When we came in sight of our little white tent under the big tree, we
saw that it no longer stood alone. A huge old lodge was erected by its
side, discolored by rain and storms, rotten with age, with the uncouth
figures of horses and men and outstretched hands that were painted
upon it, well nigh obliterated. The long poles which supported this
squalid habitation thrust themselves rakishly out from its pointed
top, and over its entrance were suspended a “medicine-pipe” and
various other implements of the magic art. While we were yet at a
distance, we observed a greatly increased population of various colors
and dimensions, swarming about our quiet encampment.
Morin, the trapper, having been absent for a day or two, had returned,
it seemed, bringing all his family with him. He had taken to himself a
wife, for whom he had paid the established price of one horse. This
looks cheap at first sight, but in truth the purchase of a squaw is a
transaction which no man should enter into without mature
deliberation, since it involves not only the payment of the price, but
the burden of feeding and supporting a rapacious horde of the bride’s
relatives, who hold themselves entitled to feed upon the indiscreet
white man. They gather about him like leeches, and drain him of all he
has....
The moving spirit of the establishment was an old hag of eighty. Human
imagination never conceived hob-goblin or witch more ugly than she.
You could count all her ribs through the wrinkles of her leathery
skin. Her withered face more resembled an old skull than the
countenance of a living being, even to the hollow, darkened sockets,
at the bottom of which glittered her little black eyes. Her arms had
dwindled into nothing but whip-cord and wire. Her hair, half black,
half gray, hung in total neglect nearly to the ground, and her sole
garment consisted of the remnant of a discarded buffalo-robe tied
around her waist with a string of hide.
Yet the old squaw’s meagre anatomy was wonderfully strong. She pitched
the lodge, packed the horses, and did the hardest labor of the camp.
From morning till night she bustled about the lodge, screaming like a
screech-owl when anything displeased her. Her brother, a
“medicine-man,” or magician, was equally gaunt and sinewy with
herself. His mouth spread from ear to ear, and his appetite, as we had
occasion to learn, was ravenous in proportion....
A day passed, and Indians began rapidly to come in. Parties of two,
three, or more would ride up and silently seat themselves on the
grass. The fourth day came at last, when about noon horsemen appeared
in view on the summit of the neighboring ridge. Behind followed a wild
procession, hurrying in haste and disorder down the hill and over the
plain below; horses, mules, and dogs; heavily burdened _traineaux_
[_sleds_], mounted warriors, squaws walking amid the throng, and a
host of children. For a full half-hour they continued to pour down;
and keeping directly to the bend of the stream, within a furlong of
us, they soon assembled there, a dark and confused throng, until, as
if by magic, a hundred and fifty tall lodges sprang up. The lonely
plain was transformed into the site of a swarming encampment.
Countless horses were soon grazing over the meadows around us, and the
prairie was animated by restless figures careering on horseback, or
sedately stalking in their long white robes....
The Dahcotah or Sioux range over a vast territory, from the river St.
Peter to the Rocky Mountains. They are divided into several
independent bands, united under no central government, and
acknowledging no common head. The same language, usages, and
superstitions form the sole bond between them. They do not unite even
in their wars. The bands of the east fight the Ojibwas on the Upper
Lakes; those of the west make incessant war upon the Snake Indians in
the Rocky Mountains. As the whole people is divided into bands, so
each band is divided into villages.
Each village has a chief, who is honored and obeyed only so far as his
personal qualities may command respect and fear. Sometimes he is a
mere nominal chief; sometimes his authority is little short of
absolute, and his fame and influence reach beyond his own village, so
that the whole band to which he belongs is ready to acknowledge him as
their head. This was, a few years since, the case with the Ogillallah.
Courage, address, and enterprise may raise any warrior to the highest
honor, especially if he be the son of a former chief, or a member of a
numerous family, to support him and avenge his quarrels; but when he
has reached the dignity of chief, and the old men and warriors, by a
peculiar ceremony, have formally installed him, let it not be imagined
that he assumes any of the outward signs of rank and honor. He knows
too well on how frail a tenure he holds his station. He must
conciliate his uncertain subjects.
Many a man in the village lives better, owns more squaws and more
horses, and goes better clad than he. Like the Teutonic chiefs of old,
he ingratiates himself with his young men by making them presents,
thereby often impoverishing himself. If he fails to gain their favor,
they will set his authority at naught, and may desert him at any
moment; for the usages of his people have provided no means of
enforcing his authority. Very seldom does it happen, at least among
these western bands, that a chief attains to much power, unless he is
the head of a numerous family. Frequently the village is principally
made up of his relatives and descendants, and the wandering community
assumes much of the patriarchal character.