Indian sketches, taken during an expedition to the Pawnee tribes (Vol. 2 of 2)

by John Treat Irving

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.