large buffalo cow coming down to the water to drink. Hastening back to
the village, I quickly procured my Hawkins rifle and ran over the little
eminence that hid the lodges from the animal. She had approached quite
near the water, and was not more than one hundred and fifty yards
distant from me, when, hearing a noise in my rear, I looked back and
saw several Indians running toward me with their guns. The cow at the
same moment saw them, and turned to make off; but too late, for I had
drawn a bead on her heart, and at one shot dropped her dead.
All the village came running and shouting, and the squaws gathered
around the dead buffalo, jostling and elbowing each other as they tore
off the meat. It is the Indian rule that game is common property, and
my buffalo was soon reduced to a pile of bones by the knives of the
busy squaws. I could not help laughing as I watched them struggling
for the choice morsels. First, the skin was carefully removed, and
then the muscles and gristle cut away. Then, just as a squaw was about
to take the coveted part, she would be rudely thrust aside, and some
other squaw would take it. These exploits were received with loud
shouts of laughter, and no ill-temper or quarreling was observed among
the excited crowd of women who surrounded the carcass.
On returning to my lodge, I found Washtella in great glee over my good
luck, and she explained that it was no small matter to have killed the
first buffalo slain in the hunt. Presently I received a message from
the chief, and was informed by an old Indian that, having killed the
first buffalo, I would be entitled to lead the hunt on the first day.
Meat was brought me, and the skin or robe, which, according to the
Indian custom, is always given to the one who kills the animal. So
proud was Washtella that she did nothing all the evening but talk of
my good fortune, and I could not help being amused at the boasts of
the little maid. Nothing could possibly have happened that would have
given her more pleasure.
The next morning, as soon as it was daylight, I was aroused, and told
that the warriors were waiting for me to lead them in the chase.
Assembling all of them before my lodge, I addressed them, saying I was
a young man, and lacked experience, but if they would allow me, I
would name one worthy to lead them in my place. This was received with
loud shouts of approval, and as soon as quiet was restored, I pointed
to a young warrior, and said: "He is a good man, go and follow him."
The warrior I had selected was my bitter enemy. As his animosity was
well known in the tribe, the honors thus thrust upon him, by one from
whom he had expected no favors, surprised and pleased them. For a
moment the brave hung his head, and then came forward, and, amid the
shouts of the warriors, gave me his hand. Feeling unwell, I did not go
upon the hunt that day, but in the evening, when the party returned,
my old enemy came to my lodge, and as a token of his friendship,
presented me with two fine robes he had taken during the day.
On the second day I went out with the hunters, and joined in a most
exciting chase. Under the directions of a chief, we deployed at wide
distances, and then, closing in, surrounded a herd of buffaloes on
three sides; and as soon as the herd began to move, the chase began.
Our tough little ponies bore us swiftly along, and soon the herd was
hard pressed. Presently it began to scatter, and then each Indian,
selected a buffalo and followed the beast up until he had killed it.
It is astonishing how fast the great lumbering animals can run, and
although they do not seem to go over the ground very rapidly, it takes
a good horse to come up with them. Their shambling "lope" is equal in
speed to an American horse's gallop, and they can climb steep hills
and get over rough ground faster than a horse. They run with their
heads near the earth, and a hundred of them will make a mighty noise
that resembles the rumbling of distant thunder. The warriors do not
stop to touch the game after it is dead, as the skinning and packing
of the meat is the work of the squaws who follow in the wake of the
hunters. For this purpose they have pack-ponies, and two women will
skin and pack three or four buffaloes in a day.
The meat is brought to the village, is cut in narrow slices, about an
inch thick, and three or four inches long. These slices are then hung
on poles, or stretched on small willows laid across a frame-work of
poles. The meat is frequently turned, and is allowed to remain in the
sun and air for three days. It should be covered or brought in at
night, and must not be allowed to get wet by rain while it is curing.
This is called jerking buffalo, and is a simple and easy process of
curing meat. The pure crisp air of the plains soon dries it, and then
it has a sweet, pleasant taste. I have known climates on the plains
where nearly all the year carcasses could be hung up and left without
spoiling until used. Meat, when jerked, is only about half the weight
and size it is when in a raw state. If soaked in water it will swell
greatly, and then, unless used immediately, it will spoil.
When the buffalo flesh is dried sufficiently, it is put into
parfleshes, or wrappers, made of rawhide cut square, which will hold
about half a bushel. They are sewed up at the bottom and sides, the
laps at the top being left open until they are filled. The meat is
then laid in flat and packed tightly like plugs of tobacco. When two
or three layers of meat have been put in, hot buffalo fat is brought
and poured over it until all the interstices are filled up. Then more
layers of meat are put in and more fat poured on, until the parflesh
is full, when the laps are folded over each other and tightly sewed up
with sinews. The meat is now ready for winter use, and two parfleshes
are fastened together like a pair of saddle-bags, and slung across the
back of a pony when the Indians travel. To prevent these bags or
wrappers from hurting the ponies' backs, the under side is lined with
fur or bear skin.
We had hunted four days from our camp on the lake, and although we had
taken the utmost precaution not unnecessarily to alarm the buffaloes
most of them had gone a long distance from the village. A council was
called, and it was determined we should go over to the lakes that lay on
the Jim River, sixty miles distant. We immediately set out, moving
around the lake to the right of the buffaloes, so as not to disturb
them. Our route lay across a beautiful level country through which
meandered little streams eight or ten miles apart. We traveled leisurely
along, however, halting on the creeks, and making about sixteen miles
per day, for many of our ponies were already heavily laden with meat.
On the fourth day we reached the lakes, and again pitched our village.
Here we found plenty of buffaloes and a great many calves, which were
very acceptable to us, as we wanted some parfleshes of veal.
We hunted four days, and took a great deal of meat. Each family had
from three to six parfleshes, according to its size, which was as much
as it could use during the winter, and enough for the infirm besides.
So the hunt was announced at an end, and we began to prepare for our
return. I had been exceedingly fortunate, and had taken no less than
nine parfleshes of meat and had twelve robes.
There are several methods of killing buffaloes besides the regular
chase. One of these, as practiced by the Indians, is as follows:
The buffaloes are watched until they graze near a precipice, when two
or three Indians put a buffalo skin on sticks, and concealing themselves
under it, approach near the herd slowly, as if grazing. This must be
done when the wind is favorable, and blowing from the buffaloes. If the
decoy is successful, other Indians make a wide circuit, surrounding the
herd on all sides, except that toward the bluff. Then they steal up as
close as possible, and when the buffaloes, discover them, they shout,
shake their blankets and poles, and close in upon the herd. The animals
are greatly alarmed, but seeing the mock buffalo (which has managed to
attract attention) set off for the bluffs, they rush madly after it.
When the baiters reach the bluff, they fling the mock buffalo over the
precipice, and betake themselves to holes in the bank or crevices among
the rocks. It is in vain the leaders of the herd halt when they see the
chasm; the mass from behind, crazed by the poles and blankets of the
Indians, who are now close upon them, rush madly on, and press those in
front over the cliff.
It is exceedingly dangerous to bait buffalo, as the herd frequently
overtake the false buffalo and trample it beneath their feet, or the
great beasts, falling among the rock, crush the Indian baiters to
death. Many reckless young Indians, who as baiters have gone too far
inland, have, after the chase, been found dead on the plain, or their
mangled bodies lay at the foot of the precipice with the carcasses of
the animals they had so cruelly deceived. It takes a brave Indian to
be a baiter, but there are always plenty of young and foolish boys who
are anxious to engage in the dangerous sport.
After the buffaloes have fallen and killed or maimed themselves, a
party of Indians who have been concealed near the foot of the
precipice suddenly advance and finish them with axes and rifles.
Our hunt having ended, the chief ordered that the usual feast and
rejoicing should take place. A long pole was provided, a buffalo head
put on the top of it, and a number of tails nailed, at right angles,
to the sides. The pole was then set firmly in the ground, in the
center of an open space before the village, and buffalo heads were
piled up around it. The heads were set in a circle, and arranged to
look as hideous as possible.
Immense quantities of buffalo meat were now brought, and the feast was
made ready. At these feasts nothing but buffalo meat is eaten, and every
one makes it a point to gorge himself to the fullest extent. Even the
dogs are stuffed, and the women and children are persuaded to eat while
they can force down a bite. The greater the quantity of meat eaten, the
greater the honor; and some starve themselves for two or three days in
advance, in order to do justice to the occasion. The meat is prepared in
every form--boiled, fried, broiled, roasted, and raw.
When one can eat no more, he goes to the pole, and as soon as a
sufficient number have collected, the dance begins. The warriors sit
in a circle around the pole, and the squaws, gaudily dressed and
painted, form a circle around the warriors. At a signal the drums
beat, and all stand up. Then the squaws sing, and the warriors move
around to the right and the squaws to the left, each keeping time to
the drums. The dance is a slow, shuffling motion that soon makes one
very tired. When one of the Indians gets tired, he steps out of the
circle and another takes his place. As soon as it is dark, wood is
brought, fires are made around the pole, and the dancing is kept up
all night. The feasting frequently continues for three days, and at no
time is the pole without its set of dancers. The amount of buffalo
consumed is prodigious, when we consider that, besides the vast
quantities eaten by the Indians, each family has from six to ten days.
When the feast was over, we began to prepare in earnest for our
return. The meat was carefully distributed, so that no pony would be
overloaded, and everything was neatly packed. It took both my ponies
and all my dogs to carry my meat and lodge, so Washtella and I had to
walk. We considered this no great hardship, however, as nearly the
whole village was on foot. We made only eight or ten miles a day; but
at last, after a most fatiguing march, reached the Missouri, and
entered our old camp near Fort Randall.
--_From "Belden the White Chief"._
OUTLINE FOR TOPICAL RECITATIONS
Introduction--The Scene of the Camp.
1. My good luck.
(_a_) Killing the first buffalo of the hunt.
(_b_) Cutting up the meat.
(_c_) Receiving appointment as leader.
2. Chasing the buffalo.
3. The winter's food supply.
(_a_) Drying the meat.
(_b_) Packing.
(_c_) Transporting.
(_d_) Ending the hunt.
4. Killing buffaloes by a decoy.
5. Celebrating a successful hunt.
(_a_) The place for the ceremony.
(_b_) The hearty meal.
(_c_) The dance.
6. The return to the winter camp.
INDIAN LIFE AND CUSTOMS
This selection tells of life among the Indians of our western plains
before the buffalo became almost extinct.
As you read, write topics that will enable you to recall the various
things the author tells about. Your teacher will have two or three of
you put your list of topics on the blackboard and will ask various
members of the class to come to the front of the room and tell the
class about one topic each. While a pupil is reciting no one should
raise his hand nor interrupt. Be a good sport and give the one who is
reciting a chance to make his topic as interesting as he can.
This selection can be divided into several large topics with details
under each. These details may be stated as sub-topics under the large
ones. Your teacher may wish you to look it over again to see if you
can find the four main topics.
Nothing is more important in learning to remember what you read than
the habit of organizing your material in the form of an outline. A
good outline generally takes some such form as this:
Introduction
1. First main topic
(_a_)
(_b_)
(_c_)
Sometimes there may be two, and sometimes several sub-topics. Never
use any letter if there is only one topic. When there is only one
topic under any heading, you should simply write the topic out.
2. Second main topic
(_a_)
(_b_)
(_c_), etc.
Use as many main topics as you need to tell the story or to include
the substance of what you are outlining.
One can have no appreciative idea of an Indian village, unless he has
been permitted to come across the prairie through a hot summer's sun,
and suddenly discovers one nestled under the broad shade trees, beside
a clear running stream, in a green valley. How pleasant the grass then
looks; how refreshing the bright waters, and how cozy the tall lodges,
with their shaded verandas of thickly interwoven boughs!
All day long we had toiled over the scorching plain, through clouds of
grasshoppers that often struck us in the face with sufficient force to
make the skin smart for several minutes. Once we had seen a mirage of
a beautiful lake, fringed with trees and surrounded by green pastures
which invited us to pursue its fleeting shadows, but we knew all about
these deceptions by sad experience, and pushed steadily on over the
burning sands.
These mirages often deceive the weary traveler of the desert. Suddenly
the horseman sees a river or lake, apparently just ahead of him, and
he rides on and on, hoping to come up to it. For hours it lies before
his eyes, and then in a moment disappears, leaving him miles and miles
out of his way in the midst of desert sands. Men have ridden all day
striving to reach the beautiful river just before them, and then at
night have turned back to plod their weary way to where they had
started from in the morning.
The mirage we had seen was most delightful, representing a clear lake,
with trees, meadows, and villages nestling on its shores, but it
scarcely equalled the reality of the scene when, late in the afternoon,
we ascended a rise in the prairie, and saw below us a wide stream lined
with green trees, and on its banks a large Indian encampment.
The ponies pricked up their ears and neighed with pleasure as they
smelt the water, and our own delight was unbounded. We halted for a
moment to admire the beautiful prospect. Through the majestic trees
slanting rays of the sun shivered on the grass! Far away, winding like
a huge silver-serpent, ran the river, while near by in a shady grove
stood the village with the children at play on the green lawns not
made by hands. The white sides of the teepees shone in the setting
sunlight, and the smoke curled lazily upward from their dingy tops.
Bright ribbons and red grass, looking like streamers on a ship,
fluttered from the lodge-poles, and gaudily dressed squaws and
warriors walked about, or sat on the green sod under the trees.
Near the village were hundreds of horses and ponies, with bright
feathers flaunting in their manes and tails as they cropped the rich
grass of the valley.
A group of noisy children were playing at a game much resembling
ten-pins; some boys were shooting at a mark with arrows, and up the
stream several youths were returning home with rod and line, and fine
strings of speckled trout.
Scores of men and women were swimming about in the river, now diving,
and then dousing each other amid screams of laughter from the
bystanders on the shore. Here and there a young girl darted about like
a fish, her black hair streaming behind her in the water.
While we looked, the little children suddenly ceased from play and ran
into the lodges; mounted men surrounded the herd of horses, and the
swimmers and promenaders hastened toward the village. We had been
perceived by the villagers, and the unexpected arrival of strange
horsemen at an Indian encampment always creates great excitement. They
may be friends, but they are more often enemies, so the villagers are
always prepared for a surprise.
Soon men were seen running to and fro with guns and bows, and in a
few minutes, some mounted warriors left the encampment and rode toward
us, going first to the top of the highest mounds to see if they could
discover other horsemen in the rear or to the right or left of us.
No sooner did they ascertain there were but three in the party, than
they rode boldly up and asked us our business. I told them who we
were, and where we were from, upon which they cordially invited us to
the village.
As we approached, men, women, and children poured out of the
encampment to look at the strangers, and having satisfied their
curiosity, the sports and amusements of the evening were renewed.
I asked permission to camp of no one, for I needed none. So I marched
right down to the center of the village, and finding a vacant space,
pitched my lodge.
A few Santee women gathered about my squaws and chatted with them,
anxious to learn the news from down the river. Seeing they were
interfering with the unpacking of the ponies and the erecting of the
lodge, I unceremoniously ordered them to be gone, and they went
quietly away. The lodge was soon up and the ponies unpacked and put
out to graze. Having seen things put in order for the night, I
sauntered out through the village to learn the news.
I was agreeably surprised when I learned there was a white man in the
village, who had been sent out to the Indians as a missionary. All the
savages spoke of him as a kind-hearted, good man, who was a great
friend of the Great Spirit, and of the Big Father at Washington.
I made haste to pay my respects to my white brother and found him
indeed a good Christian gentleman. He had a white wife and child, and
he and they were living comfortably and pleasantly with these wild
children of the desert. I talked more than an hour with the good man;
it was so delightful to see and speak with one of my own blood and
color. When I left him, I promised I would return the next day and
dine with him. It may sound strange to hear one talk of "dining out"
in an Indian camp, but the meal was none the less wholesome or
abundant on account of the place in which it was served.
I found the Santees a most excellent people. The warriors were men of
great pride and bravery. The chiefs of the Santees were men of few
words, but they were dignified, courteous, and truthful in all they
said and did. After all my experiences and disappointments among the
Indians of the plains, I could not help admiring and respecting these
people, for here at last I had found a tribe such as Cooper had
represented, and Longfellow had characterized in "Hiawatha".
The Santee lodges were tall conical-shaped tents, made of buffalo hide
tanned with the hair off, and stretched around twelve poles. These
poles are tied together at the top, and set around a circle of one
hundred and eight feet. The lodge, when finished, is thirty-six feet
in diameter at the ground. The skin or covering is cut bias, the small
end being fastened to the top of the poles and the long end wrapped
round and round the poles, and finally fastened to the ground with a
wooden pin or stone. The poles are not set in the ground, but the edge
of the lodge-cover is pinned down with short pegs made of hard wood.
An aperture is left at the top of the lodge for the smoke to escape,
and the fire is built in the center. When the door is open it draws
well, and all the smoke goes up and out at the aperture.
These lodges, although standing on the surface of the ground and
apparently very fragile, will withstand the most violent wind and rain
storms. I have seen them outlive the strongest modern tents, and
stand up even when great trees were blown down.
During my residence in the Santee village I saw many curious things,
and learned much of the mode of life and ceremonies of the Indians.
Most people have seen the bows and arrows used by boys in the eastern
States, and those who have observed them know how feeble they are, not
even being capable of killing the smallest animal. Do not be surprised,
then, when I tell you that an Indian with his bow, will send an arrow
entirely through a horse, a man, or a buffalo. The shaggy-coated bear or
Rocky Mountain lion will fall beneath a few shots from the savage's
strong bow, while the fleet wild deer is not swift enough to escape the
flight of his arrow. With unerring aim the hunter sends his deadly
shaft, at eighty yards, into the heart or eye of his game, and with ease
tips birds from the tops of the highest trees. Of course, it requires
long practice to acquire such skill in the use of the bow, but the
Indian will tell you that more depends upon the manufacture of the
weapon than the skill of the marksman. With a good Indian bow and arrow
a white man can, in a few hours, learn to shoot fairly well, while with
a bow and arrow of his own manufacture he can hardly hit a tree the size
of a man's body a rod off.
Let me teach you how to make a good bow and arrow. And first we will
begin with the arrow. The shoots, or rods, must be cut in the arrow
season; that is, when the summer's growth is ended. They must not have
any branches or limbs on them, but must be straight and smooth. The
Indians cut their arrows late in the fall, when the timber is
hardening to withstand the blasts of winter. The sticks are not quite
as thick as one's little finger, and they are sorted and tied in
bundles of twenty and twenty-five. These bundles are two and two and
one-half feet in length, and are wrapped tightly from end to end with
strips of rawhide or elk skin. The sticks are then hung up over fire
in the teepee to be smoked and dried, and the wrapping keeps them from
warping or bending. When they are seasoned, which takes several weeks,
the bundles are taken down, the covering removed, and the bark scraped
off. The wood is very tough then, and of a yellowish color. The next
process is to cut the arrow shafts exactly one length, and in this
great care must be used; for arrows of different lengths fly
differently, and, unless they are alike, the hunter's aim is
destroyed. Another reason for measuring the length of arrows is to
identify them; for no two warriors shoot arrows of precisely the same
length. Each warrior carries a measuring, or pattern stick, and it is
necessary only to compare an arrow with the stick to find out to whom
it belongs. But should the arrows by chance be of one length, there
are other means of identifying them; for every hunter has his own
private mark in the shaft, the head, or the feather. Of many thousands
I have examined, I have never found two arrows exactly alike when they
were made by different warriors.
When the shafts have been made even, the next work is to form the
notch for the bow-string. This is done with a sharp knife, and, when
made properly, the bottom of the notch will be precisely in the center
of the shaft. The arrow is then scraped and tapered toward the notch,
leaving a round head an inch long near the notch to prevent the string
from splitting the shaft, and to make a firm hold for the thumb and
forefinger in drawing the bow.