THE SAC INDIAN.

On the following day we strolled through the forest which skirted the garrison and overhung the Missouri. At one moment our eyes would be caught by the dazzling plumage of the little parroquets, as they whirled through the branches of the trees; at another we amused ourselves by listening to the shrill screams of a woodpecker, as he saluted some crony mounted on a neighbouring limb.

Our attention at other times would be attracted by the movements of some old antiquarian bird of the same species, who was busy peeping into the holes and crannies of some ruined trunk, to ascertain if possible the cause of its decay.

In another direction might be seen a solitary raven, sitting in silence upon the naked limb of some mouldering tree, and apparently brooding over the ruin that reigned around him.

As we passed an opening between the houses, which gave us a view of the green in front, we caught sight of a single Indian, standing beneath the shade of a tall oak.

Whilst we were regarding him, a little red-nosed soldier came up. He informed us that the Indian was a Sac, one of those who had fought against the whites under Black Hawk. As he mentioned this, he took the opportunity of uncorking his indignation, and letting off the superfluous foam, in a volley of oaths and anathemas against the whole race in, general, and this individual in particular. He threw out dark hints of what he had himself done in the war, and what he would now do, if the major would only permit it. At the time, we looked upon him with considerable awe; but we afterwards learned that there was little to be apprehended from him. He was a character notorious for boiling over in the excess of his wrath, especially in time of peace; but beyond this was distinguished for nothing, except a strong attachment to liquors of all descriptions.

We soon left him, and crossed over the green, to the spot where the Indian was standing.

I had formed but a poor opinion of the race from those whom I had already seen; but never was I more agreeably disappointed—never had I beheld such a princely fellow. He stood unmoved as we came up, viewing us with a calm, cold, but unwavering gaze. His eyelid never drooped; nor was the eye averted for an instant as it met our look. A large blanket, here and there streaked with vermilion, and ornamented with hawks’ bells, was so disposed around his folded arms, that it left bare his finely-formed shoulder, and half of his high and sinewy chest. A bright, steel-headed tomahawk peeped from beneath its folds, and a quiver of arrows hung at his back. His legs were cased in leggings of dressed deerskin, with the edges cut into a rough fringe. He wore a pair of mocassins of dressed buffalo hide. The top of his head was closely shaven, and covered with vermilion; but his face was free from any colouring whatever, with the exception of a ring of black paint, which was carefully drawn around each eye.

As we approached he drew himself up, and threw his head slightly backward with an air of haughtiness which well became his high stern features. He seemed to feel like a proud but desolate being. Upon his head was bound an eagle’s plume, but it was crushed and broken. Could it be emblematic of the broken spirit of his own tribe? Their power was gone; their strength was withered; they were scattered to the four winds of heaven; the bones of their bravest warriors were whitening the prairies, and their chief was in bondage in an unknown land.[D]

And this savage—he seemed to feel that he was alone; but his stern features told that he asked no pity, and would brook no insult.

For some time he stood in front of us, returning gaze for gaze, and for a moment a smile played over his features; then drawing up his tinkling blanket, he wrapped it closely around him, and walked off. We lost sight of him behind one of the buildings, as he directed his course towards the forest.

We turned away towards our quarters; but the roll of the dinner drum sounded across the green; and, changing our course, we obeyed its summons.