120 



THE OSPREY. 



ant, Turkey^ Peacock, Dove, Guinea Fowl and Mai- colors, which cannot be distinguished from those they 



lard feathers are used in the manufacture of artificial imitate, and are really of equal worth as a matter of 



flies; while Milliners and Modistes absorb an ap- mere ornament, since it is only the rarity of the genu- 



preciable amount. A large percentage of the gaudy ine plumes which makes them precious in the eyes of 



plumes of domestic fowls are naturally dyed in fast collectors, and of those who can afford to pay the price. 



AU-MON RE-NAY-SSHEN. 



{llie Chiiuney Swift.) 



CHIEF POKAGON, OF THE POTTOWATTOM IE INDIANS. 



TRUST, while reading Bats like butterflies are flitting all about ; Swallows 

 this narrative, you will give in wider circles fly, quickly dodging here and there, 

 that freedom to your men- while high above them all, Nighthawks sail with 



tal vision which enables 

 the human mind to review- 

 things in the past as though 

 thev were present. Hence 

 xA^^ please consider it is now 

 the first of May, 1840, and 

 that you are in the old Pokagon village, in the valley 

 of the St. Joseph River, Michigan. All about you is 

 an almost unbroken wilderness; you are standing in 

 front of the old Pokagon council wigwam 



wide extended wings, mounting at times as if to scale 

 the skies, then downward plunging with open mouths 

 and strange and hollow sound — all gathering alike 

 their evening meals. All the valley is now made 

 vocal with the chattering of Whip-poor-wills, whose 

 only song is but their name ; while Ducks go whizzing 

 by, up and down the stream. 



Amid such stir of active life you wonder how a 

 native youth can leave his bow unbent. Look now! 

 He has left the stub upon the river's bank and is 



• , \, , , 1 J • , ^u * -1 moving slowly backward with head upturned to catch 



A boy about ten years old passing along the trail f> j r 



a view above the trees. He strikes his heels against 



calls the boy Chief Pokagon, who goes out to meet 

 him. His face is all aglow, and while he talks you 

 catch these words: "te-be-cut-nong, mi-shi-o-dos- 

 kwon se-be, mi-shi-au-mon-og, pe-na-shen-yog, au- 

 nib." (As I came down the river in a boat last 

 night, at the "Great Bend," I heard a strange roar 

 and looking up I saw a cloud of feathered bees as 

 large as little birds, pouring in to a hollow stub). 



It is now late in the afternoon ; the young chief 

 clad in buckskin pants, and moccasins, with blanket 

 about him, puts on his cap and feathers, takes up his 

 bow and arrows, starting up the river along an an- 

 cient trail. You quietly and unnoticed follow him 

 several miles through the wild scenery along the 

 shore until he reaches the "Great Bend." Here he 

 stops, drops his bow and arrow, sits down at the 

 base of a large Sycamore stub some sixty feet high, 

 standing on the banks of the stream. From all ap- 

 pearance it is but an outside shell four feet in diam- 

 eter with fur brush at the top. 



You sit down unobserved among the tall ferns by 



a log, sitting down upon it, in an open space in plain 

 sight of the stub and stream. As you look, you see 

 his head is turning slowly around, watching some- 

 thing high in air above the stream ; you now begin 

 to look in the same direction, catching glimpses every 

 now and then of the segment of a wild revolving ring 

 of small unnumbered birds circling high above the 

 trees. Their twittering notes and whizzing wings 

 create a musical, but wild continued roar. 



The boy chief, with face upturned, now stands 

 upon his feet ; his eyes glisten with wonder and de- 

 light, watching the strange revolving ring. You now 

 begin to realize he is determined to understand all 

 about the feathered bees, as large as little birds, the 

 village boy had seen. The circle continues to de- 

 crease in size, but increases the revolution until all 

 the living breathing ring swings over the stream in 

 the field of your vision and you begin to inquire what 

 means all this mighty in-gathering of such multitude 

 of birds. The young chief in admiration claps his 



the trail side to watch the boyish chief. You feel hands leaping towards the stream. 



satisfied from his appearance and make up, that he The twittering, whizzing roar continues to increase ; 



can only speak his mother tongue. And yet you the revolving circle fast assumes a funnel shape, 



realize from his moves and meditative look that he is moving downward until the point reaches the hollow 



trying to decipher some interesting chapter from the in the stub, pouring its living mass therein until the 



great book of nature that lies open before him. last bird dropped out of sight. 



Flowers are blooming on every side ; the trees are Rejoicing in wonder and admiration, the youth 



putting on their robes of green ; on steady wing the walks round the base of the stub listening to the 



Hawk in circles rises high as she utters her alarming rumbling roar of fluttering wings within. Night 



screams; skulking along the water's edge the Killdeer comes on, he raps his blanket closer about him, and 



shrilly cries her name ; flying from pointed crags to lies down to rest until the coming day, that he may 



naked limbs along the shore the Kingfisher utters her witness the swarming multitudes pass out in early 



harsh discordant notes. The sun falls out of sight, morning. But not until the hour of midnight, does 



