Journey to the Grand Pawnee Village.—Old Indian Female.—Chief’s Lodge.—Indian Feasts.—Kioway Female.
As soon as we emerged from the crowd that had surrounded us, we perceived the plain between us and the village swarming with the rest of its inhabitants. It appeared as if every man, woman, and child had looked upon the day of our arrival, as one of jubilee. The boys had thrown aside their bows and arrows, the females had abandoned their drudgery, and the old men had ceased their songs of former victories, to paint themselves up for the festival. The reception was over, and all the requisite awe of their nation had been impressed upon us. They now threw aside the stern, unbending character of the Indian warrior, and pressed round us with all the kind hospitality of hosts, in receiving their most welcome guests.
Small bands of young men amused themselves by dashing around the party, at the full speed of their horses, and attempting to oust each other from their saddles by the violent collision of their animals. Occasionally a few would start off in a race across the plain, whooping and screaming, and clattering their arms in the ears of their steeds, to excite them even beyond the mad rate at which they were careering.
Others of the young men hung round the party, making their remarks on its different members, and occasionally exciting loud peals of laughter from their comrades. These however were frequently cut short by a stern word from one of the chiefs.
The whole road from the plain to the village, was lined with women and children. They had not dared to approach during the formalities of our reception, but now eagerly pressed forward to gaze upon so unwonted a sight as that of a white stranger entering freely into their village. Besides this they were all anxious to gratify that curiosity which is peculiarly strong in the bosom of an Indian—especially a female.
They were nearly all mounted upon little stiff-maned drudge horses of the village, sometimes singly, but generally in clusters of two or three.
In particular, one withered, gray-headed old squaw, with a family of four children under her charge, attracted our attention. She was mounted upon a little wall-eyed, cream-coloured pony, with a roach mane and a bob-tail. There was a lurking devil looking out of his half-closed eye, the very antipodes of his rider, who sat upon his back like the picture of Patience. Her charge she had arranged, as well as could be expected from a person in her situation. One little fellow, whose eyes gleamed like sparks of fire, from beneath the long tangled hair, which nearly covered his face, was striding almost upon the neck of the horse, armed with a heavy Indian whip. One little one was dozing in her arms, another was clinging tightly to her back. The face of a fourth, like the head of a caterpillar, just ready to emerge from a cocoon, was peering from the mouth of a leather bag, fastened between her shoulders.
But though the woman thus scrupulously divided the burden with her steed, he seemed far from satisfied with his situation, and at last determined to rid himself of his encumbrance.
Tossing his head in the air, he commenced waltzing, and capering round upon his hind feet, to the great discomfiture of the squaw. In great tribulation she reached out both hands, and clung with might and main to the high pommel of the Indian pack-saddle, while two of the children, left to their own guidance, clung like monkeys round her body.