They Would Gladly Prolong It Until The Following Day; But The
Canoe Wants Repair, The Fish-Gig Must Be Barbed Afresh, New Lines Must Be
Twisted, And New Hooks Chopped Out.
They depart to their respective
tasks, which end only with the light.
Such is the general life of an Indian. But even he has his hours of
relaxation, in seasons of success, when fish abounds. Wanton with plenty,
he now meditates an attack upon the chastity of some neighbouring fair
one; and watching his opportunity he seizes her and drags her away
to complete his purpose. The signal of war is lighted; her lover,
her father, her brothers, her tribe, assemble, and vow revenge on the
spoiler. He tells his story to his tribe. They judge the case to be
a common one and agree to support him. Battle ensues; they discharge
their spears at each other, and legs and arms are transpierced.
When the spears are expended the combatants close and every species
of violence is practiced. They seize their antagonist and snap like
enraged dogs, they wield the sword and club, the bone shatters beneath
their fall and they drop the prey of unsparing vengeance.
Too justly, as my observations teach me has Hobbes defined a state of
nature to be a state of war. In the method of waging it among these
people, one thing should not, however, escape notice. Unlike all other
Indians, they never carry on operations in the night, or seek to destroy
by ambush and surprise.
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