Is this proceeding just and honourable?
—Shakespeare.
During the occurrence of these events on the upland plain, the warriors
on the bottom had not been idle. We left the adverse bands watching one
another on the opposite banks of the stream, each endeavouring to
excite its enemy to some act of indiscretion, by the most reproachful
taunts and revilings. But the Pawnee chief was not slow to discover
that his crafty antagonist had no objection to waste the time so idly,
and, as they mutually proved, in expedients that were so entirely
useless. He changed his plans, accordingly, and withdrew from the bank,
as has been already explained through the mouth of the trapper, in
order to invite the more numerous host of the Siouxes to cross. The
challenge was not accepted, and the Loups were compelled to frame some
other method to attain their end.
Instead of any longer throwing away the precious moments, in fruitless
endeavours to induce his foe to cross the stream, the young partisan of
the Pawnees led his troops, at a swift gallop, along its margin, in
quest of some favourable spot, where by a sudden push he might throw
his own band without loss to the opposite shore. The instant his object
was discovered, each mounted Teton received a footman behind him, and
Mahtoree was still enabled to concentrate his whole force against the
effort. Perceiving that his design was anticipated, and unwilling to
blow his horses by a race that would disqualify them for service, even
after they had succeeded in outstripping the more heavily-burdened
cattle of the Siouxes, Hard-Heart drew up, and came to a dead halt on
the very margin of the water-course.
As the country was too open for any of the usual devices of savage
warfare, and time was so pressing, the chivalrous Pawnee resolved to
bring on the result by one of those acts of personal daring, for which
the Indian braves are so remarkable, and by which they often purchase
their highest and dearest renown. The spot he had selected was
favourable to such a project. The river, which throughout most of its
course was deep and rapid, had expanded there to more than twice its
customary width, and the rippling of its waters proved that it flowed
over a shallow bottom. In the centre of the current there was an
extensive and naked bed of sand, but a little raised above the level of
the stream and of a colour and consistency which warranted, to a
practised eye, that it afforded a firm and safe foundation for the
foot. To this spot the partisan now turned his wistful gaze, nor was he
long in making his decision. First speaking to his warriors, and
apprising them of his intentions, he dashed into the current, and
partly by swimming, and more by the use of his horse’s feet, he reached
the island in safety.
The experience of Hard-Heart had not deceived him. When his snorting
steed issued from the water, he found himself on a tremendous but damp
and compact bed of sand, that was admirably adapted to the exhibition
of the finest powers of the animal. The horse seemed conscious of the
advantage, and bore his warlike rider, with an elasticity of step and a
loftiness of air, that would have done no discredit to the highest
trained and most generous charger. The blood of the chief himself
quickened with the excitement of his situation. He sat the beast as if
conscious that the eyes of two tribes were on his movements; and as
nothing could be more acceptable and grateful to his own band, than
this display of native grace and courage, so nothing could be more
taunting and humiliating to their enemies.
The sudden appearance of the Pawnee on the sands was announced among
the Tetons, by a general yell of savage anger. A rush was made to the
shore, followed by a discharge of fifty arrows and a few fusees, and,
on the part of several braves, there was a plain manifestation of a
desire to plunge into the water, in order to punish the temerity of
their insolent foe. But a call and a mandate, from Mahtoree, checked
the rising, and nearly ungovernable, temper of his band. So far from
allowing a single foot to be wet, or a repetition of the fruitless
efforts of his people to drive away their foe with missiles, the whole
of the party was commanded to retire from the shore, while he himself
communicated his intentions to one or two of his most favoured
followers.
When the Pawnees observed the rush of their enemies, twenty warriors
rode into the stream; but so soon as they perceived that the Tetons had
withdrawn, they fell back to a man, leaving the young chief to the
support of his own often-tried skill and well-established courage. The
instructions of Hard-Heart, on quitting his band, had been worthy of
the self-devotion and daring of his character. So long as single
warriors came against him, he was to be left to the keeping of the
Wahcondah and his own arm; but should the Siouxes attack him in
numbers, he was to be sustained, man for man, even to the extent of his
whole force. These generous orders were strictly obeyed; and though so
many hearts in the troop panted to share in the glory and danger of
their partisan, not a warrior was found, among them all, who did not
know how to conceal his impatience under the usual mask of Indian
self-restraint. They watched the issue with quick and jealous eyes, nor
did a single exclamation of surprise escape them, when they saw, as
will soon be apparent, that the experiment of their chief was as likely
to conduce to peace as to war.
Mahtoree was not long in communicating his plans to his confidants,
whom he as quickly dismissed to join their fellows in the rear. The
Teton entered a short distance into the stream and halted. Here he
raised his hand several times, with the palm outwards, and made several
of those other signs, which are construed into a pledge of amicable
intentions among the inhabitants of those regions. Then, as if to
confirm the sincerity of his faith, he cast his fusee to the shore, and
entered deeper into the water, where he again came to a stand, in order
to see in what manner the Pawnee would receive his pledges of peace.
The crafty Sioux had not made his calculations on the noble and honest
nature of his more youthful rival in vain. Hard-Heart had continued
galloping across the sands, during the discharge of missiles and the
appearance of a general onset, with the same proud and confident mien,
as that with which he had first braved the danger. When he saw the
well-known person of the Teton partisan enter the river, he waved his
hand in triumph, and flourishing his lance, he raised the thrilling
war-cry of his people, as a challenge for him to come on. But when he
saw the signs of a truce, though deeply practised in the treachery of
savage combats, he disdained to show a less manly reliance on himself,
than that which his enemy had seen fit to exhibit. Riding to the
farthest extremity of the sands, he cast his own fusee from him, and
returned to the point whence he had started.
The two chiefs were now armed alike. Each had his spear, his bow, his
quiver, his little battle-axe, and his knife; and each had, also, a
shield of hides, which might serve as a means of defence against a
surprise from any of these weapons. The Sioux no longer hesitated, but
advanced deeper into the stream, and soon landed on a point of the
island which his courteous adversary had left free for that purpose.
Had one been there to watch the countenance of Mahtoree, as he crossed
the water that separated him from the most formidable and the most
hated of all his rivals, he might have fancied that he could trace the
gleamings of a secret joy, breaking through the cloud which deep
cunning and heartless treachery had drawn before his swarthy visage;
and yet there would have been moments, when he might have believed that
the flashings of the Teton’s eye and the expansion of his nostrils, had
their origin in a nobler sentiment, and one more worthy of an Indian
chief.
The Pawnee awaited the time of his enemy with calmness and dignity. The
Teton made a short run or two, to curb the impatience of his steed, and
to recover his seat after the effort of crossing, and then he rode into
the centre of the place, and invited the other, by a courteous gesture,
to approach. Hard-Heart drew nigh, until he found himself at a distance
equally suited to advance or to retreat, and, in his turn, he came to a
stand, keeping his glowing eye riveted on that of his enemy. A long and
grave pause succeeded this movement, during which these two
distinguished braves, who were now, for the first time, confronted,
with arms in their hands, sat regarding each other, like warriors who
knew how to value the merits of a gallant foe, however hated. But the
mien of Mahtoree was far less stern and warlike than that of the
partisan of the Loups. Throwing his shield over his shoulder, as if to
invite the confidence of the other, he made a gesture of salutation and
was the first to speak.
“Let the Pawnees go upon the hills,” he said, “and look from the
morning to the evening sun, from the country of snows to the land of
many flowers, and they will see that the earth is very large. Why
cannot the Red-men find room on it for all their villages?”
“Has the Teton ever known a warrior of the Loups come to his towns to
beg a place for his lodge?” returned the young brave, with a look in
which pride and contempt were not attempted to be concealed, “when the
Pawnees hunt, do they send runners to ask Mahtoree if there are no
Siouxes on the prairies?”
“When there is hunger in the lodge of a warrior, he looks for the
buffaloe, which is given him for food,” the Teton continued, struggling
to keep down the ire excited by the other’s scorn. “The Wahcondah has
made more of them than he has made Indians. He has not said, This
buffaloe shall be for a Pawnee, and that for a Dahcotah; this beaver
for Konza, and that for an Omawhaw. No; he said, There are enough. I
love my red children, and I have given them great riches. The swiftest
horse shall not go from the village of the Tetons to the village of the
Loups in many suns. It is far from the towns of the Pawnees to the
river of the Osages. There is room for all that I love. Why then should
a Red-man strike his brother?”
Hard-Heart dropped one end of his lance to the earth, and having also
cast his shield across his shoulder, he sat leaning lightly on the
weapon, as he answered with a smile of no doubtful expression—
“Are the Tetons weary of the hunts, and of the warpath? Do they wish to
cook the venison, and not to kill it? Do they intend to let the hair
cover their heads, that their enemies shall not know where to find
their scalps? Go; a Pawnee warrior will never come among such Sioux
squaws for a wife!”
A frightful gleam of ferocity broke out of the restraint of the
Dahcotah’s countenance, as he listened to this biting insult; but he
was quick in subduing the tell-tale feeling, in an expression much
better suited to his present purpose.
“This is the way a young chief should talk of war,” he answered with
singular composure; “but Mahtoree has seen the misery of more winters
than his brother. When the nights have been long, and darkness has been
in his lodge, while the young men slept, he has thought of the
hardships of his people. He has said to himself, Teton, count the
scalps in your smoke. They are all red but two! Does the wolf destroy
the wolf, or the rattler strike his brother? You know they do not;
therefore, Teton, are you wrong to go on a path that leads to the
village of a Red-skin, with a tomahawk in your hand.”
“The Sioux would rob the warrior of his fame? He would say to his young
men, Go, dig roots in the prairies, and find holes to bury your
tomahawks in; you are no longer braves!”
“If the tongue of Mahtoree ever says thus,” returned the crafty chief,
with an appearance of strong indignation, “let his women cut it out,
and burn it with the offals of the buffaloe. No,” he added, advancing a
few feet nigher to the immovable Hard-Heart, as if in the sincerity of
confidence; “the Red-man can never want an enemy: they are plentier
than the leaves on the trees, the birds in the heavens, or the
buffaloes on the prairies. Let my brother open his eyes wide: does he
no where see an enemy he would strike?”
“How long is it since the Teton counted the scalps of his warriors,
that were drying in the smoke of a Pawnee lodge? The hand that took
them is here, and ready to make eighteen, twenty.”
“Now, let not the mind of my brother go on a crooked path. If a
Red-skin strikes a Red-skin for ever, who will be masters of the
prairies, when no warriors are left to say, ‘They are mine?’ Hear the
voices of the old men. They tell us that in their days many Indians
have come out of the woods under the rising sun, and that they have
filled the prairies with their complaints of the robberies of the
Long-knives. Where a Pale-face comes, a Red-man cannot stay. The land
is too small. They are always hungry. See, they are here already!”
As the Teton spoke, he pointed towards the tents of Ishmael, which were
in plain sight, and then he paused, to await the effect of his words on
the mind of his ingenuous foe. Hard-Heart listened like one in whom a
train of novel ideas had been excited by the reasoning of the other. He
mused for a minute before he demanded—
“What do the wise chiefs of the Sioux say must be done?”
“They think that the moccasin of every Pale-face should be followed,
like the track of the bear. That the Long-knife, who comes upon the
prairie, should never go back. That the path shall be open to those who
come, and shut to those who go. Yonder are many. They have horses and
guns. They are rich, but we are poor. Will the Pawnees meet the Tetons
in council? and when the sun is gone behind the Rocky Mountains, they
will say, This is for a Loup and this for a Sioux.”
“Teton—no! Hard-Heart has never struck the stranger. They come into his
lodge and eat, and they go out in safety. A mighty chief is their
friend! When my people call the young men to go on the war-path, the
moccasin of Hard-Heart is the last. But his village is no sooner hid by
the trees, than it is the first. No, Teton; his arm will never be
lifted against the stranger.”
“Fool; die, with empty hands!” Mahtoree exclaimed, setting an arrow to
his bow, and sending it, with a sudden and deadly aim, full at the
naked bosom of his generous and confiding enemy.
The action of the treacherous Teton was too quick, and too well
matured, to admit of any of the ordinary means of defence on the part
of the Pawnee. His shield was hanging at his shoulder, and even the
arrow had been suffered to fall from its place, and lay in the hollow
of the hand which grasped his bow. But the quick eye of the brave had
time to see the movement, and his ready thoughts did not desert him.
Pulling hard and with a jerk upon the rein, his steed reared his
forward legs into the air, and, as the rider bent his body low, the
horse served for a shield against the danger. So true, however, was the
aim, and so powerful the force by which it was sent, that the arrow
entered the neck of the animal, and broke the skin on the opposite
side.
Quicker than thought Hard-Heart sent back an answering arrow. The
shield of the Teton was transfixed, but his person was untouched. For a
few moments the twang of the bow and the glancing of arrows were
incessant, notwithstanding the combatants were compelled to give so
large a portion of their care to the means of defence. The quivers were
soon exhausted; and though blood had been drawn, it was not in
sufficient quantities to impair the energy of the combat.
A series of masterly and rapid evolutions with the horses now
commenced. The wheelings, the charges, the advances, and the circuitous
retreats, were like the flights of circling swallows. Blows were struck
with the lance, the sand was scattered in the air, and the shocks often
seemed to be unavoidably fatal; but still each party kept his seat, and
still each rein was managed with a steady hand. At length the Teton was
driven to the necessity of throwing himself from his horse, to escape a
thrust that would otherwise have proved fatal. The Pawnee passed his
lance through the beast, uttering a shout of triumph as he galloped by.
Turning in his tracks, he was about to push the advantage, when his own
mettled steed staggered and fell, under a burden that he could no
longer sustain. Mahtoree answered his premature cry of victory, and
rushed upon the entangled youth, with knife and tomahawk. The utmost
agility of Hard-Heart had not sufficed to extricate himself in season
from the fallen beast. He saw that his case was desperate. Feeling for
his knife, he took the blade between a finger and thumb, and cast it
with admirable coolness at his advancing foe. The keen weapon whirled a
few times in the air, and its point meeting the naked breast of the
impetuous Sioux, the blade was buried to the buck-horn haft.
Mahtoree laid his hand on the weapon, and seemed to hesitate whether to
withdraw it or not. For a moment his countenance darkened with the most
inextinguishable hatred and ferocity, and then, as if inwardly
admonished how little time he had to lose, he staggered to the edge of
the sands, and halted with his feet in the water. The cunning and
duplicity, which had so long obscured the brighter and nobler traits of
his character, were lost in the never dying sentiment of pride, which
he had imbibed in youth.
“Boy of the Loups!” he said with a smile of grim satisfaction, “the
scalp of a mighty Dahcotah shall never dry in Pawnee smoke!”
Drawing the knife from the wound, he hurled it towards the enemy in
disdain. Then shaking his arm at his successful foe, his swarthy
countenance appearing to struggle with volumes of scorn and hatred,
that he could not utter with the tongue, he cast himself headlong into
one of the most rapid veins of the current, his hand still waving in
triumph above the fluid, even after his body had sunk into the tide for
ever. Hard-Heart was by this time free. The silence, which had hitherto
reigned in the bands, was suddenly broken by general and tumultuous
shouts. Fifty of the adverse warriors were already in the river,
hastening to destroy or to defend the conqueror, and the combat was
rather on the eve of its commencement than near its termination. But to
all these signs of danger and need, the young victor was insensible. He
sprang for the knife, and bounded with the foot of an antelope along
the sands, looking for the receding fluid which concealed his prize. A
dark, bloody spot indicated the place, and, armed with the knife, he
plunged into the stream, resolute to die in the flood, or to return
with his trophy.
In the mean time, the sands became a scene of bloodshed and violence.
Better mounted and perhaps more ardent, the Pawnees had, however,
reached the spot in sufficient numbers to force their enemies to
retire. The victors pushed their success to the opposite shore, and
gained the solid ground in the melee of the fight. Here they were met
by all the unmounted Tetons, and, in their turn, they were forced to
give way.
The combat now became more characteristic and circumspect. As the hot
impulses, which had driven both parties to mingle in so deadly a
struggle, began to cool, the chiefs were enabled to exercise their
influence, and to temper the assaults with prudence. In consequence of
the admonitions of their leaders, the Siouxes sought such covers as the
grass afforded, or here and there some bush or slight inequality of the
ground, and the charges of the Pawnee warriors necessarily became more
wary, and of course less fatal.
In this manner the contest continued with a varied success, and without
much loss. The Siouxes had succeeded in forcing themselves into a thick
growth of rank grass, where the horses of their enemies could not
enter, or where, when entered, they were worse than useless. It became
necessary to dislodge the Tetons from this cover, or the object of the
combat must be abandoned. Several desperate efforts had been repulsed,
and the disheartened Pawnees were beginning to think of a retreat, when
the well-known war-cry of Hard-Heart was heard at hand, and at the next
instant the chief appeared in their centre, flourishing the scalp of
the Great Sioux, as a banner that would lead to victory.
He was greeted by a shout of delight, and followed into the cover, with
an impetuosity that, for the moment, drove all before it. But the
bloody trophy in the hand of the partisan served as an incentive to the
attacked, as well as to the assailants. Mahtoree had left many a daring
brave behind him in his band, and the orator, who in the debates of
that day had manifested such pacific thoughts, now exhibited the most
generous self-devotion, in order to wrest the memorial of a man he had
never loved, from the hands of the avowed enemies of his people.
The result was in favour of numbers. After a severe struggle, in which
the finest displays of personal intrepidity were exhibited by all the
chiefs, the Pawnees were compelled to retire upon the open bottom,
closely pressed by the Siouxes, who failed not to seize each foot of
ground ceded by their enemies. Had the Tetons stayed their efforts on
the margin of the grass, it is probable that the honour of the day
would have been theirs, notwithstanding the irretrievable loss they had
sustained in the death of Mahtoree. But the more reckless braves of the
band were guilty of an indiscretion, that entirely changed the fortunes
of the fight, and suddenly stripped them of their hard-earned
advantages.
A Pawnee chief had sunk under the numerous wounds he had received, and
he fell, a target for a dozen arrows, in the very last group of his
retiring party. Regardless alike of inflicting further injury on their
foes, and of the temerity of the act, the Sioux braves bounded forward
with a whoop, each man burning with the wish to reap the high renown of
striking the body of the dead. They were met by Hard-Heart and a chosen
knot of warriors, all of whom were just as stoutly bent on saving the
honour of their nation, from so foul a stain. The struggle was hand to
hand, and blood began to flow more freely. As the Pawnees retired with
the body, the Siouxes pressed upon their footsteps, and at length the
whole of the latter broke out of the cover with a common yell, and
threatened to bear down all opposition by sheer physical superiority.
The fate of Hard-Heart and his companions, all of whom would have died
rather than relinquish their object, would have been quickly sealed,
but for a powerful and unlooked-for interposition in their favour. A
shout was heard from a little brake on the left, and a volley from the
fatal western rifle immediately succeeded. Some five or six Siouxes
leaped forward in the death agony, and every arm among them was as
suddenly suspended, as if the lightning had flashed from the clouds to
aid the cause of the Loups. Then came Ishmael and his stout sons in
open view, bearing down upon their late treacherous allies, with looks
and voices that proclaimed the character of the succour.
The shock was too much for the fortitude of the Tetons. Several of
their bravest chiefs had already fallen, and those that remained were
instantly abandoned by the whole of the inferior herd. A few of the
most desperate braves still lingered nigh the fatal symbol of their
honour, and there nobly met their deaths, under the blows of the
re-encouraged Pawnees. A second discharge from the rifles of the
squatter and his party completed the victory.
The Siouxes were now to be seen flying to more distant covers, with the
same eagerness and desperation as, a few moments before, they had been
plunging into the fight. The triumphant Pawnees bounded forward in
chase, like so many high-blooded and well-trained hounds. On every side
were heard the cries of victory, or the yell of revenge. A few of the
fugitives endeavoured to bear away the bodies of their fallen warriors,
but the hot pursuit quickly compelled them to abandon the slain, in
order to preserve the living. Among all the struggles, which were made
on that occasion, to guard the honour of the Siouxes from the stain
which their peculiar opinions attached to the possession of the scalp
of a fallen brave, but one solitary instance of success occurred.
The opposition of a particular chief to the hostile proceedings in the
councils of that morning has been already seen. But, after having
raised his voice in vain, in support of peace, his arm was not backward
in doing its duty in the war. His prowess has been mentioned; and it
was chiefly by his courage and example, that the Tetons sustained
themselves in the heroic manner they did, when the death of Mahtoree
was known. This warrior, who, in the figurative language of his people,
was called “the Swooping Eagle,” had been the last to abandon the hopes
of victory. When he found that the support of the dreaded rifle had
robbed his band of the hard-earned advantages, he sullenly retired amid
a shower of missiles, to the secret spot where he had hid his horse, in
the mazes of the highest grass. Here he found a new and an entirely
unexpected competitor, ready to dispute with him for the possession of
the beast. It was Bohrecheena, the aged friend of Mahtoree; he whose
voice had been given in opposition to his own wiser opinions,
transfixed with an arrow, and evidently suffering under the pangs of
approaching death.
“I have been on my last war-path,” said the grim old warrior, when he
found that the real owner of the animal had come to claim his property;
“shall a Pawnee carry the white hairs of a Sioux into his village, to
be a scorn to his women and children?”
The other grasped his hand, answering to the appeal with the stern look
of inflexible resolution. With this silent pledge, he assisted the
wounded man to mount. So soon as he had led the horse to the margin of
the cover, he threw himself also on its back, and securing his
companion to his belt, he issued on the open plain, trusting entirely
to the well-known speed of the beast for their mutual safety. The
Pawnees were not long in catching a view of these new objects, and
several turned their steeds to pursue. The race continued for a mile
without a murmur from the sufferer, though in addition to the agony of
his body, he had the pain of seeing his enemies approach at every leap
of their horses.
“Stop,” he said, raising a feeble arm to check the speed of his
companion; “the Eagle of my tribe must spread his wings wider. Let him
carry the white hairs of an old warrior into the burnt-wood village!”
Few words were necessary, between men who were governed by the same
feelings of glory, and who were so well trained in the principles of
their romantic honour. The Swooping Eagle threw himself from the back
of the horse, and assisted the other to alight. The old man raised his
tottering frame to its knees, and first casting a glance upward at the
countenance of his countryman, as if to bid him adieu, he stretched out
his neck to the blow he himself invited. A few strokes of the tomahawk,
with a circling gash of the knife, sufficed to sever the head from the
less valued trunk. The Teton mounted again, just in season to escape a
flight of arrows which came from his eager and disappointed pursuers.
Flourishing the grim and bloody visage, he darted away from the spot
with a shout of triumph, and was seen scouring the plains, as if he
were actually borne along on the wings of the powerful bird from whose
qualities he had received his flattering name. The Swooping Eagle
reached his village in safety. He was one of the few Siouxes who
escaped from the massacre of that fatal day; and for a long time he
alone of the saved was able to lift his voice, in the councils of his
nation, with undiminished confidence.
The knife and the lance cut short the retreat of the larger portion of
the vanquished. Even the retiring party of the women and children were
scattered by the conquerors; and the sun had long sunk behind the
rolling outline of the western horizon, before the fell business of
that disastrous defeat was entirely ended.