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Authors: Lynne Reid Banks
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have thought he’d had a bitter disappointment.
He carried on just as usual, and was his usual self. He didn’t appear to be particularly moody or sad. He didn’t say a word more on the subject to Omri. The only way Omri knew he was still thinking about it was that he began to sketch Indians.
A pile of books appeared in the end room, the one at Omri’s and Gillons’ end of the house, the TV-free zone. Omri saw this one day when he was passing through from the stairs to the dining room. He paused to look. They were from the London Library, which sent out books to members. They were all about Indians. Some of them were illustrated. It was from these pictures that his dad was sketching.
But he wasn’t working much in his studio, which was highly unusual. He spent most of his free time in the end room, reading.
Omri sensed he didn’t want to be disturbed or questioned. But he couldn’t help himself. After a few more days, he just had to ask. He felt so bad, and it seemed his dad didn’t.
“Dad?”
“Hm?” said his dad, from the depths of a book called The Ambiguous Iroquois .
“What’s the point?”
His dad understood at once, and looked up at him. “The point, bub,” he said, “is to learn all I can.”
“But now we can’t go… ”
“I know. It’s tough. But I just feel I – owe it to him, somehow.”
Omri edged closer. “What have you found out?”
His father closed the book on his finger and leant his head back against the chair. “It’s a damn shame Little Bull didn’t belong to one of the tribes further west. Of course in the long term they were no better off, but the crunch hadn’t come for them in Little Bull’s time. There were still plenty of Indians living their lives in the old way, all across the American west, and that went on for decades, till ‘the West was won’, as the old movies say.
“But in the east things were different, and worse, because that’s where the first settlers from Europe landed. It was where the French and English wars happened, which the eastern tribes were involved in. By Little Bull’s era the settlers were really spreading west and the tribes were being driven away. Some were in danger of being wiped out.”
“Not the Iroquois!” exclaimed Omri in a shocked voice.
“How much have you read about the Six Nations?”
“A lot.”
“So you know that they had a seriously democratic type of government.”
“Oh, yes! Some people say the government of the US was based on it.”
“Well… I’m not so sure about that. But they made a confederacy with other tribes, that were related to them, in order to have peace and to co-operate with each other. They had laws and customs that, in some ways, were better than what white people had. The white settlers called them savages, but by the end of the eighteenth century the boot was on the other foot.”
“They used to be terribly cruel,” Omri said doubtfully. “I read—”
“Yes. Many of the tribes were cruel – they were very fierce and war-like. The Iroquois had a fearsome reputation. But according to the accounts of the few unprejudiced white men who travelled among them, they could show us a few things about civilized behaviour. Listen to this, I must just read you this – it really struck me.”
He put his book down, and picked up another called North American Indians . It had a number of slips of paper in it, marking particular places.
“The man who wrote this, George Catlin, was an artist. God! I’d love to think that if I’d lived then, I’d have done what he did! In the eighteen-thirties he travelled and lived among the tribes in the West, the ones who were still living as they always had, who hadn’t yet been shoved around and missionised and corrupted by the whites. But of course Catlin knew they were going to be. He’d seen what happened to the ones in the east. This whole book he wrote is full of sadness because he believed that the people he was painting the portraits
He carried on just as usual, and was his usual self. He didn’t appear to be particularly moody or sad. He didn’t say a word more on the subject to Omri. The only way Omri knew he was still thinking about it was that he began to sketch Indians.
A pile of books appeared in the end room, the one at Omri’s and Gillons’ end of the house, the TV-free zone. Omri saw this one day when he was passing through from the stairs to the dining room. He paused to look. They were from the London Library, which sent out books to members. They were all about Indians. Some of them were illustrated. It was from these pictures that his dad was sketching.
But he wasn’t working much in his studio, which was highly unusual. He spent most of his free time in the end room, reading.
Omri sensed he didn’t want to be disturbed or questioned. But he couldn’t help himself. After a few more days, he just had to ask. He felt so bad, and it seemed his dad didn’t.
“Dad?”
“Hm?” said his dad, from the depths of a book called The Ambiguous Iroquois .
“What’s the point?”
His dad understood at once, and looked up at him. “The point, bub,” he said, “is to learn all I can.”
“But now we can’t go… ”
“I know. It’s tough. But I just feel I – owe it to him, somehow.”
Omri edged closer. “What have you found out?”
His father closed the book on his finger and leant his head back against the chair. “It’s a damn shame Little Bull didn’t belong to one of the tribes further west. Of course in the long term they were no better off, but the crunch hadn’t come for them in Little Bull’s time. There were still plenty of Indians living their lives in the old way, all across the American west, and that went on for decades, till ‘the West was won’, as the old movies say.
“But in the east things were different, and worse, because that’s where the first settlers from Europe landed. It was where the French and English wars happened, which the eastern tribes were involved in. By Little Bull’s era the settlers were really spreading west and the tribes were being driven away. Some were in danger of being wiped out.”
“Not the Iroquois!” exclaimed Omri in a shocked voice.
“How much have you read about the Six Nations?”
“A lot.”
“So you know that they had a seriously democratic type of government.”
“Oh, yes! Some people say the government of the US was based on it.”
“Well… I’m not so sure about that. But they made a confederacy with other tribes, that were related to them, in order to have peace and to co-operate with each other. They had laws and customs that, in some ways, were better than what white people had. The white settlers called them savages, but by the end of the eighteenth century the boot was on the other foot.”
“They used to be terribly cruel,” Omri said doubtfully. “I read—”
“Yes. Many of the tribes were cruel – they were very fierce and war-like. The Iroquois had a fearsome reputation. But according to the accounts of the few unprejudiced white men who travelled among them, they could show us a few things about civilized behaviour. Listen to this, I must just read you this – it really struck me.”
He put his book down, and picked up another called North American Indians . It had a number of slips of paper in it, marking particular places.
“The man who wrote this, George Catlin, was an artist. God! I’d love to think that if I’d lived then, I’d have done what he did! In the eighteen-thirties he travelled and lived among the tribes in the West, the ones who were still living as they always had, who hadn’t yet been shoved around and missionised and corrupted by the whites. But of course Catlin knew they were going to be. He’d seen what happened to the ones in the east. This whole book he wrote is full of sadness because he believed that the people he was painting the portraits
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