At the time of which I write the “Saukies” were at variance with the “hated Sioux,” and, indeed, the latter had been successful in a raid among the herds of the former, and had likewise carried away captives. Hence the sentinels on the outpost at evening.
Just at dusk one night, when the theme had been the “Sioux,” and our thoughts were in that channel, suddenly the whole camp was in a blaze of flashing
muskets. We beat a hasty retreat to our wagons—which were our only fortifications—with mingled feelings of fear and hope; fear of the much-dreaded Sioux, and hope that we might witness a fight.
My recollection now is that fear had more to do with our gymnastic exercises round about the wagon-wheels than hope had to do with getting a position for observation. But both were short-lived, for soon our red-skinned friends were laughing loud at our fright, and we, the victims, joined in to make believe we were not scared by the unceremonious flight of a flock of belated wild geese, inviting fire from the warriors of our camp; for so it was and nothing more. Still it was enough to make peace-loving, weak nerves shake, and heated brain to dream for weeks after of Sioux and of Indians generally. I speak for myself, but tell the truth of all our camp, I think.
The destination of our chief, Pow-e-shiek, and his band was temporarily with “Kisk-ke-kosh,” of the same tribe, whose bands were on Desmoines river. There is among all Indians, of whom I have any knowledge, a custom in vogue of going out to meet friends, or important personages, to assure welcome, and, perhaps, gratify curiosity.
When we were within a day or two of the end of our journey, a delegation from Kisk-ke-kosh’s camp came out to meet our party, and, while the greeting we received was not demonstrative in words, the younger people of both bands had adorned themselves with paint, beads, and feathers, and were each of them doing their utmost to fascinate the other. The scene presented was not only fantastic, but as
civilized, people would exclaim, “most gay and gorgeous,” and exhilarating even to a looker-on.
At night they gathered in groups, and made Cupid glad with the battles lost and won by his disciples. Then they danced, or, to ears polite, “hopped,” or tripped the light fantastic moccasin trimmed with beads, to music, primitive, ’tis true, but music made with Indian drums and rattling gourds. They went not in waltz, but circling round and round, and always round, as genteel people do, but round and round in single row, the circling ends of which would meet at any particular point, or all points, whenever the ring was complete, without reference to sets or partners, and joining in the hi-yi-yi-eia-ye-o-hi-ye-yi; and when tired sit down on the ground until rested, and then, without coaxing or renewed invitation, joining in, wherever fancy or convenience suited; for these round dances never break up at the unwelcome sound of the violin,—not, indeed, until the dancers are all satisfied.
The toilets were somewhat expensive, at least the “outfit” of each maiden cost her tribe several acres of land,—sometimes, if of fine figure, several hundred acres,—and not because of the long trails or expensive laces, for they do not need extensive skirts in which to dance, or laces, either, to enhance their charms; for the young gentlemen for whom they dressed were not envious of dry goods or fine enamel, but rather of the quality of paint on the cheeks of laughing girls; for girls will paint, you know, and those of whom I write put it on so thick that their beaux never have cause to say, “That’s too thin.”
The boys themselves paint in real genuine paint,