Wasu: My Indian Protege

One of the peering faces that watched us from outside our windows at Camp Poplar River became very familiar by reason of its frequent and regular appearance. It was that of a child. Sometimes it was there near the sill of the window, along; again the worn, hungry face of a woman leaned above it. I would not attempt to describe the effect that the sprectre-like appearances had upon me as I would glance out of my windows and unexpectedly encounter the pair of eyes intent upon my every move. These young eyes were at first frankly inquiring; soon they took on an expression of child-like curiosity; finally one day I surprised in them the warmth and caress that is associated with personal interest.

I spoke to the child and her mother and gave them food at different times. It seemed that the girl, “Wasu” (“the Hail”), was about eleven years of age, though her size had led me to judge her older. Her mother told me Wasu was very fond of me and liked to watch me, which was fully corroborated by her daily attendance at the windows that commanded a view of me at my various employments. The Indian woman urged me to take her child and keep her, but the suggestion did not at first attract me. However, as the days passed, each marked by the girl’s tireless watching, I concluded it would be preferable having her indoors rather than seeing her pitiful appealing face as she would stand outside for hours.

Of course it was necessary to give her some employment, so as a trial I called her in one day to do some simple work. Her joy was quite manifest, and the way she readily and delightedly performed the bit of labor surprised and somewhat encouraged me. At that time good domestic help was at a premium. To get servants we had to send to some employment agency in St. Paul, a thousand miles away, guarantee their traveling expenses both ways, and agree to keep them a year; and often they proved inefficient and unsatisfactory, so that any willing assistance was seized with eagerness.

Wasu not only proved her willingness, but after being shown “the how” she applied herself so assiduously that it never occurred to her to ask “the why.” So during the course of a few weeks Wasu had grown so useful and of such assistance that I asked her if she would like to accompany us on a hunting trip.

We had planned to go duck hunting up along the British border, and I thought Wasu might be a useful addition to our small party. She was delighted at the suggestion and enthusiastically helped with our preparations. We had the post blacksmith fix us up a stove, for out-of-doors, with a capacious oven, for we expected to feast upon fresh game up in around the lakes. My husband and another young officer who was going selected three soldiers to accompany us, and with the driver of the Dougherty wagon, baggage wagon, and Wasu our party was complete.

We struck almost due north from the post and traveled leisurely for a couple of days, taking advantage of any chance games and enjoying the sight of uninhabited country, all quite a new region to us, and our only map was without details. Our old guide, Durand, who drove the baggage wagon and stood sponsor of the trail, knew where to find the best hunting.

The life we lived during that wonderful week, camping in the shadows of the timber that bordered the streams, or moving on in quest of birds yet unstartled by the reports of the white man’s gun, was an exhilarating dream. The Indians shot at small game, for their ammunition being scarce and costly, they saved it for four-footed beasts. One day we came upon a beautiful lake that had no representation on the map. It was a couple of miles wide, and its length reached beyond the horizon, and we felt the thrill of discovery when we realized that we were probably the first white people to look upon its clear waters. The first human impulse under like circumstances since the world’s christening day in Eden prompted us not to leave it nameless.

Durand’s guidance had brought us to it and as a tribute we christened it without more formality “Lake Durand.” The Indians had told us of the lake, and we had taken with is a small rowboat. We camped upon its margin, for there was game in abundance harbored in the fringing trees and in the marshes of its shores. Wild geese and several varieties of ducks we found in plenty, and before the trip was over we had added a pelican and a brant to our list. The pelican was a splendid specimen, and handling it carefully, we took it back to the post and turned it over to a soldier who was a sort of taxidermist. His art, though crude, secured for us this one substantial souvenir of our trip, which, along with some other frontier curious, we presented to the museum at the university of our home town. Through the days Wasu was tireless in her efforts to please. On our march through that magnificent country, her eyes were constantly drinking in its beauty and surprises, our lips voicing appreciation and enthusiasm. But Wasu was never moved from her Indian stolidity and acceptance of it all. The unpeopled expanse was her home and that of her fathers. What was there of the unusual about it or worthy of special interest to her? But in the evenings, when the white people’s house, or camp, keeping began, when we followed the routine with accustomed finger fingers and established habits, Wasu awoke to a new world, and her interest and eagerness made her a pleasant help. She made up the beds, kept my belongings in order and made herself useful in innumerable ways. When we cooked the brant, which did full justice to the size of our oven, Wasu had her first lesson in baking. She tirelessly tended and basted the bird until we declared its juiciness was due to her efforts.

One night during this trip stands out with particular vividness in my memory. It was that on which we went duck hunting by artificial light. We had taken with us on the trip a large lamp like the headlights used on trains. With this well filled and burning in the bow of our boat we pushed off and made the circuit of the marshy shores. It was a moonless night, and the beams of our lantern attracted the wondering birds. They circled and wheeled about it, and as they came within good distance and were illumined against the dark background we used our guns with good effect.

The scene was weird. Through the darkness the bright light slowly wandered, followed by the ripple of the water as it lapped the boatside and swelled around the oars. Overhanging leafy shadows made a mystic background as winged creatures darted up and about the white stream of light. Silently they were bathed in light for a moment, then as silently they disappeared in the darkness, only to return, blinded and attracted, until a quick report and an ominous flash sent them down with a soggy splash from out the betraying sire light forever.

Finding it somewhat difficult to row through the rushes so near shore, one of the men who was equipped with rubber boots proposed that he wade behind the boat and push it through the reeds and rushes. He did so, and our progress was yet more easy and quiet except when the report of a gun would echo across the water. It was a wonderful night, and had we even been less successful in the quantity of our game, the experience would amply have repaid us for what effort and inconvenience it may have cost.

On our return to camp, long after midnight, we found Wasu had faithfully and ably followed instructions and had hot coffee ready. This we shared with the men, especially the one who had waded, though he felt none the worse for his service. And so at almost dawn there we sat, discussing our trip and partaking cozily in our tent of a hot supper.

By the time we returned to Poplar River from this hunting trip I had become attached to quiet little Wasu and determined to keep her about the house. This delighted both the child and her mother, who, it seemed, found it most difficult to “forage” for herself alone. Having thus accepted her as a member of the household, I now began to teach Wasu not only housework and the English language, but also the Bible stories that little white girls hear so soon. She was a very attentive listener, and also had a most retentive memory. In time she began to learn the Catechism, many of whose mysteries she, like her elders, found difficult to grasp.

One day when I was resting on my couch I called Wasu to me and began expounding as well as teaching. The second question, “Where is God?” held us long. Her big eyes were serious enough as she answered in the parrot-like utterance.

“Wasu,” I said, “God is the Great Spirit, and He stays in the forests, and in the prairie, and in the villages -- everywhere. He is with His children always. He is here in this room now.”

When I began her eyes widened, but at the climax of my explanation her hands in her lap unclasped. She turned hastily in her chair to view the entire room. Seeing nothing unusual she looked back at me mystified; then ju,ping off her chair she looked behind the door and stooped to peer under the furniture. Coming back to me in surprise, for she know I had never told her an untruth, she questioned, “Took te? Took te?” (“Where? Where?”)

It took me a long time to reach her understanding, but every Sabbath the Indian girl accompanied me to service. The Indians were not only urged to attend, but some few of them seemed to enjoy attending the religious meetings, though little but the singing could have been intelligible to them. One of the regular attendants was an old buck, a “coffee cooler,” as described in the vernacular of the prairie, who was always desirous of keeping on good terms with the agency people, from whom came his issue of rations. He was always polite and was never slow in his greetings. One of the men of the agency upon whom the buck felt more or less dependent was named Bacon, whom the Indians called “Coocosh” (literally “pig”). One Sunday morning, when we were at service and the chaplain and congregation were quiet and at solemn prayer, the door opened and Mr. Bacon made his tardy entrance. Perceiving that his coming was ill-timed he tiptoed to a convenient seat, making as little noice as possible. But the polite old India “coffee cooler” spied him, and in his heavy bass welcomed the newcomer to the service with a loud and pleasant “How! Coocosh!”

The solemnity of the occasion was not sufficient to prevent the audible snicker that followed.

Wasu was a much better behaved attendant on the service.

About a year after I had first seen them Wasu’s mother died, on her deathbed willing the child to me. As she apparently had not other kin, I took her with me when we were ordered to Fort Abraham Lincoln, a few hundred miles down the river. There she learned to play and deport herself very much like a white child. She was very fond of “dressing up,” and every Saturday afternoon she donned a fresh frock and paraded around the post like a little French miss in a city park. I made her a garnet silk dress, and I doubt if ever anything pleased her so much. She learned to roller skate and took great delight in the motion. Every pleasant day after her duties in the house were ended she could be seen traversing the board-walks with Mercury-like heels.

After about a year of life at Lincoln, during which I had grounded Wasu in the “rule of three” and other educational rudiments, I sent her to the Indian school at Carlisle. There I knew she would receive the fine instruction and training of which I felt her worthy. Good reports came from her teachers, and after a short time Wasu’s letters came to me were full of contentment and busy interest. As Carlisle is my childhood hood, I had several opportunities to see Wasu on my visits East, and was delighted with her progress and ambitions. She steadily advanced from class to class; but suddenly in the last year of her schooling she developed quick consumption and was carried off as so many of her people were.

Her teachers and the associates of her young womanhood spoke of her fine character and missed “the good Wasu.”