Brinton, Daniel Garrison, 1837-1899 / 2008-07-18 00:00:00

How many centuries had elapsed between the
period the Germanic hordes left their ancient homes in Central Asia, and
when Tacitus listened to their wild songs on the banks of the Rhine? Yet
we know that through those unnumbered ages of barbarism and aimless
roving, these songs, "their only sort of history or annals," says the
historian, had preserved intact the story of Mannus, the Sanscrit Manu,
and his three sons, and of the great god Tuisco, the Indian Dyu.[9-1] So
much the more do all means invented by the red race to record and
transmit thought merit our careful attention. Few and feeble they seem
to us, mainly shifts to aid the memory. Of some such, perhaps, not a
single tribe was destitute. The tattoo marks on the warrior's breast,
his string of gristly scalps, the bear's claws around his neck, were not
only trophies of his prowess, but records of his exploits, and to the
contemplative mind contain the rudiments of the beneficent art of
letters. Did he draw in rude outline on his skin tent figures of men
transfixed with arrows as many as he had slain enemies, his education
was rapidly advancing.
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