Читать книгу The Extraordinary Life and Works of Luther Standing Bear - Luther Standing Bear - Страница 12

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Although we were free to do as we pleased, there were no idlers in our camp, no lazy ones. We were like the birds, flying hither and thither. When the men had nothing else to do, they went hunting, which kept our stomachs filled. The women were kept busy making moccasins, clothing, and playing games. There was no gossiping.

As our food supply was now beginning to run low, we started to move camp again. This time we went farther south in Nebraska.

Our scouts, who had gone out to locate the buffalo, came back and reported that the plains were covered with dead bison. These had been shot by the white people. The Indians never were such wasteful, wanton killers of this noble game animal. We kept moving, fully expecting soon to run across plenty of live buffalo; but we were disappointed. I saw the bodies of hundreds of dead buffalo lying about, just wasting, and the odor was terrible.

Now we began to see white people living in dugouts, just like wild bears, but without the long snout. These people were dirty. They had hair all over their faces, heads, arms, and hands. This was the first time many of us had ever seen white people, and they were very repulsive to us. None of us had ever seen a gorilla, else we might have thought that Darwin was right concerning these people.

Outside these dugouts we saw bale after bale of buffalo skins, all packed, ready for market. These people were taking away the source of the clothing and lodges that had been provided for us by our Creator, and they were letting our food lie on the plains to rot. They were to receive money for all this, while the Indians were to receive only abuse. We thought these people must be devils, for they had no sympathy. Do you think such treatment was fair to the Indian?

But some of you may say, ‘Oh, the plains had to be cleared of the buffalo, and that was the only way.’ That may all be very true; but did you ever stop to think of the thousands of Indians who had to go hungry in consequence of this wholesale slaughter? Why not look at it this way: Suppose a man had a farm with lots of cattle, and it was thought a good idea to build a town on his farm. Should you consider it right if other people had gone in and shot and killed all the farmer’s cattle without paying him for the slaughter? No, you would not consider such a proposition fair or just. They would first have to pay the farmer for destroying his herds, so he could buy clothing and food for his family.

When we camped at this place where the dugouts were built, I remember that our mothers told us to hurry and go to sleep, or the hairy men would ‘get us.’ We knew they carried long sticks which made a great noise, with which they killed our buffalo. These ‘sticks’ we called ‘maza-waken,’ or ‘holy iron.’ These people cared nothing for us, and it meant nothing to them to take our lives, even through starvation and cold. This was the beginning of our hatred for the white people. But still we did not kill them.

Shortly after this, a delegation of men from our reservation started off for Washington, D.C., to see the ‘Great Father.’ These men could not speak English, and they all went in Indian regalia. My father was one of this number. They had a man along with them to act as interpreter, but he did not know very much.

When they reached Washington, they were shown around by the Senators and fed. Then they were given an audience with the ‘Great Father.’ Their grievances were laid before him in broken English, and he promised to right all the wrongs.

Then they were asked what they would like for presents. Some of the men wanted guns and bullets, and they got them. My father wanted cowboy boots, a Prince Albert coat, high silk hat, and stiff-bosomed shirt, with cuffs on. After getting all these things, and before the Indians left for home, President Hayes presented each man with a large round silver medal. It bore the picture of George Washington and the date 1876 on one side. On the reverse was a white man’s hand clasping the hand of an Indian, with the words ‘Peace and friendship’ underneath, also the peace pipe and tomahawk crossed. There was a hole through the medal and a red ribbon attached, so the men could hang them around their necks.

While the Indians were at Washington, they were treated very courteously and promised everything; but these promises were never kept. They were broken—like all the other promises the white man ever made the Indian.

Soon the Indians started for the West again, very happy in the thought that they were going to have everything they wanted. But my father was so dressed up that he could not remove his boots all the way back to Dakota. When he got home, we children did not recognize him at all as he started to walk to his tipi. As he went inside, we children all ran to see who the white man was who had just gone into our tipi.

There sat my father. He asked one of his wives to pull off his boots, as his feet were very tired. She got hold of one foot and dragged my father all around the tipi. ‘Are you getting like the white people that you must wear such crazy shoes that you cannot get them off?’ she asked Father. His silk hat he had hung on the tripod of the bed. We children stood at the tipi door and peeped in at him. He looked so funny to us—more like a real curiosity. He even had kid gloves and a cane, but with all this white man’s stylish make-up, he still wore his long hair.

Mother started to get him something to eat, which he seemed to enjoy. After supper, and when it came time to go to bed, Father kept on his stiff-bosomed shirt. He felt too dressed up to remove it. Mother told him she did not see how he expected to get any sleep wearing that board in front of him.

The next evening he dressed up to go to the council that was to be held. He stuck an eagle feather in the left side of his silk hat. This feather bore three red stripes, ‘like a third liberty loan.’ It signified that he had been wounded three times.

Whenever a man returned from Washington and attended a council, he was expected to come dressed up. This was a sort of ‘badge,’ to prove that he had really been to Washington. I think Father satisfied them that he had been there!

A few days after, the novelty of wearing white men’s clothes began to wear off, and Father began to get careless about wearing them. One day two of my sisters noticed the silk hat in the tipi, and they decided it would be a fine thing to carry water in to make mud images. So they took the hat and went down to the creek. They filled it with water, and each took hold of the hat on the side and carried it to a place where they were going to make their mud playthings. The mud was a sort of adobe, like the soil in some parts of California. We called it ‘gumbo.’ The girls made mud clam shells, putting two of them together. They threw these into the water, and as they floated downstream, they would throw stones at them. These mud shells would burst and make quite a little noise when hit.