[Illustration: 9105]
R. CATLIN met with many interesting adventures, while visiting the
numerous and savage tribes of the great west, for the purpose of seeing
and judging for himself, of their habits and modes of life. One of these
he details in his valuable work, as “The Story of the Dog,” and as it is
a fine illustration of the dangers encountered by adventurers among
the Indians, and of the certainty of revenge which follows an injury, we
here insert it:
I had passed up the Missouri river, on the steamboat Yellow Stone, on
which I ascended the Missouri to the mouth of Yellow Stone river. While
going up, this boat, having on board the United States Indian agent,
Major Sanford--Messrs. Pierre, Chouteau, McKenzie of the American Fur
Company, and myself, as passengers, stopped at this trading-post, and
remained several weeks; where were assembled six hundred families of
Sioux Indians, their tents being pitched in close order on an extensive
prairie on the bank of the river.
This trading-post, in charge of Mr. Laidlaw, is the concentrating place,
and principal depot, for this powerful tribe, who number, when all taken
together, something like forty or fifty thousand. On this occasion, five
or six thousand had assembled to see the steamboat, and meet the Indian
agent, which, and whom they knew were to arrive about this time. During
the few weeks that we remained there, I was busily engaged painting my
portraits, for here were assembled the principal chiefs and medicine-men
of the nation. To these people, the operations of my brush were entirely
new and unaccountable, and excited amongst them the greatest curiosity
imaginable. Every thing else, even the steamboat, was abandoned for the
pleasure of crowding into my painting-room, and witnessing the result
of each fellow’s success, as he came out from under the operation of my
brush.
They had been at first much afraid of the consequences that might flow
from so strange and unaccountable an operation; but having been made to
understand my views, they began to look upon it as a great honor, and
afforded me the opportunities that I desired; exhibiting the utmost
degree of vanity for their appearance, both as to features and dress.
The consequence was, that my room was filled with the chiefs who sat
around, arranged according to the rank or grade which they held in the
estimation of their tribe; and in this order it became necessary for
me to paint them, to the exclusion of those who never signalized
themselves, and were without any distinguishing character in society.
The first man on the list, was Ha-wan-ghee-ta, (one horn,) head chief
of the nation, and after him the subordinate chief, or chiefs of bands,
according to the estimation in which they were held by the chief or
tribe. My models were thus placed before me, whether ugly or beautiful,
all the same, and I saw at once there was to be trouble somewhere, as
I could not paint them all. The medicine-men or high priests, who are
esteemed by many the oracles of the nation, and the most important
men in it--becoming jealous, commenced their harangues, outside of
the lodge, telling them that they were all fools--that those who were
painted would soon die in consequence; and that these pictures, which
had life to a considerable degree in them, would live in the hands of
white men after they were dead, and make them sleepless and endless
trouble.
Those whom I had painted, though evidently somewhat alarmed, were
unwilling to acknowledge it, and those whom I had not painted, unwilling
to be outdone in courage, allowed me the privilege; braving and defying
the danger that they were evidently more or less in dread of. Feuds
began to arise too, among some of the chiefs of the different bands,
who, (not unlike some instances among the chiefs and warriors of our own
country,) had looked upon their rival chiefs with unsleeping jealousy,
until it had grown into disrespect and enmity. An instance of this
kind presented itself at this critical juncture, in this assembly of
inflammable spirits, which changed in a moment, its features, from the
free and jocular garrulity of an Indian levee, to the frightful yells
and agitated treads and starts of an Indian battle. I had in progress
at this time, a portrait of Mah-to-tchee-ga, (little bear;) of the
Onc-pa-pa band, a noble fine fellow, who was sitting before me as I was
painting. I was painting almost a profile view of his face, throwing a
part of it into shadow, and had it nearly finished, when an Indian by
the name of Shon-ka, (the dog,) chief of the Caz-a-zshee-ta band, an
ill-natured and surly man--despised by the chiefs of every other band,
entered the wigwam in a sullen mood, and seated himself on the floor in
front of my sitter, where he could have a full view of the picture in
its operation. After sitting a while with his arms folded, and his lips
stiffly arched with contempt, he sneeringly spoke thus:
“Mah-to-tchee-ga is but half a man.”
Dead silence ensued for a moment, and nought was in motion save the
eyes of the chiefs, who were seated around the room, and darting their
glances about upon each other in listless anxiety to hear the sequel
that was to follow! During this interval, the eyes of Mah-to-tchee-ga
had not moved--his lips became slightly curved, and he pleasantly asked
in low and steady accent, “Who says that?”
“Shon-ka says it,” was the reply, “and Shonka can prove it.” At this
the eyes of Mah-to-tchee-ga, which had not yet moved, began steadily
to turn, and slow, as if upon pivots, and when they were rolled out of
their sockets till they had fixed upon the object of their contempt; his
dark and jutting brows were shoving down in trembling contention, with
the blazing rays that were actually burning with contempt, the object
that was before them. “Why does Shon-ka say it?”
“Ask We-chash-a-wa-kon, (the painter,) he can tell you; he knows you are
but half a man--he has painted but one half of your face, and knows the
other half is good for nothing!”
“Let the painter say it, and I will believe it; but when the Dog says it
let him prove it.”
“Shon-ka has said it, and Shon-ka can prove it; if Mah-to-tchee-ga be a
man, and wants to be honored by the white men, let him not be ashamed;
but let him do as Shon-ka has done, give the white man a horse, and then
let him see the whole of your face without being ashamed.”
“When Mah-to-tchee-ga kills a white man and steals his horses, he may
be ashamed to look at a white man until he brings him a horse! When
Mah-to-tchee-ga waylays and murders an honorable and brave Sioux,
because he is a coward and not brave enough to meet him in fair combat,
then he may be ashamed to look at a white man till he has given him a
horse! Mah-to-tchee-ga can look at any one; and he is now looking at an
old woman and a coward!”
This repartee, which had lasted for a few minutes, to the amusement and
excitement of the chiefs, being thus ended: The Dog suddenly rose
from the ground, and wrapping himself in his robe, left the wigwam,
considerably agitated, having the laugh of all the chiefs upon him.
The Little Bear had followed him with his piercing eyes until he left
the door, and then pleasantly and unmoved, resumed his position, where
he sat a few minutes longer, until the portrait was completed. He then
rose, and in a most graceful and gentlemanly manner, presented to me
a very beautiful shirt of buckskin, richly garnished with quills of
porcupine, wringed with scalp-locks (honorable memorials) from his
enemies’ heads, and painted, with all his battles emblazoned on it. He
then left my wigwam, and a few steps brought him to the door of his own,
where the Dog intercepted him, and asked, “What meant Mah-to-tchee-ga,
by the last words that he spoke to Shon-ka?”
“Mah-to-tchee-ga said it, and Shon-ka is not a fool--that is enough.”
At this the Dog walked violently to his own lodge; and the Little Bear
retreated into his, both knowing from looks and gestures what was about
to be the consequence of their altercation.
The Little Bear instantly charged his gun, and then, as their custom is,
threw himself upon his face, in humble supplication to the Great Spirit
for his aid and protection. His wife, in the meantime, seeing him
agitated, and fearing some evil consequences, without knowing any thing
of the preliminaries, secretly withdrew the bullet from the gun, and
told him not of it.
The Dog’s voice, at this moment, was heard, and recognized at the door
of Mah-to-Shee-ga’s lodge, “If Mah-to-tchee-ga be a whole man, let him
come out and prove it; it is Shon-ka that calls him!”
His wife screamed; but it was too late. The gun was in his hand, and he
sprang out of the door--both drew and simultaneously fired. The Dog fled
uninjured; but the Little Bear lay weltering in his blood (strange to
say!) with all that side of his face shot away, which had been left out
of the picture; and, according to the prediction of the Dog, “good for
nothing;” carrying away one half of the jaws, and the flesh from the
nostrils and corner of the mouth, to the ear, including one eye, and
leaving the jugular vein entirely exposed. Here was a “coup;” and any
one accustomed to the thrilling excitement that such things produce in
an Indian village, can form some idea of the frightful agitation amidst
several thousand Indians, who were divided into jealous bands or clans,
under ambitious and rival chiefs! In one minute a thousand guns and bows
were seized! A thousand thrilling yells were raised; and many were
the fierce and darting warriors who sallied round the Dog for his
protection--he fled amidst a shower of bullets and arrows; but his
braves were about him! The blood of the Onc-pa-pas was roused, and the
indignant braves of that gallant band rushed forth from all quarters,
and, swift upon their heels, were hot for vengeance! On the plain, and
in full view of us, for some time, the whizzing arrows flew, and so did
bullets, until the Dog and his brave followers were lost in distance
on the prairie! In this rencontre, the Dog had his arm broken; but
succeeded, at length, in making his escape.
On the next day after this affair took place, Little Bear died of his
wound, and was buried amidst the most pitiful and heart-rending cries
of his distracted wife, whose grief was inconsolable at the thought of
having been herself the immediate and innocent cause of his death, by
depriving him of his supposed protection.
This marvellous and fatal transaction was soon talked through the
village, and the eyes of all this superstitious multitude were fixed on
me as the cause of the calamity--my paintings and brushes were instantly
packed, and all hands, Traders and Travellers, assumed at once a posture
of defence.
I evaded, no doubt, in a great measure, the concentration of their
immediate censure upon me, by expressions of great condolence, and by
distributing liberal presents to the wife and relations of the deceased;
and by uniting also with Mr. Laidlaw and the other gentlemen, in giving
him honorable burial, where we placed over his grave a handsome Sioux
lodge, and hung a white flag to wave over it.
On this occasion many were the tears that were shed for the brave
and honorable Mah-to-tchee-ga, and all the warriors of his band swore
sleepless vengeance on the Dog, until his life should answer for the
loss of their chief.
On the day that he was buried, I started for the mouth of the Yellow
Stone, and while I was gone, the spirit of vengeance had pervaded nearly
all the Sioux country in search of the Dog, who had evaded pursuit. His
brother, however, a noble and honorable fellow, esteemed by all who
knew him, fell in their way in an unlucky hour, when their thirst for
vengeance was irresistible, and they slew him. Repentance deep, and
grief were the result of this rash act, when they beheld a brave
and worthy man fall for so worthless a character; and as they became
exasperated, the spirit of revenge grew more desperate than ever, and
they swore they never would lay down their arms or embrace their wives
and children until vengeance, full and complete, should light upon the
head that deserved it. This brings us again to the first part of my
story, and in this state were things in that part of the country, when
I was descending the river, four months afterwards, and landed my canoe,
as I before stated, at Laidlaw’s trading-post.
The excitement had been kept up all summer among these people, and
their superstitions bloated to the full brim, from circumstances so well
calculated to feed and increase them. Many of them looked at me at once
as the author of all these disasters, considering I knew that one half
of the man’s face was good for nothing, or that I would not have left it
out of the picture, and that I must have foreknown the evils that were
to flow from the omission; they consequently resolved that I was a
dangerous man, and should suffer for my temerity in case the Dog could
not be found. Councils had been held, and in all the solemnity of
Indian medicine and mystery, I had been doomed to die! At one of these,
a young warrior of the Onc-pa-pa band, arose and said, “The blood of two
chiefs has been sunk into the ground, and a hundred bows are bent which
are ready to shed more! on whom shall we bend them? I am a friend to the
white man, but here is one whose medicine is too great--he is a
great medicineman! his medicine is too great! he was the death of
Mah-to-tchee-ga! he made only one side of his face! he would not make
the other--the side that he made was alive; the other was dead, and
Shon-ka shot it off! How is this? Who is to die?”
After him, Tah-zee-kee-da-cha (torn belly,) of the Yankton band, arose,
and said, “Father, this medicine-man has done much harm! You told our
chiefs and warriors, that they must be painted--you said he was a good
man, and we believed you! you thought so, my father, but you see what
he has done!--he looks at our chiefs and our women and then makes them
alive!! In this way he has taken our chiefs away, and he can trouble
their spirits when they are dead!--they will be unhappy. If he can make
them alive by looking at them, he can do us much harm!--you tell us
that they are not alive--we see their eyes move!--their eyes follow us
wherever we go, that is enough! I have no more to say!” After him arose
a young man of the Onc-pa-pa band. “Father! you know that I am the
brother of Mah-to-tchee-ga!--you know that I loved him--both sides of
his face were good, and the medicine-man knew it also! Why was half of
his face left out? He never was ashamed, but always looked white man in
the face! Why was that side of his face shot off? Your friend is not our
friend, and has forfeited his life--we want you to tell us where he
is--we want to see him!”
Then rose Toh-ki-e-to (a medicine-man,) of the Yankton band, and
principal orator of the nation. “My friend, these are young men that
speak--I am not afraid! your white medicine-man painted my picture, and
it was good--I am glad of it--I am very glad to see that I shall live
after I am dead!--I am old and not afraid!--some of our young men are
foolish. I know that this man put many of our buffaloes in his book!
for I was with him, and we have had no buffaloes since to eat, it
is true--but I am not afraid!! his medicine is great and I wish him
well--we are friends.” Thus rested the affair of the Dog and its
consequences, until I conversed with Major Bean, the agent for these
people, who arrived in St.
Louis some weeks after I did, bringing later intelligence from them,
assuring me that the Dog had at length been overtaken and killed, near
the Black-hills, and that the affair might now for ever be considered as
settled.
[Illustration: 0121]
[Illustration: 0122]