Birch Bark Legends of Niagara | Page 6

tired birds that have flown to him for rest he can no longer protect, and it is time his people burned him down out of the way, that the saplings may find more room to grow. Let the arrows and tomahawk of Great Oak be prepared for the Manitou--he would pass from his people forever."
With the last words he moved slowly from the circle, and, placing himself by the side of his daughter, closed his eyes, manifesting his resignation of all interest in their present or future state. An appealing wail from the multitude brought several Chiefs to their feet.
"Our father must not leave us; his voice is the voice of wisdom; when his childrens' ears drink lies and their counsels are foolish the wind brings truth to the ears of Great Oak; they will fade away when Great Oak's shadows are withdrawn. Can his children feast and dance when their father hides his face with shame? The Manitou has counseled the Great Oak in his sleep; the women are in tears, and the young men are silent. We have spoken, and we wait for the voice of our Sachem."
"Why do my children wait for the voice of a Chief, whose words fall like leaves in the cold blast to be trod on by boys?"
"The words of the Great Oak, like the leaves, can bury the people. Let our father speak to the hearts of his children that they may know what to do. Has the wind whispered in the ear of our father and he tells not his children their story? We listen for the voice of our Chief." The old Sachem slowly opened his eyes and once more rose to his feet, standing erect in front of the tree whose name he bore, where still, with the wolf stretched at her feet, the Gentle Fawn remained seated. Without deigning a glance upon the multitude, but looking in the distance, as if invoking unseen aid from the air or sky, dropping their figurative language, he spoke in a low, prophetic tone.
"Yes, there has been whispering in the ears of your Chief. He shut his eyes on all around him, and opened them on a sunny spot, far off, where the rivers know no ice and the moccasin never tracks in the snow. There were more wigwams than he could count, filled with happy people. He saw a band of braves as straight as the pines of their forest go on a long path to get furs and meat for their people. After moons of success they joyfully returned; but not to hear the voice of their fathers or ever to see their faces again. The hand of the foe had spared none; their homes were in ashes; their friends sent without food or presents on their long journey to the Manitou's hunting-ground. I saw these tired, sad hunters gather the scattered bones and relics of their tribe in a large circle, placing plenty of furs and food, with pipes, beads and arrows in the center, and cover them high with stones and earth that wild beasts could not move. And they placed the Manitou's mark on this mound that no foe would dare to desecrate. Then turning their faces from their once happy home they sought a new one, and people to help them revenge this deed and recover their land. Winding their way to the land of snow and ice they saw approaching a band of warriors covered with emblems of peace, and, leaving their stony weapons in care of the younger braves, they walked open-handed to meet the strangers. War Eagle stood foremost among them. While passing the calumet [Footnote: Pipe of peace.] of friendship their ears were deafened with the war-whoop from many mouths. A tomahawk flew swiftlier and deadlier than an arrow and hid itself in the head of War Eagle."
Then, turning his eyes upon the multitude, he would question, and, looking off in the distance, in the same prophetic voice answer:
"Did the tomahawk fly with the stranger's hand? They came open-handed-- left their weapons behind them. Did any of War Eagle's braves protect him while his spirit was passing on its long journey? No; the arms of yonder brave protected him until they were bound, to his side. Can War Eagle's spirit leave his friend to receive the torture of the condemned and be tossed in those dark whirling waters forever? No; I hear his moans mingle threateningly with the roar of the Manitou's voice. His spirit cannot rise to the beautiful path while his friends are prisoners to his people. Would you leave War Eagle forever hovering over the turbulent waters? Who will cut the thongs and set the spirit of War Eagle free by freeing his friends?"
The wild cries of the multitude