The Itancan, [74] tall Waz-kut, appointed a day for the races. From the red stake that stood by his tee, on the southerly side of the Ha-ha To a stake at the Lake of the Loons [79] —a league and return—was the distance. On the crest of the hills red batons marked the course for the feet of the runners. They gathered from near and afar, to the races and dancing and feasting. Five hundred tall warriors were there from Kapza [6] and far off Keza; [8] Remnica, [a] too, furnished a share of the legions that thronged to the races, And a bountiful feast was prepared by the diligent hands of the women, And gaily the multitudes fared in the generous tees of Kathga. The chief of the mystical clan appointed a feast to Unkthee— The mystic "Wacpee Wakn" [b]— at the end of the day and the races. A band of sworn brothers are they, and the secrets of each one are sacred. And death to the lips that betray is the doom of the swarthy avengers, And the son of tall Waz-kut was the chief of the mystical order.

[a] Pronounced Ray mne chah—the village of the Mountains situate where Red Wing now stands. [b] Sacred Dance—The Medicine dance—See description infra.

On an arm of an oak hangs the prize for the swiftest and strongest of runners— A blanket as red as the skies, when the flames sweep the plains in October. And beside it a strong, polished bow, and a quiver of iron tipped arrows, Which Kapza's tall chief will bestow on the fleet-footed second that follows. A score of swift-runners are there from the several bands of the nation; And now for the race they prepare, and among them fleet-footed Tamdka. With the oil of the buck and the bear their sinewy limbs are anointed, For fleet are the feet of the deer and strong are the limbs of the bruin, And long is the course and severe for the swiftest and strongest of runners.

Hark!—the shouts and the braying of drums, and the Babel of tongues and confusion! From his teepee the tall chieftain comes, and Duluth brings a prize for the runners— A keen hunting-knife from the Seine, horn-handled and mounted with silver. The runners are ranged on the plain, and the Chief waves a flag as a signal, And away like the gray wolves they fly —like the wolves on the trail of the red deer; O'er the hills and the prairie they vie, and strain their strong limbs to the utmost, While high on the hills hangs a cloud of warriors and maidens and mothers, To behold the swift runners, and loud are the cheers and the shouts of the warriors.

Now swift from the lake they return, o'er the emerald hills and the heather; Like grey-hounds they pant and they yearn, and the leader of all is Tamdka. At his heels flies Hu-p-hu, [a] the fleet —the pride of the band of Kaza, A warrior with eagle-winged feet, but his prize is the bow and the quiver. Tamdka first reaches the post, and his are the knife and the blanket, By the mighty acclaim of the host and award of the chief and the judges. Then proud was the tall warrior's stride, and haughty his look and demeanor; He boasted aloud in his pride, and he scoffed at the rest of the runners. "Behold me, for I am a man! [b] my feet are as swift as the West wind. With the coons and the beavers I ran; but where is the elk or the cabri? [80] Come!—where is the hunter will dare match his feet with the feet of Tamdka? Let him think of Tat [c] and beware, ere he stake his last robe on the trial." "Oh! Ho! H-hca!" [d] they jeered, for they liked not the boast of the boaster; But to match him no warrior appeared, for his feet wore the wings of the west-wind.

[a] The wings. [b] A favorite boast of the Dakota braves. [c] The wind. [d] About equivalent to Oho—Aha—fudge.

Then forth from the side of the chief stepped DuLuth and he looked on the boaster; "The words of a warrior are brief, —I will run with the brave," said the Frenchman; "But the feet of Tamdka are tired; abide till the cool of the sunset." All the hunters and maidens admired, for strong were the limbs of the stranger. "Hiw! Ho!" [a] they shouted and loud rose the cheers of the multitude mingled; And there in the midst of the crowd stood the glad-eyed and blushing Winona.

[a] Hurra there!

Now afar o'er the plains of the west walked the sun at the end of his journey, And forth came the brave and the guest, at the tap of the drum, for the trial. Like a forest of larches the hordes were gathered to witness the contest; As loud is the drums were their words and they roared like the roar of the Ha-ha. For some for Tamdka contend, and some for the fair, bearded stranger, And the betting runs high to the end, with the skins of the bison and beaver. A wife of tall Wazi-kut —the mother of boastful Tamdka— Brought her handsomest robe from the tee, with a vaunting and loud proclamation: She would stake her last robe on her son who, she boasted, was fleet as the Cbri [80] And the tall, tawny chieftain looked on, approving the boast of the mother. Then fleet as the feet of a fawn to her lodge ran the dark eyed Winona, She brought and she staked on the lawn, by the side of the robe of the boaster, The lily-red mantle Duluth, with his own hands, had laid on her shoulders. "Tamdka is swift, but forsooth, the tongue of his mother is swifter," She said, and her face was aflame with the red of the rose and the lily, And loud was the roar of acclaim; but dark was the face of Tamdka.

They strip for the race and prepare, —DuLuth in his breeches and leggins; And the brown, curling locks of his hair downward droop to his bare, brawny shoulders, And his face wears a smile debonair, as he tightens his red sash around him; But stripped to the moccasins bare, save the belt and the breech-clout of buckskin, Stands the haughty Tamdka aware that the eyes of the warriors admire him; For his arms are the arms of a bear and his legs are the legs of a panther.

The drum beats,—the chief waves the flag, and away on the course speed the runners, And away leads the brave like a stag, —like a hound on his track flies the Frenchman; And away haste the hunters, once more, to the hills for a view to the lake-side, And the dark-swarming hill-tops, they roar with the storm of loud voices commingled. Far away o'er the prairie they fly, and still in the lead is Tamdka, But the feet of his rival are nigh, and slowly he gains on the hunter. Now they turn on the post at the lake, —now they run full abreast on the home-stretch; Side by side they contend for the stake, for a long mile or more on the prairie. They strain like a stag and a hound, when the swift river gleams through the thicket, And the horns of the rulers resound, winding shrill through the depths of the forest. But behold!—at full length on the ground falls the fleet-footed Frenchman abruptly. And away with a whoop and a bound, springs the eager, exulting Tamdka. Long and loud on the hills is the shout of his swarthy admirers and backers; "But the race is not won till it's out," said DuLuth, to himself as he gathered, With a frown on his face, for the foot of the wily Tamdka had tripped him. Far ahead ran the brave on the route, and turning he boasted exultant. Like spurs to the steed to DuLuth were the jeers and the taunts of the boaster; Indignant was he and red wroth, at the trick of the runner dishonest; And away like a whirlwind he speeds —like a hurricane mad from the mountains; He gains on Tamdka,—he leads! —and behold, with the spring of a panther, He leaps to the goal and succeeds, 'mid the roar of the mad acclamation.

Then glad as the robin in May was the voice of Winona exulting; And the crest-fallen brave turned away, and lonely he walked by the river; He glowered as he went and the fire of revenge in his bosom was kindled, But he strove to dissemble his ire, and he whistled alone by the Ha-ha.



THE "WAKAN WACEPEE," OR SACRED DANCE. [81]

Lo the lights in the "Teepee Wakn!" 'tis the night of the Wakn-Wacpee. Round and round walks the chief of the clan, as he rattles the sacred Ta-sh-kay; [81] Long and loud on the Chn-che-ga [81] beat the drummers with magical drumsticks, And the notes of the Ch-tnka [81] greet, like the murmur of winds on the waters. By the friction of white-cedar wood for the feast was a Virgin-fire [20] kindled. They that enter the firm brotherhood first must fast and be cleansed by E-ne-pee; [81] And from foot-sole to crown of the head must they paint with the favorite colors; For Unkthee likes bands of blood-red, with the stripings of blue intermingled. In the hollow earth, dark and profound, Unkthee and fiery Wakn-yan Long fought and the terrible sound of the battle was louder than thunder; The mountains were heaved and around were scattered the hills and the boulders, And the vast solid plains of the ground rose and fell like the waves of the ocean. But the god of the waters prevailed. Wakn-yan escaped from the cavern, And long on the mountains he wailed, and his hatred endureth forever.

When Unkthee had finished the earth, and the beasts and the birds and the fishes, And men at his bidding came forth from the heart of the huge hollow mountains [69] A band chose the god from the hordes, and he said "Ye are sons of Unkthee; Ye are lords of the beasts and the birds, and the fishes that swim in the waters. But hearken ye now to my words, —let them sound in your bosoms forever. Ye shall honor Unkthee and hate Waknyan, the Spirit of Thunder, For the power of Unkthee is great, and he laughs at the darts of Waknyan. Ye shall honor the Earth and the Sun, —for they are your father and mother. [70] Let your prayer to the Sun be —Wakn, At: on-si-m-da ohe-ne [a] And remember the Tku Wakn, [73] all pervading in earth and in ether— Invisible ever to man, but he dwells in the midst of all matter; Yea, he dwells in the heart of the stone —in the hard granite heart of the boulder; Ye shall call him forever Tunkn —grandfather of all the Dakotas. Ye are men that I choose for my own; ye shall be as a strong band of brothers, Now I give you the magical bone and the magical pouch of the spirits. [b] And these are the laws ye shall heed: Ye shall honor the pouch and the giver. Ye shall walk as twin-brothers; in need, one shall forfeit his life for another. Listen not to the voice of the crow. [c] Hold as sacred the wife of a brother. Strike, and fear not the shaft of the foe, for the soul of the brave is immortal. Slay the warrior in battle, but spare the innocent babe and the mother. Remember a promise;—beware, —let the word of a warrior be sacred. When a stranger arrives at the tee —be he friend of the band or a foeman, Give him food; let your bounty be free; lay a robe for the guest by the lodge-fire; Let him go to his kindred in peace, if the peace-pipe he smoke in the teepee; And so shall your children increase, and your lodges shall laugh with abundance. And long shall ye live in the land, and the spirits of earth and the waters Shall come to your aid, at command, with the power of invisible magic. And at last, when you journey afar —o'er the shining "Wangee Ta-chn-ku," [70] You shall walk as a red, shining star, [18] in the land of perpetual summer."

[a] "Sacred Spirit, Father have pity on me always" [b] Riggs' Tahkoo Wakan, p. 90. [c] Slander.

All the night in the teepee they sang, and they danced to the mighty Unkthee, While the loud-braying Chn-che-ga rang and the shrill-piping flute and the rattle, Till Anptuwee [70] rose in the east —from the couch of the blushing Han-nn-na. And then at the dance and the feast sang the song of Unkthee in chorus:

"Wa-d-ta o-hna mi-k-ge! Wa-d-ta o-hn mi-k-ge! Mini-yta it waknd mak, At wakn—Tunknsidn,

Tunknsidn pejihta wakn Micg—he Wicg! Miniyta it waknd mak. Tauknsidn ite, np d-win-ta woo, Wahutpa wan yha, np d-win-ta too."

TRANSLATION

In red swan-down he made it for me; In red swan-down he made it for me; He of the water—he of the mysterious face— Gave it to me; Sacred Father—Grandfather!

Grandfather made me magical medicine That is true! Being of mystery,—grown in the water— He gave it to me! To the face of our Grandfather stretch out your hand; Holding a quadruped, stretch out your hand!

Till high o'er the hills of the east Anptuwee walked on his journey, In secret they danced at the feast, and communed with the mighty Unkthee. Then opened the door of the tee to the eyes of the day and the people, And the sons of Unkthee, to be, were endowed with the sacred Ozha [82] By the son of tall Waz-kut, Tamdka, the chief of the Magi. And thus since the birth-day of man —since he sprang from the heart of the mountains, [69] Has the sacred "Wacpee Wakn" by the warlike Dakotas been honored, And the god-favored sons of the clan work their will with the help of the spirits.

'Twas sunrise; the spirits of mist trailed their white robes on dewy savannas, And the flowers raised their heads to be kissed by the first golden beams of the morning. The breeze was abroad with the breath of the rose of the Isles of the Summer, And the humming-bird hummed on the heath from his home in the land of the rain-bow. [a] 'Twas the morn of departure. Duluth stood alone by the roar of the Ha-ha; Tall and fair in the strength of his youth stood the blue-eyed and fair-bearded Frenchman. A rustle of robes on the grass broke his dream as he mused by the waters, And, turning, he looked on the face of Winona, wild rose of the prairies, Half hid in her forest of hair, like the round, golden moon in the pine tops. Admiring he gazed—she was fair as his own blooming Flore in her orchards, With her golden locks loose on the air, like the gleam of the sun through the olives, Far away on the vine-covered shore, in the sun-favored land of his fathers. "Lists the chief to the cataract's roar for the mournful lament of the Spirit?" [b] Said Winona,—"The wail of the sprite for her babe and its father unfaithful, Is heard in the midst of the night, when the moon wanders dim in the heavens."

[a] The Dakotas say the humming-bird comes from the "land of the rain-bow." [b] See Legend of the Falls or Note 28—Appendix.

"Wild-Rose of the Prairies," he said, "DuLuth listens not to the Ha-ha, For the wail of the ghost of the dead, for her babe and its father unfaithful; But he lists to a voice in his heart that is heard by the ear of no other, And to-day will the White Chief depart —he returns to the land of the sunrise." "Let Winona depart with the chief, —she will kindle the fire in his teepee; For long are the days of her grief, if she stay in the tee of Ta-t-psin," She replied and her cheeks were aflame with the bloom of the wild prairie lilies. "Tank, [a] is the White Chief to blame?" said DuLuth to the blushing Winona. "The White Chief is blameless," she said, "but the heart of Winona will follow Wherever thy footsteps may lead, O blue-eyed brave Chief of the white men. For her mother sleeps long in the mound, and a step-mother rules in the teepee. And her father, once strong and renowned, is bent with the weight of his winters. No longer he handles the spear, —no longer his swift, humming arrows Overtake the fleet feet of the deer, or the bear of the woods, or the bison; But he bends as he walks, and the wind shakes his white hair and hinders his footsteps; And soon will he leave me behind, without brother or sister or kindred. The doe scents the wolf in the wind, and a wolf walks the path of Winona. Three times have the gifts for the bride [25] to the lodge of Ta-t-psin been carried. But the voice of Winona replied that she liked not the haughty Tamdka. And thrice were the gifts sent away, but the tongue of the mother protested, And the were wolf [52] still follows his prey, abides but the death of my father."

[a] My Sister.

"I pity Winona," he said, "but my path is a pathway of danger, And long is the trail for the maid to the far-away land of the sunrise; And few are the braves of my band, and the braves of Tamdka are many; But soon I return to the land, and a cloud of my hunters will follow. When the cold winds of winter return, and toss the white robes of the prairies, The fire of the White Chief will burn in his lodge at the Meeting-of-Waters; [a] And when from the Sunrise again comes the chief of the suns of the Morning, Many moons will his hunters remain in the land of the friendly Dakotas. The son of Chief Waz-kut guides the White Chief afar on his journey; Nor long on the Tonka Med [b] —on the breast of the blue, bounding billows— Shall the bark of the Frenchman delay, but his pathway shall kindle behind him."

[a] Mendota, properly Md-t—meaning the outlet of lake or river into another, commonly applied to the region about Fort Snelling. [b] Tonka Mede—Great Lake, i.e. Lake Superior. The Dakotas seem to have had no other name for it. They generally referred to it as Mini-ya-ta—There at the water.

She was pale, and her hurried voice swelled with alarm as she questioned replying "Tamdka thy guide? —I beheld thy death in his face at the races! He covers his heart with a smile, but revenge never sleeps in his bosom; His tongue—it is soft to beguile; but beware of the pur of the panther! For death, like a shadow, will walk by thy side in the midst of the forest, Or follow thy path like a hawk on the trail of a wounded Mastinca. [a] A son of Unkthee is he, —the Chief of the crafty magicians; They have plotted thy death; I foresee, and thy trail, it is red in the forest; Beware of Tamdka,—beware. Slumber not like the grouse of the woodlands, With head under wing, for the glare of the eyes that sleep not are upon thee."

[a] The rabbit. The Dakotas called the Crees "Mastincapi"—Rabbits.

"Winona, fear not," said Duluth, "for I carry the fire of Waknyan, [a] And strong is the arm of my youth, and stout are the hearts of my warriors; But Winona has spoken the truth, and the heart of the White Chief is thankful. Hide this in thy bosom, dear maid, —'tis the crucified Christ of the white men. [b] Lift thy voice to his spirit in need, and his spirit will hear thee and answer; For often he comes to my aid; he is stronger than all the Dakotas; And the Spirits of evil, afraid, hide away when he looks from the heavens." In her swelling brown bosom she hid the crucified Jesus in silver; "Niwst," [c] she sadly replied; in her low voice the rising tears trembled; Her dewy eyes turned she aside, and she slowly returned to the teepees. But still on the swift river's strand, admiring the graceful Winona, As she gathered, with brown, dimpled hand, her hair from the wind, stood the Frenchman.

[a] i.e. a fire arm which the Dakotas compare to the roar of the wings of the Thunder-bird and the fiery arrows he shoots. [b] Duluth was a devout Catholic. [c] Nee-wahshtay—Thou art good.

To bid the brave White Chief adieu, on the shady shore gathered the warriors; His glad boatmen manned the canoe, and the oars in their hands were impatient. Spake the Chief of Isntees, —"A feast will await the return of my brother In peace rose the sun in the East, in peace in the West he descended. May the feet of my brother be swift, till they bring him again to our teepees; The red pipe he takes as a gift, may he smoke that red pipe many winters. At my lodge-fire his pipe shall be lit, when the White Chief returns to Kathga; On the robes of my tee shall he sit, he shall smoke with the chiefs of my people. The brave love the brave; and his son sends the Chief as a guide for his brother, By the way of the Wkpa Wakn [a] to the Chief at the Lake of the Spirits.

[a] Spirit River, now called Rum River.

As light as the foot-steps of dawn are the feet of the stealthy Tamdka, And he fears not the Mza Wakn; [a] he is sly as the fox of the forest. When he dances the dance of red war all the hungry wolves howl by the Big Sea, [b] For they scent on the south-wind afar their feast on the bones of Ojibways." Thrice the Chief puffed the red pipe of peace, ere it passed to the lips of the Frenchman. Spake DuLuth,—"May the Great Spirit bless with abundance the Chief and his people; May their sons and their daughters increase, and the fire ever burn in their teepees." Then he waved with a flag his adieu to the Chief and the warriors assembled; And away shot Tamdka's canoe to the strokes of ten sinewy hunters; And a white path he clove up the blue, bubbling stream of the swift Mississippi; And away on his foaming trail flew, like a Sea-Gull the bark of the Frenchman. Then merrily rose the blithe song of the voyageurs homeward returning, And thus, as they glided along, sang the bugle-voiced boatmen in chorus:

SONG

Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay voyageur He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand, And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land. The clam in his shell and the water turtle too, And the brave boatman's shell is his birch bark canoe. So pull away, boatmen, bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.

Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay voyageur. His couch is as downy as a couch can be, For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree. He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack, And his eau de vie is the eau de lac. So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.

Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay voyageur. The brave, jolly boatman,—he never is afraid When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid, A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway; And he marks his trail with the bois bruls. So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay voyageur. Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.

[a] Fire arm—spirit metal. [b] Lake Superior—at that time the home of the Ojibways. (Chippewas)

In the reeds of the meadow the stag lifts his branchy head stately and listens, And the bobolink, perched on the flag, her ear sidelong bends to the chorus. From the brow of the Beautiful Isle, [a] half hid in the midst of the maples, The sad-faced Winona, the while, watched the boat growing less in the distance. Till away in the bend of the stream, where it turned and was lost in the lindens, She saw the last dip and the gleam of the oars ere they vanished forever. Still afar on the waters the song, like bridal bells distantly chiming, The stout, jolly boatmen prolong, beating time with the stroke of their paddles; And Winona's ear, turned to the breeze, lists the air falling fainter and fainter Till it dies like the murmur of bees when the sun is aslant on the meadows. Blow, breezes,—blow softly and sing in the dark, flowing hair of the maiden; But never again shall you bring the voice that she loves to Winona.

[a] Wista Waste—Nicollet Island.

Now a light, rustling wind from the South shakes his wings o'er the wide, wimpling waters; Up the dark winding river DuLuth follows fast in the wake of Tamdka. On the slopes of the emerald shores leafy woodlands and prairies alternate; On the vine-tangled islands the flowers peep timidly out at the white men; In the dark-winding eddy the loon sits warily, watching and voiceless, And the wild goose, in reedy lagoon, stills the prattle and play of her children. The does and their sleek, dappled fawns prick their ears and peer out from the thickets, And the bison-calves play on the lawns, and gambol like colts in the clover. Up the still flowing Wkpa Wakn's winding path through the groves and the meadows. Now DuLuth's brawny boatmen pursue the swift gliding bark of Tamdka; And hardly the red braves out-do the stout, steady oars of the white men.

Now they bend to their oars in the race —the ten tawny braves of Tamdka; And hard on their heels in the chase ply the six stalwart oars of the Frenchmen. In the stern of his boat sits DuLuth, in the stern of his boat stands Tamdka; And warily, cheerily, both urge the oars of their men to the utmost. Far-stretching away to the eyes, winding blue in the midst of the meadows, As a necklet of sapphires that lies unclaspt in the lap of a virgin, Here asleep in the lap of the plain lies the reed-bordered, beautiful river. Like two flying coursers that strain, on the track, neck and neck, on the home-stretch, With nostrils distended, and mane froth-flecked, and the neck and the shoulders, Each urged to his best by the cry and the whip and the rein of his rider, Now they skim o'er the waters and fly, side by side, neck and neck, through the meadows. The blue heron flaps from the reeds, and away wings her course up the river; Straight and swift is her flight o'er the meads, but she hardly outstrips the canoemen. See! the voyageurs bend to their oars till the blue veins swell out on their foreheads; And the sweat from their brawny breasts pours; but in vain their Herculean labor; For the oars of Tamdka are ten, and but six are the oars of the Frenchmen, And the red warriors' burden of men is matched by the voyageur's luggage. Side by side, neck and neck, for a mile, still they strain their strong arms to the utmost, Till rounding a willowy isle, now ahead creeps the boat of Tamdka, And the neighboring forests profound, and the far-stretching plain of the meadows To the whoop of the victors resound, while the panting French rest on their paddles.

With sable wings wide o'er the land, night sprinkles the dew of the heavens; And hard by the dark river's strand, in the midst of a tall, somber forest, Two camp-fires are lighted, and beam on the trunks and the arms of the pine-trees. In the fitful light darkle and gleam the swarthy-hued faces around them. And one is the camp of DuLuth, and the other the camp of Tamdka, But few are the jests and uncouth of the voyageurs over their supper, While moody and silent the braves round their fire in a circle sit crouching; And low is the whisper of leaves and the sough of the wind in the branches; And low is the long-winding howl of the lone wolf afar in the forest; But shrill is the hoot of the owl, like a bugle blast blown in the pine-tops, And the half-startled voyageurs scowl at the sudden and saucy intruder. Like the eyes of the wolves are the eyes of the watchful and silent Dakotas; Like the face of the moon in the skies, when the clouds chase each other across it. Is Tamdka's dark face in the light of the flickering flames of the camp fire. They have plotted red murder by night, and securely contemplate their victims. But wary and armed to the teeth are the resolute Frenchmen and ready, If need be, to grapple with death, and to die hand to hand in the desert. Yet skilled in the arts and the wiles of the cunning and crafty Algonkins, They cover their hearts with their smiles, and hide their suspicions of evil. Round their low, smouldering fire, feigning sleep, lie the watchful and wily Dakotas; But DuLuth and his voyageurs heap their fire that shall blaze till the morning, Ere they lay themselves snugly to rest, with their guns by their side on the blankets, As if there were none to molest but the ravening beasts of the forest.

'Tis midnight. The rising moon gleams, weird and still o'er the dusky horizon; Through the hushed, somber forest she beams, and fitfully gloams on the meadows; And a dim, glimmering pathway she paves, at times, on the dark stretch of river. The winds are asleep in the caves —in the heart of the far-away mountains; And here on the meadows and there, the lazy mists gather and hover; And the lights of the Fen-Spirits [72] flare and dance on the low-lying marshes, As still as the footsteps of death by the bed of the babe and its mother; And hushed are the pines, and beneath lie the weary limbed boatmen in slumber. Walk softly,—walk softly, O Moon, through the gray, broken clouds in thy pathway, For the earth lies asleep, and the boon of repose is bestowed on the weary. Toiling hands have forgotten their care; e'en the brooks have forgotten to murmur; But hark!—there's a sound on the air! —'tis the light-rustling robes of the Spirits. Like the breath of the night in the leaves, or the murmur of reeds on the river, In the cool of the mid-summer eves, when the blaze of the day has descended. Low-crouching and shadowy forms, as still as the gray morning's footsteps, Creep sly as the serpent that charms, on her nest in the meadow, the plover; In the shadows of pine-trunks they creep, but their panther-eyes gleam in the fire-light, As they peer on the white men asleep, in the glow of the fire, on their blankets. Lo, in each swarthy right hand a knife, in the left hand, the bow and the arrows! Brave Frenchmen! awake to the strife! —or you sleep in the forest forever. Nay, nearer and nearer they glide, like ghosts on the fields of their battles, Till close on the sleepers, they bide but the signal of death from Tamdka. Still the sleepers sleep on. Not a breath stirs the leaves of the awe-stricken forest; The hushed air is heavy with death; like the footsteps of death are the moments. "Arise!"—At the word, with a bound, to their feet spring the vigilant Frenchmen; And the dark, dismal forests resound to the crack and the roar of their rifles; And seven writhing forms on the ground clutch the earth. From the pine-tops the screech owl Screams and flaps his wide wings in affright, and plunges away through the shadows; And swift on the wings of the night flee the dim, phantom forms of the spirit. Like cabris [80] when white wolves pursue, fled the four yet remaining Dakotas; Through forest and fen-land they flew, and wild terror howled on their footsteps. And one was Tamdka. DuLuth through the night sent his voice like a trumpet; "Ye are Sons of Unkthee, forsooth! Return to your mothers, ye cowards!" His shrill voice they heard as they fled, but only the echoes made answer. At the feet of the brave Frenchmen, dead, lay seven swarthy Sons of Unkthee; And there, in the midst of the slain, they found, as it gleamed in the fire light, The horn-handled knife from the Seine, where it fell from the hand of Tamdka.



In the gray of the morn, ere the sun peeped over the dewy horizon, Their journey again was begun, and they toiled up the swift, winding river; And many a shallow they passed on their way to the Lake of the Spirits; But dauntless they reached it at last, and found Akee-p-kee-tin's village, [a] On an isle in the midst of the lake; and a day in his teepee they tarried.

[a] see Hennepin's account of Aqui-pa-que-tin and his village. Shea's Hennepin 227.

Of the deed in the wilderness spake, to the brave Chief, the frank-hearted Frenchman. A generous man was the Chief and a friend of the fearless explorer; And dark was his visage with grief at the treacherous act of the warriors. "Brave Wazi-Kut is a man, and his heart is as clear as the sun-light; But the head of a treacherous clan, and a snake in the bush is Tamdka," Said the chief; and he promised Duluth, on the word of a friend and a warrior, To carry the pipe and the truth to his cousin, the chief at Kathga; For thrice at the Tnka Med had he smoked in the lodge of the Frenchman; And thrice had he carried away the bountiful gifts of the trader.

When the chief could no longer prevail on the white men to rest in his teepee, He guided their feet on the trail to the lakes of the winding Rice-River. [a] Now on speeds the light bark canoe, through the lakes to the broad Gitchee Seebee; [b] And up the great river they row, —up the Big Sandy Lake and Savanna; And down through the meadows they go to the river of broad Gitchee Gumee. [c]

[a] Now called "Mud River"—it empties into the Mississippi at Aitkin. [b] Gitchee seebee—Big River—the Ojibway name for the Mississippi, which is a corruption of Gitchee Seebee—as Michigan is a corruption of Gitchee Gumee—Great Lake, the Ojibway name of Lake Superior. [c] The Ojibways call the St. Louis River Gitchee-Gumee See-bee—Great-lake River, i.e. the river of the Great Lake (Lake Superior).



Still onward they speed to the Dalles —to the roar of the white-rolling rapids, Where the dark river tumbles and falls down the ragged ravine of the mountains, And singing his wild jubilee to the low-moaning pines and the cedars, Rushes on to the unsalted sea o'er the ledges upheaved by volcanoes. Their luggage the voyageurs bore down the long, winding path of the portage, [a] While they mingled their song with the roar of the turbid and turbulent waters. Down-wimpling and murmuring there, twixt two dewy hills winds a streamlet, Like a long, flaxen ringlet of hair on the breast of a maid in her slumber.

[a] The route of Duluth above described—from the mouth of the Wild Rice Mud River to Lake Superior—was for centuries and still is, the Indians' canoe route. I have walked over the old portage from the foot of the Dalles to the St. Louis above—trod by the feet of half-breeds and voyageurs for more than two centuries, and by the Indians for, perhaps, a thousand years.

All safe at the foot of the trail, where they left it, they found their felucca, And soon to the wind spread the sail, and glided at ease through the waters, Through the meadows and lakelets and forth, round the point stretching south like a finger, From the mist-wreathen hill on the north, sloping down to the bay and the lake-side And behold, at the foot of the hill, a cluster of Chippewa wigwams, And the busy wives plying with skill their nets in the emerald waters. Two hundred white winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer Since DuLuth, on that wild, somber shore, in the unbroken forest primeval, From the midst of the spruce and the pines, saw the smoke of the wigwams up-curling, Like the fumes from the temples and shrines of the Druids of old in their forests. Ah, little he dreamed then, forsooth, that a city would stand on that hill-side, And bear the proud name of Duluth, the untiring and dauntless explorer. A refuge for ships from the storms, and for men from the bee-hives of Europe. Out-stretching her long, iron arms o'er an empire of Saxons and Normans.

The swift west-wind sang in the sails, and on flew the boat like a Sea-Gull, By the green, templed hills and the dales, and the dark rugged rocks of the North Shore; For the course of the brave Frenchman lay to his fort at the Gh-mah-na-tk-whk, [83] By the shore of the grand Thunder Bay, where the gray rocks loom up into mountains; Where the Stone Giant sleeps on the Cape, and the god of the storms makes the thunder, [83] And the Makinak [83] lifts his huge shape from the breast of the blue-rolling waters, And thence to the south-westward led his course to the Holy Ghost Mission. [84] Where the Black Robes, the brave shepherds, fed their wild sheep on the isle Wau-ga-b-m. [84]



In the enchanting Cha-quam-e-gon Bay, defended by all the Apostles; [a] And thence by the K-we-naw, lay his course to the Mission Sainte Marie. [b] Now the waves drop their myriad hands, and streams the white hair of the surges; DuLuth at the steady helm stands, and he hums as he bounds o'er the billows:

O sweet is the carol of bird, And sweet is the murmur of streams, But sweeter the voice that I heard— In the night—in the midst of my dreams.

[a] The Apostle Islands. [b] At the Saut St. Marie.

'Tis the moon of the sere, falling leaves. From the heads of the maples the west-wind Plucks the red-and-gold plumage and grieves on the meads for the rose and the lily; Their brown leaves the moaning oaks strew, and the breezes that roam on the prairies, Low-whistling and wanton pursue the down of the silk weed and thistle. All sere are the prairies and brown, in the glimmer and haze of the Autumn; From the far northern marshes flock down, by thousands, the geese and the mallards. From the meadows and wide-prairied plains, for their long southward journey preparing, In croaking flocks gather the cranes, and choose with loud clamor their leaders. The breath of the evening is cold, and lurid along the horizon The flames of the prairies are rolled, on the somber skies flashing their torches. At noontide a shimmer of gold, through the haze, pours the sun from his pathway. The wild-rice is gathered and ripe, on the moors, lie the scarlet po-pn-ka; [a] Michabo [85] is smoking his pipe, —'tis the soft, dreamy Indian Summer, When the god of the South as he flies from Wazya, the god of the Winter, For a time turns his beautiful eyes, and backward looks over his shoulder.

[a] Cranberries.

It is noon. From his path in the skies the red sun looks down on Kathga, Asleep in the valley it lies, for the swift hunters follow the bison. Ta-t-psin, the aged brave, bends as he walks by the side of Winona; Her arm to his left hand she lends, and he feels with his staff for the pathway; On his slow, feeble footsteps attends his gray dog, the watchful Wichka; [a] For blind in his years is the chief of a fever that followed the Summer, And the days of Ta-t-psin are brief. Once more by the dark-rolling river Sits the Chief in the warm, dreamy haze of the beautiful Summer in Autumn; And the faithful dog lovingly lays his head at the feet of his master. On a dead, withered branch sits a crow, down-peering askance at the old man; On the marge of the river below romp the nut-brown and merry-voiced children, And the dark waters silently flow, broad and deep, to the plunge of the Ha-ha.

[a] Wee-chah kah—literally "Faithful".

By his side sat Winona. He laid his thin, shriveled hand on her tresses, "Winona my daughter," he said, "no longer thy father beholds thee; But he feels the long locks of thy hair, and the days that are gone are remembered, When Siska [a] sat faithful and fair in the lodge of swift footed Ta-t-psin. The white years have broken my spear; from my bow they have taken the bow-string; But once on the trail of the deer, like a gray wolf from sunrise till sunset, By woodland and meadow and mere, ran the feet of Ta-t-psin untiring. But dim are the days that are gone, and darkly around me they wander, Like the pale, misty face of the moon when she walks through the storm of the winter; And sadly they speak in my ear. I have looked on the graves of my kindred. The Land of the Spirits is near. Death walks by my side like a shadow. Now open thine ear to my voice, and thy heart to the wish of thy father, And long will Winona rejoice that she heeded the words of Ta-t-psin. The cold, cruel winter is near, and famine will sit in the teepee. What hunter will bring me the deer, or the flesh of the bear or the bison? For my kinsmen before me have gone; they hunt in the land of the shadows. In my old age forsaken, alone, must I die in my teepee of hunger? Winona, Tamdka can make my empty lodge laugh with abundance; For thine aged and blind father's sake, to the son of the Chief speak the promise. For gladly again to my tee will the bridal gifts come for my daughter. A fleet-footed hunter is he, and the good spirits feather his arrows; And the cold, cruel winter will be a feast-time instead of a famine."

[a] The Robin—the name of Winona's Mother.

"My father," she said, and her voice was filial and full of compassion, "Would the heart of Ta-t-psin rejoice at the death of Winona, his daughter? The crafty Tamdka I hate. Must I die in his teepee of sorrow? For I love the White Chief, and I wait his return to the land of Dakotas. When the cold winds of winter return, and toss the white robes of the prairies, The fire of the White Chief will burn, in his lodge, at the Meeting-of-Waters. Winona's heart followed his feet far away to the land of the morning, And she hears in her slumber his sweet, kindly voice call the name of thy daughter. My father, abide, I entreat, the return of the brave to Kathga. The wild-rice is gathered, the meat of the bison is stored in the teepee; Till the Coon-Moon [71] enough and to spare; and if then the white warrior return not, Winona will follow the bear, and the coon, to their dens in the forest. She is strong; she can handle the spear; she can bend the stout bow of the hunter; And swift on the trail of the deer will she run o'er the snow on her snow-shoes. Let the step-mother sit in the tee, and kindle the fire for my father; And the cold, cruel winter shall be a feast-time instead of a famine." "The White Chief will never return," half angrily muttered Ta-t-psin;

"His camp-fire will nevermore burn in the land of the warriors he slaughtered. I grieve, for my daughter has said that she loves the false friend of her kindred; For the hands of the White Chief are red with the blood of the trustful Dakotas." Then warmly Winona replied, "Tamdka himself is the traitor, And the white-hearted stranger had died by his treacherous hand in the forest, But thy daughter's voice bade him beware of the sly death that followed his footsteps. The words of Tamdka are fair, but his heart is the den of the serpents. When the braves told their tale, like a bird sang the heart of Winona rejoicing, But gladlier still had she heard of the death of the crafty Tamdka. The Chief will return, he is bold, and he carries the fire of Waknyan; To our people the truth will be told, and Tamdka will hide like a coward." His thin locks the aged brave shook; to himself half inaudibly muttered; To Winona no answer he spoke —only moaned he "Micunksee! Micunksee! [a] In my old age forsaken and blind! Yun! He he! Micnksee! Micnksee!" [b] And Wichka, the pitying dog, whined, as he looked on the face of his master.

[a] My Daughter! My Daughter! [b] Alas! O My Daughter,—My Daughter!

Wazya came down from the North —from his land of perpetual winter. From his frost-covered beard issued forth the sharp-biting, shrill-whistling North-wind; At the touch of his breath the wide earth turned to stone, and the lakes and the rivers; From his nostrils the white vapors rose, and they covered the sky like a blanket. Like the down of Mag [a] fell the snows, tossed and whirled into heaps by the North-wind. Then the blinding storms roared on the plains, like the simoons on sandy Sahara; From the fangs of the fierce hurricanes fled the elk and the deer and the bison. Ever colder and colder it grew, till the frozen earth cracked and split open; And harder and harder it blew, till the prairies were bare as the boulders. To the southward the buffaloes fled, and the white rabbits hid in their burrows; On the bare sacred mounds of the dead howled the gaunt, hungry wolves in the night-time. The strong hunters crouched in their tees; by the lodge-fires the little ones shivered; And the Magic Men [b] danced to appease, in their teepee, the wrath of Wazya; But famine and fatal disease, like phantoms, crept into the village. The Hard Moon [c] was past, but the moon when the coons make their trails in the forest [d] Grew colder and colder. The coon or the bear, ventured not from his cover; For the cold, cruel Arctic Simoon swept the earth like the breath of a furnace. In the tee of Ta-t-psin the store of wild-rice and dried meat was exhausted; And Famine crept in at the door, and sat crouching and gaunt by the lodge-fire. But now with the saddle of deer, and the gifts, came the crafty Tamdka; And he said, "Lo I bring you good cheer, for I love the blind Chief and his daughter. Take the gifts of Tamdka, for dear to his heart is the dark-eyed Winona." The aged chief opened his ears; in his heart he already consented; But the moans of his child and her tears touched the age-softened heart of the father, And he said, "I am burdened with years, —I am bent by the snows of my winters; Ta-t-psin will die in his tee; let him pass to the Land of the Spirits; But Winona is young; she is free, and her own heart shall choose her a husband." The dark warrior strode from the tee; low-muttering and grim he departed. "Let him die in his lodge," muttered he, "but Winona shall kindle my lodge-fire."

[a] Wild goose. [b] Medicine men. [c] January. [d] February.

Then forth went Winona. The bow of Ta-t-psin she took and his arrows, And afar o'er the deep, drifted snow, through the forest, she sped on her snow-shoes. Over meadow and ice-covered mere, through the thickets of red oak and hazel, She followed the tracks of the deer, but like phantoms they fled from her vision. From sunrise till sunset she sped; half-famished she camped in the thicket; In the cold snow she made her lone bed; on the buds of the birch [a] made her supper. To the dim moon the gray owl preferred, from the tree top, his shrill lamentation, And around her at midnight she heard the dread famine-cries of the gray wolves. In the gloam of the morning again on the trail of the red-deer she followed— All day long through the thickets in vain, for the gray wolves were chasing the roebucks; And the cold, hungry winds from the plain chased the wolves and the deer and Winona.

[a] The pheasant feeds on birch-buds in winter. Indians eat them when very hungry.

In the twilight of sundown she sat, in the forest, all weak and despairing; Ta-t-psin's bow lay at her feet, and his otter skin quiver of arrows. "He promised,—he promised," she said —half-dreamily uttered and mournful,— "And why comes he not? Is he dead? Was he slain by the crafty Tamdka? Must Winona, alas, make her choice —make her choice between death and Tamdka? She will die but her soul will rejoice in the far Summer-land of the spirits. Hark! I hear his low, musical voice! He is coming! My White Chief is coming! Ah, no; I am half in a dream! —'twas the mem'ry of days long departed; But the birds of the green Summer seem to be singing above in the branches." Then forth from her bosom she drew the crucified Jesus in silver. In her dark hair the cold north wind blew, as meekly she bent o'er the image. "O Christ of the White man," she prayed, "lead the feet of my brave to Kathga; Send a good spirit down to my aid, or the friend of the White Chief will perish." Then a smile on her wan features played, and she lifted her pale face and chanted:

"E-ye-he-kt! E-ye-he-kt! H-kta-c; -ye-ce-qun. M-Wamdee-sk, he-he-kt; He-kta-c; -ye-ce-qun, M-Wamdee-sk."

[TRANSLATION.]

He will come; he will come; He will come, for he promised. My White Eagle, he will come; He will come, for he promised,— My White Eagle.

Thus sadly she chanted, and lo —allured by her sorrowful accents— From the dark covert crept a red doe and wondrously gazed on Winona. Then swift caught the huntress her bow; from her trembling hand hummed the keen arrow. Up-leaped the red gazer and fled, but the white snow was sprinkled with scarlet, And she fell in the oak thicket dead. On the trail ran the eager Winona. Half-famished the raw flesh she ate. To the hungry maid sweet was her supper. Then swift through the night ran her feet, and she trailed the sleek red-deer behind her. And the guide of her steps was a star —the cold-glinting star of Wazya—[a] Over meadow and hilltop afar, on the way to the lodge of her father. But hark! on the keen frosty air wind the shrill hunger-howls of the gray wolves! And nearer,—still nearer! —the blood of the doe have they scented and follow; Through the thicket, the meadow, the wood, dash the pack on the trail of Winona. Swift she speeds with her burden, but swift on her track fly the minions of famine; Now they yell on the view from the drift, in the reeds at the marge of the meadow; Red gleam their wild, ravenous eyes; for they see on the hill-side their supper; The dark forest echoes their cries; but her heart is the heart of a warrior. From its sheath snatched Winona her knife, and a leg from the red doe she severed; With the carcass she ran for her life, —to a low-branching oak ran the maiden; Round the deer's neck her head-strap [b] was tied; swiftly she sprang to the arms of the oak-tree; Quick her burden she drew to her side, and higher she clomb on the branches, While the maddened wolves battled and bled, dealing death o'er the leg to each other; Their keen fangs devouring the dead, —yea, devouring the flesh of the living, They raved and they gnashed and they growled, like the fiends in the regions infernal; The wide night re-echoing howled, and the hoarse North wind laughed o'er the slaughter. But their ravenous maws unappeased by the blood and the flesh of their fellows, To the cold wind their muzzles they raised, and the trail to the oak-tree they followed. Round and round it they howled for the prey, madly leaping and snarling and snapping; But the brave maiden's keen arrows slay, till the dead number more than the living. All the long, dreary night-time, at bay, in the oak sat the shivering Winona; But the sun gleamed at last, and away skulked the gray cowards [c] down through the forest. Then down dropped the doe and the maid. Ere the sun reached the midst of his journey, Her red, welcome burden she laid at the feet of her famishing father.

[a] Wazya's Star is the North Star. [b] A strap used in carrying burdens. [c] Wolves sometimes attack people at night but rarely if ever in the day time. If they have followed a hunter all night, or "treed" him they will skulk away as soon as the sun rises.

Wazya's wild wrath was appeased, and homeward he turned to his teepee, [3] O'er the plains and the forest-land breezed, from the Islands of Summer, the South wind. From their dens came the coon and the bear; o'er the snow through the woodlands they wandered; On her snow shoes with stout bow and spear on their trails ran the huntress Winona. The coon to his den in the tree, and the bear to his burrow she followed; A brave, skillful hunter was she, and Ta-t-psin's lodge laughed with abundance.

The long winter wanes. On the wings of the spring come the geese and the mallards; On the bare oak the red-robin sings, and the crocuses peep on the prairies, And the bobolink pipes, but he brings, of the blue-eyed, brave White Chief, no tidings. With the waning of winter, alas, waned the life of the aged Tatpsin; Ere the blue pansies peeped from the grass, to the Land of the Spirits he journeyed; Like a babe in its slumber he passed, or the snow from the hill tops in April; And the dark-eyed Winona, at last, stood alone by the graves of her kindred. When their myriad mouths opened the trees to the sweet dew of heaven and the rain drops, And the April showers fell on the leas, on his mound fell the tears of Winona. Round her drooping form gathered the years and the spirits unseen of her kindred, As low, in the midst of her tears, at the grave of her father she chanted:

E-y-tan-han e-yy-wah k-yy! E-y-tan-han e-yy-wah k-yy! E-y-tan-han e-yy-wah k-yy! Ma-kh kin hy-chay-dan ty-han wan-ky. T-way ne kty snee e-yy-chen e-wh chy. E-y-tan-han e-yy-wah k-yy! E-y-tan-han e-yy-wah k-yy! Ma-kh kin hy-chay-dan ty-han wan-ky.

[TRANSLATION]

Sore is my sorrow! Sore is my sorrow! Sore is my sorrow! The earth alone lasts. I speak as one dying; Sore is my sorrow! Sore is my sorrow! The earth alone lasts.

Still hope, like a star in the night gleaming oft through the broken clouds somber, Cheered the heart of Winona, and bright, on her dreams, beamed the face of the Frenchman. As the thought of a loved one and lost, sad and sweet were her thoughts of the White Chief; In the moon's mellow light, like a ghost, walked Winona alone by the Ha-ha, Ever wrapped in a dream. Far away —to the land of the sunrise—she wandered; On the blue rolling Tnka Med, [a] in the midst of her dreams, she beheld him— In his white-winged canoe, like a bird, to the land of Dakotas returning; And often in fancy she heard the dip of his oars on the river. On the dark waters glimmered the moon, but she saw not the boat of the Frenchman; On the somber night bugled the loon, but she heard not the song of the boatmen. The moon waxed and waned, but the star of her hope never waned to the setting; Through her tears she beheld it afar, like a torch on the eastern horizon. "He will come,—he is coming," she said; "he will come, for my White Eagle promised," And low to the bare earth the maid bent her ear for the sound of his footsteps. "He is gone, but his voice in my ear still remains like the voice of the robin; He is far, but his footsteps I hear; he is coming; my White Chief is coming!"

[a] Lake Superior,—The Gitchee Gumee of the Chippewas.

But the moon waxed and waned. Nevermore will the eyes of Winona behold him. Far away on the dark, rugged shore of the blue Gitchee Gmee he lingers. No tidings the rising sun brings; no tidings the star of the evening; But morning and evening she sings, like a turtle-doe widowed and waiting;

Ak u, ak u, ak u; Ma cnt masca. Ak u, ak u, ak u; Ma cnt masca.

Come again, come again, come again; For my heart is sad. Come again, come again, come again; For my heart is sad.

Down the broad Gitchee Seebee [a] the band took their way to the Games at Keza. While the swift-footed hunters by land ran the shores for the elk and the bison. Like mags [b] ride the birchen canoes on the breast of the dark Gitchee Seebee; By the willow-fringed islands they cruise by the grassy hills green to their summits; By the lofty bluffs hooded with oaks that darken the deep with their shadows; And bright in the sun gleam the strokes of the oars in the hands of the women. With the band went Winona. The oar plied the maid with the skill of a hunter. They loitered and camped on the shore of Remnca —the Lake of the Mountains. [c] There the fleet hunters followed the deer, and the thorny pahin [d] for the women.

[a] Chippewa name of the Mississippi [b] Wild Geese [c] Lake Pepin; by Hennepin called Lake of Tears—Called by the Dakotas Remnee-chah-Mday—Lake of the Mountains. [d] Pah hin—the porcupine—the quill of which are greatly prized for ornamental work.

From the tees rose the smoke of good cheer, curling blue through the tops of the maples, Near the foot of a cliff that arose, like the battle-scarred walls of a castle. Up-towering, in rugged repose, to a dizzy height over the waters.

But the man-wolf still followed his prey, and the step-mother ruled in the tepee; Her will must Winona obey, by the custom and law of Dakotas. The gifts to the teepee were brought —the blankets, and beads of the White men, And Winona, the orphaned, was bought by the crafty relentless Tamdka. In the Spring-time of life, in the flush of the gladsome mid-May days of Summer, When the bobolink sang and the thrush, and the red robin chirped in the branches, To the tent of the brave must she go; she must kindle the fire in his tepee; She must sit in the lodge of her foe, as a slave at the feet of her master. Alas for her waiting! the wings of the East-wind have brought her no tidings; On the meadow the meadow-lark sings but sad is her song to Winona, For the glad warblers melody brings but the memory of voices departed.

The Day-Spirit walked in the west to his lodge in the land of the shadows; His shining face gleamed on the crest of the oak-hooded hills and the mountains, And the meadow-lark hied to her nest, and the mottled owl peeped from her cover. But hark! from the teepees a cry! Hear the shouts of the hurrying warriors! Are the steps of the enemy nigh, —of the crafty and creeping Ojibways? Nay; look on the dizzy cliff high! —on the brink of the cliff stands Winona! Her sad face up-turned to the sky. Hark! I hear the wild chant of her death-song:

My Father's Spirit, look down, look down— From your hunting-grounds in the shining skies; Behold, for the light of my soul is gone,— The light is gone and Winona dies.

I looked to the East, but I saw no star; The face of my White Chief was turned away. I harked for his footsteps in vain; afar His bark sailed over the Sunrise-sea.

Long have I watched till my heart is cold; In my breast it is heavy and cold as stone. No more shall Winona his face behold, And the robin that sang in her heart is gone.

Shall I sit at the feet of the treacherous brave? On his hateful couch shall Winona lie? Shall she kindle his fire like a coward slave? No!—a warrior's daughter can bravely die.

My Father's Spirit, look down, look down— From your hunting-grounds in the shining skies; Behold, for the light of my soul is gone,— The light is gone and Winona dies.

Swift the strong hunters clomb as she sang, and the foremost of all was Tamdka; From crag to crag upward he sprang; like a panther he leaped to the summit. Too late! on the brave as he crept turned the maid in her scorn and defiance; Then swift from the dizzy height leaped. Like a brant arrow-pierced in mid-heaven. Down-whirling and fluttering she fell, and headlong plunged into the waters. Forever she sank mid the wail, and the wild lamentation of women. Her lone spirit evermore dwells in the depths of the Lake of the Mountains, And the lofty cliff evermore tells to the years as they pass her sad story. [a] In the silence of sorrow the night o'er the earth spread her wide, sable pinions; And the stars [18] hid their faces, and light on the lake fell the tears of the spirits. As her sad sisters watched on the shore for her spirit to rise from the waters, They heard the swift dip of an oar, and a boat they beheld like a shadow, Gliding down through the night in the gray, gloaming mists on the face of the waters. 'Twas the bark of DuLuth on his way from the Falls to the Games at Keza.

[a] The Dakotas say that the spirit of Winona forever haunts the lake. They say that it was many, many winters ago when Winona leaped from the rock—that the rock was then perpendicular to the water's edge and she leaped into the lake, but now the rock has worn away, or the water has receded, so that it does not reach the foot of the rock.



* * * * *



THE LEGEND OF THE FALLS.

Note: An-pe-tu Sa-pa—Clouded Day—was the name of the Dakota mother who committed suicide, as related in this legend, by plunging over the Falls of St. Anthony. Schoolcraft calls her "Ampata Sapa." Ampata is not Dakota. There are several versions of this legend, all agreeing in the main points.

[Read at the celebration of the Old Settlers of Hennepin County, at the Academy of Music, Minneapolis, July 4, 1879.]

(The numerals refer to notes in the Appendix.)

On the Spirit-Island [a] sitting under midnight's misty moon, Lo I see the spirits flitting o'er the waters one by one! Slumber wraps the silent city, and the droning mills are dumb; One lone whippowil's shrill ditty calls her mate that ne'er will come. Sadly moans the mighty river, foaming down the fettered falls, Where of old he thundered ever o'er abrupt and lofty walls. Great Unkthee [69]—god of waters—lifts no more his mighty head;— Fled he with the timid otters?—lies he in the cavern dead?

[a] The small island of rock a few rods below the Falls, was called by the Dakotas Wanagee We-ta-Spirit-Island. They say the spirit of Anpetu Sapa sits upon that island at night and pours forth her sorrow in song. They also say that from time out of mind, war-eagles nested on that island, until the advent of white men frightened them away. This seems to be true. Carver's Travels. London. 1778, p. 71.

Hark!—the waters hush their sighing, and the whippowil her call, Through the moon-lit mists are flying dusky shadows silent all. Lo from out the waters foaming—from the cavern deep and dread— Through the glamour and the gloaming, comes a spirit of the dead. Sad she seems, her tresses raven on her tawny shoulders rest;

Sorrow on her brow is graven, in her arms a babe is pressed. Hark!—she chants the solemn story,—sings the legend sad and old, And the river wrapt in glory listens while the tale is told. Would you hear the legend olden, hearken while I tell the tale— Shorn, alas, of many a golden, weird Dakota chant and wail.



THE LEGEND.

Tall was young Wanta, stronger than Heyka's [16] giant form. Laughed at flood and fire and hunger, faced the fiercest winter storm. When Waknyan [32] flashed and thundered, when Unkthee raved and roared, All but brave Wanta wondered, and the gods with fear implored. When the war-whoop wild resounded, calling friends to meet the foe, From the teepee swift he bounded, armed with polished lance and bow.

In the battle's din and clangor fast his fatal arrows flew, Flashed his fiery eyes with anger,—many a haughty foe he slew. Hunter, swift was he and cunning, caught the beaver, slew the bear, Overtook the roebuck running, dragged the panther from his lair. Loved was he by many a maiden; many a dark eye glanced in vain; Many a heart with sighs was laden for the love it might not gain. So they called the brave "Ska Cpa"; [a] but the fairest of the band— Moon-faced, meek Anptu-Spa—won the hunter's heart and hand.

[a] Or Capa Ska—White beaver. White beavers are very rare, very cunning and hard to catch.

From the wars with triumph burning, from the chase of bison fleet, To his lodge the brave returning, spread his trophies at her feet. Love and joy sat in the tepee; him a black-eyed boy she bore; But alas, she lived to weep a love she lost forevermore. For the warriors chose Wanta first Itncan [a] of the band. At the council-fire he sat a leader loved a chieftain grand. Proud was fair Anptu-Spa, and her eyes were glad with joy; Proud was she and very happy, with her chieftain and her boy. But alas, the fatal honor that her brave Wanta won, Brought a bitter woe upon her,—hid with clouds the summer sun For among the brave Dakotas, wives bring honor to the chief. On the vine-clad Minnesota's banks he met the Scarlet Leaf. Young and fair was Ap-dta [b]—full of craft and very fair; Proud she walked a queen of beauty with her wondrous flowing hair. In her net of hair she caught him—caught Wanta with her wiles; All in vain his wife besought him—begged in vain his wonted smiles. Ap-dta ruled the teepee—all Wanta's smiles were hers; When the lodge was wrapped in sleep a star [c] beheld the mother's tears. Long she strove to do her duty for the black-eyed babe she bore; But the proud, imperious beauty made her sad forevermore. Still she dressed the skins of beaver, bore the burdens, spread the fare; Patient ever, murmuring never, while her cheeks were creased with care.

[a] E-tan-can—Chief. [b] A-pe—leaf,—duta—Scarlet,—Scarlet leaf. [c] Stars, the Dakotas say, are the faces of departed friends and relatives on earth.

In the moon Mag-o-Kda, [71] twice an hundred years ago— Ere the "Black Robe's" [a] sacred shadow stalked the prairies' pathless snow Down the swollen, rushing river, in the sunset's golden hues, From the hunt of bear and beaver came the band in swift canoes. On the queen of fairy islands, on the Wita-Wst's [b] shore, Camped Wanta, on the highlands, just above the cataract's roar. Many braves were with Wanta; Ap-dta, too, was there, And the sad Anptu-spa spread the lodge with wonted care. Then above the leafless prairie leaped the fat faced, laughing moon, And the stars—the spirits fairy—walked the welkin one by one. Swift and silent in the gloaming on the waste of waters blue, Speeding downward to the foaming, shot Wanta's birch canoe, In it stood Anptu-spa—in her arms her sleeping child; Like a wailing Norse-land drapa [c] rose her death-song weird and wild:

Mihihna, [d] Mihihna, my heart is stone; The light is gone from my longing eyes; The wounded loon in the lake alone Her death-song sings to the moon and dies.

Mihihna, Mihihna, the path is long. The burden is heavy and hard to bear; I sink,—I die, and my dying song Is a song of joy to the false one's ear.

Mihihna, Mihihna, my young heart flew Far away with my brave to the bison-chase; To the battle it went with my warrior true, And never returned till I saw his face.

Mihihna, Mihihna. my brave was glad When he came from the chase of the roebuck fleet; Sweet were the words that my hunter said, As his trophies he laid at Anptu's feet.

Mihihna, Mihihna, the boy I bore— When the robin sang and my brave was true, I can bear to look on his face no more. For he looks, Mihihna, so much like you.

Mihihna, Mihihna, the Scarlet Leaf Has robbed my boy of his father's love; He sleeps in my arms—he will find no grief In the star-lit lodge in the land above.

Mihihna, Mihihna, my heart is stone, The light is gone from my longing eyes; The wounded loon in the lake alone, Her death-song sings to the moon and dies.

[a] The Dakotas called the Jesuit priests "Black Robes" from the color of their vestments. [b] Wee tah Wah-stay—Beautiful Island,—the Dakota name for Nicollet Island just above the Falls. [c] Drapa, a Norse funeral wail in which the virtues of the deceased are recounted. [d] Mee heen-yah—My husband.

Swiftly down the turbid torrent, as she sung her song she flew; Like a swan upon the current, dancing rode the light canoe. Hunters hurry in the gloaming, all in vain Wanta calls; Singing through the surges foaming, lo she plunges o'er the Falls.

Long they search the sullen river—searched for leagues along the shore, Bark or babe or mother never saw the sad Dakotas more; But at night or misty morning oft the hunters heard her song, Oft the maidens heard her warning in their mellow mother-tongue.

On the bluffs they sat enchanted till the blush of beamy dawn; Spirit Isle they say, is haunted, and they call the spot "Wakn." [a] Many summers on the highland, in the full-moon's golden glow— In the woods on Fairy Island, [b] walked a snow white fawn and doe Spirits of the babe and mother sadly seeking evermore, For a father's love another turned with evil charm and power.

[a] Pronounced Walk on—Sacred, inhabited by a Spirit. [b] Fairy Island—Wita Waste—Nicollet Island.

Sometimes still when moonbeams shimmer through the maples on the lawn, In the gloaming and the glimmer walk the silent doe and fawn; And on Spirit-Isle or near it, under midnight's misty moon, Oft is seen the mother's spirit, oft is heard her mournful tune.



* * * * *



THE SEAGULL. [1]

THE LEGEND OF THE PICTURED ROCKS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. OJIBWAY.

IN THE MEASURE OF HIAWATHA

(The numerals 1 2 etc., refer to Notes to Sea-Gull in Appendix.)

On the shore of Gitchee Gumee—[2] Deep, mysterious, mighty waters—Where the mnitoes—the spirits— Ride the storms and speak in thunder, In the days of Neme-Shmis, [3] In the days that are forgotten, Dwelt a tall and tawny hunter— Gitchee Pz-ze—-the panther, Son of Waub-Ojeeg, [4] the warrior, Famous Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior. Strong was he and fleet as roebuck, Brave was he and very stealthy; On the deer crept like a panther; Grappled with Makw, [5] the monster, Grappled with the bear and conquered; Took his black claws for a necklet, Took his black hide for a blanket.

When the Panther wed the Sea-Gull, Young was he and very gladsome; Fair was she and full of laughter; Like the robin in the spring time, Sang from sunrise till the sunset; For she loved the handsome hunter. Deep as Gitchee Gumee's waters Was her love—as broad and boundless; And the wedded twain were happy— Happy as the mated robins. When their first born saw the sunlight Joyful was the heart of Panther, Proud and joyful was the mother. All the days were full of sunshine; All the nights were full of star light. Nightly from the land of spirits On them smiled the starry faces,— Faces of their friends departed. Little moccasins she made him, Feathered cap and belt of wampum; From the hide of fawn a blanket, Fringed with feathers soft as sable; Singing at her pleasant labor, By her side the tekengun [6] And the little hunter in it. Oft the Panther smiled and fondled, Smiled upon the babe and mother, Frolicked with the boy and fondled. Tall he grew and like his father, And they called the boy the Raven— Called him Kk-kh-g—the Raven. Happy hunter was the Panther. From the woods he brought the pheasant, Brought the red deer and the rabbit, Brought the trout from Gitchee Gumee—

Brought the mallard from the marshes,— Royal feast for boy and mother: Brought the hides of fox and beaver, Brought the skins of mink and otter, Lured the loon and took his blanket, Took his blanket for the Raven.

Winter swiftly followed winter,

And again the tekengun Held a babe—a tawny daughter, Held a dark-eyed, dimpled daughter; And they called her Waub-ome-me,— Thus they named her—the White-Pigeon. But as winter followed winter Cold and sullen grew the Panther; Sat and smoked his pipe in silence; When he spoke he spoke in anger; In the forest often tarried Many days, and homeward turning, Brought no game unto his wigwam: Only brought his empty quiver, Brought his dark and sullen visage.

Sad at heart and very lonely Sat the Sea-Gull in the wigwam; Sat and swung the tekengun, Sat and sang to Waub-ome-me; Thus she sang to Waub-ome-me, Thus the lullaby she chanted:

W-wa, w-wa, w-we-ye; Kah-wen, nee-zhka k-diaus-i, Ke-gh nau-wi, ne-m-go s'wen, Ne-bun, ne-bun, ne-dun-is-is, W-wa, w-wa, w-we-ye;

Ne-bun, ne-bun, ne-dun-is-is,

E-we w-wa, w-we-ye, E-we w-wa, w-we-ye,

[TRANSLATION]

Swing, swing little one, lullaby; Thou'rt not left alone to weep; Mother cares for you,—she is nigh; Sleep, my little one, sweetly sleep; Swing, swing, little one, lullaby; Mother watches you—she is nigh; Gently, gently, wee one swing; Gently, gently, while I sing

E-we w-wa—lullaby, E-we w-wa-lullaby.

Homeward to his lodge returning Kindly greeting found the hunter, Fire to warm and food to nourish, Golden trout from Gitchee Gumee, Caught by Kk-kh-g—the Raven. With a snare he caught the rabbit— Caught Wabse, the furry footed, [7] Caught Peny, the forest drummer; [7] Sometimes with his bow and arrows, Shot the red deer in the forest. Shot the squirrel in the pine top, Shot Ne-k, the wild goose, flying. Proud as Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior, To the lodge he bore his trophies So when homeward turned the Panther Ever found he food provided, Found the lodge-fire brightly burning, Found the faithful Sea-Gull waiting. "You are cold," she said, "and famished; Here are fire and food, my husband." Not by word or look he answered; Only ate the food provided, Filled, his pipe and pensive puffed it, Smoked and sat in sullen silence.

Once—her dark eyes full of hunger— Thus she spoke and thus besought him: "Tell me, O my silent Panther, Tell me, O beloved husband, What has made you sad and sullen? Have you met some evil spirit— Met some goblin in the forest? Has he put a spell upon you— Filled your heart with bitter waters, That you sit so sad and sullen, Sit and smoke, but never answer, Only when the storm is on you?"

Gruffly then the Panther answered: "Brave among the brave is Panther, Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior, And the brave are ever silent; But a whining dog is woman, Whining ever like a coward."

Forth into the tangled forest, Threading through the thorny thickets, Treading, trails on marsh and meadow, Sullen strode the moody hunter. Saw he not the bear or beaver, Saw he not the elk or roebuck; From his path the red fawn scampered, But no arrow followed after; From his den the sly wolf listened, But no twang of bow-string heard he. Like one walking in his slumber, Listless, dreaming walked the Panther; Surely had some witch bewitched him, Some bad spirit of the forest.

When the Sea-Gull wed the Panther, Fair was she and full of laughter; Like the robin in the spring-time, Sang from sunrise till the sunset; But the storms of many winters Sifted frost upon her tresses, Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles.

Not alone the storms of winters Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles. Twenty winters for the Panther Had she ruled the humble wigwam; For her haughty lord and master Borne the burdens on the journey, Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire, Tanned the skins of bear and beaver, Tanned the hides of moose and red deer; Made him moccasins and leggings, Decked his hood with quills and feathers— Colored quills of Kaug, the thorny, [8] Feathers from Kenw—the eagle. [8] For a warrior brave was Panther; Often had he met the foemen, Met the bold and fierce Dakotas; Westward on the war-path met them; And the scalps he won were numbered, Numbered seven by Kenw-feathers. Sad at heart was Sea-Gull waiting, Watching, waiting in the wigwam; Not alone the storms of winters Sifted frost upon her tresses.

Ka-be-bn-k-ka, the mighty, [9] He that sends the cruel winter, He that turned to stone the Giant, From the distant Thunder-mountain, Far across broad Gitchee Gumee, Sent his warning of the winter, Sent the white frost and Kewydin, [10] Sent the swift and hungry North-wind. Homeward to the South the Summer Turned and fled the naked forests. With the Summer flew the robin, Flew the bobolink and blue-bird. Flock wise following chosen leaders, Like the shaftless heads of arrows Southward cleaving through the ether, Soon the wild geese followed after.

One long moon the Sea-Gull waited, Watched and waited for her husband, Till at last she heard his footsteps, Heard him coming through the thicket. Forth she went to meet her husband, Joyful went to greet her husband. Lo behind the haughty hunter, Closely following in his footsteps, Walked a young and handsome woman, Walked the Red Fox from the island— Gitchee Mnis—the Grand Island,— Followed him into the wigwam, Proudly took her seat beside him. On the Red Fox smiled the hunter, On the hunter smiled the woman.

Old and wrinkled was the Sea-Gull, Good and true, but old and wrinkled. Twenty winters for the Panther Had she ruled the humble wigwam, Borne the burdens on the journey, Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire, Tanned the skins of bear and beaver, Tanned the hides of moose and red deer, Made him moccasins and leggings, Decked his hood with quills and feathers, Colored quills of Kaug, the thorny, Feathers from the great war-eagle; Ever diligent and faithful, Ever patient, ne'er complaining. but like all brave men the Panther Loved a young and handsome woman; So he dallied with the danger, Dallied with the fair Algnkin, [11] Till a magic mead she gave him, Brewed of buds of birch and cedar. [12]Madly then he loved the woman; Then she ruled him, then she held him Tangled in her raven tresses, Tied and tangled in her tresses.

Ah, the tail and tawny Panther! Ah, the brave and brawny Panther! Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior! With a slender hair she led him, With a slender hair he drew him, Drew him often to her wigwam; There she bound him, there she held him Tangled in her raven tresses, Tied and tangled in her tresses. Ah, the best of men are tangled— Sometime tangled in the tresses Of a fair and crafty woman.

So the Panther wed the Red Fox, And she followed to his wigwam. Young again he seemed and gladsome, Glad as Raven when the father Made his first bow from the elm-tree, From the ash tree made his arrows, Taught him how to aim his arrows, How to shoot Wabse—the rabbit.

Then again the brawny hunter Brought the black bear and the beaver, Brought the haunch of elk and red-deer, Brought the rabbit and the pheasant— Choicest bits of all for Red Fox. For her robes he brought the sable, Brought the otter and the ermine, Brought the black-fox tipped with silver.

But the Sea-Gull murmured never, Not a word she spoke in anger, Went about her work as ever, Tanned the skins of bear and beaver, Tanned the hides of moose and red deer, Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire, Gathered rushes from the marches; Deftly into mats she wove them; Kept the lodge as bright as ever. Only to herself she murmured, All alone with Waub-ome-me, On the tall and toppling highland, O'er the wilderness of waters; Murmured to the murmuring waters, Murmured to the Nbe-nw-baigs— To the spirits of the waters; On the wild waves poured her sorrow, Save the infant on her bosom With her dark eyes wide with wonder, None to hear her but the spirits, And the murmuring pines above her. Thus she cast away her burdens, Cast her burdens on the waters; Thus unto the Mighty Spirit, Made her lowly lamentation: "Wahonwin!—Wahonwin!" [13] Gitchee Mnito, ben nin! Nah, Ba-b, showin nemshin! "Wahonwin!—Wahonwin!"

Ka-be-bn-k-ka, the mighty, [9] He that sends the cruel winter, From the distant Thunder-mountain, On the shore of Gitchee Gumee— On the rugged northern limit, Sent his solemn, final warning, Sent the white wolves of the Nor'land [14] Like the dust of stars in ether— In the Pathway of the Spirits. [15] Like the sparkling dust of diamonds, Fell the frost upon the forest, On the mountains and the meadows, On the wilderness of woodland. On the wilderness of waters. All the lingering fowls departed— All that seek the South in winter, All but Shingebs, the diver. [16] He defies the Winter-maker, Sits and laughs at Winter-maker.

Ka-be-bn-k-ka, the mighty, From his wigwam called Kewydin,— From his home among the ice-bergs, From the sea of frozen waters, Called the swift and hungry North-wind. Then he spread his mighty pinions Over all the land and shook them, Like the white down of Wubs [17] Fell the feathery snow and covered, All the marshes and the meadows, All the hill-tops and the highlands. Then old Pbon—the winter—[18] Laughed along the stormy waters, Danced upon the windy headlands, On the storm his white hair streaming,— And his steaming breath, ascending, On the pine-tops and the cedars Fell in frosty mists refulgent, Sprinkling somber shades with silver, Sprinkling all the woods with silver.

By the lodge-fire all the winter Sat the Sea-Gull and the Red Fox, Sat and kindly spoke and chatted, Till the twain seemed friends together. Friends they seemed in word and action, But within the breast of either Smouldered still the baneful embers— Fires of jealousy and hatred,—

Like a camp-fire in the forest Left by hunters and deserted; Only seems a bed of ashes, But the East-wind, Wbun nodin, Scatters through the woods the ashes, Fans to flame the sleeping embers, And the wild-fire roars and rages, Roars and rages through the forest. So the baneful embers smouldered, Smouldered in the breast of either.

From the far-off Sunny Islands, From the pleasant land of Summer, Where the spirits of the blessd Feel no more the fangs of hunger, Or the cold breath of Kewydin, Came a stately youth and handsome, Came Segn the foe of Winter. [19] Like the rising sun his face was, Like the shining stars his eyes were, Light his footsteps as the Morning's. In his hand were buds and blossoms, On his brow a blooming garland. Straightway to the icy wigwam Of old Pbon, the Winter, Strode Segn and quickly entered. There old Pbon sat and shivered, Shivered o'er his dying lodge-fire.

"Ah, my son, I bid you welcome; Sit and tell me your adventures; I will tell you of my power; We will pass the night together." Thus spake Pbon—the Winter; Then he filled his pipe and lighted; Then by sacred custom raised it To the spirits in the ether; To the spirits in the caverns Of the hollow earth he lowered it. Thus he passed it to the spirits, And the unseen spirits puffed it. Next himself old Pbon honored; Thrice he puffed his pipe and passed it, Passed it to the handsome stranger.

"Lo I blow my breath," said Winter, "And the laughing brooks are silent; Hard as flint become the waters, And the rabbit runs upon them."

Then Segn, the fair youth, answered: "Lo I breathe upon the hill-sides, On the valleys and the meadows, And behold, as if by magic— By the magic of the Spirits, Spring the flowers and tender grasses."

Then old Pbon replying: "Nah! [20] I breathe upon the forests, And the leaves fall sere and yellow; Then I shake my locks and snow falls, Covering all the naked landscape."

Then Segn arose and answered: "Nashk! [20]—see!—I shake my ringlets; On the earth the warm rain falleth, And the flowers look up like children Glad-eyed from their mother's bosom. Lo my voice recalls the robin, Brings the bobolink and blue-bird, And the woods are full of music. With my breath I melt their fetters, And the brooks leap laughing onward."

Then old Pbon looked upon him, Looked and knew Segn, the Summer, From his eyes the big tears started And his boastful tongue was silent.

Now Keezs [21]—the great life-giver, From his wigwam in Waub-nong [21] Rose and wrapped his shining blanket Round his giant form and started; Westward started on his journey, Striding on from hill to hill-top. Upward then he climbed the ether— On the Bridge of Stars [22] he traveled, Westward traveled on his journey To the far-off Sunset Mountains— To the gloomy land of shadows.

On the lodge-poles sang the robin,— And the brooks began to murmur. On the South wind floated fragrance Of the early buds and blossoms. From old Pbon's eyes the teardrops Down his pale face ran in streamlets; Less and less he grew in stature Till he melted doun to nothing; And behold, from out the ashes, From the ashes of his lodge-fire, Sprang the Miscodeed [23] and, blushing, Welcomed Segn to the North-land.

So from Sunny Isles returning, From the Summer-Land of spirits, On the poles of Panther's wigwam Sang Ope-chee—sang the robin. In the maples cooed the pigeons— Cooed and wooed like silly lovers. "Hah!—hah!" laughed the crow derisive, In the pine-top, at their folly,— Laughed and jeered the silly lovers. Blind with love were they, and saw not; Deaf to all but love, and heard not; So they cooed and wooed unheeding, Till the gray hawk pounced upon them, And the old crow shook with laughter.

On the tall cliff by the sea-shore Red Fox made a swing. She fastened Thongs of moose-hide to the pine-tree, To the strong arm of the pine-tree. like a hawk, above the waters, There she swung herself and fluttered,

Laughing at the thought of danger, Swung and fluttered o'er the waters. Then she bantered Sea-Gull, saying, "See!—I swing above the billows! Dare you swing above the billows,— Swing like me above the billows?"

To herself said Sea-Gull—"Surely I will dare whatever danger Dares the Red Fox—dares my rival; She shall never call me coward." So she swung above the waters— Dizzy height above the waters, Pushed and aided by her rival, To and fro with reckless daring, Till the strong tree rocked and trembled, Rocked and trembled with its burden. As above the yawning billows Flew the Sea-Gull like a whirlwind, Red Fox, swifter than red lightning, Cut the cords, and headlong downward, Like an osprey from the ether, Like a wild-goose pierced with arrows, Fluttering fell the frantic woman, Fluttering fell into the waters— Plunged and sank beneath the waters! Hark!—the wailing of the West-wind! Hark!—the wailing of the waters, And the beating of the billows! But no more the voice of Sea-Gull.

In the wigwam sat the Red Fox, Hushed the wail of Waub-ome-me, Weeping for her absent mother. With the twinkling stars the hunter From the forest came and Raven. "Sea-Gull wanders late" said Red Fox, "Late she wanders by the sea-shore, And some evil may befall her."

In the misty morning twilight Forth went Panther and the Raven, Searched the forest and the marshes, Searched for leagues along the lake-shore, Searched the islands and the highlands; But they found no trace or tidings, Found no track in marsh or meadow, Found no trail in fen or forest, On the shore sand found no foot-prints. Many days they sought and found not. Then to Panther spoke the Raven: "She is in the Land of Spirits— Surely in the Land of Spirits. High at midnight I beheld her— Like a flying star beheld her— To the waves of Gitchee Gumee, Downward flashing through the ether. Thus she flashed that I might see her, See and know my mother's spirit; Thus she pointed to the waters, And beneath them lies her body, In the wigwam of the spirits— In the lodge of Nbe-nw-baigs." [24]

Then spoke Panther to the Raven: "On the tall cliff by the waters Wait and watch with Waub-ome-me. If the Sea-Gull hear the wailing Of her infant she will answer."

On the tall cliff by the waters So the Raven watched and waited; All the day he watched and waited, But the hungry infant slumbered, Slumbered by the side of Raven, Till the pines' gigantic shadows Stretched and pointed to Waub-Nong—[21] To the far off land of Sunrise; Then the wee one woke and famished, Made a long and piteous wailing.

From afar where sky and waters Meet in misty haze and mingle, Straight toward the rocky highland, Straight as flies die feathered arrow, Straight to Raven and the infant Swiftly flew a snow white sea-gull.— Flew and touched the earth a woman. And behold, the long-lost mother Caught her wailing child and nursed her, Sang a lullaby and nursed her.

Thrice was wound a chain of silver Round her waist and strongly fastened. Far away into the waters— To the wigwam of the spirits,— To the lodge of Nbe-nw-baigs,— Stretched the magic chain of silver.

Spoke the mother to the Raven: "O my son—my brave young hunter, Feed my tender little orphan; Be a father to my orphan; Be a mother to my orphan,— For the Crafty Red Fox robbed us,— Robbed the Sea-Gull of her husband, Robbed the infant of her mother. From this cliff the treacherous woman Headlong into Gitchee Gumee Plunged the mother of my orphan. Then a Nbe-nw-baig caught me,— Chief of all the Nbe-nw-baigs— Took me to his shining wigwam, In the cavern of the waters, Deep beneath the might waters. All below is burnished copper, All above is burnished silver Gemmed with amethyst and agates. As his wife the Spirit holds me; By this silver chain he holds me.

When my little one is famished, When with long and piteous wailing Cries the orphan for her mother, Hither bring her, O my Raven; I will hear her,—I will answer. Now the Nbe-nw-baig calls me,— Pulls the chain,—I must obey him."

Thus she spoke and in the twinkling Of a star the spirit-woman Changed into a snow-white sea-gull, Spread her wings and o'er the waters Swiftly flew and swiftly vanished.

Then in secret to the Panther Raven told his tale of wonder. Sad and sullen was the hunter; Sorrow gnawed his heart like hunger; All the old love came upon him, And the new love was a hatred. Hateful to his heart was Red Fox, But he kept from her the secret— Kept his knowledge of the murder. Vain was she and very haughty—-

Oge-m-kwa [25] of the wigwam. All in vain her fond caresses On the Panther now she lavished; When she smiled his face was sullen, When she laughed he frowned upon her; In her net of raven tresses Now no more she held him tangled. Now through all her fair disguises Panther saw an evil spirit, Saw the false heart of the woman.

On the tall cliff o'er the waters Raven sat with Waub-ome-me, Sat and watched again and waited, Till the wee one faint and famished, Made a long and piteous wailing. Then again the snow-white Sea-Gull From afar where sky and waters Meet in misty haze and mingle, Straight toward the rocky highland, Straight as flies the feathered arrow, Straight to Raven and the infant, With the silver chain around her, Flew and touched the earth a woman. In her arms she caught her infant— Caught the wailing Waub-ome-me, Sang a lullaby and nursed her.

Sprang the Panther from the thicket— Sprang and broke the chain of silver! With his tomahawk he broke it. Thus he freed the willing Sea-Gull— From the Water-Spirit freed her, From the Chief of Nbe-nw-baigs.

Very angry was the Spirit; When he drew the chain of silver, Drew and found that it was broken, Found that he had lost the woman, Very angry was the Spirit. Then he raged beneath the waters, Raged and smote the mighty waters, Till the big sea boiled and bubbled, Till the white-haired, bounding billows Roared around the rocky head-lands, Roared and plashed upon the shingle.

To the wigwam happy Panther, As when first he wooed and won her, Led his wife—as young and handsome. For the waves of Gitchee Gumee Washed away the frost and wrinkles, And the Spirits by their magic Made her young and fair forever.

In the wigwam sat the Red Fox, Sat and sang a song of triumph, For she little dreamed of danger, Till the haughty hunter entered, Followed by the happy mother, Holding in her arms her infant. Then the Red Fox saw the Sea-Gull— Saw the dead a living woman, One wild cry she gave despairing, One wild cry as of a demon. Up she sprang and from the wigwam To the tall cliff flew in terror; Frantic sprang upon the margin, Frantic plunged into the water, Headlong plunged into the waters.

Dead she tossed upon the billows; For the Nbe-nw-baigs knew her, Knew the crafty, wicked woman, And they cast her from the waters, Spurned her from their shining wigwams; Far away upon the shingle With the roaring waves they cast her. There upon her bloated body Fed the cawing crows and ravens, Fed the hungry wolves and foxes.

On the shore of Gitchee Gumee, Ever young and ever handsome, Long and happy lived the Sea-Gull, Long and happy with the Panther. Evermore the happy hunter Loved the mother of his children. Like a red star many winters Blazed their lodge-fire on the sea-shore. O'er the Bridge of Souls together [26] Walked the Sea-Gull and the Panther. To the far-off Sunny Islands— To the Summer-Land of Spirits, Where no more the happy hunter Feels the fangs of frost or famine, Or the keen blasts of Kewydin. Where no pain or sorrow enters, And no crafty, wicked woman, Sea-Gull journeyed with her husband. There she rules his lodge forever, And the twain are very happy, On the far-off Sunny Islands, In the Summer-Land of Spirits.

On the rocks of Gitchee Gumee— On the Pictured Rocks—the Legend Long ago was traced and written, Pictured by the Water Spirits; But the storms of many winters Have bedimmed the pictured story, So that none can read the legend But the Jossakeeds, the prophets. [27]



* * * * *



MINNETONKA

Note: The Dakota name for this beautiful lake is Me-ne-a-tan-ka—Broad Water. By dropping the a before tnka, we have changed the name to Big Water.

I sit once more on breezy shore, at sunset in this glorious June. I hear the dip of gleaming oar. I list the singer's merry tune. Beneath my feet the waters beat and ripple on the polished stones. The squirrel chatters from his seat: the bag-pipe beetle hums and drones. The pink and gold in blooming wold,—the green hills mirrored in the lake! The deep, blue waters, zephyr-rolled, along the murmuring pebbles break. The maples screen the ferns, and lean the leafy lindens o'er the deep; The sapphire, set in emerald green, lies like an Orient gem asleep. The crimsoned west glows like the breast of Rhuddin [a] when he pipes in May, As downward droops the sun to rest, and shadows gather on the bay.

[a] The Welsh name for the robin.

In amber sky the swallows fly, and sail and circle o'er the deep; The light-winged night-hawks whir and cry; the silver pike and salmon leap. The rising moon, the woods aboon, looks laughing down on lake and lea; Weird o'er the waters shrills the loon; the high stars twinkle in the sea. From bank and hill the whippowil sends piping forth his flute-like notes, And clear and shrill the answers trill from leafy isles and silver throats. The twinkling light on cape and height; the hum of voices on the shores; The merry laughter on the night; the dip and plash of frolic oars,— These tell the tale. On hill and dale the cities pour their gay and fair; Along the sapphire lake they sail, and quaff like wine the balmy air.

'Tis well. Of yore from isle and shore the smoke of Indian teepees [a] rose; The hunter plied the silent oar; the forest lay in still repose. The moon-faced maid, in leafy glade, her warrior waited from the chase; The nut-brown, naked children played, and chased the gopher on the grass. The dappled fawn, on wooded lawn, peeped out upon the birch canoe, Swift-gliding in the gray of dawn along the silent waters blue. In yonder tree the great Wanm-dee [b] securely built her spacious nest; The blast that swept the land-locked sea [c] but rocked her clamorous babes to rest. By grassy mere the elk and deer gazed on the hunter as he came; Nor fled with fear from bow or spear;—"so wild were they that they were tame."

[a] Lodges. [b] Wanm-dee—the war-eagle of the Dakotas. [c] Lake Superior.

Ah, birch canoe, and hunter, too, have long forsaken lake and shore: He bade his father's bones adieu and turned away forevermore. But still, methinks, on dusky brinks the spirit of the warrior moves; At crystal springs the hunter drinks, and nightly haunts the spot he loves. For oft at night I see the light of lodge-fires on the shadowy shores, And hear the wail some maiden's sprite above her slaughtered warrior pours. I hear the sob on Spirit Knob [a] of Indian mother o'er her child; And on the midnight waters throb her low yun-he-he's [b] weird and wild. And sometimes, too, the light canoe glides like a shadow o'er the deep At midnight, when the moon is low, and all the shores are hushed in sleep.

[a] Spirit Knob is a small hill up on a point in the lake in full view from Wayzata. The spirit of a Dakota mother whose only child was drowned in the lake during a storm, many, many years ago often wails at midnight (so the Dakotas say), on this hill. So they called it Wa-na-gee Pa-ze-dan—Spirit Knob. (Literally—little hill of the spirit.) [b] Pronounced Yoon-hay-hay—the exclamation used by Dakota women in their lament for the dead, and equivalent to "woe is me."

Alas—Alas!—for all things pass; and we shall vanish, too, as they; We build our monuments of brass, and granite, but they waste away.



NOTES

1 Called in the Dakota tongue "Hok-se-win-n-pee Wo-hn-pee"—Virgins Dance (or Feast).

2 One of the favorite and most exciting games of the Dakotas is ball-playing. A smooth place on the prairie, or in winter, on a frozen lake or river, is chosen. Each player has a sort of bat, called "T-ke-cha-ps-cha," about thirty two inches long with a hoop at the lower end four or five inches in diameter, interlaced with thongs of deer-skin, forming a sort of pocket. With these bats they catch and throw the ball. Stakes are set as bounds at a considerable distance from the centre on either side. Two parties are then formed, and each chooses a leader or chief. The ball (T-pa) is then thrown up half way between the bounds, and the game begins, the contestants contending with their bats for the ball as it falls. When one succeeds in getting it fairly in the pocket of his bat he swings it aloft and throws it as far as he can towards the bound to which his party is working, taking care to send it, if possible, where some of his own side will take it up. Thus the ball is thrown and contended for till one party succeeds in casting it beyond the bound of the opposite party. A hundred players on a side are sometimes engaged in this exciting game. Betting on the result often runs high. Moccasins, pipes, knives, hatchets, blankets, robes and guns are hung on the prize-pole. Not unfrequently horses are staked on the issue, and sometimes even women. Old men and mothers are among the spectators praising their swift-footed sons, and young wives and maidens are there to stimulate their husbands and lovers. This game is not confined to the warriors, but is also a favorite amusement of the Dakota maidens who generally play for prizes offered by the chief or warriors. See Neill's Hist. Minn. pp 74-5; Riggs' "Tkoo Wakn," pp 44-5, and Mrs Eastman's Dacotah, p 55.