One Thousand White Women (36 page)
Read One Thousand White Women Online
Authors: Jim Fergus
Nearly a month has passed since my last entry. Time, of course, is not the issue, rather the general torpor of the season and the corresponding lack of interesting occurrences has caused me to rest my pen—to husband and store what little I have to report. Would that we could hibernate like the bears! How wise they are to take their long winter naps and not awake until spring.
The Cheyennes themselves do not appear to suffer from boredom. How lucky they are, for they possess a kind of unlimited patience so that if we are tentbound for days in blizzards, they wait them out without complaint, with a kind of perfect animal-like stillness. Besides simple games that they play, and a bit of gambling among the men, there is little in the way of entertainment—other than storytelling, from which we learn something of the history of these fine people. Of course, they do not read books.
We white women have all read countless times the few volumes that we brought with us or were able to obtain on our last trip to Fort Laramie. I have nearly reduced the Captain’s cherished volume of Shakespeare to tatters from my many readings of it, and, of course, much as I may have wished to hoard it for myself, I have made it freely available to the others. Besides our daily visits with Anthony one of our few recreations has been to meet in groups in one or another of our lodges and read the Bard together, passing the book around the circle, each of us reading a different part. But the light is poor in the lodges, especially with the days now so short.
Our women’s sweat lodge is now complete and in full operation! It is a perfect delight and we white women have been holding our “councils” there. Hah! We have even encouraged some of the younger and bolder Cheyenne women to join us. Both my tentmates, Pretty Walker and Feather on Head, have attended, with extreme shyness at first, but now more enthusiatically. We have a little girl who tends our fire and keeps a supply of water in the buckets to pour on the hot rocks, and all are welcome—if they are women, that is! We sit, for the most part naked, sweating freely and then dashing for the river. Helen Flight often smokes her pipe and sometimes passes it among the others in a kind of pantomime of the men’s dour councils. The Cheyenne women, when they join us, consider this smoking to be quite scandalous, even sacriligious, and will scarcely touch the pipe let alone partake of it.
I am huge with my baby! Big as a house! I believe that mine is by far the biggest belly in our group! Even Gretchen, herself a hefty woman to begin with, does not seem nearly as large as I. Surely this savage baby of mine is going to be a giant! Fortunately, in spite of the additional bulk I am carrying, I have had a very uneventful pregnancy, almost no illness and, other than the simple act of packing the enormous thing around, very little discomfort. The Cheyennes have all sorts of remedies—teas which they brew from various roots, herbs, flowers, leaves, and grasses—some of which are not disagreeable to the taste; these they give to pregnant women—who are doted over and cared for by the other women, really to the point of distraction.
Much game remains in the vicinity, and the clear weather has been conducive to the hunt, so that we continue to have a steady supply of fresh meat. All of which makes for plenty of work for both men and women so that at least there is less idleness among us—there is always skinning and butchering and tanning to be done.
I have learned to embroider hides with trade beads, and this activity I enjoy—It is a pleasant, time-consuming craft, often peacefully pursued in a group. We sit by the fire, chatting and gossiping and passing the time. Now that most of us white women are so much more proficient in our use of the native tongue, we have achieved a greater intimacy with our fellow Cheyenne wives. Although they have a quite different way of looking at the world than Caucasians, I find that as women we have nearly as much in common as separates us by culture; every day we learn more about one another and have a greater mutual appreciation and respect. Thus we all share the same daily cares and worries, the same labors. And with our pregnancies—for some of the Indian wives are also pregnant—we share the burdens, the responsibilities, and the joys of impending motherhood.
And in our increasing ability to better communicate we also share the fresh glue of humor. At first the Cheyenne women found our white women’s irreverence toward the men to be quite scandalous. But now our small jests and banter about the male race in general seems to delight them, seems to unite us all in a new bond of sisterhood. Together we nod and “
how
” and giggle enthusiastically as, with a little prompting from us, the Indian women discover … no, not “discover” … I mean to say, “acknowledge” the female’s natural superiority to the male.
how
” and giggle enthusiastically as, with a little prompting from us, the Indian women discover … no, not “discover” … I mean to say, “acknowledge” the female’s natural superiority to the male.
In spite of her reserve, I am sometimes even able to elicit a tiny sly smile from Quiet One. Like many who speak sparingly she is keenly observant of all that takes place around her. The other day, for example, Little Wolf was holding council in the lodge with several other heads of state in attendance, including the old Chief Dull Knife, and a fellow named
Masehaeke,
or Crazy Mule (he was named this by our Sioux neighbors because one time he rode into their camp on a mule, and one of them said, “Here comes that crazy Cheyenne who rides the mule.”). Crazy Mule is a tiresomely long-winded fellow and I always dread when he attends the councils because on he drones—on and on—the only good thing about it, I suppose, being that his voice has the effect of a sleeping potion and instantly puts the children into a deep slumber. I have even sometimes observed Little Wolf and others among the council dozing off while the man is speaking. In any case, the other day, Crazy Mule was going on in his usual fashion and I noticed that Quiet One was looking at me in the shy way she has of observing people from the periphery. I smiled at her and held my hand up to the fire to cast a shadow puppet on the lodge covering above old Crazy Mule’s head. Opening and closing my thumb and fingers I made my shadow puppet to be yakking on like the man himself. This woke up the assemblage! There was much stifling of laughter from those who could observe my chattering shadow puppet, and even Quiet One allowed herself a smile large enough to warrant covering her mouth demurely with her hand.
Masehaeke,
or Crazy Mule (he was named this by our Sioux neighbors because one time he rode into their camp on a mule, and one of them said, “Here comes that crazy Cheyenne who rides the mule.”). Crazy Mule is a tiresomely long-winded fellow and I always dread when he attends the councils because on he drones—on and on—the only good thing about it, I suppose, being that his voice has the effect of a sleeping potion and instantly puts the children into a deep slumber. I have even sometimes observed Little Wolf and others among the council dozing off while the man is speaking. In any case, the other day, Crazy Mule was going on in his usual fashion and I noticed that Quiet One was looking at me in the shy way she has of observing people from the periphery. I smiled at her and held my hand up to the fire to cast a shadow puppet on the lodge covering above old Crazy Mule’s head. Opening and closing my thumb and fingers I made my shadow puppet to be yakking on like the man himself. This woke up the assemblage! There was much stifling of laughter from those who could observe my chattering shadow puppet, and even Quiet One allowed herself a smile large enough to warrant covering her mouth demurely with her hand.
According to Captain Bourke in an opinion expressed to me during our brief meeting at Fort Laramie, the only true hope for the advancement of the savage is to teach him that he must give up this allegiance to the tribe and look toward his own individual welfare. This is necessary, Bourke claims, in order that he may function effectively in the “individualized civilization” of the Caucasian world. To the Cheyenne such a concept remains completely foreign—the needs of the People, the tribe, and above all the family within the tribe are placed always before those of the individual. In this regard they live somewhat like the ancient clans of Scotland. The selflessness of my husband, Little Wolf, for instance, strikes me as most noble and something that hardly requires “correction” by civilized society. In support of his own thesis, the Captain uses the unfortunate example of the Indians who have been pressed into service as scouts for the U.S. Army. These men are rewarded for their efforts as good law-abiding citizens—paid wages, fed, clothed, and generally cared for. The only requirement of their employment, their allegiance to the white father, is that they betray their own people and their own families … I fail to see the nobility or the advantage of such individualized private initiative …
A disturbing accident has occurred. Yesterday our Quiet One invited several people to our lodge to partake of a feast of bread that she had just baked. Somehow she confused a bag of arsenic powder for that of baking soda. The Cheyennes obtain the arsenic from the trading post and use it to poison wolves.
The results of this mix-up can be readily imagined. By the grace of God, or perhaps, the grace of the Great Medicine, no one died—but for a pair of hapless dogs who were given bites of the bread in order to confirm the fact that it was indeed poisoned. By then several of the guests had already been stricken. I sent Horse Boy to summon Anthony and some of the others, and together we prevailed upon the afflicted to vomit. Thank God I and none of the other pregnant women had ourselves partaken of the bread, for it would surely have cost us our babies.
All have now recovered, although for everyone, it was a long and painful ordeal. Little Wolf himself became deathly ill. I feared deeply for his life and sat up all night with him. Of course, poor Quiet One was completely distraught at her part in the near catastrophe; and I have tried to comfort her as much as I could.
The event has served as a catalyst to a council being called to discuss this question of poisoning the wolves—a practice the Cheyennes only recently learned from the white agents, who have advised them that by poisoning the wolves, there will be more game for the people. Since its use has become more widespread among the Indians, all have noticed across the prairie the carcasses not only of wolves, but also of coyotes, eagles, hawks, ravens, raccoons, skunks, and even bears, for the poison kills everything that partakes of the arsenic-laced meat or that feeds off the carcasses of its victims.
Our lodge was crowded with a number of prominent chiefs, dignitaries from the various warrior societies, esteemed medicine men, and our own Brother Anthony. Several of our women were also in attendance, the latter, along with a number of Cheyenne women, seated as usual outside the council circle of men.
After the ceremonial pipe had been smoked by the men, the first fellow to speak up was an old medicine man,
Vo’aa’ohmese’aestse,
whose name, unless my Cheyenne is worse than I think, translates to something like, Antelope Bowels Moving.
Vo’aa’ohmese’aestse,
whose name, unless my Cheyenne is worse than I think, translates to something like, Antelope Bowels Moving.
“It is unfortunate,” began the old man, “that Little Wolf’s wife confused the wolf poison with the soda for making bread.” At this there was much assorted
“houing”
from the assemblage.”Wolf poison is not something that the People should eat in their bread,“he continued with a great deal of pomposity.”However, properly used, the poison is a good thing, for it kills the wolves so that there will be more game for the People.“Now the old man nodded smugly, and looking extremely self-satisfied with this reasoning, as those assembled
”houed”
enthusiastically.
“houing”
from the assemblage.”Wolf poison is not something that the People should eat in their bread,“he continued with a great deal of pomposity.”However, properly used, the poison is a good thing, for it kills the wolves so that there will be more game for the People.“Now the old man nodded smugly, and looking extremely self-satisfied with this reasoning, as those assembled
”houed”
enthusiastically.
I could not help myself, and although I knew it was unseemly to do so and would possibly even embarrass my husband, at this point I jumped up from my place and said: “If it is true that there will be more game after we kill the wolves, why is it that our relatives at the agencies who have been using the arsenic for some time now, have no game in their own country?” (Of course, I offer this far more fluent English translation of my remarks.)
Now there arose a small uproar of grunting among the assemblage expressing general disapproval—whether specifically of my remarks or at the fact that a woman had spoken in council at all, is hard to say.
“Vehoae …”
Little Wolf said with a smile to the assemblage,
“eohkesaahetseveoxohesaneheo’ o.”
Which roughly translated means, “white women … nothing stops them from saying whatever they are thinking.”
Little Wolf said with a smile to the assemblage,
“eohkesaahetseveoxohesaneheo’ o.”
Which roughly translated means, “white women … nothing stops them from saying whatever they are thinking.”
At this point the “little chief,” Black Coyote, spoke up. He is a fine-looking fellow, but with a bit of a reputation as a hothead, and a warmonger, and particularly known for his dislike of white people.
“Mesoke
is right,” he said now. “Instead of using the arsenic to poison wolves, we should use it to poison white people. We should make many loaves of poison bread and distribute these among all the whites. We have much more to fear from them than we do from the wolves.”
“Mesoke
is right,” he said now. “Instead of using the arsenic to poison wolves, we should use it to poison white people. We should make many loaves of poison bread and distribute these among all the whites. We have much more to fear from them than we do from the wolves.”
“Well, I didn’t say that exactly,” I tried to interject over the mixed
houing
of approval from Black Coyote’s more militant followers, and the grunting of dissent from his detractors.
houing
of approval from Black Coyote’s more militant followers, and the grunting of dissent from his detractors.
“The People have always lived with the wolves and the little wolves (coyotes),” Black Coyote continued. “It is true that sometimes we kill them with arrows or rifles, but there has always been enough game for all of us to share. It was not until the arrival of the white man that the buffalo and the other game began to disappear. The wolf is not our enemy. The white man is our enemy.”
This time the young warrior’s words were greeted with more
houing
than grunting as he seemed to be winning over the audience.
houing
than grunting as he seemed to be winning over the audience.
“I should like to hear what
Maheoneeestseve’ho’e
has to say on the subject,” Little Wolf said. This is one of the names the Cheyennes use to refer to Anthony, and means something like “holy-speaking white man.”
Maheoneeestseve’ho’e
has to say on the subject,” Little Wolf said. This is one of the names the Cheyennes use to refer to Anthony, and means something like “holy-speaking white man.”
Anthony spoke softly. He has learned basic Cheyenne in a remarkably short time. “Christ gave the blessing of bread to provide sustenance, not to kill men,” he said to Black Coyote. And to the assemblage in general he said, “God put all of the beasts on the Earth for His own divine purpose. He gives abundantly for all to share.”
A long silence ensued as all soberly considered Anthony’s simple but eloquent remarks.
Finally my husband, Little Wolf, raised his hand and spoke in his usual thoughtful way—without flourish or fanfare, but with plain reason and good sense.
“Mesoke, Mo’ohtaveo’kohome
and
Maheo’neestsevebho’e
are all correct,” said the Chief. “We have always lived with the wolves, and it is true that far more Cheyennes have been killed by the white soldiers than have ever been killed by the wolves.” (There was a smattering of
houing
here.) “The wolves and the little wolves have always followed the People wherever we go; eating the offal and cleaning the bones that we leave behind from our hunts. This is not a bad thing, for all thus returns to the earth, and nothing is wasted. Sometimes, it is true that the wolves kill buffalo calves, and deer and elk calves. They kill old and weak animals, this is also true. But the wolves must have meat. If the Great Medicine intended that only the People should be allowed to eat meat, why would he have put wolves upon the earth? With this poison we not only kill the wolves and the little wolves but many other animals who have been our friends and neighbors. I have eaten the poison myself and almost died. I believe that the Great Medicine himself gave me the poison to eat so that I might know that it was a bad thing. It is the white man way to kill all the animals, to drive them away. It is not the way of the People, for we and all the other animals have lived here together, we have always shared, and until the white man came there has always been enough for everyone. Therefore, we will no longer permit the arsenic in this camp. That is my decision.”
“Mesoke, Mo’ohtaveo’kohome
and
Maheo’neestsevebho’e
are all correct,” said the Chief. “We have always lived with the wolves, and it is true that far more Cheyennes have been killed by the white soldiers than have ever been killed by the wolves.” (There was a smattering of
houing
here.) “The wolves and the little wolves have always followed the People wherever we go; eating the offal and cleaning the bones that we leave behind from our hunts. This is not a bad thing, for all thus returns to the earth, and nothing is wasted. Sometimes, it is true that the wolves kill buffalo calves, and deer and elk calves. They kill old and weak animals, this is also true. But the wolves must have meat. If the Great Medicine intended that only the People should be allowed to eat meat, why would he have put wolves upon the earth? With this poison we not only kill the wolves and the little wolves but many other animals who have been our friends and neighbors. I have eaten the poison myself and almost died. I believe that the Great Medicine himself gave me the poison to eat so that I might know that it was a bad thing. It is the white man way to kill all the animals, to drive them away. It is not the way of the People, for we and all the other animals have lived here together, we have always shared, and until the white man came there has always been enough for everyone. Therefore, we will no longer permit the arsenic in this camp. That is my decision.”
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