An old Army Christmas

It is not always the comforts of our modern garrison life that contribute most largely to our happiness and contentment. There comes to me a delight in the memory of past pleasures experienced amid surroundings primitive indeed if compared with those of the present day army life.

As the holiday season approaches there comes vividly to my mind one of the most delightful recollections of Christmas cheer that I have in my gallery of reminiscences of the old frontier life.

News came to our station Fort Custer Montana that the Indians near the British border threatened an uprising. It was the old story we had heard so often. The agent and others at Fort Peck Agency, Poplar River became so alarmed that they hastily left the agency. With the news came orders for us to immediately proceed to the scene of trouble. Accordingly within a few days two companies of the Eleventh Infantry, “B” and “F” ere packed and ready to leave the post with all their household belongings and person effects. When we started on the march our faces were headed toward we knew not what, except that it was to be a new home which were to construct with such materials as the country afforded. How long or short would be our stay no one knew.

It was a typical wagon train that turned its back upon our late home which I am sure none of us ever saw again. The procession, I imagine, was not unlike those creaking caravans of the present day South Africa of which one reads so much.

The ambulance was occupied by three children, and my cook with her baby.

But two ladies accompanied the command, the wife of another officer and myself. When either of us was weary, we too jolted along in the ambulance, but we preferred riding at our husbands’ sides, on horses provided for us. Sometimes for days at a time I never left the saddle except for our meal stops and for evening camp. Our goods and the varied property of the officers and men, were all piled in the Army wagons. We might have been likened to the snail, in that our home went with us; though our pace decidedly saved us from the appellation.

I remember well the tiny maltese kitten that belonged to my husband that rode in the wagon with the children.

Down the Big Horn and Yellowstone valleys then across the buffalo ranges, thus we traveled, pushing on by day, stopping for meals, and camping at nights in our tents wherever the end of the day a march found us. We lived on the fresh meat of any game that came our way; and the canned goods that our commissary stores afforded; and drank from the different streams that crossed our path with their welcome refreshment. No thoughts of microbes or boiled water were associated with that uninhabited country.

If we were near an isolated ranch at the end of the day’s march, we made camp near it for the bit of extra company, and fresh eggs that it sometimes afforded. The recollection of one of these stops comes to me so vividly. It was called the “Dirty Woman’s Ranch” (and well named too) for its proprietress, who was otherwise known as Mrs. Burns. Nothing but the name was ever known of Mr. Burns. Where or when he existed, if ever, was the “Dirty Woman’s” secret. The ethics of the frontier forbade questions of a persona nature. Even without the restraints of frontier etiquette, it is doubtful if any one would have had the temerity or fool hardiness ever to question her actions or deeds in any way.

Her ranch was the regular overland stage station. The “dirty woman” prepared all the meals in the filthy costume she effected, and to which she owed the sobriquet which she seemed to enjoy.

When the meals were ready, invariably would she go to the only door of her little ranch, and in the strident, hoarse tones that everyone instantly recognized, shouted, “Grub pile” for the benefit of whomever it might concern. In answer to her call, the guests sat down to the table covered with a dirty red cloth, set with salt pork, or buffalo steak, or venison; black bread, and blacker coffee, flanked by brown sugar, and if the provision wagon afforded such a luxury, condensed milk. The summons was, to say the least, informal, and the meal was far from appetizing; but this was over looked for, when all was said and done, the fact remained that she was a woman and her sex was at a premium in that country in those early days.

My husband and I had for servants at that time a negro, named Cox, and Milley, his wife. Their only child was but a few months old when we took up the march to Fort Peck Agency. For several days the baby boy had been ailing. With all the care that the attending physician could give, he grew steadily worse, until one night, as the tents were pitched on the dreary waste, the little soul passed away.

It was near Glendive that the baby’s illness culminated in death and the next morning while the early sun was shining brightly, the tiny body was wrapped in a blanket, enclosed in a crack box, and interred at the foot of a cottonwood tree. My husband read the burial service while the bereaved couple stood by bowed with sorrow. Then the name “Allan Olan Cox” was carved on the tree trunk; and, the camp broken, the cavalcade moved away, leaving the lonely little grave which none of us were to ever see again, as an unraveled mystery to those who should follow in the coming years.

After crossing the Yellowstone River we came upon great herds of buffalo. There were countless thousands of them, so that the noise of their feeding at night kept many of us from sleep. They paid little heed to the party of soldiers and their caravan, these denizens of the prairie, not even deigning to resent their presence. So dense were the herds and so great the danger of a stampede that would sweep away our train, that it was found necessary to open fire on them with a piece of artillery in order to cut our way through the stupid mass. The result of this slaughter afforded us some steaks for our next few meals.

One of the soldiers also killed a badger on the way and out of curiosity we roasted it. The meat was found to be very tender and savory.

One morning not long after that we awoke to a curious spectacle. As we emerged from our tents we were confronted with great white peering faces, wide-eyed and curious, topped with snowy long ears cocked quizzically at us. It was at first startling, but, upon investigation, we discovered that the familiar dark bodies of our mules were still attached to spectral heads.

It then transpired that, in a restless inquisitive mood, the faithful mules had broken into our flour supply during the night and in wasting it all had stamped themselves as the culprits by the white coating with which their investigations had branded them. Had they stopped to reason out the situation, I do not think they would have given away to their impulse, for in view of our need of flour they were urged forward at an even quicker pace than they had been traveling; and for the next eight miles they at least partially made up for their misdemeanor.

Flour was a necessary article and yeast, had it been attainable, would have been as precious as gold. As it was, for six long weeks were obliged to live on bread raised by baking power. The experience was not so pleasant as to cause any of us to ever repeat the experiment, when yeast was within several miles in any direction.

October had already half passed when we reached our destination. The situation was all that it had been pictured, and even worse. The Indians received us sullenly, and watched our every move with jealous suspicion. As there was no shelter save the tents in which we had been living while on the march, our first need was protection, not only from the approaching winter, but also from the threatening Indians.

So it was that the soldiers immediately began work on the cantonment. Suitable logs were searched for along the river bottom and brought to the site that had been selected; while constant vigilance was the price we paid for sufficient freedom to permit effective work. Had conditions been better known beforehand, we ladies would never have been allowed o accompany the command; but once there, it was impossible for us to leave until navigation opened up in the Spring.

The nights were horrors for the most timid ones for there we lived in the heart of hostile Indian country – a couple of thousand sullen savages at our doors and only a handful of devoted men to protect us from the dreadful possibilities our position held.

By the sixteenth of December we were installed in our cabins. They were built of rough logs chinked with mid. Canvas was spread over the board roofs to give a little greater protection. The officers’ quarters had two rooms of about thirteen by seventeen and one-half feet, lighted by two windows each. The floors were loose rough boards laid on the ground; but makeshifts as they were, we ladies used every art to make them attractive with the very limited means at our command. The soldiers had little huts, each of which could shelter about a dozen men.

It was high time for more protection than the tents afforded, as the Indians were daily growing more aggressive, until we were forced to live behind rifle pits; even the officers not daring to leave the little fort without arms or an escort. It became almost a nightly occurrence for bullets whistling through the darkness to disturb our evening’s social converse or our night’s rest.

At last our situation made known to headquarters, nine troops of mounted Infantry and two troops of Cavalry from Fort Keogh; and a troop of Cavalry and detachment of Infantry from Fort Buford, were sent to our relief. I shall never forget the sight they presented on their arrival just at dusk on Christmas eve.

The air was clear with the great still cold when the weary riders made their appearance. The sweat on the faces, shoulders and flanks of the ponies had frozen, until from the uniform white of their appearance they seemed all to be of one color as they strung out in the early twilight. The cheer of hearty welcome with which we greeted the new comers must have warmed their hearts almost as much as their appearance cheered us.

All the available dry wood to be had was turned over to them; and soon the bright glow of fires lessened the gloom of the bitter winter night. The mercury was actually frozen, yet the relieving troops had no shelter but the tents they had brought with them on the march.

It was the beautiful army custom in those days for the officers already at the station to call the first evening upon the new arrivals. Accordingly, our officers visited the tents that were put up in military precision close as convenient to our little shacks. Afterward all the new officers, most of whom I had already met, called to pay their respects to the two ladies in this little beleaguered post they had endured so much to relieve.

It was not much like a holiday gathering that Christmas Eve. They came dressed as best that their limited kits afforded. (Winter campaigns in Montana were far from being pleasure trips.) Several of them were suffering from frozen noses, ears, cheeks or fingers, from the terrible exposure of the past week’s ride. The painful peeling process was exceedingly annoying; but not a word of complaint was heard.

Realizing how hard it was for them to be away from their wives and families under such trying circumstances, and especially at this time of year that stands for family reunions, I invited ten of them for Christmas dinner the next day. It was my pleasure to take all possible pains to make my dinner attractive, and the subsequent delight of the home-hungry men fully repaid me.

When we entered our quarters, I had personally superintended the lining of both rooms with heavy brown paper such as is used between partitions and floors to keep houses warm.

In one room stood the bed hidden by a large screen. It had proved my good fortune to have ordered my piano to be shipped to Fort Custer too late in the season for it to arrive before we left for Poplar River. It had come up to Fort Buford on the last boat before navigation closed for the winter; and from there it had been forwarded to Poplar River sixty miles up the Missouri. So, delightfully incongruous as it was, we had the piano in the combination bed and sitting room, flanked by my guitar and banjo. Near it, suspended from the ceiling was a hanging lamp. At each window hung lace curtains and wine colored red lambrequins; and with the floor made warm with buffalo robes the little room was voted delightfully cozy by all who entered.

In the dining room stood our dresser which was utilized as a side-board; my big “Saratoga” trunk, and the smaller traveling trunks, all covered and curtained and made into seats. A door in the rear of the room communicated with our cooking-tent, which was put up like a lean-to on a frame, with loose boards for flooring. Two great stoves which burned green cottonwood kept the little two-roomed house warm. For the Christmas dinner, several tables were put together in the small dining room, almost filling it.

Despite their unpleasant and decidedly uncomfortable situation, all the guests appeared with the bright holiday faces that their beautiful optimism and gentle courtesy prompted.

Covers were laid for twelve, and as we entered the dining-room the guests stood still with appreciation at the sight of the table. I had procured from the trader, who had cared fort hem until we had entered our shacks, several geranium plants; and by Christmas their buds had opened into warm red flowers. They were at that bleak season a delight.

When the officers saw that the dinner preparations were more elaborate than they could have hoped for in that out-of-the-way place, their faces brightened still more, and as the evening progressed my heart warmed to see the spirit of Christmas was assisting my anxious hospitality in causing them to forget themselves and enjoy the present as much as possible.

Our first course was raw oysters, which were canned and frozen before shipment. For it I had made careful preparation. My man had cut for me a large square block of ice and twelve small ones. With hammer and chisel and the aid of a dishpan and a baking-powder can filled with boiling water, these were transformed into receptacles for the sea food. A hot flat-iron made for them all beveled edges, and the large block was further decorated with our monogram. The whole gave a beautiful crystal effect. The novelty delighted the guests and immediately dispelled the traces of sadness that threatened. In fact, the ice dishes most effectually broke the social ice, and started a warmth of approbation and comfort in the little dinner.

The diary I have kept all my life brings back to me even the menu of that night. After the oysters came soup, homemade, and not the canned variety with which we had become so familiar as diners on the frontier. Then followed salmon croquette with egg sauce and potatoes. The butcher had provided me with sweet-breads, and these were served in patties with peas fresh – from the can.

Too isolated for Christmas turkey, we had a big roast of beef, and I really do not believe the guests gave one passing thought to the holiday bird. Potatoes and cabbage a la cauliflower completed that course. Prairie chickens and currant jelly tarts melted from view before the canned asparagus salad made its appearance, and no hostess ever had more reason to be gratified by the enthusiasm with which each dish was received, than I had upon that occasion. Cheese and crackers preceded the sherbet, home-made cake, and the candies I had made with hurried zeal.

Before coffee had entirely disappeared, the room was comfortably perfumed with cigar smoke, and the party was launched upon after-dinner stories. We had been three hours and a half at table, and were now quite in the humor for music and lively conversation.

One of the officers was an accomplished musician, and of course delighted with the presence of the piano. Solo, duet, chorus, story and instrumental duet followed each other in happy succession for a couple of hours after.

But the time for good-nights abruptly reminded us that this was the last social gathering before the impending fight with the Indians, which their insolent and threatening. Dispositions made inevitable. The idea entered every mind that the coming week might find us beyond earthly pleasures, and, as we were separated from all those we held dear in this world, it was impossible to escape a little depression. Since there are no sorrowful incidents to remember in connection with the fight, however, the recollection of our momentary depression does not dim that of the Christmas cheer.

One of the officers came to me just before they returned to their cheerless tents and the look upon his face wrung my heart. He had been unusually quiet for some time; but with true soul bravery and unselfishness, had tried to hide his feelings for fear of casting gloom up on the party. Now he came to me and said in low tones:

“I want to ask a favor of your, Mrs. H. If – if I should not get back again, and you see my wife and babies, will you tell them that I thought of them last night?” Then, as though ashamed of the tears that hung heavy in his eyes, and the fear in his heart for those he left behind, he squared his shoulders and added in a voice that vainly tried to express optimism:

“But I’ll be back, I’ll be back.”

Two other guests quietly asked me to take care of their wills, for of course we two ladies with the children would be protected to the last, and our goods would be safer than the guarded effects of the officers. And so my big trunk received more into its safekeeping two wills; and I was charged with more than one last message.

Then with courageous hearts and bravely smiling faces, the Christmas guests took leave. It was an unusual holiday feast in every way, and the possibilities that the future held did not tend to make it less so; but I am glad to add that the dinner was not the last we enjoyed together. The Indians were overcome with greater dispatch than expected, and without any fatalities on our side; had it been otherwise my memory would have been of sorrow. Every one of that evening’s party was spared to gather among their own for many subsequent “Merry Christmases,” and to partake of “Peace on earth; good-will toward men.”

The Last Sun Dance

It was my good fortune, while at Poplar River, Montana, in the early ‘80s, to witness the last unrestricted “Sun Dance” that the government allowed the Sioux Indians to hold.

It was to be a great affair, and as such, was widely heralded. At that time, there happened to be a steamboat stopping at the post, to unload stores and “wood up,” and as the news spread of the coming festival, the passengers seized the opportunity to witness the novel sight. A number of them attended it, gladly paying the one dollar admission that the Indians asked when they saw the crowd of prospective spectators. They knew that they could overtake the boat next day by driving overland a short distance, meeting it after it had made one of the wide bends for which the Missouri is noted.

The Sun Dance, “We tonka Wacheepy” as the Indians call it, was a half religious, half political rite, held annually to glorify the Deity; and to give the young men (and women) an opportunity to prove their bravery and endurance. By this rite or ceremony, the endurance powers of the young men were tested prior to their “coming of age.” If they withstood the ordeals without flinching, they were entitled to the appellation of “Braves,” and to take part in the councils of their people. But if they turned “jontay sutah wanitch” (weak hearted) and could not take the “medicine,” they were condemned to wear squaw clothes, and to associate with the women, if anybody, the rest of their lives – a disgrace greater than it is easy to describe.

For days before the big event, the Indians were busy building an immense semi-circular enclosure about a hundred and fifty feet across. For this they collected trees, brush and grass. From the trees were cut the larger branches, and these, leaves and all, were stacked to form a rustic wall of ten feet or more in height. This wall was then made more dense and impenetrable by interweaving among the branches, the lighter brush, long grass, hay etc., that had been accumulated.

As the time for the dance drew near the Indians began to gather. From Fort Buford, Standing Rock, Wolf Pond and from all their nearby camps and other agencies, they poured in, on foot, on horseback and on travois. It was a stream of gaily decked, sedate warriors, brightly blanketed, chattering squaws, and anxious excited young men. For days preceding the event, they came from far and near, until the entire camp became a babel of voices exchanging the gossip and history of the Sioux nation, for it was also the occasion for a tribal social gathering, and great was the feasting. Day and night one heard the ceaseless beat of the tom-tom. The small command of United States troops began to feel uneasy for fear that the quiet which had been enjoyed since Sitting Bull’s surrender, a couple of years previous, should be again broken. It was feared that, in the wild excitement of the dance and the ensuing mad carousal, the savage blood might again be roused, and inspire the Indians to commit fresh outrages through sheer bravado and a consciousness of overwhelming numbers. These fears, however, proved groundless.

At last the anticipated day arrived.

The Missouri River “bottom,” where the dance was held, was a vast flat plain, admirably adapted to such a drama as was enacted.

It was a brilliant sight, s the visitors appeared on the scene. The great crowd of Indians all decked in feathers, paint and the brightest of gay blankets, and with keen expectant faces, made not only a psychological study, but a kaleidoscopic appearance on the unbroken sage green plain. Old chiefs stalked about sedately, the coup feathers in their hair and bonnets as they waved, lending grace and dignity to their calm demeanor. Here a squaw, with a tiny papoose strapped to her back, hurried by, busy on some errand for her lord and master. Now and again a pale cheeked youth passed; his unnoticing eyes fixed on the ground as though in a mental trance. Now, a painfully ugly old man, his dirty blanket dragging on the ground, and carrying some hideous symbol moved by, s terror stricken individuals made way for him “Pajutah Wau kan” (medicine man) the Indians would murmur, as they glanced after him in evident fear and apprehension.

The handful of interested white visitors beheld the weird and unusual sight with wonder and almost awe on their intent faces. It was modern America gazing open mouthed at primeval America. But the latter, in its cool dignity and self-containment, appeared not to realize that strangers were present.

The visitors note dhow many of the Indian bucks were mounted on ponies, and soon they saw them start away to a spot several hundred yards distant. Here they formed in a close line facing the unfinished enclosure.

For a minute, there was absolute silence. The line, except for the occasional pawing of a horse, was as motionless and as quiet as though it were a panoramic painting. The braves were decked in their handsomest costumes, heavy with bead work; in their hair were feathers; knives flashed at their belts; the brilliant paint on their faces stood out vividly in the sunlight; and in his right hand, every man carried a green bough.

Suddenly, and apparently with an audible word of command, the ponies were put to a gallop; the branches were waved in the air; and the whole troop came thundering across the plain toward us; while from every throat was screamed the hideous war-whoop. The ground shuddered under the tread of the hundreds of hoofs; the air trembled with the savage cry; the wind whistled through the uplifting branches. It was like a diabolical human avalanche sweeping toward us.

On they came at top speed, until almost onto the partial enclosure that had been erected; then the horses were so suddenly checked in the mild rush, that they reared violently or were brought to their haunches. Another instant, and the whole line wheeled, and at a trot each warrior as he passed the half-completed structure, dashed his bough to the ground, and swept on to make room for the next. Horses of squaws rushed forward as the boughs were deposited, and built them up into a wall exactly similar to the other, thus completing the circle, save for an opening for entrance on one side.

In the centre of the circle had been planted a pole, really a tree, from which all but a few small branches at the top had been cut. It resembled a telegraph pole of about fifty feet in height. In the very top, was hung a bundle of herbs which had been “blessed” by the medicine men.

One side of the enclosure had been set apart for the visitor.

In another part of the theatre the young men who were to be tested took their places. We learned that they had had no nourishment that day except a cup of tea; and they would be compelled to fast until they had undergone their tests on the following afternoon. They were now given bone whistles, and, facing the sun, were set to dancing to it – a circumstance from which the rite takes its name.

The dance was merely a series of short jumps, the dancers always facing the sun; and as they jumped, they ceaselessly whistled the one monotonous note, over and over. They scarcely moved from their places, and the short springs barely cleared their heels from the ground, as they lifted on their toes. At intervals they blew a long note on the whistles, and extended their right hand appealingly toward the sun. It was almost incredible, the length of time they continued this dance without stopping for breath, and their rests were short and far between.

The young men danced this way from about two o’clock in the afternoon until sundown.

In the meantime, we noted the appearance of some old medicine men, in another part of the enclosure. To them were brought children and babies, to have their ears pierced. Some sort of savage method to partially deaden the pain was used; but soon the cries of the little ones almost drowned the insistent din of the bone whistles; the tom-toms; and the droning. It was a pitiful sight, and quite unbearable to some of the visitors.

For these services the medicine men reaped a rich harvest, for babies’ fathers paid, according to their means, to have the long slender knives or red hot needles run through the little ears. One very wealthy chief made the presentation of several ponies, with ostentatious display. The ponies were brought in by uncanny looking Indian men apparently dressed to represent “ghosts.” They wore nothing but their breech clouts; their bodies were whitened with some preparation resembling chalk, or plaster of paris. Their hair, too, was plastered over their heads to the back, where it hung in a single braid, covered with white plaster. The horses had been treated in the same manner, even their tails having become single stiff stalks of white plaster. The effect was startling, if not artistic.

Near the wall, and opposite the visitors, was stationed the “orchestra” composed of some ten or twelve Indian bucks presiding over the tom-toms. Now and again the muffled rumble of the instruments was broken by a chant from the “musicians,” that reminded one of Dante’s description of his visit to the place of lost souls. In its way, the song was as devoid of music as were the instruments, which accompanied the singers. And yet, its weird rhythm comes back to me from the distant past as a sort of doleful chant of mournful measure.

An unusual commotion, and our attention was attracted to some squaws near us, who were attended by medicine men. They had bared their shapely brown arms, and around them, above the elbow, were laid pieces of muslin. The men worked with each woman in turn. From the upper arm were cut small chunks of flesh; while the women endured and watched the operation without flinching. The pieces were then placed in the muslin, tied up like little balls, preparatory to being buried. The women displayed their bravery, and were assured, that by the time the pieces had decayed in the ground, the wounds in their arms would be healed.

The sights and sounds were rapidly growing too much for me, and I was glad when we went home that evening.

Had it not been that the affair was to be the last of its kind that would ever be held, I should have refused to return the next day. However, my husband and my friend, aided by my own curiosity, finally persuaded me to witness the ceremony of the great test day.

The youths had been dancing, as before, to the sun since early morning and about two o’clock in the afternoon they began to “take their medicine.”

A numb=er of medicine men had brought rods, to the ends of which were attached by a string, some kind of fancy tackle – resembling that used by the angler to lure his finny prey. This tackle was dangled before the dancers’ eyes just out of their reach. Each young man endeavored to follow it continually with his eyes, and apparently tried to catch it. And so, with heads thrown back at a break neck angle, they followed the medicine men around and around as they ceaselessly dangled the tackle up and down. Thus one led the dancers about, now causing them to turn one way, now another; now to whirl to the rear so quickly as to almost cause them to fall to the ground.

The evident purpose was to make the dancers so dizzy as to fall from exhaustion; thus rendering them less sensitive to pain – surely a heroic anesthetic, if such it were. As they had already been dancing with the sunlight blinding their eyes for several hours, it was not long before they succumbed to the “medicine.” Soon as they dropped, other doctors sprang upon them, and by different fiendish methods, prepared each for his special ordeal.

Several kinds of trials had been arranged, which were considered equally severe; and before the rites began, each you had been given his choice – a grim privilege.

Some were led to open pens, tow of which had been erected, at either side of the arena, opposite each other. They were formed by four strong posts about six feet high, firmly set in the ground at the quarters of a quadrangle about four by six feet. In these quadrangles the un-fortunate would-be braves were stood; and loops of the flesh on their backs and breasts were fastened securely by thongs to the four posts. There they had to stay, until they succeeded in tearing the thongs loose by frantic lunges of their writhing bodies. Their heroic efforts as they jerked forward and backward in the effort to break free, with the terrible laceration made a horrible and sickening sight, yet they was worse to come.

Some of the men had to walk (almost stagger really) around the ring with great buffalo skulls attached by cords to the flesh of their backs. The weight of the skulls and their hitching ad dragging along the ground, had to tear the thongs loose from the flesh before the mend could be relieved of their burdens, and their endurance powers be adjudged thoroughly proved. Not for a moment were they allowed to rest and their agony must have been dreadful.

I sank back in horror. At all the hideous sights and the flowing blood, I had become very faint. My husband saw it, and immediately applied the smelling salts he had brought for an emergency.

“Take me home, I cannot stand it. I don’t want to see any more,” I murmured faintly.

“I would not give up now,” he said. “It will not last long. You ought to see it. It is an event of great interest, and some day you will be glad to include it in the experiences of a life fast passing. If these people are foolish enough to do this sort of thing, you surely are brave enough to look at it.” I strongly suspect now, that for once he would satisfy his own curiosity than humor me – and I am glad he did.

However, I was revived somewhat by the salts, and again began to notice the sights about me.

The first thing I beheld was a figure hanging twenty feet or more from the ground, by the flesh of its back attached by a thong to the pole in the centre of the enclosure. The blood was streaming down his body, and dripping to the ground. Several more men were being put up in the same way. They were left to hang until the flesh by which their weight was suspended, ripped free. The thongs were fastened to the pole near its top and the bodies could swing to and fro past the pole – often bumping against it. One man I saw brace his feet against the pole and shove himself away from it! Swinging back and forth for several feet, like a human pendulum. At last he dropped, as they all did sooner or later, and upon being revived said his “heart was so strong,” and asked the medicine men to put him up again – which they promptly did.

I turned away from sheer weakness at the sight. More than one of the visiting women had fainted, but the Indian women watched the trials with expressions only of feverish interest. They seemed loath to lose one glimpse.

In one place there squatted a group of old squaws, and every few minutes they raised their voices in guttural unison, calling to the voluntary sufferers – “Ohetekha, Ohetekha. Cosha metowah” (be brave, my son, be brave). These cries were intended to cheer the “candidates,” or in Indian lore, to “make their hearts strong.”

Again and again, the orchestra chanted in a sort of wail; while the tom-toms kept up their dismal reiteration.

It was marvelous how the youths endured the pain. Not a cry or murmur crossed their lips. They seemed to vie with each other in showing much they could endure.

I felt relieved when the setting sun put an end to the affair, for I had seen enough of savage customs of torture; and was indeed glad that a continuance of such performances was forever prohibited from our country.

In a few days I saw the young men who had undergone the tortures, going about as if nothing had happened. I remember also that two of them, after having danced to the sun and been led around until dizzy like the others, backed out, when they saw how their companions were suffering – they had weakened at the last, refusing to “take their medicine.” As a consequence, they were doomed to associate with the women forever after. But the latter would have not more to do with them than would the men, for they had proved themselves cowards, weak hearts. Thenceforth they were practically ostracized from society; and a year later, when we left Poplar River, they were still wearing the squaw clothes, despised and shunned by the entire village.

[thanks to E. Elden Davis and Steve Soper for helping get my story published.]