Chapter I: The Indian Country (2)

As we rode along, the troops of naked children who followed at our heels convinced us that, among the sundry and manifold cares of the world, this tribe had not forgotten to perpetuate their race; and, notwithstanding their laziness, had contrived to start a fresh growth of pappooses, that constituted the “rising generation,” and were then undergoing the education usual to the Indian child. From what we saw, there is little doubt that when the present race shall pass away, the rising tribe will be fully qualified to inherit, in a creditable manner, the laziness of their forefathers.

Here and there, winding through the woods, or strolling over the prairie, might be seen a couple of cooing, greasy lovers; full of affection and slovenliness; unwashed, but devoted. What a fund of affection there must have been to have overlooked such a world of defects! A loud cry broke out in one of the hovels, and a couple rushed out. The first was a fat blowzy squaw. After her followed a diminutive, spider-legged Indian, who looked as if he had withered away under the gall of his own disposition. He was the lord and master of the lady. In his hand he flourished a stick, with which he had been maintaining that discipline by some deemed proper in a family, and which he now seemed inclined to continue. The woman, however, escaped, and made for the woods. The bystanders paused for a moment to look on; for there was an agreeable excitement about this, which did not occur every day, and which therefore was not to be lost. Upon the escape of his wife, the little man looked around, as if he longed for some other object upon which to vent the remainder of his wrath; but finding none, he disconsolately entered his dwelling.

In the centre of the town is a small log house, the residence of the agent appointed by the United States to reside with the tribe, and attend to the payment of the annuities forwarded by the government to this nation. We were cordially welcomed by him. We found the chief and prophet of the tribe with him. The former was a corpulent man, and in his youth must have been peculiarly handsome. The prophet was a tall bony Indian, with a keen black eye, and a face beaming with intelligence. He was leaning upon the muzzle of a long rifle when we entered. This he laid aside, and with the assistance of an interpreter, commenced a conversation with us. It was something unusual for him, as he generally kept aloof from intercourse with the whites. He had been converted to Christianity, and on Sundays delivered addresses upon this subject to the tribe.

There is an energy of character about him, which gives much weight to his words, and has created for him an influence greater than that of any Indian in the town. From the little that we saw, it was evident that the chief yielded to him, and listened to his remarks with the deference of one who acknowledged his superiority. There was, however, no appearance of jealousy or heart-burning between them.

It was late in the afternoon before we left. The sun was fast sinking in the west, and his last beams were resting on the tree tops, as we rode out of the woods. One hour’s ride, brought us again to our quarters at the cantonment.

CHAP. IX.

DEPARTURE FOR THE PAWNEES.—PRAIRIE LIFE.

Several weeks had elapsed, since our arrival at the garrison; yet the other commissioner had not made his appearance. Mr. Ellsworth determined, therefore, to set out without him for the Pawnee villages. The state of the garrison, enfeebled by sickness, did not allow of a sufficient escort to overawe the savages. He therefore took the bold alternative of throwing himself among them, in a manner unarmed, piquing their honour and hospitality by this mark of confidence.

Seven soldiers constituted the whole of the military escort: merely sufficient to protect us from any petty, prowling band.

The two servants, Mordecai and Joseph, who had hitherto accompanied us, were to have charge of the two light waggons—in which were packed our bedding, baggage, and camp furniture. We had also engaged the service of a negro as cook.

Our own mess was increased by the addition of Major Dougherty from St. Louis, the agent for the Pawnee Indians, and Dr. May, a surgeon resident in Missouri.

On the morning previous to the day of departure, the soldiers commenced loading two heavy ox waggons with kegs of gunpowder, barrels of flour, sacks of bacon, tents and cooking utensils, besides boxes and bales containing presents for the Indians. Towards evening, a cessation of swearing in the neighbourhood of the storehouse, gave token that the task was accomplished. In the course of an hour, half a dozen oxen were yoked before each waggon, and conducted by two wild teamsters. They departed under escort of the seven soldiers. The whole were to encamp on a small stream a few miles distant, and await our coming. Our party, six in number, were to follow their trail on horseback on the succeeding morning.

The sun rose cheerily over the tops of the trees on the day following, and we prepared to leave. There was quite an excitement in the garrison. Kind wishes and farewells were exchanged. Many who had been anxious to join the troop, in their journey through this unknown land, now hung round with longing eyes. There was a mystery and shadowy danger, which threw a high excitement around the whole expedition. Nothing was positive about the wild tribes we were to visit. It was known that their numbers were large; it was reported that they were cruel and unsparing in their nature, that they looked upon the whites as their bitterest enemies, and carried on a war of extermination against the whole race. By way of adding to the agreeable excitement, two or three had collected all the tales of murder and bloodshed committed by the Indians since the discovery of America, and poured them into our ears, with a most edifying accompaniment of long faces and evil prophecies. They foretold that we should never again be seen at Leavenworth; or, at all events, that if we did it would be stripped of our scalps. They thought, as these were the most desirable trophies, perhaps the Indians would have the generosity to permit our return, provided we left them behind. These, and many other predictions of an equally comforting nature, were conveyed to us by a number who buzzed around us as we were getting ready. They, however, at last took their leave, not forgetting to give us the rather unnecessary caution, to “take care and not get killed.”

It was near mid-day when we set out. Our little cavalcade clattered over the hard walks until we reached the road. Galloping over the prairie, we at length came upon the broad trail left by the heavy baggage waggons, as they had passed through the high grass.

A number of the officers accompanied us several miles, but at length they took their leave, and left us to journey onward in our pilgrimage. As long as we were in the garrison, where the busy face of man was seen, where active forms were moving around us, and the every-day concerns of life were going forward, we felt that, though distant from home, we were still connected with society; but when we had started on our journey, and bade farewell to those who had accompanied us, as we watched their forms until they were hid by the distant hills, we felt that the last link was broken, which had hitherto united us to the world and its occupations.

It was intended first to strike up in a northerly direction, until we reached the village of the Otoe and Missouria Indians, situated upon the Platte river, about twenty miles north-west of its junction with the Missouri. Thence the Platte was to be our guide, until we came upon the Pawnee towns. They are seated on its banks, some five or six days’ journey further to the westward.

During our stay at the garrison a change had come over the face of nature. The bright and luxurious summer flowers had disappeared; a growth of yellow and blue, the harbingers of the departing year, supplied their places. Here and there might be seen a single red flower, the survivor of those which had flourished in the summer, shooting up its head amidst clusters of golden-hued blossoms, still lingering, though a stranger among them. The deep richness of foliage which graced the trees had departed, and the brown tinge of autumn was creeping among the leaves. The bright soft green was disappearing from the prairie grass, giving place to a colour of greenish brown. The geese and pelicans had left their lives of solitude, and forming themselves into large flocks, were winging their way to the north; the wind swept over the rustling grass with a moaning sound that spoke strongly of the approach of winter.

At this season we commenced our travel. It was late in the afternoon when we reached the spot where the soldiers had encamped. It was on the side of a small prairie hill. Within a few yards of their tents, a scanty run of water stole through the grass; and at the distance of about a hundred yards stood a grove of timber, which supplied the fuel necessary for their night fires.

There is but little variety on the prairie. The life of one day is the life of a month; yet there is an excitement about it. The killing of a deer is an era in the day. The appearance of a hunter upon a distant hill would give birth to a thousand speculations, as to his success in the chase. The sight of a deer standing upon an eminence, or reclining in some hollow, was a signal for bustle. There was an intense interest excited, in watching the movements of the hunters, as they stole down upon him. As they drew near every eye was fixed, even the breath was restrained: the animal scents them in the tainted air; the hunters crouch in the tall grass and creep onward; the deer rises to his feet; his nose is raised high in the air; he begins to walk off. Now is the time! Crack!—sounds the rifle. In five minutes, he is far beyond sight, or two hunters are staggering beneath his weight, as they bring him to the camp.

The sight of foot prints in the grass would be the foundation of a hundred wild fancies. By whom were they made? by members of what tribe? were they friends or foes? where were they going? was it a war party or a hunting party? These and a hundred other conjectures would be offered, by a knot collected around the suspicious mark, denoting that others besides ourselves had passed in that direction, and that we were not the only beings wandering upon that waste.

CHAP. X.

THE PARTY OF SAC INDIANS.

We had been absent about a week from the garrison, and had traversed nearly a hundred miles of prairie and woodland. Our encampment during the night previous had been upon the borders of a small prairie rivulet, which meandered through the country, overhung by a fringe of bushes and trees. Several times during the day previous, foot prints had been observed in the grass; and the whole party were on the look-out for Indians. At night, lest the horses should stray from the camp, and be driven off by lurking marauders, they had been secured by long ropes to stakes. The night, however, passed without disturbance; and in the morning the tents were struck, and the party resumed its journey.

As the movements of the waggons were necessarily tardy, four of us strolled forward on foot. We were several miles in advance of the party. We travelled slowly that they might overtake us, amusing ourselves by discharging our rifles at the ravens or vultures which soared above our heads. Sometimes we diverged a little from our path, to get a shot at the deer, which we now and then saw standing at a little distance, gazing with surprise at our appearance.

We were out of sight of the waggons. In front of us, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, rose a swelling cone-like hill. From each side of it extended a long ridge, effectually shutting out the view beyond. Presently a black object rose over its top. Gradually it grew larger and larger, until the tall, stately form of an Indian appeared, and stood watching our movements. A moment after, another joined him; he was followed by a third, who took his stand by the side of his comrades. For some moments there appeared to be a consultation among them; then seating themselves, they waited for us to come up. The position which they had taken was directly upon the narrow trail we were following; so that whether friends or foes, there was no possibility of avoiding them. But as there were only three, there was little to be apprehended. Before advancing, however, the soldiers took the precaution to hammer their flints, and renew the priming of their guns. While thus engaged, one of them named Wolf, a tall, gigantic fellow, with a neck like a bull’s, who had fought against Black Hawk, took the opportunity to bestow a little of his advice and opinion upon the others, and turning round he commenced:—

“You see them ar Ingens; well, them is Sacs and Foxes. I know ’em, for I _fit_ agin ’em when Black Hawk led ’em on. And now I think on’t: it’s dreadful aggravating to see how the folks at the east’ard are honouring that ar rascal for killing and murdering the whites, while we who _fit_ agin him to prevent it, a’int taken no notice on; it’s monstrous aggravating. But that a’int nothing to the _pint_. You see them ar Ingens on that ar hill. Now you think there’s only three on ’em. There you think a lie—bekase there’s more behind ’em;—for if there wa’rnt they would come on to meet us, and wouldn’t be squatting like so many woodchucks in the _parara_. They’m waiting for the rest to come up, to see whether they think it best to rob us or not. That’s my opinion, and I know something of Ingen natur, for I _fit_ agin ’em. Now I know one what they won’t rob, and that’s me; first, bekase I ai’nt got nothing to lose; and second, bekase I intend to make my yager[E] speak to the first red skin what tries to take it. And now, my boys, move a-head—keep a stiff upper lip, and don’t be in a hurry to use your _wepons_. If the worst comes to the worst, we can keep ’em off until the wagons come up, and then we’ll lick ’em.”

[E] This is a short rifle, and carries a very large ball. They are used by the U. S. dragoons, on account of the convenience of their length.

After finishing his address, he shouldered his yager and strode on, followed by the rest of us. Notwithstanding his knowledge of “Ingen natur,” we did not place as much confidence in his experience as he might have supposed; nor did we expect to push matters to the extremity, which he seemed to take for granted would be the result of our meeting. In five minutes we were at the bottom of the hill. The savages maintained their sitting posture on the summit, nor did they rise until we came within about ten yards of them. Upon reaching them we found that the soldier had been correct in one of his conjectures; for at the distance of little less than a quarter of a mile, were about seventy more of the same band, driving in front of them a large drove of horses. They were all wild, uncouth looking fellows. Some few were dressed in blankets, but the most of them in robes of buffalo skin. At the sight of us they raised a loud yell, and leaving their horses to the charge of one or two squaws, scampered over the prairie to meet us.

“I told you so,” said Wolf. “Look to your guns, and when they crowds around, keep a tight grip on the _wepons_, but don’t fire till it comes to the pinch.”

The crowd poured on towards us, each endeavouring to outrun his neighbour. Many threw from them the robes which impeded their motions, and several pulling them from their shoulders, packed them under their arms. Yet they appeared to be actuated by curiosity alone. But one of them had a gun; the rest were armed with bows and tomahawks. Upon reaching us, they pressed round, fingering our different articles of dress with much curiosity, though without any appearance of hostility towards the owners. At length they drew round in a closer crowd, and began to hustle us. Suddenly a tall, thin fellow grasped hold of Wolf’s yager.

“No you don’t, _stranger_!” shouted Wolf, jerking the gun from his grasp, with the look of a nettled bull. At the same time he whirled the Indian off, with a violence that fairly made him spin, and nearly prostrated two others, whom he encountered in his involuntary movement. “Keep off, you red devils,” said he, stepping back, “I wants none of your _neighbourship_.” Seizing his gun by the muzzle, he whirled the breech around with a violence which caused the Indians to draw back, and cleared a small circle around him.

At this moment the chief, or person who seemed to have charge of the party, made his appearance. He spoke a few words to the band, which caused them to draw off; then walking his horse up to us, he cordially shook hands with all. He was an old man, dressed in Indian style, with the exception of a plaid handkerchief, tied round his head. Upon the top of this was mounted a broad-brimmed black hat, shadowing a little, dried up, French-looking physiognomy. Agreeable as his presence was at that moment, there was but little about him, to justify the high idea we had formed, of the leader of a wild band of savages; and there were many nobler men in his troop. As they stood in a large circle around us, I think I never beheld such a number of proud spirits, as were there. It seemed strange that they should all be at the command of such a miserable looking little leader.

While we were standing thus, a loud whoop from one attracted the attention of the whole band. The next moment the unwieldy waggons came toiling along a ridge at a distance, followed by the light dearborns, and a train of four soldiers.

At this discovery the Indians broke away, scampered towards them, and in a short time were all clustering round the vehicles. They remained there about half an hour, and then resumed their journey along the prairie.

CHAP. XI.

THE JOURNEY.—SALINE RIVER.

Another week had elapsed, but still we were on our journey. With the exception of the band of Sac and Fox Indians, we had met with no other savages. We were the only human beings who lived and moved upon the wide waste. Nothing else was visible—not a deer, not a tree—all was prairie—a wide unbroken sea of green—where hollow succeeded hollow, and the long grass waved on the hills, with a heavy surge-like motion, until at last it was blended with the hazy atmosphere, which met the horizon. The power of sight was shut out by nothing; it had its full scope, and we gazed around until our eyes ached with the very vastness of the view that lay before them. There was a degree of pain, of loneliness, in the scene. A tree would have been a companion, a friend. It would have thrown an air of sociability over the face of nature, but there was none. The annual fires which sweep over the whole face of the country, during the autumn of every year, effectually destroy any thing of the kind. There will be no forest as long as the Indians possess these regions; for every year, when the season of hunting arrives, they set fire to the long dry grass. Once fairly on its errand, the destructive messenger speeds onward, licking up every blade and every bush, until some strip of timber, whose tall trees protect the shrubbery by the dampness which they diffuse beneath, or some stream, stops it in its desolating path. The object of burning the grass is to drive the deer and elk, that are roving over the broad extent of prairie, into the small groves of timber scattered over the surface. Once enclosed within these thickets, they fall an easy prey to the hunters.

We at last reached the Platte[F] river, about forty miles distant from the Otoe village; then striking off to the west, we followed the course of this powerful tributary of the Missouri.

[F] The Indian name for La Platte is _Nie-borahka_, signifying the shallow river; as also the word _Nie-agaruh_ signifies the broken river. This last word might lead to a pretty correct conclusion as to the meaning of the name Niagara, given to the celebrated river and falls connecting Lake Erie with Ontario; for the word is the same among several of the different tribes, who, though they now dwell in the “far west,” may nevertheless have once roamed in the neighbourhood of our eastern waters.

On the first night, our little camp was placed upon a high bank of the Saline river, which flows through the prairie until it empties into the Platte. During the spring of every year moisture exudes from the soil near its source, covering the prairie for the distance of many miles. This is dried up by the heat of summer, and leaves in its place a thick incrustation of salt. This is in turn dissolved by every successive rain, and carried off into the Saline river, giving to its water the brackish taste, from which it has derived its name. There is a barrenness around the stream, contrasting strongly with the other rivers that grace the prairie. Around _them_ is always a rich forest of the deepest, rankest green. Every thing marks the luxuriance of the soil, and the nourishment yielded by the streams to the lofty trees which hang like guardians over their waters.

But the Saline is far different. There are no groves to fringe its banks. Here and there the huge grey forms of a few dead trees may be seen leaning with a melancholy grandeur over its surface, or lying prostrate in the river, while its waters gurgle with a mournful sound around the branches of these fallen giants. There is a cheerless look about it. It winds its way through the prairie with a withering influence, blighting every green shrub; and seems to bear an ill-will to all the bright beauties of creation.

I strayed some distance down the stream, pattering my rifle bullets on the water, to the great annoyance of several ducks who were quietly dozing upon its surface, and some sprawling old terrapins who were floating down the stream, enjoying an evening sail.

A loud hail from the camp, and the voice of Mordecai announcing that supper was ready, recalled me to the spot. The roasted shoulder and ribs of a large buck were impaled upon a stake of dogwood, planted in the ground in front of the mess. They had already commenced their meal, with knives of all sizes and descriptions, and the mass of meat disappeared like magic before their reiterated attacks. Though at all times very well qualified to act a conspicuous part in a warfare of that description, they were now more than usually fitted for the task, owing to their eating only two meals a day—one at sunrise and one at sunset—the rest of the time being occupied in journeying over the prairie. By the time that we finished, the sun had sunk in the west, and the stars were glimmering in the sky. Our party collected round the large fire of blazing logs, and our guide having lighted his Indian pipe, related to us an Indian tale, of which the following is the purport.

“About forty miles above the spot where we are now encamped, lie the great salt plains, which cause the brackish taste of the Saline river. In one part of these plains, is a large rock of pure salt of dazzling whiteness, which is highly prized by the Indians, and to which is attached the following story.”

CHAP. XII.

THE LEGEND OF THE SALINE RIVER.

Many years since, long before the whites had extended their march beyond the banks of the Mississippi river, a tribe of Indians resided upon the Platte, near its junction with the Saline. Among these was one, the chief warrior of the nation, celebrated throughout all the neighbouring country, for his fierce and unsparing disposition. Not a hostile village within several hundred miles, but wailed for those who had fallen beneath his arm; not a brook, but had run red with the blood of his victims. He was for ever engaged in plotting destruction to his enemies. He led his warriors from one village to another, carrying death to the inhabitants, and desolation to their homes. He was a terror to old and young.

Often, alone and unattended, would he steal off, to bathe his hands in blood, and add new victims to the countless number of those whom he had already slain. But fearful as he was to the hostile tribes, he was equally dreaded by his own people. They gloried in him as their leader, but shrank from all fellowship with him. His lodge was deserted, and even in the midst of his own nation he was alone. Yet there was one being who clung to him, and loved him, in defiance of the sternness of his rugged nature. It was the daughter of the chief of the village; a beautiful girl, and graceful as one of the fawns of her own prairie.

Though she had many admirers, yet when the warrior declared his intention of asking her of her father, none dared come in competition with so formidable a rival. She became his wife, and he loved her with all the fierce energy of his nature. It was a new feeling to him. It stole like a sunbeam, over the dark passions of his heart. His feelings gushed forth, to meet the warm affection of the only being that had ever loved him. Her sway over him was unbounded. He was as a tiger tamed. But this did not last long. She died; he buried her; he uttered no wail, he shed no tear. He returned to his lonely lodge, and forbade all entrance. No sound of grief was heard from it—all was silent as the tomb. The morning came, and with its earliest dawn he left the lodge. His body was covered with war paint, and he was fully armed as if for some expedition. His eye was the same; there was the same sullen fire that had ever shot from its deep sunk socket. There was no wavering of a single feature; there was not the shrinking of a single muscle. He took no notice of those around him; but walked gloomily to the spot where his wife was buried. He paused for a moment over the grave—plucked a wild flower from among grass, and cast it upon the upturned sod. Then turning on his heel, strode across the prairie.

After the lapse of a month, he returned to his village, laden with the scalps of men, women, and children, which he hung in the smoke of his lodge. He tarried but a day among the tribe, and again set off, lonely as ever. A week elapsed, and he returned, bringing with him a large lump of white salt. In a few words he told his tale. He had travelled many miles over the prairie. The sun had set in the west, and the moon was just rising above the verge of the horizon. The Indian was weary, and threw himself on the grass. He had not slept long, when he was awakened by the low wailing of a female. He started up, and at a little distance, by the light of the moon, beheld an old, decrepit hag, brandishing a tomahawk over the head of a young female, who was kneeling, imploring mercy.

The warrior wondered how two females could be at this spot, alone, and at that hour of the night; for there was no village within forty miles of the place. There could be no hunting party near, or he would have discovered it. He approached them; but they seemed unconscious of his presence. The young female finding her prayers unheeded, sprang up, and made a desperate attempt to get possession of the tomahawk. A furious struggle ensued, but the old woman was victorious. Twisting one hand in the long black hair of her victim, she raised the weapon in her other, and prepared to strike. The face of the young female was turned to the light, and the warrior beheld with horror, the features of his deceased wife. In an instant he sprang forward, and his tomahawk was buried in the skull of the old squaw. But ere he had time to clasp the form of his wife, the ground opened, both sank from his sight, and on the spot appeared a rock of white salt. He had broken a piece from it, and brought it to his tribe.

This tradition is still current among the different tribes of Indians frequenting that portion of the country. They also imagine, that the rock is still under custody of the old squaw, and that the only way to obtain a portion of it, is to attack her. For this reason, before attempting to collect salt, they beat the ground with clubs and tomahawks, and each blow is considered as inflicted upon the person of the hag. The ceremony is continued, until they imagine she has been sufficiently belaboured, to resign her treasure without opposition. This superstition, though privately ridiculed by the chiefs of the different tribes, is still practised by them, and most devoutly credited by the rabble.

CHAP. XIII.

THE OTOE MESSENGERS.

On the afternoon following, a little before sunset, we encamped within ten miles of the Otoe village. Several times during the day, we had observed the heads of Indians, peering over the hills, but they had instantly disappeared upon being remarked, nor had an Indian ventured to approach. Our place of encampment was on a small knoll. At its foot, a meagre run of impure water was struggling through the grass, while a long line of tall, rank weeds marked its course, as it wound a passage along the different hollows. A solitary tree grew over a small puddle, which had formed in the prairie; and a cluster of wild plum trees were knotted together around its trunk. With these exceptions, there was not a tree or a bush in sight.

At a little distance from us was the site of a deserted Indian village. It had been uninhabited for many years, and the stations where the lodges once stood were overgrown with weeds and creeping vines. A short distance off was the burial ground of the place, which evidently had not been visited for a long time. The tall grass waved upon the large mounds, and the frightened prairie hen started up from the resting places of the dead.

We had scarcely encamped, and fixed up the largest tent, when the loud cry, “Indian a-head!” was bellowed out by the stentorian lungs of one of the soldiers.

The savage was on a hill, about five hundred yards distant. He was mounted upon a small black horse; clothed in a scarlet blanket, and in his hand held a long spear. He sat for some moments watching our movements; then thumping his heels into the sides of his horse, he dashed across a hollow that intervened, and galloped to the door of the tent. Here he sprang from the animal, and turning him loose, walked up to the guide. They were well acquainted; but his salutation was calm and cold; a slight smile played over his face, for a moment, as he recognized him, then all was quiet. His features were like stone; and whatever passions may have lurked within his bosom, his countenance was not the mirror that reflected them. He was attired in the wild garb of those Indians, who as yet had but little intercourse with the whites. A pair of rough leggings were drawn over his legs, and a piece of blue cloth was secured around his hips. The rest of his body was unclothed, unless the red blanket, which most of the time, lay on the ground at his feet, might have been considered part of his apparel.

The chief of the Otoe village had been apprised of our approach, and had sent this warrior to watch, lest we should come upon the town before it was prepared for our reception. He hung around the tent for some time, saying little; but we could see, that while his face was apparently turned towards the ground, his dark eyes were moving with restless activity in every direction, scanning every action of the party. He remained with us a short time; then having received a few presents for the chiefs and one or two for himself, he caught the end of the buffalo tug, which though secured to the neck of his horse, was long enough to trail twenty feet after him in the grass—and with a sudden jerk brought the animal to him and sprang upon his back.

He had scarcely mounted, before another Indian appeared on an opposite hill, and galloped towards us. He exchanged a slight salutation with the first comer, and passing him, shook hands with the guide. There was more cordiality about him, than we had observed in the other, and his face wanted the cold reserve, which marked that of the first. Upon reaching the tent, he immediately signified his intention to remain during the night, and accordingly turned loose the small white horse upon which he rode. Then lighting his pipe, he wrapped his blanket round him, and quietly seated himself near the fire—watching the cook, who was busily engaged in preparing supper.

The other, finding what was his intention, started off towards the village, and in a few moments was out of sight.

CHAP. XIV.

AN OTOE WARRIOR.—THE IOTAN CHIEF.

The whole prairie was glowing with the rays of the morning sun when we started for the Otoe village. Our journey lay for the whole distance, along the borders of the Platte. It was a soft golden morning, and the water danced with a very air of happiness, sparkling and bubbling in silver and rainbow brightness, as it scudded along its broad channel. Its surface was studded with islands, teeming with verdure, and tinted with all the various hues of autumn. The birds were piping out their matin hymns, and the fish were splashing sportively beneath their watery covering, sending a thousand silver circlets eddying onward to the shore. The prairie grass was bending beneath the dew-drops, which hung like strings of crystal upon their withering blades.

The heavy waggons were now kept closely together. The whole party, which during the first part of the journey had straggled widely apart, were collected. Our Otoe friend rode in front, accompanied by Major D——, the Indian agent. We had travelled for several miles, when we observed a single Indian galloping towards us on a large spotted horse. In a few moments he came up. He was one of the principal braves of the Otoe nation. He was completely naked, with the exception of a small piece of cloth secured around his hips. His head was shaven, and to the scalp-lock was attached an ornament of deer’s hair, resembling the crest of an ancient helmet. His whole person, head, face, and body, had been covered with vermilion, until it was the colour of blood, and at a few yards’ distance, he looked as if he had been skinned alive. But notwithstanding his bloody appearance, his countenance, though calm and grave, had a mild expression not usually met with among the Indians. His whole demeanour was prepossessing, and when he spoke, his voice was like soft music. He was a favourite with most of the wild traders in that part of the country, on account of his generous character. If a stranger entered the village, he was the first to welcome him to his lodge, and to protect him from the insults of the meaner spirits of his nation. Yet even with this chivalrous nature, he was an Indian warrior, and an Indian warrior is little better than a murderer. He had counted as many scalps as any of his nation; but those of hoary age, of the woman and the child, were hanging in the smoke of his lodge, in companionship with those of the war-worn warrior.

In an hour’s time we arrived within a short distance of the village, though as yet it was hidden from our sight by a high bluff. Suddenly, a horseman dashed from behind it, and came towards us, plying his lash, and urging his horse forward at a mad speed. The cry of “The Iotan!” burst from several who had before seen him; and in a few moments this redoubtable chief was by our side. He had evidently brought into service the whole of his wardrobe, much of which he had received from the whites. His hair was long, and round it was bound a large piece of skin from the head of the grisly bear. Round his neck, hung a necklace of the claws of the same animal; and what was of more importance in his estimation, he was clothed in a long surtout coat of blue cloth, adorned with red facings, and enormously large brass buttons, and garnished upon each shoulder, with a pair of tarnished, sickly-looking, silver epaulettes. From beneath the skirts of the coat appeared two bare legs; and he wore a pair of coarse mocassins of buffalo hide.

There was a look of comic slyness lurking around the eyes of this chief, united with an irascible twinkle, which bespoke a character habitually good natured, but prone to occasional gusts of passion. The most prominent feature of his face, however, had suffered mutilation. The end of his nose was wanting. I was curious to learn, whether this singular wound had been received in battle or private brawl; and my inquiries made me acquainted with a curious tale of Indian revenge. There are a dozen different versions of the story, in circulation among the traders and trappers; but as far as I could ascertain, the following is the most correct.

CHAP. XV.

THE IOTAN AND HIS BROTHER, OR INDIAN REVENGE.

It was some years before the Iotan had reached the rank of a chief, that he was despoiled of his nose in the following manner:—

Several Otoe Indians, by dint of paying fifty times their value, had become possessed of a number of kegs of whiskey. As this was rather a rarity, a council was called, and a general carousal of the male portion of the village resolved upon. The females were excluded: it being deemed necessary that they should remain sober, to exercise a conjugal care over their husbands, when so inebriated as to be unable to take care of themselves. In the mean time, a person was appointed as guard, whose business it was to keep watch over the liquor, and drive off all interlopers, who might be inclined to test its quality before the time appointed. After three long, and to them lingering days, the time came round; and at the appointed hour not a soul was behindhand.

The signal was given, and the revel commenced. As the liquor began to work upon the passions of the revellers, they grew furious. They howled, yelled, and fought. The females fled from the building. All weapons had been removed beforehand; for they knew their own ungovernable nature, when under the influence of liquor, and, therefore, had taken precautions to prevent the occurrence of mischief.

But when the whiskey commenced its work, the savage was changed to a demon, and the lodge resounded with their screams and howling; there was a hell within its bosom.

The giant warrior fixed his gripe upon the trembling frame of the aged; brother smote brother; friends fought with bitter fury, and the weak and decrepit were trampled under foot.

It was in this stage of the riot that the Iotan and his brother had a furious scuffle. They grappled and rolled upon the ground. In the frenzy of strife and intoxication, his brother bit off the end of his nose, and instantly extricating himself, rushed out of the lodge.

The Iotan was perfectly sobered; he paused for a moment, looking intently in the fire, without uttering a word; then drawing his blanket over his head, walked out of the building and hid himself in his own lodge. On the following morning he sought his brother, and told him that he had disfigured him for life: “tonight,” said he, “I will go to my lodge and sleep; if I can forgive you when the sun rises, you are safe; if not, you die.” He kept his word; he slept upon his purpose; but sleep brought not mercy. He sent word to his brother that he had resolved upon his death, that there was no further hope for him; at the same time he besought him to make no resistance, but to meet his fate as a warrior should.

His brother received the message and fled from the village. An Indian is untiring in his pursuit of revenge, and though years may elapse, yet he will obtain it in the end. From the time that it became the fixed purpose of the Iotan to slay his brother, his assiduity never slept; he hunted him for months. He pursued his trail over the prairies; he followed his track from one thicket to another; he traced him through the friendly villages, but without success; for although he was untiring, his brother was watchful, and kept out of his way. The old warrior then changed his plan of action. He laid in wait for him in the forest, crouching like a tiger, in the paths which he thought he might frequent in hunting, but he was for a long time unsuccessful. At length, one day, while seated on a dead tree, he heard the crackling noise of a twig breaking beneath a cautious footstep. He instantly crouched behind the log and watched the opposite thicket. Presently an Indian emerged from it, and gazed cautiously around. The Iotan recognized his brother instantly. His careworn face and emaciated form evinced the anxiety and privations that he had suffered. But this was nothing to the Iotan; as yet his revenge was unsated, and the miserable appearance of his brother touched no chord of his heart. He waited until he was within a few feet of him; then sprang from his lurking place and met him face to face. His brother was unarmed; but met his fiery look with calmness and without flinching.

“Ha! ha! brother,” cried the Iotan, cocking his rifle, “I have followed you long, in vain,—now I have you—you must die.”

The other made no reply; but throwing off his blanket, stepped before him, and presented his breast. The Iotan raised his rifle and shot him through the heart.

His revenge was gratified; but from that hour a change came over him. He became gloomy and morose; shunned the society of his fellow-men, and roamed the woods, where he was nearly driven to suicide by the workings of his feelings, and the phantasies of his brain. It was not until many years had elapsed, that he recovered from the deep anguish caused by this unnatural act of vengeance.

CHAP. XVI.

THE RECEPTION.—THE TOWN.

It was many years after this savage deed that the Iotan was appointed chief of the Otoe tribe, and his after conduct fully justified the choice of the nation. To an ingenious skill in devising and planning war parties, he added a desperate daring in carrying them into effect. And though now well stricken in years, there is no warrior more constantly lurking in the path of the enemy, and when it comes to the deadly struggle, no voice is raised in a louder war whoop, and no arm falls heavier upon their foes, than that of the Iotan chief.

The old warrior welcomed us cordially, then turning round, he rode with us in the direction of his village. While he was speaking with the commissioner, several dusky forms clambered the high bluff before us, and stood upon its dizzy verge, watching our movements. Suddenly the Iotan galloped a few yards in front, and waved his arm, uttering a long, shrill yell. It was answered by a loud whoop from those on the hill; who instantly commenced whirling their blankets around their heads. Then all was silent.

For a few moments we were in doubt as to the meaning of the manœuvre; but suddenly a loud roar rose from behind the bluff, and a dark troop of wild horsemen burst round its base, and came pouring down upon us. There must have been several hundred of them. Every man was naked, but glaring with paint. They flooded onward, pealing out scream upon scream, brandishing their spears, and whirling their tomahawks around their heads. It seemed as if old Pluto had given a holiday, and that his crew were revelling upon the earth, under the forms of these snorting steeds and their wilder masters. Still they came on, and the din increased. The old chief was unmoved, and sat like a statue upon his horse. I looked around upon our little band: there were several lowering brows and tightly compressed lips, and the fingers of two or three were on their gun triggers. They were not accustomed to the Indian welcome; and to them, all this long parade of yelling warriors wore a menacing appearance. The band had now approached within a hundred yards. We could perceive the flashing eyes of the straining horses, the bare teeth, scowling brows, and starting muscles of the riders. Bow clattered against bow; tomahawk clashed against tomahawk, and voice was blended with voice, until the whole din rose in the air, like the wild tumultuous roar of a raging sea. They were close upon us;—another moment—and we were lost. The eyes of the soldiers began to flash fire, their teeth were clenched, and there was an expression about their faces, which told, that in spite of numbers, their resistance would be bloody. At that moment, at a signal of the Iotan, the wild horde separated, and whirled around, enveloped in a cloud of dust.

The old chief smiled with an air of grim satisfaction, as he observed the effect produced upon us by his warriors; then raising his voice, he joined in the wild mêlée around us. Horse dashed against horse, as the band swept onward in a large circle. Some were hurled from their seats; others clung to the manes of the maddened horses. The strong poured down upon the weak and brushed them from their paths. Ever and anon, some little pepper-spirited horse, vexed with the hustling, would pause to discharge his heels into the ribs of his next neighbour; but before it could be done, the crowd would press upon him, and again he would be borne onward, in the rushing course of the living whirlpool. No one regarded his neighbour; each was under the influence of a mad excitement. A giant Indian was dashing around, upon a horse as powerful as himself, at the inner verge of the ring. In front of him was another, on a little nag, who kept near the border for safety. Suddenly they came in contact. The powerful steed swept onward as if he had met with no obstacle. The little horse spun out of his path, and his rider threw a somerset in the air, landing in the very midst of the throng. Fifty hoofs clattered over his head; but he scrambled out, caught his horse, bounded on his back with a loud whoop, and flourish of his tomahawk, and pursued his course as if nothing had happened.

After this scene of hubbub and confusion had continued for about fifteen minutes, the crowd gradually ceased its clamour, and formed in a large circle round us, with their horses’ heads towards the party. Presently the ring broke and was extended in two lines, through which a band of about thirty warriors slowly advanced, to a long solemn chant, sung by the whole troop, and accompanied by a kind of drum. This band was formed of the flower of the Indian village. None were admitted except those who could boast of having taken a certain number of scalps, or of having performed an equally honourable service, in stealing a large number of horses. These warriors were highly ornamented; paint of every hue was laid upon their bodies. Their heads were decorated with feathers and the variegated plumage of the gaudy birds of the Platte islands. Long strings of wampum hung from their necks and ears. Each bore a calumet, adorned with feathers and tinkling bells. Some wore glittering armlets and collars of tin. Their heads were shaven, and covered with vermilion, and from the top of each hung the chivalrous scalp lock, generally adorned with an eagle’s plume. As much care had been bestowed upon the horses as upon their riders, and they had been selected from the whole village. They now moved forward with proud step, as if conscious of the haughty character of those who guided them; but this was as much owing to the horsemanship of the riders, as to the spirit of the animals themselves; for there is no class of people better able to show off the points of a horse than the Indians, for they almost live in their saddle from childhood.

The band moved slowly forward, and then commenced walking their horses round, a-breast, in the space between the multitude and our party; still keeping up their loud and not inharmonious song, which, we afterwards learned, was in praise of the whites—that is, of their liberality.

At length the chief gave a signal, and this troop fell back into the general crowd. Several horses were then presented to the party by the braves and distinguished warriors.

While this was going on, one old warrior, who was notorious for being the greatest thief, and for having killed more men than any other in the village, rose up to boast of what he had done in his younger days; and to let us know that he was not a man to be overlooked—a thing which seemed very likely to happen in the bustle which prevailed. He was lean and shrivelled; but his strength must have been prodigious in his prime, for every muscle rose like a rope, upon his withered frame. He spoke for about fifteen minutes, and then drew back. When he had concluded, another old man rose up, and in like manner vaunted his former exploits, many of which savoured strongly of the marvellous. These speeches were translated with great gravity by the interpreter, who, to confirm our wavering belief, took an opportunity of whispering into our ears that, “in boasting of his exploits, an Indian was always scrupulous in adhering to the truth.” This was perfectly convincing; and while we travelled along within the verge of possibility, we were resolved to give credence to all that he uttered.

After listening to a few more of these worthies, and smoking a few pipes of kinne-ka-neek with the different chiefs, the Iotan rose up, and the party prepared to move onward towards the town.

In crossing the prairie, which separated us from the village, our course was stopped by a deep gulley, which about a dozen squaws were engaged in filling with bushes and weeds, to render it passable for the heavy waggons. While this was going on, the old Indian who had first delivered his address, came sweeping up at a full gallop. He did not pause at the hollow; but, probably for the purpose of showing off his horsemanship, dashed down into it. His horse made a vigorous spring up the opposite bank, but lost his footing on its slippery verge, and, after a desperate scrambling, rolled with his rider, floundering in the mud at the bottom. There was a loud shout of laughter at his expense. For a moment he stood glaring about him like an angry tiger; then raising his withered arm, he shook it at the crowd. “Laugh on! laugh on!” exclaimed he, “I am old and feeble now; but there was a time when you would not have dared to have done this.” Having given vent to his impotent rage, he sprang upon his horse, scrambled up the bank, and galloped forward to the village.