Well, to proceed with the _Story of the Dog_, which I promised; (after
which I shall record the tale of _Wi-jun-jon_, the pigeon’s egg head),
which was also told by me during the last night, before we retired to
rest.
“I think I said that my little canoe had brought us down the Missouri,
about eight hundred miles below the mouth of Yellow Stone, when we
landed at Laidlaw’s Trading-house, which is twelve hundred miles above
civilization and the city of St. Louis. If I did _not_ say it, it is no
matter, for it was even so; and ‘Ba’tiste and Bogard who had paddled,
and I who had steered,’ threw our little bark out upon the bank, and
taking our paddles in our hands, and our ‘_plunder_’ upon our backs,
crossed the plain to the American Fur Company’s Fort, in charge of Mr.
Laidlaw, who gave us a hearty welcome; and placed us in an instant
at his table, which happened at that moment to be stationed in the
middle of the floor, distributing to its surrounding guests the simple
blessings which belong to that fair and silent land of buffalo-tongues
and beavers’ tails! A bottle of good Madeira wine sprung (à l’instant)
upon the corner of the table, before us, and _swore, point blank_, to
the welcome that was expressed in every feature of our host. After
the usual salutations, the news, and a glass of wine, Mr. Laidlaw
began thus;—“Well, my friend, you have got along well, so far; and
I am glad to see you. You have seen a great many fine Indians since
you left here, and have, no doubt, procured many interesting and
valuable _portraits_; but there has been a deal of trouble about the
‘_pictures_,’ in this neighbourhood, since you went away. Of course,
you have heard nothing of it at the Yellow Stone; but amongst us, I
assure you, there has not a day passed since you left, without some
fuss or excitement about the portraits. The ‘Dog’ is not yet dead,
though he has been shot at several times, and had his left arm broken.
The ‘Little _Bear’s_’ friends have overtaken the brother of the Dog,
that fine fellow whom you painted, and killed him! They are now
sensible that they have sacrificed one of the best men in the nation,
for one of the greatest rascals; and they are more desperately bent on
revenge than ever. They have made frequent enquiries for you, knowing
that you had gone up the river; alleging that you had been the cause of
these deaths, and that if the Dog could not be found, they should look
to you for a settlement of that unfortunate affair!
“‘That unlucky business, taken altogether, has been the greatest piece
of _medicine_ (mystery), and created the greatest excitement amongst
the Sioux, of anything that has happened since I came into the country.
My dear Sir, you must not continue your voyage down the river, in
your unprotected condition. A large party of the ‘Little Bear’s’ band,
are now encamped on the river below, and for you to stop there (which
you might be obliged to do), would be to endanger your life.’” * * *
Reader, sit still, and let me change ends with my story, (which is done
in one moment,) and then, from a relation of the circumstances which
elicited the friendly advice and caution of Mr. Laidlaw just mentioned,
you will be better enabled to understand the nature of the bloody
affair which I am undertaking to relate.
“About four months previous to the moment I am now speaking of, I had
passed up the Missouri river by this place, on the steam-boat Yellow
Stone, on which I ascended the Missouri to the mouth of Yellow Stone
river. While going up, this boat, having on board the United States
Indian agent, Major Sanford—Messrs. Pierre, Chouteau, McKenzie of
the American Fur Company, and myself, as passengers, stopped at this
trading-post, and remained several weeks; where were assembled six
hundred families of Sioux Indians, their tents being pitched in close
order on an extensive prairie on the bank of the river.
“This trading-post, in charge of Mr. Laidlaw, is the concentrating
place, and principal trading depôt, for this powerful tribe, who
number, when all taken together, something like forty or fifty
thousand. On this occasion, five or six thousand had assembled to
see the steam-boat and meet the Indian agent, which, and whom they
knew were to arrive about this time. During the few weeks that we
remained there, I was busily engaged painting my portraits, for
here were assembled the principal chiefs and _medicine-men_ of the
nation. To these people, the operations of my brush were entirely new
and unaccountable, and excited amongst them the greatest curiosity
imaginable. Every thing else (even the steam-boat) was abandoned
for the pleasure of crowding into my painting-room, and witnessing
the result of each fellow’s success, as he came out from under the
operation of my brush.
“They had been at first much afraid of the consequences that might flow
from so strange and unaccountable an operation; but having been made to
understand my views, they began to look upon it as a great _honour_,
and afforded me the opportunities that I desired; exhibiting the utmost
degree of vanity for their appearance, both as to features and dress.
The consequence was, that my room was filled with the chiefs who sat
around, arranged according to the rank or grade which they held in
the estimation of their tribe; and in this order it became necessary
for me to paint them, to the exclusion of those who never signalized
themselves, and were without any distinguishing character in society.
“The first man on the list, was _Ha-wan-ghee-ta_ (one horn), head chief
of the nation, of whom I have heretofore spoken; and after him the
subordinate chiefs, or chiefs of bands, according to the estimation in
which they were held by the chief and the tribe. My models were thus
_placed_ before me, whether ugly or beautiful, all the same, and I
saw at once there was to be trouble somewhere, as I could not paint
them all. The medicine-men or high priests, who are esteemed by many
the oracles of the nation, and the most important men in it—becoming
jealous, commenced their harangues, outside of the lodge, telling them
that they were all fools—that those who were painted would soon die in
consequence; and that these pictures, which had life to a considerable
degree in them, would live in the hands of white men after they were
dead, and make them sleepless and endless trouble.
“Those whom I had painted, though evidently somewhat alarmed, were
unwilling to acknowledge it, and those whom I had not painted,
unwilling to be outdone in courage, allowed me the privilege; braving
and defying the danger that they were evidently more or less in dread
of. Feuds began to arise too, among some of the chiefs of the different
bands, who (not unlike some instances amongst the chiefs and warriors
of our own country), had looked upon their rival chiefs with unsleeping
jealousy, until it had grown into disrespect and enmity. An instance of
this kind presented itself at this critical juncture, in this assembly
of inflammable spirits, which changed in a moment, its features, from
the free and jocular garrulity of an Indian levee, to the frightful
yells and agitated treads and starts of an Indian battle! I had in
progress at this time a portrait of _Mah-to-tchee-ga_ (little bear);
of the _Onc-pa-pa band_, a noble fine fellow, who was sitting before
me as I was painting (+plate+ 273). I was painting almost a profile
view of his face, throwing a part of it into shadow, and had it nearly
finished, when an Indian by the name of _Shon-ka_ (the dog), chief
of the _Caz-a-zshee-ta_ band (+plate+ 275); an ill-natured and surly
man—despised by the chiefs of every other band, entered the wigwam in
a sullen mood, and seated himself on the floor in front of my sitter,
where he could have a full view of the picture in its operation. After
sitting a while with his arms folded, and his lips stiffly arched with
contempt; he sneeringly spoke thus:—
‘_Mah-to-tchee-ga_ is but _half a man_.’ * * * * * * “Dead silence
ensued for a moment, and nought was in motion save the eyes of the
chiefs, who were seated around the room, and darting their glances
about upon each other in listless anxiety to hear the sequel that was
to follow! During this interval, the eyes of Mah-to-tchee-ga had not
moved—his lips became slightly curved, and he pleasantly asked, in low
and steady accent, ‘Who says that?’ ‘_Shon-ka_ says it,’ was the reply;
‘and _Shon-ka_ can prove it.’ At this the eyes of Mah-to-tchee-ga,
which had not yet moved, began steadily to turn, and slow, as if upon
pivots, and when they were rolled out of their sockets till they had
fixed upon the object of their contempt; his dark and jutting brows
were shoving down in trembling contention, with the blazing rays that
were actually _burning_ with contempt, the object that was before them.
‘_Why_ does Shon-ka say it?’
“‘Ask _We-chash-a-wa-kon_ (the painter), he can tell you; he knows you
are but _half a man_—he has painted but one half of your face, and
knows the other half is good for nothing!’
[Illustration: 273]
[Illustration: 274]
[Illustration: 275]
“‘Let the _painter_ say it, and I will believe it; but when the Dog
says it let him _prove_ it.’
“‘_Shon-ka_ said it, and _Shon-ka_ can prove it; if _Mah-to-tchee-ga_
be a man, and wants to be honoured by the white men, let him not be
ashamed; but let him do as _Shon-ka_ has done, give the white man a
horse, and then let him see the _whole of your face_ without being
ashamed.’
“‘When _Mah-to-tchee-ga_ kills a white man and _steals_ his horses, he
may be ashamed to look at a white man until he brings him a horse! When
_Mah-to-tchee-ga_ waylays and murders an honourable and a brave Sioux,
because he is a coward and not brave enough to meet him in fair combat,
_then_ he may be ashamed to look at a white man till he has given him a
horse! _Mah-to-tchee-ga_ can look at any one; and he is now looking at
an _old woman_ and a _coward_!’
“This repartee, which had lasted for a few minutes, to the amusement
and excitement of the chiefs, being ended thus:—The Dog rose suddenly
from the ground, and wrapping himself in his robe, left the wigwam,
considerably agitated, having the laugh of all the chiefs upon him.
“The Little Bear had followed him with his piercing eyes until he left
the door, and then pleasantly and unmoved, resumed his position, where
he sat a few minutes longer, until the portrait was completed. He then
rose, and in the most graceful and gentlemanly manner, presented to me
a very beautiful shirt of buckskin, richly garnished with quills of
the porcupine, fringed with scalp-locks (honourable memorials) from
his enemies’ heads, and painted, with all his battles emblazoned on
it. He then left my wigwam, and a few steps brought him to the door
of his own, where the Dog intercepted him, and asked, ‘What meant
_Mah-to-tchee-ga_ by the last words that he spoke to _Shon-ka_?’
‘_Mah-to-tchee-ga_ said it, and _Shon-ka_ is not a fool—that is
enough.’ At this the Dog walked violently to his own lodge; and the
Little Bear retreated into his, both knowing from looks and gestures
what was about to be the consequence of their altercation.
“The Little Bear instantly charged his gun, and then (as their custom
is) threw himself upon his face, in humble supplication to the Great
Spirit for his aid and protection. His wife, in the meantime, seeing
him agitated, and fearing some evil consequences, without knowing
anything of the preliminaries, secretly withdrew the bullet from his
gun, and told him not of it.
“The Dog’s voice, at this moment, was heard, and recognized at the door
of Mah-to-tchee-ga’s lodge,—‘If Mah-to-tchee-ga be a _whole_ man, let
him come out and prove it; it is _Shon-ka_ that calls him!’
“His wife screamed; but it was too late. The gun was in his hand, and
he sprang out of the door—both drew and simultaneously fired! The Dog
fled uninjured; but the Little Bear lay weltering in his blood (strange
to say!) with all that side of his face entirely shot away, which had
been left out of the picture; and, according to the prediction of the
Dog, ‘_good for nothing_;’ carrying away one half of the jaws, and
the flesh from the nostrils and corner of the mouth, to the ear,
including one eye, and leaving the jugular vein entirely exposed. Here
was a ‘coup;’ and anyone accustomed to the thrilling excitement that
such scenes produce in an Indian village, can form _some_ idea of the
frightful agitation amidst several thousand Indians, who were divided
into jealous bands or clans, under ambitious and rival chiefs! In one
minute, a thousand guns and bows were seized! A thousand thrilling
yells were raised; and many were the fierce and darting warriors who
sallied round the Dog for his protection—he fled amidst a shower of
bullets and arrows; but his braves were about him! The blood of the
_Onc-pa-pas_ was roused, and the indignant braves of that gallant band
rushed forth from all quarters, and, swift upon their heels, were hot
for vengeance! On the plain, and in full view of us, for some time, the
whizzing arrows flew, and so did bullets, until the Dog and his brave
followers were lost in distance on the prairie! In this rencontre, the
Dog had his left arm broken; but succeeded, at length, in making his
escape.
“On the next day after this affair took place, the Little Bear died of
his wound, and was buried amidst the most pitiful and heart-rending
cries of his distracted wife, whose grief was inconsolable at the
thought of having been herself the immediate and innocent cause of his
death, by depriving him of his supposed protection.
“This marvellous and fatal transaction was soon talked through the
village, and the eyes of all this superstitious multitude were fixed
upon me as the cause of the calamity—my paintings and brushes were
instantly packed, and all hands, both Traders and Travellers, assumed
at once a posture of defence.
“I evaded, no doubt, in a great measure, the concentration of their
immediate censure upon me, by expressions of great condolence, and
by distributing liberal presents to the wife and relations of the
deceased; and by uniting also with Mr. Laidlaw and the other gentlemen,
in giving him honourable burial, where we placed over his grave a
handsome Sioux lodge, and hung a white flag to wave over it.
“On this occasion, many were the tears that were shed for the brave
and honourable Mah-to-tchee-ga, and all the warriors of his band swore
sleepless vengeance on the Dog, until his life should answer for the
loss of their chief and leader.
“On the day that he was buried, I started for the mouth of Yellow
Stone, and while I was gone, the spirit of vengeance had pervaded
nearly all the Sioux country in search of the Dog, who had evaded
pursuit. His brother, however (+plate+ 274), a noble and honourable
fellow, esteemed by all who knew him, fell in their way in an unlucky
hour, when their thirst for vengeance was irresistible, and they
slew him. Repentance deep, and grief were the result of so rash an
act, when they beheld a brave and worthy man fall for so worthless a
character; and as they became exasperated, the spirit of revenge grew
more desperate than ever, and they swore they never would lay down
their arms or embrace their wives and children until vengeance, full
and complete, should light upon the head that deserved it. This brings
us again to the first part of my story, and in this state were things
in that part of the country, when I was descending the river, four
months afterwards, and landed my canoe as I before stated, at Laidlaw’s
trading-house.
“The excitement had been kept up all summer amongst these people, and
their superstitions bloated to the full brim, from circumstances so
well calculated to feed and increase them. Many of them looked to me at
once as the author of all these disasters, considering I knew that one
half of the man’s face was _good for nothing_, or that I would not have
left it out of the picture, and that I must therefore have foreknown
the evils that were to flow from the omission; they consequently
resolved that I was a dangerous man, and should suffer for my temerity
in case the Dog could not be found. Councils had been held, and in all
the solemnity of Indian _medicine_ and _mystery_, I had been doomed to
die! At one of these, a young warrior of the _Onc-pa-pa_ band, arose
and said, ‘The blood of two chiefs has just sunk into the ground, and
an hundred bows are bent which are ready to shed more! on whom shall
we bend them? I am a friend to the white men, but here is one whose
medicine is too great—he is a great _medicine-man_! his _medicine_ is
too great! he was the death of Mah-to-tchee-ga! he made only one side
of his face! he would not make the other—the side that he made was
alive; the other was dead, and Shon-ka shot it off! How is this? Who is
to die.’
“After him, _Tah-zee-kee-da-cha_ (torn belly), of the _Yankton_ band,
arose and said—‘Father, this medicine-man has done much harm! You told
our chiefs and warriors, that they must be painted—you said he was a
good man, and we believed you!—you thought so, my father, but you see
what he has done!—he looks at our chiefs and our women and then makes
them alive!! In this way he has taken our chiefs away, and he can
trouble their spirits when they are dead!—they will be unhappy. If he
can make them alive by looking at them, he can do us much harm!—you
tell us that they are not alive—we see their eyes move!—their eyes
follow us wherever we go, that is enough! I have no more to say!’ After
him, rose a young man of the Onc-pa-pa band ‘Father! you know that I am
the brother of _Mah-to-tchee-ga_!—-you know that I loved him—both sides
of his face were good, and the medicine-man knew it also! Why was half
of his face left out? He never was ashamed, but always looked white man
in the face! Why was that side of his face shot off? Your friend is not
our friend, and has forfeited his life—we want you to tell us where he
is—we want to see him!’
“Then rose Toh-ki-e-to (a _medicine-man_ of the Yankton band, and
principal orator of the nation.) ‘My friend, these are young men that
speak—I am not afraid! your white medicine-man painted my picture, and
it was good—I am glad of it—I am very glad to see that I shall live
after I am dead!—I am old and not afraid!—some of our young men are
foolish I know that this man _put many of our buffaloes in his book_!
for I was with him, and we have had no buffaloes since to eat, it is
true—but I am not afraid!! _his medicine_ is great and I wish him
well—we are friends!’
“In this wise was the subject discussed by these superstitious
people during my absence, and such were the reasons given by my
friend Mr. Laidlaw, for his friendly advice; wherein he cautioned me
against exposing my life in their hands, advising me to take some
other route than that which I was pursuing down the river, where I
would find encamped at the mouth of Cabri river, eighty miles below,
several hundred Indians belonging to the Little Bear’s band, and I
might possibly fall a victim to their unsatiated revenge. I resumed
my downward voyage in a few days, however, with my little canoe,
which ‘Ba’tiste and Bogard paddled and I steered,’ and passed their
encampment in peace, by taking the opposite shore. The usual friendly
invitation however, was given (which is customary on that river), by
skipping several rifle bullets across the river, a rod or two ahead
of us. To those invitations we paid no attention, and (not suspecting
who we were), they allowed us to pursue our course in peace and
security. Thus rested the affair of the Dog and its consequences, until
I conversed with Major Bean, the agent for these people, who arrived
in St. Louis some weeks after I did, bringing later intelligence from
them, assuring me that ‘_the Dog had at length been overtaken and
killed_, near the Black-hills, and that the affair might now for ever
be considered as settled.’”
Thus happened, and thus terminated the affair of “the Dog,” wherein
have fallen three distinguished warriors; and wherein _might_ have
fallen one “_great medicine-man_!” and all in consequence of the
operations of my brush. The portraits of the three first named will
long hang in my Gallery for the world to gaze upon; and the head of the
latter (whose hair yet remains on it), may probably be seen (for a time
yet) occasionally stalking about in the midst of this Collection of
Nature’s dignitaries.
The circumstances above detailed, are as correctly given as I could
furnish them! and they have doubtless given birth to one of the most
wonderful traditions, which will be told and sung amongst the Sioux
Indians from age to age; furnishing one of the rarest instances,
perhaps, on record, of the extent to which these people may be carried
by the force of their superstitions.
After I had related this curious and unfortunate affair, I was called
upon to proceed at once with the
+STORY OF WI-JUN-JON (the pigeon’s egg head);+
and I recited it as I first told it to poor Ba’tiste, on a former
occasion, which was as follows:—
“Well, Ba’tiste, I promised last night, as you were going to sleep,
that I would tell you a story this morning—did I not?
“Oui, Monsieur, oui—de ‘Pigeon’s Head.’
“No, Ba’tiste, the ‘Pigeon’s Egg Head.’
“‘Well den, Monsieur Cataline, de ‘Pigeon Egg’s Head.’
“No, Ba’tiste, you have it wrong yet. The Pigeon’s Egg Head.
“‘Sacré—well, ‘_Pee—jonse—ec—head_.’
“Right, Ba’tiste. Now you shall hear the ‘Story of the Pigeon’s Egg
Head.’
“The Indian name of this man (being its literal translation into the
Assinneboin language) was Wi-jun-jon.
“‘Wat! comment! by Gar (pardón); not _Wi-jun-jon_, le frere de ma douce
_Wee-ne-on-ka_, fils du chef Assinneboin? But excusez; go on, s’il vous
plait.’
“_Wi-jun-jon_ (the Pigeon’s Egg Head) was a brave and a warrior of the
Assinneboins—young—proud—handsome—valiant, and graceful. He had fought
many a battle, and won many a laurel. The numerous scalps from his
enemies’ heads adorned his dress, and his claims were fair and just for
the highest honours that his country could bestow upon him; for his
father was chief of the nation.
“Le meme! de same—mon frere—mon ami! Bien, I am composé; go on,
Monsieur.’
“Well, this young Assinneboin, the ‘Pigeon’s Egg Head,’ was selected by
Major Sanford, the Indian Agent, to represent his tribe in a delegation
which visited Washington city under his charge in the winter of 1832.
With this gentleman, the Assinneboin, together with representatives
from several others of those North Western tribes, descended the
Missouri river, several thousand miles, on their way to Washington.
“While descending the river in a Mackinaw boat, from the mouth of
Yellow Stone, Wi-jun-jon and another of his tribe who was with him, at
the first approach to the civilized settlements, commenced a register
of the white men’s houses (or cabins), by cutting a notch for each on
the side of a pipe-stem, in order to be able to shew when they got
home, how many white men’s houses they saw on their journey. At first
the cabins were scarce; but continually as they advanced down the
river, more and more rapidly increased in numbers; and they soon found
their pipe-stem filled with marks, and they determined to put the rest
of them on the handle of a war-club, which they soon got marked all
over likewise; and at length, while the boat was moored at the shore
for the purpose of cooking the dinner of the party, _Wi-jun-jon_ and
his companion stepped into the bushes, and cut a long stick, from which
they peeled the bark; and when the boat was again underweigh, they
sat down, and with much labour, copied the notches on to it from the
pipe-stem and club; and also kept adding a notch for every house they
passed. This stick was soon filled; and in a day or two several others;
when, at last, they seemed much at a loss to know what to do with their
troublesome records, until they came in sight of St. Louis, which is a
town of 15,000 inhabitants; upon which, after consulting a little, they
pitched their sticks overboard into the river!
I was at St. Louis at the time of their arrival, and painted their
portraits while they rested in that place. _Wi-jun-jon_ was the first,
who reluctantly yielded to the solicitations of the Indian agent and
myself, and appeared as sullen as death in my painting-room—with eyes
fixed like those of a statue, upon me, though his pride had plumed
and tinted him in all the freshness and brilliancy of an Indian’s
toilet. In his nature’s uncowering pride he stood a perfect model; but
superstition had hung a lingering curve upon his lip, and pride had
stiffened it into contempt. He had been urged into a measure, against
which his fears had pleaded; yet he stood unmoved and unflinching amid
the struggles of mysteries that were hovering about him, foreboding
ills of every kind, and misfortunes that were to happen to him in
consequence of this operation.
“He was dressed in his native costume, which was classic and
exceedingly beautiful (+plate+ 271); his leggings and shirt were of the
mountain-goat skin, richly garnished with quills of the porcupine, and
fringed with locks of scalps, taken from his enemies’ heads. Over these
floated his long hair in plaits, that fell nearly to the ground; his
head was decked with the war-eagle’s plumes—his robe was of the skin
of the young buffalo bull, richly garnished and emblazoned with the
battles of his life; his quiver and bow were slung, and his shield, of
the skin of the bull’s neck.
“I painted him in this beautiful dress, and so also the others who were
with him; and after I had done, Major Sanford went on to Washington
with them, where they spent the winter.
“_Wi-jun-jon_ was the foremost on all occasions—the first to enter the
levee—the first to shake the President’s hand, and make his speech
to him—the last to extend the hand to them, but the first to catch
the smiles and admiration of the gentler sex. He travelled the giddy
maze, and beheld amid the buzzing din of civil life, their tricks of
art, their handiworks, and their finery; he visited their principal
cities—he saw their forts, their ships, their great guns, steamboats,
balloons, &c. &c.; and in the spring returned to St. Louis, where I
joined him and his companions on their way back to their own country.
“Through the politeness of Mr. Chouteau, of the American Fur Company, I
was admitted (the only passenger except Major Sanford and his Indians)
to a passage in their steamboat, on her first trip to the Yellow Stone;
and when I had embarked, and the boat was about to depart, _Wi-jun-jon_
made his appearance on deck, in a full suit of regimentals! He had in
Washington exchanged his beautifully garnished and classic costume,
for a full dress ‘en militaire’ (see +plate+ 272). It was, perhaps,
presented to him by the President. It was broadcloth, of the finest
blue, trimmed with lace of gold; on his shoulders were mounted two
immense epaulettes; his neck was strangled with a shining black stock,
and his feet were pinioned in a pair of water proof boots, with high
heels, which made him ‘step like a yoked hog.’
“‘Ha-ha-hagh (pardón, Monsieur Cataline, for I am almost laugh)—well,
he was a fine genteman, ha?’
“On his head was a high-crowned beaver hat, with a broad silver lace
band, surmounted by a huge red feather, some two feet, high; his coat
collar stiff with lace, came higher up than his ears, and over it
flowed, down towards his haunches—his long Indian locks, stuck up in
rolls and plaits, with red paint.
“‘Ha-ha-hagh-agh-ah.’
“Hold your tongue, Ba’tiste.
“‘Well, go on—go on.’
‘A large silver medal was suspended from his neck by a blue ribbon—and
across his right shoulder passed a wide belt, supporting by his side a
broad sword.
“‘Diable!’
“On his hands he had drawn a pair of white kid gloves, and in them
held, a blue umbrella in one, and a large fan in the other. In
this fashion was poor Wi-jun-jon metamorphosed, on his return from
Washington; and, in this plight was he strutting and whistling Yankee
Doodle, about the deck of the steamer that was wending its way up the
mighty Missouri, and taking him to his native land again; where he was
soon to light his pipe, and cheer the wigwam fire-side, with tales of
novelty and wonder.
“Well, Ba’tiste, I travelled with this new-fangled gentleman until
he reached his home, two thousand miles above St. Louis, and I could
never look upon him for a moment without excessive laughter, at the
ridiculous figure he cut—the strides, the angles, the stiffness of this
travelling beau! Oh Ba’tiste, if you could have seen him, you would
have split your sides with laughter; he was—‘puss in boots,’ precisely!
“‘By gar, he is good compare! Ha-ha, Monsieur: (pardón) I am laugh: I
am see him wen he is arrive in Yellow Stone; you know I was dere. I am
laugh much wen he is got off de boat, and all de Assinneboins was dere
to look. Oh diable! I am laugh almost to die, I am split!—súppose he
was pretty stiff, ha?—‘cob on spindle,’ ha? Oh, by gar, he is coot pour
laugh—pour rire?’
“After Wi-jun-jon had got home, and passed the usual salutations among
his friends, he commenced the simple narration of scenes he had passed
through, and of things he had beheld among the whites; which appeared
to them so much like fiction, that it was impossible to believe them,
and they set him down as an impostor. ‘He has been, (they said,) among
the whites, who are great liars, and all he has learned is to come home
and tell lies.’ He sank rapidly into disgrace in his tribe; his high
claims to political eminence all vanished; he was reputed worthless—the
greatest, liar of his nation; the chiefs shunned him and passed him
by as one of the tribe who was lost; yet the ears of the gossipping
portion of the tribe were open, and the camp-fire circle and the
wigwam fire-side, gave silent audience to the whispered narratives of
the ‘travelled Indian.’ * * * * *
“The next day after he had arrived among his friends, the superfluous
part of his coat, (which was a laced frock), was converted into
a pair of leggings for his wife; and his hat-band of silver lace
furnished her a magnificent pair of garters. The remainder of the coat,
curtailed of its original length, was seen buttoned upon the shoulders
of his brother, over and above a pair of leggings of buckskin; and
_Wi-jun-jon_ was parading about among his gaping friends, with a bow
and quiver slung over his shoulders, which, _sans coat_, exhibited a
fine linen shirt with studs and sleeve buttons. His broad-sword kept
its place, but about noon, his boots gave way to a pair of garnished
moccasins; and in such plight he gossipped away the day among his
friends, while his heart spoke so freely and so effectually from the
bung-hole of a little keg of whiskey, which he had brought the whole
way, (as one of the choicest presents made him at Washington), that his
tongue became silent.
“One of his little fair enamoratas, or ‘catch crumbs,’ such as live
in the halo of all great men, fixed her eyes and her affections upon
his beautiful silk braces, and the next day, while the keg was yet
dealing out its kindnesses, he was seen paying visits to the lodges
of his old acquaintance, swaggering about, with his keg under his
arm, whistling Yankee Doodle, and Washington’s Grand March; his white
shirt, or that part of it that had been _flapping_ in the wind, had
been shockingly tithed—his pantaloons of blue, laced with gold, were
razed into a pair of comfortable leggings—his bow and quiver were
slung, and his broad-sword which trailed on the ground, had sought the
centre of gravity, and taken a position between his legs, and dragging
behind him, served as a rudder to steer him over the ‘earth’s troubled
surface.’
“‘Ha-hah-hagh————ah——————o——————oo——k, eh bien.’
“Two days’ revel of this kind, had drawn from his keg all its charms;
and in the mellowness of his heart, all his finery had vanished, and
all of its appendages, except his umbrella, to which his heart’s
strongest affections still clung, and with it, and under it, in rude
dress of buckskin, he was afterwards to be seen, in all sorts of
weather, acting the fop and the beau as well as he could, with his
limited means. In this plight, and in this dress, with his umbrella
always in his hand, (as the only remaining evidence of his _quondam_
greatness,) he began in his sober moments, to entertain and instruct
his people, by honest and simple narratives of things and scenes he had
beheld during his tour to the East; but which (unfortunately for him),
were to them too marvellous and improbable to be believed. He told the
gaping multitude, that were constantly gathering about him, of the
distance he had travelled—of the astonishing number of houses he had
seen—of the towns and cities, with all their wealth and splendour—of
travelling on steamboats, in stages, and on railroads. He described
our forts, and seventy-four gun ships, which he had visited—their big
guns—our great bridges—our great council-house at Washington, and its
doings—the curious and wonderful machines in the patent office, (which
he pronounced the _greatest medicine place_ he had seen); he described
the great war parade, which he saw in the city of New York—the ascent
of the balloon from Castle Garden—the numbers of the white people, the
beauty of the white squaws; their red cheeks, and many thousands of
other things, all of which were so much beyond their comprehension,
that they ‘could not be true,’ and ‘he must be the very greatest liar
in the whole world.’[33]
“But he was beginning to acquire a reputation of a different kind. He
was denominated a _medicine-man_, and one too of the most extraordinary
character; for they deemed him far above the ordinary sort of human
beings, whose mind could _invent_ and _conjure_ up for their amusement,
such an ingenious _fabrication_ of novelty and wonder. He steadily and
unostentatiously persisted, however, in this way of entertaining his
friends and his people, though he knew his standing was affected by
it. He had an exhaustless theme to descant upon through the remainder
of his life; and he seemed satisfied to lecture all his life, for the
pleasure which it gave him.
“So great was his _medicine_, however, that they began, chiefs and
all, to look upon him as a most extraordinary being, and the customary
honours and forms began to be applied to him, and the respect
shewn him, that belongs to all men in the Indian country, who are
distinguished for their _medicine_ or _mysteries_. In short, when all
became familiar with the astonishing representations that he made, and
with the wonderful alacrity with which ‘he _created_ them,’ he was
denominated the very greatest of _medicine_; and not only that, but
the ‘_lying medicine_.’ That he should be the greatest of _medicine_,
and that for _lying, merely_, rendered him a prodigy in mysteries that
commanded not only respect, but at length, (when he was more maturely
heard and listened to) admiration, awe, and at last dread and terror;
which altogether must needs conspire to rid the world of a monster,
whose more than human talents must be cut down, to less than human
measurement.
“‘Wat! Monsieur Cataline, dey av not try to kill him?’
“Yes, Ba’tiste, in this way the poor fellow had lived, and been for
three years past continually relating the scenes he had beheld, in
his tour to the ‘_Far East_;’ until his medicine became so alarmingly
great, that they were unwilling he should live; they were disposed
to kill him for a wizard. One of the young men of the tribe took the
duty upon himself, and after much perplexity, hit upon the following
plan, _to-wit_:—he had fully resolved, in conjunction with others who
were in the conspiracy, that the medicine of Wi-jun-jon was too great
for the ordinary mode, and that he was so great a liar that a rifle
bullet would not kill him; while the young man was in this distressing
dilemma, which lasted for some weeks, he had a dream one night, which
solved all difficulties; and in consequence of which, he loitered about
the store in the Fort, at the mouth of the Yellow Stone, until he could
procure, _by stealth_, (according to the injunction of his dream,)
the handle of an iron pot, which he supposed to possess the requisite
virtue, and taking it into the woods, he there spent a whole day in
straightening and filing it, to fit it into the barrel of his gun;
after which, he made his appearance again in the Fort, with his gun
under his robe, charged with the pot handle, and getting behind poor
Wi-jun-jon, whilst he was talking with the Trader, placed the muzzle
behind his head and blew out his brains!
“‘Sacré vengeance! oh, mon Dieu! let me cry—I shall cry always, for
evare—Oh he is not true, I hope? no, Monsieur, no!’
“Yes, Ba’tiste, it is a fact: thus ended the days and the greatness,
and all the pride and hopes of +Wi-jun-jon+, the ‘_Pigeon’s Egg
Head_,’—a warrior and a brave of the valiant Assinneboins, who
travelled eight thousand miles to see the President, and all the great
cities of the civilized world; and who, for telling the _truth_, and
_nothing but the truth_, was, after he got home, disgraced and killed
for a wizard.
“‘Oh, Monsieur Cataline—I am distress—I am sick—I was hope he is not
true—oh I am mortify. Wi-jun-jon was coot Ingin—he was my bruddare—eh
bien—eh bien.’
“Now, my friend Ba’tiste, I see you are distressed, and I regret
exceedingly that it must be so; he was your friend and relative, and I
myself feel sad at the poor fellow’s unhappy and luckless fate; for he
was a handsome, an honest, and a noble Indian.”
“‘C’est vrais. Monsieur, c’est vrai.’
“This man’s death, Ba’tiste, has been a loss to himself, to
his friends, and to the world, but you and I may profit by it,
nevertheless, if we bear it in mind——
“‘Oui! yes, Monsr. mais, suppose, ’tis bad wind dat blows nary way, ha?’
“Yes, Ba’tiste, we may profit by his misfortune, if we choose. We may
call it a ‘caution;’ for instance, when I come to write your book,
as you have proposed, the fate of this poor fellow, who was relating
no more than what he actually saw, will _caution_ you against the
_imprudence of telling all that you actually know_, and narrating all
that you have _seen_, lest like him you sink into disgrace for telling
the truth. You know, Ba’tiste, that there are many things to be seen in
the kind of life that you and I have been living for some years past,
which it would be more prudent for us to suppress than to tell.
“‘Oui, Monsieur. Well, súppose, perhaps I am discourage about de book.
Mais, we shall see, ha?’”
Thus ended the last night’s gossip, and in the cool of this morning,
we bid adieu to the quiet and stillness of this wild place, of which I
have resolved to give a little further account before we take leave of
it.
From the Fall of St. Anthony, my delightful companion (Mr. Wood, whom
I have before mentioned) and myself, with our Indian guide, whose name
was O-kup-pee, tracing the beautiful shores of the St. Peters river,
about eighty miles; crossing it at a place called “_Traverse des
Sioux_,” and recrossing it at another point about thirty miles above
the mouth of “_Terre Bleue_,” from whence we steered in a direction a
little North of West for the “Côteau des Prairies,” leaving the St.
Peters river, and crossing one of the most beautiful prairie countries
in the world, for the distance of one hundred and twenty or thirty
miles, which brought us to the base of the Côteau, where we were joined
by our kind and esteemed companion Monsieur La Fromboise, as I have
before related. This tract of country as well as that along the St.
Peters river, is mostly covered with the richest soil, and furnishes an
abundance of good water, which flows from a thousand living springs.
For many miles we had the Côteau in view in the distance before us,
which looked like a blue cloud settling down in the horizon; and we
were scarcely sensible of the fact, when we had arrived at its base,
from the graceful and almost imperceptible swells with which it
commences its elevation above the country around it. Over these swells
or terraces, gently rising one above the other, we travelled for the
distance of forty or fifty miles, when we at length reached the summit;
and from the base of this mound, to its top, a distance of forty or
fifty miles, there was not a tree or bush to be seen in any direction,
and the ground everywhere was covered with a green turf of grass, about
five or six inches high; and we were assured by our Indian guide,
that it descended to the West, towards the Missouri, with a similar
inclination, and for an equal distance, divested of every thing save
the grass that grows, and the animals that walk upon it.
On the very top of this mound or ridge, we found the far-famed quarry
or fountain of the Red Pipe, which is truly an anomaly in nature
(+plate+ 270). The principal and most striking feature of this
place, is a perpendicular wall of close-grained, compact quartz, of
twenty-five and thirty feet in elevation, running nearly North and
South with its face to the West, exhibiting a front of nearly two
miles in length, when it disappears at both ends by running under the
prairie, which becomes there a little more elevated, and probably
covers it for many miles, both to the North and the South. The
depression of the brow of the ridge at this place has been caused by
the wash of a little stream, produced by several springs on the top,
a little back from the wall; which has gradually carried away the
super-incumbent earth, and having bared the wall for the distance of
two miles, is now left to glide for some distance over a perfectly
level surface of quartz rock; and then to leap from the top of the
wall into a deep basin below, and from thence seek its course to the
Missouri, forming the extreme source of a noted and powerful tributary,
called the “Big Sioux.”
This beautiful wall is horizontal, and stratified in several distinct
layers of light grey, and rose or flesh-coloured quartz; and for most
of the way, both on the front of the wall, and for acres of its
horizontal surface, highly polished or glazed, as if by ignition.
At the base of this wall there is a level prairie, of half a mile in
width, running parallel to it; in any and all parts of which, the
Indians procure the red stone for their pipes, by digging through the
soil and several slaty layers of the red stone, to the depth of four
or five feet.[34] From the very numerous marks of ancient and modern
diggings or excavations, it would appear that this place has been for
many centuries resorted to for the red stone; and from the great number
of graves and remains of ancient fortifications in its vicinity, it
would seem, as well as from their actual traditions, that the Indian
tribes have long held this place in high superstitious estimation; and
also that it has been the resort of different tribes, who have made
their regular pilgrimages here to renew their pipes.
The red pipe stone, I consider, will take its place amongst minerals,
as an interesting subject of itself; and the “Côteau des Prairies” will
become hereafter an important theme for geologists; not only from the
fact that this is the only known locality of that mineral, but from
other phenomena relating to it. The single fact of such a table of
quartz, in horizontal strata, resting on this elevated plateau, is of
itself (in my opinion) a very interesting subject for investigation;
and one which calls upon the scientific world for a correct theory with
regard to the time when, and the manner in which, this formation was
produced. That it is of a secondary character, and of a sedimentary
deposit, seems evident; and that it has withstood the force of the
diluvial current, while the great valley of the Missouri, from this
very wall of rocks to the Rocky Mountains, has been excavated, and
its debris carried to the ocean, there is also not a shadow of doubt;
which opinion I confidently advance on the authority of the following
remarkable facts:
At the base of the wall, and within a few rods of it, and on the very
ground where the Indians dig for the red stone, rests a group of five
stupendous boulders of gneiss, leaning against each other; the smallest
of which is twelve or fifteen feet, and the largest twenty-five feet
in diameter, altogether weighing, unquestionably, several hundred
tons. These blocks are composed chiefly of felspar and mica, of an
exceedingly coarse grain (the felspar often occurring in crystals
of an inch in diameter). The surface of these boulders is in every
part covered with a grey moss, which gives them an extremely ancient
and venerable appearance, and their sides and angles are rounded by
attrition, to the shape and character of most other erratic stones,
which are found throughout the country. It is under these blocks that
the two holes, or ovens are seen, in which, according to the Indian
superstition, the two old women, the guardian spirits of the place,
reside; of whom I have before spoken.
That these five immense blocks, of precisely the same character, and
differing materially from all other specimens of boulders which I have
seen in the great vallies of the Mississippi and Missouri, should have
been hurled some hundreds of miles from their native bed, and lodged in
so singular a group on this elevated ridge, is truly matter of surprise
for the scientific world, as well as for the poor Indian, whose
superstitious veneration of them is such, that not a spear of grass is
broken or bent by his feet, within three or four rods of them, where
he stops, and in humble supplication, by throwing plugs of tobacco
to them, solicits permission to dig and carry away the red stone for
his pipes. The surface of these boulders are in every part entire and
unscratched by anything; wearing the moss everywhere unbroken, except
where I applied the hammer, to obtain some small specimens, which I
shall bring away with me.
The fact alone, that these blocks differ in character from all other
specimens which I have seen in my travels, amongst the thousands of
boulders which are strewed over the great valley of the Missouri and
Mississippi, from the Yellow Stone almost to the Gulf of Mexico, raises
in my mind an unanswerable question, as regards the location of their
native bed, and the means by which they have reached their isolated
position; like five brothers, leaning against and supporting each
other, without the existence of another boulder within many miles of
them. There are thousands and tens of thousands of boulders scattered
over the prairies, at the base of the Côteau on either side; and so
throughout the valley of the St. Peters and Mississippi, which are also
subjects of very great interest and importance to science, inasmuch as
they present to the world, a vast variety of characters; and each one,
though strayed away from its original position, bears incontestable
proof of the character of its native bed. The tract of country lying
between the St. Peters river and the Côteau, over which we passed,
presents innumerable specimens of this kind; and near the base of
the Côteau they are strewed over the prairie in countless numbers,
presenting almost an incredible variety of rich, and beautiful colours;
and undoubtedly traceable, (if they can be traced), to separate and
distinct beds.
Amongst these beautiful groups, it was sometimes a very easy matter
to sit on my horse and count within my sight, some twenty or thirty
different varieties, of quartz and granite, in rounded boulders, of
every hue and colour, from snow white to intense red, and yellow,
and blue, and almost to a jet black; each one well characterized and
evidently from a distinct quarry. With the beautiful hues and almost
endless characters of these blocks, I became completely surprised and
charmed; and I resolved to procure specimens of every variety, which
I did with success, by dismounting from my horse, and breaking small
bits from them with my hammer; until I had something like an hundred
different varieties, containing all the tints and colours of a
painter’s palette. These, I at length threw away, as I had on several
former occasions, other minerals and fossils, which I had collected and
lugged along from day to day, and sometimes from week to week.
Whether these varieties of quartz and granite can all be traced to
their native beds, or whether they all have origins at this time
exposed above the earth’s surface, are equally matters of much doubt in
my mind. I believe that the geologist may take the different varieties,
which he may gather at the base of the Côteau in one hour, and travel
the Continent of North America all over without being enabled to put
them all in place; coming at last to the unavoidable conclusion, that
numerous chains or beds of primitive rocks have reared their heads on
this Continent, the summits of which have been swept away by the force
of diluvial currents, and their fragments jostled together and strewed
about, like foreigners in a strange land, over the great vallies of the
Mississippi and Missouri, where they will ever remain, and be gazed
upon by the traveller, as the only remaining evidence of their native
beds, which have again submerged or been covered with diluvial deposits.
There seems not to be, either on the Côteau or in the great vallies on
either side, so far as I have travelled, any slaty or other formation
exposed above the surface on which grooves or scratches can be seen, to
establish the direction of the diluvial currents in those regions; yet
I think the fact is pretty clearly established by the general shapes of
the vallies, and the courses of the mountain ridges which wall them in
on their sides.
The Côteau des Prairies is the dividing ridge between the St. Peters
and Missouri rivers; its southern termination or slope is about in the
latitude of the Fall of St. Anthony, and it stands equi-distant between
the two rivers; its general course bearing two or three degrees West of
North for the distance of two or three hundred miles, when it gradually
slopes again to the North, throwing out from its base the head-waters
and tributaries of the St. Peters, on the East. The Red River, and
other streams, which empty into Hudson’s Bay, on the North; La Riviere
Jaque and several other tributaries to the Missouri, on the West; and
the Red Cedar, the Ioway and the Des Moines, on the South.
This wonderful feature, which is several hundred miles in length, and
varying from fifty to a hundred in width, is, perhaps, the noblest
mound of its kind in the world; it gradually and gracefully rises on
each side, by swell after swell, without tree, or bush or rock (save
what are to be seen in the vicinity of the Pipe Stone Quarry), and
everywhere covered with green grass, affording the traveller, from its
highest elevations, the most unbounded and sublime views——of nothing at
all——save the blue and boundless ocean of prairies that lie beneath and
all around him, vanishing into azure in the distance without a speck or
spot to break their softness.
The direction of this ridge, I consider, pretty clearly establishes the
course of the diluvial current in this region, and the erratic stones
which are distributed along its base, I attribute to an origin several
hundred miles North West from the Côteau. I have not myself traced
the Côteau to its highest points, nor to its Northern extremity; but
it has been a subject, on which I have closely questioned a number of
traders, who have traversed every mile of it with their carts, and from
thence to Lake Winnepeg on the North, who uniformly tell me, that there
is no range of primitive rocks to be crossed in travelling the whole
distance, which is one connected and continuous prairie.
The top and sides of the Côteau are everywhere strewed over the surface
with granitic sand and pebbles, which, together with the fact of the
five boulders resting at the Pipe Stone Quarry, shew clearly that every
part of the ridge has been subject to the action of these currents,
which could not have run counter to it, without having disfigured or
deranged its beautiful symmetry.
The glazed or polished surface of the quartz rocks at the Pipe Stone
Quarry, I consider a very interesting subject, and one which will
excite hereafter a variety of theories, as to the manner in which it
has been produced, and the causes which have led to such singular
results. The quartz is of a close grain, and exceedingly hard,
eliciting the most brilliant spark from steel; and in most places,
where exposed to the sun and the air, has a high polish on its
surface, entirely beyond any results which could have been produced by
diluvial action, being perfectly glazed as if by ignition. I was not
sufficiently particular in my examinations to ascertain whether any
parts of the surface of these rocks under the ground, and not exposed
to the action of the air, were thus affected, which would afford an
important argument in forming a correct theory with regard to it; and
it may also be a fact of similar importance, that this polish does not
extend over the whole wall or area; but is distributed over it in parts
and sections, often disappearing suddenly, and reappearing again, even
where the character and exposure of the rock is the same and unbroken.
In general, the parts and points most projecting and exposed, bear
the highest polish, which would naturally be the case whether it was
produced by ignition, or by the action of the air and sun. It would
seem almost an impossibility, that the air passing these projections
for a series of centuries, could have produced so high a polish on so
hard a substance; and it seems equally unaccountable, that this effect
could have been produced in the other way, in the total absence of all
igneous matter.
I have broken off specimens and brought them home, which certainly bear
as high a polish and lustre on the surface, as a piece of melted glass;
and then as these rocks have undoubtedly been formed where they now
lie, it must be admitted, that this strange effect on their surface has
been produced either by the action of the air and sun, or by igneous
influence; and if by the latter course, there is no other conclusion we
can come to, than that these results are volcanic; that this wall has
once formed the side of a crater, and that the Pipe Stone, laving in
horizontal strata, is formed of the lava which has issued from it. I
am strongly inclined to believe, however, that the former supposition
is the correct one; and that the Pipe Stone, which differs from all
known specimens of lava, is a new variety of _steatite_, and will be
found to be a subject of great interest and one worthy of a careful
analysis.[35]
With such notes and such memorandums on this shorn land, whose quiet
and silence are only broken by the winds and the thunders of Heaven, I
close my note-book, and we this morning saddle our horses; and after
wending our way to the “Thunders’ Nest” and the “Stone-man Medicine,”
we shall descend into the valley of the St. Peters, and from that to
the regions of civilization; from whence, if I can get there, you will
hear of me again. Adieu.
[Illustration: 271 272]
[Illustration: 273 274 275]
[Illustration: 276]
[Illustration: 277]
[33] Most unfortunately for this poor fellow, the other one of his
tribe, who travelled with him, and could have borne testimony to
the truth of his statements, died of the quinsey on his way home.
[34] From the very many excavations recently and anciently made,
I could discover that these layers varied very much, in their
thickness in different parts; and that in some places they were
overlaid with four or five feet of rock, similar to, and in fact a
part of, the lower stratum of the wall.
[35] In Silliman’s American Journal of Science, Vol. xxxvii., p.
394, will be seen the following analysis of this mineral, made by
Dr. Jackson of Boston, one of our best mineralogists and chemists;
to whom I sent some specimens for the purpose, and who pronounced
it, “_a new mineral compound, not steatite, is harder than gypsum,
and softer than carbonate of lime_.”
_Chemical Analysis of the Red Pipe Stone_, brought by George
Catlin, from the Côteau des Prairies, in 1836:
Water 8.4
Silica 48.2
Alumina 28.2
Magnesia 6.0
Carbonate of lime 2.6
Peroxide of iron 5.0
Oxide of manganése 0.6
—————
99.0
—————
Loss (probably magnesia) 1.0
—————
100.0
—————
+Note.+—All the varieties of this beautiful mineral, may at all
times be seen in the +Indian Museum+; and by the curious, specimens
may be obtained for any further experiments.
LETTER—No. 56.