As soon as the speeches were ended all sat in circles. The Chief's
circle was filled with his own family, his sisters and their families
and his Canadian guest. The Chemokamons were by themselves. The Indians
with their squaws and children had corn soup served with dried venison
and fish. The soup was put in large pans with only one large wooden
spoon or ladle. When one took a spoonful it was passed to the next and
so on around the circle of about twelve or fifteen persons. The white
people also had corn soup or maize, as it was called, corn pounded in a
wooden mortar, with dried smoked venison and broiled white fish, baked
potatoes and many other things which mother had prepared herself. There
was much talking and laughing among the Indians as well as white people.
The dogs ran round the outside of the circle and every time the drum
was beaten they would yelp and bark while Bob would howl. The fawns and
deer came near to us as if enjoying the sport, while the little cub
bears scampered away to a cute little wigwam where they slept at night.
All was mirth and gaiety. When the eating was over the Chief arose,
raised his head high, giving thanks to the Great Spirit, and buried a
small piece of silver to entreat good crops and full hunting grounds for
that year. There was jumping and canoe paddling among the Indians, which
ended the day's sport. There had been a white dog killed, as was the
custom at their feasts. We saw the pelt stretched up to dry. Father told
me many times that all went home at sunset much pleased with their day
of pleasure and sport. The white people were delighted with Indian
feasts and declared that no _White Dog_ had been served to them in
_their Corn Soup_, knowing my mother had charge of their cooking.