Traditions of the North American Indians Volume I Part 14

Another manner of performing the ceremony is said to be peculiar to the Naudowessies. When one of their young men has fixed on a young woman he approves of, he discovers his pa.s.sion to her parents, who give him an invitation to come and live with them in their tents. He accordingly accepts their offer, and by so doing engages to reside in it for a whole year in the character of a menial servant. During this time he hunts, and brings all the game he kills to the family; by which means the father has an opportunity of seeing whether he can provide for the support of his daughter and the children that might be the consequence of their union. When this period is expired, the marriage is solemnized after the custom of the country, in the following manner:--Three or four of the oldest male relations of the bridegroom, and as many of the bride's, accompany the young couple from their respective tents to an open part in the centre of the camp. The chiefs and warriors being here a.s.sembled to receive them, a party of the latter are drawn up into two ranks on each side of the bride and bridegroom, immediately on their arrival. The princ.i.p.al chief then acquaints the whole a.s.sembly with the design of their meeting, and tells them that the couple before them, mentioning at the same time their names, are come to avow publicly their intention of living together as man and wife. He then asks the young people alternately whether they desire that the union may take place.

Having declared, with an audible voice, that they do so, the warriors fix their arrows, and discharge them over the needs of the married pair; this done, the chief p.r.o.nounces them man and wife. The bridegroom then turns around, and, bending his body, takes his wife upon his back, in which manner he carries her, amidst the acclamations of the spectators, to his tent. The ceremony is concluded by the most plentiful feast the new-married man can afford, and songs and dances, according to the usual custom, conclude the festival.

Among the Quapaws, as I have been informed, the husband, on the consummation of his marriage, presents his wife with a leg of deer, and she in return offers him an ear of maize.

THE IDOLS.

A TRADITION OF THE RICARAS.

"Whither goest thou, valiant warrior?

Whither goest thou, Son of the Beaver?

Man whom the Mahas fear; Man whom the p.a.w.nees shun; Man of the red and painted cheek; Man of the fierce and fearful shout; Whither goest thou?"

"I go to make an offering, I go to give to the Idols a bow, An arrow, and a spear, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow bank, On the willow bank, that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream; I go to ask that my heart may be made, Like the heart of the panther, fierce and stout, And my soul as clean as the soul of a child, And my foot as swift as the foot of a buck, That victory may be mine, That the pole of my lodge may bend with scalps, And the song of my lips Be the song of a Brave, Who sings of bright deeds in the ears of his tribe."

"Go! Warrior, go!"

"Whither goest thou, Hunter?

Whither goest thou, keen eyed-man?

Man whom the Beaver fears; Man whom the Panther shuns; Man of the fleet and ardent foot, And the firm and patient heart, And the never blanching-cheek, Whither goest thou?"

"I go to make an offering, I go to give to the Idols flesh, The juicy flesh of the elk, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow bank, On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream; I go to ask that my eye maybe true To follow the trail of the deer, And to lead in the fox's track, And strong my arm to send the dart To the life of the bison-ox, And stout my heart, when I list to the growl Of the cubs in the panther's den."

"Go! Hunter, go!"

"Whither goest thou, Priest?

Man of wisdom, whither goest thou?

Man that commun'st with the Voice[A], And notest the lightning's words; Man that hast knowledge of things unseen By the eye of thy brothers, Whither goest thou?"

"I go to make an offering: I go to lay my magic robe, My s.h.a.ggy hide of the old black bear, Before the Idols, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow bank, On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream; I go to ask my Okkis[B] to give To the sleep of my nights the dream that shows The image of things to come, That I may behold the fate of my tribe, And the fate of the Indian race; And count the scalps from Mahas torn, And the prisoners brought from p.a.w.nee lands, And the beads from the town of the Rock[C]; And number the coal-black horses, The Ricara Braves shall steal From the men who wear the cross, That s.h.i.+nes like the cold, pale moon"[D].

"Go! Priest, go!"

"And whither goest thou, Maiden?

Dove of the forest, whither goest thou?

Maiden, as bright as the Hunter's Star, Maiden, whose hair is the grape-cl.u.s.tered vine, Whose neck is the neck of the swan, Whose eyes are the eyes of the dove, Whose hand is as small as the red-oak's leaf, Whose foot is the length of the lark's spread wing, Whose step is the step of the antelope's child, Whose voice is the voice of a rill in the moon, Of the rill's most gentle song; Whither goest thou?"

"I go to make an offering.

I go to lay the gifts of my Brave, The crest of the Song Sparrow[E], that which sang From her bower in the bush, on the beautiful night, When he called me "dearest,"

And the rainbow-tail of the Spirit Bird, And the sh.e.l.ls that were dyed in the sunset's blush, And the beads that he brought from a far-off land, And the skin of the striped lynx that he slew Ere the moca.s.sins deck'd his feet, Before the Idols, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow-bank, On the willow-bank that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream.

I make them my Okkis to guard my Brave; I go to ask them to s.h.i.+eld his breast Against the Maha's darts; To give to his arm the strength of two; To give to his foot the fleetness of two; To wring from his heart the drop of blood, If he hath such drop, that causes fear To make his cry like the Serpent's hiss[F], Among the hills of the setting sun, And when there is Maha blood on his hand, And a bunch of Maha scalps at his back.

To send him back to these longing arms, That I may wipe from his weary brow The drops that spring from his toil."

"Go! Maiden, go!"

[Footnote A: Thunder, sometimes called by the Indians, _par excellence_, "the Voice."]

[Footnote B: "Okkis"--_protecting spirit_. See note 1, page 195.]

[Footnote C: Quebec--Heights of Abraham.]

[Footnote D: The Spaniards, from whom the Indians first procured the horse. This great acquisition is referred to in many of their traditions. See "The Wahconda's Son," &c.]

[Footnote E: Song Sparrow--_Fringilla melodica_.]

[Footnote F: Serpent's hiss, the thunder. See note 5, p. 167.]

With the above characteristic and wild song, chanted with the action and in the tones peculiar to the Indian story-teller, and which, in truth, is always the manner in which their traditions are related, the Little Snake, the princ.i.p.al chief of the Ricaras, and who was as celebrated throughout the wilds of the west for his skill in song as Carolan in the palace of his mountain lord, or Blondel at the court of Coeur de Lion, commenced his tale. As far as the visual organ was concerned, Mr.

Verdier was before acquainted with the curious images to which it referred. He had seen, a few miles back, from the Mississippi, a small "willow-bank," rising in the words of the song above a "shallow and turbid stream," upon which were two stones bearing a great resemblance to the human form, and a third having a still greater resemblance to a dog. He knew that they were objects of exceeding veneration with all the tribes of the west, especially with the Ricaras, and that whenever they pa.s.sed them, and they often deviated many miles from their path for that purpose, they never failed to make an offering, generally of some ornament, or valued part of their dress, or martial equipment, to propitiate the intelligences supposed to inhabit the statues, and render them favourable to their wants and wishes, and to their success in war, or the chace He saw that the continued observance of this rite for a long period, probably for ages, had collected around the "Idols" a large heap of stones, sticks, blankets, deer-skins, eagle's' feathers, &c., but he had remained till now in ignorance of the tradition, which a.s.signed to them a past existence as human beings. He knew that every thing which is not in the common order of things, even a tree singularly shaped, or presenting an unusual excrescence, a blade of gra.s.s twisted into an uncommon form, a berry or a stalk of maize growing to an unusual size, become, in the eyes of these wild and superst.i.tious children of the forest, invested with supernatural interest; but he had supposed that it was the mere resemblance which these statues bore to human beings that had caused the Indians to regard them as objects worthy of the most hallowed form of their rude wors.h.i.+p.

It may be as well to say in this place, what I had contemplated making the subject of a note. It is this--that Indian poetry always wants the correspondence of the last sound of one verse with the last sound or syllable of another. There cannot, I imagine, be found a single instance of their having attempted to produce the "harmonical succession of sounds," which has imparted so much richness and beauty to the cultivated languages. It is necessary to state this, that my readers may not suppose that the omission to make the lines rhyme grew out of an attempt to give to the poetry an appearance of greater originality, and of greater singularity and wildness, the supposed first step to success.

I could not, consistently with my determination to represent truly the manners and customs of that interesting and hard-used race in their own style and method, attempt to introduce rhyme into their rude lyrics. The poetry I have given, though it may want the inspiration of Indian poetry, will be found to possess its method. Another trait of Indian poetry to be noticed is the frequent repet.i.tion of favourite pa.s.sages and incidents.

The Indian story-teller, having paused a moment to recruit his strength and voice, which had suffered by his energy, and to gather the opinion of the audience, which, for the first time in the present a.s.sembly, was expressed by audible signs of satisfaction, an unusual occurrence in an Indian audience, resumed his tale as follows:--

And who are they To whom the Brave has given his bow, His arrow, and his spear; To whom the Hunter has given the flesh, The juicy flesh of the elk, At whose feet the Priest has laid his robe, The s.h.a.ggy skin of the old black bear, Where she, as bright as the Hunter's Star[A], The Maid with hair like the cl.u.s.tering grapes, Whose neck is the neck of the swan, Whose eyes are the eyes of the dove, Whose hand is as small as the red-oak's leaf, Whose foot is the length of the lark's spread wing.

Whose step is the step of the antelope's child, Whose voice is the voice of a rill in the moon, Of the rill's most gentle song, Has cast the gifts of her Brave, Cast, without a tear, The tuft of the Song Sparrow, that which sang From its bower in the bush on the beautiful night, That he called his maiden, "dearest,"

And the rainbow-tail of the Spirit Bird, And the sh.e.l.ls that were dyed in the sunset's blush, And the beads that he brought from a far-off land, And the skin of the striped lynx that he slew, Ere the moca.s.sins decked his feet?

I will tell you who they are: Listen, brother!

Thou from the distant land, Pour oil into thine ears, for I Will fill them with a song.

They both were Ricaras, And the Dog was a Ricara Dog; It was many suns ago, Yet ask me not how long, For the warrior cannot tell, But this do I know the rivers ran Through forest, and prairie, and copse, And the mountains were piled to the base of the clouds, And the waters were deep, And the winter was cold, And the summer was hot; Gra.s.s grew on the prairies, Flowers bloomed on the lea, The lark sang in the morning, The owl hooted at night, And the world was such a world As the Ricara world is now:-- My brother hears.

One was a Ricara boy, And one was a Ricara girl, And one was a Ricara dog.

My brother hears.

The boy and the girl were lovers, And the dog loved both, They loved each other more Than the soul of an Indian loves his home; The lodge of his wife and babes, Or the graves, The mossy graves, The green and gra.s.s-covered graves, Of his fathers mouldered and gone; They loved each other more Than the warrior loves the shout of his foe, Or the festival of scalps, Or the hunter to see the wing, Of a plover beating the air.

Their fathers were friends; They dwelt together in one cabin; They hunted the woods together; They warred together, Raising the self-same shout of onset, Waking the self-same song of triumph: Their mothers were sisters; They dwelt together in one cabin; Together they wrought in the field of maize; Each bent her back to the bison's flesh, Load and load alike; And they went to the wild wood together, To bring home the food for the fire; Kind were these sisters to each other; There was always a clear sky[B] in their cabins:-- My brother hears.

One Ricara father said to his friend, While these babes yet swung In their baskets of bark From the bough of the oak, Listen!

I have a young eagle in my eyrie, Thou hast a young dove in thy nest, Let us mate them.

Though now they be but squabs, There will be but twice eight chills of the lake; And twice eight fails of the maple leaf; And twice eight bursts of the earth from frosts; The corn will ripen bat twice eight times, Tall, sweet corn; The rose will bloom but twice eight times, Beautiful rose!

The vine will give but twice eight times Its rich black cl.u.s.ters, Sweet ripe cl.u.s.ters, Grapes of the land of the Ricaras, Ere thy squab shall be an eagle, Ere my little dove shall wear The feathers and plumes of a full-grown bird.

Let us pledge them now To each other, That when thy son has become a man, And painted his face as a brave man paints, Red on the cheek, Red on the brow, And wears but the single lock[C], That is graced with the plumes of the Warrior-bird, And has stolen thy bow for the field of strife, And run away with thy spear, And thou findest thy sheaf of arrows gone, And nearest his shout as he follows the steps Of his chief to the p.a.w.nee lodge, And my little dove, My beautiful dove, Sings in the grove, in the hour of eve, All alone, soft songs.

Maiden's songs of the restless hour, When the full heart sings, it knows not why: My son shall build himself a lodge, And thy daughter shall light his fires.

Then said his friend, 'Tis well; Nor hast thou a forked tongue: My son is pledged to thee, And to thy little daughter.

When he has become a warrior-man, And painted his face with the ochre of wrath, Red on the cheek, Red on the brow, And wears but a scalp-lock, Decked with the plumes of the warrior-bird, And has stolen my bow for the field of strife, And run away with my spear, And I find my sheaf of arrows gone, And hear his shout as he follows the step Of his chief to the p.a.w.nee lodge, And thy dove Sings in the grove in the hour of eve, All alone, soft songs, Maiden songs, songs of the unquiet hour, Songs that gush out of the swelling soul, As the river breaks over its banks: My son shall build himself a cabin, And thy daughter shall light his fires.

When these two Ricara babes were grown, To know the meaning of words, And to read the language of eyes, And to guess by the throbs of the heart, It was said to them, To the girl, he will build thee a lodge, And bring thee a good fat deer of the glade; To the boy, she will light thy fires, and be The partner of thy lot.

And knowing this they loved: No more were they seen apart, They went together to pluck the grape, To look for the berry which grew on the moor, To fright the birds from the maize; They hunted together the lonely copse, To search for the bittern's eggs, And they wandered together to pluck from the waste The first blue flower of the budding moon; And, when the village children were come, Where the rope of gra.s.s, Or the twisted thong of bison-hide, Hung from the bough, To swing in childish sport, These two did always swing each other, And if by chance they found themselves apart, Then tears bedew'd their little cheeks, And the gobs of grief came thick and fast, Till they found each other's arms again, And so they grew:-- My brother hears.

The maiden grew up beautiful, Tall as the chin of a lofty man, Bright as the star that s.h.i.+nes, To guide the Indian hunter through The pathless wilds to his home.

Her hair was like the grape-cl.u.s.tered vine; Her neck was the neck of the swan; Her eyes were the eyes of the dove; Her hand was as small as the red oak's leaf; Her foot was the length of the lark's spread wing; Her step was the step of the antelope's child; Her voice was the voice of a rill in the moon, Of the rill's most gentle song: Oh, how beautiful was the Ricara girl!

How worthy to be the wife of the man, And to light-the fires of a _Brave_!

How fit-to be the mother Of stout warriors and expert hunters!

And how grew the Ricara boy?-- Does my brother listen?

He does, it is well.-- He grew to be fair to the eye, Like a tree that hath smooth bark, But is rotten or hollow at core; A vine that c.u.mbers the earth With the weight of leaves and flowers, But never brings forth fruit: He did not become a man: He painted not as a warrior paints, Red on the cheek, Red on the brow, Nor wore the gallant scalp-lock, Black with the plumes of the warrior-bird, Nor stole his father's bow, Nor ran away with his spear, Nor took down the barbed sheaf, Nor raised his shout as he followed the step Of his chief to the p.a.w.nee lodge.

He better loved to sit by the fire, While the women were spinning the mulberry-bark(2) Or to lie at his length by the stream, To watch the nimble salmon's sport, Or, placed by the leafy perch of the bird, To snare the poor simple thing; He better loved to rove with girls In search of early flowers.

The Ricara father said to the maid, "Listen to me, my dove, When I gave thee away, I deem'd that I gave My child to one who would gain renown, By the deeds which had given his sires renown, To a boy who would s.n.a.t.c.h, ere his limbs were grown, The heaviest bow of the strongest man, And hie to the strife with a painted face, And a shout that should ring in the lonely glades, Like a spirit's among the hills; I did not deem I had given my dove To a youth with the heart of a doe; A gatherer-in of flowers, A snarer of simple birds, A weeder with women of maize[D], A man with the cheek of a girl-- Dost thou listen?