I am chief Crowfoot. I am the head of the Blackfoot and Blood tribes on the plains of new Canada. I have long held my people together during the worst times of our land. Losing our buffalo, our homeland, and our warriors to alcohol and disease has made us very weak. We have made peace, even at the cost of distrust and high crime. The Canadians have made me an offer, first presented to me in 1877. They will protect my people, and be considered part of the country (we will still live here), in exchange for the ability to count the lands as part of Canada, and putting a railway through my lands. The mounted police are a blessing to my land of high crime rates. The train will bring wealth and ease of transportation to my people. These and many other factions allowed me to accept their proposition. I will do it. I will sign treaty number 7.
1863. I will always remember this year. It was the year the white men came. Not for war, mind you, for an idea. The white men were making a country and they were going to want our land. They were setting teir eyes on our land without spoiling for a fight. They were suggesting talks and treaties and things that could be mutually beneficial. Our buffalo are slowly disappearing and my people will so begin to go hungry. We cannot fight back, for white man’s diseases and alcohol have poisoned our warriors and scouts. We are defenceless. We must believe that white men can be trusted and be held to their word. They wand our land, not only for their country, but for their “railway” what ever that is. They want to put their machines through my lands. If they protect us, I will agree to their terms. The blackfoot and blood tribes will be cooperative, as soon as they draw up the treaty. (14 years later. . .) #talonsconfed treaty #7
I am Isapo-Muxika, of the blackfoot people since I was 5 (formerly of blood tribe). It is the year of 1838. I am 18 years old. My big brother, Crow Big Foot, was murdered. I assembled a war band and tracked down the murderers, And my followers gave me my brother’s name (shortened by the police). I live in the blackfoot tribe with my mother, Attacked Toward Home, my grandfather, Scabby Bull, my little brother, Iron Shield, and my step-father, Many Names, who is chief. I am heir for chiefdom as of my older brothers death. The white men have not quite expanded to where we live, and the buffalo are still plenty. The white men are not here in great number, but their influence is spreading quickly in the forms of guns, smallpox, and alcohol. I see the alcohol destroying the great warriors of the tribe and I hope it is doing the same to the other tribes, for our sake. I hear whispers of a confederation among the white men. Something called a government, whatever that is. I have no affiliation about the white men, but the mounted police do sound like a good idea. I think the white men will come, and when they do, I will do all in my power to prevent war. Now time to prepare for winter. . . I think it will be a long one.