Indian Story and Song, from North America

								

society). Accept it (and us). All the members must join in singing
this prayer, and afterward all must smoke the pipe."
[Music: PRAYER OF THE WARRIORS BEFORE SMOKING THE PIPE.
Omaha. He-dhu´-shka.
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,
Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,
Wa-kon-da dha-ni ga dhe ke,
E-ha dha-ni hin ga we dho he dho.]
"The He-dhu´-shka Society is very old," continued my friend. "It is
said to have been in existence at the time when the Omahas and the
Ponkas were together as one tribe. There is a song with a dance which
must be given at every meeting. It is to keep alive the memory of a
battle that took place while we were migrating westward, and where
defeat would have meant our extermination as a tribe. I will tell you
the story.[2]
[Footnote 2: The translation given is by my collaborator, Mr. Francis
La Flesche.]
"One morning the tribe, whose country had been invaded by the Ponkas,
made an unexpected assault upon the camp of the invaders. For a time
it seemed as though the Ponkas would fare badly at the hands of their
assailants, who were determined to drive out or destroy the intruders;
but after a desperate struggle the Ponkas pushed their enemies back
from the outskirts of the village, until finally their retreat became
a rout. Both sides suffered great loss. The ground was strewn with the
dead, and the grass stained with the blood of the warriors who fell in
the battle; but the victory was with us, and we had conquered the
right to dwell in that country.
"At the outset of the conflict a man bent with age emerged slowly from
the door of one of the tents. The breezes played with his long white
hair as he stood leaning on his staff, shading his face with one hand
and looking intently in the direction whence came the noise of battle.
As he recognised the voice of a warrior rushing to the fray, imitating
as he ran the cry of some animal (his tutelary god), the aged man
called after him:
"'Once more! Once more be the undaunted warrior you have hitherto
been! Utter aloud your mystic cry, and make the enemy to tremble with
fear!'
"If a youth passed by, singing his death song, the old man would
ask:--
"'Who is that young man? He promises well.' Upon being told whose son
he was, the aged man shouted: 'Ho-o! You have the spirit of your
father. Be like him: turn not your face from the foe!'
"All day the old man stood at his door as though rooted to the ground.
As the hours sped on, fainter and fainter grew the shouts and the
cries of the contending men, until finally the sounds died away. Even
then the venerable man moved not from his tent, but still stood
watching. Lower and lower dropped the sun toward the western horizon,
and all through the village anxious faces were turned in the direction
whence the last sound of the fight had been heard. Suddenly a woman
cried,--
"'There they come!'
"At her words the old man leaned forward, straining his dim eyes to