CHATANNA was the brother with whom I passed much of my early childhood.
From the time that I was old enough to play with boys, this brother was
my close companion. He was a handsome boy, and an affectionate comrade.
We played together, slept together and ate together; and as Chatanna was
three years the older, I naturally looked up to him as to a superior.
Oesedah was a beautiful little character. She was my cousin, and four
years younger than myself. Perhaps none of my early playmates are more
vividly remembered than is this little maiden.
The name given her by a noted medicine-man was Makah-oesetopah-win.
It means The-four-corners-of-the-earth. As she was rather small,
the abbreviation with a diminutive termination was considered more
appropriate, hence Oesedah became her common name.
Although she had a very good mother, Uncheedah was her efficient teacher
and chaperon Such knowledge as my grandmother deemed suitable to a
maiden was duly impressed upon her susceptible mind. When I was not in
the woods with Chatanna, Oesedah was my companion at home; and when I
returned from my play at evening, she would have a hundred questions
ready for me to answer. Some of these were questions concerning our
every-day life, and others were more difficult problems which had
suddenly dawned upon her active little mind. Whatever had occurred to
interest her during the day was immediately repeated for my benefit.
There were certain questions upon which Oesedah held me to be authority,
and asked with the hope of increasing her little store of knowledge. I
have often heard her declare to her girl companions: “I know it is true;
Ohiyesa said so!” Uncheedah was partly responsible for this, for when
any questions came up which lay within the sphere of man’s observation,
she would say:
“Ohiyesa ought to know that: he is a man-I am not! You had better ask
him.”
The truth was that she had herself explained to me many of the subjects
under discussion.
I was occasionally referred to little Oesedah in the same manner, and I
always accepted her childish elucidations of any matter upon which I had
been advised to consult her, because I knew the source of her wisdom. In
this simple way we were made to be teachers of one another.
Very often we discussed some topic before our common instructor, or
answered her questions together, in order to show which had the readier
mind.
“To what tribe does the lizard belong?” inquired Uncheedah, upon one of
these occasions.
“To the four-legged tribe,” I shouted.
Oesedah, with her usual quickness, flashed out the answer:
“It belongs to the creeping tribe.”
The Indians divided all animals into four general classes: 1st, those
that walk upon four legs; 2nd, those that fly; 3rd, those that swim with
fins; 4th, those that creep.
Of course I endeavored to support my assertion that the lizard belongs
where I had placed it, be-. cause he has four distinct legs which propel
him everywhere, on the ground or in the water. But my opponent claimed
that the creature under dispute does not walk, but creeps. My strongest
argument was that it had legs; but Oesedah insisted that its body
touches the ground as it moves. As a last resort, I volunteered to go
find one, and demonstrate the point in question.
The lizard having been brought, we smoothed off the ground and strewed
ashes on it so that we could see the track. Then I raised the question:
“What constitutes creeping, and what constitutes walking?”
Uncheedah was the judge, and she stated, without any hesitation, that
an animal must stand clear of the ground on the support of its legs, and
walk with the body above the legs, and not in contact with the ground,
in order to be termed a walker; while a creeper is one that, regardless
of its legs, if it has them, drags its body upon the ground. Upon
hearing the judge’s decision, I yielded at once to my opponent.
At another time, when I was engaged in a similar discussion with my
brother Chatanna, Oesedah came to my rescue. Our grandmother had asked
us:
“What bird shows most judgment in caring for its young?”
Chatanna at once exclaimed:
“The eagle!” but I held my peace for a moment, because I was
confused--so many birds came into my mind at once. I finally declared:
“It is the oriole!”
Chatanna was asked to state all the evidence that he had in support of
the eagle’s good sense in rearing its young. He proceeded with an air of
confidence:
“The eagle is the wisest of all birds. Its nest is made in the safest
possible place, upon a high and inaccessible cliff. It provides its
young with an abundance of fresh meat. They have the freshest of air.
They are brought up under the spell of the grandest scenes, and inspired
with lofty feelings and bravery. They see that all other beings live
beneath them, and that they are the children of the King of Birds. A
young eagle shows the spirit of a warrior while still in the nest.
“Being exposed to the inclemency of the weather the young eaglets are
hardy. They are accustomed to hear the mutterings of the Thunder Bird
and the sighings of the Great Mystery. Why, the little eagles cannot
help being as noble as they are, because their parents selected for them
so lofty and inspiring a home! How happy they must be when they find
themselves above the clouds, and behold the zigzag flashes of lightning
all about them! It must be nice to taste a piece of fresh meat up in
their cool home, in the burning summer-time! Then when they drop down
the bones of the game they feed upon, wolves and vultures gather beneath
them, feeding upon their refuse. That alone would show them their
chieftainship over all the other birds. Isn’t that so, grandmother?”
Thus triumphantly he concluded his argument.
I was staggered at first by the noble speech of Chatannna, but I soon
recovered from its effects. The little Oesedah came to my aid by saying:
“Wait until Ohiyesa tells of the loveliness of the beautiful Oriole’s
home!” This timely remark gave me courage and I began:
“My grandmother, who was it said that a mother who has a gentle and
sweet voice will have children of a good disposition? I think the oriole
is that kind of a parent. It provides both sunshine and shadow for
its young. Its nest is suspended from the prettiest bough of the most
graceful tree, where it is rocked by the gentle winds; and the one we
found yesterday was beautifully lined with soft things, both deep and
warm, so that the little featherless birdies cannot suffer from the cold
and wet.”
Here Chatanna interrupted me to exclaim: “That is just like the white
people--who cares for them? The eagle teaches its young to be accustomed
to hardships, like young warriors!”
Ohiyesa was provoked; he reproached his brother and appealed to the
judge, saying that he had not finished yet.
“But you would not have lived, Chatanna, if you had been exposed like
that when you were a baby! The oriole shows wisdom in providing for its
children a good, comfortable home! A home upon a high rock would not be
pleasant-it would be cold! We climbed a mountain once, and it was cold
there; and who would care to stay in such a place when it storms? What
wisdom is there in having a pile of rough sticks upon a bare rock,
surrounded with ill-smelling bones of animals, for a home? Also,
my uncle says that the eaglets seem always to be on the point of
starvation. You have heard that whoever lives on game killed by some one
else is compared to an eagle. Isn’t that so, grandmother?
“The oriole suspends its nest from the lower side of a horizontal
bough so that no enemy can approach it. It enjoys peace and beauty and
safety.”
Oesedah was at Ohiyesa’s side during the discussion, and occasionally
whispered into his ear. Uncheedah decided this time in favor of Ohiyesa.
We were once very short of provisions in the winter time. My uncle, our
only means of support, was sick; and besides, we were separated from
the rest of the tribe and in a region where there was little game of any
kind. Oesedah had a pet squirrel, and as soon as we began to economize
our food had given portions of her allowance to her pet.
At last we were reduced very much, and the prospect of obtaining
anything soon being gloomy, my grandmother reluctantly suggested that
the squirrel should be killed for food. Thereupon my little cousin
cried, and said:
“Why cannot we all die alike wanting? The squirrel’s life is as dear to
him as ours to us,” and clung to it. Fortunately, relief came in time to
save her pet.
Oesedah lived with us for a portion of the year, and as there were no
other girls in the family she played much alone, and had many imaginary
companions. At one time there was a small willow tree which she visited
regularly, holding long conversations, a part of which she would
afterward repeat to me. She said the willow tree was her husband, whom
some magic had compelled to take that form; but no grown person was ever
allowed to share her secret.
When I was about eight years old I had for a playmate the adopted son of
a Sioux, who was a white captive. This boy was quite a noted personage,
although he was then only about ten or eleven years of age. When I
first became acquainted with him we were on the upper Missouri river. I
learned from him that he had been taken on the plains, and that both of
his parents were killed.
He was at first sad and lonely, but soon found plenty of
consolation in his new home. The name of his adopted father was
“Keeps-the-Spotted-Ponies.” He was known to have an unusual number of the
pretty calico ponies; indeed, he had a passion for accumulating property
in the shape of ponies, painted tents, decorated saddles and all sorts
of finery. He had lost his only son; but the little pale-face became the
adopted brother of two handsome young women, his daughters. This made
him quite popular among the young warriors. He was not slow to adopt the
Indian customs, and he acquired the Sioux language in a short time.
I well remember hearing of his first experience of war. He was not more
than sixteen when he joined a war-party against the Gros-Ventres and
Mandans. My uncle reported that he was very brave until he was wounded
in the ankle; then he begged with tears to be taken back to a safe
place. Fortunately for him, his adopted father came to the rescue, and
saved him at the risk of his own life. He was called the “pale-face
Indian.” His hair grew very long and he lavished paint on his face and
hair so that no one might suspect that he was a white man.
One day this boy was playing a gambling game with one of the Sioux
warriors. He was an expert gambler, and won everything from the Indian.
At a certain point a dispute arose. The Indian was very angry, for
he discovered that his fellow-player had deliberately cheated him. The
Indians were strictly honest in those days, even in their gambling.
The boy declared that he had merely performed a trick for the benefit of
his friend, but it nearly cost him his life. The indignant warrior had
already drawn his bow-string with the intention of shooting the captive,
but a third person intervened and saved the boy’s life. He at once
explained his trick; and in order to show himself an honorable gambler,
gave back all the articles that he had won from his opponent. In the
midst of the confusion, old “Keeps-the-Spotted-Ponies” came rushing
through the crowd in a state of great excitement. He thought his
pale-face son had been killed. When he saw how matters stood, he gave
the aggrieved warrior a pony, “in order,” as he said, “that there may be
no shadow between him and my son.”
One spring my uncle took Chatanna to the Canadian trading-post on the
Assiniboine river, where he went to trade off his furs for ammunition
and other commodities. When he came back, my brother was not with him!
At first my fears were even worse than the reality. The facts were
these: A Canadian with whom my uncle had traded much had six daughters
and no son; and when he saw this handsome and intelligent little fellow,
he at once offered to adopt him.
“I have no boy in my family,” said he, “and I will deal with him as with
a son. I am always in these regions trading; so you can see him two or
three times in a year.”
He further assured my uncle that the possession of the boy would greatly
strengthen their friendship. The matter was finally agreed upon. At
first Chatanna was unwilling, but as we were taught to follow the advice
of our parents and guardians, he was obliged to yield.
This was a severe blow to me, and for a long time I could not be
consoled. Uncheedah was fully in sympathy with my distress. She argued
that the white man’s education was not desirable for her boys; in fact,
she urged her son so strongly to go back after Chatanna that he promised
on his next visit to the post to bring him home again.
But the trader was a shrewd man. He immediately moved to another part of
the country; and I never saw my Chatanna, the companion of my childhood,
again! We learned afterward that he grew up and was married; but one day
he lost his way in a blizzard and was frozen to death.
My little cousin and I went to school together in later years; but she
could not endure the confinement of the school-room. Although apparently
very happy, she suffered greatly from the change to an indoor life, as
have many of our people, and died six months after our return to the
United States.