A Rebuke
It was Saturday, a day of delight for the boys and girls of the Mission
school, for to them it was a day of rest from the toil of study, and
a visit home was permitted. On this morning the allotted chores were
performed with redoubled energy; for the sooner the tasks were done,
the earlier would be the start for home, the sooner the pleasures laid
out for the day would begin.
The boys who had finished their work and had reported to the
superintendent were already on their way to the village, shouting and
singing as they went. Edwin watered the horses, and I started the
hydraulic ram; then, having received our formal leave to go, we chased
each other up the hill toward the village, and wrestled until we came
to the place where the path branched; he took one way and I the other,
but we continued to chaff back and forth until we were out of hearing.
After greeting my father and mother, the first thing I did was to run
over to the barn and see the horses. When I had rubbed the noses of
Kushas and Hintu and the rest, and had pitched down from the loft a lot
of hay for them, I stepped over to Ka-he'-num-ba's house and looked
in at the door, which stood wide open. His wife was sitting near the
stove, quietly working on a pair of moccasins.
"Where is Ga-im'-ba-zhe?" I shouted.
"Oh! how you startled me!" she said. "Your uncle has gone to the stable
with other boys; he left word for you to go there when you came."
Hardly had she finished speaking before I was off like the wind. On
the ground by a fire sat Ga-im'-ba-zhe and the boys, all busy making
game sticks, the Indian name of which we Mission boys translated into
English as "bone slides." These were made out of willow saplings. After
cutting the stick the proper length, the bark was removed, and a narrow
strip of it wound around the peeled stick, which was then held over
the blaze of the fire until the exposed part was scorched. When the
binding was removed, the game-stick presented a mottled appearance,
something like a snake.
The brown bodies of these partly nude little savages glistened against
the sun as they worked, while the breezes played with their black
totemic locks. They were not aware of my approach until I pitched a
corn-cob into their midst, when they all threw up their heads to see
who was coming.
"Ho! Little White-chest!" exclaimed Ga-im'-ba-zhe. "Have you come home?"
"Yes, I have come home," I replied; "but I don't want you to call me
White-chest."
"Sit down," said one of the little brownies. "When we have done, we
will give you some, then you can play with us."
When the sticks were finished, I was given five or six of them. The
tallest boy led the game. He grasped the small end of the game-stick
with his right hand, bracing the top with a finger, then he took two
or three quick side-long steps and threw the stick against the ground
with all the force he could command; it bounded up and shot through the
air like an arrow. The next boy threw one of his sticks in the same
manner, and from the same place. All the others played, each in his
turn. Then one of the boys shouted, "Your turn, little White-chest.
Throw hard!"
I was familiar with the game, and by practice had acquired some skill
in throwing the sticks. I selected one that seemed to have the proper
weight and feeling, took the usual position, and crouching almost to
the earth, I threw my stick with all the force that I could muster.
We watched its flight until it touched the ground and slid along, far
beyond any stick that had been thrown.
"Woo-hoo!" exclaimed the boys, "he has beaten us all; he's won all our
sticks!"
"Kill him! kill him! He's nothing but a thieving Winnebago!" This cry
came from the west end of the village, not far from where we were
playing. Startled by the angry words, we paused in our sport, and
looked in that direction. A crowd began to gather and move along the
path that led out of the village.
"What are they doing? Let's go and see," cried Ga-im'-ba-zhe.
We all rushed forward on a keen run, and reached the crowd; there we
saw a lad, a little larger than we were, struggling to get away from a
swarm of boys and young men who were throwing stones and sticks at him.
He was a pitiful object, and why they should abuse him so was more than
we could understand. His legs and feet were bare; he carried on his arm
something that resembled a worn-out blanket, and in his hand he held
tightly a piece of bread. He belonged to the Winnebago tribe, against
whom at that time there was much prejudice among the Omahas. Mud was
thrown at him; he was pushed and jostled by the crowd, and some persons
kicked him. Slowly the boy retreated, at times stopping to look with
pleading eyes at his merciless persecutors. When he started to run,
some one threw a stick of wood before him; he struck his foot against
it and fell; then the crowd laughed.
"They are doing wrong!" exclaimed Ga-im'-ba-zhe. "They ought not to do
that!"
"I think so, too," I added; "but what can we do?"
Just then I felt a tug at my sleeve. I turned to see who it was, and
there stood the boy that did errands for my father. "Your father wants
you to come home," he said.
I was a little troubled at this, for the boy spoke in a frightened
tone. At that moment a man came up and cried in a loud voice:
"You are commanded to cease molesting the boy!"
Recognizing the speaker as a messenger coming from the chief, the
rabble dispersed in groups, like angry wolves.
My mind was uneasy as I went toward home, and I felt guilty, though I
could not understand why. As I entered the house I was ushered into
my father's presence. He was talking earnestly to a number of men who
sat on the floor smoking a pipe which they passed from hand to hand.
Among them I recognized Ka-he'-num-ba (the father of Ga-im'-ba-zhe),
Te-o'-ke-ha, Du'-ba-mo-ne, Wa-hon'-i-ge (Edwin's father), and other
prominent men of the village. My father seemed to take no notice of my
entrance, but kept on talking. When he had finished speaking, his eyes
rested on me, and after a moment's pause, he said, "Son, step to the
middle of the floor." I did so. Then in a low tone he began:
"I speak not boastfully; all who are here have known me from boyhood,
and will know what I am about to say to you is true. Even before I
grew to be your size I was left to face the difficulties of life.
I have felt the pangs of hunger and the chills of winter, but, by
ceaseless struggles, I overcame poverty and gathered about me, as I
grew to manhood, many of the things that make life bearable; yet I
did not cease to struggle. I have won honors and position among our
people, and the respect of the tribes having friendly relations with
us. Success has attended me; but, remembering my early struggles, I
suppressed vanity, and gave help to the poor. When journeying with my
people, if I saw any of them weary and footsore, I gave them horses,
and sent them away singing for joy. The stranger who entered my door
never left it hungry. No one can accuse me of having tormented with
abuse the poverty-stricken man. Early I sought the society of those who
knew the teaching of the chiefs. From them I learned that kindness and
hospitality win the love of a people. I culled from their teachings
their noblest thoughts, and treasured them, and they have been my
guide. You came into existence, and have reached the age when you
should seek for knowledge. That you might profit by the teachings of
your own people and that of the white race, and that you might avoid
the misery which accompanies ignorance, I placed you in the House of
Teaching of the White-chests, who are said to be wise and to have in
their books the utterances of great and learned men. I had treasured
the hope that you would seek to know the good deeds done by men of
your own race, and by men of the white race, that you would follow
their example and take pleasure in doing the things that are noble and
helpful to those around you. Am I to be disappointed?"
As his talk progressed, he grew eloquent, and louder and louder became
his tones. My eyes were riveted upon him. In every feature of his
handsome face there was reflected a mind, a will, a determination that
nothing could break. He arose to his feet and continued, pointing his
finger at me:
"Only to-day there crept to the door of my house a poor boy driven
thither by hunger; he was given food by my command. Having satisfied
for the time being his craving, he went away happy. Hardly had he left
the village, when a rabble gathered about him and persecuted him. They
threw mud at him, pointed at him their fingers in derision, and laughed
rudely at his poverty, and you, a son of E-sta'-ma-za, joined the
tormentors and smiled at the poor boy's tears."
I winced at this accusation. He could accuse me of almost anything; but
of this I was not guilty. A hesitating small voice at the door said,
"He did not join them!" It was the little boy that came after me who
spoke. I was grateful for this defence, but, as though he had not heard
it, my father continued.
"By your presence you aided and encouraged those wicked boys. He who
is present at a wrong-doing, and lifts not a hand to prevent it, is
as guilty as the wrongdoers. The persecution of the poor, the sneer at
their poverty is a wrong for which no punishment is too severe. I have
finished. Go, and think of my words."
Those at the door made way for me; I passed out and entered my mother's
room. She looked up at me with a kindly smile; but I flung myself down
on her bed, buried my face in the pillows, sobbing. My mother did not
speak, but went on with her work. When I had regained my composure,
she bade me come and sit beside her. I did so. She put an arm around
me, and said in a caressing tone, "What is it that makes my little boy
cry?" I told her. She sat in silence for a while, and then spoke:
"Your father is right; you must be guided by his words. You had a
chance to do good; you let it slip away from you. That poor boy came
and sat at the door, the humblest place in your house; he did not
beg, but the eyes he turned upon your father and on me told a tale of
suffering. At your father's bidding, I placed food with my own hands
before the boy; when he had finished eating he arose without a word
and, taking with him what was left of the food, he went out, giving me
a look that bespoke his gratitude. My boy must learn to be good and
kind. When you see a boy barefooted and lame, take off your moccasins
and give them to him. When you see a boy hungry, bring him to your home
and give him food."
The mild words and the gentle touch of her hand were like ointment to
my wounds. When she had finished speaking, I put my arms around her
neck and kissed her.
On my way back to the Mission I saw a lad standing at the fork of the
paths. It was little Bob. "Come, hurry!" he said; "I've been waiting
for you." Together we returned to the school.
After supper I went out and lay on the grass, looking up into the blue
sky, thinking. Twilight came, then darkness. A bell rang, and all the
boys went upstairs to bed. I followed. We knelt by our beds; Gray-beard
rapped on the banister with his penknife; when there was silence, he
said slowly, and in a low tone, "Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed
be Thy name." We repeated with him this prayer that was taught over a
thousand years ago. The tardy ones with labored breathing cut almost
every word; but I repeated them carefully, and, although I had said
them a hundred times before, now, for the first time since I had been
in the school, I began to wonder what they meant.
Lester, Edwin, and I got into bed; my place was in the middle.
"Frank, what makes you so quiet?" asked Lester, nudging me with his
elbow.
Before I could answer Edwin began tugging at the sheet, saying,
"Lester, you've too much sheet over there!"
They both pulled the bedcovers and kicked at each other good-naturedly
for a while, and then quieted down. I received some of the kicks too,
but did not join in the fun. There was silence for a time, and then
Edwin said, "Say, boys, I've been feeling bad this afternoon. When I
got home from the river, my father scolded me like everything. He said
something about my being with some boys who teased a poor Winnebago
boy, and he talked to me a long time. He never give me chance to say
I didn't see a Winnebago boy to-day; I was all the morning down to the
river swimming. I couldn't understand it, and I don't now. Say, Frank,
does your father scold you sometimes?"
"Edwin, tell us a story," I said.
"Do!" exclaimed the other boys. "Tell us a story."