Читать книгу The Extraordinary Life and Works of Luther Standing Bear - Luther Standing Bear - Страница 13

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About this time I was beginning to be old enough to notice what was going on around me. I observed that the Government was trying to pay us back for some of the land they had taken away from us. They had made an agreement with the Sioux that they would pay for the land by issuing rations and annuity goods. It makes me laugh nowadays to recall those times, because the Government did such foolish things and they always issued goods at the wrong time.

When it came to drawing rations, this was left for the women to attend to. Some bands put up their tipis near the agency, while others lived fifteen or twenty miles distant. It was not very hard for those who lived close in to draw their rations, but it was a hardship on those who lived at a distance. They had to go on horseback. In each tipi occupied by a single person, one hundred pounds of flour, one beef on the hoof, and a certain number of pounds of other staple goods were allowed. In case there was more than one person in the tipi, they were allowed just the same amount.

The women did not take home all they received. They took only what they liked. What did not suit them was unceremoniously dumped over the nearest bank.

One of the most foolish rations issued to the Indians was the flour in hundred-pound sacks. We had never seen flour, and as we ate no bread we did not understand its use. Most of the women did not know what to do with it. The Government failed to send teachers along with the flour to instruct our women in the making of bread. Consequently, when the women received the sack of flour, they carried it to the nearest high bank, cut open the sack, and dumped the flour out into the dirt. The sack was then shaken out and carried home. It made nice shirts for the boys, and I have seen many of the youngsters wearing these sack shirts. The sacks bore the trade-mark of the full figure of an Indian standing with a bow and arrow in his hand, all ready to shoot.

Then the Government issued plugs of tobacco. A certain amount of this went to each tipi. In some of these tipis the only occupant might be an old woman, living alone. What could she do with plug tobacco? The Indians did not care for this kind of tobacco, anyway, as it was too strong for them.

When we were ready to move camp, we boys were always wandering around to see if we could find anything that was lost. We observed some strange-looking things lying on the ground, strewn about. Investigation proved it was plugs of tobacco which had got wet from the rain. They would swell and burst open.

Green coffee was also issued to us. The women discovered that it had to be roasted before it could be used, but they had no mills in which to grind it after it was roasted. So they would put it in a buckskin bag, lay the bag on a stone, and pound it with a stone hammer. We had no name for this drink, but it was so black and bitter we thought it was some sort of medicine the white people had sent out to us. We finally gave it the name of ‘pejuta sapa’ or ‘black medicine.’ That is the Sioux word for coffee to-day.

When we first got this coffee, I recall going home to see my own mother. Every time I visited her, she always fixed such nice things for me to eat. She had just received the coffee, and, as she wanted to give me a real treat, she made some coffee or ‘pejuta sapa’ for me, and added plenty of pepper to it. Although I did not like the taste, I drank it because I wanted to please my mother, and she thought the more bitter it was, the better it would be for me. But my mother and stepmothers soon learned to use all these things sent to us by the whites as they should be prepared.

One day my father brought home a small keg of syrup, and my stepmother gave each of us children some of it from a goat-horn spoon. I tasted it with the tip of my tongue, not knowing whether I should like it or not. It was so sweet and good that I did not want to eat it all up right away; but it did not take long to disappear, and then I licked the spoon and wanted more.

After that, whenever Father took a skin to the trader we were all anxious to see him coming home, as we really expected him to bring another keg of syrup. One day he really did bring another keg, and we children all were happy. He carried it into the tipi to his wives, and they both began to get busy making fried bread. This was one of the first things the Sioux learned to make with the flour. The bread was made of flour, baking powder, salt and water, rolled out like doughnuts and fried in grease.

Of course we were very happy to see all these preparations being made. We stood about outside the tipi watching the work. Of course we were waiting for an invitation to have a piece of the fried bread with some syrup on it. But we met with a great disappointment. My father had invited some grown men over. They opened the keg of syrup and consumed most of the fried bread. Of course we all got a little, but not as much as we wanted. We did not know that syrup was for grown folks, and we were quite shocked to see the way the men pitched into it.

We also received bacon from the Government, but we had never seen any smoked pork, and it had a funny yellow look on the edges. One whole side was apportioned to a tipi, but the women cut off all the yellow and threw it over the bank.

The first sugar we ever received was maple sugar. The old men asked what this sweet stuff was. When it was interpreted to them, they understood that it came from the maple tree. So they called this sugar the ‘juice of the wood.’ After we began receiving white sugar, we had to have another word for that, so it was called ‘can-hanpi’ or ‘white juice of the wood,’ while the maple sugar was known as ‘can-hanpi-zizi,’ or ‘yellow juice of the wood.’

We kept getting more and more sweet stuff, and we liked the taste of it. But this sort of food was not good for us, although we tried to eat everything that was sent to us. We received apples, plums, cakes, pies, and plenty of ‘sweet talk,’ but none of this was really good for us. When they thought they had things coming their way by their sweet talk, then they turned around and harmed us. When we tried to protect ourselves, they called us ‘savages,’ and other hard names that do not look good in print.

Then the missionaries came. They told us not to fight any more. But along with them came the bootleggers. These men sold us poisons to take away our senses. The pale-faces called this poison by various names, but the Indian had only two names for it. At first when the men drank this stuff, they could see different things. Then they found the minister using it in the church in the communion service. This gave them the idea that it was ‘holy water.’ So to this day the name for ‘liquor’ in the Sioux tongue is ‘mini-waken’ or ‘holy water.’ The men who sold this drink always were near the missionaries of all denominations. The white man’s name of ‘fire-water’ is not used in our tribe, but is simply the name given by the whites for whiskey. I really think they gave it the right name, as it can stir up more fire than anything else.

Now I noticed for the first time the fort at Red Cloud Agency. When I came back to Spotted Tail Agency, we also had one there. Sometime after, when I went to school, and was able to read and write, it made me feel very bad to have those forts there. I read a treaty made by the Government with the Sioux in 1868, the year of my birth, and I learned the Government had no right to build forts on the reservation. But as soon as a white agent came to an agency, a fort was the first thing that was considered necessary. If they thought the Indians were so wild in those days that they had to have forts, it seems to me the United States ought to start building forts all over the country very quick, because the white race is surely getting pretty wild nowadays.

While the agency was running, and the Indians were drawing rations and annuity goods, the Spotted Tail Indians thought they would go after the Poncas for a change. They had no reason for bothering this tribe, but they just did not like them. The old feeling that they were enemies had not yet left them. Again, seeing so many soldiers about did not serve to quiet the nerves of these Indians.

Everybody was getting ready and a certain number were going. My father told me he would take me along on this expedition, and I was very happy. Here was the chance for which I had been waiting! My own mother knew nothing of this, but my two stepmothers were very nice to me about it. They were busy making extra moccasins and other things to take along. Finally all was ready and off we started.

Although I was just a youngster, I was very much pleased and I felt real big and brave. The first time we made camp everybody was very good to me, as I was the only boy along with the expedition. They knew my father was very brave and would stand by them. We kept on moving toward the Missouri River, or the ‘mud water,’ as we called it.

The third time we made camp, my father talked to me as follows:

‘Son, I wanted you to come with me, because I wanted you to do something of great bravery or get killed on the battle-field. I have made my war-bonnet to fit over your head. I will like to see you wear this, and ride your race horse into the enemy’s camp. You will not carry anything but a long stick in your hand. I will take you as near as possible to the camp of the enemy the night before.

‘Early in the morning some one will come out of the lodge. Then I will let you go after that person. Touch this man with your stick, then ride through the camp as fast as your horse can run. I will be behind you, and, if you pass through without any harm, you will be the youngest man that has ever done such a thing, and I will be proud of you. But if the enemy is ready to shoot you (as they nearly always are) and you fall in their midst, keep your courage. That is the way I want you to die. I will be with you, my son.’

This made my heart beat so loud I could hear it, and the tears came into my eyes; but I was willing to do my father’s bidding, as I wanted so much to please him.

The fourth time we camped, my father and I went away off from the party and started hunting antelope. He soon killed one and brought it into camp whole. He roasted the whole side of the ribs, and when it was cooked and we were just sitting down to eat, we observed that some of our people had been stopped back quite a way. We could see that there was some excitement at the camp, so we got on our ponies and rode over to learn the cause of it.

There we found one of the old chiefs who had been following us for the last four days. He was bringing the pipe of peace to us. This meant that we had to turn back. At that time we believed if the pipe of peace was offered us and we did not accept it, some great calamity would overtake us. As my father was a firm believer in the pipe, we had to go home.

The excitement we had seen in the distance was caused by one of the young men, who had tried to shoot the old chief when he saw him coming with the pipe. He told the chief he had broken up a strong war-party.

I was very much disappointed and felt ashamed for having to turn back without even seeing an enemy from a distance. But my father had spoken, and his word was law, and we had to turn back, although it made me very much chagrined that I had to go home without having taken a chance of getting killed.

When we reached home, two of our men were missing. We had not thought they would disobey the mandate of the pipe, but they did. It was a long time after that one of these men came home and related what had happened. He and the other young man had decided they would fight the Poncas alone. They met them and the other man was killed. This survivor had also been badly wounded. Some soldiers were passing and they picked him up and took him to the fort at Greenwood, Yankton Agency. There they kept him until he was well enough to travel, when they sent him home. But he was very badly crippled.

I was about nine years of age when all this happened.

It was a short time after I had come home from the war-path, without being wounded, that we all started for the northern part of Nebraska on a buffalo-hunt. In those days this was a wonderful hunting country, and it all belonged to the Sioux. As we were making ready for this buffalo-hunt, some one reported that there were some wild horses near. This at once changed our decision. Everybody wanted horses.

An old man went around the camp calling out that everybody was going, and that we were all to wait for one another. Some of the men rode to the creek near by, my father among them. Soon I noticed these men returning with long willow sticks. The one my father brought was about fifteen feet long.

When the bark is peeled off and the willow is straightened, it does not take long to dry. It is also a very light wood. While father was preparing his stick, my grandfather was getting some buffalo-hide ropes, some long, some short, some heavy and some light in weight.

My father took a strip of buckskin and tied it to the end of the stick. He then tied another buckskin string about four feet below the first. Then he took a long, braided rawhide rope, made it into a loop, and tied this to the second string. The first string was also attached to the loop about halfway around.

Everybody was getting ready, but I was watching my father. When I asked him if I could go with the men, he said: ‘Why, certainly I want you to go. Watch how this is done and learn all you can. Some day you will be big enough to do all these things.’

The entire camp seemed to be going, women and all. All the men who carried sticks, whether long or short ones, rode swift running-horses. They were dressed as if after buffalo. They wore no feathers.

Some white people have the idea that Indians wear feathers all the time—in fact, I imagine they have an idea that we go to bed with them on. We wore feathers only when we were going to dress up—just as the white people put on their evening clothes for a party or dance.

Two of the young men rode ahead to reconnoiter. Soon they came back and gave us our instructions. Some of the men were to ride two or three miles away, opposite to where the horses were feeding. Some were to go to the south and others to the north. All the men carrying sticks were to remain on the east side.

I rode my little black mare this time, and I remained on the east side with my father. I was watching every move he made. I noticed that every little while he would whip up his running-horse, to ‘warm him up,’ as a white man would express it. Whenever my father did this, I imitated him.

Then he took me over to a spot where we could see the wild horses grazing. There were forty or fifty of them, all busy eating the green grass. Among them was one animal which would raise his head very high very often and look all around in a very proud way. My father pointed out this particular animal to me. ‘Do you see that horse with his head in the air?’ he said to me. ‘Well, that is a stallion—the leader of the herd.’

We all remained behind the hill, but one man on foot kept watch. Finally the party which had gone over to the west side of the animals came riding up over the hill. As soon as the wild horses saw them, they started running to the north. They were making good time up the side of the hill in that direction, when suddenly the party of men which had gone to that side made their appearance. The animals stopped in affright and started running back down the hill and toward the south. But the party on the south side headed them off from that direction and the horses turned toward the east, where our party were in wait for them, running right into our midst.

The animals had already run quite a distance and were not very fresh for a long chase. Our men with the sticks were all ready for them; our horses were fresh and anxious to go, so our men whipped up and gave chase. I rode my black pony and kept right behind my father. As we went up a hill and down on the other side, I observed that my father was after a buckskin horse, a very pretty animal. It was a good runner in spite of the fact that it had already covered considerable ground, but as we went up another hill and down on the other side, my father was very close behind the wild horse.

He was fixing the stick and getting the rope all ready as we rode along. I was not paying much attention to what the other riders were doing, as I wanted to watch my father, because, as I have said before, he was my ideal. So I whipped up my pony to keep as close as possible and not miss any of the excitement.

As we reached the foot of the hill, my father raised his stick and threw it over the wild horse’s head. Then he urged his own horse faster until he was almost alongside the other animal. The loop was wide open, and it went down to the horse’s neck. Then he gave the stick a jerk, which broke the buckskin strings which tied the rawhide rope to the stick. Father then threw the stick away, which left the loop free. It tightened around the wild horse’s neck, and he had the animal at the other end of the long rope. By this time the wild horse was about ‘all in’ and not able to run so fast.

Father then took the end of the rope in his hand and threw it over the head of his own horse, well down on the neck, at the same time running his own horse away from the captured animal. When the loop tightened, the wild horse began to choke. It finally stopped, breathing heavily, staggered a bit, and then fell. Father quickly dismounted, ran over, and formed a halter of the long rope which he fastened to its nose.

He then went to his own horse, tied up its tail and backed him over to the head of the wild horse. The halter rope he first tied to the tail of his own horse, brought it around the shoulders and back to the tail again. This would make the pull all on the shoulders.

Just about this time the wild horse jumped to its feet, but now he was tied to another animal and was pulling against his own nose instead of the neck. On the way home I tried to figure out how all this was accomplished.

My father tied these two horses together in a very few minutes, and we were bringing an extra animal home in a very short time. As soon as we reached camp, two other men helped my father throw the wild horse down. They worked fast, while it was tired out. Then they took an extra heavy rawhide rope that had the hair on. Now I was to learn something again, as heretofore I had never understood why they made some ropes and left the hair on them. Using this rope, the men tied the legs of the wild horse, being careful to keep the hairy side of the rope next to the skin, as in this manner the animal could not kick or strike and skin its leg, as the hair was soft. They tied all four legs and then let the horse get on its feet.

The horse seemed somewhat amazed. Although it was very tired, it tried to kick, but soon discovered that kicking was out of the question. We boys finally approached and began to pat the horse. We felt quite safe in doing this, as long as its legs were tied. Finally two or three of us climbed on its back, taking turn about, then petted the animal more. Soon it knew it would not be harmed, and, before the day was over, the horse did not try to kick any more.

The next day its legs were untied, but it was fastened to another horse. Then a young man got on its back and rode it around the camp, tied to the other animal. By this method the wild horse learned not to be afraid. Soon it became very tame, and would run, trot, or gallop alongside the other animal. In two or three days we had a fine family horse instead of a wild one.

This was the way I was taught to catch wild horses, although I never had any actual experience at it; but I did enjoy that day with my father and the other men when we went on the wild-horse chase.

Even though I never had the opportunity of catching any wild horses, I can at least say that I know how it is accomplished. It was my father’s wish that I learn all about our people and their way of living, and to learn all I could while I was young.

A BEEF-ISSUE AT STANDING ROCK AGENCY IN THE OLD DAYS

The cattle were turned over to the Indians on the hoof and shot down by them in the corral