He managed to relax enough to enjoy the holiday visit, and talked more with his mother than he ever had. There was a new closeness, and she really seemed to understand his doubts and fears. She had done well to raise her children alone after the death of Yellow Bull. John left to return to school feeling somewhat better, supported by the understanding of his mother.
It was the last time he was to see her. A few weeks later, a message carried by his sister’s husband informed him that their mother, Pretty Robe had died during the influenza epidemic that had struck after the holiday visit.
The heart of Little Bull was very heavy.
FOUR
The loss of his mother caused a further separation from the People. At the time of the next holiday, John went back to the reservation to visit his sister and her family. It was a disappointment. There was enough difference in their ages that they had never been really close. In addition, the instruction of the young in the tribal structure separated the sexes somewhat after the first few seasons.
Now it was even more so. Little Dove was completely occupied with her family, was expecting another child, and knew little of the things that he was learning in the school. They had nothing to talk about. Dove’s husband was no better to talk to. A friendly enough individual, Crippled Crow had no knowledge of anything outside the traditional ways of the People. Crow talked of hunting and of war, largely over now. He was good with horses, but without the buffalo to hunt, and no more fighting, horses were becoming more of a liability than a mark of affluence. And Crow, too, had no idea of the purpose of an education. At times he almost seemed to sneer at John for abandoning the old ways in favor of the white man’s.
The closest that he felt to Crow during that entire visit, however, were the times on horseback or helping with the care and feeding of the animals. John had been riding since before he could remember. His mother had tied him, as an infant, on the back of a dependable old mare and turned the animal out to graze. The gentle rocking motion of the mare’s walking as she grazed was a comfort.
Now he found that there was a sweet nostalgia about riding a good horse across the prairie. John had not realized how he had missed it. He recalled now some of the “medicine” that his father had taught him at an early age, to bring his spirit and that of the horse together. He used it, and it was good.
“You’re good with horses,” observed his brother-in-law.
“Not really,” John said modestly. “I do a little medicine.”
The subject was dropped, and that was as close as they came to understanding.
All in all, John felt the whole holiday visit as if he were spending it among strangers. Strangers, in fact, whom he found quite uninteresting. There was nothing to talk about. It was almost a relief to have the visit come to an end. He actually looked forward to returning to school.
“How was your holiday, John?” asked the Bear. “Lots of good family visit?”
Bear was either ignoring, or did not know, the young man realized, of the death of his mother. Or maybe he had just forgotten.
“Good.” John assumed the stoic expression reserved for whites. That was done effortlessly now, without even thinking about it.
His two closest friends, Charlie Hand and Thomas (Wolf Dung) Evans, had fared a little better at home, but not much. Charlie had been in a fight with a young man who had openly accused him of being a traitor to his People by attending the white school.
“That’s not true, Charlie,” protested John. “We’ll have to play by white man’s rules, and we’d better learn them.”
“He knows that, John,” Thomas answered. “We all do, but those out on the reservation haven’t figured it out yet. I know what he’s talkin’ about. I got those looks, too: ‘You sold out your people!’ It ain’t true, of course. We know that, but they don’t.”
“Don’t say ‘ain’t,’” chided Charlie. “Ol’ White Horse will whack your knuckles!”
The three friends laughed together. Then it struck John. They had been talking in English, or the joke about White Horse and “ain’t” would have made no sense. Somehow, this was a moment of sadness that was worse than anything yet. He did not quite understand what was happening, only that he was losing something that might have been important to him, and to his illustrious father, Yellow Bull.
He plunged back into his schoolwork and his athletics with a vengeance. In this sense, it was good to be back, and he tried to drown his gnawing feelings of guilt in hard work.
A few weeks later, after baseball practice, the Bear took him aside.
“John,” he said seriously, “you’re going to have a visitor.”
“What?”
“A visitor … Senator Langtry. You must have made quite an impression on him.”
“But I don’t know any—”
Then it came to him. That time, soon after he had entered the white man’s school … An important white chief … The man had noticed him on the athletic field and had spoken to him, encouraged him. It had given him a good feeling, and the man had promised to return … .
John had all but forgotten. The Senator had not returned, and he had assumed that this was much like most of the white man’s promises. He had put it behind him, and had accepted that nothing would come of the chance remark.
“Oh! You remember now!” said the Bear, smiling in approval. A smile from the Bear was an unusual occurrence, possibly ranking up there with the visit from a Senator.
“What does he want from me?” asked John.
“I don’t know, but it seems that he remembers you. Likes you.”
“Is this good?” John was still suspicious.
The Bear actually laughed. “I would think so, John. A Senator is a powerful chief.”
“Like the White Father in Washington? White Hor—Miss Whitehurst told us about him. President Cleveland?”
“No, John,” the coach chuckled. “This is a sort of subchief. He works in Washington, too, though.”
John now remembered that on the occasion of the Senator’s last visit, they had been told some things about him. What was it? They must be respectful to the visiting chief because the man had something to do with the supplies that they received from the White Father. Those supplies were sometimes meager, but the students were always told that they should be grateful. Clean your plate … . Some boys are starving … .
He’d never quite understood how cleaning his plate was going to prevent somebody else from starving, but he had no trouble in cooperating. Sometimes it seemed that he could never completely satisfy the needs of his rapidly growing body. The vigorous athletic program also required more fuel than a sedentary life would have. Whatever the connection, if this visiting chief had some influence over supplies for the school, he’d try to please the man. He would do so anyway, of course. Politeness and respect for authority were a major part of his schooling, as well as in his early days at home.
“When is he coming?” asked John.
A year ago, he would not have asked such a question. The Senator would arrive when the time came. Now he was beginning to see time as the whites did. Morning for study, afternoon for athletics, Sunday for God. He still didn’t understand such preoccupation with time, but accepted it.
“I don’t know when,” answered the Bear. “When the time comes, I guess, but soon. A few days.”
John smiled to himself. He found it amusing that the Bear, a stickler for schedule, was forced into such a position. The Bear, on “Indian time”? Charlie would enjoy the irony in this.
This time, the arrival of the Senator’s party was more exciting. The students had a better idea of what might be expected, and of the importance of the visit. After all, on his previous tour the school was new, and everything quite tentative.
The ceremony was much the same, the students drawn up in tight formal lines on the athletic field. The platoon of blue-clad cavalry wheeled smartly into position, guidons fluttering. Again, the guest of honor stepped from the Army ambulance which had b
een his conveyance and strolled along the lines of students. His piercing glance darted quickly from place to place, thorough and efficient. He seemed to recognize John Buffalo. He took an extra moment to sweep his eyes up and down the newly developed frame, nodded, and moved on. It was a disappointing anticlimax, which John felt deeply as the parade dispersed and the students headed back to their barracks.
“What’s the matter, John?” asked Tom Evans.
“Nothing. Only I thought …”
“Wasn’t this white chief here before?” asked Charlie Hand. “Yes … He talked to you, no?”
“I … I think so,” muttered John.
They were back at the barracks building, waiting for the supper bell, when the Bear entered.
“John?” he called.
“Yes, sir?” John rose from the bench where he had been sitting.
“Come with me, John. The Senator wants to talk with you.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Over at the Agency. The Superintendent’s office.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, no. Quite the opposite, I believe.” The teacher smiled. “John, you told me that your parents are both deceased?”
“Yes, sir. Yellow Bull when I was small. My mother, Pretty Robe, two winters past.”
“Yes, that is what I thought. They will ask you about these things.”
“But … Why?”
“I am not at liberty to say, John. But this may be a great opportunity for you. The Senator is interested in helping you.”
“Helping me do what?”
“Never mind. Come, now. They are waiting at the office.”
The Bear was quiet as they walked the few hundred yards to the cluster of Agency buildings. John still felt some anxiety. Was there something that he was supposed to do and hadn’t? He could think of nothing. And why was the Bear wearing such a self-satisfied smirk? That in itself was a highly unusual thing, and as such, raised many doubts and fears.
They reached the headquarters building, and stepped inside. After the brightness of the summer sun, the dim interior made it difficult to see for a few moments. Then he saw an open door to another room, where the Superintendent sat in a chair beside a desk. John recognized the man, though he had never seen him up close.
Behind the heavy desk, which he took to be that of the Superintendent, sat another man, the Senator. Both men rose.
“Come in, son,” said Senator Langtry. “Sit down.” He motioned to a chair.
FIVE
“John, isn’t it? John Buffalo … Yes,” mused the Senator, shuffling papers on the desk.
Impressed as he was by the domineering presence of this man of importance, the young man felt a touch of resentment. His pride would not let him miss this opportunity.
“Little Bull, sir, son of Yellow Bull.”
The Senator stopped shuffling papers and looked up over the eyeglasses perched on his nose and ears. He seemed surprised. His mouth hung partly open for a moment.
“Sir, the boy—,” began the Bear, but the Senator waved him to silence.
“So … Some spunk. That is good!” He looked back at the papers. “Ah, here … Yes, renamed ‘John Buffalo’ on admission to the school. Yes, ‘Little Bull’ would hardly be appropriate for a civilized man, you know … Have to rise above all that. Hmm … Father deceased, I see, before the time of admission.”
“Yes, sir,” said the Bear. “His mother also, now. That’s in another part of the record.”
“Ah … My sympathy, John.”
The man seemed genuinely concerned.
“Thank you, sir,” said the boy. He was getting mixed feelings about this man. The Senator’s spirit was a hard one to interpret.
Now the Senator pushed the papers aside and removed his spectacles, folded them, and placed them in a vest pocket. He leaned his forearms against the edge of the desk and placed his hands together meticulously, fingers spread, each fingertip touching its corresponding digit on the other hand. The hands were long and slender, looking out of place on a stoutly built man. The spread fingers reminded John for a moment of a spider, walking on a mirror.
“Son,” said Senator Langtry, “I have a great opportunity for you.”
I’m not your son, John wanted to say. I am the son of Yellow Bull!
Instead, he figured that for now, he’d better play along, until he could learn more.
“Yes, sir?” he asked politely.
“John, I have taken a great interest and no small amount of effort in a special project. A school, for boys such as yourself, who must have training to enter the civilized world. It is called the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, in Pennsylvania. Established a few years ago. Highly successful.”
John had no idea where Pennsylvania might be, so he said nothing.
Langtry went on, “Young men are trained, as carpenters, masons, smiths, but also educated in the arts and the humanities, to an extent. One should be able to read the classics, of course, and to write and cipher.”
The man appeared to be leading up to something, and John was curious.
“Now … Mr. Baehr tells me that you have been quite diligent in your athletic endeavors. Football, baseball … It seems that you have some natural ability in these areas?”
“Well, I …” John had no idea where this conversation was going.
“Never mind. It’s obvious that you are willing to work hard to use your natural gift. In short, you’re good at it, Mr. Baehr says. And, you’ll remember, I saw you play during my last visit. Your dropkick won the game. But let me go on. I am interested in building the athletic program at Carlisle into one that can produce skilled competitive teams. Especially football. It’s been quite a few years, now—maybe twenty—since the Association was formed. The American Intercollegiate Football Association. Ever hear of it?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, of course not. But teams from different colleges and universities meet to play. A great many schools are beginning to participate. Train travel is making it easier all the time. Now, here’s my plan. I want to enroll you at Carlisle, where you can play football and learn a trade at the same time. How does that sound?”
“But I have no money, sir.”
The Senator threw back his head and laughed heartily.
“I didn’t ask you that, son! There will be no cost to you. We can even arrange for a bit of pocket money for your incidental expenses. No problem. Now … You have no parents, so no permission is needed. I will be your sponsor of record. Can you be ready to leave tomorrow morning?”
It was not really a question, but a command. The Bear was nodding encouragement and smiling.
“Yes, sir … . I guess so.”
John had only a vague notion where this place called Pennsylvania might be. Somewhere in the East … The Bear had told him that the trip would require three or four days on the train. He had never seen a “train,” other than a row of wagons carrying freight.
“I don’t know, John,” teased Charlie Hand. “I heard they eat Indian kids in Pessabania.”
“Let him alone, Charlie,” said Tom Evans. “You know that’s not true.”
“How would I know?” Charlie retorted. “I’ve never been there. Don’t even know where it is.”
“Back east somewhere,” said John. “Anyway, that’s what the Senator said.”
“We’ll miss you, John,” Tom said seriously. “Will you come back and see us?”
“I don’t know, Tom. If I can, I will.”
John packed his few belongings in a small cardboard suitcase given him by the Bear. Miss Whitehurst gave him a little Bible, like those from which they studied.
“Don’t forget to read it, John,” she admonished. “Work hard. Make us proud of you.”
She gave him a quick hug, to his embarrassment and to the glee of the onlooking students. John was startled and surprised to see a tear in the usually stern eye of the teacher.
“Look at that!” whispered Charlie Hand to Tom. “Sh
e’s kissin’ him!”
“No, she’s not, she’s just huggin’ him.” Tom giggled.
“Same thing. Well, almost.”
Then, to everyone’s astonishment, Old White Horse did kiss him—a quick peck on the cheek. The students cheered, and John blushed crimson as he climbed into the ambulance with the Senator and his aide. The corporal who drove the team flapped the reins and muttered, “Giddap,” and the horses leaned into the harness and moved out. The military escort fell into double file behind.
It was hot and dusty in the enclosed vehicle. Even leaving the back door open did not help much. It seemed to suck in more dust.
“We’d have been better off in an open buggy,” observed the Senator. “How did we happen to choose this, William?”
“We requested it, sir,” said his aide. “Our last trip west was in winter, you remember.”
“Ah, yes. It was needed, then. So that request is still being honored.” He chuckled wryly. “Never let common sense interfere with written orders, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it next time.”
“Well, it will be better on the train. Ever ride on a train, John?”
“No, sir. Never seen one.”
The Senator chuckled. “Ah, John, there are many things you’ll see. The country is changing, growing. Modern achievements you can hardly imagine. Lights with no flame … A buggy that needs no horse to pull it … Trains that can run a hundred miles an hour … You will see great things in your lifetime, my boy!”
John had no idea how prophetic those words were.
The train was big and noisy and a bit terrifying, as it pulled into the little depot, bell clanging and brakes screeching. There seemed to be smoke and steam everywhere, people hurrying to and fro, porters handling baggage, men loading freight into and out of one of the rear cars.
The Long Journey Home Page 3