Birch Bark Legends of Niagara
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Owahyah >> Birch Bark Legends of Niagara
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BIRCH BARK LEGENDS OF NIAGARA
FOUNDED ON TRADITIONS AMONG THE IROQUOIS, OR SIX NATIONS
A STORY OF THE LUNAR-BOW;
(Which Brilliantly Adorns Niagara Falls by Moonlight),
OR,
ORIGIN OF THE TOTEM OF THE WOLF
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF JOINSTAGA, FROM WHOM MANY LEGENDS OF THE
ALMOST FORGOTTEN PAST WERE OBTAINED BY THE AUTHOR OWAHYAH
PREFACE
My preface will be a few citations from reliable authorities to
introduce to my readers the people of whom I write:
GOV. CLINTON, in a discourse delivered before the New York Historical
Society, says: "Previous to the occupation of this country by the
progenitors of the present race of Indians, it was inhabited by a race
of men much more populous and much farther advanced in civilization;
that the confederacy of the Iroquois is a remarkable and peculiar piece
of legislation; that the more we study the Indian history the more we
will be impressed with the injustice done them. While writers have
truthfully described their deeds of cruelties, why not also quote their
deeds of kindness, their integrity, hospitality, love of truth, and,
above all, unbroken fidelity?"
WASHINGTON IRVING says: "The current opinion of Indian character is too
apt to be formed from the degenerate beings, corrupted and enfeebled by
the vice of society, without being benefitted by its civilization. That
there are those, and a large class of them that have with moral firmness
resisted the temptations, with which they have been surrounded, and
command our highest esteem."
VOLNEY, the French Historian, pronounces the Iroquois "The Romans of the
West."
W. H. C. HOSMER, "The Warriors of Genesee."
ORSEMUS TURNER, in his History of the Holland Purchase, says. "The
existence of the IROQUOIS upon the soil now constituting Western and
Middle New York, is distinctly traced back to the Period of the
discovery of America.
"Their traditions go beyond that period. They fix upon no definite
period in reference to the origin of their confederacy. Their Councils
were held along the southern shores of Lake Ontario, and upon the
Niagara River, before the first adventurers, the Dutch, and French
Jesuits appeared in the valley of the Mohawk; and there are evidences of
a long precedent existence that corresponds with their traditions."
And their Council Fires are still kindled though they burn not as
brightly as of yore. Nor do the young braves listen to the wisdom, or
ever now in their Councils witness the allegorical or figurative
language so beautifully illustrating the discourses of Red Jacket, Corn
Planter, Farmers Brother and other Chiefs, thus eulogized by PRES.
DWIGHT: "In strength and sublimity of their eloquence they may be fairly
compared with the Greeks."
The INDIANS say: "We listen to your stories, why do you not listen to
ours? Although civilized, you use not the rules of common civility."
OWAHYAH
BIRCH BARK LEGENDS OF NIAGARA
FOUNDED ON TRADITIONS AMONG THE IROQUOIS OR SIX NATIONS
Within sound of the thundering cataract's roar once worshipped the
roaming sons of the forest in all their primitive freedom. They
recognized in its thunder the voice, in its mad waves the wrath, and in
its crashing whirlpool the Omnipotence of the Great Spirit--the Manitou
of their simple creed.
Also in the rising mist, the flight of the soul, and in the beautiful
bow--the brilliant path followed by the spirits of good Indians to their
Happy Hunting Ground.
With this belief came the custom of yearly offering a sacrifice to the
Great Spirit, or whenever any particular blessing was to be
acknowledged, or for some wrong perpetrated, to propitiate the righteous
anger of their Deity of the roaring waters.
The sacrifice, or offering, consisted of a boat filled with fruit,
flowers and any precious gift, which was to be paddled over the foaming
cataract by one either drawn by lot or selected by the chiefs; or, as
often happened, a voluntary offering of life, as it manifested heroism
beyond their usual test of torture. Martyrs thus sacrificed had this
consolation: that their spirits were sure to rise in the mist and follow
the bright path above, while bad Indians' spirits passed down in the
boiling, crashing current, to be torn and tossed in the whirlpool, there
to linger in misery forever.
With all thy present loveliness--smooth paths cut round thy rocky
banks, covered with trailing vines and bright, soft mosses, nature's
beautiful tapestry; flights of steps, half hidden with gay foliage,
displaying at almost every turn majestic scenery; bridges thrown over
the bounding, foaming rapids, from island to island, opening bower
after bower with surprises of beauty at every step. Scattered here and
there the nut-brown Indian maids and mothers; among the last of the
race--still lingering around their fathers' places and working at the
gay embroidery--soon to pass away forever.
Yes, with all thy loveliness, the circle of mirth and gaiety, reflecting
happy faces of thy present worshippers, tame is the scene compared with
the traditions of a by-gone race, which, notwithstanding the simplicity
in forms of customs that governed them, were among the brightest
pictures of American life--always associated with the beautiful forest,
which together are passing away, and oblivion's veil fast gathering
around them.
Thy rocks, now echoing the gay laugh of idlers, first rang with the wild
war-whoop, or sent back the Indian's low, mellow songs of peace, or
mingled with the heavy roar of thy failing waters the mournful dirge of
the doomed one, to the Great Manitou.
STORY OF THE LUNAR BOW,
(_Which brilliantly adorns Niagara Falls by moonlight_),
OR
Origin of the Totem [Footnote: The coat of arms of a clan.] of the Wolf.
FIRST LEGEND.
The tradition of the Lunar Bow, the Manitou's bright path, or the origin
of the totem of the wolf, was traced with a scene long remembered at
their councils, passing from generation to generation, and still sung by
the Indian mothers in their far-off home towards the setting sun--the
last foot-hold of the dark sons of the forest on this their native land.
On the east side of the Falls of Niagara, before the hallowed waters of
the mist fell, on the pale-faced warrior or the sound of the axe had
even broken the great stillness of their undisputed soil, the dark
shadows of the primeval forest fell only on rock and wigwam.
The red-topped sumach and sweet sassafras grew thick on either side,
while ledges of rocks here and there pierced the foliage of the
cedar-crowned banks 'round which tumbled and roared the mad waves,
leaping like frightened does in wild confusion to their final plunge.
The narrow Indian trails, winding around swamps, over hills, and through
ravines, were the only paths that led to this their Great Manitou.
The drowsy sultriness of an American summer pervaded this secluded spot,
harmonizing with the unceasing roar of the Great Falls. Ever and anon,
tall, dark forms might be seen suddenly appearing from the thick foliage
of the underbrush, through which their paths with difficulty wound, and
silently their painted faces and gayly plumed heads dropped round the
big wigwam. Important questions waited the decision of their wisest
Sachems, and runners had been sent with wampum to call together distant
Chiefs, who, with braves and warriors, as became the dignity of the
wampum, answered by their presence quickly and in silence.
Near the brink of the Falls, beneath an aged pine, reclined a well-
guarded, sorrowful, but haughty band. Their fine symmetry, noble height,
and free carriage, were especially attractive. They were all young
warriors, whose white paint presented emblems of peace: their plumes
were from the beautiful white crane of the sunny forest, which
designated the southern land from whence they came.
A gleam of pride flashed across their dark faces, while their attitudes
bespoke both defiance and despair. A tall, stately looking youth
appeared to command from these few the deference due a Chief. He was
leaning against the old tree, looking for the first time on the great
sheet of falling waters, where soon himself and followers would probably
end their tortures by a welcome leap. Their noble bearing had attracted
the eye of the Sachem's daughter, the Gentle Fawn; she, with a few young
Indian girls, half hid among the whortleberry bushes growing luxuriantly
around the smaller wigwams of the camp, were dividing their attention
between the stately captives and weaving the gaudy wampums to be
bestowed, with the shy little weavers themselves, upon such young braves
as should be deemed worthy by the great council. Their stolen glances of
admiration and pity, however, were intercepted by the young brave who
brought home and so suspiciously guarded the prisoners. He was a fierce,
wicked savage, with repulsive, glistening eyes, evincing a cunning,
revengeful disposition.
[Illustration: GREAT OAK]
At the side of this savage hung a string of fresh scalps, and a gleam of
exultation shot across his swarthy visage as he pointed to the gory
trophies at his belt, saying:
"The Black Snakes scalps are fresh from his enemies; the fingers of the
Gentle Fawn cannot number them."
"The Fawn does not like the smell of blood," quickly answered the
sensitive maid. "The Black Snake is a boy, and does not know his friends
from his enemies."
"The Fawn has been taking lessons from the mocking-birds," replied Black
Snake, "and has learned many tunes; she sings now for the ears of the
sunny Eagle, whose wings are too feeble to fly. His last flight will be
short (pointing to the cataract); he will not need his wings, and the
Gentle Fawn will soon learn to sing to Black Snake. The Fawn is an
infant, and Black Snake will feed her on birds' eggs." Approaching with
a noiseless step, he continued, in a lower tone: "The Black Snake will
be a great warrior; he must build a lodge of his own whereon to hang his
enemies' scalps (shaking them in her face), and the Gentle Fawn will
light his pipe."
With a suppressed cry the Fawn sprung to her feet. In an instant from
the long wild grass, at her side appeared a huge wolf, of unusual size
and strength, which the powerful creature owed in a measure to the
affectionate care of its mistress. She had found it when young, reared
and fed it with her own hands, and they had become inseparable friends
and protectors to each other.
With an angry growl and flashing eyes the wolf warned the Indian back.
Black Snake pointed his flint-headed spear with a look of disdain at the
heart of the watchful beast. His arm was suddenly arrested by the hand
of the Sachem, Great Oak.
"Does the Black Snake make war with the women? Wouldst kill my
daughter's four-footed friend? Has the young brave only arrow-heads for
his friends? He must go back to his mother's wigwam: let her teach him
how to use them."
The dark frown passed from the Great Oak's face as he addressed his
daughter. With a watchful tenderness seldom found in the breast of a
warrior, the stern old Sagamore's voice grew soft as a woman's.
"My daughter will follow her father; he knows not his wigwam when the
Fawn and her four-footed friend are not there."
Thus saying they immediately left the discomfited brave. In passing by
the stranger captives, a sigh escaped the old Indian as he saw the
sympathetic looks that passed between them and his daughter, and
compared that noble young Chief, so soon to pass away, with the
treacherous warrior who aspired to fill the War Chief's place, and
receive his daughter with the title. The War Chief was slain on that
same expedition that conquered and brought home the prisoners. Another
was to be chosen and the captives disposed of, which was the business
that had called together Chiefs from distant places. Occupied with sad
thoughts, that brought him no comfort, he was attracted by the low whine
of the wolf, and upon turning discovered him fondling around the captive
Chief, who seemed equally pleased with him; at the same time be caught
the ill-omened look of Black Snake, distorting his face with rage,
jealousy and revenge, as it glowed from beneath his tawdry plume of many
colors. Hastening his daughter along, who was quickly followed by the
wolf as she gave a peculiar call, they passed silently out of sight.
As the dark shadows of night; gathered closely around, made brilliant by
innumerable fire-flies, sportively decking all nature in spangles, women
and children disappeared to their wigwams, while their dusky protectors
seated themselves 'round the great fire, the red flashes of which fell
brightly on the strongly bound prisoners, proud and defiant, awaiting
their doom.
Only one more night and the mild rays of the moon would fall on good and
bad alike--would gaze on the beautiful, bright colored path over the
dark and fearful abyss they were so soon to follow to the Happy Hunting
Ground. The breaking of the waves against the rocks on the shore, the
melancholy cry of the night bird, like soft music, partially subdued
their tortured spirits, and each recalled with fond longing the memory
of a distant home now lying in ashes, and the sound of some voice now
silent, whose tones would go with them to the Manitou's home.
Calm night, our soothing mother, bringing rest to all, freed them at
last from the insulting taunts of their savage guards as their swarthy
forms were swallowed up in the surrounding darkness.
Oh! how many heartfelt and anxious prayers have been sent, Niagara, to
rise on thy light mist to realms above.
The Indian's simple supplication, so full of hope and faith, needed not
the assistance of other creeds to be heard by _his_ Great Manitou. And
if thou dost pray sincerely for strength, Grey Eagle, unflinchingly to
stand thy torture and joyfully to take thy final leap, it will be given
thee.
As the dampness of night fled from before the rays of the morning sun it
revealed a cooler, calmer crowd around the big wigwam.
In sight of the great waters, and almost deafened by its thundering,
warning voice, Sachems, Chiefs and Warriors were quietly and orderly
assembled. Directly in front were placed the securely bound prisoners,
surrounded by aspiring young braves, too willing to show their skill in
throwing arrows and tomahawks as near as possible to the captives'
heads, delighting the dusky children, who with the women formed the
outside circle.
For several minutes the pipe, with the sweet-scented kinny-kinick, was
passed from one to another in silence. Not a word escaped them, the
Chiefs viewing with each other in betraying no symptom of idle curiosity
or impatience. At length a Chief turned his eyes slowly towards the old
Sachem, and in a low voice, with great delicacy in excluding all
inquisitiveness, addressed him:
"Our father sent us the wampum; we are here, when our father speaks his
childrens' ears are open,"--again resuming the pipe with due and
becoming solemnity.
After a moment's silence, during which the children even became mute,
the Sachem arose with dignity and commenced his brief story in a solemn,
serious manner, becoming himself and the occasion.
"'Tis well; my childrens' ears shall drink no lies. Their brothers have
been on the war-path. The Great Manitou smiled on the young brave; sent
him back with fresh trophies and prisoners; not one escaped. The Great
Manitou has also frowned on his people, hushed their song of triumph,
sent them back to their tribe crying, 'where is the great War Chief, the
nation's pride?' Do my sons see or hear the War Eagle in the wigwam of
his people? No; he came not back; the Manitou needed him; he has gone to
the Happy Hunting Ground; our eyes are dim; we shall see him no more.
Who will lead the young braves on the war-path? Who will protect the
wigwams, the women, children, and old men? Let my children speak, their
father will listen."
With the last words all excitement seemed to pass from him, and the face
of Great Oak assumed that immovable expression which rendered it so
impossible to surmise what really were his thoughts or wishes. The
murmuring wails of the women in remembrance of War-Eagle and the
threatening tomahawks that were shaken at the prisoners, all ceased as
slowly the first Chief again rose to speak.
"Let our brother, the young brave who followed where War Eagle led, and
returned with prisoners and trophies to appease his mourning people--let
the Black Snake speak, that we may know how to counsel our father."
[Illustration: BLACK SNAKE.]
The eyes of the young warrior thus alluded to flashed with fierce
delight--his nostrils dilated with strong emotion. Passing with a
haughty stride in front of the Chiefs, displaying to all the bloody
trophies at his side, without dignity or feeling, but in an excited,
vindictive manner, he gave an exaggerated account of the foe and the
battle; spoke of the loss of the War Eagle; called on the young braves
to help revenge his death, swinging his tomahawk around the heads of the
prisoners, counting the scalps he had torn from the heads of their
people, forcing them in their faces with malignant pleasure, and calling
them women, who would cry when their tortures commenced. He said he only
waited to attend the joyful dance before going on the war-path to avenge
more fully the death of their Chief and earn the right to have a wigwam.
He howled his fierce demands for an opportunity to show his willingness
to execute the sentence the Chiefs should pass upon the prisoners. Then,
adroitly pleading his youth, he said he would not ask to lead the braves
on the war-path--he would follow where some braver one would lead.
Throwing the string of scalps among the crowd, he said the women might
have them to hang on their lodges--he was too young to carry them.
Feeling he had made sufficient impression of his bravery to leave the
decision in the hands of the Chiefs, without noticing his triumph in the
applauding multitude, his fiery eyes rolled proudly from Chief to Chief.
He passed with a haughty step before the Sachem, who had several times
rather depreciated his bravery, rejoicing in this public opportunity of
boasting a little before the Chiefs, evidently thinking it would greatly
contribute to his ambitious purposes and make a good impression on the
Sachem's dark-eyed daughter.
As he finished his speech the crowd commenced reciting the virtues of
their deceased Chief, calling for revenge, and insulting the prisoners
with every epithet their wild imagination could suggest. A dissatisfied
"hugh" from the old Sachem caused the first Chief again to rise, when in
an instant all again became quiet, such were the peculiar customs of
these people and the great influence of their Chiefs and Rulers. In a
calm voice he addressed again the old Sachem:
"Thy son has spoken with a brave and cunning tongue; yet he speaks not
to the heart of his Chief. He is ready to strike the enemy. Who carries
more arrows or sharper ones than Black Snake? Whose stone-headed war
club is deadlier? Whose tomahawk is freer on the battle-field? The Black
Snake coils himself under the bushes and springs upon his sleeping
enemy. When they would strike him he is gone, and their club falls where
he once stood. He will be a great warrior when he gathers a few more
years. He needs experience to lead the young braves. Let our father
speak from his heart, that he may hide nothing from his children, then
will they know how to counsel."
Thus called upon, the old Chief rose with a calm brow, and advancing
with great dignity, slowly scanned the faces of his dusky audience. His
eyes beamed with respectful, hopeful submission on his circle of Chiefs,
also upon the women judges, who make the final decision in choosing a
new Chief after hearing the arguments in favor of each candidate.
Glancing towards Black Snake with a stern, unwavering countenance,
regarding the prisoners with unaffected sympathy, and finally resting
with a fond look of painful solicitude upon his daughter, who was seated
on a mossy carpet beneath a large tree, within hearing distance of all
that was said--the wolf, the Fawn's devoted friend, coiled at her feet,
and her neglected wampum carelessly thrown over his glossy neck--in a
clear, low voice, as one who having once determined upon the necessity
no hesitating fears should prevent, Great Oak addressed the now watchful
and silent multitude.
"It is true the feet of the young brave have been far away on the
war-path; his tomahawk and arrows have not been idle; he crept like a
serpent upon his victims; his war club was stained with their blood;
their scalps were many by his side; he came not back empty-handed; he
brought prisoners to his people and gifts to his Manitou."
The low murmur of applause now increased to a shrill howl, which the
echoing rocks sent flying on, mingling with the roar of the falling
waters. This approval being taken for their approbation, which promised
support to his opinion, Great Oak, thus confirmed in his remarks,
continued:
"War Eagle came not back to his people; his wigwam is lonely; did he fly
away like a frightened bird at the sight of his enemy?" An angry "hugh"
was uttered sympathetically. "Did he die with his body filled with the
arrows of his enemy?" After a short pause he answered himself:
"No, my children, the tomahawk was buried in the back of his head. Was
his foe behind him? Yes, my children, but not Grey Eagle and his brave
little band now standing in front of you. They were also in front of War
Eagle, but he saw in them no enemies; Grey Eagle saw no enemies then.
Look at the paint, of Grey Eagle and his braves; do you see the red and
black worn by a Chief on the war-path? Has the Manitou thrown a cloud
over the eyes of your Sachem? I see only the white paint of peace and
friendship. When were our fathers ever known to bind a friend?
"Your Sachem has lived too long; he has lived to see the ceremonies of
his people laughed at by boys--the sons of his friends with friendly
colors bound at his feet by his own children, and the tomahawks of his
people ready to bury themselves in their flesh."
The deep silence which succeeded these words sufficiently showed the
great veneration with which his people received their ideas from their
oldest Chief. All listened with breathless expectation for what was to
come. Black Snake and his few followers scowled revengefully, though not
daring to reply. The Sachem continued:
"The Great Oak can no longer overshadow and protect his people--can no
longer preserve the ceremonies of his fathers. His strength has gone,
and his counsels fall to the ground like the branches of the dying tree;
he is needed here no more. When my children next fill a canoe for the
Manitou, place the old tree and all belonging to him in it. The 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."