“It’ll be a little while, sir,” said the ticket agent. “She takes on water here.”
The Senator nodded and strolled down the platform, flanked by John and the aide, William. Their military escort had been dismissed on arrival at the station. The Senator explained to the young man how the big water tank beside the tracks was positioned to refill the boiler’s supply.
The shiny black engine, with gleaming brass fittings and red trim, was a thing of wonder. Smoke rose from its stack, and steam vented from its boiler with a lazy hiss, waiting for reactivation of the steam chest. Directly behind the engine was the fuel tender, where the fireman sat, resting while he could, until he, too, could be reactivated. He was covered with black coal dust.
The engineer, relieved from his tasks for a few moments, waved from the cab. A man in overalls walked along the platform with a long-spouted oil can, lubricating axles and other points of friction.
In a very short time, the crew had readied the train.
“‘Board!” shouted the conductor, and people hurried to climb up the metal steps and into the cars.
The car which the Senator and his party boarded was apparently one which had been added for the occasion. It was newer, and the seats, unlike those of the standard cars, were arranged with some facing the others and with tables between.
“A dining car?” The Senator was surprised.
“Yes sir, but not operational,” answered the aide. The railroad people thought it might be more comfortable.”
“Ah! Especially for me? Nice gesture. William, make a note. We must drop them a letter of thanks.”
“Of course, Senator. Consider it done.”
Now there was a rumbling sound as the engineer began to activate the power. Steam rushed from the steam chest into the pistons on the drive wheels, and the metal monster inched forward. Then a loud hiss of venting steam, and another few moments as the pressure was reapplied through the system of pipes and valves. Suddenly the wheels escaped from the friction that enabled them to propel the engine. The drivers spun rapidly, sending showers of sparks for a few moments and hurrying the venting of the steam with a mighty rush. But the train was already moving. Slowly, like a falling tree, it gained momentum with the next push of hot vapor from the steam chest. Another vent, another gain in speed … Very quickly, the depot was left behind. The prairie began to slip past with ever-increasing rapidity, and the engineer blew the whistle triumphantly as his train fairly flew down the track.
John saw a couple of young men, probably fellow tribesmen, though he did not recognize them. They were riding like the wind, astride good horses, racing the train. Stretched to their limit, ears flattened, moccasined heels drumming their flanks, the animals were still no match for the iron horse. They were quickly left behind.
The riders knew that they had no chance in such a race, he realized. It was merely an exercise, a carefree act of exuberance. It occurred to him that it was this sort of meaningless pleasure that he was leaving behind. For a moment, he felt a pang of regret. He yearned, envied the two young men, riding like the wind with the fresh prairie air in their faces. Would the experience, knowledge, and education that he had been promised in any way surpass the sheer pleasure of riding a fine horse with this reckless abandon? He watched the riders until they fell behind and out of sight.
SIX
The train rushed along the track, the monotonous double thump of the flanged wheels on steel rails becoming almost hypnotizing. There was no variation in the rhythm. Each span of track was exactly the same length as the one before, and the thousands before that.
Click-clack … Click-clack … Click-clack.
John had first been alarmed by the sound, but then had reasoned what its cause must be. It was preferable, anyway, to the rush and roar of the engine as they started and stopped at stations or at water tanks far from anywhere.
After a certain amount of time, the rhythm of the rails became a matter of interest. John found that he could tell when the click-clack was about to slow as they attacked a steeper grade. Conversely, it accelerated on the downhill slope. He began to liken it to the beat of the drums in the dance rituals of his people. More like the rattles, maybe. He began to imagine that there might be a song or chant appropriate to this odd double click-clack as each joint in the endless track was encountered, passed, and left behind. He began to hum, largely meaningless sounds, in cadence with the rhythm of the wheels.
Ah-ho-we-oh,
ta-me-ka-no!
He was drowsy, half-asleep, a dreamy semiawake state that was at the same time restful and exciting. His eyes were half-closed, his body swaying. In spirit he was dancing to the heartbeat of the drums with all the quickening of the senses that his ancestors had felt. The flickering of light and shadow through the train windows as they passed trees and hills became the flicker of the firelight at the dance.
Ah-ho-we-oh …
“What are ye doin’, boy?” asked William, the Senator’s aide, with a chuckle. “Pretendin’ ye’re back on the prairie? Ye’d best get over that. Ye’re to be tamed and civilized, ye know.”
John was embarrassed, a little ashamed, maybe. The aide was certainly not one of John’s favorite people. There had always been an air of snobbish superiority about him that was puzzling to the boy. He could see nothing admirable in the man. William was a servant to the Senator, hustling to do his bidding, at times almost fawning on the Senator’s words. It was demeaning to have such a man belittling his drowsy musings.
“I … I was partly asleep,” he mumbled apologetically.
Instantly, he regretted it. He, son of Yellow Bull, had nothing for which to apologize. Certainly not to such a man as this, who now gave a chuckling snort.
The Senator, who had been dozing in his seat, roused suddenly.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, Senator,” William said quickly. “We should be stopping for water soon.
“Ah, yes …”
The Senator shifted his body in the seat as his consciousness returned and he became reoriented. He glanced at John.
“Doing all right, John?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. A tiresome trip. Well, we’ll have better accommodations after we reach Chicago. We’ll be there for a day. I have meetings and such. Then we’ll travel on. But we’ll have a Pullman then.”
“Pullman?”
Some sort of contest, John supposed. He’d have to learn the rules.
“I’ve never played that,” he confessed.
“No, no, John,” explained the Senator. “The Pullman isn’t a game, it’s a car. A sleeping car on the train. We’ll have beds and all. Much more comfortable quarters.”
“Pullman!” snickered the aide, with a sidelong glance that was far from sympathetic.
John’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. The Senator noted this and spoke with encouragement.
“You’ll learn all these things, my boy, and more. Ah, it’s a great, wonderful modern world out there.”
“Pullman!” snorted William.
The Senator seemed irritated.
“Mr. Bagley,” he said sternly, “I’ll thank you to treat Mr. Buffalo with respect. He is our guest, and in our charge.”
“Yes, sir,” muttered William.
John could not suppress a sidelong glance of satisfaction.
Chicago was beyond all that John had been able to imagine. Huge buildings, some several layers high, people everywhere, hurrying somewhere else … The “lake” … More like what he had imagined the ocean would be, but fresh water, Senator Langtry said.
The Senator took him shopping to buy clothes more suitable for his introduction to Carlisle.
“But … I have no money, Senator.”
“That’s all right,” chuckled the big man. “It’ll be taken care of.”
John wasn’t sure he understood all of this, but he knew that it is impolite to refuse a gift. His mother had taught him that. He assumed that the Senator must be responsib
le.
“Thank you, sir,” he said firmly. “But I’ve done nothing to earn this kindness.
The Senator laughed.
“Not yet, maybe. But you will, John. I expect you to become one of the greatest athletes in the country.”
“Athletes?”
“Yes … You’re good at football … baseball.”
“Playin’ games?”
“Of course, John. There’s a great deal of interest in athletic competition between colleges now, and it’s growing. I want to see some of the Indian schools on the cutting edge of this trend. As I’ve told you, the school at Carlisle is one of my pet projects. With well-chosen players, we can field a great team at football or baseball. They could compete favorably with Yale or Princeton … .”
The man rambled on, and John’s mind began to wander. He had no knowledge of the names and places of which the Senator spoke, and it was easy to lose interest. He was gaining a general idea, though, one which intrigued him. It nested neatly with the basic premise which he had gradually adopted: To be successful with the white man, one must know his ways. There had been times when he had fought this, but during the years in the Indian school, things had always been better when he had fallen back on that assumption.
He had always enjoyed competition, from the earliest days of his memory. - Running, swimming, throwing, races of all kinds. It was part of the schooling of a young man of his people. The competition was for the purpose of producing strong, capable men for hunting and for war. As the son of Yellow Bull, and because of his family’s pride, it was appropriate to do his very best. Above all this, however, was the fact that he liked it. The thrill of a well-placed throw or shot, farther or straighter or more accurately, sent his heart to pumping with satisfaction and joy. be in front at the finish line of a race, ahead of everyone else, the wind in his face, was a special thrill.
There was now to be no more war, it appeared. The white man had won. Even Red Cloud, who had humbled the white man’s whole army, had now conceded that it was over. For a while, there had seemed no purpose in the development of the skills of manhood, and his heart had been heavy. Even the hunting was over, the buffalo gone, and there had seemed no purpose to life.
He could forget, when he was involved in the very physical sports, that it was temporary. In the end, meaningless. But, for the time that he was so engaged, his blood raced and his heart was good. That had gotten him through some of the hard times.
Now … He was just barely beginning to grasp a new revelation about the white man: They, too, admired physical prowess in anyone, and respected it greatly. If he were able to show ability, strength, and stamina—manhood—they, too, would respect him. He was already respected by the Senator. The man had said so. How fortunate, thought John, to have found a white man who understood.
The first night on the Pullman car was a startling experience. The Senator had seemed greatly impressed with such convenience, but until after the sun set and the reporter began to ready the car for the night, John had had no idea why. It had seemed more dignified not to ask any questions. Actually, it was a part of the stony, emotionless facade that he had developed for use in the presence of whites. His fellow students had done much the same: If in doubt as to what reaction is expected, show none.
Now he was amazed to see the Negro pull, push, and fold the seats in the Pullman car to create beds. Beds with white sheets and coverlets, and soft pillows to place under one’s head. John wondered if the pulling of the beds into position was the reason for the term “Pullman,” or whether the black man was the pull-man. He did not want to reveal his ignorance by asking.
He was assigned an upper bunk while the Senator and his aide took the lowers.
“Good night, my boy,” said the Senator genially. “In another day, we reach our destination.”
The porter had showed him how to close the curtains that concealed his bunk, and John did so. In a way, sleeping in close proximity to others reminded him of his childhood and the lodge of his parents. He fell asleep, dreaming of his mother, drawing the doorskin closed for the night. The click-clack of the wheels became the sound of the clicking deer-hoof rattles that had hung beside the door … Their purpose was for the use of any visitor, who could signal his presence by rattling the hoofs and calling out his name.
John’s memory was playing strange tricks, pulling him back and forth, asleep as well as awake. He awoke once, started to roll over, and nearly fell from the bed. He lay there in the darkness, trying to remember what he was doing here, and why. He had been dreaming of a massive herd of buffalo, stampeding across open prairie. He was a child, in the lodge of his parents, and someone was trying to waken the family … .
Then the rumble of the herd became the trembling shudder of the train, and the clicking of the deer-hoof door rattle was the click-clack of the rails.
What am I doing here? he thought. This is no place for the son of Yellow Bull!
SEVEN
Eventually, the train trip came to an end. It was a pleasure to stand on solid ground again. John had lost track of time, the days and nights blurring together in a maze of swaying cars, clicking rails, the rush of the engine, and the wailing notes of the steam whistle. The blur of passing cities, grassland, forests and farms fell behind in a similar confused array in his memory.
Back on solid ground, he felt that it, too, had been affected by the long trip. The ground would not stay steady, but seemed to be swaying, causing him to plant each step carefully as he walked across the platform toward the packed cinders of the street.
“The earth won’t hold still, eh?” chuckled the Senator. “Don’t worry, it won’t last long. I’m told that sailors have the same problem after a long voyage, with the rocking of the ship.”
There was a carriage waiting, and a polite driver who helped stow their luggage in the rear. It was a short drive to the school.
There, the Senator took John to an office in one of the buildings, where he was introduced to a man behind a desk.
“Welcome, my boy,” gushed the man.
It was plain to John that the motive in the profuse welcome was not really genuine. It appeared to be an effort on the part of the administrator to ingratiate himself with Senator Langtry. The Senator appeared not to notice, in his own effort to impress the school’s administrator with the importance of his own prodigy. It was a very uncomfortable time, and John made full use of his stoic, expressionless face as the men visited briefly.
“How was the trip, Senator?”
“Not bad … Usual inconveniences, of course. Interesting to John, here. He’d never seen a train until now.”
“Yes … Well, we’ll certainly treat him well, Senator,” said the other, with a laugh that was just a little too forced. “I’ve sent for the coach. He’ll—Oh, here he is now!”
A burly man in trousers, a sweater, and a billed cap entered the room and glanced around curiously. A silver whistle hung around his neck on a black string that might have been a shoelace.
“Senator Langtry, Coach McGregor,” introduced the administrator.
The two men shook hands enthusiastically. A bit too much so, John thought.
“And this,” said the Senator proudly, “is John Buffalo, the student athlete I had written of.”
“Yes,” said the coach. “I recall … Football?”
“Yes, sir,” said John modestly. “Or baseball. Anything …”
His voice trailed off, and he had an uncomfortable feeling that he’d said too much. Better to have stopped with “Yes, sir.” He’d remember that.
However, the men seemed not to notice. They were busy talking about the weather, the political situation, and the program of the school.
“Yes, we’re graduating skilled workers,” said the administrator proudly. “They’re easily employed. We have working arrangements with several factories in the area. Shoes, mostly. But, there’s some demand for machinists, other light industry. And of course we can’t forget the three Rs … . Readin�
�, writin’, and ’rithmetic!”
The three men laughed, though John didn’t see anything very funny. Of the three subjects mentioned, only “Reading” began with an R. Maybe he’d missed the joke. Or, maybe that was the joke. White men, he thought, don’t have much of a sense of humor. As always, his best course of action seemed to be to assume his defensive stoicism.
“Don’t forget athletics!” reminded the coach. “We have a very progressive program.”
“Yes, I know.” The Senator smiled. “That’s my purpose in bringing this young man. Your teams are competing well?”
“Yes, sir. We’re traveling quite a bit for baseball, football, track and field. Other teams come here, too. Rail travel is making it easier all the time. We’re considering a trip to Springfield College up in Massachusetts. Great athletic program there … . We’ll play Harvard at football, soon.”
“Very good!” Senator Langtry agreed. “I see a few female students on the campus. What is their course of study?”
“Home economics, mostly,” the administrator answered. “Kitchen skills, serving … Our own dining hall is staffed largely by students. We’re considering a nursing program. Possibly, even secretarial skills.”
“Really?” asked the Senator. “They’re that teachable?”
“Oh, yes. Actually, we think that many of our students approach the intelligence of whites.”
“Yes, that’s been my premise,” said the Senator quickly, almost irritably. “But, the females?”
“Quite capable, sir,” answered the administrator. “Accustomed to hard work, you know. Some, quite capable.”
Here was a very puzzling thing. John found it hard to understand. Whites, he had learned, professed to hold women in high regard, and offered respect from a distance. He wondered whether any of these men realized that among John’s people, women could speak in Council, vote, hold office, and own property. He had only learned in the past few years that white women had none of these privileges. Lakota women would surely not stand for such treatment.
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