The History of Minnesota and Tales of the Frontier Part 31

Paul, and two half-savage looking men, shod in moccasins, climbing into it, to be transported three or four blocks to the old capitol, with a gaping crowd of half-breeds and ruffianly spectators looking on in amazement, pa.s.sed before my mind, and made me wonder what would be the result of such a phenomenal spectacle; but I simply said: "We had better wait until we get there, and see what the other fellows do; but there is one thing I can promise you, and that is, that our district shall not fall behind any of the rest of them if it takes a coach and six to hold it up."

When we arrived at the parliament, of course McLeod's ideas of etiquette and good form met with a rude check, and that was the last I ever heard of the subject.

But it was not the last I heard of my colleague. His convivial and belligerent characteristics led him into all sorts of sc.r.a.pes. He was, however, usually quite competent to take care of himself, and we each followed our own trails without interference, until some political question of more than ordinary interest came up in the house, and an evening session was agreed upon for its discussion. McLeod was to speak on the subject, and he spent nearly all day in preparation, which consisted in dropping in at old Caulder's, a brother Scotchman, about every hour and taking a drink, so when the time arrived he was loaded to the guards with inspiration.

In the old capitol the halls of legislation were on the second floor, the house on one side and the council on the other, with an open hall between them and a stairway leading up from below. The height between the floors was about sixteen feet. It had been arranged that a keg of whisky should be put into the council chamber, to be presided over by the sergeant-at-arms of the council, who was an enormous man, larger even than McLeod.

The hour arrived, a large party attended the debate, among whom were Joe Rolette and I, many ladies also gracing the occasion. McLeod spoke, and after he had finished, he sauntered over to the council chamber to refresh himself. While the custodian of the keg was getting him a drink, McLeod asked if he had heard his speech, and how he liked it. The sergeant ventured a not very flattering criticism on some remark he had made, when George slapped him viciously across the face with a pair of buckskin gauntlets he held in his hand. He had hardly struck the blow, when the sergeant seized him, and rushed him across the hall to the railing around the staircase, reaching which, over McLeod went backwards to the bottom, sixteen feet below, with a crash that could be heard all over the building. In a moment or two, my friend, Joe Rolette, came running breathlessly to me, and gasped out, "Hiawatha, Hiawatha" [the name he always called me], "McLeod is dead." I sprang to my feet, and rushed down stairs, where I found McLeod laid out on a lounge in the office of the secretary of the territory, with Doctor Le Boutillier, a French member from St. Anthony, endeavoring to pacify him. The conversation ran as follows:

Doctor: "Georges, mon ami; ne bouge pas, tu a le bras ca.s.se."

McLeod: "Fiche-Moi la paix, on peut courber le bras a un Ecossais; on ne peut pas le lui ca.s.ser."

Which translated would read:

"George, my friend, be quiet, your arm is broken."

"Stand aside, you may bend a Scotchman's arms, but you can't break them."

Poor McLeod's right arm was broken badly, which laid him up until the end of the session.

A short time after the legislature had dissolved George was standing in a saloon on Third street, with his right arm in a sling, and a gla.s.s of whisky in his left hand, which he was about to drink, when who should walk in but the big sergeant. Without a word George discharged the contents of his gla.s.s into the face of the sergeant, and prepared for battle, crippled as he was; but the interruption of friends and the chivalry of the sergeant prevented an encounter, and so ended the legislative career of the gentleman from Canada. Whether it would have terminated otherwise had we set up our coach and livery and changed our moccasins for patent leather boots I leave to the decision of the reader.

He went with General Sibley's command to the Missouri, where I believe he remained.

THE VIRGIN FEAST.

In all ages, and among all people who had progressed beyond absolute individualism and gained any kind of government or community interests, there must have been some kind of law to settle disputes and controversies, whether of a public or private nature, and I remember once, in the very early days of Minnesota, of witnessing a test which bore a close resemblance to a trial by jury, and involved an important question of individual character which would have been cla.s.sified under our jurisprudence as an action of slander. It occurred among the Sioux Indians, and presented many features of much interest that made an impression on me which I have never forgotten. The whole proceeding was absolutely natural and aboriginal in its character and conduct, and free from the technicalities which sometimes obstruct the progress of the administration of justice in modern times.

It is well known that the value of the testimony of a witness depends very much upon his demeanor and manner of delivering it in court, and that the judge usually tells the jury that they must take these matters into consideration in giving it its true weight; but in the case I am about to relate there was nothing but the appearance and manner of the witnesses testifying upon which to base a judgment of their truth or falsity, and it was this novel feature that lent additional and peculiar interest to the controversy.

The Sioux Indians have a rude kind of jurisprudence which gets at the truth by a sort of natural intuition, and the case I witnessed convinced me that justice had been reached with more certainty than in nine out of ten of our jury trials. We have all heard of trial by battle, under the old English law, and the trial of witches by water, where, if they sank and drowned they were innocent, and if they floated they were guilty and were hanged. But this trial was based on public sentiment or the ability of bystanders to detect guilt or innocence from the appearance and conduct of the litigants during the trial, which, although a crude method, is, in my judgment, much safer than some of those practised by our ancestors at no very remote date.

The trial I refer to is called the "Virgin Feast." It is brought about in this way: Some gossip or scandal is started in a band about one of the young women. It reaches the ears of her mother. In order to test its truth or falsity, the mother commands her daughter to give a "Virgin Feast." The accused cooks some rice, and invites all the maidens of the band to come and partake. They appear, each with a red spot painted on each cheek, as an emblem of virginity. They seat themselves in a semi-circle on the prairie, and the hostess supplies each of them with a bowl of rice which is set before her. A boulder, painted red, is placed in front of them, about ten feet distant, and a large knife is thrust into the ground in front of, and close up to, the stone. All the young men attend as spectators. This ceremony is, on the part of the accused and any girl who takes a place in the ring, a challenge to the world, that, if any one has aught to say against her, he has the privilege of saying it. If nothing is said, and the feast is eaten uninterruptedly, the maiden who gave the feast is vindicated, and the gossip disbelieved; but if the challenge is taken up by any young buck, he steps forward and seizes the girl he accuses by the hand, pulls her out of the ring, and makes his charges. She has the right of swearing on the stone and knife to her innocence, which goes a great way in her vindication, but is not conclusive. If she swears, and he persists, an altercation ensues, and public sentiment is formed on view of the contestants' actions.

I remember once, at one of these trials, of seeing a young fellow of about twenty-five, step forward and rudely grasp the hand of a girl of about sixteen, jerk her to her feet, and make some scandalous charge against her. The look she gave him was so full of righteous indignation, scorn and offended virtue that no one could see it without being at once enlisted in her favor. She glared on him for a moment, with a look that only outraged innocence can a.s.sume, when shouts went up from the crowd, "Swear! Swear!" She approached the stone with the bearing of a princess, and placed her hand upon it with an air that could not be mistaken; then throwing a look of triumph at the spectators, she strode back to face her accuser with the confidence that bespeaks innocence. The fellow began to weaken, and in less than a moment was in full flight with a howling mob after him, hurling sticks and stones at him with no gentle intent. He disappeared, and the girl took her place in the ring as fully vindicated as if the lord chief justice of England had decided her case.

I recollect very distinctly that my convictions of her innocence induced by the general features of the trial and conduct of the litigants were as strong as any member of the court.

It probably would not do to depend upon such evidence in the more complicated affairs of civilized life, and with a people educated in dissimulation and the control of the emotions, but with a simple and natural people I don't believe many mistakes were made in arriving at just judgments.

"Innocence unmoved At a false accusation doth the more Confirm itself; and guilt is best discover'd By its own fears."

THE ABORIGINAL WAR CORRESPONDENT.

From the earliest days of recorded history man has regarded his prowess in war as the most valuable of his exploits, and success in war has generally been measured by the number of slain on the battle-field. I don't know how the facts were arrived at in ancient times, and whether or not they had war correspondents who followed the armies and reported their doings I can't say, but as the art of printing was unknown, and the means of communication were very limited, it seems doubtful if the results were arrived at in that way. From what I know of human nature and character, I am convinced that, if the reports were made through the commanders in the field, the lists of the enemy slain may fairly be discounted about seventy-five per cent. Have we not had reports of the most exaggerated character as to the number of prisoners captured and enemies killed so recently as our Civil War? And have we ever read of a battle with the Indians or other uncivilized people where, after giving our own losses, we have not met with the old stereotyped report, "that the loss of the enemy was far greater, but as they always remove their dead and wounded, it is impossible to ascertain the exact number?" The wars now raging in the Philippines and Samoa form no exception to this familiar report. So far as our fights with the American Indians are concerned, I feel quite confident that, where we have killed one Indian, we have lost ten whites, take it through from the Atlantic to the Pacific; but you can't figure out any such results from the reports which have made up history. The temptation to exaggerate for the purpose of hero-making and future political preferment is too great to be resisted, and the consequence is that truth suffers amazingly.

Perhaps it is better for mankind that the slaughter should be on paper, rather than in fact.

Modern warfare has introduced the new element of the war correspondent.

He is generally either a creature of the commander, or desirous of flattering him for personal advantage or some other consideration, and he piles on the praises of the side he represents, diminishes the credit due the enemy, and resolves every doubt against him.

Now the Indian has a way of arriving at the truth of such matters which is infinitely more satisfactory than that of his white brother. He knows just as well as any one what boasters all men are on matters relating to their own exploits, and especially those relating to war, and in order that there shall be no humbug about such matters, he will give no credence to any statement that is not accompanied by the most irrefragable proof. When a warrior comes home and says, "I killed six enemies on my last raid," he is confronted with the demand to produce his evidence, and the only evidence admissible is the scalps of the dead enemies. Should he make such an a.s.sertion without the proof, he would be laughed out of the camp as a silly boaster.

Most people think the practice of scalping an enemy, generally indulged in by the Sioux, is a wanton desire cruelly to mutilate the foe. Such is not the case at all; he is prompted solely by the desire of procuring proof of his success, and he will take more chances to get a scalp than he would for any other object in life. Among the Sioux, and I believe most of the tribes of North America, for every enemy killed a warrior is ent.i.tled to wear a head-dress with an eagle feather in it, which to him fills the same place in his character and reputation as the Victoria cross or the medal of the legion of honor, or any other of the numerous decorations bestowed upon white men for deeds of bravery and honor; and to gain this distinction he is moved by the same impulse that actuated Hobson in sinking the Merrimac in the harbor of Santiago, or the actors in the thousand and one daring deeds in which men in all ages have freely risked their lives.

Scalping is an art, and the manner in which it is done, depends wholly upon the circ.u.mstances of the occasion. A complete and perfect scalp embraces the whole hair of the head, with a margin of skin all round it about two and a half inches in width, including both ears with all their ornaments. This can only be obtained when the victor has abundant time to operate leisurely. When he is beset by the enemy, all he can do, as a general thing, is to seize the hair with the left hand and hold up the scalp with it and then give a quick cut with his knife, and get as big a piece as he can. By this hurried process he rarely gets a piece larger than a small saucer, and generally not bigger than a silver dollar; but no matter how small it may be, it ent.i.tles him to his feather. Among the Sioux the killing of a full grown grizzly bear is equivalent to the killing of an enemy, and ent.i.tles the victor to the same decoration. I have known Indians who wore as many as sixteen feathers.

It is not alone the importance that these decorations give the wearer which enters into their value. When he returns from the war path, bearing scalps, he is received by all his band with demonstrations of the greatest pride and honor. If you can imagine Dewey landing at New York from the Philippines, you can form some idea of the honors that would be heaped upon a victorious savage. If the weather is pleasant, he strips to the waist, and paints his body jet black. He places on the top of his head a round ball of pure white swan's down, about the size of a large orange, and takes in his hand a staff, about five feet long, with a buckskin fringe tacked on to the upper three feet of it. On the end of each shred of the fringe is a piece of a deer's hoof, forming a rattle, by striking together when shaken up and down. When arrayed in this manner he marches up and down the village, recounting in a sort of a chant the entire history of the events of the raid on the enemy, going into the most minute details, and indulging in much imagination and superst.i.tion. He tells what he dreamed, what animals he saw, and how all these things influenced his conduct. He continues this ceremony for days and days, and is the admiration of all his people. I have seen four or five of them together promenading in this way, and have taken an interpreter and marched with them by the hour listening to their stories.

When this part of the performance is over, the scalps are tanned by the women, as they would tan a buffalo-skin, the inside painted red, and the whole stretched on a circular hoop, about the size of a barrel hoop, to which is attached a straight handle, about four feet long, so that it can be carried in the air above the heads of the people. It is also decorated with all the trinkets found on the person of the slain.

Then begins the dancing. When night comes the men arrange themselves in two lines, about fifteen feet apart, facing each other, all provided with tom-toms, and musical instruments of all kinds known to the savage.

When everything is ready, they sing a kind of a weird chant, keeping time with the instruments and their feet. Then the squaws, with the scalps held aloft, dance in between the lines of men from opposite directions, until they meet, when they cha.s.se to the right and left, then dance back and forward again, every once in a while emitting a sharp little screech which I have never known to be successfully imitated. During the dance, the men join in a kind of shuffle from right to left, and back again, keeping the music going all the time. The whole performance is one of the most savage and weird ceremonies I have ever witnessed. It is kept up for weeks.

It was a frequent amus.e.m.e.nt for half a dozen of us to throw blankets over our heads, and join in the dance for half an hour or so. I have been lulled to sleep many times by this wild music, heard from a distance of half a mile, on a still night.

It was supposed that when the scalp was taken while the leaves were on the trees, it was danced over until they fell, and then buried, and when taken in winter it was buried when the leaves came in the spring, but I never was quite sure about this. I wanted one very much once, and a party of us went in the night just back of St. Peter, where we supposed they had been buried, and dug for them, and to our horror struck the toes of a dead Indian. That cured my desire in this direction.

BRED IN THE BONE.

In the early days of what is now Minnesota there were two families of missionaries living among the Sioux of the Mississippi, who, like many of their profession, devoted their whole lives to spreading the gospel of Christ among the savages. They were those of Dr. Williamson and the Rev. Stephen R. Riggs, both of whom had lived with these Indians long before I came among them. When I first became connected with these Indians I found the missionaries comfortably installed at the Yellow Medicine agency, with quite a village around them. They had dwelling houses, and a commodious schoolhouse, where they took Indian children at a very early age, with a view of civilizing and Christianizing them.

They had also a very pretty church, with a steeple on it, and a bell in the steeple, and all the other buildings necessary for the complete and efficient operation of their laudable undertaking. They were full of zeal and enthusiasm in the cause, and had progressed to a point where it looked to an outsider as if success was only a question of a short time, if it was not already an accomplished fact. The Bible had been translated into the Sioux language, and they had hymn books and catechisms in the same language. They had learned to speak Sioux thoroughly, and could preach and sing in that language. Many is the time I have attended church at the little meeting house, and heard the simple old Presbyterian hymns sung to the tunes that have resounded for generations through the meeting houses of New England. It was a most solemn and impressive spectacle, in the heart of the Indian country, to see a Christian church filled with devout worshippers all in the costume of savagery, and to listen to the oft-told story of the Saviour who died that man might live. Such a scene carries with it a much more convincing proof of the universality of the Christian religion than a church full of fashionably dressed people in a great city. It suggests its limitless application to all the human race, even if dwelling in the remotest part of the earth.

The experience of these good missionaries had taught them that civilization was the most potent auxiliary to religion, and, for the success of either, the other was a necessary aid and adjunct when dealing with these primitive people. So they set themselves to work to devise plans to instill into the Indians the elemental principles of government based on law. They organized a little state or community among them, through which they endeavored to prove to them the advantages of civilized rule through the agency of officers of their own choice and laws of their own making. They called their state "The Hazelwood Republic," which embraced all the missionary establishment, and all the Indians they could induce to unite in the enterprise. They drew a written const.i.tution, the provisions of which were to govern and direct the conduct of the members and the workings of the community. Of course, the fundamental principles upon which the whole fabric rested were similar to those taught by the ten commandments. The Indians, with the advice of the missionaries, elected a president for the young republic, and the choice fell upon a wise and upright man, about fifty years of age, whose name was Ma-za-cu-ta-ma-mi, or "The man who shoots metal as he walks," and to give the matter a more p.r.o.nounced ecclesiastical aspect, they added a scriptural name by way of a prefix to the names of all the officers. For instance, they called the president, Paul Ma-za-cu-ta-ma-mi, and one of the deacons, Simon Ana-w.a.n.g-ma-ni, which means "The man who can keep up with any moving object;" or, as things turned out in the end, it could well have been translated into the "Fast Man."

The first act necessary for initiation as a citizen of the republic was cutting off the long hair universally worn by the Sioux, and if any act could be taken as indicative of sincerity, this one seemed to be conclusive. It is quite as much of a sacrifice for an Indian to cut off his hair as it would be for a young lady in society possessed of a splendid suit of hair to cut it off short and appear at a grand ball with her head thus denuded.

The next step was to wear a hat, and exchange the breech-clout for pantaloons, and the blanket for a shirt or coat. Notwithstanding this terrible ordeal of naturalization, the population of the republic increased, and the church was well attended. The praying and singing was partic.i.p.ated in quite generally by the members, and the future republic looked promising. One of the most exemplary citizens and devout worshippers was deacon Simon Ana-w.a.n.g-ma-ni. He led in prayer, and labored heart and soul for the good of the republic and the church. He was the last man that anyone would have expected to fall from grace, and no one ever thought of such a thing; but, strange as it may appear, he one day sought an interview with the missionaries, and announced the astounding fact that an Indian who had killed his cousin some eight years before had returned from the Missouri river country, and he thought it was his duty to kill him in retaliation. The astonishment of the missionaries may be well imagined. They cited to him the commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," and dwelt upon the awful sinfulness of such an act, and he would say, "I know what the Bible says, and I believe in Sundays, but he killed my cousin." Then they would attack him on the laws of the republic of which he was a high official, and dwell upon the dreadful example such an act would set before the brethren of the church, and he would reply, "Oh, yes; I know all that; but he killed my cousin." Then, in despair, they would tell him that he was no longer an Indian; that he had become a white man, and the laws of the white man forbid such revenge. "I know all that," he would say, "but he killed my cousin." As a final resort, the faithful and believing missionaries concluded to call in the aid of heaven to a.s.sist them, and they prayed with Simon for hours, days and nights, in all of which he joined with fervor and unction; but he could not divest himself of the all-pervading idea that his cousin had been killed, and the sacred duty had devolved upon him to avenge his death. This belief had been born in him, and no religion of the white man could eradicate it. True to the creed of his ancestors, he got a double-barrelled shotgun and went out and killed his enemy.

Of course, this murder opened up a new feud, arraying relative against relative, and destroyed Simon's influence as a deacon in the church and an officer of the republic to such a degree as almost to destroy all the good that both had accomplished. I mention this incident to show what uncertain ground the missionaries find to sow the seeds of Christianity in when working among savages.

Notwithstanding such discouragements as the above, I believe much good was done through the efforts of the missionaries. In times of great trouble and excitement I always found the best friends of the whites among the Indians who had felt the enlightening influences of the missionaries, not excepting Simon, who with Paul, John Otherday, and many others, performed heroic services for the whites when friends were most needed; but I have never been able to settle the question in my mind as to whether any of them ever grasped the principles of the Christian religion.

In 1862 the Sioux openly rebelled against the whites, and it was solely through the good offices of Otherday and Paul that these missionaries escaped ma.s.sacre. All their buildings and their labor of long years were destroyed, and they were driven out of the country. Most people would have thought that they would have had enough of such a life. I know I thought so, but not so with these devoted people. Shortly after the suppression of the outbreak I met Dr. Williamson, and asked him what were his future intentions. Without the least hesitation he answered that he would look up the remnant of his tribe, and continue his work.

All the heroes are not found in the ranks of the fighters.