Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk-Tales / With notes on the origin, customs and character of the Pawnee people

by George Bird Grinnell

Although so ferocious to people of their own color, the Pawnees have ever been at peace with the whites. Bad men among them have, no doubt, sometimes stolen horses, but the tribe has never carried on an organized war against the Government. While they have often been provoked by wanton outrages inflicted on them, yet they have always borne themselves peaceably and mildly, and sought redress by legal or persuasive, rather than by hostile measures.

There is one instance on record which, while it shows their ferocity, exemplifies also their natural justice, and deserves to be repeated. This is the story of the Rawhide.

In the year 1852, among a small party of emigrants, who were crossing the plains on their way to California, was a man who had frequently asserted that he would kill the first Indian he saw. While the train was camped on a small creek flowing into the Elkhorn, a young squaw was seen, who belonged to the neighboring Pita-hau-erat village. Some accounts say that she came to the camp to beg, others, that she was going to the stream for a bucket of water. At all events, she was seen by the emigrants, who bantered the young man to carry out his boast that he would kill the first Indian he saw. He shot and killed the woman. The train moved on during the night. On the following day the tribe learned of this wanton butchery. They pursued the train, and surrounding it, demanded the murderer. He was at once given up, and a council was held, at which his fate was decided. The train was ordered back to the scene of the murder, and there, in the presence of his horrified companions, the Pawnees proceeded to flay the murderer alive. After this had been done, the emigrants were permitted to proceed on their journey. The stream on whose banks this act of grim justice took place is still known as Rawhide Creek.

Not only have the Pawnees never been at war with the whites, but, for the past twenty-five years, they have been their allies in every serious Indian war which has taken place east of the Rocky Mountains.

The Pawnee was taught to deal in ambuscades and surprises, yet he could fight in the open, too, if necessity demanded. Sometimes they had pitched battles with their foes, but their weapons were very primitive, and such combats were—in view of the numbers engaged on either side—comparatively bloodless. Between the years 1860 and 1870 such battles frequently took place near the Pawnee village, when the Sioux, who were far more numerous than the Pawnees, would come down from the north to try to destroy the village. Many a time I have heard from the lips of grizzled warriors the stories of these battles. Sometimes the enemy would come down in small parties, and steal horses, or kill squaws who were working in the corn patches, but at other times large bodies of warriors would approach the village without any attempt at concealment.

About sunrise the Sioux would ride up over the hills in a line fronting toward the village. They appeared mounted on their best ponies, clad in their most elaborate war costume, and wearing long war bonnets of the feathers of the war eagle, which almost swept the ground as their horses curveted along to the music of the monotonous but thrilling war chant. At the instant of their appearance the Pawnee village would begin to stir like a disturbed ant hill. The shouts of command by the men, the piercing calls from women, the alarmed and excited shrieks of the children, the neighing and heavy hoof-beats of the horses, the barking and howling of the dogs, as they were kicked out of the way, made a very Babel of sounds. The men snatched their arms, and springing on their horses rode out on to the plain to meet the enemy, while the women and children, after the horses had been secured, mounted to the tops of the dirt lodges to watch the fight. The Sioux, when they had come into full view, stopped, and sat there on their horses, proud of their brave attire, and courting admiration. The Pawnees, too, if time permitted, would don their finest war dresses, though often they fought naked, and elaborately paint themselves and their horses. As the Pawnees rode toward their enemy, the Sioux slowly advanced toward them, both with extended front. Each party chanted its songs of war, and uttered yells of defiance. While they were still six or seven hundred yards apart they halted, and stood facing each other. After a short wait, a warrior from one side or the other rode out before the line and addressed his party. He opened his speech with some remarks derogatory to the foe, and in praise of his own people. From these generalities, he passed to a consideration of his own excellent qualities, told of what he had done in the past, and what he now intended doing, and when he had finished speaking, he bent low over his horse’s neck, and rode furiously toward one end of the enemy’s line. When he had come within easy bowshot, he usually turned his horse’s head, and rode as hard as he could down along the line, leaning down, half hidden by his horse, and discharging arrow after arrow at the enemy. They also shot at him, as he flew by, and as he rode along, those whom he had passed dashed out in pursuit, until the whole party were riding after him as hard as they could go. If he passed along the line without injury, he turned his horse toward his own party, and rode back, his pursuers following him but a short distance. If, however, he was wounded by the arrows shot at him, and fell from his horse, or if his horse was hit and disabled, or if, on account of the greater speed of their ponies, it seemed likely that the enemy would overtake him, the whole body of his tribe made a headlong charge to rescue and bring him off. The enemy were as eager to take his scalp as his own people were to save it, and the opposing warriors came together in a hot melee.

There was little twanging of bow strings, and not much thrusting of lances; for the most part the fighting was at quarters too close for this, and the combatants pounded at each other’s heads with hatchets, war clubs, whip handles, bows and coup sticks. Bruises were given and received, sometimes a few men were gashed with hatchets and lances, and occasionally a man was killed. If the man about whom the struggle was taking place was scalped, his party at once drew off, leaving his body, which had now ceased to have any interest for them, in the hands of the enemy. If, however, he escaped scalping, his friends and foes soon separated and withdrew to their former positions. Then, after a breathing spell, a man of the other party rode forward, and made his speech, and the charge and general attack might be repeated.

Occasionally a very daring or desperate man, instead of riding down the opposing line, would charge through it, and as he reached it would let fly an arrow at some particular man, and count coup on, and scalp him as he dashed by. He would at once be surrounded by foes, who did their best to kill him, while his own tribesmen would charge upon them, and for a short time the struggle would be very fierce. A brave man, killed and scalped, was mutilated in all conceivable ways by the enemy, and was often cut up into small pieces.

In this way the battle might go on for the greater part of a day with varying fortunes, but without the loss on either side of more than a man or two, until at last one party or the other would become discouraged, and would break and run.

The Sioux in their attacks on the Pawnee village were never the victors. They were always defeated and driven back, and often, in the pursuit, two or three times as many men were killed as in the actual battle. It was but natural that the Pawnees should have been successful in this defense of their village, for in such fights they felt that they must conquer. Defeat to them there meant the loss of all that they possessed, the slaughter of their women and children, and the destruction of their village. Besides, if defeated, they had no place to retreat to. They would fight to the death.