Indian Legends of Minnesota

by Unknown

Meantime the Great White Bird, from out
The North, came riding on the wind,
Its wings o'er heaven spread, and shed
Its down on hill and plain, the earth
In snow deep lying. Fasted then
Guteba long, and vowed unto
Himself that, cold in death or rich
In life, the maiden should be found;
Across his shoulder flung his bow
And arrow quiver; in his belt
Placed tomahawk and battle-ax
And lance; to westward sallied forth,
Nor of his purpose spoke.

Three times the sun went round
Its course and still he tarried from
His home, while in the Chippeway camp
Anxiety grew alarm at his
Extended stay, and laggard seemed Each tiny fleeting moment to
The last, until, when three times three
The days had rolled into the past.
A shout was heard, and sound of life
And roll of drum and tramp of feet
And happy, joyous song proclaimed
The sachem's safe return.

He came
With flowing locks and steady step,
And form erect, his people round
About him flocking, wild with joy,
And full of eager questions, put,
Of where he'd been and what he'd seen;
To which his only answer was:
"Up Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog."
As one possessed by purpose stern,
He passed along, nor paused until
The halt was made his wigwam door
Before, where his aged mother stood
To give him greeting. Something more
Than sweetness beamed in welcome from
His smile the while he took her hand
In his and spoke that blessed name
Of "Mother."

Then, most sudden end
Of joy!—into her outstretched arms
He sank, as tho' he lent himself
To gentle sleep, upon his lips
The seal of Gezha Manitou;
Else had they told the tale, the which
To tell, had given him strength to bear A deep and mortal arrow wound
A long march: How Janishkisgan
Lingered from her father's tent
To nurse the water Medicine Sioux,
"Chief Minnepazuka" called, who, though
For healing arts renowned, had down
Been stricken with the plague upon
The mountain top, his wisdom shorn
Of power through lack of body strength
With which to put it into use.
The dead Chief's sense of justice craved
The gift of further speech, to tell
The facts that lead thereto as all
Sufficient in themselves to plead
Her pardon. How Janishkisgan
Found the Sioux, near the jaws of death,
And in her sympathy forgot
That she a Chippeway was and he
Of hostile stem. She took from him
The secret he had wrested from
The waves, and mixed a cure thereby
With which his life she saved. She kept
The fires burning, while waiting on
His needs, nor gave him but the time
That they required; yet both had learned
A lesson, dear as life itself—
Each to the other had taught it,
And both had learned the same—learned to love
With a love so holy, that they
Must needs a union plan, in which
There, too, should be united all
Their severed bands. Guteba heard,
With his own ears, the chieftain swear That he would bring from his far home,
On western slopes, the richest gifts
Of field and forest, to demand
His bride from her own father's hand:
And, with the rest, bring too, the white
Winged dove of peace, nor claim from lips
So passing sweet, one tiny kiss
Without this all accomplished. Chief
Guteba, hid in neighboring shrub,
O'erheard these vows, with tomahawk
Well aimed against the Sioux Chief's head;
And, hanging on the words, felt all
His being's manhood stir in plea
For nobler action: fall down let
The threatening blade, and, chief to chief,
Challenged the Sioux to combat with
The lance for Janishkisgan's hand;
It being current practice, that
He who victored in such a fray
Was held a friend for aye, by all
The vanquished chieftain's people. Hurt
With fatal stab, the Chippeway Chief
Had hastened home, to urge upon
His tribe the well-earned peace, the which
Minnepazuka's lance had won.

Inexplicable fate! That coined
His lofty purpose and effort, staunch,
Into the very ill, for whose
Opposite good he sought; in death,
Closed his lips, still undelivered
Of their message, and left instead
A gaping wound to cry, "Revenge!"

The tribe tore out their hair, and put
The blackening pigment on, and sang
Their grieving songs; athirst for blood,
Unheeding danger, struck their tents
And formed for march, in single file,
Back, back in gloom, to silent tombs,
Beside the dark, deep bay, below
Mount Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog,
There to lay their beloved chief's
Remains.

And, there, Janishkisgan,
Filled with the superstition of
Her kind, made pillow nightly on
Her mother's grave, as well secure
As tho' she slept within the wigwam.
And there it was, one morning's dawn,
The somber funeral cortège found
Her. Most certain proof of innocence
And guilelessness and conscience all
At ease to rest upon a grave
At night, was it considered. But thus
To be, in calm repose, a smile
Transcendent on the lips, as if
Good spirits hovered near, almost
Were past belief of seeing eye.
So moved were they, who saw her there,
They stole away in awesome hush
Along a trackless trail, beneath
A ledge of rugged rock. Above
Their heads a bowlder's jutting edge
Protruded, where, this early morn,
Minnepazuka came to sing
A song of love.

Alas! That she,
Who dreamed of him, had dream so sweet,
Her smile to him disastrous proved:
For, in that northern wild, no spot
So fit for ambush was as this
Unbeaten, shrub-grown path of rock
To which the Chippeways' impulse
Led them; and none so ill-secure
From ambuscading foe as this
Same barren bowlder, upon whose
O'erhanging height, the Sioux reclined.

His prelude, played on flageolet,
In clear and clarion tones, broke through
The still of dawn and fell on ears
Of foes, who crept upon him, the while
He softly sang:

"Oh, my Dove's Eye,
Thou dear one, hearest thou not
My voice? Thou lingerest far from me.
I am the Water Medicine. Rocks
Flow living streams if I but call.
Thou sharest my secrets, wee one;
Thou, too, hast quaffed of Immortal
Waters. Why linger far from me?
When the fever was upon me,
Then wast thou near me, thou Sunbeam.
Now, I am strong. To-morrow will
I journey toward the setting sun.
But I will come back again for thee.
My people shall be thine, my own.
Hearken to the voice of my song.