Francis La Flesche (1857–1932) was born on the Omaha Reservation in Nebraska. He attended the Presbyterian Mission School on the Omaha Reservation from 1865 until 1869. In the late 1870s he acted as interpreter and informant for ethnologist James Owen Dorsey. He also interpreted for Alice C. Fletcher, who studied the Omaha tribe and with whom he collaborated to collect Omaha and Sioux artifacts for Harvard’s Peabody Museum. He was an ethnologist for the Bureau of American Ethnology from 1910 until his retirement in 1929. In 1911 he joined the Society of American Indians and published The Omaha Tribe, which he co-wrote with Fletcher. La Flesche also studied the Osages, and published some of his findings in The Osage Tribe in the Annual Reports of the Bureau of American Ethnology between 1922 and 1930. In addition to his ethnographic works, he published The Middle Five, an autobiographical account of his experiences at the Presbyterian Mission School in 1900, as well as essays and short stories in boarding school newspapers. (Littlefield and Parins, Biobibliography: Supplement, 240; Peyer, American Indian Nonfiction, 292–93; Peyer, Singing Spirit, 67–68)
The Indian problem, as it is generally called, can never be fully solved by the white people. Its solution rests mainly with the Indians themselves. The law that governs individuals is applicable to nations. Man’s salvation is an individual responsibility for which he alone is answerable, and the salvation of a nation depends on its own life struggles and not upon outside influences, however strong they may be.
The Indians can no longer support themselves by hunting. The white man has driven the game where no Indian can follow. The annual supplies of food and clothing furnished the Indians by the government, mainly in pay for the purchase of lands, are fast becoming exhausted, and many of the Indian tribes have not enough lands remaining to exchange for further annuities. They cannot expect to live always at the expense of the government, neither can they depend on the charity of the white people who have their own poor to take care of, besides, there must ever be an end to charity, however deserving the object or however philanthropic the benefactors. The time is coming when all the support this government is giving the Indians will cease and when they will be expected to take care of themselves whether they desire to do so or not.
Prior to the advent of the white man upon this continent, and until this country was covered by his settlements, the Indian men and women were not idlers or dependents; they labored for their food and clothing and supported their families honestly, but their life was one of hardship, mingled with much of savagery. It was a life unfitted for advancement in thought, in industries, and in all that goes to make up civilized living. No better way lay before our forefathers, and we must not blame them but a better way lies before us, and we should be justly blamed by God and by man, did we not advance toward the higher life opened to us and try to help forward in that life the weaker ones of our race.
Upon us, therefore, who have received some education, devolves the duty of thoughtfully considering our problem and of helping in its solution.
In view of the fact that the past conditions which surrounded the Indian, and helped to make him what he was, are gone, it is clear, that if the Indian is to live, he must take his place among civilized men. To reach that end it is necessary that he have, first, education; second, training in industries; third, he must rise to the fullness of his manhood by claiming for himself the rights of citizenship.
What are the means open to use for an education? They are many, my friends, and let us never forget that we owe this to the Christian men and women who have labored long in our behalf, under circumstances full of privations and frequently in peril, and through whose influence the government has been induced to deal generously toward us in this respect. It is true that the Indians have been slow to appreciate the fact that it requires time and study to obtain a good education, but now, we see it, and it becomes the duty of us who have learned to explain to our parents and friends at home that it takes time to secure an education and to master a trade, so that they may not be disappointed when we decide to stay for a term of years where we can receive the thorough training we need. The doors of the schools, established on the reservations and in some of the eastern states by the churches and the government, are open to us and we must avail ourselves of the opportunities that are thus offered us for education. We must study hard and always bear in mind that time and constant practice make perfect. We must show our willingness to learn and to remain in school until we have mastered the English language which will enable us to make ourselves better understood by the white people who do not yet know our capabilities. We must also try to perfect ourselves in our trades or professions, if we take up any, so that we can have an equal chance with the white people to make a living.
On the other hand our white friends must be patient with us if we do not learn as fast as they expect us to, and remember, that they were born and brought up in the midst of civilization and inherit their mental capabilities, and the power of observation which enables them to comprehend quickly, from ancestors who had been studying for hundreds of years. They must also remember that the Indians have always been hunters and that even today they know but very little, if anything, about literature, and that the English language is a hard language for a foreigner to learn. I have known educated white men to live among Indians, and for more than ten years make a careful study of the Indian language and yet they could not learn to speak perfectly notwithstanding the comparative simplicity of the language. If it takes more than ten years for an educated white man to learn to speak an Indian language perfectly, it is expecting too much to think that an Indian student, within four or five years can learn to speak and write the more complicated English language. We must, therefore, suggest to our white friends, when they are considering the advantages which accrue to the Indian from education that it is also necessary to take cognizance of the difficulties that lie in the way of its attainment. Language is a great barrier between the Indians and the white people and between the different Indian tribes, and this barrier must be broken down so that the two races and the various tribes may understand one another in every particular. It will be impossible for the older people to learn to speak the English language but the younger people can and must acquire English and not hold back because their fathers are unequal to the task. The ability to speak English is one of the essentials to the welfare and advancement of the Indians.
While the young people are thus gaining a knowledge of books and being trained in industries, the older people should be taught the use of agricultural implements and how to till the soil in order to secure their living. They will thus learn by their own experience that work is both honorable and profitable, rather than degrading and profitless, as so many have been accustomed to think. They will, however, need to be constantly reminded that the wealth of the white man represents tireless and persistent labor, both mental and physical, and also the careful expenditure of the profits of work, in a thoughtful consideration of the future.
Much depends upon the development of the manhood of the Indians to make them useful members of society. The question is, how is their manhood to be reached? How is it to be awakened?
The answer is simple. Treat them as men, give them the same opportunities for experience, the same laws, and the same changes as are permitted white men.
Treat them no longer as children, feeding and clothing them. Give each man the ownership of his farm and home, and whatever is justly due from the sale of extra lands, either from past negotiations or provisions, to be made in future; pay him in money as you would a white man and throw him upon his own responsibility. If there are some who will spend their money foolishly they will do better the next time after having felt want; or if there are those who will spend it wisely it will lead to further success. Believe me, if you treat the Indians as men, they will respond to you as men, and will endeavor to work with you in the upbuilding of our common country.
In speaking to you, I have dwelt upon the importance of education, of acquiring the English language because it seems to me to be the key to the solution of many of our difficulties. English opens up to us not only the means of communication with the white people by word of mouth, but it enables us to study their history and see the causes which led to the advancement. We learn from their history how diligently the men who have accomplished great deeds have worked, holding to their purpose for years, seemingly unmindful of discouragements and temporary defeats. We learn that nothing is accomplished that is worthy and lasting, that does not take time and persistent energy. We learn that the great force of the world is the mind of man. By that power man has crossed that seas, measured the stars, made the lightning do his bidding, and belted the earth with his iron road. It is mind, the cultivated, trained mind of the white man that has made the wealth and prosperity of this land of our forefathers. We Indians have minds. Shall they remain dull and untrained? No! We intend to strive for education, for the training of all our faculties, for our civil rights, that we may act our part in the labors that engage the civilized man.1
Ja-bae-ka came in with a big armful of wood, threw it down with a crash, stamped his feet and gave his blanket a few vigorous flaps to shake off the snow. The squint eyed little chap was always willing to go after water, or wood or to run on any other errand; and when a thing of that kind was to be done, the dozen boys, who were chums and went together, always looked to him first.
A dozen hands were stretched to place the wood on the fire, and a number of mouths were blowing upon it. Soon the flames leaped upward with a roaring, cracking noise, and the sparks chased each other in a lively fashion up through the round opening at the top of the dome shaped roof on the earth lodge. The light threw a ruddy glare upon our youthful faces and our shadows danced in a fantastic manner against the somber walls of the large, circular room.
“Wha! Goo-da-ga!” exclaimed a black eyed youngster, as he gave a whack with the back of his hand to the little spotted dog that came smelling and sniffing in front of our venerable story teller, who sat filling his pipe and staring into the flames to refresh his memory. The little dog gave a yelp and quickly disappeared under one of the willow compartments in the back part. Even little dogs were required to show respect to storytellers.
The old man lifted his small pipe, stem upward, toward the sky and muttered a few words; then every boy quickly bent forward, each one eager to be first to hold the brand for the story teller to light his pipe. After taking a few whiffs, the venerable man began, and all of us youngsters fell to an attentive silence.
“Of all the living things brought into existence by the breath of Wá-kon-da,” remarked the old man by way of introduction, “none but the birds possess the wonderful power of leaving the earth, lifting themselves into the air and moving at will in the midst of the restless winds.”
“Once in the progress of time, so the story tellers say, there came out of the ever silent depths of the blue, far above the reach of earthly sounds, a mysterious voice commanding the feathered creatures of the earth to gather at a certain place, where, on an appointed day, they were to display their power of flight.
“In obedience to this command all the birds hastened toward the chosen spot, some flying in flocks; some speeding along in lines; others soaring alone; each according to the habit of its kind. From the lakes, the rivers and the marshes came the geese, the ducks, the gulls and all the birds that find their food in the waters; out of the black forests emerged the vultures, the hawks, the owls, the crows and the magpies; from the sand hills came the cranes whose loud calls, resembling the cry of a warrior, could be heard from river to river; from the sandy banks of the streams and from the rocky cliffs came the swallows, the messengers of cloud and storm; from the ‘Four Winds,’ from any and every direction came birds large and small with plumage of varied hue, each one intent on having a share in the coming contest.
“The shadow of night passed westward over the hills and valleys and ‘the great star’ appeared, heralding the grey dawn of the appointed day. When the first rays of the sun shot upward myriads of voices were lifted to give to the great day a joyous welcome. Then, as though touched by a common impulse, every wing in that vast multitude was stretched and each bird, uttering its mystic cry, put forth its strength and rose for the momentous struggle. As the thousands upon thousands of wings whipped the air an awe inspiring sound, like an angry tempest plunging through a forest of gigantic pines, vibrated over the land and the earth became darkened by countless shadows as the confused mass of birds sped swiftly toward the sky.
“On the limb of a dead oak sat an eagle smoothing the feathers of his wings with his hooked beak, as though indifferent to the struggles that were going on about him. Among the whitened branches of the same tree a little brown bird moved about in a restless manner, at times almost touching the eagle but unnoticed by him. At length the huge bird spread his great wings, gave a powerful spring and mounted the air with wild cries. The lifeless tree quivered from the shock and from its branches the decaying bark fell piece by piece to the ground. With a few vigorous strokes the eagle gained his poise and was soon soaring upward with increasing speed in ever widening circles, seemingly without effort and as though borne aloft by the wind alone.
“At the moment the eagle had lifted his wings for flight the little brown bird had darted under one of them, fixed its tiny claws in the feathers, and buried itself in the soft down close to the body of the mighty bird. There it clung safe from the violence of the wind, while the eagle, all unconscious of his burden, swept onward. He passed the meadow lark already descending to the earth, having given up the race, but none the less happy and filling the air with the sweetest of melodies. The curfew, the thrush, the robin and other small birds were also fluttering earthward each singing its own song, content with this power although outflown in the race by the larger birds.
“The eagle with the little brown bird under his wing quickly passed the slow moving crow and the raven; overtook the swift hawk; further on he swept by the forked-tail kite, who among all the winged creatures is unequaled in grace and beauty; then he distanced the crane; and at last he passed the buzzard, the grandfather of all birds. Still the eagle went on, rising higher and higher, until the trees, then the hills, and at last the high mountains flattened to a level and the earth itself began to grow dim.
“The struggle was over, no living thing met the eye of the weary eagle as he gazed into the empty space around him. All at once he felt a strange stir under his wing, as with a sudden whirr out flew the little brown bird from its cover filling the air with a mischievous song as it darted about, then, laughing as it sped upward, it soared away into the sunlight leaving the astonished eagle far below.
“For the merry wit by which the little brown bird won the honors of that great day, it was given the name, Kí-ha-ha-ja, laughing bird.
“You have all heard the laughter of that little bird. He builds his nest in hollow trees and when the leaves are out in the spring he fills the woods with delightful sounds. No bird is happier than he. Shaeton.”
“Woo-hoo!” we all exclaimed in chorus. “What a beautiful story.”
“But it’s so short, Grandfather,” said Ne-né-ba, who was always wanting more, “tell us another one.”
“Yes!” we all echoed, “tell us another one, Grandfather.”
“No, little ones, go now to your homes,” replied the aged man, “and dream of that tiny, laughing bird, who cheated the great eagle out of his victory.”
At last we reluctantly arose, took our leave of the old man and made for the doorway, leaving him sitting there cleaning his pipe, his face radiant with a kindly smile. As we passed through the long entranceway of the lodge we pushed each other and scuffled with boyish laughter, and when we came out into the open air, we drew our blankets over our heads and raced for our own lodges through the falling snow.2
There were two lines of industry by which the tribes of the plains secured their living before the coming of the white people among them. One was by cultivating maize, beans, and squash, and the other was by hunting.
The task of preparing the soil and the planting of the seeds fell to the women, for in those days there was continual warfare between the various tribes, and the men were obliged to give their entire attention to the protection of the villages and the fields against war parties. Oftentimes, when unguarded, the women and the boys, while putting the ground in readiness for planting, or while tending the growing crops, were surprised by scalp-hunting parties and put to death.
The only implement used in cultivating the soil was the hoe, which was usually made out of the shoulder blade of the elk and sometimes out of flint or other hard stone. With this rude implement a woman was always able to raise enough corn, beans, and squash to feed her family the entire year. The boys, who assisted in the planting and harvesting, prided themselves upon the size of the fields, or upon the neatness with which the growing crops were kept. A boy would sometimes boast to another, “My field is so large I can’t shoot an arrow across it, standing on the edge.”
Most of the tribes believed that the corn was a special gift from the Great Spirit so that the planting or gathering of it was attended by rites and ceremonies expressive of their gratitude or their craving for the blessing of the Mysterious One. Among the Omahas it was the duty of the field owner, when the corn was harvested, to find one red ear and one perfect white ear and present them to the priest having charge of the rites pertaining to the planting of the maize.
In the month of May, when the prairie grasses shoot out their blades and drink the dew, and the meadow lark calls to its mate, the priest, in official attire, visits every lodge and tent and leaves four grains each of the red and white corn. Then the women, who are the owners of the fields, having chosen and improved the lands, lead their sons and daughters out to prepare the soil for planting. On the way out there is much merriment, particularly by the younger people, and the maidens chase each other with noisy laughter and wrestle among the wild flowers. Two boys fight over the possession of a hoe, the brother of one comes to his aid, the cousin of the other takes a hand, and then follows a general scrimmage among the future warriors. Fists, toes, and elbows do considerable damage all around. If one can imagine the appearance of a football team after a hard scrimmage without the protection of padded breeches and heavy sweaters, he could get a pretty fair idea as to how the brown-skinned combatants look when the fight is over.
Arrived at the fields, the dry weeds and the old stalks are gathered in a heap, the smoldering punk is drawn from the buffalo horn and applied to the pile, a snapping blaze arises, and the smoke ascends to the sky, leaving behind a few scattering ashes. The work goes on and in a day or two the fields are covered by hundreds of little mounds with flat faces looking up at the sun, ready to receive the seeds and the rain to make them grow. Willow poles are brought by the boys and planted in the center of the bean mounds for the vines to climb on; the corn and squash mounds need none. The work of the human hands is done for a time, but the work of nature goes on, the rain moistens the earth, and the sun warms the faces of the little mounds, and by the time the moon comes to life again the kernels of corn have sent up shoots like “rabbit ears,” the vines of the squash have begun to creep, and those of the beans to climb.
Again there is a busy stir of women and boys in the fields, and every noxious weed is removed from the tiny hills and the intervening spaces between, and the work of the first cultivation is done. About the middle of June there is a second and final cleaning up of the weeds and a feast is given by the field owners to the priests of the Thunder Clan who pray to the ruler of insects for protection of the crops against beetles and other pests that destroy the growing plants. The fields are not visited again until after the return of the people from the summer buffalo hunt.
To civilized man, hunting means the going out into the wilds armed with long-range guns of the best make and shooting at wild animals from a safe distance. It suggests to him no hardship, but recreation and fun. It does not mean to him labor and industry. He stalks the game, shoots it with considerable accuracy, and frequently leaves the carcass to be devoured by wolves, or to rot in the sun. However, he carefully preserves and hangs over the mantel of his elegant house the head and horns of the buffalo and elk, or the grinning heads of bears and wolves, as trophies of the hunt, and writes thrilling tales of his adventures. From this standpoint the white man has judged the red man and regards him as a worthless being.
To the Indian, hunting had a very different meaning. It meant danger and hardship; danger from hostile tribes that might be hunting upon the same ground; from the close range made necessary by his primitive weapons; and hardship from the difficulties attending the transportation of the animals he killed; but it all meant food, clothing, and shelter.
After the second weeding of the fields, already spoken of, the village becomes a scene of great activity, for it is then that the preparation for the summer buffalo hunt begins. The skin tents are mended, dog harnesses repaired, and all the things not to be taken are stored away in the caches. Then one morning the sun rises to find a great caravan moving over the grassy prairies toward the land of buffaloes. The older men, the women, the boys, and the dogs carry the provisions, tents, and tent poles, while the fleet-footed young men, unburdened, guard the front, flanks, and rear against surprise from hostile tribes. The young women, armed with sharpened poles, scatter over the hills to dig the prairie turnip to add to the subsistence supplies. With one or two dexterous thrusts in the ground with a sharp pole, the diggers pry up the brown turnips, drop them into a bag, and move quickly on, chatting gaily over some humorous event or the latest gossip. The young men on their line of march often secure quantities of small game, such as prairie chickens, rabbits, turkeys, and sometimes deer, and thus add much to the family food supplies.
After a few days’ journey, signs of buffalo are discovered, and one morning, when the dawn approaches, the chiefs assemble to hold a council. Then, as the sun peeps over the eastern hills, the tribal herald appears in front of the sacred tent, wherein the chiefs sit, and calls in a loud voice: “E-ba-hom-be mon-zhon in-dhe-ga-thon ga ta ya thin ho!” He is calling by name the sons of the chiefs and prominent men to go and seek for a herd, for this is one of the few occasions when a man is called by his name. Far at the other side of the camp a young man rushes out of a tent and with swift strides he runs to the herald and enters the sacred tent. The old man calls again and from another quarter comes a man, his feet scarce touching the ground, and he also enters the tent. The herald continues to call until ten or more runners have come. The hurrying of the young men to the sacred tent was an expression of their willingness to serve their people. Upon the entrance of the last man a lighted pipe is offered the first runner and as he places the stem to his lips a priest slowly recites the solemn oath administered to runners to refrain from mischievously deceiving the chiefs and the people, and to report truthfully all the things they see on their journey. Each man draws four whiffs and then passes the pipe quickly to the other and the recital of the oath ends with the last puff. Then the young men hastily leave the tent by twos and go out of camp in every direction.
The herald again appears and calls: “Ca-hae-thum-ba wa-tha non shae ta ya thin ho!” This time those who are summoned are warriors, men who have distinguished themselves in battle and have won public honors by valorous deeds. They approach the sacred tent with stately tread, and enter. The lighted pipe is offered them and as it passes from hand to hand the priest recites the oath administered to officers appointed to enforce order among the people during the actual hunt. By the act of smoking the sacred pipe each man pledges his honor to favor neither kith nor kin in the performance of his duty, and to punish alike all who willfully and maliciously stampede a herd consecrated to the use of the people; and further, to punish his own or any other chief who presumes upon his authority and chases a herd on his own account and for his own benefit.
The council is over and the chiefs and officers walk toward their tents. This is the signal to break camp; down comes every tent and soon the caravan is again on the march, this time in a compact body. No one is allowed to leave without permission. The officers are in charge and woe betide the man who steals away and hunts buffalo all by himself. Many are the hard blows he will receive if caught, and when he has recovered his senses he will find his tent and all its contents reduced to ashes. If he resists the officers, his very life will be in danger.
As the sun approaches the zenith there is a sudden halt and everybody gazes forward along the horizon. Far off in the distance two small figures like exclamation points move swiftly from side to side and then disappear. They are two of the runners returning and signaling their success in finding a herd. There is a hum of joy, the caravan moves on and again comes to a stop.
With labored strides the two runners approach and stand before the herald and assembled chiefs. The first, with heaving chest, and husky voice says to the herald in guarded words: “I believe I saw a herd”; and the other, “I saw no better than my companion, but at the head of yonder stream I thought I saw a herd of buffalo, numbering something like two hundred.” The herald repeats the report to the chiefs, then a voice arises and everybody listens. It is the herald announcing the order of the chiefs: “You are to move on to the nearest creek, leave the women to pitch camp, and go on to the chase.”
The people hurry on to the nearest creek, the men throw down their burdens hastily, string their bows, and away they go at a rapid trot. Four times the chiefs order a halt so that the priests may make smoke offerings to the four winds, where the gods are supposed to dwell, and ask for success in the dangerous enterprise. After the fourth offering the hunters approach the buffalo from the leeward as near as possible without frightening them, and then under the management of the officers string out to make a wide circle around them. The ring is hurriedly closed at the windward, a signal is given, and every man rushes forward with wild shouts. It is a large herd numbering nearer to five thousand than two hundred. Startled and bewildered by the shouts, the leader of the herd dashes forward at a brisk gallop, followed by the rest. Their course is deflected by the line of shouting men, there is no way out, and the whole herd runs in a circle ever faster and faster and the men, drawing closer, begin to shoot with their flint-pointed arrows. The clash of horns, the clatter of hoofs, and the heavy tramping of many feet upon the ground make a sound like the rumbling of thunder and the dust raised pierces the sky. The hunters continue to shoot; they are so close to the fleeing beasts that they almost touch them with the points of their arrows. Many of them use heavy lances with great effect. Suddenly the leader of the buffaloes makes a plunge at the line of men; it gives way and what is left of the maddened herd disappears over the hills, leaving a trail of dust. As the clouds of dust clear away hundreds of dead buffaloes are seen upon the ground.
The “surround” has been a success. The excitement of the chase is over and every man proceeds to identify, by his arrow marks, the animals he has shot. An angry altercation arises over a fat cow and two men are about to come to blows. A warrior official who happens to be near goes up to them and settles the dispute by claiming the animal as fee for the service of the officers. Meanwhile the unpleasant and difficult task of butchering has begun, every man attending to his own animal. Those who were so unfortunate as not to shoot any assist in the work and get a portion of the meat. It is not easy to cut meat and unjoint bones, even with the sharpest of flint knives.
By the time the butchering is done the boys arrive with the dogs and travois. These are loaded to their fullest capacity and every man and boy carries his portion, for nothing but the bones, hoofs, and horns are thrown away. The leg bones are cracked and the marrow is taken for use as food, and the brains are preserved for tanning purposes. Soon the hunters, with the boys and dogs, are on the march homeward, a distance of some six or seven miles, each bending under a heavy load. The greater part of the burden is on the men for each one carries from three hundred to four hundred pounds.
Almost dead with exhaustion from the day’s excitement and labor, the men and boys enter the camp long after dark and soon seek their beds to rest. When they arise in the morning they find the meat cut into thin slices and hanging upon scaffoldings of poles, and the hides tightly stretched and pegged to the ground, skin side up, ready for the sun and the wind to dry. Some willing hands have worked hard all night long by the dim firelight, the older women perhaps.
By the middle of the day the prairie winds and the heat of the midsummer sun have done their work and both meat and hides have become dry and hard as wood. Then the strong young women appear; they unpeg the hides, turn them hair side up and begin the task of shaving the skins down to a certain thickness. This process removes the hair, reduces the weight of the rawhides, and renders them pliable for packing purposes. For this work a small adze-like, bone-handled, flint-bladed implement is used and requires skill for its manipulation.
Usually, when the conditions are favorable, this work is finished by sunset and the day following is spent in packing for the removal of the camp to another herd. Three more chases conclude the formal buffalo hunt and the caravan turns homeward, more heavily laden than when starting out. After the fourth “surround” any man who has not been able to secure enough meat and skins for his own needs is at liberty to follow the game on his own account. The purpose of the summer buffalo hunt is to secure a season’s supply of three necessary articles; namely, skins for tenting and moccasins, sinew to sew with, and meat for food.
When within one or two days’ journey from the village many of the young men get together and start for home, and they return to meet the people with the report that the fields are rich with young corn, beans, and squashes. They bring with them many roasting ears and there is great rejoicing over the prospects of a plentiful harvest.
When the people reach home they put the lodges in order and then enjoy a few days’ rest. Then the women again visit the fields and the work of preparing the green corn for winter use is begun. Long shallow ditches are made in the ground and filled with dry wood which is set on fire. In the meantime the young maidens are busy picking the tenderest corn, and, if faithful to duty, soon return with bags filled with the long ears. Some linger to listen to the old, old story of love that began with the growth of the human race. A mother, impatient at the tardiness of her daughter, calls: “Ta-dae-win, why are you so slow?” “I’m coming!” answers a girlish voice from the farther end of the field, but she does not come. Again the mother calls: “The fire is ready, why don’t you hurry?” “I’m coming!” shouts the maiden. There is a rustling of the leaves of the stalks, and she does really come; she starts to tell a tale of excuse, but the mother quickly empties the bag, giving no heed to the story, and begins to remove the outer layers of husk from the ears. Then she places them in a row on the live coals in the ditch and turns them over with a stick. When the thin layers of husk are scorched, the woman with her stick deftly tosses the ears out of the ditch. In the meantime the daughter continues her task with more or less delay, until a sufficient quantity of corn is gathered for the day’s work. After the roasting of all the ears the scorched husks are removed and the grains of corn are separated from the cob by the use of the sharp-edged shell of the fresh-water mussel. The grain is then spread on skins and put out in the sun to dry. The corn prepared in this manner is called sweet corn by the Indians. Enough is cured in this way to last the family a whole season.
In the fall of the year the fields are visited for the fourth and last time. Again the maidens are busy, this time gathering the ripened corn. Occasionally the plaintive notes of a flute come from the woods, indicating the presence of a lover, but the work goes on. The mothers sit by the piles of corn and remove the outer husks, turn the inner layers back over the butt ends of the ears, and braid them. In this way twenty or thirty ears are fastened together and hung upon pole scaffolds to dry in the sun. After the corn is gathered the squashes are brought in and the skins pared carefully; then the fruit is cut into long thin strips which are also hung upon poles in the sun. When these strips are partially dried they are woven together like a mat a yard square and hung up again to dry. In color and texture the dry squash is not unlike the dried apple. Lastly the beans are gathered, threshed, and winnowed, and the harvesting of the crops is completed.
When the harvesting is finished the hunters go to the woods to hunt deer, for at about that time this game seeks the forests for shelter from the severity of the winter. Out of the skin of the deer, leggings and jackets are made by the women for the men and boys, and dresses for the women and girls. The deer skin is always preferred for clothing because it is more pliable than that of the other larger animals and much time is spent by the hunters in securing it. The sinew is also much desired by the women for fine sewing and embroidery such as porcupine quill work. The hunting of the deer lasts till about the middle of the winter. The elk has also been useful to the Indians but it did not take so important a part in their life as the deer and buffalo. The early winter months was the time to hunt the buffalo for robes, for then the hair is always in good condition.
The hunting of the buffalo has always been attended with elaborate religious ceremonies, both on the way out to the hunting grounds and on returning, for it was believed that the buffalo was a special gift from the Great Spirit. The corn was the sacred seed and was always planted and gathered with solemn rites.
When the hunting season is over, which is about the middle of the winter, the men spend the time making new bows, arrows, and lances, and repairing the old ones. The boys are then taught, not only how to make the bow and arrow, but are also instructed about the moons (months) in which the wood should be cut, for when cut in the wrong season it will split in drying. They are also taught the kinds of wood to use for the bow and the arrow. In making the arrow three small undulating grooves are cut on the shaft, running down to the head from the lower end of the feathers. This has attracted the attention of some of the ethnologists, who gave the matter considerable study and wisely concluded that the little lines were made for the blood to run through, or that they represented lightning. An old Omaha who had the reputation of being very skillful in cutting the grooves in arrow shafts was called by the chief to do that work for him on some arrows he was making. The chief himself was a fine arrow-maker but he recognized the skill of the old man in this particular line. While the work was in progress, the chief’s son, who had reached the inquisitive age, and was looking on with wide-eyed interest, suddenly asked, “Venerable man, why are you making those crooked lines?” The chief gave a hearty laugh and said, “Father, tell him, for he will be making arrows himself some day, and he should know.” “Every sapling,” answered the old man, “out of which the arrow is made has some defect, however faultless it might appear to be. The good arrow-maker takes a great deal of pains to smooth out and straighten the imperfections by oiling and heating. But the wood, in time, will spring back because of its inherent defects, unless these grooves are cut in the shaft soon after seasoning and straightening.”
Besides this work, the men made shields, war-clubs, glue, blades and handles of the skin-scrapers, wooden and horn spoons, wooden bowls and mortars and pestles, all of which required a great deal of time and labor because of the crudeness of the tools used for making them. The women were also quite skillful in making spoons, bowls, mortars, and pestles. The boys spent most of the winter days in hunting small game, such as rabbits and raccoons, and in this way helped to supply the family with fresh meat. The women occupied themselves during the long winter months in dressing skins, and making tents and articles of clothing for the family. At the same time they taught their daughters how to dress skins and make tents and clothing, as well as how to cook.
In common with the rest of the human race, the plains Indians had their religion, their social customs, their joys, and their sorrows, but this brief sketch of one phase of their life will give an idea as to how they secured their living before they came in contact with the white race.3
The hunting of black bear was a sport much loved by the Osage Indians in the days before the coming of the white settlers into the country west of the Mississippi. It afforded them not only the thrill and excitement of the chase, of which every hunter is fond, but it also added largely to the animal food supply upon which the Indians depended for their living.
Many strange and interesting tales are told to this day of black bear hunting but of those that I have heard not one is so human as the following, which was an actual occurrence.
One day a man noted for his skill in hunting went out in search of black bear that he might add to the food supply of his home. Being familiar with the haunts and the habits of the animal the hunter soon found signs, and as he cautiously looked about he saw a female bear in a large tree busily gnawing at a hole in the trunk. The man quickly raised his gun and took aim but he was suddenly seized with an irresistible desire to see what the creature was doing.
After scratching and biting at the edge of the hole for some little time the bear thrust in her paw and in a moment quickly withdrew it. She put something into her mouth and smacked her lips with apparent delight and satisfaction. Then she suddenly scrambled down to the ground and with an ambling gait disappeared in a low bush.
The hunter brought the butt of his gun to the ground and waited to see if the bear would return. He had not long to wait, for she soon reappeared with two cubs on her back. On arriving at the foot of the tree the bear shook the cubs down, then seizing the larger one with both her paws she put him up against the trunk of the tree as high as she could reach. The youngster seemed to understand what was expected of him, for he went up the tree with the agility of a cat and took a seat on a limb close to the hole. Then the mother picked up the younger one and held him against the tree. He clutched the bark tightly but, whether out of mischief, deliberate disobedience, or lack of common bear sense, he would not move. After waiting a few moments the mother lifted a paw and gave the little imp a whacking spank, which, perhaps, was not the first he had ever had, then up he went in as lively a manner as had his brother and took a seat close beside him. The mother followed and with eager haste thrust her paw into the bee-hole, for such it was, and drew out a piece of honey. She carefully removed the bits of bark and slivers sticking to it and then gave it to the oldest cub. He quickly seized it with both paws and began eating it, twisting his little head to one side and then to the other, and smacking his lips with genuine delight. The mother brought out another piece of the honey and offered it to the younger cub. The foolish little fellow looked at it first with one eye and then the other, then slowly he stretched out both paws to take the honey with the tips of his claws and dropped it. With a start he looked down and watched intently the spot where the honey struck as though wondering why it should fall. A change of expression came over the face of the mother, which the older cub could not have failed to understand as indicating disgust and displeasure, and which might be followed by some act of discipline. Then again the bear thrust her paw into the hole and brought out a choice bit. With a look of motherly forbearance she held it out to the little one. As before he looked at it a long time with one eye and then with the other, smelled of it and then cautiously lifted his paws, distending his claws as he did so, to take it gently, but the honey dropped to the ground. The look of affectionate patience in the mother’s face turned into one of anger, she lifted her paw and gave the foolish little one a whack over the ear. He lost his balance and down he went sprawling to the ground.
Just at this moment the hunter stepped on a dry twig which snapped loudly as it broke, the mother bear took alarm and down she scrambled to the ground, followed by the older cub and then all three quickly disappeared among the bushes near by.
At dusk when the evening fires were lighted the hunter came home. He entered his wigwam and put his gun in its accustomed place, then took his seat by the fireside. The wife gave him a look of silent inquiry as she paused in her work of cooking the supper, which he solemnly answered by saying, “I am not going to shoot bears any more; they are human beings like ourselves.”4