 | Dahcotah, or, Life and legends of the Sioux around Fort Snelling |  |
INTRODUCTION.
The materials for the following pages were gathered during a
residence of seven years in the immediate neighborhood—nay—in
the very midst of the once powerful but now nearly extinct tribe
of Sioux or Dahcotah Indians.
For Snelling is situated seven miles below the Falls of St.
Anthony, at the confluence of the Mississippi and St. Peter's
rivers—built in 1819, and named after the gallant Colonel Snelling,
of the army, by whom the work was erected. It is constructed
of stone; is one of the strongest Indian forts in the United States;
and being placed on a commanding bluff, has somewhat the appearance
of an old German castle, or one of the strongholds on the
Rhine.
The then recent removal of the Winnebagoes was rendered
troublesome by the interference of Wabashaw, the Sioux chief,
whose village is on the Mississippi, 1800 miles from its mouth.
The father of Wabashaw was a noted Indian; and during the past
summer, the son has given some indications that he inherits the
father's talents and courage. When the Winnebagoes arrived at
Wabashaw's prairie, the chief induced them not to continue their
journey of removal; offered them land to settle upon near him,
and told them it was not really the wish of their Great Father,
that they should remove. His bribes and eloquence induced the
Winnebagoes to refuse to proceed; although there was a company
of volunteer dragoons and infantry with them. This delay occasioning
much expense and trouble, the government agents applied
one company there; and the commanding officer, with twenty
men and some friendly Sioux, went down to assist the agent.
There was an Indian council held on the occasion. The Sioux
who went from Fort Snelling promised to speak in favor of the
removal. During the council, however, not one of them said a
word—for which they afterwards gave a satisfactory reason.
Wabashaw, though a young man, had such influence over his
band, that his orders invariably received implicit obedience. When
the council commenced, Wabashaw had placed a young warrior
behind each of the friendly Sioux who he knew would speak in
favor of the removal, with orders to shoot down the first one who
rose for that purpose. This stratagem may be considered a
characteristic specimen of the temper and habits of the Sioux
chiefs, whose tribe we bring before the reader in their most conspicuous
ceremonies and habits. The Winnebagoes were finally
removed, but not until Wabashaw was taken prisoner and carried
to Fort Snelling. Wabashaw's pike-bearer was a fine looking
warrior, named “Many Lightnings.”
The village of “Little Crow,” another able and influential Sioux
chief, is situated twenty miles below the Falls of St. Anthony.
He has four wives, all sisters, and the youngest of them almost a
child. There are other villages of the tribe, below and above Fort
Snelling.
The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The falls
of St. Anthony are familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian
sketches. Between the fort and these falls are the “Little Falls,”
forty feet in height, on a stream that empties into the Mississippi.
The Indians call them Mine-hah-hah, or “laughing waters.” In
sight of Fort Snelling is a beautiful hill called Morgan's Bluff; the
Indians call it “God's House.” They have a tradition that it is
the residence of their god of the waters, whom they call Unk-ta-he.
Nothing can be more lovely than the situation and appearance of
this hill; it commands on every side a magnificent view, and during
But, to those who have lived the last few years at Fort Snelling,
this hill presents another source of interest. On its top are buried
three young children, who were models of health and beauty
until the scarlet fever found its way into regions hitherto shielded
from its approach. They lived but long enough on earth to secure
them an entrance into heaven. Life, which ought to be a blessing
to all, was to them one of untold value; for it was a short journey
to a better land—a translation from the yet unfelt cares of earth
to the bright and endless joys of heaven.
Opposite the Fort is Pilot Knob, a high peak, used as a burial-place
by the Indians; just below it is the village of Mendota, or
the “Meeting of the Waters.”
But to me, the greatest objects of interest and curiosity were
the original owners of the country, whose teepees could be seen
in every direction. One could soon know all that was to be known
about Pilot Knob or St. Anthony's falls; but one is puzzled completely
to comprehend the character of an Indian man, woman, or
child. At one moment, you see an Indian chief raise himself to
his full height, and say that the ground on which he stands is
his own; at the next, beg bread and pork from an enemy. An
Indian woman will scornfully refuse to wash an article that might
be needed by a white family—and the next moment, declare that
she had not washed her face in fifteen years! An Indian child of
three years old, will cling to its mother under the walls of the
Fort, and then plunge into the Mississippi, and swim half way
across, in hopes of finding an apple that has been thrown in. We
may well feel much curiosity to look into the habits, manners, and
motives of a race exhibiting such contradictions.
There is a great deal said of Indian warriors—and justly too of
the Sioux. They are, as a race, tall fine-looking men; and many
of those who have not been degraded by association with the
frontier class of white people, nor had their intellects destroyed
by the white man's fire-water, have minds of high order, and reason
an educated logician. Yet are these men called savages, and
morally associated with the tomahawk and scalping knife. Few
regard them as reasonable creatures, or as beings endowed by their
creator with souls, that are here to be fitted for the responsibilities
of the Indians hereafter.
Good men are sending the Bible to all parts of the world.
Sermons are preached in behalf of fellow-creatures who are
perishing in regions known only to us in name. And here,
within reach of comparatively the slightest exertion; here, not
many miles from churches and schools, and all the moral influences
abounding in Christian society; here, in a country endowed with
every advantage that God can bestow, are perishing, body and
soul, our own countrymen: perishing too from disease, starvation
and intemperance, and all the evils incident to their unhappy condition.
White men, Christian men, are driving them back; rooting
out their very names from the face of the earth. Ah! these
men can seek the country of the Sioux when money is to be
gained: but how few care for the sufferings of the Dahcotahs!
how few would give a piece of money, a prayer, or even a thought,
towards their present and eternal good.
Yet are they not altogether neglected. Doctor Williamson, one
of the missionaries among the Sioux, lives near Fort Snelling. He is
exerting himself to the utmost to promote the moral welfare of the
unhappy people among whom he expects to pass his life. He has
a school for the Indian children, and many of them read well. On
the Sabbath, divine service is regularly held, and he has labored
to promote the cause of temperance among the Sioux. Christian
exertion is unhappily too much influenced by the apprehension
that little can be done for the savage. How is it with the man on
his fire-water mission to the Indian? Does he doubt? Does he fail?
As a great motive to improve the moral character of the Indians,
I present the condition of the women in their tribes. A
degraded state of woman is universally characteristic of savage
standard of moral and social virtue. The peculiar sorrows of the
Sioux woman commence at her birth. Even as a child she is despised,
in comparison with the brother beside her, who is one day
to be a great warrior. As a maiden, she is valued while the young
man, who wants her for a wife, may have a doubt of his success.
But when she is a wife, there is little sympathy for her condition.
How soon do the oppressive storms and contentions of life root
out all that is kind or gentle in her heart. She must bear the
burdens of the family. Should her husband wish it, she must
travel all day with a heavy weight on her back; and at night
when they stop, her hands must prepare the food for her family
before she retires to rest.
Her work is never done. She makes the summer and the winter
house. For the former she peels the bark from the trees in
the spring; for the latter she sews the deer-skin together. She
tans the skins of which coats, mocassins, and leggins are to be
made for the family; she has to scrape it and prepare it while
other cares are pressing upon her. When her child is born, she
has no opportunities for rest or quiet. She must paddle the
canoe for her husband—pain and feebleness must be forgotten.
She is always hospitable. Visit her in her teepee, and she willingly
gives you what you need, if in her power; and with alacrity
does what she can to promote your comfort. In her looks there
is little that is attractive. Time has not caused the wrinkles in
her forehead, nor the furrows in her cheek. They are the traces
of want, passion, sorrows and tears. Her bent form was once
light and graceful. Labor and privations are not preservative of
beauty.
Let it not be deemed impertinent if I venture to urge upon
those who care for the wretched wherever their lot may be cast,
the immense good that might be accomplished among these tribes
by schools, which should open the minds of the young to the light
of reason and Christianity. Even if the elder members are given
Many a bright little creature among the Dahcotahs is as capable
of receiving instruction as are the children of civilization. Why
should they be neglected when the waters of benevolence are
moving all around them?
It is not pretended that all the incidents related in these stories
occurred exactly as they are stated. Most of them are entirely
true; while in others the narrative is varied in order to show some
prevalent custom, or to illustrate some sentiment to which these
Indians are devoted. The Sioux are as firm believers in their religion
as we are in ours; and they are far more particular in the
discharge of what they conceive to be the obligations required by
the objects of their faith and worship. There are many allusions
to the belief and customs of the Dahcotahs that require explanation.
For this purpose I have obtained from the Sioux themselves
the information required. On matters of faith there is difference
of opinion among them—but they do not make more points of
difference on religion, or on any other subject, than white people
do.
The day of the Dahcotah is far spent; to quote the language
of a Chippeway chief, “The Indian's glory is passing away.”
They seem to be almost a God-forgotten race. Some few have
given the missionary reason to hope that they have been made
subjects of Christian faith—and the light, that has as yet broken
in faint rays upon their darkness, may increase. He who takes
account of the falling of a sparrow, will not altogether cast away
so large a portion of his creatures. All Christian minds will wish
success to the Indian missionary; and assuredly God will be true
to his mercy, where man is found true to his duty.
The first impression created by the Sioux was the common one—
fear. In their looks they were so different from the Indians I had
occasionally seen. There was nothing in their aspect to indicate
the success of efforts made to civilize them. Their tall, unbending
forms, their savage hauteur, the piercing black eye, the quiet indifference
they from the eastern Indians, whose associations with the white
people seem to have deprived them of all native dignity of bearing
and of character. The yells heard outside the high wall of the
fort at first filled me with alarm; but I soon became accustomed
to them, and to all other occasional Indian excitements, that served
to vary the monotony of garrison life. Before I felt much interest
in the Sioux, they seemed to have great regard for me. My husband,
before his marriage, had been stationed at Fort Snelling and
at Prairie du Chien. He was fond of hunting and roaming about
the prairies; and left many friends among the Indians when he
obeyed the order to return to an eastern station. On going back
to the Indian country, he met with a warm welcome from his old
acquaintances, who were eager to shake hands with “Eastman's
squaw.”
The old men laid their bony hands upon the heads of my little
boys, admired their light hair, said their skins were very white;
and, although I could not then understand their language, they
told me many things, accompanied with earnest gesticulation.
They brought their wives and young children to see me. I had
been told that Indian women gossiped and stole; that they were
filthy and troublesome. Yet I could not despise them: they
were wives and mothers—God had implanted the same feelings in
their hearts as in mine.
Some Indians visited us every day, and we frequently saw them
at their villages. Captain E. spoke their language well; and without
taking any pains to acquire it, I soon understood it so as to
talk with them. The sufferings of the women and children, especially
during the winter season, appealed to my heart. Their
humility in asking for assistance contrasted strongly with the
pompous begging of the men. Late in a winter's afternoon, Wenona,
wife of a chief named the “Star,” came to my room. Undoing
a bundle that she took from under her blanket, she approached
and showed it to me. It was an infant three days old,
shrivelled and already looking old from hunger. She warmed it
by the fire, attempting to still its feeble cries.
“Do you nurse your baby well, Wenona?” I asked; “it looks
so thin and small.”
“How can I,” was the reply, “when I have not eaten since it
was born?”
Frequently we have heard of whole families perishing during
severely cold weather. The father absent on a winter's hunt, the
mother could not leave her children to apply to the fort for assistance,
even had she strength left to reach there. The frozen
bodies would be found in the lodges. The improvident character
of the Indian is well known. Their annuities are soon spent;
supplies received from government are used in feasting; and no
provision is made for winters that are always long and severe.
Though they receive frequent assistance from the public at the
fort, the wants of all cannot be supplied. The captain of the post
was generous towards them, as was always my friend Mrs. F.,
whom they highly esteemed. Yet some hearts are closed against
appeals daily made to their humanity. An Indian woman may
suffer from hunger or sickness, because her looks are repulsive and
her garments unwashed: some will say they can bear the want
of warm clothing, because they have been used to privation.
The women of the Sioux exhibit many striking peculiarities of
character—the love of the marvellous, and a profound veneration
for any and every thing connected with their religious faith; a willingness
to labor and to learn; patience in submitting to insults
from servants who consider them intruders in families; the evident
recognition of the fact that they are a doomed race, and must submit
to indignities that they dare not resent. They seem, too, so unused
to sympathy, often comparing their lives of suffering and hardship
with the ease and comfort enjoyed by the white women, it must
be a hard heart, that could withhold sympathy from such poor
creatures. Their home was mine—and such a home! The very
to love to linger over the scenes amongst which we lived; the
high bluffs of the “father of many waters” and the quiet shores
of the “Mine sota;” the fairy rings on the prairie, and the “spirit
lakes” that reposed beside them; the bold peak, Pilot Knob, on
whose top the Indians bury their dead, with the small hills rising
gradually around it—all were dear to the Sioux and to me. They
believed that the rocks, and hills, and waters were peopled with
fairies and spirits, whose power and anger they had ever been
taught to fear. I knew that God, whose presence fills all nature,
was there. In fancy they beheld their deities in the blackened
cloud and fearful storm; I saw mine in the brightness of nature,
the type of the unchanging light of Heaven.
They evinced the warmest gratitude to any who had ever
displayed kind feelings towards them. When our little children
were ill with scarlet fever, how grieved they were to witness their
sufferings; especially as we watched Virginia, waiting, as we expected,
to receive her parting breath. How strongly they were
contrasted! that fair child, unconscious even of the presence of
the many kind friends who had watched and wept beside her—
and the aged Sioux women, who had crept noiselessly into the
chamber. I remember them well, as they leaned over the foot of
the bed; their expressive and subdued countenances full of sorrow.
That small white hand, that lay so powerless, had ever
been outstretched to welcome them when they came weary and
hungry.
They told me afterwards, that “much water fell from their eyes
day and night, while they thought she would die;” that the servants
made them leave the sick room, and then turned them out of
the house—but that they would not go home, waiting outside to
hear of her.
During her convalescence, I found that they could “rejoice
with those that rejoice” as well as “weep with those that wept.”
The fearful disease was abating in our family, and “Old Harper,”
We allowed her to do so, for the many who had so kindly assisted
us were exhausted with fatigue. Joy had taken from me all inclination
to sleep, and I lay down near my little girl, watching the
old Sioux woman. She seemed to be reviewing the history of her
life, so intently did she gaze at the bright coals on the hearth.
Many strange thoughts apparently engaged her. She was, of her
own accord, an inmate of the white man's house, waiting to do
good to his sick child. She had wept bitterly for days, lest the
child should be lost to her—and now she was full of happiness, at
the prospect of her recovery.
How shall we reconcile this with the fact that Harper, or
Harpstinah, was one of the Sioux women, who wore, as long as
she could endure it, a necklace made of the hands and feet of
Chippeway children? Here, in the silence of night, she turned
often towards the bed, when the restless sleep of the child broke
in on her meditation. She fancied I slept, but my mind was busy
too. I was far away from the home of my childhood, and a Sioux
woman, with her knife in her belt, was assisting me in the care of
my only daughter. She thought Dr. T. was a “wonderful medicine
man” to cure her; in which opinion we all cordially coincided.
I always listened with pleasure to the women, when allusion
was made to their religion; but when they spoke of their tradition,
I felt as a miser would, had he discovered a mine of gold.
I had read the legends of the Maiden's Rock, and of St. Anthony's
Falls. I asked Checkered Cloud to tell them to me. She did so
—and how differently they were told! With my knowledge of
the language, and the aid of my kind and excellent friend Mr.
Prescott, all the dark passages in her narration were made
clear. I thought the Indian tone of feeling was not rightly appreciated—their
customs not clearly stated, perhaps not fairly estimated.
The red man, considered generally as a creature to be
carried about and exhibited for money, was, in very truth, a being
more highly-favored white race. As they affirmed a belief in the
traditions of their tribe, with what strength and beauty of diction
they clothed their thoughts—how energetic in gesture! Alas!
for the people who had no higher creed, no surer trust, for this
and for another world.
However they may have been improved, no one could have had
better opportunities than I, to acquire all information of interest
respecting these Indians. I lived among them seven years. The
chiefs from far and near were constantly visiting the Fort, and
were always at our house. Not a sentiment is in the Legends that
I did not hear from the lips of the Indian man or woman. They
looked on my husband as their friend, and talked to him freely
on all subjects, whether of religion, customs, or grievances. They
were frequently told that I was writing about them, that every
body might know what great warriors they were.
The men were sometimes astonished at the boldness with which
I reproved them, though it raised me much in their estimation. I
remember taking Bad Hail, one of their chiefs, to task, frequently;
and on one occasion he told me, by way of showing his gratitude
for the interest I took in his character, that he had three wives,
all of whom he would give up if I would “leave Eastman, and
come and live with him.” I received his proposition, however, with
Indian indifference, merely replying that I did not fancy having
my head split open every few days with a stick of wood. He
laughed heartily, after his fashion, conscious that the cap fitted, for
he was in the habit of expending all his surplus bad temper upon
his wives. I have sometimes thought, that if, when a warrior, be
he chief or commoner, throws a stick of wood at his wife's head,
she were to cast it back at his, he might, perhaps, be taught better
behaviour. But I never dared to instil such insubordinate notions
into the heads of my Sioux female friends, lest some ultra “brave,”
in a desperate rage, might substitute the tomahawk for the log.
These opinions, too, might have made me unpopular with Sioux
friends, who are self-constituted “lords of creation.”
I noticed that Indians, like white people, instead of confessing
and forsaking their sins, were apt to excuse themselves by telling
how much worse their neighbors were. When told how wicked
it was to have more than one wife, they defended themselves by
declaring that the Winnebagoes had twice or thrice as many as
the Sioux. The attempt to make one right of two wrongs seems
to be instinctive.
I wished to learn correctly the Indian songs which they sing in
celebrating their dances. I sent for a chief, Little Hill, who is a
famous singer, but with little perseverance as a teacher of music.
He soon lost all patience with me, refused to continue the lesson,
declaring that he could never make me sing like a Sioux squaw.
The low, guttural notes created the difficulty. He very quickly
became tired of my piano and singing. The chiefs and medicine
men always answered my questions readily, respecting their laws
and religion; but, to insure good humor, they must first have
something to eat. All the scraps of food collected in the kitchen;
cold beef, cold buckwheat cakes; nothing went amiss, especially
as to quantity. Pork is their delight—apples they are particularly
fond of—and, in the absence of fire-water, molasses and water is a
most acceptable beverage. Then they had to smoke and nod a
little before the fire—and by and by I heard all about the Great
Spirit, and Hookah the Giant, and the powers of the Sacred Medicine.
All that is said in this book of their religion, laws, and sentiments,
I learned from themselves, and most of the incidents
occurred precisely as they are represented. Some few have been
varied, but only where it might happily illustrate a peculiar custom
or opinion.
Their medicine men, priests, and jugglers, are proverbially the
greatest scamps of the tribe. My dear father must forgive me for
reflecting so harshly on his brother practitioners, and be reconciled
when he hears that they belong to the corps of quacks; for they
of others. On returning from an evening walk, we met,
near the fort, a notable procession. First came an old medicine
man, whose Indian name I cannot recall, but the children of the
garrison called him “Old Sneak”—a most appropriate appellation,
for he always looked as if he had just committed murder, and was
afraid of being found out. On this occasion he looked particularly
in character. What a representative of the learned faculty!
After him, in Indian file, came his wife and children, a most cadaverous
looking set. To use a western phrase, they all looked
as if they were “just dug up.” Their appearance was accounted
for in the following ludicrous manner—the story is doubtless substantially
true. There was a quantity of refuse medicine that had
been collecting in the hospital at the fort, and Old Sneak happened
to be present at a general clearing out. The medicine was
given to him; and away he went to his home, hugging it up close
to him like a veritable old miser. It was too precious to be shared
with his neighbors; the medicine of the white man was “wahkun”
(wonderful)—and, carrying out the principle that the more of a
good thing the better, he, with his wife and children, took it all!
I felt assured that the infant strapped to its mother's back was
dying at that time.
The “dog dance” is held by the Sioux in great reverence; and
the first time it has been celebrated near the fort for many years,
was about five summers ago.
The Chippeways, with their chief, “Hole in the Day,” were down
on a visit, and the prairie outside the fort was covered with Indians
of both tribes. The Chippeways sat on the grass at a little
distance, watching the Sioux as they danced, “to show how brave
they were, and how they could eat the hearts of their enemies.”
Most of the officers and ladies of the garrison were assembled on
the hospital gallery to witness the dance.
The Sioux warriors formed a circle; in the centre was a pole
fastened in the ground. One of the Indians killed a dog, and,
bucket of cold water, and then hung them to the pole. After
awhile, one of the warriors advanced towards it, barking. His attitude
was irresistibly droll; he tried to make himself look as much
as possible like a dog, and I thought he succeeded to admiration.
He retreated, and another warrior advanced with a different sort
of bark; more joined in, until there was a chorus of barking.
Next, one becomes very courageous, jumps and barks towards the
pole, biting off a piece of the flesh; another follows and does the
same feat. One after another they all bark and bite. “Let dogs
delight” would have been an appropriate melody for the occasion.
They had to hold their heads back to swallow the morçeau—it
was evidently hard work. Several dogs were killed in succession,
when, seeing some of the warriors looking pale and deadly sick,
Captain E. determined to try how many of their enemies' hearts
they could dispose of. He went down among the Indians and
purchased another dog. They could not refuse to eat the heart.
It made even the bravest men sick to swallow the last mouthful—
they were pale as death. I saw the last of it, and although John
Gilpin's ride might be a desirable sight, yet when the Sioux celebrate
another dog feast, “may I not be there to see.”
Our intercourse with the Sioux was greatly facilitated, and our
influence over them much increased, by the success attending my
husband's efforts to paint their portraits. They thought it supernatural
(wahkum) to be represented on canvas. Some were prejudiced
against sitting, others esteemed it a great compliment to
be asked, but all expected to be paid for it. And if anything were
wanting to complete our opportunities for gaining all information
that was of interest, we found it in the daguerreotype. Captain
E., knowing they were about to celebrate a feast he wished to
paint in group, took his apparatus out, and, when they least expected
it, transferred the group to his plate. The awe, consternation,
astonishment and admiration, surpassed description. “Ho!
Eastman is all wahkun!”
The Indians are fond of boasting and communicating their exploits
and usages to those who have their confidence. While my
husband has delineated their features with the pencil, I have occupied
pleasantly many an hour in learning from them how to
represent accurately the feelings and features of their hearts—feeble
though my pen be. We never failed to gain a point by providing
a good breakfast or dinner.
With the Rev. Mr. Pond and Dr. Williamson, both missionaries
among the Sioux, I had many a pleasant interview and talk about
the tribe. They kindly afforded me every assistance—and as they
are perfectly acquainted with the language of the Sioux, and have
studied their religion with the view to introduce the only true one,
I could not have applied to more enlightened sources, or better
authority.
The day we left Fort Snelling, I received from Mr. Pond the
particulars of the fate of the Sioux woman who was taken prisoner
by the Chippeways, and who is represented in the legend called
The Wife. Soon after her return to her husband, he was killed
by the Chippeways; and the difficulty was settled by the Chippeways
paying to the Sioux what was considered the value of
the murdered man, in goods, such as calico, tobacco, &c.! After
his death, the widow married a Sioux, named “Scarlet Face.”
They lived harmoniously for a while—but soon difficulties arose,
and Scarlet Face, in a fit of savage rage, beat her to death. A
most unromantic conclusion to her eventful life.
How vivid is our recollection of the grief the Sioux showed at
parting with us. For although, at the time, it added to the pain
naturally felt at leaving a place which had so long been our home;
yet the sincere affection they evinced towards us and our children
was most gratifying. They wished us to remember them, when
far away, with kindness. The farewell of my friend Checkered
Cloud can never be forgotten. She was my constant visitor for
years; and, although a poor and despised Sioux woman, I learned
to look upon her with respect and regard. Nor does my interest
may never meet again. It will still be my endeavor to depict all
the customs, feasts and ceremonies of the Sioux, before it be too
late. The account of them may be interesting, when the people
who so long believed in them will be no more.
We can see they are passing away, but who can decide the interesting
question of their origin? They told me that their nation
had always lived in the valley of the Mississippi—that their wise
men had asserted this for ages past. Some who have lived among
them, think they crossed over from Persia in ships—and that they
once possessed the knowledge of building large vessels, though
they have now entirely lost it. This idea bears too little probability
to command any confidence. The most general opinion is
the often told one, that they are a remnant of God's ancient and
chosen people. Be this as it may, they are “as the setting sun,
or as the autumn leaves trampled upon by powerful riders.”
They are receding rapidly, and with feeble resistance, before the
giant strides of civilization. The hunting grounds of a few savages
will soon become the haunts of densely peopled, civilized
settlements. We should be better reconciled to this manifest
destiny of the aborigines, if the inroads of civilization were worthy
of it; if the last years of these, in some respects, noble people,
were lit up with the hope-inspiring rays of Christianity. We are
not to judge the Heathen; yet universal evidence gives the melancholy
fact, that the light of nature does not lead the soul to
God: and without judging of their destiny, we are bound to enlighten
their minds. We know the great Being of whom they
are ignorant; and well will it be for them and for us, in a day
that awaits us all, if yet, though late, sadly late—yet not too late,
we so give countenance and aid to the missionary, that the light
of revealed truth may cheer the remaining period of their national
and individual existence.
Will it be said that I am regarding, with partial eye and sentimental
romance, but one side of the Sioux character? Have they
that goes far to answer the question. Perhaps the best answer is,
the women have faults enough, and the men twice as many as the
women. But if to be a savage is to be cruel, vindictive, ferocious—
dare we say that to be a civilized man necessarily implies freedom
from these traits?
Want of truth, and habitual dishonesty in little things, are prevalent
traits among the Sioux. Most of them will take a kitchen
spoon or fork, if they have a chance—and they think it fair thus
to return the peculations of the whites. They probably have an
idea of making up for the low price at which their lands have been
valued, by maintaining a constant system of petty thefts—or perhaps
they consider kitchen utensils as curiosities, just as the whites
do their mocassins and necklaces of bear's claws. Yes—it must be
confessed, however unsentimental, they almost all steal.
The men think it undignified for them to steal, so they send
their wives thus unlawfully to procure what they want—and wo
be to them if they are found out. The husband would shame and
beat his wife for doing what he certainly would have beaten her
for refusing to do. As regards the honesty of the men, I give you
the opinion of the husband of Checkered Cloud, who was an excellent
Indian. “Every Sioux;” said he, “will steal if he need,
and there be a chance. The best Indian that ever lived, has
stolen. I myself once stole some powder.”
I have thus, perhaps tediously, endeavored to show, that what
is said in this work has been learned by intimate association, and
that for years, with the Indian. This association has continued
under influences that secured unreservedly their confidence, friendship—and
I may say truly, in many instances—their affection.
If the perusal of the Legends give pleasure to my friends—how
happy am I! To do more than this I hardly dare hope.
| Dahcotah, or, Life and legends of the Sioux around Fort Snelling | |