Dahcotah - Mary Eastman
A few months passed away, and her brother was alone. The winter that
followed his sister's death, was a severe one. The mother had never been
strong, and she soon followed her daughter--while the father's age
unfitted him to contend with sorrow, infirmity, and want.
Spring returned, but winter had settled on the heart of the young
Sisseton; she was gone who alone could drive away the shadow from his
brow, what wonder then that his countenance should always be stern. The
Indians called him Eta Keazah, or Sullen Face.
But after the lapse of years, the boy, who brooded over the wrongs of
his father, eagerly seeks an opportunity to avenge his own. His sister
has never been forgotten; but he remembers her as we do a beautiful
dream; and she is the spirit that hovers round him while his eyes are
closed in sleep.
But there are others who hold a place in his heart. His wife is always
ready to receive him with a welcome, and his young son calls upon him to
teach him to send the arrow to the heart of the buffalo. But the
sufferings of his tribe, from want of food and other privations, are
ever before his eyes. Vengeance upon the white man, who has caused them!
CHAPTER II.
Winter is the season of trial for the Sioux, especially for the women
and children. The incursions of the English half-breeds and Cree
Indians, into the Sisseton country, have caused their buffalo to recede,
and so little other game is to be found, that indescribable sufferings
are endured every winter by the Sissetons.
Starvation forces the hunters to seek for the buffalo in the depth of
winter. Their families must accompany them, for they have not the
smallest portion of food to leave with them; and who will protect them
from the Chippeways!
However inclement the season, their home must be for a time on the open
prairie. As far as the eye can reach, it is a desert of snow. Not a
stick of timber can be seen. A storm is coming on too; nothing is heard
but the howling blast, which mocks the cries of famished children. The
drifting of the snow makes it impossible to see what course they are to
take; they have only to sit down and let the snow fall upon them. It is
a relief when they are quite covered with it, for it shelters them from
the keenness of the blast!
Alas! for the children; the cry of those who can speak is, Give me
food! while the dying infant clings to its mother's breast, seeking to
draw, with its parting breath, the means of life.
But the storm is over; the piercing cold seizes upon the exhausted
frames of the sufferers.
The children have hardly strength to stand; the father places one upon
his back and goes forward; the mother wraps her dead child in her
blanket, and lays it in the snow; another is clinging to her, she has no
time to weep for the dead; nature calls upon her to make an effort for
the living. She takes her child and follows the rest. It would be a
comfort to her, could she hope to find her infant's body when summer
returns to bury it. She shudders, and remembers that the wolves of the
prairie are starving too!
Food is found at last; the strength of the buffalo yields to the arrow
of the Sioux. We will have food and not die, is the joyful cry of all,
and when their fierce appetites are appeased, they carry with them on
their return to their village, the skins of the animals with the
remainder of the meat.
The sufferings of famine and fatigue, however, are followed by those of
disease; the strength of many is laid low. They must watch, too, for
their enemies are at hand.
CHAPTER III.
In the summer of 1844 a large party of half-breeds and Indians from Red
river,--English subjects,--trespassed upon the hunting grounds of the
Sioux. There were several hundred hunters, and many carts drawn by oxen
for the purpose of carrying away the buffalo they had killed. One of
this party had left his companions, and was riding alone at some
distance from them. A Dahcotah knew that his nation would suffer from
the destruction of their game--fresh in his memory, too, were the
sufferings of the past winter. What wonder then that the arrow which was
intended for the buffalo, should find its way to the heart of the
trespasser!
This act enraged the half-breeds; they could not find the Sioux who
committed it--but a few days after they fell in with a party of others,
who were also hunting, and killed seven of them. The rest escaped, and
carried the news of the death of their braves to their village. One of
the killed was a relative of Sullen Face. The sad news spread rapidly
through the village, and nothing was heard but lamentation. The women
cut long gashes on their arms, and as the blood flowed from the wound
they would cry, Where is my husband? my son? my brother?
Soon the cry of revenge is heard above that of lamentation. "It is not
possible," said Sullen Face, "that we can allow these English to starve
us, and take the lives of our warriors. They have taken from us the food
that would nourish our wives and children; and more, they have killed
seven of our bravest men! we will have revenge--we will watch for them,
and bring home their scalps, that our women may dance round them!"
A war party was soon formed, and Sullen Face, at the head of more than
fifty warriors, stationed himself in the vicinity of the road by which
the half-breeds from Red river drive their cattle to Fort Snelling.
Some days after, there was an unusual excitement in the Sioux village on
Swan lake, about twenty miles northwest of Traverse des Sioux. A number
of Indians were gazing at an object not very distant, and in order to
discover what it was, the chief of the village, Sleepy Eyes, had sent
one of his young men out, while the rest continued to regard it with
looks of curiosity and awe.
They observed that as the Sioux approached it, he slackened his pace,
when suddenly he gave a loud cry and ran towards the village.
He soon reached them, and pale with terror, exclaimed, "It is a spirit,
it is white as the snow that covers our prairies in the winter. It
looked at me and spoke not." For a short time, his fears infected the
others, but after a while several determined to go and bring a more
satisfactory report to their chief. They returned with the body, as it
seemed only, of a white man; worn to a skeleton, with his feet cut and
bleeding, unable to speak from exhaustion; nothing but the beating of
his heart told that he lived.
The Indian women dressed his feet, and gave him food, wiped the blood
from his limbs, and, after a consultation, they agreed to send word to
the missionaries at Traverse des Sioux, that there was a white man sick
and suffering with them.
The missionaries came immediately; took the man to their home, and with
kind nursing he was soon able to account for the miserable situation in
which he had been found.
"We left the state of Missouri," said the man, whose name was Bennett,
"for the purpose of carrying cattle to Fort Snelling. My companions'
names were Watson and Turner. We did not know the road, but supposed a
map would guide us, with what information we could get on the way. We
lost our way, however, and were eagerly looking for some person who
could set us right. Early one morning some Sioux came up with us, and
seemed inclined to join our party. One of them left hastily as if sent
on a message; after a while a number of warriors, accompanied by the
Indian who had left the first party, came towards us. Their leader had a
dark countenance, and seemed to have great influence over them. We tried
to make them understand that we had lost our way; we showed them the
map, but they did not comprehend us.
"After angrily addressing his men for a few moments, the leader shot
Watson through the shoulder, and another sent an arrow through his body
and killed him. They then struck Watson's brother and wounded him.
"In the mean time the other Indians had been killing our cattle; and
some of the animals having run away, they made Watson, who was sadly
bruised with the blows he had received from them, mount a horse and go
with them to hunt the rest of the cattle. We never heard of him again.
The Indians say he disappeared from among the bushes, and they could
not find him; but the probability is that they killed him. Some seemed
to wish to kill Turner and myself--but after a while they told us to go,
giving us our horses and a little food. We determined to retrace our
steps. It was the best thing we could do; but our horses gave out, and
we were obliged to leave them and proceed on foot.
"We were soon out of provisions, and having no means of killing game,
our hearts began to fail us. Turner was unwell, and on arriving at a
branch of Crow river, about one hundred miles northwest of Fort
Snelling, he found himself unable to swim. I tried to carry him across
on my back, but could not do it; he was drowned, and I barely succeeded
in reaching the shore. After resting, I proceeded on my journey. When I
came in sight of the Indian village, much as I needed food and rest, I
dreaded to show myself, for fear of meeting Watson's fate. I was spared
the necessity of deciding. I fainted and fell to the ground. They found
me, and proved kinder than I anticipated.
"Why they should have molested us I know not. There is something in it
that I do not understand."
But it is easily explained. Sullen Face supposed them to belong to the
party that had killed his friends, and through this error he had shed
innocent blood.
CHAPTER IV.
Who that has seen Fort Snelling will not bear testimony to its beautiful
situation! Whichever way we turn, nature calls for our admiration. But
beautiful as it is by day, it is at night that its majesty and
loveliness speak to the soul. Look to the north, (while the Aurora
Borealis is flashing above us, and the sound of the waters of St.
Anthony's Falls meets the ear,) the high bluffs of the Mississippi seem
to guard its waters as they glide along. To the south, the St. Peter's
has wandered off, preferring gentle prairies to rugged cliffs. To the
east we see the "meeting of the waters;" gladly as the returning child
meets the welcoming smile of the parent, do the waves of the St. Peter's
flow into the Mississippi. On the west, there is prairie far as the eye
can reach.
But it is to the free only that nature is beautiful. Can the prisoner
gaze with pleasure on the brightness of the sky, or listen to the
rippling of the waves? they make him feel his fetters the more.
I am here, with my heavy chain!
And I look on a torrent sweeping by.
And an eagle rushing to the sky,
And a host to its battle plain.
Must I pine in my fetters here!
With the wild wave's foam and the free bird's flight,
And the tall spears glancing on my sight,
And the trumpet in mine ear?
The summer of 1845 found Sullen Face a prisoner at Fort Snelling.
Government having been informed of the murder of Watson by two Dahcotah
Indians, orders were received at Fort Snelling that two companies should
proceed to the Sisseton country, and take the murderers, that they might
be tried by the laws of the United States.
Now for excitement, the charm of garrison life. Officers are of course
always ready to "go where glory waits" them, but who ever heard of one
being ready to go when the order came?
Alas! for the young officer who has a wife to leave; it will be weeks
before he meets again her gentle smile!
Still more--alas for him who has no wife at all! for he has not a shirt
with buttons on it, and most of what he has are in the wash. He will
have to borrow of Selden; but here's the difficulty, Selden is going
too, and is worse off than himself. But no matter! what with pins and
twine and trusting to chance, they will get along.
Then the married men are inquiring for tin reflectors, for hard bread,
though healthy, is never tempting. India rubber cloaks are in
requisition too.
Those who are going, claim the doctor in case of accidents. Those who
stay, their wives at least, want him for fear of measles; while the
disciple of Esculapius, though he knows there will be better cooking if
he remain at home, is certain there will be food for fun if he go. It is
soon decided--the doctor goes.
Then the privates share in the pleasure of the day. How should a
soldier be employed but in active service? besides, what a capital
chance to desert! One, who is tired of calling "All's well" through the
long night, with only the rocks and trees to hear him, hopes that it
will be his happy fate to find out there is danger near, and to give the
alarm, Another vows, that if trouble wont come, why he will bring it by
quarrelling with the first rascally Indian he meets. All is ready.
Rations are put up for the men;--hams, buffalo tongues, pies and cake
for the officers. The battalion marches out to the sound of the drum
and fife;--they are soon down the hill--they enter their boats;
hand-kerchiefs are waved from the fort, caps are raised and flourished
over the water;--they are almost out of sight--they are gone.
When the troops reached their destination, Sullen Face and Forked Horn
were not there, but the chief gave them three of his warriors, (who were
with the party of Sullen Face at the time of the murder,) promising that
when the two murderers returned they would come to Fort Snelling, and
give themselves up.
There was nothing then to prevent the immediate return of our troops.
Their tramp had been a delightful one, and so far success had crowned
their expedition. They were in the highest spirits. But a little
incident occurred on their return, that was rather calculated to show
the transitoriness of earthly joys. One dark night, when those who were
awake were thinking, and those who slept were dreaming of their welcome
home, there was evidently a disturbance. The sleepers roused themselves;
guns were discharged. What could it be?
The cause was soon ascertained. To speak poetically, the birds had
flown--in plain language, the prisoners had run away. They were not
bound, their honor had been trusted to;--but you cannot place much
reliance on the honor of an Indian with a prison in prospect. I doubt
if a white man could be trusted under such circumstances. True, there
was a guard, but, as I said, 'twas a dark night.
The troops returned in fine health, covered with dust and fleas, if not
with glory.
CHAPTER V.
It is time to return to Sullen Face. He and Forked Horn, on their return
to the village, were informed of what had occurred during their absence.
They offered to fulfil the engagement of the chief, and accompanied by
others of the band, they started for Fort Snelling. The wife of Sullen
Face had insisted upon accompanying him, and influenced by a
presentiment that he should never return to his native village, he
allowed her to do so. Their little boy quite forgot his fatigue as he
listened to his father's voice, and held his hand. When they were near
the fort, notice of their approach was sent to the commanding officer.
The entire force of the garrison marched out to receive the prisoners. A
large number of Indians assembled to witness the scene--their gay
dresses and wild appearance adding to its interest.
Sullen Face and Forked Horn, with the Sioux who had accompanied them,
advanced to meet the battalion. The little boy dressed as a warrior, his
war-eagle plumes waving proudly over his head, held his father's hand.
In a moment the iron grasp of the soldier was on the prisoner's
shoulder; they entered the gate of the fort; and he, who had felt that
the winds of Heaven were not more free than a Dahcotah warrior, was now
a prisoner in the power of the white man. But he entered not his cell
until he had sung a warrior's song. Should his enemies think that he
feared them? Had he not yielded himself up?
It was hard to be composed in parting with his wife and child. "Go my
son," he said, "you will soon be old enough to kill the buffalo for your
mother." But to his wife he only said, "I have done no wrong, and fear
not the power of my enemies." The Sissetons returned to the village,
leaving the prisoners at Fort Snelling, until they should be sent to
Dubuque for trial.
They frequently walked about the fort, accompanied by a guard. Sullen
Face seemed to be indifferent to his fate, and was impressed with the
idea that he never would return to his home. "Beautiful country!" said
he, as he gazed towards the point where the waters of the Mississippi
and St. Peter's meet. "I shall never look upon you again, the waters of
the rivers unite, but I have parted forever from country and friends. My
spirit tells me so. Then welcome death! they guard me now with sword and
bayonet, but the soul of the Dahcotah is free."
After their removal to Dubuque, the two prisoners from Fort Snelling,
with others who had been concerned in the murder, suffered much from
sickness. Sullen Face would not complain, but the others tried to induce
him to make his escape. He, at first, refused to do so, but finding his
companions determined upon going, he at last consented.
Their plans succeeded, and after leaving the immediate neighborhood,
they broke their shackles with stones. They were obliged, however, to
hide themselves for a time among the rocks, to elude the sheriff and his
party. They were not taken, and as soon as they deemed it prudent, they
resumed their route.
Two of the prisoners died near Prairie du Chien. Sullen Face, Forked
Horn, and another Sioux, pursued their journey with difficulty, for they
were near perishing from want of food. They found a place where the
Winnebagoes had encamped, and they parched the corn that lay scattered
on the ground.
Disease had taken a strong hold upon the frame of Sullen Face; he
constantly required the assistance of his companions. When they were
near Prairie le Gros, he became so ill that he was unable to proceed. He
insisted upon his friends leaving him; this they at first refused to do,
but fearing that they would be found and carried back to prison, they
consented--and the dying warrior found himself alone.
Some Indians who were passing by saw him and gently carried him to their
wigwam. But he heeded not their kindness. Death had dimmed the
brightness of his eye, and his fast-failing strength told of the long
journey to the spirits' land.
"It was not thus," he said, "that I thought to die! Where are the
warriors of the Sissetons? Do they listen to my death song?" I hoped to
have triumphed over the white man, but his power has prevailed. My
spirit drooped within his hated walls? But hark! there is music in my
ears--'tis the voice of the sister of my youth--"Come with me my
brother, we wait for you in the house of the spirits! we will sit by the
banks of a lake more beautiful than that by which we wandered in our
childhood; you will roam over the hunting grounds of your forefathers,
and there the white man may never come."
His eyes are closing fast in death, but his lips murmur--"Wenona! I
come! I come!"
TONWA-YAH-PE-KIN;
THE SPIES.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
IT was in the spring of 1848, that several Dahcotahs were carefully
making their way along the forests near the borders of the Chippeway
country. There had recently been a fight near the spot where they were,
and the Dahcotahs were seeking the bodies of their friends who had been
slain, that they might take them home to bury them.
They moved noiselessly along, for their enemies were near. Occasionally,
one of them would imitate the cry of a bird or of some animal, so that
if the attention of their enemies should be drawn to the spot, the
slight noise they made in moving might be attributed to any but the
right cause.
They had almost given up the hope of finding their friends, and this was
the close of their last day's efforts to that intent. In the morning
they intended to return to their village.
It was a bright clear evening, and the rays of the setting sun fell upon
some objects further on. For a time the Dahcotahs gazed in silence; but
no movement gave sign of what it was that excited their curiosity. All
at once there was a fearful foreboding; they remembered why they were
there, and they determined to venture near enough to find out what was
the nature of the object on which the rays of the sun seemed to rest as
if to attract their notice.
A few more steps and they were relieved from their terrible suspense,
but their worst fears were realized.
The Dahcotahs recently killed had been skinned by the Chippeways, while
their bodies were yet warm with life, and the skins were stretched upon
poles; while on separate poles the hands were placed, with one finger of
each hand pointing to the Dahcotah country. The savages were in a
fearful rage. They had to endure a twofold insult.
There were the bodies of their friends, treated as if they were but
beasts, and evidently put there to be seen by the Dahcotahs. And
besides, the hands pointing to the country of the Dahcotahs--did it not
plainly say to the spies, go back to your country and say to your
warriors, that the Chippeways despise them, that they are not worthy to
be treated as men?
The spies returned as cautiously as they had ventured near the fatal
spot, and it was not until they were out of reach of danger from their
foes, that they gave vent to their indignation. Then their smothered
rage burst forth. They hastened to return and tell the event of their
journey. They forgot how grieved the wives and sisters of the dead would
be at being deprived of the solace of burying the remains of their
friends--they only thought of revenge for the insult they had received.
When they arrived at their village, they called together their chiefs
and braves, and related to them what they had seen. A council of war was
held, which resulted in immediate preparations being made to resent the
indignity offered to their friends, and the insult to the whole tribe.
The war-dance is always celebrated before a war party goes out to find
an enemy, and there is in every village a war chief, who conducts the
party. The war dance is performed inside of a wigwam, and not out of
door, as is usually represented.
The "Owl" felt himself qualified in every respect to conduct the present
party. He was a great warrior, and a juggler besides; and he had a
reputation acquired from an act performed when he was a very young man,
which showed as much cunning as bravery; for one of these qualities is
as necessary to a Dahcotah war chief as the other.
He was one of a party of Dahcotahs who went to war against the
Chippeways, but without success. On their way back "the Owl" got
separated from the rest of the party, and he climbed a tree to see if he
could discover his comrades. While in the tree a war party of the
Chippeways came in sight and stopped quite near the tree to make
their camp.
The Owl was in a sad predicament; he knew not what to do to effect his
escape. As he knew he had not the power to contend with his enemies, he
determined to have recourse to stratagem. When it was quite dark he
commenced hooting like an owl, having previously transformed himself
into one. The Chippeways looked up towards the tree and asked the owl
what he was doing there. The owl replied that he had come to see a large
war party of Dahcotahs who would soon pass by. The Chippeways took the
hint, and took to their heels too, and ran home. The Owl then resumed
his form, got down from the tree and returned home.
This wonderful incident, which he related of himself, gave him a great
reputation and a name besides; for until now he had been called Chaske,
a name always given to the oldest son; but the Indians after this gave
him the name of the Owl.
It being decided that the war party should leave as soon as their
preparations could be made, the war chief sent for those who were to
dance. The dance was performed every third or, fourth night until the
party left. For each dance the war chief had a hew set of performers;
only so many were asked at a time as could conveniently dance inside the
wigwam. While some were dancing, others were preparing for the
expedition, getting extra mocassins made, drying meat, or parching corn.
When all was ready, the party set out, with every confidence in their
war chief. He was to direct them where to find the enemy, and at the
same time to protect them from being killed themselves.
For a few days they hunted as they went along, and they would build
large fires at night, and tell long stories, to make the time pass
pleasantly.
The party was composed of about twenty warriors, and they all obeyed
implicitly the orders of their war chief, who appointed some warriors to
see that his directions were carried out by the whole party. Wo to him
who violates a single regulation! his gun is broken, his blanket cut to
pieces, and he is told to return home. Such was the fate of Iron Eyes,
who wandered from the party to shoot a bird on the wing, contrary to the
orders of their chief. But although disgraced and forbidden to join in
the attempt to punish the Chippeways for the outrage they had commited,
he did not return to his village; he followed the tracks of the war
party, determining to see the fun if he could not partake of it.