Indiana's State Motto: The Crossroads of America - adopted in 1937

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THE SCHOOL DAYS OF AN INDIAN GIRL

I.

THE LAND OF RED APPLES.


There were eight in our party of bronzed children who were going East
with the missionaries. Among us were three young braves, two tall girls,
and we three little ones, Judewin, Thowin, and I.

We had been very impatient to start on our journey to the Red Apple
Country, which, we were told, lay a little beyond the great circular
horizon of the Western prairie. Under a sky of rosy apples we dreamt of
roaming as freely and happily as we had chased the cloud shadows on the
Dakota plains. We had anticipated much pleasure from a ride on the iron
horse, but the throngs of staring palefaces disturbed and troubled us.

On the train, fair women, with tottering babies on each arm, stopped
their haste and scrutinized the children of absent mothers. Large men,
with heavy bundles in their hands, halted near by, and riveted their
glassy blue eyes upon us.

I sank deep into the corner of my seat, for I resented being watched.
Directly in front of me, children who were no larger than I hung
themselves upon the backs of their seats, with their bold white faces
toward me. Sometimes they took their forefingers out of their mouths and
pointed at my moccasined feet. Their mothers, instead of reproving such
rude curiosity, looked closely at me, and attracted their children's
further notice to my blanket. This embarrassed me, and kept me
constantly on the verge of tears.

I sat perfectly still, with my eyes downcast, daring only now and then
to shoot long glances around me. Chancing to turn to the window at my
side, I was quite breathless upon seeing one familiar object. It was the
telegraph pole which strode by at short paces. Very near my mother's
dwelling, along the edge of a road thickly bordered with wild
sunflowers, some poles like these had been planted by white men. Often I
had stopped, on my way down the road, to hold my ear against the pole,
and, hearing its low moaning, I used to wonder what the paleface had
done to hurt it. Now I sat watching for each pole that glided by to be
the last one.

In this way I had forgotten my uncomfortable surroundings, when I heard
one of my comrades call out my name. I saw the missionary standing very
near, tossing candies and gums into our midst. This amused us all, and
we tried to see who could catch the most of the sweetmeats.

Though we rode several days inside of the iron horse, I do not recall a
single thing about our luncheons.

It was night when we reached the school grounds. The lights from the
windows of the large buildings fell upon some of the icicled trees that
stood beneath them. We were led toward an open door, where the
brightness of the lights within flooded out over the heads of the
excited palefaces who blocked our way. My body trembled more from fear
than from the snow I trod upon.

Entering the house, I stood close against the wall. The strong glaring
light in the large whitewashed room dazzled my eyes. The noisy hurrying
of hard shoes upon a bare wooden floor increased the whirring in my
ears. My only safety seemed to be in keeping next to the wall. As I was
wondering in which direction to escape from all this confusion, two warm
hands grasped me firmly, and in the same moment I was tossed high in
midair. A rosy-cheeked paleface woman caught me in her arms. I was both
frightened and insulted by such trifling. I stared into her eyes,
wishing her to let me stand on my own feet, but she jumped me up and
down with increasing enthusiasm. My mother had never made a plaything of
her wee daughter. Remembering this I began to cry aloud.

They misunderstood the cause of my tears, and placed me at a white table
loaded with food. There our party were united again. As I did not hush
my crying, one of the older ones whispered to me, "Wait until you are
alone in the night."

It was very little I could swallow besides my sobs, that evening.

"Oh, I want my mother and my brother Dawee! I want to go to my aunt!" I
pleaded; but the ears of the palefaces could not hear me.

From the table we were taken along an upward incline of wooden boxes,
which I learned afterward to call a stairway. At the top was a quiet
hall, dimly lighted. Many narrow beds were in one straight line down the
entire length of the wall. In them lay sleeping brown faces, which
peeped just out of the coverings. I was tucked into bed with one of the
tall girls, because she talked to me in my mother tongue and seemed to
soothe me.

I had arrived in the wonderful land of rosy skies, but I was not happy,
as I had thought I should be. My long travel and the bewildering sights
had exhausted me. I fell asleep, heaving deep, tired sobs. My tears were
left to dry themselves in streaks, because neither my aunt nor my mother
was near to wipe them away.

II.

THE CUTTING OF MY LONG HAIR.


The first day in the land of apples was a bitter-cold one; for the snow
still covered the ground, and the trees were bare. A large bell rang for
breakfast, its loud metallic voice crashing through the belfry overhead
and into our sensitive ears. The annoying clatter of shoes on bare
floors gave us no peace. The constant clash of harsh noises, with an
undercurrent of many voices murmuring an unknown tongue, made a bedlam
within which I was securely tied. And though my spirit tore itself in
struggling for its lost freedom, all was useless.

A paleface woman, with white hair, came up after us. We were placed in a
line of girls who were marching into the dining room. These were Indian
girls, in stiff shoes and closely clinging dresses. The small girls wore
sleeved aprons and shingled hair. As I walked noiselessly in my soft
moccasins, I felt like sinking to the floor, for my blanket had been
stripped from my shoulders. I looked hard at the Indian girls, who
seemed not to care that they were even more immodestly dressed than I,
in their tightly fitting clothes. While we marched in, the boys entered
at an opposite door. I watched for the three young braves who came in
our party. I spied them in the rear ranks, looking as uncomfortable as I
felt. A small bell was tapped, and each of the pupils drew a chair from
under the table. Supposing this act meant they were to be seated, I
pulled out mine and at once slipped into it from one side. But when I
turned my head, I saw that I was the only one seated, and all the rest
at our table remained standing. Just as I began to rise, looking shyly
around to see how chairs were to be used, a second bell was sounded. All
were seated at last, and I had to crawl back into my chair again. I
heard a man's voice at one end of the hall, and I looked around to see
him. But all the others hung their heads over their plates. As I glanced
at the long chain of tables, I caught the eyes of a paleface woman upon
me. Immediately I dropped my eyes, wondering why I was so keenly watched
by the strange woman. The man ceased his mutterings, and then a third
bell was tapped. Every one picked up his knife and fork and began
eating. I began crying instead, for by this time I was afraid to venture
anything more.

But this eating by formula was not the hardest trial in that first day.
Late in the morning, my friend Judewin gave me a terrible warning.
Judewin knew a few words of English; and she had overheard the paleface
woman talk about cutting our long, heavy hair. Our mothers had taught us
that only unskilled warriors who were captured had their hair shingled
by the enemy. Among our people, short hair was worn by mourners, and
shingled hair by cowards!

We discussed our fate some moments, and when Judewin said, "We have to
submit, because they are strong," I rebelled.

"No, I will not submit! I will struggle first!" I answered.

I watched my chance, and when no one noticed, I disappeared. I crept up
the stairs as quietly as I could in my squeaking shoes,--my moccasins
had been exchanged for shoes. Along the hall I passed, without knowing
whither I was going. Turning aside to an open door, I found a large room
with three white beds in it. The windows were covered with dark green
curtains, which made the room very dim. Thankful that no one was there,
I directed my steps toward the corner farthest from the door. On my
hands and knees I crawled under the bed, and cuddled myself in the dark
corner.

From my hiding place I peered out, shuddering with fear whenever I heard
footsteps near by. Though in the hall loud voices were calling my name,
and I knew that even Judewin was searching for me, I did not open my
mouth to answer. Then the steps were quickened and the voices became
excited. The sounds came nearer and nearer. Women and girls entered the
room. I held my breath and watched them open closet doors and peep
behind large trunks. Some one threw up the curtains, and the room was
filled with sudden light. What caused them to stoop and look under the
bed I do not know. I remember being dragged out, though I resisted by
kicking and scratching wildly. In spite of myself, I was carried
downstairs and tied fast in a chair.

I cried aloud, shaking my head all the while until I felt the cold
blades of the scissors against my neck, and heard them gnaw off one of
my thick braids. Then I lost my spirit. Since the day I was taken from
my mother I had suffered extreme indignities. People had stared at me. I
had been tossed about in the air like a wooden puppet. And now my long
hair was shingled like a coward's! In my anguish I moaned for my mother,
but no one came to comfort me. Not a soul reasoned quietly with me, as
my own mother used to do; for now I was only one of many little animals
driven by a herder.

III.

THE SNOW EPISODE.


A short time after our arrival we three Dakotas were playing in the
snowdrift. We were all still deaf to the English language, excepting
Judewin, who always heard such puzzling things. One morning we learned
through her ears that we were forbidden to fall lengthwise in the snow,
as we had been doing, to see our own impressions. However, before many
hours we had forgotten the order, and were having great sport in the
snow, when a shrill voice called us. Looking up, we saw an imperative
hand beckoning us into the house. We shook the snow off ourselves, and
started toward the woman as slowly as we dared.

Judewin said: "Now the paleface is angry with us. She is going to punish
us for falling into the snow. If she looks straight into your eyes and
talks loudly, you must wait until she stops. Then, after a tiny pause,
say, 'No.'" The rest of the way we practiced upon the little word "no."

As it happened, Thowin was summoned to judgment first. The door shut
behind her with a click.

Judewin and I stood silently listening at the keyhole. The paleface
woman talked in very severe tones. Her words fell from her lips like
crackling embers, and her inflection ran up like the small end of a
switch. I understood her voice better than the things she was saying. I
was certain we had made her very impatient with us. Judewin heard enough
of the words to realize all too late that she had taught us the wrong
reply.

"Oh, poor Thowin!" she gasped, as she put both hands over her ears.

Just then I heard Thowin's tremulous answer, "No."

With an angry exclamation, the woman gave her a hard spanking. Then she
stopped to say something. Judewin said it was this: "Are you going to
obey my word the next time?"

Thowin answered again with the only word at her command, "No."

This time the woman meant her blows to smart, for the poor frightened
girl shrieked at the top of her voice. In the midst of the whipping the
blows ceased abruptly, and the woman asked another question: "Are you
going to fall in the snow again?"

Thowin gave her bad passwood another trial. We heard her say feebly,
"No! No!"

With this the woman hid away her half-worn slipper, and led the child
out, stroking her black shorn head. Perhaps it occurred to her that
brute force is not the solution for such a problem. She did nothing to
Judewin nor to me. She only returned to us our unhappy comrade, and left
us alone in the room.

During the first two or three seasons misunderstandings as ridiculous as
this one of the snow episode frequently took place, bringing
unjustifiable frights and punishments into our little lives.

Within a year I was able to express myself somewhat in broken English.
As soon as I comprehended a part of what was said and done, a
mischievous spirit of revenge possessed me. One day I was called in from
my play for some misconduct. I had disregarded a rule which seemed to me
very needlessly binding. I was sent into the kitchen to mash the turnips
for dinner. It was noon, and steaming dishes were hastily carried into
the dining-room. I hated turnips, and their odor which came from the
brown jar was offensive to me. With fire in my heart, I took the wooden
tool that the paleface woman held out to me. I stood upon a step, and,
grasping the handle with both hands, I bent in hot rage over the
turnips. I worked my vengeance upon them. All were so busily occupied
that no one noticed me. I saw that the turnips were in a pulp, and that
further beating could not improve them; but the order was, "Mash these
turnips," and mash them I would! I renewed my energy; and as I sent the
masher into the bottom of the jar, I felt a satisfying sensation that
the weight of my body had gone into it.

Just here a paleface woman came up to my table. As she looked into the
jar, she shoved my hands roughly aside. I stood fearless and angry. She
placed her red hands upon the rim of the jar. Then she gave one lift and
stride away from the table. But lo! the pulpy contents fell through the
crumbled bottom to the floor I She spared me no scolding phrases that I
had earned. I did not heed them. I felt triumphant in my revenge, though
deep within me I was a wee bit sorry to have broken the jar.

As I sat eating my dinner, and saw that no turnips were served, I
whooped in my heart for having once asserted the rebellion within me.

IV.

THE DEVIL.


Among the legends the old warriors used to tell me were many stories of
evil spirits. But I was taught to fear them no more than those who
stalked about in material guise. I never knew there was an insolent
chieftain among the bad spirits, who dared to array his forces against
the Great Spirit, until I heard this white man's legend from a paleface
woman.

Out of a large book she showed me a picture of the white man's devil. I
looked in horror upon the strong claws that grew out of his fur-covered
fingers. His feet were like his hands. Trailing at his heels was a scaly
tail tipped with a serpent's open jaws. His face was a patchwork: he had
bearded cheeks, like some I had seen palefaces wear; his nose was an
eagle's bill, and his sharp-pointed ears were pricked up like those of a
sly fox. Above them a pair of cow's horns curved upward. I trembled with
awe, and my heart throbbed in my throat, as I looked at the king of evil
spirits. Then I heard the paleface woman say that this terrible creature
roamed loose in the world, and that little girls who disobeyed school
regulations were to be tortured by him.

That night I dreamt about this evil divinity. Once again I seemed to be
in my mother's cottage. An Indian woman had come to visit my mother. On
opposite sides of the kitchen stove, which stood in the center of the
small house, my mother and her guest were seated in straight-backed
chairs. I played with a train of empty spools hitched together on a
string. It was night, and the wick burned feebly. Suddenly I heard some
one turn our door-knob from without.

My mother and the woman hushed their talk, and both looked toward the
door. It opened gradually. I waited behind the stove. The hinges
squeaked as the door was slowly, very slowly pushed inward.

Then in rushed the devil! He was tall! He looked exactly like the
picture I had seen of him in the white man's papers. He did not speak to
my mother, because he did not know the Indian language, but his
glittering yellow eyes were fastened upon me. He took long strides
around the stove, passing behind the woman's chair. I threw down my
spools, and ran to my mother. He did not fear her, but followed closely
after me. Then I ran round and round the stove, crying aloud for help.
But my mother and the woman seemed not to know my danger. They sat
still, looking quietly upon the devil's chase after me. At last I grew
dizzy. My head revolved as on a hidden pivot. My knees became numb, and
doubled under my weight like a pair of knife blades without a spring.
Beside my mother's chair I fell in a heap. Just as the devil stooped
over me with outstretched claws my mother awoke from her quiet
indifference, and lifted me on her lap. Whereupon the devil vanished,
and I was awake.

On the following morning I took my revenge upon the devil. Stealing into
the room where a wall of shelves was filled with books, I drew forth The
Stories of the Bible. With a broken slate pencil I carried in my apron
pocket, I began by scratching out his wicked eyes. A few moments later,
when I was ready to leave the room, there was a ragged hole in the page
where the picture of the devil had once been.

V.

IRON ROUTINE


A loud-clamoring bell awakened us at half-past six in the cold winter
mornings. From happy dreams of Western rolling lands and unlassoed
freedom we tumbled out upon chilly bare floors back again into a
paleface day. We had short time to jump into our shoes and clothes, and
wet our eyes with icy water, before a small hand bell was vigorously
rung for roll call.

There were too many drowsy children and too numerous orders for the day
to waste a moment in any apology to nature for giving her children such
a shock in the early morning. We rushed downstairs, bounding over two
high steps at a time, to land in the assembly room.

A paleface woman, with a yellow-covered roll book open on her arm and a
gnawed pencil in her hand, appeared at the door. Her small, tired face
was coldly lighted with a pair of large gray eyes.

She stood still in a halo of authority, while over the rim of her
spectacles her eyes pried nervously about the room. Having glanced at
her long list of names and called out the first one, she tossed up her
chin and peered through the crystals of her spectacles to make sure of
the answer "Here."

Relentlessly her pencil black-marked our daily records if we were not
present to respond to our names, and no chum of ours had done it
successfully for us. No matter if a dull headache or the painful cough
of slow consumption had delayed the absentee, there was only time enough
to mark the tardiness. It was next to impossible to leave the iron
routine after the civilizing machine had once begun its day's buzzing;
and as it was inbred in me to suffer in silence rather than to appeal to
the ears of one whose open eyes could not see my pain, I have many times
trudged in the day's harness heavy-footed, like a dumb sick brute.

Once I lost a dear classmate. I remember well how she used to mope along
at my side, until one morning she could not raise her head from her
pillow. At her deathbed I stood weeping, as the paleface woman sat near
her moistening the dry lips. Among the folds of the bedclothes I saw
the open pages of the white man's Bible. The dying Indian girl talked
disconnectedly of Jesus the Christ and the paleface who was cooling her
swollen hands and feet.

I grew bitter, and censured the woman for cruel neglect of our physical
ills. I despised the pencils that moved automatically, and the one
teaspoon which dealt out, from a large bottle, healing to a row of
variously ailing Indian children. I blamed the hard-working,
well-meaning, ignorant woman who was inculcating in our hearts her
superstitious ideas. Though I was sullen in all my little troubles, as
soon as I felt better I was ready again to smile upon the cruel woman.
Within a week I was again actively testing the chains which tightly
bound my individuality like a mummy for burial.

The melancholy of those black days has left so long a shadow that it
darkens the path of years that have since gone by. These sad memories
rise above those of smoothly grinding school days. Perhaps my Indian
nature is the moaning wind which stirs them now for their present
record. But, however tempestuous this is within me, it comes out as the
low voice of a curiously colored seashell, which is only for those ears
that are bent with compassion to hear it.

VI.

FOUR STRANGE SUMMERS.


After my first three years of school, I roamed again in the Western
country through four strange summers.

During this time I seemed to hang in the heart of chaos, beyond the
touch or voice of human aid. My brother, being almost ten years my
senior, did not quite understand my feelings. My mother had never gone
inside of a schoolhouse, and so she was not capable of comforting her
daughter who could read and write. Even nature seemed to have no place
for me. I was neither a wee girl nor a tall one; neither a wild Indian
nor a tame one. This deplorable situation was the effect of my brief
course in the East, and the unsatisfactory "teenth" in a girl's years.

It was under these trying conditions that, one bright afternoon, as I
sat restless and unhappy in my mother's cabin, I caught the sound of the
spirited step of my brother's pony on the road which passed by our
dwelling. Soon I heard the wheels of a light buckboard, and Dawee's
familiar "Ho!" to his pony. He alighted upon the bare ground in front
of our house. Tying his pony to one of the projecting corner logs of the
low-roofed cottage, he stepped upon the wooden doorstep.

I met him there with a hurried greeting, and, as I passed by, he looked
a quiet "What?" into my eyes.

When he began talking with my mother, I slipped the rope from the pony's
bridle. Seizing the reins and bracing my feet against the dashboard, I
wheeled around in an instant. The pony was ever ready to try his speed.
Looking backward, I saw Dawee waving his hand to me. I turned with the
curve in the road and disappeared. I followed the winding road which
crawled upward between the bases of little hillocks. Deep water-worn
ditches ran parallel on either side. A strong wind blew against my
cheeks and fluttered my sleeves. The pony reached the top of the highest
hill, and began an even race on the level lands. There was nothing
moving within that great circular horizon of the Dakota prairies save
the tall grasses, over which the wind blew and rolled off in long,
shadowy waves.

Within this vast wigwam of blue and green I rode reckless and
insignificant. It satisfied my small consciousness to see the white foam
fly from the pony's mouth.

Suddenly, out of the earth a coyote came forth at a swinging trot that
was taking the cunning thief toward the hills and the village beyond.
Upon the moment's impulse, I gave him a long chase and a wholesome
fright. As I turned away to go back to the village, the wolf sank down
upon his haunches for rest, for it was a hot summer day; and as I drove
slowly homeward, I saw his sharp nose still pointed at me, until I
vanished below the margin of the hilltops.

In a little while I came in sight of my mother's house. Dawee stood in
the yard, laughing at an old warrior who was pointing his forefinger,
and again waving his whole hand, toward the hills. With his blanket
drawn over one shoulder, he talked and motioned excitedly. Dawee turned
the old man by the shoulder and pointed me out to him.

"Oh, han!" (Oh, yes) the warrior muttered, and went his way. He had
climbed the top of his favorite barren hill to survey the surrounding
prairies, when he spied my chase after the coyote. His keen eyes
recognized the pony and driver. At once uneasy for my safety, he had
come running to my mother's cabin to give her warning. I did not
appreciate his kindly interest, for there was an unrest gnawing at my
heart.

As soon as he went away, I asked Dawee about something else.

"No, my baby sister, I cannot take you with me to the party tonight," he
replied. Though I was not far from fifteen, and I felt that before long
I should enjoy all the privileges of my tall cousin, Dawee persisted in
calling me his baby sister.

That moonlight night, I cried in my mother's presence when I heard the
jolly young people pass by our cottage. They were no more young braves
in blankets and eagle plumes, nor Indian maids with prettily painted
cheeks. They had gone three years to school in the East, and had become
civilized. The young men wore the white man's coat and trousers, with
bright neckties. The girls wore tight muslin dresses, with ribbons at
neck and waist. At these gatherings they talked English. I could speak
English almost as well as my brother, but I was not properly dressed to
be taken along. I had no hat, no ribbons, and no close-fitting gown.
Since my return from school I had thrown away my shoes, and wore again
the soft moccasins.

While Dawee was busily preparing to go I controlled my tears. But when I
heard him bounding away on his pony, I buried my face in my arms and
cried hot tears.

My mother was troubled by my unhappiness. Coming to my side, she offered
me the only printed matter we had in our home. It was an Indian Bible,
given her some years ago by a missionary. She tried to console me.
"Here, my child, are the white man's papers. Read a little from them,"
she said most piously.

I took it from her hand, for her sake; but my enraged spirit felt more
like burning the book, which afforded me no help, and was a perfect
delusion to my mother. I did not read it, but laid it unopened on the
floor, where I sat on my feet. The dim yellow light of the braided
muslin burning in a small vessel of oil flickered and sizzled in the
awful silent storm which followed my rejection of the Bible.

Now my wrath against the fates consumed my tears before they reached my
eyes. I sat stony, with a bowed head. My mother threw a shawl over her
head and shoulders, and stepped out into the night.

After an uncertain solitude, I was suddenly aroused by a loud cry
piercing the night. It was my mother's voice wailing among the barren
hills which held the bones of buried warriors. She called aloud for her
brothers' spirits to support her in her helpless misery. My fingers Grey
icy cold, as I realized that my unrestrained tears had betrayed my
suffering to her, and she was grieving for me.

Before she returned, though I knew she was on her way, for she had
ceased her weeping, I extinguished the light, and leaned my head on the
window sill.

Many schemes of running away from my surroundings hovered about in my
mind. A few more moons of such a turmoil drove me away to the eastern
school. I rode on the white man's iron steed, thinking it would bring me
back to my mother in a few winters, when I should be grown tall, and
there would be congenial friends awaiting me.

VII.

INCURRING MY MOTHER'S DISPLEASURE.


In the second journey to the East I had not come without some
precautions. I had a secret interview with one of our best medicine men,
and when I left his wigwam I carried securely in my sleeve a tiny bunch
of magic roots. This possession assured me of friends wherever I should
go. So absolutely did I believe in its charms that I wore it through all
the school routine for more than a year. Then, before I lost my faith in
the dead roots, I lost the little buckskin bag containing all my good
luck.

At the close of this second term of three years I was the proud owner of
my first diploma. The following autumn I ventured upon a college career
against my mother's will.

I had written for her approval, but in her reply I found no
encouragement. She called my notice to her neighbors' children, who had
completed their education in three years. They had returned to their
homes, and were then talking English with the frontier settlers. Her few
words hinted that I had better give up my slow attempt to learn the
white man's ways, and be content to roam over the prairies and find my
living upon wild roots. I silenced her by deliberate disobedience.

Thus, homeless and heavy-hearted, I began anew my life among strangers.

As I hid myself in my little room in the college dormitory, away from
the scornful and yet curious eyes of the students, I pined for sympathy.
Often I wept in secret, wishing I had gone West, to be nourished by my
mother's love, instead of remaining among a cold race whose hearts were
frozen hard with prejudice.

During the fall and winter seasons I scarcely had a real friend, though
by that time several of my classmates were courteous to me at a safe
distance.

My mother had not yet forgiven my rudeness to her, and I had no moment
for letter-writing. By daylight and lamplight, I spun with reeds and
thistles, until my hands were tired from their weaving, the magic design
which promised me the white man's respect.

At length, in the spring term, I entered an oratorical contest among the
various classes. As the day of competition approached, it did not seem
possible that the event was so near at hand, but it came. In the chapel
the classes assembled together, with their invited guests. The high
platform was carpeted, and gaily festooned with college colors. A bright
white light illumined the room, and outlined clearly the great polished
beams that arched the domed ceiling. The assembled crowds filled the air
with pulsating murmurs. When the hour for speaking arrived all were
hushed. But on the wall the old clock which pointed out the trying
moment ticked calmly on.

One after another I saw and heard the orators. Still, I could not
realize that they longed for the favorable decision of the judges as
much as I did. Each contestant received a loud burst of applause, and
some were cheered heartily. Too soon my turn came, and I paused a moment
behind the curtains for a deep breath. After my concluding words, I
heard the same applause that the others had called out.

Upon my retreating steps, I was astounded to receive from my
fellow-students a large bouquet of roses tied with flowing ribbons.
With the lovely flowers I fled from the stage. This friendly token was
a rebuke to me for the hard feelings I had borne them.

Later, the decision of the judges awarded me the first place. Then there
was a mad uproar in the hall, where my classmates sang and shouted my
name at the top of their lungs; and the disappointed students howled and
brayed in fearfully dissonant tin trumpets. In this excitement, happy
students rushed forward to offer their congratulations. And I could not
conceal a smile when they wished to escort me in a procession to the
students' parlor, where all were going to calm themselves. Thanking them
for the kind spirit which prompted them to make such a proposition, I
walked alone with the night to my own little room.

A few weeks afterward, I appeared as the college representative in
another contest. This time the competition was among orators from
different colleges in our State. It was held at the State capital, in
one of the largest opera houses.

Here again was a strong prejudice against my people. In the evening, as
the great audience filled the house, the student bodies began warring
among themselves. Fortunately, I was spared witnessing any of the noisy
wrangling before the contest began. The slurs against the Indian that
stained the lips of our opponents were already burning like a dry fever
within my breast.

But after the orations were delivered a deeper burn awaited me. There,
before that vast ocean of eyes, some college rowdies threw out a large
white flag, with a drawing of a most forlorn Indian girl on it. Under
this they had printed in bold black letters words that ridiculed the
college which was represented by a "squaw." Such worse than barbarian
rudeness embittered me. While we waited for the verdict of the judges, I
gleamed fiercely upon the throngs of palefaces. My teeth were hard set,
as I saw the white flag still floating insolently in the air.

Then anxiously we watched the man carry toward the stage the envelope
containing the final decision.

There were two prizes given, that night, and one of them was mine!

The evil spirit laughed within me when the white flag dropped out of
sight, and the hands which hurled it hung limp in defeat.

Leaving the crowd as quickly as possible, I was soon in my room. The
rest of the night I sat in an armchair and gazed into the crackling
fire. I laughed no more in triumph when thus alone. The little taste of
victory did not satisfy a hunger in my heart. In my mind I saw my mother
far away on the Western plains, and she was holding a charge against me.

Impressions of an Indian Childhood   The School Days of an Indian Girl   An Indian Teacher Among Indians   The Great Spirit The Soft-Hearted Sioux   The Trial Path   A Warrior's Daughter   A Dream of Her Grandfather   The Widespread Enigma of Blue-Star Woman   America's Indian Problem

This information is the research of many people across the United States and may contain errors. It is presented as the best information to date. Like all of those whose work I have incorporated herein, my research is a work in progress and subject to change without notice. A special thanks to Marlene Ricci of CA, Dwayne Meyer of CA, Jacqueline Bean of TX, Debbie Dick of IN, Milus Miller of IL, Carol Hendricks Miller of IN, Clarence Miller of IN, and Harold Glen Miller of IN. There are numerous others too; many of which are unknown, but their findings and stories are still much appreciated. Much of this would not have been possible with out their information. Also this website includes historical facts gathered from Washington County History, Indiana History, Rowan County and Salisbury North Carolina Historical sources and other US Historical sources.

James A. Miller- Great -Great -Great -Great Grandson of Adam Miller and Hannah Sheets.

©2007 The Millers of Washington County

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  Last Updated 01/22/07 10:35:50 AM -0800