There was once a very beautiful Indian maiden, who died suddenly on
the day she was to have been married to a handsome young warrior. 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 warpath. 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 valleys, 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 inquiries, 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 can not 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 traveler bounded forward as if his feet had
suddenly been endowed with the power of wings.
But all things retained their natural colors 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 traveled 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 center 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 taken the right path, for the aged man had told him
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 everything. 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, arose.
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 lay 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 and young 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
leaped 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 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 afterward 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 all the fabric of a dream, and he was still in the bitter land
of snows, and hunger, and tears.
* * * * *