History, Manners, and Customs of the North American Indians Part 5

_Hunter._ The quiver is made of the skin of the panther, or the otter; and some of the arrows it contains are usually poisoned.

_Brian._ Why, then, an arrow is sure to kill a person, if it hits him.

_Hunter._ It is not likely that an enemy, badly wounded with a poisoned arrow, will survive; for the head is set on loosely, in order that, when the arrow is withdrawn, the poisoned barb may remain in the wound. How opposed are these cruel stratagems of war to the precepts of the gospel of peace, which are "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you!"

_Basil._ What will you do, Austin, if you go among the Indians, and they shoot you with a poisoned arrow?

_Austin._ Oh, I shall carry a shield. You heard that the Indians carry shields.

_Hunter._ The shields of the Crows and Blackfeet are made of the thick skin of the buffalo's neck: they are made as hard as possible, by smoking them, and by putting glue upon them obtained from the hoofs of animals; so that they will not only turn aside an arrow, but even a musket ball, if they are held a little obliquely.

_Austin._ There, Basil! You see that I shall be safe, after all; for I shall carry a large shield, and the very hardest I can get anywhere.

_Hunter._ Their spears have long, slender handles, with steel heads: the handles are a dozen feet long, or more, and very skilful are they in the use of them; and yet, such is the dread of the Indian when opposed to a white man, that, in spite of his war horse and his eagle plumes, his bow and well-filled quiver, his long lance, tomahawk and scalping-knife, his self-possession forsakes him. He has heard, if not seen, what the white man has done; and he thinks there is no standing before him. If he can surprise him, he will; but, generally, the red man fears to grapple with a pale face in the strife of war, for he considers him clothed with an unknown power.

_Austin._ I should have thought that an Indian would be more than a match for a white man.

_Hunter._ So long as he can crawl in the gra.s.s or brushwood, and steal silently upon him by surprise, or send a shaft from his bow from behind a tree, or a bullet from his rifle from the brow of a bluff, he has an advantage; but, when he comes face to face with the white man, he is superst.i.tiously afraid of him. The power of the white man, in war, is that of bravery and skill; the power of the red man consists much in stratagem and surprise. Fifty white men, armed, on an open plain, would beat off a hundred red men.

_Brian._ Why is it that the red men are always fighting against one another? They are all brothers, and what is the use of their killing one another?

_Hunter._ Most of the battles, among the Indians, are brought about by the belief that they are bound to revenge an injury to their tribe.

There can be no peace till revenge is taken; they are almost always retaliating one on another. Then, again, the red men have too often been tempted, bribed, and, in some cases, forced to fight for the white man.

_Brian._ That is very sad, though.

_Hunter._ It is sad; but when you say red men are brothers, are not white men brothers too? And have they not been instructed in the truths of Christianity, and the gospel of peace, which red men have not, and yet how ready they are to draw the sword! War springs from sinful pa.s.sions; and until sin is subdued in the human heart, war will ever be congenial to it.

_Austin._ What do the Indians call the sun?

_Hunter._ The different tribes speak different languages, and therefore you must tell me which of them you mean.

_Austin._ Oh! I forgot that. Tell me what any two or three of the tribes call it.

_Hunter._ A Sioux calls it _wee_; a Mandan, _menahka_; a Tuscarora, _hiday_; and a Blackfoot, _cristeque ahtose_.

_Austin._ The Blackfoot is the hardest to remember. I should not like to learn that language.

_Brian._ But you must learn it, if you go among them; or else you will not understand a word they say.

_Austin._ Well! I shall manage it somehow or other. Perhaps some of them may know English; or we may make motions one to another. What do they call the moon?

_Hunter._ A Blackfoot calls it _coque ahtose_; a Sioux, _on wee_; a Riccaree, _wetah_; a Mandan, _esto menahka_; and a Tuscarora, _autsunyehaw_.

_Brian._ I wish you joy of the languages you have to learn, Austin, if you become a wood-ranger, or a trapper. Remember, you must learn them all; and you will have quite enough to do, I warrant you.

_Austin._ Oh! I shall learn a little at a time. We cannot do every thing at once. What do the red men call a buffalo?

_Hunter._ In Riccaree, it is _watash_; in Mandan, _ptemday_; in Tuscarora, _hohats_; in Blackfoot, _eneuh_.

_Basil._ What different names they give them!

_Hunter._ Yes. In some instances they are alike, but generally they differ. If you were to say "How do you do?" as is the custom with us; you must say among the Indians, _How ke che wa?_ _Chee na e num?_ _Dati youthay its?_ or, _Tush hah thah mah kah hush?_ according to the language in which you spoke. I hardly think these languages would suit you so well as your own.

_Brian._ They would never suit me; but Austin must learn every word of them.

_Austin._ Please to tell us how to count ten, and then we will ask you no more about languages. Let it be in the language of the Riccarees.

_Hunter._ Very well. _Asco, pitco, tow wit, tchee tish, tchee hoo, tcha pis, to tcha pis, to tcha pis won, nah e ne won, nah en._ I will just add, that _weetah_, is twenty; _nahen tchee hoo_, is fifty; _nah en te tcha pis won_, is eighty; _shok tan_, is a hundred; and _sho tan tera hoo_, is a thousand.

_Austin._ Can the Indians write?

_Hunter._ Oh no; they have no use for pen and ink, excepting some of the tribes near the whites. In many of the different treaties which have been made between the white and the red man, the latter has put, instead of his name, a rough drawing of the animal or thing after which he had been called. If the Indian chief was named "War hatchet,"

he made a rough outline of a tomahawk. If his name was "The great buffalo" then the outline of a buffalo was his signature.

_Basil._ How curious!

_Hunter._ The _Big turtle_, the _Fish_, the _Scalp_, the _Arrow_, and the _Big canoe_, all draw the form represented by their names in the same manner. If you were to see these signatures, you would not think these Indian chiefs had ever taken lessons in drawing.

_Brian._ I dare say their fish, and arrows, and hatchets, and turtles, and buffaloes, are comical figures enough.

_Hunter._ Yes: but the hands that make these feeble scrawls are strong, when they wield the bow or the tomahawk. A white man in the Indian country, according to a story that is told, met a Shawnese riding a horse, which he recognised as his own, and claimed it as his property. The Indian calmly answered: "Friend, after a little while I will call on you at your house, when we will talk this matter over." A few days afterwards, the Indian came to the white man's house, who insisted on having his horse restored to him. The other then told him: "Friend, the horse which you claim belonged to my uncle, who lately died; according to the Indian custom, I have become heir to all his property." The white man not being satisfied, and renewing his demand, the Indian immediately took a coal from the fire-place, and made two striking figures on the door of the house; the one representing the white man taking the horse, and the other himself in the act of scalping him: then he coolly asked the trembling claimant whether he could read this Indian writing. The matter was thus settled at once, and the Indian rode off.

_Austin._ Ay; the white man knew that he had better give up the horse than be scalped.

After the hunter had told Austin and his brothers that he should be sure to have something new to tell them on their next visit, they took their departure, having quite enough to occupy their minds till they reached home.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER V.

"Black Hawk! Black Hawk!" cried out Austin Edwards, as he came in sight of the hunter, who was just returning to his cottage as Austin and his brothers reached it. "You promised to tell us all about Black Hawk, and we are come to hear it now."

The hunter told the boys that it had been his intention to talk with them about the prairies and bluffs, and to have described the wondrous works of G.o.d in the wilderness. It appeared, however, that Austin's heart was too much set on hearing the history of Black Hawk, to listen patiently to any thing else; and the hunter, perceiving this, willingly agreed to gratify him. He told them, that, in reading or hearing the history of Indian chiefs, they must not be carried away by false notions of their valour, for that it was always mingled with much cruelty. The word of G.o.d said truly, that "the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty."[2] "With untaught Indians," continued he, "revenge is virtue; and to tomahawk an enemy, and tear away his scalp, is the n.o.blest act he can perform in his own estimation; whereas Christians are taught, as I said before, to forgive and love their enemies. But I will now begin the history of Black Hawk."

[Footnote 2: Ps. lxxiv. 20.]

_Austin._ Suppose you tell us his history just as he would tell it himself. Speak to us as if you were Black Hawk, and we will not say a single word.

_Hunter._ Very well. Then, for a while, I will be Black Hawk, and what I tell you will be true, only the words will be my own, instead of those of the Indian chief. And I will speak as if I spoke to American white men.

"I am an old man, the changes of many moons and the toils of war have made me old. I have been a conqueror, and I have been conquered: many moons longer I cannot hope to live.

"I have hated the whites, but have been treated well by them when a prisoner. I wish, before I go my long journey, at the command of the Great Spirit, to the hunting grounds of my fathers in another world, to tell my history; it will then be seen why I hated the whites. Bold and proud was I once, in my native forests, but the pale faces deceived me; it was for this that I hated them.