Chapter 13

By his side sat Winona. He laid his thin, shriveled hand on her tresses, "Winona my daughter," he said, "no longer thy father beholds thee; But he feels the long locks of thy hair, and the days that are gone are remembered, When Sisóka [BG] sat faithful and fair in the lodge of swift footed Ta-té-psin. The white years have broken my spear; from my bow they have taken the bow-string; But once on the trail of the deer, like a gray wolf from sunrise till sunset, By woodland and meadow and mere, ran the feet of Ta-té-psin untiring. But dim are the days that are gone, and darkly around me they wander, Like the pale, misty face of the moon when she walks through the storm of the winter; And sadly they speak in my ear. I have looked on the graves of my kindred. The Land of the Spirits is near. Death walks by my side like a shadow. Now open thine ear to my voice, and thy heart to the wish of thy father, And long will Winona rejoice that she heeded the words of Ta-té-psin. The cold, cruel winter is near, and famine will sit in the teepee. What hunter will bring me the deer, or the flesh of the bear or the bison? For my kinsmen before me have gone; they hunt in the land of the shadows. In my old age forsaken, alone, must I die in my teepee of hunger? Winona, Tamdóka can make my empty lodge laugh with abundance; For thine aged and blind father's sake, to the son of the Chief speak the promise. For gladly again to my tee will the bridal gifts come for my daughter. A fleet-footed hunter is he, and the good spirits feather his arrows; And the cold, cruel winter will be a feast-time instead of a famine."

[BG] The Robin--the name of Winona's Mother.

"My father," she said, and her voice was filial and full of compassion, "Would the heart of Ta-té-psin rejoice at the death of Winona, his daughter? The crafty Tamdóka I hate. Must I die in his _teepee_ of sorrow? For I love the White Chief and I wait his return to the land of Dakotas. When the cold winds of winter return, and toss the white robes of the prairies, The fire of the White Chief will burn in his lodge at the Meeting-of-Waters. Winona's heart followed his feet far away to the land of the Morning, And she hears in her slumber his sweet, kindly voice call the name of thy daughter. My father, abide, I entreat, the return of the brave to _Katáhga_. The wild-rice is gathered, the meat of the bison is stored in the _teepee_; Till the Coon-Moon[71] enough and to spare; and if then the white warrior return not, Winona will follow the bear and the coon to their dens in the forest. She is strong; she can handle the spear; she can bend the stout bow of the hunter; And swift on the trail of the deer will she run o'er the snow on her snow-shoes. Let the step-mother sit in the tee, and kindle the fire for my father; And the cold, cruel winter shall be a feast-time instead of a famine." "The White Chief will never return," half angrily muttered Ta-té-psin; "His camp-fire will nevermore burn in the land of the warriors he slaughtered. I grieve, for my daughter has said that she loves the false friend of her kindred; For the hands of the White Chief are red with the blood of the trustful Dakotas."

Then warmly Winona replied, "Tamdóka himself is the traitor, And the brave-hearted stranger had died by his treacherous hand in the forest, But thy daughter's voice bade him beware of the sly death that followed his footsteps. The words of Tamdóka are fair, but his heart is the den of the serpents. When the braves told their tale like a bird sang the heart of Winona rejoicing, But gladlier still had she heard of the death of the crafty Tamdóka. The Chief will return; he is bold, and he carries the fire of Wakínyan: To our people the truth will be told, and Tamdóka will hide like a coward." His thin locks the aged brave shook; to himself half inaudibly muttered; To Winona no answer he spoke,--only moaned he "_Micúnksee! Micúnksee_![BH] In my old age forsaken and blind! _Yun-hé-hé! Micúnksee! Micúnksee_!"[BI] And Wicháka, the pitying dog, whined as he looked on the face of his master.

[BH] My Daughter; My Daughter.

[BI] Alas, O My Daughter,--My Daughter!

FAMINE.

_Wazíya_ came down from the North-- from the land of perpetual winter. From his frost-covered beard issued forth the sharp-biting, shrill-whistling North-wind; At the touch of his breath the wide earth turned to stone, and the lakes and the rivers: From his nostrils the white vapors rose, and they covered the sky like a blanket. Like the down of _Magá_[BJ] fell the snows, tossed and whirled into heaps by the North-wind. Then the blinding storms roared on the plains, like the simoons on sandy Sahara; From the fangs of the fierce hurricanes fled the elk and the deer and the bison. Ever colder and colder it grew, till the frozen ground cracked and split open; And harder and harder it blew, till the hillocks were bare as the boulders. To the southward the buffalos fled, and the white rabbits hid in their burrows; On the bare sacred mounds of the dead howled the gaunt, hungry wolves in the night-time, The strong hunters crouched in their _tees_; by the lodge-fires the little ones shivered; And the Magic-Men[BK] danced to appease, in their _teepee_, the wrath of _Wazíya_; But famine and fatal disease, like phantoms, crept into the village. The Hard Moon[BL] was past, but the moon when the coons make their trails in the forest[BM] Grew colder and colder. The coon, or the bear, ventured not from his cover; For the cold, cruel Arctic simoon swept the earth like the breath of a furnace. In the _tee_ of Ta-té-psin the store of wild-rice and dried meat was exhausted; And Famine crept in at the door, and sat crouching and gaunt by the lodge-fire. But now with the saddle of deer and the gifts came the crafty Tamdóka; And he said, "Lo I bring you good cheer, for I love the blind Chief and his daughter. Take the gifts of Tamdóka, for dear to his heart is the dark-eyed Winona." The aged Chief opened his ears; in his heart he already consented: But the moans of his child and her tears touched the age-softened heart of the father, And he said, "I am burdened with years,-- I am bent by the snows of my winters; Ta-té-psin will die in his _tee_; let him pass to the Land of the Spirits; But Winona is young; she is free and her own heart shall choose her a husband." The dark warrior strode from the _tee_; low-muttering and grim he departed; "Let him die in his lodge," muttered he, "but Winona shall kindle my lodge-fire."

Then forth went Winona. The bow of Ta-té-psin she took and his arrows, And afar o'er the deep, drifted snow through the forest she sped on her snow shoes. Over meadow and ice-covered mere, through the thickets of red-oak and hazel, She followed the tracks of the deer, but like phantoms they fled from her vision. From sunrise to sunset she sped; half famished she camped in the thicket; In the cold snow she made her lone bed; on the buds of the birch[BN] made her supper. To the dim moon the gray owl preferred, from the tree-top, his shrill lamentation, And around her at midnight she heard the dread famine-cries of the gray wolves. In the gloam of the morning again on the trail of the red-deer she followed-- All day long through the thickets in vain, for the gray wolves were chasing the roebucks; And the cold, hungry winds from the plain chased the wolves and the deer and Winona.

[BJ] Wild-goose

[BK] Medicine-men.

[BL] January.

[BM] February.

[BN] The pheasant feeds on birch-buds in winter. Indians eat them when very hungry.

In the twilight of sundown she sat in the forest, all weak and despairing; Ta-té-psin's bow lay at her feet, and his otter-skin quiver of arrows "He promised,--he promised," she said,-- half-dreamily uttered and mournful,-- "And why comes he not? Is he dead? Was he slain by the crafty Tamdóka? Must Winona, alas, make her choice-- make her choice between death and Tamdóka? She will die, but her soul will rejoice in the far Summer-land of the spirits. Hark! I hear his low, musical voice! he is coming! My White Chief is coming! Ah, no, I am half in a dream!-- 'twas the memory of days long departed; But the birds of the green Summer seem to be singing above in the branches." Then forth from her bosom she drew the crucified Jesus in silver. In her dark hair the cold north-wind blew, as meekly she bent o'er the image. "O Christ of the Whiteman," she prayed, "lead the feet of my brave to Kathága; Send a good spirit down to my aid, or the friend of the White Chief will perish." Then a smile on her wan features played, and she lifted her pale face and chanted

"E-ye-he-ktá! E-ye-he-ktá! Hé-kta-cè; é-ye-ce-quón. Mí-Wamdee-ská, he-he-ktá, He-kta-cè, é-ye-ce-quón, Mí-Wamdee-ská."

[TRANSLATON]

He will come; he will come; He will come, for he promised. My White Eagle, he will come; He will come, for he promised---- My White Eagle.

Thus sadly she chanted, and lo-- allured by her sorrowful accents-- From the dark covert crept a red roe and wonderingly gazed on Winona. Then swift caught the huntress her bow; from her trembling hand hummed the keen arrow. Up-leaped the red roebuck and fled, but the white snow was sprinkled with scarlet, And he fell in the oak thicket dead. On the trail ran the eager Winona. Half-famished the raw flesh she ate. To the hungry maid sweet was her supper Then swift through the night ran her feet, and she trailed the sleek roebuck behind her; And the guide of her steps was a star-- the cold-glinting star of _Wazíya_[BO]-- Over meadow and hilltop afar, on the way to the lodge of her father. But hark! on the keen frosty air wind the shrill hunger-howls of the gray-wolves! And nearer,--still nearer!--the blood of the deer have they scented and follow; Through the thicket, the meadow, the wood, dash the pack on the trail of Winona. Swift she speeds with her burden, but swift on her track fly the minions of famine; Now they yell on the view from the drift, in the reeds at the marge of the meadow; Red gleam their wild, ravenous eyes, for they see on the hill-side their supper; The dark forest echoes their cries, but her heart is the heart of a warrior. From its sheath snatched Winona her knife, and a leg from the roebuck she severed; With the carcass she ran for her life,-- to a low-branching oak ran the maiden; Round the deer's neck her head-strap[BP] was tied; swiftly she sprang to the arms of the oak-tree; Quick her burden she drew to her side, and higher she clomb on the branches, While the maddened wolves battled and bled, dealing death o'er the leg to each other; Their keen fangs devouring the dead,-- yea, devouring the flesh of the living, They raved and they gnashed and they growled, like the fiends in the regions infernal; The wide night re-echoing howled, and the hoarse North-wind laughed o'er the slaughter. But their ravenous maws unappeased by the blood and the flesh of their fellows, To the cold wind their muzzles they raised, and the trail to the oak-tree they followed. Round and round it they howled for the prey, madly leaping and snarling and snapping; But the brave maiden's keen arrows slay, till the dead number more than the living. All the long, dreary night-time, at bay, in the oak sat the shivering Winona; But the sun gleamed at last, and away skulked the gray cowards[BQ] down through the forest. Then down dropped the deer and the maid. Ere the sun reached the midst of his journey, Her red, welcome burden she laid at the feet of her famishing father. _Wazíya's_ wild wrath was appeased, and homeward he turned to his _teepee_,[3] O'er the plains and the forest-land breezed from the Islands of Summer the South-wind. From their dens came the coon and the bear; o'er the snow through the woodlands they wandered; On her snow-shoes with stout bow and spear on their trails ran the huntress Winona. The coon to his den in the tree, and the bear to his burrow she followed; A brave, skillful hunter was she, and Ta-té-psin's lodge laughed with abundance.

[BO] _Wazíya's_ Star is the North-star.

[BP] A strap used in carrying burdens.

[BQ] Wolves sometimes attack people at night, but rarely, if ever, in the day time. If they have followed a hunter all night, and "treed" him, they will skulk away as soon as the sun rises.

DEATH OF TA-TE-PSIN.

The long winter wanes. On the wings of the spring come the geese and the mallards; On the bare oak the red-robin sings, and the crocus peeps up on the prairies, And the bobolink pipes, but he brings of the blue-eyed, brave White Chief no tidings. With the waning of winter, alas, waned the life of the aged Ta-té-psin; Ere the wild pansies peeped from the grass, to the Land of the Spirits he journeyed; Like a babe in its slumber he passed, or the snow from the hill-tops of April; And the dark-eyed Winona, at last, stood alone by the graves of her kindred. When their myriad mouths opened the trees to the sweet dew of heaven and the raindrops, And the April showers fell on the leas, on his mound fell the tears of Winona. Round her drooping form gathered the years and the spirits unseen of her kindred, As low, in the midst of her tears, at the grave of her father she chanted

E-yó-tan-han e-yáy-wah-ké-yày! E-yó-tan-han e-yáy-wah-ké-yày! E-yó-tan-han e-yáy-wah-ké-yày! Ma-kàh kin háy-chay-dan táy-han wan-kày. Tú-way ne ktáy snee e-yáy-chen e-wáh chày. E-yó-tan-han e-yáy-wah-ké-yày! E-yó-tan-han e-yáy-wah-ké-yày! Ma-kàh kin háy-chay-dan táy-han wan-kày.

[TRANSLATION].

Sore is my sorrow! Sore is my sorrow! Sore is my sorrow! The earth alone lasts. I speak as one dying; Sore is my sorrow! Sore is my sorrow! The earth alone lasts.

Still hope, like a star in the night gleaming oft through the broken clouds somber, Cheered the heart of Winona, and bright on her dreams beamed the face of the Frenchman. As the thought of a loved one and lost, sad and sweet were her thoughts of the White Chief; In the moon's mellow light, like a ghost, walked Winona alone by the _Ha-Ha_, Ever wrapped in a dream. Far away-- to the land of the sunrise--she wandered; On the blue-rolling _Tánka-Medé_[BR] in the midst of her dreams, she beheld him-- In his white-winged canoe, like a bird, to the land of Dakotas returning,

[BR] Lake Superior,--The Gitchee Gumee of the Chippewas.

And often in fancy she heard the dip of his oars on the river. On the dark waters glimmered the moon, but she saw not the boat of the Frenchman. On the somber night bugled the loon, but she heard not the song of the boatmen. The moon waxed and waned, but the star of her hope never waned to the setting; Through her tears she beheld it afar, like a torch on the eastern horizon. "He will come,--he is coming," she said; "he will come, for my White Eagle promised," And low to the bare earth the maid bent her ear for the sound of his footsteps, "He is gone, but his voice in my ear still remains like the voice of the robin; He is far, but his footsteps I hear; he is coming; my White Chief is coming!" But the moon waxed and waned. Nevermore will the eyes of Winona behold him. Far away on the dark, rugged shore of the blue _Gitchee Gúmee_ he lingers. No tidings the rising sun brings; no tidings the star of the evening; But morning and evening she sings, like a turtle-dove widowed and waiting:

Aké u, aké u, aké u; Ma cántè maséeca. Aké u, aké u, aké u; Ma cántè maséca.

Come again, come again, come again; For my heart is sad. Come again, come again, come again; For my heart is sad.

DEATH OF WINONA.

Down the broad _Ha-Ha Wák-pa_[BS] the band took their way to the Games at _Keóza_[8] While the swift-footed hunters by land ran the shores for the elk and the bison. Like _magás_[BT] ride the birchen canoes on the breast of the dark, winding river, By the willow-fringed island they cruise, by the grassy 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 shore of _Remníca_-- the Lake of the Mountains.[BU] There the fleet hunters followed the deer, and the thorny pahin[BV] 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.

[BS] The Dakota name for the Mississippi, see note 76 in Appendix.

[BT] Wild Geese.

[BU] Lake Pepin, by Hennepin called Lake of Tears--Called by the Dakotas _Remnee-chah-Mday_--Lake of the Mountains.

[BV] Pah-hin--the porcupine--the quills of which are greatly prized for ornamental work.

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 Tamdóka. 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 shining 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 shining 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 shining 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 Tamdóka; 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 pass her sad story.[BW]

In the silence of sorrow the night o'er the earth spread her wide, sable pinions; And the stars[18] hid their faces; and light on the lake fell the tears of the spirits. As her sad sisters watched on the shore 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 _Keóza_.

[BW] The Dakotas say that the spirit of Winona forever haunts the lake. They say that it was many, many winters ago when Winona leaped from the rock,--that the rock was then perpendicular to the water's edge and she leaped into the lake, but now the rock has partly crumbled down and the waters have also receded, so that they do not now reach, the foot of the perpendicular rock as of old.

SPRING

_Et nunc omnis ager, mine omms parturit arbos; Nunc frondent sylvæ, nunc formostssimus annus. --Virgil._

Delightful harbinger of joys to come, Of summer's verdure and a fruitful year, Who bids thee o'er our northern snow-fields roam, And make all gladness in thy bright career? Lo from the Indian Isle thou dost appear, And dost a thousand pleasures with thee bring: But why to us art thou so ever dear? Bearest thou the hope--upon thy radiant wing-- Of Immortality, O soft, celestial Spring?

Yea, buds and flowers that fade not, they are thine, And youth-renewing balms; the sear and old Are young and gladsome at thy touch divine. Thou breath'st upon the frozen earth--behold, Meadows and vales of grass and floral gold, Green-covered hills and leafy mountains grand: Young life leaps up where all was dumb and cold, As smoldering embers into flame are fanned, Or the dead came back to life at the touch of the Savior's hand.