“If the children act like mules I will whip them,” persisted Seger. “I punish only bad children—I do not beat good ones.”
“It is not our custom to strike our children. Do you think we will permit white men to do so?” asked Tontonava, breathing hard.
Assuming an air of great and solemn deliberation, Seger said, using the sign language to enforce his words: “Go home and think of this. The Great Father has built this schoolhouse for your children. He has given them warm clothing and good food. He has given them beds to sleep in and a doctor to help them when they are sick. Now listen. Miokany is speaking. So long as they enjoy all these things they are bound to obey me. They must obey me, their teacher,” and he turned and left the two old men standing there, amazed and indignant.
That night all the camps were filled with a discussion of this wondrous thing. Seger’s threat was taken up formally by the men in council and informally by the women. It was pivotal, this question of punishment—it marked their final subjection to the white man.
“If we lose our children, then surely we are doomed to extinction,” Tomacham said.
“Let us fight!” cried fierce Unko. “What is the use of sitting here like chained wolves till we starve and die? Let us go out against this white man and perish gloriously.” And a few applauded him.
But the graver men counseled patience and peace.
“We do not fear death—but we do not wish to be bound and sent away into the mysterious hot lands where our brethren languish.”
“Then let us go to the school and frighten ‘Johnny Smoker’ so that he will not dare to whip any child,” cried Unko.