The Great Sun Dance
Dick and Albert remained in their tepee throughout the next
morning, but in the afternoon they were allowed to go in the
village a second time. Lone Wolf and Pine Tree, who had slept in
the morning, were again their guards. Both saw at once that some
great event was at hand. The excitement in the village had
increased visibly, and a multitude was pouring toward a certain
point, a wide, grassy plain beside the Little Big Horn. Lone
Wolf and Pine Tree willingly took the captives with the crowd,
and the two boys looked upon a sight which few white men have
beheld in all its savage convulsions.
The wide, grassy space before them had been carefully chosen by
the great medicine men of the nation, Sitting Bull at their head.
Then the squaws had put up a great circular awning, like a
circus tent, with part of the top cut out. This awning was over
one hundred and fifty feet in diameter. After this, the medicine
men had selected a small tree, which was cut down by a young,
unmarried squaw. Then the tree, after it had been trimmed of all
its branches and consecrated and prayed over by the medicine men,
was erected in the center of the inclosed space, rising from the
ground to a height of about twenty feet.
To the top of the pole were fastened many long thongs of rawhide
reaching nearly to the ground, and as Dick and Albert looked a
swarm of young men in strange array, or rather lack of array,
came forth from among the lodges and entered the inclosed space.
Dick had some dim perception of what was about to occur, but
Lone Wolf informed him definitely.
"The sun dance," he said. "Many youths are about to become great
warriors."
The greatest of sun dances, a sun dance of the mighty allied
Sioux tribes, was about to begin. Forward went the neophytes,
every one clad only in a breechclout ornamented with beads,
colored horsehair and eagle feathers, and with horse tails
attached to it, falling to the ground. But every square inch of
the neophyte's skin was painted in vivid and fantastic colors.
Even the nails on his fingers and toes were painted. Moreover,
everyone had pushed two small sticks of tough wood under the skin
on each side of the breast, and to those two sticks was fastened
a rawhide cord, making a loop about ten inches long.
"What under the sun are those sticks and cords for?" asked
Albert, shuddering.
"Wait and we'll see," replied Dick, who guessed too well their
purpose, although he could not help but look.
The neophytes advanced, and every one tied one of the long
rawhide thongs depending from the top of the pole to the loop of
cord that hung from his breast. When all were ready they formed
a great circle, somewhat after the fashion of the dancers around
a Maypole, and outside of those formed another and greater circle
of those already initiated.
A medicine man began to blow a small whistle made from the wing
bone of an eagle, the sacred bird of the Sioux, and he never
stopped blowing it for an instant. It gave forth a shrill,
penetrating sound, that began after a while to work upon the
nerves in a way that was almost unendurable to Dick and Albert.
At the first sound of the whistle the warriors began to dance
around the pole, keeping time to the weird music. It was a
hideous and frightful dance, like some cruel rite of a far-off
time. The object was to tear the peg from the body, breaking by
violence through the skin and flesh that held it, and this proved
that the neophyte by his endurance of excessive pain was fit to
become a great warrior.
But the pegs held fast for a long time, while the terrible,
wailing cry of the whistle went on and on. Dick and Albert
wanted to turn away--in fact, they had a violent impulse more
than once to run from it--but the eyes of the Sioux were upon
them, and they knew that they would consider them cowards if they
could not bear to look upon that which others no older than
themselves endured. There was also the incessant, terrible
wailing of the whistle, which seemed to charm them and hold them.
The youths by and by began to pull loose from the thongs, and in
some cases where it was evident that they would not be able to do
so a medicine man would seize them by the shoulders and help
pull. In no case did a dancer give up, although they often fell
in a faint when loosed. Then they were carried away to be
revived, but for three days and three nights not a single
neophyte could touch food, water, or any other kind of drink.
They were also compelled, as soon as they recovered a measurable
degree of strength, to join the larger group and dance three days
and nights around the neophytes, who successively took their
places.
The whole sight, with the wailing of the whistle, the shouts of
the dancers, the beat of their feet, and the hard, excited
breathing of the thousands about them, became weird and
uncanny. Dick felt as if some strange, deadly odor had mounted
to his brain, and while he struggled between going and staying a
new shout arose.
A fresh group of neophytes sprang into the inclosed place. Every
one of these had the little sticks thrust through the upper point
of the shoulder blade instead of the breast, while from the loop
dangled a buffalo head. They danced violently until the weight
of the head pulled the sticks loose, and then, like their
brethren of the pole, joined the great ring of outside dancers
when they were able.
The crowd of neophytes increased, as they gave way in turn to one
another, and the thong about them thickened. Hundreds and
hundreds of dancers whirled and jumped to the shrill, incessant
blowing of the eagle-bone whistle. It seemed at times to the
excited imaginations of Dick and Albert that the earth rocked to
the mighty tread of the greatest of all sun dances. Indian
stoicism was gone, perspiration streamed from dark faces, eyes
became bloodshot as their owners danced with feverish vigor,
savage shouts burst forth, and the demon dance grew wilder and
wilder.
The tread of thousands of feet caused a fine, impalpable dust to
rise from the earth beneath the grass and to permeate all the
air, filling the eyes and nostrils of the dancers, heating their
brains and causing them to see through a red mist. Some fell
exhausted. If they were in the way, they were dragged to one
side; if not, they lay where they fell, but in either case others
took their places and the whirling multitude always increased in
numbers.
As far as Dick and Albert could see the Sioux were dancing.
There was a sea of tossing heads and a multitude of brown bodies
shining with perspiration. Never for a moment did the shrill,
monotonous, unceasing rhythm of the whistle cease to dominate the
dance. It always rose above the beat of the dancers, it
penetrated everything, ruled everything--this single, shrill
note, like the chant of a snake charmer. It even showed its
power over Dick and Albert. They felt their nerves throbbing to
it in an unwilling response, and the dust and the vivid electric
excitement of the dancers began to heat their own brains.
"Don't forget that we're white, Al! Don't forget it!" cried
Dick.
"I'm trying not to forget it!" gasped Albert.
The sun, a lurid, red sun, went down behind the hills, and a
twilight that seemed to Dick and Albert phantasmagorial and shot
with red crept over the earth. But the dance did not abate in
either vigor or excitement; rather it increased. In the twilight
and the darkness that followed it assumed new aspects of the
weird and uncanny. Despite the torches that flared up, the
darkness was mainly in control. Now the dancers, whirling about
the pole and straining on the cords, were seen plainly, and now
they were only shadows, phantoms in the dusk.
Dick and Albert had moved but little for a long time; the wailing
of the demon whistle held them; and they felt that there was a
singular attraction, too, in this sight, which was barbarism and
superstition pure and simple, yet not without its power. They
were still standing there when the moon came out, throwing a veil
of silver gauze over the dancers, the lodges, the surface of the
river, and the hills, but it took nothing away from the ferocious
aspect of the dance; it was still savagery, the custom of a
remote, fierce, old world. Dick and Albert at last recovered
somewhat; they threw off the power of the flute and the excited
air that they breathed and began to assume again the position of
mere spectators.
It was then that Bright Sun came upon them, and they noticed with
astonishment that he, the product of the white schools and of
years of white civilization, had been dancing, too. There was
perspiration on his face, his breath was short and quick, and his
eyes were red with excitement. He marked their surprise, and
said:
"You think it strange that I, too, dance. You think all this
barbarism and superstition, but it is not. It is the custom of
my people, a custom that has the sanction of many centuries, and
that is bred into our bone and blood. Therefore it is of use to
us, and it is more fit than anything else to arouse us for the
great crisis that we are to meet."
Neither Dick nor Albert made any reply. Both saw that the great
deep of the Sioux chief's stoicism was for the moment broken up.
He might never be so stirred again, but there was no doubt of it
now, and they could see his side of it, too. It was his people
and their customs against the white man, the stranger. The
blood of a thousand years was speaking in him.
When he saw that they had no answer for him, Bright Sun left them
and became engrossed once more with the dance, continually urging
it forward, bringing on more neophytes, and increasing the
excitement. Dick and Albert remained a while longer, looking
on. Their guards, Lone Wolf and Pine Tree, still stood beside
them. The two young warriors, true to their orders, had made no
effort to join the dancers, but their nostrils were twitching and
their eyes bloodshot. The revel called to them incessantly, but
they could not go.
Dick felt at last that he had seen enough of so wild a scene.
One could not longer endure the surcharged air, the wailing of
the whistle, the shouts, the chants, and the beat of thousands of
feet.
"Al," he said, "let's go back to our lodge, if our guards will
let us, and try to sleep."
"The sooner the better," said Albert.
Lone Wolf and Pine Tree were willing enough, and Dick suspected
that they would join the dance later. After Albert had gone in,
he stood a moment at the door of the lodge and looked again upon
this, the wildest and most extraordinary scene that he had yet
beheld. It was late in the night and the center of the sun dance
was some distance from the lodge, but the shrill wailing of the
whistle still reached him and the heavy tread of the dancers came
in monotonous rhythm. "It's the greatest of all nightmares," he
said to himself.
It was a long time before either Dick or Albert could sleep, and
when Dick awoke at some vague hour between midnight and
morning he was troubled by a shrill, wailing note that the drum of
his ear. Then he remembered. The whistle! And after it came the
rhythmic, monotonous beat of many feet, as steady and persistent as
ever. The sun dance had never ceased for a moment, and he fell
asleep again with the sounds of it still in his ear.
The dance, which was begun at the ripening of the wild sage,
continued three days and nights without the stop of an instant.
No food and no drink passed the lips of the neophytes, who danced
throughout that time--if they fell they rose to dance again.
Then at the appointed hour it all ceased, although every
warrior's brain was at white heat and he was ready to go forth at
once against a myriad enemies. It was as if everyone had drunk
of some powerful and exciting Eastern drug.
The dance ended, they began to eat, and neither Dick nor Albert
had ever before seen such eating. The cooking fires of the
squaws rose throughout the entire five miles of the village.
They had buffalo, deer, bear, antelope, and smaller game in
abundance, and the warriors ate until they fell upon the ground,
where the lay in a long stupor. The boys thought that many of
them would surely die, but they came from their stupor unharmed
and were ready for instant battle. There were many new warriors,
too, because none had failed at the test, and all were eager to
show their valor.
"It's like baiting a wild beast," said Dick. "There are five
thousand ravening savages here, ready to fight anything, and
to-night I'm going to try to escape."
"If you try, I try, too," said Albert.
"Of course," said Dick.
The village was resting from its emotional orgy, and the guard
upon the two boys was relaxed somewhat. In fact, it seemed
wholly unnecessary, as they were rimmed around by the vigilance
of many thousand eyes. But, spurred by the cruel need, Dick
resolved that they should try. Fortunately, the very next night
was quite dark, and only a single Indian, Pine Tree, was on
guard.
"It's to-night or never," whispered Dick to Albert within the
shelter of the lodge. "They've never taken the trouble to bind
us, and that gives us at least a fighting chance."
"When shall we slip out?"
"Not before about three in the morning. That is the most nearly
silent hour, and if the heathenish curs let us alone we may get
away."
Fortune seemed to favor the two. The moon did not come out,
and the promise of a dark night was fulfilled. An unusual
stillness was over the village. It seemed that everybody slept.
Dick and Albert waited through long, long hours. Dick had
nothing by which to reckon time, but he believed that he could
calculate fairly well by guess, and once, when he thought it was
fully midnight, he peeped out at the door of the lodge. Pine
Tree was there, leasing against a sapling, but his attitude
showed laziness and a lack of vigilance. It might be that,
feeling little need of watching, he slept on his feet. Dick
devoutly hoped so. He waited at least two hours longer, and
again peeped out. The attitude of Pine Tree had not changed.
It must certainly be sleep that held him, and Dick and Albert
prepared to go forth. They had no arms, and could trust only
to silence and speed.
Dick was the first outside, and stood in the shadow of the lodge
until Albert joined him. There they paused to choose a way among
the lodges and to make a further inspection of sleeping
Pine Tree.
The quiet of the village was not broken. The lodges stretched
away in dusky rows and then were lost in darkness. This promised
well, and their eyes came back to Pine Tree, who was still
sleeping. Then Dick became conscious of a beam of light, or
rather two beams. These beams shot straight from the open eyes
of Pine Tree, who was not asleep at all. The next instant Pine
Tree opened his mouth, uttered a yell that was amazingly loud and
piercing, and leaped straight for the two boys.
As neither Dick nor Albert had arms, they could do nothing but
run, and they fled between the lodges at great speed, Pine Tree
hot upon their heels. It amazed Dick to find that the whole
population of a big town could awake so quickly. Warriors,
squaws, and children swarmed from the lodges and fell upon him
and Albert in a mass. He could only see in the darkness that
Albert had been seized and dragged away, but he knew that two
uncommonly strong old squaws had him by the hair, three
half-grown boys were clinging to his legs, and a powerful
warrior laid hold of his right shoulder. He deemed it wisest
in such a position to yield as quickly and gracefully as he could,
in the hope that the two wiry old women would be detached
speedily from his hair. This object was achieved as soon as the
Sioux saw that he did not resist, and the vigilant Pine Tree stood
before him, watching with an expression that Dick feared could be
called a grin.
"The honors are yours," said Dick as politely as he could, "but
tell me what has become of my brother."
"He is being taken to the other side of the river," said the
voice of Bright Sun over Pine Tree's shoulder, "and he and you
will be kept apart until we decide what to do with you. It was
foolish in you to attempt to escape. I had warned you."
"I admit it," said Dick, "but you in my place would have done the
same. Once can only try."
He tried to speak with philosophy, but he was sorely troubled
over being separated from his brother. Their comradeship in
captivity had been a support to each other.
There was no sympathy in the voice of Bright Sun. He spoke
coldly, sternly, like a great war chief. Dick understood, and
was too proud to make any appeal. Bright Sun said a few words to
the warriors, and walked away.
Dick was taken to another and larger lodge, in which several
warriors slept. There, after his arms were securely bound, he
was allowed to lie down on a rush mat, with warriors on rush mats
on either side of him. Dick was not certain whether the warriors
slept, but he knew that he did not close his eyes again that
night.
Although strong and courageous, Dick Howard suffered much
mental torture. Bright Sun was a Sioux, wholly an Indian
(he had seen that at the sun dance), and if Albert and he were
no longer of any possible use as hostages, Bright Sun would not
trouble himself to protect them. He deeply regretted their wild
attempt at escape, which he had felt from the first was almost
hopeless. Yet he believed, on second thought, that they had been
justified in making the trial. The great sun dance, the immense
gathering of warriors keyed for battle, showed the imminent need
for warning to the white commanders, who would not dream that
the Sioux were in such mighty force. Between this anxiety and
that other one for Albert, thinking little of himself meanwhile,
Dick writhed in his bonds. But he could do nothing else.
The warriors rose from their rush mats at dawn and ate flesh of
the buffalo and deer and their favorite wa-nsa. Dick's arms were
unbound, and he, too, was allowed to eat; but he had little
appetite, and when the warriors saw that he had finished they
bound him again.
"What are you going to do to me?" asked Dick in a kind of vague
curiosity.
No one gave any answer. They did not seem to hear him. Dick
fancied that some of them understood English, but chose to leave
him in ignorance. He resolved to imitate their own stoicism and
wait. When they bound his arms again, and his feet also, he made
no resistance, but lay down quietly on the rush mat and gazed
with an air of indifference at the skin wall of the lodge. All
warriors went out, except one, who sat in the doorway with his
rifle on his knee.
"They flatter me," thought Dick. "They must think me of some
importance or that I'm dangerous, since they bind and guard me so
well."
His thongs of soft deerskin, while secure, were not galling.
They neither chafed nor prevented the circulation, and when he
grew tired of lying in one position he could turn into another.
But it was terribly hard waiting. He did not know what was
before him. Torture or death? Both, most likely. He tried to
be resigned, but how could one be resigned when one was so young
and so strong? The hum of the village life came to him, the
sound of voices, the tread of feet, the twang of a boyish
bowstring, but the guard in the doorway never stirred. It seemed
to Dick that the Sioux, who wore very little clothing, was carved
out of reddish-brown stone. Dick wondered if he would ever move,
and lying on his back he managed to raise his head a little on
the doubled corner of the rush mat, and watch that he might see.
Bound, helpless, and shut off from the rest of the world, this
question suddenly became vital to him: Would that Indian ever
move, or would he not? He must have been sitting in that
position at least two hours. Always he stared straight before
him, the muscles on his bare arms never quivered in the
slightest, and the rifle lay immovable across knees which also
were bare. How could he do it? How could he have such control
over his nerves and body? Dick's mind slowly filled with wonder,
and then he began to have a suspicion that the Sioux was
not real, merely some phantom of the fancy, or that he himself
was dreaming. It made him angry--angry at himself, angry at
the Sioux, angry at everything. He closed his eyes, held them
tightly shut for five minutes, and then opened them again. The
Sioux was still there. Dick was about to break through his
assumed stoicism and shout at the warrior, but he checked
himself, and with a great effort took control again of his
wandering nerves.
He knew now that the warrior was real, and that he must have
moved some time or other, but he did not find rest of spirit. A
shaft of sunshine by and by entered the narrow door of the lodge
and fell across Dick himself. He knew that it must be a fair
day, but he was sorry for it. The sun ought not to shine when he
was at such a pass.
Another interminable period passed, and an old squaw entered with
a bowl of wa-nsa, and behind her came Lone Wolf, who unbound
Dick.
"What's up now, Mr. Lone Wolf?" asked Dick with an attempt at
levity. "Is it a fight or a foot race?"
"Eat," replied Lone Wolf sententiously, pointing of the bowl
wa-nsa. "You will need your strength."
Dick's heart fell at these words despite all his self-command.
"My time's come," he thought. He tried to eat--in fact, he
forced himself to eat--that Lone Wolf might not think that he
quailed, and when he had eaten as much as his honor seemed to
demand he stretched his muscles and said to Lone Wolf, with a
good attempt at indifference:
"Lead on, my wolfish friend. I don't know what kind of a welcome
mine is going to be, but I suppose it is just as well to find out
now."
The face of Lone Wolf did not relax. He seemed to have a full
appreciation of what was to come and no time for idle jests. He
merely pointed to the doorway, and Dick stepped into the
sunshine. Lying so long in the dusky lodge, he was dazzled at
first by the brilliancy of the day, but when his sight grew
stronger he beheld a multitude about him. The women and
children began to chatter, but the warriors were silent. Dick
saw that he was the center of interest, and was quite sure that he
was looking upon his last sun. "O Lord, let me die bravely!" was
his silent prayer.
He resolved to imitate as nearly as he could the bearing of an
Indian warrior in his position, and made no resistance as Lone
Wolf led him on, with the great thong following. He glanced
around once for Bright Sun, but did not see him. The fierce
chief whom they called Ite-Moga' Ju (Rain-in-the-Face) seemed to
be in charge of Dick's fate, and he directed the proceedings.
But stoicism could not prevail entirely, and Dick looked about
him again. He saw the yellow waters of the river with the
sunlight playing upon them; the great village stretching away on
either shore until it was hidden by the trees and undergrowth;
the pleasant hills and all the pleasant world, so hard to leave.
His eyes dwelt particularly upon the hill, a high one, overlooking
the whole valley of the Little Big Horn, and the light was so clear
that he could see every bush and shrub waving there.
His eyes came back from the hill to the throng about him. He had
felt at times a sympathy for the Sioux because the white man was
pressing upon them, driving them from their ancient hunting
grounds that they loved; but they were now wholly savage and
cruel--men, women, and children alike. He hated them all.
Dick was taken to the summit of one of the lower hills, on which
he could be seen by everybody and from which he could see in a
vast circle. He was tied in a peculiar manner. His hands
remained bound behind him, but his feet were free. One end of a
stout rawhide was secured around his waist and the other around a
sapling, leaving him a play of about a half yard. He could not
divine the purpose of this, but he was soon to learn.
Six half-grown boys, with bows and arrows, then seldom used by
grown Sioux, formed a line at a little distance from him, and at
a word from Rain-in-the-Face leveled their bows and fitted arrow
to the string. Dick thought at first they were going to slay him
at once, but he remembered that the Indian did not do things that
way. He knew it was some kind of torture and although he
shivered he steadied his mind to face it.
Rain-in-the-Face spoke again, and six bowstrings twanged. Six
arrows whizzed by Dick, three on one side and three on the other,
but all so close that, despite every effort of will, he shrank
back against the sapling. A roar of laughter came from the
crowd, and Dick flushed through all the tan of two years in the
open air. Now he understood why the rawhide allowed him so
much play. It was a torture of the nerves and of the mind.
They would shoot their arrows by him, graze him perhaps if he
stood steady, but if he sought to evade through fear, if he
sprang either to one side or the other, they might strike in
a vital spot.
He summoned up the last ounce of his courage, put his back
against the sapling and resolved that he would not move, even if
an arrow carried some of his skin with it. The bowstrings
twanged again, and again six arrows whistled by. Dick quivered,
but he did not move, and some applause came from the crowd.
Although it was the applause of enemies, of barbarians, who
wished to see him suffer, it encouraged Dick. He would endure
everything and he would not look at these cruel faces; so he
fixed his eyes on the high hill and did not look away when the
bowstrings twanged a third time. As before, he heard the arrows
whistle by him, and the shiver came into his blood, but his will
did not let it extend to his body. He kept his eyes fixed upon
the hill, and suddenly a speck appeared before them. No, it was
not a speck, and, incredible as it seemed, Dick was sure that he
saw a horseman come around the base of the hill and stop there,
gazing into the valley upon the great village and the people
thronging about the bound boy.
A second and third horseman appeared, and Dick could doubt no
longer. They were white cavalrymen in the army uniform, scouts
or the vanguard, he knew not what. Dick held his breath, and
again that shiver came into his blood. Then he heard and saw an
extraordinary thing. A singular deep, long-drawn cry came from
the multitude in unison, a note of surprise and mingled threat.
Then all whirled about at the same moment and gazed at the
horsemen at the base of the hill.
The cavalrymen quickly turned back, rode around the hill and out
of sight. Dozens of warriors rushed forward, hundreds ran to the
lodges for more weapons and ammunition, the women poured in a
stream down toward the river and away, the boys with the bows and
arrows disappeared, and in a few minutes Dick was left alone.
Unnoticed, but bound and helpless, the boy stood there on the
little hill, while the feverish life, bursting now into a
turbulent stream, whirled and eddied around him.