Produced by David Newman, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. Music
transcribed by Linda Cantoni, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and
the PG Finale Team.
[Transcriber's Note: This e-book contains passages in Native American
dialects; hyphenation and accents have been preserved as they appear
in the original. Italics are represented by underscores. Obvious
printer errors in English passages have been corrected, in particular
the inconsistent use of "rythm" for "rhythm."]
INDIAN
STORY AND SONG
FROM NORTH AMERICA
By
ALICE C. FLETCHER
_Holder of the Thaw Fellowship
Peabody Museum Harvard University_
Boston
Small Maynard & Company
Publishers
_Copyright, 1900,
By Alice C. Fletcher_
_Entered at Stationers' Hall_
_To_
MY INDIAN FRIENDS
FROM WHOM I HAVE GATHERED
STORY AND SONG
PREFACE.
_At the Congress of Musicians held in connection with the
Trans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha in July, 1898, several essays
upon the songs of the North American Indians were read, in
illustration of which a number of Omaha Indians, for the first time,
sang their native melodies to an audience largely composed of trained
musicians._
_This unique presentation not only demonstrated the scientific value
of these aboriginal songs in the study of the development of music,
but suggested their availability as themes, novel and characteristic,
for the American composer. It was felt that this availability would be
greater if the story, or the ceremony which gave rise to the song,
could be known, so that, in developing the theme, all the movements
might be consonant with the circumstances that had inspired the
motive. In response to the expressed desire of many musicians, I have
here given a number of songs in their matrix of story._
_Material like that brought together in these pages has hitherto
appeared only in scientific publications, where it has attracted the
lively interest of specialists both in Europe and America. It is now
offered in a more popular form, that the general public may share
with the student the light shed by these untutored melodies upon the
history of music; for these songs take us back to a stage of
development antecedent to that in which culture music appeared among
the ancients, and reveal to us something of the foundations upon which
rests the art of music as we know it to-day._
_Many of the stories and songs in this little book are now for the
first time published. All have been gathered directly from the people,
in their homes, or as I have listened to the earnest voice of the
native priest explaining the ancient ceremonials of his fathers. The
stories are close translations, losing only a certain picturesqueness
and vigour in their foreign guise; but the melodies are exactly as
sung by the Indians._
_Indian myths embodying cosmic ideas have passages told in song,
tribal legends have their milestones of song, folk-tales at dramatic
points break into song; but into these rich fields I have not here
entered. This collection reveals something of the wealth of musical
and dramatic material that can be gleaned outside of myth, legend, and
folk-lore among the natives of our country._
_Aside from its scientific value, this music possesses a charm of
spontaneity that cannot fail to please those who would come near to
nature and enjoy the expression of emotion untrammelled by the
intellectual control of schools. These songs are like the wild flowers
that have not yet come under the transforming hand of the gardener._
ALICE C. FLETCHER.
PEABODY MUSEUM,
HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
STORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU'-SHKA 3
STORY AND SONG OF ISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI 14
STORY AND SONG OF THE LEADER 21
THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER 26
STORY AND SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST 30
A TRYSTING LOVE-SONG 34
STORY AND SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE 39
STORY AND SONG OF ZO_N_'-ZI-MO_N_-DE 45
LOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by Miss E.D. Proctor 49
STORY AND SONG OF THE WREN 53
THE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG 57
STORY AND SONG OF THE MOTHER'S VOW 61
A LOVE-CALL 68
A GAME SONG FROM THE NORTH-WEST COAST 70
STORY AND SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET 74
AN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG 77
STORY OF THE WE'-TO_N_ SONG. 81
A PAWNEE LOVE-SONG 86
STORY AND SONG OF A WARRIOR 88
THE MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG 94
A SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE 96
SACRED SONGS OF PEACE 101
COMFORTING THE CHILD 108
MUSIC IN INDIAN LIFE 114
THE RELATION OF STORY AND SONG 120
LIST OF SONGS.
PAGE.
THE INSIGNIA OF THUNDER (Omaha) 6
THE WARRIOR'S PRAYER (Omaha) 9
THE LAUGH (Ponka) 13
ISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI. Dance Song (Omaha) 18
THE LEADER'S SONG (Omaha) 24
TRIBAL PRAYER (Omaha) 29
THE BIRD'S NEST (Pawnee) 33
TRYSTING LOVE-SONG (Omaha) 36
THE DEATHLESS VOICE (Dakota) 42
ZO_N_'-ZI-MO_N_-DE (Omaha) 46
LOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by
Miss E.D. Proctor (Omaha) 50
THE WREN (Pawnee) 54
SONG TO THE SPIRIT (Omaha) 58
THE MOTHER'S VOW (Dakota) 66
A LOVE-CALL (Omaha) 69
GAME SONG (Vancouver's Island) 72
THE INDIAN COQUET (Omaha) 75
AN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG (Omaha) 78
WE'-TO_N_ SONG (Dakota) 84
LOVE-SONG (Pawnee) 87
A WARRIOR'S SONG. Mi'-ka-thi (Ponka) 92
MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG (Tigua) 95
SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE (Arapaho) 98
CHORAL. Sacred Song of Peace (Omaha) 105
THE GIFT OF PEACE (Otoe) 107
KAWAS, THY BABY IS CRYING (Pawnee) 109
THY FATHER IS COMING (Pawnee) 111
LOOK UP (Pawnee) 113
PRAYER FOR RAIN (Mexico) 123
KWAKIUTL SONG (British Columbia) 123
INDIAN STORY AND SONG
STORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU'-SHKA.[1]
[Footnote 1: In the Indian words and vocables the vowels have the
continental sound. _G_ is hard, as in _go_; _dh_ is like _th_ in
_the_; _th_, as in _thin_; _n_ as in French _en_.]
It had been a warm September day; and I was resting in my hammock,
swung from a wide-spreading tree that stood near the tent of my Indian
host. We had partaken of our evening meal beside an outdoor fire. The
mother was busy clearing away the supper dishes, the men had gone off
to look after the horses, the children had fallen asleep, and I lay
watching the shadowy darkness come out of the east and slowly pursue
the glowing trail of the retreating sun, thinking of the Indian's
imagery of night ever haunting and following upon the track of day,
seeking to gain the mastery. I was aroused from my musings by hearing
the mother say, "It is chilly!" for the fire had died down, and the
deep blue of twilight was all about us.
She dropped beside the embers, blew them into a feeble blaze, threw on
fresh wood, that crackled and sent up a shower of sparks and soon
bright yellow flames illumined the under side of the branches beneath
which I was swinging.
The call of the fire summoned one tall form after another out of the
dusky surroundings, and around the blazing logs robes were spread here
and there, on which the men reclined. By and by the women came and
dropped down near the fire, and added the treble of their voices to
the deep tones of the men, as the chat of the day's occurrences went
on.
It was a peaceful, picturesque scene upon which I looked; and by very
contrast my thoughts reverted to the preceding evening, when I had
attended a meeting of the He-dhu'-shka, society composed of warriors.
The gathering had been in a large tent; and, as the night was warm,
the bottom of the tent cover had been lifted to let the breeze blow
through. This had given an opportunity for the crowd outside to look
within and watch the ceremony and the dramatic dance. To the right of
the door, in two circles around the drum, sat the choir of men and
women, all in their gala dress. Each member of the society, wrapped in
his robe, with measured steps entered the tent, and silently took his
seat on the ground against the wall. The ceremony had opened by the
choir singing the ritual song which accompanied the act of charring
the elder wood with which the face of the Leader was afterward to be
painted. As memory brought back the scene in vivid colours,--the
blazing fire in the centre of the wide circle of muffled warriors, the
solemn aspect of the Leader awaiting the preparation of the elder
wood, and his strange appearance after the painting of his face,--I
pondered wonderingly as to what it all might signify. In my perplexity
I spoke from my hammock to one of the elder men in the group before
me:--
"Grandfather, I wish you would explain to me the meaning of what I saw
yesterday at the He-dhu'-shka Society. Tell me why the Leader put
black on his face."
My friend was accustomed to my questionings, and all eyes were turned
toward him as he replied:
"The Leader put the black cloud over his face, because the black cloud
is worn by Thunder when it comes near to man. The song sung while this
is being done tells that the Leader is making ready and impatiently
awaits the commands of the approaching god of war."...
This is the song which accompanied the preparation and the putting on
of the insignia of the thunder god. The music is expressive of the
tremulous movement of the leaves, of the flying of the birds, of the
stir of all nature before the advancing storm, typifying the
stirring of the heart of man when summoned to fight the enemies of his
people.
[Music: PUTTING ON THE INSIGNIA OF THE THUNDER GOD.
_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de,
Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de,
Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de,
Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-hi-un te dhon-hi-de,
Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ke-un te dhon-hi-de.]
At the close of the song and ceremony of blackening the Leader's face,
I had seen the Leader take the pipe belonging to the society, fill it,
and reverently lift the stem upward.
"When the Leader's face is painted," continued the old man, "he offers
the pipe to Wa-ko_n_'-da (god). The words of the song then sung mean:
Wa-ko_n_'-da, we offer this pipe (the symbol of our unity as a
society). Accept it (and us). All the members must join in singing
this prayer, and afterward all must smoke the pipe."
[Music: PRAYER OF THE WARRIORS BEFORE SMOKING THE PIPE.
_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,
Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,
Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,
E-ha dha-ni hin ga _we dho he dho_.]
"The He-dhu'-shka Society is very old," continued my friend. "It is
said to have been in existence at the time when the Omahas and the
Ponkas were together as one tribe. There is a song with a dance which
must be given at every meeting. It is to keep alive the memory of a
battle that took place while we were migrating westward, and where
defeat would have meant our extermination as a tribe. I will tell you
the story.[2]
[Footnote 2: The translation given is by my collaborator, Mr. Francis
La Flesche.]
"One morning the tribe, whose country had been invaded by the Ponkas,
made an unexpected assault upon the camp of the invaders. For a time
it seemed as though the Ponkas would fare badly at the hands of their
assailants, who were determined to drive out or destroy the intruders;
but after a desperate struggle the Ponkas pushed their enemies back
from the outskirts of the village, until finally their retreat became
a rout. Both sides suffered great loss. The ground was strewn with the
dead, and the grass stained with the blood of the warriors who fell in
the battle; but the victory was with us, and we had conquered the
right to dwell in that country.
"At the outset of the conflict a man bent with age emerged slowly from
the door of one of the tents. The breezes played with his long white
hair as he stood leaning on his staff, shading his face with one hand
and looking intently in the direction whence came the noise of battle.
As he recognised the voice of a warrior rushing to the fray, imitating
as he ran the cry of some animal (his tutelary god), the aged man
called after him:
"'Once more! Once more be the undaunted warrior you have hitherto
been! Utter aloud your mystic cry, and make the enemy to tremble with
fear!'
"If a youth passed by, singing his death song, the old man would
ask:--
"'Who is that young man? He promises well.' Upon being told whose son
he was, the aged man shouted: 'Ho-o! You have the spirit of your
father. Be like him: turn not your face from the foe!'
"All day the old man stood at his door as though rooted to the ground.
As the hours sped on, fainter and fainter grew the shouts and the
cries of the contending men, until finally the sounds died away. Even
then the venerable man moved not from his tent, but still stood
watching. Lower and lower dropped the sun toward the western horizon,
and all through the village anxious faces were turned in the direction
whence the last sound of the fight had been heard. Suddenly a woman
cried,--
"'There they come!'
"At her words the old man leaned forward, straining his dim eyes to
discern the distant figures on the far-off hill. In single file, on
the warriors came, one preceding another, according to the grade of
the honours he had won in the battle. The Herald hastened forth from
the village to meet them and to learn their tidings. After a halt he
turned and came on in advance of the men, shouting as he came near
the village the names of those who had fallen in battle. As each name
was called, the wife or mother of the slain man rent the air with
sudden cry and wail, so that the whole village vibrated with the sound
of sorrow as the victorious warriors drew near. In the midst of all
this commotion the aged watcher remained motionless, giving no sign of
emotion as the wailing grew in volume, and stirring not even when he
heard the names of his two sons called in the long death-roll.
"As the warriors entered the village, the Herald proclaimed the names
of those who had distinguished themselves in that memorable fight.
Slowly the men of valour approached their aged chief, who bowed
acknowledgment as each one spoke and laid at his feet a trophy of war.
"Among the veterans came a young warrior, who, in this his first
battle, had, in a hand to hand contest, wrenched a club from the grasp
of his antagonist, and had slain the enemy with his own weapon. This
club he presented to the old man, recounting the deed. The chief,
lifting the weapon, exclaimed with a dramatic laugh: 'Ha, ha, ha! It
is thus you should treat your enemies, that they may fear you. My
exhortations to our young men have not fallen on deaf ears. Those who
sought to destroy our people lie scattered and dead on the ground.
Wherever their shadows may wander, even there the fear of you shall
be. The enemy sought to make me weep, but I laugh.' And the old man
danced to his triumphant laugh for the victory of that day."
[Music: SONG OF THE LAUGH.
_Ponka. He-dhu'-shka._
Ha, ha, ha ha ha! Ha ha! hi hi! ha ha! hi!]
So this was the meaning of the monotonous song that had accompanied
the opening dance I had seen at the He-dhu'-shka Society, where the
dancer, with body bent and with short rhythmic steps, had kept time to
the dramatic laugh of the song,--a song that had seemed so aimless to
me only the night before.
"Every song of the Society has its story which is the record of some
deed or achievement of its members," said another old man who was
lying beside the fire. "I will tell you one that was known to our
great-great-grandfathers," and rising upon his elbow he began:--
THE STORY AND SONG OF ISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI.
"Long ago there lived an old Omaha Indian couple who had an only
child, a son named Ish'-i-buz-zhi. From his birth he was peculiar. He
did not play like the other children; and, as he grew older, he kept
away from the boys of his own age, refusing to join in their sports or
to hunt with them for small game. He was silent and reserved with
every one but his mother and her friends. With them he chatted and was
quite at ease. So queer a little boy could not escape ridicule. The
people spoke of him as one 'having no sense,' and it seemed as though
he would have no friends except his parents and a few women intimates
of his mother.
"During the long winter evenings, when the old men who came to his
father's lodge talked of bygone times and told tales of ancient
heroes, this silent, seemingly heedless boy caught and treasured every
word. He noted that the stories said that the mighty men of early days
were armed only with clubs. He mused on this fact, and determined to
make himself such a weapon. So he fashioned a four-sided club,
practised with it in secret, and kept it constantly with him. He was
well laughed at because he clung always to his club and would not
learn the use of the bow; but he kept his own counsel, and, as the
years went on, no one knew that the Sparrow-hawk had talked to him in
a vision, and that he had become possessed of two of its sacred
feathers.
"One day when Ish'-i-buz-zhi had grown to be a man, he heard a group
of warriors discussing plans for an expedition against a tribal enemy.
He determined to go with them; but he said nothing, and silently
watched the men depart. That night he stole away and followed the
trail of the warriors. In the morning one of the servants of the war
party discovered him and reported to the Leader, who ordered that he
be brought in. When the men saw that it was Ish'-i-buz-zhi, they joked
him, and asked why he who cared only for the company of old women had
come to them; but the Leader rebuked the warriors and received the
youth kindly, and, when he found that the young man was not properly
provided with clothing, bade his followers to fit him out from their
own supplies. They obeyed, and they also made him a bow of ash and
gave him some arrows.
"After many days' travel the party drew near to the enemy. A scout
discovered their camp and reported having seen one of their men. At
once the warriors prepared for battle, putting on the sacred paint and
divesting themselves of unnecessary garments, which they handed over
to Ish'-i-buz-zhi to take care of during the fight. But the young man
had his own plans, and went to the Leader and asked permission to go
and look at the enemy. With many cautions not to give an alarm and
prevent surprise, the Leader consented, and off Ish'-i-buz-zhi
started.
"Catching sight of the enemy, he threw away his bow, and, armed only
with his club, rushed suddenly upon the foremost man, overthrew and
killed him. When the war party came upon the scene, they saw with
amazement what he had done,--how by the might of his single arm he had
killed the Leader of the enemy and scattered his warriors.
"On the return of the Omaha men to their village the Herald, according
to custom, proclaimed the deed of Ish'-i-buz-zhi. The old mother
sitting in her tent heard his words, and called to her husband:
"'What is this that I hear? Go you out and learn the truth.'
"'It is only their ridicule of our boy,' said the old man, loath to
stir.
"The Herald cried again, and the old man arose and stood at the door
of the tent. Then of a truth he learned that, single-handed, his son
had vanquished the enemy. Again and again did Ish'-i-buz-zhi join war
parties, and he was always the foremost to meet the enemy and to
scatter them with his club.
"Many tales are told of him; for he was fond of joking, and was often
absent-minded. It is said that his wife was skilled in embroidery, and
would decorate his moccasins with fine porcupine quill work; and it
disturbed her to see him put them on to go out of a morning when the
dew was on the grass. So she took him to task for his thoughtlessness.
"'While the grass is wet,'" said she, "'carry your moccasins in your
belt.'
"He obeyed; but he forgot to put them on when the grass was dry, and
came home with feet bruised and sore, and his moccasins still in his
belt.
"But these peculiarities no longer provoked ridicule, as when
Ish'-i-buz-zhi was a boy; for as a man, generous and strong, he was
beloved by the people. The child who had feasted on tales of the
old heroes had in his manhood reproduced their brave deeds. So it came
to pass that, when danger threatened, it was to him that the people
ran for help; and he never failed them."
The song refers to one of these appeals. An alarm arose, and to
Ish'-i-buz-zhi, sitting in his tent, the people cried, "The enemy
comes and calls for you, Ish'-i-buz-zhi."
[Music: DANCE SONG. (ICHIBUZZHI.)
_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no dho-e.
Nu-da hun-ga Ich-i-buz-zhi dha-da e dhin-ke de,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,
Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no.]
STORY AND SONG OF THE LEADER.
After many years of warfare the Omaha tribe made peace with the Sioux.
One bright autumn day it was suggested that, in order to show their
friendly feeling, a party of Omahas should visit the Sioux tribe. So
the men and women made everything ready for the long journey.
Tent covers and camp belongings were fastened on trailing travaux,
ponies were laden with gayly painted parfleche packs, containing the
fine garments of the people and the gifts to be presented to the
Sioux. Soon the motley-coloured line could be seen winding over the
rolling prairie. The young men, mounted on their spirited horses,
dashed off, racing with each other to attract the attention of the
maidens, who could only follow with their eyes, so closely guarded
were they by the elder women. Old men jogged along in groups, talking
to each other, their lariats dragging through the grass, now and then
snapping off the head of a wild flower or catching in a tangle of
weeds. Boys made the air ring with their laughter, as they slipped off
their ponies to shoot their small arrows at some imaginary game. It
was a scene full of careless pleasure and happy movement under a
cloudless sky.
When nearing the Sioux village, the people paused beside a stream to
wash off the dust of travel, to put on their gayest attire, and to
newly paint their hair and faces. The prairie was their vast
dressing-room, and friendly eyes were their mirrors. Young men decked
each other, and girls slyly put on touches of finery. Every one was
moving about and busy, from the oldest man to the youngster captured
from play to be washed and painted. At last the transformation was
complete, from the dun, every-day colour to the brilliant hues of a
gala time. Now messengers were despatched with small bunches of
tobacco, tied up in bits of bladder skin (in lieu of visiting cards),
to give notice of the visiting party's approach.
Suddenly some one asked, "What if the Sioux do not believe we are
coming in peace, and should capture our messengers and attack us as we
come near with our women and children?"
Such a reception had not before been thought of; and silence fell upon
the people as they halted, under the gloom of the apprehension. At
length the Leader stood up and said,--"We have made peace, we have
come in good faith, we will go forward, and Wa-ko_n_'-da shall decide
the issue."
Then he struck up this song and led the way; and, as the men and women
followed, they caught the tune, and all sang it as they came near the
Sioux village.
In the words the Leader, as representing the Omahas, speaks: "I am
advancing. I am moving toward you. Behold me, young men, warriors of
the Sioux! Here I stand. Wa-ko_n_'-da alone decides the destinies of
men."
The visitors met with a welcome, and the breach between the two tribes
was healed for many a long day.
[Music: SONG OF THE LEADER. A REST SONG.
_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._
Shu-b'dhe adhin-he on-don-ba i ga ho.
Shu-b'dhe adhin-he on-don-ba i ga ho.
Sha-on-zhin-ga ha, dha-dhu anon-zhin on-don-ba ga, he.
Wa-kon-da hi-dhe-g'dhon be dho he dhoe.
On-don-ba ga he.
Sha-on-zhin-ga ha dhe-dhu anon-zhin on-don-ba ga he.
Wa-kon-da hi dhe-g'dhon be dho he.]
THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.
According to the Omaha idea, a child during its infancy had no
recognised existence as an individual or distinct member of the tribe,
but remained as a part of its parents. When it could walk alone, at
about three years of age, it was initiated into the tribal
organisation through certain religious rites; but its responsible and
individual life did not begin until its mind had "become white," as
the Indians say. This expression referred to the dawn, to the passing
of night into day, and represented the coming of the child out of the
period where nothing was clearly apprehended into a time when he could
readily recall past events with their distinctness of detail. This
seeming mastery of the minutiae of passing occurrences indicated that a
stage of growth had been reached where the youth could be inducted
into the religious mysteries through a distinct personal experience
acquired in the rite, No_n_'-zhi_n_-zho_n_,--a rite which brought him
into what was believed to be direct communication with the
supernatural powers.
In preparation for this rite the Omaha youth was taught the Tribal
Prayer. He was to sing it during the four nights and days of his
vigil in some lonely place. As he left his home, his parents put clay
on his head; and, to teach him self-control, they placed a bow and
arrows in his hand, with the injunction not to use them during his
long fast, no matter how great the temptation might be. He was bidden
to weep as he sang the prayer, and to wipe his tears with the palms of
his hands, to lift his wet hands to heaven, and then lay them on the
earth. With these instructions the youth departed, to enter upon the
trial of his endurance. When at last he fell into a sleep or trance,
and the vision came, of bird, or beast, or cloud, bringing with it a
cadence, this song became ever after the medium of communication
between the man and the mysterious power typified in his vision; and
by it he summoned help and strength in the hour of his need.
In this manner all mystery songs originated,--the songs sung when
healing plants were gathered and when the medicine was administered;
when a man set his traps or hunted for game; when he desired to look
into the future or sought supernatural guidance, or deliverance from
impending danger.
The Tribal Prayer was called in the Omaha tongue Wa-ko_n_'-da
gi-ko_n_: Wa-ko_n_'-da, the power which could make or bring to pass;
gi-ko_n_, to weep from conscious insufficiency, or the longing for
something that could bring happiness or prosperity. The words of the
prayer, Wa-ko_n_'-da dhe-dhu wah-pa'-dhi_n_ a-to_n_'-he, literally
rendered, are, Wa-ko_n_'-da, here needy he stands; and I am he.
This prayer is very old. Its supplicating cadences echoed through the
forests of this land long before our race had touched its shores,
voicing a cry recognised by every human heart.
[Music: THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Wa-kon-da dhe-dhu
Wa-pa-dhin a-ton-he.
Wa-kon-da dhe-dhu
Wa-pa-dhin a-ton-he.]
STORY AND SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.[3]
[Footnote 3: An old priest of the rite gave me the story and song
through Mr. James R. Murie, an educated Pawnee, and they are here for
the first time made public.]
Scattered through an elaborate ritual and religious ceremony of the
Pawnee tribe are little parables in which some natural scene or
occurrence serves as a teaching to guide man in his daily life. The
following is an example.
The words of the song ("the sound of the young") are purposely few, so
as to guard the full meaning from the careless and to enable the
priest to hold the interpretation as a part of his sacred treasure.
They are sufficient, however, to attract the attention of the
thoughtful; and such a one who desired to know the teaching of the
sacred song could first perform certain initiatory rites and then
learn its full meaning from the priest.
* * * * *
"One day a man whose mind was open to the teaching of the gods
wandered on the prairie. As he walked, his eyes upon the ground, he
spied a bird's nest hidden in the grass, and arrested his feet just in
time to prevent stepping on it. He paused to look at the little nest
tucked away so snug and warm, and noted that it held six eggs, and
that a peeping sound came from some of them. While he watched, one
moved; and soon a tiny bill pushed through the shell, uttering a
shrill cry. At once the parent birds answered, and he looked up to see
where they were. They were not far off, and were flying about in
search of food, chirping the while to each other and now calling to
the little one in the nest.
"The homely scene stirred the heart and the thoughts of the man, as he
stood there under the clear sky, glancing upward toward the old birds
and then down at the helpless young in the nest at his feet. As he
looked, he thought of his people, who were so often careless and
thoughtless of their children's needs; and his mind brooded over the
matter. After many days he desired to see the nest again. So he went
to the place where he had found it; and there it was, as safe as when
he left it. But a change had taken place. It was now full to
overflowing with little birds, who were stretching their wings,
balancing on their small legs, and making ready to fly; while the
parents with encouraging calls were coaxing the fledglings to venture
forth.
"'Ah!' said the man, 'if my people would only learn of the birds,
and, like them, care for their young and provide for their future,
homes would be full and happy, and our tribe be strong and prosperous.
"When this man became a priest, he told the story of the bird's nest
and sang its song; and so it has come down to us from the days of our
fathers."
[Music: SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.
_Pawnee._
Transcribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.
Ho-o
Ha-re ha-re re ha-re
Ha-re ha-re e ha-re
Re wha-ka ha-re re ha-re, wha-ka ha-re re ha-re
Re wha-ka ha-re re ha-re.]
A TRYSTING LOVE-SONG.
One of the few delights of life in camp is the opportunity the tent
affords of ready access to the open air. There is no traversing of
stairways, no crossing of halls, and no opening of reluctant doors,
but only the parting of the canvas, and our world is as wide as the
horizon and high as the heavens. Even when the tent door-flap is
snugly closed, nature is not wholly shut out. Often I have lain
looking up at the stars as they passed slowly across the central
opening, and listened to the flight of the birds as they travelled
northward at the coming of spring. And I have watched the birth of
many a day, from the first quivering primrose hue to the full flush
and glow of rosy colour, and then the stirring breeze, the waking
leaves, and the call of the birds breaking into song.
One morning I rose from my blankets and stepped out under the broad
dome of the sky, while all about me in their shadowy tents the people
slept. I wandered toward a glen, down which the water from a little
spring hurried to the brook. As I sat among the fresh undergrowth, I
watched the stars grow dim and the thin line of smoke rise from the
tents, telling that the mother had risen to blow the embers to a
blaze and to put another stick or two upon the fire.
As I sat, thinking a multitude of thoughts, I heard a rustling upon
the hill opposite me. Then there was silence, quickly broken by
movements in another direction; while from the hill came the clear
voice of a young man singing. In a moment more two women, whom I
recognised as aunt and niece, appeared at the spring, the one elderly,
the other young and pretty; but the singer was still invisible. The
cadences of the song were blithe and glad, like the birds and the
breezes laden with summer fragrance. The words, "I see them coming!"
carried a double meaning. The girl for whom he had waited was in truth
coming, but to the singer was also coming the delight of growing love
and abundant hope.
[Music: TRYSTING LOVE SONG.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Hi dha ho!
Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he,
Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he
Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he dhoe.
Hi dha ho!
Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he.
Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he.]
The women filled their water vessels. The elder took no note of the
song, but turned steadily toward the home path. The eyes of the maiden
had been slyly searching the hillside as she slowly neared the spring
and dipped up the sparkling water. Now, as the aunt walked away, the
song ceased; and a light rustling followed, as the lover, bounding
down the hill, leaped the brook and was at the side of the girl. A
few hasty words, a call from the aunt, a lingering parting, and I was
alone again. The brook went babbling on, but telling no tales, the
birds were busy with their own affairs, and the sunbeams winked
brightly through the leaves. The little rift, giving a glimpse of the
inner life of two souls, had closed and left no outward sign; and yet
the difference!
There was a measured thud upon the trail, and an old woman with
stooping shoulders passed down the glen. As she bent over the spring
and took her water supply, I heard the young man's voice in the
distance, singing his song as he wended his way home. The old woman
heard it, too. She straightened up and looked steadily in the
direction of the singer, slowly shook her head, picked up her water
vessel, and turned away, her crooked figure disappearing in the
shadows. Then I arose and followed the singer, trying to forget the
warning shake of the old woman's head.
STORY AND SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.[4]
[Footnote 4: The translation of the story is by Mr. Francis La
Flesche.]
ORIGIN OF THE MA-WA'-DA-NI SOCIETY.
A long, long time ago a large number of warriors, under the leadership
of a man noted throughout the warlike tribes for his valorous deeds,
started forth to harass and, if possible, to drive a powerful people
from a territory which abounded in game. This war party was out many
days, had many a weary march in search of the enemy, scouring the
country far and wide, keeping their scouts in the front, rear, and
flank; for the leader was determined not to return to his village
without the trophies of war.
They came one day to a large grove with a clear brook running through
it. Here the Leader ordered the camp to be pitched, that his little
army might rest awhile and repair their moccasins and clothing.
Sentinels were stationed so as to guard against surprise. Hunters were
sent forth, and returned laden with game.
Night came on. There was no moon; and it was dark, although the stars
shone brightly. A fire blazed in the open air, and the men whose duty
it was to dress and cook the meat, were moving about the burning logs;
while others sat mending their moccasins by the firelight, listening
to stories of battles, marvellous escapes, and strange adventures.
Supper was cooked, and the meat was piled on freshly cut grass spread
upon the ground; and near by were set the pots of broth and the wooden
bowls and horn spoons. The Leader was called to perform the usual
sacred rites observed before the serving of food; and all the warriors
gathered around the fire, each one eager for his portion of the meal.
At a signal from the Leader every man bowed his head, and there was
silence. Not a breath of air was stirring. Now and then could be heard
the far-off dismal howl of the grey wolf or the cry of a strange bird
startled from its nest by a coyote. Save from these and the crackling
of the fire there was stillness in all the surroundings. The warriors
had made their silent petitions to Wako_n_'-da, the power that moves
all things. The Leader lifted his head. Then from the pile of meat he
took a bit and raised it toward the sky, as an offering to that
mysterious power, when suddenly the stillness was broken and the
ceremony interrupted by a clear voice bursting into song, the echoes
in the hills and valleys catching and repeating the strain.
Each warrior involuntarily grasped his bow. The Leader, ever keen and
alert, exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "The fire! the fire!"
Immediately many hands were rubbing the flaming wood into the earth.
Commands were hastily given by the Leader; and the warriors, with
palpitating hearts, started out to form a ring around the spot whence
the thrilling sounds came. The voice sang on. The ring grew smaller
and smaller until in an open space the shadowy form of a tree loomed
up before the advancing warriors. No escape was now possible for the
singer, yet the song went on without hesitancy. The tree was now
clearly visible. The song came to a close, and the echo died away in
the distance. The men kept on toward the tree, with bows drawn and
arrows strung. No form was seen running around inside the ring,
seeking an opening for escape; but, lo! at the foot of the tree lay
scattered the whitened bones and the grinning skull of a man. Death
had claimed the body of this warrior and compelled its return to dust,
but had failed to silence the voice of the man who, when living, had
often defied death.
[Music: SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.
_Dakota._
Harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.
Hi dho ho hi dho ho i dho hi dho ha ha i dha
ah hi dha ha hi dha ha hi dha ha idha ha
ha hi dho i dha he e dho i.
Ah hi dho hi dho hi dho ho i dha i dho
ha ha i dha ah hi dha ha i dha ha hi dha ha i-dha ha
ha hi dha e dho he dho.]
The Leader, looking around upon his followers, lifted his voice and
said:--
"This was a warrior, who died the death of a warrior. There was joy in
his voice!"
The men to whom the strange experience narrated in this story came,
afterward banded themselves together in order the better to serve
their people, to present to the young men of the tribe an example of
generosity in time of peace and of steadfast valour on the field of
battle. They kept together during their lives and added to their
number, so that the society they formed continued to exist through
generations.
The story and song which has been handed down through all these years
as the inspiration of the founders of the Ma-wa'-da-ni Society,
embodies a truth honoured among all peoples,--that death cannot
silence the voice of one who confronts danger with unflinching
courage, giving his life in the defence of those dependent upon his
prowess. Such a man might fall in the trackless wilderness, and his
bones lie unhonoured and unburied until they blanched with age: still
his voice would ring out in the solitude until its message of courage
and joy should find an echo in the heart of the living.
STORY AND SONG OF ZO_N_-ZI'-MO_N_-DE.
Victory songs, of which this is one, were sung when the people with
rhythmic steps celebrated ceremonially the return of victorious
warriors. Because of its peculiar accessory, the scalp, this ceremony
has been called by us the "scalp dance," although no Indian so
designates it.
The contrast between the sentiment of this story, teaching respect and
honour to the old, and the ceremony, as we baldly see it, is
startling. But it is with the Indian as with ourselves: the cruelties
of war and the gentler emotions are often intertwined, the latter
surviving and lifting up a standard for emulation, the former passing
away, dying with the instigating passion. Among the many hundreds of
Indian songs I have known, none commemorate acts of cruelty.
Years ago the Omaha tribe and the Sioux met while searching for a
buffalo herd; and, as was usual, a battle ensued, for each tribe was
determined to drive the other from the region of the game. Although
the Sioux outnumbered the Omaha, the latter remained victors of the
field.
[Music: ZO_N_-ZI-MO_N_-DE.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Ye ha he ya e he dha ye ha he
ya e he dha ah ha ya e he dha ye ha he
ya e he dha dha ha dhoe.
Zo_n_-zi-mo_n_-de a-ma sha e dhe.
Ah ha ya e he dha e ha he ya e ha dha dha ha dho.]
An old Omaha, interested to observe how some of the tribe would
conduct themselves in their first battle, made his way toward the
scene of conflict. It chanced that just as a Sioux warrior had fallen,
pierced by an arrow, and the Omaha men were rushing forward to secure
their war honours, this old man was discovered coming up the hill,
aided by his bow, which he used as a staff. One of the young warriors
called to his companions:--
"Hold! Yonder comes Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de, let us give him the honours."
Then, out of courtesy to the veteran, each young warrior paused and
stepped aside, while the old man, all out of breath, hastened to the
fallen foe. There he turned and thanked the young men for permitting
him, whom age had brought to the edge of the grave, to count yet one
more honour as a warrior.[5]
[Footnote 5: To be the first to touch the body of an enemy counts as a
war honour.]
The words of the song give the exclamation of the generous youth:
"Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de comes! Stand aside! He comes."
AN OMAHA LOVE-SONG.
The words of many love-songs refer to the dawn, the time of the day
when they are usually sung; but this reference is not a literal one.
It figures the dawn of love in the breast of the singer. The Indian
stands so close to Nature that he sees his own moods reflected or
interpreted in hers.
The Indian words of this song, freely translated, are:--
As the day comes forth from night,
So I come forth to seek thee.
Lift thine eyes and behold him
Who comes with the day to thee.
[Music: LOVE SONG.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Fades the star of morning,
West winds gently blow, gently blow, gently blow.
Soft the pine trees murmur,
Soft the waters flow,
Soft the waters flow,
Soft the waters flow.
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
To the hill-top nigh.
Night and gloom will vanish
When the pale stars die,
When the pale stars die,
When the pale stars die.
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry.]
Miss Edna Dean Proctor has rendered into charming verse the scene and
the feeling of the hour, giving us an Indian love-song in its
entirety. By her courtesy I am able to reproduce here her poem written
some years ago, on hearing the melody which I had then recently
transcribed during one of my sojourns among the Omaha Indians:--
Fades the star of morning,
West winds gently blow,
Soft the pine-trees murmur,
Soft the waters flow.
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
To the hill-top nigh,
Night and gloom will vanish
When the pale stars die;
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry!
From my tent I wander,
Seeking only thee,
As the day from darkness
Comes for stream and tree.
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
To the hill-top nigh;
Lo! the dawn is breaking,
Rosy beams the sky;
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry!
Lonely is our valley,
Though the month is May;
Come and be my moonlight,
I will be thy day!
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Oh, behold me nigh!
Now the sun is rising,
Now the shadows fly;
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry!
THE STORY AND SONG OF THE WREN.[6]
[Footnote 6: Both story and song were recited to me by an old priest
of the rite, and were interpreted by Mr. James R. Murie.]
This little parable occurs in the ritual of a religious ceremony of
the Pawnee tribe. The song has no words, except a term for wren, the
vocables being intended only to imitate the notes of the bird,
nevertheless, one can trace, through the variation and repetition of
the musical motive, the movement of the gentle thoughts of the teacher
as given in the story which belongs to the song.
"A priest went forth in the early dawn. The sky was clear. The grass
and wild flowers waved in the breeze that rose as the sun threw its
first beams over the earth. Birds of all kinds vied with each other,
as they sang their joy on that beautiful morning. The priest stood
listening. Suddenly, off at one side, he heard a trill that rose
higher and clearer than all the rest. He moved toward the place whence
the song came, that he might see what manner of bird it was that could
send farther than all the others its happy, laughing notes. As he came
near, he beheld a tiny brown bird with open bill, the feathers on its
throat rippling with the fervour of its song. It was the wren, the
smallest, the least powerful of birds, that seemed to be most glad
and to pour out in ringing melody to the rising sun its delight in
life.
"As the priest looked, he thought: 'Here is a teaching for my people.
Every one can be happy, even the most insignificant can have his song
of thanks.'
"So he made the story of the wren and sang it; and it has been handed
down from that day,--a day so long ago no man can remember the time."
[Music: SONG OF THE WREN.
_Pawnee._
Transcribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.
Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,
Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,
Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,
Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,
Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,
Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi.]
THE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG.
There was but one funeral song in the Omaha tribe, and this was only
sung to honour some man or woman who had been greatly respected by the
people.
What one would see, when this song was sung, was in violent contrast
to the character of the music. The blithe major strains suggest only
happiness. They hardly touch ground, so to speak, but keep their
flight up where the birds are flitting about in the sunshine; and, if
there are clouds in the blue sky, they are soft and fleecy, and cast
no shadows. Yet the men who sang this song were ranged in line before
the tent where the dead lay ready for burial. They had drawn the stem
of a willow branch through a loop of flesh cut on their left arm, and
their blood dripped upon the green leaves and fell in drops to the
ground.
The meaning of this strange spectacle and its musical accompaniment,
so apparently out of keeping, must be sought for in the beliefs of the
people. It was a drama touching two worlds.
The shedding of blood was to express how vital was the loss. This act,
visible to the mourners, was an exhibition of sympathy; but music
had power to reach the unseen world, so the song was for the spirit of
the dead, who could not see the lacerated singers, but could hear
them, as they sang to cheer him as he went forth, forced by death to
leave all who were dear to him.[7]
[Footnote 7: It was one of the customs of the Omahas to cease wailing
at a certain stage in the funeral ceremonies, that the departing
friend might not be distressed by the sounds of sorrow, as he left his
home behind him,--a custom founded on the same belief as that
expressed by this funeral song.]
The song was always sung in unison. The rhythm was accented by each
singer beating together two small willow sticks.
There are no words to the song, only vocables; and these belong to the
breathing or sighing class, indicative of emotion.
[Music: SONG TO THE SPIRIT.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
E a dha ah
E he a ha ah, he ah
E dha ah he a ha ah
E dha ah
E ah
E ah ha e ha o
E dha he he dhoe ha o o
E dha ha he a ha ah
E dha ah e ah
E ah ha e ha o
E dha he dho.]
STORY AND SONG OF THE MOTHER'S VOW.
It was a warm day of early spring on the Upper Missouri, when the
subtle joy of awakening life stirs the blood and rouses the fancy. The
brown outline of the bare trees was already broken by little leaves
that were shaking themselves in the bright sunlight. Flowers were
peering through the vivid green of the freshly sprung grass, the birds
had come, and the silence of the year had passed. It was a day to
enjoy outdoor life, to indulge in hope and happy thoughts. The sky was
so blue between the rolling white clouds that one forgot they could
ever become portentous of storm. The tents of the Indians, dotted
along the banks of the stream, stood like tall white flowers among the
trees. Women and children were chatting and calling to each other. Men
moved sedately about, busy with preparations for the coming summer
days. Young men and maidens were thinking of each other; for the
morning song of the lover had been heard, and the signal flash of the
mirror[8] had revealed his watching-place to the dark-eyed girl
demurely drawing water for the household in the early dawn.
[Footnote 8: Young men carried small looking-glasses with which they
flashed signals.]