_Konza Council.—White Plume.—Tappage
Chief.—Treaty.—Interpreter.—Departure._
On the following morning, the loud report of a piece of artillery
announced the hour of council. Once more the different tribes left their
respective encampments, and assembled at the place of meeting. Scarcely,
however, had they collected, before a long train of warriors were seen
stringing over the distant prairie—making for the cantonment. They
approached swiftly until they reached the quarters of the officers. They
were clothed in white blankets; each man carried a rifle. They were a
band from the Konza nation, come to attend the council, and settle the
terms of peace. In front of the troop was the White Plume, enveloped
in a large drab-coloured over coat. This piece of dress deprived him
altogether of that dignity of appearance which had marked him upon our
first meeting. He now bore a strong resemblance in form and gracefulness,
to a walking hogs-head. However, he seemed perfectly satisfied with his
attire: and in truth, I believe there was scarcely a Pawnee who did not
envy him the possession of this cumbersome article of apparel.
The appearance of this chief, and of a delegation from his tribe, had
been anxiously expected. They were more venomous in their hate against
the Pawnees, than any other of the neighbouring Indians, and their
hostility had been marked by deeds of a more bloody character. The
Pawnees sat in silence, but with looks of smothered ferocity, as they
saw them approach. However, they evinced no hostile feelings, other than
those conveyed by their glances.
After a short conference with their agent, the Konzas withdrew from the
green, and encamped in the prairie, at a few hundred yards’ distance. The
council then proceeded. The different chiefs and warriors of the small
tribes of the vicinity, addressed the Pawnees—all agreeing to bury their
hostility, and regard them as friends. These offers were most thankfully
received by the Pawnees, though one of them afterwards remarked to the
interpreter, “that they had now made peace with several nations with whom
they had never been at war, and of whom they had never heard, until they
rose to address them in council.” This was little to be wondered at; as
many of them were most pitifully represented; and two or three little,
pursy, short-winded fellows, dressed in dirty calico, and bedraggled
ribands, composed the whole of their delegation, and probably the whole
of their tribe.
The deliberations lasted during the whole day: for as these Indians had
no particular injuries to dwell upon, they confined themselves to things
in general; and as this was a subject that would bear to be expatiated
upon, every man continued his address until he had exhausted his wind.
The Pawnees listened with exemplary patience; though I doubt if there was
one who regretted when the last speaker had finished.
The morning following, the Pawnees and Konzas had a meeting to settle
their difficulties. A large chamber in the garrison had been selected
for the purpose. About ten o’clock in the forenoon they assembled. The
two bands seated themselves upon long wooden benches, on opposites sides
of the room. There was a strong contrast between them. The Konzas had
a proud, noble air, and their white blankets as they hung in loose and
graceful folds around them, had the effect of classic drapery.
The Pawnees had no pride of dress. They were wrapped in shaggy robes, and
sat in silence—wild and uncouth in their appearance, with scowling brows,
and close pressed mouths.
At length the speaking commenced. First rose the White Plume. He had
boasted to his tribe, that he would relate such things, in his speech, as
should cause the Pawnees to wince. With true Indian cunning, at first, in
order that he might conciliate the favourable opinion of those present,
he spoke in praise of the whites—expressing his high opinion of them.
After this, he gradually edged off, into a philippic against the Pawnee
nation, representing them as a mean and miserly race—perfidious, and
revengeful. There was a hushed silence among his own people as he spoke,
and every eye was fastened upon the grim group opposite. The White Plume
went on; and still the deepest silence reigned through the room: that of
the Konzas arose from apprehension: the silence of the Pawnees was the
hushed brooding of fury.
The chief of the Tappage village was sitting directly opposite the
speaker; his eye was dark as midnight: his teeth were bared, and both
hands were tightly grasped round his own throat; but he remained silent
until the speech had finished. When the White Plume had taken his seat,
half a dozen Pawnees sprang to their feet; but the Tappage chief waved
them down: three times did he essay to speak, and as often, did he fail.
He rubbed his hand across his throat, to keep down his anger; then
stepping out, and fixing his eye on that of the Konza chief—in the calm,
quiet voice of smothered rage, he commenced his answer: he proceeded; he
grew more and more excited—indulging a vein of biting irony. The White
Plume quailed, and his eye drooped, beneath the searching, scornful
glance of his wild enemy. Still the Pawnee went on: he represented the
injury which first kindled the war between the two nations. “My young
men,” said he, “visited the Konzas as friends: the Konzas treated them
as enemies. They were strangers in the Konza tribe, and the Konzas fell
upon them, and slew them—and concealed their death.” He then entered into
the particulars of the quarrel, which unfortunately for the Konzas, were
strongly against them. The chief of the latter tribe, received the answer
with great philosophy; nor did he attempt to utter any thing in reply.
Perhaps, too, he did not wish to invite a second attack, from so rough a
quarter. When the Pawnee had finished, the commissioner interposed, and
after a short time, harmony was restored, and several of the inferior
chiefs made their harangues. They were of a more calm and conciliating
nature, and gradually tended to soothe the inflamed feelings of their
foes. The council lasted until sunset, when the terms of the treaty were
finally adjusted.
On this occasion I was made sensible of the justice of the complaint
generally made, by those who have had public negotiations with the savage
tribes, of the insufficiency of the interpreters through whom they are
obliged to receive the sentiments and language of the Indians. They are
with few exceptions, ignorant and illiterate. Those we employed, spoke
a wretched French patois, and a still more wretched English. On such,
even the high imaginative vein, the poetical thought, which run through
Indian eloquence, is entirely lost. There was not a savage who addressed
us, who did not at times, clothe his ideas in beautiful attire, and make
use of wild and striking similes, drawn from the stores of his only
instructress, nature. This we ascertained from some persons present of
cultivated minds, and who were well versed in the Indian tongues. As to
the interpreters, they reduced every thing to a bald, disjointed jargon.
On the day following the council, the articles of peace were signed, and
most of the tribes departed for their respective homes. A few of the
Pawnees and Otoes remained to accompany the Commissioner to the village
of the Osages, for the purpose of negotiating a peace with that tribe;
with whom they had long been at deadly enmity.
Here then I will conclude this series of Indian Sketches; for the
council being ended and my curiosity satisfied, I determined to return
homeward on the following day. A feeling of sadness came over me as I
prepared to leave those, with whom I had for months associated. However
different in dispositions and feelings, we had until then, been united
by a link of sympathy. We had led the same life; viewed the same scenes,
and undergone the same privations. For months together one tent had
sheltered us, and we had eaten from the same board. A rough, untramelled
friendship had sprung up between us, increasing with the distance between
ourselves and our homes, and strengthening as we retired farther from the
abode of civilized man.
But now we had returned from our wanderings, and were once more in the
circle of our fellows. Still old recollections bound us together by a
golden tie, that was painful to sever; and although my home with all its
attractions rose in my fancy, yet I felt sad, when one of the orderlies
informed me that all was ready.
I shook hands with my friends and comrades of the wilderness, and
mounting my mule, with a heavy heart, turned my back upon Leavenworth.
THE END.
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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.