In my last Letter I gave an account of the buffalo dance, and in future
epistles may give some descriptions of a dozen other kinds of dance,
which these people have in common with other tribes; but in the present
Letter I shall make an endeavour to confine my observations to several
other customs and forms, which are very curious and peculiar to the
Mandans.
Of these, one of the most pleasing is the _sham-fight_ and sham
scalp-dance of the Mandan boys, which is a part of their regular
exercise, and constitutes a material branch of their education.
During the pleasant mornings of the summer, the little boys between
the age of seven and fifteen are called out, to the number of several
hundred, and being divided into two companies, each of which is headed
by some experienced warrior, who leads them on, in the character
of a teacher; they are led out into the prairie at sunrise, where
this curious discipline is regularly taught them (+plate+ 57). Their
bodies are naked, and each one has a little bow in his left hand and
a number of arrows made of large spears of grass, which are harmless
in their effects. Each one has also a little belt or girdle around
his waist, in which he carries a knife made of a piece of wood and
equally harmless—on the tops of their heads are slightly attached
small tufts of grass, which answer as scalps, and in this plight,
they follow the dictates of their experienced leaders, who lead them
through the judicious evolutions of Indian warfare—of feints—of
retreats—of attacks—and at last to a general fight. Many manœuvres are
gone through, and eventually they are brought up face to face, within
fifteen or twenty feet of each other, with their leaders at their head
stimulating them on. Their bows are bent upon each other and their
missiles flying, whilst they are dodging and fending them off.
If any one is struck with an arrow on any vital part of his body, he is
obliged to fall, and his adversary rushes up to him, places his foot
upon him, and snatching from his belt his wooden knife, grasps hold of
his victim’s scalp-lock of grass, and making a feint at it with his
wooden knife, twitches it off and puts it into his belt, and enters
again into the ranks and front of battle.
This mode of training generally lasts an hour or more in the morning,
and is performed on an empty stomach, affording them a rigid and
wholesome exercise, whilst they are instructed in the important science
of war. Some five or six miles of ground are run over during these
evolutions, giving suppleness to their limbs and strength to their
muscles, which last and benefit them through life.
After this exciting exhibition is ended, they all return to their
village, where the chiefs and braves pay profound attention to their
vaunting, and applaud them for their artifice and valour.
Those who have taken scalps then step forward, brandishing them and
making their boast as they enter into the _scalp-dance_ (in which
they are also instructed by their leaders or teachers), jumping and
yelling—brandishing their scalps, and reciting their _sanguinary
deeds_, to the great astonishment of their tender aged sweethearts, who
are gazing with wonder upon them.
The games and amusements of these people are in most respects like
those of the other tribes, consisting of ball plays—game of the
moccasin, of the platter—feats of archery—horse-racing, &c.; and they
have yet another, which may be said to be their favourite amusement,
and unknown to the other tribes about them. The game of Tchung-kee, a
beautiful athletic exercise, which they seem to be almost unceasingly
practicing whilst the weather is fair, and they have nothing else
of moment to demand their attention. This game is decidedly their
favourite amusement, and is played near to the village on a pavement
of clay, which has been used for that purpose until it has become as
smooth and hard as a floor. For this game two champions form their
respective parties, by choosing alternately the most famous players,
until their requisite numbers are made up. Their bettings are then
made, and their stakes are held by some of the chiefs or others
present. The play commences (+plate+ 59) with two (one from each
party), who start off upon a trot, abreast of each other, and one of
them rolls in advance of them, on the pavement, a little ring of two
or three inches in diameter, cut out of a stone; and each one follows
it up with his “tchung-kee” (a stick of six feet in length, with
little bits of leather projecting from its sides of an inch or more in
length), which he throws before him as he runs, sliding it along upon
the ground after the ring, endeavouring to place it in such a position
when it stops, that the ring may fall upon it, and receive one of the
little projections of leather through it, which counts for game, one,
or two, or four, according to the position of the leather on which the
ring is lodged. The last winner always has the rolling of the ring,
and both start and throw the tchung-kee together; if either fails to
receive the ring or to lie in a certain position, it is a forfeiture
of the amount of the number he was nearest to, and he loses his throw;
when another steps into his place. This game is a very difficult one
to describe, so as to give an exact idea of it, unless one can see it
played—it is a game of great beauty and fine bodily exercise, and these
people become excessively fascinated with it; often gambling away every
thing they possess, and even sometimes, when everything else was gone,
have been known to stake their liberty upon the issue of these games,
offering themselves as slaves to their opponents in case they get
beaten.
_Feasting_ and _fasting_ are important customs observed by the Mandans,
as well as by most other tribes, at stated times and for particular
purposes. These observances are strictly religious and rigidly
observed. There are many of these forms practiced amongst the Mandans,
some of which are exceedingly interesting, and important also, in
forming a correct estimate of the Indian character; and I shall at a
future period take particular pains to lay them before my readers.
_Sacrificing_ is also a religious custom with these people, and is
performed in many different modes, and on numerous occasions. Of
this custom I shall also speak more fully hereafter, merely noticing
at present, some few of the hundred modes in which these offerings
are made to the Good and Evil Spirits. Human sacrifices have never
been made by the Mandans, nor by any of the north western tribes (so
far as I can learn), excepting the Pawnees of the Platte; who have,
undoubtedly, observed such an inhuman practice in former times, though
they have relinquished it of late. The Mandans sacrifice their fingers
to the Great Spirit, and of their worldly goods, the best and the most
costly; if a horse or a dog, it must be the favourite one; if it is
an arrow from their quiver, they will select the most perfect one as
the most effective gift; if it is meat, it is the choicest piece cut
from the buffalo or other animal; if it is anything from the stores of
the Traders, it is the most costly—it is blue or scarlet cloth, which
costs them in this country an enormous price, and is chiefly used for
the purpose of hanging over their wigwams to decay, or to cover the
scaffolds where rest the bones of their departed relations.
Of these kinds of sacrifices there are three of an interesting nature,
erected over the great medicine-lodge in the centre of the village—they
consist of ten or fifteen yards of blue and black cloth each, purchased
from the Fur Company at fifteen or twenty dollars per yard, which are
folded up so as to resemble human figures, with quills in their heads
and masks on their faces. These singular-looking figures, like “_scare
crows_” (+plate+ 47), are erected on poles about thirty feet high, over
the door of the mystery-lodge, and there are left to decay. There hangs
now by the side of them another, which was added to the number a few
days since, of the skin of a white buffalo, which will remain there
until it decays and falls to pieces.
This beautiful and costly skin, when its history is known, will
furnish a striking proof of the importance which they attach to these
propitiatory offerings. But a few weeks since, a party of Mandans
returned from the Mouth of the Yellow Stone, two hundred miles above,
with information that a party of Blackfeet were visiting that place on
business with the American Fur Company; and that they had with them
a white buffalo robe for sale. This was looked upon as a subject of
great importance by the chiefs, and one worthy of public consideration.
A white buffalo robe is a great curiosity, even in the country of
buffaloes, and will always command an almost incredible price, from its
extreme scarcity; and then, from its being the most costly article of
traffic in these regions, it is usually converted into a _sacrifice_,
being offered to the Great Spirit, as the most acceptable gift that can
be procured. Amongst the vast herds of buffaloes which graze on these
boundless prairies, there is not one in an hundred thousand, perhaps,
that is white; and when such an one is obtained, it is considered great
_medicine_ or mystery.
On the receipt of the intelligence above-mentioned, the chiefs convened
in council, and deliberated on the expediency of procuring the white
robe from the Blackfeet; and also of appropriating the requisite means,
and devising the proper mode of procedure for effecting the purchase.
At the close of their deliberations, eight men were fitted out on eight
of their best horses, who took from the Fur Company’s store, on the
credit of the chiefs, goods exceeding even the value of their eight
horses; and they started for the Mouth of the Yellow Stone, where
they arrived in due time, and made the purchase, by leaving the eight
horses and all the goods which they carried; returning on foot to their
own village, bringing home with them the white robe, which was looked
upon by all eyes of the villagers as a thing that was vastly curious,
and containing (as they express it) something of the Great Spirit.
This wonderful anomaly laid several days in the chief’s lodge, until
public curiosity was gratified; and then it was taken by the doctors or
high-priests, and with a great deal of form and mystery consecrated,
and raised on the top of a long pole over the _medicine-lodge_; where
it now stands in a group with the others, and will stand as an offering
to the Great Spirit, until it decays and falls to the ground.
This Letter, as I promised in its commencement, being devoted to some
of the customs peculiar to the Mandans, and all of which will be new
to the world, I shall close, after recording in it an account of a
laughable farce, which was enacted in this village when I was on my
journey up the river, and had stopped on the way to spend a day or two
in the Mandan village.
Readers, did you ever hear of “_Rain Makers_?” If not, sit still, and
read on; but laugh not—keep cool and sober, or else you may laugh in
the _beginning_, and cry at the _end_ of my story. Well, I introduce
to you a new character—not a _doctor_ or a _high-priest_, yet a
_medicine-man_, and one of the highest and most respectable order, a
“_Rain Maker_!” Such dignitaries live in the Mandan nation, aye, and
“_rain stoppers_” too; and even those also amongst their _conjurati_,
who, like Joshua of old, have even essayed to stop the sun in his
course; but from the inefficiency of their medicine or mystery, have
long since descended into insignificance.
Well, the story begins thus:—The Mandans, as I have said in a former
Letter, raise a great deal of corn; and sometimes a most disastrous
drought will be visited on the land, destructive to their promised
harvest. Such was the case when I arrived at the Mandan village
on the steam-boat, Yellow-Stone. Rain had not fallen for many a day,
and the dear little girls and the ugly old squaws, altogether (all of
whom had fields of corn), were groaning and crying to their lords, and
imploring them to intercede for rain, that their little respective
patches, which were now turning pale and yellow, might not be withered,
and they be deprived of the pleasure of their customary annual
festivity, and the joyful occasion of the “roasting ears,” and the
“green corn dance.”
[Illustration: 58]
[Illustration: 59]
The chiefs and doctors sympathized with the plaints of the women, and
recommended patience. Great deliberation, they said, was necessary in
these cases; and though they resolved on making the attempt to produce
rain for the benefit of the corn; yet they very wisely resolved that
to begin too soon might ensure their entire defeat in the endeavour;
and that the longer they put it off, the more certain they would
feel of ultimate success. So, after a few days of further delay,
when the importunities of the women had become clamorous, and even
mournful, and almost insupportable, the _medicine-men_ assembled in
the council-house, with all their mystery apparatus about them—with an
abundance of wild sage, and other aromatic herbs, with a fire prepared
to burn them, that their savoury odours might be sent forth to the
Great Spirit. The lodge was closed to all the villagers, except some
ten or fifteen young men, who were willing to hazard the dreadful
alternative of making it rain, or suffer the everlasting disgrace of
having made a fruitless essay.
They, only, were allowed as witnesses to the _hocus pocus_ and
_conjuration_ devised by the doctors inside of the medicine-lodge; and
they were called up by lot, each one in his turn, to spend a day upon
the top of the lodge, to test the potency of his medicine; or, in other
words, to see how far his voice might be heard and obeyed amongst the
clouds of the heavens; whilst the doctors were burning incense in the
wigwam below, and with their songs and prayers to the Great Spirit for
success, were sending forth grateful fumes and odours to Him “who lives
in the sun and commands the thunders of Heaven.” Wah-kee (the shield)
was the first who ascended the wigwam at sunrise; and he stood all day,
and looked foolish, as he was counting over and over his string of
mystery-beads—the whole village were assembled around him, and praying
for his success. Not a cloud appeared—the day was calm and hot; and at
the setting of the sun, he descended from the lodge and went home—“his
_medicine_ was not good,” nor can he ever be a _medicine-man_.
Om-pah (the elk) was the next; he ascended the lodge at sunrise the
next morning. His body was entirely naked, being covered with yellow
clay. On his left arm he carried a beautiful shield, and a long lance
in his right; and on his head the skin of a raven, the bird that soars
amidst the clouds, and above the lightning’s glare—he flourished his
shield and brandished his lance, and raised his voice, but in vain; for
at sunset the ground was dry and the sky was clear; the squaws were
crying, and their corn was withering at its roots.
War-rah-pa (the beaver) was the next; he also spent his breath in vain
upon the empty air, and came down at night—and Wak-a-dah-ha-hee (the
white buffalo’s hair) took the stand the next morning. He is a small,
but beautifully proportioned young man. He was dressed in a tunic and
leggings of the skins of the mountain-sheep, splendidly garnished
with quills of the porcupine, and fringed with locks of hair taken
by his own hand from the heads of his enemies. On his arm he carried
his shield, made of the buffalo’s hide—its boss was the head of the
war-eagle—and its front was ornamented with “red chains of lightning.”
In his left hand he clenched his sinewy bow and one single arrow. The
villagers were all gathered about him; when he threw up a feather to
decide on the course of the wind, and he commenced thus:—“My friends!
people of the pheasants! you see me here a sacrifice—I shall this
day relieve you from great distress, and bring joy amongst you; or I
shall descend from this lodge when the sun goes down, and live amongs
the dogs and old women all my days. My friends! you saw which way the
feather flew, and I hold my shield this day in the direction where the
wind comes—the lightning on my shield will draw a great cloud, and
this arrow, which is selected from my quiver, and which is feathered
with the quill of the white swan, will make a hole in it. My friends!
this hole in the lodge at my feet, shows me the medicine-men, who
are seated in the lodge below me and crying to the Great Spirit; and
through it comes and passes into my nose delightful odours, which
you see rising in the smoke to the Great Spirit above, who rides in
the clouds and commands the winds! Three days they have sat here, my
friends, and nothing has been done to relieve your distress. On the
first day was Wah-kee (the shield), he could do nothing; he counted his
beads and came down—his medicine was not good—his name was bad, and
it kept off the rain. The next was Om-pah (the elk); on his head the
raven was seen, who flies _above_ the storm, and he failed. War-rah-pa
(the beaver) was the next, my friends; the beaver lives _under_ the
_water_, and he never wants it to rain. My friends! I see you are in
great distress, and nothing has yet been done; this shield belonged to
my father the White Buffalo; and the lightning you see on it is red; it
was taken from a black cloud, and that cloud will come over us to-day.
I am the white buffalo’s hair—and I am the son of my father.”
In this manner flourished and manœuvred Wak-a-dah-ha-hee (the white
buffalo’s hair), alternately addressing the audience and the heaven—and
holding converse with the winds and the “_je-bi_” (spirits) that are
floating about in them—stamping his foot over the heads of the _magi_,
who were involved in mysteries beneath him, and invoking the spirits of
darkness and light to send rain, to gladden the hearts of the Mandans.
It happened on this memorable day about noon, that the steam-boat
Yellow Stone, on her first trip up the Missouri River, approached and
landed at the Mandan Village, as I have described in a former epistle.
I was lucky enough to be a passenger on this boat, and helped to fire
a salute of twenty guns of twelve pounds calibre, when we first came
in sight of the village, some three or four miles below. These guns
introduced a _new sound_ into this strange country, which the Mandans
at first supposed to be thunder; and the young man upon the lodge, who
turned it to good account, was gathering fame in rounds of applause,
which were repeated and echoed through the whole village; all eyes
were centred upon him—chiefs envied him—mothers’ hearts were beating
high whilst they were decorating and leading up their fair daughters
to offer him in marriage, on his signal success. The medicine-men had
left the lodge, and came out to bestow upon him the envied title of
“_medicine-man_,” or “_doctor_,” which he had so deservedly won—wreaths
were prepared to decorate his brows, and eagle’s plumes and calumets
were in readiness for him; his friends were all rejoiced—his enemies
wore on their faces a silent gloom and hatred; and his old sweethearts,
who had formerly cast him off, gazed intensely upon him, as they glowed
with the burning fever of repentance.
During all this excitement, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee kept his position,
assuming the most commanding and threatening attitudes; brandishing his
shield in the direction of the thunder (+plate+ 58), although there
was not a cloud to be seen, until he (poor fellow), being elevated
above the rest of the village, espied, to his inexpressible amazement,
the steam-boat ploughing its way up the windings of the river below;
puffing her steam from her pipes, and sending forth the thunder from
a twelve-pounder on her deck! * * * The White Buffalo’s
Hair stood motionless and turned pale, he looked awhile, and turned to
the chief and to the multitude, and addressed them with a trembling
lip—“My friends, we will get no rain!—there are, you see, no clouds;
but my medicine is great—I have brought a _thunder boat_! look and see
it! the thunder you hear is out of her mouth, and the lightning which
you see is on the waters!”
At this intelligence, the whole village flew to the tops of their
wigwams, or to the bank of the river, from whence the steamer was in
full view, and ploughing along, to their utter dismay and confusion.
In this promiscuous throng of chiefs, doctors, women, children and
dogs, was mingled Wak-a-dah-ha-hee (the white buffalo’s hair), having
descended from his high place to mingle with the frightened throng.
Dismayed at the approach of so strange and unaccountable an object, the
Mandans stood their ground but a few moments; when, by an order of the
chiefs, all hands were ensconced within the piquets of their village,
and all the warriors armed for desperate defence. A few moments brought
the boat in front of the village, and all was still and quiet as death;
not a Mandan was to be seen upon the banks. The steamer was moored, and
three or four of the chiefs soon after, walked boldly down the bank and
on to her deck, with a spear in one hand and the calumet or pipe of
peace in the other. The moment they stepped on board they met (to their
great surprise and joy) their old friend, Major Sanford, their agent,
which circumstance put an instant end to all their fears. The villagers
were soon apprized of the fact, and the whole race of the beautiful and
friendly Mandans was paraded on the bank of the river, in front of the
steamer.
The “rain maker,” whose apprehensions of a public calamity brought
upon the nation by his extraordinary _medicine_, had, for the better
security of his person from apprehended vengeance, secreted himself in
some secure place, and was the last to come forward, and the last to
be convinced that this visitation was a friendly one from the white
people; and that his _medicine_ had not in the least been instrumental
in bringing it about. This information, though received by him with
much caution and suspicion, at length gave him great relief, and
quieted his mind as to his danger. Yet still in his breast there was a
rankling thorn, though he escaped the dreaded vengeance which he had a
few moments before apprehended as at hand; as he had the mortification
and disgrace of having failed in his mysterious operations. He set
up, however (during the day, in his conversation about the strange
arrival), his _medicines_, as the cause of its approach; asserting
everywhere and to everybody, that he knew of its coming, and that he
had by his magic brought the occurrence about. This plea, however, did
not get him much audience; and in fact, everything else was pretty
much swallowed up in the guttural talk, and bustle, and gossip about
the mysteries of the “thunder-boat;” and so passed the day, until just
at the approach of evening, when the “White Buffalo’s Hair” (more
watchful of such matters on this occasion than most others) observed
that a black cloud had been jutting up in the horizon, and was almost
directly over the village! In an instant his shield was on his arm, and
his bow in his hand, and he again upon the lodge! stiffened and braced
to the last sinew, he stood, with his face and his shield presented to
the cloud, and his bow drawn. He drew the eyes of the whole village
upon him as he vaunted forth his super-human powers, and at the same
time commanding the cloud to come nearer, that he might draw down
its contents upon the heads and the corn-fields of the Mandans! In
this wise he stood, waving his shield over his head, stamping his
foot and frowning as he drew his bow and threatened the heavens,
commanding it to rain—his bow was bent, and the arrow drawn to its
head, was sent to the cloud, and he exclaimed, “My friends, it is done!
Wak-a-dah-ha-hee’s arrow has entered that black cloud, and the Mandans
will be wet with the water of the skies!” His predictions were true;—in
a few moments the cloud was over the village, and the rain fell in
torrents. He stood for some time wielding his weapons and presenting
his shield to the sky, while he boasted of his power and the efficacy
of his _medicine_, to those who had been about him, but were now driven
to the shelter of their wigwams. He, at length, finished his vaunts and
his threats, and descended from his high place (in which he had been
perfectly drenched), prepared to receive the honours and the homage
that were due to one so potent in his mysteries; and to receive the
style and title of “_medicine-man_.” This is one of a hundred different
modes in which a man in Indian countries acquires the honourable
appellation.
This man had “made it rain,” and of course was to receive more than
usual honours, as he had done much more than ordinary men could do. All
eyes were upon him, and all were ready to admit that he was skilled
in the magic art; and must be so nearly allied to the Great or Evil
Spirit, that he must needs be a man of great and powerful influence in
the nation, and well entitled to the style of doctor or _medicine-man_.
Readers, there are two facts relative to these strange transactions,
which are infallibly true, and should needs be made known. The first
is, that when the Mandans undertake to make it rain, _they never fail
to succeed_, for their ceremonies never stop until rain begins to fall.
The second is equally true, and is this:—that he who has once “_made
it rain_,” never attempts it again; his medicine is undoubted—and on
future occasions of the kind, he stands aloof, who has once done it in
presence of the whole village, giving an opportunity to other young men
who are ambitious to signalize themselves in the same way.
During the memorable night of which I have just spoken, the steam-boat
remained by the side of the Mandan village, and the rain that had
commenced falling continued to pour down its torrents until midnight;
black thunder roared, and livid lightning flashed until the heavens
appeared to be lit up with one unceasing and appalling glare. In
this frightful moment of consternation, a flash of lightning buried
itself in one of the earth-covered lodges of the Mandans, and killed a
beautiful girl. Here was food and fuel fresh for their superstitions;
and a night of vast tumult and excitement ensued. The dreams of the
new-made medicine-man were troubled, and he had dreadful apprehensions
for the coming day—for he knew that he was subject to the irrevocable
decree of the chiefs and doctors, who canvass every strange and
unaccountable event, with close and superstitious scrutiny, and let
their vengeance fall without mercy upon its immediate cause.
He looked upon his well-earned fame as likely to be withheld from him;
and also considered that his life might perhaps be demanded as the
forfeit for this girl’s death, which would certainly be charged upon
him. He looked upon himself as culpable, and supposed the accident
to have been occasioned by his criminal desertion of his post, when
the steam-boat was approaching the village. Morning came, and he soon
learned from some of his friends, the opinions of the wise men; and
also the nature of the tribunal that was preparing for him; he sent to
the prairie for his three horses, which were brought in, and he mounted
the _medicine-lodge_, around which, in a few moments, the villagers
were all assembled. “My friends! (said he) I see you all around me, and
I am before you; my medicine, you see, is great—it is _too great_—I
am young, and I was too fast—I knew not when to stop. The wigwam of
Mah-sish is laid low, and many are the eyes that weep for Ko-ka (the
antelope;) Wak-a-dah-ha-hee gives three horses to gladden the hearts of
those who weep for Ko-ka; his medicine was great—his arrow pierced the
black cloud, and the lightning came, and the _thunder-boat_ also! who
says the medicine of Wak-a-dah-ha-hee is not strong?”
At the end of this sentence an unanimous shout of approbation ran
through the crowd, and the “Hair of the White Buffalo” descended
amongst them, where he was greeted by shakes of the hand; and amongst
whom he now lives and thrives under the familiar and honourable
appellation of the “+Big Double Medicine+.”
LETTER—No. 20.