Indiana's State Motto: The Crossroads of America - adopted in 1937
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AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES |
| BY |
| ZITKALA-SA (Gertrude Bonnin) |
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Dakota Sioux Indian 1921 |
A WARRIOR'S DAUGHTER
In the afternoon shadow of a large tepee, with red-painted smoke lapels,
sat a warrior father with crossed shins. His head was so poised that his
eye swept easily the vast level land to the eastern horizon line.
He was the chieftain's bravest warrior. He had won by heroic deeds the
privilege of staking his wigwam within the great circle of tepees.
He was also one of the most generous gift givers to the toothless old
people. For this he was entitled to the red-painted smoke lapels on his
cone-shaped dwelling. He was proud of his honors. He never wearied of
rehearsing nightly his own brave deeds. Though by wigwam fires he prated
much of his high rank and widespread fame, his great joy was a wee
black-eyed daughter of eight sturdy winters. Thus as he sat upon the
soft grass, with his wife at his side, bent over her bead work, he was
singing a dance song, and beat lightly the rhythm with his slender
hands.
His shrewd eyes softened with pleasure as he watched the easy movements of
the small body dancing on the green before him.
Tusee is taking her first dancing lesson. Her tightly-braided hair
curves over both brown ears like a pair of crooked little horns which
glisten in the summer sun.
With her snugly moccasined feet close together, and a wee hand at her
belt to stay the long string of beads which hang from her bare neck, she
bends her knees gently to the rhythm of her father's voice.
Now she ventures upon the earnest movement, slightly upward and
sidewise, in a circle. At length the song drops into a closing cadence,
and the little woman, clad in beaded deerskin, sits down beside the
elder one. Like her mother, she sits upon her feet. In a brief moment
the warrior repeats the last refrain. Again Tusee springs to her feet
and dances to the swing of the few final measures.
Just as the dance was finished, an elderly man, with short, thick hair
loose about his square shoulders, rode into their presence from the
rear, and leaped lightly from his pony's back. Dropping the rawhide rein
to the ground, he tossed himself lazily on the grass. "Hunhe, you have
returned soon," said the warrior, while extending a hand to his little
daughter.
Quickly the child ran to her father's side and cuddled close to him,
while he tenderly placed a strong arm about her. Both father and child,
eyeing the figure on the grass, waited to hear the man's report.
"It is true," began the man, with a stranger's accent. "This is the
night of the dance."
"Hunha!" muttered the warrior with some surprise.
Propping himself upon his elbows, the man raised his face. His features
were of the Southern type. From an enemy's camp he was taken captive
long years ago by Tusee's father. But the unusual qualities of the slave
had won the Sioux warrior's heart, and for the last three winters the
man had had his freedom. He was made real man again. His hair was
allowed to grow. However, he himself had chosen to stay in the warrior's
family.
"Hunha!" again ejaculated the warrior father. Then turning to his little
daughter, he asked, "Tusee, do you hear that?"
"Yes, father, and I am going to dance tonight!"
With these words she bounded out of his arm and frolicked about in glee.
Hereupon the proud mother's voice rang out in a chiding laugh.
"My child, in honor of your first dance your father must give a generous
gift. His ponies are wild, and roam beyond the great hill. Pray, what
has he fit to offer?" she questioned, the pair of puzzled eyes fixed
upon her.
"A pony from the herd, mother, a fleet-footed pony from the herd!" Tusee
shouted with sudden inspiration.
Pointing a small forefinger toward the man lying on the grass, she
cried, "Uncle, you will go after the pony tomorrow!" And pleased with
her solution of the problem, she skipped wildly about. Her childish
faith in her elders was not conditioned by a knowledge of human
limitations, but thought all things possible to grown-ups.
"Haehob!" exclaimed the mother, with a rising inflection, implying by the
expletive that her child's buoyant spirit be not weighted with a denial.
Quickly to the hard request the man replied, "How! I go if Tusee tells
me so!"
This delighted the little one, whose black eyes brimmed over with light.
Standing in front of the strong man, she clapped her small, brown hands
with joy.
"That makes me glad! My heart is good! Go, uncle, and bring a handsome
pony!" she cried. In an instant she would have frisked away, but an
impulse held her tilting where she stood. In the man's own tongue, for
he had taught her many words and phrases, she exploded, "Thank you, good
uncle, thank you!" then tore away from sheer excess of glee.
The proud warrior father, smiling and narrowing his eyes, muttered
approval, "Howo! Hechetu!"
Like her mother, Tusee has finely pencilled eyebrows and slightly
extended nostrils; but in her sturdiness of form she resembles her
father.
A loyal daughter, she sits within her tepee making beaded deerskins for
her father, while he longs to stave off her every suitor as all unworthy
of his old heart's pride. But Tusee is not alone in her dwelling. Near
the entrance-way a young brave is half reclining on a mat. In silence he
watches the petals of a wild rose growing on the soft buckskin. Quickly
the young woman slips the beads on the silvery sinew thread, and works
them into the pretty flower design. Finally, in a low, deep voice, the
young man begins:
"The sun is far past the zenith. It is now only a man's height above the
western edge of land. I hurried hither to tell you tomorrow I join the
war party."
He pauses for reply, but the maid's head drops lower over her deerskin,
and her lips are more firmly drawn together. He continues:
"Last night in the moonlight I met your warrior father. He seemed to
know I had just stepped forth from your tepee. I fear he did not like
it, for though I greeted him, he was silent. I halted in his pathway.
With what boldness I dared, while my heart was beating hard and fast, I
asked him for his only daughter.
"Drawing himself erect to his tallest height, and gathering his loose
robe more closely about his proud figure, he flashed a pair of piercing
eyes upon me.
"'Young man,' said he, with a cold, slow voice that chilled me to the
marrow of my bones, 'hear me. Naught but an enemy's scalp-lock, plucked
fresh with your own hand, will buy Tusee for your wife,' Then he turned
on his heel and stalked away."
Tusee thrusts her work aside. With earnest eyes she scans her lover's
face.
"My father's heart is really kind. He would know if you are brave and
true," murmured the daughter, who wished no ill-will between her two
loved ones.
Then rising to go, the youth holds out a right hand. "Grasp my hand once
firmly before I go, Hoye. Pray tell me, will you wait and watch for my
return?"
Tusee only nods assent, for mere words are vain.
At early dawn the round camp-ground awakes into song. Men and women sing
of bravery and of triumph. They inspire the swelling breasts of the
painted warriors mounted on prancing ponies bedecked with the green
branches of trees.
Riding slowly around the great ring of cone-shaped tepees, here and
there, a loud-singing warrior swears to avenge a former wrong, and
thrusts a bare brown arm against the purple east, calling the Great
Spirit to hear his vow. All having made the circuit, the singing war
party gallops away southward.
Astride their ponies laden with food and deerskins, brave elderly women
follow after their warriors. Among the foremost rides a young woman in
elaborately beaded buckskin dress. Proudly mounted, she curbs with the
single rawhide loop a wild-eyed pony.
It is Tusee on her father's warhorse. Thus the war party of Indian men
and their faithful women vanish beyond the southern skyline.
A day's journey brings them very near the enemy's borderland. Nightfall
finds a pair of twin tepees nestled in a deep ravine. Within one lounge
the painted warriors, smoking their pipes and telling weird stories by
the firelight, while in the other watchful women crouch uneasily about
their center fire.
By the first gray light in the east the tepees are banished. They are
gone. The warriors are in the enemy's camp, breaking dreams with their
tomahawks. The women are hid away in secret places in the long thicketed
ravine.
The day is far spent, the red sun is low over the west.
At length straggling warriors return, one by one, to the deep hollow. In
the twilight they number their men. Three are missing. Of these absent
ones two are dead; but the third one, a young man, is a captive to the
foe.
"He-he!" lament the warriors, taking food in haste.
In silence each woman, with long strides, hurries to and fro, tying
large bundles on her pony's back. Under cover of night the war party
must hasten homeward. Motionless, with bowed head, sits a woman in her
hiding-place. She grieves for her lover.
In bitterness of spirit she hears the warriors' murmuring words. With
set teeth she plans to cheat the hated enemy of their captive. In the
meanwhile low signals are given, and the war party, unaware of Tusee's
absence, steal quietly away. The soft thud of pony-hoofs grows fainter
and fainter. The gradual hush of the empty ravine whirrs noisily in the
ear of the young woman. Alert for any sound of footfalls nigh, she holds
her breath to listen. Her right hand rests on a long knife in her belt.
Ah, yes, she knows where her pony is hid, but not yet has she need of
him. Satisfied that no danger is nigh, she prowls forth from her place
of hiding. With a panther's tread and pace she climbs the high ridge
beyond the low ravine. From thence she spies the enemy's camp-fires.
Rooted to the barren bluff the slender woman's figure stands on the
pinnacle of night, outlined against a starry sky. The cool night breeze
wafts to her burning ear snatches of song and drum. With desperate hate
she bites her teeth.
Tusee beckons the stars to witness. With impassioned voice and uplifted
face she pleads:
"Great Spirit, speed me to my lover's rescue! Give me swift cunning for
a weapon this night! All-powerful Spirit, grant me my warrior-father's
heart, strong to slay a foe and mighty to save a friend!"
In the midst of the enemy's camp-ground, underneath a temporary
dance-house, are men and women in gala-day dress. It is late in the
night, but the merry warriors bend and bow their nude, painted bodies
before a bright center fire. To the lusty men's voices and the rhythmic
throbbing drum, they leap and rebound with feathered headgears waving.
Women with red-painted cheeks and long, braided hair sit in a large
half-circle against the willow railing. They, too, join in the singing,
and rise to dance with their victorious warriors.
Amid this circular dance arena stands a prisoner bound to a post,
haggard with shame and sorrow. He hangs his disheveled head.
He stares with unseeing eyes upon the bare earth at his feet. With jeers
and smirking faces the dancers mock the Dakota captive. Rowdy braves and
small boys hoot and yell in derision.
Silent among the noisy mob, a tall woman, leaning both elbows on the
round willow railing, peers into the lighted arena. The dancing center
fire shines bright into her handsome face, intensifying the night in her
dark eyes. It breaks into myriad points upon her beaded dress. Unmindful
of the surging throng jostling her at either side, she glares in upon
the hateful, scoffing men. Suddenly she turns her head. Tittering maids
whisper near her ear:
"There! There! See him now, sneering in the captive's face. 'Tis he who
sprang upon the young man and dragged him by his long hair to yonder
post. See! He is handsome! How gracefully he dances!"
The silent young woman looks toward the bound captive. She sees a
warrior, scarce older than the captive, flourishing a tomahawk in the
Dakota's face. A burning rage darts forth from her eyes and brands him
for a victim of revenge. Her heart mutters within her breast, "Come, I
wish to meet you, vile foe, who captured my lover and tortures him now
with a living death."
Here the singers hush their voices, and the dancers scatter to their
various resting-places along the willow ring. The victor gives a
reluctant last twirl of his tomahawk, then, like the others, he leaves
the center ground. With head and shoulders swaying from side to side, he
carries a high-pointing chin toward the willow railing. Sitting down
upon the ground with crossed legs, he fans himself with an outspread
turkey wing.
Now and then he stops his haughty blinking to peep out of the corners of
his eyes. He hears some one clearing her throat gently. It is
unmistakably for his ear. The wing-fan swings irregularly to and fro. At
length he turns a proud face over a bare shoulder and beholds a handsome
woman smiling.
"Ah, she would speak to a hero!" thumps his heart wildly.
The singers raise their voices in unison. The music is irresistible.
Again lunges the victor into the open arena. Again he leers into the
captive's face. At every interval between the songs he returns to his
resting-place. Here the young woman awaits him. As he approaches she
smiles boldly into his eyes. He is pleased with her face and her smile.
Waving his wing-fan spasmodically in front of his face, he sits with his
ears pricked up. He catches a low whisper. A hand taps him lightly on
the shoulder. The handsome woman speaks to him in his own tongue. "Come
out into the night. I wish to tell you who I am."
He must know what sweet words of praise the handsome woman has for him.
With both hands he spreads the meshes of the loosely woven willows, and
crawls out unnoticed into the dark.
Before him stands the young woman. Beckoning him with a slender hand,
she steps backward, away from the light and the restless throng of
onlookers. He follows with impatient strides. She quickens her pace. He
lengthens his strides. Then suddenly the woman turns from him and darts
away with amazing speed. Clinching his fists and biting his lower lip,
the young man runs after the fleeing woman. In his maddened pursuit he
forgets the dance arena.
Beside a cluster of low bushes the woman halts. The young man, panting
for breath and plunging headlong forward, whispers loud, "Pray tell me,
are you a woman or an evil spirit to lure me away?"
Turning on heels firmly planted in the earth, the woman gives a wild
spring forward, like a panther for its prey. In a husky voice she hissed
between her teeth, "I am a Dakota woman!"
From her unerring long knife the enemy falls heavily at her feet. The
Great Spirit heard Tusee's prayer on the hilltop. He gave her a
warrior's strong heart to lessen the foe by one.
A bent old woman's figure, with a bundle like a grandchild slung on her
back, walks round and round the dance-house. The wearied onlookers are
leaving in twos and threes. The tired dancers creep out of the willow
railing, and some go out at the entrance way, till the singers, too,
rise from the drum and are trudging drowsily homeward. Within the arena
the center fire lies broken in red embers. The night no longer lingers
about the willow railing, but, hovering into the dance-house, covers
here and there a snoring man whom sleep has overpowered where he sat.
The captive in his tight-binding rawhide ropes hangs in hopeless
despair. Close about him the gloom of night is slowly crouching. Yet the
last red, crackling embers cast a faint light upon his long black hair,
and, shining through the thick mats, caress his wan face with undying
hope.
Still about the dance-house the old woman prowls. Now the embers are
gray with ashes.
The old bent woman appears at the entrance way. With a cautious, groping
foot she enters. Whispering between her teeth a lullaby for her sleeping
child in her blanket, she searches for something forgotten.
Noisily snored the dreaming men in the darkest parts. As the lisping old
woman draws nigh, the captive again opens his eyes.
A forefinger she presses to her lip. The young man arouses himself from
his stupor. His senses belie him. Before his wide-open eyes the old bent
figure straightens into its youthful stature. Tusee herself is beside
him. With a stroke upward and downward she severs the cruel cords with
her sharp blade. Dropping her blanket from her shoulders, so that it
hangs from her girdled waist like a skirt, she shakes the large bundle
into a light shawl for her lover. Quickly she spreads it over his bare
back.
"Come!" she whispers, and turns to go; but the young man, numb and
helpless, staggers nigh to falling.
The sight of his weakness makes her strong. A mighty power thrills her
body. Stooping beneath his outstretched arms grasping at the air for
support, Tusee lifts him upon her broad shoulders. With half-running,
triumphant steps she carries him away into the open night.
Impressions of an Indian Childhood The School Days of an Indian Girl An Indian Teacher Among Indians The Great Spirit The Soft-Hearted Sioux The Trial Path A Warrior's Daughter A Dream of Her Grandfather The Widespread Enigma of Blue-Star Woman America's Indian Problem
This information is the research of many people across the United States and may contain errors. It is presented as the best information to date. Like all of those whose work I have incorporated herein, my research is a work in progress and subject to change without notice. A special thanks to Marlene Ricci of CA, Dwayne Meyer of CA, Jacqueline Bean of TX, Debbie Dick of IN, Milus Miller of IL, Carol Hendricks Miller of IN, Clarence Miller of IN, and Harold Glen Miller of IN. There are numerous others too; many of which are unknown, but their findings and stories are still much appreciated. Much of this would not have been possible with out their information. Also this website includes historical facts gathered from Washington County History, Indiana History, Rowan County and Salisbury North Carolina Historical sources and other US Historical sources.
James A. Miller- Great -Great -Great -Great Grandson of Adam Miller and Hannah Sheets.
©2007 The Millers of Washington County
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Last Updated 01/22/07 10:37:13 AM -0800