Two Indian Children Of Long Ago Part 3

"Then she went home as if nothing had ever happened!"

THE FIREFLY DANCE

It is a summer evening. There is no moon, and the stars twinkle brightly in the sky. A half circle of Indian lodges fronts a small lake. Wide meadows slope to its sh.o.r.es.

All the air is alive with lights, twinkling, whirling, sparkling.

Thousands of fireflies are swarming above the gra.s.s.

The meadow is full of Indian boys and girls, little and big, dancing the firefly dance. Advancing and retreating, turning and twisting, bowing and whirling, they imitate the moving lights about them and above them.

In front of the lodges sit the warriors and the squaws looking on.

Good Bird is watching every move of her son. He is one of the most active dancers on the field.

"Look, Nokomis!" she says, "No boy is straighter than your grandson, and there is no better dancer."

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Fleet Deer says nothing, but he is thinking of the time when his son will take part in the war dance of his tribe.

Little White Cloud stands by her mother. She has known three winters and is now a chubby, pretty little Indian girl.

Suddenly she begins to imitate her brother. She throws out her tiny brown arms, turns round and round, jumps and bows, while Nokomis and Good Bird shout with laughter.

Listen! the children are singing. What do they say? It is the song of the fireflies that we hear.

Nokomis has chanted the same words and melody for many a lullaby, and she keeps time, singing the same song:

"Wau wau tay see, wau wau tay see, Flitting white fire insect, Waving white fire bug, Give me light before I go to bed, Give me light before I go to sleep!

Come, little dancing white fire bug, Come, little flitting white fire beast, Light me with your bright white flame, Light me with your little candle."

SWIFT ELK, THE INDIAN BOY

Four years have pa.s.sed since the summer evening when Good Bird watched her children in the firefly dance. Her son, Swift Elk, is now a tall, straight lad of eleven winters. His sister, four years younger, is a st.u.r.dy little girl, already able to help her mother in many ways.

The boy is the pride of the lodge. From his earliest babyhood he has been trained to be strong and fearless.

"Lay him very straight," his father used to say when the baby boy was placed on his cradle board. "Do not make his bed too soft. My son must grow tall and strong, for he will sometime be a great warrior."

Since he could first walk he has gone with his father each day to the lake to take an early morning bath. Like all Indians, he learned to swim when he was very small, and he loves to splash and dive and play in the water.

Do you suppose that Swift Elk dresses himself after his bath? He does not think clothing at all necessary except in winter.

Does he help his mother in her work about the lodge? Never! "A boy does not do squaw's work," he says. "A boy must learn to hunt and shoot."

Is he not made to mind? Is he never punished? Oh, no; he will be a great warrior some day, and his father says he ought not to be afraid of any one. And so he lives the wild, free life of the Indian boy. He spends his day in play, with no school, no lessons, and no work to do.

When the father is at home he teaches the boy to notice very carefully everything he sees. He must learn the names of plants and birds. He must know the habits of animals and how to hunt them. Above everything, he must be brave and daring.

While the men are away hunting, the younger boys spend the day shooting, fis.h.i.+ng, swimming, and playing games. If they wish to throw mud b.a.l.l.s at each other, no one scolds them for being dirty. But if one of them whimpers or cries, his companions will not let him play.

So the Indian boy learns early in life to bear pain without complaint.

Swift Elk's father made a little bow and arrow for his son as soon as he was old enough to run out of the wigwam. Each summer he received a larger bow and more destructive arrows.

Wherever the boy goes he carries his weapon, and he is always watching for the chance to shoot a bird, rabbit, squirrel, or any wild animal.

How his mother and grandmother praise him when he brings home game!

"You will be a great hunter," they say. "Soon you will be able to go with your father to shoot bear and deer."

Swift Elk sleeps on a bed of cedar boughs covered with skins. As the first-born son, he has the place of honor. His bed is next to his father's, close against the inner lining of the lodge, and nearly opposite the entrance.

This is the boy's own place, and he is allowed to decorate it as he wishes. Birds' wings, feathers, and squirrels' tails show his skill in hunting.

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Here he keeps nearly everything that he owns. He has hung his bow and arrows on the lodge pole above his bed. His snowshoes, tops, and b.a.l.l.s are in a bag of skin high above the reach of baby hands.

Swift Elk looks forward to the time when he shall be admitted to the councils of his tribe and take part in their dances and yearly feasts.

Like other Indian children, he has been trained to count time by winters, moons, and sleeps, and so he does not know his exact age. He has never heard of keeping birthdays; but he has had many feasts given in his honor, which are the same to him as a party would be to you.

When an Indian boy wins a game which requires great skill, or shows himself brave in time of danger, his companions shout his praises.

They go with him to the door of his lodge, telling of the brave deed he has performed. Then they sing and dance in his honor.

It is expected that the women of the lodge will show their pleasure by giving each boy some dainty from the stores of food packed away for feasts.

On the day that Swift Elk first shot a rabbit his father gave a feast for him, inviting all his relatives. But the most important celebration of his whole life was when he won a victory in racing and received his name.

THE NAMING OF SWIFT ELK

Unlike their sisters, Indian boys are seldom named in babyhood. Some are known only as the sons of their fathers. Others bear the nicknames given by their companions. But often a boy's name is decided upon by reason of some important action of his own.

For the first few years of Swift Elk's life he was spoken of as the son of Fleet Deer. When he was quite small, he stood, one evening, watching the older boys race. They ran in couples, their companions standing on either side of the race course. There were yells of joy for the victors, and jeers and howls for those who were so unlucky as to trip or stumble in the way.

A young hunter standing near noticed the s.h.i.+ning eyes of the little watcher and shouted, "Give the younger boys a chance!" And so the son of Fleet Deer was started in the race with a boy of his own size.