by V. V. Vide
MONICA.
~"Speak not, but fly-- There are a thousand winged deaths behind, Thirsting for blood. Hope, life, and liberty Are all before; and this good arm is pledged To guide thee."~
The grave of the Indian is a temple, a sort of gateway to heaven. Aroundit linger the tenderest affection, the purest devotion of the survivingfriend. The grass and flowers that grow over it are never suffered towither. The snow and the rain are not permitted to remain upon it. Theleast profanation of that sacred place would be visited with a moreterrible vengeance than an affront to the living. Nothing illustratesmore clearly the cruel injustice we have done to our red brethren of theforest, by regarding and treating them only as savages, and delineatingthem always and every where, as destitute of all the refined sympathiesof humanity--than this prevailing national characteristic, anaffectionate reverence for the dead, and a religious regard for thesepulchres and bones of their ancestors. It touches one of the deepestcords in the human heart. It springs from the very fountain head ofsocial and moral refinement. It links the visible and material, with theunseen and spiritual world; blending all that is tender, and pure, andsubduing, in the one, with all that is bright, hopeful, and inviting, inthe other. Its existence in any heart, or its prevalence among anypeople, is proof sufficient that that heart is not wholly hardened inselfishness, and that people not wholly given over to barbarism.
The infant child of an Itean mother lay dead in her tent. He was abeautiful boy, and already the fond mother had read in his brillianteye, and the vigorous movements of his tiny limbs, the heroic deeds ofthe future chieftain. But her darling hope was nipped in the very germ.Her only son was shrouded for the grave, and the hour of burial hadcome. His shroud was a blanket, in which the head, as well as the body,was completely enveloped. His bier was a train, or Indian sled, in theform of a common snow-shoe, on which the body was laid, without acoffin, and secured by bandages from side to side. Into this train washarnessed a favorite dog of the family, when it was drawn with slow andsolemn step, to the grave, preceded by the priest or medicine man of thevillage, in his gorgeous robes of office, and followed by the parentsand sister of the child, with all the inmates of the neighboringwigwams.
Arriving at the grave, the procession stopped, and gathered round thebier, the women and children seating or prostrating themselves on theground, the men standing in a grave and solemn circle around them. Thedog, still remaining in his harness, was then shot, and the medicineman, standing over it, addressed it in the following strain, "Go on yourjourney to the Spirit land. Long and weary is the way you have to go.Linger not on the journey, for precious is the burden you carry. Swimswiftly over the river, lest the little one be lost in the stream, andnever visit the camp of its fathers. When you come to the camp of theWhite-headed Eagle, bark, that they may know who it is you bring, andcome out and welcome the little one among its kindred band."
The body was then laid in the grave, on its little train. The dog wasplaced by its side, with a kettle of food at its head, to supply it onthe journey. A cup, containing a portion of the mother's milk, freshlydrawn, was also put into the grave for the use of the child. The earthwas laid gently over it, and covered with the fresh sod, the mother, andher female friends, chanting, the while, a plaintive dirge, designed toencourage the spirit of the departed on its dark and perilous journey.The mother held in her hand a roll of bark, elaborately decorated withfeathers and bead-work, encompassed with a scarf of broadcloth, highlyembroidered. This was intended as a memento of the deceased, to besacredly preserved in the family lodge. Such mementoes are always seenthere, after the death of a friend, and one may always know, by theirnumber, how many of that household have gone to the spirit-land. It isusually placed upright in the spot where the departed was accustomed tosit, dressed in the same ornaments and bands that he wore while living.At every family meal, a portion of food is set before it. If it be achild who has died, the mother offers it a cup of milk, wraps it in thecradle bands of her lost infant, and bears it about with her wherevershe goes.
An Indian grave is a protected spot. That which is described above, wassurrounded by a small enclosure of logs, and covered with a roof ofbark, to shield it from the rain. At its head, a small round post wasset, painted with vermilion. Other decorations were displayed upon thewall of the enclosure, which were carefully guarded, and frequentlyreplaced, as they were soiled by the rains, or torn and defaced by theviolence of the winds. Day after day, the bereaved mother and sistervisited that grave, taking their work with them, and sitting down by itsside, chanted their plaintive lullaby to that sleeping infant, andcheered on that faithful dog in his wearisome journey, charging him notto lag or go astray in traversing the plain, nor suffer his preciousburden to fall into the water, in crossing the deep dark rapid river tothe spirit land.
Weeks and months had passed since that humble grave was made, and thatprecious treasure confided to its bosom. It was a calm glorious eveningin mid-summer. The moon shone brightly on the Itean encampment. Therewas not, in the whole valley of the west, a more beautiful spot for asettlement. The smooth open green-sward was closely surrounded withtrees on three sides. On the other, the land gradually sloped towardsthe river, which flowed quietly by, ever and anon sparkling in themoonbeams, or reflecting the dark forest and flowery banks in its azuredepths.
The wigwams in the opening were all closed. Their inmates were at rest.Presently, the buffalo-skin, that served as a door to the principalcabin, was drawn aside, and the beautiful daughter of the chief emergedinto the light, and passed swiftly on to the river. Following itscourse a short distance, by the narrow path that threaded the woods onits bank, she came to the little grave, threw herself on the earth byits side, and wept. It was Monica, the sister of that buried infant, thesame whom we saw at his grave when it was first opened, and who haddaily, since that time, sung over it her simple song.
The grief and disappointment of the mother, in the loss of her only son,was not more deep or sincere, or enduring, than that of thisaffectionate and devoted sister. From the moment of his birth, he wasthe idol of her soul. She looked forward to the time, in her ardentimagination very near at hand, when, emulating the virtues and deeds ofhis father, he should become the noblest chief of his tribe. She hadpictured to herself the many wonderful exploits he should achieve, andthe love and veneration with which he would be regarded throughout thenation. But now, those hopes were blasted, those visions had all fadedinto darkness. Time had not soothed her disappointment, or softened thepoignancy of her grief. Waking or sleeping, the image of her lostbrother was before her. She longed to follow him, that she mightovertake him on the way, and help him in his passage over that fearfulstream.
She had laid down that night, as usual, and slept by the side of hermother. Her dreams were troubled. She thought that arid plain and darkriver were before her. The faithful dog was struggling with the waves.The little ark which held that precious treasure, was buffeted about bythe winds. Chilled with the cold, and terrified by the dark howlingstorm, the lone child sobbed bitterly, and looked imploringly round forhis mother. In her distress and agitation, she awoke. Unable to sleep,or even to rest, she rose, and ran to the grave.
"I come, I come, my precious one, I am ever by your side-- Fear not, your voyage is almost done Over that dismal tide; The winds shall hush, the storm pass o'er, And a friendly band shall come To meet you on the spirit shore, And bid you welcome home. Fear not, for love that never sleeps Shall guard you o'er that wave; And mother her constant vigil keep Beside your quiet grave."
Having chanted her simple lay of love, Monica turned from the grave,stepped into a canoe, and paddled down the stream. Overcome with grief,she dropped her paddle, sat pensively down in her shallop, and left itto follow its course down the current. For several hours it glidedsilently on. She gave no heed to the hours, till morning broke in theeast. Suddenly starting up from her long dream, she looked for herpaddle. It was gone
. Seeing a bough floating on the water near her, sheleaned out to catch it, as the canoe passed on. It was decayed, andbroke in her hand. Throwing it from her, she looked eagerly about forsome other means of reaching the shore. At length, passing under theshadow of an immense tree, that overhung the stream, she seized a branchthat almost dipped into the water, and drawing herself in to the bank,sprang on shore.
Slowly and doubtfully the timid girl threaded the thick forest,scarcely knowing which way to turn. Hoping to find some friendly wigwamnear, she sounded the shrill call of her tribe. The call was instantlyanswered, but not by a friendly voice. Two stern and stalwart warriorsof the Pawnee tribe, who were deadly enemies to the Iteans, chanced tobe passing that way, and, recognizing the call as that of an enemy,sprang from the thicket, seized the trembling maiden, and bore her awayin triumph. Many a weary league she travelled on by the side of hermerciless captors, ere she reached their distant encampment. Worn,exhausted in strength and desponding in heart, she fell to the earth inthe midst of the throng that gathered around her, and besought them tokill her at once, and let her go to her poor infant brother.
The Pawnees were not only hostile to the Iteans, but were, in somerespects, the most savage tribe in the great valley. They alone, of theNorth American Indians, continued, down the present century, and farwithin it, to practice the savage rite of sacrificing human victims onthe altar of their gods. With them it was a propitiatory sacrifice,offered to the _Great Star_, or the planet Venus. This dreadful ceremonyannually preceded the preparations for planting corn, and was supposedto be necessary to secure a fruitful season. The victim was always someprisoner, who had been captured in war, or otherwise; and there wasnever wanting an individual who coveted the honor of making a captivefrom some hostile tribe, and dedicating the spoils of his prowess to thenational benefit.
The captors of Monica were in quest of a victim for this sacrifice, whenthey wandered away alone, and prowled for several days, about theencampment of her tribe. With this view, they bore her away in triumph,deaf to all her entreaties and tears, and gave her in charge to thepriests, to be made ready against the return of the season.
The best wigwam in the village was assigned for her accommodation.Cheerful companions of her own age were given her. The most sedulousattention was paid to her wants. She was dressed in gay apparel,continually feasted on the choicest luxuries which their fields andhunting grounds afforded, and treated with the utmost tenderness by allabout her. Every possible means was employed to allay her grief, andpromote that cheerfulness of spirit, which is essential to health andcomeliness, in order that she might thus be made a more suitable andacceptable offering.
The personal charms of Monica required no such system of treatment, inorder to their full development. She was a rare specimen of native graceand loveliness, and would have been a fitting model, in every featureand limb, for a Phidias or a Praxitiles. The exceeding beauty andgentleness of their captive, while it won the admiration and regard ofall her young companions, only made her, in the view of the priests andchiefs of the tribe, a more desirable victim for the altar.
For a long time, Monica was inconsolable. Deprived of that dearestprivilege of visiting daily the grave of her brother, distracted in viewof the anxiety which her mother would feel for her, she refused to becomforted, or to take any pleasure in the means employed to amuse her.Time and kindness, however, and the promise that she should, by and by,return to her father-land, restored, in a degree, her serenity of mind.She was too affectionate and confiding, to reject the sympathy andkindness even of an enemy. Grateful for the unwearied efforts which hercompanions made to amuse and comfort her, she came, at last, to regardthem as friends. Gratitude begat affection. Affection createdconfidence. She unburdened her heart of the sorrows that oppressed it.By that effort, the burden was lightened. Something of the elasticityand vivacity of youth returned. She sang and played, if not to amuseherself, yet to gratify others, whose assiduous kindness, and seeminglygenerous sympathy, she had no other means of repaying. Thus, entirelyignorant of the terrible doom that awaited her, Monica passed the winterof her captivity, looking ever forward to the opening spring as theperiod of her promised release, and return to the wigwam of her mother.
At length the fatal day arrived, and every thing was ready for thesacrifice. The whole Pawnee tribe was assembled to witness and take partin the solemnities. From every side, they were seen emerging from thethick forest, or gliding noiselessly over the bosom of the silverstream, leaping from cliff to cliff of the distant hills, or windingdown their steep passes and narrow defiles, to meet in the great centralvillage, around the grand council fire of the nation. The whole tribewas there--the chiefs in all their gaudy array of bead-work, feathers,and paint, their embroidered moccasins, their gaily wrought tunics andbelts, their polished rifles, and glittering tomahawks--the women andchildren, and the rank and file of the people, in all the finery andgewgaws they could command. It was a brave sight to those accustomed tothe barbaric finery and wild sports of the Indian, but fearful andhideous to one unused to the rude painted visages and half naked formsof the warriors.
The awful hour of those dreadful orgies was announced by all thosediscordant shouts and hideous yells, which, with those primitive races,serve the purpose of trumpet, drum and bell. The stake was set, and thefaggots made ready, in the centre of the great opening. The priestsstood at their post, and the vast multitude of eager excited witnessesthronged around, waiting in terrible expectation for the consummation ofthat horrid rite, and kindling into phrenzy in view of the mad revelrythat would follow. Presently, the outer ranks of that crowding circlemade way, and opened a passage to the ring within. Through this livingavenue, a company of chiefs marched in, singing, or rather shouting, awild song, and dancing in fantastic measures. At their head was thecaptor of Monica, leading the timid girl by the hand. She was arrayed inthe most showy and expensive style of Indian costume, the variousdecorations of her person comprising all that was beautiful and rare inornament, according to the uncultivated taste of that people.Unconscious still of the doom that awaited her, and hoping, perhaps,that this was to be the festival of her freedom, when she would be sentaway in peace to her home, she entered the circle with a cheerful face,and an elastic step, smiling on her young companions as she passed, andwondering at the cold look, or sometimes averted eye, with which hersalutation was answered.
It was not until she was led quite up to the stake, and saw the fearfulfaggots piled around it, that she comprehended the meaning of thesemysterious preparations. Her awful doom flashed upon her, like a boltfrom heaven. With one loud, piercing, heart-rending shriek, she fell tothe earth, and called upon her mother. She was lifted up by the sternpriest, placed upon the pile, and bound to the stake. With wildincantations, and horrid yells, the dread orgies were commenced. Thetorch was lighted, and ready to be applied. At that instant, a shrillwhoop burst from the adjoining wood. A brave young warrior, leaping intothe midst of the circle, rushed to the stake, cut the cords that boundthe helpless victim, tore her away from the pile, and, dashing backthrough the panic-struck crowd, flung her upon a fleet horse which hehad prepared for the occasion, sprung himself upon another, and was soonlost in the distant windings of the wood.
It was the act of a moment. Even the Indian warriors, who are not easilysurprised, or put off their guard, were confounded and paralysed. Beforethey could comprehend the object of this sudden phantom, this rashinterruption of their festival, their victim was gone. The bare stake,and the useless heap of faggots were there. The proud chief, whofurnished the victim, and the fierce-looking priests, who were toofficiate in the dark rites of the sacrifice, stood in blankastonishment around, as if a bolt from the cloud had smitten them. Amomentary silence prevailed among that mighty throng. A low murmursucceeded, like the distant moans of a coming storm: then, like thetempest, bursting in all its wrath, fierce cries of vengeance from athousand flaming tongues, furious discordant yells and shouts,accompanied with frantic gestures, and looks of rag
e, such as woulddistort the visage of a fiend. Some of the fleetest started off in hotbut vain pursuit. Those who remained, promised themselves a day ofterrible retribution. The mothers secretly rejoiced in the escape; whilethose of the young girls who had been the chosen companions of thecaptive, gave vent to their joy and gratitude in wild songs and dances.
In this manner, that turbulent assembly broke up. Without the usualfeast and its accompanying games, they scattered to their several homes,coolly meditating revenge, and darkly foreboding the famine that shouldensue from the absence of the accustomed sacrifice.
Meanwhile, the fugitives held on their way, with the speed of the wind.Not a word was spoken. It was a race of life and death, and everyfaculty of the rescuer as well as of the rescued was absorbed in the oneidea and effort to escape. Over hill and plain, and shallow stream,those foaming steeds flew on, pausing not even to snuff the breeze, tillthey had cleared the territory of the Pawnees, and reached a shelterednook within the precincts of a neutral tribe. Here, as among all theIndian tribes the woman is considered competent to take care of herselfin all ordinary emergencies, her deliverer left her, giving her ampledirections for the way, and cautioning her to use the utmost diligenceto avoid pursuit.
"But, tell me first," she cried, tears of grateful joy standing in hereyes, "tell me to whom I am indebted for this miraculous escape--that,in all my prayers to the Great Spirit, I may call down his blessing uponyour head."
"I am Petalesharro," replied the youth, modestly. "My father isLatalashaw, the chief of my tribe. We do not believe, with our people,that the Great Spirit delights in the sacrifice. He loves all his redchildren, and they should all love one another."
"But, will not your chiefs revenge upon your head this interference withtheir solemn rites? If any national calamities follow, will they notcharge them all to your account? I could not bear that my generousdeliverer should be struck down by those terrible hands, in the prime ofhis youth, as the reward of his heroic benevolence. Better that I shouldreturn and submit to the fate they had prepared for me."
"Fear not for me, Monica. Petalesharro fears not to meet the assembledcouncil of his nation. Not a brave among them all will raise a hand tohurt him. He will make them know that the Great Star needs not the bloodof the captive. And never again shall the fires be kindled for thatcruel sacrifice."
Encouraged by the words of the young chief, Monica turned, with a strongheart, towards her home, still some four hundred miles distant. The samekind providence which had rescued her from the devouring flames, stillguided and guarded her solitary way, and gave her strength and spiritsfor her toilsome journey.
On the second day of her pilgrimage, as she climbed the summit of arange of hills that ran athwart her path, she was alarmed by theappearance of a considerable body of armed men, just emerging from adistant ravine of the same range, in a direction that would lead themimmediately across her path. They were too far off to enable her todiscern, by their dress and accoutrements, to what tribe they belonged.She supposed they must be Pawnees in pursuit of their lost captive. Ifshe attempted to pass on before them, they would discover her track, andsoon overtake her flight. She had nothing to do, therefore, but waittill they had passed, in the hope of eluding their eager scent.Concealing herself in the thicket, in a position that overlooked thevalley, she awaited with composure the coming of that fearful band. Theydescended into the valley, and, to the utter consternation of Monica,began to pitch their tents under the shade of a spreading oak, on thebank of a little stream. She watched the movement with an anxious heart,not knowing how she should escape, with a pursuing enemy so near. Herconsternation and anxiety were soon, however, changed to joy, when oneof the company, approaching the vicinity of her hiding place, to cut apole for his tent, was recognized as a chief of her own tribe. Springingfrom the thicket with a scream of delight, which startled the wholeencampment, and brought every brave to his feet, with his hand on thetrigger of his rifle, she rushed into the midst of her astonishedpeople, and was received with silent joy, as one restored from the dead.Under their protection, the remainder of her journey was safely andeasily performed. Before the moon, which was then crescent, had reachedher full, Monica had embraced her mother, and added a fresh flower tothe grave of her brother.
The brave, the generous, the chivalrous Petalesharro returned to hisfather's tent with the fearless port and composed dignity of one whoseconsciousness of rectitude placed him above fear. He was a young man,just entered upon manhood, and a general favorite of his tribe.[E] Hiscountenance, as represented in Col. McKenney's magnificent work upon theNorth American tribes, is one of uncommon beauty of feature. In itsmildness of expression, it is almost effeminate. But in heart and soulhe was a man and a hero. His courage, and the power of his arm, wereacknowledged by friend and foe; and on the death of his father, he wasraised to the chieftaincy of his tribe. The season which followed hisnoble act of humane, may we not say religious chivalry, was one ofuncommon fertility, health and prosperity. "_The Great Star_" had notdemanded the victim. And the Pawnees never again polluted their altarswith the blood of a human sacrifice.
[E] Major Long, in his "Expeditions to the Rocky Mountains," thus describes Petalesharro, as he appeared in his native wilds, and among his own people, in the full costume which he wore on the occasion of some great festival of his tribe.
"Almost from the beginning of this interesting fete, our attention had been attracted to a young man, who seemed to be the leader or partisan of the warriors. He was about twenty-three years of age, of the finest form, tall, muscular, exceedingly graceful, and of a most prepossessing countenance. His head-dress, of war-eagles' feathers, descended in a double series upon his back, like wings, down to his saddle-croup; his shield was highly decorated, and his long lance by a plaited casing of red and blue cloth. On enquiring of the interpreter, our admiration was augmented by learning that he was no other than Petalesharro, with whose name and character we were already familiar. He is the most intrepid warrior of the nation, the eldest son of Letalashaw, and destined, as well by mental and physical qualifications, as by his distinguished birth, to be the future leader of his people."
Petalesharro visited Washington in 1821, where his fine figure and countenance, and his splendid costume attracted every eye. But there was that in his history and character, which had gone before him, that secured for him a worthier homage than that of the eye. His act of generous chivalry to the Itean captive was the theme of every tongue. The ladies of the city caused an appropriate medal to be prepared, commemorating the noble deed, and presented it to him, in the presence of a large assemblage of people, who took a lively interest in the ceremony. In reply to their complimentary address, the brave young warrior modestly said--"My heart is glad. The white woman has heard what I did for the captive maid, and they love me, and speak well of me, for doing it. I thought but little of it before. It came from my heart, as the breath from my body. I did not know that any one would think better of me for that. But now I am glad. For it is a good thing to be praised by those, who only praise that which is good."
TULA,
OR
THE HERMITESS OF ATHABASCA.
I thought to be alone. It might not be! There is no solitude in thy domains, Save what man makes, when in his selfish breast, He locks his joys, and bars out others' grief.
TULA.
~Death is not all-- Not half the agony we suffer here: The cup of life has drugs, more bitter far, That must be drained.~
That solitary wigwam, in the outskirts of the village, was the home ofKaf-ne-wah-go, an aged Chippeway warrior, who had weathered the storms,and outlived the wars, of three score and ten seasons, and was yet asfiery in the chase, and as mighty and terrible in battle, as any of theyoung chiefs of his tribe. His voice in the council was, like the solemntones of an oracle, listened to with a reverence approaching to awe, andnever disregarded. His sons
all inherited the spirit of their father,and distinguished themselves among the braves in fight, and the sages incouncil. Three of them fell in battle. One was principal chief of thewestern division of the Chippeway family. Another, the braveIsh-ta-le-o-wah, occupied the first in that group of wigwams in yondergrove, about a hundred yards from his father's.
The only daughter of the good old sachem, the child of his old age, and"the light of his eyes," was the fairest and loveliest wild-flower, thatever sprung up amid the interminable wildernesses of the Western World.Tula, the singing bird, was distinguished among the daughters of theforest, not only for those qualities of person and character which arerecognized as graces among the Indians, but for some of those peculiarrefinements of feeling and manner, which are supposed to be theexclusive product of a civilized state of society. She was remarkablefor the depth and tenderness of her affection, and for her ingenuity,industry and taste. Her dress, and those of her father and brother,exhibited the traces of her delicate handiwork; while the neat andtasteful arrangement of the humble cabin, superior in all that makeshome comfortable and pleasant to any in the village, bore testimony toher industry and skill.
Tula had many suitors. There was scarce a young brave in the tribe whodid not seek or desire her. But O-ken-ah-ga, the only son of their greatchief, won her heart. She became his bride, but she remained, with himand their first-born child, in the tent of her aged parents, who couldnot live, as they said, "when the singing bird, the light of their eyeswas gone."
* * * * *
It was mid-summer. The night was still, clear, and lovely. All natureseemed to breathe nothing but calmness and peace. But the heart ofman--how often and how sadly is it at variance with nature! The inmatesof that humble wigwam were all wrapped in a profound sleep, not dreamingof danger near. The infant, nestling in his mother's bosom, by a suddenstart roused her to partial consciousness. A deep groan, as of one inexpiring agonies, awakened all her faculties. She sprung up and calledupon her husband--
"O-ken-ah-ga, what is the matter?"
Another deep groan, and a stifled yell of triumph, was the only answer.
Staring wildly round, what a scene of horror met her eyes! Her father,her mother, her husband, pierced with many wounds, and weltering intheir yet warm blood, lay dead before her; while a band of fierce andterrible enemies, of the Athapuscow tribe, stood over them, with thereeking instruments of death in their hands, their eyes gleaming withsavage delight, and their whole faces distorted with the most fiend-likeexpression of rage and triumph. With the true instinct of a mother, sheclasped her infant to her breast, and bowed her head in silence, utterlyunable to give any utterance to the bitterness of her wo. It was thissilence that saved her and her child from an instant participation inthe fate of the mangled ones around her. The first word spoken, wouldhave brought down that reeking tomahawk upon their heads. TheAthapuscows were few in number, and their only safety consisted in doingtheir work of revenge with secrecy and despatch, for the Chippeways weremany and powerful, and to disturb the slumbers of one of them would beto rouse the whole tribe in a moment.
The work of death was done. The scalps of their victims hung dripping atthe belts of the murderers, and the spoils of the cabin were secured.The spoilers turned to depart, and Tula, in obedience to their word,without complaint or remonstrance, rose and followed them. Gathering upa few necessary articles, among which she contrived to conceal her babe,she took one farewell look upon the loved ones, whom death had sosuddenly and fearfully claimed, and left them, and the home of heryouth, for ever.
With cautious stealthy steps, the murderous band plunged into the deepforest, threading their way through its intricate mazes, withinconceivable skill and sagacity, till they reached an opening, on thebank of the Wapatoony river, where a considerable detachment of theirtribe was temporarily encamped. Delivering their prisoner into the handsof the women, the braves proceeded at once to the council of the chiefs,to show their trophies, and relate the incidents of their scout.
When the Athapuscow women, in examining the contents of the poorcaptive's bundle, discovered the still sleeping infant, they seized himas they would have done a viper, and dashed him on the ground. In vaindid the fond mother plead for her child. In vain did the voice ofnature, and a mother's instinct in their own bosoms, plead for theinnocent. It was an enemy's child, a hated Chippeway, and that wasenough to stifle every other feeling in their hearts, and make even "aninfant of days" an object of intense and implacable hatred. With theIndian, the son of an enemy is an enemy, doomed only to death ortorture. The daughter may be spared for slavery or sacrifice.
* * * * *
The morning dawned with uncommon brilliancy and beauty upon theChippeway village, and warriors and children were astir with theearliest light, some to fish in the smooth stream, that, like a silverchain, bound their two beautiful lakes together--some to look after thetraps they had set over-night--some to prepare for the hunt--and somefor the merry games and athletic sports of the village. The quick eye ofIsh-ta-le-o-wah soon discovered that all was not right in the tent ofhis father. Kaf-ne-wah-go was not abroad, as usual, with his net in thestream. O-ken-ah-ga was not seen among the hunters with his bow, noramong the wrestlers on the green. No smoke was seen curling among thebranches of the old tree that overshadowed his mother's tent. All wasstill as the house of the dead.
"Why sleep the brave so long, when the light of day is already on thehill-top, and coming down upon the valley. Has the snake crept into thetent of Kaf-ne-wah-go, and charmed the father with the children? I mustgo and see."
The loud and piercing yell of Ish-ta-le-o-wah, as he looked in upon thatdesolate wigwam, roused the whole village, like the blast of a trumpet.The counsellors and braves of the nation were soon on the spot. Thewhole scene was understood in a moment, as clearly as if a writtenrecord of the whole had been left behind. Pursuit, and the recovery ofthe captive Tula and her child, were instantly resolved; and, ere thesun had surmounted the eastern barrier of their beautiful valley,Ish-ta-le-o-wah, with a band of chosen braves, was on the trail of thefoe.
With the keen eye and quick scent of a blood-hound, they followed thealmost obliterated track, through forest and brake, through swamp anddingle, over hill and prairie, till it was lost on the border of theAthabasca lake. Though the party in retreat was large, so well were theyall trained in the Indian tactics of flight and concealment, that itrequired a most experienced eye to keep on their track. They hadmarched, according to custom, in Indian file, each carefully walking inthe steps of the other, so that, to an unpractised observer, there wouldappear to have been but one wayfarer in the path. Wherever it waspracticable, the path was carried over rocks, or the soft elasticmosses, or through the bed of a running brook, with the hope of eludingthe pursuer. But no artifice of the Athapuscow could elude thewell-trained eye of the Chippeway. He would instantly detect theslightest trace of a footstep on the ground, or the passage of a humanbody through the thicket. In one place, the edges of the moss had beentorn, or a blade of grass trampled in upon it; in another, the smallstones of the surface had been displaced, showing sometimes the freshearth, and sometimes the hole of a worm uncovered, with half the lengthof its astonished occupant protruded to the light, as if investigatingthe cause of the sudden unroofing of his cell. Here some dry stickbroken, or the bark of a protruding root peeled off, would betray thestep of the fugitive; and there a shrub slightly bent, or a leaf turnedup and lapped over upon another, or a few petals of a wild flower tornoff and scattered upon the ground, would reveal the rude touch of hisfoot, or arm, or the trailing of his blanket, as he passed. Even on thebare rock, if a few grains of earth had been carried forward, or apebble, a leaf, a dry stick, or a bit of moss, adhering to the foot hadbeen deposited there, it was instantly noticed and understood. Therushing of the waters in the brook did not always replace, in a moment,every stone that had been disturbed in its bed, nor restore the brokenlimb, nor the bent weed, to i
ts place. So quick and intuitive were theseobservations, that the march of the pursuer was as rapid and direct asthat of the pursued. The one would seldom lose more time in hunting forthe track, than the other had consumed in his various artifices ofconcealment.
On arriving at the lake, it was evident that a considerable number ofthe enemy had been encamped, and that they had just embarked. Theirfires were still smoking, and the rocks were not yet dry, from whichthey had pushed off their canoes, in the haste of their departure.
The Chippeway was not easily diverted from his purpose. With the speedof a chamois, he climbed a tall cliff, which, jutting boldly out intothe lake, concealed its great eastern basin from his view. Arrived atthe summit, he discerned, dimly relieved in the distant horizon, anumber of moving specks, which he knew to be the canoes of theretreating foe. In the double hope of avenging the dead, and recoveringthe living from captivity, he continued his course along the shores ofthe lake, and, early the next morning, fell once more upon the trail ofhis enemy. Pursuing it a short distance into the forest, it suddenlydivided, one part continuing on to the east, and one striking off towardthe south. In neither of them could he discover the track of his sister.Her captors had placed her, with their own women, in the middle of themarch, so that the large and heavy track of the warriors who came after,should cover and obliterate the lighter traces of her foot.
Taking the eastern track, and moving on with accelerated speed, heovertook the flying party in the act of encamping for the night.Concealing himself carefully from view, and watching his opportunitywhen all were busily engaged in pitching their tents, he raised theterrible war-whoop, with a volley of well directed arrows, and rushed,with his whole band, upon his unarmed victims. Not one of them escaped;and, so sudden and complete was the retribution, that not one remainedto tell where the captive Tula had been carried. The real murderers hadescaped with their captives, and the vengeance intended for _them_ hadfallen upon the heads of their innocent comrades.
* * * * *
Tula was treated with kindness by the Athapuscow chief, who claimed heras his own. Every means was tried to reconcile her to her new lot, andto make her content to be the wife of her enemy. But her heart was boundup with the memories of the dead. Her parents, her husband, her child,filled all her thoughts. And the idea of being for ever bound to thosewhose hands were stained with the blood of these precious lost ones, wasnot to be endured for a moment. She was inconsolable, and her captors,for a time, respected her grief. Day after day, they travelled on, withlong and weary marches, till the face of the country was changed, andthe green forest gave way to the barren and rocky waste, that skirts thenorthern borders of the great valley of prairies. As they advanced, theygrew more and more secure against pursuit, and less watchful of theircaptive. At length, she suddenly disappeared from their view.
They had pitched for the night, on the bank of the north branch of theSascatchawan. The night was dark and tempestuous. The lightnings flashedvividly from the dark cloud, and threatened to "melt the very elementswith fervent heat." The hoarse thunders roared among the wildlycareering clouds, and reverberated along the shores of the stream, andthe cliffs of the distant mountains, as if those everlasting barrierswere rent asunder, and nature were groaning from her utmost depths. TheIndian feared not death, in whatever shape it might come. But he fearedthe angry voice of the Great Spirit. He shrunk with terror to the covertof his tent, and covered his eyes from the fearful glare of thoseincessant flashes, and prayed inwardly to his gods.
The poor disconsolate captive lay trembling under the side of the tent.She thought of the storm that had swept over her beautiful home, anddesolated her heart in the spring time of its love. She looked at hersavage captors, now writhing in the agonies of superstitious fear, whichher more absorbing private grief alone prevented her from sharing to thefull. They heeded her not. They scarcely remembered that she was amongthem. Something whispered to her heart--"No eye but that of the GreatSpirit sees you. He bids you escape from your enemies."
In the ten-fold darkness that follows the all-revealing flash from thestorm-cloud, Tula slipped noiselessly under the edge of the robe thatsheltered her from the beating rain, and plunging into the stream, swamwith the current a few rods, till she was arrested by a thick covert ofoverhanging shrubs, which grew to the water's edge. Thinking she mightbe able to cover her head with these bushes, while her body was hid bythe water, she crept cautiously under, close to the bank, when, to hersurprise and joy, she found that this shrubbery covered and curiouslyconcealed a crevice in the jutting rock, sufficiently large to admit afree entrance to an ample cave within. Having carefully adjusted everylimb and leaf without, and replaced with instinctive sagacity, themosses that had been disturbed by her feet, she devoutly thanked thegood spirit for her hope of deliverance, and anxiously watched for themorning.
The dark cloud of the night had passed over. The voice of the tempestwas hushed. The day broke clear and cloudless, amid the singing ofbirds, and the quickened music of the swollen stream. The first thoughtof the Athapuscow chief, as he started from his troubled slumbers, wasof his captive. But she was gone. With a shrill and angry whoop, heroused the whole band, and all started in pursuit. The old woods rungagain with the whoop and yell of the pursuers, and were answered by thesullen echoes of the hills and cliffs around. But neither wood, norhill, nor cliff, revealed the hiding-place of the captive. The heavytorrents of rain had obliterated every mark of her footsteps, andneither grass, nor sand, nor the yielding soil of the river-bankafforded any clue to the path she had taken.
Safe in the close covert of her new found retreat, the poor captiveheard all the loud and angry threats of her disappointed pursuers. Sheeven heard their frequent conjectures and animated discussions of themeans to be adopted for her recovery, and often, they were so near toher place of refuge, that she could see their anxious and angry looks,as they passed, and almost feel their hands among the bushes thatsheltered her, and the quick tramp of their feet over the roof of hercave. But there was no track or mark, on land or water, to guide them tothat spot, and so naturally had every leaf been adjusted, that it hadnot attracted a single suspicion from any one of those sagacious andquick-sighted inquisitors.
Two hours of fruitless search for a hiding place, or a track that shouldreveal the course of her flight, brought them to the conclusion that theGreat Spirit had taken her away, and that it was not for man to find herpath again. With this conviction, they struck their tents, swam thestream, and resumed their march to the south.
Too cautious to leave her covert at once, and wearied with her anxiouswatchings, Tula composed herself to sleep, as soon as the last sound ofthe retiring party died on her ear. The sun had declined half way to hissetting, when she awoke. She listened, with a suspicions ear for everysound without. The singing of birds, the rustling of the leaves, and themurmur of the waters, were all that disturbed the silence of the scene.She put her ear to the rock, but it brought nothing to her sense thatrevealed the presence of man. With extreme caution, she ventured to lookout from her cave, and, by slow degrees, peering on every side for someconcealed enemy, she emerged into the light, and dropping noiselesslyinto the stream, swam to a point on the opposite shore, from which shecould obtain a good view of the recent encampment. It was deserted andstill. Not a trace was left behind, except the trampled grass, and theblackened embers.
Recrossing the stream, she commenced, with a light step, and a hopefulspirit, the seemingly impossible task of finding her way back to herhome and her people. The consciousness of freedom buoyed her up, andinspired her with a new hope, at almost every step. With a light heart,and an elastic step, she bounded away over the desolate waste, that laybetween the river and the forest, having neither path, nor track, norland-mark, to guide her way, and with nothing but the instinct ofaffection to point out the course she should take. She had been soabsorbed with her many griefs, during the long and weary march hitherto,and so little did she dream of the possibil
ity of escape, that she hadscarcely taken any notice of the direction, or attempted to observe anyland-marks to guide her return. The way by which she had been led wascircuitous and irregular, and she had only the vague general ideas, thather home was near "the star that never moves," and that she had beenleaving her shadow behind, to aid her in her solitary wanderings. With ahopeful courageous heart, she sought only to widen the distance betweenher cruel captors and herself, trusting that her way would open as shewent, and that her guardian angel, her tutelar divinity, would keep herfrom going astray. _Her_ tutelar divinity was the moon, whose light andprotection she invoked, with a devout, if not an enlightened faith.While she could enjoy her mild clear light, she was always happy andsecure; but when those beams were withdrawn, a shadow came over her soulthat was full of dark forebodings and anxious fears.
She had travelled several leagues, without seeing a track of any kind,and without the consciousness of fatigue or hunger. When night came on,she was just entering a deep forest, whose impenetrable shade made asudden transition from twilight to utter darkness. With no star to guideher, and with no appearance of a path through thickets which seemednever to have been penetrated by a human footstep, she was soonbewildered, and felt that it was vain to proceed. With a few half-ripenuts for a supper, and the soft moss which had gathered about the trunkof a fallen tree for a bed, she committed herself to sleep.
About midnight, her slumbers were disturbed by a heavy rustling amongthe bushes, at no great distance, accompanied by a constant crackling,as of some large animal, trying to penetrate the thicket. Perceivingthat it approached nearer at every step, she seized a club, with whichshe had provided herself before entering the forest, and hastened toclimb into the nearest tree. As she ascended, it began to grow lighteroverhead. The stars looked smilingly down upon her, but it was darkerthan ever below. She breathed a silent prayer to the star of herfaith--the bright orb where she supposed her guardian angel resided--andtook courage. The mysterious step approached nearer and nearer. Shesoon perceived that it was a bear, and supposed he would follow her intothe tree. She therefore seated herself upon a stout limb, a few feetfrom the main trunk, and prepared to give him a warm reception.Presently the heavy trampling ceased, and was followed by a silencevastly more oppressive than the previous noise.
In this condition, the remaining hours of the night passed away. Withthe first light of the morning, the shaggy intruder was discerned,quietly reposing near the foot of the tree, and showing no signs ofbeing in haste to depart. That he was conscious of the presence of astranger, was evident only from an occasional upward glance of his eye,and a significant turning of the nose in that direction, as if there wassomething agreeable in prospect.
Tula would have been no match for Bruin on level ground, but she feltconfident of her power in the position she had chosen, and thereforequietly waited the movements of her adversary. For two or three hours,he behaved himself with the gravity of a true philosopher, coollyexpecting to weary out the patience of his victim by a close siege, andso save himself the trouble of taking the tree by assault. But Tula wasas patient and prudent as Bruin, and could endure hunger, and thirst,and wakefulness as well as he. Rousing at length from his inactivity, hetravelled round and round the tree, as if taking its measure, andestimating the probable result of an encounter. Tula watched his motionswith more interest than anxiety, hoping soon to be relieved from herimprisonment, and at liberty to pursue her journey. It was near noon,when, having satisfied himself that offensive measures were necessary,he began to climb the tree. Having reached the leading branch, andembraced the trunk to raise himself to that on which Tula was seated,the brave girl rose suddenly to her feet, and brought down her club uponthe enemy's nose with such desperate and well directed force, as to sendhim, stunned and insensible, to the ground. Without allowing him amoment to recover, she leaped down to his side, and dealt a successionof heavy blows upon his head, till the blood flowed in torrents, and hisstruggles and his breathing ceased.
* * * * *
In this manner, many days and nights passed on, during which sheencountered many imminent dangers, and severe conflicts, and made butlittle progress. Hunger, weariness, a continual sense of danger, andthat sickness of the heart, which solitude and suspense beget, were herinseparable companions. Every day, her hope of ultimately reaching thehome of her childhood grew fainter and fainter. But she had a woman'sendurance, and a woman's fertility of resource. She never for a momentrepented her flight. She would have preferred death in any form to aforced espousal with the murderer of her family. Sometimes with rootsand herbs, sometimes with nutritious mosses, and sometimes with wildfruits and nuts, she continued to satisfy the cravings of appetite, andto sustain her severely tried fortitude, for the fatigues and perilsthat were yet before her.
The forest seemed interminable; and so indeed it might well have beenregarded, for she was continually travelling round and round, in thesame track, having only an occasional glimpse of the sun to direct herway, or a view of the stars, when she climbed some tall tree at night.She knew little of the direction in which she was going; but she wassure that that forest lay between her enemy and her home, and wastherefore resolved, at any expense of labor and suffering, to find herway through it, or perish in the attempt.
After several weeks of incredible toil, fatigue, hardship and danger,the brave persevering Tula emerged into a wide opening, having aconsiderable mountain on one side, and a large sheet of water, and astream from the mountain pouring into it, on the other. It was abeautiful spot, but the whole aspect of it was new and strange. She wasconfident she had not passed that way, while a captive in the hands ofthe Athapuscows. She was now wholly at a loss which way to turn. Toretrace her steps through the intricacies of that dark forest, would beas vain as the thought of it was appalling. To go on, when she wasabsolutely certain she was out of her track, seemed little less thanmadness. To choose either the right hand or the left, was to leap in thedark, and involve herself in new doubts and difficulties. She neededrest. Her apparel was torn by her difficult passages through the tangledthickets, and her frequent contests with the enemies she found there.Pondering deeply on the difficulties before her, she began to think,that if there was any place of shelter near, she would make herself anew home, and live and die alone in the great wilderness.
"And why," said she to herself, "why should I return to the wigwam of myfather? Kaf-ne-wah-go is not there. My mother, she has gone with him tothe spirit land. O-ken-ah-ga waits no longer for my return. I left mybrave chief in his blood. His voice will no longer be heard in thevalley, with the hunters, nor his shout in the battle. He fell in theglory of his strength, like the young oak that is full of sap, and whoseroots have struck deep into the earth. And my child, the son ofO-ken-ah-ga, alas! he has not even a grave to sleep in. He lies on thecold bosom of the earth, and I know not where. Why then should I returnto a desolate home, only made more desolate by the memory of what itwas?"
With such thoughts as these, she beguiled her inward yearnings for thespot where all her joys had been, and where all her hopes were buried.Wandering on the shores of the lake and the stream by day, and seekingsuch shelter as she could find in the clefts of the rocks at night, shesought for a place where she might provide a suitable protection againstthe cold and the storms of winter, which were not far distant. Wildberries and fruits afforded her only sustenance for a considerable time,until her own ingenuity provided her with the means of procuring a morecertain substantial diet.
Having found a convenient spot in a deep ravine of the mountain, whichopened towards the south, and was consequently always exposed to thesun, she immediately commenced the construction of a place to dwell in.The spot selected was romantic and beautiful in the extreme, and seemedto have been designed by nature "for some especial use." It wassufficiently elevated to command a fine view of the opening, includingall the meanderings of the river, and the whole extent of the lake, andyet it was not difficult of access, nor so hig
h as to be too muchexposed to the wintry storms. It was a little nook, chipped out from thesolid rock, having a smooth slaty floor, about twelve feet square, witha semi-circular recess of about half that depth into the side of themountain. A jutting rock, about ten feet above this floor, andoverhanging it on every side, formed a natural ceiling. It only neededto be enclosed on two sides, to make a lodge that any of the greatcaciques of the wilderness might be proud of.
Fortunately Tula was not entirely destitute of tools to work with. Apiece of an iron hoop, about six inches in length, and the shank of anarrow head, also of iron, both of which she had picked up while amongthe Athapuscows, constituted her whole stock. With these, which shesharpened upon the rocks, she contrived to cut down a number of youngsaplings, and shape them to her purpose. Planting two of them uprightupon the outer line of the floor, and laying the end of one against theinside, and the end of the other against the outside of the cornice, oroverhanging ceiling, she bound them firmly together with green withes.In this manner she went all round, leaving a space open for a door onthe sunny side. This done, she wove it, inside and out, with willowboughs, stuffing the intervening spaces with moss, till it was entirelyimpervious to the weather. The door was of close basket-work hung at thetop, and secured at the sides, in a storm, or during the night, by meansof withes fastened round the door-posts. This served the double purposeof door and window, while a crevice in the rock above, performed thepart of a chimney.
The work went on slowly and heavily at first, but patience andperseverance, which can conquer all but impossibilities, accomplished itbefore the cold weather set in. Meanwhile, the ingenuity of the fairbuilder had found means to make a fire upon the hearth. Her materialsfor that purpose were two hard sulphureous stones, which, by longfriction, or hard knocking, produced a few sparks. These, communicatedto touchwood, were soon formed into a blaze.
When fruits, berries and nuts failed, her ready ingenuity supplied herwith other means of sustaining life. She had, among her scanty stock offurniture, a few deer-sinews, which, with the Indians, are a commonsubstitute for thread. With the aid of these, she managed to snarepartridges, rabbits and squirrels. She also killed several beavers andporcupines. The sinews of the rabbit's legs and feet were twisted withgreat dexterity, to supply the place of deer-sinews, when _they_ weregone. Their skins also, with those of the squirrels, served to replenishher exhausted wardrobe, supplying, under her skilful hand, a neat andwarm suit of winter clothing. Her industry was as untiring as heringenuity was fruitful of resources. Forlorn as her situation was, shewas composed and resigned, if not contented, and seemed to find pleasurein employing every moment of her waking hours in some useful orornamental contrivance.
Her dress evinced much taste, and exhibited no little variety ofornament. The materials, though rude, were very curiously wrought, andso judiciously arranged, as to give to the whole a pleasing and romanticeffect. Her tunic was composed of the skins of squirrels and rabbits, inalternate strips of grey and white. It was secured at the waist by abelt of skin, beautifully wrought with porcupine quills, coloredpebbles, and strips of bark of various brilliant hues. Her mantle, whichwas large, was of the fairest and most delicate skins, arranged with acertain uniformity and harmony of design, which gave it all the graceand beauty, without the stiffness, of a regular pattern. It had atasteful border, of brilliant feathers, and, like the belt beforedescribed, was fastened by a clasp of an unique and originalcontrivance, being made of the beaks and claws of her captives, arrangedand secured so as to interlock with each other. Her head-dress, leggingsand moccasins, were equally perfect in style and effect.
Besides accomplishing all this work, in her solitude, and even laying ina stock of provisions in advance, sufficient for her wants, in case of along season of storms, sickness, or any other exigency, she had foundtime to make several hundred fathoms of net-twine, by twisting the innerrind, or bark, of willow boughs, into small lines. Of these, sheintended to make a fishing-net, as soon as the spring should open, andthus enlarge her sources of subsistence and enjoyment.
* * * * *
It was past mid-winter. The snow lay deep and hard upon all the northernhills and valleys. The lakes and rivers were frozen. The fountains ofnature were sealed up, and verdure, and fruitfulness, and almost allthe elements of life, seemed to have followed the sun in his journey tothe far south. A company of English traders, under the guidance of aparty of Indians, were traversing the country from Hudson's Bay to theNorthern Ocean, in quest of furs and peltries. Emerging from a deepforest into a broad open plain, they discovered the track of a strangesnow-shoe, which, from its lightness, they judged to belong to a woman.Not knowing of any encampment in that vicinity, it excited the morecuriosity. They followed it. It led them a considerable distance out oftheir way, across the valley, and into the gorge of the mountain on itssouthern side. Pursuing it still, as it ascended by a circuitous path,they came to a small cabin, perched like an eagle's nest in the cleftsof the rock. They entered, and found a young and beautiful woman sittingalone at her work. It was Tula, the hermitess of Athabasca. For morethan seven moons she had not seen a human face, nor heard a human voice,nor did she ever expect again to see the one, or hear the other. She hadbecome reconciled to her lot. She loved the solitude where her spiritcould commune with the departed, undisturbed, and where only the sun,the moon, and the stars, and the Great Spirit that controlled and guidedthem all, could read her thoughts, and know the history of her griefs.
The first surprise being over, Tula offered the strangers a place by herfire, and such other hospitalities as her cabin afforded.
"How comes the dove alone in the eagle's nest?" enquired the leader ofthe party.--And then, regarding her with a look of admiration,added--"does she not fear the hawk or the vulture, here in the coldcliffs of the mountain?"
Tula replied by relating the story of her life--her bereavement--hercaptivity--her escape--her weary wanderings--her hardships--and therepose she had found in her solitude; and concluded by saying, "If theeagle's nest be lonely and cold, it is quiet and safe. It is not toohigh for the moon to smile upon. It is not too cold for Tula."
"Would the 'singing bird' seek out her people, and let her song be heardagain among the trees of the valley?"
"Tula is no longer the singing bird. Her song is shut up in her heart.Her heart is with her kindred in the spirit land. Her father's cabin ismore desolate than the wilderness, or the mountain top. Her tree isplucked up by the roots. It cannot live again."
After some considerable persuasion, in which the voice of the humaneEnglishman--suggesting that, if the Ottawas had discovered her retreat,the Athapuscows might discover it also,--had its full share of weight,the fair hermitess consented to accompany the strangers; though shecould not conceal her regret, in abandoning her snug little castle, toset off on a new pilgrimage, she knew not whither.
"It matters little to Tula where she goes, so that she does not meet theAthapuscow. His hands are red with the blood of her father, her husband,her child. Let her never see his face, or walk in his shadow."
* * * * *
The singular romance of Tula's story, the comeliness of her person, andher approved accomplishments, touched the hearts of some of the youngbraves of the party. They had not gone far on their way, before acontest arose between them, who, according to immemorial usage among thetribes, should claim the privilege of making her his wife. Thedispute--to which she was no party, for her views were not so much asconsulted in the matter--ran very high, and had nearly resulted inserious consequences. The poor girl was actually won and lost, atwrestling, by near half a score of different men, in the course of asmany days. When, at length, a compromise was effected, and the prizeawarded to Lak-in-aw, a young warrior of the Temiscamings, Tula refusedto receive the pipe at his hands, or to listen in any way to his suit.
"Tula is buried in the grave of O-ken-ah-ga," she said. "Tula will walkalone on the earth. Her heart is in the spir
it land. It will never comeback. It has nothing here to love."
* * * * *
Onward--onward--over interminable fields of snow and ice, where scarce agreen thing appeared to relieve the utter desolation, the partyproceeded, with their prize, on their journey to the far north. She wastreated with chivalric tenderness and respect, and her comfort andconvenience consulted in all the arrangements of the way. She needed butlittle indulgence, and solicited _none_. She was capable of enduring thefatigues and hardships of a man. She never flagged in the march, norlingered a moment, when the word was given to go forward.
In traversing a deep valley near the eastern extremity of the GreatSlave Lake, their track was crossed by that of a considerable party ofIndians, returning from an expedition to the fur regions of the north.Their course lay along the southern border of the lake. Perceiving theirencampment at no great distance, on the other side of the valley, it wasresolved to visit them, and, if they were found to be friendly, to jointheir camp for the night. On approaching the spot, they were met by thechief, who, with a few attendants, came out to bid them welcome to histent. He was a fine specimen of a young Indian brave--one who, in hisgreen youth, had gained laurels, which it usually requires a life-timeto win. His costume, though adapted to the severity of the climate, wastasteful and picturesque, and so fitted and arranged as to develop, tothe best advantage, the admirable proportions of his person.
The parley that ensued was a fine specimen of Indian courtesy anddiplomacy. But it was suddenly and violently interrupted, when Tula, whohad remained in the rear of her party, with the Englishmen, came up. Atthe first sight of the young chief, she uttered a loud andpiercing shriek--for the extremes of joy and grief use similar tones andgestures--and rushing forward, pushed aside friend and stranger alike,and flung herself upon his neck, exclaiming--"Ish-ta-le-o-wah!--mybrother! my brother!"
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note
The following changes were made to the original text:
Accents were restored to the Table of Contents.
Page 5, "Ka-ree-o-than" changed to "Karee-o-than" (Tezcuco--Karee-o-than)
Page 12, "Kaf-na-wa-go" changed to "Kaf-ne-wah-go" (wigwam of Kaf-ne-wah-go)
Page 20, "skillfully" changed to "skilfully" (craftily and skilfully worked)
Page 35, "paralasis" changed to "paralysis" (struck with instant paralysis)
Page 40, "acknowledgements" changed to "acknowledgments" (ample acknowledgments)
Page 50, "terrestial" changed to "terrestrial" (paradise of terrestrial sweets)
Page 53, "harrass" changed to "harass" (harass his soul)
Page 58, "anything" changed to "any thing" (his position any thing but)
Page 60, "discomfitted" changed to "discomfited" (among the discomfited Cholulans)
Page 66, "unappeaseable" changed to "unappeasable" (an unappeasable fate)
Page 67, "suprised" changed to "surprised" (continually surprised and delighted)
Page 73, "cortege" changed to "cortege" (the royal cortege)
Page 78, "mein" changed to "mien" (proud and haughty mien)
Page 102, "chastly" changed to "chastely" (chastely decorated)
Page 121, "it's" changed to "its" (Oozing its bitterness)
Page 125, "beseiged" changed to "besieged" (heads of the besieged)
Page 193, "to day" changed to "to-day" (my brave hunter, to-day) [First instance on page]
Page 205, "calmess" changed to "calmness" (a calmness which we)
Page 227, "Kaf-ne-wa-go" changed to "Kaf-ne-wah-go" (home of Kaf-ne-wah-go)
Page 227, "Ish-ta-le-ah" changed to "Ish-ta-le-o-wah" (the brave Ish-ta-le-o-wah)
Page 245, "patridge" changed to "partridge" (to snare partridges)
Page 247, "controled" changed to "controlled" (controlled and guided)
Page 250, "grief" was typeset on the incorrect line and was repositioned accordingly (joy and grief use)
All other inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation were retained as printed in the original text.
