CHAPTER XXII.
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.