(Written as from one Indian to another.)
MUSKETAQUID, 202 Summers, two Moons, eleven Suns, since the coming of
the Pale Faces.
(November 11, 1837.)
TAHATAWAN, Sachimaussan, to his brother sachem, Hopeful of
Hopewell,--hoping that he is well:--
Brother: It is many suns that I have not seen the print of thy
moccasins by our council-fire; the Great Spirit has blown more leaves
from the trees, and many clouds from the land of snows have visited
our lodge; the earth has become hard, like a frozen buffalo-skin, so
that the trampling of many herds is like the Great Spirit's thunder;
the grass on the great fields is like the old man of many winters, and
the small song sparrow prepares for his flight to the land whence the
summer comes.
Brother: I write these things because I know that thou lovest the
Great Spirit's creatures, and wast wont to sit at thy lodge-door, when
the maize was green, to hear the bluebird's song. So shalt thou, in
the land of spirits, not only find good hunting-grounds and sharp
arrowheads, but much music of birds.
Brother: I have been thinking how the Pale-Faces have taken away our
lands,--and was a woman. You are fortunate to have pitched your wigwam
nearer to the great salt lake, where the Pale-Face can never plant
corn.
Brother: I need not tell thee how we hunted on the lands of the
Dundees,--a great war-chief never forgets the bitter taunts of his
enemies. Our young men called for strong water; they painted their
faces and dug up the hatchet. But their enemies, the Dundees, were
women; they hastened to cover their hatchets with wampum. Our braves
are not many; our enemies took a few strings from the heap their
fathers left them, and our hatchets are buried. But not Tahatawan's;
his heart is of rock when the Dundees sing,--his hatchet cuts deep
into the Dundee braves.
Brother: There is dust on my moccasins; I have journeyed to the White
Lake, in the country of the Ninares.[8] The Long-Knife has been
there,--like a woman I paddled his war-canoe. But the spirits of my
fathers were angered; the waters were ruffled, and the Bad Spirit
troubled the air.
The hearts of the Lee-vites are gladdened; the young Peacock has
returned to his lodge at Naushawtuck. He is the Medicine of his tribe,
but his heart is like the dry leaves when the whirlwind breathes. He
has come to help choose new chiefs for the tribe, in the great
council-house, when two suns are past.--There is no seat for Tahatawan
in the council-house. He lets the squaws talk,--his voice is heard
above the war-whoop of his tribe, piercing the hearts of his foes; his
legs are stiff, he cannot sit.
Brother: Art thou waiting for the spring, that the geese may fly low
over thy wigwam? Thy arrows are sharp, thy bow is strong. Has Anawan
killed all the eagles? The crows fear not the winter. Tahatawan's eyes
are sharp,--he can track a snake in the grass, he knows a friend from
a foe; he welcomes a friend to his lodge though the ravens croak.
Brother: Hast thou studied much in the medicine-books of the
Pale-Faces? Dost thou understand the long talk of the Medicine whose
words are like the music of the mockingbird? But our chiefs have not
ears to hear him; they listen like squaws to the council of old
men,--they understand not his words. But, Brother, he never danced the
war-dance, nor heard the war-whoop of his enemies. He was a squaw; he
stayed by the wigwam when the braves were out, and tended the tame
buffaloes.
Fear not; the Dundees have faint hearts and much wampum. When the
grass is green on the Great Fields, and the small titmouse returns
again, we will hunt the buffalo together.
Our old men say they will send the young chief of the Karlisles, who
lives in the green wigwam and is a great Medicine, that his word may
be heard in the long talk which the wise men are going to hold at
Shawmut, by the salt lake. He is a great talk, and will not forget the
enemies of his tribe.
14th Sun. The fire has gone out in the council-house. The words of our
old men have been like the vaunts of the Dundees. The Eagle-Beak was
moved to talk like a silly Pale-Face, and not as becomes a great
war-chief in a council of braves. The young Peacock is a woman among
braves; he heard not the words of the old men,--like a squaw he looked
at his medicine-paper.[9] The young chief of the green wigwam has
hung up his moccasins; he will not leave his tribe till after the
buffalo have come down on to the plains.
Brother: This is a long talk, but there is much meaning to my words;
they are not like the thunder of canes when the lightning smites them.
Brother, I have just heard _thy talk_ and am well pleased; thou art
getting to be a great Medicine. The Great Spirit confound the enemies
of thy tribe.