MONSIEUR VIOLET (FISCLE PART-IV) - FREDERICK MARRYAT (books to read this summer txt) 📗

Was Near Thee, Very

Near, The Good Spirit Whispered his Wishes, And I Have Saved thee For

Happiness. It Is I Who Must Die! I Am Nothing, Have No Friends, No One

To Care For Me, To Love Me, To Make Pleasant In the Lodge The Dull Hours

Of Night. Chief, Farewell!"

 

 

 

He Was Going, But The Chief Grasped him Firmly By The Arm,--

 

 

 

"Where Dost Thou Wish To Go? Dost Thou Know The Love Of A Brother? Didst

Thou Ever Dream Of One? I Have Said We Must Be Brothers To Each Other.

Come To The Wigwam."

 

 

 

They Returned to The Village In silence, And When They Arrived before

The Door Of The Council Lodge, The Chief Summoned everybody To Hear What

He Had To Communicate, And Ordered the Parents To Bring The Young Girl.

 

 

 

"Flower Of The Magnolia," Said He, Taking Her By The Hand, "Wilt Thou

Love Me Less As A Brother Than As A Husband? Speak! Whisper Thy Thought

To Me! Didst Thou Ever Dream Of Another Voice Than Mine, A Younger One,

Breathing Of Love And Despair?"

 

 

 

Then Leading The Girl To Where The Young Warrior Stood,--

 

 

 

"Brother," Said He, "Take Thy Wife And My Sister."

 

 

 

Turning Towards The Elders, The Chief Extended his Right Arm, So As To

Invite General Attention.

 

 

 

"I Have Called you," Said He, "That An Act Of Justice May Be Performed.

Hear My Words:--

 

 

 

"A Young Antelope Loved a Lily, Standing Under The Shade Of A Sycamore,

By The Side Of A Cool Stream. Dally He Came To Watch It As It Grew

Whiter And More Beautiful. He Loved it Very Much, Till One Day A Large

Bull Came And Picked up The Lily. Was It Good? No! The Poor Antelope

Fled towards The Mountains, Never Wishing To Return Any More Under The

Cool Shade Of The Sycamore. One Day He Met The Bull Down, And About To

Be Killed by A Big Bear. He Saved him. He Heard Only The Whisper Of His

Heart. He Saved the Bull, Although The Bull Had Taken Away The Pretty

Lily From Where It Stood, By The Cool Stream. It Was Good, It Was Well!

The Bull Said To The Antelope, 'We Shall Be Brothers, In joy And In

Sorrow!' And The Antelope Said There Could Be No Joy For Him Since The

Lily Was Gone. The Bull Considered. He Thought That A Brother Ought To

Make Great Sacrifices For A Brother, And He Said To The Antelope,

'Behold, There Is The Lily, Take It Before It Droops Away. Wear It In

Thy Bosom And Be Happy.' Chiefs, Sages, And Warriors, I Am The Bull:

Behold My Brother The Antelope. I Have Given Unto Him The Flower Of The

Magnolia. She Is The Lily That Grew By The Side Of The Stream, And Under

The Sycamore. I Have Done Well, I Have Done Much, Yet Not Enough For A

Great Chief, Not Enough For A Brother, Not Enough For Justice! Sages,

Warriors, Hear Me All. The Flower Of The Magnolia Can Lie But Upon The

Bosom Of A Chief. My Brother Must Become A Chief. He Is A Chief, For I

Divide With Him The Power I Possess: My Wealth, My Lodge, Are His Own;

My Horses, My Mules, My Furs, And All! A Chief Has But One Life, And It

Is A Great Gift That Cannot Be Paid Too Highly. You Have Heard My Words.

I Have Said!"

 

 

 

This Sounds Very Much Like A Romance, But It Is An Apache Story, Related

Of One Of Their Great Chiefs, During One Of Their Evening Encampments.

An Apache Having, In a Moment Of Passion, Accidentally Killed one Of The

Tribe, Hastened to The Chiefs To Deliver Himself Up To Justice. On His

Way He Was Met By The Brother Of His Victim, Upon Whom, According To

Indian Laws, Fell The Duty Of Revenge And Retaliation. They Were

Friends, And Shook Hands Together.

 

 

 

"Yet I Must Kill Thee, Friend," Said The Brother.

 

 

 

"Thou Wilt!" Answered the Murderer, "It Is Thy Duty; But Wilt Thou Not

Remember The Dangers We Have Passed together, And Provide And Console

Those I Leave Behind In my Lodge?"

 

 

 

"I Will," Answered the Brother. "Thy Wife Shall Be My Sister During Her

Widowhood; Thy Children Will Never Want Game, Until They Can Themselves

Strike The Bounding Deer."

 

 

 

The Two Indians Continued their Way In silence, Till At Once The Brother

Of The Murdered one Stopped.

 

 

 

"We Shall Soon Reach The Chiefs," Said He; "I To Revenge A Brother'S

Death, Thou To Quit For Ever Thy Tribe And Thy Children, Hast Thou A

Wish? Think, Whisper!"

 

 

 

The Murderer Stood Irresolute; His Glance Furtively Took The Direction

Of His Lodge. The Brother Continued,--

 

 

 

"Go To Thy Lodge. I Shall Wait For Thee Till The Setting Of The Sun,

Before The Council Door. Go! Thy Tongue Is Silent, But I Know The Wish

Of Thy Heart. Go!"

 

 

 

Such Traits Are Common In indian Life. Distrust Exists Not Among The

Children Of The Wilderness, Until Generated by The Conduct Of White Men.

These Stories, And Thousand Others, All Exemplifying The Triumph Of

Virtue And Honour Over Baseness And Vice, Are Every Day Narrated by The

Elders, In presence Of The Young Men And Children. The Evening

Encampment Is A Great School Of Morals, Where The Red-Skin Philosopher

Embodies In his Tales The Sacred precepts Of Virtue. A Traveller, Could

He Understand What Was Said, As He Viewed the Scene, Might Fancy Some Of

The Sages Of Ancient Greece Inculcating To Their Disciples Those

Precepts Of Wisdom Which Have Transmitted their Name Down To Us Bright

And Glorious, Through More Than Twenty Centuries.

 

 

 

I Have Stated that The Holy Men Among The Indians, That Is To Say, The

Keepers Of The Sacred lodges, Keep The Records Of The Great Deeds

Performed in the Tribe; But A Tribe Will Generally Boast More Of The

Great Virtues Of One Of Its Men Than Of The Daring Of Its Bravest

Warriors. "A Virtuous Man," They Say, "Has The Ear Of The Manitou, He

Can Tell Him The Sufferings Of Indian Nature, And Ask Him To

Soothe Them."

 

 

 

Even The Mexicans, Who, Of All Men, Have Had Most To Suffer, And Suffer

Daily From The Apaches[19], Cannot But Do Them The Justice They So Well

Deserve. The Road Betwixt Chihuahua And Santa Fe Is Almost Entirely

Deserted, So Much Are The Apaches Dreaded; Yet They Are Not Hated by The

Mexicans Half As Much As The Texans Or The Americans. The Apaches Are

Constantly At War With The Mexicans, It Is True; But Never Have They

Committed any Of Those Cowardly Atrocities Which Have Disgraced every

Page Of Texan History. With The Apaches There Are No Murders In cold

Blood, No Abuse Of The Prisoners. A Captive Knows That He Will Either

Suffer Death Or Be Adopted in the Tribe; But He Has Never To Fear The

Slow Fire And The Excruciating Torture So Generally Employed by The

Indians In the United states Territories.

 

 

 

[Footnote 19: What I Here Say Of The Apaches Applies To The Whole

Shoshone Race.]

 

 

 

Their Generosity Is Unbounded; And By The Treatment I Received at Their

Hands The Reader May Form An Idea Of That Brave People. They Will Never

Hurt A Stranger Coming To Them. A Green Bough In his Hand Is A Token Of

Peace. For Him They Will Spread The Best Blankets The Wigwam Can Afford;

They Will Studiously Attend To His Wants, Smoke With Him The Calumet Of

Peace, And When He Goes Away, Whatever He May Desire From Among The

Disposable Wealth Of The Tribe, If He Asks For It, It Is Given.

 

 

 

Gabriel Was Once Attacked near Santa Fe, And Robbed of His Baggage, By

Some Honest Yankee Traders. He Fell In with A Party Of Apaches, To Whom

He Related the Circumstance. They Gave Him Some Blankets, And Left Him

With Their Young Men At The Hunting-Lodges They Had Erected. The Next

Day They Returned with Several Yankee Captives, All Well Tied, To

Prevent Any Possibility Of Escape. These Were The Thieves; And What They

Had Taken Of Gabriel Was, Of Course, Restored to Him, One Of The Indians

Saying, That The Yankees, Having Blackened and Soiled the Country By

Theft, Should Receive The Punishment Of Dogs, And As It Was Beneath An

Apache To Strike Them, Cords Were Given To Them, With Orders That They

Should Chastise Each Other For Their Rascality. The Blackguards Were

Obliged to Submit, And The Dread Of Being Scalped was Too Strong Upon

Them To Allow Them To Refuse. At First They Did Not Seem To Hurt Each

Other Much; But One Or Two Of Them, Smarting Under The Lash, Returned

The Blows In good Earnest, And Then They All Got Angry, And Beat Each

Other So Unmercifully That, In a Few Minutes, They Were Scarcely Able To

Move. Nothing Could Exceed the Ludicrous Picture Which Gabriel Would

Draw Out Of This Little Event.

 

 

 

There Is One Circumstance Which Will Form A Particular Datum In the

History Of The Western Wild Tribes,--I Mean The Terrible Visitation Of

The Small-Pox. The Apaches, Comanches, The Shoshones, And Arrapahoes Are

So Clean And So Very Nice In the Arrangement Of Their Domestic Comforts,

That They Suffered very Little, Or Not At All; At Least, I Do Not

Remember A Single Case Which Brought Death In these Tribes; Indeed, As I

Have Before Mentioned, The Shoshones Vaccinate.

 

 

 

But Such Was Not The Case With The Club Indians Of The Colorado Of The

West, With The Crows, The Flat-Heads, The Umbiquas, And The Black-Feet.

These Last Suffered a Great Deal More Than Any People In the World Ever

Suffered from Any Plague Or Pestilence. To Be Sure, The Mandans Had Been

Entirely Swept From The Surface Of The Earth; But They Were Few, While

The Black-Feet Were Undoubtedly The Most Numerous And Powerful Tribe In

The Neighbourhood Of The Mountains. Their War-Parties Ranged the Country

From The Northern English Posts On The Slave Lake Down South To The Very

Borders Of The Shoshones, And Many Among Them Had Taken Scalps Of The

Osages, Near The Mississippi, And Even Of The Great Pawnees. Between The

Red river And The Platte They Had Once One Hundred villages, Thousands

And Thousands Of Horses. They Numbered more Than Six Thousand Warriors.

Their Name Had Become A By-Word Of Terror On The Northern Continent,

From Shore To Shore, And Little Children In the Eastern States, Who Knew

Not The Name Of The Tribes Two Miles From Their Dwellings, Had Learned

To Dread Even The Name Of A Black-Foot. Now The Tribe Has Been Reduced

To Comparative Insignificancy By This Dreadful Scourge. They Died by

Thousands; Whole Towns And Villages Were Destroyed; And Even Now, The

Trapper, Coming From The Mountains, Will Often Come Across Numberless

Lodges In ruins, And The Blanched skeletons Of Uncounted and Unburied

Indians. They Lost Ten Thousand Individuals In less Than Three Weeks.

 

 

 

Many Tribes But Little Known Suffered pretty Much In the Same Ratio. The

Club Indians I Have Mentioned, Numbering Four Thousand Before The

Pestilence, Are Now Reduced to Thirty Or Forty Individuals; And Some

Apaches Related to Me That Happening at That Time To Along The Shores Of

The Colorado, They Met The Poor Fellows Dying By Hundreds On The Very

Edge Of The Water, Where They Had Dragged themselves To Quench Their

Burning Thirst, There Not Being among Them One Healthy Or Strong Enough

To Help And Succour The Others. The Navahoes, Living In the

Neighbourhood Of The Club Indians, Have Entirely Disappeared; And,

Though Late Travellers Have Mentioned them In their Works, There Is Not

One Of Them Living Now.

 

 

 

Mr. Farnham Mentions Them In his "Tour On The Mountains"; But He Must

Have Been Mistaken, Confounding One Tribe With Another, Or Perhaps

Deceived by The Ignorance Of The Trappers; For That Tribe Occupied a

Range Of Country Entirely Out Of His Track, And Never Travelled by

American Traders Or Trappers. Mr. Farnham Could Not Have Been In their

Neighbourhood By At Least Six Hundred miles.

 

 

 

The Villages Formerly Occupied by The Navahoes Are Deserted, Though Many

Of Their Lodges Still Stand; But They Serve Only To Shelter Numerous

Tribes Of Dogs, Which, Having Increased wonderfully Since There Has Been

No One To Kill And Eat Them, Have Become The Lords Of Vast Districts,

Where They Hunt In packs. So Numerous And So Fierce Have They Grown,

That The Neighbouring Tribes Feel Great Unwillingness To Extend Their

Range To Where They May Fall In with These Canine Hunters.

 

 

 

This Disease, Which Has Spread North As Far As The Ohakallagans, On The

Borders Of The Pacific Ocean, North Of Fort Vancouver, Has Also Extended

Its Ravages To The Western Declivity Of The Arrahuac, Down To 30 Deg. North

Lat., Where Fifty Nations That Had A Name Are Now Forgotten, The

Traveller, Perchance, Only Reminded that They Existed when He Falls In

With Heaps Of Unburied bones.

 

 

 

How The Black-Feet Caught The Infection It Is Difficult To Say, As Their

Immediate Neighbours