THERE is scarcely anything so exasperating to me as the idea that the
natives of this country have no sense of humor and no faculty for mirth.
This phase of their character is well understood by those whose fortune
or misfortune it has been to live among them day in and day out at their
homes. I don’t believe I ever heard a real hearty laugh away from the
Indians’ fireside. I have often spent an entire evening in laughing with
them until I could laugh no more. There are evenings when the recognized
wit or story-teller of the village gives a free entertainment which
keeps the rest of the community in a convulsive state until he leaves
them. However, Indian humor consists as much in the gestures and
inflections of the voice as in words, and is really untranslatable.
Matogee (Yellow Bear) was a natural humorous speaker, and a very
diffident man at other times. He usually said little, but when he was
in the mood he could keep a large company in a roar. This was especially
the case whenever he met his brother-in-law, Tamedokah.
It was a custom with us Indians to joke more particularly with our
brothers- and sisters-in-law. But no one ever complained, or resented
any of these jokes, however personal they might be. That would be an
unpardonable breach of etiquette.
“Tamedokah, I heard that you tried to capture a buck by holding on
to his tail,” said Matogee, laughing. “I believe that feat cannot be
performed any more; at least, it never has been since the pale-face
brought us the knife, the ‘mysterious iron,’ and the pulverized coal
that makes bullets fly. Since our ancestors hunted with stone knives and
hatchets, I say, that has never been done.”
The fact was that Tamedokah had stunned a buck that day while hunting,
and as he was about to dress him the animal got up and attempted to
run, whereupon the Indian launched forth to secure his game. He only
succeeded in grasping the tail of the deer, and was pulled about all
over the meadows and the adjacent woods until the tail came off in his
hands. Matogee thought this too good a joke to be lost.
I sat near the door of the tent, and thoroughly enjoyed the story of the
comical accident.
“Yes,” Tamedokah quietly replied, “I thought I would do something to
beat the story of the man who rode a young elk, and yelled frantically
for help, crying like a woman.”
“Ugh! that was only a legend,” retorted Matogee, for it was he who was
the hero of this tale in his younger days. “But this is a fresh feat of
to-day. Chankpayuhah said he could not tell which was the most scared,
the buck or you,” he continued. “He said the deer’s eyes were bulging
out of their sockets, while Tamedokah’s mouth was constantly enlarging
toward his ears, and his hair floated on the wind, shaking among the
branches of the trees. That will go down with the traditions of our
fathers,” he concluded with an air of satisfaction.
“It was a singular mishap,” admitted Tamedokah.
The pipe had been filled by Matogee and passed to Tamedokah
good-naturedly, still with a broad smile on his face. “It must be
acknowledged,” he resumed, “that you have the strongest kind of a grip,
for no one else could hold on as long as you did, and secure such a
trophy besides. That tail will do for an eagle feather holder.”
By this time the teepee was packed to overflowing. Loud laughter had
been heard issuing from the lodge of Matogee, and everybody suspected
that he had something good, so many had come to listen.
“I think we should hear the whole matter,” said one of the late comers.
The teepee was brightly lit by the burning embers, and all the men were
sitting with their knees up against their chests, held in that position
by wrapping their robes tightly around loins and knees. This fixed them
something in the fashion of a rocking-chair.
“Well, no one saw him except Chankpayuhah,” Matogee remarked.
“Yes, yes, he must tell us about it,” exclaimed a chorus of voices.
“This is what I saw,” the witness began. “I was tracking a buck and a
doe. As I approached a small opening at the creek side ‘boom!’ came a
report of the mysterious iron. I remained in a stooping position, hoping
to see a deer cross the opening. In this I was not disappointed, for
immediately after the report a fine buck dashed forth with Tamedokah
close behind him. The latter was holding on to the deer’s tail with
both hands and his knife was in his mouth, but it soon dropped out.
‘Tamedokah,’ I shouted, ‘haven’t you got hold of the wrong animal?’ but
as I spoke they disappeared into the woods.
“In a minute they both appeared again, and then it was that I began
to laugh. I could not stop. It almost killed me. The deer jumped the
longest jumps I ever saw. Tamedokah walked the longest paces and was
very swift. His hair was whipping the trees as they went by. Water
poured down his face. I stood bent forward because I could not
straighten my back-bone, and was ready to fall when they again
disappeared.
“When they came out for the third time it seemed as if the woods and the
meadow were moving too. Tamedokah skipped across the opening as if he
were a grasshopper learning to hop. I fell down.
“When I came to he was putting water on my face and head, but when I
looked at him I fell again, and did not know anything until the sun had
passed the mid-sky.
“The company was kept roaring all the way through this account, while
Tamedokah himself heartily joined in the mirth.
“Ho, ho, ho!” they said; “he has made his name famous in our annals.
This will be told of him henceforth.”
“It reminds me of Chadozee’s bear story,” said one.
“His was more thrilling, because it was really dangerous,” interposed
another.
“You can tell it to us, Bobdoo,” remarked a third.
The man thus addressed made no immediate reply. He was smoking
contentedly. At last he silently returned the pipe to Matogee, with whom
it had begun its rounds. Deliberately he tightened his robe around him,
saying as he did so:
“Ho (Yes). I was with him. It was by a very little that he saved his
life. I will tell you how it happened.
“I was hunting with these two men, Nageedah and Chadozee. We came to
some wild cherry bushes. I began to eat of the fruit when I saw a large
silver-tip crawling toward us. ‘Look out! there is a grizzly here,’ I
shouted, and I ran my pony out on to the prairie; but the others had
already dismounted.
“Nageedah had just time to jump upon his pony and get out of the way,
but the bear seized hold of his robe and pulled it off. Chadozee
stood upon the verge of a steep bank, below which there ran a deep and
swift-flowing stream. The bear rushed upon him so suddenly that when he
took a step backward, they both fell into the creek together. It was a
fall of about twice the height of a man.”
“Did they go out of sight?” some one inquired.
“Yes, both fell headlong. In his excitement Chadozee laid hold of the
bear in the water, and I never saw a bear try so hard to get away from a
man as this one did.”
“Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!” they all laughed.
“When they came to the surface again they were both so eager to get to
the shore that each let go, and they swam as quickly as they could to
opposite sides. Chadozee could not get any further, so he clung to a
stray root, still keeping a close watch of the bear, who was forced to
do the same. There they both hung, regarding each other with looks of
contempt and defiance.”
“Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!” they all laughed again.
“At last the bear swam along the edge to a lower place, and we pulled
Chadozee up by means of our lariats. All this time he had been groaning
so loud that we supposed he was badly torn; but when I looked for his
wounds I found a mere scratch.”
Again the chorus of appreciation from his hearers.
“The strangest thing about this affair of mine,” spoke up Tamedokah, “is
that I dreamed the whole thing the night before.”
“There are some dreams come true, and I am a believer in dreams,” one
remarked.
“Yes, certainly, so are we all. You know Hachah almost lost his life by
believing in dreams,” commented Matogee.
“Let us hear that story,” was the general request.
“You have all heard of Hachah, the great medicine man, who did many
wonderful things. He once dreamed four nights in succession of flying
from a high cliff over the Minnesota river. He recollected every
particular of the scene, and it made a great impression upon his mind.
“The next day after he had dreamed it for the fourth time, he proposed
to his wife that they go down to the river to swim, but his real purpose
was to see the place of his dream.
“He did find the place, and it seemed to Hachah exactly like. A crooked
tree grew out of the top of the cliff, and the water below was very
deep.”
“Did he really fly?” I called impatiently from the doorway, where I had
been listening and laughing with the rest.
“Ugh, that is what I shall tell you. He was swimming about with his
wife, who was a fine swimmer; but all at once Hachah disappeared.
Presently he stood upon the very tree that he had seen in his dream,
and gazed out over the water. The tree was very springy, and Hachah felt
sure that he could fly; so before long he launched bravely forth from
the cliff. He kicked out vigorously and swung both arms as he did so,
but nevertheless he came down to the bottom of the water like a crow
that had been shot on the wing.”
“Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho!” and the whole company laughed unreservedly.
“His wife screamed loudly as Hachah whirled downward and went out
of sight like a blue heron after a fish. Then she feared he might be
stunned, so she swam to him and dragged him to the shore. He could not
speak, but the woman overwhelmed him with reproaches.
“‘What are you trying to do, you old idiot? Do you want to kill
yourself?’ she screamed again and again.
“‘Woman, be silent,’ he replied, and he said nothing more. He did not
tell his dream for many years afterward. Not until he was a very old man
and about to die, did Hachah tell any one how he thought he could fly.”
And at this they all laughed louder than ever.