"God is our refuge and our strength;In straits a present aid;Therefore although the hills removeWe will not be afraid."
"God is our refuge and our strength;In straits a present aid;Therefore although the hills removeWe will not be afraid."
"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.
Minnehaha Falls
Minnehaha Falls.
Perils By The Heathen
Perils By The HeathenMissionaries fleeing from Indian massacre in 1862.Thursday morning of that terrible week, after an all-night's rain, found them all cold, wet through and utterly destitute of cooked food and fuel. That noon they came to a clump of trees and camped down on the wet prairies for the rest of the day. They killed a stray cow and made some bread out of flour, salt and water. An artist, one of the company, took the pictures here given.
The whites arose in their might and, under the leadership of that gallant general, Henry H. Sibley, gave battle to their savage foes. Then followed weeks of fierce and bloody warfare. It was no child's play. On the one side were arrayed the fierce warriors of the Sioux nation, fighting for their ancestral homes, their ancient hunting grounds, their deer-parks and the graves of their ancestors. "Wemustdrive the white man east of the Mississippi," was the declaration of Little Crow, and he added the savage boast; "We will establish our winter-quarters in St. Paul and Minneapolis." Over against them, were the brave pioneers of Minnesota, battling for the existence of their beloved state, for their homes, and for the lives and honor of their wives and daughters. The thrilling history of the siege of New Ulm, of the battle of Birch Coullie, of Fort Ridgely and Fort Abercrombie, and of other scenes of conflict is written in the mingled blood of the white man, and of the red man on the beautiful plains of western Minnesota. The inevitable result ensued. The Sioux were defeated, large numbers were slain in battle or captured, and in despair, the others fled to the then uninhabited regions beyond the Red River of the North. Many of these found refuge under the British flag in Prince Rupert's Land (now Manitoba).
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.
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.
Chapter IV.
"Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?"—Isaiah 60:8.
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.
While these events were transpiring in the prison-pen at Mankato, a similar work of grace was also in progress in the prison camp at Fort Snelling, where fifteen hundred men, women and children, mainly the families of the Mankato prisoners, were confined under guard. The conditions, in both places, were very similar. In the camp as well as in the prison, they were in grave troubles and great anxieties. In their distresses they called mightily upon the Lord. Here John, the Beloved (John P. Williamson D.D.) ministered to their temporal and spiritual wants. The Lord heard and answered their burning and agonizing cries. By gradual steps, but with overwhelming power came the heavenly visitation. Many were convicted; confessions and professions were made; idols reverenced for many generations were thrown away by the score. More than one hundred and twenty were baptized and organized into a Presbyterian church, which, after years of bitter wandering, was united with the church of the Prison Pen and formed the large congregation of the Pilgrim church.
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 most careful examinations possible were made into their individual spiritual condition and the most faithful instruction given them as to their Christian duties; then those Indian warriors were all baptized, received into the communion of the church and organized into a Presbyterian church within the walls of the stockade;three hundred in a day! Truly impressive was
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 (consecrated war weapons) 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.'"
Chapter V.
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 (source of the Red River of the North), and Big Stone Lake (head waters of the Minnesota), 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 (in the Indian tongue):
"From Greenlands icy mountains,From India's coral strand.* * *Salvation! O Salvation!The joyful sound proclaim,Till each remotest nationHas learned Messiah's Name.Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,And you, ye waters, roll,Till like a sea of gloryIt spreads from pole to pole."
"From Greenlands icy mountains,From India's coral strand.* * *Salvation! O Salvation!The joyful sound proclaim,Till each remotest nationHas learned Messiah's Name.Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,And you, ye waters, roll,Till like a sea of gloryIt spreads from pole to pole."
"From Greenlands icy mountains,
From India's coral strand.
* * *
Salvation! O Salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation
Has learned Messiah's Name.
Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till like a sea of glory
It spreads from pole to pole."
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:—
"Morning is coming! Morning is coming! Wake up! Wake up! Come to sing! Come to pray."
Very soon, the sweet music of prayer and praise from the white teepees on the hillside, rose sweetly on the air, telling us that the day of their glad solemnities had begun. The great congregation assembled in the open air. Pastor Renville, who as a little lad played at the feet of the translators of the Bible into the Sioux language, and who as a young man organized a counter revolution among the Christian Indians in favor of the government in the terrible days of '62, presided with dignity, baptizing a little babe and receiving several recent converts into the church. A man of rare powers and sweet temperament is the Rev. John Baptiste Renville, youngest son of the famous Joseph Renville. A wonderfully strange gathering is this. Hundreds of Indians seated in semi-circles on the grass, reverently observing the Lord's Supper. Probably one-third of the males in that assemblage were participants in the bloody wars of the Sioux nation. The sermon was delivered by Solomon His-Own-Grandfather, who had taken an active part in the war of 1862, but was now a missionary among his own people in Manitoba. The bread was broken by Artemas Ehnamane ("Walking Along"), who was condemned and pardoned, and then converted after that appalling tragedy in 1862. The wine was poured by the man whom all the Sioux lovingly call John (Dr. John P. Williamson) who led them in the burning revival scenes in the prison-camp at Fort Snelling in 1863. And as he referred to those thrilling times, their tears flowed like rain. It is said that Indians cannot weep, but scores of them wept that day at Ascension. One of the officiating elders was a son of the notorious chieftain Little Crow, who was so prominent against the Anglo-Saxons in those days of carnage. As we partook of those visible symbols of our Saviour's broken body, and shed blood, with this peculiar congregation, so recently accustomed to the war-whoop and the scalp-dance, we freely mingled our tears with theirs. And as our minds ranged over the vast Dakota field and as we remembered the thousands of Christian Sioux, their Presbytery and their Association, their scores of churches and their many Sabbath Schools, their Y.M.C.A. and their Y.P.S.C.E. associations, their missionary societies and other beneficent organizations, their farms and homes, their present pure, happy condition, and contrasted it with their former superstition, nakedness and filthy teepee life, we sang joyfully;
Behold! What wondrous worksHave, by the Lord, been wrought;Behold! What precious soulsHave, by His blood, been bought.
Behold! What wondrous worksHave, by the Lord, been wrought;Behold! What precious soulsHave, by His blood, been bought.
Behold! What wondrous works
Have, by the Lord, been wrought;
Behold! What precious souls
Have, by His blood, been bought.
As the shades of evening drew on, the different bands held their farewell meetings in their teepees. There were sounds of sweet music—joyous ones—echoing and re-echoing over the prairies—"He leadeth me, Oh precious thought," "Nearer, my God to thee," "Blessed Assurance, Jesus hath given"—until the whole was blended in one grand refrain:—
"Blest be the tie that bindsOur hearts in Christian love;The fellowship of Christian mindsIs like to that above."
"Blest be the tie that bindsOur hearts in Christian love;The fellowship of Christian mindsIs like to that above."
"Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of Christian minds
Is like to that above."
The Council Tent was in darkness! The lights were out in the teepees. The whole camp was wrapped in solid slumber. And as we sunk to rest in our bed of new-mown hay, we breathed a prayer for the slumbering Sioux around us; May the Cloud, by day, and the Pillar of Fire, by night, guide the Sioux Nation through the Red Sea of Savagery, superstition and sin to the Promised Land of Christian Civilization.
The Native Missionary Society.
It is well worth a journey to the land of the Dakotas to witness an anniversary gathering of their Woman's Missionary Society. You enter the great Council Tent. It is thronged with these nut-brown women of the plains. A matronly woman welcomes you, and presides with grace and dignity. A bright and beautiful young maiden—a graduate of Santee or Good Will—controls the organ and sweetly leads the service of song. And oh how they do sing! You cannot understand the words, but the airs are familiar. Now it is Bishop Coxe's "Latter Day" sung with vim in the Indian tongue;
"We are living, we are dwelling,In a grand and awful time;In an age on ages telling,To be living is sublime."
"We are living, we are dwelling,In a grand and awful time;In an age on ages telling,To be living is sublime."
"We are living, we are dwelling,
In a grand and awful time;
In an age on ages telling,
To be living is sublime."
And now some sedate matron rises and reads a carefully written paper, contrasting their past, vile teepee life of ignoble servitude to Satan, with their present, pure life of glorious liberty in the Lord Jesus Christ. And then they sing, so earnestly for they are thinking of their pagan sisters of the wild tribes, sitting in darkness and the shadow of death, in the regions beyond. The hymn is Draper's "Missionary Chant."
"Ye Christian heralds, go proclaimSalvation through Emmanuel's name;To distant lands the tidings bearAnd plant the Rose of Sharon there."
"Ye Christian heralds, go proclaimSalvation through Emmanuel's name;To distant lands the tidings bearAnd plant the Rose of Sharon there."
"Ye Christian heralds, go proclaim
Salvation through Emmanuel's name;
To distant lands the tidings bear
And plant the Rose of Sharon there."
And now a lively young lass, neatly attired, comes forward and with a fine, clear accent, recites a poem of hope, touching the bright future of their tribe, when the present generation of young men and maidens, nourished in Christian homes, educated in Christian schools and trained in the Young People's societies for efficient service, shall control their tribe, and move the great masses of their people upward and God-ward, and elevate the Sioux Nation to a lofty plane of Christian civilization and culture; and enable them to display to the world the rich fruition of Christian service. And, by request, their voices ring out in song these thrilling words;
"Watchman, tell us of the night,For the morning seems to dawn;Traveller, darkness takes its flight,Doubt and terror are withdrawn.Watchman, let thy wanderings cease;Hie thee, to thy quiet home;Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace,Lo, the Son of God is come!"
"Watchman, tell us of the night,For the morning seems to dawn;Traveller, darkness takes its flight,Doubt and terror are withdrawn.Watchman, let thy wanderings cease;Hie thee, to thy quiet home;Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace,Lo, the Son of God is come!"
"Watchman, tell us of the night,
For the morning seems to dawn;
Traveller, darkness takes its flight,
Doubt and terror are withdrawn.
Watchman, let thy wanderings cease;
Hie thee, to thy quiet home;
Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace,
Lo, the Son of God is come!"
Fervent prayers are frequently interspersed in these exercises. And oh, what wondrous liberality these dark-skinned sisters of the Dakota plains display!
How full their hands are with rich gifts, gleaned out of their poverty for the treasury of their Saviour-King. For many years, the average annual contributions per capita to missions, by these Sioux sisters, have fully measured up to the standard of their more highly favored Anglo-Saxon sisters of the wealthy Presbyterian and Congregational denominations, of which they form a humble part.
Chapter VI.
It was 1905. From the heights of Sisseton, South Dakota, another striking scene met the eye. The great triangular Sisseton reserve of one million acres no longer exists. Three hundred thousand of its choicest acres are now held in severalty by the fifteen hundred members of the Sisseton and Wahpeton Band of the Dakotas—the "Leaf Dwellers" of the plains. Their homes, their schools, their churches cover the prairies. That spire pointing heavenward rises from Good Will Church, a commodious, well-furnished edifice, with windows of stained glass. Within its walls, there worship on the Sabbath, scores of dusky Presbyterian Christians. The pastor, the Rev. Charles Crawford, in whose veins there flows the mingled blood of the shrewd Scotch fur trader and the savage Sioux, lives in that comfortable farm house a few rods distant. He has a pastorate that many a white minister might covet. Miles to the west, still stands in its grassy cove on the coteaux of the prairie, the Church of the Ascension, referring not to the ascension of our Lord, but to "the going up" of the prairies. On the hill above it, is the cozy home of the pastor emeritus, the Rev. John Baptiste Renville, whose pastorate, in point of continuous service, has been the longest in the two Dakotas. After a long lifetime of faithful ministrations to the people of his own charge, enfeebled by age and disease, he sweetly fell asleep in Jesus, Dec. 19, 1904. Doubtless his is a starry crown, richly gemmed, in token of the multitude of the souls of his fellow tribesmen, led to the Savior by his tender, faithful ministry of a life-time in their midst. Round about these two churches cluster half a dozen other congregations, worshipping in comfortable church homes. These form only a part of the
PRESBYTERY OF DAKOTA.
The original Presbytery of Dakota was organized September 30, 1844, at the mission Home of Dr. Williamson, at Lac-qui-Parle, Minnesota. It was organized, by the missionaries, among the Dakotas, for the furtherance of their peculiar work. The charter members were three ministers, the Rev. Samuel W. Pond, Rev. Thomas S. Williamson, M.D., and Rev. Stephen R. Riggs and one elder Alexander G. Huggins. It was an independent presbytery, and, for fourteen years, was not connected with any Synod. It was a lone presbytery, in a vast region, now covered by a dozen Synods and scores of presbyteries. For many years, the white and Indian churches that were organized in Minnesota, were united in this presbytery and wrought harmoniously together. In 1858, the General Assembly of Presbyterian churches (N.S.) invited this independent presbytery to unite with her two Minnesota Presbyteries and form the Synod of Minnesota which was accomplished.
Solely on account of the barrier of the language, the missionaries and churches among the Dakotas, petitioned the Synod of Minnesota to organize them into a separate presbytery. And the Synod so ordered and it was so done, September 30, 1867, just twenty-three years after the first organization at Lac-qui-Parle. By this order, the limits of the Presbytery of Dakota became the churches and ministers among the Dakota Indians. It is the only Presbytery in existence, without any geographical boundaries. At present, there are seventeen ordained Indian ministers upon the roll of this presbytery—workmen of whom neither they themselves nor any others have any cause to be ashamed. There are, also, under its care, twenty-eight well-organized churches, aggregating more than fifteen hundred communicants, and eight hundred Sabbath-School members. The contributions of these fifteen hundred Dakota Presbyterians in 1904, exceeded the sum of six thousand dollars for all religious purposes.
Among the "Dispersed" of the Sioux nation, in Manitoba, there is one organized Presbyterian church of twenty-five communicant members. It is the church of Beulah and is in connection with the Presbyterian church of Canada.
In all, twenty-one Sioux Indians have been ordained to the Presbyterian ministry, by the Presbytery of Dakota. Of these, Artemas Ehnamane, Titus Icaduze, Joseph Iron Door, and John Baptiste Renville have all passed on, from the beautiful prairies of the Dakotas, to the celestial plains of glory. And how warm must have been their greeting as they passed through the pearly gates of the city, whose builder and maker is God. Gideon Pond, Dr. Williamson, Samuel W. Pond, Stephen R. Riggs and Robert Hopkins, Margaret Williamson, Mary Riggs and Aunt Jane and other faithful missionaries and thousands of redeemed Dakotas, welcomed them, with glad hozannas, and sweet are the songs they sing as they walk together, under the trees, on the banks of the River of Life.
The Dakota Congregational association has under its care thirteen organized churches, with more than one thousand communicants and one thousand Sabbath school members. The prominent leaders of its work are Alfred L. Riggs D.D., of Santee, Nebraska, and Rev. Thomas L. Riggs of Oahe, South Dakota. They are the worthy sons of their famous father, Stephen R. Riggs, D.D., one of the heroic pioneers in the Dakota work. The native ministers are Francis Frazier, Edwin Phelps, James Garvie, James Wakutamani and Elias Gilbert. This association is a mighty factor in God's plan, for the upbuilding of the Dakotas, in the things that are noble and of good report.
The Presbyterian and Congregationalists have wrought together, side by side, for seventy years, in this glorious enterprise. Under their auspices, forty-four churches, many schools and other beneficent organizations are in efficient operation among these former savage dwellers on these plains.
Seven other natives have, also, been ordained to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church, making thirty-three in all, who have served their fellow-tribesmen in the high and holy office of the Christian ministry. There is not a single ordained Romish priest among the Sioux Indians.
"Watchman, tell us of the night,What its signs of promise are."
"Watchman, tell us of the night,What its signs of promise are."
"Watchman, tell us of the night,
What its signs of promise are."
Seventy years ago, among the twenty-five thousand Sioux Indians in the United States, there was not a single church, not even one professing Christian.
They were all polytheistic pagans. There were signs of pagan worship about every teepee. It might be the medicine sack tied behind the conical wigwam, or a yard of broadcloth, floating from the top of a flagpole as a sacrifice to some deity. There was more or less idol-worship in all their gatherings. One of the simplest forms was the holding of a well-filled pipe at arm's length, with the mouth-piece upward, while the performers said, "O Lord, take a smoke and have mercy on me." In the feasts and dances, the forms were more elaborate. The Sun-dance continued for days of fasting and sacrificial work by the participants.
Now these signs of pagan worship have almost entirely disappeared among the Dakotas. These facts speak volumes—one in eight of the Dakotas is a Presbyterian. There are two-thirds as many Congregationalists, twice as many Episcopalians and twice as many Catholics. More than one-half of the Dakotas have been baptized in the name of the Triune God and thousands of them are professed followers of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Now what has wrought this great change among the Dakotas? It was the power of the Holy Spirit of the Lord, working through the means of grace as employed and applied by these faithful missionaries. They renounced heathenism, not because the government so ordered, but because they found that there was no God like Jehovah and Jehovah said, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me." Even those who have not accepted Christ have generally cast away their idols.
Now do missions pay? Do Indian missions pay? Let the grand work among the Dakotas and its glorious results be an all sufficient answer. It does pay a thousand fold.
Hear the Christian tribesmen sing the Hymn of the Sioux.
Lift aloft the starry banner,Let it wave o'er land and sea;Shout aloud and sing hosanna!Praise the Lord, who set us free!Here we stand amazed and wonderSuch a happy change to see;The bonds of sin are burst asunder!Praise the Lord who set us free.Long we lay in darkness pining,Not a ray of hope had we!Now the Gospel Sun is shining:Praise the Lord who set us free.In one loud and joyful chorus,Heart and soul now join will we;Salvation's Sun is shining o'er us!Praise the Lord who set us free.
Lift aloft the starry banner,Let it wave o'er land and sea;Shout aloud and sing hosanna!Praise the Lord, who set us free!Here we stand amazed and wonderSuch a happy change to see;The bonds of sin are burst asunder!Praise the Lord who set us free.Long we lay in darkness pining,Not a ray of hope had we!Now the Gospel Sun is shining:Praise the Lord who set us free.In one loud and joyful chorus,Heart and soul now join will we;Salvation's Sun is shining o'er us!Praise the Lord who set us free.
Lift aloft the starry banner,
Let it wave o'er land and sea;
Shout aloud and sing hosanna!
Praise the Lord, who set us free!
Here we stand amazed and wonder
Such a happy change to see;
The bonds of sin are burst asunder!
Praise the Lord who set us free.
Long we lay in darkness pining,
Not a ray of hope had we!
Now the Gospel Sun is shining:
Praise the Lord who set us free.
In one loud and joyful chorus,
Heart and soul now join will we;
Salvation's Sun is shining o'er us!
Praise the Lord who set us free.
SOME SIOUX STORIETTES
Part II
SOME SIOUX STORIETTES.
THE DEAD PAPOOSE
The Indian mother, when her child dies, does not believe that swift angels bear it into the glorious sunshine of the spirit-land; but she has a beautiful dream to solace her bereavement. The cruel empty places, which everywhere meet the eye of the weeping white mother, are unknown to her, for to her tender fancy a little spirit-child fills them.
It is not a rare sight to see a pair of elaborate tiny moccasins above a little Indian grave. A mother's fingers have embroidered them, a mother's hand has hung them there, to help the baby's feet over the long rough road that stretches between his father's wigwam and the Great Chief's happy hunting grounds.
Indians believe that a baby's spirit cannot reach the spirit-land until the child, if living, would have been old enough and strong enough to walk. Until that time the little spirit hovers about its mother. And often it grows tired—oh so very tired! So the tender mother carries a papoose's cradle on her back that the baby spirit may ride and rest when it will. The cradle is filled with the softest feathers, for the spirit rests more comfortably upon soft things—hard things bruise it—and all the papoose's old toys dangle from the crib, for the dead papoose may love to play even as the living papoose did.
THE MAIDENS' FEAST
Of the many peculiar customs of the Indians in the long ago, perhaps the most unique was the annual "feast of Maidens." One was given at Fort Ellis, Manitoba, some thirty years ago, in a natural amphitheatre, surrounded by groves, fully one thousand feet above the Assiniboine River.
It was observed at a reunion of the Sioux, and of the Assiniboines and the Crees, three friendly tribes.
In his "Indian Boyhood," that brilliant Sioux author, Dr. Charles Alexander Eastman, great-grandson of Cloudman or Man-of-the-sky, that potential friend of the missionaries in pioneer days at Lake Calhoun, graphically describes it thus:—
"One bright summer morning, while we were still at our meal of jerked buffalo meat, we heard the herald of the Wahpeton band upon his calico pony as he rode round our circle.
"White Eagle's daughter, the maiden Red Star, invites all the maidens of all the tribes to come and partake of her feast. It will be in the Wahpeton Camp, before the sun reaches the middle of the sky. All pure maidens are invited. Red Star, also, invites the young men to be present, to see that no unworthy maiden should join in the feast."
The herald soon completed the rounds of the different camps, and it was not long before the girls began to gather. It was regarded as a semi-sacred feast.
It would be desecration for any to attend, who was not perfectly virtuous. Hence it was regarded as an opportune time for the young men to satisfy themselves as to who were the virtuous maids of the tribe.
There were apt to be surprises before the end of the day. Any young man was permitted to challenge any maiden, whom he knew to be untrue. But woe to him, who could not prove his case. It meant little short of death to the man, who endeavored to disgrace a woman without cause.
From the various camps, the girls came singly or in groups, dressed in bright colored calicoes or in heavily fringed and beaded buckskin. Their smooth cheeks and the center of their glossy hair was touched with vermillion. All brought with them wooden basins to eat from. Some who came from a considerable distance were mounted upon ponies; a few for company or novelty's sake rode double.
The maidens' circle was formed about a cone-shaped rock, which stood upon its base. This was painted red. Beside it, two new arrows were lightly stuck into the ground. This is a sort of altar, to which each maiden comes before taking her assigned place in the circle, and lightly touches first the stone and then the arrows. By this oath, she declares her purity. Whenever a girl approaches the altar there is a stir among the spectators and sometimes a rude youth would call out; "Take care! you will overturn the rock or pull out the arrows!"
Immediately behind the maidens' circle is the chaperons' circle. This second circle is almost as interesting to look at as the inner one.
The old women watched every movement of their respective charges with the utmost concern. There was never a more gorgeous assembly of its kind than this one. The day was perfect. The Crees, displaying their characteristic horsemanship, came in groups; the Assiniboines with their curious pompadour well covered with red paint. The various bands of Sioux all carefully observed the traditional peculiarities of dress and behavior.
The whole population of the region had assembled and the maidens came shyly into the circle. During the simple preparatory rites, there was a stir of excitement among a group of Wahpeton Sioux young men. All the maidens glanced nervously toward the scene of the disturbance. Soon a tall youth emerged from the throng of spectators and advanced toward the circle. With a steady step, he passed by the chaperons, and approached the maidens' circle.
At last, he stopped behind a pretty Assiniboine maiden of good family and said:
"I am sorry, but according to custom, you should not be here."
The girl arose in confusion, but she soon recovered her control.
"What do you mean?" she demanded indignantly. "Three times you have come to court me, but each time I have refused to listen to you. I have turned my back upon you. Twice I was with Washtinna. She can tell the people that this is true. The third time I had gone for water when you intercepted me and begged me to stop and listen. I refused because I did not know you. My chaperon Makatopawee knows I was gone but a few minutes. I never saw you anywhere else."
The young man was unable to answer this unmistakable statement of facts and it became apparent that he had sought to revenge himself for her repulse.
"Woo! Woo! Carry him out!" was the order of the Chief of the Indian police, and the audacious youth was hurried away into the nearest ravine to be chastised.
The young woman who had thus established her good name returned to the circle and the feast was served. The "maidens' song" was sung, and four times they danced in a ring around the altar.
Each maid, as she departed, took her oath to remain pure until she should meet her husband.
IIGRANDMOTHER POND.
Grandmother Pond is one of the rarest spirits, one of the loveliest characters in Minnesota. She is the last living link between the past and the present—between that heroic band of pioneer missionaries who came to Minnesota prior to 1844, and those who joined the ranks of this glorious missionary service in more recent years. Her life reads like a romance.
Agnes Carson Johnson Pond is a native of Ohio—born at Greenfield in 1825. She was the daughter of William Johnson, a physician and surgeon of Chillicothe, Ohio. By the death of her father she was left an orphan at five years of age. Her mother married a worthy minister of the Associate Reformed Presbyterian church, Rev. John McDill. She had superior educational and social advantages and made good use of all her opportunities. She was educated at a seminary at South Hanover, Indiana. There she met her future husband, Robert Hopkins. He, as well as she, was in training for service on mission fields. They were married in 1843. He had already been appointed as a missionary teacher for the Sioux Indians. The young wife was compelled to make her bridal tour in the company of strangers, by boat and stage and private conveyance from Ohio to the then unknown land of the upper Mississippi. It required thirty days then, instead of thirty hours, as now, to pass from Ohio to the Falls of St. Anthony. The bride-groom drove his own team from Galena, Illinois, to Fort Snelling.
Grandmother Pond
Grandmother Pond,The Last Living Member of the Heroic Band of Pioneer Missionaries to the Dakotas, in the 81st Year of Her Age.