THE LAUGHING WATERS.
BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.
A few miles from the Falls of St. Anthony are The Little Falls, or, as the Sioux call them, The Laughing Waters.
Do you know where the waters laugh?
Have you seen where they playfully fall?
Hid from the sun by the forest trees green,
(Though its rays do pierce the vines between,)
Dancing with joy, till, night-like, a screen
Comes down from the heavens at the whippoorwill's call.
Come with me, then, we will tread
On a carpet of long grass and flowers.
The wild lady's slipper we'll pluck as it droops,
We will watch the proud eagle, as from heaven she stoops,
A seat we will take by the dark leafy nooks,
Where a fairy might while away summer's bright hours.
From on high, the gay waters come!
At first, how they lazily creep
O'er embedded rocks, while agates so bright
Here and there greet the sun, by noonday's strong light,
And again dimly glance when stars come at night,
To watch where the Father of Waters' waves sleep.
How mildly they laugh as they haste!
Now they near the spot where they will spring,
Lightly clearing the distance to the pebbles below,
Where, tired with the effort, more calmly they flow,
While the glistening spray, and the foam white as snow,
Their light o'er the rocks and the dancing waves fling.
At evening how often will come
The wild deer to drink and to rest;
Till frightened away by the nighthawk's loud scream,
They flee to the shades where the wood spirits dream,
And sink to repose by the moonlight's fair beam,
Like the babe by its mother's soft smile lulled to rest.
And here does the tall warrior stand,
With the maiden he loves by his side!
He tells her to list while the fairies do quaff
Their cupful, and shout, and then wildly laugh,
For they know that she leans on his love like a staff,
Which will ever support her in life's changing tide.
'Twould be well, did ye weep, waters bright!
Soon no more to thy banks will they come,—
The maiden who loves, or the warrior so brave,
The wild deer at eve, in thy waters to lave,
The song-bird to dip its bright wing in thy wave,
When the shadows that fall with the night are all gone.
The Indian's reproach ye might hear,
Did ye listen, fair waves, to the sound!
Are you gay, when you know of the tears we have shed,
When profaned are the graves of our fathers long dead,
When haunted our lands, by the white man's proud tread,
As he passes o'er rock and o'er prairie and mound?
For ages we've loved thy fair stream!
No more can we claim thee, no more
Will the warrior sing his war-song in thy ears,
Will the mother who comes for her child to shed tears,
Will the maiden who prays to the spirit she fears,
Gaze on thy bright waves, or rest by thy shore?
O-KO-PEE.
A MIGHTY HUNTER OF THE SIOUX.
BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.
It is impossible for one possessed of kind and generous feelings to pass a grave without mournful reflections. Though a stately monument rise over it, it covers the work of death. The mouldering form was once as full of joy and care, of tears and rejoicings, as we;—a being who performed his part in the theatre of life, but who has now, for ever, taken his place behind the closed curtain. And if it be the resting-place of the poor and unknown, we must feel too: the rude stone at the head, the weeds springing up, the indifference of the merry children as they play around it, do not take from the claim that was once possessed by the form that is fast mingling with its native earth, to have been one of the many toilers after a happiness never obtained, a rest never enjoyed on earth! How have passed away many of the nations of the earth. Some have noble monuments. Egypt, Greece, Rome, Palmyra, and the Aztecs, who flourished upon our own shores—gems of wealth and learning are heaped upon their graves; the undying wreath of fame crowns their memory. The older the world, the better they will be known. As time advances, so will increase our knowledge of their history and laws—their hieroglyphics will be understood, throwing light upon things hitherto a mystery to us.
But not so with our Indian nations; they must depart with hardly a memorial of their existence. Few now care to learn aught that one day may be spoken in memory of a noble people passed away; few now reflect that the soul of this people stands winged for its flight.
* * * * *
Some recollections of the time passed among the Northwestern Indians are very delightful to me, but many are equally sad—none more so than the history of a poor idiot creature with whom we were well acquainted.
O-ko-pee, "The Nest." I have often reflected upon his eventful life, and melancholy death—his patience and humility, the muscular strength of his form, and the passionless expression of his features. The mortal tenement was able and healthful when I first knew him, but the spiritual no longer animated it; indeed, as a companion he was no better than the game he hunted, for his mind was gone.
When overcome with hunger he would tell us how very long it was since he had eaten. He knew, too, when he was cold, for he would direct our attention to his threadbare clothing. Like the prairie deer or buffalo, he would seek shelter from the storm or burning sun; but though he might once have reflected upon the occupations of a disembodied spirit, when it should be released from the shackles of earth, he had long since ceased to do so. His mind floated on the stormy waves of life, like the wreck at sea, far alike from light, hope, or help.
His life was an eventful one for an Indian's. Born when the Sioux were not dependent upon white people, he trod his native earth with the consciousness of owning it. He routed up the timid grouse from the prairies, and brought down the red-head and wood-duck on the wing, never fearing that they and he would be chased from the haunts they loved. Often, when a small boy, would he kill the plover and woodcock in numbers, carrying them to his mother as trophies of his skill. How gaily he laughed as for the first time he stayed the fleet course of the wild deer, and watched her panting, as she lay beside the brook, looking for the last time at her own image in its clear waters, longing to suage the thirst of death with its refreshing coolness.
His bones were still tender and his frame small when he sped his wild horse among the buffalo, sending his lance into their sides, and shouting as they tore up the earth, roaring in their agony. Was he in danger from the restiveness of his horse? he knew he had only to fix his black eye upon the revengeful buffalo, and, by the power of the soul speaking there, subdue his rage. The eye of man meeting the eye of beast, never turning or yielding its glance, would quell the passions of the animal, and he would be safe.
He could not stay in the wigwam, even for an hour: child of the woods and prairies, he needed only their companionship. The streams, the rocks, and hills were the friends whose society he loved. Among them he could "commune with his own heart, and be still."
Threading the passes among the hills, or stepping from point to point on the dangerous rocks by the shore, he ever took the lead in the chase, and early gained the reputation of being the most famous hunter among the Sioux. How he obtained the soubriquet of "The Nest"[15] I know not, but he retained it through all the varying events of his life on earth, and it has followed him to the Indian's unhallowed grave, over which hovers no spirit of hope, but the dark and fallen angels of ignorance and superstition.
As O-ko-pee approached to manhood, the English claimed and obtained jurisdiction over the Sioux. But the hunter, well acquainted with his own laws, showed no inclination to meddle with those of another nation, who showed the might of right.
Perhaps he did not feel with the many, who were more sensitive and less happy, the soul-destroying anticipation of slavery. So long as he had his lance and bow and arrow, what cared he for innovation? and he was too ignorant of the economy of nations to recognise the fact that when a people loses the right of self-government, it yields for ever the power of advancing in strength or happiness.
Living in his own world, turning his eyes in adoration to the sun he worshipped, he believed the Great Spirit would not interfere with his concerns farther than to punish him should he neglect to celebrate the feasts and customs of his nation, or turn from the faith of his ancestors. Never was he happier than when listening to the flapping of the wings of the mischievous thunder-birds, the gods of his nation, as they roused themselves at the bright and forked streaks in the heavy clouds.
There were many, however, among the Sioux who would not willingly yield to the oppressions of the English, as they now would gladly resent, had they the power to do so, the encroachments of the people of the United States. Thus, a Dacota, who had received a personal injury from an Englishman, determined to take an opportunity of resenting it; he did so, according to Indian rules of strategy. He watched when his victim was unawares, and took aim successfully, then plunging into the thick forests, was lost to the search of his foes, as was the dead Englishman, to the distress of his family. The English pursued a system then which has since been adopted by our own countrymen; a system sometimes productive of great injustice, yet, under the peculiar circumstances, the best one that could be fixed on. I allude to that of taking hostages, and retaining them until the offender should be given up.
O-ko-pee, who had dreamed away his childhood among the most beautiful scenes of nature, found himself a prisoner, torn from the objects which were dear to him as life; nay, they were his life, for deprived of them he sunk to the level of the beasts of the forests.
Immured in a prison, far from the refreshing air of his native hills, shut in by the bars he vainly strove to loosen or to break, seeing no more the bear, the buffalo, the otter, or the deer, his heart was broken.
After many years of imprisonment, useless, for the real murderer never was found, he was turned loose, like an animal from whence the owner can no longer derive either amusement or profit: he returned mechanically to his former occupation. Once again free in the woods, he was soon a laughing-stock for the Sioux. "He has no heart since he was prisoner to the white man!" they cried, as he passed to the prairies, with his vacant look and humbled demeanour. Where was the proud glance and the free step? Ask those who with the iron arm of power punished the innocent for the guilty.
Still, as ever, he followed the chase—thirteen deer did he kill in one day, and never tired of hunting, even as age advanced seemed to increase his passion for roaming.
Often has he come to us with every variety of game, never breaking his word, whatever might be the state of the weather. But in coming or going, giving or receiving, his demeanour and countenance never changed; his eyes were wandering in vacancy, save when the fire-water, given by the white man in exchange for the soft furs he brought him, would tinge his sallow cheeks with the flush of madness, and lighten his eye with the glances of a fiend, and change from the sober quiet and calmness of the unhappy idiot to the noisy, reeling, hellish figure, which seemed a visitant from the world of darkness rather than a suffering inhabitant of earth.
O-ko-pee is dead. It is not mine to say whether or not, in another state of existence, he enjoys happiness sufficient in degree to make up for the heavy trials of life: I have only to do with him here; and as I have said he lived a sacrifice to the all-conquering and indomitable spirit of the Saxon race, so did he die.
Some years ago, a band of Sioux, distant from Fort Snelling, attacked a party of Winnebagoes, taking fourteen scalps. Hearing that the scalps were carried from village to village, and danced round day after day, there was a party sent from the Fort to take these scalps from the Indians, as there was a fear lest the hot blood of the young warriors should be roused, and serious difficulties would then occur between the two tribes. So the scalps were brought into the Fort; the affair was reported at Washington. The Winnebagoes asked for indemnity for the injuries they had received, and the authorities at Washington decided that four thousand dollars should be paid to the Winnebagoes out of the annuities received by the Sioux from our own government. It was in the summer: the Indian potato, hard and indigestible, was just ripening: the corn was green. The Sioux were without flour and other provisions; even if game had been abundant, they had neither powder nor shot. They pined away by fever and weakness; death stalked among them like a giant, laughing as he crushed to earth men who were like children beside him.
Was there no help for them? the mandate had gone forth. The children fell to the ground dying for want of nourishment; the strong man clung to the trees for support, and the gray-haired leaned against the insensible rocks. Few there were who could bring down the game with their bows and arrows as did their forefathers, and the white people were crowding in their country and driving the game back where they were too feeble to pursue it.
Then came forward the kind missionaries to the aid of their unhappy friends. How liberally they shared with them all that they possessed, striving too to quiet their minds, agitated by burning fever. They gave them medicine and food, supporting the dying mother and taking charge of the infant and the aged. They sought to assuage the agonies of exhausted nature, directing in its flight the restless spirit standing upon the borders of life to that happy place where hunger and sickness are unknown.
It was on one of the warmest days of summer when my little children, with their father, crossed the St. Peter's, and advanced towards the trading establishment at Mendota. On the shores of the river one wigwam was placed, and, attracted by the groans of anguish which proceeded from it, they entered. It was O-ko-pee dying; yes, dying as he had lived, a sacrifice to the white man's rule—dying as he had lived, alone.
No friend supported his aching head, which was burning with fever, or chafed the cold limbs covered with ashes. Indeed, his head was pillowed on a bed of ashes. He recognised his visiters, and seeing their young faces solemnized by what they had never before witnessed, the presence of death, he spoke to them by name, said he was sick, and asked them for medicine. It was too late for medicine or sympathy; in another hour O-ko-pee, the hunter of the Sioux, was gone for ever from the earth.
[15] It is customary, when an Indian advances towards manhood, for him to lose the name bestowed upon him in childhood, obtaining another by some peculiarity of appearance or conduct, some daring action or violent passion; thus, Sleepy Eyes, is the name of a chief among the Sioux, from the drowsy expression of his countenance.