moistened with the dew is applied
to the scalp, and instantly it adheres and becomes firm. They cause the
hunter to sit up, and he looks around in astonishment upon his numerous
friends, unable to divine the meaning of so strange an assemblage.
Then they bid him stand upon his feet, and tell him how he was found
dead upon the plain, and how great was the lamentation of all those who
had so long experienced his kindness, and the efforts they had made to
restore him. They then give him the compound which had been the means
of bringing him again to life, saying “it was the gift of the Great
Spirit to man. He alone had directed them in the affairs of the
council; had brought the eagle to furnish the heavenly moisture, and
give them wisdom in making the preparation, that they might furnish to
man a medicine which should be effectual for every wound.”
When they had finished, the animals departed to their forest haunts,
the eagle soared again to her eyry, and the birds of the air flew away
to their nests in the tall trees, all happy and rejoicing that they had
accomplished this great good.
The hunter returned to his home and spread abroad the news of the
miracle, and the knowledge of the wonderful medicine, which is used to
this day among the Iroquois, who are the favorites of the Great Spirit.
No. 2.
An Indian hunter went forth to hunt, and as he wandered in the forest
he heard a strain of beautiful music far off among the trees. He
listened but could not tell whence it came, and knew it could not be by
any human voice, or from any instrument he had ever heard. As he came
near it ceased. The next evening he went forth again, but he heard not
the music, and again, but in vain.
Then came the Great Spirit to him in a dream and told him he must fast,
and wash himself till he was purified, and then he might go forth, and
he would hear again the music. So he purified himself and went again
among the darkest trees of the forest, and soon his ear caught the
sweet strains, and as he drew near they became more beautiful, and he
listened till he had learned them, and could make the same sweet
sounds. Then he saw that it was a plant, with a tall green stem and
long tapering leaves. He took his knife and cut the stalk, but ere he
had scarcely finished, it healed and was the same as before. He cut it
again, and again it healed, and then he knew that it would heal
diseases, and he took it home and dried it by the fire, and pulverized
it; and applying a few particles of it to a dangerous wound, no sooner
had it touched the flesh than it was whole. Thus the Great Spirit
taught the Indian the nature of medicinal plants, and directed him
where they were to be found.
A HUNTING LEGEND.
One of the ancient Grecian philosophers, whose life and sayings are
deemed worthy of recording, once astonished the people by relating the
adventures he had experienced on a long journey through many countries,
where he met “speaking trees, pigmies, phœnixes, satyrs and dragons,”
and many other things equally marvellous, of which I could not help
being reminded when I heard the hunter’s legend.
Of Anaxagoras, another Grecian philosopher, it is related as one of his
predictions, that on a certain day a stone would fall from the sun, and
on the appointed day, a stone did fall from the sun in a part of
Thrace, near the river Ægos. And Plutarch states that this stone was
not only shown, but in his time greatly reverenced by the
Peloponnesians. At another time it was asserted that a large stone fell
from heaven, and Anaxagoras said that the whole heavens was composed of
stones, and that by its rapid revolutions they were all held together,
and when those revolutions get slower, they fall down.
At another time he said, when the weather was very fair, that there
would be a heavy rain and storm, and went to the Olympic games in a
shaggy skin or leathern dress, prepared for such a change; and as it
did rain according to his predictions, the people honored him as though
he possessed supernatural knowledge.
But the Indian philosophers tell the wonderful experience of the hunter
to make exaggeration and falsehood contemptible and ridiculous.
ADVENTURES OF THE HUNTER HO-CHA-GAH.
Ho-cha-gah was a hunter of great renown. His wife had plenty of
venison. In his tent were many furs and nice skins, and the story of
his adventures has come down through many generations.
He built him a little hut beside a lake, where the dark forest came
down to its silvery border, and stretched far away over the mountain.
Every day he took his bow and quiver of arrows, and went forth to find
the deer or the wolf, and trap the beaver or the otter, but this time
he was not successful. Many months he lingered in hopes to find
something to reward his labors, but in vain. The spring came and he
must return home. But he thought at least he would have something new
to relate, so he resolved to launch upon the water a new-fashioned
boat, and see whither it would conduct him. The food which he had not
consumed he encased in bags of slippery elm and sank them in the water,
that they might be preserved should he return again to hunt beside the
lake. Himself he inclosed in a bottle of the same material and set out
on his floating expedition.
For a long time he glided smoothly over the surface, but at length he
experienced a strange sensation as if he were sailing through the air.
Then he struck a rock, and then another, bounding along like a billow,
till he was again upon the placid stream. The noise was like thunder,
and he knew he must have descended from a great height with the foam of
waters.
Soon he was cast upon the beach, and now wished to come out of his
hiding place, for he was faint for want of food. But he could not open
his prison, and feared he must die without relating his adventures. But
he was awakened one morning by a noise like the beak of a bird, against
the side of the bottle which was now dry and hard, and soon the light
entered, and he saw a crow picking its way to him in hopes of finding
food.
Now he was able to extricate himself and came forth, and saw that he
had come safely over the cataract of Niagara!
With this he went home and astonished his friends, who looked upon him
as almost a superior being, and believed he was miraculously preserved
by the Great Spirit.
His love of adventures was not satisfied, and in a little time he went
again to the forest and made his camp by the lake, where he had been
before so unsuccessful in hunting. Now he found plenty of game, and
when spring came, he thought he would try still another mode of
voyaging—he would like to fly through the air. Seeing a flock of geese
upon the waters, he thought if he were secured to their feet he might
rise with them and be carried along through the aerial regions, and
look down upon the valleys beneath. So he took strips of bark and
stealthily crept into the water, and swimming along, suddenly encircled
them with his string, and tied himself to their feet, when with a great
screaming they rose and he was borne along over mountains, and rivers,
and valleys, where he saw strange people, and plains, and heard strange
and beautiful music. After awhile he was borne so far aloft, that he
could scarcely breathe; then he severed the string and descended again
to earth. On alighting, he found himself snugly settled in a hollow
tree. He received no harm, but could see no way of escape. For several
days he was a prisoner, and again in danger of starving, when he heard
voices and endeavored to speak. The noise he made attracted the
attention of those who passed by, and thinking it some animal, they
felled the tree, and lo! to their astonishment, it was a man.
As soon as he was set free, he proceeded on his way and came to a large
stream, the color of which was bright crimson. Never before had he seen
any thing so beautiful. He drank of it and the taste was like a ripe
strawberry. He followed it to its source, and found it issued from one
of these berries, the size of which was marvellous, and gave rise to a
never failing rivulet, to refresh the hunter when he was weary and
found no food.
Again he pursued his way, and whilst wandering in the forest he saw
something that looked like a great cloud. Slowly it sailed to and fro,
and when it descended he saw that it was an army of grasshoppers each
as large as a canoe. They were frightful to behold.
Again he thought he would spend the winter in hunting, and plunged into
the thick forest where the bear and buffalo made their haunts. But in
vain he bent his bow and set his trap. They all eluded his vigilance.
Then in a dream was suggested to him the hunter’s charm. He used it,
and there came flocking to him from all the country every animal of the
forest, so near that he could touch them, and so tame that he could
sleep in the midst of them unharmed. Then he built him a hut to dry his
venison, and though he had enough, he was still surrounded. Every
four-footed and creeping thing infested his dwelling till he was
obliged to flee.
Again he returned hence and related his marvellous adventures, which
now none believed, yet he was not satisfied. His thirst for fame was
insatiable, and his egotism inexhaustible. Absenting himself another
long period, he returned with still greater beasts.
He crossed a stream of a rich golden hue, and being thirsty drank of
its waters, and was astonished at the delicious flavor. On tracing it,
he found it to issue from a mandrake which was an inexhaustible
fountain, and sent forth its juices to refresh the wayfarer, lest he
faint in the wilderness.
Pursuing his way he saw a duck sailing upon a dimpling pool, and bent
his bow for its destruction; the arrow passed through the duck, and
glancing upon the waters, pierced a deer that was slaking her thirst at
the fountain; not having spent its force, the arrow glided on and
entered a tree, making an opening from which issued a stream of richest
honey. Here he rested and enjoyed a feast. Again when sitting beneath a
spreading walnut-tree, he saw a nut rolling over and over upon the
ground; on striking it with his tomahawk, a seam was made in the shell,
through which came forth a bear; and then another and another, till six
monsters of the forest were reclining around him, whose home was the
walnut-shell!
The bears in the walnut-shell remind us of the fairies in a hazel-nut
shell, as sung by Drayton, our old English poet, in the “Court of
Fairy.” In fear of falling into the hands of a hobgoblin the fairies,
“Hop, and Mop, and Drop, so clear,
Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were
To Mab, their sovereign dear,
Her special maids of honor;
Fib, and Tib, and Prick, and Pin,
Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin,
Sit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,
The train that wait upon her.
“Upon a Grasshopper they got,
And what with awhile and with trot,
For hedge nor ditch they spared not;
But after her they hie them.
A Cob-web over them they throw
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow,
Lest any should espy them.
“At length one chanced to find a nut,
In the end of which a hole was cut,
Which lay upon a hazel-root,
There scattered by a Squirrel,
Which out the kernel gotten had;
When quoth this fay, ‘Dear queen, be glad,
Let Oberon be ne’er so mad,
I’ll set you safe from peril.
“‘Come all into this nut,’ quoth she,
‘Come closely in, be ruled by me,
Each one may here a chooser be,
For room ye need not wrestle,
Nor need ye be together heapt,’
So one by one therein they crept,
And lying down they soundly slept
As safe as in a Castle!”
A PIGMY LEGEND.
The memory of every son and daughter of the Saxons will furnish
abundance of fairy tales to correspond with the most incredible of
those related around Indian firesides. I heard, not long since, a
little girl reading “Household Stories,” translated from the German,
and on reading her an Indian legend, she exclaimed, “Why, they are like
my stories,” and I was myself struck with the resemblance. The stories
of “Little Red Ridinghood,” “The Frog Prince,” “The Three Little Men in
the Wood,” and a thousand others, have been the delight of Christian
children for centuries, and nothing a heathen can relate is more
ridiculous than “Mother Goose’s Melodies.” Yet they are a part of our
national literature. No man, however wise, would consider himself
educated who could not say—
“There was an old woman, and she, and she,
And out of her elbow grew an apple tree.”
“Old mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard, &c.”
“The Midsummer Night’s Dream” of Shakspeare, or Spenser’s “Fairy
Queen,” have not been the less admired because they were utterly
improbable. I cannot relate any thing so beautiful in the way of Indian
fairy stories, but those which I relate, and hundreds which have never
been related, are exceedingly beautiful in their own metaphorical
language; and I almost falter in attempting to convey any idea of their
imaginative creations, in English. The following are faint transcripts
of the original:
LEGEND OF THE JO-GO-O, OR PIGMIES DESTROYING THE MONSTER BUFFALOES.
The Pigmies were little folk, who lived far away to the north among the
clefts of the rocks. Ote-ho-we-geh, “The cold regions,” designated the
place of their abode, because it was so cold they could not grow. So
they were not more than two feet in height, but they were very
powerful, and ever on the alert doing good. Especially were they the
friends of the red man, and knew if dangers threatened him in any part
of the country.
The Do-ge-ya-go-wa, or Great Buffaloes, had their dwellings in the
earth, and went from place to place in subterranean walks.
Three of these monsters were on their way to the Salt Lakes of the
south, when three of the Pigmies, who always warred with giants and
monsters, snakes, lizards and every thing prejudicial to man, set forth
to destroy them. To be one day at the north, and the next far away
thousands of miles to the south, was a trifling feat for them to
perform, so swiftly did they go in their fairy canoes.
One day an Indian maiden was dipping water from a little brook that
flowed into the O-hee-yo, and as she bent over the stream, the water
reflected a strange appearance. On looking up she beheld the three
Pigmies just alighting near where she stood. She knew immediately that
there was danger, for they never at any other time made themselves
visible to mortal eyes.
These monster buffaloes fed only on human flesh, and were therefore a
great terror, as they could suddenly rise up out of the ground and
destroy whole settlements, before there was time for any to flee. The
Pigmies knew where they had gone, and that they would soon return, and
bade the maiden flee to inform her people, that they might be ready for
flight if they should not succeed in their mission; but told her they
would meet her again at the stream and inform her if they were able to
destroy them.
When they had finished their message, with one stroke of their paddles
the canoe soared into the air and sailed along over the tree tops a
great distance, and then descended again to the water, when another
stroke bore it again aloft.
When they reached the place where the buffaloes appeared, they cut down
the largest hickory trees and split them in two parts for their bows,
and made them arrows of the tallest pines of the forest. With these
they pierced them and sent the arrows with such force that they passed
through the monsters, who fell, crushing whole forests beneath them.
From their blood arose the small buffaloes, Do-ge-ya-go, while their
bones have remained undecayed for untold centuries.
The Pigmies having accomplished their purpose, returned to inform the
maiden at the stream, who listened to their story with delight, and ran
to announce the glad tidings to her people, and then departed to their
northern home.
All the little buffaloes from far and near came regularly to dance on
the spot where their progenitors were slain, and the Indian, as he
passes the place, shows a particle from some mammoth bone, to wear as a
charm to procure him whatever he desires—the love of a beautiful
maiden—success on the war path, or plenty of game in his hunting
excursions.
A WAR LEGEND.
In this story is developed the principle upon which war was waged among
the Iroquois. Revenge for a great injury was the cause of the
beginnings of strife. Then subjugation for the sake of peace, like the
Romans of old, and the Iroquois have been justly called the “Romans of
America.” There was something in their proud and dignified bearing, in
their national policy, and their warlike exploits, like the people who
extended their arms into every civilized and uncivilized land.
In the words of the poet, who has given metrical beauty to their
legends, and added his own to their lofty enthusiasm:
“Roman remains in Britain, with their double lines of circumvallation,
and the Druidic circles of moss-covered stones, are objects, not more
interesting to the antiquary than the mighty tumuli of the west; and
the ruins of walled towns in the wilds of Wisconsin. What are a few
mouldering abbeys and falling turrets, compared with the colossal
remains of empires in Central America? Poet and historian have lavished
their descriptive skill on the burial rites of Alaric, whose bones
repose in the sandy bed of the Busentinus, but not less imposing was
the funeral of Blackbird, the Ohama Chief, who was inhumed bestriding
his war-horse in a hill sepulchre that overlooks the Missouri.
“Red Jacket sitting in tears on a fallen oak, viewing the cleared
fields of the white man, after a fruitless hunt for game in and around
the haunts of his youth, was a nobler spectacle of sorrow than even
Marius reclining amid the ruins of Carthage.”
And Jefferson says: “Before we condemn the Indian of this continent as
wanting genius, we must consider that letters had not yet been
introduced among them. If the Indian at this time is compared with
Europeans north of the Alps, when the Roman arms and arts first crossed
the mountains, the comparison would be very unequal, because Europe at
that time was swarming with numbers; because numbers produce emulation
and multiply chances of improvement, and one improvement begets
another. Yet I may safely ask, how many great poets—how many able
mathematicians—how many great inventors in arts and sciences had Europe
north of the Alps then produced? And it was sixteen centuries after
this before a Newton could be found.”
The manner in which the legend represents the Indian warrior meeting
death at the stake is the manner in which every Indian warrior died. No
refinement or duration of torture could extort from him a groan. The
faith of the Christian martyr supports him in the hour of trial; but
the Indian excels him in defying his tormentors, with only his own
dauntless spirit to sustain him; he will die, too, rather than
surrender, though he knows he will fall into the hands of those who,
looking upon him as a fallen foe, will be merciful.
The war-dance, so often alluded to in Indian story, is said to be
beyond description the most exciting and inspiring of all theatrical
scenes. It is the acting of war. The song, which kindles enthusiasm, is
first sung, with the same motive and the same effect as the martial
music awakes it echoes on Christian plains, and then follows all the
pomp and circumstance of war: arrows fly thick and fast, the tomahawk
is wielded, the dead and dying strew the battle-field, and by various
devices of paint and false scalps, hundreds are bleeding, when follows
the shout of victory and the dirge for the slain. Those who have
witnessed it say it is impossible for one who is not an actor to
realize that it can be any thing less than a real battle. Those who
pass through the initiatory process of being trained for warriors at a
military school, can imagine the influence of the war-dance upon those
to whom war is the only field of glory. I wish I could transfer to my
paper something of the enthusiasm with which an Indian relates the
legend.
THE VIRGIN OF WAR.
There lived an aged Indian almost alone in the forest, with his wife
and two sons. They had never heard of war or dissension; then the woods
echoed only the hunter’s happy song, and the sweet melodies of the
birds. But there came a vision to the father concerning the future,
when nations would hate one another, and the wilderness would resound
to the shrill war-whoop, and the tomahawk and scalping-knife would be
used among his people.
So he called his sons and bade them listen to his instructions. He made
a bow and a quiver of arrows, and taught them skill in the use of them.
He made a war club, and told them if they should be assailed they could
with this slay their enemies. He gave them a scalping-knife and said,
“with this you can secure the trophies of your victories.” Then came
the war-song and the dance in exultation of their triumphs. The
children listened eagerly to their father’s words, though they
understood little of the tendency of his teachings; they became expert
in the use of all the instruments their father had made, and indulged
daily in the amusements which this practice afforded them, while their
mother looked on in wonder at all these new things which had never
before been seen by human eyes.
One day there came a stranger to their lodge when the old man and his
sons were in the forest. He said to the wife he wished to meet her
husband in order to take counsel with him, and if he would come to the
little brook which ran through a distant field, he would see a large
tree in the water; he must come and place his right foot upon the tree,
and he himself would place his left foot upon the tree, and thus they
would talk of the things which he had come to say. But before her
husband left his lodge she must take the bow which he had been making
and cut the string nearly off, but say nothing to him about it, for a
great evil would come upon her if she did not in all things obey his
directions; and here the stranger looked very fiercely upon her, so
that she trembled and did not dare to disobey.
When her husband returned she gave him the message, and before he set
out to meet the messenger she secretly cut his bow-string and did not
dream of evil.
The old man departed, and all day and night they waited, but he did not
return. The children said, “what has become of our father? Let us go
and seek him.” So they took their bows and quivers and went to the
little brook, and there saw their father’s body lying in the water full
of arrows. Then they knew that he had been killed, and that the
stranger was their enemy. When they met upon the fallen tree the
stranger pushed him into the water, and when he attempted to use his
bow, the string snapped, and his enemy overcame him. He also took from
him his bow and quiver and now had gone far away. “We must be
revenged!” exclaimed the eldest of the boys; “this is what our father
taught us. We must seek him who has slain our father, and take his
scalp.”
They took the body home and mourned and wept many days. Then they
commenced with greater interest to sing the war-song and perform the
dance, and wield the tomahawk, and their mother reproved them. But they
said, this is what our father taught us we must do; and now we must go
and seek him who has slain our father. We must be revenged.
Then they sharpened their arrows, and strung their bows, and departed
on the war-path—not to gain fame or glory—not to conquer for the sake
of extending their dominions—not to slay to gratify a thirst for blood;
but to be avenged for a family wrong. They took the way their father
went, and after many days found the people of the stranger, towards
whom their hatred had been excited, and shot the first man that came
within the flight of an arrow. In taking the scalp they were not
expert, but succeeded in obtaining the trophy which was to tell of
their success, and holding it up in sight of their enemies, exclaimed,
“Follow us, but ye will not overtake us; thus shall it be done unto
those who destroy life!”
This the multitude understood not, and looked in astonishment at the
bleeding symbol of their vengeance. They returned and laid the scalp at
the feet of their grandmother, for it was her son who had been killed,
and to her they brought the compensation—blood for blood, had been
shed. They then prepared it as their father had directed, and hung it
upon the roof of their dwelling, as the testimony of their valor.
But they were not content. They had tasted of excitement, and panted
again for the war-path. But now their enemies were prepared, and one
was taken prisoner, yet they knew not what to do, for they had never
before had conflicts with enemies. But the youthful warrior remembered
his father’s instructions concerning the treatment of prisoners, and
told them he would die by fire—he would be burned at the stake. So with
his own hands he piled the fagots and wound the withes about his body,
and bade them apply the torch. They looked with horror upon the scene,
and pity upon his sufferings, and would gladly have released him from
such torture. But he defied them, saying it was not in their power to
make him cry out for pain. He was dying a warrior’s death, and scorned
to receive compassion. Then he threw his hands in the air, and sung the
war-song till his breath died away, thus setting an example to all who
would win honor.
Now the remaining brother must again seek revenge. He induced a young
companion to join him, and filling the air with their wild chorus, they
went forth to slay many in return for him who had fallen into their
hands. Their arrows flew thick and fast, while they concealed
themselves from the sight of those whom they pursued, till many had
fallen; then they took a prisoner, and returned home.
He too must die at the stake, and though not a warrior, he imitated the
example set him by the youth who thirsted for glory, and exulted in his
sufferings, singing the war-song as long as life remained.
His people were now enraged, and plotted the destruction of their
enemies. A runner was sent to invite the chiefs of this war-seeking
nation to meet them at an appointed place for the purpose of adjusting
their difficulties. But the young warrior whose brother gloried in
torture, said he feared their treachery, and would not allow the chiefs
of his people to fall into their hands. No, the warriors should go
forth prepared for battle. He had trained them in expectation of this
day, and they were ready for war and ready for victory. Then echoed the
war-whoop through all the forest, and they marched in battle array to
lie in wait for their enemies.
They encamped on the brow of a hill, arriving at the designated time,
but the little band which was to meet them to hold a council for peace
was nowhere to be seen. They threw up a palisade for their defence, and
commenced the festivities which were the warrior’s pastime. What a
scene for their enemies who now first looked from their concealment
upon the war dance. In the midst of the forest was a great fire, around
it here and there sat the old men in groups, while the young men with
their painted cheeks gleaming in the red torch-light, and the bright
flames waving over their brows, danced among the trees and sang the
thrilling songs which stirred them to daring deeds, and drove the fear
of death far away from their hearts.
But whilst in the midst of their rejoicings, an arrow comes whizzing
through the air. They heed it not, and continue their songs. Another is
heard, and another, but the revelry does not cease; now a strain is
heard to which the shrill war-whoop is the answer; every bow is strung,
and a thousand arrows are sent like the swift lightning back upon the
invaders. A fierce battle ensues, many warriors are slain. The enemy
flee and are pursued. The air is filled with the shouts of the victors.
The ground is covered with the dead.
The next day every warrior returns with a scalp, the trophy of his
valor, and the youth, to whose wisdom in council they owe the victory,
assembles all the people and announces that his mission is fulfilled.
He is about to leave the earth. He has repeated to them his father’s
instructions. They have learned all the arts of war, and know how to
take the scalps of their enemies. He has taught them the song and the
dance, and bids them forget not to die like warriors, in battle or at
the stake.
The next day they seek him and he is dead.
Now these nations have learned war, and the war-path becomes a beaten
trail, so constantly do they go to and fro to take the scalps of their
enemies. So they make a trench, and by a law which all agree to obey,
pursuit shall not be carried across this boundary. The warrior might
come into the enemy’s country, but when he was driven back, after he
had crossed the line, he should be safe. There they often stood in
great numbers, within sight of each other, but neither footsteps nor
arrows must go over the trench.
On one occasion, when they were pursuing the enemy, a man ran swiftly
up into a tree to escape, and when they looked, behold, he was changed
into a bear! His clan was ever after called the Bear Clan. On another
occasion, a man who was fleeing descended into a deep ravine, and
looking for him as he ascended the opposite side, lo, he was a wolf!
thus obtaining for his clan the title of Wolf Clan. After long years of
enmity and a thousand battles, it was discovered that these clans which
had been so long at war were one nation. They then buried the tomahawk
and smoked the pipe of peace.
MYTHOLOGICAL LEGENDS.
He-no was the Jupiter of the Iroquois, and Ga-oh reminds us of Æolus.
Those who are familiar with these mythological personages of the Indian
creation, make use of them as the classical student does of the gods of
the ancients. When there is a furious storm they say, He-no is in a
rage. When a violent tempest shakes the earth, they say, Ga-oh is in a
frenzy. But among a great proportion of the reading community, these
allusions would have no meaning. A thorough knowledge of Indian
history, language and legends, would add a great store of pleasing
images to the collections of the poet and novelist, that would be
thoroughly American, and add new interest to American literature.
THE LEGEND OF HE-NO, THE THUNDERER.
A young maiden residing at Ga-u-gwa, a village above Niagara Falls, at
the mouth of Cayuga creek, had been contracted in marriage to an old
man of ugly manners and disagreeable person. As the marriage was
hateful to her, and by the customs of the nations there was no escape,
she resolved upon self-destruction. Launching a bark canoe upon the
Niagara, she directed it towards the current, and was soon swept over
the frightful precipice amid the foaming waters. He-no the Thunderer
had his home behind the sheet, and seeing her descend, he caught her in
a blanket and carried her behind the fall. One of the servants of He-no
being attracted by her beauty desired to marry her, to which she had no
objection, and by the voice of the Thunderer they were united.
For many years before this the people of Ga-u-gwa had been visited by
an annual pestilence, which destroyed great numbers and for which they
could assign no cause. At the end of a year He-no revealed to the
maiden the cause, and sent her back to tell the people the remedy. He
said a monstrous serpent dwelt under the village, who depended upon the
bodies of the dead for sustenance, and in order to obtain his annual
supply he went forth once a year and poisoned the river Niagara, and
Cayuga creek, so that all who drank of them perished.
The people were directed to move to Buffalo creek, and the young wife
was charged to bring up the son of which she would soon become the
mother, in retirement, and not mingle in the strifes of war. With those
injunctions she departed on her mission.
When the great serpent again poisoned the waters the earth brought him
no food, and putting forth his head to discover the cause, he saw the
village deserted. He immediately scented the trail by which the people
had departed, and followed them to their new home. But whilst passing
through a narrow channel, He-no discharged upon him a mighty
thunderbolt which inflicted a mortal wound. The Senecas still point to
a place in the creek where the banks were shelved out in a
semi-circular form, which was done by the serpent when he turned to
escape.
His body floated down the stream and lodged upon the verge of the
Cataract, stretching nearly across the river. The raging waters thus
dammed up broke through the rocks behind, and thus the whole verge of
the Fall, upon which the body rested, was precipitated with it into the
abyss beneath. In this manner, says the legend, was formed the Horse
Shoe Fall.
Before this event there was a passage behind the sheet, from one shore
to the other. This was not only broken up, but the home of He-no
destroyed, so that he removed his habitation to the far West.
The child of the maiden grew up to boyhood, and was found to possess
the power of darting lightning at his will. On a certain occasion
having been rudely assailed by a playmate, he was transfixed with a
thunderbolt. He-no immediately translated him to the clouds and made
him assistant Thunderer!
GA-OH.
Ga-oh was the Spirit of the winds, and is represented in the form of a
man, with a face furrowed by age, sitting in solitary confinement, with
a tangle of discordant winds ever around him; when he is restless, the
rushing noise of the mighty wind is heard, in the forest and upon the
sea. On his motions depend the rolling of the billows, and the fury of
the tempest. He puts the whirlwind in motion, and bids it again be
still. When he is perfectly quiet there is silence over all the earth,
and a gentle motion moves the soft fanning breeze. But Ga-oh is subject
to the Great Spirit, and ever mindful of his will.
THE SEVEN STARS.
Seven little boys asked their mothers to permit them to make a feast;
but they were denied. Still intent upon their purpose, they went alone
and procured a little white dog to sacrifice, and while dancing around
the fire, they were suddenly carried away through the air by some
invisible spirit. Their mothers gazed after them with inconsolable
anguish, till they saw them take their place in the sky among the
starry hosts, where they are dancing still as the seven stars of the
Pleiades.
The ancient mythology relates that these stars are the children of
Atlas and Pleione, who were thus changed and permitted to shine for
ever, because of their amiable virtues and mutual affection.
THE THREE SISTERS.
Of all the spiritual creations of the Indian, there is none more
beautiful than the one concerning the guardians which they imagine to
preside over their favorite vegetables, corn, beans, and squashes. Each
of these has a spirit, but a separate name is not given to each spirit.
They have the forms of beautiful females, and are represented as loving
one another as sisters, and dwelling together in perfect unity and
happiness. The vines of these vegetables grow in the same soil, and
often from the same hill, and cling lovingly around each other, and
thus are true representatives of those who watch over them. The maidens
are ever young, and are clothed with the leaves of the plants among
which they dwell. She who is the guardian spirit of corn, has for her
drapery the long tapering leaves of the maize, ornamented with its
silken tassels, which also are bound in wreaths about her brow. She
whose office it is to guard the bean, has her garments also of its
leaves woven together by the delicate tendrils, with a crown of the
velvet pods upon her head, interspersed with the blossom which precedes
the fruit. The spirit of squashes is also clothed with the productions
of the vine under her special care, and all the summer they flit about
among the plants, and are called, De-o-ha-ho, Our Life, or Our
Supporters.
Corn, the Indians say, was once of easy culture, and yielded far more
abundantly than now, the grain being very rich with oil. But the Evil
Spirit being envious of this great gift of Ha-wen-ne-yu to man, went
forth into the fields and spread over it a universal blight. Since then
it has been more difficult to cultivate, and is without its original
richness.
When the rustling wind waves the corn leaves, producing a mournful
sound, the pious Indian fancies he hears the spirit of corn, in her
compassion for the red man, still bemoaning with unavailing regrets her
blighted fruitfulness.
I have here given but a few of the innumerable legends which are to be
found among the Iroquois, hoping at some future day to devote a volume
entirely to this subject. It may not be so interesting, or so valuable
a contribution to literature as “Keightley’s Fairy Mythology,” and it
may be many years before such a work will be truly appreciated, even by
the antiquarian and the scholar; but it may yet prove a mite in the
vast treasure house of traditional lore, and will some day be
considered not entirely unworthy a place beside the fairy castles of
Merrie England, Scotia’s sylvan temples, and the grottos of Italian
nymphs.