_Exploit of the Black Chief.—Alarm in the Village._
We were sitting late one evening, in the lodge of the chief, around the
fire. There were about thirty Indians present, some were lying upon the
floor, and others sitting huddled up, wrapped in their robes, with their
unbending gaze fixed upon our faces. The servants were spreading our
bear-skins and blankets, preparatory to our retiring for the night. While
thus situated, the interpreter, after dwelling upon the desperate nature
of our host, related to us the following anecdote, illustrative of his
character.
About a year previous to this, the Black Chief had by some means or other
fallen into disgrace with his people. They shunned him, and refused to
admit him to their councils, until by some heroic action, he should wipe
off the stain upon his name. He knew that there was no resource; that
the blood of an enemy alone, would retrieve his fame. He determined,
therefore, to shed it, in a manner which even the most desperate of his
own tribe, would not have dreamed of, and which would strike a salutary
terror of his name, into the hearts of his hostile neighbours.
Early one morning, taking his bow and quiver, he left his lodge, and
started on foot for the Crow village, about two hundred miles distant. He
set out upon his journey, without attendants, and singing his death-song.
His tribe watched until he was out of sight; they knew not where he was
going; he might return soon, in a day, in a month, and perhaps never.
They knew his desperate character; they knew that his errand was one
of blood; and they doubted not, that if he returned, he would bring
home trophies, sufficient to place him once more, at the head of their
councils.
On the evening of the fourth day, he reached the Crow village; but waited
at a short distance, concealed in a prairie, until it was completely
dark. He then entered the village, and passed through its very centre.
Several of the inhabitants were stirring, but the darkness was so great
that they did not regard him particularly, and he passed on, undetected.
At length he came to a lodge, a little apart from the rest, with a horse
standing at the door, tied by a halter of buffalo hair. Peering over the
bear-skin, which hung before the inner entrance, he beheld two Indians
reclining in front of a fire. A few feet from them, a squaw was pounding
corn, in a large wooden mortar; and at a little distance, was a child
sleeping on the floor. The backs of all were turned towards the warrior,
and he hesitated not a moment how to act. Drawing forth his knife with
his left hand, and grasping his tomahawk in his right, he dashed into the
building. With two blows, he clove the skulls of the men; he sheathed
his knife in the heart of the woman, and dashed out the brains of the
child. Having scalped his victims he mounted the horse at the door, and
started off. He had gone but a few paces, before he observed an Indian
making for the lodge. He felt a strong hankering after his scalp also;
but there were several other Indians at hand, and he feared detection.
Resisting therefore the powerful temptation, he turned away and galloped
for the prairie. Scarcely had he got clear of the village, when it rang
with yells and screams; and in a few moments, he heard the clattering of
hoofs, and the sound of voices in hot pursuit. In a night chase, however,
the pursued has always the advantage; he has but to dash forward, while
his foes, must either stop to keep his trace, or follow at random. So
it was with the Black Chief; and long before morning his horse had borne
him, far beyond the sound of pursuit.
He reached his village in safety; related his tale, and displayed his
scalps. They hesitated not a moment, to believe him, for in recounting
his exploits, an Indian never lies. He was received with honour; and once
more resumed his seat in the councils of his nation.
This is a picture of Indian warfare—to steal like an assassin upon
an unarmed enemy, and butcher him without the slightest chance of
resistance. Blood is what he seeks—no matter whether from the veins
of man or woman—infancy or age. A scalp is his trophy; and is alike
glorious, whether silvered with age, or torn from the reeking head of a
youthful warrior. With the savage, a hankering for blood, is ambition—a
relentless fury in shedding it, renown.
During the whole time of the narration, the chief, unconscious that he
was the subject of discourse, sat gazing upon the fire. His face was as
calm and quiet as if no evil passion had ever harboured in his bosom—as
if his hand had never been stained with blood, or his ears rung to the
wild scream of the dying.
The tale was scarcely finished, when we were startled by a loud outcry in
the village. The next moment, the bear-skin was flung violently back; an
armed Indian rushed into the lodge—shouted out a few words at the top of
his lungs, and as quickly disappeared. Every savage sprang to his feet,
and rushed to the door, and in an instant the lodge was deserted.
In a few moments the chief returned. Never had I seen such a change. His
face which had lately been as unruffled as that of a sleeping infant,
was hideously distorted. His eyes gleamed like fire, and his teeth were
clenched with rage. One of the squaws spoke to him, but he heeded her
not—snatching down from a shelf his bow and arrows, and catching up his
heavy war-club, he again rushed out.
The tumult grew louder. The interpreter came in and informed us, that a
party of Sioux Indians had stolen into the town—opened one of the large
wicker pens, and carried off about fifty Pawnee horses. They had nearly
effected their retreat, when they were discovered by a young Indian, who
gave the alarm, and the whole village was now in arms.
On sallying forth, we found every thing in a state of uproar. Whoops
and yells, mingled with the cries of women, sounded in every direction.
Horsemen were clattering through the town; band after band dashed by
yelling the war-whoop. The voices of the leaders were heard above all,
giving orders and cheering their followers to the pursuit. At length they
disappeared in the darkness, and the sounds of their voices died away as
they galloped over the prairie.
In about an hour they returned, and the chief made his appearance, gloomy
and morose. He had taken no scalps; he had seen no enemies; no horses had
been stolen; and the whole tumult had been caused by a young Pawnee, who
observing one of his own tribe busily engaged in collecting his horses at
an unusual hour of the night, mistook him for an enemy and gave the alarm.
Nothing farther occurred to disturb us, and retiring to our couches, we
slept soundly until morning.