BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.

If ever "life was a fitful fever," it was with Old John, the Medicine-Man.

Coming to the Fort at times when you would not suppose any human being would expose himself to the elements,—always laughing, always hungry—seating himself before the fire to sleep, and starting up the moment his eyelids closed over his restless, twinkling eyes—talking for ever and singing in the same breath—troublesome and intrusive, yet always contriving to be of use. And useful he often was to an artist who was with us; for he would stand, sit, or lean, assuming and retaining the most painful attitudes, looking good-humoured all the time, and telling of his many wonderful adventures and hairbreadth escapes.

He came to us one day in the middle of winter, for the picture of the medicine-feast was in progress, and he had promised to show how the priest was to be represented, that the white people might know in very truth how were conducted the sacred ceremonies of the Dacotas.

While he warms himself, and eats, and smokes, he has as usual a great deal to say, and this in a half-muttered tone; for he is a little drowsy from the effect of the fire on his chilled limbs.

He takes from his head the three-cornered cloth hood which is worn by the men in severe weather, and throws his blanket a little from his shoulders, displaying his handsomely embroidered coat.

There is the strongest odour of smoke and stale tobacco from his dress, and he laughs heartily as we throw open the doors and windows for the benefit of the fresh air.

How many strange stories he has of the different medicine-feasts, and in each he figures largely. About some portions of the dance he is silent; you may question him closely, but you get no satisfactory answer.

He tells that the feast commences when there is no sun in the heavens; at midnight, when often even the moon and stars are hiding their light. He cannot tell white people what occurs then, nay, even the uninitiated Indians would not dare intrude themselves upon the scene; only the medicine-men and women are allowed to be present. Neither entreaties nor bribes have any effect: he will not intrust to your keeping the solemn secret. All we may know of this part of it is, that the feast is given in honour of some departed friend, and these ceremonies are taking place near where lies the body. A conversation is carried on with the dead, and food is placed near, that the spirit may eat.

"Bury my dead out of my sight." This is not the sentiment of the Dacota mourner. The mother wants her child to rest on the boughs of the tree, under which she has sat and lulled it to sleep in her arms. Here, while she works, she can see its form swayed by the branches, rocked by the summer winds: its innocent spirit, according to her faith, must still guard the decaying frame. She feels not the separation so keenly, when she fancies the soul of her first-born is hovering round her. She steals away from the noisy revelling in the wigwam to weep. She can hardly recall the bright eye and healthy glow, which once belonged to the lost one, but the suffering countenance and wasting frame are ever before her; and in the loud call of the night-bird, she often fancies she hears again the cry with which her young child yielded up its life.

Old John is telling of the medicine-feast. He shows us the medicine-bag which he uses: it is an otter skin, though sometimes a mink, a swan, or even a snake, is used, and often has he performed wonderful cures, or executed terrible vengeance, by the power of this medicine-bag.

He will not say what is the medicine which the skin contains; whether it is a root, or the leaf of a tree, a precious gum, a mineral substance, or the bone of some animal which has been preserved for centuries. He says that he breathed into the nostrils of the dead animal, and thus imparted to it qualities which made it sacred. Thus has he often restored to life the dying man, and by the same power has he cast the spell of misfortune, disease, and even death, upon one he hated. This is why he is so much feared.

Feared by all, but most by the women, Old John's eyes twinkled until you could only see a black line, when he told how he could frighten the women in the dance, by holding towards them the skin which contained the medicine of his clan.

As if to afford him an opportunity of proving the truth of his statements, two or three squaws had just brought venison to the kitchen, and we sent for them to pay them, and, at the same time, to give them the chance of talking a little—a privilege of which all women are glad to avail themselves.

The picture was half done; the medicine-man was to be represented jumping towards the women, with his dreaded medicine-bag; and Old John assured us it was invariably the case that the person he selected from the crowd fell down as if in a fit. This, he insisted, was purely the effect of his medicine. He offered to prove this by exercising his prerogative as a medicine-man upon the women who had just entered the room. The women were much fatigued, and glad of a chance to rest. They little expected to see any part of a medicine-feast celebrated in a white man's house.

The artist seated himself before his easel, and commenced sketching the figure of the medicine-man. Old John stoops, and holds the bag with both hands, as if ready to dart it towards some person. You wonder how he can retain his painful position so long a time. The veins in his temple swell, and his hands tremble, yet he does not offer to move until the sketch is made. Then, when told he is at liberty to sit down, he gives a merry, mischievous look towards us, and commences going round the room, singing with a loud voice, holding the bag as if about to avenge on some one present a long-remembered injury.

The women were taken completely by surprise. From the moment Old John commenced his performance in earnest, they showed every symptom of terror, now covering their faces with their hands, and crying "Enah! Enah!" and again, as the medicine-man passed round the room, looking after him as if he were something supernatural, instead of being a compound of art and wickedness. He was now going to embrace the opportunity that had presented itself to convince us of the ease with which he could excite the superstitious fears of these women.

He continued going round the room in measured time, and it was impossible not to observe the increasing awe which was stealing upon the women. He kept perfect time to his own music, stopping the while, as if absorbed in the thoughts attendant on the celebration of a religious ceremony—when suddenly he sprang towards the women, holding the bag close in the face of one of them.

The woman sank to the ground: a severe and stunning blow could not have had a more immediate effect on her system than the terror into which she had been thrown. She lay on the ground motionless, with her hands pressed over her eyes. Old John, perfectly satisfied with the result of his experiment, laid down his medicine-bag, and seated himself on the carpet.

We spoke to the woman, and endeavoured to rouse her. For some minutes she appeared not to hear; but, after arising, she looked as pale and ill as if she had indeed been in the presence of an evil spirit; and she was at that very time, for I doubt if in the Sioux or any other country a more determined and hopeless reprobate could be found than Old John.

I wondered to observe the trepidation into which a female of so strong and healthy a frame could be thrown. To what could it be ascribed, but to the influence of an all-powerful superstition on a mind chained by ignorance to its natural estate of dark degradation?

Among the most curious ideas of the Sioux are those concerning the Aurora Borealis, which is considered a kind of goddess of war. Old John will tell you all about her; for not only is he skilled in all that relates to the mysteries of his religion, but, if you will take his word for it, he has seen all kinds of visions. He will tell you how the gods look—for he has seen them at different times—and to no better person could you apply for information about the Aurora (as they call her, Waken-kedan, the old woman). He will tell you that she is one of their chief objects of worship; that her favour and protection are invoked as a necessary preparation for going to war.

Old John declares he has had several visions of the goddess. When she has appeared to him, she has given him the most minute directions as to the hiding-places of the enemy. Sometimes she insures success to the party;—if, however, she predicts misfortune, it is sure to occur.

The goddess, he says, wears little hoops on her arms. When she appears to the war-chief, if they are to be successful, she throws as many of these hoops on the ground as they are to take scalps. These hoops resemble the hoops that the Indians use in stretching the scalps of their enemies, when they are preparing for the scalp dance. But, should the goddess throw broken arrows on the ground, woe to the war-party! for this tells the chief how many of his comrades are to be scalped, an arrow for a scalp.

Sometimes, when the successful party is on its return, it is made more triumphant by the appearance of the goddess. She does not then take the form of a woman, but quietly enfolds the heavens with her robe of light. This they interpret as a favourable omen. The heavens, they say, are rejoicing on their account; the stars shine out brighter in honour of their victory; while, to use the Indian warrior's own words, it is as if their goddess said to them, "Rejoice and dance, my grandchildren, for I have given you victory." "The old woman," he says, wore a cap, on the top of which were little balls or knots, of the same kind with which warriors adorn themselves after having killed an enemy. She held in her hand an axe, with a fringe fastened to the handle: this represents an axe that has killed an enemy, as it is a universal custom among the Sioux to attach a strip of some kind of animal to the implement that was used in battle.

The Aurora appears and disappears at the pleasure of the goddess, or as she is sometimes called, "the old woman who sits in the north." It is not to be wondered at that the minds of this people should be thus impressed with the brilliant flashing of the Aurora, in their far northern home.

Her appearance is not always considered a favourable omen. Sometimes it is a warning of coming danger. The mind, overwhelmed with ignorance and superstition, is apt to read darkly the signs of nature; while a prospect of success in any contemplated undertaking will change the interpretation.

Old John loves to tell of another of his gods, the meteor; of this god they stand in great awe, calling him Waken-ne-ken-dah, or man of fire. He strides through the air to punish recreant Indians, who forget the claims of the Great Spirit upon them. Around this god is ever a circle of fire, while small meteors flow from this "great fiery man." In each hand he holds a war-club of bone, and every blow is fatal to that Sioux who deserves his condemnation. He is said to be very wily, attacking the Indians when they are asleep.

On this account Sioux are often timid about sleeping out of doors; they have traditions of Indians having been carried off by these errant meteors.

Old John thinks the "great fiery man" does not deserve a reputation for bravery, as he never attacks a waking foe. He says there was once a Sioux who, tired and sleepy, laid down, rolling himself in his blanket, though the weather was hot, for the musquitoes were biting him, and rendering it impossible that he should obtain any rest. The first thing of which he was conscious was the sensation of being whirled through the air, passing over miles of prairies and forests with the speed of light.

All at once they approached a small pond, which was full of mallard duck. The appearance of the meteor threw the inhabitants of the lake into the greatest trepidation, and in consequence a most unearthly quacking took place. The fiery man not being aware of the cause of this commotion, never having seen a duck, dropped his affrighted burden, gladly making his way back to the regions of space.

But it will be impossible to get anything more from Old John to-day: the savoury fumes of the kitchen have reached our sitting-room. He has done with the arts and with religion; he is enough of a philosopher to take the goods "the gods provide:" and the hearty dinner that he ate showed that the mystical attributes of a medicine-man did not prohibit him from the indulgence of his appetite; while the Sioux women were well repaid for their venison and their fright by some gaudy calico, for okendokendas, and a few needles, thread, and some other "notions," of great value among them.