Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 8

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter VIII.

Work.

ATTIE awoke next morning in a miserable condition. Indeed, so forlorn and wretched was her appearance that OS even the savage faces around her assumed some dull expressions of pity and sympathy. The old squaw alone remained sullen. She had, from the first, looked rather unfavorably upon Nattie, and told her husband that the Great Spirit would make the pale-face prove a curse to him, because he had coveted her as a bride for his son, Torch Eye, when there were enough young squaws of their tribe, smarter and handsomer than this daughter of the white man. But the old chief, North Wind, responded that the Great Spirit had cast this girl into his path on purpose to meet the wish of his heart, which was a wife for his son, from his mother's race.

"Tulip, as I have named her, and as she is henceforth to be called, has a bold, fierce beauty, and when we have trained her to our ways, she will be a daughter worthy of our people," said the old Indian, proudly.

Nattie, or Tulip, as the Indians styled her, was soon set to her tasks. She was made to milk the cow, to help at planting the corn and potatoes, and was sent into the forest with the little Indian boys, to gather fuel. All the rougher kinds of work were put upon her, because her fingers were unskilled in straw-plaiting, willow-weaving, and the ornamental art of bead embroidery. Black-bird and her mother sat on their mats in the wigwam, engaged in such light and pleasing occupations as these, and drove Nattie about to do the cooking, or take care of the little papooses. Whenever she made awkward blunders, or exhibited an unwillingness in the performance of her tasks, she received a sharp cut about the head and ears, from a green hide which the old squaw kept bung on a deer's horn, near where she sat. The poor girl used to wish, so much, that they would show her how to make baskets; but they pretended that she was too stupid to learn, and that she would only bend up and waste their nice material. They also said it was proper that Nattie should first learn to do housework. When she had learned to do that perfectly, it would be time to think of something else.

Thus time wore on till summer came, and all the great forest was clad in the richest green. Birds' songs, rich and sweet, but unfamiliar to Nattie's ears, rang around the wigwam. The old chief made ready to go on a hunting expedition. When he returned, Torch Eye, his son, would come with him. The youth was now sojourning with his uncle, a great warrior, who taught him to use most skillfully the bow and arrow.

Nattie was rather sorry to have the old Indian depart; though she stood very much in awe of him, still she preferred him to the squaw, his wife, and instinctively felt, that when he was gone, her condition would be worse than at present. She was glad, therefore, to hear him tell his wife, on the eve of his departure, that it was now time to teach Tulip the art of bead-work and willow-weaving. During his absence, he wished Black-bird to do a share of the housework, and give Tulip a chance to learn the finer arts of Indian life. Nattie knew the old squaw would not dare wholly to disregard her husband's commands.

Accordingly, after the Indian left, she was one day given the odd bits and ends of willow, and told to make a basket. Nattie had watched Black-bird's fingers closely when she had been about her daily tasks in the cabin; so she took what was given and went away by herself. She wrought at her task as patiently and skillfully as she could, and in an hour had made, what seemed in her eyes, a very pretty little basket. It had a bail and a fanciful edge which looked like a looped scarlet ribbon, though it was all done with colored willow. Nattie was proud of her success, and when she held it up, the three papooses, who had come into the wigwam and gathered round her, clapped their hands and sent forth shouts of laughter.

"Tulip has made the pootiest basket," said Fox Heart, the oldest boy.

"So she do," said Light-foot, the second one.

"Do, do," chimed in little Sweet Fern, the baby of the group.

"Let me see," cried Black-bird, tossing her red scarf proudly.

Nattie carried the basket to the Indian maid, whose black eyes flashed with jealousy, as she said:

"You use too much red willow, it is expensive, you will be a poor hand to bring profits on work."

"I used what you gave me," said Nattie.

"Stupid," was the response; "were you obliged to put it all into one basket? There was red enough to put into three, and bring three sixpences instead of one. Go away."

Black-bird gave the basket an angry toss. Nattie picked it up, disheartened. She had felt so proud and pleased with her success a few moments before.

"You didn't show me how," she said; "you only gave me the willows and told me to make a basket. I did as well as I could."

"Who said you didn't?" was the response.

"Can't I do anything more?"

"Yes," answered the old squaw; "you can come here and string beads for my moccasin work, if you wish."

Nattie was glad of the task. She had often longed to be employed with the bright beads, but had never dared to touch them. The old squaw gave her three long, black horse-hairs, and told her to fill them with red, blue and yellow beads. Nattie was delighted, and set about the task with alacrity. She soon had them filled. The squaw then fashioned them into a flower, on a piece of dark broad-cloth. Nattie watched her, and exclaimed when it was done:

"Oh, how beautiful!"

The old Indian woman seemed rather pleased with the child's admiration of her skill.

"Do you know how to make letters?" she asked.

"What kind of letters?" Nattie inquired.

"Such letters as there are in great books," said the squaw. Black-bird darted a quick glance at Nattie, who responded:

"Oh, printing, you mean. No, I can't print,—that is, I don't think I can, only, perhaps, the letters of my own name."

"Could you make those, with beads, on a piece of cloth?" asked the squaw.

"As you did the flower just now?" asked Nattie; "yes, I think I could. I would try very hard."

"She will only waste the beads," said Black-bird, spitefully, seeing that her mother was sorting out some to give to Nattie.

"No I won't," the child ventured to say; "if I can't make the letters, I'll bring back the beads all safe."

"The old squaw handed her some white ones, and a strip of red cloth. Nattie wanted some other colors, but she didn't say anything. Only too glad to get these, she returned to her corner, strung them on the horse-hair, and set her little brown hands to the task of shaping the letters. Now, Nattie had three names,—"Nathalie Norton Nesmith;" but she found that the strip of cloth was only long enough to hold two of them. The beads, also, were likely to fall short. So, when she got the letters all shaped as well as she could, the name stood, "Nathalie Norton."

Fox Heart cried:

"Tulip makes writing flowers."

The squaw looked up. Nattie carried her strip of red cloth and held it before her, waiting for some approving word.

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

"My name," said Nattie.

"Read it," said the squaw.

Black-bird was bending over her basket and did not glance towards the letters.

"Nathalie Norton," said Nattie.

"What a homely name!" said Black-bird.

Nattie was just ready to say that she had another name, but her words were cut short by the squaw's saying:

"And that is all the writing you can do?"

"I don't know but I could make a few short words, or names," answered Nattie.

"Could you make something to put on a pin-cushion?" asked the squaw.

"What would you want?" asked Nattie, feeling a new hope springing in her breast.

If she could be useful to the squaw, perhaps she would be treated more kindly, and allowed to do work more congenial than the rough tasks hitherto allotted her.

"Perhaps some name common among the pale-faces," said the woman; "or some words, as, 'A Gift.'"

"Oh, yes," said Nattie; "I know many pretty names, and pretty mottoes,—that is what we call them,—to put on fancy things that are intended for presents. There is, 'A Gift,' 'Token of Love,' 'Friendship's Offering,' 'From your Friend,'"—

"But can you make all these?" asked the Indian woman.

"I should have to begin with very simple ones, certainly," said Nattie. "There is the name of 'Mary,'—none so common. It is short and easy; I would try that first. I will take a coal and make it on a piece of birch now."

Nattie ran to the fire-place, and then out of doors. She could find no birch, but saw a barked tree, gleaming white, a little distance from her, in the forest. This answered her purpose quite as well. She soon made the names, Mary, Susan, Sarah; also the words, Gift, Offering, Present; so the tree, as high as she could reach, was quite covered with the results of her ambitious efforts at printing.

She went back and said that she thought she could make the name, Mary, on a pin-cushion; but she felt somewhat alarmed when the old squaw gave her the piece of dark broad-cloth on which she had just shaped the beautiful great flower, out of red, blue and yellow beads, and told her to put the name under it. However, she said nothing, but went away to begin the task. Black-bird looked around and frowned, which made Nattie more determined to succeed.

It did not take long to make the four letters of the name. The raised, white-bead work showed richly on the dark ground, so that the old squaw made an exclamation of delight when it was presented to her gaze.

"See, Black-bird!" she said; but the girl would not look up at first.

"Are you foolish and mad because Tulip is going to be of some use to us?" the squaw continued. "I bid ye look here at her work, and your own fingers may soon learn it, so our pin-cushions will have new fashions to please the whites the next time we journey abroad."

Black-bird now looked around with a sullen fave.

"Read it to her," said the squaw.

"M-a-r-y," said Nattie, pronouncing each letter slowly. "Would you like to make it, Black-bird? It is very easy."

"No, I'd rather make baskets," was the answer.

Nattie was now convinced that the Indians could not read. She wished that she had just one of her many pretty books at home, so that she she could teach the little ones the alphabet, if no more. She did not suppose that Black-bird, who was so tall and queenly, would consent to be taught by her; but she thought that the younger children might find it real amusement to learn to read.

Fox Heart and Light-foot very readily learned the letters which she fashioned in the pin-cushions. They were constantly spelling the name, Mary; and even little Sweet Fern, the baby of two years, tried to lisp it after them.

"How many letters are there, Tulip?" Fox Heart asked; "and can you make them all?"

"Nattie said that there were twenty-six, and that she could make them all, after a fashion."

"I will get you a great piece of birch," the boy said, "if you will put them down, and tell all their names to Light-foot and me."

Nattie said that she would; and in the course of a few weeks the two boys learned the alphabet. Black-bird, also, though she would not suffer Nattie to teach her, learned it, through the aid of her brothers. While unwilling to receive a favor from Nattie, she had a true Indian's curiosity.

"Now we know as much as white folks," said Fox Heart, proudly.

"Why, you can't read," said Nattie.

"Can't we?" said the boy; "don't we know all the letters."

"But you don't know the words which these letters make."

"Oh, then, there is more to learn, is there?" asked the boy. "I will get you another piece of birch, if you will make us the words."

"I couldn't make for you one half of the words, if I had all the birch in your forest," said Nattie; "nor do I know how to spell them, or call them, myself."

Fox Heart wondered, and said:

"Then it seems that you don't know much, after all."

"I can read in easy books," said Nattie; "but I am not old enough to know much of all there is to know. It takes a long time to learn all there is in books."

"How long does it take to know all the words?" the boy asked.

"Why, I don't know as anybody ever knew them all, unless,"—Nattie paused, and thought a moment,—"unless the man that makes the dictionaries does."

"But couldn't you make me a few words on a piece of birch?" the boy persisted.

"I could make your name; or, if I could have time and the things to work with, I might make all your names on pieces of cloth, so that you could keep them always."

"Make me, make me, Tulip," said Light-foot, gleefully. "I don't want my name," said Black-bird.

"Then I won't make it," said Nattie; "though I think it would be very pretty, with a bright bird on a green branch just above it."

"No more was said for many days; but the old squaw gave Nattie pieces of cloth of divers colors, and a pint of white beads. She worked Fox Heart's name on crimson, Light-foot's on green, and Sweet Fern's on blue. Then there was a strip of beautiful purple, on which she wanted to put Black-bird, but hardly dared, as the girl had said that she did not wish her name. So she asked Fox Heart to tell her his mother's name, and put that on the purple strip. It was Red Rose. Nattie thought there never was a name more inapplicable, but she wisely kept such thoughts to herself.

The names were pinned upon a blackened beam of the cabin, and the boys were highly pleased to spell them over many times each day. Black-bird at length presented a bird which she had worked secretly, and said that Tulip might write her name under it, if she pleased.

Nattie did her best, and no other name made quite so fine an appearance as Black-bird's.