Chapter
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Never did the sun shine brighter than on a cold day in
December, when the Indians at “Little Crow's” village
were preparing to go on a deer hunt. The Mississippi was
frozen, and the girls of the village had the day before enjoyed
one of their favorite amusements—a ball-play on the
ice. Those who owned the bright cloths and calicoes which
were hung up before their eyes, as an incentive to win the
game, were still rejoicing over their treasures; while the
disappointed ones were looking sullen, and muttering of
partiality being shown to this one because she was beautiful,
and to that, because she was the sister of the chief.
“Look at my head!” said Harpstenah; “Wenona
knew that I was the swiftest runner in the band, and as I
stooped to catch the ball she struck me a blow that stunned
me, so that I could not run again.”
But the head was so ugly, and the face too, that there
was no pity felt for her; those dirty, wrinkled features
bore witness to her contempt for the cleansing qualities of
water. Her uncombed hair was hanging in masses about
her ears and face, and her countenance expressed cruelty
and passion. But Harpstenah had nothing to avenge;
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when she was young she was passed by, as there was
nothing in her face or disposition that could attract; and
now in the winter of life she was so ugly and so desolate,
so cross and so forlorn, that no one deemed her worthy even
of a slight. But for all that, Harpstenah could hate, and
with all the intensity of her evil heart did she hate Wenona,
the beautiful sister of the chief.
Yesterday had been as bright as to-day, and Grey Eagle,
the medicine man, had hung on a pole the prizes that were
to be given to the party that succeeded in throwing the ball
into a space marked off.
The maidens of the village were all dressed in their gayest
clothing, with ornaments of beads, bracelets, rings, and
ribbons in profusion. They cared not half so much for the
prizes, as they rejoiced at the opportunity of displaying their
graceful persons. The old women were eager to commence
the game, for they longed to possess the cloth for their
leggins, and the calico for their “okendokendas.”[7]
The women, young and old, were divided into two parties;
but as one party threw the ball towards the space
marked off, the others threw it back again far over their
heads, and then all ran back, each party endeavoring to
reach it first, that they might succeed in placing the ball in
the position which was to decide the game.
But the ball is not thrown by the hand, each woman has
a long stick with a circular frame at the end of it; this
they call a bat stick, and, simple as it looks, it requires
great skill to manage it.
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Wenona was the swiftest runner of one party, and
Harpstenah, old and ugly as she was, the best of the other.
How excited they are! the snow-covered hills, majestic and
silent, look coldly enough upon their sport; but what care
they? the prize will soon be won.
The old medicine man cheered them on. “Run fast,
Wenona! take care that Harpstenah does not win the
game. Ho, Harpstenah! if you and your leggins are old,
you may have the cloth yet.”
Now Wenona's party is getting on bravely, but the ball
has been caught and thrown back by the other party. But
at last it is decided. In the struggle for the ball, Harpstenah
received a blow from an old squaw as dismal looking
as herself, and Wenona catches the ball and throws it into
the appointed place. The game is ended, and the medicine
man comes forward to distribute the prizes.
The warriors have looked on, admiring those who were
beautiful and graceful, and laughing at the ugly and awkward.
But Wenona cared little for the prizes. She was a
chief's sister, and she was young and beautiful. The
handsomest presents were given her, and she hardly looked
at the portion of the prizes which fell to her lot.
Smarting with pain from the blow she had received, (and
she spoke falsely when she said Wenona had struck her,)
stung with jealousy at the other party having won the
game, Harpstenah determined on revenge. “If I am old,”
she said, “I will live long enough to bring misery on her;
ugly as I may be, I will humble the proud beauty. What
do I eat? the worthless heads of birds are given to the old
woman for whom nobody cares, but my food will be to see
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the eye of Wenona fall beneath the laugh of scorn. I will
revenge the wrongs of my life on her.”
Commend me to a Dahcotah woman's revenge! Has
she been slighted in love? blood must be shed; and if she
is not able to accomplish the death of her rival, her own life
will probably pay the forfeit. Has disgrace or insult been
heaped upon her? a life of eighty years is not long enough
to bring down vengeance on the offender. So with Harpstenah.
Her life had not been a blessing to herself—she
would make it a curse to others.
Kirkland, Caroline M. (Caroline Matilda), 1801-1864 [1849], Dahcotah, or, Life and legends of the Sioux [editor] (John Wiley, New York) [word count] [eaf242].
