Westward with the Prince of Wales

by W. Douglas Newton

It was a day on which we were to see one of the most picturesque ceremonies of the tour, and slipping through the high scarps of the mountains to the little valley in which Banff station stands, we were into that experience of colour at once.

Drawn up in the open by the little station was a line of Indians, clad in their historic costumes, and mounted on the small, springy horses of Canada. Some were in feathers and buckskin and beads, some in the high felt hats and bright-shirts of the cowboy, all were romantic in bearing. They were there to form the escort of the new "Chief."

As the Prince's car drove from the station along a road that wound its way amid glades of spruce and poplar glowing with the old gold of Autumn that filled the valleys winding about the feet of high and austere mountains, other bodies of Stoney Indians joined the escort about the car.

They had gathered at the opening of every side lane, and as the cavalcade passed, dropped in behind, until the procession became a snake of shifting colour, vermilion and cherry, yellow and blue and green, going forward under the dappling of sun that slipped between the swinging branches.

Chiefs, the sunray of eagles' feathers on their heads, braves in full war-paint, Indian cowboys in shirts of all the colours of the spectrum, and squaws a mass of beads and sequins, with bright shawls and brighter silk head-wraps, made up the escort. Behind and at times in front of many of the squaws were papooses, some riding astraddle, their arms round the women's waists, others slung in shawls, but all clad in Indian garb that seemed to be made up of a mass of closely-sewn beads, turquoise, green, white or red, so that the little bodies were like scaly and glittering lizards.

This ride that wound in and out of these very beautiful mountain valleys took the Prince past the enclosures of the National Park, and he saw under the trees the big, hairy-necked bison, the elk and mountain goats that are harboured in this great natural reserve.

On the racecourse were Indian tepees, banded, painted with the heads of bulls, and bright with flags. The braves who were waiting for the Prince, and those who were escorting him, danced, their ponies whirling about, racing through veils of dust and fluttering feathers and kerchiefs in a sort of ride of welcome. From over by the tepees there came the low throbbing of tom-toms to join with the thin, high, dog-like whoop of the Indian greeting.

On a platform at the hub of half-circle of Indians the Prince listened to the addresses and accepted the Chieftaincy of the Stoney tribe. Some of the Indians had their faces painted a livid chrome-yellow, so that their heads looked like masks of death; some were smeared with red, some barred with blue. Most, however, showed merely the high-boned, sphinx-like brown of their faces free from war-paint. The costumes of many were extremely beautiful, the wonderful beadwork on tunic and moccasins being a thing of amazing craftsmanship, though the elk-tooth decorations, though of great value, were not so attractive.

Standing in front of the rest, the chief, "Little Thunder," read the address to the Prince. He was a big, aquiline fellow, young and handsome, clad in white, hairy chaps and cowboy shirt. He spoke in sing-song Cree, his body curving back from straddled knees as though he sat a pulling horse.

In his historic tongue, and then in English, he spoke of the honour the Prince was paying the Stoneys, and of their enduring loyalty to him and his father; and he asked the Prince "to accept from us this Indian suit, the best we have, emblematic of the clothes we wore in happy days. We beg you also to allow us to elect you as our chief, and to give you the name Chief Morning Star."