To bid the brave White Chief adieu,
on the shady shore gathered the warriors;
His glad boatmen manned the canoe,
and the oars in their hands were impatient.
Spake the Chief of _Isántees_:
"A feast will await the return of my brother.
In peace rose the sun in the East,
in peace in the West he descended.
May the feet of my brother be swift
till they bring him again to our _teepees_,
The red pipe he takes as a gift,
may he smoke that red pipe many winters.
At my lodge-fire his pipe shall be lit,
when the White Chief returns to _Kathága_;
On the robes of my _tee_ shall he sit;
he shall smoke with the chiefs of my people.
The brave love the brave, and his son
sends the Chief as a guide for his brother,
By the way of the _Wákpa Wakán_[AR]
to the Chief at the Lake of the Spirits.
As light as the foot-steps of dawn
are the feet of the stealthy Tamdóka;
He fears not the _Máza Wakán_;[AS]
he is sly as the fox of the forest.
When he dances the dance of red war
howl the wolves by the broad _Mini-ya-ta_,[AT]
For they scent on the south-wind afar
their feast on the bones of Ojibways."
Thrice the Chief puffed the red pipe of peace,
ere it passed to the lips of the Frenchman.
Spake DuLuth: "May the Great Spirit bless
with abundance the Chief and his people;
May their sons and their daughters increase,
and the fire ever burn in their _teepees_."
Then he waved with a flag his adieu
to the Chief and the warriors assembled;
And away shot Tamdóka's canoe
to the strokes of ten sinewy hunters;
And a white path he clove up the blue,
bubbling stream of the swift Mississippi;
And away on his foaming trail flew,
like a sea-gull, the bark of the Frenchman.
[AO] i.e. fire-arms which the Dakotas compare to the roar of the wings
of the Thunder-bird and the fierey arrows he shoots.
[AP] DuLuth was a devout Catholic.
[AQ] _Nee-wah-shtay_--Thou art good.
[AR] Spirit-River, now called Rum River.
[AS] Fire-arm--spirit-metal.
[AT] Lake Superior--at that time the home of the Ojibways (Chippewas).
[Illustration: TWO HUNDRED WHITE WINTERS AND MORE HAVE FLED FROM THE
FACE OF THE SUMMER ...
* * * * *
AH, LITTLE HE DREAMED THEN, FORSOOTH, THAT A CITY WOULD STAND ON THAT
HILL SIDE]
Then merrily rose the blithe song
of the _voyageurs_ homeward returning,
And thus, as they glided along,
sang the bugle-voiced boatmen in chorus: