"Laura, Laura, still we love thee,Though we see thy form no more,And we know thou'lt come to meet us,When we reach that mystic shore."
"Laura, Laura, still we love thee,Though we see thy form no more,And we know thou'lt come to meet us,When we reach that mystic shore."
One day the teacher said that we must learn to sing in parts; hitherto we had beensinging in unison as the Indians do; so he assigned the different parts to those scholars whom he thought could carry them. He met with no difficulty in selecting the soprano, contralto, and the tenor; but he could not find any boy who was willing to try the bass. He had given me the tenor, but as he could not find a bass, he said I must take that part as I was less timid about singing. I protested, but there was no escape for me. We learned fairly well to sing in parts a few pieces, but one day the teacher gave us a new song in which, at certain places in the chorus, the bass was unsupported. Our first attempt to render this song resulted in a failure, on account of my embarrassment. The teacher threatened and coaxed before I consented to make another trial. We sang very well together until we came to the chorus; when the leader indicated to me to remain silent, while the others drawled out the first two bars and came to a rest; then he motioned quickly to me, and I croaked, "Daisy Lee!" very much like a bull-frog. A smile rippled over the school, but the leader went onwaving his arms and nodding to the others, who again drawled out, "My dar-ling Dai-sy Lee-e-e-e." This time I knew when to come in; so as soon as they reached the rest, from the very depths of my chest I again croaked, "Daisy Lee!" This time the whole school went into convulsions; the teacher himself could not control his laughter; it was fun for everybody but me. For weeks afterwards whenever the boys saw me, they would mischievously shout in a bass voice, "Daisy Lee!"
This was not my only singing experience at the school. One afternoon the superintendent, Gray-beard, and all the rest of the men at the Mission were called away on some urgent business, and were not expected to be home for supper. At the table one of the ladies presided and asked the blessing over the evening meal. It being warm, the windows were thrown wide open while we ate. When supper was over, the children shifted their positions and waited as usual for the announcement of the hymn. The lady made the selection, but there was no one to lead; a hasty consultation was heldat the first table, then she came over to me with her hymn-book, "Frank, you must lead the singing," she said; "none of us can do it."
I could not understand why I should be selected to lead the singing; but I took the book and looked over the hymn that was chosen. I knew it by heart, and could sing it; but I was embarrassed by the prominent position given me; however, my pride would not permit me to make an excuse, so I struck an attitude, and thinking it the proper thing to do, I imitated the music teacher as well as I could, and searched for the pitch by making a sound like the whinnying of a horse. I was half-conscious that I had provoked some amusement at the teachers' table by this performance, but I boldly struck out, in a clear, loud voice. All joined in, and with an effort sang the first line. The second line began with two or three very high notes, difficult to reach even when the tune was sung at the proper pitch; I struck at them bravely, and just managed to reach them, only one voice, that of a girl, was with me; no one else had ventured.We two went on and finished the line; at the beginning of the next we were joined by a third voice; but it sang a very different tune. I turned to see who it was, and there, with his paws on the window-sill, was Edwin's dog howling with all his might!
"Woo-hoo! Noo'-zhin-ga pa'-hon ba ma kae don'-ba i ga!" (Oh! boys, get up and look at the snow!) exclaimed a new student, ignorant of the rule against speaking Indian.
We scrambled out of bed and rushed to the windows. Sure enough, there was snow on the ground, and the trees that the frost had stripped of their verdant beauty now stood resplendent in a mantle of white.
Summer had gone. The myriads of little creatures that only a short time ago enlivened the hills and valleys had withdrawn into the recesses of the earth, or other places of safety, each according to its own peculiar habit.
Winter had come. And the school-boy, defying its chilling blasts, dances about in the crisp snow, or on the ice, shouting to his playmates. Delighting in the exercise of every muscle, he races to the hill-top, blows his hot breath on his tingling finger-tips,mounts his little sled, then dashes down the hill with merry shouts of laughter, though the snow whirls and flies about his ears and beaming face. Again and again he takes this wild descent until he hears the calling of the school-bell; then, with reluctant feet, he enters the class-room, to study the divisions of the earth either by natural boundaries, or by the artificial ones made by aggressive man, to learn about weights and measures, or to memorize the great events that have changed the conditions of nations and of peoples.
Every one was up and dressed that morning when Gray-beard came to the dormitory; and, after repeating our prayer, we hurried down the two flights of stairs, making a noise like thunder. We ran into the yard, where we wrestled for a while, then rubbed our faces and hands with snow.
One of the teachers asked why the boys did so. "All boys do that," answered Brush. "The old folks tell them to do it, because then their faces and hands won't get frozen."
When breakfast was over that morning, and the students had shifted their positionsso as to face the centre of the dining-room, and had folded their arms, the superintendent, marking with his forefinger the chapter he had selected to read at the morning worship, looked up and spoke, "We want the boys to learn the use of tools, and to make things for themselves, so we have provided the boards out of which every boy in this school can make a sled for himself. The carpenter will give to any boy who asks, the materials and show him how to use the tools to make his sled. Of course this must be done before the school hour."
We looked at each other and smiled. The reading of the Scripture and the prayer seemed to us to be unusually long, but at last they came to an end. Then every boy hurried and scurried to the carpenter's shop. Soon dozens of hammers were going crack, crack, and the saws zip, zip.
"Be careful, boys! Look out for nails, or you will ruin your saws," said the carpenter, and he smiled good-naturedly as he went on marking the boards for the next applicant.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the dinsome one exclaimed, "Hong!" which is Indian for Ouch! and a big boy danced about, shaking his hand violently in the air, then he brought it down and pressed it between his knees, twisting his body into all sorts of shapes, howling the while. The hammering and sawing ceased, and a dozen voices asked, "What's the matter?" Peter, who was always clumsy in his movements, instead of hitting the nail he was driving, had struck his thumb and smashed it. The traditional "Indian stoicism" was not in him, so he kept up his howling until the carpenter had put on a tobacco poultice and bandaged the injured thumb.
After a lively coasting on our new sleds one afternoon, we were gathered in the school-room, and every one was busy preparing lessons. The arithmetic class was before the blackboard, answering questions put by the teacher.
"Ulysses Grant," said Gray-beard, "suppose the boards, nails, and work upon your sled cost you fifty-five cents, and you sold it to Edwin Stanton for sixty-three cents, what would be your profit?"
Ulysses moved uneasily, then began counting rapidly with his fingers.
"Stop counting your fingers. Do the sum with your head," said Gray-beard.
Just at this moment something like a shadow appeared at one of the windows, and all faces, except Gray-beard's, turned in that direction. We soon made out that the shadow was the face of an Indian boy with his buffalo robe drawn over his head and spread against the glass to exclude the glare of the sun, so as to give him a better view within the room. His black eyes peered at us, and at every object within sight. The figure withdrew; then we heard a voice speaking in our own language, "Come quick! Come and look at them!"
Soon the windows were darkened by dozens of the queerest-looking heads we had ever seen. Over each face hung two long braids. As the boys pressed their noses against the glass, and wrinkled their brows in trying to see, they made the strangest and most comical of pictures. They pushed and climbed over each other in their eagerness to observe what was going on inside.We could not help laughing at their appearance.
Edwin nudged me and whispered, "They're Ponka boys; they wear their scalp-locks in front, and they always have two."
"Don't they look funny?" shouted a Ponka boy at the middle window. "See, see that one!" and he pointed at Warren; "he looks just like a little owl; his hair stands straight up, and he has such big eyes."
Study became impossible, and the class in arithmetic made horrible blunders. Gray-beard was disgusted; in vain he rapped the desk with his ruler; and his patience found a limit when Andrew Johnson said that Ulysses' profit would be eleven cents, if he sold his sled for sixty-three cents. He gave the boy a vigorous shaking. This act of discipline delighted the little savages at the window; they shouted with laughter and the ends of their little braids fluttered with the breath of every peal. They interspersed their merriment with comments on our appearance, our clothing, and the absence of scalp-locks on our heads.
"What are they saying?" asked Gray-beard, looking toward the windows.
"They're calling us names," answered Warren, who felt sore at being compared to an owl.
Gray-beard went to the door; as he opened it, the intruders ran swiftly to the fence, and sat astride of the top board.
"Get away from here!" said Gray-beard, in a loud voice. "Go home!"
"How do do! Goo-by!" shouted back some of the little rascals with boisterous jeers.
"Class in history," called Gray-beard as he closed the door; and a number of us stood in line at the usual place.
"Philip Sheridan, can you tell me something of George Washington?"
All eyes turned toward the youngster who answered to the name of George Washington, and who, neglecting his lessons, was now busy drawing on his slate a caricature of a boy against whom he had a grudge. Hearing his name, and thinking he had been caught in his mischief, he looked up with a startled expression, and rose to make adenial, when Sheridan, fixing his eyes upon him, slowly answered, "He chopped his father's choke-cherry-tree."
The little savages returned to the windows, and began chattering noisily. Suddenly a number of them stood in line, imitating the history class, while one of the big boys took a place before them, mimicking the actions of Gray-beard and the tones of his voice, by giving the peculiar rhythm of English to his own Indian words.
"Ah'-bru-zhe-dae!" he asked; "do you ever wash your face?" And the make-believe class went into fits of laughter.
"Ten sleeps ago," angrily retorted the boy addressed, "you stole some honey, and the smirches of it are still onyourface!"
The boys were convulsed at this reply, and so were the boys in the school-room; but the mock teacher took a different view of the matter, and sprang at his impudent pupil, boxing his ears, whereat the two fell on each other in a lively tussle. We stretched our necks to see the struggle, and Gray-beard also watched the scene.
All at once a Ponka boy shouted, "I'vefound something! Come, come!" and the crowd moved away, leaving the two to finish their wrestling.
Before long we heard a great clatter in the hall-way, and then the Ponka boys were seen marching out of the yard with our sleds. We heard them coasting down the hill, and this made us very restless, so that we could not pay any attention to our lessons. By and by the shouting on the hill-side ceased, and Warren leaned over to Brush and whispered, "They're going off with our sleds!"
Brush raised his right hand; Gray-beard saw him, and asked what he wanted.
"Those Indian boys are going away with our sleds, and we want to go after them."
Permission being given, in a twinkling there were twenty or thirty school-boys charging up the hill, all mad as hornets. We overtook the Ponkas midway between the school and the village. The little savages turned and came to meet us.
"What do you want?" said the big boy who had played teacher.
"We want our sleds," said Brush.
"Come and get them!" was the defiant answer of the Ponka boys.
"That we will do!" answered Brush.
We all moved forward, and then followed a scene hard to describe. A terrific battle took place between us and the robbers; it was hand to hand, and shin to shin, for hands and feet were the only weapons used.
The Ponkas made a determined resistance. I cannot very well relate what happened around me; for I was engaged in a lively bout with an impish-looking little chap for whom I had taken a sudden and unreasonable spite. It was hard to get at him, for he was quick as a wild-cat in his movements, and he gave me a number of vicious blows before I could touch him. I noticed that he was more afraid of my brogans than of my fists; taking advantage of this, I pretended to lift my foot for a fierce kick; he hopped backwards, and, in so doing, bent his body toward me. Quick as a flash, I grasped his two braids, pulled his head down, and brought my right knee up against it with tremendous force, and he went sprawling in the snow.
"Frank, Frank, come here, quick!" It was Brush calling. I turned, and there he lay under two of the Ponkas, who were dealing him heavy blows. In a second I had dragged one of them off, and Brush had his footing again. Some one shouted, "They're running! they're running!" and the boys we were fighting broke loose. Then all of us school-boys chased the Ponkas, and drove them into their camp.
We were a bruised lot when we came back to the school; but we had our sleds.
The small boys had been marched to bed at eight o'clock. We, the Middle Five, who, for the first time, were permitted to stay up until ten,—a privilege hitherto enjoyed only by the Big Seven,—sat around the fire listening to Indian tales told by Edwin in his animated way. There was no light in the room save that which came through the open door of the stove, in front of which the story-teller had taken his place. The flickering fire cast a ruddy light upon the fine features of the boy, and the shadows on the wall danced to the caprice of the restless flames. We laughed heartily at the mishaps of Ish-te'-ne-ke, a comical character that figures in the folk-tales of the Omahas, as they were vividly portrayed in language and gesture.
Outside the wind was moaning and sighing through the trees around the house, at times rattling the windows vigorously, as though threatening to rush in upon us; andfrom the neighborhood of the graveyard came the mournful sounds of the hooting owl.
In the back part of the school-room, where it was dark, sat the Big Seven, carrying on an earnest conversation in low tones, as though to exclude us from their confidence.
The leader of this "gang" was a youth of peculiar appearance and manner. He was tall and muscular, with prominent nose and cheek-bones. Although he took an active part in the amusements and sports of the school, often inaugurating them himself, we never knew him to change the expression of his face, either in pain, anger, or mirth. We five often had talks about the peculiarities of this singular youth. Brush said that "Aleck" (the boys addressed him by this name, for he was called after the Macedonian conqueror) was turned outside in, that all his laugh, anger, and sorrow were inside and couldn't be seen. Edwin declared that the boy had ceased laughing since the killing of his father by the Sioux, and that he was reserving his laugh for the time when he should take revenge.
The mysterious consultation in the backpart of the school-room came to an end, and one by one the Big Seven approached the stove and mingled with us. Aleck, who was the last, did not sit down in the space left for him, but drew up a desk and perched on one end of it, resting his feet on the bench where he should have sat. He leaned over, supporting his body with his elbow on his knee, and shaded his eyes with his hand. We could feel that for some purpose he was looking into the faces of the Middle Five.
As the Seven took their places among us, Edwin brought his story to a close, and we fell into silence. After a few moments Aleck cleared his throat, and, without change of attitude, said in the Omaha language, fearlessly breaking one of the rules of the school:
"Boys, to you of the Five I speak. There is not a 'gang' in the school that has not its secrets. You of the Five have yours, no doubt; we of the Seven, who now sit with you, have ours. We respect yours, and we have every confidence that you respect ours. Ordinarily we do not interfere with each other's affairs; but now that you have thesame privilege that we have had, and we are thrown together, we of the Seven think that your 'gang' should unite with ours in a secret that up to this time has been ours alone, and share in its pleasures. Are you willing to join in it?"
"Yes," answered Brush, knowing as the rest of us did, what this secret was; "we are willing."
"You of the Seven, are you satisfied with the answer?"
There was silence. "Then," continued the leader of the Seven, "I must have the answer of each one of the Five."
Brush again signified his assent, and the rest of us followed. Having arrived at a mutual understanding which awakened in each one a fraternal feeling, there ensued among all the boys a lively chattering. When the fervor of the friendly demonstration abated, Aleck, in his deep voice, said, "Wa'-tha-dae shu-ge'ha!" (The Word of Command approaches.)
Immediately there was silence, and each one held his breath expectantly, for we recognized the ritual words of "the Leader"in the game, "Obeying the Command," words which had been sacred to generations of boys who had preceded us.
"Those are the very words," whispered Edwin to me; "now listen, hear where the Command will come from, and where it will go."
"The Word of Command approaches," continued Aleck, with unmoved face; "from the head of the Ne-shu-de [the Missouri] it comes, wrapped in a black cloud, the mantle of thunder, like the mighty whirlwind it comes; the great trees of the pine-clad mountains bend to its fury; its voice echoes through the valleys, and the animals, big and little, tremble with fear. On it comes, sweeping over the wide plains; the angry lightnings dart from the cloud; it approaches the village of the Ponkas, at the mouth of the Niobrara, passes it and continues its course down the Ne-shu'-de; now it has come to the pictured rocks; it reaches the bluffs of the Cut-lake; but on it comes, swifter and swifter it comes; it is now at the old Omaha village, at the graves of the little ones; it comes—it is here!"
There was a pause, and we all waited in suspense. Just then the wind rattled the windows and the owl up in the graveyard hooted.
"George!" called the leader, in a solemn tone.
"Present!" promptly responded George in English, as though answering Gray-beard's roll-call. A ripple of suppressed laughter spread among the boys. Aleck, I doubt not, was giggling inside.
"Edwin!" continued the leader, in the same tone.
"Ah-ho!" said Edwin, giving the response and imitating the voice of a grown-up and serious warrior.
"The Word of Command is before you two," continued Aleck, "the Leader;" "and it is, that soon after Gray-beard has gone to bed you are to go to the village and enter the house of Hae'-sha-ra-gae, where you will see a woman making pemmican. You will say to her, 'Woman!' we are the commanded and the bearers of the word of Command. Of you we demand a bag of pemmican. Give willingly, and you shallgo beyond the four hills of life without stumbling; there shall be no weariness in the pathway of life to hinder your feet, and your grandchildren shall be many and their succession endless!' Fail not in your mission. Your way out of the house shall be through one of the windows in our dormitory, and by a rope."
"It is bed-time, boys, come right up," called Gray-beard, from the head of the stairs. "See that the large doors are bolted."
When we were in bed, Gray-beard went softly downstairs, and we heard him open his door, close it, then lock it. Some of the youngsters were still awake, and, when they heard the closing of Gray-beard's door, began to talk. It seemed as though they would never stop and go to sleep, so that we could carry out the Word of Command. After a while Aleck thought of a plan, and started a game often played by small boys at night; he said, loud enough for the little boys to hear, "Tha'-ka!" Brush and the rest of us repeated the word, one after the other, and each of the wakeful little fellows, according to the rules of the game, was obligedin his turn to utter the word, and then there was silence, for no one can speak after he has said the word. Soon heavy breathing among the little ones gave sign that they had entered the land of dreams.
It was near the middle of the night when one by one the members of the Big Seven and the Middle Five noiselessly arose. George tiptoed to a corner and brought out a large coil of rope. We went with it to the window directly over that of Gray-beard's bed-room. I do not know why we selected that window, the only dangerous one in the dormitory, but there seemed to be a fatality about it. Very softly the window was raised; George slipped the noose at the end of the rope around his body, then climbed through the window. Slowly we let him down the three stories to the ground. Then we hauled the rope up again, and let Edwin down in the same manner. We closed the window, leaving space enough for the rope, which remained dangling.
On entering the village, the two boys were met by a pack of noisy curs that snapped and snarled at their heels. As thedogs became bolder in their attacks, the lads struck right and left with the heavy sticks they carried; one dog limped away yelping, and another lay thumping his tail on the ground, stunned.
The door of the house designated by the leader of the Big Seven squeaked loudly on its rusty hinges as the boys swung it open without the ceremony of knocking. A woman at work in one corner of the room looked up at them, smiled good-naturedly, and said in a sympathetic tone:
"Such a dark night as this! On what errand do they come, and little White-chests, too?"
Four men were sitting on the floor around a flickering candle playing a game; they too looked up at the sound of the door.
"Oho!" said the man of the house, who was one of the players, "for a long time you have not entered my dwelling on a visit; I fear you will make it rain! Walk around the stove and break the charm."
"Don't mind him," said the woman, kindly; "tell me what you want. Won't you sit down?"
The two boys stood hesitating, then George began in a sepulchral voice, "Woman, we are the commanded, the bearers of the Word of Command. We come to demand of you a bag of pemmican. Give plenty—"
"Willingly," corrected Edwin, in a whisper.
"Willingly, and you shall go beyond the four hills of life without—without—"
"Stumbling," prompted Edwin.
"Stumbling; there shall be no weariness in the pathway of life—" and so on to the end of the ritual.
The woman clapped her hands, and shouted with laughter, as she exclaimed, "If your cloud and lightning and thunder do all you say they will do, they have more power than I supposed they had! Sit down and wait a while, and I will have some pemmican ready for you."
"Did those old White-chests teach you all that?" asked the husband. "If they did, they have been stealing the rituals of some of our priests, and—"
"Oh, let them alone!" said the wife; "they came to see me."
"They came in without knocking on the door; that's bad luck!" the husband continued in his banter; "before entering a house they should knock, as the White-chests do."
"Be careful, and don't spill it!" said the wife, as she handed a bag to George, who thanked her.
"There they come!" said one of the Seven in a loud whisper, as he felt a tug on the rope that was tied to his arm.
We hastened out of bed, being careful not to make any noise. George and Edwin sent the bag of pemmican first, then they were each pulled up and safely landed.
We had built a fire in a vacant room adjoining our dormitory; into this warm room we repaired with our bag, and sat in a circle on the floor, Indian fashion. On a little table stood the one candle allowed us, shedding a feeble light. Two of the boys had stolen down to the dining-room for plates. Alexander, before whom the bag was placed, divided the pemmican equally, while we listened to George and Edwin's account of their adventure. The plates were passedaround; I put out my hand to help myself from my plate, when a member of the Big Seven stopped me. "Wait," said he; "there is something more to be done."
Aleck looked up; we all became silent; then he took a tiny bit of the pemmican, and held it toward the sky for a moment as a thank offering to Wakonda, then placed it with great solemnity on the floor in the centre of the circle. This done, we fell to eating, telling stories as we feasted, and had one of the most enjoyable nights of our lives.
From time to time through the winter we had these nocturnal banquets, taking turns in going to the village for our supplies; but misfortune overtook us before the season was fairly over.
One dark night we had our meeting as usual, and the Word of Command came to Lester and to Joel of the Big Seven. When the small boys had gone to sleep, we brought out our rope and let Joel down through the window. Then we put the noose around Lester and proceeded to lower him.
It chanced that Gray-beard had lain awake from toothache, and was at that verymoment looking through his window, the curtain of which he had neglected to pull down when he retired, and he saw, slowly descending outside, two dark objects; they grew longer and longer, then they suddenly ceased to move. For an instant he felt a slight shock of fright; but quickly recovering, he gradually made out the form of two feet and two legs without a body. He sprang out of bed, threw open the window, and in a severe tone demanded, "What's this! Who are you; what are you doing?"
Lester struggled frantically to climb the rope; we tried to help him, but a large knot caught the edge of the window-sill, and we could not lift it over, nor could we let Lester down, for one of the Seven had entangled his legs in the coil, and before he had extricated himself, it was too late to save our companion.
"Who are you?" again called Gray-beard, grasping the boy by the trousers.
"It's me, Lester," replied the lad.
Seeing that the game was up, we gently let Lester farther down, and he entered Gray-beard's room through the window.
In the mean time one of the boys had run softly downstairs to open the hall door for Joel, who had not been discovered.
Gray-beard woke us up in the morning at the usual hour, but of the disturbance during the night he said nothing. At breakfast the subject was not mentioned, although we listened with anxious expectation.
To the twelve boys who were engaged in the escapade of the night, it seemed as though the preliminary exercises of the morning school session would never end, so desirous were we to have the punishment, whatever it might be, come quickly and we be rid of suspense. The last name on the roll was called; Gray-beard slowly closed the Register, put it in his desk, and during an impressive silence turned his eyes upon us to scan our faces.
"Lester!" said he, at last, "you will step up to my desk, if you please."
If there was a serious matter on hand, Gray-beard always said, "If you please."
Notwithstanding the very polite invitation extended to him, Lester reluctantly walked to the desk. Every eye but two,those of Alexander, was fixed upon Gray-beard and Lester. Aleck had taken out his writing-book and was carefully copying the example given at the head of the page, "Honesty is the best policy." He took particular pains with the capital H, finishing the last part with concentric circles.
"What were you doing last night," asked Gray-beard of Lester, "when I caught you outside of my window?"
"I was going down to the ground."
"Were you running away?"
"No, sir."
"Where were you going?"
"I was going to the village."
"What were you going to the village for?"
No answer.
"Who was letting you down; some one must have held the rope in the dormitory, who was it?"
No reply.
"If you don't answer my questions, I shall have to whip you; who else was going with you?"
Lester looked appealingly to Brush, then to Alexander. Aleck was writing thesentence in his book; but, when he heard Gray-beard's threat to whip Lester, he arose without finishing the last word. All eyes turned upon him, and there was a stir among the pupils.
"What is it, Alexander," asked Gray-beard, "what do you know about this strange performance?"
"Lester is not to blame, sir; I made him go out of the window, and I held the rope to let him down."
"And I helped him to do it," came from a voice in another part of the room; it was Brush, who had silently risen; "we compelled the two—we compelled Lester to go out of the window."
"You said there were two boys who were going out of the window, who was the other?" asked Gray-beard, determined to find out all the participants in the mischief.
Those of us who knew, looked toward Joel; an expression of fear stole over his face and he anxiously awaited Brush's answer.
"I did not say that, sir," he replied; "Lester was going down alone."
Joel gave a sigh of relief.
"What made you force the boy to go out of the window; where were you sending him?"
"We were sending him to the village."
"What were you sending him to the village for?"
"I refuse to answer," was the bold reply.
Gray-beard, seeing that there would be no use in questioning Brush, turned to Alexander and asked, "What were you sending Lester to the village for?"
"I was sending him to go there and return."
"Alexander, I want no foolishness; tell me what you were sending Lester to the village for?"
"I refuse to answer."
"This abusing of smaller boys by the large ones, and making them do things that are improper, must be stopped; it has gone far enough. Lester, you may take your seat. Frank, take this knife and get me two good hickory switches. Do you know a hickory-tree?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, as I took theknife. I knew every kind of tree growing around the school, and I had a suspicion that Gray-beard did not know the difference between a hickory sapling and some others. I cut two formidable-looking switches of linden, closely resembling hickory. I had time to fully doctor only one of the switches, by driving the knife-blade deep into the wood every two or three inches. When I entered the school-room, Gray-beard took a glance at the switches, then said:
"Alexander and Brush will step to my desk and take off their coats."
The two boys stood in their shirt sleeves; I kept watch of Gray-beard's eyes, and saw that he was going to take Brush first; so when he was ready I handed him the fully doctored switch.
"Is that hickory?" he asked, trying it on the air; "I suspect it isn't."
I made no reply.
"Stand in the middle of the floor," said Gray-beard to Brush.
He did so. Gray-beard brought down the stick heavily on Brush's shoulders, an inch of the sapling broke; then he struckfaster and faster, and at each stroke a piece flew off. Brush stood with clenched fists, determined not to show any flinching; but we could see that he felt keenly the blows. He went to his desk, and buried his face in his arms.
"I am afraid this isn't hickory," said Gray-beard, throwing on the floor the stump of the switch. "I know this one is," and he dealt blow after blow on the broad shoulders of Alexander, who gave no sign of pain. The boy stood unmoved, every muscle relaxed, even his hands were open, showing no emotion whatever. The stick was worn out, and Gray-beard threw the stump on the floor.
Aleck put on his coat, then, with head uplifted and unfaltering steps, went to his desk, took his pen, and completed the unfinished word of the motto.
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, thefirst 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 bindingwas 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 samemanner, 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. Iturned 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 amoment'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 theteaching 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 determinationthat 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 ahand 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 eatinghe 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." Werepeated 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 along 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."
It was recess. The laughter and shouts of the boys, as they chased each other and wrestled, mingled with the song of the wren and other birds that inhabited the woods surrounding the school. Not less merry or boisterous were the laughter and calls of the girls, although their territory for play was limited and fenced in, to keep them from too free a communication with the rougher sex. Study and work were forgotten, and every boy and girl romped in the sunshine, and the atmosphere around seemed to be alive with happiness.
Suddenly the boys began to gather curiously around two objects upon the ground. The girls, seeing this unusual stir, came running to their fence, climbed up as far as they dared, and asked the nearest boys what it was that attracted so large a crowd.
It was a pitiful scene,—there, sitting on the green grass, was a crippled old woman ofabout seventy or eighty years, speaking in the kindest and gentlest of tones, with inflections of the voice hard to describe, but which brought to one's mind the twittering of a mother bird to its young, and passing her crooked fingers and wrinkled hands over the brown back of a miserable, naked, little boy who was digging his chubby fists in his eyes to squeeze away the tears that flowed incessantly.
"Don't cry! my little grandson," she was saying; "don't cry! These White-chests are kind; they will clothe and feed you. I can no longer take care of you, so I must give you to them. See these boys, what nice caps and coats and pants they have! You will have these things, too, and you will have plenty to eat. The White-chests will be good to you; I will come and see you very often. Don't cry!"
But the boy cried all the harder, twisting his fists into his eyes, and the old woman continued her caressing twittering.
The bell rang, and there was a rush for the school-room. When the hard breathing, coughing, and shuffling into position at thedesks had ceased, the door was gently pushed open, and the old woman entered, tenderly urging the unwilling little brown body forward into the room, still weeping. Addressing Gray-beard, who was watching the scene with a queer smile on his lips, the old woman said:
"I have brought my little boy to give him to the White-chests to raise and to educate. On account of my age and feebleness, I am no longer able to care for him. I give him to you, and I beg that he be kindly treated. That is all I ask."
Without waiting for an answer, the poor creature, with tears streaming down her furrowed cheeks, limped out of the room, making a cheerless clatter with her heavy stick as she moved away. The little boy, recovering from his bewilderment, turned to see if his grandmother was still near by, and, finding that she had gone, gave a piteous wail, and fell to the floor, sobbing violently.
Who was this wretched little boy? He was his mother's son, that's all. He had no father, that is, none to caress and fondle him as other boys had. A man had presentedthe name of the boy to the Agent to be entered on the annuity rolls, only to that selfish extent recognizing the lad as his son.
The mother died while the child still needed her tender care, and the little one was left all alone in this great world that plays with the fortunes of men and nations. The place of death was in a dreary little tent, the rags of which flapped and fluttered in the force of the merciless winds, as though in sympathy with the melancholy situation. No loving husband or father was there to prepare the body for its last resting-place, and to give the helpless babe the nourishment for which it cried. Not even a relative was there; the dead woman had none among the people; she belonged to another tribe.
As the mother lay an unburied corpse, and her child wailing, a figure bent with age was plodding by. It was an old woman; slowly she put her heavy stick forward, then took a step, as though measuring every movement. When she came near the tent, she stopped, for the distressing wail had pierced her ears. She raised her trembling hand to her brow, looked up to the tent, then to thesurroundings. The wailing went on, and the decrepit old woman hastened toward the tent as fast as she was able to go, and entered. For a moment she stood still, contemplating the scene before her, then from the fountains of her tender heart arose tears, impelled not by the sympathy that naturally springs from the love of friend or kindred, but by that nobler and higher feeling which lifts one toward God,—the sympathy for human kind.
Thus it was that this kind-hearted old woman took the homeless little child to her tent and cared for him. The two were inseparable until the grandmother, as she was called by the boy, felt that she was fast approaching the time when she would be summoned to join her fathers in the spirit-land; so, to provide for the child's future, she had brought him to the school.
The naming of a new pupil was usually an occasion for much merriment, but this time there was no enthusiasm. The school seemed to be in sympathy with the grandmother who went away weeping. Instead of raising their hands, as was their wont, tosuggest names, they sought to hide their feeling by poring over their books.
"Come," said Gray-beard, "we must have a name for this youngster. Be quick and suggest one."
There was no response. Finally a big boy, who was busy over his lessons, said without lifting his head, "Call him Joseph."
So Gray-beard entered that name on the school Register.
Joe, as he was called by the boys, grew rapidly, but the helplessness of infancy clung to him. Because he could not fight, he became the butt of every trick a school-boy could devise, and there was no one who would do battle for him. If a big boy looked hard at him he would howl, and if one of his size rushed at him threateningly, he would shrink with fear. He was incapable of creating any mischief, yet he was continually stumbling into scrapes.
One sultry afternoon as I was sitting in the shade of the walnut tree in front of the school, busy making a sling for Bob out of an old shoe, Joe came up to us, and dropped on his hands and knees. With thegreatest interest he watched me cut the leather into a diamond shape; after a while he ventured to ask, "What yer makin'?"
"Wait and see," I answered, and went on working. When I had finished the sling-strap or pocket, I cut from the lappets of my buckskin moccasin two strings, making a noose at the end of one, and then fastened both strings to the sling-strap. Although I did not say anything about it, I had determined to make one for Joe as soon as I had shown Bob how to use the sling. He tried to find out from Bob what I was making; but that little chap would not speak to him.
When the sling was finished, I told Bob to gather some rusty nails and pebbles. He was off with a jump, and returned with a good supply in an amazingly short time. Joe still sat watching, with eyes and mouth wide open. I put a nail in the sling-strap, and, to show Bob how to use the sling, swung it around three or four times, then threw out my arm with force, letting one end of the string slip, and the nail sped on its way through the air, singing. Bob clapped his hands with delight.
A crow was flying lazily over head, croaking as he went. I sent a stone whizzing up to him; it barely missed his head, and he turned a complete somersault in the air, to our great amusement.
"I'm goin' to make one too!" said Joe, suddenly rising and hunting around for materials.
I paid no attention to him, but went on teaching Bob how to throw stones with the sling, little thinking that we were drifting toward an incident which gave Joe much pain temporarily and left an impression on my immature mind unfavorable to the White-chests which lasted many, many years.
"Mine's done!" exclaimed Joe, holding up a sling he had made out of rotten rags.
"Don't use it," I made haste to say, "and I'll make you a good one."
He paid no heed to my words, but went on trying to balance stones in the old piece of rag. The stones dropped before he could swing the sling and throw them. Bob kept me busy throwing stones for him, for he was afraid of hitting the boys who were on the hillside near by playing tag, or of sending apebble over the fence, where the girls were singing and chatting over some of their games.
"Look now, look!" cried Joe. I turned to see what he was doing. He had succeeded in balancing a clod of earth nearly as large as his head in the rag sling, and was about to swing it.
Just at this moment Gray-beard came out of the carpenter's shop and, shading his eyes with a newspaper, he called loudly to one of the boys who was playing tag, "Ulysees! Ulysees!" He inflated his lungs to call for the third time, and with greater volume of voice. Joe had swung the clod of earth around for the second time, and it was half way up for the third round when the string broke; released from its holdings, the clod flew into the air, revolving, and dropping loose particles as it went. I held my breath as I watched it, for I saw just where it was going to strike.
In throwing a stone at some object, I used to imagine that by keeping a steady eye on the stone and bending my body in the direction I desired it to go, I could make themissile reach the place aimed at. In this instance, although I did not throw the clod, I unconsciously bent my body sidewise, keeping my eyes steadily on the lump of earth to draw it away from the spot for which it was making. The two other boys watched with frightened faces.
Gray-beard, with head thrown back, lips parted, and chest expanded, called, "Uly—!" when the diminutive planet, which I was trying to guide by my force of will, struck him in the chest, and burst in a thousand bits. For a moment there was coughing and sputtering; then Gray-beard drew out his handkerchief, dusted his beard, and his white shirt front. He looked around to see where the missile that struck him came from. I wished that we three could sink into the earth, or else turn into nothing, as Gray-beard's eyes rested upon us.
"Come here!" he demanded with a vigorous gesture. Like so many guilty curs we walked up to him.
"Which one of you did it?" he cried, grasping me by the collar and shaking me until my teeth chattered.
Joe cringed and cried; it was a confession. I was about to say, "he didn't mean to do it;" when the infuriated man turned, went into the shop, and in a moment came back with a piece of board.
"Hold out your hand!" he said, addressing the shrinking boy.
Joe timidly held out his left hand, keeping his eyes all the while on the uplifted board, which came down with force, but not on the little hand that had been withdrawn to escape the blow. Gray-beard sprang at the boy, caught his hand, and attempted to strike it; but the boy pulled away and the board fell with a vicious thud on the wrist of the man, who now turned white with rage. Catching a firm grip on the hand of the boy, Gray-beard dealt blow after blow on the visibly swelling hand. The man seemed to lose all self-control, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily, while the child writhed with pain, turned blue, and lost his breath.
It was a horrible sight. The scene in the school-room when the naked little boy was first brought there by the old woman rosebefore me; I heard the words of the grandmother as she gave the boy to Gray-beard, "I beg that he be kindly treated; that is all I ask!" And she had told the child that the White-chests would be kind to him.
Poor Joe, I did what I never would have done if a boy of his own size had thrashed him, I took him by the hand and tried to comfort him, and cared for his bruises.
As for Gray-beard, I did not care in the least about the violent shaking he had given me; but the vengeful way in which he fell upon that innocent boy created in my heart a hatred that was hard to conquer.
The day was spoiled for me; I partly blamed myself for it, though my plans had been to make the two little boys happy, but misery came instead. After supper I slipped away from my companions, and all alone I lay on the grass looking up at the stars, thinking of what had happened that afternoon. I tried to reconcile the act of Gray-beard with the teachings of the Missionaries, but I could not do so from any point of view.
All the boys had come together in the yard, and some one called out, "Let's play pull." So they divided into two groups, grading each according to the size of the boys. Two of the strongest were selected, one from each side; they held a stout stick between them, then on each side the boys grasped each other around the waist. When all were ready, they began to pull, every boy crying, "Hue! Hue!" as he tugged and strained. In the dusk the contending lines looked like two great dark beasts tearing at each other and lashing their tails from side to side. Bob and Joe were at the very end of one side; Bob had tied a bit of rope around his waist, and Joe had hold of that with his only serviceable hand. The pulling lasted for quite a while; finally one side drew the other over the mark; the game ended, and the boys noisily disbanded.
"Frank! Frank!" I heard; it was Edwin and the rest of the "gang."
"Here I am," I called out, and they gathered around me.
"Joe's hand is awful swelled up," saidBob, as he threw himself down on the grass.
"What's the matter with him?" asked Warren.
"Gray-beard beat Joe's hand like everything; he was so mad I thought he'd kill the boy." Then I recounted the scene, adding, "I can't think of anything else; it was awful!"
"Did he do anything to you?" asked Edwin.
"He shook me right hard when he asked me who did it; but when he saw Joe crying he knew who it was; then he let go of me and whipped him."
Brush had been listening to my story without a word; now he arose and said, "Boys, stay here till I come back."
He went into the house and knocked at the superintendent's door.
"I'm glad to see you Brush," said the superintendent, kindly. "Have you finished the book, and do you want another?"
"No, sir; I wish to speak to you about something that happened to-day, which I don't think is quite right, and I thought youought to know about it." Then he told in a simple straightforward manner the story of Joe's punishment.
When Brush had finished, the superintendent sent for Gray-beard. For a long time the two men talked earnestly together. At length Brush returned, and said, as he took his seat among us:
"Boys, that will not happen again. Gray-beard says he's sorry he did it, and I believe him."