Post by Californian on Nov 4, 2018 18:21:10 GMT -5
Joseph Fly, grandson of Sitting Bull by his daughter Her Many Horses [1863-1888] and Thomas Fly. He was an accomplished pianist, briefly attended Hampton Institute and Carlisle (expelled from the latter). He was born at Fort Randall in 1883 and died of consumption (pneumonia) aged 29 in 1912. He penned an essay about his grandfather Sitting Bull in the school publication at Hampton Institute "Talks and Thoughts of the Hampton Indian Students" (Vol. 15, No. 8 - January 1902) which is transcribed hereon below:
A Kind Grandfather. – Essay by Joseph Fly, “Talks and Thoughts of the Hampton Indian Students”, Vo. 15, No. 8, January 1902
A Reminiscence of Sitting Bull's Grandson.
About ten years ago when I was six years old l was out playing in the wood, I was gay as a bird, singing the only song I knew. It was towards evening. I heard my aunt calling so ran up to the bank and saw her. She told me that my grandfather had come from my father’s home to take me back. So I ran home as fast as my feet could run and there I saw my dear old grand father, Sitting Bull. He told me that my father was going away to Black Horse Hill and that he wanted to take me along, so I got ready. I put on my moccasins, my fur mittens, and buck-skin parts. And my grand-father put me on the back of the horse and we started on our trip. It seemed to me that it would never come to an end. When I was tired he would stop and give me rest for a while on the way. My grandfather was very kind to me. He would not ride the horse himself but led it all the way. I was after sundown now and I felt pretty hungry, so we stopped and had some pounded meat (wasna) to eat. Then my grandfather took his pipe and smoked while I was playing around him. The moon had stolen from behind the clouds and lighted up the atmosphere. Oh! How beautiful everything looked! A little ways was a creek, said to be haunted, which I of course was afraid to go through. But my grandfather said it was not so. I used to believe everything that I was told. It was said that a woman dressed in white was buried there and came to haunt the little creek. Quite a little ways from it was a house. I told my grandfather I would like to stay there over night, but he told me we must reach home before dawn, so we passed the house. On our way to the little creek, as we came to it we began to see something white standing in our road. I began to shudder and tremble from head to foot; he began to snort and prick his ears up. The ran off the road and tried to run away but my grandfather tied a handkerchief around his eyes and led him back to the road. As we went along the white object began to move, but my fears were over when I saw that the ghost was only a white calf which had gone astray to the creek to get a drink. We passed the creek in safety and all night we went our way through the moonlight. I had never felt so happy before. I asked my grandfather if he would like to ride with me, but he said he would rather walk by my side. A little ways more then we will be home. Again we sit down and take a bite of pounded meat and some bread and little bacon which my grandfather carrier in his wallet. It is not very far, and says he, we will reach home in a short while, so he sits down and lights his pipe and smokes; he also tells of wondrous tales of the war with the Crows, one of which he told me had been told to him. Of course I did not realize what he was saying but I remember what he told. I think there must be some truth in it. He told me that the Sioux's were once in camp. They were ready to fight any time they would hear the words, “Crows are coming!” They had started on the war-path the very night they had camped, so they took their arrows, hatchets and ropes and started on the trail. As they were going along silently they seemed to hear someone singing. They stopped and heard the voice of someone that seemed to be singing behind the hill they were passing, so they went to the spot whence the sounds came from. When they reached the place where it was, the singer was an old coyote sitting on his hind legs. They went to it, but it never moved from its place. They sat around the coyote and saw that there were some cactus thorns in his feet. They pulled them out for him and stuck some tobacco around the place where the coyote was sitting. They spread a blanket and set him on the blanket. They painted his tail with red clay and gave it something to eat. Then they began to ask the coyote to help them on the war trail, but he never said a word to them. Afterward they went on and left the coyote sitting on the blanket. They went to the Crows camp and took their best horses and too scalps of some of them and started home. Next morning they came to the place where the coyote had been sitting, but it was not there. All that was left was the blanket which it was sitting on, the things were gone. Then they began to think that the Great Spirit had sent him to help them. “Since that time” says my grandfather “the Crows were always beaten in every fight.” Well it is nearly day dawn and we go on with our trip; and soon I was safe asleep in bed, because I had been tired by sitting on the back of the horse most of the night. My grandfather must have been tired by walking all the way. I think it was kind of him to do such a thing for his little grandson. Joseph Fly.
A Kind Grandfather. – Essay by Joseph Fly, “Talks and Thoughts of the Hampton Indian Students”, Vo. 15, No. 8, January 1902
A Reminiscence of Sitting Bull's Grandson.
About ten years ago when I was six years old l was out playing in the wood, I was gay as a bird, singing the only song I knew. It was towards evening. I heard my aunt calling so ran up to the bank and saw her. She told me that my grandfather had come from my father’s home to take me back. So I ran home as fast as my feet could run and there I saw my dear old grand father, Sitting Bull. He told me that my father was going away to Black Horse Hill and that he wanted to take me along, so I got ready. I put on my moccasins, my fur mittens, and buck-skin parts. And my grand-father put me on the back of the horse and we started on our trip. It seemed to me that it would never come to an end. When I was tired he would stop and give me rest for a while on the way. My grandfather was very kind to me. He would not ride the horse himself but led it all the way. I was after sundown now and I felt pretty hungry, so we stopped and had some pounded meat (wasna) to eat. Then my grandfather took his pipe and smoked while I was playing around him. The moon had stolen from behind the clouds and lighted up the atmosphere. Oh! How beautiful everything looked! A little ways was a creek, said to be haunted, which I of course was afraid to go through. But my grandfather said it was not so. I used to believe everything that I was told. It was said that a woman dressed in white was buried there and came to haunt the little creek. Quite a little ways from it was a house. I told my grandfather I would like to stay there over night, but he told me we must reach home before dawn, so we passed the house. On our way to the little creek, as we came to it we began to see something white standing in our road. I began to shudder and tremble from head to foot; he began to snort and prick his ears up. The ran off the road and tried to run away but my grandfather tied a handkerchief around his eyes and led him back to the road. As we went along the white object began to move, but my fears were over when I saw that the ghost was only a white calf which had gone astray to the creek to get a drink. We passed the creek in safety and all night we went our way through the moonlight. I had never felt so happy before. I asked my grandfather if he would like to ride with me, but he said he would rather walk by my side. A little ways more then we will be home. Again we sit down and take a bite of pounded meat and some bread and little bacon which my grandfather carrier in his wallet. It is not very far, and says he, we will reach home in a short while, so he sits down and lights his pipe and smokes; he also tells of wondrous tales of the war with the Crows, one of which he told me had been told to him. Of course I did not realize what he was saying but I remember what he told. I think there must be some truth in it. He told me that the Sioux's were once in camp. They were ready to fight any time they would hear the words, “Crows are coming!” They had started on the war-path the very night they had camped, so they took their arrows, hatchets and ropes and started on the trail. As they were going along silently they seemed to hear someone singing. They stopped and heard the voice of someone that seemed to be singing behind the hill they were passing, so they went to the spot whence the sounds came from. When they reached the place where it was, the singer was an old coyote sitting on his hind legs. They went to it, but it never moved from its place. They sat around the coyote and saw that there were some cactus thorns in his feet. They pulled them out for him and stuck some tobacco around the place where the coyote was sitting. They spread a blanket and set him on the blanket. They painted his tail with red clay and gave it something to eat. Then they began to ask the coyote to help them on the war trail, but he never said a word to them. Afterward they went on and left the coyote sitting on the blanket. They went to the Crows camp and took their best horses and too scalps of some of them and started home. Next morning they came to the place where the coyote had been sitting, but it was not there. All that was left was the blanket which it was sitting on, the things were gone. Then they began to think that the Great Spirit had sent him to help them. “Since that time” says my grandfather “the Crows were always beaten in every fight.” Well it is nearly day dawn and we go on with our trip; and soon I was safe asleep in bed, because I had been tired by sitting on the back of the horse most of the night. My grandfather must have been tired by walking all the way. I think it was kind of him to do such a thing for his little grandson. Joseph Fly.
