No. 10.
The Doctor’s speech, which would have been terminated much sooner if he had been allowed to proceed unmolested, had a very pleasing effect upon the audience, and had allowed abundant time for the rest of the party to prepare for the next dance.
I now announced to the audience that the Indians were about to give the Warrior’s-dance, as performed by their tribe. I explained the meaning of it, the circumstances under which it was given, and the respects in which it differed from the War-dance as given by the Ojibbeways. After which they were all upon their feet, and, with weapons in hand, proceeded to give it the most exciting, and even alarming effect.
They received great applause at the end of this dance, and also a number of presents, which were handed and thrown on to the platform. This created much excitement and good cheer among them, and I was not a little surprised, nor was I less amused and gratified, to discover at this moment, that the (so-called) “jolly fat dame,” of Ojibbeway notoriety, was along side of the platform, at her old stand, and, in her wonted liberality, the first one to start the fashion of making the poor fellows occasional presents. I regretted, however, that I should have been the ignorant cause of her bestowing her first present upon a person for whom she did not intend it. The finest-looking man of the party, and one of the youngest, was No-ho-mun-ya (the Roman-nose), upon whom it seems this good lady’s admiration had been fixed during the evening, notwithstanding the smiles that had been lavished by the Doctor, and the eloquence which he had poured forth in his boastings and speeches.
The elegant limbs, Herculean frame, and graceful and terrible movements of this six foot and a-half young man, as she had gazed upon him in this last dance, had softened her heart into all its former kindness and liberality, and she had at this moment, when I first discovered her, unclasped a beautiful bracelet from one of her arms, and was just reaching over the platform to say to me as she did, “Wonderful! wonderful! Mr. Catlin; I think it one of the wonders of the world! Will you hand this to that splendid fellow, with my compliments—give him my compliments, will you—it’s a bracelet for his arm (Cadotte has got the other, you know). Oh! but he is a splendid fellow—give him my compliments, will you. I think them a much finer party than the other—oh, far superior! I never saw the like; hand it to him, will you, and if he can’t put it on, poor fellow, I will show him how.”
All this had been run over so rapidly that I scarcely could recollect what she said, for several were speaking to me at the same time; and at that unfortunate moment it was that I committed the error, for which I was almost ready to break my own back when I found it out. I presented it by mistake to the Doctor, who, I supposed, had of course been winning all the laurels of the evening, and with them the good lady’s compliments, which it would have been quite awkward on her part and mine also to have unpresented. The Doctor raised up the bracelet as high as he could reach, and made the house ring and almost tremble with the war-whoop, which he several times repeated.[7] What could be done? She was too gallant, and I did not yet know the mistake. The Doctor happened to know how to put it on—it fitted to his copper-coloured arm above his elbow—and his true politeness led him to bow and to smile a thousand thanks upon the fair dame as he bent over her from the platform.
The Approaching-dance[8] was now given, in which the Doctor took the lead in great glee, and of course with great effect. He tilted off with a light and elastic step, as he was “following the track of his enemy,” and when he raised his brawny arm to beckon on his warriors to the attack, he took great pains to display the glistening trinket which he had accepted with such heartfelt satisfaction.
This dance finished, they all sat down upon the platform and passed the pipe around, whilst I was further explaining upon their appearance and modes, and the dance which they had just given. I asked them what amusement they proposed next, and they announced to me, that as the Doctor was taking all the honours and all the glory to himself on that night (and of whom they all seemed extremely jealous), they had decided that he should finish the amusements of the evening by singing the “Wolf-song.” He was so conscious of having engrossed the principal attention of the house that he at once complied with their request, though at other times it required a great effort to get him to sing it. I had not myself heard this song, which seemed, from their preparations, to promise some amusement, and which Jeffrey told me belonged exclusively to the Doctor, he having composed it. The Doctor was ready to commence, and wrapping his robe around him, having his right arm out, he shook a rattle (she-she-quoin) in his right hand, as he tilted about the platform, singing alone; at the end of a sentence he commenced to bark and howl like a wolf, when another jumped upon his feet and ran to him, and another, and another, and joined in the chorus, with their heads turned up like wolves when they are howling. He then sang another strain as he moved about the platform again, all following him, singing, and ready to join in the deafening chorus. This strange and comic song drew roars of laughter, and many rounds of applause for the Doctor, and left him, sure enough, the lion of the evening.[9]