Gros Ventre Stories, continued...
Worship of Pipe by the Gros Ventre
As told by Peter Stiff Arm, Montana Gros Ventre, to Rev. William G. Levaseur, SJ.
The worship of the pipe was distinctively and peculiarly the worship of the Gros Ventre. How it became so I am about to relate. When I use the word “we” and “us,” I speak as our forefathers spoke. We worshiped many gods. We invoked the Sun as the Giver of All Good Things, the Moon as the Guide of the Warrior at Night, the Earth as the Giver of Health and Food. To us Sun and Earth were partners.
We had other minor deities, among them the Thundbird, which we held in deep reverence. We could not understand what caused lightning and thunder so we were lead to believe that lightning and thunder were caused by a huge bird. No one had seen it but all had heard it. So we called it the Thunderbird.
A young man whose name was Broken Knife wished to become a medicine man. He told his grandfather of his desire. His grandfather told him to think often about it before taking that step. Broken Knife thought much about it and at last made up his mind that he should become a medicine man. All approved of it. He was now ready to do what one must do to become a medicine man. He was told to go to a high mountain and there fast for eight days. As we believed Thunderbird to be our great friend and mediator, Thunder would tell Broken Knife what he must do. All the people assembled at the foot of the mountain. There they waited for eight days eager to hear Thunderbird’s message to Broken Knife. At the end of that time Broken Knife came down from the mountaintop. There the Indians stood in profound silence, eyes wide open, mouths agape, while a feeling of fear awe took possession of them, every fiber atremble, in anxious expectation of what Broken Knife would reveal to them. They must have felt as the people of old felt; when Moses, bearing the message of God, descended the mountain. There stood Broken Knife as a deified being. Every eye was riveted on the young man, minds keenly alert, ears pricked up. A loud gasp of breath and then a profound hush, and Broken Knife speaks: “I, Broken Knife, having held speech with Thunderbird, make known to you what my people must do. Thunderbird has sent me to you. You will build a tent for me on the plain. To each stake of the tent a pony must be tied. You will adorn the tent with all your most precious belongings. You are to camp about the tent in a circle.”
While this was being done, Broken Knife dressed himself in his finest apparel. He entered the tent. He told the people to fasten the flaps of the tent. He now began his prayer. Shortly after this a dark cloud was clear. A terrific storm arose and waged so furiously that none could leave the tent. Lightning flashed and thunder rocked the earth. After the storm had calmed the tent was torn into shreds, all the rich presents had disappeared and the ponies had vanished. Calamity seemed to reign supreme. It seemed as if the gods wished to instill this religion into the hearts of our people with a violent shaking of the powers of heaven. The young medicine man sat naked in the tent with a pipe in his hand. The pipe had been given by Thunderbird as a mark of friendship. As an offering, he filled the pipe with tobacco, held the stem toward the sun and addressed the sun in these words: “You, the Overseer of al things, give me health, good luck in the hunt and courage in battle.” He then told the people to turn to the earth when they were sick. He held the pipe towards the earth as the source of health because on it grew food and health giving herbs. The supreme moment had now arrived. The pipe-worship was established as a religion of the tribe. Broken Knife at his death left the pipe in the hands of a Keeper and it was handed down to all to be worshipped by the Gros Ventre as a worship belonging in a peculiar manner to them.
I shall now describe the pipe. It is thought by the Indians that this pipe is two thousands years old. A record has been kept with the pipe. A piece of wood one-inch square by four has notches cut at the corner and at ends, each notch indicates one year. This record has never been separated from the pipe. The pipe is made of stone and has a wooden handle. It is wrapped with the skins of different birds. The bundle also contains red paint. The record is enclosed in the bundle and the whole is wrapped with a buffalo hide.
The pipe has always been kept wrapped and is shown only at stated times. The pipe was always unwrapped by the wife of the Keeper, who was the priestess (co-Keeper) mbelgard. The wrapping and unwrapping was her privilege. No man touched the pipe except when it was handed to a man by her. She was always attended by two women. Those attendants guided every motion of the priestess by placing their hands on her hands and in this manner they guided her hands through every movement when wrapping and unwrapping the pipe. It took about one hour to do this. At such times all the worshipers are painted with the red paint. Strict silence is kept. The people are seated on the ground in a circle. This done, the chief comes forward to receive the pipe from the hands of the priestess. The pipe is filled and then offered to Thunderbird. The chief takes the first puff and then the pipe is offered to the different chiefs. The children who had not been admitted to the pipe worship are then brought forward and painted red by the priestess. All the worshipers paint themselves red with this paint preceding the principal feasts and events.
After the ceremony of unwrapping the pipe has taken place the pipe dance is begun. The keeper leads the dance with the pipe. These dances last two or three hours. When the dance is finished, the ceremony of wrapping the pipe takes place and everything is done as when unwrapping it. This pipe is in the possession of Curly Head, an aged Indian who closely guards it. Incense made of sweet grass has always been and is now offered to the pipe. Whenever the Indians move, the Keeper leads the way with the pipe, and whenever the Keeper stops with the pipe, there the Indian camps.
Stories are courtesy of Davy Belgard, Hays, Montana
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