messenger, “and we all gathered there about sundown. It was said that
the Messiah was ready to appear and teach us a new religion. Just
after dark some one said, ‘There is the Great Father.’ I looked and
saw him sitting on one side of the circle. I did not see him come. I
do not know how he got there. The light of the fire fell on him and
I saw him plainly. He was not so dark as a red man, but he was not
a white man. He was a good-looking person with a kind, wise face. He
was dressed in white and had no beard or mustache. One by one all
the chiefs drew near to greet him. I went with the others, but when
I came near I bowed my head; his eyes were so keen they blinded me.
Then he rose and began to sing, and those who had been there before,
began to dance in the new ceremony.
“When we stopped dancing for a little while he spoke, saying, ‘My
children, I am glad to have you here. I have a great deal to say
to you. I am the Son of the Great Spirit, sent to save you from
destruction.’ We were very still as he spoke; no one whispered; all
listened. He spoke all languages, so that we could understand. ‘I am
the Creator of this earth and everything you see about you. I am able
to go to the world of the dead, and I have seen all those you have
lost. I will teach you to visit the ghost world also; that is the
meaning of the dance. Once long ago I came to the white people, but
they misused me. They put nails in my feet. See the scars!’ And he
held up his hands and we saw the scars.”
The Sitting Bull gave a startled exclamation: “Hoh! You saw the
scars!”
“I saw them plainly,” the Kicking Bear solemnly replied, as words of
wonder ran round the tepee, “and all my friends saw them as plainly
as I. Then the Messiah said: ‘I found my white children bad and I
returned to the Great Spirit, my Father. I told them that after many
hundreds of years I would return. Now am I returned, but this time I
come to the red people.’
“‘I come to teach you a new religion and to make you happy. I am
to renew the earth, which is old and worn out. If you follow my
teaching, if you do as I bid you, I will bring to pass marvelous
things. This is the message of my Father the Creator. He has been
displeased with his children. He has turned his face away from the
red people for many years. If you had remained true to the ways of
the fathers these misfortunes would not have come upon you. You
would not now be shut up by the white man, you would be free and
happy as of old. But the heart of the Great Spirit is again soft
toward you and he bids me say, “If you will live according to the
ways of the Saviour whom I have sent among you I will again smile
upon you. I will cause the white man to disappear from the earth,
together with all the marks he has made with the plow and the ax.
I will cause the old world to come back. It will slide above the
present earth as one hand slides above the other; the white man and
all his works will be buried and the red man will be caught up in the
air and put down on this old earth as it returns, and he will find
the buffalo and the elk, the deer and the antelope, feeding as of
ancient days on the rich grass. The rifle will be no longer necessary
nor the white man’s food or clothing. All will be as it was in the
days of our fathers. No one will grow old, no one will be sick, no
one will die. All will be glad and happy once more.”’”
As he talked The Kicking Bear grew greatly excited. He rose and his
voice rang loud and clear. The women began to moan, but the Chief sat
still, very still; his time to speak had not yet come.
The Kicking Bear went on. “He commanded that we put all evil thoughts
aside. We must not fight or take from one another any good thing. We
must be friends with everyone—with the white man, too. Our hearts
must be clean and good.
“He also taught us the dance and new methods of purification, and
these he commanded me to carry to you.” In this way The Kicking Bear
ended, addressing the chief: “This is the message, father, and this
is the promise: _If all the red people unite, casting away all that
is of the white man, praying and purifying themselves, then will the
old world come back—the old happy world of the buffalo, and all the
dead ones of our race will return, a mighty host, driving the buffalo
before them._”
The chief sat in silence for a long time, and when he spoke his
voice was very quiet, with a sad cadence. “This would please me
well. But how do I know that it is not a lie? What proof is there
that all these good things will come to pass? The invader is strong.
I have given up war because I know it is foolish to fight against
him. I have seen his land to the east. I know that he has devoured
forests and made corn to grow where deep waters once rolled. He is
more numerous than the buffalo ever were. All the red men of all the
plains and hills cannot defeat him. It is hopeless to talk of driving
him back.”
“That is true,” replied The Kicking Bear, “but you have heard how the
white man’s Bible speaks of these things. In the olden time, they
say, when the people despaired of weapons and war they began to pray
to their Great Spirit, and he sent unseen powers to help them. They
tell of cities that fell at sound of a trumpet. We are to fight no
more with weapons. It is of no avail to use the ax. We must please
the Great Spirit; we must beseech him to turn his face upon us again
and our enemies will melt away.”
“But what proof is there of this? It is all a tale. It is as the
sound of a pleasant breeze in the trees.”
“The proof is in this,” earnestly replied The Kicking Bear. “In this
dance, men are able to leave the body and fly far away and look upon
the spirits of the dead, and to ride the old-time plains in pursuit
of the buffalo. I have myself seen this old world waiting to be
restored. Let us call a council. Let us dance and some of your own
people—perhaps The Sitting Bull himself—will be able to leave the
body and visit the wonderful world of the spirit and return to tell
the people of it! Let us dance; the proof will come.”
To this the chief made cautious reply: “We will not be hasty. Remain
with us and we will talk further of these things.”
To Slohan he said: “This man talks well. He claims to have been in
the west and to have seen the Messiah; yet we must be careful. We
will look minutely into the matter. We must not seem foolish.” Then
he turned again to the Brulé. “When is this good change to come to
us?”
“The Father said that if all his words are obeyed he will cause the
new earth to come with the springing grass.”
“Do you believe this story?” asked the chief, pointedly.
“Yes.”
“What causes your belief?”
The Kicking Bear became deeply moved; his voice trembled as he
replied: “Because since I touched his hand I have been out of the
body many times. I too have visited the spirit world, and I too have
seen the dead, and I have seen the buffalo and the shining new world,
more beautiful than the old. Since my return I often see the Saviour
in my sleep. I know that through him you and all your tribe can fly
to the spirit world and see your friends. Therefore have I come that
I may teach you the songs and the dances which bring the trance and
the vision.”
“You speak of the destruction of the white people. How is that to be
brought about?” asked the chief.
“All by great magic. War is useless. All who believe must wear an
eagle plume, and when the new earth comes sliding over the old, those
who wear the sacred feather will be caught up and saved, while the
white man and all those who reject the Father’s message will be swept
down and buried deep.” Then the messenger cried out with passion:
“_Father, they are all dancing—the Piutes, the Shoshones, the
Ogallallahs, the Cheyennes—all the people. Hear me! I bring a true
message! Listen, I implore!_”
He began to sing, and his companions joined him. The song they sang
was strange to my father, and very, very sad—as dolorous as the wind
in the bare branches of the elm tree. It was not a war song; it was
a mourning cry that made all hearts melt. As they sang, Kicking Bear
began to tremble, and then his right arm began to whirl about wildly
as if it were a club. Then he fell stiffly to the ground like a man
in a fit.
The Sitting Bull rose up quickly. “Hah! What is the meaning of this?”
he asked, looking about him warily.
“He has gone into a trance,” said one of the others. “He is even now
in the spirit world. Do not touch him.”
For a long time the messenger lay as if dead and no one dared disturb
him. My chief sat smoking, patiently waiting for Kicking Bear to
speak. At last he came to life again and sat up. “I have seen the
Father,” he said, with shining face, “and he has given me a sign. He
has made my left hand stronger than the strongest man. Come and see!”
He held out his hand and my father took it, but it scared him and he
flung it away from him. It made his muscles contract and his flesh
sting as if needles had been thrust into it. Then The Bear cried out:
“See! I am telling the truth. I have seen the Messiah. He has given
me an arm of power for a sign. He told me to return and teach The
Sitting Bull the new religion.” He laid hold of a heavy white cup.
“See the sign?” he cried, and ground the cup to pieces on his hand.
The Sitting Bull was deeply troubled. “We will talk of this
to-morrow,” and he went away profoundly stirred by what he had seen.
The next morning he called a council of his close friends, and at
last sent for Kicking Bear, and said: “Your story is sweet in our
ears. It may be true. I do not think so, but we will try. We have
come to the time when all weapons are useless. We are despairing and
weak. Guns are of no avail. The Great Spirit has certainly turned his
face away. It may be that prayer and song will cause him to smile
upon us again. _You may teach us the dance._”
X
THE DANCE BEGINS
So it was that in the prepared soil of my people’s minds this seed of
mystery fell. It was not a new religion; it was indeed very old. Many
other races had believed it; the time was come for the Sioux to take
it to themselves. In their despair they greedily seized upon it. In
their enforced idleness they welcomed it.
Swiftly the news flew, wildly exaggerated, of course. It was said
that the Messiah had sent a message direct to the chief, and that a
sign had been given to the courier which had convinced my father and
many others—though The Sitting Bull yet doubted.
Uncapappas are like any other folk. There are excitable ones and
doubting ones, those who believe easily and those who are disposed
to prove all things. Many old women with sons and daughters lately
passed to the spirit land laid hold upon this news with instant
belief. Winter was coming again; food was scarce; the children were
ailing; life was joyless and held no promise of happier things. So,
as among the white people, the bereaved were quick to embrace any
faith which promised reunion.
At last men of keener intelligence, like my father, considered it,
saying: “It may be true. The white man had a Saviour. Why should not
the Great Spirit send one to us? We can at least examine into this
man’s story. We can go and see the dance.”
Others, who had outgrown the faith of their fathers, and who had also
rejected the Christian religion, smiled and said, “It is foolish!”
Nevertheless, curious to see what was done, they loitered near to
look on and laugh.
Last of all were those who brooded bitterly upon the past—the chained
lions who had never accepted the white man’s dominion, who feared
nothing but captivity, and who sat ever in their tepees with their
blankets around them smoking, ruminating, reliving the brave, ancient
days. “We are prisoners,” they said. “We are not allowed to leave the
narrow bounds of our bleak reservation. We can neither hunt nor visit
our friends. What is the use of living? Why not die in battle? Is it
not better to be slain and pass at once to the spirit land than to
die of starvation and cold? We know the fate of the dead cannot be
worse than our lot here.”
In the light of memory the country of their youth was a land of
waving grass, resplendent skies, rippling streams, shining tepees,
laughter, song, and heroic deeds. In dreams they were once more
young scouts, selected for special duty. In dreams they rode again
over the boundless swelling plain, hunting the great black cattle of
the wild. They lay in wait for the beaver beside streams without a
name. They sat deep in pits, hearing the roaring rush of the swooping
eagle, and always when they woke to reality they found themselves
ragged beggars under the control of a white man, betrayed and
forgotten by their recreant allies.
What had they retained of all this mighty heritage? A minute patch
of barren ground and the blessed privilege of working like a
Chinaman or a negro. Of all the old-time adventurous, plentiful, and
peaceful life the white settlers had bereft them. Mile by mile the
invaders had eaten up the sod. The buffalo, the elk, the beaver had
disappeared before their guns. Stream after stream they had bridged
and in the valleys they had set their fences. The agent always talked
as though every red man who wished could have a large house and fruit
trees and pleasant things, but it was quite certain now that nothing
remained for these proud hunters of the bison but a practical slavery
to the settler; to clean the dung from the white man’s stables was
their fate.
With this view the “Silent Eaters” had most sympathy. In the days
immediately following their return from the north they had caught
some of the enthusiasm of their teachers. They, too, had hoped for
some of the good things of the white man’s civilization.
The Sitting Bull himself had been hopeful. He had spoken bravely
to them advising them to set their feet in the white man’s road;
but as the years passed one by one he had felt with ever-increasing
bitterness the checks and constraints of his warden. He had seen
sycophants and hypocrites exalted and his own wishes thwarted or
treated with contempt and his face had grown ever sadder and sterner.
When he looked into the future he saw the almost certain misery and
final extinction of his race, so inevitably he, too, had turned his
eyes inward to dream of the past. Having no hope of earthly things,
he was now, in spite of himself, allured by the stories of this
Saviour in the West. Certainly he could not forbid his people this
comfort.
He had, too, the natural pride of the leader. He considered himself
as he was, the head man of his tribe, and it hurt him to find himself
completely shorn of command. The agent now deliberately humiliated
him, ignoring his suggestions and misrepresenting him among the
white men. “These old chiefs must give way,” he said. “If we are to
civilize these Indians, all of the old tribal government must be torn
up.” And in this he had the support of many friends of my race.
One of the most serious differences existing at this time lay in The
Sitting Bull’s refusal to recognize the authority of the agent’s
native police. “I am still the head of my tribe,” he proudly said. “I
do not need your help in order to keep the peace.”
Then the agent very shrewdly appointed those who were jealous of the
chief to be the heads of his police force, and so made sure of them
in case of trouble. The chief was made to look and feel like a man
living by sufferance, while renegades whom he despised and recreants
whom he hated were put in power over him. Yet he was bearing all this
quietly; he had even submitted to personal abuse, rather than prove a
disturber.
This message from the Messiah came, therefore, just at a time
when the chief and his “Silent Eaters” were suffering their final
degradation at the hands of the agent. It was hard to die at this
time like outcast dogs, with no hope for their people. They could not
understand why they should be made the target of the agent’s malice.
They had the pride of leadership. It was honorable to be a chief.
The qualities which went to make a chieftain were not mean; they
were noble. Why should other and lower men be placed in contemptuous
authority over them?
And so these proud spirits shut their eyes to the future and longed,
as no white man can ever know, for the glorious days of the buffalo.
For three days The Kicking Bear instructed the few who believed,
preparing them for the dance. “You must cast aside everything that
the white man has brought to you,” he said. “The Messiah commands
that all metals be thrown away. Lay down all weapons, for this is a
dance of peace. It is needful that you dress as in the olden time
before the invader came. Let each one who dances and accepts the
word of the Father wear a white eagle plume, for this will be a sign
when the new earth comes. You will be caught up into the clouds by
reason of your faith, while all others will perish. You must purify
yourselves, also, by use of the sweat lodge, and after the dance you
must bathe in clear, cold water. During this time you must put away
all anger and harshness and speak kindly to all persons. Thus says
the Father.”
There was something lofty in all this and it moved men very deeply
and the chief listened intently to it all.
On the third night of his preaching I was present, for my father
had sent for me to come. After drawing from me a promise to tell no
white man, he described all that had happened. I was not at first
impressed. “It is foolish,” I said.
“Nevertheless you must come and see this man. He is a wonderful
magician. I do not understand him.”
The meeting took place in the chief’s tepee, which was large and
strong. As I entered I saw many men and women sitting just outside
the door in little groups, but only about fifteen people had been
invited to join the circle which I soon found was formed to rehearse
some of the ceremonial songs of the Messiah. A small, clear fire
glowed in the center of the lodge, and the chief’s strong face was
fixed in its place at the back of the lodge. On his right was The
Kicking Bear. On his left was a vacant place; this my father took. At
a sign from the chief I sat next my father.
[Illustration: A Fantasy from the Pony War Dance
_Among the many interesting features of the pageant given on
special occasions by the Blackfoot Indians on their reservation
in Canada, the most spectacular is the Pony War Dance, or the_
Departure for Battle. _In this scene about sixty young men
take part, riding horses as wild as themselves. The acting is
fierce—not like the conduct of a mimic battle on our stage—but
performed with the desperate zest of men who hope for distinction
in war._
_Illustration from_
CHARTERING A NATION
_by_ Julian Ralph
_Originally published in_
HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _December, 1891_]
[Illustration: Chis-Chis-Chash Scout On the Flanks
_The Cheyenne, or—to use the name the Cheyennes apply to
themselves—the Chis-Chis-Chash, scouts belonged to the corps
from Pine Ridge organized on that reservation, and, with other
Cheyennes from Tongue River, rendered valuable service to Uncle
Sam during the Sioux outbreak of 1890 in South Dakota. In
December of that year these brave Indians had many a skirmish
with the savage Sioux, who, clothed in the ghost shirt, went
on the warpath, taking refuge in the Bad Lands—a region that
seemed made for stratagem and murder, with nothing to witness its
mysteries but the cold blue winter sky._
_Illustration from_
LIEUTENANT CASEY’S LAST SCOUT
_by_ Frederic Remington
_Originally published in
Pony Tracks_, Harper & Brothers, 1895]
Shortly after our entry the chief lit his pipe, and after offering
it to the Earth Spirits and to the Spirits Above, handed it to his
visitor. The Bear made the same offering, and after smoking passed
it on. So it went round the circle. When the chief had it in his
hands once more, The Kicking Bear and his five companions rose and,
stretching their hands to the west, stood still while The Bear prayed:
“O great spirit in the west
Our Father,
Take pity on us. We are poor and weak.
Send us good tidings.
Help us to see the good land.
Help us to see our loved ones.”
Then he began singing a song—a song of promise—and these were the
words:
“The Father says so,
He has promised surely
You shall see your dead once more.
They will come to life again.
You shall see your kindred
Of the spirit land.
This the Father saith
To his faithful ones.”
This song moved me, though I was a doubter. It was sung with great
vigor and earnestness. It was the opening song of the dance, The Bear
explained to us, and then all sat down, and one by one the visitors
took up and sang the songs they had learned. There were many of them
and they were based upon the same idea—that of a resurrection of the
dead, the renewal of the worn-out old earth and the return of the
buffalo.
As they sang my head was filled with many great but confused
thoughts. In that light, with those surroundings, any magic seemed
possible. It was thus that the disciples of Christ of Galilee came
together and talked of his message. I had listened often to the white
man’s religion, and yet the hymns of the martyrs could not move me as
did these songs. The past and the present fused together strangely in
my mind as the ancient shining winds blew and the old rejoicing days
came back.
You shall reset the tepees.
You shall eat pemmican once more.
You shall hang up the buffalo meat.
And there shall be plenty everywhere.
You shall live and not die in the old world which returns anew.
You shall chase the buffalo.
You shall gayly race on the bright prairie.
These were the promises of the songs, and as the visitors sang my
despairing people became like little children; their hearts melted,
they laughed and wept and shouted in time to the music. Some strange
power seemed to go with the motions of The Bear’s hands. We all
seemed to be looking upon the very scenes of which he sang, and my
throat closed with an emotion I could not control.
An old man, called Looking Eagle, suddenly rose and, stretching forth
his hands, cried out in a thrilling voice:
“I see it—the new land! I can see the buffalo feeding in myriads. It
is Spring and the grass is new. My father stands at the door of his
lodge. He calls with his hand. My mother is there. Ho! I come, my
father.”
Then he fell on the ground and The Kicking Bear and his friends
joined hands and, breaking into a song which made my own heart leap,
they began to dance in a circle about the fire:
“The whole world of the dead is returning.
Our nation is coming, is coming, is coming.
The eagle has brought us the message,
Bearing the word of the Father—
The word and the wish of the Father.
Over the glad new earth they are coming,
Our dead come driving the elk and the deer.
See them hurrying the herds of the bison.
This the Father has promised,
This the Father has given.”
One by one those sitting gave way and rose and joined the dance,
till only the chief, Slohan, and I remained seated. My father joined
them at the last, and outside the tepee the voices of women could
be heard catching and trying the song. It was agonizing to hear. It
strained every heart to bursting with longing and sadness.
Suddenly The Bear’s head began to rock violently from side to side;
it seemed as if it would wrench itself from its place. His eyes set
in a dreadful stare, his mouth fixed in a horrible gape. Then shaking
himself free, he fell close to the fire, face downward.
The others danced for a little while longer, then took seats and
waited for the return of the spirit of their priest. Looking Eagle
still slept.
The Sitting Bull sat in silence, smoking gravely, slowly, but his
hand trembled. It was plain that he, too, longed to believe in the
dance, but he could not. My own nerves were quivering with the
excitement and I waited with almost breathless eagerness for the
waking of the sleepers.
It was a long time—it seemed that it was nearly morning—when The Bear
began to stir again and to rub his eyes as if wakened from sleep.
He was very quiet and his voice was gentle as he said: “I have been
with the Father. He gave me another message to The Sitting Bull. This
it is: ‘_All the people to the South are dancing my dance. Will the
chief of all the Sioux walk behind his nation?_’”
Then the chief said, “When my son there,”—he touched my arm—“or one
of my trusted warriors can go to the spirit world and return to
tell me it is true, then I may believe. If this religion is true
all other deeds are worthless. Bring me proof. My ears are open, my
eyes are not yet dim. If these songs are true, then I shall weep no
more. If they are not true, then I wish to die. Let us hold a dance
to-morrow.” And with a sign he dismissed us, but he himself remained
alone with Looking Eagle, who still lay motionless where he had
fallen.
XI
THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE PIPE
A knowledge of the dance spread like flame throughout all the Grand
River district, and young and old began to flock to The Sitting
Bull’s camp, eager to hear more, eager to experiment. “We also wish
to see our friends who have gone before us,” they said. “We wish to
hear what they say. Teach us the way of the trance.”