Under the Totem-Pole

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 215, 30 November 1927, Page 8

Under the Totem-Pole

Chiefs and Braves

Harvest Moon: Many thanks for your [ charming letter. I, too, feel that books ' are friends and can quite understand ; your attitude toward those two favour- i ites. The poem you have sent me is one j of the best I have seen from your pen, ! and I have entered it in the competition. Soon I hope to have your other entries. Greetings and best wishes. Harvest Moon. Silver Heel: Two arrows from the tepee of Silver Heel this week. I should much like to glance in at the “Sock’' Social. It should be a great success. I hope you will come out victorious after I your very novel drive for Sixpence Time. Chiefs and Braves would do well to follow' your example. Good hunting to : the Hamilton Braves. Beaver Hunter: Congratulations on the i troop magazine, Beaver Hunter. I have i read it through from cover to cover and am looking forward to the next number. The serial leaves one literally swinging in mid-air, and I see that the heroes are buying special editions of the right paper. Many thanks for your promised ; assistance for Sixpence Time. Greetings and best wishes from the Wigwam. Rising Torrent: So you dreamed a strange dream and thought that the Wigwam flap had closed against you? And you went back into the dark forest, : w'eary and forlorn? And the world was 1 empty of bird-song, and everything worth while had vanished? Awake, O Rising. Torrent. Such things can never happen, i Light of Eve: Many thanks for your charming letter. It is good to know that your tepee stands ever open to me, and j that still the fair, friendly faces gather j round. Greetings and best wishes from the Wigwam. Silent Warrior: You have certainly l brought me a useful list of pen-names ! from the far reaches of the Peace Trails. They are all very suitable ones. Many thanks, silent one. By your letter I see that you are on the trail of buffalo. Perhaps Little Buffalo and Thundering Buffalo, two keen Chiefs, are lurking in the shadows, watelling operations. Silver Wing: Well, I was right, wasn’t I? Many thanks for both letters. Your Brownies must be very happy ones, I think. I should like to peep in on some of their partie And y- u ead the I Wigwam page from the first word to the Chief to the last word in the last ! column fuu even rake the T tem Pole 1 fore and aft? My trusty quill trembles at the thought. I shall be looking forward to receiving the photograph you are going to send. Best wishes, Silver Wing. Red Star: Your tepee must look very beautiful with all those wonderful flowers. We should set up a flower exchange, Red Star, for many fair blooms arrive by magic at the Wigwam also. Some days it it “Roses, roses all the way,” but to-day it is old-fashioned Sweet William Flying Cloud sends her love and greetings with the promise of a letter soon. Greet- j ings also .from Re.dfeather and the Children of the Wigwam.

THE MOON-FACED PAPOOSE

One evening, when I was a small brave, I stole away from my father's tepee and clambered into his fishing canoe, which was moored to a tree overhanging the wide river. I sat trailing my hands in the cool water, and singing a soft hunting song, when suddenly I became aware that the canoe was moving rapidly. Looking back, I discovered that the village lay far behind, and, seizing a paddle from the bottom of the canoe, I began to strive lustily. But alas! my arm had not sufficient strength to turn the canoe, light as it was. On and on I drifted, and at length fell into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened by the sound of the canoe grounding on a pebbbly beach. Hastily I scrambled ashore, and wandered along between high cliffs, covered with pine trees. It was very dark, and there was but a faint glow from the new moon. At length day broke, and, at the far end of the valley, I espied a tepee, where I hoped I should find some food. Lifting the flap, I entered. Inside were a squaw, a chief, and a papoose. “Greetings,” I said, “and may I have some food? I am very hungry?” The chief said “Eat!” and thrust a platter of fish toward me. Then the squaw told me her name was Day Dawn, and these were Slim Buck, her husband, and Sun Cloud, her papoose. She wished to know how I Came to find their lonely hunting camp. ; I told her all, whereupon she patted my head and said: “Poor little one, come, and you shall sleep.” I She led me to a pile of skins, and | bade me lie down. Then she placed the moon-faced papoose near me, but . immediately the child commenced to whimper and cry. The squaw took not the slightest notice, but went on.cutting up fish. At last I could bear it no longer. “Be quiet, o whimpering little dog!” I said to the papoose. Up jumped the squaw, and sprang across the tepee, knife in hand, and screaming at the top of her voice for Slim Buck. In a moment I had wriggled out of the rugs, and sped through the flap of the tepee. Away and away over the vast prairie I fled, with Day Dawn and Slim Buck close on my heels. On and on we ran, until my breath was exhausted, but, glancing over my shoulder, I found the faces of my pursuers immediately behind me. At that moment I fell. Down and down. . . . would I never reach the bottom? Had I fallen over a precipice? But then I had been running over a perfectly level plain. Bump! Cold and shivering, I found myself sitting on the floor beside my bed, with the first shafts of dawn stealing through the window. Dew of June. "What is the seventh heaven?—According to the Mohammedans and the Cabbalists, or interpreters of Jewish tradition, there are seven heavens, each rising in happiness above the other, the seventh being the abode of God and of the highest angels. To be in the seventh heaven, therefore, is a phrase

Little Buffalo: The pool in the rocks must have been an interesting study. These little basins, left- by the tide, are usually miniature sea& teeming with life, each creature preying on the other just as they do in the ocean depths. It always astonishes me to see the* shell-fish people coming out of f£ieir front doors and moving their houses to other sites. Eagle Feather: Your interesting letter reached the Wigwam safely. 1 like the diagram of your new wampum. Some of the Chiefs send me decorated -envelopes, and on the wall , t,here is even a paper model of a wonderful canoe. Big Brown Bear: Greetings to this faithful Chief. I am always glad when Big Brown Bear turns back the Wigwam flap. Best wishes to Tahutimai. * Flying Cloud: I .could almost hear the birds singing as I read' your letter, Fly-

Ing Cloud. What numbers there must be about Howick. Such music would cause any Brave to lean oil the paddle and listen with wonder. The canoe must be a delightful species of craft. I saw a trim little Indian canoe last week-end, but, very incongruously, it had “Felix the Cat” as a figurehead. . Dew of June: 1 am glad to find that this Brave has now . recovered .and is able to seek the wide hillsides again. Is the gorse still blooming- there, Dew of June? ' - Little Circling Owl: -Many thanks for your kind invitation. I shall endeavour to attend. Some artist has been decorating the cards, I see: A very dainty one has alighted at the Wigwam door. Greetings to First DeVonport and : remembrances to Little Brown Moccasin. Laughing Water: I was glad to hear again from this Brave, for many moons have passed since you first found the trail. Many thanks for assisting Sixpence Time. ' Little Cub Hunter:. Greetings to this Scout-Chief and many thanks for your Onehunga news. You are going to have a happy time at your Christmas camp. You are lucky to have a whole fortnight of adventuring ahead of you. Wandering Chief: The hand of goodfellowship to this new Wigwam member, and many thanks for your coins for Sixpence Time. I trust that your journeys down the trail may. be many and often. - /■’ Silver Dove: Greetings to the peace lover from the green forest ways. It is typical of the Kakamai Company to be spreading happiness on every hand, and I hope the children will thoroughly enjoy their party. Everyone is agreed that the Rally was a crowning success. From a spectator’s point of view it was something to be long remembered. Big Elk: Greetings, faithful one, and many thanks for your contribution for the treasure box. \Ve shall have to sound the clarion far and near before the closing date of the fund. Still Valley: Greetings and welcome to this new Brave and many thanks for your silver tokens. I hope I shall frequently find vour footprints on the trail. Brave Hunter: I was delighted to receive your decorated envelope ana its enclosure. Many thanks for both. As I write the Indian pony and his picturesque rider are propped against a flower bowl, and every time I replenish my quill they seem to say “Good - Hunting, Redfeather ” I am always glad when an arrow from Brave Hunter alights at the ! Wigwam door.

WILD ORCHIDS

I Travellers have risked their lives for them in the fever-ridden tropical forests, where the gorgeous flower sprays hang out from soaring lichencovered trees. Rich - men have spent small fortunes in buying and rearing the rarest varieties. Why? They are the “Royalty” of the flower kingdom, with the largest “wardrobe” of picture dresses, which poor humans cannot but worship. And, like audacious woodland elves, they mimic their superiors —not only mischievous flies, 'bees and other insects, but man himself! The orchids, however, are a large family, and many of the humbler kinds which have come to earth may be readily cultivated in hot-houses or the garden. One of the prettiest is the Lady’s Slipper, and the queerest is the cinnamon-coloured “Bird’s Nest,” so named from its weft-like root. In England children gather these in the dark recesses of the beech-woods. A ROSE A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer’s morn; A flash of dew, a bee or two, A breeze, A caper in the trees; And I’m a rose! —Emily Dickinson. Magnolia is a family of plants named after Pierre Magnol. a famous French botanist, who lived in the 17th century. Some of these plants are evergreen and others shed their leaves annually.

“PEACE OF THE PRAIRIES”

“Below me roar the rocking pines. Before me spreads the lake, Where tinted wavelets, blue and gold, Against the sunset break.” The trail is long. It ends in a glade beside the lake, where the eSdies forever sing their soft and mournful dirge. . . . For whom? . . . Hearken ye, O Children of Redfeather, and wander in fancy down the long trail with the Sioux. . . . Wawbeck was a mighty chief. To him the Sioux looked and said “father.” Strange tribes crossing the prairie looked across the dazzling waters of the lake to where the Sioux tepees gleamed like a forest beside the greater forest of w'aving pines, and as often passed quietly away southward. None dared to trespass on the hunting grounds of the Sioux. . . . But there came a time l when Mudjekee-wis—the westwind —blew for many moons. The northern prairie grew brown and bare. Each day and each night great herds of game passe.d southward, and. when he saw them, Wawbeek said, “There is

hunger on the northern prairie, and in the land of the Shawnoe. See,. the herds pass southward. They find succour in the hunting grounds of the Sioux, but soon the Shawnoe will follow them. The eye of the Sioux must be watchful, and the arm of the Sioux strong. ...” By my side was Segwun. ‘‘Teli me,” I said, ‘‘of what our father speaks.” “Know ye not of the Shawnoes?” he replied. “When Shawnoe and Sioux meet the grass of the prairie turns red, and the wigwams are silent. It has ever been so.” “But,” I cried, “our braves are many, and none is so mighty as Wawbeek.” Segwun smiled sadly. “We are brothers, you and I,” he said. “We honthe sons of Wawbeek, and, next to him, honoured of the Sioux. Hear me! An Indian’s might is gathered in the blood-soaked prairie grasses. It is measured by the scalps he wears. I want no such might! I want .. .” “Hush!” I feared the wrath of Wawbeek, my father, and I fled from Segwun. . . . Late that night, a Sioux Scout came speeding inward to the tepee of Wawbeek, my father. “I have seen the Shawnoes,” he said. “They are riding southward, and are many.” “How far off?” asked Wawbeek. “By the white rapid.” “Ah, then dawn will mark their comign. Call the chiefs to a council of war. Move the squaws and every papoose to the forest camp at once. At dawn the work of the Sioux will begin.” Swift and silent were the movements of the Sioux. The dull blaze of Wawbeek’s tepee leaped up and the circle of chiefs planned the coming strife. . . . At last a see at moved into the circle of light. “Thy orders are fulfilled, O Chief,” he said. “The camp has been ; cleared. All are accounted for, except ‘ one.” “Which one?” “Segwun, thy son.” A cloud settled on Wawbeek’s brow. ; “Find Segwun.” he said. But the night wore on and none could ■ find Segwun. “So be it,” said Wawl beek. “Where is my second son?” “I am here, O father,” I answered. “Where is thy brother?” ! “I know not.” “Is thy brother a coward?” I trembled. “Speak!” “Be thou the judge of my brother and me,” I said. The hours dragged through what seemed to be a never-ending night, but ■ Segwun did not come. . . . Out from the camp there was silence, but in that silence rested a circle of Sioux braves, waiting—waiting. . . . From the hillside I strained my eyes . . . and then in the gloom I saw a horseman approach. his waving plumes telling of his high rank. He moved slowly into the unseen circle of Sioux with his i hand raised in the sign of peace. He knew that death lurked on every hand, but he rode slowly on until a sharp . command broke the stillness of the 1 dawn. “Halt, Shawnoe!” Forms rose - from the ground—among them the . figure of Wawbeek. The Shawnoe sat, . silhouetted against the wakening east, [ and from before him a second form ' slipped to the ground. It was Segwun! k “I bring thee back thy son,” the Shawnoe said. Like lightning Wawbeek, my father, fitted an arrow to his bow. Segwun stood erect—unmoved, but the Shawnoe chief threw himself from his pony in front of Segwun, and the singing arrow pierced his shoulder. He made no sound of protest. “Judge not hastily.” se said. “If the Sioux is just he will hear me. See —I have taken the shaft of anger into my own flesh—l, lagoo, the Shawnoe, to save a Sioux! Hear me, then. Thy son came to me before the dawn. In his hand was venison. Unto us he ■ brought meat of the prairie, asking if ! j the blood of man must be shed at the i ! moving of the herds southward. ‘See,” . ! he said, ‘the herds are many and the . Indians few. Pass on, O Shawnoe. with 1 thy herds. Let my people and thy

people escape this sorrow, and I will go back and take the arrow of my father’s anger. I alone shall pay, but what matters it if the tepees be yet full, and the grass of the prairie clean!’ . . . Sioux —I will pass southward from thy hunting grounds. Thou, as I, art great in war, but thy son is as the blazing orb to the weak gleaming stars beside us. Farewell. See, the Shawnoe is no coward. His quivering flesh has been a shield for the valour and wisdom of thy son, Segwun.” . . . “Stay!”—my father’s form quivered. ! “I thought my son a coward. . . Segwun! ” Segwun came forward, an arrow in his hand, with the point against his bare breast. “I am here, O Wawbeek, my father,” he said. “Let not the Shawnoe thwart thee again.” But Wawbeek snatched , the arrow from Segwun’s hand and took him in his arms. “The film of war passeth from mine eyes. What is thy will?” “Take the arrow from the Shawnoe’s flesh. “Call his people hither that they may hunt with us until the prairie grass returns. Peace, O my father, is sweeter than war.” . . . “Pass not southward, Shawnoe,” cried my father. “It is Segwun’s wish.” “On one condition,” replied the Shawnoe. “And what is that?” “That thy son shall be renamed by the Shawnoe, with the Sioux arrow still in his flesh. Henceforth, he shall be known as ‘Peace of the Prairies,’ even on the Shawnoe totem pole.” . . . And so it was. When Wawbeek waxed old. Peace of the Prairies led the Sioux people through happy and prosperous years. . . . His grave lies by the lakeside, in the vale of which the Sioux has spoken. When the seventh moon ascends the sky in crescent form, many stand with bent heads and heavy hearts in the quiet glade, where Shawnoe and Sioux mingle in the peace which Segwun brought. . . . Knowest thou now O Children of Kedfeatlier. what lies at the end of one long trail wherein the feet of the Sioux stray. —SITTING BULL.