Chapter XVII
A Friendly Visit from the Crows
IN THE DAYS of which I write the Blackfeet were not, as they are now, cursed with the different forms of tuberculosis. Yet there were, of course, occasional cases. The wife of Four Horns, a young man of the Small Robe band, had it, and was growing steadily worse. As the lodge of the young couple was quite near ours, we naturally saw much of them. Four Horns was an exceedingly tall, well-built, pleasant-featured man of twenty-eigbt or thirty, and his wife was also goodlooking, neat in person and babits, but the disease bad sadly shrunken her once fine form. The man was a famous raider, a tireless hunter, and, with what he had taken from the enemy, and by careful breeding, had acquired a large band of horses. In his lodge were always bundles of fine robes and furs, ready to be bartered for anything that was needed or which took his wife's fancy. Nothing was too good for his woman; he thought the world of her, and she of him.
When the disease appeared a doctor was called in, and given a fee of three horses. His medicines and prayers did no good, however, and another one was tried, fee, five horses, but with like results. in succession the doctors of the whole tribe attended the patient, and now the end was near. The fine herd of horses had shrunk to less than a dozen head. Robes, furs, costly blankets, and finery had also been given to the doctors. Late one evening a messenger hurriedly entered our lodge: "You are called," he said, "by Four Horns; he bids you, both of you, make haste."
We found the poor woman gasping for breath. Four Horns was sitting on the couch beside her, his face buried in his hands. An old woman, robe thrown over her head, was feeding the fire. I poured out a large drink of whisky, added some sugar and hot water to it, and Nät-ah'-ki gave it to the sufferer. It revived her; she soon breathed more easily, and then said to me, speaking very slowly and interruptedly:
"Never in all my life have I done a wrong thing. I have never lied, nor stolen, nor done that which brings shame upon a woman's parents and upon her. Yet our gods have forsaken me and I am near to death. You have, gods as well as we. I have heard of them. The Maker, His Son, the Mother of the Son. Pray to them, I beg you; perhaps they will take pity and make me well."
I cannot explain, I fear, how I felt upon hearing that simple request. i wished that I could grant it, and knew that I could not. How was it possible for one to pray who had no faith? I cast about in my mind for some excuse; for something to say, for some way to explain my inability to do it. I looked up and found Nät-ah'-ki earnestly, expectantly gazing at me. We had talked about religion, the white man's religion, several times, and she knew that I had no faith in it. Nevertheless, I could see that she expected me to do what the dying woman had requested. I made the sign of negation; no. She moved at once to the side of the sufferer and said: I will pray to those gods for you. Long ago, when I was a little girl, a Blackrobe and my uncle taught me the way," and she began: "Ap'-ai-stu-to-ki, kin'ah-an-on, etc." 'Twas the Lord's prayer! Some zealous Jesuit, perhaps Father De Smet himself, had translated it into Blackfoot, and good Blackfoot, too.
But even as the prayer ended, a dark stream flowed from the woman's mouth, the last and fatal hemorrhage. "That which kills you," cried Four Horns, "shall kill me, I follow you soon to the Sandhills." And bending over be drank of the blood flowing from his loved ones lips. With one last effort she clasped her thin arms around his neck, and died. ft was a dreadful scene.
"Come." I said presently, gently lifting him. "Come with me to my lodge; the women now have their work to do."
With one last, long look, he arose and followed me. I gave him the guest couch, and handed him a cupful of whisky which he quickly swallowed. After a time I gave him another cupful; worn outwith long watching, overcome by the strong liquor, he lay down and I covered him with a robe. He slept soundly until after noon the next day; by that time Nät-ah'-ki and others had bound the body in robes and blankets and lashed it in a tree somewhere down tb'e river. I know not whether Four Horns had long before contracted the disease, or if he was infected there at the woman's deathbed. He died of the same dread scourge some six weeks later. if there is a Sandhills, let us hope that his shadow found hers, and that together the dreariness of that abode of shadows became lightened.
The uncle Nät-ah'-ki had mentioned was a French creole, one of the earliest employees of the American Fur Company. He had married the sister of her mother, and had been very kind to his various relatives. Nät-ah'-ki had passed two winters in his quarters at Fort Benton, and much time in his lodge when he traveled with the tribe. A devout Catholic himself, be had tried to spread the doctrine among his adopted people. I would have said nothing about the prayer she had made, but she opened the subject an evening or two later by asking me why I had not done what her dying friend asked of me.
"How could I, not believing, as I have told you, that which the Blackrobes and others tell us?" I asked in turn.
"Surely," she said, "if I can believe, I who can neither speak your Ianguage nor read the Blackrobe's sacred writings, then you should be able to do so, you who can understand it all."
"In that very writing," I explained, "the Maker says that we shall have no other god than Him, and that if you pray to others than Him, He Will punish you in some fearful manner. Therefore, if you do pray to Him, you must no longer pray to the Sun, or to anything else Whatever.
"Nevertheless," said Nat-ah'-ki, decidedly, "I shall pray to Him, and to our gods also. That writing was not meant for us; only for the white people. We are poor; we are like a blind person feeling his way along high cliffs; we need the help of all the gods we can find."
"Right you are," I told her. "We do need help; pray to them all; and since I cannot, why, pray for me."
"Ah!" she sighed. "As if I did not always do so! There is the Sun; you can see him every day. How good he is, giving us light and heat. Can you not believe in him?"
"Yes," I replied, "I do believe in him, he is the life of this earth."
That pleased her, and she went about her work happily singing.
In February we were visited by a deputation from the Crows, who were wintering on Tongue river, away to the south of us. They came with tobacco and other presents from their chief to ours, and the message that their people offered to make a lasting treaty of peace vith the Piegans. Their leader was one Rock Eater, half Crow and half Blackfoot. His mother had been captured by the former tribe when a young girl, and in due time became the wife of her captor's son. Rock Eater, of course, spoke both languages perfectly. The envoys were well received, and became guests of the more prominent men. Their proposition was one which required mature deliberation, and while the chiefs and head warriors were discussing it, they were feasted and given the best of everything in the camp. Rock Eater himself became my guest, and many an interesting talk I had with him by the evening fire.
"Is your mother happy with the Crows?" I asked him one night. "And how do you yourself feel—that you are Piegan, or Crow, or both?"
"it is this way," he replied. "My mother loves my father, and I love him, for he has always been kind to us. Generally, we are quite happy; but there are times, when a party returns With Piegan scalps, or horses taken from them, boasting loudly of their victory, calling the Piegans cowardly dogs. Ah! then we feel very sad. And often the proud young Crows have made fun of me, and joked about me, calling me bad names. Oh! yes, we are very miserable at times. Long ago my mother began to urge my father to talk with the chiefs and urge them to make peace with her people. I have also long been saying what I could to help the plan. But always the most of the people would object. One chief would arise and say, 'The Piegans killed my son; I want revenge, not peace.' Others would speak, crying out that they had lost a brother, or father, or uncle, or nephew in war with the Piegans, and that they could not think of making peace. Not long ago my father again called a council to consider this question, and as ever, he was opposed by many of the leading men. The last speaker said this to him: 'We are tired of being asked to talk about making peace with the Piegans. If you are so anxious to be friendly with them, why, go and live with them; become a Piegan yourself.'
"'So I will,' cried my father in anger. 'So I Will. I will become a Piegan, and fight with them against all their enemies.' And so saying, he arose and went home, 1 following him.
"Now, my father is a chief himself, a fearless man in war, so kindly and generous that he is loved by all but a few who are jealous of his position. When it was learned what he had said in the council, the people came to him and begged him to take back his words; also they went to the other chiefs and insisted that peace should be declared, provided the Piegans would agree to it. We have had enough of this war,' they said. 'See the widows and orphans it has made. We have our own great country, covered vith buffalo, the Piegans theirs; the two tribes can live without killing one another.' So, after all, my father had his way, and we were sent to you. I hope we will carry Piegan tobacco back with us."
Rock Eater was called to a feast, and soon after Rising Wolf came in to smoke a pipe With me. I asked him to tell me something about the wars between the two tribes. "Ha!" he said, grimly laughing; "I was in one of the fights, and a sad day it was to us. But to begin: The Blackfeet are a northern people. They once lived in the Slave Lake country. The Crees named those lakes after them, because they made slaves of the enemies they captured. Gradually they began to journey southward and came to these great plains abounding in game, where the winters are mild. There they found different tribes, Crows, Assiniboins, Shoshones, and various mountain tribes, the Kutenais, Pend d'Oreilles, and Stonies, and drove all before them, taking possession of their country. There were times of peace between them and these tribes, but mostly they waged war upon them. In 1832 the Blackfeet made a treaty of peace with the Crows, at Fort Union, which lasted only two years. Again, in 1855, at the mouth of the Judith River, at what is known as the Stevens treaty between the United States and various tribes, the Blackfeet, Crows, Gros Ventres, Pend d'Oreilles, the Kutenais, Nez Percés and others agreed to cease warring against one another, and intruding upon each other's hunting grounds. The Musselshell River was designated as the boundary separating Blackfeet from Crow territory. In the summer of 1857 the Crows broke this agreement by raiding a camp of the Bloods, killing two men and running off a large number of horses. That reopened the old feud, the three Blackfeet tribes—Bloods, Piegans and Blackfeet proper—making common cause against the enemy. In the fall of 1858 I joined the Piegans with my family at Fort Benton, and we went south of the Missouri to winter. We camped for a time on the Judith River, and then determined to move over on the Musselshell, follow it down by easy stages, and return to the Missouri by way of the east slope of the Snowy Mountains. About noon of the second day we came to the divide separating the two streams. Our column was loosely scattered along four or five miles of the trail that day, and most of the hunters were behind, away to the east and west, skinning buffalo and other game they had killed; ahead of us a mile or so rode our scouts, some thirty or forty men. It was a warm day; the horses felt lazy as well as their riders, and the big camp moved slowly along the trail, widely scattered as I have said. The scouts, far ahead, gave no sign that they had seen anything to make them suspicious. The old people dozed in their saddles; young men here and there were singing war, or hunting songs; the mother crooned to the babe at her breast; all were happy. The scouts passed out of view down the south slope of the gap, and the head of our column was nearing the summit, When out from a large pine grove on our right dashed at least two hundred mounted Crows, and fell upon us. Back turned the people, the women and old men madly urging their horses, scattering travois and lodge poles along the way, shrieking for help, calling on the gods to preserve them. Such fighting men as there were along this part of the line did their utmost to check the rush of the Crows, to cover the retreat of the weak and defenseless. Hearing shots and shouts, back came the scouts, and from the rear came charging more men to the front. But in spite of stubborn resistance the Crows swept all before them for a distance of at least two miles, strewing the trail with our dead and dying people-men, women, children, even babies. They took not one captive, but shot and struck, and lanced to kill, scalping many of their victims. But at last the Piegans bunched up in some sort of order, and the Crows drew off and rode away to the south, singing their songs of victory, taunting us by waving in triumph the scalps they had taken. So badly had our people been stampeded, so stunned were they by the terrible calamity that had befallen them, that they simply stood and stared at the retreating enemy, instead of following them and seeking revenge.
"Right there in the gap the lodges were pitched, and search for the dead and missing begun. By night all the bodies bad been recovered and buried, On every hand, in nearly every lodge, there were mourners cutting their hair, gashing their lower limbs, crying and wailing, calling over and over again by the hour the names of the loved ones they had lost. Yes, it was a camp of mourning. For weeks and months, when evening came, the wailing of the mourners, sitting out in the darkness just beyond the circle of the lodges, was pitiful to hear. It was a very long time before singing and laughter, and the call of the feast-giver were again heard. I happened to be with the scouts that day, and when we charged back did my best vitb them to check the Crows. But they so far outnumbered us, had so demoralized the people by their unexpected and fierce assault, that we were well-nigh powerless until our men in the rear came up. More than half of the scouts were killed. I got an arrow in the left thigh. In all, one hundred and thirteen Piegans were killed, while we shot down but seven of the enemy.
"After this happened, you may be sure that most of the war parties leaving the Piegan camp headed for the Crow country, and from the north came parties of their brothers, the Blackfeet and Bloods to harass the common enemy. In the course of two or three years they killed enough members of the Crow tribe, and drove off sufficient numbers of their horse herds, to more than offset their own losses in the massacre and in later fights—for, of course, our war parties were not always victorious.
"In the spring of 1867 the Gros Ventres-then at war with the Blackfeet tribes-concluded a treaty with the Crows, and there was a great gathering of them all on lower Milk River, to celebrate the event. A party of young Gros Ventres returning from a raid against the Crees brought word that they had seen the Piegan camp in the Divided—or, as the whites called them, Cypress—Hills. This was great news. The Crows had a long score to settle with their old-time enemy. So also felt the Gros Ventres. Although they had for a very long time been under the protection of the Blackfeet, who fought their battles for them, and protected them from their bitter foes, the Assiniboins and Yanktonais, they had no gratitude in their make-up, and had quarreled with their benefactors over a trivial cause. And now for revenge! What could the Piegans do against their combined forces? Nothing. They would kill off the men, capture the women, seize the rich and varied property of the camp. So sure were they of success that they had their women accompany them to sort out and care for the prospective plunder.
"From a distant butte the war party had seen the Piegan camp, but had not discovered that just over a hill to the west of it, not half a mile farther, the Bloods were encamped in force, some five thousand of them, or in all about one thousand fighting men. No, they hadn't seen that, and so one morning the Crows and Gros Ventres came trailing leisurely over the plain toward the Piegan camp all decked out in their war costumes, the plumes of their war bonnets and the eagle feather fringe of their shields fluttering gaily in the wind. And with them came their women happily chattering, already rejoicing over the vast store of plunder they were going to possess that day. An early hunter from the Piegan camp, going with his woman after some meat he had killed the previous day, discovered the enemy while they were still a mile and more away, and hurried back to give the alarm, sending one of his women on to call out the Bloods. There was a great rush for horses, for weapons; some even managed to put on a war shirt or war bonnet. Luckily it was early in the morning and most of the horse herds, having been driven in to water, were feeding nearby. if a man did not at once see his own band, he roped and mounted the first good animal he came to. And thus it happened that when the attacking party came tearing over the little rise of ground just east of the camp they were met by such an overwhelming force of determined and well-mounted men that they turned and fled, firing but few shots. They were utterly panic-stricken; their only thought was to escape. Better mounted than their women, they left these defenseless ones to the mercy of the enemy, seeking only to escape themselves.
"From the point of meeting, a fearful slaughter began. Big Lake, Little Dog, Three Suns, and other chiefs kept shouting to their men to spare the women, but a few were killed before they could make their commands known. There was no mercy shown to the fleeing men, however; they were overtaken and shot, or brained with war clubs. So sudden had been the call that many men had found no time to select a swift horse, mounting anything they could rope, and these soon dropped out of the race; but the others kept on and on, mile after mile, killing all the men they overtook until their horses could run no more and their club arms were well-nigh paralyzed from striking so long and frequently. Few of the fleeing party made any resistance whatever, never turned to look backward, but bent forward in the saddle and plied the quirt until they were shot or clubbed from their seats. For miles the trail was strewn with the dead and dying, through which fled their women, shrieking with terror—the women they had brought to care for their plunder. 'Let them go!' cried Big Lake, laughing. 'Let them go! We will do as did Old Man with the rabbits, leave a few for to breed, so that their kind may not become wholly extinct.'
"A count was made of the dead. Only five of the Blackfeet had lost their lives, and a few been wounded. But along the trail over which they had so confidently marched that morning three hundred and sixty Crows and Gros Ventres lay dead. Many of them were never touched, for the victors had become tired of cutting and scalping. Their arms were taken, however, and in many cases their war costumes and ornaments, and then the two camps moved westward a way, leaving the battlefield to the wolf and coyote.
"As you know, the Gros Ventres asked for peace, and are again under the protection of our people. And now come these messengers from the Crows. Well, we will see what we will see." And bidding us sleep well, Rising Wolf—I never could call him Monroe—went home.
When Berry was in camp, or anywhere within a reasonable distance of it, the Piegans did no business without consulting him, and they always took his advice. He was really their leader; their chiefs deferred to him, relied upon him, and he never failed to advise that which was for their best interests. So now he was called to attend the council to consider the Crow proposal, and I went, too, under his wing, as it were. I wanted to hear the speeches. The Crow delegation, of course, was not present. Big Lake's lodge was well filled vith the chiefs and leading men of the tribe, including the younger heads of the different bands of the All Friends Society. Among them I noticed my enemy, Little Deer, who scowled at me when I entered. He was beginning to get on my nerves. To tell the truth, I impatiently looked forward to the day when we would have it out, being possessed of a sort of unreasoning belief that I was fated some day to send his shadow to the Sandhills.
Big Lake filled his big stone pipe, a medicine man lighted it, made a short prayer, and then it was passed back and forth around the circle. Three Suns opened the subject for consideration by saying that he and his band, the Lone Eaters, favored the making of a peace treaty with their old enemy. He had no sooner finished than Little Deer began an impassioned harangue. He should have been one of the last to speak, older and men of higher position having precedence over the younger; but he thrust himself forward. Nevertheless, he was listened to in silence. The Blackfeet are ever dignified, and pass over without remark any breach of tribal manners and etiquette. In the end, however, the transgressor is made in many ways to pay the penalty for his bad conduct. Little Deer said that he represented the Raven Carrier band of the great society, and that they wanted no peace with the Crows. Who were the Crows but murderers of their fathers and brothers; stealers of their herds? As soon as green grass came, he concluded, he and his friends would start on a raid against the people of the Elk River (Yellowstone), and that raid would be repeated again and again while summer lasted.
One after another each one had his say, many declaring for a peace treaty, a few—and generally the younger men—voicing Little Deer's sentiments. I remember especially the speech of an ancient, blind, white-haired medicine man. "Oh, my children!" he began, "Oh, my children! Hear me; listen understandingly. When I was young like some of you here, I was happiest when raiding the enemy, killing them, driving off their horses. I became rich. My women bore me four fine sons; my lodge was always filled with good food, fine furs. My boys grew up, and oh, how proud of them I was. They were so strong, so active, such good riders and good shots. Yes, and they were so kind to me and to their mothers. 'You shall hunt no more,' they commanded. 'You grow old; sit you here by the lodge fire and smoke and dream, and we will provide for you.' I was happy, grateful. I looked forward to many pleasant winters as I aged. Hai-ya! One after another my handsome sons went forth to war, and one after another they failed to return. Two of my women were also killed by the enemy; another died; and she who remains is old and feeble. I am blind and helpless; we are both dependent on our friends for what we eat and wear, and for a place by the lodge fire. This is truly a most unhappy condition. But if there had been no war—ai! If there had been no war, then this day I would be in my own lodge with my children and grandchildren, and my women, all of us happy and content. What has happened will happen again. You who have talked against peace, think hard and take back your words. What war has done to me, it surely will do to some of you."
Men the old man finished, nearly everyone in the lodge cried "Ah!" "Ah !" in approval of his speech. Big Lake then spoke a few words: "I was going to make a talk for peace," he said, "but our blind friend has spoken better than I could; his words are my words. Let us hear from our friend the trader chief."
"I say with you," Berry agreed, "that the old man's talk is my talk. Better the camp of peace and plenty than the mourning of widows and orphans out in the darkness beyond the fires. Let us make peace."
"It shall be peace!" said Big Lake. "Only six of you here have talked against it, and you are far outnumbered. I shall tell the Crow messengers that we will meet their people at Fort Benton in the sarvis berry moon, and there make friends. I have said. Go you forth."
We went our several ways; I to my lodge, where I found Rock Eater talking with Nät-ah'-ki. I saw at once that she was excited about something, and as soon as I had told our friend the decision of the council, she began: "See what we have discovered. His mother," pointing at Rock Eater, "is my mother's cousin, my relative; he is my relative, How queer it is; he came into our lodge a stranger, and we discover that he is of our blood, our very own family! And you say that we are to meet the Crows when the sarvis berries ripen. Oh, I am glad; glad! How pleased my mother will be to see her whom we thought was dead. Oh, we Will be good to her. We will make her forget all that she has suffered."
I reached over and shook bands With Rock Eater. "Friend and relative," I said, "I am glad to hear this news."
And indeed I was glad. I had taken a strong liking to the young man, who in his plain and simple way had told us of his sufferings and humiliations among a partly alien—one may say wholly alien—people, for, after all, the mother's kin, and not the father's, are almost invariably the chosen kin of the offspring of a marriage between members of different tribes or nations.
The All Friends Society gave a dance in honor of the visitors, a Parted Hair, or Sioux dance, wbich was indeed a grand and spectacular performance. Not to be outdone, the Crows decided to give one of their own peculiar dances, one called, I believe, the Dog Feast dance. But at the very mention of it, the Piegans suddenly lost all interest. Not that they didnI want to see the dance; they were anxious to see it. The hitch was about the dog. To them it was a sacred animal, never to be killed, nor worse still, to be used as an article of food. Dreading the wrath of the gods, none of them even dared to give the visitors one, knowing that it would be killed and eaten. I solved the problem by buying one of an old woman, pretending that I wanted it for a watch dog, and then giving it to the Crows. 'Twas a large, fat, ancient dog, well-nigh toothless, purblind and furred like a wolf. The Crows led it down into the timber by the river, and when next I saw it, it was hanging in a tree, dressed and scraped, its skin as white and shiny as that of a newly butchered pig. The next day they wanted a kettle in which to stew the dog, and no one dared loan one for such a purpose. Again I went to the rescue, "borrowed" two empty five-gallon alcohol cans from Berry and donated them. In these the dog meat was cooked to perfection.
These Crows had about the bandsomest war costumes I ever saw. Every eagle-tail feather of their headdresses was perfect, and the hanging part of them swept the ground at their heels. Their shirts and leggings were elegantly fringed vith weasel skins, scalp locks, and buckskin, and embroidered, as were their belts and moccasins, with complex designs in perfectly laid porcupine quills of gorgeous colors. The steaming cans of dog meat were carried to a level, open place between the camp and the river, and placed by a freshly built fire. Two of the Crows began to beat a drum, and the dance began, an immense crowd having gathered around in a great circle to see it. No one cared to go near the cans of forbidden food. As I remember it through all these years, the dance song was very different from any the Blackfeet sing, but the dance step, a forward spring on one foot and then the other, body slightly inclined forward, was like that of the Parted Hairs. Forth and back they danced, now to the right, again to the left, every little while circling completely around the fire and the cans, arms and hands extended, as if they were blessing the food. After dancing the circle there was a rest, during which a pipe was smoked, and then the dance was repeated. The performance lasted about an hour, and then the party removed the cans from the fire and prepared to feast on their contents. In less than two minutes the last Piegan had left the vicinity, some of the women badly nauseated at the thought of eating such proscribed food.
After remaining with us a couple of days longer, the Crows prepared to depart, and many a present was given them for themselves and for their chief. They carried about ten pounds of tobacco as a token that the Piegans accepted their overtures of peace, also a handsome black stone pipe, a present from Big Lake to their head chief. Then they were given a number of horses, fine blankets, parfleches of choice dried meat and skins of pemmican. Nät-ab'-ki had her little herd run in, "My horses are your horses," she said to me. "Give Rock Eater that four-year-old black." I did so. Then she got together some things for his mother—a new four-point blanket, a blue, trade-cloth dress, various paints and trinkets, and lastly a lot of food for the traveler. Rock Eater could hardly speak when he was leaving. Finally he managed to say, "These days here with you have been happy. I go from you, my good and generous relatives, only to meet you soon with my mother. She will cry with joy when she hears the words you send her and receives these fine presents." And so they rode away across the bottom and over the ice-bound river, and we turned to our everyday affairs.