“What are you crying for? Don’t cry—I’ll play with you and be your friend. I won’t let the boys hurt you.”
“I want my mother! I want to go home!” was all the homesick little chap could say, crying harder than ever.
“You will see your mother soon, we can go home every bathing-day.1 It is only three days to wait, so don’t cry. I have to go away, but I will be back soon. Play with this dog until I come,”—putting into the hands of the little boy a wooden dog.
A bell rang, and from every direction came boys and girls, crowding and pushing one another as they entered two of the large doors of the building. The big boy came running, and grasping the little one by the hand, fairly dragged him along, saying: “Come, quick! We are going to eat.”
They entered a large room filled with people. Parallel to the walls stood tables of great length, at one of which the two boys took seats. After considerable hard breathing and shuffling by the children, they suddenly became very still, everyone bowed his head, then a man with gray hair and whiskers, who sat at the end of one of the tables, spoke in a low tone. He finished speaking, then followed a deafening clatter of a hundred tin plates and cups. Young women carrying great pans of steaming food moved rapidly from table to table. One of these girls came to the two boys, and put into the plate of the younger a potato. “Give him two, he’s hungry,” whispered the big boy to the girl.
Everything was strange to the little newcomer and he kept looking all around. The lamps that were fastened to the walls and posts, the large clock that stood ticking gloomily on a shelf, and the cupboard with its tin door perforated in a queer design were objects upon which his eyes rested with wonder.
The supper over, the boys and girls who sat on the inner side of the tables turned to face the centre of the room, and folded their arms. Then they all sang. When this was done, they dropped on their knees and the gray-haired man began to talk again. The little boy watched him for a while, then laid his head on the hard bench—the tones of the old man grew fainter and fainter until the boy lost all consciousness of them. Suddenly there burst upon him a noise like thunder. He arose to his feet with a start, and, bewildered, he looked around. Everything seemed to be in a whirl. He took fright, ran to the door that first caught his sight, and went with a thud down to a landing, but did not lose his balance; he took another step, then fell headlong into a dreadful dark place. He screamed at the top of his voice, frightened almost into a fit. A woman picked him up and carried him in her arms up a flight of stairs, speaking to him in a language that he could not understand.
This was my first experience at the boarding school established by the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions for the instruction of the children of the Omaha tribe of Indians.
The Mission school, the founding of which had marked an epoch in the tribe, was located among the wooded bluffs of the Missouri on the eastern part of the reservation. The principal building was of stone, plain and substantial, and plastered inside and out. It was three stories high and had an attic. This attic was perhaps the most interesting part of the structure, for we boys were quite sure it was tenanted by ghosts, and that the devil, who figured considerably in the instruction given us, had full sway in this apartment.
There was a large square hole close to the head of the stairs that led up to the attic. This hole had the greatest terror for us; there was a constant whistling within it, and out of it came sounds like distressing moans and sighs. I remember once, when Graybeard had sent me up to the attic for something, that I never hurried so on any other errand as I did on that one. I found the article he desired, put it under my arm, and cautiously approached the head of the stair, keeping an eye on the dark hole, then suddenly I made a dash past it, and with amazing rapidity thundered downstairs. “Lad, you will break your neck!” exclaimed Graybeard. I told him I liked to run downstairs!
Under the attic was the boys’ dormitory. The beds were placed close together, and some were wide enough for three boys. The room was large, and in the middle of it stood a post. I have reason to remember this, for one night I got up in my sleep and ran with all my might against this post, making such a noise as to awaken Graybeard and the superintendent, who came up in great haste with candles in their hands. I was laid up for days after this exploit, but I never ran in my sleep again.
Beneath our dormitory were the parlor and the bedroom of Graybeard, our teacher and disciplinarian. This name was not inherited by him, nor was it one of his own choosing; the boys gave it to him because his beard was iron-gray, and the Indians adopted it from the boys. In
