Read Ebook: Among the Sioux: A Story of the Twin Cities and the Two Dakotas by Creswell R J Robert J

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But the great and prominent force was in the underlying education and especially in the vitalizing and renewing power of Christian truth. So far as the inner life was changed, civilized habits became permanent; otherwise they were shadows. Evangelization was working out civilization. It is doing its permanently blessed work even yet.

About this time occurred the formation of the Hazelwood Republic.

This was a band of Indians somewhat advanced in civilization, who were organized chiefly by the efforts of Dr. Riggs, under a written constitution and by-laws. Their officers were a President, Secretary and three judges, who were elected by a vote of the membership for a term of two years each. Paul Maza-koo-ta-mane was the first president and served for two terms. This was an interesting experiment, in the series of efforts, by the missionaries, to change this tribe of nomads from their roving teepee life to that of permanent dwellers in fixed habitations. The rude shock of savage warfare, which soon after revolutionized the whole Sioux nation, swept it away before its efficiency could be properly tested. Surely it was a novelty--an Indian band, regulated by written laws and governed by officers, elected by themselves for a term of years. It now exists only in the memory of the oldest of the tribesmen or the missionaries.

In 1843, a new station was established at Traverse des Sioux by the Rev. Stephen R. Riggs. This station was doomed to a tragic history. July 15, 1843, Thomas Longley, the favorite brother of Mrs. Mary Riggs, was suddenly swallowed up in the treacherous waters of the Minnesota and laid to rest under what his sister was wont to call the "Oaks of weeping"--three dwarf oaks on a small knoll. In 1844, Robert Hopkins and his young bride joined the workers here. In 1851, July 4, Mr. Hopkins was suddenly swept away to death by the fatal waves of the Minnesota and his recovered body was laid to rest under the oaks where Thomas Longley had slept all alone for seven years. Thus the mission at Traverse des Sioux was closed by the messenger of death. It was continued, however, in the nearby frontier town of St. Peter, whose white settlers requested the Rev. M. N. Adams, one of the missionaries to the Sioux, to devote his time to their spiritual needs. He complied and founded a white Presbyterian church and it is one of the strong Protestant organizations of Southern Minnesota.

In 1843, also the Pond brothers established a station at Oak Grove, twelve miles west of the Falls of St. Anthony. It was never abandoned. For many years it was the center of beneficent influences to both races for miles around. It developed into the white Presbyterian church of Oak Grove, which still stands as a monument to the many noble qualities of its founder, Rev. Gideon Hollister Pond. On the Sabbath scores of his descendants worship within its walls. The surrounding community is composed largely of Ponds and their kindred.

In 1846, a mission was established at Red Wing by the Reverends J. F. Aiton and J. W. Hancock, and another in 1860, at Red Wood by Rev. John P. Williamson.

In 1858, a church was organized at Red Wing with twelve members. This was swept away by the outbreak in 1862.

Dr. John P. Williamson, who was born in 1835, in one of the mission cabins on the shores of Lac-qui-Parle, who has spent his whole life among the Sioux Indians, and who with a singleness of purpose, worthy of the apostle Paul, has devoted his whole life to their temporal and spiritual uplift, thus vividly sketches missionary life among the Sioux in his boyhood days: "My first serious impression of life was that I was living under a great weight of something, and as I began to discern more clearly, I found this weight to be the all-surrounding overwhelming presence of heathenism, and all the instincts of my birth and culture of a Christian home set me at antagonism to it at every point.

"This feeling of disgust was often accompanied with fear. At times, violence stalked abroad unchallenged and dark lowering faces skulked about. Even when we felt no personal danger this incubus of savage life all around weighed on our hearts. Thus it was day and night. Even those hours of twilight, which brood with sweet influences over so many lives, bore to us, on the evening air, the weird cadences of the heathen dance or the chill thrill of the war-whoop.

Ours was a serious life. The earnestness of our parents in the pursuit of their work could not fail to impress in some degree the children. The main purpose of Christianizing that people was felt in everything. It was like garrison life in time of war. But this seriousness was not ascetical or moroseful. Far from it. Those missionary heroes were full of gladness. With all the disadvantages of such a childhood was the rich privilege of understanding the meaning of cheerful earnestness in Christian life."

Thus for more than a quarter of a century, the glorious work of conquering the Sioux nation for Christ went on. It was pushed vigorously at every mission station from Lac-qui-Parle to Red Wing and from Kaposia to Hazelwood. Great progress was made in these years. And such a work!

The workers were buried out of sight of their fellow-white men. Lac-qui-Parle was more remote from Boston than Manilla is today. It took Stephen R. Riggs three months to pass with his New England bride from the green hills of her native state to Fort Snelling. It was a further journey of thirteen days over a trackless trail, through the wilderness, to their mission home on the shores of the Lake-that-speaks. Even as late as 1843, it required a full month's travel for the first bridal tour of Agnes Carson Johnson as Mrs. Robert Hopkins from the plains of Ohio to the prairies of Minnesota. It was no pleasure tour in Pullman palace cars, on palatial limited trains, swiftly speeding over highly polished rails from the far east to the Falls of St. Anthony, in those days. It was a weary, weary pilgrimage of weeks by boat and stage, by private conveyance and oft-times on foot. One can make a tour of Europe today with greater ease and in less time than those isolated workers at Lac-qui-Parle could revisit their old homes in Ohio and New England.

Within their reach was no smithy and no mill until they built one; there was no post office within one hundred miles, and all supplies were carried from Boston to New Orleans by sloops; then by steamboats almost the whole length of the Mississippi; then the flatboat-men sweated and swore as they poled them up the Minnesota to the nearest landing-place; then they had to be hauled overland one hundred and twenty-five miles. These trips were ever attended with heavy toil, often with great suffering and sometimes with loss of life.

Small was the support received from the Board. The entire income of the mission, including government aid to the schools, was less than one thousand dollars a year. Upon this meager sum, three ordained missionaries, two teachers and farmers, and six women, with eight or ten children were maintained. This also, covered travelling expenses, books and printing.

Within a few years, a revised and greatly enlarged edition should be, and probably will be published for the benefit of the Sioux nation.

The Word of God too, had been translated into this wild, barbaric tongue. This was in truth a mighty undertaking. It involved on the part of the translators a knowledge of the French, Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Sioux tongues and required many years of unremitting toil on the part of those, who wrought out its accomplishment in their humble log cabins on the shores of Lakes Calhoun and Lac-qui-Parle, and at Kaposia and Traverse des Sioux, Yellow Medicine and Hazelwood.

But it, too, was completed and published in 1879, by the American Bible Society. Hymn-books and textbooks had also been prepared and published in the new language. Books like the Pilgrims Progress had been issued in it--a literature for a great nation had been created. Comfortable churches and mission homes had been erected at the various mission stations. Out of the eight thousand Sioux Indians in Minnesota, more than one hundred converts had been gathered into the church. The faithful missionaries, who had toiled so long, with but little encouragement, now looked forward hopefully into the future.

Apparently the time to favor their work had come. But suddenly all their pleasant anticipations vanished--all their high hopes were blasted.

It was August 17, 1862, a lovely Sabbath of the Lord. It was sacramental Sabbath at Hazelwood. As their custom was, that congregation of believers and Yellow Medicine came together to commemorate their Lord's death. The house was well-filled and the missionaries have ever remembered that Sabbath as one of precious interest, for it was the last time they ever assembled in that beautiful little chapel. A great trial of their faith and patience was before them and they knew it not. But the loving Saviour knew that both the missionaries and the native Christians required just such a rest with Him before the terrible trials came upon them.

As the sun sank that day into the bosom of the prairies, a fearful storm of fire and blood burst upon the defenseless settlers and missionaries. Like the dread cyclone, it came, unheralded, and like that much-to-be-dreaded monster of the prairies, it left desolation and death in its pathway. The Sioux arose against the whites and in their savage wrath swept the prairies of Western Minnesota as with a besom of destruction. One thousand settlers perished and hundreds of happy homes were made desolate. The churches, school-houses and homes of the missionaries were laid in ashes. However, all the missionaries and their households escaped safely out of this fiery furnace of barbaric fury to St. Paul and Minneapolis. All else seemed lost beyond the possibility of recovery.

"God is our refuge and our strength; In straits a present aid; Therefore although the hills remove We will not be afraid."

And the God, in whom they trusted, fulfilled his promises to them and brought them all, in safety, to the Twin Cities. And as they passed the boundary line of safety, every heart joined in the glad-song of praise and thanksgiving, which went up to heaven. "Jehovah has triumphed, His people are free," seemed to ring through the air.

Little Crow, the chieftain of the Kaposia Band was the acknowledged leader of the Indian forces in this uprising. He was forty years of age, possessed of considerable military ability; wise in council and brave on the field of battle. He had wrought, in secret, with his fellow-tribesmen, until he had succeeded in the formation of the greatest combination of the Indians against the whites since the days of Tecumseh and the Prophet in the Ohio country, fifty years before. He had under his control a large force of Indian warriors armed with Winchesters; and on the morning of the battle, he mustered on the hills around New Ulm, the largest body of Indian cavalry ever gathered together in America.

One of the redeeming features in this terrible tragedy of '62, was the unflinching loyalty of the Christian Sioux to the cause of peace. They stood firmly together against the war-party and for the whites. They abandoned their homes and pitched their teepees closely together. This became the rallying point for all who were opposed to the outbreak. They called it Camp Hope, which was changed after the flight of Little Crow's savage band to Camp Lookout. Two days later, when General Sibley's victorious troops arrived, it was named Camp Release. Then it was that the captives, more than three hundred in number were released, chiefly through the efforts of the Christianized Indians.

In 1902, at the celebration of the fortieth anniversary of the battle of New Ulm, by invitation of the citizens, a band of Sioux Indians pitched their teepees in the public square and participated in the exercises of the occasion. This was a striking illustration of the amity now existing between the two races upon the very ground, where their immediate ancestors so eagerly sought each other's life-blood, in the recent past. Here on the morn of battle, on the surrounding hills, in the long ago, Little Crow had marshalled his fierce warriors, who rushed eagerly in savage glee, again and again, to the determined assault, only to be driven back, by the brave Anglo-Saxon defenders. Tablets, scattered here and there over the plains, in the valley of the Minnesota River, tell the story of the Sioux nation, in the new Northwest.

John Baptiste Renville, a licentiate of the Presbyterian church, and who later was a famous preacher of great power among his own people, remained inside of the Indian lines, and was a powerful factor in causing the counter revolution which hastened the overthrow of the rebellion, and the deliverance of the white captives. Elder Peter Big Fire turned the war party from the trail of the fleeing missionaries and their friends, thus saving two-score lives. One Indian alone, John Other-Day, saved the lives of sixty-two whites. One elder of the church, Simon Anakwangnanne, restored a captive white woman and three children. And still another, Paul Mintakutemanne, rescued a white woman and several children and a whole family of half-breeds. These truly "good Indians" saved the lives of more than their own number of whites,--probably two hundred souls in all.

In token of her appreciation of these invaluable services, Minnesota has caused a monument to be erected in honor of these real braves, on the very plains, then swept by the Sioux with fire and blood, in their savage wrath.

It is located on the battlefield of Birch Coullie, near Morton in Renville County. The cenotaph is built entirely of native stone of different varieties. It rises to the height of fifty-eight feet above the beautiful prairies by which it is surrounded. It bears this appropriate inscription

HUMANITY.

Erected A.D. 1899, by the Minnesota Valley Historical Society to commemorate the brave, faithful and humane conduct of the loyal Indians who saved the lives of white people and were true to their obligations throughout the Sioux war in Minnesota in 1862, and especially to honor the services of those here named:

Other Day--Ampatutoricna. Paul--Mintakutemanne. Lorenzo Lawrence--Towanctaton. Simon--Anakwangnanne. Mary Crooks--Mankahta Heita-win.

But now occurred the strangest phase of this wondrously strange story. In November, 1862, four hundred defeated Indian warriors, many of them leaders of their people, were confined in prison-pens at Mankato, Minnesota. While free on the prairies, these wild warriors had bitterly hated the missionaries with all the intensity of their savage natures. They had vigorously opposed every effort of the missionaries in their behalf. They had scornfully rejected the invitations of the Gospel. But now in their claims, they earnestly desired to hear the glad tidings they had formerly scorned. They sent for the missionaries to visit them in prison and the missionaries responded with eager joy. And the Holy Spirit accompanied them. Thirty-eight of the prisoners were under the death-sentence and were executed in December.

"I remember," said Dr. Williamson, "feeling a great desire to preach to them, mingled with a kind of terror partly from a sense of grave responsibility in speaking to so many whose probation was so nearly closed, and partly from a sense of fear of hearing them say to me "Go home; when we were free we would not hear you preach to us; why do you come here to torment us when we are in chains and cannot go away." It was a great relief to find them listening intently to all I had to say."

The prisoners were supplied with Bibles and other books, and for a time, the prison became a school. They were all eager to learn. The more their minds were directed to God and His Word, the more they became interested in secular studies.

Very soon the Indians of their own accord began holding meetings every morning and evening in which they sang and spoke and prayed. In a short time, there were ninety converts that would lead in public prayer. Of those who were executed, thirty were baptized. Standing in a foot of snow, manacled two and two, they frequently gathered to sing and pray and listen to the words of eternal life. Of this work, the Rev. Gideon H. Pond wrote at the time; "There is a degree of religious interest manifested by them, which is incredible. They huddle themselves together every morning and evening, read the scriptures, sing hymns, confess one to another and pray together. They declare they have left their superstitions forever, and that they do and will embrace the religion of Jesus."

In March, Mr. Pond visited Mankato again and spent two Sabbaths with the men in prison, establishing them in their new faith. Before his departure, he administered the Lord's supper, to these new converts. And again the Mankato prison-pens witnessed a strange and wondrous scene. Three hundred embittered, defeated Indian warriors, manacled, fettered with balls and chains,--but clothed and in their right minds,--were sitting in groups upon the wintry grounds reverently observing the Lord's supper. Elders Robert Hopkins, Peter Big-Fire and David Grey Cloud officiated with reverence and dignity. The whole movement was marvelous! It was like a "nation born in a day." And after many years of severe testing, all who know the facts, testify that it was a genuine work of God's Holy Spirit. The massacre and the subsequent events destroyed the power of the Priests of Devils, which had previously ruled and ruined these wretches' tribes. They themselves, exploded the dynamite under the throne of Paganism and shattered it to fragments forever.

In 1863, these Indians were transferred to Davenport, Iowa, where they were confined in prison for three years. In 1866 they were released by the government and returned to their native prairies, where they then became the nuclei of other churches, other Sabbath schools and other church organizations; and so these formerly savage Sioux became a benediction rather than a terror to their neighbors on the plains of the Dakotas. The church of the prison-pen became the prolific mother of churches.

Thus all that winter long, '62-3, there was in progress within the rude walls of those terrible prison-pens at Mankato, one of the most wonderful revivals since the day of Pentecost. And in February, '63, Dr. Williamson and Rev. Gideon H. Pond spent a week in special services amongst them.

THE BAPTISMAL SCENE.

The conditions of baptism were made very plain to the prisoners and it was offered to only such as were willing to comply fully with those conditions. All were forbidden to receive the rite, who did not do it heartily to the God of Heaven, whose eye penetrated each of their hearts. All, by an apparently hearty response, indicated their desire to receive the rite on the proffered conditions. As soon as the arrangements were completed, they came forward one by one, as their names were called and were baptized into the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, while each subject stood with the right hand raised and head bowed and many of them with their eyes closed with an appearance of profound reverence. As each came forward to be baptized one of the ministers addressed to him in a low voice a few appropriate words. This was the substance of these personal addresses. "My brother, this is a mark of God, which is placed upon you. You will carry it with you while you live. It introduces you into the great family of God who looks down from heaven, not upon your head but into your heart. This ends your superstition, and from this time you are to call God your Father. Remember to honor Him. Be resolved to do His will." Each one responded heartily, "Yes, I will."

Gideon H. Pond then addressed them collectively.

"Hitherto I have addressed you as friends; now I call you brethren. For years we have contended together on this subject of religion; now our contentions cease. We have one Father, we are one family. I shall soon leave you and shall probably see your faces no more in this world. Your adherence to the medicine sack and the Natawe have brought you to your ruin. The Lord Jesus Christ can save you. Seek him with all your heart. He looks not upon your heads nor on your lips but into your bosoms. Brothers, I will make use of a term of brotherly salutation, to which you have been accustomed to your medicine dances and say to you: "'Brethren I spread my hands over you and bless you.'"" Three hundred voices responded heartily, "'Amen, yea and Amen.'"

It was 1884. Fifty years since the coming of the Pond brothers to Fort Snelling--twenty-one years since the organization of the church in the prison-pen at Mankato. One bright September day, from the heights of Sisseton, South Dakota, a strangely beautiful scene was spread out before the eye. In the distance the waters of Lake Traverse , and Big Stone Lake , glistened in the bright sunshine, their waters almost commingling ere they began their diverse journeyings--the former to Hudson's Bay, the latter to the Gulf of Mexico. At our feet were prairies rich as the garden of the Lord. The spot was Iyakaptapte, that is the Ascension. Half-way up was a large wooden building, nestling in a grassy cove. Round about on the hillsides were white teepees. Dusky forms were passing to and fro and pressing round the doors and windows. We descended and found ourselves in the midst of a throng of Sioux Indians. Instinctively we asked ourselves, Why are they here? Is this one of their old pagan festivals? Or is it a council of war? We entered. The spacious house was densely packed; we pressed our way to the front. Hark! They are singing. We could not understand the words, but the air was familiar. It was Bishop Heber's hymn :

With what joyful emphasis, this strange congregation sang these words.

We breathed easier. This was no pagan festival, no savage council of war. It was the fifteenth grand annual council of the Dakota Christian Indians of the Northwest.

The singing was no weaklunged performance--not altogether harmonious, but vastly sweeter than a war-whoop; certainly hearty and sincere and doubtless an acceptable offering of praise. The Rev. John Baptiste Renville was the preacher. His theme was Ezekiel's vision of the Valley of Dry Bones. We did not knew how he handled his subject. But the ready utterance, the sweet flow of words, the simple earnestness of the speaker and the fixed attention of the audience marked it as a complete success. When the sermon was finished, there was another loud-voiced hymn and then the Council of Days was declared duly opened.

Thus they gather themselves together, year by year to take counsel in reference to the things of the kingdom. The Indian moderator, Artemas Ehnamane, the Santee pastor, was a famous paddle-man, a mighty hunter and the son of a great conjuror and war-prophet, but withal a tender, faithful, spiritual pastor of his people. Rev. Alfred L. Riggs, D.D., the white moderator, who talked so glibly alternately in Sioux and English and smiled so sweetly in both languages at once, was "Good Bird," one of the first white babes born at Lac-qui-Parle. John, The Beloved, one of the chief white workers, as a boy had the site of Minneapolis and St. Paul for a play-ground, and the little Indian lads for his playmates. That week we spent at Iyakaptapte was a series of rich, rare treats. We listened to the theological class of young men, students of Santee and Sisseton. We watched the smiling faces of the women as they bowed in prayer, and brought their offerings to the missionary meetings. Such wondrous liberality those dark-faced sisters displayed. We marked with wonder the intense interest manifested hour by hour by all classes in the sermons, addresses, and especially in the discussion: "How shall we build up the church?" Elder David Grey Cloud said, "We must care for the church if we would make it effective. We must care for all we gather into the church." The Rev. James Red-Wing added, "The work of the church is heavy. When a Red River cart sticks in the mud we call all the help we can and together we lift it out; we must all lift the heavy load of the church." The Rev. David Grey Cloud closed with: "We must cast out all enmity, have love for one another and then we shall be strong."

"Does the keeping of Dakota customs benefit or injure the Dakota People?"

Deacon Boy-that-walks-on-the-water responded emphatically. "The ancient Dakota customs are all bad. There is no good in them. They are all sin, all sorrow. All medicine men are frauds. Jesus is the only one to hold to." Rev. Little-Iron-Thunder said "When I was a boy I was taught the sacred dances and all the mysteries; to shoot with the bag; to hold the sacred shell. To gain a name, the Dakotas will suffer hunger, cold, even death. But all this is a cheat. It will not give life to the people. Only one name will give life,--even Jesus." Rev. Daniel Renville declared: "Faith is the thing our people need; not faith in everything, but faith in Christ; not for hope of reward."

There were evening gatherings in the interest of the Young Men's Christian Associations and the Young People's Christian Endeavor Societies. These are two of the most hopeful features of the work. With the young men and maidens of the tribe in careful training in Christian knowledge and for Christian service, there must be far-reaching and permanent beneficent results.

Sabbath came! A glorious day! A fitting crown of glory for a week of such rare surprises. A strange chanting voice, like that of a herald mingled with our day-break dreams. Had we been among the Moslems, we should have thought it the muezzin's cry. It was all Indian to us, but it was indeed a call to prayer with this translation in English:--

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