Chapter 34
To the village again
Traveling with an ex-president has its own procedures. One seemed to involve the security team traveling out first while we sat out in the cold, revving up our snowmobiles and trying to pretend this was not really uncomfortable. There was one good aspect of this ride however. Elise would be riding behind me, with her arms wrapped around me all the way to the village. Not a bad way to travel.
Marc and Nicole would also be going with us, and counting the security people and local dignitaries, there had to be over thirty of us all together. We made quite a racket when we finally got permission to take off. I noticed that despite his age, Jolliet ran his own snowmobile. He also seemed to be the center of a “diamond” shape of security people. I wasn’t sure that would really do much good out on the plains. A man with a rifle would have hundreds of yards of clear vision. Maybe that is why there were always other security people riding way out on the sides and in front of us.
I would describe the ride, but what is there to say? The snow was white, the ground was flat, and the air was really, really cold. On the other hand, Elise had a pretty strong grip on me, and that felt very good.
We rode for hours. The pace was fairly slow - about the same speed Marc had used with me on our first trip out when I was still learning how to control one of these odd machines. The sun was up and the wind was mild, so you could say the weather was about as good as it gets in Dakota in January. Sun or no sun, it was damn cold as we crossed the plains.
About a mile or so outside DeMille’s village there were a dozen snowmobiles waiting for us – an honor guard by appearances. Several of the men were dressed in skins and held spears with feathers flying from them. As we approached, they waved the spears and shouted, but of course we could hear none of it through the road of our machines.
When we reached the men our procession stopped, and there was lots of talk and handshakes. I recognized DeMille among the party. He even had a feathered headdress on – or at least it was on while the party was standing still. As soon as the initial introductions were done and the group started moving again, he wisely put a fur cap on his head and packed the headdress into a sack.
The village was waiting for us, with every person in town standing in line near the school. The kids seemed to be grouped by class – your standard school assembly routine, except they seemed to be especially attentive. I don’t think I have ever seen so many young kids stand still so long. Maybe they were frozen in place. As we covered the last few yards before the school, there were a series of unison cheers. Since they were in Sioux, I have no idea what they were saying, but it seemed to be meant with the best intent.
Once off our snowmobiles – finally – Jolliet started at one end of the line and shook hands with every person in town, including every school kid. Elise followed suit, and since I was with Elise, I did the same. Some of the people smiled as I took their hands, but I have to admit many were still following Jolliet with their eyes, and I was a bit of an after-thought. Fair enough, he was an ex-president, and I was just the guy with Elise.
I was afraid there might be speeches and such out in the snow, but people seemed to be pretty sensible. Once the initial handshakes were done, we all trooped into the school and its relative warmth. The gym had been set up such that there was an open circle in the middle, surrounded by blankets and a few chairs for the elderly. On one side was a platform raised a couple feet and covered with buffalo hides. That’s where DeMille and Jolliet headed, along with a dozen local elders, and several dignitaries who had been in our group from town. Elise also joined them, and when I hesitated, she practically pulled me up there, although I was so far over on one edge, I thought I might fall off the platform if I moved wrong.
A few minutes after we were all seated, the drumming and dancing began. A large group of women danced first, and then the young men. Initially I expected it to be more of what I had seen at the potlatch, but the women were more sedate, and the men were almost mournful. The pace was slower, the movements more constricted. There was also a great deal of unison movements in these dances, where the steps in the potlatch dances had all been individually designed and paced. Was all this a funeral dance for the men who had been killed in the village? Given my grasp of Sioux, I had no idea, but it was pretty clear we were not attending a celebration.
The dancing lasted over an hour, and then the young people cleared the circle. Interestingly, the drumming continued at a slower pace, and they kept the volume down. It became almost a background throbbing. This went on for several minutes, and then DeMille stood up and walked into the circle. He was wearing buckskins which had been embroidered to the point the underlying skins were almost invisible. And on his head was the feathered headdress again. If you have seen any of those old Indian movies the people in California make, you have no idea how incredible he looked. He had to be wearing thousands of hours of beadwork.
He started talking, but it was also singing. His voice was small in the big room, but there was absolute silence so he could still be heard. He sang, and he moved in a few steps reminiscent of a dance. A local man stood near our raised platform and quietly translated for those of us who did not know Sioux.
“Many years ago, the fathers of our fathers of our fathers back to many generations fought many battles. The warriors were strong, and they were skillful and they were successful. In those years, two tribes emerged from the battles with success – the Sioux and the French. The tribes were strong, the tribes were strong, the tribes were strong. The tribes fought hard, the tribes fought hard, the tribes fought hard. The warriors fought with honor, the warriors fought with honor. But both tribes strayed from the path, strayed from the path, strayed from the path. Today we tell the story of our dishonor, and then the two tribes will smoke the pipe of peace – the calumet.” He danced a few more steps, and then he walked back to the platform.
But the drumming continued. For several minutes only it was heard. And then Jolliet stood and walked to the center of the floor.
“Our fathers, fathers, fathers, back for many generations loved the Fox. They lived among them. They married women of the tribe. They had children who grew among the tribe’s children. It was a good time. They traded in the waters of the Fox River and the Wisconsin River. The sun shone on their days. Then the fathers’ hearts changed. They wanted more. More pelts, more corn. They grew angry with the Fox. The Fox would not give them more. So the fighting began. French warriors killed Fox warriors, and Fox warriors killed French. And the French hearts turned black. They attacked Fox villages and killed all who did not escape. And the French hearts turned more black. They chased the Fox and attacked one village and then another and then another. The Fox ran fast, but not fast enough. Many were killed. The few who were left took their women and their children and escaped to Iowa to live with another tribe there. ‘Shield us’ they said to the local tribe. Protect us from the French. And the Iowa tribe tried. But the French were too many. They found the last Fox village by the great Mississippi river. They sent their warriors around to all sides of the village. This time no Fox would escape. In the morning they attacked. And they killed the warriors. Then they killed the women. Then they killed the children.” He was facing the school children as he said this. He stood and looked at them, and then he repeated it. “Then they killed the children. The French warriors had lost all honor. They were no longer men. They became beasts. They killed all day, and then they left. When they left there was no one to mourn the dead, no one to cry, no one to do the funeral dance. All were dead. This is the shame of the French tribe.” He stood silently, looked at all in the circle, and then returned to his seat on the platform, with the drum continuing to beat softly as he walked.
Then DeMille returned to the center of the floor. The drum continued to beat softly, but he said nothing for a very long time. Finally, he began. “Our fathers, fathers, fathers,
for many generations loved the French. We lived together, we traded. We gave them hides, and they gave us guns and knives. We traded horses. They found wives among us. For many years the sun shone on us and life was good. But we had a secret – a way through the mountains. We wished to hide that secret, to keep the French out of our mountains. But the French came closer and closer to our secret. Each year their traders went farther west, and were closer to our secret path. Then one spring many French warriors came to our lands. They were led by a man named Jolliet.” He paused and pointed to Claude Jolliet. “He was a great warrior -- strong, and swift and brave. And he led his men straight to our secret path. Our chiefs were frightened. The French would know our secret path through the mountains. Would they need us any more? Would they find new allies on the other side of the mountains? The Sioux warriors hearts grew dark. They sat with the French in their camp. They slept among them. When the morning came, they killed them. It was a hard battle. Jolliet was a great warrior and his men were brave. But the Sioux warriors were among them and used their knives and their guns and killed all. None were spared since none must know the secret. They took no prisoners. They accepted no surrender. Even the wounded were killed. They acted without honor. This is the shame of the Sioux tribe.” He stood still and slowly turned to look at all in the circle.
The drummers kept the beat while chairs were brought into the center of the floor. They were placed in a circle. Slowly, the Sioux elders left the platform and took seats. Jolliet and two men from DeSmet also moved to the circle and sat. Silence filled the room. Then a young man dressed in buckskin walked to the circle carrying a long pipe decorated with feathers. He handed it to DeMille, filled it with tobacco, and lit it while the old man inhaled. Once the pipe was lit, the young man left the circle. Demille smoked the pipe one more time, held it high in the air with shaking hands, then brought it down and smoked it again. Finished, he walked to Jolliet and handed him the pipe with both hands. Jolliet accepted it the same way, and then stood. He also smoked, held the pipe in the air, then smoked again. He handed the pipe to another elder and returned to his seat. Each man did the same – standing, smoking, raising the pipe in the air, smoking again, and passing it on.
It probably took fifteen minutes for all the men to smoke. What seemed amazing to me is that no person in the room made a sound during this time. How do you go fifteen minutes without a single baby crying or some kid whispering? But somehow they did it. The only sound in the room was the steady beat of the drum.
When the last man in the circle had smoked, the young man came back out and took the pipe. He stood there while DeMille and Jolliet both stood again. This time they stood facing each other, each with a hand on the shoulder of the other. DeMille spoke first.
“Dishonor does not go away with time. Shame exists for all time. But so does friendship. So does honor. Today we push away dishonor, and we reach for friendship.”
“Dishonor does not go away with time,” Jolliet began. “Shame continues. But we are also people who understand honor. We understand friendship. We value and honor our great friends, the mighty Sioux nation. May our friendship last forever.” The two men shook hands, and the gym erupted in cheers. The drummers suddenly got louder and faster, and both men and women poured out onto the gym floor and started dancing. Jolliet and DeMille stood among the dancers for few minutes, and then worked their way back to the platform. The ceremony was over, now was the time to celebrate. – always a good time for old people to get out of the way. Back near the kitchen there was suddenly some motion as food was brought out. Clearly this was going to be a big event that would last some time.
What did Elise and I do the rest of the evening? She danced. And, she managed to pull me onto the floor and showed me two simple steps. So I danced too. Really. I thought I would drop from exhaustion after just fifteen minutes, but she kept me out there much of the evening. And it was fun. We danced, we ate, we danced some more. It was quite a night.
The Canadian Civil War: Volume 3 - West to the Wall Page 34