Standard [Clarksville], Tx,
July 20, 1861
The Indians were expected at ten o’clock, and about that time they came in, following their drum, and an old man with a drawn sword, who delivered the speech below. The war dance was in the square–the warriors being stripped to their fighting costume. There were two companies of them, and they advanced into the Fort with heads erect, and truly martial bearing, beneath their colors, (a Confederate flag,) with nine white stars in circle, surrounding one in red with a white border, and somewhat larger than the others. In the rear of the companies were about 20 Indian women. The color staff being placed in the ground, the warriors slowly circled around it, and upon a signal from one of the Captains, they all stood still and silent, while the old man before mentioned, drew his sword, and moving slowly around in the circle, thus addressed them:
“Warriors of the Choctaw and Chickisaw Nations! look around you, and what do you see! You see men in every garb armed and equipped for war. A strange sight for my young men. Who are these men? Your brothers–the men of the South–men who have come from the land of sunshine across Red River–whose star is in the centre of your flag, and who are in our hearts, as their star is in our colors–men, and the sons of men, who dyed that star in the blood of their brave, and with whom you, my warriors, are here to share the toils, dangers, and the glory of war–men, who will lay down their lives in a just cause, and who, as yet, have never turned their backs to their enemies. You, men and warriors, must emulate their glorious deeds. (Deafening shouts from the warriors.) Let your enemies feel the edges of your knives. (Ugh, ugh!) Let not your war path be through your own green corn-fields; but let your knives drink the life-blood of your enemies in their own towns and villages, and be side by side with your white brothers, who are fighting for their rights–their own property, and for the protection of the homes of their wives and children.
Warriors! we have the same feelings; we have the same description of property; and need I tell you to look around and see the women and maidens of your race, who are assembled to see the warriors in their war paint?–Their hands have armed you for the fray, and their hearts will be with you on the field of death.”
The warriors here broke forth into a dance, keeping time to the beating of the drum, and uttering the scalp hallo, fired off their guns and pistols; the women at the same time moving closer to the circle, when an elderly matron, accompanied by the others, in a low, plaintive voice, commenced a song, in which they were reminded of their mothers, and the homes they had played around when they were babes, and how their mothers and sisters had attended their footsteps when they were too young to follow their fathers to hunt the Buffalo; and now they had grown to be men, their sisters were comparatively weak, and their mothers had grown old, and the bright sun had changed their raven locks to gray; and now, should their mothers and sisters, knowing they needed protection, ask it of strangers? or should their own young men, who have the right, keep the northern men from polluting their soil? The excitement here was intense. The warriors sprang into the air with shouts of defiance, yelling and whooping, and the women ran into the circle through an opening made for the purpose, and, dancing around the colors continued their song, but in a more animated strain, in which an allusion was made to the deeds of their forefathers, &c. The old veteran again came forward and asked a question, which was not understood by me, but which they answered by “ugh, ugh!” and then addressed them again:
“Where are the men who fought your battles in former years, who were a terror to their enemies? (A mournful wail.) They have passed from our sight, and gone to the happy land, but their blood flows through the veins of the living. Where are the warriors of their blood? (Here! here!!) This is the first time some of you have danced in the warrior’s line; let not your hearts fail, nor your arms grow weak, as your country may need every blow.”
It was the first opportunity your correspondent has ever had to witness the novel ceremonies of an Indian war dance, and no one can properly appreciate the scene, unless they were present, and saw the defiant and determined expression indicated by the gestures and general appearance of the men.
Dixie.