Traditions of the North American Indians Volume I Part 19

"A Spirit."

"Dost thou know that when thou shalt take me to thy bosom thou wilt embrace a form of ice? Thou art warm and impa.s.sioned, I chilled and chilling as the winds of winter, and frozen as the ice of the bleak Coppermine."

"Still will I dare the union. My love shall kindle in thy bosom a warmth equal to that which possesses mine own."

"My breath is the breath of the northern blast."

"And mine hath the warmth of the breeze which blows in summer from the land of never-failing verdure. Wilt thou, beautiful Spirit! be the wife of a Teton, who has more scalps in his lodge than fingers on his hands, who has struck dead bodies of six different nations, and stolen half the horses upon which his brother warriors ride to the combat?"

"I will--I am thine, brave warrior!"

"Thou art indeed cold, beautiful Spirit!" said the Teton, as he pressed the consenting maiden to his bosom for a moment, and then, shuddering with an icy chill, his teeth shaking like the rattles of a snake, put her from him. "But thou art mine, though it were death to embrace thee."

Again, summoning all his resolution, he held her to his heart. Then calling the women to him, the warrior bade them prepare a bridal feast.

The youth and the maiden then went through the Indian form of marriage, and the beautiful spirit of the Laud of Snows became the wife of the Teton warrior.

With the sun of the next day the whole tribe gathered around the bridal cabin, eager to learn if the Spirit of the North still remained to bless the arms of her husband. Soon she appeared with her beloved Teton.

But oh how changed! Her cheek and neck were now suffused with blushes as deep as those which stain the cheeks of mortal maidens; her hair had changed from a snowy whiteness to a glossy brown: she had become to all appearance a beautiful mortal. Ever and anon her eyes were fondly turned on the Swift Foot, who repaid her fond glances by pressing her _now_ warm and ardent bosom to his own. The aged Nicanape again approached the pair, and asked the Spirit if she did not regret that she had left the regions of the skies to a.s.sume the attributes of mortality. With a fond glance at the object of her love, she replied that a single moon of bliss like that she now enjoyed was worth an eternity of the cold and pa.s.sionless existence which was hers before she had quitted the skies.

Again was she enfolded in the arms of the doating warrior, and the crowd retired to permit the full, and free, and undisturbed, interchange of those fond attentions, which are wont to occupy the first moon of married life.

And thus pa.s.sed away the first year after the marriage of the Teton Brave with the beautiful Spirit of the frozen North. Ere that year had pa.s.sed, there was a stranger in their cabin--a little son, with the wondrous beauty of its mother and the fearless soul of its father. Never was there a being so beloved as the Spirit-wife was by the whole nation.

Though she now possessed the soul of a human being, her breast was visited only by the softer and purer pa.s.sions of human nature; anger, revenge, cruelty, jealousy, and the other turbulent pa.s.sions and emotions, never came near her gentle bosom. Her love for her husband grew with the growth of years, and strengthened with the progress of time; her pity and compa.s.sion for the poor, and hungry, and sick, and fainting, knew no bounds. Ever mild and affectionate, and kind, and humane, never p.r.o.ne to break the quiet of her cabin by those querulous complaints and angry invectives wherewith wives destroy the comfort of their husbands, and bring storms and tempests, hail, rain, thunder, and lightning, into the sky of domestic peace, the Teton loved her better than mortal ever before loved another. Her goodness not only brought joy and happiness to her husband, but benefits to the nation, which made their lives pa.s.s as pleasantly and glide along as smoothly as a canoe floating down a quiet stream in the time of summer. When the hunters would go to their forest sports and labours, they asked the wife of the Swift Foot if their hunt should be successful, and as she told them _ay_ or _no_ was their expedition undertaken or abandoned. When she bade the women plant the maize, they might be sure of the fair weather without which the task could not be well accomplished; when she cast her bright eyes on the sheaf of arrows rusting on the wall, the warriors without more ado rose, and prepared the corn and pemmican, and examined the condition of their bows and ca.s.se-tetes[A], and painted themselves with the ochre of wrath[B], and sang with a hollow and sepulchral voice their songs of war, and killed the fat dog, sacred to Areskoui[C], for they knew that the keen look of the Spirit-wife upon the instruments of death boded victory and glory to those who should employ them in the strife of warriors. On the contrary, if, tired with a long peace, one rose with the string of wampum(1) in his hand, and said to his brothers, "The blood of him whom our foes slew in such or such a moon is not yet wiped away; his corpse remains above the earth unburied; I go to wash the clotted gore from his breast, to give him the rites of sepulture, and to eat up the nation(2) by whom the base wrongs were done him"--if, having spoken thus, the Spirit-wife but cast her meek blue eye upon him, and suffered a sigh to pa.s.s her beautiful bosom, the speaker rose, and washed off the black paint, and effaced from his cheeks all traces of the b.l.o.o.d.y design by which he had been actuated, and declared that a kind bird had whispered in his ear that the "enemy were gone to the mountain streams for sturgeon," or, "to the plains of the Osage to gather bitter snow[D]," or, "to the prairies of the Wisconsan to hunt the buffalo," or, "to the stormy lake of Michabou(3) to take the fish wherewith the G.o.d had so plentifully stocked it." The a.s.sembled warriors, knowing that he had a sufficient motive for changing his mind, would follow his example, and lay by the weapons of war to resume those of peace, without any inquiry why he had changed his mind. And thus, more by soft persuasion, and kind entreaties, and wise prophecies, than by stern commands, and bitter denunciations, the beautiful Spirit-wife ruled the Burntwood Tetons to their glory and happiness.

[Footnote A: The war-clubs.]

[Footnote B: Black paint, as I have before observed, the symbol among the Indians of belligerent intentions.]

[Footnote C: A fat dog is the chief and sometimes the only dish at the feast, preparatory to a war expedition. This animal is sacred to Areskoui, or the G.o.d of War.]

[Footnote D: Salt.]

Yet, with all her love for her husband, and her children, of whom in ten springs ten stood in their father's cabin, she appeared at times to be far from happy. It was observed that nothing could induce her to go abroad after darkness had veiled the earth. When the robe of night was thrown over the face of things, then the Spirit-wife would be found seated in the darkest corner of her dwelling, nor could entreaties draw her out. Insensible to fear, while the sun shone, the moment it disappeared, her cheek became pallid as death; and if, during the period of darkness, there happened a high wind from the north, and a fall of hail, her agony knew no bounds, and excessive trembling would for awhile deprive her of the power to move, and almost to utter intelligible sounds. Her husband asked her wherefore this trembling, but could gain no answer. And thus time pa.s.sed away.

The snows of ten winters had fallen to rush to the embrace of the rivers, and black clouds, and cold winds, and falling leaves, were betokening the near approach of the eleventh, when, upon a clear and starry night, a stranger, wearing a garment which glittered like ice upon which the sun is s.h.i.+ning, and whose hair was a body of icicles, entered the village of the Tetons. He was of very small stature, being scarcely taller than the child who has seen twelve harvests: and his limbs and features were proportionably small. The colour of his skin, and the robe which he wore, as well as the shape of the latter, so nearly resembled those of the Spirit-wife on the morning she came to the Teton village, that all deemed they were of the same nation, perhaps brother and sister. When they asked the stranger who he was, and why he had come hither, he made no answer, but to the question said, with a voice that sounded like the wind of the Cold Moon:

"Have you seen my wife?"

"Wife?--What wife?" demanded the chief.

"She who _yesterday_ fled from my arms--the beautiful Spirit of Snow."

"Ten seasons have pa.s.sed," said the chief, "and the eleventh is near at hand, since there came among us a being, exceedingly beautiful, and habited much like him to whom the great chief of the Tetons is now speaking. She has become the wife of one of my Braves. Was she thine ere she was his?"

"Ten of thy seasons are but a day, nay, but an hour, nay, but a minute, in the eyes of spirits. In my computation, it was yesterday that the fair Spirit of Snow left my bosom."

"And who art thou?"

"The Spirit of Tempests--the ruler over the realms of the bleak north; he who harnesses his horses to the east winds, and drives the furious whirlwind and cras.h.i.+ng tempest over the lands of the affrighted Tetons and their forest brothers."

"Thou seemest too small of stature to undertake wrathful purposes, and all unfit to represent the mighty winds that rend the stubborn oak, and the fierce tempests that scatter yet wilder desolation," said the Teton chief, surveying, almost contemptuously, the diminutive form of the strange Spirit.

"Tax but my powers--excite but my ire," said the demon, "and the chief of the Burntwood Tetons may rue the hour that gave birth to his doubts of the strength of the master of the northern blast. But why do I waste words upon thee? Bring hither my wicked wife."

Seeing the angry and ireful Spirit determined upon mischief, the chief departed, his bosom filled with sorrow, to summon the beautiful and beloved Spirit of Snow to the presence of the being who claimed her as his wife. He found her not unapprised of the dreadful fate which awaited her. Bathed in tears, her head reclined on the shoulder of the doting Teton, sat the lovely Spirit, her eyes now bent on him she loved so fondly, and now on their beautiful children, who slept all unconscious of the grief which wrung their fond mother's bosom. At length, with sudden resolution, she rose from her seat, and, folding the beloved warrior to her breast in one long and pa.s.sionate embrace, she left the cabin.

"I have found thee at last," exclaimed the angry ruler of tempests, as the beautiful woman approached him. "Thou, who fledst from my arms to those of an earthly paramour, how dost thou like the exchange?"

"So well," replied the trembling Spirit, "that if thou wilt consent to let me remain where I am, I will never return to thee or to my clime of snows."

"Base-minded woman! And wilt thou abandon the glorious destiny of ruling the elements for the mean one of sharing in the labours of a Teton cabin?"

"The destiny which thou deemest glorious may be well abandoned for that which thou holdest mean. However well it may once have suited me to dwell in the bleak climes of the north, and be the mistress of the flaky dew, it now more glads my heart to share in the labours of a Teton cabin. I know, from my own brief experience, that the fevers and agues of mortality are to be preferred a thousand times to the unvarying, unchanging, existence of a Spirit without pa.s.sion, feeling, sympathy, love, or tenderness. I pray thee let me remain as I am, and where I am."

"And so thou preferrest the earth to the sky; sensibility to insensibility; a humble Teton warrior to the mighty Spirit of the clime over which thou wast created to exert thyself a wondrous influence?"

"Let it not displease thee that I do. I have become in love with the pains of human life, and delighted with the anxieties which cling to it, as moist snow clings to a pine in the warm spring."

"Becoming a mortal being thou must die."

"I shall first have lived."

"Thy spirit--"

"Disinc.u.mbered of its earthly load, will return to its former starry mansion."

"Once more I ask, dost thou prefer to remain on earth? Rough and noisy though I be, yet will I not exert force to compel thee back to thine own region."

"I would remain. In my cabin is a Teton warrior--him I love; there are ten beautiful children at his side--the Spirit of Snow fed them with her own milk--the Teton warrior is their father. Thou canst not, pa.s.sionless as thou art, know my feelings; but, believe me, that to part me from them is to banish all peace and joy from my soul, and to drive me into a depth of affliction, which will last till time shall be no more. Nor deem that aught save death can weaken the force of those affections which are now kindled in my bosom."

"I see, I see; and, but that stern pride forbids it, I, too, would, throw off the state of a ruler of tempests and wintry winds, to become the master of a cabin in one of the green vales of the earth, to gather around me children like thine, and to feel the hopes and fears, which have rendered thee so unlike the being thou wast. But we shall meet again. When thou wert invested with the attributes of mortality, death was also appointed to thee--a few years, and thou wilt quit the house of clay, again to rove free and unconfined among the glittering stars, and through the endless realms of s.p.a.ce."

With these words, the Spirit of Storms took his departure from the land of the Tetons, and none ever saw him more. Released from his presence, joy again took possession of the bosom of the beautiful wife of the Teton, and the traces of tears were soon removed from her fair cheek.

His a.s.surance had quieted her soul, and fear was no longer an inhabitant of her bosom. She no longer sought the gloomy privacy of the cabin at the approach of night, but joined the dance of maidens, herself the most sportive of them all. Every season added a little stranger to the laughing and merry groupe, till twenty and seven sons and daughters were in the cabin of the Teton Swift Foot. Old age came over the husband, but not the wife. When his knees had grown feeble, and his voice faint, and his eye dim, and his heart craven, her faculties were in full perfection--her cheek still wore the blush of youth, and her step was lighter than the fawn of four moons. And, if time had abated nothing of her wondrous beauty and sprightliness, neither had it of her goodness, and kind attention to the wants of the poor Indians. Her care that they should want for nothing was as much exerted as ever--still their hunting-grounds and their rivers were the best stocked of any in all the land, and their war expeditions for forty seasons were invariably blest with success. Let not my brother wonder, then, if the Tetons almost forgot their duty to the Great Spirit, in their affection for the good being whom they deemed his fatherly care had sent among them.

At length, the Teton warrior, overcome by years, lay down and died. Then it was that deep grief visited the bosom of his still beautiful and still youthful wife. In vain, did the priest remind her that all must die--she would not be consoled. They dressed the body of the deceased warrior in his robe of fur, and then laid it, together with his spear, and bow, and war-hatchet, and sheaf of arrows, and pipe, and camp-kettle, in the house of death(4). While they were rendering the last service to the body of the Swift Foot, the wife sat motionless, looking on--when they had finished, she rose, and spoke to them thus:--

"We have now dwelt together, Tetons, for forty summers, and, during that time, there has been a pure, unclouded sky in our village. We have been friends, and so we will part. I cannot abide longer on the earth; I go to take the soul of my beloved husband to the mansion prepared for him in my own bright clime of the north. My children I leave to the care of the brave warriors and good hunters, bidding one to protect, and the other to feed them, till the Good Spirit sees fit to deprive them of the life he has given. Be this your recompense.

"It is known that, among all the red men of the forest, none are so fond of dancing, and none so excellent therein, as the Tetons. Ask any man, or any woman, of any nation, who best and most gracefully perform the War Dance, and the Scalp Dance, and the Calumet Dance, and the Dance of Green Corn, and he will answer, 'The Burntwood Tetons.' Now, if ye will continue to watch over my helpless children till their days of helplessness are past, ye shall continue to dance even after death--the spirit released from the flesh shall still caper as merrily as ever over the clear skies of the north. Those skies were once mine--to-morrow I shall resume dominion over them."

"It is cold, very cold in those regions," said the great chief. "The dance will not keep us warm, and our way will be impeded by the ice and snow."

"Neither shall be an impediment," answered the beautiful Spirit. "I will cause my little people to kindle huge fires, the flames of which, flas.h.i.+ng over the northern skies, shall at once dissipate the flaky mists, and be a light to the steps of the dancers. And thus shall it be.

When a Teton departs, his spirit shall go to the northern skies, which henceforth shall be the Teton's Paradise. There shall he enjoy, uninterrupted, his beloved pastime; and, till time shall be no more, have full permission to foot it as joyfully as he did on earth."

These were the concluding words of the Spirit-wife. When they looked up she was gone from their sight, no one knew whither. Presently there was a slight fall of snow, which soon, however, again gave place to the beams of the warm and refres.h.i.+ng sun. They never saw her again. They never saw her again, but they forgot neither her nor her wishes. The children she left were adopted by the nation, and became in time so many of them fathers and mothers, that, at this day, half the tribe are descended from them.

My brother asks, if the good Spirit-wife kept her promise to the Tetons.

She did, as he will see, if he will but look at the northern skies in the time of summer and autumn. He will then see flas.h.i.+ng over the face of the broad heavens the flames which the good people kindle to thaw the frosty air, and thus remove the impediments which exist to the merry dance of the souls of those Tetons, who have repaired to the Happy Abode. He will hear very plain the laugh[A] of the sprightly dancers; and frequently, when the air is very clear, he will see their nimble forms dancing up and down the moonbeams. Who would not wish that his spirit might be permitted to go to THE TETON'S PARADISE?