{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_56349/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_56349","id":"gutenberg_56349","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56349","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Archaeology & Anthropology","Category: Biographies","Category: History - American","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Goodbird, Edward, 1869-","Hidatsa Indians -- Biography","Hidatsa Indians -- Social life and customs","Indians of North America -- Biography"],"text":"Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from\nimages generously made available by The Internet\nArchive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nGOODBIRD THE INDIAN\n\n\n\n\n_Interdenominational Home Mission Study Course_\n\nEach volume 12mo, cloth, 50c. net (post. extra); paper, 30c. net (post.\nextra)\n\n    _Under Our Flag_\n      _By Alice M. Guernsey_\n\n    _The Call of the Waters_\n      _By Katharine R. Crowell_\n\n    _From Darkness to Light_\n      _By Mary Helm_\n\n    _Conservation of National Ideals_\n      _A Symposium_\n\n    _Mormonism, the Islam of America_\n      _By Bruce Kinney, D.D._\n\n    _The New America_\n      _By Mary Clark Barnes and Dr. L. C. Barnes_\n\n    _In Red Man\u2019s Land. A Study of the American Indian_\n      _By Francis E. Leupp_\n\n_Supplementary_\n\n    _America, God\u2019s Melting-Pot_\n      _By Laura Gerould Craig_\n\n    Paper, net 25c. (post. extra)\n\n_JUNIOR COURSE_\n\nCloth, net 40c. (post. extra); paper, net 25c. (post. extra)\n\n    _Best Things in America_\n      _By Katharine R. Crowell_\n\n    _Some Immigrant Neighbours_\n      _By John R. Henry, D.D._\n\n    _Good Bird, the Indian_\n      _By Gilbert L. Wilson_\n\n_Paper, net 25c. (post. extra)_\n\n    _Comrades from Other Lands_\n      _By Leila Allen Dimock_\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: EDWARD GOODBIRD]\n\n\n\n\n              _Issued under the direction of the Council of\n                        Women for Home Missions_\n\n                           GOODBIRD THE INDIAN\n\n                                His Story\n\n                             TOLD BY HIMSELF\n                                   TO\n                            GILBERT L. WILSON\n\n        Author of \u201cMyths of the Red Children,\u201d \u201cIndian Hero Tales\u201d\n\n                   ILLUSTRATED BY FREDERICK N. WILSON\n\n                             [Illustration]\n\n                   NEW YORK      CHICAGO      TORONTO\n                        Fleming H. Revell Company\n                          LONDON AND EDINBURGH\n\n                           Copyright, 1914, by\n                        FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY\n\n                      New York:  158 Fifth Avenue\n                      Chicago:   125 North Wabash Ave.\n                      Toronto:    25 Richmond Street, W.\n                      London:     21 Paternoster Square\n                      Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n    GLOSSARY OF INDIAN WORDS       6\n\n       I BIRTH                     9\n\n      II CHILDHOOD                19\n\n     III THE GODS                 27\n\n      IV INDIAN BELIEFS           36\n\n       V SCHOOL DAYS              43\n\n      VI HUNTING BUFFALOES        53\n\n     VII FARMING                  61\n\n    VIII THE WHITE MAN\u2019S WAY      71\n\n\n\n\nGlossary of Indian Words\n\n\n    \u1ea1 h\u1ea1 h\u00e9\u0331\n    a\u012b (\u012b)\n    \u1ea1 p\u1ea1 t\u1e2fp\n    \u00c9\u0331 d\u00ef \u1ea1\u0301 k\u1ea1 t\u1ea1\n    H\u012d d\u0101\u0306\u0301t s\u1ea1\n    H\u014d W\u1ea1sh t\u00e9\u0331\n    \u00cft s\u00ef d\u00ef sh\u00ef d\u00ef \u1e2f t\u1ea1 k\u1ea1\n    \u00cft s\u00ef k\u1ea1 m\u00e4\u0301 h\u00ef d\u00ef\n    K\u1ea1 d\u016b\u0301 te\u0331 t\u1ea1\n    k\u016b k\u1ea1ts\n    M\u1ea1 h\u1e2f d\u00ef w\u012b \u1ea1\n    M\u0101\u0306\u0301n d\u0103n\n    m\u00ef h\u1ea1\u0301 d\u012bts\n    M\u012d n\u012d t\u00e4\u0301 r\u012d\n    n\u1ea1\n    S\u0103n t\u1e17\u0113\n    Sioux (S\u014d\u014d). (The plural, spelled also Sioux, is commonly\n       pronounced Soos.)\n    t\u1e17 p\u0113\u0113\n    Ts\u1ea1 k\u1ea1\u0301 k\u1ea1 s\u1ea1 k\u012d\n    Ts\u1ea1\u0301 w\u1ea1\n    \u016b \u1ea1 k\u012b h\u0115 k\u0115\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\n\nCatlin in 1832, and Maximilian in 1833, have made famous the culture of\nthe Mandan and Minitari, or Hidatsa, tribes.\n\nIn 1907, I was sent out by the American Museum of Natural History, to\nbegin anthropological studies among the remnants of these peoples, on\nFort Berthold Reservation; and I have been among them each summer, ever\nsince.\n\nDuring these years, Goodbird has been my faithful helper and interpreter.\nHis mother, Mahidiwia, or Buffalo Bird Woman, is a marvelous source of\ninformation on old-time life and beliefs.\n\nIndians have a gentle custom of adopting very dear friends by\nrelationship terms; by such adoption, Goodbird is my brother; Mahidiwia\nis my mother.\n\nThe stories which make this little book were told me by Goodbird in\nAugust, 1913.\n\nI have but put Goodbird\u2019s Indian-English into common idiom. The stories\nare his own; in them he has bared his heart.\n\nIn 1908, and again in 1913, my brother, Frederick N. Wilson, was also\nsent by the Museum to make drawings of Hidatsa arts. Illustrations in\nthis book are from studies made by him in those years; a few are redrawn\nfrom simpler sketches by Goodbird himself.\n\nAcknowledgment is made of the courtesy of the Museum\u2019s curator, Dr. Clark\nWissler, whose permission makes possible the publishing of this book.\n\nMay _Goodbird\u2019s Story_ give the reader a kindly interest in his people.\n\n    Minneapolis.\n\n                                                                 G. L. W.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: An Old Hidatsa Village.]\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nBIRTH\n\n\nI was born on a sand bar, near the mouth of the Yellowstone, seven years\nbefore the battle in which Long Hair[1] was killed. My tribe had camped\non the bar and were crossing the river in bull boats. As ice chunks were\nrunning on the Missouri current, it was probably the second week in\nNovember.\n\nThe Mandans and my own people, the Hidatsas, were once powerful tribes\nwho dwelt in five villages at the mouth of the Knife River, in what is\nnow North Dakota. Smallpox weakened both peoples; the survivors moved\nup the Missouri and built a village at Like-a-fish-hook Bend, or Fort\nBerthold as the whites called it, where they dwelt together as one tribe.\nThey fortified their village with a fence of upright logs against their\nenemies, the Sioux.\n\nWe Hidatsas looked upon the Sioux as wild men, because they lived by\nhunting and dwelt in tents. Our own life we thought civilized. Our lodges\nwere houses of logs, with rounded roofs covered with earth; hence their\nname, earth lodges. Fields of corn, beans, squashes and sunflowers lay on\neither side of the village, in the bottom lands along the river; these\nwere cultivated in old times with bone hoes.\n\n[Illustration: Bone Hoe.]\n\nWith our crops of corn and beans, we had less fear of famine than the\nwilder tribes; but like them we hunted buffaloes for our meat. After\nfirearms became common, big game grew less plentiful, and for several\nyears before my birth, few buffaloes had been seen near our village.\nHowever, scouts brought in word that big herds were to be found farther\nup the river and on the Yellowstone, and our villagers, Mandans and\nHidatsas, made ready for a hunt.\n\nA chief, or leader, was always chosen for a tribal hunt, some one who\nwas thought to have power with the gods. Not every one was willing to\nbe leader. The tribe expected of him a prosperous hunt with plenty of\nmeat, and no attacks from enemies. If the hunt proved an unlucky one, the\nfailure was laid to the leader. \u201cHis prayers have no power with the gods.\nHe is not fit to be leader!\u201d the people would say.\n\nThis leader had to be chosen by a military society of men, called the\nBlack Mouths. They made up a collection of rich gifts\u2014gun, blankets,\nrobes, war bonnet, embroidered shirt\u2014and with much ceremony offered the\ngifts, successively, to men who were known to own sacred bundles; all\nrefused.\n\nThey prevailed at length upon Ediakata to accept half the gifts. \u201cChoose\nanother to take the rest,\u201d he told the Black Mouths: \u201cI will share the\nleadership with him!\u201d They chose Short Horn.\n\nThe two leaders fixed the day of departure. On the evening before, a\ncrier went through the village, calling out, \u201cTo-morrow at sunrise we\nbreak camp. Get ready, everybody!\u201d\n\nThe march was up the Missouri, on the narrow prairie between the\nfoothills and the river. Ediakata and Short Horn led, commanding, the\none, one day, the other, the next. The camp followed in a long line, some\non horseback, more afoot; a few old people rode on travois. Camp was made\nat night in tepees, or skin-covered tents.\n\nMy grandfather\u2019s was a large thirteen-skin tepee, pitched with fifteen\npoles. It sheltered twelve persons; my grandfather, Small Ankle, and his\ntwo wives, Red Blossom and Strikes-many-woman; his sons, Bear\u2019s Tail and\nWolf Chief, and their wives; my mother, Buffalo Bird Woman, daughter of\nSmall Ankle, and Son-of-a-Star, her husband; Flies Low, a younger son of\nSmall Ankle; and Red Kettle and Full Heart, mere boys, brothers of Flies\nLow.\n\nAscending the west bank of the Missouri, my tribe reached the mouth\nof the Yellowstone at their eleventh camp; here the Missouri narrows,\noffering a good place to cross. A long sand bar skirted the south shore;\ntents were pitched here about noon. There was not room on the narrow bar\nto pitch a camping circle, and the tepees stood in rows, like the houses\nof a village.\n\nMy grandfather pitched his tent near the place chosen for the crossing.\nThe day was cold and windy; with flint and steel, my grandfather kindled\na fire. Dry grass was laid around the wall of the tent and covered with\nrobes, for beds. Small logs, laid along the edges of the beds, shielded\nthem from sparks from the fire.\n\nAt evening the wind died; twilight crept over the sky, and the stars\nappeared. The new moon, narrow and bent like an Indian bow, shone white\nover the river, and the waves of the long mid-current sparkled silvery\nin the moonlight. Now and then with a _swi-i-s-sh_, a sheet of water, a\ntiny whirl-pool in its center, would come washing in to shore; while over\nall rose the roar, roar, roar of the great river, sweeping onward, the\nIndians knew not where.\n\nAt midnight a dog raised himself on his haunches, pointed his nose\nat the sky, and yelped. It was the signal for the midnight chorus;\nand in a moment every dog in camp had joined it, nose-in-air, howling\nmournfully at the moon. Far out on the prairie rose the wailing\nyip-yip-yip-_ya-a-ah_! of a coyote. The dogs grew silent again and curled\nup, to sleep.\n\nAnd I came into the world.\n\nWrapped in a bit of robe, I was laid in my mother\u2019s arms, her first born;\nshe folded me to her breast.\n\nThe morning sky was growing gray when my father came home. He raised the\ntent door and entered, smiling.\n\n\u201cI heard my little son cry, as I came,\u201d he said; \u201cIt was a lusty cry! I\nam very happy.\u201d\n\nMy grandmother placed me in his arms.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy tribe began crossing the river the same morning. Tents were struck,\none by one; and the owners, having loaded their baggage in bull boats,\npushed boldly out into the current.\n\nA bull boat was made by stretching a buffalo skin over a frame of\nwillows. It was shaped like a tub and was not graceful; but it carried a\nheavy load.\n\nOur boat had been brought up from the village on a travois, and my father\nferried my mother and me across. He knelt in the bow, dipping his oar in\nthe water directly before him; my mother sat in the tail of the boat with\nme in her arms. Our tent poles, tied in a bundle, floated behind us; and\nour dogs and horses came swimming after, sniffing and blowing as they\nbreasted the heavy current. We landed tired, and rather wet.\n\nThe tribe was four days in crossing; and as the season was late, we at\nonce took up our march to the place chosen for our winter camp. My mother\nand I now rode on a travois, drawn by a pony. A buffalo skin was spread\non the bottom of the travois basket; this my father bound snugly about my\nmother\u2019s knees as she sat, Indian fashion, with her ankles turned to the\nright. I lay in her lap, cuddled in a wild-cat skin and covered by her\nrobe.\n\nWe reached Round Bank, the place of our winter camp, in five days. My\ntribe\u2019s usual custom was to winter in small earth lodges, in the woods\nby the Missouri, a few miles from Like-a-fish-hook village; but this\nwinter we were to camp in our skin tents, like the Sioux. A tent, well\nsheltered, with a brisk fire under the smoke hole, was comfortable and\nwarm.\n\nNo buffaloes had been killed on the way up to the Yellowstone; but much\ndeer, elk, and antelope meat had been brought into camp, dried, and\npacked in bags for winter. Many, also, of the more provident families had\nstores of corn, brought with them from Like-a-fish-hook village. After\nsnow fell, our hunters discovered buffaloes and made a kill. We thus\nfaced winter without fear of famine.\n\nThe tenth day after my birth was my naming day; it came just as we were\ngetting settled in our winter camp. An Indian child was named to bring\nhim good luck. A medicine man was called in, feasted, and given a present\nto name the child and pray for him. As my grandfather was one of the\nchief medicine men of the tribe, my mother asked him to name me.\n\nMy grandfather\u2019s gods were the birds that send the thunder. He was a kind\nold man, and took me gently into his arms and said, \u201cI name my grandson\n_Tsa-ka-ka-sa-ki_,\u2014Good-bird!\u201d My name thus became a kind of prayer;\nwhenever it was spoken it reminded the bird spirits that I was named for\nthem, and that my grandfather prayed that I might grow up a brave and\ngood man.\n\nThe winter passed without mishap to any one in our tent. An old man named\nHolding Eagle had his leg broken digging in a bank for white clay; he was\nprying out a lump with a stick, when the bank caved in upon him. Toward\nspring, Wolf-with-his-back-to-the-wind and his brother were surprised by\nSioux and killed. A man named Drum was also killed and scalped.\n\nSpring came, but ice still lay on the Missouri when the Goose society\ngave their spring dance. The flocks of geese that came flying north at\nthis season of the year were a sign that it was time to make ready our\nfields for planting corn. The Goose society was a society of women, and\ntheir dance was a prayer that the spirits of the geese would send good\nweather for the corn-planting. Most of the work of planting and hoeing\nour corn fell to the women.\n\nOur winter camp now broke up, most of the tribe returning to the\nYellowstone; but my grandfather and One Buffalo, with their families,\nwent up the Missouri to hunt for buffaloes. They found a small herd, gave\nchase, and killed ten.\n\nFour more tepees now joined us, those of Strikes Back-bone, Old Bear,\nLong Wing, Spotted Horn, and their families. To each tent owner, my\ngrandfather gave the half of a freshly killed buffalo and one whole green\nbuffalo skin. Camp was pitched; the meat was hung on stages to dry, and\nthe women busied themselves making the skins into bull boats.\n\n[Illustration: At Work with a Bone Hoe.]\n\nWhen the ice on the Missouri broke, our camp made ready to return to the\nvillage, for the women wanted to be about their spring planting. Bull\nboats were now taken to the river and loaded; and the families, six or\nseven tepees in all, pushed out into the current.\n\nMy parents led, with three boats lashed together, in the first of which\nthey sat and paddled; my father\u2019s rifle lay by him. The second boat was\npartly loaded with bags of dried meat, and upon these sat Flies Low, my\nuncle, with me in his arms. The third boat was loaded to the water with\nmeat and skins.\n\nThe Missouri\u2019s course is winding; if a turn in it sends the current\nagainst the wind, the waves rise heavy and choppy, so that a single boat\ncan hardly ride them. When approaching one of these turns, our party\nwould draw together, laying tight hold of one another\u2019s boats until the\ndanger was passed; bunched together in this manner, the boats ran less\nrisk of upsetting.\n\nSnow had disappeared from the ground, and the grass was beginning to\nshow green when we left the Yellowstone. We floated down the great river\nin high spirits. All went well until we neared the mouth of the Little\nMissouri, thirty miles from the village. Then a storm arose, and as we\nrounded a bend, the current carried us into the very teeth of the wind.\nOur flimsy boats, sea-sawing up and down on the heavy waves, threatened\nto overturn.\n\nMy parents turned hastily to shore and plied their paddles. Suddenly\nmy father leaned over his side of the boat, almost tipping it over and\ntumbling my mother in upon him; she caught at the edge of the boat to\nsave herself, but had the presence of mind not to drop her paddle. Then\nshe saw what had happened; I had fallen into the water, and my father was\ndrawing me, wet but unhurt, into the boat.\n\nI have said that my uncle, Flies Low, and I rode in the second boat.\nI had grown restless, and he had loosened my cradle clothes to give me\nroom to move my limbs. When we ran into the storm, our boat rocked so\nviolently that I slipped from his arms, but my loosened clothes made me\nfloat.\n\n[Illustration: Flint and Steel, with Bag.]\n\n\u201cI did not mean to drop the baby,\u201d my uncle said afterwards. \u201cI thought\nthe boat had upset and I was frightened.\u201d He was only a lad, and my\nmother could not blame him.\n\nWe reached shore in a terrible storm of snow and wind. The boats were\ndragged up on the beach; the two tents were hastily pitched to shelter\nthe women and children; and fires were lighted.\n\nMy father stopped only long enough to see us safe, and then pushed on\nthrough the storm with the horses, which my grandfather had been driving\nalong the shore in sight of the boats. He reached the village safely and\ndrove the horses into the shelter of some woods along the river.\n\nBoys know that in summer, when they go swimming, it is warmer to stay in\nthe water, than upon the bank, in a wind. There was a pond in the woods;\nand our horses waded into the water to escape the cold wind. When they\ncame out the wind chilled their coats, so that three of them died.\n\nThe storm lasted four days. When it was over, my mother and the rest\nof the party re-embarked in their bull boats and floated safely down to\nLike-a-fish-hook village.\n\nOf course I remember nothing of these things; but I have told the story\nas I heard it from the lips of my mother.\n\n[1] General George A. Custer.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Hidatsa Earth Lodge.]\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nCHILDHOOD\n\n\nLike-a-fish-hook village stood on a bluff overlooking the Missouri, and\ncontained about seventy dwellings. Most of these were earth lodges, but a\nfew were log cabins which traders had taught us to build.\n\nMy grandfather\u2019s was a large, well-built earth lodge, with a floor\nmeasuring about forty feet across. Small Ankle, his two wives and their\nyounger children; his sons, Bear\u2019s Tail and Wolf Chief, and his daughter,\nmy mother, with their families, dwelt together. It was usual for several\nfamilies of relatives to dwell together in one lodge.\n\nAn earth lodge was built with a good deal of labor. The posts were cut in\nsummer, and let lie in the woods until snow fell; men then dragged them\nto the village with ropes. Holes were dug the next spring, and the posts\nraised. Stringers, laid along the tops of the posts, supported rafters;\nand upon these was laid a matting of willows and dry grass. Over all went\na thick layer of sods.\n\n[Illustration: Small Ankle\u2019s Couch.]\n\nThe four great posts that upheld the roof had each a buffalo calf skin or\na piece of bright-colored calico bound about it at the height of a man\u2019s\nhead. These were offerings to the house spirit. We Hidatsas believed that\nan earth lodge was alive, and that the lodge\u2019s spirit, or soul, dwelt in\nthe four posts. Certain medicine women were hired to raise these posts in\nplace when a lodge was built.\n\nOur lodge was picturesque within, especially by the yellow light of the\nevening fire. In the center of the floor, under the smoke hole, was\nthe fireplace; a screen of puncheons, or split logs, set on end, stood\nbetween it and the door. On the right was the corral, where horses were\nstabled at night. In the back of the lodge were the covered beds of the\nhousehold, and my grandfather\u2019s medicines, or sacred objects. The most\nimportant of these sacred objects were two human skulls of the Big Birds\u2019\nceremony, as it was called. Small Ankle was a medicine man and when our\ncorn fields suffered from drought, he prayed to the skulls for rain.\n\nAgainst the puncheon screen on the side next the fireplace, was a couch\nmade of planks laid on small logs, with a bedding of robes. This couch\nwas my grandfather\u2019s bed at night, and his lounging place by day. A\nbuffalo skin overhead protected him from bits of falling earth or a leak\nin the roof, when it rained.\n\nMy two grandmothers also used the couch as a bench when making ready the\nfamily meals; and the water and grease spilled by them and trampled into\nthe dirt floor made the spot between the couch and the fireplace as hard\nas brick. Small Ankle filed his finger nails here against the hard floor.\n\nThe earliest thing that I remember, is my grandfather sitting on his\ncouch, plucking gray hairs from his head. Indians do not like to see\nthemselves growing old, and Small Ankle\u2019s friends used to tease him. \u201cWe\nsee our brother is growing gray\u2014and old!\u201d they would say, laughing. Small\nAnkle used to sit on the edge of his couch with his face tilted toward\nthe smoke hole, and drawing his loose hair before his eyes, he would\nsearch for gray ones.\n\nHe had another habit I greatly admired. The grease dropped from my\ngrandmothers\u2019 cooking, drew many flies into our lodge, and as my\ngrandfather sat on his couch, the flies would alight on his bare\nshoulders and arms. He used to fight them off with a little wooden\npaddle. I can yet hear the little paddle\u2019s _spat_ as it fell on some\nluckless fly, against his bare flesh. No war club had surer aim.\n\nHis couch, indeed, was the throne from which my grandfather ruled his\nhousehold, and his rule began daily at an early hour. He arose with the\nbirds, raked coals from the ashes and started a fire. Then we would hear\nhis voice, \u201dAwake, daughters; up, sons; out, all of you! The sun is up!\nWash your faces!\u201d\n\nMy fat grandmothers made a funny sight, washing their faces; stooping,\nwith eyes tightly shut, each filled her mouth with water, blew it into\nher palms and rubbed them over her face. No towels were used.\n\nThe men of the household more often went down for a plunge in the river.\nSome of the young men of the village bathed in the river the whole year,\nthrough a hole in the ice in winter.\n\nMany bathers, after their morning plunge, rubbed their wet bodies with\nwhite clay; this warmed and freshened the skin.\n\nMy mother usually washed my face for me; I liked it quite as little as\nany white boy.\n\nOur morning meal was now eaten, hominy boiled with beans and buffalo\nfat, and seasoned with alkali salt\u2014spring salt we called it, because we\ngathered it from the edges of springs. After the meal, I had nothing to\ndo all day but play.\n\nMy best loved toy was my bow, of choke-cherry wood, given me when I\nwas four years old. My arrows were of buck-brush shoots, unfeathered.\nThese shoots were brought in green, and thrust into the hot ashes of the\nfireplace; when heated, they were drawn out and the bark peeled off,\nleaving them a beautiful yellow. Buck-brush arrows are light, and I was\nallowed to shoot them within the lodge.\n\nMy uncle, Full Heart, a boy two years older than myself, taught me how\nto use my bow. In our lodge were many mice that nested in holes under the\nsloping roof, and my uncle and I hunted these mice as savagely as our\nfathers hunted buffaloes. I think I was not a very good shot, for I do\nnot remember ever killing one.\n\nBut I had the ill luck to shoot my mother. She was stooping at her work,\none day, when an arrow badly aimed struck her in the cheek, its point\npierced the skin, and the shaft remained hanging in the flesh. I saw the\nblood start and heard my mother cry, \u201cOh, my son has shot me!\u201d I dropped\nmy bow and ran, for I thought I had killed her; but she drew out the\nshaft, laughing.\n\nI was too young to have any fear of the Sioux, and I had not yet learned\nto be afraid of ghosts, but I was afraid of owls, for I was taught that\nthey punished little boys. Sometimes, if I was pettish, my uncles would\ncry, \u201cThe owl is coming!\u201d And in the back of the lodge a voice would\ncall, \u201c_Hoo, hoo, hoo!_\u201d This always gave me a good fright, and I would\nrun to my grandfather and cover my head with his robe, or hide in my\nfathers bed.\n\nIt was not the custom of my tribe for parents to punish their own\nchildren; usually, the father called in a clan brother to do this. My\nuncle, Flies Low, a clan brother of my father, punished me when I was\nbad, but he seldom did more than threaten.\n\nSometimes my mother would say, \u201cMy son is bad, pierce his flesh!\u201d and my\nuncle would take an arrow, pinch the flesh of my arm, and make as if he\nwould pierce it. I would cry, \u201cI will be good, I will be good!\u201d and he\nwould let me go without doing more than giving me a good fright.\n\nA very naughty boy was sometimes punished by rolling him in a snow bank,\nor ducking him in water.\n\nOne winter evening I was vexed at my mother and would not go to bed.\n\u201cCome,\u201d she said, trying to draw me away, but I fought, kicking at her\nand screaming. Quite out of patience, my mother turned to Flies Low.\n\u201c_Apatip_\u2014duck him!\u201d she cried. A pail of water stood by the fireplace.\nFlies Low caught me up, my legs over his shoulder, and plunged me, head\ndownward, into the pail. I broke from him screaming, but he caught me and\nplunged me in again. The water strangled me, I thought I was going to die!\n\n\u201cStop crying,\u201d said my uncle.\n\nMy mother took me by the arm. \u201cStop crying,\u201d she said. \u201cIf you are bad, I\nwill call your uncle again!\u201d And she put me to bed.\n\n[Illustration: Sled of Buffalo Ribs.]\n\nWe Indian children knew nothing of marbles or skates. I had a swing, made\nof my mother\u2019s packing strap, and a top, cut from the tip of a buffalo\u2019s\nhorn. Many boys owned sleds, made of five or six buffalo ribs bound side\nby side. With these they coasted down the steep Missouri bank, but that\nwas play for older boys.\n\nFew wagons were owned by the tribe at this time. When journeying, we\npacked our baggage on the backs of ponies, or on travois dragged by dogs.\n\nA travois was a curious vehicle. It was made of two poles lashed together\nin the shape of a V, and bearing a flat basket woven with thongs. A good\ndog with a travois could drag sixty or eighty pounds over the snow, or on\nthe smooth prairie grass.\n\nBut a travois\u2019s chief use was in dragging in wood for a lodge fire. In\nour lodge my mother and my two grandmothers, with five dogs, went for\nwood about twice a week. They started at sunrise for the woods, a mile or\ntwo away, and returned about noon.\n\nIt happened one morning that my father and mother went to gather wood,\nand I asked to go along. \u201cNo,\u201d they said, \u201cyou would but be in our way.\nYou stay at home!\u201d But I wept and teased until they let me go.\n\n[Illustration: Dog Travois.]\n\nMy parents walked before, the dogs following in a single file. They were\ngentle animals, used to having me play with them; and I was amusing\nmyself running along, jumping on a travois, riding a bit, and jumping off\nagain.\n\nOur road led to a choke-cherry grove, but it was crossed by another that\nwent to the river. As we neared the place where the roads crossed, we saw\na woman coming down the river road, also followed by three or four dogs\nin travois. I had just leaped on the travois of one of our dogs.\n\nThe packs spied each other at the same instant; and our dogs, pricking\nup their ears, burst into yelps and started for the other pack. I was\nfrightened out of my wits. \u201c_Ai, ai, ai!_\u201d I yelled; for I thought I was\ngoing to be eaten up. The dogs were leaping along at such speed that I\ndared not jump off.\n\nThe woman with the strange dogs ran between the packs crying, \u201c_Na,\nna_,\u2014go way, go way!\u201d This stopped our dogs; and I sprang to the ground\nand ran to my mother. I would never ride a travois again.\n\nTaking it altogether, children were well treated in my tribe. Food was\ncoarse, but nourishing; and there was usually plenty of it. Children of\npoor families suffered for clothing, but rarely for food, for a family\nhaving meat or corn always shared with any who were hungry. If a child\u2019s\nparents died, relatives or friends cared for him.\n\nMy mother sighs for the good old times. \u201cChildren were then in every\nlodge,\u201d she says, \u201cand there were many old men in the tribe. Now that we\nlive in cabins and eat white men\u2019s foods, the children and old men die;\nand our tribe dies!\u201d\n\nBut this is hardly true of the Christian families.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nTHE GODS\n\n\nI have said we Hidatsas believed that an earth lodge was alive; and that\nits soul, or spirit, dwelt in the four big roof posts. We believed,\nindeed, that this world and everything in it was alive and had spirits;\nand our faith in these spirits and our worship of them made our religion.\n\n[Illustration: Seeking His God.]\n\nMy father explained this to me. \u201cAll things in this world,\u201d he said,\n\u201chave souls, or spirits. The sky has a spirit; the clouds have spirits;\nthe sun and moon have spirits; so have animals, trees, grass, water,\nstones, everything. These spirits are our gods; and we pray to them and\ngive them offerings, that they may help us in our need.\u201d\n\nWe Indians did not believe in one Great Spirit, as white men seem\nto think all Indians do. We did believe that certain gods were more\npowerful than others. Of these was _It-si-ka-ma-hi-di_, our elder\ncreator, the spirit of the prairie wolf; and _Ka-du-te-ta_, or\nOld-woman-who-never-dies, who first taught my people to till their\nfields. Long histories are given of these gods.\n\nAny one could pray to the spirits, receiving answer usually in a dream.\nIndeed, all dreams were thought to be from the spirits; and for this\nreason they were always heeded, especially those that came by fasting and\nsuffering. Sometimes a man fasted and tortured himself until he fell into\na kind of dream while yet awake; we called this a vision.\n\nA man whom the gods helped and visited in dreams, was said to have\nmystery power; and one who had much mystery power, we called a mystery\nman, or medicine man. Almost every one received dreams from the spirits\nat some time; but a medicine man received them more often than others.\n\nA man might have mystery power and not use it wisely. There once lived in\nour village a medicine man who had one little son. On day in summer, the\nlittle boy with some playmates crossed a shallow creek behind the village\nin search of grass for grass arrows. It happened that the villagers\u2019\nfields were suffering from drought, and that very day, some old men\nbrought gifts to the medicine man and asked him to send them rain.\n\nThe medicine man prayed to his gods, and in an hour rain fell in\ntorrents. The little boys, seeking to return, found the creek choked by\nthe rising waters; greatly frightened, they plunged in, and all got\nsafely over but the medicine man\u2019s little son; he was drowned.\n\nThe medicine man mourned bitterly for his son, for he thought it was he\nthat had caused the little boy\u2019s death.\n\nBelieving as he did that the world was full of spirits, every Indian\nhoped that one of them would come to him and be his protector, especially\nin war. When a lad became about seventeen years of age, his parents would\nsay, \u201cYou are now old enough to go to war; but you should first go out\nand find your god!\u201d They meant by this, that he should not risk his life\nin battle until he had a protecting spirit.\n\nFinding one\u2019s god was not an easy task. The lad painted his body with\nwhite clay, as if in mourning, and went out among the hills, upon some\nbluff, where he could be seen of the gods; and for days, with neither\nfood nor drink, and often torturing himself, he cried to the gods to pity\nhim and come to him. His sufferings at last brought on delirium, so that\nhe dreamed, or saw a vision. Whatever he saw in this vision was his god,\ncome to pledge him protection. Usually this god was a bird or beast; or\nit might be the spirit of some one dead; the bird or beast was not a\nflesh-and-blood animal, but a spirit.\n\nThe lad then returned home. As soon as he was recovered from his fast,\nhe set out to kill an animal like that seen in his vision, and its dried\nskin, or a part of it, he kept as his sacred object, or medicine, for in\nthis sacred object dwelt his god. Thus if an otter god appeared to him,\nthe lad would kill an otter, and into its skin, which the lad kept, the\ngod entered. The otter skin was now the lad\u2019s medicine; he prayed to it\nand bore it with him to war, that his god might be present to protect him.\n\nIndians even made offerings of food to their sacred objects. They knew\nthe sacred object did not eat the food; but they believed that the god,\nor spirit, in the sacred object, ate the spirit of the food. They also\nburned cedar incense to their sacred objects.\n\nThe story of my uncle Wolf Chief, as he was afterwards called, will show\nwhat sufferings a young man was willing to endure who went out to seek\nhis god. He was but seventeen when his father, Small Ankle, said to him,\n\u201cMy son, I think you should go out and seek your god!\u201d The next morning\nmy uncle climbed a high butte overlooking the Missouri, and prayed:\n\n    \u201cO gods, I am poor; I lead a poor life;\n    Make me a good man, a brave warrior!\n    I want to be a great warrior;\n    I want to capture many horses;\n    I want to teach much to my people;\n    I want to be their chief and save them in their need!\u201d\n\nFor three days and nights, my uncle prayed; and in this time he had not a\nmouthful of food, not a drop of water to drink. The fourth day his father\ncame to him. \u201cMy son,\u201d he said, \u201cperhaps the gods would have you become a\ngreat man: and they are trying you, whether you are worthy. You have not\nsuffered enough!\u201d\n\n\u201cI am ready, father,\u201d said my uncle.\n\nSmall Ankle fixed a stout post in the ground and fastened my uncle to it\nwith thongs, so that all day he was in great suffering.\n\nIn the evening, Small Ankle came and cut him loose. \u201cYou have suffered\nenough, my son,\u201d he said; \u201cI think the gods will now pity you and give\nyou a dream!\u201d\n\nHe took my uncle home and gave him something to eat and drink; then\nhe laid the boy tenderly upon a pile of buffalo skins, before his own\nmedicines.\n\nFor a long time, my uncle could not sleep for the pain from his wounds.\nA little before daylight, he fell into a troubled dream. He heard a man\noutside, walking around the earth lodge. The man was singing a mystery\nsong; now and then he paused and cried, \u201cYou have done well, Strong Bull!\u201d\n\nSmall Ankle was very happy when my uncle awoke and told him his dream. He\nknew that one of the gods had now come to his son to protect him and help\nhim; and he called the boy by his new name, Strong Bull, that the god had\ngiven him.\n\n[Illustration: Buffalo Skulls.]\n\nOther men had different dreams. My grandfather once told me of a man who\nhad a vision of four buffalo skulls that became alive.\n\nMany years ago when our villages were on Knife River a man named Bush\nwent out to find his god. He sought a vision from the buffalo spirits;\nand he thought to make himself suffer so that the spirits might pity\nhim. He tied four buffalo skulls in a train, one behind another, and as\nBush walked he dragged the train of skulls behind him.\n\nHe made his way painfully up the Missouri, mourning and crying to the\ngods. The banks of the Missouri are much cut up by ravines, and Bush\nsuffered greatly as he dragged the heavy skulls over this rough country.\n\nFifty miles north of the villages, he came to the Little Missouri, a\nshallow stream, but subject to sudden freshets; he found the river\nflooded, and rising.\n\nHe stood on the bank and cried: \u201cO gods, I am poor and I suffer! I want\nto find my god. Other men have suffered, and found their gods. Now I\nsuffer much, but no god answers me. I am going to plunge into this\ntorrent. I think I shall die, yet I will plunge in. O gods, if you are\ngoing to answer me, do it now and save me!\u201c\n\nHe waded in, dragging the heavy skulls after him. The water grew deeper.\nHe could no longer wade, he had to swim; he struck out.\n\nHe wondered that he no longer felt the weight of the skulls, and that he\ndid not sink. Then he heard something behind him cry, \u201c_Whoo-oo-ooh!_\u201d He\nlooked around. The four buffalo skulls were swimming about him, buoying\nhim up; but they were no longer skulls! Flesh and woolly hair covered\nthem; they had big, blue eyes; they had red tongues. They were alive!\n\nBush himself told this story to my grandfather.\n\nIt should not be thought that Bush was trying to deceive when he said\nhe saw these things. If one had been with him when he sprang into the\ntorrent, and had cried, \u201cBush, the skulls are not alive; it is your\ndelirium that makes you think they live!\u201d he would have answered, \u201cOf\ncourse you cannot see they are alive! The vision is to me, not to you.\nThe flesh and hair and eyes are spirit flesh. I see them; you see only\nthe skulls!\u201d\n\nA man might go out many times thus, to find his god. If he had ill\nsuccess in war, or if sickness or misfortune came upon him, he would\nthink the gods had forgotten him; and he would throw away his moccasins,\ncut his hair as for mourning, paint his face with white clay, and again\ncry to the gods for a vision.\n\nA medicine man\u2019s visions were like other men\u2019s; but we gave them more\nheed, because we thought he had more power with the gods. We looked upon\na medicine man as a prophet; his dreams and visions were messages to us\nfrom the spirits; and we thought of his mystery power as white men think\nof a prophet\u2019s power to work miracles. Our medicine men sought visions\nfor us, and messages from the gods, just as white men\u2019s preachers study\nto tell them what God speaks to them in His Book.\n\nA medicine man had much influence in the tribe. He cured our sick, called\nthe buffalo herds to us, gave us advice when a war party was being\nformed, and in times of drought prayed for rain.\n\nWorshipping as we did many gods, we Indians did not think it strange\nthat white men prayed to another God; and when missionaries came, we did\nnot think it wrong that they taught us to pray to their God, but that\nthey said we should not pray to our own gods. \u201cWhy,\u201c we asked, \u201cdo the\nmissionaries hate our gods? We do not deny the white men\u2019s Great Spirit;\nwhy, then, should they deny our gods?\u201d\n\nSometimes Indians who seek to join the mission church, secretly pray to\ntheir own gods; more often an Indian who accepts Jesus Christ and tries\nto follow Him, still fears his old gods, although he no longer prays to\nthem.\n\nMany older Indians, who do not know English, look upon Jesus Christ as\nthey would upon one of their own gods; a story will show how His mission\nis sometimes misunderstood.\n\nOn this reservation lives a medicine woman, named Minnie Enemy Heart.\nWhen a girl, she went to the mission school and learned something about\nJesus Christ. Afterward, as her fathers had done, she went into the hills\nto seek her god. She says that she fasted and prayed, and Jesus came to\nher in a vision. One side of his body was dark, like an Indian; the other\nside was white, like a white man. In His white hand he carried a lamb; in\nthe other, a little dog.\n\nJesus explained the vision. \u201cMy body,\u201d He said, \u201chalf dark and half\nwhite, means that I am as much an Indian as I am a white man. This dog\nmeans that Indian ways are for Indians, as white ways are for white men;\nfor Indians sacrifice dogs, as white men once sacrificed lambs. If the\nmissionaries tell you this is not true, ask them who crucified me, were\nthey Indians or white men?\u201d\n\nMany Indians believe this vision. More than fifteen have left the\nCatholic priest to follow Minnie Enemy Heart, and three or four have left\nour Protestant mission.\n\nTo us Indians, the spirit world seemed very near, and we did nothing\nwithout taking thought of the gods. If we would begin a journey, form a\nwar party, hunt, trap eagles, or fish, or plant corn, we first prayed to\nthe spirits. A bad dream would send the bravest war party hurrying home.\n\nIf our belief seem strange to white men, theirs seemed just as strange to\nus.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nINDIAN BELIEFS\n\n\n[Illustration: Medicine Post and Sacred Bundle.]\n\nMany medicine men added to their mystery power by owning sacred bundles,\nneatly bound bundles of skin or cloth, containing sacred objects or\nrelics that had been handed down from old times. Every bundle had its\nhistory, telling how the bundle began and what gods they were that helped\nthose who prayed before it. There were about sixty of these sacred\nbundles in the tribe, when I was a boy.\n\nThe owner of a sacred bundle was called its keeper; he usually kept it\nhung on his medicine post, in the back part of his lodge. A sacred bundle\nwas looked upon as a kind of shrine, and in some lodges strangers were\nforbidden to walk between it and the fire.\n\nWhen a keeper became old, he sold his sacred bundle to some younger man,\nthat its rites might not die with him. The young man paid a hundred\ntanned buffalo skins and a gun or pony, and made a feast for the keeper;\nat this feast, the young man received the bundle with the rites and songs\nthat went with it. This was called, \u201cmaking a ceremony.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: Shrine and Sacred Bundle of the Big Birds\u2019 Ceremony.]\n\nWhite men think it strange that we Indians honored these sacred bundles;\nbut I have heard that in Europe men once honored relics, the skull, or a\nbone, or a bit of hair of some saint, or a nail from Jesus\u2019 cross; that\nthey did not pray to the relic, but thought that the spirit of the saint\nwas near; or that he was more willing to hear their prayers when they\nknelt before the relic.\n\nIn much the same way, we Indians honored our sacred bundles. They\ncontained sacred objects, or relics, that had belonged each to some\ngod\u2014his scalp, or skull, the pipe he smoked, or his robe. We did not pray\nto the object, but to the god or spirit to whom it had belonged, and we\nthought these sacred objects had wonderful power, just as white men once\nthought they could be cured of sickness by touching the bone of some\nsaint.\n\nA medicine man\u2019s influence was greater if he owned a sacred bundle.\nMen then came to him not only because the spirits answered him when he\nfasted, but because, as its keeper, he had power from the gods of the\nsacred bundle.\n\nThe most famous of these sacred bundles belonged to my grandfather, Small\nAnkle. It was called the bundle of the Big Birds\u2019 ceremony. It was kept\non a kind of stand in the back part of our lodge, and it contained two\nskulls and a carved wooden pipe. These objects were thought to be very\nholy.\n\nWhen my tribe came up the Missouri to Like-a-fish-hook Bend, where they\nbuilt their last village, they first camped there in tepees. A question\narose as to how they should plan their village, and the more important\nmedicine men of the tribe came and sat in a circle, to consider what to\ndo. This was seven years after the small-pox year.\n\nAt that time, the skulls of the Big Birds\u2019 ceremony were owned by an old\nman named Missouri River. The other medicine men, knowing that these\nskulls were most important sacred objects in the tribe, said to Missouri\nRiver, \u201cYour gods are most powerful. Tell us how we should lay out our\nvillage!\u201d\n\nMissouri River brought the two skulls from his tent, and holding one\nin either hand, he walked around in a wide circle, returning again to\nthe place where he had started. \u201cWe will leave this circle open, in the\ncenter of our village,\u201d he said. \u201cSo shall we plan it!\u201d\n\nHe laid the skulls on the grass and said to Big Cloud, Small Ankle\u2019s\nson-in-law, \u201cYour gods are powerful. Choose where you will build your\nearth lodge!\u201d\n\nBig Cloud arose. \u201cI will build it here,\u201d he said, \u201cwhere lie the two\nskulls. The door shall face the west, for my gods are eagles that send\nthunder, and eagles and thunders come from the west. And so I think we\nshall have rain, and our children and our fields shall thrive, and we\nshall live here many years.\u201d Big Cloud had once seen a vision of thunder\neagles, awake and with his eyes open.\n\nThe medicine men said to Has-a-game-stick, \u201cYou choose a place for your\nlodge!\u201d\n\nHas-a-game-stick stood and said, \u201cMy god is the Sunset Woman. I want my\nlodge to face the sunset, that the Sunset Woman may remember me, and I\nwill pray to her that the village may have plenty and enemies may never\ntake it, and I think the Sunset Woman will hear me!\u201d\n\nThe medicine men said to Bad Horn, \u201cYou stand up!\u201d\n\nBad Horn stood and said, \u201cMy gods are bears, and bears always make the\nmouths of their dens open toward the north. I want my lodge door to open\ntoward the north, that my bear gods may remember me. And I will pray to\nthem that this village may stand many years!\u201d\n\nThe medicine men then said to Missouri River, \u201cChoose a place for your\nlodge!\u201d\n\nMissouri River took the two skulls, one in either hand, and singing\na mystery song, walked around the circle with his right hand toward\nthe center, as moves the sun. Three times he walked around, the fourth\ntime he stopped at a place and prayed, \u201cMy gods, you are my protectors,\nprotect also this village. Send also rains that our grain may grow, and\nour children may eat and be strong and healthy. So shall we prosper,\nbecause my sacred bundle is in the village.\u201c\n\nHe turned to the company upon the grass. \u201cGo, the rest of you,\u201d he said,\n\u201cand choose where you will build your lodges; and keep the circle open,\nas I have marked!\u201d\n\nBefore Missouri River died, he sold his sacred bundle to my grandfather,\nSmall Ankle; and Small Ankle sold it to his son, Wolf Chief. After Wolf\nChief became a Christian, he sold the bundle to a man in New York, that\nit might be put into a museum.\n\nWe had other beliefs, besides these of the gods.\n\nWe thought that all little babies had lived before, most of them as\nbirds, or beasts, or even plants. My father, Son-of-a-Star, claimed he\ncould even remember what bird he had been.\n\nWe believed that many babies came from the babes\u2019 lodges. There were\nseveral of these. One was near our villages on the Knife River. It was a\nhill of yellow sand, with a rounded top like the roof of an earth lodge.\nIn one side was a little cave, and the ground about the cave\u2019s mouth\nwas worn smooth, as if children played there. Sometimes in the morning,\nlittle footprints were found in the sand.\n\nTo this hill a childless wife would come to pray for a son or daughter.\nShe would lay a pair of very beautiful child\u2019s moccasins at the mouth of\nthe cave and pray: \u201cI am poor. I am lonesome. Come to me, one of you! I\nlove you. I long for you!\u201d We understood that children who came from this\nbabes\u2019 lodge had light skin and yellowish hair, like yellow sand.\n\nA very old man once said to me: \u201cI remember my former life. I lived in\na babes\u2019 lodge. It was like a small earth lodge inside. There was a pit\nbefore the door, crossed by a log. Many of the babes, trying to cross\nthe pit, fell in. But I walked the whole length of the log; hence I have\nlived to be an old man.\u201d I have heard this story from other old men.\n\nVery small children, who died before they teethed or were old enough\nto laugh, were not buried upon scaffolds with our other dead, but were\nwrapped in skins and placed in trees. We thought if such a baby died,\nthat its spirit went back to live its former life again, as a bird, or\nplant, or as a babe in one of the babes\u2019 lodges.\n\nOlder children and men and women, when they died, went to the ghosts\u2019\nvillage. This was a big town of earth lodges, where the dead lived very\nmuch as they had lived on earth. Older Indians of my tribe still believe\nin the ghosts\u2019 village.\n\nThere were men in my tribe who had died, as we believed, and gone to the\nghosts\u2019 village, and come back to life again. From these men we learned\nwhat the ghosts\u2019 village was like.\n\nMy mother\u2019s grandfather came back thus, from the ghosts\u2019 village; his\nname was _It-si-di-shi-di-it-a-ka_, or Old Yellow Elk.\n\nOld Yellow Elk had an otter skin for his medicine, or sacred object. He\ndied in the small-pox year; and his family laid his body out on a hill\nwith the otter skin under his head for a pillow. Logs were piled about\nthe body, to keep off wolves. Men were dying so fast that there was no\ntime to make burial scaffolds.\n\nThat night a voice was heard calling from the hill, \u201c_A-ha-he! A-ha-he!_\nCome for me, I want to get up!\u201d\n\nThe villagers ran to the grave and took away the logs, and Old Yellow Elk\narose and came home.\n\n\u201cThe ghosts\u2019 village is a fine town,\u201c he told his family. \u201cI saw many\npeople there, they gave me a spotted pony. My god, the otter, brought me\nback. He led me up the bed of the Missouri, under the water. I brought my\npony with me and tied him to a log on my grave!\u201d\n\nHis family went out to the grave the next morning and looked for the\npony\u2019s tracks, but found none!\n\nAll these things I firmly believed, when I was a boy.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nSCHOOL DAYS\n\n\nI was six years old when Mr. Hall, a missionary, came to us, from the\nSantee Sioux. He could not speak the Mandan or the Hidatsa language,\nbut he spoke Sioux, which some of our people understood. He was a good\nsinger; and he had a song which he sang with Sioux words. Our people\nwould crowd about him to hear it, for it was the first Christian song\nthey had ever heard.\n\n[Illustration: The Sun Man (Redrawn from a sketch by Goodbird).]\n\nThe song began:\n\n    _\u201cHo washte, ho washte,_\n    _On Jesus yatan miye;_\n    _Ho wakan, ho wakan,_\n    _Nina hin yeyan!\u201d_\n\nThe words are a translation of an English hymn:\n\n    \u201cSweetly sing, sweetly sing,\n    Jesus is our Saviour king;\n    Let us raise, let us raise,\n    High our notes of praise!\u201d\n\nIt is a custom of my people to give a name to every stranger who comes\namong us, either from some singularity in his dress or appearance, or\nfrom something that he says or does. Our people caught the first two\nwords of the missionary\u2019s song and named him after them, Ho Washte. He is\nstill called by this name.\n\nMr. Hall had brought his wife with him, and they began building a house\nwith timbers freighted up the river on a steamboat. Our chief, Crow\u2019s\nBelly, threatened to burn the house, but the missionary made him a feast\nand explained that he wanted to use the house for a school, where Indian\nchildren could learn English. Crow\u2019s Belly thought this a good plan, and\nmade no further trouble.\n\nThe school was opened the next winter. It was soon noised in the village\nthat English would be taught in the mission school, and several young\nmen started to attend, my uncle, Wolf Chief, among them. They went each\nmorning with hair newly braided, faces painted, and big brass rings on\ntheir fingers. Most of them found school work rather hard, and soon tired\nof it.\n\nThe next fall, my parents started me to school, for my father wanted me\nto learn English. The mission house was a half mile from our village; I\nwent each morning with a little Mandan companion, named Hollis Montclair.\nWe wore Indian dress, leggings, moccasins, and leather shirt.\n\nAt noon Hollis and I would return to the village for our noon meal; and\nsometimes we would go to school again in the afternoon. We went pretty\nfaithfully all the fall, and until Christmas time, when our teacher told\nus we were to have a Christmas tree.\n\nHollis and I had never seen a Christmas tree; and when Christmas day\ncame, we could hardly wait until the time came for us to go to the school\nhouse. It was a cheerful scene then, that met our eyes. The tree was a\ncedar cut on the Missouri bottoms, lighted, and trimmed with strips of\nbright colored paper. Mr. Hall and his family sat at the front, smiling.\nMy teacher moved about among the children, greeting each as he arrived,\nand speaking a kind word to those that were shy. About fifteen school\nchildren of the age of Hollis and myself were present.\n\nWe had music and singing, and Mr. Hall explained what Christmas means,\nthat it is the birthday of Jesus, the Son of God; and that we should be\nhappy because He loved us. Presents were then given us; each child was\ncalled by name, and handed a little gift taken from the tree.\n\nAnd now I grieve to say, that Hollis and I acted as badly as two white\nchildren. There was a magnet hanging on the tree, a piece of steel shaped\nlike a horse shoe, that picked up bits of iron. Hollis and I thought\nit the most wonderful thing we had ever seen. We each hoped to receive\nit; but it was given to another child. This vexed us; and we left upon\nthe floor the gifts we had received, and stalked out of the room. The\nlast thing I saw as I went out of the door was my teacher with her\nhandkerchief to her eyes. I did not feel happy when I thought of this;\nbut I was an Indian boy, and I was not going to forgive her for not\ngiving me the magnet!\n\nI told the story of the magnet to my parents; and finding I was unwilling\nto go back to the mission, they sent me to the government school that our\nagent had just opened; but I did not go there long. I was taken sick, and\nmy former teacher came to see me in our earth lodge. She was so kind and\nforgiving that I forgot all about the magnet, and when I got well I went\nback to the mission school.\n\nI grew to love my teacher, although I was always a little afraid of her.\nWe boys were not allowed to talk in study hours; but when our teacher\u2019s\nback was turned, we would whisper to one another. Sometimes our teacher\nturned quickly, and if she caught any of us whispering, she would come\nand give each of us a spat on the head with a book; but it did not hurt\nmuch, so we did not care.\n\nWe used to sing a good deal in the school. One song I liked was, \u201cI need\nThee every hour.\u201d I loved to sing, although the songs we learned were\nvery different from our Indian songs. Indians are fond of music; I have\nknown my grandfather and three or four cronies to sit at our lodge fire\nan entire night, drumming and singing, and telling stories.\n\nI found English a rather hard language to learn. Many of the older\nIndians would laugh at any who tried to learn to read. \u201cYou want to\nforsake your Indian ways and be white men,\u201d they would say; but there\nwere many in the village who wanted their children to learn English.\n\nMy grandfather was deeply interested in my studies. \u201cIt is their books\nthat make white men strong,\u201d he would say. \u201cThe buffaloes will soon\nbe killed; and we Indians must learn white ways, or starve.\u201d He was a\nprogressive old man.\n\nI am sorry to say that I played hookey sometimes. Big dances were often\nheld in the village; especially, when a war party came in with a scalp,\nthere was great excitement. The scalp was raised aloft on a pole, and\nthe women danced about it, screaming, and singing glad songs. Warriors\npainted their faces with charcoal, and danced, sang, yelled, and boasted\nof their deeds. Everybody feasted and made merry.\n\nWhen I knew that a dance was going to be held, I would hide somewhere in\nthe village, instead of going to school. The next day my teacher would\nsay, \u201cWhere were you yesterday?\u201d \u201cAt the dance,\u201d I would answer. She\nwould then tell me how naughty I was; but she never punished me, for she\nknew if she did, I would leave the school. My parents also scolded, but\ndid not punish me. I am afraid I was a bad little boy!\n\nOne day, on my way to school, I was overtaken by a very old white man,\nwith white hair. I had been going to school about a year and could talk a\nlittle English.\n\n\u201dWhat is your name, little fellow?\u201d the old man asked. He had a friendly\nvoice.\n\n\u201cMy name is Goodbird,\u201d I answered.\n\n\u201cBut what is your English name?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have none.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I will give you mine,\u201d the old man said, smiling. \u201cIt is Edward\nMoore.\u201d\n\nIt is a common custom for an Indian to give his name to a friend; so I\ndid not know the old man\u2019s words were said in fun. At the school, I told\nMr. Hall what the old man had said, and he laughed. \u201cI think Moore is not\na good name for you,\u201d he said. \u201cMoore sounds like _moor_, a marshy place\nwhere mists rise in the air, but Edward is a very good name.\u201c\n\nSo I have called myself Edward Goodbird ever since.\n\nEvery Friday Mr. Hall gave a dinner in the mission house to his pupils.\nWe Indian children thought these dinners wonderful. Many of us had never\ntasted white men\u2019s food; some things, as sour pickles, we did not like.\nMr. Hall wanted us to learn to eat white bread and biscuits, so that we\nwould ask our mothers to bake bread at home. He hoped this would be a\nmeans of getting us to like white men\u2019s ways.\n\nOn Saturdays we had no school, and Mr. Hall would go around the village,\nshaking hands with the Indians and inviting them to come to church the\nnext morning. Later, Poor Wolf acted as his crier, and on Saturday\nevenings he would go around, calling out, \u201c_Ho Washte, Ho Washte!_ Come\nyou people, to-morrow, and sit for him!\u201d He meant for them to come to\nchurch the next morning and sit in chairs.\n\nMr. Hall\u2019s janitor, a young Indian named Bear\u2019s Teeth, swept out the\nmission house, made the fires, and got the school room ready for the\nservices. There was no bell on the mission, so a flag was run up as a\nsignal for the congregation to gather.\n\nNot many came to the services, fifteen or twenty were a usual\ncongregation, sometimes only ten. Mr. Hall preached, and to make his\nsermons plainer, he often drew pictures on the blackboard.\n\nMy father thought the missionary\u2019s religion was good, but would not\nhimself forsake the old ways. \u201cThe old gods are best for me,\u201d he used to\nsay, but he let me go to hear Mr. Hall preach. I cannot say that I always\nunderstood the sermon. Sometimes Mr. Hall would say, \u201cThirty years ago,\nmy friends, I saw the light!\u201d I thought he meant he had seen a vision.\n\nBut I learned a good deal from Mr. Hall\u2019s preaching; and my lessons and\nthe songs I learned at school made me think of Jesus; but I thought an\nIndian could be a Christian and also believe in the old ways.\n\nIt came over me one day, that this could not be. A story of our Indian\ngod, _It-si-ka-ma-hi-di_, tells us that the sun is a man, with his body\npainted red, like fire; that the earth is flat, and that the sky covers\nit like a bowl turned bottom up; but in my geography, at school, I\nlearned that the earth is round.\n\nIn our earth lodge, that night, I said to my parents, \u201cThis earth is\nround; the sun is a burning ball!\u201d My cousin Butterfly was disgusted.\n\u201cThat is white man\u2019s talk,\u201d he grunted. \u201cThis earth is flat. White men\nare foolish!\u201d This I would in no wise admit, and I came home almost daily\nwith some new proof that the earth was round.\n\nAs I grew older and began to read books, I thought of myself as a\nChristian, but more because I went to the mission school, than because\nI thought of Jesus as my Saviour. I loved to read the stories of the\nBible; and Mr. Hall taught me the Ten Commandments. Some of the Indian\nboys learned to swear, from hearing white men; but I never did, because\nMr. Hall told me it was wrong. I thought that those who did as the Bible\nbade, would grow up to be good men.\n\nI had a cousin, three years older than myself, in the Santee Indian\nschool, who had become a Christian. One day I received a letter from\nhim. \u201cI believe in Jesus\u2019 way,\u201d he wrote. \u201cI believe Jesus is a good\nSaviour. I have tried His way, and I want you to try to join in and have\nHim for your Saviour.\u201d This letter set me to thinking.\n\nIn these years, my life outside the school room was wholly Indian. We\nHidatsa children knew nothing of base ball, or one hole cat, or other\nwhite children\u2019s games, but we had many Indian games that we played. Some\nof these games I think better than those now played on our reservation.\n\nIn March and early April, we boys played the hoop game. A level place,\nbare of snow, was found, and the boys divided into two sides, about\nthirty yards apart. Small hoops, covered with a lacing of thongs, were\nrolled forward, and were caught by those of the opposite side on sticks,\nthrust or darted through the lacings. A hoop so caught, was sent hurtling\nthrough the air, the object being to hit some one of the opposing players.\n\n[Illustration: Hoop and Stick of the Hoop Game.]\n\nThe game was played but a few weeks, for as soon as the ice broke on the\nMissouri, we boys went to the high bank of the river, and hurled our\nhoops into the current. We were told, and really believed, that they\nbecame dead buffaloes as soon as they had passed out of sight, beyond the\nnext point of land. Such buffaloes, drowned in the thin ice of autumn and\nfrozen in, came floating down the river in large numbers at the spring\nbreak-up. The carcasses were always fat, and the frozen flesh was sweet\nand tender.\n\nAfter the first thunder in spring, we played _u-a-ki-he-ke_, or throw\nstick. Willow rods were cut, peeled, and dried, and then stained red,\nwith ochre, or a bright green, with grass. These rods, darted against\nthe ground, rebounded to a great distance. The player won whose rod went\nfarthest. _U-a-ki-he-ke_ is still played on the reservation.\n\nIn June, when the rising waters have softened the river\u2019s clay banks,\nwe fought sham battles. Each boy cut a willow withe, as long as a buggy\nwhip, and on the smaller end squeezed a lump of wet clay. With the withe\nas a sling, he could throw the clay ball to an astonishing distance.\nHidatsa and Mandan boys often fought against one another, using these\nclay balls as missiles.\n\n[Illustration: War Bonnet (On Lodge Post).]\n\nIt was exciting play, for we fought like armies, each side trying to\nforce the other\u2019s position; when an attack was made, a storm of mud balls\nwould come whizzing through the air like bullets. A hit on the bare flesh\nstung like a real wound. Once one of my playmates was hit in the eye, and\nbadly hurt. I was just over fourteen, when my parents let me join in\nthe grass dance, or war dance, as the whites call it. The other dancers\nmade me an officer, and my father was so pleased, that he hung up a fine\neagle\u2019s feather war bonnet in our lodge. \u201cIf enemies come against us,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cmy son shall go out to fight wearing this war bonnet!\u201d\n\nOne evening, Bear\u2019s Arm, a lad of eighteen years, came in from hunting a\nstrayed pony; he was much excited. \u201cI saw two Sioux in war dress, hiding\nin a coulee,\u201d he told us.\n\nOur warriors ran for their ponies. \u201cPut on your war bonnet,\u201c my father\nsaid to me. \u201cI am going to take you in the party. Keep close to me; and\nif there is a fight, see if you cannot strike an enemy!\u201c\n\nWe rode all night, Bear\u2019s Arm leading us. We reached the coulee and\nsurrounded it a little before daybreak, and with the first streak of\ndawn, we closed in, our rifles ready; but we found no enemies.\n\nThis was my one war exploit.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Buffaloes.]\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nHUNTING BUFFALOES\n\n\nThe summer I was twelve years old, our village went on a buffalo hunt,\nfor scouts had brought in word that herds had been sighted a hundred\nmiles west of the Missouri. My father, Son-of-a-Star, was chosen leader\nof the hunt.\n\nMy tribe no longer used travois, for the government had issued wagons to\nus. These we took apart, loading the wheels into bull boats while the\nbeds were floated over the river. We made our first camp at the edge of\nthe foot hills, on the other side of the river.\n\nThe next morning, we struck tents, loaded them into our wagons, and began\nthe march.\n\nMy father led, carrying his medicine bundle at his saddle head; behind\nhim rode two or three elder Indians, leaders of the tribe, also on\nhorseback. Then followed the wagons in a long line; and on either side\nrode the young men, on their tough, scrubby, little ponies.\n\nSome of our young men as they rode, drove small companies of horses.\nNeighbors commonly put their horses together, and a young man, or two or\nthree young men, acted as herders. Sometimes a girl, mounted astraddle\nlike a man, drove them.\n\nNow and then a youth might be seen reining in his pony to let the line of\nwagons pass, while he kept a sharp watch for his sweetheart. She hardly\nglanced at him as she rode by, for it was not proper for a young man\u2019s\nsweetheart to let him talk to her in the marching line. The time for\ncourtship was in camp, in the evening.\n\n[Illustration: Clay Pot with Thong Handle.]\n\nToward five or six in the afternoon, we made camp. The wagons were\ndrawn up in a big circle, and the women pitched the tents, while the\nmen unhitched and hobbled their horses, and brought firewood. The women\nbrought water and lighted the fires.\n\nWater was carried in pails. I have heard that in old times, they used\nclay pots made of a kind of red clay, and burned; a thong went around the\nneck of the pot, for a handle.\n\nMy mother, an active woman, often had her fire started before her\nneighbors. While she got supper, my father sat and smoked. Friends\nfrequently joined him, and they would sit in a circle, passing the pipe\naround, telling funny stories and laughing. My father was a capital story\nteller.\n\nFor supper we had deer or antelope meat, boiled or roasted, and my mother\noften fried wheat-flour dough into a kind of biscuits that were rather\nhard. Corn picked green the year before, and boiled and dried, was stewed\nin a kettle, making a dish much like the canned com we buy at the store.\nMore often we had succotash, hominy boiled with fat and beans. We drank\nblack coffee, sweetened; my mother put the coffee beans into a skin,\npounded them fine with an ax, and boiled them in an iron pot. You see, we\nwere getting civilized.\n\nWhen supper was ready, my mother would call \u201c_Mi-ha-dits_\u2014I have done!\u201d\nand my father would put up his pipe and come to eat. My mother gave him\nmeat, steaming hot, in a tin dish, and poured coffee into a cup; another\ncup held meat broth, which made a good drink also. We did not bring\nwooden feast bowls with us, as some families did.\n\nMy mother and I ate with my father, much as white families do; a robe or\nblanket was spread for each to sit upon.\n\nI wore moccasins and leggings; and my hair was braided, Indian fashion,\nin two tails over my shoulders, but my mother had made me a white man\u2019s\nvest, of black cloth, embroidered all over with elk teeth. I was proud of\nthis vest, and cared not a whit that I had no coat to wear over it.\n\nThe seventh day out, we made camp near the Cannon Ball River. My father\nhad sent two mounted scouts ahead, with a spy glass, to see if they could\nfind the herds; at evening, they returned with the report, \u201cThere is a\nbig herd yonder!\u201d Everybody got ready for the hunt the next morning, and\nmy father made me happy by telling me that I might go along.\n\n[Illustration: Quirt (Indian Whip.)]\n\nWe arose early. My father saddled two ponies, one of them a pack animal;\nand I mounted a third, with a white man\u2019s saddle. My father\u2019s were pack\nsaddles, of elk horn, covered with raw hide; ropes, looped up like a\nfigure 8, were tied behind them to be used in binding the packs of meat\nwe would bring home from the hunt.\n\nThere were about forty hunters in our party, mounted, and leading each a\npack horse; eight boys, of twelve or fifteen years of age, and three old\nmen. I remember one of the old men carried a bow and arrows, probably\nfrom old custom. Only the hunters expected to take part in the actual\nchase of the buffaloes; they were armed with rifles.\n\nThe party\u2019s leader, _E-di-a-ka-ta_\u2014the same who led our tribe to the\nYellowstone\u2014rode ahead, and we followed at a brisk trot. Five miles out\nof camp, the two scouts were again sent ahead with the spy glass. We saw\nthem coming back at a gallop and knew that the herd was found, and we\nurged our horses at the top of their speed. I remember the _slap_ of the\nquirts on the little ponies\u2019 flanks; and the _beat-beat, beat-beat!_ of\ntheir hoofs on the hard ground. Indians do not shoe their horses.\n\nWe drew rein behind a hill, a half mile to leeward of the herd, and,\nhaving dismounted, hobbled our led horses. Our hunters laid aside their\nshirts and leggings, stripped the saddles from their ponies\u2019 backs, and\ntwisted bridles of thong into their ponies\u2019 mouths; it was our tribe\u2019s\ncustom to ride bare-back in the hunt.\n\n_E-di-a-ka-ta_ went a little way off and stood, facing in the direction\nof the herd; from a piece of red cloth he tore a long strip, ripped this\nagain into three or four pieces and laid them on the ground. I saw his\nlips move, and knew he was praying, but I could not hear his words. The\npieces of red cloth Were an offering to the spirits of the buffaloes.\n\nOur hunters remounted and drew up in a line facing the herd,\n_E-di-a-ka-ta_ on the right, and at a signal, the line started forward,\nneck-and-neck, at a brisk gallop. A guard, named _Tsa-wa_, or Bear\u2019s\nChief, rode in advance; if a hunter pressed too far forward in the line,\n_Tsa-wa_ struck the hunter\u2019s pony in the face with his quirt.\n\nWe boys and the three old men rode a little behind the line of hunters;\nwe did not expect to take part in the hunt, but wanted to see the kill.\n\nAs we cleared the brow of the hill we sighted the buffaloes, about four\nhundred yards away, and _E-di-a-ka-ta_ gave the signal, \u201c_Ku\u2019kats_\u2014Now\nthen!\u201d Down came the quirts on the little ponies\u2019 flanks, making them\nleap forward like big cats. The line broke at once, each hunter striving\nto reach the herd first and kill the fattest. An iron-gray horse, I\nremember, was in the lead.\n\nWe boys followed at breakneck speed\u2014unwillingly on my part; my pony had\ntaken the bit in his mouth and was going over the stony ground at a speed\nthat I feared would throw him any moment and break his neck and mine. I\ntugged at the reins and clung to the saddle, too scared to cry out.\n\n_Bang!_ A fat cow tumbled over. _Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_ The frightened\nherd started to flee, swerved to the right, and went thundering away up\nwind, in a whirl of dust. Buffaloes, when alarmed, fly up wind if the way\nis open; their sight is poor, but they have a keen scent, and running up\nwind they can nose an Indian a half mile away.\n\nFor such heavy beasts, buffaloes have amazing speed, and only our fastest\nhorses were used in hunting them; indeed, a young bull often outran our\nfastest ponies.\n\nOnly cows were killed. The flesh of bulls is tough and was not often\neaten; that of calves crumbled when dried, making it unfit for storing.\n\nSome buffalo calves, forsaken by the herd, were running wildly over the\nprairie, bleating for their mothers; two of our hunters caught one of the\nsmallest with a lariat, and brought it to me. \u201cHere, boy,\u201d they said,\n\u201ckeep this calf.\u201d\n\nI caught the rope and drew the calf after me; but my pony, growing\nfrightened, reared and kicked the little animal; paying out more rope, I\nled the calf at a safer distance from my horse\u2019s heels.\n\nThe hunters came straggling back, and my father seeing the calf, cried\nout, \u201cLet that calf go! Buffaloes are sacred animals. You should not try\nto keep one captive!\u201c I was much disappointed, for I wanted to take it\ninto camp.\n\nMy father had killed three fat cows, and these he now sought out and\ndressed. The shoulders, hams, and choicer cuts he loaded on our led\nhorse, covering the pack with a green hide and tying it down with the\nrawhide ropes brought for the purpose; the rest he left in a pile on the\nprairie, covered with the other two hides. We intended to return for\nthese with wagons, the next day.\n\nAs my father was cutting up one of the carcasses, I saw him throw away\nwhat I thought were good cuts; I did not like to see good meat wasted,\nand when I thought he was not looking, I slyly put the pieces back on the\npile.\n\n[Illustration: Drying Meat and Boiling Bones.]\n\nWe returned to camp slowly, at times urging our ponies to a gentle trot,\nmore often letting them walk. My father had to dismount several times to\nsecure our pack of meat, which threatened to slip from our pack horse\u2019s\nback. In our tent that evening, I heard him telling my mother of my\npart in the hunt. \u201cOur son,\u201d he said, \u201cis no wasteful lad. He put back\nsome tough leg pieces that I had thrown away. He would not see good meat\nwasted!\u201d And they both laughed.\n\nStages were built in the camp, and for two days, every body was busy\ndrying meat or boiling bones for marrow fat. The dried meat was packed in\nskin bags, or made into bundles; the marrow fat was run into bladders;\nand all was taken to Like-a-fish-hook village, to be stored for winter.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Goodbird at the Age of Twenty. (Redrawn from Portrait by\nGilbert Saul. Report Indian Census, 1890.)]\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nFARMING\n\n\nThe time came when we had to forsake our village at Like-a-fish-hook\nBend, for the government wanted the Indians to become farmers. \u201cYou\nshould take allotments,\u201d our agent would say. \u201cThe big game is being\nkilled off, and you must plant bigger fields or starve. The government\nwill give you plows and cattle.\u201d\n\nAll knew that the agent\u2019s words were true, and little by little our\nvillage was broken up. In the summer of my sixteenth year nearly a third\nof my tribe left to take up allotments.\n\nWe had plenty of land; our reservation was twice the size of Rhode\nIsland, and our united tribes, with the Rees who joined us, were less\nthan thirteen hundred souls. Most of the Indians chose allotments along\nthe Missouri, where the soil was good and drinking water easy to get.\nUnallotted lands were to be sold and the money given to the three tribes.\n\nForty miles above our village, the Missouri makes a wide bend around a\npoint called Independence Hill, and here my father and several of his\nrelatives chose their allotments. The bend enclosed a wide strip of\nmeadow land, offering hay for our horses. The soil along the river was\nrich and in the bottom stood a thick growth of timber.\n\nMy father left the village, with my mother and me, in June. He had a\nwagon, given him by the agent; this he unbolted and took over the river\npiece by piece, in a bull boat; our horses swam.\n\nWe camped at Independence in a tepee, while we busied ourselves building\na cabin. My father cut the logs; they were notched at the ends, to lock\ninto one another at the comers. A heavier log, a foot in thickness, made\nthe ridge pole. The roof was of willows and grass, covered with sods.\n\nCracks between the logs were plastered with clay, mixed with short grass.\nThe floor was of earth, but we had a stove.\n\nWe were a month putting up our cabin.\n\nThough my father\u2019s coming to Independence was a step toward civilization,\nit had one ill effect: it removed me from the good influences of the\nmission school, so that for a time I fell back into Indian ways. Winter,\nalso, was not far off; the season was too late for us to plant corn, and\nthe rations issued to us every two weeks rarely lasted more than two or\nthree days. To keep our family in meat, I turned hunter.\n\nThere were no buffaloes on the reservation, but blacktailed deer\nwere plentiful, and in the hills were a good many antelopes. I had a\nWinchester rifle, a 40.60 caliber, and I was a good shot.\n\nTo hunt deer, I arose before daylight and went to the woods along the\nMissouri. Deer feed much at night, and as evening came on, they would\nleave the thick underbrush by the river and go into the hills to browse\non the rich prairie grasses. I would creep along the edge of the woods,\nrifle in hand, ready to shoot any that I saw coming in from the feeding\ngrounds.\n\nI was careful to keep on the leeward side of the game; a deer running up\nwind will scent an Indian as quickly as a buffalo.\n\nI loved to hunt, and although a mere boy, I was one of the quickest shots\nin my tribe. I remember that one morning I was coming around a clump of\nbushes when I saw a doe and buck ahead, just entering the thicket. I\nfired, hardly glancing at the sights; I saw the buck fall, but when I ran\nup I found the doe lying beside him, killed by the same bullet.\n\nIndependence was a wild spot. The hill from which the place took its\nname had been a favorite fasting place for young men who sought visions;\nat its foot, under a steep bank, swept the Missouri, full of dangerous\nwhirlpools. Such spots, lonely and wild, we Indians thought were haunts\nof the spirits.\n\nOnce, when I was a small boy, my father took me to see the Sun\ndance. A man named Turtle-no-head was suspended from a post in a\nbooth, and dancing around it. Turtle-no-head\u2019s hands were behind\nhim, and he strained at the rope as he danced. Women were crying,\n\u201c_A-la-la-la-la-la!_\u201d Old men were calling out, \u201cGood; Turtle-no-head\nis a man. One should be willing to suffer to find his god; then he will\nstrike many enemies and win honors!\u201d\n\nI was much stirred by what I saw, and by the old men\u2019s words.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d I said, \u201cwhen I get big, I am going to suffer and seek a\nvision, like Turtle-no-head!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood!\u201d said my father, laughing.\n\nAt Independence, I thought of this vow made years before. One day, I said\nto my father, \u201cI want you to suspend me from the high bank, over the\nMissouri.\u201d\n\nWhen evening came, my father stripped me to my clout and moccasins, and\nhelped me paint my body with white clay. He called a man named Crow, and\nthey took me to the bank, over the Missouri. My father fastened me to the\nrope, and I swung myself over the bank, hanging with my weight upon the\nrope. \u201cSuffer as long as you can!\u201d called my father, and left me.\n\nI did not feel much pain, but I became greatly wearied from the strain\nupon my back and thighs. Toward morning I could stand it no longer. I\ndrew myself up on the bank, and went home and to bed; and I slept so\nsoundly that no dream came from the spirits.\n\nA year later, I again sought a vision. This time my father took me to a\nhigh hill, a mile or two from the river. He drove a post into the ground,\nfastened me to it, as before, and left me, just at nightfall.\n\nI threw myself back upon the rope and danced around the post, hoping to\nfall into a swoon and see a vision.\n\nIt was autumn, and a light snow was falling; the cold flakes on my bare\nshoulders made me shiver till my teeth chattered. The night was black as\npitch. A coyote howled. I was so lonely that I wished a ghost would sit\non the post and talk with me, though I was dreadfully afraid of ghosts,\nespecially at night. I grew so cold that my knees knocked together.\n\nAbout two o\u2019clock in the morning, I untied the rope and went home. For an\nhour I felt sick, but I soon fell into a sleep, again dreamless.\n\nI was eating my breakfast when my father came in. \u201cI have seen no vision,\nfather,\u201d I told him; he said nothing.\n\nThe next year the government forbade the Indians to torture themselves\nwhen they fasted. My father was quite vexed. \u201cThe government does wrong\nto forbid us to suffer for our gods!\u201d he said. But I was rather glad.\n\u201cThe Indian\u2019s way is hard,\u201d I thought. \u201cThe white man\u2019s road is easier!\u201d\nAnd I thought again of the mission school.\n\nOther things drew my thoughts to civilized ways. Our agent issued to\nevery Indian family having an allotment, a plow, and wheat, flax, and\noats, for seeding. My father and I broke land near our cabin, and in the\nspring seeded it down.\n\nWe had a fair harvest in the fall. Threshing was done on the agency\nmachine, and, having sacked our grain, my father and I hauled it, in four\ntrips, to Hebron, eighty miles away. Our flax we sold for seventy-five\ncents, our wheat for sixty cents, and our oats for twenty-five cents a\nbushel. Our four loads brought us about eighty dollars.\n\nI became greatly interested in farming. There was good soil on our\nallotment along the river, although our fields sometimes suffered from\ndrought; away from the river, much of our land was stony, fit only for\ngrazing.\n\nMy parents had been at Independence eight years, when one day the agent\nsent for me. I went to his office.\n\n\u201cI hear you have become a good farmer,\u201d he said, as I came in. \u201cI want to\nappoint you assistant to our agency farmer. Your district will include\nall allotments west of the Missouri between the little Missouri and\nIndependence. I will pay you three hundred dollars a year. Will you\naccept?\u201c\n\n\u201cI will try what I can do,\u201d I answered.\n\n\u201cGood,\u201d said the Major. \u201cNow for your orders! You are to measure off for\nevery able-bodied Indian, ten acres of ground to be plowed and seeded.\nIf an Indian is lazy and will not attend to his plowing, report him to\nme and I will send a policeman. In the fall, you are to see that every\nfamily puts up two tons of hay for each horse or steer owned by it.\u201d\n\nI did not know what an acre was. \u201cIt is a piece of ground,\u201d the agent\nexplained, \u201cten rods wide and sixteen rods long.\u201d From this I was able to\ncompute pretty well how much ten acres should be; but I am not sure that\nall the plots I measured were of the same size.\n\nI began my new duties at once, and at every cabin in my district, I\nmeasured off a ten-acre plot and explained the agent\u2019s orders. Not a few\nof the Indians had done some plowing at Like-a-fish-hook village, and\nall were willing to learn. Once a month, I took a blacksmith around to\ninspect the Indians\u2019 plows.\n\nRains were abundant that summer, and the Indians had a good crop. Some\nfamilies harvested a hundred bushels of wheat from a ten-acre field;\nothers, seventy-five bushels; and some had also planted oats.\n\nThe government began to issue cattle in payment of lands sold for us. The\nfirst issue was one cow to each family, and the agent ordered me to see\nthat every family built a barn.\n\nThese barns were put up without planks or nails. A description of my own\nwill show what they were like; it rested on a frame of four forked posts,\nwith stringers laid in the forks; puncheons, or split logs, were leaned\nagainst the stringers for walls; rough-cut rafters supported a roofing of\nwillows and dry grass, earthed over with sods.\n\nMore cattle were issued to us until we had a considerable herd at\nIndependence. The cattle were let run at large, but each steer or cow was\nbranded by its owner. Calves ran with their mothers until fall; the herd\nwas then corralled and each calf was branded with its mother\u2019s brand. My\nown brand was the letters SU on the right shoulder.\n\nHerders guarded our cattle during the calving season; we paid them ten\ncents for every head of stock herded through the summer months.\n\nI had been assistant farmer six years and our herd had grown to about\nfour hundred head, when Bird Bear and Skunk, our two herders, reported\nthat some of our cattle had strayed. \u201dWe have searched the coulees and\nthickets, but cannot find them,\u201d they said. Branding time came; we\ncorralled the herd and found about fifty head missing.\n\nWe now suspected that our cattle had been stolen. Cattle thieves, we\nknew, were in the country; they had broken into a corral one night, on a\nranch not far from Independence and killed a cowboy named Long John.\n\nWinter had passed, when the agent called me one day into his office.\n\u201cGoodbird,\u201d he said, \u201cI want you to take out a party of our agency police\nand find those thieves who stole your cattle. Start at once!\u201d\n\nI got my party together, eight in all; Hollis Montclair, my boyhood chum;\nFrank White Calf, Crow Bull, Sam Jones, White Owl, Little Wolf, No Bear,\nand myself. Only Hollis and I spoke English.\n\nWe started toward the Little Missouri, where we suspected the thieves\nmight be found. I drove a wagon with our provisions and tent; my men were\nmounted. We reached the Little Missouri before nightfall, and camped.\n\n[Illustration: Prairie Dogs.]\n\nThe next morning, we turned westward; before noon, we crossed a prairie\ndog village, and shot three or four prairie dogs for dinner. The hair was\nsinged off the carcasses, and they were drawn, and spitted on sticks over\nthe fire. Prairie dogs are not bad eating, especially in the open air,\nby a good wood fire; I have never become so civilized that I would not\nrather eat out of doors.\n\nToward evening we met a cowboy. \u201cHow!\u201d I called, as I drew in my team.\n\u201cHave you seen any stray cattle, with Indian brands, ID, 7 bar, 7, or the\nlike?\u201c And I told him of our missing cattle.\n\n\u201cI know where they are,\u201d said the cowboy. \u201cYou will find them on a ranch\nnear Stroud\u2019s post-office; but don\u2019t tell who told you!\u201d\n\n\u201cHave no fear,\u201d I answered.\n\nStroud\u2019s post-office was farther west, near the Montana border; we\nreached it the third or fourth day out.\n\nWe made camp, and after supper, I went in and told Mr. Stroud our errand.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, \u201cyour cattle are three miles from here, on a ranch owned\nby Frank Powers; he hired two cowboys to steal them for him.\u201d\n\nThe next morning my men and I mounted, and leaving our wagon at Stroud\u2019s,\nstarted for Powers\u2019 ranch. I was unarmed; the others of my party had\ntheir rifles.\n\nWe stopped at the cabin of a man named Crockin, to inquire our way. A\nwhite man came in; after he had gone out again, I asked Crockin, \u201cWho is\nthat man?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is Frank Powers,\u201d said Crockin.\n\nI turned to my men and said in their own language, \u201cThat is the man who\nstole our cattle.\u201d\n\nLittle Wolf drew his cleaning rod. \u201cI am going to give that bad white man\na beating,\u201d he cried angrily.\n\n\u201cYou will not,\u201d I answered. \u201cWe will go into Powers\u2019 pasture and round\nup his cattle; and I will cut out all that I think are ours. If that bad\nwhite man comes out and says evil words against me, do nothing. If he\nshoots at me, kill him quick; but do not you shoot first!\u201c\n\nMy men loaded their rifles, and about two o\u2019clock I led them into the\npasture. Powers\u2019 cattle were all bunched in a big herd; we drove them to\na grassy flat, and I began cutting out those that were ours.\n\nPowers saw us and came out, revolver in hand, and two or three white men\njoined him. He was so angry that he acted like a mad man; he grew red in\nthe face, talked loud, and swore big oaths; but he did not shoot, for he\nknew my men would kill him.\n\nI cut about twenty-five head out of the herd, all that I found with\naltered brands on the right shoulder or thigh. Maybe I took some of\nPowers\u2019 cattle by mistake, but I did not care much.\n\nPowers left us after a while. My men rounded up our cattle, and we drove\nthem back to Stroud\u2019s and camped.\n\nAfter supper, I asked Mr. Stroud to write a letter to our agent, telling\nhim what I had done. \u201cTo-morrow,\u201d I told my men, \u201cwe will set out for\nhome. You drive our cattle back to the reservation in short stages,\nso that they will not sicken with the heat. I will go ahead with Mr.\nStroud\u2019s letter.\u201d\n\nI set out before sunrise; at four o\u2019clock I reached Independence, eighty\nmiles away; and at sunset, I was at Elbowoods.\n\nIt was Decoration day, and the Indians were having a dance. The agent was\nsitting in his office with the inspector, from Washington.\n\n\u201cI have found our cattle,\u201d I said; and I gave him Mr. Stroud\u2019s letter.\n\nHe read it and handed it to the inspector.\n\n\u201cReport this matter to the United States marshal,\u201d the inspector said to\nhim. \u201cTell him to have Powers arrested.\u201c\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: The Chapel at Independence.]\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE WHITE MAN\u2019S WAY\n\n\nMy thirty-fifth winter\u2014as we Indians count years\u2014found me still assistant\nfarmer; but time had brought many changes to our reservation. Antelope\nand blacktailed deer had gone the way of the buffalo. A few earth lodges\nyet stood, dwellings of stern old warriors who lived in the past; but the\nIndian police saw that every child was in school learning the white man\u2019s\nway. A good dinner at the noon hour made most of the children rather\nwilling scholars.\n\nThe white man\u2019s peace had stopped our wars with the Sioux; and the\nyoung folks of either tribe visited, and made presents to one another.\nI had visited the Standing Rock Sioux and had learned to rather like\nthem. Indeed, I liked one Sioux girl so well that I married her. We had\na comfortable cabin; my wife was a good cook, and my children were in\nschool.\n\nLiving so far from the mission, it was not possible for me to attend\nchurch services at the mission house; but Mr. Hall came to Independence\nand preached to us. Until a school house was built, he often held his\nmeetings in my cabin.\n\nI usually interpreted for him. He would speak in English and I would\ntranslate into Hidatsa, which the Mandans also understand. Indians are\ngood linguists; not a few young men of my tribe speak as many as four or\nfive languages.\n\nI drew no salary as interpreter; but I felt myself well repaid by what I\nlearned of the Bible. Interpreting Mr. Hall\u2019s sermons made them sink into\nmy heart, so that I would think of them as I went about my work.\n\nAs time went on, there grew up quite a company of Christians at\nIndependence. One of their active leaders was Frank White Calf; and he\nand Sitting Crow called a kind of praying council at Two Chiefs\u2019 cabin.\nAll the Independence Christians came; and I was invited to meet them.\n\nSome of the Indians prayed; and Frank White Calf asked me, \u201cGoodbird, why\ndo you not join us in this Christian way? Tell us your mind!\u201d\n\nI arose and spoke: \u201cMy friends, I learned of this Christian way at the\nmission school. It is a good way. You ask me my thoughts. I answer, I\nhave tried to live like a Christian and I love to read my Bible, but I\nhave not received baptism; I am now ready to be baptized.\u201d\n\nA few days after this, Frank White Calf said to me, \u201cMr. Hall wants you\nto come to the mission house and be baptized.\u201d\n\nI went the next Sunday with my family, and was received into the church.\nMy sons Charles and Alfred were baptized at the same time.\n\nIn part, I was influenced to become a church member by the thought that\nit was the white man\u2019s way. Our Indian beliefs, I felt sure, were doomed;\nfor white men\u2019s customs were becoming stronger with us each year. \u201cI am\ntraveling the new way, now!\u201d I thought, when I was baptized. \u201cI can never\ngo back to Indian ways again.\u201d\n\nBut for some years, even after I became a church member, I was not a very\nfirm Christian; and I did not keep God\u2019s commandments very well, because\nI did not believe all that the missionaries taught me. I was unwilling to\ntrust any white man\u2019s words, until I had proved that they were true. I\ndid not want to take anything on faith.\n\nMr. Hall made Independence a preaching station, and put an assistant in\ncharge; I interpreted for her. Sometimes Mr. Hall, or his son, preached\nto us.\n\nThe missionary teacher let me know each week what was to be the next\nSunday\u2019s lesson, and she gave me books to read. Knowing something of her\nsubject, I was better able to interpret for her. In this way, also, I\nlearned more of Christ\u2019s teachings; and I learned how to study my Bible.\n\nThis study of the Bible influenced me a great deal; and my having to\ninterpret made me fall into the habit of going to church regularly. My\ninterest in church work grew.\n\nIn 1903, the government abolished the position of assistant farmer. In\nOctober of the following year, Mr. Hall\u2019s son said to me, \u201cWe need an\nassistant missionary at Independence, and my father and I want to appoint\nyou. Come and talk with my father about it.\u201d\n\nI went to Elbowoods and saw Mr. Hall. \u201cEdward,\u201d he asked, \u201care you\nwilling to be our assistant missionary?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d I answered.\n\nI knew some one must preach to the Independence Indians; and I thought\nI could do this, because I could speak their language as well as read\nEnglish. I felt also that I was closer to God than I had been when I was\nbaptized.\n\nSo I became Mr. Hall\u2019s assistant, and have been in charge of the\nIndependence station ever since. Every Sunday I preach to the Indians in\nthe Hidatsa language. My text is the Sunday-school lesson of the week,\nfor we Indians do not care for sermons, such as white men hear. Our older\nmen cannot read English, and we do not have the Bible in our own tongue;\nwe like best to hear the Sunday-school lesson because it explains the\nstories of the Bible, which my people cannot read for themselves.\n\nThings do not always go smoothly in an Indian congregation. Frictions and\nmisunderstandings arise, as I have heard they do in white churches; and\nIndians sometimes seek to become church members from unworthy motives.\nOur former life makes us Indians clannish; members of the same clan feel\nbound to help one another, and many Indians seem to look upon the church\nas a kind of clan. Sometimes a young man will say, \u201cI will be baptized\nand join your church. Then all the Christians will work to make me\nagency policeman!\u201d\n\nOthers, again, will say, \u201cI want to join the church because I am sick;\nperhaps God will make me well!\u201d\n\nSome, with clearer faith, say, \u201dI want to become a Christian because I\nbelieve Jesus will save me to be a spirit with Him.\u201d They mean that they\nhope Jesus will take them to live with Him when they die.\n\nMy uncle, Wolf Chief, says of the Christian way: \u201cI traveled faithfully\nthe way of the Indian gods, but they never helped me. When I was sick, I\nprayed to them, but they did not make me well. I prayed to them when my\nchildren died; but they did not answer me. I have but two children left,\nand I am going to trust God to keep these that they do not die like the\nothers. I talk to God every day, as I would talk to my father; and I ask\nHim for everything I want. I try to do all that He bids me do. I hope\nthat He will take my spirit to travel in that new heaven about which I\nhave learned. I cannot change now. I can never go back to the old gods!\u201d\n\nWolf Chief has been a strong Christian for more than eight years. He\nhas given much to our mission work; and he is never absent from Sunday\nservices.\n\nSix years ago, we Christians at Independence became dissatisfied with\nour log meeting house, and began to talk of building a chapel, or\nchurch-house, as we call it. A council was called in Wolf Chief\u2019s cabin.\n\nIt was an evening in December; all the leading Christians of Independence\ncame with their wives\u2014Wolf Chief, Tom Smith, Frank White Calf, Mike\nBasset, Hollis Montclair, Sam Jones, Louis Baker, and myself. Each woman\nbrought something for a feast, and we ate together. We had fried bread,\ntea, pie, tomato soup, and other good things.\n\nWhen our feasting was over, Wolf Chief made a speech. \u201cWe Christian\nIndians,\u201d he said, \u201cshould have a chapel. We should raise the money to\nbuild a house to God, where we can go and worship!\u201c\n\nTom Smith and others spoke, and we called for subscriptions. Frank White\nCalf\u2019s wife gave five dollars. Wolf Chief\u2019s brother, Charging Enemy,\nalthough not a Christian, gave a pony. Others promised, some ten, some\nfifteen, and some twenty-five dollars.\n\nI was appointed treasurer to make collections, and get more\nsubscriptions. I wrote a letter to Water Chief\u2019s dancing society and\nasked them to give something. The dancing Indians are pagans; but they\ngave us a subscription.\n\nMr. Hall gave us fifty dollars; Mr. Shultis, our school-teacher, gave us\nten dollars; and other white friends gave us subscriptions; but most of\nthe money was given by the Indians.\n\nWhen we had collected three hundred and fifty dollars, we began buying\nlumber.\n\nWolf Chief wanted to give us the land for our chapel; but the Indian\ncommissioner wrote, \u201cNo, you may sell your land, but you must not give it\naway.\u201d So we bought the land for a dollar an acre; but Wolf Chief gave\nthe money back to us, outwitting the commissioner after all!\n\nWe bought ten acres. \u201cWhen white men build a house,\u201d said Wolf Chief,\n\u201cthey leave land around it for a yard. We should be ashamed not to have\nsome land around God\u2019s house!\u201c Our ten-acre plot makes a fine big church\nyard; at one end is our Indian cemetery.\n\nWolf Chief also gave us a colt, and much money, and bought paint and\nnails.\n\nWe Indians think Wolf Chief wealthy. He owns five hundred acres of land,\nthirty head of cattle, eight horses, and pigs and chickens; he has a\npotato field and a corn field, and owns a trading store.\n\nMore than fifty were present when we dedicated our chapel. A minister\nfrom Minneapolis preached the sermon, and I interpreted for him. A young\nwhite lady sang, and played the organ, and my cousin played a clarionet.\nOur school teacher had lent us his phonograph, and it sang \u201cThere are\nninety and nine,\u201d just like a choir in a city church. I asked for\nsubscriptions to clear off our debt, and we raised eighty-three dollars\nin money, and Wolf Chief gave us another colt. The minister prayed God to\nbless our chapel, and we went home, all very happy.\n\nOlder Indians, who came from Like-a-fish-hook village, find their life on\nallotments rather lonesome. Cabins are often two or three miles apart and\nthe old men cannot amuse themselves with books, for they cannot read. In\nold times, Indians often met in big dances; but pagan ceremonies are used\nin these dances, and Mr. Hall does not like the Christian Indians to go\nto them.\n\nThat our Christian Indians may meet socially now and then, we now observe\nmany white men\u2019s holidays; and at such times, we make our chapel the\nmeeting place. In August, we hold a Young Men\u2019s Christian Convention,\nwhen families come from miles around, to camp in tents around the\nchapel. At Christmas, we have feasting and giving of presents; and our\nchapel is so crowded that many have to stand without, and look through\nthe windows. Of late years, we have also observed Decoration Day at\nIndependence.\n\nOur camp last Decoration Day was ten or more tents, with two or three\nfamilies in a tent. We made a booth, after old custom, of leafy branches\nand small trees. In this we gathered at about ten o\u2019clock.\n\nOur school teacher began our exercises with a speech telling us what\nDecoration Day should mean to us. We sang \u201cAmerica,\u201d and other hymns, and\nhad speeches by Indians. A committee had been appointed to choose the\nspeakers.\n\nRabbit Head spoke, \u201cI do not know anything about your way, but I\nencourage you! Go on, do more. I have nothing against your going the\nChristian way!\u201d Rabbit Head is a chief in the Grass dance society, and a\npagan.\n\nWounded Face spoke, \u201cI do not belong to this church, I am a Catholic; but\nI thus show that I like white men\u2019s ways!\u201d\n\nAfter dinner we made ready to decorate our graves. Every family having a\nson buried in our graveyard, hired a clan father to clean the grave of\nweeds and stones; if a daughter, a clan aunt was asked. An Indian calls\nthe members of his mother\u2019s clan, his brothers and sisters; members of\nhis father\u2019s clan, he calls his clan fathers and aunts.\n\nAt two o\u2019clock we formed a procession and marched to the cemetery. Two\naged scouts led, High Eagle and Black Chest; High Eagle bore a large\nAmerican flag. We marched by two\u2019s in a long line, the men first, then\nthe women and children. Having marched around the graveyard, we stood and\nsang some hymns, and I made a speech:\n\n\u201cAll you relatives and friends of these dead, I want to make a speech to\nyou!\n\n\u201cIt seems sad to our hearts to come here, and yet we are glad, because\nwe come to remember our loved ones at their graves; so both gladness and\nsorrow are in our hearts.\n\n\u201cThese warrior men, that you see here, fought against our enemies. They\nfought to save us, so that to-day we are not captive, but free. Some of\nthe brave men who fought to save us, died in battle. Also, some of your\nloved ones have died and are buried in this graveyard. Many of these\nloved ones did not die fighting against enemies, yet they were brave\nwarriors against evil and temptation. Now they are gone from us. They are\nin a new world, the ghost land; they are with God. I am sure they are in\na safe, happy place.\n\n\u201cNow come forward, all who want to put flowers on the graves.\u201d\n\nWe had had a cold, dry spring, and the prairie flowers had not come into\nbloom, but we had sent to Plaza and bought artificial silk flowers. The\nclan fathers and aunts placed these flowers on the graves, while many of\nthe women wept.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe Hidatsas know that our Indian ways will soon perish; but we feel no\nanger. The government has given us a good reservation, and we think the\nnew way better for our children.\n\nI think God made all peoples to help one another. We Indians have helped\nyou white people. All over this country are corn fields; we Indians gave\nyou the seeds for your corn, and we, gave you squashes and beans. On the\nlakes in your parks are canoes; Indians taught you to make those canoes.\n\nWe Indians think you are but paying us back, when you give us schools and\nbooks, and teach us the new way.\n\nFor myself, my family and I own four thousand acres of land; and we have\nmoney coming to us from the government. I own cattle and horses. I can\nread English, and my children are in school.\n\nI have good friends among the white people, Mr. Hall and others, and best\nof all, I think each year I know God a little better.\n\nI am not afraid.\n\n\nPrinted in the United States of America.","title":"Goodbird the Indian: His Story","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":18359}