INDIAN CUSTOMS AND DANCES.
Before we had any right to look for my husband's return, I one day
received a message inviting me to come up to the new house. We all went
in a body, for we had purposely stayed away a few days, expecting this
summons, of which we anticipated the meaning.
Plante, in full glee, was seated astride of a small keg on the roof,
close beside the kitchen chimney, on the very summit of which he had
planted a green bough. To this he held fast with one hand, while he
exultingly waved the other and called out,--
"_Eh ban, Madame John! à cette heure, pour le régal!_"
"Yes, Plante, you are entitled to a treat, and I hope you will not enjoy
it the less that Pillon and Manaigre are to share it with you."
A suitable gratification made them quite contented with their
"_bourgeoise_," against whom Plante had sometimes been inclined to
grumble, "because," as he said, "she had him called up too early in the
morning." He might have added, because, too, she could not understand
the philosophy of his coming in to work in his own garden, under the
plea that it was too rainy to work in Monsieur John's.
It was with no ordinary feelings of satisfaction that we quitted the old
log tenement and took possession of our new dwelling, small and
insignificant though it was.
I was only too happy to enjoy the luxury of a real bedchamber, in place
of the parlor floor which I had occupied as such for more than two
months. It is true that our culinary arrangements were still upon no
greatly improved plan. The clay chimney was not of sufficient strength
to hold the trammel and pot-hooks, which at that day had not been
superseded by the cooking-stove and kitchen-range. Our fire was made as
in the olden time, with vast logs behind, and smaller sticks in front,
laid across upon the andirons or _dogs_. Upon these sticks were placed
such of the cooking-utensils as could not be accommodated on the hearth;
but woe to the dinner or the supper, if through a little want of care or
scrutiny one treacherous piece was suffered to burn away. Down would
come the whole arrangement--kettles, saucepans, burning brands, and
cinders, in one almost inextricable mass. How often this happened under
the supervision of Harry or little Josette, while the mistress was
playing lady to some visitor in the parlor, "'twere vain to tell."
Then, spite of Monsieur Plante's palisades round the chimney, in a hard
shower the rain would come pelting down, and, the hearth unfortunately
sloping a little the wrong way, the fire would become extinguished;
while, the bark on the roof failing to do its duty, we were now and then
so completely deluged, that there was no resource but to catch up the
breakfast or dinner and tuck it under the table until better times--that
is, till fair weather came again. In spite of all these little adverse
occurrences, however, we enjoyed our new quarters exceedingly.
Our garden was well furnished with vegetables, and even the
currant-bushes which we had brought from Chicago with us, tied in a
bundle at the back of the carriage, had produced us some fruit.
The Indian women were very constant in their visits and their presents.
Sometimes it was venison--sometimes ducks or pigeons--whortleberries,
wild plums, or cranberries, according to the season--neat pretty mats
for the floor or the table--wooden bowls or ladles, fancy work of
deer-skin or porcupine-quills. These they would bring in and throw at my
feet. If through inattention I failed to appear pleased, to raise the
articles from the floor and lay them carefully aside, a look of
mortification and the observation, "Our mother hates our gifts," showed
how much their feelings were wounded. It was always expected that a
present would be received graciously, and returned with something twice
its value.
Meantime, week after week wore on, and still was the return of "the
master" delayed.
The rare arrival of a schooner at Green Bay, in which to take passage
for Detroit, made it always a matter of uncertainty what length of time
would be necessary for a journey across the lakes and back--so that it
was not until the last of August that he again reached his home. Great
was his surprise to find us so nicely moved and settled; and under his
active supervision the evils of which we had had to complain were soon
remedied.
My husband had met at Fort Gratiot, and brought with him, my young
brother Julian, whom my parents were sending, at our request, to reside
with us. Edwin was overjoyed to have a companion once more, for he had
hitherto been very solitary. The boys soon had enough to occupy their
attention, as, in obedience to a summons sent to the different villages,
the Indians very shortly came flocking in to the payment.
There was among their number, this year, one whom I had never before
seen--the mother of the elder Day-kau-ray. No one could tell her age,
but all agreed that she must have seen upwards of a hundred winters. Her
eyes dimmed, and almost white with age--her face dark and withered, like
a baked apple--her voice tremulous and feeble, except when raised in
fury to reprove her graceless grandsons, who were fond of playing her
all sorts of mischievous tricks, indicated the very great age she must
have attained.
She usually went upon all-fours, not having strength to hold herself
erect. On the day of the payment, having received her portion, which she
carefully hid in the corner of her blanket, she came crawling along and
seated herself on the door-step, to count her treasure.
My sister and I were watching her movements from the open window.
Presently, just as she had, unobserved, as she thought, spread out her
silver before her, two of her descendants came suddenly upon her. At
first they seemed begging for a share, but she repulsed them with angry
gestures, when one of them made a sudden swoop, and possessed himself of
a handful.
She tried to rise, to pursue him, but was unable to do more than clutch
the remainder and utter the most unearthly screams of rage. At this
instant the boys raised their eyes and perceived us regarding them. They
burst into a laugh, and with a sort of mocking gesture they threw her
the half-dollars, and ran back to the pay-ground.
In spite of their vexatious tricks, she seemed very fond of them, and
never failed to beg something of her Father, that she might bestow upon
them.
She crept into the parlor one morning, then straightening herself up,
and supporting herself by the frame of the door, she cried, in a most
piteous tone,--"Shaw-nee-aw-kee! Wau-tshob-ee-rah Thsoonsh-koo-nee-noh!"
(Silver-man, I have no looking-glass.) My husband, smiling and taking up
the same little tone, cried, in return,--
"Do you wish to look at yourself, mother?"
The idea seemed to her so irresistibly comic that she laughed until she
was fairly obliged to seat herself upon the floor and give way to her
enjoyment. She then owned that it was for one of the boys that she
wanted the little mirror. When her Father had given it to her, she found
that she had "no comb," then that she had "no knife," then that she had
"no calico shawl," until it ended, as it generally did, by
Shaw-nee-aw-kee paying pretty dearly for his joke.
* * * * *
When the Indians arrived and when they departed, my sense of "woman's
rights" was often greatly outraged. The master of the family, as a
general thing, came leisurely bearing his gun and perhaps a lance in his
hand; the woman, with the mats and poles of her lodge upon her
shoulders, her pappoose, if she had one, her kettles, sacks of corn, and
wild rice, and, not unfrequently, the household dog perched on the top
of all. If there is a horse or pony in the list of family possessions,
the man rides, the squaw trudges after.
This unequal division of labor is the result of no want of kind,
affectionate feeling on the part of the husband. It is rather the
instinct of the sex to assert their superiority of position and
importance, when a proper occasion offers. When out of the reach of
observation, and in no danger of compromising his own dignity, the
husband is willing enough to relieve his spouse from the burden that
custom imposes on her, by sharing her labors and hardships.
The payment had not passed without its appropriate number of
complimentary and medicine dances. The latter take place only at rare
intervals--the former whenever an occasion demanding a manifestation of
respect and courtesy presents itself.
It is the custom to ask permission of the person to be complimented, to
dance for him. This granted, preparation is made by painting the face
elaborately, and marking the person, which is usually bare about the
chest and shoulders, after the most approved pattern. All the ornaments
that can be mustered are added to the hair, or headdress. Happy is he
who, in virtue of having taken one or more scalps, is entitled to
proclaim it by a corresponding number of eagle's feathers.
The less fortunate make a substitute of the feathers of the wild turkey,
or, better still, of the first unlucky "rooster" that falls in their
way. My poor fowls, during the time of payment, were always thoroughly
plucked.
When their preparations are completed, the dancers assemble at some
convenient place, whence they come marching to the spot appointed,
accompanied by the music of the Indian drum and shee-shee-qua or rattle.
They range themselves in a circle and dance with violent contortions and
gesticulations, some of them graceful, others only energetic, the
squaws, who stand a little apart and mingle their discordant voices with
the music of the instruments, rarely participating in the dance.
Occasionally, however, when excited by the general gaiety, a few of them
will form a circle outside and perform a sort of ungraceful, up-and-down
movement, which has no merit, save the perfect time which is kept, and
for which the Indians seem, without exception, to possess a natural ear.
The dance finished, which is only when the strength of the dancers is
quite exhausted, a quantity of presents are brought and placed in the
middle of the circle, by order of the party complimented. An equitable
distribution is made by one of their number; and, the object of all this
display having been accomplished, they retire.
The medicine dance is carried on chiefly to celebrate the skill of the
"Medicine-man" in curing diseases. This functionary belongs to a
fraternity who are supposed to add to their other powers some skill in
interpreting the will of the Great Spirit in regard to the conduct of
his people. He occasionally makes offerings and sacrifices which are
regarded as propitiatory. In this sense, the term "priest" may be deemed
applicable to him. He is also a "prophet" in so far as he is, in a
limited degree, an instructor; but he does not claim to possess the gift
of foretelling future events.
A person is selected to join the fraternity of the "Medicine-man" by
those already initiated, chiefly on account of some skill or sagacity
that has been observed in him. Sometimes it happens that a person who
has had a severe illness which has yielded to the prescriptions of one
of the members, is considered a proper object of choice from a sort of
claim thus established.
When he is about to be initiated, a great feast is made, of course at
the expense of the candidate, for in simple as in civilized life the
same principle of politics holds good, "honors must be paid for." An
animal is killed and dressed, of which the people at large
partake--there are dances and songs and speeches in abundance. Then the
chief Medicine-man takes the candidate and privately instructs him in
all the ceremonies and knowledge necessary to make him an accomplished
member of the fraternity. Sometimes the new member selected is still a
child. In that case he is taken by the Medicine-man so soon as he
reaches a proper age, and qualified by instruction and example to become
a creditable member of the fraternity.
Among the Winnebagoes there seems a considerable belief in magic. Each
Medicine-man has a bag or sack, in which is supposed to be inclosed some
animal, to whom, in the course of their _pow-wows_, he addresses
himself, crying to him in the note common to his imagined species. And
the people seem to be persuaded that the answers which are announced are
really communications, in this form, from the Great Spirit.
The Indians appear to have no idea of a retribution beyond this life.
They have a strong appreciation of the great fundamental virtues of
natural religion--the worship of the Great Spirit, brotherly love,
parental affection, honesty, temperance, and chastity. Any infringement
of the laws of the Great Spirit, by a departure from these virtues, they
believe will excite his anger and draw down punishment. These are their
principles. That their practice evinces more and more a departure from
them, under the debasing influences of a proximity to the whites, is a
melancholy truth, which no one will admit with so much sorrow as those
who lived among them, and esteemed them, before this signal change had
taken place.
* * * * *
One of the first improvements that suggested itself about our new
dwelling, was the removal of some very unsightly pickets surrounding two
or three Indian graves, on the esplanade in front of the house. Such,
however, is the reverence in which these burial-places are held, that we
felt we must approach the subject with great delicacy and consideration.
My husband at length ventured to propose to Mrs. "Pawnee Blanc," the
nearest surviving relative of the person interred, to replace the
pickets with a neat wooden platform.
The idea pleased her much, for, through her intimacy in Paquette's
family, she had acquired something of a taste for civilization.
Accordingly, a little platform about a foot in height, properly finished
with a moulding around the edge, was substituted for the worn and
blackened pickets; and it was touching to witness the mournful
satisfaction with which two or three old crones would come regularly
every evening at sunset, to sit and gossip over the ashes of their
departed relatives.
On the fine moonlight nights, too, there might often be seen a group
sitting there, and enjoying what is to them a solemn hour, for they
entertain the poetic belief that "the moon was made to give light to the
dead."
The reverence of the Indians for the memory of their departed friends,
and their dutiful attention in visiting and making offerings to the
Great Spirit, over their last resting-places, is an example worthy of
imitation among their more enlightened brethren. Not so, however, with
some of their customs in relation to the dead.
The news of the decease of one of their number is a signal for a general
mourning and lamentation; it is also in some instances, I am sorry to
say, when the means and appliances can be found, the apology for a
general carouse.
The relatives weep and howl for grief--the friends and acquaintance bear
them company through sympathy. A few of their number are deputed to wait
upon their Father, to inform him of the event, and to beg some presents
"to help them," as they express it, "dry up their tears."
We received such a visit one morning, not long after the payment was
concluded.
A drunken little Indian, named, by the French people around, "Old
Boilvin," from his resemblance to an Indian Agent of that name at
Prairie du Chien, was the person on account of whose death the
application was made. "He had been fishing," they said, "on the shores
of one of the little lakes near the Portage, and, having taken a little
too much '_whiskee_,' had fallen into the water and been drowned."
Nothing of him had been found but his blanket on the bank, so there
could be no funeral ceremonies, but his friends were prepared to make a
great lamentation about him.
Their Father presented them with tobacco, knives, calico, and
looking-glasses, in proportion to what he thought might be their
reasonable grief at the loss of such a worthless vagabond, and they
departed.
There was no difficulty, notwithstanding the stringent prohibitions on
the subject, in procuring a keg of whiskey from some of the traders who
yet remained. Armed with that and their other treasures, they assembled
at an appointed spot, not far from the scene of the catastrophe, and,
sitting down with the keg in their midst, they commenced their
affliction. The more they drank, the more clamorous became their grief,
and the faster flowed their tears.
In the midst of these demonstrations, a little figure, bent and
staggering, covered with mud and all in disorder, with a countenance
full of wonder and sympathy, approached them, and began,--
"Why? what? what? Who's dead?"
"Who's dead?" repeated they, looking up in astonishment. "Why, you're
dead! you were drowned in Swan Lake! Did not we find your blanket there?
Come, sit down and help us mourn."
The old man did not wait for a second invitation. He took his seat and
cried and drank with the rest, weeping and lamenting as bitterly as any
of them, and the strange scene was continued as long as they had power
to articulate, or any portion of the whiskey was left.