CHAPTER X.

THE SAUT DE ST. MARIE, &c.

The _Saut de St. Marie_, it may be understood, is the name given by the French traders to the Falls, or rapids, which let the waters of Lake Superior down to the level of Lake Huron. Anglice: the Falls, or jump, or bound of St. Mary--or by personification, St. Mary’s leap down from her dominion over the waters above to assert her empire over the waters below. Whether I have got the exact clue to the imagination of the French Catholics, in their application of this name, and am right in my interpretation, I am not quite sure. But this has seemed to me most natural. The Falls themselves are as lovely and as gentle, (shall I say?) as the sudden rush of such a tremendous flood, down an equable descent of twenty-two feet in a mile, can well be imagined; and if the Spirit of the Tempest and of the Furies might be supposed to preside over Niagara’s thundering Cataract, the imagination of a Catholic might well be allowed to instal the Holy Virgin over the rapids, which are honoured by her name--especially, as taking up his own residence there, he might more conveniently invoke and secure her protection and blessing. But he must needs have something for her to do--she must be occupied. Why, then, say: these Falls are St. Mary--and their roaring is her voice; and when he should stand in need of her assistance, he was sure to find her there. Hence: the _Saut de St. Marie_.

On the occasion of the incident before narrated, of meeting the gallant Indian canoe, propelled by eight men, and in such display of their grotesque and glittering paraphernalia, shooting over the tops of the waves, and scarcely touching them, I happened to be in conversation, on the deck of the steamer, with a young lady, a native of the _Saut de St. Marie_, whose father was a Scotchman, or Scotch-Irish, and her mother an Indian. She was well educated, and was on her return home from a visit at Detroit. She was even highly accomplished, and had been used to the best society. Any common reader of the emotions, passing in the mind, would have seen, that when this canoe first hove in sight, this young lady’s feelings were in a lively and agreeable excitement. The hands and arms of an infant child would not have been opened and spread out with more expressive welcome, nor would his eyes have sparkled with more vivacity, at the sudden appearance of a loved object, that had been too long out of sight for his happiness, than hers, at the sight of this Indian canoe. It was the genuine, simple eloquence of nature, which opened the heart; on the bright page of which, sparkling with satisfaction, might be read without the possibility of mistake: ‘I am glad. This is home. That canoe was launched from before my mother’s door this morning. I know what it is--and who they are. That has been the delight of my youth--the familiar object of my childhood--it was the wonder of my infancy--and I shall be where it came from to-night.’

The sudden betraying of these emotions was so artless, as to be unavoidable. She seemed conscious, that her feelings were partly betrayed, and made a slight effort to check and conceal them. But I encouraged the developement--for nothing could have delighted me more, or given me a higher opinion of her character; and she in turn very frankly confessed her partialities for these objects, which connected her with home. While the canoe approached; and while it rested over against us; and when it darted off and disappeared, as before described; the whole scene gave new being to her affections, roused the lurking and dormant sensibilities, which are naturally challenged by such an incident; and they were played off without restraint, and in such a style, as no one could fail to admire.

When I saw the next day, at the romantic and wild retreat of the Saut de St. Marie, the humble cabin, where the infancy of this young lady had been cradled, and where her earliest years had been spent--I could but exclaim:--What is _home_? An accident; the creature of wonted circumstances--of early and habitual associations; it is not a place, but a mysterious centre of the affections, produced by these casualties. It may be any where--on any spot of earth; it may be floating on the deep, and never at rest; it may be in heaven, and ought to be there.

But this was not all. When the _other_ canoe came in our wake, and hung behind us on the tow-line, this young lady being our interpreter--my attention was forcibly arrested during these interviews, at the moral power of the Indian language, and of the conversations of Indians with each other; which I have often had occasion since to remark in other circumstances. The dependent condition of the American Aborigines on each other for comfort and happiness, and as they religiously suppose, on the high Providence above, whom they call the Great Spirit, for the supply of their necessities--(for themselves are always improvident and frequently in want)--has imparted to their language, or manner of speaking, an indescribable softness and tenderness. It is a sweet and perfect melody. As they never think, or talk abstrusely, nor task their minds with concatenations of logic, but speak for present convenience and gratification;--and as they need and love kindness, their language is the very expression of kindness. Their dependent, child-like feelings, a moral cause, have produced a physical effect in the structure and use of the common medium of communication between man and man. The entire character of the Indian’s voice, in conversation, is altogether peculiar--and that character is always of an affectionate, tender, and dependent cast. It proceeds from tender feeling--and challenges and awakens the like affections. It has that power, and will produce that effect, when not one word of the language is understood. And it is especially remarkable, that when Indians have acquired an European language, and while conversing in it, they use a voice characteristically and entirely different from that, which they employ in their own tongue. Neither are they themselves aware of the fact. I once called the attention of a circle of Indian chiefs to this circumstance, most of whom could speak English. At the moment, we were _all_ speaking English. Soon after, for their own convenience, they broke into their own language. “_There_,” said I--“do you see?”--they proceeded, with their attention thus challenged and directed--and the next moment, all of them burst into a loud laugh, expressive of their own astonishment at the discovery. They never knew it before.

So when this canoe came under our stern, the first salutation between this young lady and the crew, struck me with this remarkable fact; and the protracted conversation between the parties, was very music itself. On the announcement of every piece of news, or the starting of a new thought, the listener, in Indian dialogue, receives it with an--_Eh?_ (Is it so?)--partly nasal, and partly ringing so mellifluously in the chambers of the mouth, by an ascending and circumflex intonation, falling at last into a sweet and expiring cadence--that the stranger hangs upon it, as upon the dying notes of the sweetest melodies--and holds his own breath in the suspense of regret, and almost involuntarily sighs, when the last palpable sound has died upon the ear. It cannot be imitated--it cannot be described. One must have heard it, to know it; and to have heard it with attention, is never to forget it. It is altogether of a moral character. It expresses politeness, in all its scope; a thorough reciprocation of the sentiment; thankfulness for the news, or suggestion; entire confidence in the person speaking; and a complete and unreserved repose of all the tender feelings on the second person of the dialogue: “_Eh? Eh. Is it so? It is so. Indeed? Indeed._” And I have only been confirmed in these peculiar attributes of Indian languages, by subsequent observation. The women, indeed, have softer and more melodious voices, than the men, as among all nations--and they give far better effect to these peculiarities. But the voices of the men, in their own tongue, are no less characteristically diverse in this particular.

An Indian dialogue, (and among themselves there is no people more sociable) in connexion with the melody of their voice, and the tenderness of the intonations and inflexions of their speech, is one of the finest scenes of the kind in the world. And the specimens, now under review, were peculiarly attractive and greatly eloquent, in consideration of the circumstances, and of the _dramatis personæ_. The canoes, which came along side of the steamer, while lying on sand bars and at anchor, before her arrival at the _Saut_, were numerous;--and this young lady was the interpreter, and the only colloquist on one side. _She_, cultivated and accomplished, and well dressed,--bending over the side of the vessel, to welcome and receive the welcomes of this simple and untaught people;--and _they_, manifesting the most evident satisfaction, on her return among them; and thus demonstrating, how much she had made herself, by her winning condescensions, the idol of a people, whom she was not ashamed to call her own. They seemed delighted, and overjoyed to hear the sound of her voice. They literally opened their mouths and swallowed her words; and the muscles of their countenance might be seen working with the workings of their thoughts, as they hung upon her lips. And she in turn listened to their communications with reciprocal satisfaction--each party, as they were alternate listeners, responding to every thought, in the utterance of their own indescribable:--_Eh?_ And the effect of this expression is not unlike the second to an air in a piece of music:--it is an exquisite and harmonious accompaniment. It sets and keeps the affections of all the parties in tune.