Dahcotah - Mary Eastman
Then, she is the great legend-teller of the Dahcotahs. If there is a
merry-making in the village, Checkered Cloud must be there, to call to
the minds of the revellers the traditions that have been handed down
from time immemorial.
Yesterday, wrapped in her blanket, she was seated on the St. Peters,
near a hole which she had cut in the ice, in order to spear the fish as
they passed through the water; and to-day--but while I am writing of
her, she approaches the house; even now, her shadow falls upon the room
as she passes the window. I need not listen to her step, for her
mocassined feet pass noiselessly through the hall. The door is slowly
opened, and she is before me!
How tall she is! and with what graceful dignity she offers her hand.
Seventy winters have passed over her, but the brightness of her eye is
undimmed by time. Her brow speaks of intellect--and the white hair that
is parted over it falls unplaited on her shoulders. She folds her
blanket round her and seats herself; she has a request to make, I know,
but Checkered Cloud is not a beggar, she never asks aught but what she
feels she has a right to claim.
"Long ago," she says, "the Dahcotah owned lands that the white man now
claims; the trees, the rivers, were all our own. But the Great Spirit
has been angry with his children; he has taken their forests and their
hunting grounds, and given them to others.
"When I was young, I feared not wind nor storm. Days have I wandered
with the hunters of my tribe, that they might bring home many buffalo
for food, and to make our wigwams. Then, I cared not for cold and
fatigue, for I was young and happy. But now I am old; my children have
gone before me to the 'House of Spirits'--the tender boughs have yielded
to the first rough wind of autumn, while the parent tree has stood and
borne the winter's storm.
"My sons have fallen by the tomahawk of their enemies; my daughter
sleeps under the foaming waters of the Falls.
"Twenty winters were added to my life on that day. We had encamped at
some distance above the Falls, and our hunters had killed many deer.
Before we left our village to go on the hunt, we sacrificed to the
Spirit of the woods, and we prayed to the Great Spirit. We lifted up our
hands and said, 'Father, Great Spirit, help us to kill deer.' The arrows
of our hunters never missed, and as we made ready for our return we were
happy, for we knew we should not want for food. My daughter's heart was
light, for Haparm was with her, and she never was sad but when he
was away.
"Just before we arrived at the Falls, she became sick; her hands were
burning hot, she refused to eat. As the canoe passed over the
Mississippi, she would fill her cup with its waters, to drink and throw
over her brow. The medicine men were always at her side, but they said
some evil spirit hated her, and prevented their spells from doing
her good.
"When we reached the Falls, she was worse; the women left their canoes,
and prepared to carry them and the rest of the baggage round the Falls.
"But what should we do with We-no-nah? the flush of fever was on her
cheek; she did not know me when I spoke to her; but she kept her eyes
fixed upon her lover.
"'We will leave her in the canoe,' said her father; 'and with a line we
can carry her gently over the Rapids.' I was afraid, but with her
brothers holding the line she must be safe. So I left my child in her
canoe, and paddled with the others to the shore.
"As we left her, she turned her eyes towards us, as if anxious to know
what we were about to do. The men held the line steadily, and the canoe
floated so gently that I began to feel less anxious--but as we
approached the rapids, my heart beat quickly at the sound of the waters.
Carefully did her brothers hold the line, and I never moved my eyes from
the canoe in which she lay. Now the roaring of the waters grew louder,
and as they hastened to the rocks over which they would fall they bore
with them my child--I saw her raise herself in the canoe, I saw her
long hair as it fell on her bosom--I saw no more!
"My sons bore me in their arms to the rest of the party. The hunters had
delayed their return that they might seek for the body of my child. Her
lover called to her, his voice could be heard above the sound of the
waters. 'Return to me, Wenonah, I will never love maiden but you; did
you not promise to light the fires in my wigwam?' He would have thrown
himself after her, had not the young men prevented him. The body rests
not in the cold waters; we found it and buried it, and her spirit calls
to me in the silence of the night! Her lover said he would not remain
long on the earth; he turned from the Dahcotah maidens as they smiled
upon him. He died as a warrior should die!
"The Chippeways had watched for us, they longed to carry the scalp of a
Dahcotah home. They did so--but we were avenged.
"Our young men burst in upon them when they were sleeping; they struck
them with their tomahawks, they tore their scalps reeking with blood
from their heads.
"We heard our warriors at the village as they returned from their war
party; we knew by their joyful cries that they had avenged their
friends. One by one they entered the village, bearing twenty scalps of
the enemy.
"Only three of the Dahcotahs had fallen. But who were the three? My
sons, and he who was as dear as a son to me, the lover of my child. I
fled from their cries of triumph--I longed to plunge the knife into my
own heart.
"I have lived on. But sorrow and cold and hunger have bowed my spirit;
and my limbs are not as strong and active as they were in my youth.
Neither can I work with porcupine as I used to--for age and tears have
dimmed my sight. I bring you venison and fish, will you not give me
clothes to protect me from the winter's cold?"
Ah! Checkered Cloud--he was a prophet who named you. Though the cloud
has varied, now passing away, now returning blacker than before--though
the cheering light of the sun has for a moment dispelled the gloom--
'twas but for a moment! for it was sure to break in terrors over your
head. Your name is your history, your life has been a checkered cloud!
But the storm of the day has yielded to the influence of the setting
sun. The thunder has ceased to roll, the wind has died away, and the
golden streaks that bound the horizon promise a brighter morning. So
with Checkered Cloud, the storm and strife of the earth have ceased; the
"battle of life" is fought, and she has conquered. For she hopes to meet
the beloved of earth in the heaven of the Dahcotahs.
And who will say that our heaven will not be hers? The God of the
Dahcotahs is ours, though they, less happy than we, have not been taught
to know him. Christians! are you without blame? Have you thought of the
privations, the wants of those who once owned your country, and would
own it still but for the strong hand? Have you remembered that their
souls are dear in His sight, who suffered for them, as well as for you?
Have you given bright gold that their children might be educated and
redeemed from their slavery of soul? Checkered Cloud will die as she has
lived, a believer in the religion of the Dahcotahs. The traditions of
her tribe are written on her heart. She worships a spirit in every
forest tree, or every running stream. The features of the favored
Israelite are hers; she is perchance a daughter of their lost tribe.
When she was young, she would have listened to the missionary as he told
her of Gethsemane and Calvary. But age yields not like youth to new
impressions; the one looks to the future, the other clings to the past.
See! she has put by her pipe and is going, but she is coming oft again
to talk to me of her people, that I may tell to my friends the bravery
of the Dahcotah warrior, and the beauty of the maiden! the legends of
their rivers and sacred isles--the traditions of their rocks and hills!
If I cannot, in recounting the wild stories of this prophetess of the
forest, give her own striking words, I shall at least be faithful to the
spirit of her recitals. I shall let Indian life speak for itself; these
true pictures of its course will tell its whole simple story better than
any labored exposition of mine. Here we may see, not the red man of the
novel or the drama, but the red man as he appears to himself, and to
those who live with him. His better characteristics will be found quite
as numerous as ought to be expected under the circumstances; his faults
and his sufferings should appeal to the hearts of those who hold the
means of his salvation. No intelligent citizen of these United States
can without blame forget the aborigines of his country. Their wrongs cry
to heaven; their souls will be required of us. To view them as brutes is
an insult to Him who made them and us. May this little work do something
towards exciting an interest in a single tribe out of the many whose
only hope is in the mercy of the white man!
RED EARTH;
OR,
MOCKA-DOOTA-WIN.
"Good Road" is one of the Dahcotah chiefs--he is fifty years old and has
two wives, but these two have given a deal of trouble; although the
chief probably thinks it of no importance whether his two wives fight
all the time or not, so that they obey his orders. For what would be a
calamity in domestic life to us, is an every day affair among the
Dahcotahs.
Good Road's village is situated on the banks of the St. Peter's about
seven miles from Fort Snelling. And like other Indian villages it
abounds in variety more than anything else. In the teepee the farthest
from us, right on the edge of the shore, there are three young men
carousing. One is inclined to go to sleep, but the other two will not
let him; their spirits are raised and excited by what has made him
stupid. Who would suppose they were human beings? See their bloodshot
eyes; hear their fiendish laugh and horrid yells; probably before the
revel is closed, one of the friends will have buried his knife in the
other's heart.
We will pass on to the next teepee. Here we witness a scene almost as
appalling. "Iron Arms," one of the most valiant warriors of the band, is
stretched in the agonies of death. Old Spirit Killer, the medicine man,
is gesticulating by his side, and accompanying his motions with the most
horrid noises. But all in vain; the spirit of "Iron Arms," the man of
strength, is gone. The doctor says that his medicine was good, but that
a prairie dog had entered into the body of the Dahcotah, and he thought
it had been a mud-hen. Magnanimous doctor! All honor, that you can allow
yourself in error.
While the friends of the dead warrior are rending the air with their
cries, we will find out what is going on in the next wigwam. What
a contrast!
"The Whirlpool" is seated on the ground smoking; gazing as earnestly at
the bright coals as if in them he could read the future or recall the
past; and his young wife, whose face, now merry, now sad, bright with
smiles at one moment, and lost in thought the next, gained for her the
name of "The Changing Countenance," is hushing her child to sleep; but
the expression of her features does not change now--as she looks on her
child, a mother's deep and devoted love is pictured on her face.
In another, "The Dancing Woman" is wrapped in her blanket pretending to
go to sleep. In vain does "The Flying Cloud" play that monotonous
courting tune on the flute. The maiden would not be his wife if he gave
her all the trinkets in the world. She loves and is going to marry "Iron
Lightning," who has gone to bring her--what? a brooch--a new blanket?
no, a Chippeway's scalp, that she may be the most graceful of those who
dance around it. Her mother is mending the mocassins of the old man who
sleeps before the fire.
And we might go round the village and find every family differently
employed. They have no regular hours for eating or sleeping. In front of
the teepees, young men are lying on the ground, lazily playing checkers,
while their wives and sisters are cutting wood and engaged in laborious
household duties.
I said Good Road had two wives, and I would now observe that neither of
them is younger than himself. But they are as jealous of each other as
if they had just turned seventeen, and their lord and master were twenty
instead of fifty. Not a day passes that they do not quarrel, and fight
too. They throw at each other whatever is most convenient, and sticks of
wood are always at hand. And then, the sons of each wife take a part in
the battle; they first fight for their mothers, and then for
themselves--so that the chief must have been reduced to desperation long
ago if it were not for his pipe and his philosophy. Good Road's second
wife has Chippeway blood in her veins. Her mother was taken prisoner by
the Dahcotahs; they adopted her, and she became the wife of a Dahcotah
warrior. She loved her own people, and those who had adopted her too;
and in course of time her daughter attained the honorable station of a
chief's second wife. Good Road hates the Chippeways, but he fell in love
with one of their descendants, and married her. She is a good wife, and
the white people have given her the name of "Old Bets."
Last summer "Old Bets" narrowly escaped with her life. The Dahcotahs
having nothing else to do, were amusing themselves by recalling all the
Chippeways had ever done to injure them; and those who were too lazy to
go out on a war party, happily recollected that there was Chippeway
blood near them--no farther off than their chief's wigwam; and eight or
ten braves vowed they would make an end of "Old Bets." But she heard of
their threats, left the village for a time, and after the Dahcotahs had
gotten over their mania for shedding blood, she returned, and right glad
was Good Road to see her. For she has an open, good humored countenance;
the very reverse of that of the first wife, whose vinegar aspect would
frighten away an army of small children.
After "Old Bets" returned, Good Road could not conceal his satisfaction.
His wife's trip had evidently improved her good looks, for the chief
thought she was the handsomest squaw in the village. Her children were
always taunting the sons of the first wife, and so it went on, until at
last Good Road said he would stand it no longer; he told his oldest wife
to go--that he would support her no longer. And for her children, he
told them the prairies were large; there were deer and other game--in
short, he disinherited them--cut them off with their last meal.
For the discarded wife, life had now but one hope. The only star that
shone in the blackness of her heaven, was the undefined prospect of
seeing her rival's blood flow. She would greatly have preferred taking
her life herself; and as she left the wigwam of the chief, she grasped
the handle of her knife--how quick her heart beat! it might be now
or never.
But there were too many around to protect Old Bets. The time would
come--she would watch for her--she would tear her heart from her yet.
The sons of the old hag did not leave the village; they would keep a
watch on their father and his Chippeway wife. They would not easily
yield their right to the chieftainship. While they hunted, and smoked,
and played at cards, they were ever on the look-out for revenge.
CHAPTER II.
"Red Earth" sits by the door of her father's teepee; while the village
is alive with cheerfulness, she does not join in any of the amusements
going on, but seems to be occupied with what is passing in her own mind.
Occasionally she throws a pebble from the shore far into the river, and
the copper-colored children spring after it, as if the water were their
own element, striving to get it before it sinks from their view.
Had she been attentive to what is passing around her, she would not have
kept her seat, for "Shining Iron," the son of Good Road's second wife,
approaches her; and she loves him too little to talk with him when it
can be avoided.
"Why are you not helping the women to make the teepee, Red Earth?" said
the warrior. "They are laughing while they sew the buffalo-skin
together, and you are sitting silent and alone. Why is it so? Are you
thinking of 'Fiery Wind?'"
"There are enough women to make the teepee," replied Red Earth, "and I
sit alone because I choose to do so. But if I am thinking of 'Fiery
Wind' I do right--he is a great warrior!"
"Tell me if you love Fiery Wind?" said the young man, while his eyes
flashed fire, and the veins in his temple swelled almost to bursting.
"I do not love you," said the girl, "and that is enough. And you need
never think I will become your wife; your spells cannot make me love
you. [Footnote: The Sioux have great faith in spells. A lover will take
gum, and after putting some medicine in it, will induce the girl of his
choice to chew it, or put it in her way so that she will take it up of
her own accord. It is a long time before an Indian lover will take a
refusal from the woman he has chosen for a wife.] Where are Fiery Wind
and his relations? driven from the wigwam of the Chief by you and your
Chippeway mother. But they do not fear you--neither do I!"
And Red Earth looked calmly at the angry face of her lover. For Shining
Iron did love her, and he had loved her long. He had loaded her with
presents, which she always refused; he had related his honors, his brave
acts to her, but she turned a deaf ear to his words. He promised her he
would always have venison in her teepee, and that he never would take
another wife; she was the only woman he could ever love. But he might as
well have talked to the winds. And he thought so himself, for, finding
he could not gain the heart of the proud girl, he determined she should
never be the wife of any other man, and he told her so.
"You may marry Fiery Wind," said the angry lover, "but if you do, I will
kill him."
Red Earth heard, but did not reply to his threats; she feared not for
herself, but she trembled at the prospect of danger to the man she
loved. And while she turned the bracelets on her small wrists, the
warrior left her to her own thoughts. They were far from being pleasant;
she must warn her lover of the threats of his rival. For a while she
almost determined she would not marry Fiery Wind, for then his life
would be safe; but she would not break her promise. Besides, it was hard
for her to destroy all the air-built castles which she had built for her
happy future.
She knew Shining Iron's bravery, and she doubted not he would fulfil his
promise; for a moment prudence suggested that she had better marry him
to avoid his revenge. But she grasped the handle of her knife, as if she
would plunge it into her own bosom for harboring the dark thought. Never
should she be unfaithful; when Fiery Wind returned she would tell him
all, and then she would become his wife, and she felt that her own heart
was true enough to guard him, her own arm strong enough to slay
his enemy.
* * * * *
All women are wilful enough, but Dahcotah women are particularly so.
Slaves as they are to their husbands, they lord it over each other, and
it is only when they become grandmothers that they seem to feel their
dependence, and in many instances yield implicit obedience to the wills
of their grandchildren.
They take great delight in watching over and instructing their
children's children; giving them lessons in morality, [Footnote: The
idea is ridiculed by some, that an Indian mother troubles herself about
the morals of her children; but it is nevertheless true, that she talks
to them, and, according to her own ideas of right and wrong, tries to
instil good principles into their minds. The grandmothers take a great
deal of care of their grandchildren.] and worldly wisdom. Thus while Red
Earth was making her determination, her old grandmother belonging to the
village was acting upon hers.
This old woman was a perfect virago--an "embodied storm." In her time
she had cut off the hands and feet of some little Chippeway children,
and strung them, and worn them for a necklace. And she feasted yet at
the pleasant recollections this honorable exploit induced.
But so tender was she of the feelings of her own flesh and blood, that
the thought of their suffering the slightest pain was death to her.
Her son ruled his household very well for a Dahcotah. He had a number of
young warriors and hunters growing up around him, and he sometimes got
tired of their disturbances, and would use, not the rod but a stick of
wood to some purpose. Although it had the good effect of quelling the
refractory spirits of the young, it invariably fired the soul of his
aged mother. The old woman would cry and howl, and refuse to eat, for
days; till, finding this had no effect upon her hard-hearted son, she
told him she would do something that would make him sorry, the next time
he struck one of his children.
But the dutiful son paid no attention to her. He had always considered
women as being inferior to dogs, and he would as soon have thought of
giving up smoking, as of minding his mother's threats.
But while Red Earth was thinking of her absent lover, Two Stars was
beating his sons again--and when the maiden was left alone by Shining
Iron after the warning he had given her, she was attracted by the cries
of one of the old women of the village, who was struggling 'mid earth
and heaven, while old and young were running to the spot, some to render
assistance, others to see the fun.
And glorious fun it was! the grandmother had almost hung herself--that
is, she seriously intended to do it. But she evidently did not expect
the operation to be so painful. When her son, in defiance of her tears
and threats, commenced settling his household difficulties in his own
way she took her head-strap,[Footnote: The head-strap is made of buffalo
skin. It is from eight to ten, or sometimes twenty-four feet long. The
women fasten their heavy burdens to this strap, which goes around the
forehead; the weight of the burden falls upon the head and back. This
occasions the figures of the Indian women to stoop, since they
necessarily lean forward in order to preserve their balance.] went to a
hill just above the village, and deliberately made her preparations for
hanging, as coolly too as if she had been used to being hung for a long
time. But when, after having doubled the strap four times to prevent its
breaking, she found herself choking, her courage gave way--she yelled
frightfully; and it was well that her son and others ran so fast, for
they had well nigh been too late. As it was, they carried her into the
teepee, where the medicine man took charge of her case; and she was
quite well again in an hour or two. Report says (but there is a sad
amount of scandal in an Indian village) that the son has never offended
the mother since; so, like many a wilful woman, she has gained
her point.
Red Earth witnessed the cutting down of the old woman, and as she
returned to her teepee, her quick ear warned her of coming footsteps.
She lingered apart from the others, and soon she saw the eagle feathers
of her warrior as he descended the hill towards the village. Gladly
would she have gone to meet him to welcome him home, but she knew that
Shining Iron was watching her motions, and she bent her steps homeward.
She was quite sure that it would not be long before he would seek her,
and then she would tell him what had passed, and make arrangements for
their course of conduct for the future.
Fiery Wind was the nephew of Good Road, but he, like the sons, was in
disgrace with the chief, and, like them, he had vowed vengeance against
"Old Bets."
CHAPTER III.
The gun is now generally used among the Dahcotahs as a weapon of
warfare. But those bands in the neighborhood of Fort Snelling considered
it as a necessary part of their war implements, before the distant bands
were at all acquainted with its use.
Some time ago, one of the Mun-da-wa-kan-tons gave a gun to a Sisse-ton,
who, proud of the gift, went out immediately to use it. On his return to
his village he came up with a drove of buffaloes. His first impulse was
to use his bow and arrow, but a moment's thought reminded him of the
gift of his friend. He loaded the gun, saying at the same time to it,
"Now, the Dahcotahs call you 'wah-kun' (supernatural), kill me the
fattest cow in the drove." He waited a few moments to see his orders
executed, but the gun was not "wah-kun" enough to fire by order alone.
Seeing that it did not go off, the Sisse-ton flew into a rage and broke
the gun into pieces. "I suppose," said he "that if a Mun-da-wah-can-ton
had told you to kill a buffalo, you would have done it, but you do not
regard what a Sisse-ton says." So he threw the pieces of the gun away,
and found his bow and arrows of far more service.
However naturally the usages of warfare may come to the Indians, they
are also made a part of their education.
The children are taught that it is wicked to murder without a cause;
but when offence has been given, they are in duty bound to retaliate.