carry home to his lodge as a trophy of victory. When they went back to
the spot, for the carcass, they found the snow trampled down in a wide
circle, and copiously sprinkled with blood, which gave it the appearance
of a battle-field. It proved to be a male of uncommon size.

The domestic history of a native chief, can seldom be obtained. In the
present instance, the facts that follow, may be regarded with interest,
as having been obtained from residents of Chagoimegon, or from his
descendants. He did not take a wife till about the age of thirty, and he
then married a widow, by whom he had one son. He had obtained early
notoriety as a warrior, which perhaps absorbed his attention. What
causes there were to render this union unsatisfactory, or whether there
were any, is not known; but after the lapse of two years, he married a
girl of fourteen, of the totem of the bear, by whom he had a family of
six children. He is represented as of a temper and manners affectionate
and forbearing. He evinced thoughtfulness and diligence in the
management of his affairs, and the order and disposition of his lodge.
When the hunting season was over, he employed his leisure moments in
adding to the comforts of his lodge. His lodge was of an oblong shape,
ten fathoms long, and made by setting two rows of posts firmly in the
ground, and sheathing the sides and roof with the smooth bark of the
birch. From the centre rose a post crowned with the carved figure of an
owl, which he had probably selected as a bird of good omen, for it was
neither his own nor his wife's totem. This figure was so placed, that it
turned with the wind, and answered the purpose of a weather-cock.

In person Wabojeeg was tall, being six feet six inches, erect in
carriage, and of slender make. He possessed a commanding countenance,
united to ease and dignity of manners. He was a ready and fluent
speaker, and conducted personally the negotiations with the Fox and
Sioux nations. It was perhaps twenty years after the battle on the St.
Croix, which established the Chippewa boundary in that quarter, and
while his children were still young, that there came to his village, in
the capacity of a trader, a young gentleman of a respectable family in
the north of Ireland, who formed an exalted notion of his character,
bearing, and warlike exploits. This visit, and his consequent residence
on the lake, during the winter, became an important era to the chief,
and has linked his name and memory with numerous persons in civilized
life. Mr. Johnston asked the northern chief for his youngest daughter.
Englishman, he replied, my daughter is yet young, and you cannot take
her as white men have too often taken our daughters. It will be time
enough to think of complying with your request, when you return again to
this lake in the summer. My daughter is my favourite child, and I cannot
part with her, unless you will promise to acknowledge her by such
ceremonies as white men use. You must ever keep her, and never forsake
her. On this basis a union was formed, a union it may be said, between
the Erse and Algonquin races--and it was faithfully adhered to, till his
death, a period of thirty-seven years.

Wabojeeg had impaired his health in the numerous war parties which he
conducted across the wide summit which separated his hunting grounds
from the Mississippi valley. A slender frame, under a life of incessant
exertion, brought on a premature decay. Consumption revealed itself at a
comparatively early age, and he fell before this insidious disease, in a
few years, at the early age of about forty-five. He died in 1793 at his
native village of Chagoimegon.

The incident which has been named, did not fail to make the forest
chieftain acquainted with the leading truth of Christianity, in the
revelation it makes of a saviour for all races. On the contrary, it is a
truth which was brought to his knowledge and explained. It is, of
course, not known with what particular effects. As he saw his end
approaching, he requested that his body might not be buried out of
sight, but placed, according to a custom prevalent in the remoter bands
of this tribe, on a form supported by posts, or a scaffold. This trait
is, perhaps, natural to the hunter state.

    My friends when my spirit is fled--is fled
      My friends when my spirit is fled,
    Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground,
      Where light shall no longer be shed--be shed,
      Where day-light no more shall be shed.

    But lay me up scaffolded high--all high,
      Chiefs lay me up scaffolded high,
    Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay,
      He ne'er from the foe sought to fly--to fly,
      He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.

    And children, who play on the shore--the shore,
      And children who play on the shore,
    As the war dance they beat, my name shall repeat,
      And the fate of their chieftain deplore--deplore,
      And the fate of their chieftain deplore.

MODE OF WRITING AN INDIAN LANGUAGE.

The rules of utterance of these tribes, after all that has been said and
written on the subject, are very simple, and determine the orthography,
so far, at least, as relates to distinctions for the long and short
vowels. If, in writing Indian, the syllables be separated by hyphens,
there need be no uncertainty respecting their sounds, and we shall be
saved a world of somewhat over nice disquisition. A vowel preceded by a
consonant, is always long, a vowel followed by a consonant is always
short. A vowel between two consonants, is short. A vowel standing by
itself is always full or long. A few examples of well known words will
denote this.

  On ta´ ri o.
  Ni ag´ ar a.
  O we´ go.
  Ti ó ga.
  Os wé go.
  I´-o-wa.
  Wis con´ sin.
  Chi cá go.
  Wá bash.
  Pe ó ri a.
  Tí con de ró ga.
  Mis siss ip pi.
  O neí da.
  Al ab á ma.
  O tis´ co.
  Or´ e gon.

Write the words by whatever system of orthography you will, French,
English, or German, and the vowel sounds will vindicate this
distinction. If diphthongs have been used, for simple vowels, through
early mistake or redundancy, the rule is the same. If they appear as
proper diphthongs, they follow the rule of diphthongs. This principal of
utterance appears to be a general and fixed law in the Indian languages
as respects the sounds of e, i, o, u, and the two chief sounds of a, 1
and 3 of Walker's Key. As the letter a has four distinct sounds, as in
English, the chief discrepancies, seen above, will appear in the use of
this letter.

SKETCHES OF THE LIVES OF NOTED RED MEN AND WOMEN, WHO HAVE APPEARED ON
THE WESTERN CONTINENT.

BRANT, RED JACKET, UNCAS, MIONTONIMO.

A NOTICE OF THE BIOGRAPHIES OF THE LATE COL. WILLIAM L. STONE, PREPARED
FOR THE DEMOCRATIC REVIEW--1843.

The Egyptians embalmed their dead in myrrh and spices, but the blessed
art of printing has given us a surer and less revolting method of
preserving and transmitting to posterity, all that is truly valuable in
the plaudits of virtue, worth, and honor. Books thus become a more
permanent memorial than marble, and by their diffusion scatter those
lessons among all mankind, which the age of mounds and hieroglyphics,
stone and papyrus, had confined to the tablet of a shaft, or the dark
recesses of a tomb or a pyramid. It is never to be forgotten, that in
the development of this new phasis in the history of the human race, it
was printing that first lit the lamp of truth, and has driven on the
experiment, till the boundaries of letters have well nigh become
co-extensive with the world. If we do not widely err, there is no part
of the globe, where books of all descriptions have become so cheap and
abundant as they are at this time in the United States, and, laying
aside all other considerations, we may find a proof of the position
stated in the fact, that our vernacular literature is no longer confined
to the production of school books, the annals of law and divinity, the
age of muddy pamphlets, or the motley pages of the newspaper. We have no
design to follow up these suggestions by showing how far the study of
the natural sciences, the discussion of political economy, or the
advances of belles-lettres, have operated to produce this result; far
less to identify those causes, in the progress of western arts and
commerce, which have concurred to bring down the price of books, and
scatter the blessings of an untrammelled press, among all classes. It is
sufficient for our purpose to say that even the lives of our
distinguished native chieftains have come in for a share of modern
notice, and, we feel proud to add, of a notice which, so far as it
reaches, is worthy of the subject. And should our contributions on this
head, for the last few years, be equally well followed up for a few
years to come, even the desponding strains of one of their own
impersonated heroes can no longer be repeated with perfect truth:

    "They sink, they pass, they fly, they go,
      Like a vapor at morning's dawn,
    Or a flash of light, whose sudden glow
      Is seen, admired, and gone.

    "They died; but if a brave man bleeds,
      And fills the dreamless grave,
    Shall none repeat his name, his deeds,
      Nor tell that he was brave?"

To no one in our literary annals is the public so much indebted for
rescuing from oblivion the traits and character of the four celebrated
chiefs whose names stand at the head of this article, as to the able
author of these biographies, William L. Stone. Gifted with a keen
perception of the questions of right and wrong, which turn upon the
planting of the colonies among barbarians, who more than idled away
their days upon a soil which they did not cultivate--with a deep
sympathy in their fate and fortunes, on the one hand, and the paramount
claims of letters and Christianity on the other, he has set himself to
the task of rendering justice to whom justice belongs, with the ardor of
a philanthropist, and the research of a historian. He appears to have
planned a series of biographies which, if completed, will give a
connected view of the leading tribes who occupied New York, Connecticut,
Rhode Island, and Massachusetts, with a range in the examination of
contemporary men and collateral topics, which embraces a wide circle.
And he has filled up the outlines of his plan, thus far, in a manner
which leaves but little to glean in the path which he has trod. If the
extension of this circle, and the large amount of contemporaneous matter
brought in, has, in the minds of some, abstracted too large a share of
attention, and left the biographies with less unity and compactness than
they would otherwise have assumed, this is exclusively the fault of
their plan, so far as it is acknowledged, and not of the execution. And
for this course of extension there is a plea to be found in the nature
of the subject, in the treatment of which, scantiness of material was
often sought to be supplied by the introduction of collateral and
sometimes extraneous matter.

We propose briefly to notice the series of these biographies in their
order of publication. In his first work on Brant, he has presented, in
living colors, the great Mohawk of 1776, who rose up to crush that
confederacy which Washington and his compeers had pledged their lives to
maintain. Brant was a man of power and capacities, mental and physical,
beyond his tribe; and was so situated, in the actual contest, as to
throw a greater weight into the scale against us, than any other, or all
of the hostile chiefs of the Red Race put together. If he could not,
like Ariel, call up the "spirits of the vasty deep," he could, at his
bidding, summon together the no less malignant spirits of the woods, who
fell upon our sleeping hamlets with the fury of demons. And whether at
Johnson Hall or Niagara, at Cherry Valley or Schoharie, on the waters of
the Oriskany or the Chemung, he was the ruling and informing spirit of
the contest. Such was the power he wielded as commander of a most
effective body of light troops (for such are all Indian warriors), who
were supported by large and well appointed armies, that, like the
electric flashes of the boding storm, he preceded the heavier outbreak
by sounding aloud the wild notes of terror and dismay. It was in this
manner that his name became a talisman on the frontiers, to conjure up
deeds of evil, and in this way also, doubtless, it became loaded with
reproaches, some of which, as the author has denoted, were due to other
actors in the contest. It is difficult, however, to disturb the
judgments of a preceding age, on the character of individuals who have
long passed off the stage of action, whether those judgments be
favorable or unfavorable; and it is, in fact, impossible to reverse
them. It is only necessary to glance backward a short way, on the track
of biography, to perceive that posterity never revises the opinions once
put on individual character, heroic or literary. It tries to forget all
it can, and every body it can, and never remembers a long time any name
which it is possible to forget. It is willing, we should infer, to
concede something to the great men among barbarian nations, whose names
have often burst upon civilized society with the fearful attractions of
the meteor, or the comet, producing admiration in the beholders, without
stopping to inquire the true cause. Such were the Tamerlanes, and the
Tippoo Saibs of the eastern world, of a prior age, as well as the
Mehemet Alis and Abdel Kaders of the present. And such were, also, with
reduced means of action, numbers of the American aboriginal chiefs, who,
between the days of Manco Capac and Micanopy have figured in the history
of the western world. Most of these men owe their celebrity to the mere
fact of their having dazzled or astounded, or like Brant himself,
excited the terror of those who opposed them. In the case of the latter,
a change of opinion in those particular traits which affect his
humanity, is less readily made, from the fact, yet generally remembered,
that he had received a Christian education; that he was, while a mere
boy, received into the best society, acquired the English language, and
had been instructed, first at a New England academy, and afterwards at
one of its most practically efficient colleges. Posterity holds the
Mohawk chief responsible to have carried the precepts thus obtained into
the forest, and to have diffused their blessings among those who had
perhaps his bravery, without his talents or his knowledge. Those who
fought against him were ill qualified, we confess, to be his judges. He
had not only espoused the wrong cause, wrong because it was adverse to
the progress of national freedom and those very principles his people
contended for; but he battled for it with a master's hand, and made the
force of his energy felt, as the author has more fully indicated than
was before known, from the banks of the Mohawk and the Niagara, to the
Ohio, the Miami, and the Wabash. Yet, if there was error in the extent
to which he failed to carry the precepts of civilization and
Christianity, it was meet it should be pointed out, although it will
also be admitted, the public have a right to look for the strongest of
these proofs of a kind and benevolent feeling towards his open enemies,
out of the range of his domestic circle. His family had carried the
incipient principles of civilization, which he gave them, too high--they
had exhibited to the next age, a too prominent example of cultivation
and refinement in every sense--not to feel deeply the obloquy cast upon
his name, by the poetic spirit of the times; and not to wish that one
who had, in verity, so many high and noble qualities, both in the
council and the field, should also be without a spot on his humanity. We
deem the feeling as honorable to all who have the blood of the chieftain
in their veins as it is praiseworthy in his biographer. We cannot,
however, consent to forget, that historical truth is very severe in its
requisitions, and is not to be put off, by friend or foe, with hearsay
testimony, or plausible surmises.

Brant cannot, like Xicotencal, be accused of having joined the invaders
of his country, who were recklessly resolved upon its subjugation; but
he overlooked the fact, that both the _invader_ and the _invaded_ in the
long and bloody border warfare of the revolution, were, in all that
constitutes character, the same people. They were of the same blood and
lineage, spoke the same language, had the same laws and customs, and the
same literature and religion, and he failed to see that the only real
point of difference between them was, who should wield the sceptre.
Whichever party gained the day in such a contest, letters and
Christianity must triumph, and as the inevitable result, barbarism must
decline, and the power of the Indian nation fall.

In Brant, barbarism and civilization evinced a strong and singular
contest. He was at one moment a savage, and at another a civilian, at
one moment cruel, and at another humane; and he exhibited, throughout
all the heroic period of his career, a constant vacillation and struggle
between good and bad, noble and ignoble feelings, and, as one or the
other got the mastery, he was an angel of mercy, or a demon of
destruction. In this respect, his character does not essentially vary
from that which has been found to mark the other leading red men who,
from Philip to Osceola, have appeared on the stage of action. Like them,
his reasoning faculties were far less developed than his physical
perceptions. And to attempt to follow or find anything like a fixed
principle of humanity, basing itself on the higher obligations that sway
the human breast, would, we fear, become a search after that which had
no existence in his mind; or if the germ was there, it was too feeble to
become predominant. We do not think it necessary, in commenting on his
life, to enter into any nice train of reasoning or motives to account
for this characteristic, or to reconcile cruelties of the most shocking
kind, when contrasted with traits of mildness and urbanity. They were
different moods of the man, and in running back over the eventful years
of his life, it becomes clear, that civilization had never so completely
gained the mastery over his mind and heart, as not to desert him,
without notice, the moment he heard the sound of the war-whoop. The fact
that he could use the pen, supplied no insuperable motive against his
wielding the war club. His tomahawk and his Testament lay on the same
shelf. The worst trait in his character is revealed in his tardiness to
execute acts of _purposed_ mercy. There was too often some impediment,
which served as an excuse, as when he had a ploughed field to cross to
save Wells and his family, or a lame heel, or gave up the design
altogether, as in the case of Wisner, whom he construed it into an act
of mercy to tomahawk.

That he was, however, a man of an extraordinary firmness, courage and
decision of character, is without doubt. But his fate and fortunes have
not been such as to give much encouragement to chiefs of the native race
in lending their influence to European, or Anglo-European powers, who
may be engaged in hostilities against each other on this continent.
Pontiac had realized this before him, and Tecumtha realized it after
him. Neither attained the object he sought. One of these chiefs was
assassinated, the other fell in battle, and Brant himself only survived
the defeat of his cause, to fret out his latter days in vain attempts to
obtain justice from the power which he had most loyally served, and
greatly benefited. Had he been knighted at the close of the contest,
instead of being shuffled from one great man to another, at home and
abroad, it would have been an instance of a noble exercise of that
power. But George III. seemed to have been fated, at all points, neither
to do justice to his friends nor his enemies.

Such was Brant, or Thayendanegea, symbolically, the Band of his
tribe,[10] to whose lot it has fallen to act a more distinguished part
in the Colonies, as a consummate warrior, than any other aboriginal
chieftain who has arisen. And his memory was well worthy of the
elaborate work in which his biographer has presented him, in the most
favourable points of view, amidst a comprehensive history of the border
wars of the revolution, without, however, concealing atrocities of which
he was, perhaps sometimes unwillingly, the agent.

     [10] The name is usually translated, two-sticks tied, or united.

A word, and but a word, will be added, as to some points connected with
this chief's character, which are not in coincidence with the generally
received opinion, or are now first introduced by way of palliation, or
vindication. We confess, that so far as the presence or absence of the
Great Mohawk in the massacre of Wyoming, is concerned, the statements
are either inconclusive, or less satisfactory than could be wished.
There was quite too much feeling sometimes evinced by his family, and
particularly his son John, to permit us to receive the new version of
the statement without some grains of allowance. An investigation is
instituted by Col. Stone as to the immediate ancestry of Brant, and much
importance is attached to the inquiry, whether he was descended from a
line of hereditary chiefs. We think the testimony adverse to such a
supposition, and it affords no unequivocal proof of talents, that
notwithstanding such an adventitious circumstance, certainly without
being of the line of _ruling_ chiefs, he elevated himself to be, not
only the head chief and leader of his tribe, but of the Six Nations.
Courtesy and popular will attach the title of chief or sachem to men of
talents, courage or eloquence among our tribes generally; and while mere
descent would devolve it upon a chiefs son, whatever might be his
character, yet this fact alone would be of little import, and give him
little influence, without abilities: whereas abilities alone are found
to raise men of note to the chieftainship, among all the North American
tribes, whose customs and character are known.

It has constituted no part of our object, in these general outlines, to
examine minor points of the biography or history, upon which the
information or the conclusions are not so satisfactory as could be
wished, or which may, indeed, be at variance with our opinions. One
fact, however, connected with this name, it is not deemed proper to pass
_sub silentio_. Brant is made to take a part in the Pontiac war, a
contest arising on the fall of the French power in Canada in 1759, and
which closed in 1763. Brant was at its close but twenty-one years of
age, and had not, it is probable, finally returned from his New England
tutors. At any rate, there is no reason to suppose, that, at that early
period of his life and his influence, he could have had any
participation in the events of that war.

In the life of Red Jacket, or Sagóyewata, we have a different order of
Indian intellect brought to view. He was an orator and a diplomatist,
and was at no period of his life noted for his skill as a warrior. Nay,
there are indubitable proofs that his personal courage could not always
be "screwed up to the sticking point." But in native intellect, he was
even superior to Brant. He was, indeed, the Brant of the council, and
often came down upon his opponents with bursts of eloquence, trains of
argument, or rhapsodies of thought, which were irresistible. And of him,
it may be symbolically said, that his tongue was his tomahawk, and the
grandiloquent vocabulary of the Seneca language, his war-club. Nor has
any native chieftain wielded the weapon to more purpose, or with a
longer continued effect than the great Seneca orator. The specimens of
his eloquence which have appeared in our newspapers for forty years or
more, are still fresh in the memory, and it was due and meet that these
should be collected and preserved in a permanent shape, together with
such particulars of his life and career as could be obtained. This task
has been performed by Col. Stone, in a manner which leaves nothing more
to be attempted on the subject. Much zeal and industry have been evinced
in eliciting facts from every quarter where it was probable information
could be had. And he has brought together a body of contemporaneous
proofs and reminiscences, touching this chief, which a few years would
have put beyond the power of recovery, and which a position less
prominent than he occupied as a public journalist, might have rendered
it difficult for another to collect. We need only refer to the names of
Gen. P.B. Porter, Rev. J. Breckenridge, Mr. Parish, and Mr. Hosmer, to
show the character of this part of his materials.

Other chiefs of the native stock, have produced occasional pieces of
eloquence, or admired oratory, but Red-Jacket is the only prominent
individual who has devoted his whole career to it. That he did, indeed,
excel, producing effects which no reported speech of his ever equalled
or did justice to, there are still many living to attest. In the
question of land sales, which arose between the white and red races,
there were frequent occasions to bring him out. And these, in the end,
assumed a complicated shape, from either the vague nature, or ill
understood conditions of prior grants. In all these discussions, he
preserved a unity and consistency in the set of opinions he had adopted.
He was opposed to further sales, to removal, to civilization, and to the
introduction of Christianity among his people. What Brant had done in
_politics_, Red-Jacket repeated in _morals_. Both took the wrong side,
and both failed. But it is to be said of the Seneca orator, that he did
not live to see the final defeat of that course of policy which he had
so long and so ably advocated.

It was remarked by Mr. Clinton, and the fact had impressed others, that
the Iroquois, or Six Nations, excelled the other natives in eloquence.
Of this, their history, during the Supremacy of Holland and England in
New York, as given by Colden, furnishes ample proofs. The speech of
Garangula, against the Governor General of Canada and his wily policy,
is unexcelled, as a whole, by anything which even Red-Jacket has left in
print, though much of the effect of it is due to the superior and heroic
position occupied by the tribes for whom he spoke. Logan, unexcelled by
all others for his pathos and simplicity, it must be remembered, was
also of this stock,--Mingo, or _Mengwe_, as the Delawares pronounced it,
being but a generic term for Iroquois; so that the transmission of this
trait, from the proud era of the Iroquois confederacy down to modern
days, is quite in keeping with the opinion quoted.

It is to be wished that Col. Stone would supply another link in the
chain of Iroquois history, by favoring the public with the life of the
noted Oneida chief, Shenandoah, for which materials must exist in the
Kirkland family.

The lives of the two men, Uncas and Miontonimo, whose leading acts are
described in one of the volumes named in our caption, belong to an
earlier period of history, and a different theatre of action. The scene
changes from western New York to the seaboard of Connecticut, Rhode
Island, and, to some extent, Massachusetts. Uncas was the good genius,
the tutelary spirit, if we may so say, of the colony of Connecticut; and
the best monument which that State could erect to his memory, would be
to change the unmeaning and worn out name of one of her counties, New
London, for that of the noble and friendly chief, of whose forest
kingdom it once formed a part. From the first day that the English
colonists set foot within it, to the hour of his death, Uncas was the
unwavering "friend of the white man," as his biographer justly calls
him. He was of that race, whom history has, without making a particle of
allowance for savage ignorance and hereditary prejudice, branded under
the name of Pequods. They were of that type of languages and lineage,
which was very well characterized generically, at least as far south as
the original country of the Delawares; but which assumed a sub-type
after crossing the Hudson, and was known east of that point under one of
its superinduced forms, as the Mohegan. This term had been dropped by
the Pequods, if it was ever their specific cognomen, but it is a proof,
and we think a very conclusive proof, of the yet freshly remembered
affiliation with Taminund[11] and the Manhattans, that Uncas, the moment
he revolted from King Sassacus, assumed the name of a Mohegan, and put
himself at the head of that tribe, as it then existed within the
boundaries of Connecticut. Or rather, he constituted the revolted
Pequods a new tribe, under an old and respected name, and he thus laid
the foundation of the Uncas dynasty. Placed thus by circumstances in a
position in which he sought an alliance with the early colonists, and
finding his security in theirs, he was in fact the only leading chief of
the times who, really, heartily, and faithfully sought their prosperity
and growth to the end. The rise of Uncas and Connecticut thus began at
one era; and as the alliance was founded on mutual interest and safety,
it only grew stronger with time. A man of less force of character or
natural sagacity than Uncas, would have vacillated when he saw the
colonists becoming more powerful and himself more weak as years rolled
on, and would have been seduced to enter into alliances for arresting
the white man's power, as other native chiefs had done. But all history
concurs in showing that, under every circumstance, and there were many
of the most trying kind, he carried himself well, and avoided even a
suspicion of his fidelity.

     [11] The name of this chief is Anglicised in the word Tammany.

Uncas was well qualified for a ruler both in mind and person. He
possessed a fine figure, over six feet in height, a commanding voice,
and a noble bearing. He was mild yet dignified in his manners. He was
not only wise in council, but brave[12] in war, as he evinced in many
instances, but particularly in the battle of Sachem's Plain, in which he
proved himself the bravest and most chivalrous of the brave. Yet his
wisdom and moderation in governing his people, and the well balanced
justice and consistency of his character, give him a still higher
reputation, and establish his best claim to remembrance. In all the
trials in which he was placed, in all the temptations he had to fly into
a rage, and act out the savage, he sustained this character for wise
deliberation; and by adhering to his first covenant with the English,
and laying all his plans and grievances before the colonial courts, he
raised himself in strength and reputation, and finally triumphed, first
over Sassacus, and then over Miontonimo, the two greatest and most
powerful of his immediate contemporaries.

     [12] The terms "brave" and "braves" used in a substantive sense,
     in this work, are neither English nor Indian. The Indian term
     should be translated strong-heart, its literal import; for it is
     one of the general rules of these languages, that the operation of
     the adjective, as well as action of the verb, is uniformly marked
     upon the substantive--there being, indeed, different inflections
     of each substantive, to denote whether this operation or action be
     caused by a noble or ignoble, or an animate or inanimate object.
     Still the general use of the Canadian term _Brave_, on our Indian
     border, may give it some poetic claims to introduction into our
     vernacular, burthened as it already is with more objectionable
     Americanisms.

If Uncas was the patron of Connecticut, Miontonimo, with his family of
the Narragansett chiefdom, was equally so of Rhode Island. And it is
from this obvious fact, probably, in part, that we find the historical
notices of him, from the last quarter, decidedly more favorable to his
general character than those emanating from the land of his enemy and
his conqueror, Uncas. While there is no disagreement as to any
historical fact of note, it is natural that some little shade of feeling
of this nature should remain. We have noticed a similar feeling with
respect to existing tribes and chiefs, in the western world, where the
inhabitants never fail to be imbued with those peculiar notions and
traditions of the particular tribe about them, which represent the
latter as the principal nation, and invest them with tribal traits of
superiority. It is a feeling which leans to the better side of one's
nature, and does honor to men's hearts; but the historian is obliged to
look at such questions with a colder eye, and can never abate a tittle
of the truth, although he may run counter to this local sympathy and
bias. We could name some remarkable instances of this prejudice, if we
were willing to digress.

If Miontonimo be compared to Uncas, it will at once be seen that he
lacked the latter's sagacity and firmness of character. Had the
Narragansett listened to Sassacus, and formed a league with him, he
would have crushed, for a time, the infant colony of Connecticut. This
he declined, apparently, because it had the specific character of
enabling Sassacus to put down Uncas. After the Pequod king had been
defeated and fled to the Mohawks, Miontonimo was left in a position to
assume the Pequod's policy, and then tried to bring Uncas into just such
a combination to fall on the colonists, as he had himself refused, when
the proposition came from Sassacus. As Uncas not only refused, but laid
the scheme before his allies, Miontonimo went to war against him, with a
large army. Uncas hastily prepared to meet him, with a smaller force.
They met on Sachem's Plain, on the banks of the Shawtucket. Uncas,
unwilling to see so many of his people slain in battle, nobly stepped
forward and proposed a personal combat, to decide the question of who
should rule, and who obey. It was declined, but the moment the reply was
made, he threw himself on the plain, a signal, it seems, for his men to
advance, and they came on with such an impulse, that he won the day and
took Miontonimo prisoner. This capture was the act of one of his minor
chiefs; but when his enemy was brought before him, he declined
exercising his right of putting him to death, but determined to refer
the matter to the authorities of Hartford. There it was found to be a
knotty question, and finally referred to the General Court at Boston.
The Court strengthened itself with the opinions of six distinguished
clergymen and several eminent civilians; and then decided, that the
Narragansett chief had justly forfeited his life, by violating his
political covenants with the colonies, but it might not be taken away
_by them_. He must be remanded to Uncas, within his jurisdiction, and by
him be executed; but it was enjoined, with a very poor compliment to the
known mildness of the character of Uncas, that no needless cruelty
should be practised. Here, then, the white man evinced less mercy than
the red had done. Miontonimo was now released from his confinement, and
conducted back to the very spot where he had first been taken prisoner,
as he approached which, one of the Mohegans who accompanied him, keeping
him in entire ignorance of his fate, raised his tomahawk as he walked
behind him, and laid him dead at a blow.

Whether the moral responsibility of this execution rests with the court,
or the executioner, we do not propose particularly to inquire, nor to
ascertain to what degree it was shuffled off, by directing an Indian to
commit an act which it was unlawful for a white man and a Christian to
perform. Had Uncas slain his adversary in cold blood, after the action,
the thing would have been in perfect accordance with Indian law. Had
Miontonimo been a subject of either of the colonies of Connecticut,
Rhode Island or Massachusetts, and levied war, or committed any overt
act of treason, his execution would have been in accordance with the
laws of civilized nations. Neither condition happened. It was, however,
felt, that the great disturber of the colonies, after Sassacus, had now
been caught. He had violated his covenant by going to war without
apprising them. They did not believe he would keep any future covenants.
The moral sense of the community would not be shocked, but rather
gratified by his execution. This point was strongly signified to the
court. But they could not legally compass it. English law opposed it.
The customs of civilized nations, in warring with _each other_, opposed
it. Should a different rule be observed towards the aborigines? Did the
dictates of sound judgment and common sense, did the precepts of
Christianity,--aye, "there was the rub,"--did the precepts of
Christianity sanction it? On full deliberation,--for the question was
not decided in haste,--neither of these points could be affirmatively
answered. But while policy--the policy of _expediency_, the lust of
power, and the offended moral sense of an exposed and suffering
community demanded, as it was thought, the death of the sachem, still it
was not found that one whom they had ever treated, and then viewed, as a
foreign prince, legally considered, could be thus deprived of his life.
Imprisonment was not, as a permanent policy, resolved on. There was one
course left to escape both dilemmas, and to avoid all censure. It was to
restore things to the precise footing they had before his surrender. It
was to hand him back to Uncas, without the expression of any decision,
leaving that chieftain to act as he deemed fit. They remanded him
indeed, but went one step too far, by first deciding in a formal court,
after months of deliberation, in the course of which the clergy and
gentry, (this is a term that would be proper to the times) had been
formally consulted, and directed his death, stipulating only that he
should not be killed with cruelty. If there was not something that
smacks of the want of true and noble dealing in this--if it accorded
with the bland precepts of Christianity, to do unto others as you would
that others should do unto you--if the act did not, in fine, partake of
the very spirit of Jesuitism in the worst sense in which the word has
been adopted into the language we have, we confess, formed a totally
wrong idea of its meaning.

A case, in some respects similar to this, happened in modern times which
may be thought to contrast rather strongly with the above example of
Puritan mercy. The reasons for a capital punishment, were, indeed, far
more cogent, and the community called out strongly for it, and would
have sustained it. It was the capture of Black Hawk, which, it will be
recollected, took place during the first Presidential term of General
Jackson. Black Hawk had levied war within the boundaries of one of the
States, on lands ceded by treaty, and organized a confederacy of Indian
tribes, which, though broken up in part, chiefly through the failure of
the other tribes to fulfil their engagements with him, yet required for
its suppression the entire disposable force of the Union. The Sac chief
was finally captured on Indian territory, in the act of fleeing west of
the Mississippi. He was imprisoned, and the case referred to the
Government for decision. He had broken his treaty covenants. He had not
only made war, but in its outbreak and its continuance, had been guilty
of countenancing, at least, the most shocking barbarities. He had,
indeed, opened the scene by cruelly murdering the agent of the
Government, the representative of the President, in the person of Mr.
St. Vrain. The community, the western States particularly, called
loudly for his execution. There could be no security, it was said, if
such a bloody fellow was allowed to roam at large. He had forfeited his
life a thousand times. There was, indeed, the same popular feeling
against him, which had existed in New England, one hundred and ninety
years before, against Miontonimo. But could he have been _legally_
executed? And if so, was it, indeed, the true policy? Was it noble--was
it high-minded? Was it meting out exact and equal justice to men with
red skins, as well as white? It was thought that all these questions
must be negatively answered; and the bold Sac insurgent was sent home,
accompanied by an officer of the army, to secure his comfort and safety,
and thus to see that a wise and merciful decision should be faithfully
carried out, and popular indignation be prevented from wreaking itself,
in the assassination of the chief.

In closing these remarks, it may appear selfish to express the hope,
that Mr. Stone, to whom we are already indebted for these spirited,
comprehensive, and well written volumes, should still further employ his
pen in adding to the sum of these obligations. But he has so well
studied the field in its historical bearing, so far at least as relates
to the eastern department of the Union, that we know of no one to whom
the labour would present less of the character of a task. We are in want
of a good account of Philip, or Metacom, the energetic sachem of the
Pokenokets, who impersonated so fully the wild Indian character, and
views, and battled so stoutly against the occupancy of New England by
the Saxon race. In showing up to modern times such a man, we think a
biography would derive very deep interest, and it would certainly be a
new experiment, to take up the aboriginal views and opinions of the
invading race, and thus write, as it were, from _within_, instead of
_without_ the circle of warlike action. In this way, their combinations,
efforts and power, would better appear, and redound more to the credit
of the aboriginal actors, as warriors and heroes. As it is, history only
alludes to them as conspirators, rebels, traitors, or culprits; as if
the fact of their opposing the egress of civilized nations, who were in
all respects wiser and better, were sufficient to blot out all their
right and claim to the soil and sovereignty of the land of their
forefathers, and they were in fact bound to stand back, and give it up
_nolens volens_.

We had designed to subjoin a few remarks on the biographical labors of
other writers in this department, particularly those of Thatcher and
Drake, but our limits are already exhausted, and we must abandon, or at
least, defer it.

THE RABID WOLF.

A VERITABLE TRADITION OF THE VALLEY OF THE TAWASENTHA.

The great Pine Plains, beginning not far south of the junction of the
Mohawk with the North River, are still infested by wolves, who harbour
in its deep gorges, from which they sally out at night, on the
sheep-folds of the farmers, and often put a whole neighbourhood in fear.
The railroad track from Albany to Schenectady, passes over a part of
these plains, which stretch away in the direction of the blue outlines
of the Helderberg mountains. It is many miles across the narrowest part
of them, and they reach down to the very outskirts of the city of
Albany, where they have of late years, and since Buel's day, begun to
cultivate them by sowing clover, planting fruit trees, and in other
ways. They constitute the table land of the county, and send out from
beneath their heavy mass of yellow sand and broken down sand stones,
mica slates, and granites, many springs and streams of the purest and
most crystalline waters, which find their outlets chiefly into the
valley of the Tawasentha, or, as the river is called in popular
language, the Norman's Kill, and are thus contributed to swell the noble
volume of the Hudson. These springs issue at the precise point where the
arenaceous mass rests on a clay or impervious basis. The effect, in
ancient years, has been that the sand is carried off, grain by grain,
till a deep ravine or gorge is formed. The sides of this gorge being
composed of mixed earth and some mould, and free from the aridity of the
surface, bear a dense and vigorous growth of hard wood trees and
shrubbery, and are often found to be encumbered with immense trunks of
fallen pines and other forest rubbish, which renders it very difficult
to penetrate them. It is into these dark gorges that the wolves retreat,
after scouring the plains and neighbouring farms for prey; and here they
have maintained their ancient empire from time immemorial. Such, at
least, was the state of things between the settlers and the wolves, at
the date of this story, in 1807.

Sometimes the whole country armed and turned out _en masse_, to ferret
them out of their fastnesses and destroy them; and truly the forces
assembled on some of these wolf-hunts were surprising, and, in one
respect, that is to say, the motley and uncouth character of their arms,
they would have put both Bonaparte and Wellington to flight. There was
nothing, from a pitchfork to a heavy blunderbuss, which they did not
carry, always excepting a good rifle, which I never remember to have
seen on these occasions. Indeed, these formal turn-outs were better
suited to frighten away, than to kill and capture the foe; so that there
was no just cause of surprise why the wolves remained, and even
increased. They still kept masters of the Plains--sheep were killed by
dozens, night after night, and the alarm went on.

It was at other times tried to trap them, and to bait them in sundry
ways. I recollect that we all had implicit faith in the village
schoolmaster, one Cleanthus, who knew some Latin, and a little of almost
every thing; and among other arts which he cherished, and dealt out in a
way to excite wonder for his skill, he knew how to make the wolves
follow his tracks, by smearing his shoes with æsofoedita, or some
other substance, and then ensconcing himself at night in a log pen,
where he might bid defiance to the best of them, and shoot at them
besides. But I never could learn that there were any of these
pestiferous animals killed, either by the schoolmaster and his party, or
any other party, except it was the luckless poor animal I am about to
write of, which showed its affinities to the canine race by turning
rabid, and rushing at night into the midst of a populous manufacturing
village.

Iosco was eligibly seated on the summit and brow of a picturesque series
of low crowned hills, just on the southern verge of these great Plains,
where the tillable and settled land begins. It was, consequently, in
relation to these wolves, a perfect frontier; and we had not only
frequent alarms, but also the privilege and benefit of hearing all the
wonderful stories of wolf-adventure, to man and beast, for a wide
circle. Indeed, these stories often came back with interest, from the
German and Dutch along the Swarta Kill, and Boza Kill settlements, away
up to the foot of the Helderberg mountains. A beautiful and clear stream
of sparkling cold water, called the Hungerkill, after gathering its
crystal tributaries from the deep gorges of the plains, ran through the
village, and afforded one or two seats for mills, and after winding and
doubling on its track a mile or two, rendered its pellucid stores into
the Norman's Kill, or, as this stream was called by the ancient Mohawk
race, in allusion to their sleeping dead, the Tawasentha. No stream in
the country was more famous for the abundance of its fine brook trout,
and the neighbouring plains served to shelter the timid hare, and the
fine species of northern partridge, which is there always called a
pheasant.

The village was supported by its manufacturing interests, and was quite
populous. It had a number of long streets, some of which reached across
the stream, and over a spacious mill pond, and others swept at right
angles along the course of the great Cherry Valley turnpike. In its
streets were to be heard, in addition to the English, nearly all the
dialects of the German between the Rhine and the Danube; the Low Dutch
as spoken by the common country people on the manor of Rensselaerwyck,
the Erse and Gaelic, as not unfrequently used by the large proportion of
its Irish and Scotch, and what seemed quite as striking to one brought
up in seclusion from it, the genuine Yankee, as discoursed by the
increasing class of factory wood choppers, teamsters, schoolmasters, men
out at the elbows, and travelling wits. The latter were indeed but a
sorry representation of New England, as we have since found it. No small
amount of superstitions were believed and recited in the social meetings
of such a mixed foreign population. Accounts of instances of the second
sight, death-lights on the meadows and in the churchyard, the low
howling of premonitory dogs before funerals, and other legendary wares,
to say nothing of the actual and veritable number of downright spooks,
seen on various occasions, on the lands of the Veeders, the Van
Valkenburgs, the Truaxes, and the Lagranges, rendered it a terror to all
children under twelve to stir out of doors after dark. There were in the
annals of Iosco, several events in the historical way which served as
perfect eras to its inhabitants; but none, it is believed, of so
striking and general importance as the story of the Mad Wolf, of which I
am about to write.

There had been found, soon after the close of the revolutionary war, in
a dark wood very near the road, pieces of a cloth coat and metallic
buttons, and other things, which rendered it certain that a man had been
murdered at that spot, in consequence of which the place was shunned, or
hurried by, as if a spirit of evil had its abode there. On another
occasion, the body of a poor old man of the name of Homel, was found
drowned deep in the Norman's Kill, clasped in the arms of his wife, both
dead. A gentleman of standing, who ventured alone, rather groggy, one
dark night, over the long unrailed bridge that crossed the mill pond,
pitched upon some sharp pallisadoes in the water, and came to a
melancholy end. Hormaun, an Iroquois, who haunted the valley, had
killed, it was said, ninety-nine men, and was waiting an opportunity to
fill his count, by dispatching his hundredth man. This was a greatly
dreaded event, particularly by the boys. There was also the era, when a
Race Course had been established on a spot called the "Colonel's Farm,"
and the era of the "Deep Snow." There were many other events celebrated
in Iosco, such as the De Zeng era, the Van Rensselaer era, and the Van
Kleeck era, which helped the good mothers to remember the period when
their children were born; but none, indeed, of so notable a character to
youthful minds as the adventure of the mad wolf.

Wolf stories were in vogue, in fact, in the evening and tea party
circles of Iosco for many years; and if one would take every thing as it
was given, there had been more acts of bravery, conduct, and firm
decision of character and foresight, displayed in encountering these
wild vixens of the plains and valleys by night, than would, if united,
have been sufficient to repel the inroads of Burgoyne, St. Leger, or Sir
John Johnson, with Brant, and all his hosts of tories and Indians,
during the American revolution.

I chanced one night to have left the city of Albany, in company with
one of these heroic spirits. We occupied my father's chaise, an old
fashioned piece of gentility now out of vogue, drawn by a prime horse,
one which he always rode on parades. It was late before we got out of
the precincts of the city, and up the hill, and night overtook us away
in the pine woods, at Billy McKown's, a noted public-house seated half
way between the city and Iosco, where it was customary in those days to
halt; for besides that he was much respected, and one of the most
sensible and influential men in the town, it was not thought right,
whatever the traveller might require, that a _horse_ should be driven
eight miles without drawing breath, and having a pail of water. As I was
but young, and less of a charioteer than my valiant companion, he held
the whip and reins thus far; but after the wolf stories that poured in
upon us at McKown's that evening, he would hold them no longer. Every
man, he thought, was responsible to himself. He did not wish to be
wolf's meat that night, so he hired a fleet horse from our host, and a
whip and spurs, and set off with the speed of a Jehu, leaving me to make
my way, in the heavy chaise, through the sandy plains, as best I could.

In truth we had just reached the most sombre part of the plain, where
the trees were more thick, the sand deep and heavy, and _not_ a house
but one, within the four miles. To render it worse, this was the chief
locality of wolf insolence, where he had even ventured to attack men. It
was on this route too, that the schoolmaster had used his medical arts,
which made it better known through the country as the supposed centre of
their power. Nothing harmed me, however; the horse was fine, and I
reached home not only uneaten, but unthreatened by a wolf's jaw.

But I must confine myself to the matter in hand. A large and fierce wolf
sallied out of the plains one dark summer's night, and rushed into the
midst of the village, snapping to the right and left as he went, and
biting every animal that came in his way. Cows, swine, pigs,
geese--every species, whether on four legs, or two legs, shared its
malice alike. The animal seemed to have a perfect ubiquity--it was every
where, and seemed to have spared nothing. It is not recollected that
there was a single house, or barn-yard in the village, where something
had not been bitten. If he had come on an errand of retribution, for the
great and threatening wolf-parties which had gone out against his race,
and all the occult arts of the schoolmaster in trying to decoy them at
Barrett's hollow, he could not have dealt out his venomous snaps more
indiscriminately.

It must have been about midnight, or soon after, that the fearful
visitor came. Midnight, in a country village, finds almost every one in
bed, but such was the uproar among the animal creation, made by this
strange interloper, that _out_ of bed they soon come. The cattle
bellowed, the pigs squealed, the poultry cackled--there must be
something amiss. Santa Claus himself must be playing his pranks. "A
wolf!" was the cry--"a wolf is committing havoc." "It is mad!" came next
on the voices of the night. "A mad wolf!--a mad wolf!" Nothing but a
mad wolf could venture alone into the heart of the village, and do so
much mischief. Out ran the people into the streets, men, women and all.
Some caught up guns, some clubs, some pitchforks. If the tories and
Indians, in the old French war, had broke into the settlement with fire
and sword, there could not have been a greater tumult, and nothing but a
mad wolf would have stood his ground. Where is he? which way did he run?
who saw him? and a thousand like expressions followed. He had gone
south, and south the mob pushed after him. He was away over on the
street that leads up from the middle factory. It was a cloudy night, or
the moon only came out fitfully, and threw light enough to discern
objects dimly, as the clouds rolled before it. Indistinct murmurs came
on the breeze, and at length the scream of a woman. The cause of it soon
followed. The wolf had bitten Mrs. Sitz. Now Mrs. Sitz was a careful,
tall, rigid-faced, wakeful housewife, from the dutchy of Hesse
D'Armstadt, who had followed the fortunes of her husband, in trying his
mechanical skill in the precincts of Iosco; but while her husband Frank
laid fast asleep, under the influence of a hard day's labour, her ears
were open to the coming alarm. It was not long before she heard a tumult
in her goose pen. The rabid animal had bounded into the midst of them,
which created as great an outcry as if Rome had a second time been
invaded. Out she ran to their relief, not knowing the character of the
disturber, but naturally thinking it was some thief of a neighbour, who
wished to make provision for a coming Christmas. The animal gave her one
snap and leapt the pen. "Mein hemel!" screamed she, "er hat mein
gebissen!" Sure enough the wolf had bit her in the thigh.

The party in chase soon came up, and while some stopt to parley and
sympathize with her, others pushed on after the animal--the spitzbug, as
she spitefully called him. By this time the wolf had made a circuit of
the southern part of the village, and scampered down the old factory
road, by the mill dam, under the old dark bridge at the saw mill, and up
the hill by the old public store; and thus turned his course back
towards the north, into the thickest part of the village, where he had
first entered. He had made a complete circuit. All was valour, boasting,
and hot speed behind him, but the wolf had been too nimble for them.
Unluckily for him, however, while the main group pushed behind, just as
he was scampering up the old store hill, he was suddenly headed by a
party coming down it. This party was led by old Colonel S., a
revolutionary soldier, a field-officer of the county militia, and the
superintendent of the extensive manufacturing establishment from which
the village drew its prosperity. He was armed with a fusil of the olden
time, well charged, and having been roused from his bed in a hurry,
could not at the moment find his hat, and clapt on an old revolutionary
cocked hat, which hung in the room. His appearance was most opportune;
he halted on the brow of the hill; and as the wolf bounded on he
levelled his piece at the passing fugitive, and fired. He had aimed at
the shoulders; the fleetness of its speed, however, saved its vital
parts, but the shot took effect in the animal's hind legs. They were
both broken at a shot. This brought him down. The poor creature tried to
drag himself on by his fore paws, but his pursuers were too close upon
him, and they soon dispatched him with hatchets and clubs.

Thus fell the rabid wolf, to be long talked of by men and boys, and put
down as a chief item in village traditions. But the effects of his visit
did not end here. In due time, symptoms of madness seized the cattle and
other animals, which had come within the reach of his teeth. Many of the
finest milch cows were shot. Calves and swine, and even poultry went
rabid; and as things of this kind are generally overdone, there was a
perfect panic in the village on the subject, and numbers of valuable
animals were doubtless shot, merely because they happened to show some
restiveness at a very critical epoch.

But what, methinks the reader is ready to ask, became of Mrs. Sitz?
Whether it was, that she had brought over some mystical arts from the
Wild Huntsman of Bohemia, or had derived protection from the venom
through the carefully administered medicines of Dr. Crouse, who duly
attended the case, or some inherent influence of the stout hearted
woman, or the audacity of the bite itself, had proved more than a match
for the wolf, I cannot say; but certain it is, that while oxen and kine,
swine and fatlings, fell under the virus and were shot, she recovered,
and lived many years to scold her dozing husband Frank, who did not jump
up immediately, and come to her rescue at the goose pen.

INDIAN POSSESSIONS.--The Ottoes own, at the latest accounts, a large
tract of country on the Big Platte, west of the Missouri; they are a
poor race of people, and receive a small annuity of $2,500. The Pawnees
are a powerful body, and number about 6,500 persons, divided into bands
under the names of Pawnee Loups, Grand Pawnees, Republican Pawnees,
Pawnee Pics, &c.; they are wild and furtive in their habits, and receive
provisions and goods. The Grand Nation is the Pottowattomies, or the
"united bands of the Chippewas, Ottawas, and Pottowattomies." They own
five millions of acres of prairie lands, along the Missouri river to the
Little Sioux, number about 2,000, and receive $42,000 a year for their
lands sold in Illinois and Michigan. They are a respectable body of
Indians, are good farmers, and educate their children. The payment of
the annuities is always a season of great hilarity and festivity.--
_N.O. Pic._

     It is a characteristic of some of the Indian legends, that they
     convey a _moral_ which seems clearly enough to denote, that a part
     of these legends were invented to convey instruction to the young
     folks who listen to them. The known absence of all harsh methods
     among the Indians, in bringing up their children, favours this
     idea. The following tale addresses itself plainly to girls; to whom
     it teaches the danger of what we denominate coquetry. It would seem
     from this, that beauty, and its concomitant, a passion for dress,
     among the red daughters of Adam and Eve, has the same tendency to
     create pride, and nourish self-conceit, and self-esteem, and assume
     a _tyranny over the human heart_, which writers tell us, these
     qualities have among their white-skinned, auburn-haired, and
     blue-eyed progeny the world over. This tale has appeared in the
     "Columbian." The term Moowis is one of the most derogative and
     offensive possible. It is derived from the Odjibwa substantive, mo,
     filth, or excrement.

MOOWIS, OR THE MAN MADE UP OF RAGS AND DIRT.

A TRADITIONARY LEGEND OF THE ODJIBWAS.

In a large village, there lived a noted belle, or Ma mon dá go kwa, who
was the admiration of all the young hunters and warriors. She was
particularly admired by a young man, who from his good figure, and the
care he took in his dress, was called the Beau-Man, or Ma mon dá gin
in-e. This young man had a friend and companion, whom he made a
confidant of his affairs. "Come," said he, one day in a sportive mood,
"let us go a courting to her who is so handsome, perhaps she may fancy
one of us." But she would listen to neither of them, and when the
handsome young man rallied from the coldness of her air, and made an
effort to overcome her indifference, she put together her thumb and
three fingers, and raising her hand gracefully towards him, deliberately
opened them in his face. This gesticulatory mode of rejection is one of
the highest contempt, and the young hunter retired confused and abashed.
His sense of pride was deeply wounded, and he was the more piqued, that
it had been done in the presence of others, and the affair was soon
noised about the village, and became the talk of every lodge circle.
Besides, he was a very sensitive man, and the thing so preyed upon him,
that he became moody, and at last took to his bed. He was taciturn,
often lying for days without uttering a word, with his eyes fixed on
vacancy, and taking little or no food. From this state no efforts could
rouse him; he felt abashed and dishonoured, even in the presence of his
own relatives, and no persuasions could induce him to rise. So that when
the family prepared to take down the lodge to remove, he still kept his
bed, and they were compelled to lift it over his head, and leave him
upon his skin couch. It was a time of general removal and breaking up of
the camp, for it was only a winter's hunting camp, and as the season of
the hunt was now over, and spring began to appear, they all moved off,
as by one impulse, to the place of their summer village, and in a short
time, all were gone, and he was left alone. The last person to leave him
was his boon companion, and cousin, who has been mentioned as also one
of the admirers of the forest belle. But even _his_ voice was
disregarded, and as soon as his steps died away on the creaking snow,
the stillness and solitude of the wilderness reigned around.

As soon as all were gone, and he could no longer, by listening, hear the
remotest sounds of the departing camp, the Beau-Man arose. It is to be
understood that this young man was aided by a powerful guardian spirit,
or personal Moneto; and he resolved to make use of his utmost power to
punish and humble the girl. For she was noted in the tribe for her
coquetry, and had treated others, who were every way her equals, as she
had done him. He resolved on a singular stratagem, by way of revenge.
For this purpose, he walked over the deserted camp, and gathered up all
the bits of soiled cloth, clippings of finery, and cast off clothing,
and ornaments which had either been left or lost. These he carefully
picked out of the snow, into which some of them had been trodden and
partially buried, and conveyed them to one place. The motley heap of
gaudy and soiled stuffs, he restored to their original beauty, and
determined to make them into a coat and leggins, which he trimmed with
beads, and finished and decorated after the best fashion of his tribe.
He then made a pair of moccasins and garnished them with beads, a bow
and arrows, and a frontlet and feathers for the head. Having done this,
he searched about for cast out bones of animals, pieces of skins,
clippings of dried meat, and even dirt, and having cemented them
together with snow, he filled the clothes with these things, and pressed
the mass firmly in, and fashioned it externally in all respects, like a
tall and well framed man. He put a bow and arrows in his hands, and the
frontlet on his head. And having finished it, he brought it to life, and
the image stood forth, in the most favoured lineaments of his fellows.
Such was the origin of Moowis, or the Dirt and Rag Man.

"Follow me," said the Beau-Man, "and I will direct you, how you shall
act." He was indeed, a very sightly person, and as they entered the new
encampment, the many colours of his clothes, the profusion of ornaments
which he had managed to give him, and his fine manly step, and animated
countenance, drew all eyes. And he was received by all, both old and
young, with marks of attention. The chief invited him to his lodge, and
he was feasted on the moose's hump and the finest venison.

But no one was better pleased with the handsome stranger than Ma mon dá
go kwa. She fell in love with him at the first sight, and he was an
invited guest at the lodge of her mother, the very first evening of his
arrival. The Beau-man went with him, for it was under his patronage that
he had been introduced, and, in truth, he had another motive for
accompanying him, for he had not yet wholly subdued his feelings of
admiration for the object, against whom he had, nevertheless, exerted
all his necromantic power, and he held himself subject to any favourable
turn, which he secretly hoped the visit might take, in relation to
himself. But no such turn occurred. Moowis attracted the chief
attention, and every eye and heart were alert to entertain him. In this
effort on the part of his entertainers, they had well nigh revealed his
true character, and dissolved him into his original elements of rags,
and snow, and dirt; for he was assigned the most prominent place before
the fire: this was a degree of heat which he could by no means endure.
To ward it off he put a boy between himself and the fire. He shifted his
position frequently, and evaded, by dexterous manoeuvres, and timely
remarks, the pressing invitation of his host to sit up, and enjoy it. He
so managed these excuses, as not only to conceal his dread of immediate
dissolution, but to secure the further approbation of the fair forest
girl, who could not but admire one who had so brave a spirit of
endurance against the paralysing effects of cold.

The visit proved that the rejected lover had well calculated the effects
of his plan. He withdrew from the lodge, and Moowis triumphed. Before he
went, he saw him cross the lodge to the coveted _abinos_, or
bridegroom's seat. Marriage in the forest race, is a simple ceremony,
and where the impediments of custom are small, there is but little time
demanded for their execution. The dart which Ma mon dá go kwa had so
often delighted in sending to the hearts of her admirers, she was at
length fated herself to receive. She had married an image. As the
morning begun to break, the stranger arose and adjusted his warrior's
plumes, and took his forest weapons to depart. "I must go," said he,
"for I have an important business to do, and there are many hills and
streams between me and the object of my journey." "I will go with you,"
she replied. "It is too far," he rejoined, "and you are ill able to
encounter the perils of the way." "It is not so far, but that I can go,"
she responded, "and there are no dangers which I will not fully share
for you."

Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and detailed to him the
events we have described. Pity, for a moment, seized the breast of the
rejected youth. He regretted that she should thus have cast herself away
upon an image and a shadow, when she might have been mistress of the
best lodge in the band. "But it is her own folly," he said, "she has
turned a deaf ear to the counsels of prudence, and she must submit to
her fate."

The same morning the Image-man set forth, and his wife followed him,
according to custom, at a distance. The way was rough and intricate, and
she could not keep up with his rapid pace; but she struggled hard, and
perseveringly to overtake him. Moowis had been long out of sight, when
the sun arose, and commenced upon his snow-formed body the work of
dissolution. He began to melt away, and fall to pieces. As she followed
him, piece after piece of his clothing were found in the path. She
first found his mittens, then his moccasins, then his leggins, then his
coat, and other parts of his garments. As the heat unbound them, they
had all returned also to their debased and filthy condition. The way led
over rocks, through wind falls, across marshes. It whirled about to all
points of the compass, and had no certain direction or object. Rags,
bones, leather, beads, feathers, and soiled ribbons, were found, but she
never caught the sight of Moowis. She spent the day in wandering; and
when evening came, she was no nearer the object of her search than in
the morning, but the snow having now melted, she had completely lost his
track, and wandered about, uncertain which way to go, and in a state of
perfect despair. Finding herself lost, she begun, with bitter cries, to
bewail her fate.

"Moowis, Moowis," she cried. "Nin ge won e win ig, ne won e win
ig"--that is--Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray--you are leading me
astray. And with this cry she continued to wander in the woods.

Sometimes the village girls repeat the above words, varying the
expressions, till they constitute an irregular kind of song, which,
according to the versions of a friendly hand, may be set down as
follows:--

    Moowis! Moowis!
      Forest rover,----
    Where art thou?
      Ah my bravest, gayest lover,
    Guide me now.

    Moowis! Moowis!
      Ah believe me,
    List my moan,
      Do not--do not, brave heart, leave me
    All alone.

    Moowis! Moowis!
      Foot-prints vanished,
    Whither wend I,
      Fated, lost, detested, banished,
    Must I die.

    Moowis! Moowis!
      Whither goest,
    Eye-bright lover,
      Ah thou ravenous bird that knowest,
    I see you hover.

    Circling--circling,
      As I wander,
    But to spy
      Where I fall, and then to batten,
    On my breast.

THE LONE LIGHTNING.

AN ODJIBWA TALE.

A little orphan boy who had no one to care for him, was once living with
his uncle, who treated him very badly, making him do hard things and
giving him very little to eat; so that the boy pined away, he never grew
much, and became, through hard usage, very thin and light. At last the
uncle felt ashamed of this treatment, and determined to make amends for
it, by fattening him up, but his real object was, to kill him by
over-feeding. He told his wife to give the boy plenty of bear's meat,
and let him have the fat, which is thought to be the best part. They
were both very assiduous in cramming him, and one day came near choking
him to death, by forcing the fat down his throat. The boy escaped and
fled from the lodge. He knew not where to go, but wandered about. When
night came on, he was afraid the wild beasts would eat him, so he
climbed up into the forks of a high pine tree, and there he fell asleep
in the branches, and had an aupoway, or ominous dream.

A person appeared to him from the upper sky, and said, "My poor little
lad, I pity you, and the bad usage you have received from your uncle has
led me to visit you: follow me, and step in my tracks." Immediately his
sleep left him, and he rose up and followed his guide, mounting up
higher and higher into the air, until he reached the upper sky. Here
twelve arrows were put into his hands, and he was told that there were a
great many manitoes in the northern sky, against whom he must go to war,
and try to waylay and shoot them. Accordingly he went to that part of
the sky, and, at long intervals, shot arrow after arrow, until he had
expended eleven, in vain attempt to kill the manitoes. At the flight of
each arrow, there was a long and solitary streak of lightning in the
sky--then all was clear again, and not a cloud or spot could be seen.
The twelfth arrow he held a long time in his hands, and looked around
keenly on every side to spy the manitoes he was after. But these
manitoes were very cunning, and could change their form in a moment. All
they feared was the boy's arrows, for these were magic arrows, which had
been given to him by a good spirit, and had power to kill them, if aimed
aright. At length, the boy drew up his last arrow, settled in his aim,
and let fly, as he thought, into the very heart of the chief of the
manitoes; but before the arrow reached him, he changed himself into a
rock. Into this rock, the head of the arrow sank deep and stuck fast.

"Now your gifts are all expended," cried the enraged manito, "and I will
make an example of your audacity and pride of heart, for lifting your
bow against me"--and so saying, he transformed the boy into the
Nazhik-a-wä wä sun, or Lone Lightning, which may be observed in the
northern sky to this day.

SKETCHES OF THE LIVES OF NOTED RED MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE APPEARED ON
THE WESTERN CONTINENT.

CONFESSIONS OF CATHERINE OGEE WYAN AKWUT OKWA; OR THE WOMAN OF THE
BLUE-ROBED CLOUD, THE PROPHETESS OF CHEGOIMEGON.

     [These confessions of the Western Pythoness were made after she had
     relinquished the prophetic office, discarded all the ceremonies of
     the Indian _Medáwin_ and _Jesukeéwin_, and united herself to the
     Methodist Episcopal church, of which, up to our latest dates, she
     remained a consistent member. They are narrated in her own words.]

When I was a girl of about twelve or thirteen years of age, my mother
told me to look out for something that would happen to me. Accordingly,
one morning early, in the middle of winter, I found an unusual sign, and
ran off, as far from the lodge as I could, and remained there until my
mother came and found me out. She knew what was the matter, and brought
me nearer to the family lodge, and bade me help her in making a small
lodge of branches of the spruce tree. She told me to remain there, and
keep away from every one, and as a diversion, to keep myself employed in
chopping wood, and that she would bring me plenty of prepared bass wood
bark to twist into twine. She told me she would come to see me, in two
days, and that in the meantime I must not even taste snow.

I did as directed; at the end of two days she came to see me. I thought
she would surely bring me something to eat, but to my disappointment she
brought nothing. I suffered more from _thirst_, than hunger, though I
felt my stomach gnawing. My mother sat quietly down and said (after
ascertaining that I had not tasted anything, as she directed), "My
child, you are the youngest of your sisters, and none are now left me of
all my sons and children, but you _four_" (alluding to her two elder
sisters, herself and a little son, still a mere lad). "Who," she
continued, "will take care of us poor women? Now, my daughter, listen to
me, and try to obey. Blacken your face and fast _really_, that the
Master of Life may have pity on you and me, and on us all. Do not, in
the least, deviate from my counsels, and in two days more, I will come
to you. He will help you, if you are determined to do what is right, and
tell me, whether you are favored or not, by the _true_ Great Spirit; and
if your visions are not good, reject them." So saying, she departed.

I took my little hatchet and cut plenty of wood, and twisted the cord
that was to be used in sewing _ap puk way oon un_, or mats, for the use
of the family. Gradually, I began to feel less appetite, but my thirst
continued; still I was fearful of touching the snow to allay it, by
sucking it, as my mother had told me that if I did so, though secretly,
the Great Spirit would see me, and the lesser spirits also, and that my
fasting would be of no use. So I continued to fast till the fourth day,
when my mother came with a little tin dish, and filling it with snow,
she came to my lodge, and was well pleased to find that I had followed
her injunctions. She melted the snow, and told me to drink it. I did so,
and felt refreshed, but had a desire for more, which she told me would
not do, and I contented myself with what she had given me. She again
told me to get and follow a good vision--a vision that might not only do
us good, but also benefit mankind, if I could. She then left me, and for
two days she did not come near me, nor any human being, and I was left
to my own reflections. The night of the sixth day, I fancied a voice
called to me, and said: "Poor child! I pity your condition; come, you
are invited this way;" and I thought the voice proceeded from a certain
distance from my lodge. I obeyed the summons, and going to the spot from
which the voice came, found a thin shining path, like a silver cord,
which I followed. It led straight forward, and, it seemed, upward. No.
3. After going a short distance I stood still, and saw on my right hand
the new moon, with a flame rising from the top like a candle, which
threw around a broad light. No. 4. On the left appeared the sun, near
the point of its setting. No. 11. I went on, and I beheld on my right
the face of _Kau ge gag be qua_, or the everlasting woman, No. 5, who
told me her name, and said to me, "I give you my name, and you may give
it to another. I also give you that which I have, life everlasting. I
give you long life on the earth, and skill in saving life in others. Go,
you are called on high."

I went on, and saw a man standing with a large circular body, and rays
from his head, like horns. No. 6. He said, "Fear not, my name is Monedo
Wininees, or the Little man Spirit. I give this name to your first son.
It is my life. Go to the place you are called to visit." I followed the
path till I could see that it led up to an opening in the sky, when I
heard a voice, and standing still, saw the figure of a man standing near
the path, whose head was surrounded with a brilliant halo, and his
breast was covered with squares. No. 7. He said to me: "Look at me, my
name is _O Shau wau e geeghick_, or the Bright Blue Sky. I am the veil
that covers the opening into the sky. Stand and listen to me. Do not be
afraid. I am going to endow you with gifts of life, and put you in array
that you may withstand and endure." Immediately I saw myself encircled
with bright points which rested against me like needles, but gave me no
pain, and they fell at my feet. No. 9. This was repeated several times,
and at each time they fell to the ground. He said, "wait and do not
fear, till I have said and done all I am about to do." I then felt
different instruments, first like awls, and then like nails stuck into
my flesh, but neither did they give me pain, but like the needles, fell
at my feet, as often as they appeared. He then said, "that is good,"
meaning my trial by these points. "You will see length of days. Advance
a little farther," said he. I did so, and stood at the commencement of
the opening. "You have arrived," said he, "at the limit you cannot pass.
I give you my name, you can give it to another. Now, return! Look around
you. There is a conveyance for you. No. 10. Do not be afraid to get on
its back, and when you get to your lodge, you must take that which
sustains the human body." I turned, and saw a kind of fish swimming in
the air, and getting upon it as directed, was carried back with
celerity, my hair floating behind me in the air. And as soon as I got
back, my vision ceased.

In the morning, being the sixth day of my fast, my mother came with a
little bit of dried trout. But such was my sensitiveness to all sounds,
and my increased power of scent, produced by fasting, that before she
came in sight I heard her, while a great way off, and when she came in,
I could not bear the smell of the fish or herself either. She said, "I
have brought something for you to eat, only a mouthful, to prevent your
dying." She prepared to cook it, but I said, "Mother, forbear, I do not
wish to eat it--the smell is offensive to me." She accordingly left off
preparing to cook the fish, and again encouraged me to persevere, and
try to become a comfort to her in her old age and bereaved state, and
left me.

I attempted to cut wood, as usual, but in the effort I fell back on the
snow, from weariness, and lay some time; at last I made an effort and
rose, and went to my lodge and lay down. I again saw the vision, and
each person who had before spoken to me, and heard the promises of
different kinds made to me, and the songs. I went the same path which I
had pursued before, and met with the same reception. I also had another
vision, or celestial visit, which I shall presently relate. My mother
came again on the seventh day, and brought me some pounded corn boiled
in _snow water_, for she said I must not drink water from lake or river.
After taking it, I related my vision to her. She said it was good, and
spoke to me to continue my fast three days longer. I did so; at the end
of which she took me home, and made a feast in honor of my success, and
invited a great many guests. I was told to eat sparingly, and to take
nothing too hearty or substantial; but this was unnecessary, for my
abstinence had made my senses so acute, that all animal food had a gross
and disagreeable odor.

After the seventh day of my fast (she continued), while I was lying in
my lodge, I saw a dark round object descending from the sky like a round
stone, and enter my lodge. As it came near, I saw that it had small feet
and hands like a human body. It spoke to me and said, "I give you the
gift of seeing into futurity, that you may use it, for the benefit of
yourself and the Indians--your relations and tribes-people." It then
departed, but as it went away, it assumed wings, and looked to me like
the red-headed woodpecker.

In consequence of being thus favored, I assumed the arts of a medicine
woman and a prophetess; but never those of a Wabeno. The first time I
exercised the prophetical art, was at the strong and repeated
solicitations of my friends. It was in the winter season, and they were
then encamped west of the Wisacoda, or Brule river of Lake Superior, and
between it and the plains west. There were, besides my mother's family
and relatives, a considerable number of families. They had been some
time at the place, and were near starving, as they could find no game.
One evening the chief of the party came into my mother's lodge. I had
lain down, and was supposed to be asleep, and he requested of my mother
that she would allow me to try my skill to relieve them. My mother spoke
to me, and after some conversation, she gave her consent. I told them to
build the _Jee suk aun_, or prophet's lodge, _strong_, and gave
particular directions for it. I directed that it should consist of ten
posts or saplings, each of a different kind of wood, which I named. When
it was finished, and tightly wound with skins, the entire population of
the encampment assembled around it and I went in, taking only a small
drum. I immediately knelt down, and holding my head near the ground, in
a position as near as may be prostrate, began beating my drum, and
reciting my songs or incantations. The lodge commenced shaking
violently, by supernatural means. I knew this, by the compressed current
of air above, and the noise of motion. This being regarded by me, and by
all without, as a proof of the presence of the spirits I consulted, I
ceased beating and singing, and lay still, waiting for questions, in the
position I had at first assumed.

The first question put to me, was in relation to the game, and _where_
it was to be found. The response was given by the orbicular spirit, who
had appeared to me. He said, "How short-sighted you are! If you will go
in a _west_ direction, you will find game in abundance." Next day the
camp was broken up, and they all moved westward, the hunters, as usual,
going far ahead. They had not proceeded far beyond the bounds of their
former hunting circle, when they came upon tracks of moose, and that
day, they killed a female and two young moose, nearly full-grown. They
pitched their encampment anew, and had abundance of animal food in this
new position.

My reputation was established by this success, and I was afterwards
noted in the tribe, in the art of a medicine woman, and sung the songs
which I have given to you. About four years after, I was married to O
Mush Kow Egeezhick, or the Strong Sky, who was a very active and
successful hunter, and kept his lodge well supplied with food; and we
lived happy. After I had had two children, a girl and a boy, we went
out, as is the custom of the Indians in the spring, to visit the white
settlements. One night, while we were encamped at the head of the
portage at Pauwating (the Falls of St. Mary's), angry words passed
between my husband and a half Frenchman named Gaultier, who, with his
two cousins, in the course of the dispute, drew their knives and a
tomahawk, and stabbed and cut him in four or five places, in his body,
head and thighs. This happened the first year that the Americans came to
that place (1822). He had gone out at a late hour in the evening, to
visit the tent of Gaultier. Having been urged by one of the trader's men
to take liquor that evening, and it being already late, I desired him
not to go, but to defer his visit till next day; and after he had left
the lodge, I felt a sudden presentiment of evil, and I went after him,
and renewed my efforts in vain. He told me to return, and as I had two
children in the lodge, the youngest of whom, a boy, was still in his
cradle, and then ill, I sat up with him late, and waited and waited,
till a late hour, and then fell asleep from exhaustion. I slept very
sound. The first I knew, was a violent shaking from a girl, a niece of
Gaultier's, who told me my husband and Gaultier were all the time
quarrelling. I arose, and went up the stream to Gaultier's camp fire. It
was nearly out, and I tried in vain to make it blaze. I looked into his
tent, but all was dark and not a soul there. They had suddenly fled,
although I did not at the moment know the cause. I tried to make a light
to find my husband, but could find nothing dry, for it had rained very
hard the day before. After being out a while my vision became clearer,
and turning toward the river side, I saw a dark object lying near the
shore, on a grassy opening. I was attracted by something glistening,
which turned out to be his ear-rings. I thought he was asleep, and in
stooping to awake him, I slipped and fell on my knees. I had slipped in
his blood on the grass, and putting my hand on his face, found him dead.
In the morning the Indian agent came with soldiers from the fort, to see
what had happened, but the murderer and all his bloody gang of relatives
had fled. The agent gave orders to have the body buried in the old
Indian burial ground, below the Falls.

My aged mother was encamped about a mile off, at this time. I took my
two children in the morning, and fled to her lodge. She had just heard
of the murder, and was crying as I entered. I reminded her that it was
an act of providence, to which we must submit. She said it was for me
and my poor helpless children that she was crying--that I was left as
she had been, years before, with nobody to provide for us. With her I
returned to my native country at Chegoimegon on Lake Superior.

Thus far, her own narrative. We hope, in a future number, to give
further particulars of her varied, and rather eventful life; together
with specimens of her medicine, and prophetic songs.

RULING CHIEF OF THE MIAMIS.

Died, on the 13th inst. (August, 1841), at his residence on the St.
Mary's, four and a half miles south-west of this city, John B.
Richardville, principal chief of the Miami nation of Indians, aged about
eighty years.

Chief Richardville, or "_Piskewah_" (which is an Indian name, meaning in
English "wild-cat"), was born on the point across the Maumee river,
opposite this city, under or near a large apple tree, on the farm of the
late Colonel Coles; and at a very early age, by succession, became the
chief of the tribe, his mother being chieftainess at the time of his
birth. His situation soon brought him in contact with the whites, and he
was in several engagements, the most important of which was the
celebrated slaughter on the St. Joseph River, one mile north of this
city, designated as "Harmar's Defeat," where several hundred whites,
under General Harmar, were cut off in attempting to ford the river, by
the Indians, who lay in ambush on the opposite shore, by firing upon the
whites when in the act of crossing; which slaughter crimsoned the river
a number of days for several miles below with the blood of the
unfortunate victims.

The Chief is universally spoken of as having been kind and humane to
prisoners--far more so than most of his race; and as soon as peace was
restored, became a worthy citizen, and enjoyed the confidence of the
whites to the fullest extent. He spoke good French and English, as well
as his native tongue; and for many years his house, which is pleasantly
situated on the banks of the St. Mary's, and which was always open for
the reception of friends--was a place of resort for parties of pleasure,
who always partook of the hospitality of his house.

The old man was strictly honest, but remarkably watchful of his
interest, and amassed a fortune exceeding probably a million of dollars,
consisting of nearly $200,000 in specie on hand, and the balance in the
most valuable kind of real estate, which he has distributed by "will"
among his numerous relations with "even-handed justice." He had always
expressed a great anxiety to live, but when he became conscious that the
time of his departure was near at hand, he resigned himself with perfect
composure, saying that it was ordered that all must die, and he was then
ready and willing to answer the call of the "Great Spirit." His remains
were deposited in the Catholic burying-ground with religious
ceremonies.--_Fort Wayne (Ind.) Sentinel._

THE MAGICIAN OF LAKE HURON.

AN OTTOWA TALE RELATED BY NABUNWA IN THE INDIAN TONGUE, TO MR. GEORGE
JOHNSTON.

At the time that the Ottowas inhabited the Manatoline Islands, in Lake
Huron, there was a famous magician living amongst them whose name was
Masswäwëinini, or the Living Statue. It happened, by the fortune of war,
that the Ottowa tribe were driven off that chain of islands by the
Iroquois, and obliged to flee away to the country lying between Lake
Superior and the Upper Mississippi, to the banks of a lake which is
still called, by the French, and in memory of this migration, _Lac
Courtorielle_, or the lake of the Cut-ears, a term which is their _nom
de guerre_ for this tribe. But the magician Masswäwëinini remained
behind on the wide-stretching and picturesque Manatoulins, a group of
islands which had been deemed, from the earliest times, a favorite
residence of the manitoes or spirits. His object was to act as a
sentinel to his countrymen, and keep a close watch on their enemies, the
Iroquois, that he might give timely information of their movements. He
had with him two boys; with their aid he paddled stealthily around the
shores, kept himself secreted in nooks and bays, and hauled up his canoe
every night, into thick woods, and carefully obliterated his tracks upon
the sand.

One day he rose very early, and started on a hunting excursion, leaving
the boys asleep, and limiting himself to the thick woods, lest he should
be discovered. At length he came unexpectedly to the borders of an
extensive open plain. After gazing around him, and seeing no one, he
directed his steps across it, intending to strike the opposite side of
it; while travelling, he discovered a man of small stature, who appeared
suddenly on the plain before him, and advanced to meet him. He wore a
red feather on his head, and coming up with a familiar air, accosted
Masswäwëinini by name, and said gaily, "Where are you going?" He then
took out his smoking apparatus, and invited him to smoke. "Pray," said
he, while thus engaged, "wherein does your strength lie." "My strength,"
answered Masswäwëinini, "is similar to the human race, and common to the
strength given to them, and no stronger." "We must wrestle," said the
man of the red feather. "If you should make me fall, you will say to me,
I have thrown you, _Wa ge me na_."

As soon as they had finished smoking and put up their pipe, the
wrestling began. For a long time the strife was doubtful. The strength
of Masswäwëinini was every moment growing fainter. The man of the red
feather, though small of stature, proved himself very active, but at
length he was foiled and thrown to the ground. Immediately his adversary
cried out, "I have thrown you: _wa ge me na_;" and in an instant his
antagonist had vanished. On looking to the spot where he had fallen, he
discovered a crooked ear of _mondamin_, or Indian corn, lying on the
ground, with the usual red hairy tassel at the top. While he was gazing
at this strange sight, and wondering what it could mean, a voice
addressed him from the ground. "Now," said the speaking ear, for the
voice came from it, "divest me of my covering--leave nothing to hide my
body from your eyes. You must then separate me into parts, pulling off
my body from the spine upon which I grow. Throw me into different parts
of the plain. Then break my spine and scatter it in small pieces near
the edge of the woods, and return to visit the place, after _one moon_."

Masswäwëinini obeyed these directions, and immediately set out on his
return to his lodge. On the way he killed a deer, and on reaching his
canoe, he found the boys still asleep. He awoke them and told them to
cook his venison, but he carefully concealed from them his adventure. At
the expiration of the moon he again, _alone_, visited his wrestling
ground, and to his surprise, found the plain filled with the spikes and
blades of new grown corn. In the place where he had thrown the pieces of
cob, he found pumpkin vines growing in great luxuriance. He concealed
this discovery also, carefully from the young lads, and after his return
busied himself as usual, in watching the movements of his enemies along
the coasts of the island. This he continued, till summer drew near its
close. He then directed his canoe to the coast of that part of the
island where he had wrestled with the Red Plume, drew up his canoe, bid
the lads stay by it, and again visited his wrestling ground. He found
the corn in full ear, and pumpkins of an immense size. He plucked ears
of corn, and gathered some of the pumpkins, when a voice again addressed
him from the cornfield. "Masswäwëinini, you have conquered me. Had you
not done so, your existence would have been forfeited. Victory has
crowned your strength, and from henceforth you shall never be in want of
my body. It will be nourishment for the human race." Thus his ancestors
received the gift of corn.

Masswäwëinini now returned to his canoe, and informed the young men of
his discovery, and showed them specimens. They were astonished and
delighted with the novelty.

There were, in those days, many wonderful things done on these islands.
One night, while Masswäwëinini was lying down, he heard voices speaking,
but he still kept his head covered, as if he had not heard them. One
voice said, "This is Masswäwëinini, and we must get his heart." "In what
way can we get it?" said another voice. "You must put your hand in his
mouth," replied the first voice, "and draw it out that way."
Masswäwëinini still kept quiet, and did not stir. He soon felt the hand
of a person thrust in his mouth. When sufficiently far in, he bit off
the fingers, and thus escaped the danger. The voices then retired, and
he was no further molested. On examining the fingers in the morning,
what was his surprise to find them long wampum beads, which are held in
such high estimation by all the Indian tribes. He had slept, as was his
custom, in the thick woods. On going out to the open shore, at a very
early hour, he saw a canoe at a small distance, temporarily drawn up on
the beach; on coming closer, he found a man in the bows and another in
the stern, with their arms and hands extended in a fixed position. One
of them had lost its fingers: it was evidently the man who had attempted
to thrust his arm down his throat. They were two Pukwudjininees, or
fairies. But on looking closer, they were found to be transformed into
statues of stone. He took these stone images on shore, and set them up
in the woods.

Their canoe was one of the most beautiful structures which it is
possible to imagine, four fathoms in length, and filled with bags of
treasures of every description and of the most exquisite workmanship.
These bags were of different weight, according to their contents. He
busied himself in quickly carrying them into the woods, together with
the canoe, which he concealed in a cave. One of the fairy images then
spoke to him and said: "In this manner, the Ottowa canoes will hereafter
be loaded, when they pass along this coast, although your nation are
driven away by their cruel enemies the Iroquois." The day now began to
dawn fully, when he returned to his two young companions, who were still
asleep. He awoke them, and exultingly bid them cook, for he had brought
abundance of meat and fish, and other viands, the gifts of the fairies.

After this display of good fortune, he bethought him of his aged father
and mother, who were in exile at the Ottowa lake. To wish, and to
accomplish his wish, were but the work of an instant with Masswäwëinini.

One night as he lay awake, reflecting on their condition, far away from
their native fields, and in exile, he resolved to visit them, and bring
them back to behold and to participate in his abundance. To a common
traveller, it would be a journey of twenty or thirty days, but
Masswäwëinini was at their lodge before daylight. He found them asleep,
and took them up softly in his arms and flew away with them through the
air, and brought them to his camp on the Manatolines, or Spirit's
Islands. When they awoke, their astonishment was at its highest pitch;
and was only equalled by their delight in finding themselves in their
son's lodge, in their native country, and surrounded with abundance.

Masswäwëinini went and built them a lodge, near the corn and wrestling
plain. He then plucked some ears of the corn, and taking some of the
pumpkins, brought them to his father and mother. He then told them how
he had obtained the precious gift, by wrestling with a spirit in red
plumes, and that there was a great abundance of it in his fields. He
also told them of the precious canoe of the fairies, loaded with sacks
of the most costly and valuable articles. But one thing seemed necessary
to complete the happiness of his father, which he observed by seeing him
repeatedly at night looking into his smoking pouch. He comprehended his
meaning in a moment. "It is tobacco, my father, that you want. You shall
also have this comfort in two days." "But where," replied the old man,
"can you get it--away from all supplies, and surrounded by your
enemies?" "My enemies," he answered, "shall supply it--I will go over to
the Nadowas of the Bear totem, living at Penetanguishine."

The old man endeavored to dissuade him from the journey, knowing their
blood-thirsty character, but in vain. Masswäwëinini determined
immediately to go. It was now winter weather, the lake was frozen over,
but he set out on the ice, and although it is forty leagues, he reached
Penetanguishine the same evening. The Nadowas discerned him coming--they
were amazed at the swiftness of his motions, and thinking him somewhat
supernatural, feared him, and invited him to rest in their lodges, but
he thanked them, saying that he preferred making a fire near the shore.
In the evening they visited him, and were anxious to know the object of
his journey, at so inclement a season. He said it was merely to get some
tobacco for his father. They immediately made a contribution of the
article and gave it to him. During the night they however laid a plot to
kill him. Some of the old men rushed into his lodge, their leader crying
out to him, "You are a dead man." "No, I am not," said Masswäwëinini,
"but you are," accompanying his words with a blow of his tomahawk, which
laid the Nadowa dead at his feet. Another and another came, to supply
the place of their fallen comrade, but he despatched them in like
manner, as quickly as they came, until he had killed six. He then took
all the tobacco from their smoking pouches. By this time, the day began
to dawn, when he set out for his father's lodge, which he reached with
incredible speed, and before twilight, spread out his trophies before
the old man.

When spring returned, his cornfield grew up, without planting, or any
care on his part, and thus the _maize_ was introduced among his people
and their descendants, who have ever been noted, and are at this day,
for their fine crops of this grain, and their industry in its
cultivation. It is from their custom of trading in this article, that
this tribe are called Ottowas.

CORN-PLANTING, AND ITS INCIDENTS.

The zea, mais, originally furnished the principal article of subsistence
among all the tribes of this race, north and south. It laid at the
foundation of the Mexican and Peruvian types of civilization, as well as
the incipient gleamings of it, among the more warlike tribes of the
Iroquois, Natchez, Lenapees, and others, of northern latitudes. They
esteem it so important and divine a grain, that their story-tellers
invented various tales, in which this idea is symbolized under the form
of a special gift from the Great Spirit. The Odjibwa-Algonquins, who
call it Mon-dá-min, that is, the Spirit's grain or berry, have a pretty
story of this kind, in which the stalk in full tassel, is represented as
descending from the sky, under the guise of a handsome youth, in answer
to the prayers of a young man at his fast of virility, or coming to
manhood.

It is well known that corn-planting, and corn-gathering, at least among
all the still _uncolonized_ tribes, are left entirely to the females and
children, and a few superannuated old men. It is not generally known,
perhaps, that this labour is not compulsory, and that it is assumed by
the females as a just equivalent, in their view, for the onerous and
continuous labour of the other sex, in providing meats, and skins for
clothing, by the chase, and in defending their villages against their
enemies, and keeping intruders off their territories. A good Indian
housewife deems this a part of her prerogative, and prides herself to
have a store of corn to exercise her hospitality, or duly honour her
husband's hospitality, in the entertainment of the lodge guests.

The area of ground planted is not, comparatively, large. This matter is
essentially regulated by the number of the family, and other
circumstances. Spring is a leisure season with them, and by its genial
and reviving influence, invites to labour. An Indian female has no cows
to milk, no flax to spin, no yarn to reel. Even those labours, which, at
other seasons fall to her share, are now intermitted. She has apukwas to
gather to make mats. Sugar-making has ended. She has no skins to dress,
for the hunt has ended, the animals being out of season. It is at this
time that the pelt grows bad, the hair becomes loose and falls off, and
nature itself teaches the hunter, that the species must have repose, and
be allowed a little time to replenish. Under these circumstances the
mistress of the lodge and her train, sally out of the lodge into the
corn-field, and with the light pemidge-ag akwut, or small hoe, open up
the soft ground and deposit their treasured mondamin.

The Indian is emphatically a superstitious being, believing in all sorts
of magical, and secret, and wonderful influences. Woman, herself, comes
in for no small share of these supposed influences. I shrewdly suspect
that one half of the credit we have been in the habit of giving the
warrior, on the score of virtue, in his treatment of captives, is due
alone to his superstitions. He is afraid, at all times, to spoil his
luck, cross his fate, and do some untoward act, by which he might,
perchance, fall under a bad spiritual influence.

To the wéwun, or wife--the equá, or woman, to the guh or mother,--to the
equázas, or girl, and to the dánis, or daughter, and shéma, or sister,
he looks, as wielding, in their several capacities, whether kindred or
not, these mystic influences over his luck. In consequence of this, the
female never walks in the path before him. It is an unpropitious sign.
If she cross his track, when he is about to set out on a hunting, or war
excursion, his luck is gone. If she is ill, from natural causes, she
cannot even stay in the same wigwam. She cannot use a cup or a bowl
without rendering it, in his view, unclean.

A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the mysterious
influence of the steps of a woman on the vegetable and insect creation,
is found in an ancient custom, which was related to me, respecting
corn-planting. It was the practice of the hunter's wife, when the field
of corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or overclouded
evening, to perform a secret circuit, sans habilement, around the field.
For this purpose she slipt out of the lodge in the evening, unobserved,
to some obscure nook, where she completely disrobed. Then taking her
matchecota, or principal garment in one hand, she dragged it around the
field. This was thought to ensure a prolific crop, and to prevent the
assaults of insects and worms upon the grain. It was supposed they could
not creep over the charmed line.

But if corn-planting be done in a lively and satisfied, and not a
slavish spirit, corn-gathering and husking is a season of decided
thankfulness and merriment. At these gatherings, the chiefs and old men
are mere spectators, although they are pleased spectators, the young
only sharing in the sport. Who has not seen, the sedate ogema in such a
vicinage, smoking a dignified pipe with senatorial ease. On the other
hand, turning to the group of nature's red daughters and their young
cohorts, it may be safely affirmed that laughter and garrulity
constitute no part of the characteristics of civilization. Whatever else
custom has bound fast, in the domestic female circle of forest life, the
tongue is left loose. Nor does it require, our observation leads us to
think, one tenth part of the wit or drollery of ancient Athens, to set
their risible faculties in motion.

If one of the young female huskers finds a _red_ ear of corn, it is
typical of a brave admirer, and is regarded as a fitting present to some
young warrior. But if the ear be _crooked_, and tapering to a point, no
matter what colour, the whole circle is set in a roar, and _wa ge min_
is the word shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in the cornfield.
It is considered as the image of an old man stooping as he enters the
lot. Had the chisel of Praxitiles been employed to produce this image,
it could not more vividly bring to the minds of the merry group, the
idea of a pilferer of their favourite mondámin. Nor is there any doubt
on these occasions, that the occurrence truly reveals the fact that the
cornfield has actually been thus depredated on.

The term wagemin, which unfolds all these ideas, and reveals, as by a
talisman, all this information, is derived in part, from the tri-literal
term Waweau, that which is bent or crooked. The termination in g, is the
animate plural, and denotes not only that there is more than one object,
but that the subject is noble or invested with the importance of
animated beings. The last member of the compound, min, is a shortened
sound of the generic meen, a grain, or berry. To make these coalesce,
agreeably to the native laws of euphony, the short vowel i, is thrown
in, between the verbal root and substantive, as a connective. The
literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked ear of grain; but the
ear of corn so called, is a conventional type of a little old man
pilfering ears of corn in a cornfield. It is in this manner, that a
single word or term, in these curious languages, becomes the fruitful
parent of many ideas. And we can thus perceive why it is that the word
wagemin is alone competent to excite merriment in the husking circle.

This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus or corn song, as
sung by the northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled with the phrase
Paimosaid,--a permutative form of the Indian substantive made from the
verb, pim-o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, he who walks, or the
walker; but the ideas conveyed by it, are, he who walks at night to
pilfer corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of parallelism in expression,
to the preceding term. The chorus is entirely composed of these two
terms, variously repeated, and may be set down as follows:

  Wagemin,
  Wagemin,
  Paimosaid.
  Wagemin,
  Wagemin,
  Paimosaid.

When this chant has been sung, there is a pause, during which someone
who is expert in these things, and has a turn for the comic or ironic,
utters a short speech, in the manner of a recitative, in which a
peculiar intonation is given, and generally interrogates the supposed
pilferer, as if he were present to answer questions, or accusations.
There can be no pretence, that this recitative part of the song is
always the same, at different times and places, or even that the same
person should not vary his phraseology. On the contrary, it is often an
object to vary it. It is a perfect improvisation, and it may be supposed
that the native composer is always actuated by a desire to please, as
much as possible by novelty. The whole object indeed is, to keep up the
existing merriment, and excite fun and laughter.

The following may be taken as one of these recitative songs, written
out, on the plan of preserving the train of thought, and some of those
peculiar interjections in which these languages so much abound. The
chorus alone, it is to be observed, is fixed in its words and metre,
however transposed or repeated, and, unlike an English song, precedes
the stanza or narrative.

CORN SONG.

  Cereal chorus.    Wagemin! wagemin!
                    Thief in the blade,
                    Blight of the cornfield
                            Paimosaid.

  Recitative.       See you not traces, while pulling the leaf,
                    Plainly depicting the TAKER and thief?
                    See you not signs by the ring and the spot,
                    How the man crouched as he crept in the lot?
                    Is it not plain by this mark on the stalk,
                    That he was heavily bent in his walk?
                    Old man be nimble! the old should be good,
                    But thou art a cowardly thief of the wood.

  Cereal Chorus.    Wagemin! wagemin!
                    Thief in the blade,
                    Blight of the cornfield
                            Paimosaid.

  Recitative.       Where, little TAKER of things not your own--
                    Where is your rattle, your drum, and your bone?
                    Surely a WALKER so nimble of speed,
                    Surely he must be a Meta[13] indeed.
                    See how he stoops, as he breaks off the ear,
                    Nushka![14] he seems for a moment in fear;
                    Walker, be nimble--oh! walker be brief,
                    Hooh![15] If it is plain the old man is the thief.

  Cereal chorus.    Wagemin! wagemin!
                    Thief in the blade,
                    Blight of the cornfield
                            Paimosaid.

  Recitative.       Wabuma![16] corn-taker, why do you lag?
                    None but the stars see you--fill up your bag!
                    Why do you linger to gaze as you pull,
                    Tell me, my little man, is it most full?
                    A-tia![17] see, a red spot on the leaf,
                    Surely a warrior cannot be a thief!
                    Ah, little night-thief, be deer your pursuit,
                    And leave here no print of your dastardly foot.

     [13] A Juggler.

     [14] A sharp exclamation quickly to behold something striking.

     [15] A derogatory exclamation.

     [16] Behold thou.

     [17] A masculine exclamation, to express surprise.

TO HEALTH.

BY THE LATE JOHN JOHNSTON, ESQ.

    Health! dearest of the heavenly powers,
    With thee to pass my evening hours,
        Ah! deign to hear my prayer;
    For what can wealth or beauty give,
    If still in anguish doomed to live
        A slave to pain and care.

    Not sovereign power, nor charms of love,
    Nor social joys the heart can move,
        If thou refuse thy aid;
    E'en friendship, sympathy divine!
    Does, in thy absence, faintly shine,
        Thou all-inspiring maid.

    Return then, to my longing soul,
    Which sighs to feel thy sweet control
        Transfused through every pore;
    My muse, enraptured, then shall sing
    Thee--gift of heaven's all bounteous king,
        And gratefully adore.

_February 4, 1807._

DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL MANNERS OF THE INDIANS, WHILE ON THEIR WINTERING
GROUNDS.

The Indian, who takes his position as an orator, in front of his people,
and before a mixed assemblage of white men, is to be regarded, in a
measure, as an actor, who has assumed a part to perform. He regards
himself as occupying a position in which all eyes are directed upon him,
in scrutiny, and he fortifies himself for the occasion, by redoubled
efforts in cautiousness and studied stoicism. Rigid of muscle, and
suspicious of mind by nature, he brings to his aid the advantages of
practised art, to bear him out in speaking for his tribe, and to quit
him manfully of his task by uttering sentiments worthy of them and of
himself. This is the statue-like and artistic phasis of the man. It is
here that he is, truly

"A man without a fear--a stoic of the wood."

All this is laid aside, so far as it is assumed, when he returns from
the presence of the "pale-faces," and rejoins his friends and kindred,
in his own village, far away from all public gaze, in the deep recesses
of the forest. Let us follow the man to this retreat, and see what are
his domestic manners, habits, amusements, and opinions.

I have myself visited an Indian camp, in the far-off area of the
North-west, in the dead of winter, under circumstances suited to allay
his suspicions, and inspire confidence, and have been struck with the
marked change there is in his social temper, character, and feelings.
And I have received the same testimony from Indian traders, who have
spent years among them in these secluded positions, and been received by
them as friends and kindred. All indeed, who have had frequent and full
opportunities of witnessing the red man on his hunting grounds, concur
in bearing evidence to his social, hospitable, and friendly habits and
manners. Viewed in such positions, the most perfect sincerity and
cheerfulness prevail; and their intercourse is marked with the broadest
principles of charity and neighborly feeling. The restraint and ever
watchful suspicion which they evince at the frontier post, or in other
situations exposed to the scrutiny and cupidity of white men, is thrown
aside and gives way to ease, sociability and pleasantry. They feel while
thus ensconced in the shades of their native forests, a security unknown
to their breasts in any other situations. The strife seems to be, who
shall excel in offices of friendship and charity, or in spreading the
festive board. If one is more fortunate than the other, in taking meat,
or wielding the arrow or spear, the spoil is set apart for a feast, to
which all the adults, without distinction, are invited. When the set
time of the feast arrives, each one, according to ancient custom, takes
his dish and spoon, and proceeds to the entertainer's lodge. The
victuals are served up with scrupulous attention that each receives a
portion of the best parts. While at the meal, which is prolonged by
cheerful conversation, anecdote, and little narrations of personal
adventure, the females are generally listeners; and none, except the
aged, ever obtrude a remark. The young women and girls show that they
partake in the festivity by smiles, and are scrupulous to evince their
attention to the elder part of the company. Conversation is chiefly
engrossed by the old men and chiefs, and middle-aged men. Young men, who
are desirous to acquire a standing, seldom offer a remark, and when they
_do_, it is with modesty. The topics discussed at these public meals
relate generally to the _chace_, to the _news_ they have heard, or to
personal occurrences about the village; or to deeds, "real or fabulous,"
of "old lang syne;" but the matters are discussed in a lively, and not
in a grave style. Business, if we may be allowed that term for what
concerns their trade and government intercourse, is never introduced
except in _formal councils_, convened specially; and opened formally by
smoking the pipe. It seems to be the drift of conversation, in these
sober festivities (for it must be recollected that we are speaking of
the Indians on their wintering grounds and beyond the reach, certainly
beyond the free or ordinary use of ardent spirits), to extract from
their hunts and adventures, whatever will admit of a pleasant turn, draw
forth a joke, or excite a laugh. Ridiculous misadventures, or comical
situations, are sure to be applauded in the recital. Whatever is
anti-social, or untoward, is passed over, or if referred to by another,
is parried off, by some allusion to the scene before them.

Religion (we use this term for what concerns the great spirit, sacred
dreams, and the ceremonies of the Meda or medicine dance), like
business, is reserved for its proper occasion. It does not form, as with
us, a free topic of remark, at least among those who are professors of
the dance. Thus they cheat away the hours in pleasantry, free, but not
tumultuous in their mirth, but as ardently bent on the enjoyment of the
present moment, as if the sum of life were contained in these three
words, "eat, drink, and be merry." When the feast is over, the women
return to their lodges, and leave the men to smoke. On their return,
they commence a conversation on what they have heard the men advance,
and thus amuse themselves till their husbands return. The end of all is
generally some good advice to the children.

The company in these ordinary feasts is as general, with respect to the
rank, age or standing of the guests, as the most unlimited equality of
rights can make it. All the aged and many of the young are invited.
There is, however, another feast instituted, at certain times during
the season, to which young persons only are invited, or admitted, except
the entertainer and his wife, and generally two other aged persons, who
preside over the feast and administer its rites. The object of this
feast seems to be instruction, to which the young and thoughtless are
induced to listen for the anticipated pleasure of the feast. Before this
feast commences, the entertainer, or some person fluent in speech, whom
he has selected for the purpose, gets up and addresses the youth of both
sexes on the subject of their course through life. He admonishes them to
be attentive and respectful to the aged and to adhere to their counsels:
never to scoff at the decrepit, deformed, or blind: to obey their
parents: to be modest in their conduct: to be charitable and hospitable:
to fear and love the great Spirit, who is the giver of life and every
good gift. These precepts are dwelt upon at great length, and generally
enforced by examples of a good man and woman and a bad man and woman,
and after drawing the latter, it is ever the custom to say, "you will be
like one of these." At the end of every sentence, the listeners make a
general cry of haá. When the advice is finished, an address, or kind of
prayer to the great Spirit is made, in which he is thanked for the food
before them, and for the continuance of life. The speaker then says,
"Thus the great Spirit supplies us with food; act justly, and conduct
well, and you will ever be thus bountifully supplied." The feast then
commences, and the elders relax their manner and mix with the rest, but
are still careful to preserve order, and a decent, respectful behavior
among the guests.

Let it not be supposed, however, that the Indian's life, while on his
wintering grounds, is a round of feasting. Quite the contrary; and his
feasts are often followed by long and painful fasts, and the severity of
the seasons, and scarcity of game and fish, often reduce himself and
family to the verge of starvation, and even death. When the failure of
game, or any other causes, induce the hunter to remove to a new circle
of country, the labor of the removal falls upon the female part of the
family. The lodge, utensils and fixtures of every kind, are borne upon
the women's backs, sustained by a strap of leather around the forehead.
On reaching the intended place of encampment, the snow is cleared away,
cedar branches brought and spread for a flooring, the lodge set up, the
moveables stowed away, wood collected, and a fire built, and then, and
not until then, can the females sit down and warm their feet and dry
their moccasins. If there be any provisions, a supper is cooked. If
there be none, all studiously strive to conceal the exhibition of the
least concern on this account, and seek to divert their thoughts by
conversation quite foreign to the subject. The little children are the
only part of the family who complain, and who are privileged to
complain, but even they are taught at an early age to suffer and be
silent. Generally, something is reserved by the mother, when food
becomes scarce, to satisfy their clamors, and they are satisfied with
little. On such occasions, if the family have gone supperless to rest,
the father and elder sons rise early in the morning in search of
something. If one has the luck to kill even a partridge or a squirrel,
it is immediately carried to the lodge, cooked, and divided into as many
parts as there are members of the family. On these occasions, the elder
ones often make a merit of relinquishing their portions to the women and
children. If nothing rewards the search, the whole day is spent by the
father upon his snow-shoes, with his gun in his hands, and he returns at
night, fatigued, to his couch of cedar branches and rush mats. But he
does not return to complain, either of his want of success, or his
fatigue. On the following day the same routine is observed, and days and
weeks are often thus consumed without being rewarded with anything
capable of sustaining life. Instances have been well authenticated, when
this state of wretchedness has been endured by the head of a family
until he has become so weak as to fall in his path, and freeze to death.
When all other means of sustaining life are gone, the skins he has
collected to pay his credits, or purchase new supplies of clothing or
ammunition, are eaten. They are prepared by removing the pelt, and
roasting the skin until it acquires a certain degree of crispness. Under
all their sufferings, the pipe of the hunter is his chief solace, and is
a solace often resorted to. Smoking parties are frequently formed, when
there is a scarcity of food not tending, as might be supposed, to
destroy social feeling and render the temper sour. On these occasions
the entertainer sends a message to this effect: "Come and smoke with me.
I have no food; but we can pass away the evening very well without it."
All acknowledge their lives to be in the hand of the great Spirit; feel
a conviction that all comes from him, and that although he allows them
to suffer, he will again supply them. This tends to quiet their
apprehensions; they are fatalists, however, under long reverses, and
submit patiently and silently to what they believe to be their destiny.
When hunger and misery are past, they are soon forgotten, and their
minds are too eagerly intent on the enjoyment of the present good, to
feel any depression of spirits from the recollection of the past, or to
hoard up anything to provide against want for the future. No people are
more easy, or less clamorous under sufferings of the deepest dye, and
none more happy, or more prone to evince their happiness, when
prosperous in their affairs.

October 29th, 1826.

PUGASAING;

OR,

THE GAME OF THE BOWL.

This is the principal game of hazard among the northern tribes. It is
played with thirteen pieces, hustled in a vessel called onágun, which is
a kind of wooden bowl. They are represented, and named, as follows.

[Illustration: GAME PIECES]

The pieces marked No. 1, in this cut, of which, there are two, are
called Ininewug, or men. They are made tapering, or wedge-shaped in
thickness, so as to make it possible, in throwing them, that they may
stand on their base. Number 2, is called Gitshee Kenabik, or the Great
Serpent. It consists of two pieces, one of which is fin-tailed, or a
water-serpent, the other truncated, and is probably designed as
terrestrial. They are formed wedge-shaped, so as to be capable of
standing on their bases length-wise. Each has four dots. Number 3, is
called Pugamágun, or the war club. It has six marks on the handle, on
the _red side_, and four radiating from the orifice of the club end; and
four marks on the handle of the _white side_; and six radiating marks
from the orifice on the club-end, making ten on each side. Number 4 is
called Keego, which is the generic name for a fish. The four circular
pieces of brass, slightly concave, with a flat surface on the apex, are
called Ozawábiks. The three bird-shaped pieces, Sheshebwug, or ducks.

All but the circular pieces are made out of a fine kind of bone. One
side of the piece is white, of the natural colour of the bones, and
polished, the other red. The brass pieces have the convex side bright,
the concave black. They are all shaken together, and thrown out of the
onágun, as dice. The term pugasaing denotes this act of throwing. It is
the participial form of the verb.--The following rules govern the game:

1. When the pieces are turned on the red side, and one of the Ininewugs
stands upright on the bright side of one of the brass pieces, it counts
158.

2. When all the pieces turn red side up, and the Gitshee Kenabik with
the tail stands on the bright side of the brass piece, it counts 138.

3. When all turn up red, it counts 58 whether the brass pieces be bright
or black side up.

4. When the Gitshee Kenabik and his associate, and the two Ininewugs
turn up white side, and the other pieces red, it counts 58, irrespective
of the concave or convex position of the brass pieces.

5. When all the pieces turn up white, it counts 38, whether the
Ozawábiks, be bright or black.

6. When the Gitshee Kenabik and his associate turn up red, and the other
white, it counts 38, the brass pieces immaterial.

7. When one of the Ininewugs stands up, it counts 50, without regard to
the position of all the rest.