Part 2

"But we know that the young men of the Mohawks were made slaves in the villages of the Senecas, and that the Mohawk maidens are now the wives of your young chiefs. We are full of sorrow. We have not sought war, and we know that much suffering must be the result, for the warriors of the Mohawks and the Onondagas are many and their arrows are long. They will burn your villages and send many of your warriors to their long journey. Your wives and little ones will be driven helpless into the forest, and your old men will speak wisdom only to the fishes. The Senecas are child-stealers and cowards, and the Mohawks and Onondagas will drive them to the warm lands, where they can wear the tobacco pouches of the women and become slaves."

A murmur of sharp anger ran through the crowd of listening Senecas when these bold words were spoken by Orontadeka. A sudden gesture of Kanyego, chief of the Senecas, suppressed it, however, and he rose to make his reply. For a long time he stood silent, with folded arms and bent head, and then he said:

"My Brothers: When Orontadeka, the Mohawk, has walked forth in the forest and has watched the young of the bear at play, he has seen that they are never still, but are full of life and daring deeds, even though their parents reprove them with harsh voices. So has my brother seen the fawns run like the wind across the plains, darting back and forth as though they could never tire, until their elders draw in a circle about them and will not let them out. My brother knows that the young men are as full of life as the young animals, and, like the storms, cannot be restrained in their course by those who look upon their destructive ways with fear.

"When the young men of the Senecas journeyed on the trail they were counseled by their elders to be wise, but their ears were stopped and their eyes were closed to the dangers that lay in their path. They forgot what had been told them, and from the homes of the Mohawks they brought maidens for their wigwams. They had fears that the young Mohawk braves would be lost in the forest without the maidens to guide them, and so they led them to the land of the Senecas, where they might be taught to fashion the bow and be of use to the women in keeping the birds from the corn. The chiefs and sachems of the Senecas were not pleased that their young warriors should have done this, but young men should never be punished for deeds of bravery, even when they have forgotten the wise counsel of the old men, lest they become cowards.

"My Brothers: If the Mohawks had come to the council-fire of the Senecas and asked that canoes and wampum and the warm furs of the bear and the beaver be given them for their maidens the council would have heeded their request, for have we not plenty? Even the young Mohawks would have been returned to the care of their fathers, so that they might be kept safe and not become wanderers where the wolves and panthers might harm them. But the Mohawks have not thought best to do this, and have come to the council-fire at night, when only war can be talked. They have refused to eat the food offered them by the Senecas, and when the fire-keepers would light the peace-pipe, they turned their heads. They come to tell us that the warriors of the Mohawks have aroused the warriors of the Onondagas, who are now upon the trail, ready and waiting to destroy the homes of the Senecas, and anxious to drive us from the land the Great Spirit gave us.

"When the red men of the valley have come to the council-fire of the Senecas without threats of war in their mouths they have always been welcome, and when they had talked they departed in peace. But now they come as spies and say that we are cowards, and bring the Mohawk and Onondaga warriors behind them to destroy our villages. For this reason let the Mohawk chiefs remain at our council-fire and the young Mohawk men and women will be brought to keep them company. If the warriors of the Mohawks and Onondagas come too close to the village of the Senecas they will see Orontadeka and his friends start forth on the long journey, and they will know that many will be sent to follow the same trail."

The Mohawks were wholly unprepared for this turn of affairs, which must have been agreed upon by the Senecas before the council opened. They were quickly bound as prisoners. When the dawn broke the five Mohawk chiefs, with the maidens and young men who had been stolen from their homes, were held under a strong guard on a slight eminence near the village, and the order had been given that if the invading warriors approached the village Orontadeka and his fellow-prisoners should at once be put to death. Scores of Seneca scouts were scouring the woods in every direction, and a young Seneca, fearless of the dangers to which he was exposed, had long ago started on his way to the camp of the superior force to inform them that the Mohawk chiefs were held as hostages. He fulfilled his mission and was at once made a prisoner.

In the Seneca village all was activity. The women and children were making ready to hurry away under guard, while the warriors were planning ambuscades, in order that they might hold back the attacking force as long as possible and cover the escape of their women and children toward the south.

The sun rose higher in the heavens and the scouts of the Senecas returned one by one from the forest, telling of the advance of a great war-party of Mohawks and Onondagas. Nearer and nearer they approached, evidently believing that their great numbers rendered caution unnecessary, and that the Senecas would either flee in panic or sue for peace at whatever terms the invaders might dictate. A short distance from the village a party of five Senecas came forward to meet them, and in loud voices warned their foes to approach no nearer if they would save the lives of their chiefs and of the Indian boys and girls held as prisoners with them. A halt was called and the attacking party was upon the point of parleying with the Senecas when the voice of Orontadeka was heard:

"The Senecas should be driven away by the warriors of the Mohawks and the Onondagas," he cried, "for not only are they child-stealers and cowards, but traitors, who have forgotten that the Great Spirit made the council-fire and commanded that it should not be violated. Orontadeka is ready to go on his long journey. Let the warriors advance and see the cowards run through the forest. Orontadeka and his friends will teach them how to die."

The guards over the captive Mohawks seized their victims and raised their heavy stone-hatchets to strike the death-blows. The Mohawks and Onondagas knew that advance on their part meant certain death to their chiefs and the other prisoners, but they prepared to go forward with a rush.

Then the voice of one of the young Mohawk girls rose in a cry that fastened the attention of the warriors of both parties. Her gaze was directed toward the sun, and from her lips came words that carried fear and consternation to all their hearts.

"See, see, my Brothers! The Great Spirit hides his smiling face and will not look upon the battle of the red men. He will go away and leave them in darkness if they burn the villages and with their poisoned arrows send the hunters and the women and the children on their long journey before they have been called. Look thou, my brothers, he has seen the Mohawk maidens happy in the lodges of the Senecas, and he will not look upon them in misery and death. He hides his face, my brothers! He hides his face!"

A moan of terrible fear went up from the warriors men who could meet death on the chase or in the battle with a smile were unnerved by that awful spectacle. They saw a black disc moving forward over the face of an unclouded sun.

The guards released their prisoners and fell at their feet. Mohawks, Senecas and Onondagas mingled, imploring each other for pardon and protesting the most profound friendship. The Seneca women and children hurried from the woods, where they had been in hiding, and lent their voices to the general clamor of fear. The wild, savage faces, streaked with the various colored earths and pigments, were turned in fearful apprehension toward the fast-darkening heavens, becoming wilder and more savage by the terrible fear that filled them. The sachems and wise men hid their faces in their fur robes, and the warriors groveled in terror upon the ground. The eagle, the hawk and flocks of smaller birds darted blindly among the branches of the trees, while strange cries of alarm and distress came from every side. The panther and the bear ran whimpering and whining with the rabbit; the fox and other denizens of the forest sought the frightened red men for protection, or lay trembling and panting under the cover of some prostrate giant of the forest.

On, on crept that fearful black shadow, eating its way into the disc of the beautiful sun, like a mighty demon that had come to blot out of existence the source of light and warmth and life, while over the fresh and budding earth spread the ghostly gloom that never fails to inspire the most careless observer with awe. The flowers that filled the woods with such profusion closed as though night had suddenly fallen upon them; the warmth and fragrance of the day that had opened with such glory gave way to the damps of evening, while the stars and planets appeared again in the heavens. Over the whole face of nature was thrown an unearthly, cadaverous hue, and in the sudden chill everything was cold and sodden with the falling dew.

At last, through that awful gloom, the frightened and trembling red men saw the once tall and erect, but now bent and tottering, form of Sagoyountha, the aged sachem of the Senecas, creeping forth from his wigwam. Reaching the center of the terror-stricken assemblage, the aged man appeared to be suddenly endowed with the vigor of youth, and stood before them like a mighty warrior, while his scarred and wrinkled face, upon which had beaten the storms of more than a hundred winters, was turned toward the dread spectacle in the heavens, the like of which even Sagoyountha had never looked upon. His voice rang once more with the clear tones that had awakened the echoes of the forests long before any of his listeners were born, and it sounded strangely sharp and loud in the awesome silence that prevailed.

"My children, Sagoyountha speaks to you in the voice of the past, but his eyes are looking into the future. The Great Spirit is angry with his children, for he would have them live in peace. He has drawn the door of his wigwam before his smiling face, and his children will see him no more, unless they smoke the pipe that he gave their fathers when he sent them forth from the Happy Hunting-Grounds. Sagoyountha has spoken. Will his children hear his voice?"

Kanyego sprang from the ground as though stung by an adder, and, crouching low, ran rapidly to the village. He was absent but a few moments, and came running once more to the circle of chiefs, bearing in his hands the sacred pipe, in which was glowing the fragrant tobacco. From one to another it was hastily passed, while the anxious faces were upturned in mute appeal towards the darkened sun.

Look! ah, look! The aged Sagoyountha reaches out his arms in supplication, and the bright and dazzling edge of the beautiful orb of day once more appears!

Shouts of joy arise from the red men, while the women and children cry aloud with gladness, as hope once more comes to their hearts. The aged Sagoyountha sinks to the ground, and, with feeble voice and trembling lips, commences the chanting of his death-song. Fainter and fainter are the words borne upon the air as the light of the sun increases, and, finally, the breathless throng lose the tones wafted back from the journeying spirit as it reaches the very portals of the Happy Hunting-Grounds.

In the light of the twice-dawned day, and in the presence of the sacred dead, who had pointed out to the red men the path by which to escape the displeasure of their Father, the Confederacy of the Iroquois was formed.

BIRTH OF THE ARBUTUS

MANY, many moons ago there lived an old man alone in his lodge beside a frozen stream in the great forest beyond the wide waters of the northern lakes. His locks were long and white with age and frost. The fur of the bear and cunning beaver covered his body, but none too warmly, for snow and ice were everywhere. Over all the earth there was winter. The winds came down the bleak mountain sides and wildly hurried through the branches of the trees and bushes, looking for song-birds that they might chill to the heart. Even the evil spirits shivered in the desolation and sought to dig for themselves sheltering caves in the deep snow and ice. Lonely and halting the old man went abroad in the forest, looking for the broken branches that had fallen from the trees that he might keep alive the fire in his lodge. Few fagots could he find, and in despair he again sought his lodge, where, hovering over the fading embers on his hearth, he cried in anguish to the Great Spirit that he might not perish.

Then the wind moaned in the tree-tops and circling through the forests came back and blew aside the skin of the great bear hanging over his lodge door, and, lo! a beautiful maiden entered. Her cheeks were red like the leaves of wild roses; her eyes were large and glowed like the eyes of the fawn at night; her hair was black as the wing of the crow, and so long that it brushed the ground as she walked. Her hands were clad in willow buds; over her head was a crown of flowers; her mantle was woven with sweet grasses and ferns, and her moccasins were white lilies, laced and embroidered with the petals of honeysuckle. When she breathed, the air of the lodge became warm, and the cold winds rushed back in affright.

The old man looked in wonder at his strange visitor, and then opened his lips and said: "My daughter, thou art welcome to the poor shelter of my cheerless lodge. It is lonely and desolate, and the Great Spirit has covered the fallen branches of the trees with his death-cloth that I may not find them and light again the fire of my lodge. Come, sit thou here and tell me whom thou art that thou dost wander like the deer in the forest. Tell me also of thy country and what people gave thee such beauty and grace, and then I, the desolate Manito, will tell thee of my victories till thou dost weary of my greatness."

The maiden smiled, and the sunlight streamed forth and shot its warmth through the roof of the lodge. The desolate Manito filled his pipe of friendship, and when he had drawn of the fragrant tobacco, he said: "When I, the Manito, blow the breath from my nostrils the waters of the river stand still, the great waves on the lakes rest, and the murmurings of the streams die away in silence."

Then the maiden said: "The Manito is great and strong and the waters know the touch of his breath; but when I, the loved of the birds, smile, the flowers spring up over all the forest and the plains are covered with a carpet of green."

Then said the Manito: "I shake my locks, and lo! the earth is wrapped in the death-cloth of snow."

Then the maiden replied: "I breathe into the air and the warm rains come and the death-cloth vanishes like the darkness when the great fire awakens from its bed in the morning."

Then the Manito said: "When I walk about, the leaves die on the trees and fall to the ground; the birds desert their nests and fly away beyond the lakes; the animals bury themselves in holes in the earth or in caves in the mountain side, and the winds wail the death-chant over all the land."

"Ah, great is the Manito," said the maiden, "and his mighty name is feared by all living things in the land. 'Great is the Manito,' says all the world, and his fame has spread among the children of the Great Spirit till they crouch with fear and say: 'Mighty and cruel is the Manito! Terrible is the Manito, and more cruel and cunning in his tortures than the red men. His strength is greater than the strength of the giant trees of the forest, for does he not rend them with his mighty hands?' But when I, the gentle maiden, walk forth, the trees cover with many leaves the nakedness which thou, the great Manito, hath caused; the birds sing in the branches and build again the nests from which thou drivest them; the animals seek their mates and rear their young; the wind sings soft and pleasant music to the ears of the red man, while his wives and papooses sport in the warm sunshine near his wigwam."

As the maiden spoke, the lodge grew warm and bright, but the boasting Manito heeded it not, for his head drooped forward on his breast, and he slept.

Then the maiden passed her hands above the Manito's head and he began to grow small. The blue birds came and filled the trees about the lodge and sang, while the rivers lifted up their waters and boiled with freedom. Streams of water poured from the Manito's mouth, and the garments that covered his shrunken and vanishing form turned into bright and glistening leaves.

Then the maiden knelt upon the ground and took from her bosom most precious and beautiful rose-white flowers. She hid them under the leaves all about her, and as she breathed with love upon them, said:

"I give to you, oh! precious jewels, all my virtues and my sweetest breath, and men shall pluck thee with bowed head and on bended knee."

Then the maiden moved over the plains, the hills and the mountains. The birds and the winds sang together in joyous chorus, while the flowers lifted up their heads and greeted her with fragrance.

Wherever she stepped, and nowhere else, grows the arbutus.

A LEGEND OF THE RIVER

MANY hundred moons ago there dwelt among the Senecas a maiden named Tonadahwa, whom every young chief coveted to grace his wigwam. One of the young braves of her tribe had won her heart by imperiling his life to save her from impending danger, and to none other would she listen. Her smiles were all for her hero, and her eyes lighted like the sunbeams when he was near.

One day the maiden was urging her canoe swiftly along the river, little thinking that great danger awaited her and threatened her life and happiness. Darting along the bank of the stream, unseen by Tonadahwa, was a young Seneca warrior, who had been a suitor for her hand, but whom she had spurned and avoided. Her light canoe had borne her far from the village of the Senecas, when she suddenly heard what she supposed was the call of her lover on the shore. Resting on her paddle, Tonadahwa listened and again heard the welcome call that deepened the rich color in her rounded cheeks. Answering with a cry of joy, she headed the canoe toward the bank, and with a few strokes sent it gliding underneath the overhanging branches.

But it was not the form of Tonadahwa's lover that sprang suddenly into the canoe. It was that of the dark and angry rival, and she saw in his face a look of evil triumph.

The maiden uttered no shriek, gave expression to no surprise, though her eyes darkened and her cheeks assumed a duskier hue. With an exclamation that almost drove hope from Tonadahwa's heart, the hated lover caught the paddle from her hands and sent the light craft rapidly towards the middle of the stream.

Suddenly a bright object cleft the air and an arrow sped from the bank of the river and buried itself between the shoulders of the cowardly abductor as he bent forward to clasp the shrinking maiden in his arms. With a cry, the defeated rival leaped into the river, hurling the paddle from him as he sprang, and with his last remaining effort pushed the canoe and its occupant far out into the rapid current. The whirling, seething rapids caught the helpless craft and bore it onward with terrific speed. Tonadahwa waved a farewell to her lover, and, chanting her death-song, which the pines along the shore caught and whispered, the canoe went flying amid the mist and spray of that roaring tide.

Green as the emerald, save where whipped into white foam or enshrouded in mist, the river rushed on, and the frail canoe, tossed as a plaything at the sport of the current, was whirled onward until lost in the roar and tumult of the impetuous flood.

Like the wind the despairing lover flew along the shore to the high banks overlooking the falls. There he paused a moment until the canoe and its precious freight were lost to view. Then, raising his arms a moment toward the Happy Hunting-Grounds, he leaped into the fearful abyss.

But amid the pelting spray and beating flood appeared myriads of shadowy forms--spirits of the mighty braves who long before had found the land of pleasant forests. Swiftly, yet gently, they lowered the form of the hero until he stood unharmed beneath the fall of roaring water, and received in his arms the unconscious form of Tonadahwa, which was held by the braves to await his coming.

Clinging to the broken rocks, buffeted and blinded by the awful flood, the daring and triumphant Seneca bore his loved burden to a place of safety and watched with thankfulness her return to consciousness and life.

The pine trees ever after gently murmured Tonadahwa's song, and, mingled with the roar of waters, listening lovers through all succeeding time can often hear the strange, weird cry of Tonadahwa's lover as he plunged headlong after the beloved maiden.

LEGENDS OF THE CORN

AN old and honored chief went alone to the top of a high mountain to meet the Great Spirit. The chief told the Great Spirit that the red men were tired of the roots and herbs which, with the fruits that grew on the trees and the bushes, made up their food, and he asked the Father to send them some of the food used in the Happy Hunting-Grounds. The Great Spirit told the chief to take his wives and papooses and go forth in the moon of rains and stand on one of the plains, not moving from the place where they stopped for the space of three suns. Then the Great Spirit would come and give the Indians food. The chief went back to his people and told them what he had heard from the Great Spirit. When the moon of rains came they did as the chief had been directed. In three suns all had fallen asleep. They were left undisturbed by the Indians, for this peculiar manifestation was regarded as a mark of especial favor. In a few weeks the old chief and the members of his family had changed into luxuriant green plants. The council assembled, sent the wise men to visit the field, and what they found there was corn.

* * * * *

Long and earnestly a young brave wooed a beautiful maiden, and at last gained her consent to live with him in his wigwam. But the days and nights were lonely without her and the young brave could not remain away from her lodge. Fearing that she might be stolen by one of her many admirers, or that danger might come to her, he slept at night in the forest that he might be near to protect her. One night he was awakened by a light footstep and, starting up, saw his loved one stealing out of her lodge as a sleep-walker. He pursued her, but, as if fleeing in her dreams from a danger that threatened her life, she ran from him, speeding through the paths like the fleet-footed hare. On and on he followed, and finally drew so near that he could hear her quick breath and the rapid beating of her heart. With all his remaining strength the lover sprang forward and clasped the maiden's form to his breast. What was his grief and astonishment when he found that his arms clasped, not the maiden he loved, but a strange plant the like of which he had never seen before. The maiden had awakened just as her lover overtook her, and had been so frightened at her surroundings that she was transformed. She had raised her arms to her head just as her lover caught her, and her uplifted hands were changed into ears of corn, and where her fingers caught her hair the maize bears beautiful silken threads.