"A great chief, with many soldiers, came to drive us away. I went to the prophet, who told me not to be afraid. They only wanted to frighten us, and get our land without paying for it. I had a talk with the great chief. He said if I would go, well. If I would not, he would drive me. 'Who is Black Hawk?' said he. 'I am a Sac,' said I; 'my forefather was a Sac; and all the nation call me a Sac.' But he said I should go.

"I crossed the Mississippi with my people, during the night, and we held a council. I touched the goose quill again, and they gave us some corn, but it was soon gone. Then our women and children cried out for the roasted ears, the beans, and squashes they had been used to, and some of our braves went back in the night, to take some corn from our own fields; the whites saw and fired upon them.

"I wished our great American father to do us justice. I wished to go to him with others, but difficulties were thrown in the way. I consulted the prophet, and recruited my bands to take my village again; for I knew that it had been sold by a few, without the consent of the many. It was a cheat. I said, 'I will not leave the place of my fathers.'

"With my braves and warriors, on horseback, I moved up the river, and took with us our women and children in canoes. Our prophet was among us. The great war chief, White Beaver, sent twice to tell us to go back; and that, if we did not, he would come and drive us. Black Hawk's message was this: 'If you wish to fight us, come on.'

"We were soon at war; but I did not wish it: I tried to be at peace; but when I sent parties with a white flag, some of my parties were shot down. The whites behaved ill to me, they forced me into war, with five hundred warriors, when they had against us three or four thousand. I often beat them, driving back hundreds, with a few braves, not half their number. We moved on to the Four Lakes.

"I made a dog feast before I left my camp. Before my braves feasted, I took my great medicine bag, and made a speech to my people; this was my speech:—

"'Braves and warriors! these are the medicine bags of our forefather, Muk-a-ta-quet, who was the father of the Sac nation. They were handed down to the great war chief of our nation, Na-na-ma-kee, who has been at war with all the nations of the lakes, and all the nations of the plains, and they have never yet been disgraced. I expect you all to protect them.'

"We went to Mos-co-ho-co-y-nak, where the whites had built a fort. We had several battles; but the whites so much outnumbered us, it was in vain. We had not enough to eat. We dug roots, and pulled the bark from trees, to keep us alive; some of our old people died of hunger. I determined to remove our women across the Mississippi, that they might return again to the Sac nation.

"We arrived at the Ouisconsin, and had begun crossing over, when the enemy came in great force. We had either to fight, or to sacrifice our women and children. I was mounted on a fine horse, and addressed my warriors, encouraging them to be brave. With fifty of them I fought long enough to let our women cross the river, losing only six men: this was conduct worthy a brave.

"It was sad for us that a party of soldiers from Prairie du Chien were stationed on the Ouisconsin, and these fired on our distressed women: was this brave? No. Some were killed, some taken prisoners, and the rest escaped into the woods. After many battles, I found the white men too strong for us; and thinking there would be no peace while Black Hawk was at the head of his braves, I gave myself up and my great medicine bag. 'Take it,' said I. 'It is the soul of the Sac nation: it has never been dishonoured in any battle. Take it; it is my life, dearer than life; let it be given to the great American chief.'

"I understood afterwards, a large party of Sioux attacked our women, children, and people, who had crossed the Mississippi, and killed sixty of them: this was hard, and ought not to have been allowed by the whites.

"I was sent to Jefferson Barracks, and afterwards to my great American father at Washington. He wanted to know why I went to war with his people. I said but little, for I thought he ought to have known why before, and perhaps he did; perhaps he knew that I was deceived and forced into war. His wigwam is built very strong. I think him to be a good little man, and a great brave.

"I was treated well at all the places I passed through; Louisville, Cincinnati, and Wheeling; and afterwards at Fortress Monroe, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and the big village of New York; and I was allowed to return home again to my people, of whom Kee-o-kuk, the Running Fox, is now the chief. I sent for my great medicine bag, for I wished to hand it down unsullied to my nation.

"It has been said that Black Hawk murdered women and children among the whites; but it is not true. When the white man takes my hand, he takes a hand that has only been raised against warriors and braves. It has always been our custom to receive the stranger, and to use him well. The white man shall ever be welcome among us as a brother. What is done is past; we have buried the tomahawk, and the Sacs and Foxes and Americans will now be friends.

"As I said, I am an old man, and younger men must take my place. A few more snows, and I shall go where my fathers are. It is the wish of the heart of Black Hawk, that the Great Spirit may keep the red men and pale faces in peace, and that the tomahawk may be buried for ever."

Austin. Poor Black Hawk! He went through a great deal. And Kee-o-kuk, the Running Fox, was made chief instead of him.

Hunter. Kee-o-kuk was a man more inclined to peace than war; for, while Black Hawk was fighting, he kept two-thirds of the tribe in peace. The time may come, when Indians may love peace as much as they now love war; and when the "peace of God which passeth all understanding" may "keep their hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord."

Austin. Now, just before we go, will you please to tell us a little about a buffalo hunt; just a little, and then we shall talk about it, and about Black Hawk, all the way home.

Hunter. Well, it must be a short account now; perhaps I may describe another hunt, more at length, another time. In hunting the buffalo, the rifle, the lance, and the bow and arrow are used, as the case may be. I have hunted with the Camanchees in the Mexican provinces, who are famous horsemen; with the Sioux, on the Mississippi; the Crows, on the Yellow-stone river; and the Pawnees, at the Rocky Mountains. One morning, when among the Crows, a muster took place for a buffalo hunt: you may be sure that I joined them, for at that time I was almost an Indian myself.

Austin. How did you prepare for the hunt?

Hunter. As soon as we had notice, from the top of a bluff in the distance, that a herd of buffaloes was on the prairie, we prepared our horses; while some Indians were directed to follow our trail, with one-horse carts, to bring home the meat.

Brian. You were sure, then, that you should kill some buffaloes.

Hunter. Yes; we had but little doubt on that head. I threw off my cap; stripped off my coat; tying a handkerchief round my head, and another round my waist; rolled up my sleeves; hastily put a few bullets in my mouth, and mounted a fleet horse, armed with a rifle and a thin, long spear: but most of the Crows had also bows and arrows.

Basil. Your thin spear would soon be broken.

Hunter. No; these thin, long spears are sometimes used, in buffalo hunting, for years without breaking. When an Indian chases a buffalo, if he does not use his rifle or bow and arrow, he rides on fast till he comes up with his game, and makes his horse gallop just the same pace as the buffalo. Every bound his horse gives, the Indian keeps moving his spear backwards and forwards across the pommel of his saddle, with the point sideways towards the buffalo. He gallops on in this way, saying "Whish! whish!" every time he makes a feint, until he finds himself in just the situation to inflict a deadly wound; then, in a moment, with all his strength, he plunges in his lance, quick as lightning, near the shoulders of the buffalo, and withdraws it at the same instant: the lance, therefore, is not broken, though the buffalo may be mortally wounded.

Brian. The poor buffalo has no chance at all.

Austin. Well! you mounted your horse, and rode off at full gallop—

Hunter. No; we walked our steeds all abreast, until we were seen by the herd of buffaloes. On catching sight of us, in an instant they set off, and we after them as hard as we could drive, a cloud of dust rising from the prairie, occasioned by the trampling hoofs of the buffaloes.

Basil. What a scamper there must be!

Hunter. Rifles were flashing, bowstrings were twanging, spears were dashed into the fattest of the herd, and buffaloes were falling in all directions. Here was seen an Indian rolling on the ground, and there a horse gored to death by a buffalo bull. I brought down one of the largest of the herd with my rifle, at the beginning of the hunt; and, before it was ended, we had as many buffaloes as we knew what to do with. Some of the party had loaded their rifles four or five times, while at full gallop, bringing down a buffalo at every fire.

Very willingly would Austin have lingered long enough to hear of half a dozen buffalo hunts; but, bearing in mind what had been said about a longer account at another time, he cordially thanked the hunter for all he had told them, and set off home, with a light heart, in earnest conversation with his brothers.







CHAPTER VI.

The description of the buffalo hunt, given by the hunter, made a deep impression on the minds of the young people; and the manner of using the long, thin lance called forth their wonder, and excited their emulation. Austin became a Camanchee from the Mexican provinces, the Camanchees being among the most expert lancers and horsemen; Brian called himself a Sioux, from the Mississippi; and Basil styled himself a Pawnee, from the Rocky Mountains.

Many were the plans and expedients to get up a buffalo hunt upon a large scale, but the difficulty of procuring buffaloes was insurmountable. Austin, it is true, did suggest an inroad among the flock of sheep of a neighbouring farmer maintaining that the scampering of the sheep would very much resemble the flight of a herd of buffaloes; but this suggestion was given up, on the ground that the farmer might not think it so entertaining an amusement as they did.

It was doubtful, at one time, whether, in their extremity, they should not be compelled to convert the chairs and tables into buffaloes; but Austin, whose heart was in the thing, had a bright thought, which received universal approbation. This was to make buffaloes of their playfellow Jowler, the Newfoundland dog, and the black tom-cat. Jowler, with his shining shaggy skin, was sure to make a capital buffalo; and Black Tom would do very well, as buffaloes were not all of one size. To work they went immediately, to prepare themselves for their adventurous undertaking, dressing themselves up for the approaching enterprise; and, if they did not succeed in making themselves look like Indians, they certainly did present a most grotesque appearance.

In the best projects, however, there is oftentimes an oversight, which bids fair to ruin the whole undertaking; and so it was on this occasion; for it never occurred to them, until they were habited as hunters, to secure the attendance of Jowler and Black Tom. Encumbered with their lances, bows, arrows and hanging dresses, they had to search the whole house, from top to bottom, in quest of Black Tom; and when he was found, a like search was made for Jowler. Both Jowler and Black Tom were at length found, and led forth to the lawn, which was considered to be an excellent prairie.

No sooner was the signal given for the hunt to commence, than Black Tom, being set at liberty, instead of acting his part like a buffalo, as he ought to have done, scampered across the lawn to the shrubbery, and ran up a tree; while Jowler made a rush after him; so that the hunt appeared to have ended almost as soon as it was begun. Jowler was brought back again to the middle of the lawn, but no one could prevail on Black Tom to descend from his eminence.

Once more Jowler, the buffalo, was set at liberty; and Austin, Brian, and Basil, the Camanchee, Sioux, and Pawnee chieftains, brandished their long lances, preparing for the chase: but it seemed as though they were to be disappointed, for Jowler, instead of running away, according to the plan of the hunters, provokingly kept leaping up, first at one, and then at another of them; until having overturned the Pawnee on the lawn, and put the Sioux and Camanchee out of all patience, he lay down panting, with his long red tongue out of his mouth, looking at them just as though he had acted his part of the affair capitally.

At last, not being able to reduce the refractory Jowler to obedience, no other expedient remained than that one of them should act the part of a buffalo himself. Austin was very desirous that this should be done by Brian or Basil; but they insisted that he, being the biggest, was most like a buffalo. The affair was at length compromised, by each agreeing to play the buffalo in turn. A desperate hunt then took place, in the course of which their long lances were most skilfully and effectually used; three buffaloes were slain, and the Camanchee, Sioux, and Pawnee returned in triumph from the chase, carrying a buffalo-hide (a rug mat from the hall) on the tops of their spears.

On their next visit to the hunter, they reminded him that, the last time he saw them, he had intended to speak about the prairies; but that the history of Black Hawk, and the account of the buffalo hunt, had taken up all the time. They told him that they had come early, on purpose to hear a long account; and, perhaps, he would be able to tell them all about Nikkanochee into the bargain.

The hunter replied, if that was the case, the sooner he began his narrative the better; so, without loss of time, he thus commenced his account.

Hunter. Though in our country there are dull, monotonous rivers, with thick slimy waters, stagnant swamps, and pine forests almost immeasureable in extent; yet, still, some of the most beautiful and delightful scenes in the whole world are here.

Austin. How big are the prairies? I want to know more about them.

Hunter. They extend for many hundreds of miles, though not without being divided and diversified with other scenery. Mountains and valleys, and forests and rivers, vary the appearance of the country. The name prairie was given to the plains of North America by the French settlers. It is the French word for meadow. I will describe some prairie scenes which have particularly struck me. These vast plains are sometimes flat; sometimes undulated, like the large waves of the sea; sometimes barren; sometimes covered with flowers and fruit; and sometimes there is grass growing on them eight or ten feet high.

Brian. I never heard of such high grass as that.

Hunter. A prairie on fire is one of the most imposing spectacles you can imagine. The flame is urged on by the winds, running and spreading out with swiftness and fury, roaring like a tempest, and driving before it deer, wolves, horses, and buffaloes, in wild confusion.

Austin. How I should like to see a prairie on fire!

Hunter. In Missouri, Arkansas, Indiana, and Louisiana, prairies abound; and the whole State of Illinois is little else than a vast prairie. From the Falls of the Missouri to St. Louis, a constant succession of prairie and river scenes, of the most interesting kind, meet the eye. Here the rich green velvet turf spreads out immeasurably wide; breaking towards the river into innumerable hills and dales, bluffs and ravines, where mountain goats and wolves and antelopes and elks and buffaloes and grizzly bears roam in unrestrained liberty. At one time, the green bluff slopes easily down to the water's edge; while, in other places, the ground at the edge of the river presents to the eye an endless variety of hill and bluff and crag, taking the shapes of ramparts and ruins, of columns, porticoes, terraces, domes, towers, citadels and castles; while here and there seems to rise a solitary spire, which might well pass for the work of human hands. But the whole scene, varying in colour, and lit up and gilded by the mid-day sun, speaks to the heart of the spectator, convincing him that none but an Almighty hand could thus clothe the wilderness with beauty.



Austin. Brian! Do you not wish now to see the prairies of North America?

Brian. Yes; if I could see them without going among the tomahawks and scalping-knives.

Hunter. I remember one part where the ragged cliffs and cone-like bluffs, partly washed away by the rains, and partly crumbled down by the frosts, seemed to be composed of earths of a mineral kind, of clay of different colours and of red pumice stone. The clay was white, brown, yellow and deep blue; while the pumice stone, lit up by the sunbeam, was red like vermilion. The loneliness, the wildness and romantic beauty of the scene I am not likely to forget.

Basil. I should like to see those red rocks very much.

Hunter. For six days I once continued my course, with a party of Indians, across the prairie, without setting my eyes on a single tree, or a single hill affording variety to the scene. Grass, wild flowers, and strawberries, abounded more or less through the whole extent. The spot where we found ourselves at sundown, appeared to be exactly that from which we started at sunrise. There was little variety, even in the sky itself; and it would have been a relief, (so soon are we weary even of beauty itself,) to have walked a mile over rugged rocks, or to have forced our way through a gloomy pine wood, or to have climbed the sides of a steep mountain.

Brian. I hardly think that I should ever be tired of green grass and flowers and strawberries.

Hunter. Oh yes, you would. Variety in the works of creation is a gift of our bountiful Creator, for which we are not sufficiently thankful. Look at the changing seasons; how beautifully they vary the same prospect! And the changing clouds of heaven, too; what an infinite and pleasurable variety they afford to us! If the world were all sunshine, we should long for the shade.

Austin. What do you mean by bluffs?

Hunter. Round hills, or huge clayey mounds, often covered with grass and flowers to the very top. Sometimes they have a verdant turf on their tops, while their sides display a rich variety of many-coloured earths, and thousands of gypsum crystals imbedded in the clay. The romantic mixture of bluffs, and hills, with summits of green grass as level as the top of a table, with huge fragments of pumice stone and cinders, the remains of burning mountains, and granite sand, and layers of different coloured clay, and cornelian, and agate, and jasper-like pebbles; these, with the various animals that graze or prowl among them, and the rolling river, and a bright blue sky, have afforded me bewildering delight. Some of the hunters and trappers believe that the great valley of the Missouri was once level with the tops of the table hills, and that the earth has been washed away by the river, and other causes; but the subject is involved in much doubt. It has pleased God to put a boundary to the knowledge of man in many things. I think I ought to tell you of Floyd's grave.

Austin. Where was it? Who was Floyd.

Hunter. You shall hear. In the celebrated expedition of Clark and Lewis to the Rocky Mountains, they were accompanied by Serjeant Floyd, who died on the way. His body was carried to the top of a high green-carpeted bluff, on the Missouri river, and there buried, and a cedar post was erected to his memory. As I sat on his grave, and looked around me, the stillness and the extreme beauty of the scene much affected me. I had endured much toil, both in hunting and rowing; sometimes being in danger from the grizzly bears, and, at others, with difficulty escaping the war-parties of the Indians. My rifle had been busy, and the swan and the pelican, the antelope and the elk, had supplied me with food; and as I sat on a grave, in that beautiful bluff in the wilderness—the enamelled prairie, the thousand grassy hills that were visible, with their golden heads and long deep shadows, (for the sun was setting,) and the Missouri winding in its serpentine course, the whole scene was of the most beautiful and tranquil kind. The soft whispering of the evening breeze, and the distant, subdued and melancholy howl of the wolf, were the only sounds that reached my ears. It was a very solitary, and yet a very delightful hour.

Basil. I should not like to be by myself in such a place as that.

Hunter. There is another high bluff, not many miles from the cedar post of poor Floyd, that is well known as the burial-place of Blackbird, a famous chief of the O-ma-haw tribe; the manner of his burial was extremely strange. As I was pulling up the river, a traveller told me the story; and, when I had heard it, we pushed our canoe into a small creek, that I might visit the spot. Climbing up the velvet sides of the bluff, I sat me down by the cedar post on the grave of Blackbird.

Austin. But what was the story? What was there strange in the burial of the chief?

Hunter. Blackbird on his way home from the city of Washington, where he had been, died with the small-pox. Before his death, he desired his warriors to bury him on the bluff, sitting on the back of his favourite war-horse, that he might see, as he said, the Frenchmen boating up and down the river. His beautiful white steed was led up to the top of the bluff, and there the body of Blackbird was placed astride upon him.

Brian. What a strange thing!

Hunter. Blackbird had his bow in his hand, his beautiful head dress of war-eagle plumes on his head, his shield and quiver at his side, and his pipe and medicine bag. His tobacco pouch was filled, to supply him on his journey to the hunting-grounds of his fathers; and he had flint and steel wherewith to light his pipe by the way. Every warrior painted his hand with vermilion, and then pressed it against the white horse, leaving a mark behind him. After the necessary ceremonies had been performed, Blackbird and his white war-horse were covered over with turf, till they were no more seen.

Austin. But was the white horse buried alive?

Hunter. He was. The turfs were put about his feet, then piled up his legs, then placed against his sides, then over his back, and lastly over Blackbird himself and his war-eagle plumes.

Brian. That was a very cruel deed! They had no business to smother that beautiful white horse in that way.

Basil. And so I say. It was a great shame, and I do not like that Blackbird.

Hunter. Indians have strange customs. Now I am on the subject of prairie scenes, I ought to speak a word of the prairies on the Red River. I had been for some time among the Creeks and Choctaws, crossing, here and there, ridges of wooded lands, and tracts of rich herbage, with blue mountains in the distance, when I came to a prairie scene of a new character. For miles together the ground was covered with vines, bearing endless clusters of large delicious grapes; and then, after crossing a few broad valleys of green turf, our progress was stopped by hundreds of acres of plum trees, bending to the very ground with their fruit. Among these were interspersed patches of rose trees, wild currants, and gooseberries, with prickly pears, and the most beautiful and sweet-scented wild flowers.

Austin. I never heard of so delightful a place. What do you think of the prairies now, Basil? Should you not like to gather some of those fruits and flowers, Brian?

Hunter. And then just as I was stretching out my hand to gather some of the delicious produce of that paradise of fruit and flowers, I heard the sound of a rattlesnake, that was preparing to make a spring, and immediately I saw the glistening eyes of a copper-head, which I had disturbed beneath the tendrils and leaves.

Basil. What do you think of the prairie now, Austin?

Brian. And should you not like to gather some of those fruits and flowers?

Austin. I never suspected that there would be such snakes among them.

Hunter. The wild creatures of these delightful spots may be said to live in a garden; here they pass their lives, rarely disturbed by the approach of man. The hunter and the trapper, however thoughtlessly they pursue their calling, are at times struck with the amazing beauty of the scenes that burst upon them. God is felt to be in the prairie. The very solitude disposes the mind to acknowledge Him; earth and skies proclaim his presence; the fruits of the ground declare his bounty; and, in the flowers, ten thousand forget-me-nots bring his goodness to remembrance. "Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable."[3]

[Footnote 3: Ps. cxlv. 3.]

Austin. I could not have believed that there had been such beautiful places in the prairies.

Hunter. Some parts are varied, and others monotonous. Some are beautiful, and others far from being agreeable. The Prairie la Crosse, the Prairie du Chien, and the Couteau des Prairies on the Mississippi, with the prairies on the Missouri, all have some points of attraction. I did intend to say a little about Swan Lake, the wild rice grounds, Lover's Leap, the salt meadows on the Missouri, the Savannah in the Florida pine woods, and Red Pipe-stone Quarry; but as I intend to give you the history of Nikkanochee, perhaps I had better begin with it at once.

Austin. We shall like to hear of Nikkanochee, but it is so pleasant to hear about the prairies, that you must, if you please, tell us a little more about them first.

Basil. I want to hear about those prairie dogs.

Brian. And I want to hear of Lover's Leap.

Austin. What I wish to hear the most, is about Red Pipe-stone quarry. Please to tell us a little about them all.

Hunter. Well! If you will be satisfied with a little, I will go on. Swan Lake is one of the most beautiful objects in the prairies of our country. It extends for many miles; and the islands with which it abounds are richly covered with forest trees. Fancy to yourselves unnumbered islands with fine trees, beautifully grouped together, and clusters of swans on the water in every direction. If you want to play at Robinson Crusoe, one of the islands on Swan Lake will be just the place for you.

Basil. Well may it be called Swan Lake.

Hunter. The first time that I saw wild rice gathered, it much surprised and amused me. A party of Sioux Indian women were paddling about, near the shores of a large lake, in canoes made of bark. While one woman paddled the canoe, the other gathered the wild rice, which flourished there in great abundance. By bending it over the canoe with one stick, and then striking it with another, the grains of rice fell in profusion into the canoe. In this way they proceeded; till they obtained full cargoes of wild rice for food.

Brian. I wish we had wild rice growing in our pond.

Hunter. What I have to say of Lover's Leap is a little melancholy. On the east side of Lake Pepin, on the Mississippi, stands a bold rock, lifting up its aspiring head some six or seven hundred feet above the surface of the lake. Some years since, as the story goes, an Indian chief wished his daughter to take a husband that she did not like. The daughter declined, but the father insisted; and the poor, distracted girl, to get rid of her difficulty, threw herself, in the presence of her tribe, from the top of the rock, and was dashed to pieces.

Basil. Poor girl, indeed! Her father was a very cruel man.

Hunter. The chief was cruel, and his daughter rash; but we must not be too severe in judging those who have no better standard of right and wrong than the customs of their uncivilized tribe. It was on the Upper Missouri river, towards the mouth of the Teton river, that I came all at once on a salt meadow. You would have thought that it had been snowing for an hour or two, for the salt lay an inch or two thick on the ground.

Austin. What could have brought it there?

Hunter. The same Almighty hand that spread out the wild prairie, spread the salt upon its surface. There are salt springs in many places, where the salt water overflows the prairie. The hot sun evaporates the water, and the salt is left behind.

Brian. Well, that is very curious.

Hunter. The buffaloes and other animals come by thousands to lick the salt, so that what with the green prairie around, the white salt, and the black buffaloes, the contrast in colour is very striking. Though Florida is, to a great extent, a sterile wilderness, yet, for that very reason, some of its beautiful spots appear the more beautiful. There are swamps enough, and alligators enough, to make the traveller in those weary wilds cheerless and disconsolate; but when, after plodding, day after day, through morasses and interminable pine woods, listening to nothing but the cry of cranes and the howling of wolves, he comes suddenly into an open plain covered with a carpet of grass and myriads of wild flowers, his eye brightens, and he recovers his cheerfulness and strength. He again feels that God is in the prairie.

Basil. Remember the alligators, Austin!

Brian. And the howling wolves! What do you think of them?

Hunter. The Red Pipe-stone Quarry is between the Upper Mississippi and the Upper Missouri. It is the place where the Indians of the country procure the red stone with which they make all their pipes. The place is considered by them to be sacred. They say that the Great Spirit used to stand on the rock, and that the blood of the buffaloes which he ate there ran into the rocks below, and turned them red.

Austin. That is the place I want to see.

Hunter. If you go there, you must take great care of yourself; for the Sioux will be at your heels. As I said, they hold the place sacred, and consider the approach of a white man a kind of profanation. The place is visited by all the neighbouring tribes for stone with which to make their pipes, whether they are at war or peace; for the Great Spirit, say they, always watches over it, and the war-club and scalping-knife are there harmless. There are hundreds of old inscriptions on the face of the rocks; and the wildest traditions are handed down, from father to son, respecting the place. Some of the Sioux say, that the Great Spirit once sent his runners abroad, to call together all the tribes that were at war, to the Red Pipe-stone Quarry. As he stood on the top of the rocks, he took out a piece of red stone, and made a large pipe; he smoked it over them, and told them, that, though at war, they must always be at peace at that place, for that it belonged to one as much as another, and that they must all make their pipes of the stone. Having thus spoken, a thick cloud of smoke from his great red pipe rolled over them, and in it he vanished away. Just at the moment that he took the last whiff of his great, long, red pipe, the rocks were wrapped in a blaze of fire, so that the surface of them was melted. Two squaws, then, in a flash of fire, sunk under the two medicine rocks, and no one can take away red stone from the place without their leave. Where the gospel is unknown, there is nothing too improbable to be received. The day will, no doubt, arrive, when the wild traditions of Red Pipe-stone Quarry will be done away, and the folly and wickedness of all such superstitions be plainly seen.

Here the hunter, having to attend his sheep, left the three brothers, to amuse themselves for half an hour with the curiosities in his cottage; after which, he returned to redeem his pledge, by relating the history he had promised them.







CHAPTER VII.

"And now," said the hunter, "for my account of Nikkanochee.[4] I met with him in Florida, his own country, when he was quite a child; indeed he is even now but a boy, being not more than twelve or thirteen years of age. The Seminole Indians, a mixed tribe, from whom prince Nikkanochee is descended, were a warlike people, settled on the banks of the River Chattahoochee. In a battle which took place between the Indians and a party of whites, under Major Dade, out of a hundred and fourteen white men, only two escaped the tomahawks of their opponents. A Seminole was about to despatch one of these two, when he suddenly called to mind that the soldier had once helped him in fitting a handle to his axe. This arrested his uplifted weapon, and the life of the soldier was spared."

[Footnote 4: This sketch is supposed to be a narrative of facts, though the authority for it is not within the publishers' reach.]

Austin. Noble! noble! If all the Seminoles were like him, they were a noble people.

Hunter. The tribe had good and bad qualities; but I tell you this anecdote, because it affords another proof that the hardy Indian warrior, in the midst of all his relentless animosity against his enemy, is still sensible of a deed of kindness. On another occasion, when the Seminoles, to avenge injuries which their tribe had received, wasted the neighbourhood with fire and tomahawk, they respected the dwelling of one who had shown kindness to some of their tribe. Even though they visited his house, and cooked their food at his hearth, they did no injury to his person or his property. Other dwellings around it were burned to the ground, but for years his habitation remained secure from any attack on the part of the grateful Seminoles.

Basil. When I go abroad, I will always behave kindly to the poor Indians.

Hunter. The father of Nikkanochee was king of the Red Hills, in the country of the Seminoles; but not being very much distinguished as a warrior, he gave up the command of his fighting men to his brother Oseola, a chief famous for bodily strength and courage. Before the war broke out between the Seminoles, Oseola was kind and generous; but when once the war-cry had rung through the woods, and his tomahawk had been raised, he became stern and implacable. He was the champion of his nation, and the terror of the pale faces opposed to him.

Brian. He must have made terrible work with his tomahawk!

Hunter. No doubt he did, for he was bold, and had never been taught to control his passions. The command of the Saviour had never reached his ears: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." The red man of the forest and the prairie has had much to embitter his spirit against his enemies; but I will proceed. It was in the year 1835, that between two and three hundred red warriors assembled at Camp King, to hold a "talk," or council. They were met by a battalion of white soldiers, who had two generals with them. At this council, it was proposed by the whites that a contract should be made between the two parties, wherein the Seminoles should give up their lands in Florida in exchange for other lands at a great distance from the place. Some of the red warriors were induced to make a cross on the contract as their signature, showing that they agreed therewith; but Oseola saw that such a course was bartering away his country, and sealing the ruin of his nation.

Austin. I hope he did not put his sign to it.

Brian. So do I, and I hope he persuaded all the rest of the red warriors not to sign it.

Hunter. When they asked him in his turn to sign the contract, his lip began to curl with contempt, and his eye to flash with fiery indignation. "Yes!" said he, drawing a poniard from his bosom, with a haughty frown on his brow. "Yes!" said he, advancing and dashing his dagger while he spoke, not only through the contract, but also through the table on which it lay; "there is my mark!"

Austin. Well done, brave Oseola!

Brian. That is just the way that he ought to have acted.

Basil. He was a very bold fellow. But what did the generals say to him?

Hunter. His enemies, the whites, (for they were enemies,) directly seized him, and bound him to a tree. This was done in a cruel manner, for the cords cut deep into his flesh. After this, he was manacled and kept as a prisoner in solitary confinement. When it was thought that his spirit was sufficiently tamed, and that what he had suffered would operate as a warning to his people, he was set at liberty.

Austin. The whites acted a cruel part, and they ought to have been ashamed of themselves.

Brian. Yes, indeed. But what did Oseola do when he was free?

Hunter. Revenge is dear to every one whose heart God has not changed. No wonder that it should burn in the bosom of an untaught Indian. He had never heard the words of Holy Scripture, "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord," Rom. xii. 19; but rather looked on revenge as a virtue. Hasting to his companions, he made the forest echo with the wild war-whoop that he raised in defiance of his enemies.

Brian. I thought he would! That is the very thing that I expected he would do.

Hunter. Many of the principal whites fell by the rifles of the Indians; and Oseola sent a proud message to General Clinch, telling him that the Seminoles had a hundred and fifty barrels of gunpowder, every grain of which should be consumed before they would submit to the whites. He told him, too, that the pale faces should be led a dance for five years for the indignities they had put upon him. Oseola and the Seminoles maintained the war until the whites had lost eighteen hundred men, and expended vast sums of money. At last, the brave chieftain was made prisoner by treachery.

Austin. How was it? How did they take him prisoner?

Hunter. The whites invited Oseola to meet them, that a treaty might be made, and the war brought to an end. Oseola went with his warriors; but no sooner had he and eight of his warriors placed their rifles against a tree, protected as they thought by the flag of truce, than they were surrounded by a large body of soldiers, and made prisoners.

Brian. That was an unjust and treacherous act. Oseola ought to have kept away from them.

Basil. And what did they do to Oseola? Did they kill him?

Hunter. They at first confined him in the fort at St. Augustine, and afterwards in a dungeon at Sullivan's Island, near Charleston. It was in the latter place that he died, his head pillowed on the faithful bosom of his wife, who never forsook him, and never ceased to regard him with homage and affection. He was buried at Fort Moultrie, where he has a monument, inscribed "Oseola." His companions, had they been present at his grave, would not have wept. They would have been glad that he had escaped from his enemies.

Austin. Poor Oseola!

Hunter. This is only one instance among thousands, in which the red man has fallen a victim to the treachery and injustice of the whites. It is a solemn thought, that when the grave shall give up its dead, and the trumpet shall call together, face to face, the inhabitants of all nations to judgment; the deceitful, the unjust and the cruel will have to meet those whom their deceit, their injustice and cruelty have destroyed. Well may the oppressor tremble. "The Lord of hosts hath purposed, and who shall disannul it? and his hand is stretched out, and who shall turn it back?"

Basil. But you have not yet told us of Nikkanochee. Please to let us hear all about him.

Brian. Ay; we have forgotten Nikkanochee.

Hunter. I will now tell you all that I know of him; but I thought you would like to hear of his uncle, he being so famous a warrior. Nikkanochee is called Oseola Nikkanochee, prince of Econchatti, in order that he may bear in mind Oseola, his warlike uncle, and also Econchatti-mico, king of the Red Hills, his father. It is thought that Nikkanochee was born on the banks of the river Chattahoochee. He can just remember the death of his mother, when he was left alone with her in a wigwam; but what I have to tell you about Nikkanochee took place during the lifetime of his father, and his uncle Oseola. The white men being at war with the Seminoles, the war-men of the latter were obliged to band themselves together to fight, leaving their squaws and children to travel as well as they could to a place of safety. Nikkanochee, child as he was, travelled with the women through the pine forests night and day; but a party of horse-soldiers overtook them, and drove them as captives towards the settlements of the whites.

Brian. Ay! now Nikkanochee is a prisoner! What is to become of him now?

Hunter. The mothers were almost frantic. The wigwams they saw on the road had been destroyed by fire, and the whole country had been devastated. At nightfall they came to a village; and here, when it grew dark, Nikkanochee, a little girl and two Indian women made their escape. For some days they fled, living on water-melons and Indian corn, till they fell in with a party of their own war-men, and among them was Nikkanochee's father.

Austin. I hope they were safe then.

Hunter. Not being numerous, they were obliged to retreat. Pursued by their enemies, they fled, sometimes on horseback, and sometimes on foot; a part of the way through the swamps, thickets and pine forests. At night, while the party were sitting round a fire, in the act of preparing for refreshment some dried meat, and a wild root of the woods reduced into flour, an alarm was given. In a moment they were obliged once more to fly, for their enemies were upon their track.

Brian. Dreadful! dreadful!

Hunter. The fire was put out by the Indians, their blankets hastily rolled up, and the squaws and children sent to hide themselves in the tangled reeds and brushwood of a swamp, while the war-men turned against the enemy. The Indians beat them off, but Econchatti-mico was wounded in the wrist, a musket ball having passed through it.

Brian. Did Econchatti die of his wound?

Hunter. No; but he and the war-men, expecting that their enemies would return in greater numbers, were again forced to fly. The dreary pine forest, the weedy marsh, and the muddy swamp were once more passed through. Brooks and rapid rivers were crossed by Econchatti, wounded as he was, with his son on his back. He swam with one hand, for the other was of little use to him.

Austin. Econchatti seems to be as brave a man as Oseola. Did they escape from their enemies?

Hunter. While they were sitting down to partake of some wild turkey and deer, with which their bows and arrows had furnished them during their flight, their enemies again fell upon them. The Seminoles had, perhaps, altogether two thousand warriors, with Oseola at their head; but then the whites had at least ten thousand, to say nothing of their being much better armed. No wonder that the Seminoles were compelled to fly, and only to fight when they found a favourable opportunity. But I must not dwell longer than necessary on my account; suffice it to say, that, after all the bravery of the warriors, and all the exertions of Econchatti, Nikkanochee once more fell into the hands of the enemy.

Basil. Oh, that was terrible! I hoped he would get away safe.

Brian. So did I. I thought the white men would be tired of following them into those dreary forests and muddy swamps.

Austin. How was it that Nikkanochee was taken?

Hunter. He was captured on the 25th of August, 1836, by some soldiers who were scouring the country, and brought by them the next day to Colonel Warren. Poor little fellow, he was so worn, emaciated and cast down, that he could not be looked upon without pity. For several weeks he hardly spoke a word. No tear, no sob, nor sigh escaped him; but he appeared to be continually on the watch to make his escape. The soldiers who had taken him prisoner declared that they had followed his track full forty miles before they came up to him. From the rising to the setting of the sun they hurried on, and still he was before them. Nikkanochee must then have been only about five or six years old.

Basil. Why, I could not walk so far as forty miles to save my life. How did he manage it?

Hunter. You have not been brought up like an Indian. Fatigue and hardship and danger are endured by red men from their earliest infancy. The back to the burden, Basil. You have heard the saying, "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." When the soldiers came up to Nikkanochee, he darted into the bushes and long grass, where they found him. At first, he uttered a scream; but, soon after, he offered the soldiers a peach which he had in his hand, that they might let him go. Placed on horseback behind one of the troopers, he was brought to the military station.

Brian. They have him now, then, fast enough. I wonder what became of Econchatti-mico, his father.

Hunter. That is not known. I should have told you that, in the Seminole language, "Econ," means hill or hills; "Chatti," is red; and the signification of "mico," is king: so that Econchatti-mico is, all together, King of the Red Hills. The soldiers who captured Nikkanochee disputed among themselves whether he ought not to be killed. Most of them were for destroying every Indian man, woman, or child they met; but one of them, named James Shields, was determined to save the boy's life, and it was owing to his humanity that Nikkanochee was not put to death.

Brian. That man deserves to be rewarded. I shall not forget James Shields.

Hunter. When Nikkanochee had afterwards become a little more reconciled to his situation, he gave some account of the way in which he was taken. He said, that as he was travelling with his father and the Indians, the white men came upon them. According to Indian custom, when a party is surprised, the women and children immediately fly in different directions, to hide in the bushes and long grass, till the war-men return to them after the fight or alarm is over. Poor little Nikkanochee, in trying to cross a rivulet, fell back again into it. Besides this misfortune, he met with others, so that he could not keep up with the party. He still kept on, for he saw an old coffee-pot placed on a log; and Indians, in their flight, place things in their track, and also break off twigs from the bushes, that others of their tribe may know how to follow them. Nikkanochee came to a settlement of whites, but he struck out of the road to avoid it. He afterwards entered a peach orchard, belonging to a deserted house, and here he satisfied his hunger. It was then getting dark, but the soldiers saw him, and set off after him at full gallop. In vain he hid himself in the grass, and lay as still as a partridge, for they discovered him and took him away.

Austin. I wonder that Econchatti-mico, his father, or the brave Oseola, his uncle, did not rescue him.

Hunter. It is thought that they did return upon the back trail, for the place they had been in was shortly after surrounded by Indians, with Oseola at their head; but just then a reinforcement of soldiers arrived, and the Indians were obliged to retire. Had not the soldiers come up just in time, the whole garrison might have fallen by the rifles and scalping-knives of enraged Seminoles. Nikkanochee passed a year with the family of Colonel Warren, and was beloved by them all There was, no doubt, much sympathy felt for him, as the nephew of a well-known warrior, and the son of the king of a warlike people. Nikkanochee was afterwards taken under the protection of a gentleman, who became much attached to him. He was educated with other children, and taught to bend the knee in prayer, and to offer praise to the King of kings and Lord of lords. Thus, in the providence of God, was Nikkanochee brought from being a heathen to be a worshipper of the true God and Jesus Christ.

Brian. How much longer did he remain abroad?

Hunter. A very few years, during which he became expert in climbing, swimming, loading the rifle, and using the spear. He was bold enough to attack the raccoon and otter, and was not afraid even of the alligator; few of his age were more hardy, or could bear an equal degree of fatigue. His kind protector, who adopted him as his own child, took him over to England in the year 1840. But I have given you a long account. May Nikkanochee become as celebrated for virtue and piety as his ancestors and relations were for valour and war.





CHAPTER VIII.

In the next visit of the three brothers to the hunter, he pointed out to them the great influence that religion had on the character of any people or country. A false religion brings with it a train of unnumbered evils; while a knowledge of the true God, and a living faith in the Saviour who died for sinners, continually promote among mankind principles of justice and kindness, and communicate to their hearts the blessings of peace and joy. "True it is," said he, "that among professedly Christian people there is much of evil; much of envy, hatred, malice, uncharitableness; of injustice, covetousness and cruelty. But this proceeds not from Christianity, but from the fallen state of human nature, which nothing but the grace of God can renew, and from the great number of those who profess to be Christians, while they are uninfluenced by the gospel of the Redeemer. Christianity will neither allow us to dishonour God by bowing down to idols, nor to injure man by injustice and oppression. The Indians of our country are not found bowing down to numberless idols, as the inhabitants of many countries are: they worship what they call 'the Great Spirit,' with a deep reverence, humbling themselves before him, and undergoing self-imposed torments, to gain his good will, which the generality of Christians, in the manifestation of their faith, would find it hard to endure. They believe also in an Evil Spirit, as well as in a future state; and that they shall be happy or unhappy, just as they have done good or evil, according to their estimate of those qualities, but this belief is mixed up with mysteries and superstitions without number. I speak of Indians in the forest and the prairie, who know nothing of God's word, and who have never heard the voice of a missionary."

Hunter. The different tribes believe, that if they are expert in the chase, bold in battle, and slay many of their enemies, they shall live for ever, after death, in beautiful hunting-grounds, enjoying the pleasures of the chase continually. You know that we, as Christians, are enjoined to forgive our enemies; but untutored Indians delight in revenge: they love to boast, and to shed blood; but we are taught, by God's holy word, to be humble and merciful. There is one thing that mingles much with the Indian character; and that is, medicine, or mystery. I must try to make you understand it.

Austin. Yes; I should like to know all about it very well.

Hunter. Go where you may, among the Choctaws, the Seminoles, the Crows, or the Blackfeet, every Indian has his medicine or mystery bag, which he regards with reverence, and will not part with for any price. He looks upon it as a kind of charm, or guardian spirit, that is to keep him from evil. He takes it with him to battle, and when he dies it is his companion.

Austin. But what is it? Is there any thing in the bag? What is it that makes medicine?

Hunter. Every thing that is mysterious or wonderful to an Indian, he regards as medicine. I do not mean such medicine as we get from an apothecary; but he regards it as something awful, and connected with spirits. This is a strong superstition, which has laid hold of the red man throughout the whole of his race.

Brian. But is there any thing in the medicine bag?

Hunter. The medicine bag is usually the skin of some animal, such as the beaver, otter, polecat, or weazel; or of some bird, as the eagle, the magpie, or hawk; or of some reptile, as the snake or the toad. This skin is stuffed with any thing the owner chooses to put into it, such as dry grass, or leaves; and it is carefully sewed up into some curious form, and ornamented in a curious manner. Some medicine bags are very large, and form a conspicuous part of an Indian's appendages; while others are very small, and altogether hidden.

Basil. Why, it is very foolish in the red men to carry such things about with them.

Hunter. It certainly is so; but their fathers and their tribes have done so for many generations, and it would be a disgrace to them, in their own estimation, if they neglected to do the same. A young Indian, before he has his medicine bag, goes perhaps alone on the prairie, or wanders in the forest, or beside some solitary lake. Day after day, and night after night, he fasts, and calls on the Great Spirit to help him to medicine. When he sleeps, the first animal, or bird, or reptile that he dreams of, is his medicine. If it be a weazel, he catches a weazel, and it becomes his medicine for ever. If it be a toad or snake, he kills it; and if it be a bird, he shoots it, and stuffs its skin.

Austin. This is one of the most wonderful things you have told us yet.

Hunter. What is called a medicine man, or a mystery man, is one who ranks high in his tribe for some supposed knowledge. He can either make buffaloes come, or cure disease, or bring rain, or do some other wonderful things, or persuade his tribe that he can do them. Indeed, among Indians, hardly any thing is done without the medicine man. A chief, in full dress, would as soon think of making his appearance without his head as without his medicine bag. There is a saying among the Indians, that "a man lying down, is medicine to the grizzly bear;" meaning, that in such a position a bear will not hurt him.

Basil. Is it true? Will not the grizzly bear hurt a man when he is lying down?

Hunter. So many people say; but I should be very sorry to trust the grizzly bear. I am afraid that he would be paying his respects to me in a very rough way.

Austin. What was it that you said about the medicine man bringing rain?

Hunter. Some of them are famous for bringing rain in a dry season.

Austin. But they cannot really bring rain.

Hunter. The matter is managed in this way.—When once they undertake to bring rain, they keep up their superstitious ceremonies, day after day, till the rain comes. Oftentimes it is very long before they succeed. It was in a time of great drought, that I once arrived at the Mandan village on the Upper Missouri. At the different Indian villages, peas and beans, wild rice, corn, melons, squashes, pumpkins, peaches and strawberries were often found in abundance; but, on this occasion, the Mandans had a very poor prospect of gathering any thing that required rain to bring it to perfection. The young and the old were crying out that they should have no green corn.

Austin. Why did they not tell the medicine men earlier to make the rain come?

Hunter. They did so: but it was not quite convenient to the medicine men; for they saw clearly enough that there was not the slightest appearance of rain. After putting it off, day after day, the sky grew a little cloudy to the west, when the medicine men assembled together in great haste to make it rain.

Brian. Ay! they were very cunning.

Hunter. No sooner was it known that the medicine men were met together in the mystery lodge, than the village was all in commotion. They wanted rain, and they were very sure that their medicine men could bring it when they pleased. The tops of the wigwams were soon crowded. In the mystery lodge a fire was kindled, round which sat the rain-makers, burning sweet-smelling herbs, smoking the medicine pipe, and calling on the Great Spirit to open the door of the skies, and let out the rain.

Basil. That is the way they make it rain, is it?

Hunter. At last, one of the rain-makers came out of the mystery lodge, and stood on the top of it with a spear in his hand, which he brandished about in a commanding and threatening manner, lifting it up as though he were about to hurl it up at the heavens. He talked aloud of the power of his medicine, holding up his medicine bag in one hand, and his spear in the other; but it was of no use, neither his medicine nor his spear could make it rain; and, at the setting of the sun, he came down from his elevated position in disgrace.

Austin. Poor fellow! He had had enough of rain-making for one day.

Hunter. For several days the same ceremony was carried on, until a rain-maker, with a head-dress of the skins of birds, ascended the top of the mystery lodge, with a bow in his hand, and a quiver at his back. He made a long speech, which had in it much about thunder and lightning, and black clouds and drenching rain; for the sky was growing dark, and it required no great knowledge of the weather to foretell rain. He shot arrows to the east and west, and others to the north and the south, in honour of the Great Spirit who could send the rain from all parts of the skies. A fifth arrow he retained, until it was almost certain that rain was at hand. Then, sending up the shaft from his bow, with all his might, to make a hole, as he said, in the dark cloud over his head, he cried aloud for the waters to pour down at his bidding, and to drench him to the skin. He was brandishing his bow in one hand, and his medicine in the other, when the rain came down in a torrent. The whole village was clamorous with applause. He was regarded as a great mystery man, whose medicine was very powerful, and he rose to great distinction among his tribe. You see, then, the power of a mystery man in bringing rain. Does it not astonish you?

Austin. No, not a bit. I see that it was all a cheat.

Brian. I could make it rain myself as well as he did, for he never shot his arrow to pierce the cloud till it was over his head.

Hunter. To be a mystery man is regarded as a great honour; and some Indians are said to have suspended themselves from a pole, with splints through their flesh, and their medicine bags in their hands, looking towards the sun, for a whole day, to obtain it.

Austin. When I go among the Indians, I will not be a mystery man.

* * * * *

Hunter. Now I will tell you something about Indian marriages. There is very little ceremony in an Indian marriage. The father may be seen sitting among his friends, when the young Indian comes in with presents, to induce him to give him his daughter for a wife. If the presents are not liked, they are not accepted; if they are approved, the father takes the hand of his daughter, and the hand of the young Indian, and slaps them together; after which a little feasting takes place.

Austin. Why, that is like buying a wife.

Hunter. It is; but the young Indian has already gained the good will of his intended wife: not by his fine clothes and his wealth, for he has neither the one nor the other, but by showing her the skins of the bears he has killed, and the scalps and scalp-locks of the foes he has slaughtered; and by telling her that he will hunt for her, that she may be kept from want, and fight for her, that she may be protected from the enemies of her tribe. Indians have strange customs: some flatten the heads of their young children, by laying them in a cradle, with a pillow for the back of the head, and then pressing the forehead, day after day, with a board, that comes down upon it, till the nose and forehead form a straight line.

Brian. I should not like my head to be flattened in that manner.

Hunter. Children are carried about in their cradles on the backs of their mothers, wherever they go; and when children die, they are often left, in their cradles, floating on the water of a brook or pool, which their superstition teaches them to regard as sacred. A cluster of these little arks or cradles, or coffins as they may be called, of different forms, in a lone pool, is a very picturesque and affecting sight.

Basil. I shall often think of the pool, and the little cradles swimming on it. It would remind me of Moses in the bulrushes.

Hunter. There are other singular customs among the Indians. The Kowyas, the Pawnees, the Sacs and Foxes, the Osages, and the Iowas, all shave their heads, leaving a tuft on the crown two or three inches in length, and a small lock in the middle of it, as long as they can make it grow. By means of this small lock of hair braided, they ornament the tuft with a crest of the deer's tail dyed scarlet, and sometimes add to it a war-eagle's feather.

Austin. How different from the Crow Indians! They do not shave off their hair; but let it grow till it hangs down to the very ground.

Hunter. You have not forgotten that, I see. There is a cruel custom among the Indians, of exposing their aged people, that is, leaving them alone to die. If a party are obliged to remove from one place to another in search of food, and there is among them an aged man, who can no longer fight, nor hunt, nor fish, nor do any thing to support himself, he is liable, although in his time he may have been a war-chief, to be left alone to die. I have seen such a one sitting by a little fire left him by his tribe, with perhaps a buffalo skin stretched on poles over his head, and a little water and a few bones within his reach. I have put my pipe to his mouth, given him pemican, and gathered sticks, that he might be able to recruit his fire; and when, months after, I have returned to the spot, there has been nothing left of him but his skeleton, picked clean by the wolves and bleaching in the winds.

Austin. This is one of the worst things we have heard of the Indians.

Basil. Oh, it is very sad indeed!

Hunter. You would not forsake your father, in old age, in that manner, would you?

Austin. No! As long as we could get a bit of bread or a drop of water, he should have part of it, and we would die with him rather than desert him.

Brian and Basil. Yes; that we would!

Hunter. I hope so. This is, I say, a cruel custom; but it forms a part of Indian manners, so that the old men expect it, and, indeed, would not alter it. Indians have not been taught, as we have, to honour their parents, at least not in the same way; but I can say nothing in favour of so cruel and unnatural a custom. Among the Sioux of the Mississippi, it is considered great medicine to jump on the Leaping Rock, and back again. This rock is a huge column or block, between thirty and forty feet high, divided from the side of the Red Pipe-stone Quarry. It is about seven feet broad, and at a distance from the main rock of about six or eight feet. Many are bold enough to take the leap, and to leave their arrows sticking in one of its crevices; while others, equally courageous, have fallen from the top in making the attempt, and been dashed to pieces.

Brian. When you go to Pipe-stone Quarry, Austin, have nothing to do with the Leaping Rock. You must get your medicine in some other way.

Austin. I shall leave the Leaping Rock to the leaping Indians, for it will never suit me.

Hunter. There is a very small fish caught in the river Thames, called white bait, which is considered a very great luxury; but, to my taste, the white fish, of which the Chippewas take great abundance in the rapids near the Falls of St. Mary's, are preferable. The Chippewas catch them in the rapids with scoop-nets, in the use of which they are very expert. The white fish resemble salmon, but are much less in size.

Austin. The white fish of the Chippewas will suit me better than the Leaping Rock of the Sioux.

Hunter. Among the Indians, feasting, fasting, and sacrifices of a peculiar kind, form a part of their religious or superstitious observances. Some of the Pawnees, in former times, offered human sacrifices; but this cruel custom is now no more. The Mandans frequently offered a finger to the god, or Evil Spirit; and most of the tribes offer a horse, a dog, a spear, or an arrow, as the case may be. Over the Mandan mystery lodge used to hang the skin of a white buffalo, with blue and black cloth of great value. These were intended as a sacrifice or an offering to the good and evil spirits, to avert their anger and to gain their favour.

Brian. How many things you do remember!

Hunter. All the chiefs of the tribes keep runners: men swift of foot, who carry messages and commands, and spread among the people news necessary to be communicated. These runners sometimes go great distances in a very short space of time.

Brian. You must have your runners, Austin.

Austin. Oh yes, I will have my runners: for I shall want pipe-stone from Red Pipe-stone Quarry, and white fish from the Chippewas; and then I shall send messages to the Cherokees and Choctaws, the Camanchees, the Blackfeet and the Crows.

Hunter. The squaws, or wives of the Indians, labour very contentedly, seeming to look on servitude as their proper calling. They get in wood and water; they prepare the ground for grain, cook victuals, make the dresses of their husbands, manufacture pottery, dress skins, attend to the children, and make themselves useful in a hundred other ways.

Brian. I think the squaws behave themselves very well.

Hunter. The smoking of the pipe takes place on all great occasions, just as though the Indians thought it was particularly grateful to the Good and Evil Spirits. In going to war, or in celebrating peace, as well as on all solemn occasions, the pipe is smoked. Oftentimes, before it is passed round, the stem is pointed upwards, and then offered to the four points—east, west, north and south. In the hands of a mystery man, it is great and powerful medicine. If ever you go among the red men, you must learn to smoke; for to refuse to draw a whiff through the friendly pipe offered to you, would be regarded as a sad affront.

Basil. What will you do now, Austin? You never smoked a pipe in your life.

Austin. Oh, I should soon learn; besides, I need only take a very little whiff.

Hunter. You must learn to eat dog's flesh, too; for when the Indians mean to confer a great honour on a chief or a stranger, they give him a dog feast, in which they set before him their most favourite dogs, killed and cooked. The more useful the dogs were, and the more highly valued, the greater is the compliment to him in whose honour the feast is given; and if he were to refuse to eat of the dog's flesh, thus prepared out of particular respect to him, no greater offence could be offered to his hospitable entertainers.

Brian. You have something a little harder to do now, I think, Austin; to learn to eat dog's flesh.

Austin. You may depend upon it, that I shall keep out of the way of a dog feast. I might take a little whiff at their pipe, but I could not touch their dainty dogs.

Hunter. In some of the large lodges, I have seen very impressive common life-scenes. Fancy to yourselves a large round lodge, holding ten or a dozen beds of buffalo skins, with a high post between every bed. On these posts hang the shields, the war-clubs, the spears, the bows and quivers, the eagle-plumed head-dresses, and the medicine bags of the different Indians who sleep there; and on the top of each post the buffalo mask, with its horns and tail, used in the buffalo dance. Fancy to yourselves a group of Indians in the middle of the lodge, with their wives and their little ones around them, smoking their pipes and relating their adventures, as happy as ease and the supply of all their animal wants can make them. While you gaze on the scene, so strange, so wild, so picturesque and so happy, an emotion of friendly feeling for the red man thrills your bosom, a tear of pleasure starts into your eye; and, before you are aware, an ejaculation of thankfulness has escaped your lips, to the Father of mercies, that, in his goodness and bounty to mankind, he has not forgotten the inhabitants of the forest and the prairie.

The Indians have a method of hardening their shields, by smoking them over a fire, in a hole in the ground; and, usually, when a warrior thus smokes his shield, he gives a feast to his friends. Some of the pipes of the Indians are beautiful. The bowls are all of the red stone from Pipe-stone Quarry, cut into all manner of fantastic forms; while the stems, three or four feet long, are ornamented with braids of porcupine's quills, beaks of birds, feathers and red hair. The calumet, or, as it is called, "the peace-pipe," is indeed, as I have before said, great medicine. It is highly adorned with quills of the war-eagle, and never used on any other occasion than that of making and solemnizing peace, when it is passed round to the chiefs. It is regarded as altogether a sacred utensil. An Indian's pipe is his friend through the pains and pleasures of life; and when his tomahawk and his medicine bag are placed beside his poor, pallid remains, his pipe is not forgotten.

Austin. When an Indian dies, how do they bury him?

Hunter. According to the custom of his tribe. Some Indians are buried under the sod; some are left in cots, or cradles, on the water; and others are placed on frames raised to support them. You remember that I told you of Blackbird's grave.

Austin. Ay! he was buried on horseback, on the top of a high bluff, sitting on his horse. He was covered all over with sods.

Hunter. And I told you of the Chinock children floating on the solitary pool.

Basil. Yes, I remember them very well.

Hunter. Grown-up Chinocks are left floating in cradles, just in the same manner; though oftener they are tied up in skins, and laid in canoes, with paddles, pipes and provisions, and then hoisted up into a tree, and left there to decay. In the Mandan burial place, the dead were ranged in rows, on high slender frames, out of the way of the wolf, dressed in their best robes, and wrapped in a fresh buffalo skin, with all their arms, pipes, and every necessary provision and comfort to supply their wants in their journey to the hunting-grounds of their fathers. In our burial grounds, there are generally some monuments grander than the rest, to set forth the wealth, the station, or the talents of those who slumber below; and, as human nature is the same everywhere, so in the resting place of the Indians. Here and there are spread out a few yards of red or blue cloth, to signify that beneath it a chief, or a superior brave, is sleeping. The Mandan dead occupied a spot on the prairie. Here they mouldered, warrior lying by the side of warrior, till they fell to the ground from their frames, when the bones were buried, and the skulls ranged with great care, in round rings, on the prairie, with two buffalo skulls and a medicine pole in the centre.

Austin. Ay! it would be of no use for the wolf to come then, for there would be nothing for him. I should very much like to see an Indian burying-place.

Hunter. Were you to visit one, you would see that the heart and affections are at work under a red skin, as well as under a white one; for parents and children, husbands and wives, go there to lament for those who are dear to them, and to humble themselves before the Great Spirit, under whose care they believe their departed relatives to be. The skulls, too, are visited, and every one is placed carefully, from time to time, on a tuft of sweet-smelling herb or plant. Life is but a short season with both the white and the red man, and ought to be well spent. It is as a flower that flourishes: "For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more." But I have now told you enough for the present. Come again, as soon as you will; I shall have some anecdotes of Indians ready for you.







CHAPTER IX.

With willing feet, sparkling eyes and happy hearts, Austin and his two brothers again set off for the cottage near the wood. On an ordinary occasion, they might have found time for a little pleasant loitering; but the Indian anecdotes they expected to hear excited their curiosity too much to allow a single minute to be lost. A pin might have been heard falling on the ground, when, seated in the cottage, they listened to the following anecdotes of the hunter.

Hunter. It has pleased God to endue Indians with quick perceptions. They are amazingly quick in tracing an enemy, both in the woods and the prairie. A broken twig or leaf, or the faintest impression on the grass, is sufficient to attract their attention. The anecdotes I am about to relate are believed to be true, but I cannot myself vouch for their correctness, having only read them, or heard them related by others.

An Indian, upon his return home to his hut one day, discovered that his venison, which had been hung up to dry, had been stolen. After going some distance, he met some persons, of whom he inquired if they had seen a little, old, white man, with a short gun, and accompanied by a small dog with a bob-tail. They replied in the affirmative; and, upon the Indian's assuring them that the man thus described had stolen his venison, they desired to be informed how he was able to give such a minute description of a person whom he had not seen. The Indian answered thus:—

"The thief I know is a little man, by his having made a pile of stones in order to reach the venison, from the height I hung it standing on the ground; that he is an old man, I know by his short steps, which I have traced over the dead leaves in the woods; that he is a white man, I know by his turning out his toes when he walks, which an Indian never does; his gun I know to be short, by the mark which the muzzle made by rubbing the bark of the tree on which it leaned; that the dog is small, I know by his tracks; and that he has a bob-tail, I discovered by the mark of it in the dust where he was sitting at the time his master was taking down the meat."

Brian. Well done, Indian! Why, nothing could escape a man like that.

Austin. An Englishman would hardly have been able to describe the thief without seeing him.

Hunter. You shall have another instance of the quick perceptions of the red men. A most atrocious and shocking murder was once committed, by a party of Indians, on fourteen white settlers, within five miles of Shamokin. The surviving whites, in their rage, determined to take their revenge by murdering a Delaware Indian, who happened to be in those parts, and who was far from thinking himself in any danger. He was a great friend to the whites, was loved and esteemed by them, and, in testimony of their regard, had received from them the name of Duke Holland, by which he was generally known.

This Indian, satisfied that his nation were incapable of committing such a foul murder in a time of profound peace, told the enraged settlers that he was sure the Delawares were not in any manner concerned in it, and that it was the act of some wicked Mingoes or Iroquois, whose custom it was to involve other nations in wars with each other, by secretly committing murders, so that they might appear to be the work of others. But all his representations were vain; he could not convince exasperated men, whose minds were fully bent on revenge.

At last, he offered that, if they would give him a party to accompany him, he would go with them in quest of the murderers, and was sure that he could discover them by the prints of their feet, and other marks well known to him, by which he would convince them that the real perpetrators of the crime belonged to the Six Nations.

His proposal was accepted. He marched at the head of a party of whites and led them into the tracks. They soon found themselves in the most rocky part of a mountain, where not one of those who accompanied him could discover a single track, nor would they believe that men had ever trodden on this ground, as they had to jump from rock to rock, or to crawl over them. They began to believe that the Indian had led them across these rugged mountains in order to give the enemy time to escape. They threatened him with instant death the moment they should be convinced of the fraud.

The Indian, true to his promise, took pains to make them perceive that an enemy had passed along the places through which he was leading them. Here, he showed them that the moss on the road had been trodden down by the weight of a human foot; there, that it had been torn and dragged forward from its place. Again, he would point out to them, that pebbles, or small stones on the rocks, had been removed from their beds by the foot hitting against them; that dry sticks, by being trodden upon, were broken; and, in one particular place, that an Indian's blanket had been dragged over the rocks, and had removed or loosened the leaves lying there, so that they did not lie flat, as in other places. All these marks the Indian could perceive as he walked along, without even stopping.

At last, arriving at the foot of the mountain, on soft ground, where the tracks were deep, he found that the enemy were eight in number; and, from the freshness of the foot-prints, he concluded that they must be encamped at no great distance.

This proved to be the exact truth; for, after gaining the eminence on the other side of the valley, the Indians were seen encamped: some having already laid down to sleep, while others were drawing off their leggings, or Indian stockings, for the same purpose, and the scalps they had taken were hanging up to dry.

"See," said Duke Holland to his astonished companions, "there is the enemy; not people of my nation, but Mingoes, as I truly told you. They are in our power. In less than half an hour they will be all fast asleep. We need not fire a gun, but go up and tomahawk them. We are nearly two to one, and need apprehend no danger. Come on, and you will now have your full revenge."

But the whites, overcome with fear, did not choose to follow the Indian's advice, but desired him to take them back by the nearest and best way. This he did; and when they arrived at home, they reported the enemy to have been so great that they durst not venture to attack them.

Austin. This instance is quite as wonderful as the other.

Brian. I would not have an Indian after me if I had done wrong; for he would be sure to find me out.

Hunter. Red men often act very conscientiously. One day, an Indian solicited a little tobacco of a white man, to fill his pipe. Having some loose in his pocket, the white man gave him a handful. The next day the Indian returned in search of the man who had given him the tobacco.

"I wish to see him," said the Indian.

"Why so?" inquired some one.

"Why, I find money with the tobacco."

"Well! what of that? Keep it; it was given to you."

"Ah!" said the Indian, shaking his head, "I got good man and bad man here," pointing to his breast. "Good man say, 'Money not yours; you must return it:' bad man say, ''Tis yours; it was given to you.' Good man say, 'That not right: tobacco yours, money not yours.' Bad man say, 'Never mind, nobody know it; go buy rum.' Good man say, 'Oh no; no such thing.' So poor Indian know not what to do. Me lie down to sleep, but no sleep; good man and bad man talk all night, and trouble me. So now, me bring money back: now, me feel good."

Basil. I like that Indian very much.

Brian. No one could have acted more honestly.

Hunter. Whatever the Indians may be, when oppressed, wronged and deceived by the whites; and however they may act towards their enemies; they are usually honest towards their own tribe. While I was residing on the Big Beaver, says one who lived much among them, I passed by the door of an Indian who was a trader, and had, consequently, a quantity of goods in his house. He was going with his wife to Pittsburg, and they were shutting up the house; as no person remained in it during their absence. This shutting up was nothing else than putting a large block, with a few sticks of wood, outside against the door, so as to keep it closed. As I was looking at this man with attention, while he was so employed, he addressed me in these words:—

"See, my friend, this is an Indian lock that I am putting to my door."

I answered, "Well enough; but I see you leave much property in the house: are you not afraid that those articles will be stolen while you are gone?"

"Stolen! by whom?"

"Why, by Indians, to be sure."

"No, no," replied he, "no Indian would do such a thing. Unless a white man, or white people, should happen to come this way, I shall find all safe on my return."

Basil. If we were to leave our doors in that way, our houses would be sure to be robbed.

Hunter. No doubt they would; but Indians have good and bad qualities. The notion entertained by the Iroquois Indians, respecting the creation of mankind, will show how ignorant they are with respect to the Creator of all things; but, indeed, if the blessed book of truth were not in our hands, we should be equally ignorant ourselves. Before man existed, say they, there were three great and good spirits; of whom one was superior to the other two, and is emphatically called the Great Spirit and the Good Spirit. At a certain time, this exalted being said to one of the others, "Make a man." He obeyed; and, taking chalk, formed a paste of it, and moulding it into the human form, infused into it the animating principle, and brought it to the Great Spirit. He, after surveying it, said, "This is too white."

He then directed the other to make a trial of his skill. Accordingly, taking charcoal, he pursued the same process, and brought the result to the Great Spirit; who, after surveying it, said, "It is too black."

Then said the Great Spirit, "I will now try myself;" and taking red earth, he formed an Indian. On surveying it, he said, "This is a proper or perfect man."

After relating the strange opinion of the Iroquois Indians, the hunter advised the young people, on their return home, to look over the account of the creation of the world and mankind, in the first chapter of Genesis; telling them that they could not be too thankful for the opportunity of reading God's word, which was not only sufficient to keep them from error in such things, but was able also to make them "wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus." He told them, that though the Indians were ignorant of holy things, they did not want shrewdness and sagacity. "When General Lincoln," said he, "went to make peace with the Creek Indians, one of the chiefs asked him to sit down on a log; he was then desired to move, and, in a few minutes, to move still farther. The request was repeated, until the general got to the end of the log. The Indian still said, 'Move farther;' to which the general replied, 'I can move no farther.' 'Just so it is with us,' said the chief. 'You have moved us back to the water, and then ask us to move farther!'"

In the account of his expedition to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, in 1821, Major Long relates the following anecdote of a Pawnee brave, son of Red Knife, who, in the succeeding winter, visited the city of Washington, during the session of Congress.

This brave, of fine size, figure and countenance, is now about twenty-five years old. At the age of twenty-one, his heroic deeds had acquired for him in his nation the rank of the bravest of the braves. The savage practice of torturing and burning to death their prisoners existed in this nation. An unfortunate female, of the Paduca nation, taken in war, was destined to this horrid death.

The fatal hour had arrived. The trembling victim, far from her home and her friends, was fastened to the stake. The whole tribe were assembled on the surrounding plains to witness the awful scene.

Just as the funeral pile was to be kindled, and the whole multitude of spectators were on the tiptoe of expectation, this young warrior, having, unnoticed, prepared two fleet horses, with the necessary provisions, sprang from his seat, rushed through the crowd, liberated the victim, seized her in his arms, placed her on one of the horses, mounted the other himself, and made the utmost speed towards the nation and friends of the captive.

The multitude, dumb and nerveless with amazement at the daring deed, made no effort to rescue their victim from her deliverer. They viewed it as the immediate act of the Great Spirit, submitted to it without a murmur, and quietly retired to their village.

The released captive was accompanied three days through the wilderness, towards her home. Her deliverer then gave her the horse on which she rode, and the necessary provisions for the remainder of the journey, and they parted.