THE SPIRIT DEFENDERS OF NĬKWĂSĬ′

THE SPIRIT DEFENDERS OF NĬKWĂSĬ′

Long ago a powerful unknown tribe invaded the country from the southeast,Long ago a powerful unknown tribe invaded the country from the southeast,
killing people and destroying settlements wherever they went. No leader could
stand against them, and in a little while they had wasted all the lower settlements
and advanced into the mountains. The warriors of the old town of Nĭkwăsĭ′, on
the head of Little Tennessee, gathered their wives and children into the
townhouse and kept scouts constantly on the lookout for the presence of danger.
One morning just before daybreak the spies saw the enemy approaching and at
once gave the alarm. The Nĭkwăsĭ′ men seized their arms and rushed out to meet
the attack, but after a long, hard fight they found themselves overpowered and
began to retreat, when suddenly a stranger stood among them and shouted to the
chief to call off his men and he himself would drive back the enemy. From the
dress and language of the stranger the Nĭkwăsĭ′ people thought him a chief who
had come with reinforcements from the Overhill settlements in Tennessee. They
fell back along the trail, and as they came near the townhouse they saw a great
company of warriors coming out from the side of the mound as through an open
doorway. Then they knew that their friends were the Nûñnĕ′hĭ, the Immortals,
although no one had ever heard before that they lived under Nĭkwăsĭ′ mound.

BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY NINETEENTH ANNUAL REPORT PL. XVI
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY NINETEENTH ANNUAL REPORT PL. XVI

NĬKWĂSĬ MOUND AT FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA.

(From photograph of 1890 furnished Mr H. G. Trotter, owner of the mound)(From photograph of 1890 furnished Mr H. G. Trotter, owner of the mound)
The Nûñnĕ′hĭ poured out hundreds, armed and painted for the fight, and the
most curious thing about it all was that they became invisible as soon as they
were fairly outside of the settlement, so that although the enemy saw the
glancing arrow or the rushing tomahawk, and felt the stroke, he could not see
who sent it. Before such invisible foes the invaders soon had to retreat, going
first south along the ridge to where joins the main ridge which separates the
French Broad from the Tuckasegee, and then turning with it to the northeast. As
they retreated they tried to shield themselves behind rocks and trees, but the
Nûñnĕ′hĭ arrows went around the rocks and killed them from the other side, and
they could find no hiding place. All along the ridge they fell, until when they
reached the head of Tuckasegee not more than half a dozen were left alive, and
in despair they sat down and cried out for mercy. Ever since then the Cherokee
have called the place Dayûlsûñ′yĭ, “Where they cried.” Then the Nûñnĕ′hĭ chief
told them they had deserved their punishment for attacking a peaceful tribe, and
he spared their lives and told them to go home and take the news to their people.
This was the Indian custom, always to spare a few to carry back the news of
defeat. They went home toward the north and the Nûñnĕ′hĭ went back to the
mound.
And they are still there, because, in the last war, when a strong party of Federal
troops came to surprise a handful of Confederates posted there they saw so many
soldiers guarding the town that they were afraid and went away without making
an attack.
There is another story, that once while all the warriors of a certain town were off
on a hunt, or at a dance in another settlement, one old man was chopping wood
on the side of the ridge when suddenly a party of the enemy came upon him—
Shawano, Seneca, or some other tribe. Throwing his hatchet at the nearest one,
he turned and ran for the house to get his gun and make the best defense that he
might. On coming out at once with the gun he was surprised to find a large body
of strange warriors driving back the enemy. It was no time for questions, and
taking his place with the others, they fought hard until the enemy was pressed
back up the creek and finally broke and retreated across the mountain. When it
was over and there was time to breathe again, the old man turned to thank his
new friends, but found that he was alone—they had disappeared as though thenew friends, but found that he was alone—they had disappeared as though the
mountain had swallowed them. Then he knew that they were the Nûñnĕ′hĭ, who
had come to help their friends, the Cherokee.

 

Source:
Myths of the Cherokee, James Mooney