The Huron tribe were a rather typical tribe of the Eastern woodlands.
They were a hunting and fishing tribe, and when their villages were
built they were built to last for a long time.
In this particular village of the Hurons, there lived a young boy by the
name of Singing Eagle. Now as was the custom among most of the tribes of
that area, a young Indian child did not own any clothes at all until he
reached the age of ten.
This particular day was to be a great one for Singing Eagle, but when he
woke that late summer morning, it was just another day for him.
After eating his breakfast, he dashed away to play with the other
children. Meanwhile back at the wigwam, Singing Eagle’s mother, Early
Dawn, was very busy indeed. For many days and nights she had been
working quite hard making Singing Eagle his first real set of clothing.
Singing Eagle’s father had hunted the big brown buck early last spring
and his long chase had finally been rewarded, when he was able to shoot
and kill a very fine large buck. Carefully skinning the buck, he had
returned both the skin and the meat to his wigwam, where his wife
immediately set to work tanning the skin in preparation for making it
into a winter outfit for young Singing Eagle.
When the skin had been carefully tanned, Singing Eagle’s mother had
fashioned from it a pair of leggings. The leggings of the woodland
Indian were made in matched pairs. They covered the whole leg and fitted
rather snugly and were held up with a thong fastened to the waistbelt.
The buckskin was sewn together with threads of sinew.
The shirt, which Singing Eagle’s mother was so proud of, had long
sleeves and would reach to Singing Eagle’s knees, but above all the
shirt was beautifully decorated with painted pictures. When Singing
Eagle grew up, the paintings would be upon his future shirts and
beadwork would also be added. The shirt was of buckskin.
Finally Singing Eagle’s mother proudly held up, for her husband to see,
the beautiful moccasins. The moccasins of the woodland Indian were
fashioned from one piece of skin and were soft-soled and often these too
were decorated with beadwork. Here Singing Eagle’s mother had decided
not to wait until her son grew any more, but had put a beautiful beaded
design on the toe of each moccasin. This was to be a truly wonderful
day.
After lunch, Singing Eagle lay down to rest, for he had been playing
very hard that morning with the other children. When he awoke, he looked
around and his eyes fairly jumped from his head. There at the foot of
his bed was his first suit of clothing. Quickly he grasped them to him
and hugged them, feeling how soft and pliable they were, following the
many days of work.
Quickly he slipped into the clothes and when he was completely dressed,
ran from the wigwam to find his father and show him his beautiful
clothes. Soon he found his father at the edge of the village talking
with two other braves of the tribe. All excited, he pulled at his
father’s sleeve until his father turned and noticing the clothes,
quickly changed his expression from anger to one of surprise.
“How handsome you look, my son. Your mother has done a fine job on your
clothes. I wish that my shirts were as beautiful as the one you now wear
upon your back. You look very much like a man now, my son.”
Singing Eagle was very proud that his father had noticed his clothes and
given him such fine compliments. But time was wasting. As was customary
when a young Indian boy received his first full set of clothing to wear,
the rest of the day was spent in showing off his new clothes to his many
friends. And so that day, in a matter of a couple of hours, the whole
Huron village knew that Singing Eagle had his first real Indian suit,
made from a fine buck that his father had shot just for him.