"The principle of enlistment is sufficiently well preserved. For this purpose, the leader who proposes to raise the war-party takes the war-club in his hands, smeared with vermilion, to symbolize blood, and begins his war-song. I have witnessed several such scenes. The songs are brief, wild repetitions of sentiments of heroic deeds, or incitements to patriotic or military ardour. They are accompanied by the drum and rattle, and by the voice of one or more choristers. They are repeated slowly, sententiously, and with a measured {70} cadence, to which the most exact time is kept. The warrior stamps the ground as if he could shake the universe. His language is often highly figurative, and he deals with the machinery of the clouds, the flight of carnivorous birds, and the influence of spiritual agencies, as if the region of space were at his command. He imagines his voice to be heard in the clouds; and while he stamps the ground with well-feigned fury, he fancies himself to take hold of the 'circle of the sky' with his hands. Every few moments he stops abruptly in his circular path, and utters the piercing war-cry. "He must be a cold listener who can sit unmoved by these appeals. The ideas thrown out succeed each other with the impetuosity of a torrent. They are suggestive of heroic frames of mind, of strong will, of burning sentiment. "'Hear my voice, ye warlike birds! I prepare a feast for you to batten on; I see you cross the enemy's lines; Like you I shall go. I wish the swiftness of your wings; I wish the vengeance of your claws; I muster my friends; I follow your flight. Ho, ye young men that are warriors, Look with wrath on the battlefield!' "Each warrior that rises and joins the war-dance thereby becomes a volunteer for the trip. He arms and equips himself; he provides his own sustenance; and when he steps out into the ring and dances, he chants his own song, and is greeted with redoubling yells. These ceremonies are tantamount to 'enlistment,' and no young man who thus comes forward can honourably withdraw. "The sentiments of the following song were uttered by the celebrated Wabojeeg, as the leader of the {71} Chippeways, after a victory over the combined Sioux and Sauks and Foxes, at the Falls of St. Croix, during the latter part of the seventeenth century: I "'Hear my voice, ye heroes! On that day when our warriors sprang With shouts on the dastardly foe, Just vengeance my heart burned to take On the cruel and treacherous breed, The Bwoin--the Fox--the Sauk. II "'And here, on my breast, have I bled! See--see! my battle scars! Ye mountains, tremble at my yell! I strike for life. III "'But who are my foes? They shall die, They shall fly o'er the plains like a fox; They shall shake like a leaf in the storm. Perfidious dogs! they roast our sons with fire! IV