NATCHEZ &045; Perhaps the most historic moment of the 17th annual Natchez Pow Wow took place after most of the Miss-Lou had gone to sleep Saturday.

Late that night, a small group of Natchez Indian descendants gathered at the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians historic site to conduct a stomp dance &045; the first Natchez descendants had held there in 276 years.

Although the 11 p.m. dance was not to be photographed, one participant did speak earlier Saturday about the significance of the event.

&uot;We’ve waited a long time to be able to do this,&uot; said Ryan MacKey of Tahlequah, Okla., speaker for Hutke Fields, the current hereditary chief, or Great Sun, of the Natchez descendants.

And this year’s Pow Wow, Fields decided, was the best opportunity to do so.

Dancing at the site of the Natchez’s ancient village is certainly a way to pay homage to ancestors, but it’s more than that, MacKey said.

&uot;The stomp dance is concerned with praying,&uot; MacKey said. Along with the words of the songs and emotions of the participants, the dancing itself &uot;is a physical form of prayer, praying to the Creator.&uot;

Now estimated to number 6,000 people, descendants of the Natchez tribe moved east when they left the Miss-Lou region. From there, they later traveled to Oklahoma with tribes such as the Muskogee and Creek people on the Trail of Tears.

Therefore, in Oklahoma can be found the greatest concentration of Natchez descendants anywhere.

So perhaps it’s not surprising that while stomp dancing is practiced by Native American tribes throughout the Southeast and in Oklahoma, many tribes have received songs and dancing that were native to the Natchez, MacKey said.

&uot;A lot of tribes may not know specifically where (these songs and dances) came from, but their elders know they came from somewhere else,&uot; MacKey said.

The Pow Wow, an annual occurrence at Grand Village, also features gourd dancing and intertribal dancing. That, and the fellowship itself, attracted hundreds of Native Americans from throughout the nation.

Ray Torgerson of Houston, head gourd dancer, said gourd dancing have been practiced for hundreds of years by Southern Plains tribes such as the Kiowa, Comanches and Cheyenne, typically during summer gatherings.

The songs, sung to the rise and fall of the drum, each belong to different families.

Traditionally, those watching the dance would drop coins or other tokens near the participants to show respect for the family being honored or to simply show appreciation for the dance.

And that word is important, Torgerson said. While spectators &045; in this case, hundreds &045; may gather around the arena, &uot;it’s not a performance,&uot; he said, &uot;it’s a dance.&uot;

Pausing before the dancing began, Lyle Prouse, a Comanche from Atlanta, reflected on the importance of the gathering and of the dance.

&uot;We (Native Americans) don’t often get the chance to get together, so it’s a good chance to get together with friends&uot; and to carry on centuries-old traditions, Prouse said.

And at the heart of it all is the drumbeat, which Prouse compared to a mother’s heartbeat, the first sound a baby hears in the womb. &uot;It represents the heartbeat of Mother Earth,&uot; he said, soon rising to dance.