Part 19 (1/2)

_Hunter._ In a short time he rose again, sitting in his full dress like the leader of a warlike tribe, and calmly and smilingly extended his hand to the chiefs and officers, to his wives and his children.

But this, his last effort, exhausted his remaining strength. He was lowered down on the bed, calmly drew his scalping-knife from its sheath under his war-belt, where it had been placed, and grasped it with firmness and dignity. With his hands crossed on his manly breast, and with a smile on his face, he breathed his last. Thus pa.s.sed away the spirit of Oseola.

_Austin._ Poor Oseola! He died like a chief, at last.

_Hunter._ He did, but not like a Christian, and, very likely, when he grasped his scalping-knife, before his last breath forsook him, some glowing vision of successful combat was before him. In the pride of his heart, perhaps, he was leading on his braves to mingle in the clash of battle and the death-grapple with his enemies. But is this a fit state of mind for a man to die in? Much as we may admire the steady firmness and unsubdued courage of an Indian warrior in death, emotions of pride and high-mindedness, and thoughts of bloodshed and victory, are as far removed as possible from the principles of Christianity, and most unsuitable to a dying hour. Humility, forgiveness, repentance, hope, faith, peace and joy, are needed at such a season; and the time will come, we trust, when Indians, taught better by the gospel, will think and feel so.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mounted Chief.]

CHAPTER XIV.

The holidays of the three brothers were drawing to a close; and this circ.u.mstance rendered them the more anxious to secure one or two more visits to the cottage, before they settled down in right earnest to their books. Brian and Basil talked much about the poisoned arrows, and the mystery man; but Austin's mind was too much occupied with the Camanchee chief on his black war-horse, and the death of the Seminole chief Oseola, to think much of any thing else. He thought there was something very n.o.ble in the valour of a chief leading on his tribe to conquest; and something almost sublime in a warrior dressing himself up in his war-robes to die. Like many other young people of ardent dispositions, he seemed to forget, that when a victory is enjoyed, a defeat must be endured; and that before any one can rejoice in taking a scalp, some one must be rendered miserable or lifeless by losing it.

The remarks of the hunter, respecting the inconsistency of such customs with the peaceful principles of religion, especially the solemnities of a dying hour, had not been made altogether in vain; yet still he dwelt on the image of Oseola grasping his scalping-knife, crossing his hands over his breast, and dying with a smile on his countenance.

On their next walk to the cottage, the way was beguiled by endeavouring to call to mind all that had been told them on their last visit; and, to do him justice, he acquitted himself uncommonly well.

It is true, that now and then his brothers refreshed his memory on some points which had escaped him; but, on the whole, his account was full, connected, and clear.

”And what must I tell you now?” said the hunter, as soon as he and the young people had exchanged salutations. ”Do you not know enough about the Indians?”

To this inquiry, Brian replied that what they had heard had only increased their curiosity to hear more.

”Well; let me consider,” said the hunter. ”I have told you about the different tribes of Indians, their religion, languages, manners and customs; their villages, wigwams, food, dress, arms and musical instruments. I have described to you the fur trade; and dwelt on the scenery of the country, the mountains, rivers, lakes, prairies and many remarkable places. I have related the adventures of Black Hawk and Nikkanochee. And, besides these things, you have had a tolerably full account of buffaloes, bears, wild horses, wolves, deer and other animals, with the manner of hunting them; as well as a relation of Indian amus.e.m.e.nts, dances, sham fights, war-parties, encampments, alarms, attacks, scalping and retreats. Let me now, then, dwell a little on the Indian way of concluding a treaty of peace, and on a few other matters; after which, I will conclude with the best account I can give you of what the missionaries have done among the different tribes.”

_Austin._ I shall be very sorry when you have told us all.

_Brian._ And so shall I: for it is so pleasing to come here, and listen to what you tell us.

_Hunter._ When it is agreed between hostile tribes that a treaty of peace shall be made, the chiefs and medicine men of the adverse tribes meet together, and the calumet, or peace-pipe, ornamented with eagle quills, being produced, every one smokes a few whiffs through it. It is then understood by them that the tomahawk is to be buried. The pipe-of-peace dance is then performed by the warriors, to the beat of the Indian drum and rattle, every warrior holding his pipe in his hand.

_Brian._ That pipe-of-peace dance is a capital dance, for then bloodshed is at an end.

_Hunter._ Unfortunately, war is apt soon to break out again, and then the buried tomahawk becomes as busy as ever.

_Austin._ Well, I do like the Indians, in spite of all their faults, and I think they have been used cruelly by the whites.

_Hunter._ As a general remark, those Indians who have had least to do with civilized life are the most worthy of regard. Such as live near white men, or such as are frequently visited by them, seem to learn quickly the vices of others, without giving up their own. To observe the real character of red men, it is necessary to trace the turnings and windings of the Yellow Stone River, or the yet more remote sinuosities of the Upper Missouri. The nearer the United States, the more servile is the Indian character; and the nearer the Rocky Mountains, the more independent and open-hearted.

_Austin._ If I ever go among the red men, the Yellow Stone River, or the Upper Missouri, will be the place for me.

_Hunter._ Many of the chiefs of the tribes near the Rocky Mountains may be said to live in a state of splendour. They have the pure air of heaven around them and rivers abounding in fish. The prairie yields them buffaloes in plenty; and, as for their lodges and dress, some of them may be called sumptuous. Sometimes, twenty or thirty buffalo skins, beautifully dressed, are joined together to form a covering for a lodge; and their robes and different articles of apparel are so rich with ermine, the nails and claws of birds and animals, war-eagle plumes, and embroidery of highly coloured porcupine quills, that a monarch in his coronation robes is scarcely a spectacle more imposing.

_Austin._ Ay, I remember the dress of Mah-to-toh-pa, ”the four bears,”

his buffalo robe, his porcupine-quilled leggings, his embroidered buckskin moca.s.sins, his otter necklace, his buffalo horns, and his splendid head-dress of war-eagle plumes.

_Hunter._ In a state of war, it is the delight of a chief to leap on the back of his fiery steed, decorated as the leader of his tribe, and armed with his glittering lance and unerring bow, to lead on his band to victory. In the chase, he is as ardent as in the battle; smiling at danger, he plunges, on his flying steed, among a thousand buffaloes, launching his fatal shafts with deadly effect. Thus has the Indian of the far-west lived, and thus is he living still. But the trader and the rum-bottle, and the rifle and the white man are on his track; and, like his red brethren who once dwelt east of the Mississippi, he must fall back yet farther, and gradually decline before the approach of civilization.