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The Giant Elm pai
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“Thou canst not censure more than we
The Vandal hand that laid thee low;
For any fool can fell a tree,
But it takes a god to make one grow.”

i 26

OY Nags

TR

THE GIANT ELM.

“Thou canst not censure more than we
The Vandal hand that laid thee low;
For any fool can fell a tree,
But it takes a god to make one grow.”

About a mile southwest of the little town of Erie, Kansas,
there was standing, until recently, the largest elm tree known
to exist in that vicinity. It was in the ‘bottom lands,”’ near
the Neosho River, and on atract called ‘‘The Island,” on
account of the fact that at some remote period the river had
broken across its left bank and made an additional channel,
through which, for many years, flowed the largest volume of
the stream. This new channel pursued a serpentine course,
inclosing a body of about three hundred acres of land, and
finally regained the original stream half a mile or so below
its point of departure. When I came to Kansas in May,
1868, this island was covered with a dense and heavy primeval
forest, consisting of black walnut, sycamore, elm, hickory,
hackberry, bur oak, and some other varieties indigenous to
this region. Some of the walnut trees were the largest that
I ever have seen of that species. They were ruthlessly slaugh-
tered by the first settlers, and their trunks, in the main, made
into rails to serve as fences to inclose the cultivated patches
of land, or the more ignoble uses of pens for hogs and cattle.
So effectively did the axe and saw perform their work of de-
struction that the greatest part of this island forest has been
utterly destroyed, and now there is none but some small strips
and scattered trees. The largest existing belt is on the south-
eastern side of the island, and here, until about twenty years
ago, was Standing a most gigantic sycamore. By actual and
careful measurement its circumference at the base was found
to be thirty-two feet and a slight fraction over. But, at the
time above indicated, this grand monarch of the forest fell a
victim to the insatiable rapacity of man. The most of its
trunk was converted into butchers’ blocks, some of which

3

were sold and shipped to distant places, and one is now doing
duty in an Erie butcher shop to-day. Such parts of the tree
as were not suitable for this use were left to rot upon the
ground, and, mostly, are lying there now. The elm tree of
which I have spoken stood about fifty yards west of this
sycamore. It was twenty-two feet and a fraction over in
circumference at the base, and was fully a hundred and fifty
feet high. It was in a condition of perfect health and vigor
from base to crest, and there was not a dead branch upon it
anywhere. In my rambles on the island in pleasant seasons
of the year I would frequently go to this tree, and from a near
distance would stand and admire its symmetry and wonderful
beauty. And on such occasions there was pleasure in pon-
dering on the ancient history it knew, the many strange things
it had seen and heard, of the countless wild animals and birds,
(now extinct, or nearly so) that had once reposed beneath or
within its shade. What interesting and thrilling stories it
could tell if it only had the gift of human speech! Of the
Indians of the forests and of the plains, and of weird and
solemn councils they had held beneath its broad canopy; of
the dark-browed early Spanish explorers, who had bivouacked
under its leafy screen; of the later black-robed Catholic mis-
sionaries, who perhaps had performed the rites of their ancient
church within its shade; of the shaggy buffalo and the mild-
eyed deer that had grazed at its base; of the grim, prowling
bears that had ascended its trunk and reposed upon its branches;
of the myriads of wild pigeons (now, alas! all gone) that had
rested in its top while on their extensive flights;—of all these
events and creatures, and many more, could the elm tell, if
it could only talk. ‘There are queer fancies that come to one,
when he is alone, out in the woods, and sometimes as I stood
gazing with admiring look upon this forest monarch, it seemed
as if it noticed and appreciated my admiration. Its leaves
would suddenly be agitated, and their shining faces would
turn eagerly in my direction, and sometimes the extremity
of a large branch would bend toward me, and seemingly shake
itself and gesture rapidly, as if the tree were struggling to engage
with me in some sylvan conversation. But its language was

4

unknown to me, so I could make no response. All I could do
was to walk up to it, and lay my hand, with some feeling of
reverence, on its massive trunk, and sometimes detach a little
piece of lovely moss from its bark, put the dainty fragment
in my pocket-book—and then resume my ramble.

One pleasant day during the first week of January, 1917,
I started out to take one of my usual walks upon the island.
The ‘cut-off,’ as the modern new channel of the river is
called, is now clogged up, and water no longer flows through it,
unless in time of a freshet. So I crossed it dry-shod at the
place where the old Barnhart saw and grist mill stood about
fifty years ago, and proceeded in the direction of the big elm.
I casually glanced towards its locality while approaching it,
when, to my surprise, its towering dome was not perceivable!
What did that mean? Quickening my steps, the cause was
soon ascertained. Prone upon the ground, crushed, broken,
and mangled,lay the trunk and branches of the giant patriarch
of the forest! The fatal work had been done mainly with a
saw, and so evenly had the tree been balanced that it had been
necessary to sever it almost entirely from the stump before
it tottered and fell. The motive for this vandalism was next
my subject of investigation, and it was apparent on a slight
inspection. A medium-sized lateral limb contained a “‘ squirrel-
hole,”’ leading into a cavity that the squirrels had doubtless
enlarged with their teeth and claws until it afforded space for
their home. Later, when it was unoccupied, a little swarm
of bees had come along and appropriated this hollow interior
for a woodland hive. Some prying eyes had discovered this,
so, when winter had come, and the bees were numb and dor-
mant from cold, the finders of the ‘‘bee-tree’’ had come with
saw and axe to garner their spoil. Their proceedings were all
plainly evident. A section of the branch containing the hive
had been cut off and split open, and then the pitiful little
hoard of the bees had been extracted and carried away.
Judging from the size of the cavity and all other indications,
there was probably not more than a gallon of clear honey in
the tree. And it was for such beggarly gain as this that the
life of the grand elm, which had extended through centuries

5

of time, had been ruthlessly destroyed! I stood by the pros-
trate trunk and contemplated the work of wreck and ruin
with feelings of mingled sorrow and indignation. How much
‘I wished that the elm could tell me the story of its life, and of
the many never-to-be-repeated sights and sounds of by-gone
years it had seen and heard! Maybe it did. Standing there
alone, in profound silence, strange thoughts rushed like a flood
into my mind. “I ruminated, I pondered, and I dreamed.”’
And from these silent, intense communings events gradually
began to take form and shape; they were palpable and real—
I could see them happening about me. ‘The fallen curtain of
the past seemed to slowly rise, and the dead and gone actors
in the years of old flitted to and fro upon the stage. So, in
this manner, the life of the dead king of the forest disclosed
itself, and his varied career passed in review before my eyes.
And thus it came to pass that I now can tell you

Tur Story oF THE GIANT ELM.

“How old I was when I was destroyed I don’t know;
but, as you men creatures compute time, it must have been
at least two hundred years. My first consciousness of life is
faintly as far back as the time when I was a tiny seed, wrapped
in the close folds of the winter bud and reposing on a twig of
my parent tree. But then the snow and sleet lay thick around,
and the wind blew sharp and cold, and, except on a few short-
lived sunny days, I remained in a state of profound slumber.
Presently the sun became bright and warm, and soft and gen-
tle winds began sighing through the branches and whispering,
‘Wake up!’ Then something began stirring within me, and
I began to push and struggle to escape from my wintry prison,
and soon emerged, a little green seed, with dainty wings to
aid me in my flight from the parental home. I soon fluttered
away, and fell on a spot of rich, crumbled earth, which, at a
time when the sun was highest, was warmed by his genial rays.
Then there came soft and pleasant rains, and I sank a little
space into the ground, but from which ere long I reappeared
in a new form—a little shoot of green. The days grew longer
and warmer, and I grew apace, and presently put forth nice,

6

soft leaves, through which I took long breaths of the delicious
air. And sometimes a very little bird would light upon me,
and sing and talk to me, and tell me of the news of the forest,
and of the things that were happening around in the woods.
I was not yet tall enough to see a great deal myself, unless
close at hand, so I enjoyed these visits very much, and with
my leaves would carry on a low conversation with my pretty
little visitor, and ask him many questions. After a while the
winds blew chill, and a cold white substance fell on me out of
the sky, and my leaves shriveled and turned yellow. The
earth about me got numb and hard, and I became sleepy,
and dozed nearly all the time both day and night. And more
white, fleecy stuff came out of the air, but it was much thicker
and heavier than that which came first, and then my leaves
fell to the ground. Later I learned that this dense substance
which fell so plentifully was what the men creatures call snow.
One time this first winter there came so much of it that it
inclosed me closely, and covered me all up except a small part
of my top. And that came near causing me to have my first
mishap. A hungry rabbit came one night, and, squatting
down by me, seized hold of my little body and began to gnaw
my tender bark. I was terribly frightened, and didn’t know
what to do. But that very moment a monstrous owl, like a
dark, noiseless spirit from above, came down with a swift,
silent rush from a near-by tree, and seized my assailant with
its beak and claws and disappeared with it in a dense part
of the surrounding forest. I never forgot this narrow escape
from what might have crippled me for life, and the owls and
I were ever after that the best of friends.

“Nearly all the time of my early youth was quiet and un-
eventful. The spot where I stood had been burnt over by
a fire set out by the red-skinned men people, which had de-
stroyed the other trees for some distance around. So, when
I first peered above the ground, I had plenty of sunlight and
ample room to extend my branches. My growth was rapid.
Other trees sprouted and grew about me, but I had got the
start of them—and keptit. But I was only a very little bush
when I saw for the first time some of the wild red-skinned men

7

creatures. At a time when the weather was quite warm, a
small party of them, men, women, and children, came to the
river on foot, on a fishing trip. They were armed with bows
and arrows and a kind of spear that they used in spearing
the fish. Some of the fires they built were near me. I saw
these red people frequently, and had a good look at them.
The children were quite naked, and the men and women
nearly so. Besides catching fish, they killed with their bows
and arrows many small animals and birds, which they roasted
on their fires and ate. When not fishing, hunting, cooking, or
eating, they lay around in the shade, asleep. In all their ac-
tions they didn’t seem much above the beasts and other things
that prowled in the woods, and were a good deal uglier in ap-
pearance. All of a sudden, ‘they snatched up their things and
the smaller children, and ran away as fast as they could.
Some of my crow friends then lit on the site of their camp,
and helped themselves to such scraps as they could find, and
I asked one of them what made the wild men leave in such a
hurry, and he said it was caused by the approach of another
party of red men, mounted and armed, who were mad at those
with us in the woods. A few days later some vultures came
sailing around, and stopped to rest awhile in a tall tree near
me. They looked quite plump, as if they had been living well,
which I learned they had. From their talk we all got the
news that the war party overtook the peaceful fishers and
hunters, and killed all of them, even the little children. ‘They
cut off the heads of the dead, and otherwise cut and hacked
them, and then left their bodies on the ground—and the vul-
tures and the wolves did the rest. What makes these wild
men-things take a delight in killing those of their own kind
is something I do not understand. None of the other creatures
in the woods do that way.

“It was somewhere along about these times, and when I
was still quite small, that I formed a close friendship with some
little birds. There were two that came to me one bright,
warm morning, when I was in full leaf, and hopped on and
through my branches, talking to each other in low, sweet tones
as they fluttered through my leaves, from twig to twig. After

8

a while they flew away, but soon came back again, and re-
newed their chirping little talk, looking all over and through
me as they did so. I soon began to understand the matter
the little birds were considering. The time had come for
them to build a nest, and they were looking for a good, safe
place to locate their summer residence. ‘Their decision at last
was in my favor, and at once they went to work building their
bridal house, which was soon completed. It was a deep, cup-
shaped little thing, suspended in scme way from one of my
small branches. Then it was not long before I saw in the
nest four beautiful tiny eggs, white in color, with some specks
of reddish brown, and next I heard the faint chirpings of the
baby birds. And now papa and maimma bird got very busy.
Not a bug or worm of any kind dared to appear on any of
my leaves or branches that was not seized at once by the
parent birds and fed to their babies. I took almost as much
interest in these helpless little things as if they were my very
own, and would carefully bend my twigs and leaves so as to
shield them from the rain and the dew and the sometimes too
prying ardent rays of the sun. But the time came at last
when the young birds crawled up to the edge of the nest,
and, after fluttering their wings a while, finally flew away.
But for several successive years the parent birds, or some of
their family, came every summer and built their nest on me
and reared a new brood. And my being so healthy and vig-
orous when young is largely owing, I think, to the fact that
during all the years these little birds made their summer home
with me, they utterly destroyed all mean worms and insects
of every kind that might have gnawed and injured my leaves
and branches. If my little friends owed me any rent, they
paid it many times over, by these friendly and helpful acts.
But as the years went on, I became too tall and high to afford
them a fitting home, and so they ceased coming to me, and
built their nests in smaller bushes. ‘Their places, though, were
taken by bigger birds, and I may say something about those
after a while.

‘“My friends the crows, who traveled far and wide, had
told me that at a great distance away, in the direction of both

9

the rising and the setting sun, there were many men creatures
whose skins were white, and who were much different in many
ways and habits from those of the red skins who lived in our
region. But it was not until after I had become a tall, lusty
young tree that I first saw any of the white-skinned men.
One day in the summer-time there came a large party of them,
riding on horses, and they camped for a day or two in the
woods all around where I stood. ‘They were whiter than the
red people, but somewhat dark and swarthy, with hair upon
their faces. They were armed with long, shining knives and
spears, and also with something strange and terrible I had
never seen before. ‘These things looked like long sticks, with
a crook at one end. They would point these sticks at any-
thing they wanted to kill, and then would come a noise like
thunder, with a flash of flame and a puff of smoke. And at
once the creature pointed at would fall down dead, or maybe
only badly hurt, and then would try to run or fly away. But
sometimes these stick-like things only made a loud noise and
did no harm that I could see. I afterwards learned that these
weapons were called guns, and I got weil acquainted with them
later. These men people acted as if they were tired, and
seemed glocmy and sullen. ‘They sat or lay around under
the trees, and talked but little. I learned from the crows that
these creatures had come from a far-away country towards
the setting sun, a land of sand and 10cks and mountains; but
what their business was here I didn’t find out. After staying
a day or two, they got on their horses and rode away, in the
direction of the rising sun, and J never saw them again. But
some time next year the crows told that these white men went
on until they came to, or near, a big river, and there some
red-skinned men creatures fell upon them, and killed all the
whites except one man, who got away somehow.* And later
an old vulture, who had helped to eat some of the dead, told
me the same story. It was a long, long time before I ever
saw again any of these white men people. I learned from the
birds that there were some other parties that now and then

*See ‘ Annals of the West,’”’ published by James R. Albach, page 671.

IO

came from the land of the setting sun and traveled over my
region of country; but they did net happen to pass near me,
so I did not see them. During all these years I lived a life of
the most perfect quiet, contentment, and happiness. The wild
beasts and birds of the prairies and the forest were abundant,
and I was on the best of terms with allof them. ‘The buffaloes,
the deer, the antelopes, and others would come by thousands
to the river for water, and on such occasions they would also
frequently come and rest under my shade, or graze upon the
rich and tender grass that grew about me And the bears,
and sometimes a panther, would climb up my trunk, curl up
within my forks, or stretch themselves out on one of my large
branches, and lie there for hours. And in the still nights the
wolves and owls gave me many a pleasant serenade. And
those industrious creatures, the beavers, were plentiful also,
and had theirf dams and houses all up and down the little
creeks that emptied into the river. And in the fall of the year
the pigeons would visit us by millions to feast upon the acorns
that. abounded in our woods. I bore nothing those birds could
eat, but sometimes they would light on me to rest a while,
and in such numbers that they would bend my branches to
that extent I greatly feared they would break; but my wood
was tough and springy, and so no such accident befell me.

“In the woods were big droves of turkeys, and on the
prairies and along on the edges of the forest were thousands of
prairie chickens. Early in the mornings these chickens would
begin their drumming and keep it up for some time. It was
pleasant to hear their deep, continuous booming out on the
prairies, all around me. And in the spring and the fall of the
year the geese and the ducks, and other water-fowl, came to
my neighborhood in countless numbers. They were great gos-
sippers, and always had much to say of the many strange
things they had seen in countries that were far away. In the
summer-time many flocks of paroquets were seen in our woods.
They were about the size of a pigeon, but of chunkier shape,
with a hooked bill and yellow heads and green bodies. ‘Their
feathers were beautiful, and their general appearance was in-
teresting and attractive. And there were all sorts of wood-

II

peckers, but the one I admired the most was a great, big
fellow, almost as large as a crow. It had a red head and a
black body, and sometimes it would sound a loud, trumpet
sort of a call, which could be heard a long way off. After I
had got to be a big tree, the crows chose me for anesting-place,
and for many years every summer one or more pairs would
build their nests and rear their young in my top. They were
jolly, noisy birds, quite sociable and very talkative, and al-
ways told me all the news about things that happened both
near at home and far away. But there came a time when
two big prairie hawks, fellows with wide wings and flashing
eyes, concluded they would use me for nesting purposes—and
then the crows had to go somewhere else. The hawks were
fine, grand-looking birds, but they were rather quiet, and not
of a neighborly disposition. And from the time they began
to build their nest until they flew away with their young, all
the other birds and the squirrels and the rabbits stayed away
and most carefully kept out of sight. But the greatest honor
I had in this respect was when two grand giants of the air,
a pair of great bald eagles, made their summer home with me.
But, like the hawks, they talked very little. Sometimes, after
their nesting-time was over and their young were fledged, they
would give a loud and piercing scream as they were circling
through the air; but, save that, they said nothing. The next
year they came back and went to fixing up their old nest as if
they were going to live with me that summer. But right
then some of the red-skinned men found them out, and would
slyly creep up and shoot at them with their bows and arrows,
and bothered them so much that at last they flew away, and
they never came back to nest with me again.

“Among the many interesting things I saw in those old
days was a grand council of the red men of the plains, which
was attended by some hundreds of chiefs and headmen of dif-
ferent tries. They came on horses, and stayed several days.
The weather was warm, and they were almost in a naked
condition, but they wore many strange and queer-looking orna-
ments. ‘Their hair was stuck full of eagles’ and hawks’ feath-
ers, they had chains of bear-claws on their necks, and belts

12

of shells around their waists and ankles. They sat in a big
ring under my shade, and there was much smoking, talking,
and feasting on buffalo and deer meat. After they had gone
away, the crows told me that their talk was in regard to having
peace among themselves, for red men to quit killing other red
men, and in place of that to make war on and kill the white
men who lived far away towards the sunset. ‘The crows said
that they all finally agreed to this, and went away with that
understanding. But the crows all laughed about it, and called
the red creatures fools, and said that they would keep on killing
one another just as they always had done ever since the crow
people had known them.

“But the white creatures seemed to be just as foolish as
the red ones. A great distance away, towards the rising sun,
there were many of the whites, as I learned from the birds,
and it seemed that those creatures were engaged in fighting
and killing one another the most of the time. ‘The crows often
talked to me about these killings. It seems there were two
breeds or sorts of white people in this distant land, and they
were jealous of each other, and each one wanted all the coun-
try, and didn’t want the other to have any. And the red men
mixed up in it too, some fighting on one side and some on
the other. Finally one tribe of the white people gave up, and
got on some big ships and went away—and there was no
more killing for a little while. But soon these white men who
now owned all the country fell out among themselves, and
began killing each other. There were many ship-loads of them
all wearing red coats, who came across the ocean, and fell
upon the people who were living in the land, and killed them,
and burnt their homes. ‘This lasted for some years, but finally
the red-coated men quit, and got on their boats and went away.

“Tt was several yeats after the end of this war that one
summer there came a great flood in the river. It was the big-
gest I ever saw, and lasted the longest. When it at last went
down, I saw that I was on an island. ‘The river had broken
through the bank on my side, and part of it flowed for some
distance in a winding way, and then went back into the main
river some distance below me. And as far as I could see to-

13

wards the west (as I had now learned the course towards the
sunset was called), the river had also left its old channel. Up
to this time it had flowed along at the foot of some low, rocky,
timbered bluffs on its right; but now it had left those bluffs, and
its course was through the lowlands. My now being on an
island was the reason, I think, why I and so many other trees
thereon grew to the size we did. Before this the fires that the
red people would set out on the prairies would burn through |
our woods in the hot summer-time, and would kill or badly
scorch and cripple many of the trees; but now these fires
couldn’t get to us to do us harm, and we grew and flourished
without hurt or mischief from anything or anybody. The soil
where we stood was rich and strong, and our tap-roots reached
to the underflow of the river; so times of drouth or burning
hot winds from the southwest did not affect us a bit. As
the result of all these things, many of the trees on our island
reached an immense size. ‘There were several black walnuts
that were fully as large as I was, and other trees, such as bur
and pin oaks, that were not far behind. But the biggest tree
not only on the island, but up and down the rive: for hundreds
of miles (so the crows said), was a gigantic sycamore. It stood
only a few rods east of me, and was at least a third larger,
in every respect, than I was. In the winter-time, especially,
it presented a striking appearance, when its grand white limbs
loomed up far abeve all the surrounding trees. The big prairie
hawks seemed to have a great liking for it as a nesting-place,
and for a long time net a summer passed withcut a pair of
those birds building their nest upon it and bringing fo.th from
its massive top a brood of their young. The sycamere and
I were close and intimate friends. We were near enough to
each other to talk back and forth, and we had much social
gossip. He was taJler than I was, so he could see more than
I could of things which happened in our neighborhocd, and we
had no lack of subjects for conversation.

Some time after that last war I have spoken about, there
came other wars among the white people. ‘The red-coat men
came back again, and fought with the white creatures of this
country, and many were killed on each side; but after a while

14

the red-coats went away and never came back again. Later
on there was war between the white men of this land and
those that lived far away towards the southwest. I did not see
any of the things that were done in these wars, for they we1e
toc fac off, and all I ever knew about them was told me by
the crows and other birds.

“It was some years before the happening of this last war
I have just mentioned that I first saw any of the white people
of this ccuntry. They came, in the beginning, in very small
parties; usually not mote than two would be together. They
had long hair and beards, and were rcughly dressed—mostly
in the skins of animals. They looked wild and savage, acted
as if suspicious and uneasy, and would often stop and look
all arcund and listen. In their rambles they seemed to con-
fine themselves to the banks of the river and of the little
streams that flowed into it. I couldn’t see them doing any-
thing, and I wondered what they wete after or what they ~
could be wanting. But the crows soon found out and told
me. ‘The business of these men was to catch, with some kind
of a trap, the beavers who had their homes in the river and
the creeks. They caught them for the purpose of getting
their skins, which it seems these white people coveted very
much. ‘The red people did not like to have the beavers de-
stroyed in this way, and whenever they got a good chance,
would kill these white trappers and break their traps to pieces,
and it was this danger that caused the killers of the poor
beavers to be so watchful and guarded in everything they did.

“Tt was while the war was on I have mentioned between
the people of this country and those off toward the southwest
that a few new and strange kind of men came to this region.
They wore a different kind of garb from anything I had ever
seen before. ‘Their outer garment was a long black dress or
gown, that came down nearly to their feet. And around their
necks, and hanging down on their breasts, they wore chains
of beads, and from the center of each chain was suspended a
small bright object that glittered in the sun. I learned that
the red men called these new-comers great medicine men, and
said that they talked much about a Great Spirit who lived

T5

in the clouds, and who sent the sunshine, and the snow and
the rain and the hail. These men built themselves a house
of logs on a little stream only a few miles from where I stood,
and they lived there. And later they built a large house, that
they used only for the purpose of going into when they talked
to this Great Spirit. Their conduct was different from that
of all the other men people I had seen, both white and red.
They didn’t try to kill anybody and didn’t carry with them
anything to kill people with. The red men also said that these
black-gowned men claimed that this Great Spirit was the father
of all the men in the world, of all colors, and that he wanted
all his children to be good, and not kill one another or do
any other bad things; that if they were good, then, when they
died, they would go to a beautiful country where it was always
summer, and where game of all kinds was plentiful, and corn
and beans and pumpkins grew all around everywhere without
being planted, or any care and labor whatever; that there
were no snakes or other poisonous or bad things in this blissful
land, and everybody there lived a life of everlasting peace,
health, and happiness. But I think the red men liked their
own modes of life too well to give them up for just a mere
hope of something better after they were dead.

‘A few years after these black-gowned men appeared in
my neighborhood, there came to where I stood a small party
of red men, riding on their ponies. With them was an old
man, who was one of their chiefs. I had frequently seen him
before. ‘They stopped under my shade, and tied their ponies
to the bushes near by, and made a pallet at my foot of buffalo
robes, on which the old chief lay down. I then saw that he
was very sick, and I soon learned from the talk I heard that
the party had stopped here because the chief was too sick
to go on. ‘They stayed here some days, but the sick man
got no better. One morning he called to one of the young
men and had a short talk with him, and then the young man
got on his pony and quickly rode away down the river. He
was not gone long, and when he returned one of the black-
gowns came with him, riding on a pony. He came to the
sick chief and talked with him awhile. From their manner

16

I saw that they had met each other before, and they acted
as if they were good friends. Presently the black-gown got
down on his knees by the side of the sick man and talked a while,
as it seemed, to the Great Spirit. But what he said sounded
new and strange, and I could not understand it. Then he
put his hands on the face and the head of the sick man, still
talking in this strange language. While this was being done,
the other red men all stood near by, giving close attention,
but saying nothing. Finally the black-gown finished and rose
to his feet. He stood a little while in silence, looking down
sorrowfully on the old chief. He then leaned over him, placed
his hand on his head, spoke a few words which seemed in the
nature of a farewell, then turned and slowly walked away,
shaking his head sadly as he did so. He said something to
the other red men, then mounted his pony and departed. He
had not been gone long before loud and mournful cries broke
forth from the little group at my foot, and I knew from that
and their other actions that the chief was dead. They con-
tinued this for some time, and finally secured the dead body
on the back of one of their ponies, and then all rode away.
I never saw any of them again, but the crows told me that
the body was taken to a high bluff a few miles away, where
it was buried. The way these red men buried their dead was
just to place them in a sitting posture, wrapped in buffalo robes,
and then securely inclose them and cover them with big, heavy
stones, in such a manner that they were protected from the
wolves.

‘““A few years after the death of this old chief came an-
other war, the greatest, so far as I know, that ever was in this
country. It seems that the white people of this land, who
had lived together in peace and friendship for a long, long time,
at last fell out among themselves and went to killing one an-
other. ‘Those on one side wore blue clothes, and the others
wore gray; so the birds called them the Blues and the Grays.
The most of the fighting was done away off in the direction
of the rising sun, so I never saw any of it. But, when the
wind blew from that direction towards me, there were a few
times that I faintly heard the thunder of the big guns that

17

the white people used in the war. And I sometimes saw dif-
ferent small war parties of both Blues and Grays. The first
that I saw was a number of the Gray men. They were on
horseback, and came from somewhere on the river below me-
They stopped and tied their horses in the woods around me,
and cooked and ate their dinner. A little group of the best-
dressed ones, and who seemed to be the leaders, sat under my
shade while they ate their meal. They stopped only a little”
while, then got on their horses and went on up the river.
The birds afterwards told me that the next day these men fell
upon a little town up the river where Blue people lived, and
burnt the town, and took and carried away a great deal of the
food and clothes and many of the cattle and horses of the people
of the town.* But they didn’t kill anybody, because the Blue
men in the town did not belong to the soldiers, and so they
had no guns to fight with, and just had to run away and hide.
The Gray men went back to their own country by some other
road, and I never saw any of them again. But after that,
from my topmost branches I sometimes saw war parties of ;
the Blue men. They were on horseback, in long strings, and
went down the river valley along the edge of the prairie. But,
as I have said, the most of the fighting and killing was done
far from me, toward the sunrise, and all I know about that
I got from the birds; but from all they told me, it must have
been a terrible war. After it had lasted for some years, the
Gray men got discouraged, and quit fighting, and then all
the white people came together again, and were friends like
they had been before. Soon after the war was over, the red
men left this neighborhood and went away somewhere, and
then the white people commenced pouring in by thousands—
men, women, and children.

“And then began the fatal troubles of the trees, and of
all the wild animals and birds of this region. The first comers
of these people built their cabins in the edge of the woods
along the river and the little streams, and at once began cut-
ting down the trees, so that they might have cleared places

*The sacking of Humboldt, Kansas, in September, 1861.
18

for fields, where they planted corm, potatoes, and other things
to eat. Some of the trunks of the trees they would use for
building their cabins, others they would split into rails to fence
their fields, hog-pens, and the like; but the most they just
rolled into big piles and burnt up, im order to get rid of the
logs and brush. Great big black walnut trees and bur oaks
and others, that were thicker through than I was and almost
as tall, were destroyed in this manner. But for some reason
they let me alone. Neither was my friend and mear neighbor,
the giant sycamore, molested until after the white people had
been here for several years. Then one day came some men
with saws and axes and wagons and horses, and begam sawing
and chopping, a short distance above the ground, upon the
trunk of my friend. I knew what that meant, for I had be-
come familiar with such things. I was distressed, but could
do nothing, and greatly feared that my turn would come next
The sycamore finally fell to the ground with a resounding
crash, carrying with it many small trees that stood in the line
of its fall. Then these men sawed up the biggest part of the
prostrate trunk into short blocks, and hauled them away,
leaving the most of the tree to rot upon the ground, where
much of it is to this day. I afterwards learned im some way
that these men had the ends of these short cuts smoothed off,
and put them in what they called their butcher shops, and used
them for cutting up on the leveled surfaces of the blocks the
bodies of animals that the white people killed and ate for
food. It was a sad and pitiful end for the giant sycamore.
“But the fate of the wild animals and birds was even
worse. As for the buffaloes, they had quit commg to my
neighborhood some time before the last war I have mentioned.
The white people were then not very far off, and had scared
or hunted the buffaloes away, and so they had gone to the big
prairies towards the sunset. But they could mot escape the
white men, who would often kill great numbers of them for
no other purpose than ‘sport,’ as they called it. And now
there are none left, as I have been told, except a very few
who are kept in prison pens for the white people to look at
as curiosities. But many deer and beaver were still here when

19
.

the first big rush of the white people came. But they were
hunted, shot, and trapped without mercy, and very soon they
were all gone. And the most of the birds (at least, such as
the white people could eat) were slaughtered in like manner.

“About the time of the close of the last war I noticed that
there were not near as many pigeons as there used to be. One
day, a few years after that war had ended, a small flock of
them came along and lighted on my branches to rest a while.
I was glad they did this, for they were the first I had seen for
some time, and we had much talk with each other. They
told me that not many of them were now left; that the white
men creatures had been killing them by millions; that they
would even go to their nesting homes and with long poles
knock down the nests, and take their young ones and kill
them and use them for food; that this practice was now
carried on so much that they were unable to raise any young,
and in the meantime the old birds were being killed in every
way and manner that the men people could think of. This
little flock seemed to be sad and gloomy, and acted as if they
were very tired. ‘They said that they had started out to hunt
for a place somewhere far away, where maybe men did not
come. After a while they flew away—and I never have seen
nor heard of a pigeon since that day. I suppose they are
all dead. But the prairie chickens lived longer. They were
more cunning than the pigeons, and would hide in the grass
so that a man might pass in a few feet of them and not see
them. ‘Then the men took to using their dogs to help them.
The dogs would smell the birds, and by their actions tell their
masters of their presence. Then the men would go to the
spot, scare up the birds, and shoot them as they flew. And
now the prairie chickens that used to be so plentiful here are
all dead and gone. ‘There may be some away off in lonesome
places, but there are none in this neighborhood. I haven’t
seen one, nor heard the old-time delightful and thrilling morn-
jing ‘boom’ of any, for many years. And the pretty, harmless
little wood ducks also are now all gone.

“But the fate of the beautiful paroquets was, I think, the
saddest of all. They did not live here all the year ’round, but

20

were Only visitors in the pleasant seasons. Their homes, and
where they built their nests and hatched their young, were
far away, in a warmer region. The white people did not de-
sire them as food, but the poor birds had another fatal attrac-
tion that brought about their death and destruction, and which
was their feathers. They were remarkably beautiful, and the
rich white women were covetous of them, to wear in their
hats and bonnets, and would pay large prices for them. So
the men of the country where these birds lived would hunt
and eagerly kill them to get this money. It was easy to do this
when the young birds were hatched and yet in the nests, for
then the old birds would linger around the spot, and could be
easily got at and killed. But as the young ones did not yet
have these fine feathers, they were of no value, and would be
left to die wretchedly in the nest, of starvation. And so it
now is that these harmless, beautiful little birds are all gone,
except maybe a very few that have gone away off into thick
and gloomy woods where the white men do not go. But
while there were any, the rich white women had their feathers,
and I suppose they felt very proud. What did it matter to
them if their ornaments were procured at the expense of
the lives of both the nursing mothers and the helpless little
baby birds?

“The story of my life is now coming to an end, so I will
here tell some of the circumstances that led up to my de-
struction, so far as I know. There was one of my large
branches that in some way, in the course of my life, sustained
some injury. It still put forth some green twigs and leaves,
but in a portion of its center it decayed and rotted, and be-
came partially hollow. One day a pair of squirrels came along,
ran along this limb, looking at it, and seemed to take quite
an interest in it. Soon they went to work with teeth and
claws on a decayed knot-hole that communicated with the
hollow inside, and it was not long before they made this little
entrance large enough to admit their bodies. Then they took
up their abode therein and made it their home. ‘They were
bright, fine little chaps, and I was glad to have them there
with me. They would run around all over me, skipping, jump-

25

ing, and playing, and seemed to be always happy. And it
came to pass that after a while there were some cute little baby
squirrels in that hollow branch, and thén the mother squirrel
stayed pretty close to home. But one day she went to the
river for a drink of water, and on coming back met a white
boy with a gun and dog. She made a frantic effort to reach
her home tree, but was weak from nursing, and the dog headed
her off, and she was compelled to climb a little tree near me..
Then that boy walked up and shot her, and she fell to the.
ground in dying convulsions, splashing the fallen leaves and
the grass with her blood. The boy picked her up and looked
at her, saw that she had been nursing, so I suppose he con-
cluded she was not fit for food, and he threw the body down
on the ground and walked away. That afternoon a white
man’s hog came along, found the little carcass, and tore it to
pieces and devoured it. Soon I began to hear the baby squir-
rels making pitiful little calls for their mother, plaintive squeak-
ing cries, but she could not come. But these sounds of distress
gradually became fewer, and fainter, and fainter, and after a
while ceased altogether. The little ones were dead, having -
perished miserably from hunger and starvation. No squirrels
ever came again to this hollow limb to stay, but it was occu-
pied next year by a different kind of lodgers.

“Sometime during that summer a small swarm of wild
bees came along, settled on my boughs, and after some inspec-
tion of the inside of this branch, took up their home therein,
and went to making honey. I was much pleased with this. I
was well acquainted with wild bees, as for many years they
had been in the habit of lighting on my leaves and helping
themselves to their juicy moisture. And so all that pleasant
summer these industrious little things flew around me, bring-
ing in their store of honey. And it seemed to me that I could
almost taste it, for its sweet odor and flavor appeared as if
it mingled with my sap and thus went all through me. One
fine day, when the bees were busy at their work, a lone white
man came along and stopped beneath me and peered up into
my branches. I soon saw that he was watching the bees as
they flew in and out of the little door of their home, and his

22

actions made me feel somewhat anxious and uneasy. I had
learned to dread these people, for their presence always seemed
the forerunner of some trouble to the wild things of the woods
and streams. But soon the man went away and nothing hap-
pened this time; but he came back again two or three times
that summer, and each time stopped and looked awhile, as he
had done at the first. The winter came, the bees quit work-
ing, and bunched up in the vacant space in the hollow limb,
in a kind of half-dormant condition. It was a very cold win-
ter; the ground was frozen hard, and the wind sighed mourn-
fully through the naked boughs of the trees. And one cloudy,
bleak day again came that white man who during the summer
had stood beneath me and watched the bees at work, and with
him this time was anotherman. ‘They came in a wagon drawn
by a pair of horses, stopped near me, and tied their horses to
asmall bush. Next, they built a little fire, then took a long
two-handled saw and a couple of axes from their wagon, walked
up to and around me, looking at me intently as they did so,
and talking to each other. A cold, horrible fear went through
me as I noticed their conduct, and somehow I had a terrible
apprehension that some evil was going to befall me. And it
was not long before these forebodings began to be realized.
They began chopping with their axes on my trunk, at a point
a few feet above the ground. They cut through my bark
and a few inches into my sap-wood, making a ring all around
my trunk, and then began work with their frightful saw in
this circle made with their axes. I saw that my hour had
come, and that I was doomed to destruction, but what the
cause or reason for it was I did not yet know. My wood,
was hard, dense, and tough, and the men made slow progress.
Several times they stopped and went to their fire to warm
their hands, for the day was bitterly cold. I had a faint hope
that they might get discouraged and quit—but they kept on,
and every screech of that saw, as its cruel teeth tore through
me, sounded like a death-knell. And I stood so straight and
was so evenly balanced that the men had to sever my trunk
almost entirely from the stump before the end came. But
at last I began to tremble and sway, and finally, with a crash

23

La,

that resounded far and wide through the forest, I fell. As I
careened towards the ground, the strong fibers of the heart
of my wood that had not been reached by the saw tore apart
with a piercing shriek that sounded like the scream of some
large wild animal in mortal agony. I had not more than
fallen than the men, with the saw and their axes, ran to the
limb that was the home of the bees, and with their tools re-
moved a portion of the wood that covered the hive. ‘The bees
were numb with cold and could make no resistance. The men
raked them up and threw them into their fire. Then they
proceeded to scoop up and put in a vessel the little hoard of
honey they found in the hollow branch. The quantity was
trifling, for the swarm of bees was a small one, and they had
not begun their work until rather late in the summer; so it
did not more than fill a little tin bucket. The.men were dis-
appointed and grumbled and swore about having worked over
half a day in the cold and got almost nothing. I now under-
stood the cause of my destruction. It had been done by those
men to gratify their covetous desire for that pitiful little
store of honey. ‘They finally got into their wagon and drove
away, and I have never seen them since.

“When I fell with crushing force on the hard, frozen earth‘
many of my smaller branches were broken and scattered all
around me; but my great, giant trunk withstood the shock,
and, while now prostrate and helpless, is yet symmetrical and
solid. And I am full of sap (which is the blood and life of a
tree), so I am still in a state of existence and conscious of

what is going on around me. But this can not last long, for

the winter will soon be over, and the hot days of summer are
coming on. And when the fiery, burning rays of a summer’s
sun fall upon me, they will dry up my life-blood, and then
I shall be nothing but a lifeless log in the forest; decay will
set in, and I shall moulder into dust. My end has come, and
there is nothing left for me to do but say—

“FAREWELL!”

Wi,

——

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NANI