For a few moments we were in doubt as to the meaning of the manœuvre;

but suddenly a loud roar rose from behind the bluff, and a dark troop

of wild horsemen burst round its base, and came pouring down upon us.

There must have been several hundred of them. Every man was naked,

but glaring with paint. They flooded onward, pealing out scream upon

scream, brandishing their spears, and whirling their tomahawks around

their heads. It seemed as if old Pluto had given a holiday, and that

his crew were revelling upon the earth, under the forms of these

snorting steeds and their wilder masters. Still they came on, and the

din increased. The old chief was unmoved, and sat like a statue upon

his horse. I looked around upon our little band: there were several

lowering brows and tightly compressed lips, and the fingers of two

or three were on their gun triggers. They were not accustomed to the

Indian welcome; and to them, all this long parade of yelling warriors

wore a menacing appearance. The band had now approached within a

hundred yards. We could perceive the flashing eyes of the straining

horses, the bare teeth, scowling brows, and starting muscles of the

riders. Bow clattered against bow; tomahawk clashed against tomahawk,

and voice was blended with voice, until the whole din rose in the air,

like the wild tumultuous roar of a raging sea. They were close upon

us;—another moment—and we were lost. The eyes of the soldiers began

to flash fire, their teeth were clenched, and there was an expression

about their faces, which told, that in spite of numbers, their

resistance would be bloody. At that moment, at a signal of the Iotan,

the wild horde separated, and whirled around, enveloped in a cloud of

dust.

The old chief smiled with an air of grim satisfaction, as he observed

the effect produced upon us by his warriors; then raising his voice,

he joined in the wild mêlée around us. Horse dashed against horse, as

the band swept onward in a large circle. Some were hurled from their

seats; others clung to the manes of the maddened horses. The strong

poured down upon the weak and brushed them from their paths. Ever and

anon, some little pepper-spirited horse, vexed with the hustling, would

pause to discharge his heels into the ribs of his next neighbour; but

before it could be done, the crowd would press upon him, and again he

would be borne onward, in the rushing course of the living whirlpool.

No one regarded his neighbour; each was under the influence of a mad

excitement. A giant Indian was dashing around, upon a horse as powerful

as himself, at the inner verge of the ring. In front of him was

another, on a little nag, who kept near the border for safety. Suddenly

they came in contact. The powerful steed swept onward as if he had met

with no obstacle. The little horse spun out of his path, and his rider

threw a somerset in the air, landing in the very midst of the throng.

Fifty hoofs clattered over his head; but he scrambled out, caught his

horse, bounded on his back with a loud whoop, and flourish of his

tomahawk, and pursued his course as if nothing had happened.

After this scene of hubbub and confusion had continued for about

fifteen minutes, the crowd gradually ceased its clamour, and formed in

a large circle round us, with their horses’ heads towards the party.

Presently the ring broke and was extended in two lines, through which

a band of about thirty warriors slowly advanced, to a long solemn

chant, sung by the whole troop, and accompanied by a kind of drum.

This band was formed of the flower of the Indian village. None were

admitted except those who could boast of having taken a certain number

of scalps, or of having performed an equally honourable service,

in stealing a large number of horses. These warriors were highly

ornamented; paint of every hue was laid upon their bodies. Their heads

were decorated with feathers and the variegated plumage of the gaudy

birds of the Platte islands. Long strings of wampum hung from their

necks and ears. Each bore a calumet, adorned with feathers and tinkling

bells. Some wore glittering armlets and collars of tin. Their heads

were shaven, and covered with vermilion, and from the top of each hung

the chivalrous scalp lock, generally adorned with an eagle’s plume. As

much care had been bestowed upon the horses as upon their riders, and

they had been selected from the whole village. They now moved forward

with proud step, as if conscious of the haughty character of those who

guided them; but this was as much owing to the horsemanship of the

riders, as to the spirit of the animals themselves; for there is no

class of people better able to show off the points of a horse than the

Indians, for they almost live in their saddle from childhood.

The band moved slowly forward, and then commenced walking their

horses round, a-breast, in the space between the multitude and our

party; still keeping up their loud and not inharmonious song, which,

we afterwards learned, was in praise of the whites—that is, of their

liberality.

At length the chief gave a signal, and this troop fell back into the

general crowd. Several horses were then presented to the party by the

braves and distinguished warriors.

While this was going on, one old warrior, who was notorious for being

the greatest thief, and for having killed more men than any other in

the village, rose up to boast of what he had done in his younger days;

and to let us know that he was not a man to be overlooked—a thing

which seemed very likely to happen in the bustle which prevailed. He

was lean and shrivelled; but his strength must have been prodigious in

his prime, for every muscle rose like a rope, upon his withered frame.

He spoke for about fifteen minutes, and then drew back. When he had

concluded, another old man rose up, and in like manner vaunted his

former exploits, many of which savoured strongly of the marvellous.

These speeches were translated with great gravity by the interpreter,

who, to confirm our wavering belief, took an opportunity of whispering

into our ears that, “in boasting of his exploits, an Indian was always

scrupulous in adhering to the truth.” This was perfectly convincing;

and while we travelled along within the verge of possibility, we were

resolved to give credence to all that he uttered.

After listening to a few more of these worthies, and smoking a few

pipes of kinne-ka-neek with the different chiefs, the Iotan rose up,

and the party prepared to move onward towards the town.

In crossing the prairie, which separated us from the village, our

course was stopped by a deep gulley, which about a dozen squaws were

engaged in filling with bushes and weeds, to render it passable for the

heavy waggons. While this was going on, the old Indian who had first

delivered his address, came sweeping up at a full gallop. He did not

pause at the hollow; but, probably for the purpose of showing off his

horsemanship, dashed down into it. His horse made a vigorous spring up

the opposite bank, but lost his footing on its slippery verge, and,

after a desperate scrambling, rolled with his rider, floundering in the

mud at the bottom. There was a loud shout of laughter at his expense.

For a moment he stood glaring about him like an angry tiger; then

raising his withered arm, he shook it at the crowd. “Laugh on! laugh

on!” exclaimed he, “I am old and feeble now; but there was a time when

you would not have dared to have done this.” Having given vent to his

impotent rage, he sprang upon his horse, scrambled up the bank, and

galloped forward to the village.

In the course of an hour we reached the town. A large concourse of

women and children followed at the heels of the party, and clustered

like bees around the heavy waggons as they toiled along. We passed

through the town, and fixed upon a small hill at about five hundred

yards distance, as our camping ground. Accordingly the heavy waggons

were drawn up; the tents were pitched around them, and the horses and

oxen, being released from their labours, were sent off to a thick

bottom of timber at a short distance, where the wild pea vines were

matting together in the greatest luxuriance.

The village of the Otoe Indians is situated upon a ridge of swelling

hills overlooking the darkly wooded banks of the Platte river, about

a quarter of a mile distant. There is but little beauty or neatness

about an Indian town. The lodges are built in the shape of a half

egg. They frequently are twenty feet in height, and sometimes sixty in

diameter. The roofs are formed of long poles, which diverge, like the

radii of a circle, from one common centre. The ring of the circle is

formed of upright posts, driven closely together in the ground, and

projecting upward about five feet. These are interwoven with brushwood

and the smaller branches of trees, and form the support of the outer

end of the poles composing the roof, the interstices of which are also

interwoven with twigs and brushwood. The whole is then covered with

earth, and when finished resembles a large hillock. The town contained

about seventy of these lodges, standing singly or in groups, without

any attention to order or regularity. Within, they are capacious,

but dark, being lighted merely by a small aperture at the top, which

serves both as window and chimney. The fire is built in a cavity in the

centre, directly under the hole in the roof, by which the smoke escapes

after floating in easy wreaths about the interior.

As the lodges are very spacious, a little back from the fire there is

a circular range of tree trunks standing like columns, and connected

by timber laid in their forks, forming a support for the roof, which

otherwise, from the great length of the poles that form it, and the

heavy mass of superincumbent earth, might fall in, and bury the

inhabitants. Around the wall of the building, are ranged cribs or

berths for sleeping, screened from view by heavy mats of grass and

rushes. Over the fire is inclined a forked stake, in the hook of which

hangs a large kettle, generally filled with buffalo flesh and corn.

This, to judge from its looks, is never removed from the fire, even for

the purpose of cleaning it.

CHAP. XVII.

INDIAN HABITS.—THE ESCAPE.

We had been a week in the village, and had become familiar with all

the antiquated gossips of the place. The old warriors would stop us

as we lounged around, to listen to some sly joke, which, as in duty

bound, we relished most highly; though the wit of it was for the most

part beyond our fathom, as it lay hid in the arcana of their language.

The old squaws would hold us by the button, and whine into our ears

some lugubrious tale of misery, equally unintelligible. The children

soon lost the shyness which had at first marked their conduct; they

were continually hanging around the tents, teasing the black cook, or

frightening the oxen. When not thus engaged, they were scampering like

deer across the prairie, in the enjoyment of their wild games. Here and

there, too, a knot were busily engaged in gambling away arrows, which

they had received from their parents; discussing, with the most earnest

eagerness, the fairness and unfairness of each toss of their competitor.

Our tents became the gathering place of the whole tribe, where they

assembled to discuss the news of the day. Here they would light their

pipes, and talk over the deeds of former times; of scalps taken—of

horses stolen—of buffalo hunts, and of hair-breadth escapes from the

Sioux and Osage Indians. All the incidents which tend to variegate

the desultory life of a savage were here brought into review by the

gossiping group; receiving their meed of praise or censure, as they

deserved it. Among the rest they spoke high in praise of a young

Indian, who stood at a little distance. He was leaning against a

wheel of one of the waggons, gazing, though with an evident air of

abstraction, upon the group collected round the fire. He was scarcely

twenty; yet he was already a brave, and stood high among the older

warriors. A long feather hung from his scalp-lock, and was his only

ornament. A blanket was thrown loosely over the lower part of his body,

and was his only covering. Among various things related of him, was the

following:—

A few weeks before our arrival at the village, he was returning one

afternoon from an unsuccessful hunting excursion, which had taken him

to a great distance from his home. The crimson disk of the sun was

scarcely visible above the tops of the prairie hills. The burning heat

of a hot summer’s day was mellowing down into the mildness of a July

evening, and, one by one, the ravens and vultures were winging a steady

course towards their roosts in the thick forest skirting the Missouri.

The Otoe had yet twenty miles to travel, and it would be nightfall

before he could reach his village; but he would not push his generous

steed, which was already much fatigued. He, therefore, rode slowly

across the prairie, occasionally chirruping to the horse, or humming

some Indian song.

Suddenly his quick eye was caught by the appearance of a black speck,

which rose over the edge of a distant hill, between himself and the

setting sun. In a moment after, the whole figure of a mounted Indian

emerged to view, followed by four others also mounted. They did not

observe the Otoe, but continued riding along the top of the ridge, in

the same direction with himself. Supposing them to be some of his own

tribe, he checked his horse, and raised a loud whoop to attract their

notice.

At first they did not hear him, but a second shout, raised at the full

pitch of his lungs, brought them to a halt. A short consultation seemed

to take place; after which they rode slowly and carelessly towards

him, as if they by no means intended to hurry themselves in obeying

his call. As they were some distance off, he dismounted from his

horse, laid his rifle in the grass in front of him, and, lighting his

pipe, prepared to smoke until they should reach him. He lay intently

watching them as they drew nearer. He, however, soon discovered, from

some peculiarity in their dress, that they were not Otoes, but, as he

supposed, Kanzas, who were then at peace with his tribe.

Fearing nothing, therefore, he continued lolling on the grass and

smoking. As they approached still nearer, their cautious movements

awakened suspicion, and he began to doubt their being Kanzas. Raising

himself, he sat earnestly watching them with every sense on the alert,

though he continued to smoke his pipe with apparent tranquillity.

He now observed that they gradually separated, as if their object was

to surround him as he sat. Another glance showed that they were Osages,

the deadly foes of his tribe. Dashing his pipe to the ground, he bent

hastily forward to seize his rifle. It was fortunate for him that he

did so; for at the instant, a bullet, aimed at his heart, whizzed past

him, cutting a deep gash in his shoulder. In an instant he sprang upon

his horse. The Osage war whoop rang in his ear; but with that daring

that never forsakes an Indian, he brandished his rifle in the air, and,

raising his own answering war cry, dashed off like the wind. He had the

start by only a hundred yards. Everything depended upon the speed and

bottom of his horse; but he was a tried one, and nobly did his duty:

hill and dale disappeared behind him. Scarcely had he vanished from the

top of one ridge, ere his hoofs clattered over the top of the next. But

his enemies pressed on at the same mad rate. The clang of their horses’

hoofs rang in the ear of the Otoe with a fearful clearness. Luckily

they could not pause to take aim with their rifles. At two miles’

distance was a skirt of forest: it was growing dark, and could he but

reach this he would be safe. His horse, however, was nearly broken

down; he panted and staggered. The rider plied the lash with phrenzied

fierceness; the generous animal taxed his strength to the uttermost;

but nature was exhausted. Within a quarter of a mile of the timber he

began to fail, when his rider sprang from his back and bounded forward

on foot. A loud cry burst from his pursuers as they saw him abandon his

horse; but there was little cause for the shout, for his speed nearly

equalled that of their jaded steeds. He was within about a hundred

yards of the thicket, when, finding that they could not overtake him,

the Osages drew up and discharged their pieces. The bullets pattered

among the leaves of the grove, but missed their mark. The Otoe turned

half round, when on the border of the bushes, shook his rifle in the

air, and, raising a yell of triumph, plunged into the thicket.

The advantage was now on his side, for the Osages dared not approach,

lest he should fire upon them from his covert. They rode up and down

for a time at a distance, vainly endeavouring to catch a glimpse of his

figure; then returned across the prairie, contenting themselves with

carrying off the deserted horse.

CHAP. XVIII.

THE RIVAL CHIEFS.—INDIAN FEASTS.

Besides the Iotan, there are two other chiefs, inferior in rank, and

far less popular. It was amusing to see how jealous a watchfulness each

held over the actions of the other—each afraid to take a single step

in the transaction of any business whatever, lest it should give some

advantage to his rival. They reminded me strongly of two belligerent

cats, mounted on the top of some gutter, glaring in each other’s eyes,

and growling deep-muttered sounds of wrath; but neither venturing to

attack or retreat, lest by some unguarded movement, he should expose

some unprotected part to the fangs of his adversary. The Indian names

of these two worthies I have forgotten; but they are known to the

trappers by those of the Big Kaw (or Kanzas) and the Thief.

This last honourable badge of distinction was bestowed upon the father

of the present possessor; but in process of time the old Thief was

gathered to his fathers, and the young Thief reigned in his stead. He

inherited his name, his worn-out blankets, and so large a number of

grudges and private quarrels, that, in acting as executor and revenging

his father’s injuries, years had elapsed before he could fairly say

that the debts of the deceased were paid off.

The young Thief had, however, now become the old Thief. His hair was

silvered by age; and he had arrived at that period of life which old

folks are apt to call “the years of discretion;” that is, he had

passed the prime of his usefulness, and had reached that age when

strong attachments are usually formed to easy comforts and chimney

corners.

The Big Kaw is a short thick Indian, rather good-natured, but gifted

with a large supply of mulish obstinacy, and a temper like gunpowder.

Oppose him—flash!—he is in a blaze; the children scamper; the squaws

scatter; the rabble vanish. None stay to listen to the outpourings

of his wrath, unless it may be one or two old fellows, who are too

decrepit to get out of his way, or are blessed with so happy a hardness

of hearing, as to render it agreeable to them to be conversed with,

even though by a man in a passion.

The family of this chief consists of several wives, and a son, who is

one of the most intelligent young men in the village. He, however,

is the very counterpart of the old man in disposition; and when the

two get fairly excited, the village is in an uproar. If the quarrel is

commenced in a lodge, the building is instantly vacated by the rest

of its occupants, until the silence which reigns within gives notice

that the storm has blown over. Upon these occasions, it is said that

those who return generally find the old man looking very foolish, and

the son very angry. From this it is suspected that the former is held

in subjection by his graceless offspring. Be that as it may, the young

warrior still retains a strong affection for his fond old father.

Although, in his anger, he sometimes oversteps the bounds of propriety,

and conducts himself in an indecorous manner towards him, yet, upon the

whole, he is looked upon as a pattern of filial piety—particularly as

he permits nobody to bully his father, but himself. The Thief was in

every respect the reverse of his rival. He was tall and wiry—of that

construction which denotes extreme hardiness of constitution, united

with a great lack of superfluous flesh. He was calm and quiet in all

his movements, and would sit for hours in the same posture, his eyes

alone keeping watch. He slid in and out of our tent, with a noiseless

step, which frequently caused us to be unaware either of his presence

or his absence. We were often startled, when least expecting it, by

hearing his deep sonorous tones at our elbows.

The Iotan chief is the lord paramount of the village. With that cunning

policy for which he is noted, he contrives, by balancing the interest

of the two inferior chiefs, to keep them so constantly engaged in

watching each other, that they have no time to turn their attention to

himself.

On the first day of our arrival, we were invited to feast with about

half the village. The first lodge which we entered was that of the

Iotan. We found him sitting cross-legged upon some cushions to receive

us. Upon our coming up to him, he presented the commissioner with a

seat next himself. Then turning to his wife, he called for the feast,

which consisted of dried buffalo flesh, boiled with a large quantity of

hard corn. The interior of his abode wore but a dull, dingy look. The

rafters were almost invisible for the eddying clouds of smoke, lazily

seeking the hole in the roof, which served for the chimney.

This old chief had divided his affections among five wives. They were

seated in different parts of the lodge, engaged in pounding corn, or

chattering over the news of the day. They were evidently under but

little subjection. While we were eating with him, the old man took the

opportunity to disburthen his heart. He let us into a knowledge of

the miseries to which he was subjected from their caprices; and the

difficulties which he found in maintaining a proper discipline where

there were so many mistresses and but one master.

Upon leaving the lodge, we next visited that of the Big Kaw. He guided

us himself through the intricacies of the town, until we reached the

building and entered through its low funnel-mouthed door. We had

scarcely seated ourselves, before we found that we had got into warm

quarters. The lady of the house had not expected company, and was

unprepared for visiters. There was evidently a storm gathering. I

read it in her lowering eyes, and in the uneasy, stealthy look of the

Indian. He made no parade, but glided across the building, and motioned

us a seat, with a guilty air; then slunk upon a cushion, with the look

of a man who would wish to pass unnoticed. Occasionally he cast towards

his helpmate a deprecating glance, like that of a whipped dog. His eye

seemed to say, “I know I was wrong in bringing them; but I beseech you

to keep quiet now, and you may scold as much as you please when the

visiters have gone.”

A bowl of dried buffalo flesh was at last placed before us: the

viands being rather tough, drew forth some remark from our host, half

facetious, half apologetic. By accident it reached the hearing of the

squaw, who thought that it was intended as a reflection upon her.

In an instant she was in a blaze, and opened her batteries upon the

chief, pouring out one continuous torrent of invective. Hot-headed and

irascible as he naturally was, nevertheless for a moment he shrank

under it; and, if it could have been done with credit to himself,

probably would have evacuated the field; but in the present case that

was impossible; and to be thus lorded over by his wife, and before

strangers, was intolerable. Though for a moment overawed by the attack,

his touch-paper temper began to take fire. At first it only evinced

itself by a few sulky shakes of the head; but at last it burst through

all restraint, and sent back a fire as hot as was given. The war was

furious for some moments, and apparently carried on with equal vigour

on both sides; but at length the bursts from the chief grew fewer and

fewer: he was evidently getting worsted; his lips grew closer—more

resolved, and his look began to wander round the dwelling, until at

last it rested upon a large stick which lay on the floor at a little

distance. A glance of his eye called the attention of his wife in that

direction. It is probable that she understood its meaning; for after a

few sulky looks, and a few sullen mutterings, her words grew more and

more rare, and at last ceased altogether.

We remained but a short time longer, and after visiting the lodges of

several others, returned to our tents.

CHAP. XIX.

DOMESTIC GRIEVANCES.

Among the number of our daily visitors, were three old squaws,

hideously ugly, and filthy in the extreme. Wrinkle upon wrinkle covered

their faces, and layer upon layer of dirt covered the wrinkles. Their

long, gray, uncombed hair, hung in thick, matted locks, reaching nearly

to their waists; and each of their long skinny arms, with which they

coaxingly patted us, resembled in appearance and delicacy the trunk of

a grape vine. These old harridans were perfect nuisances. They were

constantly lingering about the door of the tent, on the look-out for

plunder. They seemed to possess the power of ubiquity; it would have

puzzled Argus to keep track of their movements. They were shuffling

around all day long, peeping into every hole and cranny. One of them

even stole meat from the frying pan, while the black cook turned his

head to drive off the other.

Come upon them when we might, they were always sure to greet us with a

half-smirking, half-piteous look; but the moment we turned away, they

were at their old occupations. They were so constantly at work, that

there was some talk of appointing a person whose sole employment should

be to keep a keen eye to their movements. They lived at our tent doors,

and, for aught we knew to the contrary, might sleep there too; for

we left them there in the evenings, and we found them at their posts

before sunrise. Indeed, so constant was their presence, that the sight

of one of them moving off towards the town was the signal for a general

search, as they seldom made their disappearance without taking with

them some article which did not belong to them.

They had taken a particular fancy to Jones, the black cook. This

unlucky wight was yet young in years, and inexperienced in the ways

of the world. He had a fond and foolish heart, and acknowledged that

he always felt a sort of sneaking kindness for the other sex. When

dwelling upon the subject, he used to open his eyes, until the small

speck of a pupil was almost lost in the immense field of white, and

exclaim, “I a’nt afeard of no man; but I can’t stand the wimmen.”

To the young urchins who intruded into his domains he was not so

indulgent, but kept a keen eye and a long stick for their especial

benefit. This, however, only subjected him to ten times more annoyance.

They would pull him by the coat tail, or jerk his ragged pantaloons

until they worked him up into a passion. Then their greatest delight

was to be hunted over the prairie by the Black Bear (the name which

he had received among them). He might as well have followed a cloud.

They sprang like fawns over the prairie, scarcely appearing to rustle

the grass in their flight. They played around him like swallows, until

completely exhausted by his own lumbering movements, he was fain to

give out, and return unavenged to his occupations. Woe to the unlucky

urchin, however, who, having been once guilty, should venture at any

subsequent time within his reach! A hearty cuffing would convince him

that the memory of the Black Bear was more tenacious than his own, and

would warn him in future to keep clear of so dangerous a neighbourhood.

During the whole of our journey from Fort Leavenworth to the Otoe

town, Mordecai had kept his fellow-servants in a state of constant

tribulation. He gave such bloody accounts of Indians and Indian

murders, that they regarded death as almost inevitable; and, I suspect,

would have deserted at the first opportunity, had there not been more

danger in leaving than in remaining with the party. When, however,

we had been received by the Otoes, and the danger was past, Mordecai

forgot his tales of terror. He pretended a kind of fellow-feeling

for the Otoes. He talked Creek to the old women, who were willing to

understand any language, so that they might but remain sufficiently

near the tents to get an opportunity of stealing. He regarded the

children that hung round with a kind of parental affection, and

thoroughly discountenanced the thwackings which Jones so liberally

bestowed upon them.

When we were perfectly settled in our camp, the horses which he had

driven were turned adrift with the rest. He then took upon himself the

duties of cook, transferring to Jones the less honourable employment of

cutting wood for fuel. He would stand by the hour, with a red flannel

night-cap stuck upon the side of his head; his butcher-knife in one

hand, and his arm akimbo, descanting upon the arduousness of the office.

He had a high opinion of his own importance, and made no hesitation in

saying that he ranked next to the Commissioner in the estimation of the

Indians; that Mr. Ellsworth was respected by the chiefs on account of

his having charge of the presents. As for himself, that he was popular

among the vagabonds of the village; for they had no hope of presents,

and, therefore, were delighted to come in for a share of the tit-bits

and choice morsels which it was in his power to distribute while

cooking.

Notwithstanding the altered tone of Mordecai, and the cordiality of

our reception, there was one individual who remained inveterate in his

prejudices against them. This was the French boy Joe: he never spoke of

the Indians without some qualifying expression of ill-will. Whenever

any thing was stolen, he at once attributed it to them. Frequently,

however, his loud vociferation on these occasions caused us strongly

to suspect that he was the delinquent, and that this clamour of

indignation was raised that he might escape unsuspected.

His sole occupation was to spread the bearskins at night, and remove

them in the morning. During the rest of the day he strolled about

abusing the Indians, cracking his whip, or hallooing at the stray curs

who were skulking around.

“Mordecai,” said he, one day to that worthy, who was standing in the

midst of a group of Indians, in his usual stately attitude, with one

hand tucked in his side, while the other held a frying pan,—“Mordecai,

dere is no good in having dese Ingens around you; dey’m all d——d

rascals any how.”

Mordecai gave a self-satisfied smirk, threw a compassionate glance at

Joe, then extending his arm with an impressive air, “Joe,” said he,

“don’t abuse the Indians; it hurts my feelings—I’m an Indian myself.”

“Yes, a nigger von,” replied Joe, turning upon his heel.

It seems, too, that the Iotan was of the same opinion; for whenever

Mordecai spoke of his Indian descent, the old warrior quietly shook his

head, remarking, “that he had never seen an Indian with woolly hair.”

It was evident, however, that his contempt was engendered by seeing him

perform menial offices; for, like all Indians, he had a great distaste

for labour, and respected those only who, like himself, did nothing.

CHAP. XX.

A MAN OF THE WORLD.

A number of idlers usually assembled in front of our tents during

the fine sunshiny afternoons, to sing their songs and smoke their

pipes, and regale themselves by listening to the adventures of their

neighbours, which they had heard recounted a hundred times before.

Among them was a tall thin Indian, with a wrinkled, hard-looking face,

and a head covered with a profusion of long knotty hair, which he

occasionally combed by raking it with his fingers. He seemed as if he

had been smoke-dried for a century, until his flesh had hardened into

gristle, and looked as if further shrivelling was an impossibility. He

had a very small, busy eye, which twinkled with an incessant play of

humour. It overcame even the grave disposition of the oldest warriors,

and surprised them into as broad a laugh as was ever known to proceed

from the mouth of the most scape-gallows Indian of the tribe, or even

from the broader mouth of that vociferous character, the Black Bear.

He usually made his appearance at the door of the tent a little after

sunrise, and continued in its neighbourhood during the whole day,

though he shifted from the fire to the tent door, as the process of

cooking and carrying the meals within went forward.

His usual dress was an old buffalo robe, worn almost bare of hair;

and in his hand he carried a long-handled pipe, as antiquated as

himself. He was one of those poor but merry dogs, who are found in

all countries—taking the world as it goes, laughing at care, and free

from all of those disturbances which fret their fellow men. He had

never held any property of his own, he had never burthened himself with

a wife, he had never built a lodge to shelter him. He was a perfect

man of the world, and supported himself by visiting his neighbours.

The lodges of the whole tribe he looked upon as his own property; the

children of the whole nation were equally under his charge. His bed

was his time-worn buffalo robe; and the abode in which night surprised

him was his usual resting place, until the next morning sun awakened

him. He was a welcome visitor at the stately dwelling of the chief,

and in the less noble though to him equally prized wigwam of one of

the lowest of the town; for in wealth they were all superior to him,

and he thought that a poor devil like himself, with scarce a tatter

to his back, had no right to sneer at the goodwill of any individual,

who, however needy, was better off than himself. Notwithstanding the

apparent easiness with which he slid through the world, his life had

not been without its spice of adventure. Nor had the lapse of fifty

years flown over his head, without bringing in its train a host of

those mishaps, both by “flood and field,” with which the history of

a savage is ever teeming. These he was accustomed to relate in the

different lodges, to the assembled group of old and young, with a

degree of humour which completely enraptured the women, and rendered

him a welcome guest in every dwelling in the town.

He was sitting as usual, one fine afternoon, at the door of the

tent. After finishing his pipe, he related an account of his having

been chased by a party of Sioux Indians, across the prairie which lay

between the Elk Horn river and the Missouri, on his way to the Otoe

Agency. After laughing heartily, the interpreter translated it for the

benefit of the rest.

CHAP. XXI.

THE CHASE.

The Otoe Agency is situated upon the banks of the Missouri river, at

thirty-five miles’ distance from the Otoe village. It consists of half

a dozen rough buildings, tenanted by as rough inhabitants. The most of

these are half-bred Indians, with full-blooded squaws for wives, and an

immense number of mongrel children. The latter may be seen from morning

till night lying on the ground in front of the agent’s dwelling, and

basking in the sunshine, with that listless enjoyment which they

inherit with their Indian blood.

Early one clear morning the Indian mentioned in the last chapter left

the Otoe village on a visit to the Agency. After swimming the Platte,

and fording the pure still waters of the Elk Horn, he strapped his

time-worn buffalo robe tightly round his body, and proceeded onward.

As he was on a friendly visit, to gossip with his old cronies at the

Agency, he had no weapon; but carried under his arm his inseparable

companion, his pipe. As this pipe is destined to bear a conspicuous

part in the adventure which is to follow, it would perhaps be worth

while to describe it. The stem was of ash, about four feet in length,

half an inch in diameter, and charred in the fire until it had

acquired a dirty brown colour. The bowl was of stone, to contain the

kinne-ka-neek[G], which an Indian uses as a substitute for tobacco.

He usually carries it about him in a small pouch, formed of the entire

skin of a young otter, musk-rat, or fox-squirrel.

[G] _Kinne-ka-neek_ is a substance used by the Indians as a substitute

for tobacco. It is made by crushing to fineness the dried leaves or

bark of the wild sumach. This is then mixed with plug tobacco, cut

fine, and is smoked by them. The proportion of tobacco to sumach is

about one fourth. The tobacco pouch of the Indians is always formed

of the skin of one of the animals above mentioned. The head is left

appended to it; and the bones, intestines, and fleshy substance are

removed from the body through a small hole cut in the throat, which

afterwards serves as the mouth of the pouch. These pouches are often

highly ornamented, with stained porcupine quills, beads, and, if their

owners can obtain them, hawks’ bells.

The route to the Otoe Agency lay across a range of steep, ragged

ridges. The Indian sauntered slowly along. He had a whole summer’s

day before him, and was never in a hurry in his movements. Arrived at

the summit of a hill which commanded a wide prospect, he paused to

cast a wary look around him. The country lay spread out at his feet.

Here and there it was broken by small patches of timber and brushwood,

which served to give relief to the otherwise barren appearance of the

prairie. There was nothing to be seen wearing a hostile garb—not even

a wolf. Notwithstanding this apparent security, his watchfulness never

slumbered. He had been too often hunted and harassed by foes, to relax

for an instant that vigilance which from necessity becomes a constant

habit with an Indian.

He travelled for several hours, and his journey was nearly at its end.

The tall, thick timber, which darkened the bank of the Missouri, was

now seen raising its dusky outline above the summits of the distant

ridges. The groves and tangled thickets were becoming more and more

frequent, and every thing bespoke a near approach to that king of

rivers, the mighty Missouri.

A smooth prairie, about two miles in width, alone separated the Indian

from the groves in which the Agency was nestled. A few yards in front

of him was a low hillock, between two thick clusters of bushes. He

sauntered to the top, and looked around. To the left was a small

clump of bushes, fringing the bottom of the hill; but beyond, in that

direction, there was no object to break the spotless green of the

prairie. It stretched far off to the northward, until its distant verge

was mingled with the haze of the sky. To his right was another clump of

thicket, which clustered at the base of the hill, and swept off to a

distant ravine. At a short distance beyond this, a long line of lofty

timber, rising above a crowded under-brush, stretched off through the

prairie, until it joined the forest of the Missouri. All appeared

clear of enemies. So, wrapping his robe still closer around him, the

Indian was preparing to quit his stand, when his quick eye was caught

by the quivering motion of a bush in the thicket at the bottom of the

hill on his left. In an instant every sense was on the alert;—it might

be a deer, or it might be a lurking foe. He paused, and watched in

breathless silence. The bush was again agitated; the painted head of an

Indian emerged from among the leaves, and the form of another was dimly

seen crouching in the bushes.

The Otoe at once recognised them for Sioux, the bitterest and most

powerful foes of his tribe. His loud taunting laugh, accompanied by

the Otoe war cry, announced to the lurking savages that they were

discovered. In an instant they sprang forth, and raised the well-known

war cry of their tribe.

The Otoe fled down the opposite side of the hill, making for a thicket

of bushes and vines at its foot. As he ran he grasped the stem of his

pipe in one hand, and the stone bowl in the other. He protruded the end

beyond his side, in such a manner as to lead his enemies to suppose

that he was armed with a rifle, and carrying it at full cock, ready to

be discharged.

His pursuers, to the number of four, followed at his heels, like a pack

of hounds in full cry. They gained upon him, for age had stiffened

his joints; but by dint of hard straining he gained the covert of

brushwood, leaving them full two hundred yards behind. A shout betrayed

their disappointment. The wary old savage now threaded his way, swiftly

but with great caution, through the thick maze of bushes. He scarcely

bended a twig or rustled a leaf, lest it should catch the observant

eyes or quick ears of the Sioux, whom he could perceive lurking round,

though keeping out of rifle-shot distance.

At last the motion of a large bush, through which he was endeavouring

to force a passage, revealed his position. In an instant each Indian

fitted an arrow to his bow, and stood ready to let fly his shaft the

moment he could get sight of the game; but they were still careful

to keep beyond the reach of the supposed rifle. At length they drew

nearer, and stood upon the edge of a ridge, not more than a hundred

yards off. An arrow could not be sent with certainty at that distance;

but a bullet could. The Otoe suddenly raised his wild-looking head

above the bushes, and levelled his pipe. A loud yell burst from the

Sioux, and they darted below the ridge of the hill, beyond his sight,

to escape the dreaded shot. The moment that they disappeared, the Otoe

sprang forward and ran. He had succeeded in gaining several hundred

yards through the underwood, when his route was again detected. He

again raised his head above the bushes; his pipe was again to his

shoulder, and pointed in the direction of the hostile group. Once

more they disappeared beneath the ridge, and he pushed forward in his

course. This manœuvre was repeated several times, till the Otoe came

to where the thicket terminated, and was only separated by about three

hundred yards of open prairie from the wooded bottom of the Missouri.

Seizing the moment of another dispersion of his foes, he burst from

the bushes and fled for the timber. He had nearly reached it, when a

loud whoop announced that his flight was discovered. His pursuers were

obliged to force a path through an intervening skirt of brushwood. This

gave him some advantage, and he gained the timber just as they were

emerging from the thicket which he had deserted. After rushing rapidly

through the underwood for a long distance, and after several turnings

and doublings, he gradually lost all sounds of pursuit, and reached

the Agency in safety, all glorious at having beaten off a war party by

means of a pipe.

CHAP. XXII.

THE METAMORPHOSIS.

We had been attending a feast given at the lodge of the Iotan chief,

and were returning through the town, towards the little eminence on

which the white canvass of our tents was fluttering in the wind. As we

passed one of the lodges, we observed a group of females in front of

it, busily engaged in exposing to the heat of the sun a large quantity

of shelled corn. This was done by scattering it upon a buffalo-skin

tent, spread upon the ground for the purpose. One squaw attracted our

attention, from her gigantic height; most of the Indian females being

under, rather than above the middle size. As we approached her, there

was a masculine coarseness in the features of her face which rendered

her hideously ugly, and formed a contrast highly in favour of the group

around her. We afterwards learned that this strange being, though now

clad in the garb of a female, and performing the most menial of their

offices, was in reality a man, and had once ranked among the proudest

and highest braves of the Otoe nation. His name had once stood foremost

in war, and in council. He had led on many an expedition against their

noble, but bitter foes, the Osages. In the midst of his bright career

he stopped short; a change came over him, and he commenced his present

life of degradation and drudgery.

The cause of the change was this. He had been for several weeks absent

upon a war expedition against his usual enemies, the Osages. At a

little before sunset, on a fine afternoon, a band of Indians were seen

coming over the hills, towards the Otoe village. It was a troop of

way-worn warriors. They counted less than when they started; but their

tale of scalps, and their fierce brows when they spoke of the death of

their comrades, told that those comrades had not been unavenged. In

front of them strode the stately form of the brave. He was wearied with

fatigue and fasting; and without staying to receive the greetings of

his fellow-townsmen, he hastened to his lodge, and threw himself upon

one of the bearskins which form an Indian bed; and there he remained

for the night. In the morning he arose from his couch; but he was an

altered man. A change, fearful and thrilling, had come over him. His

eye was quenched; his proud step wavered; and his haughty frame seemed

almost sinking beneath the pressure of some heavy calamity.

He collected his family around him. He told them that the Great Spirit

had visited him in a dream, and had told him that he had now reached

the zenith of his reputation; that no voice had more weight at the

council fire; that no arm was heavier in battle. The divine visitant

concluded by commanding that he should thenceforth relinquish all

claim to the rank of a warrior, and assume the dress and avocations of

a female. The group around him heard him in sorrow; for they prided

themselves upon his high and warlike name, and looked up to him as the

defender of their hearths. But none attempted to dissuade him from his

determination, for they listened to the communications of the deity

with a veneration equal to his own.

After speaking with his own family, he made known his intention to the

nation. They heard him gravely, and sadly; but they, too, assented to

the correctness of his resolution. He then returned to his lodge, and

took down his bow from the place which it had occupied, and, snapping

it in two, threw the fragments into the fire, and buried the tomahawk

and rifle which had often served him in battle. Having finished this,

he washed the war paint from his face, and drew the proud eagle’s plume

from the scalp-lock. From that hour he ceased to be numbered among

the warriors of the nation. He spoke not of battle; he took no part

in the councils of the tribe; and no longer raised his voice in the

wild war-whoop. He had relinquished everything which he had formerly

gloried in, for the lowly and servile duties of a female. He knew

that his allotted course was marked out for him; that his future life

was destined to be one of toil and degradation; but he had fixed his

resolution, and he pursued his course with unwavering firmness. Years

had elapsed since he first commenced this life of penance. His face

was seamed with wrinkles; his frame was yielding to decrepitude; and

his ever scowling eye now plainly showed that the finer feelings of

his nature had been choked by the bitter passions of his heart. His

name was scarcely mentioned; and the remembrance of his chivalrous

character was as a dream in the minds of his fellows. He was neglected

and scorned by those who had once looked up to him with love and

veneration. He had the misery of seeing others fill the places which

he once filled, and of knowing that however exalted he once might have

been, and however they might have respected his motives, that he was

now looked upon as one of the lowest of the nation.

CHAP. XXIII.

INDIAN DOGS.

There are no greater thieves in existence than the Indian dogs; not

even excepting the old squaws, who have made it their amusement for

half a century. With the last it is a matter of habit and practice; but

with the former it is instinct. It is necessary for their existence

that they should be at the same time accomplished thieves and practised

hypocrites. They are never fed by their masters, who are always

particularly careful to keep every eatable from their reach, their

own appetites being generally sufficient to dispose of every thing of

that nature. As far as I was able to judge, the only act of pastoral

kindness which they ever exerted over their canine flock consisted in

flogging them whenever a chance offered.

There is scarcely a lodge which does not patronise at least a dozen

of these hangers-on, who, with all their thievishness, are the most

pious-looking dogs in existence. Frequently have I observed some gaunt,

greedy fellow, who looked as if he had been dieted for a fortnight,

steal with a meditative air into the building as if he had strolled in

without observing what he was about, so much were his thoughts occupied

with more weighty matters. But notwithstanding his absence of mind,

the moment his look fastened upon any article of food, a change came

over him. The air of abstraction passed away; every latent faculty was

called into play; and his eye fairly blazed with a concentration of

thievish longing. Then, with a fixed gaze, but with an indifferent,

lounging step, he would sidle towards the object of his wishes, waiting

only for a favourable opportunity to seize his prize, trusting to

fortune to make good his retreat. But should he at that moment catch

your eye, his flashing, eager look instantly disappeared, and was

succeeded by a meek, deprecating, and unpretending slouch, which seemed

to beg that you would not place any improper construction upon his

actions.

It was not long before it became known to these gentry that a band of

strangers had arrived among them, who were as yet unacquainted with

their evil practices. Accordingly they deserted the town, to linger

around our tents. The first day was one of jubilee to them, and truly

exemplified in us the scriptural saying of “certain men fell among

thieves.” But we soon became initiated into their customs, and removed

from their reach every thing which we apprehended might be in the

slightest degree palatable, or even digestible.

There appeared to be a most cordial hatred existing between them and

the old squaws, who, above all things, detested opposition in their

line of business, and were unwilling that any interlopers should

come in to assist in carrying off a share of those spoils which they

considered their own peculiar property.

Among the number of our canine visiters were two who seemed to carry

on a co-partnership. The one was a little rakish-looking dog, of a

dirty white colour, with pinkish-green eyes, who had quite a buckish

way of carrying his tail. He was a mighty pragmatical, self-important

little body, and was apparently endeavouring to pass himself off for

more than he really was. He ranged between the gentlemen dogs and the

rabble dogs of the village. There was a swaggering, self-important air

about him, which reminded me strongly of those individuals of the human

kind, who are generally to be found in all places attempting to hide

their own natural vulgarity under a great show of dare-devil rakish

gentility. The boon companion of this dog was his reverse in every

respect. He was a lean, shaggy fellow, with a drooping slouch to his

tail, and quiet pensive expression of countenance. No one would have

suspected him of being the greatest thief in the village; yet such he

was, and as such his approaches were most thoroughly discountenanced

by all the old squaws, who looked upon him as a most formidable rival.

He never attempted to resist their attacks, but fled howling away

at the slightest appearance of danger, though half an hour would not

elapse before he was as busy as ever. We found that in stealing he far

excelled his companion, who made ten times as much bustle in carrying

off ten times as little, and who was frequently left to receive the

share of punishment due to both.

They continued together for several days. But at length the partnership

dissolved, and each went on to steal for his own private benefit. Many

were the sly bits which disappeared, and great was the caution used by

the occupants of the tents to keep out of their reach every article

which they thought would be acceptable. They continued their visits for

several days after their real character had been discovered. But having

been detected in the act of dragging off a large bag, which contained

some twenty pounds of bacon, and having been several times flogged for

their evil practices, and finding that the party had now grown quite

cautious of their provisions, they deserted us altogether—betaking

themselves to the town, and leaving their places to be filled by other

dogs, equally ravenous, but less experienced in this art of gaining a

livelihood.

CHAP. XXIV.

INDIAN LIFE.

To dress and ornament himself with trinkets and gewgaws, is the delight

of a savage. The glittering presents of the whites bear as strong an

attraction to the warrior as to the female or the child, though his

disciplined habits prevent those loud bursts of pleasure which escape

unrestrained from them. Scarcely a day elapsed but a little group would

collect before our tents for the purpose of ornamenting themselves.

They were apparently very fastidious in their taste; for when hours

had been spent by an Indian beau in laying on one streak of paint

after another, and in ogling himself by piecemeal in a small scrap of

looking glass, some defect would appear, and with an exclamation of

dissatisfaction the whole would be rubbed off. The work would then be

recommenced with unabated perseverance, until he succeeded in daubing

and ornamenting himself to his entire satisfaction.

When the toilette was completed, a surprising change came over the

young warriors. They would fling their blankets ostentatiously

around them, and with a lordly air lounge through the town; looking

first at one of the young squaws, then at another; and occasionally

condescending to speak to some dirty-looking brother, with that

patronising air which, in all countries, a well-dressed person is apt

to assume in conversing with a ragged acquaintance. When they had

finished their perambulations, they would mount upon the top of one

of the highest lodges, and stand for hours to be gazed at by the

different idlers; a term which, in truth, might be applied to the whole

of the male portion of the town.

In war and in hunting there is no being more untiring than the Indian.

He will spend days and weeks in search of an enemy. If in the course of

his travel he meets with a strange track crossing his path, his journey

is at an end, until he has satisfied himself whether it is that of a

friend or a foe. If it is ascertained to be that of an enemy, and if

there is any prospect of gaining a scalp, the main pursuit gives place

to this. He follows upon the trail, rapidly and surely, and nothing is

left undone to insure the successful accomplishment of his purpose.

He endures fatigues of all kinds; fasting and peril are unheeded by

him; he has but one aim: it is murder. There is but little chivalry

in the Indian warfare. The pursuer steals like a snake upon his foe.

He gives him no warning—no opportunity to resist his fate. Often the

death-scream of the victim is simultaneous with the crack of the rifle

that gives him the first notice of a foe.

In peace, and in his own village, the Indian is a different being. He

lounges about listlessly; he will sit for hours watching the children

at their games; or will stop at the different lodges to hear the

floating rumours of the town. Sometimes a knot of five or six will

gather together, for the sake of talking over their own domestic

grievances, and abusing their wives behind their backs. Others will

assemble in the prairie, and relate to the young men their exploits in

battle; their success in hunting; the deeds of the different noted men

of the village; always winding up with the injunction of, “Go thou

and do likewise.” At a little distance from these, a single warrior

may be seen lolling in the grass; warming himself in the sunshine,

and drawling out a dull sleepy song, with an air of the most perfect

indifference to all things, past, present, and to come. Further on, two

or three may be observed strolling along the summits of the different

prairie hills, and apparently keeping watch over the neighbouring

country.

In war an Indian is all activity—the creature of excitement; but there

is not a more listless being in existence, when this grand object does

not call into play the latent energies of his nature.

CHAP. XXV.

THE INDIAN GUARD.

During our stay at the village, the crowd of visiters and pilferers

increased from day to day. The chief, therefore, stationed one of the

warriors at the encampment to keep off idlers and intruders of all

descriptions, and above all to have a keen eye to the movements of the

dogs and old women. At the same time he took occasion to let us know

that though the warrior had been selected by himself, his pay would be

expected to come from the hands of the Commissioner. On the following

morning the guard made his appearance, and prepared to enter upon his

office. He was tall and thin, with a shaved head, and a body highly

painted with vermilion. He wore, or rather carried with him, a dirty

blanket; which, with a small piece of blue cloth around his hips, and

a ragged pair of mocassins, completed his dress, and the whole of his

worldly possessions. Like most men in office, he began to hold his head

higher than the rest of the world, and to look with a patronising air

upon his former cronies. He forthwith commenced the discharge of his

duties, with that assiduity which fully verified the trite but true

proverb, “a new broom sweeps clean.” He routed the droves of vagabond

children. He hunted the old squaws over the prairie, till nothing

in the shape of a petticoat dared venture in the neighbourhood. And

a perpetual whining and howling of curs, accompanied by the hearty

thwacks of a cudgel, informed us that this portion of our visiters had

also been treated with all the respect due to so numerous and busy a

community.

This lasted for a day; after which, a perfect calm reigned throughout

the camp. There was no excitement; for the guard had monopolised it.

There was no squabbling, or howling; for the women were driven off, and

the dogs knew better than to venture a second time within the reach of

a cudgel, whose favours were bestowed with such an unsparing liberality.

The office now became a sinecure. The guard sat for hours upon the

head of an empty pork barrel, drumming his heels against its sides,

and trolling out some Indian ditty, or occasionally bellowing out a

threat at some urchin who ventured to steal a distant look at the

forbidden premises. When this became tedious, he stretched himself at

full length on the grass, and resumed his old occupation of singing. An

hour spent at this exhausted his patience. He then rose up, threw his

blanket across one of his shoulders, and swaggered off to the village

to hear the news, and to take a chat with the old folks, who treated

him with the greatest deference, now that he was in office. After

paying one of these visits, he always returned to his post, and regaled

us, as well as he was able, with the news of the day. By degrees, his

jurisdiction seemed to increase, until at last from the charge of our

goods and chattels, it reached to the charge of ourselves; and none

of the party could leave the tent without receiving a very inquiring

look, as to what might be the nature of the business which called him

forth. All these things tended vastly to raise him in the estimation

of the village; though I verily believe that, at the bottom, he was one

of the most arrant vagabonds breathing; and that the chief, acting upon

the principle usually followed by politicians of the present day, had

promoted him to office, because it was necessary that something should

be done for him, and because there was no other way of doing it.

Great as had been his display of diligence for the first day, it soon

disappeared; and at the end of three days, there was little difference

in the appearance of the camp, from that which it wore previous to

his appointment. According to his notions, he had performed all that

was necessary to entitle him to his pay, and any further labour he

considered as altogether superfluous. Before a week had elapsed, he

was nearly as great an annoyance as any of the idlers, whom it was his

business to remove.

CHAP. XXVI.

THE OTOE COUNCIL.

A day had been appointed for holding a council with the nation, for the

purpose of forming a treaty, with respect to the lands lying in the

neighbourhood of the Nemahaw river. The hour determined upon was three

o’clock; and at that time, we proceeded from the tent to the town, with

a string of children at our heels.

We found nearly the whole tribe assembled, and seated in circles, in

the large lodge of the Iotan chief. At the far end of the building,

was the Iotan; and by his side, were stationed those two worthies—the

Big Kaw, and the Thief. Next them, were the stern forms of the older

warriors and braves. There was something solemn in the unyielding

features of these war-worn veterans. They sat as motionless as

stone—moving not a single muscle of their dusky countenances. They had

thrown aside their usual careless deportment, and all were prepared

to listen, with intense interest, to the terms of the treaty. This

was observable, not only in the principal braves, but throughout the

whole assembly. Even the veriest scapegrace assumed an air of dignity

befitting the occasion.

The lodge was excessively crowded. One ring was formed beyond another;

one dark head rose behind another; until the dim, dusk outlines of the

more distant were lost in shadow, and their glistening eyes alone could

be seen. The passage which led to the air was completely crowded with

women and children; and half a dozen curious faces were peering down

through the round hole in the roof.

The most of them had adorned themselves for the occasion. Plumes were

floating from their scalp locks; their heads and breasts were painted

with vermilion, and long strings of wampum hung from their necks and

mutilated ears. But at the present moment there seemed to be no thought

of their appearance. Every sense was wrapped up in an intense interest

in the approaching council; every breath was held; and every eye fixed

with eagerness upon the face of the Commissioner, as he arose to

address the meeting.

He stated simply and clearly the terms of the treaty. There was not a

sound to interrupt his voice; not a limb stirred—not a muscle. Their

chests seemed scarcely to move, so suppressed was their breathing:

they were like statues: and their steady stare into the face of

the speaker; and the eagerness with which every eye turned to the

interpreter, as he translated each sentence; showed their deep interest

in the scene. At length the speaker concluded; and a loud groan, or

grunt of approbation, followed from the throats of the whole meeting.

The old chief remained in grave deliberation for a few moments;

then lighting his pipe, he drew a few puffs, and passed it to his

neighbour, until it had completed the round of the whole assembly. He

then rose, and addressed the council. He spoke but a short time. The

speech was intended as an answer to that of the Commissioner, though

it was addressed principally to his warriors. He spoke warmly of the

liberality of the whites. He threw out hints as to the contents of

the heavy waggons which they had brought with them; and that the less

difficulty they made in agreeing to the terms of the treaty, the

greater would be their share of the presents. He then dilated upon the

advantage to be derived from a friendly intercourse with the whites;

and wound up his whole address, with a most pathetic lamentation about

the distance between their village and the buffalo hunting grounds.

What this last portion of his speech had to do with the rest of the

address, I could not well make out; but it appeared to be received with

keen satisfaction by his audience; and when he resumed his seat he was

greeted with a grunt of applause, which would have done credit to a sty

of full-grown porkers.

After him, one of the warriors rose up to address the meeting. He was

a lean, sinewy old man; his hair, which was unshaven, was now beginning

to whiten with the frost of years, and hung in long tangled locks upon

his shoulders. He rose slowly until he had attained his full height;

then gathering his robe closely round his waist, he commenced his

harangue. At first he spoke in a low, tremulous tone; his gestures were

feeble but impressive; but at length he grew warmed with his subject,

and his voice rose from its weak tones, until it sounded through the

building with a startling clearness. His withered face lighted up; and

his filmy eye seemed to kindle with a new lustre, as he proceeded.

The whole dusky crowd listened in silence to his words; but they did

not last long. The eloquent spirit, which for a few moments illumined

him, passed away. Like the last, leaping flash of a dying flame,

it was transient, and expired. For a moment the old warrior seemed

endeavouring to recall his train of thought, but without success. Then

with a melancholy shake of the head, he drew his blanket over him, and

sank into his seat.

None rose after him. The pipe was again passed round; and the terms

of the treaty having been assented to, by the chiefs and principal

warriors, the crowd poured from the lodge, and scattered through the

town.

CHAP. XXVII.

DISTRIBUTION OF PRESENTS.

On the day following the council, the packages containing the presents

for the tribe were given to the chief, who prepared to divide them

among the different members of his village. A large circle, composed

of every man, woman, and child, had collected in the prairie. In

the centre of this sat the chiefs, and five or six of the principal

warriors. The packages were opened, and they commenced separating the

different parcels for the purpose of distribution.

There was a great anxiety evinced by the crowd. Every eye was strained

with an expression of strong hankering towards the distributors, who

quietly proceeded in the business of opening bundles of knives, boxes

of kettles, tin cups, packages of beads, cloths, ribands, and other

articles, without paying the slightest attention to the imploring,

anxious looks of the restless bystanders. When this had been completed,

the chief commenced cutting up the pieces of cloth, calico, and

ribands, and sending off the warriors to distribute them.

Until this moment there had been silence; but now arose a deafening

clamour. The young squaws begged; the old crones scolded, screamed,

and poured out torrents of abuse. The boys whooped, and the pappooses

bawled. Never was there such a scene of confusion. When a warrior

approached the edge of the circle, a dozen hands were reached out

to seize upon the article which he held. But those who had been

appointed, had been carefully selected for their coolness. For, amid

all the scrambling, they maintained the most philosophic calmness, and

listened to the invectives of those who were disappointed, with the

most composed indifference. The distribution was managed with great

impartiality; though we observed that a low word or an imploring look

from some of the young girls had their weight; and more than once

changed the destination of a gaudy riband, or string of richly coloured

beads. A loud outcry was always raised by the neighbours on each of

these occasions; and a few hard epithets were bestowed by the old

viragoes, who thought they had lost by this change of intention.

During the distribution, our attention was attracted by the manœuvres

of one of the many antiquated squaws who crowded in the ring. She

was a diminutive little being, clothed in a dirty flannel jacket, and

a tattered piece of dress resembling a petticoat. As for her years,

they must have been countless. There must have been a strong flavour

of bitterness about her tongue; for we observed that all the warriors

seemed to shrink from collision with her. Although they evidently

neglected her, still their neglect was of a more deferential nature

than that exhibited toward the rest; and whenever they passed her,

it was with a shuffling, apologetic air. There was no more active

being in the assembly. She flew round in every direction; at one

moment she was at one part of the circle, and at another moment she

was in the opposite. She scolded, screamed, and begged. She writhed,

with an eel-like slipperiness, through the crowd. Whenever one of

the distributors passed across the circle to present some peculiarly

tempting article, a terrible hustling and jostling would be observed at

the point to which he appeared to direct his steps; and before he could

reach it, the convulsed face and straining eyes of the little squaw

would force a passage through the mass; and her shrill voice would be

heard above the general clamour. She never obtained the prize; but

the donor, after disappointing her, always moved off, with a hurried

step; until he had placed as much space as possible between himself and

her vigorous tongue. As the distribution proceeded, finding herself

no better off than before it had commenced, she grew furious, and the

clamour of her tongue was incessant. At last one of the distributors,

an old dried up Indian, with one eye, marched up to her, and either

from compassion, or for the purpose of hushing her abuse, reached out

a small piece of red riband towards her. She snatched it eagerly; but

after looking at it for a few seconds with an air of deep chagrin, her

face began to swell like a roasting pippin; and shaking the little

fragment of a riband towards him, with an air of the greatest contempt,

she opened a torrent of apparently bitter invective. This raised a

loud shout of laughter, at the expense of the old man. He, however,

did not wait to hear it, but walked off with a cool step, until he had

got beyond the reach of her fire. At length another present was given

her, but without effect. Her tongue was as inveterate as ever; and to

get rid of her, she was finally presented with a large tin kettle, with

which she marched off to the village, to the great relief of the whole

assemblage. After her departure, the business went on with a degree of

good humour, which had not previously existed.

During the distribution, we observed that those of the females who

were troubled with large families of children, were particularly well

provided for. They were presented with those articles most suited to

their domestic economy. To the young squaws, were given only trinkets

and ribands, which were of small value in themselves, but possessed the

strongest attractions for them. The knives and guns were bestowed upon

those of the young men who were most distinguished. The chiefs however

were particular to lay aside one or two of the best of each article for

their own private use.

In turning over the piles of blankets, a few small ones had been

discovered. These were given to several of the wild-looking little

fellows who were peering in through the ring. For a moment they

seemed to doubt the reality of the gift; they appeared bewildered;

then forcing a passage through the crowd, they raised a loud whoop,

and started off for the town at full speed; occasionally looking back,

as if they feared a change might have taken place in the intention of

those who presented them, and that some one might be in pursuit to take

away the prize.

After about an hour’s chattering, laughing, and scolding, the ceremony

was finished, and the crowd dispersed—some with sour and sullen

looks, some with an air of indifference—while the smiling, pleased

countenances of others denoted they at least were fully satisfied with

the portion allotted to them.

Most of the discontent was evinced by the old folks of both sexes. The

men restrained themselves, and walked off with lowering brows. The

women however gave full exercise to their tongues, and continued it,

until the sound of their sharp, shrill voices was lost in the distance,

as they travelled in Indian file towards the town. Notwithstanding the

show of discontent, there were but few who had not obtained some trifle

in the general distribution.

Shortly after this, we observed a troop of Indians coming from the

village. They were fantastically dressed in buffalo skins, so as to

bear a strong resemblance to that beast. They retained the head, beard,

and legs of the animal entire; and were so well disguised, that several

of them, at a little distance, might have been mistaken for the brute

itself. They had prepared themselves to give us the buffalo dance.

They drew up in a large circle, at a little distance from a skin tent,

which had been lent to us by them, our own marquee having become much

tattered in a heavy gale a few nights previous. The leader of this

band was the Big Kaw, who frisked behind the grave head and beard of

an enormous buffalo bull. In the centre of the circle were seated a

number of buffaloes, whose business it was to sing, while the rest,

consisting of chiefs, squaws, and pappooses, or, in other words, of

bulls, cows, and calves, danced to their music. The chorus commenced

with a low, mournful ditty, which set the whole herd of dancers in

motion. They began moving slowly round the singers; but as the chant

grew more and more animated, the vivacity of the herd increased. From

a walk they quickened their pace to a trot; from a trot, it ambled off

into a full gallop. Now the spirit of the beast began to show out. The

cows bellowed; the bulls frisked, roared, and fought; they kicked up,

they tore up the ground, and chased each other round the circle. This

lasted some time, until they grew uproarious, and the butting of horns

was furious. At this sight the cows drew off; and several calves, after

bursting out into a loud bawl, raised up from all fours, and mounting

upon their two hind feet, started for the village—too much frightened

to take any further share in the day’s diversions. The dance lasted for

about two hours, after which, the Big Kaw, under the form of a seven

year old bull, came and seated himself upon a billet of wood, at our

sides. He appeared perfectly satisfied with his performance, but was

grievously out of wind.

After this followed several other dances of a similar character. They

received their appellations from different animals; and the merit of

a dance consisted in imitating, as nearly as possible, the actions of

the beast from which it received its name. They continued until late in

the afternoon, when the Indians, one after another, departed to their

homes; and long before nine o’clock, the busy hum was entirely stilled,

and a deep silence hung over our tent, and the surrounding prairie.

CHAP. XXVIII.

DEPARTURE OF OTOES FOR THE HUNTING GROUNDS.

Several days had elapsed, and the growing coldness of the weather

warned us that it was time for the expedition to be on its move towards

the Pawnee villages.

The Otoes had consumed their supply of provisions, and were preparing

to desert their town and start for the hunting grounds. The Iotan

offered to accompany us, with about twenty of his principal warriors,

that he might exert his influence with the Pawnees, to prevent any

hostility towards us. Although chief of a different and but a small

tribe, still his influence with these wild hordes was equal to that

of any of their own leaders. His desperate courage had rendered him

popular with the chiefs, and older warriors; and his sociable manners,

though tinged with a dash of grimness, had rendered him a favourite

with the less distinguished of the nation. In addition to this, the

character of the Otoe tribe for furious courage, and pre-eminent skill

with the rifle, gave great consequence to their chieftain.

It was for this reason that the proposition of the Iotan was gladly

acceded to. And our preparations for departure were forthwith commenced.

In the meantime, a change took place in the village. Every family was

busily engaged in making ready for its departure, to the distant haunts

of the buffalo. Large droves of horses poured in from every direction.

The town rang with noises of all descriptions. Squaws were scolding;

children were squalling; pappooses, too young to shift for themselves,

like so many little mummies, were suspended in baskets round the inside

of the lodges, where they would be out of harm’s way, while their

mothers were engaged in packing up. The dogs had probably learned, from

disagreeable experience, that this was one of the ill-humoured seasons

of the tribe. Many of them had withdrawn to a short distance in the

prairie, where they sat, demurely waiting till the bustle should be

finished, and good humour restored to the town. The warriors laid aside

their usual indolence, and assisted their wives in loading the horses.

The only idlers in the town were children and old men. The first stood

in droves, looking on, equally aware with the dogs, of the souring

effect of all this bustle upon the tempers of the grown-up portion of

the community; and equally cautious in avoiding all contact with them.

The last strolled up and down; kicking every stray cur they chanced to

meet, and bellowing out advice to all who chose to listen.

Here and there, a long train, who had finished their labours, were

slowly wending their way, over the western hills, towards the

wished-for hunting grounds. A long suite of dogs lounged after them,

and disappeared, with them, behind the distant ridges.

As one family after another dropped off, the town began to wear a

lonely air. Wild and uncouth as were its inhabitants, we had formed

a companionship with them. When, however, we entered their lodges,

found the fires extinguished, the buildings stripped, and silence and

solitude reigning where we had been greeted with kind looks and smiling

faces, we experienced a dreary feeling, which increased our desire to

be once more on the wing towards our still distant goal.

CHAP. XXIX.

DEPARTURE FROM THE OTOE VILLAGE.

It was about ten o’clock, on a rich golden morning, that we started

from the Otoe village. The baggage waggons had left it some hours

previous, and had long since passed the hills which rose behind the

town. A crowd of gazers collected round us as we saddled our horses. At

length every thing was completed, and, bidding farewell to the dusky

group, we mounted, and galloped off in the direction taken by the

waggons.

Our course lay along the borders of the Platte, which soon began

to lose the luxuriant verdure that had fringed its banks in the

neighbourhood of the Otoe town. Scarcely a tree or shrub grew upon

its borders, or threw a shade upon the glare of its waters. It moved

sullenly along, with now and then the floating trunk of some ponderous

tree, drifting towards the still more murky waters of the Missouri.

Our party now counted about thirty, including Indians; and although, on

account of the scarcity of provisions, four of the soldiers had been

sent back to the garrison, still the reinforcement of Otoes more than

compensated for their loss. They were a noble race of men, with more

pride of character than we had observed in any of the Indians we had as

yet met with. They had all prepared themselves for the journey. Their

blankets were thrown over their shoulders and strapped round their

waists, in such a manner as to leave a short skirt extending half

way down to the knee. Their legs were protected by coarse leggings of

buffalo skin. Each man carried a short scabbard, containing a knife;

and several pair of mocassins were strapped upon the back of each.

They had left their rifles at the village; and a short thick bow,

with a well-stocked quiver of arrows, supplied their places. This was

the usual equipment of an Indian warrior when starting on a peaceful

journey.

The leader of the band was the Iotan chief. Next followed the short,

thick figure of the Big Kaw, succeeded by the long form of the Thief;

and after them came the inferior warriors. They moved in front of us,

with limbs that seemed not to know fatigue; and although we travelled

over many miles of prairie before nightfall, their pace was the same,

and their step as unflagging as ever.

Take an Indian upon the prairies, and he is in his element. An air of

wild freedom breathes around him. His head droops not; his eye quails

not; and not a single feature yields in submission to his fellow man.

He is unrestrained in body, unfettered in spirit, and as wayward as the

breeze which sweeps over the grass of his own hills.

CHAP. XXX.

THE ALARM.

On the fifth night after our departure from the Otoe town, we encamped

upon the banks of the Platte river. The night was clear and cool, and

the reflected stars sparkled in the neighbouring river.

The prevailing silence was now and then broken by the neigh of our

horses, who were pasturing at a short distance; or by the trumpet-toned

cry of some wild goose, the leader of a flock, on their way to the

north. Far to the south, a faint red light was reflected in the heaven,

which one of the hunters attributed to the burning of a prairie, some

twenty miles off.

A large fire of heavy logs had been built in front of the tent, and

the party had gradually gathered round it. Two or three of our dusky

companions mingled with the group—grave, but observing, spectators of

the actions of the whites. Half of a large deer was roasting before

the fire; and the Black Bear, with a face of vast importance, was

busily engaged in concocting our evening’s supply of coffee in a large

tin bucket, which swung from a pole, inclined over the fire. The

interpreter was called upon for a story, and had just discharged a

large roll of tobacco from his mouth to make room for the full play of

his tongue. “Ugh!” exclaimed one of the Indians.

“What’s the matter now, _Hah-che-kah-sug-hah_?”[H] asked the doctor,

addressing the Indian by his native name. The Indian glanced his eye

towards the speaker as he heard his name uttered; but, after standing

for a moment, he walked off a few steps and placed his hand behind his

ear in the attitude of one engaged in earnest listening.

[H] This Indian was one of the principal braves of the Otoe nation, and

has since become a chief. The name Hah-che-kah-sug-hah was given to him

on account of his deadly success in the war parties against the Osages.

It signifies, _the man who slays the Osages_. Though distinguished for

ferocity in battle, yet in private life he was one of the most joyous,

pleasant fellows I ever met with.

“What does he hear, D——?” said the doctor, turning to the Indian

agent.

“We will know presently,” returned the other quietly, without evincing

more curiosity than the red companion with whom he had so long taken up

his residence.

For a moment the Indian stood with his brows knit, his eyes bent to the

ground, his head inclining a little forward, his nostrils expanded,

and every sense apparently on the _qui vive_. He remained so for a

few seconds; then, throwing himself upon the ground, pressed his ear

closely against the sod.

“What do you hear, Hah-che-kah-sug-hah?” asked the agent, in the Otoe

tongue.

“There is an Indian on the prairie,” was the answer.

This annunciation, being interpreted, drew forth loud expressions of

surprise from the whites: but the Indians were perfectly quiet; they

asked no questions and made no remarks. They appeared to have the

greatest reliance upon the Indian, whose keen hearing had been first

attracted by the sound. They watched him earnestly, but calmly, as he

lay upon the ground. After continuing in this position for some time,

he slowly rose up, and placed his hand again behind his ear—the very

image of the most intense attention. Then taking up a pouch and rifle,

belonging to one of the hunters, he stole off until he was lost in the

gloom which hung over the prairie.

The contrast between the whites and Indians was now clearly observable.

The former immediately commenced a conversation, teeming with

suppositions, suggestions, and all that out-pouring of confused ideas,

usual when a dozen persons, altogether ignorant of a subject, attempt

to throw a little light upon it for the benefit of their neighbours.

The Indians, on the contrary, remained perfectly cool; so much so, that

one of them quietly turned the attention of the cook to a large piece

of meat which he was frying to a cinder, in his eagerness to listen

to the comments of the party. They appeared to take the matter with

as much quietness as if they had been in the heart of their own town,

instead of a large prairie, infested by bands of hostile tribes.

Nearly ten minutes had elapsed, when a loud shrill cry arose in the

prairie from two different quarters.

“Ugh! Otoe!” repeated several of the Indians, but without moving.

At that moment another long quavering whoop sounded in the air.

“Hah-che-kah-sug-hah!” ejaculated one of the Otoes.

A few moments elapsed, and two strange Otoes appeared in the camp,

followed by the dusky form of our Indian friend.

In a few words they told their story. They had been to the Pawnee

village, which was about ten miles off, and had left it that evening.

About an hour previous they had been espied by a party of Sioux

Indians, who had pursued them. Seeing a light, they fled for it. Their

enemies followed; and they believed that, even now, they were lurking

in the prairie, at but a short distance from the camp.

In an instant all was uproar. Some ran for their guns; some loaded;

others filled their powder-horns; others swore at their comrades, on

account of the loss of some article of equipment; but all were busily

employed in suggesting to their neighbours what was best to be done in

the present emergency, and all followed their own inclinations. “Raise

the flag!” at last cried one, “and let them see that there are whites

in the party; the fear of their rifles may keep them off.”

This was no sooner proposed than executed. A tall pole, with a striped

flag floating from the end of it, was reared in front of the tent, in

the full light of the fire.

The old Iotan saw the flag hoisted, and though he did not exactly

understand why it was done, still he supposed that there was some

meaning in it. So he followed the example of the whites, and erected a

pole among a pile of kettles, marking his place of encampment. He then

decorated the end with a striped flag, which he had hitherto used as a

wrapper on state occasions.

“But, Major,” said one, looking rather wild, and walking up to the

Indian Agent, “we are representatives of government—will the Sioux dare

to fire on the United States?”

“If the people of the United States were _all_ assembled, I presume

they would not,” was the quiet answer. “But you had better get back

from the fire. The Otoes have done so already. They know that an Indian

can pick a man off easier if he stands in the light of the blaze than

if he keeps in the shade. You had better join them in the grass yonder;

there is no chance for running, for there’s no place to run to.”

This was satisfactory, and in another moment the questioner had

followed the example of the savages.

The confusion lasted for a short time; but at length each man had

prepared himself. When this was completed, there was nothing more that

could be done. There might be an enemy within a few yards, and they

might be at the distance of many miles. The darkness was so great that

it was impossible to see more than ten yards beyond the fire. Our

foes, on the other hand, if any there were, would be able to catch

sight of our forms moving between them and the flame, at twenty times

that distance. At length a young Indian rose up, and, moving swiftly

past the fire, threw himself on the ground beyond. For a moment he

remained stationary, and then, raising his head, commenced worming

his way through the long grass, until he was lost in the darkness.

He returned after an absence of nearly half an hour. He had made a

long circuit round the camp, but had discovered nothing. He had seen

no signs of an enemy; and he gave it as his opinion, that they had

abandoned the pursuit, and that no other human beings besides ourselves

were in the neighbourhood. As he concluded he took his seat at the

fire, with the confident air of a person who felt that there was

nothing to be apprehended from this exposure. He was soon followed by

the rest, and in a short time the camp was as merry and noisy as if

nothing had taken place to excite their fears.

CHAP. XXXI.

PREPARATIONS FOR RECEPTION.—RECEPTION BY GRAND PAWNEES.

During the evening previous to our arrival, several half-breeds, who

had been sent out by the Commissioner to gain information of the

probable reception which awaited us, came dropping in, all bearing

promises of a friendly welcome from the Pawnee chiefs. At sunrise the

next morning, the tents were struck, and placed in the heavy baggage

waggons; and a more than usual bustle and note of preparation was

heard in the camp. The soldiers seated themselves upon the grass,

to examine and prepare their arms; and the Otoe Indians were busily

engaged in ornamenting themselves for the meeting. Some had spread

their blankets upon the prairie, and were anxiously employed in tracing

various figures in vermilion upon their woolly surfaces. Some, eagerly

bending over the small pools of still water left in the dry bed of the

river, were painting their faces with vermilion, manifesting as much

interest and anxiety in the choice of their ornaments, as a young belle

preparing for her first ball. Paint was placed on and rubbed off. Faces

were striped first in one direction, then in another; and the advice of

those who were sitting round was asked, and given, with all the gravity

befitting so important an operation. In the meantime, two or three

finished their toilets, and seated themselves at a short distance to

serve as models for the rest. Several who had acquired some reputation

for skill in this art, were busily engaged in painting up the less

gifted of their companions. Whilst this was going on in one quarter,

in another, five or six Indians, who either had no paint, or cared not

about the opinion of those they intended to visit, lay stretched at

full length in the grass. Here they kept up an incessant drumming upon

their breasts with their fists, in exact time to a chant, which they

were letting out at the top of their lungs, and which always wound up

with a loud yell, by way of chorus.

But there must be an end of all things, and in due time there was

an end of the preparations. The tents were packed; the Indians were

painted and striped to resemble any thing but men; the soldiers had

adjusted their arms; the horses were saddled; the oxen were secured

before the heavy baggage waggons, and the party commenced slowly moving

towards the village.

It was a fine sunny morning; the clumps of trees which clustered on the

low banks of the river, and the numberless islands which dotted its

broad, shallow waters, were alive with woodpeckers of every size and

hue. In every direction they darted among the tall dead trees which

overhung the muddy stream, making the trunks resound with the incessant

hammering of their small but powerful beaks. Large flocks of gaily

plumed parroquets whirled screaming past us, with a surprising velocity.

At ten o’clock the party had travelled several miles across the

prairie, and our vicinity to the village was becoming more perceptible.

Mounted Indians, sent out to watch for our approach, were seen here

and there flying across the hills in the direction of the village, to

give notice of the arrival to their chiefs. At a distance we could

perceive several bands of Indians in pursuit of large droves of their

wild and fiery horses, which they were urging at a headlong speed in

the direction of the town. In another quarter, on the top of a ridge

of small hills, groups of five or six were standing, intently watching

the motions of the party, which, from the jaded state of the oxen, were

necessarily slow. The soldiers, who had been lazily lounging across the

prairie, were now called in, and formed in a compact body round the

baggage waggons. An hour more brought us in sight of the village.

Upon our near approach, we could perceive that the hills surrounding

it were black with masses of mounted warriors. Though they swarmed

upon their tops, to the number of several thousands, yet they stood

motionless and in silence, watching the approach of the mission.

At length a single horseman detached himself from the mass, and

came galloping down the hill and over the prairie to meet us. As he

approached, there was a wild, free air about him, and he governed his

gigantic black horse with the greatest ease. I could not but think that

if the rest of these warriors were of the same mould, any resistance of

our band, however desperate, would avail but little against an attack

of these proud rulers of the prairie.

Upon reaching the party, he sprang from his horse, and shook hands with

Mr. E——. He then gave directions, through the interpreter, that the

band should be drawn up in as small a compass as possible, to avoid

all contact with his warriors. After spending some time in completing

his arrangements, he galloped back, and gave the signal to the rest.

In an instant the hills were deserted, and the whole mass of warriors

were rushing towards us, across the broad bosom of the prairie. It was

a moment of intense and fearful expectation. On they came; each mad

horse with erect mane and blazing eye, urged forward by the bloody

spur of an Indian master. They had reached within two hundred yards

of the party, but still the speed of their horses was unchecked, and

the powerful tramp of their hoofs rang like thunder upon the sod of

the prairie. At a signal, however, from the chief, the band separated

to the right and left, and commenced circling round us, in one dark,

dense flood. Their whoops and yells, and the furious and menacing

manner in which they brandished their bows and tomahawks, would have

led a person unacquainted with their habits to have looked upon this

reception as any thing but friendly. There is something in the fierce,

shrill scream of a band of Indian warriors, which rings through the

brain, and sends the blood curdling back to the heart. Their ornaments,

though wild, were many of them beautiful. The closely shaved heads of

some were adorned with the plumage of different birds. Others wore an

ornament of deer’s hair, bound up in a form resembling the crest of an

ancient helmet; and a plume of the bald eagle floated from the long

scalp-locks of the principal warriors.

Some few wore necklaces of the claws of the grisly bear hanging down

upon their breasts. The bodies of some were wrapped in buffalo robes,

or the skin of the white wolf; but the most of them wore no covering,

save a thick coat of paint. This they had profusely smeared over their

bodies and arms, and many had even bestowed it upon the heads and

limbs of their horses. After dashing round us for some time, the chief

waved his hand, and the turmoil ceased. The warriors sprang from their

horses, and, seating themselves round in a large circle, waited for the

arrival of the chief of the Grand Pawnees. In a few moments he advanced

to meet Mr. E——, accompanied by the different chiefs of Tappage

Pawnee, Pawnee Republican, and Pawnee Loup villages. He was a tall,

powerful Indian. A fillet of the skin of the grisly bear, ornamented

with feathers, was bound round his head. Over his shoulder was thrown

a large mantle of white wolf-skin, also adorned with feathers. His

legs were cased in black leggings of dressed buffalo hide, worked with

beads, and fringed with long locks of human hair. These were taken

from scalps won in his various war expeditions, and hung down over

his knees, trailing upon the ground as he walked. He first advanced

and welcomed Mr. E——, and afterwards the rest. The chiefs of the three

different villages were then introduced, and repeated the words of

welcome uttered by the first.

This ceremony was scarcely finished when a movement was observed among

the crowd; and a powerful roan horse, mounted by an armed Indian,

bounded forward to the middle of the circle, where the rider sprang

from his back. He was a stranger among the tribe, and spoke not their

language—a Kioway[I] Indian, from the borders of Mexico—a member of

those wild tribes who, like the Arabs, rove the immense plains of the

west, and carry destruction to all who are not strong enough to resist

them. After pausing and looking around him for a moment, with a glance

that seemed to challenge opposition from the assembled warriors, he

walked up to Mr. E——. He was slight, and beautifully formed; but there

was a fire in his eye, a swell of the nostril, and a proud curve of

the lip, which showed a spirit that brooked no opposition, shunned

no danger, and could only be quenched by the chill of the grave. His

long black hair, which trailed behind him on the ground, was plaited

together, and ornamented with about twenty plates of massive silver. A

band of silver was fastened round his throat, and several large medals

of the same metal hung upon his breast. Upon his arms were several

bands of silver, and rings of the same upon his fingers. His leggings,

though more finely wrought, like those of the chiefs, were fringed with

scalps. A scalp, consisting of the entire upper part of a human head,

hung from the bit of his fiery horse. Upon coming up, he offered his

hand to Mr. E——, and in succession to the rest; and after pausing and

gazing upon us for a short time, with some curiosity, he sprang upon

his horse, and, riding through the circle, was lost behind the more

distant crowd of warriors.

[I] We afterwards learned that this Indian had become enamoured of

a young girl of his own tribe, the wife of another; but her husband

having gone upon some expedition, she had taken advantage of his

absence to leave her nation with her lover; and together they had

fled to the Pawnee village, which they reached a week previous to our

arrival.

For a short time after the introduction of the various chiefs, the

mass of grim beings hemmed us in, sitting upon the ground like so many

dark forms of statuary, without voice or motion. Several at length

arose, and, coming towards Mr. E—— and Major D—— (the United States

agent for the Pawnee Indians), extended the stem of their pipes to

the lips of each; then, instantly retiring, resumed their station in

the crowd. By this action, we afterwards learned, that each pledged

himself to present a horse to the person to whom he extended his

pipe. In the meanwhile, two old men, who had no horses to lose by

the free indulgence of liberal feelings, rose up, and, by loud and

vehement harangues, endeavoured to pique the liberality of the rest.

They boasted of the number they would bestow, _if they but had them_;

and recounted, as examples, the acts of generosity which they had

performed in their youth. As that youth ran far back, beyond the memory

of the oldest inhabitant, there was little probability of their being

contradicted.

After they had finished, the Wild Horse (I do not recollect his Indian

name), the principal warrior of the nation, stood up and harangued

the assembled multitude. He launched out in a long panegyric upon

the whites, which was delivered with a warmth of expression no doubt

greatly increased by the sight of the waggons laden with presents.

This warrior was one of the most singular, as well as ferocious, of

the tribe; and many were the tales of his war expeditions, afterwards

related to us by the trappers, as we lay stretched around our

night-fires. His height could have been but little short of seven feet,

and every limb was in proportion. Unlike the rest of his tribe, his

hair remained unshaven, and hung in long tangled locks, which reached

nearly to his waist, and were profusely smeared with red ochre. His

low, retreating forehead was almost buried in wrinkles; and his eyes,

deep set in his head, glowed like living coals. His nose was large and

prominent; and the size of an enormous mouth was not at all diminished

by two streaks of vermilion, which he had drawn from each corner to

his ears. He wore neither covering nor ornament, unless the profusion

of black clay and red ochre, which covered his body, deserved that

name. He stood out, in his naked proportions, a giant among those

who surrounded him; and the wild energy of his gesticulation, as he

delivered his harangue, showed the prodigious strength hidden in his

form, and which only required an occasion to bring it into action. From

his youth upward he had been the leading warrior in the nation, and his

deeds had spread a terror of his name through all the hostile tribes.

Though no chief, his influence in the village was equal to theirs,

rendering him as much an object of jealousy to them, as of dread to

their enemies.

When he had finished his address, the chief rose and spoke to his men.

After this, the circle opened; and, forming into two lines, one on each

side, the warriors prepared to escort us into their village.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON:

Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE,

New-Street-Square.

This day is published, in 1 vol. post 8vo, 10_s._ 6_d._, the

THIRD and LAST SERIES of

GLEANINGS IN NATURAL HISTORY,

WITH

NOTICES OF SOME OF THE ROYAL RESIDENCES.

By EDWARD JESSE, Esq.,

Surveyor of His Majesty’s Parks and Palaces.

Also, price 10_s._ 6_d._

A THIRD EDITION OF JESSE’S GLEANINGS,

VOLUME I.

A SECOND EDITION OF JESSE’S GLEANINGS,

VOLUME II.

JOHN MURRAY, Albemarle Street.

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Transcriber’s Note

- Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

Variations in hyphenation have been standardized but all other

spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

- Footnotes placed at end of their respective paragraph.