CHAPTER XXIV.

_Customs of the Indians in their intercourse with each other.-- Anecdote of the missionaries.--Usages in respect to murder-- war--peace--religion.--Traditions.--Superstitions.--Their ideas of heaven.--General character, and probable fate._

Hitherto we have regarded the Indians in their private and domestic relations. Let us now glance at them in their intercourse with one another, their laws, and their conduct towards other nations, both in war and in peace.

The natives are brought up with a high sense of their own dignity and honor, and they are always certain to feel and avenge an affront. Hence, in their ordinary conversation, they take great care not to excite the passions of others. They sometimes carry this civility almost too far; they will seldom dispute anything which another asserts, and they require the same complaisance in return.

It is said that a missionary was once preaching to the Indians, and explaining to them the divine truths of the gospel, while his tawny auditors listened in assenting silence. When he had finished, a chief arose and observed that all the white man had said was very good, and might be followed; he then related the tradition of his nation concerning the first production of certain plants. But when the missionary expressed himself disgusted with the idle tale, the Indian, offended, replied--“My brother, it seems your friends have not done justice to your education; we are willing to believe all the stories which you tell us, why do you not believe ours?”

If it should ever happen, however, that an Indian, in a fit of passion, should kill another, it is the duty of the relations of the murdered man to avenge his death. The murderer knows his fate, and submits without a struggle. Sometimes it is the case that the rank and power of the criminal is so great, that no one cares to execute the fatal decree of vengeance; at other times he is adopted by the family of the deceased in his place.

When the murder has been committed on a person of another tribe, the consequence is generally war. This, like all other important measures, is first determined upon by a grand council of chiefs and warriors. In these assemblies, the greatest order and decorum always prevail. The most aged and respectable always speak first, and no one thinks of interrupting one who is speaking. Even after he sits down, they are silent for a few minutes, in order that they may seem to reflect upon what he has spoken.

If war is finally concluded upon, a large painted post is set up in an enclosed place, and the warriors, begrimmed with paint and holding their tomahawks in their hand, dance with frantic gestures around it, singing their war-song. As many as join in the dance, are bound to go out against the enemy; this is the Indian mode of recruiting.

In their warfare, every species of cunning and cruelty is practised, and all the ferocity of a savage nature breaks forth. When a town of the enemy is attacked and taken, no age or condition is spared; infants, old men, and women fall in indiscriminate massacre. Even those that are spared, are reserved for a yet more terrible fate.

When a victorious expedition returns home, the scalps of their slain enemies are carried in front, fixed on the end of a thin pole; the prisoners follow, and then the warriors advance, shouting the dreadful _scalp-yell_, once for every head which they have taken, dead or alive.

When the captives enter the village, they are shown a painted post at the distance of from twenty or forty yards, and told to run for it. On each side of the way stand men, women, and children, with axes, sticks, and other weapons, ready to strike him as he passes. If he shows himself prompt, and bold, and makes, with all speed, for the post, he is generally certain of reaching it without much harm; and, in that case, he is safe, until his final destiny is determined upon. This is called--_running the gauntlet_.

Sometimes he is adopted into the tribe, in place of others slain in the war; or he is left to be ransomed by his friends. But if he be a great warrior, who has done them much injury, he is generally condemned to suffer by the fiery torture. He is stripped naked and bound to a tree; a heap of dry brush is placed around him, and set on fire, while his enemies dance in triumph around the victim, exulting in his torment. He, on his part, meets his fate with firmness, even in this horrid form; he sings his death-song, relates his exploits against his enemies, and taunts them with cowardice, telling them that they are no more than so many old women, and bidding them look on and see how a _man_ can die!

When a war is to be concluded, or, in the language of the Indians, who are fond of metaphorical expressions, when the hatchet is to be buried, and the path of peace to be opened to their enemies’ country, messengers of peace are sent, carrying with them a calumet, or pipe, with a long stem adorned with the feathers of the rarest birds. This pipe is lighted, and presented to the chiefs of the hostile tribe; if they smoke it, it is a sign that the proposals are agreed to, and that the hatchet is buried under the tree of peace. But if, on the other hand, they refuse to receive it, the war is continued with as much fury as ever.

There never was a nation without some religion. Even the most barbarous and degraded African tribes have some divinity which they worship. The natives of America believe in a Great Spirit, or _Manito_, who created the world in the beginning, and governs all things with absolute sway. Under him are many inferior spirits, some good and others bad, who have each his particular duty to perform. There is a god in the sun, another in the moon, and another for every appearance which they do not understand. When the natives first saw the white men of Europe, they took them to be _Manitos_, and paid them the honors which they rendered to their god.

The Indians have all some dim tradition of the deluge; but farther than this, their traditions do not extend. Some believe that a beaver, who was swimming about upon the water, dived to the bottom, and brought up a little earth in his paws, from which the land was formed. Concerning the origin of the Indians themselves, they relate that for a long time they lived under ground, in the shape of some other animals, such as the bear, the beaver, and even the oyster, which, in time, were changed to men.

After remaining a long time in this abode, some of their young men who were out on a hunting expedition, discovered a hole in the earth, through which they ascended and came to a fine country, well stocked with game, fruit, and all other necessaries of life. They returned to their people, told them of their wonderful discovery, and all forthwith ascended and took up their residence on the earth. The Mandans, however, say that some of their tribe yet remain under ground; for a very fat woman, in her eagerness to reach the desired land, laid hold of the vine by which they climb up, so roughly, that it broke down, and those which were left, were forever prevented from joining their companions.

The Indians of Virginia called their Great Spirit Quiouos. Some gentlemen who were once ranging the woods near the settlements, came upon the temple of this god, and took the liberty, as they saw no one near, to open the door and go in. It was a cabin, somewhat larger than usual, and at the farther end was a recess, before which hung a curtain. On a shelf in this recess, they found some pieces of wood and cloth, which, when put together, they found to be the famous idol of the Virginians. As the cabin had no windows, this figure, seen by the glimmering light from the door, must have appeared to its benighted worshippers really terrific.

The Indians are a very superstitious race of people, and there are always some who are willing to take advantage of the weakness of their countrymen to serve their own interest. Such are the jugglers and sorcerers--an artful and mischievous set of people. They pretend to have power over the elements, to bring rain, to cure sickness, to cause death, and to change themselves to any form, by means of their charms and medicine.

Mr. Heckewelder was one day walking out, during a very severe drought, and came upon an old conjurer, named Chenos, who was engaged in some of his mummeries. The missionary asked him what he was doing.

“Oh,” said he, “I am hired to do a very hard day’s work. I am going to bring down rain from the sky; don’t you see how much it is wanted, and that the corn and everything else is perishing?”

“But can you make it rain?” said Mr. Heckewelder.

“Certainly,” replied the old conjurer, “and you shall be convinced of it this very day.”

He had, by this time, encompassed a square, of about five feet each way, with stakes and pieces of bark, so that it might resemble a pig-pen of about three feet in height, and now, with his face uplifted and turned towards the north, he muttered some words, as if invoking a superior being. He did the same on the south, and then made a small opening in the side of the pen. “Now,” said he, “we shall have rain enough.”

And he was right; a few hours afterwards, the sky suddenly became overcast, and a plentiful shower of rain succeeded; proving to every Indian’s mind, the power of their conjurer, and the efficacy of his prayers. It is evident that the old Chenos had paid good attention to the signs of the weather, and his experience enabled him to foresee that there would soon be rain, without the aid of supernatural powers.

The Indians put great faith in dreams; they believe that while the body sleeps, the soul leaves it and acts for itself; and they think that everything which they dream ought to be fulfilled when they awake.

A chief of the Mohawk tribe, Hendrick by name, resolved to turn this belief to good account. On a visit to Sir William Johnson, the superintendent of Indian affairs in America, he had been very much struck with the brilliancy of his host’s suit of clothes, which were new and were richly covered with gold lace. A few days afterwards, he called on Sir William, and told him that he had dreamed a most singular dream. The other inquired what it was.

“I dreamed,” answered Hendrick, “that you gave me the fine suit which you wore the other day.”

Sir William took the hint, and gave him the clothes; but he resolved to dream in his turn; accordingly, not long after, he went to the wigwam of his red friend, and informed him that he had dreamed that Hendrick made him a present of a very fine tract of land of about five thousand acres.

“Have you really dreamed that?” inquired the chief, in dismay; and, after a moment’s pause, “Very well,” said he, “you shall have the land; _but if you_ _please, Sir William, we will not dream any more_.”

The _heaven_ of every nation is a place where the greatest degree of happiness is to be enjoyed hereafter; and of course it differs among different nations, according to their various notions of happiness. The Indians placed their chief pleasure in a life of easy indolence, varied only by the delights of hunting and gaming. Their paradise is, therefore, a land of eternal spring, where the sun’s beams are ever mild and refreshing, and where the green woods are stocked with every animal suitable for eating and the chase; and the waters are filled with fish of the most delightful flavor.

Not only the souls of men but also those of animals are admitted into this happy abode. And hence, among some tribes, it is the custom to shoot the dead man’s horse over the grave of his master. But the way to this heaven is long and full of dangers; such as meeting with ferocious wild beasts, crossing rapid streams on a single log, and the like. To enable the warrior to pass safely through all these and to gain his subsistence until he arrives at his future abode, they place in his grave weapons for hunting, a pipe, a tinder-box and flint, together with food, and in modern times _a bottle of rum_ is added, if the man has been in life, very fond of this destructive liquor--a thing but too common among the natives.

Thus have we followed the Indian of North America from his birth to the place where he awaits the joys of another life--from his “tree-rocked cradle,” to his grave. Let us now glance at his general character and his probable fate.

It must be owned that the character of the Indian of the north, is by no means amiable. He is bold, but reserved, even to his friends; fierce and implacable to his enemies; indolent, except when pressed by hunger, or excited by revenge. Too proud to condescend to labor with his own hands, he compels his wife to bear the drudgery of the lodge, a sure sign of the savage. He never forgives an injury, never forgets a kindness. In war he is brave and cunning, in religion superstitious and cruel.

His virtues and his vices are all those of a barbarian; and such, it is to be feared, he will ever be. The attempt to civilize the natives within the limits of the United States, has been made often and zealously for more than two hundred years, but in vain. The remnant of this once powerful race is melting fast away, as one of their own orators express it, “like snow before the sun;” and perhaps, in a century more, not one will be left to remind us that the land which we inhabit was once their own. Still, it is no less our duty to do all we can to save and render happy, for a while, at least, the feeble remnants of a people to whom we owe so much.

IN the crowded saloon of Mr. Catlin, the Indian lecturer, in the midst of an intensely interesting discourse, a person rose up, and in a solemn manner said, “Mr. Catlin, will you have the goodness to stop for a moment?” The audience looked with astonishment, and the lecturer paused: “I have lost my little boy in the crowd,” said the gentleman, “and wish to call for him.” A dead pause ensued in the 1200 persons present. “Clark Potter,” said the father. “Here I am, father,” said a shrill voice in the corner; at which shouts of laughter and applause ensued, and the stripling was handed over the benches to his anxious parent.

* * * * *

AN Irishman, wishing to dispose of his watch, said, by way of recommendation, that it had beat the church clock that blessed day by an _hour and a half_.

[Illustration]

The Stock-Dove, &c.

There is a wild pigeon in Europe, called the _Stock-Dove_, from which the various kinds of domestic doves are bred. In its native state, this bird builds in rocks or decayed trees; its color is of a deep bluish-ash color, the breast being dashed with a fine changeable green and purple.

The varieties of the domestic pigeon are very great, and some of them are very curious; yet, in their general habits, they are the same. They breed every month; lay two eggs, and hatch two at a time. The female sits from four in the afternoon till ten the next morning; the male takes her place, from ten to four. In this manner they sit alternately, till the young ones are hatched.

The affection of doves to each other is remarkable, and their cooing notes are very soft and pleasing. The constancy of the female, in sitting upon her eggs, is so great, that one bird was once known to continue faithful to her task till the young were hatched, though her legs in the mean time became frozen and dropped off!

So prolific are these birds, that fifteen thousand may be reared from a single pair, in four years. Most birds drink by sipping at intervals; pigeons drink at long draughts, like quadrupeds.

There is a kind of pigeon called _carriers_, and which are used to carry letters from one place to another. These may be easily distinguished from all others by their eyes, which are compassed about by a broad circle of naked white skin, and by being of a dark blue or blackish color. It is from their attachment to their native place, and particularly where they have brought up their young, that these birds have been employed in several countries as the most expeditious travellers.

They are first brought from the place where they were bred, and whither it is intended to send them back with information. The letter is tied under the bird’s wing, and after feeding it well, lest it should stop upon the way to eat, it is let loose to return. The little animal no sooner finds itself at liberty than its passion for its native spot directs all its motions.

It is seen upon these occasions flying directly to the clouds, to an amazing height, and then with the greatest certainty and exactness, directing itself by some surprising instinct, towards home, which lies sometimes at many miles distance. It is said that in the space of an hour and a half, they sometimes perform a journey of forty miles.

(As a great number of my readers have desired me to continue the story of Philip Brusque and the island of Fredonia, I have concluded to give the remainder of it.)

Story of Philip Brusque.