A TRYSTING LOVE-SONG.
One of the few delights of life in camp is the opportunity the tent affords of ready access to the open air. There is no traversing of stairways, no crossing of halls, and no opening of reluctant doors, but only the parting of the canvas, and our world is as wide as the horizon and high as the heavens. Even when the tent door-flap is snugly closed, nature is not wholly shut out. Often I have lain looking up at the stars as they passed slowly across the central opening, and listened to the flight of the birds as they travelled northward at the coming of spring. And I have watched the birth of many a day, from the first quivering primrose hue to the full flush and glow of rosy colour, and then the stirring breeze, the waking leaves, and the call of the birds breaking into song.
One morning I rose from my blankets and stepped out under the broad dome of the sky, while all about me in their shadowy tents the people slept. I wandered toward a glen, down which the water from a little spring hurried to the brook. As I sat among the fresh undergrowth, I watched the stars grow dim and the thin line of smoke rise from the tents, telling that the mother had risen to blow the embers to a blaze and to put another stick or two upon the fire.
As I sat, thinking a multitude of thoughts, I heard a rustling upon the hill opposite me. Then there was silence, quickly broken by movements in another direction; while from the hill came the clear voice of a young man singing. In a moment more two women, whom I recognised as aunt and niece, appeared at the spring, the one elderly, the other young and pretty; but the singer was still invisible. The cadences of the song were blithe and glad, like the birds and the breezes laden with summer fragrance. The words, "I see them coming!" carried a double meaning. The girl for whom he had waited was in truth coming, but to the singer was also coming the delight of growing love and abundant hope.
TRYSTING LOVE SONG.
Omaha.
Harmonized by Prof. J.C. Fillmore.
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Hi dha ho! Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he, Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he dhoe. Hi dha ho! Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he. Sha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he. |
The women filled their water vessels. The elder took no note of the song, but turned steadily toward the home path. The eyes of the maiden had been slyly searching the hillside as she slowly neared the spring and dipped up the sparkling water. Now, as the aunt walked away, the song ceased; and a light rustling followed, as the lover, bounding down the hill, leaped the brook and was at the side of the girl. A few hasty words, a call from the aunt, a lingering parting, and I was alone again. The brook went babbling on, but telling no tales, the birds were busy with their own affairs, and the sunbeams winked brightly through the leaves. The little rift, giving a glimpse of the inner life of two souls, had closed and left no outward sign; and yet the difference!
There was a measured thud upon the trail, and an old woman with stooping shoulders passed down the glen. As she bent over the spring and took her water supply, I heard the young man's voice in the distance, singing his song as he wended his way home. The old woman heard it, too. She straightened up and looked steadily in the direction of the singer, slowly shook her head, picked up her water vessel, and turned away, her crooked figure disappearing in the shadows. Then I arose and followed the singer, trying to forget the warning shake of the old woman's head.
STORY AND SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.[4]
ORIGIN OF THE MA-WA´-DA-NI SOCIETY.
A long, long time ago a large number of warriors, under the leadership of a man noted throughout the warlike tribes for his valorous deeds, started forth to harass and, if possible, to drive a powerful people from a territory which abounded in game. This war party was out many days, had many a weary march in search of the enemy, scouring the country far and wide, keeping their scouts in the front, rear, and flank; for the leader was determined not to return to his village without the trophies of war.
They came one day to a large grove with a clear brook running through it. Here the Leader ordered the camp to be pitched, that his little army might rest awhile and repair their moccasins and clothing. Sentinels were stationed so as to guard against surprise. Hunters were sent forth, and returned laden with game.
Night came on. There was no moon; and it was dark, although the stars shone brightly. A fire blazed in the open air, and the men whose duty it was to dress and cook the meat, were moving about the burning logs; while others sat mending their moccasins by the firelight, listening to stories of battles, marvellous escapes, and strange adventures.
Supper was cooked, and the meat was piled on freshly cut grass spread upon the ground; and near by were set the pots of broth and the wooden bowls and horn spoons. The Leader was called to perform the usual sacred rites observed before the serving of food; and all the warriors gathered around the fire, each one eager for his portion of the meal. At a signal from the Leader every man bowed his head, and there was silence. Not a breath of air was stirring. Now and then could be heard the far-off dismal howl of the grey wolf or the cry of a strange bird startled from its nest by a coyote. Save from these and the crackling of the fire there was stillness in all the surroundings. The warriors had made their silent petitions to Wakon´-da, the power that moves all things. The Leader lifted his head. Then from the pile of meat he took a bit and raised it toward the sky, as an offering to that mysterious power, when suddenly the stillness was broken and the ceremony interrupted by a clear voice bursting into song, the echoes in the hills and valleys catching and repeating the strain.
Each warrior involuntarily grasped his bow. The Leader, ever keen and alert, exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "The fire! the fire!" Immediately many hands were rubbing the flaming wood into the earth. Commands were hastily given by the Leader; and the warriors, with palpitating hearts, started out to form a ring around the spot whence the thrilling sounds came. The voice sang on. The ring grew smaller and smaller until in an open space the shadowy form of a tree loomed up before the advancing warriors. No escape was now possible for the singer, yet the song went on without hesitancy. The tree was now clearly visible. The song came to a close, and the echo died away in the distance. The men kept on toward the tree, with bows drawn and arrows strung. No form was seen running around inside the ring, seeking an opening for escape; but, lo! at the foot of the tree lay scattered the whitened bones and the grinning skull of a man. Death had claimed the body of this warrior and compelled its return to dust, but had failed to silence the voice of the man who, when living, had often defied death.
SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.
Dakota.
Harmonized by Edwin S. Tracy.
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Hi dho ho hi dho ho i dho hi dho ha ha i dha ah hi dha ha hi dha ha hi dha ha idha ha ha hi dho i dha he e dho i. Ah hi dho hi dho hi dho ho i dha i dho ha ha i dha ah hi dha ha i dha ha hi dha ha i-dha ha ha hi dha e dho he dho. |
The Leader, looking around upon his followers, lifted his voice and said:—
"This was a warrior, who died the death of a warrior. There was joy in his voice!"
The men to whom the strange experience narrated in this story came, afterward banded themselves together in order the better to serve their people, to present to the young men of the tribe an example of generosity in time of peace and of steadfast valour on the field of battle. They kept together during their lives and added to their number, so that the society they formed continued to exist through generations.
The story and song which has been handed down through all these years as the inspiration of the founders of the Ma-wa´-da-ni Society, embodies a truth honoured among all peoples,—that death cannot silence the voice of one who confronts danger with unflinching courage, giving his life in the defence of those dependent upon his prowess. Such a man might fall in the trackless wilderness, and his bones lie unhonoured and unburied until they blanched with age: still his voice would ring out in the solitude until its message of courage and joy should find an echo in the heart of the living.
STORY AND SONG OF ZON-ZI´-MON-DE.
Victory songs, of which this is one, were sung when the people with rhythmic steps celebrated ceremonially the return of victorious warriors. Because of its peculiar accessory, the scalp, this ceremony has been called by us the "scalp dance," although no Indian so designates it.
The contrast between the sentiment of this story, teaching respect and honour to the old, and the ceremony, as we baldly see it, is startling. But it is with the Indian as with ourselves: the cruelties of war and the gentler emotions are often intertwined, the latter surviving and lifting up a standard for emulation, the former passing away, dying with the instigating passion. Among the many hundreds of Indian songs I have known, none commemorate acts of cruelty.
Years ago the Omaha tribe and the Sioux met while searching for a buffalo herd; and, as was usual, a battle ensued, for each tribe was determined to drive the other from the region of the game. Although the Sioux outnumbered the Omaha, the latter remained victors of the field.
ZON-ZI-MON-DE.
Omaha.
Harmonized by Prof. J.C. Fillmore.
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Ye ha he ya e he dha ye ha he ya e he dha ah ha ya e he dha ye ha he ya e he dha dha ha dhoe. Zon-zi-mon-de a-ma sha e dhe. Ah ha ya e he dha e ha he ya e ha dha dha ha dho. |
An old Omaha, interested to observe how some of the tribe would conduct themselves in their first battle, made his way toward the scene of conflict. It chanced that just as a Sioux warrior had fallen, pierced by an arrow, and the Omaha men were rushing forward to secure their war honours, this old man was discovered coming up the hill, aided by his bow, which he used as a staff. One of the young warriors called to his companions:—
"Hold! Yonder comes Zon-zi´-mon-de, let us give him the honours."
Then, out of courtesy to the veteran, each young warrior paused and stepped aside, while the old man, all out of breath, hastened to the fallen foe. There he turned and thanked the young men for permitting him, whom age had brought to the edge of the grave, to count yet one more honour as a warrior.[5]
The words of the song give the exclamation of the generous youth: "Zon-zi´-mon-de comes! Stand aside! He comes."