The leaves of tobacco crimpled and turned to flame on the glowing, hot coals.
“Great Spirit, listen to our words. We burn this tobacco. The smoke rises to thee. We thank thee for thy great goodness in causing our mother [the earth] to bring forth her fruits. We thank thee that our supporters [corn, beans and squashes] have yielded abundantly.
“Great Spirit, our words continue to flow toward thee. Preserve us from all danger. Preserve our aged men. Preserve our mothers. Preserve our warriors. Preserve our children. May our thanks, rising with the smoke of this tobacco, be pleasing to thee.”
Thus spoke Captain Pipe. Save only for the sound of his voice, the crackling of the tobacco upon the fire, and the soughing of the wind there was perfect silence in the Council House.
Only when the address was finished did there come a stir of animation among the assembled Indians. Closer to the walls, farther from the fire, which was in the center of the floor, they crowded then, while out from among them came those who were to join in the dance of Thanksgiving. There were fourteen of these, including Lone-Elk and other warriors and behind the men came Gentle Maiden and four other young women—fourteen in all.
Two singers seated near the center of the large room began a weird, wildly musical chant, their words telling of thanks to the Great Spirit, while in accompaniment to their voices they beat the air with rattles made of the shells of turtles.
As the singing began the dance was started and with many graceful swayings of his body, lifting his feet but little above the ground and often striking his heels upon the earth in keeping with the music’s time, Lone-Elk led his followers round and round.
Unlike the dance of war, there were no violent expressions of countenance or movements of the body; no striking or attacking of imaginary foes. Every step was gentle and every motion was graceful. Thus for two or three minutes the dance continued. The assembly looked on with quiet rapture, pleased and happy.
Presently the music ceased, the dancing was discontinued and while the dancers walked slowly and more slowly in a wide circle around the fire, an old man arose and spoke. It was Neobaw, wrinkled and lean. He wore no headdress or other ornament and his clothing consisted only of moccasins, buckskin trousers and a faded red blanket which he wore over his shoulders. His coarse and tangled hair hung loosely over his ears and about his shoulders. Neohaw was a medicine-man and was both feared and respected. His words were:
“We return thanks to Heno [thunder] for his protection from reptiles and from witches and that he has given us his rain.”