The Miners' Express

From the National Intelligencer.

The Dancing Ghosts.
CHIPPEWA LEGEND.

The beautiful phenomenon known to the white man as the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, is called by the Chippewa Indians Je-bi-nc-me-id-de-wcand, or the Dancing Ghosts. The legends accounting for it are numerous, and the following, which was related to the translator by a Chippewa hunter, named Kesh-Chock, or precipice leaper, is quite as fantastic as the phenomena itself. That it is a very ancient tradition is evident from the fact that the sacrifice to which it alludes has not been practised by the Chippewas for at least a century.

There was a time when all the inhabitants of the far North were afflicted by a famine. It was in the depth of winter, and the weather had for a long time been so cold that even the white bear was afraid to leave his hiding place. The prairies were so deeply covered with snow that the deer and buffalo were compelled to wander to a warmer climate, and the lakes and rivers were so closely packed with ice that it was only once in a while that even fish could be obtained.

Such sorrow as reigned throughout the land had never before been known. The magicians and wise men kept themselves hidden in their cabins. The warriors and hunters, instead of boasting of their exploits, crowded around their camp fires, and in silence meditated upon their unhappy doom. Mothers abandoned their children to seek for berries in the desolate forests, and the fingers of the young women had become stiff with idleness, for they had not any skins out of which to make the comfortable moccasin. From one end of the Chippewa country to the other was heard the cry of hunger and distress. The Great Spirit was angry with his people was universally believed, but for what reason none of the magicians could tell.

The chief of the Chippewas was the oldest man in the nation, and he was consulted in regard to the impending calamity. He could give no reason for the famine, but stated that he had been informed in a dream that the anger of the Great Spirit could be appeased by a human sacrifice. How this should come to pass, however, he could not tell, and therefore to summon to his lodge all the medicine men who lived within a day's journey for the purpose of consulting with them. He did so, and when the council was ended, it was proclaimed that three Chippewas should be immediately bound to the stake and consumed. They were to be selected by lot from among the warriors of the tribe; and when this sad intelligence was promulgated, a national assembly was ordered to convene.

The appointed time arrived, and, in the presence of a large multitude, the fatal lots were cast, and three of the bravest men in the tribe were thus appointed to the sacrifice. They submitted to their fate without a murmur. Whilst their friends gathered around them with wild lamentations, and decked with the costliest robes, and ornaments to be found in all the tribe, the youthful warriors uttered not a word about their untimely departure, but only spoke in the most poetical language of the happy hunting grounds they were about to enter. The spot secured for the sacrifice was the summit of a neighboring hill which was covered with woods.

Upon this spot had three stakes been closely erected, around which had been collected a large pile of dry branches and other combustible materials. To these stakes at the hour of midnight, and by the hands of the magicians, unattended by spectators, were the three warriors securely fastened. They performed their cruel duty in silence, and the only sounds that broke the stillness of that winter night were the songs and the shoutings of the multitude assembled in the neighboring village. The incantations of the priest being ended, they applied a torch to the faggots, and returning to their village spent the remainder of the night in performing a variety of strange and heart-sickening ceremonies.

Morning dawned, and upon the hill of sacrifice were to be seen only a pile of smouldering ashes. On that day the weather moderated, and an unusual number of hunters went forth in pursuit of game. They were all more successful than they had been for seasons, and there was an abundance of sweet game, such as the buffalo, the deer, and bear in every wigwam. A council was called, and the patriarch chief proclaimed the glad tidings that the Great Spirit had accepted their sacrifice, and that it was now the duty of his children to express their gratitude by a feast—the feast of bitter roots.

The appointed night arrived, and the bitterest roots which could be found in all the lodges of the magicians were collected together and made into a soup. The company assembled to partake of this feast, was the largest that had ever been known, and as they were to conclude their ceremony by dancing, they had cleared the snow from the centre of their village, and on this spot they were duly congregated. It was a cold and remarkably clear night, and their watch fire burnt with uncommon brilliancy. It was now the hour of midnight, and the bitter soup was all gone. The flutes and the drums had just been brought, and the dancers decked in their most uncouth dresses, were about to enter the charmed ring, when a series of loud shouts were heard, and the eyes of the entire multitude were intently fixed upon the northern which was illuminated by a most brilliant unearthly light. It was a light of many colors and as changeable as the reflections of a curmer sea at the sunset hour. Across this light were constantly dancing three huge figures of a crimson hue, and these did the magicians proclaim to be the ghosts of the three warriors who had given up their bodies for the benefit of the people, and who had thus become great chiefs in the spirit-land. The fire by which their bodies had been consumed had also consumed every feeling of revenge; and ever since that remote period, it has been their greatest pleasure to illumine by their appearance on winter nights the pathway of the hunters over the snowy plains of the North.