 | Dahcotah, or, Life and legends of the Sioux around Fort Snelling |  |
TONWA-YAH-PE-KIN;
THE SPIES.
1. CHAPTER I.
It was in the spring of 1848, that several Dahcotahs
were carefully making their way along the forests near the
borders of the Chippeway country. There had recently
been a fight near the spot where they were, and the Dahcotahs
were seeking the bodies of their friends who had
been slain, that they might take them home to bury them.
They moved noiselessly along, for their enemies were
near. Occasionally, one of them would imitate the cry of
a bird or of some animal, so that if the attention of their
enemies should be drawn to the spot, the slight noise they
made in moving might be attributed to any but the right
cause.
They had almost given up the hope of finding their
friends, and this was the close of their last day's efforts to
that intent. In the morning they intended to return to
their village.
It was a bright clear evening, and the rays of the setting
sun fell upon some objects further on. For a time the
Dahcotahs gazed in silence; but no movement gave sign
of what it was that excited their curiosity. All at once
were there, and they determined to venture near enough to
find out what was the nature of the object on which the
rays of the sun seemed to rest as if to attract their notice.
A few more steps and they were relieved from their terrible
suspense, but their worst fears were realized.
The Dahcotahs recently killed had been skinned by the
Chippeways, while their bodies were yet warm with life,
and the skins were stretched upon poles; while on separate
poles the hands were placed, with one finger of each hand
pointing to the Dahcotah country. The savages were in a
fearful rage. They had to endure a twofold insult.
There were the bodies of their friends, treated as if they
were but beasts, and evidently put there to be seen by the
Dahcotahs. And besides, the hands pointing to the country
of the Dahcotahs—did it not plainly say to the spies,
go back to your country and say to your warriors, that the
Chippeways despise them, that they are not worthy to be
treated as men?
The spies returned as cautiously as they had ventured
near the fatal spot, and it was not until they were out of
reach of danger from their foes, that they gave vent to
their indignation. Then their smothered rage burst forth.
They hastened to return and tell the event of their journey.
They forgot how grieved the wives and sisters of the
dead would be at being deprived of the solace of burying
the remains of their friends—they only thought of revenge
for the insult they had received.
When they arrived at their village, they called together
their chiefs and braves, and related to them what they had
seen. A council of war was held, which resulted in immediate
to their friends, and the insult to the whole tribe.
The war-dance is always celebrated before a war party
goes out to find an enemy, and there is in every village a
war chief, who conducts the party. The war dance is performed
inside of a wigwam, and not out of door, as is
usually represented.
The “Owl” felt himself qualified in every respect to conduct
the present party. He was a great warrior, and a
juggler besides; and he had a reputation acquired from an
act performed when he was a very young man, which
showed as much cunning as bravery; for one of these qualities
is as necessary to a Dahcotah war chief as the other.
He was one of a party of Dahcotahs who went to war
against the Chippeways, but without success. On their
way back “the Owl” got separated from the rest of the
party, and he climbed a tree to see if he could discover his
comrades. While in the tree a war party of the Chippeways
came in sight and stopped quite near the tree to
make their camp.
The Owl was in a sad predicament; he knew not what
to do to effect his escape. As he knew he had not the
power to contend with his enemies, he determined to have
recourse to stratagem. When it was quite dark he commenced
hooting like an owl, having previously transformed
himself into one. The Chippeways looked up towards the
tree and asked the owl what he was doing there. The owl
replied that he had come to see a large war party of Dahcotahs
who would soon pass by. The Chippeways took
the hint, and took to their heels too, and ran home. The
returned home.
This wonderful incident, which he related of himself, gave
him a great reputation and a name besides; for until now
he had been called Chaskè, a name always given to the
oldest son; but the Indians after this gave him the name
of the Owl.
It being decided that the war party should leave as soon
as their preparations could be made, the war chief sent for
those who were to dance. The dance was performed every
third or fourth night until the party left. For each dance
the war chief had a new set of performers; only so many
were asked at a time as could conveniently dance inside the
wigwam. While some were dancing, others were preparing
for the expedition, getting extra mocassins made,
drying meat, or parching corn.
When all was ready, the party set out, with every confidence
in their war chief. He was to direct them where to
find the enemy, and at the same time to protect them
from being killed themselves.
For a few days they hunted as they went along, and
they would build large fires at night, and tell long stories,
to make the time pass pleasantly.
The party was composed of about twenty warriors, and
they all obeyed implicitly the orders of their war chief, who
appointed some warriors to see that his directions were
carried out by the whole party. Wo to him who violates
a single regulation! his gun is broken, his blanket cut to
pieces, and he is told to return home. Such was the fate
of Iron Eyes, who wandered from the party to shoot a bird
on the wing, contrary to the orders of their chief. But
punish the Chippeways for the outrage they had commited,
he did not return to his village; he followed the tracks of
the war party, determining to see the fun if he could not
partake of it.
On the fourth night after they left home, the warriors
were all assembled to hear the war song of their chief.
They were yet in their own country, seated on the edge of
a prairie, and back of them as far as the eye could reach,
there was nothing to be seen but the half melted snow; no
rocks, no trees, relieved the sameness of the view. On the
opposite side of the Mississippi, high bluffs, with their worn
sides and broken rocks, hung over the river; and in the
centre of its waters lay the sacred isles, whose many trees
and bushes wanted only the warm breath of summer to
display their luxuriance. The war chief commenced. He
prophesied that they would see deer on the next day, but
that they must begin to be careful, for they would then
have entered their enemies' country. He told them how
brave they were, and that he was braver still. He told them
the Chippeways were worse than prairie dogs. To all of
which the warriors responded, Ho!
When they found themselves near their enemies, the
chief forbade a gun being fired off; no straggling was
allowed; none but the spies were to go beyond a certain
distance from the party.
But after they entered the Chippeway country the
duties of the war chief were still more important. He had
to prophesy where the enemy was to be found, and about
their number; and besides, he had to charm the spirits of
their enemies, that they might be unable to contend with
of a bear.
About nine o'clock at night this ceremony commences.
The warriors all lie down as if asleep, when the war chief
signifies the approach of the spirits to his men, by the
earnestness of his exertions in singing.
The song continues, and increases in energy as the spirit
gets nearer to the hole in the ground, which the chief dug
and filled with water, previous to commencing his song.
Near this hole he placed a hoop, against which are laid all the
war implements of the chief. Before the song commences
the warriors sit and look steadfastly at their leader. But
when the spirit approaches this hole, the warriors hardly
dare breathe, for fear of frightening it away.
At last the spirit gets close to the hole. The war chief
strikes it with his rattle and kills it; this ensures to the
Dahcotahs success in battle. And most solemnly did the
Owl assert to his soldiers, the fact that he had thus dealt
with the bear spirit, while they as earnestly believed it.
The next morning, four of the warriors went in advance
as spies; one of them carried a pipe, presented as an offering
to deceive the spirits of their enemies. About noon
they sat down to rest, and waited until the remainder of
the party came up. When they were all together again,
they rested and smoked; and other spies were appointed,
who took the pipe and went forward again.
They had not proceeded far when they perceived signs
of their enemies. In the sand near the borders of a prairie
were the footprints of Chippeways, and fresh too. They
congratulated each other by looks, too cautious even to
whisper. In a few moments a hundred Chippeways could
thick forest that skirts the edge of the prairie, in order to
find out what prospect they have for delighting themselves
with the long wished for revenge.
It was not long before a group of Chippeways was discovered,
all unapprehensive of evil. At their camp the
Chippeways had made pickets, for they knew they might
expect retaliation; but those who fell a sacrifice were not
expecting their foes.
The spies were not far ahead—they returned to the party,
and then retraced their steps. The low cries of animals
were imitated to prevent any alarm being given by the
breaking of a twig or the rustling of the leaves. They
were very near the Chippeways, when the war chief gave
the signal on a bone whistle, and the Dahcotahs fired.
Every one of the Chippeways fell—two men, three women,
and two children.
Then came the tomahawk and scalping knife—the
former to finish the work of death, the latter to bear a
trophy to their country, to say, Our comrades are avenged.
Nor was that all. The bodies were cut to pieces, and then
the warriors commenced their homeward journey.
They allowed themselves but little rest until they were
out of their enemies' country. But when they were out of
the reach of attack, when their feet trod again upon Dahcotah
soil, then they stopped to stretch each scalp on a
hoop, which was attached to a slender pole. This is
always the work of the war chief.
They look eagerly for the welcome sight of home. The
cone-shaped teepees rise before their view. They know
much as to know that the wanderers have returned.
When they are near their village the war chief raises
the song of victory; the other warriors join their voices to
his. The welcome sound rouses the inhabitants of the
village from their duties or amusements. The warriors
enter the village in triumph, one by one, each bearing the
scalp he took; and the stout warrior, the aged woman, and
the feeble child, all press forward to feast their eyes with
the sight of the scalps.
There was a jubilee in the village for weeks. Day and
night did the savages dance round the scalps. But how
soon may their rejoicings be lost in cries of terror! Even
now they tremble at the sound of their own voices when
evening draws near—for it is their turn to suffer. They
expect their foes, but they do not dread them the less.
2. CHAPTER II.
Many of the customs of the Dahcotahs are to be attributed
to their superstitions. Their teepees are always made
of buffalo-skins; nothing would induce them to use deer-skin
for that purpose. Many years ago a woman made a
teepee of deer-skin, and was taken suddenly ill, and died
immediately after. Some reason must be found for the
cause of her death, and as no other was known, the Indians
concluded that she brought her death upon herself by using
buffalo-skin for that purpose.
Nothing would induce a Dahcotah woman to look into a
looking-glass; for the medicine men say that death will be
the consequence.
But there is no superstition which influences them more
than their belief in Haokah, or the Giant. They say this
being is possessed of superhuman powers: indeed he is
deemed so powerful, as to be able to take the thunder in his
hand and cast it to the ground. He dresses in many colors,
and wears a forked hat. One side of his face is red, the
other blue, his eyes are also of different colors. He always
carries a bow and arrow in his hand, but never has occasion
to use it, as one look will kill the animal he wants.
They sing songs to this giant, and once in a long time
dance in honor of him; but so severe is the latter custom,
that it is rarely performed. The following incident will
show how great is their reverence for this singular being.
An Indian made a vapor bath, and placed inside of it a rude
image of the giant, made of birch bark. This he intended
to pray to while bathing.
After the hot stone was placed inside of the wigwam,
several Indians went in to assist in giving the bath to their
sick friend. One of them commenced pouring the water
on the hot stone, and the water flew on the others, and
scalded them badly; the image of the giant was also displaced;
the Indians never dreamed of attributing their burns
to the natural cause, but concluded that the giant was displeased
at their placing his image there, and they considered
it as an instance of his mercy that they were not
scalded to death.
However defective may be the religion of the Dahcotahs,
they are faithful in acting up to all its requirements. Every
feast and custom among them is celebrated as a part of
their religion.
After the scalp-dance had been performed long enough,
the Dahcotahs of the villages turned their attention to
making sugar. Many groves of sugar trees were in sight
of their village, and on this occasion the generous sap rewarded
their labors.
Nor were they ungrateful; for when the medicine men
announced that they must keep the sugar-feast, all left
their occupation, anxious to celebrate it. Neither need it
be concluded that this occasioned them no loss of time; for
they were all occupied with the construction of their summer
wigwams, which are made of the bark of trees, which
must be peeled off in the spring.
But every villager assembled to keep the feast. A certain
quantity of sugar was dealt out to each individual,
and any one of them who could not eat all that was given
him was obliged to pay leggins, or a blanket, or something
valuable, to the medicine man. On this occasion, indeed
on most occasions, the Dahcotahs have no difficulty in disposing
of any quantity of food.
When the feast was over, however, the skill of their doctors
was in requisition; for almost all of them were made
quite ill by excess, and were seen at evening lying at full
length on the ground, groaning and writhing with pain.
3. CHAPTER III.
The day after the sugar feast, the Owl told his wife to
get ready her canoe, as he wanted to spear some fish. She
would rather have staid at home, as she was not fully recovered
from her last night's indisposition. But there was
no hesitating when the war chief spoke; so she placed her
child upon her back, and seated herself in the stern of the
canoe, paddling gently along the shore where the fish usually
lie. Her husband stood in the bow of the canoe with
a spear about six feet in length. As he saw the fish lying
in the water, he threw the spear into them, still keeping
hold of it.
When the war chief was tired, his wife would stop paddling,
and nurse her child while he smoked. If the Owl
were loquaciously inclined, he would point out to his wife
the place where he shot a deer, or where he killed the man
who had threatened his life. Indeed, if you took his word
for it, there was not a foot of ground in the country which
had not been a scene of some exploit.
The woman believed them all; for, like a good wife, she
shone by the reflected light of her husband's fame.
When they returned home, she made her fire and put
the fish to cook, and towards evening many of the Indians
were assembled in the wigwam of the war-chief, and partook
of the fish he had caught in the morning.
“Unk-ta-he,”[1]
said one of the oldest men in the tribe
“Unk-ta-he is as powerful as the thunder-bird. Each
wants to be the greatest god of the Dahcotahs, and they
have had many battles. My father was a great medicine
man; he was killed many years ago, and his spirit wandered
about the earth. The Thunder-bird wanted him,
and Unk-ta-he wanted him, for they said he would make a
wonderful medicine man. Some of the sons of Unk-ta-he
fought against the sons of the Thunder, and the young
thunder-birds were killed, and then Unk-ta-he took the
spirit of my father, to teach him many mysterious things.
“When my father had lived a long time with Unk-ta-he
in the waters under the earth, he took the form of a Dahcotah
again, and lived in this village. He taught me all that
I know, and when I go to the land of spirits, my son must
dance alone all night, and he will learn from me the secret
of the medicine of our clan.”
All listened attentively to the old man, for not an Indian
there but believed that he could by a spell cause their instant
death; and many wonderful miracles had the “Elk”
wrought in his day.
In the corner of the wigwam sat the Bound Spirit, whose
vacant look told the sad tale of her want of reason. Generally
she sat quiet, but if the cry of an infant fell upon her
ear, she would start, and her shriek could be heard throughout
the village.
The Bound Spirit was a Sisseton. In the depth of winter,
she had left her village to seek her friends in some of
the neighboring bands. She was a widow, and there was
no one to provide her food.
Accompanied by several other Indians, she left her home,
home where she had been very happy while her husband
lived. It had since been the scene of her want and misery.
The small portion of food they had taken for their journey
was exhausted. Rejoiced would they have been to
have had the bark of trees for food; but they were on the
open prairie. There was nothing to satisfy the wretched
cravings of hunger, and her child—the very child that
clung to her bosom—was killed by the unhappy mother,
and its tender limbs supplied to her the means of life.
She reached the place of destination, but it was through
instinct, for forgetting and forgotten by all was the wretched
maniac who entered her native village.
The Indians feared her; they longed to kill her, but were
afraid to do so. They said she had no heart.
Sometimes she would go in the morning to the shore,
and there, with only her head out of water, would she lie
all day.
Now, she has been weeping over the infant who sleeps
by her. She is perfectly harmless, and the wife of the
war chief kindly gives her food and shelter whenever she
wishes it.
But it is not often she eats—only when desperate from
long fasting—and when her appetite is satisfied, she seems
to live over the scene, the memory of which has made her
what she is.
After all but she had eaten of the fish, the Elk related
to them the story of the large fish that obstructed the passage
of the St. Croix river. The scene of this tradition was
far from them, but the Dahcotahs tell each other over and
over again the stories which have been handed down from
tribe. “Two Dahcotahs went to war against their enemies.
On returning home, they stopped at the Lake St.
Croix, hungry and much fatigued.
“One of them caught a fish, cooked it, and asked his
comrade to eat, but he refused. The other argued with
him, and begged of him to eat, but still he declined.
“The owner of the fish continued to invite his friend to
partake of it, until he, wearied by his importunities, consented
to eat, but added with a mysterious look, `My
friend, I hope you will not get out of patience with me.'
After saying this, he ate heartily of the fish.
“He then seemed to be very thirsty, and asked his companion
to bring him some water out of the lake; he did so,
but very soon the thirst, which was quenched for a time
only, returned; more was given him, but the terrible thirst
continued, and at last the Indian, who had begged his companion
to eat, began to be tired of bringing him water to
drink. He therefore told him he would bring him no more,
and requested him to go down to the water and drink. He
did so, and after drinking a great quantity, while his friend
was asleep, he turned himself into a large fish and stretched
himself full length across the St. Croix.
“This fish for a long time obstructed the passage of the
St. Croix; so much so that the Indians were obliged to go
round it by land.
“Some time ago the Indians were on a hunting excursion
up the river, and when they got near the fish a woman
of the party darted ahead in her canoe.
“She made a dish of bark, worked the edges of it very
handsomely, filled it with water, and placed some red down
and entreated the fish to go to its own elements, and not to
obstruct the passage of the river and give them so much
trouble.
“The fish obeyed, and settled down in the water, and
has never since been seen.
“The woman who made this request of the fish, was
loved by him when he was a Dahcotah, and for that reason
he obeyed her wishes.”
Nor was this the only legend with which he amused his
listeners. The night was half spent when they separated
to rest, with as firm a faith in the stories of the old medicine
man, as we have in the annals of the Revolution.
valued by the friends of an Indian girl, he was said to be
the best hunter of the tribe.
“Marry him, my daughter,” said the mother, “your
father is old; he cannot now hunt deer for you and me, and
what shall we do for food? Chaskè will hunt the deer and
buffalo, and we shall be comfortable and happy.”
“Yes,” said her father, “your mother speaks well.
Chaskè is a great warrior too. When your brother died, did
he not kill his worst enemy and hang up his scalp at his
grave?”
But Wenona persevered in her refusal. “I do not love
him, I will not marry him,” was her constant reply.
But Chaskè, trusting to time and her parent's influence,
was not discouraged. He killed game and supplied the
wants of the family. Besides, he had twice bought her,
according to Indian custom.
He had given her parents cloth and blankets, calico and
guns. The girl entreated them not to receive them, but
the lover refused to take them back, and, finally, they were
taken into the wigwam.
Just as the band was about leaving the village for the
hunt, he came again with many presents; whatever would
make the family comfortable on their journey, and a decided
promise was then given that the maiden should become
his wife.
She knew it would be useless to contend, so she seemed
to be willing to submit to her fate. After encamping for
a time opposite the Maiden's Rock to rest from their
journey, the hunters determined to go further down the
river. They had crossed over to the other side, and were
seated nearly under the rock.
Their women were in their canoes coming over, when
suddenly a loud cry was heard from an old woman, the
mother of Wenona.
The canoe had nearly reached the shore, and the mother
continued to shriek, gazing at the projecting rock.
The Indians eagerly inquired of her what was the
matter? “Do you not see my daughter?” she said; “she
is standing close to the edge of the rock!”
She was there indeed, loudly and wildly singing her
dirge, an invocation to the Spirit of the Rock, calm and
unconcerned in her dangerous position, while all was terror
and excitement among her friends below her.
The hunters, so soon as they perceived her, hastily
ascended the bluff, while her parents called to her and
entreated her to go back from the edge of the rock.
“Come down to us, my child,” they cried; “do not destroy
your life; you will kill us, we have no child but
you.”
Having finished her song, the maiden answered her
parents. “You have forced me to leave you. I was
always a good daughter, and never disobeyed you; and
could I have married the man I love, I should have been
happy, and would never have left you. But you have been
cruel to me; you have turned my beloved from the wigwam;
you would have forced me to marry a man I hated;
I go to the house of spirits.”
By this time the hunters had nearly reached her. She
turned towards them for a moment with a smile of scorn,
as if to intimate to them that their efforts were in vain.
But when they were quite near, so that they held out their
dangerous station, she threw herself from the rock.
The first blow she received from the side of the rock
must have killed her, for she fell like a dead bird, amidst
the shouts of the hunters above, and the shrieks of the
women below.
Her body was arrayed in her handsomest clothing,
placed upon a scaffold, and afterwards buried.
But the Dahcotahs say that her spirit does not watch
over her earthly remains; for her spirit was offended when
she brought trouble upon her aged mother and father.
Such is the story told by the Dahcotahs; and why not
apply to them for their own traditions?
Neither is there any reason to doubt the actual occurrence
of the incident.
Not a season passes away but we hear of some Dahcotah
girl who puts an end to her life in consequence of
jealousy, or from the fear of being forced to marry some
one she dislikes. A short time ago a very young girl hung
herself, rather than become the wife of a man who was
already the husband of one of her sisters.
The parents told her they had promised her, and insisted
upon her fulfilling the engagement. Even her sister did
not object, nay, rather seemed anxious to forward the
scheme, which would give her a rival from among her
nearest relations.
The young girl finally ran away, and the lover, leaving
his wife, pursued the fugitive, and soon overtook her. He
renewed his entreaties, and finding her still obstinate, he
told her that she should become his wife, and that he would
kill her if she made any more trouble.
This last argument seemed to have the desired effect,
for the girl expressed her willingness to return home.
After they arrived, the man went to his wigwam to tell
his wife of the return of her sister, and that everything
was now in readiness for their marriage.
But one hour after, the girl was missing; and when
found, was hanging to a tree, forever free from the power
of her tormentors. Her friends celebrated the ceremonies
of death instead of marriage.
It must be conceded that an Indian girl, when desperate
with her love affairs, chooses a most unromantic way of
ending her troubles. She almost invariably hangs herself;
when there are so many beautiful lakes near her where
she could die an easier death, and at the same time one
that would tell better, than where she fastens an old
leather strap about her neck, and dies literally by choking.
But there is this to be taken into consideration. When
she hangs herself near the village, she can manage affairs
so that she can be cut down if she concludes to live a little
longer; for this frequently occurs, and the suicide lives
forty and sometimes sixty years after. But when Wenona
took the resolution of ending her earthly sorrows, no doubt
there were other passions beside love influencing her
mind.
Love was the most powerful. With him she loved, life
would have been all happiness—without him, all misery.
Such was the reasoning of her young heart.
But she resented the importunity of the hunter whose
pretensions her parents favored. How often she had told
him she would die before she would become his wife; and
he would smile, as if he had but little faith in the words of
not assumed; and she would die such a death that he might
know that she feared neither him nor a death of agony.
And while her parents mourned their unkindness, her
lover would admire that firmness which made death more
welcome than the triumph of his rival.
And sacred is the spot where the devoted girl closed her
earthly sorrows. Spirits are ever hovering near the scene.
The laugh of the Dahcotah is checked when his canoe glides
near the spot. He points to the bluff, and as the shades of
evening are throwing dimness and a mystery around the
beauty of the lake, and of the mountains, he fancies he can
see the arms of the girl as she tosses them wildly in the air.
Some have averred they heard her voice as she called to the
spirits of the rock, and ever will the traveller, as he passes
the bluff, admire the wondrous beauty of the picture, and
remember the story of the lover's leap.
There is a tradition among the Dahcotahs which fixes a
date to the incident, as well as to the death of the rival
lovers of Wenona.
They say that it occurred about the time stated, and
that the band of Indians went and obtained the porcupines,
and then they returned and settled on the St. Croix river.
Shortly after the tragical death of Wenona, the band
went again down the Mississippi, and they camped at what
they call the medicine wood. Here a child died, and the
body was laid on a scaffold. The father in the middle of
the night went out to mourn for his child. While he leant
against the scaffold weeping, he saw a man watching him.
The stranger did not appear to be a Dahcotah, and the
mourner was alarmed, and returned to the camp. In the
raised the camp and went into the pine country.
The body of the child was carried along, and in the night
the father went out again to lament its death. The same
figure appeared to him, and again he returned, alarmed at
the circumstance.
In the morning the Indians moved their camp again, and
at night the same occurrence took place.
The Dahcotahs are slaves to superstition, and they now
dreaded a serious evil. Their fears were not confirmed in
the way they anticipated, for their foes came bodily, and
when daylight appeared, one thousand Chippeway warriors
appeared before them, and the shrill whistle and terrible
whoop of war was heard in earnest.
Dreadful were the shouts of the Chippeways, for the
Dahcotahs were totally unprepared for them, and many
were laid low at the first discharge of the rifles.
The merciless Chippeways continued the work of death.
The women and children fled to their canoes, but the Chippeways
were too quick for them; and they only entered
their canoes to meet as certain a fate as those who remained.
The women had not their paddles with them, and there
was an eddy in the current; as soon as the canoe was
pushed from the shore, it would whirl round, and the delighted
Chippeways caught the canoes, and pulled them
ashore again, while others let fall upon their victims the
uplifted tomahawk.
When the Chippeways had killed until they were tired,
they took what they wanted from the Sioux camp, and
started for home, taking one Dahcotah boy prisoner. The
attacked the Chippeways, but the latter succeeded in killing
many of the Dahcotahs. One of the latter fled, and
was in his canoe on the lake St. Croix, when the Chippeways
suddenly came upon him.
The little Dahcotah saw his only chance for liberty—he
plunged in the water and made for the canoe of the Dahcotah.
In a moment he had reached and entered it, and
the two Dahcotahs were out of sight before the arrows of
their enemies could reach them.
A very few of that band escaped; one of them says that
when they were first attacked by the Chippeways, he saw
he had but one chance, so he dived down to the bottom of
the river, and the Chippeways could not see him.
He found the water at the bottom of the river very cold,
and when he had gone some distance, he ventured where
the water was warmer, which he knew was near the shore.
He then came out of the water and made his escape.
Even this latter trifling incident has been handed down
from father to son, and is believed universally by the Dahcotahs.
And according to their tradition, the lovers and
family of Wenona perished in this battle. At all events,
there is no one who can prove that their tradition or my
translation may not be true.
| Dahcotah, or, Life and legends of the Sioux around Fort Snelling | |