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[Illustration: Snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers.
Frontispiece. _See page_ 123.]
INDIAN CHILD LIFE
By
CHARLES A. EASTMAN
(_Ohiyesa_)
ILLUSTRATED BY
GEORGE VARIAN
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1915
_Copyright, 1913_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.
Transcriber's Note: In the name "Hak[=a]dah" the [=a] represents an
"a" with a macron above it.
A LETTER TO THE CHILDREN
DEAR CHILDREN:--You will like to know that the man who wrote these true
stories is himself one of the people he describes so pleasantly and so
lovingly for you. He hopes that when you have finished this book, the
Indians will seem to you very real and very friendly. He is not willing
that all your knowledge of the race that formerly possessed this
continent should come from the lips of strangers and enemies, or that
you should think of them as blood-thirsty and treacherous, as savage
and unclean.
War, you know, is always cruel, and it is true that there were stern
fighting men among the Indians, as well as among your own forefathers.
But there were also men of peace, men generous and kindly and
religious. There were tender mothers, and happy little ones, and a home
life that was pure and true. There were high ideals of loyalty and
honor. It will do you good and make you happier to read of these
things.
Perhaps you wonder how a "real, live Indian" could write a book. I will
tell you how. The story of this man's life is itself as wonderful as a
fairy tale. Born in a wigwam, as he has told you, and early left
motherless, he was brought up, like the little Hiawatha, by a good
grandmother. When he was four years old, war broke out between his
people and the United States government. The Indians were defeated and
many of them were killed. Some fled northward into Canada and took
refuge under the British flag, among them the writer of this book, with
his grandmother and an uncle. His father was captured by the whites.
After ten years of that wild life, now everywhere at an end, of which
he has given you a true picture in his books, his father, whom the good
President Lincoln had pardoned and released from the military prison,
made the long and dangerous journey to Canada to find and bring back
his youngest son. The Sioux were beginning to learn that the old life
must go, and that, if they were to survive at all, they must follow
"the white man's road," long and hard as it looked to a free people.
They were beginning to plow and sow and send their children to school.
Ohiyesa, the Winner, as the boy was called, came home with his father
to what was then Dakota Territory, to a little settlement of Sioux
homesteaders. Everything about the new life was strange to him, and at
first he did not like it at all. He had thoughts of running away and
making his way back to Canada. But his father, Many Lightnings, who had
been baptized a Christian under the name of Jacob Eastman, told him
that he, too, must take a new name, and he chose that of Charles
Alexander Eastman. He was told to cut off his long hair and put on
citizen's clothing. Then his father made him choose between going to
school and working at the plow.
Ohiyesa tried plowing for half a day. It was hard work to break the
tough prairie sod with his father's oxen and the strange implement they
gave him. He decided to try school. Rather to his surprise, he liked
it, and he kept on. His teachers were pleased with his progress, and
soon better opportunities opened to him. He was sent farther east to a
better school, where he continued to do well, and soon went higher. In
the long summer vacations he worked, on farms, in shops and offices;
and in winter he studied and played football and all the other games
you play, until after about fifteen or sixteen years he found himself
with the diplomas of a famous college and a great university, a
Bachelor of Science, a Doctor of Medicine, and a doubly educated
man--educated in the lore of the wilderness as well as in some of the
deepest secrets of civilization.
Since that day, a good many more years have passed. Ohiyesa, known as
Doctor Charles A. Eastman, has now a home and six children of his own
among the New England hills. He has hundreds of devoted friends of both
races. He is the author of five books which have been widely read, some
of them in England, France and Germany as well as in America, and he
speaks face to face to thousands of people every year. Perhaps some of
you have heard from his own lips his recollections of wild life. You
may find all the stories in this book, and many more of the same sort,
in the books called "Indian Boyhood," and "Old Indian Days," published
by Doubleday, Page and Company, of Garden City, L.I., who have kindly
consented to the publication of this little volume in order that the
children in our schools might read stories of real Indians by a real
Indian.
CONTENTS
PART ONE
MY INDIAN CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER PAGE
I. "THE PITIFUL LAST" 1
II. EARLY HARDSHIPS 9
III. AN INDIAN SUGAR CAMP 19
IV. GAMES AND SPORTS 26
V. AN INDIAN BOY'S TRAINING 37
VI. THE BOY HUNTER 48
VII. EVENING IN THE LODGE 58
PART TWO
STORIES OF REAL INDIANS
I. WINONA'S CHILDHOOD 75
II. WINONA'S GIRLHOOD 83
III. A MIDSUMMER FEAST 93
IV. THE FAITHFULNESS OF LONG EARS 103
V. SNANA'S FAWN 118
VI. HAKADAH'S FIRST OFFERING 131
VII. THE GRAVE OF THE DOG 145
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers _Frontispiece_
So he bravely jumped upon the nest PAGE 32
"Oh, what nice claws he has, uncle!" I exclaimed eagerly 69
He began to sing a dirge for him 140
PART ONE
MY INDIAN CHILDHOOD
I
"THE PITIFUL LAST"
What boy would not be an Indian for a while when he thinks of the
freest life in the world? This life was mine. Every day there was a
real hunt. There was real game.
No people have a better use of their five senses than the children of
the wilderness. We could smell as well as hear and see. We could feel
and taste as well as we could see and hear. Nowhere has the memory been
more fully developed than in the wild life, and I can still see wherein
I owe much to my early training.
Of course I myself do not remember when I first saw the day, but my
brothers have often recalled the event with much mirth; for it was a
custom of the Sioux that when a boy was born his brother must plunge
into the water, or roll in the snow naked if it was winter time; and if
he was not big enough to do either of these himself, water was thrown
on him. If the new-born had a sister, she must be immersed. The idea
was that a warrior had come to camp, and the other children must
display some act of hardihood.
I was so unfortunate as to be the youngest of five children who, soon
after I was born, were left motherless. I had to bear the humiliating
name "Hak[=a]dah," meaning "the pitiful last," until I should earn a
more dignified and appropriate name. I was regarded as little more than
a plaything by the rest of the children.
The babe was done up as usual in a movable cradle made from an oak
board two and a half feet long and one and a half feet wide. On one
side of it was nailed with brass-headed tacks the richly embroidered
sack, which was open in front and laced up and down with buckskin
strings. Over the arms of the infant was a wooden bow, the ends of
which were firmly attached to the board, so that if the cradle should
fall the child's head and face would be protected. On this bow were
hung curious playthings--strings of artistically carved bones and hoofs
of deer, which rattled when the little hands moved them.
In this upright cradle I lived, played, and slept the greater part of
the time during the first few months of my life. Whether I was made to
lean against a lodge pole or was suspended from a bough of a tree,
while my grandmother cut wood, or whether I was carried on her back, or
conveniently balanced by another child in a similar cradle hung on the
opposite side of a pony, I was still in my oaken bed.
This grandmother, who had already lived through sixty years of
hardships, was a wonder to the young maidens of the tribe. She showed
no less enthusiasm over Hakadah than she had done when she held her
first-born, the boy's father, in her arms. Every little attention that
is due to a loved child she performed with much skill and devotion. She
made all my scanty garments and my tiny moccasins with a great deal of
taste. It was said by all that I could not have had more attention had
my mother been living.
Uncheedah (grandmother) was a great singer. Sometimes, when Hakadah
wakened too early in the morning, she would sing to him something like
the following lullaby:
Sleep, sleep, my boy, the Chippewas
Are far away--are far away.
Sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet
The foe by day--the foe by day!
The cowards will not dare to fight
Till morning break--till morning break.
Sleep, sleep, my child, while still 'tis night;
Then bravely wake--then bravely wake!
The Dakota women were wont to cut and bring their fuel from the woods
and, in fact, to perform most of the drudgery of the camp. This of
necessity fell to their lot because the men must follow the game during
the day. Very often my grandmother carried me with her on these
excursions; and while she worked it was her habit to suspend me from a
wild grape vine or a springy bough, so that the least breeze would
swing the cradle to and fro.
She has told me that when I had grown old enough to take notice, I was
apparently capable of holding extended conversations in an unknown
dialect with birds and red squirrels. Once I fell asleep in my cradle,
suspended five or six feet from the ground, while Uncheedah was some
distance away, gathering birch bark for a canoe. A squirrel had found
it convenient to come upon the bow of my cradle and nibble his hickory
nut, until he awoke me by dropping the crumbs of his meal. It was a
common thing for birds to alight on my cradle in the woods.
After I left my cradle, I almost walked away from it, she told me. She
then began calling my attention to natural objects. Whenever I heard
the song of a bird, she would tell me what bird it came from, something
after this fashion:
"Hakadah, listen to Shechoka (the robin) calling his mate. He says he
has just found something good to eat." Or "Listen to Oopehanska (the
thrush); he is singing for his little wife. He will sing his best."
When in the evening the whippoorwill started his song with vim, no
further than a stone's throw from our tent in the woods, she would say
to me:
"Hush! It may be an Ojibway scout!"
Again, when I waked at midnight, she would say:
"Do not cry! Hinakaga (the owl) is watching you from the tree-top."
I usually covered up my head, for I had perfect faith in my
grandmother's admonitions, and she had given me a dreadful idea of this
bird. It was one of her legends that a little boy was once standing
just outside of the teepee (tent), crying vigorously for his mother,
when Hinakaga swooped down in the darkness and carried the poor little
fellow up into the trees. It was well known that the hoot of the owl
was commonly imitated by Indian scouts when on the war-path. There had
been dreadful massacres immediately following this call. Therefore it
was deemed wise to impress the sound early upon the mind of the child.
Indian children were trained so that they hardly ever cried much in the
night. This was very expedient and necessary in their exposed life. In
my infancy it was my grandmother's custom to put me to sleep, as she
said, with the birds, and to waken me with them, until it became a
habit. She did this with an object in view. An Indian must always rise
early. In the first place, as a hunter, he finds his game best at
daybreak. Secondly, other tribes, when on the war-path, usually make
their attack very early in the morning. Even when our people are moving
about leisurely, we like to rise before daybreak, in order to travel
when the air is cool, and unobserved, perchance, by our enemies.
As a little child, it was instilled into me to be silent and reticent.
This was one of the most important traits to form in the character of
the Indian. As a hunter and warrior it was considered absolutely
necessary to him, and was thought to lay the foundations of patience
and self-control.
II
EARLY HARDSHIPS
One of the earliest recollections of my adventurous childhood is the
ride I had on a pony's side. I was passive in the whole matter. A
little girl cousin of mine was put in a bag and suspended from the horn
of an Indian saddle; but her weight must be balanced or the saddle
would not remain on the animal's back. Accordingly, I was put into
another sack and made to keep the saddle and the girl in position! I
did not object, for I had a very pleasant game of peek-a-boo with the
little girl, until we came to a big snow-drift, where the poor beast
was stuck fast and began to lie down. Then it was not so nice!
This was the convenient and primitive way in which some mothers packed
their children for winter journeys. However cold the weather might be,
the inmate of the fur-lined sack was usually very comfortable--at least
I used to think so. I believe I was accustomed to all the precarious
Indian conveyances, and, as a boy, I enjoyed the dog-travaux ride as
much as any. The travaux consisted of a set of rawhide strips securely
lashed to the tent-poles, which were harnessed to the sides of the
animal as if he stood between shafts, while the free ends were allowed
to drag on the ground. Both ponies and large dogs were used as beasts
of burden, and they carried in this way the smaller children as well as
the baggage.
This mode of travelling for children was possible only in the summer,
and as the dogs were sometimes unreliable, the little ones were exposed
to a certain amount of danger. For instance, whenever a train of dogs
had been travelling for a long time, almost perishing with the heat and
their heavy loads, a glimpse of water would cause them to forget all
their responsibilities. Some of them, in spite of the screams of the
women, would swim with their burdens into the cooling stream, and I was
thus, on more than one occasion, made to partake of an unwilling bath.
I was a little over four years old at the time of the "Sioux massacre"
in Minnesota. In the general turmoil, we took flight into British
Columbia, and the journey is still vividly remembered by all our
family. A yoke of oxen and a lumber-wagon were taken from some white
farmer and brought home for our conveyance.
How delighted I was when I learned that we were to ride behind those
wise-looking animals and in that gorgeously painted wagon! It seemed
almost like a living creature to me, this new vehicle with four legs,
and the more so when we got out of axle-grease and the wheels went
along squealing like pigs!
The boys found a great deal of innocent fun in jumping from the high
wagon while the oxen were leisurely moving along. My elder brothers
soon became experts. At last, I mustered up courage enough to join them
in this sport. I was sure they stepped on the wheel, so I cautiously
placed my moccasined foot upon it. Alas, before I could realize what
had happened, I was under the wheels, and had it not been for the
neighbor immediately behind us, I might have been run over by the next
team as well.
This was my first experience with a civilized vehicle. I cried out all
possible reproaches on the white man's team and concluded that a
dog-travaux was good enough for me. I was really rejoiced that we were
moving away from the people who made the wagon that had almost ended my
life, and it did not occur to me that I alone was to blame. I could not
be persuaded to ride in that wagon again and was glad when we finally
left it beside the Missouri river.
The summer after the "Minnesota massacre," General Sibley pursued our
people across this river. Now the Missouri is considered one of the
most treacherous rivers in the world. Even a good modern boat is not
safe upon its uncertain current. We were forced to cross in
buffalo-skin boats--as round as tubs!
The Washechu (white men) were coming in great numbers with their big
guns, and while most of our men were fighting them to gain time, the
women and the old men made and equipped the temporary boats, braced
with ribs of willow. Some of these were towed by two or three women or
men swimming in the water and some by ponies. It was not an easy matter
to keep them right side up, with their helpless freight of little
children and such goods as we possessed.
In our flight, we little folks were strapped in the saddles or held in
front of an older person, and in the long night marches to get away
from the soldiers, we suffered from loss of sleep and insufficient
food. Our meals were eaten hastily, and sometimes in the saddle. Water
was not always to be found. The people carried it with them in bags
formed of tripe or the dried pericardium of animals.
Now we were compelled to trespass upon the country of hostile tribes
and were harassed by them almost daily and nightly. Only the strictest
vigilance saved us.
One day we met with another enemy near the British lines. It was a
prairie fire. We were surrounded. Another fire was quickly made, which
saved our lives.
One of the most thrilling experiences of the following winter was a
blizzard, which overtook us in our wanderings. Here and there, a family
lay down in the snow, selecting a place where it was not likely to
drift much. For a day and a night we lay under the snow. Uncle stuck a
long pole beside us to tell us when the storm was over. We had plenty
of buffalo robes and the snow kept us warm, but we found it heavy.
After a time, it became packed and hollowed out around our bodies, so
that we were as comfortable as one can be under those circumstances.
The next day the storm ceased, and we discovered a large herd of
buffaloes almost upon us. We dug our way out, shot some of the
buffaloes, made a fire and enjoyed a good dinner.
I was now an exile as well as motherless; yet I was not unhappy. Our
wanderings from place to place afforded us many pleasant experiences
and quite as many hardships and misfortunes. There were times of plenty
and times of scarcity, and we had several narrow escapes from death. In
savage life, the early spring is the most trying time and almost all
the famines occurred at this period of the year.
The Indians are a patient and a clannish people; their love for one
another is stronger than that of any civilized people I know. If this
were not so, I believe there would have been tribes of cannibals among
them. White people have been known to kill and eat their companions in
preference to starving; but Indians--never!
In times of famine, the adults often denied themselves in order to make
the food last as long as possible for the children, who were not able
to bear hunger as well as the old. As a people, they can live without
food much longer than any other nation.
I once passed through one of these hard springs when we had nothing to
eat for several days. I well remember the six small birds which
constituted the breakfast for six families one morning; and then we had
no dinner or supper to follow! What a relief that was to me--although I
had only a small wing of a small bird for my share! Soon after this, we
came into a region where buffaloes were plenty, and hunger and scarcity
were forgotten.
Such was the Indians' wild life! When game was to be had and the sun
shone, they easily forgot the bitter experiences of the winter before.
Little preparation was made for the future. They are children of
Nature, and occasionally she whips them with the lashes of experience,
yet they are forgetful and careless. Much of their suffering might have
been prevented by a little calculation.
During the summer, when Nature is at her best, and provides abundantly
for the savage, it seems to me that no life is happier than his! Food
is free--lodging free--everything free! All were alike rich in the
summer, and, again, all were alike poor in the winter and early spring.
However, their diseases were fewer and not so destructive as now, and
the Indian's health was generally good. The Indian boy enjoyed such a
life as almost all boys dream of and would choose for themselves if
they were permitted to do so.
The raids made upon our people by other tribes were frequent, and we
had to be constantly on the watch. I remember at one time a night
attack was made upon our camp and all our ponies stampeded. Only a few
of them were recovered, and our journeys after this misfortune were
effected mostly by means of the dog-travaux.
The second winter after the massacre, my father and my two older
brothers, with several others, were betrayed by a half-breed at
Winnipeg to the United States authorities. As I was then living with my
uncle in another part of the country, I became separated from them for
ten years. During all this time we believed that they had been killed
by the whites, and I was taught that I must avenge their deaths as soon
as I was able to go upon the war-path.
III
AN INDIAN SUGAR CAMP
With the first March thaw the thoughts of the Indian women of my
childhood days turned promptly to the annual sugar-making. This
industry was chiefly followed by the old men and women and the
children. The rest of the tribe went out upon the spring fur-hunt at
this season, leaving us at home to make the sugar.
The first and most important of the necessary utensils were the huge
iron and brass kettles for boiling. Everything else could be made, but
these must be bought, begged or borrowed. A maple tree was felled and a
log canoe hollowed out, into which the sap was to be gathered. Little
troughs of basswood and birchen basins were also made to receive the
sweet drops as they trickled from the tree.
As soon as these labors were accomplished, we all proceeded to the bark
sugar house, which stood in the midst of a fine grove of maples on the
bank of the Minnesota river. We found this hut partially filled with
the snows of winter and the withered leaves of the preceding autumn,
and it must be cleared for our use. In the meantime a tent was pitched
outside for a few days' occupancy. The snow was still deep in the
woods, with a solid crust upon which we could easily walk; for we
usually moved to the sugar house before the sap had actually started,
the better to complete our preparations.
My grandmother did not confine herself to canoe-making. She also
collected a good supply of fuel for the fires, for she would not have
much time to gather wood when the sap began to flow. Presently the
weather moderated and the snow began to melt. The month of April
brought showers which carried most of it off into the Minnesota river.
Now the women began to test the trees--moving leisurely among them, axe
in hand, and striking a single quick blow, to see if the sap would
appear. Trees, like people, have their individual characters; some were
ready to yield up their life-blood, while others were more reluctant.
Now one of the birchen basins was set under each tree, and a hardwood
chip driven deep into the cut which the axe had made. From the corners
of this chip--at first drop by drop, then, more freely--the sap
trickled into the little dishes.
It is usual to make sugar from maples, but several other trees were
also tapped by the Indians. From the birch and ash was made a
dark-colored sugar, with a somewhat bitter taste, which was used for
medicinal purposes. The box-elder yielded a beautiful white sugar,
whose only fault was that there was never enough of it!
A long fire was now made in the sugar house, and a row of brass kettles
suspended over the blaze. The sap was collected by the women in tin or
birchen buckets and poured into the canoes, from which the kettles were
kept filled. The hearts of the boys beat high with pleasant
anticipations when they heard the welcome hissing sound of the boiling
sap! Each boy claimed one kettle for his especial charge. It was his
duty to see that the fire was kept under it, to watch lest it boil
over, and finally, when the sap became sirup, to test it upon the snow,
dipping it out with a wooden paddle. So frequent were these tests that
for the first day or two we consumed nearly all that could be made; and
it was not until the sweetness began to pall that my grandmother set
herself in earnest to store up sugar for future use. She made it into
cakes of various forms, in birchen molds, and sometimes in hollow canes
or reeds, and the bills of ducks and geese. Some of it was pulverized
and packed in rawhide cases. Being a prudent woman, she did not give it
to us after the first month or so, except upon special occasions, and
it was thus made to last almost the year around. The smaller candies
were reserved as an occasional treat for the little fellows, and the
sugar was eaten at feasts with wild rice or parched corn, and also with
pounded dried meat. Coffee and tea, with their substitutes, were all
unknown to us in those days.
Every pursuit has its trials and anxieties. My grandmother's special
tribulations, during the sugaring season, were the upsetting and
gnawing of holes in her birch-bark pans. The transgressors were the
rabbit and squirrel tribes, and we little boys for once became useful,
in shooting them with our bows and arrows. We hunted all over the sugar
camp, until the little creatures were fairly driven out of the
neighborhood. Occasionally one of my older brothers brought home a
rabbit or two, and then we had a feast.
I remember on this occasion of our last sugar bush in Minnesota, that I
stood one day outside of our hut and watched the approach of a
visitor--a bent old man, his hair almost white, and carrying on his
back a large bundle of red willow, or kinnikinick, which the Indians
use for smoking. He threw down his load at the door and thus saluted
us: "You have indeed perfect weather for sugar-making."
It was my great-grandfather, Cloud Man, whose original village was on
the shores of Lakes Calhoun and Harriet, now in the suburbs of the city
of Minneapolis. He was the first Sioux chief to welcome the Protestant
missionaries among his people, and a well-known character in those
pioneer days. He brought us word that some of the peaceful sugar-makers
near us on the river had been attacked and murdered by roving Ojibways.
This news disturbed us not a little, for we realized that we too might
become the victims of an Ojibway war party. Therefore we all felt some
uneasiness from this time until we returned heavy laden to our village.
IV
GAMES AND SPORTS
The Indian boy was a prince of the wilderness. He had but very little
work to do during the period of his boyhood. His principal occupation
was the practice of a few simple arts in warfare and the chase. Aside
from this, he was master of his time.
It is true that our savage life was a precarious one, and full of
dreadful catastrophes; however, this never prevented us from enjoying
our sports to the fullest extent. As we left our teepees in the
morning, we were never sure that our scalps would not dangle from a
pole in the afternoon! It was an uncertain life, to be sure. Yet we
observed that the fawns skipped and played happily while the gray
wolves might be peeping forth from behind the hills, ready to tear them
limb from limb.
Our sports were molded by the life and customs of our people; indeed,
we practiced only what we expected to do when grown. Our games were
feats with the bow and arrow, foot and pony races, wrestling, swimming
and imitation of the customs and habits of our fathers. We had sham
fights with mud balls and willow wands; we played lacrosse, made war
upon bees, shot winter arrows (which were used only in that season),
and coasted upon the ribs of animals and buffalo robes.
No sooner did the boys get together than, as a usual thing, they
divided into squads and chose sides; then a leading arrow was shot at
random into the air. Before it fell to the ground a volley from the
bows of the participants followed. Each player was quick to note the
direction and speed of the leading arrow and he tried to send his own
at the same speed and at an equal height, so that when it fell it would
be closer to the first than any of the others.
It was considered out of place to shoot by first sighting the object
aimed at. This was usually impracticable in actual life, because the
object was almost always in motion, while the hunter himself was often
upon the back of a pony at full gallop. Therefore, it was the off-hand
shot that the Indian boy sought to master. There was another game with
arrows that was characterized by gambling, and was generally confined
to the men.
The races were an every-day occurrence. At noon the boys were usually
gathered by some pleasant sheet of water, and as soon as the ponies
were watered, they were allowed to graze for an hour or two, while the
boys stripped for their noonday sports. A boy might say to some other
whom he considered his equal:
"I can't run; but I will challenge you to fifty paces."
A former hero, when beaten, would often explain his defeat by saying:
"I drank too much water."
Boys of all ages were paired for a "spin," and the little red men
cheered on their favorites with spirit.
As soon as this was ended, the pony races followed. All the speedy
ponies were picked out and riders chosen. If a boy declined to ride,
there would be shouts of derision.
Last of all came the swimming. A little urchin would hang to his pony's
long tail, while the latter, with only his head above water, glided
sportively along. Finally the animals were driven into a fine field of
grass and we turned our attention to other games.
The "mud-and-willow" fight was rather a severe and dangerous sport. A
lump of soft clay was stuck on the end of a limber and springy willow
wand and thrown as boys throw apples from sticks, with considerable
force. When there were fifty or a hundred players on each side, the
battle became warm; but anything to arouse the bravery of Indian boys
seemed to them a good and wholesome diversion.
Wrestling was largely indulged in by us all. It may seem odd, but
wrestling was done by a great many boys at once--from ten to any number
on a side. It was really a battle, in which each one chose his
opponent. The rule was that if a boy sat down, he was let alone, but as
long as he remained standing within the field, he was open to an
attack. No one struck with the hand, but all manner of tripping with
legs and feet and butting with the knees was allowed. Altogether it was
an exhausting pastime--fully equal to the American game of football,
and only the young athlete could really enjoy it.
One of our most curious sports was a war upon the nests of wild bees.
We imagined ourselves about to make an attack upon the Ojibways or some
tribal foe. We all painted and stole cautiously upon the nest; then,
with a rush and war-whoop, sprang upon the object of our attack and
endeavored to destroy it. But it seemed that the bees were always on
the alert and never entirely surprised, for they always raised quite as
many scalps as did their bold assailants! After the onslaught upon the
nest was ended, we usually followed it by a pretended scalp dance.
On the occasion of my first experience in this mode of warfare, there
were two other little boys who were also novices. One of them
particularly was really too young to indulge in an exploit of that
kind. As it was the custom of our people, when they killed or wounded
an enemy on the battle-field, to announce the act in a loud voice, we
did the same. My friend, Little Wound (as I will call him, for I do not
remember his name), being quite small, was unable to reach the nest
until it had been well trampled upon and broken and the insects had
made a counter charge with such vigor as to repulse and scatter our
numbers in every direction. However, he evidently did not want to
retreat without any honors; so he bravely jumped upon the nest and
yelled:
"I, the brave Little Wound, to-day kill the only fierce enemy!"
[Illustration: So he bravely jumped upon the nest. _Page 32._]
Scarcely were the last words uttered when he screamed as if stabbed to
the heart. One of his older companions shouted:
"Dive into the water! Run! Dive into the water!" for there was a lake
near by. This advice he obeyed.
When we had reassembled and were indulging in our mimic dance, Little
Wound was not allowed to dance. He was considered not to be in
existence--he had been killed by our enemies, the Bee tribe. Poor
little fellow! His swollen face was sad and ashamed as he sat on a
fallen log and watched the dance. Although he might well have styled
himself one of the noble dead who had died for their country, yet he
was not unmindful that he had _screamed_, and this weakness would be
apt to recur to him many times in the future.
We had some quiet plays which we alternated with the more severe and
warlike ones. Among them were throwing wands and snow-arrows. In the
winter we coasted much. We had no "double-rippers" or toboggans, but
six or seven of the long ribs of a buffalo, fastened together at the
larger end, answered all practical purposes. Sometimes a strip of
bass-wood bark, four feet long and about six inches wide, was used with
considerable skill. We stood on one end and held the other, using the
slippery inside of the bark for the outside, and thus coasting down
long hills with remarkable speed.
The spinning of tops was one of the all-absorbing winter sports. We
made our tops heart-shaped of wood, horn or bone. We whipped them with
a long thong of buckskin. The handle was a stick about a foot long and
sometimes we whittled the stick to make it spoon-shaped at one end.
We played games with these tops--two to fifty boys at one time. Each
whips his top until it hums; then one takes the lead and the rest
follow in a sort of obstacle race. The top must spin all the way
through. There were bars of snow over which we must pilot our top in
the spoon end of our whip; then again we would toss it in the air on to
another open spot of ice or smooth snow-crust from twenty to fifty
paces away. The top that holds out the longest is the winner.
We loved to play in the water. When we had no ponies, we often had
swimming matches of our own, and sometimes made rafts with which we
crossed lakes and rivers. It was a common thing to "duck" a young or
timid boy or to carry him into deep water to struggle as best he might.
I remember a perilous ride with a companion on an unmanageable log,
when we were both less than seven years old. The older boys had put us
on this uncertain bark and pushed us out into the swift current of the
river. I cannot speak for my comrade in distress, but I can say now
that I would rather ride on a swift bronco any day than try to stay on
and steady a short log in a river. I never knew how we managed to
prevent a shipwreck on that voyage and to reach the shore.
We had many curious wild pets. There were young foxes, bears, wolves,
raccoons, fawns, buffalo calves and birds of all kinds, tamed by
various boys. My pets were different at different times, but I
particularly remember one. I once had a grizzly bear for a pet, and so
far as he and I were concerned, our relations were charming and very
close. But I hardly know whether he made more enemies for me or I for
him. It was his habit to treat every boy unmercifully who injured me.
V
AN INDIAN BOY'S TRAINING
Very early, the Indian boy assumed the task of preserving and
transmitting the legends of his ancestors and his race. Almost every
evening a myth, or a true story of some deed done in the past, was
narrated by one of the parents or grand-parents, while the boy listened
with parted lips and glistening eyes. On the following evening, he was
usually required to repeat it. If he was not an apt scholar, he
struggled long with his task; but, as a rule, the Indian boy is a good
listener and has a good memory, so that the stories were tolerably well
mastered. The household became his audience, by which he was
alternately criticized and applauded.
This sort of teaching at once enlightens the boy's mind and stimulates
his ambition. His conception of his own future career becomes a vivid
and irresistible force. Whatever there is for him to learn must be
learned; whatever qualifications are necessary to a truly great man he
must seek at any expense of danger and hardship. Such was the feeling
of the imaginative and brave young Indian. It became apparent to him in
early life that he must accustom himself to rove alone and not to fear
or dislike the impression of solitude.
It seems to be a popular idea that all the characteristic skill of the
Indian is instinctive and hereditary. This is a mistake. All the
stoicism and patience of the Indian are acquired traits, and continual
practice alone makes him master of the art of wood-craft. Physical
training and dieting were not neglected. I remember that I was not
allowed to have beef soup or any warm drink. The soup was for the old
men. General rules for the young were never to take their food very
hot, nor to drink much water.
My uncle, who educated me up to the age of fifteen years, was a strict
disciplinarian and a good teacher. When I left the teepee in the
morning, he would say: "Hakadah, look closely to everything you see";
and at evening, on my return, he used often to catechize me for an hour
or so.
"On which side of the trees is the lighter-colored bark? On which side
do they have most regular branches?"
It was his custom to let me name all the new birds that I had seen
during the day. I would name them according to the color or the shape
of the bill or their song or the appearance and locality of the
nest--in fact, anything about the bird that impressed me as
characteristic. I made many ridiculous errors, I must admit. He then
usually informed me of the correct name. Occasionally I made a hit and
this he would warmly commend.
He went much deeper into this science when I was a little older, that
is, about the age of eight or nine years. He would say, for instance:
"How do you know that there are fish in yonder lake?"
"Because they jump out of the water for flies at mid-day."
He would smile at my prompt but superficial reply.
"What do you think of the little pebbles grouped together under the
shallow water? and what made the pretty curved marks in the sandy
bottom and the little sand-banks? Where do you find the fish-eating
birds? Have the inlet and the outlet of a lake anything to do with the
question?"
He did not expect a correct reply at once to all the questions that he
put to me on these occasions, but he meant to make me observant and a
good student of nature.
"Hakadah," he would say to me, "you ought to follow the example of the
shunktokecha (wolf). Even when he is surprised and runs for his life,
he will pause to take one more look at you before he enters his final
retreat. So you must take a second look at everything you see.
"It is better to view animals unobserved. I have been a witness to
their courtships and their quarrels and have learned many of their
secrets in this way. I was once the unseen spectator of a thrilling
battle between a pair of grizzly bears and three buffaloes--a rash act
for the bears, for it was in the moon of strawberries, when the
buffaloes sharpen and polish their horns for bloody contests among
themselves.
"I advise you, my boy, never to approach a grizzly's den from the
front, but to steal up behind and throw your blanket or a stone in
front of the hole. He does not usually rush for it, but first puts his
head out and listens and then comes out very indifferently and sits on
his haunches on the mound in front of the hole before he makes any
attack. While he is exposing himself in this fashion, aim at his heart.
Always be as cool as the animal himself." Thus he armed me against the
cunning of savage beasts by teaching me how to outwit them.
"In hunting," he would resume, "you will be guided by the habits of the
animal you seek. Remember that a moose stays in swampy or low land or
between high mountains near a spring or lake, for thirty to sixty days
at a time. Most large game moves about continually, except the doe in
the spring; it is then a very easy matter to find her with the fawn.
Conceal yourself in a convenient place as soon as you observe any signs
of the presence of either, and then call with your birchen doe-caller.
"Whichever one hears you first will soon appear in your neighborhood.
But you must be very watchful, or you may be made a fawn of by a large
wild-cat. They understand the characteristic call of the doe perfectly
well.
"When you have any difficulty with a bear or a wild-cat--that is, if
the creature shows any signs of attacking you--you must make him fully
understand that you have seen him and are aware of his intentions. If
you are not well equipped for a pitched battle, the only way to make
him retreat is to take a long sharp-pointed pole for a spear and rush
toward him. No wild beast will face this unless he is cornered and
already wounded. These fierce beasts are generally afraid of the common
weapon of the larger animals,--the horns,--and if these are very long
and sharp, they dare not risk an open fight.
"There is one exception to this rule--the gray wolf will attack
fiercely when very hungry. But their courage depends upon their
numbers; in this they are like white men. One wolf or two will never
attack a man. They will stampede a herd of buffaloes in order to get at
the calves; they will rush upon a herd of antelopes, for these are
helpless; but they are always careful about attacking man."
Of this nature were the instructions of my uncle, who was widely known
at that time as among the greatest hunters of his tribe.
All boys were expected to endure hardship without complaint. In savage
warfare, a young man must, of course, be an athlete and used to
undergoing all sorts of privations. He must be able to go without food
and water for two or three days without displaying any weakness, or to
run for a day and a night without any rest. He must be able to traverse
a pathless and wild country without losing his way either in the day or
night time. He cannot refuse to do any of these things if he aspires to
be a warrior.
Sometimes my uncle would waken me very early in the morning and
challenge me to fast with him all day. I had to accept the challenge.
We blackened our faces with charcoal, so that every boy in the village
would know that I was fasting for the day. Then the little tempters
would make my life a misery until the merciful sun hid behind the
western hills.
I can scarcely recall the time when my stern teacher began to give
sudden war-whoops over my head in the morning while I was sound asleep.
He expected me to leap up with perfect presence of mind, always ready
to grasp a weapon of some sort and to give a shrill whoop in reply. If
I was sleepy or startled and hardly knew what I was about, he would
ridicule me and say that I need never expect to sell my scalp dear.
Often he would vary these tactics by shooting off his gun just outside
of the lodge while I was yet asleep, at the same time giving
blood-curdling yells. After a time I became used to this.
When Indians went upon the war-path, it was their custom to try the new
warriors thoroughly before coming to an engagement. For instance, when
they were near a hostile camp, they would select the novices to go
after the water and make them do all sorts of things to prove their
courage. In accordance with this idea, my uncle used to send me off
after water when we camped after dark in a strange place. Perhaps the
country was full of wild beasts, and, for aught I knew, there might be
scouts from hostile bands of Indians lurking in that very neighborhood.
Yet I never objected, for that would show cowardice. I picked my way
through the woods, dipped my pail in the water and hurried back, always
careful to make as little noise as a cat. Being only a boy, my heart
would leap at every crackling of a dry twig or distant hooting of an
owl, until, at last, I reached our teepee. Then my uncle would perhaps
say: "Ah, Hakadah, you are a thorough warrior!" empty out the precious
contents of the pail, and order me to go a second time.
Imagine how I felt! But I wished to be a brave man as much as a white
boy desires to be a great lawyer or even President of the United
States. Silently I would take the pail and endeavor to retrace my
foot-steps in the dark.
With all this, our manners and morals were not neglected. I was made to
respect the adults and especially the aged. I was not allowed to join
in their discussions, nor even to speak in their presence, unless
requested to do so. Indian etiquette was very strict, and among the
requirements was that of avoiding the direct address. A term of
relationship or some title of courtesy was commonly used instead of the
personal name by those who wished to show respect. We were taught
generosity to the poor and reverence for the "Great Mystery." Religion
was the basis of all Indian training.
VI
THE BOY HUNTER
There was almost as much difference between the Indian boys who were
brought up on the open prairies and those of the woods, as between city
and country boys. The hunting of the prairie boys was limited and their
knowledge of natural history imperfect. They were, as a rule, good
riders, but in all-round physical development much inferior to the red
men of the forest.
Our hunting varied with the season of the year, and the nature of the
country which was for the time our home. Our chief weapon was the bow
and arrows, and perhaps, if we were lucky, a knife was possessed by
some one in the crowd. In the olden times, knives and hatchets were
made from bone and sharp stones.
For fire we used a flint with a spongy piece of dry wood and a stone to
strike with. Another way of starting fire was for several of the boys
to sit down in a circle and rub two pieces of dry, spongy wood
together, one after another, until the wood took fire.
We hunted in company a great deal, though it was a common thing for a
boy to set out for the woods quite alone, and he usually enjoyed
himself fully as much. Our game consisted mainly of small birds,
rabbits, squirrels and grouse. Fishing, too, occupied much of our time.
We hardly ever passed a creek or a pond without searching for some
signs of fish. When fish were present, we always managed to get some.
Fish-lines were made of wild hemp, sinew or horse-hair. We either
caught fish with lines, snared or speared them, or shot them with bow
and arrows. In the fall we charmed them up to the surface by gently
tickling them with a stick and quickly threw them out. We have
sometimes dammed the brooks and driven the larger fish into a willow
basket made for that purpose.
It was part of our hunting to find new and strange things in the woods.
We examined the slightest sign of life; and if a bird had scratched the
leaves off the ground, or a bear dragged up a root for his morning
meal, we stopped to speculate on the time it was done. If we saw a
large old tree with some scratches on its bark, we concluded that a
bear or some raccoons must be living there. In that case we did not go
any nearer than was necessary, but later reported the incident at home.
An old deer-track would at once bring on a warm discussion as to
whether it was the track of a buck or a doe. Generally, at noon, we met
and compared our game, noting at the same time the peculiar
characteristics of everything we had killed. It was not merely a hunt,
for we combined with it the study of animal life. We also kept strict
account of our game, and thus learned who were the best shots among the
boys.
I am sorry to say that we were merciless toward the birds. We often
took their eggs and their young ones. My brother Chatanna and I once
had a disagreeable adventure while bird-hunting. We were accustomed to
catch in our hands young ducks and geese during the summer, and while
doing this we happened to find a crane's nest. Of course, we were
delighted with our good luck. But, as it was already midsummer, the
young cranes--two in number--were rather large and they were a little
way from the nest; we also observed that the two old cranes were in a
swampy place near by; but, as it was moulting-time, we did not suppose
that they would venture on dry land. So we proceeded to chase the young
birds; but they were fleet runners and it took us some time to come up
with them.