CHAPTER XII.
Never, sure, did young people make a more grotesque appearance, than did Austin, Brian, and Basil Edwards, in their attempt to get up a buffalo dance. Each had a mat over his shoulders, and a brown paper mask over his face; two wooden pegs on a string made a very respectable pair of horns; bows and arrows were in abundance; a toy rattle and drum, with the addition of an iron spoon and a wooden trencher, supplied them with music; and neither Mandan, Pawnee, Crow, Sioux, Blackfoot, nor Camanchee, could have reasonably complained of the want of either noise or confusion.
Then, again, they were very successful in bringing buffaloes, without which the dance, excellent as it was, would have been but an unsatisfactory affair. Black Tom had been prudently shut up in the tool-house, and Jowler tied up to a tree hard by, so that, when it became expedient for buffaloes to appear, the house of Black Tom was opened, and Jowler was set at liberty. All things considered, the affair went off remarkably well.
“We are come to hear of the bear dance, and the dog dance, and the beggars’ dance, and the green corn dance,” said Austin to the hunter, on the following day, when a visit was paid to the cottage. The hunter, with his accustomed kindness to the young people, lost no time in entering on his narrative. “You must not forget,” said he, “that many of the dances of the Indians partake of a religious character, for in them reverence and adoration are freely offered. The Indians’ worship of the Great Spirit, as I have already told you, is mingled with much of ignorance and superstition, whether in dances or in other observances; yet do they, at times, leave upon the mind of a spectator a deep impression of their sincerity, though this does not excuse their error. I have not as yet described their music, and therefore will do it now.”
Austin. Yes. Now for the music of the Indians, if you please, sir.
Hunter. If you ever go among them, and mingle in their dances, you must not expect to have a band of music such as you have in our cities. Whistles, flutes, rattles and drums are almost all their musical instruments. You would be surprised at the music that some of the young Indians produce with the mystery whistle.
Austin. Why is it called the mystery whistle?
Hunter. I have already told you that the red man calls every thing mystery, or medicine, that is surprising; and as the notes of this whistle are particularly sweet, it may be called a mystery whistle on this account. There is another whistle that is very much in request among the Indians, and that is the war whistle. The onset and the retreat in battle are sounded on this instrument by the leading chief, who never goes on an expedition without it. It is made of bone, and sometimes it is formed of the leg bone of a large bird. The shrill, scream-like note, which is the signal for rushing on an enemy, would make you start.
Brian. What sort of a drum do they use? Is it a kettle-drum?
Hunter. No. It is merely a piece of raw hide, stretched as tight as it can be pulled over a hoop. Some of their drums have but one end, or surface, to beat upon, while others have two. What they would do in their dances without their drums I do not know, for you hear them continually. Their rattles are of different kinds, some much larger than others; but the principle on which they are formed is the same, that is, of enclosing stones of different sizes in hard, dry, raw hide.
Austin. Have they no trumpets and cymbals, and clarionets and violins?
Hunter. No, nothing of the kind. They have a deer-skin flute, on which very tolerable music is sometimes made; but, after all, it must be admitted that Indians are much better buffalo hunters than musicians.
Austin. Ay; they are quite at home in hunting buffaloes.
Hunter. Yes; and they are at home, too, in dancing, being extremely nimble of foot. Some of their dances are so hideous that you would be disgusted with them, while others would keep you laughing in spite of yourselves.
Brian. You must please to tell us about these dances.
Hunter. Dancing is a very favourite amusement of the Indians; though it is, for the most part, of a character so different from that of dancing in civilized life, that few people, ignorant of its meaning and allusions, would like it. The body is so continually in a stooping attitude, and the gestures and grimaces appear to be so unmeaning, that at first it leaves an impression that they are ridiculing the art of dancing, rather than entering into it in right earnest. There is such creeping and jumping and starting, that a spectator can make but little of it.
Austin. I can fancy that I see a party joining in the buffalo dance now, with their masks over their faces. Please to tell us of the bear dance.
Hunter. By and by. I will describe a few other dances first. The beggars’ dance is undertaken to prevail on such of the spectators as abound in comforts to give alms to those who are more scantily provided with them. It is danced by the young men who stand high in the tribe. These shake their rattles, hold up their pipes and brandish their lances, while they dance; chanting in an odd strain, at the top of their voices, in praise of the Great Spirit, and imploring him to dispose the lookers on to give freely. The dancers are all naked, with the exception of a sort of kilt formed of quills and feathers; and a medicine man keeps on all the time beating furiously on a drum with a rattle, and hallooing out as loud as he can raise his voice.
Austin. That ought to be called the begging dance, and not the beggars’ dance; for the dancers do not beg for themselves, but for others.
Hunter. You see that the object of the dance is a good one; for many a skin, or pouch, or pipe, or other necessary article, is given by the spectators to those of their tribe who need them. It is not common among the Indians for their aged men and mystery men to mingle in the dance, and yet I have seen, on especial occasions, a score of them jumping and capering in a way very creditable to their agility. The Sioux have a dance that ought to be called the doctors’ dance, or the dance of the chiefs.
Brian. Why, do the doctors dance in it?
Hunter. Yes; while a medicine man beats his drum, and a party of young women sing, the chiefs of the tribe and the doctors make their appearance, splendidly attired in their costliest head-dresses, carrying a spear in one hand and a rattle in the other. Every movement is strictly regulated by the beat of the drum, and the dance by degrees becomes more and more spirited, until you would suppose the party must be exhausted: but men so much in the open air, and whose limbs are so little restrained by bandages and tight clothing, can bear a great deal of fatigue. The pipe dance is one of the most animated amusements.
Basil. Oh! do tell us about the pipe dance.
Hunter. In the ground in the centre of the village a fire is lighted, and a party assemble round it; every one smoking his pipe, as he sits on his buffalo skin, as though nothing was farther from his thoughts than dancing. While these are whiffing away at a distance from the fire, a mystery man, who sits nearer to the flame, smokes a longer pipe, grunting at the same time a kind of tune. Suddenly is heard the rub-a-dub of a drum, or the beat of some other instrument of the same kind; when instantly starts to his feet one of the smokers, hopping like a parched pea, spinning round like a top, and starting and jumping, at every beat of the drum, in a very violent manner. In this way he goes round the smokers, seemingly threatening them all, and at last pounces upon one of them, whom he compels to dance in the same manner as himself. The new dancer acts his part like the former one, capering and jumping round the smokers, and compelling another to join them. Thus the dance continues, till all of them are occupied, when the hopping, the jumping, the frightful postures into which they throw themselves, together with the grunting, growling, singing, hooting and hallooing, are beyond all belief. There are few dances of the Indians more full of wild gestures and unrestrained turbulence than the pipe dance.
Basil. I hope you have a good many more dances to tell us of.
Hunter. The green corn dance of the Minatarees must be described to you. Among Indian tribes, green corn is a great luxury, and the time when it ripens is a time of rejoicing. Dances and songs of thanksgiving are abundant; and the people give way not only to feasting, but also to gluttony; so that often, by abusing the abundance in their possession, they bring upon themselves the miseries of want. The Indians have very little fore-thought. To enjoy the present, and to trust the future to the Great Spirit, is their constant practice.
Austin. How long does the green corn dance last?
Hunter. For eight or ten days, during which time there is the most unbounded prodigality. Among many of the tribes, the black drink, a very powerful medicine, is taken two or three days before the feast, that the green corn may be eaten with a sharp appetite and an empty stomach.
Brian. In what way does the green corn dance begin?
Hunter. As soon as the corn is in a proper state—and this is decided by the mystery men—runners are despatched through the village, that all may assemble on the following day to the dance and the feast. Sufficient corn for the required purpose is gathered by the women, who have the fields under their care, and a fire is made, over which a kettle, with green corn in it, is kept boiling; while medicine men, whose bodies are strangely painted, or bedaubed with clay of a white colour, dance round it in very uncouth attitudes, with corn-stalks in their hands.
Austin. I dare say, while the pot is boiling, they are all longing to begin the feast.
Hunter. The first kettle-full is not for themselves, it is an offering to the Great Spirit. There are many customs among the Indians which cannot but bring the Jews to our remembrance; and this offering of the first green corn does so very forcibly. The medicine men round the fire shake their rattles, hold up their corn-stalks, and sing loudly a song of thanksgiving, till the corn is sufficiently boiled; it is then put upon the fire and consumed to a cinder. Before this offering is made, none of the Indians would dare to taste of the luxurious fare; but, afterwards, their appetite is unrestrained.
Austin. Then they begin to boil more corn, I suppose.
Hunter. A fresh fire is made, a fresh kettle of corn is prepared, and the dance goes on; the medicine men keeping close to the fire, and the others capering and shouting in a larger circle, their energy increasing as the feast approaches nearer and nearer. The chiefs and medicine men then sit down to the feast, followed by the whole tribe, keeping up their festivity day after day, till the corn-field has little more grain remaining in it than what is necessary for seed. You have heard the saying, “Wilful waste brings woful want.” The truth of this saying is often set forth, as well in civilized life as among the Indians.
Basil. I wonder what dance will come next.
Hunter. I need not describe many others. If I run rapidly through two or three, and dwell a little on the bear dance and the war dance, you will then have heard quite enough about dances. The scalp dance is in use among the Sioux or Dahcotas. It is rather a fearful exhibition; for women, in the centre of a circle, hold up and wave about the scalps which have been torn from the slaughtered foes of the tribe, while the warriors draw around them in the most furious attitudes, brandishing their war-clubs, uttering the most hideous howls and screams. The Indians have many good qualities, but cruelty seems to mingle with their very nature. Every thing is done among them that can be done, to keep alive the desire to shed blood. The noblest act a red man can perform, and that which he thinks the most useful to his tribe and the most acceptable to the Great Spirit, is to destroy an enemy, and to bear away his scalp as a trophy of his valour. If it were only for this one trait in the Indian character, even this would be sufficient to convince every humane person, and especially every Christian, of the duty and great advantage of spreading among them the merciful principles of Christianity. A holy influence is necessary to teach the untutored red man to forgive his enemies, to subdue his anger, to abate his pride, and to stay his hand in shedding human blood. The new commandment must be put in his heart: “That ye love one another.” The Mandan boys used to join in a sham scalp dance, in which they conducted themselves just like warriors returning from a victorious enterprise against their enemies.
Basil. They are all sadly fond of fighting.
Hunter. In the brave dance, of the Ojibbeways, there is plenty of swaggering: the dancers seem as if they knew not how to be proud enough of their warlike exploits. The eagle dance, among the Choctaws, is an elegant amusement; and the snow-shoe dance, of the Ojibbeways, is a very amusing one.
Brian. Please to tell us about them both.
Hunter. I must not stay to describe them particularly: it will be enough to say, that, in the one, the dancers are painted white, and that they move about waving in their hands the tail of the eagle; in the other—which is performed on the first fall of snow, in honour of the Great Spirit—the dancers wear snow-shoes, which, projecting far before and behind their feet, give them in the dance a most strange and laughable appearance.
Brian. I should very much like to see that dance; there is nothing cruel in it at all.
Basil. And I should like to see the eagle dance, for there is no cruelty in that either.
Hunter. The straw dance is a Sioux dance of a very curious description. Loose straws are tied to the bodies of naked children; these straws are then set on fire, and the children are required to dance, without uttering any expression of pain. This practice is intended to make them hardy, that they may become the better warriors.
Basil. That is one of the strangest dances of all.
Hunter. I will now say a little about the bear dance, and the war dance. The bear dance is performed by the Sioux before they set off on a bear-hunt. If the bear dance were left unperformed, they would hardly hope for success. The Bear spirit, if this honour were not paid to him, would be offended, and would give them no success in the chase.
Austin. What! do the Sioux think there is a Bear spirit?
Hunter. Yes. The number of spirits of one kind or another, believed in by the Indians, is very great. In the bear dance, the principal performer has a bear-skin over him, the head of it hanging over his head, and the paws over his hands. Others have masks of bears’ faces; and all of them, throughout the dance, imitate the actions of a bear. They stoop down, they dangle their hands, and make frightful noises, beside singing to the Bear spirit. If you can imagine twenty bears dancing to the music of the rattle, whistle, and drum, making odd gambols, and yelling out the most frightful noises, you will have some notion of the bear dance.
Brian. Now for the war dance: that is come at last.
Hunter. It is hardly possible to conceive a more exciting spectacle than that of the war dance among the Sioux. It exhibits Indian manners on the approach of war. As, among civilized people, soldiers are raised either by recruiting or other means; so, among the Indians, something like recruiting prevails. The red pipe is sent through the tribe, and every one who draws a whiff up the stem thereby declares he is willing to join the war party. The warriors then assemble together, painted with vermilion and other colours, and dressed in their war clothes, with their weapons and their war-eagle head-dresses.
Austin. What a sight that must be!
Hunter. When the mystery man has stuck up a red post in the ground, and begun to beat his drum, the warriors advance, one after another, brandishing their war-clubs, and striking the red post a violent blow, while the mystery man sings their death-song. When the warriors have struck the post, they blacken their faces, and all set to dancing around it. The shrill war-whoop is screamed aloud, and frantic gestures and frightful yells show, but too plainly, that there will be very little mercy extended to the enemy that falls into their hands.
Brian. That war dance would make me tremble.
Hunter. The Mandan boys used to assemble at the back of their village, every morning, as soon as the sun was in the skies, to practise sham fighting. Under the guidance and direction of their ablest and most courageous braves and warriors, they were instructed in all the mysteries of war. The preparations, the ambush, the surprise, the combat and the retreat, were made familiar to them. Thus were they bred up from their youth to delight in warfare, and to long for opportunities of using their tomahawks and scalping-knives against their foes.
When you next come to see me, I will give you an account of the cruel customs of the mystery lodge of the Mandans; with the hope that it will increase your abhorrence of cruelty and bloodshed, render you more than ever thankful for the blessings of peace, and more anxious to extend them all over the earth. The hardest of all lessons now, to a red man, is, as I have before intimated, to forgive his enemies; but when, through Divine mercy, his knowledge is extended, and his heart opened to receive the truths of the gospel, he will be enabled to understand, to love, and to practise the injunction of the Saviour, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
CHAPTER XIII.
It was well for Austin Edwards and his brothers, that their acquaintance with their friend the hunter commenced during one of their holidays, so that they were enabled to pay him a visit more frequently than they otherwise could have done. The life led by the hunter would have been far too solitary for most people; but his long wanderings in the extended prairies, and his long sojournings in places remote from society, had rendered the quiet tranquillity of country scenes pleasant to him: yet, still, as variety has its charms, it afforded him a pleasant change, whenever the three brothers visited him.
In his younger days, he had entered on the life of a hunter and trapper with much ardour. To pursue the buffalo (or, more properly speaking, the bison) of the prairie, the deer, and other animals, and to mingle with the different tribes of Indians, was his delight. With wild animals and wild men he became familiar, and even the very dangers that beset his path gave an interest to his pursuits: but his youth was gone, his manhood was declining, and the world that he once looked upon as an abiding dwelling-place, he now regarded as the pathway to a better home.
Time was, when to urge the arrow or the spear into the heart of the flying prey for mere diversion, and to join in the wild war-whoop of contending tribes, was congenial to his spirit; but his mind had been sobered, so that now to practise forbearance and kindness was far more pleasant than to indulge in cruelty and revenge. He looked on mankind as one great family, which ought to dwell in brotherly love; and he regarded the animal creation as given by a heavenly Hand, for the use, and not the abuse, of man.
In relating the scenes in which he had mingled in earlier years, he was aware that he could not avoid calling up, in some measure, in the youthful hearts of his auditors, the natural desire to see what was new and strange and wonderful, without reflecting a moment on the good or the evil of the thing set before them: but he endeavoured to blend with his descriptions such remarks as would lead them to love what was right and to hate what was wrong. Regarding the Indian tribes as an injured people, he sought to set before his young friends the wrongs and oppressions practised on the red man; that they might sympathize with his trials, and feel interested for his welfare.
The few words that had dropped from his lips, about the ordeal through which the Indians pass before they are allowed to join war-parties, had awakened Austin’s curiosity. Nor was it long before, seated with his brothers in the cottage, he was listening to the whole account. “Please to begin at the very beginning,” said he, “and I shall not lose a single word.”
Hunter. The Sioux, the Crows, the Sacs, the Ojibbeways, the Camanchees, and the Chippewas, all exhibit astonishing proofs of patience and endurance under pain; but in none of the tribes has ever such torture been inflicted, or such courage witnessed, in enduring torment, as among the Mandans.
Brian. Now we shall hear.
Hunter. The Mandans, who, as I have already told you, lived, when I was a hunter, on the Upper Missouri, held a mystery lodge every year; and this was indeed a very solemn gathering of the tribe. I was never present in the lodge on this occasion, but will give you the description of an eye-witness.
Basil. Why did they get together? What did they do?
Hunter. You shall hear. The mystery lodge, or it may be called the religious meeting, was held, first, to appease the wrath and secure the protection of the good and the evil spirits; secondly, to celebrate the great flood, which they believed took place a long time ago; thirdly, to perform the buffalo dance, to bring buffaloes; and, fourthly, to try the strength, courage and endurance of their young men, that they might know who were the most worthy among them, and the most to be relied on in war-parties.
Austin. How came the Mandans to know any thing about the flood, if they have no Bibles?
Hunter. That I cannot tell. Certain it is, that they had a large, high tub, called the Great Canoe, in the centre of their village, set up in commemoration of the flood; and that they held the mystery lodge when the willow leaves were in their prime under the river bank, because, they said, a bird had brought a willow bough in full leaf to the Great Canoe in the flood.
Austin. Why, it is just as if they had read the Bible.
Hunter. The fact of the deluge (however they came by it) had undoubtedly been handed down among them by tradition for many generations: but I must go on with my account of the Mandan gathering. The mystery lodge was opened by a strange-looking man, whom no one seemed to know, and who came from the prairie. This odd man called for some edge-tool at every wigwam in the village; and all these tools, at the end of the ceremonies, were cast into the river from a high bank; as an offering, I suppose, to the Water spirit. After opening the mystery lodge, and appointing a medicine man to preside, he once more disappeared on the prairie.
Hunter. Twenty or thirty young men were in the lodge, candidates for reputation among the tribe, who had presented themselves to undergo the prescribed tortures. As they reclined in the lodge, every one had hung up over his head, his shield, his bow and quiver, and his medicine bag. The young men were painted different colours. The old mystery man appointed to superintend the ceremonies sat by a fire in the middle of the lodge, smoking leisurely with his medicine pipe, in honour of the Great Spirit; and there he sat for four days, and as many nights, during which the young men neither tasted food nor drink, nor were they allowed to close their eyes.
Basil. It was enough to kill them all.
Hunter. On the floor of the lodge were buffalo and human skulls, and sacks filled with water, shaped like tortoises, with sticks by them. During each of the four days, the buffalo dance was performed over and over again, by Indians, painted, and wearing over them whole buffalo skins, with tails and hoofs and horns; while in their hands they carried rattles, and long, thin, white wands, and bore on their backs bundles of green boughs of the willow. Some of the dancers were painted red, to represent the day; and others black, with stars, to resemble the night. During these dances, which took place round the Great Canoe, the tops of the wigwams were crowded with people.
Austin. I want to hear about the young Indians in the lodge, and that old fellow, the mystery man.
Hunter. The superstitious and cruel practices of the mystery lodge are too fearful to dwell upon. I shall only just glance at them, that you may know, in some degree, the kind of trials the young Indians have to endure. While the dances were going on, mystery men, inside the lodge, were beating on the water sacks with sticks, and animating the young men to act courageously, telling them that the Great Spirit was sure to support them. Splints, or wooden skewers, were then run through the flesh on the back and breasts of the young warriors, and they were hoisted up, with cords fastened to the splints, towards the top of the lodge. Not a muscle of their features expressed fear or pain.
Basil. Shocking! shocking!
Brian. That must be horrible!
Hunter. After this, other splints were run through their arms, thighs and legs; and on these were hung their shields, arms and medicine bags. In this situation they were taunted, and turned round with poles till they fainted; and when, on being let down again, they recovered, those who had superior hardihood would crawl to the buffalo skull in the centre of the lodge, and lay upon it the little finger of their left hand to be chopped off; and even the loss of a second or third finger is counted evidence of superior boldness and devotion. After this, they were hurried along between strong and fleet runners: this was called “the last race,” round and round the Great Canoe, till the weight of their arms having pulled the splints from their bodies, they once more fainted, and in this state, apparently dead, they were left to themselves, to live or die, as the Great Spirit might determine.
Austin. I should think that hardly any of them would ever come to life again.
Hunter. Nor would they, under common circumstances; but, when we consider that these young men had fasted for four days, and lost much blood in their tortures, there was not much danger of inflammation from their wounds, and their naturally strong constitutions enabled them to recover. All these tortures were willingly undertaken; nor would any one of those who endured them, on any account whatever, have evaded them. To propitiate the Great Spirit, and to stand well in the estimation of his own tribe, are the two highest objects in the mind of an Indian.
The day after that on which Austin and his brothers heard from the hunter the account of the mystery lodge, and the sufferings of the young Mandans before they were thought equal to engage in a war-party, two or three little accidents occurred. In the first place, Austin, in making a new bow, cut a deep gash in his finger: and, in the next, Brian and Basil, in scrambling among the hedges in quest of straight twigs for arrows, met with their mishaps; for Brian got a thorn in his thumb, while Basil had a roll down the bank into a dry ditch.
It is always a good sign in young people, when they put into practice any real or supposed good quality of which they hear or read. The patience and endurance of the young Mandans had called forth high commendations from Austin, and it was evident, in the affair of the cut finger, that he made a struggle, and a successful one too, in controlling his feelings. With an air of resolution, he wrapped the end of his pocket handkerchief tightly round the wound, and passed off the occurrence as a matter of no moment. Not a word escaped little Basil when he rolled into the ditch; nor did Brian utter a single “oh!” when the thorn was extracted from his thumb.
“You may depend upon it,” said Austin, after some conversation with Brian and Basil, on the subject of the young Mandans, “that the next time we see the hunter, we shall hear something about the way in which red men go to war. The sham fight, and the preparation of the young warriors, will be followed by some account of their battles.” In this supposition he was quite correct; for, when they next visited the cottage, the hunter proposed to speak a little about councils and encampments and alarms and surprises and attacks. The conversation was carried on in the following manner.
Austin. How do the Indians poison their arrows?
Hunter. By dipping the point of the arrow-head into the poison prepared. The head of the arrow, as I told you, is put on very slightly, so that it remains in the wound when the arrow is withdrawn.
Brian. Where do they get their poison? What is it made of?
Hunter. No doubt there is some difference in the manner of preparing poison among the different tribes. But, usually, it is, I believe, composed of deadly vegetable substances, slowly boiled together, sometimes mingled with the mortal poison of snakes and ants. This is prepared with great care. Its strength is usually tried on a lizard, or some other cold-blooded, slow-dying animal. It is rapid in its effects; for, if a fowl be wounded with a poisoned weapon, it dies in a few minutes; a cat dies in five minutes; a bison, in five or six; and a horse, in ten. Jaguars and deer live but a short time after they are thus wounded. If, then, horses and bisons are so soon destroyed by the poison, no wonder that men should be unable to endure its fatal effects.
Before war is determined on among the Indians, a council is held with great solemnity. The chiefs, and braves, and medicine men are assembled. Then the enlisting takes place, which I have already described; the war dance is engaged in, and weapons are examined and repaired. The chief, arrayed in full dress, leads on his band. They march with silence and rapidity, and encamp with great caution, appointing sentinels in every necessary direction. Thus, lurking, skulking and marching, they reach the place of their destination. Another war council is held, to decide on the mode of attack; and then, with rifles, war-clubs, scalping-knives and bows and poisoned arrows, they fall upon their unsuspecting foes.
Brian. It is very sad to fight with such weapons as poisoned arrows.
Hunter. It is sad to fight with any kind of weapons; but, when once anger enters the heart, and the desire to shed blood is called forth, no mode is thought too cruel that will assist in obtaining a victory. The continual warfare that is carried on between Indian tribes must be afflictive to every humane and Christian spirit. None but the God of peace can destroy the love of war in the hearts of either red or white men.
Indians fight in a way very different from civilized people; for they depend more on cunning, stratagem and surprise, than on skill and courage. Almost all their attacks are made under cover of night, or when least expected. A war-party will frequently go a great distance, to fall upon a village or an encampment on a quarter most accessible. To effect their object, they will hide for any length of time in the forest, sleep in the long grass, lurk in the ravine, and skulk at nightfall around the place to be attacked.
Austin. Did you ever go out with the Indians to fight?
Hunter. Yes. For some time I was treated very hospitably among the Crows, near the Rocky Mountains; and as they had determined to go on one of their war-parties, which I could not prevent, I resolved to go along with them, to watch their way of proceeding.
Austin. Do tell us all about it.
Hunter. It was a thoughtless and foolish affair, when I was young and rash; but I wished to be a spectator of all their customs. It was, as I said, one of those foolish undertakings into which the ardour of my disposition led me, and for which I was very near paying the price of my life. A council was held, wherein it was decided to send a strong war-party on foot to surprise a Blackfoot village. Every stratagem had been used to lull the enemy into security.
Brian. Ay; that is just like the Indians.
Hunter. The red pipe was sent through the tribe, for the warriors to smoke with it, much after the manner of the Sioux; the red post was struck, and the braves and attendants painted their faces. When the plan of attack was agreed on, every warrior looked to his weapons; neither bow nor arrow, war-club nor scalping-knife, was left unexamined. There was an earnestness in their preparation, as though they were all animated with one spirit.
It was some time after sundown, that we left the village at a quick pace. Runners were sent out in all directions, to give notice of an enemy. We hastened along a deep valley, rounded the base of a bluff, and entered the skirt of a forest, following each other in files beneath the shadowy branches. We then passed through some deep grass, and stole silently along several defiles and ravines. The nearer we drew to the Blackfoot village, the more silently and stealthily we proceeded. Like the panther, creeping with noiseless feet on his prey, we stole along the intricate pathways of the prairie bottoms, the forest, the skirt of the river and the hills and bluffs. At last we made a halt, just as the moon emerged from behind a cloud.
Austin. Then there was terrible work, I dare say.
Hunter. It was past midnight, and the Blackfoot village was wrapped in slumber. The Crow warriors dispersed themselves to attack the village at the same instant from different quarters. The leader had on his full dress, his medicine bag, and his head-dress of war-eagle plumes. All was hushed in silence, nearly equal to that of the grave; when suddenly the shrill war-whistle of the Crow chief rung through the Blackfoot lodges, and the wild war-whoop burst at once from a hundred throats. The chief was in the thickest of the fight. There was no pity for youth or age; the war-club spared not, and the tomahawk was merciless. Yelling like fiends, the Crow warriors fled from hut to hut, from victim to victim. Neither women nor children were spared.
Hunter. Though taken thus by surprise, the Blackfoot braves, in a little time, began to collect together, clutching their weapons firmly, and rushing on their enemies, determined to avenge their slaughtered friends. The panic into which they had been thrown subsided, and, like men accustomed to danger, they stood not only in self-defence, but attacked their foes with fury.
Austin. I wonder that every one in the Blackfoot village was not killed!
Hunter. In civilized life, this would very likely have been the case; but in a savage state, men from their childhood are trained up to peril. They may lie down to slumber on their couches of skins, but their weapons are near at hand; and though it be the midnight hour when an attack is made on them, and though, awakened by the confusion, they hear nothing but the war-cry of their enemy, they spring to their feet, seize their arms, and rush on to meet their foes. It was thus with the Blackfoot braves. Hand to hand, and foot to foot, they met their assailants; brave was opposed to brave; and the horrid clash of the war-club and the murderous death-grapple succeeded each other. Even if I could describe the horrors of such a scene, it would not be right to do so. As I was gazing on the conflict, I suddenly received a blow that struck me bleeding to the ground. You may see the scar on my temple still. The confusion was at its height, or else my scalp would have been taken.
Brian. How did you get away?
Hunter. Stunned as I was, I recovered my senses before a retreat took place, and was just able to effect my escape. The Crows slaughtered many of their enemies; but the Blackfoot warriors and braves were at last too strong for them. Then was heard the shrill whistle that sounded a retreat. With a dozen scalps in their possession, the Crows sought the shelter of the forest, and afterwards regained their own village.
Austin. Are the Crow tribe or the Blackfoot tribe the strongest?
Hunter. The Crow Indians, as I told you, are taller and more elegant men than the Blackfeet; but the latter have broader chests and shoulders. The Blackfeet, some think, take their name from the circumstance of their wearing black, or very dark brown leggings and mocassins. Whether, as a people, the Crows or the Blackfeet are the strongest, there is a diversity of opinion. The Blackfeet are almost always at war with the Crows.
Austin. What battling there must be among them!
Hunter. Their war-parties are very numerous, and their encampments are very large: and, whether seen in the day, in the midst of their lodges; or at night, wrapped in their robes, with their arms in their hands, ready to leap up if attacked by an enemy; they form a striking spectacle. Sometimes, in a night encampment, a false alarm takes place. A prowling bear, or a stray horse, is taken for a foe; and sometimes a real alarm is occasioned by spies crawling on their hands and knees up to their very encampment to ascertain their strength. On these occasions the shrill whistle is heard, every man springs up armed and rushes forth, ready to resist his assailing enemy. I have seen war-parties among the Crows and Blackfeet, the Mandans and Sioux, the Shawanees, Poncas, Pawnees and Seminoles. But a Camanchee war-party, mounted on wild horses, with their shields, bows and lances, which I once witnessed, was the most imposing spectacle of the kind I ever saw. The chief was mounted on a beautiful war-horse, wild as the winds, and yet he appeared to manage him with ease. He was in full dress, and seemed to have as much fire in his disposition as the chafed animal on which he rode. In his bridle-hand, he clutched his bow and several arrows; with his other hand, he wielded his long lance; while his quiver and shield were slung at his back, and his rifle across his thigh.
Austin. I think I can see him. But what colour was his war-horse?
Hunter. Black as a raven; but the white foam lay in thick flakes on his neck and breast, for his rider at every few paces stuck the sharp rowels of his Spanish spurs into his sides. He had a long flowing mane and tail, and his full and fiery eyes seemed ready to start out of his head. The whole Camanchee band was ready to rush into any danger. At one time, they were flying over the prairie in single file; and at another, drawn up all abreast of each other. The Camanchees and the Osages used to have cruel battles one with another. The Mandans and the Riccarees, too, were relentless enemies.
Brian. And the Sacs and Foxes were great fighters, for Black Hawk was a famous fellow.
Hunter. Yes, he was. But I have never told you, I believe, how the medicine man, or mystery man, conducts himself when called unto a wounded warrior.
Austin. Not a word of it. Please to tell us every particular.
Hunter. In some cases cures are certainly performed; in others, the wounded get well of themselves: but, in most instances, the mystery man is a mere juggler.
Basil. Now we shall hear of the mystery man.
Hunter. The Crow war-party that I had joined brought away two of their wounded warriors when they retreated from the Blackfoot village, but there seemed to be no hope of saving their lives. However, a mystery man was called on to use his skill.
Austin. Ay; I want to know how the mystery man cures his patients.
Hunter. If ever you should require a doctor, I hope you will have one more skilful than the mystery man that I am going to describe. The wounded warriors were in extremity, and I thought that one of them was dying before the mystery man made his appearance; but you shall hear. The wounded men lay groaning on the ground, with Indians around them, who kept moaning even louder than they did; when, all at once, a scuffle of feet and a noise like that of a low rattle were heard.
Austin. The mystery man was coming, I suppose.
Hunter. He was; and a death-like silence was instantly preserved by all the attendant Indians. In came the mystery man, covered over with the shaggy hide of a yellow bear, so that, had it not been that his mocassins, leggings and hands were visible, you might have supposed a real bear was walking upright, with a spear in one paw, and a rattle, formed like a tambourine, in the other.
Basil. He could never cure the dying man with his tambourine.
Hunter. From the yellow bear-skin hung a profusion of smaller skins, such as those of different kinds of snakes, toads, frogs and bats; with hoofs of animals, beaks and tails of birds, and scraps and fragments of other things; a complete bundle of odds and ends. The medicine man came into the circle, bending his knees, crouching, sliding one foot after the other along the ground, and now and then leaping and grunting. You could not see his face, for the yellow bear-head skin covered it, and the paws dangled before him. He shuffled round and round the wounded men, shaking his rattle and making all kinds of odd noises; he then stopped to turn them over.
Austin. He had need of all his medicine.
Hunter. Hardly had he been present a minute, before one of the men died; and, in ten minutes more, his companion breathed his last. The medicine man turned them over, shook his rattle over them, howled, groaned and grunted; but it would not do; the men were dead, and all his mummery would not bring them back to life again; so, after a few antics of various kinds, he shuffled off with himself, shaking his rattle, and howling and groaning louder than ever. You may remember, that I told you of the death of Oseola, the Seminole chief: he who struck his dagger through the treaty that was to sign away the hunting-grounds of his tribe, in exchange for distant lands.
Austin. Yes. You said that he dashed his dagger not only through the contract, but also through the table on which it lay.
Brian. And you told us that he was taken prisoner by treachery and died in captivity.
Hunter. Now I will tell you the particulars of his death; for I only said before, that he died pillowed on the faithful bosom of his wife. He had his two wives with him when he died, but one was his favourite.
Austin. Please to let us know every thing about him. It was at Fort Moultrie in Charleston, South Carolina.
Hunter. Finding himself at the point of death, he made signs that the chiefs and officers might be assembled, and his wishes were immediately complied with. The next thing he desired was, that his war-dress, that dress in which he had so often led his tribe to victory, might be brought to him. His wife waited obediently upon him, and his war-dress was placed before him.
Basil. What could he want of his war-dress when he was going to die?
Austin. Wait a little, Basil, and you will hear all about it, I dare say.
Hunter. It was an affecting sight, to see him get up from his bed on the floor, once more to dress himself as a chief of his tribe, just as if he was about to head an expedition against the whites. Well, he put on his rich mocassins, his leggings adorned with scalp-locks, his shirt and his ornamental belt of war. Nor did he forget the pouch that carried his bullets, the horn that held his powder; nor the knife with which he had taken so many scalps.
Brian. How very strange for a dying man to dress himself in that way!
Hunter. In all this, he was as calm and as steady as though about to hunt in the woods with his tribe. He then made signs, while sitting up in his bed, that his red paint should be given him, and his looking-glass held up, that he might paint his face.
Austin. And did he paint his face himself?
Hunter. Only one half of it; after which his throat, neck, wrists and the backs of his hands were made as red as vermilion would make them. The very handle of his knife was coloured over in the same way.
Basil. What did he paint his hands and his knife-handle for?
Hunter. Because it was the custom of his tribe, and of his fathers before him, to paint themselves and their weapons red, whenever they took an oath of destruction to their enemies. Oseola did it, no doubt, that he might die like a chief of his tribe; that he might show those around him, that, even in death, he did not forget that he was a Seminole warrior. In that awful hour, he put on his splendid turban with its three ostrich feathers, and then, being wearied with the effort he had made, he lay down to recover his strength.
Austin. How weak he must have been!
Hunter. In a short time he rose again, sitting in his full dress like the leader of a warlike tribe, and calmly and smilingly extended his hand to the chiefs and officers, to his wives and his children. But this, his last effort, exhausted his remaining strength. He was lowered down on the bed, calmly drew his scalping-knife from its sheath under his war-belt, where it had been placed, and grasped it with firmness and dignity. With his hands crossed on his manly breast, and with a smile on his face, he breathed his last. Thus passed away the spirit of Oseola.
Austin. Poor Oseola! He died like a chief, at last.
Hunter. He did, but not like a Christian, and, very likely, when he grasped his scalping-knife, before his last breath forsook him, some glowing vision of successful combat was before him. In the pride of his heart, perhaps, he was leading on his braves to mingle in the clash of battle and the death-grapple with his enemies. But is this a fit state of mind for a man to die in? Much as we may admire the steady firmness and unsubdued courage of an Indian warrior in death, emotions of pride and high-mindedness, and thoughts of bloodshed and victory, are as far removed as possible from the principles of Christianity, and most unsuitable to a dying hour. Humility, forgiveness, repentance, hope, faith, peace and joy, are needed at such a season; and the time will come, we trust, when Indians, taught better by the gospel, will think and feel so.