Yellow Thunder's papa is very fond of tobacco. He always carries a beaded pouch filled with it. He believes that the Great Spirit gave tobacco to the Indian. When he smokes it, it opens a way through which he may draw near God, and be taught by him. His pipe and tobacco will be buried with him when he dies, as he thinks they will be needed on his journey toward heaven. He smokes at the council. He smokes around the camp-fire when he is away hunting. He smokes in the evening time as he sits with his friends and tells stories of the chase or listens to legends of his people.
I hardly know what this Indian father would do without his pipe, as it seems to give him so much comfort and pleasure.
See! here he comes now. Yellow Thunder is at the door of the lodge, watching him as he walks quickly down the forest path. He is truly called a "brave." He looks as though he would fear no danger. How straight is his body, and how strong are his muscles!
He wears leggings of deerskin, finely worked with beads. They are fastened just above his knees. A short kilt is gathered around his waist. It is also made of deerskin, but is worked around the edge with porcupine quills stained in several colours. It is bitterly cold to-day, so he wears a blanket over his shoulders. His head is shaved bare, excepting the scalp-lock at the back. It must be this which makes him look so fierce.
I want you to notice his feet. They step softly and yet firmly. You could not walk as he does. Perhaps you have pointed shoes with high heels. The Indian would look with scorn upon these. What! Cramp the toes with such uncomfortable things! Impossible! He covers his feet in the most sensible manner with the soft moccasins made by his wife. They fit his feet exactly. He can run like a deer, or creep along the ground like a wildcat in these coverings, and no one will hear him coming. Each moccasin is made of a single piece of deerskin, seamed at the heel and in front. The bottom is smooth and without a seam, while the upper part is worked with beads.
Yellow Thunder's good mamma uses a curious needle and thread. The needle is made from the bone of a deer's ankle, and her thread is of the sinews of the same animal. What would the Indian have done without the deer in the old days before the white man came to this country? I can't imagine, can you?
This animal furnished much of his food and clothing; ornaments were made of his hoofs; needles and many other things came from his bones. Even the brains of the creature were used in tanning skins of animals. They were mixed with moss, made into cakes, and dried in the sun. This mixture will keep a great length of time. Whenever it is needed, a piece of this brain-cake is boiled in water, and the skin is soaked in it after the hair is scraped off. Then it is wrung out and stretched until it is dry. But even then the skin is not ready for use. It will tear very easily. It must be thoroughly smoked on both sides. This work all belongs to Yellow Thunder's mamma. His father has nothing to do with it.
Suppose we follow the red man into his home. Ugh! What a smoke there is inside! We can hardly see across the wigwam. We shall need to lie down on the mat as the Indian does. Our eyes will be blinded unless we do this. The wife has a good meal waiting for her husband, but she will not eat till he has finished. That is Indian good manners.
His wooden bowl and plate, together with a boiled corn-cake, are placed on the mat in front of the man. Venison stew is served him out of the big pot, and a dish of sassafras tea is also set before him. There is no milk to put into this queer drink, but if he wishes to sweeten it, he can add some delicious maple syrup. This is certainly not a bad meal for any one.
The red man eats and drinks, while scarcely a word is said to his waiting family. When he has finished his meal, he will light his pipe for a quiet smoke, after which his wife and child satisfy their hunger.
Yellow Thunder's mamma knows how to prepare many a good dish. She can make several different kinds of corn bread. She prepares soups of deer and bear meat. She boils the hominy, on which our little red cousin pours the maple syrup. She makes teas of wild spices and herbs which grow near the hut. But these drinks are not likely to keep Yellow Thunder awake at night. Neither is there danger of his starving, so long as his father can hunt and his mother can gather her crops. His food is suited to make him strong and healthy, and he does not miss the dainties of which you are so fond.
The stern-looking father never thinks of interfering in the management of the home. That is his wife's right. She gives him his sleeping-place and the corner in which he shall put his belongings. She decides on what shall be cooked, and what shall be stored away. She is the ruler in the home.
But, on the other hand, he does not expect her to scold. She should always be obliging and happy in entertaining his friends. She should be ready to furnish him a good meal whenever he comes home.
As yet, he does not take much notice of his only son. He does not correct the boy's faults. He seldom takes him on his hunts. He has left all care of the boy to his wife up to this time.
But Yellow Thunder is now twelve years old. He will soon be a man. In a year or two, at most, his father will begin to make a companion of his son in hunting and fishing. He will teach him the ways of a brave Indian warrior. Then there will be no more woman's work for Yellow Thunder.
When the time comes for this great change in his life, he will go out into the forest to fast. No one will insist on his doing this. He will himself desire it. It is the same as a baptism to a young Indian. His father will go with him to the lonely spot where he decides to stay. He will give his son wise words of counsel. He will urge him to be brave and keep his fast as long as possible. He will be able to show by this how much courage and spirit he possesses, and how great a man he desires to be. Then he will leave his son alone and go back to the village.
A day passes by, and Yellow Thunder grows faint. Two days now are gone, and the boy's thirst is intense. At the end of three days his father comes back and finds his son lying weak and dizzy beneath the trees. He gives him a little water, but no food, for Yellow Thunder says he can fast still longer.
The father goes away again, leaving the son to watch for the visions which will surely come. It will be decided now what the red boy's future will be. The longer he can fast, the greater man he will become among his people. No one can be a chief unless he has fasted many days at the beginning of his manhood.
We cannot tell what Yellow Thunder will be, but we know that his visions will always be remembered. He believes that his guardian spirits will appear in some form or another to him, and he will get instruction about his future life. He will endure his fast bravely as long as possible.
It sometimes happens that Indian boys die at this time of fasting, but we feel sure that Yellow Thunder will live and be a joy to his parents to the end of their lives.
But how is the Indian mother preparing him for this great test? She teaches him, first of all, to obey. In no other way would it be possible for him to become a great man. He must heed everything that his father and mother tell him. He must always be ready to do their bidding. It is the greatest token of rudeness to appear curious, therefore he must ask no questions. He must love the truth. A lie is almost unknown among the Indians; they scorn it as the mark of a cowardly and mean nature. He must be brotherly to all creatures, and ready to give to others always.
Yellow Thunder has never seen a pauper or beggar in his life. Whenever any one comes to his home, his mother hastens at once to prepare food for the visitor. It is almost a law to her to do so. If relatives should come for a visit, they will be made welcome and allowed to stay as long as they desire. If they should remain for the rest of their lives, they would never be asked to leave. "Be hospitable to all," is a maxim planted in the heart of every Indian child.
Yellow Thunder is taught that everything should be shared in common. The Indian does not say, "My land." It is always "Ours." The people of a tribe are truly brothers to each other.
The red boy's mamma does not need to teach him that theft is wrong. It is almost unknown among his people. The idea of doing such an unbrotherly thing does not enter their heads. No wonder there are neither poorhouses nor prisons among these people. We call them savages, but there are many things we could copy with profit from them. Don't you think so, children? "Live and learn," is an old saying, and I think we would do well to remember it when we read the lives of our cousins in many lands.
Yellow Thunder does not go to church or Sunday school. I doubt if Sunday is any different to him from any other day. But his mamma has taught him that there is one loving Heavenly Father for all. If Yellow Thunder is good and brave, he will go to the "happy hunting-grounds" when he dies. At least, this is what he is taught to believe. There will be enough food and an abundance of animals to kill. Everything that the Indian loves best to do in this life, he thinks can be found in his heaven. But there is no place there for the white man. George Washington was the only white man who ever lived whom they thought fit to enter their paradise. The exception was made in his case because he was brave and good, and treated the Indians fairly and justly.
Yellow Thunder's mother often tells him of a prophecy which was made long ago by the wise men of her tribe. They said that a great monster, with white eyes, would come out of the East and consume the land. Did the prophecy come true, you ask? Yes, my dears, it was the white race.
When Yellow Thunder thinks of the great forests which his people once owned, and of the numbers of animals roaming there, when he remembers the wars which have been fought and lost with the "great monster," his heart grows bitter.
Don't blame him, children, but feel sorry for your little Indian cousin. His people have certainly had a hard time. They have been very cruel in warfare with us, but they felt they were treated unjustly, and we were taking their homes away from them.
Yellow Thunder believes in the Great Father, as I have told you. His mother has also taught him that there are many spirits, both good and bad. God made the good spirits to help him in his care of this great world. The Indian believes that the wind is a spirit of great power. The thunder is another spirit, whom he calls Heno. Heno makes the clouds and the rain. It is he who forms the thunderbolt and sends it to destroy the wicked.
The Great Spirit is very kind to give men such a helper, and when the harvest time comes, Yellow Thunder gives him thanks and prays to him that he will continue to send Heno into the world.
There is an old legend among the Indians that Heno once dwelt in a cave behind Niagara Falls. The mighty rushing noise of the water was pleasing to him.
Yellow Thunder pictures the Spirit of the Winds to himself. This spirit has the face of an old man who is always in the midst of discord, for the four winds are never at peace with each other.
Then there are the spirits of Corn, of Beans, and of Squash. Each one of these is looked upon as a friend of the red race, for these vegetables are prized by them above all others.
It is believed that these spirits have the forms of beautiful women, and that they dwell happily together and are very fond of each other.