Hunting-knife, and in all the little ornaments in
which he delights. It is almost impossible for a settler to imitate
to perfection an Indian's cherry-wood paddle. My husband made very
creditable attempts, but still there was something wanting - the
elegance of the Indian finish was not there. If you show them a
good print, they invariably point out the most natural, and the
best-executed figure in the group. They are particularly delighted
with pictures, examine them long, and carefully, and seem to feel
an artist-like pleasure in observing the effect produced by light
and shade.
I had been showing John Nogan, the eldest son of old Peter, some
beautiful coloured engravings of celebrated females; to my
astonishment he pounced upon the best, and grunted out his
admiration in the most approved Indian fashion. After having looked
for a long time at all the pictures very attentively, he took his
dog Sancho upon his knee, and showed him the pictures, with as much
gravity as if the animal really could have shared in his pleasure.
The vanity of these grave men is highly amusing. They seem perfectly
unconscious of it themselves and it is exhibited in the most
child-like manner.
Peter and his son John were taking tea with us, when we were joined
by my brother, Mr. S - -. The latter was giving us an account of the
marriage of Peter Jones, the celebrated Indian preacher.
"I cannot think," he said, "how any lady of property and education
could marry such a man as Jones. Why, he's as ugly as Peter here."
This was said, not with any idea of insulting the red-skin on
the score of his beauty, of which he possessed not the smallest
particle, but in total forgetfulness that our guest understood
English. Never shall I forget the red flash of that fierce dark eye
as it glared upon my unconscious brother. I would not have received
such a fiery glance for all the wealth that Peter Jones obtained
with his Saxon bride. John Nogan was highly amused by his father's
indignation. He hid his face behind the chief; and though he kept
perfectly still, his whole frame was convulsed with suppressed
laughter.
A plainer human being than poor Peter could scarcely be imagined;
yet he certainly deemed himself handsome. I am inclined to think
that their ideas of personal beauty differ very widely from ours.
Tom Nogan, the chief's brother, had a very large, fat, ugly squaw
for his wife. She was a mountain of tawny flesh; and, but for the
innocent, good-natured expression which, like a bright sunbeam
penetrating a swarthy cloud, spread all around a kindly glow, she
might have been termed hideous.
This woman they considered very handsome, calling her "a fine
squaw - clever squaw - a much good woman;" though in what her
superiority consisted, I never could discover, often as I visited
the wigwam. She was very dirty, and appeared quite indifferent to
the claims of common decency (in the disposal of the few filthy
rags that covered her). She was, however, very expert in all Indian
craft. No Jew could drive a better bargain than Mrs. Tom; and her
urchins, of whom she was the happy mother of five or six, were as
cunning and avaricious as herself.
One day she visited me, bringing along with her a very pretty
covered basket for sale. I asked her what she wanted for it, but
could obtain from her no satisfactory answer. I showed her a small
piece of silver. She shook her head. I tempted her with pork and
flour, but she required neither. I had just given up the idea of
dealing with her, in despair, when she suddenly seized upon me, and,
lifting up my gown, pointed exultingly to my quilted petticoat,
clapping her hands, and laughing immoderately.
Another time she led me all over the house, to show me what she
wanted in exchange for BASKET. My patience was well nigh exhausted
in following her from place to place, in her attempt to discover the
coveted article, when, hanging upon a peg in my chamber, she espied
a pair of trousers belonging to my husband's logging-suit. The
riddle was solved. With a joyful cry she pointed to them, exclaiming
"Take basket. Give them!" It was with no small difficulty that I
rescued the indispensables from her grasp.
From this woman I learned a story of Indian coolness and courage
which made a deep impression on my mind. One of their squaws, a near
relation of her own, had accompanied her husband on a hunting
expedition into the forest. He had been very successful, and having
killed more deer than they could well carry home, he went to the
house of a white man to dispose of some of it, leaving the squaw to
take care of the rest until his return. She sat carelessly upon the
log with his hunting-knife in her hand, when she heard the breaking
of branches near her, and turning round, beheld a great bear only a
few paces from her.
It was too late to retreat; and seeing that the animal was very
hungry, and determined to come to close quarters, she rose, and
placed her back against a small tree, holding her knife close to her
breast, and in a straight line with the bear. The shaggy monster
came on. She remained motionless, her eyes steadily fixed upon her
enemy, and as his huge arms closed around her, she slowly drove the
knife into his heart. The bear uttered a hideous cry, and sank dead
at her feet. When the Indian returned, he found the courageous woman
taking the skin from the carcass of the formidable brute.
