A Further Contribution to the Study of the Mortuary Customs of the North Part 14

I dispatched a herald to the village to inform them of the head chief's death, and then, burying him according to his directions, we slowly proceeded homewards. My very soul sickened at the contemplation of the scenes that would be enacted at my arrival.

When we drew in sight of the village, we found every lodge laid prostrate. We entered amid shrieks, cries, and yells. Blood was streaming from every conceivable part of the bodies of all who were old enough to comprehend their loss. Hundreds of fingers were dismembered; hair torn from the head lay in profusion about the paths; wails and moans in every direction a.s.sailed the ear, where unrestrained joy had a few hours before prevailed. This fearful mourning lasted until evening of the next day. * * *

A herald having been dispatched to our other villages to acquaint them with the death of our head chief, and request them to a.s.semble at the Rose Bud, in order to meet our village and devote themselves to a general time of mourning, there met, in conformity to the summons, over ten thousand Crows at the place indicated. Such a scene of disorderly, vociferous mourning, no imagination can conceive nor any pen portray. Long Hair cut off a large roll of his hair; a thing he was never known to do before. The cutting and hacking of human flesh exceeded all my previous experience; fingers were dismembered as readily as twigs, and blood was poured out like water. Many of the warriors would cut two gashes nearly the entire length of their arm; then, separating the skin from the flesh at one end, would grasp it in their other hand, and rip it asunder to the shoulder. Others would carve various devices upon their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and shoulders, and raise the skin in the same manner to make the scars show to advantage after the wound was healed. Some of their mutilations were ghastly, and my heart sickened to look at them, but they would not appear to receive any pain from them.

It should be remembered that many of Beckwourth's statements are to be taken _c.u.m grana salis_.

From I. L. Mahan, United States Indian agent for the Chippewas of Lake Superior, Red Cliff, Wisconsin, the following detailed account of mourning has been received:

There is probably no people that exhibit more sorrow and grief for their dead than they. The young widow mourns the loss of her husband; by day as by night she is heard silently sobbing; she is a constant visitor to the place of rest; with the greatest reluctance will she follow the raised camp. The friends and relatives of the young mourner will incessantly devise methods to distract her mind from the thought of her lost husband. She refuses nourishment, but as nature is exhausted she is prevailed upon to partake of food; the supply is scant, but on every occasion the best and largest proportion is deposited upon the grave of her husband. In the mean time the female relatives of the deceased have, according to custom, submitted to her charge a parcel made up of different cloths ornamented with bead-work and eagle's feathers, which she is charged to keep by her side--the place made vacant by the demise of her husband--a reminder of her widowhood. She is therefore for a term of twelve moons not permitted to wear any finery, neither is she permitted to slicken up and comb her head; this to avoid attracting attention. Once in a while a female relative of deceased, commiserating with her grief and sorrow, will visit her and voluntarily proceed to comb out the long-neglected and matted hair.

With a jealous eye a vigilant watch is kept over her conduct during the term of her widowhood, yet she is allowed the privilege to marry, any time during her widowhood, an unmarried brother or cousin, or a person of the same _Dodem_ [_sic_] (family mark) of her husband.

At the expiration of her term, the vows having been faithfully performed and kept, the female relatives of deceased a.s.semble and, with greetings commensurate to the occasion, proceed to wash her face, comb her hair, and attire her person with new apparel, and otherwise demonstrating the release from her vow and restraint.

Still she has not her entire freedom. If she will still refuse to marry a relative of the deceased and will marry another, she then has to purchase her freedom by giving a certain amount of goods and whatever else she might have manufactured during her widowhood in antic.i.p.ation of the future now at hand. Frequently, though, during widowhood the vows are disregarded and an inclination to flirt and play courts.h.i.+p or form an alliance of marriage outside of the relatives of the deceased is being indulged, and when discovered the widow is set upon by the female relatives, her slick braided hair is shorn close up to the back of her neck, all her apparel and trinkets are torn from her person, and a quarrel frequently results fatally to some member of one or the other side.

Thomas L. McKenney[87] gives a description of the Chippewa widow which differs slightly from the one above:

I have noticed several women here carrying with them rolls of clothing. On inquiring what these imported, I learn that they _are widows_ who carry them, and that these are badges of mourning. It is indispensable, when a woman of the Chippeway Nation loses her husband, for her to take of her best apparel--and the whole of it is not worth a dollar--and roll it up, and confine it by means of her husband's sashes; and if he had ornaments, these are generally put on the top of the roll, and around it is wrapped a piece of cloth.

This bundle is called her husband, and it is expected that she is never to be seen without it. If she walks out she takes it with her; if she sits down in her lodge, she places it by her side. This badge of widowhood and of mourning the widow is compelled to carry with her until some of her late husband's family shall call and take it away, which is done when they think she has mourned long enough, and which is generally at the expiration of a year. She is then, but not before, released from her mourning, and at liberty to marry again.

She has the privilege to take this husband to the family of the deceased and leave it, but this is considered indecorous, and is seldom done. Sometimes a brother of the deceased takes the widow for his wife at the grave of her husband, which is done by a ceremony of walking her over it. And this he has a right to do; and when this is done she is not required to go into mourning; or, if she chooses, she has the right _to go to him_, and he is _bound_ to support her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 32.--Chippewa Widow.]

I visited a lodge to-day, where I saw one of these badges. The size varies according to the quant.i.ty of clothing which the widow may happen to have. It is expected of her to put up her _best_ and wear her _worst_. The "_husband_" I saw just now was 30 inches high and 18 inches in circ.u.mference.

I was told by the interpreter that he knew a woman who had been left to mourn after this fas.h.i.+on for years, none of her husband's family calling for the badge or token of her grief. At a certain time it was told her that some of her husband's family were pa.s.sing, and she was advised to speak to them on the subject. She did so, and told them she had mourned long and was poor; that she had no means to buy clothes, and her's being all in the mourning badge, and sacred, could not be touched. She expressed a hope that her request might not be interpreted into a wish to marry; it was only made that she might be placed in a situation to get some clothes. She got for answer, that "they were going to Mackinac, and would think of it."

They left her in this state of uncertainty, but on returning, and finding her faithful still, they took her "husband" and presented her with clothing of various kinds. Thus was she rewarded for her constancy and made comfortable.

The Choctaw widows mourn by never combing their hair for the term of their grief, which is generally about a year. The Chippeway men mourn by painting their faces black.

I omitted to mention that when presents are going round, the badge of mourning, this "_husband_" comes in for an equal share, as if it were the living husband.

A Chippeway mother, on losing her child, prepares an image of it in the best manner she is able, and dresses it as she did her living child, and fixes it in the kind of cradle I have referred to, and goes through the ceremonies of nursing it as if it were alive, by dropping little particles of food in the direction of its mouth, and giving it of whatever the living child partook. This ceremony also is generally observed for a year.

Figure 32 represents the Chippewa widow holding in her arms the subst.i.tute for the dead husband.

The subst.i.tution of a reminder for the dead husband, made from rags, furs, and other articles, is not confined alone to the Chippewas, other tribes having the same custom. In some instances the widows are obliged to carry around with them, for a variable period, a bundle containing the bones of the deceased consort.

Similar observances, according to Bancroft,[88] were followed by some of the Central American tribes of Indians, those of the Sambos and Mosquitos being as follows:

The widow was bound to supply the grave of her husband for a year, after which she took up the bones and carried them with her for another year, at last placing them upon the roof of her house, and then only was she allowed to marry again.

On returning from the grave the property of the deceased is destroyed, the cocoa palms being cut down, and all who have taken part in the funeral undergo a l.u.s.tration in the river. Relatives cut off the hair, the men leaving a ridge along the middle from the nape of the neck to the forehead. Widows, according to some old writers, after supplying the grave with food for a year take up the bones and carry them on the back in the daytime, sleeping with them at night for another year, after which they are placed at the door or upon the house-top. On the anniversary of deaths, friends of the deceased hold a feast, called _seekroe_, at which large quant.i.ties of liquor are drained to his memory. Squier, who witnessed the ceremonies on an occasion of this kind, says that males and females were dressed in _ule_ cloaks fantastically painted black and white, while their faces were correspondingly streaked with red and yellow, and they performed a slow walk around, prostrating themselves at intervals and calling loudly upon the dead and tearing the ground with their hands. At no other time is the departed referred to, the very mention of his name being superst.i.tiously avoided. Some tribes extend a thread from the house of death to the grave, carrying it in a straight line over every obstacle. Froebel states that among the Woolwas all property of the deceased is buried with him, and that both husband and wife cut the hair and burn the hut on the death of either, placing a gruel of maize upon the grave for a certain time.

Benson[89] gives the following account of the Choctaws' funeral ceremonies, embracing the disposition of the body, mourning feast and dance:

Their funeral is styled by them "the last cry."

When the husband dies the friends a.s.semble, prepare the grave, and place the corpse in it, but do not fill it up. The gun, bow and arrows, hatchet, and knife are deposited in the grave. Poles are planted at the head and the foot, upon which flags are placed; the grave is then inclosed by pickets driven in the ground. The funeral ceremonies now begin, the widow being the chief mourner. At night and morning she will go to the grave and pour forth the most piteous cries and wailings. It is not important that any other member of the family should take any very active part in the "cry," though they do partic.i.p.ate to some extent.

The widow wholly neglects her toilet, while she daily goes to the grave during one entire moon from the date when the death occurred.

On the evening of the last day of the moon the friends all a.s.semble at the cabin of the disconsolate widow, bringing provisions for a sumptuous feast, which consists of corn and jerked beef boiled together in a kettle. While the supper is preparing the bereaved wife goes to the grave and pours out, with unusual vehemence, her bitter wailings and lamentations. When the food is thoroughly cooked the kettle is taken from the fire and placed in the center of the cabin, and the friends gather around it, pa.s.sing the buffalo-horn spoon from hand to hand and from mouth to mouth till all have been bountifully supplied. While supper is being served, two of the oldest men of the company quietly withdraw and go to the grave and fill it up, taking down the flags. All then join in a dance, which not unfrequently is continued till morning; the widow does not fail to unite in the dance, and to contribute her part to the festivities of the occasion. This is the "_last cry_," the days of mourning are ended, and the widow is now ready to form another matrimonial alliance. The ceremonies are precisely the same when a man has lost his wife, and they are only slightly varied when any other member of the family has died. (Slaves were buried without ceremonies.)

_SACRIFICE._

Some examples of human sacrifice have already been given in connection with another subject, but it is thought others might prove interesting.

The first relates to the Natchez of Louisiana.[90]

When their sovereign died he was accompanied in the grave by his wives and by several of his subjects. The lesser Suns took care to follow the same custom. The law likewise condemned every Natchez to death who had married a girl of the blood of the Suns as soon as she was expired. On this occasion I must tell you the history of an Indian who was noways willing to submit to this law. His name was _Elteacteal_; he contracted an alliance with the Suns, but the consequences which this honor brought along with it had like to have proved very unfortunate to him. His wife fell sick; as soon as he saw her at the point of death he fled, embarked in a piragua on the _Mississippi_, and came to New Orleans. He put himself under the protection of M. de Bienville, the then governor, and offered to be his huntsman. The governor accepted his services, and interested himself for him with the Natchez, who declared that he had nothing more to fear, because the ceremony was past, and he was accordingly no longer a lawful prize.

_Elteacteal_, being thus a.s.sured, ventured to return to his nation, and, without settling among them, he made several voyages thither.

He happened to be there when the Sun called the _Stung Serpent_, brother to the Great Sun, died. He was a relative of the late wife of _Elteacteal_, and they resolved to make him pay his debt. M. de Bienville had been recalled to France, and the sovereign of the Natchez thought that the protector's absence had annulled the reprieve granted to the protected person, and accordingly he caused him to be arrested. As soon as the poor fellow found himself in the hut of the grand chief of war, together with the other victims destined to be sacrificed to the _Stung Serpent_, he gave vent to the excess of his grief. The favorite wife of the late Son, who was likewise to be sacrificed, and who saw the preparations for her death with firmness, and seemed impatient to rejoin her husband, hearing _Elteacteal's_ complaints and groans, said to him: "Art thou no warrior?" He answered, "Yes: I am one." "However," said she, "thou cryest; life is dear to thee, and as that is the case, it is not good that thou shouldst go along with us; go with the women."

_Elteacteal_ replied: "True; life is dear to me. It would be well if I walked yet on earth till to the death of the Great Sun, and I would die with him." "Go thy way," said the favorite, "it is not fit thou shouldst go with us, and that thy heart should remain behind on earth. Once more, get away, and let me see thee no more."

_Elteacteal_ did not stay to hear this order repeated to him; he disappeared like lightning; three old women, two of which were his relatives, offered to pay his debt; their age and their infirmities had disgusted them of life; none of them had been able to use their legs for a great while. The hair of the two that were related to _Elteacteal_ was no more gray than those of women of fifty-five years in France. The other old woman was a hundred and twenty years old, and had very white hair, which is a very uncommon thing among the Indians. None of the three had a quite wrinkled skin. They were dispatched in the evening, one at the door of the _Stung Serpent_, and the other two upon the place before the temple. * * * A cord is fastened round their necks with a slip-knot, and eight men of their relations strangle them by drawing, four one way and four the other.

So many are not necessary, but as they acquire n.o.bility by such executions, there are always more than are wanting, and the operation is performed in an instant. The generosity of these women gave _Elteacteal_ life again, acquired him the degree of _considered_, and cleared his honor, which he had sullied by fearing death. He remained quiet after that time, and taking advantage of what he had learned during his stay among the French, he became a juggler and made use of his knowledge to impose upon his countrymen.

The morning after this execution they made everything ready for the convoy, and the hour being come, the great master of the ceremonies appeared at the door of the hut, adorned suitably to his quality.

The victims who were to accompany the deceased prince into the mansion of the spirits came forth; they consisted of the favorite wife of the deceased, of his second wife, his chancellor, his physician, his hired man, that is, his first servant, and of some old women.

The favorite went to the Great Sun, with whom there were several Frenchmen, to take leave of him; she gave orders for the Suns of both s.e.xes that were her children to appear, and spoke to the following effect:

"Children, this is the day on which I am to tear myself from you (_sic_) arms and to follow your father's steps, who waits for me in the country of the spirits; if I were to yield to your tears I would injure my love and fail in my duty. I have done enough for you by bearing you next to my heart, and by suckling you with my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

You that are descended of his blood and fed by my milk, ought you to shed tears? Rejoice rather that you are _Suns_ and warriors; you are bound to give examples of firmness and valor to the whole nation: go, my children, I have provided for all your wants, by procuring you friends; my friends and those of your father are yours too; I leave you amidst them; they are the French; they are tender-hearted and generous; make yourselves worthy of their esteem by not degenerating from your race; always act openly with them and never implore them with meanness.

"And you, Frenchmen," added she, turning herself towards our officers, "I recommend my orphan children to you; they will know no other fathers than you; you ought to protect them."

After that she got up; and, followed by her troop, returned to her husband's hut with a surprising firmness.

A n.o.ble woman came to join herself to the number of victims of her own accord, being engaged by the friends.h.i.+p she bore the _Stung Serpent_ to follow him into the other world. The Europeans called her the _haughty_ lady, on account of her majestic deportment and her proud air, and because she only frequented the company of the most distinguished Frenchmen. They regretted her much, because she had the knowledge of several simples with which she had saved the lives of many of our sick. This moving sight filled our people with grief and horror. The favorite wife of the deceased rose up and spoke to them with a smiling countenance: "I die without fear;" said she, "grief does not embitter my last hours. I recommend my children to you; whenever you see them, n.o.ble Frenchmen, remember that you have loved their father, and that he was till death a true and sincere friend of your nation, whom he loved more than himself. The disposer of life has been pleased to call him, and I shall soon go and join him; I shall tell him that I have seen your hearts moved at the sight of his corps; do not be grieved; we shall be longer friends in the _country of the spirits_ than here, because we do not die there again."[91*]

These words forced tears from the eyes of all the French; they were obliged to do all they could to prevent the Great Sun from killing himself, for he was inconsolable at the death of his brother, upon whom he was used to lay the weight of government, he being great chief of war of the Natches, i.e. generalissimo of their armies; that prince grew furious by the resistance he met with; he held his gun by the barrel, and the Sun, his presumptive heir, held it by the lock, and caused the powder to fall out of the pan; the hut was full of Suns, n.o.bles, and Honorables[92*] but the French raised their spirits again, by hiding all the arms belonging to the sovereign, and filling the barrel of his gun with water, that it might be unfit for use for some time.

As soon as the Suns saw their sovereign's life in safety, they thanked the French, by squeezing their hands, but without speaking; a most profound silence reigned throughout, for grief and awe kept in bounds the mult.i.tude that were present.

The wife of the Great Sun was seized with fear during this transaction. She was asked whether she was ill, and she answered aloud, "Yes, I am"; and added with a lower voice, "If the Frenchmen go out of this hut, my husband dies and all the Natches will die with him; stay, then, brave Frenchmen, because your words are as powerful as arrows; besides, who could have ventured to do what you have done? But you are his true friends and those of his brother."

Their laws obliged the Great Sun's wife to follow her husband in the grave; this was doubtless the cause of her fears; and likewise the grat.i.tude towards the French, who interested themselves in behalf of his life, prompted her to speak in the above-mentioned manner.

The Great Sun gave his hand to the officers, and said to them: "My friends, my heart is so overpowered with grief that, though my eyes were open, I have not taken notice that you have been standing all this while, nor have I asked you to sit down; but pardon the excess of my affliction."

The Frenchmen told him that he had no need of excuses; that they were going to leave him alone, but that they would cease to be his friends unless he gave orders to light the fires again,[93*]

lighting his own before them; and that they should not leave him till his brother was buried.

He took all the Frenchmen by the hands, and said: "Since all the chiefs and n.o.ble officers will have me stay on earth, I will do it; I will not kill myself; let the fires be lighted again immediately, and I'll wait till death joins me to my brother; I am already old, and till I die I shall walk with the French; had it not been for them I should have gone with my brother, and all the roads would have been covered with dead bodies."

Improbable as this account may appear, it has nevertheless been credited by some of the wisest and most careful of ethnological writers, and its seeming appearance of romance disappears when the remembrance of similar ceremonies among Old World peoples comes to our minds.

An apparently well-authenticated case of attempted burial sacrifice is described by Miss A. J. Allen,[94] and refers to the Wascopums, of Oregon.