The Break
"Brush! Brush! Brush!" I ran calling one morning soon after breakfast,
down to the barn, to the spring, and back to the house, but I could not
find the boy; then I thrust my fingers into my mouth and blew a loud
robin call, and the answer came from under a tree up on the hillside. I
ran hurriedly to the place; there lay Brush in the shade on the green
grass reading.
The occasion of this excited search and call was the announcement by
the superintendent that the school would be closed that day, and the
children dismissed, so that they might go and see their parents, it
being reported by an Indian who had come for his little girl that the
people had just returned from the hunt.
"I been everywhere trying to find you," I said to Brush. "My folks have
come home. Put that old book away and come go with me to see them.
There isn't going to be any school to-day."
"Frank, it's right good of you to ask me, but I don't feel very well; I
think I better not go," he replied, in a tone of disappointment. "All
my bones ache, and I don't know what's the matter with me; but you go
'long, boy, and have a good time; you can tell me all about your visit
when you come back."
"I'm sorry you can't go, Brush; but I'll come back soon and bring you
some buffalo meat," I said, starting to go; "you better think about it
again and come."
"I think I better stay home and be quiet," he answered, opening his
book.
I spent all the forenoon with my parents, and in the afternoon I went
in search of some of my village playmates. I found a number of them on
the hillside shooting with their bows and arrows. They gave me a noisy
welcome in mock English, which made me laugh heartily; then I had to
wrestle with one or two of them, and when our peculiar greetings were
over, the boys resumed their play, in which they let me join, one of
them lending me his bow and arrows.
Our shooting from mark to mark, from one prominent object to another,
brought us to a high hill overlooking the ripe fields of corn on the
wide bottom below, along the gray Missouri. Here and there among the
patches of maize arose little curls of blue smoke, while men and women
moved about in their gayly-colored costumes among the broad green
leaves of the corn; some, bending under great loads on their backs,
were plodding their way laboriously to the fires whence arose the
pretty wreaths of smoke.
"They're making sweet corn," exclaimed one of the youngsters whose
little naked brown back glinted against the afternoon sun, and he
pointed to the workers in the field.
As we stood watching the busy, picturesque scene below us, one little
fellow held his bow close to his ear and began strumming on the string,
then all the rest played on their bows in the same manner, until one of
them suddenly broke into a victory song, in which the others joined.
At the close of the song they gave me a graphic description of the
attack on the camp when it was pitched on the Republican river.
Although the enemy was repulsed, and the hunting ground secured to our
people, the battle cost many lives, several of the enemy's warriors
were left on the field, and the Omahas lost some of their bravest men.
While yet the boys were telling of the thrilling incidents of the
battle, we arose with a sudden impulse and rushed down the hill
with loud war-cries, as though attacking the foe, the tall grass
snapping against our moccasined feet as we sped along. We were rapidly
approaching a house which stood alone, when one of the older boys who
was running ahead suddenly stopped and raised his hand as though to
command silence. Immediately our shouts ceased, and, seeing the serious
look on the lad's face, "What is it?" we asked in frightened tones as
we gathered about him.
Without a word he pointed to a woman who was cutting the tall sunflower
stalks that had almost hidden her little dwelling with their golden
blossoms. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders unbraided, a
sign of mourning. Now and again she would pause in her work to look
up at the humble home and utter sighs and sobs that told a tale of
sorrow. Mingled with these outpourings of grief came often the words,
"My husband! my little child!" with terms of endearment and tenderness
for which I can find no equivalent in English. On a blanket spread over
the ground near by sat a tot of a child babbling to itself and making
the beheaded sunflowers kiss each other, innocently oblivious of its
mother's grief. It was a sad home-coming for the woman; the spirit of
her husband had fled to the dark clouds of the west to join the host
of warriors who had died on the field of battle, and his bones lay
bleaching in the sands of a far-off country.
"It is Gre-don-ste-win weeping for her husband who was killed in the
battle last summer," whispered the big boy; "let us go away quietly."
When we had withdrawn to a distance where we were sure our noise would
not disturb the mourner, one of the boys called out, "Let's play
Oo-hae'ba-shon-shon!" (Tortuous path). Years after I learned that this
game was played by the children of the white people, and that they
called it, "Follow my leader."
We graded ourselves according to size, the biggest boy at the head as
leader. Each one took hold of the belt of the boy in front of him, and
then we started off at a rapid jog-trot, keeping time to this little
song which we sang at the top of our voices.
[Music: CHILDREN'S SONG
"FOLLOW MY LEADER."
Yo hay yo ae ha ra o ha.
Ya hay yo ae yo ha o ha.]
Whatever the leader did, all were bound to do likewise. If he touched
a post, we touched it too; if he kicked the side of a tent, all of us
kicked it; so on we went, winding around the dwellings, in and out
of vacant lodges, through mud puddles and queer, almost inaccessible
places, and even entering the village, where we made the place ring
with our song.
At last, tired out, the boys broke line and scattered to their homes.
It was then that I suddenly realized the lateness of the hour, and
remembered my promise to Brush. I ran to the house, took a hurried
leave of my parents, picked up the package of buffalo meat my mother
had prepared for my schoolmate, and fairly flew over the hill between
the village and the Mission.
As I came running down the hill to the school I saw Lester, Warren, and
Edwin sitting in a row on the fence.
"Hello!" I shouted, "what you sitting on that fence for, like a lot of
little crows?"
No answer came, nor did the boys move. I began to wonder if they were
displeased with me, although I could not think of anything I had done
to give them offence. As I drew near, I noticed that the expression
on their faces indicated alarm rather than displeasure, and, becoming
anxious in my turn, I hurriedly asked, "What's the matter; what's
happened; where's Brush?"
The boys looked at one another, then at me; finally Lester replied,
almost with a sob, "Brush is awful sick; he's been raising blood; they
sent for the Doctor."
"Where is he? I must go see him," I said, springing over the fence, and
starting toward the house.
"He's in that little room next the girls' play-room; but they won't let
anybody see him," said Warren.
I went to the room in which Brush lay, and knocked very gently on the
door. There was a rustling movement inside, then the door slowly opened
and one of the lady teachers stood before me.
"What is it, Frank?" she asked in a low tone.
I tried to look over her shoulder to see the bed, but she was too tall
"I want to see Brush; can't I see him? They say he is sick. I want to
see him a moment," I pleaded. "I'm just come back from the village, and
brought some buffalo meat I promised him."
"No, Frank, you cannot see him," was the reply. "He is very sick. The
superintendent is with him trying to relieve his suffering. Run away
now," said the lady, stroking my bare head with her small hand. "Don't
make any noise, and tell the rest of the boys to be very quiet."
I went away reproaching myself for not coming back from the village
soon, as I told Brush I would. When I rejoined the boys, they looked
anxiously into my face, and Edwin asked, "Did you see him?"
"No, they would not let me." After a pause, I asked, "When did he get
sick; who was with him?"
"It was under the walnut-tree," said Lester; "he was reading to us
about Joseph, out of his little black Bible he always carries. He began
to cough hard and choke; he dropped the book all covered with blood,
and took hold of my brother's arm. I ran to tell the superintendent.
Just as they carried Brush into the house, Edwin came back and we told
him about it."
In the evening, after the small boys had gone to bed, the' doctor came,
a tall gray-haired man. At the gate he was met by the superintendent,
and the two walked slowly up the steps, talking earnestly. We four had
been watching for the doctor on the porch; as he came along we caught
now and then a word, but we did not understand its meaning. We judged
by the shaking of the doctor's head that he thought Brush's case was
serious.
Days passed; the doctor came and went; yet Brush's door was closed
to us, nor had we any hopeful news of him. We missed him sadly; we
missed his whittling, his harmless scolding; and our play was only
half-hearted.
Indians who came to the school on business missed his ready offer of
help. There was no one to take his place; no one who could interpret
for them as well as he. Each one, as he went away, left a word of cheer
for the lad, with expressions of hope for his recovery.
As school was dismissed one afternoon, the teacher gave special
injunctions to the scholars not to make any noise as they passed out,
or while moving about the house, so as not to disturb the sick boy. We
four strolled toward the spring. Frost had come, and the leaves were
beginning to turn red and yellow. Wild geese flew noisily overhead,
fleeing from the coming winter to sunnier climes. While we were
counting, as we often did, the gray birds, floating through the air
like a great V, Warren suddenly exclaimed, "Say, boys, plums!"
We looked at him inquiringly. "Let's go get plums for Brush!" he
continued excitedly. Then we remembered that we had pre-empted a small
grove of choice plum bushes at the head of the ravine, as against all
the boys of the school, and acquired a right in it which even the Big
Seven respected.
Edwin ran to the kitchen and borrowed from one of the cooks a small tin
pail. We hurried to our orchard, where we saw no signs of trespass;
the bushes were laden with beautiful ripe fruit. We filled the little
pail with the choicest, then each one picked for himself. It was nearly
supper-time when we appeared at Brush's door. The three boys looked at
me; so I tapped very gently, and the teacher who was nursing the sick
boy opened the door.
"We've brought some plums for Brush," I said, offering the tin pail.
"That's very nice," said the lady, softly; "I will give them to him."
She was about to close the door, when I whispered, "Can we take just a
little look at him?"
"Yes," she answered, throwing the door open.
We four leaned forward and looked in. A smile lit up Brush's face as he
saw us. "How are you now?" I asked, in a loud whisper.
"I'm all right," he whispered back, although his hollow eyes and cheeks
told a tale that stole away all our hopes. We withdrew, and the door
was slowly closed.
Next morning as I was coming down from the dormitory I paused at
Brush's door to listen. I heard footsteps moving about softly, then
the door opened and one of the big girls came out with a white pitcher
in her hand. I started to go on downstairs, when she called to me in
a whisper, "Frank, go down to the spring and get some fresh water for
Brush, will you, that's a good boy?"
I took the pitcher and went quietly downstairs. As soon as I was
outside the yard, I ran as hard as I could to the spring, glad at the
prospect of a chance to see my friend again. Warren and Lester met me
as I was coming up the hill.
"Did you see him?" one of them asked.
"No, but I'm going to," I answered.
"Ask him if we can do anything for him?" said Lester.
Just as I reached the head of the stairs the same big girl appeared. I
handed her the pitcher; she took it and was about to enter the room,
when I caught her arm. "Just let me take a look at Brush, will you?" I
whispered.
"No, Frank, I can't. Superintendent says to let nobody in."
I heard a cough, then a feeble voice say pleadingly, "Maria, let him
in, just a minute!"
The girl looked cautiously around, then said to me, "Come, but don't
let anybody see you. Don't stay long, be quick!"
I stepped in, and a thin hand was stretched out to receive me. "I can't
talk much, I'm so weak," said Brush. Overcome with emotion, I could
not speak but stood holding his hot hand. The girl at the door moved
uneasily.
"Tell the boys I'm all right," said Brush. "They mustn't worry. Come
nearer." I bent over him and he whispered, "To-night, when everybody is
asleep, come down and see me. I want to talk to you when I'm alone."
As night came on we four sat under the walnut-tree watching Brush's
window. A candle was lit, then the curtain was drawn. Below in the
dining-room, the large girls moved quietly to and fro, busy with their
evening work. When this was finished, they gathered at the door, and
softly sang that beautiful hymn, "Nearer my God to Thee." We joined in
the chorus, the wind waiting the words to the broad skies. The singing
came to a close; the dining-room lights were put out, and we were
called to bed.
As we knelt by the side of our beds to repeat the Lord's prayer, I
could not keep back the tears that came, thinking of the emaciated
little form that I was to see once more that night.
One by one the boys fell asleep, and I alone, among the forty or fifty
in that big room, remained awake. The clock down in Gray-beard's room
struck eleven; the only sounds that came to my ears were those of the
heavy breathing of the boys, the soughing of the wind through the
trees, the rushing of the waters in the river, and now and then the
calls of the wild geese, migrating in the night.
The clock struck the hour of twelve; I sat up listening. There was a
stir and the sound of a voice that startled me. It was only Warren
moving and talking in his sleep. I went stealthily to the head of
the stairs, then listened again. I could only hear the throbbing of
my heart, and the rasping pulsations in my ears. After a pause which
seemed interminable, I put one foot down the first step, the board
sprang under my weight, and creaked. Again I paused to listen; there
was no stir, and I went on. Every little sound in the stillness of the
night seemed exaggerated, and I was often startled, but I went on and
reached the door of Brush's room. I scratched the panel three times.
There was a movement within, and a slight cough. Slowly I turned the
knob and opened the door. I entered, closed the door, but left it
unlatched.
A candle stood burning in the midst of a number of bottles on a little
table near the head of the bed. I knelt by the bedside, and Brush
put his arm around my neck. We were silent for a while, finally he
whispered in the Omaha tongue:
"I'm glad you came; I've been wanting to talk to you. They tell me I am
better; but I know I am dying."
Oppressed with ominous dread, I cried out, interrupting him, "Don't say
that! Oh, don't say that!"
But he went on, "You mustn't be troubled; I'm all right; I'm not
afraid; I know God will take care of me. I have wanted to stay with you
boys, but I can't. You've all been good to me. My strength is going, I
must hurry,--tell the boys I want them to learn; I know you will, but
the other boys don't care. I want them to learn, and to think. You'll
tell them, won't you?"
He slipped his hand under the pillow, brought out his broken-bladed
jack-knife, and put it in my hand, then said, "I wish I had something
to give to each one of the boys before I go. I have nothing in the
world but this knife. I love all of you; but you understand me, so I
give it to you. That's all. Let me rest a little, then you must go."
After a moment's stillness the door opened very gently, and the floor
near it creaked as though there were footsteps. A breath of wind came
and moved the flickering flame of the candle round and round. The
boy stared fixedly through the vacant doorway. There was something
strange and unnatural in his look as, with one arm still around me, he
stretched the other toward the door, and, in a loud whisper, said, "My
grandfather! He calls me. I'm coming, I'm coming!"
There was a sound as of a movement around the room; Brush's eyes
followed it until they again rested upon the open door, which swung to
with a soft click; then he closed his eyes.
I crept closer to the sick boy; I was quivering with fear. Brush
opened his eyes again, he had felt me trembling. "Are you cold?" he
asked.
Just then I heard footsteps in the girls' play-room; this time they
were real; Brush heard them too.
"Superintendent," he said with an effort.
When I crept into my bed the clock below struck one. For a long while
I lay awake. I could hear noises downstairs, Gray-beard's door open
and close, and the door of Brush's room. I heard a window raised, then
everything became still.
We did not know how fondly we were attached to Brush, how truly he had
been our leader, until we four, left alone, lingered around his grave
in the shadowy darkness of night, each one reluctant to leave.
The Mission bell rang for evening service, and with slow steps we moved
toward the school--no longer "The Middle Five."