The reader who would follow me from the place where my last epistle
was written, to where I now am, must needs start, as I did, from St.
Louis, and cross the Alleghany mountains, to my own native state;
where I left my wife with my parents, and wended my way to Buffalo, on
Lake Erie, where I deposited my Collection; and from thence trace, as
I did, the zig-zag course of the Lakes, from Buffalo to Detroit—to the
Sault de St. Marys—to Mackinaw—to Green Bay, and thence the tortuous
windings of the Fox and Ouisconsin Rivers, to Prairie du Chien; and
then the mighty Mississippi (for the second time), to the Fall of St.
Anthony—then the sluggish, yet decorated and beautiful St. Peters,
towards its source; and thence again (on horseback) the gradually and
gracefully rising terraces of the shorn, yet green and carpeted plains,
denominated the “_Côteau des Prairies_” (being the high and dividing
ridge between the St. Peters and the Missouri Rivers), where I am
bivouacked, at the “_Red Pipe Stone Quarry_.” The distance of such a
Tour would take the reader 4,000 miles; but I save him the trouble by
bringing him, in a moment, on the spot.
This journey has afforded me the opportunity of seeing, on my way,
_Mackinaw_—the _Sault de St. Marys_, and _Green Bay_—points which I
had not before visited; and also of seeing many distinguished Indians
among the Chippeways, Menomonies and Winnebagoes, whom I had not before
painted or seen.
I can put the people of the East at rest, as to the hostile aspect of
this part of the country, as I have just passed through the midst of
these tribes, as well as of the Sioux, in whose country I now am, and
can, without contradiction, assert, that, as far as can be known, they
are generally well-disposed, and have been so, towards the whites.
There have been two companies of United States dragoons, ordered
and marched to Green Bay, where I saw them; and three companies of
infantry from Prairie du Chien to Fort Winnebago, in anticipation
of difficulties; but in all probability, without any real cause or
necessity, for the Winnebago chief answered the officer, who asked
him if they wanted to fight, “that they _could_ not, had they been so
disposed; for,” said he, “we have no guns, no ammunition, nor anything
to eat; and, what is worst of all, one half of our men are dying
with the small-pox. If you will give us guns and ammunition, and pork,
and flour, and feed and take care of our squaws and children, we will
fight you;[TN1] nevertheless, we will _try_ to fight if you want us to,
as it is.”
[Illustration: 264]
[Illustration: 265]
There is, to appearance (and there is no doubt of the truth of it), the
most humble poverty and absolute necessity for peace among these people
at present, that can possibly be imagined. And, amidst their poverty
and wretchedness, the only war that suggests itself to the eye of the
traveller through their country, is the _war of sympathy and pity_,
which wages in the breast of a feeling, thinking man.
The small-pox, whose ravages have now pretty nearly subsided, has taken
off a great many of the Winnebagoes and Sioux. The famous Wa-be-sha,
of the Sioux, and more than half of his band, have fallen victims
to it within a few weeks, and the remainder of them, blackened with
its frightful distortions, look as it they had just emerged from the
sulphurous regions below. At Prairie du Chien, a considerable number
of the half-breeds, and French also, suffered death by this baneful
disease; and at that place I learned one fact, which may be of service
to science, which was this: that in all cases of vaccination, which had
been given several years ago, it was an efficient protection; but in
those cases where the vaccine had been recent (and there were many of
them), it had not the effect to protect, and in almost every instance
of such, death ensued.
At the Sault de St. Marys on Lake Superior, I saw a considerable number
of Chippeways, living entirely on fish, which they catch with great
ease at that place.
I need not detain the reader a moment with a description of St. Marys,
or of the inimitable summer’s paradise, which can always be seen
at Mackinaw; and which, like the other, has been an hundred times
described. I shall probably have the chance of seeing about 3,000
Chippeways at the latter place on my return home, who are to receive
their annuities at that time through the hands of Mr. Schoolcraft,
their agent.
In +plate+ 264, I have given a distant view of _Mackinaw_, as seen
approaching it from the East; and in +plate+ 265, a view of the _Sault
de St. Marys_, taken from the Canada shore, near the missionary-house,
which is seen in the foreground of the picture, and in distance, the
United States Garrison, and the Rapids; and beyond them the Capes at
the outlet of Lake Superior.
I mentioned that the Chippeways living in the vicinity of the Sault,
live entirely on fish; and it is almost literally true also, that the
French and English, and Americans, who reside about there live on fish,
which are caught in the greatest abundance in the rapids at that place,
and are, perhaps, one of the greatest luxuries of the world. The _white
fish_, which is in appearance much like a salmon, though smaller, is
the luxury I am speaking of, and is caught in immense quantities by
the scoop-nets of the Indians and Frenchmen, amongst the foaming and
dashing water of the rapids (+plate+ 266), where it gains strength
and flavour not to be found in the same fish in any other place. This
unequalled fishery has long been one of vast importance to the immense
numbers of Indians, who have always assembled about it; but of late,
has been found by _money-making men_, to be too valuable a spot for the
exclusive occupancy of the savage, like hundreds of others, and has
at last been filled up with adventurers, who have dipped _their_ nets
till the poor Indian is styled an intruder; and his timid bark is seen
dodging about in the coves for a scanty subsistence, whilst he scans
and envies insatiable white man filling his barrels and boats, and
sending them to market to be converted into money.
In +plate+ 267 is seen one of their favourite amusements at this place,
which I was lucky enough to witness a few miles below the Sault, when
high bettings had been made, and a great concourse of Indians had
assembled to witness an _Indian regatta_ or _canoe race_, which went
off with great excitement, firing of guns, yelping, &c. The Indians in
this vicinity are all Chippeways, and their canoes all made of birch
bark, and chiefly of one model; they are exceedingly light, as I have
before described, and propelled with wonderful velocity.
Whilst I stopped at the Sault, I made excursions on Lake Superior,
and through other parts of the country, both on the Canada and United
States sides, and painted a number of Chippeways; amongst whom were
_On-daig_ (the crow, +plate+ 268), a young man of distinction, in an
extravagant and beautiful costume; and _Gitch-ee-gaw-ga-osh_ (the
point that remains for ever), +plate+ 269, an old and respected
chief.[23] And besides these, _Gaw-zaw-que-dung_ (he who hallows);
_Kay-ee-qua-da-kum-ee-gish-kum_ (he who tries the ground with his
foot); and _I-an-be-wa-dick_ (the male carabou.)
From Mackinaw I proceeded to Green Bay, which is a flourishing
beginning of a town, in the heart of a rich country, and the
head-quarters of land speculators.
From thence, I embarked in a large bark canoe, with five French
voyageurs at the oars, where happened to be grouped and _messed_
together, five “jolly companions” of us, bound for Fort Winnebago and
the Mississippi. All our stores and culinary articles were catered for
by, and bill rendered to, mine host, Mr. C. Jennings (quondam of the
city hotel in New York), who was one of our party, and whom we soon
elected “_Major_” of the expedition; and shortly after, promoted to
“_Colonel_”—from the philosophical dignity and patience with which he
met the difficulties and exposure which we had to encounter, as well
as for his extraordinary skill and taste displayed in the culinary
art. Mr. Irving, a relative of W. Irving, Esq., and Mr. Robert Serril
Wood, an Englishman (both travellers of European realms, with fund
inexhaustible for amusement and entertainment); Lieutenant Reed,
of the army, and myself, forming the rest of the party. The many
amusing little incidents which enlivened our transit up the sinuous
windings of the Fox river, amid its rapids, its banks of loveliest
prairies and “oak openings,” and its boundless shores of wild rice,
with the thrilling notes of Mr. Wood’s guitar, and “_chansons pour
rire_,” from our tawny boatmen, &c. were too good to be thrown away,
and have been registered, perhaps for a future occasion. Suffice it
for the present, that our fragile bark brought us in good time to Fort
Winnebago, with impressions engraven on our hearts which can never
be erased, of this sweet and beautiful little river, and of the fun
and fellowship which kept us awake during the nights, almost as well
as during the days. At this post, after remaining a day, our other
companions took a different route, leaving Mr. Wood and myself to cater
anew, and to buy a light bark canoe for our voyage down the Ouisconsin,
to Prairie du Chien; in which we embarked the next day, with paddles in
hand, and hearts as light as the zephyrs, amid which we propelled our
little canoe. Three days’ paddling, embracing two nights’ encampment,
brought us to the end of our voyage. We entered the mighty Mississippi,
and mutually acknowledged ourselves paid for our labours, by the
inimitable scenes of beauty and romance, through which we had passed,
and on which our untiring eyes had been riveted during the whole way.
[Illustration: 266]
[Illustration: 267]
[Illustration: 268 269]
The Ouisconsin, which the French most appropriately denominate “La
belle riviere,” may certainly vie with any other on the Continent or
in the world, for its beautifully skirted banks and prairie bluffs. It
may justly be said to be equal to the Mississippi about the Prairie du
Chien in point of sweetness and beauty, but not on quite so grand a
scale.
My excellent and esteemed fellow-traveller, like a true Englishman, has
untiringly stuck by me through all difficulties, passing the countries
above-mentioned, and also the Upper Mississippi, the St. Peters, and
the overland route to our present encampment on this splendid plateau
of the Western world. * * * * * * * Thus far have I strolled, within
the space of a few weeks, for the purpose of reaching _classic ground_.
Be not amazed if I have sought, in this distant realm, the Indian
_Muse_, for here she dwells, and here she must be invoked—nor be
offended if my narratives from this moment should savour of poetry or
appear like romance.
If I can catch the inspiration, I may sing (or yell) a few epistles
from this famed ground before I leave it; or at least I will _prose_ a
few of its leading characteristics and mysterious legends. This place
is great (not in history, for there is none of it, but) in traditions,
and stories, of which this Western world is full and rich.
“Here (according to their traditions), happened the mysterious birth
of the red pipe, which has blown its fumes of peace and war to the
remotest corners of the Continent; which has visited every warrior,
and passed through its reddened stem the irrevocable oath of war and
desolation. And here also, the peace-breathing calumet was born, and
fringed with the eagle’s quills, which has shed its thrilling fumes
over the land, and soothed the fury of the relentless savage.
“The Great Spirit at an ancient period, here called the Indian nations
together, and standing on the precipice of the red pipe stone rock,
broke from its wall a piece, and made a huge pipe by turning it in his
hand, which he smoked over them, and to the North, the South, the East,
and the West, and told them that this stone was red—that it was their
flesh—that they must use it for their pipes of peace—that it belonged
to them all, and that the war-club and scalping knife must not be
raised on its ground. At the last whiff of his pipe his head went into
a great cloud, and the whole surface of the rock for several miles was
melted and glazed; two great ovens were opened beneath, and two women
(guardian spirits of the place), entered them in a blaze of fire; and
they are heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee, and Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee),
answering to the invocations of the high priests or medicine-men, who
consult them when they are visitors to this sacred place.”
Near this spot, also, on a high mound, is the “_Thunder’s nest_,”
(_nid-du-Tonnere_), where “a very small bird sits upon her eggs during
fair weather, and the skies are rent with bolts of thunder at the
approach of a storm, which is occasioned by the hatching of her brood!”
“This bird is eternal, and incapable of reproducing her own species:
she has often been seen by the medicine-men, and is about as large as
the end of the little finger! Her mate is a serpent, whose fiery tongue
destroys the young ones as they are hatched, and the fiery noise darts
through the skies.”
Such are a few of the stories of this famed land, which of itself, in
its beauty and loveliness, without the aid of traditionary fame, would
be appropriately denominated a paradise. Whether it has been an Indian
Eden or not, or whether the thunderbolts of Indian Jupiter are actually
forged here, it is nevertheless a place renowned in Indian heraldry
and tradition, which I hope I may be able to fathom and chronicle, as
explanatory of many of my anecdotes and traditionary superstitions of
Indian history, which I have given, and _am giving_, to the world.
With my excellent companion, I am encamped on, and writing from, the
very rock where “the Great Spirit stood when he consecrated the _pipe
of peace_, by moulding it from the rock, and smoking it over the
congregated nations that were assembled about him.” (See +plate+ 270.)
Lifted up on this stately mound, whose top is fanned with air as
light to breathe as nitrous oxide gas—and bivouacked on its very
ridge, (where nought on earth is seen in distance save the thousand
_treeless_, _bushless_, _weedless_ hills of grass and vivid green which
all around me vanish into an infinity of blue and azure), stretched
on our bears’-skins, my fellow-traveller, Mr. Wood, and myself, have
laid and contemplated the splendid orrery of the heavens. With _sad
delight_, that shook me with a terror, have I watched the swollen sun
_shoving down_ (too fast for time) upon the mystic horizon; whose line
was lost except as it was marked in blue across his blood-red disk.
Thus have we laid night after night (two congenial spirits who could
draw pleasure from sublime contemplation), and descanted on our own
insignificance; we have closely drawn our buffalo robes about us,
talked of the ills of life—of friends we had lost—of projects that had
failed—and of the painful steps we had to retrace to reach our own dear
native lands again. We have sighed in the melancholy of twilight, when
the busy winds were breathing their last, the chill of sable night was
hovering around us, and nought of noise was heard but the silvery tones
of the howling wolf, and the subterraneous whistle of the busy gophirs
that were ploughing and vaulting the earth beneath us. Thus have we
seen _wheeled down_ in the _West_, the glories of day; and at the next
moment, in the East, beheld her _silver majesty_ jutting up above the
horizon, with splendour in her face that seemed again to fill the world
with joy and gladness. We have seen here, too, in all its sublimity,
the blackening thunderstorm—the lightning’s glare, and stood amidst
the jarring thunderbolts, that tore and broke in awful rage about us,
as they rolled over the smooth surface, with nought but empty air to
vent their vengeance on. There is a sublime grandeur in these scenes as
they are presented here, which must be seen and felt, to be understood.
There is a majesty in the very ground that we tread upon, that inspires
with awe and reverence; and he must have the soul of a brute, who could
gallop his horse for a whole day over swells and terraces of green that
rise continually a-head, and tantalize (where hills peep over hills,
and Alps on Alps arise), without feeling his bosom swell with awe and
admiration, and himself as well as his thoughts, lifted up in sublimity
when he rises the last terrace, and sweeps his eye over the wide
spread, blue and pictured infinity that lies around and beneath him.[24]
[Illustration: 270]
Man feels here, and startles at the thrilling sensation, the force of
_illimitable freedom_—his body and his mind both seem to have entered
a new element—the former as free as the very wind it inhales, and the
other as expanded and infinite as the boundless imagery that is spread
in distance around him. Such is (and it is feebly told) the _Côteau
du Prairie_. The rock on which I sit to write, is the summit of a
precipice thirty feet high, extending two miles in length and much
of the way polished, as if a liquid glazing had been poured over its
surface. Not far from us, in the solid rock, are the deep impressed
“footsteps of the Great Spirit (in the form of a track of a large
bird), where he formerly stood when the blood of the buffaloes that
he was devouring, ran into the rocks and turned them red.” At a few
yards from us, leaps a beautiful little stream, from the top of the
precipice, into a deep basin below. Here, amid rocks of the loveliest
hues, but wildest contour, is seen the poor Indian performing ablution;
and at a little distance beyond, on the plain, at the base of five huge
granite boulders, he is humbly propitiating the guardian spirits of the
place, by sacrifices of tobacco, entreating for permission to take away
a small piece of the red stone for a pipe. Farther along, and over an
extended plain are seen, like gophir hills, their excavations, ancient
and recent, and on the surface of the rocks, various marks and their
sculptured hieroglyphics—their wakons, totems and medicines—subjects
numerous and interesting for the antiquary or the merely curious.
Graves, mounds, and ancient fortifications that lie in sight—the
_pyramid_ or _leaping-rock_, and its legends; together with traditions,
novel and numerous, and a description, graphical and geological, of
this strange place, have all been subjects that have passed rapidly
through my contemplation, and will be given in future epistles.
On our way to this place, my English companion and myself were arrested
by a rascally band of the Sioux, and held in _durance vile_, for having
dared to approach the sacred _fountain of the pipe_! While we had
halted at the trading-hut of “Le Blanc,” at a place called _Traverse
des Sioux_, on the St. Peters river, and about 150 miles from the Red
Pipe, a murky cloud of dark-visaged warriors and braves commenced
gathering around the house, closing and cramming all its avenues, when
one began his agitated and insulting harangue to us, announcing to us
in the preamble, that we were prisoners, and could not go ahead. About
twenty of them spoke in turn; and we were doomed to sit nearly the
whole afternoon, without being allowed to speak a word in our behalf,
until they had all got through. We were compelled to keep our seats
like culprits, and hold our tongues, till all had brandished their
fists in our faces, and vented all the threats and invective which
could flow from Indian malice, grounded on the presumption that we had
come to trespass on their dearest privilege,—their religion.
There was some allowance to be made, and some excuse, surely, for the
rashness of these poor fellows, and we felt disposed to pity, rather
than resent, though their _unpardonable stubbornness_ excited us
almost to desperation. Their superstition was sensibly touched, for we
were persisting, in the most peremptory terms, in the determination
to visit this, their greatest medicine (mystery) place; where, it
seems, they had often resolved no white man should ever be allowed to
go. They took us to be “officers sent by Government to see what this
place was worth,” &c. As “this red stone was a part of their flesh,”
it would be sacrilegious for white man to touch or take it away—“a
hole would be made in their flesh, and the blood could never be made
to stop running.” My companion and myself were here in a _fix_, one
that demanded the use of every energy we had about us; astounded at
so unexpected a rebuff, and more than ever excited to go ahead, and
see what was to be seen at this strange place; in this emergency, we
mutually agreed to go forward, even if it should be at the hazard
of our lives; we heard all they had to say, and then made our own
speeches—and at length had our horses brought, which we mounted and
rode off without further molestation; and having arrived upon this
interesting ground, have found it quite equal in interest and beauty to
our sanguine expectations, abundantly repaying us for all our trouble
in traveling to it.
I had long ago heard many curious descriptions of this spot given by
the Indians, and had contracted the most impatient desire to visit
it.[25] It will be seen by some of the traditions inserted in this
Letter, from my notes taken on the Upper Missouri four years since,
that those tribes have visited this place freely in former times; and
that it has once been held and owned in common, as neutral ground,
amongst the different tribes who met here to renew their pipes, under
some superstition which stayed the tomahawk of natural foes, always
raised in deadly hate and vengeance in other places. It will be
seen also, that within a few years past (and that, probably, by the
instigation of the whites, who have told them that by keeping off other
tribes, and manufacturing the pipes themselves, and trading them to
other adjoining nations, they can acquire much influence and wealth),
the Sioux have laid entire claim to this quarry; and as it is in the
centre of their country, and they are more powerful than any other
tribes, they are able successfully to prevent any access to it.
That this place should have been visited for centuries past by all the
neighbouring tribes, who have hidden the war-club as they approached
it, and stayed the cruelties of the scalping-knife, under the fear of
the vengeance of the Great Spirit, who overlooks it, will not seem
strange or unnatural, when their religion and superstitions are known.
That such has been the custom, there is not a shadow of doubt; and that
even so recently as to have been witnessed by hundreds and thousands
of Indians of different tribes, now living, and from many of whom I
have personally drawn the information, some of which will be set forth
in the following traditions; and as an additional (and still more
conclusive) evidence of the above position, here are to be seen (and
will continue to be seen for ages to come), the _totems_ and _arms_
of the different tribes, who have visited this place for ages past,
deeply engraved on the quartz rocks, where they are to be recognized in
a moment (and not to be denied) by the passing traveller, who has been
among these tribes, and acquired even but a partial knowledge of them
and their respective modes.[26]
The thousands of inscriptions and paintings on the rocks at this
place, as well as the ancient diggings for the pipe-stone, will afford
amusement for the world who will visit it, without furnishing the least
data, I should think, of the time at which these excavations commenced,
or of the period at which the Sioux assumed the exclusive right to it.
Among the many traditions which I have drawn personally from the
different tribes, and which go to support the opinion above advanced,
is the following one, which was related to me by a distinguished
Knisteneaux, on the Upper Missouri, four years since, on occasion of
presenting to me a handsome red stone pipe. After telling me that he
had been to this place—and after describing it in all its features, he
proceeded to say:—
“That in the time of a great freshet, which took place many centuries
ago, and destroyed all the nations of the earth, all the tribes of the
red men assembled on the Côteau du Prairie, to get out of the way of
the waters. After they had all gathered here from all parts, the water
continued to rise, until at length it covered them all in a mass, and
their flesh was converted into red pipe stone. Therefore it has always
been considered neutral ground—it belonged to all tribes alike, and all
were allowed to get it and smoke it together.
“While they were all drowning in a mass, a young woman, K-wap-tah-w (a
virgin), caught hold of the foot of a very large bird that was flying
over, and was carried to the top of a high cliff, not far off, that
was above the water. Here she had twins, and their father was the
war-eagle, and her children have since peopled the earth.
“The pipe stone, which is the flesh of their ancestors, is smoked by
them as the symbol of peace, and the eagle’s quill decorates the head
of the brave.”
_Tradition of the Sioux._—“Before the creation of man, the Great Spirit
(whose tracks are yet to be seen on the stones, at the Red Pipe, in
form of the tracks of a large bird) used to slay the buffaloes and
eat them on the ledge of the Red Rocks, on the top of the Côteau des
Prairies, and their blood running on to the rocks, turned them red. One
day when a large snake had crawled into the nest of the bird to eat
his eggs, one of the eggs hatched out in a clap of thunder, and the
Great Spirit catching hold of a piece of the pipe stone to throw at the
snake, moulded it into a man. This man’s feet grew fast in the ground
where he stood for many ages, like a great tree, and therefore he grew
very old; he was older than an hundred men at the present day; and at
last another tree grew up by the side of him, when a large snake ate
them both off at the roots, and they wandered off together; from these
have sprung all the people that now inhabit the earth.”
The above tradition I found amongst the Upper Missouri Sioux, but
which, when I related to that part of the great tribe of Sioux who
inhabit the Upper Mississippi, they seemed to know nothing about it.
The reason for this may have been, perhaps, as is often the case, owing
to the fraud or excessive ignorance of the interpreter, on whom we
are often entirely dependent in this country; or it is more probably
owing to the very vague and numerous fables which may often be found,
cherished and told by different bands or families in the same tribe,
and relative to the same event.
I shall on a future occasion, give you a Letter on traditions of this
kind, which will be found to be very strange and amusing; establishing
the fact at the same time, that theories respecting their origin,
creation of the world, &c. &c., are by no means uniform throughout
the different tribes, nor even through an individual tribe; and that
very many of these theories are but the vagaries, or the ingenious
systems of their medicine or mystery-men, conjured up and taught to
their own respective parts of a tribe, for the purpose of gaining an
extraordinary influence over the minds and actions of the remainder
of the tribe, whose superstitious minds, under the supernatural
controul and dread of these self-made magicians, are held in a state of
mysterious vassalage.
Amongst the Sioux of the Mississippi, and who live in the region of
the Red Pipe Stone Quarry, I found the following and not less strange
tradition on the same subject. “Many ages after the red men were made,
when all the different tribes were at war, the Great Spirit sent
runners and called them all together at the ‘Red Pipe.’—He stood on the
top of the rocks, and the red people were assembled in infinite numbers
on the plains below. He took out of the rock a piece of the red stone,
and made a large pipe; he smoked it over them all; told them that it
was part of their flesh; that though they were at war, they must meet
at this place as friends; that it belonged to them all; that they must
make their calumets from it and smoke them to him whenever they wished
to appease him or get his good-will—the smoke from his big pipe rolled
over them all, and he disappeared in its cloud; at the last whiff
of his pipe a blaze of fire rolled over the rocks, and melted their
surface—at that moment two squaws went in a blaze of fire under the two
medicine rocks, where they remain to this day, and must be consulted
and propitiated whenever the pipe stone is to be taken away.”
The following speech of a Mandan, which was made to me in the Mandan
village four years since, after I had painted his picture, I have
copied from my note-book as corroborative of the same facts:
“My brother—You have made my picture and I like it much. My friends
tell me they can see the eyes move, and it must be very good—it must
be partly alive. I am glad it is done—though many of my people are
afraid. I am a young man, but my heart is strong. I have jumped on to
the medicine-rock—I have placed my arrow on it and no Mandan can take
it away.[27] The red stone is slippery, but my foot was true—it did
not slip. My brother, this pipe which I give to you, I brought from a
high mountain, it is toward the rising sun—many were the pipes that
we brought from there—and we brought them away in peace. We left our
_totems_ or marks on the rocks—we cut them deep in the stones, and
they are there now. The Great Spirit told all nations to meet there
in peace, and all nations hid the war-club and the tomahawk. The
_Dah-co-tahs_, who are our enemies, are very strong—they have taken up
the tomahawk, and the blood of our warriors has run on the rocks. My
friend, we want to visit our medicines—our pipes are old and worn out.
My friend, I wish you to speak to our Great Father about this.”
The chief of the Puncahs, on the Upper Missouri, also made the
following allusion to this place, in a speech which he made to me on
the occasion of presenting me a very handsome pipe about four years
since:—
“My friend, this pipe, which I wish you to accept, was dug from the
ground, and cut and polished as you now see it, by my hands. I wish
you to keep it, and when you smoke through it, recollect that this
red stone is a part of our flesh. This is one of the last things we
can ever give away. Our enemies the Sioux, have raised the red flag
of blood over the Pipe Stone Quarry, and our medicines there are
trodden under foot by them. The Sioux are many, and we cannot go to the
mountain of the red pipe. We have seen all nations smoking together at
that place—but, my brother, it is not so now.”[28]
Such are a few of the stories relating to this curious place, and many
others might be given which I have procured, though they amount to
nearly the same thing, with equal contradictions and equal absurdities.
The position of the Pipe Stone Quarry, is in a direction nearly West
from the Fall of St. Anthony, at a distance of three hundred miles,
on the summit of the dividing ridge between the St. Peters and the
Missouri rivers, being about equi-distant from either. This dividing
ridge is denominated by the French, the “Côteau des Prairies,” and
the “Pipe Stone Quarry” is situated near its southern extremity, and
consequently not exactly on its highest elevation, as its general
course is north and south, and its southern extremity terminates in a
gradual slope.
Our approach to it was from the East, and the ascent, for the distance
of fifty miles, over a continued succession of slopes and terraces,
almost imperceptibly rising one above another, that seemed to lift
us to a great height. The singular character of this majestic mound,
continues on the West side, in its descent toward the Missouri. There
is not a tree or bush to be seen from the highest summit of the ridge,
though the eye may range East and West, almost to a boundless extent,
over a surface covered with a short grass, that is green at one’s feet,
and about him, but changing to blue in distance, like nothing but the
blue and vastness of the ocean.
The whole surface of this immense tract of country is hard and smooth,
almost without stone or gravel, and coated with a green turf of grass
of three or four inches only in height. Over this the wheels of a
carriage would run as easily, for hundreds of miles, as they could on a
Mc Adamized road, and its graceful gradations would in all parts, admit
of a horse to gallop, with ease to himself and his rider.
The full extent and true character of these vast prairies are but
imperfectly understood by the world yet; who will agree with me that
they are a subject truly sublime, for contemplation, when I assure
them, that “a coach and four” might, be driven with ease, (with the
exception of rivers and ravines, which are in many places impassable),
over unceasing fields of green, from the Fall of St. Anthony to Lord
Selkirk’s Establishment on the Red River, at the North; from that to
the mouth of Yellow Stone on the Missouri—thence to the Platte—to the
Arkansas, and Red Rivers of the South, and through Texas to the Gulf of
Mexico, a distance of more than three thousand miles.
I mentioned in a former Letter, that we had been arrested by the Sioux,
on our approach to this place, at the trading-post of Le Blanc, on
the banks of the St. Peters; and I herein insert the most important
part of the speeches made, and talks held on that momentous occasion,
as near as my friend and I could restore them, from partial notes and
recollection. After these copper-visaged advocates of their country’s
rights had assembled about us, and filled up every avenue of the cabin,
the grave council was opened in the following manner:—
_Te-o-kun-hko_ (the swift man), first rose and said—
“My friends, I am not a chief, but the son of a chief—I am the son of
my father—he is a chief—and when he is gone away, it is my duty to
speak for him—he is not here—but what I say is the talk of his mouth.
We have been told that you are going to the Pipe Stone Quarry. We come
now to ask for what purpose you are going, and what business you have
to go there.” (‘How! how!’ vociferated all of them, thereby approving
what was said, giving assent by the word _how_, which is their word for
yes).
“_Brothers_—I am a brave, but not a chief—my arrow stands in the top of
the leaping-rock; all can see it, and all know that Te-o-kun-hko’s foot
has been there. (‘How! how!’)
“_Brothers_—We look at you and we see that you are Che-mo-ke-mon
capitains (white men officers): we know that you have been sent by your
Government, to see what that place is worth, and we think the white
people want to buy it. (‘How! how!’).
“_Brothers_—We have seen always that the white people, when they see
anything in our country that they want, send officers to value it, and
then if they can’t buy it, they will get it some other way. (‘How!
how!’)
“_Brothers_—I speak strong, my heart is strong, and I speak fast; this
red pipe was given to the red men by the Great Spirit—it is a part of
our flesh, and therefore is great _medicine_. (‘How! how!’)
“_Brothers_—We know that the whites are like a great cloud that rises
in the East, and will cover the whole country. We know that they will
have all our lands; but, if ever they get our Red Pipe Quarry they will
have to pay very dear for it. (‘How! how! how!’)
“_Brothers_—We know that no white man has ever been to the Pipe Stone
Quarry, and our chiefs have often decided in council that no white man
shall ever go to it. (‘How! how!’)
“_Brothers_—You have heard what I have to say, and you can go no
further, but you must turn about and go back. (‘How! how! how!’)
“_Brothers_—You see that the sweat runs from my face, for I am
troubled.”