DISTRIBUTION OF PRESENTS.

On the day following the council, the packages containing the presents for the tribe were given to the chief, who prepared to divide them among the different members of his village. A large circle, composed of every man, woman, and child, had collected in the prairie. In the centre of this sat the chiefs, and five or six of the principal warriors. The packages were opened, and they commenced separating the different parcels for the purpose of distribution.

There was a great anxiety evinced by the crowd. Every eye was strained with an expression of strong hankering towards the distributors, who quietly proceeded in the business of opening bundles of knives, boxes of kettles, tin cups, packages of beads, cloths, ribands, and other articles, without paying the slightest attention to the imploring, anxious looks of the restless bystanders. When this had been completed, the chief commenced cutting up the pieces of cloth, calico, and ribands, and sending off the warriors to distribute them.

Until this moment there had been silence; but now arose a deafening clamour. The young squaws begged; the old crones scolded, screamed, and poured out torrents of abuse. The boys whooped, and the pappooses bawled. Never was there such a scene of confusion. When a warrior approached the edge of the circle, a dozen hands were reached out to seize upon the article which he held. But those who had been appointed, had been carefully selected for their coolness. For, amid all the scrambling, they maintained the most philosophic calmness, and listened to the invectives of those who were disappointed, with the most composed indifference. The distribution was managed with great impartiality; though we observed that a low word or an imploring look from some of the young girls had their weight; and more than once changed the destination of a gaudy riband, or string of richly coloured beads. A loud outcry was always raised by the neighbours on each of these occasions; and a few hard epithets were bestowed by the old viragoes, who thought they had lost by this change of intention.

During the distribution, our attention was attracted by the manoeuvres of one of the many antiquated squaws who crowded in the ring. She was a diminutive little being, clothed in a dirty flannel jacket, and a tattered piece of dress resembling a petticoat. As for her years, they must have been countless. There must have been a strong flavour of bitterness about her tongue; for we observed that all the warriors seemed to shrink from collision with her. Although they evidently neglected her, still their neglect was of a more deferential nature than that exhibited toward the rest; and whenever they passed her, it was with a shuffling, apologetic air. There was no more active being in the assembly. She flew round in every direction; at one moment she was at one part of the circle, and at another moment she was in the opposite. She scolded, screamed, and begged. She writhed, with an eel-like slipperiness, through the crowd. Whenever one of the distributors passed across the circle to present some peculiarly tempting article, a terrible hustling and jostling would be observed at the point to which he appeared to direct his steps; and before he could reach it, the convulsed face and straining eyes of the little squaw would force a passage through the mass; and her shrill voice would be heard above the general clamour. She never obtained the prize; but the donor, after disappointing her, always moved off, with a hurried step; until he had placed as much space as possible between himself and her vigorous tongue. As the distribution proceeded, finding herself no better off than before it had commenced, she grew furious, and the clamour of her tongue was incessant. At last one of the distributors, an old dried up Indian, with one eye, marched up to her, and either from compassion, or for the purpose of hushing her abuse, reached out a small piece of red riband towards her. She snatched it eagerly; but after looking at it for a few seconds with an air of deep chagrin, her face began to swell like a roasting pippin; and shaking the little fragment of a riband towards him, with an air of the greatest contempt, she opened a torrent of apparently bitter invective. This raised a loud shout of laughter, at the expense of the old man. He, however, did not wait to hear it, but walked off with a cool step, until he had got beyond the reach of her fire. At length another present was given her, but without effect. Her tongue was as inveterate as ever; and to get rid of her, she was finally presented with a large tin kettle, with which she marched off to the village, to the great relief of the whole assemblage. After her departure, the business went on with a degree of good humour, which had not previously existed.

During the distribution, we observed that those of the females who were troubled with large families of children, were particularly well provided for. They were presented with those articles most suited to their domestic economy. To the young squaws, were given only trinkets and ribands, which were of small value in themselves, but possessed the strongest attractions for them. The knives and guns were bestowed upon those of the young men who were most distinguished. The chiefs however were particular to lay aside one or two of the best of each article for their own private use.

In turning over the piles of blankets, a few small ones had been discovered. These were given to several of the wild-looking little fellows who were peering in through the ring. For a moment they seemed to doubt the reality of the gift; they appeared bewildered; then forcing a passage through the crowd, they raised a loud whoop, and started off for the town at full speed; occasionally looking back, as if they feared a change might have taken place in the intention of those who presented them, and that some one might be in pursuit to take away the prize.

After about an hour’s chattering, laughing, and scolding, the ceremony was finished, and the crowd dispersed—some with sour and sullen looks, some with an air of indifference—while the smiling, pleased countenances of others denoted they at least were fully satisfied with the portion allotted to them.

Most of the discontent was evinced by the old folks of both sexes. The men restrained themselves, and walked off with lowering brows. The women however gave full exercise to their tongues, and continued it, until the sound of their sharp, shrill voices was lost in the distance, as they travelled in Indian file towards the town. Notwithstanding the show of discontent, there were but few who had not obtained some trifle in the general distribution.

Shortly after this, we observed a troop of Indians coming from the village. They were fantastically dressed in buffalo skins, so as to bear a strong resemblance to that beast. They retained the head, beard, and legs of the animal entire; and were so well disguised, that several of them, at a little distance, might have been mistaken for the brute itself. They had prepared themselves to give us the buffalo dance. They drew up in a large circle, at a little distance from a skin tent, which had been lent to us by them, our own marquee having become much tattered in a heavy gale a few nights previous. The leader of this band was the Big Kaw, who frisked behind the grave head and beard of an enormous buffalo bull. In the centre of the circle were seated a number of buffaloes, whose business it was to sing, while the rest, consisting of chiefs, squaws, and pappooses, or, in other words, of bulls, cows, and calves, danced to their music. The chorus commenced with a low, mournful ditty, which set the whole herd of dancers in motion. They began moving slowly round the singers; but as the chant grew more and more animated, the vivacity of the herd increased. From a walk they quickened their pace to a trot; from a trot, it ambled off into a full gallop. Now the spirit of the beast began to show out. The cows bellowed; the bulls frisked, roared, and fought; they kicked up, they tore up the ground, and chased each other round the circle. This lasted some time, until they grew uproarious, and the butting of horns was furious. At this sight the cows drew off; and several calves, after bursting out into a loud bawl, raised up from all fours, and mounting upon their two hind feet, started for the village—too much frightened to take any further share in the day’s diversions. The dance lasted for about two hours, after which, the Big Kaw, under the form of a seven year old bull, came and seated himself upon a billet of wood, at our sides. He appeared perfectly satisfied with his performance, but was grievously out of wind.

After this followed several other dances of a similar character. They received their appellations from different animals; and the merit of a dance consisted in imitating, as nearly as possible, the actions of the beast from which it received its name. They continued until late in the afternoon, when the Indians, one after another, departed to their homes; and long before nine o’clock, the busy hum was entirely stilled, and a deep silence hung over our tent, and the surrounding prairie.