University of Virginia Library

Miscellaneous

1. Happiness

(from Indian Journal, May 5, 1901)

Chas. Gibson's Description of Happiness in the Backwoods of Arkansaw.

Once upon a time we were down back yonder rambling around over the country, looking for a sand rock for a relic. We failed in this but found lots of flint rocks. While there the good neighbors got up what they called a rag for our benefit.

The first man on the ground was the neighborhood doctor. Instead of pills he had a bucket of pine tar and for surgical instruments he had a 10 cent pair of tweezers. He gave the order, or as it were, touched the button, and each couple took their places, no shoes was the order of the day, the fiddler started in with three strings and wound up with one. When recess was taken each couple pranced up to the bar where refreshments were liberally distributed which treat consisted of squirrel gravy and gash. This it seems was the toney dish of the season. When the recess was called and refreshments were over then came the doctor and extracted the splinters and tarred up the wounds. Then on went the dance and joy was unconspired until the next morning when the main feast came off. This consisted of the following delicacies, corn bread, cold corn and sassafras1 tea. Oh, yes you want to know what is meant by gash in Arkansas. We will lead you into the dark recesses of the conglomeration of Arkansas gash, it is bran peas, coon gravy, corn meal, green mustard a little cabbage, then more corn meal, then a little sweet potatoes, a little sorghum,2 and just a little rabbit and squirrel gravey for seasoning. Here we are at sea, this is fully one-half of what Arkansas gash is made out of. It was a very popular drink especially [for] the girls. Rabbit and squirrel gravy is very nutrious, that is why you see in traveling back yonder such rosy cheek girls. The above dish will fatten girls as soon as baughnough will pigs.

2. The Indian: His Past

(from Indian Journal, May 16, 1902)

He was monarch of all he surveyed. He wanted for nothing. Food was at his disposal. He had the pick and choice of such game as his appetite craved. In short, he subsisted on the fat of the land. Having a boundless country to roam over and stretch his tepee where he pleased, he knew nothing of confinement. He owned the earth and enjoyed the freedom thereof. He was a man and rejoiced in his physical strength. He was not savage when his rights were respected. He was even humane; especially in the matter of killing game. He did not destroy game wantonly. What game he destroyed was for food, not for the sport of it. The twang of his bowstring did not make the game wild. He could approach a bear or deer without scaring it out of the country. He did not have the quality termed "game hog" of nowadays. When he sent an arrow home in one deer , he did [not] look for a whack at another. He took his split cane and proceeded to cut the hide loose from the legs, breast, etc, oblivious to what went on about him. He was very careful not to give the living deer a scare. He hunted only when he needed food and killed no more game than was actually necessary. When he thought he needed a change of meat, he poisoned1 the streams in the summer for fish. The sport was free to all, likewise the fish. The poisoning of the stream did not shorten the fish crop.

In his simple happiness, he adored the Giver and gave thanks for fruits--strawberries, blackberries and so forth.

With the ripening of the corn came his annual festivity. This event was celebrated with great pomp. He looked upon the corn as being over half of his living. The festival season was religiously observed by his entire tribe for eight or ten days. There was no hypocrisy, only pure simple religion.

During this festival all lost property found was displayed for identification. Such trivial effects as handkerchiefs, ropes, bells, bows and arrows were hung up and a talk made notifying all present that this or that was lost property subject to claim by the owner. Stray horses and hogs were described and located and the owners thereof went and got their stock without a cent of cost to themselves. One of the headmen was always delegated to make a long talk to the young men, admonishing them to lead up-right lives. There was, also, a renewal of good friendship and brotherly love. The camps were filled with rejoicing. Now and then a tear was shed for some dead leader of the dance, or singer, or medicine man, or fire maker. The widows and orphans were special guests at the festival. The sympathy of the tribe was extended to them. Their relatives were admonished to look after them and make them comfortable.

The young men on these occasions were called up before their elders and given their war names. The Creeks were all known by their clans. For instance, a young man of the deer clan was called and when he came up before the namers he would probably be named Echo Micco, or King Deer. Each was called and named according to his clan. He was presented with a piece of tobacco duly cured and wrapped in pawpaw or hickory bark. The young men so named discarded their old names forever. There was no hunching, no laughing, no foolishness. The ceremonies were conducted as sacredly as in any church.

"Don't get mad enough at your neighbor" said the old man to the young men, "to kill him." "He that will not take this advice is billious, sickly and a woman in temper.

"Don't take from your fellow-man the worth of an arrow without first asking his consent.

"Don't talk too freely to your neighbor's wife; it might cause your neighbor to lose his friendship for you."

"Above all listen to the advice of your elders."

These are some of the rules of conduct the young Indians of the past were taught to live and die by.

3. The Indian--His Present

(from Indian Journal, May 23, 1902)

He is like a stray horse--everybody is wanting to use him. There is no Indian today but what is attractive and full of interest. All eyes are turned on him. Why is it? He is not a solon, nor a railroad magnate, nor a merchant prince, nor a John Pierpont Morgan. He is not a great evangelist, nor a person of royal rank, nor a high official of the United States government. He is only a poor lo.1 Yet, in popular parlance, he seems to be of a great lot of consequence. Well, the reason of his popularity is because he is land poor. This is what is the matter with him. He has more land than he knows what to do with. He is living at the top of the pot. But friendly strangers have sought abode with him, volunteering to take care of his surplus domain; and in the shuffle the Indian has been caught up in the whirl of an everlasting picnic. Thus is carried out the old sayings, come easy, go easy; let each day provide for itself. His money is all in large bills and he has to mortgage twenty dollars to get fifty cents worth of change. He is patted on the back and told to go in and blow himself.2 He is put next to the fact that not every man in the United States can boast of 160 acres of terra firma;3 that there will be lots of land left after he is done with; that it is no use to be a hale fellow well met unless one is a hell of a fellow.

The Indian long ago cared but very little for money. He could do without and not feel inconvenienced. But the Indian of this enlightened age, being more civilized, has learned that the rattle of silver in one's jeans commands respect. So he lets go of a few acres of land and is happy. Nothing like putting on appearances. It is American to do so. Why can't he, the most genuine and uncompromising American.

The Indian will hold his head up and stay in the front push as long as his land holds out. He will live easy though he dies a hard death.

There are a few Indians who are holdbacks--that is, not selling any land and depriving themselves of high living. They seemed to have forgotten that they are liable to drop off any minute; that there is but one life to live on this earth.

Now, in regard to the picnic hereinbefore mentioned, a great many talk like this: you will sell all of your lands and be paupers within a few years.

This sort of talk may be all right, be we are not heeding it, because we are also told that there will be plenty of land left when we are dead and gone. So we are taking the money offered for our land and having a good time, for tomorrow we may die and leave a lot of land for our poor kinfolks to wrangle over in the courts, causing the legal fraternity no end of bother.

With these few remarks on the present of the Indian we will proceed to join the picnickers and shout, on with the dance! let joy be unconfined!

4. The Indian--His Future

(from Indian Journal , June 6, 1902)

Looking back we see him despised because he is a savage and a shade darker than the pale face. He is not given to work, cares little for progress and is without love for money. Is he to be blamed? For all these faults, if faults they be, he believes that the One looking over him did not intend that he should work; that had the pale face stayed on his own side he would to-day be happy.

Not so. He has been driven from one reservation to another until he should be a worst savage to-day than he was five hundred years ago.

On the shores of the Atlantic he stood a giant. The little waves came and went, but came oftener and higher as he stood till finally the giant was forced to retreat from them, seeking safety on the banks. But the waves followed him there and he retreated still further. He climbed the mountains, but the waves sought him out, submerging the mountains. Then the giant set his face unto the setting sun and climbed higher, yet did the waters follow him. Weakened finally by his march, the giant stopped and tried to stand his ground, but stumbled in the effort by selling a piece of American soil to William Penn.1 Then one stumble followed another until he was swept along with no landing in sight. He struggled in vain to get away from the waves. He became disgusted with his own weakness and man's inhumanity to man. He saw nothing to encourage him to another effort. Meanwhile the waves rose higher.

One of these waves is called the Penn treaty, another the sale of Alabama, another the Georgia squabble, another the emigration west of the Mississippi, another the war of the rebellion whereby the giant lost most of his property, and yet another the misinterpretation of a treaty in 1866,2 giving the Negro about one-third of the giant's country without the consideration of one dime.

The giant, or hero, of our fable has been oppressed more than any other being on the face of the earth.

Did you ever stop to think over this case of our hero? Well, about one-half of our hero's countrymen served as soldiers during the late war. How much of the rebellion they put down is not recorded, but we find many old pensioners among the people of the giant. Now, the giant gets no credit for his loyalty to the union, although the war swept away about a third of his lost and only lands.

The last wave which will close over the life of the giant, which is not worth living nohow, will be the winding up of tribal affairs. The wave is already here.

The old Indian, who came from Alabama, has told his young people, "Even the children of the pale face will call you bad names; kick you out and not see that you have your rights. You will only be Indians, the hated and despised people. If you are liked, it will be only while your land lasts. Then you will be a vagabond the balance of your miserable life."

Such is the prophecy of the old Indian, who concludes this: "The white man will say to you, who have sold your land and are begging food and shelter, 'you are stout and able to work.' The white man's religion teaches him that by the sweat of his brow shall he eat bread."

So will the noble red man of Cooper3 go down into his grave, if he has any, unhonored and unsung. So will pass one of the honestest, truthfulest, kindest, most charitable, hospitable, humblest, most religious, most wronged, most patient, forbearing, but most revengeful race of people that ever inhabited the earth.

5. Passing of the Indian's Religion

(from Indian Journal, August 1, 1902)

In this so-called free country of America, where a citizen can worship according to the dictates of his own conscience, or party, the Indian is fast losing his religion. In a few more years the religion whispered to him in the wind will be lost entirely.

The Indian's religion was a poor makeshift, but the Great Spirit1 was satisfied with it. When the wild vine and tree brought forth fruit, the Indians rejoiced saying, "It is well. He that looks over us has given us fruits to eat. Therefore let us gather at our Big House2 and rejoice, cleansing our bodies of the past year's impurities and our minds of the evil thoughts that we hold against one another."

Thus the Indians worshiped. There was nothing mean--nothing vulgar to mar the occasion. Good will prevailed. The young men were given good advice as well as the young girls. Everyone went away wiser and better. There was no thirst for red whiskey--no intoxication. There was no stealing.

The Indian is now asked, nay, almost compelled to discard this simple, wholesome religion for the religion of the white man. How pitiful is a race of people under the foot of the conqueror! Their customs, religion, everything that made their existence tolerable, wiped out as evils! They must not hunt; they must not fish; they must not be heathens; but they can drink red whiskey and indulge in all the vices!

6. Raising the Dead

(from Indian Journal, August 1, 1902)

We have heard of people raising the devil lots of times and we have come across accounts of the dead being brought to life by divine power, but we have never known until lately that common everyday cornbread-eating folks could raise the dead.

This land business in the Creek country has brought many things to light. For instance, it has leaked out that dead people are being held up in their graves by their kin folks and made to call for their pro rata share of land.1 They are made to say that they have not been dead long enough to be excluded from participation in the land distribution. When the papers are all fixed up they are allowed to slumber on, while their lands are sold to land sharks wanting dead Indian lands. This is no ordinary fable. The writer has been referred to several instances where dead Indians have received certificates of allotments. If the matter was investigated, many similar cases might be found.

7. Wakachee

(from Indian Journal, August 15, 1902)

Wakachee,1 the old, weakminded, inoffensive Creek, who has been acting curious and alarming his neighbors out at Lenna,2 has a queer history, says Barney Riley.3

A close friendship exists between Wakachee and another Creek full-blood of the name of Yahola Harjo,4 living somewhere between Muskogee and Tulsa, who is also given to ways that are dark and tricks that are vain. They visit each other frequently, and when they are together they hold council and indulge in "stomp" dances on their own square ground. Sometimes they sneak off to the woods or mountains and are gone for days.

Wakachee has a son and a stepson,5 both about grown. He has these boys under fine control and they are ready to do anything that he requires of them. Recently he had them assist him in building a bonfire of all his household goods, including his dwelling. There are eight in the family, himself, wife and six children. Among the things saved from the fire were three new Winchester rifles and a breech loading shot gun. His neighbors are scared within an inch of their lives. Some of them believe that the spells to which Wakachee and his friend Yahola Harjo are subject are contagious, while others are afraid of great bodily harm at the hands of the weakminded Indian, who is a strong Snake follower,6 but who now has no talk to make about politics.

Barney Riley says it is as good as a circus to see Wakachee and his side-partner go through their performances of entertaining imaginary friends on the "stomp" ground. Some nights they dance and yell till daylight, often continuing the performance several nights in succession. Wakachee's boys are believed to be similarly affected.

The people of the neighborhood believe that they ought to be confined but are juberous7 about undertaking the job.

8. As It's Done in the B.I.T.1

(from Indian Journal, August 15, 1902)

Now, the sale or introduction of the red stuff or other intoxicants in the B. I. T. is strictly forbidden by law and treaty.2

Now, it happened in about this way:

A certain doctor, we will call him Jones, for it is a short, an uncommon and a romantic name, ordered some drugs among other stuff that invigorates the mind, loosens up the joints and causes the individual to wake up notorious in the calaboose. Having such an uncommon name, Jones thought that there would be no trouble about the stuff coming through right-side-up-with-care and be delivered at the door O.K. But it turned out, about the time the stuff was due, that there was another man who was also named Jones and who was likewise engaged in the traffic of drugs. So, when Jones No. 2 called for some stuff that was due him, too, the station agent, not knowing any other Druggist Jones, of course, collected express charges nicely for his company and delivered the goods apparently in good order. Now, there was a day of reckoning ahead. Jones No. 1 waltzed into the express office and demanded what was coming to him. The agent was dumbfounded and said "Heaven help me, is your name Jones? Who would have thought it? I am surprised to find two Joneses all at one time in the same business at the same time. Now, how am I to know who's who?"

Curious to relate, both Joneses were Indians.

Jones No. 2 landed home safe and sound with the stuff. Among other things he discovered a few demijohns of a number one peach brandy, some sixteen years old and good enough to cause him to make trouble. It came in mighty handy about busk time.3

We don't know whether or not the Joneses are making any faces over the matter, but we learned that the sixteen year old is exhausted.

The drayman, failing to collect his bill, let the cat out of the bag.

MORAL-- It won't pay to have an uncommon name to deal in drugs under the B.I.T.