Text below is from the Illinois Monthly Magazine, July 1831 pages 458-463. Unsigned, but reprinted from the St. Louis Beacon where the story originally had appeared on February 17, 1831 over the pseudonym "Borderer."
Printed again, after significant deletions in revision, in the August 1835 Military and Naval Magazine of the United States, over the signature P. S. G. C. Later interpolated as Chapter 10 in the July 1842 installment of Scenes and Adventures in the Army in the Southern Literary Messenger, and yet again in the 1857 book version, Scenes and Adventures in the Army.
MAH-ZA-PA-MEE.
In the spring and summer of 1814, the following incidents of Indian history occurred, in great part to the personal knowledge of Mr Manuel Lisa and persons in his employ. The chief merit of the narrative, will I fear be its strict adherence to facts. I disclaim any attempt to color by exaggeration; but am fully aware that an abler pen than mine, might fail in justice to descriptions I may attempt. And it is a well known truth, that many scenes occur that are beyond the power of man to paint with the effect of the original. The story, then, may interest those, who, studying man in all climes and situations, may learn from it, that upon him the slightest causes produce the greatest effects, and the same, alike in the forest and his state of greatest improvement; that red or white, wild or tame, alike fallible, he plunges into war from inadequate motives. But chiefly will the story of my heroine, which shall be strictly true, illustrate the physical study of the noble biped.
The Punca Indians are a reduced band; their warriors amount to no more than one hundred and fifty. Invariably friendly to whites, they are noted for bravery and swiftness of foot. Their village is at the mouth of the L’eau-qui-coure (Lucocore) which empties into the Missouri more than a thousand miles from its mouth. In the spring of '14 a calumet party of about twenty Grand Pawnees paid them a visit in their village; the two tribes being on as good terms as Indians ever are. These are generally called by whites begging parties, but with a desire to make the best always of human nature, I would ascribe to them less degrading motives: for though custom decrees that presents be made on such occasions, all alike give and receive. The visitors were smoked as usual, feasted on fat dogs; and then they danced and counted their coups. What a simple but powerful incentive to virtue (Indian virtue!) is this custom! How innocently is ambition thus sated! The time is night; brilliant fires burn around; the stately chiefs are seated in all the cross-legged dignity of Turkish Pachas; the animating music of the song peels forth; the exhilarated braves dance with emulous ardor and activity; for a moment they cease; one of them recounts a coup, sticks an arrow in the ground and tells the actor of a greater feat to take it as his own: the dance is renewed with increased animation; till at length the arrow is removed by a dancer who relates his superior adventure; his form seems to swell, his eye glistens with pleasure; the arrow is laid at the feet of the chief. Long they continue, but with endless novelty; till finally the chief distributes the simple honors, thus adding his sanction to the merit of the prize. Fashion decides that modesty is not wanting in this self-praise, but it also requires, and has the most powerful means to enforce, that the recital be the strictest truth. Thus does the red man of our forest closely imitate the noblest customs of Greece in the day of her virtue and renown!
Thus were the visiters treated; but a faithless return was made to confiding hospitality. A young brave of their number discovered there was a difficulty in the family of the principal chief, Shu-da-gah-ha; a jealousy between his wives; and struck with the appearance of the favorite one, Mah-za-pa-mee—for she was a pretty woman—he determined to improve a temporary advantage, and engage in an adventure. His affection, and ambition too, became engaged in the suit, and he warmly urged it. His good looks and eloquence combined to pursuade her that nothing could equal the Pawnees and the way they lived; he told her they killed more buffalo, planted more corn and pumpkins, and had more scalp dances than any others: that they stole more horses too, and the squaws never walked. How could she resist so happy a picture? She did not; but consented to fly with him to this promised paradise. His arrangements were easily made, and the next night, like Paris, the beau ideal of beaux, he escaped, in triumph with this modern Helena. Mah-za-pa-mee took with her, her infant son, and, guided by her lover, soon arrived at the Village of the Grand Pawnees on the Rio de la Plata, Anglice, Big Platte.
On discovering the flight, the chief was quite outrageous; it was too late to pursue; they had taken the best horses; but the sacrifice of the remaining Pawnees—until then perfectly ignorant of the proceeding—could well appease his ire; and though innocent, they had paid with their lives the forfeit of the indiscretion, but for the influence of Manuel Lisa. They were dismissed without presents and with dishonor. But Shu-da-gah-ha had more pride or policy than Menelaus, and war did not immediately result.
Not long after this affair, a small party of Dahcotahs* probably to prove the truth of Hobbes‘ theory of their nature, by carrying on a war “whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary,” directed their footsteps to the village of the Grand Pawnees; and here, unlike the chivalrick Greeks, (if between comparison and antithesis they do not detain the narrative,) they prowled about, undiscovered, until at length they killed and scalped a son-in-law of that very distinguished chief Car-ra-ku-wah-wah-ho, whom the Whites called Long Hair. This was done in darkness, but very near the village. A trail cannot be followed at night; but very early the following morning, eighty braves pursued as fast as their chargers could carry them. During the night the Sioux had not been idle; an Indian a-foot can travel as far in twenty-four hours as another on horseback. The next morning the sun rose on them fifty miles from the Pawnee village. The Pawnees perceived from the trail, that their enemies were but five or six in number, which induced them to continue in untiring pursuit for three days. The Sioux in their flight passed by the Punca village, simply because it was the nearest way to their homes. The Pawnees, from the first, suspected them to be Puncas, conscious of the late injury they had received at their hands; but on finding the trail led directly to their village, doubt yielded to certainty in their minds, and they continued the pursuit; not to attack the Puncas, but in the hope, if failing to overtake the party, to out off some straggler at a respectful distance from the village. Accordingly when arrived within two miles of it on the fourth day, they were delighted to discover two young Punca hunters; they instantly engaged in hot pursuit. But the ground was much broken, and the young Puncas were determined the reputation of their tribe for swiftness of foot should not suffer on this occasion; so they ran like heroes, for their lives were at stake. The Pawnees did not dream of their escaping; nor did they—which was more important—perceive how near they were approaching the village; so warmly were their imaginations engaged in the idea of the two scalps that were careering before them. But the Puncas did escape; and soon did they make it known: for never, till then, was Heaven’s conclave saluted with such horrid discord. The braves all yelled like devils; each squaw howled for ten; and wolf dogs! were ten to their one and gave distinguished proof of the power of their lungs. The luckless urchin that disturbs a nest of hornets, is not more warmly assailed, or sooner put to his heels, than were the panic struck Pawnees by this nest of fiery Puncas. Those that could not lay hands on horses, pursued scarce the less swiftly on foot. Away they went! Now Pawnee do thy best! What a sight for a sportsman of the turf or chase! Away! away! They are out of sight—a hill top is gained—the game is in full view— the shrill war-cry is heard—sweet music to the Punca—to the Pawnee the jarring signal of his doom. Noble feats of horsemanship were that day performed by the best of riders; but most of the horses were run down and abandoned, and Punca and Pawnee ran on foot. The latter threw away their guns, and strewed the ground with cumbrous finery; and to this the many were indebted for their safety. But the description shall be shorter than the chase. The Puncas ceased at night twenty miles from their village; had taken six scalps, and captured many horses and guns.
Thus we see the two tribes fairly in a war originating in Mah-za-pa-mee; for she caused the mistake which caused the war.
But to return to our heroine and the Pawnee village. In due time the foremost of the scattered messengers of misfortune arrived; it was in the night. Mah-za-pa-mee had a faithful friend in an old squaw, who hastened with the first news of the disaster, to warn her of her danger; for then no one could doubt the fate that was in store for her; she and her son would be sacrificed to Pawnee revenge. The old woman furnished her with mocasins and dried meat; and she immediately left the village, taking with her her son.
This was late in June; and she determined to strike for the nearest waters of the L’eau-qui-coure, expecting to meet her band, who usually followed up that river on their way to make a summer hunt for buffalo. Her meat soon gave out, and roots were her only resource; she was without any means of striking fire. Thus she travelled, carrying on her back her son, who was two years old; enduring the scorching heat of the prairie by day, and chilled by its cold dews at night. Thus simply are her circumstances told; but her sufferings, I need not attempt.
She reached the L’eau-qui-coure and found that her whole band had passed many days before! She could not hope to overtake them. For days she searched the trail and camps expecting to find something deserted, or cached, that would serve for food, but all failed. She then determined to follow down the river, and if able to reach her village, she would find there green corn and pumpkins, which she knew was planted before it was deserted for the hunting season. More than an hundred miles were before her; she was starved and burthened; alternately scorched and chilled, and ever assailed by the maddening musquito. She lived, or rather existed, on small fish caught in the shallow streams, which of course were eaten raw. Reader! if you are a lady, imagine yourself in this situation.
Late in August, Mah-za-pa-mee arrived in the vicinity of her village on the Missouri; what must then have been her feelings to discover from a distance, the village occupied by hostile Indians, before whom the last vestige of vegetation was fast disappearing? She hid herself—but yielded to despair. She and her son were found the next day by a man of Mr. Lisa’s company. He was one of a small party left by that gentleman in charge of a store house some distance below; provisions having become scarce, they had come up the five? expecting the Puncas had returned with meat. Her appearance, and that of her child, when found, is stated to have been emaciated, wretched, and even horrible beyond description. And, indeed, if there were room for it, who would not doubt the possibility of their existing so long?
In no other situation does poor human nature show so much weakness, is so much degraded, as when assailed by starvation. Hunger! nought but thou can reduce proud, gifted, noble man to the level of the wretched beast. Thou shakest his reason from its pedestal! Thou makest him yield all to revolting appetite! But no more; Mah-za-pa-mee would probably have terminated an existence, when worth preserving, rather than meet her husband, humbled and a petitioner; but now suffering worse than death, the loathsome picture of disease, true to the singular nature of her species, clinging the more closely to life, she seeks to offer herself before her injured lord—for a mouthful of food! Mah-za-pa-mee at length joined her tribe and sought to throw herself at the feet of her husband. Pity is allied to affection; and much was she to be pitied; but chiefly was she to depend upon her child—that inseparable link of union—for forgiveness. It was that which succeeded; for surely the chief, Shu da-gah-ha, did not believe her, that the Pawnee threw “squaw medicine (love medicine) on her;’’ that “he bewitched her.” She was forgiven, grew apace in flesh and favor, and has since been, as well as her son, healthy and happy.
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[footnote:] *Dahcotahs is the name for the many bands of Sioux taken collectively.
