Summary

Portrait of Charles Lanman Charles Lanman Haw-Ho-Noo; Or, Records of a Tourist

She deceives us too often, and finally takes us, when worn and weary, only by the difficult digging of a grave.
“But the ocean is mother-like, singing songs to us continually, and telling a thousand legends to our baby ears. She casts up toys to us on every shore, bright shells and pebbles. (What else do we live for?) True, maniac as she is, she sometimes raves madly and hurls her children from her arms, but see how instantly she clasps them again close, close to her heaving bosom, and how calmly and quietly they sleep there—as she sings to them—nor wake again to sorrow.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Charles Lanman Charles Lanman Haw-Ho-Noo; Or, Records of a Tourist

And then, too, the heart of our voyager is cheered by the singing of birds. When night comes, and he has lain himself down by his watchfire on the shore, in some little cove, he is lulled to sleep by the murmuring music of the stream. If, on a pleasant day when he is fatigued, he happen upon an Indian encampment and finds that an extensive ball-play or an Indian horse-race, or any important medicine ceremony is about to occur, he tarries there for a few hours, and then, as his mind dwells upon the grotesque and laughable scenes he has witnessed, resumes his voyage in a more cheerful mood.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Charles Lanman Charles Lanman Haw-Ho-Noo; Or, Records of a Tourist

The night was calm and serene, the stars shone with steady lustre, and as Ko-way-hoom-mah gazed upwards, he breathed freely and felt every apprehension vanish. Alas! on the instant, the distant baying of his dog struck on his ear; with a thrill of renewed apprehension, he bent his ear to listen, and the appalling cry of his dog, now more distinctly audible, convinced him that the spectre was in full pursuit. Again he fled with accelerated speed, over hill, over plain, through swamps and thickets, till once more he paused by the side of a deep and rapid river.
Source: Gutenberg

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