THE OTOE COUNCIL.

A day had been appointed for holding a council with the nation, for the purpose of forming a treaty, with respect to the lands lying in the neighbourhood of the Nemahaw river. The hour determined upon was three o’clock; and at that time, we proceeded from the tent to the town, with a string of children at our heels.

We found nearly the whole tribe assembled, and seated in circles, in the large lodge of the Iotan chief. At the far end of the building, was the Iotan; and by his side, were stationed those two worthies—the Big Kaw, and the Thief. Next them, were the stern forms of the older warriors and braves. There was something solemn in the unyielding features of these war-worn veterans. They sat as motionless as stone—moving not a single muscle of their dusky countenances. They had thrown aside their usual careless deportment, and all were prepared to listen, with intense interest, to the terms of the treaty. This was observable, not only in the principal braves, but throughout the whole assembly. Even the veriest scapegrace assumed an air of dignity befitting the occasion.

The lodge was excessively crowded. One ring was formed beyond another; one dark head rose behind another; until the dim, dusk outlines of the more distant were lost in shadow, and their glistening eyes alone could be seen. The passage which led to the air was completely crowded with women and children; and half a dozen curious faces were peering down through the round hole in the roof.

The most of them had adorned themselves for the occasion. Plumes were floating from their scalp locks; their heads and breasts were painted with vermilion, and long strings of wampum hung from their necks and mutilated ears. But at the present moment there seemed to be no thought of their appearance. Every sense was wrapped up in an intense interest in the approaching council; every breath was held; and every eye fixed with eagerness upon the face of the Commissioner, as he arose to address the meeting.

He stated simply and clearly the terms of the treaty. There was not a sound to interrupt his voice; not a limb stirred—not a muscle. Their chests seemed scarcely to move, so suppressed was their breathing: they were like statues: and their steady stare into the face of the speaker; and the eagerness with which every eye turned to the interpreter, as he translated each sentence; showed their deep interest in the scene. At length the speaker concluded; and a loud groan, or grunt of approbation, followed from the throats of the whole meeting.

The old chief remained in grave deliberation for a few moments; then lighting his pipe, he drew a few puffs, and passed it to his neighbour, until it had completed the round of the whole assembly. He then rose, and addressed the council. He spoke but a short time. The speech was intended as an answer to that of the Commissioner, though it was addressed principally to his warriors. He spoke warmly of the liberality of the whites. He threw out hints as to the contents of the heavy waggons which they had brought with them; and that the less difficulty they made in agreeing to the terms of the treaty, the greater would be their share of the presents. He then dilated upon the advantage to be derived from a friendly intercourse with the whites; and wound up his whole address, with a most pathetic lamentation about the distance between their village and the buffalo hunting grounds. What this last portion of his speech had to do with the rest of the address, I could not well make out; but it appeared to be received with keen satisfaction by his audience; and when he resumed his seat he was greeted with a grunt of applause, which would have done credit to a sty of full-grown porkers.

After him, one of the warriors rose up to address the meeting. He was a lean, sinewy old man; his hair, which was unshaven, was now beginning to whiten with the frost of years, and hung in long tangled locks upon his shoulders. He rose slowly until he had attained his full height; then gathering his robe closely round his waist, he commenced his harangue. At first he spoke in a low, tremulous tone; his gestures were feeble but impressive; but at length he grew warmed with his subject, and his voice rose from its weak tones, until it sounded through the building with a startling clearness. His withered face lighted up; and his filmy eye seemed to kindle with a new lustre, as he proceeded. The whole dusky crowd listened in silence to his words; but they did not last long. The eloquent spirit, which for a few moments illumined him, passed away. Like the last, leaping flash of a dying flame, it was transient, and expired. For a moment the old warrior seemed endeavouring to recall his train of thought, but without success. Then with a melancholy shake of the head, he drew his blanket over him, and sank into his seat.

None rose after him. The pipe was again passed round; and the terms of the treaty having been assented to, by the chiefs and principal warriors, the crowd poured from the lodge, and scattered through the town.