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
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!
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
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!
