There is no end to the superst.i.tions and fancies entertained by the Sioux concerning thunder. On the cradle of the Indian child we frequently see the figure of thunder represented. It is generally carved on the wood by the father of the child, with representations of the Elk, accompanied with hieroglyphic looking figures, but thunder is regarded as the type of all animals that fly.

There are many medicine feasts--and I saw one celebrated near the Oak Grove mission, and near, also, to the villages of Good Road, and the chief Man in the Clouds. It was on a dark cold day about the first of March. We left the fort at about nine o'clock and followed the road on the St. Peter's river, which had been used for many months, but which, though still strong, was beginning to look unsafe. As we advanced towards the scene of the feast, many Indians from every direction were collecting, and hurrying forward, either to join in the ceremony about to be celebrated, or to be spectators. We ascended quite a high hill, and were then at the spot where all the arrangements were made to celebrate one of the most sacred forms of their religion. Many of the Indians to be engaged in the performance were entirely without protection from the severe cold--their bodies being painted and their heads adorned with their choicest ornaments, but throwing aside even their blankets, according to the laws of the ceremony. The Indians continued to a.s.semble. At eleven o'clock, the dance commenced. Although I could not faithfully describe, yet I never can forget the scene. The dark lowering sky--the mantle of snow and ice thrown over all the objects that surrounded us, except the fierce human beings who were thus, under Heaven's arch for a roof, about to offer to their deities a solemn worship.

Then the music commenced, and the horrid sounds increased the wildness of the scene; and the contortions of the medicine man, as he went round and round, made his countenance horrible beyond expression. The devoted attention of the savages, given to every part of the ceremony, made it in a measure interesting. There were hundreds of human beings believing in a Great Spirit, and anxious to offer him acceptable service; but how degraded in that service! How fallen from its high estate was the soul that G.o.d had made, when it stooped to worship the bones of animals, the senseless rock, the very earth that we stood upon! The aged man, trembling with feebleness, ready to depart to the spirit's land, weary with the weight of his infirmities--the warrior treading the earth with the pride of middle age--the young with nothing to regret and everything to look forward to,--all uniting in a worship which they ignorantly believe to be religion, but which we know to be idolatry.

I was glad to leave the scene, and turn towards the house of the Rev.

Mr. Pond, who lives near the spot where the feast was celebrated. Here, pursuing his duties and studies, does this excellent man improve every moment of his time to the advantage of the Sioux. Always ready to converse kindly with them in order to gain their confidence--giving medicine to the sick, and food to the hungry; doing all that lies in his power to administer to their temporal comfort, he labors to improve their condition as a people. How can it better be done than by introducing the Christian religion among them? This the missionaries are gradually doing; and did they receive proper a.s.sistance from government, and from religious societies, they would indeed go on their way rejoicing.

Placed under the government of the United States, these helpless, unhappy beings are dependent upon us for the means of subsistence, in a measure, and how much more for the knowledge of the true G.o.d? Churches will soon rise where the odious feast and medicine dance are celebrated, but will the Indians worship there? When the foundations of these churches are laid, the bones of the original owners of the country will be thrown out--but where will be the souls of those who were thrust out of their country and their rights to make way for us?

I have seen where literally two or three were met together--where in a distant country the few who celebrated the death of the Redeemer were a.s.sembled--where the beautiful service of our church was read, and the hearts that heard it responded to its animating truths. We rejoiced that the religion which was our comfort was not confined to places; here were no altars, nor marble tablets--but here in this humble house we knew G.o.d would meet and be with us.

An Indian silently opened the church door and entered. As strange to him was the solemn decorum of this scene, as to us were the useless ceremonies we every day witnessed. He watched the countenance of the clergyman, but he knew not that he was preaching the doctrine of a universal religion. He saw the sacred book upon the desk, but he could not read the glorious doctrine of a world redeemed by a Saviour's blood.

He heard the voice of prayer, but how could his soul like ours rise as on eagle's wings, and ascend to the throne of G.o.d! Who was he, this intruder? It may be a descendant of those who guarded the oracles of G.o.d, who for a time preserved them for us.

No wonder he tired and turned away. Not his the fault that he did not join in the solemn service, but ours. If we disregard the temporal wants of the Dahcotah, can we shut our ears against their cry, that rises up day after day, and year after year,--Show us the path to happiness and G.o.d?