{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_25140/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_25140","id":"gutenberg_25140","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25140","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Music","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Indians of North America -- Folklore","Indians of North America -- Music","Music","Native America"],"text":"Produced by David Newman, Linda Cantoni, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. Music\ntranscribed by Linda Cantoni, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and\nthe PG Finale Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: This e-book contains passages in Native American\ndialects; hyphenation and accents have been preserved as they appear\nin the original. Italics are represented by underscores. Obvious\nprinter errors in English passages have been corrected, in particular\nthe inconsistent use of \"rythm\" for \"rhythm.\"]\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN\nSTORY AND SONG\n\nFROM NORTH AMERICA\n\n\nBy\n\nALICE C. FLETCHER\n\n_Holder of the Thaw Fellowship\nPeabody Museum Harvard University_\n\n\nBoston\nSmall Maynard & Company\nPublishers\n\n_Copyright, 1900,\nBy Alice C. Fletcher_\n\n_Entered at Stationers' Hall_\n\n\n\n\n_To_\n\nMY INDIAN FRIENDS\n\nFROM WHOM I HAVE GATHERED\n\nSTORY AND SONG\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\n_At the Congress of Musicians held in connection with the\nTrans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha in July, 1898, several essays\nupon the songs of the North American Indians were read, in\nillustration of which a number of Omaha Indians, for the first time,\nsang their native melodies to an audience largely composed of trained\nmusicians._\n\n_This unique presentation not only demonstrated the scientific value\nof these aboriginal songs in the study of the development of music,\nbut suggested their availability as themes, novel and characteristic,\nfor the American composer. It was felt that this availability would be\ngreater if the story, or the ceremony which gave rise to the song,\ncould be known, so that, in developing the theme, all the movements\nmight be consonant with the circumstances that had inspired the\nmotive. In response to the expressed desire of many musicians, I have\nhere given a number of songs in their matrix of story._\n\n_Material like that brought together in these pages has hitherto\nappeared only in scientific publications, where it has attracted the\nlively interest of specialists both in Europe and America. It is now\noffered in a more popular form, that the general public may share\nwith the student the light shed by these untutored melodies upon the\nhistory of music; for these songs take us back to a stage of\ndevelopment antecedent to that in which culture music appeared among\nthe ancients, and reveal to us something of the foundations upon which\nrests the art of music as we know it to-day._\n\n_Many of the stories and songs in this little book are now for the\nfirst time published. All have been gathered directly from the people,\nin their homes, or as I have listened to the earnest voice of the\nnative priest explaining the ancient ceremonials of his fathers. The\nstories are close translations, losing only a certain picturesqueness\nand vigour in their foreign guise; but the melodies are exactly as\nsung by the Indians._\n\n_Indian myths embodying cosmic ideas have passages told in song,\ntribal legends have their milestones of song, folk-tales at dramatic\npoints break into song; but into these rich fields I have not here\nentered. This collection reveals something of the wealth of musical\nand dramatic material that can be gleaned outside of myth, legend, and\nfolk-lore among the natives of our country._\n\n_Aside from its scientific value, this music possesses a charm of\nspontaneity that cannot fail to please those who would come near to\nnature and enjoy the expression of emotion untrammelled by the\nintellectual control of schools. These songs are like the wild flowers\nthat have not yet come under the transforming hand of the gardener._\n\nALICE C. FLETCHER.\n\nPEABODY MUSEUM,\n  HARVARD UNIVERSITY.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                       PAGE.\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU'-SHKA                         3\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF ISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI                          14\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE LEADER                              21\n\nTHE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER                                   26\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST                         30\n\nA TRYSTING LOVE-SONG                                      34\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE                     39\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF ZO_N_'-ZI-MO_N_-DE                      45\n\nLOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by Miss E.D. Proctor    49\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE WREN                                53\n\nTHE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG                                    57\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE MOTHER'S VOW                        61\n\nA LOVE-CALL                                               68\n\nA GAME SONG FROM THE NORTH-WEST COAST                     70\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET                       74\n\nAN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG                                    77\n\nSTORY OF THE WE'-TO_N_ SONG.                              81\n\nA PAWNEE LOVE-SONG                                        86\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF A WARRIOR                               88\n\nTHE MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG                                   94\n\nA SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE                                 96\n\nSACRED SONGS OF PEACE                                    101\n\nCOMFORTING THE CHILD                                     108\n\nMUSIC IN INDIAN LIFE                                     114\n\nTHE RELATION OF STORY AND SONG                           120\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF SONGS.\n\n\n                                                       PAGE.\n\nTHE INSIGNIA OF THUNDER (Omaha)                            6\n\nTHE WARRIOR'S PRAYER (Omaha)                               9\n\nTHE LAUGH (Ponka)                                         13\n\nISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI. Dance Song (Omaha)                        18\n\nTHE LEADER'S SONG (Omaha)                                 24\n\nTRIBAL PRAYER (Omaha)                                     29\n\nTHE BIRD'S NEST (Pawnee)                                  33\n\nTRYSTING LOVE-SONG (Omaha)                                36\n\nTHE DEATHLESS VOICE (Dakota)                              42\n\nZO_N_'-ZI-MO_N_-DE (Omaha)                                46\n\nLOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by\n  Miss E.D. Proctor (Omaha)                               50\n\nTHE WREN (Pawnee)                                         54\n\nSONG TO THE SPIRIT (Omaha)                                58\n\nTHE MOTHER'S VOW (Dakota)                                 66\n\nA LOVE-CALL (Omaha)                                       69\n\nGAME SONG (Vancouver's Island)                            72\n\nTHE INDIAN COQUET (Omaha)                                 75\n\nAN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG (Omaha)                            78\n\nWE'-TO_N_ SONG (Dakota)                                   84\n\nLOVE-SONG (Pawnee)                                        87\n\nA WARRIOR'S SONG. Mi'-ka-thi (Ponka)                      92\n\nMOCKING-BIRD'S SONG (Tigua)                               95\n\nSONG OF THE GHOST DANCE (Arapaho)                         98\n\nCHORAL. Sacred Song of Peace (Omaha)                     105\n\nTHE GIFT OF PEACE (Otoe)                                 107\n\nKAWAS, THY BABY IS CRYING (Pawnee)                       109\n\nTHY FATHER IS COMING (Pawnee)                            111\n\nLOOK UP (Pawnee)                                         113\n\nPRAYER FOR RAIN (Mexico)                                 123\n\nKWAKIUTL SONG (British Columbia)                         123\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN STORY AND SONG\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU'-SHKA.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: In the Indian words and vocables the vowels have the\ncontinental sound. _G_ is hard, as in _go_; _dh_ is like _th_ in\n_the_; _th_, as in _thin_; _n_ as in French _en_.]\n\n\nIt had been a warm September day; and I was resting in my hammock,\nswung from a wide-spreading tree that stood near the tent of my Indian\nhost. We had partaken of our evening meal beside an outdoor fire. The\nmother was busy clearing away the supper dishes, the men had gone off\nto look after the horses, the children had fallen asleep, and I lay\nwatching the shadowy darkness come out of the east and slowly pursue\nthe glowing trail of the retreating sun, thinking of the Indian's\nimagery of night ever haunting and following upon the track of day,\nseeking to gain the mastery. I was aroused from my musings by hearing\nthe mother say, \"It is chilly!\" for the fire had died down, and the\ndeep blue of twilight was all about us.\n\nShe dropped beside the embers, blew them into a feeble blaze, threw on\nfresh wood, that crackled and sent up a shower of sparks and soon\nbright yellow flames illumined the under side of the branches beneath\nwhich I was swinging.\n\nThe call of the fire summoned one tall form after another out of the\ndusky surroundings, and around the blazing logs robes were spread here\nand there, on which the men reclined. By and by the women came and\ndropped down near the fire, and added the treble of their voices to\nthe deep tones of the men, as the chat of the day's occurrences went\non.\n\nIt was a peaceful, picturesque scene upon which I looked; and by very\ncontrast my thoughts reverted to the preceding evening, when I had\nattended a meeting of the He-dhu'-shka, society composed of warriors.\nThe gathering had been in a large tent; and, as the night was warm,\nthe bottom of the tent cover had been lifted to let the breeze blow\nthrough. This had given an opportunity for the crowd outside to look\nwithin and watch the ceremony and the dramatic dance. To the right of\nthe door, in two circles around the drum, sat the choir of men and\nwomen, all in their gala dress. Each member of the society, wrapped in\nhis robe, with measured steps entered the tent, and silently took his\nseat on the ground against the wall. The ceremony had opened by the\nchoir singing the ritual song which accompanied the act of charring\nthe elder wood with which the face of the Leader was afterward to be\npainted. As memory brought back the scene in vivid colours,--the\nblazing fire in the centre of the wide circle of muffled warriors, the\nsolemn aspect of the Leader awaiting the preparation of the elder\nwood, and his strange appearance after the painting of his face,--I\npondered wonderingly as to what it all might signify. In my perplexity\nI spoke from my hammock to one of the elder men in the group before\nme:--\n\n\"Grandfather, I wish you would explain to me the meaning of what I saw\nyesterday at the He-dhu'-shka Society. Tell me why the Leader put\nblack on his face.\"\n\nMy friend was accustomed to my questionings, and all eyes were turned\ntoward him as he replied:\n\n\"The Leader put the black cloud over his face, because the black cloud\nis worn by Thunder when it comes near to man. The song sung while this\nis being done tells that the Leader is making ready and impatiently\nawaits the commands of the approaching god of war.\"...\n\nThis is the song which accompanied the preparation and the putting on\nof the insignia of the thunder god. The music is expressive of the\ntremulous movement of the leaves, of the flying of the birds, of the\nstir of all nature before the advancing storm, typifying the\nstirring of the heart of man when summoned to fight the enemies of his\npeople.\n\n[Music: PUTTING ON THE INSIGNIA OF THE THUNDER GOD.\n\n_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nNon-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de,\nNon-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de,\nNon-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ki-un te dhon-hi-de,\nNon-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-hi-un te dhon-hi-de,\nNon-g'dhe dhe-te hi-dha-ke-un te dhon-hi-de.]\n\nAt the close of the song and ceremony of blackening the Leader's face,\nI had seen the Leader take the pipe belonging to the society, fill it,\nand reverently lift the stem upward.\n\n\"When the Leader's face is painted,\" continued the old man, \"he offers\nthe pipe to Wa-ko_n_'-da (god). The words of the song then sung mean:\nWa-ko_n_'-da, we offer this pipe (the symbol of our unity as a\nsociety). Accept it (and us). All the members must join in singing\nthis prayer, and afterward all must smoke the pipe.\"\n\n[Music: PRAYER OF THE WARRIORS BEFORE SMOKING THE PIPE.\n\n_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nWa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,\nWa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,\nWa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,\nE-ha dha-ni hin ga _we dho he dho_.]\n\n\"The He-dhu'-shka Society is very old,\" continued my friend. \"It is\nsaid to have been in existence at the time when the Omahas and the\nPonkas were together as one tribe. There is a song with a dance which\nmust be given at every meeting. It is to keep alive the memory of a\nbattle that took place while we were migrating westward, and where\ndefeat would have meant our extermination as a tribe. I will tell you\nthe story.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: The translation given is by my collaborator, Mr. Francis\nLa Flesche.]\n\n\"One morning the tribe, whose country had been invaded by the Ponkas,\nmade an unexpected assault upon the camp of the invaders. For a time\nit seemed as though the Ponkas would fare badly at the hands of their\nassailants, who were determined to drive out or destroy the intruders;\nbut after a desperate struggle the Ponkas pushed their enemies back\nfrom the outskirts of the village, until finally their retreat became\na rout. Both sides suffered great loss. The ground was strewn with the\ndead, and the grass stained with the blood of the warriors who fell in\nthe battle; but the victory was with us, and we had conquered the\nright to dwell in that country.\n\n\"At the outset of the conflict a man bent with age emerged slowly from\nthe door of one of the tents. The breezes played with his long white\nhair as he stood leaning on his staff, shading his face with one hand\nand looking intently in the direction whence came the noise of battle.\nAs he recognised the voice of a warrior rushing to the fray, imitating\nas he ran the cry of some animal (his tutelary god), the aged man\ncalled after him:\n\n\"'Once more! Once more be the undaunted warrior you have hitherto\nbeen! Utter aloud your mystic cry, and make the enemy to tremble with\nfear!'\n\n\"If a youth passed by, singing his death song, the old man would\nask:--\n\n\"'Who is that young man? He promises well.' Upon being told whose son\nhe was, the aged man shouted: 'Ho-o! You have the spirit of your\nfather. Be like him: turn not your face from the foe!'\n\n\"All day the old man stood at his door as though rooted to the ground.\nAs the hours sped on, fainter and fainter grew the shouts and the\ncries of the contending men, until finally the sounds died away. Even\nthen the venerable man moved not from his tent, but still stood\nwatching. Lower and lower dropped the sun toward the western horizon,\nand all through the village anxious faces were turned in the direction\nwhence the last sound of the fight had been heard. Suddenly a woman\ncried,--\n\n\"'There they come!'\n\n\"At her words the old man leaned forward, straining his dim eyes to\ndiscern the distant figures on the far-off hill. In single file, on\nthe warriors came, one preceding another, according to the grade of\nthe honours he had won in the battle. The Herald hastened forth from\nthe village to meet them and to learn their tidings. After a halt he\nturned and came on in advance of the men, shouting as he came near\nthe village the names of those who had fallen in battle. As each name\nwas called, the wife or mother of the slain man rent the air with\nsudden cry and wail, so that the whole village vibrated with the sound\nof sorrow as the victorious warriors drew near. In the midst of all\nthis commotion the aged watcher remained motionless, giving no sign of\nemotion as the wailing grew in volume, and stirring not even when he\nheard the names of his two sons called in the long death-roll.\n\n\"As the warriors entered the village, the Herald proclaimed the names\nof those who had distinguished themselves in that memorable fight.\nSlowly the men of valour approached their aged chief, who bowed\nacknowledgment as each one spoke and laid at his feet a trophy of war.\n\n\"Among the veterans came a young warrior, who, in this his first\nbattle, had, in a hand to hand contest, wrenched a club from the grasp\nof his antagonist, and had slain the enemy with his own weapon. This\nclub he presented to the old man, recounting the deed. The chief,\nlifting the weapon, exclaimed with a dramatic laugh: 'Ha, ha, ha! It\nis thus you should treat your enemies, that they may fear you. My\nexhortations to our young men have not fallen on deaf ears. Those who\nsought to destroy our people lie scattered and dead on the ground.\nWherever their shadows may wander, even there the fear of you shall\nbe. The enemy sought to make me weep, but I laugh.' And the old man\ndanced to his triumphant laugh for the victory of that day.\"\n\n[Music: SONG OF THE LAUGH.\n\n_Ponka. He-dhu'-shka._\n\nHa, ha, ha ha ha! Ha ha! hi hi! ha ha! hi!]\n\nSo this was the meaning of the monotonous song that had accompanied\nthe opening dance I had seen at the He-dhu'-shka Society, where the\ndancer, with body bent and with short rhythmic steps, had kept time to\nthe dramatic laugh of the song,--a song that had seemed so aimless to\nme only the night before.\n\n\"Every song of the Society has its story which is the record of some\ndeed or achievement of its members,\" said another old man who was\nlying beside the fire. \"I will tell you one that was known to our\ngreat-great-grandfathers,\" and rising upon his elbow he began:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY AND SONG OF ISH'-I-BUZ-ZHI.\n\n\n\"Long ago there lived an old Omaha Indian couple who had an only\nchild, a son named Ish'-i-buz-zhi. From his birth he was peculiar. He\ndid not play like the other children; and, as he grew older, he kept\naway from the boys of his own age, refusing to join in their sports or\nto hunt with them for small game. He was silent and reserved with\nevery one but his mother and her friends. With them he chatted and was\nquite at ease. So queer a little boy could not escape ridicule. The\npeople spoke of him as one 'having no sense,' and it seemed as though\nhe would have no friends except his parents and a few women intimates\nof his mother.\n\n\"During the long winter evenings, when the old men who came to his\nfather's lodge talked of bygone times and told tales of ancient\nheroes, this silent, seemingly heedless boy caught and treasured every\nword. He noted that the stories said that the mighty men of early days\nwere armed only with clubs. He mused on this fact, and determined to\nmake himself such a weapon. So he fashioned a four-sided club,\npractised with it in secret, and kept it constantly with him. He was\nwell laughed at because he clung always to his club and would not\nlearn the use of the bow; but he kept his own counsel, and, as the\nyears went on, no one knew that the Sparrow-hawk had talked to him in\na vision, and that he had become possessed of two of its sacred\nfeathers.\n\n\"One day when Ish'-i-buz-zhi had grown to be a man, he heard a group\nof warriors discussing plans for an expedition against a tribal enemy.\nHe determined to go with them; but he said nothing, and silently\nwatched the men depart. That night he stole away and followed the\ntrail of the warriors. In the morning one of the servants of the war\nparty discovered him and reported to the Leader, who ordered that he\nbe brought in. When the men saw that it was Ish'-i-buz-zhi, they joked\nhim, and asked why he who cared only for the company of old women had\ncome to them; but the Leader rebuked the warriors and received the\nyouth kindly, and, when he found that the young man was not properly\nprovided with clothing, bade his followers to fit him out from their\nown supplies. They obeyed, and they also made him a bow of ash and\ngave him some arrows.\n\n\"After many days' travel the party drew near to the enemy. A scout\ndiscovered their camp and reported having seen one of their men. At\nonce the warriors prepared for battle, putting on the sacred paint and\ndivesting themselves of unnecessary garments, which they handed over\nto Ish'-i-buz-zhi to take care of during the fight. But the young man\nhad his own plans, and went to the Leader and asked permission to go\nand look at the enemy. With many cautions not to give an alarm and\nprevent surprise, the Leader consented, and off Ish'-i-buz-zhi\nstarted.\n\n\"Catching sight of the enemy, he threw away his bow, and, armed only\nwith his club, rushed suddenly upon the foremost man, overthrew and\nkilled him. When the war party came upon the scene, they saw with\namazement what he had done,--how by the might of his single arm he had\nkilled the Leader of the enemy and scattered his warriors.\n\n\"On the return of the Omaha men to their village the Herald, according\nto custom, proclaimed the deed of Ish'-i-buz-zhi. The old mother\nsitting in her tent heard his words, and called to her husband:\n\n\"'What is this that I hear? Go you out and learn the truth.'\n\n\"'It is only their ridicule of our boy,' said the old man, loath to\nstir.\n\n\"The Herald cried again, and the old man arose and stood at the door\nof the tent. Then of a truth he learned that, single-handed, his son\nhad vanquished the enemy. Again and again did Ish'-i-buz-zhi join war\nparties, and he was always the foremost to meet the enemy and to\nscatter them with his club.\n\n\"Many tales are told of him; for he was fond of joking, and was often\nabsent-minded. It is said that his wife was skilled in embroidery, and\nwould decorate his moccasins with fine porcupine quill work; and it\ndisturbed her to see him put them on to go out of a morning when the\ndew was on the grass. So she took him to task for his thoughtlessness.\n\n\"'While the grass is wet,'\" said she, \"'carry your moccasins in your\nbelt.'\n\n\"He obeyed; but he forgot to put them on when the grass was dry, and\ncame home with feet bruised and sore, and his moccasins still in his\nbelt.\n\n\"But these peculiarities no longer provoked ridicule, as when\nIsh'-i-buz-zhi was a boy; for as a man, generous and strong, he was\nbeloved by the people. The child who had feasted on tales of the\nold heroes had in his manhood reproduced their brave deeds. So it came\nto pass that, when danger threatened, it was to him that the people\nran for help; and he never failed them.\"\n\nThe song refers to one of these appeals. An alarm arose, and to\nIsh'-i-buz-zhi, sitting in his tent, the people cried, \"The enemy\ncomes and calls for you, Ish'-i-buz-zhi.\"\n\n[Music: DANCE SONG. (ICHIBUZZHI.)\n\n_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no dho-e.\nNu-da hun-ga Ich-i-buz-zhi dha-da e dhin-ke de,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no,\nNi-ka wi-ta wa-gun-dha ti-be-no.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE LEADER.\n\n\nAfter many years of warfare the Omaha tribe made peace with the Sioux.\nOne bright autumn day it was suggested that, in order to show their\nfriendly feeling, a party of Omahas should visit the Sioux tribe. So\nthe men and women made everything ready for the long journey.\n\nTent covers and camp belongings were fastened on trailing travaux,\nponies were laden with gayly painted parfleche packs, containing the\nfine garments of the people and the gifts to be presented to the\nSioux. Soon the motley-coloured line could be seen winding over the\nrolling prairie. The young men, mounted on their spirited horses,\ndashed off, racing with each other to attract the attention of the\nmaidens, who could only follow with their eyes, so closely guarded\nwere they by the elder women. Old men jogged along in groups, talking\nto each other, their lariats dragging through the grass, now and then\nsnapping off the head of a wild flower or catching in a tangle of\nweeds. Boys made the air ring with their laughter, as they slipped off\ntheir ponies to shoot their small arrows at some imaginary game. It\nwas a scene full of careless pleasure and happy movement under a\ncloudless sky.\n\nWhen nearing the Sioux village, the people paused beside a stream to\nwash off the dust of travel, to put on their gayest attire, and to\nnewly paint their hair and faces. The prairie was their vast\ndressing-room, and friendly eyes were their mirrors. Young men decked\neach other, and girls slyly put on touches of finery. Every one was\nmoving about and busy, from the oldest man to the youngster captured\nfrom play to be washed and painted. At last the transformation was\ncomplete, from the dun, every-day colour to the brilliant hues of a\ngala time. Now messengers were despatched with small bunches of\ntobacco, tied up in bits of bladder skin (in lieu of visiting cards),\nto give notice of the visiting party's approach.\n\nSuddenly some one asked, \"What if the Sioux do not believe we are\ncoming in peace, and should capture our messengers and attack us as we\ncome near with our women and children?\"\n\nSuch a reception had not before been thought of; and silence fell upon\nthe people as they halted, under the gloom of the apprehension. At\nlength the Leader stood up and said,--\"We have made peace, we have\ncome in good faith, we will go forward, and Wa-ko_n_'-da shall decide\nthe issue.\"\n\nThen he struck up this song and led the way; and, as the men and women\nfollowed, they caught the tune, and all sang it as they came near the\nSioux village.\n\nIn the words the Leader, as representing the Omahas, speaks: \"I am\nadvancing. I am moving toward you. Behold me, young men, warriors of\nthe Sioux! Here I stand. Wa-ko_n_'-da alone decides the destinies of\nmen.\"\n\nThe visitors met with a welcome, and the breach between the two tribes\nwas healed for many a long day.\n\n[Music: SONG OF THE LEADER. A REST SONG.\n\n_Omaha. He-dhu'-shka._\n\nShu-b'dhe adhin-he on-don-ba i ga ho.\nShu-b'dhe adhin-he on-don-ba i ga ho.\nSha-on-zhin-ga ha, dha-dhu anon-zhin on-don-ba ga, he.\nWa-kon-da hi-dhe-g'dhon be dho he dhoe.\nOn-don-ba ga he.\nSha-on-zhin-ga ha dhe-dhu anon-zhin on-don-ba ga he.\nWa-kon-da hi dhe-g'dhon be dho he.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.\n\n\nAccording to the Omaha idea, a child during its infancy had no\nrecognised existence as an individual or distinct member of the tribe,\nbut remained as a part of its parents. When it could walk alone, at\nabout three years of age, it was initiated into the tribal\norganisation through certain religious rites; but its responsible and\nindividual life did not begin until its mind had \"become white,\" as\nthe Indians say. This expression referred to the dawn, to the passing\nof night into day, and represented the coming of the child out of the\nperiod where nothing was clearly apprehended into a time when he could\nreadily recall past events with their distinctness of detail. This\nseeming mastery of the minutiae of passing occurrences indicated that a\nstage of growth had been reached where the youth could be inducted\ninto the religious mysteries through a distinct personal experience\nacquired in the rite, No_n_'-zhi_n_-zho_n_,--a rite which brought him\ninto what was believed to be direct communication with the\nsupernatural powers.\n\nIn preparation for this rite the Omaha youth was taught the Tribal\nPrayer. He was to sing it during the four nights and days of his\nvigil in some lonely place. As he left his home, his parents put clay\non his head; and, to teach him self-control, they placed a bow and\narrows in his hand, with the injunction not to use them during his\nlong fast, no matter how great the temptation might be. He was bidden\nto weep as he sang the prayer, and to wipe his tears with the palms of\nhis hands, to lift his wet hands to heaven, and then lay them on the\nearth. With these instructions the youth departed, to enter upon the\ntrial of his endurance. When at last he fell into a sleep or trance,\nand the vision came, of bird, or beast, or cloud, bringing with it a\ncadence, this song became ever after the medium of communication\nbetween the man and the mysterious power typified in his vision; and\nby it he summoned help and strength in the hour of his need.\n\nIn this manner all mystery songs originated,--the songs sung when\nhealing plants were gathered and when the medicine was administered;\nwhen a man set his traps or hunted for game; when he desired to look\ninto the future or sought supernatural guidance, or deliverance from\nimpending danger.\n\nThe Tribal Prayer was called in the Omaha tongue Wa-ko_n_'-da\ngi-ko_n_: Wa-ko_n_'-da, the power which could make or bring to pass;\ngi-ko_n_, to weep from conscious insufficiency, or the longing for\nsomething that could bring happiness or prosperity. The words of the\nprayer, Wa-ko_n_'-da dhe-dhu wah-pa'-dhi_n_ a-to_n_'-he, literally\nrendered, are, Wa-ko_n_'-da, here needy he stands; and I am he.\n\nThis prayer is very old. Its supplicating cadences echoed through the\nforests of this land long before our race had touched its shores,\nvoicing a cry recognised by every human heart.\n\n[Music: THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nWa-kon-da dhe-dhu\nWa-pa-dhin a-ton-he.\nWa-kon-da dhe-dhu\nWa-pa-dhin a-ton-he.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.[3]\n\n[Footnote 3: An old priest of the rite gave me the story and song\nthrough Mr. James R. Murie, an educated Pawnee, and they are here for\nthe first time made public.]\n\n\nScattered through an elaborate ritual and religious ceremony of the\nPawnee tribe are little parables in which some natural scene or\noccurrence serves as a teaching to guide man in his daily life. The\nfollowing is an example.\n\nThe words of the song (\"the sound of the young\") are purposely few, so\nas to guard the full meaning from the careless and to enable the\npriest to hold the interpretation as a part of his sacred treasure.\nThey are sufficient, however, to attract the attention of the\nthoughtful; and such a one who desired to know the teaching of the\nsacred song could first perform certain initiatory rites and then\nlearn its full meaning from the priest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"One day a man whose mind was open to the teaching of the gods\nwandered on the prairie. As he walked, his eyes upon the ground, he\nspied a bird's nest hidden in the grass, and arrested his feet just in\ntime to prevent stepping on it. He paused to look at the little nest\ntucked away so snug and warm, and noted that it held six eggs, and\nthat a peeping sound came from some of them. While he watched, one\nmoved; and soon a tiny bill pushed through the shell, uttering a\nshrill cry. At once the parent birds answered, and he looked up to see\nwhere they were. They were not far off, and were flying about in\nsearch of food, chirping the while to each other and now calling to\nthe little one in the nest.\n\n\"The homely scene stirred the heart and the thoughts of the man, as he\nstood there under the clear sky, glancing upward toward the old birds\nand then down at the helpless young in the nest at his feet. As he\nlooked, he thought of his people, who were so often careless and\nthoughtless of their children's needs; and his mind brooded over the\nmatter. After many days he desired to see the nest again. So he went\nto the place where he had found it; and there it was, as safe as when\nhe left it. But a change had taken place. It was now full to\noverflowing with little birds, who were stretching their wings,\nbalancing on their small legs, and making ready to fly; while the\nparents with encouraging calls were coaxing the fledglings to venture\nforth.\n\n\"'Ah!' said the man, 'if my people would only learn of the birds,\nand, like them, care for their young and provide for their future,\nhomes would be full and happy, and our tribe be strong and prosperous.\n\n\"When this man became a priest, he told the story of the bird's nest\nand sang its song; and so it has come down to us from the days of our\nfathers.\"\n\n[Music: SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.\n\n_Pawnee._\n\nTranscribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.\n\nHo-o\nHa-re ha-re re ha-re\nHa-re ha-re e ha-re\nRe wha-ka ha-re re ha-re, wha-ka ha-re re ha-re\nRe wha-ka ha-re re ha-re.]\n\n\n\n\nA TRYSTING LOVE-SONG.\n\n\nOne of the few delights of life in camp is the opportunity the tent\naffords of ready access to the open air. There is no traversing of\nstairways, no crossing of halls, and no opening of reluctant doors,\nbut only the parting of the canvas, and our world is as wide as the\nhorizon and high as the heavens. Even when the tent door-flap is\nsnugly closed, nature is not wholly shut out. Often I have lain\nlooking up at the stars as they passed slowly across the central\nopening, and listened to the flight of the birds as they travelled\nnorthward at the coming of spring. And I have watched the birth of\nmany a day, from the first quivering primrose hue to the full flush\nand glow of rosy colour, and then the stirring breeze, the waking\nleaves, and the call of the birds breaking into song.\n\nOne morning I rose from my blankets and stepped out under the broad\ndome of the sky, while all about me in their shadowy tents the people\nslept. I wandered toward a glen, down which the water from a little\nspring hurried to the brook. As I sat among the fresh undergrowth, I\nwatched the stars grow dim and the thin line of smoke rise from the\ntents, telling that the mother had risen to blow the embers to a\nblaze and to put another stick or two upon the fire.\n\nAs I sat, thinking a multitude of thoughts, I heard a rustling upon\nthe hill opposite me. Then there was silence, quickly broken by\nmovements in another direction; while from the hill came the clear\nvoice of a young man singing. In a moment more two women, whom I\nrecognised as aunt and niece, appeared at the spring, the one elderly,\nthe other young and pretty; but the singer was still invisible. The\ncadences of the song were blithe and glad, like the birds and the\nbreezes laden with summer fragrance. The words, \"I see them coming!\"\ncarried a double meaning. The girl for whom he had waited was in truth\ncoming, but to the singer was also coming the delight of growing love\nand abundant hope.\n\n[Music: TRYSTING LOVE SONG.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nHi dha ho!\nSha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he,\nSha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he\nSha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he dhoe.\nHi dha ho!\nSha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he.\nSha a-ma wi un-don-be a-me dho he.]\n\nThe women filled their water vessels. The elder took no note of the\nsong, but turned steadily toward the home path. The eyes of the maiden\nhad been slyly searching the hillside as she slowly neared the spring\nand dipped up the sparkling water. Now, as the aunt walked away, the\nsong ceased; and a light rustling followed, as the lover, bounding\ndown the hill, leaped the brook and was at the side of the girl. A\nfew hasty words, a call from the aunt, a lingering parting, and I was\nalone again. The brook went babbling on, but telling no tales, the\nbirds were busy with their own affairs, and the sunbeams winked\nbrightly through the leaves. The little rift, giving a glimpse of the\ninner life of two souls, had closed and left no outward sign; and yet\nthe difference!\n\nThere was a measured thud upon the trail, and an old woman with\nstooping shoulders passed down the glen. As she bent over the spring\nand took her water supply, I heard the young man's voice in the\ndistance, singing his song as he wended his way home. The old woman\nheard it, too. She straightened up and looked steadily in the\ndirection of the singer, slowly shook her head, picked up her water\nvessel, and turned away, her crooked figure disappearing in the\nshadows. Then I arose and followed the singer, trying to forget the\nwarning shake of the old woman's head.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.[4]\n\n[Footnote 4: The translation of the story is by Mr. Francis La\nFlesche.]\n\nORIGIN OF THE MA-WA'-DA-NI SOCIETY.\n\n\nA long, long time ago a large number of warriors, under the leadership\nof a man noted throughout the warlike tribes for his valorous deeds,\nstarted forth to harass and, if possible, to drive a powerful people\nfrom a territory which abounded in game. This war party was out many\ndays, had many a weary march in search of the enemy, scouring the\ncountry far and wide, keeping their scouts in the front, rear, and\nflank; for the leader was determined not to return to his village\nwithout the trophies of war.\n\nThey came one day to a large grove with a clear brook running through\nit. Here the Leader ordered the camp to be pitched, that his little\narmy might rest awhile and repair their moccasins and clothing.\nSentinels were stationed so as to guard against surprise. Hunters were\nsent forth, and returned laden with game.\n\nNight came on. There was no moon; and it was dark, although the stars\nshone brightly. A fire blazed in the open air, and the men whose duty\nit was to dress and cook the meat, were moving about the burning logs;\nwhile others sat mending their moccasins by the firelight, listening\nto stories of battles, marvellous escapes, and strange adventures.\n\nSupper was cooked, and the meat was piled on freshly cut grass spread\nupon the ground; and near by were set the pots of broth and the wooden\nbowls and horn spoons. The Leader was called to perform the usual\nsacred rites observed before the serving of food; and all the warriors\ngathered around the fire, each one eager for his portion of the meal.\nAt a signal from the Leader every man bowed his head, and there was\nsilence. Not a breath of air was stirring. Now and then could be heard\nthe far-off dismal howl of the grey wolf or the cry of a strange bird\nstartled from its nest by a coyote. Save from these and the crackling\nof the fire there was stillness in all the surroundings. The warriors\nhad made their silent petitions to Wako_n_'-da, the power that moves\nall things. The Leader lifted his head. Then from the pile of meat he\ntook a bit and raised it toward the sky, as an offering to that\nmysterious power, when suddenly the stillness was broken and the\nceremony interrupted by a clear voice bursting into song, the echoes\nin the hills and valleys catching and repeating the strain.\n\nEach warrior involuntarily grasped his bow. The Leader, ever keen and\nalert, exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, \"The fire! the fire!\"\nImmediately many hands were rubbing the flaming wood into the earth.\nCommands were hastily given by the Leader; and the warriors, with\npalpitating hearts, started out to form a ring around the spot whence\nthe thrilling sounds came. The voice sang on. The ring grew smaller\nand smaller until in an open space the shadowy form of a tree loomed\nup before the advancing warriors. No escape was now possible for the\nsinger, yet the song went on without hesitancy. The tree was now\nclearly visible. The song came to a close, and the echo died away in\nthe distance. The men kept on toward the tree, with bows drawn and\narrows strung. No form was seen running around inside the ring,\nseeking an opening for escape; but, lo! at the foot of the tree lay\nscattered the whitened bones and the grinning skull of a man. Death\nhad claimed the body of this warrior and compelled its return to dust,\nbut had failed to silence the voice of the man who, when living, had\noften defied death.\n\n[Music: SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.\n\n_Dakota._\n\nHarmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.\n\nHi dho ho hi dho ho i dho hi dho ha ha i dha\nah hi dha ha hi dha ha hi dha ha idha ha\nha hi dho i dha he e dho i.\nAh hi dho hi dho hi dho ho i dha i dho\nha ha i dha ah hi dha ha i dha ha hi dha ha i-dha ha\nha hi dha e dho he dho.]\n\nThe Leader, looking around upon his followers, lifted his voice and\nsaid:--\n\n\"This was a warrior, who died the death of a warrior. There was joy in\nhis voice!\"\n\nThe men to whom the strange experience narrated in this story came,\nafterward banded themselves together in order the better to serve\ntheir people, to present to the young men of the tribe an example of\ngenerosity in time of peace and of steadfast valour on the field of\nbattle. They kept together during their lives and added to their\nnumber, so that the society they formed continued to exist through\ngenerations.\n\nThe story and song which has been handed down through all these years\nas the inspiration of the founders of the Ma-wa'-da-ni Society,\nembodies a truth honoured among all peoples,--that death cannot\nsilence the voice of one who confronts danger with unflinching\ncourage, giving his life in the defence of those dependent upon his\nprowess. Such a man might fall in the trackless wilderness, and his\nbones lie unhonoured and unburied until they blanched with age: still\nhis voice would ring out in the solitude until its message of courage\nand joy should find an echo in the heart of the living.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF ZO_N_-ZI'-MO_N_-DE.\n\n\nVictory songs, of which this is one, were sung when the people with\nrhythmic steps celebrated ceremonially the return of victorious\nwarriors. Because of its peculiar accessory, the scalp, this ceremony\nhas been called by us the \"scalp dance,\" although no Indian so\ndesignates it.\n\nThe contrast between the sentiment of this story, teaching respect and\nhonour to the old, and the ceremony, as we baldly see it, is\nstartling. But it is with the Indian as with ourselves: the cruelties\nof war and the gentler emotions are often intertwined, the latter\nsurviving and lifting up a standard for emulation, the former passing\naway, dying with the instigating passion. Among the many hundreds of\nIndian songs I have known, none commemorate acts of cruelty.\n\nYears ago the Omaha tribe and the Sioux met while searching for a\nbuffalo herd; and, as was usual, a battle ensued, for each tribe was\ndetermined to drive the other from the region of the game. Although\nthe Sioux outnumbered the Omaha, the latter remained victors of the\nfield.\n\n[Music: ZO_N_-ZI-MO_N_-DE.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nYe ha he ya e he dha ye ha he\nya e he dha ah ha ya e he dha ye ha he\nya e he dha dha ha dhoe.\nZo_n_-zi-mo_n_-de a-ma sha e dhe.\nAh ha ya e he dha e ha he ya e ha dha dha ha dho.]\n\nAn old Omaha, interested to observe how some of the tribe would\nconduct themselves in their first battle, made his way toward the\nscene of conflict. It chanced that just as a Sioux warrior had fallen,\npierced by an arrow, and the Omaha men were rushing forward to secure\ntheir war honours, this old man was discovered coming up the hill,\naided by his bow, which he used as a staff. One of the young warriors\ncalled to his companions:--\n\n\"Hold! Yonder comes Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de, let us give him the honours.\"\n\nThen, out of courtesy to the veteran, each young warrior paused and\nstepped aside, while the old man, all out of breath, hastened to the\nfallen foe. There he turned and thanked the young men for permitting\nhim, whom age had brought to the edge of the grave, to count yet one\nmore honour as a warrior.[5]\n\n[Footnote 5: To be the first to touch the body of an enemy counts as a\nwar honour.]\n\nThe words of the song give the exclamation of the generous youth:\n\"Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de comes! Stand aside! He comes.\"\n\n\n\n\nAN OMAHA LOVE-SONG.\n\n\nThe words of many love-songs refer to the dawn, the time of the day\nwhen they are usually sung; but this reference is not a literal one.\nIt figures the dawn of love in the breast of the singer. The Indian\nstands so close to Nature that he sees his own moods reflected or\ninterpreted in hers.\n\nThe Indian words of this song, freely translated, are:--\n\n     As the day comes forth from night,\n       So I come forth to seek thee.\n     Lift thine eyes and behold him\n       Who comes with the day to thee.\n\n[Music: LOVE SONG.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nFades the star of morning,\nWest winds gently blow, gently blow, gently blow.\nSoft the pine trees murmur,\nSoft the waters flow,\nSoft the waters flow,\nSoft the waters flow.\nLift thine eyes, my maiden,\nTo the hill-top nigh.\nNight and gloom will vanish\nWhen the pale stars die,\nWhen the pale stars die,\nWhen the pale stars die.\nLift thine eyes, my maiden,\nHear thy lover's cry.]\n\nMiss Edna Dean Proctor has rendered into charming verse the scene and\nthe feeling of the hour, giving us an Indian love-song in its\nentirety. By her courtesy I am able to reproduce here her poem written\nsome years ago, on hearing the melody which I had then recently\ntranscribed during one of my sojourns among the Omaha Indians:--\n\n     Fades the star of morning,\n       West winds gently blow,\n     Soft the pine-trees murmur,\n       Soft the waters flow.\n\n     Lift thine eyes, my maiden,\n       To the hill-top nigh,\n     Night and gloom will vanish\n       When the pale stars die;\n     Lift thine eyes, my maiden,\n       Hear thy lover's cry!\n\n     From my tent I wander,\n       Seeking only thee,\n     As the day from darkness\n       Comes for stream and tree.\n     Lift thine eyes, my maiden,\n       To the hill-top nigh;\n     Lo! the dawn is breaking,\n       Rosy beams the sky;\n     Lift thine eyes, my maiden,\n       Hear thy lover's cry!\n\n     Lonely is our valley,\n       Though the month is May;\n     Come and be my moonlight,\n       I will be thy day!\n     Lift thine eyes, my maiden,\n       Oh, behold me nigh!\n     Now the sun is rising,\n       Now the shadows fly;\n     Lift thine eyes, my maiden,\n       Hear thy lover's cry!\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY AND SONG OF THE WREN.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: Both story and song were recited to me by an old priest\nof the rite, and were interpreted by Mr. James R. Murie.]\n\n\nThis little parable occurs in the ritual of a religious ceremony of\nthe Pawnee tribe. The song has no words, except a term for wren, the\nvocables being intended only to imitate the notes of the bird,\nnevertheless, one can trace, through the variation and repetition of\nthe musical motive, the movement of the gentle thoughts of the teacher\nas given in the story which belongs to the song.\n\n\"A priest went forth in the early dawn. The sky was clear. The grass\nand wild flowers waved in the breeze that rose as the sun threw its\nfirst beams over the earth. Birds of all kinds vied with each other,\nas they sang their joy on that beautiful morning. The priest stood\nlistening. Suddenly, off at one side, he heard a trill that rose\nhigher and clearer than all the rest. He moved toward the place whence\nthe song came, that he might see what manner of bird it was that could\nsend farther than all the others its happy, laughing notes. As he came\nnear, he beheld a tiny brown bird with open bill, the feathers on its\nthroat rippling with the fervour of its song. It was the wren, the\nsmallest, the least powerful of birds, that seemed to be most glad\nand to pour out in ringing melody to the rising sun its delight in\nlife.\n\n\"As the priest looked, he thought: 'Here is a teaching for my people.\nEvery one can be happy, even the most insignificant can have his song\nof thanks.'\n\n\"So he made the story of the wren and sang it; and it has been handed\ndown from that day,--a day so long ago no man can remember the time.\"\n\n[Music: SONG OF THE WREN.\n\n_Pawnee._\n\nTranscribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.\n\nKe-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,\nKe-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,\nKe-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,\nKe-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,\nKe-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi,\nKe-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG.\n\n\nThere was but one funeral song in the Omaha tribe, and this was only\nsung to honour some man or woman who had been greatly respected by the\npeople.\n\nWhat one would see, when this song was sung, was in violent contrast\nto the character of the music. The blithe major strains suggest only\nhappiness. They hardly touch ground, so to speak, but keep their\nflight up where the birds are flitting about in the sunshine; and, if\nthere are clouds in the blue sky, they are soft and fleecy, and cast\nno shadows. Yet the men who sang this song were ranged in line before\nthe tent where the dead lay ready for burial. They had drawn the stem\nof a willow branch through a loop of flesh cut on their left arm, and\ntheir blood dripped upon the green leaves and fell in drops to the\nground.\n\nThe meaning of this strange spectacle and its musical accompaniment,\nso apparently out of keeping, must be sought for in the beliefs of the\npeople. It was a drama touching two worlds.\n\nThe shedding of blood was to express how vital was the loss. This act,\nvisible to the mourners, was an exhibition of sympathy; but music\nhad power to reach the unseen world, so the song was for the spirit of\nthe dead, who could not see the lacerated singers, but could hear\nthem, as they sang to cheer him as he went forth, forced by death to\nleave all who were dear to him.[7]\n\n[Footnote 7: It was one of the customs of the Omahas to cease wailing\nat a certain stage in the funeral ceremonies, that the departing\nfriend might not be distressed by the sounds of sorrow, as he left his\nhome behind him,--a custom founded on the same belief as that\nexpressed by this funeral song.]\n\nThe song was always sung in unison. The rhythm was accented by each\nsinger beating together two small willow sticks.\n\nThere are no words to the song, only vocables; and these belong to the\nbreathing or sighing class, indicative of emotion.\n\n[Music: SONG TO THE SPIRIT.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nE a dha ah\nE he a ha ah, he ah\nE dha ah he a ha ah\nE dha ah\nE ah\nE ah ha e ha o\nE dha he he dhoe ha o o\nE dha ha he a ha ah\nE dha ah e ah\nE ah ha e ha o\nE dha he dho.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE MOTHER'S VOW.\n\n\nIt was a warm day of early spring on the Upper Missouri, when the\nsubtle joy of awakening life stirs the blood and rouses the fancy. The\nbrown outline of the bare trees was already broken by little leaves\nthat were shaking themselves in the bright sunlight. Flowers were\npeering through the vivid green of the freshly sprung grass, the birds\nhad come, and the silence of the year had passed. It was a day to\nenjoy outdoor life, to indulge in hope and happy thoughts. The sky was\nso blue between the rolling white clouds that one forgot they could\never become portentous of storm. The tents of the Indians, dotted\nalong the banks of the stream, stood like tall white flowers among the\ntrees. Women and children were chatting and calling to each other. Men\nmoved sedately about, busy with preparations for the coming summer\ndays. Young men and maidens were thinking of each other; for the\nmorning song of the lover had been heard, and the signal flash of the\nmirror[8] had revealed his watching-place to the dark-eyed girl\ndemurely drawing water for the household in the early dawn.\n\n[Footnote 8: Young men carried small looking-glasses with which they\nflashed signals.]\n\nUnheeding the passage of the hours, I wandered up the narrow valley,\nnoting the fading lines of aboriginal life spread out before me. All\nat once I became aware that the brightness of the day was\novershadowed: a greyish hue, that rapidly deepened, pervaded the\nscene. Suddenly the wind came over the hills, the birds darted about,\nand the sound of thunder was heard. Everything was seeking a shelter;\nand, as I turned in haste, hoping to reach the nearest tent, I saw an\nold woman emerge from a lodge and in the face of the storm begin to\nclimb the hill, down which the wind swept, laying low the grass and\nwhipping the heads of the flowers. Seemingly unmindful of the storm,\non the woman went, her scant garments flapping, and her hair, seamed\nwith grey, tossing about her wrinkled face. The sight was so strange\nthat I paused to watch her, as she climbed on and on, steadfastly\nbreasting the storm. The lightnings flashed around her, and the\nthunder echoed among the hills as she reached the top. There she\nstopped and stood, a silhouette against the surging clouds, her hands\nuplifted, her head thrown back; and between the thunder peals I heard\nher voice ring out loud and clear in a song,--a song, I doubted not,\nthat carried a message to the mighty storm, in which to her the gods\nwere present. Many years have passed since I witnessed this scene and\nlearned the story of the woman's song. She is now at rest, and let us\nhope her lifelong sorrow may have turned to joy.\n\nIn the early part of the century a Dakota woman fasted and prayed, and\nThunder came to her in her vision. To the god she promised to give her\nfirstborn child. When she became a mother, she forgot in her joy that\nthe life of her little one did not belong to her; nor did she recall\nher fateful vow until one bright spring day, when the clouds gathered\nand she heard the roll of the thunder,--a sound which summoned all\npersons consecrated to this god to bring their offerings and to pay\ntheir vows. Then she remembered what she had promised; but her heart\nforbade her to lay the infant, which was smiling in her arms, upon the\ncloud-swept hill-top. She pressed the baby to her breast, and waited\nin silence the passing of the god in the storm.\n\nThe following spring, when the first thunder pealed, she did not\nforget her vow; but she could not gather strength to fulfil it.\n\nAnother year passed, and again the thunder sounded. Taking the\ntoddling child by the hand, the mother climbed the hill; and, when the\ntop was reached, she placed it on the ground and fled. But the boy\nscrambled up and ran after her, and his frightened cry stayed her\nfeet. He caught her garments and clung to them; and, although the\nthunder called, she could not obey. Her vow had been made before she\nknew the strength of a mother's love.\n\nGathering the boy in her arms, she hid herself and him from the\npresence of the god. The storm passed, and the mother and child\nreturned to the lodge; but fear had taken possession of her, and she\nwatched her son with eyes in which terror and love struggled for the\nmastery.\n\nOne day, as the little one played beside a rippling brook, laughing\nand singing in his glee, suddenly the clouds gathered, the flashing\nlightning and the crashing thunder sent beast and bird to cover, and\ndrove the mother out to find her child. She heard his voice above the\nfury of the storm, calling to her. As she neared the brook, a vivid\nflash blinded her eyes. For a moment she was stunned; but, recovering,\nshe pushed on, only to be appalled by the sight that met her gaze.\nHer boy lay dead. The thunder god had claimed his own.\n\nNo other children came to lighten the sorrow of the lonely woman; and\nevery spring, when the first thunder sounded, and whenever the storm\nswept the land, this stricken woman climbed the hills, and there,\nstanding alone, facing the black rolling clouds, she sang her song of\nsorrow and of fealty.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe words of the song are addressed to the god; but the music, in its\nswaying rhythm, suggests the mother's memory of the days when she\nsoothed her little child.\n\nThe following is a free translation of the Indian words:--\n\n     E dho he![9]\n     Behold! On their mighty pinions flying,\n     They come, the gods come once more\n     Sweeping o'er the land,\n     Sounding their call to me, to me their own.\n     Wa-gi-u_n_![10] Ye on mighty pinions flying,\n     Look on me here, me your own,\n     Thinking on my vow\n     As ye return once more, Wa-gi-u_n_!\n\n[Footnote 9: Sighing vocables.]\n\n[Footnote 10: Dakota term for the thunder bird.]\n\n[Music: THE MOTHER'S VOW.\n\n_Dakota._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nE dho he!\nGi-un, gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be\nCo-dha, gi-don-be a-me, ha-don-be a-me,\nWa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho-e.\nWa-gi-un\ngi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be\nCo-dha gi-don-be ha-we ha-don-be a-me.\nWa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho.]\n\n\n\n\nA LOVE-CALL.\n\n\nThe native flageolet has proved a trusty friend to many a youth to\nwhom nature had denied the power of expressing in vocal melody his\nfealty to the maiden of his choice. With its woody tones he rivalled\nthe birds as he sounded his love-call from the hills and made glad the\nheart of the girl, who, catching the signal, awaited his coming at the\nspring.\n\nThere are many bits of music composed for this little instrument,\nwhich, in spite of its inaccuracies of pitch, arising from imperfect\nconstruction, are not without hints of beauty.\n\n[Music: LOVE CALL.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nFor the Flageolet.]\n\n\n\n\nA GAME SONG FROM THE NORTH-WEST COAST.\n\n\nIt is well known that the serious avocations of the fathers often\nserve as games for the children. So it comes about that in the games\nof chance we have a survival of the ancient custom of divination. As,\naccording to Indian belief, song was the medium through which man\ncommunicated with the mysterious powers, we find all his games of\nchance accompanied by melodies.\n\nOne autumn evening many years ago I was walking along a stretch of the\nPacific shore. The westerning moon flooded the water with light, and\nlit up the edge of the dense forest that formed the background of an\nIndian village. From one of its great square wooden dwellings came the\nsound of singing, and the ruddy firelight shone through the cracks of\nthe plank door as I approached.\n\nEntering, I saw that the central fire had just been lighted. The four\nfamilies, which had each their particular portion of the communal\nhouse, had suffered their separate fires to burn to ashes, and had\npushed back their various belongings to give more room for the\ngathering crowd.\n\nI lingered at the door, looking on the motley scene: the women and\nchildren in the background; the old men in groups, talking over their\nyounger days; the line of men singers, each with his piece of board\nwith which to strike the floor in lieu of a drum; the young men who\nwere to play, ranged in two opposite rows; and others standing about,\nwatching their friends and eager for the game to begin.\n\nWhen all was ready, the leader of one side held up for a moment in one\nhand a small piece of bone, then began tossing it secretly from one\nhand to the other, moving the closed fists rapidly past each other to\nthe rhythm of the song sung by the singers, the opposite side keeping\nsharp eyes on the moving fists, to be ready, when the signal should be\ngiven, to detect, if possible, the hand to which the bone had finally\nbeen passed.\n\nHeavy stakes were put up, and there was every sign that song after\nsong would follow each other as the night wore on.\n\nThe song which follows is sung when playing a game of chance:--\n\n[Music: GAME SONG.\n\n_Vancouver's Island._\n\nTranscribed and Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY AND SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET.\n\n\nIn the last century there lived a man who, in his young days, was a\ndesperate coquet. He played havoc with the plans of many a young man,\nrobbing him of the fancy of his sweetheart, and then leaving the\nmaiden all forlorn. His behaviour aroused the anger and jealousy of\nboth sexes, but he seemed as impervious to the contempt of his fellows\nas he was callous to the woe of his victims. The whole village buzzed\nwith the gossip of his adventures, and every one wondered how he\nmanaged to escape punishment.\n\nAfter the manner of the people, a song was made about him and his\ncareer, that has outlasted his vain victories.\n\nIt is difficult to convey in concise English the sarcastic humour of\nthe original. The words picture this young man as sitting on a hill,\nnear the village where he lived and achieved so many conquests. The\nwarm summer breeze wafted up to him the hum of the people as they\ntalked, blaming him for his actions. \"But why blame me?\" says the\nirresistible youth, stretching himself at full length in the\nsunshine. \"It was the gods that made me as I am: blame them, if you\nwill!\" And he gave a sigh of satisfaction, \"Hi!\"\n\nThe music carries the story well. The swing of the last six bars\nsuggests his shrug of irresponsibility.\n\n[Music: SONG OF THE INDIAN COQUET.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nTa won gdhon dhe-nun-ye de\nUn-dhon-ge-a dhon-ke dhe\nwa-kon-da he-gi-mon-te in-dhin-ga-ye ga-ma hi-a me\nHi!]\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG.\n\n\nEarly in the century there lived an Omaha Indian, a tall and comely\nman, gifted with a fine voice and a good memory, and who was greatly\nadmired by the men and women of the tribe. Although genial with every\none, he was reserved; and none knew all that had transpired in his\nlife or that occupied his thoughts. He was a prosperous man. His lodge\nwas well supplied, for his skill as a hunter was equal to his valour\nas a warrior.\n\nYears passed; and here and there a silver thread glistened in his\nblack hair, the furrows deepened in his handsome face, and more and\nmore his thoughts seemed to dwell on the past. One day he was heard\nsinging a love-song of his own composition, and gossip became busy as\nto what this song might mean. His actions threw no light on the\nmystery. He was the same kind husband and father, the same diligent\nprovider, and he sought no new companionship. Nevertheless, at every\ndawn he went upon the hill near his lodge; and, while the morning star\nhung like a jewel in the east, he sang the melody carrying the\nwords,--\n\n     \"With the dawn I seek thee!\"\n\n[Music: THE OLD MAN'S LOVE SONG.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nHa he ha ha he ha he ha we dhe ha dha e ha dhoe,\nUm-ba e-don ha-i-don, hu-wi-ne ha, ho e ho wa dho he dhe,\nI ha, ha he ho, ho he ho, he ha we dhe dhoe.\nUn-ba i-don ha-i-don, hu-wi ne ha, ho e ho ne dho he.]\n\nThe young men caught the tune, and sang it as they wooed the maidens;\nand the old man smiled as he heard them. \"Yes, they are right,\" he\nsaid. \"It is a love-song.\"\n\nHe grew to be a very old man, an old man with a love-song, until it\nwas only when the warm days came that he could slowly climb the hill\nat dawn, and, alone with the breezes and birds, greet the new day with\nhis song, that both kept and revealed his secret,--the secret of a\nlove, like the radiant bow, spanning the whole horizon of his life. At\nlast a time came when his voice was no longer heard.\n\nThe tender cadences of his song, fraught with human hope and human\nfeeling, still linger, and to-day awaken echoes across the barriers of\ntime and race.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE WE-TO'_N_ SONG.\n\n\nMany Indian tribes believed it possible for one person to affect\nanother through the power of the will. This belief gave rise to\npeculiar customs and to a class of songs called, in the Omaha tongue,\nWe'-to_n_, composed and sung by women for the sole purpose of exerting\nthis power for the benefit of absent warriors.\n\nUnless the village was attacked, women did not take active part in\nwar. When the men went forth on a long journey to meet the enemy, the\nwomen remained at home, attending to domestic duties. Their thoughts,\nhowever, were with the absent ones; and, under the incentive of the\nbelief in will power, they would gather in groups at the lodge of the\nLeader of the war party, and in the hearing of his family would sing a\nWe'-to_n_ song, which should carry strength to the far-away warriors\nand help them to win the battle.\n\nThe words of these songs do not reveal the purpose for which they were\nsung, it being one of the peculiarities of the Indian never to\nexpatiate upon that which to him is apparent. The gathering of the\nwomen at the lodge of the Leader of the war party, the united action\nin singing a song never used but for one purpose, made any explanatory\nwords seem unnecessary. The distinctive mission of the song was to\nreach the absent man, who, far from home, was suffering hardship and\nfacing danger. Upon him the singers fixed their thoughts, and to him\nsent strength by their power of will. The words always referred to the\ndifficulties that confronted the warrior, and promised him success and\nvictory. They were not addressed to any visible audience.\n\nThe We'-to_n_ song here given was composed by a Dakota woman.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany years ago a large party of warriors were out on a dangerous\nexpedition for the purpose of recapturing some property stolen by an\nimplacable enemy. There seemed little hope for their safe return, and\ngreat apprehension was felt in many a tent. One evening, as the moon\nrose, round and clear, over the wide rolling prairie, a group of women\nmoved in single file to the lodge of the Leader of the war party, upon\nwhom rested the responsibility of the expedition.\n\nThe tent stood dark against the evening sky, revealing the anxiety\nwithin, which had let the blazing fire die to smouldering embers. At\nthe door the women paused, and across the stillness of the night they\nsent forth this song, fraught with their united determination to\ncompel victory for the absent men.\n\n\"All the tribes shall hear of you,\" they sang. \"Put forth your\nstrength. Truly this shall come to pass.\"\n\nOut of the silent tent emerged the Leader's wife, bearing in her arms\ngifts in acknowledgment of sympathy given and of succour sent.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd, as the women sang, \"truly it came to pass.\" In due time the men\nreturned triumphant, after many hair-breadth escapes, with not one of\ntheir number missing.\n\n[Music: WE-TO_N_ SONG.\n\n_Dakota._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nE ya-a he!\nah he dhe he dhe ah he dhe he dhe e-ya he!\nah ye dha he he ah he dha he dhoe,\nou-ki-a-ma dhi nun-un-ta-ye wa-skon-e-gun ya he\nE ya he!\nah he dhe he he ah he dhe he dho.]\n\n\n\n\nA PAWNEE LOVE-SONG.\n\n\nThere is no dalliance in this Pawnee love-song. It has no words, but\nthe music tells the story,--the insistent call of the lover to the\nmaiden to fly with him, the wide sweep of the prairie, the race for\ncover, and the dauntless daring that won the girl from rival\npursuers.\n\n[Music: LOVE SONG.\n\n_Pawnee._\n\nTranscribed by E.S. TRACY.]\n\n\n\n\nA WARRIOR'S STORY AND SONG.\n\n\nThe Mi'-ka-thi songs are sung by warriors as they leave the village on\ntheir way to battle. They all originate in some personal experience,\nand both story and song are handed down with care and precision.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA Ponka war party once camped near the enemy. The usual sentinels had\nbeen stationed, with special injunctions to be vigilant, that the camp\nmight not be discovered and surprised. Among those assigned to duty as\nsentinel that night was a young man ambitious to win preferment and\nhonour in the tribe. His career was yet all to make, and he was on the\nalert for opportunity to distinguish himself.\n\nThere was no moon, and only the keenest eye could discern any distant\nobject in the darkness. The silence was unbroken save by the\noccasional cry of the wolf, the creaking of a cricket, or the rustle\nof a passing breeze.\n\nThe young man, intently on the watch, scanned the country from right\nto left, searching through the dimness for any moving thing; but all\nwas motionless beneath, while overhead the stars moved slowly through\nthe heavens, as the night wore on.\n\nAt a little distance from the watcher was a clump of trees. Upon this\nhe kept a steady eye, only turning now and then to sweep the horizon.\nOnce, as his eye returned to the trees, he beheld a shadow unnoticed\nbefore. It moved; and, without waiting to see more, he sped\nnoiselessly as an arrow to wake the Leader and report that he had seen\nthe enemy creeping toward the sleeping warriors.\n\nThe Leader, an old and experienced man, made no reply, but rose\nquickly and silently, and taking his bow in his hand, motioned the\nsentinel to lead the way.\n\nWith rapid, muffled steps, they reached the place where the young man\nhad stood when he had seen the moving shadow. The Leader looked\nintently in the indicated direction, bent his ear to the ground and\nlistened, then rose and looked again.\n\nA faint gleam of light in the east gave sign of the approach of day,\nas the Leader stepped cautiously toward the group of trees, followed\nby the young warrior, whose heart beat high with hope that the time\nhad at last come for him to show his valour and win a war honour. A\ngreyish hue was spreading over the land as they neared the place. The\nyoung man's eyes sought among the trees the hidden enemy, but the\nLeader paused and addressed the youth:--\n\n\"Was it here that you saw the enemy?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Look on the ground and tell me what you see?\"\n\nSurprised at the words, yet obedient, he turned his scrutiny from the\ntrees to the grass upon which they stood, and detected there the\ntraces of the feet of an animal. As he gazed silently at the tracks,\nabsorbed in his thoughts, the dawn came slowly on. The Leader was the\nfirst to speak:--\n\n\"I had seen a wolf pass here when I was going the rounds of the camp,\nand when you reported to me I had but just returned to my bed. I arose\nand came with you, to be quite sure that we had both looked in the\nsame direction and had seen the same thing. A warrior must learn to\ndistinguish a man from a wolf, even in the darkness of midnight.\"\n\nThe youth heard the words in silence. At last he said, \"A warrior has\nmuch to learn; and it is well if, while he learns, he brings no\ntrouble to his friends.\" Then, standing beside the veteran Leader, in\nthe light of the coming day, he suddenly broke into song, voicing\nthere on the instant the feeling born of his night's experience.\n\nThis story and song he gave to others, that it might be as a voice of\nwarning to young and eager warriors, and help them to guard against a\nmisadventure like his own.\n\nAlthough the young man in after years became noted in the tribe for\nhis prudence and valour, this story and song of his youth have\nsurvived the memory of his later deeds.\n\nThe words give the pith of the adventure: \"I did not report aright\nwhen I went to the Leader and bade him arise. It was a wolf that was\nmoving.\"\n\nThe spirited music breathes the impatient eagerness of youth. The\nhaste and insistence of the young warrior are heard in the phrase\nwhere he addresses the \"Nu-don hon-ga,\" or Leader. The song is a great\nfavourite among the young men of several Indian tribes in our\ncountry.\n\n[Music: MI-KA-THI.\n\nA WARRIOR'S SONG.\n\n_Ponka._\n\nHi a ha ha ha a he a-we dho he\ne hu he a he dhe ya a ho e dho he\ne hu e a-he ya a ha e dho he he dho-e.\nNu-don hon-ga ni-a-shi-ga bi-e he mia ka non-zhi-a he e\nMi-ka-thi-a-ma ha dhea a-me dho he e\nHon-ga dhe-te non zhin-ge dho he e.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG.\n\n\nThis little song of springtime was noted from the singing of a Tigua\ngirl of the pueblo of Isleta, N.M., by my honoured and lamented friend\nand co-worker, Professor John Comfort Fillmore. It tells the story of\nthe semi-arid region where it was born.\n\n     Rain, people, rain!\n     The rain is all around us.\n     It is going to come pouring down,\n     And the summer will be fair to see,\n     The mocking-bird has said so.\n\n[Music: MOCKING BIRD SONG.\n\n_Tigua._\n\nTranscribed and harmonized\nby PROF. JOHN COMFORT FILLMORE.\n\nHla-chi dai-nin, hla-chi dai-nin, i-beh ma kun whi ni weh, da win gu ba\n  hin ah.\nAh hlun hla hlue i hi ei-ah whi no ei-ah whi no i-ah ei-ah hi-ah hin ni\n  ni ah.\nTur wey u tur p'hoa whe na he de a na lhen h'li he pun hi ni ni ah\nLi u yu sa na a a a ya he wa a hi ni ni a hi ni ni a ni a a ha i hi.]\n\n\n\n\nA SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE.\n\n\nThere are few more pathetic sights than that of an Indian ghost\ndance,--pathetic in itself, not to consider the gloomy background of\nfear inspired by it in the minds of so many of our own race who have\nso widely misunderstood its meaning. The ceremony is but an appeal to\nthe unseen world to come near and to comfort those who have been\novertaken in the land of their fathers by conditions both strange and\nincomprehensible.\n\nThe ghost or spirit dance is a modified survival of several ancient\nceremonies, blended into one and touched here and there with ideas\nborrowed from our own race.\n\nIn the hypnotic vision which follows the monotonous dance, the\nlandscape of his former days, untouched by the white man, appears to\nthe \"controlled\" Indian: the streams wander through unbroken prairie;\nno roadways, no fields of wheat, intrude upon the broad stretches of\nnative grasses; the vanished herds of buffalo come back to their\ngrazing-grounds; the deer and the antelope, the wolf and the bear, are\nagain in the land; and the eagles look down on the Indian villages,\nwhere are to be seen the faces of old friends returned from the\nspirit realm. These are the scenes which come to the homesick Indian,\nwho is stranded in his native land, his ears filled with foreign\nsounds, his old activities gone, and his hands unskilled and unable to\ntake up new ones.\n\nThe ghost dance is the cry of a forsaken people, forsaken by the gods\nin which they once trusted,--a people bewildered by the complexity of\nthe new path they must follow, misunderstood by and misunderstanding\nthe race with whom they are forced to live. In this brief ceremony of\nthe ghost dance the Indians seek to close their eyes to an unwelcome\nreality, and to live in the fanciful vision of an irrecoverable past.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis song was given me by a ghost dancer, a leader in the Arapaho\ntribe. Before he sang, he explained to me the ceremony, its peaceful\ncharacter, and, all unconsciously, made apparent its expression of a\npathetic longing for a life that can never return. Standing before the\ngraphophone, he offered an earnest prayer, then, with his companions,\nsang this song.\n\nThe simple pathos of the words cannot be reproduced in English.\nThey carry a meaning beneath their literal sense that appeals like the\ncry of a child.\n\n     Father, have pity upon me!\n     I am weeping from hunger (of the spirit):\n     There is nothing here to satisfy me!\n\nThe music tells the story of the cry. Its cadences are antiphonal, as\nbetween the two worlds.\n\n[Music: GHOST DANCE SONG.\n\n_Arapaho._]\n\n\n\n\nSACRED SONGS OF PEACE.\n\n\nWhen the white race first visited the Indians in the Mississippi\nvalley, they found among them a ceremony common to a large number of\ntribes; and it was observed that, whenever the symbolic objects\npeculiar to this ceremony were displayed, they were treated with\nprofound respect.\n\nThese sacred objects were two perforated sticks, like pipe stems, one\npainted blue to represent the sky, and the other green to typify the\nearth; and among their bright-coloured decorations were the plumages\nof particular birds and wing-like pendants of eagle feathers. They\nsymbolised the heavens and the earth and the mysterious power that\npermeates all nature. In their presence the Indians were taught that\nthey should care for their children, think of the future welfare of\nthe people, put aside personal grievances, repress anger and warlike\nemotions, and be like kindred, at peace with one another. Different\nnames were given to these peculiar objects by the different tribes;\nand they were classed by our early travellers with the \"calumets,\" or\npipes of peace, although they were not pipes, for they had no bowl and\ncould not be smoked.\n\nIt was due to the presence of one of these so-called \"calumets\" in\nMarquette's frail canoe that made possible his peaceful descent of the\nMississippi River on his voyage of discovery. He writes that the\n\"calumet is the most mysterious thing in the world. The sceptres of\nour kings are not so much respected; ... for one with this calumet may\nventure among his enemies, and in the hottest battles they lay down\ntheir arms before this sacred pipe.\"\n\nThe \"calumet\" ceremony has, therefore, an historic interest for us,\napart from its revelation of the religious beliefs and social ideals\nof the Indian. To explain the symbolism, the teachings, and the\nobservances which make up this complex rite would fill a volume; but,\nthat something of the dignity and beauty of the thoughts expressed in\nit may be known, two of its numerous songs are here given.\n\nTo understand the significance of these songs, it should be known that\ntwo distinct groups or parties were indispensable to the performance\nof the ceremony; namely, they who brought the \"calumets\" and they who\nreceived them. As it was imperative that there should be no blood\nrelationship between these two parties, they always belonged to\ndifferent tribes or to two distinct kinship groups within the tribe.\nThe party bringing the \"calumets\" was called \"the father,\" while those\nreceiving them were \"the children.\" These terms refer to the tie about\nto be formed between the two unrelated parties by means of this sacred\nceremony. This tie was esteemed more honourable and binding than the\nnatural bond of father and son.\n\nThe ceremony generally took place in a circular dwelling known as an\n\"earth lodge.\" The occasion drew together a large concourse of\npeople,--men, women, and children; and the gay costumes, the glinting\nof ornaments, the picturesque groups, and the happy, smiling faces of\nold and young made a scene full of colour and motion. Many times I\nhave witnessed this ceremony and joined in its beautiful chorals, led\nby the bearers, who swayed the \"calumets\" to the rhythm of the song,\nwafting over the heads of the people the blessing of peace.\n\nThe following choral was sung immediately after the \"calumets\" had\nbeen ceremonially taken from their resting-place, with movements that\nsimulated the eagle rising from its nest. The bearers then faced the\npeople, seated on the ground against the wall of the lodge, and with\nslow rhythmic steps moved around the circle, waving the \"calumets\"\nover the heads of the multitude. As the \"calumets\" passed slowly by,\nthe people took up the choral, until at last the great lodge resounded\nwith its majestic cadences. The leaping flames from the central fire\nlit up the faces of the hundreds of men and women; while the swaying\nfeathers of the \"calumets\" cast great wing-like shadows on the\nglistening roof, and seemed to make real the symbolic presence of the\nmighty eagle himself, circling over the people as he sped on his\nmission, bearing the benediction of good will among men.\n\nOnce, at the close of this song, an old Indian turned to me and said,\n\"The 'calumets' are of God.\"\n\nThe words of this choral refer to the blessing of peace given to \"the\nfathers\" in ancient days, and now brought by the symbolic \"calumets\"\nto \"the children.\"\n\n     Down through the ages vast,\n     On wings strong and true,\n     From great Wa-ko_n_'-da comes\n     Good will unto you,--\n     Peace, that shall here remain.\n\n[Music: CHORAL.\n\n_Omaha._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nDha ke-de hia u-dha ho-dha\nke-de ho-dha dha ke-de\nha dhe he hia dha ke-de hia\ndha ke-de ha dhe he.]\n\nAfter the bearers, or \"the fathers,\" had ceremonially borne the\n\"calumets\" four times around the lodge, singing as they went and\nwaving the blessing of peace and fellowship over the heads of \"the\nchildren,\" they paused as they reached a consecrated place at the back\nof the lodge, facing the entrance to the east. Here the ground had\nbeen specially prepared, and a wildcat skin spread upon it for the\nreception of the \"calumets.\" Over this skin, which had its symbolic\nmeaning, the bearers waved the \"calumets,\" imitating the movements of\nthe eagle, sweeping lower and lower, rising and circling again, and\nthen dropping lightly upon its nest.\n\nThe song is one of those sung to accompany the movements of the\n\"calumets\" as they are thus lowered to rest. The words refer to the\nsearch of \"the fathers\" for \"the children,\" to bring them peace, as\nthe eagle soars abroad and returns to its nest.\n\n     Far above the earth he soars,\n     Circling the clear sky,\n     Flying over forests dim,\n     Peering in shadows,\n     Seeking far and wide his child,\n     To give him peace.\n\n[Music: THE GIFT OF PEACE.\n\n_Otoe._\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.\n\nZhin-ga dha-we dho dho we he ho-i ne\nZhin-ga dha-we dho dho we he ho-i-ne\nZhin-ga dha we dho dho we ha je dha we.]\n\n\n\n\nCOMFORTING THE CHILD.\n\n\nThe three following songs have a common motive, and are parts of one\nceremonial action; but the motive is treated differently in each song,\nso as to conform to the movements of the ceremony.[11] An unconscious\nart is here shown, which is interesting as a bit of musical\narchaeology. During the \"calumet\" ceremony among the Pawnees, if a\nchild cried and would not be comforted, its parents were permitted to\nappeal to the \"calumets\" for help.\n\n[Footnote 11: These songs were never before noted, and have hitherto\nbeen sealed from the knowledge of the white race. They were given and\nexplained by a priest of the rite, through Mr. James R. Murie.]\n\nThe fan-shaped pendant of one of these \"calumets\" was made of the\nfeathers of the golden eagle. This bird in the ceremony was called\nKawas, and symbolised the peaceful and conserving power, the giver and\npreserver of life, the parent of all things. It was to the priestly\nbearer of this particular \"calumet\" that the parents appealed. On\nreceiving the appeal, the priest and his assistants arose, and,\nstanding beside \"the holy place,\"--the consecrated space where the\n\"calumets\" were laid at ceremonial rest,--they sang this song, thus\npassing on to Kawas the appeal of the parents.\n\n[Music: KAWAS, THY BABY IS CRYING.\n\n_Pawnee._\n\nTranscribed from Graphophone record and Harmonized by E.S. TRACY.\n\nHo o Kawas ta wha-ka ra-tsa we\nKawas ta wha-ka ra-tsa we\nAh he-wi! wha-ka ra-tsa we,\nKawas ta wha-ka-ra tsa we.]\n\nThe words are in the nature of a prayer, the music has the swing of a\nlullaby.\n\n     Kawas, thy baby is crying!\n     Grieving sore, wailing, and weeping.\n     Aye, forsooth! wailing and weeping,\n     Kawas, thy baby is crying!\n\nThen the bearers took up the \"calumets\" and moved with slow rhythmic\nsteps toward the crying child, singing as they went and swaying the\nsacred symbols to the measure of this song. Its meaning was explained\nto me as follows:--\n\n\"Hah-ars (a contraction of the word meaning father) signifies\nTi-ra'-wa, the power that animates all things, all animals, all men,\nthe heavens, and the earth. Ti-ra'-wa is represented by the Hako (the\n'calumets'), and it is this power which now approaches to console the\nchild.\"\n\nIn the music one hears the coming of Ti-ra'-wa in the footsteps of his\ncreatures, both great and small.\n\n     Thy father is coming,\n     E'en now he is near thee;\n     Cry no more: the mighty one,\n     Thy father, is coming!\n\n[Music: THY FATHER IS COMING.\n\n_Pawnee._\n\nTranscribed from Graphophone record and Harmonized by E.S. TRACY.\n\nHo Hah-ars si-rah ti we-ra,\nHah-ars si-ra ti we-ra\nRe-ko ji!\nHe ti we-ra,\nHah-ars si-ra ti we-ra.]\n\nUpon reaching the child, the golden eagle \"calumet\" was gently swayed\nabove it, while in the background the other \"calumet\" was waved to\nward off disturbing influences, and the priests sang this song. It is\nsaid that on hearing it \"the child always looks up and ceases its\ncrying.\"\n\nThe caressing, almost playful rhythm of the music twines about the\ndeep religious feeling expressed in the words, like the arms of an\ninfant about the neck of its thoughtful, reverent parent.\n\n     Lift thine eyes, 'tis the gods who come near,\n     Bringing thee joy, release from all pain.\n     Sending sorrow and sighing\n     Far from the child, Ti-ra'-wa makes fain.\n\n     Ah, you look! Surely, you know who comes,\n     Claiming you his and bidding you rise,\n     Blithely smiling and happy,\n     Child of Ti-ra'-wa, Lord of the skies!\n\n[Music: LOOK UP!\n\n_Pawnee._\n\nTranscribed from Graphophone record, and Harmonized by E.S. TRACY.\n\nHo Ha!\nIs-te wa-ta si wi-ta ha,\nHa! Is-te wa-ta si wi-ta ha\nHah-ars hi re wa-ha-ki,\nHa! Is-te wa-ta si wi-ta ha.]\n\n\n\n\nMUSIC IN INDIAN LIFE.\n\n\nMusic enveloped the Indian's individual and social life like an\natmosphere. There was no important personal experience where it did\nnot bear a part, nor any ceremonial where it was not essential to the\nexpression of religious feeling. The songs of a tribe were coextensive\nwith the life of the people.\n\nThis universal use of music was because of the belief that it was a\nmedium of communication between man and the unseen. The invisible\nvoice could reach the invisible power that permeates all nature,\nanimating all natural forms. As success depended upon help from this\nmysterious power, in every avocation, in every undertaking, and in\nevery ceremonial, the Indian appealed to this power through song. When\na man went forth to hunt, that he might secure food and clothing for\nhis family, he sang songs to insure the assistance of the unseen power\nin capturing the game. In like manner, when he confronted danger and\ndeath, he sang that strength might be given him to meet his fate\nunflinchingly. In gathering the healing herbs and in administering\nthem, song brought the required efficacy. When he planted, he sang,\nin order that the seed might fructify and the harvest follow. In his\nsports, in his games, when he wooed and when he mourned, song alike\ngave zest to pleasure and brought solace to his suffering. In fact,\nthe Indian sang in every experience of life from his cradle to his\ngrave.\n\nIt would be a mistake to fancy that songs floated indiscriminately\nabout among the Indians, and could be picked up here and there by any\nchance observer. Every song had originally its owner. It belonged\neither to a society, secular or religious, to a certain clan or\npolitical organization, to a particular rite or ceremony, or to some\nindividual.\n\nReligious songs were known only to the priesthood; and, as music\nconstituted a medium between man and the unseen powers which\ncontrolled his life, literal accuracy was important, otherwise the\npath between the god and the man would not be straight, and the appeal\nwould miscarry.\n\nIn every tribe there were societies having a definite membership, with\ninitiatory rites and reciprocal duties. Each society had its peculiar\nsongs; and there were officials chosen from among the members because\nof their good voices and retentive memories, to lead the singing and\nto transmit with accuracy the stories and songs of the society, which\nfrequently preserved bits of tribal history. Fines were imposed upon\nany member who sang incorrectly, while ridicule always and everywhere\nfollowed a faulty rendering of a song.\n\nThe right to sing a song which belonged to an individual could be\npurchased, the person buying the song being taught it by its owner.\n\nThese beliefs and customs among the Indians have made it possible to\npreserve their songs without change from one generation to another.\nMany curious and interesting proofs of accuracy of transmittal have\ncome to my knowledge during the past twenty years, while studying\nthese primitive melodies.\n\nIndian singing was always in unison; and, as the natural soprano,\ncontralto, tenor, and bass moved along in octaves, the different\nqualities of tone in the voices brought out the overtones and produced\nharmonic effects. When listening to chorals sung by two or three\nhundred voices, as I have many times heard them in ceremonials, it has\nbeen difficult to realise that all were singing in unison.\n\nClose and continued observation has revealed that the Indian, when he\nsings, is not concerned with the making of a musical presentation to\nhis audience. He is simply pouring out his feelings, regardless of\nartistic effects. To him music is subjective: it is the vehicle of\ncommunication between him and the object of his desire.\n\nCertain peculiarities in the Indian's mode of singing make it\ndifficult for one of our race to intelligently hear their songs or to\ntruthfully transcribe them.\n\nThere is no uniform key for any given song, for the Indians have no\nmechanical device for determining pitch to create a standard by which\nto train the ear. This, however, does not affect the song; for,\nwhatever the starting note, the intervals bear the same relation to\neach other, so that the melody itself suffers no change with the\nchange of pitch.\n\nAgain, the continual slurring of the voice from one tone to another\nproduces upon us the impression of out-of-tune singing. Then, the\ncustom of singing out of doors, to the accompaniment of the drum, and\nagainst the various noises of the camp, and the ever-restless wind,\ntending to strain the voice and robbing it of sweetness, increases the\ndifficulty of distinguishing the music concealed within the noise,--a\ndifficulty still further aggravated by the habit of pulsating the\nvoice, creating a rhythm within the rhythm of the song.\n\nEmotion also affects the rendering of Indian music. This is especially\nnoticeable in solos, as love-songs, where the singer quite\nunconsciously varies from a quarter to a whole tone from the true\npitch. On the contrary, emphasis sharps the tone. If, however, these\npeculiarities are imitated to him, the Indian immediately detects, and\ndeclares them to be wrong, thus betraying his unconsciousness of his\nown inaccuracies in endeavouring to strike a plain diatonic interval.\n\nOur difficulty in hearing the music of the Indian is equalled by the\ntrouble he has with our instruments. His attention is engaged by the\nmechanism. He hears the thud of the hammer, \"the drum inside\" the\npiano, the twanging of the metal strings, and the abrupt, disconnected\ntones. Until he is able to ignore these noises he cannot recognise the\nmost familiar tune. Even then, if his songs are played as an\nunsupported aria, they are unsatisfactory to him. His ear misses\nsomething it heard in the unison singing of his people, and which the\naddition of a simple harmonic accompaniment supplies, making the\nmelody, as he says, \"sound natural.\" The discovery of the Indian's\npreference in the rendition of his songs upon the piano led to many\nexperiments, in which Professor Fillmore took part, and that brought\nto light many interesting facts. Among these facts may be mentioned\nthe complexity of rhythms, one played against the other; the\nmodulation implied in some of the melodies; the preference for a major\nchord in closing a minor song; and the use of certain harmonic\nrelations which have been deemed peculiar to the modern romantic\nschool.\n\nAs these melodies are the spontaneous utterances of a people without\nany theory of music or even a musical notation, they throw light upon\nthe structure, development, and freedom of natural expression in\nmusic.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RELATION OF STORY AND SONG.\n\n\nThe rise of our music and poetry is lost in an irrevocable past; but,\nas the operation of psychical laws is universal, it may be that some\nof the influences that have been operative in the growth of these arts\ncan be discovered through the study of native American story and song,\nborn of a race living in a state of culture antecedent to that in\nwhich our earliest literature and music flourished.\n\nWithin a generation diligent search has begun among some of the Indian\ntribes, to ascertain, through a sympathetic study of rites,\nceremonies, and customs, what were the red man's ideals, what his\nbeliefs, and what his actual attainments. Already this labour is\nbearing fruit. Scholars are recognising that the aboriginal conditions\non this continent throw light on the slow development of human society\nand its institutions; and the time seems not distant when students of\nman's culture will turn hither for evidence needed to fill gaps or to\nexplain phases in the development of art,--art in form, in colour, and\nin melody,--for, it has been well said, America is the \"fossil bed\"\nwhere are preserved stages of progress unrecorded in written history.\n\nIn Indian story and song we come upon a time where poetry is not yet\ndifferentiated from story and story not yet set free from song. We\nnote that the song clasps the story as a part of its being, and the\nstory itself is not fully told without the cadence of the song. Yet in\neven the most primitive examples a line of demarcation can be\ndiscerned; and when this line has deepened, and differentiation has\nbegun, we are able to trace the formative influence exerted by story\nupon song and by song upon story, and can observe what appear to be\nthe beginnings of musical and poetical structure.\n\nThe brevity of Indian songs at once arrests attention. They begin\nwithout introduction, almost abruptly, breaking out upon us as though\nsurcharged. This peculiarity arises from the relation of the song to\nthe story. The story is always founded upon a dramatic circumstance,\nin which at some point the emotion is forced to find a means of\nexpression beyond the limitation of words alone; and the song is the\nresult. This dramatic circumstance may be a danger confronted or\naverted, a valorous deed achieved or a difficulty surmounted, a\nreligious experience or an ardent craving for supernatural aid. The\nOmaha tribal prayer will serve as an illustration, where the cry to\nWa-ko_n_-da is the climatic voicing of the youth's desire in the midst\nof his weary vigil and fasting. His long preparation for the rite, the\nsolitude of his surroundings, the suffering of mind and body as alone\nhe faces nature and the supernatural,--all these conditions make the\nstory, and, to the Indian, form the true setting of the song.\n\nThe motive of a song and its distinctive rhythm were determined by the\nemotion evoked by the dramatic circumstance. The simplest resultant of\nthis directive emotion in music is a pulsating rhythm on a single\ntone. Such songs are not random shoutings, but have a definite meaning\nfor those who sing and for those who listen, as in this Navaho ritual\nsong.\n\n[Music]\n\nFrom this extremely simple expression the growth of the musical motive\ncan be traced in these Indian songs through the use of two or more\ntones up to the employment of the full complement of the octave.[12]\n\n[Footnote 12: A careful analysis of hundreds of aboriginal songs,\ngathered from the arctic seas to the tropics, shows that in every\ninstance the line taken by these tones is a chord-line where the tones\nare harmonically related to each other. Out of these related tones the\nuntutored savage has built his simple melodies. The demonstration of\nthe interesting fact that \"the line of least resistance\" in music is a\nharmonic line was made by my late associate, Professor John Comfort\nFillmore.]\n\n[Music: A PRAYER FOR RAIN.\n\n_Mexico. Tarahumare._\n\nFrom DR. CARL LUMHOLTZ.]\n\n[Music: SONG.\n\n_British Columbia. Kwakiutl._\n\nPROF. J.C. FILLMORE.]\n\nThe creation of that which we know as musical form seems also to be\ndue to the influence of story upon song. We have already noted how the\ndirective emotion started the distinctive rhythm and determined the\norder of the related tones, and so constructed the motive or theme.\nBut neither the rhythm nor the simple motive could express the\n_movement_ of the dramatic story: hence we find this expressed by the\nrepetition, modification, and variation of the motive, the growth of\nthe phrase, the formation of the clause, and the grouping of clauses\ninto a period,--in fact, the outline of the form upon which all our\nculture music is built. Culture music, however, shows an intellectual\ncontrol of emotion, a power of musical thinking, the enlarging and\nembellishing of musical form,--a form, nevertheless, which we find\noutlined, more or less clearly, in the songs of the untutored red man.\nThe difference between these spontaneous Indian melodies and the\ncompositions of the modern masters would seem to be not one of kind,\nbut one of degree.\n\nAs these songs are from a race practically without musical\ninstruments,--for the drum and rattle were used only to accentuate\nrhythm,--they are representative of the period when the human voice\nwas the sole means of musical expression,--a period which antedated\nthe invention of instruments by an immeasurable time. They prove,\ntherefore, that musical form was not developed, as has sometimes been\nstated, by the use of instruments, but that it took its rise in a\nmental necessity similar to that which gave structure to language.\n\nThe influence of song upon story is seen in the attempt to bend prose\nto a poetic form.\n\nMany Indian songs have no words at all, vocables only being used to\nfloat the voice. On classifying these wordless songs, we discover that\nthose which are expressive of the gentle emotions have flowing,\nbreathing vocables, but, where warlike feelings dominate the song, the\nvocables are aspirate and explosive. In this determinate use of\nvocables we happen upon what seems to represent the most primitive\nattempt yet discovered to give intellectual definition in verbal form\nto an emotion voiced in rhythm and melody.\n\nIn songs where words are employed, we also find vocables which are in\naccord with the spirit of the song, used to make the words conform to\nthe musical phrase. These vocables are either appended to the word or\nelse inserted between its syllables, to give length or added euphony.\nWe also note a desire for rhyming, since vocables similar in sound\nfrequently occur at the end of each musical phrase.\n\nIt would lead into too many details to present the various devices\ndiscernible in this aboriginal material by which the Indian sought\neuphony and measure. Nor can it be easily illustrated how words of\nmany different languages were bent by elisions or stretched by\nvocables, that they might conform to the musical phrase. There is\nabundant evidence that the ear, accustomed to the pleasure of the\nrhythmic cadence of the song, was beginning to demand a corresponding\nmetrical use of words in expressing the poetic thought involved in the\ndramatic story which gave birth to the music.\n\nThe art of poetry is here in its infancy, giving even less sign of its\nfuture development than music, which had already acquired the outline\nof that form which has since crystallised into the art of music.\nNotwithstanding, we find that words were chosen for their descriptive\npower, and that they were made rhythmical to fit the melody. Like the\nswelling buds on the bare branch, which hint the approach of summer's\nwealth, so these little vocables and rhythmic devices whisper the\ncoming of the poets.","title":"Indian Story and Song, from North America","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":16817}