Indian Legends of Minnesota Part 15

With common stroke their bow-strings' tw.a.n.g Sounded death to that fated band.

The avengers closed upon their foe, And ere they ceased the conflict wild, Laid every feathered top-knot low; In heaps Ojibway braves were piled.

When all the last red scalps were torn They turned to find the murdered maid.

All in her tribe would rise and mourn When dead before them she was laid.

But strange event! With wondering tone, Each asked of each where she had flown.

In vain they searched. They found her not; But there, upon the very spot Where she had fallen, a fountain gushed Which never man had seen before.

They gathered round with breathing hushed And gazed, and wondered more and more.

While every gra.s.s-blade growing near Was red and matted thick with gore, The overflow was sweet and clear; The bosom of the bubbling spring Was spotless as a spirit's wing.

With single voice they all proclaimed The magic spot a sacred place.

The vanished girl was thenceforth named "Sweet Water," and to see her face Dahkotah hearts will journey here Till from the earth they disappear; And when they die, their souls shall know The secret of its crystal flow.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ROCK GATEWAY, LAKE PEPIN.]

Death of Winona.

Down the broad _Ha-Ha Wak-pa_[45] the band took their way to the Games at _Keoza_, While the swift-footed hunters by land ran the sh.o.r.es for the elk and the bison.

Like _magas_[46] ride the birchen canoes on the breast of the dark, winding river, By the willow-fringed island they cruise, by the gra.s.sy hills green to their summits; By the lofty bluffs hooded with oaks that darken the deep with their shadows; And bright in the sun gleam the strokes of the oars in the hands of the women.

With the band went Winona. The oar plied the maid with the skill of a hunter.

They tarried a time on the sh.o.r.e of _Remnica_--the Lake of the Mountains.[47]

There the fleet hunters followed the deer, and the th.o.r.n.y _pahin_ for the women.

From the _tees_ rose the smoke of good cheer, curling blue through the tops of the maples, Near the foot of a cliff that arose, like the battle-scarred walls of a castle, Up-towering, in rugged repose, to a dizzy height over the waters.

But the man-wolf still followed his prey, and the step-mother ruled in the _teepee_; Her will must Winona obey, by the custom and law of Dakotas.

The gifts to the _teepee_ were brought--the blankets and beads of the White men, And Winona, the orphaned, was bought by the crafty, relentless Tamdoka.

In the Spring-time of life, in the flush of the gladsome mid-May days of Summer, When the bobolink sang and the thrush, and the red robin chirped in the branches, To the tent of the brave must she go; she must kindle the fire in his _teepee_; She must sit in the lodge of her foe, as a slave at the feet of her master.

Alas for her waiting! the wings of the East-wind have brought her no tidings; On the meadow the meadow-lark sings, but sad is her song to Winona, For the glad warbler's melody brings but the memory of voices departed.

The Day-Spirit walked in the west to his lodge in the land of the shadows; His s.h.i.+ning face gleamed on the crest of the oak-hooded hills and the mountains, And the meadow-lark hied to her nest, and the mottled owl peeped from her cover.

But hark! from the _teepees_ a cry! Hear the shouts of the hurrying warriors!

Are the feet of the enemy nigh,--of the crafty and cruel Ojibways?

Nay; look!--on the dizzy cliff high--on the brink of the cliff stands Winona!

Her sad face up-turned to the sky. Hark! I hear the wild wail of her death-song:

"My Father's Spirit, look down, look down-- From your hunting grounds in the s.h.i.+ning skies; Behold, for the light of my heart is gone; The light is gone and Winona dies.

"I looked to the East, but I saw no star; The face of my White Chief was turned away.

I harked for his footsteps in vain; afar His bark sailed over the Sunrise-sea.

"Long have I watched till my heart is cold; In my breast it is heavy and cold as a stone.

No more shall Winona his face behold, And the robin that sang in her heart is gone.

"Shall I sit at the feet of the treacherous brave?

On his hateful couch shall Winona lie?

Shall she kindle his fire like a coward slave?

No!--a warrior's daughter can bravely die.

"My Father's Spirit, look down, look down-- From your hunting-grounds in the s.h.i.+ning skies; Behold, for the light in my heart is gone; The light is gone and Winona dies."

Swift the strong hunters climbed as she sang, and the foremost of all was Tamdoka; From crag to crag upward he sprang; like a panther he leaped to the summit.

Too late!--on the brave as he crept turned the maid in her scorn and defiance; Then swift from the dizzy height leaped. Like a brant arrow-pierced in mid-heaven, Down whirling and fluttering she fell, and headlong plunged into the waters.

Forever she sank mid the wail, and the wild lamentation of women.

Her lone spirit evermore dwells in the depths of the Lake of the Mountains, And the lofty cliff evermore tells to the years as they pa.s.s her sad story.[48]

In the silence of sorrow the night o'er the earth spread her wide, sable pinions; And the stars hid their faces; and light on the lake fell the tears of the spirits.

As her sad sisters watched on the sh.o.r.e for her spirit to rise from the waters, They heard the swift dip of an oar, and a boat they beheld like a shadow, Gliding down through the night in the gray, gloaming mists on the face of the waters.

'Twas the bark of DuLuth on his way from the Falls to the Games at _Keoza_.

The Legend of the Moccasin Flower.

Minneopa was a maiden Fleet of foot and fond of sport, She, her mother's only daughter, Cared not for the harsh report That she left the woman's labor To her only parent, while With the hunt and ramble busied, Oft she wandered many a mile.

Scarce her cousins could excel her In the bending of the bow, Though they were so tall and manly, With them hunting she would go.

She had shot the timid rabbit, With her arrows swift and keen, Now she wished to slay the red-deer As the hunters she had seen.

Beautiful she was, and graceful, Like the young fawn she pursued, Gayly decked with beads and wampum, For her mother fond endured With great worth this only daughter; As her sire a chief had been, E'en the boyish pranks and pastime For her no reproof could win.

Tiny moccasins, so dainty, Well her little feet encased, And her long braids streamed behind her As down woodland paths she raced.

"I will go alone and find them, Then the red-deer I will kill."

So she went, for all she minded Was her own caprice and will.

Warm and smoky Indian summer Lent the earth a russet glow, And the hazel nuts dropped softly 'Mong the rustling leaves below.

Far she wandered, but no creature Caught her ear or crossed her path, Save the blue-jay in the treetop Screaming oft in seeming wrath.

Suddenly she heard a roaring, Crackling sound. In sickening dread Looked and saw the forest burning With a lurid flame and red.

Fast she flew; the flames spread faster, Caught her in their fierce embrace; Minneopa, never, never, Will you now the wild deer chase.

Ashes gray and failing cinders Made for her a lonely grave.

But with springtime came the verdure, And the kindly gra.s.ses waved; Peeping up came gorgeous blossoms, Never seen on earth before, Shaped and colored like the moccasins That the Indian maiden wore.

Some there were of heavenly coloring, Such as clouds at sunset wear, White and rosy; they were emblems Of the new ones waiting where In the spirit land she wanders With her father strong and brave; And the mother, when she saw them, Knew they marked her daughter's grave.

IDA s.e.xTON SEARLS.

THE END.

NOTES.