A Kiowa MaidenThat Indian parents are very proud of their children’s progress is evidenced by the eagerness with which they send their sons and daughters to the schools established by the Government on the different Indian reservations. The Kiowa maiden here pictured is one of the many Indian girls and boys who more and more are availing themselves of the opportunity to obtain an education and thus fit themselves to take their places in civilized society.Illustration fromTHE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOWbyRichard Harding DavisOriginally published inHarper’s Weekly,May 14, 1892
That Indian parents are very proud of their children’s progress is evidenced by the eagerness with which they send their sons and daughters to the schools established by the Government on the different Indian reservations. The Kiowa maiden here pictured is one of the many Indian girls and boys who more and more are availing themselves of the opportunity to obtain an education and thus fit themselves to take their places in civilized society.
A Stage coachThe Red Man’s Parcel PostIllustration fromA PILGRIM ON THE GILAbyOwen WisterOriginally published inHarper’s Magazine,November, 1895
The Red Man’s Parcel PostIllustration fromA PILGRIM ON THE GILAbyOwen WisterOriginally published inHarper’s Magazine,November, 1895
Seger made a pleasant little speech to the obedient ones and ended: “I know we are to be good friends in the future as we have been in the past,” but a little shiver passed over the school as he went out, stern faced and resolute, to recall the truants.
The wife of Unko rose and scuttled away to give the alarm, but Wahiah stood with her robe drawn over her lips as if in struggle to repress a cry. Tomacham smoked on quietly, waiting the issue.
Meanwhile, Atokan strolled along the path, shooting his arrow at small objects on the ground, apparently oblivious of his teacher’s hastening footsteps.
When within hearing Seger called: “You know the rules, Atokan. Why do you not answer the bell?”
Atokan made no reply, and Seger was tempted to lay hands upon him; but to do this would involve a smart chase, and, besides, he was too wise to seem to be angry. He followed the boys, pleading with them, till Atokan turned and said: “You go away. Bimeby I come.”
“You must come now!”
“You going whip me?”
“Yes!”
“Then I don’t come.”
After half an hour of this humiliating parley Seger had the dubious satisfaction of seeing the truant set his face toward the schoolroom—for Atokan knew his father and mother were waiting, and into his heart came the desire to test “Johnny Smoker’s” courage. With insolent slowness he led the way past the group of his elders, on into the schoolroom, followed by twenty-five or thirty Cheyennes and Arapahoes. Some of the men were armed and all were stern. The women’s faces were both sour and sad. It was plain that something beside brute force must be employed in dealing with the situation. Seger knew these people. Turning suddenly to Tomacham he asked:
“My friend, what do you send your children to school for?”
Taken by surprise, the chief hesitated. “To learn to read and write and speak like the white man.”
“What do you think I am here for?”
“To show our children the way,” he reluctantly answered. “But not to punish them.”
Seger was addressing the women through the chief. “Do you think I can teach your children if they are out shooting birds?”
“No, I do not think so.”
“Do you think it would be honest if I took pay for teaching your children and let them run to camp all the time?”
“No, I think it is necessary that the children be kept in school—but you must not whip them.”
Seger faced Unko. “What kind of a person do you want to have teach your children—a liar?”
“No, a liar is bad for them.”
Unko saw the drift of Seger’s remarks, and he moved about uneasily, the butt of his pistol showing from beneath his blanket.
Seger then said in a loud voice, “I am not a liar!” and repeated this in signs. “I told your children I would whip them if they did not obey me, and now I am going to do it! You know me; I do not say ‘I am your friend,’ and then work evil to your children. Jack, come here!” A little boy rose slowly and came and stood beside his teacher, who went on: “This is an orphan. He was dying in his grandmother’s tepee when I went to him. I took him—I nursed him—I sat by his bed many nights when you were asleep. Jennie,” he called again, “you come to me!” A shy little girl with scarred face tiptoed to her beloved teacher. “This one came to me so covered with sores that she was terrible to see. I washed her—she was almost blind. I made her see. I have done these things many times. There is not a child here that has not been helped by me. I am not boasting—this is my duty, it is the work the Great Father has told me to do. It is my work also to make your children obey me. I am the friend of all red men. I have eaten in your lodges.I have been in council with you. I am not a liar. It is my duty to whip disobedient children, and I will do it. Atokan, come up here!”
The boy rose and came forward, a smoldering fire in his black eyes. As Seger laid a hand on his shoulder and took up his whip Wahiah uttered a shuddering moan. A sinister stir went through the room. The white man’s dominion was about to be put to the final test. In Wahiah’s heart a mighty struggle was in progress. Love and pride in her son demanded that she put an end to the whipping, but her sense of justice, her love for Seger and her conviction that the boy was wrong kept her fixed and silent, though her lips quivered and the tears ran down her face. Tomacham’s broad breast heaved with passion, but he, too, remained silent.
“Will you obey me?” asked the master.
Receiving no answer, he took firm hold of Atokan’s collar and addressed the spectators. “Little Unko is younger than Atokan. He was led away by him. I will therefore give both whippings to Atokan,” and he brought the hissing withe down over the boy’s shoulders. Again a moan of involuntary protest went through the room. Never before had a white man struck a Cheyenne child and remained unpunished for his temerity—and no other man, not even the agent himself, could have struck that blow and survived the wrath of Tomacham.
Atokan seized the lapel of his coat in his teeth, and bit hard in order to stifle any moan of pain the sting of the whip might wring from him. His was the heart of a warrior, for, though the whip fell hissing with speed he uttered no cry, and when the rod was worn to a fragment he remained silent as a statue, refusing to answer a single word.
Seger, convinced that the punishment was a failure unless it conquered the culprit, caught up another willow withe and wore it out upon him, to no effect—for, casting a glance at the pieces lying on the floor, the boy’s lips curled in a smile of disdain as if to say: “I am a warrior; I do not cry!”
Realizing his failure, Seger caught him with a wrestler’s twist,threw him across his knee, and beat him with the flat of his hand. The suddenness of this attack, the shame of the attitude, added to the pain he was already suffering, broke the boy’s proud spirit. He burst into loud lamentation, dropped to the floor, and lay in a heap, sobbing like a child.
Straightening up, the teacher looked about him, expecting to meet a roused and ready group of warriors. Every woman and all the children were wildly moaning and sobbing. The men with stern and sorrowful faces were struggling in silence to keep back the tears. The resolute little white man had conquered by his logic, his justice, his bravery.
“Atokan, will you obey me?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” the boy answered—his spirit broken.
Turning to the mother, Seger very gently said: “I do not like to do this, Wahiah; it hurts my heart as it does yours, but it was necessary. Tomacham, once I was a soldier—like you. I was taught to obey. You may kill me for this, but the Great Father at Washington will say, ‘Miokany died doing his duty.’ I know how hard it is for you to plow and reap and do as the white man does, but it must be done or you will die. Your children can do nothing till they learn to speak the tongue. I am here to do that work. The children must stay in school. They must obey me. I do not whip good children who obey—only those who are bad. Now you old people go home and think over what I have said, and we will return to our lessons.”
Then a wonderful, an incredible, thing happened! Tomacham rose and took Seger’s hand and shook it silently in token of conviction. But Wahiah, the mother of Atokan, with tears still streaming down her cheeks, pressed the teacher’s hand in both of hers and looked into his face as if to speak, but could not; then snatching her son’s symbols of freedom, his bow and arrows, she broke them over her knee and stamped on the fragments in the face of all the school. “Obey Miokany,” she commanded, with Spartan vigor, and, turning swiftly, went out, followed by the sad and silent chieftain.