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Letters on Literature-Part13_ANDREW LANG(1844-1912)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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rather too much. But, then, as she was over two thousand years old,



and had lived for most of that time among cannibals, who did not

understand her, one may excuse her for "jawing," as you say, a good



deal, when she met white men. You want to know if "She" is a true

story. Of course it is!



But you have read "She," and you have read all Cooper's, and

Marryat's, and Mr. Stevenson's books, and "Tom Sawyer," and



"Huckleberry Finn," several times. So have I, and am quite ready to

begin again. But, to my mind, books about "Red Indians" have always



seemed much the most interesting. At your age, I remember, I bought

a tomahawk, and, as we had also lots of spears and boomerangs from



Australia, the poultry used to have rather a rough time of it.

I never could do very much with a boomerang; but I could throw a



spear to a hair's breadth, as many a chicken had occasion to

discover. When you go home for Christmas I hope you will remember



that all this was very wrong, and that you will consider we are

civilized people, not Mohicans, nor Pawnees. I also made a stone



pipe, like Hiawatha's, but I never could drill a hole in the stem,

so it did not "draw" like a civilized pipe.



By way of an awful warning to you on this score, and also, as you

say you want a true book about Red Indians, let me recommend to you



the best book about them I ever came across. It is called "A

Narrative of the Captivity and Adventures of John Tanner, during



Thirty Years' Residence among the Indians," and it was published at

New York by Messrs. Carvill, in 1830.



If I were an American publisher, instead of a British author (how I

wish I was!) I'd publish "John Tanner" again, or perhaps cut a good



deal out, and make a boy's book of it. You are not likely to get it

to buy, but Mr. Steevens, the American bookseller, has found me a



copy. If I lend you it, will you be kind enough to illustrate it on

separate sheets of paper, and not make drawings on the pages of the



book? This will, in the long run, be more satisfactory to yourself,

as you will be able to keep your pictures; for I want "John Tanner"



back again: and don't lend him to your fag-master.

Tanner was born about 1780; he lived in Kentucky. Don't you wish



you had lived in Kentucky in Colonel Boone's time? The Shawnees

were roaming about the neighbourhood when Tanner was a little boy.



His uncle scalped one of them. This made bad feeling between the

Tanners and the Shawnees; but John, like any boy of spirit, wished



never to learn lessons, and wanted to be an Indian brave. He soon

had more of being a brave than he liked; but he never learned any



more lessons, and could not even read or write.

One day John's father told him not to leave the house, because from



the movements of the horses, he knew that Indians were in the woods.

So John seized the first chance and nipped out, and ran to a walnut



tree in one of the fields, where he began filling his straw hat with

walnuts. At that very moment he was caught by two Indians, who



spilled the nuts, put his hat on his head, and bolted with him. One

of the old women of the tribe had lost her son, and wanted to adopt



a boy, and so they adopted Johnny Tanner. They ran with him till he

was out of breath, till they reached the Ohio, where they threw him



into a canoe, paddled across, and set off running again.

In ten days' hard marching they reached the camp, and it was worse



than going to a new school, for all the Indians kicked John Tanner

about, and "their dance," he says, "was brisk and cheerful, after



the manner of the scalp dance!" Cheerful for John! He had to lie

between the fire and the door of the lodge, and every one who passed



gave him a kick. One old man was particularly cruel. When Tanner

was grown up, he came back to that neighbourhood, and the first



thing he asked was, "Where is Manito-o-geezhik?"

"Dead, two months since."



"It is well that he is dead," said John Tanner. But an old female

chief, Net-ko-kua, adopted him, and now it began to be fun. For he



was sent to shoot game for the family. Could anything be more

delightful? His first shot was at pigeons, with a pistol. The



pistol knocked down Tanner; but it also knocked down the pigeon. He

then caught martins--and measles, which was less entertaining. Even



Indians have measles! But even hunting is not altogether fun, when

you start with no breakfast and have no chance of supper unless you



kill game.

The other Red Indian books, especially the cheap ones, don't tell



you that very often the Indians are more than half-starved. Then

some one builds a magic lodge, and prays to the Great Spirit.






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