Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1902-10-16
BOOK I.-AWAKENlNG.

remember posing naked upon a rock,
ready to dive into Lake George. This
memory stands at the end of a diminish
ing vista; the extreme point of coherent
recollection. My body and muscular
limbs reflected in the water filled me with
savage pride.
1 know, as the beast knows its herd,
that my mother Marianne was hanging
the pot over the fire pit in the center OF
our lodge; the children were playing with
other papooses; and my father was hunt
ing down the lake. The hunting and fish,
ing were good. and we had plenty of meat.
Skenedonk, whom considered a person
belonging to myself. was stripping more
slowly on the rock behind me. We were
heated with wood ranging. Aboriginal
life, primeval and vigor giving lay behind
me when / plunged expecting to strike out
under the delicious forest shadow.
When / came up the sun had vanished,
the woods and their shadow were gone.
So were the Indian children playing on
the shore, and the shore with them. My
mother Marianne might still be hanging
her pot I'm the lodge. But all the hunt
ing lodges of our peoples were as COM
pletely lost as If 1 had entered another
world.
My head was bandaged, as I discovered
when I turned 1t to look around. Inc
walls were not the log walls of our lodge,
chinked with moss and topped by a bark
roof On the contrary they we're grander
than the inside of St. Regis church where
took my first communion, though that
was built of stone. These walls were pam
eled, as 1 learned afterward to call that
noble finishing, and ornamented with PIC
lures, and crystal sockets for candles.
The use of the crystal sockets was evil
dent for one shade wax light burned near
me- The ceiling was not composed OF
Conadian houses
but divided itself into panels also, re-
flecting the light with dark rosy shin
ing. Lace work finer than priests white
garments fiuttered at the windows.
l had dived early in the afternoon, and
1t was night. Instead of finding myself
still stripped for swimming. had loose
robe around me, and a coverlet drawn
up to my armpits The couch under me
was by no means of hemlock twigs and
skins. like our hunks at home. but soft
and rich. l wondered If / had died and
gone to heaven; and Just then the Virgin
moved past my head and stood looking
down at, me. l started to jump out OF
window. but felt so little power to move
that l only twitched and pretended to be
asleep, and watched her as we sighted
game, with eyes nearly shut. She had
poppet of a child on one arm that SAT
up instead of leaning against her shoul-
der and looked at me, too. The. poppet
had a cap on its head. and was dressed
in lace and she wore a white dress that
let her neck and arms out. but covered her
to the ground. This was remarkable, as
the Indian women covered their necks
and arms. and wore their petticoats short
I could see this image breathe, which was
a marvel and the color moving under
her white skin. Her eyes seemed to go
through you and search all the veins.
sending a SILVER of pleasure down your
back.
Now knew after the first start that she
was a living girl holding a living baby,
and when my father, Thomas Willlams'
appeared at the door of the room, 1t was
certain l could not be in heaven. 1t came
over me in a flash that 1 myself was
changed. In spite of the bandages my
head was as clear as If all its faculties
were washed and newly arranged. l could
look back into my life and perceive things
that I had only sensed as dumb brute
A fish thawed out after being frozen, ana
terminated through every sparkling scale
and tremulous fin, could not have felt
its resurrection more. keenly. MY broken
head gave me no trouble at all.
The girl and baby disappeared as soon
as I saw my father: which was not sur
prising for he could not be called pre-
possessing half-breed. His lower lip
protruded and hung sullenly. He had
heavy brows and a shaggy thatch OF halr
Our St Regis Iroquois kept to the DUCK
skins, though they often had hunting
shirts of fulled flannel: and my father
buckskins we're very dirty.
A little man, nat did not know was In
the room. shuffled across the floor to keep
nv father from entering. Around the
base of his head he had thin curtain
of hair scarcely reaching his shoulders.
His nose pointed upward. It's tip was the
shane of a candle extinguisher He wore
horn spectacles, and knee breeches, waist
coat and coat OF black like the Ink which
fades to brown in a drying ink horn. He
put his hands together and took them
apart uncertainty, and shot out his lip ana
frovned. as il he had an universal grudge
and dared not vent it.
He said something in language ala
not understand. and my father made no
answer. Then he began kind OF Anglo
French. worse than the patois we USED
at ST Regis when we did not speak lro-
auois. / made out the talk between the
two. understanding each without hesita-
ton.
Sir, who are you?"
THE chief, Thomas Williams" answer
ed my father. -,-
pardon me. sir; but you are unmis-
takably an Indian"
'Iroquois chief" said my father. MO
hawk" ,.-
THAT being the case, what authority
have YOU for calling yourself Ihomas
Williams?' challenged the little man.
THOMAS Williams is my name
''Impossible. sir! Skenedonk, the Oneida.
does not assume so much. He lays no
claim to William Jones or John smith,
or some other honest British name
The chief maintained silent dignity.
Come, sir, let me have your Indian
name; I can hear it if I cannot repeat
it."
silently contemptuous, my father turn
ed toward me.
stop. sir!' the man in the horn spec
tacIes cried What do you want!
II want my boy"
your boy? This lad is white.
.'My grandmother was white, conde'
seconded the chief. "A white prisoner
from Deerfield Eunice Williams
II see. sir. You get your Williams from
the Yankees. And is this lads mother
white, too?"
mo. Mohawk"
why. man, his body is like milk! He
is no son of yours