Dahcotah - Mary Eastman
DAHCOTAH;
OR,
LIFE AND LEGENDS OF THE SIOUX
AROUND FORT SNELLING.
BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN,
WITH
PREFACE BY MRS. C. M. KIRKLAND.
ILLUSTRATED FROM DRAWINGS BY CAPTAIN EASTMAN.
TO HENRY SIBLEY, ESQ.,
HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.
It was my purpose to dedicate, exclusively, these pages to my beloved
parents. What correctness of sentiment appears in this book is mainly
ascribable to a principle they endeavored to instil into the minds of
their children, that purity of heart and intellectual attainment are
never more appropriately exercised than in promoting the good of our
fellow-creatures.
Yet the sincere sentiments of respect and regard that I entertain for
you, the remembrance of the many acts of friendship received from you
during my residence at Fort Snelling, and the assurance that you are
ever prompt to assist and protect the Indian, induce me to unite your
name with those most dear to me in this dedication.
An additional inducement is, that no one knows better than yourself the
opportunities that presented themselves to collect materials for these
legends, and with what interest these occasions were improved. With
whatever favor this little work may be received it is a most pleasing
reflection to me, that the object in publishing it being to excite
attention to the moral wants of the Dahcotahs, will be kindly
appreciated by the friends of humanity, and by none more readily
than yourself.
Very truly yours,
MARY H. EASTMAN.
New London, March lst, 1849.
PREFACE.
My only title to the office of editor in the present case is some
practice in such matters, with a very warm interest in all, whether
relating to past or present, that concerns our western country. Mrs.
Eastman,--wife of Captain Eastman, and daughter of Dr. Henderson, both
of the U. S. army,--is thoroughly acquainted with the customs,
superstitions, and leading ideas of the Dahcotahs, whose vicinity to
Fort Snelling, and frequent intercourse with its inmates, have brought
them much under the notice of the officers and ladies of the garrison.
She has no occasion to present the Indian in a theatrical garb--a mere
thing of paint and feathers, less like the original than his own rude
delineation on birch-bark or deer-skin. The reader will find in the
following pages living men and women, whose feelings are in many
respects like his own, and whose motives of action are very similar to
those of the rest of the world, though far less artfully covered up and
disguised under pleasant names. "Envy, hatred and malice, and all
uncharitableness," stand out, unblushing, in Indian life. The first is
not called emulation, nor the second just indignation or merited
contempt, nor the third zeal for truth, nor the fourth keen discernment
of character. Anger and revenge are carried out honestly to their
natural fruit--injury to others. Among the Indians this takes the form
of murder, while with us it is obliged to content itself with slander,
or cunning depreciation. In short, the study of Indian character is the
study of the unregenerate human heart; and the writer of these sketches
of the Dahcotahs presents it as such, with express and solemn reference
to the duty of those who have "the words of eternal life" to apply them
to the wretched condition of the red man, who is, perhaps, with all his
ignorance, quite as well prepared to receive them as many of those who
are already wise in their own eyes. The very degradation and misery in
which he lives, and of which he is not unable to perceive some of the
causes, prepare him to welcome the instruction which promises better
things. Evils which are covered up under the smoothness of civilization,
stand out in all their horrible deformity in the _abandon_ of savage
life; the Indian cannot get even one gleam of light, without instantly
perceiving the darkness around him. Here, then, is encouragement to
paint him as he is, that the hearts of the good may be moved at his
destitute and unhappy state; to set forth his wants and his claims, that
ignorance may no longer be pleaded as an excuse for withholding, from
the original proprietor of the soil, the compensation or atonement which
is demanded at once by justice, honor, and humanity.
Authentic pictures of Indian life have another and a different value, in
a literary point of view. In the history and character of the aborigines
is enveloped all the distinct and characteristic poetic material to
which we, as Americans, have an unquestioned right. Here is a peculiar
race, of most unfathomable origin, possessed of the qualities which have
always prompted poetry, and living lives which are to us as shadowy as
those of the Ossianic heroes; our own, and passing away--while we take
no pains to arrest their fleeting traits or to record their picturesque
traditions. Yet we love poetry; are ambitious of a literature of our
own, and sink back dejected when we are convicted of imitation. Why is
it that we lack interest in things at home? Sismondi has a passage to
this effect:--
"The literature of other countries has been frequently adopted by a
young nation with a sort of fanatical admiration. The genius of those
countries having been so often placed before it as the perfect model of
all greatness and all beauty, every spontaneous movement has been
repressed, in order to make room for the most servile imitation; and
every national attempt to develop an original character has been
sacrificed to the reproduction of something conformable to the model
which has been always before its eyes."
This is certainly true of us, since we not only adopt the English view
of everything, but confine ourselves to the very subjects and imagery
which have become consecrated to us by love and habit. Not to enter into
the general subject of our disposition to parrotism, our neglect of
Indian material in particular may be in part accounted for, by our
having become acquainted with the aborigines after the most unpoetical
fashion, in trying to cheat them out of their lands, or shooting them
when they declined being cheated; they, in their turn, driven to the
resource of the weak and the ignorant, counterplotting us, and taking,
by means of blood and fire, what we would not give them in fair
compensation. This has made our business relations very unpleasant;
and everybody knows that when this becomes the case, it is hard for
parties to do justice to each other's good or available qualities.
If we had only read about the Indians, as a people living in the
mountain-fastnesses of Greece, or the, broad plains of Transylvania, we
should without difficulty have discovered the romantic elements of their
character. But as the effect of remoteness is produced by time as well
as distance, it is surely worth while to treasure up their legends for
our posterity, who will justly consider us very selfish, if we throw
away what will be a treasure to them, merely because we cannot or will
not use it ourselves.
A prominent ground of the slight regard in which the English hold
American literature, or at least one of the most plausible reasons given
for it, is our want of originality, particularly in point of subject
matter. It is said that our imitativeness is so servile, that for the
sake of following English models, at an immeasurable distance, we
neglect the new and grand material which lies all around us, in the
sublime features of our country, in our new and striking circumstances,
in our peculiar history and splendid prospects, and, above all, in the
character, superstitions, and legends of our aborigines, who, to eyes
across the water, look like poetical beings. We are continually
reproached by British writers for the obtuse carelessness with which we
are allowing these people, with so much of the heroic element in their
lives, and so much of the mysterious in their origin, to go into the
annihilation which seems their inevitable fate as civilization advances,
without an effort to secure and record all that they are able to
communicate respecting themselves.
And the reproach is just. In our hurry of utilitarian progress, we have
either forgotten the Indian altogether, or looked upon him only in a
business point of view, as we do almost everything else; as a
thriftless, treacherous, drunken fellow, who knows just enough to be
troublesome, and who must be cajoled or forced into leaving his
hunting-grounds for the occupation of very orderly and virtuous white
people, who sell him gunpowder and whiskey, but send him now and then a
missionary to teach him that it is wrong to get drunk and murder his
neighbor. To look upon the Indian with much regard, even in the light of
literary material, would be inconvenient; for the moment we recognize in
him a mind, a heart, a soul,--the recollection of the position in which
we stand towards him becomes thorny, and we begin dimly to remember
certain duties belonging to our Christian profession, which we have
sadly neglected with regard to the sons of the forest, whom we have
driven before us just as fast as we have required or desired their
lands. A few efforts have been made, not only to bring the poetry of
their history into notice, but to do them substantial good; the public
heart, however, has never responded to the feelings of those who, from
living in contact with the Indians, have felt this interest in them. To
most Americans, the red man is, to this day, just what he was to the
first settlers of the country--a being with soul enough to be blameable
for doing wrong, but not enough to claim Christian brotherhood, or to
make it _very_ sinful to shoot him like a dog, upon the slightest
provocation or alarm. While this feeling continues, we shall not look
to him for poetry; and the only imaginative writing in which he is
likely to be generally used as material, will be kindred to that known
by the appropriate title of "Pirate Literature." Mr. Cooper and Miss
Sedgwick are, perhaps, alone among our writers in their attempts to do
the Indian justice, while making him the poetical machine in fiction.
Missionaries, however, as well as others who have lived among the
aborigines for purely benevolent purposes, have discovered in them
capabilities and docility which may put to the blush many of the whites
who despise and hate them. Not only in individual cases, but in more
extended instances, the Indian has been found susceptible of religious
and moral instruction; his heart has warmed to kindness, like any other
man's; he has been able to perceive the benefits of regular industry;
his head has proved as clear in the apprehension of the distinction
between right and wrong as that of the more highly cultivated moralist;
and he receives the fundamental truths of the gospel with an avidity,
and applies them--at least to the lives and characters of his
neighbors--with a keenness, which show him to be not far behind the rest
of mankind in sensibility and acuteness. Without referring to the
testimony of the elder missionaries, which is abundant, I remember a
most touching account, by Rev. George Duffield, jr., of piety in an
Indian wigwam, which I would gladly transfer to these pages did their
limits admit. It could be proved by overwhelming testimony, that the
Indian is as susceptible of good as his white brother. But it is not
necessary in this place to urge his claim to our attention on the ground
of his moral and religious capabilities. Setting them aside, he has many
qualifications for the heroic character as Ajax, or even Achilles. He is
as brave, daring, and ruthless; as passionate, as revengeful, as
superstitious, as haughty. He will obey his medicine man, though with
fury in his heart and injurious words upon his lips; he will fight to
the death for a wife, whom he will afterwards treat with the most
sovereign neglect. He understands and accepts the laws of spoil, and
carries them out with the most chivalric precision; his torture of
prisoners does not exceed those which formed part of the "triumphs" of
old; his plan of scalping is far neater and more expeditious than that
of dragging a dead enemy thrice round the camp by the heels. He loves
splendor, and gets all he can of it; and there is little essential
difference, in this regard, between gold and red paint, between diamonds
and wampum. He has great ancestral pride--a feeling much in esteem for
its ennobling powers; and the _totem_ has all the meaning and use of any
other armorial bearing. In the endurance of fatigue, hunger, thirst, and
exposure, the forest hero has no superior; in military affairs he fully
adopts the orthodox maxim that all stratagems are lawful in war. In
short, nothing is wanting but a Homer to build our Iliad material into
"lofty rhyme," or a Scott to weave it into border romance; and as we are
encouraged to look for Scotts and Homers at some future day, it is
manifestly our duty to be recording fleeting traditions and describing
peculiar customs, before the waves of time shall have swept over the
retreating footsteps of the "salvage man," and left us nothing but lake
and forest, mountains and cataracts, out of which to make our poetry
and romance.
The Indians themselves are full of poetry. Their legends embody poetic
fancy of the highest and most adventurous flight; their religious
ceremonies refer to things unseen with a directness which shows how bold
and vivid are their conceptions of the imaginative. The war-song--the
death-song--the song of victory--the cradle-chant--the lament for the
slain--these are the overflowings of the essential poetry of their
untaught souls. Their eloquence is proverbially soaring and figurative;
and in spite of all that renders gross and mechanical their ordinary
mode of marrying and giving in marriage, instances are not rare among
them of love as true, as fiery, and as fatal, as that of the most
exalted hero of romance. They, indeed, live poetry; it should be ours to
write it out for them.
Mrs. Eastman's aim has been to preserve from destruction such legends
and traits of Indian character as had come to her knowledge during long
familiarity; with the Dahcotahs, and nothing can be fresher or more
authentic than her records, taken down from the very lips of the red
people as they sat around her fire and opened their hearts to her
kindness. She has even caught their tone, and her language will be found
to have something of an Ossianic simplicity and abruptness, well suited
to the theme. Sympathy,--feminine and religious,--breathes through these
pages, and the unaffected desire of the writer to awaken a kindly
interest in the poor souls who have so twined themselves about her own
best feelings, may be said to consecrate the work. In its character of
aesthetic material for another age, it appeals to our nationality;
while, as the effort of a reflecting and Christian mind to call public
attention to the needs of an unhappy race, we may ask for it the
approbation of all who acknowledge the duty to "teach all nations."
C. M. K.
NEW YORK, _March_, 1849.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION
MOCK-PE-EN-DAG-A-WIN; OR, CHECKERED CLOUD, THE MEDICINE WOMAN
RED EARTH; OR, MOCKA-DOOTA-WIN
WENONA; OR, THE VIRGIN'S FEAST
THE DAHCOTAH CONVERT WABASHAW
THE DAHCOTAH BRIDE SHAH-CO-PEE
THE ORATOR OF THE SIOUX OYE-KAR-MANI-VIM
THE TRACK-MAKER ETA KEAZAH; OR, SULLEN FACE TONWA-YAH-PE-KIN
THE SPIES THE MAIDEN'S ROCK; OR, WENONA'S LEAP OECHE-MONESAH
THE WANDERER TAH-WE-CHUT-KIN
THE WIFE WHA-ZEE-YAN
ANOTHER OF THE GIANT GODS OF THE DAHCOTAHS
STORMS IN LIFE AND NATURE; OR, UNKTAHE AND THE THUNDER BIRD HAOKAH OZAPE
THE DANCE OF THE GIANT U-MI-NE-WAH-CHIPPE; OR, TO DANCE AROUND
INTRODUCTION.
The materials for the following pages were gathered during a residence
of seven years in the immediate neighborhood--nay--in the very midst of
the once powerful but now nearly extinct tribe of Sioux or
Dahcotah Indians.
Fort Snelling is situated seven miles below the Falls of St. Anthony, at
the confluence of the Mississippi--and St. Peter's rivers--built in
1819, and named after the gallant Colonel Snelling, of the army, by whom
the work was erected. It is constructed of stone; is one of the
strongest Indian forts in the United States; and being placed on a
commanding bluff, has somewhat the appearance of an old German castle,
or one of the strongholds on the Rhine.
The then recent removal of the Winnebagoes was rendered troublesome by
the interference of Wabashaw, the Sioux chief, whose village is on the
Mississippi, 1800 miles from its mouth. The father of Wabashaw was a
noted Indian; and during the past summer, the son has given some
indications that he inherits the father's talents and courage. When the
Winnebagoes arrived at Wabashaw's prairie, the chief induced them not to
continue their journey of removal; offered them land to settle upon near
him, and told them it was not really the wish of their Great Father,
that they should remove. His bribes and eloquence induced the
Winnebagoes to refuse to proceed; although there was a company of
volunteer dragoons and infantry with them. This delay occasioning much
expense and trouble, the government agents applied for assistance to
the command at Fort Snelling. There was but one company there; and the
commanding officer, with twenty men and some friendly Sioux, went down
to assist the agent.
There was an Indian council held on the occasion. The Sioux who went
from Fort Snelling promised to speak in favor of the removal. During the
council, however, not one of them said a word--for which they afterwards
gave a satisfactory reason. Wabashaw; though a young man, had such
influence over his band, that his orders invariably received implicit
obedience. When the council commenced, Wabashaw had placed a young
warrior behind each of the friendly Sioux who he knew would speak in
favor of the removal, with orders to shoot down the first one who rose
for that purpose. This stratagem may be considered a characteristic
specimen of the temper and habits of the Sioux chiefs, whose tribe we
bring before the reader in their most conspicuous ceremonies and habits.
The Winnebagoes were finally removed, but not until Wabashaw was taken
prisoner and carried to Fort Snelling. Wabashaw's pike-bearer was a fine
looking warrior, named "Many Lightnings."
The village of "Little Crow," another able and influential Sioux chief,
is situated twenty miles below the Falls of St. Anthony. He has four
wives, all sisters, and the youngest of them almost a child. There are
other villages of the tribe, below and above Fort Snelling.
The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The falls of St.
Anthony are familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian sketches.
Between the fort and these falls are the "Little Falls," forty feet in
height, on a stream that empties into the Mississippi. The Indians call
them Mine-hah-hah, or "laughing waters." In sight of Fort Snelling is a
beautiful hill called Morgan's Bluff; the Indians call it "God's House."
They have a tradition that it is the residence of their god of the
waters, whom they call Unk-ta-he. Nothing can be more lovely than the
situation and appearance of this hill; it commands on every side a
magnificent view, and during the summer it is carpeted with long grass
and prairie flowers. But, to those who have lived the last few years at
Fort Snelling, this hill presents another source of interest. On its top
are buried three young children, who were models of health and beauty
until the scarlet fever found its way into regions hitherto shielded
from its approach. They lived but long enough on earth to secure them an
entrance into heaven. Life, which ought to be a blessing to all, was to
them one of untold value; for it was a short journey to a better land--a
translation from the yet unfelt cares of earth to the bright and endless
joys of heaven.
Opposite the Fort is Pilot Knob, a high peak, used as a burial-place by
the Indians; just below it is the village of Mendota, or the "Meeting of
the Waters."
But to me, the greatest objects of interest and curiosity were the
original owners of the country, whose teepees could be seen in every
direction. One could soon know all that was to be known about Pilot Knob
or St. Anthony's falls; but one is puzzled completely to comprehend the
character of an Indian man, woman, or child. At one moment, you see an
Indian chief raise himself to his full height, and say that the ground
on which he stands is his own; at the next, beg bread and pork from an
enemy. An Indian woman will scornfully refuse to wash an article that
might be needed by a white family--and the next moment, declare that she
had not washed her face in fifteen years! An Indian child of three years
old, will cling to its mother under the walls of the Fort, and then
plunge into the Mississippi, and swim half way across, in hopes of
finding an apple that has been thrown in. We may well feel much
curiosity to look into the habits, manners, and motives of a race
exhibiting such contradictions.
There is a great deal said of Indian warriors--and justly too of the
Sioux. They are, as a race, tall fine-looking men; and many of those who
have not been degraded by association with the frontier class of white
people, nor had their intellects destroyed by the white man's
fire-water, have minds of high order, and reason with a correctness
that would put to the blush the powers of many an educated logician. Yet
are these men called savages, and morally associated with the tomahawk
and scalping knife. Few regard them as reasonable creatures, or as
beings endowed by their creator with souls, that are here to be fitted
for the responsibilities of the Indians hereafter.
Good men are sending the Bible to all parts of the world. Sermons are
preached in behalf of fellow-creatures who are perishing in regions
known only to us in name. And here, within reach of comparatively the
slightest exertion; here, not many miles from churches and schools, and
all the moral influences abounding in Christian society; here, in a
country endowed with every advantage that God can bestow, are perishing,
body and soul, our own countrymen: perishing too from disease,
starvation and intemperance, and all the evils incident to their unhappy
condition. White men, Christian men, are driving them back; rooting out
their very names from the face of the earth. Ah! these men can seek the
country of the Sioux when money is to be gained: but how few care for
the sufferings of the Dahcotahs! how few would give a piece of money, a
prayer, or even a thought, towards their present and eternal good.
Yet are they not altogether neglected. Doctor Williamson, one of the
missionaries among the Sioux, lives near Fort Snelling. He is exerting
himself to the utmost to promote the moral welfare of the unhappy people
among whom he expects to pass his life. He has a school for the Indian
children, and many of them read well. On the Sabbath, divine service is
regularly held, and he has labored to promote the cause of temperance
among the Sioux. Christian exertion is unhappily too much influenced by
the apprehension that little can be done for the savage. How is it with
the man on his fire-water mission to the Indian? Does he doubt? Does
he fail?
As a great motive to improve the moral character of the Indians, I
present the condition of the women in their tribes. A degraded state of
woman is universally characteristic of savage life, as her elevated
influence in civilized society is the conspicuous standard of moral and
social virtue. The peculiar sorrows of the Sioux woman commence at her
birth. Even as a child she is despised, in comparison with the brother
beside her, who is one day to be a great warrior. As a maiden, she is
valued while the young man, who wants her for a wife, may have a doubt
of his success. But when she is a wife, there is little sympathy for her
condition. How soon do the oppressive storms and contentions of life
root out all that is kind or gentle in her heart. She must bear the
burdens of the family. Should her husband wish it, she must travel all
day with a heavy weight on her back; and at night when they stop, her
hands must prepare the food for her family before she retires to rest.
Her work is never done. She makes the summer and the winter house. For
the former she peels the bark from the trees in the spring; for the
latter she sews the deer-skin together. She tans the skins of which
coats, mocassins, and leggins are to be made for the family; she has to
scrape it and prepare it while other cares are pressing upon her. When
her child is born, she has no opportunities for rest or quiet. She must
paddle the canoe for her husband--pain and feebleness must be forgotten.
She is always hospitable. Visit her in her teepee, and she willingly
gives you what you need, if in her power; and with alacrity does what
she can to promote your comfort. In her looks there is little that is
attractive. Time has not caused the wrinkles in her forehead, nor the
furrows in her cheek. They are the traces of want, passion, sorrows and
tears. Her bent form was once light and graceful. Labor and privations
are not preservative of beauty.