Once fairly debouched on the narrow prairie, the Ojibways lost no time in extending their wings and enveloping the encampment on the landside. When this movement had been completed in perfect silence, they gradually neared the lodges of their sleeping enemies, and as they arrived within the proper distance, and the dogs of the encampment began to snuff the air and utter their sharp quick yelp, the shrill war whistle was sounded by the leaders, and suddenly the dread and fear-striking war whoop issued from the lips of hundreds of blood-thirsty warriors. Volley after volley of ballets and arrows were fired, and discharged into the frail and defenseless tepees, and the shrieking and yelling of the inmates as they became thus suddenly startled from their sleep, made the uproar of the attack truly deafening.

Completely taken by surprise, the warriors of the Dakotas fought at a disadvantage; their women and children ran shrieking to the water's side, and hastily jumping into their narrow wooden canoes, they attempted to cross to the opposite shores of the lake. The wind, however, had increased in force, and sweeping down the lake in a fearful gale, it caused the waves to run high, and in many instances the crowded and crank canoes filled with water or upset, launching the fleeing women and children into a watery grave.

After a long and unavailing defense, such of the Dakota warriors as had stood their ground, were obliged to retreat. Thirty of their number are said to have fled under a ledge of rock, where, being entirely surrounded, they were shot down one after another.

This is one of the most successful war parties, which the Ojibways tell of. It is said that at each encampment on their return homeward, the scalps which they had taken, being each tied to the end of a stick three or four feet long, were planted close together in a single row, and an arrow shot by a strong arm, from one end of this row of human scalps, fell short of reaching the oilier extremity.

One of their story tellers, who in his youth had long remained a captive among the Dakotas, states explicitly, that on this occasion, the Ojibways secured three hundred and thirty-five scalps, and many more than this are thought to have perished in the water. But one captive is mentioned as having been taken, and the circumstances of his capture are such that the fact is always mentioned, in connection with the tale relating the above important event in their history.

It appears that during the heat of the battle, two young Ojibway lads who had accompanied their fathers on the war trail, entered a Dakota lodge, which they supposed had been deserted by the fleeing enemy. They, however, found it to be occupied by a stout and full-grown Dakota warrior; he sat in the lodge in an attitude of sorrow, holding his head between his hands, and his elbows resting on his raised knees, his unstrung bow and full quiver of arrows lay at his feet, and his war spear stood planted before him. He did not even lift his head as the two lads entered, the youngest of whom immediately rushed on him, and being unarmed, he attempted to secure him as a captive. The Dakota took him by the arm and gently pushed him aside. The brave little lad, however, persisted, and calling on his older comrade to help him, they both fell on the Dakota and attempted to secure his arms. He pushed them easily away, and quietly resumed his former position, and remained thus till a number of Ojibway warriors attracted by the calls of the young lad, entered the lodge and secured him captive. He was given to the boy who first assaulted him as his prisoner.

When asked by an Ojibway who could speak his language, the reason why he had acted so strangely, he replied that the evening before, his father had scolded him without cause, and had heaped shameful epithets on him, under which he felt that he could not survive, and be a tenant of his lodge. During the night he had dreamed of living amongst the Ojibways, and early that morning he was preparing to leave his people forever and seek for a new home among their villages, when the attack commenced and he determined to risk the chances of neutrality. He became a great favorite with the family into whose hands he fell, and who adopted him as a relative, and when some time afterwards, when he was ruthlessly killed by a cowardly Ojibway, blood was nearly shed on his account, and with great difficulty a fierce family feud prevented from ensuing in consequence.

After the battle of Point Prescott (by which name we may designate the event related in this chapter), it may well be imagined that the war was renewed with great fury by these two powerful tribes, and fights of various magnitude and importance took place along the whole country, which lay between them.

Ojibways who had intermarried among the Dakotas, were obliged to make a sudden and secret flight to their former homes, leaving their wives and children. Dakotas were obliged to do likewise, and instances are told where the parting between husband and wife was most grieving to behold.

After the first fury of the renewed feud had somewhat spent itself, it is related that the ties of consanguinity which had existed between the Rice Lake or St. Croix Ojibways, and the Dakotas were such, that peace again was made between them, and though the war raged between their tribes in other parts of their extensive country, they harmed not one another.

When the two sons of the Dakota chief, by the chieftainess of Rice Lake, had grown up to be men, the eldest, named O-mig-aun-dib (or Sore Head), became chief of the Rice Lake band of Ojibways, and he afterwards appointed his younger brother to be chief of a branch of his village, which had at this time located themselves at Yellow Lake. These are the first two permanent villages which the Ojibways made in the St. Croix country. Rice Lake was first settled about a century and a half ago, during the peace brought about by the French traders. Yellow Lake was settled about forty years after. Po-ka-gum-a on Snake River, and Knife Lake have been the sites of Ojibway villages only within a few years past--within the recollection of Indians still living. (The Snake River Ojibways in 1836 were divided into two bands, and numbered about forty men. One band spent the summer at Lake Po-ka-gum-a; the other, on a small lake twenty miles higher on the river. About this time some of the Ojibways of Yellow Lake, Wisconsin, joined them.--E. D. N.)

Omig-aun-dib, the chief of Rice Lake, had half brothers among the Dakotas, who after the death of their common father became chiefs over their people; through the influence of these closely related chieftains; peace was long kept up between their respective villages. Ill-will, however, gradually crept in between them, as either party continually lost relatives, in the implacable warfare which was now most continually carried on between other portions of their two tribes. At last they dared no longer to make peace visits to one another's villages, though they still did not join the war parties which marched into the region of country which they respectively occupied.

As a proof of the tenacity with which they held on to one another even amidst the bloodshed, which their respective tribes continued to inflict on them, the following tale is related by the descendants of Omig-aun-dib.

After the war between them had again fairly opened, a Dakota war party proceeded to Rice Lake and killed three children who were playing on the sandy shores of the lake, a short distance from the Ojibway village. One of these murdered children belonged to Omig-aun-dib, who was away on his day's hunt at the time they were fallen upon and dispatched.

When, on his return, he had viewed the mangled remains of his child, he did not weep and ask his fellows to aid him in revenging the blow, but he silently buried his child, and embarking the next morning alone in his birch canoe, he proceeded down the river toward the Dakota country.

At Point Douglas he discovered the Dakotas collected together in a large camp; their war party had just arrived with the three children's scalps, and he heard as he neared their village, the drums beating, accompanied with the scalp songs of rejoicing, while young and old in the whole encampment were dancing and yelling in celebration of the exploit, and the discomfiture of their enemies.

Omig-aun-dib paddled his light canoe straight towards the center of the long rows of lodges, which lined the waterside: he had covered his face and body with the black paint of mourning. The prow of his canoe lightly struck the beach, and the eyes of the rejoicing Dakotas became all bent on the stranger who so suddenly made his appearance at their water-side: some ran to see who it could be, and as he became recognized, his name passed like wildfire from lip to lip--the music and dancing suddenly ceased, and the former noisy and happy Dakotas spoke to one another in whispers.

Omig-aun-dib sat quietly in the stern of his canoe smoking his pipe. Soon a long line of elderly men, the chiefs of the village, approached him; he knew his half brothers, and as they recognized him and guessed the cause of the black paint on his body, they raised their voices and wept aloud. No sooner was the example set, than the whole encampment was in tears, and loud was the lamentation which for a few moments issued from lips which, but a moment before, had been rejoicing in the deed of blood.

They took the canoe wherein the bereaved father was still sitting, and lifting it off the ground, they carried it on to the bank where stood their lodges. Buffalo robes, beautifully worked with quills and colored with bright paints, were then brought and spread on the ground from the canoe reaching even to the door of the council lodge, and the Ojibway chieftain was asked to walk thereon and enter the lodge.

During the performance of these different acts he had kept his seat in the canoe calmly smoking his pipe; he now arose, and stepped forth, but as he approached the council lodge, he kicked the robes to one side, saying, "I have not come amongst you, my relatives, to be treated with so much honor and deference. I have come that you may treat me as you have treated my child, that I may follow him to the land of spirits."

These words only made the sorrow of the Dakotas still more poignant; to think that they had killed the child of one who was their relative by blood, and who had never raised his arm against their tribe.

Omig-aun-dib repeated his offer of self-sacrifice in public council, but it was of course refused, and with great difficulty he was at last induced to accept presents as a covering for his child's grave; and a child was given to him to adopt instead of the one, which had been killed. With this reparation he returned to his village....

The breach between the two tribes became widened by almost daily bloody encounters, and the relationship existing between them became at last to be almost forgotten, though to the present day the occasional short terms of peace which have occurred between thetwo tribes, have generally been first brought about by the mixed bloods of either tribe who could approach one another with greater confidence than those entirely unconnected by blood.

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White Eagle Soaring: Dream Dancer of the 7th Fire