Chapter 1

Produced by David Newman, Linda Cantoni, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and the PG Finale Team.

[Transcriber's Note: This e-book contains passages in Native American dialects; hyphenation and accents have been preserved as they appear in the original. Italics are represented by underscores. Obvious printer errors in English passages have been corrected, in particular the inconsistent use of "rythm" for "rhythm."]

INDIAN STORY AND SONG

FROM NORTH AMERICA

By

ALICE C. FLETCHER

_Holder of the Thaw Fellowship Peabody Museum Harvard University_

Boston Small Maynard & Company Publishers

_Copyright, 1900, By Alice C. Fletcher_

_Entered at Stationers' Hall_

_To_

MY INDIAN FRIENDS

FROM WHOM I HAVE GATHERED

STORY AND SONG

PREFACE.

_At the Congress of Musicians held in connection with the Trans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha in July, 1898, several essays upon the songs of the North American Indians were read, in illustration of which a number of Omaha Indians, for the first time, sang their native melodies to an audience largely composed of trained musicians._

_This unique presentation not only demonstrated the scientific value of these aboriginal songs in the study of the development of music, but suggested their availability as themes, novel and characteristic, for the American composer. It was felt that this availability would be greater if the story, or the ceremony which gave rise to the song, could be known, so that, in developing the theme, all the movements might be consonant with the circumstances that had inspired the motive. In response to the expressed desire of many musicians, I have here given a number of songs in their matrix of story._

_Material like that brought together in these pages has hitherto appeared only in scientific publications, where it has attracted the lively interest of specialists both in Europe and America. It is now offered in a more popular form, that the general public may share with the student the light shed by these untutored melodies upon the history of music; for these songs take us back to a stage of development antecedent to that in which culture music appeared among the ancients, and reveal to us something of the foundations upon which rests the art of music as we know it to-day._

_Many of the stories and songs in this little book are now for the first time published. All have been gathered directly from the people, in their homes, or as I have listened to the earnest voice of the native priest explaining the ancient ceremonials of his fathers. The stories are close translations, losing only a certain picturesqueness and vigour in their foreign guise; but the melodies are exactly as sung by the Indians._

_Indian myths embodying cosmic ideas have passages told in song, tribal legends have their milestones of song, folk-tales at dramatic points break into song; but into these rich fields I have not here entered. This collection reveals something of the wealth of musical and dramatic material that can be gleaned outside of myth, legend, and folk-lore among the natives of our country._

_Aside from its scientific value, this music possesses a charm of spontaneity that cannot fail to please those who would come near to nature and enjoy the expression of emotion untrammelled by the intellectual control of schools. These songs are like the wild flowers that have not yet come under the transforming hand of the gardener._

ALICE C. FLETCHER.

PEABODY MUSEUM, HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

CONTENTS.

PAGE.

STORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU´-SHKA 3

STORY AND SONG OF ISH´-I-BUZ-ZHI 14

STORY AND SONG OF THE LEADER 21

THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER 26

STORY AND SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST 30

A TRYSTING LOVE-SONG 34

STORY AND SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE 39

STORY AND SONG OF ZO_N_´-ZI-MO_N_-DE 45

LOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by Miss E.D. Proctor 49

STORY AND SONG OF THE WREN 53

THE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG 57

STORY AND SONG OF THE MOTHER'S VOW 61

A LOVE-CALL 68

A GAME SONG FROM THE NORTH-WEST COAST 70

STORY AND SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET 74

AN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG 77

STORY OF THE WE´-TO_N_ SONG. 81

A PAWNEE LOVE-SONG 86

STORY AND SONG OF A WARRIOR 88

THE MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG 94

A SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE 96

SACRED SONGS OF PEACE 101

COMFORTING THE CHILD 108

MUSIC IN INDIAN LIFE 114

THE RELATION OF STORY AND SONG 120

LIST OF SONGS.

PAGE.

THE INSIGNIA OF THUNDER (Omaha) 6

THE WARRIOR'S PRAYER (Omaha) 9

THE LAUGH (Ponka) 13

ISH´-I-BUZ-ZHI. Dance Song (Omaha) 18

THE LEADER'S SONG (Omaha) 24

TRIBAL PRAYER (Omaha) 29

THE BIRD'S NEST (Pawnee) 33

TRYSTING LOVE-SONG (Omaha) 36

THE DEATHLESS VOICE (Dakota) 42

ZO_N_´-ZI-MO_N_-DE (Omaha) 46

LOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by Miss E.D. Proctor (Omaha) 50

THE WREN (Pawnee) 54

SONG TO THE SPIRIT (Omaha) 58

THE MOTHER'S VOW (Dakota) 66

A LOVE-CALL (Omaha) 69

GAME SONG (Vancouver's Island) 72

THE INDIAN COQUET (Omaha) 75

AN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG (Omaha) 78

WE´-TO_N_ SONG (Dakota) 84

LOVE-SONG (Pawnee) 87

A WARRIOR'S SONG. Mi´-ka-thi (Ponka) 92

MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG (Tigua) 95

SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE (Arapaho) 98

CHORAL. Sacred Song of Peace (Omaha) 105

THE GIFT OF PEACE (Otoe) 107

KAWAS, THY BABY IS CRYING (Pawnee) 109

THY FATHER IS COMING (Pawnee) 111

LOOK UP (Pawnee) 113

PRAYER FOR RAIN (Mexico) 123

KWAKIUTL SONG (British Columbia) 123

INDIAN STORY AND SONG

STORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU´-SHKA.[1]

[Footnote 1: In the Indian words and vocables the vowels have the continental sound. _G_ is hard, as in _go_; _dh_ is like _th_ in _the_; _th_, as in _thin_; _n_ as in French _en_.]

It had been a warm September day; and I was resting in my hammock, swung from a wide-spreading tree that stood near the tent of my Indian host. We had partaken of our evening meal beside an outdoor fire. The mother was busy clearing away the supper dishes, the men had gone off to look after the horses, the children had fallen asleep, and I lay watching the shadowy darkness come out of the east and slowly pursue the glowing trail of the retreating sun, thinking of the Indian's imagery of night ever haunting and following upon the track of day, seeking to gain the mastery. I was aroused from my musings by hearing the mother say, "It is chilly!" for the fire had died down, and the deep blue of twilight was all about us.

She dropped beside the embers, blew them into a feeble blaze, threw on fresh wood, that crackled and sent up a shower of sparks and soon bright yellow flames illumined the under side of the branches beneath which I was swinging.

The call of the fire summoned one tall form after another out of the dusky surroundings, and around the blazing logs robes were spread here and there, on which the men reclined. By and by the women came and dropped down near the fire, and added the treble of their voices to the deep tones of the men, as the chat of the day's occurrences went on.

It was a peaceful, picturesque scene upon which I looked; and by very contrast my thoughts reverted to the preceding evening, when I had attended a meeting of the He-dhu´-shka, society composed of warriors. The gathering had been in a large tent; and, as the night was warm, the bottom of the tent cover had been lifted to let the breeze blow through. This had given an opportunity for the crowd outside to look within and watch the ceremony and the dramatic dance. To the right of the door, in two circles around the drum, sat the choir of men and women, all in their gala dress. Each member of the society, wrapped in his robe, with measured steps entered the tent, and silently took his seat on the ground against the wall. The ceremony had opened by the choir singing the ritual song which accompanied the act of charring the elder wood with which the face of the Leader was afterward to be painted. As memory brought back the scene in vivid colours,--the blazing fire in the centre of the wide circle of muffled warriors, the solemn aspect of the Leader awaiting the preparation of the elder wood, and his strange appearance after the painting of his face,--I pondered wonderingly as to what it all might signify. In my perplexity I spoke from my hammock to one of the elder men in the group before me:--

"Grandfather, I wish you would explain to me the meaning of what I saw yesterday at the He-dhu´-shka Society. Tell me why the Leader put black on his face."

My friend was accustomed to my questionings, and all eyes were turned toward him as he replied:

"The Leader put the black cloud over his face, because the black cloud is worn by Thunder when it comes near to man. The song sung while this is being done tells that the Leader is making ready and impatiently awaits the commands of the approaching god of war."...

This is the song which accompanied the preparation and the putting on of the insignia of the thunder god. The music is expressive of the tremulous movement of the leaves, of the flying of the birds, of the stir of all nature before the advancing storm, typifying the stirring of the heart of man when summoned to fight the enemies of his people.

[Music: PUTTING ON THE INSIGNIA OF THE THUNDER GOD.

_Omaha. He-dhu´-shka._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de, Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de, Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de, Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-hi-un te dhon-hi-de, Non-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ke-un te dhon-hi-de.]

At the close of the song and ceremony of blackening the Leader's face, I had seen the Leader take the pipe belonging to the society, fill it, and reverently lift the stem upward.

"When the Leader's face is painted," continued the old man, "he offers the pipe to Wa-ko_n_´-da (god). The words of the song then sung mean: Wa-ko_n_´-da, we offer this pipe (the symbol of our unity as a society). Accept it (and us). All the members must join in singing this prayer, and afterward all must smoke the pipe."

[Music: PRAYER OF THE WARRIORS BEFORE SMOKING THE PIPE.

_Omaha. He-dhu´-shka._

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke, Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke, Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke, E-ha dha-ni hin ga _we dho he dho_.]

"The He-dhu´-shka Society is very old," continued my friend. "It is said to have been in existence at the time when the Omahas and the 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,--

"'There they come!'

"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.