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3.3.“The
Cattle Thief” by E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake)
They were coming across the prairie, they were
galloping hard and fast;
For the eyes of those desperate riders had sighted
their man at last—
Sighted him off to Eastward, where the Cree
encampment lay,
Where the cotton woods fringed the river, miles and
miles away.
Mistake him? Never!—Mistake him? the famous Eagle
Chief!
That terror to all the settlers, that desperate
Cattle Thief—
That monstrous, fearless Indian, who lorded it over
the plain,
Who thieved and raided, and scouted, who rode like
a hurricane!
But they’ve tracked him across the prairie; they’ve
followed him hard and fast;
For those desperate English settlers have sighted
their man at last.
Up they wheeled to the tepees, all their British
blood aflame,
Bent on bullets and bloodshed, bent on bringing
down their game;
But they searched in vain for the Cattle Thief:
that lion had left his lair,
And they cursed like a troop of demons—for the
women alone were there.
The sneaking Indian coward, they hissed; he hides
while yet he can;
He’ll come in the night for cattle, but he’s scared
to face a man.
Never! and up from the cotton woods rang the voice
of the Eagle Chief;
And right out into the open stepped, unarmed, the
Cattle Thief.
Was that the game they had coveted? Scarce fifty
years had rolled
Over that fleshless, hungry frame, starved to the
bone and old;
Over that wrinkled, tawny skin, unfed by the warmth
of blood.
Over those hungry, hollow eyes that glared for the
sight of food.
He turned, like a hunted lion: I know not fear,
said he;
And the words outleapt from his shrunken lips in
the language of the Cree.
I’ll fight you, white-skins, one by one, till I kill
you all, he said;
But the threat was scarcely uttered, ere a dozen
balls of lead
Whizzed through the air about him like a shower of
metal rain,
And the gaunt old Indian Cattle Thief dropped dead
on the open plain.
And that band of cursing settlers gave one
triumphant yell,
And rushed like a pack of demons on the body that
writhed and fell.
Cut the fiend up into inches, throw his carcass on
the plain;
Let the wolves eat the cursed Indian, he’d have
treated us the same!
A dozen hands responded, a dozen knives gleamed
high,
But the first stroke was arrested by a woman’s
strange, wild cry.
And out into the open, with a courage past belief,
She dashed, and spread her blanket o’er the corpse
of the Cattle Thief;
And the words outleapt from her shrunken lips in
the language of the Cree,
If you mean to touch that body, you must cut your
way through me.
And that band of cursing settlers dropped backward
one by one,
For they knew that an Indian woman roused, was a
woman to let alone.
And then she raved in a frenzy that they scarcely
understood,
Raved of the wrongs she had suffered since her
earliest babyhood:
Stand back, stand back, you white-skins, touch that
dead man to your shame;
You have stolen my father’s spirit, but his body I
only claim.
You have killed him, but you shall not dare to
touch him now he’s dead.
You have cursed, and called him a Cattle Thief,
though you robbed him first of bread—
Robbed him and robbed my people—look there, at that
shrunken face,
Starved with a hollow hunger, we owe to you and your
race!
What have you left to us of land, what have you
left of game,
What have you brought but evil, and curses since
you came?
How have you paid us for our game? how paid us for
our land?
By a book, to save our souls from the sins you brought in
your other hand!
Go back with your new religion, we never have
understood
Your robbing an Indian’s body, and mocking
his soul with food!
Go back with your new religion, and find—if find
you can—
The honest man you have
ever made from out a starving man.
You say your cattle are not ours, your meat is not
our meat;
When you pay for the land you live
in, we’ll pay for the meat we eat!
Give back our land and our country, give back our
herds of game;
Give back the furs and the forests that were ours
before you came;
Give back the peace and the plenty. Then come with
your new belief,
And blame, if you dare, the hunger that drove him to be a
thief.
About Poet:
Emily Pauline Johnson,
Tekahionwake, was born on March 10, 1861, to a Mohawk chief, George Johnson,
and a wealthy Englishwoman, Emily Howells. She had two brothers, Henry and
Allen, and one sister, Eva. She was born and lived on the Six Nations
Reservation near Brantford, Ontario. On the Six Nations Reservation, Johnson
and her family lived in a mansion called Chiefswood. After her father’s death,
her family were un able to afford Chiefswood and moved to Brantford.
Her first book of poetry called The
White Wigwam.Her last book of her collection of poetry before she died was called Flint and Feathers. It was published in 1912. After her death in 1913, two more of Johnson books were published. The first was The Moccasin Maker, a collection of her short stories about the experiences of Canadian Indians and mix-bloods. Johnson’s last book was called The Shagganappi. Pauline continues to be one the greatest female Canadian Indian poets and is still an influence on many Natives.
Where are the braves, the faces like autumn fruit,
who stared at the child from the colored frontispiece?
And the monosyllabic chief who spoke with his throat?
Where are the tribes, the feathered bestiaries?-
Rank Aesop's animals erect and red,
with fur on their names to make all live things kin’-
Chief Running Deer, Black Bear, Old Buffalo Head?
Childhood, that wished me Indian, hoped that
one afterschool I'd leave the classroom chalk,
the varnish smell, the watered dust of the street,
to join the clean outdoors and the Iroquois track.
Childhood, but always, -as on a calendar,-
there stood that chief, with arms akimbo, waiting
the runaway mascot paddling to his shore.
With what strange moccasin stealth that scene is changed!
With French names, without paint, in overalls,
their bronze, like their nobility expunged,-
the men. Beneath their alimentary shawls
sit like black tents their squaws; while for the tourist's
brown pennies scattered at the old church door,
the ragged papooses jump, and bite the dust.
Their past is sold in a shop; the beaded shoes,
the sweetgrass basket, the curio Indian,
burnt wood, and gaudy cloth, and inch-canoes-
trophies and scalpings for a traveler's den.
Sometimes, it's true. they dance, but for a bribe;
after a deal don the bedraggled feather
and welcome a white mayor to the tribe.
This is a grassy ghetto, and no home.
And these are fauna in a museum kept.
The better hunters have prevailed. The game,
losing its blood, now makes these grounds it crypt.
The animals pale, the shine of the fur is lost,
bleached are their living bones. About them watch
as through a mist, the pious prosperous ghost.
'Indian Reservation: Caughnawaga' Poem Summary:
Abraham Moses Klien was a Canadian poet, journalist, short story
writer and a lawyer. He is renowned for his poems.Yet he is a Jewish Canadian writer, he talks
about the Indians. He is an insider as a Jewish who suffered in the hands of
whites. His poem “Indian Reservation: Caughnawaga” is about the story of the
Indians which starts with a melancholic tone about the fall of an Indian and what happened after he fell. It narrates who is responsible for the fall which is basically a ‘sense of fear’.
Through this poem, Klien advocates preservation of traditions. Those who alienate themselves
from the traditions are dismissed by him as mere ghosts. Klien
depicts the corrosive impact that the western culture has effected on the
Red-Indian's traditional life style.
The lamenting tone is dramatic with an abrupt
beginning to captivate the attention of the readers. It means a sense of loss.
Men were of different kinds like warriors and chieftains, wherein brave means
warriors which has two semantic differences “where and brave”. It tells us that
they are no more brave. The early natives lived in a bound state having a vast
land. Being colonised they lost their identity and their mind power. They were
not able to express themselves as the sons of the soil and were treated like
animals to be tamed. The autumn fruit stands for the possession of
ripe wisdom by Red Indians.
The child here refers to the poet himself who
feels nostalgic about the flown away bravery of the Indians. It has two
perspectives – the child’s and the adult’s. The child looks at the “coloured front
piece” which is the front-page of a book. It has the picture of the braves and
the “monosyllabic chief” who has dignity and never wasted time in speaking;
compared to the Indian God Manito, known for courage, grandeur and greatness
which is seen in the coloured front piece. He is standing arms akimbo showing his
self-esteem, dignity and pride which is now only an analepsis. The poet is very eager to meet the
'monosyllabic' chief who spoke briefly in a gruff and guttural voice. He calls
the Red Indians affectionately as 'feathered bestiaries', because they with
their fur and feathers resemble mythic animals such as Chief Running Deer,
Black Bear, and Old Buffalo Head featured in the fables of Aesop, a Persian
story-teller.
In the
second stanza of the poem, Klien records the strong feeling he had nourished
for the Red Indians, when he was a child. He wished to escape from the class
room chalk, the varnish smell, and the watered dust of the street and paddle to
the shore where the chief lived with his followers so that he would enjoy the
clean out doors and the Iroquois track of the Red Indians.He
wanted to enter a life of naturally; an escape from the problems of reality and
goes to nature. He mentions the Iroquois which was the chief tribe invaded by
French. He was very eager to meet the chief, 'with arms akimbo' with his hands
on the hip] whom he had seen only in a calendar. In the picture, the chief was
looking like a mascot or a person bringing good luck. The child did not know
that the Red Indians are non-existent and are to be seen only in pictures. The
chief stands his arms akimbo who awaits “the runaway mascot” which is a symbol
of good omen and luck changing.
Klien then proceeds to describe the
degradation of the Red Indian Civilization. The Red Indians have given up their
traditional life style being lurred by the commercial western culture. They
adopt modern French names. They neither daub themselves with paints nor wear
bronze jewels. The Red Indian 'Squaws'[wives] no longer cover themselves with
vegetables outfit which puffed like a tent. The Red Indians now a days wear
overalls. They grow very commercial and degrade themselves by adorning
themselves with bedraggled feathers and dancing their traditional dance to
please a white Mayorafter receiving a
bribe. Their children 'bite' the dust to pick up the brown pennies thrown by
the tourists at church doors.
Later, a drastic change has happened where
moccasin, a shoe without heels which protected the feet of Indians and made no
sound is now used by the robbers which was vulnerable and had a glorious past.
Feeling is one way of learning in the lap of nature. He wanted many adventures
by taking different paths. There he can see what others have not seen and
experienced like the Indians. He says that Indians are dying, what we see now
is the remembrance of the chief, living in the world of illusion and
experiencing reality. The change of western culture is visible in the names we
choose and the dress we use. When the names change, the identity also changes.
Still braves are there by it not with the indianess, completely changed to
western culture.
He says that Indian has become pale, lost his
colour of health and nobility and vulnerable nature. He is ironic. The women
were inside the “elementary shawls’ being inactive who also have lost their
identities. Children were playful but now they have become least worthy.
Tourists, white men had pleasure in throwing money to those children “at the
old church door” who had been defeated.
Klien laments in
the last stanza that the relics of Red Indian Civilization have become saleable
commodities. He mourns that 'their past is sold in the shop'. The things once
used by them such as the beaded shoes, the sweet grass baskets, the burnt wood
by which they drew designs on their bodies, gaudy clothes, and inch-canoes are
affordable for sales now.
Their tradition is lost because of the
colonisers. They fell on the ground, dust. The old church door symbolises love,
giving and brotherhood but now has become the sight of cultural humiliation.
Children being transformed to beggars. In the poem “The Dying Eagle”, man fell
internally in his mind, spiritually. But here it is visible through tradition.
It is the selling of the character of an
individual amongst the selling of a tradition. They are made by sell themselves
and white men make themselves sold. Exploiting Anand can also be done by
destroying a land. Man is the cause of exploitation as well as the judge and
becomes the top predator in food chain. Justice not denied but deranged.
Nature is shrinking as we are expanding,
thereby by killing tradition and make momentous out of it which is an insult to
the Indians. The worst was the white men selling Indian tradition. White men
scalped Indian’s tradition and we live with dead things. We have become savages
of civilisation. The irony is made to generate the Indians.
The last stanza is very pathetic, ironically
presents the promises made and the betrayals, illusions and realities, the
desires of Indians as a “grassy-ghetto”, an oxymoron.
There is a composition of both freedom and
bondage. They were promised freedom but bound in bondage. The entire poem seems
to be about reservation. A “ghetto” is a synonym for reservation. Through a
positive commotion of the culture, the white men destroyed them and used them.
“And these are fauna on a museum kept”. Fauna is associated with the animal
like Indian; the savage is now imprisoned in museum. The irony is that the
hunter has now become the hunter. “The better hunters have prevailed”. The
Indian has transformed from a golden position to a civilized poverty and
humility. The poet calls the hunting as a game which is a very significant
statement. He says that both are hunters, the Indian hunts for his survival,
but the white men hunt for the destruction in one way. Indians lose
their blood which empathetically means “passions and emotions” that “makes the
grounds it’s crypt”, “bleached are their living”. Indian is dead, in becoming
the subservient servant of the whites. He has lost his life and lives like a
“living vegetable”. The whites are referred to as “pious prosperous ghosts”, an
oxymoron which means they are materially prosperous.
The poet concludes by saying that the ruler
and the ruled, higher and lower, the rich and the poor are the marginals. He
uses the metaphor “hunting” to show their lives. The analogy is that the
individual hunts for the sake of survival whereas whites do it for fun and
sport. ' Indian for his sake of survival has
lost his identity. If Indian is the dead living, then the white man is the
living dead, concludes the poet.
The 'grassy ghetto' is no more their home and
are preserved as relics in the museum. Hunting occupies no place in their life.
The fauna or animals hunted by them at the risk of their life, are also kept in
the museum with their pale and bleached bodies. They have abandoned their
native religion and converted to christianity. They become pious and
prosperous, but Klien rejects them as ghosts of their vital original selves as
there is nothing original in them. He says : 'About them watch as through a mist, the pious
properous ghosts.'
Resolve : to be both tentative and hard to startle
(though clumsiness and
fright are inevitable)
in this area where my damaged
knowing of the language means
prediction is forever impossible.
About Author:
Patricia Kathleen Page (November 23, 1916 - January
14, 2010) was a Canadian poet. K. Page (Mrs. W.A. Irwin) was born in England
and brought up on the Canadian prairies. She is the author of more than a dozen
books of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction, including three books for children. She
was also known as a visual artist, who exhibited her work as P.K. Irwin at a
number of venues in and out of Canada. Her works are in permanent collections
of National Gallery of Canada and Art Gallery of Ontario.
P.K. Page is the author of The Sun and
the Moon (novel) 1944, pseud. Judith Cape; As Ten as Twenty (poetry) 1946; The
Metal and the Flower (poetry) 1954; To Say the Least (anthology of short poems)
1979; Evening Dance of the Grey Flies (poems and a short story) 1981; The Glass
Air (poetry, essays and drawings) 1985; A Flask of Sea Water (fairy story) 1989;
The Travelling Musicians (children's book) 1991; Hologram - A Book of Glosas
(poems) 1994; The Hidden Room -Collected Poems 1997.
Among other honours, she has won the
Governor General's Award for poetry for The Metal and the Flower (1954).
Summary:
This poem was written by P.K. PAGE . She
was acknowledged as the best Canadian poet and also fellow of Royal Society of
Canada. Her homeland is England and so her dialect is very from that of a
people of Canada.
In the poem the First Neighbours, the
speaker puts down the cultural encounters she/he was forced to face and
compelled to adapt. she expresses her feeling that all the human are equal and
there is no difference in them, but the people of Canada feels that she is
different with the shape of her ear. she says that the girl jeered at her for
burned bread. The homeland is always secure comparing to the other nation.
The speaker is caught in an ambiguous
situation at last and is in a dilemma: whether to resume to the native
condition or surrender to the culture and unpredictable conditions. All the
experiences suggest to the speaker that “Go back, where you came from.”
She
says that she has become a minor and invalid. Her remarks are not worthy. Her
gestures are silly of sick. She has become a trivial being in the views of her
neighbours. the next stanza speaks about her mental state. And she says that
finally she has become hardened like a chapped tarpaulin. She started to
negotiate whatever she uttered is of strange meanings to others and Vice versa.
She wants to connect herself with the others. She brought herself to the level
to get connected with them.
In the next stanza, she is exploring
mindscape through landscape, she says that nothing is steady
everything inaccurate. Here, the forest is compared to the inner mind. she
wants to be connected with them she gets scared and then she says that
clumsiness and fright are inevitable.
Finally she says that prediction is
forever impossible. We cannot predict anything. Thus she concludes her poem.
Theme:
The immigrants in Canada had to
experience the crisis of rootlessness and search for identity but they had deep
down in their hearts the unforgettable memories of and affinities with the
culture of their native country and an intense desire to cultivate that
cultural ethos in their adopted country.
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