402 
FOREST STREAM. 
[May 27, 1899. 
The Lazy Indian.* 
NoTw'jfTHSTANDiNG that Indians arc so generally called 
Jazy, 1 think there is a good deal to be said on the other 
side. Did anyone ever see an Indian lazy when he had 
an object to call him out? Did anyone ever see a white 
man more active, more energetic, more alert,, or more tire- 
less and patient about his task than an Indian when he has 
an adequate motive? 
Are Indians evej- lazy when they are on the fresh track 
of a deeT? On the contrary, they are so full of life and 
vigor that a white man's movements seem lazy and slow 
in comparison. When they are diving in the river for 
salmon they are not lazy. After they have learned the 
use of money, oi?er then ?2 a day to build a brush house or 
do any work they are familiar- with, and they will not 
be lazy, but will work with surprising agility. We see con- 
sequently that when they are doing* nothing and ap- 
pear to white men to be lazy, it is not because they have 
no work in them, but because they have nothing to do, or 
have no motive for doing anything. Give them some- 
thing to do that they think is worth doing, or give them a 
motive, and you will find there is work enough in them. 
If they have nothing to do and have no motive for work- 
ing, how much are they to blame, and how are they any 
different from white men for not working? If a white 
man had nothing to do and no motive for doing any- 
thing-, he would perhaps be as lazy as an Indian. 
The necessity oE working to earn a living and the op- 
portunities to go further and get rich are what keep the 
main body of while men at work, and here lies the ex- 
planation of the Indian's apparent indolence, With them 
there is no necessity for earning a living, and no oppor- 
tunities to get rich. Bountiful nature provides Ihem every 
■ 3'ear with their daily food, and all they have tu- do is to 
gather it. No n"eed of their working cver-y day from 
morning until night. It would do them.no good if they 
didi AVhen they have procured food enough to sustain 
them and covering enough to keep them warm, all \vork 
beyond that is thrown away. If thej' w'orked twenty 
hours a day they could not improve their condition any. 
Then why should they work? _ .It is not necessary for 
them to earn their living. This motive to work, the al- 
mo&t universal stimulus to labor among the civilized 
raceSj does not exist for the Indian. Suppose it were 
wholly withdrawn from the lives of white men; would 
they be much more industrious than the Indians? 
Besides this, the Indian cannot practically increase his 
%vealth. His wealth lies in the coxintless red berries of 
the manzanita bushes abounding in the hills, and in the 
millions of acorns on the oaks of the forest, and in the 
endless migrations of salmon past his wigwam. No work 
that he can do will make him any richer. No idleness or 
laziness of his will make him any poorer. 
His wealth consists in the stocks that he OAvns in na- 
ture's great granary, and these will yield the same yearly 
dividends whether he works or not. His labor cannot 
increase the value of his stock or raise his dividends ■< 
particle, nor can his idleness depress the stock or reduce 
the dividends. ITe has no hope of getting any richer nor 
fear of getting any poorer. 
Consequently the chief motives for w^ork that civilized 
racas have the Indian is wholly destitute of. The power 
and desire to accumulate property is what makes civil- 
ized men w^ork, because they will get richer for it. But 
neither the power nor desire to accumulate property exists 
among the Indians, and if they did work they could be- 
come no richer for it. Allowance ought to be made for 
this in passing judgment on the Indian's often-quoted 
laziness. 
Suppose now that at this moment every person in the 
town or city which the reader lives in had an independent 
income, which he could neither increase by his work or 
diminish by his idleness. Should we have any lazy peo- 
ple in the commuiiity? Would not three-fourths of them 
become lazy? Wherein are the Indians any worse? 
It ought to be explained here that almost all Indians 
appear nowadays to a great disadvantage in everything, 
owing to the very demoralizing effect of their acquaint- 
ance with white men, and this is particularly true in re- 
gard to their activity. We do not see them now in 
their primitive character. When the overland train now- 
adays stops at a station in the far West and one sees a 
group of listless Indians loitering about the platform in 
dirty, white man's clothes, one gets about as correct an 
idea of these Indians in their normal primitive wildness 
as one does of a panther in a caravan, that lifelong cap- 
tivity has completely disheartened, and that has had all 
his native life and spirit whipped and poked and teased 
and starved out of him. We do not see the Indians in 
these times as they appeared a century or more ago, when 
they were proud of their individual exploits and physical 
accomplishments, when their deeds of skill and bravery 
were appreciated and admired, when they took pride in 
•the power of their bows and arrows, and ate thankfully 
and proudly the fish the}' had captured, and the acorn 
soup their women had made for them; when the}' were 
proud of their mountains, plains and forests, when the 
course of their lives was as full of interest to them as the 
child's play is to the child, and they entered into their life 
with a corresponding zest. Now all this has been 
changed. Their spirits are broken. Their pride is gone. 
The white man's rifle has made them ashamed of their 
bows and arrows. The whita men's sneers have made 
them ashamed of their home-made soup and 'dried fish. 
Individual prowess is of no account, now that gunpowder 
and lead can do so much more. 
They have nothing to be proud of now. The great, 
powerful race that has come like a cloud of locusts upon 
them swarms over their hills and plains and forests, and 
what was their pride is now their grief and shame. Tt 
}>ives them pain to look on what was once their happi- 
u<;ss.. They cannot keep up their interest in the things 
that tliis superior race openly despises. Their little games 
ftnd dances look mean and inferior compared with, to 
them, the imposing celebrations of the white men. Their 
interest has died out in them, as it has with everything 
* The foWowing notes refer particularly to the McCloud River 
J.n()i3J}<! pf .thf- Sierra Tfeva<Ja; foothills of northern Csjlifoj-nj^. 
else that they most enjoyed and gloried in. A sense of 
their inferiority meets them at every turn. They are dis- 
couraged, disheartened, broken-spirited. The old fire 
will not come back in their veins at the bidding of any 
of the things that used to call it up, or if it does, the sight 
of a white man will quench it again. Is it to be won- 
dered at that they do not display much activity or life? 
Is it to be wondered at that they appear lazy and spirit- 
less? 
"What use, what use is it?" they say, "for the poor 
Indian to try to do anything? Everything we do in the 
presence of white men only brings up a fresh sense of 
shame. We were proud of our hills and our forests and 
our rivers; we were proud to tell our children these would 
some day be theirs; we were proud of our tribe; we were 
proud of each other; we were proud of our Mother Earth 
that gave us such bountihil harvests of food. We are 
ashamed of all these things now; we are ashamed to 
learn from the white devil that has come among us, that 
we do not own our beautiful woods and hills; we are 
ashamed that we have told our children that they should 
be theirs; we arc ashamed of each other and of our tribe 
and of our pitiful rations of acorns and fish." 
This is the reason that the Indians do not seem more 
active. This is the reason that the Indians around the 
railroad stations and the settled towns look so listless. 
MARSHALL RADCLTFF. 
Half-breed boy, McCloud Kiver Indians, California. 
lazy and dejected. • The. white man has not only con- 
sciously dispossessed them of their lands and their inher- 
itance, which was bad enough, but he has unconsciously 
robbed them of everything that made life dear to them. 
He has poisoned all their fountains of happiness. He has 
changed their sweet things of life into wormwood and 
gall. He has robbed them of their pride, their ambitioai 
and their manhood. He has taken, so to speak, the very 
marrow out of their lives, and the life that is left them 
is a burden, a bondage and a disgrace. These things ac- 
count to some extent for what the white man calls the 
Indian's laziness. S.^lmo. 
A Camp on the Chickahominy. 
Wanting an outing that would be new, pleasant, and 
not too far from home, yet health-giving, we decided on a 
tenting trip for a short season. This had been planned, 
talked of, and the larder filled so many times on paper, it 
was with very little trouble we laid in a stock of provi- 
sions we thought stiitable ; and the tent, set up in dreams 
so often, was actual^ bought, and the day soon came 
M'hen we were ready to start. I must admit there were 
several return trips after the door was locked and a 
slight nervousness as to just how this thing would 
turn out. 
Living in the city of Richmond, we, by happy chance, 
selected the historic Chickahominy Swamp for our camp- 
ing ground. We had gone a few days before to be sure 
of a satisfactory site, and to obtain permission from the 
owner, which was given gladlj'. The place was high, dry 
and on the river bank, among grand old pines that sung 
and sighed until every sense was soothed and rested. It 
was a small party with small experience that left the C. & 
O. station that hot day in June. There was our friend 
Les, Tad our boy, W. and myself. 
The ride on the train of about an hour was of no 
special interest, for the coimtry is flat, and only the de- 
lightful freshness of the long tracts of woodland saves 
it from being most commonnlace. Reaching Providence 
Forge, we alighted and found ourselves for once interest- 
ing to outsiders. The darkies grinned when they heard 
our plans, and the whites, however humble, were too polite 
to imply by any word they thought we were crazy, but 
they had not perfect command of the expression of their 
faces. After considerable talking we secured the services 
of a young black giant, who, placing the bag in which the 
tent was packed with some cooking utensils on his head, 
a grip in one hand and a basket in the other, started off 
briskly for the "Reach," which was our destination. 
It was hot even at 4 o'clock, and the four dozen eggs I 
carried increased steadily in weight, until each weighed 
about a pound at a rough guess. But the rest of the 
party were well loaded, so there was nothing to do but 
go ort. 
It was fully an hour before we came to the beautiful 
Sycamore Spring plantation, and filed down an ideal 
shady path to get a drink of the delicious water that 
gushed and gurgled from the side of the bank. To our 
right was the old deserted mansion house and one cabin 
standing, that occupied by the last of the old servants, 
Aunt Venie. But there was too much to be done to stop 
for investigating that night. 
A short walk brought us to our camp ground, and a 
more lovely spot it has never been my pleasure to look on. 
It was a large cleared space, about 50ft. from the river, 
which I am sure nature intended for a camp, and we were 
the first to discover the secret in all these ages ! We un- 
loaded and rested for a few minutes, trying to take it all 
in and getting delightful breaths of piny odors, and realize 
that this was actually to be our home for a few days. 
We were soon at work. W. and Les hunting tent 
poles, wliile Tad and I unpacked the things that would 
be first needed, because u.sually those are left 4mtil the 
last, and until every package has been ramsacked in 
desperation. In a surprisingly short time the tents were 
up and well pegged, then the two "big boys" started for 
firewood, while Tad and I filled pillow-slips with pine 
tags and carried pine tags into the tent until they were 
knee deep, and oh, the fragrance of that bed ! 
The air was beginning to get cool, and the rousing fire 
the boys made was very pleasant. I'm not sure the fire 
was made in strict accordance to woodcraft, but we 
thought it a success. There was a quiet, .sitppresscd ex- 
citement when we began to get supper. It was an im- 
portant event, and I did want to do my best, but just 
where and how. to get kettles placed on those uncertain 
looking logs, was puzzling! Many suggestions were of- 
fered, and at last by the help of a stout pole with a knotty 
end, a tin bucket of water was safely landed to boil for 
coft'ee. When the coffee was made, of course we fried 
bacon, for whoever heard of a camp that didn't have fried 
bacon? It was not long before supper was ready, and we 
ate it by the light of the fire, and with the hearty appe- 
tite that is produced by such exercise as we had. Why is 
it that coffee drank from a tin cup, stirred with a tin 
spoon, and bacon taken from the pan just as we need it 
on our tin plates, tastes so much better than in our 
"civilized state"? 
After supper was cleared away we were all tired enough 
to gather around the fire and rest. The usual story tell- 
ing of such parties was omitted. It was so restful not to 
hear the clang, clang of the electric cars, and all the babble 
of the city! Such peace, such quiet it seemed we had 
never Icnown, and we were content to listen to all the 
"woodsy" sounds that are music to the ears of one loving 
nature just for herself. There would be a splash of 
the fish, followed by the remark, "That must have been a 
big fellow," and then the hoot, hoot, h-o-o-t of an owi, 
which would always receive a friendly answer from the 
other side of the woods. But our first night was mot 
ideal! Those owls just kept up those "hooting visits" all 
night, and everything was so strange and new, that Tad 
said "his eyes just would not go shut," and I think it 
was the same with the rest of the party. 
Nevertheless, just as day was breaking the boys were all 
up, fixing their lines to have a try at the fish before break- 
fast, and it was only a try to, for they didn't even have a 
nibble. 
The sun had not absorbed the glorious freshness of 
the woods when we finished our breakfast, and this was 
the beginning of five happy, free days; and what an im- 
mense amount of enjoyment we crowded into them! 
The fishing proved to be very good, though the first 
day's work was not encouraging, and we could take but 
little consolation from the native who tried to comfort us 
with, "If thar ain't no fesh in the river cetch. cose, you 
can't cetch no fesh." But we were reasonably sure there 
were "fesh to cetch," and "cetch" them we did before our 
outing was over. 
At the ford it was a decided novelty to watch the 
teams come through the woods away across the river, with 
cries of "Whoa, whoa, sur," or a fuimy looking cart 
pulled by an ox, drive slowly down the steep bank, and 
then plunge in, water to the hubs and wade carefully 
across. But if they were new sights to us we afforded all 
that came near enough to our camp quite as much diver- 
sion. 
Then there were walks to the spring and long talks 
with Aiint Venie, who told us many interesting tales of 
when Marse Edward brought them from Richmond dur- 
ing the war out to the plantation, and of Miss Car-line's 
marriage; and then she pointed out Miss Car'line's grave 
in the old family burying ground, near which we were 
sitting, now a wild growth of blush roses and honey- 
suckle. Just across the lane a short distance were the 
bodies of all the darkies who had died in ~Mars Ed- 
ward's service, a»d it was with pride she told us, she 
" 'spect fo' long she be layin' thar her own self." 
One never-to-be-forgotten night I was. wakened by a 
distant growl of thunder, and then the lightning flashed 
and danced about in a decided bttsiness-like way. For 
a minute I was scared. Would the tent hold good its 
promise of being water-tight? Would there be any tent 
at all? For the wind was surely rising, and might carry 
it away. This and many more things rushed through my 
mind, among which was, would there be any dry wood 
to get breakfast with? 
I aroused W.. who, after listening to the wind, decided 
there was no time to lose, and the big rubber must be 
put over the tent, "Was I afraid to go out with him 
and help?" No, indeed! I just wanted a chance to get 
out and see how everything looked. We called Les to 
prepare himself, and we soon had the rubber cloth se- 
curely fastened. 
But the sight was awful in its grandeur! The great 
trees swayed and bowed as though they would snap off, 
the sky one great mass of inky black, and the lightning 
darting forked ton.gues, shov/ed us the river, wind- 
whipped to a foam, roaring and rushing, and at last 
there came howling blasts of wind. Never before hacl the 
