On the other hand our white friends must be patient with us if we do not learn as fast as they expect us to, and remember, that they were born and brought up in the midst of civilization and inherit their mental capabilities, and the power of observation which enables them to comprehend quickly, from ancestors who had been studying for hundreds of years. They must also remember that the Indians have always been hunters and that even today they know but very little, if anything, about literature, and that the English language is a hard language for a foreigner to learn. I have known educated white men to live among Indians, and for more than ten years make a careful study of the Indian language and yet they could not learn to speak perfectly notwithstanding the comparative simplicity of the language. If it takes more than ten years for an educated white man to learn to speak an Indian language perfectly, it is expecting too much to think that an Indian student, within four or five years can learn to speak and write the more complicated English language. We must, therefore, suggest to our white friends, when they are considering the advantages which accrue to the Indian from education that it is also necessary to take cognizance of the difficulties that lie in the way of its attainment. Language is a great barrier between the Indians and the white people and between the different Indian tribes, and this barrier must be broken down so that the two races and the various tribes may understand one another in every particular. It will be impossible for the older people to learn to speak the English language but the younger people can and must acquire English and not hold back because their fathers are unequal to the task. The ability to speak English is one of the essentials to the welfare and advancement of the Indians.
While the young people are thus gaining a knowledge of books and being trained in industries, the older people should be taught the use of agricultural implements and how to till the soil in order to secure their living. They will thus learn by their own experience that work is both honorable and profitable, rather than degrading and profitless, as so many have been accustomed to think. They will, however, need to be constantly reminded that the wealth of the white man represents tireless and persistent labor, both mental and physical, and also the careful expenditure of the profits of work, in a thoughtful consideration of the future.
Much depends upon the development of the manhood of the Indians to make them useful members of society. The question is, how is their manhood to be reached? How is it to be awakened?
The answer is simple. Treat them as men, give them the same opportunities for experience, the same laws, and the same changes as are permitted white men.
Treat them no longer as children, feeding and clothing them. Give each man the ownership of his farm and home, and whatever is justly due from the sale of extra lands, either from past negotiations or provisions, to be made in future; pay him in money as you would a white man and throw him upon his own responsibility. If there are some who will spend their money foolishly they will do better the next time after having felt want; or if there are those who will spend it wisely it will lead to further success. Believe me, if you treat the Indians as men, they will respond to you as men, and will endeavor to work with you in the upbuilding of our common country.
In speaking to you, I have dwelt upon the importance of education, of acquiring the English language because it seems to me to be the key to the solution of many of our difficulties. English opens up to us not only the means of communication with the white people by word of mouth, but it enables us to study their history and see the causes which led to the advancement. We learn from their history how diligently the men who have accomplished great deeds have worked, holding to their purpose for years, seemingly unmindful of discouragements and temporary defeats. We learn that nothing is accomplished that is worthy and lasting, that does not take time and persistent energy. We learn that the great force of the world is the mind of man. By that power man has crossed that seas, measured the stars, made the lightning do his bidding, and belted the earth with his iron road. It is mind, the cultivated, trained mind of the white man that has made the wealth and prosperity of this land of our forefathers. We Indians have minds. Shall they remain dull and untrained? No! We intend to strive for education, for the training of all our faculties, for our civil rights, that we may act our part in the labors that engage the civilized man.1
The Laughing Bird, the Wren: An Indian Legend, 1900
Ja-bae-ka came in with a big armful of wood, threw it down with a crash, stamped his feet and gave his blanket a few vigorous flaps to shake off the snow. The squint eyed little chap was always willing to go after water, or wood or to run on any other errand; and when a thing of that kind was to be done, the dozen boys, who were chums and went together, always looked to him first.
A dozen hands were stretched to place the wood on the fire, and a number of mouths were blowing upon it. Soon the flames leaped upward with a roaring, cracking noise, and the sparks chased each other in a lively fashion up through the round opening at the top of the dome shaped roof on the earth lodge. The light threw a ruddy glare upon our youthful faces and our shadows danced in a fantastic manner against the somber walls of the large, circular room.
“Wha! Goo-da-ga!” exclaimed a black eyed youngster, as he gave a whack with the back of his hand to the little spotted dog that came smelling and sniffing in front of our venerable story teller, who sat filling his pipe and staring into the flames to refresh his memory. The little dog gave a yelp and quickly disappeared under one of the willow compartments in the back part. Even little dogs were required to show respect to storytellers.
The old man lifted his small pipe, stem upward, toward the sky and muttered a few words; then every boy quickly bent forward, each one eager to be first to hold the brand for the story teller to light his pipe. After taking a few whiffs, the venerable man began, and all of us youngsters fell to an attentive silence.
“Of all the living things brought into existence by the breath of Wá-kon-da,” remarked the old man by way of introduction, “none but the birds possess the wonderful power of leaving the earth, lifting themselves into the air and moving at will in the midst of the restless winds.”
“Once in the progress of time, so the story tellers say, there came out of the ever silent depths of the blue, far above the reach of earthly sounds, a mysterious voice commanding the feathered creatures of the earth to gather at a certain place, where, on an appointed day, they were to display their power of flight.
“In obedience to this command all the birds hastened toward the chosen spot, some flying in flocks; some speeding along in lines; others soaring alone; each according to the habit of its kind. From the lakes, the rivers and the marshes came the geese, the ducks, the gulls and all the birds that find their food in the waters; out of the black forests emerged the vultures, the hawks, the owls, the crows and the magpies; from the sand hills came the cranes whose loud calls, resembling the cry of a warrior, could be heard from river to river; from the sandy banks of the streams and from the rocky cliffs came the swallows, the messengers of cloud and storm; from the ‘Four Winds,’ from any and every direction came birds large and small with plumage of varied hue, each one intent on having a share in the coming contest.
“The shadow of night passed westward over the hills and valleys and ‘the great star’ appeared, heralding the grey dawn of the appointed day. When the first rays of the sun shot upward myriads of voices were lifted to give to the great day a joyous welcome. Then, as though touched by a common impulse, every wing in that vast multitude was stretched and each bird, uttering its mystic cry, put forth its strength and rose for the momentous struggle. As the thousands upon thousands of wings whipped the air an awe inspiring sound, like an angry tempest plunging through a forest of gigantic pines, vibrated over the land and the earth became darkened by countless shadows as the confused mass of birds sped swiftly toward the sky.
“On the limb of a dead oak sat an eagle smoothing the feathers of his wings with his hooked beak, as though indifferent
to the struggles that were going on about him. Among the whitened branches of the same tree a little brown bird moved about in a restless manner, at times almost touching the eagle but unnoticed by him. At length the huge bird spread his great wings, gave a powerful spring and mounted the air with wild cries. The lifeless tree quivered from the shock and from its branches the decaying bark fell piece by piece to the ground. With a few vigorous strokes the eagle gained his poise and was soon soaring upward with increasing speed in ever widening circles, seemingly without effort and as though borne aloft by the wind alone.
“At the moment the eagle had lifted his wings for flight the little brown bird had darted under one of them, fixed its tiny claws in the feathers, and buried itself in the soft down close to the body of the mighty bird. There it clung safe from the violence of the wind, while the eagle, all unconscious of his burden, swept onward. He passed the meadow lark already descending to the earth, having given up the race, but none the less happy and filling the air with the sweetest of melodies. The curfew, the thrush, the robin and other small birds were also fluttering earthward each singing its own song, content with this power although outflown in the race by the larger birds.
“The eagle with the little brown bird under his wing quickly passed the slow moving crow and the raven; overtook the swift hawk; further on he swept by the forked-tail kite, who among all the winged creatures is unequaled in grace and beauty; then he distanced the crane; and at last he passed the buzzard, the grandfather of all birds. Still the eagle went on, rising higher and higher, until the trees, then the hills, and at last the high mountains flattened to a level and the earth itself began to grow dim.
“The struggle was over, no living thing met the eye of the weary eagle as he gazed into the empty space around him. All at once he felt a strange stir under his wing, as with a sudden whirr out flew the little brown bird from its cover filling the air with a mischievous song as it darted about, then, laughing as it sped upward, it soared away into the sunlight leaving the astonished eagle far below.
“For the merry wit by which the little brown bird won the honors of that great day, it was given the name, Kí-ha-ha-ja, laughing bird.
“You have all heard the laughter of that little bird. He builds his nest in hollow trees and when the leaves are out in the spring he fills the woods with delightful sounds. No bird is happier than he. Shaeton.”
“Woo-hoo!” we all exclaimed in chorus. “What a beautiful story.”
“But it’s so short, Grandfather,” said Ne-né-ba, who was always wanting more, “tell us another one.”
“Yes!” we all echoed, “tell us another one, Grandfather.”
“No, little ones, go now to your homes,” replied the aged man, “and dream of that tiny, laughing bird, who cheated the great eagle out of his victory.”
At last we reluctantly arose, took our leave of the old man and made for the doorway, leaving him sitting there cleaning his pipe, his face radiant with a kindly smile. As we passed through the long entranceway of the lodge we pushed each other and scuffled with boyish laughter, and when we came out into the open air, we drew our blankets over our heads and raced for our own lodges through the falling snow.2
The Past Life of the Plains Indians, 1905
There were two lines of industry by which the tribes of the plains secured their living before the coming of the white people among them. One was by cultivating maize, beans, and squash, and the other was by hunting.
The task of preparing the soil and the planting of the seeds fell to the women, for in those days there was continual warfare between the various tribes, and the men were obliged to give their entire attention to the protection of the villages and the fields against war parties. Oftentimes, when unguarded, the women and the boys, while putting the ground in readiness for planting, or while tending the growing crops, were surprised by scalp-hunting parties and put to death.
The only implement used in cultivating the soil was the hoe, which was usually made out of the shoulder blade of the elk and sometimes out of flint or other hard stone. With this rude implement a woman was always able to raise enough corn, beans, and squash to feed her family the entire year. The boys, who assisted in the planting and harvesting, prided themselves upon the size of the fields, or upon the neatness with which the growing crops were kept. A boy would sometimes boast to another, “My field is so large I can’t shoot an arrow across it, standing on the edge.”
Most of the tribes believed that the corn was a special gift from the Great Spirit so that the planting or gathering of it was attended by rites and ceremonies expressive of their gratitude or their craving for the blessing of the Mysterious One. Among the Omahas it was the duty of the field owner, when the corn was harvested, to find one red ear and one perfect white ear and present them to the priest having charge of the rites pertaining to the planting of the maize.
In the month of May, when the prairie grasses shoot out their blades and drink the dew, and the meadow lark calls to its mate, the priest, in official attire, visits every lodge and tent and leaves four grains each of the red and white corn. Then the women, who are the owners of the fields, having chosen and improved the lands, lead their sons and daughters out to prepare the soil for planting. On the way out there is much merriment, particularly by the younger people, and the maidens chase each other with noisy laughter and wrestle among the wild flowers. Two boys fight over the possession of a hoe, the brother of one comes to his aid, the cousin of the other takes a hand, and then follows a general scrimmage among the future warriors. Fists, toes, and elbows do considerable damage all around. If one can imagine the appearance of a football team after a hard scrimmage without the protection of padded breeches and heavy sweaters, he could get a pretty fair idea as to how the brown-skinned combatants look when the fight is over.
Arrived at the fields, the dry weeds and the old stalks are gathered in a heap, the smoldering punk is drawn from the buffalo horn and applied to the pile, a snapping blaze arises, and the smoke ascends to the sky, leaving behind a few scattering ashes. The work goes on and in a day or two the fields are covered by hundreds of little mounds with flat faces looking up at the sun, ready to receive the seeds and the rain to make them grow. Willow poles are brought by the boys and planted in the center of the bean mounds for the vines to climb on; the corn and squash mounds need none. The work of the human hands is done for a time, but the work of nature goes on, the rain moistens the earth, and the sun warms the faces of the little mounds, and by the time the moon comes to life again the kernels of corn have sent up shoots like “rabbit ears,” the vines of the squash have begun to creep, and those of the beans to climb.
Again there is a busy stir of women and boys in the fields, and every noxious weed is removed from the tiny hills and the intervening spaces between, and the work of the first cultivation is done. About the middle of June there is a second and final cleaning up of the weeds and a feast is given by the field owners to the priests of the Thunder Clan who pray to the ruler of insects for protection of the crops against beetles and other pests that destroy the growing plants. The fields are not visited again until after the return of the people from the summer buffalo hunt.
To civilized man, hunting means the going out into the wilds armed with long-range guns of the best make and shooting at wild animals from a safe distance. It suggests to him no hardship, but recreation and fun. It does not mean to him labor and industry. He stalks the game, shoots it with considerable accuracy, and frequently leaves the carcass to be devoured by wolves, or to rot in the sun. However, he carefully preserves and hangs over the mantel of his elegant house the head and horns of the buffalo and elk, or the grinning heads of bears and wolves, as trophies of the hunt, and writes thrilling tales of his adventures. From this standpoint the white man has judged the red man and regards him as a worthless being.
To the Indian, hunting had a very different meaning. It meant danger and hardship; danger from hostile tribes that might be hunting up
on the same ground; from the close range made necessary by his primitive weapons; and hardship from the difficulties attending the transportation of the animals he killed; but it all meant food, clothing, and shelter.
After the second weeding of the fields, already spoken of, the village becomes a scene of great activity, for it is then that the preparation for the summer buffalo hunt begins. The skin tents are mended, dog harnesses repaired, and all the things not to be taken are stored away in the caches. Then one morning the sun rises to find a great caravan moving over the grassy prairies toward the land of buffaloes. The older men, the women, the boys, and the dogs carry the provisions, tents, and tent poles, while the fleet-footed young men, unburdened, guard the front, flanks, and rear against surprise from hostile tribes. The young women, armed with sharpened poles, scatter over the hills to dig the prairie turnip to add to the subsistence supplies. With one or two dexterous thrusts in the ground with a sharp pole, the diggers pry up the brown turnips, drop them into a bag, and move quickly on, chatting gaily over some humorous event or the latest gossip. The young men on their line of march often secure quantities of small game, such as prairie chickens, rabbits, turkeys, and sometimes deer, and thus add much to the family food supplies.
Recovering Native American Writings in the Boarding School Press Page 15