_Assembling of Council.—Council._
Messengers had been sent in every direction, to summon the neighbouring
tribes, to meet their ancient enemy, the Pawnees, in council; and the day
arrived upon which these rival nations, who had never before met except
in deadly hostility, were to mingle in peaceful ceremonial.
The different tribes had been for several days collecting round the
garrison, and had pitched their wild camps in the adjacent groves. There
had always existed a bitter hostility, between many of the civilized and
savage tribes. For this reason, especial care had been taken, to keep
them separate, until by the influence of the council, this cessation of
hostilities, should be converted into a permanent peace.
Early in the morning, the loud report of a piece of artillery bellowed
through the woods, echoing in the deep forest upon the opposite side of
the Missouri. This was the signal for the assembling of the council. In a
few moments the warriors of the different tribes, were seen leaving their
camps, and moving for the place appointed, beneath several of the large
trees, in front of the quarters of the officers.
First came the Delawares, dressed for the occasion, glittering with
trinkets; their silver ornaments glistening in the sunshine, and their
gay ribands fluttering in the wind. They were a gaudy, effeminate-looking
race. Yet beneath all their frippery of dress, lurked that indomitable
courage, and that thirst for glory, which not even intemperance, and
their intercourse with the whites could destroy. Behind the band,
followed the proud Delaware warrior Sou-wah-nock. It was he that first
kindled the torch of war, between his own tribe and the Pawnees, and led
the expedition that sacked the Pawnee village. He was without ornament,
except a heavy silver plate, resting upon his calico hunting-shirt. He
was not tall, but muscular, and his eye was as searching as an eagle’s.
There was a proud curl upon his lip; and withal, an iron firmness marked
his whole deportment. He seemed to think that the whole weight of anger
of the Pawnee nation, was about to descend upon himself, but was ready to
meet it. He did not deny that he had incited his nation to the outrage,
upon the Pawnee town. Nay, he gloried in it; and was now ready to meet
them in friendship, or as enemies. He knew that his nation looked up to
him, and determined that no act of his should ever sink him in their
opinion.
After the Delawares, followed the Shawanese, headed by the same portly
personage who had greeted us when we entered as strangers, into the
Indian country. The same enormous pair of black spectacles were seated
astride of his nose, and from his whole appearance, it is probable that
he had not undressed from the time that we had last saw him, some four
months previous. At his heels followed the same little potatoe-headed
Indian, who had also met us on the same occasion. Behind them, came
the gaudy warriors of the tribe, reeking with paint, shining with tin
ornaments, and flaunting with ribands. These seated themselves beside the
Delawares.
Then followed the rest of the migrating tribes; the Peorias, the
Piankashaws, the ragged Pottawattomies, and the lazy Kickapoos, who all
in turn seated themselves, among their civilized brethren.
They had scarcely become stationary, when the Otoes made their
appearance. They moved in Indian-file over the green, headed by their
sagacious old chief the Iotan. They walked swiftly and silently, and
ranged themselves at a little distance from the more civilized, though
less noble band, which had already collected. A few moments more, and the
wild troop of Pawnees were seen approaching. They were muffled in their
shaggy robes, and marched forward with a heavy though smothered tread.
In front of them strode the giant form of the Wild Horse; his savage
features not rendered any the less hideous by a drunken frolic, in which
he had been engaged on the day previous. His long hair hung tangled round
his head and shoulders. He wore no ornaments, and his body as usual was
smeared with red ochre. The whole of his enormous chest was bared, and
exposed to the cold chilling air of a frosty November morning. Behind
him followed the graceful, though stern form of the Long Hair. He walked
to his allotted place, without appearing to notice the congregated band
of civilized Indians. There were several other chiefs in the train, and
after them followed the whole savage herd, from the four Pawnee villages.
These stationed themselves directly opposite the Delawares. Stern looks
passed between them, and burning feelings were at work in their hearts.
There they sat brooding over past wrongs. Enemies from the time that
the Delawares had left the eastern states, they were now assembled to
crush their bitter feelings, to put an end to that dark hatred which
had hitherto existed between them, and to view each other, in a strange
and novel light—that of friends. A total revulsion was to take place in
their feelings. Old habits, old associations, were to be blotted out;
deep-rooted prejudices were to be removed, and hands which before had
clenched each other, only in the death-grapple, were now to be clasped in
the warm pressure of friendship.
Several days before the commencement of the meeting, a trifling incident
was near putting an end to the incipient peace.
The little tribe of Delawares, who muster but a hundred and fifty
warriors at most, had always considered themselves the source from whence
sprang the numerous and powerful tribes scattered throughout the whole
of North America. It is probable that this opinion is founded upon some
tradition still current among them, respecting the power and antiquity
of their forefathers. These, were the Lenni Lenape, who, coming up from
the south, seated themselves upon the eastern shores, and were afterwards
known to the whites by the name of Delawares. They are among the oldest
of the tribes of which tradition speaks. The remnant of this race, in
pursuance of their fatherly dogma, had now appropriated to themselves
the title of great grandfathers to the whole Indian race. Among the host
of their descendants were numbered those most unfilial of all great
grandchildren, the rebellious Pawnees. Notwithstanding the injunctions
of obedience to parents, which have been laid down in all quarters of
the globe, this nation had been unwilling to submit to the fatherly
corrections, bestowed upon their tribe by their great ancestors. Nor
is it to be wondered at; for they consisted, in quietly killing and
scalping, all who fell in their way, and helping them forward in their
journey towards the bright hunting grounds—a theme upon which an Indian
is for ever harping, during the whole period of his probation here. In
addition to the bitter feelings created by these hostilities, the Pawnees
looked upon this little handful of warriors with the most sovereign
contempt. Like many other undutiful children, they were ashamed of
their great grandparents, and denied that they had ever sprung from the
“Delaware dogs,” or that a drop of Delaware blood was mingled with that
which coursed through their veins. They concluded their expression of ill
will, by refusing to commence the council, if they were to be looked upon
as the descendants of that race. The Delawares, on the other hand, were
equally obstinate. They insisted on adopting the refractory Pawnees as
their great grandchildren, and that the latter should acknowledge them as
their great grandparents.
For a short time the commissioner was perplexed. But at length, privately
assembling the chiefs of the Pawnees, he endeavoured to overcome their
prejudices by means of fair words, and finally succeeded in satisfying
their scrupulous pride. He begged that for the sake of peace, the
Delawares should be humoured, although he acknowledged to the Pawnees,
that he knew there was no ground for their claim of relationship. At the
same time, he added, it was so absurd in itself that no person would for
a moment credit, that so brave and powerful a people as the Pawnees,
should have sprung from so paltry a stock as the Delawares. The chiefs
smiled grimly as they received the pleasing unction of flattery, and
at length consented, though with wry faces, to submit to the degrading
appellation until the council should be ended, and the treaty ratified.
They then threw out sage hints, which if translated literally, would
amount nearly to the same thing, as sending the Delawares to the devil.
These preliminaries had been settled before the day of council. The great
grandchildren, reversing the usual order of things, no longer disowned
their great grandfathers; though farther than the mere title, there was
no display of kindly feeling. The two bands sat opposite each other,
with the same grim expression of countenances, that might have been
expected from so many wild cats. Each seemed fearful to make a single
friendly step in advance, lest he should compromise the dignity of his
tribe. After a short time the commissioner rose up, and stated the object
of the meeting:—that war had long enough, been raging among them; and
that the different tribes had now assembled for the purpose of uniting
themselves in the bonds of friendship. He then entered explicitly, into
the conditions of the intended peace.
When he had ended, different warriors of each tribe addressed the
council. They all professed the greatest friendship for their enemies,
and poured out very penitential speeches, bewailing their past
transgressions, and winding up, by throwing the whole blame, upon the
shoulders of some neighbouring tribe.
For a short time the potentates of several little nations, which had
barely inhabitants enough to hang a name upon, cased their own importance
by speaking. The Delaware warrior Sou-wah-nock then rose. He spoke of the
destruction of the Grand Pawnee village. He did not deny his agency in
the deed. “The Pawnees,” said he, “met my young men upon the hunt, and
slew them. I have had my revenge. Let them look at their town. I found
it filled with lodges: I left it a heap of ashes.” The whole of his
speech was of the same bold, unflinching character, and was closed in
true Indian style. “I am satisfied,” said he, “I am not afraid to avow
the deeds that I have done, for I am Sou-wah-nock, a Delaware warrior.”
When he had finished, he presented a string of wampum to the Wild Horse,
as being the most distinguished warrior of the Pawnee nation. When the
slight bustle of giving, and receiving the present, had been finished,
the chief of the Republican village rose to answer his warrior enemy.
His speech abounded with those wild bursts of eloquence, which peculiarly
mark the savages of North America, and concluded in a manner, which
spoke highly of his opinion of what a warrior should be. “I have promised
to the Delawares,” said he, “the friendship of my tribe. I respect my
promise, and I cannot lie, for I am a Pawnee chief.”
When the Delawares had spoken, our little fat friend from the Shawnee
village rose. After frequent expectorations, he at length succeeded in
clearing a passage for the escape of his voice. He contrived with great
difficulty to wheeze through a speech of about ten minutes in length.
There appeared to be but two ideas in the whole of the address; and when
he had thoroughly belaboured one, he most assiduously returned to the
other. After repeating them again and again, with the addition of a new
dress for each time, he seated himself, perfectly convinced that he had
thrown a great deal of light upon the subject.
There was a strange contrast between the deportment of the civilized,
and savage Indians. The first, from long intercourse with the whites,
had acquired many of their habits. Their iron gravity had yielded to a
more mercurial temperament. Even in the midst of the council they gave
free vent to their merriment, and uttered their gibes and jests. They
were constantly on the move, coming and going to and from the place of
assembly, and paying but little heed to the deliberations.
The Pawnees sat unmoved, listening in silence and with profound
attention, to the addresses of those who spoke. They rarely uttered a
word, and the only smile which curled their lips, was one of scorn at the
frivolous deportment of their enemies.
From early in the morning, till near sunset, the council continued.
They then adjourned until the following day; in order that a few little
potentates, who considered themselves the luminaries of their respective
villages, might receive an opportunity to display their eloquence.