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Henry James - "The Ambassadors"

Samuel Smiles - "Industrial Biography"

Edward Lear - "Book of Nonsense"

Jules Verne - "The Survivors of the Chancellor"

Indian Boyhood, by [OHIYESA] Charles Eastman

C >> Charles Eastman >> Indian Boyhood, by [OHIYESA] Charles Eastman




"'No,' replied Chotanka, after a short hesita-
tion. The young man was fine-looking, but
lightly built.

"'We shall start from the Chantay, and that will
be our goal. Come, let us go, for the universe is
waiting!' impatiently exclaimed the stranger.

"He passed on in advance, and just then an
old, old wrinkled man came to Chotanka's door.
He leaned forward upon his staff.

"'My son,' he said to him, 'I don't want to
make you a coward, but this young man is the
greatest gambler of the universe. He has pow-
erful medicine. He gambles for life; be careful!
My brothers and I are the only ones who have
ever beaten him. But he is safe, for if he is
killed he can resurrect himself--I tell you he is
great medicine.

"'However, I think that I can save you--lis-
ten! He will run behind you all the way until
you are within a short distance of the goal. Then
he will pass you by in a flash, for his name is Zig-
Zag Fire! (lightning). Here is my medicine.' So
speaking, he gave me a rabbit skin and the gum
of a certain plant. 'When you come near the
goal, rub yourself with the gum, and throw the
rabbit skin between you. He cannot pass you.'

"'And who are you, grandfather?' Chotanka
inquired.

"'I am the medicine turtle,' the old man re-
plied. 'The gambler is a spirit from heaven, and
those whom he outruns must shortly die. You
have heard, no doubt, that all animals know be-
forehand when they are to be killed; and any man
who understands these mysteries may also know
when he is to die.'

The race was announced to the world. The
buffalo, elk, wolves and all the animals came to
look on. All the spirits of the air came also to
cheer for their comrade. In the sky the trumpet
was sounded--the great medicine drum was struck.
It was the signal for a start. The course was
around the Minnewakan. (That means around
the earth or the ocean.) Everywhere the multi-
tude cheered as the two sped by.

"The young man kept behind Chotanka all the
time until they came once more in sight of the
Chantay. Then he felt a slight shock and he threw
his rabbit skin back. The stranger tripped and fell.
Chotanka rubbed himself with the gum, and ran on
until he reached the goal. There was a great shout
that echoed over the earth, but in the heavens there
was muttering and grumbling. The referee de-
clared that the winner would live to a good old age,
and Zig-Zag Fire promised to come at his call. He
was indeed great medicine," Weyuha concluded.

"But you have not told me how Chotanka be-
came a man," I said.

"One night a beautiful woman came to him in
his sleep. She enticed him into her white teepee
to see what she had there. Then she shut the
door of the teepee and Chotanka could not get
out. But the woman was kind and petted him so
that he loved to stay in the white teepee. Then
it was that he became a human born. This is a
long story, but I think, Ohiyesa, that you will re-
member it," said Weyuha, and so I did.

II: Manitoshaw's Hunting

IT was in the winter, in the Moon
of Difficulty (January). We had
eaten our venison roast for sup-
per, and the embers were burn-
ing brightly. Our teepee was es-
pecially cheerful. Uncheedah sat
near the entrance, my uncle and his wife upon
the opposite side, while I with my pets occupied
the remaining space.

Wabeda, the dog, lay near the fire in a half doze,
watching out of the corners of his eyes the tame
raccoon, which snuggled back against the walls of
the teepee, his shrewd brain, doubtless, concocting
some mischief for the hours of darkness. I had
already recited a legend of our people. All agreed
that I had done well. Having been generously
praised, I was eager to earn some more compli-
ments by learning a new one, so I begged my uncle
to tell me a story. Musingly he replied:

"I can give you a Sioux-Cree tradition," and
immediately began:

"Many winters ago, there were six teepees stand-
ing on the southern slope of Moose mountain in
the Moon of Wild Cherries (September). The
men to whom these teepees belonged had been at-
tacked by the Sioux while hunting buffalo, and
nearly all killed. Two or three who managed to
get home to tell their sad story were mortally
wounded, and died soon afterward. There was only
one old man and several small boys left to hunt
and provide for this unfortunate little band of
women and children.

"They lived upon teepsinna (wild turnips) and
berries for many days. They were almost famished
for meat. The old man was too feeble to hunt
successfully. One day in this desolate camp a
young Cree maiden--for such they were--declared
that she could no longer sit still and see her peo-
ple suffer. She took down her dead father's second
bow and quiver full of arrows, and begged her old
grandmother to accompany her to Lake Wana-
giska, where she knew that moose had oftentimes
been found. I forgot to tell you that her name
was Manitoshaw.

This Manitoshaw and her old grandmother,
Nawakewee, took each a pony and went far up into
the woods on the side of the mountain. They
pitched their wigwam just out of sight of the lake,
and hobbled their ponies. Then the old woman
said to Manitoshaw:

"'Go, my granddaughter, to the outlet of the
Wanagiska, and see if there are any moose tracks
there. When I was a young woman, I came here
with your father's father, and we pitched our tent
near this spot. In the night there came three dif-
ferent moose. Bring me leaves of the birch and
cedar twigs; I will make medicine for moose,' she
added.

Manitoshaw obediently disappeared in the
woods. It was a grove of birch and willow, with
two good springs. Down below was a marshy place.
Nawakewee had bidden the maiden look for nib-
bled birch and willow twigs, for the moose loves
to eat them, and to have her arrow ready
upon the bow-string. I have seen this very
place many a time," added my uncle, and this
simple remark gave to the story an air of real-
ity.

"The Cree maiden went first to the spring, and
there found fresh tracks of the animal she sought.
She gathered some cedar berries and chewed them,
and rubbed some of them on her garments so that
the moose might not scent her. The sun was al-
ready set, and she felt she must return to Na-
wakewee.

"Just then Hinhankaga, the hooting owl, gave
his doleful night call. The girl stopped and lis-
tened attentively.

"'I thought it was a lover's call,' she whispered
to herself. A singular challenge pealed across the
lake. She recognized the alarm call of the loon,
and fancied that the bird might have caught a
glimpse of her game.

"Soon she was within a few paces of the tem-
porary lodge of pine boughs and ferns which the
grandmother had constructed. The old woman
met her on the trail.

"'Ah, my child, you have returned none too
soon. I feared you had ventured too far away;
for the Sioux often come to this place to hunt.
You must not expose yourself carelessly on the
shore.'

"As the two women lay down to sleep they
could hear the ponies munch the rich grass in an
open spot near by. Through the smoke hole of
the pine-bough wigwam Manitoshaw gazed up
into the starry sky, and dreamed of what she would
do on the morrow when she should surprise the
wily moose. Her grandmother was already sleep-
ing so noisily that it was enough to scare away the
game. At last the maiden, too, lost herself in
sleep.

"Old Nawakewee awoke early. First of all
she made a fire and burned cedar and birch
so that the moose might not detect the human
smell. Then she quickly prepared a meal of wild
turnips and berries, and awoke the maiden, who
was surprised to see that the sun was already up.
She ran down to the spring and hastily splashed
handsful of the cold water in her face; then she
looked for a moment in its mirror-like surface.
There was the reflection of two moose by the open
shore and beyond them Manitoshaw seemed to
see a young man standing. In another moment
all three had disappeared.

"'What is the matter with my eyes? I am
not fully awake yet, and I imagine things. Ugh,
it is all in my eyes,' the maiden repeated to her-
self. She hastened back to Nawakewee. The
vision was so unexpected and so startling that she
could not believe in its truth, and she said noth-
ing to the old woman.

"Breakfast eaten, Manitoshaw threw off her
robe and appeared in her scantily cut gown of
buckskin with long fringes, and moccasins and
leggings trimmed with quills of the porcupine.
Her father's bow and quiver were thrown over
one shoulder, and the knife dangled from her belt
in its handsome sheath. She ran breathlessly
along the shore toward the outlet.

"Way off near the island Medoza the loon swam
with his mate, occasionally uttering a cry of joy.
Here and there the playful Hogan, the trout,
sprang gracefully out of the water, in a shower of
falling dew. As the maiden hastened along she
scared up Wadawasee, the kingfisher, who screamed
loudly.

"'Stop, Wadawasee, stop--you will frighten
my game!'

"At last she had reached the outlet. She saw
at once that the moose had been there during the
night. They had torn up the ground and broken
birch and willow twigs in a most disorderly
way."

"Ah!" I exclaimed, "I wish I had been with
Manitoshaw then!"

"Hush, my boy; never interrupt a story-
teller."

I took a stick and began to level off the ashes
in front of me, and to draw a map of the lake, the
outlet, the moose and Manitoshaw. Away off to
one side was the solitary wigwam, Nawakewee and
the ponies.

"Manitoshaw's heart was beating so loud that
she could not hear anything," resumed my uncle.
"She took some leaves of the wintergreen and
chewed them to calm herself. She did not forget
to throw in passing a pinch of pulverized tobacco
and paint into the spring for Manitou, the spirit.

"Among the twinkling leaves of the birch her
eye was caught by a moving form, and then an-
other. She stood motionless, grasping her heavy
bow. The moose, not suspecting any danger,
walked leisurely toward the spring. One was a
large female moose; the other a yearling.

As they passed Manitoshaw, moving so nat-
urally and looking so harmless, she almost forgot
to let fly an arrow. The mother moose seemed to
look in her direction, but did not see her. They
had fairly passed her hiding-place when she stepped
forth and sent a swift arrow into the side of the
larger moose. Both dashed into the thick woods,
but it was too late. The Cree maiden had already
loosened her second arrow. Both fell dead before
reaching the shore."

"Uncle, she must have had a splendid aim, for
in the woods the many little twigs make an arrow
bound off to one side," I interrupted in great ex-
citement.

"Yes, but you must remember she was very
near the moose."

"It seems to me, then, uncle, that they must
have scented her, for you have told me that they
possess the keenest nose of any animal," I per-
sisted.

"Doubtless the wind was blowing the other
way. But, nephew, you must let me finish my
story.

"Ovedoyed by her success, the maiden has-
tened back to Nawakawee, but she was gone!
The ponies were gone, too, and the wigwam of
branches had been demolished. While Manito-
shaw stood there, frightened and undecided what
to do, a soft voice came from behind a neighbor-
ing thicket:

"'Manitoshaw! Manitoshaw! I am here!'

She at once recognized, the voice and found
it to be Nawakeewee, who told a strange story.
That morning a canoe had crossed the Wanagiska
carrying two men. They were Sioux. The old
grandmother had seen them coming, and to de-
ceive them she at once pulled down her temporary
wigwam, and drove the ponies off toward home.
Then she hid herself in the bushes near by,
for she knew that Manitoshaw must return
there.

"'Come, my granddaughter, we must hasten
home by another way,' cried the old woman.

"But the maiden said, 'No, let us go first to
my two moose that I killed this morning and take
some meat with us.'

"'No, no, my child; the Sioux are cruel.
They have killed many of our people. If we
stay here they will find us. I fear, I fear them,
Manitoshaw!'

"At last the brave maid convinced her grand-
mother, and the more easily as she too was hun-
gry for meat. They went to where the big game
lay among the bushes, and began to dress the
moose."

"I think, if I were they, I would hide all day.
I would wait until the Sioux had gone; then I
would go back to my moose," I interrupted for
the third time.

"I will finish the story first; then you may tell
us what you would do," said my uncle reprov-
ingly.

"The two Sioux were father and son. They
too had come to the lake for moose; but as the
game usually retreated to the island, Chatansapa
had landed his son Kangiska to hunt them on the
shore while he returned in his canoe to intercept
their flight. The young man sped along the
sandy beach and soon discovered their tracks. He
followed them up and found blood on the trail.
This astonished him. Cautiously he followed on
until he found them both lying dead. He exam-
ined them and found that in each moose there
was a single Cree arrow. Wishing to surprise
the hunter if possible, Kangiska lay hidden in the
bushes.

"After a little while the two women returned to
the spot. They passed him as close as the moose
had passed the maiden in the morning. He saw
at once that the maiden had arrows in her quiver
like those that had slain the big moose. He lay
still.

"Kangiska looked upon the beautiful Cree
maiden and loved her. Finally he forgot himself
and made a slight motion. Manitoshaw's quick
eye caught the little stir among the bushes, but
she immediately looked the other way and Kan-
giska believed that she had not seen anything,
At last her eyes met his, and something told both
that all was well. Then the maiden smiled, and
the young man could not remain still any longer.
He arose suddenly and the old woman nearly
fainted from fright. But Manitoshaw said:

"'Fear not, grandmother; we are two and he is
only one.'

"While the two women continued to cut up
the meat, Kangiska made a fire by rubbing cedar
chips together, and they all ate of the moose
meat. Then the old woman finished her work,
while the young people sat down upon a log in
the shade, and told each other all their minds.

"Kangiska declared by signs that he would go
home with Manitoshaw to the Cree camp, for he
loved her. They went home, and the young
man hunted for the unfortunate Cree band during
the rest of his life.

"His father waited a long time on the island
and afterward searched the shore, but never saw
him again. He supposed that those footprints he
saw were made by Crees who had killed his son."

"Is that story true, uncle?" I asked eagerly.

"'Yes, the facts are well known. There are
some Sioux mixed bloods among the Crees to this
day who are descendants of Kangiska."




X
Indian Life and Adventure

I: Life in the Woods

THE month of September recalls
to every Indian's mind the season
of the fall hunt. I remember one
such expedition which is typical
of many. Our party appeared on
the northwestern side of Turtle
mountain; for we had been hunting buffaloes all
summer, in the region of the Mouse river, between
that mountain and the upper Missouri.

As our cone-shaped teepees rose in clusters
along the outskirts of the heavy forest that clothes
the sloping side of the mountain, the scene below
was gratifying to a savage eye. The rolling yellow
plains were checkered with herds of buffaloes.
Along the banks of the streams that ran down from
the mountains were also many elk, which usually
appear at morning and evening, and disappear into
the forest during the warmer part of the day.
Deer, too, were plenty, and the brooks were alive
with trout. Here and there the streams were
dammed by the industrious beaver.

In the interior of the forest there were lakes with
many islands, where moose, elk, deer and bears
were abundant. The water-fowl were wont to
gather here in great numbers, among them the
crane, the swan, the loon, and many of the smaller
kinds. The forest also was filled with a great va-
riety of birds. Here the partridge drummed his
loudest, while the whippoorwill sang with spirit,
and the hooting owl reigned in the night.

To me, as a boy, this wilderness was a paradise. It
was a land of plenty. To be sure, we did not have
any of the luxuries of civilization, but we had every
convenience and opportunity and luxury of
Nature. We had also the gift of enjoying
our good fortune, whatever dangers might lurk
about us; and the truth is that we lived in
blessed ignorance of any life that was better than
our own.

As soon as hunting in the woods began, the
customs regulating it were established. The coun-
cil teepee no longer existed. A hunting bonfire
was kindled every morning at day-break, at which
each brave must appear and report. The man who
failed to do this before the party set out on the
day's hunt was harassed by ridicule. As a rule,
the hunters started before sunrise, and the brave
who was announced throughout the camp as the
first one to return with a deer on his back, was a
man to be envied.

The legend-teller, old Smoky Day, was chosen
herald of the camp, and it was he who made the
announcements. After supper was ended, we heard
his powerful voice resound among the teepees in
the forest. He would then name a man to kindle
the bonfire the next morning. His suit of fringed
buckskin set off his splendid physique to advan-
tage.

Scarcely had the men disappeared in the woods
each morning than all the boys sallied forth, ap-
parently engrossed in their games and sports, but
in reality competing actively with one another in
quickness of observation. As the day advanced,
they all kept the sharpest possible lookout. Sud-
denly there would come the shrill "Woo-coo-
hoo!" at the top of a boy's voice, announcing the
bringing in of a deer. Immediately all the other
boys took up the cry, each one bent on getting
ahead of the rest. Now we all saw the brave Wa-
coota fairly bent over by his burden, a large deer
which he carried on his shoulders. His fringed
buckskin shirt was besprinkled with blood. He
threw down the deer at the door of his wife's
mother's home, according to custom, and then
walked proudly to his own. At the door of his
father's teepee he stood for a moment straight as a
pine-tree, and then entered.

When a bear was brought in, a hundred or
more of these urchins were wont to make the woods
resound with their voices: "Wah! wah! wah!
Wah! wah! wah! The brave White Rabbit
brings a bear! Wah! wah ! wah!"

All day these sing-song cheers were kept up, as
the game was brought in. At last, toward the close
of the afternoon, all the hunters had returned, and
happiness and contentment reigned absolute, in a
fashion which I have never observed among the
white people, even in the best of circumstances.
The men were lounging and smoking; the women
actively engaged in the preparation of the evening
meal, and the care of the meat. The choicest of
the game was cooked and offered to the Great
Mystery, with all the accompanying ceremonies.
This we called the "medicine feast." Even the
women, as they lowered the boiling pot, or the
fragrant roast of venison ready to serve, would first
whisper: "Great Mystery, do thou partake of this
venison, and still be gracious!" This was the
commonly said "grace."

Everything went smoothly with us, on this oc-
casion, when we first entered the woods. Noth-
ing was wanting to our old way of living. The
killing of deer and elk and moose had to be
stopped for a time, since meat was so abundant
that we had no use for them any longer. Only
the hunting for pelts, such as those of the bear,
beaver, marten, and otter was continued. But
whenever we lived in blessed abundance, our
braves were wont to turn their thoughts to other
occupations--especially the hot-blooded youths
whose ambition it was to do something note-
worthy.

At just such moments as this there are always a
number of priests in readiness, whose vocation it
is to see into the future, and each of whom con-
sults his particular interpreter of the Great Mys-
tery. (This ceremony is called by the white people
"making medicine.") To the priests the youth-
ful braves hint their impatience for the war-path.
Soon comes the desired dream or prophecy or
vision to favor their departure.

Our young men presently received their sign,
and for a few days all was hurry and excitement.
On the appointed morning we heard the songs of
the warriors and the wailing of the women, by which
they bade adieu to each other, and the eligible
braves, headed by an experienced man--old Ho-
tanka or Loud-Voiced Raven--set out for the
Gros Ventre country.

Our older heads, to be sure, had expressed some
disapproval of the undertaking, for the country in
which we were roaming was not our own, and we
were likely at any time to be taken to task by its
rightful owners. The plain truth of the matter
was that we were intruders. Hence the more
thoughtful among us preferred to be at home, and
to achieve what renown they could get by defend-
ing their homes and families. The young men,
however, were so eager for action and excitement
that they must needs go off in search of it.

From the early morning when these braves left
us, led by the old war-priest, Loud-Voiced Raven,
the anxious mothers, sisters and sweethearts
counted the days. Old Smoky Day would occa-
sionally get up early in the morning, and sing a
"strong-heart" song for his absent grandson. I
still seem to hear the hoarse, cracked voice of the
ancient singer as it resounded among the woods.
For a long time our roving community enjoyed
unbroken peace, and we were spared any trouble or
disturbance. Our hunters often brought in a deer
or elk or bear for fresh meat. The beautiful
lakes furnished us with fish and wild-fowl for
variety. Their placid waters, as the autumn ad-
vanced, reflected the variegated colors of the
changing foliage.

It is my recollection that we were at this time
encamped in the vicinity of the "Turtle Moun-
tain's Heart." It is to the highest cone-shaped
peak that the Indians aptly give this appellation.
Our camping-ground for two months was within a
short distance of the peak, and the men made it a
point to often send one of their number to the
top. It was understood between them and the
war party that we were to remain near this spot;
and on their return trip the latter were to give the
"smoke sign," which we would answer from the
top of the hill.

One day, as we were camping on the shore of a
large lake with several islands, signs of moose
were discovered, and the men went off to them on
rafts, carrying their flint-lock guns in anticipation
of finding two or three of the animals. We little
fellows, as usual, were playing down by the sandy
shore, when we spied what seemed like the root
of a great tree floating toward us. But on a closer
scrutiny we discovered our error. It was the head
of a huge moose, swimming for his life! Fortun-
ately for him, none of the men had remained at
home.

According to our habit, we little urchins disap-
peared in an instant, like young prairie chickens,
in the long grass. I was not more than eight
years old, yet I tested the strength of my bow-
string and adjusted my sharpest and best arrow for
immediate service. My heart leaped violently as
the homely but imposing animal neared the shore.
I was undecided for a moment whether I would
not leave my hiding-place and give a war-whoop
as soon as he touched the sand. Then I thought
I would keep still and let him have my boy weap-
on; and the only regret that I had was that he
would, in all probability, take it with him, and I
should be minus one good arrow.

"Still," I thought, "I shall claim to be the
smallest boy whose arrow was ever carried away
by a moose." That was enough. I gathered
myself into a bunch, all ready to spring. As the
long-legged beast pulled himself dripping out of
the water, and shook off the drops from his long
hair, I sprang to my feet. I felt some of the
water in my face! I gave him my sharpest arrow
with all the force I could master, right among
the floating ribs. Then I uttered my war-
whoop.

The moose did not seem to mind the miniature
weapon, but he was very much frightened by our
shrill yelling. He took to his long legs, and in a
minute was out of sight.

The leaves had now begun to fall, and the heavy
frosts made the nights very cold. We were forced
to realize that the short summer of that region
had said adieu! Still we were gay and light-
hearted, for we had plenty of provisions, and
no misfortune had yet overtaken us in our
wanderings over the country for nearly three
months.

One day old Smoky Day returned from the
daily hunt with an alarm. He had seen a sign--
a "smoke sign." This had not appeared in the
quarter that they were anxiously watching--it
came from the east. After a long consultation
among the men, it was concluded from the nature
and duration of the smoke that it proceeded from
an accidental fire. It was further surmised that
the fire was not made by Sioux, since it was out
of their country, but by a war-party of Ojibways,
who were accustomed to use matches when lighting
their pipes, and to throw them carelessly away.
It was thought that a little time had been spent in
an attempt to put it out.

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