When his band of warriors arrived at the village, he found all of the people’s minds still agitated with fear at the late phenomenon.  Every one was talking of it with wonder and amazement, and the chief’s opinion was demanded at once; they were expecting it, and wanted to know what the consequences were to be.  Admonished by his recent defeat, Beckwourth now had no trouble in reading the stars.  He told his warriors that they had evidently offended the Great Spirit; that it was because of his wrath they had suffered defeat in their excursion to the Blackfeet country, and returned with the loss of twenty-three warriors.  He then told them that a sacrifice must be made to appease the wrath of the Great Spirit, and he recommended that a solemn council be convened and a national oblation be offered up.

Beckwourth knew that he was doing an absurd thing, but the superstition of the people demanded it, and he must cater to their desires because it was popular.

The camp where the Crows then were was a mourning-camp, in which, according to their religion, “medicine” would have no effect.  The camp was, therefore, moved to another place, about ten miles distant, in order to properly offer up the sacrifice.

All the leading men and braves assembled in council, and Beckwourth, as their great medicine-man, was consulted as to what kind of an offering should be made which would effect its purpose of appeasing the wrath that was consuming the tribe.

Beckwourth retired for a while from the council, telling the chiefs he must consult his medicine.  Returning in a short time, he ordered them to bring out the great medicine kettle, which was of brass, capable of holding ten gallons, and was worth ten buffalo-robes.  It was then ordered to be polished until it shone as bright as the sun’s face.  That being done, Beckwourth ordered the warriors to throw in all the most costly and highly prized trinkets, or whatever they cherished most dearly.  It was soon filled with the band’s choicest treasures.  Keepsakes, fancy-work, in which months of patient toil had been expended, knick-knacks, jewels, and rings so highly regarded that the costliest gems of emperors seemed poor in comparison.  All these were thrown into the kettle willingly, along with a bountiful contribution of fingers[52] until it could hold no more.  Then weights were attached to it, when it was carried to an air-hole in the ice where the river was very deep, and there sunk with becoming ceremony, young maidens habited in the best apparel bearing the burden.

The great sacrifice completed, the minds of the people were relieved, and the result of the next war-party was anxiously looked forward to, to learn if the oblation was accepted by the Great Spirit.  The crying and lamentations continued, however, unabated, so much to the derangement of Beckwourth’s nervous system that if he could, he would have gladly retired from the village to seek some less dolorous companionship.