The Huron tribe were
a rather typical tribe of the Eastern woodlands. They were a hunting
and fishing tribe, and when their villages were built they were built to
last for a long time.
In this particular
village of the Hurons, there lived a young boy by the name of Singing
Eagle. Now as was the custom among most of the tribes of that area, a
young Indian child did not own any clothes at all until he reached the
age of ten.
This particular day
was to be a great one for Singing Eagle, but when he woke that late
summer morning, it was just another day for him.
After eating his
breakfast, he dashed away to play with the other children. Meanwhile
back at the wigwam, Singing Eagle’s mother, Early Dawn, was very busy
indeed. For many days and nights she had been working quite hard making
Singing Eagle his first real set of clothing.
Singing Eagle’s
father had hunted the big brown buck early last spring and his long
chase had finally been rewarded, when he was able to shoot and kill a
very fine large buck. Carefully skinning the buck, he had returned both
the skin and the meat to his wigwam, where his wife immediately set to
work tanning the skin in preparation for making it into a winter outfit
for young Singing Eagle.
When the skin had
been carefully tanned, Singing Eagle’s mother had fashioned from it a
pair of leggings. The leggings of the woodland Indian were made in
matched pairs. They covered the whole leg and fitted rather snugly and
were held up with a thong fastened to the waistbelt. The buckskin was
sewn together with threads of sinew.
The shirt, which
Singing Eagle’s mother was so proud of, had long sleeves and would reach
to Singing Eagle’s knees, but above all the shirt was beautifully
decorated with painted pictures. When Singing Eagle grew up, the
paintings would be upon his future shirts and beadwork would also be
added. The shirt was of buckskin.
Finally Singing
Eagle’s mother proudly held up, for her husband to see, the beautiful
moccasins. The moccasins of the woodland Indian were fashioned from one
piece of skin and were soft-soled and often these too were decorated
with beadwork. Here Singing Eagle’s mother had decided not to wait until
her son grew any more, but had put a beautiful beaded design on the toe
of each moccasin. This was to be a truly wonderful day.
After lunch, Singing
Eagle lay down to rest, for he had been playing very hard that morning
with the other children. When he awoke, he looked around and his eyes
fairly jumped from his head. There at the foot of his bed was his first
suit of clothing. Quickly he grasped them to him and hugged them,
feeling how soft and pliable they were, following the many days of work.
Quickly he slipped
into the clothes and when he was completely dressed, ran from the wigwam
to find his father and show him his beautiful clothes. Soon he found
his father at the edge of the village talking with two other braves of
the tribe. All excited, he pulled at his father’s sleeve until his
father turned and noticing the clothes, quickly changed his expression
from anger to one of surprise.
“How handsome you
look, my son. Your mother has done a fine job on your clothes. I wish
that my shirts were as beautiful as the one you now wear upon your back.
You look very much like a man now, my son.”
Singing Eagle was
very proud that his father had noticed his clothes and given him such
fine compliments. But time was wasting. As was customary when a young
Indian boy received his first full set of clothing to wear, the rest of
the day was spent in showing off his new clothes to his many friends.
And so that day, in a matter of a couple of hours, the whole Huron
village knew that Singing Eagle had his first real Indian suit, made
from a fine buck that his father had shot just for him.
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