The life of an Indian when at home in his village is a life of indolence
and amusement. To the woman is consigned the labors of the household
and the field; she arranges the lodge; brings wood for the fire; cooks;
jerks venison and buffalo meat; dresses the skins of the animals killed
in the chase; cultivates the little patch of maize, pumpkins, and pulse,
which furnishes a great part of their provisions. Their time for repose
and recreation is at sunset, when the labors of the day being ended,
they gather together to amuse themselves with petty games, or to hold
gossiping convocations on the tops of their lodges.
As to the Indian, he is a game animal, not to be degraded by useful or
menial toil. It is enough that he exposes himself to the hardships
of the chase and the perils of war; that he brings home food for his
family, and watches and fights for its protection. Everything else is
beneath his attention. When at home, he attends only to his weapons and
his horses, preparing the means of future exploit. Or he engages with
his comrades in games of dexterity, agility and strength; or in gambling
games in which everything is put at hazard with a recklessness seldom
witnessed in civilized life.
A great part of the idle leisure of the Indians when at home is passed
in groups, squatted together on the bank of a river, on the top of
a mound on the prairie, or on the roof of one of their earth-covered
lodges, talking over the news of the day, the affairs of the tribe, the
events and exploits of their last hunting or fighting expedition; or
listening to the stories of old times told by some veteran chronicler;
resembling a group of our village quidnuncs and politicians, listening
to the prosings of some superannuated oracle, or discussing the contents
of an ancient newspaper.
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