You sought honors more than love;
Dear, I weep, yet I am not a coward;
My heart weeps for thee--
My heart weeps when I remember thee!
_--Sioux Love Song._
The sky is blue overhead, peeping through window-like openings in a
roof of green leaves. Right between a great pine and a birch tree their
soft doeskin shawls are spread, and there sit two Sioux maidens amid
their fineries--variously colored porcupine quills for embroidery laid
upon sheets of thin birch-bark, and moccasin tops worked in colors like
autumn leaves. It is Winona and her friend Miniyata.
They have arrived at the period during which the young girl is
carefully secluded from her brothers and cousins and future lovers, and
retires, as it were, into the nunnery of the woods, behind a veil of
thick foliage. Thus she is expected to develop her womanly qualities.
In meditation and solitude, entirely alone or with a chosen companion
of her own sex and age, she gains a secret strength, as she studies the
art of womanhood from nature herself.
"Come, let us practise our sacred dance," says one to the other. Each
crowns her glossy head with a wreath of wild flowers, and they dance
with slow steps around the white birch, singing meanwhile the sacred
songs.
Now upon the lake that stretches blue to the eastward there appears a
distant canoe, a mere speck, no bigger than a bird far off against the
shining sky.
"See the lifting of the paddles!" exclaims Winona.
"Like the leaping of a trout upon the water!" suggests Miniyata.
"I hope they will not discover us, yet I would like to know who they
are," remarks the other, innocently.
The birch canoe approaches swiftly, with two young men plying the light
cedar paddles.
The girls now settle down to their needle-work, quite as if they had
never laughed or danced or woven garlands, bending over their
embroidery in perfect silence. Surely they would not wish to attract
attention, for the two sturdy young warriors have already landed.
They pick up the canoe and lay it well up on the bank, out of sight.
Then one procures a strong pole. They lift a buck deer from the
canoe--not a mark upon it, save for the bullet wound; the deer looks as
if it were sleeping! They tie the hind legs together and the fore legs
also and carry it between them on the pole.
Quickly and cleverly they do all this; and now they start forward and
come unexpectedly upon the maidens' retreat! They pause for an instant
in mute apology, but the girls smile their forgiveness, and the youths
hurry on toward the village.
Winona has now attended her first maidens' feast and is considered
eligible to marriage. She may receive young men, but not in public or
in a social way, for such is not the custom of the Sioux. When he
speaks, she need not answer him unless she chooses.
It was no disgrace to the chief's daughter in the old days to work with
her hands. Indeed, their standard of worth was the willingness to work,
but not for the sake of accumulation, only in order to give. Winona has
learned to prepare skins, to remove the hair and tan the skin of a deer
so that it may be made into moccasins within three days. She has a bone
tool for each stage of the conversion of the stiff rawhide into velvety
leather. She has been taught the art of painting tents and rawhide
cases, and the manufacture of garments of all kinds.
Generosity is a trait that is highly developed in the Sioux woman. She
makes many moccasins and other articles of clothing for her male
relatives, or for any who are not well provided. She loves to see her
brother the best dressed among the young men, and the moccasins
especially of a young brave are the pride of his woman-kind.
Her own person is neatly attired, but ordinarily with great simplicity.
Her doeskin gown has wide, flowing sleeves; the neck is low, but not so
low as is the evening dress of society.
Her moccasins are plain; her leggins close-fitting and not as high as
her brother's. She parts her smooth, jet-black hair in the middle and
plaits it in two. In the old days she used to do it in one plait wound
around with wampum. Her ornaments, sparingly worn, are beads, elks'
teeth, and a touch of red paint. No feathers are worn by the woman,
unless in a sacred dance. She is supposed to be always occupied with
some feminine pursuit or engaged in some social affair, which also is
strictly feminine as a rule.
There is an etiquette of sitting and standing, which is strictly
observed. The woman must never raise her knees or cross her feet when
seated. She seats herself on the ground sidewise, with both feet under
her.
Notwithstanding her modesty and undemonstrative ways, there is no lack
of mirth and relaxation for Winona among her girl companions.
In summer, swimming and playing in the water is a favorite amusement.
She even imitates with the soles of her feet the peculiar, resonant
sound that the beaver makes with her large, flat tail upon the surface
of the water. She is a graceful swimmer, keeping the feet together and
waving them backward and forward like the tail of a fish.
Nearly all her games are different from those of the men. She has a
sport of wand-throwing, which develops fine muscles of the shoulder and
back. The wands are about eight feet long, and taper gradually from an
inch and a half to half an inch in diameter. Some of them are
artistically made, with heads of bone and horn, so that it is
remarkable to what a distance they may be made to slide over the
ground. In the feminine game of ball, which is something like "shinny,"
the ball is driven with curved sticks between two goals. It is played
with from two or three to a hundred on a side, and a game between two
bands or villages is a picturesque event.
A common indoor diversion is the "deer's foot" game, played with six
deer hoofs on a string, ending in a bone or steel awl. The object is to
throw it in such a way as to catch one or more hoofs on the point of
the awl, a feat which requires no little dexterity. Another is played
with marked plum-stones in a bowl, which are thrown like dice and count
according to the side that is turned uppermost.
Winona's wooing is a typical one. As with any other people, love-making
is more or less in vogue at all times of the year, but more especially
at midsummer, during the characteristic reunions and festivities of
that season. The young men go about usually in pairs, and the maidens
do likewise. They may meet by chance at any time of day, in the woods
or at the spring, but oftenest seek to do so after dark, just outside
the teepee. The girl has her companion, and he has his, for the sake of
propriety or protection. The conversation is carried on in a whisper,
so that even these chaperons do not hear.
At the sound of the drum on summer evenings, dances are begun within
the circular rows of teepees, but without the circle the young men
promenade in pairs. Each provides himself with the plaintive flute and
plays the simple cadences of his people, while his person is completely
covered with his fine robe, so that he cannot be recognized by the
passer-by. At every pause in the melody he gives his yodel-like
love-call, to which the girls respond with their musical, sing-song
laughter.
Matosapa has improved every opportunity, until Winona has at last shyly
admitted her willingness to listen. For a whole year he has been
compelled at intervals to repeat the story of his love. Through the
autumn hunting of the buffalo and the long, cold winter he often
presents her kinsfolk with his game.
At the next midsummer the parents on both sides are made acquainted
with the betrothal, and they at once begin preparations for the coming
wedding. Provisions and delicacies of all kinds are laid aside for a
feast. Matosapa's sisters and his girl cousins are told of the
approaching event, and they too prepare for it, since it is their duty
to dress or adorn the bride with garments made by their own hands.
The bride is ceremoniously delivered to her husband's people, together
with presents of rich clothing, collected from all her clan, which she
afterward distributes among her new relations. Winona is carried in a
travois handsomely decorated, and is received with equal ceremony.
III
A MIDSUMMER FEAST
The Wahpetonwan village on the banks of the Minnesota river was alive
with the newly-arrived guests and the preparations for the coming
event. Meat of wild game had been put away with much care during the
previous fall in anticipation of this feast. There was wild rice and
the choicest of dried venison that had been kept all winter, as well as
freshly dug turnips, ripe berries and an abundance of fresh meat.
Along the edge of the woods the teepees were pitched in groups or
semi-circles, each band distinct from the others. The teepee of Mankato
or Blue Earth was pitched in a conspicuous spot. Just over the entrance
was painted in red and yellow a picture of a pipe, and directly
opposite this the rising sun. The painting was symbolic of welcome and
good will to men under the bright sun.
A meeting was held to appoint some "medicine-man" to make the balls
that were to be used in the lacrosse contest; and presently the herald
announced that this honor had been conferred upon old Chankpee-yuhah,
or "Keeps the Club," while every other man of his profession was
disappointed.
Towards evening he appeared in the circle, leading by the hand a boy
about four years old. Closely the little fellow observed every motion
of the man; nothing escaped his vigilant black eyes, which seemed
constantly to grow brighter and larger, while his glossy black hair was
plaited and wound around his head like that of a Celestial. He wore a
bit of swan's down in each ear, which formed a striking contrast with
the child's complexion. Further than this, the boy was painted
according to the fashion of the age. He held in his hands a miniature
bow and arrows.
The medicine-man drew himself up in an admirable attitude, and
proceeded to make his short speech:
"Wahpetonwans, you boast that you run down the elk; you can outrun the
Ojibways. Before you all, I dedicate to you this red ball. Kaposias,
you claim that no one has a lighter foot than you; you declare that you
can endure running a whole day without water. To you I dedicate this
black ball. Either you or the Leaf-Dwellers will have to drop your eyes
and bow your head when the game is over. I wish to announce that if the
Wahpetonwans should win, this little warrior shall bear the name
Ohiyesa (winner) through life; but if the Light Lodges should win, let
the name be given to any child appointed by them."
The ground selected for the great game was on a narrow strip of land
between a lake and the river. It was about three quarters of a mile
long and a quarter of a mile in width. The spectators had already
ranged themselves all along the two sides, as well as at the two ends,
which were somewhat higher than the middle. The soldiers appointed to
keep order furnished much of the entertainment of the day. They painted
artistically and tastefully, according to the Indian fashion, not only
their bodies but also their ponies and clubs. They were so strict in
enforcing the laws that no one could venture with safety within a few
feet of the limits of the field.
Now all of the minor events and feasts, occupying several days' time,
had been observed. Heralds on ponies' backs announced that all who
intended to participate in the final game were requested to repair to
the ground; also that if any one bore a grudge against another, he was
implored to forget his ill-feeling until the contest should be over.
The most powerful men were stationed at the half-way ground, while the
fast runners were assigned to the back. It was an impressive spectacle
a fine collection of agile forms, almost stripped of garments and
painted in wild imitation of the rainbow and sunset sky on human
canvas. Some had undertaken to depict the Milky Way across their tawny
bodies, and one or two made a bold attempt to reproduce the lightning.
Others contented themselves with painting the figure of some fleet
animal or swift bird on their muscular chests.
At the middle of the ground were stationed four immense men,
magnificently formed. A fifth approached this group, paused a moment,
and then threw his head back, gazed up into the sky in the manner of a
cock and gave a smooth, clear operatic tone. Instantly the little black
ball went up between the two middle rushers, in the midst of yells,
cheers and war-whoops. Both men endeavored to catch it in the air; but
alas! each interfered with the other; then the guards on each side
rushed upon them. For a time, a hundred lacrosse sticks vied with each
other, and the wriggling human flesh and paint were all one could see
through the cloud of dust. Suddenly there shot swiftly through the air
toward the south, toward the Kaposias' goal, the ball. There was a
general cheer from their adherents, which echoed back from the white
cliff on the opposite side of the Minnesota.
As the ball flew through the air, two adversaries were ready to receive
it. The Kaposia quickly met the ball, but failed to catch it in his
netted bag, for the other had swung his up like a flash. Thus it struck
the ground, but had no opportunity to bound up when a Wahpeton pounced
upon it like a cat and slipped out of the grasp of his opponents. A
mighty cheer thundered through the air.
The warrior who had undertaken to pilot the little sphere was risking
much, for he must dodge a host of Kaposias before he could gain any
ground. He was alert and agile; now springing like a panther, now
leaping like a deer over a stooping opponent who tried to seize him
around the waist. Every opposing player was upon his heels, while those
of his own side did all in their power to clear the way for him. But it
was all in vain. He only gained fifty paces.
Thus the game went. First one side, then the other would gain an
advantage, and then it was lost, until the herald proclaimed that it
was time to change the ball. No victory was in sight for either side.
After a few minutes' rest, the game was resumed. The red ball was now
tossed in the air in the usual way. No sooner had it descended than one
of the rushers caught it and away it went northward; again it was
fortunate, for it was advanced by one of the same side. The scene was
now one of the wildest excitement and confusion. At last, the northward
flight of the ball was checked for a moment and a desperate struggle
ensued.
The ball had not been allowed to come to the surface since it reached
this point, for there were more than a hundred men who scrambled for
it. Suddenly a warrior shot out of the throng like the ball itself!
Then some of the players shouted: "Look out for Antelope!" But it was
too late. The little sphere had already nestled into Antelope's palm
and that fleetest of Wahpetons had thrown down his lacrosse stick and
set a determined eye upon the northern goal.
Such a speed! He had cleared almost all the opponents' guards--there
were but two more. These were exceptional runners of the Kaposias. As
he approached them in his almost irresistible speed, every savage heart
thumped louder in the Indian's dusky bosom. In another moment there
would be a defeat for the Kaposias or a prolongation of the game. The
two men, with a determined look approached their foe like two panthers
prepared to spring; yet he neither slackened his speed nor deviated
from his course. A crash--a mighty shout!--the two Kaposias collided,
and the swift Antelope had won the laurels!
The turmoil and commotion at the victors' camp were indescribable. A
few beats of a drum were heard, after which the criers hurried along
the lines, announcing the last act to be performed at the camp of the
"Leaf Dwellers."
The day had been a perfect one. Every event had been a success; and, as
a matter of course, the old people were happy, for they largely
profited by these occasions. Within the circle formed by the general
assembly sat in a group the members of the common council. Blue Earth
arose, and in a few appropriate and courteous remarks assured his
guests that it was not selfishness that led his braves to carry off the
honors of the last event, but that this was a friendly contest in which
each band must assert its prowess. In memory of this victory, the boy
would now receive his name. A loud "Ho-o-o" of approbation reverberated
from the edge of the forest upon the Minnesota's bank.
Half frightened, the little fellow was now brought into the circle,
looking very much as if he were about to be executed. Cheer after cheer
went up for the awe-stricken boy. Chankpee-yuhah, the medicine-man,
proceeded to confer the name.
"Ohiyesa (or Winner) shall be thy name henceforth. Be brave, be patient
and thou shalt always win! Thy name is Ohiyesa."
IV
THE FAITHFULNESS OF LONG EARS
Away beyond the Thin Hills, above the Big Lone Tree upon the Powder
river, the Uncpapa Sioux had celebrated their Sun Dance, some forty
years ago. It was midsummer and the red folk were happy. They lacked
for nothing. The yellowish green flat on either side of the Powder was
studded with wild flowers, and the cottonwood trees were in full leaf.
One large circle of buffalo-skin teepees formed the movable village.
The tribal rites had all been observed, and the usual summer
festivities enjoyed to the full. The camp as it broke up divided itself
in three parts, each of which had determined to seek a favorite
hunting-ground.
One band journeyed west, toward the Tongue river. One followed a
tributary of the Powder to the south. The third merely changed camp, on
account of the grazing for ponies, and for four days remained near the
old place.
The party that went west did not fail to realize the perilous nature of
their wanderings, for they were trespassing upon the country of the
warlike Crows.
On the third day at sunrise, the Sioux crier's voice resounded in the
valley of the Powder, announcing that the lodges must be razed and the
villagers must take up their march.
Breakfast of jerked buffalo meat had been served and the women were
adjusting their packs, not without much chatter and apparent confusion.
Weeko (Beautiful Woman), the young wife of the war-chief Shunkaska, who
had made many presents at the dances in honor of her twin boys, now
gave one of her remaining ponies to a poor old woman whose only beast
of burden, a large dog, had died during the night.
This made it necessary to shift the packs of the others. Nakpa, or Long
Ears, her kitten-like gray mule, which had heretofore been honored with
the precious burden of the twin babies, was to be given a heavier and
more cumbersome load. Weeko's two-year-old spotted pony was selected to
carry the babies.
Accordingly, the two children, in their gorgeously beaded buckskin
hoods, were suspended upon either side of the pony's saddle. As Weeko's
first-born, they were beautifully dressed; even the saddle and bridle
were daintily worked by her own hands.
The caravan was now in motion, and Weeko started all her ponies after
the leader, while she adjusted the mule's clumsy burden of kettles and
other household gear. In a moment:
"Go on, let us see how you move with your new load! Go on!" she
exclaimed again, with a light blow of the horse-hair lariat, as the
animal stood perfectly still.
Nakpa simply gave an angry side glance at her load and shifted her
position once or twice. Then she threw herself headlong into the air
and landed stiff-legged, uttering at the same time her unearthly
protest. First she dove straight through the crowd, then proceeded in a
circle, her heels describing wonderful curves and sweeps in the air.
Her pack, too, began to come to pieces and to take forced flights from
her undignified body and heels, in the midst of the screams of women
and children, the barking of dogs, and the war-whoops of the amused
young braves.
The cowskin tent became detached from her saddle, and a moment later
Nakpa stood free. Her sides worked like a bellows as she stood there,
meekly indignant, apparently considering herself to be the victim of an
uncalled-for misunderstanding.
"I should put an arrow through her at once, only she is not worth a
good arrow," said Shunkaska, or White Dog, the husband of Weeko. At his
wife's answer, he opened his eyes in surprised displeasure.
"No, she shall have her own pack again. She wants her twins. I ought
never to have taken them from her!"
Weeko approached Nakpa as she stood alone and unfriended in the face of
her little world, all of whom considered that she had committed the
unpardonable sin. As for her, she evidently felt that her misfortunes
had not been of her own making. She gave a hesitating, sidelong look at
her mistress.
"Nakpa, you should not have acted so. I knew you were stronger than the
others, therefore I gave you that load," said Weeko in a conciliatory
tone, and patted her on the nose. "Come, now, you shall have your own
pet pack," and she led her back to where the young pony stood silently
with the babies.
Nakpa threw back her ears and cast savage looks at him, while
Shunkaska, with no small annoyance, gathered together as much as he
could of their scattered household effects. The sleeping brown-skinned
babies in their chrysalis-like hoods were gently lowered from the
pony's back and attached securely to Nakpa's padded wooden saddle. The
family pots and kettles were divided among the pack-ponies. Order was
restored and the village once more in motion.
"Come now, Nakpa; you have your wish. You must take good care of my
babies. Be good, because I have trusted you," murmured the young mother
in her softest tones.
"Really, Weeko, you have some common ground with Nakpa, for you both
always want to have your own way, and stick to it, too! I tell you, I
fear this Long Ears. She is not to be trusted with babies," remarked
Shunkaska, with a good deal of severity.
But his wife made no reply, for she well knew that though he might
criticize, he would not actually interfere with her domestic
arrangements.
He now started ahead to join the men in advance of the slow-moving
procession, thus leaving her in undivided charge of her household. One
or two of the pack ponies were not well trained and required all her
attention. Nakpa had been a faithful servant until her escapade of the
morning, and she was now obviously satisfied with her mistress'
arrangements. She walked alongside with her lariat dragging, and
perfectly free to do as she pleased.
Some hours later, the party ascended a slope from the river bottom to
cross over the divide which lay between the Powder River and a
tributary stream. The ford was deep, with a swift current. Here and
there a bald butte stood out in full relief against the brilliant blue
sky.
"Whoo! whoo!" came the blood-curdling signal of danger from the front.
It was no unfamiliar sound--the rovers knew it only too well. It meant
sudden death--or at best a cruel struggle and frantic flight.
Terrified, yet self-possessed, the women turned to fly while yet there
was time. Instantly the mother looked to Nakpa, who carried on either
side of the saddle her precious boys. She hurriedly examined the
fastenings to see that all was secure, and then caught her swiftest
pony, for, like all Indian women, she knew just what was happening, and
that while her husband was engaged in front with the enemy, she must
seek safety with her babies.
Hardly was she in the saddle when a heartrending war-whoop sounded on
their flank, and she knew that they were surrounded! Instinctively she
reached for her husband's second quiver of arrows, which was carried by
one of the pack-ponies. Alas! the Crow warriors were already upon them!
The ponies became unmanageable, and the wild screams of women and
children pierced the awful confusion.
Quick as a flash, Weeko turned again to her babies, but Nakpa had
already disappeared!
When the Crows made their flank charge, Nakpa apparently appreciated
the situation. To save herself and the babies, she took a desperate
chance. She fled straight through the attacking force.
When the warriors came howling upon her in great numbers, she at once
started back the way she had come, to the camp left behind. They had
travelled nearly three days. To be sure, they did not travel more than
fifteen miles a day, but it was full forty miles to cover before dark.
"Look! look!" exclaimed a warrior, "two babies hung from the saddle of
a mule!"