Dahcotah - Mary Eastman
On the fourth night after they left home, the warriors were all
assembled to hear the war song of their chief. They were yet in their
own country, seated on the edge of a prairie, and back of them as far as
the eye could reach, there was nothing to be seen but the half melted
snow; no rocks, no trees, relieved the sameness of the view. On the
opposite side of the Mississippi, high bluffs, with their worn sides and
broken rocks, hung over the river; and in the centre of its waters lay
the sacred isles, whose many trees and bushes wanted only the warm
breath of summer to display their luxuriance. The war chief commenced.
He prophesied that they would see deer on the next day, but that they
must begin to be careful, for they would then have entered their
enemies' country. He told them how brave they were, and that he was
braver still. He told them the Chippeways were worse than prairie dogs.
To all of which the warriors responded, Ho!
When they found themselves near their enemies, the chief forbade a gun
being fired off; no straggling was allowed; none but the spies were to
go beyond a certain distance from the party.
But after they entered the Chippeway country the duties of the war chief
were still more important. He had to prophesy where the enemy, was to be
found, and about their number; and besides, he had to charm the spirits
of their enemies, that they might be unable to contend with the
Dahcotahs. The spirits on this occasion took the form of a bear.
About nine o'clock at night this ceremony commences. The warriors all
lie down as if asleep, when the war chief signifies the approach of the
spirits to his men, by the earnestness of his exertions in singing.
The song continues, and increases in energy as the spirit gets nearer to
the hole in the ground, which the chief dug and filled with water,
previous to commencing his song. Near this hole he placed a hoop,
against which are laid all the war implements of the chief. Before the
song commences the warriors sit and look steadfastly at their leader.
But when the spirit approaches this hole, the warriors hardly dare
breathe, for fear of frightening it away.
At last the spirit gets close to the hole. The war chief strikes it with
his rattle and kills it; this ensures to the Dahcotahs success in
battle. And most solemnly did the Owl assert to his soldiers, the fact
that he had thus dealt with the bear spirit, while they as earnestly
believed it.
The next morning, four of the warriors went in advance as spies; one of
them carried a pipe, presented as an offering to deceive the spirits of
their enemies. About noon they sat down to rest, and waited until the
remainder of the party came up. When they were all together again, they
rested and smoked; and other spies were appointed, who took the pipe and
went forward again.
They had not proceeded far when they perceived signs of their enemies.
In the sand near the borders of a prairie were the footprints of
Chippeways, and fresh too. They, congratulated each other by looks, too
cautious even to whisper. In a few moments a hundred Chippeways could
be called up, but still the Dahcotahs plunge into the thick forest that
skirts the edge of the prairie, in order to find out what prospect they
have for delighting themselves with the long wished for revenge.
It was not long before a group of Chippeways was discovered, all
unapprehensive of evil. At their camp the Chippeways had made pickets,
for they knew they might expect retaliation; but those who fell a
sacrifice were not expecting their foes.
The spies were not far ahead--they returned to the party, and then
retraced their steps. The low cries of animals were imitated to prevent
any alarm being given by the breaking of a twig or the rustling of the
leaves. They were very near the Chippeways, when the war chief gave the
signal on a bone whistle, and the Dahcotahs fired. Every one of the
Chippeways fell--two men, three women, and two children.
Then came the tomahawk and scalping knife--the former to finish the work
of death, the latter to bear a trophy to their country, to say, Our
comrades are avenged. Nor was that all. The bodies were cut to pieces,
and then the warriors commenced their homeward journey.
They allowed themselves but little rest until they were out of their
enemies' country. But when they were out of the reach of attack, when
their feet trod again upon Dahcotah soil, then they stopped to stretch
each scalp on a hoop, which was attached to a slender pole. This is
always the work of the war chief.
They look eagerly for the welcome sight of home. The cone-shaped teepees
rise before their view. They know that their young wives will rejoice
to see the scalps, as much as to know that the wanderers have returned.
When they are near their village the war chief raises the song of
victory; the other warriors join their voices to his. The welcome sound
rouses the inhabitants of the village from their duties or amusements.
The warriors enter the village in triumph, one by one, each bearing the
scalp he took; and the stout warrior, the aged woman, and the feeble
child, all press forward to feast their eyes with the sight of
the scalps.
There was a jubilee in the village for weeks. Day and night did the
savages dance round the scalps. But how soon may their rejoicings be
lost in cries of terror! Even now they tremble at the sound of their own
voices when evening draws near--for it is their turn to suffer. They
expect their foes, but they do not dread them the less.
CHAPTER II.
Many of the customs of the Dahcotahs are to be attributed to their
superstitions. Their teepees are always made of buffalo-skins; nothing
would induce them to use deer-skin for that purpose. Many years ago a
woman made a teepee of deer-skin; and was taken suddenly ill, and died
immediately after. Some reason must be found for the cause of her death,
and as no other was known, the Indians concluded that she brought her
death upon herself by using deer-skin for her teepee. They have always,
since, used buffalo-skin for that purpose.
Nothing would induce a Dahcotah woman to look into a looking-glass; for
the medicine men say that death will be the consequence.
But there is no superstition which influences them more than their
belief in Haokah, or the Giant. They say this being is possessed of
superhuman powers: indeed he is deemed so powerful, as to be able to
take the thunder in his hand and cast it to the ground. He dresses in
many colors, and wears a forked hat. One side of his face is red, the
other blue, his eyes are also of different colors. He always carries a
bow and arrow in his hand, but never has occasion to use it, as one look
will kill the animal he wants.
They sing songs to this giant, and once in a long time dance in honor of
him; but so severe is the latter custom, that it is rarely performed.
The following incident will show how great is their reverence for this
singular being. An Indian made a vapor bath, and placed inside of it a
rude image of the giant, made of birch bark. This he intended to pray to
while bathing.
After the hot stone was placed inside of the wigwam, several Indians
went in to assist in giving the bath to their sick friend. One of them
commenced pouring the water on the hot stone, and the water flew on the
others, and scalded them badly; the image of the giant was also
displaced; the Indians never dreamed of attributing their burns to the
natural cause, but concluded that the giant was displeased at their
placing his image there, and they considered it as an instance of his
mercy that they were not scalded to death.
However defective may be the religion of the Dahcotahs, they are
faithful in acting up to all its requirements. Every feast and custom
among them is celebrated as a part of their religion.
After the scalp-dance had been performed long enough, the Dahcotahs of
the villages turned their attention to making sugar. Many groves of
sugar trees were in sight of their village, and on this occasion the
generous sap rewarded their labors.
Nor were they ungrateful; for when the medicine men announced that they
must keep the sugar-feast, all left their occupation, anxious to
celebrate it. Neither need it be concluded that this occasioned them no
loss of time; for they were all occupied with the construction of their
summer wigwams, which are made of the bark of trees, which must be
peeled off in the spring.
But every villager assembled to keep the feast. A certain quantity of
sugar was dealt out to each individual, and any one of them who could
not eat all that was given him was obliged to pay leggins, or a blanket,
or something valuable, to the medicine man. On this occasion, indeed on
most occasions, the Dahcotahs have no difficulty in disposing of any
quantity of food.
When the feast was over, however, the skill of their doctors was in
requisition; for almost all of them were made quite ill by excess, and
were seen at evening lying at full length on the ground, groaning and
writhing with pain.
CHAPTER III.
The day after the sugar feast, the Owl told his wife to get ready her
canoe, as he wanted to spear some fish. She would rather have staid at
home, as she was not fully recovered from her last night's
indisposition. But there was no hesitating when the war chief spoke; so
she placed her child upon her back, and seated herself in the stern of
the canoe, paddling gently along the shore where the fish usually lie.
Her husband stood in the bow of the canoe with a spear about six feet in
length. As he saw the fish lying in the water, he threw the spear into
them, still keeping hold of it.
When the war chief was tired, his wife would stop paddling, and nurse
her child while he smoked. If the Owl were loquaciously inclined, he
would point out to his wife the place where he shot a deer, or where he
killed the man who had threatened his life. Indeed, if you took his word
for it, there was not a foot of ground in the country which had not been
a scene of some exploit.
The woman believed them all; for, like a good wife, she shone by the
reflected light of her husband's fame.
When they returned home, she made her fire and put the fish to cook, and
towards evening many of the Indians were assembled in the wigwam of the
war-chief, and partook of the fish he had caught in the morning.
"Unk-ta-he," [Footnote: The God of the Waters] said one of the oldest
men in the tribe (and reverenced as a medicine man of extraordinary
powers), "Unk-ta-he is as powerful as the thunder-bird. Each wants to be
the greatest god of the Dahcotahs, and they have had many battles. My
father was a great medicine man; he was killed many years ago, and his
spirit wandered about the earth. The Thunder-bird wanted him, and
Unk-ta-he wanted him, for they said he would make a wonderful medicine
man. Some of the sons of Unk-ta-he fought against the sons of the
Thunder, and the young thunder-birds were killed, and then Unk-ta-he
took the spirit of my father, to teach him many mysterious things.
"When my father had lived a long time with Unk-ta-he in the waters under
the earth, he took the form of a Dahcotah again, and lived in this
village. He taught me all that I know, and when I go to the land of
spirits, my son must dance alone all night, and he will learn from me
the secret of the medicine of our clan."
All listened attentively to the old man, for not an Indian there but
believed that he could by a spell cause their instant death; and many
wonderful miracles had the "Elk" wrought in his day.
In the corner of the wigwam sat the Bound Spirit, whose vacant look told
the sad tale of her want of reason. Generally she sat quiet, but if the
cry of an infant fell upon her ear, she would start, and her shriek
could be heard throughout the village.
The Bound Spirit was a Sisseton. In the depth of winter, she had left
her village to seek her friends in some of the neighboring bands. She
was a widow, and there was no one to provide her food.
Accompanied by several other Indians, she left her home, which was made
wretched by her desolate condition--that home where she had been very
happy while her husband lived. It had since been the scene of her want
and misery.
The small portion of food they had taken for their journey was
exhausted. Rejoiced would they have been to have had the bark of trees
for food; but they were on the open prairie. There was nothing to
satisfy the wretched cravings of hunger, and her child--the very child
that clung to her bosom--was killed by the unhappy mother, and its
tender limbs supplied to her the means of life.
She reached the place of destination, but it was through instinct, for
forgetting and forgotten by all was the wretched maniac who entered her
native village.
The Indians feared her; they longed to kill her, but were afraid to do
so. They said she had no heart.
Sometimes she would go in the morning to the shore, and there, with only
her head out of water, would she lie all day.
Now, she has been weeping over the infant who sleeps by her. She is
perfectly harmless, and the wife of the war chief kindly gives her food
and shelter whenever she wishes it.
But it is not often she eats--only when desperate from long fasting--and
when her appetite is satisfied, she seems to live over the scene, the
memory of which has made her what she is.
After all but she had eaten of the fish, the Elk related to them the
story of the large fish that obstructed the passage of the St. Croix
river. The scene of this tradition was far from them, but the Dahcotahs
tell each other over and over again the stories which have been handed
down from their fathers, and these incidents are known throughout the
tribe. "Two Dahcotahs went to war against their enemies. On returning
home, they stopped at the Lake St. Croix, hungry and much fatigued.
"One of them caught a fish, cooked it, and asked his comrade to eat, but
he refused. The other argued with him, and begged of him to eat, but
still he declined.
"The owner of the fish continued to invite his friend to partake of it,
until he, wearied by his importunities, consented to eat, but added with
a mysterious look, 'My friend, I hope you will not get out of patience
with me.' After saying this, he ate heartily of the fish.
"He then seemed to be very thirsty, and asked his companion to bring him
some water out of the lake; he did so, but very soon the thirst, which
was quenched for a time only, returned; more was given him, but the
terrible thirst continued, and at last the Indian, who had begged his
companion to eat, began to be tired of bringing him water to drink. He
therefore told him he would bring him no more, and requested him to go
down to the water and drink. He did so, and after drinking a great
quantity, while his friend was asleep, he turned himself into a large
fish and stretched himself full length across the St. Croix.
"This fish for a long time obstructed the passage of the St. Croix; so
much so that the Indians were obliged to go round it by land.
"Some time ago the Indians were on a hunting excursion up the river, and
when they got near the fish a woman of the party darted ahead in
her canoe.
"She made a dish of bark, worked the edges of it very handsomely, filled
it with water, and placed some red down in it. She then placed the dish
near the fish in the river, and entreated the fish to go to its own
elements, and not to obstruct the passage of the river and give them so
much trouble.
"The fish obeyed, and settled down in the water, and has never since
been seen.
"The woman who made this request of the fish, was loved by him when he
was a Dahcotah, and for that reason he obeyed her wishes."
Nor was this the only legend with which he amused his listeners. The
night was half spent when they separated to rest, with as firm a faith
in the stories of the old medicine man, as we have in the annals of the
Revolution.
[Illustration]
THE MAIDEN'S ROCK;
OR,
WENONA'S LEAP.
Lake Pepin is a widening of the Mississippi river. It is about twenty
miles in length, and from one to two miles wide.
The country along its banks is barren. The lake has little current, but
is dangerous for steamboats in a high wind. It is not deep, and abounds
in fish, particularly the sturgeon. On its shores the traveller gathers
white and red agates, and sometimes specimens streaked with veins of
gold color. The lover reads the motto from his mistress' seal, not
thinking that the beautiful stone which made the impression, was found
on the banks of Lake Pepin.
At the south end of the lake, the Chippeway river empties into the
Mississippi.
The Maiden's rock is a high bluff, whose top seems to lean over towards
the water. With this rock is associated one of the most interesting
traditions of the Sioux.
But the incident is well-known. Almost every one has read it a dozen
times, and always differently told. Some represent the maiden as
delivering an oration from the top of the rock, long enough for an
address at a college celebration. It has been stated that she fell into
the water, a circumstance which the relative situation of the rock and
river would render impossible.
Writers have pretended, too, that the heroine of the rock was a
Winnebago. It is a mistake, the maiden was a Dahcotah.
It was from the Dahcotahs that I obtained the incident, and they believe
that it really occurred. They are offended if you suggest the
possibility of its being a fiction. Indeed they fix a date to it,
reckoning by the occurrences of great battles, or other events worthy
of notice.
But to the story--and I wish I could throw into it the feeling, and
energy of the old medicine woman who related it.
About one hundred and fifty years ago, the band of Dahcotahs to which
Wenona belonged, lived near Fort Snelling. Their village was on the site
now occupied by Good Road's band.
The whole band made preparations to go below Lake Pepin, after
porcupines. These animals are of great value among the Dahcotahs; their
flesh is considered excellent as an article of food, and the women stain
their quills to ornament the dresses of the men, their mocassins, and
many other articles in use among them. A young girl of this band had
received repeated offers of marriage from a Dahcotah, whom she hated
with the same degree of intensity that she loved his rival.
She dared not marry the object of her choice, for she knew it would
subject herself and him to the persecutions of her family. She declared
she never would consent to be the wife of the man whom her parents had
chosen for her, though he was young and brave, and, what is most valued
by the friends of an Indian girl, he was said to be the best hunter of
the tribe.
"Marry him, my daughter," said the mother, "your father is old; he
cannot now hunt deer for you and me, and what shall we do for food?
Chaske will hunt the deer and buffalo, and we shall be comfortable
and happy."
"Yes," said her father, "your mother speaks well. Chaske is a great
warrior too. When your brother died, did he not kill his worst enemy and
hang up his scalp at his grave?"
But Wenona persevered in her refusal. "I do not love him, I will not
marry him," was her constant reply.
But Chaske, trusting to time and her parent's influence, was not
discouraged. He killed game and supplied the wants of the family.
Besides, he had twice bought her, according to Indian custom.
He had given her parents cloth and blankets, calico and guns. The girl
entreated them not to receive them, but the lover refused to take them
back, and, finally, they were taken into the wigwam.
Just as the band was about leaving the village for the hunt, he came
again with many presents; whatever would make the family comfortable on
their journey, and a decided promise was then given that the maiden
should become his wife.
She knew it would be useless to contend, so she seemed to be willing to
submit to her fate. After encamping for a time opposite the Maiden's
Rock to rest from their journey, the hunters determined to go further
down the river. They had crossed over to the other side, and were seated
nearly under the rock.
Their women were in their canoes coming over, when suddenly a loud cry
was heard from an old woman, the mother of Wenona.
The canoe had nearly reached the shore, and the mother continued to
shriek, gazing at the projecting rock.
The Indians eagerly inquired of her what was the matter? "Do you not see
my daughter?" she said; "she is standing close to the edge of the rock!"
She was there indeed, loudly and wildly singing her dirge, an invocation
to the Spirit of the Rock, calm and unconcerned in her dangerous
position, while all was terror and excitement among her friends
below her.
The hunters, so soon as they perceived her, hastily ascended the bluff,
while her parents called to her and entreated her to go back from the
edge of the rock. "Come down to us, my child," they cried; "do not
destroy your life; you will kill us, we have no child but you."
Having finished her song, the maiden answered her parents. "You have
forced me to leave you. I was always a good daughter, and never
disobeyed you; and could I have married the man I love, I should have
been happy, and would never have left you. But you have been cruel to
me; you have turned my beloved from the wigwam; you would have forced me
to marry a man I hated; I go to the house of spirits."
By this time the hunters had nearly reached her. She turned towards them
for a moment with a smile of scorn, as if to intimate to them that their
efforts were in vain. But when they were quite near, so that they held
out their arms towards her in their eagerness to draw her from her
dangerous station, she threw herself from the rock.
The first blow she received from the side of the rock must have killed
her, for she fell like a dead bird, amidst the shouts of the hunters
above, and the shrieks of the women below.
Her body was arrayed in her handsomest clothing, placed upon a scaffold,
and afterwards buried.
But the Dahcotahs say that her spirit does not watch over her earthly
remains; for her spirit was offended when she brought trouble upon her
aged mother and father.
Such is the story told by the Dahcotahs; and why not apply to them for
their own traditions?
Neither is there any reason to doubt the actual occurrence of the
incident.
Not a season passes away but we hear of some Dahcotah girl who puts an
end to her life in consequence of jealousy, or from the fear of being
forced to marry some one she dislikes. A short time ago a very young
girl hung herself, rather than become the wife of a man who was already
the husband of one of her sisters.
The parents told her they had promised her, and insisted upon her
fulfilling the engagement. Even her sister did not object, nay, rather
seemed anxious to forward the scheme, which would give her a rival from
among her nearest relations.
The young girl finally ran away, and the lover, leaving his wife,
pursued the fugitive, and soon overtook her. He renewed his entreaties,
and finding her still obstinate, he told her that she should become his
wife, and that he would kill her if she made any more trouble.
This last argument seemed to have the desired effect, for the girl
expressed her willingness to return home.
After they arrived, the man went to his wigwam to tell his wife of the
return of her sister, and that everything was now in readiness for
their marriage.
But one hour after, the girl was missing; and when found, was hanging to
a tree, forever free from the power of her tormentors. Her friends
celebrated the ceremonies of death instead of marriage.
It must be conceded that an Indian girl, when desperate with her love
affairs, chooses a most unromantic way of ending her troubles. She
almost invariably hangs herself; when there are so many beautiful lakes
near her where she could die an easier death, and at the same time one
that would tell better, than where she fastens an old leather strap
about her neck, and dies literally by choking. But there is this to be
taken into consideration. When she hangs herself near the village, she
can manage affairs so that she can be cut down if she concludes to live
a little longer; for this frequently occurs, and the suicide lives forty
and sometimes sixty years after. But when Wenona took the resolution of
ending her earthly sorrows, no doubt there were other passions beside
love influencing her mind.
Love was the most powerful. With him she loved, life would have been all
happiness--without him, all misery. Such was the reasoning of her
young heart.
But she resented the importunity of the hunter whose pretensions her
parents favored. How often she had told him she would die before she
would become his wife; and he would smile, as if he had but little faith
in the words of a woman. Now he should see that her hatred to him was
not assumed; and she would die such a death that he might know that she
feared neither him nor a death of agony.