EADLE KEAHTAH TOH.
What this means we do not know, but lack of room alone prevents a reprint in these pages of the entire contents of the second number of this charming little paper, published at Carlisle Barracks, Pa., in the interest of the Indian Training School, and to some extent by the Indians, since we are told that a Pawnee boy set up about one-half of the type, and much of its contents was written by them. There is a letter from White Thunder to his son in Capt. Pratt’s school, in answer to some complaints he had made, telling him: “Your letter did not please me. I am ashamed to hear from others in the school that you act bad, and do not try to learn. I send you there to be like a white man, and I want you to do what your teacher tells you. Remember the words I told you. I said if it takes five or ten years, if you do not learn anything you should not come back here.”
OUR PROGRESS.
Under “Our Progress,” the declaration is made that, so far, results show “that these boys and girls have come to a determination to throw aside the Indian’s mode of thought and feeling with the old dress and way of life. This seemed apparent in the beginning, but we feared that the older ones, at least, would soon grow weary of the restraint, which they must find very irksome. We have between sixty and seventy pupils over sixteen years of age. With few exceptions, these young men and women are helpers in discipline, as they are in all the manual labor necessary for their mutual comfort.
“Some time ago, one of the young men came to the girls’ quarters and asked to see his sister. The interview was in the presence of an interpreter, who reported that he gave the little girl a kind but very serious talk. He told her that he had noticed that she was noisy and idle, and that she laughed too loud on the playground. Said he, ‘We came here to learn. I do not know the white man’s way very much yet, but if I do wrong it is because I do not know what my teachers want me to do.’ Several instances of the same kind have occurred since, showing that these boys consider themselves the guardians of their sisters. These are Sioux boys just from their tribes. The interpreter tells us that among the Sioux, the boys and girls of the same family seldom or never speak to each other; this makes it the more remarkable. They are far from indifferent to each other’s comfort and happiness, however, as is invariably shown in time of sickness or any kind of trouble. The letters received by the children from their parents almost invariably counsel obedience to teachers and submission to all the regulations of the school.
“An intimate acquaintance with these children, and through them a better knowledge of their people at home, have increased our respect and deepened our sympathy for the Indians.
“We believe that the beginnings of a new life are stirring in many hearts. What outward developments this life may assume, time will show. The good seed is germinating. The air is full of promise. We can afford to wait.”
OUR GIRLS.
Again, how like “our girls” these promise to be under Christian culture:
“It is gratifying to watch the interest manifested by the little girls in the new arrivals. They are so anxious for them to be washed and dressed anew, and want to loan their own clothing until new can be made.
“Ruth, Grace and Rebecca seemed to feel themselves especially called upon to watch over and teach the ways of the family to the little Nez Perces girls, ‘strangers in a strange land’. They went with them to put them to bed, and then got up early in the morning, to show them how to dress themselves and put their room in order. For several days these little girls watched over them, even leading them by the hand to their meals, when the bell rang to call them together. They could not understand one word of each other’s language, but they chattered away like little birds; and yet six months ago, these same children were quite as wild and uncivilized as the little Nez Perces, Harriet and Sophia.”
TSAIT-KOPETA.
Hear what Tsait-Kopeta has to say of his old life and new, showing that Indian nature, both old and new, is human nature:
“My life was pretty rough and sharp before I came this way, just like the waves of the ocean, unsteady and not sure. I always was stumbling, but again I would get up. I was a very smart servant for Satan. I was like an ox with his yoke on me; but I worked for him willingly, just same he was my father. But what kind of pay did he give me? Nothing, only shame and danger, and I think when I suffered he laughed at me. I hope now I am free from him, and I think he is sorry he lost me, but he can’t help; and now I have found the Great Master, the Rock of Ages; and I saw His words, and He says, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.’ And therefore I shall fall at His feet and worship Him, and have confessed Him before men, and want to serve Him only all life long.
“Now I can boast, Satan is my enemy. I return to him the shame he give me. He used tell me, ‘You do what you want in earthly life, nothing hurt you; you only got this life, by and by you die; so anything you want good or bad you do.’ Oh, poor Tsait-Kopeta, how Satan kept me down and tempted. I don’t want something to hurt or do bad and he ridicule me and lie. He said, ‘Ah, you coward! only women feel that way.’ Satan made me prisoner; but Christ was sorry for me and picked me out of his hand. He give me free, and told me go and no more sin. I think very strange, Capt. Pratt, why I not know more then, why I did not ask myself who make me and all the wonderful things. My life is very strange and different from my past life. Little good at that time; often I hungry, thirsty and cold, sorrowful, all the time I restless, and afraid of the enemies or trouble; but this part of the Indian life I like sure, riding and hunting.”
SUSETTE LA FLESCHE.
Susette La Flesche (Bright Eyes), in the following extract from a letter to a friend, illustrates what culture has done for an Indian girl, and discovers the fountains of yearning and of hope in the heart of her people:
“I am coming more and more to the conclusion that the surest and almost the only way of reaching the parent is through the children. Almost the only comforts they have in their lives consist in their children. For them they are willing to lay aside their arms and take up the plow and mower, all unused as they are to labor. For them they are willing to pass over injuries, lest the wrath of the Government be aroused and their children slain. For the sake of their children they are willing to break up their nationality, their tribal relations, and all that they hold dear, to become citizens. Said one man to me, ‘I wish I had had the advantages in my youth which you have. I could then have had a chance to become something other than I am, and could have helped my people. I am now helpless and ignorant; but I shall die content if my children after me live better than I have done.’”
INDIAN MOTHER-LOVE.
We are in danger of quoting the whole of this paper after all, but must give the following extract from a letter from the wife of one who was stationed at what is now Post Fort Sill. The incident occurred in 1869. We do not envy him who can read this without shame, that during the 260 years of our contact with these people we have done so little to call forth their finer qualities, glimpses of which we catch in such a scene. We have done much to degrade and brutalize them; almost nothing to save them:
“One bright spring morning I had just dressed my fair girl-baby in her first short dress, then carefully placing her upon the bed, stood back, mother-like, to admire. The outer door of my room was wide open, and I saw approaching what seemed to me then the most miserable-looking squaw I had yet seen. On she came with the grace and tread of an elephant; and oh, how revolting she looked as she stood in the doorway! Her hair was cut short and hung over her forehead to her eyes. Her face, neck and breast were painted in narrow stripes of different colors. About her waist was fastened a short skirt made of a part of a buffalo robe. She saw my darling, and before I knew what she intended she had her in her arms. What did I do? Why, I sprang forward, saying, ‘You horrid, dirty thing,’ and took my baby into my own arms. The poor miserable woman looked at me in the most pitiful manner, and then gathering up the corner of her blanket, she held it in her arms as one would hold a sick infant, and at the same time with a mournful cry, she made a sign that her baby had died; and to show how great her grief had been, she held up her hand so that I could see she had cut off her little finger, which is one of the extreme mourning customs of the Kiowas, and she also pointed to the deep scars on her breast and arms. Tears ran down her cheeks, and my sympathies were so moved that almost unconsciously I placed my baby back in her arms. How carefully she handled her, and how tenderly she passed her hands over her plump limbs. After some minutes she handed her back to me, and with a grateful look and smile, giving me a hearty hand-shake, she departed. In a week she came again, and placed in my lap about a peck of ripe wild plums, which ripen there in the early spring. They had been freshly washed, and were brought to me in a piece of new pink calico. Again she held the baby, and this time with signs asked permission, and got it, to kiss our darling, for she was no longer disgusting to me. She left me as before, and in another week she came again, this time bringing two buffalo tongues. All she wanted in return was the pleasure of holding baby. This was her last visit. Where she came from or where she went, I never knew. She came and went alone.”