were heard. These came from the scaffold cemetery on the prairie just
outside the village, whither some had withdrawn to lament the death of
loved ones. Great mourning followed upon a death--the wailing could
often be heard for miles. The Mandan slashed themselves until their
bodies were covered with blood, and mourned for a year. In the tree or
scaffold method of burial, the one usually followed by the North Dakota
tribes, the cemetery was ordinarily situated only two or three hundred
paces from the village. The body was wrapped in blankets and placed
upon the scaffold very soon after death--some say before the sun again
sank below the prairies. The Arikara and the Chippewa placed their dead
in the ground, the former resting the body in a sitting posture, or on
its side, with the knees drawn up, in a shallow stone-lined grave. The
latter people believed the spirit followed a wide, beaten path to the
west, at the end of which lay everything an Indian could desire.
The Sioux thought the soul must journey after death toward the land
from which the west wind comes. They believed that the soul did not
leave the body until after nightfall. A horse was killed beneath
the tree or scaffold, in order that the spirit of the animal might
carry the spirit of the Indian to the Milky Way, which was regarded
as the pathway of ghosts. On this pathway the spirit of the dead was
met by the Old Woman with the Stick. If he passed the proper tests,
she directed him down the left fork of the Milky Way to the Northern
Lights, which were regarded as the campfires of the departed heroes and
good people of the tribe. If he could not meet the tests, however, she
pushed him along the right fork over a precipice; and he and his horse
were there changed into beetle bugs forever.
The above-ground type of cemetery undoubtedly contributed to the
spread of disease. Of course, the tribes were subject to a variety of
maladies, smallpox being the most dreaded. From this latter scourge the
agricultural people suffered disastrously; the Mandan were nearly wiped
out by it in the early nineteenth century. In the treatment of disease
certain medicinal herbs were used rather intelligently, and the vapor
bath was of distinct value; but when it came to the more severe forms
of sickness, the primitive sufferers called in the medicine men and
trusted to their incantations.
As the hunters, saddened by the wailing of the mourners, went on
their way, sounds of an altogether different type might have come to
them--sounds of joy--of a wedding in progress. The bridegroom would
have delivered the horses with which he paid for his bride, and the
guests would be gathered at the lodge for the feast, which usually
consummated the relatively simple affairs that courtship and marriage
were among the prairie Indians. Perhaps the groom already had several
wives--the possession of 6 was a common situation, and the great men
of the tribe sometimes had as many as 14. Since the women did much of
the work of field and lodge, the acquisition of another wife was not
an added burden. Despite the existence of polygamy, however, Indian
families were not large.
The babies of the party would be seen strapped to board cradles, where
a good part of infancy was spent in those days--a life that must have
had its pleasant features. In this point of vantage a child could be
set up by the side of the tipi or lodge to enjoy the sunshine, be hung
up in a tree to talk to the birds, or be carried at the side of a horse
or on the back of its mother to look serenely over the far prairies.
At this point a courier might have detained the hunters and delivered
a message requesting the presence of some of them at a council of
the leading men of the tribe, called to consider pressing affairs of
government. Among the Plains Indians, government varied greatly, being
dependent upon a combination of custom and tradition and the personal
fitness and character of the chief. Perhaps the latter element played
a greater part in the swiftly changing life of the nomadic tribes,
while among the more settled agricultural peoples, tradition and the
hereditary rights of chieftainship had more authority. Nearly all the
tribes were divided into a number of clans or bands.
If the supply of meat was running low, and no buffalo had been near
the village for a long time, the big question before the council might
have been whether or not the tribe should conduct the buffalo dance.
The agricultural tribes did not like to go far from the protection of
their villages because of the enemy Sioux, and often resorted to the
buffalo dance, which never failed to bring the buffalo, because it was
danced until buffalo came. The dancers donned buffalo skins, the head
of the dancer being placed in the head of the skin so that the eyes
looked out as the buffalo's had; the horns projected above the head,
and the tail dragged on the ground. Thus garbed, they danced in the
center of the village, going through all the antics of the buffalo.
During the days of the buffalo dance, the yelping of the people and the
beating of drums was continuous and deafening. Each dancer danced until
exhausted, and then the others shot him with blunt arrows; whereupon he
was dragged to one side, and theoretically skinned and cut up. Other
dancers replaced those thus removed, and the dance was kept up until
buffalo came. Sometimes the Sioux out on the prairie put on buffalo
hides and decoyed the villagers forth to be ambushed.
The ceremony of the rain makers was another that was always effective
because it was continued until the desired results were achieved.
Evidently there were droughts in those days, too, and the fields of
Mandan corn withered in the hot summer suns. Catlin tells the story
of one rain maker, who, mounting his lodge and vaunting his powers,
called upon the clouds to bring rain. Just as he was about to retire
in failure and disgrace, out of a clear sky came apparent thunder.
The sound, however, turned out to be a salute fired by the steamer
_Yellowstone_ on her first trip up the Missouri. At first nonplussed,
the rain maker finally made capital out of this coincidence when, later
in the day, a large cloud jutted up on the horizon, and a heavy rain
began and continued far into the night.
The council might have been considering also the conducting of the
yearly feast of Okeepa, the most important of all Mandan ceremonies.
This centered about the legend of the Ark and the First Man, and was
regarded as being an essential part of the origin and existence of the
tribe. It took place in the summertime, usually lasting about four days.
The feast of Okeepa contained many features common to the sun dance
of the other Plains tribes, particularly the element of self-torture.
Skewers were thrust through the loose flesh of the dancer's chest,
thongs attached, and the dancer thereby hauled up toward the roof
of the council lodge until his body was six or eight feet off the
ground. Often other skewers were thrust through the skin of the back,
and weights attached by thongs and allowed to drag over the floor of
the lodge as the dancer swung about the pole. Thus suspended, the
warrior boasted of his prowess and bravery until he was released by the
breaking of the flesh. This torture was thought necessary to secure the
blessings of food, shelter, protection from enemies, and long life.
While the hunters were away, some of the women, engaged in the
immemorial food-getting practice of fishing, went out on the river in
the tublike bullboat--so-called because it was made from the skin of a
single buffalo bull, stretched over a willow frame. Others went along
the bluffs and through the valleys, digging tipsin roots, and gathering
berries, cherries, and plums.
But probably by far their most important occupation economically was
their work in the gardens. As far back as their traditions go, the
tribes of the Missouri Valley seem to have been agriculturists. Along
the river each family kept a field or garden, variously estimated at
from one to four or five acres in size. These fields were held by the
family with a sort of perpetual lease from the community, the term
of the lease being dependent only on the condition that good use be
made of the land. There was apparently no concept of the white man's
practice of fertilizing the soil; when an old field grew impoverished,
a new one was selected. A fence of forked sticks protected the crops
from horses, while here and there on the outskirts of the fields a
sentry brave was on duty to guard the women from the ever dreaded
Sioux. Aiding the women were a few old men, too feeble for the chase.
A variety of tobacco, several varieties of sunflowers, squashes,
pumpkins, and beans, and a dozen varieties of corn grew in the gardens.
Early travelers say the ears of corn were extraordinarily small.
The keepers of the gardens were very faithful in caring for the growing
plants, and took great pride in keeping the soil free from weeds. They
worked among the corn with the willow rake, the antler fork, and,
probably most important of all, the shoulderblade hoe. In each garden
stood a platform or watchtower upon which in certain seasons sat one or
two Indian women, whose duty it was to frighten away marauding crows
and blackbirds. These women also sang watchtower songs to the growing
corn, as a mother sings to her babe.
When the hunters and the berry pickers and the gardeners returned home,
surplus corn, meat, squashes, and other foods were placed on the drying
racks which stood at the doors of the lodges. Corn that was allowed to
ripen was usually stored in underground bottle-shaped caches or storage
pits, the best ears being placed around the edges of the cache, while
in the center were thrown loose corn and strings of dried squash.
As evening came on, within the dome-shaped lodges there was much
feasting, especially if it was the time of the new corn. The doorway of
a lodge was protected by a kind of porch and hung with a buffalo hide.
From behind the windshield just inside the doorway shone the light of
the fire, which was built in a stone-lined depression in the center
of the lodge, with a hole in the roof to carry off the smoke. This
opening also served as a skylight. To the right of the doorway, in a
small corral or stall, were the favorite ponies, safely confined for
the night. Boxlike beds for the master of the house, his wife or wives,
and his children, were arranged along the wall on the other side. These
were made by covering sturdy wooden frames with hides. In the rear
stood an altar--a tall hide-covered structure somewhat resembling a
canopied chair--in which were placed all the sacred objects and most
prized possessions of the head of the house. Over the fire about which
the family or families had gathered--usually two or three families and
their relatives lived in one lodge--were kettles of food cooking for
the evening meal. Catlin says the Indians ate whenever hungry, or about
twice a day. The pot was kept boiling, and each one helped himself.
Anyone in the village who was hungry was free to go into any lodge and
satisfy his hunger, although the lazy and improvident were scorned.
Overhead, the light from the fire flickered on the huge supporting
uprights of the lodge, where hung articles of clothing, tools from the
garden, and weapons for war and hunting. Months before, with infinite
labor and no little ingenuity, and hampered by the imperfections of
the crude tools and equipment at their command, these early Dakota
farmers had cut great cottonwood logs from the Missouri bottomlands and
dragged them to the top of the bluffs, to form the framework for this
earthen home. The lodges varied from 30 to 90 feet in diameter. After a
little sod had been removed from a space of the desired size, to form
a smooth, firm floor, four heavy posts were fixed upright not far from
the center, to support the great roof, while at some distance out from
these a circle of smaller posts was set to hold up the sides. Rafters
of moderate-sized timbers were placed over these supports, after which
the whole was overlaid with willows, hay, and earth--a humble covering
that guarded with all its passive, effective impenetrability against
both the sweltering heat of summer and the intense cold of winter.
Out on the prairies, sometimes along the shores of rivers or lakes,
sometimes on the open plain, stood the tipi villages of the enemy--the
nomadic Assiniboin and Sioux. Against the evening sky the tipis, which
required about 15 buffalo hides each in their construction, rose as
much as 25 feet in height. A tipi approximately 15 feet in diameter
usually accommodated two families.
Not far from the village, and very carefully guarded, grazed the pony
herd. The horse was of great importance in the nomadic way of living.
He carried the tipi and its contents across the plains and sped the
hunters in their pursuit of the buffalo. Every warrior had two, some
many more; and Sioux horsemen were probably as daring and expert as any
the world has known.
The serviceability of the horse was increased by the use of the
travois, a simple implement of transportation consisting of two long
poles, often tipi poles, whose forward ends, joined by a short strap,
rested on the animal's neck, while the rear ends dragged along the
prairie. Camp duffle was strapped to the middle of the poles. A similar
but smaller device was placed on dogs.
Gathered about the campfires were the warriors, men of striking
physique and strong character, perhaps just in from the chase or war
or a pillaging expedition. The clothing of the nomadic tribes was more
extensive than that of the agricultural. Moccasins, separate trouser
legs, breechcloth, and leather shirt were supplemented in cold weather
by buffalo robes. The women wore moccasins, short decorated leggings,
and loose-fitting leather dresses falling to the knees. In winter
both sexes wore a kind of hood over the head. Clothing was commonly
ornamented with bead and quill work.
Here and there about the tipis hung bows with quivers of arrows. As in
the case of the agricultural tribes, the bow and arrow was the chief
weapon, and the Sioux were expert in its use. Ready to hand, too, were
shields, clubs, stone hammers, and spears. It is interesting to note
here that as a means of communication in peace and war the tribes
made good use of the art of signaling with fires and smoke. By this
method messages were transmitted long distances with almost incredible
rapidity.
Not far from the fires some of the women were preparing for drying
the buffalo meat brought in from the chase. Others were storing dried
berries and fruits in caches, in the making and concealing of which the
Sioux were very skillful.
About the big fire near the center of the village the old men and
chiefs were meeting in council over some weighty matter, perhaps the
arrangements for the great annual sun dance. For this a special lodge
was prepared on the prairie, around which the whole village pitched its
camp in the form of a horseshoe facing the east. The ceremony required
several days and involved self-torture similar to that of the Mandan
feast of Okeepa.
In one group about the fire an elderly man was relating the history
of the tribe to a circle of youthful faces. Some of the tribes kept a
chronicle of their history by means of the winter count: the council
met in winter and decided on the outstanding event of the year;
thereafter the year was designated by this event, which was often
pictured symbolically on a buffalo hide.
With the history, of course, as the evening stars came out, were
mingled fancy and legend. On this night the boys and girls heard of
the great monster who breaks up the ice in the Missouri each spring,
of how one of the goose nation was shown in a dream that her people
should go south each autumn in order to avoid the harsh winter, and
of the Iktomi, the little "spidermen," who on moonlight nights, high
on hilltops, can be heard with their tiny hammers, shaping arrowheads
which they place in piles where Indians can find them.
One of the Iktomi, who was a very excellent singer and dancer, was
hungry, continued the storyteller, and went into the woods to catch
some birds. Being unsuccessful in his attempts to bag them, he invited
them into his house to hear him sing. After they had accepted his
invitation, he told them that if they were to hear his sweet voice,
they must keep their eyes closed tightly. He warned them that their
eyes would turn to a blood red if they opened them. Then he sang and
danced. In his dance, however, as he passed each bird, he took it by
the head and wrung its neck. This continued until he came to Siyaka,
the duck. Siyaka opened his eyes just as the Iktomi seized him, and
managed to break away. But where the Iktomi had his hand about his neck
there was a red ring which is there to this day, and Siyaka is now the
ring-necked duck.
The thunderbirds, so ran another tale of the aged storyteller, live
suspended between heaven and earth, their wings supported by lightning.
Above are the dark clouds. Below is the earth. When the thunderbirds
shake their wings favorably, it rains. There was a time when they tired
of living between heaven and earth, and asked the Great Mystery if
they might become men and live on earth. This the Great Mystery gave
them permission to do, but told them that they should become men such
as no other men were. Accordingly, they became giants so large that
one living on the Big Muddy could reach the Atlantic Ocean in a single
step. One of them playfully took up a handful of earth, and the waters
flowing into the depression formed Lake Superior, while the handful of
earth which he tossed aside made a mountain. They dug a ditch to the
Gulf of Mexico, and it is now called the Mississippi River. Such antics
finally produced all the lakes and rivers. At last the thunderbird
men grew old and died, and went back to the spaces between heaven
and earth. Lightning is the fire from their eyes, and thunder the
reverberation from their eggs as they hatch.
While the night settled darker and a breath of cool air stole in from
the prairie, the storyteller told of the great giant who lives in the
North and whose name is Wasiya. The feathers of his bonnet are icicles,
and his clothing is of ice. When he blows his breath, it turns cold and
winter comes.
Later, as strange lights began to play far away in the northern sky,
the narrator told the story, heard from the Chippewa, of the Northern
Lights. A woman in a dream once visited the land where these lights
shine, and discovered that they are ghosts rising and falling in the
steps of a dance. All the women wear gay colors, and the warriors
brandish their war clubs.
The boys and girls heard, too, of the beautiful Indian maiden who came
from the land of the setting sun and brought the Sioux the pipe of
strange red stone, which is the solidified blood of Indians. She told
them to use the pipe only when there is peace, or peace to be made, and
in times of sickness and distress; and urged them to be kind to the
women because they are weak. She is now the morning star, the Indians'
sister, and stands in the heavens, wearing a white buffalo robe. The
boys and girls were told, too, as the darkness deepened out on the
prairies, that the earth is the Indians' Mother, and the sun their
Father. Therefore, they should treat kindly and with reverence all
things in earth and sky, because they are manifestations of Wakantanka,
the Great Mystery, or the Great Spirit, to whom the Indians pray.
DECLINE OF THE INDIAN TRIBES
Shortly after the Verendrye visit the Mandan seem to have declined.
When Lewis and Clark came up the Missouri in 1804, the villages about
the Heart River were in ruins. Farther up the river, near where it is
joined by the Knife, the explorers found the Mandan, diminished by
smallpox and by wars with the Assiniboin and the Dakota to two small
villages. In 1837 smallpox again broke out, reducing the tribe from
1,600 to 150--some travelers give even a lower figure. At the beginning
of the twentieth century it numbered about 250.
The other agricultural tribes seem to have suffered fates almost as
harsh. The Hidatsa, numbering 2,100 at the time of the Lewis and Clark
visit, had been reduced at the beginning of the present century to
less than 500. In 1804 the Arikara, crowded by the Sioux, had moved
up the river nearer to the other agricultural tribes. Lewis and Clark
found them in three villages between the Grand and Cannonball Rivers in
what is now North and South Dakota. At that time they numbered 2,600,
but this figure had dropped to 380 by the beginning of the twentieth
century. The Cheyenne village on the Missouri, some distance below
the site of Bismarck, was in ruins at the time of the expedition.
Successive migrations finally brought the Cheyenne to the headwaters of
the Cheyenne River in the southwestern part of present South Dakota.
The agricultural tribes on the whole have been very friendly to the
whites. In 1870 a large reservation, which has since been much reduced
in size, was set apart at the junction of the Missouri and the Little
Missouri Rivers for the Mandan, Arikara, and Hidatsa (_see Side Tour
3A_). Since the beginning of the century their numbers have increased
by large percentages and at the present time they number approximately
1,650. The remnant of those Cheyenne who lived in North Dakota are now
on reservations in south central Montana and in Oklahoma.
The nomadic tribes, especially the Sioux, did not take as kindly
to the white invasion as did the agricultural groups. However, the
principal disturbances involving this tribe--the Minnesota Massacre of
1862, which extended to Abercrombie within the limits of present North
Dakota; Sibley's campaign to the Missouri in 1863; Sully's expeditions
into Dakota in 1863-64; and the battle of the Little Big Horn in 1876,
when Gen. George A. Custer and five companies of cavalry were wiped
out--none of these major conflicts involved the Sioux as a whole,
but rather one or more of the seven Council Fires, as they call their
tribal divisions. These seven groups are the Mdewakanton, Wahpekute,
Sisseton, and Wahpeton, who inhabited the region about Lake Traverse
and the Big Sioux River and east to the Mississippi; the Yankton and
Yanktonai, who lived along the course of the James River; and the
Teton, who dwelt west of the Missouri. The four Council Fires first
named were responsible for the uprising and massacre in Minnesota in
1862, in which about 400 settlers and 100 white soldiers lost their
lives. Sibley and Sully were sent into Dakota Territory in 1863-64 to
punish the perpetrators of this massacre, but although they punished
Sioux, they probably did not punish the offending bands (_see_ HISTORY).
While all the Sioux were bitter in their objection to the whites,
it was the Teton, or prairie Sioux, whose seven bands constituted
more than one-half the tribe, who were the most unremitting in their
hostility. These bands were the Ogallala, Brulé, Hunkpapa, Blackfeet,
Minneconjou, Sans Arcs, and Two Kettle. Of these the Hunkpapa and
Ogallala were the most numerous. They were also probably the most
inflexible in their determination not to yield to white sovereignty,
and formed the backbone of the Indian opposition in the disasters at
Fort Phil Kearney in Wyoming and at the Little Big Horn in Montana.
The other North Dakota nomadic tribes did not give the newcomers as
much trouble as did the Sioux. The Assiniboin were a wandering people,
less certain of fixed habitation than the Sioux and Chippewa. In spite
of the uncertainty of their lives and their constant warfare with the
Sioux, in the early part of the nineteenth century they numbered about
1,200 lodges. Not long afterward they were reduced by a plague of
smallpox to less than 400 lodges.
The Chippewa made a treaty with the Government in 1815 after the
border troubles incident to the War of 1812, and have since remained
peaceful, almost all residing on reservations or allotted lands within
their original territory in Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North
Dakota. At the close of the eighteenth century there were perhaps
25,000 Chippewa, while at the beginning of the twentieth there were in
the neighborhood of 30,000, approximately 1,000 of whom were in North
Dakota.