The lost hunter: A tale of early timesAdams, John Turvill
General
The lost hunter: A tale of early times
Adams, John Turvill
Adventure stories; Indians of North America -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
forest leaves? Ask of the month of flowers for the snows that 'Hpoon
scatters from his hand, or of the Yaupaae for the streams he pours
into the great Salt Lake. The sick-skinned stranger, with hair like
the curls of the vine, came from the rising sun. He was weak as a
little child: he shivered with the cold: he was perishing with hunger.
The red man was strong: he wrapped himself in bear skins and was warm;
he built his wigwam of bark, and defied the storm, and meat was plenty
in his pot. He pitied the dying stranger; he brought him on his back
out of the snow, and laid him by the fire; he chafed his limbs and
clothed him in furs; he presented venison with his own hands, and the
daughters of the tribes offered honey and cakes of maize, and wept for
compassion. And the pale face saw that our land was better than his
own, and he envied us, and sent messengers to his people to come and
strip us of our heritage. Then they came as the flights of pigeons in
the spring, innumerable: in multitudes as the shad and salmon, when
they ascend the thawed rivers. They poisoned the air with their
breaths, and the Indians died helpless in the pestilence. They made
war upon us, and drove us from our cornfields; they killed our old
men, and sent away our young men and maidens into slavery. O, Manito,
thus hath the accursed pale faces requited our kindness.
"Wast thou displeased with the red men O, Manito? Had the children of
the Forest offended thee, that thou didst deliver them into the hand
of their enemies? See, what thine inconsiderate anger hath done. Thou
hast destroyed us, and injured thyself. Where are the offerings that
once covered these rocks, the bears' meat and the venison, the
wampum, the feathers of the eagle, and sweet-smelling tobacco? Who now
honoreth the Manito of the loud voiced Yaupaae? I listen, but I hear
no answer."
Thus far the voice of Ohquamehud was low and melancholy, as the wail
of a broken heart, and his face sad, as of one lamenting for a friend,
but now it changed to a loftier expression, and the words were hissed
out with a guttural roughness, without being spoken much louder.
"O, Manito!" he continued, "I alone am left to offer thee the
sacrifice of the fragrant tobacco. Behold! I will fill thy pipe many
times if thou wilt assist me. Onontio hath done me much mischief. He
hath burned the villages of my people, and slain our warriors. Why
shouldst thou favor him? Is he not a dog which thou wilt kick away
from the door of thy lodge? He cometh, sometimes, and sitteth upon the
highest rock, to look down upon thy dwelling-place. It is to nourish
the pride of his heart. It is to exult that, as far as his eye can
see, it beholds no wigwam, nor one bringing thee gifts. Help Manito!
Think upon thine own wrongs,--remember the sufferings of the red man,
and give me the scalp of Onontio. Accept my offering."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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