University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

“An hundred canoes were ready on the banks of the river
Sarratay, for the conveyance to the opposite shore of the assembled
Cherokees. And down they came, warrior after warrior,
tribe after tribe, emblem after emblem, descending from the crags
around, in various order, and hurrying all with shouts, and whoops
and songs, grotesquely leaping to the river's bank, like so many
boys just let out of school. Hilarity is, indeed, the life of nature!
Civilization refines the one at the expense of the other, and then
it is that no human luxury or sport, as known in society, stimulates
appetite for any length of time. We can only laugh in the
woods—society suffers but a smile, and desperate sanctity, with
the countenance of a crow, frowns even at that.

“But, down, around, and gathering from every side, they came
—the tens and the twenties of the several tribes of Cherokee.
Grouped along the banks of the river, were the boats assigned to
each. Some, already filled, were sporting in every direction over
the clear bosom of that beautiful water. Moitoy himself, at the
head of the tribe of Nequassée, from which he came, had already
embarked; while the venerable Attakulla, with Jocassée, the gentle,
sat upon a little bank in the neighbourhood of the Occony
boats, awaiting the arrival of Cheochee and his party. And why
came they not? One after another of the several tribes had filled
their boats, and were either on the river or across it. But two
clusters of canoes yet remained, and they were those of the rival
tribes—a green bird flaunted over the one, and a brown viper, in
many folds, was twined about the pole of the other.

“There was sufficient reason why they came not. The strife
had begun;—for, when, gathering his thirteen warriors in a little
hollow at the termination of the valley through which they came,
Nagoochie beheld the slow and painful approach of the two stragglers
upon whom the Occonies had so practised—when he saw
the green bird, the beautiful emblem of his tribe, disfigured and

defiled—there was no longer any measure or method in his madness.
There was no longer a thought of Jocassée to keep him
back; and the feeling of ferocious indignation which filled his
bosom was the common feeling with his brother warriors. They
lay in wait for the coming of the Occonies, down at the foot of
the Yellow Hill, where the woods gathered green and thick.
They were few—but half in number of their enemies—but they
were strong in ardour, strong in justice, and even death was preferable
to a longer endurance of that dishonour to which they had
already been too long subjected. They beheld the approach of
the Brown Vipers, as, one by one, they wound out from the gap
of the mountain, with a fierce satisfaction. The two parties were
now in sight of each other, and could not mistake the terms of
their encounter. No word was spoken between them, but each
began the scalp-song of his tribe, preparing at the same time his
weapon, and advancing to the struggle.

“ `The green bird has a bill,' sang the Estatoees; `and he
flies like an arrow to his prey.'

“ `The brown viper has poison and a fang,' responded the Occonies;
`and he lies under the bush for his enemy.'

“ `Give me to clutch the war-tuft,' cried the leaders of each
party, almost in the same breath.

“ `To taste the blood,' cried another.

“ `And make my knife laugh in the heart that shrinks,' sung
another and another.

“ `I will put my foot on the heart,' cried an Occony.

“ `I tear away the scalp,' shouted an Estato, in reply; while
a joint chorus from the two parties, promised—

“ `A dog that runs, to the black spirit that keeps in the dark.'

“ `Echa-herro, echa-herro, echa-herro,' was the grand cry, or
fearful warwhoop, which announced the moment of onset and the
beginning of the strife.

“The Occonies were not backward, though the affair was
commenced by the Estatoees. Cheochee, their leader, was quite
as brave as malignant, and now exulted in the near prospect of
that sweet revenge, for all the supposed wrongs and more certain
rivalries which his tribe had suffered from the Green Birds. Nor
was this more the feeling with him than with his tribe. Disposing

themselves, therefore, in readiness to receive the assault, they rejoiced
in the coming of a strife, in which, having many injuries
to redress, they had the advantages, at the same time, of position
and numbers.

“But their fighting at disadvantage was not now a thought with
the Little Estatoees. Their blood was up, and like all usually
patient people, once aroused, they were not so readily quieted.
Nagoochie, the warrior now, and no longer the lover, led on the
attack. You should have seen how that brave young chief went
into battle—how he leapt up in air, slapped his hands upon his
thighs in token of contempt for his foe, and throwing himself open
before his enemies, dashed down his bow and arrows, and waving
his hatchet, signified to them his desire for the conflict, à l'outrance,
and, which would certainly make it so, hand to hand. The Occonies
took him at his word, and throwing aside the long bow, they
bounded out from their cover to meet their adversaries. Then
should you have seen that meeting—that first rush—how they
threw the tomahawk—how they flourished the knife—how the
brave man rushed to the fierce embrace of his strong enemy—and
how the two rolled along the hill in the teeth-binding struggle of
death.

“The tomahawk of Nagoochie had wings and a tooth. It flew
and bit in every direction. One after another, the Occonies went
down before it, and still his fierce war cry of `Echa-mal-Occony,'
preceding every stroke, announced another and another victim.
They sank away from him like sheep before the wolf that is
hungry, and the disparity of force was not so great in favour of
the Occonies, when we recollect that Nagoochie was against them.
The parties, under his fierce valour, were soon almost equal in
number, and something more was necessary to be done by the
Occonies before they could hope for that favourable result from
the struggle which they had before looked upon as certain. It
was for Cheochee now to seek out and to encounter the gallant
young chief of Estato. Nagoochie, hitherto, for reasons best
known to himself, had studiously avoided the leader of the Vipers;
but he could no longer do so. He was contending, in
close strife, with Okonettee, or the One-Eyed—a stout warrior of
the Vipers—as Cheochee approached him. In the next moment,

the hatchet of Nagoochie entered the skull of Okonettee. The
One-Eyed sunk to the ground, as if in supplication, and, seizing
the legs of his conqueror, in spite of the repeated blows which
descended from the deadly instrument, each of which was a death,
while his head swam, and the blood filled his eyes, and his senses
were fast fleeting, he held on with a death-grasp which nothing
could compel him to forego. In this predicament, Cheochee confronted
the young brave of Estato. The strife was short, for
though Nagoochie fought as bravely as ever, yet he struck in
vain, while the dying wretch, grappling his legs, disordered,
by his convulsions, not less than by his efforts, every blow which
the strong hand of Nagoochie sought to give. One arm was already
disabled, and still the dying wretch held on to his legs. In
another moment, the One-Eyed was seized by the last spasms of
death, and in his struggles, he dragged the Estato chief to his
knees. This was the fatal disadvantage. Before any of the
Green Bird warriors could come to his succour, the blow was
given, and Nagoochie lay under the knee of the Brown Viper.
The knife was in his heart, and the life not yet gone, when the
same instrument encircled his head, and his swimming vision
could behold his own scalp waving in the grasp of his conqueror.
The gallant spirit of Nagoochie passed away in a vain effort to
utter his song of death—the song of a brave warrior conscious of
many victories.

“Jocassée looked up to the hills when she heard the fierce cry
of the descending Vipers. Their joy was madness, for they had
fought with—they had slain, the bravest of their enemies. The
intoxication of tone which Cheochee exhibited, when he told the
story of the strife, and announced his victory, went like a death-stroke
to the heart of the maiden. But she said not a word—she
uttered no complaint—she shed no tear. Gliding quietly into
the boat in which they were about to cross the river, she sat silent,
gazing, with the fixedness of a marble statue, upon the still dripping
scalp of her lover, as it dangled about the neck of his conqueror.
On a sudden, just as they had reached the middle of the
stream, she started, and her gaze was turned once more backward

upon the banks they had left, as if, on a sudden, some object of
interest had met her sight,—then, whether by accident or design,
with look still intent in the same direction, she fell over the side,
before they could save or prevent her, and was buried in the deep
waters of Sarratay for ever. She rose not once to the surface.
The stream, from that moment, lost the name of Sarratay, and
both whites and Indians, to this day, know it only as the river of
Jocassée. The girls of Cherokee, however, contend that she did
not sink, but walking `the waters like a thing of life,' that she
rejoined Nagoochie, whom she saw beckoning to her from the
shore. Nor is this the only tradition. The story goes on to
describe a beautiful lodge, one of the most select in the valleys of
Manneyto, the hunter of which is Nagoochie of the Green Bird,
while the maiden who dresses his venison is certainly known as
Jocassée.”