Necklaces of bears' claws are plenty around their necks. Most of the
chiefs are wrapt in large blankets of the brightest scarlet.
Two or three have blue, and I see one black. (A wise man call'd "the
Flesh" now makes a short speech, apparently asking something. Indian
Commissioner Dole answers him, and the interpreter translates in
scraps again.) All the principal chiefs have tomahawks or hatchets,
some of them very richly ornamented and costly. Plaid shirts are to
be observ'd--none too clean. Now a tall fellow, "Hole-in-the-Day," is
speaking. He has a copious head-dress composed of feathers and narrow
ribbon, under which appears a countenance painted all over a
bilious yellow. Let us note this young chief. For all his paint,
"Hole-in-the-Day" is a handsome Indian, mild and calm, dress'd in
drab buckskin leggings, dark gray surtout, and a soft black hat. His
costume will bear full observation, and even fashion would accept
him. His apparel is worn loose and scant enough to show his superb
physique, especially in neck, chest, and legs. ("The Apollo
Belvidere!" was the involuntary exclamation of a famous European
artist when he first saw a full-grown young Choctaw.)
One of the red visitors--a wild, lean-looking Indian, the one in the
black woolen wrapper--has an empty buffalo head, with the horns on,
for his personal surmounting. I see a markedly Bourbonish countenance
among the chiefs--(it is not very uncommon among them, I am told.)
Most of them avoided resting on chairs during the hour of their "talk"
in the Commissioner's office; they would sit around on the floor,
leaning against something, or stand up by the walls, partially wrapt
in their blankets.
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