Among the really absorbing amusements of Indian boys, none surpass the
games played with tops, which with us are in season in the winter only.
The mere spinning of a top would soon become tiresome; it is the various
and ingenious stunts that keep the interest alive.
Then, too, each boy makes his own top of every available kind of wood,
as well as of horn and bone, and studies its peculiar defects or
advantages for the work in hand, so thoroughly that it comes to have for
him a kind of personality. He whittles it to a nicety in the regular top
shape or any variation of it that he chooses, so long as he can coax and
whip it into spinning and humming and singing. He has a stick about a
foot long and as big as your thumb; sometimes one end is grooved so that
he can pick up the top while spinning. To this stick he ties two or
three deer-skin thongs of equal length, making a top whip with which he
performs some interesting stunts and plays many amusing games.
There is much artistic taste among our people. Some decorate their tops
in stripes, much like a barber's pole; others with totem paintings; but
perhaps the cleverest boy is he who can carve as well as paint. One will
carve a tiny toad sitting atop his spinner; another a turtle; but the
boy who is quick enough to copy the bumblebee--hum and all--he is a
hero! When he proudly whips his black buffalo-horn spinner, he holds the
center of the stage, while every other boy must pause for a minute to
regard him with envy.
Sometimes a boy will playfully address his top, telling it to sing the
bear song, or imitate the lowing of the buffalo bull, at the same time
whipping it so vigorously and in such fashion that it seems really to
give a semblance of the required imitation! But it is no ordinary
bashful boy who does these things; it is the roguish young humorist and
actor of the tribe.
When the chiefs selected for our field-day on the ice announce the date,
every boy is ready. The chief of each side brings his forces together
for a final test of skill, and there is no lack of spectators. In the
first place, each displays his peculiar manufactures, priding himself
much upon originality of design and careful workmanship. Then there are
trials of speed, and trials of duration, and finally the more difficult
stunts, such as transferring the top in the spoon end of the whip
without interrupting its dance, or whipping it under a light covering of
snow, or along an obstacle course. Perhaps no one save an Indian could
make a bear cub whip a spinning-top, holding the whip handle in his
mouth, as I have seen it done on these field-days. Some of the boys
impersonate old men, and some genuine grandfathers are admitted to add
to the fun. There is a particular song of the top, and its spinning is
said by us to be symbolic of the dance of life.
A white boy feels himself unfortunate when Santa Claus fails to leave at
his home a pair of club skates or a swift "flexible flyer." Still more
unfortunate is he who has no hill or pond or river near for coasting and
skating. In my day we were independent of all save natural features; no
policeman to interfere with our fun, no fences or trespass signs--and no
shops or indulgent fathers to purchase our equipment! The trees might be
snapping, even bursting open with the severe cold, the ice on the lakes
thundering like the cannonade of a distant battle, but, nothing daunted,
we boys would sally forth in our warm buffalo calf-skin robes, well
belted around the middle, and moccasins stuffed with hair, defying the
weather. Our coasters were made of the longest and largest ribs of the
buffalo bull, tightly bound together with strong rawhide thongs, and
held in position with three flat sticks an inch or two wide and a little
longer than the width of the sled. The shape was something like the body
of a cutter; it was lined neatly with buffalo hide, and lariats were
tied to the curved end as you tie your ropes. We generally coasted
standing erect, and the narrower ones were used as skees, with a pole to
balance, upon which we sped like lightning down the steep hills amid a
din of yells, whoops, and laughter. Other skees were made of basswood or
elm bark, stiffened with rawhide or doubled, always with the slippery
inner side against the snow. In the very old days there were a kind of
skates of peculiar workmanship, made of bones and tusks of animals.
The winter pageant or winter masque on the ice was the crowning event,
and here the older people came to realize how closely they had been
watched and studied by their children. Your Indian boy is a born mimic
and impersonator, and this was his day. The first intimation of the
festivity was given by their crier or herald, who entered the camp
picturesquely attired, riding on a tame buffalo calf or a big Esquimo
dog, announcing the coming of the "old folks" or the "first people."
When the whole village had poured forth from their wigwams in eager
expectation, the head of the procession emerged from the forest upon the
field of ice. It was an imposing sight. The first clan, perhaps, would
be led by a buffalo bull walking upright and holding his pipe in his
hands like a man. Immediately behind him were twelve wise men walking
abreast, each wearing a buffalo headdress and carrying a long staff with
a buffalo-tail tassel. They were followed by the people of the clan, all
clad in hairy skins, some accompanied by tame coyotes, or dragging
old-time travois. Here and there, boys in groups were playing their
favorite games or fluting and yodeling, while the groups of pretty girls
walked more demurely.
The wolf, elk, and bear clans were similarly represented, and the odd
characters of ancient legend were all present: Unktomee the tricky one
with his many aliases; Heyoka the contrary one, who always says the
reverse of what he means, and paints a face or mask on the back of his
head so that he seems to be walking backward. Even his dog wears the
head of a calf at his rear end, and a tail fixed on the end of his nose.
One figure is dressed all in white and moves with a whirling motion, all
the time imitating the humming of a top. Even the wild pets join in the
fun, and I have heard a tame crow, which had been taught a few simple
words, crying out quite naturally as he hopped along: "Wachee po! wachee
po!" (Dance, friends, dance!)