Boys’ Life, 1914 January (article)/en
He was “Tom” when he came into camp, but “we soon fixed that up,” as the fellows said.
Tom was fat, ruddy, noisy and impudent. There is an Indian lodge rule that he hadn't learned: “Keep silence before your elders, and speak softly when spoken to.”
Although a perfect stranger, and one of the younger fellows, Tom burst into camp, one day, with a loud “Hello, Chumps! what are you all looking so sad for? Bet I'l! stir ye up!”
All day long he kept it up; ridiculing everybody up to the danger point. One fellow was going off in a canoe, when Tom shouted: “Say, you lobster! le’ me show you how! Jackass! That ain’t the way!”
The answer he got was, “Mind your own business.”
This was a bigger fellow, so Tom went off to a safe distance and shouted out derisive remarks. Then he found a new field of exploit.
A very small boy had just carried a bucket of water up the hill from the spring. Tom thought it a fine joke to upset the water, but grumbled and complained when he had to bring two more buckets to replace it.
He tormented the very small boys; threw stones at birds; sassed the big boys, and talked and bragged, till everyone, even Tom’s own brother, was disgusted with him.
That night, it supper, the Chief called out to Tom:
“Say, you gasometer! we all concluded that you have distinguished yourself today, so we are going to give you a name. On behalf of this Council, I proclaim your name to be ‘Wissa-nodin,’ which means ‘Hot-air’, and your initiation will begin to-night.”
“Darn you! you better not call me names! I’ll—I’ll—” But he didn’t finish; he was jerked backward by two fellows, and a bucket of cold water was held over him.
“Now, one more sass word, and you get it!”
So Tom shut up; but, as soon as released, he began grumbling to the fellow next him, and was told he was a “gas-bag” and “a little coward.”
This made him break out again: “I am not a coward! You can’t scare me, if ye are bigger!”
Then the Chief said:
“Say, Hot-air-Wissa-nodin, we are going to initiate you to-night, and since yours is an unusual case, you'll get the tenth degree! You say you can’t be scared.”
“Yes, I did. You fellers is a lot of big bullies, but yer can’t scare me!”
“You are very brave, then?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How would you like to go out, tonight, and meet the Bear?”
“Yes, I'll go,” was the scornful reply; “ye can’t scare me with any fake bear!”
Now another fellow interposed: “No, no; he’s too young! Don’t do that; that’s serious.”
“He said he wasn’t scared,” replied the Chief.
“Yes, but make allowance for a fool. I know I shouldn’t like to meet that Bear.”
“You said you'd go, Wissa-nodin?” said the Chief.
“Y_—y—yes—I'll-yes, I'll go,” said Hot-air, without visible enthusiasm.
“All right; we'll send you about midnight.”
Wissa-nodin was ignored now, and other things talked of. Casually, one fellow asked: “Is there really a bear ’round here now? I thought it was shot last spring.”
“Not much, it was,” said one.
And another: “Sure! why Hogan’s calf was killed just yesterday, and he’s bound to come this way again for a meal tonight.”
“Not for me!” said a very big fellow.
“I don’t mind going to the Graveyard for my initiation; that’s only fun — but a bear that kills calves is getting too close to home.”
“I wouldn’t mind going if I had a rifle,” said a third.
“What! at night?”
“Oh, no; I didn’t know it was to be at night,” was the reply of the brave one. “Nixy!”
All evening the conversation turned on bears. All of it was in the hearing of Wissa-nodin; and as the woods darkened about them, the last remnant of his courage oozed out among the firewood.
The little fellows were sent to bed, but Wissa-nodin was told to sit by the fire and wait till his turn came. The fellows lowered their voices to hoarse whispers as they told of a previous Scout who went to meet the bear and never was seen again. “Only some grease-spots on a log, and a shoe, remained to tell the tale.”
Silence stole over the group. Then a long, distressing bellow came echoing through the woods, followed by another of shorter length.
“What’s that?” The fellows faced each other, wild-eyed and scared.
“That’s not a bear; it’s a calf. I’ll bet the bear is trying to catch him,” said one.
There was no use denying that; it was clear to everyone. Wissa-nodin had not spoken for some time; now he was too scared to make a sound.
Then one of the Council said in a hoarse whisper:
“Say, you fellows; this is no joke! I wouldn’t go out there to-night, in the black woods, for a farm. It ain’t fair to send that greasy little fool of a kid out there. You know perfectly well he’ll never come back.”
“That’s all right,” replied the Chief; “he’s been telling us all day how brave he was, and he wanted to meet that bear. I guess it’s up to him. Now, sonny, you start in five minutes.”
Hot-air was speechless, and cowered down onto his log.
A long, distressing wail came from the woods. It gave everyone a funny feeling in the hair.
“Now, you gasometer,” said the Chief, “get up and meet your fate! Here are two pieces of chalk, one for each hand.
If he grabs your right arm, use the left, and chalk him on the head. Then, next time we see the bear, we’ll know what happened. Have you any word for your parents? Your brother’ll tend to your things. Now we’ll see how bravely you can face death!”
“I—I—I—I—won’t—go!” Then Wissa-nodin broke down in a wild torrent of weeps and wails: “Ma—mamma—mamma—Oh, mamma! I want to go home!” he gasped out, in broken, bubbly sobs.
His surrender was complete, so one of the fellows was sent out to call in the bear. It was Wissa-nodin’s own brother.
Thus the first lesson was administered.
Next day they gave him a milder initiation, and whenever he seemed to balk, or was too ready to talk, some fellow would growl like a bear or bleat like a calf, and Wissa-nodin was reduced to a sulky silence.
They were all week initiating him; they gave him the tenth degree, and when they had him scorched in these many trials, he had learned two things, at least: to mind his own business and to hold his tongue.
Later, when he returned home, his father remarked a great change for the better, and even his fond mother admitted that Tom’s manners were improved by recent experiences.
In the next camp, that season, the improvement continued, and he gave promise of becoming quite a decent fellow. He was a very plump boy, and consequently had soon developed into a good swimmer, but this was the only department in which he excelled.
One day a canoe upset and the occupant was in danger of drowning, but a Scout on shore plunged in and brought back safely the unlucky canoeman.
“Who saved him?” was the cry from those farther back, and the astounding answer from the front was the single word, “Hot-air.”
He had been gaining in public esteem ever since he learned to keep his mouth shut; but still the ugly name “Hot-air” had stuck to him and galled him every day. Now, however, he saw his chance. Encouraged by general praise, and particularly by the Chief slapping him on the back like a brother, he said: “Say now, Deerfoot, won't you help me out? Haven't I won a better name than ‘Hot-air?’ You will, won't ye?”
“You bet I will!” was the cordial reply.
So that night, in Grand Council, they performed the great ceremony. They burnt the horrible nickname. He has never heard it since.
And, if you go in that camp and wish to find him, you can find him by the name of Tom, but there are two or three Toms, and so you better ask for Shingebis — the Diver — the Strongheart-at-home-on-the-Lake, and anyone will point him out.
