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Nine Years Among the Indians, 1870-1879: The Story of the Captivity and Life of a Texan Among the Indians
Here is a genuine Little Big Man story, with all the color, sweep, and tragedy of a classic American western. It is the tale of Herman Lehmann, a captive of the Apaches on the Southern Plains of Texas and New Mexico during the 1870s. Adopted by a war chief, he was trained to be a warrior and waged merciless war on Apache enemies, both Indian and Euro-American. After killing an Apache medicine man in self-defense, he fled to a lonely hermitage on the Southern Plains until he joined the Comanches. Against his will, Lehmann was returned to his family in 1879. The final chapters relate his difficult readjustment to Anglo life.
Lehmann's unapologetic narrative is extraordinary for its warm embrace of Native Americans and stinging appraisal of Anglo society. Once started, the story of this remarkable man cannot be put down. Dale Giese's introduction provides a framework for interpreting the Lehmann narrative.
Lehmann's unapologetic narrative is extraordinary for its warm embrace of Native Americans and stinging appraisal of Anglo society. Once started, the story of this remarkable man cannot be put down. Dale Giese's introduction provides a framework for interpreting the Lehmann narrative.
264 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1899
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May 4, 2024
Hermann Lehmann was captured by Apache Indians at the age of 12 and subsequently became a member of the tribe. The process of assimilation wasn't easy, but with time he advanced from a slave who does dirty chores to an Apache warrior. At some point he had to leave the tribe in order to avoid blood vengeance. After months of living in a solitary hiding, he joined Comanches who adopted him into the tribe and considered him one of their own, even after he had been returned to his native family (rather unwillingly).
Herman Lehmann wrote this memoir when he was about 70 years old. Even though the story has been edited by the publisher and is not free of moralizing passages about Indian savages, mostly it rings quite true and sincere. It's fascinating to become acquainted with Lehmann's unique insider's perspective: he tells about Apaches and Comanches way of life, their hatred for palefaces (which Lehmann fully shared), the reasons for this hatred (which were plenty as the palefaces drove Indians away from their traditional hunting grounds and threatened their very survival by exterminating buffalos), the cruelty of the Indians towards palefaces and vice versa and many more.
This is not a pleasant or beautiful or romantic story -- it's definitely not for tender-hearted or squeamish. But if you have an open mind and are interested in somebody's first hand experience even if it doesn't fully coincide with your preconceived ideas of Native American wisdom or Frontier mythology, this is an excellent read.
Sometime at the middle of the book I marked a quote, and then went on a quoting spree -- couldn't help myself.
we were driven into the Wichita Mountains, but even there the red man, the one to whom this country and all of its wealth and riches rightly belongs, could not stop even among the mountains. He must bow to the inevitable. He must give up to greater numbers, superior skill and improved firearms.
I was astonished by this parallel with the kosher dietary restrictions:
A medicine man thinks he can’t be killed, that he is proof against his enemy as long as he refrains from eating swine. I thought, too, that he could not be killed.
When I cut the meat I was cautious not to offend the Great Spirit. If an Indian cuts or punches a hole in a piece of meat before or while he is cooking it, he has offended the Great Spirit, and is sure to have some misfortune on the trip. If anybody in the camp with Indians pushes a stick through meat to cook it, he is immediately banished from the camp, if not killed.
I would lie down at night and spend hours watching the great celestial panorama, the thousands of bright orbs, enclusterings and configurations of exceeding beauty. I would look at the great starry vault, this blue dome, and then at my shield, and I would see that the larger stars occupied the same position on my shield that they did in the heavens, and thus on cloudy days my shield served as a compass as well as a protector.
As he was secretly watching the Comanches and considering joining them:
The Indians seated around were talking and laughing, and seemed to be in high good humor. As a rule the Comanches are a fun-loving people and enjoy a good laugh, while the Apaches are morose and never laugh except when someone is hurt or some calamity befalls them.
I made them a big speech, in which I told them I was an Indian, I ate raw meat and I drank the warm blood of the wolf to give me the ferocity of that animal; that I poisoned my arrows with the venom of the rattlesnake to make sure that they would kill the hated white man when they sped toward him. My talk pleased them, and sitting in a circle we smoked the pipe of peace.
After smoking we all stood up, and marching around we placed our right hands over our hearts and then raised them toward the heavens. This process began slowly, but as we marched we struck a lively step, striking our breasts repeatedly and raising our hands very much like the school children now do in modem calisthenics. This was kept up for some time no doubt to see how much I could endure and then I was led before the chief for a kind of an obligation, in which I promised faithfully to perform all the duties of a Comanche warrior, to help provide for, protect and defend those with whom I was entrusted and surrounded, and to obey my chief in all things, in peace and in war.
Thus I was adopted into the tribe, and became a Comanche. I have remained a Comanche ever since, and those same privileges which were bestowed upon me in that solemn hour are mine to this day, and I am recognized by all Comanches as a tribesman, whenever I want to claim my tribe relationship. I was given a Comanche name, Montechena, and that name appears today on the tribal records in Washington—Montechena Herman Lehmann. I was allowed the privilege of selecting the family with whom I was to live and become a member of, and after looking them over I selected Cotopah, who could speak Apache, as my brother, and I have never regretted my choice, for Cotopah proved himself to be a brother in many ways.
In three or four days we overtook the squaws and children with the camp equipage, and as soon as they learned that several of the warriors with our party had been killed they set up a wailing and began gashing themselves with knives. We lost three braves on this raid, and when we got back to the tribe we had no war dance.
The Comanches and Tonkaways had been at war a long time, and the Tonkaways had been nearly exterminated. The hatred the Tonkaway had for the Comanche was fierce, for they blamed the Comanche for all of their misfortunes and eventually made a treaty with the white people and combined with them to exterminate the Comanche, acting as scouts and trailers and warriors for the whites.
We took possession of the camp, and what do you suppose we found on that fire, roasting? One of the legs of a Comanche! A warrior of our tribe! Our chief gave the cry for vengeance, and we all joined in the chorus. We immediately gave chase. No martial music fascinated our little band and urged us to victory. But one look at those stem faces and drawn muscles would have shown that they meant to utterly annihilate their enemy. The Tonkaways had collected in a ravine and were prepared to receive our charge with a deadly fire, which for a moment checked our onrush; down would come a horse, over would tumble the rider, but on, on, we came, in our frenzy. At first I was terrified, and it seemed like I could not face death that way, but I was in the front rank and my comrades in the rear pressed me onward. Then I caught the spirit of vengeance. I became enraged, spurred on my steed and fought courageously.
One of the Tonkaways rode out of the ravine to challenge a single combat. A Comanche made a dash at him, but fell mortally wounded. Another went and received a death blow. It seemed like human blood had made the Tonkaway bold, and somehow our shields would not ward off his bullets, but the third warrior to advance got him. At this single combat, by seemingly general consent, a cessation took place and at this recess every warrior loaded his gun and prepared for eventualities. The combat between the two warriors was of but short duration, and when the Tonkaway brave fell there went up a yell from both sides, exultant from us, a yell of rage from the Tonkaways, and in a very few seconds we were in a hand-to-hand conflict with the Tonkaways.
We hunted for a while, replenished our stock of buffalo robes, moccasins, wigwams, and other necessities. The women did all of the work, except making bows, arrows, tomahawks and pipes. We robbed several buffalo hunters’ camps, leaving the owners destitute and afoot
Much has been said and written about Quanah Parker, who became a great Comanche chief. Quanah was the son of Cynthia Ann Parker, a white girl who was captured at Parker’s Fort in 1835, and retaken some twenty-eight years later when the Rangers under Sul Ross had a big fight with the Comanches.
Down near Smoothing Iron Mountain we took twenty-five horses, tore down some fences and left things like we believed the Great Spirit intended them to be, free and open. The Indians believed that if the Great Spirit had wanted the country enclosed He would have fenced it.
In these days of modern ways people get shot just about as they got shot in olden times, and there is usually a woman at the bottom of the trouble. And a beautiful Indian maiden was the cause of me catching an arrow in my knee, some time after I joined the Comanches. Topay was her name, and for her I had a passing fancy. It soon passed. Her father did not take well to our courtship; in fact, he told me to stay away from her and let her alone, but I would not.
I had told my sweetheart about the threats her father had made and asked her if we should not be more cautious, but she said he would not hurt me, although he might try to scare me. I was whispering sweet words of love to her and enjoying Elysian bliss here on earth when suddenly I felt a rough kick, and I needed not a second hint for I knew it was the toe of the girl’s father’s moccasin. Out I went, leaving a pretty considerable hole in the tent. The old man filled up the door and I was compelled to go out under the bottom of the tepee. I went around the tent one way and he came around the other, and as we met he let fly an arrow which pierced me in the knee. I sank to the ground, unable to walk. The wound was very painful and I was lame from it for a long time. The girl came to me and took her place by my side, and rebuked her father for treating me in such a brutal manner. The old man weakened, forgave us for sparking on the sly, pulled out the arrow, and showed his regrets in many ways, even to the extent of offering to let me take the girl for my squaw if I would give him two ponies. But I “shied off,” and have been afraid of women ever since.
When an Indian chose a wife, in both the Apache and Comanche tribes, he had to purchase the girl from her parents with horses. A brave would fall in love with a maiden and he would approach her father and make his wants known by offering him a certain number of horses for the girl, and if his proposition was accepted he would deliver the horses, take the girl and conduct her to his tepee. There was no religious ceremony, no demonstration, no incantations, or anything else to make the marriage impressive or of more than passing interest. The buck had procured the squaw, and the squaw had found a master.
Children were often born to Apache squaws who were with raiding parties. The Indians would permit their squaws to go with them on their raids, and if it so happened that a child was born the squaw would be left to take care of herself as best she could, or if another squaw was in the party and chose to remain with her sister in distress, she was allowed to do so. Within a reasonable time the squaw and her papoose would come into camp and there would be rejoicing if the papoose happened to be a male child, because that meant a future warrior.
Comanche women were kinder to their children, and the births usually occurred in the villages. A woman in delicate health was not allowed to accompany her warrior on a raid, but had to remain in camp until the looked-for event happened. They carefully nourished the new-born babe and bestowed upon their children, male and female, that motherly affection that was the child’s due. What we would now term illegitimate children were rare among the Indians.
We came to a big water hole and the soldiers caught some big bullfrogs and fried them in lard. But I would not eat them, for it was against the Comanche’s rule to eat lard. I would not eat with those soldiers any more. Frogs and swine, both water or mud animals, were too much for me.
Reunion with his white family:
Curiously the crowd examined me, and excitedly talked in a language I could not understand, although it was my native tongue. They looked for marks of identification and found a scar on my arm that was made when I was a little boy. Soon my brother and sister, Willie and Mina, came up, and the dark curtain of oblivion which had been drawn so long, was pulled back and to me there came the recollection of my early childhood. I was restored. I recognized my brother and sister, and remembered them as my playmates in the far distant past. Then somebody kept saying “Herman, Herman,” and that name had a familiar sound. It then occurred to me that that was my own name. Slowly but surely the mists began to clear away, and I knew I had found my people. But I was an Indian, and I did not like them because they were palefaces.
My folks prepared a big feast for me and Mina came to invite me to the table. I pretended not to hear her, but lay on my pallet. I was homesick and was planning then to run away from there. Finally she induced me to go to the table, and just as I was ready to to sit down I saw a fine hog ham on the table. I kicked over everything in my reach and made for the door, but they stopped me and motioned for me to come and eat. I pointed to the pork and made them understand that if they would remove that I would eat. It was removed and I sat down and tried to eat, but the food did not suit me and the thought of having to eat with hog-eaters choked me. I wanted my meat roasted, and I didn’t care for anything else.
I am an old man now, I will soon reach the total of three score and ten years allotted to man, if death does not claim me—seventy years of wonderful experience. I have seen many changes since I came into this world, the ox-cart gave way to the horse-drawn vehicle, and the automobile has surpassed that mode of travel. Speeding railway trains, flying machines, radios, and many other wonders have come to pass. We are living in a fast age. I am glad God has spared my life and permitted me to live to see these wonderful changes.
Herman Lehmann wrote this memoir when he was about 70 years old. Even though the story has been edited by the publisher and is not free of moralizing passages about Indian savages, mostly it rings quite true and sincere. It's fascinating to become acquainted with Lehmann's unique insider's perspective: he tells about Apaches and Comanches way of life, their hatred for palefaces (which Lehmann fully shared), the reasons for this hatred (which were plenty as the palefaces drove Indians away from their traditional hunting grounds and threatened their very survival by exterminating buffalos), the cruelty of the Indians towards palefaces and vice versa and many more.
This is not a pleasant or beautiful or romantic story -- it's definitely not for tender-hearted or squeamish. But if you have an open mind and are interested in somebody's first hand experience even if it doesn't fully coincide with your preconceived ideas of Native American wisdom or Frontier mythology, this is an excellent read.
Sometime at the middle of the book I marked a quote, and then went on a quoting spree -- couldn't help myself.
we were driven into the Wichita Mountains, but even there the red man, the one to whom this country and all of its wealth and riches rightly belongs, could not stop even among the mountains. He must bow to the inevitable. He must give up to greater numbers, superior skill and improved firearms.
I was astonished by this parallel with the kosher dietary restrictions:
A medicine man thinks he can’t be killed, that he is proof against his enemy as long as he refrains from eating swine. I thought, too, that he could not be killed.
When I cut the meat I was cautious not to offend the Great Spirit. If an Indian cuts or punches a hole in a piece of meat before or while he is cooking it, he has offended the Great Spirit, and is sure to have some misfortune on the trip. If anybody in the camp with Indians pushes a stick through meat to cook it, he is immediately banished from the camp, if not killed.
I would lie down at night and spend hours watching the great celestial panorama, the thousands of bright orbs, enclusterings and configurations of exceeding beauty. I would look at the great starry vault, this blue dome, and then at my shield, and I would see that the larger stars occupied the same position on my shield that they did in the heavens, and thus on cloudy days my shield served as a compass as well as a protector.
As he was secretly watching the Comanches and considering joining them:
The Indians seated around were talking and laughing, and seemed to be in high good humor. As a rule the Comanches are a fun-loving people and enjoy a good laugh, while the Apaches are morose and never laugh except when someone is hurt or some calamity befalls them.
I made them a big speech, in which I told them I was an Indian, I ate raw meat and I drank the warm blood of the wolf to give me the ferocity of that animal; that I poisoned my arrows with the venom of the rattlesnake to make sure that they would kill the hated white man when they sped toward him. My talk pleased them, and sitting in a circle we smoked the pipe of peace.
After smoking we all stood up, and marching around we placed our right hands over our hearts and then raised them toward the heavens. This process began slowly, but as we marched we struck a lively step, striking our breasts repeatedly and raising our hands very much like the school children now do in modem calisthenics. This was kept up for some time no doubt to see how much I could endure and then I was led before the chief for a kind of an obligation, in which I promised faithfully to perform all the duties of a Comanche warrior, to help provide for, protect and defend those with whom I was entrusted and surrounded, and to obey my chief in all things, in peace and in war.
Thus I was adopted into the tribe, and became a Comanche. I have remained a Comanche ever since, and those same privileges which were bestowed upon me in that solemn hour are mine to this day, and I am recognized by all Comanches as a tribesman, whenever I want to claim my tribe relationship. I was given a Comanche name, Montechena, and that name appears today on the tribal records in Washington—Montechena Herman Lehmann. I was allowed the privilege of selecting the family with whom I was to live and become a member of, and after looking them over I selected Cotopah, who could speak Apache, as my brother, and I have never regretted my choice, for Cotopah proved himself to be a brother in many ways.
In three or four days we overtook the squaws and children with the camp equipage, and as soon as they learned that several of the warriors with our party had been killed they set up a wailing and began gashing themselves with knives. We lost three braves on this raid, and when we got back to the tribe we had no war dance.
The Comanches and Tonkaways had been at war a long time, and the Tonkaways had been nearly exterminated. The hatred the Tonkaway had for the Comanche was fierce, for they blamed the Comanche for all of their misfortunes and eventually made a treaty with the white people and combined with them to exterminate the Comanche, acting as scouts and trailers and warriors for the whites.
We took possession of the camp, and what do you suppose we found on that fire, roasting? One of the legs of a Comanche! A warrior of our tribe! Our chief gave the cry for vengeance, and we all joined in the chorus. We immediately gave chase. No martial music fascinated our little band and urged us to victory. But one look at those stem faces and drawn muscles would have shown that they meant to utterly annihilate their enemy. The Tonkaways had collected in a ravine and were prepared to receive our charge with a deadly fire, which for a moment checked our onrush; down would come a horse, over would tumble the rider, but on, on, we came, in our frenzy. At first I was terrified, and it seemed like I could not face death that way, but I was in the front rank and my comrades in the rear pressed me onward. Then I caught the spirit of vengeance. I became enraged, spurred on my steed and fought courageously.
One of the Tonkaways rode out of the ravine to challenge a single combat. A Comanche made a dash at him, but fell mortally wounded. Another went and received a death blow. It seemed like human blood had made the Tonkaway bold, and somehow our shields would not ward off his bullets, but the third warrior to advance got him. At this single combat, by seemingly general consent, a cessation took place and at this recess every warrior loaded his gun and prepared for eventualities. The combat between the two warriors was of but short duration, and when the Tonkaway brave fell there went up a yell from both sides, exultant from us, a yell of rage from the Tonkaways, and in a very few seconds we were in a hand-to-hand conflict with the Tonkaways.
We hunted for a while, replenished our stock of buffalo robes, moccasins, wigwams, and other necessities. The women did all of the work, except making bows, arrows, tomahawks and pipes. We robbed several buffalo hunters’ camps, leaving the owners destitute and afoot
Much has been said and written about Quanah Parker, who became a great Comanche chief. Quanah was the son of Cynthia Ann Parker, a white girl who was captured at Parker’s Fort in 1835, and retaken some twenty-eight years later when the Rangers under Sul Ross had a big fight with the Comanches.
Down near Smoothing Iron Mountain we took twenty-five horses, tore down some fences and left things like we believed the Great Spirit intended them to be, free and open. The Indians believed that if the Great Spirit had wanted the country enclosed He would have fenced it.
In these days of modern ways people get shot just about as they got shot in olden times, and there is usually a woman at the bottom of the trouble. And a beautiful Indian maiden was the cause of me catching an arrow in my knee, some time after I joined the Comanches. Topay was her name, and for her I had a passing fancy. It soon passed. Her father did not take well to our courtship; in fact, he told me to stay away from her and let her alone, but I would not.
I had told my sweetheart about the threats her father had made and asked her if we should not be more cautious, but she said he would not hurt me, although he might try to scare me. I was whispering sweet words of love to her and enjoying Elysian bliss here on earth when suddenly I felt a rough kick, and I needed not a second hint for I knew it was the toe of the girl’s father’s moccasin. Out I went, leaving a pretty considerable hole in the tent. The old man filled up the door and I was compelled to go out under the bottom of the tepee. I went around the tent one way and he came around the other, and as we met he let fly an arrow which pierced me in the knee. I sank to the ground, unable to walk. The wound was very painful and I was lame from it for a long time. The girl came to me and took her place by my side, and rebuked her father for treating me in such a brutal manner. The old man weakened, forgave us for sparking on the sly, pulled out the arrow, and showed his regrets in many ways, even to the extent of offering to let me take the girl for my squaw if I would give him two ponies. But I “shied off,” and have been afraid of women ever since.
When an Indian chose a wife, in both the Apache and Comanche tribes, he had to purchase the girl from her parents with horses. A brave would fall in love with a maiden and he would approach her father and make his wants known by offering him a certain number of horses for the girl, and if his proposition was accepted he would deliver the horses, take the girl and conduct her to his tepee. There was no religious ceremony, no demonstration, no incantations, or anything else to make the marriage impressive or of more than passing interest. The buck had procured the squaw, and the squaw had found a master.
Children were often born to Apache squaws who were with raiding parties. The Indians would permit their squaws to go with them on their raids, and if it so happened that a child was born the squaw would be left to take care of herself as best she could, or if another squaw was in the party and chose to remain with her sister in distress, she was allowed to do so. Within a reasonable time the squaw and her papoose would come into camp and there would be rejoicing if the papoose happened to be a male child, because that meant a future warrior.
Comanche women were kinder to their children, and the births usually occurred in the villages. A woman in delicate health was not allowed to accompany her warrior on a raid, but had to remain in camp until the looked-for event happened. They carefully nourished the new-born babe and bestowed upon their children, male and female, that motherly affection that was the child’s due. What we would now term illegitimate children were rare among the Indians.
We came to a big water hole and the soldiers caught some big bullfrogs and fried them in lard. But I would not eat them, for it was against the Comanche’s rule to eat lard. I would not eat with those soldiers any more. Frogs and swine, both water or mud animals, were too much for me.
Reunion with his white family:
Curiously the crowd examined me, and excitedly talked in a language I could not understand, although it was my native tongue. They looked for marks of identification and found a scar on my arm that was made when I was a little boy. Soon my brother and sister, Willie and Mina, came up, and the dark curtain of oblivion which had been drawn so long, was pulled back and to me there came the recollection of my early childhood. I was restored. I recognized my brother and sister, and remembered them as my playmates in the far distant past. Then somebody kept saying “Herman, Herman,” and that name had a familiar sound. It then occurred to me that that was my own name. Slowly but surely the mists began to clear away, and I knew I had found my people. But I was an Indian, and I did not like them because they were palefaces.
My folks prepared a big feast for me and Mina came to invite me to the table. I pretended not to hear her, but lay on my pallet. I was homesick and was planning then to run away from there. Finally she induced me to go to the table, and just as I was ready to to sit down I saw a fine hog ham on the table. I kicked over everything in my reach and made for the door, but they stopped me and motioned for me to come and eat. I pointed to the pork and made them understand that if they would remove that I would eat. It was removed and I sat down and tried to eat, but the food did not suit me and the thought of having to eat with hog-eaters choked me. I wanted my meat roasted, and I didn’t care for anything else.
I am an old man now, I will soon reach the total of three score and ten years allotted to man, if death does not claim me—seventy years of wonderful experience. I have seen many changes since I came into this world, the ox-cart gave way to the horse-drawn vehicle, and the automobile has surpassed that mode of travel. Speeding railway trains, flying machines, radios, and many other wonders have come to pass. We are living in a fast age. I am glad God has spared my life and permitted me to live to see these wonderful changes.
November 16, 2019
True story and its no Dances With Wolves. Need to read some Louis L'Amour now for something less violent.
May 12, 2022
Cut off your Nose to Spite your Face
Back in the olden days if you were in a patchy woman and cheated on your husband, you would get your nose cut off. Maybe that's better than how some white men just Shot their women. Well, this was most horrible as far as I'm concerned
, .
As a boy, Herman was captured by the Apaches and as he grew older he became a warrior. For me, each Time he went on a warpath, I was bored. I could understand killing the white men after what they had done, But they kept capturing horses. I wondered, what were they gonna do with them all?
After leaving the Apaches, he join the Comanches, and there were more women with their noses cut off. I smell something rotten.
After the author was taken into custody and taken back to his people, he continued to remain in the Comanche tribe. I may be wrong, but I believe he preferred them to the white man.
I must add here that most Indian tribes were not violent, but they welcomed the white man and helped him in many ways. Then they real life they realized their folly. .
Back in the olden days if you were in a patchy woman and cheated on your husband, you would get your nose cut off. Maybe that's better than how some white men just Shot their women. Well, this was most horrible as far as I'm concerned
, .
As a boy, Herman was captured by the Apaches and as he grew older he became a warrior. For me, each Time he went on a warpath, I was bored. I could understand killing the white men after what they had done, But they kept capturing horses. I wondered, what were they gonna do with them all?
After leaving the Apaches, he join the Comanches, and there were more women with their noses cut off. I smell something rotten.
After the author was taken into custody and taken back to his people, he continued to remain in the Comanche tribe. I may be wrong, but I believe he preferred them to the white man.
I must add here that most Indian tribes were not violent, but they welcomed the white man and helped him in many ways. Then they real life they realized their folly. .
March 24, 2015
Herman Lehmann was a boy from a German family settled in the vicinity of Fredericksburg, Texas. At the age of 11 in 1870 he was captured by Apache raiders. At first Lehmann resisted Apache ways, but after time came to regard the Apaches as his people and was initiated as a warrior. Lehmann's memoir is an account of those years. While deeply attached to Indian life, the narrative spares no details of bloody raids and counter-attacks.
Eventually Lehmann's Apache father was killed in a feud and Lehmann went north to join the Comanche becoming a protege of the war-chief Quanah. Lehmann did return to his family and wrote of his life among the Indians. But Lehmann could never be entirely comfortable among white culture. Although he was a popular celebrity at Texas rodeos, Lehmann preferred to live in Oklahoma among the Comanche.
Eventually Lehmann's Apache father was killed in a feud and Lehmann went north to join the Comanche becoming a protege of the war-chief Quanah. Lehmann did return to his family and wrote of his life among the Indians. But Lehmann could never be entirely comfortable among white culture. Although he was a popular celebrity at Texas rodeos, Lehmann preferred to live in Oklahoma among the Comanche.
January 2, 2024
Ο Χέρμαν ήταν έντεκα ετών το 1870 όταν απήχθη από Ινδιανους Απάτσι. Έζησε μαζί τους για κάποια χρόνια, μετά δραπέτευσε και έζησε με τους Κομάντσι (άλλη Ινδιάνικη φυλή) και ύστερα από εννέα χρόνια επέστρεψε στον "πολιτισμένο κόσμο" και στην οικογένειά του. Τις λέξεις "πολιτισμένο κόσμο" τις έβαλα σε εισαγωγικά αφού οι Ινδιάνοι είχαν τον δικό τους πολιτισμό, άσχετα αν θεωρήθηκαν απολίτιστοι επειδή τελικά επικράτησε αυτός των Λευκών. Επίσης, ο Χέρμαν τα χρόνια που πέρασε μαζί τους θεωρούσε παράλογο τον τρόπο ζωής των Λευκών αφού είχε αποδεχτεί τον πολιτισμό, τα ήθη και τα έθιμα των Ινδιάνων. Όσο ζούσε ακόμη, πρόλαβε και διηγήθηκε την ιστορία του η οποία καταγράφηκε και την διαβάζουμε τώρα εμείς, περίπου 90 χρόνια μετά τον θάνατό του, σε έναν κόσμο όπου τίποτα στην Αμερική δεν θυμίζει αυτήν που περιγράφεται.
Γενικά, σαν βιβλίο, έχει αρκετές βίαιες σκηνές μέσα. Οι Ινδιάνοι βρισκόταν σε συνεχή κίνηση, αλλάζαν θέση στον καταυλισμό τους πολύ συχνά, κυνηγούσαν άγρια ζώα για να φάνε, κλέβανε άλογα για να μετακινούνται και σκότωναν λευκούς με εξαιρετική ευκολία. Αντίστοιχα με την ίδια ευκολία οι Αμερικάνοι, ιδιαίτερα οι Ρέιντζερς, σκότωναν τους Ινδιάνους σαν να μην επρόκειτο για ανθρώπους. Πολλές από αυτές τις σκηνές περιγράφονται, επιγραμματικά αλλά με σαφήνεια. Εννοώ, δεν κάθεται να σου κάνει χειρουργικό μάθημα για το πώς θα αφαιρέσεις "το σκαλπ" του εχθρού, σου λέει όμως σε μια πρόταση με ποιόν τρόπο και για ποιο λόγο γίνεται η διαδικασία.
Αρκετά αναλυτικός είναι και στην περιγραφή των όσων του συνέβησαν μέχρι να μάθει τον τρόπο ζωής των Απάτσι. Μιλά για τα βασανιστήρια στα οποία τον υπέβαλαν, για την αγριότητα με την οποία του φέρθηκαν και για το πόσο δυσκολεύτηκε τις πρώτες μέρες μέχρι να καταλάβει τις συνήθειές τους. Δεν θα πω περισσότερα, τα βρήκα όλα πάρα πολύ ενδιαφέροντα και συνειδητοποίησα ότι ο τρόπος ζωής και τα ήθη των Απάτσι ήταν πολύ βίαια και απάνθρωπα. Μπορώ να πω ότι κάποιες περιγραφές συναγωνίζονται επάξια αυτές των αστυνομικών βιβλίων, μη σου πω ότι υπερτερούν κιόλας αφού πρόκειται για αληθινά γεγονότα και δεν προέκυψαν από τη φαντασία του συγγραφέα.
Κλείνοντας να πω μια συμβουλή, αν θέλετε αγνοείστε την. Υπάρχουν δύο πρόλογοι. Τον δεύτερο διαβάστε τον κατευθείαν, τον πρώτο αν θέλετε αφήστε τον και διαβάστε τον στο τέλος- διαβάστε σίγουρα όμως την σημείωση "8" που εξηγεί ποιοι είναι οι Ρέιντζερς γιατί θα τους συναντήσετε σε πολλά σημεία της διήγησης. Λέει ωραία πράγματα μέσα, αλλά γράφει πολλά για την ιστορία του Χέρμαν που κατόπιν εορτής (αφού έχω τελειώσει το βιβλίο) κρίνω ότι θα προτιμούσα να μην τα ήξερα και να τα διάβαζα κατευθείαν από τη δική του αφήγηση. Μην τον παραλείψετε εντελώς όμως γιατί δίνει πληροφορίες για τη ζωή του Χέρμαν που δεν τις λέει ο ίδιος.
https://thematofylakes.gr
https://kiallovivlio.blogspot.com/
Γενικά, σαν βιβλίο, έχει αρκετές βίαιες σκηνές μέσα. Οι Ινδιάνοι βρισκόταν σε συνεχή κίνηση, αλλάζαν θέση στον καταυλισμό τους πολύ συχνά, κυνηγούσαν άγρια ζώα για να φάνε, κλέβανε άλογα για να μετακινούνται και σκότωναν λευκούς με εξαιρετική ευκολία. Αντίστοιχα με την ίδια ευκολία οι Αμερικάνοι, ιδιαίτερα οι Ρέιντζερς, σκότωναν τους Ινδιάνους σαν να μην επρόκειτο για ανθρώπους. Πολλές από αυτές τις σκηνές περιγράφονται, επιγραμματικά αλλά με σαφήνεια. Εννοώ, δεν κάθεται να σου κάνει χειρουργικό μάθημα για το πώς θα αφαιρέσεις "το σκαλπ" του εχθρού, σου λέει όμως σε μια πρόταση με ποιόν τρόπο και για ποιο λόγο γίνεται η διαδικασία.
Αρκετά αναλυτικός είναι και στην περιγραφή των όσων του συνέβησαν μέχρι να μάθει τον τρόπο ζωής των Απάτσι. Μιλά για τα βασανιστήρια στα οποία τον υπέβαλαν, για την αγριότητα με την οποία του φέρθηκαν και για το πόσο δυσκολεύτηκε τις πρώτες μέρες μέχρι να καταλάβει τις συνήθειές τους. Δεν θα πω περισσότερα, τα βρήκα όλα πάρα πολύ ενδιαφέροντα και συνειδητοποίησα ότι ο τρόπος ζωής και τα ήθη των Απάτσι ήταν πολύ βίαια και απάνθρωπα. Μπορώ να πω ότι κάποιες περιγραφές συναγωνίζονται επάξια αυτές των αστυνομικών βιβλίων, μη σου πω ότι υπερτερούν κιόλας αφού πρόκειται για αληθινά γεγονότα και δεν προέκυψαν από τη φαντασία του συγγραφέα.
Κλείνοντας να πω μια συμβουλή, αν θέλετε αγνοείστε την. Υπάρχουν δύο πρόλογοι. Τον δεύτερο διαβάστε τον κατευθείαν, τον πρώτο αν θέλετε αφήστε τον και διαβάστε τον στο τέλος- διαβάστε σίγουρα όμως την σημείωση "8" που εξηγεί ποιοι είναι οι Ρέιντζερς γιατί θα τους συναντήσετε σε πολλά σημεία της διήγησης. Λέει ωραία πράγματα μέσα, αλλά γράφει πολλά για την ιστορία του Χέρμαν που κατόπιν εορτής (αφού έχω τελειώσει το βιβλίο) κρίνω ότι θα προτιμούσα να μην τα ήξερα και να τα διάβαζα κατευθείαν από τη δική του αφήγηση. Μην τον παραλείψετε εντελώς όμως γιατί δίνει πληροφορίες για τη ζωή του Χέρμαν που δεν τις λέει ο ίδιος.
https://thematofylakes.gr
https://kiallovivlio.blogspot.com/
August 23, 2021
I've read a lot of memoirs, but none like this one. No one tried to clean up the writing, or even the printing. No one tried to fill in the gaps. And no one tried to glamorize, justify, or apologize for anything. It was a fascinating, jarring read that reminded me that man's survival in nature, among enemies, and against injustice is agonizing and ugly.
I won't be a spoiler here, but Herman Lehmann gives a detailed account of what he remembers from nine years, between ages of 11 and 20, when he became first an Apache after abduction, and then a Comanche by choice. He writes about his life as an Indian brave, a life that became a life where he belonged. It was a life where survival and resistance to the theft of Native American land by white men was a driving force.
He doesn't philosophize, he doesn't miminize, and he doesn't make excuses. He lived the life before him and he shows the reader what evil he did and what he endured for the most straightforward of reasons, survival of himself and his adoptive people.
Herman is made to return to his white family where he had to be reconditioned to white ways. He wrote his memoir in 1927, so he had perspective when he wrote it, but that doesn't change the reality of his experience or what was done to his Native America "family".
My only disappointment with the book is very trivial. It is printed as an 8 1/2 x 11" book, which is less comfortable to read and a poor fit for the book shelf. How pathetic an issue is that!
I won't be a spoiler here, but Herman Lehmann gives a detailed account of what he remembers from nine years, between ages of 11 and 20, when he became first an Apache after abduction, and then a Comanche by choice. He writes about his life as an Indian brave, a life that became a life where he belonged. It was a life where survival and resistance to the theft of Native American land by white men was a driving force.
He doesn't philosophize, he doesn't miminize, and he doesn't make excuses. He lived the life before him and he shows the reader what evil he did and what he endured for the most straightforward of reasons, survival of himself and his adoptive people.
Herman is made to return to his white family where he had to be reconditioned to white ways. He wrote his memoir in 1927, so he had perspective when he wrote it, but that doesn't change the reality of his experience or what was done to his Native America "family".
My only disappointment with the book is very trivial. It is printed as an 8 1/2 x 11" book, which is less comfortable to read and a poor fit for the book shelf. How pathetic an issue is that!
September 7, 2012
he was my great great great uncle his name is herman laemen
August 26, 2017
I have no idea what I was planning on when reserving this book - maybe a continuing preservation of the Native American romanticism that I grew up with. The summary of the story sounded like it would support the concept that although known for scalping and their raids the Native Americans weren't truly as bad as have been portrayed by others. Instead any romantic ideas about Native American life has been dismissed even though at the same time I understand that not all Native Americans were and/or are collectively bad.
The first thing that the reader needs to be aware of is the age of both the story and the historical events. As such the terms that are used and the concepts held within the body of the writing can be considered racist by current readers. In this time and age when people are more likely to jump to judgment it is hard to allow such a book to stand on its own merit although an air of leniency should be used instead.
Furthermore if the reader allows themselves to read the Introduction than follows it by reading the actual story they will find that a lot of major points are given away before they get to the same point in the story. At the same time those points are not given in the same chronological order nor with a showing of what tribe Herman was with at the time.
All in all the subject is a rough one to read and at times leaves the reader with more questions about the whole experience faced by Native American captives than are answered. Crude and full of violence this is one of those books that readers would be better cautioned off on reading first of all but at the same time it allows the reader a unique opportunity to experience history for a little shared viewpoint.
The first thing that the reader needs to be aware of is the age of both the story and the historical events. As such the terms that are used and the concepts held within the body of the writing can be considered racist by current readers. In this time and age when people are more likely to jump to judgment it is hard to allow such a book to stand on its own merit although an air of leniency should be used instead.
Furthermore if the reader allows themselves to read the Introduction than follows it by reading the actual story they will find that a lot of major points are given away before they get to the same point in the story. At the same time those points are not given in the same chronological order nor with a showing of what tribe Herman was with at the time.
All in all the subject is a rough one to read and at times leaves the reader with more questions about the whole experience faced by Native American captives than are answered. Crude and full of violence this is one of those books that readers would be better cautioned off on reading first of all but at the same time it allows the reader a unique opportunity to experience history for a little shared viewpoint.
January 13, 2024
Excellent story detailing life among the Apache and Comanche people from the perspective of a kidnapped settler boy raised among them.
January 16, 2024
19th Century Stockholm Syndrome. A compelling, if morally dark, "conversion" and "restoration" memoir.
Herman Lehmann's account of his capture by Apache Indians as an 11 year old boy and subsequent life with them before escaping to the Comanche and finally being "restored" to his family is harrowing and noteworthy for how "balanced" it is.
It's balanced insofar as Lehmann writes about having rejoined civilization and decries the "savagery" he participated in, yet also describes, with some warmth, the various adventures (horse stealing, murder, scalpings, raids, shootouts, even beatings while captive) that he engaged in with the Apache and Comanche.
There's an unsparing matter-of-fact brutality to the narrative and Lehmann recalls fondly much of his time amongst the Indians, so much so that when he was finally returned to his family, he could not remember his family nor his native German. He even went so far as to be adopted by the Comanche and considered himself part of their tribe (and vice versa).
Lehmann's story is fertile ground for psychoanalysis of a hostage taking on the values of his captors, especially if done without the modern-day exoticism/idolatry that current literature about Native American tribes falls prey to. In other words, 19th century peoples did some pretty unspeakable things to each other. and the color of their skin doesn't absolve or elevate one side over another. Lehmann's time with the Apache and Comanche confirm that truism.
Herman Lehmann's account of his capture by Apache Indians as an 11 year old boy and subsequent life with them before escaping to the Comanche and finally being "restored" to his family is harrowing and noteworthy for how "balanced" it is.
It's balanced insofar as Lehmann writes about having rejoined civilization and decries the "savagery" he participated in, yet also describes, with some warmth, the various adventures (horse stealing, murder, scalpings, raids, shootouts, even beatings while captive) that he engaged in with the Apache and Comanche.
There's an unsparing matter-of-fact brutality to the narrative and Lehmann recalls fondly much of his time amongst the Indians, so much so that when he was finally returned to his family, he could not remember his family nor his native German. He even went so far as to be adopted by the Comanche and considered himself part of their tribe (and vice versa).
Lehmann's story is fertile ground for psychoanalysis of a hostage taking on the values of his captors, especially if done without the modern-day exoticism/idolatry that current literature about Native American tribes falls prey to. In other words, 19th century peoples did some pretty unspeakable things to each other. and the color of their skin doesn't absolve or elevate one side over another. Lehmann's time with the Apache and Comanche confirm that truism.
July 26, 2025
A fascinating read because it is a true story. Its not a comprehensive sociological or ethnographic study, but it gets into details where even those would miss out. He doesnt try to overly explain things, just put outhis experiences. He lived two lives and he doesn't seem to pit them against each other, just record his story for posterity.
May 2, 2024
Hard to contemplate the violence and cruelty of life in late 19th century Texas/Southwest borderlands as American farms, ranches, trains, and Buffalo hunting extinguished the various Native cultures that were based on horses and hunting. Vivid mostly uncensored report from the author who assimilated to and was absorbed into Apache and then Comanche bands.
September 8, 2025
This book was very intense but truthful. I learned many facets of the Indian life and customs. Their will to survive radiated every page. Their method of survival when it came to food could make one queasy!! The Apache and Comanche tribes were explained in depth. A worthwhile read for history of the Indian people and their conflicts with each other and the pale face that invaded their land.
December 13, 2021
Audio book. Mr. Lehmann lead quite an extraordinary life. Although I've read several books about captured white children, this one definitely stands out. Mr. Lehmann goes into depth about tribe customs and beliefs, things I had not read about anywhere else. His accounts are violent, stomach churning, and bloody. I can't help but admire this man for the experiences he survived.
January 10, 2023
Amazing Story
Anyone wanting to know the life of a Comanche or Apache needs to read this book. It is very eye opening and gives one an accurate insight to the life of a Plains Native American.
Anyone wanting to know the life of a Comanche or Apache needs to read this book. It is very eye opening and gives one an accurate insight to the life of a Plains Native American.
May 22, 2024
Well, i liked this memoir.
April 16, 2023
One of the most fascinating autobiographies that I've ever read. Herman Lehmann's true life adventure began when he and his brother were taken captive by the Apache. When his adoptive father, Carnoviste was murdered in a drunken brawl, Lehmann took revenge and became a fugitive, running for his life from the Apache until stumbling on a band of Comanche, who took him in and made him one of their own. Thrilling and dangerous, nearly every line in this book made me feel what it was like to live, ride, and fight on the Southern Plains.
August 11, 2018
This is the true story of Herman Lehman, son of German immigrants who settled in the vicinity of Fredericksburg, Texas in the 1870’s. At the age of 11 he and his younger brother were taken captive by Indians while out in the fields surrounding their cabin. His brother escapes on the way to the Apache camp, but Herman is not so lucky.
At first Herman resisted the Apache ways, but after time adjusted was was initiated as a warrior. What I found so fascinating is how he so completely immersed himself to the Apache and later the Comanche way of life. He could not even remember his name or childhood past, unable to recognize his former family 10 years later.
His story spares no details of bloody and brutal raids and counter attacks on the white settlers, Buffalo hunters, and other Indian tribes. The Indian tribes continually had to move their tribes to try to stay one step ahead of the U.S. soldiers who were trying to bring them to Indian Reservations. The tribes were diminishing from battles with the soldiers, as well as starving as buffalo hunters were killing off their food supply.
This was a very interesting read. When Herman was finally returned to his mother, brothers, and sister, he had a very difficult adjustment and wanted to go back to the Indians on the reservation. Due to the patience, affection, and love from his family, he finally adjusted to the white man’s way of living.
At first Herman resisted the Apache ways, but after time adjusted was was initiated as a warrior. What I found so fascinating is how he so completely immersed himself to the Apache and later the Comanche way of life. He could not even remember his name or childhood past, unable to recognize his former family 10 years later.
His story spares no details of bloody and brutal raids and counter attacks on the white settlers, Buffalo hunters, and other Indian tribes. The Indian tribes continually had to move their tribes to try to stay one step ahead of the U.S. soldiers who were trying to bring them to Indian Reservations. The tribes were diminishing from battles with the soldiers, as well as starving as buffalo hunters were killing off their food supply.
This was a very interesting read. When Herman was finally returned to his mother, brothers, and sister, he had a very difficult adjustment and wanted to go back to the Indians on the reservation. Due to the patience, affection, and love from his family, he finally adjusted to the white man’s way of living.
November 13, 2017
Truly Amazing Inside Glimpse Of Life As A Captive Turned Indian
Mr. Lehmann's story is one of the very few I have read of captives that were taken at a young age, adopted by the tribes and then returned (not willingly at first!). His descriptions of how the Native Americans thought, their customs, rituals and beliefs are very descriptive and gives great understanding to some of the atrocities committed and broadens the reader's understanding of how much was taken from the Native Americans. That he was able to return, and be accepted by the whites again was probably not as easy as he describes and only through the love of his mother and siblings could this have happened. Truly a great read.
Mr. Lehmann's story is one of the very few I have read of captives that were taken at a young age, adopted by the tribes and then returned (not willingly at first!). His descriptions of how the Native Americans thought, their customs, rituals and beliefs are very descriptive and gives great understanding to some of the atrocities committed and broadens the reader's understanding of how much was taken from the Native Americans. That he was able to return, and be accepted by the whites again was probably not as easy as he describes and only through the love of his mother and siblings could this have happened. Truly a great read.
October 26, 2017
Convincing account
Nine Years Among the Indians is a convincing first person memory account of intercultural life. The psychological abandonment of self and adoption of a new identity in the atmosphere of extreme violence was very interesting and an adaptation not all captives were able to make. JR
Nine Years Among the Indians is a convincing first person memory account of intercultural life. The psychological abandonment of self and adoption of a new identity in the atmosphere of extreme violence was very interesting and an adaptation not all captives were able to make. JR
November 13, 2023
This is a true story about Herman being captured by the Apaches as a boy of about 11 and living with them and later with the Comanches until he was ultimately returned to his family. He describes the Apaches as a somber tribe that took little pleasure in life except when inflicting pain or watching others struggling in trials. In his experience the Comanches seemed to enjoy life more and were ready enough to laugh and have fun. Both tribes, however, were ruthless in war and were fierce warriors.
Herbert and his brother were part of a family in Texas in Gillespie County when they were captured by the Apaches. Willie, the younger brother, was separated from Herman and through a fortuitous circumstance was able to escape. Willie was about eight years old at the time. Herman, however, was kept more closely and was taken some days away to an Apache camp. The Apache who captured Herman was a chief named Carnoviste. :Life was pretty tough for a while, but Herman became an Indian and went on raids and took scalps and stole horses and participated in Indian life. Carnoviste was killed by a medicine man, and Herman killed that fellow in retaliation. This caused bad blood between him and the Apaches, so he left and lived the life of a hermit for almost a year before deciding to approach the Comanche tribe and ask to be part of them.
The Comanches accepted him, and he lived with them, but time was running out for the Indians and their way of life. Many were on reservations although some of the young men would at times leave and revert back to their old life style. Herman was friends with Quanah Parker, and Quanah convinced Herman to turn himself in and get back to his original family. Herman’s mom had never given up hope that Herman was still alive. Returning to white society was difficult for Herman since he had to relearn the language and the ways of white men. Over time, however, he made the transition, but he is on record as being a Comanche with all the full rights of the tribe.
It is one man’s history and very interesting reading. He wrote it so that young people might know something of the life their parents and grandparents lived and the relations they had with the Indians of the time. The writing is clear and unvarnished. It is an old man’s memory of his younger days, and they were interesting times.
Herbert and his brother were part of a family in Texas in Gillespie County when they were captured by the Apaches. Willie, the younger brother, was separated from Herman and through a fortuitous circumstance was able to escape. Willie was about eight years old at the time. Herman, however, was kept more closely and was taken some days away to an Apache camp. The Apache who captured Herman was a chief named Carnoviste. :Life was pretty tough for a while, but Herman became an Indian and went on raids and took scalps and stole horses and participated in Indian life. Carnoviste was killed by a medicine man, and Herman killed that fellow in retaliation. This caused bad blood between him and the Apaches, so he left and lived the life of a hermit for almost a year before deciding to approach the Comanche tribe and ask to be part of them.
The Comanches accepted him, and he lived with them, but time was running out for the Indians and their way of life. Many were on reservations although some of the young men would at times leave and revert back to their old life style. Herman was friends with Quanah Parker, and Quanah convinced Herman to turn himself in and get back to his original family. Herman’s mom had never given up hope that Herman was still alive. Returning to white society was difficult for Herman since he had to relearn the language and the ways of white men. Over time, however, he made the transition, but he is on record as being a Comanche with all the full rights of the tribe.
It is one man’s history and very interesting reading. He wrote it so that young people might know something of the life their parents and grandparents lived and the relations they had with the Indians of the time. The writing is clear and unvarnished. It is an old man’s memory of his younger days, and they were interesting times.
October 4, 2025
Je n'ai pas été vraiment touchée par cette lecture.
L'intrigue se déroule en 1870, donc 400 ans après le début de l'occupation et du génocide des amérindiens natifs. On suppose donc que les Apaches et les Comanches que rencontre Herman Lehmann n'ont pas grand chose en commun avec leurs ancêtres d'avant la colonisation européenne. Tout comme nous, contemporains de 2000, n'avons pas grand chose en commun avec nos aïeux de 1600. Pas les mêmes croyances, pas les mêmes préoccupations, pas les mêmes métiers, pas la même langue, pas les mêmes enjeux géopolitiques, pas la même démographie... rien.
Je trouve qu'on n'apprend donc rien des améridiens natifs en dehors du spectre de l'occupation de leur territoire et de la réduction de leur population et de leurs ressources. L'auteur n'est pas un grand littéraire, il narre par le menu une succession de violences et de brutalités, propres à un pays déchiré par la guerre. Rien à envier à nos batailles territoriales contemporaines (je pense à Gaza où ça massacre et affame sans vergogne).
Les améridiens, à cette époque, ont déjà été décimés. Leur culture est réduite à néant. Leurs territoires de chasse et d'agriculture leurs sont confisqués. On les enferme dans des réserves et on les prie de bien vouloir y mourir sagement en disant merci monsieur. Et c'est comme ça depuis 400 ans déjà.
Herman raconte des errances à cheval, des batailles à l'arc, à la winchester ou au couteau, des morts de part et d'autres (guerriers, cowboys, colons, femmes et enfants, blancs et indiens indistinctement), des traversées du désert (littéralement) ou de la plaine, la faim, la soif, la chasse, et la survie jusqu'à la bataille suivante et son lot de morts des deux camps. J'ai trouvé que ça tournait en rond.
Dans la mesure où c'est une histoire vraie, difficile de reprocher à l'auteur de ne pas avoir une intrigue structurée avec des rebondissements et un dénouement. Finalement, sa vie est un cycle de routine : errance, combats, vols de chevaux, errances, combats, vols de chevaux.
J'avais été stupéfiée de lire dans SAPIENS qu'il n'y avait pas de chevaux en Amérique du nord avant leur importation par les colons au 16ème siècle. Les indiens sur leurs mustangs, c'est donc déjà une assimilation coloniale.
On ne sait RIEN des premiers américains avant la colonisation... A part qu'ils n'étaient pas nomades. (Donc les indiens qui déplacent leurs tipis toutes les semaines, c'est aussi, déjà, une conséquence des bouleversements de l'invasion). cherchez Cahokia sur wikipedia.
L'intrigue se déroule en 1870, donc 400 ans après le début de l'occupation et du génocide des amérindiens natifs. On suppose donc que les Apaches et les Comanches que rencontre Herman Lehmann n'ont pas grand chose en commun avec leurs ancêtres d'avant la colonisation européenne. Tout comme nous, contemporains de 2000, n'avons pas grand chose en commun avec nos aïeux de 1600. Pas les mêmes croyances, pas les mêmes préoccupations, pas les mêmes métiers, pas la même langue, pas les mêmes enjeux géopolitiques, pas la même démographie... rien.
Je trouve qu'on n'apprend donc rien des améridiens natifs en dehors du spectre de l'occupation de leur territoire et de la réduction de leur population et de leurs ressources. L'auteur n'est pas un grand littéraire, il narre par le menu une succession de violences et de brutalités, propres à un pays déchiré par la guerre. Rien à envier à nos batailles territoriales contemporaines (je pense à Gaza où ça massacre et affame sans vergogne).
Les améridiens, à cette époque, ont déjà été décimés. Leur culture est réduite à néant. Leurs territoires de chasse et d'agriculture leurs sont confisqués. On les enferme dans des réserves et on les prie de bien vouloir y mourir sagement en disant merci monsieur. Et c'est comme ça depuis 400 ans déjà.
Herman raconte des errances à cheval, des batailles à l'arc, à la winchester ou au couteau, des morts de part et d'autres (guerriers, cowboys, colons, femmes et enfants, blancs et indiens indistinctement), des traversées du désert (littéralement) ou de la plaine, la faim, la soif, la chasse, et la survie jusqu'à la bataille suivante et son lot de morts des deux camps. J'ai trouvé que ça tournait en rond.
Dans la mesure où c'est une histoire vraie, difficile de reprocher à l'auteur de ne pas avoir une intrigue structurée avec des rebondissements et un dénouement. Finalement, sa vie est un cycle de routine : errance, combats, vols de chevaux, errances, combats, vols de chevaux.
J'avais été stupéfiée de lire dans SAPIENS qu'il n'y avait pas de chevaux en Amérique du nord avant leur importation par les colons au 16ème siècle. Les indiens sur leurs mustangs, c'est donc déjà une assimilation coloniale.
On ne sait RIEN des premiers américains avant la colonisation... A part qu'ils n'étaient pas nomades. (Donc les indiens qui déplacent leurs tipis toutes les semaines, c'est aussi, déjà, une conséquence des bouleversements de l'invasion). cherchez Cahokia sur wikipedia.
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May 19, 2024Ok sorry this review is going to be dense but I feel I need to contextualize this book:
I wanted to read this book as Herman Lehmann (Montechema) is my great great grandfather. He was the son of German immigrants living on the Texas frontier and this book is an autobiography that details his capture by and then life with Apache and Comanche tribes from the age of 11 to 19 (1870-1879).
I learned a lot about his life and some of my family history from this book. A lot of the details of what happened to Herman in his life feel unbelievable, and it’s incredible to me that he survived everything he experienced. It was a hard read though as there is a lot of violence and hatred between groups (white settlers, various Native American tribes/bands, Mexican cattle herders) captured in this book. I struggled with the antiquated language, ideas of white supremacy, and lack of ownership in addressing the displacement and genocide of native peoples in this text.
It’s an old book that talks about some horrific historical events. Definitely bear that in mind and think critically if you decide to read this.
I wanted to read this book as Herman Lehmann (Montechema) is my great great grandfather. He was the son of German immigrants living on the Texas frontier and this book is an autobiography that details his capture by and then life with Apache and Comanche tribes from the age of 11 to 19 (1870-1879).
I learned a lot about his life and some of my family history from this book. A lot of the details of what happened to Herman in his life feel unbelievable, and it’s incredible to me that he survived everything he experienced. It was a hard read though as there is a lot of violence and hatred between groups (white settlers, various Native American tribes/bands, Mexican cattle herders) captured in this book. I struggled with the antiquated language, ideas of white supremacy, and lack of ownership in addressing the displacement and genocide of native peoples in this text.
It’s an old book that talks about some horrific historical events. Definitely bear that in mind and think critically if you decide to read this.
February 22, 2024
Great story! It was however difficult to read given the format of the book. Engaging and shocking to learn of the traditions and practices of the Comanches and Apaches and how, after years of living with the tribe, Herman adapted and accepted their ways good and bad. Great insight of both Indian tribes and the white man.
August 11, 2023
Very interesting!!
November 7, 2024
The accuracy is doubtful…
December 9, 2024
Absolutely loved it. Review to come later. Need time to reflect.
December 9, 2025
A brutally honest memoir of a young man who was captured and assimilated into Native American culture in the American West frontier in the 1870s.
April 1, 2025
Herman had an incredible perspective that really shakes up the various visions I had collected of what native life was like when colonization began. The violence and intensity of these stories were shocking and although intense, the stories were a bit repetitive. Even still, I couldn’t help turn the pages and kept marveling at the brutality of native warriors and the slow moving destruction white people brought to a free land and people. This book has been on my mind a lot in the week since reading it. It’s worth a read for anyone interested.
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