When the Indian returned, he found the courageous woman
taking the skin from the carcass of the formidable brute. What iron
nerves these people must possess, when even a woman could dare and
do a deed like this!
The wolf they hold in great contempt, and scarcely deign to consider
him as an enemy. Peter Nogan assured me that he never was near
enough to one in his life to shoot it; that, except in large
companies, and when greatly pressed by hunger, they rarely attack
men. They hold the lynx, or wolverine, in much dread, as they often
spring from trees upon their prey, fastening upon the throat with
their sharp teeth and claws, from which a person in the dark could
scarcely free himself without first receiving a dangerous wound.
The cry of this animal is very terrifying, resembling the shrieks
of a human creature in mortal agony.
My husband was anxious to collect some of the native Indian airs,
as they all sing well, and have a fine ear for music, but all his
efforts proved abortive. "John," he said to young Nogan (who played
very creditably on the flute, and had just concluded the popular air
of "Sweet Home"), "cannot you play me one of your own songs?"
"Yes, - but no good."
"Leave me to be the judge of that. Cannot you give me a war-song?"
"Yes, - but no good," with an ominous shake of the head.
"A hunting-song?"
"No fit for white man," - with an air of contempt. "No good, no
good!"
"Do, John, sing us a love-song," said I, laughing, "if you have such
a thing in your language."
"Oh! much love-song - very much - bad - bad - no good for Christian man.
Indian song no good for white ears." This was very tantalising, as
their songs sounded very sweetly from the lips of their squaws, and
I had a great desire and curiosity to get some of them rendered into
English.
To my husband they gave the name of "the musician," but I have
forgotten the Indian word. It signified the maker of sweet sounds.
They listened with intense delight to the notes of his flute,
maintaining a breathless silence during the performance; their dark
eyes flashing into fierce light at a martial strain, or softening
with the plaintive and tender.
The cunning which they display in their contests with their enemies,
in their hunting, and in making bargains with the whites (who are
too apt to impose on their ignorance), seems to spring more from a
law of necessity, forced upon them by their isolated position and
precarious mode of life, than from any innate wish to betray. The
Indian's face, after all, is a perfect index of his mind. The eye
chances its expression with every impulse and passion, and shows
what is passing within as clearly as the lightning in a dark night
betrays the course of the stream.
