“Pshaw!” said little Isaac, rubbing his closely cropped head, “mine was longer than yours when it was cut off, but I didn’t cry!”
“Mine too!” exclaimed Abraham, picking up the braided look and putting it where his had been; at which the rest of the boys laughed.
When the bath was over, William T. Sherman was dressed. He was delighted with his brand-new clothes, particularly with the long row of brass buttons that adorned the front of the jacket. When it came to the shoes, his grief for the lost scalp-lock was clean forgotten, and he strutted about to show the boys that his shining black shoes sang to his satisfaction.
William T. Sherman was quick to learn, and by the time winter was over he was speaking the peculiar English used by the boys of the school; he said, “fool bird,” for quail; “first time,” for long ago, and other Indian expressions turned into English. He was fond of arithmetic, and spent much time ciphering on his slate; he would write down the figure 1, 2, or 3, add to it a string of aughts, and then try to read them off. Grammar he abhorred, and in the spelling class, he held a permanent place at the foot. In outdoor sports he excelled; he could beat any boy of his size in leaping and running, and we had yet to learn other things in which he was expert.
One day, during the great June rise, all the boys were at the river watching the huge drift logs floating down the muddy Missouri.
“Say, boys!” exclaimed Ulysses S. Grant, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets; “I bet one hundred dollars that river is strong. I wouldn’t like to swim in it; I’m sure the eddies would pull me under.”
Gideon, who was always boasting of what his father could do, shouted, “My father could swim clear acrost and back again; he ain’t ’fraid of eddies. He—”
“What’s that?” cried a number of boys, startled by a heavy splash in the water. We all watched, and two brown feet came to the surface, wiggled, and disappeared. After a moment a round black head slowly arose. “Ha! Ha! I’m not ’fraid eddy!” shouted William T. Sherman, for it was he. A few vigorous strokes brought him to shore again.
“Take off your shirts and pants, boys, let’s swim,” he said.
We did so, and timidly splashed about the shallow edges of the water. A large tree was drifting down near the middle of the river. William ran up along the bank for quite a distance, and then plunged into the water. It was a beautiful sight to watch him as he threw his arms up and down, moving swiftly toward the tree; he reached it, dived under it, and came up on the other side; then he scrambled on the trunk and shouted for us to come, but none of us dared to go. After a moment he stood up on the tree, flourished an imaginary whip, and cried, “Git up, there!” with a succession of swear words—genuine swear words. He was imitating the Agency teamster, and did not know what he was saying. He had heard the servant of the Government urge on his horses by such terms, and he was merely repeating them. Those of us who had been at the Mission a long time, and had all the Shorter Catechism in our little heads, and were orthodox by compulsion, if not by conviction, were horrified to hear those dreadful words uttered by a pupil of our school; for we knew some severe punishment awaited the little sinner should there be a traitor among us to make it known to Graybeard.
Before we had fairly recovered from our shock at hearing this swearing, we were startled by a cry, “Job is drowning!” Not one of us moved, we were so frightened; but, quick as a flash, William T. Sherman sprang from his imaginary wagon, swam swiftly to the boy, caught him by the hair as he was going down for the last time, and brought him to the surface. “Kick! Kick!” he shouted; “make your arms go! Don’t stop!” And after a hard struggle the two boys landed.
Job had swallowed considerable water, and become very sick. We didn’t know what to do for him; but after we had rubbed and pommelled him, and held him by the heels head downward, he felt better; then we took him to the Mission and put him to bed.
On our way back Sherman spoke very little, but those of us who had been frightened into helplessness had much to say as to what we did or might have done to save Job.
At supper Graybeard as usual counted the boys, and found one missing, “Where’s Job?” he asked.
“He’s got the th’tomick ache,” said Daniel, his mouth full and his spoon raised halfway with a new supply.
School went on the next morning as though nothing had happened. The teachers had not heard of the drowning and the rescue; but the girls had learned all about it and threw admiring glances at Sherman: to them he had become a hero, and each of the different gangs among the boys now wanted this hero as a member.
The recitations for the afternoon session were over, and the bell was tapped as a signal to put away our books and slates, and struck again to call us to order. When all arms were folded, there followed an ominous silence. Graybeard slowly looked around the schoolroom, as though to read every face turned up to him, then he spoke:
“I have been told that some of the boys in this school are
