IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ^12^ m |22 1.1 US ja 1^ 12.2 lii I :!f us. 12.0 u SdHices Ccffporation 33 WBT MAIN STMIT WnSTIR,N.Y. 14SM (71«)S73-4S03 CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Inttituta for Historical iMicroraproductions / Instltut Canadian da microraproductions historiquas Technical and Bibliographic Noiet/Notet techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may signif ir;'('»t niimc, That (ills the younKor world with tiinio. Must still imrivHlM stand, till earth Shall to new continent:* give birth. 1 sought no undincoverM shore Which prow had never touch'd before ; Nor wishM presumptuous course to urge Beyond De (inmn's daring verge — Nor yet, like Mngalhaen, to run Still following round the setting sun. Till my bold keel should leave a trace Folding the globe in its embrace. No — Hwas a spirit mild and meek. That objects less sublime would seek : 1 sought the Indian of the wild, Nature's forlorn and roving child — Already driven, from shores afar Where once he bore the chase and war. To Western Lakes : those seas conlined, Which ancient deluge left behind ' When the vast floodgates of the land, Unable longer to withstand The rolling waste, crumbled away And gave the sweeping ruin play — ^ ONTWA. U ^ l^eiiviriK the wide interior drninM Save where theHe remnant tlootU rcmuinM. I a^kM the red man for my k'''^'^ : He lannchM hiH bark on KrieN tide, — Through all the hqiiid chain we ran, O'er Huron'ii wave, and Michi*gan, Veering amid her Unkcd iHles Where the mechanic beaver toils, — * Still floating on, in cany way Into her deep indented Bay,t Through rocky ixleH whose bolder formn Are chafed and fritter'd down by stormn. And, worn to nteeps of varying Hhnpe That architectural orders ape. Show ruin'd column, arch and niche, And walFs dilapidated breach ; With ivy hanging from above, And plants below, that ruins love, * Now called the Beaver Islands — in Lake Mirhi-egnn, (ur Ureal Lake,) a* named by the natives. t Called Ureen Bay, whoxe month in almost closed by a chain of inlands, called the Grand Traverse. Their sides are high, rocky, and bold ; and, being of liuie»lone, have been worn into a thousand fantastic shapes, which, even without the aid of fancy, ansunic the appearances described in the text. "AmtH IS ONTWA. Drooping in melancholy grace On broken frize and mould'ring base ; While here and there, like drifts of snow, Amid the waves the white rocks show, Stripp'd of their soil and left all bare, As bones of islands bleaching there. Far up the lengthenM bay we urge, To where the triple streams converge And on its reedy head distil The tribute sent from distant hill — Now mounting up the sinuous bed Of Wagouche to its marshy head, We toil against the foamy leaps — * Or wind where still the current sleeps Mid seas of grain, t the boon of heaven To steril climes in bounty given. At last we reach the narrow mound — The wide diverging waters bound — Where, almost mingling as they glide In smooth and counter-current tide, I * Called Saults by the inliabitntitg — and Rometime.s Chutes. — * La Grande Chute' is here alluded to. — Wagouche is one of the lodian names tor the Fox rivor. It receives, Just as it falls into the head of Green Bay, the ad» i.i rr i iiilM 14 ONTWA. Had lost in air its humid stain, 'Twas launch'd, and floating on again — Mid isles in willow'd beauty dress'd That deck'd Ouisconsin's yellow breast. The stream ran fast, and soon the scene Changed into frowns its smiles serene. Nature arose in troubled mood, And hills and cliffs, of aspect rude. Hoary with barrenness, save where The stunted cedar hung in air Fix'd in the rocks that beetled high, Darken'd the current rushing by — Oil choked and broken in its pass By mighty fragments' clogging mass, Sever'd, mayhap, by bolt of heaven. And down the steep in thunder driven. ll ' Our rapid bark, ere twice the day Had shone upon its downward way, Tum'd its light prow, in upward course, To stem the Michi-sipi's force — Where her broad wave rolls on amajn, Sever'd by ' thousand isles' in twain. And giant cliifs, with threatning frown, Conduct her prison'd current down. ONTWA. 15 Full many a stream, on either side, Through the cleft walls sends forth its tide. Descending far from distant plains, Where in its gloom the Prairie reigns. Seated in grandeur on its throne Amid a desert world alone. Oft up the steeps, by ru^ed path Sloped by the winter torrent's wrath, We toird, where high the sumach hung, And tendril vines around it clung. Checking our way with woven bowers, Or twining over head their flowers ; While higher still, in dizzier break, The trembling aspen tree would shake — And oft the wandVing eye would meet With sparkling crystals 'neath the feet. Rudely enchased on some dark stone Shining with lustre not its own. Hard the ascent, but fair the sight That spread beneath the lofty height. Where river, isles, and meadows drew Their varied pictures to the view, — Or would the downward eye forbear To dwell on scene so soft and fair, 'Twas but to raise a level glance And all was rude and bold at once, n ' 16 ONTWA. V v '! Ml H VI I Where the dark Bluffs, half bare, half crown'd. Arose in gloomy sternness 'round. For many a day the stream we stemm'd. Through isles that still its bosom gemm'd, While oft, where back the cliffs retired, The waving plain, in green attired, Smiled in the dark and deep recess, Like guarded spot in wilderness ; (Where Hamadryades might sport. Or Fairies hold their dewy court.) At last our bark, mid eddies toss'd And foam that all the wave emboss'd, Was warn'd — ere yet the torrent's roar Was heard — to turn its keel ashore. Now clambering up the steep ascent. Our course along the brink was bent, Where the descending, broken dood, On rocks that firm its force withstood, Show'd signs of mightier conflict near Whose rumblings now rose on the ear. Why checks my guide on yonder rise, And bends to earth in mute surprise, ONTWA. 17 I As the Great Spirit of the air Had burst upon his vision there ? 'Twas the vast Cataract* that threw Its broad effulgence o^er his view, Like sheet of silver hung on high And glittering 'neath the northern sky. Nor think that Pilgrim eyes could dwell On the bright torrent as it fell, With soul unawed. We look'd above And saw the waveless channel move, FillVl hum the fountains of the north And sent through varied regions forth, Till, deep and broad and placid grown. It comes in quiet beauty down — Unconscious of the dizzy steep O'er which its current soon must sweep. The eye hung shudd'ring on the brink, As it had powerless wish to shrink. Then instant sunk, where mid the spray. All the bright sheet in ruin lay. The tumult swells, and on again The eddying waters roll amain, * The Falls of St. Anthony, first discovered and named hy father Heniiipeii. 3 •^:nais 18 ONTWA. II \' ^ \ I ! si ^^ ^ il Still foaming down in angry pride, Till mingling rirers smooth its tick. Nor did the isle, whose promont wedge Hangs on the torrent's dizzy edge, Escape the view ; nor sister twin That smiles amid the nether din- Closed in the raging flood's embrace, And free from human footstep's trace ; Where the proud Eagle builds bis throne, And rules in majesty alone.* Approaching still, and more entranced As still the lingering step advanced, We stood at last in pleased delay O'erlooking all the bright display. While the gay tints of western flame That down the day's obliqueness came, On hanging sheet and level stream Darted a soft and slanting beam. While thus we paused, bent o'er a rock Whose tremours own'd the general shock. The wand'ruBg vision chanced to meet— - Fix'd like a statue on its seat * Carver says that the sroall island, at the foot of these Falls, is inaccessible to man and beast, and that almost every tree upon it sustains the eyry of an eagle. I fi ! aM!>**'-^v> ONTWA. 19 Of jutting fragment, whither flew The torrent spray in silvery dew — Ad Indian form. No motion told That 'twas not some unbreathing mould Which savage chisel might have traced And near the sacred cascade* placed. We nearer drew, when clearer sight Truly betray'd a living wight — Yet lost so deep in musings wild. And by the torrent so beguiled, That scarce his breathings seem'd his own But motion caught from trembling stone. Hail'd by my guide, in well-known tongue, He turn'd, and back his dark locks flung, Raising an eye — though now sunk deep By woes, perhaps too strong to weep — That still shone forth with ray intense, As wont a spirit to condense. Whose ardent energies had felt All that could fire, or rend, or melt. Familiar speech and forest guise Appear'd to wake but short surprise ; * The Indians believe the Falls of St. Anthony to be the residence of the Great Spirit. p»— '~«i|^J*w^™ so ONTWA. And calmly he had turn'd again To fall anew in musing train, When his fierce eye just caught the trace Of white man in the Pilgrim's face. Reviving mem'ry seem'd to read Some story there, of wo or dread ; And quickly, as his brain were fired With anguish that the view inspired, And his worn form no more could bear The struggles of some deep despair, He sunk to earth in prostrate grief Ere friendly arm could give relief. What boots it that the tale should say What hours or suns were pass'd away In soothing kindness by the guide. With pitying Pilgrim by his side, Ere that the Forest son arose And told his tale of many woes ? t i ONTWA. PART n. « Last of my tribe — a mighty race ! — My wand'ring feet have sought this place, Where the Great Spirit rolls his wave, To iind a lone and sacred grave. Why does the welcome hour delay, That sends my wearied soul away ? When will the thund'ring waters close Over the last of Erie's woes, And waft down Ontwa to the land Where, risen again, the Erie band On brighter streams and fairer plain Renew the war and chase again ?* * The Indians have but vague notions of their posthumout destiny ; but as they believe the sports most valued in this life, such as war and the chase, are continued after death, they ge- nerally place their heaven either within the earth, or in some distant place upon it, as being better suited to such occupations than the undefined regions above. ' > 22 ONTWA. There my great sire, with chiding eyes, Impatient turns to upper skies And asks the tardy hour to come, That brings his lingering offspring home. He counts his tribe — still misses one, And seeks in vain his absent son, — The last sad remnant of his kind, Condemned to wander yet behind. But oh ! a spirit still more fair Awaits to welcome Ontwa there,— Whose beauty sprung from eastern light, Just glitter'd on my forest sight. Then sunk, alas ! in sudden night. Why should my gloomy soul recall, Or Ontwa's love, or Erie's fall ? But 'tis my vow to bear my grief. Nor seek the balsam of relief: I've sworn to wear th' envenom'd dart Still rankling in my aching heart, And join my love on plains below, With all the anguish of my wo ; Nor bear one thought whose cheering ray Might gleam upon my darkling way, Or chance to break the sacred gloom That shrouds my passage to the tomb. f ■"«>--|»*i*i*-— "^ ^Ji*..- ONTWA. 23 'Twill but revive a deeper wail,— Then why refuse to tell mj tale ? Haply the shrunken cords of life— Too weak to bear the inward strife- May sever ere the tale shall close : Would that I thus could meet repose, And with one agonizing sigh Breathe out my many woes, and die. Scarce twice twelve seasons now have shed Their bloom, or bhght, on Ontwa's head. My sire, Kaakaskia, reign'd supreme O'er all the tribes on hill and stream, From distant Huron's stormy shore To where Niag'ra's thunders roar ; While Erie and Ontario's wave, To swell his power, their tribute gave, And oft had borne to shores afar His thousand barks in daring war. . Deep in the centre of his bands. On lofty height, which far commands, He placed his smoke,* whose rising spire For ever told Kaskaskia's fire. * A fire, or gmoke, in the figurative language of the sa- vages, denotes a residence or settlement. ,^.««S^fl«?)V»'4r<»P! 'grr-^-- I \ 1 - J - 1 1 t i 1 1 < M UNTWA. Here oft the Rrnnt! dt-bjite nrouc Which (InomM the fato of iitMKhbVinK foes ; AikI here, to wnriii the liMt'nin^ young And nerve their hearts hut newly strung, The old, exporting all their sc.tirn, Would tell the tale of Krie's wars ; Till, like a tippM and t'oatherM dart Ready from bended how to start. Their youthful hearts would pant to wear The trophied skin of elk or bear, And sec the foe, in fancied tight, Already conquered, or in dight. A mighty oak, whose spreading arms Had stood the brunt of tempest harms UnnumberM snows,* and still could bring Its verdant tribute to the spring, Upon the highest summit stood, A beacon midst the sea of wood ; Some grey and splinter'd boughs were seen Shooting athwart its ample green, — Not the hoar emblems of decay, But wrecks of lightning's wrathful play, * The savages number the lapse of years by snowi, or winters. u tJNTWA. 20 Scam on a brow too often driven AgiiinHt the wnrrinK powers <•! heaven. No other tree nor shrub whh there ; The hill-top eUc were blenk ami bsire ; And, Have the scanty moitH which grew Beneath the shade its foliage threw, No green relieved the rocky waste Which round its brow a fillet traced, liike mighty band of wampum,* spread Around a giant's plumed head. Now had the hascel given its diet Full eighteen springs to Ontwa's eye. And this young arm, with growing nerve, Had learnt the twanging bow to serve, And many a deer had lent its horn My sportive triumphs to adorn ; When, mid his chiefs, I saw my sire Awake on high the council tire. And, as the dark ascending smoke Curl'd upwards round the lofty oak, He rose amid the circling crowd With eye severe, shook cflT the shroud — ^ The Wampum is maiiv. of strings of bends, which the Indians use for purposes of orniimcnt, &c. tThe predominant coluurofthe Indian's eye is a dark hazel. 4 '.'I > I ! 5 ) I 36 ONTWA. si r Ph A skin of Buffalo — that dress'd The broad diinenHion of his breast ; And while the hand that grasps the bow Braced 'round the ample folds below, The arm that guides the arrow hung All free to aid his speaking tongue. Ere that the deep and labouring speech, As slow to rise, his lips could reach. His lofty gesture led the eye To send a trembling glance on high. While yet, as with a powerful charm, Each feeling hung upon his arm, A mountain cloud was seen to rise Fast from the depths of eastern skies. Like mighty barrier in the way, • Threatening to close the gates of day. Its towering peak and spreading base. Still rolling up the azure space, With fast increasing horrors grew ; Till half the heavens were veil'd from view, And day's broad eye, closed in a frown. No longer on the world look'd down. Unmoved, alone Kaskaskia stood. And all the spreading fury view'd With steady eye, while the bright glare Of forked lightning seam'd the air. ,*a *^ ""* ONTWA. 31 Nor will Kaskaskia's eagle plume Fail at the signal hour to come. Mean-time, from lofty capes where raves The whirlwind over Erie's waves, I'll seek, amid the howling storm, The Manitou's appalling form ; And leurn from blasts the deepest fate Which Erie's fortunes may await." He ceased — when every chief in haste His quiver hung, and wampum braced. And o'er his shoulders loosely spread His skin, as if for march of speed, — And then, like herd of scatter'd deer, Surprised by ambush'd hunter near, That bounding off in antler'd pride Flies to the wood on every side, They darted down the hill amain And soon were crossing level plain — Their feather'd crests, in buoyant grace, Dancing with every springing pace, Marking afar their various ways Till lost within the woody maze. " Ontwa ! the lightning lent its gleam But to confirm Kaskaskia's dream : 32 ONTWA. i! t Three times the Manitou has given My dreaming ear the will of heaven ; Yet will Kaskaskia never yield Save in the bloody battle field. Springing from lands which stretch afar Where coldly shines the moveless star, Erie's bold race by conquest won These milder regions of the sun. A proud and mighty race — so says Tradition of forgotten days — Then ruled these Lakes ; with cunning blest In arts and arms o'er all the west, — As still appears from square and line Of warlike aspect and design, Whose lengthened trench and mound enseam The banks of many a winding stream, Muskinghum and Ohio fair, Spreading o'er plain and hillock there — Though worn and crumbled now by time, And bearing trees, of height subhme, Ofl'spring, perhaps, of elder shade That there has flourish'd and decay'd. The Erie bands, though all unskill'd In arts and arms, and trenched field — 1 mm imm ItMiMMteraMU-uiMM ONTWA. 33 Nor other shield or weapon knew Than naked breast and arrow true, Yet far in strength and valour rose Above their more experienced foes. Full many a snow on hill and plain Descended and dissolved again, Ere that the contest, tierce and long, Between the skilful and the strong. Was closed ; and many a mound may still Be seen on time-worn plain and hill, — Once red with blood, — that mouldering tell Where thousands fought, and thousands fell. At last, great Areouski's* might Was leagued with Erie in the fight — Who drove afar the remnant bands To find new homes in other lands, And leave to victor foes the spoil Of lakes and streams and shaded soil. Here, Ontwa, have Kaskaskia's sires For ages raised their council fires — And shall we yield these lands unfought. So long preserved, so dearly bought ? No — Erie's smokes shall still arise, And curl amid her native skies : * The Indian god of war. 5 --iPB*:'^i n . « ■ / 84 ONTWA. And when they sink — with the last flame Let perish £rie'8 race and name. One duty, Ontwa, yet remains : This weapon, red with bloody stains,* Must Erie's bold defiance speak To Saranac : him must thou seek. Should Saranac the pledge receive, And still thy life and freedom leave, Like mountain deer, thy footsteps turn To heights where Erie's fires shall bum. Fix in thy crest this heron plume, Which none but warriors e'er assume. Or messengers, like thee, who go With bold defiance to the foe. n { i '■ Thy quiver is already hung — Quick let thy slacken'd bow be strung. The foe — so said my three-fold dream — Debarks beside Niag'ra's stream : Nor gloomy night, nor sultry day. Nor streams, nor wood, must cause delay ; * Carver says that the Indians, when they declare war, send a blood-stained weapon as a signal. The messenger is generally a slave, who is often killed in the errand. ONTWA. 36 The shrub nmst yield tiiy wranty food, Thy hiisty sleep inunt be in wood, Thy pace must leave the deer behind And follow up the fleetest wind — Lest thou shouldst fail the feast to share. Our gath'ring bands will soon prepare, To Ht the soul for battle deed And teach the warrior how to bleed." Kaskaskia ceased — when, like the dart, Was Ontwa's plumage seen to part. The craggy hill-top soon was clear'd, The plain was past, the forest near'd ; While feehngs new to youthful breast Waked in my heart a warlike zest, And tossing high my plumed head More proud became my bounding tread When oft the nervous bow was bent And feath'ry arrow forward sent, To try my fleet and rival pace In contest with its winged race. < « I. \ h i. \' ■•««ae»aiii h w. r 11 ' i ' ■ I' I 40 ONTWA. Till twanging bow an arrow speeding Laid him upon the pebbles bleeding.* From light canoe, the torch that bore, A hunter leap'd upon the shore. Half pleased half sorrowful survey'd The victim that his dart had made : And as he glided off again Thus raised the wild and simple strain. Ah, hapless deer ! Thy fleet career Will ne'er again Skim o'er the plain, Nor up the breezy mountain ; And at the dawn, Thy doe and fawn Will vainly seek Thee on the creek, And near the gurgling fountain. * During the summer months, the Indians hunt the deer on the rivers : The insects drive them into the water, and the hunter, floating down under the crver of night, with a torch in the bow of his canoe, comes upon the animal while he is gazing bewildered at the light, and gives tlie fatal wound ere he is aware of any danger. •■-'^-V-a_ A.*.-^, A, ^-^-J,- y« ONTWA, 41 # re, d lin. J It the deer ;r, and the ith a torch I'hile he is vound ere 'Twas Chanta's eye That bade thee die, For her I rove A slave to love, Condemn'd to float the river, Till branching horn My bark adorn, Or blood of doe Rest on my bow, And spot my stainless quiver, (Think not the heart in desert bred To passion's softer touch is dead, Or that this shadowy skin contains No bright and animated veins — Where, though no blush its course betrays, The blood in all its wildness plays.) Mid drooping trees and dusky night Soon disappear'd the bark and light. And paddle's dip and hunter's lay At last in murmurs died away. As rising from my bed of moss, The stream, now still again, to cross, My thoughts pursued the hunter boy So full of triumph, love, and joy. 6 /;, '■"^^ ;.-■•■»?*, / 7.-1, 42 ONTVVA. '! Wlh " Cast in the stream thy brindled prize, Nor seek a smile in Chanta's eyes, — No more shall chase of deer or love The keenness of thy arrow prove : The sounds of war already fill The wigwams of thy native hill. And Chanta's voice, that bade thee stain Thy spotless dart in deer-blood slain, Must bid thee take a nobler bow And meet in bloodier field the foe." The stream was pass'd — and fresh from rest, Again through length'ning wilds I prest, Dripping with damps of stream and dew. Till peep of morn broke on the view. I stay'd a moment on the height Where blue Ontario meets the sight, And when the star of day arose Refresh'd and bright from long repose, Rethought the broad and pohsh'd wave Some brief and distant glimpses gave Of barks, or shadows moving there, — But soon 'twas lost amid the glare. Onward I pass'd, now plunging down The shelving steep from summit's crown ; i I '■i ^..-■k . -h led prize, yes,-. I" love •ve ; ee stain iain, ONTWA. Now breaking through the deep ravine, Where light of day is dimly seen, And tangled trees and rocky path Show signs of winter's loosen'd wrath ; Now scaling high the steep again, And ranging o'er the lofty plain, Where oft the bold projecting brow Gave fleeting glimpse of Lake below. 43 from rest, Jrest, ' dew, /e Thus grew and died the toilsome day, And night had darken'd o'er the way, When, rising on my full career, Niag'ra's waters struck the ear. Soon on those Heights my feet were stay'd, Where first its mighty plunge was made — * (So spoke Kaskaskia's tale of times When Erie's race first won these climes,) By yawning gulf now sever'd wide. Where darkly rolls its present tide. In broken whirlpools sweeping by, Still fainter murm'ring as they fly, Till on the distant plain they cease And seek the Lake in limpid peace. / * It is a generally received hypotiiesis, that tlie Falls of Niagara began their retrogression at the Heights of Queens- ton. ^igpi^W 44 ONTWA. From scenes below, now wrapp'd in night, Slight gleams broke quiv'ring on my sight, And myriad sounds, like distant hum, By fits upon the ear would come ; While gazing still, soft slumbers stole On wearied limbs and anxious soul. iV; ( The dreaming world before me spread, And onward still I seem'd to tread : Till arrows, sped with every breath, Mad closed my path with wounds and death ; When lo ! a form, of brighter hue Than Indian vision ever knew, Threw round a shield of snowy charm And turn'd aside the threat'ning harm. 1 knelt to worship ; but methought Her face the beams of morning caught, And, gath'ring still increasing rays. Soon shone in all the sun's broad blaze ! I woke, — and saw the risen sun Already high his course had run : Springing elastic from the ground, I gazed in doubt and wonder *round ! And still with partly dreaming eyes Look'd on the plain, the stream and skies. ^: i. » -it ONTWA. 45 But soon was fix'd my wand'ring glance On far Ontario's broad expanse — Like polish'd wall, half raised on high, Leaning against the hollow sky. There burst Kaskaekia's dream to view. The dream inspired by Manitou ! On Michi-saki's point arose The smokes of Erie's thousand foes ; Then were the barks, still plying o'er, Confusedly crowding on the shore. Till all the strand, like swarming hive, With hum and tumult seem'd alive. High o'er the rest, a lofty smoke The fire of Saranac bespoke ; Where fancy pictured forth his form. Like Areouski mid the storm, Gath'ring his bolts, to wreak his ire On Erie's race and Ontwa's sire. How fired my spirit at the sight ! And plunging down the lofty Height, Soon from its base, my winged speed Was sweeping through the wood and mead. The wily scout was often seen. Winding his way through thickets green, ( 1„ h \ \ i: 46 ONTWA. To make that lofty Height his stand ; Whence he might spy approaching band. Soon grew the nearer tumult loud, Of jarring sounds and bustling crowd, And every noise that met the ear Gave signal that the camp was near. I hasten'd on, through deeper shade By interwoven tree-tops made. Where grass, uncheck'd by with'ring heat, Grew green and rank about the feet ; And alders, on the border side. Like verdant fringe, hung o'er the tide, Leaving the upward glancing ray Amid their leaves a broken play — Which, as it downward gleam'd, in vain Had strived an ent'ring pass to gain. Half ling'ring to enjoy the scene. The grateful shade and flow'ry green. And half to dress my heron crest Which hasty march had slight depress'd — I loiter'd through the fair retreat, As if some charm detained my feet ; When lo ! on bed of roses there, A form, like bright Hahunah* fair, * The Indian word for morning. \ ' 1 I ! m I. i ONTWA. 47 In slumber broke upon my sight ! Was it my dreaming vision bright ? Or, spirit sent from liquid cave Beneath Ontario's shining wave, To guide the favour'd Saranac O'er the far billows of his track ? Her raven hair, half wreath'd, descended, And o'er her face like shadows blended ; Half veiling charms of fairer hue Than ever forest daughter knew. Such locks ne'er deck'd the desert child ! Ne'er bloom'd such cheeks in forest wild ! Not that the skin of doe or fawn That o'er her fairer neck is drawn. And all the rising breast conceals, Which Erie's daughter half reveals. Trembling, as in my dream I knelt. And all the awe of worship felt : — " Bright spirit of the air or deep ! Let Ontwa guard thy morning sleep. This wild rose, blooming o'er thy rest, I'll pluck to decorate thy breast ; That kind propitious sweets may bear My name to visions rising there." iK iK-t i^i!. ii^i^-a^^ietm \\ } ) \ t', K I \ \\\ i\ ! 1 I. i \ -«, ■k ^S- t" i«i M i I ' * > ^. 48 ONTWA. I gazed, enchain'd by powerful spell, Till bow and dart forgotten fell. And Erie and invading host Were all in one deep feeling lost. 1 watch'd the closing of her dreams To catch her eye's first opening beams*. The long dark lashes slowly rose, As all unwilling to disclose The light beneath : so fringed height Oft gives delay to morning's light. They broke, — but oh ! 'twere vain, — how faint Were tints the gleam of star to paint ! What wonder, that my forest eye Should deem her spirit of the sky ? Or, doubt that the red Indian's earth Could give such shining beauties birth ? My youthful ear had heard of race, With form enrobed and snowy face, Which, coming from the rising sun, O'er all the morning world had run ; But Ontwa never knew their blood Had beat in hearts that roved the wood, Nor that their fairer hues had shed Their lustre o'er our shadowy red. .r -^ OXTWA. 49 pell, ns earns. ht — how faint tl h? i, I Siiifl like (lawn her slumbers pass'd, Hilt soon that dawn was overcast ; The smile, her happy dreams had left. By terror was at once bereft — At sight of bold intruder there, Of stranger mien and frenzied air. Like frighted doe, with sudden start. She seized her ready bow and dart. And drawing home the feathery guard. Half turned, as if for flight prepared : The plumed death a moment stay'd, A moment was the flight delay'd, : When, kneeling still — " Ah ! stay," I cried, " Blest spirit of the air or tide, . Nor thus in angry terror shun ; : , Ontwa, the Chief of Erie's son : Bearing proud message from my race To Saranac, my erring pace Intruded on thy slumbers sweet; I knelt in homage at thy feet. And pluck'd a wild rose o'er thy head And on thy breast its odours spread. Propitious visions to inspire For Ontwa's race and Ontwa's sire." 7 4 *| f 1 i- , • ■^ ',■ Jfci8iap»i--v.„ \ I • ,1 ( I w iih ,!• i I 1 I ( 60 ONTWA. Her eye no longer bore a frown, Her how, reliix'd, wiis sinking down. And in relenting pau!*e she stood — When arrow, sent from neighh'ring wood, Half erring, sped its ambush'd harm And qiiiver'd in my hleeding arm. ■" ' She sprang, she knelt, and as she drew The reeking barb and feather through, Her shining hair swept o'er my breast — Her hand upon my shoulder prest — Her cheek came near : What then was pain. My wilder'd feelings to restrain ? — Ontwa had torment learnt to bear, • ■■ .. But ne'er had look'd on cheek so fair : What wonder then, the tempting bliss My lips should seize with daring kiss ? To draw the dart with pitying speed, And rise again at daring deed, And turn with proud reproachful look — Of time but briefest moment took ; That moment past, the bowman came To follow up his arrow's aim — A Chief of loftv gait and mien With hasty steps approach'd the scene. V y v ■'^^■^.,. i ONTWA. 51 iown, J— ^'ns wood, larin 1. ■,. 5 drew 'ougb, 'Feast — . ^ was pain, fiiir: liss 88? I. " What foot huH dared in riliinibVing hour To steid within Oneyda's bower ? , .-. Let second arrow truer fly — . . Thy stranger pinme speaks lurking t^py." . The bow was fiercely bent again — Aad barb drawn back with nervous strain — When sudden slacks the vengeful draught, Lest loved Oneyda feel the shaft ; For then, just ere the arrow flew, In generous haste, her form she threw, To beg her father's warrior bow, Would spare the blood of kneeling foe. But Ontwa was not kneeling then, — Though all too late my bow had been To check the Chief's impetuous dart. Whose truet flight had reach'd my heart Had not the form, my vision gave. Been hov'ring near my life to save. • « « Beneath an elm, whose spreading top Around like curtains seem'd to drop, Sate Saranac — while, on the ground His myriad followers closed around : , First aged chiefs, then warriors I )ld. Then youths allow'd their place to hold ; J^^0^ II * ,1 . ^ I ■ \ ir 52 ONTWA. While women, cliildrnn, further Htill, All Join the rirclitiK group to fill — Where Hhaveri head, and fcathcrM crest, And bow and club for battle dresriM, Of every form and hue appear, Like leaves that deck the dying year. Within thiH ring was Ontwa led Already doom'd to join the dead ; CondemnM, by lingering pangs to die, As sentence due to lurking spy. Stern Sarannc, in haughty gloom. Sate while a chief proclaimed my doom ; The fair Oneyda leaning near, Ah if to ask a pitying ear, Bending her beauties o'er his form, Like sunshine on the brow of storm. Ere yet the guards had seized their prey, While mercy seem'd to ask delay, I raised my blood-stain'd pledge on high And cried — " No spy, stern chief, am L From great Kaskaskin, Ontwa's sire, I bnng this pledge of Erie's ire." . •' Kaskaskia's son ! take back thy life — To lose it in a nobler strife. -iJlfV^ t ^%ii tl,.>•■'•^■., ■■*--_■ -J'-- 1* J*«*Ji-a.,_ ONTWA. M We come from other climen alar, New lanitx to fieek tor chaxe utui wur : Once on a Lake, whone lesser sweep Lies lix'd in mountain basin deep ;* Where green and lofty peaks arise Till Mended with the deep blue skies, Long shuttinji; out the morning ray FVom waters that beneath them lay ; liaised Saranac his hundred fires Amid the ashes of his sires. But mightier race than ours has come And driven us from our ancient home, Where forest's bow — of game despoiPd That seeks afar securer wild — And hill and plain, no more possess The charm and sport of wilderness. Not weak we come ; thou dost behold But half our chiefs and warriors bold. No breeze now stirs on yon blue Lake, That does not moving barks overtake. All plying fast the sail, or oar, To gain this designated shore : When all are come — prepared for fight. We hold our course up yonder Height, * Lake Champlain. »..*^^i(4^.^i.ai,*^^ ■»».« ->f.^c *s^ »■■■ 54 ONTWA. Where, should the Eries sue for peace. Our hostile march perchance may cease. — A warrior shall attend thee out To guard thee safe beyond our scout." " No guard does Ontwa want, nor guide ; With bow and quiver by my side, . .;- i And step all used to forest maze, My march shall mock thy scout's keen gaze Ere yon bright sun again shall rise , And light anew the eastern skies, Drinking the dew-drop on the flower Shed there by evening's viewless shower, Ontwa the feast and dance will share. Which Erie's warriors now prepare ; Whose games such deadly thirst shall wake As blood of foe alone can slake." .. ,. • i{., Then had my course, with sudden bound. Been speeding far from foeman's ground. And vainly through the thicket wood By step or vision been pursued ; When, like a deer whose ready start Is check'd by arrow through the heart. Half turn'd I stay'd, fix'd by the eye Of fair Oneyda hov'ring nigh. — '^'^w**. ■.»!" li»»*- I i i I ^W -it ONTWA. (31 " Beneath the brink, the Saukies Hlept. No watchful eye the sentry kept, E'en Aleem'd bark was dumb ! We hung on high — no spirit seem'd To tell them, as they sweetly dream'd, The vengeful foe is come ! " The morning broke ; i*ui Sac 9 eye Ne'er look'd s^ain on dappled sky — For every heart that beat at eve, Ere dawning light, had ceased to heave ; And not a tongue was left to tell. How Saukies fought or Saukies fell." Shuuktonga ceased : — In murmuring strain, The circling dance began again ; And when the whoop proclaim'd its close, Catawba, midst the clamour, rose. From Erie's shore, where islands spread Like wampum belt across its head. He came, — and thus, in numbers rude. Loudly the varying song renew'd. " Oft in my youth I used to take Advent' rous course across the lake. From isle to island plying ; 69 ONTWA. I- t ,;; '" ""'"« ««^« or rocky nook, Where billon, never roli'd its way % 'ight canoe would find a bay, ' . And all in peace be lying. ^What led n,e o'er the distant wave? Wi-t led ^ethuMhestorn, to brave? ^was UnadilJa's love ^ia-i's Chief, her warlike sire, Received me at his friendly fire, And did my suit approve. j'l^sought her on the rocky cliff, Where she was wont to watch my skiff f>kimmmg the waters fleets And where, with ornaments and skin ^She now prepared the mockasin To deck Catawba's feet. " * '*'*'^ «'«ng. with silent pace And paused a momentjust to trace ., Her features through the shade, When, rushing from the other side • A youth, array'd in warhke pride, ' H.S bold appearance made. ONTWA. 63 " With eager joy and greeting warm I saw him fold her yielding form, — My jealous brain turn'd 'round. Ere yet the quick embrace could part. My hasty arrow pierced his heart — His plumage kiss'd the ground. " She turn'd, and saw the fatal bow Whose rashness laid the warrior low. And cried, in anguish wild, • Ah ! fly, Catawba, fly the deed ; Not unrevenged can Waitou bleed — He was Miami's child !' " Already rush'd the impatient crowd To greet the youth, with clamours loud, Just come from field of fame. I dared not seek a parting sigh, I turn'd, but not in fear — to fly : I fled to hide my shame. " My lingering bark, with idle oar. Scarce plied along the rocky shore — Watching the jutting clifi" above, — What well known form was seen to move ? .. . ._,^ ,S.i« ! n «>iiiiiMj ii»m^i 64 ONTWA. 'TwaH Uniulilla's step advanced : Around an anxious eye 8he glanced ; When, from a point, was neen to shout A bark, as if in quick pursuit. I heeded not its fast approach — I saw her foot too far encroach, As if to urge my flight : Methought the crumbling rock gave way — Kind Manitou the ruin stay ! — I closed my aching sight. •' The crash and plunge in silence died — The rippling wave spread far and wide, At last my distant bark it shook; I raised my head with trembling look — And all was calm again. All thoughtless of pursuer's course, I darted off with frantic force, As if to fly from pain. *' My single arm an isle had near'd, Before the stronger bark appear'd, Driven on with foaming speed : 'Twas then, with lagging strength, my mind First waked to peril yet behind. And roused to sense of heed. W \\\ \> IMM HH ONTWA. C5 " I urged my way round rocky cape, By Hheltering bay to make escape, And, ere their bark my skiff could reach, Its lighter prow had struck the beach, And 1 was in the wood. In vengeful haste through thicket shade. O'er swelling knoll and rocky glade. My steps were close pursued. " Fast gain'd they on my failing pace — Like hunters urging on the chase. More near became their bound ; When on my path, a refuge cave* Yawn'd wide, as if a wretch to save, — I plunged beneath the ground : The cloven rocks a passage gave Within the dark profound, Where died away each passing sound. " I sank on moist and rocky bed ; To dreaming lands my spirit fled, And left behind its grief, — * There is a cave in the island of Put-in-Baj, which has been the subject of much admiration, on account of its di- mensions and beautiful stalactites. 9 ■ ■^jyT'^^W^KPfflW**^" ' [t 60 ONTWA. A^ain my UniHlilln lived, — And smiled aj^ain, \m non revived — The old Miami Chief. '* But oh ! what horrors when I woke ! No glenm of li^ht around me hroke — 'Twua thickeut darkneHH all ; And naught di^turh'd the Hilence deep That through the cavern held its sleep, Save mournful drops, the roof might weep. Scarce sounding in their full. " Catawba was not used to quake, But Uving death like this might shake The stoutest heart : 1 sought some ray That might reveal the entering way ; Through many a chasm and lengthened arch 1 groped in wild and desperate search, Now stumb?' ig o'er the brittle stones Crumbling at touch like mouldering bones. Now falling in some silent stream Ne'er known to breeze or daylight besun — * * At the end of the cave nlhidcd to, there b a little basin of water, so pellucid and iniperturbably clear, as scarcely to appear distinct from the incumbent atmosphere : it is only when a pebble or other thing is thrown into it, that the illusion vanishes. ONTWA. 07 Till hopclfliiii, raint anil frnntic grown. 1 luid my wearied body down In deep and rulm despnir. I cnird on death — when oh ! methoii|<;ht My bare and I'everM lionom caiight Some breath of upper air ! I moved — and ooon a glimmering ray Led back my eteps again to day." Catawba ceased. — And thus the song And dance and feaHt the hourN prolong. Each Chief hia wild adventure told In hunt, in love, or battle bold ; And daylight, rolling down the heaven, Had touch'd the forest-brow of even, When rose Kaskaskia from his place, And caird to arnu the Erie race. The revels sunk : Each bow wa^ strung. And quiver o'er each shoulder dung, And every Chief, in warlike mood. Before his warriors ready stood — Their gay crests tossing mid the green, As foam upon the dark waves seen. At tirst led ofl" the wily scout ; When every band took up its route •MMm te ^m** r « m ;«*-ii M^w 68 ONTVVA. 1 r In single line, with heedful pace, Leaving behind no treacherous trace On bough or bush or bending grass That might reveal the secret pass. — Thus fled the night. No sound betray 'd That thousands march'd beneath its shade ; And mildly shone the moon and stars. As earth were sleeping free from wars. The march was stay'd at brightening dawn. Far in the forest's depths withdrawn, — All, save the scouts, in stillness lay. Till night again conceal'd the way. The moon had gone, and darkest hour Had lost already half its power, And faintest gleam, like scouting spy, Was stealing up the morning sky, When foremost Chief deep sounds could hear That spoke Niag'ra's thunders near. At once, a note, that foe would deem Naught but the night-bird's piercing scream. Was heard afar : at signal sound. Each Chief and warrior sunk to ground, When every leaf return'd to rest, And sprung no more the grass depress'd, ONTWA. 69 And stillness trembled through the air — As never man had trampled there. 'Twas Ontwa now advanced alone : To him the foeman's look was known ; And, skill'd in signs of forest track — The grass bent down — the twigs thrown back, — To him was given the task to trace The foeman's path and lurking place. — With wreath of leaves twined round my brow, To look like waving bush or bough, I stole along : — as day advanced, A keener gaze around was glanced That far through thickest foliage sees, While my quick ear caught every breeze, Till passing sounds were heard no more. Lost in Niagara's swelling roar. Soon, as I stood in covert dark An opening in the wood to mark, Methought I saw a foeman spy, 'Mongst skirting trees, pass swiftly by : I watch'd his step — full near he came, When true was made my arrow's aim : He fell : — and, with his signal crest And well-known arms and wampum drest. ^-*- 70 ONTWA. I launch'd again on bolder route, Secure to pass for foeman's scout. ,?! Soon on the wood-crown'd plain and height, I caught of foe imperfect sight, Deep hid by mask of boughs and leaves That all but keenest eye deceives. Then unsuspected here and there, I hover'd round their secret lair, — Noted each glade, recess, and path That might conduct the battle's wrath, And give direction or disguise To bold attack or dark surprise : Then dofling arms and crest of slain, Triumphant darted back again. ' Poor scout,' I said — ' my dart laid low — Long thy return may wait the foe, And while they chide thy lagging pace, Vengeance may reach their lurking place — And Erie come, by Ontwa led. Through paths thy fallen crest betray'd.' Now woke Kaskaskia's signal sound — . At once the warriors rise around : He bade them wreath their brows with green That they might ape the verdant scene. ONTWA. 71 " No sound will wake the foeman's ear, Fill'd with Niag'ra'8 thunderii near ; And still inactive they may lie Waiting their slow returning spy. Who, low by Ontwa's arrow laid, Now sleeps at rest in yonder glade. Their coverts reach'd, let bush or tree The ambush of each Erie be, Till wily whoop shall cause the foe. Thoughtless of harm, his crests to show. Then, when from lurking place they rise And stand unmask'd before our eyes. Let then the feather'd vengeance wake, And every dart its victim take ; And lest some barb should vainly speed, Let the dark club pursue the deed — Till every spot where foeman stood Shall bear a corpse, and float in blood. Know, the triumphant hour is nigh ; For the Great Spirit of the sky, As he rush'd by amid the storm, Did thus Kaskaskia's soul inform : Never shall Erie lose the field, Wliilefoe shall desert weapon wield.^'' 1 VA. 81 Pictured r form, like virion bright, Nuw hovcriiiK iicur, now tiir from Hight ; A» if Homc Hpirit, nvul to bear M^ Houl Hway, were waiting there. Nearer and nearer yet it drew : Did fancy still deceive my view ? The moon Ment forth a brighter beam, That broke the uhadowH of my dream ; — 'Ti» she ! that beam her form betrays — 'Twas fair Oneyda met my gaze ! The ever watchful dog, that heard Her near approach, a moment stirrM, A moment viewed her, as she stood Like spirit lost amid the wood — Then crouch'd again with chiding whino. As if awaked by moon-beam's shine. With wary look, and listening ear That paused each trembling sound to hear. And foot whose fall would scarce disturb The dew that stood on leaf and herb, Through the prone guard around that lay- She made her light and cautious way. Why starts that warrior from his doze ? 'Twas but a restless dream of foes U i' j$t'f. 8i ONTWA. '^> It i»' \y'Ai' i That roused him from his earthy bed, Where soon again he bows his head ; And as the murm'ring sounds subside, Oneyda stands at Ontwa's side. Delight and wonder chain'd my tongue, While o'er my captive form she hung ; And thus, as with a trembling hand She loosed the osier's knotty band, And then, with bright entreating eye And earnest gesture, I ^.de me fly. Silent and lost in gaze of love, 1 felt nor wish nor power to move : She seized my hand, and led the way, Where prostrate guard and warriors lay, With scatter'd darts and slacken'd bow — That told, the Erie race was low. She paused when deep within the shade : — " Now fly, young warrior ! fly — " she naid ; " Urge through the dark thy rapid flif^ht. Nor fear pursuit till morning light : My hand the drowsy drink prepared, Which luU'd to rest thy watchful guard ; Now low among the crowd o'erthrown, They'll find too late the victim flown. if '.^* -^ ONTWA. 83 Last of a race — now lost in war ! Seek out some new and brighter star : And when thou sleep'st beneath its beam, Let far Oneyda share thy dream." Can Ontwa paint her simple grace — Her slender form, and lovely face, Which only half its beauty show'd, So wildly loose her dark locks flow'd — The tear that dimm'd her glist'ning eye, When she would bid the wanderer fly ? — The sinking moon with pleased delay Glanced on her charms a mellow ray. And show'd on robe and features fair The dew, and brighter tear-drop, there. — Did Ontwa then alone depart ? Ah ! no. I cried, with selfish heart, " Sweet blossom of the wild ! thy hands Have sever'd Ontwa's captive bands, But vainly dost thou set him free. When still his heart is bound to thee. The osier bond no longer holds, But wreath of love has stronger folds : Oh, thou bright vision of my sU^ep, Ere Ontwa's eyes had learnt to weep — 84 ONTWA. I f'l| m'] ? t Thou, whom I thought a star from heaven, Or spirit by the blue wave given, When watching o'er thy morning rest I placed the wild rose on thy breast — Oh whither, now, shall Ontwa turn ? His country's fires no longer burn : Of home and sire and kindred reft, What has the lonely wanderer left — If thou, Oneyda, scorn his love. And send him forth alone to rove ? My death-song had been proudly sung, My soul like nervous bow was strung, And waited with impatient smile The burning of the fatal pile, Whose morn-enkindling flames would close Over the last of Erie's woes. What drew my spirit back to earth ? — 'Twas form of more than Indian birth, Such charms as Ontwa never knew. For never such in desert grew. Erie's red daughters long had sigh'd To melt this bosom's icy pride. But till I saw Oneyda's face I never loved, but sportive chase. Then wilt thou forth the wanderer send. Bereft of home and sire and friend ? ONTWA. 85 When thou, Oneyda — wouldst thou roam, Might be hia friend, his sire and home." " Too well, bold youth ! thou know'st the art To win with flattering tongue the heart, And far too willing thou hast found My ear to listen to the sound. Prize not too high this fairer face, Which owes its hues to white man's race : Learn that Oneyda's mother came From distant shores of GalUc name, — In former wars, her home subdued, By savage foe and death pursued, To Saranac she owed her life ; And, in return, became his wife. Ere twice the forest bloom had fled, She sunk within her narrow bed — Whence her lorn soul return'd again To hover o'er her native plain. 'Twas from her milk Oneyda drew The snows that gave this brighter hue. 'Twas all of Gallia's race she gave : The rest was buried in her grave. — But why detain ? — Oh ! quickly haste, Nor more the precious moments waste. I) ir ^ 1 y. T- 86 ONTWA. Nay — why delay ? — 'Tis all in vain : 'Tweve easy this weak heart to gain — But soon, by Saranac's command. Will Weywin claim Oneyda's hand ; A warlike chief — by sire approved, Though never by Oneyda loved : Yet hadst not thou — but hark ! nethoughl My ear the sound of tumult caught! It is ! they tind the captive flown! Oh, fly ; — yet stay — ah, yes, begone For should Oneyda share thy way, 'Twould but thy fleeter step delay." The tumult rose. — ♦' On, on," she cried, " And may my mother's spirit guide." — We darted forward through the glade. And soon were lost in distant shade — Where not a sound came on the wind, To say pursuit was still behind. " Here, my Oneyda, rest thy feet, No eye will find this far retreat : Here on this bank shall thou repose, Shelter'd from sun, secure from foes. While o'er thy deep and weary sleep. Ontwa shall watchful sentry k&ep." — ONTWA. On flowery btink fatigued she sank, Where hunted deer full often drank — Perhaps, like us, no longer fearing The lost pursuer's reappearing. " With thee, young warrior! thee so near. What has Oneyda's heart to fear ? My infant ears could scarce rejoice When wont to hear a mother's voice ; For scarce they caught her note of love. Ere her pure soul was borne above : But still, methinks, I never hung On sweetness of a mother's tongue, With half the rapture I incline To catch the gentle sounds of thine. Oh, when I lived among the crowd, Where hundred warriors 'round me bow'd. Now giving fruit ot hunting toil. And now the nobler battle-spoil ; When every morn my cabin door Was hung with flowers and \erdure o'er, And bloom of spring and summer's sweet Were ofiier'd at Oneyda's feet ; My bosom never knew a blis^ — It scarce e'er dreamt of joy — like this. Here by this stii' and lonely stream My soul shall wake its sweetest dream, iSh 'i lf\ m 88 ONTWA. And when we rise to fly again For refuge in some distant plain, Oh, may Oneyda's vigour prove Firm and unwearied as her love." On bed of flowers, by Ontwa made, Her drooping charms she gently laid ; And oft her slumbers check'd to raise A glance that ever met my gaze ; Till visions quench'd their quivering light. As clouds steal o'er the stars of night. Oh ! what a charm to lover's eye Have beauties that in slumber lie ! When, all confiding, they are given To faith, that's watch'd alone by Heaven. In trusting innocence she slept, While love the sacred vigil kept. ( ; •* The trembling lip and heaving breast Oft spoke the fears that broke her rest ; And oft she'd cry, in dreaming fright, " Fly, Ontwa ! why delay our flight? Methinks 'tis Weywin's dart I see — Its vengeful barb is aim'd at thee." — - *' Sweet sleeper ! calm thy vision's fear ; Is not thy watchful warrior near ? ONTWA. 89 The forest sleeps beneath the sun, The lonely waters calmly run, And scarce the insect flutters 'round, Lest it should wake thee with its sound. Soon as thy broken slumbers end. Again our course afar we'll bend, i.aunch our light bark, and refuge take In friendlier regions o'er the lake. There, where Ohio's waters press Their silent way through wilderness, And echo, as they wind along, Only the bird's or hunter's song, On some lone border of the wild, I'll shelter thee, thou snowy child !" The evening sun, descending low. His level beams began to throw Beneath the trees, which stretch'd their shades Like giant limbs through lengthen'd glades, — When, starting from her flowery bed, Oneyda wildly raised her head, And, still half dreaming, bt>nt her ear As if she thought pursuers near. " Ah ! no — 'twas all a dream. But oh ! Methought I saw fierce Weywin's bow 12 i 1(1 III \ 1)0 ONTWA, Aiming at thee its vengeful dart : It sped, — but struck Oneyda's heart. The pang was dreadful, but methought I would again the dart have caught. Again severer pangs have braved. Were life of Ontwa to be saved. — fiut hark ! I hear a step advance ! — 'Tis he ! — 'Tis Weywin's fiery glance — And bended bow" — And to my breast, With fatal haste, she frantic prest, — Her warning dream, alas ! too true, — Just as the vengeful arrow tiew 1 Her warm blood o'er my bosom gush'd. As from her wound the torrent rush'd, While yet her eye, with ray intense, Beam'd forth its dying eloquence ; And ere the smile had left her cheek. Which still of parting love would speak. Her soul of snowy hue had flown, — And left me in this world alone. The day went down on Ontwa's grief. He saw nor foeman's tribe nor chief Drawn by the signal whoop around. As Weywin gave the fatal wound. — m : 1 ■A I \^L ONTWA. 01 The victor chief tore off his plume : His wailing tribe sat down in gloom : But chief nor tribe could ever know The depth of Ontwa's silent wo. — Three days, the murmuring stream pursued Its course along the mournful wood, Echoing the notes of plaintive song, That told the sorrows of the throng — When 'neath a willow's drooping shade, Within her narrow house, was laid The loved Oneyda. * • • « What now had Ontwa left on earth ? — Lonely he rose, and wander'd forth. His wand'rings— — but, of what avail, To lengthen out my mournful tale ? — Led by the love of one dear name, 1 sought the land of white men's fame. And Hnger'd years about their fires Where slept, methought, her mother's sires. The stranger world before me rose ; But gave no rest to Ontwa's woos. I sought the desert wild again ; But the rude scenes revived my pain. \ 11 if ■ 3 /! a' I .ii ^i f^ n ONTWA. U 'i And here my worn nnd wearied feet Have come to seek their last retreat : And here I stand — my wither'd grief, Hanging hke dry and quivenng leaf, That waits from heaven but faintest breath, To break it^ hold, and smk in death.' \\ If^ > H SI I E N I). \' Xk h m i i "i' ; ; .... , , 1 'M I* T ILLUSTRATIONS. \ ,\l m iH f If 'm i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.25 L&IM |2.5 S"^ IS Hiotographic Sdences Corporation •N5 \ <^ 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSM (7I6)S72-4S03 6^ o^ [The following Illustrations of the prece- ding work have been extracted from the private MSS. cf Lewis Cass, Esq. Governor of the Ter- ritory of Michigan. It is scarcely necessary to inform the public, that he has been for several years, ex officio, the superintendent of numerous tribes of Indians ; or to recall to mind his recent extensive tour to the sources of the Mississippi ; in order to give a value and interest to his ob- servations on aboriginal subjects. The novelty and variety of the facts these illustrations exhibit, must render them important to the curious : and if they at the same time show, that the work to which they are appended — in the descriptive parts at least — has received its impressions from reali- ties rather than from imagination, they may give to it a character higher than that of a mere work of fiction.] * \ I i */ nmmmmmmm^jm ' nn ILLUSTRATIONS. No—Uwas a spirit mild and meek That objects less sublime would seek : I srught the Indian of the wild, Nature''s forlorn and roving child. Page 10, line 15, &c. Early and strenuous efforts were made by the French to convert the Indians to civilization and Christianity. The zealous missionaries of the Ro- man Catholic religion carried the cross into the most remote regions which were then known. Establishments for this purpose were formed at Michilimackintac, at L'Arbre Croche, at St. Jo- sephs, at Green Bay, and at other places. The object was prosecuted with zeal, industry and ta- lents, worthy of more permanent success than has attended these labours. The di£^culties, dan- gers and privations, which must have accompanied this intense and voluntary devotion of their lives, to the moral and physical melioration of our ab- original inhabitants, can be fully appreciated by those only who ate able to form some estimate of tiie condition and character of the country, at Hhtii early period. There was a generous self-de- 13 m i. f ! -.'1 , fl ii ILLUSTRATIONS. votedness in these apostles of Loyola, which no- thing could have inspired, but the intensity of their zeal and their entire abstraction from all personal considerations. To suffer in a valued cause, and when surrounded by those who sympathize with the martyr, whether he be the victim of religious or of political intolerance, does not require the strongest effort of human resolution. Cranmer and Russell, no doubt, sought and found consola- tion in the nature of the causes for which they respectively suffered and died. The circum- stances of the times had excited their feelings to an elevation proportioned to the crisis in which each of them was placed, and their martyrdom was seen and applauded and lamented by thousands. But in the solitude of the forest, removed from every trace of civilization, and surrounded by ruthless savages, these holy men had no crowds of witnesses, no powerful and temporary bursts of enthusiasm, no imposing external circumstances, to support them in the hour of danger and of death. The authentic records of their missionary labours show, that they were subjected to every danger and privation, which savage malignity could de- vise, or which human resignation could endure ; and many of them were murdered at the foot of the altar. No traces of their laborious exertions can now be discovered, in the manners or morals of the Indians. The hand of time has swept away the teacher and the neophyte ; and nothing now leir Inal )ua ler )la- ILLUSTRATIONS. 99 remains to show, that the standard of Christiani- ty has ever waved amid the dark forests of our country. The lessons of experience upon this subject are too important to be disregarded. In the zealous efforts, which are now making, to meliorate the condition of the Indians, we have much to learn from the history of the progress and result of the same experiment, which was made by the Jesuits. We cannot bring to the task more fervid zeal, more profound talents, more extensive or varied acquirements, nor probably a deeper knowledge of the principles of human nature. But, so far as respects any permanent or valuable impression, they have wholly failed. Very few of the Indians profess any attachment to the Christian religion ; and of those who make this profession, there is not probably one whose knowledge is not confined to the imposing rites and external ceremonies of the Catholic church. A more vivid impression appears to have been made upon the Wyaudots, than upon any others ; and they preserved, for a longer term than any other tribe, traces of the indefatigable exertions of their spiritual fathers : But even with them, superior as they are in intel- lectual endowments, and placed by their local si- tuation in contact with a Catholic community, the subject is forgotten ; or, if remembered, it is re- membered only by a few aged and decrepid per- I 1 tfe *'' i t' i : -^ •^^Sf lUU ILLUSTBATIONS. sons, like other traditionary legends of their na- tion. Fortunately for the cause of humanity, and for the discharge of the great moral debt which we owe to this miserable race of beings, deep interest has lately been excited upon this import- ant subject. A spirit of inquiry has awakened, which cannot but produce beneficial results. The obligations under which we are placed, as an en- lightened and Christian community, to teach our wretched neighbours the blessings of civilization and Christianity, are universally felt and acknow- ledged. We have driven them from the Atlantic to the Mississippi. Our forefathers, who landed upon this continent, found them numerous, high spirited, and powerful. They are now few*, de> pressed, weak, and miserable. For the fair pos- sessions which once were theirs, let us give them a more precious inheritance : — a gradual partici- pation in those blessings, natural and intellectual, civil and relif ;ious, which have fallen to our lot. There is reason to believe, that the failure of the Jesuits m as owing to the principles upon which their operations were conducted, rather than to any intrinsic tnd insuperable difficulties in the ob- ject itself. Ii is easy to teach an Indian to com- ply with the external forms of the church ; and he may make the sign of the cross, when he has no ideas, practical or speculative, upon the moment- ous subject which alone gives importance to these ■WH** 'U ILLUSTRATIONS. 101 eereraonies. Any change, to be permanent, must be gradual and general. We must teach the In- dians, by their own observations, the value of our institutions. We must induce them to abandon their present erratic life, and to establish them- selves permanently. We must convince them that the scanty and precarious subsistence, which is now furnished by the chase, will be acquired with less toil and more certainty, by the labour of agriculture. We must teach them, above all, the value of separate and exclusive property — the cardinal principle in our own attempts upon this subject. In fact their physical and moral improv e- ment must be contemporaneous : Each will alter- nately act as cause and effect. If this great cause be placed in proper hands, and prosecuted with zeal and judgment propor- tioned to its importance, we may safely anticipate a successful result. But it must be the work of time and labour. It cannot be accomplished speed- ily or easily. Inveterate habits must be eradica- ted, strong prejudices encountered, and the feel- ings and opinions of a whole ruce of human beings entirely changed, before complete success can at- tend our exertions. But, such a bloodless victory would be more important to the character of our country, than the most sanguinary battle which stains the pages of history. I f/ \ m i '■ I'/ i 'i \\ >fl 102 ILLUSTRATIONS. t: I Through rocky isles, whose bolder forms Still chafed and frittered down by storms, '■ '• And, worn to steeps of varying shape '" That architectural orders ape. Show ruined column, arch, and niche, And walVa dilapidated breach — Page 11, line 1 1, &c. Upon the southern coa^t of Lake Superior, about fifty miles from the falls of St. Mary's, are the im- mense precipitous cliffs, called by the voyageurs, Le Portail, and the " Pictured rocks.^^ This name has been given to them, in consequence of the dif- ferent appearances which they present to the tra- veller, as he passes their base in his canoe. It requires little aid from the imagination, to discern in them the castellated tower, the lofty dome, spires and pinnacles, and every sublime, grotesque, or fantastic shape, which the genius of architect- ure has ever invented. These cliffs are an un- broken mass of rocks rising to an elevation of three hundred feet above the level of the Lake, and stretching along the coast for fifteen miles. The voyageurs never pass this coast except in the most profound calm ; and the Indians, before they make the attempt, offer their accustomed obla- tions, to propitiate the favour of their Manitous. The eye instinctively searches along this eternal rampart for a single place of security : But the search is vain. With an impassable barrier of rock on one side and an interminable expanse of ^"^^l^^l ^•*'- ILLUSTRATIONS. 103 :i I 1 WRter on the other, a sudden storm upon the lake would as inevitably insure destruction to the pas- senger in his frail canoe, as if he were on the brink of the cataract of Niagara. The rock itself is a sandstone, which is disintegrated, by the continued action of the water, with comparative facility. There are no broken masses upon which the eye can rest and find relief. The lake is so deep that these masses, as they are torn from the pre- cipice, are concealed beneath its waters until they are reduced to sand. The action of the waves has undermined every projecting point ; and there, the immense precipice rests upon arches, and the foundatioix is intersected by caverns ex- tending in every direction. When we passed this mighty fabric of nature, the wind was still and the lake calm. But even the slight motion of the waves, which in the most profound calm agi- tates these internal seas, swept through the deep caverns with the noise of distant thunder, and died, upon the ear, as it .rolled forward in the dark recesses inaccessible to human observation : no sound more melancholy or more awful ever vibrated upon human nerves. It has left an im- pression, which neither time nor distance can ever efface. Resting in a frail bark canoe upon the limpid waters of the lake, we seemed almost sus- pended in air — so pellucid is the element upon which we floated. In gazing upon the towering battlements which impended over us, and from * • 1 ' I V I ; ^-, .' 104 ILIiUBTRATIONB. which the tinnnlleAt fragment would have destroy- ed ut, we felt, nnd felt intensely, our own insig- nifirance. No dituation can he imagined, more appalling to the courage, or more humbling to the pride of man. We appeared like a umall ttpeck upon the face of creation. Our whole party, Indians and voyageurn and noldiers and officers and savans, contemplated in mute astonishment the awful display of creative power, at whose base we hung : and no sound broke upon the car, to in- terrupt the ceaseless roaring of the waters. — No splendid cathedral, no temple built with human hands, no pomp of worship, could ever impress the spectator with such deep humility, and su strong a conviction, of the immense distance be- tween him and the Almighty Architect. The writer of this article has viewed the falls of Niagara, and the passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, two of the most stupendous ob- jects in the natural features of our country : The impression they produce is feeble and transient, when compared with that of the " Pictured rocks" of Lake Superior. When *mid his chiefs, I saw my tire Azoake on high the council fire. Page 26, lines 17 and 18. . No important business is ever transacted by the Indians, without kindling the council fire. This ceremony preceded the arrival of the European f ',.• i» — '/. ^! ILI.rHTRATIONA. ior> upon (hiH continent. It doiihtleHs hiul Uh origin in the convenience, which wiim thiia ntTorded the MMembled multitude, for UKhting their pipcii. Their appetite for Hmokin^ iH xtrong Hnd invete* rnte. When thoHc who nre to participate in the deliberation! of the council are convened, the great pipe i§ lighted, and the Htem in held up- wards, aa a mark of adoration to the Great Spirit. AAer this ceremony it it* Hmoked itucceHaively, in the order of rank, by all who are present : For this purpose it is carried by one of the Chiefs to every individual, who, without taking hold of the pipe with his handH, drawH two or three pufTi* of the smoke : The council is then ready to invcHti- gate the businesH, for which it was convened. The Indians have two pipes, which are used upon so- lemn occasions : one is the great peace pipe, and the other the war pipe. They are severally smoked under circumstances sulKciently indicated by their names. But the words *' Council tire" are also used by the Indians, metaphorically, to indicate the place where their councils are held. Every village has its own fire, which is kindled whenever the inhabit- ants meet for deliberation. But all the different tribes, with whom we are acquainted, north of the Ohio and east of the Mississippi, were connected to- gether, and had a general Council lire ; which was kept by the Wyandota at the mouth of the Detroit river. How long they had enjoyed tliis pre-emi- 14 t, 'i Hi 'if , ■^:. I 106 ILLUSTRATIONS. W 1 nence, is doubtful. But the right of convening the other tribes to the Council tire, was possessed by this nation ; and when application for that pur- pose was made by any of the others, the Wyan- dots despatched the necessary wampum and to- bacco — which are the credentials carried by the messengers. Some of the principal Chiefs from every quarter attended these councils ; and when they met, a Are was kindled by a flint and steel. After the council closed, this fire was carefully extinguished. All objects, affecting the Indians generally, were investigated and determined, upon these occasions. But the late war, which pro- duced greater changes in the feelings and customs of the Indians, than the flfty years preceding had mado, extended its effects to this institution. The council, and its members, and its objects, have dis- appeared, and the plough has passed over the site of the sacred fire. Has filVd my dreams with deep alarms — Page 27, hne 6. The Indians have great confidence in dreams : They are considered as the immediate manifesta- tions of the will of the Great Spirit ; and it is al- most impossible to persuade them to disregard these impressions. The most important expeditions are sometimes stopped and turned back, by a dream of one of the party. In the year 1778, a party of about one hundred Chippewa warriors, led by mil i. ILLUSTRATIONS. 107 a Chief named Wa-be-gon-a, left Detroit upon a war excursion against the infant settlements in Kentucky. During the march, warrior after war- rior abandoned the party, affected by the dreams which they had, or feigned to have ; until the num- ber was reduced to twenty -three. When they arrived upon the Ohio, they struck a road ap- parently much travelled. They watched tins road some time ; but not meeting with any success, they returned, and proceeded one day's march towards home. On the evening of this day, a British interpreter who was with the party, re- monstrated against their return, and urged the Chief to remain in the country until they could strike the Americans. He dwelt upon topics ob- vious to the Indians ; and represented the disgrace which would attend an unfortunate expedition. The Chief finally consented to refer the question to a dream. He prepared himself for the approach- ' ing communication, and in the morning stated that the Great Spirit had appeared to him, and had di- rected him to watch the road again, until a party of the Americans should pass. The Indians re- turned with great confidence, stationed themselves upon the road, and there remained until a party approached — upon whom they tired. They took two scalps and three prisoners. It was not difficult to perceive that this road was daily travelled, and the Cliief hazarded little in advising his warriors to watch it. The whole ' \ I. m <■., > i if u, t'l 4 ■ i) I f Ml ^."V^ 'if 1= 108 ILLUSTRATIONS. Bi plan was probably contrived between him and the interpreter, to restore confidence to the dispirited party. The Indians carry, in a prepared skin called natte, certain objects of worship, known by the name of Manitous. These Manitous are the stuff- ed skins of young minks, beavers, birds, and other animals. They are preserved with great care ; and the natte always accompanies the war parties. It is carried by the principal Chief, du- ring the march ; and at night it is hung upon a pole, stuck in the ground on the side towardj the ene- my. Should any person incautiously pass between the natte and the enemy, the whole party would instantly return, and nothing would induce them to advance. When the Chief is anxious to consult the Great Spirit, respecting the result of the ex- pedition, or the fate of any of his warriors, he sleeps with his head in contact with the natte. In this situation his dreams are prophetic. It is obvious that the minds of the Indians are prepared for these impressions. Fasting, watch- ing, long conversations and intense reflection up- on the subject, produce the very result of which they are in pursuit. They dream because their faculties, intellectual and corporeal, are in a state of excitement most favourable to such an object. f .s i, ILLUSTRATIONS. 109 ril seek, amid the howling storm, Tlie Manitou's appalling form. Page 31, lines 5 and 6. A full examination of the superstitious notions and practices of the Indians, would involve an ex- tensive view of their mythology. It is difficult to procure accurate information upon the subject ; and I think it probable that their own ideas are confused, and that the boundaries between the power of their good and bad spirits are not dis- tinctly marked. They are desirous, upon all im- portant occasions, of consulting the spirits, good or bad, respecting the result. There is a particular order of men, called Wa-be-no, in French — jon- gleurs, or (as they are called in Knglish by the Canadians) thinkers— who are the medium of com- munication for this purpose. These Wa-be-no formed a society, which was perpetuated by the continued admission of new members. But the process of initiation was tedious, and some time elapsed before the candidate was admitted to a full participation in the benefits and knowledge of the society. The Wa-be-no, of all the tribes, had a common bond of union, and the principal mem- bers met annually near the Spring Wells, upon the Detroit river. At this periodical convoca- tion, the rites of their order were celebrated with feasts and dancing, and the other imposing cere- monies which were appropriated to these west- ern Eleusinian mysteries. The rank and influ- ! 3 h ■it . 'i 0^ n ) i .!* 110 ILLUSTRATIONS. '7 r. Mil [ ^ (■ it *■ ence of the different members, were determined by their knowledge of these ceremonies, and by the visitations which they felt or affected to feel. It is probable that fanaticism and hypocrisy had each their votaries among these " jongleurs." — The process preparatory to initiation, was well cal- culated to render them susceptible to the slightest impression. The candidate was shut up in a lone- some cabin, and was compelled to abstain from all food and drink, for many days. What is the ex- treme limit of human strength and resolution, in this state of total abstinence, I do not know : But there is an old Chippewa, now living, who is said to have been thus incarcerated for nine days. It is not difficult to conceive, that this discipline would prepare the youthful mind for strong and permanent impressions, and for a sublimation of the imagination, which might lead him to mistake ihe reveries of his own excited fancy, for the re- velations of an invisible being. It is probable that the initiatory ceremonies fortiiied these im- pressions. And it is certain that this order of men acquired a preponderating influence over the minds of the Indians — An influence, too, which was extended to the traders and voyageurs, with whom they formerly had intercourse. I am unwilling to recount the stories that are told upon this subject ; the marvellous nature of which prove equally the dexterity of the actors, and the credulity of the spectators. Onr earlier 'f ILLUSTRATIONS. Ill k writers upon Indian manners detail with great sim- plicity these evidences of a communication with evil spirits ; and 1 have heard aged and respecta- ble Canadians relate facts which they supposed occurred before their own eyes, not less incon- sistent with the ordinary operations of nature, than with the powers of a superintending Providence. These Wa-be-no are not only priests and pro- phets, but physicians. In September, 1819, du- ring the treaty at Saginaw, Kish-ka-kon, the prin- cipal Chief of the Chippewas, was taken sick : He was offered medicine and the attendance of our physK i in, but having no confidence in either, he declined the offer. He sent for one of these men to effect a cure, and 1 saw him soon after the ope- ration. He was afflicted with a chronic rheuma- tism, and complained much of a violent pain in his side : He told me, however, that the Wa-be-no had extracted a part of the disorder, and that there was no doubt of a perfect cure. It appear- ed that the operator, after many unmeai ing cere- monies, had applied a hollow bone to the affected part, by means of which he pretended to suck out the disorder. He possessed the power of regur- gitating a small portion of the contents of the sto- mach, and this he discharged from his mouth into a vessel. His credulous patient believed that it was extracted from the seat of the disorder. One of these men was sent by a respectable Canadian to a gentleman in Detroit, who was dan- V.: ^ f 'I:. >, U '^\ > tr ( ] {^ i 1 4 -JTT' 112 ILLUSTRATIONS. t , [rff, f; '■^i ' .( Il ^ t I gerously affected by an imposthutne in his thigh. This man undertook the same process ; but, hav> ing around him more acute observers than he had before known, his whole operation was easily detected. One of his feats, which excited the greatest wonder among the Indians, was thrusting into his throat a stick twenty-three inches long. — Kish-ka-kon was firmly persuaded, that some enemy had, as they express it, thrown medicine at him — that is, had, by means of the Wa-be-no, induced the evil spirit to afflict him. This is a very prevailing superstitious notion among the In- dians. When they are sick, or any accident hap- pens to them, or Ihey are unable to kill an abun- dant supply of game, this is the ready solution of the difficulty. A few months since, an Indian applied to me for some whiskey. I inquired of him for what pur- pose he wanted it. He answered, that four years before, some person had thrown medicine at him, and that he had not been able, since that time, to kill any game. He wanted the whiskey to make a feast, the sovereign panacea for Indian misfor- tunes, and thus to be enabled to resume kis em- ployment as a hunter. The Indians apply, under different circumstan- ces, to the good and the bad spirit ; and the cere> monies in these different cases, are entirely dis- similar. My information does not enable me to state with precision, what circumstances deter- n '■J^ r ILLUSTRATIONS. 113 mine, to whom the application shall be made. Generally, however, in all important questions affecting the tribe, and in all cases where super- natural assistance is required, the application is made to the good spirit. Where the object is to ascertain a future event, or to discover any thing <¥hich is lost, the inquirer is sent to the evil spi- rit. The same class of men are employed in each case ; but no present must be made when the good spirit is consulted. Being desirous of see- ing the mode in which these tricks are executed, I requested one of the Wa-be-no to permit me to be present at the ceremony. He assented to my request — and was directed to ascertain the situation of some article accidentally lost. This farce was necessary, as he peremptorily refused to consult the evil spirit, unless some question were pro- posed for solution. Six stout poles were tirmly placed in the ground in a hexagonal form. These poles were ten feet in height, and the diameter of the enclosure was, perhaps, four feet. Round these poles, on the outside, a number of blankets were stretched, and securely fastened. These blankets entirely intercepted the view ; and after the Wa-be-no had crawled in, the place of his en- trance was shut and he was concealed from obser- vation. The ceremony took place at night, and it thus became impossible to observe, with any accuracy, the progress of the imposture. Immediately on his entrance, the poles were vio- 15 '\ \\ it !/ \i ! ! i il J ^ \ t 114 ILLUSTRATIONS. 1 t'S i }}' I- I r i lently agitated, and he began a monotonous recita- tion, which I understood to be an invocation to the evil spirit to make his appearance. Afler some time the agitation increased, and we were inform- ed that the evil spirit was about to appear. Pro- found silence was observed by the surrounding spectators, and another voice was heard from the lodge. It was then obvious, that the object of the Wa-be-no was, to induce his auditory to be- lieve the evil spirit was conversing with him. For this purpose he changed as much as possible the tone of his voice, and spoke at one time close to the ground, and at another, at the greiitest height to which he could attain. The deception was so gross, and the whole ceremony so tedious and un- interesting, that I retired without waiting for the termination. When the good spirit is consulted, a feast is given, and a dog sacrificed. This dog is hoisted to the top of a long painted pole, and left in this situa- tion. The Wa-be-no then retires to " think" sit- ting down with his head upon his hands, and his el- bows resting upon his knees. In this situation, the answer of the good spirit is communicated to him. JirisBy to war — with fellest whoop. Page 30, line 18. That peculiar modulation of voice, which con- stitutes the " whoop" of the Indians, has long been known. It is impossible to give any ade- ILLUSTHATIUN8. Uu quale idea of thin sound, by a written description. It is shrill iind piercing, and there is a striking ele- vation of the voice at the termination of each cry. The Indians have at least four ditferent kinds of whoops, the object of three of which is to communicate intelligence to their villages, as the warriors approach on their return from any ex- pedition, without the trouble of an immediate ex- planation. These whoops are all different, and are perfectly understood ; and they convey the de- sired information, with as much precision as one of our gazettes. I The whoop of joy is uttered by the warriors who return from a triumphant expedition, and in- dicates the number of scalps and prisoners they have taken. There is a peculiar inflection of it, by which the prisoners are distinguished from the scalps. The death-whoop designates the number of friends who have been killed during the expe- dition. The whoop of intelligence is uttered by a messenger, or other person, who has any thing important to communicate ; and it is used to col- lect those who are within hearing, to receive the information. .'■,,,■ The war-whoop is designed to strike their ene- mies with terror, and to inspire their friends with confidence, at the onset of a battle. In the silence of the night and in the solitude of the forest, this terrific sound is appalling. When a party of warriors approaches a friendly ' S « :ri .1 i s- ' 'i: »l 116 ILLUSTRATIONS. I' > villnge, they give three distinct whoops, either of joy or grief, m their nituation may require, to prepare the inhahitants for attention. After a short pause, they give as many separate whooptt as there are individuals, at whose fate they rejoice or mourn. At the treaty of St. Mary*s, in 1818, a small party of Shawanese returned from a war excur- sion against the Osages, with a number of scalps. Before they reached the treaty ground, they an- nounced their success by the whoops of joy, and the effect was electric upon the Indians. The vast multitude, who were present, rushed out to meet the returning warriors. The object ap- peared to be to seixe the scalps, which were borne on poles, from those who carried them, and to hasten with them to their camps. I do not know whether any peculiar distinction was attach- ed to the successful individuals in this strife, but certainly more exertions could not have been used, nor more zeal exhibited, had the object been to at- tack their enemies. Old and young joined the throng, and the scalps were snatched from hand to hand, and changed owners many times, before they reached their destination. Whose lengthened trench and mound enseam The banks of many a winding stream — Page 32, lines 16 and 16. The remains of ancient art, which are scatter- ed through the western regions, have been the V! ^tS. '•^.K.i ,4,i.*i h^,ti. Li'Jrt ^". J-*,,. ILLUSTRATION!). 117 niihjcct of observation Hiiice onr tir^t knowledge of the country. It ih doubtful whether much real progresH hat* been made in the inveHtigii'iun of this intereMting inquiry. When, >*> whom, tind why, these monumcntH of human industry were erected — are questions which, perhiips, will never be satisfactorily solved. The facts in our pos- session are not sulficiently numerous, to enable us to form even » plausible conjecture upon the sub> ject. — Their extent and variety, instead of aiding, bewilder us. The labour of their erection is as much beyond the power of the present race of Indians, as the works themselves are unsuited to any purposes to which they could apply them. Their construction must have required a degree of skill in the plan, and of indefatigable industry in the execution, equally incompatible with the intellectual acquirements and present habits of the Indians. These works are scattered through the whole valley of the Ohio, and through much of the Mis- sissippi country. They are found as iiir north, at least, as Lake Pepin. They are not confined to any particular situation. We tind them on hills and in valleys ; in positions favourable to military defence, and in others, where they are complete- ly commanded by elevated ground, and where de- fence would be impracticable. A supply of water has not been deemed an in- dispensable requisite. Between Detroit and Chi- cago, in the midst of an immense plain, and re- 1 % I ^^ ii 71 '- _.._^^.,jiy HI 1L.LUATHATI0M. mote from any Htreiim, one of tliewe workti yet re- miiiiis. There tire othci-H Hiiiiihniy Hituated, with regard to water; and upon the MiixkinKum there are Mome on the moHt arid and elevated hilU. They are found in every ntate of preservation, and decay. In Home, the walU are at least tifteen feet high, particularly near Newark and Lebanon, in Ohio ; and the whole work m att distinct aH it waH upon the day of itt4 completion. OtherH have al- moiit mouldered away, and it is difficult to diHtin* guish them from natural inequalities of ground. Some of them have ditches, and some are without ; and these ditches are as often found on the inside as on the outside of the walls. There is an ele- vated mound in Marietta, enclosed with a wall, and having a ditch between the wall and the mound. It is impossible that this wall and ditch could have been made for any purposes of defence, because the elevation of the mound, which occupies the whole interior space, would have exposed those within to the attack of the assailants. Their form is as various as their situation. They 'ire square, round, elliptical, hexagonal, and in almost every shape which fancy can imagine. Their existence is a wonder, to which there is nothing comparable in our country. To account for their original erection, we are driven to conjec- ture, either that another race of men, superior in every social and intellectual quality to our pre- sent Indians, once inhabited these regions, and V^^ •^'^r ILLUSTRATIUNH. lit f 1 were wholly extirpated or expoUed ; or that the deKcendHnts of thin people have furKOtten the mo!tt useful art* of life, and ')Hve loHt all remem- brance of their own origin, with all the tradition* uf their anceston. Mr. AtwHter. of Circleville, in Ohio, has evinced a laudable zeal to collect all the facts upon this subject, which now remain. It is to be hoped that his exertions will not be fruitless ; but that he will be aided by all, who are competent to prosecute the investixation. The time is ra- pidly pasiting away when plans and elevations of these places can be taken. They will soon dis- appear before (I e plough and the other changes* of civilization, anu we shall regret, when too late, that no extensive information has been collected, from which some rational induction can be drawn respecting these evidences of ancient industry which yet withstand the shock of time. I have been credibly informed, that among the ancient belts preserved by the Wyandots are some, which relate to the people who erected these works, and to the history of their wars and final discomfiture. It is customary among the In- dians to prepare a belt for every important fact, interesting to the nation. These belts are pre- served with great care among the public archives, and are, in fact, the records of their history. The traditions are transmitted with great minute- ness, and the belts are not only evidences of the 'f !■; ; . } 0i H ([| t'^ I s ] *^^ 120 ILLUSTRATIONS. fact, but, by the powers of association, aid the memory of those whose duty it is to preserve them. If these belts relate to those remote events, they were undoubtedly made at the time when the events occurred ; and may be consider- ed iis authentic documents, coeval with the found- ation of these works. The tradition is, that they were built for the purpose of defence ; and that their founders, after many years of sanguinary warfare, were expelled, and sought refuge in the country southwest of the Mississippi. The pre- sent race of Indians claim to be the descendants of the conquerors. Lest thou shouldstfail the feast to share , Our gathering bands will soon prepare — Page 36, lines 5 and 6. A feast generally concludes every important ceremony in which the Indians engage. Their war and hunting excursions, their councils, their funerals and marriages, are all accompanied by the appropriate feast. Some of these feasts are given by individuals, who generally invite the whole village. Others are at the common ex- pense, and all who participate, bring some part of the provisions. When a man gives an entertainment of this na- ture, it is expected that his guest will eat all the provisions which are placed before him. Fortu- nately for the preservation of this rule, there pro- '■.»i I ILLUSTRATIONS. 131 bably never was a race of men better qualified for the observance of such a custom. Their appetite is voracious, and their powers of eating beyond any example known among civilized nations. I saw a feast among the Sioux, upon the Mis* sissippi, from which the guests retired backwards, carrying with them their dishes filled with victuals. — I could not learn the meaning of this ceremony. For stern composure, full of thought. Had to his mien submission taught. And bliss or wo passed o^er his mint/, ,Yor light nor shadow left behind. Page 57, line 15, &c. The indiffprCijce of the Indians to external cir- cumstances, is a prominent trait in their character. This indifference is habitually acquired, and is similar in its effects to the stoical fortitude of an- tiquity. It is not alone in pain and grief, that any display of their feelings is suppressed. The gen- tler affections of the heart, although powerfully felt, are yet carefully concealed. When an Indian returns, after considerable absence, to his family, he affects to be cold and careless, and he suffers much time to elapse before he enters into familiar conversation. I have seen intimate friends, after a long separation, meet and pass each other like strangers. They have none of the courtesies of life ; nor do they affect, by a cordial salutation, an attachment which they do not feel. 16 I ^M V I* i } ^ 122 ILLUSTRATIONS. This abstraction from the effect of external cir- cumstances, accompanies them in every situation of life. An Indian bears pain with fortitude, he faces danger without fear, and meets death with calm- ness. His character and importance depend not only on active courage, but also on this patient re- signation to adverse circumstances, and this calm contempt of untoward events. That man has ob- served human nature with a careless eye, who ha« not discovered, how much more rare the latter quality is, than the former. Now gathers round the warlike throng, Prepared for feast and dance and song. Page 68, Unes 7 and 8. When circumstances have inclined the minds of the Indians to war, a Council is convened, in which the subject is fully investigated, and finally deter- mined. Afler the war is declared, the authori- ty of the village or peace Chiefs entirely ceases, and the power is transferred to the war Chiefs. Their government, if government it maybe call- ed, is one of opinion only. No direct authority is ever exerted ; and their war expeditions are com- posed of volunteers, who join and leave the party at their pleasure. When it is determined to under- take an expedition, all the warriors are assembled, and a feast is prepared. The principal Chief then takes his tomahawk, or war club, upon which the head of an enemy is sculptured, and begins to i"«|. '»',**V4.JttJ(l*L-,V--"^^»^i,.^''.* • ILLUSTRATIONS. 123 to move. Sometimes, however, a war belt, made for this purpose, is carried. The tomahawk, or club, is held in a threatening position, and the Chief slowly passes in front of every individual, singing, as he moves, his war song. This war song is not the usual boasting recapitulation of their exploits, which is occasionally made by the warriors in their dances — and which is a mere recitation, without any attempt at harmony. The words of the song are strictly adapted to the music. The sentiment, in all the songs, is a mere repetition of a few lead- ing ideas, and is constantly renewed in the pro- gress of the Chief — who marches to the time of his own music. The following specimens will convey to the reader a general notion of these songs. (They were actually sung upon important occasions.) ♦' I will kill— I will kill— the Big Knives, 1 will kill." " Ne-gau-ne-saw — ne-gau-ne-saw — Kichi-mau-le- sa, ne-gau-ne-saw." The Indian words in this song are Miami. " 1 will go and get my friends — I will go and get' my friends. I am anxious to see my enemies — I am anxious to see my enemies. A clear sky is my friend, and it is him I am seeking." ' A clear sky' is a metaphorical expression, and conveys to an Indian the same ideas which are conveyed to us by the words, good fortune. The manner in which these words are sung can- if ' * ^1- y. H }h I <■■ 4 124 ILLUSTRATIONS. 11 ' ■* i 1 not be described to the reader. There is a strong expiration of the breath at the commencement of each sentence, and a sudden elevation of the voice at the termination. The Chief, as he passes, looks every person sternly in the face : Those who are disposed to join the expedition, exclaim Yeh, Yeh, Yeh, with a powerful tone of voice ; and this exclamation is continually repeated during the whole ceremony. It is, if I may so speak, the evidence of their enlistment. Those who are si- lent, decline the invitation. After the Chief has procured as many volunteers as possible, he delivers the tomahafvk to another Chief. The latter then repeats the same process. Particular prejudices or partialities may induce the warriors to follow one Chief in preference to another ; and efforts are therefore made by all, to increase the strength of the party. The whole ceremony is terminated by a general feast. In the year 1776, during the administration of Lieutenant Governor Hamilton at Detroit, a large number of Indian warriors were assembled, in or- der that they might be induced to co-operate with the British in the war, which had then commenced. They were drawn up in two lines, extending from the river to the woods : their kettles and (ires were between the lines. An ox was killed, and his head cut off : a large tomahawk was then struck into the head, and thus loaded, it was presented to "T" '^T'Vi ^1 ILLUSTRATIONS. 125 the Governor : He was requested to sing his war song along the whole line of the Indians. The ox's head represented the head of an Ameri- can ; and as the British were the principals in the war, it was necessary for them to take up the to- mahawk iirst. The Lieutenant Governor was embarrassed by the novelty of his situation, and by his own ignorance of the language and songs of the Indians. He was extricated, in a manner equally happy and ludicrous, by his Interpreter. The latter instructed his superior to sing the fol- lowing words, in French : Quand j'irai a la guerre-ruh J'emporterai ma grand cuillere-ruh. The monosyllable at the end of each line, is only intended to mark the elevation of the voice, and the prolongation of the last syllable. These words corresponded with the necessary tune, and were sung with all the gravity and dig- nity suited to the occasion. As the Lieutenant Governor passed the immense assemblage, he sung his song and fixed his eyes upon the Indians, who made the air resound with their cries of Yeh, Yeh, Yeh. They concluded, of course, that the great warrior was threatening with dreadful ven- geance, the Big Knives, the rebellious children of their British father. The second officer in command, Major Hayes, was relieved by a similar expedient. The inge- nious Interpreter composed the following song, H' , i * ; l\ 126 ILLUSTRATIONS. f", which possessed the same advantage of an aC' companiment to the music. J'ai le taiuii, au bout du pied. The ordinary war dance is pecuharly appropri- ate at the departure of the warriors upon any ex- pedition, or upon their return : but it is used at all times, by the young men, as an exercise and amusement. When they are disposed to under- take this dance, they strip themselves almost na- ked, and paint their faces and bodies agreeably to the taste of every individual. It is probable that this custom had its origin in a desire to strike terror into their enemies, by the horrible alter- nations of light and shade, with which they are daubed. The imagination cannot draw a strong- er picture of the inhabitants of the infernal re- gions, than is presented by these dances. Every person holds in his hands a weapon ; and their heads are adorned with a great display of feathers and other appropriate ornaments. Hollow cylin- ders of wood, resembling drums— covered with dressed skin at one end, are beat for the purpose of marking time. Their mode of dancing is, by continually jump- ing up and down, sometimes in the same place, and sometimes advancing. Their muscular exer- tion, upon these occasions, is great : Every limb, and almost every muscle, are in action ; and the whole frame is in a continued state of tension. They keep time with perfect precision, and no ■' vv^SpB.-A 1 V ILLUSTRATIONS. 127 eye can detect the slightest variation. They brandish their weapons in every direction ; and I have been often surprised that accidents do not occur, on such occasions. Knives and toma- hawks are aimed with apparently fatal precision ; but are turned with great dexterity, before they inflict the threatened wound. Every warrior con- tinually repeats the well known sound Yeh, in the most forcible manner. After they have danced some time — one of them steps to a post, previously secured in the ground for this purpose, and violently strikes it with his weapon. Instantly the music, and the exclama- tions, and the dancing, cease ; and every warrior is prepared to hear a tale of" daring." The per- son who has struck, then recounts his exploits. He speaks with great emphasis and violent gesti- culation, — describes the number of the enemy whom he has killed ; the mode in which he ac- complished it, and the dangers he encountered. He relates the most minute circumstances, and shows the manner in which he crept silently upon his enemy, and took aim at his heart. He exhi- bits his scars, and relates the occasions upon which he received them. After he has concluded, all the Indians present give a general shout, to testify their admiration of his prowess. The dance then recommences, and is again interrupted in a similar manner. f y\ 128 ILLUSTRATIONS. i V T%c star of day was just descending — • Page 72, line 1. The hostile attacks of the Indians are almost always made in the night ; and generally a short time before day. They are not as vigilant and watchful in defence, as they are in attack. No- thing can exceed the caution and silence with which they move, and they frequently enter their enemy's camp before the latter is apprized of their approach. The melancholy catastrophe, which closed the campaign of General St. Clair, in 1791, is matter of historic record. About day- light he was attacked by the Indians ; and after a feeble and desultory resistance, his army was dis- persed or destroyed. General Harrison narrow- ly escaped the same fate at Tippecano; and he owed his success to his own skill and experience, and to the valour and discipline of his troops. The effect of this mode of attack upon men suddenly awakened from profound sleep, may be readily appreciated. The stillness and soli- tude of the night are interrupted by the Indian war'-whoop — one of the shrillest and most terrific sounds that can be imagined : at the instant of uttering this horrible yell, which is well calcula- ted to dismay their enemy, the assailants com- mence their attack ; and this sound is heard above the ordinary accompaniments of the battle. When we review the peculiar adaptation of their tactics to the description of their forces, ■ .i ILLUSTRATIONS. 129 nnd to the nature of their warfare, it is certainty surprising tliat their campaijajntit have not generally terminated more succesNfully. To an intimate knowledge of the theatre of operation)*, they join ceaseless caution, great personal intrepidity, a power of enduring the extremes of fatigue and hunger, which rarely fall to our lot, and all those " circumstances of war," which are calcu- lated to inspire \i limivuly ii|tpi'0|)i'iutud tu Ihu conqiier- iiiK Wid't-ior. llix rcMuliitiuii tinully triiiiiipluui ; for one of his uiiuinicH, iVaittic with puHsiuii, shot him through the heart. uu i^ - ,:. ! -^'l: .u>i> > During our rt'vohitioriary war, a fatlier and Mon were taken prinonerM by the MiainiH, in Home ]iart of Kentucky. The father was) advanced in yearH, and tlie son on the verge of manhood. The latter wtw burned at MaKHininneway. VV heu the sentence wuh communicated to tlie untbrtunate captives, the fither entreated that he might die for hiH Hon : But hin reipiest was refui>ed, and the interesting young man bore the torments of his enemies more than three hours, in the prcHeuce of his father. #*##*# „,».i. .. , Thanks to the knowledge of our feelings and institutions, which the Indians have acquired, this horrible custom has nearly disappeared. Their own manners have become meliorated by their contact with us. During the late war, instances of savage cruelty were frequent and atrocious ; and the awful catastrophe at the Hivcr Kaisin, in which, however, to the disgrace of Christianity and civilization, the guilt does not attach to them only, has long since been disclosed to our country and to the world. Hut I have not heard that any prisoners were burned ; nor were they often murdered, after the passions excited by the bat- tle had time to subside. Connected with these barbarous sacritices, a singular and shocking in- ■it- r I ILLU8TIIATI0NS. 133 fltittition existed nmoiiK the MiiiiniH nnd Kickii|iooii, to wlii(-t) no pariillel nin he toiinti amonj^ the other (I'llicH, iior, |)erh>i|m, in the whoht record of human (lepravit^. A Hocifty existed, railed " the man-cHterH/' whoMe duty it wiih tu eat niiy priHoners, devoted to this horrible purpose by those who captured them. This society wn» co* eval with the earliest traditions of either tribe ; and the institution was associated with reli^iouH sentiments, and with feelings of reverence in the muids of the Indians. Its members belon^ed to one family, called *' the bear," which, however, includetl many individuals. They were admitted into the society by a socret and solemn initiation, and with many imposing ceremonies. This right, or duty, for I cannot ascertain in which light the admission was viewed, extended to males and fe- males ; and the whole number, at the period to which my information rel.ites, was about twenty. But I am ignorant ivhether there was any limita- tion of number, except by the exclusion of indi- viduals from the sacred family. On ordinary occasions, when a prisoner is sa- crihced, it is done to gratify the revenge of the near relations of a fallen wan'ior : Put when these relatives are strongly excited, either in con- sequence of the natural strength of their passions, or of a peculiar attachment to the deceased, or of any uncommon circumstances attending his death, the prisoner is then sentenced to a specific death and to be delivered to the " Man-eaters." They I 134 ILLUSTRATIONS. take possession of him, and execute him in con- formity with the sentence. After being delivered to them, there is no power to ransom him : His fate is irreversibly fixed. In the year 1780, an American captive was sa- crificed at Fort Wayne. There were ten men and three women, members of the society, pre- sent, who conducted the ceremony. An effort was made by the traders to save the life of the victim : Goods to a considerable value were offered for this purpose, but in vain. At the commencement of the preparations, another messenger was sent with a quantity of spirits, the most valuable arti- cle, which could be offered to effect the object. He barely escaped with his life from the fury of the society, who were thus interrupted in their duties by unwelcome importunities ; and the spirits were instantly spilt upon the ground. After the prisoner was dead, his body was carried to a re- tired camp, cut up, and boiled. It was then eaten by the members of the society. The cooking utensils, and other articles used upon these occa- sions, were kept in a small separate lodge, and were never used for any other purpose. One of the members of this society, called " White Skin," an influential Miami Chief, is yet living. But the institution itself has disappeared ; and such is the change in the feelings of the In- dians upon these subjects, that he is sometimes reproached with this connexion, formerly so much venerated and respected. It has been stated that g ILLUSTRATIONS. 135 the celebrated Chief, Little Turtle, was active in the abolition of this horrible practice. Such an exertion was in unison with his character and principles. There is no doubt, however, but that the gene- ral feelings of the age are gradually making their way into the fastnesses of the Indians, and that these feeUngs have principally contributed to this happy result. Cannibals have doubtless existed in certain ages and nations of the world : And although the details of the practice are involved in some obscurity, yet the leading facts are indis- putable. But, probably, no particular body of men was ever before set apart for this purpose, and required to devour a miserable being, in order that the revenge of bereaved friends might be more exemplary. It is an atrocious refinement of ven- geance, to which the history of the world may be challenged for a parallel. It may be regretted that there are no tradition- ary accounts of the institution of this society. We are utterly at a loss to conjecture how it was esta- blished, why, and by whom. But its history is lost in the lapse of ages, and all that is left for us is, while we explore the facts which now remain, to rejoice at the gradual melioration which is taking place in the manners and feelings of the Indians. [Since the foregoing memorandum of the Man- eating society was made, the following more mi- 136 ILLUSTRATIONS. nute particulars have been received from the pre* sent principal Chief of the Miamis. ' The general name of the family, to which the society is exclusively contined — the name which it has always borne — is Ons-e-won-sa. The word has no precise or known meaning. The name of the present head of the family is Am-co-me-we- au-kee, or the Man-eater ; whose fiimily, in all its branches, now consists of fifteen or twenty mem- bers. The succession is continued in the male line ; and the eldest male living is always the head. There is no ceremony of initiation : no extrane- ous members can be admitted : the members are born into the society, and have no choice but to inherit its atrocious privileges. When a victim is selected, his face is painted black ; and, after he has been given up to the society, his fate is ir- revocable. New utensils must be provided for every new sacrifice. Every member of the so- ciety is bound in duty to partake of the horrible repast, — infants and all ; but, although public, no other person dares profane the sanguinary ce- remony. During, or at the conclusion of the feast, the head repeats, for the instruction of the younger members, its tradition and its duties. — ^ The Chief above alluded to, says, that the society is now seldom mentioned, and a disuse of its prac- tices for more than thirty years, has obliterated al- most every thing connected with it, excepting its name and its members.] ' -> nw f^^ -: