 | MISSOURI,
THE CAPTIVE OF THE PAWNEE. The book of my lady |  |
MISSOURI,
THE CAPTIVE OF THE PAWNEE.
A hallowed gift from fairy hand;
A withered leaf, a flower whose stem,
Thus broke, we liken unto them.
A rainbow hue, that now appears,
Then melts away, like hope, in tears.”
The Pawnees and the Omahas were neighbouring
nations, and perpetually at war with one another. A
deadly hostility, increased by every contest, existed between
them; and it became evident that no cessation of
war could be hoped for, from the inextinguishable hatred
of either people, unless in the total annihilation of
one or the other, or, more probably of both. They
were equally numerous, equally brave, equally cunning
and cautious; equally matched, indeed, in almost every
respect. The advantage obtained by either side, was
most generally trifling, and the victor had but little to
boast. Sheer exhaustion, and the necessity of a breathing
spell alone, sometimes interposed to give them “a
task of peace,” and, in a pause from hostility, to allow
them to rebuild their broken lodges, and provide materials
for sustenance and war. The original causes of
this vindictive spirit might not well be ascertained at
the date of our story, so remote had been its origin.
Antiquity had, in some degree, to each generation consecrated
the first lessons taught, accordingly, to the Pawnee and
Omaha boy, was to learn how to strike and scalp and
circumvent the national enemy, and transmit the same
vindictive lesson to his descendants in turn.
Such was the condition of things at the period of
which we speak. The autumn campaign was about to
be begun, and the Pawnee-loups, before setting out upon
the war path, held a solemn feast and council, in order
to determine upon the most advisable plans, and to obtain
the sanction of the Great Spirit, as ascertained by
his priests. It is useless to dwell, even for a moment,
upon the many horrid rites which attended and characterised
this festival. The American reader, with few
exceptions, is familiar with the long details of that barbarous
mummery, in which, on these occasions, the
savages indulge; without any seeming meaning, and
scarcely with any regular design in view. It is enough
to say, that on this event, nothing was omitted from the
festival, at all calculated, in the mind of the savage, to
give it an air of the most imposing solemnity. The
priests divined and predicted general success—taking
care, however, as in the case of most other prophets,
to speak in language sufficiently vague to allow of its
adaptation to any circumstances—or resting solely on
those safe predictions, which commonly bring about
their own verification. They did not, however, confine
themselves to prophesying the event of the war—they
counselled the course to be pursued, and the plans to
be adopted, and, with too dictatorial a manner to be
resisted or rejected. Among other of their predictions,
they declared that victory should now rest with that
fire torment—a favourite punishment with the Indians,
as affording a trial of the courage and firmness of the
captive. Such a prediction as this, though seemingly
barbarous and cruel, was in reality of a tendency highly
merciful, and more than any other measure calculated
to arrest the wanton fury of warfare, which is so much
the characteristic of the savage. All unnecessary risk
was avoided; and the object now, with the Pawnees,
was how to obtain a captive from the enemy, without
endangering the freedom of their own people. The
subtlety of the Indian, notoriously great, was not long
wanting in a stratagem to bring about its object. They
effected their designs, and procured their captive without
loss or exposure to themselves.
The Omahas were not unconscious or unadvised of
the goings on of their enemies. They too had their
grand council, and made their preparations for the autumn
war path. Their warriors had assembled at different
points, and both nations, about the same moment,
had sallied forth from their lodges. It was not the intention
of the Pawnees to proceed to extremities at the
outset. With a degree of caution, which, to them, was
highly unusual, and which awakened the surprise of
their opponents, they contented themselves with patroling
their towns and villages, making no overtures of
combat, and seemingly bent only on defending their
country from attack. In vain, provoked beyond all
patience by this shyness, did the young braves of the
Omahas sally forth in sight of the watchful Pawnees;
daring them to combat, assailing them with all manner
of reproachful taunt, and denouncing them as mere
feeling all this sorely, and scarcely able to command
the natural temper of the nation, the Pawnees still contrived
to be quiet in the meanwhile, blindly relying on
the prediction of their priests, and satisfied that success
alone lay in the counsels which they had given them.
The Omaha village was one of the most beautiful
that can be imagined, in the verge and limit of a southern
country, which boasts an almost perpetual spring.
Their principal settlement was upon a small island,
embosomed in a broad and glassy lake, which empties
into the river Platte. There was no approach to it
but by boats, and no invader could make his appearance
within gunshot, without being at once perceptible
from all parts of the secluded and quiet island. There
every thing wore the smooth and soothing features of a
perpetual summer. The flowers were lengthened in
life and strengthened with odour, and the breeze, from
the broad prairies, in crossing over the little lake, lost
all its sharpness and rigour, and retained only its balm
and sweetness.
The secluded character of this situation—its remoteness
from the enemies' country, and the great and unalloyed
security, which, in all their wars, it had heretofore
enjoyed, had served to make the Omahas relax
somewhat in the vigilance, with which, at one time,
they had been accustomed to guard and watch over so
exquisite a spot. But a few warriors, principally infirm,
remained on the island; the residue being either
out on the war path, or engaged in the sports of the
chase—it being the custom, arising from the necessity
of the thing, thus to employ one portion of the people
and provisions of their community. If the cunning
Pawnees did not exactly know of this fact, they at least
suspected it; and while the great body of their warriors
contrived to keep in check, and exercise the unconscious
Omahas, a small, but selected band, had been despatched
by a circuitous route, with the daring intention of making
a descent upon the defenceless village, and taking a
captive, no matter of what sex or condition, in order to
secure for their nation the full benefit of the prediction
of their prophets.
There was among the Omaha warriors, a youth,
scarcely attained to manhood, than whom a braver or
more daring man the nation did not possess. Though
young, he had been often engaged in conflict, and had
acquired a name among his tribe, which placed him
among the foremost in war, and won for him the respect
of the most aged in the solemn deliberations of
the council. Brave though he was, however, and stern
and terrible among his enemies, the young Enemoya
was not insensible to the tender passion. He had already
told his love to the gentle Missouri, the loveliest
and liveliest maiden of his tribe, and upon his return
from the present expedition, she was to leave her own
and take up her abode in the lodge of Enemoya.
Many were the thoughts of Enemoya—while, day
after day, he watched, without any prospect of action,
the motions of the Pawnees—on the subject of his love,
and of the hour of his return. Of the spoils, which he
would bear home as a trophy of his victory, and a
pledge of his affections, and of the happiness which
would make all his life before him, like the flower of
the reception of the sunshine, which at evening it shuts
up nor allows to escape. He dreamt, as the young
heart always dreams when love is the subject; and in
his dreamings he grew impatient of the war, which kept
him from the maid of his bosom, and gave him no spoils
to take home to her. Finding it impossible to provoke
a fight, the Omahas began to direct their attention to
the sports of the forest, and contenting themselves with
throwing, in the manner of their enemies, a line of observation
and guard between the assailable points of
their country, and the usual war paths of the Pawnees;
the one half of them set seriously to work, to add to the
stock of venison which was to supply their nation. Not
so with Enemoya. Denied to come to battle with his
enemies, he forbore to join in the chase, but taking his
arms along with him, he stole away from his associates,
and took the path back to the little island and the beautiful
Missouri. To the light-footed warrior, pursuing
the direct course, the journey was not long in consummation;
and in the course of a few days, we find him
on the borders of the placid lake, which lay, like a
slumbering and glad spirit, unmoved and untroubled
before him. He paused but for an instant, to take
from the branch on which it hung, the clear and yellow
gourd, and to drink from the sweet waters; then stepping
into the light “dug-out,” or canoe, which stood
ready on its margin, he struck out the paddle alternately
upon either side, and it shot rapidly towards the
island. Enemoya did not remark any peculiarity in
the village while crossing; for his mind was filled with
that dreamy contemplation, which, directed only to, and
shut out every other; but as he approached, and when
his bark struck the smooth and silvery beach, he became
conscious of an unusual degree of quietude and
gloom, for which he knew not how to account. There
were but few persons to be seen, and their looks were
downcast, and grave in the extreme, and indicative of
some terrible disaster. He soon learned the worst
from those he encountered. The Pawnees, in a strong
body, had unexpectedly made a descent upon them,
and after putting to death the few who continued to resist,
had borne off as captives, several of their maidens,
among whom the horror-stricken Enemoya heard the
name of his Missouri. After a moment of stupid desolation,
he rushed to the point of land whence the descent
was made, hurriedly enquired into its several particulars,
learned the course taken by the ravishers, and
without hesitation, set off in the pursuit.
The headlong Enemoya went on without other delay
than was necessary to discern the tracks left behind by
the departing enemy. Under any other lighter circumstances
the free step of Enemoya would have made him
fearful as a pursuer, but an added facility and lightness
of foot grew out of the fury and the frenzy of his heart.
Passion and despair seemed to have provided him with
wings, and he evidently gained upon his enemy. Every
step he took freshened their tracks to his eye, and new
hopes were aroused and multiplied in his heart. At
midnight of the second day of his pursuit he came suddenly,
(and by a bend made by a broad river shooting
obliquely from his path, which had heretofore run beside
it,) upon the blaze of a large camp-fire. Such a-prospect
no such effect upon the Indian. He knew that the
enemy for whom he sought would raise no such beacon
for his guidance; but he hesitated not to approach the
fire, around which a group of white men were seated,
partaking of a rude repast, which they had just prepared.
The savage was not ignorant of the civilised;
and the intercourse of Enemoya with the fur traders,
in which business his nation largely dealt, had even
given him some knowledge of the language. They
started to their arms, and demanded his business. It
was soon revealed, and with a degree of warmth and
passion, which, as it was supposed to be uncommon
with the Indian character, surprised them. They heard
his story, and immediately gave him intelligence of the
party which he pursued. They were a party of settlers
from Kentucky, who had drawn stakes, and were now
on the look-out for a new whereabout, in which they
might replant them. They were a hardy set of adventurers,
and as they sat around their blazing fires, while
their wives were preparing their repasts the young
warrior, for the first time, conceived the idea of craving
their co-operation in the rescue of the fair Missouri.
Such leagues were not unfrequent between the
settlers and the proprietors, and in this way, in most
cases, as in the history of the downfall of the Roman
empire, those who came as allies remained as conquerors.
Having, by joint effort, destroyed one tribe, it
was no difficult matter for the auxiliaries to turn upon
those they had succoured, and in their weakened condition,
as little difficult to overpower them. This,
indeed, is in most part, the history of American sway
his prayer with attention, and found their account in
it. They determined to assist him, and making a hasty
but hearty supper, they somewhat varied their original
line of march, and joined in the pursuit.
It was not long before the pursuers came upon the
certain and sure signs of the enemy. The eye of Enemoya
soon perceived, and his quick and awakened
spirit did not delay in pointing them out. He knew
the country, its bearings and character, and taking
them to a turn by which they might head the waters
of a creek which ran across their path, he gained
greatly upon the Pawnees. They came upon them
suddenly and unexpectedly, but the Pawnees were
warriors too good to suffer total surprise. They had
put out their sentries, and, though not dreaming of assault,
were not unprepared to encounter it. They
were sitting upon the ground, not in a group, but scattered
here and there, at a few paces from one another.
Some lay beneath a tree, others in the long matted grass
of the prairies, and a few were entirely uncovered to the
eye of the pursuers. The Indian maiden lay bound
betwixt two of the most powerful of the marauders—
her hair dishevelled, her face unmoved but anxious,
and her demeanour that of the captive who felt all her
misfortune, yet knew how to bear it. It was a sight
that did not permit of a single moment's consideration
with the young Enemoya. With a single bound and
uplifted hatchet, he sprung forward from the covert in
which his party had concealed themselves, and by thus
exposing his person, destroyed the chances of a surprise.
He beheld his error when too late to amend it.
the shelter of a tree which secured his person from
their rifles, had leisure to repent of his rashness, so
unlike the Indian, and so injurious to the prospect of
success. But this was not his sole danger. On the
first exhibition of his person, the two savages, to whom
the custody of the maiden was given, seized her by
her long hair, and raising their knives to her bosom,
prepared on the first attack to put an end to her life.
It was this that arrested the arm of Enemoya, and subdued
a spirit that had never before quailed, and seldom
hesitated. It was now necessary to take counsel, and
he regained the shelter in which, as yet concealed, lay
his white allies. In number they exceeded the force
of the Pawnees, and could easily have destroyed them.
This was, indeed, the first impulse; but from the
fiendish cunning of the foe, they were taught to fear
and feel that the signal of strife would be that of death
to the fair Indian. The squatters were men of daring,
but they were also men of experience; and while they
held boldness and confidence as primary requisites in
the character of the warrior, they felt that rashness and
precipitance would undo and ruin every thing. Accordingly,
having deliberated among themselves, it
was determined that two of the squatters, in company
with Enemoya, should appear, and tender the flag of
truce, a white handkerchief attached to a willow, which
the Indians had by this time learned to respect; to see
upon what terms they could procure the freedom of the
maiden. At their appearance the Indians emerged
from their several places of repose and shelter, and advanced
to meet them, with no more signs of civility,
appearance of attack. The squatter undertook to be
spokesman, and, in a way, accommodating his language
to the understanding of the Pawnees, by a liberal
sprinkling of words from theirs, he sought to make his
business understood. He told them of their captive,
and of the folly of keeping her for their torture, which
was of no use, when they might make her a subject of
speculation. He concluded by making proposals to purchase
her for himself, offering arms, knives, and such
other objects of use with the Indian, which, as a sometime
trader among them, he knew would be in demand.
The chief of the Pawnees heard him out with great
gravity and the most respectful attention, but told him
calmly and deliberately that there could be no trade—
that the fate of the Pawnees or Omahas depended upon
her life, and that he had, with his warriors, taken a
long journey to get her into his power; that no price
could tempt him to forego his hold, and that in a few
hours the captive would undergo the fiery torture.
While speaking, the young and passionate Enemoya
had approached his beloved Missouri. Her head had
been cast down, but upon his approach, she looked up
and fixed a long, fond, and earnest gaze upon him,
with an entreating and pleading expression which almost
maddened him. Yet, without violating the privilege
afforded by his flag of truce, he could not
approach or speak to her. Impatiently did he await
the final determination of the Pawnee, lengthened out,
as it was, by the figurative and glowing language which
he employed; but when the final resolve fell upon the
ears of Missouri, she rushed from between the two
to throw herself into the arms of her lover;
but her captors were not idle, and before she could
effect her object, a blow from the arm of one of them
precipitated her to the earth. In a moment, the work
of death had begun. The conference was broken off,
and the hatchet of Enemoya had been driven deep into
the scull of the brutal chief who had struck his betrothed.
The Indians were taken by surprise, and did
not offer a very ready resistance. A second blow from
the young warrior, and he had struck from his way the
only opponent between himself and Missouri, and he
was now rushing towards the maiden, when the leader
of the Pawnees with whom the conference had been
held, threw himself between them, and grappling Enemoya,
they fell together to the earth. Their grasp
was taken closely around the bodies of one another,
and the chief effort of both was to get hold of, and
employ the short broad knife which each wore in his
belt. This task was not so easy, and in the meanwhile,
the struggle was one rather of fatigue than danger.
These employed, the rest were not idle. The Kentuckian
made his retreat to a neighbouring tree, the
click of his rifle was the signal to the rest of his party,
and before the Pawnees had dreamt of the presence of
so numerous an enemy, several of them had bit the
dust. The squatters rushed on with their knives, exhibiting
too large a force for opposition, and the enemy
fled; all but one, who, after the hesitation of a
moment, with a look of concentrated and contested
anger and triumph, leapt through the thicket which
lay between himself and where their chief and Enemoya
bound maiden with one hand, he struck his hatchet
deep into her brain, then, without pausing to extricate
it, and before the deed might be revenged, with a
howl, betwixt a shout of victory and derision, he rejoined
his party. Enemoya beheld the blow and sought
to release himself, but without success; and turning
his eyes, as it were, unconsciously, to where the bleeding
and insensible form of the young maiden lay
stretched out before him, he stood at the mercy of his
enemy, who had drawn his knife, and with hand uplifted,
was about to plunge it into his bosom; but before
he could do so, the stroke of a rifle from one of
the squatters prostrated him, and determined the
struggle. But the hope of our warrior was blighted,
and he moved along as a shadow. He returned with
the squatters, and they reached with him the quiet lake
and the beautiful island; yet he but came to hear of
new disasters. The relaxed discipline and weakened
force of the Omaha warriors, opposed to that of the
Pawnees, added to the encouraging account of the success
of the party, sent for the purpose of taking their
captive, had emboldened them to an attack, which,
conducted with skill, caution, and spirit, had terminated
in the total defeat of the former, and the slaughter of
the best of their warriors.
“We will build our cabins here,” said the head man
of the squatters, “by this quiet lake, and on these
verdant meadows. Here will we make an abode.”
“But this is the abode of my people, brother; here
is the wigwam of Enemoya, and this is the dwelling I
had built up for the hope of my heart, the gentle Missouri.”
“Your people are destroyed, and have no dwelling,
Enemoya; and Missouri is a fair spirit in the heavens.
You are a brave and a good youth—be with us, and
dwell with our people, and here will we live together.”
“No,” said the Omaha, “my people are indeed no
more, but I can mix with no other. Be yours the fair
island and the quiet lake, and when you have made it,
and all the forest round, a dwelling for you and your
children, and your children's children, as it is with
you white men the way always to do, remember the
Omaha, and call the nation you enjoy after the beautiful
Missouri. For me, I shall go over the great lakes,
and hunt the buffalo in the black prairies of the west,
till the Great Spirit shall send for me to dwell once
more among the people of the tribe.”
The squatter gave the promise he required, and the
country thus granted by Enemoya, is even to this day
called “Missouri,” after the beautiful maiden of Omaha.
| MISSOURI,
THE CAPTIVE OF THE PAWNEE. The book of my lady | |