University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

In the mean time Christina was taken home
by the Indian girl, who was called Aonetti,
which signifies Deer Eyes, from their resemblance
in wildness and brilliancy to those of
that animal. Aonetti was considered the
beauty of the village, having, in addition to her
fine eyes, a profusion of long black hair, a pretty,
round, graceful figure, and an expression of
tender seriousness in her countenance, peculiarly
interesting. The family consisted of Aonetti's
mother, an aged widow, and the Night Shadow, her
only son, one of the most distinguished warriors
and hunters of the tribe. Night Shadow was
upwards of six feet high, straight as a pine,

active as the deer, and brave as a lion. He
could turn his face towards any point of the
compass, and march a hundred miles through
the forest without deviating to the right or to
the left; he could follow the track of man or
beast upon the dry leaves, with the sagacious
instinct of a hound; and in hunting he disdained
to pursue any but the noblest beasts of the
forest. The wigwam inhabited by this family
was of the better sort, having two rooms, partitioned
off from each other by strips of bark.

Christina became an inmate of this simple
habitation, and was treated in all respects as if
she were the daughter of the same mother. Aonetti
was very fond of her, and gave her the name
of Mimi, which, in her language, signified the
Turtle Dove. The mother addressed her as
daughter, the young people as sister. Among
the savages, all women, whatever be their rank,
work, if they are capable of employment. With
the exception of a few slaves, who were sometimes
reserved from among their prisoners, the
labours of the field and of the household, were
all performed by the females. Poor Christina,
whose education had little qualified her for this
mode of life, made but an awkward hand at
planting corn, and little Deer Eyes often laughed

at her bringing up, as quite ridiculous for a
woman. Christina was therefore indulged in
the performance of less laborious duties, such
as bringing water from the spring, just in the
centre of the village; gathering cranberries,
and preparing their daily meals; to which last
she soon became adequate, as their art of cookery
was extremely simple. In this manner the
time passed away, heavily indeed; but although
her thoughts perpetually recurred to her home
in the village of Elsingburgh, and to the kindness
of her father, now dead perhaps, or if living,
mourning her absence in all the anxiety of
perfect ignorance whether she were living or
dead; still Christina did not sink under her
misfortunes. Perhaps the secret consciousness
that her lover was near, and shared her fate,
contributed not a little to support her in these
hours of trial.

The Long Finne, whose life, as we have before
stated, was reprieved by the widow, became
her slave, according to the Indian custom. For
a time he was narrowly watched, and never
suffered out of sight of the village. But perceiving
that he preserved a cheerful countenance,
and seemed by degrees to become reconciled to
his situation, they gradually relaxed in their

vigilance, and sometimes took him out hunting
with them.

The first time this happened, the Long
Finne, anxious to distinguish himself, shot so
well, that the savage hunters became not a little
jealous; for they are extremely tenacious of
their superior skill, not only in war, but in
hunting. Perceiving this to be the case,
Koningsmarke designedly missed several shots,
and they became highly pleased to think that
his first success was merely owing to chance.
By degrees, as he gained their confidence,
they suffered him to go into the woods by
himself to hunt, so that, if he could have endured
the thought of deserting Christina, he might,
in all probability, have escaped. He often
debated whether it would not be better to attempt
returning to Elsingburgh with a view to
apprise the Heer of his daughter's situation, in
order that measures might be taken to ransom
her; but the fear that the savages might perhaps
revenge his desertion by the sacrifice of
his fellow prisoners, deterred him from putting
this project into execution.

In the intervals of his labours, and in the evening,
the Long Finne, when he had become sufficiently
acquainted with the Indian language,

was amused with the conversation of an aged
Indian warrior, the father of his mistress, who
resided in the family. Ollentangi, as he was
called, had been in his day a great warrior,
statesman and hunter. But he was now nearly
seventy years old, and, being subject to rheumatism,
the common malady of the old Indians,
lived a life of leisure, and passed his time principally
in smoking. Ollentangi was considered
as one of the wisest men of his tribe, and, indeed,
so far as the light of nature would carry him,
was justly entitled to the appellation of a sage.
Had his opportunities been equal, he might perhaps
have been a Solon or a Socrates. With
this old man Koningsmarke often discussed
the comparative excellence of the Indian religion,
customs, laws, and modes of society,
contrasted with those of civilized nations, and
was frequently surprised at the ingenuity with
which he supported the superior happiness and
virtue of the savages.

It was Ollentangi's opinion, that the Great
Spirit had made the red-men for the shade, and
the white-men for the sunshine; the former to
hunt, the latter to work.

“Your Black Gowns,” would he say, “tell
us to believe as they do, and live as they live.

They say we must set about dividing our forests,
putting up fences, and ploughing with horses and
oxen. But who is to say what shall belong to
each man, that we may put up our fences accordingly?
Where are we to get oxen and horses?
We have nothing but furs to pay for them, and
if we leave off hunting before we have become
farmers, we shall neither have furs to barter, nor
meat to support us. As to our religion,” continued
he, “we think we can understand it,
but that is more than we can say of yours. Our
religion is fitted for our state of nature; it is
incorporated with our habits and manners, and
we must change these before we are fit to become
Christians. You may in time make us bad
Indians, but you will never make us good white-men.
Be certain that so long as we have plenty
of game, we shall never become farmers, nor
send our children to school, nor believe in your
Gods.”

“You talk of our Gods, Ollentangi,” said
Koningsmarke—“we acknowledge but one.”

“Yes, but then you have a Good Spirit and
an Evil Spirit, and your Good Spirit is, according
to your own account, not so powerful as
your Bad one, who not only causes your
world to be overrun with evil, but actually carries

off a vast many more people than your
Good Spirit. It would seem, from this, that he
was the more powerful of the two. Besides,
your Black Gowns have assured me that their
Good Spirit is composed of three Good Spirits,
all equal; therefore, you must have more Gods
than one.”

Koningsmarke endeavoured to explain the
mystery of the Trinity to Ollentangi, but without
effect. It was beyond the comprehension
of the man of nature, who continued obstinately
to affirm, that if the Great Spirit was composed
of three Great Spirits, they must have a plurality
of spirits, and that if it was not so composed,
then his doctrine could not be true.
Such is the utmost extent to which human reason
can carry the man of nature.

One day Ollentangi came, and with much
gravity informed Koningsmarke that he had a
great project in his head, for the benefit of the
white-men.

“Listen,” said he: “That you are a miserable
race in your own country, appears certain,
or you would not not have come hither to disturb
us. Now our wise men have just determined
to send some of our best conjurers out
to your country to convert your people to our

belief; to teach them to hunt the deer, and to
live without cheating one another in making
bargains: what think yon of this?”

“But,” said Koningsmarke, “your conjurers
don't understand our language.”

“Oh that is easily got over. They shall
teach your people ours,” replied Ollentangi.

“Well, but the state of society is so different
among us, that your conjurers could never
teach us to live as you do—besides, we have
so little game that if we all became hunters we
should be likely to starve.”

“Oh but we shall soon remedy that—we
shall plant acorns, and they in time will grow
into great forests of trees, and game will increase
accordingly.”

“Yes, but what shall we do while the trees
are growing? We have a saying, that while
the grass grows the steed starves. It will take
five thousand moons for the forest to become
like these.”

“Well, and how long will it take for an
Indian to become a white-man? A little tree, if
let alone, will grow into a great one within a
certain time. It takes longer to change men
than trees. But let us proceed, our conjurers
shall teach you, among other things, to believe

in all our great medicines, to make an eagle's
feather protect you from a bullet, a fish bone
ward off the lightning, and a tobacco leaf secure
you from all the dangers of the forest.
They shall teach you all these things.”

“But we can't be taught such things, Ollentangi;
we shall not be able to comprehend how,
or believe that a fish bone can be made to keep
off lightning. 'Tis contrary to all our experience,
and, to say the truth, is too foolish for the most
ignorant among us to believe. If it is a mystery,
we can't comprehend it; if it is no mystery
'tis no better than nonsense.”

Very well—you tell me our religion is too
foolish for your wisdom, and yours is too wise
for our folly. We shall teach you a little of our
ignorance in these matters, that you may comprehend
us; and you shall teach us some of
your wisdom, that we may comprehend you.
This will be proper and neighbourly. We shall
in time make men of you. I don't think your
case quite desperate.”

“But you will not be able to teach us ignorance,
as you call it. The mind never goes
backwards.”

“You have just acknowledged what I want
you to believe, namely, that we Indians are

wiser and happier than you. I have known several
white-men become Indians, but I never
saw an Indian turn white-man. Therefore, if the
human mind never goes backwards, 'tis a proof
that the state of nature is better than the civilized
state.”

One evening Koningsmarke undertook to
prove to Ollentangi, that a people who cultivated
the ground had a right to take it away from those
who only hunted upon it, because it was the will
of the Great Spirit that the human race should
increase to the greatest possible number in all
parts of the world. “Now you red-men pretend
to occupy the whole country for a hundred
miles round,” said the Long Finne, “though
there is but two or three hundred of you, and it
is large enough, if properly cultivated, to support
five hundred times as many.”

“Very well,” replied Ollentangi; “you say
it is the will of the Great Spirit that men should
increase and be happy. You told me the other
day, I remember, that your countrymen came
here to look for land, because there were too
many people and too little land in their country.
People then, by your account, can increase too
fast for their happiness. Now this never happens
to us red-men, therefore we are happier

than you. Besides, you tried to persuade me,
not long since, that hardly one in a hundred of
the white people were happy when they returned
to the region of souls. It is plain, therefore,
that the more people there are in this world, the
more they will want land, and the greater will
be the number of the miserable in a future state.
How is this?”

Koningsmarke undertook to explain all these
matters, but they were beyond the reach of the
old man's philosophy, although one of the most
acute Indians of the new world. Among other
things, Ollentangi laughed, a thing he very seldom
did, when Koningsmarke impeached the
right of the Indians to the forests, which they had
possessed for several generations.

“Listen to me,” said he—“More than twenty
thousand moons ago, a female pappoose was
found, only a month old, in the waters of a lake,
lying in a little canoe of rushes. When this
pappoose grew up, she became a great prophetess,
and before she disappeared she foretold the
coming of the white-men. She performed many
strange and wonderful things, such as turning
night into day, and water into dry land. As
our people increased, she made this continent,
which was, at first, but a little island; and told

us to remove hither, for we lived a great many
months' journey towards the rising sun. Though
our people were as yet but few, we wanted room
to hunt; so the squaw went to the water side,
and prayed that the little island might grow
bigger, for the use of her chosen people. The
Great Spirit hereupon sent a great number of
tortoises and muskrats, that brought mud, sand,
and other things, so that, in time, the island became
a great continent. In memory of this
service, our tribe was divided into two parts;
one of which is called the Mud-Turtle, the other
the Muskrat. Now, as our great grandmother
made this country for our own use entirely, and
on purpose that we might have plenty of room
to hunt in, it is plain that you white-men can
have no claim upon it, but that you tell as
great lies about your Great Spirit having made
it for you.”

At another time, Koningsmarke took occasion
to treat Ollentangi's philosophy and
religion with very little ceremony, affirming
that it was nothing but the light of nature,
which only served to lead people astray.

“Very good,” replied Ollentangi—“I see
every day, the bears, beavers, and all other
animals, pursuing their natural impulses, by

which they attain to such a degree of happiness
as they are capable of enjoying. The beasts
that live in the woods follow, then, what you
call the light of nature—now which is the happiest,
a dog that is chained up all day, whipped,
and kicked into the knowledge of white-men,
to snarl and bite, and point with his nose, or a
deer that runs wild in the forest, and pursues
what you call the light of nature?”

“I should think the deer,” replied Koningsmarke.

“Very well, then,” said Ollentangi; “is it
not the same with men? You white-men are
the dogs that are chained up, and taught to bite
each other; and we are the deer, that run free
and wild in the woods.”

Koningsmarke would then undertake to explain
the distinction between man and all other
animals; the former being governed by reason,
the latter only by instinct, and therefore of an
inferior race by nature. But Ollentangi stoutly
denied that there was any difference of this
kind, since, if any thing, the animals were wiser
a great deal than men.

“The beaver,” said he, “builds better houses
than we Indians, and the fox is better lodged in
winter than we. Had we been naturally as

reasonable as they, we should have made our
habitations under ground, at least for the cold
season. You white-men, it is true, build better
houses than the beavers, and are better lodged
than the foxes, but in attaining to this you have
become a miserable, degenerate race of slaves,
who do nothing but work all day long, and
buy and sell every thing, from your Maker,
down to the smallest article that you possess. You
see, therefore, that you have not such good reason
as you think, for running down the light of nature,
since, according to your own account, it must
have guided you at first to all your early and
fancied improvements.”

Koningsmarke then strove to convey to the
mind of the poor savage, some definite idea with
respect to the distinction between reason and
inspiration, the latter of which he told him was
the source of the christian religion. Ollentangi
shook his head.

“Yes!—this is what our jugglers and conjurers
tell us. They pretend that the Great
Spirit sends his messages by them. But we
don't believe it, because it is certain that if the
Great Spirit had any messages, he would send
them to the chiefs of the tribe, and not to such
contemptible fellows.”

The more, in fact, that Koningsmarke conversed
with the old Indian, the more he became
sensible that it was impossible to make him
comprehend the most simple elements of our
social and religious systems. Long before the
winter set in, the Long Finne became unalterably
convinced that all religions must be accommodated
to the state of society, as well as the
progress of intelligence; that religion is an
integral portion of both; and that the attempt to
propagate a system of faith at war with either,
must necessarily entirely fail, or, if partially
successful, be productive of great moral evil.

Many other discussions took place between
Ollentangi and Koningsmarke, but we have
already detailed sufficient to give some little
idea of the confined views and opinions of an
Indian sage. Besides, it is high time to return
to the fair and gentle Christina, whom, though
sometimes we seem to lose sight of, we never for
a moment forget.

During the first weeks of their captivity, such
was the watchful jealousy of the savages, that
Koningsmarke had no opportunity of speaking
either to Christina or honest Lob Dotterel, who,
being neither hunter nor warrior, and having no
little boys to keep in order, sunk into a personage

of very little consequence, in his own opinion.
The miracle of his wig, however, caused
him to be somewhat wondered at by the Indians.
The Long Finne sometimes met Christina at
the spring, without daring to talk but with his
eyes. In time, however, he was less watched,
and besides occasionally conversing, he sometimes
met her in the forest gathering cranberries.
On these occasions the desolate condition of the
poor girl, thus alone in the pathless wilderness
without a friend but him, caused the gentle
Christina to forget the scar on his neck, and
the warnings of Bombie of the Frizzled Head.
A flood of tender emotions rushed on her heart
at these times, and, as the tears trickled from
her eyes, which she turned up towards him like
an infant looking to its parent for protection,
she sometimes forgot to resist when he kissed
them away. The Long Finne occasionally
came to the wigwam where Christina resided,
and where his visits were not discouraged, more
especially by the blue-eyed Swede and the
dark-eyed Indian maid, the latter of whom, in
a little while, learned sufficient of their language
to make herself understood on various little occasions.
She was particularly importunate
with Christina to teach her how the Indian word
kisakia, which signifies “I love,” was pronounced
in her native language.

It was not long, in fact, before the gentle
Christina and the Deer Eyes, with that quick-sighted
instinct common to their sex, discovered,
or rather began to suspect, that they were, or
would soon become, rivals. At least it was so with
Christina; for the ignorance of Aonetti in the
modes and customs that restrain the exhibition
of certain feelings on the part of civilized women,
kept her for a long time from knowing the state
of Christina's heart. The Indian women are as
remarkable for the tenderness and warmth of
their affections, as the Indian men are for their
coldness and indifference. They become suddenly
and strongly attached, especially to white
men; and, being entirely governed by the feelings
of nature, do not hesitate to take upon
themselves those advances, which, among civilized
people, are the province of men alone.
The gentle and tender simplicity with which the
Indian girls of the better sort do this, is peculiarly
affecting, and takes from their advances
all appearance of indelicate forwardness.

The progress of this new sentiment in the
heart of Aonetti, was indicated in the increasing
languor of her eyes; her carelessness in the performance

of domestic duties; her solitary walks,
and her hanging about Christina's neck, kissing
her, and whispering, “I love him—O how I love
him!” She was accustomed, in her ramblings,
to compose little extemporary songs, and hum
them to wild tunes of her own fancying; one of
which Christina caught, and translated, or at
least imitated, in the following lines:

When Christina discovered the state of the
Indian girl's heart, it did not weaken her affection
for her adopted sister, or diminish her
grateful recollection of the kindness which she
owed to that kind-souled being. True, she did
not perhaps think her a dangerous rival, or it is
possible her feelings might have been somewhat
different. As it was, she returned her caresses,

and complied with her request to sing some of
those songs that were favourites with Koningsmarke,
that she too might learn them, and sing
his heart away, as she expressed it in her figurative
language. Though we firmly believe that
Christina was capable of feeling and exercising
as much generosity as ever fell to the lot of woman,
still we will not pretend to say, that her
sympathy for the Deer Eyes would have continued
unshaken, or survived the shock of her
successful rivalship. As it was, however, it
happened that circumstances and events occurred
about this time, that united the two
maidens in one common cause of jealousy and
apprehension.

The Indians among whom our hero and
heroine were now domesticated, had long been
on ill terms with a tribe dwelling on the banks
of the Ohio. There was a world of forest between
them, it is true; but the hunting excursions
of the savages, like the commercial pursuits
of civilized men, often made tribes who
lived at a distance from each other, neighbours
and rivals. Some hundred years before, one of
the Ohio tribe had been killed, by an Indian of
the Susquehanna, and the vengeance of an Indian
never sleeps or dies. The former, not long

previous to the period to which our history has
now arrived, had sent a petticoat to the latter,
accompanied by a most insulting message, that
“they were women, and no warriors—and that
they would shortly come, and make them run
into the hollow trees like woodchucks.” Such
banters were not uncommon among the savages,
and this message was considered a declaration of
war.

This war message, with the reflection which
i, containedt enraged the Rolling Thunder
and his warriors to such a degree, that they
resolved, with the approbation of the old men,
to convince the Ohio Indians they were not
women, by undertaking an expedition against
them forthwith. Preparatory to setting out,
however, they held a war dance.

This dance was accompanied by vocal and
instrumental music. The latter was produced
by a drum, made from a piece of hollow tree,
cut off so as to leave one end closed by the
wood, to hold water in the bottom. Over
the other end was drawn a piece of dried skin,
somewhat resembling parchment, and which,
when beaten upon with a stick, produced a
sound somewhat similar to a muffled-drum.
The party which was to go on this war expedition,

collected round an aged Indian, who now
began to sing, accompanying himself, by
striking upon the drum at regular intervals.
Each of these warriors, armed either with a
tomahawk, war-club, or spear, began to move
forward in concert towards the west, the
direction in which they were going to war.
When they had advanced about fifty or sixty
yards, they suddenly pointed their weapons, in
a furious and threatening manner, towards their
enemy, and, suddenly turning round, with a
terrible shout, danced back in concert as before.

They then began the war song, which was
sung by one person at a time, and consisted in
relating, in a sort of recititavo, the exploits of the
warrior himself, or what he was resolved to
perform in the expedition.

These promises are similar to the vows of
knight errantry; to shrink from their performance,
is considered an indelible disgrace, and
the warriors often sacrifice themselves rather
than fail. At the end of the relation of every
past exploit, the warrior struck a post with his
tomahawk, and those who had witnessed what
he related, testified to its truth by crying out—
“Huh! huh!” On the contrary, if he related
any thing that was doubtful, they shook their

heads, and were perfectly silent. The whole
ceremony was concluded by a loud shout, and
many young men who had declined going to
the war, were so animated with the scene, that
they immediately signified their intention to join
the expedition.

They next proceeded to the ceremony of
adopting Lob Dotterel, whom it was their intention
to admit into a participation of the
glories of the expedition; he having at length
gained their confidence, by his apparent cheerfulness,
and the readiness with which he accomodated
himself to their habits and customs.
Koningsmarke was already considered as belonging
to the tribe, in virtue of the widow's
choice.

The first part of this ceremony consisted in
pulling out all the hair, except what grows just
upon the crown of the head, which is left to be
dressed after the Indian fashion. As, however,
Lob Dotterel had no hair upon his head, they
proceeded, in lieu thereof, to infringe upon his
beard, which, by this time, had grown to a considerable
length. In order to proceed the more
expeditiously, the person who officiated in this
matter ever and anon dipped his fingers into
some ashes, which was placed on a piece of bark,

that he might take the better hold. The high
constable winced at every twitch, and the tears
rolled down his cheeks, to the great amusement
of the spectators. This being finished, they
proceeded to bore his nose and ears, into which
they hung certain rich copper rings, and jewels,
of unknown price, having cost them whole
kingdoms.

The high constable was then handed over to
three or four squaws, who led him to the river
side, bidding him plunge in head-foremost.
To this Lob Dotterel demurred, it being his
firm belief that they intended to drown him.
Upon this they laid hold of him, and, spite of
his sturdy resistance, dragged him into the
water, where they rubbed and scrubbed him
till he had scarcely any skin remaining. He
was then led to the council house, where he was
gorgeously decked with a new pair of leggings
and moccasins, beaded garters, porcupine
quills, hair dyed red, and, finally, accommodated
with a magnificent cap, made of the skin of a
buffalo's head, with the horns on. Then
seating him upon a bear skin, they gave him a
pipe, a tomahawk, and a pouch containing the
herb called killegenico, which they sometimes
used instead of tobacco, and materials for

striking fire. After this, they painted him in
their best style, and with all the colours they
had in their possession. This important ceremony
being concluded, an aged chief arose and
made him a long speech, the substance of which
was as follows:—

“My son—You have just had all the white
blood washed out of your body, and are now a
red chief. You are a great man, among a great
nation of warriors, and are from this day called
the Jumping Sturgeon, after a mighty Mingo
chief, who fell many moons ago fighting with
the Five Nations. My son, you are now of our
flesh and bone—your heart is our heart—our
hearts are your hearts—and as you fight in our
quarrels, so will we defend and protect you as
our son and brother!”

The Jumping Sturgeon was then solemnly
introduced to his new kinsmen and kinswomen,
and invited to a great feast, where he ate boiled
corn with a wooden Iadle, and got mortal tipsy;
which last ceremony completed his initiation
into the Muskrat tribe. Early the next morning,
the painted warriors, accompanied by
Koningsmarke and the illustrious Jumping
Sturgeon, set forth upon their expedition to the
Ohio. Koningsmarke was followed by the

tears of Christina, the hopes of Aonetti, and the
encouragement of the widow, who comforted
him with the assurance, that if he conducted
himself like a brave warrior, she would, on his
return with a reasonable number of scalps, make
him sole lord of herself and her pewter work.
The warriors left the village at the dawning of
day, chanting their marching song, of which the
following is a careless sort of translation: