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Buffalo Bill from Prairie to Palace

<h2 class="vspace">CHAPTER V. INDIAN HOME LIFE.</h2> To Indians at peace, and with food in plenty, the winter camp is their home. After the varying excitements, the successes and vicissitudes, the constant labors of many months, the prospect of the winter’s peace and rest, with its home life and home pleasures, comes like a soothing balm to all. To those of the warriors who have passed the age of passionate excitements, this season brings the full enjoyment of those pleasures and excitements yet left to them in life. Their days are spent in gambling, their long winter evenings in endless repetitions of stories of their wonderful performances in days gone by, and their nights in the sound, sweet sleep vouchsafed only to easy consciences. <div id="ip_59" class="figcenter" style="width: 302px;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_058.jpg" width-obs="302" height-obs="432" alt="" /> <div class="caption">A REDSKIN SCOUT.</div> </div> The women also have a good time. No more taking down and putting up the tepee; no more packing and unpacking the ponies. To bring the wood and water, do the little cooking, to attend to the ponies, and possibly to dress a few skins is all the labor devolved upon them. To the young of both sexes, whether married or single, this season brings unending excitement and pleasure. Now is the time for dances and feasts, for visits and frolics and merry-making of all kinds, and for this time the “story-teller” has prepared and rehearsed his most marvelous recitals. Above all, it is the season for love-making; “love rules the camp,” and now is woman’s opportunity. Without literature, without music or painting as arts, without60 further study of nature than is necessary for the safety of the needs of their daily life, with no knowledge or care for politics or finance or the thousand questions of social or other science that disturb and perplex the minds of civilized people, and with reasoning faculties little superior to instinct, there is among Indians no such thing as conversation as we understand it. There is plenty of talk, but no interchange of ideas; no expression and comparison of views and beliefs, except on the most commonplace topics. Half a dozen old sages will be sitting around, quietly and gravely passing the pipe, and apparently engaged in important discussion. Nine times out of ten their talk is the merest camp tattle, or about a stray horse or sick colt, or where one killed a deer or another saw a buffalo-track. All serious questions of war and chase are reserved for discussion in the council lodge. During the pleasant months he has constantly the healthy stimulus of active life; during the winter he is either in a state of lethargy or of undue excitement. During the day, in the winter season, the men gamble or sleep, the women work or idle, as suits each; but the moment it gets dark everybody is on the qui vive, ready for any fun that presents itself. A few beats on a tom-tom bring all the inmates of the neighboring lodges; a dance or gambling bout is soon inaugurated, and oftentimes kept up until nearly morning. The insufficiency and uncertainty of human happiness has been the theme of eloquent writers of all ages. Every man’s happiness is lodged in his own nature, and is, to a certain extent at least, independent of his external circumstances and surroundings. These primitive people demonstrate the general correctness of this theory, for they are habitually and universally happy people. They thoroughly enjoy the present,61 make no worry over the possibilities of the future, and “never cry over spilled milk.” It may be argued that their apparent happiness is only insensibility, the happiness of the mere animal, whose animal desires are satisfied. It may be so. I simply state facts, others may draw conclusions. The Indian is proud, sensitive, quick-tempered, easily wounded, easily excited; but though utterly unforgiving, he never broods. This is the whole secret of his happiness. In spite of the fact that the wives are mere property, the domestic life of the Indian will bear comparison with that of average civilized communities. The husband, as a rule, is kind; ruling, but with no harshness. The wives are generally faithful, obedient, and industrious. The children are spoiled, and a nuisance to all red visitors. Fortunately the white man, the “bugaboo” of their baby days, is yet such an object of terror as to keep them at a respectful distance. Among themselves the members of the family are perfectly easy and unrestrained. It is extremely rare that there is any quarreling among the women. There is no such thing as nervousness in either sex. Living in but the one room, they are from babyhood accustomed to what would be unbearable annoyance to whites. The head of the lodge comes back tired from a hunt, throws himself down on a bed, and goes fast to sleep, though his two or three wives chatter around and his children tumble all over him. Everybody seems to do just as he or she pleases, and this seems no annoyance to anybody else. Unlike her civilized sister, the Indian woman, “in her hour of greatest need,” does not need any one. She would be shocked at the idea of having a man doctor. In pleasant weather the expectant mother betakes herself to the seclusion62 of some thicket; in winter she goes to a tepee provided in each band for the women. In a few hours she returns with a baby in its cradle on her back, and goes about her usual duties as if nothing had happened. Preparations for war or the chase occupy such hours of the winter encampment as the noble red man can spare from gambling, love-making, and personal adornment. Each Indian must make for himself everything which he can not procure by barter, and the opportunities for barter of the more common necessities are very few, the Indians not having even yet conceived the idea of making any articles for sale among themselves. The saddle requires much time and care in its construction; some Indians can never learn to make one; consequently this is more an article of barter than anything commonly made by Indians. No single article varies so much in make and value as the bridle. The bit is always purchased, and is of every pattern, from the plain snaffle to the complicated contrivance of the Mexicans. The bridle of one Indian may be a mere head-stall of rawhide attached to the bit, but without frontlet or throat-latch, and with reins of the same material, the whole not worth a dollar; that of another may be so elaborated by patient labor, and so garnished with silver, as to be worth a hundred dollars. The Southern Indians have learned from the Mexicans the art of plaiting horse-hair, and much of their work is very artistic and beautiful, besides being wonderfully serviceable. A small smooth stick, one-fourth of an inch in diameter, is the mold over which the hair is plaited. When finished, the stick is withdrawn. The hair used is previously dyed of different63 colors, and it is so woven as to present pretty patterns. The hair, not being very strong, is used for the head-stall; the reins, which require strength, are plaited solid, but in the same pattern, showing skill, taste, and fitness. The name “lariat” (Spanish, riata) is applied by all frontiersmen and Indians to the rope or cord used for picketing or fastening their horses while grazing, and also to the thong used for catching wild animals—the lasso. They are the same, with a very great difference. The lasso may be used for picketing a horse, but the rope with which a horse is ordinarily picketed would never be of use as a lasso. A good riata (lasso) requires a great deal of labor and patient care. It is sometimes made of plaited hair from the manes and tails of horses, but these are not common except where wild horses are plentiful, one such riata requiring the hair of not less than twenty animals. It is generally made of rawhide of buffalo or domestic cattle, freed from hair, cut into narrow strips, and plaited with infinite patience and care, so as to be perfectly round and smooth. Such a riata, though costing less money than that of hair, is infinitely superior. It is smooth, round, heavy, runs easily and quickly to noose, and is as strong as a cable. Those tribes, as the Ute, who are unable to procure beef or buffalo skins, make beautiful lariats of thin strips of buckskin plaited together; but as these are used only for securing their horses they are usually plaited flat. To make these articles is all that the male Indian finds to do in his ordinary winter life. Without occupation, without literature, without thought, how man can persuade himself to continue to exist can be explained only on the hypothesis that he is a natural “club man,” or a mere animal. “From rosy morn to dewy eve” there is always work64 for the Indian woman. Fortunately for her the aboriginal inhabitants have as yet discovered no means of making a light sufficient to work by at night. It is true they beg or buy a few candles from military posts or traders, but these are sacredly preserved for dances and grand occasions. But, slave as she is, I doubt if she could be forced to work after dark even if she had light. Custom, which holds her in so many inexorable bonds, comes to her aid in this case. In every tribe night is the woman’s right, and no matter how urgent the work which occupies her during the daylight, the moment the dark comes she bedecks herself in her best finery and stands at the door of the lodge, her ear strained for the first beat of the tom-tom which summons her to where she is then, for once, queen and ruler. There was formerly one exception to this immunity from night work, but it has gone with the buffalo. At the time of the “great fall hunt” there was no rest nor excuse for her. She must work at any and all hours. If the herds were moving, the success of the hunt might depend on the rapidity with which the women performed their work on a batch of dead buffalo. These animals spoil very quickly if not disemboweled, and though the hunters tried to regulate the daily kill by the ability of the squaws to “clean up” after them, they could, not in the nature of things, always do so. When the buffalo was dead the man’s work was done; it was woman’s work to skin and cut up the dead animal; and oftentimes, when the men were exceptionally fortunate, the women were obliged to work hard and fast all night long before the task was finished. The meat, cut as closely as possible from the bones, is tied up in the skin, and packed to camp on the ponies. 65 The skin is spread, flesh side upward, on a level piece of ground, small slits are cut in the edges, and it is tightly stretched and fastened down by wooden pegs driven through the slits into the ground. The meat is cut into thin flakes and placed upon poles or scaffolds to dry in the sun. All this work must be done, as it were, instantly, for if the skin is allowed to dry unstretched it can never be made use of as a robe, and the meat spoils if not “jerked” within a few hours. This lively work lasts but a few weeks, and is looked upon by the workers themselves pretty much in the same way as notable housewives look upon the early house-cleaning—very disagreeable, but very enjoyable. The real work begins when, the hunt being over, the band has gone into winter quarters, for then must the women begin to utilize “the crop.” Some of the thickest bulls’ hides are placed to soak in water in which is mixed wood ashes, or some natural alkali. This takes the hair off. The skin is then cut into the required shape and stretched on a form, on which it is allowed to dry, when it not only retains its shape but becomes almost as hard as iron. These boxes are of various shapes and sizes—some made like huge pocket-books, others like trunks. All are called “parfleche.” As soon as these parfleches, or trunks, are ready for use, the now thoroughly dried meat is pounded to powder between two stones. About two inches of this powdered meat is placed in the bottom of a parfleche and melted fat is lightly poured over it. Then another layer of meat is served in the same way, and so on until the trunk is full. It is kept hot until the entire mass is thoroughly saturated. When cold, the66 parfleches are closed and tightly tied up. The contents so prepared will keep in good condition for several years. Probably the best feature of the process is that nothing is lost, the flesh of old and tough animals being, after this treatment, so nearly as good as that of the young that few persons can tell the difference. This is the true Indian bread, and is used as bread when they have fresh meat. Boiled, it makes a soup very nutritious. So long as the Indian has this dried meat and pemmican he is entirely independent of all other food. Of late years all the beef issued to the Indians on the reservations, and not needed for immediate consumption, is treated in this way. The dressing of skins is the next work. The thickest hides are put in soak of alkali for materials for making shields, saddles, riatas, etc. Hides for making or repairing lodges are treated in the same way, but after the hair has been removed they are reduced in thickness, made pliable, and most frequently soaked. Deer, antelope, and other skins are beautifully prepared for clothing, the hair being always removed. Some of these skins are so worked down that they are almost as thin and white as cotton cloth. But all this is the mere commencement of the long and patient labor which the loving wife bestows on the robe which the husband is to use on dress occasions. The whole inner surface is frequently covered with designs beautifully worked with porcupine-quills, or grasses dyed in various colors. Sometimes the embellishments are paintings. Many elegant robes have taken a year to finish. Every animal brought into the camp brings work for the squaw. The buck comes in with a deer and drops it at the67 door. The squaw skins it, cuts up and preserves the meat, dresses the skin and fashions it into garments for some member of the family. Until within a very few years the needle was a piece of sharpened bone; the thread a fiber of sinew. These are yet used in the ornamentation of robes, but almost all the ordinary sewing is done with civilized appliances. All Indians are excessively fond of bead-work, and not only the clothing, moccasins, gun-covers, quivers, knife-sheaths, and tobacco-pouches, but every little bag or ornament, is covered with this work. Many of the designs are pretty and artistic. In stringing the beads for this work an ordinary needle is used; but in every case, except for articles made for sale, the thread is sinew. The life in the winter encampment has scarcely been changed in any particular, but with the earliest spring come evidences of activity, a desire to get away; not attributable, as in the “good old time,” to plans of forays for scalps and plunder, but to the desire of each head of a lodge or band to reach, before any one else does, the particular spot on which he has fixed for his location for the summer. No sooner has he reached it than all hands, men, women, and children, fall to work as if the whole thing were a delightful frolic. The last five years, more than any twenty preceding them, have convinced the wild Indians of the utter futility of their warfare against the United States Government. One and all, they are thoroughly whipped; and their contests, in the future, will be the acts of predatory parties (for which the Indians at large are no more responsible than is the Government of the United States for the acts of highwaymen in the Black Hills, or train-robbers in Missouri), or a deliberate determination of the bands and tribes to die fighting rather than by the slow68 torture of starvation to which the Government condemns them. But the buffalo is gone; so also nearly all the other large game on which the Indians depended for food. They are confined to comparatively restricted reservations, and completely surrounded by whites. They are more perfectly aware of the stringency of their situation than any white man can possibly be, for they daily feel its pressure. With no chance of success in war, with no possibility of providing food for themselves, they thoroughly comprehend that their only hope for the future is in Government aid, grazing cattle, and tilling the soil. They do not like it, of course; it would be unnatural if they did. They accept it as the dire alternative against starvation. Basing arguments on the Indian contempt for work, many men in and out of Congress talk eloquent nonsense of the impossibility of ever bringing them to agricultural pursuits. The average Indian has no more hatred of labor, as such, than the average white man. Neither will labor unless an object is to be attained. Both will labor rather than starve. Heretofore the Indian could comfortably support himself in his usual and preferred life without labor; and there being no other incentive he would have only proved himself an idiot had he worked without an object. But now, with the abundant acres of land that his white conquerors, with simple justice, have allotted to him in the shape of reservations, with no opportunity to think of the excitement, honor, and glory of battle, his life is changed. He now finds that fences are to be made, ground broken up, seed planted; and the peerless warrior, with “an eye like an69 eagle,” whose name a few short years ago was a terror and whose swoop was destruction, must learn to handle the plow, and follow, in fact, what he has often claimed in desire and spirit to follow, “the white man’s road.” <div id="ip_69" class="figcenter" style="width: 307px;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_069.jpg" width-obs="307" height-obs="532" alt="" /> <div class="caption">OGALALLA CHIEFS.</div> </div> <hr /> 71 </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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