Indian Legends of Minnesota Part 5

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHERE THROUGH A LAKE THE MISSISSIPPI FLOWS."]

THE COMBAT BETWEEN THE THUNDER-BIRDS AND THE WATER-DEMONS.

Gray Cloud shall not be as other men, Dull clods that move and breathe a day or two, Ere other clods shall bury them from view.

Tempest and sky have been my home, and when I pa.s.s from earth I shall find welcome there.

Sons of the Thunder-Bird my playmates were, Ages ago[6] (the tallest oak to-day In all the land was but a gra.s.s blade then).

Reared with such brethren, breathing such an air, My spirit grew as tall and bold as they; We tossed the ball and flushed the n.o.ble prey O'er happy plains from human footsteps far; And when our high chief's voice to arm for war Rang out in tones that rent the morning sky, None of the band exulted more than I.

A G.o.d might gaze and tremble at the sight Of our array that turned the day to night; With bow and s.h.i.+eld and flame-tipped arrows all, Rus.h.i.+ng together at our leader's call, Like storm clouds sweeping round a mountain height.

The lofty cliffs our warlike muster saw, Hard by the village of great Wabashaw,[7]

Where through a lake the Mississippi flows; Far o'er the dwelling of our ancient foes, The hated Water-Demon[8] and his sons, Cold, dark and deep the sluggish current runs.

Up from their caverns swarming, when they heard The rolling signal of the Thunder-Bird, The Water-Demon and his sons arose, And answered back the challenge of their foes.

With horns tumultuous clas.h.i.+ng like a herd Of warring elks that struggle for the does, They lashed the wave to clouds of spray and foam, Through which their forms uncouth, like buffaloes Seen dimly through a morning mist, did loom, Or isles at twilight rising from the sh.o.r.e.

Though we were thirty, they at least fourscore, We rushed upon them, and a midnight pall Over the seething lake our pinions spread, 'Neath which our gleaming arrows thickly sped, As shooting stars that in the rice-moon fall.

Rent by our beating wings the cloud-waves swung In eddies round us, and our leader's roar Smote peal on peal, and from their bases flung The rocks that towered along the trembling sh.o.r.e.

A Thunder-Bird--alas, my chosen friend, But even so a warrior's life should end,-- A Thunder-Bird was stricken; his bright beak, Cleaving the tumult like a lightning streak, Smote with a fiery hiss the watery plain; His upturned breast, where gleamed one fleck of red, His sable wings, one moment wide outspread, Blackened the whirlpool o'er his sinking head.

The Water-Demon's sons by scores were slain By our swift arrows falling like the rain; With yells of rage they sank beneath the wave That ran all redly now, but could not save.

We asked not mercy, mercy never gave; Our flaming darts lit up the farthest cave, Fathoms below the reach of deepest line; Our cruel spears, taller than mountain pine, Mingled their life blood with the ruddy wave.

The combat ceased, the Thunder-Birds had won.

The Water-Demon with one favorite son Fled from the carnage and escaped our wrath.

The vapors, thinly curling from the sh.o.r.e, Faint musky odors to our nostrils bore.

The air was stilled, the silence of the dead; The sun, just starting on his downward path, A rosy mantle o'er the prairie shed, Save where, like vultures, ominous and still, We cl.u.s.tered close, on sullen wings outspread; And sometimes, with a momentary chill, A giant shadow swept o'er plain and hill,-- A Thunder-Bird careering overhead, Seeking the track by which the foe had fled.

While thus we hovered motionless, the sun Adown the west his punctual course had run, When lo, two s.h.i.+ning points far up the stream That split the prairie with a silver seam,-- The fleeing Water-Demon and his son; Like icicles they glittered in the beam Still struggling up from the horizon's rim.

His sleeping anger kindled at the sight, Our leader's eyes glowed like a flaming brand.

Thrilled by one impulse, all our sable band Dove through the gathering shadows of the night On wings outshaken for a headlong flight.

Anger, revenge, but more than all the thirst, The glorious emulation to be first, Stung me like fire, and filled each quivering plume.

With tenfold speed our sharp beaks cleft the gloom, A swarm of arrows singing to the mark, We hissed to pierce the foe ere yet 'twas dark.

Still up the stream the Water-Demons fled, Their bodies glowed like fox-fire far ahead; But every moment saw the distance close Between our thirsty spear-heads and our foes.

Louder the blast our buzzing pinions made Than mighty forest in a whirlwind swayed; The giant cliffs of Redwing speeding back, Like specters melting from a cloudy wrack, Melted from view in our dissolving track.

Kaposia's village, cl.u.s.tered on the sh.o.r.e, With sound of snapping poles and tipis riven, Vanished like swan's-down by a tempest driven.

Stung by our flight, the keen air smote us sore As ragged hailstones; on, still on, we strained, And fast and faster on the chase we gained, But neck and neck the fierce pursuit remained, Till close ahead we saw the rocky walls O'er which the mighty river plunging falls,[9]

And at their base the Water-Demons lay: The panting chase at last had turned to bay.

Then thrilled my nerves with more than mortal strength; A breath of Deity was in the burst That bore me out a goodly lance's length To meet the Water-Demon's son accurst.

His evil horn clanged hollow on my s.h.i.+eld Just as my spear transfixed him through and through; A moment towering o'er the foam he reeled, Then sank beneath the roaring falls from view.

A dying yell that haunts me yet he gave, And as he fell the crippled water coiled About him like a wounded snake, and boiled, Las.h.i.+ng itself to madness o'er his grave.

We knew not where the parent Demon fled; None of our spears might pierce his ancient mail, Welded with skill demoniac scale on scale.

Some watery realm he wanders, and 'tis said That he is changed and bears a brighter form, And goodly sons again about him swarm; And peace, 'tis but a hollow truce I know, Now reigns between him and his ancient foe.

He hates me still, and fain would do me harm, But neither man nor demon dares offend, Who hath the cruel Thunder-Bird for friend.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

PART II.

Nature hath her _elite_ in every land, Sealed by her signet, felt although unseen.

Winona 'mid her fellows moved a queen, And scarce a youthful beau in all the band But sighed in secret longing for her hand.

One only she distinguished o'er the rest, The latest aspirant for martial fame, Redstar, a youth whose coup-stick like his name (Till recently he had been plain Chaske)[10]

Was new, fresh plucked the feathers on his crest.

Just what the feats on which he based his claim To warlike glory it were hard to say; He ne'er had seen more than one trivial fray, But bold a.s.surance sometimes wins the day.

Winona gave him generous credit, too, For all the gallant deeds he meant to do.

His gay, barbaric dress, his lofty air Enmeshed her in a sweet bewildering snare.

Transfigured by the light of her own pa.s.sion, She saw Chaske in much the usual fas.h.i.+on Of fairer maids, who love, or think they do.

'Tis not the man they love, but what he seems; A bright Hyperion, moving stately through The rosy ether of exalted dreams.

Alas! that love, the purest and most real, Cl.u.s.ters forever round some form ideal; And martial things have some strange necromancy To captivate romantic maiden fancy.

The very word "Lieutenant" hath a charm, E'en coupled with a vulgar face and form, A shriveled heart and microscopic wit, Scarce for a coachman or a barber fit; His untried sword, his t.i.tle, are to her Better than genius, wealth, or high renown; His uniform is sweeter than the gown Of an Episcopalian minister; And "dash," for swagger but a synonym, Is knightly grace and chivalry with him.

Unnoted young Winona's pa.s.sion grew, Chaske alone the tender secret knew; And he, too selfish love like hers to know, Warmed by her presence to a transient glow, Her silent homage drank as 'twere his due.

Winona asked no more though madly fond, Nor hardly dreamed as yet of closer bond; But chance, or Providence, or iron Fate (Call it what name you will), or soon or late, Bends to its purpose every human will, And brings to each its destined good or ill.

THE GROVE.

O'erlooking Minnetonka's sh.o.r.e, A grove enchanted lured of yore, Lured to their deepest woe and joy, A happy maiden and careless boy; Lured their feet to its inmost core, Where like snowy maidens the aspen trees Swayed and beckoned in the breeze, While the prairie gra.s.s, like rippling seas, Faintly murmuring lulling hymns, Rippled about their gleaming limbs.

There is no such charm in a garden-close, However fair its bower and rose, As a place where the wild and free rejoice.

Nor doth the storied and ivied arch Woo the heart with half so sweet a voice As the bowering arms of the wild-wood larch, Where the clematis and wild woodbine Festoon the flowering eglantine; Where in every flower, shrub, and tree Is heard the hum of the honey-bee, And the linden blossoms are softly stirred, As the fanning wings of the humming-bird Scatter a perfume of pollen dust, That mounts to the kindling soul like must; Where the turtles each spring their loves renew-- The old, old story, "coo-roo, coo-roo,"

Mingles with the wooing note That bubbles from the song-bird's throat; Where on waves of rosy light at play, Mingle a thousand airy minions, And drifting as on a golden bay, The b.u.t.terfly with his petal pinions, From isle to isle of his fair dominions Floats with the languid tides away; Where the squirrel and rabbit shyly mate, And none so timid but finds her fate; The meek hen-robin upon the nest Thrills to her lover's flaming breast.

Youth, Love, and Life, 'mid scenes like this, Go to the same sweet tune of bliss; E'en the flaming flowers of pa.s.sion seem Pure as the lily buds that dream On the bosom of a mountain stream.

Such was the grove that lured of yore, Overlooking Minnetonka's sh.o.r.e, Lured to their deepest woe and joy A happy maiden and careless boy,-- Lured their feet to its inmost core; Where still mysterious shadows slept, While the plenilune from her path above With liquid amber bathed the grove, That through the tree-tops trickling crept, And every tender alley swept.

The happy maiden and careless boy, Caught for a moment their deepest joy, And the iris hues of Youth and Love, A tender glamour about them wove; But the trembling shadows the aspens cast From the maiden's spirit never pa.s.sed; And the nectar was poisoned that thrilled and filled, From every treacherous leaf distilled, Her veins that night with a strange alloy.

Swift came the hour that maid and boy must part; A glow unwonted, tinged with dusky red Winona's conscious face as home she sped; And to the song exultant in her heart, Beat her light moccasins with rhythmic tread.

But at the summit of a little hill, Along whose base the village lay outspread, A sudden sense of some impending ill Smote the sweet fever in her veins with chill.

The lake she skirted, on whose mailed breast Rode like a s.h.i.+eld the moon from out the west, She neared her lodge, but there her quick eye caught The voice of Gray Cloud, and her steps were stayed, For over her of late an icy fear Brooded with vulture wings when he was near.

She knew not why, her eye he never sought, Nor deigned to speak, and yet she felt dismayed At thought of him, as the mimosa's leaf Before the fingers touch it shrinks with dread.

She paused a moment, then with furtive tread Close to the tipi glided like a thief; With lips apart, and eager bended head, She listened there to what the conjurer said.

His voice, low, musical, recounted o'er Strange tales of days when other forms he wore: How, far above the highest airy plain Where soars and sings the weird, fantastic crane, Wafted like thistle-down he strayed at will, With power almost supreme for good or ill, Over all lands and nations near and far, Beyond the seas, or 'neath the northern star, And long had pondered where were best to dwell When he should deign a human shape to wear.

"Whether to be of them that buy and sell, With fish-scale eyes, and yellow corn-silk hair, Or with the stone-men chase the giant game.

But wander where you may, no land can claim A sky so fair as ours; the sun each day Circles the earth with glaring eye, but sees No lakes or plains so beautiful as these; Nor e'er hath trod or shall upon the earth A race like ours of true Dakota birth.

Our chiefs and sages, who so wise as they To counsel or to lead in peace or war, And heal the sick by deep mysterious law.

Our beauteous warriors, lithe of limb and strong, Fierce to avenge their own and others' wrong, What gasping terror smites their battle song When, night-birds gathering near the dawn of day, Or wolves in chorus ravening for the prey, They burst upon the sleeping Chippeway;[11]

Their women wail whose hated fingers dare To reap the harvest of our midnight hair; Swifter than eagles, as a panther fleet, A hungry panther seeking for his meat, So swift and noiseless their avenging feet.

Dakota matrons truest are and best, Dakota maidens too are loveliest."