Traditions of the North American Indians Volume II Part 10

THE PHANTOM WOMAN.

A TRADITION OF THE WINNEBAGOES.

The days of Mis.h.i.+kinakwa, or the Little Turtle, were numbered, and the signs made visible of his approaching dissolution. There had been voices calling from the hills in the hour of the silent night, "Come, Mis.h.i.+kinakwa! she waits for thee." The _Nant-e-na_, or little spirits, which inhabit the earth, and the air, and the fire, and the water, according to their different natures, had all been busy, proclaiming the approaching translation of the chief from the troubles and hards.h.i.+ps of this world to the happiness and quiet of another and a better. There were the rattling of their voices in the brook, and their whisperings in the air, and their hissings in the fire and their groanings in the earth. There were the falling of green leaves in the hour of calm, and the whirl of dry ones in the wind, the hoot of the grey owl on the ridge of his cabin, and the cry of the muckawiss in the hollow woods. The _Hottuk Ishtohoollo_ or Holy People(1), with their relations the _Nana Ishtohoollo_, proclaimed from the clouds the threatened danger to the life of the warrior; while the _Nana Ookproose_, or accursed beings, howled out the tidings from their dwellings in the far west.

His years were not the years of an aged man; his hair was yet unstained by the frost of tune, his eye yet flashed with the fire of manhood, his step remained strong and steady. Yet, without hunger, without want, without pain, without disease, without a wound, in the prime of life, in the vigour of manhood, beloved by his friends, and feared by his enemies, the pride of the Winnebagoes was seen fast approaching the house of the dead.

None knew why, yet from one fatal day he was seen to droop, as a lily bends before, a fervid sun. From one fatal day his joy forsook him, and his eye became like a troubled water. His laugh had no more the joyousness of his healthful hour; his step was no more light and buoyant; food no more pleased his palate; sleep refreshed him no more.

They came and sang the war-song at the door of his cabin, and he suffered them to depart without the answering shout. It was sung in his ears, "The Potowatomies are in in our war-path," but he raised not his head--"The Hurons have the scalp of thy brother's son," and no cry of vengeance burst from his lips. Slowly and gradually he faded away, and the time soon came that he could move no more from his bed of soft gra.s.s, but lay in silent expectation of the sound of the voice that calls the spirit home. It was while he was thus laid on the couch of death that he called the tribe around him, and told them why peace had departed from his soul, and why he waited anxiously the moment of his release from the chains of the flesh.

"I launched my canoe," said he, "upon the lake which has given its name to our nation, when the sun was getting low in the latter part of the month of the blooming lilies. Stilness was abroad upon the face of the waters, and the lake lay as calm as a babe rocked to sleep on the breast of its mother. Not the slightest ripple broke upon its surface, which was smooth as a field of ice frozen in a calm. Nothing marred its beauty, save now and then a sportive fish gliding over its bosom, or the swallow skimming along, catching the flies as they rose from the quenching of their thirst. The brown eagle was wheeling in spiral mazes towards his beloved sun, and I heard the chirping of the gra.s.shopper, and the hum of the bee, each carolling away in his light-hearted labour. Afar lay the headlands, jutting into the lake, and the precipitous cliffs which rise over the deeper portion of its waters. Behind me were the smokes of the cabins of my people, and before me the beautiful expanse of the unruffled lake.

"As I brushed my light bark along, I saw, standing on the water at a distance from me, a very beautiful woman. My tongue has not the power to paint the charms of this stately and bright-eyed creature. She was tall, and as straight as a youthful fir, and her eyes shone with such brilliancy, that you could not endure to look upon them, any more than upon the sun, but turned away to contemplate other objects. She was clothed in a garment which glittered in the sun like the sparkling sand of the Spirits' Island[A], and her locks, which were yellow as the beams of that sun falling upon the folds of a cloud, flowed down her beautiful form till they swept the surface of the waters. Filled with sudden love for this beautiful creature, and anxious to secure her to myself, I spread the blanket of friends.h.i.+p to the wind[B], and paddled my canoe towards her. As I came near her, I could perceive a strange alteration in her appearance. Her shape gradually altered, her arms imperceptibly disappeared, her complexion a.s.sumed a different hue, her cheek no more glowed with life, her eyes had lost their brilliancy, her before glittering locks glittered no longer, and, when I came to the spot where she stood, I found only a shapeless monument of stone, having a human face and the fins and tail of a fish. For a long time I sat in amazement and uncertainly of purpose, fearing either to approach nearer, or to speak to the once loved, but now fearful object. At length, having made an offering of tobacco to propitiate the spirit, and deprecated its wrath for having dared to love it, I addressed it in these words:

[Footnote A: See note, vol. i. page 59.]

[Footnote B: See note, vol. i. page 253.]

"'Spirit, that wast beautiful but now, and hast only become divested of thy unequalled brilliancy because a poor mortal approaches thee!

guardian spirit of our nation! messenger to myself from the Great Spirit! or whatever other name thou bearest, tell me why thou art changed. Why has thy form, but now straight as the fir and scarcely less tall, become crooked and misshapen, and no higher than the oak of two summers? why has thine eye, but now so bright that my own were pained by its brilliance, faded, and become of the lack-l.u.s.tre colour of stone? And thy garments, which glittered like the folds of a cloud tinged by the beams of the setting sun--why have they partaken of the change? And thy locks, which were yellow and s.h.i.+ning as the sparkling sand of the Spirits' Island, why have they become of the hue of the brown moth? Is it because I dared to think thee beautiful--because my heart dared to feel for thee the flame of sudden love! If thine anger hath been aroused at my presumption, forgive me, so thou wearest again the beautiful form that was thine when I first saw thee.'

"Having addressed the beautiful spirit thus, I paused for her reply.

It came in tones soft and sweet as the wind of summer lightly sweeping the bosom of a prairie, and these were the words which belonged to them:

"'Mis.h.i.+kinakwa, it is not hatred of thee that makes me refuse to be seen by thee save at a distance, it is not hatred of thee which makes me refuse to re-animate that ma.s.s of stone and re-shape it to the proportions thou didst say were so beautiful. Oh no! I have seen thee before, chief of the Winnebagoes, and spirit as I am, have beheld thee with the eyes of love. But the beings which are not of clay are not allowed to a.s.sociate with flesh and blood. I permitted thee a distant view of my face and form, that if thou thoughtest them worth the pains of death, thou mightst encounter those pains, and thy spirit, divested of its fleshly form, might fly to the arms of thy Light of the Shades, and rove with her through the valley of endless bliss. Choose, then, between me, and a longer stay upon earth--between the pains of a life which must be a.s.sailed by woes and sorrows, by continual storm, angry winter, parching thirst, pinching hunger, and chilling nakedness, and the joys which will attend thee when thou art clasped in the arms of her thou lovest, and who will return thy love with equal ardour.

Unlike the maidens of the earth, my charms can never fade; never, like theirs, can my love be turned into hatred, or my heart grow cold, or my eyes cease to regard the beloved object with favour. Loving on through all changes, and loving on for ever, thy mind cannot fancy half the bliss which will be thine--mine--ours--if thou darest to die.'

"She ceased speaking, but my pleased ears remained listening long after her gentle voice had died away. And the delighted breeze softly returned from the calm and transparent waters, and the spirit of the echo gently repeated from the neighbouring hills, 'Unlike the maidens of the earth, my charms can never fade; never like theirs can my love be turned into hatred, or my heart grow cold, or my eyes cease to regard the beloved object with favour. Loving on through all changes, and loving on _for ever_, thy mind cannot fancy half the bliss which will be thine--mine--ours--if thou darest to die.

'Come to me, lover, come!

I'll wait thy death, In the evening's breath, On the brow of the mountain, That shadows the fountain, Come, my lover, come!

'Come to me, lover, come!

Again will I wear Bright gold in my hair, And my eyes shall be bright As the beam of light.

Come, my lover, come!

'Come quick, my lover, come!

And thou shall be prest To a faithful breast, And thou shalt be led To a bridal bed.

Mis.h.i.+kinakwa, come!'

"Thus called to the shades of happiness by so bright, and beautiful, and beloved, a being, how can I remain on the earth? Since that moment I have wished much to die; every day have I asked the Master of Life to take from me the breath he has given, and permit me to go to the land that holds the spirit of my affianced wife. I loathe the vile chain which binds me from her; I hate all the things I see, for they are all less beautiful than she; and all sounds pain mine ear, for is it not filled with her voice, a hundred times sweeter than aught ever heard on earth? Ha! her voice again! She calls me to her arms! She bids me come and drink of the crystal streams in the land of souls; she bids me come and chase with her the fawn and the kid, to bring her berries from the hills, and flowers from the vales, and to brush with our mingled footsteps, in early morning, the dew from the glades, and to blend in early evening the music of our lips, and the breath of our sighs, by the sides of the gra.s.s-wrapt fountain. She bids me come, and be clasped to a faithful breast, and called to a bridal bed. I come, beautiful spirit, to the appointed spot,

To the brow of the mountain, That shadows the fountain.

Put then the bright gold in thy rolling locks, and let thine eyes s.h.i.+ne as when I first saw thee. Be again as straight as the young fir, and array thyself in the garment which glittered like the sands of the Spirits' Island."

With a convulsive start, the warrior raised himself upon his couch to an upright posture. Gazing wildly around for a moment, he threw his arms forward, shouting "I come, beloved, I come!" and then falling back he lay a lifeless corpse. And so died Mis.h.i.+kinakwa, the Little Turtle of the Winnebagoes, of love for a phantom woman.

Note.

(1) _The Hottuk Ishtohoollo, or Holy People._--p. 273.

Almost every hill and cavern has, in the eye of the Indian, its tutelary deity. The tradition ent.i.tled "The Mountain of Little Spirits" is one which paints a genuine belief.

Adair, in his History of the North American Indians, says, "They (viz.

the Cherokees, Creeks, Choctaws, &c.) believe the higher regions to be inhabited by good spirits, whom they call _Hottuk Ishtohoollo_, and _Nana Ishtohoollo_, 'Holy People,' and relations to the 'Great Holy One?' The _Hottuk Ookproose_, or _Nana Ookproose_, 'accursed people,'

or 'accursed beings,' they say possess the dark regions of the West; the former attend and favour the virtuous; and the latter in like manner accompany and have power over the vicious. Several warriors have told me," he says, "that their _Nana Ishtohoollo_, 'concomitant Holy Spirits,' or angels, have forewarned them, as by intuition, of a dangerous ambuscade, which must have been attended with certain death, when they were alone and seemingly out of danger; and, by virtue of the impulse, they immediately darted off, and with extreme difficulty escaped the crafty, pursuing enemy."

All the Northern Indians are very superst.i.tious with respect to the existence of fairies. One of their tribes, the Chepewyans, speak of a race whom they call _Nant-e-na_, whom they say they frequently see, and who are supposed by them to inhabit the different elements of earth, sea, and air, according to their several qualities. To one or the other of these fairies they usually attribute any change in their circ.u.mstances either for better or worse; and, as they are led into this way of thinking entirely by the art of the conjurors, there is no such thing as any general mode of belief; for those jugglers differ so much from each other in their accounts of these beings, that those who believe any thing they say have little to do but change their opinions according to the will and caprice of the conjuror, who is almost daily relating some new whim or extraordinary event.

Every thing which is not easily understood is a spirit. Among the Creek Indians the Whip-poor-will is a spirit; the Jack o' Lantern is the same: and, with regard to the latter, they agree with the remnant of the Ma.s.sachusett Indians, who believe it is the shape which the Evil Spirit takes in his visits to the sons of men. An old Indian woman, who lived some time as a domestic in my father's family, and was possessed of all the genuine traits of Indian character, was nearly thrown into convulsions by being caught a few rods from the house when one of these meteors made its appearance.

Tonti, in his account of De la Salle's Expedition, says: "They are so extravagant as to believe that every thing in the world has a spirit.

It is upon this principle that are grounded all the foolish superst.i.tions of their jugglers or Manitous, who are their priests or magicians."

THE TWO GHOSTS.

Once upon a time, many ages ago, there lived, near the sh.o.r.es of Lake Superior, a hunter, who was considered the most intrepid and expert in his vocation of all the hunters of the wilderness. His lodge, which was built with the steady reference to the wants of nature, which are always seen in the location of an Indian village or habitation, was situated in a remote part of the forest, at the distance of many days'

journey from any other dwelling. Here, alone, and free from the b.l.o.o.d.y spirit of warfare which distinguished the men of his tribe, his days glided on like the quiet flow of a river that has no fall. He spent the period of light in the n.o.ble amus.e.m.e.nt of hunting, and his evenings in relating to his beautiful and bright-eyed wife the incidents which had befallen him that day in the chace; or he detailed those which had happened to him before she became the star of his lodge; or he spoke of their long-tried, and mutual love; or he fondly sketched scenes of future bliss; or he held on his knee, and pressed to his heart, the little pledge of their love, which now, for the first time, began to venture across the floor of his cabin without a hand to sustain it. As game was then very abundant, he seldom failed to bring home in the evening a store of meats sufficient to last them until the succeeding evening; and, while they were seated beside the pleasant fire of their lodge, partaking of the fruits of his labour, he would relate those tales, and enforce those precepts, which every good Indian thinks necessary for the instruction of his wife and children. This was his occupation, these were his pleasures. Who could ask a better or n.o.bler than the first? who desire more intense, or purer, than the last? Far removed from all sources of disquiet, surrounded with all that they deemed necessary to their comfort, tenderly loving, and thence completely happy, their lives pa.s.sed away with scarcely less bliss than that of the disembodied spirits of the good in the Happy Shades. The breast of the hunter had never felt the pangs of remorse, for he had been a just man in all his dealings. He had never violated the laws of his tribe, by encroaching upon the hunting-grounds of his neighbours, or by taking that which did not of right belong to him. No offended hunter waylaid his steps to revenge an interference with his rights, no haughty chief came to the door of his lodge, to say, "Chippewa, give back that which you have stolen."

No dream of the fame to be acquired by war--by the frequent slaughter of unoffending women and children, or even of hardy warriors, his equals in strength and valour--danced before his eyes, filling his sleep with b.l.o.o.d.y images and sights of horror. The white man had not yet come to fill the mind of the poor Indian with cravings for things which were not needed till they were known; as yet, he had not been taught that clothes and blankets were necessary to his comfort, or that game could not be killed without guns. The skin of the buffalo, the moose, the bear, and the deer, answered the purpose of protecting him from the heat and the cold; and the bow and arrow well supplied the place of the gun, especially when pointed by the steady hand and unerring eye of an Indian hunter. Having then, no more than now, occasion to fell large trees, the axes of stone in use among us when white men landed on our sh.o.r.es answered all the simple purposes of Indian life. Iron and powder, which, with _one_ other fatal gift, have already led to the almost total, and will soon effect the total, extinction of the race by furnis.h.i.+ng us with a surer mode of destruction, had not yet found their way into those remote and peaceful forests, nor had the white man poured that one other fatal gift, his wrathful phial of liquid fire[A] upon our devoted Indian race. Our wants were then few, easily supplied, and totally independent of white men.

[Footnote A: "Wrathful phial of liquid fire" is a literal translation of the Chippewa word for ardent spirit.]

Peacefully glided away the life of the Chippewa hunter, happy in his ignorance, but still happier in his simplicity. Relying fully upon the superintending care of an overruling Great Spirit, whom he had always served, no anxious dread of present want, no fears for the future filled his bosom. His life was as unruffled as the surface of a lake in the calm of the summer.

One evening, during the winter season, when snow covered the earth, and ice locked up the waters of the Great Lake, it chanced that this happy Chippewa hunter remained out much later than usual. His wife sate lonesome in her tent, and began to be agitated with fears that some fatal accident had befallen him. Darkness had already veiled the face of nature, and gathering gloom rested upon the brow of night. She listened attentively, to catch the sounds of coming footsteps, but nothing could be heard but the wind whistling around the sides of their slender lodge, and through the creaking branches of the surrounding forest of oaks and pines. Time pa.s.sed away in this state of suspense; he came not, and every moment augmented her fears, and added to the loneliness of her heart. With the little pledge of their mutual love clasped to her bosom, she sat counting every moment as it flew, with difficulty commanding her tears, and singing them down with fragments of some of the simple songs which all the sons of the earth are in the habit of using, to while away hours rendered weary by any pa.s.sing occurrence. At length her heart gave way, and she burst into a deep and fervent pa.s.sion of tears. Suddenly she heard the sound of approaching footsteps upon the frozen surface of snow. Not doubting that it must be her beloved husband, she quickly undid the loop, which held, by an inner fastening, the door of the lodge, and, throwing it open, beheld two strange females standing in front of it. She could not hesitate what course to pursue. She bade them enter and warm themselves, knowing, from the distance to the nearest cabin, that they must have walked a long way. When they had entered she invited them to remain. She soon observed that they were total strangers in that part of the country, and the more closely she scrutinized their manners, their dress, and their dignified deportment, the stronger grew her conviction that they were persons of no ordinary character. No efforts, no persuasions, could induce them to come near the fire; they took their seats in a remote part of the lodge, and drew their garments about their persons in such a manner as almost completely to hide their faces. They seemed shy and taciturn, spoke not, and remained as motionless as stones fixed in the earth. Occasionally, though but seldom, glimpses could be caught of their faces, which were pale and ghastly, even to the hue of death. Their eyes she saw were vivid but sunken, their cheek-bones as prominent as if all flesh had left them, and their whole persons, as far as could be judged, emaciated and fleshless. Seeing that her strange guests, of whom she now began to feel much fear, avoided all conversation, and appeared anxious to escape observation, she forbore to question them, and sat in silence until her husband entered. He had been led farther than usual in pursuit of game, but returned with the carcase of a large and very fat deer. No sooner had he laid his spoil on the floor of his cabin, than the mysterious females, exclaiming, "Behold! what a fine, fat animal!" immediately ran up, and pulled off pieces of the whitest fat, which they ate with great avidity. As this is esteemed the choicest part of the animal, and is generally, by Indian courtesy, left to the share of the master of the lodge, such conduct appeared very strange to the hunter. Supposing, however, that they had been a long time without food, for he attributed their extreme leanness and ghastliness to hunger and privation, he forbore to accuse them of rudeness, and his wife, following her husband's example, was equally guarded in her language. On the following evening, the same scene was repeated. He brought home the best portions of the deer he had killed, and, while in the act of laying it down before his wife, according to custom, the two females again ran up, and tore off, as on the first night, the choicest and most delicate portions, which they ate with the same eagerness and unappeasable avidity as before. Such unhandsome behaviour, such repeated abuses of his hospitality, were calculated to raise displeasure on the brow of the hunter, but still the deference due to strange guests induced him to pa.s.s it over in silence.

Observing their partiality for this part of the animal, he resolved the next day to antic.i.p.ate their wants, by cutting off and tying up a portion of the fat for each. These parcels he placed upon the top of his burthen, and, as soon as he entered the lodge, he gave to each her portion. Still the guests appeared dissatisfied, and took more from the carca.s.s lying before the wife. Many persons would have repressed this forwardness, by some look, word, or action, but this man, being a just and prudent man, slow to provocation, and patient under afflictions of every kind, abstained from any of them. He was, perhaps, the more disposed to this quiet spirit of forbearance, from a suspicion that his guests were persons of distinguished rank, who chose thus to visit him in disguise, and also from reflecting, that the best luck had attended him in hunting, since the residence of the mysterious strangers beneath his roof.

In other respects, the deportment of the females was unexceptionable, though marked with some peculiarities. They were quiet, modest, and discreet. They maintained a cautious silence through the day, neither uttering a word nor moving, but folded up in their skin mantles they remained in the corner of their lodge. When it became dark, they would get up, and, taking those instruments which were then used in breaking up and preparing fuel, would repair to the forest. There they would busy themselves in seeking dry limbs and fragments of trees, blown down by tempests. When a sufficient quant.i.ty had been gathered to last till the succeeding night, they carried it home upon their shoulders; then, carefully putting every thing in its proper place within the lodge, they resumed their seats and their studied silence. They were ever careful to return from their nocturnal labours before the dawning of day, and were never known to go out before the hour of dusk. In this manner they repaid, in some measure, the kindness of the hunter, and relieved his wife from her most laborious duties.

Thus nearly the whole winter pa.s.sed away, every day leading to some new development of character or office of friends.h.i.+p, which served to endear the parties to each other. Their faces daily lost something of that deathlike hue which had at first marked them, and they visibly improved in strength. They began to throw off some of that cold reserve and forbidding austerity, which had kept the hunter so long in ignorance of their true character. Every day, their appearance and behaviour approximated more nearly to that of the beings of ordinary life. One evening the hunter returned very late, after having spent the day in toilsome exertion. Again he deposited the product of his hunt at the feet of his wife, and again the silent females began to tear off the flesh as before, though with still greater rudeness and ill-breeding. The patience of the wife was completely lost, she could no longer controul her feelings, and suffered the thought to pa.s.s her mind, "Their conduct is certainly very strange! how can I bear with it any longer!" She did not, however, give utterance to her feelings in words. But an immediate change was seen in the females. They became unusually reserved, and gave evident signs of being uneasy in their situation. The good hunter immediately perceived this change, and, fearful that they had taken offence, so soon as they had retired to rest, he enquired of his wife whether any harsh expression had escaped her lips during the day. She replied that she had uttered nothing to give the least offence. He now tried to compose himself to sleep, but he felt restless and uneasy, for he could plainly hear the sighs and half-smothered lamentations of the two females. Every moment added to his conviction that his guests had taken deep offence, and, as he could not banish this idea from his mind, he raised himself on his couch, and addressed the sobbing inmates thus:

"Tell me, ye women that have so long been the inmates of my lodge, what is it that causes you pain of mind, and makes you unceasingly utter these sighs? Has the wife of my bosom given you any cause of offence while I was absent in the chase? My fears persuade me that, in some unguarded moment, she has forgotten what is due to the rights of hospitality, and used expressions ill befitting the mysterious character which you seem to sustain. Tell me, ye strangers from a strange country--ye women who appear to be not of this world--what is it that causes you pain of mind, and makes you utter these unceasing sighs?"

"It is not for this that we weep; it is not for this that we sigh,"

replied the mysterious women. "No unkind expressions have been used towards us since our residence in your hospitable lodge. We have received from you all the affectionate attentions which we could expect, far more than could reasonably be asked of one who procures his food and supports his family by a life of incessant toil and labour. We thank you for all your kindness. No, it is not for this: it is not for ourselves that we weep. We are weeping for the fate of mankind. We are weeping for the fate of mortals whom death awaits at every stage of their existence--weak mortals! whom death cuts down equally while the bloom of youth is on their cheek, and when their hair is whitened by the frosts of time--proud, vain men! whom hunger pinches, cold benumbs, and poverty emaciates--frail beings! who are born in tears, who are nurtured in tears, who die in tears, and whose whole course is marked upon the thirsty sands of life in a broad line of tears. It is for these that we weep.

"You have spoken truly, brother; we are not of this world. We are Spirits from the land of the dead, sent upon the earth to try the sincerity of the living. It is not for the dead but the living that we mourn. It is not for the dead, whose flesh quietly reposes in the dust, and whose souls repair to the mansions of happiness, that we mourn, but for the living who are subjected to many, many pains, and beset with innumerable troubles and anxieties. It was by no means necessary that your wife should express her thoughts by words; we knew them ere they were spoken. We saw that for once displeasure towards us had arisen in her heart. It is enough--our mission is ended. We came hither but to try you. We knew before we came that you were a kind husband, an affectionate father, a temperate and honest man. We saw, from the mansions of the blest, the patience with which you bore your disappointments in the chace; the grat.i.tude to the Great Spirit which you always evinced; the tribute to his goodness which you always paid when your hunts were successful, and you were enabled to return to your cabin with the wealth of the forest. Still we find that you have some of the weaknesses of a mortal, and your wife is found still more wanting in our eyes. But it is not for you alone that we weep; it is for the fate of mankind.