Sonoma Democrat, Vol. XXVII, No. 43, 9 August 1884

INDIANS AT SCHOOL

An Hour with the Indian girls at Wayne, Pennsylvania

Smiling Sioux and Pugnacious Pawnees - Shears, War-Whoops, Broomsticks and Finger-Nails - Quarreling

[“Cress” in Cincinnati Enquirer.]

From the road I caught sight of a clumsy house, three stories in height, and built of rough, unhewn stone; the back and sides of it were curiously embroidered in velvety green moss an grey mortar; the rambling front was brilliant in a fresh coat of whitewash, and the two long-railed balconies were painted a bright geranium red. This contrast of colors with the green of the noble trees that surrounded the house, and the azure of the summer sky above it, made a picture of the most positive sort, and also remiffled one of the parable of “old wine in new bottles,” for above the door was roughly cut the inscription: “Built in 1795.”

“That, m’am,” said a good-natured peddler who was exchanging tin for rags at a cottage near by, “That, m’am, is the Eagle House.” Just then the clock struck twelve, and as if his words contained some mysterious conjuring spell, there rushed out of the doors and through the pleasant grounds the most extraordinary bevy of girls I have ever seen.

They were of all ages, from 6 to 20, tall and short, fat and slim, graceful and gawky. So far they were like the maidens of any nation; but only one could produce such hair, such eyes, such skins. Yet even these features were varied in a dozen shades and tints of midnight blackness and copper color, any one of which marks the owner as a child of the Indian nation. There were eighty-four of them and their gathering reminded one of that of their forefathers at the council of Gitche Manitou the Mighty. Here were Delawares and Mohawks, Pawnees and Omahas, Sioux and Chippewas, Ojibways and Modocs, Comances and Wichitas, Cheyennes and Miamis, Santees and Dacotahs. “And they stood there on the meadow,” looking for an instant abashed on discovering a stranger among them.

There was a pause. Instinctively the girls gathered into little clans representing their tribes. From the most striking of these a young girl advanced, and, in a voice as sweet and clear as a bell, asked whom I wished to see.

A SWEET SIOUX GIRL

She was Sioux, one could not doubt, and in her person she taught one what the phrase “as straight as an Indian” meant. Rather tall, slender and unbending as a dart, she carried herself like a princess, and brought to mind a Greek in her classically-shaped head, fine straight nose and full, well-opened eyes. Her hair was as black as ebony, and hung in two enormous braids fastened with red ribbons, and with her soft, black, intelligent eyes made her complexion, which was light enough to be almost olive, appear fairer than it was.

I gave her my card, with a momentary regret that she was not en moccasin and blanket, and she disappeared into the house, which, by the way, was generously lent by Mr. George W. Childs to the Lincoln institute for its summer vacation.

In a few moments the “house-mother,” Mrs. Sievwright, appeared, and in the neat parlor, with all her charge in full view from the window, we had a pleasant chat.

“How in the world do you manage to keep these children of the forest in good order?” I asked, having been struck by the untamed air and athletic performances of some of them before I entered the house.

“Well,” said the lady, “principally through their affections, for though proud and reserved they are very susceptible to kindness. The first fortnight is generally the tug of war, and with many of them it is, a period of tragedy and comedy combined. You know they come to us direct from their tribes, the Lincoln institute having turned the boys over to the educational home, in order to give the future mothers of the race a chance. These girls are picked out by the missionaries and Indian agents as being promising, and they come to receive a plain, practical English education, and to learn cooking, washing and sewing. The only accomplishment is music, which they are either fond of and excel in, or retain a violent aversion for preferring a steady, monotonous noise, such as the beating of sticks or a drum would produce.”

“Speaking of the ‘tug of war,’ how does it begin?”

CUTTING THEIR HAIR

“With their hair,” said Mrs. Sievwright, “which they value far more than we do. In the first place they really regard it as a crown of glory, and love to wear beads and gay feathers and bits of bright ribbon in their braids; and, again, it is their chief stock in trade for mourning the loss of a relative, the custom being to unbind the hair and let it fall in a thick veil over the face, while they wail and lament the dead. Besides all this, they have an idea that cutting off their hair degrades them, and several weeks elapse before they will hold up their heads or look any one in the face after it is done.”

“Do any of them resist the process?”

“Yes, occasionally a pugnacious Pawnee positively refuses. Even the fact that she won’t be allowed to mingle with the other girls until it is done does not move her. Then the barber is to be pitied, for while she is held in her chair she will bite and scratch and kick and twist about, giving vent to the most frightful war-whoops and ear-piercing yells, that I can see make the barber nervous - indeed, he looks more as if he expected to be scalped than she does.”

“Then what follows?”

“The shampooing, during which the still resisting maid puffs and snorts and bobs her head about the basin, and gnashes her teeth as if she were in a fit. Of course we never allow any one to laugh, but when the process is over their expression and swiftness with which they cover their heads in amusing. Then follows the battle of the bath. After the first time they like it; but their initiation they rebel against, and want to eat the soap until they get interested in making ‘suds,’ and observing how it makes their skin shine.”

THE PUPIL'S CLOTHING

“How about wearing clothes?”

“After they once master the proper way to put them on they enjoy wearing them so much that for the first few months they will seize every opportunity to go to bed in them, boots and all. Many a time I have looked on the hooks where their day-clothes should be hung at night, found them bare, and turning back the bed-linen have discovered the culprits dressed for the next day.”

“They do not wear any uniform?”

“No. Their parents invariably make that condition. They say: “If our children are being taught like the whites, they must dress like them, too.’ In our turn we make a rule that they must not wear jewelry, for we found that though nearly innocent of costume, a girl never failed to bring a goodly supply of ornaments, which soon led to a fierce rivalry in rows and even pounds of beads, brass knuckles and gorgeous feathers. Each tribe determined to outdo the others. The article of attire they cling to most is the shawl, which to them takes the place of a blanket, and it is almost impossible to get them to wear one round the shoulders. It goes over the head every time, as if by instinct.”

“Are they healthy?”

“Yes, as a rule, though when they come they require close watching for some time, as the change from the woods to the city life is very trying, and, of course, all their habits and even their food has to be changed. A curious thing I notice is that no matter how long they have been accustomed to the comforts of a real bed, whenever they are taken ill they persist in lying on the bare floor, even on a plank, if they can find one.”

THE FIGHTING PAWNEES

While we were talking I noticed through the window one group of girls that might be called the negroes of their race, so extremely dark were they in complexion. In fact, the others called them “black-skins.” Their frames were powerful, the shoulders and hips broad, the waist large and the head of good size, covered with dense black hair, matching long, oblique and cunning eyes. I asked the house-mother to what tribe they belonged.

“The Pawnee,” she replied, “and to manage them is the most difficult task I have, for they are born fighters, and if they get into an argument with the other they settle it by tooth and nail, trying to tear the skin off in strips.”

“The other day I heard a great clamor, and found that, by way of variety, they were having a fight with broomsticks they had procured from the kitchen. They are good workers, but they learn more slowly than other tribes.”

“Come here, Ella Man Chief,” she cried to a little Pawnee, who told me she was 10 years old and afterward wrote her name in a hand a correspondent might envy for its plainness.

There is an unchildlikeness about these little Indians that is striking.  They all look as if they had been born old and the girls of 15 are mature women.

Soon afterward we went to the schoolroom, where a number of girls read out loud and answered a variety of questions so correctly and in such well chosen, clearly enunciated words that I was astonished. At the same age and under the same length of tuition, I have never heard a white child equal them.  This I believe can only be accounted for by the fact that these girls want to learn.  Their heart, their pride and their ambition is in it, while, as a rule, the children of the whites study under protest as a particular favor to their parents.

“In which tribe do you find your best scholars?” I asked the pretty young teacher, who looked startingly blonde among these black heads and bronzed skins.

THE BRIGHT ONES

“The Sioux,” she replied, “are extremely intelligent, and always rank first in the classes.  Besides that, many of them have musical talent. The choir of the village church is composed of them, assisted by two Indian youths who are in Wannamaker’s store, and come out here to sing every Sunday. As a rule, the girls have contralto voices, and two we have here equal in richness and flexibility any I have ever heard on the stage.”

“How do your pupils behave in church?” I asked.

“Admirably.  Indians have a deep sense of reverence and both in church and at prayers in the house they are as devout and earnest as could be wished.  Indeed, in their veneration for anything of sacred nature they are beyond the times, or, perhaps, some scoffer would add that they show they are behind the times, but to me their profound trust and reverence is touching.”

Mrs. Sievwright showed me through the establishment, with its neat dormitories, dressing-rooms, laundry and kitchen, in which cleanliness and order reigned but I was most amused in the long dining-room, where half a dozen little copper-faced girls were setting the table with military precision, and occasionally stealing admiring looks at themselves in the shining tin plates and cups.  Two of these children were of mixed blood, and wonderfully pretty.  They had great dark eyes, clustering chestnut hair, the bloom of wild roses on their cheeks, and piquant, laughing faces.  In striking contrast to these were two little Chippewas, with the flat faces, broad noses and long, narrow eyes of their tribe.

QUEER NAMES

The name of the children were very amusing, and mostly the composition of the Indian agents, who thought their full Indian names too elaborate for ordinary use.

A pretty contralto was Edna Eagle-Feather; a bright-faced Sioux was Sarah High Pipe; a young Osage, Bessie Bid Soldier; a stalwart young Pawnee, Maud Echo Hawk.  Fannie Crow and Jane Big Bird kept company, and Eunice Bear Shield and Olive Bottle bore their titles bravely.

“What is your greatest difficulty in managing the children?” I asked the house-mother.

“Trying to make them keep the peace with each other.  You know we have the representatives of sixteen different tribes here, and every one of them seems to feel in duty bound to hate all the others.  Each considers her own nation the biggest, bravest and best, and they are only too willing to fight out their arguments.  Aside from this they are affectionate, docile and more or less intelligent.  In short, they will repay the pains and patience they call forth, and we shall send back to their tribes bands of good women – fit to teach and elevate their race.”

“As I left to wind my way through the green woods to the station, I turned for a parting look at the big white house, shining in the sun, and saw the red balconies full of bright dark Indian faces, while from a score of copper-colored hands waved handkerchiefs in adieu.

image of article found here