Chapter M: S.--By all the fields, mountains, cities and prairies, what sort of (2)

When one can eat no more, he goes to the pole, and as soon as a sufficient number have collected, the dance begins. The warriors sit in a circle around the pole, and the squaws, gaudily dressed and painted, form a circle around the warriors. At a signal the drums beat, and all stand up. Then the squaws sing, and the warriors move around to the right and the squaws to the left, each keeping time to the drums. The dance is a slow, shuffling motion that soon makes one very tired. When one of the Indians gets tired, he steps out of the circle and another takes his place. As soon as it is dark, wood is brought, fires are made around the pole, and the dancing is kept up all night. The feasting frequently continues for three days, and at no time is the pole without its set of dancers. The amount of buffalo consumed is prodigious, when we consider that, besides the vast quantities eaten by the Indians, each family has from six to ten days.

When the feast was over, we began to prepare in earnest for our return. The meat was carefully distributed, so that no pony would be overloaded, and everything was neatly packed. It took both my ponies and all my dogs to carry my meat and lodge, so Washtella and I had to walk. We considered this no great hardship, however, as nearly the whole village was on foot. We made only eight or ten miles a day; but at last, after a most fatiguing march, reached the Missouri, and entered our old camp near Fort Randall.

--_From "Belden the White Chief"._

OUTLINE FOR TOPICAL RECITATIONS

Introduction--The Scene of the Camp.

1. My good luck.

(_a_) Killing the first buffalo of the hunt.
(_b_) Cutting up the meat.
(_c_) Receiving appointment as leader.

2. Chasing the buffalo.

3. The winter's food supply.

(_a_) Drying the meat.
(_b_) Packing.
(_c_) Transporting.
(_d_) Ending the hunt.

4. Killing buffaloes by a decoy.

5. Celebrating a successful hunt.

(_a_) The place for the ceremony.
(_b_) The hearty meal.
(_c_) The dance.

6. The return to the winter camp.

INDIAN LIFE AND CUSTOMS

This selection tells of life among the Indians of our western plains before the buffalo became almost extinct.

As you read, write topics that will enable you to recall the various things the author tells about. Your teacher will have two or three of you put your list of topics on the blackboard and will ask various members of the class to come to the front of the room and tell the class about one topic each. While a pupil is reciting no one should raise his hand nor interrupt. Be a good sport and give the one who is reciting a chance to make his topic as interesting as he can.

This selection can be divided into several large topics with details under each. These details may be stated as sub-topics under the large ones. Your teacher may wish you to look it over again to see if you can find the four main topics.

Nothing is more important in learning to remember what you read than the habit of organizing your material in the form of an outline. A good outline generally takes some such form as this:

Introduction

1. First main topic

(_a_)
(_b_)
(_c_)

Sometimes there may be two, and sometimes several sub-topics. Never use any letter if there is only one topic. When there is only one topic under any heading, you should simply write the topic out.

2. Second main topic

(_a_)
(_b_)
(_c_), etc.

Use as many main topics as you need to tell the story or to include the substance of what you are outlining.

One can have no appreciative idea of an Indian village, unless he has been permitted to come across the prairie through a hot summer's sun, and suddenly discovers one nestled under the broad shade trees, beside a clear running stream, in a green valley. How pleasant the grass then looks; how refreshing the bright waters, and how cozy the tall lodges, with their shaded verandas of thickly interwoven boughs!

All day long we had toiled over the scorching plain, through clouds of grasshoppers that often struck us in the face with sufficient force to make the skin smart for several minutes. Once we had seen a mirage of a beautiful lake, fringed with trees and surrounded by green pastures which invited us to pursue its fleeting shadows, but we knew all about these deceptions by sad experience, and pushed steadily on over the burning sands.

These mirages often deceive the weary traveler of the desert. Suddenly the horseman sees a river or lake, apparently just ahead of him, and he rides on and on, hoping to come up to it. For hours it lies before his eyes, and then in a moment disappears, leaving him miles and miles out of his way in the midst of desert sands. Men have ridden all day striving to reach the beautiful river just before them, and then at night have turned back to plod their weary way to where they had started from in the morning.

The mirage we had seen was most delightful, representing a clear lake, with trees, meadows, and villages nestling on its shores, but it scarcely equalled the reality of the scene when, late in the afternoon, we ascended a rise in the prairie, and saw below us a wide stream lined with green trees, and on its banks a large Indian encampment.

The ponies pricked up their ears and neighed with pleasure as they smelt the water, and our own delight was unbounded. We halted for a moment to admire the beautiful prospect. Through the majestic trees slanting rays of the sun shivered on the grass! Far away, winding like a huge silver-serpent, ran the river, while near by in a shady grove stood the village with the children at play on the green lawns not made by hands. The white sides of the teepees shone in the setting sunlight, and the smoke curled lazily upward from their dingy tops. Bright ribbons and red grass, looking like streamers on a ship, fluttered from the lodge-poles, and gaudily dressed squaws and warriors walked about, or sat on the green sod under the trees.

Near the village were hundreds of horses and ponies, with bright feathers flaunting in their manes and tails as they cropped the rich grass of the valley.

A group of noisy children were playing at a game much resembling ten-pins; some boys were shooting at a mark with arrows, and up the stream several youths were returning home with rod and line, and fine strings of speckled trout.

Scores of men and women were swimming about in the river, now diving, and then dousing each other amid screams of laughter from the bystanders on the shore. Here and there a young girl darted about like a fish, her black hair streaming behind her in the water.

While we looked, the little children suddenly ceased from play and ran into the lodges; mounted men surrounded the herd of horses, and the swimmers and promenaders hastened toward the village. We had been perceived by the villagers, and the unexpected arrival of strange horsemen at an Indian encampment always creates great excitement. They may be friends, but they are more often enemies, so the villagers are always prepared for a surprise.

Soon men were seen running to and fro with guns and bows, and in a few minutes, some mounted warriors left the encampment and rode toward us, going first to the top of the highest mounds to see if they could discover other horsemen in the rear or to the right or left of us.

No sooner did they ascertain there were but three in the party, than they rode boldly up and asked us our business. I told them who we were, and where we were from, upon which they cordially invited us to the village.

As we approached, men, women, and children poured out of the encampment to look at the strangers, and having satisfied their curiosity, the sports and amusements of the evening were renewed.

I asked permission to camp of no one, for I needed none. So I marched right down to the center of the village, and finding a vacant space, pitched my lodge.

A few Santee women gathered about my squaws and chatted with them, anxious to learn the news from down the river. Seeing they were interfering with the unpacking of the ponies and the erecting of the lodge, I unceremoniously ordered them to be gone, and they went quietly away. The lodge was soon up and the ponies unpacked and put out to graze. Having seen things put in order for the night, I sauntered out through the village to learn the news.

I was agreeably surprised when I learned there was a white man in the village, who had been sent out to the Indians as a missionary. All the savages spoke of him as a kind-hearted, good man, who was a great friend of the Great Spirit, and of the Big Father at Washington.

I made haste to pay my respects to my white brother and found him indeed a good Christian gentleman. He had a white wife and child, and he and they were living comfortably and pleasantly with these wild children of the desert. I talked more than an hour with the good man; it was so delightful to see and speak with one of my own blood and color. When I left him, I promised I would return the next day and dine with him. It may sound strange to hear one talk of "dining out" in an Indian camp, but the meal was none the less wholesome or abundant on account of the place in which it was served.

I found the Santees a most excellent people. The warriors were men of great pride and bravery. The chiefs of the Santees were men of few words, but they were dignified, courteous, and truthful in all they said and did. After all my experiences and disappointments among the Indians of the plains, I could not help admiring and respecting these people, for here at last I had found a tribe such as Cooper had represented, and Longfellow had characterized in "Hiawatha".

The Santee lodges were tall conical-shaped tents, made of buffalo hide tanned with the hair off, and stretched around twelve poles. These poles are tied together at the top, and set around a circle of one hundred and eight feet. The lodge, when finished, is thirty-six feet in diameter at the ground. The skin or covering is cut bias, the small end being fastened to the top of the poles and the long end wrapped round and round the poles, and finally fastened to the ground with a wooden pin or stone. The poles are not set in the ground, but the edge of the lodge-cover is pinned down with short pegs made of hard wood. An aperture is left at the top of the lodge for the smoke to escape, and the fire is built in the center. When the door is open it draws well, and all the smoke goes up and out at the aperture.

These lodges, although standing on the surface of the ground and apparently very fragile, will withstand the most violent wind and rain storms. I have seen them outlive the strongest modern tents, and stand up even when great trees were blown down.

During my residence in the Santee village I saw many curious things, and learned much of the mode of life and ceremonies of the Indians.

Most people have seen the bows and arrows used by boys in the eastern States, and those who have observed them know how feeble they are, not even being capable of killing the smallest animal. Do not be surprised, then, when I tell you that an Indian with his bow, will send an arrow entirely through a horse, a man, or a buffalo. The shaggy-coated bear or Rocky Mountain lion will fall beneath a few shots from the savage's strong bow, while the fleet wild deer is not swift enough to escape the flight of his arrow. With unerring aim the hunter sends his deadly shaft, at eighty yards, into the heart or eye of his game, and with ease tips birds from the tops of the highest trees. Of course, it requires long practice to acquire such skill in the use of the bow, but the Indian will tell you that more depends upon the manufacture of the weapon than the skill of the marksman. With a good Indian bow and arrow a white man can, in a few hours, learn to shoot fairly well, while with a bow and arrow of his own manufacture he can hardly hit a tree the size of a man's body a rod off.

Let me teach you how to make a good bow and arrow. And first we will begin with the arrow. The shoots, or rods, must be cut in the arrow season; that is, when the summer's growth is ended. They must not have any branches or limbs on them, but must be straight and smooth. The Indians cut their arrows late in the fall, when the timber is hardening to withstand the blasts of winter. The sticks are not quite as thick as one's little finger, and they are sorted and tied in bundles of twenty and twenty-five. These bundles are two and two and one-half feet in length, and are wrapped tightly from end to end with strips of rawhide or elk skin. The sticks are then hung up over fire in the teepee to be smoked and dried, and the wrapping keeps them from warping or bending. When they are seasoned, which takes several weeks, the bundles are taken down, the covering removed, and the bark scraped off. The wood is very tough then, and of a yellowish color. The next process is to cut the arrow shafts exactly one length, and in this great care must be used; for arrows of different lengths fly differently, and, unless they are alike, the hunter's aim is destroyed. Another reason for measuring the length of arrows is to identify them; for no two warriors shoot arrows of precisely the same length. Each warrior carries a measuring, or pattern stick, and it is necessary only to compare an arrow with the stick to find out to whom it belongs. But should the arrows by chance be of one length, there are other means of identifying them; for every hunter has his own private mark in the shaft, the head, or the feather. Of many thousands I have examined, I have never found two arrows exactly alike when they were made by different warriors.

When the shafts have been made even, the next work is to form the notch for the bow-string. This is done with a sharp knife, and, when made properly, the bottom of the notch will be precisely in the center of the shaft. The arrow is then scraped and tapered toward the notch, leaving a round head an inch long near the notch to prevent the string from splitting the shaft, and to make a firm hold for the thumb and forefinger in drawing the bow.

All the arrows are peeled, scraped, and notched, and then the warrior creases them. To do this, he takes an arrow-head and scores the shaft in zigzag lines from end to end. These creases, or fluted gutters, in the shaft are to let the blood run out when an animal is struck. The blood flows along the little gutters in the wood and runs off the end of the arrow. The arrow-head is made of steel or stone. It is shaped like a heart or dart and has a stem about an inch long. The sides of the stem are nicked or filed out like saw-teeth. Nearly all the wild Indians now use steel arrow-heads, which are a great article of trade among the savages. Certain firms in the East manufacture many hundreds of thousands every year and send them to the traders who sell them to the Indians for furs.

When the shaft is ready for the head, the warrior saws a slit with a nicked knife in the end opposite the notch, and inserts the stem of the arrow-head. The slit must be exactly in the center of the shaft, and as deep as the stem is long. When properly adjusted, the teeth of the stem show themselves on each side of the slit. Buffalo, deer, or elk sinew is then softened in water, and the wood is wrapped firmly to the arrowhead, taking care to fit the sinew in the teeth of the stem to prevent the head from pulling out.

The next process is to put on the feathers. To do this properly great care must be taken. Turkey or eagle quills are soaked in warm water to make them split easily and uniformly. The feather is then stripped from the quill and put on the shaft of the arrow. Three feathers are placed on each shaft, and they are laid equi-distant along the stem. The big end of the feather is fastened near the notch of the shaft and laid six or eight inches straight along the wood. The feathers are glued to the shaft and wrapped at each end with fine sinew. The arrow is next painted, marked, dried, and is ready for use. It takes a warrior a whole day to make an arrow, for which the trader allows him ten cents.

Arrow-heads are put up in packages of a dozen each. They cost the trader half a cent, or six cents per package, and are sold to the Indians at enormous profits. Thus, twelve arrow-heads will be exchanged for a buffalo robe, worth $8 or $9, and three, for a beaver skin, worth $4. Indians often buy arrow-heads at these enormous prices, and then sell the arrow back to the trader at ten cents, in exchange for goods, beads, or knives.

Travelers on the prairie have often seen the Indians throwing up signal lights at night, and have wondered how it was done. I will tell you all about it. They take off the head of the arrow and dip the shaft in gunpowder, mixed with glue. This they call making fire-arrows. The gunpowder adheres to the wood, and coats it three or four inches from its end, to the depth of one-fourth of an inch. Chewed bark mixed with dry gunpowder is then fastened to the stick, and the arrow is ready for use. When it is to be fired, a warrior places it on his bow-string and draws his bow ready to let it fly; the point of the arrow is then lowered; another warrior lights the dry bark, and it is shot high in the air. When it has gone up a little distance, it bursts out into flame, and burns brightly until it falls to the ground. Various meanings are attached to these fire-arrow signals. Thus, one arrow meant, among the Santees, "The enemy are about"; two arrows from the same point, "Danger"; three, "Great danger"; many, "They are too strong, or we are falling back"; two arrows sent up at the same moment, "We will attack"; three, "Soon"; four, "Now"; if shot diagonally, "In that direction." These signals are constantly changed, and are always agreed upon when the party goes out or before it separates. The Indians send their signals very intelligently, and seldom make mistakes in telegraphing each other by these silent monitors. The amount of information they can communicate, by fires and burning arrows, is perfectly wonderful. Every war party carries with it bundles of signal arrows.

The bow--the weapon so long in use among the different Indian tribes of this continent and so typical of Indian life--is made of various kinds of wood, and its manufacture is a work of no little labor. Even at this day the bow is much used, and although an Indian may have a gun, he is seldom seen without his long bow, and his quiver well filled with arrows. The gun may get out of order, and he can not mend it; the ammunition may become wet, and there is an end of hunting; but the faithful bow is always in order, and its swift arrows ready to fly in wet as well as dry weather. Thus reasons the savage, and so he keeps his bow to fall back upon in case of accident.

Until the invention of breech-loaders, the bow was a far more deadly weapon at close range than the best rifle. A warrior could discharge his arrows with much greater rapidity and precision than the most expert woodsman could charge and fire a muzzle-loading rifle.

The Indian boy's first lesson in life is to shoot with a bow. He is furnished with a small bow and "beewaks", or blunt arrows, so that he will hurt nobody, and with these he shoots at marks. By and by, when he has acquired some skill in handling his weapon, he is given small arrow-points, and with these he shoots birds, squirrels, and small beasts. As he grows older he receives the long-bow, and at last the strong-bow.

These strong-bows are powerful weapons, and I have seen them so stiff that a white man could not bend them more than four inches, while an Indian would, with apparent ease, draw them to the arrow's head. A shaft fired from one of these bows will go through the body of a buffalo, and arrow-heads have been found so firmly imbedded in the thigh bones of a man that no force could extract them.

The parents take great pride in teaching young Indians to shoot, and the development of the muscles and strength of their arms is watched with much interest. A stout arm, ornamented with knots of muscles is a great honor to an Indian, and no one but those who can handle the strong-bow are deemed fit for war.

Of all the Indians of the West, the Sioux and Crows make the best bows. The Sioux bow is generally four feet long, one and a half inches wide, and an inch thick at the middle. It tapers from the center, or "grasp", toward the ends, and is but half an inch wide and half an inch thick at the extremities. At one end the bow-string is notched into the wood and made permanently fast, while at the other end two notches are cut in the wood, and the string at that end of the bow is made like a slip-knot or loop. When the bow is to be used, the warrior sets the end to which the string is made fast firmly on the ground, and then bends down the other end until the loop slips into the notch. This is called "stringing" the bow. The bow is never kept strung except when in actual use, as it would lose its strength and elasticity by being constantly bent. When unstrung, a good bow is perfectly straight, and, if properly made and seasoned, will always retain its elasticity.

The wood generally used in manufacturing bows is ash, hickory, iron-wood, elm, and cedar. No hickory grows west of the Missouri, and it is very difficult to get; and an Indian will always pay a high price for a piece of this wood.

When the bow is made of cedar, it need not be seasoned; but all other woods require seasoning, and are not worked until perfectly dry. Every teepee has its bow-wood hung up with the arrows in the smoke of the fire well out of reach of the flames. A warrior with a sharp knife and a sandstone, or file, can make a bow in three days if he works hard, but it generally takes a week, and sometimes a month, to finish a fancy bow. When done, it is worth three dollars in trade.

All the bows differ in length and strength, being gauged for the arms of those who are to use them; but a white man would, until he learned the trick of it, find himself unable to bend even the weakest war-bow. This has given rise to the impression that the Indians are stronger than white men, which is an error; for, although only a slight man myself, I learned, after some practice, to bend the strongest bow, and could send a shaft as far or as deep as any savage. On one occasion I shot an arrow, while running, into a buffalo so that the point came out on the opposite side; another arrow disappeared in the buffalo, not even the notch being visible. I have seen a bow throw an arrow five hundred yards, and have myself often discharged one entirely through a board one inch thick. Once I found a man's skull transfixed to a tree by an arrow which had gone completely through the bones, and imbedded itself so deep in the wood as to sustain the weight of the head. He had probably been tied up to the tree and shot.

The surface of the bow is made perfectly flat, then roughened with a file or stone, the sinew being dipped in hot glue and laid on the wood. The sinew is then lapped at the ends and on the middle or grasp of the bow. The string is attached while green, twisted, and left to dry on the bow. The whole outside of the wood and sinew is now covered with a thick solution of glue, and the bow is done. Rough bows look like hickory limbs with the bark on, but some of them are beautifully painted and ornamented. I once knew a trader to glue some red velvet on a bow, and the Indians paid him an immense price for it, thinking it very wonderful.

In traveling, the bow is carried in a sheath attached to the arrow quiver, and the whole is slung to the back by a belt of elk or buckskin, which passes diagonally across the breast, and is fastened to the ends of the quiver. The quiver and bow-sheath is generally made of the skin of an ox or some wild animal, and is tanned with the hair on. The quiver is ornamented with tassels or fringe of buckskin, and the belt across the breast is painted or worked with beads. Each Indian has his sign or name on his belt, bow, sheath, or arrow quiver. The celebrated Sioux chief, Spotted Tail, or "Sin-ta Gallessca", had his bow-sheath made from the skin of a spotted ox he had killed in a train his warriors captured, and as the tail was left dangling at the end of the sheath, the Indians ever afterward called him Spotted Tail, or "The man with the Spotted Tail". You may be curious to know what this Indian's name was before he was called Spotted Tail, and I must tell you many Indians never have a name, while others have half a dozen. Some act of bravery, or an article of clothing, generally fixes an Indian's name, but a new deed, or a new head-dress, may change it.

To shoot with the bow properly, it must be held firmly in three fingers of the right hand; the arrow is fixed on the bow-string with the thumb and forefinger of the left hand, and the other three fingers are used to pull the string. The shaft of the arrow lays between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand, which rest over the grasp of the bow. To shoot, the bow is turned slightly, so that one end is higher than the other, and the arrow is then launched.

--_From "Belden the White Chief"._

CAN YOU UNDERSTAND RELATIONSHIP?

This drill will test your ability to recognize easily relationships between words. Beginning on the first line, write the figures 1 to 10.

In each group of words below, the first two words have a certain connection in meaning. When you discover this relationship between the first two words, you can find among the five words that follow, two other words that bear the same relationship. For example, in group one, the TIRE is made of RUBBER. Now if you look among the words that follow, you will easily see that the words HOUSE and BRICKS are related in the same way. (The HOUSE is made of BRICKS.) Write these four words after figure 1 on your paper:

1. TIRE RUBBER house bricks

Look at group two. We can easily see that just as the TAILOR makes CLOTHES so the BAKER makes BREAD. So you will write these four words after figure 2 on your paper:

2. TAILOR CLOTHES baker bread

Complete the exercise by selecting the two words in each remaining group that are related in meaning in the same way that the given words are related in meaning. When you have finished, wait quietly for the others.

1. TIRE, RUBBER (wagon, circle, house, brush, bricks).

2. TAILOR, CLOTHES (baker, store, city, ship, bread).

3. FIRE, HEAT (knife, candle, burn, light, wood).

4. SAILOR, SEA (book, sing, soldier, fight, land).

5. GUN, BULLET (bow, horse, shoot, arrow, fly).

6. YOUNG, QUICK (old, fast, grow, father, slow).

7. APPLE, TREE (oranges, south, grape, vine, sweet).

8. CEILING, FLOOR (sky, attic, stair, earth, high).

9. WINDOW, GLASS (silk, knife, book, steel, pencil).

10. SQUIRREL, CHATTERS (bird, tree, sings, fly, nuts).

OPENING THE GREAT WEST

Here is a picture of the work of the army of the United States in
opening the great prairie country of the West. Today we get
immense quantities of our food from the states between the
Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains. Seventy years ago the
most of this territory, now the richest farming country in the
United States, was inhabited chiefly by roving tribes of Indians
who lived mainly by hunting the buffalo.

You will notice many details that show that the story was written
many years ago. For instance, the soldiers are spoken of as "blue
jackets". Make a list of these points as you read.

Read the selection as rapidly as you can without overlooking
important details. When the majority of the class has finished,
your teacher will ask you in turn to stand before the class and
recite on the topics given at the end. You should try to make your
recitation interesting by giving details that will help your
hearers to see what the author has described.

As soon as the traveler crosses the Missouri, and enters the territories, he begins to find the blue jackets, and the farther west he goes the more numerous they become. It is only just to the army to say that it has ever been the pioneer of civilization in America. Ever since Washington crossed the Alleghanies, and, with his brave Virginians, pushed to the Ohio, the work has been steadily going on. From Pittsburgh, the army led far down the Ohio to the Mississippi, and thence along the Father of Waters to New Orleans; next west to the Miami, and far up the lakes; then to the Missouri, and so on for thousands of miles until the other ocean was reached through Oregon and California. A line of forts is pushed out into the new and uninhabited country, and presently people come in and settle near the posts. A few years elapse, and there are hundreds of citizens in all directions. Then the forts are sold or pulled down, and the troops march farther west to new posts.

The knapsacks are packed, the cavalry are mounted, and we are ready to occupy a new line of country. "Head of column west, forward, march!" and away we go. What an outfit! The long lines of cavalry wind over the hills, and then follows the compact column of infantry. Then come a few pieces of artillery and the train. What a sight! Hundreds of wagons, filled with every conceivable article of food and implement of labor: steam-engines, saw-mills, picks, shovels, hoes, masses of iron, piles of lumber, tons of pork, hard bread, flour, rice, sugar, coffee, tea, and potatoes, all drawn in huge wagons. Six mules or ten oxen are seen tugging the monster wheeled machines along. The train is generally preceded by a score or two of carriages, ambulances, and light wagons, containing the families of officers, women, children, and laundresses. Behind the wagon train are driven the herds of cattle and sheep, and, last of all, comes a company of infantry, and, perhaps, one of cavalry.

Day after day the living, moving mass toils on toward the setting sun. Bridges are built, gulleys filled, hill-sides dug down, and roads cut along precipices. We wonder how the pioneer corps can keep out of our way; but each day we go steadily forward, seeing only their work, never overtaking them. A ride to the front will show us how this is done. It is mid-day, and a company is going out to relieve the pioneers. The knapsacks are lightened, and off we go at a quick pace. At sundown we come upon the pioneers, and find some building a bridge, while others cut down the hill so the wagons can pass. We relieve them of their shovels, picks, and axes, and one-half of the company goes into camp, and the other half goes to work. At midnight we are aroused by the beating of the drum, and the half of the company that is in camp goes out to relieve the working party. At daylight we are relieved in turn; the work goes on day and night, and that is the way the pioneers keep ahead of the train.

Let us return to the column. It is near sunset, the bugles sound the halt, and the columns file off into camp. The cavalry horses are sent out to graze, the tents put up, fires lighted and the suppers put on to cook. The white canvas gleams in the setting sun, and the camp resounds with mirth and laughter. Water is brought from the brook, and soap and towels are in great demand to remove the dust and stains of travel. Folding chairs, tables, beds, mattresses, are opened out, and carpets spread on the ground. The butchers have slaughtered a beef or two, and the fresh meat is brought in for distribution. The commissary wagons are opened, and sugar, coffee, rice, hominy, and canned fruits dealt out. In an hour we sit down to a smoking hot dinner and supper of roast beef, hot coffee, fried potatoes, fresh biscuit, and canned peaches. If the air is cool the little peaked Sibley stoves are put up, and the evening is spent in telling stories, playing cards, and singing songs. Here is heard the thrumming of a guitar; there are a lot of officers playing euchre, and yonder a group of soldiers gathered about their camp-fire telling tales of how they campaigned in Oregon, or fought the Comanches and Apaches in Texas and New Mexico twenty years ago.

The bugles sound tattoo, the rolls are called, taps blow, the lights are put out, and the busy camp sinks into stillness. Only here and there a light is left burning, where the quartermaster in his tent is busy over his papers, the adjutant making the orders for the morrow's march, or a noisy trio of officers continuing to a late hour their jests and songs. No soldier is allowed to have his light burning after taps, but the officers can do as they please.

Every one sleeps soundly, for each knows he is well guarded. It is near midnight, and, if you like, we will walk about the camp a little. Here is the officer of the day, and we will accompany him. We go out to the edge of the camp, where a large group of men are gathered about a blazing fire. "Who comes there?" rings out upon the still night air. "Friends," is answered back. "Advance one and be recognized." This is done, and then comes the cry of "Officer of day, turn out the guard". There is a rattling of muskets, a hurrying and bustling to and fro, and the guard falls into line and is inspected--so far as to ascertain that all are present and every thing right. Frequently an officer, but most generally a sergeant of experience, commands the guard, and all the sentinels are posted according to the directions of the officer of the day, who receives his instructions from the commanding officer.

The wagons are drawn up in long lines or semicircles, with the tongues inward, to which are tied the mules and oxen. Sentinels pace up and down to see that all goes right, and rouse the teamsters to tie up the mules that are constantly getting loose. The cry of "loose mules" will bring a dozen teamsters out of their wagons, and at least a hundred oaths before the animal is caught and secured. The cavalry wagons are placed twenty to thirty feet apart, and long ropes drawn through the hind wheels, to which are picketed the horses. Guards are everywhere, and the sentinels are keenly on the alert. Each hill-top has its silent watcher. The herds are kept where there is as much grass as possible, and mounted herders constantly watch them, ready for an Indian alarm or a stampede. A cry of "Indians, Indians," produces great life and commotion among the herders, guards, and sentinels, but the body of the camp does not deign to move unless the firing is very heavy, and the order given to "turn out". This is the Regular Army on the march.

When the troops enter the Indian country, and the attacks become frequent, the column marches more compactly; the herds and wagons are kept well up; the women and children are put among the infantry; flankers thrown out, and a howitzer sent to the front to throw shells and frighten off the savages. The boom of a cannon seems to be the voice of advancing civilization, and greatly terrifies the Indians.

At last the line of country that is to be occupied has been reached, and a fort is built. This consists of a stockade, log-houses, and shelters for the stores. Then the troops are divided, and another fort is built fifty or a hundred miles from the first, and so on until the whole line is "occupied". If there is danger, earthworks are thrown up, and one or two pieces mounted. Now begins the work in earnest; keeping open the communication between the forts; getting up supplies from the rear, and securing the way for immigration. The country is mapped, the land surveyed, the streams looked up and named, and saw-mills built. Settlers come in and open farms near the forts, and they creep up and down the valleys, and over the hills, until they stretch away for hundreds of miles. Meanwhile, there are Indian battles, surprises, and massacres by scores. Hundreds lose their lives, but the settlements go on. There is a little grocery, a rum shop, a town, and by and by a city.

Every spring, as soon as the grass grows, the cavalry takes the field and scours over the country for hundreds of miles. The infantry remains in the posts, or guards trains to and fro. From April until December, the cavalry is on the go constantly, and the officers are separated from their families. When the snows fall they come into the forts to winter, but are often routed out by the approach of their savage foes, and made to march hundreds of miles when the thermometer is far below zero. It is this that makes the troops so savage, and often causes them to slaughter the Indians without mercy. After a long and hard summer's campaign, the officers and men come in tired, weary, and only too glad to rejoin their families and rest, when scarcely have they removed the saddles from their horses' backs, when murders, robberies, and burnings announce the approach of the fierce foe, and they are ordered out for a winter campaign. Full of rage and chagrin, they go forth breathing vengeance on all Indians, and after toiling a month or more, through ice and snow, with freezing hands, feet, and ears, they overtake the savages and punish them with terrible severity.

In this way our great western plains are opened to civilization. Every year millions of acres are added to our national domain. The wild prairie with its countless buffaloes and its skulking, murderous war-parties of red men becomes the frontier; the frontier becomes the settled farms and villages; the iron horse and the telegraph connect it with the great East; and still the pioneer and the army push ahead to open up still more of the richest land in the world to the conquering axe and plow of the Anglo-Saxon.

--_From "Belden the White Chief"._

Pupils should be prepared to recite on the following topics:

1. Moving west, then moving west again.
2. What an army train carried.
3. The work of the pioneer corps.
4. An army camp at night
(_a_) Supper.
(_b_) Changing the guard.
(_c_) How the camp was protected.
5. Development of a fort into a settlement.
6. Summary.

Write answers to the following questions:

1. Who of your relations might have been one of these soldiers;
your older brother, your father, your grandfather, or your great
grandfather?

2. Name three kinds of food that we eat every day that come from
the part of the country opened as described in this selection.

3. Tell some of the sounds you might have heard if you had been
sleeping in one of the wagons when camped for the night.

TURNING OUT THE INTRUDER

Here is another exercise that will help you see how well you can
arrange words in groups. What kind of list is the first group of
words below? Do all the words under figure 1 belong in that list?
Would it be a better list without the word VELVET? Write VELVET on
the first line of your paper.

In each group of words, there is one that does not belong there.
Find the misplaced word in each group, writing one under the
other. You have now made a new list of words of one class by
taking one word out of each group. Pick out a good heading for
this new list and write it as the top.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
corn copper satin teaching horse
velvet tin coasting surveying sheep
potatoes muslin swimming building oxen
wheat lead tennis linen dog
barley brass skating mining silk
beets gold football printing cattle

THE TRAINING OF A BOY KING

We think little of kings and princes nowadays. They appear chiefly
in our fairy stories when we know they are pure creations of
somebody's imagination. Possibly some of you have wished you had
been born a prince or princess. This story will give you a glimpse
of the real life of a prince who was the son of one of the most
powerful kings of England.

Almost everybody knows something about Queen Elizabeth, the famous
queen who made England such a powerful country long ago in the
sixteenth century. And almost everybody knows something about her
older sister, Queen Mary, who caused so much sorrow to England
because of religious persecution. But not nearly so many people know
about their younger brother, King Edward the Sixth, who came to the
throne before either of his sisters, and whose short life was full
of burdens and anxieties. This story tells something about the way
in which a boy had to be educated if he was going to be a king. You
will see that he had very little chance for freedom or happiness.

Read the story through quickly, and then glance back and make an
outline of it. Your teacher will let two or three of you tell the
story from the outline you have made.

Almost four hundred years ago all London was rejoicing because of the birth of a prince, the son of the wicked Henry the Eighth. To be sure, Henry had two other children, Mary and Elizabeth; but there were reasons, it was thought, why neither of them could inherit the throne. So the people were glad when little Edward was born; anthems of joy were sung in all the churches; bonfires were lit, and bells rang.

Three days later, when the baby prince was baptized, the way from the palace to the chapel was hung with silk and velvet and cloth of gold, and lined with torch-bearers. Noble lords held a shining canopy over his head, and others carried the towels and basins needed in the ceremony. His sister Mary, a gracious lady of twenty-one, was his godmother, the archbishop was his godfather, and little red-haired Elizabeth, only four years old, also had a share in the ceremony.

Ten days later joy was turned to mourning, for the Queen died, and little Prince Edward was left motherless. The baby, however, had a kind nurse and many servants, four of whom were called "rockers", as it was then thought right to rock a baby in his cradle or in the arms. All these servants were charged to watch and guard the Prince night and day lest any harm should befall him, for, as King Henry said, he was "the whole realm's most precious jewel".

While Edward was a little child he lived chiefly in the country, and was brought up till he was six years old by the women of the household. After that he had learned men for his schoolmasters, and they taught him languages, philosophy, and such art and science as were known at the time. Such studies sound like very grown-up lessons for a little boy, do they not? A large part of education in those days consisted of Greek and Latin. Both Edward and his sister Elizabeth were very fond of books, and many were the happy mornings that the two children spent together over their lessons.

Besides his sister, Edward had other school companions. In order that he might not be alone, several boys, the sons of noblemen, were brought up in the palace along with the Prince. One of them, it is said, was known as Edward's "whipping boy"; that is, if the Prince misbehaved, as he seldom did, this boy was punished for it, as it was not thought proper to punish the Prince himself.

By the time he was eight, the boy could both read and write Latin. He wrote his letters in Latin, and several of them, along with three of his exercise books, have been handed down to the present time. The books are filled with Greek and Latin exercises. He must have been a clever boy, and must also have studied hard and long.

One winter morning when Edward was nine years old, gentlemen came riding out from London with the news that his father, King Henry, was dead, and that Edward was the new King. He wept bitterly, for to him his father had always been loving and gentle, however cruel he was to others. But the boy could not weep long, for he had to mount his horse and ride to London to be welcomed by the people. The next day all the nobles came and knelt before him to kiss his hand and swear that they would always be loyal. But Edward was still too young to be really king. His father had left the government in the hands of eighteen men whom he named. These men now decided that they would put all the power into the hands of the most important one among them, Edward's uncle, the Duke of Somerset, who should be called Lord Protector.

For a long time hardly a day passed without some tiresome state ceremony to which the little King had to go. You can imagine that he grew very tired of so much showing off. At last came the coronation. The day before it, King Edward rode through the streets in solemn procession, clad in a suit of white velvet and silver, adorned with pearls and diamonds. The trappings of his horse were crimson and gold embroidered with pearls. The progress of the procession was very slow, lasting from noon till nightfall; for in every open space was a raised platform hung with gay curtains, where a company of actors, acrobats, or singing children would give some kind of exhibition which the King must stay to watch. One thing that we must suppose he particularly liked was a wonderful tightrope walker. But after all, he was only a little nine-year-old boy, and you can imagine that he was very tired when the long day was over and he went home to bed.

Next day at nine Edward was on his way to Westminster Abbey for the long and splendid ceremony of the coronation, at which he was formally presented to the people and crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury. After two more days of feasting and celebration, the young King settled down to a quiet life again. But now it was a very lonely life and not so happy a one. He saw little of his sisters; and though he went on with his lessons, they were often interrupted by the business of the state. For though he had no real power, and the Lord Protector actually ruled England, yet the little boy had to go through the form of approving or disapproving of what was done.

Now the Duke of Somerset was very ambitious, and since he had so much of the power of a king, he began to act and to talk as if he were really king. This made some people angry and other people jealous. One of the jealous ones was Lord Seymour, the Protector's brother. Somerset was very stern with Edward, and kept him very short of money, so Seymour tried to win the young King's liking by kindness and by gifts of pocket-money, which kings like as well as other boys. But Seymour's enemies were too strong for him; he was shut up in the tower, and Somerset so influenced the child king that he consented to have his kind uncle condemned to death. It seems a pity that a boy so wise and good should have been so cold-hearted. It must have been because all the men around him were hard and cold; if he had only not been a king he might have been warm and loving and full of gratitude for kindness.

Meantime Somerset went on being more and more proud and ambitious and making more and more people hate him. Finally, after he had put down two rebellions by very cruel means, another nobleman, the Duke of Northumberland, formed a plot to kill Somerset and become Protector himself. When Somerset heard this, he went to Edward's palace, and frightened the boy into going away with him on his flight. He thought that the people would spare his own life out of love and respect for Edward, and like a coward he used the young King as a shield. It was dusk when they set out, and the crowded courtyard of the palace was alight with moving torches and glittering armor. Confused and alarmed by the champing of the horses, the rattle of steel, and the sound of voices, the boy cried out, "I pray, good people, be good to us and to our uncle."

Then Somerset made a long, angry speech to the people, telling them that he knew of the plot to kill him and seize the King. He finished his speech in truly cowardly fashion. "I tell you," he said, "if anything is attempted against me, here," pointing to the King, "is he who shall die before me."

The King and his uncle fled away safely to Windsor. They rode almost all night, and arrived at dawn. Nothing was ready for them; they were not expected, and there was neither food nor fire. The October nights were cold, and the boy, who was never strong, fell ill of cold and weariness and fear. At Windsor he lived closely guarded, and felt as if he were in prison, for the place was then only a fortress, not a beautiful castle as it is now.

He did not stay long at Windsor, however. Somerset's enemies came after him, and presented to Edward all their charges against the cruel, ambitious Protector. Edward seems to have listened to them very readily, and not to have tried to save his uncle when he was taken and shut up in the Tower of London. And later, when Somerset was beheaded, the King cared little about his uncle's fate. It seems strange that so lovable a boy should have said not one word of regret, even though he had never liked his uncle.