On his return to the village, such was his popularity, that no inquiry was made into his conduct, and no censure was passed upon it. Since this transaction no human sacrifice has been offered in this or any other of the Pawnee tribes; the practice is abandoned. How influential is one bold act in a good cause! This deed illustrates a grand principle, boys. It is by such men that great reformations are made in the world, and yet there is no mastery in it. Every one is capable of doing that which he knows to be right, regardless of the opinions of wicked men, or the habits of the weak and foolish, who follow customs which have no apology but that others have done so before.

The publication of this anecdote at Washington led some young ladies, in a manner highly creditable to their good sense and good feeling, to present this brave and humane Indian with a handsome silver medal, with appropriate inscriptions, as a token of their sincere commendation of the noble act of rescuing one of their sex, an innocent victim, from a cruel death. Their address, delivered on this occasion, is sensible and appropriate, closing as follows:

"Brother—Accept this token of our esteem; always wear it for our sakes; and when again you have the power to save a poor woman from death and torture, think of this, and of us, and fly to her relief and rescue."

To this the Pawnee made the following reply:—

"Brothers and sisters—This medal will give me ease more than I ever had; and I will listen more than I ever did to white men.

"I am glad that my brothers and sisters have heard of the good deed that I have done. My brothers and sisters think that I have done it in ignorance, but I now know what I have done.

"I did do it in ignorance, and I did not know that I did good; but by your giving me this medal I know it."

The cruelty of torturing and burning a captive, the great danger of the female Indian, and the noble daring of the Pawnee brave, formed the subject of conversation for some time among the young people; and Austin was unbounded in his approbation of the Pawnee. Willingly would he have contributed towards another silver medal for him, and Brian and Basil would not have been backward in doing their part; but the affair appeared hardly practicable, inasmuch as a reasonable doubt existed whether the Pawnee brave was still alive; and, even if he were, there seemed to be no direct way of communicating with him.





CHAPTER X.

"Remember," said Austin, as he urged his brothers to quicken their pace on their way to the cottage, "we have hardly heard any thing yet about buffaloes and grizzly bears, and other animals which are found in the woods and the prairie. Let us make haste, that we may have a long visit."

Brian and Basil, being almost as anxious as their brother to hear all about bears and buffaloes, quickened their pace as he desired them, so that no long period had passed, before the hunter, at the request of his youthful visitors, was engaged in giving them the desired account.

"The different animals and birds," said he, "that inhabit different countries, for the most part, roam backwards and forwards, according to the season. Creatures that love the cold move northerly in summer, and such as delight in a warmer clime move southerly in winter. It is, however, principally to obtain food that they remove from one place to another. I must here explain to you, that though I have, in common with most others who use these terms, spoken of buffaloes, the animal which abounds in the prairie is not properly the buffalo, but the bison."

Austin. But if they are bisons, why are they called buffaloes?

Hunter. That is a question that I hardly know how to answer. From whatever cause it may have arisen, certain it is, that the name of buffalo has become common; and, that being the case, it is used in conversation, and oftentimes in books, as being more easily understood.

Brian. What is the difference between a buffalo and a bison?

Hunter. A buffalo is an animal that abounds in Africa, resembling an ugly cow, with a body long, but rather low; and very long horns. But the bison stands very high in front, has a hump on the back part of the neck covered with long hair, short horns, and a profusion of long shaggy hair hanging from its head, neck and fore-legs.

Austin. Then a bison must look much fiercer than a buffalo.

Hunter. He does; and from the circumstance of his fore-parts standing high, while he carries his head low, he always appears as if he were about to run at you. Bisons abound throughout the whole of our country, west of the Mississippi; but the reckless way in which they are slaughtered, and the spread of civilization, are likely, in a few years, greatly to decrease their numbers. Indians suffer much from hunger, but they are very reckless when buffaloes are plentiful. On one occasion, when among the Minatarees, I witnessed a grand capture of buffaloes. It was effected by different parties taking different directions, and then gradually approaching each other. The herd was thus hemmed in on all sides, and the slaughter was terrible. The unerring rifle, the sharp spear and the winged arrow, had full employ; and so many buffaloes were slain, that, after taking their tongues and other choice parts of them for food, hundreds of carcasses were left for the prairie-wolves to devour. Thus it is that man, whether savage or civilized, too often becomes prodigal of the abundance he enjoys, and knows not the value of what he possesses, till taught by that want into which his thoughtless waste has plunged him.

Austin. Ay, they will soon kill all the buffaloes, if they go on in that manner.

Hunter. At present, they are to be seen on the prairie in droves of many thousands; the woods, also, abound with them; and often, in the heat of summer, an incalculable number of heads and horns are visible in the rivers, the bodies of the bisons being under the water.

Brian. What, because they are so hot?

Hunter. Yes: the bison suffers very much from heat. It is no uncommon thing to see a bison bull lay himself down in a puddle of water, and turn himself round and round in it, till he has half covered his body with mud. The puddle hole which he thus makes is called a bison or buffalo wallow. The puddle cools him while he is in it, and when he quits it, the mud plastered on his sides defends him from the burning heat of the sun.

Basil. What a figure a bison bull must cut, with his shaggy hair and his sides plastered all over with mud!

Hunter. Bears are often most formidable foes to the hunter; but there is this striking difference between the common bear and the grizzly bear, that while the former eats mostly vegetables, and will do his best to get out of your way, the latter eats nothing but flesh, and is almost sure to attack you. Hunters and Indians make it a rule never to fire at a grizzly bear, unless in self-defence: except in cases when they have a strong party, or can fire from a tree; for, when he is wounded, his fury knows no bounds.

Austin. How can you escape from a grizzly bear, if he is so very terrible?

Hunter. The common bear can climb a tree, as I have already told you; but the grizzly bear is no climber. If you have time to get up into a tree, you are safe: if not, you must reserve your shot till the animal is near you, that you may take a steady aim. You must then fight it out in the best way you can. Grizzly bears are sometimes of a very large size, measuring from nine to ten feet in length. It was on the Upper Missouri that I was once chased by one of these terrible fellows, and a narrow escape I had.

Austin. How was it? Tell us all about it.

Hunter. I had just fired off my rifle at a bird which I took for an eagle, little thinking how soon my wasted bullet (for I did not strike the bird) would be wanted in defence of my life. The crack of my piece reverberated from the green-topped bluffs that rose from the prairie; and I suppose it was this that brought Sir Bruin upon me. He came on with huge strides, and I had nothing but a hunting-knife to use in my defence, my discharged rifle being of no use. There was no tree near, so throwing down my piece, I drew my knife as a forlorn hope in my extremity.

Austin. A hunting-knife against a grizzly bear!

Hunter. When the huge monster was within a few yards of me, to my amazement, I heard the report of two rifles, and in the same instant my tremendous foe fell, with two bullets in his head. This timely assistance was rendered me by two of our party, who, having followed my track, were near me when I thought myself alone.

Austin. Never was any one in greater danger.

Hunter. I will tell you an anecdote that I have read of a common bear. A boy, about eight years old, was sent by his mother into the woods, to bring home the old cow. At the distance of somewhat more than half a mile, he found her, attended by some young cattle. He began to drive them home; but had not proceeded far, when a bear came out of the bushes, and seemed disposed to make his acquaintance.

The boy did not like his company; so he jumped upon the old cow's back, and held on by her horns. She set out at full speed, and the bear after her. The young cattle, lifting their tails in the air, brought up the rear. Thus they proceeded, the young ones behind frequently coming up to the bear, and giving him a thrust with their horns.

This compelled him to turn round, and thus the old cow, with her brave rider, got somewhat in advance. The bear then galloped on, and, approaching the boy, attempted to seize him; but the old cow cantered along, and finally brought the boy to his mother's house in safety. The bear, thinking he should not be welcome there, after approaching the house, turned about and scampered back to the forest. Sir Bruin knew when he was well off; a whole skin is the best covering a bear can have; but, if he ventures among mankind, he is likely enough to have it stripped over his ears.

Austin. That was a capital old cow, for she saved the boy's life.

Basil. But the young cattle helped her, for they pushed the bear with their horns.

Brian. Please to tell us about wild horses.

Hunter. The hordes or bands of wild horses that abound in some of the prairies, are supposed to be the offspring of Spanish horses, brought to Mexico by Europeans. They are extremely shy, keen in their sight and swift of foot, so that to come up with them, except by surprise, is no easy thing. I have seen them in great numbers from the brow of a bluff, or have peeped at them cautiously from a ravine.

Austin. What kind of horses are they; and of what colour?

Hunter. Some of them are fine animals, but in general they are otherwise. Stunted and coarse in appearance, they are of various colours—bay, chestnut, cream, gray, piebald, white and black, with long tails, fetlocks, top-knots and manes.

Brian. How do they catch them?

Hunter. In different ways. Sometimes a well-mounted Indian, armed with his rifle, follows a horde of horses, until he can get a fair shot at the best among them. He aims at the top of the neck, and if he succeeds in striking the high gristle there, it stuns the animal for the moment, when he falls to the ground without being injured. This is called creasing a horse: but a bad marksman would kill, and not crease, the noble animal he seeks to subdue.

Austin. What other way is there of catching wild horses? for that seems to be a very bad one.

Basil. It is a very bad way. They ought not to shoot them.

Hunter. They are much more commonly taken with the lasso; which is a thong at least a dozen yards long, ending in a noose. This the Indians throw, at full gallop, over the head of the flying steed they wish to secure. Rarely do they miss their aim. When a horse is thus caught, the hunter leaps from his steed, and lets out the lasso gradually, choking his captive till he is obliged to stop: he then contrives to hopple or tie his fore-legs; to fasten the lasso round his lower jaw; to breathe in his nostrils, and to lead him home.

Austin. Breathe in his nostrils! Why, what does he do that for?

Hunter. Because experience has taught him, that it does much towards rendering his captive more manageable. It is said, that if an Indian breathes freely into the nostrils of a wild young buffalo on the prairie, the creature will follow him with all the gentleness and docility of a lamb.

Brian. Well! that does appear strange!

Hunter. There is one animal, which the Indians, the hunters and trappers sometimes meet with, that I have not mentioned. It is the cougar, or panther, or American lion; for it goes by all these names. Now and then it is to be seen in the thick forests of the west; but, being a sad coward, it is not so much dreaded as it otherwise would be.

Brian. I should not much like to meet a cougar.

Hunter. The common wolf of America is as big as a Newfoundland dog, and a sulky, savage-looking animal he is. So long as he can feed in solitary places he prefers to do so, but, when hunger-pressed, he attacks the fold; after which, Mr. Grizzly-skin loses no time in getting to a place of shelter, for he knows that should he outrun the stanch hounds that will soon be on his track, yet will a rifle ball outrun him.

Brian. Yes, yes; Mr. Grizzly-back is very cunning.

Hunter. The prairie-wolf is smaller than the common wolf. Prairie-wolves hunt after deer which they generally overtake; or keep close to a buffalo herd, feeding on such as die, or on those that are badly wounded in fighting with one another. The white, black, and clouded wolves are in the northern parts. There are many kinds of deer. I told you, that sometimes a deer-hunt took place on a large scale, by enclosing a circle, and driving the deer into it. In shooting antelopes, the hunter has only to stick up his ramrod in the ground in their neighbourhood, and throw over it his handkerchief; while he, with his rifle ready loaded, lies on the grass near at hand. The antelopes will soon approach the handkerchief to see what it is, when the hunter may make them an easy prey. The largest deer is the moose deer, which is often seven feet high. He is an awkward, overgrown-looking creature, with broad horns; but, awkward as he is, I question if any of you could outrun him. Mountain and valley, lake and river, seem alike to him, for he crosses them all. In the snow, to be sure, the unwearied and persevering hound will overtake him; but let him beware of his horns, or he will be flying head over heels in the air in a twinkling. The moose deer, however, cannot successfully strive with the hunter's rifle.

Austin. Nothing can stand against man.

Hunter. And yet what is man opposed to his Maker? His strength is perfect weakness! In a moment, in a twinkling of an eye, he "changes his countenance, and sends him away."

Basil. What other kinds of deer do Indians catch?



Hunter. The elk, with his large branching horns, who would despise a palace as a dwelling-place. Nothing less than the broad sky above his head, and the ground of the boundless forest beneath his feet, will satisfy him. After the elk, come the Virginia, or common deer, the wapiti deer, the black-tailed deer, and the cariboo. All these are the prey of the hunter. Their savoury flesh supplies him with food, and their soft skins are articles of merchandise. The mountain sheep may often be seen skipping from one ledge to another of the rugged rocks, and precipitous clayey cliffs of the western wilds, giving life to the solitary place, and interest to the picturesque beauty of lonely spots.

Austin. You have mentioned all the animals now, I think, that the hunter chases; for you spoke before about beavers, badgers, foxes, raccoons, squirrels and some others.

Basil. You have never told us, though, how they catch the musk-rat. I should like to know that.

Hunter. Well, then, I will tell you how they take the musk-rat, but must first speak about the prairie dog. Prairie dogs are a sort of marmot, but their bark is somewhat like that of a small dog. Rising from the level prairie, you may sometimes see, for miles together, small hillocks of a conical form, thrown up by the prairie dogs, which burrow some eight or ten feet in the ground. On a fine day, myriads of these dogs, not much unlike so many rats, run about, or sit barking on the tops of their hillocks. The moment any one approaches them, they disappear, taking shelter in their burrows.

Basil. Oh, the cunning little rogues.

Hunter. The musk-rat builds his burrow (which looks like a hay-stack) of wild rice stalks; so that, while he has a dry lodging, a hole at the bottom enables him, when he pleases, to pass into the shallow water beneath his burrow or lodge. In taking a musk-rat, a person strikes the top of the burrow, and out scampers the tenant within; but no sooner does he run through his hole into the shallow water, than he is instantly caught with a spear. Myriads of these little animals are taken in this manner for their fur.

Brian. They must be a good deal like prairie dogs, though one has his house on the land, and the other in the water.

Hunter. These wide prairies, on which roam bisons and horses and deer innumerable; and these shallow waters, where musk-rats abound, will probably, in succeeding years, assume another character. White men will possess them; civilized manners and customs will prevail, and Christianity spread from the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains; for the kingdoms of the world, you know, are to become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ.

Austin. You have told us a great deal indeed, to-day, about the prairies.

Hunter. I have already spoken of the prairie fires; I mean the burning grass set on fire by accident, or purposely, for the double advantage of obtaining a clearer path and an abundant crop of fresh grass; but I must relate an adventure of my own, of a kind not likely to be forgotten. So long as a prairie fire is confined to the high grounds, there is very little danger from it; for, in such situations, the grass being short, the fire never becomes large, though the line of flame is a long one. Birds and beasts retire before it in a very leisurely manner; but in plains where the grass is long, it is very different.

Austin. I should like to see one of those great, high, round bluffs on fire. There must be a fine bonfire then.

Hunter. There you are mistaken, for as I have already told you, the grass is short on the bluffs. To be sure, the sight of a bluff on fire, on a dark night, is very singular; for as you can only see the curved line of flame, the bluff being hidden by the darkness, so it seems as though the curved lines of flame were up in the air, or in the sky.

Basil. They must look very beautifully.

Hunter. They do: but when a fire takes place in a low bottom of long grass, sedge and tangled dry plants, more than six feet high; and when a rushing wind urges on the fiery ruin, flashing like the lightning and roaring like the thunder; the appearance is not beautiful, but terrible. I have heard the shrill war-whoop, and the clash of contending tomahawks in the fight, when no quarter has been given. I have witnessed the wild burst where Niagara, a river of waters, flings itself headlong down the Horseshoe Fall; and I have been exposed to the fury of the hurricane. But none of these are half so terrible as the flaming ocean of a long-grass prairie-fire.

Austin. Oh! it must be terrible.

Hunter. The trapper is bold, or he is not fit for his calling; the hunter is brave, or he could never wage war as he does with danger; and the Indian from his childhood is familiar with peril: yet the Indian, the hunter and the trapper tremble, as well they may, at a prairie-meadow fire. But I must relate my adventure.

Basil. I am almost afraid to hear it.

Austin. Poh! nonsense! It will never hurt you.

Hunter. A party of five of us, well mounted, and having with us our rifles and lances, were making the best of our way across one of the low prairie bottoms, where the thick coarse grass and shrubs, even as we sat on our horses, were often as high as our heads; when we noticed, every now and then, a flight of prairie hens, or grouse, rapidly winging their way by us. Two of our party were of the Blackfoot tribe; their names were Ponokah (elk) and Moeese (wigwam.) These Indians had struck into a buffalo trail, and we had proceeded for a couple of hours as fast as the matted grass and wild pea-vines would allow, when suddenly the wind that was blowing furiously from the east became northerly, and in a moment, Moeese, snuffing the air, uttered the words, "Pah kapa," (bad;) and Ponokah, glancing his eyes northward, added, "Eehcooa pah kaps," (very bad.)

Austin. I guess what was the matter.

Brian. And so do I.

Hunter. In another instant a rush was heard, and Ponokah, who was a little ahead, cried out, "Eneuh!" (buffalo!) when three bisons came dashing furiously along another trail towards us. No sooner did they set eyes on us, than they abruptly turned southward. By this time, we all understood that, to the north, the prairie was on fire; for the air smelt strong. Deer, and bisons, and other animals, sprang forward in different directions from the prairie, and a smoke, not very distant, like a cloud, was visible.

Austin. I hope you set off at full gallop.

Hunter. We were quite disposed to urge our horses onward; but the trail took a turn towards the burning prairie, and we were obliged to force our way into another, in doing which my horse got his feet entangled, and he fell, pitching me over his head some yards before him. I was not hurt by the fall, for the thick herbage protected me; but the worst of it was, that my rifle, which had been carelessly slung, fell from my shoulder among the long grass, and being somewhat confused by my fall, I could not find it.

Brian. You ought not to have stopped a moment.

Hunter. Perhaps not; but, to a hunter, a rifle is no trifling loss, and I could not make up my mind to lose mine. Time was precious, for the smoke rapidly increased; and both Ponokah and Moeese, who knew more about burning prairies than I did, and were therefore more alive to our danger, became very impatient. By the time my rifle was found, and we were ready to proceed, the fire had gained upon us in a crescent form, so that before and behind we were hemmed in. The only point clear of the smoke was to the south; but no trail ran that way, and we feared that, in forcing a road, another accident might occur like that which had befallen us.

Austin. I cannot think what you could do in such a situation.

Hunter. Our disaster had come upon us so unexpectedly, and the high wind had so hurried on the flaming storm, that there seemed to be no time for a moment's thought. Driven by necessity, we plunged into the thick grass to the south; but our progress was not equal to that of the fire, which was now fast approaching, blackening the air with smoke, and roaring every moment louder and louder. Our destruction seemed almost certain; when Ponokah, judging, I suppose, by the comparative thinness of the smoke eastward, that we were not far from the boundary of the prairie bottom, dashed boldly along a trail in that direction, in the face of the fire, crying out to us to follow. With the daring of men in extremity, we put our horses to their speed, broke through the smoke, fire, grass, and flame, and found ourselves almost instantly on a patch of ground over which the fire had passed; but, as the grass had evidently been scanty, we were free from danger. From a neighbouring bluff, which the smoke had before hidden from our view, we saw the progress of the flame—a spectacle that filled me with amazement. The danger we had escaped seemed increased by the sight of the fearful conflagration, and I know not whether terror, amazement, or thankfulness most occupied my mind.

Austin. That was, indeed, a narrow escape.

Hunter. As we stood on the bluff, dismounted, to gaze on the flying flames—which appeared in the distance like a huge fiery snake of some miles in length, writhing in torture—my wonder increased. The spectacle was fearful and sublime, and the conflagration nearest to us resembled the breakers of the deep that dash on a rocky shore, only formed of fire, roaring and destroying, preceded by thick clouds of smoke. Before then, I had been accustomed to sights and scenes of peril, and had witnessed the burning of short grass to some extent; but this was the first time I had been in such fearful danger—the first time I felt the awfulness of such a situation—the first time that I had really seen the prairie on fire!

Brian. There can be nothing in the world like a burning prairie, unless it be a burning mountain.

Hunter. A burning prairie, when we are near it, is a vast and overwhelming spectacle; but every rising and setting sun exhibits Almighty wisdom, power and goodness, on a scale infinitely beyond that of a hundred burning prairies. It is a good thing to accustom ourselves to regard the works of creation around us with that attention and wonder they are calculated to inspire, and especially to ponder on the manifestation of God's grace set forth in his holy word. When burning prairies and burning mountains shall be all extinguished; when rising and setting suns and all earthly glory shall be unknown; then shall the followers of the Redeemer gaze on the brighter glories of heaven, and dwell for ever with their Leader and their Lord.







CHAPTER XI.

Buffaloes, bears, wild horses, wolves, deer, prairie-dogs and musk-rats, were a fruitful source of conversation to the young people in their leisure hours, until such time as they could again visit their interesting friend at the cottage. Various plans were formed to attack grizzly bears, to catch wild horses, and to scare away half-famished wolves; in all of which, Jowler, notwithstanding his bad behaviour at the buffalo hunt, was expected to act a distinguished part. Black Tom was scarcely considered worth thinking about, he being too wild by half for a wild horse, and too faint-hearted for a grizzly bear. At one time, it was so far determined for him to play the part of a prairie-dog, that Austin set about digging a hole for him: before it was finished, however, the plan was abandoned; Brian and Basil both feeling positive that, let Austin dig a hole as deep as he would, Black Tom would never be persuaded to run into it.

After much deliberation, catching wild horses being given up—on the score that Black Tom would run away too fast, and Jowler would not run a way at all—a bear hunt was resolved on, having, as Brian observed, two especial advantages: the first, that all of them could enjoy the sport at once; and the second, that Jowler would be sure to attack them all, just like a grizzly bear.

No time was lost in preparing their long spears, and in dressing themselves as much like renowned chiefs as their knowledge and resources would allow. And, in order that Jowler might the more closely resemble a grizzly bear, a white apron was spread over his broad back, and tied round his neck. The lawn was, as before, the scene of their exploits, the prairie on which the fearful monster was to be overcome; and, to the credit of their courage be it spoken, neither Austin, Brian nor Basil, manifested the slightest token of fear.

Jowler was led by them among the bushes of the shrubbery, that he might burst out upon them all at once; and this part of the arrangement answered excellently well, only that Jowler arrived on the prairie first instead of last; add to which, the bushes having so far despoiled him of his grizzly hide, the white apron, as to have pulled it off his back, he set to work mouthing and tearing at it, to get it from his neck. At last, in spite of a few untoward and unbearlike actions on the part of Jowler, the attack took place. With undaunted resolution, Austin sustained Jowler's most furious charges; Brian scarcely manifested less bravery; and little Basil, though he had broken his lance, and twice fallen to the earth, made a desperate and successful attack on his fearful antagonist, and caught him fast by the tail. It was on the whole a capital adventure; for though they could not with truth say that they had killed the bear, neither could the bear say that he had killed them.

The bear hunt being at an end, they set off for the cottage; for the hunter had promised to describe to them some of the games of the Indian tribes, and he was soon engaged in giving them an account of the ball-play of the Choctaws. "At the Choctaw ball-play thousands of spectators attend, and sometimes a thousand young men are engaged in the game."

Hunter. It is played in the open prairie, and the players have no clothes on but their trowsers, a beautiful belt formed of beads, a mane of dyed horse-hair of different colours, and a tail sticking out from behind like the tail of a horse; this last is either formed of white horse-hair or of quills.

Brian. And how do they play?

Hunter. Every man has two sticks, with a kind of hoop at the end, webbed across, and with these they catch and strike the ball. The goal on each side, consisting of two upright posts and a pole across the top, is set up twenty-five feet high; these goals are from forty to fifty rods apart. Every time either party can strike the ball through their goal, one is reckoned, and a hundred is the game.

Basil. What a scuffle there must be among so many of them!

Hunter. When every thing is ready for the game to begin, a gun is fired; and some old men, who are to be the judges, fling up the ball in the middle, half-way between the two goals.

Brian. Now for the struggle.

Hunter. One party being painted white, every man knows his opponent. No sooner is the ball in the air, than a rush takes place. Every one with his webbed stick raised above his head; no one is allowed to strike or to touch the ball with his hands. They cry out aloud at the very top of their voices, rush on, leap up to strike the ball, and do all they can to help their own side and hinder their opponents. They leap over each other, dart between their rivals' legs, trip them up, throw them down, grapple with two or three at a time, and often fall to fisticuffs in right earnest. There they are, in the midst of clouds of dust, running, striking and struggling with all their might; so that, what with the rattle of the sticks, the cries, the wrestling, the bloody noses, the bruised shins, the dust, uproar and confusion, such a scene of excitement is hardly to be equalled by any other game in the world.

Brian. How long does the game last?

Hunter. It begins about eight or nine o'clock in the morning, and sometimes is scarcely finished by sunset. A minute's rest is allowed every time the ball is urged beyond the goal, and then the game goes on again till it is finished. There is another ball-play somewhat resembling this, which is played by the women of the Prairie du Chien, while the men watch the progress of the game, or lounge on the ground, laughing at them.

Austin. Do they ever run races?

Hunter. Yes, and very expert they are. Many of the tribes are extravagantly fond of horses. You see an Indian, with his shield and quiver, his ornamented shirt, leggins, and mocassins; his long hair flowing behind him, or his head-dress of the war-eagle tailing gracefully nearly to his heels; his lance in his hand; and his dress ornamented with ermine, shells, porcupine quills and a profusion of scalp-locks; but you see him out of character. He should spring on a horse wild as the winds; and then, as he brandished his lance, with his pendent plumes, and hair and scalp-locks waving in the breeze, you see him in his proper element. Horse-racing among the Indians is an exciting scene. The cruel custom, of urging useful and noble animals beyond their strength, is much the same in savage as in civilized life; but the scene is oftentimes more wild, strange, and picturesque than you can imagine.

Austin. Ay, I remember that the Camanchees are capital riders. I was a Camanchee in our buffalo hunt. Brian, you have not forgotten that?

Brian. But you had no horse to ride. I was a Sioux; and the Sioux are capital riders too.

Basil. And so are the Pawnees, I was a Pawnee in the buffalo hunt.

Hunter. It was told me that the Camanchees—and, indeed, some of the Pawnees also—were able, while riding a horse at full gallop, to lie along on one side of him, with an arm in a sling from the horse's neck, and one heel over the horse's back; and that, while the body was thus screened from an enemy, they could use their lances with effect, and throw their arrows with deadly aim. The Camanchees are so much on their horses, that they never seem at their ease except when they are flying across the prairie on horseback.

Austin. It would be worth going to the prairies, if it were only to see the Camanchees ride.

Hunter. Besides horse-races, the Indians have foot-races and canoe-races and wrestling. The Indians are also very fond of archery, in which, using their bows and also arrows so much as they do, it is no wonder they are very skilful. The game of the arrow is a very favourite amusement with them. It is played on the open prairie. There is no target set up to shoot at, as there is generally; but every archer sends his first arrow as high as he can into the air.

Austin. Ay, I see! He who shoots the highest in the air is the winner.

Hunter. Not exactly so. It is not he who shoots highest that is the victor; but he who can get the greatest number of arrows into the air at the same time. Picture to yourselves a hundred well-made, active young men, on the open prairie, each carrying a bow, with eight or ten arrows, in his left hand. He sends an arrow into the air with all his strength, and then, instantly, with a rapidity that is truly surprising, shoots arrow after arrow upwards, so that, before the first arrow has reached the ground, half a dozen others have mounted into the air. Often have I seen seven or eight shafts from the same bow in the air at once.

Austin. Brian, we will try what we can do to-morrow; but we shall never have so many as seven or eight up at once.

Hunter. The Indians are famous swimmers, and, indeed, if they were not, it would often go hard with them. They are taught when very young to make their way through the water, and though they do it usually in a manner different from that of white men, I hardly think many white men would equal them, either as to their speed, or the length of time they will continue in the water.

Austin. But how do they swim, if their way is different from ours? I can swim a little, and I should like to learn their way, if it is the best.

Hunter. I am not quite prepared to say that; for, though red men are more expert swimmers than white men, that may be owing to their being more frequently in the water. They fish a great deal in the lakes; and they have often to cross brooks and rivers in too much haste to allow them to get into a canoe. A squaw thinks but very little of plunging into a rolling river with a child on her back; for the women swim nearly or quite as well as the men.

Austin. But you did not tell us wherein their way of swimming is different from ours.

Hunter. Whites swim by striking out their legs and both arms at the same time, keeping their breasts straight against the water; but the Indian strikes out with one arm only, turning himself on his side every stroke, first on one side and then on the other, so that, instead of his broad chest breasting the water in front, he cuts through it sideways, finding less resistance in that way than the other. Much may be said in favour of both these modes. The Indian mode requires more activity and skill, while the other depends more on the strength of the arms, a point in which they far surpass the Indian, who has had little exercise of the arms, and consequently but comparatively little strength in those limbs. I always considered myself to be a good swimmer, but I was no match for the Indians. I shall not soon forget a prank that was once played me on the Knife River, by some of the Minatarees; it convinced me of their adroitness in the water.

Basil. What was it? Did they dip your head under the water?

Hunter. No; you shall hear. I was crossing the river in a bull-boat, which is nothing more than a tub, made of buffalo's skin, stretched on a framework of willow boughs. The tub was just large enough to hold me and the few things which I had with me; when suddenly a group of young swimmers, most of them mere children, surrounded me, and began playfully to turn my tub round and round in the stream. Not being prepared to swim, on account of my dress, I began to manifest some fear lest my poor tub should be overturned; but the more fearful I was, the better pleased were my mirthful tormentors.

Austin. Ah! I can see it spinning round like a peg-top, in the middle of the river.

Brian. And did they upset the tub?

Hunter. No. After amusing themselves for some time at my expense, now and then diving under the tub, and then pulling down the edge of it level with the water, on receiving a few beads, or other trifles which I happened to have with me, they drew me and my bull-boat to the shore in safety. They were beautiful swimmers, and, as I told you, I shall not soon forget them.

The dances among the Indians are very numerous; some of them are lively enough, while others are very grave; and, then, most of the tribes are fond of relating adventures.

There are the buffalo dance, the bear dance, the dog dance and the eagle dance. And then there are the ball-play dance, the green corn dance, the beggars' dance, the slave dance, the snow-shoe dance, and the straw dance; and, besides these, there are the discovery dance, the brave dance, the war dance, the scalp dance, the pipe-of-peace dance, and many others that I do not at this moment remember.

Brian. You must please to tell us about them all.

Austin. But not all at once, or else we shall have too short an account. Suppose you tell us of two or three of them now.

Hunter. To describe every dance at length would be tiresome, as many of them have the same character. It will be better to confine ourselves to a few of the principal dances. I have known a buffalo dance continue for a fortnight or longer, day and night, without intermission. When I was among the Mandans, every Indian had a buffalo mask ready to put on whenever he required it. It was composed of the skin of a buffalo's head, with the horns on it; a long, thin strip of the buffalo's hide, with the tail at the end of it, hanging down from the back of the mask.

Austin. What figures they would look with their masks on! Did you say that they kept up the dance day and night?

Hunter. Yes. The Mandans were strong in their village, but comparatively weak whenever they left it, for then they were soon in the neighbourhood of their powerful enemies. This being the case, when the buffaloes of the prairie wandered far away from them, they were at times half starved. The buffalo dance was to make buffaloes come back again to the prairies near them.

Brian. But how could they bring them back again?

Hunter. The buffalo dance was a kind of homage paid to the Great Spirit, that he might take pity on them, and send them supplies. The dancers assembled in the middle of the village, each wearing his mask, with its horns and long tail, and carrying in his hand a lance, or a bow and arrows. The dance began, by about a dozen of them thus attired, starting, hopping, jumping and creeping in all manner of strange, uncouth forms; singing, yelping, and making odd sounds of every description, while others were shaking rattles and beating drums with all their might; the drums, the rattles, the yelling, the frightful din, with the uncouth antics of the dancers, altogether presented such a scene, that, were you once to be present at a buffalo dance, you would talk of it long after, and would not forget it all the days of your lives.

Basil. And do they keep that up for a fortnight?

Hunter. Sometimes much longer, for they never give over dancing till the buffaloes come. Every dancer, when he is tired, (and this he makes known by crouching down quite low,) is shot with blunt arrows, and dragged away, when his place is supplied by another. While the dance is going on, scouts are sent out to look for buffaloes, and as soon as they are found, a shout of thanksgiving is raised to the Great Spirit, to the medicine man, and to the dancers, and preparation is made for a buffalo hunt. After this, a great feast takes place; all their sufferings from scarcity are forgotten, and they are as prodigal, and indeed wasteful, of their buffalo meat, as if they had never known the want of it.

Austin. Well, I should like to see the buffalo dance. Could not we manage one on the lawn, Brian?

Brian. But where are we to get the buffalo masks from? The buffalo hunt did very well, but I hardly think we could manage the dance Please to tell us of the bear dance.

Hunter. I think it will be better to tell you about that, and other dances, the next time you visit me; for I want to read to you a short account, which I have here, of a poor Indian woman of the Dog-ribbed tribe. I have not said much of Indian women, and I want you to feel kindly towards them. It was Hearne, who went with a party from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean, many years ago, who fell in with the poor woman.

Basil. Oh, yes; let us hear all about her; and you can tell us of the dances when we come again.

Hunter. Now, then, I will begin. One day in January, when they were hunting, they saw the track of a strange snow-shoe, which they followed, and at a considerable distance came to a little hut, where they discovered a young woman sitting alone. On examination, she proved to be one of the Dog-ribbed Indians, who had been taken prisoner by another tribe, in the summer of 1770; and, in the following summer, when the Indians that took her prisoner were near this place, she had escaped from them, intending to return to her own country. But the distance being so great, and having, after she was taken prisoner, been carried in a canoe the whole way, the turnings and windings of the rivers and lakes were so numerous that she forgot the track; so she built the hut in which she was found, to protect her from the weather during the winter, and here she had resided from the first setting-in of the fall.

Brian. What, all by herself! How lonely she must have been!

Hunter. From her account of the moons passed since her escape, it appeared that she had been nearly seven months without seeing a human face; during all which time she had supplied herself very well, by snaring partridges, rabbits and squirrels: she had also killed two or three beavers, and some porcupines. She did not seem to have been in want, and had a small stock of provisions by her when she was discovered. She was in good health and condition, and one of the finest of Indian women.

Austin. I should have been afraid that other Indians would have come and killed her.

Hunter. The methods practised by this poor creature to procure a livelihood were truly admirable, and furnish proof that necessity is indeed the mother of invention. When the few deer sinews, that she had an opportunity of taking with her, were expended, in making snares and sewing her clothing, she had nothing to supply their place but the sinews of the rabbits' legs and feet. These she twisted together for that purpose with great dexterity and success. The animals which she caught in those snares, not only furnished her with a comfortable subsistence, but of the skins she made a suit of neat and warm clothing for the winter. It is scarcely possible to conceive that a person in her forlorn situation could be so composed as to be capable of contriving and executing any thing that was not absolutely necessary to her existence; but there was sufficient proof that she had extended her care much farther, as all her clothing, besides being calculated for real service, showed great taste, and exhibited no little variety of ornament. The materials, though rude, were very curiously wrought, and so judiciously placed, as to make the whole of her garb have a very pleasant, though rather romantic appearance.

Brian. Poor woman! I should like to have seen her in the hut of her own building, and the clothes of her own making.

Hunter. Her leisure hours from hunting had been employed in twisting the inner rind or bark of willows into small lines, like net-twine, of which she had some hundred fathoms by her. With these she intended to make a fishing-net, as soon as the spring advanced. It is of the inner bark of the willows, twisted in this manner, that the Dog-ribbed Indians make their fishing-nets; and they are much preferable to those made by the Northern Indians.

Five or six inches of an iron hoop, made into a knife, and the shank of an arrow-head of iron, which served her as an awl, were all the metals this poor woman had with her when she escaped; and with these implements she had made herself complete snow-shoes, and several other useful articles.

Austin. Capital! Why, she seems able to do every thing.

Hunter. Her method of making a fire was equally singular and curious, having no other materials for that purpose than two hard stones. These, by long friction and hard knocking, produced a few sparks, which at length communicated to some touch-wood. But as this method was attended with great trouble, and not always successful, she did not suffer her fire to go out all the winter.







CHAPTER XII.

Never, sure, did young people make a more grotesque appearance, than did Austin, Brian, and Basil Edwards, in their attempt to get up a buffalo dance. Each had a mat over his shoulders, and a brown paper mask over his face; two wooden pegs on a string made a very respectable pair of horns; bows and arrows were in abundance; a toy rattle and drum, with the addition of an iron spoon and a wooden trencher, supplied them with music; and neither Mandan, Pawnee, Crow, Sioux, Blackfoot, nor Camanchee, could have reasonably complained of the want of either noise or confusion.

Then, again, they were very successful in bringing buffaloes, without which the dance, excellent as it was, would have been but an unsatisfactory affair. Black Tom had been prudently shut up in the tool-house, and Jowler tied up to a tree hard by, so that, when it became expedient for buffaloes to appear, the house of Black Tom was opened, and Jowler was set at liberty. All things considered, the affair went off remarkably well.

"We are come to hear of the bear dance, and the dog dance, and the beggars' dance, and the green corn dance," said Austin to the hunter, on the following day, when a visit was paid to the cottage. The hunter, with his accustomed kindness to the young people, lost no time in entering on his narrative. "You must not forget," said he, "that many of the dances of the Indians partake of a religious character, for in them reverence and adoration are freely offered. The Indians' worship of the Great Spirit, as I have already told you, is mingled with much of ignorance and superstition, whether in dances or in other observances; yet do they, at times, leave upon the mind of a spectator a deep impression of their sincerity, though this does not excuse their error. I have not as yet described their music, and therefore will do it now."

Austin. Yes. Now for the music of the Indians, if you please, sir.

Hunter. If you ever go among them, and mingle in their dances, you must not expect to have a band of music such as you have in our cities. Whistles, flutes, rattles and drums are almost all their musical instruments. You would be surprised at the music that some of the young Indians produce with the mystery whistle.

Austin. Why is it called the mystery whistle?

Hunter. I have already told you that the red man calls every thing mystery, or medicine, that is surprising; and as the notes of this whistle are particularly sweet, it may be called a mystery whistle on this account. There is another whistle that is very much in request among the Indians, and that is the war whistle. The onset and the retreat in battle are sounded on this instrument by the leading chief, who never goes on an expedition without it. It is made of bone, and sometimes it is formed of the leg bone of a large bird. The shrill, scream-like note, which is the signal for rushing on an enemy, would make you start.

Brian. What sort of a drum do they use? Is it a kettle-drum?

Hunter. No. It is merely a piece of raw hide, stretched as tight as it can be pulled over a hoop. Some of their drums have but one end, or surface, to beat upon, while others have two. What they would do in their dances without their drums I do not know, for you hear them continually. Their rattles are of different kinds, some much larger than others; but the principle on which they are formed is the same, that is, of enclosing stones of different sizes in hard, dry, raw hide.

Austin. Have they no trumpets and cymbals, and clarionets and violins?

Hunter. No, nothing of the kind. They have a deer-skin flute, on which very tolerable music is sometimes made; but, after all, it must be admitted that Indians are much better buffalo hunters than musicians.

Austin. Ay; they are quite at home in hunting buffaloes.

Hunter. Yes; and they are at home, too, in dancing, being extremely nimble of foot. Some of their dances are so hideous that you would be disgusted with them, while others would keep you laughing in spite of yourselves.

Brian. You must please to tell us about these dances.

Hunter. Dancing is a very favourite amusement of the Indians; though it is, for the most part, of a character so different from that of dancing in civilized life, that few people, ignorant of its meaning and allusions, would like it. The body is so continually in a stooping attitude, and the gestures and grimaces appear to be so unmeaning, that at first it leaves an impression that they are ridiculing the art of dancing, rather than entering into it in right earnest. There is such creeping and jumping and starting, that a spectator can make but little of it.

Austin. I can fancy that I see a party joining in the buffalo dance now, with their masks over their faces. Please to tell us of the bear dance.

Hunter. By and by. I will describe a few other dances first. The beggars' dance is undertaken to prevail on such of the spectators as abound in comforts to give alms to those who are more scantily provided with them. It is danced by the young men who stand high in the tribe. These shake their rattles, hold up their pipes and brandish their lances, while they dance; chanting in an odd strain, at the top of their voices, in praise of the Great Spirit, and imploring him to dispose the lookers on to give freely. The dancers are all naked, with the exception of a sort of kilt formed of quills and feathers; and a medicine man keeps on all the time beating furiously on a drum with a rattle, and hallooing out as loud as he can raise his voice.

Austin. That ought to be called the begging dance, and not the beggars' dance; for the dancers do not beg for themselves, but for others.

Hunter. You see that the object of the dance is a good one; for many a skin, or pouch, or pipe, or other necessary article, is given by the spectators to those of their tribe who need them. It is not common among the Indians for their aged men and mystery men to mingle in the dance, and yet I have seen, on especial occasions, a score of them jumping and capering in a way very creditable to their agility. The Sioux have a dance that ought to be called the doctors' dance, or the dance of the chiefs.

Brian. Why, do the doctors dance in it?

Hunter. Yes; while a medicine man beats his drum, and a party of young women sing, the chiefs of the tribe and the doctors make their appearance, splendidly attired in their costliest head-dresses, carrying a spear in one hand and a rattle in the other. Every movement is strictly regulated by the beat of the drum, and the dance by degrees becomes more and more spirited, until you would suppose the party must be exhausted: but men so much in the open air, and whose limbs are so little restrained by bandages and tight clothing, can bear a great deal of fatigue. The pipe dance is one of the most animated amusements.

Basil. Oh! do tell us about the pipe dance.

Hunter. In the ground in the centre of the village a fire is lighted, and a party assemble round it; every one smoking his pipe, as he sits on his buffalo skin, as though nothing was farther from his thoughts than dancing. While these are whiffing away at a distance from the fire, a mystery man, who sits nearer to the flame, smokes a longer pipe, grunting at the same time a kind of tune. Suddenly is heard the rub-a-dub of a drum, or the beat of some other instrument of the same kind; when instantly starts to his feet one of the smokers, hopping like a parched pea, spinning round like a top, and starting and jumping, at every beat of the drum, in a very violent manner. In this way he goes round the smokers, seemingly threatening them all, and at last pounces upon one of them, whom he compels to dance in the same manner as himself. The new dancer acts his part like the former one, capering and jumping round the smokers, and compelling another to join them. Thus the dance continues, till all of them are occupied, when the hopping, the jumping, the frightful postures into which they throw themselves, together with the grunting, growling, singing, hooting and hallooing, are beyond all belief. There are few dances of the Indians more full of wild gestures and unrestrained turbulence than the pipe dance.

Basil. I hope you have a good many more dances to tell us of.

Hunter. The green corn dance of the Minatarees must be described to you. Among Indian tribes, green corn is a great luxury, and the time when it ripens is a time of rejoicing. Dances and songs of thanksgiving are abundant; and the people give way not only to feasting, but also to gluttony; so that often, by abusing the abundance in their possession, they bring upon themselves the miseries of want. The Indians have very little fore-thought. To enjoy the present, and to trust the future to the Great Spirit, is their constant practice.

Austin. How long does the green corn dance last?

Hunter. For eight or ten days, during which time there is the most unbounded prodigality. Among many of the tribes, the black drink, a very powerful medicine, is taken two or three days before the feast, that the green corn may be eaten with a sharp appetite and an empty stomach.

Brian. In what way does the green corn dance begin?

Hunter. As soon as the corn is in a proper state—and this is decided by the mystery men—runners are despatched through the village, that all may assemble on the following day to the dance and the feast. Sufficient corn for the required purpose is gathered by the women, who have the fields under their care, and a fire is made, over which a kettle, with green corn in it, is kept boiling; while medicine men, whose bodies are strangely painted, or bedaubed with clay of a white colour, dance round it in very uncouth attitudes, with corn-stalks in their hands.

Austin. I dare say, while the pot is boiling, they are all longing to begin the feast.

Hunter. The first kettle-full is not for themselves, it is an offering to the Great Spirit. There are many customs among the Indians which cannot but bring the Jews to our remembrance; and this offering of the first green corn does so very forcibly. The medicine men round the fire shake their rattles, hold up their corn-stalks, and sing loudly a song of thanksgiving, till the corn is sufficiently boiled; it is then put upon the fire and consumed to a cinder. Before this offering is made, none of the Indians would dare to taste of the luxurious fare; but, afterwards, their appetite is unrestrained.

Austin. Then they begin to boil more corn, I suppose.

Hunter. A fresh fire is made, a fresh kettle of corn is prepared, and the dance goes on; the medicine men keeping close to the fire, and the others capering and shouting in a larger circle, their energy increasing as the feast approaches nearer and nearer. The chiefs and medicine men then sit down to the feast, followed by the whole tribe, keeping up their festivity day after day, till the corn-field has little more grain remaining in it than what is necessary for seed. You have heard the saying, "Wilful waste brings woful want." The truth of this saying is often set forth, as well in civilized life as among the Indians.

Basil. I wonder what dance will come next.

Hunter. I need not describe many others. If I run rapidly through two or three, and dwell a little on the bear dance and the war dance, you will then have heard quite enough about dances. The scalp dance is in use among the Sioux or Dahcotas. It is rather a fearful exhibition; for women, in the centre of a circle, hold up and wave about the scalps which have been torn from the slaughtered foes of the tribe, while the warriors draw around them in the most furious attitudes, brandishing their war-clubs, uttering the most hideous howls and screams. The Indians have many good qualities, but cruelty seems to mingle with their very nature. Every thing is done among them that can be done, to keep alive the desire to shed blood. The noblest act a red man can perform, and that which he thinks the most useful to his tribe and the most acceptable to the Great Spirit, is to destroy an enemy, and to bear away his scalp as a trophy of his valour. If it were only for this one trait in the Indian character, even this would be sufficient to convince every humane person, and especially every Christian, of the duty and great advantage of spreading among them the merciful principles of Christianity. A holy influence is necessary to teach the untutored red man to forgive his enemies, to subdue his anger, to abate his pride, and to stay his hand in shedding human blood. The new commandment must be put in his heart: "That ye love one another." The Mandan boys used to join in a sham scalp dance, in which they conducted themselves just like warriors returning from a victorious enterprise against their enemies.

Basil. They are all sadly fond of fighting.

Hunter. In the brave dance, of the Ojibbeways, there is plenty of swaggering: the dancers seem as if they knew not how to be proud enough of their warlike exploits. The eagle dance, among the Choctaws, is an elegant amusement; and the snow-shoe dance, of the Ojibbeways, is a very amusing one.

Brian. Please to tell us about them both.

Hunter. I must not stay to describe them particularly: it will be enough to say, that, in the one, the dancers are painted white, and that they move about waving in their hands the tail of the eagle; in the other—which is performed on the first fall of snow, in honour of the Great Spirit—the dancers wear snow-shoes, which, projecting far before and behind their feet, give them in the dance a most strange and laughable appearance.

Brian. I should very much like to see that dance; there is nothing cruel in it at all.

Basil. And I should like to see the eagle dance, for there is no cruelty in that either.

Hunter. The straw dance is a Sioux dance of a very curious description. Loose straws are tied to the bodies of naked children; these straws are then set on fire, and the children are required to dance, without uttering any expression of pain. This practice is intended to make them hardy, that they may become the better warriors.

Basil. That is one of the strangest dances of all.

Hunter. I will now say a little about the bear dance, and the war dance. The bear dance is performed by the Sioux before they set off on a bear-hunt. If the bear dance were left unperformed, they would hardly hope for success. The Bear spirit, if this honour were not paid to him, would be offended, and would give them no success in the chase.

Austin. What! do the Sioux think there is a Bear spirit?



Hunter. Yes. The number of spirits of one kind or another, believed in by the Indians, is very great. In the bear dance, the principal performer has a bear-skin over him, the head of it hanging over his head, and the paws over his hands. Others have masks of bears' faces; and all of them, throughout the dance, imitate the actions of a bear. They stoop down, they dangle their hands, and make frightful noises, beside singing to the Bear spirit. If you can imagine twenty bears dancing to the music of the rattle, whistle, and drum, making odd gambols, and yelling out the most frightful noises, you will have some notion of the bear dance.

Brian. Now for the war dance: that is come at last.

Hunter. It is hardly possible to conceive a more exciting spectacle than that of the war dance among the Sioux. It exhibits Indian manners on the approach of war. As, among civilized people, soldiers are raised either by recruiting or other means; so, among the Indians, something like recruiting prevails. The red pipe is sent through the tribe, and every one who draws a whiff up the stem thereby declares he is willing to join the war party. The warriors then assemble together, painted with vermilion and other colours, and dressed in their war clothes, with their weapons and their war-eagle head-dresses.

Austin. What a sight that must be!

Hunter. When the mystery man has stuck up a red post in the ground, and begun to beat his drum, the warriors advance, one after another, brandishing their war-clubs, and striking the red post a violent blow, while the mystery man sings their death-song. When the warriors have struck the post, they blacken their faces, and all set to dancing around it. The shrill war-whoop is screamed aloud, and frantic gestures and frightful yells show, but too plainly, that there will be very little mercy extended to the enemy that falls into their hands.

Brian. That war dance would make me tremble.

Hunter. The Mandan boys used to assemble at the back of their village, every morning, as soon as the sun was in the skies, to practise sham fighting. Under the guidance and direction of their ablest and most courageous braves and warriors, they were instructed in all the mysteries of war. The preparations, the ambush, the surprise, the combat and the retreat, were made familiar to them. Thus were they bred up from their youth to delight in warfare, and to long for opportunities of using their tomahawks and scalping-knives against their foes.

When you next come to see me, I will give you an account of the cruel customs of the mystery lodge of the Mandans; with the hope that it will increase your abhorrence of cruelty and bloodshed, render you more than ever thankful for the blessings of peace, and more anxious to extend them all over the earth. The hardest of all lessons now, to a red man, is, as I have before intimated, to forgive his enemies; but when, through Divine mercy, his knowledge is extended, and his heart opened to receive the truths of the gospel, he will be enabled to understand, to love, and to practise the injunction of the Saviour, "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you."





CHAPTER XIII.

It was well for Austin Edwards and his brothers, that their acquaintance with their friend the hunter commenced during one of their holidays, so that they were enabled to pay him a visit more frequently than they otherwise could have done. The life led by the hunter would have been far too solitary for most people; but his long wanderings in the extended prairies, and his long sojournings in places remote from society, had rendered the quiet tranquillity of country scenes pleasant to him: yet, still, as variety has its charms, it afforded him a pleasant change, whenever the three brothers visited him.

In his younger days, he had entered on the life of a hunter and trapper with much ardour. To pursue the buffalo (or, more properly speaking, the bison) of the prairie, the deer, and other animals, and to mingle with the different tribes of Indians, was his delight. With wild animals and wild men he became familiar, and even the very dangers that beset his path gave an interest to his pursuits: but his youth was gone, his manhood was declining, and the world that he once looked upon as an abiding dwelling-place, he now regarded as the pathway to a better home.

Time was, when to urge the arrow or the spear into the heart of the flying prey for mere diversion, and to join in the wild war-whoop of contending tribes, was congenial to his spirit; but his mind had been sobered, so that now to practise forbearance and kindness was far more pleasant than to indulge in cruelty and revenge. He looked on mankind as one great family, which ought to dwell in brotherly love; and he regarded the animal creation as given by a heavenly Hand, for the use, and not the abuse, of man.

In relating the scenes in which he had mingled in earlier years, he was aware that he could not avoid calling up, in some measure, in the youthful hearts of his auditors, the natural desire to see what was new and strange and wonderful, without reflecting a moment on the good or the evil of the thing set before them: but he endeavoured to blend with his descriptions such remarks as would lead them to love what was right and to hate what was wrong. Regarding the Indian tribes as an injured people, he sought to set before his young friends the wrongs and oppressions practised on the red man; that they might sympathize with his trials, and feel interested for his welfare.

The few words that had dropped from his lips, about the ordeal through which the Indians pass before they are allowed to join war-parties, had awakened Austin's curiosity. Nor was it long before, seated with his brothers in the cottage, he was listening to the whole account. "Please to begin at the very beginning," said he, "and I shall not lose a single word."

Hunter. The Sioux, the Crows, the Sacs, the Ojibbeways, the Camanchees, and the Chippewas, all exhibit astonishing proofs of patience and endurance under pain; but in none of the tribes has ever such torture been inflicted, or such courage witnessed, in enduring torment, as among the Mandans.

Brian. Now we shall hear.

Hunter. The Mandans, who, as I have already told you, lived, when I was a hunter, on the Upper Missouri, held a mystery lodge every year; and this was indeed a very solemn gathering of the tribe. I was never present in the lodge on this occasion, but will give you the description of an eye-witness.

Basil. Why did they get together? What did they do?

Hunter. You shall hear. The mystery lodge, or it may be called the religious meeting, was held, first, to appease the wrath and secure the protection of the good and the evil spirits; secondly, to celebrate the great flood, which they believed took place a long time ago; thirdly, to perform the buffalo dance, to bring buffaloes; and, fourthly, to try the strength, courage and endurance of their young men, that they might know who were the most worthy among them, and the most to be relied on in war-parties.

Austin. How came the Mandans to know any thing about the flood, if they have no Bibles?

Hunter. That I cannot tell. Certain it is, that they had a large, high tub, called the Great Canoe, in the centre of their village, set up in commemoration of the flood; and that they held the mystery lodge when the willow leaves were in their prime under the river bank, because, they said, a bird had brought a willow bough in full leaf to the Great Canoe in the flood.

Austin. Why, it is just as if they had read the Bible.

Hunter. The fact of the deluge (however they came by it) had undoubtedly been handed down among them by tradition for many generations: but I must go on with my account of the Mandan gathering. The mystery lodge was opened by a strange-looking man, whom no one seemed to know, and who came from the prairie. This odd man called for some edge-tool at every wigwam in the village; and all these tools, at the end of the ceremonies, were cast into the river from a high bank; as an offering, I suppose, to the Water spirit. After opening the mystery lodge, and appointing a medicine man to preside, he once more disappeared on the prairie.

Brian. What an odd thing!

Hunter. Twenty or thirty young men were in the lodge, candidates for reputation among the tribe, who had presented themselves to undergo the prescribed tortures. As they reclined in the lodge, every one had hung up over his head, his shield, his bow and quiver, and his medicine bag. The young men were painted different colours. The old mystery man appointed to superintend the ceremonies sat by a fire in the middle of the lodge, smoking leisurely with his medicine pipe, in honour of the Great Spirit; and there he sat for four days, and as many nights, during which the young men neither tasted food nor drink, nor were they allowed to close their eyes.

Basil. It was enough to kill them all.

Hunter. On the floor of the lodge were buffalo and human skulls, and sacks filled with water, shaped like tortoises, with sticks by them. During each of the four days, the buffalo dance was performed over and over again, by Indians, painted, and wearing over them whole buffalo skins, with tails and hoofs and horns; while in their hands they carried rattles, and long, thin, white wands, and bore on their backs bundles of green boughs of the willow. Some of the dancers were painted red, to represent the day; and others black, with stars, to resemble the night. During these dances, which took place round the Great Canoe, the tops of the wigwams were crowded with people.

Austin. I want to hear about the young Indians in the lodge, and that old fellow, the mystery man.

Hunter. The superstitious and cruel practices of the mystery lodge are too fearful to dwell upon. I shall only just glance at them, that you may know, in some degree, the kind of trials the young Indians have to endure. While the dances were going on, mystery men, inside the lodge, were beating on the water sacks with sticks, and animating the young men to act courageously, telling them that the Great Spirit was sure to support them. Splints, or wooden skewers, were then run through the flesh on the back and breasts of the young warriors, and they were hoisted up, with cords fastened to the splints, towards the top of the lodge. Not a muscle of their features expressed fear or pain.

Basil. Shocking! shocking!

Brian. That must be horrible!

Hunter. After this, other splints were run through their arms, thighs and legs; and on these were hung their shields, arms and medicine bags. In this situation they were taunted, and turned round with poles till they fainted; and when, on being let down again, they recovered, those who had superior hardihood would crawl to the buffalo skull in the centre of the lodge, and lay upon it the little finger of their left hand to be chopped off; and even the loss of a second or third finger is counted evidence of superior boldness and devotion. After this, they were hurried along between strong and fleet runners: this was called "the last race," round and round the Great Canoe, till the weight of their arms having pulled the splints from their bodies, they once more fainted, and in this state, apparently dead, they were left to themselves, to live or die, as the Great Spirit might determine.

Austin. I should think that hardly any of them would ever come to life again.

Hunter. Nor would they, under common circumstances; but, when we consider that these young men had fasted for four days, and lost much blood in their tortures, there was not much danger of inflammation from their wounds, and their naturally strong constitutions enabled them to recover. All these tortures were willingly undertaken; nor would any one of those who endured them, on any account whatever, have evaded them. To propitiate the Great Spirit, and to stand well in the estimation of his own tribe, are the two highest objects in the mind of an Indian.

* * * * *

The day after that on which Austin and his brothers heard from the hunter the account of the mystery lodge, and the sufferings of the young Mandans before they were thought equal to engage in a war-party, two or three little accidents occurred. In the first place, Austin, in making a new bow, cut a deep gash in his finger: and, in the next, Brian and Basil, in scrambling among the hedges in quest of straight twigs for arrows, met with their mishaps; for Brian got a thorn in his thumb, while Basil had a roll down the bank into a dry ditch.

It is always a good sign in young people, when they put into practice any real or supposed good quality of which they hear or read. The patience and endurance of the young Mandans had called forth high commendations from Austin, and it was evident, in the affair of the cut finger, that he made a struggle, and a successful one too, in controlling his feelings. With an air of resolution, he wrapped the end of his pocket handkerchief tightly round the wound, and passed off the occurrence as a matter of no moment. Not a word escaped little Basil when he rolled into the ditch; nor did Brian utter a single "oh!" when the thorn was extracted from his thumb.



"You may depend upon it," said Austin, after some conversation with Brian and Basil, on the subject of the young Mandans, "that the next time we see the hunter, we shall hear something about the way in which red men go to war. The sham fight, and the preparation of the young warriors, will be followed by some account of their battles." In this supposition he was quite correct; for, when they next visited the cottage, the hunter proposed to speak a little about councils and encampments and alarms and surprises and attacks. The conversation was carried on in the following manner.

Austin. How do the Indians poison their arrows?

Hunter. By dipping the point of the arrow-head into the poison prepared. The head of the arrow, as I told you, is put on very slightly, so that it remains in the wound when the arrow is withdrawn.

Brian. Where do they get their poison? What is it made of?

Hunter. No doubt there is some difference in the manner of preparing poison among the different tribes. But, usually, it is, I believe, composed of deadly vegetable substances, slowly boiled together, sometimes mingled with the mortal poison of snakes and ants. This is prepared with great care. Its strength is usually tried on a lizard, or some other cold-blooded, slow-dying animal. It is rapid in its effects; for, if a fowl be wounded with a poisoned weapon, it dies in a few minutes; a cat dies in five minutes; a bison, in five or six; and a horse, in ten. Jaguars and deer live but a short time after they are thus wounded. If, then, horses and bisons are so soon destroyed by the poison, no wonder that men should be unable to endure its fatal effects.

Before war is determined on among the Indians, a council is held with great solemnity. The chiefs, and braves, and medicine men are assembled. Then the enlisting takes place, which I have already described; the war dance is engaged in, and weapons are examined and repaired. The chief, arrayed in full dress, leads on his band. They march with silence and rapidity, and encamp with great caution, appointing sentinels in every necessary direction. Thus, lurking, skulking and marching, they reach the place of their destination. Another war council is held, to decide on the mode of attack; and then, with rifles, war-clubs, scalping-knives and bows and poisoned arrows, they fall upon their unsuspecting foes.

Brian. It is very sad to fight with such weapons as poisoned arrows.

Hunter. It is sad to fight with any kind of weapons; but, when once anger enters the heart, and the desire to shed blood is called forth, no mode is thought too cruel that will assist in obtaining a victory. The continual warfare that is carried on between Indian tribes must be afflictive to every humane and Christian spirit. None but the God of peace can destroy the love of war in the hearts of either red or white men.

Indians fight in a way very different from civilized people; for they depend more on cunning, stratagem and surprise, than on skill and courage. Almost all their attacks are made under cover of night, or when least expected. A war-party will frequently go a great distance, to fall upon a village or an encampment on a quarter most accessible. To effect their object, they will hide for any length of time in the forest, sleep in the long grass, lurk in the ravine, and skulk at nightfall around the place to be attacked.

Austin. Did you ever go out with the Indians to fight?

Hunter. Yes. For some time I was treated very hospitably among the Crows, near the Rocky Mountains; and as they had determined to go on one of their war-parties, which I could not prevent, I resolved to go along with them, to watch their way of proceeding.

Austin. Do tell us all about it.

Hunter. It was a thoughtless and foolish affair, when I was young and rash; but I wished to be a spectator of all their customs. It was, as I said, one of those foolish undertakings into which the ardour of my disposition led me, and for which I was very near paying the price of my life. A council was held, wherein it was decided to send a strong war-party on foot to surprise a Blackfoot village. Every stratagem had been used to lull the enemy into security.

Brian. Ay; that is just like the Indians.

Hunter. The red pipe was sent through the tribe, for the warriors to smoke with it, much after the manner of the Sioux; the red post was struck, and the braves and attendants painted their faces. When the plan of attack was agreed on, every warrior looked to his weapons; neither bow nor arrow, war-club nor scalping-knife, was left unexamined. There was an earnestness in their preparation, as though they were all animated with one spirit.

It was some time after sundown, that we left the village at a quick pace. Runners were sent out in all directions, to give notice of an enemy. We hastened along a deep valley, rounded the base of a bluff, and entered the skirt of a forest, following each other in files beneath the shadowy branches. We then passed through some deep grass, and stole silently along several defiles and ravines. The nearer we drew to the Blackfoot village, the more silently and stealthily we proceeded. Like the panther, creeping with noiseless feet on his prey, we stole along the intricate pathways of the prairie bottoms, the forest, the skirt of the river and the hills and bluffs. At last we made a halt, just as the moon emerged from behind a cloud.

Austin. Then there was terrible work, I dare say.

Hunter. It was past midnight, and the Blackfoot village was wrapped in slumber. The Crow warriors dispersed themselves to attack the village at the same instant from different quarters. The leader had on his full dress, his medicine bag, and his head-dress of war-eagle plumes. All was hushed in silence, nearly equal to that of the grave; when suddenly the shrill war-whistle of the Crow chief rung through the Blackfoot lodges, and the wild war-whoop burst at once from a hundred throats. The chief was in the thickest of the fight. There was no pity for youth or age; the war-club spared not, and the tomahawk was merciless. Yelling like fiends, the Crow warriors fled from hut to hut, from victim to victim. Neither women nor children were spared.

Brian. Dreadful! dreadful!

Hunter. Though taken thus by surprise, the Blackfoot braves, in a little time, began to collect together, clutching their weapons firmly, and rushing on their enemies, determined to avenge their slaughtered friends. The panic into which they had been thrown subsided, and, like men accustomed to danger, they stood not only in self-defence, but attacked their foes with fury.

Austin. I wonder that every one in the Blackfoot village was not killed!

Hunter. In civilized life, this would very likely have been the case; but in a savage state, men from their childhood are trained up to peril. They may lie down to slumber on their couches of skins, but their weapons are near at hand; and though it be the midnight hour when an attack is made on them, and though, awakened by the confusion, they hear nothing but the war-cry of their enemy, they spring to their feet, seize their arms, and rush on to meet their foes. It was thus with the Blackfoot braves. Hand to hand, and foot to foot, they met their assailants; brave was opposed to brave; and the horrid clash of the war-club and the murderous death-grapple succeeded each other. Even if I could describe the horrors of such a scene, it would not be right to do so. As I was gazing on the conflict, I suddenly received a blow that struck me bleeding to the ground. You may see the scar on my temple still. The confusion was at its height, or else my scalp would have been taken.

Brian. How did you get away?

Hunter. Stunned as I was, I recovered my senses before a retreat took place, and was just able to effect my escape. The Crows slaughtered many of their enemies; but the Blackfoot warriors and braves were at last too strong for them. Then was heard the shrill whistle that sounded a retreat. With a dozen scalps in their possession, the Crows sought the shelter of the forest, and afterwards regained their own village.

Austin. Are the Crow tribe or the Blackfoot tribe the strongest?

Hunter. The Crow Indians, as I told you, are taller and more elegant men than the Blackfeet; but the latter have broader chests and shoulders. The Blackfeet, some think, take their name from the circumstance of their wearing black, or very dark brown leggings and mocassins. Whether, as a people, the Crows or the Blackfeet are the strongest, there is a diversity of opinion. The Blackfeet are almost always at war with the Crows.

Austin. What battling there must be among them!

Hunter. Their war-parties are very numerous, and their encampments are very large: and, whether seen in the day, in the midst of their lodges; or at night, wrapped in their robes, with their arms in their hands, ready to leap up if attacked by an enemy; they form a striking spectacle. Sometimes, in a night encampment, a false alarm takes place. A prowling bear, or a stray horse, is taken for a foe; and sometimes a real alarm is occasioned by spies crawling on their hands and knees up to their very encampment to ascertain their strength. On these occasions the shrill whistle is heard, every man springs up armed and rushes forth, ready to resist his assailing enemy. I have seen war-parties among the Crows and Blackfeet, the Mandans and Sioux, the Shawanees, Poncas, Pawnees and Seminoles. But a Camanchee war-party, mounted on wild horses, with their shields, bows and lances, which I once witnessed, was the most imposing spectacle of the kind I ever saw. The chief was mounted on a beautiful war-horse, wild as the winds, and yet he appeared to manage him with ease. He was in full dress, and seemed to have as much fire in his disposition as the chafed animal on which he rode. In his bridle-hand, he clutched his bow and several arrows; with his other hand, he wielded his long lance; while his quiver and shield were slung at his back, and his rifle across his thigh.

Austin. I think I can see him. But what colour was his war-horse?

Hunter. Black as a raven; but the white foam lay in thick flakes on his neck and breast, for his rider at every few paces stuck the sharp rowels of his Spanish spurs into his sides. He had a long flowing mane and tail, and his full and fiery eyes seemed ready to start out of his head. The whole Camanchee band was ready to rush into any danger. At one time, they were flying over the prairie in single file; and at another, drawn up all abreast of each other. The Camanchees and the Osages used to have cruel battles one with another. The Mandans and the Riccarees, too, were relentless enemies.

Brian. And the Sacs and Foxes were great fighters, for Black Hawk was a famous fellow.

Hunter. Yes, he was. But I have never told you, I believe, how the medicine man, or mystery man, conducts himself when called unto a wounded warrior.

Austin. Not a word of it. Please to tell us every particular.

Hunter. In some cases cures are certainly performed; in others, the wounded get well of themselves: but, in most instances, the mystery man is a mere juggler.

Basil. Now we shall hear of the mystery man.

Hunter. The Crow war-party that I had joined brought away two of their wounded warriors when they retreated from the Blackfoot village, but there seemed to be no hope of saving their lives. However, a mystery man was called on to use his skill.

Austin. Ay; I want to know how the mystery man cures his patients.

Hunter. If ever you should require a doctor, I hope you will have one more skilful than the mystery man that I am going to describe. The wounded warriors were in extremity, and I thought that one of them was dying before the mystery man made his appearance; but you shall hear. The wounded men lay groaning on the ground, with Indians around them, who kept moaning even louder than they did; when, all at once, a scuffle of feet and a noise like that of a low rattle were heard.

Austin. The mystery man was coming, I suppose.

Hunter. He was; and a death-like silence was instantly preserved by all the attendant Indians. In came the mystery man, covered over with the shaggy hide of a yellow bear, so that, had it not been that his mocassins, leggings and hands were visible, you might have supposed a real bear was walking upright, with a spear in one paw, and a rattle, formed like a tambourine, in the other.

Basil. He could never cure the dying man with his tambourine.

Hunter. From the yellow bear-skin hung a profusion of smaller skins, such as those of different kinds of snakes, toads, frogs and bats; with hoofs of animals, beaks and tails of birds, and scraps and fragments of other things; a complete bundle of odds and ends. The medicine man came into the circle, bending his knees, crouching, sliding one foot after the other along the ground, and now and then leaping and grunting. You could not see his face, for the yellow bear-head skin covered it, and the paws dangled before him. He shuffled round and round the wounded men, shaking his rattle and making all kinds of odd noises; he then stopped to turn them over.

Austin. He had need of all his medicine.

Hunter. Hardly had he been present a minute, before one of the men died; and, in ten minutes more, his companion breathed his last. The medicine man turned them over, shook his rattle over them, howled, groaned and grunted; but it would not do; the men were dead, and all his mummery would not bring them back to life again; so, after a few antics of various kinds, he shuffled off with himself, shaking his rattle, and howling and groaning louder than ever. You may remember, that I told you of the death of Oseola, the Seminole chief: he who struck his dagger through the treaty that was to sign away the hunting-grounds of his tribe, in exchange for distant lands.