Yellow Thunder, Our Little Indian Cousin

The evening is full of entertainment, and passes only too quickly. I'm afraid, however, if you were present you would be more frightened than amused by such wild music and motions.

Another strange dance which is performed among Yellow Thunder's people is called the Dance for the Dead. Only women take part in it. It is generally given every spring and fall, in honour of those of the tribe who have died. The Indians believe that at these times their dead friends come back and join in the dance.

The music is sad, and the movements of the dancers are slow and mournful. This strange dance is kept up from dusk till the early morning. It is believed that the dead friends who have been present must then go back to the happy hunting-grounds.

I haven't said very much as yet about our red cousin's playmates and sports. They have many good times together. They have a great number of games and many matches of strength and quickness.

Yellow Thunder loves his ball game as much as you boys love baseball. He and his friends often prepare for a game by a special diet and training for days beforehand. Crowds gather from neighbouring tribes and villages to see the sport. Those who take part wear no clothing except a waist-cloth. The ball is small and is made of deerskin.

A large open field is chosen, and two gates are made on opposite sides of it. Each gate is made by setting two poles three rods apart. Six or eight boys play on a side and own one of the gates. The game is won by the side which first carries the ball through its own gate a certain number of times. The white men learned this game from the Indians, and it is a great favourite with them in some parts of the country, especially in Canada. It is now called "lacrosse," but its name in the language of the Iroquois Indians was O-ta-da-jish-qua-age.

Black Cloud has as much interest as Yellow Thunder in the game, and often takes part in it with his friends. You can hardly believe how excited these red men get when they are preparing for a set game of ball.

The javelin game is another of the boy's favourites. It is quite simple, and yet one needs to be very skilful. Rings about eight inches across, and javelins five or six feet long are needed in playing it. While a ring is set rolling upon the ground by one person, a player on the other side throws the javelin and tries to hit it. If he succeed, the ring is set up as a target, and each one on the opposite side must throw a javelin and try to hit it. If he fail, he loses his javelin. Victory belongs to the side which wins the most javelins.

The favourite game in winter is that of snow snakes. The snakes are made of hickory. They are from five to seven feet long. The head of the snake is round and pointed with lead. It is about an inch wide and slightly turned up. The snake is made so that it tapers toward the tail, which is only about half an inch wide.

Yellow Thunder has practised so much that he can throw his snake with great skill. It skims along the snow crust like an arrow. He has won many a game this winter and his father is very proud of him, because it takes a great deal of strength and training to be a good player.

There are many other games played by the Indian men and boys, but I shall have to tell you about them some other time.

I hear one of my little friends say: "I wonder if my red cousin has any holidays. He certainly cannot understand the glorious Fourth, and I don't believe he ever heard of Christmas. How does he get along?"

Why, my dear children, I can't stop to tell you of all the feasts and festivals to which the boy is invited. On every possible occasion a feast is given by some one in the village. For instance, if the men are very successful in one of their hunts, and come home laden down with a good supply of deer, raccoon, or bear, some one of them prepares a feast.

How you would laugh to see them gathering at a party. Each one carries his own wooden bowl and plate, for that is the custom. I mean that each man does this, for the women are not expected to sit down. They only stand around and laugh at the bright sayings they hear. They must not even join in the conversation. They seem to think that they are having a good time, however, and when the feast is over go back to their own wigwams, repeating to each other the good things they have heard. The men remain to smoke and tell more stories.

Sometimes a feast is prepared on purpose for the young people. At such a time some one who is much older than themselves makes a speech. He encourages his young friends to be nobler, braver, and better than ever before. It seems as though Yellow Thunder could never forget the good words he has heard at these feasts. Whenever he feels like showing pain or being ill-tempered, he recollects them, and they help to keep him calm.

Each season of the year has its special festival. The longest of all is the new year jubilee, which lasts seven days. It takes place in the middle of the winter, about the first of February. Several days before the beginning of the celebration, our little cousin gathers with his people in the council-hall. They must confess their sins to each other before the new year opens. Yellow Thunder thinks over everything which he has done, or not done as he ought, during the past year. He does not wish to forget anything.

When the great day arrives, two keepers-of-the-faith come to his home early in the morning. It is their duty to go to every other wigwam, too. They are dressed up in such a way that Yellow Thunder cannot tell who they are. They wear bear or buffalo skins wrapped around their bodies, and fastened about their heads with wreaths of corn husks. They also wear wreaths of corn husks around their arms and ankles. Their faces are painted in all sorts of queer ways. They carry corn pounders in their hands.

As they enter the hut, they bow to the family, and one of them strikes the ground with his corn pounder. When every one is silent, he makes a speech, urging them to clean their house, put everything in order, and prepare for the festivities of the next few days. If any one in the family should be taken sick and die, he urges them not to mourn till the ceremonies which the Great Spirit has commanded are over. You can see from this that the Indian's religion is carried into everything he does.

After a song of thanksgiving, the keepers-of-the-faith leave Yellow Thunder's home and pass on to the next one. In the afternoon they come back again, and urge the family to give thanks to the Great Spirit for the return of the season.

The little boy is most excited on this first day of the festival by the strangling of the White Dog. It must be spotless, if possible. White is the emblem of purity and faith. A white deer or squirrel, or any other animal that is pure white, is thought to be sacred to the Great Spirit.

The dog, which has been carefully kept for this purpose, is killed with the greatest care. Otherwise it would not be a fitting sacrifice. Not a drop of blood must be shed. Not a bone must be broken. When it is quite dead, it is trimmed with ribbons and feathers, and spotted in different places with dabs of red paint. Then it is hung up by its neck on a pole. It must stay there till the fifth day. At that time it will be taken down to be burned.

On the second day, Yellow Thunder is dressed up in his very best, and goes out with his father and mother to make calls on his neighbours. The keepers-of-the-faith come to his house three times during the day. They are now dressed up as warriors with all their war-paint and feathers. One of them stirs up the ashes in the fireplace and sprinkles them about. As he does this, he makes a speech, thanking the Great Spirit that the family, as well as himself, have been allowed to live another year to take part in the festival. There is another song of thanksgiving and they go away.

On the third and fourth days small dancing parties go from home to home. One party will perform the war-dance, another the feather-dance, still another the fish-dance, and so on. This year Yellow Thunder's father let him join a party of boys to give the war-dance. They had great fun dressing up as warriors and decking themselves with paint and feathers. They went from home to home till they had danced in every hut in the village. They were tired enough to sleep soundly when night came.

I must tell you of some more sport they had during the festival. Some of the boys dressed in rags and paint, put on false faces and formed a "thieving party," as it was called. They went about collecting things for a feast. An old woman carrying a large basket went with them. If the family they visited made them presents, they handed them to the old woman and gave a dance in return for the kindness. But if no presents were given, they took anything they could seize without being seen. If they were discovered, they gave them up, but if not, it was considered fair for them to carry the things away for their feast.

Yellow Thunder had great fun hiding the stolen articles in his clothing. He was not once caught.

Every night was given up to dancing and other entertainments. Our Indian cousin got time for a game of snow snakes nearly every day.

On the morning of the fifth day the White Dog was burned. A procession was formed, the men marching in Indian file. Listen! A great sound is heard. It is something like the war-whoop. It is the signal to start. The dead dog is carried to the altar on a bark litter in front of the procession. The sacrifice is laid upon the altar. The fire is kindled. As the flames rise, a prayer is made to the Great Spirit for all his good gifts to the Indians. The trees and the bushes, the sun and the winds, the moon and the stars, – none are forgotten that have helped to make the world better to live in.

As the sacrifice burns upon the altar, Yellow Thunder listens to the long prayer with reverence. He believes that the dog's soul is now rising to the Great Spirit. It will be a proof to Him of the faith of His people, for the day itself is the day of faith and trust.

During the rest of the festival there is more dancing and more feasting, while favourite games are played by old and young.

"Oh, what a good time it is," thinks Yellow Thunder; "how happy we all should be that the new year has come." And what a tired boy sleeps on Yellow Thunder's mat when the seven days of this glorious time are over. The Fourth of July celebration is slight indeed compared with it.

Yellow Thunder begins already to look forward to the first festival of the springtime. It is called by the Indians "Thanks to the Maple." I don't dare to give it to you in their own language. You would only scowl and say, "Oh, dear! what's the use? I can't pronounce those long words, and I will not try."

Just as soon as the first warm days arrive, the red boy's eyes begin to watch the maple-trees. He wishes to be the first one to discover that the sap has started and is beginning to flow. Then hurrah for a holiday for old and young! Thanks must be given to the tree that gives so much sweetness to boys and girls. The Great Spirit must be thanked, also, for he gave the maple to the poor Indian.

There must be more feasting and story-telling, more games and dancing. Tobacco must be burned as an offering to the Great Spirit, and prayers must be said. The great feather dance will be the best thing of all. It is very graceful and beautiful, and the band of dancers will wear costumes which belong only to this dance.

You certainly cannot wonder that Yellow Thunder enjoys this festival. I don't doubt you would like to be there, also, as well as at the green corn feast, and many others.

At these times your red cousin's heart is full of gladness and gratitude for the great gifts the Great Spirit has given him.

It is evening time. Let us creep up softly behind him as he listens to a legend one of the story-tellers of the tribe is repeating. It is the tale of the Lone Lightning.

Once upon a time there was a poor little boy who had no father or mother. He lived with an uncle who did not love him. This cruel man made the child do many hard things and did not give him enough to eat. Of course the child did not grow properly. He was very thin and pitiful to look upon. After awhile the cruel uncle grew ashamed of the appearance of the boy. Every one could see that he was ill-treated.

He said to himself, "I will give the child so much to eat that he will die. I hate him!" Then he went to his wife and said, "Give the boy bear's meat, and choose the fat of it for him."

They kept cramming the child. When they were stuffing the food down his throat one day, he almost choked. Poor little fellow! There was no one who cared for him or wished him to live. He knew it only too well.

The first chance he obtained, he ran away. He did not know where to go, but wandered around in the forest. Night came. Wild beasts would now begin to roam about. They would get him and eat him. The little boy was afraid when he thought of all this. He climbed up in a tree as far as he dared, and went to sleep in a fork of the branches. He had a wonderful dream. It was an omen given to him by the spirits.

It seemed as though some one appeared to him from out of the sky. He spoke to the orphan, and said, "Poor child, I know all about your hard life and your cruel uncle. Come with me."

The boy awoke instantly. There was his guide. He began to follow him. Higher and higher he rose up in the air till they were both in the upper sky. Then his guide placed twelve arrows in his hands and told him that there were many bad manitos (spirits) in the northern sky. He must go forth and try to shoot them.

He did as he was told. He travelled toward the north and shot one arrow after another, vainly trying to kill the manitos. He now had only one arrow left. As each one had sped forth from his bow, there had been a long streak of lightning in the sky. Then all had grown clear again.

The boy held the last arrow in his hand for a long time and tried again to discover the manitos. But these beings are very cunning if they choose, and they can change their forms at any moment. They were afraid of the boy's arrows, for they had magic powers and had been given him by a good spirit. If the child aimed them straight, the bad manitos would be killed.

At length the boy gained courage and shot his last arrow. He thought it was aimed at the very heart of the chief of the spirits. But before it reached him, he had changed himself into a rock. The head of the arrow pierced this rock and fastened itself within it.

The manito was enraged. He cried out, "Your arrows are gone now. You shall be punished for daring to strike at me." As he said these words, he changed the boy into the Lone Lightning, which is still seen in the northern sky to this day.

THE END