"I wish you would sing an Indian song for me," continued the man. "I never heard one."
There was some hesitancy, but suddenly a loud clear voice close to me broke into a Victory song; before a bar was sung another voice took up the song from the beginning, as is the custom among the Indians, then the whole school fell in, and we made the room ring. We understood the song, and knew the emotion of which it was the expression. We felt, as we sang, the patriotic thrill of a victorious people who had vanquished their enemies; but the men shook their heads, and one of them said, "That's savage, that's savage! They must be taught music."
So it came about that every afternoon after this visit we spent an hour on a singing lesson. We learned quite a number of songs, but we sang them by ear, as it was difficult for us to understand the written music. We liked some of the songs we learned very much, and enjoyed singing them almost as well as our own native melodies. Although there were boys with richer voices, Brush was fond of hearing me sing a certain song we had been taught; we always had to give it when visitors came to the Mission. I can remember only the chorus:
"Laura, Laura, still we love thee,
Though we see thy form no more,
And we know thou'lt come to meet us,
When we reach that mystic shore."
One day the teacher said that we must learn to sing in parts; hitherto we had been singing in unison as the Indians do; so he assigned the different parts to those scholars whom he thought could carry them. He met with no difficulty in selecting the soprano, contralto, and the tenor; but he could not find any boy who was willing to try the bass. He had given me the tenor, but as he could not find a bass, he said I must take that part as I was less timid about singing. I protested, but there was no escape for me. We learned fairly well to sing in parts a few pieces, but one day the teacher gave us a new song in which, at certain places in the chorus, the bass was unsupported. Our first attempt to render this song resulted in a failure, on account of my embarrassment. The teacher threatened and coaxed before I consented to make another trial. We sang very well together until we came to the chorus; when the leader indicated to me to remain silent, while the others drawled out the first two bars and came to a rest; then he motioned quickly to me, and I croaked, "Daisy Lee!" very much like a bull-frog. A smile rippled over the school, but the leader went on waving his arms and nodding to the others, who again drawled out, "My dar-ling Dai-sy Lee-e-e-e." This time I knew when to come in; so as soon as they reached the rest, from the very depths of my chest I again croaked, "Daisy Lee!" This time the whole school went into convulsions; the teacher himself could not control his laughter; it was fun for everybody but me. For weeks afterwards whenever the boys saw me, they would mischievously shout in a bass voice, "Daisy Lee!"
This was not my only singing experience at the school. One afternoon the superintendent, Gray-beard, and all the rest of the men at the Mission were called away on some urgent business, and were not expected to be home for supper. At the table one of the ladies presided and asked the blessing over the evening meal. It being warm, the windows were thrown wide open while we ate. When supper was over, the children shifted their positions and waited as usual for the announcement of the hymn. The lady made the selection, but there was no one to lead; a hasty consultation was held at the first table, then she came over to me with her hymn-book, "Frank, you must lead the singing," she said; "none of us can do it."
I could not understand why I should be selected to lead the singing; but I took the book and looked over the hymn that was chosen. I knew it by heart, and could sing it; but I was embarrassed by the prominent position given me; however, my pride would not permit me to make an excuse, so I struck an attitude, and thinking it the proper thing to do, I imitated the music teacher as well as I could, and searched for the pitch by making a sound like the whinnying of a horse. I was half-conscious that I had provoked some amusement at the teachers' table by this performance, but I boldly struck out, in a clear, loud voice. All joined in, and with an effort sang the first line. The second line began with two or three very high notes, difficult to reach even when the tune was sung at the proper pitch; I struck at them bravely, and just managed to reach them, only one voice, that of a girl, was with me; no one else had ventured. We two went on and finished the line; at the beginning of the next we were joined by a third voice; but it sang a very different tune. I turned to see who it was, and there, with his paws on the window-sill, was Edwin's dog howling with all his might!