They are also skilled in the virtues of herbs, and act as physicians in healing the sick. From this they have derived the name of Medecin, (signifying in French, physician.)
After humming round them, the Medecin raised the edge of the robe, exposing the naked heads and shoulders of two old, shrivelled squaws. The person at the fire, then reached to the other a large dipper, filled with part of the contents of the kettle, which was greedily swallowed by the squaws. The robe was then thrown over them, and again the Medecin commenced his hum and dance.
Now the Doctor was a curious man, and although he saw every thing that was going on in the inside of the lodge, as distinctly as if he had been there himself, still he was determined to see more. For a moment he paused to reflect, whether it would be prudent to intrude upon these mystic ceremonies, and risk incurring the anger of such influential persons, as he knew these Medecin-men to be. But prudence was a quality with which he was not much troubled; so without more hesitation he kicked up the bear-skin, and stepped boldly into the lodge, in front of the two priests.
For a moment they gazed at him, as if they doubted their senses. Their eyes flashed fire, and raising their voices, they made the lodge ring with their yells. At this unusual sound, the two old women raised the robe, peeped from under it, and seeing the white man, added their voices to the chorus.
After gazing for a moment, the Doctor attempted to approach the fire, but the Indians warned him back, ordering him with menacing gestures, to leave the lodge. These he pretended to misunderstand, at the same time attempting to enter into a parley with them, in order to gain as much time as possible for observation. Still they placed themselves before him, sternly ordering him to depart. He attempted to explain to them that he was a Medecin-Man in his own country, and wished to be acquainted with their secrets, and that in return he would communicate his. But it was useless; either they did not understand him, or they did not value his information, for they persisted in their ordering him to quit the lodge. The Doctor then determining, at all events, to obtain a look into the kettle, darted round them, and made for the fire.
There was now something of menace in their faces; and one of them rushing to the side of the lodge, seized a large club, resting against one of the pillars. The Doctor took to flight, and stopped not, until he arrived, most villanously out of wind, at the chief’s lodge, where he narrated his adventure.
After this I strolled out with one of my companions. It was so late that there were few of the Indians stirring. Here and there, we encountered individuals sitting upon the high bank, gazing upon the gliding waters of the Platte. It seemed as if they were engaged in a species of devotion, for they did not heed our approach, but sat humming a low, a very low muttered song. We passed them, and continued our course along the high bluff, looking down upon the Platte, which was dimly seen, reflecting the stars that twinkled upon its restless water. The prairie insects were piping their evening calls, and the creaking of the thousand creatures, who were hid in its long matted herbage, told that they were conscious their hour of song and revelry had come. Occasionally we heard the long howl of a wolf, softened by the distance, and now and then some serenading owl, would raise his voice from the dark fringe of trees, which drooped over the opposite bank of the river, and send forth a long quavering whoop.
We strolled along the bank for half a mile, glad to be free from the well-meant though tedious attentions of our hosts. At length, however, we turned for the purpose of retracing our steps, when our attention was attracted by a low, mournful cry, from the midst of a number of small mounds, at a short distance, the burial ground of the village. We approached the spot so cautiously, as not to disturb the person who was stationed there. Upon the top of one of the graves, a large mound covered with grass, was lying an Indian girl. Her buffalo robe had escaped from her shoulders, and her long dishevelled black hair, was mingled with the grass of the prairie. Her bosom was resting upon the sod, and her arms extended, as if embracing the form of the being who was mouldering beneath.
Believing that she was some female belonging to the tribe, singing a dirge over the grave of some departed friend, we listened attentively to her song. At one moment, it would rise in the air with a plaintive sound, as if she was dwelling with mournful tenderness, upon the virtues of the deceased. At times, she would seem to speak of the feelings of his heart; at others, the note would seem to be one of war, of battle; and then her song would burst from her, with the startling energy of a person, who was in the midst of the scene itself, and was acting over the feats of the silent dead. At these moments, she raised her head, and her whole frame seemed swelling with the inspiration of her theme; but in the very midst of this energetic burst of enthusiasm, the chord of some more mournful recollection would be touched, and the song would sink from its high, and ardent tone, to a note of wo, so despairing, that it appeared as if the sluices of her heart were opened, and the deep-hidden stream of her affection, was flowing out in the mournful melody.
After a short time she rose from the ground, and wrapping her robe round her, walked slowly towards the village. It was not until she was completely lost to our sight, that we left our sheltering place, and followed in the direction which she had taken. We had heard the Indian dirge sung before by different females, of the tribe, but as we considered them mere pieces of formality, we had passed by, without heeding them. But in this lonely being, there was an air of deep desolation, as she lay upon the grave, and a hopeless, despairing tone, in her low, melodious voice, that laid bare the recesses of a withered heart.