Indian Legends of Minnesota

by Unknown

Then stranger far, than track
Of wayward bird, or swirling wind,
Was Janishkisgan's forward course.
A maid of plebeian birth, she did
Not ask the leave of public speech—
A right to woman not allowed—
But from her people, where she sat,
With meekness due, stepped out and grasped
The staff Guteba had released,
Thus arrogating to herself
The right of oracle.

She said:
"I was thy dead chief's handmaid, Friends.
Twelve months agone, I was with him
Upon the battle-field alone.
The Sioux were all around us; their
Faces war-red painted; their cries
Of vengeance filling all the air.
He to his saddle caught me up.
The Great Spirit strengthened his arm;
The lightning whet his ax; the wind
Speeded his pony's hoofs. Through walls
Of human blood he cut our way,
And on his tomb no single scalp The deed remarks, or notes the slain
He left to whiten bones upon
The plains. He saved my life. What can
I better do with it than use
It for him? Arrows ready make;
Gather the grass and grain with which
To feed the golden horns; prepare
The fuel for the sacred fires
And I will light and keep them bright
Upon the tombs. From my lips
Speaks Gezha Manitou. I have done."

Upon the silence which her words
Produced, the night-hawk's startling cry
Succeeded, and, round and round, above
Her head a milk-white falcon soared,
Now sailing high, now skimming low,
As if some mystic orison
In exultation it performed.

Symbolic bird! Thy course no chance
Directed. Talismanic art
Thou held by this nomadic tribe:
For, when the First Wacumic ruled
The band, from all the hosts of field
And feathery flock of heaven, thou wert
Elected Totem. Favored One!
Their fate forever linked to thine;
Thy image crested on their shields;
Thy every flight prophetic held!

Now, watch the trend of savage mind.
Even Chief Guteba, who loved The Indian maid, knew that the bird
A seal had put upon her, from which
Her accomplished task alone would
Freedom give; and drove his knife
Into the thickness of his thigh
Hilt deep, to ease his pain of heart
That one so young, so fair and so
Much loved withal, must need take thought
Of courage.

The Great Medicine
Confirmed the omen, in these words:
"Daughter, thou art chosen: go forth.
I give thee holy token, no
Woman ever wore before. It is
The medicine, which none but brave
Of noble birth may wear. Though thou
Art not of chieftain father bred,
Still yet thou art born noble. Take,
Janishkisgan, and to the top
Of Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog.
There let thine eye be keen, the path
Of open safety to descry;—
Use this plume of eagle plucked,
To point to us the way. We will
Prepare the arrows; grass and grain
Arrange, and make the fuel ready for
The flame upon the graves. When four
And twenty hours have passed, light thou
The fires upon the tombs, and keep
Them brightly burning till the ripe
Rich moon has emptied all its gold."

He hung the amulet about
Her throat—the medicine, a bag
Of dried, misshapen skin, that held
The healing herbs—a homely guise
That promised for them little worth;
For, so are virtues ofttimes clothed.

She raised her eyes to heaven, as one
Made free of fear and full of faith;
Then moved away, while marveled all
Who saw her glowing, peaceful face,
Not knowing that her heart held court
Within its inner self, as thus:
"I thank thee, milk-white bird, that guides
My path. E'en now Guteba's lips
Are ripe to burst with love of me.
I see it in his glance; I hear
It in his tones. My heart doth not
Respond. His presents are prepared
With which to buy me from my sire;
His wigwam waits his bride, but I
Will never follow there. Thou hast
Given me right, thou barbarous bird,
To say him nay, who loves him not;
For, where the handmaid must obey,
The maid who lights the sacred fire
And bears the medicine shall have
Her equal say. And should my life
Yield in my task, thou'rt kinder, Death,
Than wandering heart from wigwam fire."

The Chippeway band to safety moved,
Far toward the rising sun, and pitched Their camp anew; then hoped, less hope,
For tidings of Janishkisgan,
That never came.

Guteba's face
The while was draped with care, his tongue
With sadness locked. To muffled ears
His wise men spake, when they implored
Him, for his honor's sake, to take
A wife—he being counted less
Than man by Redskin code, who sits
Within his teepee door, without
The serving squaw and papoose squawk.