Indian Story And Song Part 4

[Music: SONG OF THE WREN.

_p.a.w.nee._

Transcribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.

Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi.]

THE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG.

There was but one funeral song in the Omaha tribe, and this was only sung to honour some man or woman who had been greatly respected by the people.

What one would see, when this song was sung, was in violent contrast to the character of the music. The blithe major strains suggest only happiness. They hardly touch ground, so to speak, but keep their flight up where the birds are flitting about in the suns.h.i.+ne; and, if there are clouds in the blue sky, they are soft and fleecy, and cast no shadows. Yet the men who sang this song were ranged in line before the tent where the dead lay ready for burial. They had drawn the stem of a willow branch through a loop of flesh cut on their left arm, and their blood dripped upon the green leaves and fell in drops to the ground.

The meaning of this strange spectacle and its musical accompaniment, so apparently out of keeping, must be sought for in the beliefs of the people. It was a drama touching two worlds.

The shedding of blood was to express how vital was the loss. This act, visible to the mourners, was an exhibition of sympathy; but music had power to reach the unseen world, so the song was for the spirit of the dead, who could not see the lacerated singers, but could hear them, as they sang to cheer him as he went forth, forced by death to leave all who were dear to him.[7]

[Footnote 7: It was one of the customs of the Omahas to cease wailing at a certain stage in the funeral ceremonies, that the departing friend might not be distressed by the sounds of sorrow, as he left his home behind him,--a custom founded on the same belief as that expressed by this funeral song.]

The song was always sung in unison. The rhythm was accented by each singer beating together two small willow sticks.

There are no words to the song, only vocables; and these belong to the breathing or sighing cla.s.s, indicative of emotion.

[Music: SONG TO THE SPIRIT.

_Omaha._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

E a dha ah E he a ha ah, he ah E dha ah he a ha ah E dha ah E ah E ah ha e ha o E dha he he dhoe ha o o E dha ha he a ha ah E dha ah e ah E ah ha e ha o E dha he dho.]

STORY AND SONG OF THE MOTHER'S VOW.

It was a warm day of early spring on the Upper Missouri, when the subtle joy of awakening life stirs the blood and rouses the fancy. The brown outline of the bare trees was already broken by little leaves that were shaking themselves in the bright sunlight. Flowers were peering through the vivid green of the freshly sprung gra.s.s, the birds had come, and the silence of the year had pa.s.sed. It was a day to enjoy outdoor life, to indulge in hope and happy thoughts. The sky was so blue between the rolling white clouds that one forgot they could ever become portentous of storm. The tents of the Indians, dotted along the banks of the stream, stood like tall white flowers among the trees. Women and children were chatting and calling to each other. Men moved sedately about, busy with preparations for the coming summer days. Young men and maidens were thinking of each other; for the morning song of the lover had been heard, and the signal flash of the mirror[8] had revealed his watching-place to the dark-eyed girl demurely drawing water for the household in the early dawn.

[Footnote 8: Young men carried small looking-gla.s.ses with which they flashed signals.]

Unheeding the pa.s.sage of the hours, I wandered up the narrow valley, noting the fading lines of aboriginal life spread out before me. All at once I became aware that the brightness of the day was overshadowed: a greyish hue, that rapidly deepened, pervaded the scene. Suddenly the wind came over the hills, the birds darted about, and the sound of thunder was heard. Everything was seeking a shelter; and, as I turned in haste, hoping to reach the nearest tent, I saw an old woman emerge from a lodge and in the face of the storm begin to climb the hill, down which the wind swept, laying low the gra.s.s and whipping the heads of the flowers. Seemingly unmindful of the storm, on the woman went, her scant garments flapping, and her hair, seamed with grey, tossing about her wrinkled face. The sight was so strange that I paused to watch her, as she climbed on and on, steadfastly breasting the storm. The lightnings flashed around her, and the thunder echoed among the hills as she reached the top. There she stopped and stood, a silhouette against the surging clouds, her hands uplifted, her head thrown back; and between the thunder peals I heard her voice ring out loud and clear in a song,--a song, I doubted not, that carried a message to the mighty storm, in which to her the G.o.ds were present. Many years have pa.s.sed since I witnessed this scene and learned the story of the woman's song. She is now at rest, and let us hope her lifelong sorrow may have turned to joy.

In the early part of the century a Dakota woman fasted and prayed, and Thunder came to her in her vision. To the G.o.d she promised to give her firstborn child. When she became a mother, she forgot in her joy that the life of her little one did not belong to her; nor did she recall her fateful vow until one bright spring day, when the clouds gathered and she heard the roll of the thunder,--a sound which summoned all persons consecrated to this G.o.d to bring their offerings and to pay their vows. Then she remembered what she had promised; but her heart forbade her to lay the infant, which was smiling in her arms, upon the cloud-swept hill-top. She pressed the baby to her breast, and waited in silence the pa.s.sing of the G.o.d in the storm.

The following spring, when the first thunder pealed, she did not forget her vow; but she could not gather strength to fulfil it.

Another year pa.s.sed, and again the thunder sounded. Taking the toddling child by the hand, the mother climbed the hill; and, when the top was reached, she placed it on the ground and fled. But the boy scrambled up and ran after her, and his frightened cry stayed her feet. He caught her garments and clung to them; and, although the thunder called, she could not obey. Her vow had been made before she knew the strength of a mother's love.

Gathering the boy in her arms, she hid herself and him from the presence of the G.o.d. The storm pa.s.sed, and the mother and child returned to the lodge; but fear had taken possession of her, and she watched her son with eyes in which terror and love struggled for the mastery.

One day, as the little one played beside a rippling brook, laughing and singing in his glee, suddenly the clouds gathered, the flas.h.i.+ng lightning and the cras.h.i.+ng thunder sent beast and bird to cover, and drove the mother out to find her child. She heard his voice above the fury of the storm, calling to her. As she neared the brook, a vivid flash blinded her eyes. For a moment she was stunned; but, recovering, she pushed on, only to be appalled by the sight that met her gaze.

Her boy lay dead. The thunder G.o.d had claimed his own.

No other children came to lighten the sorrow of the lonely woman; and every spring, when the first thunder sounded, and whenever the storm swept the land, this stricken woman climbed the hills, and there, standing alone, facing the black rolling clouds, she sang her song of sorrow and of fealty.

The words of the song are addressed to the G.o.d; but the music, in its swaying rhythm, suggests the mother's memory of the days when she soothed her little child.

The following is a free translation of the Indian words:--

E dho he![9]

Behold! On their mighty pinions flying, They come, the G.o.ds come once more Sweeping o'er the land, Sounding their call to me, to me their own.

Wa-gi-u_n_![10] Ye on mighty pinions flying, Look on me here, me your own, Thinking on my vow As ye return once more, Wa-gi-u_n_!

[Footnote 9: Sighing vocables.]

[Footnote 10: Dakota term for the thunder bird.]

[Music: THE MOTHER'S VOW.

_Dakota._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

E dho he!

Gi-un, gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be Co-dha, gi-don-be a-me, ha-don-be a-me, Wa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho-e.

Wa-gi-un gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be Co-dha gi-don-be ha-we ha-don-be a-me.

Wa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho.]

A LOVE-CALL.

The native flageolet has proved a trusty friend to many a youth to whom nature had denied the power of expressing in vocal melody his fealty to the maiden of his choice. With its woody tones he rivalled the birds as he sounded his love-call from the hills and made glad the heart of the girl, who, catching the signal, awaited his coming at the spring.

There are many bits of music composed for this little instrument, which, in spite of its inaccuracies of pitch, arising from imperfect construction, are not without hints of beauty.

[Music: LOVE CALL.

_Omaha._