A party of 150 Scheyenne warriors had invaded the territory of the Mandans; Mahtotopa, the young but already famous warrior of whom we have spoken, went in pursuit of them at the head of fifty of the bravest of his tribe. At the end of two days he came up with them. The Mandans, inferior in number, hesitated to engage in combat, when by a sudden impulse, Mahtotopa planted his lance, ornamented with a piece of red stuff, in the ground in token of defiance. The Scheyennes who were approaching to attack the party were arrested by the sight of this courageous act, and their chief advancing alone to meet the young Mandan warrior enquired who he was who defied alone the enemy?
“It is Mahtotopa, second chief in command of the brave and valiant Mandans.”
“I have often heard him spoken of,” replied the Scheyenne; “he is a great warrior. Would he dare to advance and fight against me alone while our warriors look on?”
“Is it a chief who speaks to Mahtotopa?”
“See the scalp which hangs from the bit of my horse,” answered the Scheyenne; “see my lance ornamented with the fur of the ermine and the feather of the eagle of war.”
“You have spoken enough,” said the Mandan.
The Scheyenne chief set off at full gallop and planted his lance by the side of that of Mahtotopa. The warriors of the two tribes drew near and formed a great circle. The two champions advanced into the middle of these lists formed by human warriors. They were on horseback, decorated with feathers and wearing their finest garments. They each fired a shot without effect; Mahtotopa then showed his adversary his powder-flask, which had been pierced by a ball, and threw it on the ground as well as his gun, which had thus become useless. The Scheyenne chief in order to fight with equal arms did the same, and for some moments they galloped one round the other discharging arrows with incredible rapidity. The horse of the Mandan rolled on the ground pierced by an arrow, and when Mahtotopa arose to continue the fight his adversary sprang from his horse and once more the combat became equal. Soon the warriors were exhausted. Then the Scheyenne drew his knife and brandished it in the air. “Yes,” answered Mahtotopa, who understood this unspoken invitation. The two warriors disencumbered themselves of their quivers and shields; but the Mandan had not his knife; he had forgotten it in his cabin; this did not stop him; he parried the blows of his adversary with the wood of his bow, which he wielded like a club. He soon succeeded in forcing his enemy to relax his hold on his weapon; the knife fell, the combatants threw themselves on each other and tried to get possession of the weapon which lay at their feet; it was taken and wrenched back again several times by both adversaries, and each time it was dyed with the blood of one or the other. At length Mahtotopa seized it a last time and plunged it to the hilt in the heart of the Scheyenne chief, then drew it out, took off his adversary’s scalp and showed the trophy of his victory to the spectators. Such a scalp as this would be more precious in the eyes of Mahtotopa than any dozen of such bloody trophies he might previously have possessed. Few Indian warriors of the “old school” but who could point in the same fashion to one poor scrap of skin and hair with special exultation, while with pomp and pride they describe to the curious listener the peculiar circumstances under which the trophy was obtained. Take the following little anecdote related by a somewhat celebrated Ojibbeway “brave” as an example:
“This scalp I nailed separately because I took it under curious circumstances and like to recall it to my memory. I went on the war trail just ten years ago against the Sioux band of the chief Wabasha. There were eighty of us Ojibbeways, and we went down the Chippeway River in canoes. When we found ourselves close to the enemy we turned into an arm of water which we thought was the main channel; but it was only a bayou which lost itself in swamp and rushes, and on attempting to push through all our canoes stuck in the mud. The Sioux fleet was coming up to cut us off in our hole, and we left our canoes and went on foot. The Sioux fired on us from the water and we replied from land; but the distance was too great, and no one was wounded. One of the boldest and bravest of the Sioux, however, pushed on far in advance in order to cut us off. He came too near the bank and was shot by one of our men and he fell back in his canoe which began drifting down the stream. His body hung over the side of the boat into the water. I saw this, and feeling desirous to have his scalp I leaped into the water and swam after the canoe. There was plenty of risk, for the other Sioux were now paddling up; besides, it was not at all certain the man was really dead. I did not care though, but swam on, seized the canoe and the man, and had his scalp with a couple of cuts. Ha, ha! I waved it once to the Sioux, pushed the canoe with the half-dead quivering fellow towards them, and soon joined my party again. We all escaped, and only our enemies had cause to lament. He was their best warrior, and so I nailed his scalp, the only one taken that time, here on my hatchet which I carry about with me.”
The following tradition of a war exploit of the same tribe, recorded by the Rev. P. Jones, will show the confidence they place in dreams:
“A canoe manned with warriors was once pursued by a number of others, all filled with their enemies. They endeavoured to escape, paddling with all their might, but the enemy still gained upon them; then the old warriors began to call for the assistance of those things they had dreamt of during their fast-days. One man’s munedoo was a sturgeon, which being invoked, their speed was soon equal to that of this fish, leaving the enemy far behind; but the sturgeon being short-winded was soon tired, and the enemy again advanced rapidly upon them. The rest of the warriors, with the exception of one young man who, from his mean and ragged appearance, was considered a fool, called the assistance of their gods, which for a time enabled them to keep in advance. At length, having exhausted the strength of all their munedoos, they were beginning to give themselves up for lost, the other canoes being now so near as to turn to head them, when just at this critical moment the foolish young man thought of his medicine-bag, which in their flight he had taken off from his side and laid in the canoe. He called out, ‘Where is my medicine-bag?’ The warriors told him to be quiet; what did he want with his medicine-bag at this perilous time? He still shouted, ‘Where is my medicine-bag?’ They again told him to paddle and not trouble them about his medicine-bag. As he persisted in his cry, ‘Where is my medicine-bag?’ one of the warriors seeing it by his side took it up and threw it to him. He, putting his hand into it, pulled out an old pouch made of the skin of a saw-bill, a species of duck. This he held by the neck to the water. Immediately the canoe began to glide swiftly at the usual speed of a saw-bill; and after being propelled for a short time by this wonderful power, they looked back and found they were far beyond the reach of the enemy, who had now given up the chase. Surely this Indian deserved a patent for his wonderful propelling power, which would have superseded the use of the jarring and thumping steam-boats, now the wonder and admiration of the American Indian. The young man then took up his pouch, wrung the water out of it, and replaced it in his bag; telling the Indians that he had not worn his medicine-bag about his person for nothing,—that in his fast he had dreamt of this fowl, and was told that in all dangers it would deliver him, and that he should possess the speed and untiring nature of the saw-bill duck. The old warriors were astonished at the power of the young man whom they had looked upon as almost an idiot, and were taught by him a lesson, never to form a mean opinion of any persons from their outward appearance.”