sHc, s.aj o.A^^r;% IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / O V ^ ^^:M Madison, Wisconsin THE AMERICAN THRESHERMAN 1000 T i4e.\cL_ (urar«rii^ (Jopyrlght, 1(100, l).v Thk Amicuican Threshkrman First Edition November 5 IIKX) Hpcond Edition November 30 1000 Third Edition February 21 1901 Fourth Edition May 24 1001 Press of M. J. Cantwem, Madison, Wisconsin This Book is dedicated to half a dozen groups of Little People — most of whom are White, but some are Black and some are Red — who live in the four States bor- dering on Lake Michigan. Their acquaint- ance has been, not alone one of my pleasantest recreations, but also one of my most profitable Nature Studies. r^-j" i m Words to the Reader: Members of the Ojibwa tribe of Indians are today most commonly called "Chip- pewa." The old men of the tribe will tell you, however, that the word Chippewa is a corruption of their true tribal name "Ojibwa." Through the etforts of Scientists this latter term is gradually coming in use again. Ojibwa Indians would not understand you, if you pronounced "Ji-shib" as it is spelled, for they pronounce it " She-sheel')." The World of Things does not mean to the Indian what it means to us. It is ditTi- cult, almost impossible, for him to ditfer- entiate himself from the other, so-called, lower animals. He and they both had the same ancestors Um^, long ago. One niytli says, " Many, many Winters ago there were many bull'alo ; alter lour da) s a part of the biilTalo turned to hklians." In some things the Indian Ivheves himself superior to the other animals, while in many things he as truly believes hiraself inferior to them. The following is a true story, that is, it is all true to the Ojibwa child, —he believes it. The story is written with no other thought than to have constantly in mind what the Ojibwa child believes about the events of his everyday life as given in the story. And the following incidents are taken directly from the common life of the tribe. ALBERT HKNEST JENKS. Madison, Wisconsin. October 25. 1900. f INTRODUCTION For ages before the White Man came, America was the home of the Red Man; and the Ked Man and his kindred Hved in closer touch with nature than his pale-face follower dreams. When the White Man came there were more than a thousand tribes of Red Men in America, and they spoke about a hun- dred diflerent languages, each more unlike the others than the Hnglish is unlike the Russian. The largest linguistic family lived about the St. Lawrence river and the Great Lakes, and pushed over the plains southward to Tennessee, northward to Hudson bay. and westward to the Rocky mountains in Canada. They are known as the Algon- quian family. In early times there were II i! i '! many tribes and some confederacies in (his family; one of the largest tribes was the Ojibwa, or Chippewa, whose descendants still live in Wisconsin, Minnesota and Canada. Before they learned the White Man's faith, all Indians were nearly alike in be- lief; they all believed in animal gods, and they all believed that the ancient animals were larger and stronger than those now living. Some of the Red Men believed that the world was created by a Great Ancient Muskrat; and if asked why, they would say, •' Even the little muskrat of today adds to the w(^rld by building his house of mud and grass." Others believed that the Great Ancient Beaver was the world- maker; for does not his little grandson build dams and make great meadows? So the Red Men held the animals sacred; when they killed one they made a sacrifice to its kind; and they imputed to all the animals, and to all things that reminded them of animals, all sorts of mysterious powers. Among some tribes even now, each person, and especially each warrior, is supposed to have his own particular animal tutelary or guardian, which lie calls his Totem; he believes that this animal god aids him and protects him in all his cominj;s and goings; he wears or carries a symbol of this mysterious guardian as a fetish; and he may even take the name by which the animal is known in his language, it was partly because of their worship of animals, partly because of their simple modes of living, that the Red Men stood so close to nature. Their eyes were trained to see the animals of woodland and prairie, their ears were trained to catch the sounds of the forest, and their minds were trained to dwell on those natural sights and sounds; and when they spoke it was usually on these simple subjects. The lives of the simple-minded :uid na- ture-loving natives of America are full of interest, longfellow realized this when he wrote "Hiawatha;" so did J. Fennimore Cooper in "The Deerslayer" and other romances- -and his knowledge of the character of the indi-Ui was excellent. And now comes iJr. Jenks with a story of a Red Child, in which he displays deep insight into Indian character, and describes the Red I {• Child as that interesting person might have described himself in his own wigwam and to his own grandchildren in the evening of his life. May many White Children read the story and learn therein of our Passing Race! W. J. McGEE, Ethnolo!;;ist-iii-Charg<', Bureau of American Kthnology, Wasbingtou, D. C, September 27, 1900. 1! :: . if li iiii it .1 CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE In Which Ji-shilj Is Born Page 17 CHAPTER TWO In Which The Beaver Learns To Know An Indian When He Sees Him, And Also Other Things Indian Page 33 CHAPTER THREE In Which Ji-shi6 Becomes A Little Medicine-Man Page 47 CHAPTER FOUR In Which Ji-shil3 Uses His Medicines Page 65 CHAPTER FIVE In Which Ji-shib Learns How To Pre- pare For War Page 79 CHAPTER SIX In Which Ji-shilj Outgrows His Child- hood Page 107 w m Hi ■ 1 j 1.' 1 ' ' 1 ■:! ' ' 1 ,11 ;», ,11 '■1 4' CHAPTER ONE In Which Ji-shib Is Born \m wo hundred and fifty years ago a fat little scamp of a beaver was swimming around in Chippeway river in northern Wisconsin. ■ First he swam a few feet with his head above the water, then he dropped liis head out of sight and rested it on his short neck and swam a little distance with only his broad flat tail lying on the surface of the river — "look- ing like a mud-turtle," he said to him- self. Presently he took a long deep breath, and rising high in the water, kicked out with all his feet and tried to run on top of the river, but he looked like a lame, short-eared rabbit hopping on the lawn. 19 Wt3Sf, 1 1 , ! iliH if I. ! Childhood of Ji-shib' This was the most fun A-uii-kons, the little beaver, had ever had, for during the night the ice had broken up in the river and had nearly all vanished by morning. ''It's all water," he said, "here in the middle, down at the bot- tom, and on top. ' ' He dived down to the soft black mud at the bottom of the river and caught up both his paws full. Xext he sat down on his nice fat tail and watched the river steal the mud out of his paws as he held them up, steal it from him and float it away and away like a little cloud until it vanished. But as that was the very thing he had been doing so often all Winter long, he began to wonder whether it really was all water, especially on the top where he had many times bumped his head. Up he jumped, and kicked with his feet and wMth his tail, and before he knew it he had jumped himself nearly all out of the water. "Of course it's all water, I knew it was," he said; and then he lay over on his side and floated slowly down stream — lay there and floated along like a baby on a pillow. 20 Childhood of Ji-shib' He opoiiod his sharp little eyes to look jironiul him. With one eye he saw some tiny fishes nnder him, and with the other he looked at his (Jreat Father, the Snn. First thing he knew he winked at his Father. A-nii-kons ccmld not exidain Mhy he tlioiight so, but he soon began to feel that there was a joke on somebody, and he actually smiled, lie slyly looked up at the Sun, but the Sun was smiling too, and maybe, yes, sir, maybe he winked at the little beaver. The water was so soft on top, and the air above the water so Mann and gentle and fragrant that A-mi-kons could not lie still another minute. He shut both his eyes tight, and kicked, and kicked. ''How fast 1 am going," he said, when suddenly — hum-m-m-mmm !! '^O dear me," A nii-kons said half aloud, ''what is this di-eadful noise? O my nose! Perhaps the water is hard on top after all! O dear! O dear!" and the little beaver almost cried out loud. Just then two tears came into his closed eyes. "A-mi-kons, let us out," they pleaded, "let us out quick, A-mi-kons;" and to please them the good little beaver 21 Childhood of Ji-shib' opened his eyes, and tliere, ri<,djt by liis nose, was one of the ])osls of the j^reat beaver dam whieli his fatlier and motjjrr and his annts and nneles and everyone who lived in the beaver villajje liad bnilt the Fall before. That seemed a very long time ago, forever since then, until that very morning, the top of the water had been hard, and the only places lie could go were Just in the water, and down at the bottom of the river to play in the mud, and all around through the beaver house — into every room and out again. Thus thinking of the long sunless Winter which was ended, A-mi-kons crawled up tlie post against which he had bumped himself, and lay down on top of the dam to think and feel his nose. Each time that A-mi-kons bumped his nose he liked to feel it every few minutes to see whether it still hurt. My, how his nose hurt when he touched it! As he lay there combing the water from his fur with his hind feet the soft sweet air whispered in liis ears, ' ' I am Seegwung, I am the Spring." A-mf- kons looked up and again smiled at the 22 IS lit ■,-i Childhood of Ji-shib' Sun, iiiid the Hull looked down uii him and touched liiiii jjjeiitly and said, '• 1 am Seegwun*;, I am the Spriiij;." A-mi- koiis felt his own little heart breathe, and soon he heard it lispin<^, '' I am Seej^- wun<,', I am the Si)rin(j;," and he touchetl liis nose and it did not hurt at all. He leaned out over the edge of the j)ost to look at his face in the water to se«^ whether his nose was swollen — when all at once a shadow llitted under him, and he looked uj). There, /| l)oised in the air like a / m^ humming-bird before a / VfX flower, he saw O gish-ke- /^r ^ mun-ne-sa, the king-fisher. Suddenly the kingfisher dropped to- ward the water until he was not higher than a wild plum tree, and there he l)oised again and turned his head to one side and peered into the water looking for little fishes. Down he dropped again, making the water splash as he dived into it, and caught a minnow for his breakfast. When A-mi-kons saw that the kingfisher flew away again and was not injured the little skeptic caught himself saying, "Of course it's all water, J knew it was." 23 ji-ii I Ml I :ui Childhood of Ji-shib' .lust thni H\(' liir^'»' swiiiis. (tr sunic lliiii;;s like swiiiis, cuiiu' iirouiid the hciid of lh(» livt'isibovc liiinaiMl swam silently and sNvillly lowai'd Ihr dam. "Tan^- j;-^^-j;liI whshslislisli! "* soiiu'l li i ii^" sliii(d<«'d, and A-ini-kons instinct ivcly dodged his t'lmbhy licad. Urlorr lie conld say ".)a(d< Hooinson *' the post was nearly knocked iVoni under liini and he felt hiniseir beinji^ pnlled under the watei- by his tail. I'resently he knew that his in<>ther was talkinj; to him (hronj;h lior teeth still lioldinj;' his tail in her month and dra<^lue Bird and his soft fur touched the baby and kept him warm. As he thought of all these things he i-emembered about winking at the Sun and bumping his nose and splashing wa- ter on his mother with his tail. Instinct- ively he tried to wriggle his tail again, and then for the lirst time he noticed that it was gone. " Jiut what good is a beaver's tail anyway?" he said with beaver-like philosophy. ''Of course it is nice to sit on when you are tired. It is good to splash water with, and it is good to spank down the mud with when you are building the dam, but that is all. It is not pretty ; in fact it is plain-look- ing. It would not help to keep the l)aby warm, for it has no fur on and is all cov- ered with scales. A beaver likes his tail because it is his, and he always takes it with him. I really do not believe that a beaver ever would cut his own tail, but yet," said the beaver-philosopher, ''I would rather have my little Blue Bird than a string of tails." 37 II -m Childhood of Ji-shib' A mi-koiis also leiiuMiibciod lliiil they lloatod furtluH' and faillier down the Chippoway river until they eame to an oirhai'd of sugar-maples, where they stoi)ped for one whole month while the Sijnaws made maple-sugar. And when the leaves began to peep out on the trees the Indians took down their wigwams and packed their eanoes with pemmican and furs and sugar, and lloated on and on down the rivei". liy and by they stopped and unloaded their canoes again. They carried all the things on their backs tlirough the forest and across a beautiful green meatlow, and there iu a small creek they again packed them in their canoes and started on. Soon the creek got wider and wider still, when all at once their canoes glided out on a shin- ing lake with a name so long that the beaver could not pronounce it. It was a beautiful large lake with for- ests of pine holding it in, and all along the shore there were now and then white- barked trees of the canoe-birch, which looked like cracks of sunlight among the dark green pines. Two arms of the pine- 88 '- 1.1 1'^ P".rii|jj|pf'<|| *t|M I V ' * i ««••'•'••<• nil Childhood of Ji-shib' covered shore niiiched out toward the middle of the hike and nearly took hold of hands, but yet the lake stole thiouj^h between their finjjfei-tipH, so that, in all except the driest weeks of the Summer, the lijjht-runninf; canoes glided snutothly over the jx^jbly bottom from one part of the lake to the other. .Ti-shil') lived with his father and mother and f,n'andparents on th(5 east shore of the lake. All aroun ■ I i I I wo Smumers after this, when Ji-shil) was six years old, his father was one day coming home along the forest trail near the village, when his keen eyes sighted the little fellow trudg- ing toward him with his bow and ar- rows. Ki-niw stepped aside into the bushes, and, as Ji-shi1j got opposite hi a, purposely broke a dry stick with his foot. As the stick cracked aloud the little fellow stopped suddenly with his eyes toward the bush behind which his father was hidden. When Ji-shilj turned half way around, and could see neither friend nor wigwam, his fluttering hunter-heart gave way, and he ran back in the direc- tion of the village. The father waited 49 ■*' Childhood of Jt-shib until he tliouglit that the boy \v;is out of sight down the tiail, Avhen suddenly he heard the 'Mang" of a tiny bow- string, an arrow came gliding at him through the bush, and he peeped out to see the little hunter turn away again and run home like a deer. That night after the children were all asleep in the vil- lage, Ki-niw walked among the wigwams and told the story over and over again, although he said that he had never seen a child run half so fast. M 'I' I' I'. In the Autumn, after the maize and squashes and beans wei-e all gathered from the gardens and hidden in holes, like large pockets in the ground, and after the Indians had gathered their harvest of wild rice, something unusual happened in the life of Ji-shil) — he joined the Grand Medicine Society. This Society is one which all Ojibwa boys and Indians, and most of the girls and Squaws used to join before the whitemen came to America. And this is the way Ji-shi^ became a little Medicine-Man. 50 Ji' r( ■ ChUdhoodof Ji-shib' One iiiglit two old Iiuliiuis ciuiio into tlie wigwam and sat down and smoked. They were lamous :Medicine-Men. One of them was as tall and straiglit as a spear-handle. His hair was black, with scarcely a streak of white in it, and yet he was very old, for lon.u- deep creases were in his face. The other man was small and wrinkled, and his hair was al- most white, but he was as agile as a squirrel. Ji-shil') looked with reverence on these men, for they could do almost everything. They could make it rain or make the wind blow. They could prepare ''good medicine, ' ' so that a hunter could shoot as many deer as he wanted, or catch plenty of fish. If they desired, they coidd pi-e- pare "bad medicine" to make a person's mouth crooked; and if anyone was sick, they could cure him. If an Indian fell in love with a young Squaw, and wanted to marry her, these old men could make "love medicine," wrapped up in a small piece of buckskin, and if the Indian- lover did with it exactly what the old men told him to do, the young Squaw would want to marry him. 51 Childhood of Ji-shib' lil I'f ' ^ I ' li 1|: Tlicy could also talk (o (ho Spirits — both the (I ood Spirits and the I^ad Spirits; and because: these Spirits knew them, tliey told liie 3redieiMe-]\[eu what, to do and also how to do it. The little boys and girls never played jokes on ."Medicine-Men, for these wise old men could see them, though they might l>e far away in the forest. They could see liiem,thougli tliey were in their wigwams witli their eyes shut and fast asleep; and if the little boys and girls were caught at it, the Medicine-]\Ien would make their mouths ci'ooked, or make their fathers and mothers die. So when an old I\Iedicinc-]\[au came into another Indian's wigwam, everyone was good to him and listened to wduit he said. By and by the tall old Medicine-Man, sitting there in the wigwam, threw a little of his tobacco in the fire, then he took a medicine drum from under his deerskin blanket, and began to drum on it with a stick. Presently lie stopped drumming, and told Ji-shilj about the 5 I I Childhood of Ji-shib' drum which he had. "This (Inini," he said, "was givoii to us by I\[anido, the Sacred Spirit. When it is used the Sacred Si)irits, who guard o\ (^r the Medi- cine Society, listen to what is said to them and do what is asked. If any one is sick and this drum is used by his side, it will help to drive out the Bad Spirits which nuike the x>oor man sick. Ji-shilj," he said, "after four nights you will join the Medicine Society, and this sacred drum will be used. You will then be a little Medicine-lMan, but there will be many more things which you Clin learn about the Sacred Spirits and their medicines, so when you join the Medicine Society again, as you will in after years, and become a bigger Medicine-Man, this drum must be used again, for the Sacred Spirits will then listen to what you say." The old Indian stopped talking, and the other old Medicine-Man held up a gourd with kernels of corn inside of it, and rattled it. Soon he stopped rattling, and told Ji-shil3 how Manido had given them the rattle also. He said that it 63 'II ■m m tamasifTixmsxsfxsfTSPsmSi i f I i THE. Medicine-Man was an awful Certainly the ChUdhoodofJi-shib' was even more powerful than tlie drum to drive away Bad Spirits from a sick man, and that in the IMedicine Society the rattle must be used with the drum wlien songs were sung to the Sacred Spirits. When the last old stopped talking, there silence in the wigwam. Sacred Spirits must be there, because it was so breathless and so still. Little Ji-shilj felt his heart thumping as though it were trying to get out and run away. He never felt so lonely and homesick in all his life. He began to fear that he and every one else in the wigwam was dead. The beaver was just as much impressed as Ji-shilj was, and wondered what made him feel so strange in the great dread- ful silence. Of course it must be that the Sacred Spirits were there, and that the Medicine-Men and the father and mother of Ji-shib, and even Ji-shilj him- self, could see them. How sharp their eyes were, and how acute their ears were, to hear the voice of the Sacred Spirits, 54 liii'i • I s Childhood of Ji-shib' when all that he could hear was just a terrible stillness that hurt his ears, and he wished — how he wished — that it would stop. The fire snapped a burning splinter into the lap of the good Squaw, and she brushed it away with her finger-tips. Only then did Ji-shil') have courage to look up, and when the beaver saw his eyes he felt all right again. Then the old Medicine-]Men druinmed and rattled, and the drummer sang a song, to which the drum and rattle beat time, some- times faster, sometimes slower, sometimes louder, and again almost dying away. He sang to the Sacred Spirits about medicines, and then he sang to Ji-shib what the Sacred Spirits whispered back to him to say. He sang each sentence over and over again until Ji-shib could think of nothing else. This is what he sang: " Pico, :;a, ho, ho, ho-ho, ho! I hear the Spirits speaking to us, I hear the Spirits speaking to us. The Spirits say there is plenty of medicine in the Medicine-Wigwam, The Spirits say there is plenty of medicine in the Medieiue-Wigwani : Hee, ya, ho-ho, ho-ho, ho, hoo, ho-ho I " 55 :l !■ wm Childhood of Ji-shxb' As soon as he finished this song he kept silent, and that strange dreadful stillness filled the wigwam. After a short time, which seemed a thousand moons to Jishil^, the Medicine- ]VIen again sang to the Sacred Spirits, and the drum and rattle sounded. After they had finished singing for that night, and had smoked, the ]\[edicine-Men had something to eat, and then they past out into the darkness and went home. That night, as Ji-shil') lay asleep, a beautiful young Indian seemed to come down through the smoke-hole in the top of the wigwam and look at him and say: '* I bring you medicine to make you live. You will find it in a beaver skin." The young Indian then raised the buffalo- skin flap of the door, and went out. Ji-shil') awoke, and saw only the skin at the doorway flapping, and above his head a thin gray smoke weaving lazily from the fire and passing out toward the stars. For four nights those old Medicine- Men came to the wigwam and sang Sa- cred Spirit songs. Each night they sang 56 Childhood of Ji-shib' ten of them; and eaoli niglit, -while .Ti- shil) slept, the youn K E fjgat II I N m IV ^(^&: >*.^M , W^'^i LWAYS lifter ^;} •••v.;.:;.^ _,^ Ihjit .li-sliil) -\f' -\\i JS>' knew that the Sacred Spirits Matched over him and h('l[)ed liiiu, and lie always tried to do what the old 3redi('iiie-I\reu toUl him. One day when he was eight years okJ there were several small boys playing in the lake. None of them was yet large enough to wear (clothes in the Summer, so they swam and dived in the water, like frogs, half of the time. The first thing Ji-shil') knew, the Bad Spirit of the lake caught his leg, and doubled it up in his giant hand, and it hurt. The Bad Spirit pinched his leg, and pulled him down 07 m 'iil:l Childhood of Ji-shib' under the water, and then let liini eome up again, but lie did not let go of his leg. Then lie pulled him down again. When Ji-shib was being pulled down the second time he thought of his medicine bag Mhich lay on the shore, and that if he could only get his hand in that bag, he would give the Bad Spirit some med- icine to make him let him loose. When he came uji again, he made a great des- perate kick and struggle, and got away and swam to the shore, but his leg was lame and hurt him. lie took some sa- cred tobacco from his medicine bag, and threw it to tlu; Bad Spirit of the lake, and after that he never caught hold of Ji-shib again. Of coui'se, sometimes when he was going to swim far in the hike, he threw tobacco into the w.ator for the Bad Spirit before he went in. But nearly every Summer that Bad Spirit caught some little Indian boy, and dragged him down into tlie lake, and sucked out all (tf his blood, and, after days and daj'S, laid him on shore at night dead and bloodless. ()S •f ChUdhood of Ji-shib' Once the Bad Spirit did not bring a boy back at all, but ate him al' up down in the deep water. Late in the next Summer Ji-shib was out in the forest, and an unknown bii-d called nt liim from a tree, and then liew away and called from another tree. Ji-shil) followed it. It kept calling, and Hying away, and calling again. Soon it grew dark with clouds, the Sun went out, and it rained, and the great Thun- der Birds called and called in loud and fearful voices. Ji-shib saw a hollow tvGG, and he crept in it, and sat down on the dry leaves. Tlie Thnnder I5ii-ds screamed and called all throngh the for- est, so Ji-shil) took his sacred tobacco from Ills medicine bag. and threw some of it out of the hollow tree lor the Thnnder Birds, and by and by they ceased calling. It seemed as though it never would stop raining, so he crawled out of the tree, and stinted home. lie walked a. i alii' 9 ■hV ''iW iilMl •nr'l : II 1 I ; I i i Childhood of Ji-shib' long way, and got hnngry and tired, bnt lie could not find the village. It began to get niglit, and little Ji-shil) was almost afraid, — when there, right by his side, was the hollow tree again. He looked in and saw his bow and arrows which he had forgotten when he started out before, so he crept in, wet and tii'ed, and soon fell asleep. While he slept he dreamed again of the beautiful young Indian, who came to him that night saying, ''Look.'" When he look d, there were many shadows moving swiftly ovei* the gi'ound, and he raised his eyes and saw a great Hock of ducks flying over the trees. They all flew straight over, and all in the same direction, and the Indian told him that they were flying to the fields of wild rice which grew in the river flowing from the lake. The young Indian said again, ''Look." And Ji-shib looked, and saw a fat rabbit sitting under a bunch of clover, eating the leaves all wet Avitli rain. Again the Indian said, ''Look; " and as he locked Jiere were ])erry bushes, and the berries were ripe and good to eat. 70 & mmmsitm i Childhood of Ji-shib' When lie awoke in the morning lie did not at first know where he was, but soon he remenjbered, and felt hungry and cold. lie crawled out of the tree in the bi'ight sunlight, and yawned and stretched his arms. Thei-e were dark shadows moving swiftly over the gi'ound, and he heard the whistle of ducks' wings in the air, and ducks were Hying right above the tree tops. He then re- nuMubered about his dream, and knew that in the early morning the ducks went to eat wild rice in the river, so he knew where the lake and the village were. lie took his bow and ari-owsand medi- cine bag, and followed the direction wliich the ducks had taken. After a little time he came to an opening in the forest, and saw a rabbit sitting there, just as the Indian had showed him. He stood very still, and strung his bow, and put an arrow on the string, and pulled it back, — "tang!" said the bow string. The frightened rabbit jumped up and ran, and then it stopped, fell over back- ward, stretched out its hind legs, and lay still. 71 Childhood of Ji-shib' Ji-sliib was very pi'oud, for never be- fore luul lie shot iiiiything alive, not even a little bird. He took the rabbit by the hind lo<>', and di'a<;'god it along as he had seen his father di'ag home a wolf the day before. Snch a heavy load made his arm aehe, so he stopped to lest; and there he saw many berry bnshes like those the yonng Indian had showed him in his dream. He ate and ate the ras})- berries nnlil he heard his father call his name. And when his father saw him, he ran to himantlhnggedhim; bnt when he saw the rabbit which Ji-shib had shot, he pnt the little boy down ont of his arms, and said, ''llnh! a big hnnter! 1 will not kiss a hunter ; come, bi'ing your i-abbit to the wigwam; Sciuaw is very hungry."' So Ki-niw started on — all of the time laughing to himself — and ,Ii-shil') followed him into the village, dragging his first game at his side. That evening Ji-shilVs father and mother nuide a feast, called a boy's feast, which the Ojibwa Indians always make when a boy kills his llrst game. They invited the i)eople then at the village, 1 w (.1 1 Childhood of Ji-shib' and tliey all had some of the rabbil to eat. The okl hunlers made speeelies, and praised Ji-shib Cor killing a rabbit when he was so young. They said they knew that he would become a great hun- ter when he grew up; and sonu3 of them told of their own hnnting experiences. One old hunter, who was a very strong Indian, once shot an arrow so hard that it passed through one buflalo and into the heart of another one, and they both fell dead together. xVnother old hunter, who was a gi'eat joker, said that that was nothing, — he was stronger than that, — for once he shot an arrow through three buffalo, and then the arrow stuck so far in a tree that he could not pull it out. All of the Indians laughed at this story, and one of them asked tlie old huntei' what kind of medicine he used when he shot thi'ee buffalo at once. They all laughed still more when he said; '' I used the same kind of medicine which little Ji-shil) uses; ask him.'' .li-shib was obliged to tell his story then. After he had tohl it — how he Childhood of Ji-shib' stopped the thunder, how lie dreamed about the ducks and the rabbit and tlie berries, and that they all came true, — every one knew that the Sacred Spirits were with him. When the old men went out of the wigwam they patted him on the head, and the Squaws used to tell their boys to do and to act like Ji-shib. If Jl Hipp 1^ St' The following Winter while they were gone from the lake, hunting in northern Wisconsin, they had no snow for a long time. The ground was frozen so hard that an Indian made a noise walking even Avith soft moccasins. The game was quite scarce th:H Winter, and got very wild, because it could hear the hunter so far away. Even Ki-niw often came home at night "ithout any game, and soon hunger stole into the Ibui- wig- wams of the Indians who were together. At last they had to kill three of their dogs to eat. Then it snowed very hard. When it ceased the huntei's went out and killed two moose and an elk, for they 74 i ill I Childhood of Ji-shib' could not run in tlie deep soft snow, though the liiinters could run rapidly over the snow with their snowshoes. After that they had plenty to eat, but the sun soon came out very warm and melted the surface of the snow, bnt al- most immediately it froze over so that there Avas a thick crust on the top, which would liold up a moose as well as a man. The hunters could not kill any more game, and soon they were starving. Every night Ji-shilVs faithful lather fixed his hunting medicines, and sang and prated to the Sacred Spirits, but during the day he could not kill any- thing for food. One night he did not come home at all, and every one in the wigwams M'ent to sleep without having eaten anything that day or the day before. In the night Ji-shib awoke, and pre- pared his hunting medicine as he had seen his father do, and he sang and prayed to the Sacred Spirits, that he and the others might not starve. Afterwards, while he slept, the beauti- ful young Indian came into the wigwam and told Ji-shilj: "Tomorrow you shall /O Childhood of Ji-shib' out ;i boai';'" aiitl .fi-sliib looked, and saw a path leading' into tlio forest. Far out from the wi^'^wani it turned into a small marshy p'ace, and stopped; and then the young Indian slowly faded away. Next morning, when the Squaw left the wigwam to enquire after liei' hus- band, Ji-shib took a Hint tomahawk, and his own bow, and suine hunt- ing ai'rows of his father, and slipped away unobserved. After a while he saw a path in the forest, and this he followed to a small marshy plaee, but he did not see any bear. All at once the snow broke through under him, and he found him- self in a hole up to his arms. He looked down at his feet, and tliere he saw the head of a sleei)ing beai-, lying close to the ground, and he remembei'ed that hunters sometimes killed sleeping bears in their holes in the Winter, where they lie buried until Spring. He struck the bear twice between the eyes with his tomahawk, and when he saw that it did 76 Childhood of Ji-shib' not stir he knew that he had killed it, so he crawled out of the hole and ran home breathlessly. His lather was Just start- ing- out to find him, having come liome with only one young bea\er to eat. That day, after the liunters dragged the heavy bear to the wigwams, another boy's feast was given forJi-shib, because that was the first bear he had killed. Tn a few days the crust melted on the snow, and then there was plenty of game to be had, but the people never forgot how Ji-shil) saved them froiu stai'ving, and he never forgot the beautiful young Indian who always came to him in his dreams, and he often wondei-ed who he was, and which of the Sacred Spirits sent him. 77 i^ CHAPTER FIVE In Which Ji-shib Learns How To Prepare For War ^ il ■• I-SHIB liiul now ])c- coiiic ;i tall sUmuIot boy. In tlio Sprin;jj after lie liad killed the sleei)in^' bear lie lielped pack np the eanoe, and all of the . Indians left their 1 Winter huntings gronnds with larger ''" eanoe loads of skins and peniniiean than they usnally had, for they were preparing a war party to go against their fierce enemy, tlie Sionx, in tlu; eai'ly Autumn. At sucli times the Indians de- sired to leave in the village food, and skins for clothing, to supply the S(juaws and children and old men who remained be- hind ; there must also be a large supply of moccasins and bows and arrows and tomahawks for the warriors themselves. HI »m»vm an ar- row with a straight and slendfir shall and a sliarp tlint point. Ji sliil) knew very Avell where to shoot in order to kill the deer, for many times he had been sliowu where a deer-s heart lies, and he knew that when an animars heart is pierced it soon loses its courage and dies. Then the father selected an arrow for himself, and waited lor the boy to shoot. The deer swam swiftly with only its head 82 1 Childhood of Ji-shib' and large horns above the water, and Ji- sliib, watcliing it, trembled with excite- ment. As soon as the deer came into the shallows, so that it could touch bot- tom, it began to bound for^'ard, — half swimming and half running. Soon its body was entirely aboA'e the surface of the water, and the arrow shot awav from Ji-shib" s bow string and struck its victim. The deer bounded into the air, and then ran splashing aud plunging tlirougli the water and up the river bank into toe forest. Wnen the Either saw where the arrow striick he did uot shoot. He knew tliat a deer will ruu as long as it has Ireatli in its body, but it is bound to stop soon when it has an arrow through its hei;rt. A.; the d«-er passed up the river bank, and over the low ridge out of sight, it waved its tail like a handkerchief, as much as to say, '"'Good-bye, Iiidians, I'm in quite a hurry, good-bye!'' They quickly turned the canoe to the shore, and tiiere 03i the sands were blood- stains. The father pretended to be busy 83 Childhood of Ji-shib' with the canoe until Ji-shil) ran up the bank following the tracks; and then from over the ridge came the boy's cry of vic- tory, for there was liis first deer dead at his feet. When the other Indians came down llie river in their canoes, the boy's feast was again celebrated in honor of Ji-shilVs first deer. Th'j village was very busy that Spring and Summer getting ready for war. The Squaws planted tlieir maize and beans and squashes. After planting their gardens they frequently tanned skins all day long, and sewed moccasins in the evening by the light of the wigwam tire. The young Indians hunted and fished a great deal. Many of the old Indians and Scjuaws were absent fi-om the village making arrow heads, Avhile the other Indians built new canoes, and made bows and arrows. In the month of .Juno, which Ji-shil) called tiie month of strawberi'ies, he went with his father to get birch l)ark to make a canoe. They went some distance up 84 ^•1 Childhood of Jt-shib' Cliippewaj' river, and there found u large tree, straight and smooth, Avithont alimb anywliere near the ground. They cut a circle around the tree near the roots, and another one lar up the trunk, and then they cut a straight line down the side of the tree from one circular cu^ i;o the other. Just like a boy in the cotmtry who is almost undressed by the time he gets to the swimming-hole, so the old tree had nearly half disrobed by the time Ivi-niw finished cutting through the bark. The bark sprung away from the tree trunk, on both sides of the long st raight cut, as though it had done it every Summer foi- fifty years. Then Ki-niw loosened the entire bark by pushing his hands between it and the trunk, and there was a gentle swishing sound as the large section fell on the ground at his feet. When they had taken it home Ji-shilVs mother sewed it together so that it would be large enough to cover the canoe frame. 8he knew exactly how to sew it, first hold- ing it near the fire until it got soft and would bend like leather, and aftei-wards punching holes in it with a bone bodkin. 85 Childhood of Ji-shib' She filially fastened the pieces together with large strong thread made of the slender roots of the spruce tree. While she wusdoin-; ihis,Ji-shib helped his father prepare the frame of the canoe. This IVame, made like the skeleton of a great lish laid on its back, they placed on topof the bark on the ground; then they gathered the l)ark u[) on both sides of the cedar ribs, and all three of them lielped tie it along the toi> of the frame. Next a strip of cedar, which we call a gunwale, was bound along the upper edge of the canoe, and four crosspieces fas- tened in, in order to protect the bark and ffive Ibrm to the canoe. It was turned bottom up, and Ji-shil) and his mother melt(Hl pine pitch and smeared it over all of the seams so that they would not leak, poking the pitch in with a nam- ing stick. The canoe was then completed. They carried it to the lake, and it floated like a bubble. 8(j ?:'.- 'm Childhood of Ji-shib' Ji-shib and the other Indian children knew that about two days' journey from the village, away up on the east fork of Chippe\vay river, tluM-e was a (|iiarry and workshop where the tribe got its rock to make arrow heads and war clubs. But he had never seen the place, nor had it vei'y often been seen except by the old Indians and Sipiaws who worked there. One al'ternoon late in the Summer a canoe came ai-ound the bend in the lake shore, and those who saw it knew tliat it belonged to old ^la-kwa, Ji-shilVs grand- father, lie liad been at the workshop all the long Sumniei-, and had brought back a gi'eat many arrow heads care- fully wrapi)ed up in little bags of buck- skin. These they carried from the (!anoe to the wigwam, and before the sun set that evening e\eiy wigwam in the village, and every wigwam in the \illag(^ at the west nid of tilt' lake, had recei\'e(l its share of each sort of ariow heads. liefore this Ji-shib had h('lput l>lac{', nor had it 'X('i'i)t ))y tlie old > worked there, n tlie Summer a bend in the lake aw it knew tliat it a, Ji-shilVsgrand- at llie workshop and had l)i'ou.i;iit rrow heads eare- ttle baii's ol" buck- led from tlu^ canoe "ore the sun set tliat in the viUajic, and village at the west jceived its shai'e of ds. ulheli)ed his father Its. Of course he delicate an undei'- f war-arrow shafts. s- .■'AC.- -..Or..- "..-.'*■. a". ",> .-■i^'^^fe- ,"■ ■■"''''^;") >'''""''." ,",.'•' ■:«st*.r'*'" ;. 1 1 * "if Childhood of Ji-shib m and after lie had done all he could, Ki-niw worked over them until they were smooth and diy and straight. He cut a notch in one end of the shaft to fit the bowstring', and in the othei- end he cut a nuicli deeper notch in which to fasten the arrow head. He also tied and cemented feathers on the back end of each shall so as to guide it straight, — as a blackbird uses its tail. In the evening, after Mu-kwa had come, they were all sitting outside the wigwam, and Ki-niw handed Ji-shib an arrow shaft and an arrow head, and mo- tioned him to fasten them together. Ji-shib went to his place in the wigwam, and, getting a ball of deer sinew, soaked it in hot water. Next he put the ariow head in the deep notch of the shaft and bound it in firmly with wet sinew. His father looked at the finished airow, and said, '' \''es, my son, that is well done, but we are not going to hunt deer with these arrows, we are to hunt the Sioux." After that they all sat around the bright little fire and fastened on the ar- row heads, Ji-shilj helping his father. 88 1 ri -J ■■'? ■■: Childhood of Ji-shib' They did not fasten tlieiii on firnilj', as Ji-shil) had done witli the one he made — which was really a liunting arrow — bnt they fastened them on so lightly that if one entered the tlesh of a Sionx, that dreaded enemy could not pull the arrow out without leaving the cruel barbed Hint head in the wound, to cut and dig and make it bleed. In three days old Mii-kwa took his Hquaw and returned to the workshop. After he liad gone they found that he had left at the wigwam his deer-hoi'n cliipping tools, so Ji-shib went Avilh his father to take them. At the woi'kshop, where they made the arrow heads, thei-e were many old In- dians whom Ji-shib had never seen be- fore, as they were from other villages. The gioiind was >itre\vn with chips and splinters of Hint and (|uartz rocks. IfiM grandfather and old \<*s se-win had a small pile of i-hi^Ks just outside of their M'igwam. where they worked togt4hei-, while inside the wigwam w;U5 a pile of thin slabs of rock .il)out as large a> ail Indian's hand. i m i Childhood of Jt-shib' Old Nes-se-win hiid one of those large flint slabs on a piece of buckskin which was spread on the palm of his hand, and held it down firndy with the tips of his fingers, while Mii-kwa placed the point of his cliipping tool against the Hint, and struck it a quick rebounding blow with a wooden mallet. Every time he struck it, a chip flew off. Nes-se-win kept turning the Hint in his hand over and around, and Ma-kwa kept chipping it away, until finally it was an arrow head or spear point. It was almost as though Mi'i-kwa struck with his mallet in order to beat time to his singing, for he sang nearly all of the while in a low pleasant voice, and his songs kept perfect time with the strokes of his mallet. Sometimes he sang to Nes-se-v,'in over and over again this sim- ple song: "Nt'S-se-whi holds the flint, While Mil-kwii chijis it out. Nes-se-win holds the lliut, While Ma-kwa chips it out." And then again he sang to the arrow head. As he was chipping the point 90 I i I I I ■*> ■ I 1 Childhood of Ji-shib' sharp and slonder, he saiij;' to it this Avoikei's soii<^, wliicli iiiiule .li-slul)"s bh)()d boil, and before lie knew it he was sinj^ing it with his grandfather: "I ^ivc you the wiir-l)ir'rs eye To see tlie enemy's licjirt; I give you the war-bird's eye To see the enemy's heart." When he came to chip the two sharp barbs at the base of the arrow head, lie changed the song, and sang: "I give you the war-binl's claws To tear the enemy's heart; T give you the war-bird's claws To tear the enemy's iieart." Everywhere about them in this work- shop the old Indians weie busily at work. While looking ariMind him at the singing groi'ps of workers, Ji-shib siiw a Squaw come up from her canoe at the river bank with a heavy pack on her back. When she opened the moose-skin pack it proved to be full of slabs of flint like those in the gi-and father's wigwam, and fi'om which they chip[)ed out the arrow heads and speai' points. id '•ti I'! '!;: I Childhood of Ji-shib' The next day Ji-sliih wont with bis father and jii-andiiiotlu'r a short distance I'aitiier ui> the east fork of (.'hii)poway river to tlie quariy site. Tliere in the river bank were several i)oekots of (inart/ and Hint rocks niassed together like s([nasli('s in a great basket. Home of the old Indians pried the rocks out of the ground, others broke them up with large stone hammers, while still others chipi)ed these broken pieces of rocks into crude slabs the size of one's liand, and these the S pried the rocivs out of thf 'ground," From Tlw lolli Aiiiuuil Jicpurl a/ the Buremi uf KUiwI'Kju, (Wasliingtou, 1). C.) <:^. ^0^'\^'^.A IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 LI 1.25 IIM 1121 lilu m 2.2 2.0 U III 1.6 ^ <^ /} /. >/ m ^ -^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716) 872-4503 w- &>/ V. p ^ r^ A' •tli ^ h *:< «U_ Childhood of Ji-shib' puddled out through the lake into the river, to shoot duck and other water fowl in the wild rice fields, while the Squaws were gathering the grain. That evening the sacred dog feast was held. They killed and cooked a white dog, but before they ate any of it they asked the Spirits to keej) olf all storms until the grain was gathered. Before each mouthful Ji-shil) and his father, and eveiy one who ate, threw a part of his food into the fire, so that its Spirit might Jiscend to the Spirits above as a feast, — for Spirits like to eat as well Jis Indians do. Why not '! Every one eats when he is hungry, if he can find food; and eating makes him better-natured. Next morning the harvest began. Ji-shib's mother and another Squaw gathered their canoe full of wild rice from the tall waving stalks which grew higher than their heads in the water of the river. When they came to the shore with the canoe full of grain, Ji-shib helped take the rice oul and spread it to dry on a rack over a slow fiie. It was his duty H I Childhood of Ji-shib' tliat first day to keep tlie lin^ l)iirnin«;. But ho was careCiil not to have it burn too l»iji:h, or it wouhl have l)uine(l up the rack and j;iaiii. When the j;rain was dry enouf^ii, it was carried to the thresh- in^-liole, and, alter si)readiii<; a deerskin inthehok', they fiUed it with j;rain. Then hislather stepped into the llireshinj:;-hok', witli new luoeeasins on liis feet, and there he danced and stamped around until lie liad threshed the hulls all oil" the kernels. Ji-shib's mother emptied the jjjrain and hulls from the deeiskin into a larj^e birch-bark tray. This she held in front of lier, all of tlie time shakinj;' it in .t, peciiliar mainiei', when soon the liulls were shaken to the top of the keiiiels and out over the cd'^e, of the tray on the {ground. All that was left in the bottom of the tiay wlien she llnished shakinj,^ it was clean grain, ready to cook and eat. They riMuained thiee weeks gatlierin*; wild rice, and the seveial wigwanjs each had many skin bags full of delicious grain. ChUdhoodofJi-shib' P>ut this is not all theydid. Everynight thoy (lanced or feasted or told stories, and nearly every nijjlit they did all three thinjjfs. Dnrinj;- the (hiy the Indians shot wild \'o\\\ in the rice fields, becanse all they did in the liarvest was Jnst the Ihreshiii}; of the <,n-ain. The children carried rice and kept the fires, and some of the larger boys at times went hnnting with (he Indians. Bnt the Sqnaws worked all the time. .li-shil) played war party a great deal. Since he Inid seen the old In ^'<> to war. Hut scarcely a week passed that lie did not wish time would lly faster, so that he could avenj^ci the death of his j,'ood old grand- father, who saved their lives from the Sioux Indian at the wigwam. 105 r !i i ' . i\ H: CHAPTER SIX In Which Ji-shib Outgrows His Childhood !l f n !' .^ VI ITHIN three years after the great battle at the Ojib- wa vD^ige, scarce- ly a visible sign remained to tell the sad story. The Sqnaws no longer • carried on their backs the clothing of their dead. In fact, most of the widoweu Squaws were married again, and little children whose parents had been killed were adopted by other families. Ji-shil') was now thirteen years old. He was almost as tall as his mother, 10V> 1:1 . ;;■! Mi Childhood of Ji-shib' Jiiid, wliile not nearly so strong as she, lie was an expert trailer and luinter of small animals. P>y means of his arrows, rabbits, poicnpines, raccoons, ducks and partridj^e often found their way into the family kettle. One day in the early Su' timer he went with his father and another Indian away to the South, into the country wheie the Fox Indians lived, to dig; medicine roots in the prairie. As they paddled slowly down the river, a number of blue .jays were scream- ing and scolding in the forest a short dis- tance from shore. It was evident that something unusual was occurring, for the Indian learns as nuich from the tliglit and various cries of birds as from anything about him, and those blue Jays exclaimed clearly enough: "Something is wrong; come up and see!" They paddled rapidly and silently down the stream a short distance, and then they cautiously crept up the bank and peered among the trees. 110 mi "f¥| Childhood of Ji-shib' The jays were scieaiuing above and around a dense tliicket of paw -paw bashes, now and again (hirting into tlie thieket out of sight. But the Indians' eyes couUl tell them nothing, so they used their next best means of discovery. They went back to the edge of the river, and crept softly up stream until they got where the wind blew from the paw-paw bushes toward them. When they liad again crawled up to the top of the river bank, the wind blew over to their noses this unmistakable tale: '' I have just come from that clump of l>ushes, and, besides there being a great plenty of unripe paw-paws there, you will also take notice that the dense foliage is concealing a bulfalo." They knew that the butfalo must be wounded, or it would never have hidden in such a place. Ji-shib remained where he was and watched thehuntersastheyllittedthrough the forest from one tree trunk to another, until they could approach the animal from opposite sides. They glided along without a sound, and yet during a mo- lU I -M il Childhood of Ji-shib' M:' inoiit in whicli frisliib \v;us watching his father, tht! otlier Indian moved the dis- tance of several trees. The Indian strnng his trnsty bow and shot an arrow into the thicket, when a large bnffalo jnll staggered into view. It Avas weakened by hnnger jind loss of blood. Another well-directed arrow cansed the wonnded animal to totter .and sink to the earth. In skinning the buf- falo, the hunters were greatly astonished to find a Sioux arrow shot nearly out of sight in its body. They were alarmed, for they were alone, far from home, and, although in a country which the Ojibwa Indians, with no apparent dispute, had for some time claimed as their own, yet there was a Sioux arrow, and the buffalo which car- ried it was shot not more than three days before. They gradually breathed more freely, because the Sioux were nowhere discern- able. They tracked the animal back, and soon came to signs of at least one hundred more. The tracks led directly from the river below where the canoe was. 112 r^] ChUdhoodofJi-shib' Oil crossing;- the stream they founa the pointed luoeeiisin tracks of two Sioux In- dians who had not crossed the river from the west side, and although they had skinned a buffahj there, and camped there at niglit, yet tliey had not built a fire. All of this, while showing that they were brave hunters, also told plainly that they were crafty Indians and careful iiot to be discovered. Ji-shi() and his father paddled slowly down the river, while the other Indian followed the trail of the buffalo herd. After going down stream half a day, they came to a shallow ford where the herd had re-crossed the river, and there they waited. The tracks told them that the buiralo were no longer chased or fright- ened. It was also plain that the aninnJs had crossed the stream only the previous evening. Just at sunset the other Indian came to the river with a fresh skin and a load of tender meat. He had killed a fat butfalo cow which had left the herd as it moved on through the thin forest, and remained behind with her calf which had its leg broken. llii 113 i; ]\ \ \ Childhood of Ji-shib' S(H'in<; tliat the licirtl was mo near thiMii, and that it would not be iiiiich farthci.' to reacli the prairio whero their medicine roots wei'e, iftliey loUowed tlie ti-acks oC the buCf'ah), tlie Indians decided to camp all night Mliere tliey were. In the early morning they put theii" ears close to the ground and lieard the tramp of tlie bullalo. About noon they saw from a low hill in the open prairie, small dark spots slowly moving some distance ahead of them. The Indians remained hidden behind the hill until they could approach the buffalo along a narrow creek bed. Here they could proceed rapidly, for the bushes and sniall trees concealed them, and, besides, the wind blew directly from the herd toward them, so that the bulfalo could not dis- cover their presence by the scent. As they cautiously came out into the prairie from the creek bed, they were struck dund) with surprise. There, up the creek, only the distance of two arrow shots, were the two Sioux hunters, also cautiously entering the prairie from the creek bed, and also intent on shooting buffalo. 114 Childhood of Ji-shib The two parties discovorod eat'li othci- lit the same instant. There they were, faee to face, liated eiieniies. Their tribesmen had hunted and kiiU'd eaeh other for generations. ICaeh Indian yelled liiswar cry, and in an in.stant had thrown oif everything except his breech- cloth, moccasins and weapons. Instinct- ively each brave hunter leaped toward the enemy, for there was neither time nor place to stalk the foe. Yet it was clear that each party was hunting and not wai-ring. The OJibwa knew that the Sioux were alone, for they had previously seen their tracks. Tlie Sioux knew that the OJibwa could not be on the war path, for children never went to war. So, scarcely had they started before they all stopped. After a woid of council between the two Sioux hunt- ers, they both laid down their weapons and raised their empty hands above their heads. Ji-shib and his father and the other Indian did the same. Thus these two parties of Indians, who could not understand a word of each other's lan- guage, agreed on peace. lir, it p^^\l\;^\^\W Childhood of Ji-shib' Tho Sioux cjiino forward first, one of them holdinjj a pipe in liis lijiiul. All five met luilf way be- tween where they had left their weapons, and there they sat tlown on the ]jrairie and passed the i)ipe from one to the other. No more sacied piom- ise of peace was ever made than that of smokin1 Childhood of Ji-shib' Tliey liiul sciircoly jjjjiiiuMl their out- look when their sharp sijjfht ciui^ht the retlection of iiii faille iu the water. As they eaatiousiy raised their eyes they saw 51 leiuale eagU; ai)i)roaeiiiiig over the hike; and they coidd phiinly see that she was earryin}j;s()iiiethiiij; in her ehiws. Very soon siie ilew into the elilV some distance from them, and tliey lieard the eager cries of a nestful of hun<,n'y young birds. A tame porcupine was tame indeed, as compared with a caged eagle, so as soon as the motlier-bird was out of sight again over the forest trees, the boys care- fully picked their way uj) the cliil\ It was very dillicult climbing part of the distance, but in places they rould almost run. At times one pushed the other up over his head, and he, from his higher position, let down the end of his breech-cloth and hauled the lower boy up. But they were expert climbers, and at last, thanks to frequent but niggardly ledges and occasional balsams and pines which found a prisoner's fare in the nar- row cell-like crevices, they arrived at the nest. Two young birds scarcely a week old were asleep within full sight of their position. 119 ^s •I i I Childhood of Ji-shib' It was decided that Ji-shilj should climb down the cliff to the nest and bring back the young eagles tied in his breech-cloth slung over his back, while the other boy should try to shoot the old bird if she returned. Ji-shilj had nearly reached the nest, and his companion watching the tops of the for- est trees over the lake reported every- thing all right, when suddenly a frightful cry of alarm and anger sounded in his ears. The eagle, coming to her nest from the back waj , had not seen the boy until she came fully on him. A young grouse dropped from her startled claws to the ledge near him, and the eagle turned to fight. Not until then had she seen Ji-shil3. He was the dangerous enemy. He was the one who would rob her of her darlings. Forgetting her frigl^t, and screaming her fierce cry of anger, she whirled again and again and charged on him. At first the well-directed arrows kept her from touching Ji-shit, but soon they were gone, none of them having pene- trated her lapped armor of feathers. 120 Childhood of Ji-shif> Slie became bolder, and twice struck the boy a cruel stinging blow with her heavy wing. Then Ji-shil'j, with his side lying close in against the rock, his left hand clutching a crevice above his head, his legs supporting him from two narrow ledges below, drew his knife from his breech -cloth, and, fastening his determined eyes on the bird, waited his chance to strike. He could not reach out far, for he dared not lean away from the rock, but soon, emboldened by her evident success, the brave war eagle came to sink her cruel claws in his side. Then he struck, ifer fierce cry died half uttered, and she fell away, carrying the knife sunk deep in her breast. They listened as the heavy body fell crashing down the cliff, breaking branches and knocking oft" loosened peb- bles, until it reached the bottom. But both of the boys knew that Ji-shib was now in greater danger than before, for every moment they expected the eagle's mate to come in response to her calls, and there they were, both of them without weapons. 121 wmmmmmmm9mm Childhood of Ji-shib' The boy above hurriedly gathered what stones and sticks lie could, while Ji-shil) passed over the space to the nest. There he could at least have a little room to dodge and step about when the bird at- tacked him. But for some reason the bii'd did not come, and the little eagles were tied in their new cradle, and there they swung wliile Ji-shib retraced liis dangerous path. Far below them thej'^ found the dead mother-bird, and lugged her home for her beautiful leathers. Outside their wigwam in the village they built a platform in a tree, and on it constructed a wigwam-cage of willows for their new pets. Wiien the boys had nothing else to do, they very well spent their time trying to catcVj enough small game to till up the rapidly growing stomachs of those two young eagles. During the entire Spring a change was slowly coming over Ji-shil'), and yet he scarcely knew it. It was a steady, gradual change of both body and mind. He was outgrowing his childhood. 122 ChiMhood of Ji-shib' The (lay after he built the eagle cage it was the common knowledge of the village that one of his playmates liad that morning gone alone into the forest to begin his fast. All OJibwa boys fast, when they are as old as Ji-shib was now, in order to dream of some animal or plant which shall be their special Guard- ian Spirit or Totem lienceforth. Ji-shib was not much surprised there- fore at what occurred at noon. As his birch-bark dish was handed him there were soft black cedar coals in it, in- stead of food to eat. lie knew what to do with them, so without saying any- thing, or even looking at his father or mother or grandmother, he blackened his tace with the cc.ls. Then he took his bow and arrows and beaver-skin medicine bag, and went away into the forest back of the village. There he must stay alone four days and nights, without food or wigwam. If he was able to do that, there would be little doubt but that he would grow up through his boyhood and young man- hood into a worthy hunter and warrior and husband. 123 1 *i r :i I ! Childhood of Ji-shib' Toward evening it began to rain, so lie songlit the slielter of the friendly old hollow tree M'here several years before he had once slept when he was lost. He wished very nuicli to know what the Sacred Si)irits wonld send him as bis Guardian Spirit. That first night, alone in the forest, L brought to his restless di-eanis only the home-life of the village. He seemed to hear the barking of the dogs, and now and then the call of an Indian, and the plaintive music of the lover's-Hute, which at that time of the year was heard almost nightly in the village. But the next night, as he slept hungry and lonely in the liollow tree, he saw his old friend, the beautiful young Indian, come to him and beckon him. Ji-shilj looked, and saw his good mother come out of her wigwam. She was smiling and seemed very happy. She carried his little baby cradle in her hands, and leaned it up against a tree. He could faintly hear her say, ''My little Blue Bird is fast becoming a warrior." As the mother passed into her wigwam the 124 Childhood of Ji-shib' young Indian said to liini: "Thus you outgrew your babyhood." Wliile speak- ing, the beautiful Indian gradually changed his shape and size, and in a few moments he was turned into a soft- furred beaver. Then lie vanished. Next day Ji-shil) was very hungry. Twice he went to the creek tixlrink, and all day long he thought how the Indian had changed to a beaver. He had never done that before. That night the young Indian came again while Ji-shil) slept, and said to him: "Don't you know me?" Then he quickly laid aside his beautiful buck- skin gai'inents, and, sure enough, he was a real beaver. ''Look," he said. And Ji-shib looked, and saw himself sitting in the hollow tree with his face black- ened, and the beaver said: "Thus will you outgrow your childhood." Ji-shib awoke, but could see nothing except the green shoots on the leafy ground in front of the tree. He was more and more hungry that next day, and yet he was gett ing accus- tomed to the feeling of hunger, so he walked aindessly about in the forest. 125 Childhood of Ji-shib' ■H i>f 'fc*?^*' '*»»^ '' ' *' Everything seemed ■well-fed and happy. The squirrels and birds were busy hunting things to eat, to be sure, but tlie [lad felt eertain that none of them liad been so long without food as lie had. His wanderings at last brought him to the clear warm sunlight at the wild rice fields. There the birds were flitting in and out, to and from their hidden nests, and Ji-shil) sat down to watch them. A bobolink flew from the reeds up into the air above the nest of its brooding mate, and there it hung and fluttered and sung. What a wild, passionate, happy outburst of melody that was. It was like the song of a dozen birds all singing at once — a song so fast and frantic and furious, and yet so sweet. It often sounded like the melodious dropping of Mater. ]\[any times the songster Hew to its mate and then back again into the air, as though to try to outrival its last, happy, crazy, sweet tangle of notes. If Ji-shib had put his new, half formed thoughts and feelings into words, 1 1 Childhood of Ji-shib' and if tlie bobolink could have under- stood Ji-shilS as he that day dimly learned to understand the bobolink, it might have heard the youth softly sing- ing: "O little bird, Songbird of the reeds, I hoar thy song of love. Thy song of wooing. " I heard thy sweet Squaw-mate Wlien she piped her answer back ; I heard her soft-toned voice, TelHng she loved thee. " O pretty I'eed-bird, Teach me thy wisdom, — For tliou surely art wiser Tlian any Objiwa." That evening, that fourth and last evening of his fast, Ji-shib fell asleep very early in the old oak tree's hollow wigwam. He was tired and exhausted. The beaver came to him in his restless dreams that night, and took him by the hand and led him far away. He led him into the forest to the old beaver dam on Cbippeway river, and Ji-shib knew that he was born there, and that there the beaver first found him. 127 Childhood of Ji-shib' >t He saw that the beaver liad many times saved liim from being injured, tliat he liad saved his life from the Bad Spirit of tlie hike, and from starvation in Winter. And eTi-shilj knew, from the many won- derful things which the beaver said and did, that that little animal was wiser, many times wiser, than he himself, and even wiser than the old i\[edicine-]\ren were, for was it not an animal, now living as a Sacred Spirit, which told the Medi- cine-Men how to do the marvelous things they did ? . Ji-shil3 felt that the beaver was not only wiser than all Indians, but that lie was even wiser than all other animals; he knew everything. And he would teach Ji-shil3 everything, if he was only worthy and good. And so Ji-shil) felt in his dream that the beaver was his Guardian Spirit, though at times he came in the form of a beautiful young Indian, and sometimes, even, he was not visible at all. Lastly, in his dream that night the beaver showed him a wigwam, not like the wigwams in the village, but a pointed 128 ChUdhoodofJi-shib' one, and, raising the door-llap,told Ji-shib to enter. There in the wigwam was a young Indian girl, and when he spoke to her she answered him, but lie could not understand her words. She allowed him to sit down beside her, and he noticed that she was very beautiful. And yet he did not understand what it all meant, he knew only that she was beautiful. The beaver said to him: ''Thus will you outgrow your boyhood, and grow into manhood." Gradually the beautiful girl faded away, and Ji-shilj turned to look at the beaver which was sitting up beside him. Slowly tne beaver lay flat on the ground, and Ji-shilS awoke, curled up in the hol- low tree, looking at the beaver-skin med- icine bag lying at his feet. And then he knew surely that the beaver was his Guardian Spirit. It must be the Spirit of little A-mi-kons, for had notA-mi-kons found him at his birth? Had not the beaver's fur wrapped him up during his babyhood ? Had not A-mi-kons always been his medicine bag? A-mi-kons, the little beaver, had always kept him and always would. 129 mmmmmii a 11 i Childhood of Ji-shib' The fiust was ended, and Ji-sliil), with his beaver-skin bag in his hand, left the old tree in the forest, and started slowly homeward. Under the pine trees, past the great shady maples, stopping to pick the bright red winter-green berries, lin- gering a moment at the wild rice fields to hear the liquid song of the bobolink, together they went, Ji-shib and the beaver, on, on to the village. And thus they were always together, for the beaver watched over Ji-shil) and kept him, and Ji-shilj knew that the Spirit of the beaver was at all times stronger, and better, and wiser than he. 130