Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
In this delightful Cantonment (Fort Leavenworth) there are generally stationed six or seven companies of infantry, and ten or fifteen officers; several of whom have their wives and daughters with them, forming a very pleasant little community, who are almost continually together in social enjoyment of the peculiar amusements and pleasures of this wild country.
Of these pastimes they have many, such as riding on horseback or in carriages over the beautiful green fields of the prairies, picking strawberries and wild plums—deer chasing—grouse shooting—horse-racing, and other amusements of the garrison, in which they are almost constantly engaged; enjoying life to a very high degree.
— GEORGE CATLIN, LETTERS AND NOTES ON THE MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND CONDITIONS OF NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS
Swift Hawk watched the white woman walk away, following her with his eyes until she rounded a corner and was gone. Even then he gazed long and hard at the spot where she had stood just a few moments earlier.
Mixed emotions swept over him.
Delight, gladness, longing—sensations he’d thought were long dead in him—soared to life. For he believed he had found the woman he was seeking, the woman from his vision.
Even as he stood, he was aware his feet could have been raised off the ground, so light did he feel. Moreover, a marked sense of rightness swept over him, a feeling of being in the right place at the right time.
Yet, conversely, his mind spun. For, as correct as this felt to him, it was also all wrong. She was all wrong.
Could a vision, one who should be an image of perfection, scold her own brother? Could a vision hold no place in her heart for the Indian ideal of correct manners?
Shaking his head, he scowled.
“Na-vesene, my friend, she is the one you seek?”
Swift Hawk glanced over his shoulder, realizing for the first time how caught up he had been in his own troubles, for he had not heard his friend Red Fox come upon him. It was a grave error for a scout.
“I believe she is the one I seek. Although I must admit I have some misgivings about her.” Swift Hawk frowned. “She is not the same as I had envisioned she would be.”
Red Fox nodded and placed his hand firmly over his friend’s shoulder. “Yet she is the image of the one you have described.”
“Haa’he, that she is,” admitted Swift Hawk. “In looks perhaps.”
“Saaaa, in looks alone? Na-vesene, my friend, what are these doubts?”
Swift Hawk shook his head. “Perhaps I should not voice them.”
“Hova’ahane, no, it is better to have them out.”
“Is it?” Pausing, Swift Hawk frowned deeply. “It is my belief that the woman I seek should be perfect in all the ways that matter. The woman is, after all, she from my vision.”
“I understand. But perfect? In all ways that matter?”
“Haa’he, yes. Should not the woman of my vision honor those traits most admired in our own people?”
“In our own people?” It was Red Fox’s turn to pause. “But na-vesene, she is white.”
“Should that make a difference? Should not the woman from my vision be adept in all the skills necessary for Indian life? Should she not be efficient, yet quietly so? Should there not be gentleness in her speech? No scolding, and certainly no words of argument should ever appear upon her lips.”
“Think you so?”
“I do.”
“Yet in all the world,” said Red Fox, “there is no single perfect human being.”
Taking a deep breath, Swift Hawk spun slowly toward his friend and swept his hands out in front of him. “You speak truth, na-vesene, and yet, if she is indeed the one I seek, should she not be the vision of all that is good and honorable?”
“Perhaps. Yet how do you know she is not?”
“By her appearance. That is how I know.”
“Her appearance? But she is beautiful.”
“Haa’he, that is part of the trouble with her. She is beautiful. Na-vesene, the woman from my vision should be humble in her appearance.”
“Humble?”
“Haa’he. Never should she desire to draw attention to herself for the sake of attention. And surely she would never demean herself so much as to flaunt her beauty.”
“Did she seek to do this?” asked Red Fox. “For if she did, I did not see it.”
Swift Hawk clenched his jaw. “Did you not observe the color of her hair? The manner of her speech? For she quivers provocatively with every word she speaks.”
“I did not notice it.” Red Fox’s expression bordered on that of humor.
“But think, na-vesene. Do not the women in our tribe dress in their best clothing on many occasions? Do they not flaunt their beauty, spending hours on their appearance? Do they not show off their skills of beadwork, as well as those of making clothes, of caring for the home? Do they not do this that they might gain some attention?”
Swift Hawk frowned, then just as quickly he sighed. “Haa’he, yes, perhaps you speak truth. Yet I wonder if any of our own women would dare to be so outspoken as she is?”
Red Fox shrugged. “Perhaps not so in public. However, when a woman is alone with her man, within her own lodge… I remember well my mother talking in such a way to my father, many times.”
“Maybe,” said Swift Hawk. “However, a good Indian woman would never speak in such a way to her brother, and certainly she would not chastise him and argue with him…not even in private.”
“Yes, these things are true for us. But surely you have noticed within this fort that the white women speak thusly to their husbands? And they also extend this manner of speech to other men—men who are not related to them. Maybe the white women’s values are different than ours. This woman said so herself.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Swift Hawk. “But there are other matters about her that worry me.”
“Are there? What are they?”
Swift Hawk did not respond at once. Nor would he utter another word until he had thought well upon this. For this next topic was one that he could not openly share with another. It was difficult enough recalling it privately. So simply he observed, “There are other things I must consider.”
Red Fox frowned. Slowly, the other man took a step forward, bringing him on a level, shoulder to shoulder with Swift Hawk.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Red Fox looked outward toward the fort’s parade grounds.
More seriously, he voiced, “Perhaps my interpretation of your vision is mistaken. Is this what you are thinking, and why you cannot tell me your thoughts? It is possible that I am wrong, na-vesene. For I am still learning the ways of the medicine man.”
Swift Hawk didn’t articulate a word. In truth, he did not know what to say. He could not very well admit he might have thought this. For to openly speak his thoughts would be to infer that his friend had done him a disservice. This a man must never do.
Besides, if an error had been made, it was his own.
It was his foolish impatience that had caused him to act as he had.
For in his rush to fulfill his destiny, Swift Hawk had enlisted the aid of Red Fox, asking his friend from his adopted tribe, the Cheyenne, to act as medicine man and to accompany him to the white man’s country.
That Red Fox had agreed, that he had interpreted Swift Hawk’s dream, was of secondary importance. It was he, Swift Hawk, who had set the pace, who had felt the need for prompt action.
But surely arriving at Fort Leavenworth in haste was not a bad thing.
Hova’ahane, no, not bad. Misjudged, perhaps.
For in leaving so swiftly, Swift Hawk had forfeited the chance to visit the old Cheyenne holy man, a man who could have interpreted not only his dream, but who could have foretold his future as well.
Haa’he. It was to be regretted, it was true. However, it was not all misfortune. Had Swift Hawk not come to this place so swiftly, he would not have come by the leisure time in which to learn. And this, he knew, would have been an error.
His speed had served him in good stead, allowing him several months to attain many skills.
He had mastered the white man’s language, a proficiency first begun almost ten years ago at Bent’s Fort.
He had learned also a bit of the white man’s rituals, had tasted the white man’s firewater and had witnessed the results of this “water” on himself.
He had also deciphered the black marks that the white man made on those small bits of parchment, which was a very interesting concept indeed.
For those black marks held a power over these men that Swift Hawk could not readily understand.
Though his training as a scout might require him to flawlessly recall earth signs, those of animals, or weather or vegetation, and more, and to be able to recite these memories perfectly months or years later, it still hadn’t prepared him to understand the command that these black marks held over the white man.
Were not these marks simply communication symbols? Those similar to the messages left by scouts on the prairie?
Yet Swift Hawk had seen at once that the white man held great store in these black scratches—going so far as to force others to do his bidding because of them.
It was certainly a strange philosophy to Swift Hawk’s way of thinking, and an even stranger thing to witness.
It was, however, an observation that, if he were wise, he would pass along to the elder men in his tribe.
Beware the white man’s black marks. For within those words on a page seemed to be certain pitfalls.
“Do not despair, na-vesene,” said Red Fox, interrupting Swift Hawk’s thoughts, “for if you wish it, I will return to our people and seek out the old wise one, that we might learn if I have correctly understood your dream.”
Swift Hawk shook his head. “That is not necessary, my friend. You hold great promise as a medicine man, for your power of sight within the spiritual realm is uncommon. As you have said, she is probably the one. I realized it at once. It is only that I expected her to be different than the person that she is.”