While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is
here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate
for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting
ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!
It was in the spring of
1848, that several Dahcotahs were carefully making their way
along the forests near the borders of the Chippeway country.
There had recently been a fight near the spot where they were,
and the Dahcotahs were seeking the bodies of their friends who
had been slain, that they might take them home to bury them.
They moved noiselessly along, for their enemies were
near. Occasionally, one of them would imitate the cry of a bird
or of some animal, so that if the attention of their enemies
should be drawn to the spot, the slight noise they made in
moving might be attributed to any but the right cause.
They had almost given up the hope of finding their friends, and
this was the close of their last day's efforts to that intent.
In the morning they intended to return to their village.
It was a bright clear evening, and the rays of the
setting sun fell upon some objects further on. For a time the
Dahcotahs gazed in silence; but no movement gave sign of what it
was that excited their curiosity. All at once there was a
fearful foreboding; they remembered why they were there, and
they determined to venture near enough to find out what was the
nature of the object on which the rays of the sun seemed to rest
as if to attract their notice.
A few more steps and they were relieved from their
terrible suspense, but their worst fears were realized.
The Dahcotahs recently killed had been skinned by the
Chippeways, while their bodies were yet warm with life, and the
skins were stretched upon poles; while on separate poles the
hands were placed, with one finger of each hand pointing to the
Dahcotah country. The savages were in a fearful rage. They had
to endure a twofold insult.
There were the bodies of their friends, treated as if
they were but beasts, and evidently put there to be seen by the
Dahcotahs. And besides, the hands pointing to the country of the
Dahcotahs did it not plainly say to the spies, go back to your
country and say to your warriors, that the Chippeways despise
them, that they are not worthy to be treated as men?
The spies returned as cautiously as they had ventured
near the fatal spot, and it was not until they were out of reach
of danger from their foes, that they gave vent to their
indignation. Then their smothered rage burst forth. They
hastened to return and tell the event of their journey. They
forgot how grieved the wives and sisters of the dead would be at
being deprived of the solace of burying the remains of their
friends they only thought of revenge for the insult they had
received.
When they arrived at their village, they called
together their chiefs and braves, and related to them what they
had seen. A council of war was held, which resulted in immediate
preparations being made to resent the indignity offered to their
friends, and the insult to the whole tribe.
The war-dance is always celebrated before a war party
goes out to find an enemy, and there is in every village a war
chief, who conducts the party. The war dance is performed inside
of a wigwam, and not out of door, as is usually represented.
The "Owl" felt himself qualified in every respect to
conduct the present party. He was a great warrior, and a juggler
besides; and he had a reputation acquired from an act performed
when he was a very young man, which showed as much cunning as
bravery; for one of these qualities is as necessary to a
Dahcotah war chief as the other.
He was one of a party of Dahcotahs who went to war
against the Chippeways, but without success. On their way back
"the Owl" got separated from the rest of the party, and he
climbed a tree to see if he could discover his comrades. While
in the tree a war party of the Chippeways came in sight and
stopped quite near the tree to make their camp.
The Owl was in a sad predicament; he knew not what to
do to effect his escape. As he knew he had not the power to
contend with his enemies, he determined to have recourse to
stratagem. When it was quite dark he commenced hooting like an
owl, having previously transformed himself into one. The
Chippeways looked up towards the tree and asked the owl what he
was doing there. The owl replied that he had come to see a large
war party of Dahcotahs who would soon pass by. The Chippeways
took the hint, and took to their heels too, and ran home. The
Owl then resumed his form, got down from the tree and returned
home.
This wonderful incident, which he related of himself,
gave him a great reputation and a name besides; for until now he
had been called Chaske, a name always given to the oldest son;
but the Indians after this gave him the name of the Owl.
It being decided that the war party should leave as
soon as their preparations could be made, the war chief sent for
those who were to dance. The dance was performed every third or,
fourth night until the party left. For each dance the war chief
had a hew set of performers; only so many were asked at a time
as could conveniently dance inside the wigwam. While some were
dancing, others were preparing for the expedition, getting extra
moccasins made, drying meat, or parching corn.
When all was ready, the party set out, with every
confidence in their war chief. He was to direct them where to
find the enemy, and at the same time to protect them from being
killed themselves.
For a few days they hunted as they went along, and they
would build large fires at night, and tell long stories, to make
the time pass pleasantly.
The party was composed of about twenty warriors, and they all
obeyed implicitly the orders of their war chief, who appointed
some warriors to see that his directions were carried out by the
whole party. Wo to him who violates a single regulation! his gun
is broken, his blanket cut to pieces, and he is told to return
home. Such was the fate of Iron Eyes, who wandered from the
party to shoot a bird on the wing, contrary to the orders of
their chief. But although disgraced and forbidden to join in the
attempt to punish the Chippeways for the outrage they had
committed, he did not return to his village; he followed the
tracks of the war party, determining to see the fun if he could
not partake of it.
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 inapprehensive 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.
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 leggings, 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.
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,"13
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.
