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- Herausgeber: Strelbytskyy Multimedia Publishing
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Wynema, a Child of the Forest was a historical novel by American (Muscogee) author, Sophia Alice Callahan. It is the first novel by a Native American woman in the U.S. The novel follows Wynema, a young Muscogee girl, who, like Callahan, becomes educated in English and teaches at a mission school. She is shown marrying the brother of her friend, a white teacher. She has a child with him, but after Wounded Knee, also adopts a Lakota infant girl.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Sophia Alice Callahan
WYNEMA: A CHILD OF THE FOREST
Wynema, a Child of the Forest was a historical novel by American (Muscogee) author, Sophia Alice Callahan. It is the first novel by a Native American woman in the U.S.
The novel follows Wynema, a young Muscogee girl, who, like Callahan, becomes educated in English and teaches at a mission school. She is shown marrying the brother of her friend, a white teacher. She has a child with him, but after Wounded Knee, also adopts a Lakota infant girl.
“For right is right, since God is God,
And right the day must win.”
TO THE INDIAN TRIBES OF NORTH AMERICA
Who have felt the wrongs and oppression of their pale-faced brothers, I lovingly dedicate this work, praying that it may serve to open the eyes and heart of the world to our afflictions, and thus speedily issue into existence an era of good feeling and just dealing toward us and our more oppressed brothers.
THE AUTHOR.
1
INTRODUCTORY
In an obscure place, miles from the nearest trading point, in a tepee, dwelt the parents of our heroine when she first saw the light. All around and about them stood the tepees of their people, and surrounding the village of tents was the great, dark, cool forest in which the men, the “bucks,” spent many hours of the day in hunting, fishing in the river that flowed peacefully along in the midst of the wood. On many a quiet tramp beside her father, did this little savage go, for she was the only child, and the idol of her parents’ hearts. When she was quite small, and barely able to hold a rifle, she was taught its use and spent many happy hours hunting with her father, who occasionally allowed her to fire a shot, to please her.
Ah, happy, peaceable Indians! Here you may dream of the happy hunting grounds beyond, little thinking of the rough, white hand that will soon shatter your dream and scatter the dreams.
Here is a home like unto the one your forefathers owned before the form of the white man came upon the scene and changed your quiet habitations into places of business and strife.
Here are no churches and schoolhouses, for the “heathen is a law unto himself,” and “ignorance is bliss,” to the savage; but the “medicine man” tells them of the Indian’s heaven behind the great mountain, and points them to the circuitous trail over its side which he tells them has been made by the great warriors of their tribe as they went to the “happy hunting ground.”
Sixteen miles above this village of tepees stood another and a larger town in which was a mission school, superintended by Gerald Keithly, a missionary sent by the Methodist assembly to promote civilization and Christianity among these lowly people. Tall, young and fair, of quiet, gentle manners, and possessing a kindly sympathy in face and voice, he easily won the hearts of his dark companions. The “Mission” was a small log house, built in the most primitive style, but it accommodated the small number of students who attended school; for the Indians long left to follow after pleasure are loath to quit her shrine for the nobler one of education. It was hard to impress upon them, young or old, the necessity of becoming educated. If their youths handled the bow and rifle well and were able to endure the greatest hardships, unmurmuringly, their education was complete; hence every device within the ken of an ingenious mind, calculated to amuse and attract the attention of the little savages, and to cause them to desire to remain near the schoolroom, was summoned to the aid of this teacher, “born not made.” He mingled with the Indians in their sports whenever practicable, and endeavored in every way to show them he had come to help and not to hinder them. Nor did he confine himself to the village in which his work lay, for he felt the command “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature,” impelling him onward. The village of tepees, Wynema’s home, know him and welcomed him; in the abode of her father he was an honored guest, where, with a crowd gathered about him, he told of the love and mercy of a Savior, of the home that awaits the faithful, and urged his dusky brethren to educate their children in the better ways of their pale-faced friends. At first he talked through an interpreter, but feeling the greater influence he would gain by speaking to the Indians in their own tongue, he mastered their language and dispensed with the interpreter. But to Wynema he always spoke the mother tongue-English; for, he reasoned, she is young and can readily acquire a new language, and it will profit her to know the English. His was the touch that brought into life the slumbering ambition for knowledge and for a higher life, in the breast of the little Indian girl. Her father and mother carried her to the “mission” to hear Gerald Keithly preach, and missing her when they started off the following day, they found her in the schoolroom, standing near her friend, listening eagerly and attentively to all he said and wonder-struck at the recitations of the pupils, simple though they were.
“Father,” she said, “let me stay here and listen always; I want to know all this the pupils are talking about.” “No, my child,” answered her father, “your mother and I could not get along without you; we can build you a school at home, and you may stay there and listen.”
“When, father, when?” Wynema asked eagerly. “Ask Gerald Keithly when he comes,” he answered, to divert her attention from himself. Then the days became weeks to Wynema, impatiently awaiting the coming of her friend.
Every day she thought with delight of the school her father would build, and every day planned it all for the benefit of her little friends and playmates, who had become anxious also, from hearing Wynema’s description of school life, to enter “learning’s hall.” When Gerald Keithly finally came, he found a small school organized under Wynema, waiting for a house and teacher.
“Do you really wish to go to school so much, little girl?” he asked Wynema, only to see her cheeks flush and her eyes flash with desire.
“Oh, so much!” clasping her hands; “may I?” she asked.
“If your father wishes,” Gerald answered gladly.
“Father said ask you, and now you say, if father wishes,” she began disappointedly.
“Well, then, you may, for I shall send off for you a teacher, right away. Now, then, go tell your playmates”; and he patted her cheek.
“Oh, I am so glad!” and she looked at him, her eyes full of grateful tears; then ran gleefully away.
Gerald Keithly then went to the father, stalwart Choe Harjo, and asked:
“Do you want a school here? And will you build a house? If so, I will send and get you a teacher.”
“Yes,” he answered, “the child wishes it; so be it.”
“Would you like a man or woman for teacher?” Gerald questioned.
“Let it be a woman, and she may live with us; I want the child to be with her always, for she is so anxious to learn. We will do all we can for the teacher, if she will live among us.”
“I am sure of that,” answered Gerald, warmly pressing the Indian’s hand.
So the cry rang out in the great Methodist assembly; “A woman to teach among the Indians in the territory. Who will go?” and it was answered by one from the sunny Southland-a young lady, intelligent and pretty, endowed with graces of heart and head, and surrounded by the luxuries of a Southern home. Tenderly reared by a loving mother, for her father had long ago gone to rest, and greatly loved by her brother and sisters of whom she was the eldest, she was physically unfit to bear the hardships of a life among the Indians; but God had endowed her with great moral courage and endurance, and she felt the call to go too strenuously, to allow any obstacles to obstruct her path.
She understood the responsibility of the step she was about to take, but, as she said to her mother who was endeavoring to persuade her to change her resolve, and pleading tearfully to keep her daughter with her:
“God has called me and I dare not refuse to do his bidding. He will take care of me among the Indians as he cares for me here; and he will take care of you while I am gone and bring me back to you again. Never fear, Mother, dear, our Father takes care of his obedient, believing children, and will not allow any harm to befall them.”
Thus came civilization among the Tepee Indians.
2
THE SCHOOL
Genevieve Weir stood at her desk in the Indian schoolhouse, reflecting: How shall I make them understand that it is God’s word that I am reading and God to whom I am talking? She deliberated earnestly. What do they know about the Supreme Being?
Poor little girl! She made the common mistake of believing she was the only witness for God in that place. Wynema often spoke of Gerald Keithly in her broken way; but Genevieve believed him to be miles away.
“I shall begin the exercises with the reading of the Word, and prayer, at any rate, and perhaps they will understand by my expression and attitude,” she determined at length, calling the school to order. She read a portion of the fourteenth chapter of St. John-that sweet, comforting gospel-then clasping her hands and raising her eyes, she uttered a simple prayer to the “All-father,” asking that he open the hearts of the children, that they might be enabled to understand His word; and that He give her such great love for her dusky pupils, that her only desire be in dividing this Word among them. The pupils understood no word of it, but the tone went straight to each one’s heart and found lodgment there. At recess Wynema came and stood by her teacher’s side with deep wonder in her great, black eyes.
“Mihia” (teacher), she asked, “you talk to God?” and she clasped her hands and raised her eyes, imitating Genevieve’s attitude.
“Yes, dear,” Genevieve answered, delightedly surprised at the acute understanding of the child. “God is our good Father who lives in heaven, up there,” pointing upward, “and is all around us now and all the time. Do you know anything about God, dear?”
“Gerald Keithly talk to God when he come here,” the child answered simply.
“Does he come here often?” questioned the teacher next.
“Yes, sometime. But, Mihia,” returning to the subject nearest her heart, “you ’fraid God?”
“Why, no, Wynema,” she replied putting her hand on the child’s shoulder; “why should I be afraid of the All-father who loves me so? Are you afraid of your father and mother?”
“Oh, no; but when I am bad girl, I feel sorry and go off to left them,” she said soberly.
“Why do you wish to leave them then? Do you go off when you are a good girl?” Genevieve asked.
“Not when I am good girl, when I am bad. Then my ma and pa ought whip me, but they don’t,” the child replied.
“Well, dear, God loves you more than your father and mother can possibly love you; yes, He loves you when you are bad, and when you are good. Sometimes, when you are bad, He will punish you, but He will love you always. Don’t be afraid of God, little one, but try to love Him and be a good girl”-with that she stooped and kissed the child, who ran and told her playmates all the words of her teacher.
After this the children seemed to listen to the morning services more seriously and attentively, and before many weeks elapsed were able to join with their teacher in repeating a prayer she taught them.
To many persons the difficulty of teaching our language to any foreigner seems almost insurmountable; and teaching the Indians seems especially difficult. Thus Genevieve Weir’s faraway friends thought, and many were the inquiries she received concerning her work.
“How did she make them understand her, and how could she understand them? How could she teach them when they could not understand a word she said? Wasn’t she afraid to live among those dark savages?” etc., etc. To all of which she gave characteristic replies.
“God made the Indians as he made the Caucasian-from the same mold. He loves the work of His hands and for His sake I love these ‘dark savages,’ and am, therefore, not in the least afraid of them. They know that I have come to live among them for their good, and they try to show their gratitude by being as kind to me as they know how. I talk to the older ones mostly by signs, but the children have gotten so they can understand me when I speak to them. Sometimes it is rather difficult to make the people at home, at Choe Harjo’s, understand me, when Wynema is not by to interpret for me. For instance: yesterday I wanted an egg. I spoke the word egg, slowly several times, but the Indians shook their heads and said something in their language which greatly puzzled me. Then taking some straw I made a nest and put some feathers in it; you have no idea how quickly they grasped my meaning, and laughing at my device, brought what I had asked for. Then taking the egg, I held it up before them, pronouncing the word egg, slowly, which they all repeated after me. You may be sure they always understand what I want when I call for an egg now. It is remarkable what bright minds these ‘untaught savages’ have. I know you would be surprised at the rapid progress my pupils make, notwithstanding their great drawback of being ignorant of our own language.
“My little Wynema, of whom I have spoken before, has only to hear a word and she has it. She learns English very rapidly and can understand almost anything I say; and she is a great help to me, as she often interprets for me at home and at school.
“It would be rather amusing and interesting to my friends to come into my schoolroom when I am hearing the language lessons. It taxes my ingenuity to the uttermost, sometimes, to accurately convey my meaning and make myself understood. I have no advanced classes, yet, but I intend to teach the ancient and modern languages and higher mathematics before I quit this people-you see I do not intend leaving soon, and I will never leave them from fear or dislike.”
3
SOME INDIAN DISHES
“What have you there, Wynema?” asked Genevieve Weir of her pupil one evening as she stepped into the “cook-room” and found Wynema eagerly devouring a round, dark-looking mass, which she was taking from a corn-shuck. All around the wide fireplace sat Indian women engaged in the same occupation, all eating with evident relish.
“Oh, Mihia! It is blue dumpling. I luf it. Do you luf it?” she asked offering the shuck to Genevieve.
“I do not know what it is. I never saw any before. How is it made?” she made answer.
“It is meal beat from corn, beat fine, and it is beans with the meal. Shell the beans an’ burn the shells of it, an’ put it in the meal, an’ put the beans in an’ wet it an’ put it in a shuck, an’ tie the shuck so tight it won’t spill out an’ put it in the water an’ boil it,” the child replied, out of breath with her long and not very lucid explanation.
“What makes the dumpling so dark?” asked the teacher, eyeing the mass which she held in her hand, rather curiously.
“That is the burn shells; we burn it an’ put in the meal an’ it makes it blue. Goot! Eat some, Mihia. It is so goot.”
Miss Weir took a small morsel of the dumpling in her mouth, for she was not prepossessed with its looks, and ate it with difficulty for it was tough and tasteless.
