Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 3 | Page 8

brake, And the bitterns start by tens, And the slender junipers shake With the weight of the nimble bear, And the pool resounds with the cayman's plash, And the owl sings out of the boughs of the ash, Where he sits so calm and cool, And above his head the muckawiss Sings his gloomy song, And croak the frogs in the pool, And he hears at his feet the horn-snake's hiss; Then often flit along The shades of the youth and maid so true, That haunt the Lake of the White Canoe.
[Footnote A: The Indians could never be brought to believe that paper was any other than a tanned skin invested with the powers of a spirit.]
[Footnote B: See note, vol. i. page 195.]
[Footnote C: Chesapeak bay.]
[Footnote D: Bay of Saganaum, in Lake Huron.]
[Footnote E: Cress or crease, a poisoned arrow, seldom used, however, by the tribes east of the Rocky Mountains.]
[Footnote F: Bird of Ages--See the Tradition vol. ii. page 35.]
[Footnote G: Virginia.]
[Footnote H: Scalps are suspended from a pole in the lodge, and usually in the smoke.]
[Footnote I: Alluding to the custom of the Indian of shaving off all the hair except the scalp-lock.]
[Footnote J: Wekolis--another name for the whip-poor-will.]
NOTES.
(1) Trusty memory.--p. 9.
The memory of the Indians is as astonishing as their native sagacity and penetration. They are entirely destitute of those helps which we have invented to ease our memory, or supply the want of it; yet they are never at a loss to recall to their minds any particular circumstance with which they would impress their hearers. On some occasions, they do indeed make use of little sticks to remind them of the different subjects they have to discuss; and with ease they form a kind of local memory, and that so sure and infallible, that they will speak for a great length of time--sometimes for three or four hours together--and display twenty different presents, each of which requires an entire discourse, without forgetting any thing, and even without hesitation.
(2) Kind Friendship.--p. 14.
Every Indian has a friend nearly of the same age as himself, to whom he attaches himself by the most indissoluble bonds. Two persons, thus united by one common interest, are capable of undertaking and hazarding every thing in order to aid and mutually succour each other; death itself, according to their belief, can only separate them for a time: they are well assured of meeting again in the other world never to part, where they are persuaded they shall have occasion for the same services from one another. Charlevoix tells of an Indian who was a christian, but who did not live according to the maxims of the gospel, and who, being threatened with hell by a Jesuit, asked this missionary whether he thought his friend who was lately departed had gone into that place of torment; the father answered him that he had good grounds to think that the Lord had had mercy upon him, and taken him to heaven. "Then, I won't go to hell, neither?" replied the Indian, and this motive brought him to do every thing that was desired of him; that is to say he would have been full as willing to go to hell as heaven, had he thought to find his companion there.
It is said that these friends, when they happen to be at a distance from each other, reciprocally invoke one another in all dangers. The assistance they promise each other may be surely depended upon.
(3) A Maqua saved from slaughter.--p. 15.
The following is the practice and ceremony of adoption: A herald is sent round the village or camp, to give notice that such as have lost any relations in the late expedition are desired to attend the distribution which is about to take place. Those women, who have lost their sons or husbands, are generally satisfied in the first place; afterwards, such as have been deprived of friends of a more remote degree of consanguinity, or who choose to adopt some of the youth. The division being made, which is done as in other cases without the least dispute, those who have received any share lead them to their tents or huts, and, having unbound them, wash and dress their wounds if they happen to have received any; they then clothe them, and give them the most comfortable and refreshing food their store will afford.
Whilst their new domestics are feeding, they endeavour to administer consolation to them; they tell them they are redeemed from death, they must now be cheerful and happy; and, if they serve them well without murmuring or repining, nothing shall be wanting to make them such atonement for the loss of their country and friends as circumstances will allow of.
If any men are spared, they are commonly given to the