indian+whites+at+fort+vincent

code In a COUNCIL, held with the Piankashaw Indians, by Thomas F. Dalton, at Post St. Vincent's, April 15, 1784.

[Dalton:] MY CHILDREN,

What I have often told you, is now come to pass. This day I received news from my Great Chief, at the Falls of the Ohio. Peace is made with the enemies of America. The White Flesh, the Americans, French, Spaniards, Dutch and English, this day smoke out of the peace- pipe. The tomahawk is buried, and they are now friends. I am told the Shawanese, Delawares, Chicasaws, Cherokees, and all other the Red Flesh, have taken the Long Knife by the hand. They have given up to them the prisoners that were in their nations.

//My Children on Wabash//, Open your ears, and let what I tell you sink deep in your hearts. You know me. Near twenty years I have been among you. The Long Knife is my nation. I know their hearts; peace they carry in one hand, and war in the other. I leave you to yourselves to judge. Consider, and now accept the one, or the other. We never beg peace of our enemies. If you love your women and children, receive the belt of wampum I present you. Return me my flesh you have in your villages, and the horses you stole from my people at Kentucke. Your corn-fields were never disturbed by the Long Knife. Your women and children lived quiet in their houses, while your warriors were killing and robbing my people. All this you know is the truth. This is the last time I shall speak to you. I have waited six moons to hear you speak, and to get my people from you. In ten nights I shall leave the Wabash to see my Great Chief at the Falls of the Ohio, where he will be glad to hear, from your own lips, what you have to say. Here is tobacco I give you; Smoke; and consider what I have said.--Then I delivered one belt of blue and white wampum; and said, Piankashaw, speak, speak to the Americans.

[Piankashaw Chief answered]: //My Great Father, the Long Knife//, You have been many years among us. You have suffered by us. We still hope you will have pity and compassion upon us, on our women and children; the day is clear. The sun shines on us; and the good news of peace appears in our faces. This day, my Father, this is the day of joy to the Wabash Indians. With one tongue we now speak. We accept your peace-belt. We return God thanks, you are the man that delivered us what we wished for, peace, with the White Flesh.

My Father, we have many times counseled before you knew us; and you know how some of us suffered before. We received the tomahawk from the English; Poverty forced us to it; We were attended by other nations; We are sorry for it. We this day collect the bones of our friends that long ago were scattered upon the earth. We bury them in one grave. We thus plant the tree of peace, that God may spread branches, so that we can all be secured from bad weather. They smoke as brothers out of the peace-pipe we now present you. Here, my Father, is the pipe that gives us joy. Smoke out of it. Our warriors are glad you are the man we present it to. You see, Father, we have buried the tomahawk; We now make a great chain of friendship never to be broken; and now, as one people, smoke out of your pipe. My Father, we know God was angry with us for stealing your horses, and disturbing your people. He has sent us so much snow and cold weather, that God himself killed all your horses, with our own. We are now a poor people. God, we hope, will help us; and our Father, the Long Knife, will have pity and compassion on our women and children.

Your flesh, my Father, is well among us; we shall collect them all together when they come in from hunting. Don't be sorry, my Father, all the prisoners taken at Kentucke are alive and well; we love them, and so do our young women. Some of your people mend our guns, and others tell us they can make rum of the corn. Those are now the same as we. In one moon after this, we will go with them to their friends in Kentucke. Some of your people will now go with Costea, a Chief of our nation, to see his Great Father, the Long Knife, at the Falls of Ohio.

//My Father,// This being the day of joy to the Wabash Indians, we beg a little drop of your milk, to let our warriors see it came from your own breast. We were born and raised in the woods; we could never learn to make rum--God has made the White Flesh masters of the world; they make everything; and we all love rum. Then they delivered three strings of blue and white wampum, and the coronet of peace. code

Present, in COUNCIL
code MUSKITO, Capt. BEAVER, WOODS & BURNING, BADTRIPES, ANTIA, MONTOUR, CASTIA, GRAND COURT;

With many other Chiefs, and War Captains, and the Principal Inhabitants of the Post of St. Vincent's. code