Part 13

The absence of temples, worship, sacrifices, and all the observances to which superstition prompts the untutored mind, is a remarkable circumstance, and, as we have already remarked, led the early visiters to believe that the Indians were strangers to all religious ideas. Yet the missionaries found room to suspect that some of their great feasts, in which every thing presented must be eaten, bore an idolatrous character, and were held in honour of the Great Hare. The Ottawas, whose mythological system seems to have been the most complicated, were wont to keep a regular festival to celebrate the beneficence of the sun; on which occasion the luminary was told that this service was in return for the good hunting he had procured for his people, and as an encouragement to persevere in his friendly cares. They were also observed to erect an idol in the middle of their town, and sacrifice to it; but such ceremonies were by no means general. On first witnessing Christian worship, the only idea suggested by it was that of their asking some temporal good, which was either granted or refused. The missionaries mention two Hurons, who arrived from the woods soon after the congregation had assembled. Standing without, they began to speculate what it was the white men were asking, and then whether they were getting it. As the service continued beyond expectation, it was concluded they were _not_ getting it; and as the devotional duties still proceeded, they admired the perseverance with which this rejected suit was urged. At length, when the vesper hymn began, one of the savages observed to the other: “Listen to them now in despair, crying with all their might.”

The grand doctrine of a life beyond the grave was, among all the tribes of America, most deeply cherished and most sincerely believed. They had even formed a distinct idea of the region whither they hoped to be transported, and of the new and happier mode of existence, free from those wars, tortures, and cruelties which throw so dark a shade over their lot upon earth. Yet their conceptions on this subject were by no means either exalted or spiritualized. They expected simply a prolongation of their present life and enjoyments, under more favourable circumstances, and with the same objects furnished in greater choice and abundance. In that brighter land the sun ever shines unclouded, the forests abound with deer, the lakes and rivers with fish; benefits which are farther enhanced in their imagination by a faithful wife and dutiful children. They do not reach it, however, till after a journey of several months, and encountering various obstacles; a broad river, a chain of lofty mountains, and the attack of a furious dog. This favoured country lies far in the west, at the remotest boundary of the earth, which is supposed to terminate in a steep precipice, with the ocean rolling beneath. Sometimes, in the too eager pursuit of game, the spirits fall over, and are converted into fishes. The local position of their paradise appears connected with certain obscure intimations received from their wandering neighbours of the Mississippi, the Rocky Mountains, and the distant shores of the Pacific. This system of belief labours under a great defect, inasmuch as it scarcely connects felicity in the future world with virtuous conduct in the present. The one is held to be simply a continuation of the other; and under this impression, the arms, ornaments, and everything that had contributed to the welfare of the deceased, are interred along with him. This supposed assurance of a future life, so conformable to their gross habits and conceptions, was found by the missionaries a serious obstacle when they attempted to allure them by the hope of a destiny, purer and higher indeed, but less accordant with their untutored conceptions. Upon being told that in the promised world they would neither hunt, eat, drink, nor marry, many of them declared that, far from endeavouring to reach such an abode, they would consider their arrival there as the greatest calamity. Mention is made of a Huron girl whom one of the Christian ministers was endeavouring to instruct, and whose first question was what she would find to eat. The answer being “Nothing,” she then asked what she would see; and being informed that she would see the Maker of heaven and earth, she expressed herself much at a loss how she should address him.

INDIAN FUNERALS.

Another sentiment, congenial with that now described, is most deeply rooted in the mind of the Indians. This is reverence for the dead, with which Chateaubriand, though somewhat hastily, considers them more deeply imbued than any other people. During life they are by no means lavish in their expressions of tenderness, but on the hour of final separation it is displayed with extraordinary force. When any member of a family becomes seriously ill, all the resources of magic and medicine are exhausted in order to procure his recovery. When the fatal moment arrives, all the kindred burst into loud lamentations, which continue till some person possessing the requisite authority desires them to cease. These expressions of grief, however, are renewed for a considerable time at sunrise and sunset. After three days the funeral takes place, when all the provisions which the family can procure are expended in a feast, to which the neighbours are generally invited; and, although on all solemn occasions it is required that every thing should be eaten, the relations do not partake. These last cut off their hair, cover their heads, paint their faces of a black colour, and continue long to deny themselves every species of amusement. The deceased is then interred with his arms and ornaments, his face painted, and his person attired in the richest robes which they can furnish. It was the opinion of one of the early missionaries, that the chief object of the Hurons in their traffic with the French was to procure materials for honouring their dead; and, as a proof of this, many of them have been seen shivering half naked in the cold, while their hut contained rich robes to be wrapped round them after their decease. The body is placed in the tomb in an upright posture, and skins are carefully spread round it, so that no part may touch the earth. This, however, is by no means the final ceremony, being followed by another still more solemn and singular. Every eighth, tenth, or twelfth year, according to the custom of the different nations, is celebrated the festival of the dead; and, till then, the souls are supposed to hover round their former tenement, and not to depart for their final abode in the west. On this occasion the people march in procession to the places of interment, open the tombs, and, on beholding the mortal remains of their friends, continue some time fixed in mournful silence. The women then break out into loud cries, and the party begin to collect the bones, removing every remnant of flesh. The remains are then wrapped in fresh and valuable robes, and conveyed amid continual lamentation to the family cabin. A feast is then given, followed during several days by dances, games, and prize-combats, to which strangers often repair from a great distance. This mode of celebration certainly accords very ill with the sad occasion; yet the Greek and Roman obsequies were solemnized in a similar manner; nay, in many parts of Scotland, till very recently, they were accompanied by festival, and often by revelry. The relics are then carried to the council-house of the nation, where they are hung for exhibition along the walls, with fresh presents destined to be interred along with them. Sometimes they are even displayed from village to village. At length, being deposited in a pit previously dug in the earth, and lined with the richest furs, they are finally entombed. Tears and lamentations are again lavished; and during a few days food is brought to the place. The bones of their fathers are considered by the Indians the strongest ties to their native soil; and when calamity forces them to quit it, these mouldering fragments are, if possible, conveyed along with them.

INDIAN CANNIBALISM.

It has been made a question whether the Indians can be justly charged with cannibalism. It is certain that all the terms by which they designate their inhuman mode of putting a prisoner to death bear reference to this horrid practice. The expressions are to throw him into the caldron, to devour him, to eat soup made of his flesh. It has hence been plausibly inferred that this enormity really prevailed in early times, but was changed, we can scarcely say mitigated, into the present system of torture. Yet, as every action is described by them in terms highly figurative, those now quoted may have been used as expressing most fully the complete gratification of their revenge. Of this charge they cannot now be either condemned or wholly acquitted. In the excited fury of their passions, portions of the flesh are often seized, roasted, and eaten, and draughts taken of the blood. To eat an enemy’s heart is considered a peculiar enjoyment. Long mentions a gentleman who came upon a party who were busy broiling a human heart, when he with difficulty prevailed on them to desist. There is little hesitation among them, in periods of scarcity, to relieve hunger with the flesh of their captives; and during one war, this fate is said to have befallen many French soldiers who fell into the hands of the Five Nations. Colonel Schuyler told Colden, that, having entered the cabin of a chief who had some rich soup before him, he was invited to partake. Being hungry and tired, he readily agreed, till the ladle, being put into the great caldron, brought up a human hand, the sight of which put an immediate end to his appetite and meal.

INDIAN DANCES.

The dances of the Indians, even those at common festivals, are on an extensive scale, requiring to a complete performance forty or fifty persons, who execute their evolutions by following each other round a great fire kindled in the centre. Their movements, monotonous but violent, consist in stamping furiously on the ground, and often brandishing their arms in a manner compared by an able writer to a baker converting flour into dough. They keep good time; but the music is so exceedingly simple that this implies little merit. They conclude with a loud shout or howl, which echoes frightfully through the woods. The dances in celebration of particular events are of a more varied character, and often form a very expressive pantomime. The war-dance is the most favourite and frequent. In this extraordinary performance, a complete image is given of the terrible reality; the war-whoop is sounded with the most frightful yells; the tomahawk is wildly brandished; and the enemy are surprised, seized, and scalped, or carried off for torture. The calumet-dance, which celebrates peace between nations, and the marriage-dance, which represents domestic life, are much more pleasing. Some mention is made of a mystic dance, carried on by the jugglers or doctors, with strange superstitious ceremonies, and in which a supernatural personage, termed by some the devil, rises and performs; but it does not seem to have been witnessed by any European, and is said to be now in a great measure disused.

INDIAN GAMES.

There are games to which the Indians are fondly attached, which, though they be only ranked under the head of amusement, are yet constructed in the same serious manner as their other transactions. Their great parties are said to be collected by supernatural authority, communicated by the jugglers; and they are preceded, like their wars and hunts, by a course of fasting, dreaming, and other means of propitiating fortune. The favourite game is that of the bone, in which small pieces of that substance, resembling dice, and painted of different colours, are thrown in the air, and according to the manner in which they fall, the game is decided. Only two persons can play; but a numerous party, and sometimes whole villages, embrace one side or the other, and look on with intense interest. At each throw, especially if it be decisive, tremendous shouts are raised; the players and spectators equally resemble persons possessed; the air rings with invocations to the bones and to the manitous. Their eagerness sometimes leads to quarreling and even fighting, which on no other occasion ever disturb the interior of these societies. To such a pitch are they occasionally worked up, that they stake successively all they possess, and even their personal liberty; but this description must apply only to the more southern nations, as slavery was unknown among the Canadian Indians.

A temporary interval of wild license, of emancipation from all the restraints of dignity and decorum, seems to afford an enjoyment highly prized in all rude societies. Corresponding with the saturnalia and bacchanals of antiquity, the Indians have their festivals of dreams, which, during fifteen days, enlivens the inaction of the coldest season. Laying aside all their usual order and gravity, they run about, frightfully disguised, and committing every imaginable extravagance. He who meets another demands an explanation of his visions, and if not satisfied, imposes some fantastic penalty. He throws upon him cold water, hot ashes, or filth; sometimes, rushing into his cabin, he breaks and destroys the furniture. Although everything appears wild and unpremeditated, it is alleged that opportunities are often taken to give vent to old and secret resentments. The period having elapsed, a feast is given, order is restored, and the damages done are carefully repaired.

BEAUTIFUL TRAIT OF CHARACTER.

One M’Dougal, a native of Argyleshire, having emigrated to Upper Canada, from anxiety to make the most of his scanty capital, or some other motive, he purchased a location, where the price of land is merely nominal, in a country thinly peopled, and on the extreme verge of civilization. His first care was to construct a house, and plant in the wild. This task finished, he spent his whole time, early and late, in the garden and the fields. By vigorous exertions, and occasional assistance, he brought a few acres of ground under crop; acquired a stock of cattle, sheep and hogs; made additional inroads on the glade and the forest, and, though his toils were hard, gradually and imperceptibly became, in a rough way, “well enough to live,” as compared with the poverty he had abandoned at home.

His greatest discomforts were, distance from his neighbours, the church, markets, and even the mill; and, along with these, the suspension (or rather, the enjoyment) after long intervals of time, of those endearing charities and friendly offices, which lend such a charm to social life.

On one occasion, M’Dougal had a melder of corn to grind, and as the distance was considerable, and the roads none of the smoothest, this important part of his duty could only be performed by starting with the sun, and returning with the going down of the same. In his absence, the care of the cattle devolved on his spouse, and as they did not return at the usual hour, the careful matron went out in quest of them. Beyond its mere outskirts, the forest was, to her, _terra incognita_, in the most emphatic sense of the term; and with no compass, or notched trees to guide, it is not to be wondered at that she wandered long and wearily to very little purpose. Like alps on alps, tall trees arose on every side—a boundless continuity of shade—and, fatigued with the search, she deemed it prudent to retrace her steps, while it was yet time. But this resolution was much easier formed than executed; returning was as dangerous as “going o’er,” and, after wandering for hours, she sunk on the ground, her eyes swollen and filled with tears, and her mind agitated almost to distraction. But here she had not rested many minutes, before she was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, and, anon, an Indian hunter stood before her, “a stoic of the woods, a man without fear.” Mrs. M‘Dougal knew that Indians lived at no great distance, but as she had never seen a member of the tribe, her emotions were those of terror—quickening, it may be said, every pulse, and yet paralyzing every limb. The Indian’s views were more comprehensive; constantly on the look out, in search of the quarry, and accustomed to make circuits, comprising the superficies of many a highland mountain and glen, he had observed her, without being observed himself, knew her home, recognized her person, comprehended her mishap, divined her errand, and immediately beckoned her to follow him. The unfortunate woman understood his signal, and obeyed it, as far as terror left her power; and, after a lengthened sweep, which added not a little to her previous fatigue, they arrived at the door of an Indian wigwam.

Her conductor invited her to enter, by signs: but this she sternly refused to do, dreading the consequence, and preferring death in the open air to the tender mercies of cannibals within. Perceiving her reluctance, and scanning her feelings, the hospitable Indian darted into the wigwam, and communed with his wife, who, in a few minutes, also appeared: and, by certain signs and sympathies, known only to females, calmed the stranger’s fears, and induced her to enter their lowly abode. Venison was instantly prepared for supper, and Mrs. M’Dougal—though still alarmed at the novelty of her situation, found the viands delicious, and had rarely, if ever, partaken of so savoury a meal. Aware that she was wearied, the Indians removed from their place near the roof, two beautiful deer skins, and, by stretching and fixing them across, divided the wigwam into two apartments. Mats were also spread in both, and next, the stranger was given to understand, that the further dormitory was expressly designed for her accommodation. But here again her courage failed her, and to the most pressing intreaties, she replied by signs, as well as she could, that she would prefer to sit and sleep by the fire. This determination seemed to puzzle the Indian and his squaw sadly. Often they looked at each other, and conversed softly in their own language: and, at last, the Red took the White woman by the hand, led her to her couch, and became her bedfellow. In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and anxious to depart, without further delay—but the Indian would on no account permit it. Breakfast was prepared—another savoury and well-cooked meal—and then the Indian accompanied his guest, and conducted her to the very spot where the cattle were grazing. These he kindly drove from the wood, on the verge of which Mrs. M‘Dougal descried her husband, running about every where, hallooing and seeking for her, in a state of absolute distraction. Great was his joy, and great his gratitude to her Indian benefactor, who was invited to the house, and treated to the best the larder afforded, and presented, on his departure, with a suit of clothes.

In about three days he returned, and endeavoured, by every wile, to induce Mr. M’Dougal to follow him into the forest. But this invitation the other positively declined—and the poor Indian went on his way, obviously grieved and disappointed. But again he returned; and, though words were wanting, renewed his intreaties—but still vainly, and without effect: and then, as a last desperate effort, he hit upon an expedient, which none, save an Indian hunter, would have thought of. Mrs. M’Dougal had a nursling only a few months old—a fact the Indian failed not to notice. After his pantomimic eloquence had been thrown away, he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. The alarmed parents instantly followed, supplicating and imploring, at the top of their voices. But the Indian’s resolves were as fixed as fate—and away he went, slow enough to encourage his pursuers, but still in the van by a good many paces, and far enough ahead to achieve the secret purpose he had formed—like the parent-bird, skimming the ground, when she wishes to wile the enemy from her nest. Again and again Mr. M’Dougal wished to continue the chase alone—but maternal anxiety baffled every remonstrance; and this anxiety was, if possible, increased, when she saw the painted savage enter the wood, and steer, as she thought, his course towards his own cabin. The Indian, however, was in no hurry;—occasionally, he cast a glance behind, poised the child almost like a feather, treading his way with admirable dexterity, and kept the swaddling clothes so closely drawn around it, that not even the winds of heaven were permitted to visit it roughly. It is, of course, needless to go into all the details of this singular journey, further than to say, that the Indian, at length, called a halt on the margin of a most beautiful prairie, teeming with the richest vegetation, and comprising many thousands of acres. In a moment the child was restored to its parents—who, wondering what so strange a procedure could mean, stood, for some minutes, panting for breath, and eyeing one another in silent and speechless astonishment.

The Indian, on the other hand, appeared overjoyed at the success of his manœuvre—and never did a human being frisk about and gesticulate with greater animation. We have heard, or read, of a professor of signs: and supposing such a character were wanted, the selection could not—or, at least should not—be a matter of difficulty, so long as even a remnant remains of the aborigines of North America. All travellers agree in describing their gestures as highly dignified, eloquent, and intelligent: and we have the authority of Mr. M’Dougal for saying, that the hero of the present strictly authentic tale, proved himself to be a perfect master of the art. The restoration of the child—the beauty and wide extent of the prairies, and various other circumstances combined—flashed across our countryman’s mind—operating conviction where jealously and distrust had lurked before. Mr. M’Dougal, in a trice, examined the soil, and immediately saw the propriety of the advice given by the _untutored one_. By a sort of tacit agreement, a day was fixed for the removal of the materials of our countryman’s cabin, goods and chattels;—and the Indian, true to his word, brought a detachment of his tribe to assist in one of the most romantic “flittings” that ever was undertaken either in the old or new world. In a few days a roomy log-house was fashioned, and a garden formed in a convenient section of the beautiful prairie, from which the smoke was seen curling, and the woodpecker tapping at no great distance. M‘Dougal was greatly pleased at the change—and no wonder, seeing that he could almost boast of a body-guard as bold as the bowmen of Robin Hood. His Indian friend speedily became a sort of foster brother, and his tribe as faithful as the most attached Tail of Gillies that ever surrounded a Highland chieftain. Even the stupid kine lowed, on finding themselves suddenly transferred to a boundless range of richest pasture:—and, up to the date of the last advices, were improving rapidly in condition, and increasing in numbers.

The little garden was smiling like a rose in the desert-grass, overabundant, was gradually giving way to thriving crops, and the kine so well satisfied with their _gang_, that the herds and enclosures were like unheeded to keep them from the corn. The Indians continued friendly and faithful—occasionally bringing presents of venison and other game, and were uniformly rewarded from the stores of a dairy, overflowing with milk, butter, and cheese.