1840Indian rebirth

Indians do not have strict name regulations, and their names are quite random and varied. Some people's names are incomprehensible and even unbearable to look at, and some people have dozens or even more names in their lifetime.

Other civilizations have often gone through similar stages, and mature and standardized name systems generally only appeared in feudal society or even later.

Many Indians will be given a nickname by their parents when they are born, a nickname as they grow up, and a formal name as an adult. A name that represents honor can be given for military exploits, or even a mysterious dream can be based on it.

Choose a name with religious connotations...

There is also the ancestral name. The father can pass the name to his son. He can leave it to his son after his death or give it to him while he is still alive. Of course, if the father gives his name to his son while he is still alive, he will have to choose a new name.

"Little Shaozi" is the nickname given to Ma Shaozi by the tribe because his father's nickname is "Big Shaozi".

It doesn’t have any special meaning. It’s just because Daddy’s whistle is naturally good at whistling. The whistle is huge, high-pitched and loud. He can call his war horse from a long distance with just one whistle, so it later evolved into a “horse whistle”.

Ma Xiao inherited his father's talent and is also very good at whistling. Naturally, he is the little whistle.

The tribesmen generally call him this.

"I escaped from the camp when the white men attacked," Ma Shao said.

The young man quickly asked: "Is there anyone else with you?"

"Probably...no." Ma Shao thought about it for a moment. He had not yet digested the memory left by this body. "I was the last one to escape. Some tribesmen also ran away, but they did not come with me."

The young man was silent for a while after hearing this, and then he remembered something and looked up and down the horse whistle: "Where did you get these clothes and this gun?"

The horse whistler had already thought of his words, shook the Kentucky rifle on his shoulder, and pretended to be innocent and proud: "When I was running away, a white man chased me, and I defeated him fiercely! How about it,

Thick shoulders, am I very powerful?”

Houqiao obviously didn't believe it, so he stared at him.

The horse whistled down the hill, and after a few seconds he pretended to be frustrated: "Okay... Actually, the white man fell down when he was chasing me, and then I picked up his gun and shot him.

One shot."

Hou Jian replied this time, nodded, pointed to the back and said, "You were the one who killed the white man over there who had his coat taken off and was shot in the head?"

"Yeah." Ma Shao's eyes were very innocent, as if he had never received nine years of compulsory education.

Thick Shoulder smiled: "Although it was a fluke, you are also very brave, just like your father."

"Let's go back to the camp first." As he said that, he stretched out his hand and pulled the horse whistle onto the horse's back, then turned the horse's head and headed for the camp.

"How does it feel to shoot?" Thick Shoulder looked at the Kentucky rifle in the whistler's hand.

"It's not bad...but it hurts a lot when shooting." Ma Shao couldn't find a suitable Apache word to translate recoil, so he could only describe it this way.

Thick Shoulder nodded: "Indeed, but actually this is not the main problem. I also got a Mexican gun before, but unfortunately it broke after using it a few times. It was too troublesome to load ammunition, and it was still a bow and arrow.

More convenient.”

The horse whistle said nothing.

In this era, firearms still had many shortcomings. It was normal to use hot and cold weapons together. Not to mention Indians, white people often had to fight with bayonets and the like on the battlefield.

Some Indians have learned to use firearms, but they have not spread widely. At least the Mianxiong clan he belongs to still uses cold weapons such as bows, arrows, and tomahawks as their main weapons.

Occasionally, firearms captured in battles either languish as collectibles, are damaged due to improper use, or cannot be used for a long time due to lack of ammunition and maintenance.

In Ma Shao's view, the real power of rifles should start with the Prussian Dresser needle gun.

The Dresser needle gun was officially launched in 1841. He had previously estimated that it was the early 1840s, and Prussia should have already researched it and even started to equip it.

Of course, although the Kentucky rifle in his hand had many shortcomings compared with various powerful automatic rifles in later generations, he still regarded it as a treasure.

At longer distances, this thing is much stronger than throwing axes and bows and arrows.

Not long after, Ma Shao and Hou Jian rode back to the camp.

The sight was a mess, with various objects and traces of destruction scattered around the camp. Dozens of brutally scalped corpses were lying on the ground. The tribesmen were all grieving, and many people were lying beside the corpses and crying.

This is a huge loss.

After all, the Mian Xiong clan only has a total of 123 people. After this battle, most of the women and children in the clan were lost, which can almost be described as a "quasi-genocide" state.

Ma Shao couldn't help but clenched his fists, and his breathing became somewhat rapid.

In fact, the personality of the old owner of this body has not disappeared, but has been merged with the personality from the 21st century.

Of course, compared with a young man from the age of information explosion who has received systematic education, the spiritual world of a nine-year-old Indian child is too thin, so after the two merge, the old personality is greatly diluted.

But this does not mean that today's Mashao has no feelings for the clan.

At least at this moment, looking at the dozens of corpses of relatives and friends lying on the ground, and listening to the sound of pain filling the air, he was emotionally shaken, and grief and anger surged up uncontrollably.

"The North American slave-owning gang must be destroyed!" The two personalities found a point of convergence, and Ma Shao felt that his spiritual world instantly became much smoother, as if a certain integration process had finally been completed.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, it's nothing." Ma Shao realized that he just spoke Chinese or Sichuan dialect.

Houqiao didn't take it seriously. After a moment of silence, he said, "The chief and the shaman are discussing a way out."

"A way out?"

"We may defect to other brother clans. Only in this way can we continue to reproduce." Thick Shoulder sighed, "We have almost no women and children left."

If this is done, the name Sleeping Bear Clan will disappear, and the clan members will become part of other clans. Although it is better than biological extinction, it is undoubtedly a sad choice.

Mashao didn't feel much about this. If the Indians wanted to rise, they naturally couldn't stick to a small Mianxiong clan or even the Apache clan. They would definitely have to carry out a series of great integrations.

Only by uniting all the indigenous peoples in the Americas can it be possible to dismantle the rule of Western colonists.

There is no way, the foundation of the aborigines is too weak. Compared with the Indians, the Qing Dynasty can be called a golden start: a population of hundreds of millions with a highly unified culture, a corrupt and rigid government that is at least fully functional, and has built a solid foundation for thousands of years.

The agricultural foundation is backward, but it can still absorb the science and technology of Western exhaust...

As long as someone can reorganize a powerful and efficient central government for such a giant ancient civilization, even if its technology is one generation behind, it will not have to fear any invaders on the earth.

As for the Indians, they are a fragmented stone-punk society with backward productivity and a lot of internal contradictions.

Even if all the Indians could be united, there would be only a glimmer of hope for a successful rise.

While the horse whistle was reverie, a middle-aged man with long hair shawl and wearing a gray robe came over. He wore five feathers on his head and was very prestigious.

In fact, he is the shaman of the Sleeping Bear Clan, Stone Crow.

"Follow me to see the chief." Stone Crow showed no expression, waved to the horse whistle, then turned around and left.