CHAPTER I.

DAHCOTAH;

OR,

LIFE AND LEGENDS OF THE SIOUX

AROUND FORT SNELLING.

BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN,

WITH

PREFACE BY MRS. C. M. KIRKLAND.

ILLUSTRATED FROM DRAWINGS BY CAPTAIN EASTMAN.

TO HENRY SIBLEY, ESQ.,

HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.

It was my purpose to dedicate, exclusively, these pages to my beloved

parents. What correctness of sentiment appears in this book is mainly

ascribable to a principle they endeavored to instil into the minds of

their children, that purity of heart and intellectual attainment are

never more appropriately exercised than in promoting the good of our

fellow-creatures.

Yet the sincere sentiments of respect and regard that I entertain for

you, the remembrance of the many acts of friendship received from you

during my residence at Fort Snelling, and the assurance that you are

ever prompt to assist and protect the Indian, induce me to unite your

name with those most dear to me in this dedication.

An additional inducement is, that no one knows better than yourself the

opportunities that presented themselves to collect materials for these

legends, and with what interest these occasions were improved. With

whatever favor this little work may be received it is a most pleasing

reflection to me, that the object in publishing it being to excite

attention to the moral wants of the Dahcotahs, will be kindly

appreciated by the friends of humanity, and by none more readily

than yourself.

Very truly yours,

MARY H. EASTMAN.

New London, March lst, 1849.

PREFACE.

My only title to the office of editor in the present case is some

practice in such matters, with a very warm interest in all, whether

relating to past or present, that concerns our western country. Mrs.

Eastman,--wife of Captain Eastman, and daughter of Dr. Henderson, both

of the U. S. army,--is thoroughly acquainted with the customs,

superstitions, and leading ideas of the Dahcotahs, whose vicinity to

Fort Snelling, and frequent intercourse with its inmates, have brought

them much under the notice of the officers and ladies of the garrison.

She has no occasion to present the Indian in a theatrical garb--a mere

thing of paint and feathers, less like the original than his own rude

delineation on birch-bark or deer-skin. The reader will find in the

following pages living men and women, whose feelings are in many

respects like his own, and whose motives of action are very similar to

those of the rest of the world, though far less artfully covered up and

disguised under pleasant names. "Envy, hatred and malice, and all

uncharitableness," stand out, unblushing, in Indian life. The first is

not called emulation, nor the second just indignation or merited

contempt, nor the third zeal for truth, nor the fourth keen discernment

of character. Anger and revenge are carried out honestly to their

natural fruit--injury to others. Among the Indians this takes the form

of murder, while with us it is obliged to content itself with slander,

or cunning depreciation. In short, the study of Indian character is the

study of the unregenerate human heart; and the writer of these sketches

of the Dahcotahs presents it as such, with express and solemn reference

to the duty of those who have "the words of eternal life" to apply them

to the wretched condition of the red man, who is, perhaps, with all his

ignorance, quite as well prepared to receive them as many of those who

are already wise in their own eyes. The very degradation and misery in

which he lives, and of which he is not unable to perceive some of the

causes, prepare him to welcome the instruction which promises better

things. Evils which are covered up under the smoothness of civilization,

stand out in all their horrible deformity in the _abandon_ of savage

life; the Indian cannot get even one gleam of light, without instantly

perceiving the darkness around him. Here, then, is encouragement to

paint him as he is, that the hearts of the good may be moved at his

destitute and unhappy state; to set forth his wants and his claims, that

ignorance may no longer be pleaded as an excuse for withholding, from

the original proprietor of the soil, the compensation or atonement which

is demanded at once by justice, honor, and humanity.

Authentic pictures of Indian life have another and a different value, in

a literary point of view. In the history and character of the aborigines

is enveloped all the distinct and characteristic poetic material to

which we, as Americans, have an unquestioned right. Here is a peculiar

race, of most unfathomable origin, possessed of the qualities which have

always prompted poetry, and living lives which are to us as shadowy as

those of the Ossianic heroes; our own, and passing away--while we take

no pains to arrest their fleeting traits or to record their picturesque

traditions. Yet we love poetry; are ambitious of a literature of our

own, and sink back dejected when we are convicted of imitation. Why is

it that we lack interest in things at home? Sismondi has a passage to

this effect:--

"The literature of other countries has been frequently adopted by a

young nation with a sort of fanatical admiration. The genius of those

countries having been so often placed before it as the perfect model of

all greatness and all beauty, every spontaneous movement has been

repressed, in order to make room for the most servile imitation; and

every national attempt to develop an original character has been

sacrificed to the reproduction of something conformable to the model

which has been always before its eyes."

This is certainly true of us, since we not only adopt the English view

of everything, but confine ourselves to the very subjects and imagery

which have become consecrated to us by love and habit. Not to enter into

the general subject of our disposition to parrotism, our neglect of

Indian material in particular may be in part accounted for, by our

having become acquainted with the aborigines after the most unpoetical

fashion, in trying to cheat them out of their lands, or shooting them

when they declined being cheated; they, in their turn, driven to the

resource of the weak and the ignorant, counterplotting us, and taking,

by means of blood and fire, what we would not give them in fair

compensation. This has made our business relations very unpleasant;

and everybody knows that when this becomes the case, it is hard for

parties to do justice to each other's good or available qualities.

If we had only read about the Indians, as a people living in the

mountain-fastnesses of Greece, or the, broad plains of Transylvania, we

should without difficulty have discovered the romantic elements of their

character. But as the effect of remoteness is produced by time as well

as distance, it is surely worth while to treasure up their legends for

our posterity, who will justly consider us very selfish, if we throw

away what will be a treasure to them, merely because we cannot or will

not use it ourselves.

A prominent ground of the slight regard in which the English hold

American literature, or at least one of the most plausible reasons given

for it, is our want of originality, particularly in point of subject

matter. It is said that our imitativeness is so servile, that for the

sake of following English models, at an immeasurable distance, we

neglect the new and grand material which lies all around us, in the

sublime features of our country, in our new and striking circumstances,

in our peculiar history and splendid prospects, and, above all, in the

character, superstitions, and legends of our aborigines, who, to eyes

across the water, look like poetical beings. We are continually

reproached by British writers for the obtuse carelessness with which we

are allowing these people, with so much of the heroic element in their

lives, and so much of the mysterious in their origin, to go into the

annihilation which seems their inevitable fate as civilization advances,

without an effort to secure and record all that they are able to

communicate respecting themselves.

And the reproach is just. In our hurry of utilitarian progress, we have

either forgotten the Indian altogether, or looked upon him only in a

business point of view, as we do almost everything else; as a

thriftless, treacherous, drunken fellow, who knows just enough to be

troublesome, and who must be cajoled or forced into leaving his

hunting-grounds for the occupation of very orderly and virtuous white

people, who sell him gunpowder and whiskey, but send him now and then a

missionary to teach him that it is wrong to get drunk and murder his

neighbor. To look upon the Indian with much regard, even in the light of

literary material, would be inconvenient; for the moment we recognize in

him a mind, a heart, a soul,--the recollection of the position in which

we stand towards him becomes thorny, and we begin dimly to remember

certain duties belonging to our Christian profession, which we have

sadly neglected with regard to the sons of the forest, whom we have

driven before us just as fast as we have required or desired their

lands. A few efforts have been made, not only to bring the poetry of

their history into notice, but to do them substantial good; the public

heart, however, has never responded to the feelings of those who, from

living in contact with the Indians, have felt this interest in them. To

most Americans, the red man is, to this day, just what he was to the

first settlers of the country--a being with soul enough to be blameable

for doing wrong, but not enough to claim Christian brotherhood, or to

make it _very_ sinful to shoot him like a dog, upon the slightest

provocation or alarm. While this feeling continues, we shall not look

to him for poetry; and the only imaginative writing in which he is

likely to be generally used as material, will be kindred to that known

by the appropriate title of "Pirate Literature." Mr. Cooper and Miss

Sedgwick are, perhaps, alone among our writers in their attempts to do

the Indian justice, while making him the poetical machine in fiction.

Missionaries, however, as well as others who have lived among the

aborigines for purely benevolent purposes, have discovered in them

capabilities and docility which may put to the blush many of the whites

who despise and hate them. Not only in individual cases, but in more

extended instances, the Indian has been found susceptible of religious

and moral instruction; his heart has warmed to kindness, like any other

man's; he has been able to perceive the benefits of regular industry;

his head has proved as clear in the apprehension of the distinction

between right and wrong as that of the more highly cultivated moralist;

and he receives the fundamental truths of the gospel with an avidity,

and applies them--at least to the lives and characters of his

neighbors--with a keenness, which show him to be not far behind the rest

of mankind in sensibility and acuteness. Without referring to the

testimony of the elder missionaries, which is abundant, I remember a

most touching account, by Rev. George Duffield, jr., of piety in an

Indian wigwam, which I would gladly transfer to these pages did their

limits admit. It could be proved by overwhelming testimony, that the

Indian is as susceptible of good as his white brother. But it is not

necessary in this place to urge his claim to our attention on the ground

of his moral and religious capabilities. Setting them aside, he has many

qualifications for the heroic character as Ajax, or even Achilles. He is

as brave, daring, and ruthless; as passionate, as revengeful, as

superstitious, as haughty. He will obey his medicine man, though with

fury in his heart and injurious words upon his lips; he will fight to

the death for a wife, whom he will afterwards treat with the most

sovereign neglect. He understands and accepts the laws of spoil, and

carries them out with the most chivalric precision; his torture of

prisoners does not exceed those which formed part of the "triumphs" of

old; his plan of scalping is far neater and more expeditious than that

of dragging a dead enemy thrice round the camp by the heels. He loves

splendor, and gets all he can of it; and there is little essential

difference, in this regard, between gold and red paint, between diamonds

and wampum. He has great ancestral pride--a feeling much in esteem for

its ennobling powers; and the _totem_ has all the meaning and use of any

other armorial bearing. In the endurance of fatigue, hunger, thirst, and

exposure, the forest hero has no superior; in military affairs he fully

adopts the orthodox maxim that all stratagems are lawful in war. In

short, nothing is wanting but a Homer to build our Iliad material into

"lofty rhyme," or a Scott to weave it into border romance; and as we are

encouraged to look for Scotts and Homers at some future day, it is

manifestly our duty to be recording fleeting traditions and describing

peculiar customs, before the waves of time shall have swept over the

retreating footsteps of the "salvage man," and left us nothing but lake

and forest, mountains and cataracts, out of which to make our poetry

and romance.

The Indians themselves are full of poetry. Their legends embody poetic

fancy of the highest and most adventurous flight; their religious

ceremonies refer to things unseen with a directness which shows how bold

and vivid are their conceptions of the imaginative. The war-song--the

death-song--the song of victory--the cradle-chant--the lament for the

slain--these are the overflowings of the essential poetry of their

untaught souls. Their eloquence is proverbially soaring and figurative;

and in spite of all that renders gross and mechanical their ordinary

mode of marrying and giving in marriage, instances are not rare among

them of love as true, as fiery, and as fatal, as that of the most

exalted hero of romance. They, indeed, live poetry; it should be ours to

write it out for them.

Mrs. Eastman's aim has been to preserve from destruction such legends

and traits of Indian character as had come to her knowledge during long

familiarity; with the Dahcotahs, and nothing can be fresher or more

authentic than her records, taken down from the very lips of the red

people as they sat around her fire and opened their hearts to her

kindness. She has even caught their tone, and her language will be found

to have something of an Ossianic simplicity and abruptness, well suited

to the theme. Sympathy,--feminine and religious,--breathes through these

pages, and the unaffected desire of the writer to awaken a kindly

interest in the poor souls who have so twined themselves about her own

best feelings, may be said to consecrate the work. In its character of

aesthetic material for another age, it appeals to our nationality;

while, as the effort of a reflecting and Christian mind to call public

attention to the needs of an unhappy race, we may ask for it the

approbation of all who acknowledge the duty to "teach all nations."

C. M. K.

NEW YORK, _March_, 1849.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION

MOCK-PE-EN-DAG-A-WIN; OR, CHECKERED CLOUD, THE MEDICINE WOMAN

RED EARTH; OR, MOCKA-DOOTA-WIN

WENONA; OR, THE VIRGIN'S FEAST

THE DAHCOTAH CONVERT WABASHAW

THE DAHCOTAH BRIDE SHAH-CO-PEE

THE ORATOR OF THE SIOUX OYE-KAR-MANI-VIM

THE TRACK-MAKER ETA KEAZAH; OR, SULLEN FACE TONWA-YAH-PE-KIN

THE SPIES THE MAIDEN'S ROCK; OR, WENONA'S LEAP OECHE-MONESAH

THE WANDERER TAH-WE-CHUT-KIN

THE WIFE WHA-ZEE-YAN

ANOTHER OF THE GIANT GODS OF THE DAHCOTAHS

STORMS IN LIFE AND NATURE; OR, UNKTAHE AND THE THUNDER BIRD HAOKAH OZAPE

THE DANCE OF THE GIANT U-MI-NE-WAH-CHIPPE; OR, TO DANCE AROUND

INTRODUCTION.

The materials for the following pages were gathered during a residence

of seven years in the immediate neighborhood--nay--in the very midst of

the once powerful but now nearly extinct tribe of Sioux or

Dahcotah Indians.

Fort Snelling is situated seven miles below the Falls of St. Anthony, at

the confluence of the Mississippi--and St. Peter's rivers--built in

1819, and named after the gallant Colonel Snelling, of the army, by whom

the work was erected. It is constructed of stone; is one of the

strongest Indian forts in the United States; and being placed on a

commanding bluff, has somewhat the appearance of an old German castle,

or one of the strongholds on the Rhine.

The then recent removal of the Winnebagoes was rendered troublesome by

the interference of Wabashaw, the Sioux chief, whose village is on the

Mississippi, 1800 miles from its mouth. The father of Wabashaw was a

noted Indian; and during the past summer, the son has given some

indications that he inherits the father's talents and courage. When the

Winnebagoes arrived at Wabashaw's prairie, the chief induced them not to

continue their journey of removal; offered them land to settle upon near

him, and told them it was not really the wish of their Great Father,

that they should remove. His bribes and eloquence induced the

Winnebagoes to refuse to proceed; although there was a company of

volunteer dragoons and infantry with them. This delay occasioning much

expense and trouble, the government agents applied for assistance to

the command at Fort Snelling. There was but one company there; and the

commanding officer, with twenty men and some friendly Sioux, went down

to assist the agent.

There was an Indian council held on the occasion. The Sioux who went

from Fort Snelling promised to speak in favor of the removal. During the

council, however, not one of them said a word--for which they afterwards

gave a satisfactory reason. Wabashaw; though a young man, had such

influence over his band, that his orders invariably received implicit

obedience. When the council commenced, Wabashaw had placed a young

warrior behind each of the friendly Sioux who he knew would speak in

favor of the removal, with orders to shoot down the first one who rose

for that purpose. This stratagem may be considered a characteristic

specimen of the temper and habits of the Sioux chiefs, whose tribe we

bring before the reader in their most conspicuous ceremonies and habits.

The Winnebagoes were finally removed, but not until Wabashaw was taken

prisoner and carried to Fort Snelling. Wabashaw's pike-bearer was a fine

looking warrior, named "Many Lightnings."

The village of "Little Crow," another able and influential Sioux chief,

is situated twenty miles below the Falls of St. Anthony. He has four

wives, all sisters, and the youngest of them almost a child. There are

other villages of the tribe, below and above Fort Snelling.

The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The falls of St.

Anthony are familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian sketches.

Between the fort and these falls are the "Little Falls," forty feet in

height, on a stream that empties into the Mississippi. The Indians call

them Mine-hah-hah, or "laughing waters." In sight of Fort Snelling is a

beautiful hill called Morgan's Bluff; the Indians call it "God's House."

They have a tradition that it is the residence of their god of the

waters, whom they call Unk-ta-he. Nothing can be more lovely than the

situation and appearance of this hill; it commands on every side a

magnificent view, and during the summer it is carpeted with long grass

and prairie flowers. But, to those who have lived the last few years at

Fort Snelling, this hill presents another source of interest. On its top

are buried three young children, who were models of health and beauty

until the scarlet fever found its way into regions hitherto shielded

from its approach. They lived but long enough on earth to secure them an

entrance into heaven. Life, which ought to be a blessing to all, was to

them one of untold value; for it was a short journey to a better land--a

translation from the yet unfelt cares of earth to the bright and endless

joys of heaven.

Opposite the Fort is Pilot Knob, a high peak, used as a burial-place by

the Indians; just below it is the village of Mendota, or the "Meeting of

the Waters."

But to me, the greatest objects of interest and curiosity were the

original owners of the country, whose teepees could be seen in every

direction. One could soon know all that was to be known about Pilot Knob

or St. Anthony's falls; but one is puzzled completely to comprehend the

character of an Indian man, woman, or child. At one moment, you see an

Indian chief raise himself to his full height, and say that the ground

on which he stands is his own; at the next, beg bread and pork from an

enemy. An Indian woman will scornfully refuse to wash an article that

might be needed by a white family--and the next moment, declare that she

had not washed her face in fifteen years! An Indian child of three years

old, will cling to its mother under the walls of the Fort, and then

plunge into the Mississippi, and swim half way across, in hopes of

finding an apple that has been thrown in. We may well feel much

curiosity to look into the habits, manners, and motives of a race

exhibiting such contradictions.

There is a great deal said of Indian warriors--and justly too of the

Sioux. They are, as a race, tall fine-looking men; and many of those who

have not been degraded by association with the frontier class of white

people, nor had their intellects destroyed by the white man's

fire-water, have minds of high order, and reason with a correctness

that would put to the blush the powers of many an educated logician. Yet

are these men called savages, and morally associated with the tomahawk

and scalping knife. Few regard them as reasonable creatures, or as

beings endowed by their creator with souls, that are here to be fitted

for the responsibilities of the Indians hereafter.

Good men are sending the Bible to all parts of the world. Sermons are

preached in behalf of fellow-creatures who are perishing in regions

known only to us in name. And here, within reach of comparatively the

slightest exertion; here, not many miles from churches and schools, and

all the moral influences abounding in Christian society; here, in a

country endowed with every advantage that God can bestow, are perishing,

body and soul, our own countrymen: perishing too from disease,

starvation and intemperance, and all the evils incident to their unhappy

condition. White men, Christian men, are driving them back; rooting out

their very names from the face of the earth. Ah! these men can seek the

country of the Sioux when money is to be gained: but how few care for

the sufferings of the Dahcotahs! how few would give a piece of money, a

prayer, or even a thought, towards their present and eternal good.

Yet are they not altogether neglected. Doctor Williamson, one of the

missionaries among the Sioux, lives near Fort Snelling. He is exerting

himself to the utmost to promote the moral welfare of the unhappy people

among whom he expects to pass his life. He has a school for the Indian

children, and many of them read well. On the Sabbath, divine service is

regularly held, and he has labored to promote the cause of temperance

among the Sioux. Christian exertion is unhappily too much influenced by

the apprehension that little can be done for the savage. How is it with

the man on his fire-water mission to the Indian? Does he doubt? Does

he fail?

As a great motive to improve the moral character of the Indians, I

present the condition of the women in their tribes. A degraded state of

woman is universally characteristic of savage life, as her elevated

influence in civilized society is the conspicuous standard of moral and

social virtue. The peculiar sorrows of the Sioux woman commence at her

birth. Even as a child she is despised, in comparison with the brother

beside her, who is one day to be a great warrior. As a maiden, she is

valued while the young man, who wants her for a wife, may have a doubt

of his success. But when she is a wife, there is little sympathy for her

condition. How soon do the oppressive storms and contentions of life

root out all that is kind or gentle in her heart. She must bear the

burdens of the family. Should her husband wish it, she must travel all

day with a heavy weight on her back; and at night when they stop, her

hands must prepare the food for her family before she retires to rest.

Her work is never done. She makes the summer and the winter house. For

the former she peels the bark from the trees in the spring; for the

latter she sews the deer-skin together. She tans the skins of which

coats, mocassins, and leggins are to be made for the family; she has to

scrape it and prepare it while other cares are pressing upon her. When

her child is born, she has no opportunities for rest or quiet. She must

paddle the canoe for her husband--pain and feebleness must be forgotten.

She is always hospitable. Visit her in her teepee, and she willingly

gives you what you need, if in her power; and with alacrity does what

she can to promote your comfort. In her looks there is little that is

attractive. Time has not caused the wrinkles in her forehead, nor the

furrows in her cheek. They are the traces of want, passion, sorrows and

tears. Her bent form was once light and graceful. Labor and privations

are not preservative of beauty.

Let it not be deemed impertinent if I venture to urge upon those who

care for the wretched wherever their lot may be cast, the immense good

that might be accomplished among these tribes by schools, which should

open the minds of the young to the light of reason and Christianity.

Even if the elder members are given up as hopeless, with the young

there is always encouragement. Many a bright little creature among the

Dahcotahs is as capable of receiving instruction as are the children of

civilization. Why should they be neglected when the waters of

benevolence are moving all around them?

It is not pretended that all the incidents related in these stories

occurred exactly as they are stated. Most of them are entirely true;

while in others the narrative is varied in order to show some prevalent

custom, or to illustrate some sentiment to which these Indians are

devoted. The Sioux are as firm believers in their religion as we are in

ours; and they are far more particular in the discharge of what they

conceive to be the obligations required by the objects of their faith

and worship. There are many allusions to the belief and customs of the

Dahcotahs that require explanation. For this purpose I have obtained

from the Sioux themselves the information required. On matters of faith

there is difference of opinion among them--but they do not make more

points of difference on religion, or on any other subject, than white

people do.

The day of the Dahcotah is far spent; to quote the language of a

Chippeway chief, "The Indian's glory is passing away." They seem to be

almost a God-forgotten race. Some few have given the missionary reason

to hope that they have been made subjects of Christian faith--and the

light, that has as yet broken in faint rays upon their darkness, may

increase. He who takes account of the falling of a sparrow, will not

altogether cast away so large a portion of his creatures. All Christian

minds will wish success to the Indian missionary; and assuredly God will

be true to his mercy, where man is found true to his duty.

The first impression created by the Sioux was the common one--fear. In

their looks they were so different from the Indians I had occasionally

seen. There was nothing in their aspect to indicate the success of

efforts made to civilize them. Their tall, unbending forms, their savage

hauteur, the piercing black eye, the quiet indifference of manner, the

slow, stealthy step--how different were they from the eastern Indians,

whose associations with the white people seem to have deprived them of

all native dignity of bearing and of character. The yells heard outside

the high wall of the fort at first filled me with alarm; but I soon

became accustomed to them, and to all other occasional Indian

excitements, that served to vary the monotony of garrison life. Before I

felt much interest in the Sioux, they seemed to have great regard for

me. My husband, before his marriage, had been stationed at Fort Snelling

and at Prairie du Chien. He was fond of hunting and roaming about the

prairies; and left many friends among the Indians when he obeyed the

order to return to an eastern station. On going back to the Indian

country, he met with a warm welcome from his old acquaintances, who were

eager to shake hands with "Eastman's squaw."

The old men laid their bony hands upon the heads of my little boys,

admired their light hair, said their skins were very white; and,

although I could not then understand their language, they told me many

things, accompanied with earnest gesticulation. They brought their wives

and young children to see me. I had been told that Indian women gossiped

and stole; that they were filthy and troublesome. Yet I could not

despise them: they were wives and mothers--God had implanted the same

feelings in their hearts as in mine.

Some Indians visited us every day, and we frequently saw them at their

villages. Captain E. spoke their language well; and without taking any

pains to acquire it, I soon understood it so as to talk with them. The

sufferings of the women and children, especially during the winter

season, appealed to my heart. Their humility in asking for assistance

contrasted strongly with the pompous begging of the men. Late in a

winter's afternoon, Wenona, wife of a chief named the "Star," came to my

room. Undoing a bundle that she took from under her blanket, she

approached and showed it to me. It was an infant three days old,

closely strapped to an Indian cradle. The wretched babe was shrivelled

and already looking old from hunger. She warmed it by the fire,

attempting to still its feeble cries.

"Do you nurse your baby well, Wenona?" I asked; "it looks so thin and

small."

"How can I," was the reply, "when I have not eaten since it was born?"

Frequently we have heard of whole families perishing during severely

cold weather. The father absent on a winter's hunt, the mother could not

leave her children to apply to the fort for assistance, even had she

strength left to reach there. The frozen bodies would be found in the

lodges. The improvident character of the Indian is well known. Their

annuities are soon spent; supplies received from government are used in

feasting; and no provision is made for winters that are always long and

severe. Though they receive frequent assistance from the public at the

fort, the wants of all cannot be supplied. The captain of the post was

generous towards them, as was always my friend Mrs. F., whom they highly

esteemed. Yet some hearts are closed against appeals daily made to their

humanity. An Indian woman may suffer from hunger or sickness, because

her looks are repulsive and her garments unwashed: some will say they

can bear the want of warm clothing, because they have been used to

privation.

The women of the Sioux exhibit many striking peculiarities of

character--the love of the marvellous, and a profound veneration for any

and every thing connected with their religious faith; a willingness to

labor and to learn; patience in submitting to insults from servants who

consider them intruders in families; the evident recognition of the fact

that they are a doomed race, and must submit to indignities that they

dare not resent. They seem, too, so unused to sympathy, often comparing

their lives of suffering and hardship with the ease and comfort enjoyed

by the white women, it must be a hard heart, that could withhold

sympathy from such poor creatures. Their home was mine--and such a home!

The very sunsets, more bright and glorious than I had ever seen, seemed

to love to linger over the scenes amongst which we lived; the high

bluffs of the "father of many waters" and the quiet shores of the

"Minesota;" the fairy rings on the prairie, and the "spirit lakes" that

reposed beside them; the bold peak, Pilot Knob, on whose top the Indians

bury their dead, with the small hills rising gradually around it--all

were dear to the Sioux and to me. They believed that the rocks, and

hills, and waters were peopled with fairies and spirits, whose power and

anger they had ever been taught to fear. I knew that God, whose presence

fills all nature, was there. In fancy they beheld their deities in the

blackened cloud and fearful storm; I saw mine in the brightness of

nature, the type of the unchanging light of Heaven.

They evinced the warmest gratitude to any who had ever displayed kind

feelings towards them. When our little children were ill with scarlet

fever, how grieved they were to witness their sufferings; especially as

we watched Virginia, waiting, as we expected, to receive her parting

breath. How strongly they were contrasted! that fair child, unconscious

even of the presence of the many kind friends who had watched and wept

beside her--and the aged Sioux women, who had crept noiselessly into the

chamber. I remember them well, as they leaned over the foot of the bed;

their expressive and subdued countenances full of sorrow. That small

white hand, that lay so powerless, had ever been outstretched to welcome

them when they came weary and hungry.

They told me afterwards, that "much water fell from their eyes day and

night, while they thought she would die;" that the servants made them

leave the sick room, and then turned them out of the house--but that

they would not go home, waiting outside to hear of her.

During her convalescence, I found that they could "rejoice with those

that rejoice" as well as "weep with those that wept." The fearful

disease was abating in our family, and "Old Harper," as she is called

in the Fort, offered to sit up and attend to the fire. We allowed her to

do so, for the many who had so kindly assisted us were exhausted with

fatigue. Joy had taken from me all inclination to sleep, and I lay down

near my little girl, watching the old Sioux woman. She seemed to be

reviewing the history of her life, so intently did she gaze at the

bright coals on the hearth. Many strange thoughts apparently engaged

her. She was, of her own accord, an inmate of the white man's house,

waiting to do good to his sick child. She had wept bitterly for days,

lest the child should be lost to her--and now she was full of happiness,

at the prospect of her recovery.

How shall we reconcile this with the fact that Harper, or Harpstinah,

was one of the Sioux women, who wore, as long as she could endure it, a

necklace made of the hands and feet of Chippeway children? Here, in the

silence of night, she turned often towards the bed, when the restless

sleep of the child broke in on her meditation. She fancied I slept, but

my mind was busy too. I was far away from the home of my childhood, and

a Sioux woman, with her knife in her belt, was assisting me in the care

of my only daughter. She thought Dr. T. was a "wonderful medicine man"

to cure her; in which opinion we all cordially coincided.

I always listened with pleasure to the women, when allusion was made to

their religion; but when they spoke of their tradition, I felt as a

miser would, had he discovered a mine of gold. I had read the legends of

the Maiden's Rock, and of St. Anthony's Falls. I asked Checkered Cloud

to tell them to me. She did so--and how differently they were told! With

my knowledge of the language, and the aid of my kind and excellent

friend Mr. Prescott, all the dark passages in her narration were made

clear. I thought the Indian tone of feeling was not rightly

appreciated--their customs not clearly stated, perhaps not fairly

estimated. The red man, considered generally as a creature to be carried

about and exhibited for money, was, in very truth, a being immortally

endowed, though under a dispensation obscure to the more highly-favored

white race. As they affirmed a belief in the traditions of their tribe,

with what strength and beauty of diction they clothed their

thoughts--how energetic in gesture! Alas! for the people who had no

higher creed, no surer trust, for this and for another world.

However they may have been improved, no one could have had better

opportunities than I, to acquire all information of interest respecting

these Indians. I lived among them seven years. The chiefs from far and

near were constantly visiting the Fort, and were always at our house.

Not a sentiment is in the Legends that I did not hear from the lips of

the Indian man or woman. They looked on my husband as their friend, and

talked to him freely on all subjects, whether of religion, customs, or

grievances. They were frequently told that I was writing about them,

that every body might know what great warriors they were.

The men were sometimes astonished at the boldness with which I reproved

them, though it raised me much in their estimation. I remember taking

Bad Hail, one of their chiefs, to task, frequently; and on one occasion

he told me, by way of showing his gratitude for the interest I took in

his character, that he had three wives, all of whom he would give up if

I would "leave Eastman, and come and live with him." I received his

proposition, however, with Indian indifference, merely replying that I

did not fancy having my head split open every few days with a stick of

wood. He laughed heartily after his fashion, conscious that the cap

fitted, for he was in the habit of expending all his surplus bad temper

upon his wives. I have sometimes thought, that if, when a warrior, be he

chief or commoner, throws a stick of wood at his wife's head, she were

to cast it back at his, he might, perhaps, be taught better behaviour.

But I never dared to instil such insubordinate notions into the heads of

my Sioux female friends, lest some ultra "brave," in a desperate rage,

might substitute the tomahawk for the log. These opinions, too, might

have made me unpopular with Sioux and Turks--and, perchance, with some

of my more enlightened friends, who are self-constituted "lords of

creation."

I noticed that Indians, like white people, instead of confessing and

forsaking their sins, were apt to excuse themselves by telling how much

worse their neighbors were. When told how wicked it was to have more

than one wife, they defended themselves by declaring that the

Winnebagoes had twice or thrice as many as the Sioux. The attempt to

make one right of two wrongs seems to be instinctive.

I wished to learn correctly the Indian songs which they sing in

celebrating their dances. I sent for a chief, Little Hill, who is a

famous singer, but with little perseverance as a teacher of music. He

soon lost all patience with me, refused to continue the lesson,

declaring that he could never make me sing like a Sioux squaw. The low,

guttural notes created the difficulty. He very quickly became tired of

my piano and singing. The chiefs and medicine men always answered my

questions readily, respecting their laws and religion; but, to insure

good humor, they must first have something to eat. All the scraps of

food collected in the kitchen; cold beef, cold buckwheat cakes; nothing

went amiss, especially as to quantity. Pork is their delight--apples

they are particularly fond of--and, in the absence of fire-water,

molasses and water is a most acceptable beverage. Then they had to smoke

and nod a little before the fire--and by and by I heard all about the

Great Spirit, and Hookah the Giant, and the powers of the Sacred

Medicine. All that is said in this book of their religion, laws, and

sentiments, I learned from themselves, and most of the incidents

occurred precisely as they are represented. Some few have been varied,

but only where it might happily illustrate a peculiar custom or opinion.

Their medicine men, priests, and jugglers, are proverbially the greatest

scamps of the tribe. My dear father must forgive me for reflecting so

harshly on his brother practitioners, and be reconciled when he hears

that they belong to the corps of quacks; for they doubt their own

powers, and are constantly imposing on the credulity of others. On

returning from an evening walk, we met, near the fort, a notable

procession. First came an old medicine man, whose Indian name I cannot

recall; but the children of the garrison called him "Old Sneak"--a most

appropriate appellation, for he always looked as if he had just

committed murder, and was afraid of being found out. On this occasion he

looked particularly in character. What a representative of the learned

faculty! After him, in Indian file, came his wife and children, a most

cadaverous looking set. To use a western phrase, they all looked as if

they were "just dug up." Their appearance was accounted for in the

following ludicrous manner--the story is doubtless substantially true.

There was a quantity of refuse medicine that had been collecting in the

hospital at the fort, and Old Sneak happened to be present at a general

clearing out. The medicine was given to him; and away he went to his

home, hugging it up close to him like a veritable old miser. It was too

precious to be shared with his neighbors; the medicine of the white man

was "wahkun" (wonderful)--and, carrying out the principle that the more

of a good thing the better, he, with his wife and children, took it all!

I felt assured that the infant strapped to its mother's back was dying

at that time.

The "dog dance" is held by the Sioux in great reverence; and the first

time it has been celebrated near the fort for many years, was about five

summers ago.

The Chippeways, with their chief, "Hole in the Day," were down on a

visit, and the prairie outside the fort was covered with Indians of both

tribes. The Chippeways sat on the grass at a little distance, watching

the Sioux as they danced, "to show how brave they were, and how they

could eat the hearts of their enemies." Most of the officers and ladies

of the garrison were assembled on the hospital gallery to witness

the dance.

The Sioux warriors formed a circle; in the centre was a pole fastened in

the ground. One of the Indians killed a dog, and, taking out the heart

and liver, held them for a few moments in a bucket of cold water, and

then hung them to the pole. After awhile, one of the warriors advanced

towards it, barking. His attitude was irresistibly droll; he tried to

make himself look as much as possible like a dog, and I thought he

succeeded to admiration. He retreated, and another warrior advanced with

a different sort of bark; more joined in, until there was a chorus of

barking. Next, one becomes very courageous, jumps and barks towards the

pole, biting off a piece of the flesh; another follows and does the same

feat. One after another they all bark and bite. "Let dogs delight" would

have been, an appropriate melody for the occasion. They had to hold

their heads back to swallow the morçeau--it was evidently hard work.

Several dogs were killed in succession, when, seeing some of the

warriors looking pale and deadly sick, Captain E. determined to try how

many of their enemies' hearts they could dispose of. He went down among

the Indians and purchased another dog. They could not refuse to eat the

heart. It made even the bravest men sick to swallow the last

mouthful--they were pale as death. I saw the last of it, and although

John Gilpin's ride might be a desirable sight, yet when the Sioux

celebrate another dog feast, "may I not be there to see."

Our intercourse with the Sioux was greatly facilitated, and our

influence over them much increased, by the success attending my

husband's efforts to paint their portraits. They thought it supernatural

(wahkun) to be represented on canvas. Some were prejudiced against

sitting, others' esteemed it a great compliment to be asked, but all

expected to be paid for it. And if anything were wanting to complete our

opportunities for gaining all information that was of interest, we found

it in the daguerreotype. Captain E., knowing they were about to

celebrate a feast he wished to paint in group, took his apparatus out,

and, when they least expected it, transferred the group to his plate.

The awe, consternation, astonishment and admiration, surpassed

description. "Ho! Eastman is all wahkun!"

The Indians are fond of boasting and communicating their exploits and

usages to those who have their confidence. While my husband has

delineated their features with the pencil, I have occupied pleasantly

many an hour in learning from them how to represent accurately the

feelings and features of their hearts--feeble though my pen be. We never

failed to gain a point by providing a good breakfast or dinner.

With the Rev. Mr. Pond and Dr. Williamson, both missionaries among the

Sioux, I had many a pleasant interview and talk about the tribe. They

kindly afforded me every assistance--and as they are perfectly

acquainted with the language of the Sioux, and have studied their

religion with the view to introduce the only true one, I could not have

applied to more enlightened sources, or better authority.

The day we left Fort Snelling, I received from Mr. Pond the particulars

of the fate of the Sioux woman who was taken prisoner by the Chippeways,

and who is represented in the legend called The Wife. Soon after her

return to her husband, he was killed by the Chippeways; and the

difficulty was settled by the Chippeways paying to the Sioux what was

considered the value of the murdered man, in goods, such as calico,

tobacco, &c.! After his death, the widow married a Sioux, named "Scarlet

Face." They lived harmoniously for a while--but soon difficulties arose,

and Scarlet Face, in a fit of savage rage, beat her to death. A most

unromantic conclusion to her eventful life.

How vivid is our recollection of the grief the Sioux showed at parting

with us. For although, at the time, it added to the pain naturally felt

at leaving a place which had so long been our home; yet the sincere

affection they evinced towards us and our children was most gratifying.

They wished us to remember them, when far away, with kindness. The

farewell of my friend Checkered Cloud can never be forgotten. She was my

constant visitor for years; and, although a poor and despised Sioux

woman, I learned to look upon her with respect and regard. Nor does my

interest in her and her nation cease, because, in the chances of life,

we may never meet again. It will still be my endeavor to depict all the

customs, feasts and ceremonies of the Sioux, before it be too late. The

account of them may be interesting, when the people who so long believed

in them will be no more.

We can see they are passing away, but who can decide the interesting

question of their origin? They told me that their nation had always

lived in the valley of the Mississippi--that their wise men had asserted

this for ages past. Some who have lived among them, think they crossed

over from Persia in ships--and that they once possessed the knowledge of

building large vessels, though they have now entirely lost it. This idea

bears too little probability to command any confidence. The most general

opinion is the often told one, that they are a remnant of God's ancient

and chosen people. Be this as it may, they are "as the setting sun, or

as the autumn leaves trampled upon by powerful riders."

They are receding rapidly, and with feeble resistance, before the giant

strides of civilization. The hunting grounds of a few savages will soon

become the haunts of densely peopled, civilized settlements. We should

be better reconciled to this manifest destiny of the aborigines, if the

inroads of civilization were worthy of it; if the last years of these,

in some respects, noble people, were lit up with the hope-inspiring rays

of Christianity. We are not to judge the Heathen; yet universal evidence

gives the melancholy fact, that the light of nature does not lead the

soul to God: and without judging of their destiny, we are bound to

enlighten their minds. We know the great Being of whom they are

ignorant; and well will it be for them and for us, in a day that awaits

us all, if yet, though late, sadly late--yet not too late, we so give

countenance and aid to the missionary, that the light of revealed truth

may cheer the remaining period of their national and individual,

existence.

Will it be said that I am regarding, with partial eye and sentimental

romance, but one side of the Sioux character? Have they no faults, as a

people and individually? They are savages--and that goes far to answer

the question. Perhaps the best answer is, the women have faults enough,

and the men twice as many as the women. But if to be a savage is to be

cruel, vindictive, ferocious--dare we say that to be a civilized man

necessarily implies freedom from these traits?

Want of truth, and habitual dishonesty in little things, are prevalent

traits among the Sioux. Most of them will take a kitchen spoon or fork,

if they have a chance--and they think it fair thus to return the

peculations of the whites. They probably have an idea of making up for

the low price at which their lands have been valued, by maintaining a

constant system of petty thefts--or perhaps they consider kitchen

utensils as curiosities, just as the whites do their mocassins and

necklaces of bear's claws. Yes--it must be confessed, however

unsentimental, they almost all steal.

The men think it undignified for them to steal, so they send their

wives thus unlawfully to procure what they want--and wo be to them if

they are found out. The husband would shame and beat his wife for doing

what he certainly would have beaten her for refusing to do. As regards

the honesty of the men, I give you the opinion of the husband of

Checkered Cloud, who was an excellent Indian. "Every Sioux;" said he,

"will steal if he need, and there be a chance. The best Indian that ever

lived, has stolen. I myself once stole some powder."

I have thus, perhaps tediously, endeavored to show, that what is said in

this work has been learned by intimate association, and that for years,

with the Indian. This association has continued under influences that

secured unreservedly their confidence, friendship--and I may say--truly,

in many instances--their affection. If the perusal of the Legends give

pleasure to my friends--how happy am I! To do more than this I hardly

dare hope.

M. H. E.

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

ON

THE CUSTOMS OF THE DAHCOTAHS.

I.

SIOUX CEREMONIES, SCALP DANCE, &c.

The Sioux occupy a country from the Mississippi river to some point west

of the Missouri, and from the Chippewa tribe on the north, to the

Winnebago on the south; the whole extent being about nine hundred miles

long by four hundred in breadth.

Dahcotah is the proper name of this once powerful tribe of Indians. The

term Sioux is not recognized, except among those who live near the

whites. It is said to have been given by the old French traders, that

the Dahcotahs might not know when they were the subjects of

conversation. The exact meaning of the word has never been ascertained.

Dahcotah means a confederacy. A number of bands live near each other on

terms of friendship, their customs and laws being the same. They mean by

the word Dahcotah what we mean by the confederacy of states in our

union. The tribe is divided into a number of bands, which are subdivided

into villages; every village being governed by its own chief. The honor

of being chief is hereditary, though for cause a chief may be deposed

and another substituted; and the influence the chief possesses depends

much more upon his talents and capacity to govern, than upon mere

hereditary descent. To every village there is also a _war-chief_, and as

to these are ascribed supernatural powers, their influence is

unbounded. Leading every military excursion, the war-chief's command is

absolute with his party.

There are many clans among the Sioux, and these are distinguished from

each other by the different kinds of medicine they use. Each clan takes

a root for its medicine, known only to those initiated into the

mysteries of the clan. The name of this root must be kept a secret. Many

of these roots are entirely destitute of medicinal power. The clans are

governed by a sort of free-masonry system. A Dahcotah would die rather

than divulge the secret of his clan. The clans keep up almost a

perpetual warfare with each other. Each one supposes the other to be

possessed of supernatural powers, by which they can, cause the death of

any individual, though he may live at a great distance. This belief is

the cause of a great deal of bloodshed. When a Dahcotah dies, it is

attributed to some one of another clan, and revenge is sought by the

relatives of the deceased. All their supposed supernatural powers are

invoked to destroy the murderer. They first try the powers of their

sacred medicine, imagining they can cast a fatal spell on the offender;

if this fail, they have recourse to more destructive weapons, and the

axe, knife or gun may be fatally used. After the supposed murderer is

killed, his relations retaliate, and thus successive feuds become

perpetual.

The Dahcotahs, though a reckless, are a generous people, usually kind

and affectionate to their aged, though instances to the contrary

frequently occur. Among the E-yanktons, there was a man so feeble and

decrepit from age as to be totally unable to take care of himself; not

being able to walk, he occasioned great trouble. When the band went out

hunting, he entreated the young men to drag him along, that he might not

fall a prey to the Chippeways, or to a fate equally dreaded, cold and

starvation. For a time they seemed to pity him, and there were always

those among the hunting party who were willing to render him assistance.

At last he fell to the charge of some young men, who, wearied with

carrying him from place to place, told him they would leave him, but he

need not die a lingering death. They gave him a gun, and placed him on

the ground to be shot at, telling him to try and kill one of the young

warriors who were to fire at him; and thus he would have so much more

honor to carry with him to the land of spirits. He knew it was useless

to attempt to defend himself. In a few moments he received his

death-wound, and was no longer a burden to himself or to others. The

Sioux have a number of superstitious notions, which particularly

influence the women. They are slavishly fearful of the spirits of the

dead, and a thousand other fancies. Priests and jugglers are venerated

from their supposed supernatural powers.

Little is generally known of their religion or their customs. One must

live among them to induce them to impart any information concerning

their mode of life or religious faith; to a stranger they are

always reserved.

Their dances and feasts are not amusements. They all have an object and

meaning, and are celebrated year after year, under a belief that neglect

will be punished by the Great Spirit by means of disease, want, or the

attacks of enemies. All their fear of punishment is confined to what

they may suffer in this world. They have no fear of the anger of their

deities being continued after death. Revolting as the ceremony of

dancing round a scalp seems to us, an Indian believes it to be a sacred

duty to celebrate it. The dancing part is performed by the old and young

squaws. The medicine men sing, beat the drum, rattle the gourd, and use

such other instruments as they contrive. Anything is considered a

musical instrument that will assist in creating discordant sound. One of

these is a bone with notches on it, one end of which rests on a tin pan,

the other being held in the left hand, while, with a piece of bone in

the right, which a medicine man draws over the notches, sounds as

discordant and grating as possible are created.

The squaws dance around the scalps in concentric circles, in groups of

from four to twelve together, pressing their shoulders against each

other, and at every stroke of the drum raising themselves to their

utmost height, hopping and sliding a short distance to the left,

singing all the time with the medicine men. They keep time perfectly. In

the centre, the scalps are attached to a pole stuck in the ground, or

else carried on the shoulders of some of the squaws. The scalp is

stretched on a hoop, and the pole to which it is attached is several

feet long. It is also covered with vermilion or red earth, and

ornamented with feathers, ribbons, beads, and other trinkets, and

usually a pair of scissors or a comb. After dancing for a few minutes,

the squaws stop to rest. During this interval one of the squaws, who has

had a son, husband, or brother killed by a warrior of the tribe from

which the scalp she holds was taken, will relate the particulars of his

death, and wind up by saying, "Whose scalp have I now on my shoulders?"

At this moment there is a general shout, and the dance again commences.

This ceremony continues sometimes, at intervals, for months; usually

during the warm weather. After the dance is done, the scalp is buried or

put up on the scaffold with some of the deceased of the tribe who took

the scalp. So much for the scalp dance--a high religious ceremony, not,

as some suppose, a mere amusement.

The Sacred Feast is given in honor of the sacred medicine, and is always

given by medicine-men or women who are initiated into the mysteries of

the medicine dance. The medicine men are invariably the greatest rascals

of the band, yet the utmost respect is shown them. Every one fears the

power of a medicine man. When a medicine man intends giving a feast, he

goes or sends to the persons whom he wishes to invite. When all are

assembled, the giver of the feast opens the medicine bag with some

formality. The pipe is lit and smoked by all present; but it is first

offered to the Great Spirit. After the smoking, food is placed in wooden

bowls, or other vessels that visitors may have brought; for it is not a

breach of etiquette to bring dishes with you to the feast. When all are

served, the word is given to commence eating, and those that cannot eat

all that is given them, must make a present to the host, besides hiring

some one present to eat what they fail to consume. To waste a morsel

would offend the Great Spirit, and injure or render useless the

medicine. Every one having finished eating, the kettle in which the food

was cooked is smoked with cedar leaves or grass. Before the cooking is

commenced, all the fire within the wigwam is put out, and a fresh one

made from flint and steel. In the celebration of the Sacred Feast, the

fire and cooking utensils are kept and consecrated exclusively to that

purpose. After the feast is over, all the bones are carefully collected

and thrown into the water, in order that no dog may get them, nor a

woman trample on them.

The Sioux worship the sun. The _sun dance_ is performed by young

warriors who dance, at intervals of five minutes, for several days. They

hop on one foot and then on the other, keeping time to the drum, and

making indescribable gestures, each having a small whistle in his mouth,

with his face turned towards the sun. The singing and other music is

performed by the medicine men. The drum used is a raw hide stretched

over a keg, on which a regular beating of time is made with a short

stick with a head to it. Women pretend to foretell future events, and,

for this reason, are sometimes invited to medicine feasts.

II.

INDIAN DOCTORS.

When an Indian is sick and wants "the Doctor" as we say, or a medicine

man, as they say,--they call them also priests, doctors and jugglers,--a

messenger is sent for one, with a pipe filled in one hand, and payment

in the other; which fee may be a gun, blanket, kettle or anything in the

way of present. The messenger enters the wigwam (or teepee, as the

houses of the Sioux are called) of the juggler, presents the pipe, and

lays the present or fee beside him. Having smoked, the Doctor goes to

the teepee of the patient, takes a seat at some distance from him,

divests himself of coat or blanket, and pulls his leggins to his ankles.

He then calls for a gourd, which has been suitably prepared, by drying

and putting small beads or gravel stones in it, to make a rattling

noise. Taking the gourd, he begins to rattle it and to sing, thereby to

charm the animal that has entered the body of the sick Sioux. After

singing _hi-he-hi-hah_ in quick succession, the chorus _ha-ha-ha,

hahahah_ is more solemnly and gravely chanted. On due repetition of this

the doctor stops to smoke; then sings and rattles again. He sometimes

attempts to draw with his mouth the disease from an arm or a limb that

he fancies to be affected. Then rising, apparently almost suffocated,

groaning terribly and thrusting his face into a bowl of water, he makes

all sorts of gestures and noises. This is to get rid of the disease that

he pretends to have drawn from the sick person. When he thinks that some

animal, fowl or fish, has possession of the sick man, so as to cause the

disease, it becomes necessary to destroy the animal by shooting it. To

accomplish this, the doctor makes the shape of the animal of bark, which

is placed in a bowl of water mixed with red earth, which he sets outside

of the wigwam where some young men are standing, who are instructed by

the doctor how and when to shoot the animal.

When all is ready, the doctor pops his head out of the wigwam, on his

hands and knees. At this moment the young men fire at the little bark

animal, blowing it to atoms; when the doctor jumps at the bowl,

thrusting his face into the water, grunting, groaning and making a vast

deal of fuss. Suddenly a woman jumps upon his back, then dismounts,

takes the doctor by the hair, and drags him back into the teepee. All

fragments of the bark animal are then collected and burned. The ceremony

there ceases. If the patient does not recover, the doctor says he did

not get the right animal. The reader must be convinced that it is not

for want of the most strenuous exertions on the part of the physician.

These are some of the customs of the Dahcotahs, which, however absurd

they may appear to us, are held in sacred reverence by them. There are

some animals, birds and fishes, that an Indian venerates; and the

creature thus sacred, he dare neither kill nor eat. The selection is

usually a bear, buffalo, deer, otter, eagle, hawk or snake. One will not

eat the right wing of a bird; another dare not eat the left: nor are the

women allowed to eat any part that is considered sacred.

The Sioux say it is lawful to take revenge, but otherwise it is not

right to murder. When murder is committed, it is an injury to the

deceased; not a sin against the Great Spirit. Some of their wise men say

that the Great Spirit has nothing to do with their affairs, present or

future. They pretend to know but little of a future state. They have

dreamy ideas of large cities somewhere in the heavens, where they will

go, but still be at war with their enemies and have plenty of game. An

Indian woman's idea of future happiness consists in relief from care.

"Oh! that I were dead," they will often say, "when I shall have no more

trouble." Veneration is much regarded in all Indian families. Thus a

son-in-law must never call his father-in-law by his name, but by the

title father-in-law, and vice versa. A female is not permitted to handle

the sac for war purposes; neither does she dare look into a

looking-glass, for fear of losing her eyesight.

The appearance of a brilliant aurora-borealis occasions great alarm. The

Indians run immediately for their guns and bows and arrows to shoot at

it, and thus disperse it.

III.

INDIAN NAMES AND WRITING.

The names of the Sioux bands or villages, are as fanciful as those given

to individuals. Near Fort Snelling, are the "Men-da-wahcan-tons," or

people of the spirit lakes; the "Wahk-patons," or people of the leaves;

the "Wahk-pa-coo-tahs," or people that shoot at leaves, and other bands

who have names of this kind. Among those chiefs who have been well-known

around Fort Snelling, are,

Wah-ba-shaw, The Leaf.

Wah-ke-on-tun-kah, Big Thunder.

Wah-coo-ta, Red Wing.

Muzza Hotah, Gray Iron.

Ma-pe-ah-we-chas-tah, The man in the Cloud.

Tah-chun-coo-wash-ta, Good Road.

Sha-ce-pee, The Sixth.

Wah-soo-we-chasta-ne, Bad Hail.

Ish-ta-hum-bah, Sleepy Eyes.

These fanciful names are given to them from some peculiarity in

appearance or conduct; or sometimes from an occurrence that took place

at the time that they usually receive the name that is ascribed to them

for life. There is a Sioux living in the neighborhood of Fort Snelling,

called "The man that walks with the women." It is not customary for the

Indian to show much consideration for the fair sex, and this young man,

exhibiting some symptoms of gallantry unusual among them, received the

above name.

The Sioux have ten names for their children, given according to the

order of their birth.

The oldest son is called Chaskè,

" second, Haparm,

" third, Ha-pe-dah,

" fourth, Chatun,

" fifth, Harka,

The oldest daughter is called Wenonah,

" second, Harpen,

" third, Harpstenah,

" fourth, Waska,

" fifth, We-barka.

These names they retain until another is given by their relations or

friends.

The Dahcotahs say that _meteors_ are men or women flying through the air;

that they fall to pieces as they go along, finally falling to the earth.

They call them "Wah-ken-den-da," or the mysterious passing fire. They

have a tradition of a meteor which, they say, was passing over a hill

where there was an Indian asleep. The meteor took the Indian on his

back, and continued his route till it came to a pond where there were

many ducks. The ducks seeing the meteor, commenced a general quacking,

which so alarmed him that he turned off and went around the pond, and

was about to pass over an Indian village. Here he was again frightened

by a young warrior, who was playing on the flute. Being afraid of music,

he passed around the village, and soon after falling to the earth,

released his burden. The Indian then asked the meteor to give him his

head strap, which he refused. The Indian offered him a feather of honor

for it, and was again refused. The Sioux, determined to gain his point,

told the meteor if he would give him the strap, he would kill a big

enemy for him. No reply from the meteor. The Indian then offered to kill

a wigwam full of enemies--the meteor still mute. The last offer was six

wigwams full of dead enemies for the so much coveted strap. The meteor

was finally bribed, gave up the head-strap, and the Sioux went home with

the great glory of having outwitted a meteor; for, as they met no more,

the debt was never paid.

The _language_ of the Sioux would, with proper facilities, be easily

acquired. It is said, in many respects, to resemble the ancient Greek.

Even after having acquired considerable knowledge of the language by

study, it is necessary to live among the people in order to understand

their fanciful mode of speaking.

One of the chiefs, "Sleepy Eyes," visited a missionary not many weeks

since, and on being asked why he did not come at the time appointed,

replied, "How could I come when I have no mocassins," meaning that he

had no horse. The horse had recently been killed by a man who owed him

a grudge; and his way of alluding to the loss was the mocassins. On

another occasion, this same chief, having done what he considered a

favor for the missionaries, at _Traverse des Sioux_, told them that his

coat was worn out, and that he had neither cloth nor thread to mend it;

the fact was, that he had no coat at all, no cloth nor thread; his

brawny neck and arms were entirely bare, and this was his way of begging

for a new coat.

In Indian warfare, the victor takes the scalp of his enemy. If he have

time, he takes the entire scalp, including the ears; but if hurried, a

smaller scalp-piece is taken. As an inducement to be foremost in battle,

the first four that touch the dead body of an enemy, share the honors

that are paid to the one who slew the foe and took the scalp. But the

victors in Indian fight frequently suffer in this way; a wounded savage

feigns death, and, as some warrior approaches to take his scalp, he will

suddenly rise, discharge his gun, and fight desperately with the

tomahawk until killed. Deeds of valor performed by Indians are as often

done from desperation as from any natural bravery. They are educated to

warfare, but often show great disinclination to fight; strategy goes

farther with them than manly courage does. At Fort Snelling, the Sioux

have more than once crouched under the walls of the fort for protection,

and on one occasion a chief, who came in to give information of the

approach of some Chippeways trembled so as to shake the ornaments about

his dress.

INDIAN WRITING.

[Illustration: No. I and 3, prisoners captured by No. 2. (No hands on

the prisoners.) No. 1, female prisoner. No. 3, male.]

[Illustration: Nos. 4 and 5, female and male killed; 6 and 7, boy and

girl killed.]

[Illustration: No. 8, that he has killed his enemy; 9, that he has cut

the throat of his enemy, and taken the scalp; 10, that he was the third

that touched the body of his enemy after he was killed; 11, the fourth

that touched it; 12, the fifth that touched it.]

[Illustration: No. 13, been wounded in many places by this enemy; 15,

that he has cut the throat of the enemy.]

The above represents the feathers from the war eagle. They are worn in

the hair of the warriors, as honors.

The above represents the only way that the Sioux have of writing an

account of an engagement that has taken place.

IV.

INDIAN CHILDREN.

The children among the Sioux are early accustomed to look with

indifference upon the sufferings or death of a person they hate. A few

years ago a battle was fought quite near Fort Snelling. The next day the

Sioux children were playing foot-ball merrily with the head of a

Chippeway. One boy, and a small boy too, had ornamented his head and

ears with curls. He had taken the skin peeled off a Chippeway who was

killed in the battle, wound it around a stick until it assumed the

appearance of a curl, and tied them over his ears. Another child had a

string around his neck with a finger hanging to it as an ornament. The

infants, instead of being amused with toys or trinkets, are held up to

see the scalp of an enemy, and they learn to hate a Chippeway as soon as

to ask for food.

After the battle, the mother of a Sioux who was severely wounded found

her way to the fort. She entered the room weeping sadly. Becoming quite

exhausted, she seated herself on the floor, and said she wanted some

coffee and sugar for her sick son, some linen to bind up his wounds, a

candle to burn at night, and some whiskey _to make her cry_! Her son

recovered, and the mother, as she sat by and watched him, had the

satisfaction to see the scalps of the murdered Chippeways stretched on

poles all through the village, around which she, sixty years old, looked

forward with great joy to dance; though _this_ was a small gratification

compared with her recollection of having formerly cut to pieces the

bodies of sundry murdered Chippeway children.

A dreadful creature she was! How vividly her features rise before me.

Well do I remember her as she entered my room on a stormy day in

January. Her torn mocassins were a mocking protection to her nearly

frozen feet; her worn "okendo kenda" hardly covering a wrinkled neck

and arms seamed with the scars of many a self-inflicted wound; she tried

to make her tattered blanket meet across her chest, but the benumbed

fingers were powerless, and her step so feeble, from fatigue and want of

food, that she almost fell before the cheerful fire that seemed to

welcome her. The smile with which she tried to return my greeting added

hideously to the savage expression of her features, and her matted hair

was covered with flakes of the drifting snow that almost blinded her.

Food, a pipe, and a short nap before the fire, refreshed her

wonderfully. At first she would hardly deign an answer to our questions;

now she becomes quite talkative. Her small keen eye follows the children

as they play about the room; she tells of her children when they were

young, and played around her; when their father brought her venison

for food.

Where are they? The Chippeways (mark her as she compresses her lips, and

see the nervous trembling of her limbs) killed her husband and her

oldest son: consumption walked among her household idols. She has one

son left, but he loves the white man's _fire-water_; he has forgotten

his aged mother--she has no one to bring her food--the young men laugh

at her, and tell her to kill game for herself.

At evening she must be going--ten miles she has to walk to reach her

teepee, for she cannot sleep in the white man's house. We tell her the

storm is howling--it will be dark before she reaches home--the wind

blows keenly across the open prairie--she had better lie down on the

carpet before the fire and sleep. She points to the walls of the

fort--she does not speak; but her action says, "It cannot be; the Sioux

woman cannot sleep beneath the roof of her enemies."

She is gone--God help the Sioux woman! the widow and the childless. God

help her, I say, for other hope or help has she none.

GODS OF THE DAHCOTAHS.

First in order of the gods of the Dahcotahs, comes the Great Spirit. He

is the creator of all things, excepting thunder and wild rice.

Then there is,

Wakinyan, or Man of the West.

Wehiyayanpa-micaxta, Man of the East.

Wazza, Man of the North.

Itokaga-micaxta, Man of the South.

Onkteri, or Unktahe, God of the Waters.

Hayoka, or Haoka, the antinatural god.

Takuakanxkan, god of motion.

Canotidan, Little Dweller in Woods. This god is said to live in

a forest, in a hollow tree.

Witkokaga, the Befooler, that is, the god who deceives or fools

animals so that they can be easily taken.

[Illustration]

DAHCOTAH;

OR,

THE LEGENDS OF THE SIOUX.

MOCK-PE-EN-DAG-A-WIN:

OR,

CHECKERED CLOUD, THE MEDICINE WOMAN. [Footnote: A medicine woman is a

female doctor or juggler. No man or woman can assume this office without

previous initiation by authority. The medicine dance is a sacred rite,

in honor of the souls of the dead; the mysteries of this dance are kept

inviolable; its secrets have never been divulged by its members. The

medicine men and women attend in cases of sickness. The Sioux have the

greatest faith in them. When the patient recovers, it redounds to the

honor of the doctor; if he die, they say "The time had come that he

should die," or that the "medicine of the person who cast a spell upon

the sick person was stronger than the doctor's." They can always find a

satisfactory solution of the failure of the charm.]

Within a few miles of Fort Snelling lives Checkered Cloud. Not that she

has any settled habitation; she is far too important a character for

that. Indeed she is not often two days in the same place. Her wanderings

are not, however, of any great extent, so that she can always be found

when wanted. But her wigwam is about seven miles from the fort, and she

is never much farther off. Her occupations change with the day. She has

been very busy of late, for Checkered Cloud is one of the medicine

women of the Dahcotahs; and as the Indians have had a good deal of

sickness among them, you might follow her from teepee to teepee, as she

proceeds with the sacred rattle [Footnote: Sacred rattle. This is

generally a gourd, but is sometimes made of bark. Small beads are put

into it. The Sioux suppose that this rattle, in the hands of one of

their medicine men or women, possesses a certain virtue to charm away

sickness or evil spirits. They shake it over a sick person, using a

circular motion. It is never, however, put in requisition against the

worst _spirits_ with which the Red Man has to contend.] in her hand,

charming away the animal that has entered the body of the Dahcotah to

steal his strength.

Then, she is the great legend-teller of the Dahcotahs. If there is a

merry-making in the village, Checkered Cloud must be there, to call to

the minds of the revellers the traditions that have been handed down

from time immemorial.

Yesterday, wrapped in her blanket, she was seated on the St. Peters,

near a hole which she had cut in the ice, in order to spear the fish as

they passed through the water; and to-day--but while I am writing of

her, she approaches the house; even now, her shadow falls upon the room

as she passes the window. I need not listen to her step, for her

mocassined feet pass noiselessly through the hall. The door is slowly

opened, and she is before me!

How tall she is! and with what graceful dignity she offers her hand.

Seventy winters have passed over her, but the brightness of her eye is

undimmed by time. Her brow speaks of intellect--and the white hair that

is parted over it falls unplaited on her shoulders. She folds her

blanket round her and seats herself; she has a request to make, I know,

but Checkered Cloud is not a beggar, she never asks aught but what she

feels she has a right to claim.

"Long ago," she says, "the Dahcotah owned lands that the white man now

claims; the trees, the rivers, were all our own. But the Great Spirit

has been angry with his children; he has taken their forests and their

hunting grounds, and given them to others.

"When I was young, I feared not wind nor storm. Days have I wandered

with the hunters of my tribe, that they might bring home many buffalo

for food, and to make our wigwams. Then, I cared not for cold and

fatigue, for I was young and happy. But now I am old; my children have

gone before me to the 'House of Spirits'--the tender boughs have yielded

to the first rough wind of autumn, while the parent tree has stood and

borne the winter's storm.

"My sons have fallen by the tomahawk of their enemies; my daughter

sleeps under the foaming waters of the Falls.

"Twenty winters were added to my life on that day. We had encamped at

some distance above the Falls, and our hunters had killed many deer.

Before we left our village to go on the hunt, we sacrificed to the

Spirit of the woods, and we prayed to the Great Spirit. We lifted up our

hands and said, 'Father, Great Spirit, help us to kill deer.' The arrows

of our hunters never missed, and as we made ready for our return we were

happy, for we knew we should not want for food. My daughter's heart was

light, for Haparm was with her, and she never was sad but when he

was away.

"Just before we arrived at the Falls, she became sick; her hands were

burning hot, she refused to eat. As the canoe passed over the

Mississippi, she would fill her cup with its waters, to drink and throw

over her brow. The medicine men were always at her side, but they said

some evil spirit hated her, and prevented their spells from doing

her good.

"When we reached the Falls, she was worse; the women left their canoes,

and prepared to carry them and the rest of the baggage round the Falls.

"But what should we do with We-no-nah? the flush of fever was on her

cheek; she did not know me when I spoke to her; but she kept her eyes

fixed upon her lover.

"'We will leave her in the canoe,' said her father; 'and with a line we

can carry her gently over the Rapids.' I was afraid, but with her

brothers holding the line she must be safe. So I left my child in her

canoe, and paddled with the others to the shore.

"As we left her, she turned her eyes towards us, as if anxious to know

what we were about to do. The men held the line steadily, and the canoe

floated so gently that I began to feel less anxious--but as we

approached the rapids, my heart beat quickly at the sound of the waters.

Carefully did her brothers hold the line, and I never moved my eyes from

the canoe in which she lay. Now the roaring of the waters grew louder,

and as they hastened to the rocks over which they would fall they bore

with them my child--I saw her raise herself in the canoe, I saw her

long hair as it fell on her bosom--I saw no more!

"My sons bore me in their arms to the rest of the party. The hunters had

delayed their return that they might seek for the body of my child. Her

lover called to her, his voice could be heard above the sound of the

waters. 'Return to me, Wenonah, I will never love maiden but you; did

you not promise to light the fires in my wigwam?' He would have thrown

himself after her, had not the young men prevented him. The body rests

not in the cold waters; we found it and buried it, and her spirit calls

to me in the silence of the night! Her lover said he would not remain

long on the earth; he turned from the Dahcotah maidens as they smiled

upon him. He died as a warrior should die!

"The Chippeways had watched for us, they longed to carry the scalp of a

Dahcotah home. They did so--but we were avenged.

"Our young men burst in upon them when they were sleeping; they struck

them with their tomahawks, they tore their scalps reeking with blood

from their heads.

"We heard our warriors at the village as they returned from their war

party; we knew by their joyful cries that they had avenged their

friends. One by one they entered the village, bearing twenty scalps of

the enemy.

"Only three of the Dahcotahs had fallen. But who were the three? My

sons, and he who was as dear as a son to me, the lover of my child. I

fled from their cries of triumph--I longed to plunge the knife into my

own heart.

"I have lived on. But sorrow and cold and hunger have bowed my spirit;

and my limbs are not as strong and active as they were in my youth.

Neither can I work with porcupine as I used to--for age and tears have

dimmed my sight. I bring you venison and fish, will you not give me

clothes to protect me from the winter's cold?"

Ah! Checkered Cloud--he was a prophet who named you. Though the cloud

has varied, now passing away, now returning blacker than before--though

the cheering light of the sun has for a moment dispelled the gloom--

'twas but for a moment! for it was sure to break in terrors over your

head. Your name is your history, your life has been a checkered cloud!

But the storm of the day has yielded to the influence of the setting

sun. The thunder has ceased to roll, the wind has died away, and the

golden streaks that bound the horizon promise a brighter morning. So

with Checkered Cloud, the storm and strife of the earth have ceased; the

"battle of life" is fought, and she has conquered. For she hopes to meet

the beloved of earth in the heaven of the Dahcotahs.

And who will say that our heaven will not be hers? The God of the

Dahcotahs is ours, though they, less happy than we, have not been taught

to know him. Christians! are you without blame? Have you thought of the

privations, the wants of those who once owned your country, and would

own it still but for the strong hand? Have you remembered that their

souls are dear in His sight, who suffered for them, as well as for you?

Have you given bright gold that their children might be educated and

redeemed from their slavery of soul? Checkered Cloud will die as she has

lived, a believer in the religion of the Dahcotahs. The traditions of

her tribe are written on her heart. She worships a spirit in every

forest tree, or every running stream. The features of the favored

Israelite are hers; she is perchance a daughter of their lost tribe.

When she was young, she would have listened to the missionary as he told

her of Gethsemane and Calvary. But age yields not like youth to new

impressions; the one looks to the future, the other clings to the past.

See! she has put by her pipe and is going, but she is coming oft again

to talk to me of her people, that I may tell to my friends the bravery

of the Dahcotah warrior, and the beauty of the maiden! the legends of

their rivers and sacred isles--the traditions of their rocks and hills!

If I cannot, in recounting the wild stories of this prophetess of the

forest, give her own striking words, I shall at least be faithful to the

spirit of her recitals. I shall let Indian life speak for itself; these

true pictures of its course will tell its whole simple story better than

any labored exposition of mine. Here we may see, not the red man of the

novel or the drama, but the red man as he appears to himself, and to

those who live with him. His better characteristics will be found quite

as numerous as ought to be expected under the circumstances; his faults

and his sufferings should appeal to the hearts of those who hold the

means of his salvation. No intelligent citizen of these United States

can without blame forget the aborigines of his country. Their wrongs cry

to heaven; their souls will be required of us. To view them as brutes is

an insult to Him who made them and us. May this little work do something

towards exciting an interest in a single tribe out of the many whose

only hope is in the mercy of the white man!

RED EARTH;

OR,

MOCKA-DOOTA-WIN.

"Good Road" is one of the Dahcotah chiefs--he is fifty years old and has

two wives, but these two have given a deal of trouble; although the

chief probably thinks it of no importance whether his two wives fight

all the time or not, so that they obey his orders. For what would be a

calamity in domestic life to us, is an every day affair among the

Dahcotahs.

Good Road's village is situated on the banks of the St. Peter's about

seven miles from Fort Snelling. And like other Indian villages it

abounds in variety more than anything else. In the teepee the farthest

from us, right on the edge of the shore, there are three young men

carousing. One is inclined to go to sleep, but the other two will not

let him; their spirits are raised and excited by what has made him

stupid. Who would suppose they were human beings? See their bloodshot

eyes; hear their fiendish laugh and horrid yells; probably before the

revel is closed, one of the friends will have buried his knife in the

other's heart.

We will pass on to the next teepee. Here we witness a scene almost as

appalling. "Iron Arms," one of the most valiant warriors of the band, is

stretched in the agonies of death. Old Spirit Killer, the medicine man,

is gesticulating by his side, and accompanying his motions with the most

horrid noises. But all in vain; the spirit of "Iron Arms," the man of

strength, is gone. The doctor says that his medicine was good, but that

a prairie dog had entered into the body of the Dahcotah, and he thought

it had been a mud-hen. Magnanimous doctor! All honor, that you can allow

yourself in error.

While the friends of the dead warrior are rending the air with their

cries, we will find out what is going on in the next wigwam. What

a contrast!

"The Whirlpool" is seated on the ground smoking; gazing as earnestly at

the bright coals as if in them he could read the future or recall the

past; and his young wife, whose face, now merry, now sad, bright with

smiles at one moment, and lost in thought the next, gained for her the

name of "The Changing Countenance," is hushing her child to sleep; but

the expression of her features does not change now--as she looks on her

child, a mother's deep and devoted love is pictured on her face.

In another, "The Dancing Woman" is wrapped in her blanket pretending to

go to sleep. In vain does "The Flying Cloud" play that monotonous

courting tune on the flute. The maiden would not be his wife if he gave

her all the trinkets in the world. She loves and is going to marry "Iron

Lightning," who has gone to bring her--what? a brooch--a new blanket?

no, a Chippeway's scalp, that she may be the most graceful of those who

dance around it. Her mother is mending the mocassins of the old man who

sleeps before the fire.

And we might go round the village and find every family differently

employed. They have no regular hours for eating or sleeping. In front of

the teepees, young men are lying on the ground, lazily playing checkers,

while their wives and sisters are cutting wood and engaged in laborious

household duties.

I said Good Road had two wives, and I would now observe that neither of

them is younger than himself. But they are as jealous of each other as

if they had just turned seventeen, and their lord and master were twenty

instead of fifty. Not a day passes that they do not quarrel, and fight

too. They throw at each other whatever is most convenient, and sticks of

wood are always at hand. And then, the sons of each wife take a part in

the battle; they first fight for their mothers, and then for

themselves--so that the chief must have been reduced to desperation long

ago if it were not for his pipe and his philosophy. Good Road's second

wife has Chippeway blood in her veins. Her mother was taken prisoner by

the Dahcotahs; they adopted her, and she became the wife of a Dahcotah

warrior. She loved her own people, and those who had adopted her too;

and in course of time her daughter attained the honorable station of a

chief's second wife. Good Road hates the Chippeways, but he fell in love

with one of their descendants, and married her. She is a good wife, and

the white people have given her the name of "Old Bets."

Last summer "Old Bets" narrowly escaped with her life. The Dahcotahs

having nothing else to do, were amusing themselves by recalling all the

Chippeways had ever done to injure them; and those who were too lazy to

go out on a war party, happily recollected that there was Chippeway

blood near them--no farther off than their chief's wigwam; and eight or

ten braves vowed they would make an end of "Old Bets." But she heard of

their threats, left the village for a time, and after the Dahcotahs had

gotten over their mania for shedding blood, she returned, and right glad

was Good Road to see her. For she has an open, good humored countenance;

the very reverse of that of the first wife, whose vinegar aspect would

frighten away an army of small children.

After "Old Bets" returned, Good Road could not conceal his satisfaction.

His wife's trip had evidently improved her good looks, for the chief

thought she was the handsomest squaw in the village. Her children were

always taunting the sons of the first wife, and so it went on, until at

last Good Road said he would stand it no longer; he told his oldest wife

to go--that he would support her no longer. And for her children, he

told them the prairies were large; there were deer and other game--in

short, he disinherited them--cut them off with their last meal.

For the discarded wife, life had now but one hope. The only star that

shone in the blackness of her heaven, was the undefined prospect of

seeing her rival's blood flow. She would greatly have preferred taking

her life herself; and as she left the wigwam of the chief, she grasped

the handle of her knife--how quick her heart beat! it might be now

or never.

But there were too many around to protect Old Bets. The time would

come--she would watch for her--she would tear her heart from her yet.

The sons of the old hag did not leave the village; they would keep a

watch on their father and his Chippeway wife. They would not easily

yield their right to the chieftainship. While they hunted, and smoked,

and played at cards, they were ever on the look-out for revenge.

CHAPTER II.

"Red Earth" sits by the door of her father's teepee; while the village

is alive with cheerfulness, she does not join in any of the amusements

going on, but seems to be occupied with what is passing in her own mind.

Occasionally she throws a pebble from the shore far into the river, and

the copper-colored children spring after it, as if the water were their

own element, striving to get it before it sinks from their view.

Had she been attentive to what is passing around her, she would not have

kept her seat, for "Shining Iron," the son of Good Road's second wife,

approaches her; and she loves him too little to talk with him when it

can be avoided.

"Why are you not helping the women to make the teepee, Red Earth?" said

the warrior. "They are laughing while they sew the buffalo-skin

together, and you are sitting silent and alone. Why is it so? Are you

thinking of 'Fiery Wind?'"

"There are enough women to make the teepee," replied Red Earth, "and I

sit alone because I choose to do so. But if I am thinking of 'Fiery

Wind' I do right--he is a great warrior!"

"Tell me if you love Fiery Wind?" said the young man, while his eyes

flashed fire, and the veins in his temple swelled almost to bursting.

"I do not love you," said the girl, "and that is enough. And you need

never think I will become your wife; your spells cannot make me love

you. [Footnote: The Sioux have great faith in spells. A lover will take

gum, and after putting some medicine in it, will induce the girl of his

choice to chew it, or put it in her way so that she will take it up of

her own accord. It is a long time before an Indian lover will take a

refusal from the woman he has chosen for a wife.] Where are Fiery Wind

and his relations? driven from the wigwam of the Chief by you and your

Chippeway mother. But they do not fear you--neither do I!"

And Red Earth looked calmly at the angry face of her lover. For Shining

Iron did love her, and he had loved her long. He had loaded her with

presents, which she always refused; he had related his honors, his brave

acts to her, but she turned a deaf ear to his words. He promised her he

would always have venison in her teepee, and that he never would take

another wife; she was the only woman he could ever love. But he might as

well have talked to the winds. And he thought so himself, for, finding

he could not gain the heart of the proud girl, he determined she should

never be the wife of any other man, and he told her so.

"You may marry Fiery Wind," said the angry lover, "but if you do, I will

kill him."

Red Earth heard, but did not reply to his threats; she feared not for

herself, but she trembled at the prospect of danger to the man she

loved. And while she turned the bracelets on her small wrists, the

warrior left her to her own thoughts. They were far from being pleasant;

she must warn her lover of the threats of his rival. For a while she

almost determined she would not marry Fiery Wind, for then his life

would be safe; but she would not break her promise. Besides, it was hard

for her to destroy all the air-built castles which she had built for her

happy future.

She knew Shining Iron's bravery, and she doubted not he would fulfil his

promise; for a moment prudence suggested that she had better marry him

to avoid his revenge. But she grasped the handle of her knife, as if she

would plunge it into her own bosom for harboring the dark thought. Never

should she be unfaithful; when Fiery Wind returned she would tell him

all, and then she would become his wife, and she felt that her own heart

was true enough to guard him, her own arm strong enough to slay

his enemy.

* * * * *

All women are wilful enough, but Dahcotah women are particularly so.

Slaves as they are to their husbands, they lord it over each other, and

it is only when they become grandmothers that they seem to feel their

dependence, and in many instances yield implicit obedience to the wills

of their grandchildren.

They take great delight in watching over and instructing their

children's children; giving them lessons in morality, [Footnote: The

idea is ridiculed by some, that an Indian mother troubles herself about

the morals of her children; but it is nevertheless true, that she talks

to them, and, according to her own ideas of right and wrong, tries to

instil good principles into their minds. The grandmothers take a great

deal of care of their grandchildren.] and worldly wisdom. Thus while Red

Earth was making her determination, her old grandmother belonging to the

village was acting upon hers.

This old woman was a perfect virago--an "embodied storm." In her time

she had cut off the hands and feet of some little Chippeway children,

and strung them, and worn them for a necklace. And she feasted yet at

the pleasant recollections this honorable exploit induced.

But so tender was she of the feelings of her own flesh and blood, that

the thought of their suffering the slightest pain was death to her.

Her son ruled his household very well for a Dahcotah. He had a number of

young warriors and hunters growing up around him, and he sometimes got

tired of their disturbances, and would use, not the rod but a stick of

wood to some purpose. Although it had the good effect of quelling the

refractory spirits of the young, it invariably fired the soul of his

aged mother. The old woman would cry and howl, and refuse to eat, for

days; till, finding this had no effect upon her hard-hearted son, she

told him she would do something that would make him sorry, the next time

he struck one of his children.

But the dutiful son paid no attention to her. He had always considered

women as being inferior to dogs, and he would as soon have thought of

giving up smoking, as of minding his mother's threats.

But while Red Earth was thinking of her absent lover, Two Stars was

beating his sons again--and when the maiden was left alone by Shining

Iron after the warning he had given her, she was attracted by the cries

of one of the old women of the village, who was struggling 'mid earth

and heaven, while old and young were running to the spot, some to render

assistance, others to see the fun.

And glorious fun it was! the grandmother had almost hung herself--that

is, she seriously intended to do it. But she evidently did not expect

the operation to be so painful. When her son, in defiance of her tears

and threats, commenced settling his household difficulties in his own

way she took her head-strap,[Footnote: The head-strap is made of buffalo

skin. It is from eight to ten, or sometimes twenty-four feet long. The

women fasten their heavy burdens to this strap, which goes around the

forehead; the weight of the burden falls upon the head and back. This

occasions the figures of the Indian women to stoop, since they

necessarily lean forward in order to preserve their balance.] went to a

hill just above the village, and deliberately made her preparations for

hanging, as coolly too as if she had been used to being hung for a long

time. But when, after having doubled the strap four times to prevent its

breaking, she found herself choking, her courage gave way--she yelled

frightfully; and it was well that her son and others ran so fast, for

they had well nigh been too late. As it was, they carried her into the

teepee, where the medicine man took charge of her case; and she was

quite well again in an hour or two. Report says (but there is a sad

amount of scandal in an Indian village) that the son has never offended

the mother since; so, like many a wilful woman, she has gained

her point.

Red Earth witnessed the cutting down of the old woman, and as she

returned to her teepee, her quick ear warned her of coming footsteps.

She lingered apart from the others, and soon she saw the eagle feathers

of her warrior as he descended the hill towards the village. Gladly

would she have gone to meet him to welcome him home, but she knew that

Shining Iron was watching her motions, and she bent her steps homeward.

She was quite sure that it would not be long before he would seek her,

and then she would tell him what had passed, and make arrangements for

their course of conduct for the future.

Fiery Wind was the nephew of Good Road, but he, like the sons, was in

disgrace with the chief, and, like them, he had vowed vengeance against

"Old Bets."

CHAPTER III.

The gun is now generally used among the Dahcotahs as a weapon of

warfare. But those bands in the neighborhood of Fort Snelling considered

it as a necessary part of their war implements, before the distant bands

were at all acquainted with its use.

Some time ago, one of the Mun-da-wa-kan-tons gave a gun to a Sisse-ton,

who, proud of the gift, went out immediately to use it. On his return to

his village he came up with a drove of buffaloes. His first impulse was

to use his bow and arrow, but a moment's thought reminded him of the

gift of his friend. He loaded the gun, saying at the same time to it,

"Now, the Dahcotahs call you 'wah-kun' (supernatural), kill me the

fattest cow in the drove." He waited a few moments to see his orders

executed, but the gun was not "wah-kun" enough to fire by order alone.

Seeing that it did not go off, the Sisse-ton flew into a rage and broke

the gun into pieces. "I suppose," said he "that if a Mun-da-wah-can-ton

had told you to kill a buffalo, you would have done it, but you do not

regard what a Sisse-ton says." So he threw the pieces of the gun away,

and found his bow and arrows of far more service.

However naturally the usages of warfare may come to the Indians, they

are also made a part of their education.

The children are taught that it is wicked to murder without a cause;

but when offence has been given, they are in duty bound to retaliate.

The day after the return of Fiery Wind, the boys of the village were to

attack a hornet's nest. This is one of the ways of training their sons

to warfare. One of the old warriors had seen a hornet's nest in the

woods, and he returned to the village, and with the chief assembled all

the boys in the village. The chief ordered the boys to take off all

their clothes, and gave them each a gun. He then told them how brave

their forefathers were--that they never feared pain or danger--and that

they must prove themselves worthy sons of such ancestors. "One of these

days you will be men, and then you will go on war parties and kill your

enemies, and then you will be fit to join in the dog feast. Be brave,

and do not fear the sting of the hornet, for if you do, you will be

cowards instead of warriors, and the braves will call you women and

laugh at you."

This was enough to animate the courage of the boys--some of them not

more than five years old pushed ahead of their elder brothers, eager to

show to their fathers, who accompanied them, how little they feared

their enemies, as they termed the hornets. And formidable enemies they

were too--for many of the little fellows returned sadly stung, with

swollen limbs, and closed eyes; but they bore their wounds as well as

brave men would have endured their pain on a battle-field.

After leaving their village, they entered the woods farther from the

banks of the river. The guide who had seen the nest led the way, and the

miniature warriors trod as lightly as if there was danger of rousing a

sleeping foe. At last the old man pointed to the nest, and without a

moment's hesitation, the young Dahcotahs attacked it. Out flew the

hornets in every direction. Some of the little boys cried out with the

pain from the stings of the hornets on their unprotected limbs--but the

cries of Shame! shame! from one of the old men soon recalled them to

their duty, and they marched up again not a whit discomfited. Good Road

cheered them on. "Fight well, my warriors," said he; "you will carry

many scalps home, you are brave men."

It was not long before the nest was quite destroyed, and then the old

men said they must take a list of the killed and wounded. The boys

forced a loud laugh when they replied that there were no scalps taken by

the enemy, but they could not deny that the list of the wounded was

quite a long one. Some of them limped, in spite of their efforts to walk

upright, and one little fellow had to be assisted along by his father,

for both eyes were closed; and, although stung in every direction and

evidently suffering agony, the brave boy would not utter a complaint.

When they approached the village, the young warriors formed into Indian

file, and entered as triumphantly as their fathers would have done, had

they borne twenty Chippeway scalps with them.

The mothers first applauded the bravery of their sons; and then applied

herbs to their swollen limbs, and the mimic war furnished a subject of

amusement for the villages for the remainder of the day.

CHAPTER IV.

It would be well for the Dahcotahs if they only sought the lives of

their enemies. But they are wasting in numbers far more by their

internal dissensions than from other causes. Murder is so common among

them, that it is even less than a nine days' wonder; all that is thought

necessary is to bury the dead, and then some relative must avenge

his quarrel.

Red Earth told her lover of the threat of Shining Iron, and the young

man was thus put on his guard. The sons of Good Road's first wife were

also told of the state of things, and they told Fiery Wind that they

would take up his quarrel, glad of an opportunity to avenge their own

and their mother's wrongs. It was in the month of April, or as the

Dahcotahs say in "the moon that geese lay," that Red Earth took her

place by the side of her husband, thus asserting her right to be

mistress of his wigwam. While she occupied herself with her many duties,

she never for a moment forgot the threat of Shining Iron. But her cares

and anxieties for her husband's safety were soon over. She had not long

been a wife before her enemy lay a corpse; his life was a forfeit to his

love for her, and Red Earth had a woman's heart. Although she could but

rejoice that the fears which had tormented her were now unnecessary, yet

when she remembered how devotedly the dead warrior had loved her, how

anxiously he had tried to please her, she could not but shed a few

tears of sorrow for his death. But they were soon wiped away--not for

the world would she have had her husband see them.

The oldest sons of Good Road were true to their word--and the son of Old

Bets was not the only subject for their vengeance. His sister was with

him at the moment that they chose to accomplish their purpose; and when

an Indian commences to shed blood, there is no knowing how soon he will

be satisfied. Shining Iron died instantly, but the sister's wounds were

not fatal--she is slowly recovering.

It was but yesterday that we visited the grave of the dead warrior. On a

hill near the St. Peters his body is buried. The Indians have enclosed

the grave, and there is a "Wah-kun stone," to which they sacrifice, at

his head. No one reposes near him. Alone he lies, undisturbed by aught

except the winds that sigh over him. The first flowers of Spring are

blooming on the spot where he played in childhood, and here, where he

reposes, he often sat to mourn the unkindness of Red Earth, and vow

vengeance on his successful rival.

But he is not unwatched. His spirit is ever near, and perhaps he will

again live on earth. [Footnote: The Sioux believe in the transmigration

of souls. Many of the Indians near Fort Snelling say they have lived

before on earth. The jugglers remember many incidents that occurred

during some former residence on earth, and they will tell them to you

with all the gravity imaginable.] His friends believe that he may hold

communion with Unk-ta-he,--that from that God he will learn the

mysteries of the Earth and Water; and when he lives again in another

form, he will instruct the Dahcotahs in their religion, and be a great

medicine man.

Good Road is quite reconciled to his sons, for he says it was a brave

deed to get rid of an enemy. In vain does Old Bets ask for vengeance on

the murderers. Good Road reminds her that Shining Iron had made a

threat, and it was not proper he should live; and the chief insisted

more upon this, when he added that these children of her's were by a

former husband, and it was natural his sons should resent their father's

preference for them.

So after all Old Bets doubts whether she, or the Chief's first wife, has

got the best of it; and as she dresses the wounds of her daughter, she

wishes that the Dahcotahs had killed her mother instead of adopting

her--lamenting, too, that she should ever have attained to the honor of

being Good Road's wife.

WENONA;

OR,

THE VIRGIN'S FEAST.

Never did the sun shine brighter than on a cold day in December, when

the Indians at "Little Crow's" village were preparing to go on a deer

hunt. The Mississippi was frozen, and the girls of the village had the

day before enjoyed one of their favorite amusements--a ball-play on the

ice. Those who owned the bright cloths and calicoes which were hung up

before their eyes, as an incentive to win the game, were still rejoicing

over their treasures; while the disappointed ones were looking sullen,

and muttering of partiality being shown to this one because she was

beautiful, and to that, because she was the sister of the chief.

"Look at my head!" said Harpstenah; "Wenona knew that I was the swiftest

runner in the band, and as I stooped to catch the ball she struck me a

blow that stunned me, so that I could not run again."

But the head was so ugly, and the face too, that there was no pity felt

for her; those dirty, wrinkled features bore witness to her contempt for

the cleansing qualities of water. Her uncombed hair was hanging in

masses about her ears and face, and her countenance expressed cruelty

and passion. But Harpstenah had nothing to avenge; when she was young

she was passed by, as there was nothing in her face or disposition that

could attract; and now in the winter of life she was so ugly and so

desolate, so cross and so forlorn, that no one deemed her worthy even of

a slight. But for all that, Harpstenah could hate, and with all the

intensity of her evil heart did she hate Wenona, the beautiful sister of

the chief.

Yesterday had been as bright as to-day, and Grey Eagle, the medicine

man, had hung on a pole the prizes that were to be given to the party

that succeeded in throwing the ball into a space marked off.

The maidens of the village were all dressed in their gayest clothing,

with ornaments of beads, bracelets, rings, and ribbons in profusion.

They cared not half so much for the prizes, as they rejoiced at the

opportunity of displaying their graceful persons. The old women were

eager to commence the game, for they longed to possess the cloth for

their leggins, and the calico for their "okendokendas." [Footnote

"Okendokendas." This is the Sioux word for calico. It is used as the

name for a kind of short gown, which is worn by the Sioux women, made

generally of calico, sometimes of cloth.]

The women, young and old, were divided into two parties; but as one

party threw the ball towards the space marked off, the others threw it

back again far over their heads, and then all ran back, each party

endeavoring to reach it first, that they might succeed in placing the

ball in the position which was to decide the game.

But the ball is not thrown by the hand, each woman has a long stick with

a circular frame at the end of it; this they call a bat stick, and,

simple as it looks, it requires great skill to manage it.

Wenona was the swiftest runner of one party, and Harpstenah, old and

ugly as she was, the best of the other. How excited they are! the

snow-covered hills, majestic and silent, look coldly enough upon their

sport; but what care they? the prize will soon be won.

The old medicine man cheered them on. "Run fast, Wenona! take care that

Harpstenah does not win the game. Ho, Harpstenah! if you and your

leggins are old, you may have the cloth yet."

Now Wenona's party is getting on bravely, but the ball has been caught

and thrown back by the other party. But at last it is decided. In the

struggle for the ball, Harpstenah received a blow from an old squaw as

dismal looking as herself, and Wenona catches the ball and throws it

into the appointed place. The game is ended, and the medicine man comes

forward to distribute the prizes.

The warriors have looked on, admiring those who were beautiful and

graceful, and laughing at the ugly and awkward.

But Wenona cared little for the prizes. She was a chief's sister, and

she was young and beautiful. The handsomest presents were given her, and

she hardly looked at the portion of the prizes which fell to her lot.

Smarting with pain from the blow she had received, (and she spoke

falsely when she said Wenona had struck her,) stung with jealousy at the

other party having won the game, Harpstenah determined on revenge, "If I

am old," she said, "I will live long enough to bring misery on her; ugly

as I may be, I will humble the proud beauty. What do I eat? the

worthless heads of birds are given to the old woman for whom nobody

cares, but my food will be to see the eye of Wenona fall beneath the

laugh of scorn. I will revenge the wrongs of my life on her."

Commend me to a Dahcotah woman's revenge! Has she been slighted in love?

blood must be shed; and if she is not able to accomplish the death of

her rival, her own life will probably pay the forfeit. Has disgrace or

insult been heaped upon her? a life of eighty years is not long enough

to bring down vengeance on the offender. So with Harpstenah. Her life

had not been a blessing to herself--she would make it a curse to others.

CHAPTER II.

In the preparations for the deer hunt, the ball-play has been forgotten.

The women are putting together what will be necessary for their comfort

during their absence, and the men are examining their guns and bows and

arrows. The young girls anticipate amusement and happiness, for they

will assist their lovers to bring in the deer to the camp; and the jest

and merry laugh, and the words of love are spoken too. The ball-play has

been forgotten by all but Harpstenah.

But it is late in the afternoon; and as they do not start till the

morning, something must be done to pass the long evening. "If this were

full," said a young hunter, kicking at the same time an empty keg that

had once contained whiskey, "if this were full, we would have a merry

night of it."

"Yes," said Grey Iron, whose age seemed to have brought him wisdom,

"the night would be merry, but where would you be the day after. Did you

not, after drinking that very whiskey, strike a white woman, for which

you were taken to the fort by the soldiers, and kept as a prisoner?"

The young man's look of mortification at this reproof did not save him

from the contemptuous sneer of his companions, for all despise the

Dahcotah who has thus been punished. No act of bravery can wipe away

his disgrace.

But Wenona sat pale and sad in her brother's wigwam. The bright and

happy looks of yesterday were all gone. Her sister-in-law has hushed her

child to sleep, and she is resting from the fatigues of the day. Several

old men, friends of Little Crow's father, are sitting round the fire;

one has fallen asleep, while the others talk of the wonderful powers of

their sacred medicine.

"Why are you sad, Wenona," said the chief, turning to her; "why should

the eyes of a chief's sister be filled with tears, and her looks bent on

the ground?"

"You need not ask why I am not happy," said Wenona: "Red Cloud brought

presents to you yesterday; he laid them at the door of your wigwam. He

wants to buy me, and you have received his gifts; why do you not return

them? you know I do not love him."

"Red Cloud is a great warrior," replied the chief; "he wears many

feathers of honor; you must marry him."

The girl wrapped herself in her blanket and lay down. For a time her

sighs were heard--but at length sleep came to her relief, and her grief

was forgotten in dreams. But morn has come and they are to make an early

start. Was ever such confusion? Look at that old hag knocking the very

senses out of her daughter's head because she is not ready! and the

girl, in order to avoid the blows, stumbles over an unfortunate dog, who

commences a horrible barking and whining, tempting all the dogs of the

village to outbark and outwhine him.

There goes "White Buffalo" with his two wives, the first wife with the

teepee on her back and her child on the top of it. No wonder she looks

so cross, for the second wife walks leisurely on. Now is her time, but

let her beware! for White Buffalo is thinking seriously of taking

a third.

But they are all off at last. Mothers with children, and corn, and

teepees, and children with dogs on their backs. They are all gone, and

the village looks desolate and forsaken.

CHAPTER III.

The party encamped about twenty miles from the village. The women plant

the poles of their teepees firmly in the ground and cover them with a

buffalo skin. A fire is soon made in the centre and the corn put on to

boil. Their bread is kneaded and put in the ashes to bake, but flour is

not very plenty among them.

The next day parties were out in every direction; tracks of deer were

seen in the snow, and the hunters followed them up. The beautiful animal

flies in terror from the death which comes surer and swifter than her

own light footsteps. The hunter's knife is soon upon her, and while

warmth and even life are left, the skin is drawn off.

After the fatigues of the day comes the long and pleasant evening. A

bright fire burned in the wigwam of the chief, and many of the Indians

were smoking around it, but Wenona was sad, and she took but little part

in the laughter and merriment of the others.

Red Cloud boasted of his bravery and his deeds of valor; even the old

men listened to him with respect, for they knew that his name was a

terror to his enemies. But Wenona turned from him! she hated to hear the

sound of his voice.

The old men talked of the mighty giant of the Dahcotahs, he who needed

not to take his gun to kill the game he wanted; the glance of his eye

would strike with death the deer, the buffalo, or even the bear.

The song, the jest, the legend, by turns occupied them until they

separated to sleep. But as the warriors stepped into the open air, why

does the light of the moon fall upon faces pale with terror? "See!" said

the chief, "how flash the mysterious lights! there is danger near, some

dreadful calamity is threatening us."

"We will shoot at them," said Red Cloud; "we will destroy their power."

And the Indians discharged their guns in quick succession towards the

northern horizon, which was brilliantly illuminated with the Aurora

Borealis; thus hoping to ward off coming danger.

The brother and sister were left alone at the door of the teepee. The

stern warrior's looks expressed superstitious terror, while the maiden's

face was calm and fearless. "Do you not fear the power of the woman who

sits in the north, Wenona? she shows those flashes of light to tell us

of coming evil."

"What should I fear," said Wenona; "I, who will soon join my mother, my

father, my sisters, in the land of spirits? Listen to my words, my

brother: there are but two of us; strife and disease have laid low the

brave, the good, the beautiful; we are the last of our family; you will

soon be alone.

"Before the leaves fell from the trees, as I sat on the banks of the

Mississippi, I saw the fairy of the water. The moon was rising, but it

was not yet bright enough for me to see her figure distinctly. But I

knew her voice; I had often heard it in my dreams. 'Wenona,' she said,

(and the waves were still that they might hear her words), 'Wenona, the

lands of the Dahcotah are green and beautiful--but there are fairer

prairies than those on earth. In that bright country the forest trees

are ever green, and the waves of the river flow on unchilled by the

breath of winter. You will not long be with the children of the earth.

Even now your sisters are calling you, and your mother is telling them

that a few more months will bring you to their side!'

"The words were true, my brother, but I knew not that your harshness

would hasten my going. You say that I shall marry Red Cloud; sooner will

I plunge my knife into my heart; sooner shall the waves of the

Mississippi roll over me. Brother, you will soon be alone!"

"Speak not such words, my sister," said the chief; "it shall be as you

will. I have not promised Red Cloud. I thought you would be happy if you

were his wife, and you shall not be forced to marry him. But why should

you think of death? you saw our braves as they shot at the lights in

the north. They have frightened them away. Look! they flash no more. Go

in, and sleep, and to-morrow I will tell Red Cloud that you love

him not."

And the cloudless moon shone on a happy face, and the bright stars,

seemed more bright as Wenona gazed upon them; but as she turned to enter

the wigwam, one star was seen falling in the heavens, and the light that

followed it was lost in the brightness of the others. And her dreams

were not happy, for the fairy of the water haunted them. "Even as that

star, Wenona, thou shalt pass from all that thou lovest on earth; but

weep not, thy course is upward!"

* * * * *

The hunters were so successful that they returned to their village soon.

The friends of Wenona rejoiced in her happy looks, but to Harpstenah

they were bitterness and gall. The angry countenance of Red Cloud found

an answering chord in her own heart.

"Ha!" said she to him, as he watched Wenona and her lover talking

together, "what has happened? Did you not say you would marry the

chief's sister--why then are you not with her? Red Cloud is a great

warrior, why should he be sad because Wenona loves him not? Are there

not maidens among the Dahcotahs more beautiful than she? She never loved

you; her brother, too, has treated you with contempt. Listen to my

words, Red Cloud; the Virgin's Feast is soon to be celebrated, and she

will enter the ring for the last time. When she comes forward, tell her

she is unworthy. Is she not a disgrace to the band? Has she not shamed a

brave warrior? Will you not be despised when another is preferred

to you?"

The words of the tempter are in his ear--madness and hatred are in his

heart.

"I said I would take her life, but my revenge will be deeper. Wenona

would die rather than be disgraced." And as he spoke Harpstenah turned

to leave him, for she saw that the poison had entered his soul.

CHAPTER IV.

Among the Dahcotahs, women are not excluded from joining in their feasts

or dances; they dance the scalp dance while the men sit round and sing,

and they join in celebrating many of the customs of their tribe. But the

Virgin's Feast has reference to the women alone; its object is not to

celebrate the deeds of the warrior, but rather to put to the test the

virtue of the maiden.

Notice was given among the Indians that the Virgin's Feast was to be

celebrated at Little Crow's village; the time was mentioned, and all who

chose to attend were welcome to do so.

The feast was prepared in the neighborhood of the village. The boiled

corn and venison were put in wooden bowls, and the Indians sat round,

forming a ring. Those who were to partake of the feast were dressed in

their gayest apparel; their long hair plaited and falling over their

shoulders. Those who are conscious of error dare not approach the feast,

for it is a part of the ceremony that they shall be exposed by any one

present. Neither rank nor beauty must interpose to prevent the

punishment. Nay, sometimes the power of innocence and virtue itself is

not sufficient to guard the Dahcotah maiden from disgrace.

And was Wenona unworthy? The white snow that covered the hills was not

more pure than she. But Red Cloud cared not for that. She had refused to

be the light of his wigwam, and thus was he avenged.

Wenona advanced with the maidens of the village. Who can describe her

terror and dismay when Red Cloud advances and leads her from the sacred

ring? To whom shall the maiden turn for help? To her brother? his angry

countenance speaks not of comfort. Her friends? the smile of scorn is on

their lips. Her lover? he has left the feast.

Her determination is soon made; her form is seen as she flies to the

woods. Death is the refuge of the friendless and the wronged.

But as night came on the relatives of Wenona wondered that she did not

return. They sought her, and they found her lifeless body; the knife was

deep in her heart. She knew she was innocent, but what did that avail

her? She was accused by a warrior, and who would believe her if she

denied the charge?

And why condemn her that she deprived herself of life, which she deemed

worthless, when embittered by unmerited contempt. She knew not that God

has said, "Thou shall do no murder." The command had never sounded

in her ears.

She trusted to find a home in the House of Spirits--she may have found a

heaven in the mercy of God.

The fever of the following summer spared neither age nor youth, and Red

Cloud was its first victim. As the dying Harpstenah saw his body carried

out to be placed upon the scaffold--"He is dead," she cried, "and Wenona

was innocent! He hated her because she slighted him; I hated her because

she was happy. He had his revenge, and I mine; but Wenona was falsely

accused, and I told him to do it!" and the eyes were closed--the voice

was hushed in death.

Wenona was innocent; and when the Virgin's Feast shall be celebrated in

her native village again, how will the maidens tremble as they approach

the sacred ring! Can they forget the fate of their beautiful companion?

And when the breath of summer warms to life the prairie flowers--when

the long grass shall wave under the scaffold where repose the mortal

remains of the chief's sister--how often will the Dahcotah maidens draw

near to contrast the meanness, the treachery, the falsehood of Red

Cloud, with the constancy, devotion, and firmness of Wenona!

THE DAHCOTAH CONVERT.

"Tell me," said, Hiatu-we-noken-chah, or 'woman of the night,' "the

Great Spirit whom you have taught me to fear, why has he made the white

woman rich and happy, and the Dahcotah poor and miserable?" She spoke

with bitterness when she remembered the years of sorrow that had made up

the sum of her existence.

But how with the missionary's wife? had her life been one bright

dream--had her days been always full of gladness--her nights quiet and

free from care? Had she never longed for the time of repose, that

darkness might cover her as with a mantle--and when 'sleep forsook the

wretched,' did she not pray for the breaking of the day, that she might

again forget all in the performance of the duties of her station? Could

it be that the Creator had balanced the happiness of one portion of his

children against the wretchedness of the rest? Let her story answer.

Her home is now among the forests of the west. As a child she would

tremble when she heard of the savage whose only happiness was in

shedding the blood of his fellow creatures. The name of an "Indian" when

uttered by her nurse would check the boisterous gayety of the day or the

tedious restlessness of the night.

As she gathered flowers on the pleasant banks of the Sciota, would it

not have brought paleness to her cheek to have whispered her that not

many years would pass over her, before she would be far away from the

scenes of her youth?

And as she uttered the marriage vow, how little did she think that soon

would her broken spirit devote time, energies, life, to the good of

others; as an act of duty and, but for the faith of the Christian, of

despair. For several years she only wept with others when they sorrowed;

fair children followed her footsteps, and it was happiness to guide

their voices, as they, like the morning stars, sang together; or to

listen to their evening prayer as they folded their hands in childlike

devotion ere they slept.

And when the father returned from beside the bed of death, where his

skill could no longer alleviate the parting agonies of the sufferer: how

would he hasten to look upon the happy faces of his children, in order

to forget the scene he had just witnessed. But, man of God as he was,

there was not always peace in his soul; yet none could see that he had

cause for care. He was followed by the blessings of those who were ready

to perish. He essayed to make the sinner repent, and to turn the

thoughts of the dying to Him who suffered death on the cross.

But for months the voice of the Spirit spake to his heart; he could not

forget the words--"Go to the wretched Dahcotahs, their bodies are

suffering, and their souls, immortal like thine, are perishing. Soothe

their temporal cares, and more, tell them the triumphs of the

Redeemer's love."

But it was hard to give up friends, and all the comforts with which he

was surrounded: to subject his wife to the hardships of a life in the

wilderness, to deprive his children of the advantages of education and

good influences, and instead--to show them life as it is with those who

know not God. But the voice said, "Remember the Dahcotahs." Vainly did

he struggle with the conflict of duty against inclination.

The time has come when the parents must weep for themselves. No longer

do the feet of their children tread among the flowers; fever has

paralyzed their strength, and vainly does the mother call upon the

child, whose eyes wander in delirium, who knows not her voice from a

stranger's. Nor does the Destroyer depart when one has sunk into a sleep

from which there is no awakening until the morn of the resurrection. He

claims another, and who shall resist that claim!

As the father looks upon the still forms of his children, as he sees the

compressed lips, the closed eyes of the beings who were but a few days

ago full of life and happiness, the iron enters his soul; but as the

Christian remembers who has afflicted him, his spirit rises above his

sorrow. Nor is there now any obstacle between him and the path of duty.

The one child that remains must be put in charge of those who will care

for her, and he will go where God directs.

But will the mother give up the last of her children? it matters not now

where she lives, but she must part with husband or child! Self has no

part in her schemes; secure in her trust in God she yields up her child

to her friend, and listens not to the suggestions of those who would

induce her to remain where she would still enjoy the comforts of life.

Nothing should separate her from her husband. "Entreat me not to leave

thee; where thou goest I will go, where thou diest I will die, and

there will I be buried."

And as the Dahcotah woman inquires of the justice of God, the faces of

her children rise up before her--first in health, with bright eyes and

lips parted with smiles, and then as she last saw them--their hands

white to transparency, the hue of death upon their features; the

shrouds, the little coffins, the cold lips, as she pressed them for the

last time.

The Dahcotah looked in astonishment at the grief which for a few moments

overcame the usual calmness of her kind friend; and as she wondered why,

like her, she should shed bitter tears, she heard herself thus

addressed--

"Do not think that you alone have been unhappy. God afflicts all his

children. There is not a spot on the earth which is secure from sorrow.

Have I not told you why? This world is not your home or mine. Soon will

our bodies lie down in the earth--and we would forget this, if we were

always happy.

"And you should not complain though your sorrows have been great. Do not

forget the crown of thorns which pressed the brow of the Saviour, the

cruel nails that pierced his hands and feet, the desertion of his

friends, his fear that God his Father had forsaken him. And remember

that after death the power of those who hated him ceased; the grave

received but could not keep his body. He rose from the dead, and went to

Heaven, where he has prepared a place for all who love him; for me and

mine, I trust, and for you too, if you are careful to please him by

serving him yourself, and by endeavoring to induce your friends to give

up their foolish and wicked superstitions, and to worship the true God

who made all things."

CHAPTER II.

The Dahcotahs believe in the existence of a Great Spirit, but they have

very confused ideas of his attributes. Those who have lived near the

missionaries, say that the Great Spirit lived forever, but their own

minds would never have conceived such an idea. Some say that the Great

Spirit has a wife.

They say that this being created all things but thunder and wild rice;

and that he gave the earth and all animals to them, and that their

feasts and customs were the laws by which they are to be governed. But

they do not fear the anger of this deity after death.

Thunder is said to be a large bird; the name that they give to thunder

is the generic term for all animals that fly. Near the source of the St.

Peters is a place called Thunder-tracks--where the footprints of the

thunder-bird are seen in the rocks, twenty-five miles apart.

The Dahcotahs believe in an evil spirit as well as a good, but they do

not consider these spirits as opposed to each other; they do not think

that they are tempted to do wrong by this evil spirit; their own hearts

are bad. It would be impossible to put any limit to the number of

spirits in whom the Dahcotahs believe; every object in nature is full of

them. They attribute death as much to the power of these subordinate

spirits as to the Great Spirit; but most frequently they suppose death

to have been occasioned by a spell having been cast upon them by

some enemy.

The sun and moon are worshipped as emblems of their deity.

Sacrifice is a religious ceremony among them; but no missionary has yet

been able to find any reference to the one great Atonement made for sin;

none of their customs or traditions authorize any such connection. They

sacrifice to all the spirits; but they have a stone, painted red, which

they call Grandfather, and on or near this, they place their most

valuable articles, their buffalo robes, dogs, and even horses; and on

one occasion a father killed a child as a kind of sacrifice. They

frequently inflict severe bruises or cuts upon their bodies, thinking

thus to propitiate their gods.

The belief in an evil spirit is said by some not to be a part of the

religion of the Dahcotahs. They perhaps obtained this idea from the

whites. They have a far greater fear of the spirits of the dead,

especially those whom they have offended, than of Wahkon-tun-kah, the

Great Spirit.

* * * * *

One of the punishments they most dread is that of the body of an animal

entering theirs to make them sick. Some of the medicine men, the

priests, and the doctors of the Dahcotahs, seem to have an idea of the

immortality of the soul but intercourse with the whites may have

originated this. They know nothing of the resurrection.

They have no custom among them that indicates the belief that man's

heart should be holy. The faith in spirits, dreams, and charms, the fear

that some enemy, earthly or spiritual, may be secretly working their

destruction by a spell, is as much a part of their creed, as the

existence of the Great Spirit.

A good dream will raise their hopes of success in whatever they may be

undertaking to the highest pitch; a bad one will make them despair of

accomplishing it. Their religion is a superstition, including as few

elements of truth and reason as perhaps any other of which the

particulars are known. They worship they "know not what," and this from

the lowest motives.

When they go out to hunt, or on a war party, they pray to the Great

Spirit--"Father, help us to kill the buffalo." "Let us soon see

deer"--or, "Great Spirit help us to kill our enemies."

They have no hymns of praise to their Deity; they fast occasionally at

the time of their dances. When they dance in honor of the sun, they

refrain from eating for two days.

The Dahcotahs do not worship the work of their hands; but they consider

every object that the Great Spirit has made, from the highest mountain

to the smallest stone, as worthy of their idolatry.

They have a vague idea of a future state; many have dreamed of it. Some

of their medicine men pretend to have had revelations from bears and

other animals; and they thus learned that their future existence would

be but a continuation of this. They will go on long hunts and kill many

buffalo; bright fires will burn in their wigwams as they talk through

the long winter's night of the traditions of their ancients; their women

are to tan deer-skin for their mocassins, while their young children

learn to be brave warriors by attacking and destroying wasps' or

hornets' nests; they will celebrate the dog feast to show how brave they

are, and sing in triumph as they dance round the scalps of their

enemies. Such is the Heaven of the Dahcotahs! Almost every Indian has

the image of an animal or bird tattooed on his breast or arm, which can

charm away an evil spirit, or prevent his enemy from bringing trouble or

death upon him by a secret shot. The power of life rests with mortals,

especially with their medicine men; they believe that if an enemy be

shooting secretly at them, a spell or charm must be put in requisition

to counteract their power.

The medicine men or women, who are initiated into the secrets of their

wonderful medicines, (which secret is as sacred with them as

free-masonry is to its members) give the feast which they call the

medicine feast.

Their medicine men, who profess to administer to the affairs of soul and

body are nothing more than jugglers, and are the worst men of the tribe:

yet from fear alone they claim the entire respect of the community.

There are numerous clans among the Dahcotahs each using a different

medicine, and no one knows what this medicine is but those who are

initiated into the mysteries of the medicine dance, whose celebration is

attended with the utmost ceremony.

A Dahcotah would die before he would divulge the secret of his clan. All

the different clans unite at the great medicine feast.

And from such errors as these must the Dahcotah turn if he would be a

Christian! And the heart of the missionary would faint within him at the

work which is before him, did he not remember who has said "Lo, I am

with you always!"

And it was long before the Indian woman could give up the creed of her

nation. The marks of the wounds in her face and arms will to the grave

bear witness of her belief in the faith of her fathers, which influenced

her in youth. Yet the subduing of her passions, the quiet performance of

her duties, the neatness of her person, and the order of her house, tell

of the influence of a better faith, which sanctifies the sorrows of this

life, and rejoices her with the hope of another and a better state of

existence.

But such instances are rare. These people have resisted as encroachments

upon their rights the efforts that have been made for their instruction.

Kindness and patience, however, have accomplished much, and during the

last year they have, in several instances, expressed a desire for the

aid and instructions of missionaries. They seem to wish them to live

among them; though formerly the lives of those who felt it their duty to

remain were in constant peril.

They depend more, too, upon what the ground yields them for food, and

have sought for assistance in ploughing it.

There are four schools sustained by the Dahcotah mission; in all there

are about one hundred and seventy children; the average attendance

about sixty.

The missionaries feel that they have accomplished something, and they

are encouraged to hope for still more. They have induced many of the

Dahcotahs to be more temperate; and although few, comparatively, attend

worship at the several stations, yet of those few some exhibit hopeful

signs of conversion.

There are five mission stations among the Dahcotahs; at "Lac qui parle,"

on the St. Peter's river, in sight of the beautiful lake from which the

station takes its name; at "Travers des Sioux" about eighty miles from

Fort Snelling; at Xapedun, Oak-grove, and Kapoja, the last three being

within a few miles of Fort Snelling.

There are many who think that the efforts of those engaged in

instructing the Dahcotahs are thrown away. They cannot conceive why men

of education, talent, and piety, should waste their time and attainments

upon a people who cannot appreciate their efforts. If the missionaries

reasoned on worldly principles, they would doubtless think so too; but

they devote the energies of soul and body to Him who made them for His

own service.

They are pioneers in religion; they show the path that others will walk

in far more easily at some future day; they undertake what others will

carry on,--what God himself will accomplish. They have willingly given

up the advantages of this life, to preach the gospel to the degraded

Dahcotahs. They are translating the Bible into Sioux; many of the books

are translated, and to their exertions it is owing that the praise of

God has been sung by the children of the forest in their own language.

CHAPTER III.

However absurd may be the religion of the Dahcotahs, they are zealous in

their devotion to it. Nothing is allowed to interfere with it. Are their

women planting corn, which is to be in a great measure depended upon for

food during the next winter? whatever be the consequences, they stop to

celebrate a dance or a feast, either of which is a part of their

religion. How many Christians satisfy their consciences by devoting one

day of the week to God, feeling themselves thus justified in devoting

the other six entirely to the world! But it is altogether different with

the Dahcotahs, every act of their life is influenced by their religion,

such as it is.

They believe they are a great people, that their country is unrivalled

in beauty, their religion without fault. Many of the Dahcotahs, now

living near Fort Snelling, say that they have lived on the earth before

in some region far distant, that they died, and for a time their spirits

wandered through the world seeking the most beautiful and delightful

country to live in, and that after examining all parts of, the earth

they fixed upon the country of the Dahcotahs.

In fact, dreams, spells and superstitious fears, constitute a large part

of the belief of the Dahcotahs. But of all their superstitious notions

the most curious is the one which occasions the dance called

Ho-saw-kah-u-tap-pe, or Fish dance, where the fish is eaten raw.

Some days since, an Indian who lives at Shah-co-pee's village dreamed of

seeing a cormorant, a bird which feeds on fish. He was very much

alarmed, and directed his friend to go out and catch a fish, and to

bring the first one he caught to him.

The Indian did so, and the fish, which was a large pike, was painted

with blue clay. Preparations were immediately made to celebrate the Fish

dance, in order to ward off any danger of which the dream might have

been the omen.

A circle was formed of brush, on one side of which the Indians pitched

a wigwam. The war implements were then brought inside the ring, and a

pole stuck up in the centre, with the raw fish, painted blue, hung

upon it.

The men then enter the ring, almost naked; their bodies painted black,

excepting the breast and arms, which are varied in color according to

the fancy of each individual.

Inside the ring is a bush for each dancer; in each bush a nest, made to

resemble a cormorant's nest; and outside the ring is an Indian

metamorphosed for the occasion into a wolf--that is, he has the skin of

a wolf drawn over him, and hoops fixed to his hands to enable him to run

easier on all fours; and in order to sustain the character which he has

assumed, he remains outside, lurking about for food.

All being ready, the medicine men inside the wigwam commence beating a

drum and singing. This is the signal for all the cormorants (Indians),

inside the ring, to commence quacking and dancing and using their arms

in imitation of wings, keeping up a continual flapping. Thus for some

time they dance up to and around the fish--when the bravest among them

will snap at the fish, and if he have good teeth will probably bite off

a piece, if not, he will slip his hold and flap off again.

Another will try his luck at this delicious food, and so they continue,

until they have made a beginning in the way of eating the fish. Then

each cormorant flaps up and takes a bite, and then flaps off to his

nest, in which the piece of fish is concealed, for fear the wolves

may get it.

After a while, the wolf is seen emerging from his retreat, painted so

hideously as to frighten away the Indian children. The cormorants

perceive the approach of the wolf, and a general quacking and flapping

takes place, each one rushing to his nest to secure his food.

This food each cormorant seizes and tries to swallow, flapping his wings

and stretching out his neck as a young bird will when fed by its mother.

After the most strenuous exertions they succeed in swallowing the raw

fish. While this is going on, the wolf seizes the opportunity to make a

snap at the remainder of the fish, seizes it with his teeth, and makes

his way out of the ring, as fast as he can, on all fours. The whole of

the fish, bones and all, must be swallowed; not the smallest portion of

it can be left, and the fish must only be touched by the mouth--never

with the hands. This dance is performed by the men alone--their war

implements must be sacred from the touch of women.

Such scenes are witnessed every day at the Dahcotah villages. The

missionary sighs as he sees how determined is their belief in such a

religion. Is it not a source of rejoicing to be the means of turning one

fellow-creature from a faith like this?

A few years ago and every Dahcotah woman reverenced the fish-dance as

holy and sacred--even too sacred for her to take a part in it. She

believed the medicine women could foretell future events; and, with an

injustice hardly to be accounted for, she would tell you it was lawful

to beat a girl as much as you chose, but a sin to strike a boy!

She gloried in dancing the scalp dance--aye, even exulted at the idea of

taking the life of an enemy herself.

But there are instances in which these things are all laid aside beneath

the light of Christianity; instances in which the poor Dahcotah woman

sees the folly, the wickedness of her former faith; blesses God who

inclined the missionary to leave his home and take up his abode in the

country of the savage; and sings to the praise of God in her own tongue

as she sits by the door of her wigwam. She smiles as she tells you that

her "face is dark, but that she hopes her heart has been changed; and

that she will one day sing in heaven, where the voices of the white

people and of the converted Dahcotahs, will mingle in a song of love to

Him 'who died for the whole world.'"

WABASHAW.

CHAPTER I.

Wabashaw, (or The Leaf,) is the name of one of the Dahcotah Chiefs. His

village is on the Mississippi river, 1,800 miles from its mouth.

The teepees are pitched quite near the shore, and the many bluffs that

rise behind them seem to be their perpetual guards.

The present chief is about thirty-five years old--as yet he has done not

much to give him a reputation above the Dahcotahs about him. But his

father was a man whose life and character were such as to influence his

people to a great degree.

Wabashaw the elder, (for the son inherits his father's name,) is said by

the Dahcotahs to have been the first chief in their tribe.

Many years ago the English claimed authority over the Dahcotahs, and an

English traveller having been murdered by some Dahcotahs of the band of

which Wabashaw was a warrior, the English claimed hostages to be given

up until the murderer could be found.

The affairs of the nation were settled then by men who, having more mind

than the others, naturally influenced their inferiors. Their bravest

men, their war chief too, no doubt exercised a control over the rest.

Wabashaw was one of the hostages given up in consequence of the murder,

and the Governor of Canada required that these Dahcotahs should leave

the forests of the west, and remain for a time as prisoners in Canada.

Little as is the regard for the feelings of the savage now, there was

still less then.

Wabashaw often spoke of the ill treatment he received on his journey. It

was bad enough to be a prisoner, and to be leaving home; it was far

worse to be struck, for the amusement of idle men and children--to have

the war eagle's feather rudely torn from his head to be trampled

upon--to have the ornaments, even the pipes of the nation, taken away,

and destroyed before his eyes.

But such insults often occurred during their journey, and the prisoners

were even fettered when at last they reached Quebec.

Here for a long time they sighed to breathe the invigorating air of the

prairies; to chase the buffalo; to celebrate the war dance. But when

should they join again in the ceremonies of their tribe? When? Alas!

they could not even ask their jailer when; or if they had, he would only

have laughed at the strange dialect that he could not comprehend. But

the Dahcotahs bore with patience their unmerited confinement, and

Wabashaw excelled them all. His eye was not as bright as when he left

home, and there was an unusual weakness in his limbs--but never should

his enemies know that he suffered. And when those high in authority

visited the prisoners, the haughty dignity of Wabashaw made them feel

that the Dahcotah warrior was a man to be respected.

But freedom came at last. The murderers were given up; and an

interpreter in the prison told Wabashaw that he was no longer a

prisoner; that he would soon again see the Father of many waters; and

that more, he had been made by the English a chief, the first chief of

the Dahcotahs.

It was well nigh too late for Wabashaw. His limbs were thin, and his

strength had failed for want of the fresh air of his native hills.

Little did the prisoners care to look around as they retraced their

steps. They knew they were going home. But when the waters of the

Mississippi again shone before them, when the well-known bluffs met

their eager gaze; when the bending river gave to view their native

village, then, indeed, did the new-made chief cast around him the "quiet

of a loving eye." Then, too, did he realize what he had suffered.

He strained his sight--for perhaps his wife might have wearied of

waiting for him--perhaps she had gone to the Land of spirits, hoping to

meet him there.

His children too--the young warriors, who were wont to follow him and

listen to his voice, would they welcome him home?

As he approached the village a cloud had come between him and the sun.

He could see many upon the shore, but who were they? The canoe swept

over the waters, keeping time to the thoughts of those who were

wanderers no longer.

As they neared the shore, the cloud passed away and the brightness of

the setting sun revealed the faces of their friends; their cries of joy

rent the air--to the husband, the son, the brother, they spoke a

welcome home!

Wabashaw, by the command of the English Governor, was acknowledged by

the Dahcotahs their first chief; and his influence was unbounded. Every

band has a chief, and the honor descends from father to son; but there

has never been one more honored and respected than Wabashaw.

CHAPTER II.

Wabashaw's village is sometimes called Keusca. This word signifies to

break through, or set aside; it was given in consequence of an incident

which occurred some time ago, in the village.

"Sacred Wind" was a daughter of one of the most powerful families among

the Dahcotahs; for although a chief lives as the meanest of his band,

still there is a great difference among the families. The number of a

family constitutes its importance; where a family is small, a member of

it can be injured with little fear of retaliation; but in a large family

there are sure to be found some who will not let an insult pass without

revenge. Sacred Wind's father was living; a stalwart old warrior,

slightly bent with the weight of years. Though his face was literally

seamed with wrinkles, he could endure fatigue, or face danger, with the

youngest and hardiest of the band.

Her mother, a fearfully ugly old creature, still mended mocassins and

scolded; bidding fair to keep up both trades for years to come. Then

there were tall brothers, braving hardships and danger, as if a Dahcotah

was only born to be scalped, or to scalp; uncles, cousins, too, there

were, in abundance, so that Sacred Wind did belong to a powerful family.

Now, among the Dahcotahs, a cousin is looked upon as a brother; a girl

would as soon think of marrying her grandfather, as a cousin. I mean an

ordinary girl, but Sacred Wind was not of that stamp; she was destined

to be a heroine. She had many lovers, who wore themselves out playing

the flute, to as little purpose as they braided their hair, and painted

their faces. Sacred Wind did not love one of them.

Her mother, was always trying to induce her to accept some one of her

lovers, urging the advantages of each match; but it would not do. The

girl was eighteen years old, and not yet a wife; though most of the

Dahcotah women are mothers long before that.

Her friends could not imagine why she did not marry. They were wearied

with arguing with her; but not one of them ever suspected the cause of

her seeming coldness of heart.

Her grandmother was particularly officious. She could not do as Sacred

Wind wished her,--attend to her own affairs, for she had none to attend

to; and grandmothers, among the Sioux, are as loving and devoted as they

are among white people; consequently, the old lady beset the unfortunate

girl, day and night, about her obstinacy.

"Why are you not now the mother of warriors," she said, "and besides,

who will kill game for you when you are old? The 'Bear,' has been to the

traders; he has bought many things, which he offers your parents for

you; marry him and then you will make your old grandmother happy."

"I will kill myself," she replied, "if you ask me to marry the Bear.

Have you forgotten the Maiden's rock? I There are more high rocks than

one on the banks of the Mississippi, and my heart is as strong as

Wenona's. If you torment me so, to marry the Bear, I will do as she

did--in the house of spirits I shall have no more trouble."

This threat silenced the grandmother for the time. But a young girl who

had been sitting with them, and listening to the conversation, rose to

go out; and as she passed Sacred Wind, she whispered in her ear, "Tell

her why you will not marry the Bear; tell her that Sacred Wind loves her

cousin; and that last night she promised him she never would marry any

one but him."

Had she been struck to the earth she could not have been paler. She

thought her secret was hid in her own heart. She had tried to cease

thinking of "The Shield;" keeping away from him, dreading to find true

what she only suspected. She did not dare acknowledge even to herself

that she loved a cousin.

But when the Shield gave her his handsomest trinkets; when he followed

her when she left her laughing and noisy companions to sit beside the

still waters--when he told her that she was the most beautiful girl

among the Dahcotahs--when he whispered her that he loved her dearly;

and would marry her in spite of mothers, grandmothers, customs and

religion too--then she found that her cousin was dearer to her than all

the world--that she would gladly die with him--she could never live

without him.

But still, she would not promise to marry him. What would her friends

say? and the spirits of the dead would torment her, for infringing upon

the sacred customs of her tribe. The Shield used many arguments, but all

in vain. She told him she was afraid to marry him, but that she would

never marry any one else. Sooner should the waves cease to beat against

the shores of the spirit lakes, than she forget to think of him.

But this did not satisfy her cousin. He was determined she should be his

wife; he trusted to time and his irresistible person to overcome

her fears.

The Shield's name was given to him by his father's friends. Shields were

formerly used by the Sioux; and the Eyanktons and Sissetons still use

them. They are made of buffalo skin, of a circular form; and are used as

a protection against the arrows of their enemies.

"You need not fear your family, Sacred Wind," said her cousin, "nor the

medicine men, nor the spirits of the dead. We will go to one of the

villages, and when we are married, we will come back. Let them be angry,

I will stand between you and them, even as my father's shield did

between him and the foe that sought his life."

But she was firm, and promised nothing more than that she would not

marry the Bear, or any one else; and they returned to her father's

teepee, little thinking that any one had overheard their conversation.

But the "Swan" had heard every word of it.

She loved the Shield, and she had seen him follow his cousin. After

hearing enough to know that her case was a hopeless one, she made up

her mind to make Sacred Wind pay dearly for the love which she herself

could not obtain.

She did not at once tell the news. She wanted to amuse herself with her

victim before she destroyed her; and she had hardly yet made up her mind

as to the way which she would take to inform the family of Sacred Wind

of the secret she had found out.

But she could not resist the temptation of whispering to Sacred Wind her

knowledge of the true reason why she would not marry the Bear. This was

the first blow, and it struck to the heart; it made a wound which was

long kept open by the watchful eye of jealousy.

The grandmother, however, did not hear the remark; if she had she would

not have sat still smoking--not she! she would have trembled with rage

that a Dahcotah maiden, and her grandchild, should be guilty of the

enormous crime of loving a cousin. An eruption of Vesuvius would have

given but a faint idea of her fury.

Most fortunately for herself, the venerable old medicine woman died a

few days after. Had she lived to know of the fatal passion of her

granddaughter, she would have longed to seize the thunderbolts of

Jupiter (if she had been aware of their existence) to hurl at the

offenders; or like Niobe, have wept herself to stone.

Indeed the cause of her death showed that she could not bear

contradiction.

There was a war party formed to attack the Chippeways, and the "Eagle

that Screams as she Flies," (for that was the name of Sacred Wind's

grandmother) wanted to go along.

She wished to mutilate the bodies after they were scalped. Yes, though

near ninety years old, she would go through all the fatigues of a march

of three hundred miles, and think it nothing, if she could be repaid by

tearing the heart from one Chippeway child.

There were, however, two old squaws who had applied first, and the

Screaming Eagle was rejected.

There were no bounds to her passion. She attempted to hang herself and

was cut down; she made the village resound with her lamentations; she

called upon all the spirits of the lakes, rivers, and prairies, to

torment the war party; nothing would pacify her. Two days after the war

party left, the Eagle that Screams as she Flies expired, in a fit

of rage!

When the war-party returned, the Shield was the observed of all

observers; he had taken two scalps.

Sacred Wind sighed to think he was her cousin. How could she help loving

the warrior who had returned the bravest in the battle?

The Swan saw that she loved in vain. She knew that she loved the Shield

more in absence; why then hope that he would forget Sacred Wind when he

saw her no more?

When she saw him enter the village, her heart beat fast with emotion;

she pressed her hand upon it, but could not still its tumult. "He has

come," she said to herself, "but will his eye seek mine? will he tell

_me_ that the time has been long since he saw me woman he loved?"

She follows his footsteps--she watches his every glance, as he meets his

relations. Alas! for the Swan, the wounded bird feels not so acutely the

arrow that pierces, as she that look of recognition between the cousins!

But the unhappy girl was roused from a sense of her griefs, to a

recollection of her wrongs. With all the impetuosity of a loving heart,

she thought she had a right to the affections of the Shield. As the

water reflected her features, so should his heart give back the devoted

love of hers.

But while she lived, she was determined to bring sorrow upon her rival;

she would not "sing in dying." That very evening did she repeat to the

family of Sacred Wind the conversation she had overheard, adding that

the love of the cousins was the true cause of Sacred Wind's refusing

to marry.

Time would fail me to tell of the consequent sufferings of Sacred Wind.

She was scolded and watched, shamed, and even beaten. The medicine men

threatened her with all their powers; no punishment was severe enough

for the Dahcotah who would thus transgress the laws of their nation.

The Shield was proof against the machinations of his enemies, for he was

a medicine man, and could counteract all the spells that were exerted

against him. Sacred Wind bore everything in patience but the sight of

the Bear. She had been bought and sold, over and over again; and the

fear of her killing herself was the only reason why her friends did not

force her to marry.

One evening she was missing, and the cries of her mother broke upon the

silence of night; canoes were flying across the water; friends were

wandering in the woods, all seeking the body of the girl.

But she was not to be found in the river, or in the woods. Sacred Wind

was not dead, she was only married.

She was safe in the next village, telling the Shield how much she loved

him, and how cordially she hated the Bear; and although she trembled

when she spoke of the medicine men, her husband only laughed at her

fears, telling her, that now that she was his wife, she need

fear nothing.

But where was the Swan? Her friends were assisting, in the search for

Sacred Wind. The father had forgotten his child, the brother his sister.

And the mother, who would have first missed her, had gone long ago, to

the land of spirits.

The Swan had known of the flight of the lovers--she watched them as

their canoe passed away, until it became a speck in the distance, and in

another moment the waters closed over her.

Thus were strangely blended marriage and death. The Swan feared not to

take her own life. Sacred Wind, with a nobler courage, a more devoted

love, broke through the customs of her nation, laid aside the

superstitions of the tribe, and has thus identified her courage with the

name of her native village.

"THE DAHCOTAH BRIDE."

The valley of the Upper Mississippi presents many attractions to the

reflecting mind, apart from the admiration excited by its natural

beauty. It is at once an old country and a new--the home of a people who

are rapidly passing away--and of a nation whose strength is ever

advancing. The white man treads upon the footsteps of the Dahcotah--the

war dance of the warrior gives place to the march of civilization--and

the saw-mill is heard where but a few years ago were sung the deeds of

the Dahcotah braves.

Years ago, the Dahcotah hunted where the Mississippi takes its rise--the

tribe claiming the country as far south as St. Louis. But difficulties

with the neighboring tribes have diminished their numbers and driven

them farther north and west; the white people have needed their lands,

and their course is onward. How will it end? Will this powerful tribe

cease to be a nation on the earth? Will their mysterious origin never be

ascertained? And must their religion and superstitions, their customs

and feasts pass away from memory as if they had never been?

Who can look upon them without interest? hardly the philosopher--surely

not the Christian. The image of God is defaced in the hearts of the

savage. Cain-like does the child of the forest put forth his hand and

stain it with a brother's blood. But are there no deeds of darkness done

in our own favored land?

But the country of the Dahcotah,--let it be new to those who fly at the

beckon of gain--who would speculate in the blood of their

fellow-creatures, who for gold would, aye do, sell their own souls,--it

is an old country to me. What say the boundless prairies? how many

generations have roamed over them? when did the buffalo first yield to

the arrow of the hunter? And look at the worn bases of the rocks that

are washed by the Father of waters. Hear the Dahcotah maiden as she

tells of the lover's leap--and the warrior as he boasts of the victories

of his forefathers over his enemies, long, long before the hated white

man had intruded upon their lands, or taught them the fatal secret of

intoxicating drink.

The Dahcotahs feel their own weakness--they know they cannot contend

with the power of the white man. Yet there are times when the passion

and vehemence of the warriors in the neighborhood of Fort Snelling can

hardly be brought to yield to the necessity of control; and were there a

possibility of success, how soon would the pipe of peace be thrown

aside, and the yell and whoop of war be heard instead! And who would

blame them? Has not the blood of our bravest and best been poured out

like water for a small portion of a country--when the whole could never

make up for the loss sustained by one desolate widow or

fatherless child?

The sky was without a cloud when the sun rose on the Mississippi. The

morning mists passed slowly away as if they loved to linger round the

hills. Pilot Knob rose above them, proud to be the burial place of her

warrior children, while on the opposite side of the Mine Soto [Footnote:

Mine Soto, or Whitish Water, the name that the Sioux give to the St.

Peter's River. The mud or clay in the water has a whitish look.] the

frowning walls of Fort Snelling; told of the power of their enemies. Not

a breath disturbed the repose of nature, till the voice of the song

birds rose in harmony singing the praise of the Creator.

But a few hours have passed away, and how changed the scene. Numbers of

canoes are seen rapidly passing over the waters, and the angry savages

that spring from them as hastily ascending the hill. From the gates of

the fort, hundreds of Indians are seen collecting from every direction,

and all approaching the house of the interpreter. We will follow them.

Few have witnessed so wild a scene. The house of the interpreter

employed by government is near the fort, and all around it were

assembled the excited Indians. In front of the house is a piazza, and on

it lay the body of a young Dahcotah; his black hair plaited, and falling

over his swarthy face. The closed eye and compressed lips proclaimed the

presence of death. Life had but recently yielded to the sway of the

stern conqueror. A few hours ago Beloved Hail had eaten and drank on the

very spot where his body now reposed.

Bending over his head is his wife; tears fall like rain from her eyes;

and as grief has again overcome her efforts at composure, see how she

plunges her knife into her arm: and as the warm blood flows from the

wound calls upon the husband of her youth!

"My son! my son!" bursts from the lips of his aged mother, who weeps at

his feet; while her bleeding limbs bear witness to the wounds which she

had inflicted upon herself in the agony of her soul. Nor are these the

only mourners. A crowd of friends are weeping round his body. But the

mother has turned to the warriors as they press through the crowd; tears

enough have been shed, it is time to think of revenge. "Look at your

friend," she says, "look how heavily lies the strong arm, and see, he is

still, though his wife and aged mother call upon him. Who has done this?

who has killed the brave warrior? bring me the murderer, that I may cut

him on pieces."

It needed not to call upon the warriors who stood around. They were

excited enough. Bad Hail stood near, his eyes bloodshot with rage, his

lip quivering, and every trembling limb telling of the tempest within.

Shah-co-pee, the orator of the Dahcotahs, and "The Nest," their most

famous hunter; the tall form of the aged chief "Man in the cloud" leaned

against the railing, his sober countenance strangely contrasting with

the fiend-like look of his wife; Grey Iron and Little Hill, with brave

after brave, all crying vengeance to the foe, death to the Chippeway!

CHAPTER II.

But yesterday the Dahcotahs and Chippeways, foes from time immemorial,

feasted and danced together, for there was peace between them. They had

promised to bury the hatchet; the Chippeways danced near the fort, and

the Dahcotahs presented them with blankets and pipes, guns and powder,

and all that the savage deems valuable. Afterwards, the Dahcotahs

danced, and the generous Chippeways exceeded them in the number and

value of their gifts. As evening approached, the bands mingled their

amusements--together they contended in the foot-race, or, stretching

themselves upon the grass, played at checkers.

The Chippeways had paid their annual visit of friendship at Fort

Snelling, and, having spent their time happily, they were about to

return to their homes. Their wise men said they rejoiced that nothing

had occurred to disturb the harmony of the two tribes. But their

vicinity to the Fort prevented any outbreak; had there been no such

restraint upon their actions, each would have sought the life of his

deadly foe.

"Hole in the Day" was the chief of the Chippeways. He owed his station

to his own merit; his bravery and firmness had won the respect and

admiration of the tribe when he was but a warrior, and they exalted him

to the honor of being their chief. Deeds of blood marked his course, yet

were his manners gentle and his voice low. There was a dignity and a

courtesy about his every action that would have well befitted

a courtier.

He watched with interest the trials of strength between the young men of

his own tribe and the Dahcotahs. When the latter celebrated one of their

national feasts, when they ate the heart of the dog while it was warm

with life, just torn from the animal, with what contempt did he gaze

upon them!

[Illustration: FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY.]

The amusements of the dog feast, or dance, have closed, and the

Chippeway chief has signified to his warriors that they were to return

home on the following day. He expressed a wish to see several of the

chiefs of the Dahcotahs, and a meeting having been obtained, he thus

addressed them--

"Warriors! it has been the wish of our great father that we should be

friends; blood enough has been shed on both sides. But even if we

preferred to continue at war, we must do as our great father says. The

Indian's glory is passing away; they are as the setting sun; while the

white man is as the sun rising in all his power. We are the falling

leaves; the whites are the powerful horses that trample them under foot.

We are about to return home, and it is well that nothing has happened to

occasion strife between us. But I wish you to know that there are two

young men among us who do not belong to my band. They are pillagers,

belonging to another band, and they may be troublesome. I wish you to

tell your young men of this, that they may be on their guard."

After smoking together, the chiefs separated. "Hole in the Day" having

thus done all that he deemed proper, returned with his warriors to

his teepee.

Early in the morning the Chippeways encamped near St. Anthony's falls;

the women took upon themselves all the fatigue and labor of the journey,

the men carrying only the implements of war and hunting. The Chippeway

chief was the husband of three wives, who were sisters; and, strange to

say, when an Indian fancies more than one wife, he is fortunate if he

can obtain sisters, for they generally live in harmony, while wives who

are not related are constantly quarreling; and the husband does not

often interfere, even if words are changed to blows.

In the mean time, the two pillagers were lurking about; now remaining a

short time with the camp of the Chippeways, now absenting themselves for

a day or two. But while the Chippeways were preparing to leave the

Falls, the pillagers were in the neighborhood of Fort Snelling. They had

accompanied Hole in the Day's band, with the determination of killing an

enemy. The ancient feud still rankled in their hearts; as yet they had

had no opportunity of satisfying their thirst for blood; but on this

morning they were concealed in the bushes, when Red Boy and Beloved

Hail, two Dahcotahs, were passing on horseback. It was but a moment--and

the deed was done. Both the Chippeways fired, and Beloved Hail fell.

Red Boy was wounded, but not badly; he hurried in to tell the sad news,

and the two Chippeways were soon out of the power of their enemies. They

fled, it is supposed, to Missouri.

The friends of the dead warrior immediately sought his body, and brought

it to the house of the interpreter. There his friends came together; and

as they entered one by one, on every side pressing, forward to see the

still, calm, features of the young man; they threw on the body their

blankets, and other presents, according to their custom of honoring

the dead.

Troops are kept at Fort Snelling, not only as a protection to the whites

in the neighborhood, but to prevent, if possible, difficulties between

the different bands of Indians; and as every year brings the Chippeways

to Fort Snelling, either to transact business with the government or on

a visit of pleasure, the Chippeways and Dahcotahs must be frequently

thrown together. The commanding officer of the garrison notifies the two

bands, on such occasions, that no hostilities will be permitted; so

there is rarely an occurrence to disturb their peace.

But now it is impossible to restrain the excited passions of the

Dahcotahs. Capt. B----; who was then in command at Fort Snelling, sent

word to the Chippeway chief of the murder that had been committed, and

requested him to bring all his men in, as the murderer must be given up.

But this did not satisfy the Dahcotahs; they longed to raise the

tomahawk which they held in their hands. They refused to wait, but

insisted upon following the Chippeways and revenging themselves; the

arguments of the agent and other friends of the Dahcotahs were

unavailing; nothing would satisfy them but blood, The eyes, even of the

women, sparkled with delight, at the prospect of the scalps they would

dance round; while the mother of Beloved Hail was heard to call for the

scalp of the murderer of her son!

Seeing the chiefs determined on war, Capt. B---- told them he would

cease to endeavor to change their intentions; "but as soon" said he, "as

you attack the Chippeways, will I send the soldiers to your villages;

and who will protect your wives and children?"

This had the desired effect, and the warriors, seeing the necessity of

waiting for the arrival of the Chippeways, became more calm.

Hole in the Day with his men came immediately to the Fort, where a

conference was held at the gate. There were assembled about three

hundred Dahcotahs and seventy Chippeways, with the officers of the

garrison and the Indian agent.

It was ascertained that the murder had been committed by the two

pillagers, for none of the other Chippeway warriors had been absent

from the camp. Hole in the Day, however, gave up two of his men, as

hostages to be kept at Fort Snelling until the murderers should be

given up.

The Dahcotahs, being obliged for the time to defer the hope of revenge,

returned to their village to bury their dead.

CHAPTER III.

We rarely consider the Indian as a member of a family--we associate him

with the tomahawk and scalping-knife. But the very strangeness of the

customs of the Dahcotahs adds to their interest; and in their mourning

they have all the horror of death without an attendant solemnity.

All the agony and grief that a Christian mother feels when she looks for

the last time at the form which will so soon moulder in the dust, an

Indian mother feels also. The Christian knows that the body will live

again; that the life-giving breath of the Eternal will once more

re-animate the helpless clay; that the eyes which were brilliant and

beautiful in life will again look brightly from the now closed

lids--when the dead shall live--when the beloved child shall

"rise again."

The Dahcotah woman has no such hope. Though she believes that the soul

will live forever in the "city of spirits," yet the infant she has

nursed at her bosom, the child she loved and tended, the young man whose

strength and beauty were her boast, will soon be ashes and dust.

And if she have not the hope of the Christian, neither has she the

spirit. For as she cuts off her hair and tears her clothes, throwing

them under the scaffold, what joy would it bring to her heart could she

hope herself to take the life of the murderer of her son.

Beloved Hail was borne by the Indians to his native village, and the

usual ceremonies attending the dead performed, but with more than usual

excitement, occasioned by the circumstances of the death of

their friend.

The body of a dead Dahcotah is wrapped in cloth or calico, or sometimes

put in a box, if one can be obtained, and placed upon a scaffold raised

a few feet from the ground. All the relations of the deceased then sit

round it for about twenty-four hours; they tear their clothes; run

knives through the fleshy parts of their arms, but there is no sacrifice

which they can make so great as cutting off their hair.

The men go in mourning by painting themselves black and they do not wash

the paint off until they take the scalp of an enemy, or give a

medicine-dance.

While they sit round the scaffold, one of the nearest relations

commences a doleful crying, when all the others join in, and continue

their wailing for some time. Then for awhile their tears are wiped away.

After smoking for a short time another of the family commences again,

and the others join in. This is continued for a day and night, and then

each one goes to his own wigwam.

The Dahcotahs mourned thus for Beloved Hail. In the evening the cries of

his wife were heard as she called for her husband, while the rocks and

the hills echoed the wail. He will return no more--and who will hunt the

deer for his wife and her young children!

The murderers were never found, and the hostages, after being detained

for eighteen months at Fort Snelling, were released. They bore their

confinement with admirable patience, the more so as they were punished

for the fault of others. When they were released, they were furnished

with guns and clothing. For fear they would be killed by the Dahcotahs,

their release was kept a secret, and the Dahcotahs knew not that the two

Chippeways were released, until they were far on their journey home. But

one of them never saw his native village again. The long confinement had

destroyed his health, and being feeble when he set out, he soon found

himself unequal to the journey. He died a few days before the home was

reached; and the welcome that his companion received was a sad one, for

he brought the intelligence of the death of his comrade.

CHAPTER IV.

But we will do as the Dahcotahs did--turn from the sadness and horror of

an Indian's death, to the gayety and happiness of an Indian marriage.

The Indians are philosophers, after all--they knew that they could not

go after the Chippeways, so they made the best of it and smoked. Beloved

Hail was dead, but they could not bring him to life, and they smoked

again: besides, "Walking Wind" was to be married to "The War Club,"

whereupon they smoked harder than ever.

There are two kinds of marriages among the Dahcotahs, buying a wife and

stealing one. The latter answers to our runaway matches, and in some

respects the former is the ditto of one conducted as it ought to be

among ourselves. So after all, I suppose, Indian marriages are much like

white people's.

But among the Dahcotahs it is an understood thing that, when the young

people run away, they are to be forgiven at any time they choose to

return, if it should be the next day, or six months afterwards. This

saves a world of trouble. It prevents the necessity of the father

looking daggers at the son-in-law, and then loving him violently; the

mother is spared the trial of telling her daughter that she forgives her

though she has broken her heart; and, what is still better, there is not

the slightest occasion whatever for the bride to say she is wretched,

for having done what she certainly would do over again to-morrow, were

it undone.

So that it is easy to understand why the Dahcotahs have the advantage of

us in runaway matches, or as _they_ say in "stealing a wife;" for it is

the same thing, only more honestly stated.

When a young man is unable to purchase the girl he loves best, or if her

parents are unwilling she should marry him, if he have gained the heart

of the maiden he is safe. They appoint a time and place to meet; take

whatever will be necessary for their journey; that is, the man takes his

gun and powder and shot, and the girl her knife and wooden bowl to eat

and drink out of; and these she intends to hide in her blanket.

Sometimes they merely go to the next village to return the next day. But

if they fancy a bridal tour, away they go several hundred miles with

the grass for their pillow, the canopy of heaven for their curtains, and

the bright stars to light and watch over them. When they return home,

the bride goes at once to chopping wood, and the groom to smoking,

without the least form or parade.

Sometimes a young girl dare not run away; for she has a miserly father

or mother who may not like her lover because he had not enough to give

them for her; and she knows they will persecute her and perhaps shoot

her husband. But this does not happen often. Just as, once in a hundred

years in a Christian land, if a girl will run away with a young man, her

parents run after her, and in spite of religion and common sense bring

her back, have her divorced, and then in either case the parties must,

as a matter of course, be very miserable.

But the marriage that we are about to witness, is a "marriage in high

life" among the Dahcotahs, and the bride is regularly bought, as often

occurs with us.

"Walking Wind" is not pretty; even the Dahcotahs, who are far from being

connoisseurs in beauty do not consider her pretty. She is, however, tall

and well made, and her feet and hands (as is always the case with the

Dahcotah women) are small. She has a quantity of jet-black hair, that

she braids with a great deal of care. Her eyes are very black, but

small, and her dark complexion is relieved by more red than is usually

seen in the cheeks of the daughters of her race. Her teeth are very

fine, as everybody knows--for she is always laughing, and her laugh is

perfect music.

Then Walking Wind is, generally speaking, so good tempered. She was

never known to be very angry but once, when Harpstenah told her she was

in love with "The War Club;" she threw the girl down and tore half the

hair out of her head. What made it seem very strange was, that she was

over head and ears in love with "The War Club" at that very time; but

she did not choose anybody should know it.

War Club was a flirt--yes, a male coquette--and he had broken the hearts

of half the girls in the band. Besides being a flirt, he was a fop. He

would plait his hair and put vermilion on his cheeks; and, after seeing

that his leggins were properly arranged, he would put the war eagle

feathers in his head, and folding his blanket round him, would walk

about the village, or attitudinize with all the airs of a Broadway

dandy. War Club was a great warrior too, for on his blanket was marked

the Red Hand, which showed he had killed his worst enemy--for it was his

father's enemy, and he had hung the scalp up at his father's grave.

Besides, he was a great hunter, which most of the Dahcotahs are.

No one, then, could for a moment doubt the pretensions of War Club, or

that all the girls of the village should fall in love with him; and he,

like a downright flirt, was naturally very cold and cruel to the poor

creatures who loved him so much.

Walking Wind, besides possessing many other accomplishments, such as

tanning deer-skin, making mocassins, &c., was a capital shot. On one

occasion, when the young warriors were shooting at a mark, Walking Wind

was pronounced the best shot among them, and the War Club was quite

subdued. He could bear everything else; but when Walking Wind beat him

shooting--why--the point was settled; he must fall in love with her,

and, as a natural consequence, marry her.

Walking Wind was not so easily won. She had been tormented so long

herself, that she was in duty bound to pay back in the same coin. It was

a Duncan Gray affair--only reversed. At last she yielded; her lover

gave her so many trinkets. True, they were brass and tin; but Dahcotah

maidens cannot sigh for pearls and diamonds, for they never even heard

of them; and the philosophy of the thing is just the same, since

everybody is outdone by somebody. Besides, her lover played the flute

all night long near her father's wigwam, and, not to speak of the pity

that she felt for him, Walking Wind was confident she never could sleep

until that flute stopped playing, which she knew would be as soon as

they were married. For all the world knows that no husband, either white

or copper-colored, ever troubles himself to pay any attention of that

sort to his wife, however devotedly romantic he may have been

before marriage.

Sometimes the Dahcotah lover buys his wife without her consent; but the

War Club was more honorable than that: he loved Walking Wind, and he

wanted her to love him.

When all was settled between the young people, War Club told his parents

that he wanted to marry. The old people were glad to hear it, for they

like their ancient and honorable names and houses to be kept up, just as

well as lords and dukes do; so they collected everything they owned for

the purpose of buying Walking Wind. Guns and blankets, powder and shot,

knives and trinkets, were in requisition instead of title-deeds and

settlements. So, when all was ready, War Club put the presents on a

horse, and carried them to the door of Walking Wind's wigwam.

He does not ask for the girl, however, as this would not be Dahcotah

etiquette. He lays the presents on the ground and has a consultation,

or, as the Indians say, a "talk" with the parents, concluding by asking

them to give him Walking Wind for his wife.

And, what is worthy to be noticed here is, that, after having gone to so

much trouble to ask a question, he never for a moment waits for an

answer, but turns round, horse and all, and goes back to his wigwam.

The parents then consult for a day or two, although they from the first

moment have made up their minds as to what they are going to do. In due

time the presents are taken into the wigwam, which signifies to the

lover that he is a happy man. And on the next day Walking Wind is to

be a bride.

CHAPTER V.

Early in the morning, Walking Wind commenced her toilet--and it was no

light task to deck the Indian bride in all her finery.

Her mocassins were worked with porcupine, and fitted closely her small

feet; the leggins were ornamented with ribbons of all colors; her cloth

shawl, shaped like a mantilla, was worked with rows of bright ribbons,

and the sewing did honor to her own skill in needle-work. Her breast

was covered with brooches, and a quantity of beads hung round her neck.

Heavy ear-rings are in her ears--and on her head is a diadem of war

eagle's feathers. She has a bright spot of vermilion on each cheek,

and--behold an Indian bride!

When she is ready, as many presents as were given for her are collected

and put on a horse; and the bride, accompanied by three or four of her

relations, takes the road to the wigwam of the bridegroom.

When they arrive within a hundred yards of the wigwam, Walking Wind's

father calls for the War Club to come out. He does not come, but sends

one of his relations to receive the bride. Do not suppose that Walking

Wind's father takes offence at the bridegroom's not coming when he is

called; for it is as much a part of the ceremony, among the Dahcotahs,

for one of the bride's relations to call for the bridegroom, and for the

groom to refuse to come, as it is for us to have the ring put upon the

third finger of the left hand.

As soon as the warrior deputed by the husband elect to receive the bride

makes his appearance, the Indians raise a shout of applause, and all run

towards him as he approaches them, and while they are running and

shouting they are firing off their guns too.

But the ceremony is not over yet. Walking Wind, in order to complete the

ceremonies, to be a wife, must jump upon the back of her husband's

relative, and be thus carried into the wigwam of which she is to be

the mistress.

What a situation for a bride! Walking Wind seriously thinks of

rebelling; she hesitates--while the man stands ready to start for the

wigwam so soon as the luggage is on. The bride draws back and pouts a

little, when some of her friends undertake to reason with her; and she,

as if to avoid them, springs upon the back of the Dahcotah, who carries

her into the wigwam.

But where on earth is the bridegroom? Seated on the ground in the

teepee, looking as placid and unconcerned as if nothing was going on. Of

course he rises to receive his bride? Not he; but Walking Wind is on her

feet again, and she takes her seat, without any invitation, by the side

of him, who is literally to be her lord and master--and they are man and

wife. As much so, as if there were a priest and a ring, pearls and

bride-cake. For the Dahcotah reveres the ceremony of marriage, and he

thinks with solemn awe of the burial rites of his nation, as we do.

These rites have been preserved from generation to generation, told from

father to son, and they will be handed down until the Dahcotahs are no

more, or until religion and education take the place of superstition and

ignorance--until God, our God, is known and worshipped among a people

who as yet have hardly heard His name.

SHAH-CO-PEE;

THE ORATOR OF THE SIOUX.

Shah-co-pee (or Six) is one of the chiefs of the Dahcotahs; his village

is about twenty-five miles from Fort Snelling. He belongs to the bands

that are called Men-da-wa-can-ton, or People of the Spirit Lakes.

No one who has lived at Fort Snelling can ever forget him, for at what

house has he not called to shake hands and smoke; to say that he is a

great chief, and that he is hungry and must eat before he starts for

home? If the hint is not immediately acted upon, he adds that the sun is

dying fast, and it is time for him to set out.

Shah-co-pee is not so tall or fine looking as Bad Hail, nor has he the

fine Roman features of old Man in the Cloud. His face is decidedly ugly;

but there is an expression of intelligence about his quick black eye and

fine forehead, that makes him friends, notwithstanding his many

troublesome qualities.

At present he is in mourning; his face is painted black. He never combs

his hair, but wears a black silk handkerchief tied across his forehead.

When he speaks he uses a great deal of gesture, suiting the action to

the word. His hands, which are small and well formed, are black with

dirt; he does not descend to the duties of the toilet.

He is the orator of the Dahcotahs. No matter how trifling the occasion,

he talks well; and assumes an air of importance that would become him if

he were discoursing on matters of life and death.

Some years ago, our government wished the Chippeways and Dahcotahs to

conclude a treaty of peace among themselves. Frequently have these two

bands made peace, but rarely kept it any length of time. On this

occasion many promises were made on both sides; promises which would be

broken by some inconsiderate young warrior before long, and then

retaliation must follow.

Shah-co-pee has great influence among the Dahcotahs, and he was to come

to Fort Snelling to be present at the council of peace. Early in the

morning he and about twenty warriors left their village on the banks of

the St. Peters, for the Fort.

When they were very near, so that their actions could be distinguished,

they assembled in their canoes, drawing them close together, that they

might hear the speech which their chief was about to make them.

They raised the stars and stripes, and their own flag, which is a staff

adorned with feathers from the war eagle; and the noon-day sun gave

brilliancy to their gay dresses, and the feathers and ornaments that

they wore.

Shah-co-pee stood straight and firm in his canoe--and not the less

proudly that the walls of the Fort towered above him.

"My boys," he said (for thus he always addressed his men), "the

Dahcotahs are all braves; never has a coward been known among the

People of the Spirit Lakes. Let the women and children fear their

enemies, but we will face our foes, and always conquer.

"We are going to talk with the white men; our great Father wishes us to

be at peace with our enemies. We have long enough shed the blood of the

Chippeways; we have danced round their scalps, and our children have

kicked their heads about in the dust. What more do we want? When we are

in council, listen to the words of the Interpreter as he tells us what

our great Father says, and I will answer him for you; and when we have

eaten and smoked the pipe of peace, we will return to our village."

The chief took his seat with all the importance of a public benefactor.

He intended to have all the talking to himself, to arrange matters

according to his own ideas; but he did it with the utmost condescension,

and his warriors were satisfied.

Besides being an orator, Shah-co-pee is a beggar, and one of a high

order too, for he will neither take offence nor a refusal. Tell him one

day that you will not give him pork and flour, and on the next he

returns, nothing daunted, shaking hands, and asking for pork and flour.

He always gains his point, for you are obliged to give in order to get

rid of him. He will take up his quarters at the Interpreter's, and come

down upon you every day for a week just at meal time--and as he is

always blessed with a ferocious appetite, it is much better to

capitulate, come to terms by giving him what he wants, and let him go.

And after he has once started, ten to one if he does not come back to

say he wants to shoot and bring you some ducks; you must give him powder

and shot to enable him to do so. That will probably be the last of it.

CHAPTER II.

It was a beautiful morning in June when we left Fort Snelling to go on a

pleasure party up the St. Peters, in a steamboat, the first that had

ever ascended that river. There were many drawbacks in the commencement,

as there always are on such occasions. The morning was rather cool,

thought some, and as they hesitated about going, of course their toilets

were delayed to the last moment. And when all were fairly in the boat,

wood was yet to be found. Then something was the matter with one of the

wheels--and the mothers were almost sorry they had consented to come;

while the children, frantic with joy, were in danger of being drowned

every moment, by the energetic movements they made near the sides of the

boat, by way of indicating their satisfaction at the state of things.

In the cabin, extensive preparations were making in case the excursion

brought on a good appetite. Everybody contributed loaf upon loaf of

bread and cake; pies, coffee and sugar; cold meats of every description;

with milk and cream in bottles. Now and then, one of these was broken or

upset, by way of adding to the confusion, which was already intolerable.

Champaigne and old Cogniac were brought by the young gentlemen, only for

fear the ladies should be sea-sick; or, perhaps, in case the gentlemen

should think it positively necessary to drink the ladies' health.

When we thought all was ready, there was still another delay.

Shah-co-pee and two of his warriors were seen coming down the hill, the

chief making an animated appeal to some one on board the boat; and as he

reached the shore he gave us to understand that his business was

concluded, and that he would like to go with us. But it was very evident

that he considered his company a favor.

The bright sun brought warmth, and we sat on the upper deck admiring the

beautiful shores of the St. Peter's. Not a creature was to be seen for

some distance on the banks, and the birds as they flew over our heads

seemed to be the fit and only inhabitants of such a region.

When tired of admiring the scenery, there was enough to employ us. The

table was to be set for dinner; the children had already found out which

basket contained the cake, and they were casting admiring looks

towards it.

When we were all assembled to partake of some refreshments, it was

delightful to find that there were not enough chairs for half the party.

We borrowed each other's knives and forks too, and etiquette, that petty

tyrant of society, retired from the scene.

Shah-co-pee found his way to the cabin, where he manifested strong

symptoms of shaking hands over again; in order to keep him quiet, we

gave him plenty to eat. How he seemed to enjoy a piece of cake that had

accidentally dropped into the oyster-soup! and with equal gravity would

he eat apple-pie and ham together. And then his cry of "wakun"

[Footnote: Mysterious.] when the cork flew from the champaigne bottle

across the table!

How happily the day passed--how few such days occur in the longest

life!

As Shah-co-pee's village appeared in sight, the chief addressed Col.

D----, who was at that time in command of Fort Snelling, asking him why

we had come on such an excursion.

"To escort you home" was the ready reply; "you are a great chief, and

worthy of being honored, and we have chosen this as the best way of

showing our respect and admiration of you."

The Dahcotah chief believed all; he never for a moment thought there was

anything like jesting on the subject of his own high merits; his face

beamed with delight on receiving such a compliment.

The men and women of the village crowded on the shore as the boat

landed, as well they might, for a steamboat was a new sight to them.

The chief sprang from the boat, and swelling with pride and self

admiration he took the most conspicuous station on a rock near the

shore, among his people, and made them a speech.

We could but admire his native eloquence. Here, with all that is wild in

nature surrounding him, did the untaught orator address his people. His

lips gave rapid utterance to thoughts which did honor to his feelings,

when we consider who and what he was.

He told them that the white people were their friends; that they wished

them to give up murder and intemperance, and to live quietly and

happily. They taught them to plant corn, and they were anxious to

instruct their children. "When we are suffering," said he, "during the

cold weather, from sickness or want of food, they give us medicine

and bread."

And finally he told them of the honor that had been paid him. "I went,

as you know, to talk with the big Captain of the Fort, and he, knowing

the bravery of the Dahcotahs, and that I was a great chief, has brought

me home, as you see. Never has a Dahcotah warrior been thus honored!"

Never indeed! But we took care not to undeceive him. It was a harmless

error, and as no efforts on our part could have diminished his self

importance, we listened with apparent, indeed with real admiration of

his eloquent speech. The women brought ducks on board, and in exchange

we gave them bread; and it was evening as we watched the last teepee of

Shah-co-pee's village fade away in the distance.

But sorrow mingles with the remembrance of that bright day. One of those

who contributed most to its pleasures is gone from us--one whom all

esteemed and many loved, and justly, for never beat a kinder or a

nobler heart.

CHAPTER III.

Shah-co-pee has looked rather grave lately. There is trouble in the

wigwam.

The old chief is the husband of three wives, and they and their children

are always fighting. The first wife is old as the hills, wrinkled and

haggard; the chief cares no more for her than he does for the stick of

wood she is chopping. She quarrels with everybody but him, and this

prevents her from being quite forgotten.

The day of the second wife is past too, it is of no use for I her to

plait her hair and put on her ornaments; for the old chief's heart is

wrapped up in his third wife.

The girl did not love him, how could she? and he did not succeed in

talking her into the match; but he induced the parents to sell her to

him, and the young wife went weeping to the teepee of the chief.

Hers was a sad fate. She hated her husband as much as he loved her. No

presents could reconcile her to her situation. The two forsaken wives

never ceased annoying her, and their children assisted them. The young

wife had not the courage to resent their ill treatment, for the loss of

her lover had broken her heart. But that lover did not seem to be in

such despair as she was--he did not quit the village, or drown himself,

or commit any act of desperation. He lounged and smoked as much as ever.

On one occasion when Shah-co-pee was absent from the village the

lovers met.

They had to look well around them, for the two old wives were always on

the look out for something to tell of the young one; but there was no

one near. The wind whistled keenly round the bend of the river as the

Dahcotah told the weeping girl to listen to him.

When had she refused? How had she longed to hear the sound of his voice

when wearied to death with the long boastings of the old chief.

But how did her heart beat when Red Stone told her that he loved her

still--that he had only been waiting an opportunity to induce her to

leave her old husband, and go with him far away.

She hesitated a little, but not long; and when Shah-co-pee returned to

his teepee his young wife was gone--no one had seen her depart--no one

knew where to seek for her. When the old man heard that Red Stone was

gone too, his rage knew no bounds. He beat his two wives almost to

death, and would have given his handsomest pipe-stem to have seen the

faithless one again.

His passion did not last long; it would have killed him if it had. His

wives moaned all through the night, bruised and bleeding, for the fault

of their rival; while the chief had recourse to the pipe, the

never-failing refuge of the Dahcotah.

"I thought," said the chief, "that some calamity was going to happen to

me" (for, being more composed, he began to talk to the other Indians who

sat with him in his teepee, somewhat after the manner and in the spirit

of Job's friends). "I saw Unk-a-tahe, the great fish of the water, and

it showed its horns; and we know that that is always a sign of trouble."

"Ho!" replied an old medicine man, "I remember when Unk-a-tahe got in

under the falls" (of St. Anthony) "and broke up the ice. The large

pieces of ice went swiftly down, and the water forced its way until it

was frightful to see it. The trees near the shore were thrown down, and

the small islands were left bare. Near Fort Snelling there was a house

where a white man and his wife lived. The woman heard the noise, and,

waking her husband, ran out; but as he did not follow her quick enough,

the house was soon afloat and he was drowned."

There was an Indian camp near this house, for the body of Wenona, the

sick girl who was carried over the Falls, was found here. It was placed

on a scaffold on the shore, near where the Indians found her, and

Checkered Cloud moved her teepee, to be near her daughter. Several other

Dahcotah families were also near her.

But what was their fright when they heard the ice breaking, and the

waters roaring as they carried everything before them? The father of

Wenona clung to his daughter's scaffold, and no entreaties of his wife

or others could induce him to leave.

"Unk-a-tahe has done this," cried the old man, "and I care not. He

carried my sick daughter under the waters, and he may bury me there

too." And while the others fled from the power of Unk-a-tahe, the father

and mother clung to the scaffold of their daughter.

They were saved, and they lived by the body of Wenona until they buried

her. "The power of Unk-a-tahe is great!" so spoke the medicine man, and

Shah-co-pee almost forgot his loss in the fear and admiration of this

monster of the deep, this terror of the Dahcotahs.

He will do well to forget the young wife altogether; for she is far

away, making mocassins for the man she loves. She rejoices at her escape

from the old man, and his two wives; while he is always making speeches

to his men, commencing by saying he is a great chief, and ending with

the assertion that Red Stone should have respected his old age, and not

have stolen from him the only wife he loved.

CHAPTER IV.

Shah-co-pee came, a few days ago, with twenty other warriors, some of

them chiefs, on a visit to the commanding officer of Fort Snelling.

The Dahcotahs had heard that the Winnebagoes were about to be removed,

and that they were to pass through their hunting grounds on their way to

their future homes. They did not approve of this arrangement. Last

summer the Dahcotahs took some scalps of the Winnebagoes, and it was

decided at Washington that the Dahcotahs should pay four thousand

dollars of their annuities as an atonement for the act. This caused much

suffering among the Dahcotahs; fever was making great havoc among them,

and to deprive them of their flour and other articles of food was only

enfeebling their constitutions, and rendering them an easy prey for

disease. The Dahcotahs thought this very hard at the time; they have not

forgotten the circumstance, and they think that they ought to be

consulted before their lands are made a thoroughfare by their enemies.

They accordingly assembled, and, accompanied by the Indian agent and the

interpreter, came to Fort Snelling to make their complaint. When they

were all seated, (all on the floor but one, who looked most

uncomfortable, mounted on a high chair), the agent introduced the

subject, and it was discussed for a while; the Dahcotahs paying the most

profound attention, although they could not understand a word of what

was passing; and when there was a few moments' silence, the chiefs rose

each in his turn to protest against the Winnebagoes passing through

their country. They all spoke sensibly and well; and when one finished,

the others all intimated their approval by crying "Ho!" as a kind of

chorus. After a while Shah-co-pee rose; his manner said "I am Sir

Oracle." He shook hands with the commanding officer, with the agent and

interpreter, and then with some strangers who were visiting the fort.

His attitude was perfectly erect as he addressed the officer.

"We are the children of our great Father, the President of the United

States; look upon us, for we are your children too. You are placed here

to see that the Dahcotahs are protected, that their rights are not

infringed upon."

While the Indians cried Ho! ho! with great emphasis, Shah-co-pee shook

hands all round again, and then resumed his place and speech.

"Once this country all belonged to the Dahcotahs. Where had the white

man a place to call his own on our prairies? He could not even pass

through our country without our permission!

"Our great Father has signified to us that he wants our lands. We have

sold some of them to him, and we are content to do so, but he has

promised to protect us, to be a friend to us, to take care of us as a

father does of his children.

"When the white man wishes to visit us, we open the door of our country

to him; we treat him with hospitality. He looks at our rocks, our river,

our trees, and we do not disturb him. The Dahcotah and the white man

are friends.

"But the Winnebagoes are not our friends, we suffered for them not long

ago; our children wanted food; our wives were sick; they could not plant

corn or gather the Indian potato. Many of our nation died; their bodies

are now resting on their scaffolds. The night birds clap their wings as

the winds howl over them!

"And we are told that our great Father will let the Winnebagoes make a

path through our hunting grounds: they will subsist upon our game; every

bird or animal they kill will be a loss to us.

"The Dahcotah's lands are not free to others. If our great Father wishes

to make any use of our lands, he should pay us. We object to the

Winnebagoes passing through our country; but if it is too late to

prevent this, then we demand a thousand dollars for every village they

shall pass."

Ho! cried the Indians again; and Shah-co-pee, after shaking hands once

more, took his seat.

I doubt if you will ever get the thousand dollars a village,

Shah-co-pee; but I like the spirit that induces you to demand it. May

you live long to make speeches and beg bread--the unrivalled orator and

most notorious beggar of the Dahcotahs!

OYE-KAR-MANI-VIM;

THE TRACK-MAKER.

CHAPTER I.

It was in the summer of 183-, that a large party of Chippeways visited

Fort Snelling. There was peace between them and the Sioux. Their time

was passed in feasting and carousing; their canoes together flew over

the waters of the Mississippi. The young Sioux warriors found strange

beauty in the oval faces of the Chippeway girls; and the Chippeways

discovered (what was actually the case) that the women of the Dahcotahs

were far more graceful than those of their own nation.

But as the time of the departure of the Chippeways approached, many a

Chippeway maiden wept when she remembered how soon she would bid adieu

to all her hopes of happiness. And Flying Shadow was saddest of them

all. She would gladly have given up everything for her lover. What were

home and friends to her who loved with all the devotion of a heart

untrammeled by forms, fresh from the hand of nature? She listened to his

flute in the still evening, as if her spirit would forsake her when she

heard it no more. She would sit with him on the bluff which hung over

the Mississippi, and envy the very waters which would remain near him,

when she was far away. But her lover loved his nation even more than he

did her; and though he would have died to have saved her from sorrow,

yet he knew she could never be his wife. Even were he to marry her, her

life would ever be in danger. A Chippeway could not long find a home

among the Dahcotahs.

The Track-maker bitterly regretted that they had ever met, when he saw

her grief at the prospect of parting. "Let us go," he said, "to the

Falls, where I will tell you the story you asked me."

The Track-maker entered the canoe first, and the girl followed; and so

pleasant was the task of paddling her lover over the quiet waters, that

it seemed but a moment before they were in sight of the torrent.

"It was there," said the Sioux, "that Wenona and her child found their

graves. Her husband, accompanied by some other Dahcotahs, had gone some

distance above the falls to hunt. While there, he fell in love with a

young girl whom he thought more beautiful than his wife. Wenona knew

that she must no longer hope to be loved as she had been.

"The Dahcotahs killed much game, and then broke up their camp and

started for their homes. When they reached the falls, the women got

ready to carry their canoes and baggage round.

"But Wenona was going on a longer journey. She would not live when her

husband loved her no more, and, putting her son in her canoe, she soon

reached the island that divides the falls.

"Then she put on all her ornaments, as if she were a bride; she dressed

her boy too, as a Dahcotah warrior; she turned to look once more at her

husband, who was helping his second wife to put the things she was to

carry, on her back.

"Soon her husband called to her; she did not answer him, but placed her

child high up in the canoe, so that his father could see him, and

getting in herself she paddled towards the rapids.

"Her husband saw that Unk-tahe would destroy her, and he called to her

to come ashore. But he might have called to the roaring waters as well,

and they would have heeded him as soon as she.

"Still he ran along the shore with his arms uplifted, entreating her to

come ashore.

"Wenona continued her course towards the rapids--her voice was heard

above the waters as she sang her death song. Soon the mother and child

were seen no more--the waters covered them.

"But her spirit wanders near this place. An elk and fawn are often seen,

and we know they are Wenona and her child."

"Do you love me as Wenona loved?" continued the Sioux, as he met the

looks of the young girl bent upon him.

"I will not live when I see you no more," she replied. "As the flowers

die when the winter's cold falls upon them, so will my spirit depart

when I no longer listen to your voice. But when I go to the land of

spirits I shall be happy. My spirit will return to earth; but it will be

always near you."

Little didst thou dream that the fate of Wenona would be less sad than

thine. She found the death she sought, in the waters whose bosom opened

to receive her. But thou wilt bid adieu to earth in the midst of the

battle--in the very presence of him, for whose love thou wouldst venture

all. Thy spirit will flee trembling from the shrieks of the dying

mother, the suffering child. Death will come to thee as a terror, not

as a refuge.

CHAPTER II.

When the Chippeways broke up their camp near Fort Snelling, they divided

into two parties, one party returning home by the Mississippi, the other

by way of the St. Croix.

They parted on the most friendly terms with the Sioux, giving presents,

and receiving them in return.

Some pillagers, who acknowledge no control, had accompanied the

Chippeways. These pillagers are in fact highwaymen or privateers--having

no laws, and acting from the impulses of their own fierce hearts.

After the Chippeways had left, the pillagers concealed themselves in a

path near Lake Calhoun. This lake is about seven miles from

Fort Snelling.

Before they had been concealed one hour, two Dahcotahs passed, father

and son. The pillagers fired, and the father was killed instantly; but

the son escaped, and made his way home in safety. The boy entered the

village calling for his mother, to tell her the sad news; her cries of

grief gave the alarm, and soon the death of the Sioux was known

throughout the village. The news flew from village to village on the

wings of the wind; Indian runners were seen in every direction, and in

twenty-four hours there were three hundred warriors on foot in pursuit

of the Chippeways.

Every preparation was made for the death-strife. Not a Sioux warrior but

vowed he would with his own arm avenge the death of his friend. The very

tears of the wife were dried when the hope of vengeance cheered

her heart.

The Track-maker was famous as a warrior. Already did the aged Dahcotahs

listen to his words; for he was both wise and brave. He was among the

foremost to lead the Dahcotahs against the Chippeways; and though he

longed to raise his tomahawk against his foes, his spirit sunk within

him when he remembered the girl he loved. What will be her fate! Oh!

that he had never seen her. But it was no time to think of her. Duty

called upon him to avenge the death of his friend.

CHAPTER III.

Woe to the unsuspecting Chippeways! ignorant of the murder that had been

committed, they were leisurely turning their steps homeward, while the

pillagers made their escape with the scalp of the Dahcotah.

The Sioux travelled one day and night before they came up with the

Chippeways. Nothing could quench their thirst but blood. And the women

and children must suffer first. The savage suffers a twofold death;

before his own turn comes, his young children lie breathless around

him, their mother all unconscious by their side.

The Chippeways continued their journey, fearing nothing. They had camped

between the falls of St. Anthony and Rum river; they were refreshed, and

the men proceeded first, leaving their women and children to follow.

They were all looking forward with pleasure to seeing their homes again.

The women went leisurely along; the infant slept quietly--what should it

fear close to its mother's heart! The young children laughed as they hid

themselves behind the forest trees, and then emerged suddenly to

frighten the others. The Chippeway maidens rejoiced when they remembered

that their rivals, the Dahcotah girls, would no longer seduce their

lovers from their allegiance.

Flying Shadow wept, there was nothing to make her happy, she would see

the Track-maker no more, and she looked forward to death as the end of

her cares. She concealed in her bosom the trinkets he had given her;

every feature of his face was written on her heart--that heart that beat

only for him, that so soon would cease to beat at all!

But there was a fearful cry, that banished even him from her thoughts.

The war-whoop burst suddenly upon the defenceless women.

Hundreds of Dahcotah warriors rose up to blind the eyes of the

terror-stricken mothers. Their children are scalped before their eyes;

their infants are dashed against the rocks, which are not more

insensible to their cries than their murderers.

It is a battle of strength against weakness. Stern warrior, it needs

not to strike the mother that blow! she dies in the death of her

children. [Footnote: The Dahcotahs believe, or many of them believe,

that each body has four souls. One wanders about the earth and requires

food; a second watches over the body; the third hovers round its native

village, while the fourth goes to the land of spirits.]

The maidens clasp their small hands--a vain appeal to the merciless

wretches, who see neither beauty nor grace, when rage and revenge are in

their hearts. It is blood they thirst for, and the young and innocent

fall like grass before the mower.

Flying Shadow sees her lover! he is advancing towards her! What does his

countenance say? There is sadness in his face, and she hopes--aye, more

than hopes--she knows he will save her. With all a woman's trust she

throws herself in his arms. "Save me! save me!" she cries; "do not let

them slay me before your eyes; make me your prisoner! [Footnote: When

the Sioux are tired of killing, they sometimes take their victims

prisoners, and, generally speaking, treat them with great kindness.] you

said that you loved me, spare my life!"

Who shall tell his agony? For a moment he thought he would make her his

prisoner. Another moment's reflection convinced him that that would be

of no avail. He knew that she must die, but he could not take her life.

Her eyes were trustingly turned upon him; her soft hand grasped his arm.

But the Sioux warriors were pressing upon them, he gave her one more

look, he touched her with his spear, [Footnote: When a Dahcotah touches

an enemy with his spear, he is privileged to wear a feather of honor, as

if he had taken a scalp.] and he was gone.

And Flying Shadow was dead. She felt not the blow that sent her reeling

to the earth. Her lover had forsaken her in the hour of danger, and what

could she feel after that?

The scalp was torn from her head by one of those who had most admired

her beauty; and her body was trampled upon by the very warriors who had

so envied her lover.

The shrieks of the dying women reached the ears of their husbands and

brothers. Quickly did they retrace their steps, and when they reached

the spot, they bravely stood their ground; but the Dahcotahs were too

powerful for them,--terrible was the struggle!

The Dahcotahs continued the slaughter, and the Chippeways were obliged

at last to give way. One of the Chippeways seized his frightened child

and placed him upon his back. His wife lay dead at his feet; with his

child clinging to him, he fought his way through.

Two of the Dahcotahs followed him, for he was flying fast; and they

feared he would soon be out of their power. They thought, as they nearly

came up to him, that he would loose his hold on his child; but the

father's heart was strong within him. He flies, and the Sioux are close

upon his heels! He fires and kills one of them. The other Sioux follows:

he has nothing to encumber him--he must be victor in such an unequal

contest. But the love that was stronger than death nerved the father's

arm. He kept firing, and the Sioux retreated. The Chippeway and his

young son reached their home in safety, there to mourn the loss of

others whom they loved.

The sun set upon a bloody field; the young and old lay piled together;

the hearts that had welcomed the breaking of the day were all

unconscious of its close.

The Sioux were avenged; and the scalps that they brought home (nearly

one hundred when the party joined them from the massacre at Saint Croix)

bore witness to their triumph.

The other party of Sioux followed the Chippeways who had gone by way of

the St. Croix. While the Chippeways slept, the war-cry of the Sioux

aroused them. And though they fought bravely, they suffered as did their

friends, and the darkness of night added terror to the scene.

The Dahcotahs returned with the scalps to their villages, and as they

entered triumphantly, they were greeted with shouts of applause. The

scalps were divided among the villages, and joyful preparations were

made to celebrate the scalp-dance.

The scalps were stretched upon hoops, and covered with vermilion,

ornamented with feathers, ribbons and trinkets.

On the women's scalps were hung a comb, or a pair of scissors, and for

months did the Dahcotah women dance around them. The men wore mourning

for their enemies, as is the custom among the Dahcotahs.

When the dancing was done, the scalps were buried with the deceased

relatives of the Sioux who took them.

And this is Indian, but what is Christian warfare? The wife of the hero

lives to realize her wretchedness; the honors paid by his countrymen are

a poor recompense for the loss of his love and protection. The life of

the child too, is safe, but who will lead him in the paths of virtue,

when his mother has gone down to the grave.

Let us not hear of civilized warfare! It is all the work of the spirits

of evil. God did not make man to slay his brother, and the savage alone

can present an excuse. The Dahcotah dreams not that it is wrong to

resent an injury to the death; but the Christian knows that God has

said, Vengeance is mine!

CHAPTER IV.

The Track-maker had added to his fame. He had taken many scalps, and the

Dahcotah maidens welcomed him as a hero--as one who would no longer

refuse to acknowledge the power of their charms. They asked him eagerly

of the fight--whom he had killed first--but they derived but little

satisfaction from his replies. They found he resisted their advances,

and they left him to his gloomy thoughts.

Every scene he looked upon added to his grief. Memory clung to him,

recalling every word and look of Flying Shadow. But, that last look,

could he ever forget it?

He tried to console himself with the thoughts of his triumph. Alas! her

smile was sweeter than the recollection of revenge. He had waded in the

blood of his enemies; he had trampled upon the hearts of the men he

hated; but he had broken the heart of the only woman he had ever loved.

In the silence of the night her death-cry sounded in his ear; and he

would start as if to flee from the sound. In his dreams he saw again

that trustful face, that look of appeal--and then the face of stone,

when she saw that she had appealed in vain.

He followed the chase, but there he could not forget the battle scene.

"Save me! save me!" forever whispered every forest leaf, or every

flowing wave. Often did he hear her calling him, and he would stay his

steps as if he hoped to meet her smile.

The medicine men offered to cure his disease; but he knew that it was

beyond their art, and he cared not how soon death came, nor in

what form.

He met the fate he sought. A war party was formed among the Dahcotahs to

seek more scalps, more revenge. But the Track-maker was weary of glory.

He went with the party, and never returned. Like _her_, he died in

battle; but the death that she sought to avert, was a welcome messenger

to him. He felt that in the grave all would be forgotten.

ETA KEAZAH;

OR,

SULLEN FACE.

* * * * *

Wenona was the light of her father's wigwam--the pride of the band of

Sissetons, whose village is on the shores of beautiful Lake Travers.

However cheerfully the fire might burn in the dwelling of the aged

chief, there was darkness, for him when she was away--and the mother's

heart was always filled with anxiety, for she knew that Wenona had drawn

upon her the envy of her young companions, and she feared that some one

of them would cast a spell [Footnote: The Indians fear that from envy or

jealousy some person may cast a fatal spell upon them to produce

sickness, or even death. This superstition seems almost identical with

the Obi or Obeat of the West India negroes.] upon her child, that her

loveliness might be dimmed by sorrow or sickness.

The warriors of the band strove to outdo each other in noble deeds, that

they might feel more worthy to claim her hand;--while the hunters tried

to win her good will by presents of buffalo and deer. But Wenona thought

not yet of love. The clear stream that reflected her form told her she

was beautiful; yet her brother was the bravest warrior of the Sissetons;

and her aged parents too--was not their love enough to satisfy her

heart! Never did brother and sister love each other more; their

features were the same, yet man's sternness in him was changed to

woman's softness in her. The "glance of the falcon" in his eye was the

"gaze of the dove" in hers. But at times the expression of his face

would make you wonder that you ever could have thought him like his

twin sister.

When he heard the Sisseton braves talk of the hunts they had in their

youth, before the white man drove them from the hunting-grounds of their

forefathers;--when instead of the blanket they wore the buffalo

robe;--when happiness and plenty were in their wigwams--and when the

voices of weak women and famished children were never heard calling for

food in vain--then the longing for vengeance that was written on his

countenance, the imprecations that were breathed from his lips, the

angry scowl, the lightning from his eye, all made him unlike indeed to

his sister, the pride of the Sissetons!

When the gentle breeze would play among the prairie flowers, then would

she win him from such bitter thoughts. "Come, my brother, we will go and

sit by the banks of the lake, why should you be unhappy! the buffalo is

still to be found upon our hunting-grounds--the spirit of the lake

watches over us--we shall not want for food."

He would go, because she asked him. The quiet and beauty of nature were

not for him; rather would he have stood alone when the storm held its

sway; when the darkness was only relieved by the flash that laid the

tall trees of the forest low; when the thunder bird clapped her wings as

she swept through the clouds above him. But could he refuse to be happy

when Wenona smiled? Alas! that her gentle spirit should not always have

been near to soften his!

But as the beauty and warmth of summer passed away, so did Wenona's

strength begin to fail; the autumn wind, that swept rudely over the

prairie flowers, so that they could not lift their heads above the tall

grass, seemed to pass in anger over the wigwam of the old man--for the

eye of the Dahcotah maiden was losing its brightness, and her step was

less firm, as she wandered with her brother in her native woods. Vainly

did the medicine men practice their cherished rites--the Great Spirit

had called--and who could refuse to hear his voice? she faded with the

leaves--and the cries of the mourners were answered by the wailing

winds, as they sang her requiem.

A few months passed away, and her brother was alone. The winter that

followed his sister's death, was a severe one. The mother had never been

strong, and she soon followed her daughter--while the father's age

unfitted him to contend with sorrow, infirmity, and want.

Spring returned, but winter had settled on the heart of the young

Sisseton; she was gone who alone could drive away the shadow from his

brow, what wonder then that his countenance should always be stern. The

Indians called him Eta Keazah, or Sullen Face.

But after the lapse of years, the boy, who brooded over the wrongs of

his father, eagerly seeks an opportunity to avenge his own. His sister

has never been forgotten; but he remembers her as we do a beautiful

dream; and she is the spirit that hovers round him while his eyes are

closed in sleep.

But there are others who hold a place in his heart. His wife is always

ready to receive him with a welcome, and his young son calls upon him to

teach him to send the arrow to the heart of the buffalo. But the

sufferings of his tribe, from want of food and other privations, are

ever before his eyes. Vengeance upon the white man, who has caused them!

CHAPTER II.

Winter is the season of trial for the Sioux, especially for the women

and children. The incursions of the English half-breeds and Cree

Indians, into the Sisseton country, have caused their buffalo to recede,

and so little other game is to be found, that indescribable sufferings

are endured every winter by the Sissetons.

Starvation forces the hunters to seek for the buffalo in the depth of

winter. Their families must accompany them, for they have not the

smallest portion of food to leave with them; and who will protect them

from the Chippeways!

However inclement the season, their home must be for a time on the open

prairie. As far as the eye can reach, it is a desert of snow. Not a

stick of timber can be seen. A storm is coming on too; nothing is heard

but the howling blast, which mocks the cries of famished children. The

drifting of the snow makes it impossible to see what course they are to

take; they have only to sit down and let the snow fall upon them. It is

a relief when they are quite covered with it, for it shelters them from

the keenness of the blast!

Alas! for the children; the cry of those who can speak is, Give me

food! while the dying infant clings to its mother's breast, seeking to

draw, with its parting breath, the means of life.

But the storm is over; the piercing cold seizes upon the exhausted

frames of the sufferers.

The children have hardly strength to stand; the father places one upon

his back and goes forward; the mother wraps her dead child in her

blanket, and lays it in the snow; another is clinging to her, she has no

time to weep for the dead; nature calls upon her to make an effort for

the living. She takes her child and follows the rest. It would be a

comfort to her, could she hope to find her infant's body when summer

returns to bury it. She shudders, and remembers that the wolves of the

prairie are starving too!

Food is found at last; the strength of the buffalo yields to the arrow

of the Sioux. We will have food and not die, is the joyful cry of all,

and when their fierce appetites are appeased, they carry with them on

their return to their village, the skins of the animals with the

remainder of the meat.

The sufferings of famine and fatigue, however, are followed by those of

disease; the strength of many is laid low. They must watch, too, for

their enemies are at hand.

CHAPTER III.

In the summer of 1844 a large party of half-breeds and Indians from Red

river,--English subjects,--trespassed upon the hunting grounds of the

Sioux. There were several hundred hunters, and many carts drawn by oxen

for the purpose of carrying away the buffalo they had killed. One of

this party had left his companions, and was riding alone at some

distance from them. A Dahcotah knew that his nation would suffer from

the destruction of their game--fresh in his memory, too, were the

sufferings of the past winter. What wonder then that the arrow which was

intended for the buffalo, should find its way to the heart of the

trespasser!

This act enraged the half-breeds; they could not find the Sioux who

committed it--but a few days after they fell in with a party of others,

who were also hunting, and killed seven of them. The rest escaped, and

carried the news of the death of their braves to their village. One of

the killed was a relative of Sullen Face. The sad news spread rapidly

through the village, and nothing was heard but lamentation. The women

cut long gashes on their arms, and as the blood flowed from the wound

they would cry, Where is my husband? my son? my brother?

Soon the cry of revenge is heard above that of lamentation. "It is not

possible," said Sullen Face, "that we can allow these English to starve

us, and take the lives of our warriors. They have taken from us the food

that would nourish our wives and children; and more, they have killed

seven of our bravest men! we will have revenge--we will watch for them,

and bring home their scalps, that our women may dance round them!"

A war party was soon formed, and Sullen Face, at the head of more than

fifty warriors, stationed himself in the vicinity of the road by which

the half-breeds from Red river drive their cattle to Fort Snelling.

Some days after, there was an unusual excitement in the Sioux village on

Swan lake, about twenty miles northwest of Traverse des Sioux. A number

of Indians were gazing at an object not very distant, and in order to

discover what it was, the chief of the village, Sleepy Eyes, had sent

one of his young men out, while the rest continued to regard it with

looks of curiosity and awe.

They observed that as the Sioux approached it, he slackened his pace,

when suddenly he gave a loud cry and ran towards the village.

He soon reached them, and pale with terror, exclaimed, "It is a spirit,

it is white as the snow that covers our prairies in the winter. It

looked at me and spoke not." For a short time, his fears infected the

others, but after a while several determined to go and bring a more

satisfactory report to their chief. They returned with the body, as it

seemed only, of a white man; worn to a skeleton, with his feet cut and

bleeding, unable to speak from exhaustion; nothing but the beating of

his heart told that he lived.

The Indian women dressed his feet, and gave him food, wiped the blood

from his limbs, and, after a consultation, they agreed to send word to

the missionaries at Traverse des Sioux, that there was a white man sick

and suffering with them.

The missionaries came immediately; took the man to their home, and with

kind nursing he was soon able to account for the miserable situation in

which he had been found.

"We left the state of Missouri," said the man, whose name was Bennett,

"for the purpose of carrying cattle to Fort Snelling. My companions'

names were Watson and Turner. We did not know the road, but supposed a

map would guide us, with what information we could get on the way. We

lost our way, however, and were eagerly looking for some person who

could set us right. Early one morning some Sioux came up with us, and

seemed inclined to join our party. One of them left hastily as if sent

on a message; after a while a number of warriors, accompanied by the

Indian who had left the first party, came towards us. Their leader had a

dark countenance, and seemed to have great influence over them. We tried

to make them understand that we had lost our way; we showed them the

map, but they did not comprehend us.

"After angrily addressing his men for a few moments, the leader shot

Watson through the shoulder, and another sent an arrow through his body

and killed him. They then struck Watson's brother and wounded him.

"In the mean time the other Indians had been killing our cattle; and

some of the animals having run away, they made Watson, who was sadly

bruised with the blows he had received from them, mount a horse and go

with them to hunt the rest of the cattle. We never heard of him again.

The Indians say he disappeared from among the bushes, and they could

not find him; but the probability is that they killed him. Some seemed

to wish to kill Turner and myself--but after a while they told us to go,

giving us our horses and a little food. We determined to retrace our

steps. It was the best thing we could do; but our horses gave out, and

we were obliged to leave them and proceed on foot.

"We were soon out of provisions, and having no means of killing game,

our hearts began to fail us. Turner was unwell, and on arriving at a

branch of Crow river, about one hundred miles northwest of Fort

Snelling, he found himself unable to swim. I tried to carry him across

on my back, but could not do it; he was drowned, and I barely succeeded

in reaching the shore. After resting, I proceeded on my journey. When I

came in sight of the Indian village, much as I needed food and rest, I

dreaded to show myself, for fear of meeting Watson's fate. I was spared

the necessity of deciding. I fainted and fell to the ground. They found

me, and proved kinder than I anticipated.

"Why they should have molested us I know not. There is something in it

that I do not understand."

But it is easily explained. Sullen Face supposed them to belong to the

party that had killed his friends, and through this error he had shed

innocent blood.

CHAPTER IV.

Who that has seen Fort Snelling will not bear testimony to its beautiful

situation! Whichever way we turn, nature calls for our admiration. But

beautiful as it is by day, it is at night that its majesty and

loveliness speak to the soul. Look to the north, (while the Aurora

Borealis is flashing above us, and the sound of the waters of St.

Anthony's Falls meets the ear,) the high bluffs of the Mississippi seem

to guard its waters as they glide along. To the south, the St. Peter's

has wandered off, preferring gentle prairies to rugged cliffs. To the

east we see the "meeting of the waters;" gladly as the returning child

meets the welcoming smile of the parent, do the waves of the St. Peter's

flow into the Mississippi. On the west, there is prairie far as the eye

can reach.

But it is to the free only that nature is beautiful. Can the prisoner

gaze with pleasure on the brightness of the sky, or listen to the

rippling of the waves? they make him feel his fetters the more.

I am here, with my heavy chain!

And I look on a torrent sweeping by.

And an eagle rushing to the sky,

And a host to its battle plain.

Must I pine in my fetters here!

With the wild wave's foam and the free bird's flight,

And the tall spears glancing on my sight,

And the trumpet in mine ear?

The summer of 1845 found Sullen Face a prisoner at Fort Snelling.

Government having been informed of the murder of Watson by two Dahcotah

Indians, orders were received at Fort Snelling that two companies should

proceed to the Sisseton country, and take the murderers, that they might

be tried by the laws of the United States.

Now for excitement, the charm of garrison life. Officers are of course

always ready to "go where glory waits" them, but who ever heard of one

being ready to go when the order came?

Alas! for the young officer who has a wife to leave; it will be weeks

before he meets again her gentle smile!

Still more--alas for him who has no wife at all! for he has not a shirt

with buttons on it, and most of what he has are in the wash. He will

have to borrow of Selden; but here's the difficulty, Selden is going

too, and is worse off than himself. But no matter! what with pins and

twine and trusting to chance, they will get along.

Then the married men are inquiring for tin reflectors, for hard bread,

though healthy, is never tempting. India rubber cloaks are in

requisition too.

Those who are going, claim the doctor in case of accidents. Those who

stay, their wives at least, want him for fear of measles; while the

disciple of Esculapius, though he knows there will be better cooking if

he remain at home, is certain there will be food for fun if he go. It is

soon decided--the doctor goes.

Then the privates share in the pleasure of the day. How should a

soldier be employed but in active service? besides, what a capital

chance to desert! One, who is tired of calling "All's well" through the

long night, with only the rocks and trees to hear him, hopes that it

will be his happy fate to find out there is danger near, and to give the

alarm, Another vows, that if trouble wont come, why he will bring it by

quarrelling with the first rascally Indian he meets. All is ready.

Rations are put up for the men;--hams, buffalo tongues, pies and cake

for the officers. The battalion marches out to the sound of the drum

and fife;--they are soon down the hill--they enter their boats;

hand-kerchiefs are waved from the fort, caps are raised and flourished

over the water;--they are almost out of sight--they are gone.

When the troops reached their destination, Sullen Face and Forked Horn

were not there, but the chief gave them three of his warriors, (who were

with the party of Sullen Face at the time of the murder,) promising that

when the two murderers returned they would come to Fort Snelling, and

give themselves up.

There was nothing then to prevent the immediate return of our troops.

Their tramp had been a delightful one, and so far success had crowned

their expedition. They were in the highest spirits. But a little

incident occurred on their return, that was rather calculated to show

the transitoriness of earthly joys. One dark night, when those who were

awake were thinking, and those who slept were dreaming of their welcome

home, there was evidently a disturbance. The sleepers roused themselves;

guns were discharged. What could it be?

The cause was soon ascertained. To speak poetically, the birds had

flown--in plain language, the prisoners had run away. They were not

bound, their honor had been trusted to;--but you cannot place much

reliance on the honor of an Indian with a prison in prospect. I doubt

if a white man could be trusted under such circumstances. True, there

was a guard, but, as I said, 'twas a dark night.

The troops returned in fine health, covered with dust and fleas, if not

with glory.

CHAPTER V.

It is time to return to Sullen Face. He and Forked Horn, on their return

to the village, were informed of what had occurred during their absence.

They offered to fulfil the engagement of the chief, and accompanied by

others of the band, they started for Fort Snelling. The wife of Sullen

Face had insisted upon accompanying him, and influenced by a

presentiment that he should never return to his native village, he

allowed her to do so. Their little boy quite forgot his fatigue as he

listened to his father's voice, and held his hand. When they were near

the fort, notice of their approach was sent to the commanding officer.

The entire force of the garrison marched out to receive the prisoners. A

large number of Indians assembled to witness the scene--their gay

dresses and wild appearance adding to its interest.

Sullen Face and Forked Horn, with the Sioux who had accompanied them,

advanced to meet the battalion. The little boy dressed as a warrior, his

war-eagle plumes waving proudly over his head, held his father's hand.

In a moment the iron grasp of the soldier was on the prisoner's

shoulder; they entered the gate of the fort; and he, who had felt that

the winds of Heaven were not more free than a Dahcotah warrior, was now

a prisoner in the power of the white man. But he entered not his cell

until he had sung a warrior's song. Should his enemies think that he

feared them? Had he not yielded himself up?

It was hard to be composed in parting with his wife and child. "Go my

son," he said, "you will soon be old enough to kill the buffalo for your

mother." But to his wife he only said, "I have done no wrong, and fear

not the power of my enemies." The Sissetons returned to the village,

leaving the prisoners at Fort Snelling, until they should be sent to

Dubuque for trial.

They frequently walked about the fort, accompanied by a guard. Sullen

Face seemed to be indifferent to his fate, and was impressed with the

idea that he never would return to his home. "Beautiful country!" said

he, as he gazed towards the point where the waters of the Mississippi

and St. Peter's meet. "I shall never look upon you again, the waters of

the rivers unite, but I have parted forever from country and friends. My

spirit tells me so. Then welcome death! they guard me now with sword and

bayonet, but the soul of the Dahcotah is free."

After their removal to Dubuque, the two prisoners from Fort Snelling,

with others who had been concerned in the murder, suffered much from

sickness. Sullen Face would not complain, but the others tried to induce

him to make his escape. He, at first, refused to do so, but finding his

companions determined upon going, he at last consented.

Their plans succeeded, and after leaving the immediate neighborhood,

they broke their shackles with stones. They were obliged, however, to

hide themselves for a time among the rocks, to elude the sheriff and his

party. They were not taken, and as soon as they deemed it prudent, they

resumed their route.

Two of the prisoners died near Prairie du Chien. Sullen Face, Forked

Horn, and another Sioux, pursued their journey with difficulty, for they

were near perishing from want of food. They found a place where the

Winnebagoes had encamped, and they parched the corn that lay scattered

on the ground.

Disease had taken a strong hold upon the frame of Sullen Face; he

constantly required the assistance of his companions. When they were

near Prairie le Gros, he became so ill that he was unable to proceed. He

insisted upon his friends leaving him; this they at first refused to do,

but fearing that they would be found and carried back to prison, they

consented--and the dying warrior found himself alone.

Some Indians who were passing by saw him and gently carried him to their

wigwam. But he heeded not their kindness. Death had dimmed the

brightness of his eye, and his fast-failing strength told of the long

journey to the spirits' land.

"It was not thus," he said, "that I thought to die! Where are the

warriors of the Sissetons? Do they listen to my death song?" I hoped to

have triumphed over the white man, but his power has prevailed. My

spirit drooped within his hated walls? But hark! there is music in my

ears--'tis the voice of the sister of my youth--"Come with me my

brother, we wait for you in the house of the spirits! we will sit by the

banks of a lake more beautiful than that by which we wandered in our

childhood; you will roam over the hunting grounds of your forefathers,

and there the white man may never come."

His eyes are closing fast in death, but his lips murmur--"Wenona! I

come! I come!"

TONWA-YAH-PE-KIN;

THE SPIES.

* * * * *

CHAPTER I.

IT was in the spring of 1848, that several Dahcotahs were carefully

making their way along the forests near the borders of the Chippeway

country. There had recently been a fight near the spot where they were,

and the Dahcotahs were seeking the bodies of their friends who had been

slain, that they might take them home to bury them.

They moved noiselessly along, for their enemies were near. Occasionally,

one of them would imitate the cry of a bird or of some animal, so that

if the attention of their enemies should be drawn to the spot, the

slight noise they made in moving might be attributed to any but the

right cause.

They had almost given up the hope of finding their friends, and this was

the close of their last day's efforts to that intent. In the morning

they intended to return to their village.

It was a bright clear evening, and the rays of the setting sun fell upon

some objects further on. For a time the Dahcotahs gazed in silence; but

no movement gave sign of what it was that excited their curiosity. All

at once there was a fearful foreboding; they remembered why they were

there, and they determined to venture near enough to find out what was

the nature of the object on which the rays of the sun seemed to rest as

if to attract their notice.

A few more steps and they were relieved from their terrible suspense,

but their worst fears were realized.

The Dahcotahs recently killed had been skinned by the Chippeways, while

their bodies were yet warm with life, and the skins were stretched upon

poles; while on separate poles the hands were placed, with one finger of

each hand pointing to the Dahcotah country. The savages were in a

fearful rage. They had to endure a twofold insult.

There were the bodies of their friends, treated as if they were but

beasts, and evidently put there to be seen by the Dahcotahs. And

besides, the hands pointing to the country of the Dahcotahs--did it not

plainly say to the spies, go back to your country and say to your

warriors, that the Chippeways despise them, that they are not worthy to

be treated as men?

The spies returned as cautiously as they had ventured near the fatal

spot, and it was not until they were out of reach of danger from their

foes, that they gave vent to their indignation. Then their smothered

rage burst forth. They hastened to return and tell the event of their

journey. They forgot how grieved the wives and sisters of the dead would

be at being deprived of the solace of burying the remains of their

friends--they only thought of revenge for the insult they had received.

When they arrived at their village, they called together their chiefs

and braves, and related to them what they had seen. A council of war was

held, which resulted in immediate preparations being made to resent the

indignity offered to their friends, and the insult to the whole tribe.

The war-dance is always celebrated before a war party goes out to find

an enemy, and there is in every village a war chief, who conducts the

party. The war dance is performed inside of a wigwam, and not out of

door, as is usually represented.

The "Owl" felt himself qualified in every respect to conduct the present

party. He was a great warrior, and a juggler besides; and he had a

reputation acquired from an act performed when he was a very young man,

which showed as much cunning as bravery; for one of these qualities is

as necessary to a Dahcotah war chief as the other.

He was one of a party of Dahcotahs who went to war against the

Chippeways, but without success. On their way back "the Owl" got

separated from the rest of the party, and he climbed a tree to see if he

could discover his comrades. While in the tree a war party of the

Chippeways came in sight and stopped quite near the tree to make

their camp.

The Owl was in a sad predicament; he knew not what to do to effect his

escape. As he knew he had not the power to contend with his enemies, he

determined to have recourse to stratagem. When it was quite dark he

commenced hooting like an owl, having previously transformed himself

into one. The Chippeways looked up towards the tree and asked the owl

what he was doing there. The owl replied that he had come to see a large

war party of Dahcotahs who would soon pass by. The Chippeways took the

hint, and took to their heels too, and ran home. The Owl then resumed

his form, got down from the tree and returned home.

This wonderful incident, which he related of himself, gave him a great

reputation and a name besides; for until now he had been called Chaskè,

a name always given to the oldest son; but the Indians after this gave

him the name of the Owl.

It being decided that the war party should leave as soon as their

preparations could be made, the war chief sent for those who were to

dance. The dance was performed every third or, fourth night until the

party left. For each dance the war chief had a hew set of performers;

only so many were asked at a time as could conveniently dance inside the

wigwam. While some were dancing, others were preparing for the

expedition, getting extra mocassins made, drying meat, or parching corn.

When all was ready, the party set out, with every confidence in their

war chief. He was to direct them where to find the enemy, and at the

same time to protect them from being killed themselves.

For a few days they hunted as they went along, and they would build

large fires at night, and tell long stories, to make the time pass

pleasantly.

The party was composed of about twenty warriors, and they all obeyed

implicitly the orders of their war chief, who appointed some warriors to

see that his directions were carried out by the whole party. Wo to him

who violates a single regulation! his gun is broken, his blanket cut to

pieces, and he is told to return home. Such was the fate of Iron Eyes,

who wandered from the party to shoot a bird on the wing, contrary to the

orders of their chief. But although disgraced and forbidden to join in

the attempt to punish the Chippeways for the outrage they had commited,

he did not return to his village; he followed the tracks of the war

party, determining to see the fun if he could not partake of it.

On the fourth night after they left home, the warriors were all

assembled to hear the war song of their chief. They were yet in their

own country, seated on the edge of a prairie, and back of them as far as

the eye could reach, there was nothing to be seen but the half melted

snow; no rocks, no trees, relieved the sameness of the view. On the

opposite side of the Mississippi, high bluffs, with their worn sides and

broken rocks, hung over the river; and in the centre of its waters lay

the sacred isles, whose many trees and bushes wanted only the warm

breath of summer to display their luxuriance. The war chief commenced.

He prophesied that they would see deer on the next day, but that they

must begin to be careful, for they would then have entered their

enemies' country. He told them how brave they were, and that he was

braver still. He told them the Chippeways were worse than prairie dogs.

To all of which the warriors responded, Ho!

When they found themselves near their enemies, the chief forbade a gun

being fired off; no straggling was allowed; none but the spies were to

go beyond a certain distance from the party.

But after they entered the Chippeway country the duties of the war chief

were still more important. He had to prophesy where the enemy, was to be

found, and about their number; and besides, he had to charm the spirits

of their enemies, that they might be unable to contend with the

Dahcotahs. The spirits on this occasion took the form of a bear.

About nine o'clock at night this ceremony commences. The warriors all

lie down as if asleep, when the war chief signifies the approach of the

spirits to his men, by the earnestness of his exertions in singing.

The song continues, and increases in energy as the spirit gets nearer to

the hole in the ground, which the chief dug and filled with water,

previous to commencing his song. Near this hole he placed a hoop,

against which are laid all the war implements of the chief. Before the

song commences the warriors sit and look steadfastly at their leader.

But when the spirit approaches this hole, the warriors hardly dare

breathe, for fear of frightening it away.

At last the spirit gets close to the hole. The war chief strikes it with

his rattle and kills it; this ensures to the Dahcotahs success in

battle. And most solemnly did the Owl assert to his soldiers, the fact

that he had thus dealt with the bear spirit, while they as earnestly

believed it.

The next morning, four of the warriors went in advance as spies; one of

them carried a pipe, presented as an offering to deceive the spirits of

their enemies. About noon they sat down to rest, and waited until the

remainder of the party came up. When they were all together again, they

rested and smoked; and other spies were appointed, who took the pipe and

went forward again.

They had not proceeded far when they perceived signs of their enemies.

In the sand near the borders of a prairie were the footprints of

Chippeways, and fresh too. They, congratulated each other by looks, too

cautious even to whisper. In a few moments a hundred Chippeways could

be called up, but still the Dahcotahs plunge into the thick forest that

skirts the edge of the prairie, in order to find out what prospect they

have for delighting themselves with the long wished for revenge.

It was not long before a group of Chippeways was discovered, all

unapprehensive of evil. At their camp the Chippeways had made pickets,

for they knew they might expect retaliation; but those who fell a

sacrifice were not expecting their foes.

The spies were not far ahead--they returned to the party, and then

retraced their steps. The low cries of animals were imitated to prevent

any alarm being given by the breaking of a twig or the rustling of the

leaves. They were very near the Chippeways, when the war chief gave the

signal on a bone whistle, and the Dahcotahs fired. Every one of the

Chippeways fell--two men, three women, and two children.

Then came the tomahawk and scalping knife--the former to finish the work

of death, the latter to bear a trophy to their country, to say, Our

comrades are avenged. Nor was that all. The bodies were cut to pieces,

and then the warriors commenced their homeward journey.

They allowed themselves but little rest until they were out of their

enemies' country. But when they were out of the reach of attack, when

their feet trod again upon Dahcotah soil, then they stopped to stretch

each scalp on a hoop, which was attached to a slender pole. This is

always the work of the war chief.

They look eagerly for the welcome sight of home. The cone-shaped teepees

rise before their view. They know that their young wives will rejoice

to see the scalps, as much as to know that the wanderers have returned.

When they are near their village the war chief raises the song of

victory; the other warriors join their voices to his. The welcome sound

rouses the inhabitants of the village from their duties or amusements.

The warriors enter the village in triumph, one by one, each bearing the

scalp he took; and the stout warrior, the aged woman, and the feeble

child, all press forward to feast their eyes with the sight of

the scalps.

There was a jubilee in the village for weeks. Day and night did the

savages dance round the scalps. But how soon may their rejoicings be

lost in cries of terror! Even now they tremble at the sound of their own

voices when evening draws near--for it is their turn to suffer. They

expect their foes, but they do not dread them the less.

CHAPTER II.

Many of the customs of the Dahcotahs are to be attributed to their

superstitions. Their teepees are always made of buffalo-skins; nothing

would induce them to use deer-skin for that purpose. Many years ago a

woman made a teepee of deer-skin; and was taken suddenly ill, and died

immediately after. Some reason must be found for the cause of her death,

and as no other was known, the Indians concluded that she brought her

death upon herself by using deer-skin for her teepee. They have always,

since, used buffalo-skin for that purpose.

Nothing would induce a Dahcotah woman to look into a looking-glass; for

the medicine men say that death will be the consequence.

But there is no superstition which influences them more than their

belief in Haokah, or the Giant. They say this being is possessed of

superhuman powers: indeed he is deemed so powerful, as to be able to

take the thunder in his hand and cast it to the ground. He dresses in

many colors, and wears a forked hat. One side of his face is red, the

other blue, his eyes are also of different colors. He always carries a

bow and arrow in his hand, but never has occasion to use it, as one look

will kill the animal he wants.

They sing songs to this giant, and once in a long time dance in honor of

him; but so severe is the latter custom, that it is rarely performed.

The following incident will show how great is their reverence for this

singular being. An Indian made a vapor bath, and placed inside of it a

rude image of the giant, made of birch bark. This he intended to pray to

while bathing.

After the hot stone was placed inside of the wigwam, several Indians

went in to assist in giving the bath to their sick friend. One of them

commenced pouring the water on the hot stone, and the water flew on the

others, and scalded them badly; the image of the giant was also

displaced; the Indians never dreamed of attributing their burns to the

natural cause, but concluded that the giant was displeased at their

placing his image there, and they considered it as an instance of his

mercy that they were not scalded to death.

However defective may be the religion of the Dahcotahs, they are

faithful in acting up to all its requirements. Every feast and custom

among them is celebrated as a part of their religion.

After the scalp-dance had been performed long enough, the Dahcotahs of

the villages turned their attention to making sugar. Many groves of

sugar trees were in sight of their village, and on this occasion the

generous sap rewarded their labors.

Nor were they ungrateful; for when the medicine men announced that they

must keep the sugar-feast, all left their occupation, anxious to

celebrate it. Neither need it be concluded that this occasioned them no

loss of time; for they were all occupied with the construction of their

summer wigwams, which are made of the bark of trees, which must be

peeled off in the spring.

But every villager assembled to keep the feast. A certain quantity of

sugar was dealt out to each individual, and any one of them who could

not eat all that was given him was obliged to pay leggins, or a blanket,

or something valuable, to the medicine man. On this occasion, indeed on

most occasions, the Dahcotahs have no difficulty in disposing of any

quantity of food.

When the feast was over, however, the skill of their doctors was in

requisition; for almost all of them were made quite ill by excess, and

were seen at evening lying at full length on the ground, groaning and

writhing with pain.

CHAPTER III.

The day after the sugar feast, the Owl told his wife to get ready her

canoe, as he wanted to spear some fish. She would rather have staid at

home, as she was not fully recovered from her last night's

indisposition. But there was no hesitating when the war chief spoke; so

she placed her child upon her back, and seated herself in the stern of

the canoe, paddling gently along the shore where the fish usually lie.

Her husband stood in the bow of the canoe with a spear about six feet in

length. As he saw the fish lying in the water, he threw the spear into

them, still keeping hold of it.

When the war chief was tired, his wife would stop paddling, and nurse

her child while he smoked. If the Owl were loquaciously inclined, he

would point out to his wife the place where he shot a deer, or where he

killed the man who had threatened his life. Indeed, if you took his word

for it, there was not a foot of ground in the country which had not been

a scene of some exploit.

The woman believed them all; for, like a good wife, she shone by the

reflected light of her husband's fame.

When they returned home, she made her fire and put the fish to cook, and

towards evening many of the Indians were assembled in the wigwam of the

war-chief, and partook of the fish he had caught in the morning.

"Unk-ta-he," [Footnote: The God of the Waters] said one of the oldest

men in the tribe (and reverenced as a medicine man of extraordinary

powers), "Unk-ta-he is as powerful as the thunder-bird. Each wants to be

the greatest god of the Dahcotahs, and they have had many battles. My

father was a great medicine man; he was killed many years ago, and his

spirit wandered about the earth. The Thunder-bird wanted him, and

Unk-ta-he wanted him, for they said he would make a wonderful medicine

man. Some of the sons of Unk-ta-he fought against the sons of the

Thunder, and the young thunder-birds were killed, and then Unk-ta-he

took the spirit of my father, to teach him many mysterious things.

"When my father had lived a long time with Unk-ta-he in the waters under

the earth, he took the form of a Dahcotah again, and lived in this

village. He taught me all that I know, and when I go to the land of

spirits, my son must dance alone all night, and he will learn from me

the secret of the medicine of our clan."

All listened attentively to the old man, for not an Indian there but

believed that he could by a spell cause their instant death; and many

wonderful miracles had the "Elk" wrought in his day.

In the corner of the wigwam sat the Bound Spirit, whose vacant look told

the sad tale of her want of reason. Generally she sat quiet, but if the

cry of an infant fell upon her ear, she would start, and her shriek

could be heard throughout the village.

The Bound Spirit was a Sisseton. In the depth of winter, she had left

her village to seek her friends in some of the neighboring bands. She

was a widow, and there was no one to provide her food.

Accompanied by several other Indians, she left her home, which was made

wretched by her desolate condition--that home where she had been very

happy while her husband lived. It had since been the scene of her want

and misery.

The small portion of food they had taken for their journey was

exhausted. Rejoiced would they have been to have had the bark of trees

for food; but they were on the open prairie. There was nothing to

satisfy the wretched cravings of hunger, and her child--the very child

that clung to her bosom--was killed by the unhappy mother, and its

tender limbs supplied to her the means of life.

She reached the place of destination, but it was through instinct, for

forgetting and forgotten by all was the wretched maniac who entered her

native village.

The Indians feared her; they longed to kill her, but were afraid to do

so. They said she had no heart.

Sometimes she would go in the morning to the shore, and there, with only

her head out of water, would she lie all day.

Now, she has been weeping over the infant who sleeps by her. She is

perfectly harmless, and the wife of the war chief kindly gives her food

and shelter whenever she wishes it.

But it is not often she eats--only when desperate from long fasting--and

when her appetite is satisfied, she seems to live over the scene, the

memory of which has made her what she is.

After all but she had eaten of the fish, the Elk related to them the

story of the large fish that obstructed the passage of the St. Croix

river. The scene of this tradition was far from them, but the Dahcotahs

tell each other over and over again the stories which have been handed

down from their fathers, and these incidents are known throughout the

tribe. "Two Dahcotahs went to war against their enemies. On returning

home, they stopped at the Lake St. Croix, hungry and much fatigued.

"One of them caught a fish, cooked it, and asked his comrade to eat, but

he refused. The other argued with him, and begged of him to eat, but

still he declined.

"The owner of the fish continued to invite his friend to partake of it,

until he, wearied by his importunities, consented to eat, but added with

a mysterious look, 'My friend, I hope you will not get out of patience

with me.' After saying this, he ate heartily of the fish.

"He then seemed to be very thirsty, and asked his companion to bring him

some water out of the lake; he did so, but very soon the thirst, which

was quenched for a time only, returned; more was given him, but the

terrible thirst continued, and at last the Indian, who had begged his

companion to eat, began to be tired of bringing him water to drink. He

therefore told him he would bring him no more, and requested him to go

down to the water and drink. He did so, and after drinking a great

quantity, while his friend was asleep, he turned himself into a large

fish and stretched himself full length across the St. Croix.

"This fish for a long time obstructed the passage of the St. Croix; so

much so that the Indians were obliged to go round it by land.

"Some time ago the Indians were on a hunting excursion up the river, and

when they got near the fish a woman of the party darted ahead in

her canoe.

"She made a dish of bark, worked the edges of it very handsomely, filled

it with water, and placed some red down in it. She then placed the dish

near the fish in the river, and entreated the fish to go to its own

elements, and not to obstruct the passage of the river and give them so

much trouble.

"The fish obeyed, and settled down in the water, and has never since

been seen.

"The woman who made this request of the fish, was loved by him when he

was a Dahcotah, and for that reason he obeyed her wishes."

Nor was this the only legend with which he amused his listeners. The

night was half spent when they separated to rest, with as firm a faith

in the stories of the old medicine man, as we have in the annals of the

Revolution.

[Illustration]

THE MAIDEN'S ROCK;

OR,

WENONA'S LEAP.

Lake Pepin is a widening of the Mississippi river. It is about twenty

miles in length, and from one to two miles wide.

The country along its banks is barren. The lake has little current, but

is dangerous for steamboats in a high wind. It is not deep, and abounds

in fish, particularly the sturgeon. On its shores the traveller gathers

white and red agates, and sometimes specimens streaked with veins of

gold color. The lover reads the motto from his mistress' seal, not

thinking that the beautiful stone which made the impression, was found

on the banks of Lake Pepin.

At the south end of the lake, the Chippeway river empties into the

Mississippi.

The Maiden's rock is a high bluff, whose top seems to lean over towards

the water. With this rock is associated one of the most interesting

traditions of the Sioux.

But the incident is well-known. Almost every one has read it a dozen

times, and always differently told. Some represent the maiden as

delivering an oration from the top of the rock, long enough for an

address at a college celebration. It has been stated that she fell into

the water, a circumstance which the relative situation of the rock and

river would render impossible.

Writers have pretended, too, that the heroine of the rock was a

Winnebago. It is a mistake, the maiden was a Dahcotah.

It was from the Dahcotahs that I obtained the incident, and they believe

that it really occurred. They are offended if you suggest the

possibility of its being a fiction. Indeed they fix a date to it,

reckoning by the occurrences of great battles, or other events worthy

of notice.

But to the story--and I wish I could throw into it the feeling, and

energy of the old medicine woman who related it.

About one hundred and fifty years ago, the band of Dahcotahs to which

Wenona belonged, lived near Fort Snelling. Their village was on the site

now occupied by Good Road's band.

The whole band made preparations to go below Lake Pepin, after

porcupines. These animals are of great value among the Dahcotahs; their

flesh is considered excellent as an article of food, and the women stain

their quills to ornament the dresses of the men, their mocassins, and

many other articles in use among them. A young girl of this band had

received repeated offers of marriage from a Dahcotah, whom she hated

with the same degree of intensity that she loved his rival.

She dared not marry the object of her choice, for she knew it would

subject herself and him to the persecutions of her family. She declared

she never would consent to be the wife of the man whom her parents had

chosen for her, though he was young and brave, and, what is most valued

by the friends of an Indian girl, he was said to be the best hunter of

the tribe.

"Marry him, my daughter," said the mother, "your father is old; he

cannot now hunt deer for you and me, and what shall we do for food?

Chaskè will hunt the deer and buffalo, and we shall be comfortable

and happy."

"Yes," said her father, "your mother speaks well. Chaskè is a great

warrior too. When your brother died, did he not kill his worst enemy and

hang up his scalp at his grave?"

But Wenona persevered in her refusal. "I do not love him, I will not

marry him," was her constant reply.

But Chaskè, trusting to time and her parent's influence, was not

discouraged. He killed game and supplied the wants of the family.

Besides, he had twice bought her, according to Indian custom.

He had given her parents cloth and blankets, calico and guns. The girl

entreated them not to receive them, but the lover refused to take them

back, and, finally, they were taken into the wigwam.

Just as the band was about leaving the village for the hunt, he came

again with many presents; whatever would make the family comfortable on

their journey, and a decided promise was then given that the maiden

should become his wife.

She knew it would be useless to contend, so she seemed to be willing to

submit to her fate. After encamping for a time opposite the Maiden's

Rock to rest from their journey, the hunters determined to go further

down the river. They had crossed over to the other side, and were seated

nearly under the rock.

Their women were in their canoes coming over, when suddenly a loud cry

was heard from an old woman, the mother of Wenona.

The canoe had nearly reached the shore, and the mother continued to

shriek, gazing at the projecting rock.

The Indians eagerly inquired of her what was the matter? "Do you not see

my daughter?" she said; "she is standing close to the edge of the rock!"

She was there indeed, loudly and wildly singing her dirge, an invocation

to the Spirit of the Rock, calm and unconcerned in her dangerous

position, while all was terror and excitement among her friends

below her.

The hunters, so soon as they perceived her, hastily ascended the bluff,

while her parents called to her and entreated her to go back from the

edge of the rock. "Come down to us, my child," they cried; "do not

destroy your life; you will kill us, we have no child but you."

Having finished her song, the maiden answered her parents. "You have

forced me to leave you. I was always a good daughter, and never

disobeyed you; and could I have married the man I love, I should have

been happy, and would never have left you. But you have been cruel to

me; you have turned my beloved from the wigwam; you would have forced me

to marry a man I hated; I go to the house of spirits."

By this time the hunters had nearly reached her. She turned towards them

for a moment with a smile of scorn, as if to intimate to them that their

efforts were in vain. But when they were quite near, so that they held

out their arms towards her in their eagerness to draw her from her

dangerous station, she threw herself from the rock.

The first blow she received from the side of the rock must have killed

her, for she fell like a dead bird, amidst the shouts of the hunters

above, and the shrieks of the women below.

Her body was arrayed in her handsomest clothing, placed upon a scaffold,

and afterwards buried.

But the Dahcotahs say that her spirit does not watch over her earthly

remains; for her spirit was offended when she brought trouble upon her

aged mother and father.

Such is the story told by the Dahcotahs; and why not apply to them for

their own traditions?

Neither is there any reason to doubt the actual occurrence of the

incident.

Not a season passes away but we hear of some Dahcotah girl who puts an

end to her life in consequence of jealousy, or from the fear of being

forced to marry some one she dislikes. A short time ago a very young

girl hung herself, rather than become the wife of a man who was already

the husband of one of her sisters.

The parents told her they had promised her, and insisted upon her

fulfilling the engagement. Even her sister did not object, nay, rather

seemed anxious to forward the scheme, which would give her a rival from

among her nearest relations.

The young girl finally ran away, and the lover, leaving his wife,

pursued the fugitive, and soon overtook her. He renewed his entreaties,

and finding her still obstinate, he told her that she should become his

wife, and that he would kill her if she made any more trouble.

This last argument seemed to have the desired effect, for the girl

expressed her willingness to return home.

After they arrived, the man went to his wigwam to tell his wife of the

return of her sister, and that everything was now in readiness for

their marriage.

But one hour after, the girl was missing; and when found, was hanging to

a tree, forever free from the power of her tormentors. Her friends

celebrated the ceremonies of death instead of marriage.

It must be conceded that an Indian girl, when desperate with her love

affairs, chooses a most unromantic way of ending her troubles. She

almost invariably hangs herself; when there are so many beautiful lakes

near her where she could die an easier death, and at the same time one

that would tell better, than where she fastens an old leather strap

about her neck, and dies literally by choking. But there is this to be

taken into consideration. When she hangs herself near the village, she

can manage affairs so that she can be cut down if she concludes to live

a little longer; for this frequently occurs, and the suicide lives forty

and sometimes sixty years after. But when Wenona took the resolution of

ending her earthly sorrows, no doubt there were other passions beside

love influencing her mind.

Love was the most powerful. With him she loved, life would have been all

happiness--without him, all misery. Such was the reasoning of her

young heart.

But she resented the importunity of the hunter whose pretensions her

parents favored. How often she had told him she would die before she

would become his wife; and he would smile, as if he had but little faith

in the words of a woman. Now he should see that her hatred to him was

not assumed; and she would die such a death that he might know that she

feared neither him nor a death of agony.

And while her parents mourned their unkindness, her lover would admire

that firmness which made death more welcome than the triumph of

his rival.

And sacred is the spot where the devoted girl closed her earthly

sorrows. Spirits are ever hovering near the scene. The laugh of the

Dahcotah is checked when his canoe glides near the spot. He points to

the bluff, and as the shades of evening are throwing dimness and a

mystery around the beauty of the lake, and of the mountains, he fancies

he can see the arms of the girl as she tosses them wildly in the air.

Some have averred they heard her voice as she called to the spirits of

the rock, and ever will the traveller, as he passes the bluff, admire

the wondrous beauty of the picture, and remember the story of the

lover's leap.

There is a tradition among the Dahcotahs which fixes a date to the

incident, as well as to the death of the rival lovers of Wenona.

They say that it occurred about the time stated, and that the band of

Indians went and obtained the porcupines, and then they returned and

settled on the St. Croix river.

Shortly after the tragical death of Wenona, the band went again down the

Mississippi, and they camped at what they call the medicine wood. Here a

child died, and the body was laid on a scaffold. The father in the

middle of the night went out to mourn for his child. While he leant

against the scaffold weeping, he saw a man watching him. The stranger

did not appear to be a Dahcotah, and the mourner was alarmed, and

returned to the camp. In the morning he told the Indians of the

circumstance, and they raised the camp and went into the pine country.

The body of the child was carried along, and in he night the father went

out again to lament its death. The same figure appeared to him, and

again he returned, alarmed at the circumstance.

In the morning the Indians moved their camp again, and at night the same

occurrence took place.

The Dahcotahs are slaves to superstition, and they now dreaded a serious

evil. Their fears were not confirmed in the way they anticipated, for

their foes came bodily, and when daylight appeared, one thousand

Chippeway warriors appeared before them, and the shrill whistle and

terrible whoop of war was heard in earnest.

Dreadful were the shouts of the Chippeways, for the Dahcotahs were

totally unprepared for them, and many were laid low at the first

discharge of the rifles.

The merciless Chippeways continued the work of death. The women and

children fled to their canoes, but the Chippeways were too quick for

them; and they only entered their canoes to meet as certain a fate as

those who remained.

The women had not their paddles with them, and there was an eddy in the

current; as soon as the canoe was pushed from the shore, it would whirl

round, and the delighted Chippeways caught the canoes, and pulled them

ashore again, while others let fall upon their victims the

uplifted tomahawk.

When the Chippeways had killed until they were tired they took what they

wanted from the Sioux camp, and started for home, taking one Dahcotah

boy prisoner. The party had not travelled far, when a number of

Dahcotahs attacked the Chippeways, but the latter succeeded in killing

many of the Dahcotahs. One of the latter fled, and was in his canoe on

the lake St. Croix, when the Chippeways suddenly came upon him.

The little Dahcotah saw his only chance for liberty--he plunged in the

water and made for the canoe of the Dahcotah. In a moment he had reached

and entered it, and the two Dahcotahs were out of sight before the

arrows of their enemies could reach them.

A very few of that band escaped; one of them says that when they were

first attacked by the Chippeways, he saw he had but one chance, so he

dived down to the bottom of the river, and the Chippeways could not

see him.

He found the water at the bottom of the river very cold, and when he had

gone some distance, he ventured where the water was warmer, which he

knew was near the shore. He then came out of the water and made

his escape.

Even this latter trifling incident has been handed down from father to

son, and is believed universally by the Dahcotahs. And according to

their tradition, the lovers and family of Wenona perished in this

battle. At all events, there is no one who can prove that their

tradition or my translation may not be true.

THE INDIAN IN A TRANCE.

* * * * *

About forty years ago, Ahak-tah, "The Male Elk," was taken sick with a

sore throat. It was in the winter too, and sickness and cold together

are hard to bear. Want was an evil from which they were suffering;

though the Dahcotahs were not so poor then as they are now. They had not

given so much of their lands to the white people; and they depended more

upon their own exertions for support than they do at present.

The medicine men did all they could to cure Ahaktah; they tried to charm

away the animal that had entered into his body; they used the sacred

rattle. But Ahaktah's throat got worse; he died, and while his wives and

children wept for him, he had started on his long journey to the land

of spirits.

He was wrapped in scarlet cloth, and laid upon a scaffold. His wives sat

weeping in their teepee, when a cry from their young children drew their

attention to the door. There stood he for whom they mourned. The dead

man again took his place among those who sat beside the household fire.

Tears of grief were shed no more--food was given to Ahaktah, and when he

was refreshed he thus addressed his wondering family:--

"While you were weeping for me, my spirit was on its way to the great

city where our fathers, who have taught us all the wonders of our sacred

medicine, of Haokah the giant, and of the Thunder bird, are now living.

Twice has the sun ceased to shine since I left you, and in that short

time I have seen many strange things. First, I passed through a

beautiful country; the forest-trees were larger than any you have ever

seen. Birds of all colors filled them, and their music was as loud as

when our medicine men play for us to celebrate the scalp dance. The

broad river was full of fish, and the loon screamed as she swam across

the lakes. I had no difficulty in finding my way, for there was a road

through this country. It seemed as if there must have been many

travellers there, though I saw no one.

"This great road was made by the spirits of those who were killed in

battle. No warrior, however brave he may have been, has ever assisted in

making this road, except those who sang their death songs under the

tomahawk of their enemies. Neither did any woman ever assist. She is not

considered worthy to touch the war implements of a Dahcotah warrior, and

she was not permitted to do anything towards completing the path in

which the braves of the Dahcotahs would walk, when they joined their

forefathers in the land of spirits.

"As I pursued my journey, I saw near the banks of the river a teepee; I

entered it, and saw paint and all that a warrior needed to dress himself

in order to be fit to enter the city of spirits. I sat down and plaited

my hair, I put vermilion on my cheeks, and arranged the war-eagle

feathers in my head. Here, I said to myself, did my father rest when he

was on the same journey. I was tired, but I could not wait--I longed to

see my friends who had travelled this path before me--I longed to tell

them that the Dahcotahs were true to the customs of their forefathers--I

longed to tell them that we had drunk deep of the blood of the

Chippeways, that we had eaten the hearts of our enemies, that we had

torn their infants from their mothers' breasts, and dashed them to

the earth.

"I continued my journey, looking eagerly around me to see some one, but

all was desolate; and beautiful as everything was, I would have been

glad to have seen the face of a friend.

"It was evening when a large city burst upon my sight. The houses were

built regularly on the shores of the river. As far as I could see, the

homes of the spirits of my forefathers were in view.

"But still I saw no one. I descended the hill towards the river, which I

must cross to reach the city of spirits. I saw no canoe, but I feared

nothing, I was so near my journey's end. The river was wide and deep,

and the waves were swiftly following one another, when I plunged among

them; soon I reached the opposite shore, and as I again stood on the

land, I heard some one cry, 'Here he comes! here he comes!' I approached

the nearest house and entered; everything looked awful and mysterious.

"In the corner of the room sat a figure whom I recognized. It was my

mother's brother, Flying Wind, the medicine man. I remembered him, for

it was he who taught me to use my bow and arrow.

"In a bark dish, in the corner of the room, was some wild rice. I was

very hungry, for I had not eaten since I left the earth. I asked my

uncle for some rice to eat, but he did not give it to me. Had I eaten of

the food for spirits, I never should have returned to earth.

"At last my uncle spoke to me. `My nephew,' said he, 'why are you

travelling without a bow and arrow? how can you provide yourself with

food when you have no means of killing game? When my home was on the

Mississippi, the warriors of the Dahcotahs were never without their bows

and arrows--either to secure their food or to strike to the hearts of

their enemies.'

"I then remembered that I had been travelling without my bow and arrows.

`But where,' said I to my uncle, `where are the spirits of my

forefathers? where is my brother who fell under the tomahawk of his

enemy? where is my sister who threw herself into the power of Unktahe,

rather than to live and see her rival the wife of the Sun? where are the

spirits of the Dahcotah braves whose deeds are still told from father to

son among us?'

"'The Dahcotah braves are still watching for their enemies--the hunters

are bringing in the deer and the buffalo--our women are planting corn

and tanning deer-skin. But you will not now see them; your step is firm

and your eye is bright; you must return to earth, and when your limbs

are feeble, when your eye is dim, then will you return and find your

home in the city of spirits.'

"So saying, he arose and gave me a bow and arrow. I took it, and while

trying it I left the house; but how I do not know.

"The next thing that I remember was being seated on the top of the

cliffs of Eagle's Nest, below Lake Pepin. I heard a sound, and soon

distinguished my mother's voice; she was weeping. I knew that she was

bending over my body. I could see her as she cut off her hair, and I

felt sad when I heard her cry, 'My son! my son!' Then I recollect being

on the top of the half-side mountain on Lake Pepin. Afterwards I was on

the mountain near Red Wing's village, and again I stood on a rock, on a

point of land near where the waters of the Mississippi and St. Peter's

meet, on the 'Maiden's Jumping Rock;' [Footnote: Near Fort Snelling is a

high rock called the Maiden's Jumping Rock; where formerly the Dahcotah

girls used to jump for amusement, a distance of many feet from the top

to the ground.] here I recovered my right mind."

The daughter of Ahaktah says that her father retained the "wahkun" bow

and arrow that was given him by his uncle, and that he was always

successful in hunting or in war; that he enjoyed fine health, and lived

to be a very old man; and she is living now to tell the story.

OECHE-MONESAH;

THE WANDERER.

* * * * *

Chaskè was tired of living in the village, where the young men, finding

plenty of small game to support life, and yielding to the languor and

indolence produced by a summer's sun, played at checker's, or drank, or

slept, from morn till night, and seemed to forget that they were the

greatest warriors and hunters in the world. This did very well for a

time; but, as I said, Chaskè got tired of it. So he determined to go on

a long journey, where he might meet with some adventures.

Early one morning he shouldered his quiver of arrows, and drawing out

one arrow from the quiver, he shot it in the direction he intended

to go.

"Now," said he, "I will follow my arrow." But it seemed as if he were

destined never to find it, for morning and noon had passed away, and the

setting sun warned him, not only of the approach of night, but of

musquitoes too. He thought he would build a fire to drive the musquitoes

away; besides, he was both hungry and tired, though he had not yet found

his arrow, and had nothing to eat.

When he was hesitating as to what he should do, he saw in the bushes a

dead elk, and behold! his arrow was sticking in its side. He drew the

arrow out, then cut out the tongue, and after making a fire, he put the

tongue upon a stick to roast. But while the tongue was roasting, Chaskè

fell asleep and slept many hours.

At day-break a woman came up to him and shook him, as if to awake him.

Chaskè started and rubbed his eyes, and the woman pointed to the path

which led across the prairies. Was he dreaming? No, he felt sure he was

awake. So he got up and followed the woman.

He thought it very strange that the woman did not speak to him. "I will

ask her who she is," said he; but as he turned to address her she raised

her arms in the air, and changing her form to that of a beautiful bird,

blue as the sky that hangs over the morning's mist, she flew away.

Chaskè was surprised and delighted too. He loved adventures; had he not

left home to seek them? so he pursued his journey, quite forgetting his

supper, which was cooking when he fell asleep.

He shot his arrow off again and followed it. It was late in the evening

when he found it, and then it was in the heart of a moose. "I will not

be cheated out of my supper to-night," said he; so he cut the tongue out

of the moose and placed it before the fire to roast. Hardly had he

seated himself to smoke, when sleep overcame him, and he knew nothing

until morning, when a woman approached and shook him as before, pointing

to the path.

He arose quickly and followed her; and as he touched her arm, determined

to find out who she was, she, turning upon him a brow black as night,

was suddenly changed into a crow.

The Dahcotah was completely puzzled. He had never cared for women; on

the contrary, had avoided them. He never wasted his time telling them

they were beautiful, or playing on the flute to charm their senses. He

thought he had left all such things behind him, but already had he been

twice baffled by a woman. Still he continued his journey. He had this

consolation, the Dahcotah girls did not turn into birds and fly away. At

least there was the charm of novelty in the incidents. The next day he

killed a bear, but as usual he fell asleep while the tongue was

roasting, and this time he was waked by a porcupine. The fourth day he

found his arrow in a buffalo. "Now," said he, "I will eat at last, and I

will find out, too, who and what it is that wakes me."

But he fell asleep as usual, and was waked in the morning by a female

who touched him lightly and pointed to the path. Her back was turned

towards him, and instead of rising to follow her, he caught her in his

arms, determined to see and talk with her.

Finding herself a prisoner, the girl turned her face to him, and Chaskè

had never seen anything so beautiful.

Her skin was white as the fairest flower that droops its head over the

banks of the "Lac qui parle." Her hair was not plaited, neither was it

black like the Dahcotah maidens', but it hung in golden ringlets about

her face and neck. The warm blood tinted her cheeks as she met the

ardent gaze of the Dahcotah, and Chaskè could not ask her who she was.

How could he speak when his heart was throbbing, and every pulse

beating wildly?

"Let me go," said the girl; "why do you seek to detain me? I am a

beaver-woman, [Footnote: According to the wise men of the Dahcotahs,

beavers and bears have souls. They have many traditions about bear and

beaver-women] and you are a Dahcotah warrior. Turn from me and find a

wife among the dark-faced maidens of your tribe."

"I have always despised them," said the Dahcotah, "but you are more

beautiful than the Spirits of the water. I love you, and will make

you my wife."

"Then you must give up your people," replied the girl, "for I cannot

live as the Dahcotah women. Come with me to my white lodge, and we will

be happy; for see the bright water as it falls on the rocks. We will sit

by its banks during the heat of the day, and when we are tired, the

music of its waves will lull us to sleep."

So she took Chaskè by the hand, and they walked on till they came to an

empty white lodge, and there they lived and were very happy. They were

still happier when their little boy began to play about the lodge; for

although they loved each other very much, still it was lonely where they

lived, and the child was company for them both.

There was one thing, however, that troubled the Dahcotah; he could not

turn his mind from it, and day after day passed without relieving him

from his perplexity. His beautiful wife never ate with him. When he

returned in the evening from hunting, she was always glad to see him,

and while he rested himself and smoked, she would cook his meat for him,

and seem anxious to make him comfortable. But he had never seen her eat;

and when he would tell her that he did not like to eat alone, and beg

her to sit down and eat with him, she would say she was not hungry; and

then employ herself about her wigwam, as if she did not wish him to say

any more about it.

Chaskè made up his mind that he would find out what his wife lived upon.

So the next morning he took his bow and arrows, as if he were going out

on a day's hunt. After going a short distance from the lodge, he hid

himself in the trees, where he could watch the motions of his wife.

She left the lodge after a while, and with an axe in her hand she

approached a grove of poplar trees. After carefully looking round to

satisfy herself that there was no one near, she cut down a number of the

small and tender poplars, and, carrying them home, ate them as if she

enjoyed them very much. Chaskè was infinitely relieved when he saw that

his wife did eat; for it frightened him to think that she lived on

nothing but air. But it was so droll to think she should eat young

trees! surely venison was a great deal better.

But, like a good husband, he thought it was his duty to humor his wife's

fancies. And then he loved her tenderly--he had given up country and

home for her. She was so good and kind, and her beautiful hair! Chaskè

called her "The Mocassin Flower," for her golden ringlets reminded him

of that beautiful flower. "She shall not have to cut the trees down

herself," said Chaskè, "I will bring her food while she prepares mine."

So he went out to hunt, and returned in the evening; and while his wife

was cooking his supper, he went to the poplar grove and cut a number of

young trees; he then brought them to the lodge, and, laying them down,

he said to his wife, "I have found out at last what you like."

No one would suppose but that the beaver-woman would have been grateful

to her husband for thinking of her. Instead of that, she was very angry;

and, taking her child in her arms, she left the lodge. Chaskè was

astonished to see his gentle wife angry, but he concluded he would eat

his supper, and then follow her, hoping that in the meantime she would

recover her good temper.

When he went out, she was nowhere to be seen. He called her--he thought

at first that she had hid herself. But, as night came on, and neither

she nor the child returned, the deserted husband grew desperate; he

could not stay in his lodge, and the only thing that he could do was to

start in search of her.

He walked all night, but saw no trace of her. About sunrise he came to a

stream, and following it up a little way he came to a beaver dam, and on

it sat his wife with her child in her arms. And beautiful she looked,

with her long tresses falling into the water.

Chaskè was delighted to find her. "Why did you leave me?" called he. "I

should have died of grief if I had not found you."

"Did I not tell you that I could not live like the Dahcotah women?"

replied Mocassin Flower. "You need not have watched me to find out what

I eat. Return to your own people; you will find there women enough who

eat venison."

The little boy clapped his hands with delight when he saw his father,

and wanted to go to him; but his mother would not let him. She tied a

string to his leg and told him to go, and the child would plunge into

the water, and when he had nearly reached the shore where his father

sat, then would the beaver-woman draw him back.

In the meantime the Dahcotah had been trying to persuade his wife to

come to him, and return to the lodge; but she refused to do so, and sat

combing her long hair. The child had cried itself to sleep; and the

Dahcotah, worn out with fatigue and grief, thought he would go to

sleep too.

After a while a woman came and touched him on the shoulder, and awaked

him as of old. He started and looked at her, and perceiving it was not

his wife, felt inclined to take little notice of her.

"What," said she, "does a Dahcotah warrior still love a woman who hates

him?"

"Mocassin Flower loves me well," replied the Dahcotah; "she has been a

good wife."

"Yes," replied the woman, "she was for a time; but she sighs to return

home--her heart yearns towards the lover of her youth."

Chaskè was very angry. "Can this be true?" he said; and he looked

towards the beaver dam where his wife still sat. In the meantime the

woman who had waked him, brought him some food in bark dishes worked

with porcupine.

"Eat," she said to the Dahcotah; "you are hungry."

But who can tell the fury that Mocassin Flower was in when she saw that

strange woman bringing her husband food. "Who are you," she cried, "that

are troubling yourself about my husband? I know you well; you are the

'Bear-Woman.'"

"And if I am," said the Bear woman, "do not the souls of the bears enjoy

forever the heaven of the Dahcotah?"

Poor Chaskè! he could not prevent their quarrelling, so, being very

hungry, he soon disposed of what the Bear woman had brought him. When

he had done eating, she took the bark dishes. "Come with me," she said;

"you cannot live in the water, and I will take you to a beautiful lodge,

and we will be happy."

The Dahcotah turned to his wife, but she gave him no encouragement to

remain. "Well," said he, "I always loved adventures, and I will go and

seek some more."

The new wife was not half so pretty as the old one. Then she was so

wilful, and ordered him about--as if women were anything but dogs in

comparison with a Dahcotah warrior. Yes, he who had scorned the Dahcotah

girls, as they smiled upon him, was now the slave of a bear-woman; but

there was one comfort--there were no warriors to laugh at him.

For a while they got on well enough. His wife had twin children--one was

a fine young Dahcotah, and the other was a smart active little bear, and

it was very amusing to see them play together. But in all their fights

the young Dahcotah had the advantage; though the little bear would roll

and tumble, and stick his claws into the Dahcotah, yet it always ended

by the little bear's capering off and roaring after his mother. Perhaps

this was the reason, but for some reason or other the mother did not

seem contented and happy. One morning she woke up very early, and while

telling her husband that she had a bad dream, the dog commenced barking

outside the lodge.

"What can be the matter?" said Chaskè.

"Oh!" said the woman, "I know; there is a hunter out there who wants to

kill me, but I am not afraid."

So saying, she put her head out of the door, which the hunter seeing,

shot his arrow; but instead of hurting her, the arrow fell to the

ground, and the bear-woman catching up her little child, ran away and

was soon out of sight.

"Ha!" said Chaskè, "I had better have married a Dahcotah girl, for they

do not run away from their husbands except when another wife comes to

take their place. But I have been twice deserted." So saying, he took

the little Dahcotah in his arms, and followed his wife. Towards evening

he came up with her, but she did not seem glad to see him. He asked her

why she left him; she replied, "I want to live with my own people."

"Well," said the Dahcotah, "I will go with you." The woman consented,

though it was plain she did not want him; for she hated her Dahcotah

child, and would not look at him.

After travelling a few days, they approached a grove of trees, which

grew in a large circle. "Do you see that nest of trees?" said the woman.

"There is the great village of the bears. There are many young men there

that loved me, and they will hate you because I preferred you to them.

Take your boy, then, and return to your people." But the Dahcotah feared

not, and they approached the village of the bears.

There was a great commotion among the bears as they discovered them.

They were glad to see the young bear-woman back again, but they hated

the Dahcotah, and determined on his death. However, they received him

hospitably, conducted him and his wife to a large lodge, gave them food,

and the tired travellers were soon asleep.

But the Dahcotah soon perceived he was among enemies, and he kept a

careful look out upon them. The little Dahcotah was always quarrelling

with the young bears; and on one occasion, being pretty hungry, a cub

annoying him at the time very much, he deliberately shot the cub with

his bow and arrow, and ate him up. This aroused the vengeance of the

bears; they had a consultation among themselves, and swore they would

kill both father and son.

It would be impossible to tell of the troubles of Chaskè. His wife, he

could see, loved one of the bears, and was anxious for his own death;

but whenever he contended with the bears he came off victor. Whether in

running a foot race, or shooting with a bow and arrow, or whatever it

might be, he always won the prize, and this made his enemies still

more venomous.

Four years had now passed since Chaskè left his native village, and

nothing had ever been heard of him. But at length the wanderer returned.

But who would have recognized, in the crest-fallen, melancholy-looking

Indian, the gay warrior that had left home but a few years before? The

little boy that held his hand was cheerful enough, and seemed to

recognize acquaintances, instead of looking for the first time on the

faces of his father's friends.

How did the young girls laugh when he told of the desertion of his first

wife; but when he continued his story, and told them of the

faithlessness of the bear woman also, you heard nothing but shouts of

derision. Was it not a triumph for the Dahcotah women? How had he

scorned them before he went away!--Did he not say that women were only

dogs, or worse than dogs?

But there was one among his old acquaintances who would not join in the

laughter. As she looked on the care-worn countenance of the warrior, she

would fain have offered to put new mocassins upon his feet, and bring

him food. But she dared not subject herself to the ridicule of her

companions--though as night came on, she sought him when there was no

one to heed her.

"Chaskè," she called--and the Dahcotah turned hastily towards her,

attracted by the kindness of her voice--"there are no women who love as

the Dahcotah women. I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you,

but you despised me. You have come back, and are laughed at. Care has

broken your spirit, or you would not submit to the sneers of your old

friends, and the contempt of those who once feared you. I will be your

wife, and, mingling again in the feasts and customs of your race, you

will soon be the bold and fearless warrior that you were when you

left us."

And her words were true; for the Indians soon learned that they were not

at liberty to talk to Chaskè of his wanderings. He never spoke of his

former wives, except to compare them with his present, who was as

faithful and obedient as they were false and troublesome. "And he.

found," says Chequered Cloud, "that there was no land like the

Dahcotah's, no river like the Father of waters, and no happiness like

that of following the deer across the open prairies, or of listening, in

the long summer days, to the wisdom of the medicine men."

And she who had loved him in his youth, and wept for him in his absence,

now lies by his side--for Chaskè has taken another long journey. Death

has touched him, but not lightly, and pointed to the path which leads to

the Land of Spirits--and he did not go alone; for her life closed with

and together their spirits watch over the mortal frames that they

once tenanted.

"Look at the white woman's life," said Chequered Cloud, as she

concluded the story of Chaskè, "and then at the Dahcotah's. You sleep on

a soft bed, while the Dahcotah woman lays her head upon the ground, with

only her blanket for a covering; when you are hungry you eat, but for

days has the Dahcotah woman wanted for food, and there was none to give

it. Your children are happy, and fear nothing; ours have crouched in the

earth at night, when the whoop and yell of the Chippeways sent terror to

their young hearts, and trembling to their tender limbs.

"And when the fire-water of the white man has maddened the senses of the

Dahcotah, so that the blow of his war club falls upon his wife instead

of his enemy, even then the Dahcotah woman must live and suffer on."

"But, Chequered Cloud, the spirit of the Dahcotah watches over the body

which remains on earth. Did you not say the soul went to the house

of spirits?"

"The Dahcotah has four souls," replied the old woman; "one wanders about

the earth, and requires food; another protects the body; the third goes

to the Land of Spirits, while the fourth forever hovers around his

native village."

"I wish," said I, "that you would believe in the God of the white

people. You would then learn that there is but one soul, and that that

soul will be rewarded for the good it has done in this life, or punished

for the evil."

"The Great Spirit," she replied, "is the God of the Dahcotah. He made

all things but thunder and wild rice. When we do wrong we are punished

in this world. If we do not live up to the laws of our forefathers, the

spirits of the dead will punish us. We must keep up the customs of our

tribe. If we are afraid that the thunder will strike us, we dance in

honor of it, and destroy its power. Our great medicine feasts are given

in honor of our sacred medicine, which will not only heal the sick, but

will preserve us in danger; and we make feasts for the dead.

"Our children are taught to do right. They are not to injure one who has

not harmed them; but where is the Dahcotah who will not rejoice as he

takes the life of his enemy?"

"But," said I, "you honor the thunder, and yet it strikes you. What is

the thunder, and where does it come from?"

"Thunder is a large bird, flying through the air; its bright tracks are

seen in the heavens, before you hear the clapping of its wings. But it

is the young ones who do the mischief. The parent bird would not hurt a

Dahcotah. Long ago a thunder bird fell dead from the heavens; and our

fathers saw it as it lay not far from Little Crow's village.

"It had a face like a Dahcotah warrior, with a nose like an eagle's

bill. Its body was long and slender, its wings were large, and on them

was painted the lightning. Our warriors were once out hunting in the

winter, when a terrible storm came on, and a large thunder bird

descended to the earth, wearing snow-shoes; he took but a few steps and

then rose up, leaving his tracks in the snow. That winter our hunters

killed many bears."

TAH-WE-CHU-KIN;

THE WIFE.

* * * * *

In February, 1837, a party of Dahcotahs (Warpetonian) fell in with

Hole-in-the-Day, and his band. When Chippeways and Dahcotahs meet there

is generally bloodshed; and, however highly Hole-in-the-Day may be

esteemed as a warrior, it is certain that he showed great treachery

towards the Dahcotahs on many occasions.

Now they met for peaceable purposes. Hole-in-the-Day wished permission

to hunt on the Dahcotah lands without danger from the tomahawk of his

enemies. He proposed to pay them certain articles, which he should

receive from the United States Government when he drew his annuities, as

a return for the privilege he demanded.

The Dahcotahs and Chippeways were seated together. They had smoked the

pipe of peace. The snow had drifted, and lay piled in masses behind

them, contrasting its whiteness with their dark countenances and their

gay ornaments and clothing. For some years there had been peace between

these two tribes; hating each other, as they did, they had managed to

live without shedding each other's blood.

Hole-in-the-Day was the master spirit among the Chippeways. He was the

greatest hunter and warrior in the nation; he had won the admiration of

his people, and they had made him chief. His word was law to them; he

stood firmly on the height to which he had elevated himself.

He laid aside his pipe and arose. His iron frame seemed not to feel the

keen wind that was shaking the feathers in the heads of the many

warriors who fixed their eyes upon him.

He addressed the Dahcotah warriors. "All nations," said he, "as yet

continue the practice of war, but as for me, I now abandon it. I hold

firmly the hand of the Americans. If you, in future, strike me twice or

even three times, I will pass over and not revenge it. If wars should

continue, you and I will not take part in them. You shall not fight,

neither will I. There shall be no more war in that part of the country

lying between Pine Island and the place called Hanoi catnip, (They shot

them in the night). Over this extent of country we will hold the pipe

firmly. You shall hold it by the bowl, and we will hold it by the stem.

The pipe shall be in your keeping." So saying, Hole-in-the-Day advanced

and presented the Dahcotahs with a pipe.

After a moment he continued his speech. "On account of your misconduct,

we did desire your death, and if you had met us last winter to treat of

peace, however great your numbers, we should have killed you all. White

men had ordered us to do so, and we should have done it; because the

Mendewakantonwans had informed us that you intended by treachery to

kill us."

The Dahcotah chief then replied to him saying, that the Dahcotahs were

willing that the Chippeways should hunt on their lands to the borders of

the prairie, but that they should not enter the prairie. The Chippeways

then agreed to pay them a large quantity of sugar, a keg of powder, and

a quantity of lead and tobacco.

After their engagement was concluded, Hole-in-the-Day rose again and

said, "In the name of the Great Spirit, this peace shall be forever,"

and, turning to Wandiokiya (the Man that talks to the Eagle), a Dahcotah

who had been taught by the missionaries to read and write, requested him

to commit to writing the agreement which had just been made.

Wandiokiya did so, and has since forwarded the writing to the Rev. Mr.

P----, who resides near Fort Snelling. The Dahcotah adds, "We have now

learned that the object of Hole-in-the-Day was to deceive and kill us;

and he and his people have done so, showing that they neither fear God

nor the chief of the American people.

"In this manner they deceived us, deceived us in the name of the Gods.

"Hole-in-the-Day led the band of murderers.

"WANDIOKIYA."

CHAPTER II.

We shall see how faithfully the Chippeway chief kept the treaty that he

had called upon the Great Spirit to witness. There has been great

diversity of opinion concerning Hole-in-the-Day, The Chippeways and

Dahcotahs all feared him. Some of the white people who knew him

admired, while others detested his character.

He was certainly, what all the Chippeways have been, a friend of the

white people, and equally an enemy to the Dahcotahs. He encouraged all

attempts that were made towards the civilization of his people; he tried

to induce them to cultivate the ground; indeed, he sometimes assumed the

duties which among savages are supposed to belong exclusively to

females, and has been frequently seen to work in his garden. Had it been

possible, he would even have forced the Chippeways to civilization.

He had three wives--all sisters. He was fond of them, but if they

irritated him, by disputing among themselves, or neglecting any thing

which he found necessary to his comfort, he was very violent. Blows were

the only arguments he used on such occasions.

The present chief is one of his children; several of them died young,

and their father felt their loss most keenly. Grave and stoical as was

his deportment, his feelings were very strong, and not easily

controlled.

He was a man of deep thought, and of great ambition. The latter passion

was gratified to as great a degree as was possible. Loved by his tribe,

feared by his enemies, respected and well treated by the white people,

what more could a savage ask? Among the Indians he was a great man, but

he was truly great in cunning and deceit.

On this occasion, however, the Dahcotahs had perfect confidence in him,

and it was on the first day of April, in the same year, that they

arrived at the place appointed to meet the Chippeways, near the east

branch of the Chippeway river, about thirty miles northeast of Lac qui

parle. The women raised the teepees, six in number, and prepared the

scanty portion of food for their families. Here they remained, until

their patience was almost exhausted, constantly expecting

Hole-in-the-Day to appear; but day after day passed, and they were still

disappointed. Now and then the reports of fire-arms were heard near

them, but still the Chippeways did not visit the camp of the Dahcotahs.

Famine now showed itself among them. They had neither corn nor flour.

Had the wild ducks flown over their heads in clouds, there was but

little powder and shot to kill them--but there were few to be seen. Some

of the Indians proposed moving their camp where game was more

plenty--where they might see deer, and use their bows and arrows to some

purpose. But others said, if they were not at the appointed place of

meeting, they would violate the contract, and lose their claim to the

articles that Hole-in-the-day had promised to deliver to them.

It was finally concluded that the party should divide, one half moving

off in search of food, the other half remaining where they were, in

hopes that Hole-in-the-Day would make his appearance.

Three teepees then remained, and they were occupied by seventeen

persons, all women and children excepting four. It was drawing on

towards evening, when the Dahcotahs heard the sound of footsteps, and

their satisfaction was very great, when they perceived the Chippeway

chief approach, accompanied by ten of his men. These men had been

present at the council of peace in February.

One of the Dahcotahs, named Red Face, had left his family in the

morning, to attend to the traps he had set for beaver. He had not

returned when the Chippeways arrived. His two wives were with the

Dahcotahs who received the Chippeways. One of these women had two

children; the other was quite young, and, according to Indian ideas,

beautiful too. She was the favorite wife.

The Dahcotahs received the Chippeways with real pleasure, in full faith

and confidence. "Hole-in-the-Day has been long in coming," said one of

the Dahcotahs; "his friends have wished to smoke the pipe of peace with

him, but some of them have left us to seek for food. We welcome you, and

will eat together, and our friendship shall last forever."

Hole-in-the-Day met his advances with every appearance of cordiality.

One thing, however, the Dahcotahs observed, that the Chippeways did not

fire their guns off when they arrived, which is done by Indians when

they make a visit of friendship.

The party passed the evening in conversation. All the provisions of the

Dahcotahs were called in requisition to feast the Chippeways. After

eating, the pipe went round again, and at a late hour they laid down to

sleep, the Chippeways dividing their party, several in each teepee.

Hole-in-the-day lay down by the side of his host, so motionless you

would have thought that sleep had paralyzed his limbs and senses; his

regular breathing intimates a heart at peace with himself and his foes;

but that heart was beating fast, for in a moment he raises himself

cautiously, gazes and smiles too upon the sleeping Dahcotah beside him.

He gives the appointed signal, and instantaneously plunges his knife

into the heart of the trusting Dahcotah. It was child's play afterwards

to quiet the shrill shrieks of the terrified wife. A moment more, and

she and her child lay side by side, never to awake again.

For a short time broken and shrill cries were heard from the other

teepees, but they were soon over. The two wives of Red Face had laid

down without a fear, though their protector was absent. The elder of the

two clasped her children to her heart, consoled, in a measure, while

listening to their calm breathing, for the loss of the love of her

husband. She knew that the affections of a husband might vary, but the

tie between mother and child is indissoluble.

The young wife wondered that Red Face was not by her side. But he would

return to-morrow, and her welcome would be all the greeting that he

would wish for. While her thoughts are assuming the form of dreams, she

sees the fatal weapon pointed at the mother and child. The bullet that

kills the sleeping infant on its mother's breast, wounds the mother

also; but she flies in horror, though not soon enough to escape the

sight of her other pleading child, her warrior-son, vainly clasping his

hands in entreaty to the savage, who, with another blow from his

tomahawk, puts an end to his sufferings. The wretched mother escapes,

for Hole-in-the-Day enters the teepee, and takes prisoner the younger

wife. She escapes a present death--what will be her future fate?

CHAPTER III.

The elder of the two wives escaped from the murderous Chippeways. Again

and again, in the darkness of the night, she turns back to flee from her

deadly foe, but far more from the picture of her children, murdered

before her eyes. She knew the direction in which the Dahcotahs who had

left the party had encamped, and she directed her steps to find them.

One would think she would have asked death from her enemies--her husband

loved her no more, her children were dead--but she clung to life.

She reached the teepees at last, and hastened to tell of her sorrows,

and of the treachery of Hole-in-the-Day. For a moment the utmost

consternation prevailed among the Indians, but revenge was the second

thought, and rapidly were their preparations made to seek the scene of

the murder. The distance was accomplished in a short time, and the

desolation lay before their eyes.

The fires in the teepees were not gone out; the smoke was ascending to

the heavens; while the voices of the murdered Dahcotahs seemed to call

upon their relatives for revenge.. There lay the warriors, who, brave as

Hole-in-the-Day, had laid aside their weapons, and reposed on the faith

of their enemies, their strong limbs powerless, their faces turned

towards the light, which fell upon their glassy eyes. See the mother, as

she bends over the bodies of her innocent children!--her boy, who walked

so proudly, and said he would kill deer for his mother; her infant,

whose life had been taken, as it were, from her very heart. She strains

them to her bosom, but the head leans not towards her, and the arms are

stiff in death.

Red Face has asked for his young wife. She is alive, but, far worse than

death, she is a prisoner to the Chippeways. His children are dead before

his eyes, and their mother, always obedient and attentive, does not hear

him when he speaks to her. The remains of the feast are scattered on

the ground; the pipe of peace lies broken among them.

In the course of the morning the Rev. Mr.----, missionary among the

Dahcotahs, with the assistance of an Indian named Round Wind, collected

the bodies and buried them.

Of the fourteen persons who were in the three teepees, no more than four

escaped; two young men and two women.

The Chippeways fled as quickly as possible from the country of the

Dahcotahs, with their prisoner--sad change for her. A favorite wife

finds herself in the power of ten warriors, the enemies of her people.

The cries of her murdered friends are yet sounding in her ears; and she

knows not how soon their fate may be hers. Every step of the weary

journey she pursues, takes her farther from her country. She dares not

weep, she cannot understand the language of her enemies, but she

understands their looks, and knows she must obey them. She wishes they

would take her life; she would take it herself, but she is watched, and

it is impossible.

She sees by their angry gestures and their occasional looks towards her,

that she is the subject of their dispute, until the chief raises his

eyes and speaks to the Chippeways--and the difference ceases.

At length her journey is at an end. They arrive at the village, and

Hole-in-the-Day and his warriors are received with manifestations of

delight. They welcomed him as if he had performed a deed of valor

instead of one of cowardice.

The women gaze alternately upon the scalps and upon the prisoner. She,

poor girl, is calm now; there is but one thought that makes her tired

limbs shake with terror. She sees with a woman's quickness that there is

no female among those who are looking at her as beautiful as she is. It

may be that she may be required to light the household fires for one of

her enemies. She sees the admiring countenance of one of the young

Chippeway warriors fixed upon her; worn out with fatigue, she cannot

support the wretched thought. For a while she is insensible even to

her sorrows.

On recovering, food is given her, and she tries to eat. Nothing but

death can relieve her. Where are the spirits of the rocks and rivers of

her land? Have they forgotten her too?

Hole-in-the-Bay took her to his teepee. She was his prisoner, he chose

to adopt her, and treated her with every kindness. He ordered his men

not to take her life; she was to be as safe in his teepee as if she were

his wife or child.

For a few days she is allowed to remain quiet; but at length she is

brought out to be present at a council where her fate was to be decided.

Hole-in-the-Day took his place in the council, and ordered the prisoner

to be placed near him. Her pale and resigned countenance was a contrast

to the angry and excited faces that lowered upon her; but the chief

looked unconcerned as to the event. However his warriors might contend,

the result of the council would depend upon him; his unbounded influence

always prevailed.

After several speeches had been made, Stormy Wind rose and addressed the

chief. His opinion was that the prisoner should suffer death. The

Dahcotahs had always been enemies, and it was the glory of the

Chippeways to take the lives of those they hated. His chief had taken

the prisoner to his teepee; she was safe; she was a member of his

family--who would harm her there? but now they were in council to decide

upon her fate. He was an old man, had seen many winters--he had often

travelled far and suffered much to take the life of an enemy; and here,

where there is one in their power, should they lose the opportunity of

revenge? She was but a woman, but the Dahcotah blood flowed in her

veins. She was not fit to live. The Eagle spoke next. He was glad that

the chief had taken the prisoner to his teepee--it had been always

customary occasionally to adopt a prisoner, and the chief did well to

keep up the customs of their tribe. The prisoner was young, she could be

taught to love the Chippeway nation; the white people did not murder

their prisoners; the Chippeways were the friends of the white people;

let them do as they did, be kind to the prisoner and spare her life. The

Eagle would marry the Dahcotah girl; he would teach her to speak the

language of her adopted tribe; she should make his mocassins, and her

children would be Chippeways. Let the chief tell the Eagle to take the

girl home to his teepee.

The Eagle's speech created an excitement. The Indians rose one after the

other, insisting upon the death of their prisoner. One or two seconded

the Eagle's motion to keep her among them, but the voices of the others

prevailed. The prisoner saw by the faces of the savages what their words

portended. When the Eagle rose to speak, she recognized the warrior

whose looks had frightened her; she knew he was pleading for her life

too; but the memory of her husband took away the fear of death. Death

with a thousand terrors, rather than live a wife, a slave to the

Chippeways! The angry Chippeways are silenced, for their chief addresses

them in a voice of thunder; every voice is hushed, every countenance is

respectfully turned towards the leader, whose words are to decide the

fate of the unhappy woman before them.

"Where is the warrior that will not listen to the words of his chief? my

voice is loud and you shall hear. I have taken a Dahcotah woman

prisoner; I have chosen to spare her life; she has lived in my teepee;

she is one of my family; you have assembled in council to-day to decide

her fate--I have decided it. When I took her to my teepee, she became as

my child or as the child of my friend. You shall not take her life, nor

shall you marry her. She is my prisoner--she shall remain in my teepee."

Seeing some motion of discontent among those who wished to take her

life, he continued, while his eyes shot fire and his broad chest heaved

with anger:

"Come then and take her life. Let me see the brave warrior who will take

the life of my prisoner? Come! she is here; why do you, not raise your

tomahawks? It is easy to take a woman's scalp."

Not a warrior moves. The prisoner looks at the chief and at his

warriors. Hole-in-the-Day leads her from the council and points to his

teepee, which is again her home, and where she is as safe as she would

be in her husband's teepee, by the banks of the Mine So-to.

CHAPTER IV.

While the wife of Red Face lived from day to day in suspense as to her

fate, her husband made every effort for her recovery. Knowing that she

was still alive, he could not give up the hope of seeing her again.

Accordingly, the facts were made known at Fort Snelling, and the

Chippeway interpreter was sent up to Hole-in-the-Day's village, with an

order from the government to bring her down.

She had been expected for some time, when an excitement among a number

of old squaws, who were standing outside of the gate of the fort, showed

that something unusual was occasioning expressions of pleasure; and as

the wife of Red Face advanced towards the house of the interpreter,

their gratification was raised to the utmost.

Red Face and some of the Dahcotah warriors were soon there too--and the

long separated husband and wife were again united.

But whatever they might have felt on the occasion of meeting again, they

showed but little joy. Red Face entered the room where were assembled

the Indians and the officers of the garrison. He shook hands with the

officers and with the interpreter, and, without looking at his wife,

took his seat with the other Dahcotahs.

But her composure soon left her. When she saw him enter, the blood

mantled in her pale cheek--pale with long anxiety and recent fatigue.

She listened while the Dahcotahs talked with the agent and the

commanding officer; and at last, as if her feelings could not longer be

restrained, she arose, crossed the room, and took her seat at his feet!

The chief Hole-in-the-Day has been dead some years, and, in one of the

public prints, it was stated that he was thrown from his carriage and

killed. This was a genteel mode of dying, which cannot, with truth, be

attributed to him.

He always deplored the habit of drinking, to which the Indians are so

much addicted. In his latter years, however, he could not withstand the

temptation; and, on one occasion, being exceedingly drunk, he was put

into an ox-cart, and being rather restive, was thrown out, and the cart

wheel went over him.

Thus died Hole-in-the-Day-one of the most noted Indians of the present

day; and his eldest son reigns in his stead.

[Illustration: HAOKAH THE ANTI-NATURAL GOD; ONE OF THE GIANTS OF THE

DAHCOTAHS. Drawn by White Deer, a Sioux Warrior who lives near Fort

Snelling.]

EXPLANATION OF THE DRAWING.

1. The giant.

2. A frog that the giant uses for an arrow-point.

3. A large bird that that the giant keeps in his court.

4. Another bird.

5. An ornament over the door leading into the court.

6. An ornament over a door.

7. Part of court ornamented with down.

8. Part of do. do. with red down.

9. A bear; 10. a deer; 11. an elk; 12. a buffalo.

13, 14. Incense-offering.

15. A rattle of deer's claws, used when singing.

16. A long flute or whistle.

17, 18, 19, 20. Are meteors that the giant sends out for his defence,

or to protect him from invasion.

21, 22, 23, 24. The giant surrounded with lightnings, with which he

kills all kinds of animals that molest him.

25. Red down in small bunches fastened to the railing of the court.

26. The same. One of these bunches of red down disappears every time

an animal is found dead inside the court.

27, 28. Touchwood, and a large fungus that grows on trees.--These are

eaten by any animal that enters the court, and this food causes

their death.

29. A streak of lightning going from the giant's hat.

30. Giant's head and hat. 31. His bow and arrow.

WAH-ZEE-YAH

ANOTHER OF THE GIANT GODS OF THE DAHCOTAHS.

Wah-Zee-Yah had a son who was killed by Etokah Wachastah, Man of the

South. Wah-zee-yah is the god of the winter, and Etokah Wachastah is the

god of the summer. When there is a cold spell early in the warm weather,

the Dahcotahs say Wah-zee-yah is looking back. When the son of

Wah-zee-yah was killed, there were six on each side; the Beings of the

south were too strong for those of the north, and conquered them. When

the battle was over, a fox was seen running off with one of the Beings

of the north.

These gods of the Dahcotahs are said to be inferior to the Great Spirit;

but if an Indian wants to perform a deed of valor, he prays to Haokah

the Giant. When they are in trouble, or in fear of anything, they pray

to the Great Spirit. You frequently see a pole with a deer-skin, or a

blanket hung to it; these are offerings made to the Great Spirit, to

propitiate him. White Dog, who lives near Fort Snelling, says he has

often prayed to the Great Spirit to keep him from sin, and to enable him

and his family to do right. When he wishes to make an offering to the

Great Spirit, he takes a scarlet blanket, and paints a circle of blue

in the centre, (blue is an emblem of peace,) and puts ten bells, or

silver brooches to it. This offering costs him $20. Christians are too

apt to give less liberally to the true God. When White Dog goes to war,

he makes this offering.

White Dog says he never saw the giant, but that "Iron Members," who died

last summer, saw one of the giants several years ago.

Iron Members was going hunting, and when he was near Shah-co-pee's

village, he met the Giant. He wore a three-cornered hat, and one side

was bright as the sun; so bright one could not look upon it; and he had

a crooked thing upon his shoulder.

Iron Members was on a hill; near which was a deep ravine, when suddenly

his eye rested upon something so bright that it pained him to look at

it. He looked down the ravine and there stood the Giant. Notwithstanding

his position, his head reached to the top of the trees. The Giant was

going northwards, and did not notice the Indian or stop; he says he

watched the Giant; and, as he went forward, the trees and bushes seemed

to make way for him. The visit was one of good luck, the Indians say,

for there was excellent hunting that season.

The Dahcotahs believe firmly the story of Iron Members. He was one of

their wisest men. He was a great warrior and knew how to kill his

enemies. White Dog says that at night, when they were on a war party,

Iron Members would extinguish all the fires of the Dahcotahs, and then

direct his men where to find the Chippeways. He would take a spoonful of

sugar, and the same quantity of whiskey, and make an offering to the

spirits of their enemies; he would sing to them, and charm them so that

they would come up so close to him that he would knock them on the head

with his rattle, and kill them. These spirits approach in the form of a

bear. After this is done, they soon find their enemies and conquer them.

The Dahcotahs think their medicine possesses supernatural powers; they

burn incense,--leaves of the white cedar tree,--in order to destroy the

supernatural powers of a person who dislikes them. They consider the

burning of incense a preventive of evil, and believe it wards off danger

from lightning. They say that the cedar tree is wahkun (spiritual) and

on that account they burn its leaves to ward off danger. The temple of

Solomon was built of cedar.

Unktahe, the god of the waters, is much reverenced by the Dahcotahs.

Morgan's bluff, near Fort Snelling, is called "God's house" by the

Dahcotahs; they say it is the residence of Unktahe, and under the hill

is a subterranean passage, through which they say the water-god passes

when he enters the St. Peter's. He is said to be as large as a white

man's house.

Near Lac qui parle is a hill called "the Giant's house." On one occasion

the Rev. Mr. ---- was walking with a Dahcotah, and as they approached

this hill the Dahcotah exclaimed, "Do you not see him, there he is." And

although no one else saw the Giant, he persisted in watching him for a

few moments as he passed over the hill.

Near Lac qui parle, is living an old Dahcotah woman of a singular

appearance. Her face is very black, and her hair singed and

faded-looking. She was asked by a stranger to account for her singular

appearance. "I dreamed of the Giant," she said; "and I was frightened

when I woke; and I told my husband that I would give a dance to the

Giant to propitiate him; but my husband said that I was not able to go

through the Giant's dance; that I would only fail, and bring disgrace

upon him and all my family. The Giant was very angry with me, and

punished me by burning my face black, and my hair as you see it." Her

husband might well fear that she would not be able to perform

this dance.

It would be impossible to give any idea of the number of the gods of the

Dahcotahs. All nature is animated with them; every mountain, every tree,

is worshipped, as among the Greeks of old, and again, like the

Egyptians, the commonest animals are the objects of their adoration.

May the time soon come when they will acknowledge but one God, the

Creator of the Earth and Heaven, the Sovereign of the universe!

STORMS IN LIFE AND NATURE;

OR,

UNKTAHE AND THE THUNDER BIRD

"Ever," says Checkered Cloud, "will Unktahe, the god of the waters, and

Wahkeon, (Thunder,) do battle against each other. Sometimes the thunder

birds are conquerors--often the god of the waters chases his enemies

back to the distant clouds."

Many times, too, will the daughters of the nation go into the pathless

prairies to weep; it is their custom; and while there is sickness, and

want, and death, so long will they leave the haunts of men to weep where

none but the Great Spirit may witness their tears. It is only, they

believe, in the City of spirits, that the sorrows of Dahcotah women will

cease--there, will their tears be dried forever.

Many winters have passed away since Harpstenah brought the dead body of

her husband to his native village to be buried; my authority is the

"medicine woman," whose lodge, for many years, was to be seen on the

banks of Lake Calhoun.

This village is now deserted. The remains of a few houses are to be

seen, and the broken ground in which were planted the poles of their

teepees. Silence reigns where the merry laugh of the villagers often

met in chorus. The scene of the feast and dance is now covered with long

grass, but "desolation saddens all its green."

CHAPTER I.

Dark and heavy clouds hung over the village of "Sleepy Eyes," one of the

chiefs of the Sioux. The thunder birds flapped their wings angrily as

they flew along, and where they hovered over the "Father of many

waters," the waves rose up, and heaved to and fro. Unktahe was eager to

fight against his ancient enemies; for as the storm spirits shrieked

wildly, the waters tossed above each other; the large forest trees were

uptorn from their roots, and fell over into the turbid waters, where

they lay powerless amid the scene of strife; and while the vivid

lightning pierced the darkness, peal after peal was echoed by the

neighboring hills.

One human figure was seen outside the many teepees that rose side by

side in the village. Sleepy Eyes alone dared to stand and gaze upon the

tempest which was triumphing over all the powers of nature. As the

lightning fell upon the tall form of the chief, he turned his keen

glance from the swift-flying clouds to the waters, where dwelt the god

whose anger he had ever been taught to fear. He longed, though

trembling, to see the countenance of the being whose appearance is the

sure warning of calamity. His superstitious fears told him to turn, lest

the deity should rise before him; while his native courage, and love of

the marvellous, chained him to the spot.

The storm raged wilder and louder--the driving wind scattered the hail

around him, and at length the chief raised the door of his teepee, and

joined his frightened household. Trembling and crouching to the ground

were the mothers and children, as the teepee shook from the force of the

wind. The young children hid their faces close against their mothers'

breasts. Every head was covered, to avoid the streaked lightning as it

glanced over the bent and terrified forms, that seemed to cling to the

earth for protection.

At the end of the village, almost on the edge of the high bluff that

towered above the river, rose a teepee, smaller than the rest. The open

door revealed the wasted form of Harpstenah, an aged woman.

Aged, but not with years! Evil had been the days of her pilgrimage.

The fire that had burned in the wigwam was all gone out, the dead ashes

lay in the centre, ever and anon scattered by the wind over the wretched

household articles that lay around. Gone out, too, were the flames that

once lighted with happiness the heart of Harpstenah.

The sorrows of earth, more pitiless than the winds of heaven, had

scattered forever the hopes that had made her a being of light and life.

The head that lies on the earth was once pillowed on the breast of the

lover of her youth. The arm that is heavily thrown from her once clasped

his children to her heart.

What if the rain pours in upon her, or the driving wind and hail scatter

her wild locks? She feels it not. Life is there, but the consciousness

of life is gone forever.

A heavier cloud hangs about her heart than that which darkens nature.

She fears not the thunder, nor sees the angry lightning. She has laid

upon the scaffold her youngest son, the last of the many ties that bound

her to earth.

One week before, her son entered the wigwam. He was not alone; his

comrade, "The Hail that Strikes," accompanied him.

Harpstenah had been tanning deer-skin near her door. She had planted two

poles firmly in the ground, and on them she had stretched the deer-skin.

With an iron instrument she constantly scraped the skin, throwing water

upon it. She had smoked it too, and now it was ready to make into

mocassins or leggins. She had determined, while she was tanning the

deer-skin, how she would embroider them. They should be richer and

handsomer even than those of their chief's son; nay, gayer than those

worn by the chief himself. She had beads and stained porcupine quills;

all were ready for her to sew.

The venison for the evening meal was cooked and placed in a wooden bowl

before the fire, when the two young men entered.

The son hardly noticed his mother's greeting, as he invited his friend

to partake of the venison. After eating, he filled his pipe, smoked, and

offered it to the other. They seemed inclined to waste but little time

in talking, for the pipe was put by, and they were about to leave the

teepee, when the son's steps were arrested by his mother's asking him if

he were going out again on a hunt. "There is food enough," she added,

"and I thought you would remain at home and prepare to join in the dance

of the sun, which will be celebrated to-morrow. You promised me to do

so, and a Dahcotah values his word."

The young man hesitated, for he loved his mother, and he knew it would

grieve her to be told the expedition upon which he was going.

The eyes of his comrade flashed fire, and his lip curled scornfully, as

he turned towards the son of Harpstenah. "Are you afraid to tell your

mother the truth," he said, "or do you fear the 'long knives' [Footnote:

Officers and soldiers are called long knives among the Sioux, from their

wearing swords.] will carry you a prisoner to their fort? _I_ will tell

you where we are going," he added. "The Dahcotahs have bought us

whiskey, and we are going to meet them and help bring it up. And now

cry--you are a woman--but it is time for us to be gone."

The son lingered--he could not bear to see his mother's tears. He knew

the sorrows she had endured, he knew too (for she had often assured him)

that should harm come to him she would not survive it. The knife she

carried in her belt was ready to do its deadly work. She implored him to

stay, calling to his mind the deaths of his father and of his murdered

brothers; she bade him remember the tears they had shed together, and

the promises he had often made, never to add to the trials she

had endured.

It was all in vain; for his friend, impatient to be gone, laughed at him

for listening to the words of his mother. "Is not a woman a dog?" he

said. "Do you intend to stay all night to hear your mother talk? If so,

tell me, that I may seek another comrade--one who fears neither a white

man nor a woman."

This appeal had its effect, for the young men left the teepee together.

They were soon out of sight, while Harpstenah sat weeping, and swaying

her body to and fro, lamenting the hour she was born. "There is no

sorrow in the land of spirits," she cried; "oh! that I were dead!"

The party left the village that night to procure the whiskey. They were

careful to keep watch for the Chippeways, so easy would it be for their

enemies to spring up from behind a tree, or to be concealed among the

bushes and long grass that skirted the open prairies. Day and night they

were on their guard; the chirping of the small bird by day, as well as

the hooting of an owl by night--either might be the feigned voice of a

tomahawked enemy. And as they approached St. Anthony's Falls, they had

still another cause for caution. Here their friends were to meet them

with the fire water. Here, too, they might see the soldiers from Fort

Snelling, who would snatch the untasted prize from their lips, and carry

them prisoners to the fort--a disgrace that would cling to them forever.

Concealed under a rock, they found the kegs of liquor, and, while

placing them in their canoes, they were joined by the Indians who had

been keeping guard over it, and at the same time watching for

the soldiers.

In a few hours they were relieved of their fears. The flag that waved

from the tower at Fort Snelling, had been long out of sight. They kept

their canoes side by side, passing away the time in conversation.

The women who were paddling felt no fatigue. They knew that at night

they were to have a feast. Already the fires of the maddening drink had

made the blood in their dull veins course quickly. They anticipated the

excitement that would make them forget they had ever been cold or

hungry; and bring to them bright dreams of that world where sorrow

is unknown.

"We must be far on our journey to-night," said the Rattler; "the long

knives are ever on the watch for Dahcotahs with whiskey."

"The laws of the white people are very just," said an old man of the

party; "they let their people live near us and sell us whiskey, they

take our furs from us, and get much money. _They_ have the right to

bring their liquor near us, and sell it, but if _we_ buy it we are

punished. When I was young," he added, bitterly, "the Dahcotahs were

free; they went and came as they chose. There were no soldiers sent to

our villages to frighten our women and children, and to take our young

men prisoners. The Dahcotahs are all women now--there are no warriors

among them, or they would not submit to the power of the long knives."

"We must submit to them," said the Rattler; "it would be in vain to

attempt to contend with them. We have learned that the long knives _can

work in the night_. A few nights ago, some young men belonging to the

village of Marpuah Wechastah, had been drinking. They knew that the

Chippeway interpreter was away, and that his wife was alone. They went,

like cowards as they were, to frighten a woman. They yelled and sung,

they beat against her door, shouting and laughing when they found she

was afraid to come out. When they returned home it was just day; they

drank and slept till night, and then they assembled, four young men in

one teepee, to pass the night in drinking.

"The father of White Deer came to the teepee. 'My son,' said he, 'it is

better for you to stop drinking and go away. You have an uncle among the

Tetons, go and visit him. You brought the fire water here, you

frightened the wife of the Interpreter, and for this trouble you will be

punished. Your father is old, save him the disgrace of seeing his son a

prisoner at the Fort.'

"'Fear not, my father,' said the young man, 'your Son will never be a

prisoner. I wear a charm over my heart, which will ever make me free as

the wind. The _white men cannot work in the night;_ they are sleeping

even now. We will have a merry night, and when the sun is high, and the

long knives come to seek me, you may laugh at them, and tell them to

follow me to the country of the Tetons.' The father left the teepee, and

White Deer struck the keg with his tomahawk. The fire water dulled their

senses, for they heard not their enemies until they were upon them.

"It was in the dead of night--all but the revellers slept--when the

soldiers from the fort surrounded the village.

"The mother of White Deer heard the barking of her dog. She looked out

of the door of her teepee. She saw nothing, for it was dark; but she

knew there was danger near.

"Our warriors, roused from their sleep, determined to find out the cause

of the alarm; they were thrust back into their teepees by the bayonets

of the long knives, and the voice of the Interpreter was heard, crying,

'The first Dahcotah that leaves his lodge shall be shot.'

"The soldiers found out from the old chief the teepee of the revellers.

The young men did not hear them as they approached; they were drinking

and shouting. White Deer had raised the cup to his lips, when the

soldier's grasp was upon him. It was too late for him to fly.

"There was an unopened keg of liquor in the teepee. The soldiers struck

it to pieces, and the fire water covered the ground.

"The hands of White Deer were bound with an iron chain; he threw from

him his clothes and his blanket. He was a prisoner, and needed not the

clothing of a Dahcotah, born free.

"The grey morning dawned as they entered the large door of the fort. His

old father soon followed him; he offered to stay, himself, as a

prisoner, if his young son could be set free.

"It is in vain, then, that we would contend with the white man; they

keep a watch over all our actions. They _work in the night_."

"The long knives will ever triumph, when the medicine men of our nation

speak as you do," said Two Stars. "I have lived near them always, and

have never been their prisoner. I have suffered from cold in the winter,

and have never asked clothing, and from hunger, and have never asked

food. My wife has never stood at the gate to ask bread, nor have my

daughters adorned themselves to attract the eyes of their young men. I

will live and die on the land of my forefathers, without asking a favor

of an enemy. They call themselves the friends of the Dahcotahs. They are

our friends when they want our lands or our furs.

"They are our worst enemies; they have trampled us under foot. We do not

chase the deer on the prairies as eagerly as they have hunted us down.

They steal from us our rights, and then gain us over by fair words. I

hate them; and had not our warriors turned women, and learned to fear

them, I would gladly climb their walls, and shout the war-cry in their

ears. The Great Spirit has indeed forsaken his children, when their

warriors and wise men talk of submission to their foes."