The American Indians Part 44

7. To suppress the use or introduction of ardent spirits.

These are very mixed principles, containing no basis of a government; yet, futile as they are, we apprehend they contain no effective power for their enforcement. A law without a penalty is like a rope of sand.

Any of these parties might nullify either of these acts, by neglecting to enforce it. It is, we apprehend, the mere expression of the popular will, in a council, without any binding obligation of the whole, or a majority of the tribes, to compel obedience from the delinquent members.

It may, however, lead to further deliberations; and we cannot but regard the movement as one which betokens political forethought and purpose.

Our greatest apprehensions, we must confess, before closing this paper, arise from the peculiar geographical position of the Indian territory with relation to our own. And this could not, perhaps, have been antic.i.p.ated twenty years ago, when the plan was formed. Our population is on the broad move west. Nothing, it is evident, will now repress them this side of the Pacific. The snowy heights of the Rocky Mountains are already scaled; and we but apply the results of the past to the future, in saying that the path which has been trod by a few, will be trod by many. Now, the removed tribes are precisely in the centre of this path.

From the mouth of the Platte, or the Konza, the great highway to the Oregon must run west. Whether this new tide of emigration will be successful or unsuccessful, will those who compose it spare to trample on the red man? Will they suddenly become kind to him, to whom they have been unkind? Will they cease to desire the lands which their children want? Will they consent to see the nation separated by an Indian state?

Will they award honors, nay, justice, to that state? Twenty years will answer these questions.

CHOCTAWS.--An appropriation of $113,000 has been made by Congress for the removal and subsistence of the Choctaws now in Mississippi. There are upwards of six thousand in our state, comprising about eleven hundred families. These are under Colonels Johnson and Fisher. The half of the money due the Indians, and to be paid after their landing in their new homes in the West, is to be funded. This will effectually prevent all speculation, and enable the Indians to obtain and hold what is due them. Those now in the state are guarded against all coercive measures for their removal, and left free to go West or remain in their homes in Mississippi.--_Southern Reformer._

NURSERY AND CRADLE SONGS OF THE FOREST.

The tickenagun, or Indian cradle, is an object of great pride with an Indian mother. She gets the finest kind of broad cloth she possibly can to make an outer swathing band for it, and spares no pains in ornamenting it with beads and ribbons, worked in various figures. In the lodges of those who can afford it, there is no article more showy and pretty than the full bound cradle. The frame of the cradle itself is a curiosity. It consists of three pieces. The vertebral board, which supports the back, the hoop or foot-board, which extends tapering up each side, and the arch or bow, which springs from each side, and protects the face and head. These are tied together with deer's sinews or pegged. The whole structure is very light, and is carved with a knife by the men, out of the linden or maple tree.

Moss const.i.tutes the bed of the infant, and is also put between the child's feet to keep them apart and adjust the shape of them, according to custom. A one-point blanket of the trade, is the general and immediate wrapper of the infant, within the hoop, and the ornamented swathing band is wound around the whole, and gives it no little resemblance to the case of a small mummy. As the bow pa.s.ses directly above the face and eyes, trinkets are often hung upon this, to amuse it, and the child gets its first ideas of ornament from these. The hands are generally bound down with the body, and only let out occasionally, the head and neck being the only part which is actually free. So bound and laced, hooped and bowed, the little fabric, with its inmate, is capable of being swung on its mother's back, and carried through the thickest forest without injury. Should it even fall no injury can happen. The bow protects the only exposed part of the frame. And when she stops to rest, or enters the lodge, it can be set aside like any other household article, or hung up by the cradle strap on a peg. Nothing, indeed, could be better adapted to the exigencies of the forest life. And in such tiny fabrics, so cramped and bound, and bedecked and trinketed, their famous Pontiacs and King Philips, and other prime warriors, were once carried, notwithstanding the skill they afterwards acquired in wielding the lance and war club.

The Indian child, in truth, takes its first lesson in the _art of endurance_, in the cradle. When it cries it need not be unbound to nurse it. If the mother be young, she must put it to sleep herself. If she have younger sisters or daughters they share this care with her. If the lodge be roomy and high, as lodges sometimes are, the cradle is suspended to the top poles to be swung. If not, or the weather be fine, it is tied to the limb of a tree, with small cords made from the inner bark of the linden, and a vibratory motion given to it from head to foot by the mother or some attendant. The motion thus communicated, is that of the pendulum or common swing, and may be supposed to be the easiest and most agreeable possible to the child. It is from this motion that the leading idea of the cradle song is taken.

I have often seen the red mother, or perhaps a sister of the child, leisurely swinging a pretty ornamented cradle to and fro in this way, in order to put the child to sleep, or simply to amuse it. The following specimens of these wild-wood chaunts, or wigwam lullabys, are taken from my notes upon this subject, during many years of familiar intercourse with the aboriginals. If they are neither numerous nor attractive, placed side by side with the rich nursery stores of more refined life, it is yet a pleasant fact to have found such things even existing at all amongst a people supposed to possess so few of the amenities of life, and to have so little versatility of character.

Meagre as these specimens seem, they yet involve no small degree of philological diligence, as nothing can be more delicate than the inflexions of these pretty chaunts, and the Indian woman, like her white sister, gives a delicacy of intonation to the roughest words of her language. The term wa-wa often introduced denotes a _wave_ of the air, or the circle described by the motion of an object through it, as we say, swing, swing, a term never applied to a wave of water. The latter is called tegoo, or if it be crowned with foam, beta.

In introducing the subjoined specimens of these simple see saws of the lodge and forest chaunts, the writer felt, that they were almost too frail of structure to be trusted, without a gentle hand, amidst his rougher materials. He is permitted to say, in regard to them, that they have been exhibited to Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith, herself a refined enthusiast of the woods, and that the versions from the original given, are from her chaste and truthful pen.

In the following arch little song, the reader has only to imagine a playful girl trying to put a restless child to sleep, who pokes its little head, with black hair and keen eyes over the side of the cradle, and the girl sings, imitating its own piping tones.

Ah wa nain? (Who is this?) Ah wa nain? (Who is this?) Wa yau was sa-- (Giving light--meaning the light of the eye) Ko pwasod. (On the top of my lodge.)

Who is this? who is this? eye-light bringing To the roof of the lodge?

And then she a.s.sumes the tone of the little screech owl, and answers--

Kob kob kob (It is I--the little owl) Nim be e zhau (Coming,) Kob kob kob (It is I--the little owl) Nim be e zhau (Coming,) Kit che--kit che. (Down! down!)

It is I, it is I, hither swinging, (wa wa) Dodge, dodge, baby dodge;

And she springs towards it and down goes the little head. This is repeated with the utmost merriment upon both sides.

Who is this, who is this eye-light bringing To the roof of my lodge?

It is I, it is I, hither swinging, Dodge, dodge, baby dodge.

Here is another, slower and monotonous, but indicating the utmost maternal content:

Swinging, swinging, lul la by, Sleep, little daughter sleep, 'Tis your mother watching by, Swinging, swinging she will keep, Little daughter lul la by.

'Tis your mother loves you dearest, Sleep, sleep, daughter sleep, Swinging, swinging, ever nearest, Baby, baby, do not weep; Little daughter, lul la by.

Swinging, swinging, lul la by, Sleep, sleep, little one, And thy mother will be nigh-- Swing, swing, not alone-- Little daughter, lul la by.

This of course is exceedingly simple, but be it remembered these chaunts are always so in the most refined life. The ideas are the same, that of tenderness and protective care only, the ideas being few, the language is in accordance. To my mind it has been a matter of extreme interest to observe how almost identical are the expressions of affection in all states of society, as though these primitive elements admit of no progress, but are perfect in themselves. The e-we-yea of the Indian woman is entirely a.n.a.logous to the lul la by of our language, and will be seen to be exceedingly pretty in itself.

2. The original words of this, with their literal import, are also added, to preserve the ident.i.ty.

(a.)

Wa wa--wa wa--wa we yea, (Swinging, twice, lullaby.) Nebaun--nebaun--nebaun, (Sleep thou, thrice.) Nedaunis-ais, e we yea, (Little daughter, lullaby.) Wa wa--wa wa--wa wa, (Swinging, thrice.) Nedaunis-ais, e we yea, (Little daughter lullaby.)

(b.)

Keguh, ke gun ah wain e ma, (Your mother cares for you.) Nebaun--nebaun--nebaun, e we yea, (Sleep, thrice, lullaby.) Kago, saigizze-kain, nedaunis-ais, (Do not fear, my little daughter.) Nebaun--nebaun--nebaun, (Sleep, thrice.) Kago, saigizze-kain, wa wa, e we yea, (third line repeated.)

(c.)

Wa wa--wa wa--wa we yea, (Swinging, twice, lullaby.) Kaween neezheka kediausee, (Not alone art thou.) Ke kan nau wai, ne me go, suhween, (Your mother is caring for you.) Nebaun--nebaun--nedaunis-ais, (Sleep, sleep, my little daughter.) Wa wa--wa wa--wa we yea, (Swinging, &c., lullaby.) Nebaun--nebaun--nebaun, (Sleep! sleep! sleep.[51])

[51] These translations are entirely literal--the verbs to "sleep"

and to "fear," requiring the imperative mood, second person, present tense, throughout. In rendering the term "wa-wa" in the participial form some doubt may exist, but this has been terminated by the idea of the _existing_ motion, which is clearly implied, although the word is not marked by the usual form of the participle in _ing_. The phrase lul-la-by, is the only one in our language, which conveys the evident meaning of the choral term e-we-yea. The substantive verb is wanting, in the first line of b.

and the third of c. in the two forms of the verb, to care, or take care of a person; but it is present in the phrase "kediausee" in the second line of c. These facts are stated, not that they are of the slightest interest to the common reader, but that they may be examined by philologists, or persons curious in the Indian grammar.

THE HARE AND THE LYNX.

3. The story of the Wabose, (Hare,) and the Pighieu, (Lynx,) will at once remind the reader of the so often recited tale of little Red Riding Hood, in which the reciter imitates the tones of the wolf, and the little nursery listener hears with a growing amazement, and starts as if he felt the real wolf's teeth at the close.

This story is partly spoken and partly sung. The Teller imitating alternately the Hare, and its enemy, the Lynx.

There was once, she says, a little Hare living in the lodge with its grandmother, who was about to send it back to its native land. When it had gone but a little way, a Lynx appeared in the path, and began to sing,

Where pretty white one?

Where little white one, Where do you go?

Tshwee! tshwee! tshwee! tshwee! cried the Hare, and ran back to its grandmother. "See, grandmother," said the timid little creature, "what the Lynx is saying to me," and she repeated the song. "Ho! Nosis," that is to say, courage my grandchild, run along, and tell him you are going home to your native land: so the Hare went back and began to sing,

To the point of land I roam, For there is the white one's home,-- Whither I go.

Then the Lynx looked at the trembling Hare, and began to sing,

Little white one, tell me why Like to leather, thin and dry, Are your pretty ears?

Tshwee! tshwee! tshwee! tshwee! cried the Hare, and she ran back to her grandmother, and repeated the words. "Ho Nosis, and tell him your uncles fixed them so, when they came from the South." So the Hare ran back and sang,

From the south my uncles came, And they fixed my ears the same,-- Fixed my slender ears.