Chapter IX: Introduction (8)

"Joy came no more to the bereaved lover. The chase afforded him no pleasure, for who was to share his spoils? He found no joy in pursuing the salmon, for no one lived to reward his successful quest with the smile of approbation. He told his discontent in the ears of his people, and spoke of his determination, at all events, to rejoin his beloved maiden. She had but removed, he said, to some happier region, as the Arctic birds fly south at the approach of winter; and it required but due diligence on his part to find her. Having prepared himself, as a hunter prepares himself, with a store of pemmican, or dried beef, and armed himself with his war-spear and bow and arrow, he set out upon his journey to the Land of Souls. Directed by the old tradition of his fathers, he travelled south to reach that region, leaving behind him the great star, and the fields of eternal ice. As he moved onwards he found a more pleasant region succeeding to that in which he had lived. Daily, hourly, he remarked the change. The ice grew thinner, the air warmer, the trees taller. Birds, such as he had never seen before, sang in the bushes, and fowls of many kinds, before unknown, were pluming themselves in the warm sun on the shores of the lake. The gay woodpecker was tapping the hollow beech; the swallow and the martin were skimming along the level of the green vales. He heard no more the cracking of branches of trees beneath the weight of icicles and snow;--he saw no more the spirits of departed men dancing wild dances on the skirts of the Northern clouds(2); and the farther he travelled the milder grew the skies, the longer was the period of the sun's stay upon the earth, and the softer, though less brilliant, the light of the moon. Noting these changes as he went with a joyful heart--for they were indications of his near approach to the land of joy and delight--he came at length to a cabin, situated on the brow of a steep hill, in the middle of a narrow road. At the door of this cabin stood a man of a most ancient and venerable appearance. He was bent nearly double with age; his locks were white as snow; his eyes were sunk very far into his head, and the flesh was wasted from his bones till they were like trees from which the bark had been peeled. He was clothed in a robe of white goat-skin, and a long staff supported his tottering limbs whithersoever he walked. The Chepewyan began to tell him who he was, and why he had come thither, but the aged man prevented him, by saying that he knew all. "There had passed," he said, "to the beautiful island, a little while before, the soul of a tender and lovely maiden, well known to the son of the Red Elk. Being fatigued with her long journey, he had rested awhile in his cabin, and had then told him the story of their long and affectionate attachment, and her persuasion that her lover would attempt to follow her to the Lake of Spirits. She had but just passed, and a little more speed on his part would enable him to overtake her. But he could not be permitted to carry his body, nor the body of his dog, nor his bow, nor his war-spear, beyond the door of the cabin, which was the gate of the land. He must leave them in his charge till his return, but he need not fear that harm would happen to them. So saying, he opened the gate, and gave him a glimpse of the wide and spacious road beyond.""

The Chepewyan was not long in disincumbering himself of the deadening clog of mortality. Leaving his body, and the bodies of his dog, and spear, and bow, in the hands of the gatekeeper, with a charge to have them delivered to his friends if he should not return, he entered upon the road to the Blissful Island. He had travelled but a couple of bowshots, when it met his view still more beautiful than his fathers had painted it. He stood upon the brow of a hill, sloping gently away to a smooth lake, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Upon its banks were groves of beautiful trees of all kinds, and many, very many canoes were seen gliding over its waters. A light breeze ruffled its waves--so light that they only reminded him of the opposition which a weak man makes to the will of the strong. Afar, in the centre of the lake, lay the beautiful island appointed for the residence of the good Chepewyan. And scarcely three bowshots from him, leaning upon a bank of flowers, in contemplation of the glorious scene, was the soul of her so fondly loved. Beautiful vision! The sight lends to his steps the fleetness of an antelope; he bounds forward, and is soon at her side. Into his arms she flies, and though they clasp but thin air, embrace but her resemblance, yet the doing so gives a hundred times the joy it could have done, when his spirit was clogged with the grossness of mortality, and he folded to his breast a corporeal form.

At length they reached the lake. They found upon its bank, chained by a rope of sand to the shade of a willow, two canoes made of a white stone that glittered in the sun like a field of ice. There were paddles in each canoe of the same material. The lovers were prepared for this by the tradition of their fathers, which informed them that a canoe of stone was the conveyance by which they were to reach the happy mansions. They also knew that each soul must have its separate conveyance, because the passage was to give rise to the judgment which permitted them to sit down in the happy dwellings, or doomed them to the punishment prepared for the wicked. Casting off the rope of sand, each stepped into a canoe, and committed it to the Water of Judgment. Who can describe their joy and satisfaction, when they found that, though the actions of their life-time had not been entirely pure; though the man had sometimes slaughtered more musk-oxen than he could eat, speared salmon to be devoured by the brown eagle, and gathered rock-moss to rot in the rain; though he had once made mock of a priest, and once trembled at the war-cry of the Knisteneaux, and once forgotten to throw into the fire the tongue of a beaver as an offering to the Being who bade it cross his hunting-path in a season of scarcity; and though the maiden had suffered her father to wear tattered mocassins, and her brothers broken snow-shoes, and thought of her lover when she should have been thinking of the Master of Life--still the canoes did not sink, but floated slowly on, level with the water, towards the Happy Island. They found that the paddles were not needed--once passed the Judgment test, once pronounced fit for the happy lands, the canoe moved, self-impelled, to the appointed harbour. As they floated onwards, their eyes and ears were pained by a thousand sights and sounds of horror. Now they saw a canoe sink from under the person it was appointed to judge--a father, perhaps, with his children in view; a husband, or wife, or friend, with the object dearest to their hearts, to listen to the bubling cry of their agony, as they sank to their chins in the water, there to remain for ever, beholding and regretting the rewards enjoyed by the good, and doomed to struggle, till the stars shall cease to shine, in unavailing endeavours to reach the blissful island. They beheld the lake thick and black with the heads of the unhappy swimmers, as the surface of the Great Bear Lake is dotted in summer with the wild fowl that seek subsistence in its bosom.

At length the happy pair reached the island. It is impossible to tell the delights with which they found it filled. Mild and soft winds, clear and sweet waters, cool and refreshing shades, perpetual verdure, inexhaustible fertility, adorned the retreats of the Island of Souls. There were no tempests of wind laden with snows to smother the unhappy Chepewyan caught at a distance from his cabin; no rains to sweep the hills of ice into the vales where he gathered his rock-moss, or tear his fishing-nets and weirs from their place in the river. Gladly would the son of the Red Elk have remained for ever with his beloved Rock-rose in the happy island, but the words of the Master were heard in the pauses of the breeze, discoursing to him thus:--

"Return to thy father-land, hunter, and tell in the ears of thy nation the things thou hast seen. Paint to them the joys of the Happy Island, but be careful to say that they can be enjoyed by the spirits of those only whose good actions predominate over their evil ones. Say that the Master does not expect perfection in man, but he expects that man will do all he can to deserve his love; he expects that sooner than suffer the wife of his bosom, or the children of his love, to be hungry, he will journey even to the far Coppermine for salmon, and hunt the white bear on the distant shores of the Frozen Sea. He expects from him good temper in his cabin; fearlessness and daring in war; patience and assiduity in the chase, and great and unceasing kindness to the father that begot, and the mother that bore him. What, though he have several times slaughtered more musk-beef than he can eat, speared salmon to be devoured by the brown eagle, and gathered rock-moss to rot in the rain?--what, though he have once made game of a priest, and once trembled at the war-cry of the Knistenaux, and once forgotten to throw into the fire the tongue of the beaver, as an offering to the Being who bade it cross his path in a season of scarcity?--and what though _she_ have suffered her father to wear tattered mocassins, and her brothers broken snow-shoes, and thought of her lover when she should have been thinking of me, yet will I forgive them, and endow them with felicity, if their good deeds outweigh the bad. The Master does not expect that man will never commit folly or error. The clearest stream will sometimes become turbid; the sky cannot always be cloudless; the stars will sometimes become erratic--even snow will fall tinged with a colouring which was not in its nature when I ordered it to be. Man of the Chepewyans, write down these words on the green leaf of thy memory, nor suffer them to fade as the leaf grows dry. Be good, and thy spirit in a few more moons shall rejoin that of thy beloved rock-rose in the blissful island. Depart, son of the Red Elk; the canoe which brought thee hither will waft thee hence. Thou lingerest!--it is well! I know thy thoughts and wishes--clasp her to thy heart then. It is well! The recollection of the embrace will do more to keep thy spirit purified than all the sayings of thy fathers, and the traditional learning of thy priests. Away!"

NOTES.

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(1) _Nocturnal couch_.--p. 257.

One, and the most frequently adopted method of Indian courtship, is that of approaching the couch of the beloved maiden, and whispering tales of love while she is reposing. When an Indian imagines, from the behaviour of the person he has chosen for his mistress, that his suit will be agreeable to her, he pursues the following plan.

As the Indians are under no apprehensions of robbers or secret enemies, they leave the doors of their tents or huts unfastened during the night as well as the day. Two or three hours after sunset, the slaves or old people cover over the fire, that is generally burning in the midst of their apartment, with ashes, and retire to their repose. Whilst darkness thus prevails, and all is quiet, wrapped closely up in a blanket, to prevent his being known, the lover will enter the apartment of his intended mistress. Having first lighted at the smothered fire a small splinter of wood, which answers the purpose of a match, he approaches the place where she reposes, and, gently pulling away the covering from the head, jogs her till she awakes. If she then rises up, and blows out the light, he needs no farther confirmation that his company is not disagreeable; but, if she hides her head, and takes no notice of him, be may rest assured that any farther solicitation will prove vain, and that it is necessary immediately for him to retire.

(2)_The skirts the Northern clouds_.--p. 250.

"The idea which the Southern Indians have of the Aurora Borealis is very pleasing and romantic. They believe it to be the spirit of their departed friends dancing in the clouds, and when the Aurora Borealis is remarkably bright, at which time it varies most in colour, form, and situation, they say their friends are very merry."--_Hearne,346._ And see the tradition _post_.

"The Northern Indians call this meteor by a less romantic name--_Ed-thin,_ that is, "deer;" and, when that meteor is very bright, they say, that deer is plentiful in that part of the atmosphere. Their ideas, in this respect, are founded on a principle one would not imagine them to possess a knowledge of. Experience has shown them, that, when a hairy deer-skin is briskly stroked with a hand in a dark night, it will emit many sparks of electric fire, as the back of a cat will."--_Ibid_.