CHAPTER XXVIII
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.
ONESTA ENTERING THE THUNDER TEPEE WITH HIS SACRED BUNDLES
THE CROW WATER CEREMONY OF ONESTA IN THE THUNDER TEPEE
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.
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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
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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.