“Good Road” is one of the Dahcotah chiefs—he is fifty
years old and has two wives, but these two have given a deal
of trouble; although the chief probably thinks it of no importance
whether his two wives fight all the time or not,
so that they obey his orders. For what would be a calamity
in domestic life to us, is an every day affair among
the Dahcotahs.
Good Road's village is situated on the banks of the St.
Peter's about seven miles from Fort Snelling. And like
other Indian villages it abounds in variety more than anything
else. In the teepee the farthest from us, right on the
edge of the shore, there are three young men carousing.
One is inclined to go to sleep, but the other two will not let
him; their spirits are raised and excited by what has made
him stupid. Who would suppose they were human beings?
See their bloodshot eyes; hear their fiendish laugh and
horrid yells; probably before the revel is closed, one of the
friends will have buried his knife in the other's heart.
We will pass on to the next teepee. Here we witness a
scene almost as appalling. “Iron Arms,” one of the most
valiant warriors of the band, is stretched in the agonies of
death. Old Spirit Killer, the medicine man, is gesticulating
by his side, and accompanying his motions with the most
horrid noises. But all in vain; the spirit of “Iron Arms,”
the man of strength, is gone. The doctor says that his
medicine was good, but that a prairie dog had entered into
the body of the Dahcotah, and he thought it had been a
mud-hen. Magnanimous doctor! All honor, that you can
allow yourself in error.
While the friends of the dead warrior are rending the air
with their cries, we will find out what is going on in the
next wigwam. What a contrast!
“The Whirlpool” is seated on the ground smoking; gazing
as earnestly at the bright coals as if in them he could
read the future or recall the past; and his young wife,
whose face, now merry, now sad, bright with smiles at one
moment, and lost in thought the next, gained for her the
name of “The Changing Countenance,” is hushing her child
to sleep; but the expression of her features does not change
now—as she looks on her child, a mother's deep and devoted
love is pictured on her face.
In another, “The Dancing Woman” is wrapped in her
blanket pretending to go to sleep. In vain does “The Flying
Cloud” play that monotonous courting tune on the flute.
The maiden would not be his wife if he gave her all the
trinkets in the world. She loves and is going to marry
“Iron Lightning,” who has gone to bring her—what? a
brooch—a new blanket? no, a Chippeway's scalp, that she
may be the most graceful of those who dance around it.
Her mother is mending the mocassins of the old man who
sleeps before the fire.
And we might go round the village and find every
family differently employed. They have no regular hours
for eating or sleeping. In front of the teepees, young men are
lying on the ground, lazily playing checkers, while their
wives and sisters are cutting wood and engaged in laborious
household duties.
I said Good Road had two wives, and I would now observe
that neither of them is younger than himself. But
they are as jealous of each other as if they had just turned
seventeen, and their lord and master were twenty instead
of fifty. Not a day passes that they do not quarrel, and
fight too. They throw at each other whatever is most convenient,
and sticks of wood are always at hand. And then,
the sons of each wife take a part in the battle; they first
fight for their mothers, and then for themselves—so that the
chief must have been reduced to desperation long ago if it
were not for his pipe and his philosophy. Good Road's
second wife has Chippeway blood in her veins. Her mother
was taken prisoner by the Dahcotahs; they adopted her,
and she became the wife of a Dahcotah warrior. She
loved her own people, and those who had adopted her too;
and in course of time her daughter attained the honorable
station of a chief's second wife. Good Road hates the
Chippeways, but he fell in love with one of their descendants,
and married her. She is a good wife, and the white
people have given her the name of “Old Bets.”
Last summer “Old Bets” narrowly escaped with her life.
The Dahcotahs having nothing else to do, were amusing
themselves by recalling all the Chippeways had ever done
to injure them; and those who were too lazy to go out on
a war party, happily recollected that there was Chippeway
blood near them—no farther off than their chief's wigwam;
and eight or ten braves vowed they would make an end of
“Old Bets.” But she heard of their threats, left the village
for a time, and after the Dahcotahs had gotten over
their mania for shedding blood, she returned, and right glad
was Good Road to see her. For she has an open, good
humored countenance; the very reverse of that of the first
wife, whose vinegar aspect would frighten away an army
of small children.
After “Old Bets” returned, Good Road could not conceal
his satisfaction. His wife's trip had evidently improved
her good looks, for the chief thought she was the handsomest
squaw in the village. Her children were always
taunting the sons of the first wife, and so it went on, until
at last Good Road said he would stand it no longer; he told
his oldest wife to go—that he would support her no longer.
And for her children, he told them the prairies were large;
there were deer and other game—in short, he disinherited
them—cut them off with their last meal.
For the discarded wife, life had now but one hope. The
only star that shone in the blackness of her heaven, was
the undefined prospect of seeing her rival's blood flow.
She would greatly have preferred taking her life herself;
and as she left the wigwam of the chief, she grasped the
handle of her knife—how quick her heart beat! it might
be now or never.
But there were too many around to protect Old Bets.
The time would come—she would watch for her—she would
tear her heart from her yet.
The sons of the old hag did not leave the village; they
would keep a watch on their father and his Chippeway
wife. They would not easily yield their right to the chieftainship.
While they hunted, and smoked, and played at
cards, they were ever on the look-out for revenge.
