THE HILL OF FECUNDITY.

A TRADITION OF THE MINNATAREES.

At the distance of a sun's journey from the creek, called in the tongue of the white people the Knife Creek—which divides the larger and smaller towns of the Minnatarees from each other by a valley not much above four bowshots across—there are two little hills, situate at a small distance from each other. These hills are famous, throughout all the nations of the west, for the faculty they once possessed of imparting relief to such women as resorted to them for the purpose of crying and lamenting for the circumstance of their having no children. It was there, that, if they were careful to say proper prayers, and to use the proper lamentations, the reproach of barrenness was removed; and those, whose arms had never enfolded a babe of their own, whose ears had never listened to the innocent prattle of children born of their own bodies, might enjoy that greatest of human happinesses; might feel the exquisite pleasure which arises, when the little creatures press to their knees, or draw the food of life from their bosoms.

Once upon a time, many years ago, there was among the Minnatarees a woman, whose name was Namata-washta, or the Pretty Tree. It had been her misfortune to be married, when little more than a child, to a very proud and bad man; who soon came to use her with great cruelty and injustice. She was a very strict and devout worshipper of the Great Spirit, and never failed, whether in the field or in the cabin, by night or by day, to offer up prayers and a portion of every acquisition to the Being who bestowed it upon her. The Great Spirit saw her goodness, and loved her. He made her corn to grow much larger than that of any other woman in the village; and the produce of her garden was always much earlier and better. But she was a barren woman, and thence resulted her misery. For seven weary seasons had she lived in the lodge of her husband; and while his seven other wives had each children at her knee, crying, "My mother!" there was none to address her by that tender name, and to lisp in childish tones its delight, when she returned from the labours of the field of maize—and to bestow its innocent caresses upon her after the separations which unavoidably take place in forest life. Thence arose the extreme harshness of her husband, and the continued sneers and gibes of the wives who had been blest with offspring. The good Namata-washta bore their ill usage for a long time without repining; but, at length, the oft-repeated cruelties of her husband and the incessant insults of her companions became so painful, that she was wont to fly from them to the solitude of the forest.

One evening, she wandered out from the cabin of her husband until she came to the nearest of the two small hills, of which I have been telling my brother. Upon this hill she seated herself, and was occupied in bewailing her fatal misfortune of barrenness, and in praying the Great Spirit to avert it, when some one whispered at her shoulder, "Namata-washta!"

Looking up, she beheld a tall woman clothed in a long and flowing robe of white goat-skin; her mocassins were of a blood-red colour; her eyes were black as the shell of the butter-nut; her hair, which was also black, was dressed with gay flowers. After surveying the weeping Namata-washta for some time in silence, and with an appearance of much compassion, she said to her in a gentle voice, "Woman, why art thou weeping?"

"I am weeping," replied the poor Indian woman, "because I have borne my husband no children!"

"And therefore thou weepest, deluded and infatuated woman! Rather shouldst thou rejoice that thou hast not contributed to swell the amount of human suffering. Happier far is she who has added nothing, in respect of children, to the sum of human misery, than she who has become a mother, to see her offspring perish in the strife of warriors, or of hunger, or wretchedness, or wasting disease. That thou hast given birth to no heirs of misery should afford thee joy, rather than sorrow, Namata-washta!"

"But therefore I am held of little account, and of no value in the house of my husband. My place is usurped by those who have children; the other wives of my husband demand and exercise the right to impose hard and disgraceful burdens upon me, because I am barren. My husband beats me with blows, his wives assail me with taunts and reproaches—even the children of the village, as I pass them at their sports, cry out, 'A barren woman!' And thus do they incessantly worry me, till I am compelled to fly to the wilderness for rest and peace!"

"Wouldst thou become the mother of children, Namata-washta?"

"I would."

"Thou shalt have thy wish. Listen to my words. The hill upon which thou art sitting was once a beautiful woman, as its neighbour, the other and larger hill, was a man and a warrior. The woman, who is the hill upon which we now stand, was the first woman that ever lived, and the first that ever became a mother. I will tell thee, Namata-washta, who she was. When the Great Spirit determined to people the Island with human beings, he bade them spring out of the earth, as maize and vegetables do at this day; and bade each take the quality and nature of the soil in which he germinated. The red man forced his head out of a rich and hardy prairie surrounded by lofty trees; the white man took root in a stony and crabbed hill: and both have retained their first natures.

"The woman who became this hill sprung up in a deep and very fat soil, and thence became very fruitful—the most fruitful woman ever known. She came out of the earth on the first day of the Moon of Buffaloes, and, ere it hung in the skies like a bended bow, she had a child at her breast. Every moon, she bestowed upon her husband a son or a daughter, and these sons and daughters were all equally fertile with their mother. The Great Spirit, seeing that if mankind continued thus prolific, the Island would soon be overstocked with inhabitants, determined to take away from the pair the breath he had given them, and with it the power of unlimited procreation and fecundity imparted to their descendants. He changed them into these two hills. But, that the faculty they possessed in so remarkable a degree might not be lost to the world, but might continue to be dispensed to those who wanted it, and should seek it in a proper manner, he said to the hill, which was the fruitful woman: 'Whenever a barren woman approaches thee, lamenting in sincerity her hard fate, and duly supplicating mercy, thou shalt listen to her with pity and compassion. I endow thee with power to grant her prayers. Thou shalt bid her return to her village and repair to the couch of her husband. When twelve suns shall have passed, she shall return to thee soon after the dawning of day. Upon a near approach to thee, she shall see a child, perhaps two children, very light of foot, and whose height shall scarce exceed that of a squirrel. She must approach them, but they will run from her, nor will her utmost speed enable her to overtake them. They will fly to thy protection, nor must thou deny it—they must be received into thy bosom. The chill of their cold hiding place will destroy them, and their souls will enter into the womb of the suppliant woman, and she will become a fruitful and honoured mother.'

"These were the words of the Great Spirit; and often has the power he imparted to that hill been felt to the taking away the reproach from the barren women. Namata-washta, go thou, and do likewise. Follow the directions I have given thee, and, if the having children will render thee happy, thou shalt be happy—if to be the mother of a more numerous offspring than any wife in thy nation may make thee an honoured woman, thou shalt be honoured."

With these words, the Spirit departed from before the eyes of Namata-washta, who never beheld her again. She returned to the cabin of her husband, obeyed the words of the stranger, and saw the results take place which had been foretold. She became the mother of a more numerous progeny than any woman of her nation, took the lead in the lodge of her husband, and was more beloved by him than any other of his wives. She became as much honoured by the people as she had been before despised by them, and died with the reputation of having been the greatest benefactress of the nation that had lived since the days of the two wise boys who discovered the upper world[45].

The faculty which this hill possessed of imparting fruitfulness was retained till the wickedness of the Minnatarees became so crying, that the Great Spirit, deeming that there would be full enough of these bad people, if left to their natural means of increase, withdrew it, and has never restored it.