SMOKY DAY was widely known among us as a preserver of history and
legend. He was a living book of the traditions and history of his
people. Among his effects were bundles of small sticks, notched and
painted. One bundle contained the number of his own years. Another was
composed of sticks representing the important events of history, each
of which was marked with the number of years since that particular event
occurred. For instance, there was the year when so many stars fell from
the sky, with the number of years since it happened cut into the wood.
Another recorded the appearance of a comet; and from these heavenly
wonders the great national catastrophes and victories were reckoned.
But I will try to repeat some of his favorite narratives as I heard them
from his own lips. I went to him one day with a piece of tobacco and
an eagle-feather; not to buy his MSS., but hoping for the privilege
of hearing him tell of some of the brave deeds of our people in remote
times.
The tall and large old man greeted me with his usual courtesy and
thanked me for my present. As I recall the meeting, I well remember his
unusual stature, his slow speech and gracious manner.
“Ah, Ohiyesa!” said he, “my young warrior--for such you will be some
day! I know this by your seeking to hear of the great deeds of your
ancestors. That is a good sign, and I love to repeat these stories to
one who is destined to be a brave man. I do not wish to lull you
to sleep with sweet words; but I know the conduct of your paternal
ancestors. They have been and are still among the bravest of our
tribe. To prove this, I will relate what happened in your paternal
grandfather’s family, twenty years ago.
“Two of his brothers were murdered by a jealous young man of their
own band. The deed was committed without just cause; therefore all
the braves were agreed to punish the murderer with death. When your
grandfather was approached with this suggestion, he replied that he and
the remaining brothers could not condescend to spill the blood of such a
wretch, but that the others might do whatever they thought just with the
young man. These men were foremost among the warriors of the Sioux, and
no one questioned their courage; yet when this calamity was brought upon
them by a villain, they refused to touch him! This, my boy, is a test of
true bravery. Self-possession and self-control at such a moment is proof
of a strong heart.
“You have heard of Jingling Thunder the elder, whose brave deeds are
well known to the Villagers of the Lakes. He sought honor ‘in the gates
of the enemy,’ as we often say. The Great Mystery was especially kind to
him, because he was obedient.
“Many winters ago there was a great battle, in which Jingling Thunder
won his first honors. It was forty winters before the falling of many
stars, which event occurred twenty winters after the coming of the
black-robed white priest; and that was fourteen winters before the
annihilation by our people of thirty lodges of the Sac and Fox Indians.
I well remember the latter event--it was just fifty winters ago.
However, I will count my sticks again.”
So saying, Smoky Day produced his bundle of variously colored sticks,
about five inches long. He counted and gave them to me to verify his
calculation.
“But you,” he resumed, “do not care to remember the winters that have
passed. You are young, and care only for the event and the deed. It was
very many years ago that this thing happened that I am about to tell
you, and yet our people speak of it with as much enthusiasm as if it
were only yesterday. Our heroes are always kept alive in the minds of
the nation.
“Our people lived then on the east bank of the Mississippi, a little
south of where Imnejah-skah, or White Cliff (St. Paul, Minnesota), now
stands. After they left Mille Lacs they founded several villages,
but finally settled in this spot, whence the tribes have gradually
dispersed. Here a battle occurred which surpassed all others in history.
It lasted one whole day--the Sacs and Foxes and the Dakotas against the
Ojibways.
“An invitation in the usual form of a filled pipe was brought to the
Sioux by a brave of the Sac and Fox tribe, to make a general attack
upon their common enemy. The Dakota braves quickly signified their
willingness in the same manner, and it having been agreed to meet upon
the St. Croix river, preparations were immediately begun to despatch a
large war-party.
“Among our people there were many tried warriors whose names were known,
and every youth of a suitable age was desirous of emulating them. As
these young novices issued from every camp and almost every teepee,
their mothers, sisters, grandfathers and grandmothers were singing
for them the ‘strong-heart’ songs. An old woman, living with her only
grandchild, the remnant of a once large band who had all been killed
at three different times by different parties of the Ojibways, was
conspicuous among the singers.
“Everyone who heard, cast toward her a sympathetic glance, for it was
well known that she and her grandson constituted the remnant of a
band of Sioux, and that her song indicated that her precious child had
attained the age of a warrior, and was now about to join the war-party,
and to seek a just revenge for the annihilation of his family. This was
Jingling Thunder, also familiarly known as ‘The Little Last.’ He was
seen to carry with him some family relics in the shape of war-clubs and
lances.
“The aged woman’s song was something like this:
“Go, my brave Jingling Thunder!
Upon the silvery path
Behold that glittering track--
“And yet, my child, remember
How pitiful to live
Survivor of the young!
‘Stablish our name and kin!”
“The Sacs and Foxes were very daring and confident upon this occasion.
They proposed to the Sioux that they should engage alone with the enemy
at first, and let us see how their braves can fight! To this our people
assented, and they assembled upon the hills to watch the struggle
between their allies and the Ojibways. It seemed to be an equal fight,
and for a time no one could tell how the contest would end. Young
Jingling Thunder was an impatient spectator, and it was The Milky
Way--believed by the Dakotas to be the road travelled by the spirits of
departed braves hard to keep him from rushing forward to meet his foes.
“At last a great shout went up, and the Sacs and Foxes were seen to be
retreating with heavy loss. Then the Sioux took the field, and were fast
winning the day, when fresh reinforcements came from the north for the
Ojibways. Up to this time Jingling Thunder had been among the foremost
in the battle, and had engaged in several close encounters. But this
fresh attack of the Ojibways was unexpected, and the Sioux were somewhat
tired. Besides, they had told the Sacs and Foxes to sit upon the hills
and rest their weary limbs and take lessons from their friends the
Sioux; therefore no aid was looked for from any quarter.
“A great Ojibway chief made a fierce onslaught on the Dakotas. This
man Jingling Thunder now rushed forward to meet. The Ojibway boastfully
shouted to his warriors that he had met a tender fawn and would reserve
to himself the honor of destroying it. Jingling Thunder, on his side,
exclaimed that he had met the aged bear of whom he had heard so much,
but that he would need no assistance to overcome him.
“The powerful man flashed his tomahawk in the air over the youthful
warrior’s head, but the brave sprang aside as quick as lightning, and
in the same instant speared his enemy to the heart. As the Ojibway chief
gave a gasping yell and fell in death, his people lost courage; while
the success of the brave Jingling Thunder strengthened the hearts of the
Sioux, for they immediately followed up their advantage and drove the
enemy out of their territory.
“This was the beginning of Jingling Thunder’s career as a warrior. He
afterwards performed even greater acts of valor. He became the ancestor
of a famous band of the Sioux, of whom your own father, Ohiyesa, was a
member. You have doubtless heard his name in connection with many great
events. Yet he was a patient man, and was never known to quarrel with
one of his own nation.”
That night I lay awake a long time committing to memory the tradition
I had heard, and the next day I boasted to my playmate, Little Rainbow,
about my first lesson from the old storyteller. To this he replied:
“I would rather have Weyuhah for my teacher. I think he remembers more
than any of the others. When Weyuhah tells about a battle you can see
it yourself; you can even hear the war-whoop,” he went on with much
enthusiasm.
“That is what his friends say of him; but those who are not his friends
say that he brings many warriors into the battle who were not there,”
I answered indignantly, for I could not admit that old Smoky Day could
have a rival.
Before I went to him again Uncheedah had thoughtfully prepared a nice
venison roast for the teacher, and I was proud to take him something
good to eat before beginning his story.
“How,” was his greeting, “so you have begun already, Ohiyesa? Your
family were ever feastmakers as well as warriors.”
Having done justice to the tender meat, he wiped his knife by sticking
it into the ground several times, and put it away in its sheath, after
which he cheerfully recommenced:
“It came to pass not many winters ago that Wakinyan-tonka, the great
medicine man, had a vision; whereupon a war-party set out for the
Ojibway country. There were three brothers of your family among them,
all of whom were noted for valor and the chase.
“Seven battles were fought in succession before they turned to come
back. They had secured a number of the enemy’s birch canoes, and the
whole party came floating down the Mississippi, joyous and happy because
of their success.
“But one night the war-chief announced that there was misfortune at
hand. The next day no one was willing to lead the fleet. The youngest of
the three brothers finally declared that he did not fear death, for it
comes when least expected and he volunteered to take the lead.
“It happened that this young man had left a pretty maiden behind him,
whose choice needlework adorned his quiver. He was very handsome as well
as brave.
“At daybreak the canoes were again launched upon the bosom of the great
river. All was quiet--a few birds beginning to sing. Just as the sun
peeped through the eastern tree-tops a great warcry came forth from the
near shores, and there was a rain of arrows. The birchen canoes were
pierced, and in the excitement many were capsized.
“The Sioux were at a disadvantage. There was no shelter. Their
bow-strings and the feathers on their arrows were wet. The bold Ojibways
saw their advantage and pressed closer and closer; but our men fought
desperately, half in and half out of the water, until the enemy was
forced at last to retreat. Nevertheless that was a sad day for the
Wahpeton Sioux; but saddest of all was Winona’s fate!
“Morning Star, her lover, who led the canoe fleet that morning, was
among the slain. For two days the Sioux braves searched in the water for
their dead, but his body was not recovered.
“At home, meanwhile, the people had been alarmed by ill omens. Winona,
eldest daughter of the great chief, one day entered her birch canoe
alone and paddled up the Mississippi, gazing now into the water around
her, now into the blue sky above. She thought she heard some young men
giving courtship calls in the distance, just as they do at night when
approaching the teepee of the beloved; and she knew the voice of Morning
Star well! Surely she could distinguish his call among the others!
Therefore she listened yet more intently, and looked skyward as her
light canoe glided gently up stream.
“Ah, poor Winona! She saw only six sandhill cranes, looking no larger
than mosquitoes, as they flew in circles high up in the sky, going east
where all spirits go. Something said to her: ‘Those are the spirits
of some of the Sioux braves, and Morning Star is among them!’ Her eye
followed the birds as they traveled in a chain of circles.
“Suddenly she glanced downward. ‘What is this?’ she screamed in despair.
It was Morning Star’s body, floating down the river; his quiver, worked
by her own hands and now dyed with his blood, lay upon the surface of
the water.
“‘Ah, Great Mystery! why do you punish a poor girl so? Let me go with
the spirit of Morning Star!’
“It was evening. The pale moon arose in the east and the stars were
bright. At this very hour the news of the disaster was brought home by
a returning scout, and the village was plunged in grief, but Winona’s
spirit had flown away. No one ever saw her again.
“This is enough for to-day, my boy. You may come again to-morrow.”