FootNote
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While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is
here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate
for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting
ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!
The out-station work among the Indians is a
feature almost peculiar to the Indian
Missions of the A.M.A. These stations are
the picket-lines pushed forward into the
Reservations beyond the line of established
schools and missions. Each one consists of a
cheap home connected sometimes with a cheap
school-house, and these are occupied by one
or two native Indian missionaries who teach
and preach, and thus accomplish an immediate
good and lay the foundation for the more
permanent church and school. The Association
has about twenty such stations on the
Cheyenne and other rivers in Dakota. One of
the teachers from Oahe gives a racy sketch
of a trip among some of the out-stations. We
make room for a large extract, regretting
that we have not space for more.
We started Thursday morning, going about
seven miles above the Mission to cross the
river. We took dinner at the house of a
white man who has an Indian wife, and then
started out on the long drive. Our direction
was almost due west, a little south toward
the Cheyenne River. We reached an
out-station on the Cheyenne about dark,
where James Brown, a Santee Indian, is
stationed. Two of our Santee school-girls
are here, and it was encouraging to see
their neat dress, and hear them use their
English, though they so seldom see any one
with whom they have occasion to use it that
it is not easy for them. The next morning,
the girls had classes in reading and
writing. Some of the children were ragged
and dirty, with faces unwashed, and hair
uncombed, one little boy with both knees
coming through his trousers, but their faces
were, almost without exception, bright and
intelligent, with the intelligence of
childhood, which would inevitably change to
the stolid indifference of ignorance, were
it not for the influence which this
Christian household among them may exert. To
be sure, the girls are young and
inexperienced, but that they do their best
means a great deal. Two young men were
learning to read the Dakota Bible. Soon
after eleven, we were on our way again,
keeping the Cheyenne River in sight. We
stopped at one of the villages on the
Cheyenne, where a Frenchman with an Indian
wife has built up quite a little colony, all
related to one another. Several of our
pupils come from here, and the mode of life
at their home has been modified by their
influence.
We reached Plum Creek, where Edwin Phelps is
stationed, about dark, and after two long
days' ride I was glad when bed time came.
Ellen Kitto and Elizabeth Winyan had come up
from the Cheyenne, and I felt sure that
Elizabeth had given up her bed for me. The
next morning I asked Ellen if we could go
out to some of the houses, but she said the
people were all on the other side of the
river, that there was a dance there. This
was a disappointment to me, as I wanted to
see the homes of the people, but after
dinner Edwin offered to take Elizabeth,
Ellen and me across the river to Cherry
Creek, so that I gained rather than lost.
As we drew near the dance-house I could hear
the monotonous yet rhythmic beat of the
drum, and get glimpses through the door-way
of the feathered heads moving in time to the
music. Outside there was a crowd of women,
girls, and young men, the young men wrapped
in white sheets under which they carry off,
and make love to, the dusky maidens. This is
the way a Titon "makes love." As a recent
writer describes this dance, bringing before
one only its poetry, and that which may be
perhaps really beautiful, it does not seem
shocking or revolting in the least; but the
reality is simply dreadful. Not so much in
itself, perhaps, though that is bad enough,
as in its influence, its consequences, all
that it means and all that it leads to.
Just
beyond the dance house is the mission
station where Clarence Ward and his wife
are; a civilized Christian family in the
midst of this heathenism.
Sunday was to be the eventful day, and as
early as half past nine the congregation
began to arrive. When the bell rang for
service, the school-room was filled almost
immediately. Everything possible was
utilized for seats; trunks, boxes,
wagon-seats, kegs, and those who could not
be provided with seats sat on the floor.
There were probably a hundred in all. The
weight of so many people on the floor was
too much for the sleepers. Some of them gave
way, and the floor settled somewhat, but the
audience was not "nervous" and was only
amused. As I sat at the organ, a group
outside the door attracted my attention;
several bright faced girls, their shawls
drawn over their heads with a grace a white
girl might envy, but could not hope to
attain, and beyond them a face that would
pass on the most perfectly appointed stage
for one of Macbeth's witches, without being
"made-up." The faces of some of the men were
as wooden and expressionless as the figures
in front of a tobacco shop, but these are
they into whose lives the power of the
Gospel of the Son of God has not come. After
this service came the church meeting, and a
Cheyenne River branch church was established
which still has connection with the mother
church at Oahe.
The school-room being too small for the
afternoon communion service, this was held
out of doors. There must have been a hundred
and fifty present, perhaps more. First came
a marriage ceremony, then the admission of
four new members, and the baptism of two
children. Probably four-fifths of the
congregation had been drawn thither merely
from curiosity, and on the faces of many of
these were the traces of yesterday's paint.
The simple service, which the new communion
set made perfect, could not fail to impress
them that there is something better than
they have known. At its close, Edwin
Phelps's scholars stood and sang "Whiter
than Snow," in Dakota. Have not those girls
gained a great moral victory, when in native
dress, with their shawls worn after the
native fashion, they stand up among
[198]their own people and proclaim
themselves on the side of right? It was a
day full of new experiences and new
impressions for me. The contrast between
this scene and the one of the day before,
presented itself to me over and over again.
The next morning we started out for the
return to Oahe. The day was warm and
pleasant and uneventful. I was comfortable
and happy, and as we stopped for lunch when
we got hungry, I began to wonder where the
hardships of my journey were coming in, but
people who are never so happy as when they
are uncomfortable, ought to get their just
deserts. I got mine. After we started from
James Brown's, the wind rose. It rose and it
rose. It kept rising. How that wind did
blow! It blew us up hill and threw us down
hill. It fairly hurled us along. It blew Mr.
Riggs's hat off and we chased it for half a
mile. It blew my hat off; it blew my hair
down; we put into a ravine for repairs. We
went through long stretches of burned
prairie, and clouds of fire-black dust were
flying. We hoped when we got down into the
ravine it would not be so bad. Vain hope. It
was worse. The dust was blacker and thicker
and more dusty. The gravel stung our faces
and blinded our eyes. For the entire
distance of thirty-five miles, that wind
howled and raved and tore. It almost took
the ponies off their feet. I have not
exaggerated it one bit. It would be
impossible to exaggerate. When we reached
the house where we had taken dinner going
up, we found the dirt blown from the roof,
likewise the tar-paper, leaving great cracks
through which the dirt rattled. Everything
was an inch deep in dirt, but we were
welcomed to the shelter of the four walls,
and what was left of the roof. The dirt did
not matter. We were already done in
charcoal. Mr. Collins was here, caught by
the wind, and before dark the Agency farmer
came. It was impossible to cross the river
in such a gale, and here I knew we must
stay.
The next morning was still and clear and
beautiful. It was difficult to realize that
the elements had been on such a tear the day
before, so after breakfast we embarked for
home, going the seven miles by water this
time, and I reached the mission a gladder
and a wiser woman.
This glimpse of out-station work is
something I have long wanted, and anyone who
does not believe in Indian education should
see the results of it as they appear here.
In the audience on Sunday, were three young
women former students, one at Hampton, one
at Santee, one at Oahe. Their dress, the
expression of their faces, their whole
appearance proclaimed the power of Christian
education, and it is only in the faces of
the Christian Indians that there is any
expression of gladness. There is no gladness
in their life outside of this. Oh, that the
work at these stations may be blessed! There
are hundreds and hundreds, yes, thousands of
Indians who will never be reached by
Hampton, Carlisle, Santee, by all the Indian
schools put together, and who will never be
Christianized or civilized by "edict from
Washington." Christ must be taken to them,
lived among them in such a way that his true
loveliness may be made apparent to them.
Without this, all else goes for naught; with
this, life and light must come, and darkness
and ignorance and superstition must flee
away.—Word-Carrier.
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