ONESTA GIVES HIS CROW WATER CEREMONY
Our camp-ground under the cottonwood trees was covered with a deposit
of sand and fine loam, which got into our food, our blankets and
clothes. The Indians noticed me scratching and had a joke at my
expense. Little Creek said to Onesta, so that I could overhear:
“During the past few days I have been feeling itchy; I believe we have
become lousy from sitting on the blankets of these North Piegans.”
Onesta replied without a smile: “I have had the same trouble, but got
rid of mine by bathing in the river.”
I had my own suspicions as to the cause of our discomfort, but, after
this conversation, I imagined that lice were crawling in my hair and
all over my body. To the joy of the entire camp, I hastened to the
river, where I discovered sand as the real cause of my affliction.
Onesta told me afterwards that few of the Blackfoot were troubled with
vermin, but it was among the Crees and Gros Ventres. He said it made
him feel uncomfortable to even go near the Crees.
We had no regular hours for meals. The women cooked when it was
convenient. It was customary for Indians to have only two meals a day,
morning and evening. When we were on the road, we ate before sunrise
and in the evening after our journey. In a permanent camp the morning
meal might not come until noon; and if the women did not feel in the
mood for cooking, they would omit it entirely. The time for our evening
meal varied from five until nine; sometimes an entire day went by
without any cooking. I adopted the Indian custom of eating dried meat
or pemmican, whenever I felt hungry. Meat was their chief article of
diet—boiled, roasted, or dried. They were especially fond of soups and
meat stews.
Their vegetables were generally roasted or baked. They peeled and split
the stalks of wild parsnip, roasting them over the hot coals to bring
out the juice. They baked the prairie turnip, also camas roots, which
they put in a long hole three feet deep, in layers with grass and
leaves between, and hot stones at the bottom. Then the hole was covered
and a fire kept burning over it for two days and two nights.
The women of our camp were continually at work, gathering wild berries
and firewood, cooking, dressing skins, and making clothes. They had an
ingenious way of getting dry branches for firewood, when they were out
of reach on the big trees, breaking them off with a long pole with a
crook at one end, which they called a “limb-catcher.”
In gathering wild berries, a crowd of women and children generally went
together. They struck the bushes with sticks and caught the berries in
blankets, putting them into bags made from the whole skins of small
animals or unborn calves. On hot days, they worked in the open, seated
together under a large cowskin, which was spread over a tripod of poles
as a sun shelter, making clothes, parfleches, and lodge covers.
The day Onesta gave his Crow Water Ceremony, he asked me to help him in
the singing. He began his drumming before sunrise to waken the people
of the North Piegan camp; and made our women get up early to prepare
the feast, which they cooked in a large kettle over an outside fire.
Then they pitched a large lodge, which was loaned for the occasion by
Brings-Down-the-Sun. It was decorated with symbolic pictures; a band of
dusty stars and mountain peaks at the bottom represented the earth;
round the center were four red bands, representing the trails of the
Thunder Bird or lightning; the top was black for a cloudy sky at night,
with a cross at the back for the Butterfly, or Bringer-of-Dreams. They
called it the Thunder Tepee.
The Crow Water Ceremony came to the Blackfoot tribe in recent years
from the Crow Indians. It was a society of both men and women for
singing and dancing. It was believed to have power to make its members
wealthy, to fulfill their desires, and to cure the sick. The women did
most of the singing, while the men beat drums and helped in the songs.
When it was time for the ceremony to begin, Onesta carried his sacred
bundles to the Thunder Tepee, beating on his drum as a signal for the
Indians to assemble. Many came from the near-by camps and from a
distance—men, women, and children. The Crow Water Ceremony was new to
the North Piegans; they were eager to hear the songs and see the
dances.
Onesta as leader sat in the place of honor at the back of the lodge,
surrounded by sacred bundles. His face was painted yellow and he had a
long eagle plume in his hair. On both sides of him sat men with painted
medicine drums who helped in the ceremony. The women who took part were
seated on his left. They arose from time to time and danced to the
singing and drumming. The leader made motions with the skin of a bird
or animal; and the women dancers imitated him with their hands.
I saw a visiting Indian who came for the ceremony, holding himself
aloof. Instead of entering the tepee with his family, he sat at a
distance, near the edge of the woods. His mother-in-law had already
arrived and it would be a breach of etiquette for him to go into her
presence. If she met him face-to-face she would feel outraged and he
must make her a fine present.
Brings-Down-the-Sun attended with his family. They all sat outside and
did not mingle with the crowd. He was a religious leader and his wife
one of the wise women. They had their position to maintain; and must be
careful of their actions in public, so as not to be criticized.
When the ceremony finally came to an end, Onesta burned sweet grass on
one side of the fire; and the berry soup was distributed among the
people. But before eating, each person took a berry and held it up with
a prayer. Then they all held their dishes of food over their heads;
and, after setting them down again, began to eat.
Onesta asked me to spend that night in the Thunder Tepee as it was
against the rules of its medicine to leave it unoccupied. He urged me,
saying:
“If no one sleeps there, trouble is sure to come. But if you stay in
the sacred tepee, you may have a wonderful dream, like one of our
medicine men.”
I agreed, and straightway made preparations for the night, by carrying
my blankets inside and gathering a plentiful supply of firewood.
That evening many people came to see me in the Thunder Tepee; the
Indians of our party and North Piegans, too. They were a jolly crowd,
as light-hearted and happy as children. After the feast of that day
they were in a merry mood, chaffing each other good-naturedly and
finding fun in everything—their old clothes and the holes in their
moccasins, the children and dogs, and their own talk; they laughed and
joked until they were tired.
Then they asked me to sing Indian songs. I agreed, on condition that
Running Wolf, the oldest son of the North Piegan chief, would sing a
song for every one of mine. Quickly the news of our song contest spread
through the camp and more Indians crowded into the Thunder Tepee. But
Brings-Down-the-Sun did not come. He still held himself aloof.
I was the first to sing and chose a night song—one used by young men
and their sweethearts, when they rode together at night.
In his turn, Running Wolf sang a song of war. He said:
“In the old times our people had a custom. Youths who wanted to become
warriors had to prove their bravery. They stood naked round a burning
pine tree, holding hands and singing. Two warriors with long poles
scraped the burning bark, making showers of sparks, which fell on the
bare skin of the dancers. Those who had brave hearts kept on dancing
and singing in spite of their burns.”
After my dance song, Running Wolf gave a song used in an old game. He
said:
“Long ago our people played a game by going in single file. They
followed a leader who carried two burning brands, holding each other
and singing while he led them, his brands striking together and
throwing off showers of sparks. They had to keep in line in spite of
the sparks.”
Then I sang a love song, which interested the women; they asked for it
over and over. I learned it in the camp of my Indian father, from a
young brave whom I heard singing
to his sweetheart. Strikes-on-Both-Sides recognized the song and made
known the name of the lover to the North Piegan women. Then the
youngest daughter of Brings-Down-the-Sun came late, and they made me
sing the love song again for her.
Running Wolf sang the song of a maiden who was disappointed in love,
with the words:
“My lover looked like an eagle,
When I saw him at a distance.
But, alas! He came near,
And I found he was nothing but a buzzard.”
It was after midnight when that merry crowd broke up. Before Onesta
left, he warned me of certain taboos for the Thunder Tepee—things to be
avoided, lest they bring me bad luck. He said:
“Be careful not to leave the door open, nor to lean a pole against the
tepee; neither should you blow on the fire, or allow any dogs to come
inside; keep the fire burning throughout the night; don’t let it die
out. If you should neglect any of these things, trouble is sure to
come.”
Running Wolf said with grim humor: “A skunk may visit you in the early
morning. He generally comes here, just before daybreak. But if you lie
still, he is not likely to bother you.”
By this time the evening constellations had swept far into the west.
Already the Great Dipper, that clock of the night-sky, had its handle
pointed downward to the horizon; day would soon dawn. I built up the
fire and lay on my couch, listening to the sound of the river rapids
and the wind in the tree tops. I thought about my Indian friends and
their close communion with nature, their feeling of brotherhood with
the birds and wild animals of the prairies and mountains. As I gazed
into the dying fire, the pictures on my tepee walls took weird shapes.
I thought of a large eagle that I had seen soaring over the camp. In my
dream he came to my lodge; he stood by my side; he communed with me and
gave me a message to the Indians of the North Piegans.
When I awoke, the bright rays of the sun were shining through the trees
and the open door of my Thunder Tepee. How glorious are the first rays
of the morning sun! The high summits of the Rocky Mountains looked like
islands in a sea of fire. The women of our camp were already cooking
breakfast. I saw the blue smoke rising slowly on the still air, curling
gracefully from the tops of our lodges under the cotton woods.
After I had a swim in the river, Onesta asked me whether anything had
happened in the night. I said, “Yes,” and remained silent.
When we were all seated by our fire after breakfast, Onesta asked me
again if I had any dream. I replied:
“Just before daybreak I had a strong dream. An eagle came and stood by
my side, saying:
“‘My son, I am chief of all the eagles. I am going to help you, because
you are alone and among strange people. Good luck will come to you in
the camp of the North Piegans, and to any one who helps you.’”
Then I stopped and looked around the circle of my Indian friends. I was
serious and did not smile; I counted on their sense of humor and not in
vain. They laughed and told my dream to the North Piegans. Soon it was
repeated throughout all their camps. The people were not fooled, nor
did I expect them to be. Nevertheless, after my night in the Thunder
Tepee, I was in high favor among the North Piegans, and from that time
all went well.