The Doctor was the one who opened the bal on this occasion, and it was a proud and important moment for him: not that the fate of nations unborn, or the success of their enterprise, depended upon the event, but what to him was perhaps as high an incentive—that his standing with the ladies of Paris would probably be regulated for the whole time they should be there by the sensation he should make at the first dash. He therefore put on his most confident smile as he went into the dance: as he tilted about and pointed out the track where his enemy had gone, he made signs that the enemy had passed by, and then, beckoning up his warriors, pointed him out amongst a group of beautiful ladies who had taken an elevated and conspicuous position in front. He sounded the war-whoop, and all echoed it as he pointed towards the ladies, who screamed, and leapt from their seats, as the Indians’ weapons were drawn! Here was an excitement begun, and the old Doctor smiled as he turned his head and his weapons in other directions, and proceeded with the dance. At the end of its first part their feet all came to a simultaneous stop, when the Doctor advanced to the front of the platform, and, brandishing his spear over the heads of the audience, made the most tremendous boast of the manner in which he took a prisoner in a battle with the Pawnees, and drove him home before his horse rather than take his life: he then plunged into the most agitated dance alone, and acting out the whole features of his battle in time to the song and beating of the drum; and at the close, rounds of applause awaited him in every part of the crowd. These the Doctor received with so complaisant a smile of satisfaction, as he bowed his head gracefully inclined on one side, that another and another burst of applause, and another bow and smile, followed; satisfying him that the path was cleared before him. He then shook his rattle of deer’s hoofs, and, summoning his warriors, they all united in finishing with full and wild effect this spirited dance. Though in the midst of a dancing country, their mode of dancing was quite new, and was evidently calculated to amuse, from the immense applause that was given them at the end of their first effort.
The dancers had now all taken their seats, except the Doctor, who was lingering on his feet, and had passed his spear into his left hand, evidently preparing to push his advantage a little further with the ladies, by making a speech, as soon as silence should be sufficiently restored to enable him to be heard. This little delay might or might not have been a fortunate occurrence for the Doctor, for it afforded Jim an opportunity to remind him how much he had lost by his last two or three speeches, which so completely put him out, that he sat down, apparently well pleased and satisfied with what he had already accomplished.
My kind friend M. Vattemare, who had now become a great favourite of the Indians, went forward, and offered them his hand to encourage them, assuring them of the great pleasure the audience were taking, and encouraging them to go on with all the spirit they could, as there were some of the most distinguished people of Paris present—the Minister of the Interior and his lady, the Prêfet de Police, several foreign ambassadors, and a number of the editors of the leading journals, who were taking notes, and would speak about them in the papers the next morning.
The eagle-dance was now announced to the audience as the next amusement; and after a brief description of it, the Little Wolf sprang upon his feet, and sounding his eagle whistle, and shaking the eagle’s tail in his left hand, while he brandished his tomahawk in his right, he commenced. His fellow-warriors were soon engaged with him, and all excited to the determination to make “a hit.” As after the first, they were complimented by rounds of applause, and sat down to their pipe with peculiar satisfaction. The War-chief took the first few whiffs upon it, and, rising, advanced to the front of the platform, and in the most dignified and graceful attitude that the orator could assume, extended his right hand over the heads of the audience, and said—
“My Friends,—It gives us great pleasure to see so many pleasant faces before us to-night, and to learn from your applause that you are amused with our dances. We are but children; we live in the woods, and are ignorant, and you see us here as the Great Spirit made us; and our dances are not like the dances of the French people, whom we have been told dance the best of any people in the world. (‘How, how, how!’ and immense applause.)
“My Friends,—We come here not to teach you to dance—(a roar of applause and laughter)—we come here not to teach you anything, for you are a great deal wiser than we, but to show you how we red people look and act in the wilderness, and we shall be glad some nights to go and see how the French people dance. (Great applause and ‘How, how, how!’)
“My Friends,—We are happy that the Great Spirit has kept us alive and well, and that we have been allowed to see the face of our Great Father your King. We saw him and your good Queen, and the little boy who will be king, and they all treated us with kind hearts, and we feel thankful for it. (‘How, how, how!’)
“My Friends,—We have crossed two oceans to come here, and we have seen no village so beautiful as Paris. London, where the Saganoshes live, is a large village, but their wigwams are not so beautiful as those in Paris, and in their streets there are too many people who seem to be very poor and hungry. (‘How, how, how!’)
“My Friends,—I have no more to say at present, only, that, when my young men have finished their dances, we shall be glad to shake hands with you all, if you desire it.” (“How, how, how!”)
The old man resumed his seat and his pipe amidst a din of applause; and at this moment several trinkets and pieces of money were tossed upon the platform from various parts of the room.