IN THE RED MAN’S BOOK
The North American Indian is an incorrigible gamester. The passion
for play seems to be born with him. Since the advent of the white man
he has learned to gamble with cards, but long before he ever saw the
paleface he had his own rude games of chance. In Big Bear’s camp one
might see gathered on any bright day in the shade of a cart an excited
circle—a group of gamblers surrounded by their partisans. Let us take a
look at them:
Two men are seated opposite each other on the ground with blankets over
their knees. Each has beside him an assistant or partner, and a pile of
articles of more or less value which he is prepared from time to time
to offer as stakes. Two bits of wood an inch and a half long are the
gambler’s cards.
The player of the side having the sticks at the time takes them in
his hands, his partner picks up a small drum the size and shape of a
milk pan, holding it by parchment strings stretched across its open
back and begins to sing, accompanying himself on the drum. The feet of
the gambler are doubled up beneath him. He puts his hands beneath the
blanket across his knees, brings them out, closed, and in time with the
song jolts in his seat like a man in the saddle, bends his head, throws
it back, uttering a continual sharp “_Chug-chug! chug-chug!_” somewhat
like the steam exhaust of a tugboat. Sometimes he opens a hand,
displaying one of the sticks or else showing that it is empty. Again
the hand dives beneath the blanket and comes out, perhaps with the
stick, perhaps not. He folds his arms on his chest; he flings them out,
flashing the hands open and shut. All the while the steady chugging
comes from between his teeth and the body jolts up and down. If he is
expert the sticks may be passed or shot openly between the hands so
dexterously that the opposing players may not see them, though they are
generally exchanged under the blanket.
Meanwhile his opponent sits smoking and watching him intently. All
the contortions of his _vis-à-vis_ are intended to mislead him. His
purpose is to divine correctly where the two sticks are at any given
time—whenever he may choose to hazard a guess. If the guess is correct
the sticks pass to the other side and a marker is stuck in the sod to
represent points added to the number needed to win the stakes then
being played for. If he misses the same side retains the sticks and
adds a marker to its row, the stakes being put up at so many sticks or
markers. The sticks may be both beneath the blanket, both in one hand,
or one in either hand. Again, one may be under the blanket and the
other in either hand. It is a hard matter for the guesser to recover
the sticks once they have passed to a clever opponent. The hands of
the juggler are always opened and the sticks shown when a guess is
hazarded, to prove it either right or wrong. If right, the sticks are
at once tossed over.
Occasionally the guesser receives advice and suggestions from his
assistant and guesses accordingly. Or he may be staked, as a white
man stakes a novice to play for him at faro or roulette. Signs are
the language of the Indian gamester. He claps the back of one hand
in the palm of the other, holding up one or two fingers according to
his guess. It depends on which hand he thinks holds the sticks which
fingers he holds up, those of the left or right hand. If he thinks both
sticks are beneath the blanket, he makes a different sign with both
fingers down.
Anything he owns may be hazarded—bedding, rifle, knife, moccasins,
pipe, tobacco, saddle, horse. He may lose all—may even rise at the
last, pull off his shirt and stake it—but he never murmurs. He is
hardly a philosopher; he is merely improvident, reckless, a natural
gambler. He laughs when he has nothing more to lose and goes away
singing, with a jest over his shoulder. The excitement pleases him and
satisfies his passion for play. He likes to bewilder his opponent, to
show his dexterity in juggling the sticks and little he cares whether
he wins or loses. He will not starve, nor will he lack a smoke while
there is tobacco or food in the camp. He will simply drop into the
lodge nearest his.
Indians in time of war have various methods of signalling. The two in
most common use were fire and mirrors. The smoke of the signal fire,
built on a commanding height, might be seen for many miles in the clear
atmosphere of the prairie. At night the glow itself or its reflection
in the sky was equally serviceable. By this method intelligence was
carried unbelievable distances in a short time. There is little
doubt that Big Bear’s band was apprised through signal fires of the
Duck Lake fight and the half-breed outbreak, two hundred miles away,
within twenty-four hours of the engagement, while we the whites at Frog
Lake did not hear of it for some days. Of course the fires must have
relation to some event anticipated.
Mirrors are available only in bright weather and for comparatively
short distances, though even flashes from a small mirror may be seen in
favourable country for many miles. A given number of flashes conveys
definite information of some kind. I have seen Big Bear’s band thrown
into a state of feverish excitement, men rushing for their guns, women
talking and gesticulating, by a series of flashes telegraphed from a
distance of at least five miles.
A word here about the sign language in use among all the Plains
Indians. It is a mistake to suppose that there is any similarity
between the languages of the various stocks. The Blackfeet, Bloods and
Peigans are of the same parent stock and their speech is therefore
practically one. The same is true of the Crees, Chippewas and Salteaux;
of the Sioux, Cheyennes and the Dakotahs, Stonies or Assiniboines; and
of the Chippewyans, Sarcees and Apaches. But a Blackfoot, generally,
speaking his own language to a Cree, Sioux, Apache or Crow would have
as much chance of being understood as if he were addressing a Hairy
Ainu in English. For example, take the simple little English word “No.”
In Blackfoot it is _sa_, in Cree _namoya_, in Chippewyan _eeli_ and in
Assiniboine _wanitch_.
The Blackfoot gets round the difficulty by “speaking signs.” The
fingers of both hands intertwined represent a lodge (crossed poles at
top) or a house (log). Sleep is symbolized by placing the head sidewise
on the palm of the hand. Numbers are recorded by holding up fingers;
opening and shutting the hands once means ten—ten times, one hundred.
Closing the hand and opening it suddenly with the fingers extended
signifies shooting—the flying shot pellets. Rubbing the palm of one
hand on the palm of the other means to “wipe out” (annihilation). The
index finger of each hand crooked on either side of the head in the
shape of horns suggests the buffalo or cattle.
An Indian comes into a trading post and asks for evaporated apples by
touching his ear—it resembles a ring of the packed fruit. Or a front
tooth—beans. Each tribe has a sign. The Sioux is the cut-throat—a
finger drawn under the chin. The Cree sign is two tongues; two fingers
pushed straight out from the mouth—liar. The Peigan publishes his
nationality in an alien camp by rubbing his cheek with his fist—he is
a painted face. The Crow moves his hands like the wings of a bird. The
sign for the Snake Indian is readily suggested by a motion of the hand.
The tribal sign for the Apache is not printable.
And so on. There are signs for riding, smoking, baking, boiling,
hearing, fighting, running, seeing, eating, drinking; for anger,
drunkenness, sorrow, hunger, thirst, weariness, insanity; for the sun,
moon, stars, day, night, rain, wind, heat, cold; for birth, life,
death—in fact a good sign-talker can speak far more fluently with his
hands than many an educated white man can with his tongue. I have seen
a Saskatchewan Cree and a Nez Perce from the Columbia seated side by
side on the ground, converse for an hour, telling stories of the chase,
of love and of war, without speaking a word. It was one of the most
graceful, impressive and interesting conversations I ever listened to.
Also the quietest.
The paints in use by the Indians also have their significance. The
bright vermilion is a holiday paint and denotes cheerfulness in the
wearer. The blue is used mainly by way of contrast, in forming stars
and emblems upon the features. The yellow is the real war paint. A few
moments before the massacre at Frog Lake, Wandering Spirit appeared
with his eyelids and lips thickly coated with yellow ochre. It gave him
a look of unspeakable hideousness, and was without doubt the signal for
the commencement of the tragedy.
Black is the death colour, and in the evening after the massacre the
lower parts of the faces of all who took part in it were painted this
sombre hue.