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Two Indian Children
of
Long Ago
BY
FRANCES LILIAN TAYLOR
Author of Adventures in Storyland Readers
ILLUSTRATED BY
L. KATE DEAL
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY
CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
PAGE
THE FIRST AMERICANS 7
THE WILD-RICE INDIANS 13
STORIES AND STORY-TELLERS 17
WELCOME TO A PAPOOSE 21
THE INDIAN BABY AND HER CRADLE 25
WHITE CLOUD'S FIRST RIDE 28
NOKOMIS TELLS A STORY 34
THE FIREFLY DANCE 37
SWIFT ELK, THE INDIAN BOY 40
THE NAMING OF SWIFT ELK 45
FIRE AND THE FIRE MAKERS 49
THE THUNDERERS 56
THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE FOREST 58
BLACK WOLF TELLS A STORY 62
THE RACE BETWEEN THE CRANE AND THE HUMMING
BIRD 67
HUNTING WILD DUCKS 70
A BRAVE DUCK 77
SUMMER SPORTS 81
THE BALL GAME 85
THE ANIMALS AND THE BIRDS PLAY BALL 89
GATHERING WILD RICE 94
THE ANT AND THE KATYDID 100
HOW WILD RICE WAS DISCOVERED 102
MOVING THE DOLLS' CAMP 106
FINDING A WAR FEATHER 114
THE LYNX AND THE HARE 117
HOW THE ANIMALS SAVED THE TRIBE 119
WINTER EVENINGS 125
THE GROUND-HOG DANCE 131
THE LUCKY HUNTER 134
HOW SICKNESS CAME 140
HOW SPRING CONQUERED WINTER 144
THE GIFT OF CORN 149
THE MAGIC CANOE 154
THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS 158
ABOUT THE BOOK 160
TWO
INDIAN CHILDREN
of LONG AGO
[Illustration]
THE FIRST AMERICANS
We are proud of being Americans. But we must not forget that the
Indians once owned all America, north and south and east and west.
The Indians were the first Americans of whom we read. No people ever
had a greater love for their land, and no race has ever taken more
pleasure in out-of-door life.
After Columbus found the New World, white men came from Europe to make
their homes here. As time went on they drove the Indians farther and
farther west and took away their hunting grounds.
Let us try to imagine our country as it was when the Indians owned it.
Can we picture our land without a house or a store or a railroad? Can
we think of great rivers with no cities on their banks and with no
bridges on which to cross from one side to the other?
Every boy we know likes to go camping. But who would be willing to set
up a camp far away in the deep woods without taking with him tent or
food or blankets?
Before trade with the white men began, the Indians found everything
they needed in the wild land about them. They could make their own
weapons and tools, their canoes and paddles, their houses and
clothing, and even build a fire without matches.
Your fathers leave home to earn money for your food and clothing. Your
mothers see that your meals are cooked and that your clothes are
bought or made.
The Indians took care of their children in much the same way. During
the hunting season the fathers and big brothers went away every
morning to hunt. The men provided all the meat for their families, and
all the skins for clothing and covers.
When a deer or a bear was shot, the hunter brought it to the camp and
threw it down. His work for the day was done--the women could do the
rest.
And it was wonderful to see what the wives and mothers could do with a
big animal. Was there a wigwam in the tribe without food? The meat was
shared to the last mouthful. Was there an abundance? The meat was
dried for long keeping.
Did the son need more covers for his bed? A bear's skin was finished
like a fur rug for his comfort. Did the black-eyed daughter beg for a
new dress? Her mother could make from the deerskin a soft garment
beautifully trimmed with colored beads, stained quills, and fringes.
But what did the Indians do when they could find no more game to shoot
with their arrows? Why, they sent out scouts to select a better place
to live, and the chief gave orders for every one to move.
Down came the lodge poles. The trained dogs were called and loaded,
and away they all went. Just think of a whole village moving and
leaving nothing behind but the land!
[Illustration]
The Indians spent much time in feasting, dancing, and games. During
the summer the men had little else to do, for they seldom hunted while
the wild animals were caring for their young.
Each tribe was ruled by a chief and a council of warriors. All their
lands were held in common, and no one suffered want except when food
was scarce for all.
Every boy was watched with interest by the whole village. His first
walking was noticed, and his first success in hunting was often
celebrated by a feast.
[Illustration]
When the corn was ripe, the Indians held one of the most important
dances of the year to show their thanks to the Great Spirit for the
gift of corn.
In times of sickness, the medicine man came with rattle and drum to
drive away the evil spirits that were believed to have caused the
trouble. If the sick person grew worse, Indians, with their faces
painted black, crowded the wigwam and more medicine men were called.
They drummed harder and harder. They yelled and beat their rattles,
thinking that they were helping the sick one to recover.
When anyone in the tribe died, the things he had cared for most were
placed in his grave. There were toys for a little child, and weapons
and blankets for a warrior. The favorite horse of a chief was often
killed to be his companion on the journey to the land of spirits. Even
food was carried to the burial place because the trail was long that
led to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
After many years, the early customs became greatly changed. To-day
large numbers of Indians are living in the white man's way. Some are
well educated and own houses, farms, and even automobiles. Their
children are trained in government schools. There are writers among
them whose books we like to read, and there are artists who paint
interesting pictures of Indian life.
During the great World War the Indians begged to join the army, and
hundreds enlisted. Young men from many tribes were in France, and
there were no braver soldiers.
THE WILD-RICE INDIANS
Every boy and girl who studies geography can find the Great Lakes. In
the states south and west there are hundreds of small lakes and rivers
where wild rice grows in the shallow water.
During the early days of our country, different tribes of Indians
gathered the wild rice for food, and many battles were fought for the
rice fields.
From the birch trees of the forest the men obtained bark for their
canoes. In these light boats the women pushed their way through the
thickets of ripe grain. They beat the stalks with short sticks,
letting the rice fall into the canoes.
The wild rice was eaten raw from the growing plants. It was also
parched while green for daily use, and bushels of the ripe grain were
stored away for the long, cold winter.
[Illustration]
At harvest time there was always good hunting, for great flocks of
ducks, geese, and other birds flew to the rice stalks to eat the seeds.
In the spring the women, boys, and old men spent weeks at the sugar
camp. They caught the maple sap in small bark dishes and boiled it
into sugar. The boys kept the fires going under the kettles and, for
the first few days, ate nearly all the sugar they made.
Many kinds of berries grew in this northern country. These the Indian
women picked and dried. Indeed, the underground storehouse of a
wigwam housekeeper was full of good things to eat.
Hiawatha is said to have lived on the shore of one of the Great Lakes.
Before the white men sold fire water to the Indians, there were many
happy homes in the forest. The ways of living were the same as we read
about in Longfellow's poem, and the children were trained to be brave
and honorable and to respect their elders.
The boys were trained in woodcraft. They learned the names and habits of
wild animals. They could find their way alone through dense forests; and
they could see farther and hear better than any boys we know.
The girls were taught by their mothers to be modest and industrious.
They made beautiful beadwork to trim dresses and moccasins. They could
set up a wigwam, prepare food, and keep a clean and orderly home.
This little book tells how children lived and played long ago in the
wild-rice country. Their tribe was then at peace with the fierce
Indians farther west. A few men of the village had traveled north with
furs, but the children had never seen a white man.
The old-time life of the Indians is ended. But there are camps in the
unsettled lands of the wild-rice region where many strange customs can
still be seen; where the Indian drum is heard, and the women gather
wild rice as in the olden time.
STORIES AND STORY-TELLERS
The Indians of long ago had no books and no schools; but each tribe
had its story-tellers, who went from one wigwam to another. Everywhere
they were welcomed by old and young and begged to return.
The stories were told and retold by their hearers until learned.
Indian mothers quieted their fretful little ones by stories and songs
just as other mothers have always done.
The Indian stories are strange, and some are very beautiful. There are
wonderful tales of the sun, moon, and stars; of animals and birds and
trees; of the thunder and the lightning and the winds.
Through stories the children learned the strange beliefs of their
parents. They were taught to call the sun their father and the moon
their mother, and all the animals and birds their brothers.
The Indians believed that good and bad spirits were all around them on
the earth and above them in the sky.
They thought that animals and birds could talk, and that they listened
to everything which was said in the wigwams.
Tales of fearless hunters and brave warriors made the boys wish to
become as brave as their fathers. Tales of the men that had brought
great good to their people led the children to hope that they, too,
might sometime bring blessings to their tribe.
The children learned that their fathers worshiped the Great Spirit, and
that no warrior ever went on the warpath without offering many prayers.
They were taught that many of their dances were thank offerings to the
Great Spirit, and that the war dance was for success in battle.
In winter evenings the Indians gathered around the wigwam fire. This
was their only light. The fathers and grandfathers told wonderful
stories of war and hunting, and related the old tales they had heard
when they were children.
[Illustration]
Night after night the boys were drilled in repeating the stories they
had heard. The whole family listened attentively, helping all, and
praising the one who did the best.
Special training was given to the boys of the tribe who showed the most
talent. They were carefully prepared to take the places of the older
story-tellers, for the tribal tales must never be lost nor forgotten.
The Indian belief that animals can talk is shown in many of their best
stories. Here is one about the birds.
[Illustration]
WELCOME TO A PAPOOSE
[Illustration]
Little Wren flies here and there about the village of wigwams. She is
the news gatherer for the bird council.
She peers into the tent openings and listens to the talk of the
mothers. She flits about the trees where children play.
When a little son is born, she carries the news to the birds, and they
are sad. "Alas, alas!" they cry. "We hear the whistle of his arrow.
The boy will grow, and he will shoot us with his bow and arrows."
But when the wren chatters about the coming of a baby girl, the birds
chirp merrily. They sing of the grains she will scatter when she
grinds the corn into meal.
They sing of the wild rice she will let drop when she comes with her
loaded canoe from the rice harvest. "Sing merrily, sing merrily," they
say. "Another woman child has come to feed us!"
The cricket hops in the wigwam. And the cricket is glad when the baby
is a girl. "I shall hide among the floor mats and sing where she
plays," he chirps.
But the cricket is sad when the baby is a boy. "He will shoot me, he
will shoot me!" chirps the cricket. For, as soon as the boy is old
enough, he will be given a tiny bow; and he will fit the sharp arrow
and shoot the cricket and the grasshopper.
The woodpecker welcomes the girl baby. He sings of the wood worms he
will find when the girl goes with her mother for wood. For the women
of the wigwam break the dry branches for the fire, and the wood worms
fall from their hiding places.
But the raven rejoices at the sight of the boy baby in his cradle. "My
food, my food!" he croaks. A hunter has come to the camp. He will
shoot the rabbit and the squirrel and the deer; and food for the
hungry ravens will be left where his arrows fall.
The Indian father rejoices when he looks at his son. "May he grow to
be a brave hunter and a fearless warrior." Such is the Indian's wish.
[Illustration]
THE INDIAN BABY AND HER CRADLE
Why is the happy song of the robin heard beside the lodge? Why chirps
the cricket so merrily?
Can you not guess? There is a new daughter in the wigwam. Another wood
gatherer and fire maker has come to the tribe.
"Bring the new cradle, Nokomis. Let me have the beautiful cradle I
have made for my little daughter." And Good Bird, the mother, points
with pride to a strange-looking object that is not at all like the
cradle your baby sleeps in.
A straight board leans against the inner lining of the lodge. To one
side of it is fastened a white doeskin bag which is trimmed with
beautiful fringes and beadwork. Can this be a baby's cradle?
Nokomis, the grandmother, opens the bag, which is laced down the
middle with colored strings. She makes a bed of soft moss upon the
hard board and lays the papoose very straight in its little frame.
Laced and bound, this strange cradle is hung to the top of the lodge.
A bow of curved wood protects the baby's head from injury, should the
cradle fall.
As the little papoose swings gently, the Indian mother sings a
lullaby, and this is the one she often sings:
"Wa wa--wa wa--wa wa yea,
Swinging, swinging, lullaby.
Sleep thou, sleep thou, sleep thou.
Little daughter, lullaby.
Wa wa--wa wa--wa wa."
Slower and slower swings the cradle and the black eyes close in sleep.
"What shall we name the little one?" asks the mother.
Nokomis stands in the door of the wigwam. Through the trees she sees the
blue water of the lake. White clouds are moving rapidly across the sky.
"White Cloud shall be her name," answers Nokomis.
Good Bird, the mother, smiles and nods. As she watches the cradle, she
talks to the sleeping child.
"My little woman, you shall be a fire maker and a lodge keeper like
your mother. You shall help me tan the skins for clothing. I will
teach you to make beautiful dresses and trim them with beadwork and
quills. Your father and your brother will be proud to wear the
moccasins you make.
"You shall go with me to the lake when the rice is ready to harvest.
Together we will hunt the wild berries and the nuts. You shall be your
mother's helper, my little daughter, White Cloud."
WHITE CLOUD'S FIRST RIDE
White Cloud, the baby daughter of Good Bird, is having her first ride
out of doors. Do you think she is in a baby buggy like your little
sister's? Or do you suppose her mother draws her in a tiny cart?
You can never guess unless you know how Indian mothers contrive to take
their babies with them when they are carrying heavy loads. White Cloud
is laced in her strange cradle and bound securely to her mother's back.
On the bent strip of board that arches over the head of the cradle are
fastened playthings made of carved wood and bone. The bright toys
jingle and rattle, and the baby laughs.
To-day the little arms and hands are firmly laced inside the beaded
bag. So the child can not reach out and play with the noisy images as
she loves to do.
Laced, bound, and protected, the baby is safe even when her mother
pushes through the thickest forest.
[Illustration]
The boys, who run everywhere, have brought good news to the camp. "The
June berries are ripe in the forest," they say. So the mothers are
starting with children and bags for the berry picking.
It is not yet sunrise; but it is the custom of the Indians to rise
early. The men, with bows and arrows, knives and spears, have already
gone away to their daily business--the hunt.
The older lads are with their fathers, and the little boys have begun a
long summer's day of shouting, swimming, mud throwing, and mischief.
Among them is White Cloud's brother, a sturdy boy of four years.
Here and there are old men sitting in front of their lodges and
smoking their long pipes. Inside, the grandmothers are busy preparing
food and dressing skins for clothing.
Most of the women, like Good Bird, carry their babies and berry sacks
upon their backs; but some of them have large dogs trained as burden
carriers.
Here comes Two Joys, the mother of twins. She is followed by a pair of
dogs, each dragging a strapping brown baby boy.
One by one, the women and girls wade the streams and climb the hills,
following the trail that leads to the forest. There they separate,
each to make her own choice of bushes.
White Cloud's mother chooses a thicket where the berries are large and
abundant. She fastens her baby's cradle to the top of a low tree. The
wind swings the cradle, and, like the Mother Goose baby, the Indian
papoose rocks on the tree top. Let us hope that the bough will not
break.
The birds chirp and sing in the branches. A squirrel comes near to see
what strange object is hanging in his tree. The baby wakes and cries
with fright, and the squirrel scampers away.
Good Bird is filling her bags of woven grass with purple berries. She
does not pick them as we do, but breaks off long branches loaded with
fruit. Then, with a heavy stick, she beats the branch and the berries
fall on a large skin that is spread on the ground.
For dinner Good Bird has only dried meat and the sweet, juicy berries.
But she does not think of wishing for more.
At last the ripe fruit is gathered. The baby is fretting, and the
mother takes the cradle from the tree top. She unlaces the bag and
lays the little one on the warm grass.
Now the fruit must be packed and tied and the large skin be rolled
up. While the mother works the child grows restless and cries. You can
never guess why. She is asking in baby language to be put back on her
stiff board!
Very soon Good Bird is ready and, with the cradle and bags strapped to
her back, she starts for home. Other berry pickers loaded with fruit
join her, and together they walk the trail that leads back to the camp.
Nokomis is watching for the baby. She lifts the cradle and hangs it to
the lodge pole. The little one is restless. She turns her head from
side to side, her black eyes shining.
Then the grandmother sings the owl song in which Indian babies delight:
"Ah wa nain, ah wa nain,
Who is this, who is this,
Giving light, light bringing
To the roof of my lodge?"
The singer changes her voice to imitate a little screech owl and
answers:
"It is I--the little owl--
Coming
Down! down! down!"
As she sings, she springs toward the baby and down goes the little
head. How the papoose laughs and crows! Again Nokomis sings:
"Who is this, eyelight bringing,
To the roof of my lodge?
It is I, hither swinging--
Dodge, baby, dodge."
Over and over the lullaby is sung, now softer and now slower. The
eyelids droop, and the little one is quiet.
NOKOMIS TELLS A STORY
Good Bird had prepared the evening meal, but no one came to eat it.
Her husband, Fleet Deer, was late in returning from the hunt, and her
little son was still shouting and running with his boy playmates.
The tired baby slept, and the two women sat outside the wigwam in the
warm June evening.
"Now that I have a little daughter, I must learn all your stories,
Nokomis," said Good Bird. "Suppose you tell one while we wait."
"I heard a new one last moon," answered Nokomis. "Our village
story-teller has traveled far from our camp. He visited another tribe
and heard all their stories. I will tell you the tale he told about
the first strawberries:
"In the very earliest times a young girl became so angry one day that
she ran away from home. Her family followed her, calling and
grieving; but she would not answer their calls, nor even turn her head.
[Illustration]
"The great sun looked down with pity from the sky and tried to settle
the quarrel. First he caused a patch of ripe blueberries to grow in
her path.
"The girl pushed her way through the low bushes without stooping to
pick a berry.
"Further on the sun made juicy blackberries grow by the trail, but the
runaway paid no attention to them.
"Then low trees laden with the purple June berry tempted her, but
still she hurried on.
"Every kind of berry that the sun had ever helped to grow, he placed
in her path to cause delay, but without success.
"The girl still pressed on until she saw clusters of large ripe
strawberries growing in the grass at her feet.
"She stooped to pick and to eat. Then she turned and saw that she was
followed.
"Forgetting her anger, she gathered the clusters of ripe, red berries
and started back along the path to share them with her family.
"Then she went home as if nothing had ever happened!"
THE FIREFLY DANCE
It is a summer evening. There is no moon, and the stars twinkle
brightly in the sky. A half circle of Indian lodges fronts a small
lake. Wide meadows slope to its shores.
All the air is alive with lights, twinkling, whirling, sparkling.
Thousands of fireflies are swarming above the grass.
The meadow is full of Indian boys and girls, little and big, dancing
the firefly dance. Advancing and retreating, turning and twisting,
bowing and whirling, they imitate the moving lights about them and
above them.
In front of the lodges sit the warriors and the squaws looking on.
Good Bird is watching every move of her son. He is one of the most
active dancers on the field.
"Look, Nokomis!" she says, "No boy is straighter than your grandson,
and there is no better dancer."
[Illustration]
Fleet Deer says nothing, but he is thinking of the time when his son
will take part in the war dance of his tribe.
Little White Cloud stands by her mother. She has known three winters
and is now a chubby, pretty little Indian girl.
Suddenly she begins to imitate her brother. She throws out her tiny
brown arms, turns round and round, jumps and bows, while Nokomis and
Good Bird shout with laughter.
Listen! the children are singing. What do they say? It is the song of
the fireflies that we hear.
Nokomis has chanted the same words and melody for many a lullaby, and
she keeps time, singing the same song:
"Wau wau tay see, wau wau tay see,
Flitting white fire insect,
Waving white fire bug,
Give me light before I go to bed,
Give me light before I go to sleep!
Come, little dancing white fire bug,
Come, little flitting white fire beast,
Light me with your bright white flame,
Light me with your little candle."
SWIFT ELK, THE INDIAN BOY
Four years have passed since the summer evening when Good Bird watched
her children in the firefly dance. Her son, Swift Elk, is now a tall,
straight lad of eleven winters. His sister, four years younger, is a
sturdy little girl, already able to help her mother in many ways.
The boy is the pride of the lodge. From his earliest babyhood he has
been trained to be strong and fearless.
"Lay him very straight," his father used to say when the baby boy was
placed on his cradle board. "Do not make his bed too soft. My son must
grow tall and strong, for he will sometime be a great warrior."
Since he could first walk he has gone with his father each day to the
lake to take an early morning bath. Like all Indians, he learned to
swim when he was very small, and he loves to splash and dive and play
in the water.
Do you suppose that Swift Elk dresses himself after his bath? He does
not think clothing at all necessary except in winter.
Does he help his mother in her work about the lodge? Never! "A boy does
not do squaw's work," he says. "A boy must learn to hunt and shoot."
Is he not made to mind? Is he never punished? Oh, no; he will be a
great warrior some day, and his father says he ought not to be afraid
of any one. And so he lives the wild, free life of the Indian boy. He
spends his day in play, with no school, no lessons, and no work to do.
When the father is at home he teaches the boy to notice very carefully
everything he sees. He must learn the names of plants and birds. He
must know the habits of animals and how to hunt them. Above
everything, he must be brave and daring.
While the men are away hunting, the younger boys spend the day
shooting, fishing, swimming, and playing games. If they wish to throw
mud balls at each other, no one scolds them for being dirty. But if
one of them whimpers or cries, his companions will not let him play.
So the Indian boy learns early in life to bear pain without complaint.
Swift Elk's father made a little bow and arrow for his son as soon as
he was old enough to run out of the wigwam. Each summer he received a
larger bow and more destructive arrows.
Wherever the boy goes he carries his weapon, and he is always watching
for the chance to shoot a bird, rabbit, squirrel, or any wild animal.
How his mother and grandmother praise him when he brings home game!
"You will be a great hunter," they say. "Soon you will be able to go
with your father to shoot bear and deer."
Swift Elk sleeps on a bed of cedar boughs covered with skins. As the
first-born son, he has the place of honor. His bed is next to his
father's, close against the inner lining of the lodge, and nearly
opposite the entrance.
This is the boy's own place, and he is allowed to decorate it as he
wishes. Birds' wings, feathers, and squirrels' tails show his skill in
hunting.
[Illustration]
Here he keeps nearly everything that he owns. He has hung his bow and
arrows on the lodge pole above his bed. His snowshoes, tops, and balls
are in a bag of skin high above the reach of baby hands.
Swift Elk looks forward to the time when he shall be admitted to the
councils of his tribe and take part in their dances and yearly feasts.
Like other Indian children, he has been trained to count time by
winters, moons, and sleeps, and so he does not know his exact age. He
has never heard of keeping birthdays; but he has had many feasts given
in his honor, which are the same to him as a party would be to you.
When an Indian boy wins a game which requires great skill, or shows
himself brave in time of danger, his companions shout his praises.
They go with him to the door of his lodge, telling of the brave deed
he has performed. Then they sing and dance in his honor.
It is expected that the women of the lodge will show their pleasure by
giving each boy some dainty from the stores of food packed away for
feasts.
On the day that Swift Elk first shot a rabbit his father gave a feast
for him, inviting all his relatives. But the most important
celebration of his whole life was when he won a victory in racing and
received his name.
THE NAMING OF SWIFT ELK
Unlike their sisters, Indian boys are seldom named in babyhood. Some
are known only as the sons of their fathers. Others bear the nicknames
given by their companions. But often a boy's name is decided upon by
reason of some important action of his own.
For the first few years of Swift Elk's life he was spoken of as the
son of Fleet Deer. When he was quite small, he stood, one evening,
watching the older boys race. They ran in couples, their companions
standing on either side of the race course. There were yells of joy
for the victors, and jeers and howls for those who were so unlucky as
to trip or stumble in the way.
A young hunter standing near noticed the shining eyes of the little
watcher and shouted, "Give the younger boys a chance!" And so the son
of Fleet Deer was started in the race with a boy of his own size.
Once, twice, thrice, did the eager child outrun his playmate amid
shouts and laughter. His little feet seemed to fly over the ground.
"He is as swift as a young elk," said the bystanders. And before the
racing was ended, the child was called again to the trial of speed,
this time with an older lad. Again he was first at the goal.
"He will be a runner like his father," said the warriors who had come
near to watch the sports of their children.
Fleet Deer, when a young man, was the fastest runner in his tribe. And
now his little son had won a race and the father was proud. He walked
slowly toward his lodge and entered the curtained opening.
"Prepare a feast in honor of our son," he said to Good Bird, his wife.
Standing in front of his wigwam, he called in a loud voice the names
of his brothers and kinsmen in the camp.
[Illustration]
They came, one by one, entered the low doorway, and were seated in a
circle close to the inner wall of the wigwam, some on the low beds and
some on mats.
Nokomis and Good Bird passed to each a wooden dish containing meat,
dried berries, parched rice, and maple sugar.
There were many prayers and much smoking of the long pipe which was
passed from host to guest. Then Fleet Deer led his son to the middle
of the wigwam. The child's face and body were painted, and his long
hair was braided and wound around his head.
"You have seen my son outrun his playmates," said the father. "You
know that he has taken the honors of victory from a companion that is
older and larger. One and another who watched the race have said that
my son is like a young elk in his running.
"I was but a lad, my kinsmen, when your former chief, my father, gave
me the name I bear. He has taken the long journey to the land of
spirits. Will you agree that his grandson bear the name of Swift Elk?"
The warriors gravely bowed their heads in approval. Again the pipe was
passed, and the smoke curled and rose in the lodge.
Swift Elk, the grandson of a great chief, had earned his name.
FIRE AND THE FIRE MAKERS
"Are you going away, Grandmother? Take me with you."
"I am on my way to the forest, White Cloud. It will be a long walk for
you. We need dry moss and decayed wood for tinder. Some cold morning
we shall wake and find no red coals in the ashes. Then we shall need
some pieces of the driest of wood to kindle a new fire."
"Let me go, and I will help you look for dry wood. I know I am big
enough to be a fire maker. Haven't I seen seven winters?"
So Nokomis and White Cloud started on the trail that led to the wild
forest. There great trees had died and fallen, and the branches had
been decaying for many moons--no one can tell how many.
"Is the fire always lost when we move our camp, Grandmother?"
"Not always. Some lodge keepers try to carry a few coals, and the one
who succeeds is glad to share with others. But one person is often
sent ahead to the new camp to make a central fire out of doors. You
know it takes a long time to get a spark by rubbing two sticks
together."
"How did the Indians get fire in the first place? And how did fire get
into wood?" asked White Cloud.
"I will tell you, my child. I have heard all about it from the
story-tellers.
"Once there was only one fire in all the world. It was kept in a
sacred wigwam and guarded by an old blind man.
"All the Indians had heard about fire and wanted very much to get it.
But no one knew where it was hidden.
"The old man had two daughters who gathered his wood. He used only the
driest branches, so that no smoke could be seen, and no odor from the
burning of green boughs be lifted to the wind.
"But one day a tiny, curling wreath of smoke rose above the lodge
opening.
"Of course the birds saw it, and flew over the lodge poles until they
discovered the secret. You may be sure that they chirped the news
wherever they flew.
"A woodpecker went into a hole in a tree to carry his mate some food
and told her where fire was kept. He was overheard by a squirrel
running up the tree trunk.
"'Chip, chip! chatter, chatter! Hear the squirrels in the tree tops,'
said a rabbit. 'What are they talking about?' By listening he soon
found out.
"Then Bruin heard the rabbits, and the bear teased the wolf by letting
him know that the birds had a great secret.
"A flock of sparrows settled in front of the wolf's den, and the wolf
soon heard all he wanted to know. He, in turn, told a dog that
sometimes ran with him at night.
"Of course the dog told the boy he loved best, and so the Indians
found out where fire was hidden.
"'We must have fire,' they said. 'Who will get it for us?'
"At last Manabush said that he would try to get fire for his tribe.
"Manabush was a daring young Indian hunter. Like Hiawatha, he spent his
life trying to help his people. He saw how fire was needed to warm the
lodges in winter, and to cook the raw meat freshly killed in the hunt.
"So Manabush made a birch canoe and started across the great lake.
When he reached land he pulled his light canoe out of the water and
carried it on his back to a near-by thicket. Then he changed himself
into a rabbit and hopped away into the long grass.
"Soon there came up a great storm. The old man guarded the sacred fire
with the utmost care until the rain was over. Then he went to sleep
near the glowing coals.
"His daughters came out of the lodge to look at the sky. As they bent
down to enter the low door, they saw a little rabbit lying on the
grass. His fur was wet, and he was trembling with cold.
"One of the daughters carried him in and laid him down where it was
warm. The rabbit hopped nearer the fire.
"The old man started from his sleep. 'What do I hear?' he asked.
"'You have heard nothing, Father. We picked up a little wet rabbit and
brought him in to dry.'
"The old man closed his eyes again. His daughters turned and went on
with their work. Quickly the rabbit seized a burning stick and hopped
away by leaps and bounds.
"Up jumped the old man. 'My fire, my sacred fire, is stolen!' he
cried. His daughters ran out of the lodge to chase the thief.
"But the old blind man thought that someone was in the wigwam. So he
snatched a long stick and pounded so hard on every side that he beat
some of the fire into a log. This is the way that fire came to be in
wood."
[Illustration]
"What did the rabbit do, Grandmother?"
"He ran to the canoe, changed back to a man, put the fire in a magic
bag, and paddled as fast as he could to his own camp.
"There he lighted a pile of wood for his grandmother, and then hurried
away to the Thunderers. They have kept the sacred fire for the Indians
since that day."
"Who are the Thunderers, Grandmother?" asked White Cloud.
"After we have had our dinner I will tell you the story. Now we will
use some of our dry wood and make a fire."
"Can I learn to get the fire out of wood?" asked White Cloud.
"You will need to try again and again, for it is not an easy task.
Watch me, my child, and see how it is done."
Nokomis soon had a pile of dry grass and twigs. Then she rubbed two
pieces of wood together for a long time. At last a spark flew from the
dry wood and the grass was lighted.
Meat and birds' eggs were soon roasted in the hot ashes. After the
meal Nokomis and White Cloud started for home, each with a bundle of
wood strapped to her back.
"Now I'm ready for the story you promised me," said White Cloud.
THE THUNDERERS
"Far in the east, above the sky, the great Thunderer lives with his
two sons. They are the friends of the whole world. When you hear their
voices be glad, for they are bringing the gift of rain.
"In the spring they come from their sky home with the showers that
make the grass grow and the little plants peep out of the ground.
"They water the earth; and the corn comes up, the sap flows for our
sugar, the trees open their leaves and blossoms, and the berries ripen.
"Without their help every growing plant would turn brown and fade away.
The wild rice and the sugar trees would die. Animals would search in
vain for food, and they would crawl into their dens and perish.
"There would be no game for the hunter to shoot. Then the terrible
famine spirits would enter our lodges, and we would sicken and die.
"We should never fear the loud voices of the Thunderers, for they are
always good and kind.
"They are the war chiefs of the world. When we see the rainbow, we
catch a glimpse of the splendid robes they wear.
"In the middle of their great lodge burns the sacred fire, which they
guard for all the people of the earth."
"I will never be afraid again when I hear them speaking," said White
Cloud. "But I like to be in the lodge when they bring their rain
storms. If they come to-day perhaps we can find a cave in the hills
our trail crosses."
"It would not be safe for us to enter a cave in the forest," replied
Nokomis. "The Little People might be in it, and they would be
displeased."
THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE FOREST
"And now," said White Cloud, "I want to hear all about the Little
People."
"Speak low, White Cloud. We are coming to the rocky hillside. We must
listen, for we may hear them drumming."
"I wish we could! We would run and try to see them."
"It would be far better for us to turn and run the other way. The
Little People do not like to be disturbed. If they should see us, they
might cast a spell on us."
"What harm would that do us?" asked the child.
"We would forget where we are going and who we are. We might wander in
the woods until we starved, for we could never find the trail home."
"How do the Little People look, and what do they do? Does anyone know?"
"They are handsome little men, smaller than the tiniest babies. By
daylight they drum and dance, for they are very fond of music.
[Illustration]
"If they are not disturbed, they are very kind and helpful, especially
to those who are in trouble. They do not like to be seen, and will
never work if a man or woman, or even a child, is in sight.
"Sometimes they come to the cornfield when it is very dark. If they are
heard, no Indian goes out of the lodge. Often the field will be found
well weeded in the morning and the earth loose about the growing plants.
"Once, in the moon of ripe corn, there was a woman alone with a sick
child. She heard the Little People near her lodge, and she remembered
to be very quiet. In the morning her corn was all picked for her.
"If a hunter finds an arrow near the cornfield, he must say very loud:
'Little People, will you let me have this arrow?' for it may have been
shot from their bows.
"If he takes it without asking, he may be hit with stones as he is
walking home."
"Tell me about the boy who was changed into a hunter spirit," said
White Cloud.
"There was once a boy," began Nokomis, "who ran away from home. He
grew smaller and smaller until he became like the spirits of the woods.
"But he is full of mischief. You can sometimes tell what he is doing,
although he himself is never seen.
"Have you not noticed your dog jump up quickly from the place where he
has been sleeping? The spirit of the runaway boy is whipping him with
nettles.
"You will often see a flock of birds suddenly leave their food and fly
away. The little hunter spirit has frightened them.
"When the tired hunter stops, far from his lodge, to roast his meat,
the little mischief-maker blows out his fire and fans the smoke into
his eyes.
"He catches the arrows which are aimed at the birds and hides them. He
puts slippery clay in the path and laughs when the children fall. No
one can tell all his tricks of mischief."
"Grandmother, look! Here is an arrow on the ground."
"Let it be. We will not annoy the spirits. Now we must hurry home, for
the clouds darken and I can hear the loud voices of the Thunderers
starting out from their sky home."
BLACK WOLF TELLS A STORY
The boys were practicing with their bows and arrows. After a few
trials, in which little skill was shown, Swift Elk threw down his bow.
"I'm tired of shooting," he said. "Come on, boys, let's go to the lake
for a swim."
Black Wolf, the oldest warrior of the tribe, was sitting on the ground
near by, watching the sport.
"Do not give up," said the old man. "You are a big boy now. Only by
skill in shooting can you become a brave warrior. Let no one know you
are tired or weak. Remember the boy who was changed to the lone
lightning of the North."
"Tell us the story," Swift Elk begged. "Then we will practice again
and do our best."
The boys threw themselves on the ground near Black Wolf, and he began
the story.
"There was once a little boy who had no one to care for him. His father
had been killed in war, and his mother taken captive by the enemy.
"Minno, the lonely boy, lived in his uncle's wigwam, but he was not
wanted there. He had hard work to do and very little to eat.
"He was too weak to join the rough games of his playmates, and he did
not become skillful with his bow and arrows like the other boys of the
tribe.
"At last he became so thin from hunger that the uncle feared his cruel
treatment would become known.
"So he told his wife to feed the boy with bear's meat. 'Give him
plenty of fat,' he ordered. 'Cram him with bear's fat.' It was now the
uncle's plan to kill the boy by overfeeding.
"One day when Minno had been nearly choked with fat meat, he ran away.
He wandered about in the woods, and when night came he was afraid of
the wild beasts. So he climbed into a tall tree and fell asleep in
the branches.
"In his dreams a person came to him from the upper sky and said: 'My
poor little lad, I pity you. Follow me, and be sure to step in my
tracks.'
"So the lad arose and followed his guide up, up, into the upper sky.
There he was given twelve magic arrows and told to shoot the manitoes
of the North.
"'They are the evil spirits of the air,' said his guide. 'You must go
to war against them. I have given you magic arrows that will kill them
if your aim is true.'
"The boy placed an arrow with great care, but failed to kill a manito.
One, two, three, four, five, six arrows had left his bow, each leaving
behind it a long streak of lightning. But not one had reached its mark.
"Carefully he aimed; seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Alas! his skill
was not equal to his task.
[Illustration]
"Long he held the twelfth arrow. He looked around on every side. The
evil spirits had wonderful power, and they could change their forms in
a moment.
"The boy let his last arrow fly toward the heart of the chief of the
manitoes. But the evil spirit saw it coming and changed himself into a
rock.
"'How dare you try to kill me!' cried the angry manito. 'Now you shall
suffer. You shall evermore be like the trail of your arrow.'
"And he changed the boy into the lone lightning which you so often
see, my children, in the northern sky."
"I wish I could shoot as well as I can run," Swift Elk said. "It is
easy to win in the races, but I can never beat in a shooting match."
"You can if you will practice more than the other boys. You remember
how the crane beat the humming bird in a race."
"Tell us about it, tell us," begged all the boys. "Then we will shoot
our arrows all day long until the sun hides his face."
The old man was silent for a time. Then he said, "I will tell you just
one more story. And you shall keep your word and practice until the
darkness creeps over the earth."
THE RACE BETWEEN THE CRANE AND THE HUMMING BIRD
[Illustration]
The crane dared the humming bird to a race. The humming bird was as
swift as an arrow, but the crane flew slowly.
At the word they both started. The humming bird was far ahead and he
stopped to roost on a limb; but the crane flew all night.
The humming bird woke in the morning, thinking it would be no trouble
to win the race. He was very much surprised when he passed the crane
spearing fish for his breakfast!
"How did the Slow One get ahead?" he thought. "I must start earlier
in the morning." He flew swiftly until dusk, when he stopped to roost
on a tree.
The crane flew all night. Before morning he was again ahead, and he
had finished his breakfast when the Swift One passed him.
"This is indeed strange," thought the humming bird. "But I can fly a
little faster, and it will be no trouble to win." So he stopped again,
far ahead, to take his usual sleep.
The crane flew all night, as usual. He passed the sleeping humming
bird at midnight and was well on his way before he was overtaken. The
humming bird flew as long as he could see, and before midnight he was
again ahead.
Each night the humming bird slept. Each night the crane flew. "Gaining
a little; gaining a little!" he said to himself.
Later and later in the day did the Swift One pass the Slow One.
Earlier and earlier in the night did the Slow One pass the Swift One.
On the last day of the race the crane was a night's travel ahead. He
took his time at breakfast. The humming bird passed him at sundown and
stopped to sleep.
The next morning the humming bird flew like the wind and reached the
goal early in the day. But there stood the heavy crane waiting, for he
had flown all night!
HUNTING WILD DUCKS
Swift Elk had sharpened his arrows and taken his strongest bow from
the wooden peg over his bed.
"I have seen wild ducks flying by the lake," he said. "I am going to
hide in the long grass and watch for them. If they come again, they
shall feel my arrows. To-night we eat roast duck."
The boy ran toward the lake. His sister, White Cloud, watched him
until he was out of sight. "Why can't girls go hunting?" she said. "I
have seen seven winters. I shall follow his trail."
The child ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes, and stepping
softly so that no broken twig could tell of her approach.
Indian children can see farther and hear far better than we can.
Although the old-time Indian never went to school, yet he trained his
children to listen to every sound in the forest, and to notice all
signs of animal life.
When White Cloud was near the lake, she hid in a clump of bushes and
watched. Just in sight was a little stream winding through the low
meadow.
She saw Swift Elk run along its banks. She waited without
moving--waited as only an Indian child knows how to wait.
At last, far off, she saw a speck in the sky, then another and
another. The specks grew larger. She held her breath.
A flock of wild ducks flew across the lake. Near the shore they turned
and flew over the low meadow where the boy hunter was hiding in the
high grass.
Suddenly the swift arrows flew. One, two, three, four ducks were hit
and fell to the ground. Swift Elk picked up three and swung them over
his shoulder.
He looked a long time for the fourth duck. Then, seeing another flock
approaching, he ran toward the lake shore.
Again he was fortunate in choosing the place of their approach. White
Cloud saw more arrows fly, and more ducks fall. Swift Elk ran on out
of sight.
Then the little girl crawled from her hiding-place and crept along the
ground in search of the missing duck. Surely there was something
stirring in the long grass ahead. Almost afraid to move, the child
crept closer and closer, until she saw a duck with a broken wing
hanging useless by its side.
In a moment she had caught it. She held the bird in her arms until its
struggles ceased. Then she bound its wing to its body with long pieces
of grass.
She crawled to the stream and dropped water in its bill. The duck
swallowed the water but refused all food.
White Cloud watched every movement in the distance, not daring to
stand lest Swift Elk return. So she worked her way, concealed by high
grass, to the home trail.
How she ran until she reached the low wigwam built for her dolls! Here
she made a soft bed for the wounded bird. She smoothed its feathers
and talked to it. How happy she was when she was able to coax the duck
to eat the food she offered!
Swift Elk came home at night with all the game he could carry. His
mother praised his hunting, and his father was pleased because he had
passed the entire day alone and without a mouthful of food.
"You must endure hunger and thirst, cold and heat, danger and pain, if
you would become a great warrior," said his father. "And you must find
your way alone through the forest for miles and miles, listening every
moment for the footsteps of an enemy or the approach of a wild beast."
A fire had been made in front of the lodge. The ducks were buried,
feathers and all, in the hot ashes. White Cloud brought wild berries
and water from the spring. As soon as the birds were roasted the
feathers and skins were pulled off and the hungry boy enjoyed his meal.
But White Cloud watched her chance to carry part of her own food to
the duck. How she hated to leave him when the dark came on! But she
fastened the shelter securely, hoping that no lurking fox or weasel
would force his way inside.
The next morning White Cloud was up before her brother. She hid in the
tiny lodge, to protect her pet until Swift Elk had left for the day.
The duck soon became so tame that it followed her wherever she went.
The difficulty in taming the wild creature, and the constant danger of
losing it, led the child to be as kind and patient with her pet as an
Indian mother is with her papoose.
One day Good Bird was roasting deer meat. She had made a hot fire in
front of the lodge. Sticks sharpened at both ends were driven in the
ground close to the bed of coals. The sticks were bent toward the
fire, and each one held a large piece of raw meat.
[Illustration]
When the meat was tender, Good Bird called her little daughter. "My
father is old," she said. "He can no longer hunt. Take some of this
roast meat to him."