CHAPTER XIII.
Departure from Grand Pawnees.—Delegation.—Death Song.
Two days had elapsed, and we had again returned to the Grand Pawnee village. We now prepared for our return to the white settlements. Nearly two months had elapsed since the prairie had become our home, and its wild sons our fellows. We had lived in the land of the savage; we had seen, in his real character, the man of nature. We had seen him in his moments of joy, and pain; in his moments of pride and humility; in his paroxysms of excitement, when urged on by his impetuous nature; and in his hours of relaxation, when a calm was upon his burning bosom, and his passions were asleep. We had seen him, in his home, in the midst of his family, where the gushes of his heart were unrestrained; when the feelings of the husband, and father, and all the kind impulses of nature had burst the iron fetters of habit, and resumed their empire. The illusions thrown around him by the exaggerated reports of travellers, and the fictions of poets, had been removed; and we had beheld him, as he really was; an untutored, generous, yet savage man. He had lost much of the romance with which imagination had clothed him. His faults, his vices, his crimes, now stood out in glaring colours, and threw into the shade, many of his higher qualities. Still with all his imperfections, we had learned to admire his chivalrous nature; and to look upon him while uncontaminated by communion with the whites, as among the noblest works of his Maker.
The sun rose cheerily on the morning of our departure. A crowd had assembled in front of the chief’s lodge, to take a last look at the band of pilgrims, who had ventured among them.
Many of the most distinguished warriors stood proudly drawn up, with their robes muffled round their folded arms, and their heads thrown back. They watched us silently, and with countenances as fixed as marble. The females were in groups; some in the area in front of the chief’s abode; and others on the dome-like tops of the lodges. The voice of childish glee was ringing among the crowd; and their merry games were going forward. Occasionally they would pause to watch the process of harnessing the horses before the wagons; and the next instant would resume their gambols.
A delegation of Pawnees, four from each village, had been selected to accompany us to the garrison, in order if possible, to concert a general peace, among various tribes. This delegation was joined by many volunteers, until at length, nearly eighty were prepared to accompany us, to the terra incognita of the white man.
A smile of kindness illumined the grim face of our savage host, as he bade us farewell. The horses were saddled; the oxen were yoked, and had commenced moving onward. We were preparing to mount, when our attention was attracted by a low, and not inharmonious cry, which rose from the distant part of the village. It came nearer and nearer, sinking into a long wailing moan, in which many voices were united. At length a train of Indians emerged from behind one of the lodges. They were dressed in white buffalo robes.[K] They approached us slowly, still wailing out their mournful chant; and we recognized them for our party of delegates, and their fellow travellers.
[K] The white buffalo robe is so called, merely from one of its sides being whitened with chalk, in dressing it. The wool is of the same colour as that of all others, (a dark brown.)
They were in fact singing their death-song, as is customary with all the Indian tribes, before setting out, upon any perilous expedition. It is merely a recounting of their different exploits in battle, and winds up, by taking leave of their friends and fellow townsmen. Although it is sung with an air of vast resignation, by all; and although you would think, that after it, the songster, would go to the grave, “like a lamb to the slaughter;” yet from all that I could ever learn, there are no people that have a greater antipathy to dying, than the savages, or take more trouble to keep out of harm’s way.