CHAPTER CXXXVII.

THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS--_Continued_.

WAR--WEAPONS.

MARTIAL CHARACTER OF THE TRIBES -- THEIR MODE OF FIGHTING --

DECLARATION OF WAR, AND APPLICATION FOR VOLUNTEERS -- WEAPONS -- THE

PLAIN AND THE SPIKED CLUB -- THE SHIELD, AND THE INGENIOUS MODE OF

MAKING IT -- THE LONG SPEAR -- THE BOW AND ITS CONSTRUCTION -- MODE

OF SHOOTING -- THE STONE AND IRON TOMAHAWKS -- THE SCALPING-KNIFE --

MODE OF SCALPING -- USE MADE OF THE LOCKS -- THE SCALP DANCE -- THE

EXPLOITS OF MAH-TO-TOH-PA -- SHAM BATTLES OF THE BOYS -- THE TORTURE

OF PRISONERS -- TWO WONDERFUL ESCAPES -- HOW THE CAMANCHEES FIGHT --

SMOKING HORSES.

The North American Indians are essentially a warlike people, measuring

their respect for a man almost entirely by his conduct in battle and

the number of enemies which he has slain.

The very constitution of the tribes, which prevents any leader from

enforcing obedience upon his followers, as is done with civilized

armies, entirely precludes the possibility of such military manœuvres

as those which are employed in civilized countries, where bodies of

men are wielded by the order of one individual. The leader can only

give general orders, and leave his followers to carry them out in the

way that best suits each individual. Consequently, war among these

tribes is much of the guerilla kind, where each combatant fights almost

independently of the other, and the moral effect of mutual defence and

support is therefore wanting.

A few very simple manœuvres are known to them, and practised by them

from infancy, but they lead to nothing more than skirmishing, the chief

being merely the leader of his men, and expected to be in the post of

danger. The idea of a general directing the battle from a place of

comparative safety is unknown to them.

Declaration of war is made in the full council of chiefs and doctors,

the majority deciding the question. The chief who is to lead the

expedition then asks for volunteers by sending his reddened war pipe

through the tribe by means of his messengers, and each warrior who

draws a puff of smoke through its stem by that act enlists himself.

After the pipe has gone its round and a sufficient number of men have

volunteered, a grand war dance is got up in front of the chief’s house,

where has been set up a post covered with red paint, the sign of war.

The newly enlisted warriors make their appearance with all their

weapons, and execute a solemn dance, each man in succession dancing

up to the reddened post and striking his axe into it as a public

ratification of his promise. As has been mentioned, the leader always

wears every decoration to which he is entitled, so as to make himself

as conspicuous a mark as possible, while the braves and warriors wear

scarcely any clothing, and have their faces so disguised with black and

red paint that even their most intimate friends can scarcely recognize

them.

As among us, white and red are the signs of peace and war, and each

leader carries with him two small flags, one of white bison’s hide, and

the other of reddened leather. These are kept rolled round the staff

like a railway flag-signal, and only produced when required.

At the present day fire-arms have superseded the original weapons of

the American Indians, and much changed the mode of warfare. We will,

however, contemplate the warfare of these tribes as it was conducted

before the introduction of these weapons, when the bow, the club, the

axe, the spear, and in some districts the lasso, were the only weapons

employed.

In illustration No. 4, on page 1265, are seen examples of the clubs

and shield, drawn from specimens in the Christy Collection. The clubs

are short, seldom exceeding a yard in length, and mostly eight or nine

inches shorter. They are almost invariably made upon one or other

of two models, examples of which are seen in the illustration. The

primitive idea of a club is evidently derived from a stick with a

knob at the end, and that is the form which is most in vogue. In the

common kind of club the whole of the weapon is quite plain, but in many

specimens the native has imbedded a piece of bone or spike of iron in

the ball or bulb at the end of the club, and has decorated the handle

with feathers, bits of cloth, scalps, and similar ornaments.

The second kind of club is shaped something like the stock of a gun,

and has always a spike projecting from the angle. In most cases this

spike is nothing more than a pointed piece of iron or the head of a

spear, but in some highly valued weapons a very broad steel blade is

employed, its edges lying parallel with the length of the weapon. Such

a club as this is often decorated with some hundreds of brass headed

nails driven into it so as to form patterns, and is besides ornamented

so profusely with strings and feathers, and long trailing scalp-locks

five or six feet in length, that the efficacy of the weapon must be

seriously impeded by them.

I have handled both kinds of clubs, and found this latter weapon to be

most awkward and unwieldy, its thick, squared, sloping handle giving

scarcely any power to the grasp, while the abundant ornaments are

liable to entanglement in the other weapons that are carried about the

person.

The shield is made by a very ingenious process from the thick hide

which covers the shoulders of the bull bison. Making a shield is a

very serious, not to say solemn, business, and is conducted after the

following manner.

The warrior selects a piece of hide at least twice as large as the

intended shield, and from the hoof and joints of the bison prepares a

strong glue. He then digs in the ground a hole the exact size of the

shield, and almost two feet in diameter, and makes in it a smouldering

fire of decayed wood. These arrangements being completed, his

particular friends assemble for the purpose of dancing, singing, and

smoking round the shield maker, and invoking the Great Spirit to render

the weapon proof against spears and arrows.

The fire being lighted and the glue heated, the skin is stretched above

the hole by means of numerous pegs round the edge, which keep it a few

inches above the ground. As soon as the skin is thoroughly heated,

the glue is spread over it and rubbed carefully into the fibres. This

operation causes the skin to contract forcibly, and at the same time to

become thicker. As it contracts, the family of the shield maker busy

themselves in loosening the pegs, and shifting them inward, so as to

yield with the contraction of the skin, and at the same time to keep it

on the full stretch. This goes on until the skin has absorbed all the

glue which it is capable of receiving, and has contracted to the very

utmost. By this time it is only half as wide, though twice as thick, as

it was when first placed on the fire, and is allowed to cool slowly,

after which it is carefully trimmed into shape, furnished with a strap,

painted with the “totem” or symbol of the owner, and decorated with the

usual ornaments.

The completed shield is rather flexible, but is so strong that it will

resist the direct blow of a spear or arrow, and if turned a little

obliquely will throw off even a pistol bullet. The specimen shown in

the illustration is painted light green with a white pattern. Above it

is a cover made of very thin and soft leather, which is thrown over

it in case of rain. The long strap is for the purpose of throwing the

shield when not in use over the shoulders, where it hangs, together

with the bow and quiver.

The spear presents nothing especially worthy of remark, except that

the blade is leaf-shaped, long, and narrow, and the shaft is often so

covered with feathers and scalp-locks that there is barely enough space

for the hand of the wielder. It sometimes measures fourteen or fifteen

feet in length.

Next come the bows and arrows. The bow is always a very short and

apparently insignificant weapon, being mostly used on horseback. It

scarcely ever exceeds three feet in length, and is mostly six inches

shorter, so that it looks more like a child’s toy than a weapon fit for

a warrior’s hand. Yet, with this apparently feeble bow, the American

Indian can drive an arrow completely through a man, and some of their

best hunters are known to have sent their arrows fairly through the

body of a bison, so that the missile fell on the ground after passing

through the huge animal.

These bows are made of wood, horn, or bone. Ash is considered the best

wood for bows, and it is strengthened enormously by having the wet

sinews of the bison or deer fastened along the back, and so worked and

kneaded into it that they appear to be of one substance with the wood.

Several layers of sinews are often used, so that, in spite of its small

size, the bow is a very powerful one. Some of them are made of the

horn of the mountain or big horn sheep, and a few which are the most

valuable are made of bone, probably obtained on the Pacific coast from

the spermaceti whale, and sent inland by the traders. The owners of

these bows do not like to have the material questioned, and check the

interrogation with a remark of “Hush! that is medicine.” One of these

bows is in the Christy Collection. I have tried several of the bows in

Mr. Catlin’s collection, and found them to be very elastic, and, in

spite of their small size, very stiff.

[Illustration: (1.) CROW CHIEF. (See page 1274.)]

[Illustration: (2.) AMERICAN INDIANS SCALPING. (See page 1285.)]

The arrow is headed with flint or bone, and when used against the

enemy is usually poisoned. The feathers are taken from the wing of the

wild turkey. (See page 1290.) When a warrior is fully armed, he has a

hundred or so of these arrows in a neat quiver made of deer or cougar

skin, and tastefully decorated with patterns woven in stained porcupine

quills.

In an illustration on page 1318, the reader may see the usual

costume of the Indian when equipped for battle. The portrait is that

of Ee-a-chin-che-a (the red thunder) son of Black Moccasin of the

Minatarees. He was at this time one of the bravest and most desperate

warriors of this tribe. He has on his war-dress, with quiver slung,

and shield upon his arm. “In this plight,” says Mr. Catlin, “_sans_

headdress, _sans_ robe, and _sans_ everything that might be a useless

encumbrance,--with the body chiefly naked, and profusely bedaubed with

red and black paint, so as to form an almost perfect disguise, the

Indian warriors sally forth to war.” The chief only plumes himself, and

loaded with his ornaments and trophies renders himself a conspicuous

target for the enemy.

The Indians are not celebrated for their skill in marksmanship, which

indeed is scarcely required, as they never shoot at long ranges, like

the old English bowmen. But they are wonderfully skilled in discharging

a number of arrows in rapid succession, a practised archer being able

to throw twenty or more in a minute while galloping at full speed.

There is a game much practised by the various tribes, by means of which

this peculiar modification of skill in archery is kept at the highest

pitch. The young men assemble with their bows and arrows, and each

brings several articles of property which he is willing to stake on his

skill, and throws one of them on the ground. When every one has thrown

down his stake, the first archer advances with his bow and ten arrows

clenched in his left hand. He then draws the arrows and shoots them

upward as rapidly as he can, the object being to throw as many arrows

as possible into the air before the first arrow has reached the ground.

He who gets the greatest number simultaneously in the air wins the

stakes. Some archers are so skilful that they will discharge the eighth

arrow before the first has touched the ground.

We now come to the axe or tomahawk. The two figures in illustration

No. 2, page 1265, afford excellent examples of the principal forms of

this weapon; namely, that which is made entirely by themselves, and

that which is partly made in Europe and finished by themselves. The

most primitive tomahawk is that which is made of a stone fixed to a

wooden handle. Fig. 2, on the above mentioned page, shows how the head

is fixed to the handle, exactly as a blacksmith fixes his punches. The

stone axe-heads which are found so abundantly as relics of a bygone

age, were fastened on their handles in precisely the same manner. This

kind of weapon is now so rare that it is scarcely possible to procure a

specimen.

The steel-headed tomahawk has in most tribes superseded that which

is made of stone. Vast numbers of these steel axe-heads are made in

Birmingham, and sold at a very high price to the Indians.

The form which is most valued is that which is shown in fig. 1, page

1265. It is a “pipe-tomahawk,” the upper part of the head being formed

into a pipe-bowl, and the smoke drawn through the handle, which is

plentifully decorated with porcupine quills and feathers. This is

specially valued by the American Indians, because it saves them the

trouble of carrying a separate pipe, and is most formidable as a

weapon, and in time of peace is an efficient axe for chopping firewood

and similar purposes. The tomahawk is used both in close combat and as

a missile, in which latter capacity it is hurled with wonderful force

and accuracy of aim.

Beside these weapons, every warrior carries the scalping knife, which,

with the poniard of early English times, is equally useful for war and

domestic purposes. Almost without an exception every scalping knife

used in North America is nothing more than a common butcher’s knife,

made in Sheffield for sixpence, and sold to the Indians at the price

of a horse. After all, it is perhaps the very best instrument that

they could use. One of my friends, an experienced hunter, said that he

discarded all his elaborate and costly hunting knives, and preferred

the Sheffield butcher’s knife, which combines the advantages of

strength, lightness, and the capability of taking an edge like a razor.

Every one has heard of the custom of scalping as practised by these

tribes, a custom which takes the place of the preserved heads of the

Dyak, and Mundurucú. When an American Indian slays an enemy, he removes

the scalp as a proof of his victory. The scalp is a piece of skin,

with the hair attached to it, taken from the very crown of the head,

so as to exhibit that portion of the skin where the hair radiates from

a centre. The size of the scalp is of no importance, provided that it

only contain this indispensable mark.

Generally, the piece of skin secured is almost as large as the palm of

the hand, and it is taken in the following manner. The enemy being

fallen, the victor sits behind him on the ground, seizes the scalp-lock

with his left hand, and with the knife makes two semicircular incisions

in the skin, cutting it completely down to the bone. He then twists

the scalp-lock round both his hands, puts his feet on the victim’s

shoulders, and with a violent pull drags off the circular piece of skin

with the hair adhering to it.

This whole scene (illustrated on page 1284) is enacted in much less

time than it has taken to write, the Indians being well practised in

their sham fights before they come to taking scalps in actual battle.

Brandishing the scalp in one hand and the knife in the other, the

exultant conqueror utters the terrible “scalping yell,” which even when

given in a mock battle seems as if it were uttered by a demon rather

than a man.

The scalped man is always supposed to be dead or dying, and, as the

scalp is always accepted as a proof of death, the native warrior would

never scalp a man whom he thought likely to recover. There have,

however, been many instances, where in the heat of battle a man has

been scalped while stunned, though without a mortal wound, and has

afterward recovered and lived for many years.

When the battle is over and the warrior returns to his home, he dresses

the scalp for preservation. This is usually done by stretching it in a

sort of battledore, made by bending a flexible stick and lashing the

ends together, and it is then solemnly “danced” before it takes its

place with the other valuables of the owner. Some of the scalps are

quite small, not larger than a penny, and are hung on the bridles of

the horses, or the handles of clubs.

Generally, however, they are, when quite dry, painted on the inside

so as to resemble a human face, and hung to the end of a long, slight

pole. On a fine day, the head chief of an encampment mostly orders that

the scalps should be hung out, and sets the example, by protruding from

the top of his own hut the pole on which are hung the scalps which he

has taken. All the warriors at once follow his example, so that by

walking round the village and counting the scalps, a stranger can learn

the standing of every warrior.

It has been mentioned that many of the scalps are very small. Their

limited size is thus accounted for. If a warrior be hurried, as is

mostly the case when scalping a fallen man in the heat of battle,

he contents himself with the scalp alone. But, if he should have

leisure, he removes the whole of the hair-bearing portion of the skin,

and treats it as follows. He first cuts out a small circular piece

containing the crown of the head, this being the actual scalp. The

remainder of the hair he divides into little locks, and with them he

fringes the seams of his leggings, the arms and edges of his coat, the

shaft of his spear, the handle of his club, etc., etc. The whole of

Mah-to-toh-pa’s dress was covered with fringes made from the hair of

those whom he slew in battle.

A dress thus ornamented is valued beyond all price, and there is

scarcely any price sufficiently high to tempt a warrior to part with

these trophies of his valor.

The “scalp dance” is a ceremony quite in keeping with the custom of

securing the trophy. A scalp dance of the Sioux is thus described by

Mr. Catlin:--“Among this tribe, as I learned whilst residing with them,

it is danced in the night by the light of their torches, just before

going to bed. When a war party returns from a war excursion, bringing

home with them the scalps of their enemies, they generally dance them

for fifteen nights in succession, vaunting forth the most extravagant

boasts of their wonderful prowess in war, whilst they brandish their

war weapons in their hands.

“A number of young women are selected to aid (though they do not

actually join in) the dance, by stepping into the centre of the ring

and holding up the scalps that have been recently taken, while the

warriors dance, or rather jump, around in a circle, brandishing their

weapons, and barking and yelping in the most frightful manner, all

jumping on both feet at a time, with a simultaneous stamp, and blow,

and thrust of their weapons, with which it would seem as if they were

actually cutting and carving each other to pieces. During these frantic

leaps and yells, every man distorts his face to the utmost power of his

muscles, darting about his glaring eyeballs, and snapping his teeth as

if he were in the heat--and actually breathing through his nostrils the

very hissing death--of battle.

“No description that can be written could ever convey more than a

feeble outline of the frightful effects of these scenes enacted in the

dead and darkness of night, under the glaring light of their blazing

flambeaux; nor could all the years allotted to mortal man in the least

obliterate or deface the vivid impression that one scene of this kind

would leave upon his memory.”

Mr. Catlin suggests, with much reason, that these dances are

propitiatory of the spirits of the slain men, showing how highly

their valor was prized by the conquerors, and the great respect and

estimation in which they were held, though the fortune of war had gone

against them.

A good example of the war career of an American Indian chief may be

gained by the exploits of Mah-to-toh-pa, as displayed on his robe, and

explained by him to Mr. Catlin. It was covered with twelve groups of

figures, which will be briefly described.

His first exploit was killing a Sioux chief, who had already killed

three Riccarees. This feat entitled him to wear eagles’ quills on his

lance, and in the second group he is shown as killing with this lance

a Shienne chief, who challenged him to single combat. The third scene

represents a combat in which Mah-to-toh-pa was forsaken by his party,

and yet, though badly wounded, killed a Shienne warrior in the presence

of some thirty of his fellows.

The fourth scene shows a great chief of the Shiennes killed by this

warrior, whose splendid headdress was assumed by his slayer. The fifth

picture represents a strange episode in a battle. Mah-to-toh-pa was

travelling with a party of Riccarees, when they were fired upon by a

war party of Sioux. The Riccarees fled, leaving Mah-to-toh-pa, who

sprang from his horse, faced the Sioux on foot, killed one of them, and

secured his scalp.

The sixth drawing illustrates a most remarkable piece of personal

history. A Riccaree brave, named Won-ga-tap, shot the brother of

Mah-to-toh-pa with an arrow, drove his well-known spear into the body

of the fallen man, and left it there, as a challenge to the surviving

brother. The challenge was accepted. Mah-to-toh-pa found the body,

recognized the spear, and vowed that he would slay the murderer of his

brother with the same weapon. Four years passed without an opportunity

to fulfil the vow, when he could no longer brook delay, but dashed out

of his house with the fatal spear in his hand, and a small wallet of

parched corn at his belt. He told the Mandans to mention his name no

more unless he returned victorious with the scalp of Won-ga-tap.

Amid the awe-struck silence of his people he left the village, and

disappeared over the grassy bluffs. For two hundred miles he travelled

alone and by night, always concealing himself by day, until he reached

the Riccaree village, which he boldly entered, mixing with the

inhabitants as if he were a friendly stranger. He knew the position

of Won-ga-tap’s hut, and after having seen that the intended victim

and his wife had smoked the evening pipe and were in bed, he walked

gently into the hut, sat down by the fire, took some meat out of the

cooking-pot, and began to eat in order to strengthen himself for the

fulfilment of his task. This was according to the hospitable custom of

the American Indians. If a man be hungry, he need not ask for food, but

has only to go to the nearest hut and help himself.

The repast being ended, Mah-to-toh-pa took the still warm pipe, filled

it with tobacco, and began to smoke it, breathing, with every curl of

smoke, a prayer for success in his undertaking. Once or twice the wife

of Won-ga-tap asked her husband who was eating in their hut, but he

replied that some one must be hungry, and was helping himself.

When the last smoke-wreath had ascended, Mah-to-toh-pa turned toward

the bed, and with his foot pushed an ember on the fire, so as to make

a blaze by which he might see the exact position of his victim. In an

instant he leaped toward the bed, drove the spear through the heart of

Won-ga-tap, tore off his scalp, snatched the spear from his heart, and

darted out of the hut with the scalp of his victim in one hand, and in

the other the fatal spear, with the blood of Won-ga-tap already drying

over that of the man he had killed four years before. The whole village

was in an uproar, but Mah-to-toh-pa succeeded in making his escape,

and on the sixth day after leaving the Mandan village, he re-entered

it with the scalp of his enemy. A portrait of this celebrated chief is

given on the 1277th page.

Another of these pictures records a single combat fought with a Shienne

chief in presence of both war parties. They fought on horseback, until

Mah-to-toh-pa’s powder-horn was shattered by a bullet. The Shienne

chief flung away his gun, horn, and bullet pouch, and challenged the

foe with bow and arrow. Both parties were wounded in the limbs, but

kept their bodies covered with their shields.

Presently Mah-to-toh-pa’s horse fell with an arrow in its heart. The

Shienne chief immediately dismounted, and proceeded with the fight

until he had exhausted his arrows, when he flung the empty quiver on

the ground, challenging with his knife, the only weapon which he had

left. The challenge was accepted, and they rushed on each other, but

Mah-to-toh-pa had left his knife at home, and was unarmed. He closed

with his antagonist, and a struggle ensued for the knife. Mah-to-toh-pa

was dreadfully wounded in the hands, but at last wrested the knife from

his adversary, drove it into his heart, and in silence claimed the

scalp of his fallen foe.

On another occasion he alone faced sixty Assineboins, drove them back,

and killed one of them. It was in this battle that he earned the name

of “Four Bears,” by which must be understood the grizzly bear, the most

terrible quadruped of North America. This is a sample of the mode in

which warfare is conducted by the North American Indians--a strange

mixture of lofty and chivalrous nobility with cunning and deceit. In

fact, in contemplating these interesting tribes, we are thrown back

to the time of Ulysses, whose great fame was equally derived from his

prowess in battle and his skill in deceiving his foes, or, in other

words, of being a most accomplished liar.

The men are taught the operations of war from a very early age. Every

morning, all the lads who are above seven years old and upward, and

have not been admitted among the men, are taken to some distance from

the village, where they are divided into two opposing bodies, each

under the command of an experienced warrior. They are armed with

little bows, arrows made of grass stems, and wooden knives stuck in

their belts. In their heads they slightly weave a plaited tuft of grass

to represent the scalp-lock.

The two parties then join in sham combat, which is made to resemble a

real fight as much as possible. When any of the combatants is struck

in a vital part, he is obliged to fall as if dead, when his antagonist

goes through the operation of scalping with his wooden knife, places

the scalp in his belt, utters the wild yell, and again joins in the

battle. As no one may fight without a scalp-lock, the fallen adversary

is obliged to withdraw from the fight. This goes on for an hour or so,

when the mock fight is stopped, and the lads are praised or rebuked

according to the skill and courage which they have shown, the number of

scalps at the belt being the surest criterion of merit.

It is well known that after a battle the American Indians torture

their prisoners, and that they display the most diabolical ingenuity

in devising the most excruciating torments. Still, there has been much

exaggeration in the accounts of this custom. They do not torture all

their prisoners, selecting only a few for this purpose, the others

being absorbed into the tribe by marriage with the widows whose

husbands have been killed in battle, and enjoying equal rights with the

original members of the tribe.

Neither is the torture practised with the idea of revenge, though it

is likely that vengeful feelings will arise when the victim is bound

to the stake. Superstition seems to be at the root of the torture,

which is intended to propitiate the spirit of those members of their

own tribe who have suffered the like treatment at the hands of their

adversaries. The doomed warrior accepts his fate with the imperturbable

demeanor which is an essential part of a North American Indian’s

character, and, for the honor of his tribe, matches his endurance

against the pain which his enemies can inflict.

Tortures too terrible even to be mentioned are tried in succession; for

when the victim is once bound to the stake, the Indian never has been

known to relent in his purpose, which is to extort acknowledgments of

suffering from the captured warrior, and thereby to disgrace not only

himself but the tribe to which he belongs. He, in the meanwhile, prides

himself on showing his enemies how a warrior can die. He chants the

praises of his tribe and their deeds, boasts of all the harm that he

has done to the tribe into whose power he has fallen, ridicules their

best warriors, and endeavors to anger them to such an extent that they

may dash out his brains, and so spare him further torture. He will even

laugh at their attempts to extort cries of pain from a warrior, and

tell them that they do not know how to torture.

One remarkable instance of endurance in a captured Creek warrior is

told by Mr. Adair. The man had been captured by the Shawnees, and

forced to run the gauntlet naked through all the tribe; he had been

tied to the stake, and was horribly tortured with gun-barrels heated

redhot. All the efforts of his enemies only drew from him taunts and

jeers, to the effect that the Shawnees were so ignorant that they did

not even know how to torture a bound prisoner. Great warrior though he

was, he had fallen into their hands through some fault in addressing

the Great Spirit, but that he had enough virtue left to show them the

difference between a Creek and a Shawnee. Let them only unbind him, and

allow him to take a redhot gun-barrel out of the fire, and he would

show them a much better way of torturing than any which they knew.

His demeanor had excited the respect of the Shawnees, and they unbound

him and took him to the fire, in which were lying the redhot tubes.

Unhesitatingly, he picked up one of them with his bare hands, sprang

at the surrounding crowd, striking right and left with this fearful

weapon, cleared a passage through the astonished warriors, and leaped

down a precipice into the river. He swam the river amid a shower of

bullets, gained a little island in its midst, and, though instantly

followed by numbers of his disconcerted enemies, actually succeeded in

getting away. In spite of the injuries which he had suffered, and which

would have killed an ordinary European, he recovered, and lived for

many years, the implacable foe of the Shawnees.

A somewhat similar adventure occurred to a Katahba warrior, who was

pursued by a band of Senecas, and at last captured, though not until

he had contrived to kill seven of them. A warrior of such prowess was

guarded with double vigilance, and he was brought to the Seneca village

for the torture, after having been beaten at every encampment through

which the party had passed.

As the torturers were taking him to the stake, he, like the Creek

warrior, burst from his captors, and flung himself into the river,

swimming across in safety. He paused for a moment on the opposite bank

to express emphatically his contempt for the pursuers who were crowding

down the bank and into the river, and then dashed forward so fast that

he gained nearly a day’s journey upon the foremost of the pursuers.

Five of the enemy pressed upon him, and, though naked and unarmed, he

deliberately waited for them. At night, when they were all asleep, not

having thought a sentry needful, he crept up to the party, snatched

one of their tomahawks, and killed them all before they could wake.

He scalped them, clothed and armed himself, invigorated his wasted

frame with food, and set off to the spot where he had slain the seven

foes as he was first pursued. They had been buried for the sake of

preserving their scalps, but he found the place of burial, scalped them

all, and not until then did he make for his home, which he reached in

safety.

When the rest of the pursuers came to the place where the five had been

killed, they held a council, and determined that a man who could do

such deeds unarmed must be a wizard whom they could not hope to resist,

and that the best course that they could pursue was to go home again.

The reader will not fail to notice the great stress that is here

laid on the possession of the scalp. A war party of Indians care

comparatively little for the loss of one of their number, provided

that they conceal his body so that the enemy shall not take his scalp.

Here we have an instance of a man pursued by numbers of infuriated

and relentless foes deliberately going back to the spot where he

thought his slain enemies might be buried, and a second time risking

his life in order to secure the trophies of victory. He knew that his

intention would be foreseen, and yet the value set upon the scalp was

so incalculable that even the risk of undergoing the torture was as

nothing in comparison.

On more than one occasion, a warrior who has been struck down, and

felt himself unable to rise, has saved his life by feigning death, and

permitting his victorious foe to tear off his scalp without giving the

least sign of suffering. He must lose his scalp at any rate, and he

might possibly contrive to save his life.

Several of the tribes are remarkable for the use which they make of

the horse in war, and their marvellous skill in riding. The most

celebrated tribe in this respect are the Camanchees, the greater part

of whose life is spent on horseback. As is often the case with those

who spend much of their time on horseback, the Camanchees are but poor

walkers, and have a slouching and awkward gait. No sooner, however, is

a Camanchee on the back of a horse, than his whole demeanor alters,

and he and the animal which he bestrides seem one and the same being,

actuated with the same spirit. “A Camanchee on his feet,” writes Mr.

Catlin, “is out of his element, and comparatively almost as awkward as

a monkey on the ground without a limb or branch to cling to. But the

moment he lays his hand upon his horse, his face becomes handsome, and

he gracefully flies away like a different being.”

There is one feat in which all the Camanchee warriors are trained

from their infancy. As the man is dashing along at full gallop, he

will suddenly drop over the side of his horse, leaving no part of

him visible except the sole of one foot, which is hitched over the

horse’s back as a purchase by which he can pull himself to an upright

position. In this attitude he can ride for any distance, and moreover

can use with deadly effect either his bow or his fourteen-foot lance.

One of their favorite modes of attack is to gallop toward the enemy at

full speed, and then, just before they come within range, they drop

upon the opposite side of their horses, dash past the foe, and pour

upon him a shower of arrows directed under their horses’ necks, and

sometimes even thrown under their bellies. All the time it is nearly

useless for the enemy to return the shots, as the whole body of the

Camanchee is hidden behind the horse, and there is nothing to aim at

save the foot just projecting over the animal’s back.

To enable them to perform this curious manœuvre, (illustrated on the

1291st page) the Camanchees plait a short and strong halter of horse

hair. This halter is passed under the horse’s neck, and the ends are

firmly plaited into the mane, just above the withers, so as to leave a

loop hanging under the animal’s neck. Into this loop the warrior drops

with accurate precision, sustaining the weight of his body on the upper

part of the bent arm, and allowing the spear to fall into the bend of

the elbow. Thus both his arms are at liberty to draw the bow or wield

the spear; and as in such cases he always grasps a dozen arrows in his

left hand, together with the bow, he can discharge them without having

recourse to his quiver.

Sometimes the Camanchees try to steal upon their enemies by leaving

their lances behind them, slinging themselves along the sides of their

steeds, and approaching carelessly, as though they were nothing but

a troop of wild horses without riders. A very quick eye is needed to

detect this guise, which is generally betrayed by the fact that the

horses always keep the same side toward the spectator, which would very

seldom be the case were they wild and unrestrained in their movements.

Every Camanchee has one favorite horse, which he never mounts except

for war or the chase, using an inferior animal on ordinary occasions.

Swiftness is the chief quality for which the charger is selected, and

for no price would the owner part with his steed. Like all uncivilized

people, he treats his horse with a strange mixture of cruelty and

kindness. While engaged in the chase, for example, he spurs and whips

the animal most ruthlessly; but as soon as he returns, he carefully

hands over his valued animal to his women, who are waiting to receive

it, and who treat it as if it were a cherished member of the family.

It need scarcely be added that the Camanchees are most accomplished

horse stealers, and that they seize every opportunity of robbing other

tribes of their animals. When a band of Camanchees sets out on a horse

stealing expedition, the warriors who compose it are bound in honor not

to return until they have achieved their object. Sometimes they are

absent for more than two years before they can succeed in surprising

the settlement which contains the horses on which they have set their

hearts, and they will lie in ambush for months, awaiting a favorable

opportunity.

The value set upon horses by the equestrian tribes cannot be better

illustrated than by the singular custom of “smoking horses,” which

prevails in some parts of the country. The reader will find this

illustrated on the following page.

When one of these tribes determine on making war, and find on mustering

their forces that they have not sufficient horses, they send a

messenger to a friendly tribe to say that on a certain day they will

come to “smoke” a certain number of horses, and expect the animals

to be ready for them. This is a challenge which is never refused,

involving as it does the honor of the tribe.

On the appointed day, the young warriors who have no horses go to

the friendly village, stripped and painted as if for war, and seat

themselves in a circle, all facing inward. They light their pipes and

smoke in silence, the people of the village forming a large circle

around them, leaving a wide space between themselves and their visitors.

Presently in the distance there appears an equal number of young

warriors on horseback, dashing along at full gallop, and in “Indian

file,” according to their custom. They gallop round the ring, and the

foremost rider, selecting one of the seated young men, stoops from

his saddle as he passes, and delivers a terrible blow at his naked

shoulders with his cruel whip. Each of his followers does the same,

and they gallop round and round the smokers, at each circuit repeating

the blow until the shoulders of the men are covered with blood. It

is incumbent upon the sufferers to smoke on in perfect calmness, and

not to give the slightest intimation that they are aware of the blows

which are inflicted on them. When the requisite number of circuits have

been made, the leader springs off his horse, and places the bridle and

whip in the hands of the young man whom he has selected, saying at the

same time, “You are a beggar; I present you with a horse: but you will

always carry my mark on your back.” The rest follow his example.

Every one is pleased with this remarkable custom. The young men are

pleased because they get a horse apiece; and as to the flogging, in

the first place they really care very little for pain, and in the

next place they have enjoyed an opportunity of showing publicly their

capability of endurance.

Those who give the horses are pleased because they have been able to

show their liberality, a trait which is held in great estimation by

these people, and they have also the peculiar satisfaction of flogging

a warrior with impunity. Both tribes are also pleased, the one because

they have gained the horses without which they could not have made

up their forces, and the other because they have shown themselves

possessed of superior wealth.

[Illustration: FLINT-HEADED ARROW. (See page 1285.)]

[Illustration: (1.) CAMANCHEES RIDING. (See page 1289.)]

[Illustration: (2.) SMOKING HORSES. (See page 1290.)]

CHAPTER CXXXVII.

THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS--_Continued_.

HUNTING--AMUSEMENTS.

NORTH AMERICAN HUNTERS -- BISON OR BUFFALO HUNTING -- THE CHASE ON

HORSEBACK -- USE OF THE GUN -- BISON DRIVING -- THE SNOW SHOE, AND

ITS USE IN BISON HUNTING -- THE DISGUISE IN WOLF SKINS -- HORSE

CATCHING -- MODES OF USING THE LASSO -- HOW HORSES ARE TAMED --

“CREASING” HORSES -- THE BUFFALO DANCE -- CREDIT OF THE BUFFALO DANCE

RESTORED -- A SINGULAR MASK -- INVARIABLE SUCCESS OF THE DANCE -- HOW

THE DANCERS ARE RELIEVED -- AN INGENIOUS DECEPTION.

As might be expected from a migratory people like the North American

Indians, all the tribes excel in hunting, though some are notable above

the others. Next to Africa, this country presents the finest hunting

grounds in the world, the game varying according to the locality, and

giving the hunter an almost unrivalled scope of action.

First and most important of the North American game is the bison,

popularly but erroneously called the buffalo. This animal exists in

countless myriads, and in spite of the continual persecutions to which

it has been subjected, and the utterly reckless manner in which it has

been destroyed, it still blackens the plains with its multitudes.

Before the horse came into use, the North American Indians were obliged

to chase the bison on foot, and even at the present day there are many

celebrated hunters who are able to run down a bison on foot and kill it

with the lance. The mode, however, which is generally adopted is the

chase by mounted hunters, a chase which offers the greatest results,

and exhibits the wildest enthusiasm and excitement. Armed merely with

his tiny bow and flint-headed arrows, the native hunter mounts his

horse, and goes off in chase of the bison.

When he comes up with the animals, he selects one, usually a fat and

well-conditioned cow, presses his horse to her and prepares his bow and

arrow. The well-trained horse needs no guiding, but keeps close to the

right shoulder of the bison, and a little behind it, so that it may not

run upon the horns of the animal if it should happen to stop suddenly

and turn its head. This plan, moreover, just brings the rider into the

proper position to deliver his arrow in the most deadly manner, _i.

e._ directing it just behind the shoulder. When an arrow is discharged

by a practised hand, the bison falls mortally wounded, and, tenacious

of life as the animal is, soon breathes its last. Leaving the arrow in

the wound in order to mark the owner of the dead animal, the successful

archer dashes on in pursuit of another animal, and does not cease until

he has expended all his store of arrows. An illustration on page 1299

shows a herd of bisons, and the Indians on horseback engaged in the

exciting sport.

It is the pride of the native hunter to kill a bison with every arrow,

and not to shoot twice at the same animal. The younger hunters are

fierce and anxious rivals in this sport, knowing that the result of the

day’s hunt will be the talk of the whole village, and that on their

success or failure will much depend the estimation in which they are

held. So each successive hunt produces its eager competitors for honor,

some being desirous of wiping off past disgrace by present success,

and others equally anxious to maintain the reputation which they have

gained on former occasions.

Even in those parts of the country where the bow has been almost

entirely superseded by fire-arms, it is equally a point of honor to

kill the bison with a single shot, and to claim a slain bison for every

bullet. In such cases, the hunter takes little pains in loading his

gun. He carries the powder loose in his pocket or bag, scoops hastily

a random quantity into the gun, drops upon it, without any wadding, a

bullet wetted in the mouth, and the loading is complete. The muzzle of

the gun is kept uppermost until the moment for firing, when the gun is

dropped, aimed, and fired simultaneously, without being brought to the

shoulder.

The skill displayed in managing the horse is the more remarkable, as

these Indians use no bit by which the animal can be guided. They have

nothing but a slight hide halter tied round the lower jaw of the horse,

the only use of which is to cause it to halt when required. This is

popularly called the “lariat,” a corruption from the French word,

_l’arêt_.

The excitement caused by this chase is indescribable, though Mr.

Catlin gives a very graphic idea in a few words:--“I have always

counted myself a prudent man, yet I have often waked, as it were,

out of the delirium of the chase, into which I had fallen as into an

agitated sleep, and through which I had passed as through a delightful

dream--where to have died would have been to have remained, riding on,

without a struggle or a pang.”

Sometimes the bison is destroyed in a much less sporting manner, the

precipice and the pound being the two modes which are usually followed.

The reader may probably be aware that, in those parts of North America

inhabited by the bison, the surface of the plain is frequently

interrupted by ravines with precipitous sides and of tremendous depth.

When a hunting party see a herd of bisons within several miles of one

of these ravines, they quietly separate, and steal round the herd, so

as to place the bisons between themselves and the ravine.

They then gently move forward, and the bisons, retreating from them,

draw nearer and nearer to the ravine, at the same time becoming packed

closer and closer together. Suddenly the hunters raise a shout, and

dash forward at the bisons. The affrighted animals take to flight at

their best speed, and run on until they reach the edge of the ravine.

Here the foremost bisons try to check themselves, but to no avail, as

they are pressed forward by their companions behind, and thus almost

the whole of the herd are forced over the precipice, and killed by the

fall. Even those in the rear, which at last see their danger, and try

to escape, have to run the gauntlet of their enemies, who allow but

very few of them to escape.

A somewhat similar plan is adopted with the pound, into which the

bisons are driven by the hunters. The pound is an enclosure made of

felled trees and branches, with an opening which gradually widens. The

bisons are driven toward the enclosure, a task which often occupies

several weeks, and, when they arrive within the fatal arms of the

entrance, are urged forward by means of little fires, which are lighted

on either side. Instinct urges the animals to escape from an element

which sweeps over vast districts of country, and kills every living

thing in it, and in their haste they run toward the pound, in which

they are at once shut up. It is fortunate for the hunters that the

bisons do not know their own strength. They could easily break through

the walls of the pound, but they mostly content themselves with turning

round and round, and passively await the arrival of the destroyer. So

foolish are they in this respect, and in such numbers are they killed,

that pounds have been built of the bones of slaughtered bisons.

In the winter another plan of hunting the bison is followed. At this

time of the year the fur or “pelt” of the bison is the thickest and

warmest, and the skin is of the most value. It is from these skins that

the “buffalo” rugs and robes are made, without which out-of-door life

would be scarcely endurable in the more northern parts of this vast

continent.

During the winter months the prairies assume a new aspect. They are not

only covered with snow, so that the ordinary landmarks are obliterated,

but the snow is blown by the wind into the most fantastic shapes,

raised in some places into long and sharply scarped hills where no

hills were, forming level plains where the ground is really cut up

by hollows, and leaving only the tops of eminences bare, whence the

snow is blown away by the tempestuous winds that sweep across the

vast expanse. On these hills the bison congregate for the purpose of

grazing, shovelling away with their broad noses the snow which still

clings to the herbage.

The animals instinctively keep clear of the small but treacherous

plains and valleys, knowing that the hidden crevices may at any time

swallow them up. Into these valleys the hunters try to drive them,

so that they may be helplessly entangled in the snow, and fall easy

victims to the spear. Were it not for some invention whereby the

hunters are enabled to skim over the surface of the snow, the bisons

would be in perfect safety, but the snow shoe lays the poor animals at

the mercy of their pursuers. It is necessary first to describe this

ingenious implement.

The best form of snow shoe is seen on the next page. The shape is that

of a fish, and its framework is made of ash-wood, kept in form by two

cross-bars, one in front and one behind. It is slightly turned up in

front. The whole of the space within the framework is filled in with

a close and strongly made netting of hide thongs, much like those of

a racquet--indeed, the French Canadians use the word “_raquet_” to

represent the snow shoe. As the snow shoe is about five feet in length

and eighteen inches or more in breadth, it is evident that the weight

of the wearer is distributed over a large surface, and that a heavy man

wearing these shoes can pass with impunity over snow in which a child

would sink if only supported on its feet.

[Illustration: SNOW SHOE.

(From my collection.)]

Just behind the opening is a triangular space crossed by parallel

thongs. When the shoe is to be worn, the foot is placed on it so that

the heel rests on the parallel thongs, and the centre of the foot is

supported by the thick cross-thong, called the “bimikibison,” the toes

passing into the square opening, which is called the eye of the shoe.

In order to keep the foot in its place, two leathern loops (not shown

in the figure) are attached to the bimikibison, one of which passes

over the instep and the other comes round the heel.

As, therefore, the wearer moves along, the feet play freely on the

bimikibison, the heels coming down at each step on the parallel thongs,

while the toes move up and down through the “eye” of the shoe, which is

dragged over the snow by the instep thong, the heel strap being only

useful in keeping the foot from slipping out backward.

After some practice, the wearer is able to skim over the snow with

astonishing speed, but to a novice the first attempt is not only

awkward, but causes excruciating pain. The unaccustomed movement of the

foot, together with the pressure of the instep strap, produces a pain

peculiar to the snow shoe called by the Canadians “_mal du raquet_.”

Not only does blood stain the snow as the excoriated foot drags the

heavy shoe over the surface, but a pain pervades the whole foot, as if

all the little bones were dislocated, and rubbing against each other.

Perseverance is the only cure for the “_mal du raquet_,” and after a

few days the wearer is able to proceed with perfect comfort.

The most ingenious part of the snow shoe is the mode by which it is

fitted to the foot. It is evident that if it were fastened firmly to

the foot, like the sole of a shoe, the wearer would be unable to stir

a step. The movement of a snow-shoe wearer is somewhat analogous to

that of a skater, the shoe being slid over the snow, and not raised

and depressed like shoes in ordinary walking. If the reader will refer

to the illustration, he will see that in the middle and toward the

forepart of the shoe there is a square opening, edged by thongs, very

much stronger than the others.

It often happens that heavy snow storms fall before the people are

able to replace the shoes, which are generally damaged in the course

of the summer months, and in this case they are obliged to extemporize

snow shoes out of flat boards. These are shorter and wider than the

regular snow shoes, but are used in much the same manner, the “eye”

being cut out of the board, and the necessary thongs being fixed across

the opening. These simple instruments are called by a name which

signifies “bear’s-paw” shoes. Some of the prairie tribes use very long

and comparatively narrow skates, turned up in front, and precisely

resembling the “skidor” of Northern Europe.

Upborne on the snow shoe, the American Indian has the bison at his

mercy. He drives the herd from the eminences into the valleys, and

while the poor animals are floundering about in the deep snow, he

deliberately selects those which have the largest and softest “robes,”

and kills them with his spears. Thousands are annually slain in this

manner, their skin removed, and with the exception of the tongue and

the hump, which are the best parts of the bison, the whole of the

carcass is left to the prairie wolves and birds of prey.

On these shoes the native hunters capture the huge moose. They select a

time when there has been a partial thaw followed by a frost, so as to

leave a thin crust of ice upon a substratum of soft snow. As the moose

plunges through the snow, it breaks through this icy crust at every

step, cutting its legs frightfully with the broken edges, and so falls

an easy victim.

Another mode of bison hunting presents a curious analogy with the

ingenious method of ostrich hunting which is practised by the

Bosjesmans of Southern Africa.

Upon the vast plains of North America the so-called wolves prowl in

numbers. They will follow the hunter for weeks together for the sake of

the offal of the beasts which he kills. They will not venture to harm

him, but follow him by day at a distance of half a mile or so, and at

night, when he lies down to sleep, they will couch also at a respectful

distance.

Should he wound a bison and not be able to secure it, the wolves are

sure to have that animal sooner or later, and if they manage to detach

a single bison from the herd, they will fairly persecute the wretched

animal to death. But they will never venture to attack a herd of

bisons, and, being instinctively aware of the protection afforded by

mutual support, the bisons allow the wolves to approach quite close to

them, and, indeed, to wander freely among the herd. Of this fact the

hunters take advantage in the following manner. They remove the skin

of a large wolf, and put it upon themselves, so that when they go on

all fours the head of the wolf projects just above their own head, and

their arms and legs are partly covered by the skin belonging to the

corresponding members of the wolf.

Thus disguised, they creep slowly and cautiously toward the herd,

bearing their bow and arrows in their left hands. The bisons, whose

eyes are none of the best, being overshadowed by the masses of black

hair that overlap them, think nothing of the supposed wolves, and

allow them to come quite close. Even if an animal more wary than his

comrades does suspect the ruse, the disguised hunter has merely to turn

in another direction, as if the creature he represents has no business

with the herd. By degrees, he contrives to creep close to the bison

which he prefers, and drives the flint-headed arrow to its heart. No

report attending the discharge of the arrow, the wounded bison runs

for a few paces, and sinks on the ground, mostly without alarming any

of its companions. The hunter leaves his dying prey, goes off after

another victim, and slays it in a similar fashion. Thus a skilful

hunter will manage to exhaust the whole of his stock of arrows, killing

a bison with each arrow, and yet not alarm the rest of the herd.

Both in hunting and in warfare the equestrian warriors always carry the

lasso attached to the saddles of their horses. It is not, however, kept

coiled, as is the case in Mexico, but is allowed to trail on the ground

behind their horse. The object of this custom is easily understood. It

often happens that, whether in the hunt or warfare, the rider is thrown

from his horse. In such a case, as soon as he touches the ground, he

seizes the lasso, stops his well-trained horse with a jerk, leaps on

its back, and is at once ready to renew the combat or the chase.

The mode in which the natives supply themselves with horses is worth

a brief description. In various parts of the country the horses have

completely acclimatized themselves, and have run free for many years,

so that they have lost all traces of domestication, and have become as

truly wild as the bison and the antelope, assembling in large herds,

headed by the strongest and swiftest animals. It is from these herds

that the natives supply themselves with the horses which of late years

have become absolutely necessary to them; and in most cases the animals

are captured in fair chase after the following manner:--

When an American Indian--say a Camanchee--wishes to catch a fresh

horse, he mounts his best steed, and goes in search of the nearest

herd. When he has come as near as he can without being discovered, he

dashes at the herd at full speed, and, singling out one of the horses,

as it gallops along, hampered by the multitude of its companions,

flings his lasso over its neck.

As soon as the noose has firmly settled, the hunter leaps off his own

steed (which is trained to remain standing on the same spot until it

is wanted), and allows himself to be dragged along by the affrighted

animal, which soon falls, in consequence of being choked by the

leathern cord.

When the horse has fallen, the hunter comes cautiously up, keeping the

lasso tight enough to prevent the animal from fairly recovering its

breath, and loose enough to guard against its entire strangulation, and

at last is able to place one hand over its eyes and the other on its

nostrils.

The animal is now at his mercy. He breathes strongly into its nostrils,

and from that moment the hitherto wild horse is his slave. In order to

impress upon the animal the fact of his servitude, he hobbles together

its fore-feet for a time, and casts a noose over its lower jaw; but

within a wonderfully short period he is able to remove the hobbles, and

to ride the conquered animal into camp. During the time occupied in

taming the horse, it plunges and struggles in the wildest manner; but

after this one struggle it yields the point, and becomes the willing

slave of its conqueror. Those who have seen the late Mr. Rarey operate

on a savage horse can easily imagine the scene that takes place on the

prairie.

The rapidity with which this operation is completed is really

wonderful. An experienced hunter is able to chase, capture, and break

a wild horse within an hour, and to do his work so effectually that

almost before its companions are out of sight the hitherto wild animal

is being ridden as if it had been born in servitude.

The native hunter, cruel master though he generally is, takes special

care not to damp the spirit of his horse, and prides himself on the

bounds and curvets which the creature makes when it receives its master

upon its back.

There is only one drawback to this mode of hunting. It is impossible to

capture with the lasso the best and swiftest specimens. These animals

always take command of the herd, and place themselves at its head. They

seem to assume the responsibility as well as the position of leaders,

and, as soon as they fear danger, dart off at full speed, knowing that

the herd will follow them. Consequently, they are often half a mile or

more in advance of their followers, so that the hunter has no chance of

overtaking them on a horse impeded by the weight of a rider.

A rather strange method of horse taking has been invented since the

introduction of fire-arms. This is technically named “creasing,” and

is done in the following manner. Taking his rifle with him, the hunter

creeps as near the herd as he can, and watches until he fixes on a

horse that he thinks will suit him. Waiting till the animal is standing

with its side toward him, he aims carefully at the top of the neck,

and fires. If the aim be correct, the bullet just grazes the neck, and

the horse falls as if dead, stunned for the moment by the shock. It

recovers within a very short time; but before it has regained its feet

the hunter is able to come up to the prostrate animal, place his hands

over its eyes, breathe into its nostrils, and thus to subdue it.

This is a very effectual mode of horse catching; but it is not in favor

with those who want horses for their own riding, because it always

breaks the spirit of the animal, and deprives it of that fire and

animation which the native warrior prizes so highly. Indeed, so careful

is the Camanchee of his steed, that he will not mount his favorite war

horse except in actual warfare, or in the hunt. When he is summoned by

his chief, he attends muster, mounted on a second horse, or hack, and

leading his war horse by the bridle.

The wild horses of North America are a small and neat-limbed, though

powerful, breed of animal. Mr. Catlin says that their value has been

much overrated, as even those which belong to the Camanchees, and are

thought to be equal to the best Arab horses, are on the average worth

some twenty pounds each. The chiefs have generally one or two horses of

very superior quality; but as far as the average goes, the Camanchee

horse is not worth more than the above mentioned sum.

The horses that are generally brought into the market are those that

are obtained by “creasing.” Experienced purchasers, however, do not

care much about such animals. Creasing is, moreover, liable to two

disadvantages. The hunter is equally in danger of missing his mark

altogether, in which case the whole herd dashes off, and gives no more

chances to the hunter; or of striking too low, in which case the horse

is killed on the spot.

In accordance with their usual custom, some of the tribes perform a

sacred dance as a means of bringing the bison within their reach. The

most characteristic of these performances is the Buffalo Dance as

practised by the Mandans.

Sometimes it happens that the supplies of fresh meat fail. During

the greater part of the year the bisons are scattered with tolerable

evenness throughout the land, so that the hunters are able to find a

sufficiency of game within a few miles of their village, to supply

them with food. Indeed, large herds of bisons can often be seen from

the village itself, their black masses being conspicuous against the

verdure of the ground over which they range.

At certain seasons of the year, however, the animals are sure to

withdraw themselves further and further from the villages, so that the

hunters, in order to procure meat, are obliged to venture so far from

their own ground that they are in danger of meeting with war parties

of an inimical tribe. At last the hunters report to the council of

chiefs and medicine men that they can no longer find game. A solemn

conclave is at once held, and if, after a few days of patient waiting,

during which every adult throughout the community is reduced to a

state of semi-starvation, no bisons are found, the buffalo dance is

ordered. This remarkable dance is a sort of homage to the Great Spirit,

acknowledging that He can send the animals to them, and praying that He

will do so; and, as we shall presently see, it is a remedy that never

fails.

Among the Mandans every man is obliged by law to have a buffalo mask,

_i. e._ the skin of the head, with the horns added to it. Usually

to the head is added a strip of skin some four or five inches wide,

extending along the whole length of the animal, and including the tail.

When the wearer puts on his mask, the strip of skin extends down his

back, and the tufted tail drags on the ground behind him.

I have worn one of these strange masks, and found it much less

inconvenient than might have been supposed. It is not nearly so

cumbrous as the chief’s dress of state, described on page 1276. The

buffalo mask is kept by each man at the head of his bed, a circumstance

which gives a strange wildness to the interior of the hut, or lodge, as

it is called, especially if several young warriors sleep in the same

lodge.

As soon as the mandate for the buffalo dance is given, the men repair

to their lodges and bring out their masks, together with the weapons

which they are accustomed to use in the hunt. Ten or fifteen of them

arrange themselves in a circle, while the medicine men seat themselves

on the ground, beating their sacred drums and shaking their rattles to

a rhythmical sort of movement which guides the steps of the dancers.

These move continually in a circle, stamping, yelping, grunting,

bellowing, and imitating in various ways the movements of the bison.

The dance goes on day and night without cessation, and as it never

ceases until bisons are seen, the reader will understand that it is

absolutely effective in bringing them. A spirited sketch of such a

dance is given on the following page.

The mode in which it is kept up is rather amusing. The medicine men

who beat the drums and encourage the dancers are relieved from time

to time by their companions. But for the dancers there is supposed to

be no relief but death. This difficulty, however, is surmounted by a

sort of legal fiction. When one of the performers has yelped, stamped,

bellowed, and leaped until he can dance no longer, he stoops down and

places his hands on the ground. Another dancer, who is armed with a

very weak bow and arrows with large blunt heads, fits an arrow to his

bow, and shoots him. The wounded dancer falls to the ground, and is

seized by the bystanders, who drag him out of the ring, go through the

movements of skinning him and cutting him up, when he is allowed to

retire and rest from his labors. As soon as he is dragged out of the

ring, another dancer leaps into his place, and in this way the dance

may go on for weeks without cessation.

Meanwhile scouts are posted on all the hills within range, and as soon

as one of them sees the bisons, he gives the signal by tossing his

rope in the air in the direction of the game. Mr. Catlin relates a

remarkable instance of the buffalo dance and its sequel.

Game had been scarce, the dance had been going on for days, and the

village was in a state of increasing distress, when the welcome signal

was seen from the hills. The dance ceased, the young men flew to their

arms, sprang on their horses, and dashed off into the prairie toward

the signal.

“In the village, where hunger reigned and starvation was almost ready

to look them in the face, all was instantly turned to joy and gladness.

The chief and doctors, who had been for seven days dealing out minimum

rations to the community from the public crib, now spread before their

subjects the contents of their own private _caches_ (_i. e._ hidden

stores), and the last of everything that could be mustered, that they

might eat a thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for His goodness in

sending them a supply of buffalo meat.

“A general carouse of banqueting ensued, which occupied the greater

part of the day, and their hidden stores, which might have fed them

on an emergency for several weeks, were pretty nearly used up on the

occasion. Bones were half picked, dishes half emptied, and then handed

to the dogs. I was not forgotten in the general surfeit. Several large

and generous wooden bowls of pemmican and other palatable food were

sent to my painting room, and I received them in this time of scarcity

with great pleasure.”

When the feast was over, songs and dances set in, and the whole village

was filled with sounds of revelry. Suddenly, in the midst of their

mirth, two or three of the hunters dashed in among the feasters, one

having in his hands a still bleeding scalp, another sitting wounded on

his horse, whose white coat was crimsoned with the fast-flowing blood

of the rider, while another was, though unwounded, totally unarmed,

having flung away his weapons in the hurry of flight.

Their fatal story was soon told. The bisons, after whom the hunters had

gone were nothing more than empty skins, within which a party of Sioux

warriors had hidden themselves, and were imitating the action of the

animals which they personated. Inveterate enemies of the Mandans, they

had reconnoitred their village by night, and ascertained that they were

executing the buffalo dance. Several of them procured bison skins, and

enacted the part of the animals, while their comrades were concealed

behind the bluffs.

Fortunately for the Mandans, their leader became suspicious of the

supposed bisons, and halted his troop before they had quite fallen into

the trap, and, when some eighty or ninety mounted Sioux dashed at them

from behind the bluff, they were just starting homeward. As it was,

however, eight of them fell, a loss which was but ill compensated by

one or two Sioux scalps secured by the Mandans in the hurry of flight.

Even under such untoward circumstances, the buffalo dance did not lose

its reputation, for within two days a large herd of bisons passed near

the village, and afforded an abundant supply of meat.

[Illustration: (1.) BISON HUNTING. (See page 1293.)]

[Illustration: (2.) BUFFALO DANCE. (See page 1298.)]

CHAPTER CXXXVIII.

THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS--_Continued_.

RELIGION--SUPERSTITION.

THE TERRIBLE ORDEAL OF THE MANDANS -- LEGEND OF THE FLOOD -- APPROACH

OF THE FIRST MAN -- THE GREAT MEDICINE LODGE, AND ITS CONTENTS

-- APPROACH OF THE CANDIDATES, AND DEPARTURE OF THE FIRST MAN --

BUFFALO DANCE, AND THE BIG CANOE -- APPROACH OF THE EVIL SPIRIT --

POWER OF THE MEDICINE PIPE -- COMMENCEMENT OF INITIATION -- TRIAL BY

SUSPENSION -- SWOON AND RECOVERY -- THE LAST RACE -- TWO COURAGEOUS

INITIATES -- LOOKING AT THE SUN -- RAIN MAKING -- THE WHITE BUFFALO

HAIR, AND HIS PROWESS -- THE MEDICINE BAGS AND THE TOTEMS -- THE

MEDICINE MAN AT WORK -- THE WOUNDED MAN AND SICK GIRL -- INITIATION

OF THE MIDÉ ORDER -- THE PIPES OF PEACE AND WAR -- SACRIFICES.

We now come to the religious ceremonies of these remarkable tribes,

and will begin with the terrible ordeal through which the youths have

to pass before they can be acknowledged as men. Among the Mandans,

this ordeal, for length and for severity, throws into the shade all

the various ordeals of which we have read. Even the terrible gloves of

the Mundurucú are mild when compared with the horrors of the Mandan

initiation.

Until late years this ceremony was quite unknown. Every one who knew

the people was aware that the Mandan youths had to pass through

some terrible scenes of torture before they could take their place,

among the warriors, but the details of the whole ceremony were kept

a profound secret, and were never betrayed until Mr. Catlin, in

his character of medicine man (which he had gained by his skill in

painting), was permitted to be present. It is most fortunate that he

did so, for the Mandan tribe has utterly perished, and thus the records

of a most extraordinary superstition would have vanished. The ceremony

is a very long and complicated one, and the following is a condensed

account of it.

The ceremony has a religious aspect, and is, in fact, performed for the

sake of propitiating the Great Spirit in favor of the young men who

undergo it, so that he may make them valiant warriors and successful

hunters. It has also another important object. Being conducted in the

presence of the great chief and medicine man, it enables the leader

of the tribe to watch the behavior of the young men who pass through

the ordeal, and to decide upon their ability to sustain the various

privations of Indian warfare.

The reader must first be told that among the Mandans there survived

the legend of a flood which covered the earth, and from which only one

man escaped in a large canoe. In the centre of the village there is a

large open space, in which is a conventional representation of the “big

canoe,” in which the First or Only Man escaped. It is not the least

like a canoe, and in fact is nothing more than a sort of tub standing

on one end. It is bound with wooden hoops, and is religiously preserved

from injury, not the least scratch being allowed to defile its smooth

surface.

The ceremony only takes place once in the year, the time being

designated by the full expansion of the willow leaves under the banks

of the river. The Mandans possess the legend of the bird flying to the

big canoe with a leaf in its mouth, only with them the leaf is that of

the willow, and not of the olive. The bird itself is held sacred, and,

as it may not be injured, it may often be seen feeding on the tops of

the Mandan huts.

Early on the morning of the appointed day, a figure is seen on a

distant bluff, approaching with slow and stately steps. As soon as

he is seen, the whole village becomes a scene of confusion, as if the

enemy were attacking it. The dogs are caught and muzzled, the horses

that are feeding on the surrounding pastures are driven into the

village, the warriors paint their faces for battle, seize their spears,

string their bows, and prepare their arrows.

In the midst of the confusion the First Man, or Nu-mohk-muck-a-nah,

as he is called in the Mandan tongue, stalks into the central space,

where the chief and principal warriors receive him and shake hands.

He is a strange object to the eye. His nearly naked body is painted

white, a white wolf-skin mantle is thrown over his shoulders, his head

is decorated with plumes of ravens’ feathers, and in his left hand he

bears his mystery pipe, which he treats with the greatest veneration.

After greeting the chief, he proceeds to the great medicine lodge,

which is kept closed during the year, and has it swept and the floor

strewn with fresh green boughs and aromatic herbs. Several skulls of

men and bisons are laid on the floor, a number of new ropes are thrown

over the beams, a quantity of strong wooden skewers are placed under

them, and in the centre is built a slight platform, on the top of which

is laid the chief medicine or mystery of the tribe. This is so sacred

that no one is allowed to approach it except the conductor of the

ceremony, and none but he ever knows what it is.

He next goes to every hut in succession, stands before the gate, and

weeps loudly. When the owner comes out, the First Man narrates the

circumstances of the flood and of his own escape, and demands an axe

or a knife as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit. Every hut furnishes

an edged tool of some kind; and when the tale is completed, they are

carried into the medicine lodge. There they rest until the last day of

the ceremonies when they are thrown into a deep pool in the river. No

one is allowed to touch them, and there they lie until at some future

day they will be discovered, to the great bewilderment of antiquarians.

From the moment that the First Man enters the village a dead silence

reigns, a circumstance quite in opposition to the usual noisy habits

of a native village. Where he sleeps no one knows, but at dawn of

the following morning he again enters the village, as he had done

before, and walks to the medicine lodge, whither he is followed

by the candidates for initiation walking in Indian file, and each

painted fantastically, and carrying his bow and arrows, his shield,

and “medicine bag.” Of this article we shall learn more in a future

page. In silence they seat themselves round the lodge, each having his

weapons hung over his head.

Here they have to sit for four days, during which time they may not

communicate with those on the outside of the hut, and are not allowed

to eat, drink, or sleep. When they have taken their places, the First

Man lights his pipe from the fire that is kept burning in the centre of

the lodge, and makes an oration to the candidates, exhorting them to

be courageous and enduring, and praying that the Great Spirit may give

them strength to pass satisfactorily through the ordeal.

He then calls to him an old medicine man, and appoints him to be master

of the ceremonies, handing him the mystery pipe as a symbol of office.

Addressing the assembled company, he takes leave of the chiefs, saying

that he will return in another year to re-open the lodge, and stalks

slowly out of the village, disappearing over the bluffs whence he came.

The master of the ceremonies then takes his place in the centre of

the lodge, and relights the pipe, uttering with every whiff of smoke

a petition to the Great Spirit in behalf of the candidates. For three

full days they sit silently round the lodge, but outside it a strange

series of ceremonies takes place.

Chief among them is the buffalo dance, in which the eight actors wear

the entire skins of bisons, and carry on their backs a large bundle

of slight twigs. They also carry a mystery rattle in one hand, and

a slender staff in the other. They arrange themselves in four pairs

round the Big Canoe, each pair corresponding with one of the cardinal

points of the compass. Between each group dances a young man, two of

them painted black and covered with white stars, so as to represent the

night, and the other two painted red, to represent the day.

Beside the Big Canoe sit two medicine men, wearing the skins of grizzly

bears, and threatening to devour the whole village. In order to appease

their hunger, the women bring continual relays of meat in dishes, which

are at once carried off to the prairie by men painted entirely black,

except their heads, which are white. They are thus colored in imitation

of the bald-headed eagle. As they run to the prairie they are pursued

by a host of little boys painted yellow, with white heads, and called

antelopes. After a severe chase they catch the eagle-men, seize the

food, and devour it.

These dances occur several times daily, the performers being summoned

by the master of the ceremonies, who comes out of the medicine lodge,

followed by his immediate assistants, and proceeds to the Big Canoe,

against which he leans, and weeps aloud as if in dire distress. The

dance takes place four times on the first day, eight times on the

second, twelve times on the third, and sixteen times on the fourth; the

sound of the old man’s wailing cry being the signal for the dancers to

issue from the hut in which they dress.

During each performance, the old medicine men who are beating their

drums address the bystanders, telling them that the Great Spirit is

pleased with their invocations, and that he has given them peace; that

even their women and children can hold the mouths of grizzly bears; and

that the evil spirit who is challenged by these rites has not dared to

make his appearance. Thirty-two times during the four days this vaunt

is made, and no evil spirit appears; but after the last day he comes,

and a horrible-looking object he is.

On a distant bluff the evil spirit makes his appearance, rushing toward

the village in a wild and devious course. Presently he enters the

circle, perfectly naked, with his body painted black and covered with

white rings, his mouth decorated with white indentations like great

teeth, and holding in his hand a long magic staff tipped with a red

ball. As he runs along, he slides this ball before him on the ground,

and suddenly makes a rush at the groups of women who are witnessing the

ceremony.

They fall back on each other in terror, and shriek for aid, which is

given by the master of the ceremonies. As soon as he hears their cries,

he runs from the Big Canoe, where he has been weeping, and holds his

magic pipe in front of the intruder. The demon is instantly checked

by its wondrous influence, and he stands as if petrified, each limb

remaining in the attitude which it had taken when the pipe was held

before him.

“This check gave the females an opportunity to get out of reach, and

when they were free from their danger, though all hearts beat yet with

the intensest excitement, their alarm was cooled down into the most

exorbitant laughter and shouts of applause at his sudden defeat, and

the awkward and ridiculous posture in which he was stopped and held.

The old man was braced stiff by his side, with his eyeballs glaring

him in the face, whilst the medicine pipe held in its mystic chain his

satanic majesty, annulling all the powers of his magical wand, and also

depriving him of the power of locomotion.

“Surely, no two human beings ever presented a more striking group

than these two individuals did for a few moments, with their eyeballs

set in direst mutual hatred upon each other; both struggling for the

supremacy, relying on the potency of their medicine or mystery; the one

held in check, with his body painted black, representing, or rather

assuming to be, O-kee-hee-de (the Evil Spirit), frowning everlasting

vengeance on the other, who sternly gazed him back with a look of

exultation and contempt, as he held him in check and disarmed under the

charm of his sacred mystery-pipe.”

This scene is repeatedly enacted, until the powers of the magic pipe

are proved against the assaults of the evil one, and the people have

gained confidence in its protection. The women then begin in their

turn to assail their persecutor with jeers and laughter, until at last

one of them snatches up a handful of mud and dashes it in his face. He

is at once vanquished by this attack, and begins to weep piteously.

Emboldened by this confession of weakness, another woman snatches away

his magic staff, and breaks it across her knee. The fragments are

seized by the surrounding women, who break them to pieces and fling

them at the head of the demon. Being now deprived of all his power,

he runs off across the prairie, followed for half a mile or so by

the women, who pelt him with sticks, stones, and mud, until at last

he effects his escape, and the village is rid of the evil spirit for

another year.

Now the remainder of the initiation may proceed.

The little scaffold with its mystic burden is removed from the centre

of the great medicine lodge, the hide ropes are passed through

apertures in the roof to men who stand outside, and the master of the

ceremonies, and his assistants, together with the chiefs and braves of

the tribe, re-enter the lodge, and take up their positions.

The first candidate is now called, and, wasted by four days of

abstinence from food, drink, or sleep, places himself in front of two

of the operators. One of these, who is armed with a double edged knife,

purposely blunted and notched, pinches up an inch or so of flesh of the

shoulder or breast, and pushes the knife through it, between his finger

and thumb and the body of the candidate. The knife is then withdrawn,

and one of the wooden skewers forced through the aperture. This

operation is repeated on the other shoulder or breast, on each arm just

below the shoulder and below the elbow, upon each thigh, and upon each

leg just below the knee.

While this operation is being performed, the candidates do not allow

the slightest symptom of pain to escape them, and they even invite the

spectators to watch their countenances, so as to ascertain that they

betray no signs of suffering. They may well do so, for upon the verdict

of these chiefs depends the consideration in which they will be held in

after life, and no man has a chance of being appointed the leader of a

war party if he has been seen to flinch during the ordeal.

As soon as these preparations are completed, two of the hide ropes are

lowered from the roof, and hitched round the skewers on the breast or

shoulders. To the others are hung the weapons of the candidate, while

to those of the lower arm and leg are suspended the skulls of bisons.

A signal is then given, and the poor wretch is hauled up into the air,

when he swings suspended only by the two skewers, and sustaining not

only his own weight but that of the heavy skulls, his feet being some

six or eight feet from the ground. In this terrible position he has to

remain until nature finally gives way, and he faints. The artist has

represented this stage of the fearful ordeal on the following page.

“Surrounded,” writes Mr. Catlin, “by imps and demons, as they appear,

a dozen or more, who seem to be concocting and devising means for his

exquisite agony, gather around him, when one of the number advances

toward him in a sneering manner, and commences turning him round with

a pole which he brings in his hand for that purpose. This is done in a

gentle manner at first, but gradually increased, until the poor fellow,

whose proud spirit can control its agony no longer, bursts out in the

most lamentable and heart-rending cries that the human voice is capable

of producing, crying forth a prayer to the Great Spirit to support

and protect him in this dreadful trial, and continually repeating his

confidence in his protection.

“In this condition he is continued to be turned faster and faster, and

there is no hope of escape for him, nor the chance for the slightest

relief, until, by fainting, his voice falters, and his strugglings

cease, and he hangs a still and apparently lifeless corpse. When he is

by turning gradually brought to this condition, which is generally done

within ten or fifteen minutes, there is a close scrutiny passed upon

him among his tormentors, who are checking and holding each other back

as long as the least struggling or tremor can be discovered; lest he

should be removed before he is, as they term it, entirely dead.”

When they are satisfied, a signal is given to the rope-holders, and

the senseless man is lowered to the ground, the skewers which passed

through his breast are removed, and the ropes attached to another

candidate. Just as he falls, he is allowed to lie, no one daring to

touch him, for he has put himself under the protection of the Great

Spirit, and to help him would be a sacrilege.

When he recovers a little strength, he crawls to another part of the

lodge, where sits a medicine man with a bison skull before him, and

an axe in his hand. Holding up the little finger of his left hand as

a sacrifice to the Great Spirit, the initiate lays it upon the skull,

when it is severed by a blow from the axe. Sometimes the fore-finger of

the same hand is also offered, so that there are only left the thumb

and the two middle fingers, which are all that are needed to hold the

bow.

It is a point of honor with the initiates to recover as quickly as

possible from their swoon, and the chief warriors all watch them

narrowly on this point, inasmuch as rapidity of recovery is a proof

that the individual is strong, and capable of enduring the hardships

which every war party is nearly certain to undergo before their return.

The final scene of the initiation is called the Last Race, and is, if

possible, even a more dreadful trial than any which the candidates have

yet undergone. An illustration of it is also given the reader on the

next page.

The reader will remember that, although the skewers by which the

young men were suspended are removed as soon as they are lowered to

the ground, there yet remain eight more, two in each arm, and two in

each leg. To each of these is attached a heavy weight, such as the

bison skull, and none of them may be drawn out. They must absolutely

be torn out through the flesh by main force, and that this object may

be accomplished the Last Race is run. Hitherto the ordeal has been

confined to the interior of the medicine lodge, but the Last Race is

run in the open air, and the whole of the inhabitants are spectators.

The master of the ceremonies leaves the medicine lodge, goes to the Big

Canoe, leans his head against it, and sets up his wailing cry. At the

sound of his voice twenty young men issue from the dressing hut, all of

the same height, and all wearing beautiful war dresses of eagle quills.

Each carries in one hand a wreath of willow boughs, and on reaching the

Big Canoe they arrange themselves round it in a circle, holding the

wreaths as connecting links. They then run round the canoe, from left

to right, screaming and yelping at the top of their voices, and going

as fast as their legs can carry them.

The candidates are now brought out of the medicine lodge, each trailing

the heavy weights attached to his limbs, and are placed at equal

intervals outside the ring of runners. As each takes his place, he is

given into the charge of two powerful young men, who pass round each

of his wrists a broad leathern strap, which they grasp firmly without

tying.

As soon as all are ready, a signal is given, and the candidates are set

running round the Big Canoe, outside the inner circle, each man being

dragged along by his supporters, until the skulls and other weights

tear out the skewers to which they are fastened. The bystanders yell

and applaud at the tops of their voices, so as to drown the groans of

the sufferers, should the force of nature extract a sound from them,

and to encourage them to endure this last trial. It often happens that

the flesh is so tough that the skewers cannot be dragged out, and in

such cases the friends of the sufferers jump on the skulls as they

trail along the ground so as to add their weight to them.

The candidates mostly faint before they have run very far, but they

are still dragged round the circle, and not released until the last

weight has been torn away. As soon as this occurs, the two men who have

dragged their senseless charge loosen their holds, and run away as fast

as they can, leaving the body lying on the ground. No one may touch the

poor wretch; and there he lies, a second time in the keeping of the

Great Spirit. After a few minutes he recovers his senses, rises, and

staggers through the crowd to his own hut, where his friends meet him,

and do their best to succor him.

[Illustration: (1.) MANDAN ORDEAL OF SUSPENSION. (See page 1304.)]

[Illustration: (2.) THE LAST RACE. (See page 1304.)]

The rule is absolute that the man may not be released until the

skewers have been fairly torn through the flesh. Mr. Catlin relates

two remarkable anecdotes illustrative of this fact. In the one case

the skewer had been unfortunately passed under a sinew. The poor

lad was in vain dragged round the ring, and in vain did his friends

throw themselves on the elk skull that was hung to him. At last the

spectators set up a cry of distress, and the master of the ceremonies

stopped the runners, leaving the senseless body lying on the ground.

Presently the lad recovered himself, looked at the cause of his

torment, and with a pleasant smile crawled on his hands and knees to

the prairie, where he remained for three days longer without food or

drink, until suppuration took place, and enabled him to release himself

from his encumbrance. He crawled on his hands and knees to his home,

and, in spite of his sufferings, recovered in a few days.

In the other case, two of the weights attached to the arms could not

be removed. The unfortunate wretch crawled to the precipitous bank of

the river, and drove a stake into the ground. To this stake he fastened

the weights by two ropes, and let himself down half-way to the water.

In this terrible position he hung for more than two days, until the too

stubborn flesh at last gave way, and let him fall into the water. He

swam to the side, made his way up the steep bank, and recovered.

Such instances as these, terrible as they are at the time, are never

regretted by those to whom they occur, as they offer means of proving

their valor and endurance, and any one who has overcome them is held in

much consideration by the rest of the tribe.

Dreadful as is the whole scene of suffering, and sufficient to kill

an ordinary white man, several of the warriors have undergone it more

than once, and Mr. Catlin saw by the scars left on the body and limbs

that some of the chief Mandan braves had submitted to the torture no

less than five times. Some part of the estimation in which such men are

held is owing to the belief of the Mandans that the annual supply of

bisons depends on the proper fulfilling of these ceremonies, and that

the Great Spirit is gratified in proportion to the number of times that

the rites are performed. Thus those who have undergone them repeatedly

are benefactors to the tribe in general, and as such receive their

gratitude.

A somewhat similar system prevails among the Dacotah or Sioux Indians,

as they are generally called. This, however, is a voluntary proceeding

very rarely seen, and one which is intended simply to raise the

candidate to the rank of medicine man. A tall and slender pole is set

firmly in the ground, and to the top of it is fastened one end of a

rope, the other being made into a loop. The candidate for mystic honors

takes his place at the pole before dawn, painted gaily, and holding his

medicine bag in his hand. Just before the sun rises, two skewers are

passed through his breast, as is done by the Mandans, and the loop of

the rope is passed over them.

The man now stands opposite the spot where the sun will rise, fixes his

eyes upon it, and leans backward so as to throw the whole weight of his

body on the rope, his feet serving more to balance than sustain him.

As the sun passes over the heavens, he moves gradually round, never

speaking nor taking his eyes from it; and if he can endure this torture

from sunrise to sunset without fainting, he earns the rank to which he

aspires, together with all the valuable presents which are laid at the

foot of the pole by his admirers.

There is great risk attending this practice. Should the man faint in

spite of the shouts and cheering cries of his friends, and the prayers

and songs of the medicine men who sit around the pole, chanting and

beating their magic drums, his reputation is lost, and he will ever

afterward be held up to ridicule as one who had the presumption to set

up for a medicine man, and had no power to sustain the character.

The Mandans have a curious mode of obtaining the rank of medicine man,

resembling in many points the rain making ceremonies of Africa. As

they depend much for their subsistence on the maize which they grow, a

drought is always a great calamity, and must be averted if possible.

When such an event occurs, the women, whose business it is to till the

ground, come to the chiefs and doctors, and beg them to make rain,

lest the corn should die. A council is then held, and the medicine

men assemble in the council-house, and go through their preliminary

ceremonies. No one is allowed to enter the house except the medicine

men and those candidates who aspire to that rank.

There are generally ten or fifteen young men who prize that rank so

highly that they are willing to run the risk of failure, and to lose

all reputation in their tribe if they fail in drawing down the rain

from the sky. They are called one by one out of the lodge, and take

their position on the roof, when they go through the ceremonies which

they think will produce the desired rain. They stand there from sunrise

to sunset, and if no rain falls, they go to their houses disgraced,

and debarred from all hope of being admitted into the Council of the

tribe. Should, however, the rain descend, the reputation of the rain

maker is assured, and he is at once admitted into the council among the

chiefs and greatest braves.

Mr. Catlin relates a curious account of rain making of which he was

a witness. There had been a drought for some time in the land, and

the rain makers had been at work for three days. On the first day a

man named Wah-kee, or the Shield, essayed his fortune, and failed.

The same fate befell Om-pah, or the Elk, in spite of his headdress

made of the skin of the raven, the bird that soars amid the storm.

Wa-rah-pa, or the Beaver, also tried and failed; and on the fourth day

Wak-a-dah-ha-hee, the White Buffalo Hair, took his stand on the lodge.

He placed his chief reliance on the red lightnings with which he had

painted his shield, and the single arrow which he carried in his hand.

He made an oration to the people, saying that he was willing to

sacrifice himself for the good of the tribe, and either to bring rain

or live with the dogs and old women all his life. He explained that one

candidate had failed because the shield warded off the rain clouds;

that the second failed because the raven was a bird that soared above

the storm, and so did not care whether it rained or not; and the third

failed because the beaver was always wet, and did not require rain. But

as for himself, the red lightnings on his shield should bring the black

thunder-cloud, and his arrow should pierce the cloud and pour the water

on the fields.

Now it happened that just at that time a steamboat, the first that

had ever been up the Missouri, fired a salute from a twelve-pounder

gun, as she came in sight of the Mandan village. The sound of the gun

was naturally taken for thunder, and the village was filled with joy.

Valuable gifts were presented on all sides to the successful candidate,

mothers were bringing their daughters to offer them as his wives, and

the medicine men were issuing from their lodge in order to admit him

formally among themselves.

Suddenly, from his elevated post, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee saw the steamboat

ploughing her way up the river, and emitting the thunder from her

sides. He turned to the chiefs and the assembled multitude, and told

them that, though the sounds were not those of thunder, his medicine

was strong, and had brought a thunder-boat to the village. The whole

population thronged to the bank in silent wonder, and in the excitement

of the time even the rain maker was forgotten. The passengers landed

among the Mandans, and for the rest of the day all was turmoil and

confusion. Just before sunset the White Buffalo Hair spied a black

cloud creeping up from the horizon, unnoticed by the excited crowd.

In a moment he was on the roof of the council-house again, his bow

strung and the arrow brandished in his hand. He renewed his boastings

and adjurations, and as the cloud came over the village, he bent his

bow and shot his arrow into the sky. Down came the rain in torrents,

drenching the fortunate rain maker as he stood on the roof, still

brandishing his thunder shield and vaunting its power.

The storm continued during the night, but unfortunately a flash of

lightning entered a lodge, and killed a young girl. Consternation

reigned throughout the village, and no one was more frightened than

the newly-made medicine man, who feared that the Council would hold

him responsible for the girl’s fate, and condemn him to a cruel death.

Moreover, he really considered that he was in some way responsible, as

he had left the top of the council-house before he had brought rain.

So, early in the morning, he sent his friends to bring him his three

horses, and, as the sun rose, he again mounted the lodge and addressed

the people. His medicine was _too_ strong, he said. “I am young, and

I was too fast. I knew not where to stop. The wigwam of Mah-sish is

laid low, and many are the eyes that weep for Ko-ka (the Antelope).

Wak-a-dah-ha-hee gives three horses to gladden the hearts of those that

weep for Ko-ka. His medicine is great. His arrow pierced the black

cloud, and the lightning came, and the thunder boat also. Who says that

the medicine of Wak-a-dah-ha-hee is not strong?” This ingenious address

was received with shouts of applause, and from that time to his death

Wak-a-dah-ha-hee was known by the honorable title of the “Big Double

Medicine.”

We will now glance at the medicine bag, which plays so important a part

among all the tribes of North America.

When a boy is fourteen or fifteen years old, he is sent into the woods

to find his medicine. He makes a couch of boughs, and then lies without

food or drink for several days, the power of his medicine being in

proportion to the length of his fast. So severe is this discipline

that instances have been known when the lad has died from the long

abstinence to which he subjected himself. When he has endured to the

utmost, he yields himself to sleep, and the first beast, bird, or

reptile of which he dreams becomes his “medicine.”

He then returns home, and as soon as he has recovered a little

strength, he goes out in search of his medicine, and, having killed

it, preserves the skin in any shape which his fancy may dictate. It is

mostly sewed up in the form of a bag, and contains one or two other

charms. The reader will see that the size of the medicine bag is

exceedingly variable, according to the size of the creature from whose

skin it is formed. Sometimes it is three feet or more in length, and

often it is so small that it can be concealed under the garments of the

owner.

From the medicine bag the Indian never parts. He considers its presence

absolutely indispensable to ensure success in any undertaking, and even

carries it into battle, where he trusts to it for protection. Should

he lose it in battle, he is utterly disgraced, and there is only one

way of restoring himself to reputation. An Indian can only “make his

medicine” once, so that he may not restore it by another probation

of fasting and dreaming. But if he can slay an enemy in open battle,

and take his medicine bag, his status in the tribe is restored, and

he thenceforth assumes the medicine of the slain man in exchange

for his own. If a man who has not lost his own medicine succeeds in

capturing one from an enemy in fair battle, he is entitled to assume a

“double-medicine,” and never loses an opportunity of displaying both

the medicine bags as trophies of his prowess. Taking a medicine bag

is as honorable as taking a scalp, and the successful warrior has the

further advantage of being doubly protected by the two charms.

Very few instances have been known where an Indian has voluntarily

parted with his medicine bag, and in such cases scarcely any display of

valor will reinstate him in the opinion of his tribe. Sometimes he can

be induced by the solicitation of white men to bury it, but he treats

the grave as if it were that of a revered relation, hovering about it

as much as possible, lying over the sacred spot, and talking to the bag

as if it were alive. Sometimes he offers sacrifices to it; and, if he

be a wealthy man, he will offer a horse.

Such a sacrifice as this takes rank as a public ceremony. A long

procession goes to the prairie, the lead being taken by the owner of

the medicine bag, driving before him the horse, which must always be

the best he possesses. The animal is curiously painted and branded, and

is held by a long lasso. When the procession arrives at the appointed

spot, the sacrificer makes a long prayer to the Great Spirit, and then

slips the lasso from the animal, which from that time takes its place

among the wild horses of the prairie, and if at any time caught by the

lasso, is at once recognized by the brand, and set free again. Such a

sacrifice as this is appreciated very highly by the tribe, and gives

the man the privilege of recording the circumstance on his mantle and

tent. One Mandan chief sacrificed in this way no less than seventeen

horses.

In connection with the medicine bag may be mentioned the “totem,” or

mark by which each family is known. This is mostly an animal, such as a

wolf, a bear, a dog, a tortoise, &c. If a chief wishes to show that he

and his party have passed a given spot, he strikes with his axe a chip

off a tree and draws on the white surface his totem. Or, if he sends an

order to a distance, he draws his totem on a piece of bark, and gives

it to his messenger as a token.

To return to the medicine man. He is best seen to advantage when

exercising his art upon a sick person. He wears for this purpose one of

the most extraordinary dresses which the mind of man ever conceived. No

two medicine men wear a similar costume, but in all it is absolutely

essential that every article shall be abnormal. Mr. Catlin saw one of

these men called in to practise on a Blackfoot Indian, who had been

shot through the body with two bullets. There was not the least chance

of his recovery, but still the medicine man must be summoned. His

strange, grotesque appearance, and the wild ceremony over the sick man

are vividly represented on page 1311.

A ring was formed round the dying man, and a lane was preserved through

them, by which the mystery man would make his appearance. In a few

minutes a general hush-h-h ran through the assembly as the tinkling and

rattling of his ornaments heralded the approach of the wise man. As

he entered the ring, nothing could surpass the wild grotesqueness of

his costume. By way of a coat, he wore the skin of a yellow bear--an

article exceedingly rare in North America, and therefore in itself a

powerful medicine. The skin of the head was formed into a mask, which

entirely hid the features of the enchanter. The skins of various

animals dangled from his dress, and in one hand he held his magic wand,

and in the other the mystery drum, which contained the arcana of his

order.

His actions were worthy of his appearance. He came in with a series of

wild jumps and yells, accompanied with the rattling and beating of his

magic drum as he approached the dying man. Having reached his patient,

he began to dance round him to the accompaniment of his drum, to leap

over him, to roll him from side to side, and in every imaginable way

to render his last hours unendurable. In fact, the man might well die,

if only to be rid of his physician. In a short time he did die; but

the man, not in the least disconcerted at the failure of his efforts,

danced out of the circle as he had entered it, and went off to his

lodge to take off and pack up his official dress.

A somewhat similar scene was witnessed by Mr. P. Kane, in which the

mode of manipulation was almost identical, though the medicine man,

instead of disguising himself in a strange dress, went just to the

opposite extreme. The story is narrated in Mr. Kane’s “Wanderings of an

Artist,” being as follows:--

“About ten o’clock at night I strolled into the village, and on

hearing a great noise in one of the lodges, I entered it, and found

an old woman supporting one of the handsomest Indian girls I had ever

seen. She was in a state of nudity. Cross-legged and naked, in the

middle of the room, sat the medicine man, with a wooden dish of water

before him; twelve or fifteen other men were sitting round the lodge.

The object in view was to cure the girl of a disease affecting her

side. As soon as my presence was noticed, a space was cleared for me to

sit down.

“The officiating medicine man appeared in a state of profuse

perspiration, from the exertions he had used, and soon took his seat

among the rest, as if quite exhausted; a younger medicine man then

took his place in front of the bowl, and close beside the patient.

Throwing off his blanket, he commenced singing and gesticulating in

the most violent manner, whilst the others kept time by beating with

little sticks on hollow wooden bowls and drums, singing continually.

After exercising himself in this manner for about half an hour, until

the perspiration ran down his body, he darted suddenly upon the young

woman, catching hold of her side with his teeth, and shaking her for a

few minutes, while the patient seemed to suffer great agony. He then

relinquished his hold, and cried out he had got it, at the same time

holding his hands to his mouth; after which he plunged them in the

water, and pretended to hold down with great difficulty the disease

which he had extracted, lest it might spring out and return to its

victim.

“At length, having obtained the mastery over it, he turned round to me

in an exulting manner, and held something up between the finger and

thumb of each hand, which had the appearance of a piece of cartilage;

whereupon one of the Indians sharpened his knife, and divided it in

two, leaving one in each hand. One of the pieces he threw into the

water and the other into the fire, accompanying the action with a

diabolical noise, which none but a medicine man can make. After which

he got up perfectly satisfied with himself, although the poor patient

seemed to me anything but relieved by the violent treatment she had

undergone.”

Mr. Mulhausen relates an amusing anecdote of a native doctor’s practice

upon himself. He had suffered so much in a long march that he was

at last compelled to ask for a day’s rest. One of his companions, a

medicine man, immediately tried the effect of his art. First he kneaded

the body, and especially the stomach, of the prostrated traveller with

all his force. This was to drive out the evil spirit; and, in order to

effectually exorcise him, he procured his drum, and seated himself on

the ground.

Placing the drum close to the ear of his patient, he kept up a

continual rub-a-dub for two whole hours, singing the magic chant the

while, until, in spite of his wounded feet, Mr. Mulhausen crawled out

of the tent in sheer despair. The triumphant doctor wiped his streaming

brows, and, declaring that no evil spirit could withstand such a

medicine as that, gave the signal for resuming the march.

Among the Ojibbeways there is a remarkable ceremony by which an infant

is received into the order of the Midés, a society in some degree

resembling the Freemasons, the members of which consider themselves as

related to each other, and addressing each other by the names of uncle,

aunt, brother, sister, cousin, &c.

A temple, forty feet in length, was constructed for the express

purpose, and built of boughs, like the bowers of the Feast of

Tabernacles. It was built east and west, and had the entrance door at

the eastern end, and the exit door at the western. In the middle sit

the great Midés, each with his mystery bag, and opposite them sits the

father of the child, dressed in his full paraphernalia of feathers,

furs, and scalp-locks, and holding in his arms the child, lying tied on

its board after the manner of Indian babies. On either side of him are

the witnesses of the reception, and eastward of the chief Midés lies a

large rough stone, which prevents the evil spirit.

The ceremony begins with an address of the principal Midé, and then

the chiefs rise, and after walking in procession, each of them runs

at one of the guests, presenting his medicine bag at him, and yelling

in quickening accents, “Ho! ho! hohohoho! O! O! O! O! O!” As he

presents the bag, the breath proceeding from it is supposed to overcome

the person to whom it is presented, who falls down and lies there

motionless. Having struck one person down, the Midé runs round the

temple, to allow the medicine bag to recover its strength, and then

presents it to another victim. This process is repeated until all the

inmates of the hut, with the exception of the officiating Midés, are

lying prostrate on the ground, where they lie until a touch from the

same bag restores them to life and activity. This ceremony is repeated

several times during the day, and is intended to show the virtue of the

medicine bag.

The father then presents his child to the Midés, after which there is

another speech from the chief Midé, and then follows a curious dance,

consisting of two leaps to the right and two to the left alternately.

After this, every one produces his medicine bag, and tries to blow down

everybody else. And, as the bags are covered with tinkling bells, bits

of metal, and shells, and the principal Midés are beating their drums

and shaking their rattles with all their might, it may be imagined that

the noise is deafening.

[Illustration: (1.) THE INDIAN BALL PLAY. (See page 1324.)]

[Illustration: (2.) THE MEDICINE MAN AT WORK. (See page 1309.)]

This completed the first part of the ceremony. In the next act, a pile

of boughs covered with a cloth lay in front of the evil stone, and the

chief Midé summoned all the initiated. They formed a procession of men,

women, and children, and walked round the lodge, each stooping over the

cloth as he passed, and looking at it. The second time they stooped

closer, and the third time they were seized with convulsive movements

as they approached the cloth, and each ejected from the mouth a little

yellow shell upon the cloth. By the ejection of the shell (which

typifies the sinful nature of man) the convulsions are healed, and,

after going once more round the lodge, each performer takes one of the

shells and places it in the medicine bag.

The last scene was a general feast, and gifts of amulets and charms

presented by the chief Midés to the child.

One of the most pleasing traits in the character of these tribes is

the strong religious feeling which pervades the general tenor of their

lives, and which has raised them above the rank of mere savages.

However imperfect may be their ideas on this subject, they are not

idolaters, and give all their worship, either directly or indirectly,

to one Great Spirit, whose aid and protection they continually invoke.

They believe in future existence and a future recompense according

to their character in this life. Whatever their superstitions and

ignorance, the mysteries enveloping their belief, there is running

clearly through them all, these great doctrines accepted by the

civilized Christian races.

To the Great Spirit they ascribe the possession of all the necessaries

and pleasures of life, and to him they offer their prayers and return

their thanks on almost every occasion. For example, the bisons, on

which many of the tribes depend for food, clothing, and lodging, are

held to be direct gifts of the Great Spirit to the red men, and asked

for accordingly. The same is the case with the maize, or Indian corn,

and religious ceremonies are held both at the planting and at the

harvest time.

Tobacco is placed in the same category, and the smoke of the plant

is considered to be a sort of incense, which is offered to the Great

Spirit whenever a pipe is lighted, one wreath of smoke being blown

silently to each quarter of the heavens, and to the sun, as an

acknowledgment that the tobacco is a gift of the Great Spirit. Indeed,

to the Indian mind there is something peculiarly sacred about tobacco

smoke, probably on account of the soothing, and at the same time

exhilarating, properties which have caused its use to extend to every

portion of the globe.

Every religious ceremony is begun and ended with the pipe; war is

declared, volunteers enlisted, negotiations conducted, and peace

concluded, by its means. The character of the pipe varies with the

occasion, the most valued being the sacred calumet, or medicine pipe,

by which are settled the great questions of war and peace.

Among the Cree Indians the calumet is borne by a man who is solemnly

elected to the office, and who has to pay rather dearly for the honor,

from fifteen to twenty horses being the usual fee which each pipe

bearer presents to his predecessor on receiving the insignia of office.

These, however, are of considerable intrinsic value. They include a

bear skin, on which he lays the pipe-stem when uncovered, a beautifully

painted skin tent, in which he is expected to reside, a medicine rattle

of singular virtue, a food bowl, and other articles so numerous that

two horses are needed to carry them.

During his term of office, the pipe bearer is as sacred as the calumet

itself. He always sits on the right side of the lodge, and no one

may pass between him and the fire. He is not even allowed to cut

his own food, but this is done by his wives, and the food placed in

the official bowl which has just been mentioned. The pipe, with its

innumerable wrappers, hangs outside the lodge, and is finally enclosed

in a large bag, embroidered with the most brilliant colors which native

art can furnish.

When it is uncovered, great ceremony is shown. No matter how severe

may be the weather,--sometimes far below zero,--the bearer begins his

operations by removing all his garments with the exception of his

cloth, and then pours upon a burning coal some fragrant gum, which

fills the place with smoke. He then carefully removes the different

wrappers, fills the bowl with tobacco, and blows the smoke to the four

points of the compass, to the sky, and to the earth, at each puff

uttering a prayer to the Great Spirit for assistance in war against all

enemies, and for bison and corn from all quarters. The pipe is replaced

with similar ceremonies. No woman is allowed to see it, and if during

the beginning of the ceremony a single word is spoken, it is looked

upon as a very bad omen, and all the ceremony has to be begun again.

The bowl of the calumet is made of a peculiar stone, found, I believe,

only in one place in the world, namely, in the Great Pipe-stone Quarry.

This is situated in the Côteau des Prairies, about three hundred

miles west of the Falls of St. Anthony, on the southern summit of the

dividing ridge between the Minnesota and Missouri rivers, in the very

middle of the Sioux territory. On this sacred spot the Great Spirit is

said to have stood in the ancient times, and to have called together

all the Indian nations. He broke from the rock a piece of stone,

moulded it in his hands into a huge pipe bowl, and smoked it toward the

four quarters of the compass. Then he told them that the ground was

sacred, and that no weapon of war should be raised in it, for the red

stone was their flesh, and belonged equally to them all. At the last

whiff of the pipe the Great Spirit disappeared in the cloud, and the

whole ground was melted, and became polished as at the present time.

In consequence of this legend, the Indians have the greatest reverence

for this place. They will not allow any white man to touch the stone,

or even to approach the place, if they can keep him away, saying that

the stone is their flesh, and that if a white man takes the red men’s

flesh, “a hole will be made in their flesh, and the blood will never

stop running.”

Even the natives themselves never take a piece without asking

permission of the Great Spirit, depositing tobacco in the hole whence

they dug it, and promising that it shall be made into a pipe. When

Mr. Catlin succeeded in reaching this sacred spot, one of the chief

obstacles lay in the fact that a native had once given a piece of the

red stone to a white man in order to be made into a pipe, and he had

made it into a dish, thereby offending the Great Spirit, and “making

the heart of the Indians sick.”

Mr. Catlin’s opinion is, that the red pipes, found among almost every

tribe of Indians on the continent, were obtained at this place. His

reasons are that every tribe he visited alleged this as their source;

and furthermore, the stone from which they are made is different from

any mineral yet discovered in America or Europe. He expresses the

conviction substantiated by striking proof that the various tribes

had for centuries visited this quarry, laying aside the war club and

scalping knife, and smoking together in amity upon this neutral ground

by command, as they thought, of the Great Spirit.

This stone is of a soft, creamy red color, rather variable in point of

tint, and taking a peculiar polish. It has been analyzed, and is said

to be a kind of steatite. It is cut into various fanciful shapes, those

shown in the illustration on the next page being ordinary examples,

though in some cases the bowls are adorned with figures of men and

various animals. Some of these pipe heads have two bowls, one in front

of the other.

These bowls are fitted with stems worthy of their sacred character.

They are generally made of the stalk of the young ash, and are often

adorned in the most elaborate manner. They are mostly flat, and

sometimes are twisted spirally and perforated with open patterns in

such a way that the observer cannot but marvel how the aperture for the

smoke is made. After all, the mode of boring is simple enough. As every

one knows who has cut a young ash sapling, the centre is occupied with

pith. This is easily burned out with a hot wire, or bored out with a

piece of hard wood, and the aperture is completed.

Afterward the wood is cut away on two sides, so as to leave only a flat

stem, with the bore occupying the centre. The perforated patterns are

next cut at either side of the bore, being carefully kept clear of it;

and if the stem be then softened in boiling water, it can be made to

assume almost any shape. One valued but rather rare form is a screw, or

spiral, and several of the pipes in Mr. Catlin’s collection have this

form.