Kabibonok Ka, the North Wind, came marching out of the caverns and snows
of the north, whipping and driving blinding gusts of rain and sleet.
Nee-ba-naw baigs, the Water Spirits, unsealed their fountains, and the
turbulent waters of the Little Big Horn River rushed on, tearing out the
banks along which on the plain were huddled the myriad tepees of the
Indian camp. The wind in the trees roared like distant thunder. The dogs
were crouching in any shelter. Horses were standing with their backs to
the storm, their tails drenched and driven between their legs. The flaps
of the tepees were closed, and the rawhide streamers from the poles
cracked like the sharp report of a rifle. The women and children were
closely huddled around the lodge fire. It was the great spring storm, the
last triumphant blast of winter. Yonder in the centre of all this
dripping circle of tepees stood the council lodge. Inside were gathered
the great chief and his medicine men and warriors. They encircled the
blazing logs, heeding little the melancholy night that kept tune with the
sorrowful thoughts of their own hearts. The ashes had cooled in the bowl
of the council pipe, when, at the head of the circle, Chief Plenty Coups,
chief of all the Crow Nation, arose from his blankets, laid down his coup
stick, and addressed his brothers:
“The ground on which we stand is sacred ground. It is the dust and blood
of our ancestors. On these plains the Great White Father at Washington
sent his soldiers armed with long knives and rifles to slay the Indian.
Many of them sleep on yonder hill where Pahaska—White Chief of the Long
Hair—so bravely fought and fell. A few more passing suns will see us here
no more, and our dust and bones will mingle with these same prairies. I
see as in a vision the dying spark of our council fires, the ashes cold
and white. I see no longer the curling smoke rising from our lodge poles.
I hear no longer the songs of the women as they prepare the meal. The
antelope have gone; the buffalo wallows are empty. Only the wail of the
coyote is heard. The white man’s medicine is stronger than ours; his iron
horse rushes over the buffalo trail. He talks to us through his
‘whispering spirit.’ ” (The Indian’s name for the telegraph and
telephone.) “We are like birds with a broken wing. My heart is cold
within me. My eyes are growing dim—I am old. Before our red brothers
pass on to the happy hunting ground let us bury the tomahawk. Let us
break our arrows. Let us wash off our war paint in the river. And I will
instruct our medicine men to tell the women to prepare a great council
lodge. I will send our hunters into the hills and pines for deer. I will
send my runners to the lodges of the Blackfeet, where in that far north
flowers border the snow on the hills. I will send them across the fiery
desert to the lodges of the Apaches in the south. I will send them east
to the lodges of the Sioux, warriors who have met us in many a hard
battle. I will send them to the west, where among the mountains dwell the
Cayuse and the Umatillas. I will have the outliers build smoke signals on
all the high hills, calling the chiefs of all the tribes together, that we
may meet here as brothers and friends in one great last council, that we
may eat our bread and meat together, and smoke the council pipe, and say
farewell as brothers, never to meet again.” The storm abated. The urn of
the morning seemed overturned, and the spices of a new spring day,
redolent with the perfume of growing things, bright with sunshine and song
of birds, flowed over the busy Indian camp. Weeks passed on. Runners
came into camp, rushing into the lodge of the great chief, announcing the
approach of a procession of chiefs from the north; other heralds told of a
great company on the hills coming from the east, and from the west, and
warrior chiefs from the south halted outside the camp. Chiefs from all
the great tribes had heard the call, had seen the smoke signal, and now
the plain is full of horses and gayly coloured riders as they dismount
before the council lodge.
A wonderful blaze of colour meets the eye. Excitement and interest fill
the air as these veterans of the plains enter the council lodge. Chief
Plenty Coups then receives the chiefs; they are greeted one by one with a
courtly and graceful dignity. When the council had assembled Chief Plenty
Coups laid his coup stick and pipe sack on the ground, and in the sign
language gave welcome to the chiefs from many lands.
“I am glad at heart to stand here to-day on this Indian ground and give a
hearty welcome to all the chiefs assembled from the various tribes from
all over the United States. It is a day of beauty, and bright sunshine;
it is a glad day for me. I rejoice that on this happy day we can all meet
here as friends, eat our bread and meat in communion, smoke the council
pipe, and the pipe of peace. I am rejoiced to give you all a great heart
of welcome. And then we must say farewell, but we go away as friends,
never to meet again. I am glad to have you here.”
Then Chief Two Moons, the leader of the Cheyennes in the Custer fight,
arose and shook hands with Chief Plenty Coups, and said:
“This is a glad day for me, and I am glad at heart that we can all meet as
chiefs from the various tribes from all over the land. It is a great day
for all of us, because there are no more wars between us, and we meet in
peace to hold this last great council of the chiefs, and smoke the pipe of
peace. I am glad at heart that this great picture is to be made of us, as
we are assembled here, because our old chiefs are fast dying away, and our
old Indian customs soon will pass out of sight, and the coming generations
will not know anything about us, but this picture will cause us to live
all through the years. And our children and their children will reap the
benefit. I am glad we are here.”
Tottering with age, and nearly blind, Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa, head chief of the
Umatilla Indians, pulled himself up on his walking-stick, took Chief
Plenty Coups by the hand, and said:
“I have come here to-day and am glad to meet all the chiefs and especially
Chief Plenty Coups, chief of the Crow tribe. And I am greatly satisfied
to meet you all and be at peace. On this day we meet as Indians and as
brothers, and now we sit here on this ground and smoke the peace pipe. We
meet as brothers that have been away from one another for many years.
Some of us have never seen each other before, and to-day we meet and shake
hands with these chiefs whom we shall never see again. Although these
people were our enemies at one time, to-day we are in peace, and I think
very much of this chief, and I think very much of all the chiefs. I think
it is a great day for all of us. I cannot give you any more words, as I
am of old age.”
Umapine, head chief of the Cayuse tribe, wearing perhaps the finest
regalia of any chief in the council, with great dignity and grace
addressed Chief Plenty Coups:
“We all chiefs of different tribes meet here in this country, the country
that some of us perhaps will never see any more. I appreciate your
kindness in greeting us. We all Indians are in peace toward each other as
well as toward our white brothers. I am very glad to meet you all. I
hope that we will in the future days respect one another, also respect our
white brothers, because we all, each one of us, belong to the animal
kingdom. This is all to you, my dear friends; wishing you a good health.”
Red Cloud, head chief of the Ogallalla Sioux Nation, with his captivating
way, addressed Chief Plenty Coups:
“I stand here to-day to shake hands with the chief of the Crow Nation, and
all the chiefs of the tribes assembled from the various quarters of our
country. I stand here on this great plain, with the broad sunlight
pouring down upon it. I want you to look me in the face, and I hope the
Great Heavenly Father, who will look down upon us, will give all the
tribes His blessing, that we may go forth in peace, and live in peace all
our days, and that He will look down upon our children and finally lift us
far above this earth; and that our Heavenly Father will look upon our
children as His children, that all the tribes may be His children, and as
we shake hands to-day upon this broad plain, we may forever live in peace.
We have assembled here to-day as chiefs from all over the land; we eat the
bread and meat together, we smoke the pipe of peace, and we shake the hand
of peace. And now we go out as one chief, and I hope we shall be as
brothers and friends for all our lives, and separate with kind hearts. I
am glad to-day as I shake hands with my brothers and friends, although I
shall never see them again. When the white man first came across the
ocean, the Indian took him by the hand and gave him welcome. This day
makes me think of that time, and now I say farewell.”
Mountain Chief, head chief of the Blackfoot Indians, perhaps the most
vigorous talker in the sign language in the council, greeted Chief Plenty
Coups with these words:
“I have come clear across the plains and from behind the distant mountains
to meet these chiefs assembled in council, and I am very glad that I am
here to see these Indian chiefs from all the various tribes, and my heart
is open to you all as to my own brother. We smoke the pipe of peace and
take the hand of all the different chiefs, and I shall be glad forever,
and shall look upon this as one of the greatest days of my life. We
separate from each other in peace, and with a kind heart, but never to
meet again.”
Bear Ghost, Chief of the Yankton Sioux, with great calmness and
deliberation said:
“I am glad that I am here to shake the hand in peace with all the chiefs
of the various tribes assembled. It is a great day for me, and a great
day for us all. I rejoice that a record is to be made of this council
that it may live for future generations. I am glad that I can smoke the
pipe of peace, and that with a sad but satisfied heart I can say farewell
to all the chiefs.”
The commanding figure of Koon-Kah-Za-Chy, an eminent Apache chief, stood
before Chief Plenty Coups compelling the attention of the entire council:
“As I stand before you to-day my mind runs over the many fierce battles
that my own tribe, the Apaches, have had with the Kiowas, Cheyennes,
Sioux, and other tribes. Many of the chiefs present to-day I have met
before on the battlefield, but my heart is glad as I shake hands with all
the chiefs to know that now we are all at peace. We smoke the pipe of
peace. We meet as friends and brothers. I am glad to meet all these
chiefs before I die, in peace, as I have before met them in war. It is a
great day for me, for I have come far across the plains of the south, and
I shall go back home carrying with me the memory of this council, and of
these chiefs whom I shall never see again. I say farewell!”
Curly, Custer scout, advanced with great readiness and ease, and took the
hand of Chief Plenty Coups. According to the custom of the Crows he did
not lay down his coup stick, but gestured with one hand. He said:
“Dear Brother Plenty Coups, I am here to-day to greet you, and to greet
all these other chiefs, chiefs who were once my enemies. My heart goes
out to that great battlefield and that great monument erected to my dear
Custer, with whom, and for whom, I fought. He fell on yonder hilltop
almost within reach of our arms from this council lodge. And my heart is
glad that I can shake hands with these chiefs, some of whom I fought
against with Custer on that great battlefield. I have pledged myself
never to lay aside this coup stick so long as the blood runs through my
fingers, but I have resolved this day, as I look into the faces of these
great chiefs who were once my enemies, that I will never lift the coup
stick again, that I will live as a brother to all the tribes, and at peace
with all men. I say farewell to the chiefs, a last, sad farewell.”
After these and other eminent chiefs had made reply to the address of
welcome given by Chief Plenty Coups, according to Indian custom they were
all seated in rows on the ground in semicircles, the more eminent chiefs
in the first row, the lines falling back until they reached the wall line
of the lodge. Every chief wore his full war regalia and carried with him
all of his ceremonial and sacred insignia. The small army of coup sticks,
always held aloft, presented a suggestive picture, for these coup sticks
of the many chiefs from many lands each told a story of struggle and
achievement, but in the speeches made by the chiefs each coup stick was to
become a pledge of peace.
Now, following the ancient custom, while still seated, an Indian woman
belonging to the Blackfoot tribe and wearing the full costume of her
people, together with two Cheyenne maidens, dressed in the costume of
their particular tribe, entered the council lodge carrying wooden bowls
filled with meat and bread. This they served to the chiefs with a wooden
fork. This to them answered as a ceremony of communion. When all had
partaken, Chief Plenty Coups took the two long-stemmed pipes with red
sandstone bowls containing emblematic decorations the whole length of the
stems—pipes that had been filled by the medicine men and placed on the
ground before the standing place of the great chiefs in the centre of the
lodge. Chief Plenty Coups then lighted one pipe and passed it to the
chiefs at his left, and lighting the other he smoked it himself for the
first, and then passed it on to the right, each chief in turn smoking the
pipe, then passing it on to his brother chief, until all had smoked the
council pipe. When the pipes were returned to Chief Plenty Coups they
were again filled and lighted, smoked by the Great Chief, and passed on to
the others. And this became the Pipe of Peace.
These Indian councils were the legislative halls of the tribes; thither
all matters of importance were brought by the chiefs and the warriors.
Here all tribal problems were discussed. Here the destiny of any
particular tribe was settled. Here the decision to make war was reached.
In these council lodges, around the blazing fire, the Indians have uttered
speech more eloquent than a Pitt or a Chatham in St. Stephens or a Webster
in a Senate hall, an oratory that aroused the disintegrated Indian tribes
and far separated clans into such a masterful and resistful force that the
Indian against odds many times mightier than himself has been able to
withstand the aggressions of civilization.
When questions of such moment made the necessity, chiefs of all the tribes
attended and entered into solemn council. Then the council meant war.
The day finally dawned when the Indian as a race was conquered by the
white man. The ranks of the chiefs became thinner and thinner until in
this day only a few of the great warriors remain. These representatives
of former greatness and prowess gathered from their peaceful wigwams from
many and faraway lands to hold once again and for the last time a council
of the old days. On this day the council was for peace, and the dominant,
resonant note ringing through every sentiment uttered; if we did not know
they were Indians and did not know that this was an Indian council, we
would have said this was a Peace Conference at The Hague.
To stand in the presence of these mighty men of the plains, to witness
their nobility, to listen to their eloquence, to think with them the
mighty thoughts of their dead past, to watch their solemn faces, to
tremble before the dignity of their masterful bearing, to cherish the
thought of all that they have been and all that they might have been, to
realize that as their footfalls leave this council lodge they have turned
their backs on each other forever, and that as they mount their horses and
ride away to their distant lodges they are riding into the sunset and are
finally lost in the purple mists of evening, is to make the coldest page
of history burn with an altar fire that shall never go out.
[The Council Pipe]