Sketches of Aboriginal Life Part 12

The awful hour of those dreadful orgies was announced by all those discordant shouts and hideous yells, which, with those primitive races, serve the purpose of trumpet, drum and bell. The stake was set, and the f.a.ggots made ready, in the centre of the great opening. The priests stood at their post, and the vast mult.i.tude of eager excited witnesses thronged around, waiting in terrible expectation for the consummation of that horrid rite, and kindling into phrenzy in view of the mad revelry that would follow. Presently, the outer ranks of that crowding circle made way, and opened a pa.s.sage to the ring within. Through this living avenue, a company of chiefs marched in, singing, or rather shouting, a wild song, and dancing in fantastic measures. At their head was the captor of Monica, leading the timid girl by the hand. She was arrayed in the most showy and expensive style of Indian costume, the various decorations of her person comprising all that was beautiful and rare in ornament, according to the uncultivated taste of that people.

Unconscious still of the doom that awaited her, and hoping, perhaps, that this was to be the festival of her freedom, when she would be sent away in peace to her home, she entered the circle with a cheerful face, and an elastic step, smiling on her young companions as she pa.s.sed, and wondering at the cold look, or sometimes averted eye, with which her salutation was answered.

It was not until she was led quite up to the stake, and saw the fearful f.a.ggots piled around it, that she comprehended the meaning of these mysterious preparations. Her awful doom flashed upon her, like a bolt from heaven. With one loud, piercing, heart-rending shriek, she fell to the earth, and called upon her mother. She was lifted up by the stern priest, placed upon the pile, and bound to the stake. With wild incantations, and horrid yells, the dread orgies were commenced. The torch was lighted, and ready to be applied. At that instant, a shrill whoop burst from the adjoining wood. A brave young warrior, leaping into the midst of the circle, rushed to the stake, cut the cords that bound the helpless victim, tore her away from the pile, and, dashing back through the panic-struck crowd, flung her upon a fleet horse which he had prepared for the occasion, sprung himself upon another, and was soon lost in the distant windings of the wood.

It was the act of a moment. Even the Indian warriors, who are not easily surprised, or put off their guard, were confounded and paralysed. Before they could comprehend the object of this sudden phantom, this rash interruption of their festival, their victim was gone. The bare stake, and the useless heap of f.a.ggots were there. The proud chief, who furnished the victim, and the fierce-looking priests, who were to officiate in the dark rites of the sacrifice, stood in blank astonishment around, as if a bolt from the cloud had smitten them. A momentary silence prevailed among that mighty throng. A low murmur succeeded, like the distant moans of a coming storm: then, like the tempest, bursting in all its wrath, fierce cries of vengeance from a thousand flaming tongues, furious discordant yells and shouts, accompanied with frantic gestures, and looks of rage, such as would distort the visage of a fiend. Some of the fleetest started off in hot but vain pursuit. Those who remained, promised themselves a day of terrible retribution. The mothers secretly rejoiced in the escape; while those of the young girls who had been the chosen companions of the captive, gave vent to their joy and grat.i.tude in wild songs and dances.

In this manner, that turbulent a.s.sembly broke up. Without the usual feast and its accompanying games, they scattered to their several homes, coolly meditating revenge, and darkly foreboding the famine that should ensue from the absence of the accustomed sacrifice.

Meanwhile, the fugitives held on their way, with the speed of the wind.

Not a word was spoken. It was a race of life and death, and every faculty of the rescuer as well as of the rescued was absorbed in the one idea and effort to escape. Over hill and plain, and shallow stream, those foaming steeds flew on, pausing not even to snuff the breeze, till they had cleared the territory of the p.a.w.nees, and reached a sheltered nook within the precincts of a neutral tribe. Here, as among all the Indian tribes the woman is considered competent to take care of herself in all ordinary emergencies, her deliverer left her, giving her ample directions for the way, and cautioning her to use the utmost diligence to avoid pursuit.

"But, tell me first," she cried, tears of grateful joy standing in her eyes, "tell me to whom I am indebted for this miraculous escape--that, in all my prayers to the Great Spirit, I may call down his blessing upon your head."

"I am Petalesharro," replied the youth, modestly. "My father is Latalashaw, the chief of my tribe. We do not believe, with our people, that the Great Spirit delights in the sacrifice. He loves all his red children, and they should all love one another."

"But, will not your chiefs revenge upon your head this interference with their solemn rites? If any national calamities follow, will they not charge them all to your account? I could not bear that my generous deliverer should be struck down by those terrible hands, in the prime of his youth, as the reward of his heroic benevolence. Better that I should return and submit to the fate they had prepared for me."

"Fear not for me, Monica. Petalesharro fears not to meet the a.s.sembled council of his nation. Not a brave among them all will raise a hand to hurt him. He will make them know that the Great Star needs not the blood of the captive. And never again shall the fires be kindled for that cruel sacrifice."

Encouraged by the words of the young chief, Monica turned, with a strong heart, towards her home, still some four hundred miles distant. The same kind providence which had rescued her from the devouring flames, still guided and guarded her solitary way, and gave her strength and spirits for her toilsome journey.

On the second day of her pilgrimage, as she climbed the summit of a range of hills that ran athwart her path, she was alarmed by the appearance of a considerable body of armed men, just emerging from a distant ravine of the same range, in a direction that would lead them immediately across her path. They were too far off to enable her to discern, by their dress and accoutrements, to what tribe they belonged.

She supposed they must be p.a.w.nees in pursuit of their lost captive. If she attempted to pa.s.s on before them, they would discover her track, and soon overtake her flight. She had nothing to do, therefore, but wait till they had pa.s.sed, in the hope of eluding their eager scent.

Concealing herself in the thicket, in a position that overlooked the valley, she awaited with composure the coming of that fearful band. They descended into the valley, and, to the utter consternation of Monica, began to pitch their tents under the shade of a spreading oak, on the bank of a little stream. She watched the movement with an anxious heart, not knowing how she should escape, with a pursuing enemy so near. Her consternation and anxiety were soon, however, changed to joy, when one of the company, approaching the vicinity of her hiding place, to cut a pole for his tent, was recognized as a chief of her own tribe. Springing from the thicket with a scream of delight, which startled the whole encampment, and brought every brave to his feet, with his hand on the trigger of his rifle, she rushed into the midst of her astonished people, and was received with silent joy, as one restored from the dead.

Under their protection, the remainder of her journey was safely and easily performed. Before the moon, which was then crescent, had reached her full, Monica had embraced her mother, and added a fresh flower to the grave of her brother.

The brave, the generous, the chivalrous Petalesharro returned to his father's tent with the fearless port and composed dignity of one whose consciousness of rect.i.tude placed him above fear. He was a young man, just entered upon manhood, and a general favorite of his tribe.[E] His countenance, as represented in Col. McKenney's magnificent work upon the North American tribes, is one of uncommon beauty of feature. In its mildness of expression, it is almost effeminate. But in heart and soul he was a man and a hero. His courage, and the power of his arm, were acknowledged by friend and foe; and on the death of his father, he was raised to the chieftaincy of his tribe. The season which followed his n.o.ble act of humane, may we not say religious chivalry, was one of uncommon fertility, health and prosperity. "_The Great Star_" had not demanded the victim. And the p.a.w.nees never again polluted their altars with the blood of a human sacrifice.

[E] Major Long, in his "Expeditions to the Rocky Mountains,"

thus describes Petalesharro, as he appeared in his native wilds, and among his own people, in the full costume which he wore on the occasion of some great festival of his tribe.

"Almost from the beginning of this interesting fete, our attention had been attracted to a young man, who seemed to be the leader or partisan of the warriors. He was about twenty-three years of age, of the finest form, tall, muscular, exceedingly graceful, and of a most prepossessing countenance.

His head-dress, of war-eagles' feathers, descended in a double series upon his back, like wings, down to his saddle-croup; his shield was highly decorated, and his long lance by a plaited casing of red and blue cloth. On enquiring of the interpreter, our admiration was augmented by learning that he was no other than Petalesharro, with whose name and character we were already familiar. He is the most intrepid warrior of the nation, the eldest son of Letalashaw, and destined, as well by mental and physical qualifications, as by his distinguished birth, to be the future leader of his people."

Petalesharro visited Washington in 1821, where his fine figure and countenance, and his splendid costume attracted every eye.

But there was that in his history and character, which had gone before him, that secured for him a worthier homage than that of the eye. His act of generous chivalry to the Itean captive was the theme of every tongue. The ladies of the city caused an appropriate medal to be prepared, commemorating the n.o.ble deed, and presented it to him, in the presence of a large a.s.semblage of people, who took a lively interest in the ceremony. In reply to their complimentary address, the brave young warrior modestly said--"My heart is glad. The white woman has heard what I did for the captive maid, and they love me, and speak well of me, for doing it. I thought but little of it before. It came from my heart, as the breath from my body. I did not know that any one would think better of me for that. But now I am glad. For it is a good thing to be praised by those, who only praise that which is good."

TULA,

OR

THE HERMITESS OF ATHABASCA.

I thought to be alone. It might not be!

There is no solitude in thy domains, Save what man makes, when in his selfish breast, He locks his joys, and bars out others' grief.

TULA.

~Death is not all-- Not half the agony we suffer here: The cup of life has drugs, more bitter far, That must be drained.~

That solitary wigwam, in the outskirts of the village, was the home of Kaf-ne-wah-go, an aged Chippeway warrior, who had weathered the storms, and outlived the wars, of three score and ten seasons, and was yet as fiery in the chase, and as mighty and terrible in battle, as any of the young chiefs of his tribe. His voice in the council was, like the solemn tones of an oracle, listened to with a reverence approaching to awe, and never disregarded. His sons all inherited the spirit of their father, and distinguished themselves among the braves in fight, and the sages in council. Three of them fell in battle. One was princ.i.p.al chief of the western division of the Chippeway family. Another, the brave Ish-ta-le-o-wah, occupied the first in that group of wigwams in yonder grove, about a hundred yards from his father's.

The only daughter of the good old sachem, the child of his old age, and "the light of his eyes," was the fairest and loveliest wild-flower, that ever sprung up amid the interminable wildernesses of the Western World.

Tula, the singing bird, was distinguished among the daughters of the forest, not only for those qualities of person and character which are recognized as graces among the Indians, but for some of those peculiar refinements of feeling and manner, which are supposed to be the exclusive product of a civilized state of society. She was remarkable for the depth and tenderness of her affection, and for her ingenuity, industry and taste. Her dress, and those of her father and brother, exhibited the traces of her delicate handiwork; while the neat and tasteful arrangement of the humble cabin, superior in all that makes home comfortable and pleasant to any in the village, bore testimony to her industry and skill.

Tula had many suitors. There was scarce a young brave in the tribe who did not seek or desire her. But O-ken-ah-ga, the only son of their great chief, won her heart. She became his bride, but she remained, with him and their first-born child, in the tent of her aged parents, who could not live, as they said, "when the singing bird, the light of their eyes was gone."

It was mid-summer. The night was still, clear, and lovely. All nature seemed to breathe nothing but calmness and peace. But the heart of man--how often and how sadly is it at variance with nature! The inmates of that humble wigwam were all wrapped in a profound sleep, not dreaming of danger near. The infant, nestling in his mother's bosom, by a sudden start roused her to partial consciousness. A deep groan, as of one in expiring agonies, awakened all her faculties. She sprung up and called upon her husband--

"O-ken-ah-ga, what is the matter?"

Another deep groan, and a stifled yell of triumph, was the only answer.

Staring wildly round, what a scene of horror met her eyes! Her father, her mother, her husband, pierced with many wounds, and weltering in their yet warm blood, lay dead before her; while a band of fierce and terrible enemies, of the Athapuscow tribe, stood over them, with the reeking instruments of death in their hands, their eyes gleaming with savage delight, and their whole faces distorted with the most fiend-like expression of rage and triumph. With the true instinct of a mother, she clasped her infant to her breast, and bowed her head in silence, utterly unable to give any utterance to the bitterness of her wo. It was this silence that saved her and her child from an instant partic.i.p.ation in the fate of the mangled ones around her. The first word spoken, would have brought down that reeking tomahawk upon their heads. The Athapuscows were few in number, and their only safety consisted in doing their work of revenge with secrecy and despatch, for the Chippeways were many and powerful, and to disturb the slumbers of one of them would be to rouse the whole tribe in a moment.

The work of death was done. The scalps of their victims hung dripping at the belts of the murderers, and the spoils of the cabin were secured.

The spoilers turned to depart, and Tula, in obedience to their word, without complaint or remonstrance, rose and followed them. Gathering up a few necessary articles, among which she contrived to conceal her babe, she took one farewell look upon the loved ones, whom death had so suddenly and fearfully claimed, and left them, and the home of her youth, for ever.

With cautious stealthy steps, the murderous band plunged into the deep forest, threading their way through its intricate mazes, with inconceivable skill and sagacity, till they reached an opening, on the bank of the Wapatoony river, where a considerable detachment of their tribe was temporarily encamped. Delivering their prisoner into the hands of the women, the braves proceeded at once to the council of the chiefs, to show their trophies, and relate the incidents of their scout.

When the Athapuscow women, in examining the contents of the poor captive's bundle, discovered the still sleeping infant, they seized him as they would have done a viper, and dashed him on the ground. In vain did the fond mother plead for her child. In vain did the voice of nature, and a mother's instinct in their own bosoms, plead for the innocent. It was an enemy's child, a hated Chippeway, and that was enough to stifle every other feeling in their hearts, and make even "an infant of days" an object of intense and implacable hatred. With the Indian, the son of an enemy is an enemy, doomed only to death or torture. The daughter may be spared for slavery or sacrifice.

The morning dawned with uncommon brilliancy and beauty upon the Chippeway village, and warriors and children were astir with the earliest light, some to fish in the smooth stream, that, like a silver chain, bound their two beautiful lakes together--some to look after the traps they had set over-night--some to prepare for the hunt--and some for the merry games and athletic sports of the village. The quick eye of Ish-ta-le-o-wah soon discovered that all was not right in the tent of his father. Kaf-ne-wah-go was not abroad, as usual, with his net in the stream. O-ken-ah-ga was not seen among the hunters with his bow, nor among the wrestlers on the green. No smoke was seen curling among the branches of the old tree that overshadowed his mother's tent. All was still as the house of the dead.

"Why sleep the brave so long, when the light of day is already on the hill-top, and coming down upon the valley. Has the snake crept into the tent of Kaf-ne-wah-go, and charmed the father with the children? I must go and see."

The loud and piercing yell of Ish-ta-le-o-wah, as he looked in upon that desolate wigwam, roused the whole village, like the blast of a trumpet.

The counsellors and braves of the nation were soon on the spot. The whole scene was understood in a moment, as clearly as if a written record of the whole had been left behind. Pursuit, and the recovery of the captive Tula and her child, were instantly resolved; and, ere the sun had surmounted the eastern barrier of their beautiful valley, Ish-ta-le-o-wah, with a band of chosen braves, was on the trail of the foe.

With the keen eye and quick scent of a blood-hound, they followed the almost obliterated track, through forest and brake, through swamp and dingle, over hill and prairie, till it was lost on the border of the Athabasca lake. Though the party in retreat was large, so well were they all trained in the Indian tactics of flight and concealment, that it required a most experienced eye to keep on their track. They had marched, according to custom, in Indian file, each carefully walking in the steps of the other, so that, to an unpractised observer, there would appear to have been but one wayfarer in the path. Wherever it was practicable, the path was carried over rocks, or the soft elastic mosses, or through the bed of a running brook, with the hope of eluding the pursuer. But no artifice of the Athapuscow could elude the well-trained eye of the Chippeway. He would instantly detect the slightest trace of a footstep on the ground, or the pa.s.sage of a human body through the thicket. In one place, the edges of the moss had been torn, or a blade of gra.s.s trampled in upon it; in another, the small stones of the surface had been displaced, showing sometimes the fresh earth, and sometimes the hole of a worm uncovered, with half the length of its astonished occupant protruded to the light, as if investigating the cause of the sudden unroofing of his cell. Here some dry stick broken, or the bark of a protruding root peeled off, would betray the step of the fugitive; and there a shrub slightly bent, or a leaf turned up and lapped over upon another, or a few petals of a wild flower torn off and scattered upon the ground, would reveal the rude touch of his foot, or arm, or the trailing of his blanket, as he pa.s.sed. Even on the bare rock, if a few grains of earth had been carried forward, or a pebble, a leaf, a dry stick, or a bit of moss, adhering to the foot had been deposited there, it was instantly noticed and understood. The rushing of the waters in the brook did not always replace, in a moment, every stone that had been disturbed in its bed, nor restore the broken limb, nor the bent weed, to its place. So quick and intuitive were these observations, that the march of the pursuer was as rapid and direct as that of the pursued. The one would seldom lose more time in hunting for the track, than the other had consumed in his various artifices of concealment.

On arriving at the lake, it was evident that a considerable number of the enemy had been encamped, and that they had just embarked. Their fires were still smoking, and the rocks were not yet dry, from which they had pushed off their canoes, in the haste of their departure.

The Chippeway was not easily diverted from his purpose. With the speed of a chamois, he climbed a tall cliff, which, jutting boldly out into the lake, concealed its great eastern basin from his view. Arrived at the summit, he discerned, dimly relieved in the distant horizon, a number of moving specks, which he knew to be the canoes of the retreating foe. In the double hope of avenging the dead, and recovering the living from captivity, he continued his course along the sh.o.r.es of the lake, and, early the next morning, fell once more upon the trail of his enemy. Pursuing it a short distance into the forest, it suddenly divided, one part continuing on to the east, and one striking off toward the south. In neither of them could he discover the track of his sister.

Her captors had placed her, with their own women, in the middle of the march, so that the large and heavy track of the warriors who came after, should cover and obliterate the lighter traces of her foot.