Birch Bark Legends of Niagara.

by 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 cla.s.s 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, p.r.o.nounces 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 const.i.tuting 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 sh.o.r.es 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 ill.u.s.trating 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sociated with the beautiful forest, which together are pa.s.sing 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, pa.s.sing 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 sa.s.safras 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, n.o.ble 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 att.i.tudes 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 n.o.ble 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing by the stranger captives, a sigh escaped the old Indian as he saw the sympathetic looks that pa.s.sed between them and his daughter, and compared that n.o.ble young Chief, so soon to pa.s.s away, with the treacherous warrior who aspired to fill the War Chief's place, and receive his daughter with the t.i.tle. 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 he 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 pa.s.sed 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 sh.o.r.e, 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.