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Waclaw Zimpel: Massive Oscillations — mesmerising busyness

publish 2022-05-02,browse 5
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a young indian girl was angling in the deepest part of the stream, whence she every now and then drew a trout, or some other inhabitant of the waters. an old squaw sat at a very small distance, and, after cutting off the heads, and extracting the entrails, hung the fish in the smoke, to preserve them against the time of winter. the indian and myself then entered the wigwam, and without ceremony seated ourselves on blocks of wood covered with fox skins. the furniture of his habitation consisted of scarcely any thing besides. the flooring was that which was originally common to all men and animals. i thought myself happy, that i had been permitted to come into the world, in an age when some vestige of the primitive men, and their manners of living, were yet to be found. a few ages will totally obliterate the scene. i now determined to teaze the indian, if possiblebut for a man of your education, says i, sachem tomo-cheeki; to bury yourself in this savage retreat, is to me inexplicable. you who have travelled on foot no less than one hundred and seventeen leagues, till you reached the walls of havard college, and all for the sake of gaining an insight into languages, arts, and mysteries; and then to neglect all you have acquired at last, is a mode of conduct, for which i cannot easily accountwhat! was not the mansion of a fat _clergyman_ a more desirable acquisition than this miserable hut, these gloomy forests, and yonder savage stream?were not the food and liquor belonging to the white men of the _law_ far superiour to these insipid fish, these dried roots, and these running waters?were not a _physicians_ cap, an elegant morning gown, and a grave suit of black clothes, made by an european tailor, more tempting to your imagination, than this wretched blanket, that is eternally slipping from your shoulders, unless it be fastened with skewers, which are by no means convenient? pardon me, replied the indian, if all those blessings and advantages you have mentioned seemed nothing to my view, in comparison with these _divine solitudes_: opinion alone is happiness. the _great man_, who has chosen his habitation beyond the stars, will dispose of us as he pleases. i am under an obligation of passing happily here that life which he has given me, because in so doing i serve and adore him. i could not but be sorrowful, were i to be removed for ever from this stream. let me alone, white man; others shall make laws, and pass sleepless nights, for the advantage of the world; sachem tomo-cheeki will leave all things to the _invisible direction_; and, provided he can be contented in his _wigwam_, the end of his existence is accomplished. but, continued he, of what great value can that education be, which does not inculcate moral and social _honesty_ as its first and greatest principle. the knowledge of all things above and below is of inconsiderable worth, unconnected with the heart of rectitude and benevolence.let us walk to the remains of an old indian town; the bones of my ancestors repose in its vicinity. he had scarcely uttered these words when he seized his staff, and rushed out of the wigwam with a sort of passionate violence, as if deeply agitated at the recollection of the past, present, and future fate of his countrymen.i followed him with equal celerity. but, said he, it is in vain to grieve! in three centuries there will not be one individual of all our race existing upon the earth. i lately passed this stream, and it being swollen with rains at my return, i could not without the greatest danger cross over it again to my wigwam; the winds raged, the rain fell, and the storms roared around me. i laid me down to sleep beneath a copse of hazles. immediately the unbodied souls of my ancestors appeared before me. grief was in their countenances. all fixed their eyes upon me, and cried, one after the other, _brother, it is time thou hadst also arrived in our abodes: thy nation is extirpated, thy lands are gone, thy choicest warriors are slain; the very wigwam in which thou residest is mortgaged for three barrels of hard cider! act like a man, and if nature be too tardy in bestowing the favour, it rests with yourself to force your way into the invisible mansions of the departed_. by this time we had arrived at the ruins of the old indian town. the situation was highly romantic, and of that kind which naturally inclines one to be melancholy. at this instant a large heavy cloud obscured the sun, and added a grace to the gloominess of the scene. the vestiges of streets and squares were still to be traced; several favourite trees were yet standing, that had outlived the inhabitants; the stream ran, and the springs flowed, as lively as ever, that had afforded refreshment to so many generations of men, that were now passed away, never to return. all this while the indian had melancholy deeply depicted in his countenance; but he did not shed many tears, till we came to that quarter where his ancestors had been entombed. this spot of land, said he, recovering himself a little, was once sacred to the dead; but it is now no longer so! this whole town, with a large tract around it, not even excepting the bones of our progenitors, has been sold to a stranger. we were deceived out of it, and that by a man who understood greek and hebrew; five kegs of whiskey did the business: he took us in the hour of dissipation, when the whole universe appeared to us but a little thing; how much less then, this comparatively small tract of country, which was, notwithstanding, our whole dependance for the purposes of hunting and fishing!here, continued he, sighing, was the habitation of _tawlongo_, one of our most celebrated warriors. he, in his time, could boast of having gained no fewer than one hundred and twenty-seven complete victories over his enemies; yet he was killed at last by an unarmed _englishman_. here, too, on the opposite side of the way, stood the house of _pilaware_, the admirable; she had been addressed by thirty-three suitors of her own nation, but refused them all, and went off at last with an _irish pedlar_, for the sake of three yards of silver riband, and a new blanket. yonder stood the dwelling of _scuttawabah_, my immediate ancestor; he died for joy of having found a keg of rum, that had been lost by some western trader. may his joys be continued behind the western mountainsrecollection overcomes melet us return to the wigwam in the forest. as soon as we had reached this sequestered abode, the indian once more sat himself down, and leaned his head upon his hand, melancholy enough, to be sure. the old squaw desired to know why he was so sorrowfulthe _remedy_, said she, _is in your power_.he then started up, as if suddenly recollecting somewhat, and cried out, existence is but a dream, an agreeable dream indeed, if we only choose to consider it as such.bring me that jug of strong cider; it will be my friend, when all others fail and forsake mechoicest gift of god to man! and which the white people alone possess the art and knowledge of producing!he courteously offered me a share of his beverage; but i found it so intolerably sour, that i was forced to swear by all the gods of the indians, i would not have any connexion with it.he then pointed to the stream where the girl was angling, and said, with a peasant countenance that had brightened up for a moment, go; you are a _sober_ man; the clear waters are good for you; for my own part, this juice of the apple shall be sufficient.two hours now elapsed, without any one uttering a word.the indian had by this time drunk two large gallons of cider; and recollecting in an instant, he had signed away his lands and wigwam, some days before, for a _mere trifle_, he became at once outrageous; his rage heightened to an alarming degree of extravagance by the strong fumes of the liquor he had swallowed._it is enough_, said he; _my house and lands are departed: i will speak a word in favour of suicide_. tis all in vain! these flowers, these streams, these solitary shades, are nothing to me. i shall not offend the spirit of truth when i say, they are odious in my eyes. sixty times has the sun performed his journey of a year, since i was first struck with the beauty of his yellow rays. could i be a witness of sixty yet to come, would there be any thing new, or which i had not seen before? it is high time we should intrude ourselves into the invisible abodes, when all things satiate and grow stale upon us here below. i will this very night enclose myself in my wigwam, and, setting it on fire, depart with the thin vapour that shall arise from the dried wood of the forest, when piled around meno, no, continued he, tasting the remains of his cider _there is nothing new_; all is _old, stale; and insipid_. at this instant an indian trader alighted at the door. he appeared to have come a considerable distance, and now proffered to barter a keg of _french brandy_ for some beaver skins, he saw hanging out a post

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