propitiate the Great Spirit on behalf of the neophyte who undergoes it, so that he
may become a successful hunter and a valiant warrior; and, second, to enable the
leader and chief of the tribe, to watch his behaviour, and determine whether he
will be likely to maintain its character and renown.
The Mandans, we must premise, cherish a legend of a flood which in times long
past inundated the earth, and of which only one man, who escaped in a large
canoe, was the survivor. In a large open space in the centre of the village a
representation of this canoe, a kind of tub, bound with wooden hoops, and set up
on one end, is carefully preserved.
The ceremony of initiation occurs once a year, at the season when the willow-
leaves under the river-bank burst from their shade, and bloom in all their
greenness. Early in the morning of the great day, a figure is seen on the distant
ridge of hills, slowly approaching the village. Immediately the whole village is
alive! The dogs are caught and muzzled; the horses are brought in from the
meadows; the bravos paint their faces as if for battle, string their bows, feather
their arrows, and grasp their pointed spears. Then into the central area strides the
visitor, his body painted white, a plume of raven’s feathers waving on his head, a
white wolf’s skin flung across his stalwart shoulders, and in his hand a mystery-
pipe. The chief and his leading warriors immediately greet the new comer, Nu-
mohk-muck-a-nah, or the First Man, as he is called,—and conduct him to the
great medicine-lodge, which is open only on this occasion, and now reeks with
the fragrant odours of various aromatic herbs. The skulls of men and bisons are
solemnly laid on the floor; over the beams of the timber roof are hung several
new ropes, with a heap of strong wooden skewers underneath them; and in the
centre is raised a small daïs or altar, on which the First Man deposits the
medicine or mystery of the tribe,—a profound, a sacred secret, known to none
but himself.
To every hut in the village next stalks the First Man, pausing at the door of each
to weep aloud, and when the owner comes out, relating to him the old, old story
of the Flood, and of his own escape from it, and requiring axe or knife as an
offering to the Great Spirit. The demand is never refused; and loaded with edged
tools of various kinds, he returns to the medicine-lodge. There they remain until
the conclusion of the ceremonies, when they are thrown into the river’s deepest
pool.
Thus passes the first day, during which, as during the whole period of the
ceremony, an absolute silence prevails in the village. None know the place