Part 5

The Indians can not rationally account for an eclipse, supposing it to be a cloud, hand, or some other thing shadowing the moon, caused by Wakoñda to intimate some great pending calamity. Many are the prophecies on these occasions of war, pestilence, or famine, and their predictions are often verified. Predicting an eclipse does not appear to excite their wonder as much as would be supposed. The writer predicted the eclipse of the moon on December 25, 1852, months before, but received no further credit than that of having knowledge enough from books to find out it was to take place.

Their year is composed of four man-ko´-cha or seasons, viz., wai-too (spring), min-do-ka´-too (summer), pe-ti-e-too (autumn), wah-nee-e-too (winter). These are only seasons and do not each contain a certain number of days, but times—a growing time, a hot time, a leaf-falling time, and a snow time. These four seasons make a year which again becomes man-ko´-cha or the same as a season. This is difficult to explain. They count by the moon itself and its different phases, not computing so many days to make a moon, nor so many moons to a year.

They give each moon its name, beginning, say, with the March moon whenever it appears either in February or March, when it would be wee-che´-ish-ta-aza, sore eye moon; next would follow Ta-pa´-ghe-na-ho-to, frog moon; next pe-tai-chin-cha´-ton, buffalo calf moon; next wee-mush-tu, hot moon; next wah-pa´-ze-ze, yellow-leaf moon; next wah-pa-ich-pa´-ah, leaf-falling moon; next yo-ka´-wah-how-wee, first snow moon; next we-cho-kun, middle moon; next om-hos-ka-sun-ka-koo, lengthening days moon’s brother; and next om-has-ka, lengthening of days moon. Their year has no beginning nor end. They count and name the moons as they come, and these names are also varied. Any annual remarkably known fact respecting the season can be applied to the name of the same moon. Thus the sore-eyed moon can be called the snow-melting moon, and the falling-leaf moon be termed the moon when the buffaloes become fat. These moons suffer no divisions of time except their phases, viz., new moon, increasing moon (first quarter), round moon (full moon), eaten moon (second quarter), half moon, dead moon (invisible). Among themselves they have no division of time equal to a week, although they are aware that we count by weeks, or divining days (Sundays), and will often ask how many divining days (or Sundays) there are to a given period.

An Indian in counting any period less than a year will say 3 moons and a full (3½ moons), 4 moons and an eaten one (4¾ moons), 6 moons and an increasing one (6½ moons), etc. These serve all his purposes and when wishing to be more minute and exact he must notch each day on a stick. For a year or four seasons they say a winter. A man may say “I am 40 winters old and one summer.” Yet sometimes the same man will say, “I am 40 seasons old.” This is still right. He will also say that he is 80 seasons old, or 160 seasons old. All of these are correct and understood immediately, as in the one case you mentally take the half, and in the other the quarter. This is often done among themselves, but with whites they generally name the winter only to designate the year, yet man-ko´-cha (season) is the right name for a year and would be received as such by all the Assiniboin. The day is divided into the following parts: hi-ak-kane (daylight), umpa (morning), wee-he-num-pa (sunrise), wee-wa-kan-too (forenoon), wi-cho-kun (midday), we-coo-cha-nu (afternoon), we-coh-pa-ya (sunset), hhtie-too (twilight), eoch-puz-za (dark), and haw-ha-pip-cho-kun (midnight). Any intermediate space of time would be indicated by pointing the finger to the place the sun is supposed to have been at that time. They know nothing of the division of hours and minutes, yet some of the squaws living a long time in the fort can tell the hour and minute by the clock.

They know that the minute hand makes the revolution of the dial plate before it strikes and know the figures from 1 to 12; also that each figure is five minutes apart, and will say it wants so many fives to strike 9, or it has struck 10 and is 5 fives past. This they pick up nearly of their own accord, which proves that some are susceptible of intelligence and education. They know nothing of the solstices nor have any period such as a cycle or century, neither do they believe the world will come to an end or that their priests or any others have the power to destroy or rebuild it.

They know and name the North Star the same as we do—wa-se-a-ure-chah-pe (north star)—and also know the Ursa Major, sometimes calling it the “seven stars” and “the wagon.” They are aware that it makes its revolution around the polar star, pointing toward it, and this is the secret of their traveling by night when there is no moon. They call no other stars by name. The Milky Way is said to be moch-pe-achan-ka-hoo (the backbone of the sky). It is known by them to be composed of clusters of small stars, but they suppose it to bear the same relative position to the arch of the heavens, and to be as necessary to its support as the backbone of any animal to its body. Meteors are falling stars which become extinguished as they fall. They attract but little attention as their effects are never perceived. Aurora borealis is believed to be clouds of fire or something the same as electricity. Being very common and brilliant it creates neither wonder nor inquiry.

The moon is not believed to influence men or vegetables nor to have any other properties than to give light by night.[6] They suppose it to be made of some body wasting away during a given period. Some say it is eaten up by a number of small animals (moles) and Wakoñda makes a new one on the destruction of the old. They know very well that all this is error and that the whites have a better philosophy, but will not take the trouble or can not comprehend our views of the motions of heavenly bodies. Having nothing else better explained to them, they adhere to their own ideas, which are of the simplest and most primitive kind, and do not appear to wish them superseded by others which they can not understand. The same remark would apply to all their astronomical and geographical opinions. They have a correct knowledge of the cardinal points, and honor the east as the first from the fact that the sun rises there. The pipe is first presented to the east, then to the south, supposed to be the power of the spirits of their departed friends, then west, then north, and lastly to the earth as the great grandfather of all. The amount of facts or real information they can give are mentioned and as for further explanations, as observed before, they do not delight to talk about these matters but appear to think them sacred or forbidden fields through which their thoughts ought not to roam. The subject affords no scope for research unless a writer is disposed to collect a number of fables, which would serve no purpose unless it be to develop their ignorance and superstition.

[6] It is considered a fetish as a light at night and sacrificed to on this account.

FUTURE LIFE

INDIAN PARADISE.—The Paradise of these Indians is in the south in warm regions (not necessarily in the heavens, yet in some imaginary country not belonging to earth), where perpetual summer, abundance of game, handsome women, and, in short, every comfort awaits them; also the satisfaction of seeing their friends and relatives. No quarrels, wars, disturbances, or bodily pain are allowed to exist, but all live in perfect harmony. Departed spirits have the power to revisit their native lands, manifest themselves to their friends in dreams, and if they have been neglectful in crying for or feasting them can trouble them with whistling sounds and startling apparitions, many of which are said to be seen and heard and are most religiously believed in by all. Consequently, the dead are feasted (a long ceremony), smoked, sacrificed to, and invoked, besides being cried for years after they are gone, perhaps as long as any of the relatives are living. The heavenly bodies they think may also be residences for spirits, but we think this idea is derived from the whites. The other is the most ancient and original tradition, if not the only one, and is universally believed. This subject will meet with further notice in the course of these pages.

ARITHMETIC

NUMERATION.—All these prairie tribes count by decimals and in no other way. The names of the digits are:

One—washe´nah. Two—noom´pah. Three—yam´ine. Four—topah. Five—ta´ptah. Six—sha´kpah. Seven—shakkowee. Eight—sha´kkando´gha. Nine—noo´mpchewo´oukkah. Ten—wixchemenah.

After ten the word akkai, dropping the name of the ten, serves until twenty, thus:

Eleven—akka´i washe. Twelve—akkai noompah. Thirteen—akkai yammene. Fourteen—akkai topah. Fifteen—akkai zaptah. Sixteen—akkai sha´kpah. Seventeen—akkai shakko´. Eighteen—akkai sha´kando´gha. Nineteen—akkai noompchewoukkah. Twenty—wixche´mmene noompa; i. e. for twenty, literally two tens.

From twenty to thirty the word “sum” or “more” (plus) is added, thus:

21—wixchemmena noompa sum washena (two tens plus one). 22—wixchemmena noompa sum noompa (two tens plus two). 23—wixchemmena noompa sum yammene (two tens plus three), and so on up to thirty, which is three tens or wixchemmene yam´mene. 31—wixchemmene yammene sum washena (three tens plus one). 32—wixchemmene yammene sum noompa (three tens plus two); the same as after twenty, and the same after each succeeding ten as far as one hundred, thus— 40—wixchemmene to´pah (four tens). 41—wixchemmene topah sum washena (four tens plus one). 50—wixchemmene zaptah (five tens). 51—wixchemmene zaptah sum washena. 52—wixchemmene zaptah sum noo´mpa. 60—wixchemmene shakpa (six tens). 61—wixchemmene shakpa sum washena. 62—wixchemmene shakpa sum noompa. 70—wixchemmene shakko (seven tens). 71—wixchemmene shakko sum washena (seven tens plus one). 72—wixchemmene shakko sum noompa. 73—wixchemmene shakko sum yammene. 74—wixchemmene shakko sum topah, etc. 80—wixchemmene shakandogha (eight tens). 90—wixchemmene noomchewouka (nine tens). 100—o-pah-wa-ghe. 101—o-pah-wa-ghe sum washea. 110—opahwaghe sum wixche´mmene. 160—opahwaghe sum wixche´mmene shakpa. 161—opahwaghe sum wixche´mmene shakpa sum washena. 170—opahwaghe sum wixche´mmene shakko. 180—opahwaghe sum wixche´mmene shakandogha. 190—opahwaghe sum wixche´mmene noomchewouka. 200—opahwaghe noompa. 300—opahwaghe yammene. 400—opahwaghe topah. 500—opahwaghe zaptah. 600—opahwaghe shakpah. 700—opahwaghe shakko. 800—opahwaghe shakandogha. 900—opahwaghe noomchewouka. 1,000—koke-to-pah-wa-ghe. 1,853—koketopahwaghe sum opahwaghe shakandoga sum wixche´mmene zaptah sum yammene. 2,000—koketopahwaghe noompah. 3,000—koketopahwaghe yammene. 4,000—koketopahwaghe topah. 10,000—koketopahwaghe wixchemmene. 20,000—koketopahwaghe wixchemmene noompa. 50,000—koketopahwaghe wixchemmene zaptah. 100,000—opahwaghe koketopahwaghe. 500,000—opahwaghe zaptah koketopahwaghe. 600,000—opahwaghe shakpah koketopahwaghe. 10,000,000—opahwaghe wixehemmene koketopahwaghe.

Although the computation could thus be carried on to a million yet the Indian would not appreciate the number. We think that after 5,000, or at the utmost 10,000, their ideas fail them; that is, they can not realize in thought more than that amount, yet are able mechanically to count it. This is evident, as they have no distinct name for a million, but are obliged to call it ten hundred thousand, and were they requested to go further would proceed eleven, twelve, thirteen hundred thousand, etc., but not comprehending the great number as a body. They can not multiply or subtract uneven sums without the aid of small sticks or some other mark. Thus to add 40 to 60 would be done by the fingers, shutting down one for each succeeding ten, naming 70, 80, 90, 100. But to add 37 to 94 would require some time; most Indians would count 37 small sticks and beginning with 94, lay one down for each succeeding number, naming the same until all were counted. Now tell them to add 76 to 47 and subtract 28. In addition to the first process, and counting the whole number of sticks, he would withdraw 28 and recount the remainder. They are easily confused when counting and consider the knowledge of figures one of the most astonishing things the whites do.

In counting with the hand, an Indian invariably begins with the little finger of the left, shutting it down forcibly with the thumb of the right; when the five fingers are thus shut he commences on the thumb of the right, shutting it with the left fist. When wishing to telegraph by signs a certain number less than 10 he holds up that number of fingers, beginning with the little finger of the left hand and keeping the others shut. Should the number be 7, then all the fingers of the left and thumb and finger of the right would be extended, holding up his hands, the rest of the fingers closed. Tens are counted by shutting and opening both hands; thus, 100 would be indicated by shutting and opening both hands 10 times in succession. The number 7 has two names, shakkowee and enshand (the odd number). They count fast enough in continuation from 1 to 100 but must not be interrupted.

COIN.—There is not now nor have we any reason to suppose there ever has been among them any coin, shells, wampum, or any other thing constituting a standard of exchange, neither are they acquainted with American money. Were a guinea and a button presented there is no question but the Indian would take the latter. They barter their furs for goods which have fixed prices, and are well acquainted with these prices, as also of the value of their robes and furs as a means of purchasing merchandise.

KEEPING ACCOUNTS.—The Indians themselves keep no accounts. The manner in which accounts are kept by whites with them is as follows. We are not exactly acquainted with the minor operations in accounts kept by the Hudson’s Bay Co. with the Cree and the Chippewa, but from authentic information the following appears to be their system. A plue is equal to 1 pound beaver skin or 3 shillings sterling (say 67 cents); that is, 1 pound of the fur is worth at their forts 67 cents in merchandise at their fixed prices. Therefore a large beaver skin (2 pounds) is 2 plues; 6 muskrats, which are worth from 10 to 12½ cents each, is a plue; 1 wolf skin is counted a plue, being equal in value to the standard 67 cents; an otter skin is 2 plues, a red-fox 1, and so forth.

All skins and other articles of trade acquired by Indians are reckoned into plues by the trader and the Indians and the prices of merchandise are computed in the same manner. On the Missouri the plan is somewhat different, to explain which we annex the following accounts copied from our books. It will be necessary to observe that everything is brought to the standard of buffalo robes which have an imaginary value of $3 each in the country.

THE CRAZY BEAR, ASSINIBOIN CHIEF

-------+-------------------------+----------++-------+------------------------+--------- 1851 | | Dr. || 1852 | | Cr. | | || | | Dec. 3|To 1-3 pt. white blanket | 3 robes ||Jan. 8|By 6 robes | 6 robes |To 2 yards blue cloth | 2 robes || |By 2 dressed cow skins | 1 robe |To ¾ yard scarlet cloth | 1 robe || |By 30 pounds dried meat | 1 robe |To 2½ pounds tobacco | 1 robe || |By 2 red fox skins | 1 robe | | || |By 2 raw cowhides | 1 robe 1852 | | || |By 1 large elk skin, raw| 1 robe | | ||Feb. 10|By 4 robes | 4 robes Jan. 16|To 1 horse |10 robes || |By 12 wolf skins | 4 robes |To 3 knives | 1 robe || |Balance forward | 2 robes |To 1 kettle, 2 gallon | 2 robes || | | |To 100 loads ammunition | 1 robe || | | | |----------|| | |--------- | |21 robes || | |21 robes 1853 | |==========|| | | | | || | | Feb. 10|To balance on settlement | 2 robes || | | -------+-------------------------+----------++-------+------------------------+---------

Pictorial or other signs are not used in accounts, either by them or the white people.

ELEMENTS OF FIGURES.—A single stroke answers for 1 and each additional stroke marks the additional number as far as 100. When a stroke is made apart, the score is rubbed out and begun again. There are no written nor marked records kept, either on graves or otherwise, of ages or of events, scalps taken, or war expeditions.[7] Their transactions, or coups, as they are called in this country, are pictured on their robes, lodges, and shields, but these wearing out are seldom renewed,

## particularly when the man becomes old. Also these coups are recounted

publicly by the performer on occasions appointed for the purpose, which we shall notice hereafter, and moreover, are talked of often enough around their firesides. Ages are numbered by particular events that took place at the time they could first recollect, and afterwards by certain remarkable years from time to time. Though no Indian can be sure as to his exact age, yet he will not vary more than a year or two as to the time. The cross (X) is not used in counting or for any other purpose, neither does the dot or full comma signify a moon or anything else.

[7] It is not intended by this that they make no use of picture writing, but that these records are not preserved. For further explanation see picture writing, p. 603. The devices on their robes are not renewed after they have arrived at a very advanced age, or in other words after their influence and standing has been destroyed by age and helplessness.

MEDICINE

GENERAL PRACTICE.—They are careful of their sick relatives and

## particularly so in regard to their children or men in the prime of

life. Very aged persons do not, however, meet with such kindness even from their own children, having become useless as a help in camp. Besides being a burden in traveling and a bore and expense, they are anxious to get rid of them and leave them on the plains to die. It must, by no means, be inferred from this that the Indian has no paternal feelings or affection; from several instances of the kind that have come under my observation I am assured it is their inability to carry about and along with them aged people. These Indians are poor, have but few horses and are constantly on the move, in all weather, sometimes requiring flight; therefore everything that might encumber in the way of baggage is thrown aside, and among other rubbish is classed the aged of both sexes. I am also told that it is often the desire of the aged to be left to die. To keep up appearances with his people, the Indian will generally pay a small doctor’s bill for the relief of his aged relatives, but nothing like the amount the same man would pay for his wife or child. To explain their mode of practicing medicine, surgery, etc., we must be somewhat prolix.

In every camp there are several doctors, both men and women, called by them divining men, who have the double reputation of physicians and sorcerers. This is generally some old wretch who is very ugly, of great experience, and who has art enough to induce others to believe in his knowledge, and can drum, sing, and act his part well.

The present great doctor and soothsayer is named “Bull’s Dry Bones,” a very old man who is now with me. This man was once sick and died while the camp was traveling. His friends packed and tied him up in several envelopes of raw hides, blankets, etc., and, after duly crying over him, placed the body in the fork of a tree as is their custom. By some means, however, the man came to life and after great difficulty worked himself out of his bonds, traveled and overtook the camp some days after they had left him. He stated to them that during his decease he had been in other worlds, seen much, knew everything, past, present, and future, and from this circumstance he has ever after been considered a great divining man and prophet. We will now state how they proceed in case of sickness. A child falls sick. The father or some other near relative immediately sends a gun or a horse to the divining man to secure his services. Sometimes smaller articles are sent, and the doctor, thinking them beneath his notice, will not pay a visit until enough is offered, which amount varies in proportion as the patient’s relatives are rich or poor. He then enters the lodge of the sick person in his medical capacity. His instruments are a drum, a chi-chi-quoin, or gourd rattle, and, perhaps, a horn cupping apparatus. He must have (although not perceptible) some things concealed in his mouth or about his person, as will presently appear, although they go usually through their operations entirely naked (except the breechcloth) and not in a hideous costume as has been represented. The doctor is accompanied by five or six others as old and ugly as himself, bearing drums, bells, rattles, and other noisy instruments.

All sing to the extent of their voices and make a terrible noise with the instruments spoken of. The doctor slowly approaches the patient, applying his mouth to his naked breast or belly, draws or appears to draw therefrom by suction a worm, sometimes a bug, a wolf hair, or even a small snake, making at the same time horrible gestures, grunts, and grimaces. This object he displays to the lookers-on, stating he has extracted the cause of the disease. This operation is repeated several times with like results, and after he and the accompanying band of music partake largely of a dog or other feast provided for them they leave for the time. The whole performance, with the music, incantations, preparations, and feast included, would occupy perhaps from two to three hours and often the whole night, if the performers are paid high. Frequently their diseases are colic from eating unripe fruits and berries or overloading the stomach, which, of course, get well in a short time and the credit is given to the doctor, each recovery aiding to raise his reputation and enlarge his practice. But if the case is serious and the patient gets worse, the doctor is then paid again and another visit takes place. The forms are always somewhat similar, but on this occasion, in addition to the full band of music and cupping with the horn, besides the usual grimaces, noises, etc., the patient is made to drink decoctions of roots or powders made by the doctors of pulverized roots, rattles of the rattlesnake, calcined bones, etc., the properties of which he is entirely ignorant, and probably the smallness of the dose preventing them from doing any harm. This, with the noise of the instruments and feast, concludes the second visit.