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ETA KEAZAH;
OR,
SULLEN FACE.

Wenona was the light of her father's wigwam—the pride
of the band of Sissetons, whose village is on the shores of
beautiful Lake Travers. However cheerfully the fire might
burn in the dwelling of the aged chief, there was darkness
for him when she was away—and the mother's heart was
always filled with anxiety, for she knew that Wenona had
drawn upon her the envy of her young companions, and
she feared that some one of them would cast a spell[1] upon
her child, that her loveliness might be dimmed by sorrow
or sickness.

The warriors of the band strove to outdo each other in
noble deeds, that they might feel more worthy to claim her
hand;—while the hunters tried to win her good will by
presents of buffalo and deer. But Wenona thought not
yet of love. The clear stream that reflected her form told
her she was beautiful; yet her brother was the bravest
warrior of the Sissetons; and her aged parents too—was
not their love enough to satisfy her heart! Never did
brother and sister love each other more; their features


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were the same, yet man's sternness in him was changed to
woman's softness in her. The “glance of the falcon” in
his eye was the “gaze of the dove” in hers. But at times
the expression of his face would make you wonder that you
ever could have thought him like his twin sister.

When he heard the Sisseton braves talk of the hunts
they had in their youth, before the white man drove them
from the hunting-grounds of their forefathers;—when instead
of the blanket they wore the buffalo robe;—when
happiness and plenty were in their wigwams—and when
the voices of weak women and famished children were
never heard calling for food in vain—then the longing for
vengeance that was written on his countenance, the imprecations
that were breathed from his lips, the angry
scowl, the lightning from his eye, all made him unlike indeed
to his sister, the pride of the Sissetons!

When the gentle breeze would play among the prairie
flowers, then would she win him from such bitter thoughts.
“Come, my brother, we will go and sit by the banks of
the lake, why should you be unhappy! the buffalo is still
to be found upon our hunting-grounds—the spirit of the
lake watches over us—we shall not want for food.”

He would go, because she asked him. The quiet and
beauty of nature were not for him; rather would he have
stood alone when the storm held its sway; when the darkness
was only relieved by the flash that laid the tall trees of
the forest low; when the thunder bird clapped her wings as
she swept through the clouds above him. But could he
refuse to be happy when Wenona smiled? Alas! that
her gentle spirit should not always have been near to
soften his!


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But as the beauty and warmth of summer passed away,
so did Wenona's strength begin to fail; the autumn wind,
that swept rudely over the prairie flowers, so that they could
not lift their heads above the tall grass, seemed to pass in
anger over the wigwam of the old man—for the eye of the
Dahcotah maiden was losing its brightness, and her step
was less firm, as she wandered with her brother in her
native woods. Vainly did the medicine men practice their
cherished rites—the Great Spirit had called—and who
could refuse to hear his voice? she faded with the leaves—
and the cries of the mourners were answered by the
wailing winds, as they sang her requiem.

A few months passed away, and her brother was alone.
The winter that followed his sister's death, was a severe
one. The mother had never been strong, and she soon followed
her daughter—while the father's age unfitted him to
contend with sorrow, infirmity, and want.

Spring returned, but winter had settled on the heart of
the young Sisseton; she was gone who alone could drive
away the shadow from his brow, what wonder then that
his countenance should always be stern. The Indians
called him Eta Keazah, or Sullen Face.

But after the lapse of years, the boy, who brooded over
the wrongs of his father, eagerly seeks an opportunity to
avenge his own. His sister has never been forgotten; but
he remembers her as we do a beautiful dream; and she is
the spirit that hovers round him while his eyes are closed
in sleep.

But there are others who hold a place in his heart. His
wife is always ready to receive him with a welcome, and
his young son calls upon him to teach him to send the


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arrow to the heart of the buffalo. But the sufferings of his
tribe, from want of food and other privations, are ever before
his eyes. Vengeance upon the white man, who has caused
them!

 
[1]

The Indians fear that from envy or jealousy some person may cast a fatal
spell upon them to produce sickness, or even death. This superstition seems
almost identical with the Obi or Obeat of the West India negroes.

2. CHAPTER II.

Winter is the season of trial for the Sioux, especially
for the women and children. The incursions of the English
half-breeds and Cree Indians, into the Sisseton country,
have caused their buffalo to recede, and so little other game
is to be found, that indescribable sufferings are endured
every winter by the Sissetons.

Starvation forces the hunters to seek for the buffalo in
the depth of winter. Their families must accompany
them, for they have not the smallest portion of food to
leave with them; and who will protect them from the
Chippeways!

However inclement the season, their home must be for a
time on the open prairie. As far as the eye can reach, it
is a desert of snow. Not a stick of timber can be seen.
A storm is coming on too; nothing is heard but the howling
blast, which mocks the cries of famished children.
The drifting of the snow makes it impossible to see what
course they are to take; they have only to sit down and
let the snow fall upon them. It is a relief when they are
quite covered with it, for it shelters them from the keenness
of the blast!


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Alas! for the children; the cry of those who can speak
is, Give me food! while the dying infant clings to its mother's
breast, seeking to draw, with its parting breath, the means
of life.

But the storm is over; the piercing cold seizes upon the
exhausted frames of the sufferers.

The children have hardly strength to stand; the father
places one upon his back and goes forward; the mother
wraps her dead child in her blanket, and lays it in the
snow; another is clinging to her, she has no time to weep
for the dead; nature calls upon her to make an effort for
the living. She takes her child and follows the rest. It
would be a comfort to her, could she hope to find her
infant's body when summer returns to bury it. She
shudders, and remembers that the wolves of the prairie are
starving too!

Food is found at last; the strength of the buffalo yields
to the arrow of the Sioux. We will have food and not die,
is the joyful cry of all, and when their fierce appetities are
appeased, they carry with them on their return to their
village, the skins of the animals with the remainder of the
meat.

The sufferings of famine and fatigue, however, are followed
by those of disease; the strength of many is laid
low. They must watch, too, for their enemies are at
hand.


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3. CHAPTER III.

In the summer of 1844 a large party of half-breeds and
Indians from Red river,—English subjects,—trespassed
upon the hunting grounds of the Sioux. There were several
hundred hunters, and many carts drawn by oxen for
the purpose of carrying away the buffalo they had killed.
One of this party had left his companions, and was riding
alone at some distance from them. A Dahcotah knew that
his nation would suffer from the destruction of their game
—fresh in his memory, too, were the sufferings of the past
winter. What wonder then that the arrow which was intended
for the buffalo, should find its way to the heart of
the trespasser!

This act enraged the half-breeds; they could not find
the Sioux who committed it—but a few days after they fell
in with a party of others, who were also hunting, and killed
seven of them. The rest escaped, and carried the news of
the death of their braves to their village. One of the killed
was a relative of Sullen Face. The sad news spread rapidly
through the village, and nothing was heard but lamentation.
The women cut long gashes on their arms, and as
the blood flowed from the wound they would cry, Where is
my husband? my son? my brother?

Soon the cry of revenge is heard above that of lamentation.
“It is not possible,” said Sullen Face, “that we can
allow these English to starve us, and take the lives of our
warriors. They have taken from us the food that would


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nourish our wives and children; and more, they have killed
seven of our bravest men! we will have revenge—we will
watch for them, and bring home their scalps, that our women
may dance round them!”

A war party was soon formed, and Sullen Face, at the
head of more than fifty warriors, stationed himself in the
vicinity of the road by which the half-breeds from Red
river drive their cattle to Fort Snelling.

Some days after, there was an unusual excitement in the
Sioux village on Swan lake, about twenty miles northwest of
Traverse des Sioux. A number of Indians were gazing at
an object not very distant, and in order to discover what it
was, the chief of the village, Sleepy Eyes, had sent one of
his young men out, while the rest continued to regard it
with looks of curiosity and awe.

They observed that as the Sioux approached it, he slackened
his pace, when suddenly he gave a loud cry and ran
towards the village.

He soon reached them, and pale with terror, exclaimed,
“It is a spirit, it is white as the snow that covers our
prairies in the winter. It looked at me and spoke not.”
For a short time, his fears infected the others, but after a
while several determined to go and bring a more satisfactory
report to their chief. They returned with the body, as it
seemed only, of a white man; worn to a skeleton, with his
feet cut and bleeding, unable to speak from exhaustion;
nothing but the beating of his heart told that he lived.

The Indian women dressed his feet, and gave him food,
wiped the blood from his limbs, and, after a consultation,
they agreed to send word to the missionaries at Traverse


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des Sioux, that there was a white man sick and suffering
with them.

The missionaries came immediately; took the man to
their home, and with kind nursing he was soon able to
account for the miserable situation in which he had been
found.

“We left the state of Missouri,” said the man, whose
name was Bennett, “for the purpose of carrying cattle to
Fort Snelling. My companions' names were Watson and
Turner. We did not know the road, but supposed a map
would guide us, with what information we could get on the
way. We lost our way, however, and were eagerly looking
for some person who could set us right. Early one morning
some Sioux came up with us, and seemed inclined to
join our party. One of them left hastily as if sent on a
message; after a while a number of warriors, accompanied
by the Indian who had left the first party, came towards
us. Their leader had a dark countenance, and seemed to
have great influence over them. We tried to make them
understand that we had lost our way; we showed them
the map, but they did not comprehend us.

“After angrily addressing his men for a few moments, the
leader shot Watson through the shoulder, and another sent
an arrow through his body and killed him. They then
struck Watson's brother and wounded him.

“In the mean time the other Indians had been killing our
cattle; and some of the animals having run away, they
made Watson, who was sadly bruised with the blows he
had received from them, mount a horse and go with them
to hunt the rest of the cattle. We never heard of him
again. The Indians say he disappeared from among the


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bushes, and they could not find him; but the probability is
that they killed him. Some seemed to wish to kill Turner
and myself—but after a while they told us to go, giving us
our horses and a little food. We determined to retrace our
steps. It was the best thing we could do; but our horses
gave out, and we were obliged to leave them and proceed
on foot.

“We were soon out of provisions, and having no means
of killing game, our hearts began to fail us. Turner was
unwell, and on arriving at a branch of Crow river, about
one hundred miles northwest of Fort Snelling, he found
himself unable to swim. I tried to carry him across on my
back, but could not do it; he was drowned, and I barely
succeeded in reaching the shore. After resting, I proceeded
on my journey. When I came in sight of the Indian village,
much as I needed food and rest, I dreaded to show
myself, for fear of meeting Watson's fate. I was spared the
necessity of deciding. I fainted and fell to the ground.
They found me, and proved kinder than I anticipated.

“Why they should have molested us I know not. There
is something in it that I do not understand.”

But it is easily explained. Sullen Face supposed them to
belong to the party that had killed his friends, and through
this error he had shed innocent blood.


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4. CHAPTER IV.

Who that has seen Fort Snelling will not bear testimony
to its beautiful situation! Whichever way we turn, nature
calls for our admiration. But beautiful as it is by
day, it is at night that its majesty and loveliness speak to
the soul. Look to the north, (while the Aurora Borealis is
flashing above us, and the sound of the waters of St. Anthony's
Falls meets the ear,) the high bluffs of the Mississippi
seem to guard its waters as they glide along. To the
south, the St. Peter's has wandered off, preferring gentle
prairies to rugged cliffs. To the east we see the “meeting
of the waters;” gladly as the returning child meets the welcoming
smile of the parent, do the waves of the St. Peter's
flow into the Mississippi. On the west, there is prairie far
as the eye can reach.

But it is to the free only that nature is beautiful. Can
the prisoner gaze with pleasure on the brightness of the
sky, or listen to the rippling of the waves? they make him
feel his fetters the more.

I am here, with my heavy chain!
And I look on a torrent sweeping by,
And an eagle rushing to the sky,
And a host to its battle plain.
Must I pine in my fetters here!
With the wild wave's foam and the free bird's flight,
And the tall spears glancing on my sight,
And the trumpet in mine ear?

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The summer of 1845 found Sullen Face a prisoner at
Fort Snelling. Government having been informed of the
murder of Watson by two Dahcotah Indians, orders were
received at Fort Snelling that two companies should proceed
to the Sisseton country, and take the murderers, that
they might be tried by the laws of the United States.

Now for excitement, the charm of garrison life. Officers
are of course always ready to “go where glory waits” them,
but who ever heard of one being ready to go when the order
came?

Alas! for the young officer who has a wife to leave; it
will be weeks before he meets again her gentle smile!

Still more—alas for him who has no wife at all! for he
has not a shirt with buttons on it, and most of what he has
are in the wash. He will have to borrow of Selden; but
here's the difficulty, Selden is going too, and is worse off
than himself. But no matter! what with pins and twine
and trusting to chance, they will get along.

Then the married men are inquiring for tin reflectors,
for hard bread, though healthy, is never tempting. India
rubber cloaks are in requisition too.

Those who are going, claim the doctor in case of accidents.
Those who stay, their wives at least, want him for fear
of measles; while the disciple of Esculapius, though he
knows there will be better cooking if he remain at home, is
certain there will be food for fun if he go. It is soon decided—the
doctor goes.

Then the privates share in the pleasure of the day. How
should a soldier be employed but in active service? besides,
what a capital chance to desert! One, who is tired of calling
“All's well” through the long night, with only the


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rocks and trees to hear him, hopes that it will be his happy
fate to find out there is danger near, and to give the alarm.
Another vows, that if trouble wont come, why he will
bring it by quarrelling with the first rascally Indian he
meets. All is ready. Rations are put up for the men;—
hams, buffalo tongues, pies and cake for the officers. The
battalion marches out to the sound of the drum and fife;—
they are soon down the hill—they enter their boats; handkerchiefs
are waved from the fort, caps are raised and
flourished over the water—they are almost out of sight—
they are gone.

When the troops reached their destination, Sullen Face
and Forked Horn were not there, but the chief gave them
three of his warriors, (who were with the party of Sullen
Face at the time of the murder,) promising that when the
two murderers returned they would come to Fort Snelling,
and give themselves up.

There was nothing then to prevent the immediate return
of our troops. Their tramp had been a delightful one, and
so far success had crowned their expedition. They were in
the highest spirits. But a little incident occurred on their
return, that was rather calculated to show the transitoriness
of earthly joys. One dark night, when those who were
awake were thinking, and those who slept were dreaming
of their welcome home, there was evidently a disturbance.
The sleepers roused themselves; guns were discharged.
What could it be?

The cause was soon ascertained. To speak poetically,
the birds had flown—in plain language, the prisoners had
run away. They were not bound, their honor had been
trusted to;—but you cannot place much reliance on the


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honor of an Indian with a prison in prospect. I doubt if a
white man could be trusted under such circumstances.
True, there was a guard, but, as I said, 'twas a dark
night.

The troops returned in fine health, covered with dust and
fleas, if not with glory.

5. CHAPTER V.

It is time to return to Sullen Face. He and Forked
Horn, on their return to the village, were informed of what
had occurred during their absence. They offered to fulfil
the engagement of the chief, and accompanied by others of
the band, they started for Fort Snelling. The wife of
Sullen Face had insisted upon accompanying him, and
influenced by a presentiment that he should never return to
his native village, he allowed her to do so. Their little boy
quite forgot his fatigue as he listened to his father's voice,
and held his hand. When they were near the fort, notice
of their approach was sent to the commanding officer.

The entire force of the garrison marched out to receive
the prisoners. A large number of Indians assembled to
witness the scene—their gay dresses and wild appearance
adding to its interest.

Sullen Face and Forked Horn, with the Sioux who had
accompanied them, advanced to meet the battalion. The
little boy dressed as a warrior, his war-eagle plumes waving
proudly over his head, held his father's hand. In a moment


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the iron grasp of the soldier was on the prisoner's shoulder;
they entered the gate of the fort; and he, who had felt that
the winds of Heaven were not more free than a Dahcotah
warrior, was now a prisoner in the power of the white man.
But he entered not his cell until he had sung a warrior's
song. Should his enemies think that he feared them? Had
he not yielded himself up?

It was hard to be composed in parting with his wife and
child. “Go my son,” he said, “you will soon be old enough
to kill the buffalo for your mother.” But to his wife he
only said, “I have done no wrong, and fear not the power
of my enemies.” The Sissetons returned to the village,
leaving the prisoners at Fort Snelling, until they should be
sent to Dubuque for trial.

They frequently walked about the fort, accompanied by
a guard. Sullen Face seemed to be indifferent to his fate,
and was impressed with the idea that he never would return
to his home. “Beautiful country!” said he, as he gazed
towards the point where the waters of the Mississippi and
St. Peter's meet. “I shall never look upon you again,
the waters of the rivers unite, but I have parted forever
from country and friends. My spirit tells me so. Then
welcome death! they guard me now with sword and bayonet,
but the soul of the Dahcotah is free.”

After their removal to Dubuque, the two prisoners from
Fort Snelling, with others who had been concerned in the
murder, suffered much from sickness. Sullen Face would
not complain, but the others tried to induce him to make
his escape. He, at first, refused to do so, but finding his
companions determined upon going, he at last consented.

Their plans succeeded, and after leaving the immediate


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neighborhood, they broke their shackles with stones. They
were obliged, however, to hide themselves for a time among
the rocks, to elude the sheriff and his party. They were
not taken, and as soon as they deemed it prudent, they resumed
their route.

Two of the prisoners died near Prairie du Chien. Sullen
Face, Forked Horn, and another Sioux, pursued their
journey with difficulty, for they were near perishing from
want of food. They found a place where the Winnebagoes
had encamped, and they parched the corn that lay scattered
on the ground.

Disease had taken a strong hold upon the frame of Sullen
Face; he constantly required the assistance of his companions.
When they were near Prairie le Gros, he became
so ill that he was unable to proceed. He insisted upon his
friends leaving him; this they at first refused to do, but
fearing that they would be found and carried back to prison,
they consented—and the dying warrior found himself alone.

Some Indians who were passing by saw him and gently
carried him to their wigwam. But he heeded not their
kindness. Death had dimned the brightness of his eye, and
his fast-failing strength told of the long journey to the
spirits' land.

“It was not thus,” he said, “that I thought to die!
Where are the warriors of the Sissetons? Do they listen
to my death song? I hoped to have triumphed over the
white man, but his power has prevailed. My spirit drooped
within his hated walls? But hark! there is music in my
ears—'tis the voice of the sister of my youth—“Come
with me my brother, we wait for you in the house of the
spirits! we will sit by the banks of a lake more beautiful


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than that by which we wandered in our childhood; you
will roam over the hunting grounds of your forefathers, and
there the white man may never come.”

His eyes are closing fast in death, but his lips murmur—
“Wenona! I come! I come!”