Indian Boyhood - Parts I-II



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Part I - Earliest Recollections
Hadakah, 'The Pitiful Last'


   WHAT boy would not be an Indian for a while when he thinks of the 
freest life in the world? This life was mine. Every day there was a real 
hunt. There was real game. Occasionally there was a medicine dance away 
off in the woods where no one could disturb us, in which the boys 
impersonated their elders, Brave Bull, Standing Elk, High Hawk, Medicine 
Bear, and the rest. They painted and imitated their fathers and 
grandfathers to the minutest detail, and accurately too, because they had 
seen the real thing all their lives. 

   We were not only good mimics but we were close students of nature. We 
studied the habits of animals just as you study your books. We watched the 
men of our people and represented them in our play; then learned to 
emulate them in our lives. 

   No people have a better use of their five senses 

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than the children of the wilderness. We could smell as well as hear and 
see. We could feel and taste as well as we could see and hear. Nowhere has 
the memory been more fully developed than in the wild life, and I can 
still see wherein I owe much to my early training. 

   Of course I myself do not remember when I first saw the day, but my 
brothers have often recalled the event with much mirth; for it was a 
custom of the Sioux that when a boy was born his brother must plunge into 
the water, or roll in the snow naked if it was winter time; and if he was 
not big enough to do either of these himself, water was thrown on him. If 
the new-born had a sister, she must be immersed. The idea was that a 
warrior had come to camp, and the other children must display some act of 
hardihood. 

   I was so unfortunate as to be the youngest of five children who, soon 
after I was born, were left motherless. I had to bear the humiliating name 
"Hakadah," meaning "the pitiful last," until I should earn a more 
dignified and appropriate name. I was regarded as little more than a play-
thing by the rest of the children. 

   My mother, who was known as the handsomest woman of all the Spirit Lake 
and Leaf Dweller Sioux, was dangerously ill, and one of the medicine 

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men who attended her said: "Another medicine man has come into existence, 
but the mother must die. Therefore let him bear the name 'Mysterious 
Medicine.'" But one of the bystanders hastily interfered, saying that an 
uncle of the child already bore that name, so, for the time, I was only 
"Hakadah." 

   My beautiful mother, sometimes called the "Demi-Goddess" of the Sioux, 
who tradition says had every feature of a Caucasian descent with the 
exception of her luxuriant black hair and deep black eyes, held me tightly 
to her bosom upon her death-bed, while she whispered a few words to her 
mother-in-law. She said: "I give you this boy for your own. I cannot trust 
my own mother with him; she will neglect him and he will surely die." 

   The woman to whom these words were spoken was below the average in 
stature, remarkably active for her age (she was then fully sixty), and 
possessed of as much goodness as intelligence. My mother's judgment 
concerning her own mother was well founded, for soon after her death that 
old lady appeared, and declared that Hakadah was too young to live without 
a mother. She offered to keep me until I died, and then she would put me 
in my mother's grave. Of course 

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my other grandmother denounced the suggestion as a very wicked one, and 
refused to give me up. 

   The babe was done up as usual in a movable cradle made from an oak 
board two and a half feet long and one and a half feet wide. On one side 
of it was nailed with brass-headed tacks the richly-embroidered sack, 
which was open in front and laced up and down with buckskin strings. Over 
the arms of the infant was a wooden bow, the ends of which were firmly 
attached to the board, so that if the cradle should fall the child's head 
and face would be protected. On this bow were hung curious playthings -- 
strings of artistically carved bones and hoofs of deer, which rattled when 
the little hands moved them. 

   In this upright cradle I lived, played and slept the greater part of 
the time during the first few months of my life. Whether I was made to 
lean against a lodge pole or was suspended from a bough of a tree, while 
my grandmother cut wood, or whether I was carried on her back, or 
conveniently balanced by another child in a similar cradle hung on the 
opposite side of a pony, I was still in my oaken bed. 

   This grandmother, who had already lived through sixty years of 
hardships, was a wonder to 

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the young maidens of the tribe. She showed no less enthusiasm over Hakadah 
than she had done when she held her first-born, the boy's father, in her 
arms. Every little attention that is due to a loved child she performed 
with much skill and devotion. She made all my scanty garments and my tiny 
moccasins with a great deal of taste. It was said by all that I could not 
have had more attention had my mother been living. 

   Uncheedah (grandmother) was a great singer. Sometimes, when Hakadah 
wakened too early in the morning, she would sing to him something like the 
following lullaby: 

Sleep, sleep, my boy, the Chippewas 
Are far away -- are far away. 
Sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet 
The foe by day -- the foe by day! 
The cowards will not dare to fight 
Till morning break -- till morning break. 
Sleep, sleep, my child, while still 'tis night; 
Then bravely wake -- then bravely wake!

   The Dakota women were wont to cut and bring their fuel from the woods 
and, in fact, to perform most of the drudgery of the camp. This of 
necessity fell to their lot, because the men must follow the game during 
the day. Very often my grandmother carried me with her on these 
excursions; 

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and while she worked it was her habit to suspend me from a wild grape vine 
or a springy bough, so that the least breeze would swing the cradle to and 
fro. 

   She has told me that when I had grown old enough to take notice, I was 
apparently capable of holding extended conversations in an unknown dialect 
with birds and red squirrels. Once I fell asleep in my cradle, suspended 
five or six feet from the ground, while Uncheedah was some distance away, 
gathering birch bark for a canoe. A squirrel had found it convenient to 
come upon the bow of my cradle and nibble his hickory nut, until he awoke 
me by dropping the crumbs of his meal. My disapproval of his intrusion was 
so decided that he had to take a sudden and quick flight to another bough, 
and from there he began to pour out his wrath upon me, while I continued 
my objections to his presence so audibly that Uncheedah soon came to my 
rescue, and compelled the bold intruder to go away. It was a common thing 
for birds to alight on my cradle in the woods. 

   My food was, at first, a troublesome question for my kind foster-
mother. She cooked some wild rice and strained it, and mixed it with broth 
made from choice venison. She also pounded dried venison almost to a 
flour, and kept it in water till the 

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nourishing juices were extracted, then mixed with it some pounded maize, 
which was browned before pounding. This soup of wild rice, pounded venison 
and maize was my main-stay. But soon my teeth came -- much earlier than 
the white children usually cut theirs; and then my good nurse gave me a 
little more varied food, and I did all my own grinding. 

   After I left my cradle, I almost walked away from it, she told me. She 
then began calling my attention to natural objects. Whenever I heard the 
song of a bird, she would tell me what bird it came from, something after 
this fashion: 

    "Hakadah, listen to Shechoka (the robin) calling his mate. He says he 
has just found somethink good to eat." Or "Listen to Oopehanska (the 
thrush); he is singing for his little wife. He will sing his best." When 
in the evening the whippoorwill started his song with vim, no further than 
a stone's throw from our tent in the woods, she would say to me: 

   "Hush! It may be an Ojibway scout!" 

   Again, when I waked at midnight, she would say: 

   "Do not cry! Hinakaga (the owl) is watching you from the tree-top." 

   I usually covered up my head, for I had perfect 

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faith in my grandmother's admonitions, and she had given me a dreadful 
idea of this bird. It was one of her legends that a little boy was once 
standing just outside of the teepee (tent), crying vigorously for his 
mother, when Hinakaga swooped down in the darkness and carried the poor 
little fellow up into the trees. It was well known that the hoot of the 
owl was commonly imitated by Indian scouts when on the war-path. There had 
been dreadful massacres immediately following this call. Therefore it was 
deemed wise to impress the sound early upon the mind of the child. 

   Indian children were trained so that they hardly ever cried much in the 
night. This was very expedient and necessary in their exposed life. In my 
infancy it was my grandmother's custom to put me to sleep, as she said, 
with the birds, and to waken me with them, until it became a habit. She 
did this with an object in view. An Indian must always rise early. In the 
first place, as a hunter, he finds his game best at daybreak. Secondly, 
other tribes, when on the war-path, usually make their attack very early 
in the morning. Even when our people are moving about leisurely, we like 
to rise before daybreak, in order to travel when the air is cool, and 
unobserved, perchance, by our enemies. 

   As a little child, it was instilled into me to be 

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silent and reticent. This was one of the most important traits to form in 
the character of the Indian. As a hunter and warrior it was considered 
absolutely necessary to him, and was thought to lay the foundations of 
patience and self-control. There are times when boisterous mirth is 
indulged in by our people, but the rule is gravity and decorum. 

   After all, my babyhood was full of interest and the beginnings of 
life's realities. The spirit of daring was already whispered into my ears. 
The value of the eagle feather as worn by the warrior had caught my eye. 
One day, when I was left alone, at scarcely two years of age, I took my 
uncle's war bonnet and plucked out all its eagle feathers to decorate my 
dog and myself. So soon the life that was about me had made its impress, 
and already I desired intensely to comply with all of its demands. 



II: Early Hardships 

   ONE of the earliest recollections of my adventurous childhood is the 
ride I had on a pony's side. I was passive in the whole matter. A little 
girl cousin of mine was put in a bag and suspended from the horn of an 
Indian saddle; but her 

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weight must be balanced or the saddle would not remain on the animal's 
back. Accordingly, I was put into another sack and made to keep the saddle 
and the girl in position! I did not object at all, for I had a very 
pleasant game of peek-a-boo with the little girl, until we came to a big 
snow-drift, where the poor beast was stuck fast and began to lie down. 
Then it was not so nice! 

   This was the convenient and primitive way in which some mothers packed 
their children for winter journeys. However cold the weather might be, the 
inmate of the fur-lined sack was usually very comfortable -- at least I 
used to think so. I believe I was accustomed to all the precarious Indian 
conveyances, and, as a boy, I enjoyed the dog-travaux ride as much as any. 
The travaux consisted of a set of rawhide strips securely lashed to the 
tent-poles, which were harnessed to the sides of the animal as if he stood 
between shafts, while the free ends were allowed to drag on the ground. 
Both ponies and large dogs were used as beasts of burden, and they carried 
in this way the smaller children as well as the baggage. 

   This mode of travelling for children was possible only in the summer, 
and as the dogs were sometimes unreliable, the little ones were exposed to 
a 

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certain amount of danger. For instance, whenever a train of dogs had been 
travelling for a long time, almost perishing with the heat and their heavy 
loads, a glimpse of water would cause them to forget all their 
responsibilities. Some of them, in spite of the screams of the women, 
would swim with their burdens into the cooling stream, and I was thus, on 
more than one occasion, made to partake of an unwilling bath. 

   I was a little over four years old at the time of the "Sioux massacre" 
in Minnesota. In the general turmoil, we took flight into British 
Columbia, and the journey is still vividly remembered by all our family. A 
yoke of oxen and a lumber-wagon were taken from some white farmer and 
brought home for our conveyance. 

   How delighted I was when I learned that we were to ride behind those 
wise-looking animals and in that gorgeously painted wagon! It seemed 
almost like a living creature to me, this new vehicle with four legs, and 
the more so when we got out of axle-grease and the wheels went along 
squealing like pigs! 

   The boys found a great deal of innocent fun in jumping from the high 
wagon while the oxen were leisurely moving along. My elder brothers soon 
became experts. At last, I mustered up 

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courage enough to join them in this sport. I was sure they stepped on the 
wheel, so I cautiously placed my moccasined foot upon it. Alas! before I 
could realize what had happened, I was under the wheels, and had it not 
been for the neighbor immediately behind us, I might have been run over by 
the next team as well. 

   This was my first experience with a civilized vehicle. I cried out all 
possible reproaches on the white man's team and concluded that a 
dogtravaux was good enough for me. I was really rejoiced that we were 
moving away from the people who made the wagon that had almost ended my 
life, and it did not occur to me that I alone was to blame. I could not be 
persuaded to ride in that wagon again and was glad when we finally left it 
beside the Missouri river. 

   The summer after the "Minnesota massacre," General Sibley pursued our 
people across this river. Now the Missouri is considered one of the most 
treacherous rivers in the world. Even a good modern boat is not safe upon 
its uncertain current. We were forced to cross in buffalo-skin boats -- as 
round as tubs! 

   The Washechu (white men) were coming in great numbers with their big 
guns, and while most of our men were fighting them to gain time, 

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the women and the old men made and equipped the temporary boats, braced 
with ribs of willow. Some of these were towed by two or three women or men 
swimming in the water and some by ponies. It was not an easy matter to 
keep them right side up, with their helpless freight of little children 
and such goods as we possessed. 

   In our flight, we little folks were strapped in the saddles or held in 
front of an older person, and in the long night marches to get away from 
the soldiers, we suffered from loss of sleep and insufficient food. Our 
meals were eaten hastily, and sometimes in the saddle. Water was not 
always to be found. The people carried it with them in bags formed of 
tripe or the dried pericardium of animals. 

   Now we were compelled to trespass upon the country of hostile tribes 
and were harassed by them almost daily and nightly. Only the strictest 
vigilance saved us. 

   One day we met with another enemy near the British lines. It was a 
prairie fire. We were surrounded. Another fire was quickly made, which 
saved our lives. 

   One of the most thrilling experiences of the following winter was a 
blizzard, which overtook us in our wanderings. Here and there, a family 
lay 

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down in the snow, selecting a place where it was not likely to drift much. 
For a day and a night we lay under the snow. Uncle stuck a long pole 
beside us to tell us when the storm was over. We had plenty of buffalo 
robes and the snow kept us warm, but we found it heavy. After a time, it 
became packed and hollowed out around our bodies, so that we were as 
comfortable as one can be under those circumstances. 

   The next day the storm ceased, and we discovered a large herd of 
buffaloes almost upon us. We dug our way out, shot some of the buffaloes, 
made a fire and enjoyed a good dinner. 

   I was now an exile as well as motherless; yet I was not unhappy. Our 
wanderings from place to place afforded us many pleasant experiences and 
quite as many hardships and misfortunes. There were times of plenty and 
times of scarcity, and we had several narrow escapes from death. In savage 
life, the early spring is the most trying time and almost all the famines 
occurred at this period of the year. 

   The Indians are a patient and a clannish people; their love for one 
another is stronger than that of any civilized people I know. If this were 
not so, I believe there would have been tribes of cannibals among them. 
White people have been known to 

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kill and eat their companions in preference to starving; but Indians -- 
never! 

   In times of famine, the adults often denied themselves in order to make 
the food last as long as possible for the children, who were not able to 
bear hunger as well as the old. As a people, they can live without food 
much longer than any other nation. 

   I once passed through one of these hard springs when we had nothing to 
eat for several days. I well remember the six small birds which 
constituted the breakfast for six families one morning; and then we had no 
dinner or supper to follow! What a relief that was to me -- although I had 
only a small wing of a small bird for my share! Soon after this, we came 
into a region where buffaloes were plenty, and hunger and scarcity were 
forgotten. 

   Such was the Indian's wild life! When game was to be had and the sun 
shone, they easily forgot the bitter experiences of the winter before. 
Little preparation was made for the future. They are children of Nature, 
and occasionally she whips them with the lashes of experience, yet they 
are forgetful and careless. Much of their suffering might have been 
prevented by a little calculation. 

   During the summer, when Nature is at her best, 

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and provides abundantly for the savage, it seems to me that no life is 
happier than his! Food is free -- lodging free -- everything free! All 
were alike rich in the summer, and, again, all were alike poor in the 
winter and early spring. However, their diseases were fewer and not so 
destructive as now, and the Indian's health was generally good. The Indian 
boy enjoyed such a life as almost all boys dream of and would choose for 
themselves if they were permitted to do so. 

   The raids made upon our people by other tribes were frequent, and we 
had to be constantly on the watch. I remember at one time a night attack 
was made upon our camp and all our ponies stampeded. Only a few of them 
were recovered, and our journeys after this misfortune were effected 
mostly by means of the dog-travaux. 

   The second winter after the massacre, my father and my two older 
brothers, with several others, were betrayed by a half-breed at Winnipeg 
to the United States authorities. As I was then living with my uncle in 
another part of the country, I became separated from them for ten years. 
During all this time we believed that they had been killed by the whites, 
and I was taught that I must avenge their deaths as soon as I was able to 
go upon the war-path. 

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   I must say a word in regard to the character of this uncle, my father's 
brother, who was my adviser and teacher for many years. He was a man about 
six feet two inches in height, very erect and broad-shouldered. He was 
known at that time as one of the best hunters and bravest warriors among 
the Sioux in British America, where he still lives, for to this day we 
have failed to persuade him to return to the United States. 

   He is a typical Indian -- not handsome, but truthful and brave. He had 
a few simple principles from which he hardly ever departed. Some of these 
I shall describe when I speak of my early training. 

   It is wonderful that any children grew up through all the exposures and 
hardships that we suffered in those days! The frail teepee pitched 
anywhere, in the winter as well as in the summer, was all the protection 
that we had against cold and storms. I can recall times when we were 
snowed in and it was very difficult to get fuel. We were once three days 
without much fire and all of this time it stormed violently. There seemed 
to be no special anxiety on the part of our people; they rather looked 
upon all this as a matter of course, knowing that the storm would cease 
when the time came. 

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   I could once endure as much cold and hunger as any of them; but now if 
I miss one meal or accidentally wet my feet, I feel it as much as if I had 
never lived in the manner I have described, when it was a matter of course 
to get myself soaking wet many a time. Even if there was plenty to eat, it 
was thought better for us to practice fasting sometimes; and hard exercise 
was kept up continually, both for the sake of health and to prepare the 
body for the extraordinary exertions that it might, at any moment, be 
required to undergo. In my own remembrance, my uncle used often to bring 
home a deer on his shoulder. The distance was sometimes considerable; yet 
he did not consider it any sort of a feat. 

   The usual custom with us was to eat only two meals a day and these were 
served at each end of the day. This rule was not invariable, however, for 
if there should be any callers, it was Indian etiquette to offer either 
tobacco or food, or both. The rule of two meals a day was more closely 
observed by the men -- especially the younger men -- than by the women and 
children. This was when the Indians recognized that a true manhood, one of 
physical activity and endurance, depends upon dieting and regular 
exercise. No 

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such system is practised by the reservation Indians of to-day.


My Indian Grandmother

   AS a motherless child, I always regarded my good grandmother as the 
wisest of guides and the best of protectors. It was not long before I 
began to realize her superiority to most of her contemporaries. This idea 
was not gained entirely from myown observation, but also from a knowledge 
of the high regard in which she was held by other women. Aside from her 
native talent and ingenuity, she was endowed with a truly wonderful 
memory. No other midwife in her day and tribe could compete with her in 
skill and judgment. Her observations in practice were all preserved in her 
mind for reference, as systematically as if they had been written upon the 
pages of a note-book. 

   I distinctly recall one occasion when she took me with her into the 
woods in search of certain medicinal roots. 

   "Why do you not use all kinds of roots for medicines?" said I. 

   "Because," she replied, in her quick, characteristic manner, the Great 
Mystery does not will 

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us to find things too easily. In that case everybody would be a medicine-
giver, and Ohiyesa must learn that there are many secrets which the Great 
Mystery will disclose only to the most worthy. Only those who seek him 
fasting and in solitude will receive his signs." 

   With this and many similar explanations she wrought in my soul 
wonderful and lively conceptions of the "Great Mystery" and of the effects 
of prayer and solitude. I continued my childish questioning. 

   "But why did you not dig those plants that we saw in the woods, of the 
same kind that you are digging now?" 

   "For the same reason that we do not like the berries we find in the 
shadow of deep woods as well as the ones which grow in sunny places. The 
latter have more sweetness and flavor. Those herbs which have medicinal 
virtues should be sought in a place that is neither too wet nor too dry, 
and where they have a generous amount of sunshine to maintain their vigor. 

   "Some day Ohiyesa will be old enough to know the secrets of medicine; 
then I will tell him all. But if you should grow up to be a bad man, I 
must withhold these treasures from you and give them to your brother, for 
a medicine man must be 

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a good and wise man. I hope Ohiyesa will be a great medicine man when he 
grows up. To be a great warrior is a noble ambition; but to be a mighty 
medicine man is a nobler!" 

   She said these things so thoughtfully and impressively that I cannot 
but feel and remember them even to this day. 

   Our native women gathered all the wild rice, roots, berries and fruits 
which formed an important part of our food. This was distinctively a 
woman's work. Uncheedah (grandmother) understood these matters perfectly, 
and it became a kind of instinct with her to know just where to look for 
each edible variety and at what season of the year. This sort of labor 
gave the Indian women every opportunity to observe and study Nature after 
their fashion; and in this Uncheedah was more acute than most of the men. 
The abilities of her boys were not all inherited from their father; 
indeed, the stronger family traits came obviously from her. She was a 
leader among the native women, and they came to her, not only for medical 
aid, but for advice in all their affairs. 

   In bravery she equaled any of the men. This trait, together with her 
ingenuity and alertness of mind, more than once saved her and her people 
from destruction. Once, when we were roaming 

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over a region occupied by other tribes, and on a day when most of the men 
were out upon the hunt, a party of hostile Indians suddenly appeared. 
Although there were a few men left at home, they were taken by surprise at 
first and scarcely knew what to do, when this woman came forward and 
advanced alone to meet our foes. She had gone some distance when some of 
the men followed her. She met the strangers and offered her hand to them. 
They accepted her friendly greeting; and as a result of her brave act we 
were left unmolested and at peace. 

   Another story of her was related to me by my father. My grandfather, 
who was a noted hunter, often wandered away from his band in search of 
game. In this instance he had with him only his own family of three boys 
and his wife. One evening,when he returned from the chase, he found to his 
surprise that she had built a stockade around her teepee. 

   She had discovered the danger-sign in a single foot-print, which she 
saw at a glance was not that of her husband, and she was also convinced 
that it was not the foot-print of a Sioux, from the shape of the moccasin. 
This ability to recognize footprints is general among the Indians, but 
more marked in certain individuals. 

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   This courageous woman had driven away a party of five Ojibway warriors. 
They approached the lodge cautiously, but her dog gave timely warning, and 
she poured into them from behind her defences the contents of a double-
barrelled gun, with such good effect that the astonished braves thought it 
wise to retreat. 

   I was not more than five or six years old when the Indian soldiers came 
one day and destroyed our large buffalo-skin teepee. It was charged that 
my uncle had hunted alone a large herd of buffaloes. This was not exactly 
true. He had unfortunately frightened a large herd while shooting a deer 
in the edge of the woods. However, it was customary to punish such an act 
severely, even though the offense was accidental. 

   When we were attacked by the police, I was playing in the teepee, and 
the only other person at home was Uncheedah. I had not noticed their 
approach, and when the war-cry was given by thirty or forty Indians with 
strong lungs, I thought my little world was coming to an end. Instantly 
innumerable knives and tomahawks penetrated our frail home, while bullets 
went through the poles and tent-fastenings up above our heads. 

   I hardly know what I did, but I imagine it was just what any other 
little fellow would have done 

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under like circumstances. My first clear realization of the situation was 
when Uncheedah had a dispute with the leader, claiming that the matter had 
not been properly investigated, and that none of the policemen had 
attained to a reputation in war which would justify them in touching her 
son's teepee. But alas! our poor dwelling was already an unrecognizable 
ruin; even the poles were broken into splinters. 

   The Indian women, after reaching middle age, are usually heavy and lack 
agility, but my grandmother was in this also an exception. She was fully 
sixty when I was born; and when I was seven years old she swam across a 
swift and wide stream, carrying me on her back, because she did not wish 
to expose me to accident in one of the clumsy round boats of bull-hide 
which were rigged up to cross the rivers which impeded our way, especially 
in the springtime. Her strength and endurance were remarkable. Even after 
she had attained the age of eighty-two, she one day walked twenty-five 
miles without appearing much fatigued. 

   I marvel now at the purity and elevated sentiment possessed by this 
woman, when I consider the customs and habits of her people at the time. 
When her husband died she was still comparatively 

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a young woman -- still active, clever and industrious. She was descended 
from a haughty chieftain of the "Dwellers among the Leaves." Although 
women of her age and position were held to be eligible to re-marriage, and 
she had several persistent suitors who were men of her own age and chiefs, 
yet she preferred to cherish in solitude the memory of her husband. 

   I was very small when my uncle brought home two Ojibway young women. In 
the fight in which they were captured, none of the Sioux war party had 
been killed; therefore they were sympathized with and tenderly treated by 
the Sioux women. They were apparently happy, although of course they felt 
deeply the losses sustained at the time of their capture, and they did not 
fail to show their appreciation of the kindnesses received at our hands. 

   As I recall now the remarks made by one of them at the time of their 
final release, they appear to me quite remarkable. They lived in my 
grandmother's family for two years, and were then returned to their people 
at a great peace council of the two nations. When they were about to leave 
my grandmother, the elder of the two sisters first embraced her, and then 
spoke somewhat as follows: 

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   "You are a brave woman and a true mother. I understand now why your son 
so bravely conquered our band, and took my sister and myself captive. I 
hated him at first, but now I admire him, because he did just what my 
father, my brother or my husband would have done had they opportunity. He 
did even more. He saved us from the tomahawks of his fellow-warriors, and 
brought us to his home to know a noble and a brave woman. 

   "I shall never forget your many favors shown to us. But I must go. I 
belong to my tribe and I shall return to them. I will endeavor to be a 
true woman also, and to teach my boys to be generous warriors like your 
son." 

   Her sister chose to remain among the Sioux all her life, and she 
married one of our young men. 

   "I shall make the Sioux and the Ojibways," she said, "to be as 
brothers." 

   There are many other instances of intermarriage with captive women. The 
mother of the well-known Sioux chieftain, Wabashaw, was an Ojibway woman. 
I once knew a woman who was said to be a white captive. She was married to 
a noted warrior, and had a fine family of five boys. She was well 
accustomed to the Indian ways, and as a child I should not have suspected 

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that she was white. The skins of these people became so sunburned and full 
of paint that it required a keen eye to distinguish them from the real 
Indians.


An Indian Sugar Camp

   WITH the first March thaw the thoughts of the Indian women of my 
childhood days turned promptly to the annual sugar-making. This industry 
was chiefly followed by the old men and women and the children. The rest 
of the tribe went out upon the spring fur-hunt at this season, leaving us 
at home to make the sugar. 

   The first and most important of the necessary utensils were the huge 
iron and brass kettles for boiling. Everything else could be made, but 
these must be bought, begged or borrowed. A maple tree was felled and a 
log canoe hollowed out, into which the sap was to be gathered. Little 
troughs of basswood and birchen basins were also made to receive the sweet 
drops as they trickled from the tree. 

   As soon as these labors were accomplished, we all proceeded to the bark 
sugar house, which stood in the midst of a fine grove of maples on the 
bank of 

Page 30

the Minnesota river. We found this hut partially filled with the snows of 
winter and the withered leaves of the preceding autumn, and it must be 
cleared for our use. In the meantime a tent was pitched outside for a few 
days' occupancy. The snow was still deep in the woods, with a solid crust 
upon which we could easily walk; for we usually moved to the sugar house 
before the sap had actually started, the better to complete our 
preparations. 

   My grandmother worked like a beaver in these days (or rather like a 
muskrat, as the Indians say; for this industrious little animal sometimes 
collects as many as six or eight bushels of edible roots for the winter, 
only to be robbed of his store by some of our people). If there was 
prospect of a good sugaring season, she now made a second and even a third 
canoe to contain the sap. These canoes were afterward utilized by the 
hunters for their proper purpose. 

   During our last sugar-making in Minnesota, before the "outbreak," my 
grandmother was at work upon a canoe with her axe, while a young aunt of 
mine stood by. We boys were congregated within the large, oval sugar 
house, busily engaged in making arrows for the destruction of the rabbits 
and chipmunks which we knew would come in 

Page 31

numbers to drink the sap. The birds also were beginning to return, and the 
cold storms of March would drive them to our door. I was then too young to 
do much except look on; but I fully entered into the spirit of the 
occasion, and rejoiced to see the bigger boys industriously sharpen their 
arrows, resting them against the ends of the long sticks which were 
burning in the fire, and occasionally cutting a chip from the stick. In 
their eagerness they paid little attention to this circumstance, although 
they well knew that it was strictly forbidden to touch a knife to a 
burning ember. 

   Suddenly loud screams were heard from without and we all rushed out to 
see what was the matter. It was a serious affair. My grandmother's axe had 
slipped, and by an upward stroke nearly severed three of the fingers of my 
aunt, who stood looking on, with her hands folded upon her waist. As we 
ran out the old lady, who had already noticed and reproved our 
carelessness in regard to the burning embers, pursued us with loud 
reproaches and threats of a whipping. This will seem mysterious to my 
readers, but is easily explained by the Indian superstition, which holds 
that such an offense as we had committed is invariably punished by the 
accidental cutting of some one of the family. 

   My grandmother did not confine herself to 

Page 32

canoe-making. She also collected a good supply of fuel for the fires, for 
she would not have much time to gather wood when the sap began to flow. 
Presently the weather moderated and the snow began to melt. The month of 
April brought showers which carried most of it off into the Minnesota 
river. Now the women began to test the trees -- moving leisurely among 
them, axe in hand, and striking a single quick blow, to see if the sap 
would appear. The trees, like people, have their individual characters; 
some were ready to yield up their life-blood, while others were more 
reluctant. Now one of the birchen basins was set under each tree, and a 
hardwood chip driven deep into the cut which the axe had made. From the 
corners of this chip -- at first drop by drop, then more freely -- the sap 
trickled into the little dishes. 

   It is usual to make sugar from maples, but several other trees were 
also tapped by the Indians. From the birch and ash was made a dark-colored 
sugar, with a somewhat bitter taste, which was used for medicinal 
purposes. The box-elder yielded a beautiful white sugar, whose only fault 
was that there was never enough of it! 

   A long fire was now made in the sugar house, and a row of brass kettles 
suspended over the blaze. The sap was collected by the women in 

Page 33

tin or birchen buckets and poured into the canoes, from which the kettles 
were kept filled. The hearts of the boys beat high with pleasant 
anticipations when they heard the welcome hissing sound of the boiling 
sap! Each boy claimed one kettle for his especial charge. It was his duty 
to see that the fire was kept up under it, to watch lest it boil over, and 
finally, when the sap became sirup, to test it upon the snow, dipping it 
out with a wooden paddle. So frequent were these tests that for the first 
day or two we consumed nearly all that could be made; and it was not until 
the sweetness began to pall that my grandmother set herself in earnest to 
store up sugar for future use. She made it into cakes of various forms, in 
birchen molds, and sometimes in hollow canes or reeds, and the bills of 
ducks and geese. Some of it was pulverized and packed in rawhide cases. 
Being a prudent woman, she did not give it to us after the first month or 
so, except upon special occasions, and it was thus made to last almost the 
year around. The smaller candies were reserved as an occasional treat for 
the little fellows, and the sugar was eaten at feasts with wild rice or 
parched corn, and also with pounded dried meat. Coffee and tea, with their 
substitutes, were all unknown to us in those days. 

Page 34

   Every pursuit has its trials and anxieties. My grandmother's special 
tribulations, during the sugaring season, were the upsetting and gnawing 
of holes in her birch-bark pans. The transgressors were the rabbit and 
squirrel tribes, and we little boys for once became useful, in shooting 
them with our bows and arrows. We hunted all over the sugar camp, until 
the little creatures were fairly driven out of the neighborhood. 
Occasionally one of my older brothers brought home a rabbit or two, and 
then we had a feast. 

   The sugaring season extended well into April, and the returning birds 
made the precincts of our camp joyful with their songs. I often followed 
my older brothers into the woods, although I was then but four or five 
years old. Upon one of these excursions they went so far that I ventured 
back alone. When within sight of our hut, I saw a chipmunk sitting upon a 
log, and uttering the sound he makes when he calls to his mate. How 
glorious it would be, I thought, if I could shoot him with my tiny bow and 
arrows! Stealthily and cautiously I approached, keeping my eyes upon the 
pretty little animal, and just as I was about to let fly my shaft, I heard 
a hissing noise at my feet. There lay a horrid snake, coiled and ready to 
spring! Forgetful that I was a warrior, 

Page 35

I gave a loud scream and started backward; but soon recollecting myself, 
looked down with shame, although no one was near. However, I retreated to 
the inclined trunk of a fallen tree, and there, as I have often been told, 
was overheard soliloquizing in the following words: "I wonder if a snake 
can climb a tree!" 

   I remember on this occasion of our last sugar bush in Minnesota, that I 
stood one day outside of our hut and watched the approach of a visitor -- 
a bent old man, his hair almost white, and carrying on his back a large 
bundle of red willow, or kinnikinick, which the Indians use for smoking. 
He threw down his load at the door and thus saluted us: "You have indeed 
perfect weather for sugar-making." 

   It was my great-grandfather, Cloud Man, whose original village was on 
the shores of Lakes Calhoun and Harriet, now in the suburbs of the city of 
Minneapolis. He was the first Sioux chief to welcome the Protestant 
missionaries among his people, and a well-known character in those pioneer 
days. He brought us word that some of the peaceful sugar-makers near us on 
the river had been attacked and murdered by roving Ojibways. This news 
disturbed us not a little, for we realized that we too might become the 
victims of 

Page 36

an Ojibway war party. Therefore we all felt some uneasiness from this time 
until we returned.


A Midsummer Feast

   IT was midsummer. Everything that the Santee Sioux had undertaken 
during the year had been unusually successful. The spring fur-hunters had 
been fortunate, and the heavy winter had proved productive of much maple 
sugar. The women's patches of maize and potatoes were already sufficiently 
advanced to use. The Wahpetonwan band of Sioux, the "Dwellers among the 
Leaves," were fully awakened to the fact that it was almost time for the 
midsummer festivities of the old, wild days. 

   The invitations were bundles of tobacco, and acceptances were sent back 
from the various bands -- the "Light Lodges", "Dwellers back from the 
River," and many others, in similar fashion. Blue Earth, chief of the 
"Dwellers among the Leaves," was the host. 

   There were to be many different kinds of athletic games; indeed, the 
festival was something like a State fair, in that there were many side 

Page 37

shows and competitive events. For instance, supposing that (Miss) White 
Rabbit should desire to give a "maidens' feast," she would employ a crier 
to go among the different bands announcing the fact in a sing-song manner: 

   "Miss White Rabbit will receive her maiden friends to-day at noon, 
inside of the circular encampment of the Kaposia band." 

   Again, should (Mr.) Sleepy Eye wish to have his child's ears pierced 
publicly, he would have to give away a great deal of savage wealth -- 
namely, otter, bear and beaver skins and ponies -- or the child would not 
be considered as belonging to a family in good standing. 

   But the one all-important event of the occasion was the lacrosse game, 
for which it had been customary to select those two bands which could 
boast the greater number of fast runners. 

   The Wahpetonwan village on the banks of the Minnesota river was alive 
with the newly-arrived guests and the preparations for the coming event. 
Meat of wild game had been put away with much care during the previous 
fall in anticipation of this feast. There was wild rice and the choicest 
of dried venison that had been kept all winter, as well as freshly dug 
turnips, ripe berries and an abundance of fresh meat. 

Page 38

   Along the edge of the woods the teepees were pitched in groups or semi-
circles, each band distinct from the others. The teepee of Mankato or Blue 
Earth was pitched in a conspicuous spot. Just over the entrance was 
painted in red and yellow a picture of a pipe, and directly opposite this 
the rising sun. The painting was symbolic of welcome and good will to men 
under the bright sun. 

   A meeting was held to appoint some "medicine man" to make the balls 
that were to be used in the lacrosse contest; and presently the herald 
announced that this honor had been conferred upon old Chankpee-yuhah, or 
"Keeps the Club," while every other man of his profession was 
disappointed. He was a powerful man physically, who had apparently won the 
confidence of the people by his fine personal appearance and by working 
upon superstitious minds. 

   Towards evening he appeared in the circle, leading by the hand a boy 
about four years old. Closely the little fellow observed every motion of 
the man; nothing escaped his vigilant black eyes, which seemed constantly 
to grow brighter and larger, while his exuberant glossy black hair was 
plaited and wound around his head like that of a Celestial. He wore a bit 
of swan's down in 

Page 39

each ear, which formed a striking contrast with the child's complexion. 
Further than this, the boy was painted according to the fashion of the 
age. He held in his hands a miniature bow and arrows. 

   The medicine man drew himself up in an admirable attitude, and 
proceeded to make his short speech: 

   "Wahpetonwans, you boast that you run down the elk; you can outrun the 
Ojibways. Before you all, I dedicate to you this red ball. Kaposias, you 
claim that no one has a lighter foot than you; you declare that you can 
endure running a whole day without water. To you I dedicate this black 
ball. Either you or the Leaf-Dwellers will have to drop your eyes and bow 
your head when the game is over. I wish to announce that if the 
Wahpetonwans should win, this little warrior shall bear the name Ohiyesa 
(winner) through life; but if the Light Lodges should win, let the name be 
given to any child appointed by them." 

   The ground selected for the great final game was on a narrow strip of 
land between a lake and the river. It was about three quarters of a mile 
long and a quarter of a mile in width. The spectators had already ranged 
themselves all along the two sides, as well as at the two ends, which were 

Page 40

somewhat higher than the middle. The soldiers appointed to keep order 
furnished much of the entertainment of the day. They painted artistically 
and tastefully, according to the Indian fashion, not only their bodies but 
also their ponies and clubs. They were so strict in enforcing the laws 
that no one could venture with safety within a few feet of the limits of 
the field. 

   Now all of the minor events and feasts, occupying several days' time, 
had been observed. Heralds on ponies' backs announced that all who 
intended to participate in the final game were requested to repair to the 
ground; also that if any one bore a grudge against another, he was 
implored to forget his ill-feeling until the contest should be over. 

   The most powerful men were stationed at the half-way ground, while the 
fast runners were assigned to the back. It was an impressive spectacle -- 
a fine collection of agile forms, almost stripped of garments and painted 
in wild imitation of the rainbow and sunset sky on human canvas. Some had 
undertaken to depict the Milky Way across their tawny bodies, and one or 
two made a bold attempt to reproduce the lightning. Others contented 
themselves with painting the figure of some fleet animal or swift bird on 
their muscular chests. 

Page 41

   The coiffure of the Sioux lacrosse player has often been unconsciously 
imitated by the fashionable hair-dressers of modern times. Some banged and 
singed their hair; others did a little more by adding powder. The Grecian 
knot was located on the wrong side of the head, being tied tightly over 
the forehead. A great many simply brushed back their long locks and tied 
them with a strip of otter skin. 

   At the middle of the ground were stationed four immense men, 
magnificently formed. A fifth approached this group, paused a moment, and 
then threw his head back, gazed up into the sky in the manner of a cock 
and gave a smooth, clear operatic tone. Instantly the little black ball 
went up between the two middle rushers, in the midst of yells, cheers and 
war-whoops. Both men endeavored to catch it in the air; but alas! each 
interfered with the other; then the guards on each side rushed upon them. 
For a time, a hundred lacrosse sticks vied with each other, and the 
wriggling human flesh and paint were all one could see through the cloud 
of dust. Suddenly there shot swiftly through the air toward the south, 
toward the Kaposias' goal, the ball. There was a general cheer from their 
adherents, which echoed back from the white cliff on the opposite side of 
the Minnesota. 

Page 42

   As the ball flew through the air, two adversaries were ready to receive 
it. The Kaposia quickly met the ball, but failed to catch it in his netted 
bag, for the other had swung his up like a flash. Thus it struck the 
ground, but had no opportunity to bound up when a Wahpeton pounced upon it 
like a cat and slipped out of the grasp of his opponents. A mighty cheer 
thundered through the air. 

   The warrior who had undertaken to pilot the little sphere was risking 
much, for he must dodge a host of Kaposias before he could gain any 
ground. He was alert and agile; now springing like a panther, now leaping 
like a deer over a stooping opponent who tried to seize him around the 
waist. Every opposing player was upon his heels, while those of his own 
side did all in their power to clear the way for him. But it was all in 
vain. He only gained fifty paces. 

   Thus the game went. First one side, then the other would gain an 
advantage, and then it was lost, until the herald proclaimed that it was 
time to change the ball. No victory was in sight for either side. 

   After a few minutes' rest, the game was resumed. The red ball was now 
tossed in the air in the usual way. No sooner had it descended than one of 
the rushers caught it and away it went northward; 

Page 43

again it was fortunate, for it was advanced by one of the same side. The 
scene was now one of the wildest excitement and confusion. At last, the 
northward flight of the ball was checked for a moment and a desperate 
struggle ensued. Cheers and war-whoops became general, such as were never 
equaled in any concourse of savages, and possibly nowhere except at a 
college game of foot-ball. 

   The ball had not been allowed to come to the surface since it reached 
this point, for there were more than a hundred men who scrambled for it. 
Suddenly a warrior shot out of the throng like the ball itself! Then some 
of the players shouted: "Look out for Antelope! Look out for Antelope!" 
But it was too late. The little sphere had already nestled into Antelope's 
palm and that fleetest of Wahpetons had thrown down his lacrosse stick and 
set a determined eye upon the northern goal. 

   Such a speed! He had cleared almost all the opponents' guards -- there 
were but two more. These were exceptional runners of the Kaposias. As he 
approached them in his almost irresistible speed, every savage heart 
thumped louder in the Indian's dusky bosom. In another moment there would 
be a defeat for the Kaposias or a prolongation of the game. The two men, 
with a determined 

Page 44

look approached their foe like two panthers prepared to spring; yet he 
neither slackened his speed nor deviated from his course. A crash -- a 
mighty shout! -- the two Kaposias collided, and the swift Antelope had won 
the laurels! 

   The turmoil and commotion at the victors' camp were indescribable. A 
few beats of a drum were heard, after which the criers hurried along the 
lines, announcing the last act to be performed at the camp of the "Leaf 
Dwellers." 

   The day had been a perfect one. Every event had been a success; and, as 
a matter of course, the old people were happy, for they largely profited 
by these occasions. Within the circle formed by the general assembly sat 
in a group the members of the common council. Blue Earth arose, and in a 
few appropriate and courteous remarks assured his guests that it was not 
selfishness that led his braves to carry off the honors of the last event, 
but that this was a friendly contest in which each band must assert its 
prowess. In memory of this victory, the boy would now receive his name. A 
loud "Ho-o-o" of approbation reverberated from the edge of the forest upon 
the Minnesota's bank. 

   Half frightened, the little fellow was now brought into the circle, 
looking very much as if he 

Page 45

were about to be executed. Cheer after cheer went up for the awe-stricken 
boy. Chankpee-yuhah, the medicine man, proceeded to confer the name. 

   "Ohiyesa (or Winner) shall be thy name hence-forth. Be brave, be 
patient and thou shalt always win! Thy name is Ohivesa." 



Part II - An Indian Boy's Training

   IT is commonly supposed that there is no systematic education of their 
children among the aborigines of this country. Nothing could be farther 
from the truth. All the customs of this primitive people were held to be 
divinely instituted, and those in connection with the training of children 
were scrupulously adhered to and transmitted from one generation to 
another. 

   The expectant parents conjointly bent all their efforts to the task of 
giving the new-comer the best they could gather from a long line of 
ancestors. A pregnant Indian woman would often choose one of the greatest 
characters of her family and tribe as a model for her child. This hero was 
daily called to mind. She would gather from tradition all of his noted 
deeds and daring exploits, rehearsing them to herself when alone. In order 
that the impression might be more distinct, she avoided company. 

Page 50

She isolated herself as much as possible, and wandered in solitude, not 
thoughtlessly, but with an eye to the impress given by grand and beautiful 
scenery. 

   The Indians believed, also, that certain kinds of animals would confer 
peculiar gifts upon the unborn, while others would leave so strong an 
adverse impression that the child might become a monstrosity. A case of 
hare-lip was commonly attributed to the rabbit. It was said that a rabbit 
had charmed the mother and given to the babe its own features. Even the 
meat of certain animals was denied the pregnant woman, because it was 
supposed to influence the disposition or features of the child. 

   Scarcely was the embyro warrior ushered into the world, when he was met 
by lullabies that speak of wonderful exploits in hunting and war. Those 
ideas which so fully occupied his mother's mind before his birth are now 
put into words by all about the child, who is as yet quite unresponsive to 
their appeals to his honor and ambition. He is called the future defender 
of his people, whose lives may depend upon his courage and skill. If the 
child is a girl, she is at once addressed as the future mother of a noble 
race. 

   In hunting songs, the leading animals are introduced; they come to the 
boy to offer their bodies 

Page 51

for the sustenance of his tribe. The animals are regarded as his friends, 
and spoken of almost as tribes of people, or as his cousins, grandfathers 
and grandmothers. The songs of wooing, adapted as lullabies, were equally 
imaginative, and the suitors were often animals personified, while pretty 
maidens were represented by the mink and the doe. 

   Very early, the Indian boy assumed the task of preserving and 
transmitting the legends of his ancestors and his race. Almost every 
evening a myth, or a true story of some deed done in the past, was 
narrated by one of the parents or grandparents, while the boy listened 
with parted lips and glistening eyes. On the following evening, he was 
usually required to repeat it. If he was not an apt scholar, he struggled 
long with his task; but, as a rule, the Indian boy is a good listener and 
has a good memory, so that the stories were tolerably well mastered. The 
household became his audience, by which he was alternately criticized and 
applauded. 

   This sort of teaching at once enlightens the boy's mind and stimulates 
his ambition. His conception of his own future career becomes a vivid and 
irresistible force. Whatever there is for him to learn must be learned; 
whatever qualifications are necessary to a truly great man he must seek at 
any 

Page 52

expense of danger and hardship. Such was the feeling of the imaginative 
and brave young Indian. It became apparent to him in early life that he 
must accustom himself to rove alone and not to fear or dislike the 
impression of solitude. 

   It seems to be a popular idea that all the characteristic skill of the 
Indian is instinctive and hereditary. This is a mistake. All the stoicism 
and patience of the Indian are acquired traits, and continual practice 
alone makes him master of the art of wood-craft. Physical training and 
dieting were not neglected. I remember that I was not allowed to have beef 
soup or any warm drink. The soup was for the old men. General rules for 
the young were never to take their food very hot, nor to drink much water. 

   My uncle, who educated me up to the age of fifteen years, was a strict 
disciplinarian and a good teacher. When I left the teepee in the morning, 
he would say: "Hakadah, look closely to everything you see"; and at 
evening, on my return, he used often to catechize me for an hour or so. 

   "On which side of the trees is the lighter-colored bark? On which side 
do they have most regular branches?" 

   It was his custom to let me name all the 

Page 53

new birds that I had seen during the day. I would name them according to 
the color or the shape of the bill or their song or the appearance and 
locality of the nest -- in fact, anything about the bird that impressed me 
as characteristic. I made many ridiculous errors, I must admit. He then 
usually informed me of the correct name. Occasionally I made a hit and 
this he would warmly commend. 

   He went much deeper into this science when I was a little older, that 
is, about the age of eight or nine years. He would say, for instance: 

   "How do you know that there are fish in yonder lake?" 

   "Because they jump out of the water for flies at mid-day." 

   He would smile at my prompt but superficial reply. 

   "What do you think of the little pebbles grouped together under the 
shallow water? and what made the pretty curved marks in the sandy bottom 
and the little sand-banks? Where do you find the fish-eating birds? Have 
the inlet and the outlet of a lake anything to do with the question?" 

   He did not expect a correct reply at once to all the voluminous 
questions that he put to me on 

Page 54

these occasions, but he meant to make me observant and a good student of 
nature. 

   "Hakadah," he would say to me, "you ought to follow the example of the 
shunktokecha (wolf). Even when he is surprised and runs for his life, he 
will pause to take one more look at you before he enters his final 
retreat. So you must take a second look at everything you see. 

   "It is better to view animals unobserved. I have been a witness to 
their courtships and their quarrels and have learned many of their secrets 
in this way. I was once the unseen spectator of a thrilling battle between 
a pair of grizzly bears and three buffaloes -- a rash act for the bears, 
for it was in the moon of strawberries, when the buffaloes sharpen and 
polish their horns for bloody contests among themselves. 

   "I advise you, my boy, never to approach a grizzly's den from the 
front, but to steal up behind and throw your blanket or a stone in front 
of the hole. He does not usually rush for it, but first puts his head out 
and listens and then comes out very indifferently and sits on his haunches 
on the mound in front of the hole before he makes any attack. While he is 
exposing himself in this fashion, aim at his heart. Always be as cool as 
the animal himself." Thus he armed me against the 

Page 55

cunning of savage beasts by teaching me how to outwit them. 

   "In hunting," he would resume, "you will be guided by the habits of the 
animal you seek. Remember that a moose stays in swampy or low land or 
between high mountains near a spring or lake, for thirty to sixty days at 
a time. Most large game moves about continually, except the doe in the 
spring; it is then a very easy matter to find her with the fawn. Conceal 
yourself in a convenient place as soon as you observe any signs of the 
presence of either, and then call with your birchen doe-caller. 

   "Whichever one hears you first will soon appear in your neighborhood. 
But you must be very watchful, or you may be made a fawn of by a large 
wild-cat. They understand the characteristic call of the doe perfectly 
well. 

   "When you have any difficulty with a bear or a wild-cat -- that is, if 
the creature shows signs of attacking you -- you must make him fully 
understand that you have seen him and are aware of his intentions. If you 
are not well equipped for a pitched battle, the only way to make him 
retreat is to take a long sharp-pointed pole for a spear and rush toward 
him. No wild beast will face this unless he is cornered and already 
wounded, These 

Page 56

fierce beasts are generally afraid of the common weapon of the larger 
animals -- the horns, and if these are very long and sharp, they dare not 
risk an open fight. 

   "There is one exception to this rule -- the grey wolf will attack 
fiercely when very hungry. But their courage depends upon their numbers; 
in this they are like white men. One wolf or two will never attack a man. 
They will stampede a herd of buffaloes in order to get at the calves; they 
will rush upon a herd of antelopes, for these are helpless; but they are 
always careful about attacking man." 

   Of this nature were the instructions of my uncle, who was widely known 
at that time as among the greatest hunters of his tribe. 

   All boys were expected to endure hardship without complaint. In savage 
warfare, a young man must, of course, be an athlete and used to undergoing 
all sorts of privations. He must be able to go without food and water for 
two or three days without displaying any weakness, or to run for a day and 
a night without any rest. He must be able to traverse a pathless and wild 
country without losing his way either in the day or night time. He cannot 
refuse to do any of these things if he aspires to be a warrior. 

Page 57

   Sometimes my uncle would waken me very early in the morning and 
challenge me to fast with him all day. I had to accept the challenge. We 
blackened our faces with charcoal, so that every boy in the village would 
know that I was fasting for the day. Then the little tempters would make 
my life a misery until the merciful sun hid behind the western hills. 

   I can scarcely recall the time when my stern teacher began to give 
sudden war-whoops over my head in the morning while I was sound asleep. He 
expected me to leap up with perfect presence of mind, always ready to 
grasp a weapon of some sort and to give a shrill whoop in reply. If I was 
sleepy or startled and hardly knew what I was about, he would ridicule me 
and say that I need never expect to sell my scalp dear. Often he would 
vary these tactics by shooting off his gun just outside of the lodge while 
I was yet asleep, at the same time giving blood-curdling yells. After a 
time I became used to this. 

   When Indians went upon the war-path, it was their custom to try the new 
warriors thoroughly before coming to an engagement. For instance, when 
they were near a hostile camp, they would select the novices to go after 
the water and make them do all sorts of things to prove their courage. 

Page 58

In accordance with this idea, my uncle used to send me off after water 
when we camped after dark in a strange place. Perhaps the country was full 
of wild beasts, and, for aught I knew, there might be scouts from hostile 
bands of Indians lurking in that very neighborhood. 

   Yet I never objected, for that would show cowardice. I picked my way 
through the woods, dipped my pail in the water and hurried back, always 
careful to make as little noise as a cat. Being only a boy, my heart would 
leap at every crackling of a dry twig or distant hooting of an owl, until, 
at last, I reached our teepee. Then my uncle would perhaps say: "Ah, 
Hakadah, you are a thorough warrior," empty out the precious contents of 
the pail, and order me to go a second time. 

   Imagine how I felt! But I wished to be a brave man as much as a white 
boy desires to be a great lawyer or even President of the United States. 
Silently I would take the pail and endeavor to retrace my footsteps in the 
dark. 

   With all this, our manners and morals were not neglected. I was made to 
respect the adults and especially the aged. I was not allowed to join in 
their discussions, nor even to speak in their presence, unless requested 
to do so. Indian 

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etiquette was very strict, and among the requirements was that of avoiding 
the direct address. A term of relationship or some title of courtesy was 
commonly used instead of the personal name by those who wished to show 
respect. We were taught generosity to the poor and reverence for the 
"Great Mystery." Religion was the basis of all Indian training. 

   I recall to the present day some of the kind warnings and reproofs that 
my good grandmother was wont to give me. "Be strong of heart -- be 
patient!" she used to say. She told me of a young chief who was noted for 
his uncontrollable temper. While in one of his rages he attempted to kill 
a woman, for which he was slain by his own band and left unburied as a 
mark of disgrace -- his body was simply covered with green grass. If I 
ever lost my temper, she would say: 

   "Hakadah, control yourself, or you will be like that young man I told 
you of, and lie under a green blanket!" 

   In the old days, no young man was allowed to use tobacco in any form 
until he had become an acknowledged warrior and had achieved a record. If 
a youth should seek a wife before he had reached the age of twenty-two or 
twenty-three, and been recognized as a brave man, he was 

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sneered at and considered an ill-bred Indian. He must also be a skillful 
hunter. An Indian cannot be a good husband unless he brings home plenty of 
game. 

   These precepts were in the line of our training for the wild life.