THE WIGWAM

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 143, 7 September 1927, Page 6

THE WIGWAM

An Open Air Page For Big Girls and Boys

“LAKE WATER, LAPPING” BLACK Moccasin, I hear the dip of paddles and the lapping of broken water on the shores of the lake. Several canoes are approaching. Look forth, Black Moccasin, and tell me if my surmise is correct.” “You have spoken truly, O Chief. Already the newcomers are stepping ashore and the lake sinks again to its dreaming. Kat-h silver wake is gathered once more to its bosom, each whirling eddy is a story told.’’ “Then summon the children of the Wigwam, that we may welcome the strangers and bid them rest. . . . Ah, here is the good Brave, Laughing Wave, come homing from her own loved sea. Welcome, gentle one, with your gift of constancy. And Laughing Wind steps lightly in her wake. These twain must ever go together—the sea maid and the wanderer of wide oceans and springtide shores. . . . Stalwart one, make yourself known. What is your name?” “Swinging Pine, O Chief. I come from the far heights where the winds do not make merry. The icy blizzards have taught me patience, and patience lies at the root of all achievement. And I bring eourage—of the kind that bends, but never yields.” “Greetings, good Chief. The Wigwam lias long awaited your coming. . . . Blue Wing and Gliding Moccasin. . . Is it indeed you? Silver Heel has whispered of your swift night journey and how your voices rose and fell to the paddle song of your tribe. Since the breaking dawn I have listened for the sound of your canoe. . . . Let us seek the Wigwam that our hunger may be appeased, for last eve the forest called to the children of Redfeather, and lo! we found good hunting.” REDFEATHER.

GIRL GUIDES’ CORNER The Girl Guides’ stall in Queen Street presented a bright spectacle on Daffodil Day and the freshly-culled blooms found a. ready sale. So well patronised was this corner that £,16 12s was collected. The .VII Saints’ Troop held an evening at Ponsonby on Wednesday, August 24, seven enrolments taking place. The commissioner and ladies of the committee were in attendance, and the function concluded with the singing of "Taps,” the evening hymn of the Guides. On Tuesday, August 30, the St. Barnabas Ciirl Guides held a pound night at the Parish Hall, when a happy evening was spent with music and games, friends of the troop being well rc presented. At a recent Girl Guide function in Hamilton, Silver Heel (Daphne Dymock, of St. Peter's Company) was presented with the All Round Cord and First Class Badge. This is the first time such an honour has been won in the South Auckland district.

Silver Heel is one of our keenest Braves, and this week has brought two new members down the trail to the Wigwam.

Silver Ripple has forwarded the following account of the St. Francis visitors' evening, which was held last Saturday:

"We fell in at 7.30 and had roll call and inspection, then Senior Patrol Reader R. Calvert (Star Dust) signalled a message which was read out to the visitors by Patrol Reader G. Blackman.

Two girls were then enrolled and th'e leaders’ and other badges presented. Following a recitation and two da.nces by the visitors, the mock campfire ceremony was held. After prayers, supper was served and an enjoyable evening concluded at 9.30. Smoke Plume tells of the Wigwam members who were present at the gathering—Beaver Hunter, Glistening Spear, Star Dust. Silver Ripple, Morning Messenger and herself.

Siiver Moon, a new Guide-Brave, writes of a proposed tracking expedition to Birkdale next Saturday. The Awataha Company intend holding a pound night once it month, each Guide to contribute an item. Parents will be invited.

Silver Wing, a Christchurch Rone Guide, is now Brown Owl of the Opawa Brownie Pack. She writes: “I ]ook forward immensely to the meetings, and am as keen as the keenest Brownie. We had an enrolment ceremony three weeks ago. Seven Brownies were enrolled, and since that five more have joined and next week we hope to welcome about eight little girls from the Maori Girls’ College. T am going to cover a huge lampshade for otir totem pole, and Bee Stenning. another Done Guide, is painting the Brownie’s emblems for it. I am still keeping t.ie Rone Guides up. I wonder if you remember about my Nature Diary? I was very ashamed of it, but had to send it in. being Patrol Deader. Imagine my surprise when the postman brought me a book: ‘Rives of the Hunted’ (Ernest Seton). I had won the prize. • My Wigwam scrap-book is fast filling. I generally spend my Sunday evenings pasting poems, etc., in it. Did you know that Rittle Brown Moccasin is a pen-friend of mine? 1 wonder if spring means to come at all —but yes, I really believe I felt some magic in the air to-day. All our tinywild violets are out now, looking like a world of little people. T wish I could give you some—they' have a very special message which none of the big, cultivated ones can bring.” Girl Guides assisted in a great cocoon hunt at St. James’s Park. Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, Rendon, recently. For some time past these places have been overrun with caterpillars, which spoiled th«* beauty of the trees. A groat cocoon hunt was organised by the head of the College of Pesology, who stated that each cocoon taken in the spring would mean 200 fewer caterpillars later, so that if each of the thousand hunters accounted for 10 cocoons during the day two million caterpillars would be eliminated by their efforts. As a matt ‘r of fact, 30,000 cocoons were collected, so that about six million caterpillars were accounted for. There were Boy Scouts and Girl Guides. Wolf Cubs and Brownies, Boy Brigadiers and Rife Boys, boys from Barnardo’s Homes, boys and girls from elementary schools, all armed with long bamboo poles with which to dislodge the cocoons and furnished with paper bags to put them in. The hunt started and finished to the sound of bugles. There were some minor casualties, and many small people were unsually glad to go to bed at the end of the day. Until next Wednesday', my faithful —REDFEAT HER.

OF INTEREST TO SCOUTS In St. James’s Hall, Wellington Street, at 7.30 p.m. on Thursday, September 8, a concert will be tendered by St. James’s Troop and friends, when an attractive and varied programme will be presented. Commissioner R. C. Grigsby will attend and deliver an address. The scouts are to be congratulated on their splendid achievement on Daffodil Day, when, as a result of the sales at the various stalls, £BB was realised. The Pukekohe Troop showed their interest in Daffodil Day by forwarding to headquarters for sale on the scout stalls one and a-half hundredweight of the finest selection of varied spring blooms. The patrol leaders held their monthly conference at the Boy Scout Club Room last Saturday evening, 39 leaders being present. Patrol Reader Collins, of the Grey Rynn Troop, was in the chair.

Discussions were held on life-saving rescue work, knotting and splicing, methods of camping and the desirability of a general field day for the Auckland Central District scouts. New games were played, and campfire songs were sung, the meeting closing with the National Anthem. The football match, played between St. Barnabas’ and St. Aidan’s Troops on Saturday, September 3, resulted in a win for St. Barnabas, their points totalling 33. The St. Aidan’s boys did not manage to cross; the line. At Mount Eden on Daffodil Day, the troop collected approximately £9 10s 6d. Mr. E. Croft has been appointed as-sistant-scoutmaster. From Glistening Spear, patrol leader in St. Francis Troop, comes the following scouting news: “Our expedition up One Tree Hill came off successfully. We had two tracking games, a game of rounders and practised some signalling. On Saturday' we hoped to go to Takapuna, where a suitable place for lighting fires is known of, as we wished to complete our second-class tests, but the trip did not take place as the bush was too wet for such an expedition. The date for our first church parade has been definitely fixed for September 25, and we will probably hold a visitors’ evening in October to raise funds for the Christmas camp. We have now an assistant-scoutmas-ter, Mr. Calvert. On Saturday last, at the vsitors* evening held by the St. Francis Girl Guides. I met two of the keenest members of the Wigwam—Beaver Hunter,' of St. David's Troop, and Black Wolf, an Avondale scout. Rittle Cub Hunter, a new scout chief, writes: “I am in the Owl Patrol in the Oaehunga Town Troop and have my Tenderfoot and Second Class Badges. I am also going for my Pathfinder a.nd Signaller Badges. "There are four patrols in the troop, the Owls, the Foxes, the Panthers and the Wolves, and we are all going for a shield. The patrol that has the most marks at the end of November wins the shield. "We have a church parade every last Sunday in the month at different churches. We also have a journal founded by the troop called ‘The Totem.* The next one is coming out in December.” The Avondale troop intends holding a pound night on September 30. Black Wolf, of this troop, lias now several more badges to his credit.— Handyman’s, Cook’s, Missioner’s and Ambulance. Swinging Pine, a new chief, lias also passed his ambulance test, thus be- ! coming a King Scout—the third to win this honour in the Avondale Troop. The Tauranga No. 2 Troop has been in existence only nine months, but has made rapid progress in that time. Fifteen boys have passed the second-class test, and their proficiency for the ambulance badge. Six of them have won the Pathfinder’s badge, nine the En- | tertainer’s, eight the Cyclist’s and one is in possession of the Oarsman's badge. The next camp will be held at Roto- ; rua, commencing early in January. The assistant-cubmaster of St. Alban's Pack has forwarded the following cub news for insertion in this column:—"St. Alban’s Wolf Cubs held a very- enjoyable evening last Wednesday. when Mrs. Addis, a Cubber and Akela leader from England, paid us a visit c t our hall. Mrs. Addis, who has had a great deal to do with cubs, had several new games as well as different ways of doing some of our work for us to learn. We were sorry when the time came for us to dismiss, and hope Mrs. Addis will -again favour us with a visit in the near future.’’ —Redfeather. That God loves laughter more than te irs Is very plain to see, A million buttercups He rears For one sad cypress tree.

SONGS OF THE SIOUX Outward, outward, in the morning, ere the great red sun could rise, to the chase beyond the river, went the Sioux, old and wise. But alas, his hands were empty, fleet the deer that led him on, and ’twere vain that he should follow where the antlered stag had gone .... It was evening by the river, when through breaking mists afar, ushered in like some new promise, rose a single i faint red star .... Swift a memory i shaft went passing through the active | Sioux mind .... Surely this was some | sweet token for the Sioux eyes to find. Well he knew the cherished Totem, carved upon the wondrous bole: "Red Star —child of Chief Redfeather”—thus ’twas on the Totem Pole. He; had seen the magic markings, numbered with a thousand more; cherished names carved true and deeply, close beside the Wigwam door .... “Greetings, Red Starl” cried the Sioux. “O that this voice could be heard! To the maid beside the river, take my message, singing bird! Say that in the distant Wigwam, hands are oft outstretched to her; say that at the dawn’s awakening, kindly thoughts as oft recur." What though hunters’ hands be empty! Speed thou on, O swift red deer; some sweet bird shall bear my message for the maid, Red Star, to hear . . . Rove shall be like light of morning, intervening mists shall fly; eyes shall see the friendly token, gleaming in a cloudless sky. —Sitting Bull. MUSIC AND POETRY TOM-TOMS AND DRUMS Redfeather! My ever wandering feet have again stumbled on to the path that leads to the tepees of the tribes of the Sacred Circle. O, Great Chief, 1 bring you greetings—greetings from the dryads of the forests arid the spirits of the swamps. . . Once, when I was a small boy, O Chief, I heard an old whaler say: . . And we were the first that ever burst into that silent sea.’’

Whenever I am in any out of the way place on land or sea, I always remember that and wonder if I shall ever burst into a silent sea where no man has yet been . . . Music and poetry always seem to have some strange power—to inspire and force one on to greater things. In the old day, did not the soldier march to the throb of the drum? Do not the savages beat their tom-toms when they are excited? The tom-toms, so white men # ly, always seem to belaughing at the whites, daring them on, jesting at them when they fail, and telling them as they get further and further inland that they are only there for a space. My Grandfather often tells me how he marched to the throb of the drum and of the power it had to force his tired feet on. Once only, I heard “Chantilly" played on the piano. There was an old man with me at the time. His back straightened, his eyes gleamed with the lust of battle and his heels clicked together like those of a soldier. *—Black Moccasin.

THE NEWCOMERS Redfeather, Chief of tlie Rost Tribes. Greetings, O wise one ... It is nowmany moons since I came to the Wigwam and many changes have taken place, but hist! Even as I come, strange voices are wafted to me by the evening breeze, voices that ripple with the laughter of romance and stir into life the hidden spirit of wild things which has slept in our hearts for numberless years. As I round the bond in he forest path, I behold a great gathering of Chiefs and Braves who have come to join our faithful tribes. Advancing, I give the mystic sign and offer my greetings to them all. Strange faces peer at me from the shadows. Strange names are on the lips of our Chief, but these in time will grow familiar to me and become stamped upon my memory as they are stamped upon the Totem Pole. —Rising Torrent. Many boys and girls must have wondered why the photographer uses a ruby lamp in his dark room. We can handle plates or films freely in ruby light, yet an instant’s flash of daylight will produce an image in the camera. The simple explanation is that a photographic plate is not affected by red light, though marvellously sensitive to v.olet or blue.

THE CALL The sun goes down beyond the purple fell. A wind has blown the lark into a cloud; One backward look will serve to say fare well To the dark valley that my fathers ploughed. The house they built Is empty. I must Over the twilit moorland till I find The breas;t of eve, where I may learn to know What thing it is that gives men peace of mind. The last light trembles in the farther This is the night, the hour I dare not lose. A hand has beckoned me, I know not where, A voice has spoken, but I know not whose. EDWARD DAVISON. We are bade, in immortal and beautiful words, to consider the lilies of the field, how they grow, and there is no sublimer sight that the eye can look upon. Yet the wonder of the weed is no less than the wonder of the lilies, for the hand of Nature has expended equal energy in the production of both.

IN SWIFT CANOE A silent form slipped through the shrouding darkness. In her hand she carried the hunting knife of the Mohawk. Long, gliding steps carried her to the back of one of the tepees. With a quick, furtive movement she slashed open the skin covering and stepped inside. “Blue Wing. Blue Wing,” she called, softly. A low moan greeted her and in a moment she was kneeling at the side of a small Indian maiden, huddled in the corner. “O Blue Wing, little sister, may the Great Spirit never smile on the Muskogee," murmured Gliding Moccasin, as deftly she cut the bonds from about the smaller girl.. “May the Great Spirit never forget the day when the Muskogee attacked the Mohawk. But hearken, little one . . . Gliding Moccasin has heard of a Wigwam where ail may live in safety and where the Muskogee dare not enter. Come, little flower, all is ready for us to follow the trail." Hand in hand the two crept out into the darkness. Many moons had passed since the warlike Muskogee tribe, the terror of all law-abiding Indians, had swooped down on the Mohawk encair%pment. The Chief, Ironheart, had been slain and the rest of the tribe taken prisoners. Gliding Moccasin, owing to her graceful dancing, had been elected to amuse the chief —hence her liberty. The tribe had feasted greatly and were now sleeping heavily from the effects of fire-water. The time was ripe for Blue Wing and Gliding Moccasin to make their escape. Their moccasins made no sound as they flitted through the trees toward the Brook of Whispering Voices. In a few minutes they had launched a canoe and were floating swiftly down stream. Only the rhythmic dip of the paddles broke the stillness. Once they were out of reach of the encampment, they began to croon the songs that had lived in their tribe for generations. Their voices rose and fell on the quiet air as they sang the song of the paddle: "Be strong. O paddle, be brave, canoe, The reckless waves you must plunge into; Reel, reel. On your trembling keel . . . Our hearts have never a fear for you.” As the sun rose out of the Rake of Many Waters and warmed the sky to a soft pink glow, the frail craft neared the Wigwam. As the canoe grated on the sand, a thousand voices rang out in welcome. Redfeather, as ever, stood ready to greet the newcomers. —SILVER HEEL. NOCTURNAL CREATURES Quite a number of animals, and some other birds besides owls, are nocturnal in their habits—that is to say, they are adapted for living their lives generally during the hours of night. If we want to understand why an animal comes out at night, or why it comes out in the daytime, we must, as a rule, ask ourselves: What is it that makes an animal active at one time of the day rather than at another? The answer to the question is generally to be found in the search for food. So it is in the case of the owls. Owls chiefly feed upon mice and other small creatures that are active during the hours of the night, and so the owl, with its peculiar noiseless flight, due to the fact that its plumage is so soft, comes out at night in search of food. It is because of this habit that the pupils of the owl’s eye are adapted for seeing at night, being made to open very widely to catch every ray of light there may be.

THE GREEN-CLAD WARRIOR In a wigwam in the woods of North America there once lived a very contented family of the Chippeway tribe Father and mother, brothers and sisters, all loved each other and the good things of the earth—the sunshine, the cool springs, and forests. As for cold and hunger, they were cheerfully borne. Yet in those days and Chippeways suffered great hardships, for they had no idea of growing grain, and lived only by hunting. When Indian boys reach the age of fourteen they go into some lonely place to fast and meditate on the life before them. The eldest son of the family was now old enough to fulfil this custom. One day his father walked far into the woods with him, built a little wigwam, and told the boy he would bring food in a week’s time. Left alone, the boy spent his time in praying to the Great Spirit. Without ceasing he begged to be allowed to serve his tribe. It was not glory in battle, fortune in hunting, or wealth in possessions that he desired, but only, in some way, to make life less hard for others. When the third day of his fast came the lad was week, and could only lie in a kind of dream. All at once the curtains of the wigwam were parted, and a young Indian warrior entered. The plumes of his liead-dress, his mantle, his moccasins were all green. “When he spoke his voice was like the rush of breezes through boughs and reeds. He said: “The Great Spirit has heard your prayers. I have come to try your courage. Rise and wrestle with me.” The boy got to his feet, and a long silent struggle began. At last the stranger said: “That is enough for today. I will return to-morrow. The next evening they wrestled again, and now the lad seemed to gain strength from the touch of his adversarv, though before the stranger came he had hardly the power to rise. The green-clad warrior praised him, and promised to come back. Things fell out as before on the following evening, and on the seventh day of the fast the warrior came once more- The lad was utterly exhausted by lack of food, but he pulled himself up the moment his visitor arrived, and directly they came to grips his strength returned. He determined to throw his opponent that night, and tussled so stoutly that the other fell. The lad knelt by him, filled with horror to see that the warrior was dying. But the stranger smiled on him and said: “Do not grieve. You shall see my green plumes again. But if you want me to live once more you must bury me, and keep my grave covered with clean, moist earth. When I have slept my fill I will break through it, and return to the sun.” So he breathed his last, and the boy obeyed his instructions with a heavy heart. His father brought him food, and they returned together to the family and every-day life. But the boy never forgot to visit bis friend’s grave, to weed and water it. Only he kept the thing secret, fearing lest people should say that he had dreamed of the warrior’s visit in his weakness. One day, after a week spent in hunting, the boy returned to the grave, and 10. it was covered with green plumes! When he drew near he saw they were broad leaves, but he had never seen the like, and he did not disturb their growth. The day came when golden tassels swung from them, and lie brought his father to see. The elder man looked and listened. “Son,” he said, “This is a gift from the Great Spirit to the people.” And, that say the Chippeways, is how maize was given to the Indians.