THE MIDDLE FIVE
[Illustration]
THE MIDDLE FIVE
Indian Boys at School
BY FRANCIS LAFLESCHE
[Illustration: Decoration]
Boston
Small, Maynard & Company
1909
_Copyright, 1900, by_
SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
Entered at Stationer's Hall
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A.
TO
THE UNIVERSAL BOY
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE ix
I. THE MISSION 1
II. BRUSH 15
III. EDWIN 30
IV. LITTLE BOB 45
V. WARREN 51
VI. LESTER 63
VII. THE SPLINTER, THE THORN, AND THE RIB 77
VIII. FRAUDULENT HOLIDAYS 93
IX. WILLIAM T. SHERMAN 104
X. A RUNAWAY 121
XI. A NEW STUDY 140
XII. PONKA BOYS 152
XIII. THE SECRET OF THE BIG SEVEN 163
XIV. A REBUKE 182
XV. JOE 195
XVI. THE BREAK 210
PREFACE
_As the object of this book is to reveal the true nature and
character of the Indian boy, I have chosen to write the story of my
school-fellows rather than that of my other boy friends who knew only
the aboriginal life. I have made this choice not because the influences
of the school alter the qualities of the boys, but that they might
appear under conditions and in an attire familiar to the reader. The
paint, feathers, robes, and other articles that make up the dress of
the Indian, are marks of savagery to the European, and he who wears
them, however appropriate or significant they might be to himself,
finds it difficult to lay claim to a share in common human nature. So
while the school uniform did not change those who wore it, in this
instance, it may help these little Indians to be judged, as are other
boys, by what they say and do._
_It is not my purpose to give a continued story with a hero in
the following pages, but, in a series of sketches, to present the
companions of my own young days to the children of the race that has
become possessed of the land of my fathers._
_This introduction is a genuine one, for all the boys who appear in
these sketches have really lived and played a part in the incidents
herein recorded. Each little actor, including the writer, made his
entrance upon the stage of life in the "tee-pee" or in the dome-shaped
earth lodge; for, in the years when we boys were born, only the
aboriginal dwellings were in use among our people, the Omaha tribe of
Indians. Like all the infants for countless generations in the line of
our ancestry, we too had to pass through the cradle-board period while
our bones "ripened," as the Indians say, and grew strong enough to bear
the weight of our bodies. When at last our mothers gave us liberty to
creep and to toddle about, we promptly used that freedom to get into
all sorts of mischief as we explored the new and wonderful world in
which we found ourselves._
_Among my earliest recollections are the instructions wherein we were
taught respect and courtesy toward our elders; to say "thank you" when
receiving a gift, or when returning a borrowed article; to use the
proper and conventional term of relationship when speaking to another;
and never to address any one by his personal name; we were also
forbidden to pass in front of persons sitting in the tent without first
asking permission; and we were strictly enjoined never to stare at
visitors, particularly at strangers. To us there seemed to be no end to
the things we were obliged to do, and to the things we were to refrain
from doing._
_From the earliest years the Omaha child was trained in the grammatical
use of his native tongue. No slip was allowed to pass uncorrected,
and as a result there was no child-talk such as obtains among
English-speaking children,--the only difference between the speech of
old and young was in the pronunciation of words which the infant often
failed to utter correctly, but this difficulty was soon overcome, and a
boy of ten or twelve was apt to speak as good Omaha as a man of mature
years._
_Like the grown folk, we youngsters were fond of companionship and
of talking. In making our gamesticks and in our play, we chattered
incessantly of the things that occupied our minds, and we thought it a
hardship when we were obliged to speak in low tones while older people
were engaged in conversation. When we entered the Mission School, we
experienced a greater hardship, for there we encountered a rule that
prohibited the use of our own language, which rule was rigidly enforced
with a hickory rod, so that the new-comer, however socially inclined,
was obliged to go about like a little dummy until he had learned to
express himself in English._
_All the boys in our school were given English names, because their
Indian names were difficult for the teachers to pronounce. Besides, the
aboriginal names were considered by the missionaries as heathenish,
and therefore should be obliterated. No less heathenish in their
origin were the English substitutes, but the loss of their original
meaning and significance through long usage had rendered them fit to
continue as appellations for civilized folk. And so, in the place of
Tae-noo'-ga-wa-zhe, came Philip Sheridan; in that of Wa-pah'-dae,
Ulysses S. Grant; that of Koo'-we-he-ge-ra, Alexander, and so on. Our
sponsors went even further back in history, and thus we had our David
and Jonathan, Gideon and Isaac, and, with the flood of these new names,
came Noah. It made little difference to us that we had to learn the
significance of one more word as applied to ourselves, when the task
before us was to make our way through an entire strange language. So we
learned to call each other by our English names, and continued to do so
even after we left school and had grown to manhood._
_The names thus acquired by the boys are used in these sketches in
preference to their own, for the reason that Indian words are not only
difficult to pronounce, but are apt to sound all alike to one not
familiar with the language, and the boys who figure in these pages
might lose their identity and fail to stand out clearly in the mind of
the reader were he obliged to continually struggle with their Omaha
names._
_In the talk of the boys I have striven to give a reproduction of the
peculiar English spoken by them, which was composite, gathered from
the imperfect comprehension of their books, the provincialisms of the
teachers, and the slang and bad grammar picked up from uneducated white
persons employed at the school or at the Government Agency. Oddities
of speech, profanity, localisms, and slang were unknown in the Omaha
language, so when such expressions fell upon the ears of these lads
they innocently learned and used them without the slightest suspicion
that there could be bad as well as good English._
_The misconception of Indian life and character so common among the
white people has been largely due to an ignorance of the Indian's
language, of his mode of thought, his beliefs, his ideals, and his
native institutions. Every aspect of the Indian and his manner of
life has always been strange to the white man, and this strangeness
has been magnified by the mists of prejudice and the conflict of
interests between the two races. While these in time may disappear,
no native American can ever cease to regret that the utterances of
his fathers have been constantly belittled when put into English,
that their thoughts have frequently been travestied and their native
dignity obscured. The average interpreter has generally picked up
his knowledge of English in a random fashion, for very few have ever
had the advantage of a thorough education, and all have had to deal
with the difficulties that attend the translator. The beauty and
picturesqueness, and euphonious playfulness, or the gravity of diction
which I have heard among my own people, and other tribes as well, are
all but impossible to be given literally in English._
_The talk of the older people, when they speak in this book, is, as
well as I can translate it, that of every day use._
_Most of the country now known as the State of Nebraska (the Omaha name
of the river Platt, descriptive of its shallowness, width, and low
banks) had for many generations been held and claimed by our people
as their own, but when they ceded the greater part of this territory
to the United States government, they reserved only a certain tract
for their own use and home. It is upon the eastern part of this
reservation that the scene of these sketches is laid, and at the time
when the Omahas were living near the Missouri River in three villages,
some four or five miles apart. The one farthest south was known as
Ton'-won-ga-hae's village; the people were called "wood eaters" because
they cut and sold wood to the settlers who lived near them. The middle
one was Ish'-ka-da-be's village, and the people designated as "those
who dwell in earth lodges," they having adhered to the aboriginal form
of dwelling when they built their village. The one to the north and
nearest the Mission was E-sta'-ma-za's village, and the people were
known as "the make-believe white men," because they built their houses
after the fashion of the white settlers. Furniture, such as beds,
chairs, tables, bureaus, etc., were not used in any of these villages,
except in a few instances, while in all of them the Indian costume,
language, and social customs remained as yet unmodified._
_In those days the Missouri was the only highway of commerce. Toiling
slowly against the swift current, laden with supplies for the trading
posts and for our Mission, came the puffing little steamboats from the
"town of the Red-hair," as St. Louis was called by the Indians, in
memory of the auburn locks of Governor Clark,--of Lewis and Clark fame.
We children used to watch these noisy boats as they forced their way
through the turbid water and made a landing by running the bow into the
soft bank._
_The white people speak of the country at this period as "a
wilderness," as though it was an empty tract without human interest or
history. To us Indians it was as clearly defined then as it is to-day;
we knew the boundaries of tribal lands, those of our friends and those
of our foes; we were familiar with every stream, the contour of every
hill, and each peculiar feature of the landscape had its tradition.
It was our home, the scene of our history, and we loved it as our
country._
The Middle Five
Chapter I
The Mission
Leaning against the wall of a large stone building, with moccasined
feet dangling from a high wooden bench on the front porch, sat a little
boy crying. His buckskin suit, prettily fringed and embroidered with
porcupine quills of the brightest colors, indicated the care bestowed
upon him by fond parents. Boys and girls were at play around the house,
making the place ring with their merry laughter as they chased each
other among the trees, but the little boy sat all alone, sobbing as
though his heart would break. A big boy came and sat by his side, put
an arm around him, and in a kindly tone said, in Indian:
"What are you crying for? Don't cry,--I'll play with you and be your
friend. I won't let the boys hurt you."
"I want my mother! I want to go home!" was all the homesick little
chap could say, crying harder than ever.
"You will see your mother soon, we can go home every bathing-day,
(Saturday). It is only three days to wait, so don't cry. I have
to go away, but I will be back soon. Play with this dog until I
come,"--putting into the hands of the little boy a wooden dog.
A bell rang, and from every direction came boys and girls, crowding
and pushing one another as they entered two of the large doors of the
building. The big boy came running, and grasping the little one by the
hand, fairly dragged him along, saying: "Come, quick! We are going to
eat."
They entered a large room filled with people. Parallel to the walls
stood tables of great length, at one of which the two boys took seats.
After considerable hard breathing and shuffling by the children, they
suddenly became very still, every one bowed his head, then a man with
gray hair and whiskers, who sat at the end of one of the tables, spoke
in a low tone. He finished speaking, then followed a deafening clatter
of a hundred tin plates and cups. Young women carrying great pans of
steaming food moved rapidly from table to table. One of these girls
came to the two boys, and put into the plate of the younger a potato.
"Give him two, he's hungry," whispered the big boy to the girl.
Everything was strange to the little new-comer and he kept looking all
around. The lamps that were fastened to the walls and posts, the large
clock that stood ticking gloomily on a shelf, and the cupboard with its
tin door perforated in a queer design were objects upon which his eyes
rested with wonder.
The supper over, the boys and girls who sat on the inner side of the
tables turned to face the centre of the room, and folded their arms.
Then they all sang. When this was done, they dropped on their knees and
the gray-haired man began to talk again. The little boy watched him for
a while, then laid his head on the hard bench,--the tones of the old
man grew fainter and fainter until the boy lost all consciousness of
them. Suddenly there burst upon him a noise like thunder. He arose to
his feet with a start, and, bewildered, he looked around. Everything
seemed to be in a whirl. He took fright, ran to the door that first
caught his sight, and went with a thud down to a landing, but did not
lose his balance; he took another step, then fell headlong into a
dreadful dark place. He screamed at the top of his voice, frightened
almost into a fit. A woman picked him up and carried him in her arms
up a flight of stairs, speaking to him in a language that he could not
understand.
This was my first experience at the boarding school established by
the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions for the instruction of the
children of the Omaha tribe of Indians.
The Mission school, the founding of which had marked an epoch in
the tribe, was located among the wooded bluffs of the Missouri on
the eastern part of the reservation. The principal building was of
stone, plain and substantial, and plastered inside and out. It was
three stories high and had an attic. This attic was perhaps the most
interesting part of the structure, for we boys were quite sure it was
tenanted by ghosts, and that the devil, who figured considerably in the
instruction given us, had full sway in this apartment.
There was a large square hole close to the head of the stairs that
led up to the attic. This hole had the greatest terror for us; there
was a constant whistling within it, and out of it came sounds like
distressing moans and sighs. I remember once, when Gray-beard had sent
me up to the attic for something, that I never hurried so on any other
errand as I did on that one. I found the article he desired, put it
under my arm, and cautiously approached the head of the stair, keeping
an eye on the dark hole, then suddenly I made a dash past it, and with
amazing rapidity thundered downstairs. "Lad, you will break your neck!"
exclaimed Gray-beard. I told him I liked to run downstairs!
Under the attic was the boys' dormitory. The beds were placed close
together, and some were wide enough for three boys. The room was
large, and in the middle of it stood a post. I have reason to remember
this, for one night I got up in my sleep and ran with all my might
against this post, making such a noise as to awaken Gray-beard and the
superintendent, who came up in great haste with candles in their hands.
I was laid up for days after this exploit, but I never ran in my sleep
again.
Beneath our dormitory were the parlor and the bedroom of Gray-beard,
our teacher and disciplinarian. This name was not inherited by him, nor
was it one of his own choosing; the boys gave it to him because his
beard was iron-gray, and the Indians adopted it from the boys. In his
room at night he might have heard strange noises from the cherubs in
the dormitory above, in fact he came up there quite often, rod in hand,
as a reminder that such sounds made sleep impossible.
Under Gray-beard's rooms was the schoolroom where we struggled with
arithmetic, geography, history, and A B C, up to the Fifth Reader. This
room corresponded in size to our dormitory, but it had no middle post.
The dining-hall, where on my arrival I had taken fright and stampeded
head foremost into the cellar, was in the middle of the first story. It
was very large and held, beside the three long tables, a big stove in
the middle between two large posts. I remember these posts very well,
I kept close company with one of them, on my return from a run-away
expedition; and it was on this occasion that I had my first love
adventure--but I must not anticipate.
The rooms on the two stories above the dining-hall were occupied, one
as play-room for the girls, the others by the various employees.
On the same floor with the school-room and the dining-hall, at the
north end of the building, was the chapel. Here we sat in rows on
Sunday mornings, afternoons, and evenings, and on Thursday evenings,
ranged on long, high, wooden benches without backs, our feet scarcely
touching the floor, and listened (sometimes) to sermons which were
remarkable for their length and sleep-enticing effects. I had many
delightful dreams in this chapel, about Samson and his jaw-bone war
club, the fight between David and Goliath, and of the adventures of
Joseph the dreamer,--stories that were the delight of my boyhood.
Brush, one of my dearest friends at the school, knowing my weakness,
secured a seat back of mine on purpose to support me when I was in a
slumberous mood. I shall never forget his goodness; he now sleeps in
the cemetery just above the Mission.
The two large rooms over the chapel were occupied by our superintendent
and minister. Above his apartments was the girls' dormitory, while over
all stretched the haunted, ghostly attic.
There were other buildings grouped around: to the back stood the
store-house and the smoke-house; out of the latter came our delicious
hams and our sermons, for a part of this building was used as the
minister's study. Then there was the great barn where we boys played
hide-and-seek in the hay-mow; the corn-crib with its yellow wealth
showing between the boards; and the dusty wheat-bins with padlocked
doors. Below on the bottom were the Government saw and grist mills,
where we often went to see the grinding of the Indians' grain and
the large trees sawed into lumber for Agency use or for the Indians'
houses. The carpenter and blacksmith shops were also down there, and a
long wooden house for the occupancy of the Government employees. All of
these buildings stood for the fulfilment of the solemn promises made by
the "Great Father" at Washington to his "Red Children," and as a part
of the price paid for thousands and thousands of acres of fine land.
Although there were high hills just back of the school, from which one
could get excellent views of the surrounding country, we boys preferred
to go up into the belfry on the top of the main building for our
observations. We did not go often; two difficulties were in the way:
the securing of permission from the superintendent, as but few boys
could be trusted up there; and we must go through the haunted attic
to get to the belfry. No boy during my school days ever went up there
alone.
My friend Brush, being quite a favorite with the superintendent, often
had permission to go, and took me with him. When we were once in the
belfry, we felt safe from the annoyances of the devil and the other
horrible things in the attic. The superintendent, without the asking,
let Brush have a big spy-glass, which the other boys were not permitted
to use, and with it we could see far beyond the river and the valley
that stretched in the distance to the opposite bluffs, that were always
nearly hidden in a bluish haze. Bringing the glass to a closer range,
we could see below, on our side of the river, the rich fields of the
Mission and of the Indians; and we used to watch the Indians and the
hired men of the school at work there. Sometimes we caught sight of a
steamboat far down the river coming up, trailing a long line of smoke;
then, with great excitement, we would run down and tell the boys, and
all of us would hasten to the highest point near the school and watch
the "mystic boat" as it slowly made its way along the winding stream.
To the south of the Mission, overlooking the Missouri and a small lake,
stood the highest bill for miles around. This was known by the Indians
as "the hill on which Um'-pa-ton-ga (Big Elk) was buried." He was one
of the greatest chiefs of the Omahas.
Before schools of any kind were known among the Omahas, Indian parents
warned their boys and girls against a free association with the
children of persons who did not bear a good character. "Who was that
you were playing with?" a father or mother would ask. "Nobody knows the
child's family,--beware of him, do not go with him, he will throw upon
you the habit of lying or stealing. Go with children whose parents are
respected by the people." Such advice would be given by the reputable
men and women of the tribe to their children as to choosing their
playfellows.
At the school we were all thrown together and left to form our own
associates. The sons of chiefs and of prominent men went with the sons
of the common people, regardless of social standing and character. The
only distinction made was against cowardice; the boy who could not
fight found it difficult to maintain the respect of his mates, and to
get a place among the different "gangs" or groups of associates the
boys had established among themselves. I learned this from my friend
Brush, to whom I complained one day of being abused by the boys when he
was not near. "You must look out for yourself now," he said. "If the
boys know you won't fight, they will tease you all the time. You must
fight."
So the next boy who rudely shoved me aside and knocked my hat off
received a painful surprise, for my right fist came so hard against his
cheekbone that he stood for a moment as though stunned. Then he moved,
and I moved, and the boys standing near could hardly tell which was
which until we separated, pretty well bruised. After that the boys were
careful not to knock my hat off my head; if they did, they took pains
to let me know that it was not intentional.
I told Brush about this set-to, and he approved of it. "That's right,"
he said; "fight any of them, even if you know that you're going to get
licked; then they won't tease you."
My father was the principal chief of the tribe and leader of the
village of the "Make-believe white-men;" he had plenty of horses, the
standard of Indian wealth, yet that did not entitle me to a place
in any of the different "gangs" in the school; I had to show that I
was not afraid to stand up and fight. Even good-natured Brush had to
bristle up at times and engage in a lively tussle, else there would
have been no peace for him. Now I was wanted by the smaller "gangs" and
invited by them to their places of sport; but Brush held on to me and
kept me out.
Among the boys there was the "gang" of the "Big Seven" which Brush
had been trying to enter; but, for some reason which I did not then
understand, they would not admit him. He did not care to go into any
of the "gangs" of smaller boys, of which there were quite a number. I
thought the "Big Seven" did not want him, because he was too small; but
later I found out there was another reason for it.
As time passed, I learned more and more of the peculiar ways of the
boys at the school, of the teachers, and of my books. It was not long
before I felt quite at home and independent; but Brush and I were still
without a "gang."