The Indian is a strange race. Most of the old people do not make use of English, although the majority of them understand many words and can speak them but will not do so unless absolutely necessary. If alone with the whites, they will talk if occasion demands; but if in the presence of the younger Indians, they can hardly be induced to do so. They are afraid of being laughed at for mistakes made. They dread ridicule from their own kind far more than the mockery of the alien. Recognizing the linguistic ability of the educated youth, it is expected of them to assume the role of interpreter.
The Stemteemä was no exception to this rule. It was when she lived on the banks of the Columbia with her three little grandchildren, and it was midwinter. A fringe of ice covered the stream along the shore, leaving an open channel in the center. The ice was very unsound, with many air-holes in evidence. A couple of young men came from the town to fish. Going out on the ice, they became fearful and returning to the shore, came directly to the teepee. When the children saw them, Cogewea proposed to her sisters, Julia and Mary, that they pretend not to understand English, to which they readily agreed. The visitors called at the doorway to know if the ice was safe and if there were any fish. To this, the children stared blankly and the grandmother scolded them for not informing the men that the ice was bad and that they would get drowned should they venture on it. Cogewea countered by asking why she did not do it herself, if she understood what was wanted; to which she replied:
“I can speak when I have to do so. But what did you learn the language and books of the pale face for? They do no good unless you make use of them when needed?”
The strangers, supposing that they were not understood, and after commenting on the dress and appearances of the teepee occupants, turned back to the river. Cogewea had meant to warn them before reaching the danger zone, while her two more timid sisters had fled in hiding. The grandmother raged and threatened, then growing more perturbed, rushed to the river bank, calling and waving her arms in frantic signals. The fishermen looked back, laughed and continued farther out on the ice. Cogewea was on the verge of calling to them, when the old woman let loose a jargon of English, which proved effective, if not in real classic style. She saved the lives of the venturesome boys, who often visited at the lodge after that.17
If anything is to be accomplished with an Indian, it is imperious that an agreement be made good; that an appointment be kept inviolate. Ever suspicious and wary, a broken faith is a very difficult chasm to bridge; and knowing this Cogewea saw to it that they were not belated at the lodge. Entering, they found the occupant sitting on a bedding of blankets. At the girl’s prompting, Densmore shook hands with the aged woman and then sat down on a buffalo robe which had been placed for him. Cogewea took place at the side of her grandparent, and after an interval spoke:
“We have come to hear the Stemteemä tell of other snows; when the tribes were strong, and of the coming of the Shoyahpee.”
Unhurriedly and in but few words the ancient squaw made reply. Cogewea explained that in conformity to an epochal custom, the grandmother would, before beginning her story, take a smoke, that she might be in the mood for talking. She must have time to gather her mind’s thoughts.
The girl then gently took the tobacco pouch from the trembling hands and bringing the small stone pipe from the same receptacle, filled it with the fragrant kinnikinnick; and lighting it, returned it to the smoker. During the ensuing “peace pipe invocation,” Cogewea, at Densmore’s request, elucidated on the mysteries of this rite of antiquity:
“Smoking is an exclusive characteristic of our race,” she said. “Its origin is scarce preserved in the dim legends of the past. The oldest pipes were straight, tapering trumpet-like tubes, made of clay or stone. Perhaps these were closely contemporaneous with the non-angular variety, showing the funnel-like orifice for both the stem and tobacco. Ofttimes these later pipes assumed fantastic forms, representing animals, birds, reptiles, human and mythical beings; many of them evidently of a sacred nature. They are found in certain old burial grounds and are claimed by some writers to have belonged to a different race than ours. But we were always here. I hate this latest supposition that we came from China or Japan. Neither of those people nor any other ever smoked until they had learned it directly or indirectly from us. They modeled their pipes after ours in a general way, though improved in form. The Indian recognizing this proficiency, copied the white man’s pattern, which is traceable from the primitive to the present conformation.
“We had our peace pipes and our war pipes and no important undertaking was ever attempted without a smoke-prayer. These were usually assembly, or council smokes; the pipe being passed from one person to another. There always have been, and are still some individual men who do not smoke; but in our tribe, as in many others, even the women indulge, but not universally. It is not uncommon to see a young woman drawing on a cigarette in just the same manner as a white society lady. But these ‘coffin-nails’ are of the white man’s inception, along with his multitudinous diseased adjuncts of civilization: whiskey, beer, wine and opium with attending crimes and ills. And to
