noting the fading lines of aboriginal life spread out before me. All
at once I became aware that the brightness of the day was
overshadowed: a greyish hue, that rapidly deepened, pervaded the
scene. Suddenly the wind came over the hills, the birds darted about,
and the sound of thunder was heard. Everything was seeking a shelter;
and, as I turned in haste, hoping to reach the nearest tent, I saw an
old woman emerge from a lodge and in the face of the storm begin to
climb the hill, down which the wind swept, laying low the grass and
whipping the heads of the flowers. Seemingly unmindful of the storm,
on the woman went, her scant garments flapping, and her hair, seamed
with grey, tossing about her wrinkled face. The sight was so strange
that I paused to watch her, as she climbed on and on, steadfastly
breasting the storm. The lightnings flashed around her, and the
thunder echoed among the hills as she reached the top. There she
stopped and stood, a silhouette against the surging clouds, her hands
uplifted, her head thrown back; and between the thunder peals I heard
her voice ring out loud and clear in a song,--a song, I doubted not,
that carried a message to the mighty storm, in which to her the gods
were present. Many years have passed since I witnessed this scene and
learned the story of the woman's song. She is now at rest, and let us
hope her lifelong sorrow may have turned to joy.
In the early part of the century a Dakota woman fasted and prayed, and
Thunder came to her in her vision. To the god she promised to give her
firstborn child. When she became a mother, she forgot in her joy that
the life of her little one did not belong to her; nor did she recall
her fateful vow until one bright spring day, when the clouds gathered
and she heard the roll of the thunder,--a sound which summoned all
persons consecrated to this god to bring their offerings and to pay
their vows. Then she remembered what she had promised; but her heart
forbade her to lay the infant, which was smiling in her arms, upon the
cloud-swept hill-top. She pressed the baby to her breast, and waited
in silence the passing of the god in the storm.
The following spring, when the first thunder pealed, she did not
forget her vow; but she could not gather strength to fulfil it.
Another year passed, and again the thunder sounded. Taking the
toddling child by the hand, the mother climbed the hill; and, when the
top was reached, she placed it on the ground and fled. But the boy
scrambled up and ran after her, and his frightened cry stayed her
feet. He caught her garments and clung to them; and, although the
thunder called, she could not obey. Her vow had been made before she
knew the strength of a mother's love.
Gathering the boy in her arms, she hid herself and him from the
presence of the god. The storm passed, and the mother and child
returned to the lodge; but fear had taken possession of her, and she
watched her son with eyes in which terror and love struggled for the
mastery.
One day, as the little one played beside a rippling brook, laughing
and singing in his glee, suddenly the clouds gathered, the flashing
lightning and the crashing thunder sent beast and bird to cover, and
drove the mother out to find her child. She heard his voice above the
fury of the storm, calling to her. As she neared the brook, a vivid
flash blinded her eyes. For a moment she was stunned; but, recovering,
she pushed on, only to be appalled by the sight that met her gaze.
Her boy lay dead. The thunder god had claimed his own.
No other children came to lighten the sorrow of the lonely woman; and
every spring, when the first thunder sounded, and whenever the storm
swept the land, this stricken woman climbed the hills, and there,
standing alone, facing the black rolling clouds, she sang her song of
sorrow and of fealty.
* * * * *
The words of the song are addressed to the god; but the music, in its
swaying rhythm, suggests the mother's memory of the days when she
soothed her little child.
The following is a free translation of the Indian words:--
E dho he![9]
Behold! On their mighty pinions flying,
They come, the gods come once more
Sweeping o'er the land,
Sounding their call to me, to me their own.
Wa-gi-u_n_![10] Ye on mighty pinions flying,
Look on me here, me your own,
Thinking on my vow
As ye return once more, Wa-gi-u_n_!
[Footnote 9: Sighing vocables.]
[Footnote 10: Dakota term for the thunder bird.]
[Music: THE MOTHER'S VOW.
_Dakota._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
E dho he!
Gi-un, gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be
Co-dha, gi-don-be a-me, ha-don-be a-me,
Wa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho-e.
Wa-gi-un
gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be
Co-dha gi-don-be ha-we ha-don-be a-me.
Wa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho.]
A LOVE-CALL.
The native flageolet has proved a trusty friend to many a youth to
whom nature had denied the power of expressing in vocal melody his
fealty to the maiden of his choice. With its woody tones he rivalled
the birds as he sounded his love-call from the hills and made glad the
heart of the girl, who, catching the signal, awaited his coming at the
spring.
There are many bits of music composed for this little instrument,
which, in spite of its inaccuracies of pitch, arising from imperfect
construction, are not without hints of beauty.
[Music: LOVE CALL.
_Omaha._
For the Flageolet.]
A GAME SONG FROM THE NORTH-WEST COAST.
It is well known that the serious avocations of the fathers often
serve as games for the children. So it comes about that in the games
of chance we have a survival of the ancient custom of divination. As,
according to Indian belief, song was the medium through which man
communicated with the mysterious powers, we find all his games of
chance accompanied by melodies.
One autumn evening many years ago I was walking along a stretch of the
Pacific shore. The westerning moon flooded the water with light, and
lit up the edge of the dense forest that formed the background of an
Indian village. From one of its great square wooden dwellings came the
sound of singing, and the ruddy firelight shone through the cracks of
the plank door as I approached.
Entering, I saw that the central fire had just been lighted. The four
families, which had each their particular portion of the communal
house, had suffered their separate fires to burn to ashes, and had
pushed back their various belongings to give more room for the
gathering crowd.
I lingered at the door, looking on the motley scene: the women and
children in the background; the old men in groups, talking over their
younger days; the line of men singers, each with his piece of board
with which to strike the floor in lieu of a drum; the young men who
were to play, ranged in two opposite rows; and others standing about,
watching their friends and eager for the game to begin.
When all was ready, the leader of one side held up for a moment in one
hand a small piece of bone, then began tossing it secretly from one
hand to the other, moving the closed fists rapidly past each other to
the rhythm of the song sung by the singers, the opposite side keeping
sharp eyes on the moving fists, to be ready, when the signal should be
given, to detect, if possible, the hand to which the bone had finally
been passed.
Heavy stakes were put up, and there was every sign that song after
song would follow each other as the night wore on.
The song which follows is sung when playing a game of chance:--
[Music: GAME SONG.
_Vancouver's Island._
Transcribed and Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.]
STORY AND SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET.
In the last century there lived a man who, in his young days, was a
desperate coquet. He played havoc with the plans of many a young man,
robbing him of the fancy of his sweetheart, and then leaving the
maiden all forlorn. His behaviour aroused the anger and jealousy of
both sexes, but he seemed as impervious to the contempt of his fellows
as he was callous to the woe of his victims. The whole village buzzed
with the gossip of his adventures, and every one wondered how he
managed to escape punishment.
After the manner of the people, a song was made about him and his
career, that has outlasted his vain victories.
It is difficult to convey in concise English the sarcastic humour of
the original. The words picture this young man as sitting on a hill,
near the village where he lived and achieved so many conquests. The
warm summer breeze wafted up to him the hum of the people as they
talked, blaming him for his actions. "But why blame me?" says the
irresistible youth, stretching himself at full length in the
sunshine. "It was the gods that made me as I am: blame them, if you
will!" And he gave a sigh of satisfaction, "Hi!"
The music carries the story well. The swing of the last six bars
suggests his shrug of irresponsibility.
[Music: SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Ta won gdhon dhe-nun-ye de
Un-dhon-ge-a dhon-ke dhe
wa-kon-da he-gi-mon-te in-dhin-ga-ye ga-ma hi-a me
Hi!]
THE OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG.
Early in the century there lived an Omaha Indian, a tall and comely
man, gifted with a fine voice and a good memory, and who was greatly
admired by the men and women of the tribe. Although genial with every
one, he was reserved; and none knew all that had transpired in his
life or that occupied his thoughts. He was a prosperous man. His lodge
was well supplied, for his skill as a hunter was equal to his valour
as a warrior.
Years passed; and here and there a silver thread glistened in his
black hair, the furrows deepened in his handsome face, and more and
more his thoughts seemed to dwell on the past. One day he was heard
singing a love-song of his own composition, and gossip became busy as
to what this song might mean. His actions threw no light on the
mystery. He was the same kind husband and father, the same diligent
provider, and he sought no new companionship. Nevertheless, at every
dawn he went upon the hill near his lodge; and, while the morning star
hung like a jewel in the east, he sang the melody carrying the
words,--
"With the dawn I seek thee!"
[Music: THE OLD MAN'S LOVE SONG.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Ha he ha ha he ha he ha we dhe ha dha e ha dhoe,
Um-ba e-don ha-i-don, hu-wi-ne ha, ho e ho wa dho he dhe,
I ha, ha he ho, ho he ho, he ha we dhe dhoe.
Un-ba i-don ha-i-don, hu-wi ne ha, ho e ho ne dho he.]
The young men caught the tune, and sang it as they wooed the maidens;
and the old man smiled as he heard them. "Yes, they are right," he
said. "It is a love-song."
He grew to be a very old man, an old man with a love-song, until it
was only when the warm days came that he could slowly climb the hill
at dawn, and, alone with the breezes and birds, greet the new day with
his song, that both kept and revealed his secret,--the secret of a
love, like the radiant bow, spanning the whole horizon of his life. At
last a time came when his voice was no longer heard.
The tender cadences of his song, fraught with human hope and human
feeling, still linger, and to-day awaken echoes across the barriers of
time and race.
STORY OF THE WE-TO'_N_ SONG.
Many Indian tribes believed it possible for one person to affect
another through the power of the will. This belief gave rise to
peculiar customs and to a class of songs called, in the Omaha tongue,
We'-to_n_, composed and sung by women for the sole purpose of exerting
this power for the benefit of absent warriors.
Unless the village was attacked, women did not take active part in
war. When the men went forth on a long journey to meet the enemy, the
women remained at home, attending to domestic duties. Their thoughts,
however, were with the absent ones; and, under the incentive of the
belief in will power, they would gather in groups at the lodge of the
Leader of the war party, and in the hearing of his family would sing a
We'-to_n_ song, which should carry strength to the far-away warriors
and help them to win the battle.
The words of these songs do not reveal the purpose for which they were
sung, it being one of the peculiarities of the Indian never to
expatiate upon that which to him is apparent. The gathering of the
women at the lodge of the Leader of the war party, the united action
in singing a song never used but for one purpose, made any explanatory
words seem unnecessary. The distinctive mission of the song was to
reach the absent man, who, far from home, was suffering hardship and
facing danger. Upon him the singers fixed their thoughts, and to him
sent strength by their power of will. The words always referred to the
difficulties that confronted the warrior, and promised him success and
victory. They were not addressed to any visible audience.
The We'-to_n_ song here given was composed by a Dakota woman.
* * * * *
Many years ago a large party of warriors were out on a dangerous
expedition for the purpose of recapturing some property stolen by an
implacable enemy. There seemed little hope for their safe return, and
great apprehension was felt in many a tent. One evening, as the moon
rose, round and clear, over the wide rolling prairie, a group of women
moved in single file to the lodge of the Leader of the war party, upon
whom rested the responsibility of the expedition.
The tent stood dark against the evening sky, revealing the anxiety
within, which had let the blazing fire die to smouldering embers. At
the door the women paused, and across the stillness of the night they
sent forth this song, fraught with their united determination to
compel victory for the absent men.
"All the tribes shall hear of you," they sang. "Put forth your
strength. Truly this shall come to pass."
Out of the silent tent emerged the Leader's wife, bearing in her arms
gifts in acknowledgment of sympathy given and of succour sent.
* * * * *
And, as the women sang, "truly it came to pass." In due time the men
returned triumphant, after many hair-breadth escapes, with not one of
their number missing.
[Music: WE-TO_N_ SONG.
_Dakota._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
E ya-a he!
ah he dhe he dhe ah he dhe he dhe e-ya he!
ah ye dha he he ah he dha he dhoe,
ou-ki-a-ma dhi nun-un-ta-ye wa-skon-e-gun ya he
E ya he!
ah he dhe he he ah he dhe he dho.]
A PAWNEE LOVE-SONG.
There is no dalliance in this Pawnee love-song. It has no words, but
the music tells the story,--the insistent call of the lover to the
maiden to fly with him, the wide sweep of the prairie, the race for
cover, and the dauntless daring that won the girl from rival
pursuers.
[Music: LOVE SONG.
_Pawnee._
Transcribed by E.S. TRACY.]
A WARRIOR'S STORY AND SONG.
The Mi'-ka-thi songs are sung by warriors as they leave the village on
their way to battle. They all originate in some personal experience,
and both story and song are handed down with care and precision.
* * * * *
A Ponka war party once camped near the enemy. The usual sentinels had
been stationed, with special injunctions to be vigilant, that the camp
might not be discovered and surprised. Among those assigned to duty as
sentinel that night was a young man ambitious to win preferment and
honour in the tribe. His career was yet all to make, and he was on the
alert for opportunity to distinguish himself.
There was no moon, and only the keenest eye could discern any distant
object in the darkness. The silence was unbroken save by the
occasional cry of the wolf, the creaking of a cricket, or the rustle
of a passing breeze.
The young man, intently on the watch, scanned the country from right
to left, searching through the dimness for any moving thing; but all
was motionless beneath, while overhead the stars moved slowly through
the heavens, as the night wore on.
At a little distance from the watcher was a clump of trees. Upon this
he kept a steady eye, only turning now and then to sweep the horizon.
Once, as his eye returned to the trees, he beheld a shadow unnoticed
before. It moved; and, without waiting to see more, he sped
noiselessly as an arrow to wake the Leader and report that he had seen
the enemy creeping toward the sleeping warriors.
The Leader, an old and experienced man, made no reply, but rose
quickly and silently, and taking his bow in his hand, motioned the
sentinel to lead the way.
With rapid, muffled steps, they reached the place where the young man
had stood when he had seen the moving shadow. The Leader looked
intently in the indicated direction, bent his ear to the ground and
listened, then rose and looked again.
A faint gleam of light in the east gave sign of the approach of day,
as the Leader stepped cautiously toward the group of trees, followed
by the young warrior, whose heart beat high with hope that the time
had at last come for him to show his valour and win a war honour. A
greyish hue was spreading over the land as they neared the place. The
young man's eyes sought among the trees the hidden enemy, but the
Leader paused and addressed the youth:--
"Was it here that you saw the enemy?"
"Yes."
"Look on the ground and tell me what you see?"
Surprised at the words, yet obedient, he turned his scrutiny from the
trees to the grass upon which they stood, and detected there the
traces of the feet of an animal. As he gazed silently at the tracks,
absorbed in his thoughts, the dawn came slowly on. The Leader was the
first to speak:--
"I had seen a wolf pass here when I was going the rounds of the camp,
and when you reported to me I had but just returned to my bed. I arose
and came with you, to be quite sure that we had both looked in the
same direction and had seen the same thing. A warrior must learn to
distinguish a man from a wolf, even in the darkness of midnight."
The youth heard the words in silence. At last he said, "A warrior has
much to learn; and it is well if, while he learns, he brings no
trouble to his friends." Then, standing beside the veteran Leader, in
the light of the coming day, he suddenly broke into song, voicing
there on the instant the feeling born of his night's experience.
This story and song he gave to others, that it might be as a voice of
warning to young and eager warriors, and help them to guard against a
misadventure like his own.
Although the young man in after years became noted in the tribe for
his prudence and valour, this story and song of his youth have
survived the memory of his later deeds.
The words give the pith of the adventure: "I did not report aright
when I went to the Leader and bade him arise. It was a wolf that was
moving."
The spirited music breathes the impatient eagerness of youth. The
haste and insistence of the young warrior are heard in the phrase
where he addresses the "Nu-don hon-ga," or Leader. The song is a great
favourite among the young men of several Indian tribes in our
country.
[Music: MI-KA-THI.
A WARRIOR'S SONG.
_Ponka._
Hi a ha ha ha a he a-we dho he
e hu he a he dhe ya a ho e dho he
e hu e a-he ya a ha e dho he he dho-e.
Nu-don hon-ga ni-a-shi-ga bi-e he mia ka non-zhi-a he e
Mi-ka-thi-a-ma ha dhea a-me dho he e
Hon-ga dhe-te non zhin-ge dho he e.]
THE MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG.
This little song of springtime was noted from the singing of a Tigua
girl of the pueblo of Isleta, N.M., by my honoured and lamented friend
and co-worker, Professor John Comfort Fillmore. It tells the story of
the semi-arid region where it was born.
Rain, people, rain!
The rain is all around us.
It is going to come pouring down,
And the summer will be fair to see,
The mocking-bird has said so.
[Music: MOCKING BIRD SONG.
_Tigua._
Transcribed and harmonized
by PROF. JOHN COMFORT FILLMORE.
Hla-chi dai-nin, hla-chi dai-nin, i-beh ma kun whi ni weh, da win gu ba
hin ah.
Ah hlun hla hlue i hi ei-ah whi no ei-ah whi no i-ah ei-ah hi-ah hin ni
ni ah.
Tur wey u tur p'hoa whe na he de a na lhen h'li he pun hi ni ni ah
Li u yu sa na a a a ya he wa a hi ni ni a hi ni ni a ni a a ha i hi.]
A SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE.
There are few more pathetic sights than that of an Indian ghost
dance,--pathetic in itself, not to consider the gloomy background of
fear inspired by it in the minds of so many of our own race who have
so widely misunderstood its meaning. The ceremony is but an appeal to
the unseen world to come near and to comfort those who have been
overtaken in the land of their fathers by conditions both strange and
incomprehensible.
The ghost or spirit dance is a modified survival of several ancient
ceremonies, blended into one and touched here and there with ideas
borrowed from our own race.
In the hypnotic vision which follows the monotonous dance, the
landscape of his former days, untouched by the white man, appears to
the "controlled" Indian: the streams wander through unbroken prairie;
no roadways, no fields of wheat, intrude upon the broad stretches of
native grasses; the vanished herds of buffalo come back to their
grazing-grounds; the deer and the antelope, the wolf and the bear, are
again in the land; and the eagles look down on the Indian villages,
where are to be seen the faces of old friends returned from the
spirit realm. These are the scenes which come to the homesick Indian,
who is stranded in his native land, his ears filled with foreign
sounds, his old activities gone, and his hands unskilled and unable to
take up new ones.
The ghost dance is the cry of a forsaken people, forsaken by the gods
in which they once trusted,--a people bewildered by the complexity of
the new path they must follow, misunderstood by and misunderstanding
the race with whom they are forced to live. In this brief ceremony of
the ghost dance the Indians seek to close their eyes to an unwelcome
reality, and to live in the fanciful vision of an irrecoverable past.
* * * * *
This song was given me by a ghost dancer, a leader in the Arapaho
tribe. Before he sang, he explained to me the ceremony, its peaceful
character, and, all unconsciously, made apparent its expression of a
pathetic longing for a life that can never return. Standing before the
graphophone, he offered an earnest prayer, then, with his companions,
sang this song.
The simple pathos of the words cannot be reproduced in English.
They carry a meaning beneath their literal sense that appeals like the
cry of a child.
Father, have pity upon me!
I am weeping from hunger (of the spirit):
There is nothing here to satisfy me!
The music tells the story of the cry. Its cadences are antiphonal, as
between the two worlds.
[Music: GHOST DANCE SONG.
_Arapaho._]
SACRED SONGS OF PEACE.
When the white race first visited the Indians in the Mississippi
valley, they found among them a ceremony common to a large number of
tribes; and it was observed that, whenever the symbolic objects
peculiar to this ceremony were displayed, they were treated with
profound respect.
These sacred objects were two perforated sticks, like pipe stems, one
painted blue to represent the sky, and the other green to typify the
earth; and among their bright-coloured decorations were the plumages
of particular birds and wing-like pendants of eagle feathers. They
symbolised the heavens and the earth and the mysterious power that
permeates all nature. In their presence the Indians were taught that
they should care for their children, think of the future welfare of
the people, put aside personal grievances, repress anger and warlike
emotions, and be like kindred, at peace with one another. Different
names were given to these peculiar objects by the different tribes;
and they were classed by our early travellers with the "calumets," or
pipes of peace, although they were not pipes, for they had no bowl and
could not be smoked.
It was due to the presence of one of these so-called "calumets" in
Marquette's frail canoe that made possible his peaceful descent of the
Mississippi River on his voyage of discovery. He writes that the
"calumet is the most mysterious thing in the world. The sceptres of
our kings are not so much respected; ... for one with this calumet may
venture among his enemies, and in the hottest battles they lay down
their arms before this sacred pipe."
The "calumet" ceremony has, therefore, an historic interest for us,
apart from its revelation of the religious beliefs and social ideals
of the Indian. To explain the symbolism, the teachings, and the
observances which make up this complex rite would fill a volume; but,
that something of the dignity and beauty of the thoughts expressed in
it may be known, two of its numerous songs are here given.
To understand the significance of these songs, it should be known that
two distinct groups or parties were indispensable to the performance
of the ceremony; namely, they who brought the "calumets" and they who
received them. As it was imperative that there should be no blood
relationship between these two parties, they always belonged to
different tribes or to two distinct kinship groups within the tribe.
The party bringing the "calumets" was called "the father," while those
receiving them were "the children." These terms refer to the tie about
to be formed between the two unrelated parties by means of this sacred
ceremony. This tie was esteemed more honourable and binding than the
natural bond of father and son.