Indian Story And Song Part 3

Hi dho ho hi dho ho i dho hi dho ha ha i dha ah hi dha ha hi dha ha hi dha ha idha ha ha hi dho i dha he e dho i.

Ah hi dho hi dho hi dho ho i dha i dho ha ha i dha ah hi dha ha i dha ha hi dha ha i-dha ha ha hi dha e dho he dho.]

The Leader, looking around upon his followers, lifted his voice and said:--

"This was a warrior, who died the death of a warrior. There was joy in his voice!"

The men to whom the strange experience narrated in this story came, afterward banded themselves together in order the better to serve their people, to present to the young men of the tribe an example of generosity in time of peace and of steadfast valour on the field of battle. They kept together during their lives and added to their number, so that the society they formed continued to exist through generations.

The story and song which has been handed down through all these years as the inspiration of the founders of the Ma-wa'-da-ni Society, embodies a truth honoured among all peoples,--that death cannot silence the voice of one who confronts danger with unflinching courage, giving his life in the defence of those dependent upon his prowess. Such a man might fall in the trackless wilderness, and his bones lie unhonoured and unburied until they blanched with age: still his voice would ring out in the solitude until its message of courage and joy should find an echo in the heart of the living.

STORY AND SONG OF ZO_N_-ZI'-MO_N_-DE.

Victory songs, of which this is one, were sung when the people with rhythmic steps celebrated ceremonially the return of victorious warriors. Because of its peculiar accessory, the scalp, this ceremony has been called by us the "scalp dance," although no Indian so designates it.

The contrast between the sentiment of this story, teaching respect and honour to the old, and the ceremony, as we baldly see it, is startling. But it is with the Indian as with ourselves: the cruelties of war and the gentler emotions are often intertwined, the latter surviving and lifting up a standard for emulation, the former pa.s.sing away, dying with the instigating pa.s.sion. Among the many hundreds of Indian songs I have known, none commemorate acts of cruelty.

Years ago the Omaha tribe and the Sioux met while searching for a buffalo herd; and, as was usual, a battle ensued, for each tribe was determined to drive the other from the region of the game. Although the Sioux outnumbered the Omaha, the latter remained victors of the field.

[Music: ZO_N_-ZI-MO_N_-DE.

_Omaha._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Ye ha he ya e he dha ye ha he ya e he dha ah ha ya e he dha ye ha he ya e he dha dha ha dhoe.

Zo_n_-zi-mo_n_-de a-ma sha e dhe.

Ah ha ya e he dha e ha he ya e ha dha dha ha dho.]

An old Omaha, interested to observe how some of the tribe would conduct themselves in their first battle, made his way toward the scene of conflict. It chanced that just as a Sioux warrior had fallen, pierced by an arrow, and the Omaha men were rus.h.i.+ng forward to secure their war honours, this old man was discovered coming up the hill, aided by his bow, which he used as a staff. One of the young warriors called to his companions:--

"Hold! Yonder comes Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de, let us give him the honours."

Then, out of courtesy to the veteran, each young warrior paused and stepped aside, while the old man, all out of breath, hastened to the fallen foe. There he turned and thanked the young men for permitting him, whom age had brought to the edge of the grave, to count yet one more honour as a warrior.[5]

[Footnote 5: To be the first to touch the body of an enemy counts as a war honour.]

The words of the song give the exclamation of the generous youth: "Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de comes! Stand aside! He comes."

AN OMAHA LOVE-SONG.

The words of many love-songs refer to the dawn, the time of the day when they are usually sung; but this reference is not a literal one.

It figures the dawn of love in the breast of the singer. The Indian stands so close to Nature that he sees his own moods reflected or interpreted in hers.

The Indian words of this song, freely translated, are:--

As the day comes forth from night, So I come forth to seek thee.

Lift thine eyes and behold him Who comes with the day to thee.

[Music: LOVE SONG.

_Omaha._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Fades the star of morning, West winds gently blow, gently blow, gently blow.

Soft the pine trees murmur, Soft the waters flow, Soft the waters flow, Soft the waters flow.

Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh.

Night and gloom will vanish When the pale stars die, When the pale stars die, When the pale stars die.

Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry.]

Miss Edna Dean Proctor has rendered into charming verse the scene and the feeling of the hour, giving us an Indian love-song in its entirety. By her courtesy I am able to reproduce here her poem written some years ago, on hearing the melody which I had then recently transcribed during one of my sojourns among the Omaha Indians:--

Fades the star of morning, West winds gently blow, Soft the pine-trees murmur, Soft the waters flow.

Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh, Night and gloom will vanish When the pale stars die; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!

From my tent I wander, Seeking only thee, As the day from darkness Comes for stream and tree.

Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh; Lo! the dawn is breaking, Rosy beams the sky; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!

Lonely is our valley, Though the month is May; Come and be my moonlight, I will be thy day!

Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Oh, behold me nigh!

Now the sun is rising, Now the shadows fly; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!

THE STORY AND SONG OF THE WREN.[6]

[Footnote 6: Both story and song were recited to me by an old priest of the rite, and were interpreted by Mr. James R. Murie.]

This little parable occurs in the ritual of a religious ceremony of the p.a.w.nee tribe. The song has no words, except a term for wren, the vocables being intended only to imitate the notes of the bird, nevertheless, one can trace, through the variation and repet.i.tion of the musical motive, the movement of the gentle thoughts of the teacher as given in the story which belongs to the song.

"A priest went forth in the early dawn. The sky was clear. The gra.s.s and wild flowers waved in the breeze that rose as the sun threw its first beams over the earth. Birds of all kinds vied with each other, as they sang their joy on that beautiful morning. The priest stood listening. Suddenly, off at one side, he heard a trill that rose higher and clearer than all the rest. He moved toward the place whence the song came, that he might see what manner of bird it was that could send farther than all the others its happy, laughing notes. As he came near, he beheld a tiny brown bird with open bill, the feathers on its throat rippling with the fervour of its song. It was the wren, the smallest, the least powerful of birds, that seemed to be most glad and to pour out in ringing melody to the rising sun its delight in life.

"As the priest looked, he thought: 'Here is a teaching for my people.

Every one can be happy, even the most insignificant can have his song of thanks.'

"So he made the story of the wren and sang it; and it has been handed down from that day,--a day so long ago no man can remember the time."