CHAPTER IV.

Hearsay information of the hunters turns out false--We alter

our course--A bear hunt--An accident--Another rencontre with

bears--Strike the source of the Great North Fork of White

River--Journey down this valley--Its character and productions--A

great Spring--Incidents of the route--Pack horse rolls down a

precipice--Plunges in the river--A cavern--Osage lodges--A

hunter's hut.

It was now manifest, from our crossing the last two streams, that we

were going too far north--that we were in fact in the valley of the

Missouri proper; and that the information obtained of the hunters on the

source of the Merrimack, was not to be implicitly relied on. It is not

probable that one of the persons who gave this information had ever been

here. It was a region they were kept out of by the fear of the Osages,

as our own experience in the case of Roberts denoted. Willing to test it

farther, however, we followed down the last named stream a few miles, in

the hope of its turning south or south-west, but it went off in another

direction. We then came to a halt, and after consulting together,

steered our course due _south_ south-west, thus varying our general

course from the caves. This carried us up a long range of wooded

highlands. The forest here assumed a handsome growth. We passed through

a track of the over-cup oak, interspersed with hickory, and had reached

the summit of an elevated wooded ridge, when just as we gained the

highest point, we discovered four bears on a large oak, in the valley

before us. Three of the number were probably cubs, and with their dam,

they were regaling themselves on the ripe acorns without observing us.

We had sought no opportunities to hunt, and given up no especial time to

it, but here was too fair a challenge to be neglected. We tied our horse

securely to a sapling, and then examining our pieces, and putting down

an extra ball, set out to descend the hill as cautiously as possible. An

unlucky slip of Enobitti threw him with force forward and sprained his

ankle. He lay for a short time in agony. This noise alarmed the bears,

who one after the other quickly ran in from the extremities of the limbs

to the trunk, which they descended head first, and scampered clumsily

off up the valley. I pursued them without minding my companion, not

knowing, indeed how badly he was hurt, but was compelled to give up the

chase, as the tall grass finally prevented my seeing what course they

had taken. I now returned to my companion. He could not stand at first,

nor walk when he arose, and the first agony had passed. I proposed to

mount him on the pack horse, and lead him slowly up the valley, and this

plan was carried into effect. But he endured too much suffering to bear

even this. The ankle began to inflame. There was nothing but rest and

continued repose that promised relief. I selected a fine grassy spot to

encamp, unpacked the horse, built a fire, and got my patient comfortably

stretched on his pallet. But little provision had been made at Potosi in

the medical department. My whole store of pharmacy consisted of some

pills and salves, and a few simple articles. The only thing I could

think of as likely to be serviceable, was in our culinary pack,--it was

a little sack of salt, and of this I made a solution in warm water and

bathed the ankle. I then replenished the fire and cut some wood to renew

it. It was still early in the day, and leaving my companion to rest, and

to the effect of the remedy offered, I took my gun and strolled over the

adjoining hills, in hopes of bringing in some pigeons, or other small

game. But it was a time of day when both birds and quadrupeds have

finished their mornings repast, and retired to the groves or fastnesses.

I saw nothing but the little grey bunting and the noisy jay. When I

returned to our camp in the vale I found my companion easier. The

bathing had sensibly alleviated the pain and swelling. It was therefore

diligently renewed, and the next morning he was so far improved, that he

consented to try the pack horse again. We had not, however, travelled

far, when two large bears were seen before us playing in the grass, and

so engaged in their sport, that they did not perceive us. We were now on

the same level with them, and quickly prepared to give them battle. My

companion dismounted as easily as possible, and having secured the horse

and examined our arms, we reached a stand within firing distance. It was

not till this moment that our approach was discovered by them, and the

first thing they did after running a few yards, was to sit up in the

grass and gaze at us. Having each singled his animal, we fired at the

same instant. Both animals fled, but on reaching the spot where my mark

had sat, blood was copiously found on the grass, and a pursuit was the

consequence. I followed him up a long ridge, but he passed over the

summit so far before me, that I lost sight of him. I came to a large

hollow black oak, in the direction he had disappeared, which showed the

nail marks of some animal, which I believed to be his. While examining

these signs more closely my companion made his appearance. How he had

got there I know not. The excitement had well nigh cured his ankle. He

stood by the orifice, while I went for the axe to our camp, and when I

was tired chopping, he laid hold. We chopped alternately, and big as it

was, the tree at last came down with a crash that made the forest ring.

For a few moments we looked at the huge and partly broken trunk as if a

bear would start from it; but all was silence. We thoroughly searched

the hollow part but found nothing. I went over another ridge of forest

land, started a noble elk, but saw nothing more of my bear. Here

terminated this adventure. We retraced our footsteps back to the valley,

and proceeded on our route. This incident had led us a little south of

our true course; and it so turned out that it was at a point, where a

mile or two one way or the other, was calculated to make a wide

difference in the place of our exit into the valley of White River; for

we were on a high broken summit ridge, from which several important

streams originated. The pursuit of the bear had carried us near to the

head of the valley, and by crossing the intervening summit, we found

ourselves at the head springs of an important stream, which in due time

we learned was the Great North Fork of White River. This stream begins

to develope itself in pools, or standing springs, which soak through the

gravel and boulders, and it is many miles before it assumes the

character of a continuous stream. Even then it proceeds in plateaux or

steps, on which the water has a level, and the next succeeding level

below it has its connection with it, through a rapid. In fact, the whole

stream, till near its mouth, is one series of these lake-like levels,

and short rapids, each level sinking lower and lower, till, like the

locks in a canal, the last flows out on a level with its final

recipient. But however its waters are congregated, they are all pure and

colourless as rock crystal, and well vindicate the propriety of their

original name of _la Riviere Blanc_. They all originate in mountain

springs, are cool and sparkling, and give assurance in this feature,

that they will carry health to the future inhabitants of the valley

through which they flow. With the first springs begins to be seen a

small growth of the cane, which is found a constant species on its

bottom lands. This plant becomes high in more southern latitudes, and

being intertwined with the green briar, renders it very difficult, as we

soon found, to penetrate it, especially with a horse. Man can endure a

thousand adventures and hardships where a horse would die; and it would

require no further testimony than this journey gave, to convince me,

that providence designed the horse for a state of civilization.

We followed the course of these waters about six miles, and emcamped. It

was evidently the source of a stream of some note. It ran in the

required direction, and although we did not then know, that it was the

valley of the Great North Fork of White River, we were satisfied it was

a tributary of the latter stream, and determined to pursue it. This we

did for twelve days, before we met with a human being, white or red. It

rapidly developed itself, as we went, and unfolded an important valley,

of rich soil, bearing a vigorous growth of forest trees, and enclosed on

either hand, by elevated limestone cliffs. Nothing could exceed the

purity of its waters, which bubbled up in copious springs, from the

rock, or pebble stratum. For a long distance the stream increased from

such accessions alone, without large and independent tributaries. On the

second day's travel, we came to a spring, of this crystal character,

which we judged to be about fifty feet across, at the point of its issue

from the rock and soil. Its outlet after running about a thousand yards,

joined the main stream, to which it brings a volume fully equal to it.

This spring I named the Elk Spring, from the circumstance of finding a

large pair of the horns of this animal, partly buried in the leaves, at

a spot where I stooped down to drink. I took the horns, and hung them in

the forks of a young oak tree.

We found abundance of game in this valley. There was not an entire day,

I think, until we got near the hunters' camps, that we did not see

either the bear, elk, or deer, or their recent signs. Flocks of the wild

turkey were of daily occurrence. The gray squirrel frequently sported on

the trees, and as the stream increased in size, we found the duck, brant

and swan.

There were two serious objections, however, in travelling down a wooded

valley. Its shrubbery was so thick and rank that it was next to

impossible to force the pack horse through it. Wherever the cane

abounds, and this comprehends all its true alluvions, it is found to be

matted together, as it were, with the green briar and grape vine. So

much noise attended the effort at any rate, that the game generally fled

before us, and had it not been for small game, we should have often

wanted a meal. With every effort, we could not make an average of more

than fourteen miles a day. The river was so tortuous too, that we could

not count, on making more than half this distance, in a direct line. To

remedy these evils we sometimes went out of the valley, on the open

naked plains. It was a relief, but had, in the end, these difficulties,

that while the plains exposed us to greater heats in travelling, they

afforded no water, and we often lost much time in the necessity, we were

under, towards night-fall, of going back to the valley for water.

Neither was it found to be safe to travel far separated, for there were

many causes of accident, which rendered mutual assistance desirable. One

day, while Enobitti led the horse, and was conducting him from a lofty

ridge, to get into the valley, the animal stumbled, and rolled to the

bottom. We thought every bone in his body had been broke, but he had

been protected by his pack, and we found that he was but little injured,

and when repacked, still capable of going forward. On another occasion,

I had been leading him for several hours, along a high terrace of cliffs

on the left banks where this terrace was, as it were, suddenly cut off

by the intersection of a lateral valley. The view was a sublime one,

standing at the pinnacle of junction; but there was no possible way of

descent, and it was necessary to retrace my steps, a long--long way. As

an instance of the very tortuous character of this stream, I will

mention that a rocky peninsula, causing a bend which it took my

companion some two hours to pass, with the horse, I had crossed in less

than twenty minutes, with my hammer and gun. When we had, as we

supposed, become familiar with every species of impediment and delay, in

descending the valley, a new, and very serious and unexpected one, arose

one day, in crossing the stream, from the left to the right bank. It was

my turn to be muleteer that day, and I had selected a ford where the

river was not wide, and the water, apparently, some two or three feet

deep. I judged from the clearness of the pebbles at the bottom, and

their apparent nearness to the surface. But such was the transparency of

the water, that a wide mistake was made. We had nearly lost the horse,

he plunged in over head, could not touch bottom, and when with great

ado, we had got him up the steep bank on the other side, he was

completely exhausted. But this was not the extent of the evil. Our sugar

and salt were dissolved. Our meal, of which a little still remained, was

spoiled. Our tea was damaged,--our blankets and clothing wetted,--our

whole pack soaked. The horse had been so long in the water, in our often

fruitless efforts to get him to some part of the bank depressed enough,

to pull him up, that nothing had escaped its effects. We encamped on the

spot, and spent the rest of the day in drying our effects, and expelling

from our spare garments the superfluous moisture.

The next day we struck out into the high plains, on the right bank, and

made a good day's journey. The country was nearly level, denuded of

trees, with sere autumnal grass. Often the prairie hen started up, but

we saw nothing in the animal creation beside, save a few hares, as

evening came on. To find water for the horse, and ourselves, we were

again compelled to approach the valley. We at length entered a dry and

desolate gorge, without grass or water. Night came on, but no sound or

sight of water occurred. We were sinking deeper and deeper into the

rocky structure of the country at every step, and soon found there were

high cliffs on either side of us. What we most feared now occurred. It

became dark, the clouds had threatened foul weather and it now began to

rain. Had it not been for a cavern, which disclosed itself, in one of

these calcareous cliffs, we must have passed a miserable night. On

entering it, we found a spring of water. It was too high in the cliff to

get the horse in, but we carried him water in a vessel. He was

afterwards hobbled, and left to shift for himself. On striking a fire,

in the cave, its rays disclosed masses of stalactites, and a dark avenue

into the rocks back. Having made a cup of tea and finished our repast,

we determined to explore the cave before lying down to rest, lest we

might be intruded on by some wild animal before morning. A torch of pine

wood was soon made, which guided our footsteps into the dismal recess,

but we found nothing of the kind. On returning to our fire, near the

mouth of the cave, we found the rain had increased to a heavy shower,

and the vivid flashes of lightning, illumined with momentary

brilliancy, the dark and frowning precipices of this romantic gorge. The

excitement and novelty of our position, served to drive away sleep,

notwithstanding a long day's march, and it was late before we sought

repose.

Morning brought a clear sky, but the horse was gone. He had followed on

the back track, up the glen, in search of something to feed upon, and

was not found till we reached the skirts of the plains. The whole

morning was indeed, lost in reclaiming him, and we then set forward

again and returned to the North Fork valley. We found it had assumed a

greater expanse, at the point of our re-entry, which it maintained, and

increased, as we pursued it down. Wide open oak plains extended on the

left bank, which appeared very eligible for the purposes of settlement.

On an oak tree, at this spot, we observed some marks, which had probably

been made by some enterprising land explorer. With these improved

evidences of its character for future occupation, we found the

travelling easier. Within a few miles travel, we noticed a tributary

coming in on the left bank, and at a lower point another on the left.

The first stream had this peculiarity, that its waters came in at a

right angle, with the parent stream, and with such velocity as to pass

directly across its channel to the opposite bank. In this vicinity, we

saw many of the deserted pole camps of the Osages, none of which

appeared, however, to have been recently occupied. So far, indeed, we

had met no hindrance, or annoyance from this people; we had not even

encountered a single member of the tribe, and felt assured that the

accounts we had received of their cruelty and rapacity, had been grossly

exaggerated, or if not wholly overcoloured, they must have related to a

period in their history, which was now well nigh past. We could not

learn that they had hunted on these lands, during late years, and were

afterwards given to understand that they had ceded them to the United

States by a treaty concluded at St. Louis. From whatever causes,

however, the district had been left free from their roving parties, it

was certain that the game had recovered under such a cessation of the

chase. The black bear, deer and elk, were abundant. We also frequently

saw signs of the labours of the beaver along the valley. I had the good

luck, one day, while in advance with my gun, of beholding two of these

animals, at play in the stream, and observing their graceful motions. My

position was, within point blank shot of them, but I was screened from

their gaze. I sat, with gun cocked, meaning to secure one of them after

they came to the shore. Both animals came out together, and sat on the

bank at the edge of the river, a ledge of rocks being in the rear of

them. The novelty of the sight led me to pause, and admire them, when,

all of a sudden, they darted into a crevice in the rock.

On the second day after re-entering the valley, we descried, on

descending a long slope of rising ground, a hunter's cabin, covered with

narrow oak boards, split with a frow; and were exhilarated with the

idea of finding it occupied. But this turned out a delusive hope. It had

been deserted, from appearance, the year before. We found, among the

surrounding weeds, a few stems of the cotton plant, which had grown up

from seeds, accidentally dropped. The bolls had opened. I picked out the

cotton to serve as a material in lighting my camp fires, at night, this

being a labour which I had taken the exclusive management of. The site

of this camp, had been well chosen. There was a small stream in front,

and a heavy rich cane bottom behind it, extending to the banks of the

river. A handsome point of woodlands extended north of it, from the

immediate door of the camp. And although somewhat early in the day, we

determined to encamp, and soon made ourselves masters of the fabric, and

sat down before a cheerful fire, with a title to occupancy, which there

was no one to dispute.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] The United States government, the very next year, 1819, sent out

Col. Long to the Yellow Stone.

THE BIRD.

VERSIFIED FROM THE GERMAN OF GESSNER: 1812.

A swain, as he strayed through the grove,

Had caught a young bird on a spray--

What a gift, he exclaimed, for my love,

How beautiful, charming, and gay.

With rapture he viewed the fair prize,

And listened with joy to its chat,

As with haste to the meadow he hies

To secure it beneath his straw hat.

I will make of yon willows so gay,

A cage for my prisoner to mourn,

Then to Delia, the gift I'll convey,

And beg for a kiss in return.

She will grant me that one, I am sure,

For a present so rare and so gay,

And I easily can steal a few more

And bear them enraptured away.

He returned: but imagine his grief,

The wind had his hat overthrown,

And the bird, in the joy of relief,

Away with his kisses had flown.

H. R. S.

PERSONAL INCIDENTS AND IMPRESSIONS OF THE INDIAN RACE, DRAWN FROM NOTES

OF TRAVEL AND RESIDENCE IN THEIR TERRITORIES.

CHARACTER OF THE RED MAN OF AMERICA.

INQUIRY I.--What kind of a being is the North American Indian?--Have

we judged rightly of him?--What are his peculiar traits, his

affections, and his intellectual qualities?--Is he much influenced

by his religion, his mode of government, and his complicated

language?

My earliest impressions of the Indian race, were drawn from the

fire-side rehearsals of incidents which had happened during the perilous

times of the American revolution; in which my father was a zealous

actor, and were all inseparably connected with the fearful ideas of the

Indian yell, the tomahawk, the scalping knife, and the fire brand. In

these recitals, the Indian was depicted as the very impersonation of

evil--a sort of wild demon, who delighted in nothing so much as blood

and murder. Whether he had mind, was governed by any reasons, or even

had any soul, nobody inquired, and nobody cared. It was always

represented as a meritorious act in old revolutionary reminiscences, to

have killed one of them in the border wars, and thus aided in ridding

the land of a cruel and unnatural race, in whom all feelings of pity,

justice, and mercy, were supposed to be obliterated. These early ideas

were sustained by printed narratives of captivity and hair-breadth

escapes of men and women from their clutches, which, from time to time,

fell into my hands, so that long before I was ten years old, I had a

most definite and terrific idea impressed on my imagination of what was

sometimes called in my native precincts, "the bow and arrow race."

[Illustration: THE LODGE OF AN INDIAN CHIEF.]

To give a definite conception of the Indian man, there lived in my

native valley, a family of Indians of the Iroquois stock, who often went

off to their people in the west, and as often returned again, as

if they were a troop of genii, or the ghosts of the departed, who came

to haunt the nut wood forests, and sub-vallies of the sylvan

Tawasenthaw, which their ancestors had formerly possessed, and to which

they still claimed some right. In this family, which was of the Oneida

tribe, and consisted of the husband and wife, with two grown up sons, I

first saw those characteristic features of the race,--namely, a red

skin, with bright black eyes, and black straight hair. They were mild

and docile in their deportment, and were on friendly terms with the

whole settlement, whom they furnished with neatly made baskets of the

linden wood, split very thin, and coloured to impart variety, and with

nice ash brooms. These fabrics made them welcome guests with every good

housewife, who had forgotten the horrific stories of the revolution, and

who was ever ready to give a chair and a plate, and a lodging place by

the kitchen fire, to poor old Isaac and Anna, for so they had been

named. What their original names were, nobody knew; they had lived so

long in the valley that they spoke the Dutch language, and never made

use of their own, except when talking together; and I recollect, we

thought it a matter of wonder, when they discoursed in Indian, whether

such a guttural jargon, could possibly be the medium of conveying any

very definite ideas. It seemed to be one undistinguished tissue of hard

sounds, blending all parts of speech together.

Had the boys of my own age, and I may say, the grown people, stopped to

reflect, and been led to consider this family and their race in America,

independently of their gross acts, under the strong excitements of war

and revenge, goaded by wrongs, and led on by the class of revolutionary

tories, more implacable than even themselves, we must have seen, in the

peaceable lives, quiet manners, and benevolent dispositions of these

four people, a contradiction to, at least, some part of the sweeping

conclusions above noticed. But no such thoughts occurred. The word

"Indian," was synonymous then, as perhaps now, with half the opprobrious

epithets in the dictionary. I recollect to have myself made a few lines,

in early life, on the subject, which ran thus:--

Indians they were, ere Colon crossed the sea,

And ages hence, they shall but _Indians_ be.

Fortunately I was still young when my sphere of observation was

enlarged, by seeing masses of them, in their native forests; and I,

after a few years, assumed a position as government agent to one of the

leading tribes, at an age when opinions are not too firmly rooted to

permit change. My opinions were still, very much however, what they had

been in boyhood. I looked upon them as very cannibals and blood-thirsty

fellows, who were only waiting a good opportunity to knock one in the

head. But I regarded them as a curious subject of observation. The

remembrance of poor old Isaac, had shown me that there was some feeling

and humanity in their breasts. I had seen many of them in my travels

in the west, and I felt inclined to inquire into the traits of a people,

among whom my duties had placed me. I had, from early youth, felt

pleased with the study of natural history, and I thought the Indian, at

least in his languages, might be studied with something of the same mode

of exactitude. I had a strong propensity, at this time of life, for

analysis, and I believed that something like an analytical process might

be applied to enquiries, at least in the department of philology.

Whenever a fact occurred, in the progress of my official duties, which I

deemed characteristic, I made note of it, and in this way preserved a

sort of skeleton of dates and events, which, it was believed, would be a

source of useful future reference. It is, in truth, under advantages of

the kind, that these remarks are commenced.

The author has thrown out these remarks, as a starting point. He has

made observations which do not, in all respects, coincide with the

commonly received opinions, and drawn some conclusions which are

directly adverse to them. He has been placed in scenes and circumstances

of varied interest, and met with many characters, in the course of four

and twenty years' residence and travel in the wilds of America, who

would have struck any observer as original and interesting. With numbers

of them, he has formed an intimate acquaintance, and with not a few,

contracted lasting friendships. Connected with them by a long residence,

by the exercise of official duties, and by still more delicate and

sacred ties, he has been regarded by them as one identified with their

history, and received many marks of their confidence.

The Indians, viewed as a distinct branch of the human race, have some

peculiar traits and institutions, from which their history and character

may be advantageously studied. They hold some opinions, which are not

easily discovered by a stranger, or a foreigner, but which yet exert a

powerful influence on their conduct and life. There is a subtlety in

some of their modes of thought and belief, on life and the existence of

spiritual and creative power, which would seem to have been eliminated

from some intellectual crucible, without the limits of their present

sphere. Yet, there is much relative to all the common concerns of life,

which is peculiar to it. The author has witnessed many practices and

observances, such as travellers have often noticed, but like others,

attributed them to accident, or to some cause widely different from the

true one. By degrees, he has been admitted into their opinions, and if

we may so call it, the philosophy of their minds; and the life of an

Indian no longer appears to him a mystery. He sees him acting, as other

men would act, if placed exactly in his condition, prepared with the

education the forest has given him, and surrounded with the same wants,

temptations and dangers.

The gentler affections are in much more extensive and powerful exercise

among the Indian race, than is generally believed, although necessarily

developed with less refinement than in civilized society. Their

paternal and fraternal affections, have long been known to be very

strong, as well as their veneration for the dead. It has been his

province in these departments, to add some striking examples of their

intensity of feeling and affection, and truthfulness to nature.

The most powerful source of influence, with the Red man, is his

religion. Here is the true groundwork of his hopes and his fears, and,

it is believed, the fruitful source of his opinions and actions. It

supplies the system of thought by which he lives and dies, and it

constitutes, indeed, the basis of Indian character. By it he preserves

his identity, as a barbarian, and when this is taken away, and the true

system substituted, he is still a Red Man, but no longer, in the popular

sense, an _Indian_--a barbarian, a pagan.

The Indian religion is a peculiar compound of rites, and doctrines, and

observances, which are early taught the children by precept and example.

In this respect, every bark-built village is a temple, and every forest

a school. It would surprise any person to become acquainted with the

variety and extent to which an Indian is influenced by his religious

views and superstitions. He takes no important step without reference to

it. It is his guiding motive in peace and in war. He follows the chace

under its influence, and his very amusements take their tincture from

it. To the author, the facts have been developing themselves for many

years, and while he is able to account for the peculiar differences

between the conduct of Indians and that of white men, in given cases, he

can easily perceive, why the latter have so often been unable to

calculate the actions of the former, and even to account for them, when

they have taken place. It may be here remarked, that the civilized man,

is no less a mysterious and unaccountable being to an Indian, because

his springs of action are alike unintelligible to him.

If the following pages shall afford the public any means of judging of

the Red Race, with greater accuracy, he hopes they may lead to our

treating them with greater kindness and a more enlarged spirit of

justice. The change which has been wrought in his own mind, by the facts

he has witnessed, has been accompanied by a still more important one, as

to their intellectual capacities and moral susceptibilities, and their

consequent claims on the philanthropy of the age. As a class of men, it

is thought their native speakers, without letters or education, possess

a higher scope of thought and illustration, than the _corresponding

class_ in civilized life. This may be accounted for, perhaps, from

obvious external causes, without impugning the actual native capacity of

the lower, although educated classes of civilized life. Still, it is a

very striking fact, and one which has very often forced itself on the

attention of the author. The old idea that the Indian mind is not

susceptible of a high, or an advantageous developement, rests upon

questionable data. The two principal causes, which have prolonged their

continuance in a state of barbarism, on this continent for so long a

period, are a false religion, and false views of government. The first

has kept back social prosperity and impeded the rise of virtue. With

respect to government, during all the time we have had them for

neighbours, they may be said to have had no government at all. Personal

independence, has kept the petty chiefs from forming confederacies for

the common good. Individuals have surrendered no part of their original

private rights, to secure the observance of the rest. There has been no

public social organization, expressed or implied. The consequence has

been that the law of private redress and revenge prevailed. In the only

two cases where this system was departed from, in North America, namely

that of the Azteek empire, and of the Iroquois confederacy, there was no

lack of vigour to improve. The results were a constantly increasing

power, and extending degree of knowledge up to the respective eras of

their conquest. It was not want of mental capacity, so much as the

non-existence of moral power, and of the doctrines of truth and virtue,

that kept them back; and left our own wandering tribes, particularly,

with the bow and the spear in their hands. He believes, that their

errors, in these particulars, may be pointed out, without drawing

conclusions adverse to their political or social prosperity, under

better auspices, and without attributing such failures to mental

imbecility.

The mode of recording thought, among these tribes, by means of pictorial

signs, and mnemonic symbols, has attracted particular attention, and

gives the author hopes, that he has been enabled to collect, and bring

forward, a body of facts, in this department, which will recommend

themselves by their interest and novelty. Confidence, inspired by long

residence in their territories, revealed to him another trait of

character, in the existence among them of a traditionary imaginative

lore, which is repeated from father to son, and has no small influence

upon their social condition. It is in these two departments, that, he

believes, he has opened new and important means of judging of the Indian

character, and discovered the sources of views and opinions, on many

subjects, which had escaped previous inquirers.

There is one more point, to which he will here invite a momentary

attention, and which, although not usually enumerated as among the

practical causes that influenced Indian society and character, is yet

believed to exercise a strong, though silent sway, both upon the

question of the mental character, and its true development. The author

alludes to the topic of their languages. Some of the most venerated

writers present a theory of the origin of national government languages

and institutions, difficult or impossible to be conformed with the

nature of man in society, and unsupported by such evidence as their

doctrines require. Such, he regards, the theory of the "social compact,"

except it be viewed in the most undefined and general sense possible.

Such, also, is the theory of the origin and improvement of languages.

The system of government generally prevailing among the Indian tribes,

is indeed so simple and natural, under their circumstances, that it is

thought no person would long seek for the traces of any great

legislator, giving them laws in any past period. When, however, we

consider the curious structure of their languages, we find an ingenuity

and complexity, far surpassing any theory to be discovered in that of

the modern languages of Europe, with, perhaps, some exceptions in the

Basque and Majyer, and even beyond any thing existing in the Greek. As

the latter has long been held up as a model, and the excellencies of its

plan attributed to some unknown, but great and sagacious, learned, and

refined mind, we might feel justified in assigning the richness of

forms, the exceeding flexibility, and the characteristic beauties and

excellencies of the Indian tongues, to a mind of far superior wisdom,

ingenuity, and experience. Yet how perfectly gratuitous would this be!

All history bears testimony against the human invention and designed

alteration of language; and none but a mere theorist can ever embrace

the idea that it is, or ever was, in the power of any man, to fabricate

and introduce a new language, or to effect a fundamental change in the

groundwork of an existing one. This, at least, is the decided opinion of

the author; and he firmly believes, that whoever will contemplate the

subject, amidst such scenes as he has been accustomed to, will

inevitably come to the same conclusion. He has seen changes in dialects

commenced and progressive, and indications of others going on, but these

owed their origin and impulse to accidental circumstances, and were not

the result of any plan, or design. They were the result of necessity,

convenience, or caprice. These three causes, that is to say, necessity

convenience and caprice, if properly examined and appreciated in their

influence, and traced with care to their effects, will develop the

origin of many things, whose existence has been sought at too great a

distance, or amidst too much refinement.

Books, and the readers of books, have done much to bewilder and perplex

the study of the Indian character. Fewer theories and more observation,

less fancy and more fact, might have brought us to much more correct

opinions than those which are now current. The Indian is, after all,

believed to be a man, much more fully under the influence of common

sense notions, and obvious every-day motives of thought and action, hope

and fear, than he passes for. If he does not come to the same

conclusions, on passing questions, as we do, it is precisely because he

sees the premises, under widely different circumstances. The admitted

errors of barbarism and the admitted truths of civilization, are two

very different codes. He is in want of almost every source of true

knowledge and opinion, which we posses. He has very imperfect notions on

many of those branches of knowledge in what we suppose him best

informed. He is totally in the dark as to others. His vague and vast and

dreamy notions of the Great Author of Existence, and the mode of his

manifestations to the human race, and the wide and complicated system of

superstition and transcendental idolatry which he has reared upon this

basis, place him, at once, with all his sympathies and theories, out of

the great pale of truth and civilization. This is one of the leading

circumstances which prevents him from drawing his conclusions as we draw

them. Placed under precisely similar circumstances, we should perhaps

coincide in his opinion and judgments. But aside from these erroneous

views, and after making just allowances for his ignorance and moral

depression, the Indian is a man of plain common sense judgment, acting

from what he knows, and sees, and feels, of objects immediately before

him, or palpable to his view. If he sometimes employs a highly

figurative style to communicate his thoughts, and even stoops, as we now

know he does, to amuse his fire-side circle with tales of extravagant

and often wild demonic fancy, he is very far from being a man who, in

his affairs of lands, and merchandize, and business, exchanges the sober

thoughts of self preservation and subsistence, for the airy conceptions

of fancy. The ties of consanguinity bind him strongly. The relation of

the family is deep and well traced amongst the wildest tribes, and this

fact alone forms a basis for bringing him back to all his original

duties, and re-organizing Indian society. The author has, at least, been

thrown into scenes and positions, in which this truth has strongly

presented itself to his mind, and he believes the facts are of a

character which will interest the reader, and may be of some use to the

people themselves so far as affects the benevolent plans of the age, if

they do not constitute an increment in the body of observational

testimony, of a practical nature, from which the character of the race

is to be judged.

PERSONAL INCIDENTS AND IMPRESSIONS OF THE RED RACE, DRAWN FROM NOTES OF

RESIDENCE AND TRAVEL IN THE INDIAN TERRITORIES.

DOMESTIC CONDITION OF THE TRIBES AND CONSTITUTION OF THE INDIAN FAMILY.

INQUIRY II.--What is the domestic condition and organization of

the Indian family? Is the tie of consanguinity strong, and what

characteristic facts can be stated of it? How are the domestic

duties arranged? What are the rights of each inmate of the lodge?

How is order maintained in so confined a space, and the general

relations of the family preserved? Are the relative duties and

labours of the hunter and his wife, equally or unequally divided?

Who builds the lodge, and how is it constructed?

There is a very striking agreement, in the condition, relative duties

and obligations, of the Indian family, among all the tribes of whom I

have any personal knowledge, in North America. Climate and position, the

abundance or want of the means of subsistence and other accidental

causes, have created gradations of condition in the various tribes, some

of whom excel others in expertness, in hunting and war, and other arts,

but these circumstances have done little to alter the general

characteristics, or to abridge or enlarge the original rights and claims

of each inmate of the lodge. The tribes who cultivated maize in the rich

sub-vallies and plains of the Ohio and Mississippi, had fuller means of

both physical and mental development, than those who were, and still

are, obliged to pick a scanty subsistence, among the frigid, and half

marine regions in the latitudes north of the great lakes. There are some

peculiar traits of manners, in the prairie-tribes, west of the

Mississippi, who pursue the bison on horseback, and rely for their

subsistence greatly, on its flesh, and the sale of its skin. The well

fed Muscogee, Cherokee, or Choctaw, who lived in the sunny vallies of

upper Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee, the robust Osage, revelling in

the abundance of corn and wild meat, south of the Missouri, and the

lean and rigid Montaignes, Muskeego, and Kenisteno, who push their

canoes through waters choked with aquatic weeds, and wild rice, present

very different pictures of home and comfort, within their lodge doors.

But they really present the same idea, the same sentiments, and the same

round of duties and obligations, of father and mother, sister and

brother, wife and husband. The original type of the human family among

them, is well preserved, better, indeed, than was to have been expected

in a state of barbarism, and among branches of the race who have been so

long separated, and subjected to such severe vicissitudes. It would be

useless, in this view, to draw a parallel between the relative condition

of the members of a family, within, and without the pale of

civilization. Nothing of the kind could be done, without showing up

pictures of want in the hunter-life which are wholly unknown in the

agricultural state. It cannot perhaps, in fair justice, be said that the

tie of consanguinity, in the man of the woods, is stronger, than in

civilized life. But it is in accordance with all observation to say,

that it is very strong, that its impulses beat with marked force, and

are more free from the intertwined ligaments of interest, which often

weakens the tie of relationship in refined and affluent society.

The true idea of matrimony, in Indian life, is also well set forth and

acknowledged, although it has come down through ages of plunder and

wandering, degraded in its condition, shorn of its just ceremonies, and

weakened in its sacred character. I have observed that polygamy, among

the northern tribes, is chiefly to be found, among bands who are

favourably located, and have the best means of subsistence. But even

here it is not reputable; it may often increase a man's influence in the

tribe or nation, but there are always persons in the wildest forests,

who do not think the practice right or reputable. In the worst state of

Indian society, there are always some glimmerings of truth. If the

conscience of the Red man may be compared to a lamp, it may be said to

have rather sunk low into its socket, than actually to have expired. The

relation between husband and wife, in the forest, are formed under

circumstances, which are generally uniform. Various incidents, or

motives determine a union. Sometimes it is brought about by the

intervention of friends; sometimes from a sudden impulse of admiration;

sometimes with, and sometimes against the wishes of the graver and more

prudent relatives of the parties. Where the husband is acceptable, and

has not before been married, which covers the majority of cases, he

comes to live for a while after marriage, in the lodge of his

mother-in-law; and this relation generally lasts until the increase of

children, or other circumstances determine his setting up a lodge for

himself. Presents are still a ready way for a young hunter to render

himself acceptable in a lodge. There are some instances, where

considerable ceremony, and the invitation of friends, have attended the

first reception of the bridegroom, at the lodge; but these are in most

cases, what we should denominate matches of state, or expediency, in

which the bravery, or other public services of a chief or leader, has

inclined his village to think, that his merits deserve the reward of a

wife. Generally, the acceptance of the visitor by the party most

interested, and her mother and father, and their expressed, or tacit

consent, is the only preliminary, and this is done in a private way. The

only ceremonial observance, of which I have ever heard, is the assigning

of what is called an abbinos, or permanent lodge seat, to the

bridegroom. When this has been done, by the mother or mistress of the

lodge, who governs these things, he is received, and henceforth

installed as a constituent member of the lodge and family. The simple

rule is, that he who has a right to sit by the bride, is her husband.

The lodge itself, with all its arrangements, is the precinct of the rule

and government of the wife. She assigns to each member, his or her

ordinary place to sleep and put their effects. These places are

permanent, and only changed at her will, as when there is a guest by day

or night. In a space so small as a lodge this system preserves order,

and being at all times under her own eye, is enforced by personal

supervision. The husband has no voice in this matter, and I have never

heard of an instance in which he would so far deviate from his position,

as to interfere in these minor particulars. The lodge is her precinct,

the forest his.

There is no law, nor force, to prevent an Indian from decreeing his own

divorce, that is to say, leaving one wife and taking another whenever he

sees cause. Yet it often occurs that there is some plausible pretext for

such a step, such as if true, would form some justification of the

measure. The best protection to married females arises from the ties of

children, which by bringing into play the strong natural affections of

the heart, and appeals at once to that principle in man's original

organization, which is the strongest. The average number of children

borne by the women, and which reach the adult period is small, and will

scarcely exceed two. On the pay rolls it did not exceed this. Much of

this extraordinary result is owing to their erratic mode of life, and

their cramped means of subsistence. Another cause is to be found in the

accidents and exposure to which young children are liable, but still

more to their shocking ignorance of medicine. I once knew a child at

three years of age to be killed by an attempt to restore a deranged

state of the bowels, by a strong overdose of an astringent tincture of

hemlock bark administered by her father. This man, who was called

Attuck, had strong natural affections, but he was very ignorant even in

the eyes of the Indian race, being one of that people living N. E. of

lake Superior, who are called variously Gens de Terres, Mountaineers,

and Muskeegoes. Wherever the laws of reproduction are relieved from

these depressing circumstances, the number of children is seen to be

increased.

The chief Iaba-Waddick, who lived on a small bay at the foot of lake

Superior, and had abundance of means of subsistence, had fourteen

children by one wife. He was an excellent hunter, and of habits for the

most part of his life, strictly temperate; he had married young, and had

always had the means of providing his family with adequate clothing and

food. Not one of these children died in infancy. He lived himself to be

old, and died rather from a complaint induced by constitutional

structure, than from a natural decay of vital power.

The duties and labours of Indian life, are believed to be equally, and

not, as has been generally thought, unequally divided between the male

and female. This division is also the most natural possible, and such as

must ever result from the condition of man, as a mere hunter. It is the

duty of the male to provide food, and of the female to prepare it. This

arrangement carries with it to the share of the male, all that relates

to external concerns, and all that pertains to the internal to the care

of the female as completely as is done in civilized life. To the man

belongs not only the business of hunting, for this is an _employment_

and not a _pastime_, but the care of the territory, and keeping off

intruders and enemies, and the preparation of canoes for travel, and of

arms and implements of war. The duties of cooking and dressing meats and

fowl, and whatever else the chase affords, carries on the other hand, to

the share of the hunter's wife, the entire care and controul of the

lodge, with its structure and removal, and the keeping it in order, with

all its utensils and apparatus. A good and frugal hunter's wife, makes

all this a point of ambitious interest, and takes a pride in keeping it

neat and proper for the reception of her husband's guests. She sweeps

the earth clean around the fire, with a broom of branches of the cedar

constructed for this purpose. This lodge it is to be remembered, is made

not of beams and posts, and heavy carpentry, but out of thin poles, such

as a child can lift, set in the ground in a circle, bent over and tied

at the top, and sheathed with long sheets of the white birch bark. A rim

of cedar wood at the bottom, assimilates these birch bark sheets to the

roller of a map, to which in stormy weather a stone is attached to hold

it firm. This stick has also the precise use of a map-roller, for when

the lodge is to be removed, the bark is rolled on it, and in this shape

carried to the canoe, to be set up elsewhere. The circle of sticks or

frame, is always left standing, as it would be useless to encumber the

canoe with what can easily be had at any position in a forest country.

Such at least is the hunting lodge, and indeed, the lodge generally used

by the tribes north of latitude 42 deg.. It is, in its figure, a half globe,

and by its lightness and wicker-like structure, may be said to resemble

an inverted bird's nest. The whole amount of the transportable materials

of it, is often comprehended in some half a dozen good rolls of bark,

and as many of rush mats which the merest girl can easily lift. The mats

which are the substitute for floor cloths, and also the under stratum of

the sleeping couch, are made out of the common lacustris or bullrush,

or the flag, cut at the proper season, and woven in a warp of fine hemp

net thread, such as is furnished by traders in the present state of the

Indian trade. A portion of this soft vegetable woof, is dyed, and woven

in various colours. Lodges thus constructed are to be still abundantly

seen, by the summer visitor, in the upper lakes, at all the principal

points, to which the Indians resort, during the height of summer. Such

are the posts of Michilimackinac, Sault Ste. Marie, and Green Bay. At

Michilimackinac, where it is now difficult to get fresh lodge poles,

without going some distance, or trespassing on private rights, the

natives who resort thither, of late years, have adopted an ingenious

change, by which two objects are accomplished at the same time, and the

labour of the females dispensed with in getting new poles. It is known,

that the bark canoe, being itself but an enlarged species of wicker

work, has not sufficient strength to be freighted, without previously

having a number of poles laid longitudinally, in the bottom, as a kind

of vertebral support. These poles on landing upon the gravelly shores of

that island, are set up, or _stacked_ to use a military phrase, that is

tying the tops together and then drawing out the other ends so as to

describe a circle, and thus making a perfect cone. The bark tapestry is

hung around these poles very much as it would be around the globular

close lodges; and by this arrangement, an Indian lodge is raised, and

ready for occupation, in as many minutes, after landing, as the most

expert soldiers could pitch a tent in.

Before we can affirm that the labour of preparing these barks and mats

and setting up, and taking down, the lodge, is disproportionately great,

or heavy on the females, it will be necessary to inquire into other

particulars, both on the side of the male and female. Much of the time

of an Indian female, is passed in idleness. This is true not only of a

part of every day, but is emphatically so, of certain seasons of the

year. She has not like the farmer's wife, her cows to milk, her butter

and cheese to make, and her flax to spin. She has not to wash and comb

and prepare her children every morning, to go to school. She has no

extensive or fine wardrobe to take care of. She has no books to read.

She sets little value on time, which is characteristic of all the race.

What she does, is either very plain sewing, or some very pains taking

ornamental thing. When the sheathing and flooring of the lodges are once

made, they are permanent pieces of property, and do not require frequent

renewal. When a skin has been dressed, and a garment made of it, it is

worn, till it is worn out. Frequent ablution and change of dress, are

eminently the traits of high civilization, and not of the hunter's

lodge. The articles which enter into the mysteries of the laundry, add

but little to the cares of a forest housekeeper. With every industrial

effort, and such is, sometimes the case, there is much unoccupied time,

while her husband is compelled by their necessities, to traverse large

tracts, and endure great fatigues, in all weathers in quest of food. He

must defend his hunting grounds, in peace and war, and has his life

daily in his hands. Long absences are often necessary, on these

accounts. It is at such times, during the open season, that the Indian

female exerts her industry. In the fall season, she takes her children

in a canoe, or if she have none, invites a female companion to go with

her, along the streams, to cut the rush, to be manufactured into mats,

at her leisure, in the winter. It is also a part of her duty, at all

seasons, to provide fuel for the lodge fire, which she is careful to do,

that she may suitably receive her husband, on his return from the chase,

and have the means of drying his wet moccasins, and a cheerful spot,

where he may light his pipe, and regain his mental equilibrium, while

she prepares his meals. The very idea of a female's chopping wood, is to

some horrific. But it is quite true that the Indian female _does_ chop

wood, or at least, exert an undue labour, in procuring this necessary

article of the household. In speaking of the female, we, at once, rush

to the poetic idea of the refinement of lady like gentleness, and

delicacy. Not only does the nature of savage life and the hardiness of

muscle created by centuries of forest vicissitude, give the hunter's

wife, but a slender claim on this particular shade of character, but the

kind of labour implied, is very different from the notion civilized men

have of "wood chopping." The emigrant swings a heavy axe of six pounds

weight, incessantly, day _in_, and day _out_, against immense trees, in

the heaviest forest, until he has opened the land to the rays of the

sun, and prepared an amount of cyclopean labours for the power of fire,

and the ox. The hunter clears no forests, the limits of which on the

contrary, he carefully cherishes for his deer to range in. He seats

himself down, with his lodge, in the borders of natural glades, or

meadows, to plant his few hills of maize. He had no metallic axe,

capable of cutting down a tree, before 1492, and he has never learned to

wield a heavy axe up to 1844. His wife, always made her lodge fires by

gathering sticks, and she does so still. She takes a hatchet of one or

two pounds weight, and after collecting dry limbs in the forest, she

breaks them into lengths of about 18 inches, and ties them in bundles,

or faggots, and carries them, at her leisure, to her lodge. Small as

these sticks are, in their length and diameter, but few are required to

boil her pot. The lodge, being of small circumference, but little heat

is required to warm the air, and by suspending the pot by a string from

above, over a small blaze, the object is attained, without that

extraordinary expenditure of wood, which, to the perfect amazement of

the Indian, characterizes the emigrant's roaring fire of logs. The few

fields which the Indians have cleared and prepared for corn fields, in

northern latitudes, are generally to be traced to some adventitious

opening, and have been enlarged very slowly. Hence, I have observed,

that when they have come to be appraised, to fix their value as

improvements upon the land, under treaty provisions, that the amount

thereof may be paid the owner, they have uniformly set a high estimate

upon these ancient clearings, and sometimes regarded their value, one

would think, in the inverse proportion of these limits. As if, indeed,

there were some merit, in having but half an acre of cleared ground,

where, it might be supposed, the owner would have cultivated ten acres.

And this half acre, is to be regarded as the industrial sum of the

agricultural labours of all ages and sexes, during perhaps, ten

generations. Could the whole of this physical effort, therefore, be

traced to female hands, which is doubtful, for the old men and boys,

will often do something, it would not be a very severe imposition. There

is at least, a good deal, it is believed, in this view of the domestic

condition of the women to mitigate the severity of judgment, with which

the proud and labour-hating hunter, has sometimes been visited. He has,

in our view, the most important part of the relative duties of Indian

life, to sustain. In the lodge he is a mild, considerate man, of the

non-interfering and non-scolding species. He may indeed, be looked upon,

rather as the guest of his wife, than what he is often represented to

be, her tyrant, and he is often only known as the lord of the lodge, by

the attention and respect which she shows to him. He is a man of few

words. If her temper is ruffled, he smiles. If he is displeased, he

walks away. It is a province in which his actions acknowledge her right

to rule; and it is one, in which his pride and manliness have exalted

him above the folly of altercation.

THE MANITO TREE.

There is a prominent hill in the vicinity of Sault Ste. Marie, at the

outlet of lake Superior, called by the French _La Butte des Terres_. An

Indian foot-path formerly connected this hill with the old French

settlement at those falls, from which it is distant about a mile. In the

intermediate space, near the path, there formerly stood a tree, a large

mountain ash, from which, Indian tradition says, there issued a sound,

resembling that produced by their own war-drums, during one of the most

calm and cloudless days. This occurred long before the French appeared

in the country. It was consequently regarded as the local residence of a

spirit, and deemed sacred.

From that time they began to deposit at its foot, an offering of small

green twigs and boughs, whenever they passed the path, so that, in

process of time, a high pile of these offerings of the forest was

accumulated. It seemed as if, by this procedure, the other trees had

each made an offering to this tree. At length the tree blew down, during

a violent storm, and has since entirely decayed, but the spot was

recollected and the offerings kept up, and they would have been

continued to the present hour, had not an accidental circumstance put a

stop to it.

In the month of July 1822, the government sent a military force to take

post, at that ancient point of French settlement, at the foot of the

falls, and one of the first acts of the commanding officer was to order

out a fatigue party to cut a wagon road from the selected site of the

post to the hill. This road was directed to be cut sixty feet wide, and

it passed over the site of the tree. The pile of offerings was thus

removed, without the men's knowing that it ever had had a superstitious

origin; and thus the practice itself came to an end. I had landed with

the troops, and been at the place but nine days, in the exercise of my

appropriate duties as an Agent on the part of the government to the

tribe, when this trait of character was mentioned to me, and I was thus

made personally acquainted with the locality, the cutting of the road,

and the final extinction of the rite.

Our Indians are rather prone to regard the coming of the white man, as

fulfilling certain obscure prophecies of their own priests; and that

they are, at best, harbingers of evil to them; and with their usual

belief in fatality, they tacitly drop such rites as the foregoing. They

can excuse themselves to their consciences in such cases, in

relinquishing the worship of a local manito, by saying: it is the tread

of the white man that has desecrated the ground.

TALES OF A WIGWAM.

THE WHITE STONE CANOE.

There was once a very beautiful young girl, who died suddenly on the day

she was to have been married to a handsome young man. He was also brave,

but his heart was not proof against this loss. From the hour she was

buried, there was no more joy or peace for him. He went often to visit

the spot where the women had buried her, and sat musing there, when, it

was thought, by some of his friends, he would have done better to try to

amuse himself in the chase, or by diverting his thoughts in the

war-path. But war and hunting had both lost their charms for him. His

heart was already dead within him. He pushed aside both his war-club and

his bow and arrows.

He had heard the old people say, that there was a path, that led to the

land of souls, and he determined to follow it. He accordingly set out,

one morning, after having completed his preparations for the journey. At

first he hardly knew which way to go. He was only guided by the

tradition that he must go south. For a while, he could see no change in

the face of the country. Forests, and hills, and vallies, and streams

had the same looks, which they wore in his native place. There was snow

on the ground, when he set out, and it was sometimes seen to be piled

and matted on the thick trees and bushes. At length, it began to

diminish, and finally disappeared. The forest assumed a more cheerful

appearance, the leaves put forth their buds, and before he was aware of

the completeness of the change, he found himself surrounded by spring.

He had left behind him the land of snow and ice. The air became mild,

the dark clouds of winter had rolled away from the sky; a pure field of

blue was above him, and as he went he saw flowers beside his path, and

heard the songs of birds. By these signs he knew that he was going the

right way, for they agreed with the traditions of his tribe. At length

he spied a path. It led him through a grove, then up a long and elevated

ridge, on the very top of which he came to a lodge. At the door stood an

old man, with white hair, whose eyes, though deeply sunk, had a fiery

brilliancy. He had a long robe of skins thrown loosely around his

shoulders, and a staff in his hands.

The young Chippewayan began to tell his story; but the venerable chief

arrested him, before he had proceeded to speak ten words. I have

expected you, he replied, and had just risen to bid you welcome to my

abode. She, whom you seek, passed here but a few days since, and being

fatigued with her journey, rested herself here. Enter my lodge and be

seated, and I will then satisfy your enquiries, and give you directions

for your journey from this point. Having done this, they both issued

forth to the lodge door. "You see yonder gulf, said he, and the wide

stretching blue plains beyond. It is the land of souls. You stand upon

its borders, and my lodge is the gate of entrance. But you cannot take

your body along. Leave it here with your bow and arrows, your bundle and

your dog. You will find them safe on your return." So saying, he

re-entered the lodge, and the freed traveller bounded forward, as if his

feet had suddenly been endowed with the power of wings. But all things

retained their natural colours and shapes. The woods and leaves, and

streams and lakes, were only more bright and comely than he had ever

witnessed. Animals bounded across his path, with a freedom and a

confidence which seemed to tell him, there was no blood shed here. Birds

of beautiful plumage inhabited the groves, and sported in the waters.

There was but one thing, in which he saw a very unusual effect. He

noticed that his passage was not stopped by trees or other objects. He

appeared to walk directly through them. They were, in fact, but the

souls or shadows of material trees. He became sensible that he was in a

land of shadows. When he had travelled half a day's journey, through a

country which was continually becoming more attractive, he came to the

banks of a broad lake, in the centre of which was a large and beautiful

island. He found a canoe of shining white stone, tied to the shore. He

was now sure that he had come the right path, for the aged man had told

him of this. There were also shining paddles. He immediately entered the

canoe, and took the paddles in his hands, when to his joy and surprise,

on turning round, he beheld the object of his search in another canoe,

exactly its counterpart in every thing. She had exactly imitated his

motions, and they were side by side. They at once pushed out from shore

and began to cross the lake. Its waves seemed to be rising and at a

distance looked ready to swallow them up; but just as they entered the

whitened edge of them they seemed to melt away, as if they were but the

images of waves. But no sooner was one wreath of foam passed, than

another, more threatening still, rose up. Thus they were in perpetual

fear; and what added to it, was the _clearness of the water_, through

which they could see heaps of beings who had perished before, and whose

bones laid strewed on the bottom of the lake. The Master of Life had,

however, decreed to let them pass, for the actions of neither of them

had been bad. But they saw many others struggling and sinking in the

waves. Old men and young men, males and females of all ages and ranks,

were there; some passed, and some sank. It was only the little children

whose canoes seemed to meet no waves. At length, every difficulty was

gone, as in a moment, and they both leapt out on the happy island. They

felt that the very air was food. It strengthened and nourished them.

They wandered together over the blissful fields, where every thing was

formed to please the eye and the ear. There were no tempests--there was

no ice, no chilly winds--no one shivered for the want of warm clothes:

no one suffered for hunger--no one mourned for the dead. They saw no

graves. They heard of no wars. There was no hunting of animals; for the

air itself was their food. Gladly would the young warrior have remained

there forever, but he was obliged to go back for his body. He did not

see the Master of Life, but he heard his voice in a soft breeze: "Go

back, said this voice, to the land from whence you came. Your time has

not yet come. The duties for which I made you, and which you are to

perform, are not yet finished. Return to your people, and accomplish the

duties of a good man. You will be the ruler of your tribe for many days.

The rules you must observe, will be told you by my messenger, who keeps

the gate. When he surrenders back your body, he will tell you what to

do. Listen to him, and you shall afterwards rejoin the spirit, which you

must now leave behind. She is accepted and will be ever here, as young

and as happy as she was when I first called her from the land of snows."

When this voice ceased, the narrator awoke. It was the fancy work of a

dream, and he was still in the bitter land of snows, and hunger and

tears.

THE LYNX AND THE HARE.

A FABLE FROM THE OJIBWA-ALGONQUIN.

A lynx almost famished, met a hare one day in the woods, in the winter

season, but the hare was separated from its enemy by a rock, upon which

it stood. The lynx began to speak to it in a very kind manner. "Wabose!

Wabose!"[3] said he, "come here my little white one, I wish to talk to

you." "O no," said the hare, "I am afraid of you, and my mother told me

never to go and talk with strangers." "You are very pretty," replied the

lynx, "and a very obedient child to your parents; but you must know that

I am a relative of yours; I wish to send some word to your lodge; come

down and see me." The hare was pleased to be called pretty, and when she

heard that it was a relative, she jumped down from the place where she

stood, and immediately the lynx pounced upon her and tore her to pieces.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] This word appears to be a derivation from the radix WAWB, white. The

termination in o is the objective sign. The term is made diminutive in

s.

THE WORSHIP OF THE SUN.

AN OTTOWA TRADITION.

A long time ago, there lived an aged Odjibwa and his wife, on the shores

of Lake Huron. They had an only son, a very beautiful boy whose name was

O-na-wut-a-qut-o, or he that catches the clouds. The family were of the

totem of the beaver. The parents were very proud of him, and thought to

make him a celebrated man, but when he reached the proper age, he would

not submit to the We-koon-de-win, or fast. When this time arrived, they

gave him charcoal, instead of his breakfast, but he would not blacken

his face. If they denied him food, he would seek for birds' eggs, along

the shore, or pick up the heads of fish that had been cast away, and

broil them. One day, they took away violently the food he had thus

prepared, and cast him some coals in place of it. This act brought him

to a decision. He took the coals and blackened his face, and went out of

the lodge. He did not return, but slept without; and during the night,

he had a dream. He dreamed that he saw a very beautiful female come down

from the clouds and stand by his side. "O-no-wut-a-qut-o," said she, "I

am come for you--step in my tracks." The young man did so, and presently

felt himself ascending above the tops of the trees--he mounted up, step

by step, into the air, and through the clouds. His guide, at length,

passed through an orifice, and he, following her, found himself standing

on a beautiful plain.

A path led to a splendid lodge. He followed her into it. It was large,

and divided into two parts. On one end he saw bows and arrows, clubs and

spears, and various warlike implements tipped with silver. On the other

end, were things exclusively belonging to females. This was the home of

his fair guide, and he saw that she had, on the frame, a broad rich

belt, of many colours, which she was weaving. She said to him: "My

brother is coming and I must hide you." Putting him in one corner, she

spread the belt over him. Presently the brother came in, very richly

dressed, and shining as if he had had points of silver all over him. He

took down from the wall a splendid pipe, together with his sack of

a-pa-ko-ze-gun, or smoking mixture. When he had finished regaling

himself in this way, and laid his pipe aside, he said to his sister:

"Nemissa," (which is, my elder sister,) "when will you quit these

practices? Do you forget that the Greatest of the Spirits has commanded

that you should not take away the children from below? Perhaps you

suppose that you have concealed O-na-wut-a-qut-o, but do I not know of

his coming? If you would not offend me, send him back immediately." But

this address did not alter her purpose. She would not send him back.

Finding that she was purposed in her mind, he then spoke to the young

lad, and called him from his hiding place. "Come out of your

concealment," said he, "and walk about and amuse yourself. You will grow

hungry if you remain there." He then presented him a bow and arrows, and

a pipe of red stone, richly ornamented. This was taken as the word of

consent to his marriage; so the two were considered husband and wife

from that time.

O-no-wut-a-qut-o found every thing exceedingly fair and beautiful around

him, but he found no inhabitants except her brother. There were flowers

on the plains. There were bright and sparkling streams. There were green

vallies and pleasant trees. There were gay birds and beautiful animals,

but they were not such as he had been accustomed to see. There was also

day and night, as on the earth; but he observed that every morning the

brother regularly left the lodge, and remained absent all day; and every

evening the sister departed, though it was commonly but for a part of

the night.

His curiosity was aroused to solve this mystery. He obtained the

brother's consent to accompany him in one of his daily journies. They

travelled over a smooth plain, without boundaries, until

O-no-wut-a-qut-o felt the gnawings of appetite, and asked his companion

if there were no game. "Patience! my brother," said he, "we shall soon

reach the spot where I eat my dinner, and you will then see how I am

provided." After walking on a long time, they came to a place which was

spread over with fine mats, where they sat down to refresh themselves.

There was, at this place, a hole through the sky; and O-no-wut-a-qut-o,

looked down, at the bidding of his companion, upon the earth. He saw

below the great lakes, and the villages of the Indians. In one place, he

saw a war party stealing on the camp of their enemies. In another, he

saw feasting and dancing. On a green plain, young men were engaged at

ball. Along a stream, women were employed in gathering the a-puk-wa for

mats.

"Do you see," said the brother, "that group of children playing beside a

lodge. Observe that beautiful and active boy," said he, at the same time

darting something at him, from his hand. The child immediately fell, and

was carried into the lodge.

They looked again, and saw the people gathering about the lodge. They

heard the she-she-gwan of the meeta, and the song he sung, asking that

the child's life might be spared. To this request, the companion of

O-no-wut-a-qut-o made answer--"send me up the sacrifice of a white dog."

Immediately a feast was ordered by the parents of the child, the white

dog was killed, his carcass was roasted, and all the wise men and

medicine men of the village assembled to witness the ceremony. "There

are many below," continued the voice of the brother, "whom you call

great in medical skill, but it is because their ears are open, and they

listen to my voice, that they are able to succeed. When I have struck

one with sickness, they direct the people to look to me: and when they

send me the offering I ask, I remove my hand from off them, and they are

well." After he had said this, they saw the sacrifice parcelled out in

dishes, for those who were at the feast. The master of the feast then

said, "we send this to thee, Great Manito," and immediately the roasted

animal came up. Thus their dinner was supplied, and after they had

eaten, they returned to the lodge by another way.

After this manner they lived for some time; but the place became

wearisome at last. O-no-wut-a-qut-o thought of his friends, and wished

to go back to them. He had not forgotten his native village, and his

father's lodge; and he asked leave of his wife, to return. At length she

consented. "Since you are better pleased," she replied, "with the cares

and the ills, and the poverty of the world, than with the peaceful

delights of the sky, and its boundless prairies, go! I give you

permission, and since I have brought you hither, I will conduct you

back; but remember, you are still my husband, I hold a chain in my hand

by which I can draw you back, whenever I will. My power over you is not,

in any manner, diminished. Beware, therefore, how you venture to take a

wife among the people below. Should you ever do so, it is then that you

shall feel the force of my displeasure."

As she said this, her eyes sparkled--she raised herself slightly on her

toes, and stretched herself up, with a majestic air; and at that moment,

O-no-wut-a-qut-o awoke from his dream. He found himself on the ground,

near his father's lodge, at the very spot where he had laid himself down

to fast. Instead of the bright beings of a higher world, he found

himself surrounded by his parents and relatives. His mother told him he

had been absent a year. The change was so great, that he remained for

some time moody and abstracted, but by degrees, he recovered his

spirits. He began to doubt the reality of all he had heard and seen

above. At last, he forgot the admonitions of his spouse, and married a

beautiful young woman of his own tribe. But within four days, she was a

corpse. Even the fearful admonition was lost, and he repeated the

offence by a second marriage. Soon afterwards, he went out of the lodge,

one night, but never returned. It was believed that his wife had

recalled him to the region of the clouds, where the tradition asserts,

he still dwells, and walks on the daily rounds, which he once witnessed.

* * * * *

The native tribes are a people without maxims: One of the few which have

been noticed is this: Do not tell a story in the summer; if you do, the

toads will visit you.

SHINGEBISS.

FROM THE ODJIBWA-ALGONQUIN.

There was once a Shingebiss, [the name of a kind of duck] living alone,

in a solitary lodge, on the shores of the deep bay of a lake, in the

coldest winter weather. The ice had formed on the water, and he had but

four logs of wood to keep his fire. Each of these, would, however, burn

a month, and as there were but four cold winter months, they were

sufficient to carry him through till spring.

Shingebiss was hardy and fearless, and cared for no one. He would go out

during the coldest day, and seek for places where flags and rushes grew

through the ice, and plucking them up with his bill, would dive through

the openings, in quest of fish. In this way he found plenty of food,

while others were starving, and he went home daily to his lodge,

dragging strings of fish after him, on the ice.

Kabebonicca[4] observed him, and felt a little piqued at his

perseverance and good luck in defiance of the severest blasts of wind he

could send from the north-west. "Why! this is a wonderful man," said he;

"he does not mind the cold, and appears as happy and contented, as if it

were the month of June. I will try, whether he cannot be mastered." He

poured forth ten-fold colder blasts, and drifts of snow, so that it was

next to impossible to live in the open air. Still the fire of Shingebiss

did not go out; he wore but a single strip of leather around his body,

and he was seen, in the worst weather, searching the shores for rushes,

and carrying home fish.

"I shall go and visit him," said Kabebonicca, one day, as he saw

Shingebiss dragging along a quantity of fish. And accordingly, that very

night, he went to the door of his lodge. Meantime Shingebiss had cooked

his fish, and finished his meal, and was lying, partly on his side,

before the fire singing his songs. After Kabebonicca had come to the

door, and stood listening there, he sang as follows:

Ka Neej Ka Neej

Be In Be In

Bon In Bon In

Oc Ee. Oc Ee.

Ca We-ya! Ca We-ya!

The number of words, in this song, are few and simple, but they are made

up from compounds which carry the whole of their original meanings, and

are rather suggestive of the ideas floating in the mind, than actual

expressions of those ideas. Literally he sings:

Spirit of the North West--you are but my fellow man.

By being broken into syllables, to correspond with a simple chant, and

by the power of intonation and repetition, with a chorus, these words

are expanded into melodious utterance, if we may be allowed the term,

and may be thus rendered:

Windy god, I know your plan,

You are but my fellow man,

Blow you may your coldest breeze,

Shingebiss you cannot freeze,

Sweep the strongest wind you can,

Shingebiss is still your man,

Heigh! for life--and ho! for bliss,

Who so free as Shingebiss?

The hunter knew that Kabebonicca was at his door, for he felt his cold

and strong breath; but he kept on singing his songs, and affected utter

indifference. At length Kabebonicca entered, and took his seat on the

opposite side of the lodge. But Shingebiss did not regard, or notice

him. He got up, as if nobody were present, and taking his poker, pushed

the log, which made his fire burn brighter, repeating as he sat down

again:

You are but my fellow man.

Very soon the tears began to flow down Kabebonicca's cheeks, which

increased so fast, that, presently, he said to himself, "I cannot stand

this--I must go out." He did so, and left Shingebiss to his songs; but

resolved to freeze up all the flag orifices, and make the ice thick, so

that he could not get any more fish. Still Shingebiss, by dint of great

diligence, found means to pull up new roots, and dive under for fish. At

last Kabebonicca was compelled to give up the contest. "He must be aided

by some Monedo," said he, "I can neither freeze him, nor starve him, he

is a very singular being--I will let him alone."

* * * * *

The introduction of the Saxon race into North America, has had three

determined opponents, the life of each of whom forms a distinct era.

They were Powhatan, Metakom, and Pontiac. Each pursued the same method

to accomplish his end, and each was the indomitable foe of the

race.--Sassacus ought, perhaps, to be added to the number. Brant, was

but a partisan, and fought for one branch, against another. Tecumseh,

was also, rather the foe of the American type of the race, than the

whole race. The same can be said of lesser men, such as Little Turtle,

Buckanjaheela, and Black Hawk. Uncas was also a partisan, not a hater of

the white race, and like Waub Ojeeg in the north, fought, that one tribe

might prevail over another. If the Saxon race profited by this, he could

not help it. Tuscaloosa fought for his tribe's supremacy; Osceola for

revenge.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] A personification of the North West.

EARLY INDIAN BIOGRAPHY.

PISKARET.

There lived a noted chief on the north banks of the St. Lawrence in the

latter part of the 16th century, who was called by the Iroquois,

Piskaret, but the true pronunciation of whose name, by his own people,

was Bisconace, or the Little Blaze. Names are often arbitrarily bestowed

by the Indians, from some trivial circumstance in domestic life, or

hunting, as mere nick names, which take the place of the real names: for

it is a practice among this people to conceal their real names, from a

subtle, superstitious notion, that, if so known, they will be under the

power of priestly incantation, or some other evil influence.

What the real name of this man was, if it differed from the above, is

not known, as this was his only appellation. He was an Adirondak: that

is to say, one of the race of people who were called Adirondaks by the

Iroquois, but Algonquins by the French. And as the Algonquins and

Iroquois, had lately became deadly enemies and were so then, the

distinction to which Bisconace rose, was in the conducting of the war

which his people waged against the Iroquois, or Five Nations.

It seems, from the accounts of both English and French authors, that the

Algonquins, at the period of the first settlement of the St. Lawrence,

were by far the most advanced in arts and knowledge, and most

distinguished for skill in war and hunting, of all the nations in North

America. This at least is certain, that no chief, far or near, enjoyed

as high a reputation for daring valor and skill as Bisconace. He is

spoken of in this light by all who name him; he was so fierce, subtle

and indomitable that he became the terror of his enemies, who were

startled at the very mention of his name. Bisconace lived on the north

banks of the St. Lawrence, below Montreal, and carried on his wars

against the Indians inhabiting the northern parts of the present state

of New York, often proceeding by the course of the River Sorel.

The period of the Adirondak supremacy, embraced the close of the 15th

century and the beginning of the 16th, and at this time the people began

to derive great power and boldness, from the possession of fire arms,

with which the French supplied them, before their southern and western

neighbours came to participate in this great improvement, this striking

era of the Red man, in the art of war. Colden is thought to be a little

out, in the great estimate he furnishes of the power, influence, and

advances of this great family of the Red Race. The French naturally

puffed them up a good deal; but we may admit that they were most expert

warriors, and hunters, and manufactured arms and canoes, with great

skill. They were the prominent enemies of the Five Nations; and like

all enemies at a distance had a formidable name. The word Adirondak is

one of Iroquois origin; but the French, who always gave their own names

to the Tribes, and had a policy in so doing, called them Algonquins--a

term whose origin is involved in some obscurity. For a time, they

prevailed against their enemies south of the St. Lawrence, but the

latter were soon furnished with arms by the Dutch, who entered the

Hudson in 1609, and their allies, the Iracoson, or Iroquois, soon

assumed that rank in war which, if they had before lacked, raised them

to so high a point of pre-eminence. It was in that early period of the

history of these nations that Bisconace exerted his power.

Where a people have neither history nor biography, there is but little

hope that tradition will long preserve the memory of events. Some of the

acts of this chief are known through the earlier colonial writers. So

great was the confidence inspired in the breast of this chief, by the

use of fire arms, that he pushed into the Iroquois country like a mad

man, and performed some feats against a people armed with bows only,

which are astonishing.

With only four chiefs to aid him, he left Trois Rivieres, on one

occasion, in a single canoe, with fifteen loaded muskets, thus giving

three pieces, to each man. Each piece was charged with two balls, joined

by a small chain ten inches long. Soon after entering the Sorel river,

he encountered five bark canoes of Iroquois, each having ten men. To

cloak his ruse he pretended to give himself up for lost, in view of such

a disparity of numbers; and he and his companions began to sing their

death song. They had no sooner got near their enemies, however, than

they began to pour in their chain-shot, riddling the frail canoes of the

enemy, who tumbled into the water, and sank under the active blows of

their adversaries. Some he saved to grace his triumphant return, and

these were tortured at the stake.

On another occasion he undertook an enterprize alone. Being well

acquainted with the Iroquois country, he set out, about the time the

snow began to melt, taking the precaution to put the hinder part of his

snow-shoes forward to mislead the enemy, in case his track should be

discovered. As a further precaution, he avoided the plain forest paths,

keeping along the ridges and high stony grounds, where the snow was

melting, that his track might be often lost. When he came near to one of

the Villages of the Five Nations, he hid himself till night. He then

crept forth, and entered a lodge, where he found every soul asleep.

Having killed them all, he took their scalps, and went back to his

lurking place. The next day the people of the village searched in vain

for the perpetrator. At night he again sallied forth, and repeated the

act, on another lodge, with equal secrecy and success. Again the

villagers searched, but could find no traces of his footsteps. They

determined, however, to set a watch. Piskaret, anticipating this,

gathered up his scalps, and stole forth slyly, but found the inhabitants

of every lodge on the alert, save one, where the sentinel had fallen

asleep. This man he despatched and scalped, but alarmed the rest, who

rose in the pursuit. He was, however, under no great fears of being

overtaken. One of the causes of his great confidence in himself was

found in the fact that he was the swiftest runner known. He eluded them

often, sometimes, however, lingering to draw them on, and tire them out.

When he had played this trick, he hid himself. His pursuers, finding

they had let him escape, encamped, thinking themselves in safety, but

they had no sooner fallen asleep, than he stole forth from his lurking

place, and despatched every one of them. He added their scalps to his

bundle of trophies, and then returned.

Recitals of this kind flew from village to village, and gave him the

greatest reputation for courage, adroitness and fleetness.

The Five Nations were, however, early noted for their skill in

stratagem, and owed their early rise to it. They were at this era

engaged in their long, fierce and finally triumphant war against the

Algonquins and Wyandots, or to adopt the ancient terms, the Adirondaks

and Quatoghies. These latter they defeated in a great battle, fought

within two miles of Quebec. In this battle the French, who were in

reality weak in number, were neutral. Their neutrality, on this

occasion, happened in this way. They had urged the reception of priests

upon the Five Nations, through whose influence, they hoped to prevail

over that people, and to wrest western New York from the power of the

Dutch and English. As soon as a number of these missionaries of the

sword and cross had insinuated themselves among the Five Nations, the

latter seized them, as hostages; and, under a threat of their execution,

kept the French quiet in this decisive battle. This scheme had succeeded

so well, that it taught the Five Nations the value of negociation; and

they determined, the next year, to try another. Pretending that they

were now well satisfied with their triumph on the St. Lawrence, they

sent word that they meant to make a formidable visit to Yonnendio, this

being the official name they bestowed on the governor of Canada. Such

visits they always made with great pomp and show; and on this occasion,

they came with 1000 or 1200 men. On the way to Quebec, near the river

Nicolet, their scouts met Piskaret, whom they cajoled, and kept in utter

ignorance of the large force behind until they had drawn out of him an

important piece of information, and then put him to death. They cut off

his head, and carried it to the Iroquois army. To have killed him, was

regarded as an assurance of ultimate victory. These scouts also carried

to the army the information, which they had obtained, that the

Adirondaks were divided into two bodies, one of which hunted on the

river Nicolet, and the other at a place called Wahmeke, on the north

side of the St. Lawrence. They immediately divided their forces, fell

upon each body at unawares and cut them both to pieces.

This is the great triumph to which Charlevoix, in his history of New

France, alludes. It was the turning point in the war against the

confederated Wyandots, and Algonquins, and, in effect, drove both

nations, in the end, effectually out of the St. Lawrence valley. The

former fled to Lake Huron, to which they imparted their name. Some of

the Adirondaks took shelter near Quebec, under the care of the Jesuits;

the larger number went up the Utawas, to the region of Lake Nipising;

the Atawairos fled to a large chain of islands in Lake Huron, called the

Menaloulins; other bands scattered in other directions. Each one had

some local name; and all, it is probable, were well enough pleased to

hide their defeat by the Five Nations, under local and geographical

designations. But they had no peace in their refuge. The spirit of

revenge burned in the breast of the Iroquois, particularly against their

kindred tribe, the Wyandots, whom they pursued into Lake Huron, drove

them from their refuge at Michilimackinac, and pushed them even to Lake

Superior, where for many years, this ancient tribe continued to dwell.

* * * * *

The pernicious examples of white men, who have conducted the Indian

trade, their immoral habits, injustice, and disregard of truth, and open

licentiousness, have created the deepest prejudice in the minds of the

Red men against the whole European race.

The Indian only thinks when he is forced to think, by circumstances.

Fear, hunger and self-preservation, are the three prominent causes of

his thoughts. Affection and reverence for the dead, come next.

Abstract thought is the characteristic of civilization. If teachers

could induce the Indians to think on subjects not before known to them,

or but imperfectly known, they would adopt one of the most efficacious

means of civilizing them.

Christianity is ultraism to an Indian. It is so opposed to his natural

desires, that he, at first, hates it, and decries it. Opposite states of

feeling, however, affect him, precisely as they do white men. What he at

first hates, he may as suddenly love and embrace.

Christianity is not propagated by ratiocination, it is the result of

feelings and affections on the will and understanding. Hence an Indian

can become a christian.

THE SAUSTAWRAYTSEES,

OR

THE ORIGIN OF THE WYANDOT AND SENECA TRIBES.

A WYANDOT TRADITION.

Towards the middle of the seventeenth century, a body of Indians,

composed of the Wyandots (or as they were then called the

Saus-taw-ray-tsee) and Seneca tribes inhabited the borders of Lake

Ontario. The present Wyandots and Senecas are the remains of this

community, and of the cause of their separation and of the relentless

hostilities by which it was succeeded, the following details are given

in the traditionary history of the Wyandots.

A Wyandot girl, whose name for the sake of distinction shall be

_Oon-yay-stee_, and in whom appeared united a rare combination of moral

attractions, and of extraordinary personal beauty, had for her suitors,

nearly all the young men of her tribe. As insensible however, as

beautiful, the attentions of her lovers were productive of no favorable

effect, for though none were rejected, yet neither was any one

distinguished by her partiality. This unaccountable apathy became, in

time, a subject not only of general, but of common interest to the young

Wyandots. A council composed of those interested in the issue of these

many and importunate applications for her favor, was held for the

purpose of devising some method, by which her intentions in relation to

them might be ascertained. At this, when these amourists had severally

conceded, each, that he could boast of no indication of a preference

shown by Oon-yay-stee to himself, upon which to found a reasonable hope

of ultimately succeeding, it was finally determined, that their claims

should be withdrawn in favor of the War Chief of their lodge. This was

adopted, not so much for the purpose of advancing the interests of

another to the prejudice of their own, as to avoid the humiliating

alternative of yielding the object of so much competition to some more

fortunate rival not connected with their band.

It may be here necessary to remark that nearly all the suitors belonged

to one lodge, and that each of these was a large oblong building,

capable of containing 20 or 30 families, the domestic arrangements of

which were regulated by a war chief, acknowledged as the head of that

particular subordinate band.

Many objections to the task imposed on him by this proposition were

interposed by the chief, the principal of which were, the great

disparity of age and the utter futility of any further attempt, upon the

affections of one so obdurate of heart. The first was obviated by some

well applied commendations of his person, and the second yielded to the

suggestion that women were often capricious, were not always influenced

by considerations the most natural, or resolvable to reasons the most

obvious.

The chief then painted and arrayed himself as for battle, bestowing some

little additional adornment upon his person, to aid him in this species

of warfare, with which he was not altogether so familiar as that in

which he had acquired his reputation; his practice having been confined

rather to the use of stone-headed arrows than love darts, and his

dexterity in the management of hearts displayed rather in making bloody

incisions, than tender impressions. Before he left the lodge, his

retainers pledged themselves, that if the prosecution of this adventure

should impose upon their chief the necessity of performing any feat, to

render him better worthy the acceptance of Oon-yay-stee, they would aid

him in its accomplishment, and sustain him against its consequences to

the last extremity. It was reserved for so adventurous a spirit that it

should be as successful in love, as it had hitherto been resistless in

war.

After a courtship of a few days, he proposed himself and was

conditionally accepted, but what the nature of this condition was,

further than that it was indispensable, Oon-yay-stee refused to tell

him, until he should have given her the strongest assurances that it

should be complied with. After some hesitation and a consultation with

the lovers who urged him to give the promise, he declared himself ready

to accept the terms of the compact. Under her direction he then pledged

the word of a warrior, that neither peril to person, nor sacrifice of

affection should ever prevail with him to desist, imprecating the

vengeance of _Hau-men-dee-zhoo_, and the persecution of

_Dairh-shoo-oo-roo-no_ upon his head if he failed to prosecute to the

uttermost, the enterprise, if its accomplishment were only possible.

She told him to bring her the scalp of a Seneca chief whom she

designated, who for some reason she chose not to reveal, was the object

of her hatred.

The Wyandot saw too late, that he was committed. He besought her to

reflect, that this man was his bosom friend, they had eaten and drank

and grown up together--and how heavy it would make his heart to think

that his friend had perished by his hand. He remonstrated with her on

the cruelty of such a requisition, on the infamy of such an outrage of

confidence and the execration which would forever pursue the author of

an action so accursed. But his expostulations were made to deaf ears.

She told him either to redeem his pledge, or consent to be proclaimed

for a lying dog, whose promises were unworthy ever to be heard, and then

left him.

An hour had hardly elapsed, before the infuriated Wyandot blackened his

face, entered the Seneca Village, tomahawked and scalped his friend, and

as he rushed out of the lodge shouted the scalp-whoop. In the darkness

of the night his person could not be distinguished, and he was

challenged by a Seneca to whom he gave his name, purpose, and a defiance

and then continued his flight. But before it had terminated, the long

mournful scalp-whoop of the Senecas was resounding through the Wyandot

Village; and the chief had hardly joined in the furious conflict that

ensued between the avengers of his murdered victim and his own

retainers, before he paid with his life the forfeit of his treachery.

After a deadly and sustained combat for three days and nights, with

alternate success, the Wyandots were compelled to retire, deserting

their village and abandoning their families to such mercy as might be

granted by an infuriated enemy. Those who were left, sunk under the

tomahawk and scalping knife--the village was devastated--and the

miserable author of the bloody tragedy herself perished amid this scene

of indiscriminate slaughter and desolation.

This war is said to have continued for a period of more than 30 years,

in which time, the Wyandots had been forced backwards as far as Lakes

Huron and Michigan. Here they made an obstinate stand, from which all

the efforts of their relentless enemies to dislodge them were

ineffectual. Their inveterate hatred of each other was fostered by the

war parties of the respective tribes, whose vindictive feelings led them

to hunt and destroy each other, like so many beasts of the forest. These

resulted generally in favor of the Wyandots, who, inspirited by these

partial successes, prepared for more active operations. Three encounters

took place, on the same day, two being had on Lake Michigan and one on

Lake Erie, and which from their savage and exterminating character,

closed this long and merciless contest. It is somewhat remarkable, as no

other tradition makes mention of an Indian battle upon water, that one

of these, said to have occurred on Lake Erie, between Long Point and

Fort Talbot, was fought in canoes. Of this the following detail is

given.

A large body of Wyandots accompanied by two Ottawas left Lake Huron in

birch canoes, on a war excursion into the country of the Senecas, who

had settled at this time, near the head of the Niagara river. They put

ashore at Long Point to cook, when one of the Ottawas and a Wyandot were

sent out as spies to reconnoitre. They had proceeded but a short

distance from the camp, when they met two Senecas, who had been

despatched by their party for the like purposes, and from whom they

instantly fled. The Ottawa finding his pursuers gaining upon him, hid

himself in the branches of a spruce tree, where he remained till the

Seneca had passed. The Wyandot, fleeter of foot, succeeded in reaching

his camp and gave the alarm, when the whole body embarked and pushed out

into the lake. In another moment a party of Senecas was discovered,

turning the nearest point of land in wooden canoes. Immediately the

war-whoops were sounded and the hostile bands began to chant their

respective songs. As they slowly approached each other, the Wyandots

struck a fire, and prepared their gum and bark to repair any damage

which might occur to the canoes. The battle was fought with bows and

arrows, and after a furious and obstinate contest of some hours, in

which the carnage was dreadful, and the canoes were beginning to fill

with blood, water and mangled bodies, the Senecas began to give way. The

encouraged Wyandots fought with redoubled ardor, driving the Senecas to

the shore, where the conflict was renewed with unabated fury. The

Wyandots were victorious, and few of the surviving Senecas escaped to

tell the story of their defeat. One of the prisoners, a boy, was spared

and adopted by the nation. Two Wyandots are now living who profess to

have seen him, when very far advanced in years.

The two other attacks to which allusion has been made, as occurring on

the borders of Lake Michigan, were not more fortunate in their issue.

The Senecas were repulsed with great slaughter.

Thus, say the Wyandots, originated this long, bloody and disastrous war,

and thus it terminated after proving nearly the ruin of our nation.

HO-TSHUNG-RAH.

_Upper Sandusky, March 1st, 1827._

EARLY SKETCHES OF INDIAN WOMEN.

The oldest books we possess written by the first observers of our

Indians abound in interest. Among these is a small work by William Wood,

who visited Plymouth and Massachusetts soon after their settlement, and

published his "_New England's Prospect_," in London, in 1634.

The following extract from this book, (now very scarce,) we make here,

partly for the purpose which the author declares he had in view in

writing it, viz.: to excite the special interest of our female readers,

though the good humour and wit, as well as the benevolence of the

writer, will doubtless commend it to persons of both sexes. That we may

not run the risk of losing any of the effect of the quaint,

old-fashioned style of the original, we have been careful to preserve

the author's orthography and punctuation, together with the long

sentences, for which, as well as many of his contemporaries, he was

remarkable. We have omitted short and unimportant passages in a few

places, marked with asterisks. _E._

[Illustration: THE INDIAN MAIDEN.]

WASBASHAS;

OR,

THE TRIBE THAT GREW OUT OF A SHELL.

AN OSAGE LEGEND.

There was a snail living on the banks of the river Missouri, where he

found plenty of food, and wanted nothing. But at length the waters began

to rise and overflow its banks, and although the little animal clung to

a log, the flood carried them both away: they floated along for many

days. When the water fell, the poor snail was left in the mud and slime,

on shore. The heat of the sun came out so strong, that he was soon fixed

in the slime and could not stir. He could no longer get any nourishment.

He became oppressed with heat and drought. He resigned himself to his

fate and prepared to die. But all at once, he felt a renewed vigour. His

shell burst open, and he began to rise. His head gradually rose above

the ground, he felt his lower extremities assuming the character of feet

and legs. Arms extended from his sides. He felt their extremities divide

into fingers. In fine he rose, under the influence of one day's sun,

into a tall and noble man. For a while he remained in a dull and stupid

state. He had but little activity, and no clear thoughts. These all came

by degrees, and when his recollections returned, he resolved to travel

back to his native land.

But he was naked and ignorant. The first want he felt was hunger. He saw

beasts and birds, as he walked along, but he knew not how to kill them.

He wished himself again a snail, for he knew how, in _that_ form, to get

his food. At length he became so weak, by walking and fasting, that he

laid himself down, on a grassy bank, to die. He had not laid long, when

he heard a voice calling him by name. "Was-bas-has," exclaimed the

voice. He looked up, and beheld the Great Spirit sitting on a white

horse. His eyes glistened like stars. The hair of his head shone like

the sun. He could not bear to look upon him. He trembled from head to

foot. Again the voice spoke to him in a mild tone "Was-bas-has! Why do

you look terrified?" "I tremble," he replied, "because I stand before

Him who raised me from the ground. I am faint and hungry,--I have eaten

nothing since the floods left me upon the shore--a little shell."

The Great Spirit here lifted up his hands and displaying a bow and

arrows, told him to look at him. At a distance sat a bird on a tree. He

put an arrow to the string, and pulling it with force, brought down the

beautiful object. At this moment a deer came in sight. He placed another

arrow to the string, and pierced it through and through. "These" said

he, "are your food, and these are your arms," handing him the bow and

arrows. He then instructed him how to remove the skin of the deer, and

prepare it for a garment. "You are naked," said he, "and must be

clothed; it is now warm, but the skies will change, and bring rains, and

snow, and cold winds." Having said this, he also imparted the gift of

fire, and instructed him how to roast the flesh. He then placed a collar

of wampum around his neck. "This," said he, "is your authority over all

beasts." Having done this, both horse and rider rose up, and vanished

from his sight.

Was-bas-has refreshed himself, and now pursued his way to his native

land. He had seated himself on the banks of the river, and was

meditating on what had passed, when a large beaver rose up from the

channel and addressed him. "Who art thou;" said the beaver, "that comest

here to disturb my ancient reign?" "I am a _man_," he replied; "I was

once a _shell_, a creeping shell; but who art thou?" "I am king of the

nation of beavers," he answered: "I lead my people up and down this

stream; we are a busy people, and the river is my dominion." "I must

divide it with you," retorted Was-bas-has. "The Great Spirit has placed

me at the head of beasts and birds, fishes and fowl; and has provided me

with the power of maintaining my rights." Here he held up the bow and

arrows, and displayed the collar of shells around his neck. "Come,

come," said the Beaver, modifying his tone, "I perceive we are

brothers.--Walk with me to my lodge, and refresh yourself after your

journey," and so saying he led the way. The Snail-Man willingly obeyed

his invitation, and had no reason to repent of his confidence. They soon

entered a fine large village, and his host led him to the chief's lodge.

It was a well-built room, of a cone-shape, and the floor nicely covered

with mats. As soon as they were seated, the Beaver directed his wife and

daughter to prepare food for their guest. While this was getting ready,

the Beaver chief thought he would improve his opportunity by making a

fast friend of so superior a being; whom he saw, at the same time, to be

but a novice. He informed him of the method they had of cutting down

trees, with their teeth, and of felling them across streams, so as to

dam up the water, and described the method of finishing their dams with

leaves and clay. He also instructed him in the way of erecting lodges,

and with other wise and seasonable conversation beguiled the time. His

wife and daughter now entered, bringing in vessels of fresh peeled

poplar, and willow, and sassafras, and alder bark, which is the most

choice food known to them. Of this, Was-bas-has made a merit of tasting,

while his entertainer devoured it with pleasure. He was pleased with the

modest looks and deportment of the chief's daughter, and her cleanly and

neat attire, and her assiduous attention to the commands of her father.

This was ripened into esteem by the visit he made her. A mutual

attachment ensued. A union was proposed to the father, who was rejoiced

to find so advantageous a match for his daughter. A great feast was

prepared, to which all the beavers, and other animals on good terms with

them, were invited. The Snail-Man and the Beaver-Maid were thus united,

and this union is the origin of the Osages. So it is said by the old

people.

THE BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN;

OR

THE ORIGIN OF THE KUG-E-BEENG-WA-KWA,[5] OR DORMOUSE.

FROM THE ODJIBWA ALGONQUIN.

At the time when the animals reigned in the earth, they had killed all

but a girl, and her little brother, and these two were living in fear

and seclusion. The boy was a perfect pigmy, and never grew beyond the

stature of a small infant; but the girl increased with her years, so

that the labor of providing food and lodging devolved wholly on her. She

went out daily to get wood for their lodge-fire, and took her little

brother along that no accident might happen to him; for he was too

little to leave alone. A big bird might have flown away with him. She

made him a bow and arrows, and said to him one day, "I will leave you

behind where I have been chopping--you must hide yourself, and you will

soon see the Git-shee-gitshee-gaun, ai see-ug or snow birds, come and

pick the worms out of the wood, where I have been chopping," (for it was

in the winter.) "Shoot one of them and bring it home." He obeyed her,

and tried his best to kill one, but came home unsuccessful. She told him

he must not despair, but try again the next day. She accordingly left

him at the place she got wood, and returned. Towards night-fall, she

heard his little footsteps on the snow, and he came in exultingly, and

threw down one of the birds, which he had killed. "My sister," said he,

"I wish you to skin it and stretch the skin, and when I have killed

more, I will have a coat made out of them." "But what shall we do with

the body?" said she: for as yet men had not begun to eat animal food,

but lived on vegetables alone. "Cut it in two," he answered, "and season

our pottage with one half of it at a time." She did so. The boy, who

was of a very small stature, continued his efforts, and succeeded in

killing ten birds, out of the skins of which his sister made him a

little coat.

"Sister," said he one day, "are we all alone in the world? Is there

nobody else living?" She told him that those they feared and who had

destroyed their relatives lived in a certain quarter, and that he must

by no means go in that direction. This only served to inflame his

curiosity and raise his ambition, and he soon after took his bow and

arrows and went in that direction. After walking a long time and meeting

nothing, he became tired, and lay down on a knoll, where the sun had

melted the snow. He fell fast asleep; and while sleeping, the sun beat

so hot upon him, that it singed and drew up his bird-skin coat, so that

when he awoke and stretched himself, he felt bound in it, as it were. He

looked down and saw the damage done to his coat. He flew into a passion

and upbraided the sun, and vowed vengeance against it. "Do not think you

are too high," said he, "I shall revenge myself."

On coming home he related his disaster to his sister, and lamented

bitterly the spoiling of his coat. He would not eat. He lay down as one

that fasts, and did not stir, or move his position for ten days, though

she tried all she could to arouse him. At the end of ten days, he turned

over, and then lay ten days on the other side. When he got up, he told

his sister to make him a snare, for he meant to catch the sun. She said

she had nothing; but finally recollected a little piece of dried deer's

sinew, that her father had left, which she soon made into a string

suitable for a noose. But the moment she showed it to him, he told her

it would not do, and bid her get something else. She said she had

nothing--nothing at all. At last she thought of her hair, and pulling

some of it out of her head, made a string. But he instantly said it

would not answer, and bid her, pettishly, and with authority, make him a

noose. She told him there was nothing to make it of, and went out of the

lodge. She said to herself, when she had got without the lodge, and

while she was all alone, "neow obewy indapin." This she did, and

twisting them into a tiny cord she handed it to her brother. The moment

he saw this curious braid he was delighted. "This will do," he said, and

immediately put it to his mouth, and began pulling it through his lips;

and as fast as he drew it changed it into a red metal cord, which he

wound around his body and shoulders, till he had a large quantity. He

then prepared himself, and set out a little after midnight, that he

might catch the sun before it rose. He fixed his snare on a spot just

where the sun would strike the land, as it rose above the earth's disc;

and sure enough, he caught the sun, so that it was held fast in the

cord, and did not rise.

The animals who ruled the earth were immediately put into a great

commotion. They had no light. They called a council to debate upon the

matter, and to appoint some one to go and cut the cord--for this was a

very hazardous enterprize, as the rays of the sun would burn whoever

came so near to them. At last the dormouse undertook it--for at this

time the dormouse was the largest animal in the world. When it stood up

it looked like a mountain. When it got to the place where the sun was

snared, its back began to smoke and burn, with the intensity of the

heat, and the top of its carcass was reduced to enormous heaps of ashes.

It succeeded, however, in cutting the cord with its teeth, and freeing

the sun, but it was reduced to a very small size, and has remained so

ever since. Men call it the Kug-e-been-gwa-kwa.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Blind Woman.

AMPATA SAPA;

OR,

THE FIRST-WIFE.

A TRADITION OF THE DACOTAHS.

Ampata Sapa was the wife of a brave young hunter and warrior, by whom

she had two children. They lived together in great happiness, which was

only varied by the changes of a forest life. Sometimes they lived on the

prairies; sometimes they built their wigwam in the forest, near the

banks of a stream, and they paddled their canoe up and down the rivers.

In these trips they got fish, when they were tired of wild meats. In the

summer season they kept on the open grounds; in the winter, they fixed

their camp in a sheltered position, in the woods. The very change of

their camp was a source of pleasure, for they were always on the

look-out for something new. They had plenty, and they wanted nothing.

In this manner the first years of their marriage passed away. But it so

happened, that as years went by, the reputation of her husband in the

tribe increased, and he soon came to be regarded as a Weetshahstshy

Atapee, or chief. This opened a new field for his ambition and pride.

The fame of a chief, it is well known, is often increased by the number

of his wives. His lodge was now thronged with visitors. Some came to

consult him; some to gain his favour. All this gave Ampata Sapa no

uneasiness, for the Red People like to have visitors, and to show

hospitality. The first thing that caused a jar in her mind, was the

rumour that her husband was about to take a new wife. This was like a

poison in her veins; for she had a big heart. She was much attached to

her husband, and she could not bear the idea of sharing his affections

with another. But she found that the idea had already got strong hold of

her husband's mind, and her remonstrances did little good. He defended

himself on the ground, that it would give him greater influence in the

tribe if he took the daughter of a noted chief. But before he had time

to bring her to his lodge, Ampata Sapa had fled from it, taking her two

children, and returned to her father's lodge. Her father lived at some

distance, and here she remained a short time in quiet. The whole band

soon moved up the Mississippi, to their hunting ground. She was glad to

go with them, and would, indeed, have been glad to go any where, to get

farther from the lodge of her faithless husband.

Here the winter wore away. When the Spring opened, they came back again

to the banks of the river, and mended and fitted up the canoes, which

they had left in the fall. In these they put their furs, and descended

to the Falls of St. Anthony. Ampata Sapa lingered behind a short time

the morning of their embarkation, as they began to draw near the rapids

which precede the great plunge. She then put her canoe in the water, and

embarked with her children. As she approached the falls, the increasing

velocity of the current rendered the paddles of but little use. She

rested with hers suspended in her hands, while she arose, and uttered

her lament:

"It was him only that I loved, with the love of my heart. It was for him

that I prepared, with joy, the fresh killed meat, and swept with boughs

my lodge-fire. It was for him I dressed the skin of the noble deer, and

worked, with my hands, the Moccasins that graced his feet.

"I waited while the sun ran his daily course, for his return from the

chase, and I rejoiced in my heart when I heard his manly footsteps

approach the lodge. He threw down his burden at the door--it was a

haunch of the deer;--I flew to prepare the meat for his use.

"My heart was bound up in him, and he was all the world to me. But he

has left me for another, and life is now a burden which I cannot bear.

Even my children add to my griefs--they look so much like him. How can I

support life, when all its moments are bitter! I have lifted up my voice

to the Master of life. I have asked him to take back that life, which he

gave, and which I no longer wish. I am on the current that hastens to

fulfil my prayer. I see the white foam of the water. It is my shroud. I

hear the deep murmur from below. It is my funeral song. Farewell."

It was too late to arrest her course. She had approached too near the

abyss, before her purpose was discovered by her friends. They beheld her

enter the foam--they saw the canoe for an instant, on the verge, and

then disappear for ever. Such was the end of Ampata Sapa; and they say

her canoe can sometimes be seen, by moonlight, plunging over the falls.

* * * * *

Internal dissension has done more to destroy the Indian power in

America, than the white man's sword. Could the tribes learn the wisdom

of confederation, they might yet be saved. This is a problem now

undergoing an interesting process of solution.

MUKAKEE MINDEMOEA;

OR,

THE TOAD-WOMAN.

AN ODJIBWA TALE.

Great good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone

in the woods, with nobody near her but her little dog, for, to her

surprise, she found fresh meat every morning at her door. She felt very

anxious to know who it was that supplied her, and watching one morning,

very early, she saw a handsome young man deposit the meat. After his

being seen by her, he became her husband, and she had a son by him. One

day not long after this, the man did not return at evening, as usual,

from hunting. She waited till late at night, but all in vain. Next day

she swung her baby to sleep in its tikenagun, or cradle, and then said

to her dog: "Take care of your brother whilst I am gone, and when he

cries, halloo for me." The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and all

its bandages and decorations were of the same costly material. After a

short time the woman heard the cry of her faithful dog, and running home

as fast as she could, she found her child gone and the dog too. But on

looking round, she saw pieces of the wampum of her child's cradle bit

off by the dog, who strove to retain the child and prevent his being

carried off by an old woman called Mukakee Mindemoea, or the Toad-Woman.

The mother followed at full speed, and occasionally came to lodges

inhabited by old women, who told her at what time the thief had passed;

they also gave her shoes, that she might follow on. There were a number

of these old women, who seemed as if they were all prophetesses. Each of

them would say to her, that when she arrived in pursuit of her stolen

child at the next lodge, she must set the toes of the moccasins they had

loaned her pointing homewards, and they would return of themselves. She

would get others from her entertainers farther on, who would also give

her directions how to proceed to recover her son. She thus followed in

the pursuit, from valley to valley, and stream to stream, for months and

years; when she came, at length, to the lodge of the last of the

friendly old Nocoes, or grandmothers, as they were called, who gave her

final instructions how to proceed. She told her she was near the place

where her son was, and directed her to build a lodge of shingoob, or

cedar boughs, near the old Toad-Woman's lodge, and to make a little bark

dish and squeeze her milk into it. "Then," she said, "your first child

(meaning the dog) will come and find you out." She did accordingly, and

in a short time she heard her son, now grown, going out to hunt, with

his dog, calling out to him, "Monedo Pewaubik (that is, Steel or Spirit

Iron,) Twee! Twee!" She then set ready the dish and filled it with her

milk. The dog soon scented it and came into the lodge; she placed it

before him. "See my child," said she, addressing him, "the food you used

to have from me, your mother." The dog went and told his young master

that he had found his _real_ mother; and informed him that the old

woman, whom he _called_ his mother, was not his mother, that she had

stolen him when an infant in his cradle, and that he had himself

followed her in hopes of getting him back. The young man and his dog

then went on their hunting excursion, and brought back a great quantity

of meat of all kinds. He said to his pretended mother, as he laid it

down, "Send some to the stranger that has arrived lately." The old hag

answered, "No! why should I send to her--the Sheegowish."[6] He

insisted; and she at last consented to take something, throwing it in at

the door, with the remark, "My son gives you, or feeds you this." But it

was of such an offensive nature, that she threw it immediately out after

her.

After this the young man paid the stranger a visit, at her lodge of

cedar boughs, and partook of her dish of milk. She then told him she was

his real mother, and that he had been stolen away from her by the

detestable Toad-Woman, who was a witch. He was not quite convinced. She

said to him, "Feign yourself sick, when you go home, and when the

Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you want to see your cradle; for

your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother, the dog, bit a

piece off to try and detain you, which I picked up, as I followed in

your track. They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and

beautiful." She then showed him the pieces. He went home and did as his

real mother bid him. "Mother," said he, "why am I so different in my

looks from the rest of your children?" "Oh," said she, "it was a very

bright clear blue sky when you were born; that is the reason." When the

Toad-Woman saw he was ill, she asked what she could do for him. He said

nothing would do him good, but the sight of his cradle. She ran

immediately and got a cedar cradle; but he said "That is not my cradle."

She went and got one of her own children's cradles, (for she had four,)

but he turned his head and said, "That is not mine." She then produced

the real cradle, and he saw it was the same, in substance, with the

pieces the other had shown him; and he was convinced, for he could even

see the marks of the dog's teeth upon it.