Autobiographies; Boys -- Biography; Country life; New England
John was not naturally very cruel, and it was probably the love of
display quite as much as of fighting that led him into a military
life; for he in common with all his comrades had other traits of the
savage. One of them was the same passion for ornament that induces
the African to wear anklets and bracelets of hide and of metal, and to
decorate himself with tufts of hair, and to tattoo his body. In John's
day there was a rage at school among the boys for wearing bracelets
woven of the hair of the little girls. Some of them were wonderful
specimens of braiding and twist. These were not captured in war, but
were sentimental tokens of friendship given by the young maidens
themselves. John's own hair was kept so short (as became a warrior)
that you couldn't have made a bracelet out of it, or anything except
a paint-brush; but the little girls were not under military law, and
they willingly sacrificed their tresses to decorate the soldiers they
esteemed. As the Indian is honored in proportion to the scalps he can
display, the boy at John's school was held in highest respect who could
show the most hair trophies on his wrist. John himself had a variety
that would have pleased a Mohawk, fine and coarse and of all colors.
There were the flaxen, the faded straw, the glossy black, the lustrous
brown, the dirty yellow, the undecided auburn, and the fiery red.
Perhaps his pulse beat more quickly under the red hair of Cynthia Rudd
than on account of all the other wristlets put together; it was a sort
of gold-tried-in-the-fire color to John, and burned there with a steady
flame. Now that Cynthia had become a Christian, this band of hair
seemed a more sacred if less glowing possession (for all detached hair
will fade in time), and if he had known anything about saints he would
have imagined that it was a part of the aureole that always goes with
a saint. But I am bound to say that, while John had a tender feeling
for this red string, his sentiment was not that of the man who becomes
entangled in the meshes of a woman's hair; and he valued rather the
number than the quality of these elastic wristlets.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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