Indian Story and Song, from North America — Edition Insights

Ponkas were together as one tribe. There is a song with a dance which must be given at every meeting. It is to keep alive the memory of a battle that took place while we were migrating westward, and where defeat would have meant our extermination as a tribe. I will tell you the story.[2]

[Footnote 2: The translation given is by my collaborator, Mr. Francis La Flesche.]

"One morning the tribe, whose country had been invaded by the Ponkas, made an unexpected assault upon the camp of the invaders. For a time it seemed as though the Ponkas would fare badly at the hands of their assailants, who were determined to drive out or destroy the intruders; but after a desperate struggle the Ponkas pushed their enemies back from the outskirts of the village, until finally their retreat became a rout. Both sides suffered great loss. The ground was strewn with the dead, and the grass stained with the blood of the warriors who fell in the battle; but the victory was with us, and we had conquered the right to dwell in that country.

"At the outset of the conflict a man bent with age emerged slowly from the door of one of the tents. The breezes played with his long white hair as he stood leaning on his staff, shading his face with one hand and looking intently in the direction whence came the noise of battle. As he recognised the voice of a warrior rushing to the fray, imitating as he ran the cry of some animal (his tutelary god), the aged man called after him:

"'Once more! Once more be the undaunted warrior you have hitherto been! Utter aloud your mystic cry, and make the enemy to tremble with fear!'

"If a youth passed by, singing his death song, the old man would ask:--

"'Who is that young man? He promises well.' Upon being told whose son he was, the aged man shouted: 'Ho-o! You have the spirit of your father. Be like him: turn not your face from the foe!'

"All day the old man stood at his door as though rooted to the ground. As the hours sped on, fainter and fainter grew the shouts and the cries of the contending men, until finally the sounds died away. Even then the venerable man moved not from his tent, but still stood watching. Lower and lower dropped the sun toward the western horizon, and all through the village anxious faces were turned in the direction whence the last sound of the fight had been heard. Suddenly a woman cried,--

"At her words the old man leaned forward, straining his dim eyes to discern the distant figures on the far-off hill. In single file, on the warriors came, one preceding another, according to the grade of the honours he had won in the battle. The Herald hastened forth from the village to meet them and to learn their tidings. After a halt he turned and came on in advance of the men, shouting as he came near the village the names of those who had fallen in battle. As each name was called, the wife or mother of the slain man rent the air with sudden cry and wail, so that the whole village vibrated with the sound of sorrow as the victorious warriors drew near. In the midst of all this commotion the aged watcher remained motionless, giving no sign of emotion as the wailing grew in volume, and stirring not even when he heard the names of his two sons called in the long death-roll.

"As the warriors entered the village, the Herald proclaimed the names of those who had distinguished themselves in that memorable fight. Slowly the men of valour approached their aged chief, who bowed acknowledgment as each one spoke and laid at his feet a trophy of war.

"Among the veterans came a young warrior, who, in this his first battle, had, in a hand to hand contest, wrenched a club from the grasp of his antagonist, and had slain the enemy with his own weapon. This club he presented to the old man, recounting the deed. The chief, lifting the weapon, exclaimed with a dramatic laugh: 'Ha, ha, ha! It is thus you should treat your enemies, that they may fear you. My exhortations to our young men have not fallen on deaf ears. Those who sought to destroy our people lie scattered and dead on the ground. Wherever their shadows may wander, even there the fear of you shall be. The enemy sought to make me weep, but I laugh.' And the old man danced to his triumphant laugh for the victory of that day."

[Music: SONG OF THE LAUGH.

_Ponka. He-dhu'-shka._

Ha, ha, ha ha ha! Ha ha! hi hi! ha ha! hi!]

So this was the meaning of the monotonous song that had accompanied the opening dance I had seen at the He-dhu'-shka Society, where the dancer, with body bent and with short rhythmic steps, had kept time to the dramatic laugh of the song,--a song that had seemed so aimless to me only the night before.

"Every song of the Society has its story which is the record of some deed or achievement of its members," said another old man who was lying beside the fire. "I will tell you one that was known to our great-great-grandfathers," and rising upon his elbow he began:--

THE STORY AND SONG OF ISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI.

"Long ago there lived an old Omaha Indian couple who had an only child, a son named Ish'-i-buz-zhi. From his birth he was peculiar. He did not play like the other children; and, as he grew older, he kept away from the boys of his own age, refusing to join in their sports or to hunt with them for small game. He was silent and reserved with every one but his mother and her friends. With them he chatted and was quite at ease. So queer a little boy could not escape ridicule. The people spoke of him as one 'having no sense,' and it seemed as though he would have no friends except his parents and a few women intimates of his mother.

"During the long winter evenings, when the old men who came to his father's lodge talked of bygone times and told tales of ancient heroes, this silent, seemingly heedless boy caught and treasured every word. He noted that the stories said that the mighty men of early days were armed only with clubs. He mused on this fact, and determined to make himself such a weapon. So he fashioned a four-sided club, practised with it in secret, and kept it constantly with him. He was well laughed at because he clung always to his club and would not learn the use of the bow; but he kept his own counsel, and, as the years went on, no one knew that the Sparrow-hawk had talked to him in a vision, and that he had become possessed of two of its sacred feathers.

"One day when Ish'-i-buz-zhi had grown to be a man, he heard a group of warriors discussing plans for an expedition against a tribal enemy. He determined to go with them; but he said nothing, and silently watched the men depart. That night he stole away and followed the trail of the warriors. In the morning one of the servants of the war party discovered him and reported to the Leader, who ordered that he be brought in. When the men saw that it was Ish'-i-buz-zhi, they joked him, and asked why he who cared only for the company of old women had come to them; but the Leader rebuked the warriors and received the youth kindly, and, when he found that the young man was not properly provided with clothing, bade his followers to fit him out from their own supplies. They obeyed, and they also made him a bow of ash and gave him some arrows.

"After many days' travel the party drew near to the enemy. A scout discovered their camp and reported having seen one of their men. At once the warriors prepared for battle, putting on the sacred paint and divesting themselves of unnecessary garments, which they handed over to Ish'-i-buz-zhi to take care of during the fight. But the young man had his own plans, and went to the Leader and asked permission to go and look at the enemy. With many cautions not to give an alarm and prevent surprise, the Leader consented, and off Ish'-i-buz-zhi started.

"Catching sight of the enemy, he threw away his bow, and, armed only with his club, rushed suddenly upon the foremost man, overthrew and killed him. When the war party came upon the scene, they saw with amazement what he had done,--how by the might of his single arm he had killed the Leader of the enemy and scattered his warriors.

"On the return of the Omaha men to their village the Herald, according to custom, proclaimed the deed of Ish'-i-buz-zhi. The old mother sitting in her tent heard his words, and called to her husband:

"'What is this that I hear? Go you out and learn the truth.'

"'It is only their ridicule of our boy,' said the old man, loath to stir.

"The Herald cried again, and the old man arose and stood at the door of the tent. Then of a truth he learned that, single-handed, his son had vanquished the enemy. Again and again did Ish'-i-buz-zhi join war parties, and he was always the foremost to meet the enemy and to scatter them with his club.

"Many tales are told of him; for he was fond of joking, and was often absent-minded. It is said that his wife was skilled in embroidery, and would decorate his moccasins with fine porcupine quill work; and it disturbed her to see him put them on to go out of a morning when the dew was on the grass. So she took him to task for his thoughtlessness.

"'While the grass is wet,'" said she, "'carry your moccasins in your belt.'

"He obeyed; but he forgot to put them on when the grass was dry, and came home with feet bruised and sore, and his moccasins still in his belt.

"But these peculiarities no longer provoked ridicule, as when Ish'-i-buz-zhi was a boy; for as a man, generous and strong, he was beloved by the people. The child who had feasted on tales of the old heroes had in his manhood reproduced their brave deeds. So it came to pass that, when danger threatened, it was to him that the people ran for help; and he never failed them."

The song refers to one of these appeals. An alarm arose, and to Ish'-i-buz-zhi, sitting in his tent, the people cried, "The enemy comes and calls for you, Ish'-i-buz-zhi."

[Music: DANCE SONG. (ICHIBUZZHI.)

_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no dho-e. Nu-da hun-ga Ich-i-buz-zhi dha-da e dhin-ke de, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no, Ni-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no.]

STORY AND SONG OF THE LEADER.

After many years of warfare the Omaha tribe made peace with the Sioux. One bright autumn day it was suggested that, in order to show their friendly feeling, a party of Omahas should visit the Sioux tribe. So the men and women made everything ready for the long journey.

Tent covers and camp belongings were fastened on trailing travaux, ponies were laden with gayly painted parfleche packs, containing the fine garments of the people and the gifts to be presented to the Sioux. Soon the motley-coloured line could be seen winding over the rolling prairie. The young men, mounted on their spirited horses, dashed off, racing with each other to attract the attention of the maidens, who could only follow with their eyes, so closely guarded were they by the elder women. Old men jogged along in groups, talking to each other, their lariats dragging through the grass, now and then snapping off the head of a wild flower or catching in a tangle of weeds. Boys made the air ring with their laughter, as they slipped off their ponies to shoot their small arrows at some imaginary game. It was a scene full of careless pleasure and happy movement under a cloudless sky.

When nearing the Sioux village, the people paused beside a stream to wash off the dust of travel, to put on their gayest attire, and to newly paint their hair and faces. The prairie was their vast dressing-room, and friendly eyes were their mirrors. Young men decked each other, and girls slyly put on touches of finery. Every one was moving about and busy, from the oldest man to the youngster captured from play to be washed and painted. At last the transformation was complete, from the dun, every-day colour to the brilliant hues of a gala time. Now messengers were despatched with small bunches of tobacco, tied up in bits of bladder skin (in lieu of visiting cards), to give notice of the visiting party's approach.

Suddenly some one asked, "What if the Sioux do not believe we are coming in peace, and should capture our messengers and attack us as we come near with our women and children?"

Such a reception had not before been thought of; and silence fell upon the people as they halted, under the gloom of the apprehension. At length the Leader stood up and said,--"We have made peace, we have come in good faith, we will go forward, and Wa-ko_n_'-da shall decide the issue."

Then he struck up this song and led the way; and, as the men and women followed, they caught the tune, and all sang it as they came near the Sioux village.

In the words the Leader, as representing the Omahas, speaks: "I am advancing. I am moving toward you. Behold me, young men, warriors of the Sioux! Here I stand. Wa-ko_n_'-da alone decides the destinies of men."

The visitors met with a welcome, and the breach between the two tribes was healed for many a long day.

[Music: SONG OF THE LEADER. A REST SONG.

_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._

Shu-b'dhe adhin-he on-don-ba i ga ho. Shu-b'dhe adhin-he on-don-ba i ga ho. Sha-on-zhin-ga ha, dha-dhu anon-zhin on-don-ba ga, he. Wa-kon-da hi-dhe-g'dhon be dho he dhoe. On-don-ba ga he. Sha-on-zhin-ga ha dhe-dhu anon-zhin on-don-ba ga he. Wa-kon-da hi dhe-g'dhon be dho he.]

THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.

According to the Omaha idea, a child during its infancy had no recognised existence as an individual or distinct member of the tribe, but remained as a part of its parents. When it could walk alone, at about three years of age, it was initiated into the tribal organisation through certain religious rites; but its responsible and individual life did not begin until its mind had "become white," as the Indians say. This expression referred to the dawn, to the passing of night into day, and represented the coming of the child out of the period where nothing was clearly apprehended into a time when he could readily recall past events with their distinctness of detail. This seeming mastery of the minutiae of passing occurrences indicated that a stage of growth had been reached where the youth could be inducted into the religious mysteries through a distinct personal experience acquired in the rite, No_n_'-zhi_n_-zho_n_,--a rite which brought him into what was believed to be direct communication with the supernatural powers.

In preparation for this rite the Omaha youth was taught the Tribal Prayer. He was to sing it during the four nights and days of his vigil in some lonely place. As he left his home, his parents put clay on his head; and, to teach him self-control, they placed a bow and arrows in his hand, with the injunction not to use them during his long fast, no matter how great the temptation might be. He was bidden to weep as he sang the prayer, and to wipe his tears with the palms of his hands, to lift his wet hands to heaven, and then lay them on the earth. With these instructions the youth departed, to enter upon the trial of his endurance. When at last he fell into a sleep or trance, and the vision came, of bird, or beast, or cloud, bringing with it a cadence, this song became ever after the medium of communication between the man and the mysterious power typified in his vision; and by it he summoned help and strength in the hour of his need.

In this manner all mystery songs originated,--the songs sung when healing plants were gathered and when the medicine was administered; when a man set his traps or hunted for game; when he desired to look into the future or sought supernatural guidance, or deliverance from impending danger.

The Tribal Prayer was called in the Omaha tongue Wa-ko_n_'-da gi-ko_n_: Wa-ko_n_'-da, the power which could make or bring to pass; gi-ko_n_, to weep from conscious insufficiency, or the longing for something that could bring happiness or prosperity. The words of the prayer, Wa-ko_n_'-da dhe-dhu wah-pa'-dhi_n_ a-to_n_'-he, literally rendered, are, Wa-ko_n_'-da, here needy he stands; and I am he.

This prayer is very old. Its supplicating cadences echoed through the forests of this land long before our race had touched its shores, voicing a cry recognised by every human heart.

[Music: THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Wa-kon-da dhe-dhu Wa-pa-dhin a-ton-he. Wa-kon-da dhe-dhu Wa-pa-dhin a-ton-he.]

STORY AND SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.[3]

[Footnote 3: An old priest of the rite gave me the story and song through Mr. James R. Murie, an educated Pawnee, and they are here for the first time made public.]

Scattered through an elaborate ritual and religious ceremony of the Pawnee tribe are little parables in which some natural scene or occurrence serves as a teaching to guide man in his daily life. The following is an example.

The words of the song ("the sound of the young") are purposely few, so as to guard the full meaning from the careless and to enable the priest to hold the interpretation as a part of his sacred treasure. They are sufficient, however, to attract the attention of the thoughtful; and such a one who desired to know the teaching of the sacred song could first perform certain initiatory rites and then learn its full meaning from the priest.

"One day a man whose mind was open to the teaching of the gods wandered on the prairie. As he walked, his eyes upon the ground, he spied a bird's nest hidden in the grass, and arrested his feet just in time to prevent stepping on it. He paused to look at the little nest tucked away so snug and warm, and noted that it held six eggs, and that a peeping sound came from some of them. While he watched, one moved; and soon a tiny bill pushed through the shell, uttering a shrill cry. At once the parent birds answered, and he looked up to see where they were. They were not far off, and were flying about in search of food, chirping the while to each other and now calling to the little one in the nest.

"The homely scene stirred the heart and the thoughts of the man, as he stood there under the clear sky, glancing upward toward the old birds and then down at the helpless young in the nest at his feet. As he looked, he thought of his people, who were so often careless and thoughtless of their children's needs; and his mind brooded over the matter. After many days he desired to see the nest again. So he went to the place where he had found it; and there it was, as safe as when he left it. But a change had taken place. It was now full to overflowing with little birds, who were stretching their wings, balancing on their small legs, and making ready to fly; while the parents with encouraging calls were coaxing the fledglings to venture forth.

"'Ah!' said the man, 'if my people would only learn of the birds, and, like them, care for their young and provide for their future, homes would be full and happy, and our tribe be strong and prosperous.

"When this man became a priest, he told the story of the bird's nest and sang its song; and so it has come down to us from the days of our fathers."

[Music: SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.