University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Woe to the unsuspecting Chippeways! ignorant of the
murder that had been committed, they were leisurely turning
their steps homeward, while the pillagers made their
escape with the scalp of the Dahcotah.

The Sioux travelled one day and night before they came
up with the Chippeways. Nothing could quench their
thirst but blood. And the women and children must suffer
first. The savage suffers a twofold death; before his own

turn comes, his young children lie breathless around him,
their mother all unconscious by their side.

The Chippeways continued their journey, fearing nothing.
They had camped between the falls of St. Anthony
and Rum river; they were refreshed, and the men proceeded
first, leaving their women and children to follow.
They were all looking forward with pleasure to seeing
their homes again. The women went leisurely along;
the infant slept quietly—what should it fear close to its
mother's heart! The young children laughed as they hid
themselves behind the forest trees, and then emerged suddenly
to frighten the others. The Chippeway maidens
rejoiced when they remembered that their rivals, the Dahcotah
girls, would no longer seduce their lovers from their
allegiance.

Flying Shadow wept, there was nothing to make her happy,
she would see the Track-maker no more, and she looked
forward to death as the end of her cares. She concealed
in her bosom the trinkets he had given her; every feature
of his face was written on her heart—that heart that beat
only for him, that so soon would cease to beat at all!

But there was a fearful cry, that banished even him from
her thoughts. The war-whoop burst suddenly upon the
defenceless women.

Hundreds of Dahcotah warriors rose up to blind the
eyes of the terror-stricken mothers. Their children are
scalped before their eyes; their infants are dashed against
the rocks, which are not more insensible to their cries than
their murderers.

It is a battle of strength against weakness. Stern war

rior, it needs not to strike the mother that blow! she dies
in the death of her children.[1]

The maidens clasp their small hands—a vain appeal to
the merciless wretches, who see neither beauty nor grace,
when rage and revenge are in their hearts. It is blood they
thirst for, and the young and innocent fall like grass before
the mower.

Flying Shadow sees her lover! he is advancing towards
her! What does his countenance say? There is sadness
in his face, and she hopes—aye, more than hopes—she
knows he will save her. With all a woman's trust she
throws herself in his arms. “Save me! save me!” she
cries; “do not let them slay me before your eyes; make
me your prisoner![2] you said that you loved me, spare
my life!”

Who shall tell his agony? For a moment he thought he
would make her his prisoner. Another moment's reflection
convinced him that that would be of no avail. He knew
that she must die, but he could not take her life.

Her eyes were trustingly turned upon him; her soft
hand grasped his arm. But the Sioux warriors were
pressing upon them, he gave her one more look, he touched
her with his spear,[3] and he was gone.

And Flying Shadow was dead. She felt not the blow that

sent her reeling to the earth. Her lover had forsaken her
in the hour of danger, and what could she feel after that?

The scalp was torn from her head by one of those who
had most admired her beauty; and her body was trampled
upon by the very warriors who had so envied her lover.

The shrieks of the dying women reached the ears of their
husbands and brothers. Quickly did they retrace their
steps, and when they reached the spot, they bravely stood
their ground; but the Dahcotahs were too powerful for
them,—terrible was the struggle!

The Dahcotahs continued the slaughter, and the Chippeways
were obliged at last to give way. One of the
Chippeways seized his frightened child and placed him
upon his back. His wife lay dead at his feet; with his
child clinging to him, he fought his way through.

Two of the Dahcotahs followed him, for he was flying
fast; and they feared he would soon be out of their power.
They thought, as they nearly came up to him, that he would
loose his hold on his child; but the father's heart was strong
within him. He flies, and the Sioux are close upon his
heels! He fires and kills one of them. The other Sioux
follows: he has nothing to encumber him—he must be victor
in such an unequal contest. But the love that was stronger
than death nerved the father's arm. He kept firing, and
the Sioux retreated. The Chippeway and his young son
reached their home in safety, there to mourn the loss of
others whom they loved.

The sun set upon a bloody field; the young and old lay
piled together; the hearts that had welcomed the breaking
of the day were all unconscious of its close.

The Sioux were avenged; and the scalps that they

brought home (nearly one hundred when the party joined
them from the massacre at Saint Croix) bore witness to
their triumph.

The other party of Sioux followed the Chippeways who
had gone by way of the St. Croix. While the Chippeways
slept, the war-cry of the Sioux aroused them.
And though they fought bravely, they suffered as did their
friends, and the darkness of night added terror to the scene.

The Dahcotahs returned with the scalps to their villages,
and as they entered triumphantly, they were greeted with
shouts of applause. The scalps were divided among the
villages, and joyful preparations were made to celebrate the
scalp-dance.

The scalps were stretched upon hoops, and covered with
vermilion, ornamented with feathers, ribbons and trinkets.

On the women's scalps were hung a comb, or a pair of
scissors, and for months did the Dahcotah women dance
around them. The men wore mourning for their enemies,
as is the custom among the Dahcotahs.

When the dancing was done, the scalps were buried with
the deceased relatives of the Sioux who took them.

And this is Indian, but what is Christian warfare? The
wife of the hero lives to realize her wretchedness; the honors
paid by his countrymen are a poor recompense for the loss
of his love and protection. The life of the child too, is safe,
but who will lead him in the paths of virtue, when his
mother has gone down to the grave.

Let us not hear of civilized warfare! It is all the work
of the spirits of evil. God did not make man to slay his
brother, and the savage alone can present an excuse. The
Dahcotah dreams not that it is wrong to resent an injury

to the death; but the Christian knows that God has said,
Vengeance is mine!