A cousin of mine (I have now a large Chippewa cousinship) went on a hunting excursion, leaving his wife and child in his lodge. During his absence, a party of Sioux carried them off, and on his return he found his fire extinguished, and his lodge empty. He immediately blackened his face (Indian mourning), and repaired to the lodge of his wife's brother, to whom he sang, in a kind of mournful recitative, the following song; the purport of which seems to be partly a request for aid against his enemies, and partly an excuse for the seeming fault of leaving his family unprotected in his wigwam.

My brother-in-law, do not wrongfully accuse me for this seeming neglect in exposing my family, for I have come to request aid from my brother-in-law!

The cry of my little son was heard as they carried him across the prairie, and therefore I have come to supplicate aid from my brother-in-law.

And the voice also of my wife was heard as they carried her across the prairie; do not then accuse your brother-in-law, for he has come to seek aid from his brother-in-law!

This song is, in measure, ten and eight syllables alternately; and the perpetual recurrence of the word brother-in-law seems intended to impress the idea of their relationship on the mind of the hearer.

The next is the address of a war party to their women, on leaving the village.[44]

Do not weep, do not weep for me, Loved women, should I die; For yourselves alone should you weep!

Poor are ye all and to be pitied: Ye women, ye are to be pitied!

I seek, I seek our fallen relations, I go to revenge, revenge the slain, Our relations fallen and slain, And our foes, our foes shall lie Like them, like them shall they lie, I go to lay them low, to lay them low!

And then _da capo_, over and over again.

The next is a love song, in the same style of iteration.

'Tis now two days, two long days, Since last I tasted food; 'Tis for you, for you, my love, That I grieve, that I grieve, 'Tis for you, for you that I grieve!

The waters flow deep and wide, On which, love, you have sailed; Dividing you far from me.

'Tis for you, for you, my love, 'Tis for you, for you that I grieve!

If you look at some half thousand of our most fashionable and admired Italian songs--the Notturni of Blangini, for instance--you will find them very like this Chippewa canzonetta, in the no meaning and perpetual repet.i.tion of certain words and phrases; at the same time, I doubt if it be _always_ necessary for a song to have a meaning--it is enough if it have a sentiment.

Here are some verses of a war song, in the same style as to composition, but breathing very different sentiments.

I sing, I sing, under the centre of the sky, Under the centre of the sky Under the centre of the sky I sing, I sing, Under the centre of the sky!

Every day I look at you, you morning star, You morning star; Every day I look at you, you morning star, You morning star.

The birds of the brave take a flight round the sky, A flight round the sky; The birds of the brave take a flight, take a flight, A flight round the sky.

They cross the enemies' line, the birds!

They cross the enemies' line; The birds, the birds, the ravenous birds, They cross the enemies' line.

The spirits on high repeat my name, Repeat my name; The spirits on high, the spirits on high, Repeat my name.

Full happy am I to be slain and to lie, On the enemy's side of the line to lie; Full happy am I, full happy am I, On the enemies' side of the line to lie.

I give you these as curiosities, and as being at least genuine; they have this merit, if they have no other.

Of the next song, I subjoin the music. It seems to have been composed on a young American (_a Long-knife_), who made love to a Chippewa girl (_Ojibway quaince_).

[Ill.u.s.tration: OJIBWAY QUAINCE.]

_Slow._

Aun dush ween do we nain, Git-chee mo-ko-maum aince Kah zah wah da mood We ya ya hah ha we ya ya hah ha.

We ah, bem, ah de, We mah jah need de, We ne moo, sha yun We ya, ya hah ha! we ya ya hah ha!

O mow we mah ne We mah jah need de, O jib way quaince un ne, We ya, ya hah ha! we ya ya hah ha!

Kah ween, goo shah, ween ne, Keesh wan zhe e we ye O gah, mah we mah zeen.

We ya, ya hah ya! we ya ya hah ha!

Mee goo shah ween e goo Ke bish quah bem ah de Che wah nain ne mah de.

We ya, ya hah ha! we ya ya hah ha!

The literal meaning of the song, without the perpetual repet.i.tions and transpositions, is just this:

Hah! what is the matter with the young Long-knife? he crosses the river with tears in his eyes. He sees the young Chippewa girl preparing to leave the place; he sobs for his sweetheart because she is going away, but he will not sigh for her long: as soon as she is out of sight he will forget her!

[Footnote 44: From Mr. Schoolcraft, translated literally by Mrs.

Schoolcraft.]

INDIAN MISSIONS.

I have been too long on the other side of the river; I must return to our Canadian sh.o.r.e, where indeed, I now reside, under the hospitable roof of our missionary. Mrs. MacMurray's overflowing good-nature, cleverness, and liveliness, are as delightful in their way as the more pensive intelligence of her sister.

I have had some interesting talk with Mr. MacMurray on the subject of his mission and the character of the people consigned to his care and spiritual guidance. He arrived here in 1832, and married Charlotte Johnston (O,ge,bu,no,qua) the following year. During the five years which have elapsed since the establishment of the mission, there have been one hundred and forty-five baptisms, seven burials, and thirteen marriages; and the present number of communicants is sixty-six.

He is satisfied with his success, and seems to have gained the good-will and attachment of the Indians around; he owes much, he says, to his sweet wife, whose perfect knowledge of the language and habits of her people have aided him in his task. She is a warm enthusiast in the cause of conversion, and the labour and fatigue of interpreting the prayers and sermons, and teaching the Indians to sing, at one time seriously affected her health. She has a good voice and correct ear, and has succeeded in teaching several of the women and children to sing some of our church hymns very pleasingly. She says all the Indians are pa.s.sionately fond of music, and that it is a very effective means of interesting and fixing their attention. Mr. MacMurray says, they take the most eager delight in the parables, and his explanations of them--frequently melting into tears. When he collected them together and addressed them, on his first arrival, several of those present were intoxicated, he therefore took the opportunity of declaiming against their besetting vice in strong terms. After waiting till he had finished, one of their chief men arose and replied gravely: "My father, before the white men came, we could hunt and fish, and raise corn enough for our families; we knew nothing of your fire-water. If it is so very bad, why did the white men bring it here? _we_ did not desire it!"

They were in a degraded state of poverty, recklessness, and misery: there is now at least _some_ improvement; about thirty children attend Mrs. MacMurray's school; many of them are decently clothed, and they have gardens in which they have raised crops of potatoes and Indian corn. The difficulty is to keep them together for any time sufficient to make a permanent impression: their wild, restless habits prevail: and even their necessities interfere against the efforts of their teachers; they go off to their winter hunting-grounds for weeks together, and when they return, the task of instruction has to begin again.

One of their chiefs from the north came to Mr. MacMurray, and expressed a wish to become a Christian; unfortunately, he had three wives, and, as a necessary preliminary, he was informed that he must confine himself to one. He had no objection to keep the youngest, to whom he was lately married, and put away the two others, but this was not admissible. The one he had first taken to wife was to be the permitted wife, and no other. He expostulated; Mr. MacMurray insisted; in the end, the old man went off in high dudgeon. Next morning there was no sign of his wigwam, and he never applied again to be "made a Christian," the terms apparently being too hard to digest. "The Roman Catholic priests," said Mr. MacMurray, "are not so strict on this point as we are; they insist on the convert retaining only one wife, but they leave him the choice among those who bear that t.i.tle."

They have a story among themselves of a converted Indian, who, after death, applied for admittance to the paradise of the white men, and was refused; he then went to the paradise of the Red-skins, but _there_ too he was rejected: and after wandering about for some time disconsolate, he returned to life (like Gitchee Gausinee), to warn his companions by his experience in the other world.

Mr. MacMurray reckons among his most zealous converts several great medicine-men and conjurors. I was surprised at first at the comparative number of these, and the readiness with which they become Christians; but it may be accounted for in two ways: they are in general the most intelligent men in the tribe, and they are more sensible than any others of the false and delusive nature of their own tricks and superst.i.tious observances. When a sorcerer is converted, he, in the first place, surrenders his _meta,wa,aun_, or medicine-sack, containing his manitos.

Mr. MacMurray showed me several; an owl-skin, a wild cat-skin, an otter-skin; and he gave me two, with the implements of sorcery; one of birch-bark, containing the skin of a black adder; the other, an embroidered mink-skin, contains the skin of an enormous rattle-snake (four feet long), a feather died crimson, a cowrie sh.e.l.l, and some magical pebbles, wrapped up in bark--the spells and charms of this Indian Archimago, whose name was, I think, Matabash. He also gave me a drum, formed of a skin stretched over a hoop, and filled with pebbles, and a most portentous looking rattle formed of about a hundred bears'

claws, strung together by a thong, and suspended to a carved stick, both being used in their medicine dances.

The chief of this Chippewa village is a very extraordinary character.

His name is Shinguaconse, _the Little Pine_, but he chooses to drop the adjunct, and calls himself the Pine. He is not an hereditary chief, but an elective or war-chief, and owes his dignity to his bravery and to his eloquence; among these people, a man who unites both is sure to obtain power. Without letters, without laws, without any arbitrary distinctions of rank or wealth, and with a code of morality so simple, that upon _that_ point they are pretty much on a par, it is superior natural gifts, strength, and intelligence, that raise an Indian to distinction and influence. He has not the less to fish for his own dinner, and build his own canoe.

Shinguaconse led a band of warriors in the war of 1812, was at Fort Malden, and in the battle of the Moravian towns. Besides being eloquent and brave he was a famous conjuror. He is now a Christian, with all his family; and Mr. MacMurray finds him a most efficient auxiliary in ameliorating the condition of his people. When the traders on the opposite side endeavoured to seduce him back to his old habit of drinking, he told them, "When I wanted it you would not give it to me; now I do not want it you try to force it upon me; drink it yourselves!"

and turned his back.

The ease with which liquor is procured from the opposite sh.o.r.e, and the bad example of many of the soldiers and traders are, however, a serious obstacle to the missionary's success. Nor is the love of whisky confined to the men. Mrs. MacMurray imitated with great humour the deportment of a tipsy squaw, dragging her blanket after her, with one corner over her shoulder, and singing, in most blissful independence and defiance of her lordly husband, a song, of which the burden is,--

"The Englishman will give me some of his milk!