Sha-wa-now in the St Louis Beacon

Sha-wa-now is the hero of "A Tale of the Rocky Mountains," first published in the St Louis Beacon on January 13, 1831.  This narrative, along with two others that also originated in the St Louis Beacon (Mah-za-pa-mee and Hugh Glass), was interpolated into the 1842 magazine series "Scenes and Adventures in the Army" in the Southern Literary Messenger. The 1842 series formed the basis of Part I in the 1857 book, Scenes and Adventures in the Army.  In all later versions the spelling is Sha-wah-now.

The publication history of Scenes and Adventures in the Army is wonderfully complicated.  Sha-wa-now or Sha-wah-now actually exists in four versions:

1. A Tale of the Rocky Mountains, signed "Borderer." St Louis Beacon, January 13, 1831.  See below for the 1831 text, transcribed by me from the St Louis Beacon.  For research assistance and copies I am much obliged to Nancy Oliver and the fine staff of the St Louis Public Library.

2.  A Tale of the Rocky Mountains. Revised and significantly expanded version, now signed
"P. S. G. C." for Philip St George Cooke.  The Military and Naval Magazine of the United States 6 (September 1835): 32-39.  Appended "by request" (pp 39-42) is a poem titled "The Last Indian" by Larry Lyle from the April 1835 Southern Literary Messenger.  Larry Lyle is a pseudonym of Philip Pendleton Cooke.

3. SHA-WAH-NOW in "Scenes and Adventures in the Army" by A Captain of U. States Dragoons. Southern Literary Messenger 8 (July 1842): 458-62.

4.  Scenes and Adventures in the Army, Part I, 62-75.

Without further ado...

For the St. Louis Beacon.

A TALE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

Late in the afternoon of a spring day, and many years ago, a solitary Indian might have been seen threading the dangerous intricacies of the ascent of one of the Rocky Mountains. He followed the deep worn chasm of the mountain brook; for a moment he stood where often the flood of waters bore in awful confusion, rocks, earth and trees; at the next, with the activity of a chamois hunter, he cleared a dreadful space; a moment’s contemplation of the void below, bounded by peaks of jutting rock, must have reeled the brain of the most hardy. And now he traces the projecting ledge of a mountain precipice, (‘twas never meant for a path,) below him is death—a look must cost his life; above him, vertical granite; not a vine or twig to help him to live—his fingers grow to the rock!—his eagle gaze, if a moment averted, was dimed—that step will save him!—it is made—he is safe.

Thus situated, does earth’s proud lord seem lost in insignificance, amid surrounding sublimity; crushed with the weight of nature’s superiority. That rock has stood the monument of ages and man’s passing race; and it threatens his destruction at every step. But, no! to the mind that can grasp the comparison of the natural and the moral sublime, he appears an object of more grandeur than earth in its most imposing attitudes; that small form contains a soul that soars to comprehend the mechanism of a system of worlds, and places the precipice that threatens his animal life in the low places of its sphere.

Sha-wa-now was safe; the last difficulty was behind him, and he stood upon the mountain top. Brave was he, and distinguished for success in war—his person bore about it the aegis of dignity, which commanded the respect of the men, and the fond attachment of the women of his tribe. He was dressed in skins; his bust was bare, but for a furred mantle, which, in intuitive imitation of the senator of Rome, he folded beneath his shoulders, leaving the right arm freed for action. He wore at his back, a bow, and well stored quiver; and in his belt was a tomahawk.

He leaned against a rock, and contemplated the dangers he had passed, the valley below, and the mountains beyond, with mingled feelings of simple devotion to the ‘Great Spirit’ and admiration at a view in which sublimity and beauty contended for predominance. The “Glorious God of day” was fast retiring to his couch. The sun in mid-heaven is but a tame spectacle; his effect though dazzling, is simple; there, he is something alike beyond our ken and thoughts; merely useful. But when, as it were, he approaches our earth in setting; is surrounded by the horizon’s mist—‘tis then, that he is the glorious father of a thousand beauties—a hemisphere blushes red as roses, a mountain structure of calm and motionless clouds, seems a palace of fancy adorned with every Heaven-born hue. It was such a sun that shed its divine influence o’er that valley. The ground swelled into slight undulations; a stream wound its way in the midst; its banks were dotted with trees—all was rejoicing in the influence of spring—all was covered with the most delicate hues of green. The last glimpses of sunshine brightened up some spots only for the contrast of the richer shade. The surface of that valley appeared as soft, as fair as a maiden’s cheek; and its contemplation filled at the moment as large and tender a spot in the heart of the Indian, as that of the maiden blushes of his own, his beautiful Ayeta.

He might have seen in the dim futurity of rolling ages, in this wide field fresh from the hand of its Creator, the rise of a pastoral nation, rejoicing to revive the simple delights of the pastoral nation, many a May-pole, to enliven the cheering vista, surrounded by the glad youth of a new race. His Mentor, the genius of two vallies, was now a youth with cheeks of mantling fairness. And the youth would imperceptibly become a grey-beard, but one that smiled with beneficent serenity, pointing to the picture created to his mind’s eye. A new world grown old—its bounteous simplicity had changed. Earth’s last green spot had yielded to the marring hand of its master, man. The poet no longer retired to a grotto to invoke the forgotten Goddesses of his art. The lover could no longer find a green and solitary glen, to mingle his sighs with the murmur of falling waters. All this had passed—the favoured clime now in its maturity had become the granary of other exhausted regions. The vigorous development of its never fading richness, was a world’s supply. He saw the Oregon and Mississippi, its rival drains, whitened with the world’s mingled navies; which in return for undreampt of triumphs of Art’s perfection, bore off superfluous bread.

But what was the motive of Sha-wa-now’s perilous journey? Tho fierce and inexorable in war—eloquent and dignified in council, like other great, and some of the greatest of men, he, reluctantly at first, then with enthusiasm, yielded to the heart’s ascendancy.

Ayeta was the daughter of a brother chief. Early had she been marked as an extraordinary child—one of retiring modesty, that was fond of pensive solitude—her eye was remarkable as different from almost all of her race; it was blue, while the lash and brow was of glossy blackness. Owing to youth and little exposure, (she was the pride of her father,) her complexion might have been envied as a clear brunette. Her mind was well fitted to so superior a mould. Sha-wa-now had marked her with a tender interest as early as her twelfth year—that enchanting era, “Ere time had chill’d a single charm,” when they bud like tender flowers, are stamped with the “Impress of Divinity.”

Before her sixteenth, he had wooed and won her heart. She loved him for those qualities which made him the pride of his nation—which seemed to mark him alone, as the fit possessor of so great a prize.

But “the course of true love never did run smooth.” War, relentless war, at once the scourge and pride of love and lovers, had lit upon the tribe with unusual severity. Some of its governless, ambitious and ever restless youth, had been unequal to a temptation to steal horses from their vagrant neighbors, the Chayennes; reprisals were made—and at length a scalp was taken—the tribe was aroused to revenge—the warrior put on his black paint, and struck his battle-axe into the war-post. Cupid was frightened from his summer bower—the maidens trembled for their loves. Each brave rejoiced in the confusion; in the storm which he aimed to direct.

I say, that for Indians, the war had gone unusual lengths. In the absence of a large party, headed by Sha-wa-now, the Chayennes made a daring inception, and took many women and children prisoners. Returning unsuccessful, Sha-wa-now learnt the unhappy truth. The tribe had suffered severely; his reputation was at stake. But his inmost soul confessed, that the worst of all, was his Ayeta a prisoner. Great was, within him, the conflict of rage and despair. He retired from all witnesses that might discover his weakness. He deemed that a curse was on him. He made a vow to the Wahcontonga, that he would not again enter a lodge, or commune with his tribe, until he had avenged its honor, and had, and alone, rescued its pride, and his only motive of life, or offered himself a sacrifice to an offended Deity.

Such was Sha-wa-now’s desperate errand. He that night allowed himself no rest; for as he approached the probable vicinity of his enemies, concealment was necessary, both to safety and success. All the next day he lay concealed. For in the trailed grass he had discovered the fresh sign of a large party; doubtless the one he sought. At dusk he resumed his cautious advances. He gained, with untiring exertion, a high point to make an anxious and critical survey of the surrounding country. At length he thought he could perceive something like smoke rising from high ground not very distant. But then it was impossible his enemies would thus betray the situation of the night-camp? He watched the spot until, to his strained eyes, the “sign” became even more uncertain; and when nearly in despair of making so soon the much wished discovery, in the stillness of night, his keen and practised ear detected the sound of horses. He no longer could doubt. He was prepared, mind and body, for desperate adventure. He commenced his noiseless approach—hours were thus spent; but at length the truth was before him. He beheld from the high ground, in a sink-hole below him, at once the objects of his desperate hate, and fond attachment. The war party, elated with success, and tired of the lengthy and rapid excursion, had ventured, in the concealment of the hole, to light fires for better refreshment. Their dusky forms were extended in sleep around the dying embers. The horses were picketed almost in contact. Though eager for action, he made a deliberate survey of his enemies—their situation—of the ground within and out of the hole. His plan was designed; but an obstacle to probable success, was presented in the group, which he readily perceived surrounded the bound captives—it was an Indian in a sitting posture, apparently half asleep, but still gnawing at a bone. What must he do?—wait ‘till he, too, should sleep? It was absolutely necessary. It seemed an age. And would not another take his place and watch? He knew that although they keep no sentinels, with all Indians in such camps, some one, or a few are nearly always awake—generally eating. But at length his hopes were accomplished. The unconsciously tantalizing Indian reclined, and apparently in deep sleep. Now was his time, or never. He commenced his approach, crawling flat on the earth—he was in the midst of those, whose greatest ambition was his scalp. He discovered his Ayeta; she was sunk in death-like sleep. He touched her from—she moved—he whispered to her ear, “be silent, or die.” She opened her eyes, and beheld the face of her dearest object on earth; his finger was on his lips enjoining silence. He cut the thongs w[h]ich bound her, and slowly extricated himself from among his sleeping foes; she as cautiously followed him. He had cut loose a horse—he clasped her form, and sprung upon its back. The first sounds of its motion, and the alarm was given, and they were all on their feet—a moment for astonishment—a moment for discovery—and the next an astounding yell of rage burst from the lips of each.

“The owlets started from their dream,
“The eaglets answered with their scream;
“Round and around the sounds were cast,
“‘Till echo seemed an answering blast.”

Some rushed forward on foot, with uplifted tomahawks; others hastily strung their bows, while the many mounted their horses. Favored by darkness, the arrows passed harmlessly by the fugitives. Their horses were their only hope—and Sha-wa-now had fortunately chosen one of the best. Doubtful was the chase. Shame and rage inspired the pursuers to make desperate efforts. Darkness and the winding vallies favored the flight. Widely were they dispersed—all could not mistake the direction, though some were at fault. Encouraging shouts occasionally marked the point which each aimed at; but it would not do; the pursuers dropt off, one by one; at last, all, but the distinguished captor of the recovered prize, had given up immediate pursuit; and right glad was Sha-wa-now , it was no worse, for his jaded horse had become unequal to the double burthen. His mind was perfectly cool—practised and successful in strategie, a happy plan was suggested, which he hastened to execute. He whispered to the half senseless girl to sit firm, and continue to fly, when he easily slipped from the horse, falling flat upon the earth. As expected, the change was not discovered by the pursuer, who rapidly approached straight to the spot. The bow was strung; the arrow was fixed; and when he was within a few paces, it whizzed through the air. By the time his horse had reached the chief, who stood with tomahawk in readiness, his foe fell, and was at his feet. He uttered a signal yell of triumph, hastily took the scalp, and mounting the horse, was soon by the side of his recognizing maid.

Sha-wa-now reached his village in safety, bearing a trophy of success, the most highly prized by his nation—the scalp of the chief of the Cheyennes; but dearer to him, than that, was the beautiful girl he had rescued from a horrid death, and who, from that day, graced his lodge.

He had performed a feat which could raise even his reputation. Long he lived to recount at the festival, this “coup,” which the old had not equaled; and to rival which, was the highest ambition of the young men. It is recorded in rude hieroglyphics, which the old still explain to the young, as one of the proudest traditions of the tribe.

BORDERER.
Missouri River, Nov. 1830