The Native American Couture, pt. 2: mad about beads; wherein the author discourses additionally on the occasional uselessness of European currency and its interesting consequences.

It's not uncommon to hear disparaging commentary on the beads-for-land trade that opened the island of Manhattan for European colonization.  At least not if one hangs out with liberal-minded, hyper-educated types (and here I'll ask, why wouldn't you?).  The transaction in question occurred between the Dutch and the indigenous Lenni Lenape tribe in 1626, and apparently cross-cultural misunderstanding ruled the day: the Dutch thought they were making an outright purchase; the natives - possessing no concept of personal land ownership - instead "interpreted the trade goods as gifts given in appreciation for the right to share the land."  And the goods that secured the transaction - be it for tenancy or outright ownership - consisted of a bag of  "beads and trinkets" valued then at 60 Dutch guilders.  I don't know that one could even buy a string of beads in Manhattan for that today, though back then I am sure it made for a fairly sizable bag.  But what I think is interesting - especially for people like ourselves, whose every consuming move is governed and facilitated by ethereal, fiat currencies like the US$, and who are generally removed from any sort of barter or commodity-for-commodity trade - is not the price, but the means of payment: firstly, that the Dutch did not settle the account in guilders, or even plain old gold for that matter, and secondly, that they paid primarily in beads.

So apparently it's true: money really doesn't buy everything, though it seems likely everything still has its price.  I'm not an economist (just the alumnus of a sophomore Principles of Macroeconomics course, the sole sparking interest in which I took in the British economist John Maynard Keynes, his bisexuality, and his involvement in the Bloomsbury group), but what it really comes down to, and perhaps you will agree, is this: a unit of exchange only has liquidity if both parties imbue it with value in relatively equal measure.  Which is to ask, what the hell is a Lenni Lenape going to spend a guilder on in 1626?  What, for that matter, are they going to do with a gold coin short of flip it or wear it, or flip it to see who gets to wear it?

An interesting example of the very non-European non-primacy of gold comes from the Spanish conquest of "New Spain".  When the conquistador Hernán Cortés made his entrada into the Aztec-dominated lands we now know as Mexico, although the Spaniards could easily be diagnosed as suffering from a robust case of gold fever, the Aztecs, while rich in the shiny commodity, did not value it above all others.  The Aztecs - who were quite terrific with feathers and wore them to no end  - actually valued the feather of the Resplendent Quetzal (Pharomachrus mocinno) most of all.  Diplomatic offerings were sent to the conquistadors as they approached Tenochtitlan from the gulf, including quantities of the coveted quetzal feathers, to demonstrate the wealth, power, and opulence of the Aztec emperor.  But of course a gold-hungry Spaniard had no cultural impetus whatsoever to reciprocate in appreciation.  I mean, really, what if aliens invaded and we tried to appease them with offerings of Louis Vuitton handbags?

European School portrait of Montezuma II - note the feather work on the outside of his cloak and shield. I've always been especially fond of the orange and blue coloration of this painting, as well.

In an earlier post I wrote of Indian sign language being the lingua franca of the North American continent: an effective means of communication that could successfully carry one, more or less, across the comparatively primitive, polyglot "wilderness," from sea to shining sea.   Obviously in a world without traveler's checks, or even formal currency for that matter, paying one's way along the journey presents a challenge, and from the Dutch experience we already see that beads could open doors.  Similar valuation of beads is found throughout the Lewis and Clark journals, from which I can comfortably say that they were the most universally accepted trade commodity, and indeed paid many an expense as the expedition made its way from St. Louis to the Pacific and back again.  Of course the natives were also keen on procuring guns, axes, kettles, metal tools, blankets, and tobacco - but beads in particular seem to have been a hit.  Possibly because they are such fun to wear (I mean, they are hardly essential to living), and the Native Americans of course had a terrific sense for personal adornment.  Beads one can work with, guilders one cannot.

As Clark and the expedition make their way along the Columbia river, he takes time to reflect on the primacy of the bead among the salmon-fishing tribes living along its banks. His journal entry of November 1, 1805, really hints at the widespread currency of beads:

...however they git in return for those articles Blue and white beeds copper Kettles, brass arm bands, some scarlet and blue robes and a fiew articles of old clothes, they prefer beeds to any thing, and will part with the last mouthfull of articles of clothing they have for a fiew of those beeds, those beeds the[y] traffic with Indians Still higer up this river for roabs, Skins, cha-pel-el [biscuitroot] bread, beargrass &c. who in turn trafick with those under the rockey mountains for Beargrass, quarmash roots & robes &c.

Clearly there is widespread currency in beads.  And I'll also add here, though it is not entirely relevant, that I suspect beads were much prettier in 1805, or at least of more consistent integrity - when everything was naturally derived, handmade, and American Indian apparel was the apparel of everyday life and not costume for the odd pow wow.  No artificially dyed feathers or plastic beads here, paleface.

Portrait of Shó-me-kós-see, or "The Wolf", of the Kansa tribe.  Painted by George Catlin in 1832. From the Smithsonian collection.

Beads were often worn copiously - on strands and integrated into complex mixed-media accessories as well.  Returning from the Pacific, Clark notes the appearance of the Choppunish, or Nez Percés (from the French for "pierced nose").  His journal entry from May 7th 1806:

The orniments worn by the Chopunnish are, in their nose a single shell of Wampom, the pirl & beeds are suspended from the ears. beads are worn arround their wrists, neck, and over their shoulders crosswise in the form of a double sash. the hair of the men is cewed in two rolls which hang on each side in front of the body. Collars of bears claws are also common; but the article of dress that in which they appear to bestow most pains and orniments is a kind of collar or breastplate; this is most commonly a strip of otter skins of about six inches wide taken out of the center of the skin its whole length including the head. this is dressed with the hair on. this is tied around the neck & hangs in front of the body the tail frequently reaching below their knees; on this skin in front is attatched pieces of pirl, beeds, wampom, pices of red cloth and in short whatever they conceive most valuable or ornamental.

Bear fur and claws are particularly valued in apparel as the bears of the west - especially the grizzly - were dangerously aggressive and extremely hard to kill.  Lewis and Clark, armed with shotguns and accustomed to the more docile black bears of the East, underestimated the temper and might of the grizzlies and were surprised to find that felling one often required both multiple gunshots and a hell of a lot of running for your life until the bear finally dropped.  Needless to say, gunless and armed with just bow and arrow, the indigenous Americans were not keen to take them on and so to actually fell a bear was considered an accomplishment and by extension, seemingly, to sport the trophy of such a kill, high status.

The noted warrior Shon ta yi ga, or "Little Wolf" of the Iowa tribe - painted by George Catlin, 1844. Note the abundance of beads, as well as the formidable bear claw necklace.

Here's a truly interesting passage, one where William Clark pretty much spells out the value of beads to his American Indian associates in no uncertain terms.  He also describes some of the more gruesome and curious accessory choices of the Nez Percés, and again I will put the more sensational details in boldface, since that's the sort of person I am. From his entry dated May 1th, 1806:

...they do not appear to be much devoted to baubles as most of the nations we have met with, but seem anxious always to recive articles of utility, such as knives, axes, Kittles, blankets & mockerson awls. blue beeds however may form and exception to this remark; This article among all the nations of this country may be justly compared to gold and silver among civilized nations. They are generally well clothed in their stile. Their dress consists of a long shirt which reaches to the middle of the leg, long legins which reach as high as the waist, mockersons & robe. those are formed of various skins and are in all respects like those of the Shoshone. Their orniments consists of beeds, shells and pieces of brass variously attached to their dress, to their ears arround their necks wrists arms &c. a band of some kind usially serounds the head, this is most frequently the skin of some fir animal as the fox otter &c. I observed a tippet worn by Hohastillpilp, which was formed of Humane scalps and ornemented with the thumbs and fingers of several men which he had slain in battle, they also were a coller or breastplate of otter skin ornimneted with shells beeds & quills. the women brade their hair in two tresses which hang in the same position of those of the men, which ar[e] cewed and hand over each shoulder &c.

 A tippet, by the way - and I had to research it myself - is a sort of long scarf that wraps over the shoulders and hangs down the front on either side, such as one finds in the vestments of certain types of clergy, though the natives' were made from skins.  Would you wear one? Would you wear one covered with thumbs and fingers?  Well, maybe...

Another terrifically curious example of the occasional worthlessness of European currency is one that culturally and stylistically still touches our lives very much today.  In the early years of global maritime trade - when state-chartered companies like the East India Company (founded 1600 by Elizabeth I) and its Dutch equivalent, the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (of 1602) were sending ships on the astonishingly long voyage around the cape of Africa and on to ports in Asia - the initial goods for acquisition were spices.  The appetite of the European market for which simply could not be satiated, and historically many fortunes were made trying. 

Many desired varieties of spices came from the "Spice Islands" of Indonesia and elsewhere in Southeast Asia, and though the European ships set sale with stores of gold to make their purchase, the producing tribes of the islands were basically pre-literate and without currency - and they found no utility whatsoever in gold, either.  Again, what does a guilder buy you in the jungle?  So spices-for-gold was a no go, however the natives would trade for more practical items, particularly textiles.   And so the trade became triangular: European ships would exchange gold for textiles in India, then sail to the islands to trade Indian textiles for spices, then return to Europe to resell the spices for gold on the European market.  Problem solved.

But thanks to the success of the spice trade, another market was opened as its accidental bi-product: some of these spice-heavy ships started returning home also with leftover remnants of Indian textiles.  The directors of these trading companies - and I am quite sure their wives, too - got a look at the colors and the patterns and basically said, "These. Are. Fabulous."   And so shortly ships began returning laden with textiles as well, which in turn introduced the Tree of Life design to Europe and European craftsmen, which is pretty much the common evolutionary ancestor to every piece of large-scaled floral patterned chintz to which we somewhat reflexively accredit today as the backbone and basis of the "English country look".  French merchants especially came to appropriate the Indian design motifs as they soon realized, amidst great demand, it was far more profitable to domestically manufacture Indienne-style knock-offs than to actually go to the expense of importing them for resale - and this is why "French Provencial" textiles are often a curious combination of European flora mixed with Eastern design elements such as paisleys and palmettes...

(Yeah, I basically ache to write scads on this - in my esteem a fascinating and antique sort of cross-culturalism - but that will have to wait until after I finish up with Lewis & Clark, which I assure you is only going to get freakier...)