It was a long time ago, nearly two hundred years ago, that some of our
people were living upon the shores of the Great Lake, Lake Superior. The
chief of this band was called Tatankaota, Many Buffaloes.
One day the young son of Tatankaota led a war-party against the
Ojibways, who occupied the country east of us, toward the rising sun.
When they had gone a day’s journey in the direction of Sault Ste. Marie,
in our language Skesketatanka, the warriors took up their position on
the lake shore, at a point which the Ojibways were accustomed to pass in
their canoes.
Long they gazed, and scanned the surface of the water, watching for
the coming of the foe. The sun had risen above the dark pines, over
the great ridge of woodland across the bay. It was the awakening of all
living things. The birds were singing, and shining fishes leaped out of
the water as if at play. At last, far off, there came the warning cry of
the loon to stir their expectant ears.
“Warriors, look close to the horizon! This brother of ours does not lie.
The enemy comes!” exclaimed their leader.
Presently upon the sparkling face of the water there appeared a moving
canoe. There was but one, and it was coming directly toward them.
“Hahatonwan! Hahatonwan! (The Ojibways! the Ojibways!)” they exclaimed
with one voice, and, grasping their weapons, they hastily concealed
themselves in the bushes.
“Spare none--take no captives!” ordered the chief’s son.
Nearer and nearer approached the strange canoe. The glistening blades
of its paddles flashed as it were the signal of good news, or a
welcome challenge. All impatiently waited until it should come within
arrow-shot.
“Surely it is an Ojibway canoe,” one murmured. “Yet look! the stroke is
ungainly!” Now, among all the tribes only the Ojibway’s art is perfect
in paddling a birch canoe. This was a powerful stroke, but harsh and
unsteady.
“See! there are no feathers on this man’s head!” exclaimed the son
of the chief. “Hold, warriors, he wears a woman’s dress, and I see
no weapon. No courage is needed to take his life, therefore let it be
spared! I command that only coups (or blows) be counted on him, and he
shall tell us whence he comes, and on what errand.”
The signal was given; the warriors sprang to their feet, and like wolves
they sped from the forest, out upon the white, sandy beach and straight
into the sparkling waters of the lake, giving the shrill war-cry, the
warning of death!
The solitary oarsman made no outcry--he offered no defense! Kneeling
calmly in the prow of the little vessel, he merely ceased paddling and
seemed to await with patience the deadly blow of the tomahawk.
The son of Tatankaota was foremost in the charge, but suddenly an
impulse seized him to stop his warriors, lest one in the heat of
excitement should do a mischief to the stranger. The canoe with its
occupant was now very near, and it could be seen that the expression of
his face was very gentle and even benignant. None could doubt his utter
harmlessness; and the chief’s son afterward declared that at this moment
he felt a premonition of some event, but whether good or evil he could
not tell.
No blows were struck--no coups counted. The young man bade his warriors
take up the canoe and carry it to the shore; and although they murmured
somewhat among themselves, they did as he commanded them. They seized
the light bark and bore it dripping to a hill covered with tall pines,
and overlooking the waters of the Great Lake.
Then the warriors lifted their war-clubs over their heads and sang,
standing around the canoe in which the black-robed stranger was still
kneeling. Looking at him closely, they perceived that he was of a
peculiar complexion, pale and inclined to red. He wore a necklace of
beads, from which hung a cross bearing the form of a man. His garments
were strange, and most like the robes of woman. All of these things
perplexed them greatly.
Presently the Black Robe told them by signs, in response to their
inquiries, that he came from the rising sun, even beyond the Great Salt
Water, and he seemed to say that he formerly came from the sky. Upon
this the warriors believed that he must be a prophet or mysterious man.
Their leader directed them to take up again the canoe with the man in
it, and appointed the warriors to carry it by turns until they should
reach his father’s village. This was done according to the ancient
custom, as a mark of respect and honor. They took it up forthwith, and
traveled with all convenient speed along the lake shore, through forests
and across streams to a place called the Maiden’s Retreat, a short
distance from the village.
Thence the chief’s son sent a messenger to announce to his father that
he was bringing home a stranger, and to ask whether or not he should be
allowed to enter the village. “His appearance,” declared the scout, “is
unlike that of any man we have ever seen, and his ways are mysterious!”
When the chief heard these words, he immediately called his council-men
together to decide what was to be done, for he feared by admitting the
mysterious stranger to bring some disaster upon his people. Finally he
went out with his wisest men to meet his son’s war-party. They looked
with astonishment upon the Black Robe.
“Dispatch him! Dispatch him! Show him no mercy!” cried some of the
council-men.
“Let him go on his way unharmed. Trouble him not,” advised others.
“It is well known that the evil spirits sometimes take the form of a man
or animal. From his strange appearance I judge this to be such a one.
He should be put to death, lest some harm befall our people,” an old man
urged.
By this time several of the women of the village had reached the spot.
Among them was She-who-has-a-Soul, the chief’s youngest daughter, who
tradition says was a maiden of much beauty, and of a generous heart. The
stranger was evidently footsore from much travel and
weakened by fasting. When she saw that the poor man clasped his hands
and looked skyward as he uttered words in an unknown tongue, she pleaded
with her father that a stranger who has entered their midst unchallenged
may claim the hospitality of the people, according to the ancient
custom.
“Father, he is weary and in want of food. Hold him no longer! Delay
your council until he is refreshed!” These were the words of
She-who-has-a-Soul, and her father could not refuse her prayer. The
Black Robe was released, and the Sioux maiden led him to her father’s
teepee.
Now the warriors had been surprised and indeed displeased to find him
dressed after the fashion of a woman, and they looked upon him with
suspicion. But from the moment that she first beheld him, the heart of
the maiden had turned toward this strange and seemingly unfortunate man.
It appeared to her that great reverence and meekness were in his face,
and with it all she was struck by his utter fearlessness, his apparent
unconsciousness of danger.
The chief’s daughter, having gained her father’s permission, invited the
Black Robe to his great buffalo-skin tent, and spreading a fine robe,
she gently asked him to be seated. With the aid of her mother, she
prepared wild rice sweetened with maple sugar and some broiled venison
for his repast. The youthful warriors were astonished to observe these
attentions, but the maiden heeded them not. She anointed the blistered
feet of the holy man with perfumed otter oil, and put upon him a pair of
moccasins beautifully worked by her own hands.
It was only an act of charity on her part, but the young men were
displeased, and again urged that the stranger should at once be turned
away. Some even suggested harsher measures; but they were overruled by
the chief, softened by the persuasions of a well-beloved daughter.
During the few days that the Black Robe remained in the Sioux village he
preached earnestly to the maiden, for she had been permitted to converse
with him by signs, that she might try to ascertain what manner of man he
was. He told her of the coming of a “Great Prophet” from the sky, and of
his words that he had left with the people. The cross with the figure of
a man he explained as his totem which he had told them to carry. He also
said that those who love him are commanded to go among strange peoples
to tell the news, and that all who believe must be marked with holy
water and accept the totem.
He asked by signs if She-who-has-a-Soul believed the story. To this she
replied:
“It is a sweet story--a likely legend! I do believe!”
Then the good father took out a small cross, and having pressed it
to his heart and crossed his forehead and breast, he gave it to her.
Finally he dipped his finger in water and touched the forehead of the
maiden, repeating meanwhile some words in an unknown tongue.
The mother was troubled, for she feared that the stranger was trying to
bewitch her daughter, but the chief decided thus:
“This is a praying-man, and he is not of our people; his customs are
different, but they are not evil. Warriors, take him back to the spot
where you saw him first! It is my desire, and the good custom of our
tribe requires that you free him without injury!”
Accordingly they formed a large party, and carried the Black Robe in his
canoe back to the shore of the Great Lake, to the place where they had
met him, and he was allowed to depart thence whithersoever he would.
He took his leave with signs of gratitude for their hospitality, and
especially for the kindness of the beautiful Sioux maiden. She seemed to
have understood his mission better than any one else, and as long as
she lived she kept his queer trinket--as it seemed to the others--and
performed the strange acts that he had taught her.
Furthermore, it was through the pleadings of She-who-has-a-Soul that the
chief Tatankaota advised his people in after days to befriend the white
strangers, and though many of the other chiefs opposed him in this,
his counsels prevailed. Hence it was that both the French and English
received much kindness from our people, mainly through the influence of
this one woman!
Such was the first coming of the white man among us, as it is told in
our traditions. Other praying-men came later, and many of the Sioux
allowed themselves to be baptized. True, there have been Indian wars,
but not without reason; and it is pleasant to remember that the Sioux
were hospitable to the first white “prayingman,” and that it was a
tender-hearted maiden of my people who first took in her hands the cross
of the new religion.