Never did the sun shine brighter than on a cold day in
December, when the Indians at "Little Crow's" village were
preparing to go on a deer hunt. The Mississippi was frozen, and
the girls of the village had the day before enjoyed one of their
favorite amusements a ball-play on the ice. Those who owned the
bright cloths and calicoes which were hung up before their eyes,
as an incentive to win the game, were still rejoicing over their
treasures; while the disappointed ones were looking sullen, and
muttering of partiality being shown to this one because she was
beautiful, and to that, because she was the sister of the chief.
"Look at my head!" said Harpstenah; "Wenona knew that I was
the swiftest runner in the band, and as I stooped to catch the
ball she struck me a blow that stunned me, so that I could not
run again."
But the head was so ugly, and the face too, that there was
no pity felt for her; those dirty, wrinkled features bore
witness to her contempt for the cleansing qualities of water.
Her uncombed hair was hanging in masses about her ears and face,
and her countenance expressed cruelty and passion. But
Harpstenah had nothing to avenge; when she was young she was
passed by, as there was nothing in her face or disposition that
could attract; and now in the winter of life she was so ugly and
so desolate, so cross and so forlorn, that no one deemed her
worthy even of a slight. But for all that, Harpstenah could
hate, and with all the intensity of her evil heart did she hate
Wenona, the beautiful sister of the chief.
Yesterday had been as bright as to-day, and Grey Eagle, the
medicine man, had hung on a pole the prizes that were to be
given to the party that succeeded in throwing the ball into a
space marked off.
The maidens of the village were all dressed in their gayest
clothing, with ornaments of beads, bracelets, rings, and ribbons
in profusion. They cared not half so much for the prizes, as
they rejoiced at the opportunity of displaying their graceful
persons. The old women were eager to commence the game, for they
longed to possess the cloth for their leggings, and the calico
for their "okendokendas."7 The women, young and old, were divided into two
parties; but as one party threw the ball towards the space
marked off, the others threw it back again far over their heads,
and then all ran back, each party
endeavoring to reach it first, that they might succeed in
placing the ball in the position which was to decide the game.
But the ball is not thrown by the hand, each woman has a
long stick with a circular frame at the end of it; this they
call a bat stick, and, simple as it looks, it requires great
skill to manage it.
Wenona was the swiftest runner of one party, and Harpstenah,
old and ugly as she was, the best of the other. How excited they
are! the snow-covered hills, majestic and silent, look coldly
enough upon their sport; but what care they? the prize will soon
be won.
The old medicine man cheered them on. "Run fast, Wenona!
take care that Harpstenah does not win the game. Ho, Harpstenah!
if you and your leggings are old, you may have the cloth yet."
Now Wenona's party is getting on bravely, but the ball has
been caught and thrown back by the other party. But at last it
is decided. In the struggle for the ball, Harpstenah received a
blow from an old squaw as dismal looking as herself, and Wenona
catches the ball and throws it into the appointed place. The
game is ended, and the medicine man comes forward to distribute
the prizes.
The warriors have looked on, admiring those who were
beautiful and graceful, and laughing at the ugly and awkward.
But Wenona cared little for the prizes. She was a chief's
sister, and she was young and beautiful. The handsomest presents
were given her, and she hardly looked at the portion of the
prizes which fell to her lot.
Smarting with pain from the blow she had received, (and she
spoke falsely when she said Wenona had struck her,) stung with
jealousy at the other party having won the game, Harpstenah
determined on revenge, "If I am old," she said, "I will live
long enough to bring misery on her; ugly as I may be, I will
humble the proud beauty. What do I eat? The worthless heads of
birds are given to the old woman for whom nobody cares, but my
food will be to see the eye of Wenona fall beneath the laugh of
scorn. I will revenge the wrongs of my life on her."
Commend me to a Dahcotah woman's revenge! Has she been
slighted in love? Blood must be shed; and if she is not able to
accomplish the death of her rival, her own life will probably
pay the forfeit. Has disgrace or insult been heaped upon her? a
life of eighty years is not long enough to bring down vengeance
on the offender. So with Harpstenah. Her life had not been a
blessing to herself she would make it a curse to others.
In the preparations for the deer hunt, the ball-play has
been forgotten. The women are putting together what will be
necessary for their comfort during their absence, and the men
are examining their guns and bows and arrows. The young girls
anticipate amusement and happiness, for they will assist their
lovers to bring in the deer to the camp; and the jest and merry
laugh, and the words of love are spoken too. The ball-play has
been forgotten by all but Harpstenah.
But it is late in the afternoon; and as they do not start
till the morning, something must be done to pass the long
evening. "If this were full," said a young hunter, kicking at
the same time an empty keg that had once contained whiskey, "if
this were full, we would have a merry night of it."
"Yes," said Grey Iron, whose age seemed to have brought him
wisdom, "the night would be merry, but where would you be the
day after. Did you not, after drinking that very whiskey, strike
a white woman, for which you were taken to the fort by the
soldiers, and kept as a prisoner?"
The young man's look of mortification at this reproof did
not save him from the contemptuous sneer of his companions, for
all despise the Dahcotah who has thus been punished. No act of
bravery can wipe away his disgrace.
But Wenona sat pale and sad in her brother's wigwam. The
bright and happy looks of yesterday were all gone. Her
sister-in-law has hushed her child to sleep, and she is resting
from the fatigues of the day. Several old men, friends of Little
Crow's father, are sitting round the fire; one has fallen
asleep, while the others talk of the wonderful powers of their
sacred medicine.
"Why are you sad, Wenona," said the chief, turning to her;
"why should the eyes of a chief's sister be filled with tears,
and her looks bent on the ground?"
"You need not ask why I am not happy," said Wenona: "Red
Cloud brought presents to you yesterday; he laid them at the
door of your wigwam. He wants to buy me, and you have received
his gifts; why do you not return them? you know I do not love
him."
"Red Cloud is a great warrior," replied the chief; "he
wears many feathers of honor; you must marry him."
The girl wrapped herself in her blanket and lay down. For a
time her sighs were heard but at length sleep came to her
relief, and her grief was forgotten in dreams. But morn has come
and they are to make an early start. Was ever such confusion?
Look at that old hag knocking the very senses out of her
daughter's head because she is not ready! and the girl, in order
to avoid the blows, stumbles over an unfortunate dog, who
commences a horrible barking and whining, tempting all the dogs
of the village to out bark and out whine him.
There goes "White Buffalo" with his two wives, the first
wife with the teepee on her back and her child on the top of it.
No wonder she looks so cross, for the second wife walks
leisurely on. Now is her time, but let her beware! for White
Buffalo is thinking seriously of taking a third.
But they are all off at last. Mothers with children, and
corn, and teepees, and children with dogs on their backs. They
are all gone, and the village looks desolate and forsaken.
The party encamped about twenty miles from the village. The
women plant the poles of their teepees firmly in the ground and
cover them with a buffalo skin. A fire is soon made in the
centre and the corn put on to boil. Their bread is kneaded and
put in the ashes to bake, but flour is not very plenty among
them.
The next day parties were out in every direction; tracks of
deer were seen in the snow, and the hunters followed them up.
The beautiful animal flies in terror from the death which comes
surer and swifter than her own light footsteps. The hunter's
knife is soon upon her, and while warmth and even life are left,
the skin is drawn off.
After the fatigues of the day comes the long and pleasant
evening. A bright fire burned in the wigwam of the chief, and
many of the Indians were smoking around it, but Wenona was sad,
and she took but little part in the laughter and merriment of
the others.
Red Cloud boasted of his bravery and his deeds of valor;
even the old men listened to him with respect, for they knew
that his name was a terror to his enemies. But Wenona turned
from him! she hated to hear the sound of his voice.
The old men talked of the mighty giant of the Dahcotahs, he
who needed not to take his gun to kill the game he wanted; the
glance of his eye would strike with death the deer, the buffalo,
or even the bear.
The song, the jest, the legend, by turns occupied them
until they separated to sleep. But as the warriors stepped into
the open air, why does the light of the moon fall upon faces
pale with terror? "See!" said the chief, "how flash the
mysterious lights! there is danger near, some dreadful calamity
is threatening us."
"We will shoot at them," said Red Cloud; "we will destroy
their power." And the Indians discharged their guns in quick
succession towards the northern horizon, which was brilliantly
illuminated with the Aurora Borealis; thus hoping to ward off
coming danger.
The brother and sister were left alone at the door of the
teepee. The stern warrior's looks expressed superstitious
terror, while the maiden's face was calm and fearless. "Do you
not fear the power of the woman who sits in the north, Wenona?
she shows those flashes of light to tell us of coming evil."
"What should I fear," said Wenona; "I, who will soon join
my mother, my father, my sisters, in the land of spirits? Listen
to my words, my brother: there are but two of us; strife and
disease have laid low the brave, the good, the beautiful; we are
the last of our family; you will soon be alone.
"Before the leaves fell from the trees, as I sat on the
banks of the Mississippi, I saw the fairy of the water. The moon
was rising, but it was not yet bright enough for me to see her
figure distinctly. But I knew her voice; I had often heard it in
my dreams. 'Wenona,' she said, (and the waves were still that
they might hear her words), 'Wenona, the lands of the Dahcotah
are green and beautiful but there are fairer prairies than those
on earth. In that bright country the forest trees are ever
green, and the waves of the river flow on unchilled by the
breath of winter. You will not long be with the children of the
earth.
Even now your sisters are calling you, and your mother is
telling them that a few more months will bring you to their
side!
"The words were true, my brother, but I knew not that your
harshness would hasten my going. You say that I shall marry Red
Cloud; sooner will I plunge my knife into my heart; sooner shall
the waves of the Mississippi roll over me. Brother, you will
soon be alone!"
"Speak not such words, my sister," said the chief; "it
shall be as you will. I have not promised Red Cloud. I thought
you would be happy if you were his wife, and you shall not be
forced to marry him. But why should you think of death? you saw
our braves as they shot at the lights in the north. They have
frightened them away. Look! they flash no more. Go in, and
sleep, and to-morrow I will tell Red Cloud that you love him
not."
And the cloudless moon shone on a happy face, and the
bright stars, seemed more bright as Wenona gazed upon them; but
as she turned to enter the wigwam, one star was seen falling in
the heavens, and the light that followed it was lost in the
brightness of the others. And her dreams were not happy, for the
fairy of the water haunted them. "Even as that star, Wenona,
thou shalt pass from all that thou lovest on earth; but weep
not, thy course is upward!"
The hunters were so successful that they returned to their
village soon. The friends of Wenona rejoiced in her happy looks,
but to Harpstenah they were bitterness and gall. The angry
countenance of Red Cloud found an answering chord in her own
heart.
"Ha!" said she to him, as he watched Wenona and her lover
talking together, "what has happened? Did you not say you would
marry the chief's sister why then are you not with her? Red
Cloud is a great warrior, why should he be sad because Wenona
loves him not? Are there not maidens among the Dahcotahs more
beautiful than she? She never loved you; her brother, too, has
treated you with contempt. Listen to my words, Red Cloud; the
Virgin's Feast is soon to be celebrated, and she will enter the
ring for the last time. When she comes forward, tell her she is
unworthy. Is she not a disgrace to the band? Has she not shamed
a brave warrior? Will you not be despised when another is
preferred to you?"
The words of the tempter are in his ear madness and hatred
are in his heart.
"I said I would take her life, but my revenge will be
deeper. Wenona would die rather than be disgraced." And as he
spoke Harpstenah turned to leave him, for she saw that the
poison had entered his soul.
Among the Dahcotahs, women are not excluded from joining in
their feasts or dances; they dance the scalp dance while the men
sit round and sing, and they join in celebrating many of the
customs of their tribe. But the Virgin's Feast has reference to
the women alone; its object is not to celebrate the deeds of the
warrior, but rather to put to the test the virtue of the maiden.
Notice was given among the Indians that the Virgin's Feast
was to be celebrated at Little Crow's village; the time was
mentioned, and all who chose to attend were welcome to do so.
The feast was prepared in the neighborhood of the village.
The boiled corn and venison were put in wooden bowls, and the
Indians sat round, forming a ring. Those who were to partake of
the feast were dressed in their gayest apparel; their long hair
plaited and falling over their shoulders. Those who are
conscious of error dare not approach the feast, for it is a part
of the ceremony that they shall be exposed by any one present.
Neither rank nor beauty must interpose to prevent the
punishment. Nay, sometimes the power of innocence and virtue
itself is not sufficient to guard the Dahcotah maiden from
disgrace.
And was Wenona unworthy? The white snow that covered the
hills was not more pure than she. But Red Cloud cared not for
that. She had refused to be the light of his wigwam, and thus
was he avenged.
Wenona advanced with the maidens of the village. Who can
describe her terror and dismay when Red Cloud advances and leads
her from the sacred ring? To whom shall the maiden turn for
help? To her brother? his angry countenance speaks not of
comfort. Her friends? the smile of scorn is on their lips. Her
lover? he has left the feast.
Her determination is soon made; her form is seen as she
flies to the woods. Death is the refuge of the friendless and
the wronged.
But as night came on the relatives of Wenona wondered that
she did not return. They sought her, and they found her lifeless
body; the knife was deep in her heart. She knew she was
innocent, but what did that avail her? She was accused by a
warrior, and who would believe her if she denied the charge?
And why condemn her that she deprived herself of life,
which she deemed worthless, when embittered by unmerited
contempt. She knew not that God has said, "Thou shall do no
murder." The command had never sounded in her ears.
She trusted to find a home in the House of Spirits she may
have found a heaven in the mercy of God.
The fever of the following summer spared neither age nor
youth, and Red Cloud was its first victim. As the dying
Harpstenah saw his body carried out to be placed upon the
scaffold "He is dead," she cried, "and Wenona was innocent! He
hated her because she slighted him; I hated her because she was
happy. He had his revenge, and I mine; but Wenona was falsely
accused, and I told him to do it!" and the eyes were closed the
voice was hushed in death.
Wenona was innocent; and when the Virgin's Feast shall be
celebrated in her native village again, how will the maidens
tremble as they approach the sacred ring! Can they forget the
fate of their beautiful companion?
And when the breath of summer warms to life the prairie
flowers when the long grass shall wave under the scaffold where
repose the mortal remains of the chief's sister how often will
the Dahcotah maidens draw near to contrast the meanness, the
treachery, the falsehood of Red Cloud, with the constancy,
devotion, and firmness of Wenona!
7: "Okendokendas." This
is the Sioux word for calico. It is used as the name for a kind
of short gown, which is worn by the Sioux women, made generally
of calico, sometimes of cloth.
Notes About the Book:
Source: Dahcotah, Or Life and Legends of the
Sioux around Ft. Snelling, Mary H. Eastman,
1849
Online Publication: The manuscript was scanned and
then ocr'd. Minimal editing has been done, and readers can and should expect
some errors in the textual output.
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