Hush, hushaby, little woman!
Be brave and weep not!
The spirits sleep not;
‘Tis they who ordain
To woman, pain.
Hush, hushaby, little woman!
Now, all things bearing,
A new gift sharing
From those above--
To woman, love.
--Sioux Lullaby.
“Chinto, weyanna! Yes, indeed; she is a real little woman,” declares the
old grandmother, as she receives and critically examines the tiny bit of
humanity.
There is no remark as to the color of its hair or eyes, both so black as
almost to be blue, but the old woman scans sharply the delicate profile
of the baby face.
“Ah, she has the nose of her ancestors! Lips thin as a leaf, and eyes
bright as stars in midwinter!” she exclaims, as she passes on the furry
bundle to the other grandmother for her inspection.
“Tokee! she is pretty enough to win a twinkle rom the evening star,”
remarks that smiling personage.
“And what shall her name be?
“Winona, the First-born, of course. That is hers by right of birth.”
“Still, it may not fit her. One must prove herself worthy in order to
retain that honorable name.”
“Ugh,” retorts the first grandmother, “she can at least bear it on
probation!”
“Tosh, tosh,” the other assents.
Thus the unconscious little Winona has passed the first stage of the
Indian’s christening.
Presently she is folded into a soft white doeskin, well lined with the
loose down of cattails, and snugly laced into an upright oaken cradle,
the front of which is a richly embroidered buckskin bag, with porcupine
quills and deers’ hoofs suspended from its profuse fringes. This
gay cradle is strapped upon the second grandmother’s back, and that
dignitary walks off with the newcomer.
“You must come with me,” she says. “We shall go among the father and
mother trees, and hear them speak with their thousand tongues, that
you may know their language forever. I will hang the cradle of the
woman-child upon Utuhu, the oak; and she shall hear the love-sighs of
the pine maiden!”
In this fashion Winona is introduced to nature and becomes at once
“nature-born,” in accord with the beliefs and practices of the wild red
man.
“Here she is! Take her,” says the old woman on her return from the
woods. She presents the child to its mother, who is sitting in the shade
of an elm-tree as quietly as if she had not just passed through woman’s
severest ordeal in giving a daughter to the brave Chetonska!
“She has a winsome face, as meek and innocent as the face of an ermine,”
graciously adds the grandmother.
The mother does not speak. Silently and almost reverently she takes her
new and first-born daughter into her arms. She gazes into its velvety
little face of a dusky red tint, and unconsciously presses the closely
swaddled form to her breast. She feels the mother-instinct seize upon
her strongly for the first time. Here is a new life, a new hope, a
possible link between herself and a new race!
Ah, a smile plays upon her lips, as she realizes that she has kissed her
child! In its eyes and mouth she discerns clearly the features she has
loved in the strong countenance of another, though in the little woman’s
face they are softened and retouched by the hand of the “Great Mystery.”
The baby girl is called Winona for some months, when the medicine-man
is summoned and requested to name publicly the first-born daughter of
Chetonska, the White Hawk; but not until he has received a present of
a good pony with a finely painted buffalo-robe. It is usual to confer
another name besides that of the “First-born,” which may be resumed
later if the maiden proves worthy. The name Winona implies much of
honor. It means charitable, kind, helpful; all that an eldest sister
should be!
The herald goes around the ring of lodges announcing in singsong fashion
the christening, and inviting everybody to a feast in honor of the
event. A real American christening is always a gala occasion, when much
savage wealth is distributed among the poor and old people. Winona has
only just walked, and this fact is also announced with additional gifts.
A wellborn child is ever before the tribal eye and in the tribal ear, as
every little step in its progress toward manhood or womanhood--the first
time of walking or swimming, first shot with bow and arrow (if a boy),
first pair of moccasins made (if a girl)--is announced publicly with
feasting and the giving of presents.
So Winona receives her individual name of Tatiyopa, or Her Door. It
is symbolic, like most Indian names, and implies that the door of the
bearer is hospitable and her home attractive.
The two grandmothers, who have carried the little maiden upon their
backs, now tell and sing to her by turns all the legends of their most
noted female ancestors, from the twin sisters of the old story, the
maidens who married among the star people of the sky, down to their own
mothers. All her lullabies are feminine, and designed to impress upon
her tender mind the life and duties of her sex.
As soon as she is old enough to play with dolls she plays mother in all
seriousness and gravity. She is dressed like a miniature woman (and her
dolls are clad likewise), in garments of doeskin to her ankles, adorned
with long fringes, embroidered with porcupine quills, and dyed with root
dyes in various colors. Her little blanket or robe, with which she shyly
drapes or screens her head and shoulders, is the skin of a buffalo calf
or a deer, soft, white, embroidered on the smooth side, and often with
the head and hoofs left on.
“You must never forget, my little daughter, that you are a woman like
myself. Do always those things that you see me do,” her mother often
admonishes her.
Even the language of the Sioux has its feminine dialect, and the tiny
girl would be greatly abashed were it ever needful to correct her for
using a masculine termination.
This mother makes for her little daughter a miniature copy of every
rude tool that she uses in her daily tasks. There is a little scraper of
elk-horn to scrape rawhides preparatory to tanning them, another scraper
of a different shape for tanning, bone knives, and stone mallets for
pounding choke-cherries and jerked meat.
While her mother is bending over a large buffalo-hide stretched and
pinned upon the ground, standing upon it and scraping off the fleshy
portion as nimbly as a carpenter shaves a board with his plane, Winona,
at five years of age, stands upon a corner of the great hide and
industriously scrapes away with her tiny instrument! When the mother
stops to sharpen her tool, the little woman always sharpens hers
also. Perhaps there is water to be fetched in bags made from the dried
pericardium of an animal; the girl brings some in a smaller water-bag.
When her mother goes for wood she carries one or two sticks on her back.
She pitches her play teepee to form an exact copy of her mother’s. Her
little belongings are nearly all practical, and her very play is real!
Thus, before she is ten years old, Winona begins to see life honestly
and in earnest; to consider herself a factor in the life of her
people--a link in the genealogy of her race. Yet her effort is not
forced, her work not done from necessity; it is normal and a development
of the play-instinct of the young creature. This sort of training leads
very early to a genuine desire to serve and to do for others. The little
Winona loves to give and to please; to be generous and gracious. There
is no thought of trafficking or economizing in labor and in love.
“Mother, I want to be like the beavers, the ants, and the spiders,
because my grandmother says those are the people most worthy of
imitation for their industry. She also tells me that I should watch the
bee, the one that has so many daughters, and allows no young men to come
around her daughters while they are at work making sweets,” exclaims the
little maiden.
“Truly their industry helps us much, for we often take from their
hoard,” remarks the mother.
“That is not right, is it mother, if they do not wish to share with us?”
asks Winona. “But I think the bee is stingy if she has so much and will
not share with any one else! When I grow up, I shall help the poor! I
shall have a big teepee and invite old people often, for when people get
old they seem to be always hungry, and I think we ought to feed them.”
“My little daughter will please me and her father if she proves to be
industrious and skillful with her needle and in all woman’s work. Then
she can have a fine teepee and make it all cheerful within. The indolent
woman has a small teepee, and it is very smoky. All her children will
have sore eyes, and her husband will soon become ill-tempered,” declares
the mother, in all seriousness.
“And, daughter, there is something more than this needed to make a
cheerful home. You must have a good heart, be patient, and speak but
little. Every creature that talks too much is sure to make trouble,” she
concludes, wisely.
One day this careful mother has completed a beautiful little teepee of
the skin of a buffalo calf, worked with red porcupine quills in a row of
rings just below the smoke-flaps and on each side of the front opening.
In the center of each ring is a tassel of red and white horse-hair.
The tip of each smoke-flap is decorated with the same material, and the
doorflap also.
Within there are neatly arranged raw-hide boxes for housekeeping, and
square bags of soft buckskin adorned with blue and white beads. On
either side of the fireplace are spread the tanned skins of a buffalo
calf and a deer; but there is no bear, wolf, or wildcat skin, for
on these the foot of a woman must never tread! They are for men, and
symbolical of manly virtues. There are dolls of all sizes, and a play
travois leans against the white wall of the miniature lodge. Even the
pet pup is called in to complete the fanciful home of the little woman.
“Now, my daughter,” says the mother, “you must keep your lodge in
order!”
Here the little woman is allowed to invite other little women, her
playmates. This is where the grandmothers hold sway, chaperoning their
young charges, who must never be long out of their sight. The little
visitors bring their work-bags of various skins, artistically made and
trimmed. These contain moccasins and other garments for their dolls, on
which they love to occupy themselves.
The brightly-painted rawhide boxes are reserved for food, and in these
the girls bring various prepared meats and other delicacies. This is
perhaps the most agreeable part of the play to the chaperon, who is
treated as an honored guest at the feast!
Winona seldom plays with boys, even her own brothers and cousins, and
after she reaches twelve or fourteen years of age she scarcely speaks to
them. Modesty is a virtue which is deeply impressed upon her from early
childhood, and the bashfully drooping head, the averted look, the voice
low and seldom heard, these are graces much esteemed in a maiden.
She is taught to pay great attention to the care of her long, glossy
locks, combing, plaiting, and perfuming them with sweet-scented leaves
steeped in oil. Her personal appearance is well understood to be a
matter of real moment, and rich dress and ornaments are highly prized.
Fortunately they never go out of fashion, and once owned are permanent
possessions, unless parted with as ceremonial gifts on some great
occasion of mourning or festivity.
When she reaches a marriageable age her father allows her to give a
feast to all the other girls of her immediate clan, and this “Feast of
Virgins” may only be attended by those of spotless reputation. To have
given or attended a number of them is regarded as a choice honor.
Tatiyopa, by the time she is fifteen, has already a name for skill
in needlework, and generosity in distributing the articles of her own
making. She is now generally called Winona--the charitable and kind! She
believes that it is woman’s work to make and keep a home that will be
worthy of the bravest, and hospitable to all, and in this simple faith
she enters upon the realities of her womanhood.