Martinsburg gazette. [volume] (Martinsburg, Va. [W. Va.]) 1833-1855, 1844-10-03
gsttSteCCdtteouS.
INDIAN TRADITIONS.


Ia "Oneota, or the Red race of Amer.
ica," work Just published by Fl. R.
Schoolcrait, intended to illustrate the his.
tory, customs, &C., Of the aborigines, is
told the following beautiful tradition, the
Better Land /" OF which some CLEAN
exists in the hopes OF ell nations not to-
tally enveloped in Cimmerian darkness.
1t is prefaced by this account Of Indian
story telling:
II stranger among the Indian happens
to be seated with the family in the lodge,
(where the lonely wanderer has often
found welcome retreat he may some
times observe sudden commotion, and
find, from the countenances of the family
that agreeable news has arrived. "Old
has come There is general joy.
An old Indian enters, enfeebled by years,
and no longer able to join the warriors
and hunters, now perhaps absent on some
dangerous enterprise. He possesses a
memory retentive of the traditions of the
tribe, and probably an Imagination quick
at invention or establishment. AS me-
cessary qualification, he is one of the few
well acquainted with his native language.
He loves to repeat bis tales, and the chill
dren dearly love to listen. In the many
waste hours of savage life, the mother Of
ten realizes the inconvenience OF having
30 provide occupation for unemployed
minds and the story teller is welcomed
by her for the reIefhe brings.
The old mar, seated on the ground,
and surrounded by an attentive circle,
begins his tale and as the interest rises,
and the narrative requires it, he now
changes his tones to initiate different
speakers, varies his countenance and atti-
tudes, or moves across the lodge to per.
senate the characters he describes. The
mother without disturbance, places the
kettle on the fire, and quietly prepares
some savory dish to regale the old wan.
derer at the close Of his labors.
Thus, as by the minstrels, bards, and
trubadors of former days, and as by the
Turkish story. telers at the present time,
the Indians hand down their traditions OF
different kinds from generation to genera.
ton.
THE WHITE STONE CANOE.
There was once very beautiful young
girl, who died suddenly on the day she
was to have been married to handsome
Young man. He was also brave, but his
heart was not proof against this loss
From the hour she was buried, there was
no more Joy or peace for him. He went
often to visit the spot where the women
had buried her, and sat musing there,
when, it was thought by some Of his
friends, he would have done better to try
to amuse himself in the chase, OF by d.
verting his thoughts in tho war path.
But war snd hunting had both lost their
charms for him. His heart was already
dead within him. He pushed aside both
his war club and his bow and arrows.
He had heard the old people say, that
there was a path, that led to land OF
souls, and he determined to follow it. He
accordingly Sc, out, one morning after
having completed his preparations for the
journey. At first he hardly knew which
way to go. He was only guided by the
tradition that he must 60 to the south.
For while, he could see no change in
the face of the country. Forests, and
hills and valleys, and streams had the
same looks, which they wore in his native
place. There was snow on the ground
when ne set out, and it was sometimes
seen to be piled and matted On thick trees
and bushes. At length, it began TO d.
mnish, and finally disappeared. The
forests assumed a more cheerful appear
ance, the leaves put forth their buds, and
before he was aware Of the completeness
of the change, he found himself surround
by spring. He had left behind him the
land of snow a1d ice. The AIR became
mild, the dark clouds Of winter had rolled
away from the sky pure field of blue
was above him, and as he went he ga W
flowers beside his path, and heard the
songs Of birds. BY these Signs he knew
that he was going the right way, for they
agreed with the tradition of his tribe. A
length he spied a path. l. led him
through grove, then up long and ele'
vated ridge, on the very top Of which he
came to a lodge. At the door stood an
old man, with white hair, whose eyes
though sunk, had fiery b,iiliancy. He
had long robe of skins thrown loosely
around his shoulders, and staff in has
hands,
The young Chppewaysn began to tel
his story, but the venerable chief arrested
him befor he eproceeded ospeak ten words
have expected you, he replied, and had
just risen to bid you welcome 30 my abode
She. whom you seek, passed here but a
few days since, and beng iatlgued with
her journey, rested herself here. Ente'
my lodge and be seated, and ! will then
satisfy your inquiries, and give you dlrec'
lions, Tor your journey from this point
Having done this, they both issued forth
to the lodge door. "You see yonder gulf.
said he, "and the wide stretching blue
plains beyond. 1t is the land of souls.
You stand upon its bord RS, and my lodge
is the gate Of entrance. But you cannot
take your body along. Leave Il here
with your bow and arrows, your bundle
and your dog. You will find them safe
on your return" So saying, he re-entered
the lodge, and the freed traveller bounded
forward, as if his feet had suddenly been
endowed with the power of wings. But