The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1891-12-30
CHIEF CR0WF0OT.
AN INDIAN RULER WITH KINGLY
QUALITIES.
His Appearance and Dress-He Looks
Like Julius CaeSar-HOw he
Managed His People and
How He Died.

Indian l ever saw-among many hlnu'
and man thousands-was the late Chief
Crowfoot, OF the Blackfoot people. More
like a king than a chief he looked, as he
strobe upon the plains, in a magnificent
robe of white beadwork as rich as er'
mine, with a gorgeous pattern IL
Eliminating its edges, a glorious sur
worked into the front of it, and many
artistic and chromatic figures sewed IN
gaudy beads upon its back. He wore
an old white c%himney-pot hat, bound
around with eagle feathers, a splendld
pair of chaperajos, all worked with beads
at the bottoms and fringed along the
sides, and bead-worked moccasins, for
which any lover of the Indian or collec.
tor of his paraphernalia would have ex-
changed a new Winchester rife without
a seconds hesitation. But though Crow
foot was so royalty clothed, it was in
himself that the kingly quality was most
apparent. His face was extraordinarily
like what portraits we have of julius
Cesar, with the difference that Gro wfoot
had the complexion of an Egyptian
mummy. The high forehead, the great
aquiline nose, the thin lips, usually
closed, the small round protruding chin,
the strong jaw-bones, and the keen gray
eyes composed a face In which every
feature was finely moulded, and in which
the warrior, the commander, and the
counselor were strongly suggested. ana
in each of these roles he played the
highest part among the Indians of Can
ada from the moment that the whites and
the red men contested the dominion OF
the plains until he died, a short time ago.
He vas born and lived a wild Indian,
and though the good fathers of the
nearest Roman Catholic mission believe
that he died Christian, I am constrained
to see in the reason for their thinking
so only another proof of the consummate
shrewdness of Crowfoot's lifelong policy.
The old king lay on his death-bed IN
his great wig-a-wam, with twenty-seVen
of his medicine.men around him, and
never once did he pretend that he de.
spised or doubted their magic. When 1t
was evident that he was about to die,
the conjurers ceased their long-continued,
exhausting formula of bowling, drum
ming, and all the rest, and, I~ndian-hke,
left death to take his own. Then it was
that one of the watchful Jealous priests,
whose lives have indeed been like those OF
fathers to the wild Indians, slipped into
the great tepee and administered the
last sacrament to the old pagan.
"Do you believea" the priest inquired.
eyes, I believe" old Crowfoot
grunted. Then he whispered, "But
don't tell my people"
Among the last words of great men,
those of Ssponaxitaw (his Indian nance
may never be recorded, but to the stu
dent of the American aborigine they be-
tray more that is characteristic OF the
habitual attitude of mind of the wild red
man toward civilizing influences than
any words I ever knew n to utter.
As the old chief crushed the bunch
grass beneath has gaudy moccasins at the
time I saw him, aud as his lesser chiefs
and headsmen strobe behind him, we
who looked on knew what a great part
he was bearing and had taken in Canada.
He had been chief of the most powerful
and savage tribe in the North, and OF
several allied tribes as we'll, from the
time when the region west of the Mis-
sisslppi was terra incognita to all except
q few fur traders and priests. His war
riors ruled the Canadian wilderness,
keeping the Ojibbeways and Crees in the
forests to the east and north, routing the
Crows, the Stonies, and the Big-Bellies
whenever they pleased, and yielding to
no tribe they met except the Sioux to the
southwark, in our territory. The first
white man Crowfoot ever knew init
mately was Father Lacombe, the noble
old missionary, whose fame is now world
wide among scholars. The peaceful priest
and the warrior chief became fast friends,
and from that day when the white men
first broke down the border and swarmed
upon the plains, until at the last they ran
what Crowfoot called their sire wag-
ons" Qocomotives) through his land, he
followed the priests counselling in most
important matters. He treated with the
authorities, and thereafter hindered his
braves from murder, massacre and war
fare. Better than that, during the Riel
rebellion he, more than any other man,
or twenty men, kept the red men of the
plains at peace when the French half
breeds, led by their mentally irresponsl-
BILE disturber, rebelled against the Do
minion authorities.
When Crowfoot talked, he made laws.
While he spoke, his nation listened in
silence. He had killed as many men as
any Indian warrior alive; he was a
mighty buffalo. slayer; he was torn,
Scared, and mangled in skin, limb, aud
bone. He never would learn English or
pretend to discard his religion. He was
an Indian after the pattern of his ances-
tors. At eighty odd years of age there
lived no red.skin who dared answer him
back when he spoke his mind. But he
was a shrewd man and an archidiploma-
list. Because he had no quarrel with
the whites, and because a grand old
priest was his truest friend, he gave or
ders that his body should be buried in
a%cofin, Christian fashion, and as I rode
wei the plains in the summer of 1890 I
saw his burial-place on top of a high
hill, and knew that his bones were
guarded night and day by watchers from
among his people. Two or three days
before he died his best horse was slaugh-
tered for burial with him. He heard of
ttTL~k $3.50 ~ H. aa.l. ltkLa.a