fox_stomp 2018 full motion2018 Winter Gathering. Photo by Jonathan Fox.

Soon, Myaamiaki ‘Miami people’ and their friends will gather again for the Miami Nation Winter Gathering. A particular highlight is the large (and annually growing) stomp dance on Saturday night.

Although historically Myaamia people did not regard the stomp dance as sacred or original with them, it certainly has a long history in the community. Miamis learned the leading dance from the Shawnees in the distant past and among other names, call it Šaawanokaanki “the Shawnee Dance.”[1] Some forms have changed—for example, the sources tell us that Myaamia men once used water drums in leading dances, whereas in the current Myaamia context, those dances typically called “stomp” do not feature these portable instruments. And today there are even more diverse tribes nearby—Creeks, Cherokees, and Yuchis intermingle with the old kin communities of Ottawas, Shawnees, Delawares, Potawatomis, and Wyandots. But several historical observations also indicate the long-standing tradition of Myaamia people coming together at night, with friends and family, to circle the fire in the Shawnee Dance.

In 1796, a group of travelers heard a dance beginning near midnight on Bois Blanc Island downstream from Detroit and paddled across the river to witness it. The Irish writer probably describes a mixture of Shawnees, Wyandots, Potawatomis, Ottawas, and Miamis on the island.

The men assembled from different parts of the island, to the number of fifty or sixty, to amuse themselves in their turn. They first walked round the fire in a large circle, closely, one after another, marking time with short steps to the music; the best dancer was put at their head, and gave the step; he was also the principal singer in the circle. After having made one round, the step was altered to a wider one, and they began to stamp with great vehemence upon the ground; and every third or fourth round, making little leaps off the ground with both feet, they turned their faces to the fire and bowed their heads, at the same time going on sideways. At last, having made a dozen or two rounds, towards the end of which each one of them had begun to stamp on the ground with inconceivable fury, but more particularly the principal dancer, they all gave a loud shout at once, and the dance ended.

In another two or three minutes another dance was begun, which ended as soon, and nearly in the same way as the other. There was but little difference in the figures of any of them, and the only material difference in the songs was, that in some of them the dancers, instead of singing the whole of the air, came in simply with responses to the airs sung by the old men. They beckoned to us to join them in their dance, which we immediately did, as it was likely to please them, and we remained on the island with them till two or three o’clock in the morning. There is something inconceivably terrible in the sight of a number of Indians dancing thus round a fire in the depths of thick woods, and the loud shrieks at the end of every dance adds greatly to the horror which their first appearance inspires.

Scarcely a night passed over but what there were dances, similar to those I have described, on the island.[2]

By the 1820s, most Miami adults preferred the Shawnee Dance—what we frequently call stomp dance today—as their favored social soiree.[3] When Miamis and Potawatomis came together with American traders and U.S. treaty commissioners in 1826, they spent their evenings socializing and, of course, dancing. This gathering resulted in treaties between the Miami Nation and United States (and a parallel treaty between the Potawatomis and United States), usually called the Treaty of the Mississinewa. Many years later, one of the secretaries of the U.S. treaty commissioners recalled that time, near what became the town of Peru, Indiana:

We were treated to several native dances, one being on a park carefully cleared east of the Wabash, around which a circular path for dancing was prepared with soft leaves for the moccasins. It being night, the limbs of the trees around were well lighted with candles furnished by our commissioners. In a leading dance a prominent brave brightly painted (as most of the dancers were) whirled into the path, keeping with the music with a rough drum, beating time as he passed around the circle, instantly followed singly behind him by the bright girls, making him thus their favorite. And soon after, as other braves joined the dance, space was left for their sweethearts that chose them as partners to follow them in the dance.[4]

The treaties in the early nineteenth century resulted from, and in turn created, a tumultuous period in Myaamia history. Much like their stomp dancing in the wake of American conquest, it appears that despite the gravity of their daytime negotiations, Myaamia people spent their evenings stomping. In this letter from 1832, held at the Forks of the Wabash council house near Huntington, Indiana, an observer described what he saw:

I have witnessed several of their dances, but can give but a faint description on paper of an exercise which is rendered interesting alone by the peculiar appearance of those who compose the group. One or more fires are kindled at night, and the Indians, dressed in the most gaudy manner, with neatly worked leggings and moccasins, red and blue coats, blankets and fringed hunting shirts, with heavy appendages of bells and silver ornaments, commence a march or dance around the fires, and although the train may be quite small at first they gradually fall in, and from one to two hundred are frequently engaged in one circle. The [women] and men join promiscuously in the dance, and appear to enjoy it with as much zest as do our white gentlefolks at their assembly balls and cotillion parties. Their music consists of a drum composed of a common keg with a skin streached [sic] over one end, and a regular beat is kept up by some of the elder Indians. In addition thereto many of the Indians are constantly engaged in the repetition of a dull monotonous tune or sound, which is occasionally enlivened by a general shout or whoop. They appear to have a strong predeliction [sic] for fine dress and fine horses, and some of them are perfectly loaded with heavy feathers or plumes and silver ornaments. The females have a peculiarly modest appearance, and are dressed in fine scarlet and silks, with many very ingenious and beautiful specimens of ornamental needle work and beads.[5]

Clearly, Myaamia families have long enjoyed evening leading dances with their neighbors, and the tradition continues in this year’s winter gathering in Miami, Oklahoma.

stomp post map.jpg

[1] Charles C. Trowbridge and W. Vernon Kinietz, Meearmeear Traditions (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1938), 59.

[2] Isaac Weld, Travels Through the States of North America and the Provinces of Upper and Lower Canada 3rd edition (London: 1800) vol. 2: 290-92.

[3] Trowbridge, Meearmeear Traditions, 59.

[4] James M. Ray, in Indianapolis News, June 7, 1878.

[5] A.F. Morrison, in Indiana Democrat, Indianapolis, September 29, 1832. These negotiations did not result in a signed treaty that year, but foreshadowed the Forks of the Wabash Treaty of 1834.

Histories of Indigenous Slavery:
A Roundtable Hosted by the Myaamia Center at Miami University
by Cameron Shriver

Myaamia people and their younger siblings, the Peewaalia ‘Peoria,’ have featured in historians’ research about Indian slavery in the colonial period, ca. 1500-1800. However, our tribal community and researchers have not been deeply involved, until recently, in discussions or research related to Indian slavery.

On April 13, 2018, the Myaamia Center hosted a roundtable discussion with the goal of increasing Myaamia engagement with this important topic. Invited participants were Dr. Margaret Newell, professor of history at Ohio State; Dr. Andrew Offenburger, professor of history at Miami University; Dr. Cameron Shriver, postdoctoral fellow at the Myaamia Center at Miami University; and George Ironstrack, Assistant Director of the Myaamia Center at Miami University.

Dr. Newell discussed her recent book about Indian slaves living in New England. Algonquians there–such as Pequots–became important laborers in Puritan New England households, and colonist leaders quickly codified laws allowing enslavement of Indians during wars.

Dr. Offenburger explored the question of why historians seem eager to categorize servitude, unfreedom, or captive-taking practices as “slavery.” In his own research on Yaquis and the Mexican state of Sonora, Offenburger talked about a theme Myaamiaki will know well: the dispossession of Native (in this case, Yaqui) land. But U.S. corporations and entrepreneurs also appropriated Yaqui labor in their agricultural plantations, growing crops through irrigation agriculture in Sonora, and through henequen plantation systems with Yaqui labor in Yucatan. Offenburger notes that Yaquis experienced forced labor, although other features we commonly associate with slavery, including the sale of bodies, did not occur in this time and place.

To be clear, none of the participants equated this kind of slavery with the common image in our popular imaginations. Most Americans believe that slavery was a race-based and hereditary system particular to Southern plantations and synonymous with African-American chattel slaves. This was only one kind of slavery; historians view “slavery” as part of a broad spectrum of freedom and unfreedom. In our popular history, we often think of past Native American societies as egalitarian and lacking the kind of coercive power and class distinctions common in other regions of the world, but a closer examination of the Myaamia past pulls this stereotype apart. Looking more closely at the evidence of the lives of unfree people within Myaamia society helps us better understand the complexity of our ancestors’ experiences and the lives of those forced to live within Myaamia communities.  

Indian slavery forces us to consider the disadvantaged and deprived in Native America, while recognizing new shades of difference in the broader story of slavery, which too often is painted in black and white.

Read the rest of this entry »

Cecaahkwa Kiilhswa is the third lunar month of the Myaamia lunar calendar. Like the other months named for birds, Cecaahkwa Kiilhswa is associated with the process of transition from pipoonwi (winter) into niipinwi (summer). The month is named for cecaahkwa ‘Sandhill Crane – grus canadensis.’


cecaahkwa (Sandhill Crane) performing a mating dance

Around this time of year, Sandhill Cranes return from their winter nesting grounds in what is today the state of Florida.  Historically, some cranes nested in our traditional homelands along the Wabash River Valley and some traveled to other nesting grounds throughout the midwest.  This moon marks an important moment of return, rebirth, and renewal for an animal, cecaahkwa, that is closely associated with Myaamia people.  Delaware and various Iroquois speaking peoples, who originally lived to our east and south, referred to the Myaamia as the “Twigh Twee” after the call of the Sandhill Crane.

Peace 3

Signature of Myaamia leader on Great Peace of 1701

In the past, Myaamia people would mark the edges of our lands by blazing the head of cecaahkwa into trees along major trails.  In 1701, a Myaamia leader signed a treaty with this very symbol. Cecaahkwa remains a powerful symbol of Myaamia people and can still be found on the tribal seal of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma.

click here to return to Myaamia Ecology page

meekaalankwiki mihši-maalhsa – mikaalitioni taawaawa siipionki
Mihši-maalhsa Wars Part IV- The Battle of the Taawaawa Siipiiwi

This article is the fourth of a five-part series on the history of our wars with the Mihši-maalhsa (Americans), which occurred from 1778-1794 and from 1812-1814. This fourth article focuses on the Battle of the Taawaawa Siipiiwi (Maumee River), also known as Fallen Timbers. If you want to hear the pronunciation of the Myaamia terms in this article, please visit our online dictionary –

In our last article on the Mihši-maalhsa Wars we looked at the Battle of the Wabash, also known as St. Clair’s Defeat. This battle was a near catastrophic disaster for the still very young United States, but the victory did not leave the allied villages of the Taawaawa Siipiiwi in a very strong position.[1] The British still refused to commit troops and especially artillery to aid the allies. More importantly, poor harvests in the summer of 1791 and floods in the fall of that same year left the allied villages in a terrible state. The continued presence of a large concentration of men from communities throughout the Great Lakes only further strained the limited agricultural stores and forced hunters to go farther from the Taawaawa Siipiiwi in order to bring in enough game.

In the fall of 1791, following the victory at the Battle of the Wabash, the Taawaawa Siipiiwi alliance held a council. They wanted to meet before all the villages temporarily split up into their winter hunting camps. During the council there was an active and lively debate over whether to continue to pursue the path of war against the Mihši-maalhsa or to use the recent victory over the U.S. Army as an opportunity to negotiate peace from a position of relative strength. The records of the council do not make clear what side Myaamia leaders took in this debate, but it seems that around the time of this council they became divided on whether to pursue peace to continue the war.[2]

The years of disruption and warfare were beginning to take their toll on Myaamia villages. The fall harvest in 1790 was destroyed by Harmar’s invasion and the following year’s crop was poor due to weather. As a result, in the winter of 1791-92, the tribes of the Taawaawa Siipiiwi alliance were reduced to begging for food from the British. Within Myaamia villages, some were beginning to wonder whether their communities could continue to sustain a seemingly never-ending conflict.

Read the rest of this entry »

This will be the second article in the genealogy section of our community blog. The purpose of writing these articles is to educate and inform the Myaamia community about the important  people and families that make up our past. As Myaamia people, we usually connect ourselves to one or more of our ancestors to define our family. But oftentimes we know very little about the other families and the other leaders that made up our community throughout history. In writing these blog posts we hope to not only inform about our past leaders, but also stimulate interest in learning more about different Myaamia people or families.

Akima Neewilenkwanka was born around 1800 as part of Waapeehsipana’s (White Raccoon’s) band. In 1826, ten sections of land were set aside for Waapeehsipana’s village along Neekawikamiiki Siipiiwi (the Aboite River) near Columbia City. Most likely it was in that village along Neekawikamiiki Siipiiwi that Neewilenkwanka grew up.

Neewilenkwanka grew up in time when our land base was still relatively intact and Myaamia language and culture was seen all across Indiana. Growing up, he would have participated in all the activities of the young boys in a traditional Myaamia village. He would have played games that helped prepare boys for a life as hunters. One particular game that was played with bow and arrow consisted of someone throwing a ball, which was formed out of twisted bark, into the air and the shooter would try to hit the ball with an arrow while it was in the air.

As a young boy, he would have been expected to go into the woods for a period of fasting and prayer in order to find his path in life. Charles Trowbridge, an ethnographer who worked with our community in the 1820s, says that children are “taught to fast for a whole winter, nay, oftentimes six months. He rises very early in the morning, blacks himself and goes out to hunt or to play, without eating. At first he fasts until noon, and at length until night.”[1] He would have blackened his entire  face with charcoal and waited for a dream to come to him which would guide him to decide his path in life. This would have been something that he would reflect on throughout his life.

This would have occurred during a turbulent time for Myaamia communities while the War of 1812 was beginning. Myaamia people were put in a difficult position during this period. Our leaders who lived through the Mihši-maalhsa Wars (Northwestern Indian Wars) were unwilling to join Tecumseh against the United States, while at the same time the United States grouped all tribes together as enemies of the state. This led to invasions of Myaamionki (place of the Miami) by American forces throughout the area, which caused many Myaamia people to flee southward towards the villages on Nimacihsinwi Siipiiwi (the Mississinewa River). It’s possible that his family were part of these refugee groups. Regardless, this kind of warfare would have had an intense impact on him and how he acted as an akima.

As a young adult, Neewilenkwanka became an akima of his own village and in the treaties of 1834 and 1838 he received two reserves along Neekawikamiiki Siipiiwi, across the river from Waapeehsipana’s village between Wiipicahkionki (Huntington) and Kiihkayonki (Fort Wayne). Not surprisingly, the bands living in that area were often referred to as Neekawikamiaki (the Aboite River People). In 1830 & 1831 he represented 20 Myaamia people, who were most likely the inhabitants of his village, for an annuity collection.Bigleg

These are approximations of where Waapeehsipana and Neewilenkwanka’s Reserves were located based on maps from the 19th century. Other reservees on this map include Francis and Louis Lafontaine, Seek, and Louison Godfroy. 

One of the more infamous stories about Neewilenkwanka involved one of the first trials of a Myaamia person in the American legal system. In 1830, Neewilenkwanka was arrested for the murder of a Myaamia woman from his village. According to the newspaper reports at the time, the woman had stolen from him and fled to Fort Wayne where Bigleg had killed her. In a letter from trader William Ewing to John Tipton, the Myaamia woman also had African ancestry and Neewilenkwanka claimed her as his slave. However, we don’t know how much of that was his own thoughts or if the claims that she was his slave was influenced by American thoughts on race at the time. He was convicted by a jury in Fort Wayne and was sentenced to death by hanging. Supposedly, Bigleg didn’t know what a hanging was and after being shown a dog Bigleg decided that he’d rather be shot. Luckily, thanks to his interpreters, Pinšiwa (John B. Richardville) and Soowilencihsia (John B. Bourie), he was pardoned by the governor of Indiana.

While in Indiana he married a myaamiihkwia named Kiišikohkwa (Nancy), who was the granddaughter of Mihšihkinaahkwa (Little Turtle) and the sister of Kiilhsoohkwa (Margaret Revarre). And he had at least five children: Awansaapia (John B. Bigleg), Awanohkamihkwa (Susan Bigleg Benjamin Medicine), Lenipinšihkwa (Sally Bigleg Wea Shapp), Ciinkweensa, and Margaret. However, at this point it is unclear if all these children were with Kiišikohkwa or with another woman as multiple marriages were very common in this time period. 

In 1846, Bigleg and his family were part of the group that experienced our forced removal from our homelands in Indiana to a new reservation in Waapankiaakamionki (Eastern Kansas) on canal boats.

Screen Shot 2015-11-30 at 3.09.49 PM.png

“List of Miamies Emigrating from Peru, IN” written by Joseph Sinclair in Evansville, Indiana  on the Steamboat Colorado (Oct 14, 1846)

It was during this time that Bigleg became an indispensable leader for our community. Because of Akima Toopia’s (Francis Lafontaine) sudden death a few months after removal, a man named Oonseentia was elected as akima. However, he appeared to have died in 1848, only two years later. It is at this point that Neewilenkwanka was elected akima in a community that was still struggling to recover from removal.

Much of the information about the first few years in Kansas have been lost, but one story that has survived comes to us from a Myaamia man name Šowapinamwa (Oliver Farrand) in a letter to his cousin, William Wells Wolcott. In this letter he says that he received his Myaamia name from Neewilenkwanka in Kansas in exchange for a bottle of whiskey. While Oliver says in the letter that he wasn’t sure if it counted, he continued to use that as his Myaamia name throughout his life.

While we can now look back upon this story as humorous, it also reveals some of our darker history. During this time alcoholism and violence caused by alcohol was rampant throughout our community. And while we were faced with these hardships, we also strived together as a community to move forward and build ourselves up.

This is exemplified by Bigleg in the same period when he led the Tribal negations with the Federal Government in 1853 along with a  council made up of Mahkateeciinkwia (Little Doctor), Lenipinšia (Jack Hackley), Soowilencihsia (John B. Bourie), and Awansaapia (John B. Bigleg). Also present were several individual Myaamia people from Indiana who wished to discuss annuity payments in Indiana. This led to the treaty that agreed to the allotment of our Kansas reservation with 200 acres being given to each individual, and the excess land to be sold off to the white squatters. While he died in 1858, he was still given an allotment posthumously in 1859 that was inherited by his wife and his son, Awansaapia. 

Awansaapia served as akima from 1862 until his death in 1867 in Iihkipihsinonki (Peru, Indiana) while on his way to Meetaathsoopionki (Washington D.C.), and was buried in the Godfroy Cemetery outside of Peru on the Godfroy Reserve. In 1873, Neewilenkwanka’s wife, Nancy, and his daughter, Susan, elected to maintain their tribal citizenship and removed to Noošonke Siipiionki (Indian Territory), where Susan was allotted on the shared Miami & Peoria Reservation.

Akima Neewilenkwanka helped lead our community through one of the darkest periods in our history and it was though his leadership, and others like him, that we remain today a strong and sovereign nation.

Our hope is that these articles begin to encourage community participation and interest in their family and genealogy. If you have any ideas or suggestions for the subject of the next article, please email me at Neewe.

[1] Trowbridge, Meearmeear Traditions, 56.