“HAKADAH, coowah!” was the sonorous call that came from a large teepee
in the midst of the Indian encampment. In answer to the summons there
emerged from the woods, which were only a few steps away, a boy,
accompanied by a splendid black dog. There was little in the appearance
of the little fellow to distinguish him from the other Sioux boys.
He hastened to the tent from which he had been summoned, carrying in
his hands a bow and arrows gorgeously painted, while the small birds and
squirrels that he had killed with these weapons dangled from his belt.
Within the tent sat two old women, one on each side of the fire.
Uncheedah was the boy’s grandmother, who had brought up the motherless
child. Wahchewin was only a caller, but she had been invited to remain
and assist in the first personal offering of Hakadah to the “Great
Mystery.”
This was a matter which had, for several days, pretty much monopolized
Uncheedah’s mind. It was her custom to see to this when each of her
children attained the age of eight summers. They had all been celebrated
as warriors and hunters among their tribe, and she had not hesitated to
claim for herself a good share of the honors they had achieved, because
she had brought them early to the notice of the “Great Mystery.”
She believed that her influence had helped to regulate and develop the
characters of her sons to the height of savage nobility and strength of
manhood.
It had been whispered through the teepee village that Uncheedah intended
to give a feast in honor of her grandchild’s first sacrificial offering.
This was mere speculation, however, for the clearsighted old woman had
determined to keep this part of the matter secret until the offering
should be completed, believing that the “Great Mystery” should be met in
silence and dignity.
The boy came rushing into the lodge, followed by his dog Ohitika who was
wagging his tail promiscuously, as if to say: “Master and I are really
hunters!”
Hakadah breathlessly gave a descriptive narrative of the killing of each
bird and squirrel as he pulled them off his belt and threw them before
his grandmother.
“This blunt-headed arrow,” said he, “actually had eyes this morning.
Before the squirrel can dodge around the tree it strikes him in the
head, and, as he falls to the ground, my Ohitika is upon him.”
He knelt upon one knee as he talked, his black eyes shining like evening
stars.
“Sit down here,” said Uncheedah to the boy; “I have something to say to
you. You see that you are now almost a man. Observe the game you have
brought me! It will not be long before you will leave me, for a warrior
must seek opportunities to make him great among his people.
“You must endeavor to equal your father and grandfather,” she went on.
“They were warriors and feast-makers. But it is not the poor hunter who
makes many feasts. Do you not remember the ‘Legend of the Feast-Maker,’
who gave forty feasts in twelve moons? And have you forgotten the story
of the warrior who sought the will of the Great Mystery? To-day you will
make your first offering to him.”
The concluding sentence fairly dilated the eyes of the young hunter, for
he felt that a great event was about to occur, in which he would be the
principal actor. But Uncheedah resumed her speech.
“You must give up one of your belongings-whichever is dearest to
you--for this is to be a sacrificial offering.”
This somewhat confused the boy; not that he was selfish, but rather
uncertain as to what would be the most appropriate thing to give. Then,
too, he supposed that his grandmother referred to his ornaments and
playthings only. So he volunteered:
“I can give up my best bow and arrows, and all the paints I have,
and--and my bear’s claws necklace, grandmother!”
“Are these the things dearest to you?” she demanded.
“Not the bow and arrows, but the paints will be very hard to get, for
there are no white people near; and the necklace--it is not easy to get
one like it again. I will also give up my otterskin head-dress, if you
think that is not enough.”
“But think, my boy, you have not yet mentioned the thing that will be a
pleasant offering to the Great Mystery.”
The boy looked into the woman’s face with a puzzled expression.
“I have nothing else as good as those things I have named, grandmother,
unless it is my spotted pony; and I am sure that the Great Mystery will
not require a little boy to make him so large a gift. Besides, my uncle
gave three otter-skins and five eagle-feathers for him and I promised to
keep him a long while, if the Blackfeet or the Crows do not steal him.”
Uncheedah was not fully satisfied with the boy’s free offerings. Perhaps
it had not occurred to him what she really wanted. But Uncheedah
knew where his affection was vested. His faithful dog, his pet and
companion--Hakadah was almost inseparable from the loving beast.
She was sure that it would be difficult to obtain his consent to
sacrifice the animal, but she ventured upon a final appeal.
“You must remember,” she said, “that in this offering you will call
upon him who looks at you from every creation. In the wind you hear him
whisper to you. He gives his war-whoop in the thunder. He watches you
by day with his eye, the sun; at night, he gazes upon your sleeping
countenance through the moon. In short, it is the Mystery of Mysteries,
who controls all things to whom you will make your first offering. By
this act, you will ask him to grant to you what he has granted to few
men. I know you wish to be a great warrior and hunter. I am not prepared
to see my Hakadah show any cowardice, for the love of possessions is a
woman’s trait and not a brave’s.”
During this speech, the boy had been completely aroused to the spirit
of manliness, and in his excitement was willing to give up anything he
had--even his pony! But he was unmindful of his friend and companion,
Ohitika, the dog! So, scarcely had Uncheedah finished speaking, when he
almost shouted:
“Grandmother, I will give up any of my possessions for the offering to
the Great Mystery! You may select what you think will be most pleasing
to him.”
There were two silent spectators of this little dialogue. One was
Wahchewin; the other was Ohitika. The woman had been invited to stay,
although only a neighbor. The dog, by force of habit, had taken up his
usual position by the side of his master when they entered the teepee.
Without moving a muscle, save those of his eyes, he had been a very
close observer of what passed.
Had the dog but moved once to attract the attention of his little
friend, he might have been dissuaded from that impetuous exclamation:
“Grandmother, I will give up any of my possessions!”
It was hard for Uncheedah to tell the boy that he must part with his
dog, but she was equal to the situation.
“Hakadah,” she proceeded cautiously, “you are a young brave. I know,
though young, your heart is strong and your courage is great. You
will be pleased to give up the dearest thing you have for your first
offering. You must give up Ohitika. He is brave; and you, too,
are brave. He will not fear death; you will bear his loss bravely.
Come--here are four bundles of paints and a filled pipe--let us go to
the place.”
When the last words were uttered, Hakadah did not seem to hear them. He
was simply unable to speak. To a civilized eye, he would have appeared
at that moment like a little copper statue. His bright black eyes were
fast melting in floods of tears, when he caught his grandmother’s
eye and recollected her oft-repeated adage: “Tears for woman and the
war-whoop for man to drown sorrow!”
He swallowed two or three big mouthfuls of heart-ache and the little
warrior was master of the situation.
“Grandmother, my Brave will have to die! Let me tie together two of the
prettiest tails of the squirrels that he and I killed this morning, to
show to the Great Mystery what a hunter he has been. Let me paint him
myself.”
This request Uncheedah could not refuse and she left the pair alone for
a few minutes, while she went to ask Wacoota to execute Ohitika.
Every Indian boy knows that, when a warrior is about to meet death, he
must sing a death dirge. Hakadah thought of his Ohitika as a person who
would meet his death without a struggle, so he began to sing a dirge
for him, at the same time hugging him tight to himself. As if he were a
human being, he whispered in his ear:
“Be brave, my Ohitika! I shall remember you the first time I am upon the
war-path in the Ojibway country.”
At last he heard Uncheedah talking with a man outside the teepee, so he
quickly took up his paints. Ohitika was a jet-black dog, with a silver
tip on the end of his tail and on his nose, beside one white paw and a
white star upon a protuberance between his ears. Hakadah knew that a
man who prepares for death usually paints with red and black. Nature
had partially provided Ohitika in this respect, so that only red was
required and this Hakadah supplied generously.
Then he took off a piece of red cloth and tied it around the dog’s neck;
to this he fastened two of the squirrels’ tails and a wing from the
oriole they had killed that morning.
Just then it occurred to him that good warriors always mourn for their
departed friends and the usual mourning was black paint. He loosened his
black braided locks, ground a dead coal, mixed it with bear’s oil and
rubbed it on his entire face.
During this time every hole in the tent was occupied with an eye. Among
the lookers-on was his grandmother. She was very near relenting. Had she
not feared the wrath of the Great Mystery, she would have been happy to
call out to the boy: “Keep your dear dog, my child!”
As it was, Hakadah came out of the teepee with his face looking like an
eclipsed moon, leading his beautiful dog, who was even handsomer than
ever with the red touches on his specks of white.
It was now Uncheedah’s turn to struggle with the storm and burden in
her soul. But the boy was emboldened by the people’s admiration of his
bravery, and did not shed a tear. As soon as she was able to speak, the
loving grandmother said:
“No, my young brave, not so! You must not mourn for your first offering.
Wash your face and then we will go.”
The boy obeyed, submitted Ohitika to Wacoota with a smile, and walked
off with his grandmother and Wahchewin.
They followed a well-beaten foot-path leading along the bank of the
Assiniboine river, through a beautiful grove of oak, and finally around
and under a very high cliff. The murmuring of the river came up from
just below. On the opposite side was a perpendicular white cliff, from
which extended back a gradual slope of land, clothed with the majestic
mountain oak. The scene was impressive and wild.
Wahchewin had paused without a word when the little party reached the
edge of the cliff. It had been arranged between her and Uncheedah that
she should wait there for Wacoota, who was to bring as far as that the
portion of the offering with which he had been entrusted.
The boy and his grandmother descended the bank, following a tortuous
foot-path until they reached the water’s edge. Then they proceeded to
the mouth of an immense cave, some fifty feet above the river, under
the cliff. A little stream of limpid water trickled down from a spring
within the cave. The little watercourse served as a sort of natural
staircase for the visitors. A cool, pleasant atmosphere exhaled from
the mouth of the cavern. Really it was a shrine of nature and it is not
strange that it was so regarded by the tribe.
A feeling of awe and reverence came to the boy. “It is the home of the
Great Mystery,” he thought to himself; and the impressiveness of his
surroundings made him forget his sorrow.
Very soon Wahchewin came with some difficulty to the steps. She placed
the body of Ohitika upon the ground in a life-like position and again
left the two alone.
As soon as she disappeared from view, Uncheedah, with all solemnity
and reverence, unfastened the leather strings that held the four small
bundles of paints and one of tobacco, while the filled pipe was laid
beside the dead Ohitika.
She scattered paints and tobacco all about. Again they stood a few
moments silently; then she drew a deep breath and began her prayer to
the Great Mystery:
“O, Great Mystery, we hear thy voice in the rushing waters below us! We
hear thy whisper in the great oaks above! Our spirits are refreshed with
thy breath from within this cave. O, hear our prayer! Behold this little
boy and bless him! Make him a warrior and a hunter as great as thou
didst make his father and grandfather.”
And with this prayer the little warrior had completed his first
offering.