Only after these preliminaries could a polite host propose substantial business, with each proposal accompanied by a string or belt of wampum passed across the council fire to an Indian spokesman. Made of many small seashell or glass tubes strung in patterns of alternating dark and light color, wampum represented the interplay of death and life, of war and peace. As a sacred substance, wampum confirmed the earnest importance of a message. Without accompanying wampum, words were frivolous.[12]
Deliberations would last for days. The Natives, being from an oral culture, understandably distrusted the power of the colonials’ written documents. As Taylor points out, “[t]o impress memories, Indians preferred the methodical and rhythmic repetition of shared sentiments and histories expressed through prolonged rituals and speeches.”[13] Native spokesmen often used many metaphors in their speeches, which lent a simple yet poignant elegance to their messages. The Native spokesmen, chosen for their eloquence, were not necessarily the most powerful of their people. Definitive answers to propositions were never expected to be given until at least the next day. The Natives would return with appropriate wampum strings or belts to be accepted by the colonial host, who was then expected to ponder a reply overnight. For their part, the interpreters with the Indian Department were often young men who had learned Indian dialects from Native childhood friends or had themselves been captives at one time. The Department’s agents were encouraged to select “one or two sober and intelligent Chiefs” to act as a prepared “Speaker” who would act as intermediary between the interpreter and the guest Chiefs so that the proper message would be conveyed.[14]
The strict decorum of the daytime public sessions gave way to raucous celebrations on the Council House grounds at day’s end. In lingering daylight young Natives engaged in competitive games similar to lacrosse. With nightfall the campfire became the centre of feasting, singing, and dancing to the rhythm of drums and beating sticks. Also at night, colonial hosts often conferred privately with smaller groups of influential chiefs. Known as “speaking in the bushes,” these conferences were probably when most deals were really struck.
The council would finally conclude with a sumptuous feast and presentation of gifts and provisions, not only for all those attending, but for the sick and elderly kin at home. British officials would also pledge the king’s continued friendship and protection. On occasion the chiefs would be presented with silver peace medals bearing the king’s profile.
No first-hand depiction of any councils at Niagara has survived, but it must have been a most impressive vista on the Military Reserve. The British Army officers in regimental dress uniforms and officials of the British Indian Department, also in quasi-British-military coats, would sit on chairs on one side of the secretary’s table. Opposite them would be several Indian chiefs in their full regalia, seated in front of a huge semi-circle of Natives, with lesser chiefs at the front and behind. Hundreds or even thousands of warriors and matrons would sit on either benches or colourful blankets on the grass, all watching and listening intently. Around the periphery would be scads of children and camp dogs, beyond which would be hundreds of Native tents, campfires, and tethered horses. The pungent aromas of sweetgrass, tobacco, and wood fires would waft about the assembled. Standing in the grassy midst of the Commons today, one can imagine the drama unfolding with a real life cast of thousands.
One of the most important councils held at Niagara was in November 1796, before the Indian Council House was even built. The council was probably held on the Military Reserve outside the fort that was still under construction or the old Butler’s Rangers’ Barracks site.[15] With the recent death of John Butler, William Claus,[16] grandson of Sir William Johnson, had just been appointed Deputy Superintendent of the Six Nations at Fort George. At the 1796 Council,[17] Captain Joseph Brant, with power of attorney for all the Six Nations, proclaimed the Six Nations had the sovereign right to sell off some of their Grand River lands to third parties without the consent of the Crown. He argued that although the Iroquois Confederacy had been granted a vast tract of land along the Grand River by Governor Haldimand, only two thousand Natives actually inhabited the land, and hence such a large tract of land exclusively for themselves was not needed since many of the Natives were indifferent to cultivating the land. Moreover, with the surrounding white settlements already encroaching on Indian lands and the game already scarce in the Grand River area, the Native peoples were no longer able to survive on hunting and were already reduced to poverty and, at times, starvation. Brant had devised a plan whereby large sections of the original grant were sold to non-Native investors, with the proceeds of the sales used to set up an annuity fund to provide lasting support for his Native peoples. Claus countered that since the Six Nations’ original ancestral lands were in upstate New York, they were not a sovereign nation in Upper Canada since the Grand River lands had been granted to them by the Crown. Moreover, according to the Royal Proclamation of 1763, in the event that the Natives decided to sell some of their reserve lands, only the Crown could purchase such lands. Such arguments would have important constitutional implications for future relations between the Native peoples and the various levels of government in Canada. Brant was furious. With the chain of friendship now grimly tarnished for the next two years, there were very real concerns the Six Nations would “raise the hatchet” in retaliation against the king’s subjects.
Thayendanegea (Joseph Brant), artist William Berczy, oil on canvas, circa 1807. As Mohawk chief and principal war leader of the Six Nations on the Grand River tract, Brant (1742–1807) was a frequent spokesman at the Indian Council House on the Commons. His sister, Molly Brant, was the second wife of Sir William Johnson.
Photo © National Gallery of Canada, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa #5777.
Eventually a compromise was reached whereby large tracts of land already sold to non-Natives were recognized by the government. When the hesitant Peter Russell, then Upper Canada’s administrator, met with Brant in council at Niagara to publicly formalize the agreement the following July, up to three hundred young warriors had unexpectedly accompanied Brant.[18] Since this probably exceeded the entire adult male population of Newark, including the garrison, Russell later admitted to his displeased superiors in London that he had felt “not a little intimidated” to reluctantly sign the agreement without their prior approval.[19] During the ceremony Brant “eagerly” took Russell’s hand and declared that, “they would now all fight for the King to the last drop of their Blood.”[20] Had Russell delayed signing the agreement, his negotiation stance would have been further compromised with the surprise arrival of Chiefs Red Jacket[21] and Farmers Brother,[22] accompanied by yet another two hundred warriors of the Seneca Nation from the United States[23] the next day.
Until then, the British Indian Department at Niagara served the Six Nations on the Grand River and, theoretically, those still living on reserves on the American side.[24] The Council House was open to the Mississauga Indians and any other Native group that might wander through. In an attempt to thwart Joseph Brant from uniting all the Natives against the interests of the government, the Mississaugas were forced to travel to York, where a new Indian Department was established under Major James Givins.[25]
Meanwhile William Claus carried out his responsibilities at Niagara, dispensing annual presents and provisions to the Natives and calling Indian councils when necessary to address specific domestic and political concerns. In 1799, with the death of Alexander McKee at Amherstburg, William Claus was appointed Deputy Superintendent and Inspector General of Indian Affairs, a post he would hold until 1826. His uncle, Sir John Johnson, pleased with the appointment, commented that Claus was now “set up for life,”[26] although he did worry about his nephew’s health given Niagara’s reputation as an unhealthy locale.
In August 1808 Claus reported that “a vast number of Indians are at this Post … [and they] complain of the great distress they are in for Bread,” but they had also informed him that they would “sit quiet in case of any quarrel between the King