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  The Indians
  of
  The Painted Desert Region




  WORKS BY

  George Wharton James


  IN AND AROUND THE GRAND CANYON OF THE
  COLORADO RIVER IN ARIZONA.

  THE INDIANS OF THE PAINTED DESERT REGION.

  THE MISSIONS AND MISSION INDIANS OF CALIFORNIA.

  INDIAN BASKETRY.




  [Illustration: IN THE HEART OF THE PAINTED DESERT.]




  The Indians
  of the
  Painted Desert Region

  _Hopis_, _Navahoes_, _Wallapais_,
  _Havasupais_


  By
  George Wharton James
  Author of "In and Around the Grand Canyon," etc.


  [Illustration]


  _With Numerous Illustrations from Photographs_




  Boston
  Little, Brown, and Company
  1903




     _Copyright, 1903_,

     BY EDITH E. FARNSWORTH


     _All rights reserved_

     Published October, 1903


     UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON
     AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.



     _To my Wife_



  CONTENTS


                                                        PAGE

  INTRODUCTORY                                          xiii

  CHAPTER

     I. THE PAINTED DESERT REGION                          1

    II. DESERT RECOLLECTIONS                              10

   III. FIRST GLIMPSES OF THE HOPI                        29

    IV. THE HOPI VILLAGES AND THEIR HISTORY               44

     V. A FEW HOPI CUSTOMS                                66

    VI. THE RELIGIOUS LIFE OF THE HOPI                    82

   VII. THE HOPI SNAKE DANCE                             102

  VIII. THE NAVAHO AND HIS HISTORY                       124

    IX. THE NAVAHO AT HOME                               138

     X. THE NAVAHO AS A BLANKET WEAVER                   160

    XI. THE WALLAPAIS                                    172

   XII. THE ADVENT OF THE WALLAPAIS                      188

  XIII. THE PEOPLE OF THE BLUE WATER AND THEIR HOME      199

   XIV. THE HAVASUPAIS AND THEIR LEGENDS                 209

    XV. THE SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE HAVASUPAIS   220

   XVI. THE HAVASUPAIS' RELIGIOUS DANCES AND BELIEFS     248

  BIBLIOGRAPHY                                           265




  _ILLUSTRATIONS_


  In the Heart of the Painted Desert.                 _Frontispiece_

  A Son of the Desert.                           _Vignette on Title_

  In the Heart of the Petrified Forest.            _Facing page_ xvi

  A Freak of Erosion in the Petrified Forest.         "     "      2

  Journeying over the Painted Desert to the
  Hopi Snake Dance.                                   "     "      2

  Ancient Pottery dug from Prehistoric Ruins on
  the Painted Desert.                                 "     "      8

  The Painted Desert near the Little Colorado
  River.                                              "     "     16

  Asleep, Early Morning, on the Painted Desert.       "     "     16

  The Colorado River at Bass Ferry, the Vampire
  of the Painted Desert.                              "     "     22

  Hano, (Tewa) from the Head of the Trail.            "     "     34

  Hopi Women building a House at Oraibi.              "     "     38

  Mashonganavi from the Terrace below.                "     "     38

  Mashongce, an Oraibi Maiden, drying Corn
  Meal.                                               "     "     42

  The Trio of Metates, and Hopi Woman about
  to grind Corn.                                      "     "     42

  An Oraibi Woman shelling Corn in a Basket
  of Yucca Fibre.                                     "     "     50

  The "Burro" of Hopi Transportation.                 "     "     50

  An Aged Hopi at Oraibi.                             "     "     54

  A Hopi, weaving a Native Cotton Ceremonial
  Kilt.                                               "     "     54

  An Oraibi Basket Weaver.                            "     "     60

  An Admiring Hopi Mother.                            "     "     60

  Shupela, Father of Kopeli, Late Snake Priest
  at Walpi.                                           "     "     68

  A Hopi Girl, Oraibi.                                "     "     68

  Hopi Children, at Oraibi, waiting for a Scramble
  of Candy.                                           "     "     76

  Group of Hopi Maidens at Shungopavi.                "     "     82

  Hopi Woman weaving Basket, her Husband
  Knitting Stockings.                                 "     "     88

  Hopi Woman preparing Corn Meal for making
  Doughnuts.                                          "     "     88

  Hopi "Boomerangs."                                  "     "     96

  Hopi Ceremonial Drums.                              "     "     96

  A Hopi Belle at Shungopavi.                         "     "    100

  Blind Hopi Boy, Knitting Stockings.                 "     "    100

  The Beginning of the Hopi Snake Dance,
  Oraibi, 1902.                                       "     "    102

  The Chief Antelope Priest depositing Pahos at
  the Shrine of the Spider Woman.                     "     "    106

  Throwing the Snakes into the Circle of Sacred
  Meal.                                               "     "    106

  Line-up of Snake and Antelope Priests, Antelope
  Dance, Oraibi, 1902.                                "     "    110

  The Snake Dance at Oraibi, 1902.                    "     "    114

  The Snakes in the Kiva at Mashonganavi, after
  the Ceremony of Washing.                            "     "    118

  After taking the Emetic. Hopi Snake Dance at
  Walpi.                                              "     "    122

  Navaho Silver Necklace and Belt.                    "     "    126

  Hopi Prayer Sticks or Pahos.                        "     "    126

  An Aged Navaho, looking over the Painted
  Desert.                                             "     "    131

  An Old Hopi at Oraibi.                              "     "    131

  Hopi Ceremonial Head-dresses.                       "     "    134

  Hopi Bahos and Dance Rattles.                       "     "    134

  Kapata, Antelope Priest, at Walpi.                  "     "    140

  A Mashonganavi Hopi, going to hoe his Corn.         "     "    140

  The Antelope Priests leaving their Kiva for the
  Snake Dance.                                        "     "    146

  The Widow, Daughters, and Grandchildren of
  the Navaho Chief, Manuelito.                        "     "    146

  Wife of Leve Leve, Wallapai Chief.                  "     "    156

  The March of the Antelope Priests, Oraibi, 1902.    "     "    156

  An Aged Navaho and her Hogan.                       "     "    170

  Navaho Family and Hogan in the Painted
  Desert.                                             "     "    170

  Navaho Woman on Horseback.                          "     "    176

  The Winner of the "Gallo" Race, at Tohatchi.        "     "    176

  A Wallapai, making a Meal on the Fruit of the
  Tuna, or Prickly Pear.                              "     "    188

  Wallapai Maiden and Prayer Basket.                  "     "    188

  Susquatami, Wallapai War Chief.                     "     "    196

  Tuasula, Wallapai Chief.                            "     "    196

  Havasupai Fortress and Hue-gli-i-wa, or Rock
  Figures.                                            "     "    206

  Chickapanagie's Wife, a Havasupai, parching
  Corn in a Basket.                                   "     "    210

  A Wallapai Woman pounding Acorns.                   "     "    210

  Havasupai Mother and Child.                         "     "    216

  A Family Group of Havasupais.                       "     "    216

  Waluthanca's Daughter, with Esuwa, going for
  Water.                                              "     "    230

  Lanoman's Wife, a Havasupai.                        "     "    230

  Rock Jones, Leading Medicine Man of Havasupais.     "     "    256

  Sinyela, with Esuwa, going for Water.               "     "    256




INTRODUCTORY


Wild, weird, and mystic pictures are formed in the mind by the very
name--the Painted Desert. The sound itself suggests a fabled rather
than a real land. Surely it must be akin to Atlantis or the Island
of Circe or the place where the Cyclops lived. Is it not a land of
enchantment and dreams, not a place for living men and women, Indians
though they be?

It _is_ a land of enchantment, but also of stern reality, as those who
have marched, unprepared, across its waterless wastes can testify. No
fabled land ever surpassed it in its wondrousness, yet a railway runs
directly over it, and it is not on some far-away continent, but is
close at hand; a portion, indeed, of our own United States.

In our schoolboy days we used to read of the Great American Desert. The
march of civilization has marched that "desert" out of existence. Is
the Painted Desert a fiction of early geographers, like unto the Great
American Desert, to be wiped from the map when we have more knowledge?

No! It is in actual existence as it was when first seen by the white
men, about three hundred and fifty years ago, and as it doubtless will
be for untold centuries yet to come.

Coronado and his band of daring conquistadors, preceded by Marcos de
Niza and Stephen the Negro, reaching out with gold-lustful hands, came
into the region from northern Mexico, conquered Cibola--Zuni--and from
there sent out a small band to investigate the stories told by the
Zunis of a people who lived about one hundred miles to the northwest,
whom they called A-mo-ke-vi. The Navaho Indians said the home of the
A-mo-ke-vi was a Ta-sa-ûn´--a country of isolated buttes--so the
Spaniards called the people Moki (Moqui) and their land "the province
of Tusayan," and by those names they have ever since been known.

Yet these names are not the ones by which they designate themselves and
their land. They are the Hopituh, which Stephen says means "the wise
people," and Fewkes, "the people of peace."

It was in marching to the land of the Hopituh that the Spaniards
designated the region "el pintado desierto." And a painted desert it
truly is. Elsewhere I have described some of its horrors,[1] for I have
been familiar with them, more or less, for upwards of twenty years.
I do not write of that of which I have merely heard, but "mine eyes
have seen," again and again, that which I describe. I have been almost
frozen in its piercing snow-storms; choked with sand in its whirling
sand-storms; wet through ere I could dismount from my horse in its
fierce rain-storms; terrified and temporarily blinded by the brilliancy
of its lightning-storms; and almost sunstruck by the scorching power of
the sun in its desolate confines. I have seen the sluggish waters of
the Little Colorado River rise several feet in the night and place an
impassable barrier temporarily before us. With my horses I have camped,
again and again, waterless, on its arid and inhospitable rocks and
sands, and prayed for morning, only to resume our exhausting journey in
the fiercely beating rays of the burning sun; longing for some pool of
water, no matter how dirty, how stagnant, that our parched tongues and
throats might feel the delights of swallowing something fluid. And last
year (1902), in a journey to the home of the Hopi, my friends and I saw
a part of this desert covered with the waters of a fierce rain-storm
as if it were an ocean, and the "dry wash" of the Oraibi the scene of
a flood that, for hours, equalled the rapids of the Colorado River. We
were almost engulfed in a quicksand, and a few days later covered with
a sand-storm; all these experiences, and others, in the course of a few
days.

[1] "In and Around the Grand Canyon."

Stand with me on the summit of one of the towering mountains that
guard the region and you will see such a landscape of color as exists
nowhere else in the world. It suggests the thought of God's original
palette--where He experimented in color ere He decided how to paint the
sunset, tint the sun-kissed hills at dawn, give red to the rose, green
to the leaves, yellow to the sunflowers, and the varied colors of baby
blue-eyes, violets, portulacas, poppies, and cacti; where He concluded
to distribute color throughout His world instead of making it all
sombre in grays or black.

Look! here is a vast flat of alkali, pure, dazzling white, shining
like a vivid and horrible leprosy in the noon-day sun; close by is an
area of volcanic action where a veritable "tintaro"--inkstand--has
overflowed in devastating blackness over miles and miles. There are
pits of six hundred feet depth full of black gunpowder-like substance,
gardens of hellish cauliflowers and cabbages of forbidding black lava,
and tunnels arched and square of pure blackness. Yonder is a mural
face a half thousand feet high and two hundred or more miles long. It
is nearly a hundred miles away, yet it reveals the rich glowing red of
its walls, and between it and us are large "blotches" of pinks, grays,
greens, reds, chocolates, carmines, crimsons, browns, yellows, olives,
in every conceivable shade, and all blending in a strange and grotesque
yet attractive manner, and fascinating while it awes. It is seldom one
can see a rainbow lengthened out into flatness and then petrified; yet
you can see it here. Few eyes have ever beheld a sunset painted on a
desert's sands, yet all may see it here.

It is a desert, surely, yet throughout its entire width flows a monster
river; a fiendish, evil-souled river; a thievish, murderous river; a
giant vampire, sucking the life-blood from thousands of square miles
of territory and making it all barren, desolate, desert. And this
vampire river has vampire children which emulate their mother in their
insatiable thirst. Remorselessly they suck up and carry away all the
moisture that would make the land "blossom as the rose," and thus add
misery to desolation, devastation to barrenness.

It is a desert, surely, yet planted in its dreary wastes are
verdant-clad mountains, on whose summits winter's snows fall and
accumulate, and in whose bosoms springs of life are harbored.

It is a desert, surely, yet it is fringed here and there with dense
forests, and in the very heart of its direst desolation threads of
silvery streams lined with greenish verdure seem to give the lie to the
name.

It is desert, barren, inhospitable, dangerous, yet thousands of people
make it their chosen home. Over its surface roam the Bedouins of the
United States, fearless horsemen, daring travellers, who rival in
picturesqueness, if not in evil, their compeers of the deserts by the
Nile. Down in the deep canyon water-ways of the desert-streams dwell
other peoples whose life is as strange, weird, wild, and fascinating as
that of any people of earth.

[Illustration: IN THE HEART OF THE PETRIFIED FOREST.]

This is the region and these the people I would make the American
reader more familiar with. Other books have been written on the Painted
Desert. One was published a few years ago, written by a clever American
novelist, and published by one of America's leading firms, and I
read it with mingled feelings of delight and half anger. It was so
beautifully and charmingly written that one familiar with the scenes
depicted could not fail to enjoy it, although indignant--because of the
errors that might have been avoided. It claims only to be fiction. Yet
the youth of the land reading it necessarily gain distinct impressions
of fact from its pages. These "facts" are, unfortunately, so far from
true that they mislead the reader. It would have been a comparatively
slight task for the author to have consulted government records and
thus have made his references to geography and ethnology correct.

It is needless, I hope, for me to say I have honestly endeavored to
avoid the method here criticised. The bibliography incorporated as part
of this book will enable the diligent student to consult authorities
about this fascinating region.

But now comes an important question. What are the boundaries of the
Painted Desert? I am free to confess I do not know, nor do I think any
one else does. The Spaniards never attempted to bound it, and no one
since has ever had the temerity to do so. In Ives's map of the region
he endeavored to explore, and of which he wrote so hopelessly, he
places the Painted Desert in that ill-defined way that geographers used
to follow in suggesting the location of the Great American Desert.

The _conditions_ of color and barrenness that first suggested the name
exist over a large area; you find them in the plateaus of southern
Utah and the wild wastes of southern Nevada; they exist in much of New
Mexico and southwestern Colorado. In Arizona if you sweep around north,
west, south, and east, they are there. Northward--in the cliffs and
ravines of the Grand Canyon country, in Blue Canyon, in the red mesas,
the coal deposits, and in the lava flows around the San Francisco
Mountains; westward--in the wild mountains and wilder deserts that
lead to the crossings of the Colorado River, past the craters, lava
flows, Calico Mountains, and Mohave Desert of the country adjoining the
Santa Fé Route, and the Salton Sea, mud volcanoes, purple cliffs, and
tawny sands of the Colorado Desert of the Sunset Route of the Southern
Pacific; southward--in the Red Rock country, Sunset Pass, the meteorite
beds of Canyon Diablo, the great cliffs of the Mogollon Plateau, the
Tonto Basin, the Verdi Valley, and away down, over the Hassayampa,
through the Salt River Valley, past the Superstition and other purple
and variegated mountains, into the heart of northern Mexico itself;
eastward--to the Petrified Forest, across into New Mexico to Mount
San Mateo, by the cliffs, craters, lava flows, alkali flats, gorges
and ravines of the Zuni Mountain country and as far as the Rio Grande
at Albuquerque, where the basalt is scattered about in an irregular
way, as if the molten stuff had been washed over the country from
some titanic bucket, and left to lie in great inky blots over the
bright-colored soils and clays.

To me, _all this_ is Painted Desert region, for much of it is painted
and much is desert. Indeed, if one Painted Desert were to be staked off
in any one of the above named States, ten others, equally large, could
be found in the remaining ones.

It is a wonderful region viewed from any standpoint. Scenic! It is
unrivalled for uniqueness, contrasts, variety, grandeur, desolateness,
and majesty. Geologic! The student may here find in a few months what a
lifetime elsewhere cannot reveal. Artistic! The artist will find it his
rapture and his despair. Archæologic! Ruins everywhere, cavate, cliff,
and pueblo dwellings, waiting for investigation, and, doubtless, scores
as yet undiscovered. Ethnologic! Hopi, Wallapai, Havasupai, Navaho,
Apache, and the rest; with mythologies as fascinating and complex
as those of old Greece; with histories that lose themselves in dim
legend and tradition, and that tell of feuds and wars, massacres and
conflicts, that extend over centuries.

In the first chapter I have briefly named some of the wonders and
marvels of this fascinating land, and though in barest outline, "the
half has not been told."

It will be noticed that I have not rigidly adhered to the subjects as
indicated by the heads of the chapters. I have preferred a discursive
rather than a rigid style, for I deem it will prove itself the more
interesting to the generality of my readers, and I merely call
attention to it so that my critics may know it is not done without
intent.

Of the Indians of this region I have room to write of four tribes
only, viz., the Hopi, the Navaho, the Wallapai, and the Havasupai. Of
the former much has been written in late years, owing to the interest
centred in their thrilling religious ceremony, the Snake Dance. Of the
Navaho considerable is known, but of the Wallapai and Havasupai there
is little known and less written. Indeed, of the Wallapai there is
nothing in print except the brief and cursory remarks of travellers,
and the reports of the teachers of the recently established schools
to the Indian Department. No one is better aware than myself of the
incomplete and fragmentary character of what I have written, but this
book is issued, as others that have preceded it from my pen, in accord
with my desire to place in compact form for the general reader reliable
accounts of places and peoples in the United States hitherto known only
to the explorer and scientist.

To all the writers of the United States Bureau of Ethnology and the
Smithsonian Institution, as well as those of other departments of the
Government who have written on the region, I gratefully acknowledge
many indebtednesses, especially to Powell, Fewkes, Matthews, Stephen,
Hodge, Hough, Hrdlicka, Cushing, and Shufeldt.

To those who know the persistency and conscientiousness of my labors
in my chosen field, and the pains I take both by observation and
from the works of authorities to gain accurate knowledge, and my
_over_-willingness to acknowledge by pen and voice those to whom I am
indebted, it will not be necessary to state that I have endeavored to
make this book a standard. If I have failed to give credit where it was
due, I do so now with an open heart.

For the kindly reception my work in the printed page and on the
platform has received in the past I hereby express my grateful
acknowledgments.

  GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.

  AUTHOR AMPHITHEATRE,
  BASS CAMP,
  GRAND CANYON, ARIZONA.




_THE INDIANS OF THE
Painted Desert Region_




CHAPTER I

THE PAINTED DESERT REGION


Civilization and barbarism obtrude themselves delightfully at every
turn in this Wonderland of the American Southwest, called the Painted
Desert Region.

Ancient and modern history play you many a game of hide-and-seek as you
endeavor to trace either one or the other in a study of its aboriginal
people; you look upon a ceremony performed to-day and call it modern.
In reality it is of the past, so old, so hoary with antiquity that even
to the participants it has lost its origin and much of its meaning.

History--exciting, thrilling, tragic--has been made in the Painted
Desert Region; was being made centuries before Leif Ericson landed on
the shores of Vinland, or John and Sebastian Cabot sailed from Bristol.
History that was ancient and hoar when the band of pilgrims from Leyden
battled with the wild waves of the Atlantic's New England shore, and
was lapsing into sleepiness before the guns of the minute-men were
fired at Lexington or Allen had fallen at Bunker Hill.

In the Painted Desert Region we find peoples strange, peculiar, and
interesting, whose mythology is more fascinating than that of ancient
Greece, and, for aught we know to the contrary, may be equally ancient;
whose ceremonies of to-day are more elaborate than those of a devout
Catholic, more complex than those of a Hindoo pantheist, more weird
than those of a howling dervish of Turkestan.

Peoples whose origin is as uncertain and mysterious as the ancients
thought the source of the Nile; whose history is unknown except in the
fantastic, though stirring and improbable stories told by the elders
as they gather the young men around them at their mystic ceremonies,
and in the traditional songs sung by their high priests during the
performance of long and exhausting worship.

Peoples whose government is as simple, pure, and perfect as that of the
patriarchs, and possibly as ancient, and yet more republican than the
most modern government now in existence. Peoples whose women build and
own the houses, and whose men weave the garments of the women, knit the
stockings of their own wear, and are as expert with needle and thread
as their ancestors were with bow and arrow, obsidian-tipped spear, or
stone battle-axe.

Here live peoples of peace and peoples of war; wanderers
and stay-at-homes; house-builders and those who scorn fixed
dwelling-places; poets whose songs, like those of blind Homer and
the early Troubadors, were never written, but enshrined only in the
hearts of the race; artists whose paints are the brilliant sands of
many-colored mountains, and whose brushes are their own deft fingers.

[Illustration: A FREAK OF EROSION IN THE PETRIFIED FOREST.]

[Illustration: JOURNEYING OVER THE PAINTED DESERT TO THE HOPI SNAKE
DANCE.]

Its modern history begins about three hundred and fifty years ago
when one portion of it was discovered by a negro slave, whose amorous
propensities lured him to his death, and the other by a priest, of whom
one writer says his reports were "so disgustful in lyes and wrapped up
in fictions that the Light was little more than Darkness."

Of its ancient history who can more than guess? To most questions it
remains as silent as the Sphinx. The riddle of the Sphinx, though, is
being solved, and so by the careful and scientific work of the Bureau
of Ethnology, the riddles of the prehistoric life of our Southwest,
slowly but surely, are being resolved.

One of the countries comprised in the Painted Desert Region is the
theme of an epic, Homerian in style if not in quality, full of wars
and rumors of wars, storming of impregnable citadels, and the recitals
of deeds as brave and heroic as those of the Greeks at Marathon or
Thermopylæ; a poem recently discovered, after having remained buried in
the tomb of oblivion for over two hundred years.

Here are peoples of stupendous religious beliefs. Peoples who can
truthfully be designated as the most religious of the world; yet
peoples as agnostic and sceptic, if not as learned, as Hume, Voltaire,
Spencer, and Ingersoll. Peoples to whom a written letter is witchcraft
and sorcery, and yet who can read the heavens, interpret the writings
of the woods, deserts, and canyons with a certainty never failing and
unerring. Peoples who twenty-five years ago stoned and hanged the
witches and wizards they sincerely thought cursed them, and who, ten
years ago hanged, and perhaps even to-day, though secretly, hang one
another on a cross as an act of virtue and religious faith, after
cruelly beating themselves and one another with scourges of deadly
cactus thorns.

Here are intelligent farmers, who, for centuries, have scientifically
irrigated their lands, and yet who cut off the ears of their burros to
keep them from stealing corn.

A land it is of witchcraft and sorcery, of horror and dread of ghosts
and goblins, of daily propitiation of Fates and Powers and Princes
of Darkness and Air at the very thought of whom withering curses and
blasting injuries are sure to come.

Here dwell peoples who dance through fierce, flaming fires, lacerate
themselves with cactus whips, run long wearisome races over the
scorching sands of the desert, and handle deadly rattlesnakes with
fearless freedom, as part of their religious worship.

Peoples who pray by machinery as the Burmese use their prayer wheels,
and who "plant" supplications as a gardener "plants" trees and shrubs.

Peoples to whom a smoking cigarette is made the means of holy
communion, the handling of poisonous reptiles a sacred and solemn act
of devotion, and the playing with dolls the opportunity for giving
religious instruction to their children.

Peoples who are pantheists, sun worshippers, and snake dancers, yet who
have churches and convents built with incredible labor and as extensive
as any modern cathedral.

Peoples whose conservatism in manners and religion surpass that of the
veriest English tories; who, for hundreds of years, have steadily and
successfully resisted all efforts to "convert" and change them, and
who to-day are as firm in their ancient faiths as ever. Peoples whom
Spanish conquistadors could not tame with matchlock, pike, and machete,
nor United States forces with Gatling gun, rifle, and bayonet.

Peoples to whom fraternal organizations and secret societies, for men
and women alike, are as ancient as the mountains they inhabit, whose
lodge rooms are more wonderful, and whose signs and passwords more
complex than those of any organization of civilized lands and modern
times.

Peoples industrious and peoples studiously lazy, honest and able in
thievery, truthful and consummate liars, cleanly and picturesquely
dirty, interesting and repulsively loathsome, charming and artistically
hideous, religious and cursedly wicked, peaceful and unceasingly
warlike, lovers of home and haters of fixed habitations.

Here are peoples who dwell upon almost inaccessible cliffs, peoples of
the clouds, and, on the other hand, peoples who dwell in canyon depths,
where stupendous walls, capable of enclosing Memphis, Thebes, Luxor,
Karnak, and all the ruins of ancient Egypt, are the boundaries of their
primitive residences.

The Painted Desert Region is a country where rattlesnakes are washed,
prayed over, caressed, carried in the mouth, and placed before and on
sacred altars in religious worship.

Where the worship of the goddess of reproduction with all its
phallic symbolism is carried on in public processionals, dances, and
ceremonials by men, women, maidens, and children without shameful
self-consciousness, yet where dire penalties, even unto mutilation and
death, are visited upon the unchaste.

Where polygamy has been as openly practised as in the days of Abraham,
and possibly from as early a time, and where to-day it is as common
to see a man who, openly, has two or more wives, as in civilized lands
it is common to see him with but one. And yet it is a land in which
polygamy is expressly forbidden by United States law, and where numbers
of arrests have been made for violation of that law.

Where religious rites are performed, so mystic and ancient that their
meaning is unknown even to the most learned of those who partake in
them.

Indeed, the Painted Desert Region, though a part of the United States
of America, is a land of peoples strange, unique, complex, diverse,
and singular as can be found in any similar area on the earth, and the
physical contour of the country is as strange and diverse as are the
peoples who inhabit it.

It is a land of gloriously impressive mountains, crowned with the snows
of blessing and bathed in a wealth of glowing colors, changing hues,
and tender tints that few other countries on earth can boast.

On its eastern outskirt is a portion of one of the largest cretaceous
monoclines in the world, and near by is a natural inkstand, half a mile
in circumference, from which, centuries ago, flowed fiery, inky lava
which has now solidified in intensest blackness over hundreds of miles
of surrounding country.

It is a land of mountain-high plateaus, edged with bluffs, cliffs, and
escarpments that delight the distant beholder with their richness of
coloring and wondrous variety of outline, and thrill with horror those
who unexpectedly stand on their brinks.

It is a land of laziness and indifferent content, where everything
is done "poco tiempo"--"in a little while"--and where "to-morrow" is
early enough for all laborious tasks, and yet a land of such tireless
energy, never-ceasing work, and arduous labor as few countries else
have ever known.

A land where people live in refinement, education, and all the luxuries
of twentieth-century civilization side by side with peoples whose
dress, modes of living, habits of eating and sleeping, styles of food
and cookery are similar to those of the subjects of Boadicea and
Caractacus.

In the Painted Desert Region the root of one dangerous-looking prickly
cactus is used for soap, and the fruit of another for food.

Here horses dig for water, and mules are stimulated by whiskey to draw
their weighty loads over torrid deserts and up mountain steeps.

It is a land of ruins, desolate and forlorn, buried and forgotten,
with histories tragic, bloody, romantic; ruins where charred timbers,
ghastly bones, and demolished walls speak of midnight attacks,
treacherous surprises, and cruel slaughters; where whole cities have
been exterminated and destroyed as if under the ancient commands to the
Hebrews: "Destroy, slay, kill, and spare not."

A desert country, and yet, in spots, marvellously fertile. Barren,
wild, desolate, forsaken it is, and yet, here and there, fertile
valleys, wooded slopes, and garden patches may be found as rich as any
on earth.

Where atmospheric colorings are so perfect and so divinely artistic in
their applications that weary and desolate deserts are made dreams of
glory and supremest beauty, and harsh rugged mountains are sublimated
into transcendent pictures of tender tints and ever-changing but always
harmonious combinations of color.

A land where rain may be seen falling in fifty showers all around,
and yet not a drop fall, _for a year or more_, on the spot where the
observer stands.

A land of sculptured images and fantastic carvings. Where water,
wind, storm, sand, frost, heat, atmosphere, and other agencies,
unguided and uncontrolled by man, have combined to make figures more
striking, more real, more picturesque, more ugly, more beautiful,
and more fantastic than those of the angels, devils, saints, and
sinners that crown and adorn the ancient Pagan shrines of the Orient
and the more modern Christian shrines of the Occident;--a veritable
Toom-pin-nu-wear-tu-weep--Land of the Standing Rocks--more gigantic,
wonderful, and attractive than can be found elsewhere in the world.

Where sand mountains, yielding alike to the fierce winds of winter
and the gentle breezes of summer, slowly travel from place to place,
irresistibly controlling fresh sites and burying all that obstructs
their path.

A land where, in summer, railway trains are often stopped by drifting
sands blown by scorching winds over almost trackless Saharas, and
where, in winter, the same trains are stopped by drifting snows blown
over the same Saharas now made Arctic in their frozen solitude.

A land where once were vast lakes in which disported ugly monsters, and
on the surface of which swam mighty fish-birds who gazed with curious
wonder upon the enormous reptiles, birds, and animals which came to
lave themselves in the cooling waves or drink of their refreshing
waters.

But now lakes, fishes, reptiles, and animals have entirely disappeared.
Where placid lakes once were lashed into fury by angry winds are now
only sand wastes and water-worn rocks where the winds howl and shriek
and rave, and mourn the loss of the waters with which they used to
sport; and the only remnants of prehistoric fishes, reptiles, and
animals are found in decaying bones or fossilized remains deep imbedded
in the strata of the unnumbered ages.

[Illustration: ANCIENT POTTERY DUG FROM PREHISTORIC RUINS ON THE
PAINTED DESERT.]

A land where volcanic fires and fierce lava flows, accompanied by
deadly fumes, noxious gases, and burning flames, have made lurid the
midnight skies, and driven happy people from their peaceful homes.

A land through which a mighty river dashes madly and unrestrainedly to
the sea, and yet where, a few miles away, a spring that flows a few
buckets of water an hour is an inestimable treasure. Yes indeed, where,
in sight of that giant river, thirsty men have gone raving mad for want
of water, and have hurled themselves headlong down thousand-feet-high
precipices in their uncontrolled desire to reach the precious and
cooling stream.

A land of rich and florid coloring where the Master Artist has revelled
in matchless combinations. It is a land of color,--sweet, gentle,
tender colors that penetrate the soul as the words of a lover; fierce,
glaring, bold colors that strike as with the clenched fist of a foe.

It is the stage upon which the bronze and white actors of three hundred
and fifty years ago played their games of life with ambitions, high as
they were selfish, determined as they were bold, and unscrupulous as
they were successful.




CHAPTER II

DESERT RECOLLECTIONS


Of the flora and fauna of the Painted Desert Region I have made no
study. That they are fascinating the works of Hart Merriam, Coville,
Lemmon, Hough, and others of later days, and of the specialists of
the earlier government surveys, abundantly testify. There are cacti
of varieties into the hundreds, sagebrush, black and white grama,
bunch grass, salt grass, hackberry, buck-brush, pines, junipers,
spruces, cottonwoods, and willows, besides a thousand flowering plants.
There are lizards, swifts, rattlesnakes, scorpions, Gila monsters,
vinegerones, prairie dogs, hedgehogs, turtles, squirrels, cottontail
and jack-rabbits, antelope, deer, mountain sheep, wildcats, and some
bear.

It is more of its physiographic conditions in a general way, however,
that I would here write.

Most people's conception of a desert is a flat, level place of
nothing but sand. It is sand instead of water; a desert instead of
an ocean. Few deserts conform to this conception,--none, indeed,
that I know of in the boundaries of the United States. This Painted
Desert Region is wonderfully diversified. There is sand, of course,
but much rock, many trees, more canyons, some mountains and lava
flows, extinct volcanoes, forests, and pastures. The Grand Canyon runs
across its northern borders, and it is the vampire river that flows
in that never-to-be-described water-way that drains away the water
which leaves this the desert region it is; for the Colorado has many
tributaries, and tributaries of tributaries,--the Little Colorado,
Havasu (Cataract) Creek, Canyon Padre, Canyon Diablo, Walnut Creek, Oak
Creek, Willow Creek, Diamond Creek, and a score or hundred others.

Its great mountains are the San Francisco range, on the shoulders
of which Flagstaff is located, Mount San Mateo, seen from the Santa
Fé train near Grants in New Mexico, and Williams Mountain, west of
Flagstaff, at the foot of which the railway traveller will see the town
of Williams.

Near Flagstaff are a number of extinct volcanoes and great masses of
lava flow; from the train at Blue Water to the right a few miles one
may see the crater Tintaro--the Inkstand. The Zuni Mountains have many
craters, chief of which is the Agua Fria crater, and lava flows from
the Zuni Mountains and Mount San Mateo meet in the valley, and one
rides alongside them for miles coming west beyond Laguna.

South of Canyon Diablo is a wonderful meteoritic mountain, the
explanation of whose existence the scientists have not yet determined.
From Peach Springs a large meteoric rock was sent to the Smithsonian,
and I have one dug out of a hole of its own making in the Zuni
Mountains, both of which weigh upwards of a ton.

To the east of the Canyon Diablo Mountain is Sunset Pass, familiar
to the readers of Gen. Charles King's thrilling Arizona stories, and
beyond it to the south are Hell's Canyon,--which does not belie its
name,--the Verdi Valley, and the interesting Red Rock Country, where
numerous cliff and cavate dwellings have recently been discovered and
explored by Dr. Fewkes.

Indeed, this whole region is one of cliff and cavate and other
forsaken dwellings. Everywhere one meets with them. Desert mounds, on
examination, prove to be sites of long-buried cities, and hundreds, nay
thousands of exquisite vessels of clay, decorated in long-forgotten
ways, have been dug up from them and sent to grace the shelves of
museums and speak of a people long since crumbled to dust.

The miner has found it a profitable field for his operations, the
Jerome and Congress, with the Old Vulture and similar mines, having
made great fortunes for their owners. More than half our knowledge of
the country came primarily from the daring and courageous prospectors
who risked its dangers and deaths in their search for gold.

The roads in the Painted Desert are long and tedious, and the horses
drag their weary way over the scorching sands, the wheels of the wagon
sinking in, as does also the heart of the sensitive rider who sees the
efforts the poor beasts are making to obey his will. Yet the animals
seldom sweat. Such is the rapid radiation of moisture in this dry, high
atmosphere that one never sees any of the sweat and lather so common to
hard-driven horses in lower altitude.

The food question for horses is often serious if one goes far from the
beaten path of traders or Indians. A desert is not a pasture, though
its scant patches of grass often have to serve for one. The general
custom, where possible, is to carry a small amount of grain, which is
fed sparingly night and morning. The horses are hobbled and turned
loose in as good pasture as can be found. Hence the first questions
asked when determining a camping place are, "What kind of pasture
and water does it possess?" There are times when one dare not run the
risk of turning the horses loose. Thirsty beyond endurance, they will
often travel all night, even though closely hobbled, back to where the
last water was secured. Then they must be tracked back, and no more
exhausting and disheartening occupation do I know than this.

On one occasion we were compelled to camp where there was little
pasturage. It rained, and there were two ladies in my party. The
covered wagon was emptied and their blankets rolled down in it, so that
they could be in shelter. Our driver was a German named Hank. Two of
"his horses were mules," and these were tied one to each of the front
wheels. The two real horses were tied to the rear wheels. During the
night "Pete," one of the mules, got his fore legs over the pole of
the wagon, and began to tug and pull so that the ladies were afraid
the vehicle might be overturned. Calling to Hank, the poor fellow was
compelled to get out of his blankets and in the rain go to Pete's
rescue. To their intense amusement the ladies heard him remonstrating
with the refractory mule, and almost exploded when he wound up his
remonstrances, hitherto couched in quiet and dignified language, "Pete,
you are von little tefel."

Some people do not like to hobble a horse, and so they picket him.
There are different ways of "picketing" a horse. He may be tied by the
halter to a bush, tree, wagon, or stake driven into the ground. But
these methods are fraught with danger. I once had a valuable horse
at a time when Dr. Joseph LeConte, the beloved professor of geology
of the University of California, was spending a month with me in the
mountains. We had six horses, and all were "picketed" from the halter,
or a rope around the neck. Three times a day we changed them to fresh
pasturage. At one of the changing times we found the beautiful black
stretched out cold and stiff. In scratching his head the hoof of his
hind foot had caught in the rope, and in seeking to free himself he had
pulled the rope tighter and tighter until he had strangled himself. The
gentle-hearted professor sat down and wept at the tragic end of the
noble horse "Duke" he had already learned to love.

To prevent this danger I have often picketed a horse's hind foot to a
log heavy enough to drag, so that the hungry animal could move a little
in search of food, but not run or get far away. There have been two
or three times, however, in my experience, where I could find neither
tree, bush, nor stake. Not a rock or log could be found for miles to
which the saddle horse I rode could be picketed. What then could I do?
Sit up all night to care for my horse? Ride all night? Or do as I heard
of one or two men having done, viz., picket the horse to my own foot? I
once heard of a man who was dragged to his death that way. His cayuse
was startled during the night and started to run. As the rope tightened
and he dragged the unhappy wretch attached to him, his fear increased
his speed, and not until he was exhausted and breathless did he stop in
his wild, mad race. He was found with the corpse, bruised and mangled
beyond all recognition, still dragging at the end of the rope.

I had no desire to run such risk. So I did the impossible,--picketed my
horse to a hole in the ground.

"Nonsense! Picket a horse to a hole in the ground? It can't be done!"

Indeed! But I did it. Watch me. Cut into the ground (especially if it
is a little grassy) and make a hole a little larger than to allow your
full fist to enter. As you dig deeper widen the hole below so that it
is a kind of a chimney towards the top. Dig fully a foot or a foot and
a half down. Then take the rope, which is already fastened at the other
end to your horse, wrap the end around a piece of grass, or paper, or
a small stone, or anything; put the knot into the hole, and "tamp" in
the earth as vigorously as you can. Your horse is then fast, unless he
grows desperately afraid and pulls with more than ordinary vigor.

The scarcity of water makes journeying on the Painted Desert a grave
and serious problem. The springs are few and far between, and only in
the rainy season can one rely upon stony or clay pockets that fill up
with the precious fluid. In going from Canyon Diablo to Oraibi there
are four places where water may be obtained. First in a small canyon a
few miles west of Volz's Crossing of the Little Colorado; then at the
Lakes,--small ponds of dirty, stagnant water, where a trading-post is
located and where the journey is generally broken for a night. Next
day, twenty-two miles must be driven to Little Burro Spring before
water is again found, and a few miles further on, on the opposite
side of the valley, is Big Burro Spring. Then no more water is found
until Oraibi is reached. There are two springs on the western side of
the Oraibi mesa, and three miles on the eastern side in the Oraibi
Wash is a good well, some sixty feet deep, of cold and good but not
over-clear water. There are small pools near Mashonganavi, Shipauluvi,
and Shungopavi, but the water is poor at best and very limited in
quantity to those who are used to the illimitable flow of ordinary
Eastern cities. The whole water supply at Mashonganavi, which is by far
the best watered town of the middle mesa, would not more than suffice
for the needs of a New York or Boston family of six or eight persons,
and consternation would sit upon the face of the mistress of either
household if such water were to flow through the faucets of her home.

At Walpi there are three pool springs on the west side, but all flow
slowly. One is good (for the desert), another is fair, and the third is
horrible. Yet this last is almost equal to the supply on the eastern
side, where there are three pool springs, only two of which can be used
for domestic purposes.

Storms fearful and terrible often sweep across this desert region. I
have "enjoyed" several notable experiences in them, storms of sand, of
rain, of wind, of lightning, and of thunder, sometimes one kind alone,
other times of a combination of kinds. At one time we were camped in
the Oraibi Wash not far from the home of the Mennonite missionary,
my friend Rev. H. R. Voth. There were seven of us in my party,--five
men, two women. Our general custom on making a camp was first of all
to choose the best place for the beds of the ladies, and then the men
arranged their blankets in picturesque irregularity around them at
some distance away, thus forming a complete guard, not because of any
necessity, but to make the ladies feel less timid. As my daughter was
one of the ladies, I invariably rolled out my blankets near enough to
be called readily should there be any occasion during the night.

We had not been in our blankets long, that night, before a fearful
thunder and rain-storm burst upon us. We had all gone to bed tired
after our long and weary day watching the Hopi ceremonies, and the camp
equipage was not prepared for a storm. It was pitch dark except for the
sharp flashes of lightning which occasionally cut the blackness into
jagged sections, and the deluge of rain waited for no squeamishness on
my part. Hastily jumping up, I ran to and fro in my bare feet and night
garments, caught up a big wagon sheet, and endeavored to spread it
over the exposed beds of the ladies. The wind was determined I should
not succeed, but I am English and obstinate. So I seized camera cases,
valises, boxes of canned food, and anything heavy, and placed them
upon the edges of the flapping canvas. Running back and forth to the
wagon, the lightning every now and again revealed a drenched, fantastic
figure, and I could hear suppressed laughter and giggles from under the
blankets whence should have issued songs of thankfulness to me. But "it
was ever thus!" I succeeded finally in pinning down the canvas, and had
just rolled my wet and shivering form in my own drenched blankets, when
Mr. Voth, with a lantern in his hand, came and simply demanded that
the ladies come over to warmth and shelter in his hospitable house.
Hastily wrapping themselves up, they started, blown about by the wind
and flaunted by the tempest. The sand made it harder still to walk, and
out of breath and wildly dishevelled, they struggled up the bank of the
Wash and were soon comfortably ensconsed indoors. Then, strange irony
of events, the storm immediately ceased, the heavens cleared, the stars
shone bright, the cool night air became delicious to the nostrils and
tired bodies, and we who remained outside had a sleep as ineffably
sweet as that of healthful babes, while the ladies sweltered and rolled
and tossed with discomfort in the moist heat that had accumulated in
the closed rooms.

[Illustration: THE PAINTED DESERT NEAR THE LITTLE COLORADO RIVER.]

[Illustration: ASLEEP, EARLY MORNING, ON THE PAINTED DESERT.]

A few years later I was again at Oraibi, and strangely near the same
camping place. This time my companions were W. W. Bass, whose early
adventures have been recounted in my "In and Around the Grand Canyon,"
a photographer, and a British friend of his who had stopped off in
California on his way home from Japan. Mr. Britisher had contributed a
small share towards the expenses of the expedition, but with insular
ignorance he had presumed that his small mite would pay the expenses
of the whole outfit for a long period. It must be confessed that we
had had a most arduous trip. The Painted Desert had shown its ugly
side from the very moment we left the railway. Four miles out we had
been stopped by the most terrific and vivid lightning-storm it has
ever been my good fortune to witness and to be scared half out of my
wits with. At Rock Tanks we had another storm. We had been jolted
and shaken on our way out to Hopi Point of the Grand Canyon, and had
come so near to perishing for want of water that we fell on our knees
and greedily drank the vilest liquid from an alkali pool, a standing
place of horses, on our way to the Little Colorado. At the old Tanner
Crossing of that stream we had had another rain and lightning-storm
near unto the first in fury, and in which our British friend had
been caught in his blankets and nearly frightened to death. In the
Moenkopi Wash he was offended because I left the wagon to ride to
the home and accept the hospitality of the Mormon bishop, which he
interpreted again with insular ignorance to mean a palace, a place of
luxury, exquisite restfulness, good foods, and delicious iced wines,
while he was left to beans, bacon, flapjacks, and dried fruit, and a
roll of blankets on the rough and uneven ground. (It didn't make any
difference that I explained to him next day that I had slept on a
grass plot with one quilt and no pillow, cold, shivering, and longing
for my good substantial roll of Navaho blankets, left for him to use
if he so desired, and that our "banquet" had been coarse bread and a
bowl of milk.) Then we had had another storm at Toh-gas-je, which I
had partially avoided by riding on ahead in the light wagon of the
Indian agent who piloted us, while he--Mr. Britisher--was in the
heavier ambulance. The next night we camped, attempting to sleep on
the stony slopes of the hillside at Blue Canyon in wretchedness and
misery, because it was too late when we arrived to dare to drive down
into the canyon. The next day we drove over the Sahara of America, a
sandy desert which even to the Hopis is the most a-tu-u-u (hot) of
all earthly places. That noon we camped in the dry wash of Tnebitoh,
where we had to dig for water, waiting for it slowly to seep into the
hole we had dug. It was a sandy, alkaline decoction, but we were glad
and thankful for it, and the way the poor horses stood and longingly
looked on as we waited for the inflow was pitiable. At night we camped
some twelve or fifteen miles farther on, without water, hobbling the
horses and turning them loose. I had engaged an Indian to go with us
from Blue Canyon as helper and guide, so I sent him, in the morning, to
bring in the horses. Two or three hours later he returned, with but one
of the animals, and said he had tried to track the others, but could
not do so. Imagine what our predicament would have been, in the heart
of the desert, without horses and water, and many miles away from any
settlement. There was but one thing to be done, and Mr. Bass at once
did it. Putting a bridle on the one horse, he rode off barebacked after
the runaways. Knowing the character of his mules, he aimed directly
for the Tnebitoh. When he arrived at the spot where we had watered
the day before, he found that, with unerring instinct, the horses had
returned to this spot and had dug new watering places for themselves.
Then, scenting the cool grass of the San Francisco Mountains, they had
aimed directly west, and, hobbled though they were, the tracks showed
they were travelling at a lively rate of speed. Knowing the urgency and
desperateness of our case, Bass followed as fast as he could make his
almost exhausted animal go, and after an hour's hard riding saw, in the
far-away distance, the three perverse creatures "hitting" the trailless
desert as hard as they could. Jersey, a knowing mule, was in the lead.
He soon saw Bass, and, seeming to communicate with the others, they
turned and saw him also. Jack (the other mule) and the horse at once
showed a disposition to stop, but Jersey with bite and whinney tried to
drive them on. Finding his efforts useless, he stopped with the others,
and, when Bass rode up, allowed himself to be "necked" (tied neck to
neck) with the other two. Horses and man were as near "played out" as
we cared to see them when, later in the day, they returned to camp.

It does not do to go out upon the Painted Desert without some practical
person who is capable of meeting all serious emergencies that are
likely to arise.

The next day we drove on to Oraibi, in the scorching sun, over the
sandy hillocks, where no road would last an hour in a wind-storm
unless it were thoroughly blanketed and pegged down. We were all hot,
weary, and ill-tempered. Thinking to help out, I volunteered to walk
up the steep western trail to the mesa top and secure some corn at
Oraibi for our horses, so that they could be fed at once on reaching
our stopping place on the east side. When we started I had suggested
the hope that we might be able to stop in the schoolhouse below the
Oraibi mesa, as I had several times done in times before; but when
the wagon arrived there, and I came down from the mesa, it was found
to be already occupied by persons to whom it had been promised by the
Indian agent. Camping, then, was the only thing left open to us, until
I could see the Hopis and rent one of their houses. Down we drove to
the camp, where alone a sufficiency of water was to be found. This
explains our close proximity to the camp of the earlier year. We were
just preparing our meal when a fierce sand-storm blew up. Cooking was
out of the question; the fire blew every which way, and the sand filled
meat, beans, corn, tomatoes with too much grit for comfort. This was
the last straw that broke the back of Mr. Britisher's complacency. He
had bemoaned again and again the leaving of his comfortable home to
come into this "God-forsaken region," in a quest of what our crazy
westernism called pleasure, and now his fury burst upon me in a manner
that dwarfed the passion of the heavens and the earth. While there
was a refinement in his vituperation, there was an edge upon it as
keen as fury, passion, and culture could give it. I was scorched by
his scarifying lightnings, struck again and again by his vindictive
thunderbolts, tossed hither and thither by his stormy winds, and
lifted heavenwards and then dashed downwards by the tornadoes and
whirlwinds of his passion. It was dazzling, bewildering, intensely
interesting, and then fiercely irritating. I stood it all until he
denounced my selfishness. There's no doubt I am selfish, but there is a
limit to a fellow's endurance when another fellow claims the discovery
and rubs it in upon you until he abrades the skin. So I raised my hand
and also my voice: "Stop, that's enough. Dare to repeat that and I'll
tie you on a horse and send you back to the railway in charge of an
Indian so quickly that you'll wonder how you got there. Selfish, am I?
I permitted you to come on this trip as a favor to my photographer. The
paltry sum you paid me has not found one-fourth share of the corn for
one horse, let alone your own food, the hire of the horses, wagon, and
driver. To oblige you I have allowed you the whole way to ride inside
my conveyance that you might talk together, while I have sat out in the
hot sun. If any help has been needed by Mr. Bass in driving, I have
willingly given it instead of calling upon you. I have done all the
unpacking and the packing of the wagon at each camp, morning, noon, and
night. I have done all the cooking and much of the dish-washing, and
yet you have the impudence and mendacity to say I have been selfish.
Very well! I'll take myself at your estimate. In future I'll take my
seat inside the ambulance; you shall do your share of helping the
driver. You shall do your share of the packing; and if you eat another
mouthful, so long as you remain in my camp, you shall cook it yourself.
I have spoken! And when I thus speak I speak as the laws of the Medes
and Persians, which alter not, nor change!"

[Illustration: THE COLORADO RIVER AT BASS FERRY, THE VAMPIRE OF THE
PAINTED DESERT.]

"Well, ---- says you are selfish!" burst out the somewhat cowed man.

"Then I put him on the same plane as I put you; and if ever either of
you dares to make that charge again, I will--"

Well, never mind what I, in my, what I still believe to be, just anger
threatened. I turned away, went and secured an Indian's house, and that
night we removed there.

But I wish I had the space to recount how those two unfortunates and
misfortunates cooked their own meals and mine and Bass's. It is a
subject fit for a Dickens or a Kipling. No minor pen can do justice to
it. How they came and asked with quiet humility, "What are we going
to have for supper?" and how I replied, "Raw potatoes, so far as I am
concerned!" Neither knew whether a frying-pan was for skimming cream
from a can of condensed milk or for making charlotte russes. Neither
could boil water without scorching it. But surreptitiously (with my
secret connivance) Bass gave the tyros gentle hints and finally "licked
them" into fourth-rate cooks, so that I reaped the reward of their
labors in selfishly and shamelessly taking some of the concoctions they
had slaved over.

I know this plain, unvarnished tale reveals me a "bad man from Bodie,"
but I started out to give a truthful account of the Painted Desert and
its storms, and this "tempest in a frying-pan" in camp cannot well be
ignored by a veracious chronicler.

Last year, fate designed that we camp at exactly the same spot. The
two wagons came to rest at about the same place where the ambulance
stood, and exactly the same wind and sand-storm blew up before we had
been there half an hour. I had with me a long, eight-feet-high strip of
canvas belonging to a very large circular tent. To ward off the force
of some part of the storm we stretched this canvas from the trunk of
one cottonwood tree to another, and moved our camp to the sheltered
side. That was an insult to the powers of the storm. The wind fairly
howled with rage, and pulled and tugged and flapped that canvas in a
perfect fury of anger. Then as we huddled in its shelter, a sudden jerk
came, and up it was ripped, from top to bottom, in a moment, and the
loose ends went wildly flying and flapping every way. In the blowing
sand I fled with the ladies to Mr. Voth's ever-hospitable house, but
it was as hot as--well! no matter--in there. Outside, the cottonwoods
were bowed over in the fury of the wind, and the sand went flying by in
sheets. It was easy then to understand the remark of one experienced in
the ways of the Painted Desert Region: "If you ever buy any real estate
here, contract to have it anchored, or you'll wake up some morning and
find it all blown into the next county." The flying sand literally
obliterated every object more than a few feet away.

Now in this last case I had the pleasure--as peculiar a pleasure as it
is to watch the coming of a hurricane at sea--to see the oncoming of
this storm. We were enjoying perfect calm. Suddenly over the Oraibi
mesa there came a great brown mass that stretched entirely across the
country. It was the tawny sand risen in power and majesty to drive us
from its lair. It was so grand, so sublime, so alive, that just as
I instinctively rush to my camera at sight of an interesting face,
I dashed towards it to secure a photograph of this new, gigantic,
living manifestation. But in its fierce fury it swept upon us with such
rapidity that I was too late. We were covered with it, buried in it.
As darkness leaps upon one and absorbs him, so did this storm absorb
us. In an hour or so its greatest fury subsided; then we thought we
would build our camp-fire and proceed to our regular cooking. How the
wind veered and changed, and changed again as soon as the fire began to
ascend. That is a point to watch in building a camp-fire. Be sure and
locate it so that its smoke won't blow upon you when you sit down to
eat. In this case, however, it would not have mattered. In my notebook
I read: "We have changed the camp-fire three times, and no matter where
we put it, the smoke swoops down upon us. Even now while I write I am
half blinded by the smoke, which ten minutes ago was being blown in the
opposite direction." So that if these few pages have an unpleasant odor
of camp-fire smoke about them, the reader must charge it to the wilful
ways of the wind on the Painted Desert.

Elsewhere I have spoken of the mystery brooding over the peoples of
this land. It is also existent in the very colors of it, whether
noted in early morning, in the glare of the pitiless Arizona noon, or
at sunset; in the storm, with the air full of sand, or in the calm
and quiet of a cloudless sky; when the sky is cerulean or black with
lowering clouds; ever, always, the color is weird, strange, mysterious.
One night at Walpi several of us sat and watched the colorings in the
west. No unacquainted soul would have believed such could exist. To
describe it is as impossible as to analyze the feelings of love. It was
raining everywhere in the west; and "everywhere" means so much where
one's horizon is not limited. The eye there roams over what seem to be
boundless distances. In all this space rain was falling. The sun had
but half an hour more to live, and it flooded the sky with an orange
crimson. The rain came down in hairy streaks brilliantly illuminated.
The sun could be discerned only as a dimly veiled face, with the light
shed below it--none above--in graceful curves. Then the orange and
crimson changed to purple, deepening and deepening into blackness until
day was done.

Sometimes the lighting up of the desert in the early morning gives it
the effect of a sea-green ocean, and then the illusion is indescribably
wonderful. At such times, if there are clouds in the sky, the
reflections of color are as delicate and beautiful as the tintings of
the sea-shells.

One night standing on the mesa at Mashonganavi looking east and south,
the vast ocean-like expanse of tawny sand and desert was converted by
the hues of dying day into a gorgeous and resplendent sea of exquisite
and delicate color. On the further side were the Mogollon Buttes,--the
Giant's Chair, Pyramid Butte, and others,--with long walls, which,
in the early morning black and forbidding, were now illumined and
etherealized by the magic wand of sunset.

If, however, one would know another of the marvellous charms of this
Painted Desert Region let him see it in the early summer, after the
first rains. This may be the latter part of June or in July and August.
Then what a change! One seeing it for the first time would naturally
exclaim in protest: "Desert? Why, this is a garden!"

A thin and sparse covering of grass, but enough to the casual observer
to relieve the whole land from the charge of barrenness; the black and
white grama grasses, with their delicate shades of green; and a host of
wild flowers of most exquisite colors in glorious combinations. Here
masses of flaming marigolds and sunflowers; yonder patches of the white
and purple tinted flowers of the jimson-weed, while its rich green
leaves form a complete covering for the tawny sand or rocky desolation
beneath. Here are larkspurs, baby blue-eyes, Indian's paint brush,
daisies, lilies, and a thousand and one others, the purples, blues,
reds, pinks, whites, and browns giving one a chromatic feast, none the
less delightful because it is totally unexpected.

Then who can tell of the glory of the hundreds of cacti in bloom, great
prickly monsters, barrel shaped, cylindrical, lobe formed, and yet
all picked out in the rarest, most dainty flowers the eye of man ever
gazed upon? Look yonder at the "hosh-kon," one of the yucca family, a
sacred plant to the Navahoes. Its dagger-like green leaves are crowned
and glorified with the central stalk, around which cluster a thousand
waxen white bells, and this one is only a beginning to the marvellous
display of them we shall see as we ride along. The greasewood veils
its normal ugliness in revivified leaves and a delicate flossy yellow
bloom that makes it charming to the eye. Even the sagebrush attains to
some charm of greenness, and where the juniper and cedar and pine lurk
in the shades of some of the rocky slopes, the deepest green adds its
never-ending comfort and delight to the scene.

Yet you look in vain for the rivers, the creeks, the babbling brooks,
the bubbling fountains, the ponds, that charm your eye in Eastern
landscapes. Oh, for the Adirondacks,--the lakes and streams which
abound on every hand. If only these could be transplanted into this
desert to give their peculiar delights without any of their drawbacks,
_then_ the Painted Desert Region would be the ideal land.

It would never do to bring the Adirondack flies and gnats and
mosquitoes; its hot, sultry nights and muggy, sweltering days. No!
These we can do without. We would have its advantages, but with none of
its disadvantages.

How futile such wishes; how childish such longings! Each place
is itself; and, for myself, I love the Painted Desert even in
its waterlessness, its barrenness, and its desolation. Think of
its stimulating altitude, its colors, its clear, cloudless sky,
its glorious, divine stars, its delicious evening coolness, its
never-disturbed solitudes, its speaking silences, its romances, its
mysteries, its tragedies, its histories. These are some of the things
that make the Painted Desert what it is--a region of unqualified
fascination and allurement.




CHAPTER III

FIRST GLIMPSES OF THE HOPI


Three great fingers of rock from a gigantic and misshapen hand, roughly
speaking, pointing southward, the hand a great plateau, the fingers
mesas of solid rock thrust into the heart of a sandy valley,--this
is the home of the Hopi, commonly and wrongly termed the Moki. The
fingers are from seven to ten miles apart, and a visitor can go from
one finger-nail to another either by descending and ascending the steep
trails zigzagged on the fingers' sides, or he can circle around on the
back of the hand and thus in a round-about manner reach any one of the
three fingers. These mesa fingers are generally spoken of as the first
or east mesa, the second or middle mesa, and the third or west mesa.
They gain their order from the fact that in the early days of American
occupancy Mr. T. V. Keam established a trading-post in the canyon that
bears his name, and this canyon being to the east of the eastern mesa,
this mesa was reached first in order, the western mesa naturally being
third.

On the east mesa are three villages. The most important of all Hopi
towns is Walpi, which occupies the "nail" of this first "finger." It is
not so large as Oraibi, but it has always held a commanding influence,
which it still retains. Half a mile back of Walpi is Sichumavi, and
still further back Hano, or, as it is commonly and incorrectly called,
Tewa.

About seven miles--as the crow flies--to the west is the second or
middle mesa, and here are Mashonganavi, Shipauluvi, and on an offshoot
from this second mesa, separated from it by a deep, sand-filled ravine,
is Shungopavi.

Ten miles farther to the west is Oraibi, which marks the farthest
western boundary of pueblo civilization.

Oh! the pathos, the woe, the untold but clearly written misery
of the centuries in these cliff-built houses of the mesas, these
residences that are fortresses, these steep trail-approached and
precipice-protected homes. In a desert land, surrounded by relentless,
wary, and vigilant foes, ever fighting a hard battle with the adverse
conditions of their environment, short of water, of firewood, and
with food grown in the desert-rescued lands below where at any moment
the ruthless marauder might appear, there is no wonder that almost
every elderly face is seamed and scarred; furrowed deeply with the
accumulated centuries of never-ceasing care. Mystery here seems at
first to reign supreme. It stands and faces one as a Presence. It
hovers and broods, and you feel it even in your sleep. The air is full
of it. The very clouds here are mysterious. Who are these people?
From whence came they? What is their destiny? What fearful battles,
race hatreds, devastating wars, led them to make their homes on
these inaccessible cliffs? How did they ever conceive such a mass of
elaborate ceremonial as now controls them? Solitary and alone they
appear, a vast question mark, viewed from every standpoint. Whichever
way one looks at them a great query stares him in the face. They are
the chief mystery of our country, an anachronism, an anomaly in our
twentieth-century civilization.

When we see the ruins of Egypt, India, Assyria, we look upon something
that is past. Those peoples _were_: they pertain to the ages that are
gone. Their mysteries are of lives lived in the dim ages of antiquity.
But here are antique lives being lived in our own day; pieces of
century-old civilizations transplanted, in time and place, and brought
into our time and place; the past existent in the present; the lapse
of centuries forgotten, and the days of thousands of years ago bodily
transferred into our commercial, super-cultured, hyper-refined age.

The approach to the first mesa from Keam's Canyon is through a sandy
country, which, in places, is dry, desolate, and bare. But here and
there are patches of ground upon which weeds grow to a great height,
plainly indicating that with cultivation and irrigation good crops
could be raised. As we leave the mouth of the canyon the singular
character of this plateau province is revealed. To the south the sandy
desert, in lonesome desolation, stretches away as far as the eye can
reach, its wearisome monotony relieved only by the close-by corn-fields
of the Hopis and the peculiar buttes of the Mogollons. With the sun
blazing down upon it, its forbidding barrenness is appalling. Neither
tree, shrub, blade of grass, animal, or human habitation is to be seen.
The sand reflects the sun's rays in a yellow glare which is irritating
beyond measure, and which seems as if it would produce insanity by its
unchangeableness.

To the right of us are the extremities of the sandstone plateaus, of
which the Hopi mesas are the thrust out fingers. Here and there are
breaks in the plateau which seem like openings into rocky canyons.
Before us, ten or more miles away, is the long wall of the first mesa,
its falling precipices red and glaring in the sun. Immense rocks of
irregular shape lie about on its summit as if tumbled to and fro in
some long-ago-forgotten frolic of prehistoric giants. Right before us,
and at about the mid distances of the "finger" from the main plateau,
the mesa wall is broken down in the form of a U-shaped notch or
gap,--from which Walpi, "the place of the gap," obtains its name; and
it is on the extremity of the mesa, beyond this notch, that the houses
of the Hopi towns can now clearly be discerned. Just beyond the notch a
little heap of houses, apparently of the same color as the mesa itself,
appears. Then a little vacant space and another small heap, followed
by another vacancy with a larger heap at the extreme end of the mesa.
These heaps, beginning at the notch, are respectively Tewa, Sichumavi,
and Walpi.

Dotting the slopes of the talus at the foot of the mesa precipices are
corn-fields, peach orchards, and corrals for burros, sheep, and goats.

As we approach nearer we see that the first mesa is rapidly losing
its distinctively Indian character. The policy of the United States
Government, in its treatment of these Indians, is to induce them, so
far as possible, to leave their mesa homes and reside in the valley
nearer to their corn-fields. As their enemies are no longer allowed to
molest them, their community life on these mesa heights is no longer
necessary, and the time lost and the energy wasted in climbing up and
down the steep trails could far better be employed in working in the
fields, caring for their orchards, or attending to their stock. But
while all this sounds well in theory, and on paper appears perfectly
reasonable, it fails to take into consideration the influence of
heredity and the personal passions, desires, and feelings of volitional
beings. As a result, the government plan is not altogether a success.
The Indian agents, however, have induced certain of the Hopis, by
building houses for them, to consent to a partial abandonment of their
mesa homes. Accordingly, as one draws nearer, he sees the stone houses
with their red-painted corrugated-iron roofs, the schoolhouse, the
blacksmith's shop, and the houses of the teachers, all of which speak
significantly of the change that is slowly hovering over the Indian's
dream of solitude and desolation.

But after our camp is made and the horses sent out in the care of
willing Indians to the Hopi pastures, we find that the trails to the
mesa summit are the same; the glaring yellow sand is the same; the
red and gray rocks are the same; the fleecy and dark clouds that
occasionally appear at this the rainy time are the same; the glaring,
pitiless sun with its infernal scorching is the same; and we respire
and perspire and pant and struggle in our climb to the summit in the
same old arduous fashion. Above, in Hano, Sichumavi, and Walpi, the
pot-bellied, naked children, the lithe and active young men, the
not unattractive, shapely, and kindly-faced young women, with their
peculiar symbolic style of hair-dressing, the blear-eyed old men
and women, the patient and stolid burros, the dim-eyed and pathetic
captive eagles, the quaint terraced-houses with their peculiar
ladders, grotesque chimneys, passageways, and funny little steps, are
practically the same as they have been for centuries.

There are two trails from the valley to the summit of the first mesa on
the east side, one at the point, and three on the west side. We ascend
by the northeastern trail, which, on reaching the "Notch" or "Gap,"
winds close by an enclosure in which is found a large fossil, bearing a
rude resemblance to a stone snake. All around this fossil, within the
stone enclosure, are to be found "bahos," or prayer sticks, which have
been brought by the devout as their offerings to the Snake Divinities.
From time immemorial this shrine has been in existence, and no Hopi
ever passes it without some offering to "Those Above," either in the
form of a baho, a sprinkling of the sacred meal, the ceremonial smoking
to the six cardinal points, or a few words of silent but none the less
devout and earnest prayer.

At the head of this trail is Hano, and from this pueblo we can gain
a general idea of Hopi architecture, for, with differences in minor
details, the general styles are practically the same. Where they
gained their architectural knowledge it is hard to tell, and who they
are is yet an unsolved problem. It is pretty generally conceded,
however, that all the pueblo peoples of Arizona and New Mexico--of
whom the Hopis are the most western--are the descendants of the race,
or races, who dotted these territories and southern Colorado with
ruins, and who are commonly known as the Cliff and Cave Dwellers. But
this is thrusting the difficulty only a few generations, or scores of
generations, further back. For we are at once compelled to the agnostic
answer, "I don't know!" when asked who are the Cliff Dwellers. Who they
are and whence they came are still problems upon which such patient
investigators as J. Walter Fewkes is working. He has clearly confirmed
the decision of Bancroft and others which affirmed the identity of
the Cliff and Cave Dwellers with the Hopis and other pueblo-inhabiting
Indians of the Southwest.

[Illustration: HANO, (TEWA) FROM THE HEAD OF THE TRAIL.]

Although of different linguistic stocks and religion, the homes of
the pueblo Indians are very similar. Almost without exception the
pueblos built on mesa summits are of sandstone or other rock, plastered
with adobe mud brought up from the water-courses of the valley.
Those pueblos that are located in the valley, on the other hand, are
generally built of adobe.

No one can doubt that the Indians chose these elevated mesa sites for
purposes of protection. With but one or two almost inaccessible trails
reaching the heights, and these easily defendable, their homes were
their fortresses. Their fields, gardens, and hunting-grounds were in
the valleys or far-away mountains, whither they could go in times of
peace; but, when attacked by foes, they fled up the trails, established
elaborate methods of defence, and remained in their fortress-homes
until the danger was past.

The very construction of the houses reveals this. In none of the older
houses is there any doorway into the lowest story. A solid wall faces
the visitor, with perhaps a small window-hole. A rude ladder outside
and a similar one inside afford the only means of entrance. One climbs
up the ladder outside, drops through a hole in the roof, and descends
the ladder inside. When attacked, the outer ladder could be drawn up,
and thus, if we remember the crude weapons of the aborigines when
discovered by the white man, it is evident that the inhabitants would
remain in comparative security.

Of late years doors and windows have been introduced into many of the
ancient houses.

It is a picturesque sight that the visitor to the Hopi towns enjoys
as he reaches the head of the trail at Hano. The houses are built in
terraces, two or three stories high, the second story being a step
back from the first, so that a portion of the roof of the first story
can be used as the courtyard or children's playground of the people
who inhabit the second story. The third story recedes still farther,
so that its people have a front yard on the roof of the second story.
At Zuni and Taos these terraces continue for six and seven stories,
but with the Hopis never exceed three. The first climb is generally
made on a ladder, which rests in the street below. The ladder-poles,
however, are much longer than is necessary, and they reach up
indefinitely towards the sky. Sometimes a ladder is used to go from
the second to the third story, but more often a quaint little stairway
is built on the connecting walls. Equally quaint are the ollas used as
chimneys. These have their bottoms knocked out, and are piled one above
another, two, three, four, and sometimes five or six high. Some of the
"terraces" are partially enclosed, and here one may see a weaver's
loom, a flat stone for cooking _piki_ (wafer bread), or a beehive-like
oven used for general cooking purposes. Here and there cord-wood is
piled up for future use, and now and again a captive eagle, fastened
with a rawhide tether to the bars of a rude cage, may be seen. The
"king of birds" is highly prized for his down and feathers, which are
used for the making of prayer plumes (bahos).

There does not seem to have been much planning in the original
construction of the Hopi pueblos. There was little or no provision
made for the future. The first houses were built as needed, and then as
occasion demanded other rooms were added.

It will doubtless be surprising to some readers to learn that the Hopi
houses are owned and _built_ (in the main) by the women, and that the
men weave the women's garments and knit their own stockings. Here,
too, the women enjoy other "rights" that their white sisters have
long fought for. The home life of the Hopis is based upon the rights
of women. They own the houses; the wife receives her newly married
husband into her home; the children belong to her clan, and have her
clan name, and not that of the father; the corn, melons, squash, and
other vegetables belong to her when once deposited in her house by the
husband. She, indeed, is the queen of her own home, hence the pueblo
Indian woman occupies a social relationship different from that of most
aborigines, in that she is on quite equal terms with her husband.

In the actual building of the houses, however, the husband is required
to perform his share, and that is the most arduous part of the labor.
He goes with his burros to the wooded mesas or cottonwood-lined streams
and brings the roof-timbers, ladder-poles, and door-posts. He also
brings the heavier rocks needed in the building. Then the women aid him
in placing the heavier objects, after which he leaves them to their own
devices.

Being an intensely religious people, the shamans or priests are always
called upon when a new house is to be constructed. Bahos--prayer plumes
or sticks--are placed in certain places, sacred meal is lavishly
sprinkled, and singing and prayer offered, all as propitiation to
those gods whose especial business it is to care for the houses.

It is exceedingly interesting to see the women at work. Without
plumb-line, straight line, or trowel they proceed. Some women are
hod-carriers, bringing the pieces of sand or limestone rock to the
"bricklayers" in baskets, buckets, or dish pans. Others mix the adobe
to the proper consistency and see that the workers are kept supplied
with it. And what a laughing, chattering, jabbering group it is! Every
tongue seems to be going, and no one listening. Once at Oraibi I saw
twenty-three women engaged in the building of a house, and I then got
a new "side light" on the story of the Tower of Babel; The builders of
that historic structure were women, and the confusion of tongues was
the natural result of their feminine determination to all speak at once
and never listen to any one else.

I photographed the builders at Oraibi, and the next day contributed a
new dress to each of the twenty-three workers. Here are some of their
names: Wa-ya-wei-i-ni-ma, Mo-o-ho, Ha-hei-i, So-li, Ni-vai-un-si,
Si-ka-ho-in-ni-ma, Na-i-so-wa, Ma-san-i-yam-ka, Ko-hoi-ko-cha,
Tang-a-ka-win-ka, Hun-o-wi-ti, Ko-mai-a-ni-ma, Ke-li-an-i-ma.

The finishing of the house is as interesting as the actual building.
With a small heap of adobe mud the woman, using her hand as a trowel,
fills in the chinks, smooths and plasters the walls inside and out.
Splashed from head to foot with mud, she is an object to behold, and,
as is often the case, if her children are there to "help" her, no
mud-larks on the North River, the Missouri, or the Thames ever looked
more happy in their complete abandonment to dirt than they. Then when
the whitewashing is done with gypsum, or the coloring of the walls with
a brown wash, what fun the children have. No pinto pony was ever more
speckled and variegated than they as they splash their tiny hands into
the coloring matter and dash it upon the walls.

[Illustration: HOPI WOMEN BUILDING A HOUSE AT ORAIBI.]

[Illustration: MASHONGANAVI FROM THE TERRACE BELOW.]

Inside the houses the walls also are whitewashed or colored, and
generally there is some attempt made to decorate them by painting rude
though symbolic designs half-way between the floor and ceiling. The
floor is of earth, well packed down with water generally mixed with
plaster, and the ceiling is of the sustaining poles and cross-beams,
over which willows and earth have been placed. Invariably one can find
feathered bahos, or prayer plumes, in the beams above, and no house
could expect to be prospered where these offerings to "Those Above"
were neglected.

The chief family room serves as kitchen, dining-room,
corn-grinding-room, bedroom, parlor, and reception-room. In one
corner a quaint, hooded fireplace is built, and here the housewife
cooks her _piki_ and other corn foods, boils or bakes her squash,
roasts, broils, or boils the little meat she is able to secure, and
sits during the winter nights while "the elders" tell stories of the
wondrous past, when all the animals talked like human beings and the
mysterious people--the gods--from the upper world came down to earth
and associated with mankind.

The corn-grinding trough is never absent. Sometimes it is on a little
raised platform, and is large or small as the size of the family
demands. The trough is composed either of wooden or stone slabs,
cemented into the floor and securely fastened at the corners with
rawhide thongs. This trough is then divided into two, three, four, or
more compartments (according to its size), and in each compartment a
sloping slab of basic rock is placed. Kneeling behind this, the woman
who is the grinder of the meal (the true lady, _laf-dig_, even though
a Hopi) seizes in both hands a narrower flat piece of the same kind of
rock, and this, with the motion of a woman over a washboard, she moves
up and down, throwing a handful of corn every few strokes on the upper
side of her grinder. This is arduous work, and yet I have known the
women and maidens to keep steadily at it during the entire day.

When the meal is ground, a small fire is made of corn cobs, over which
an earthern olla is placed. When this is sufficiently heated the meal
is stirred about in it by means of a round wicker basket, to keep it
from burning. This process partially cooks the meal, so that it is more
easily prepared into food when needed.

In one corner of the house several large ollas will be found full of
water. Living as they do on these mesa heights, where there are no
springs, water is scarce and precious. Every drop, except the little
that is caught in rain-time or melted from the snows, has to be carried
up on the backs of the women from the valley below. In the heat of
summer, this is no light task. With the fierce Arizona sun beating down
upon them, the feet slipping in the hot sand or wearily pressing up on
the burning rocks, the olla, filled with water, wrapped in a blanket
and suspended from the forehead on the back, becomes heavier and
heavier at each step. Those of us who have, perforce, carried cameras
and heavy plates to the mesa tops know what strength and endurance this
work requires.

For dippers home-made pottery and gourd shells are commonly used. Now
and again one will find the horn of a mountain sheep, which has been
heated, opened out into a large spoon-like dipper; or a gnarled or
knotty piece of wood, hacked out with flint knife into a pretty good
resemblance to a dipper.

Near the water ollas one can generally see a shelf upon which the
household utensils are placed. Here, too, when corn is being ground,
a half-dozen plaques of meal will stand. This shelf serves as pantry
and meat safe (when there is meat), and the hungry visitor will seldom
look there in vain for a basket-platter or two piled high with _piki_,
the fine wafer bread for which the Hopis are noted. _Piki_ is colored
in a variety of ways. Dr. Hough says the ashes of _Atriplex canescens
James_ are used to give the gray color, and that _Amaranthus sp._ is
cultivated in terrace gardens around the springs for use in dyeing
it red; a special red dye from another species is used for coloring
the _piki_ used in the Katchina dances; and the ashes of _Parryella
filifolia_ are used for coloring. Saffron (_Carthamus tinctorius_) is
used to give the yellow color.

It is fascinating in the extreme to see a woman make _piki_. Dry
corn-meal is mixed with coloring matter and water, and thus converted
into a soft batter. A large, flat stone is so placed on stones that
a fire can be kept continually burning underneath it. As soon as the
slab is as hot as an iron must be to iron starched clothes it is
greased with mutton tallow. Then with fingers dipped in the batter
the woman dexterously and rapidly sweeps them over the surface of the
hot stone. Almost as quickly as the batter touches, it is cooked; so
to cover the whole stone and yet make even and smooth _piki_ requires
skill. It looks so easy that I have known many a white woman (and
man) tempted into trying to make it. Once while attending the Snake
Dance ceremonials at Mashonganavi, a young lady member of my party was
sure she could perform the operation successfully. My Hopi friend,
Kuchyeampsi, gladly gave place to the white lady, and laughingly looked
at me as the latter dipped her fingers into the batter, swept them
over the stone, gave a suppressed exclamation of pain, tried again,
and then hastily rose with three fingers well blistered. My cook, who
was a white man, was sure he could accomplish the operation, so he was
allowed to try. Once was enough. He was a religious man, and bravely
kept silence, which was a good thing for us.

When the _piki_ is sufficiently cooked, it is folded up into neat
little shapes something like the shredded wheat biscuits. One thing I
have often noticed is that a quick and skilful _piki_ maker will keep
a sheet flat, without folding, so that she may place it over the next
sheet when it is about cooked. This seems to make it easier to remove
the newly cooked sheet from the cooking slab.

If you are ever invited into a Hopi house you may rest assured you will
not be there long before a piled-up basket of _piki_ will be brought to
you, for the Hopis are wonderfully hospitable and enjoy giving to all
who become their guests.

Another object seldom absent is the "pole of the soft stuff." This
is a pole suspended from the roof beams upon which all the blankets,
skins, bedding, and wearing apparel are placed. Once upon a time these
were very few and very crude. The skins of animals tanned with the
hair on, blankets made of rabbit skins, and cotton garments made from
home grown, spun, and woven cotton, comprised their "soft stuff." But
when the Spaniards brought sheep into the province of Tusayan, and the
Hopis saw the wonderful improvement a wool staple was over a cotton
one, blankets and dresses of wool were slowly added to the household
treasures, until now the "garments of the old," except antelope, deer,
fox, and coyote skins, are seldom seen.

[Illustration: MASHONGCE, AN ORAIBI MAIDEN, DRYING CORN MEAL.]

[Illustration: THE TRIO OF METATES, AND HOPI WOMAN ABOUT TO GRIND
CORN.]

It is a remarkable fact that the Hopis wore garments made from cotton
which they grew themselves, prior to the time of the Spanish invasion.
They also knew how to color the cotton from unfading mineral and
vegetable dyes, and in the graves of ancient cliff and cave dwellings,
well-woven cotton garments often have been taken.

Sometimes to-day one may see an old man or woman weaving a blanket
from the tanned skins of rabbits. Such a garment is far warmer and
more comfortable than one would imagine. The dressed pelts are twisted
around a home-woven string made of shredded yucca fibre, wild flax, or
cotton, and thus a long rope is formed many yards in length. This rope
is then woven in parallel strings with cross strands of the same kind
of fibre, and a robe made some five or six feet square.

The windows of the ancient Hopi houses were either small open holes
or sheets of gypsum. Of late years modern doors and windows have been
introduced, yet there are still many of the old ones in existence.

Having thus taken a general and cursory survey of Hano, let us, in
turn, visit the six other villages on the mesa heights ere we look
further into the social and ceremonial life of this interesting people.




CHAPTER IV

THE HOPI VILLAGES AND THEIR HISTORY


The province of Tusayan is dotted over in every direction with ruins,
all of which were once inhabited by the Hopi people. Indeed, even
in the "pueblo" stage of their existence they seem to have retained
much of the restlessness and desire for change which marked them when
"nomads."

Traditionary lore among modern Hopis asserts that the well-known ruin
of Casa Grande was once the home of their ancestors, and Dr. Fewkes has
conclusively shown a line of ruins extending from the Gila and Salt
River valleys to the present Hopi villages. So there is no doubt but
that some, at least, of the Hopis came to their modern homes from the
South. It is, therefore, quite possible that such ruins as Montezuma's
Castle were once Hopi homes. Every indication seems to point to the
fact that all these ancient ruins--some of which are caveate, others
cliff, and still others independent pueblos, built in the open, away
from all cliffs--were occupied by a people in dread of attack from
enemies. Every home has its lookout. Every field could be watched.
Nearly all the cliff and cave dwellings were naturally fortresses,
and the open pueblos were so constructed as to render them castles of
defence to their inhabitants on occasion.

In these facts alone we can see an interesting, though to those
primarily concerned a tragic state of affairs; a home-loving people,
sedentary and agricultural, willing and anxious to live at peace,
surrounded and perpetually harassed by wild and fierce nomads,
whose delight was war, their occupation pillage, and their chief
gratifications murder and rapine. The cliff- or cave-dwelling husband
left his home in the morning to plant his corn or irrigate his field,
uncertain whether the night would see him safe again with his loved
ones, a captive in the hands of merciless torturers, or lying dead and
mutilated upon the fields he had planted.

No wonder they are the Hopituh--the people of peace. Who would not long
for peace after many generations of such environment? Poor wretches!
Every field had its memories of slaughter, every canyon had echoed
the fierce yells of attacking foes, the shrieks of the dying, or the
exultant shouts of the victors, and every dwelling-place had heard the
sad wailing of widows and orphans.

The union of these people, under such conditions, in towns became a
necessity--self-preservation demanded cohesion. That isolation and
separation were not unnatural or repulsive to them is shown by the
readiness with which in later times they branched out and established
new towns. These separations often led to bitter and deadly quarrels
among themselves, and elsewhere[2] I have related the traditional
story of the destruction of a Hopi city, Awatobi, by the inhabitants
of rival cities, who in their determination to be "Hopituh"--people of
peace--were willing to fight and exterminate their neighbors and thus
compel peace.

[2] "The Storming of Awatobi," _The Chautauquan_, August, 1901.

Of the present seven mesa cities, towns, or villages of the Hopis, it
is probable that Oraibi only occupies the same site that it had when
first seen by white men in 1540.

It will readily be recalled that when Coronado reached Cibola (Zuni)
and conquered it he was sadly disappointed at not finding the piles of
gold, silver, and precious stones he and his conquistadors had hoped
for. The glittering stories of the gold-strewn "Seven Cities of Cibola"
were sadly proven to be mythical. But hope revived when the wounded
general was told of seven other cities, about a hundred miles to the
northwest. _These_ might be the wealthy cities they sought. Unable to
go himself, he sent his ensign Tobar, with a handful of soldiers and a
priest, and it fell to the lot of these to be the first white men to
gaze upon the wonders of the Hopi villages.

Instead of finding them as we now see them, however, it is pretty
certain that the first village reached was that of Awatobi, a town
now in ruins and whose history is only a memory. Standing on the mesa
at Walpi and looking a little to the right of the entrance to Keam's
Canyon, the location of this "dead city" may be seen.

Walpi occupied a terrace below where it now is, and Sichumavi and
Hano were not founded. At the middle mesa Mashonganavi and Shungopavi
occupied the foothills or lower terraces, and Shipauluvi was not in
existence.

What an interesting conflict that was, in 1540, between the few
civilized and well-armed soldiers of Coronado and the warrior priests
of Awatobi. Tobar and his men stealthily approached the foot of the
mesa under the cover of darkness, but were discovered in the early
morning ere they had made an attack. Led by the warrior priests, the
fighting men of the village descended the trail, where the priests
signified to the strangers that they were unwelcome. They forbade their
ascending the trail, and with elaborate ceremony sprinkled a line of
sacred meal across it, over which no one must pass. To cross that
sacred and mystic line was to declare one's self an enemy and to invite
the swift punishment of gods and men. But Tobar and his warriors knew
nothing of the vengeance of Hopi gods and cared little for the anger of
Hopi men, so they made a fierce and sharp onslaught. When we remember
that this was the first experience of the Hopis with men on horseback,
protected with coats of mail and metal helmets, who fought not only
with sharpened swords, but also slew men at a distance with sticks that
belched forth fire and smoke, to the accompaniment of loud thunder, it
can well be understood that they speedily fell back and soon returned
with tokens of submission. Thus was Awatobi taken. After this Walpi,
Mashonganavi, Shungopavi, and Oraibi were more or less subjugated.

In 1680, as is well known, Popeh, a resident of one of the eastern
pueblos near the Rio Grande, conceived a plan to rid the whole country
of the hated white men, and especially of the "long robes"--the
priests--who had forbidden the ancient ceremonies and dances, and
forcibly baptized their children into a new faith, which to their
superstitious minds was a catastrophe worse than death. The Hopis
joined in the plan, though Awatobi went into it with reluctance, owing
to the kindly ministrations of the humane Padre Porras.

The plot was betrayed, but not early enough to enable the Spaniards to
protect themselves, and on the day of Santa Ana, the 10th of August,
1680, the whole white race was fallen upon and mercilessly slain or
driven out.

For the next nearly twenty years the more timid of the people lived
in dread of Spanish retaliation. Then it was that Hano was founded.
Anticipating the arrival of a large force, a number of Tanoan and Tewan
people fled from the Rio Grande to Tusayan. Some of the former went to
Oraibi, and the latter asked permission to settle at the head of the
Walpi trail near to "the Gap."

Possibly about this same time, too, the villages located on the lower
terraces or foothills moved to the higher sites, as they were thus
afforded better protection.

Sichumavi--"the mound of flowers"--was founded about the year 1750
by Walpians of the Badger Clan, who for some reason or other grew
discontented and wished a town of their own. Here they were joined by
Tanoans of the Asa Clan from the Rio Grande, who for a time had lived
in the seclusion of the Tsegi, as the Navahoes term the Canyon de
Chelly in New Mexico.

Exactly when Shipauluvi was founded is not known, though its name--"the
place of peaches"--clearly denotes that it must have been after the
Spanish invasion, for it was the conquerors who brought with them
peaches. Nor were peaches the only good things the Hopis and other
American aborigines owed to the hated foreigners. They introduced
horses, cows, sheep (which latter have afforded them a large measure of
sustenance and given to them and the Navahoes the material with which
to make their useful rugs and blankets), and goats, besides a number of
vegetables.

Here, then, about the middle of the eighteenth century the Hopi mesa
towns were settled as we now find them, and doubtless with populations
as near as can be to their present numbers.

Hano we have already visited. Let us now, hastily but carefully, glance
at each of the other villages as they appear at the present time.

Passing on to Sichumavi from Hano we find it similar in all its main
features to Hano, except that none of its houses are as high. In the
centre of the town is a large plaza where, in wet weather, a large body
of rain-water collects. This is used for "laundry" purposes, as drink
for the burros and goats, and a bathing pond for all the children of
the pueblo. It is one of the funniest sights imaginable to see the
youngsters playing and frolicking in the water by the hour,--I should
have said liquid mud, for the filth that accumulates in this plaza
reservoir is simply indescribable. Children of both sexes, their brown,
swarthy bodies utterly indifferent to the piercing darts of the sun,
lie down in this liquid filth, roll over, splash one another, run to
and fro, and enjoy themselves hugely, even in the presence of the
white visitor, until a glimpse of the dreaded camera sends them off
splashing, yelling, gesticulating, and some of them crying, to the
nearest shelter.

That supereminence of Hopi character is conservatism is shown as one
walks from Sichumavi to Walpi. Here is a literal exemplification
demonstrating how the present generations "tread in the footsteps" of
their forefathers. The trail over which the bare and moccasined feet of
these people have passed and repassed for years is worn down deep into
the solid sandstone. The springy and yielding foot, unprotected except
by its own epidermis or the dressed skin of the goat, sheep, or deer,
has cut its way into the unyielding rock, thus symbolizing the power of
an unyielding purpose and demonstrating the force of an unchangeable
conservatism.

Between these two pueblos the mesa becomes so narrow that we walk on
a mere strip of rock, deep precipices on either side. To the left are
Keam's Canyon and the road over which we came; to the right are the
gardens, corn-fields, and peach orchards, leading the eye across to the
second mesa, on the heights of which are Mashonganavi and Shipauluvi.

These gardens and corn-fields are the most potent argument possible
against the statements of ignorant and prejudiced white men who claim
that the Indians--Hopis as well as others--are lazy and shiftless.

If a band of white men were placed in such a situation as the Hopis,
and compelled to wrest a living from the sandy, barren, sun-scorched
soil, there are few who would have faith and courage enough to attempt
the evidently hopeless task. But with a patience and steadiness that
make the work sublime, these heroic bronze men have sought out and
found the spots of sandy soil under which the water from the heights
percolates. They have marked the places where the summer's freshets
flow, and thus, relying upon sub-irrigation and the casual and
uncertain rainfalls of summer, have planted their corn, beans, squash,
melons, and chili, carefully hoeing them when necessary, and each
season reap a harvest that would not disgrace modern scientific methods.

All throughout these corn-fields temporary brush sun-shelters are seen,
under which the young boys and girls sit, scaring away the birds and
watching lest any stray burro should enter and destroy that which has
grown as the result of so much labor.

[Illustration: AN ORAIBI WOMAN SHELLING CORN IN A BASKET OF YUCCA
FIBRE.]

[Illustration: THE "BURRO" OF HOPI TRANSPORTATION.]

Here, too, in the harvesting time one may witness busy and interesting
scenes. Whole families move down into temporary brush homes, and women
and children aid the men in gathering the crops. Tethered and hobbled
burros stand patiently awaiting their share of the common labor.

Yonder is a group of men busy digging a deep pit. Watch them as it
nears completion. It is made with a narrow neck and "bellies" out to
considerable width below. Indeed, it is shaped not unlike an immense
vase with a large, almost spherical body and narrow neck. In depth
it is perhaps six, eight, ten, or a dozen feet. On one side a narrow
stairway is cut into the earth leading down to its base, and at the
foot of this stairway a small hole is cut through into the chamber.
Our curiosity is aroused. What is this subterranean place for? As we
watch, the workers bring loads of greasewood and other inflammable
material, kindle a fire in the chamber, and fill it up with the wood.
Now we see the use of the small hole at the foot of the stairway. It
acts as a draught hole, and soon a raging furnace fire is in the vault
before us. When a sufficient heat has been obtained, the bottom hole is
closed, and then scores of loads of corn on the cob are dropped into
the heated chamber. When full, every avenue that could allow air to
enter is sealed, and there the corn remains over night or as long as
is required to cook it,--self-steam it. It is then removed, packed in
sacks or blankets on the backs of the patient burros, and removed to
the corn-rooms of the houses on the mesa above.

Other fresh corn is carried up and spread out on the house-tops to dry.

All this is stored away in the corn-rooms, into which strangers
sometimes are invited, but oftener kept away from. It is stacked up in
piles like cord-wood, and happy is that household whose corn-stack is
large at the beginning of a hard winter.

Walpi--the place of the gap--though not a large town, is better
known to whites than any of the other Hopi towns. Here it was that
the earliest visitors came and saw the thrilling Snake Dance. Its
southeastern trail, with the wonderful detached rock leaning over on
one side and the cliff on the other, between which the steep and rude
stairway is constructed, has been so often pictured, as well as the
so-called "Sacred Rock" of the Walpi dance plaza, that they are now as
familiar as photographs of Trinity Church, New York, or St. Paul's,
London. As one stands on the top of one of the houses he sees how
closely Walpi has been built. It covers the whole of the south end of
the mesa, up to the very edges of the precipice walls in three of its
four directions, and, as already shown, the fourth is the narrow neck
of rock connecting Walpi with Sichumavi and Hano. The dance plaza is
to the east, a long, narrow place, at the south end of which is the
"Sacred Rock." It is approached from south and north by the regular
"street" or trail, and one may leave it to the west through an archway,
over which is built one of the houses.

Several ruins on the east mesa are pointed out as "Old" Walpi, and
the name of one of these--Nusaki--(also known as Kisakobi) is a clear
indication that at one time the Spaniards had a mission church there. A
Walpian, Pauwatiwa, shows, with pride, an old carved beam in his house
which all Hopis say came from the mission when it was destroyed. On the
terraces just below the mesa-top--perhaps a hundred or two hundred
feet down--are a number of tiny corrals, to and from which, morning and
evening, the boys, young men, and sometimes the women and girls may be
seen driving their herds of sheep and goats, and in which the burros
are kept when not in use. These picturesque corrals from below look
almost like swallows' nests stuck on the face of the cliffs.

As we wander about in the narrow and quaint streets of Walpi we cannot
fail to observe the ladder-poles which are thrust through hatchways,
down which we peer into the darkness below with little satisfaction.
These lead to the _kivas_, or sacred ceremonial chambers, where all
the secret rites of the different clans are held. Here we shall be
privileged to enter if no ceremony is going on. The kivas are generally
hewn out of the solid rock, or partially so, and are from twelve to
eighteen feet square. When not otherwise occupied it is no uncommon
sight to see in a kiva a Hopi weaver squatted before his rude loom,
making a dress for his wife or daughter, or weaving a ceremonial sash
or kilt for his own use in one of the many dances.

In every Hopi town one cannot fail to be struck with the nudity of
the children of all ages, from the merest babies up to eight and
even ten years. With what Victor Hugo calls "the chaste indecency of
childhood" these fat, bronze Cupids and embryo Venuses romp and play,
as unconscious of their nakedness as Adam and Eve before their fall.

From Walpi we descend to the corn-fields, and, after a slow and
tedious drag across the sandy plain to the west, find ourselves at
Mashonganavi, or at least at the foot of the trail which leads to the
heights above. Here, as at the other mesas, there are two or three
trails, all steep, all nerve-wrenching, all picturesque. Arrived at
the village, we find Mashonganavi an interesting place, for it is so
compactly built that one often hunts in vain (for a while, at least) to
find the hidden dance plaza, around which the whole town seems to be
built. Some of the houses are three stories high, and there are quaint,
narrow alley-ways, queer dark tunnels, and underground kivas as at
Walpi. The Antelope and Snake kivas are situated on the southeastern
side of the village, on the very edge of the mesa, and with the tawny
stretch of the Painted Desert leading the eye to the deep purple of the
Giant's Chair and others of the Mogollon buttes, which Ives conceived
as great ships in the desert, suddenly and forever arrested and
petrified.

About one hundred and fifty feet below the village is a terrace which
almost surrounds the Mashonganavi mesa, as a rocky ruff around its
neck. This terrace is so connected with the main plateau that one can
drive upon it with a wagon and thus encamp close to the village. Here
in 1901 the two wagon loads of sightseers and tourists which I had
guided to the mysteries and delights of Tusayan, over the sandy and
scorched horrors of a portion of the Painted Desert, encamped, during
the last days of the Snake Dance ceremonies.

From here a trail--at its head an actual rock stairway--leads down to
a spring in the valley, where the government school is situated, and
from whence all our cooking and drinking water had to be brought. Each
morning and evening droves of sheep and goats passed our camp, coming
up from below and going down to the scant pasturage of the valley.
Scarcely an hour passed when some Indian--oftener half a dozen--came
to our camp, and failed to pass. Especially at meal times, when the
biscuits were in the oven, the stew on the fire, the beans in the
pot, and the dried fruit in the stew-kettle, did they seem to enjoy
visiting us. And they liked to come close, too; far too close for our
comfort, as their persons are not always of the most cleanly character,
and their habits of the most decorous and refined. Hence rules had to
be laid down which it was my province to see observed, one of which
was that visiting Indians must keep to a distance, especially at meal
times. Another was that if our blankets were allowed to remain unrolled
(in order to get the direct benefit of the sun's rays) they were not so
left for our Indian friends to lounge upon.

[Illustration: AN AGED HOPI AT ORAIBI.]

[Illustration: A HOPI, WEAVING A NATIVE COTTON CEREMONIAL KILT.]

We were generally a hungry lot as we sat or squatted around our canvas
tablecloth, our table the rocky ground, and there was scant ceremony
when ceremony stood in the way of appeasing our appetites. But we
were not wasteful. If there were any "scraps" or any small remains on
a plate or dish they were "saved for the Indians." So that at length
it became a catch-word with us. If there was anything, anywhere, at
any time, that we did not like, some one of the party was sure to
suggest that it be "saved for the Indians." And that has often since
suggested to me our national policy in treating the Amerind. There is
too much national "Save that for the Indians." Land that is no good to
a white man--save it for the Indians. Beef cattle that white men don't
buy--save them for the Indians. Spoiled flour--save it for the Indians.
Seeds that won't grow--ship 'em to the Indians.

And that reminds me of a now not undistinguished artist who once
accompanied a small party of mine some years ago to the Snake Dance
at Oraibi. I came down to camp one day and found him cooking several
slices of our finest ham, dishing up our choicest and scarcest
vegetables, crackers, and delicacies, with a large pot of our most
expensive coffee simmering and steaming by the camp-fire; and when
I asked, "For whom?" was coolly told it was for three lazy, fat,
lubberly, dirty Oraibis, who sat in delightful anticipation around the
pump close by.

My objection to this use of our provisions was expressed in forceful
and vigorous Anglo-Saxon, and when I was told it was "none of my
business," I emphasized my objection with a distinct refusal to allow
_my_ provisions to be thus used. Then for half an hour immediately
afterwards, and for days subsequently, at intervals, I was regaled with
vocal chastisement worthy to be ranked with Demosthenes' "Philippics."
"The Indian was a man and a brother. We were Christians, indeed, and of
a truth when we would see our poor red brother starve to death before
our sight," etc., _ad libitum_.

Now between my artist friend's course and the one first named the happy
mean lies. I do not believe we should give to the Indian only the
scraps that fall from our national table; neither, on the other hand,
do I believe we are called upon to give him the very best of our foods
and provide special coffee at seventy-five cents a pound.

And this sermon has occupied our time, by the way, as we have walked
up the trail, by the Mashonganavi kivas to a spot from which we
gain a good view of the village and of Shipauluvi on its higher and
detached pinnacle a mile farther back. Again descending the trail to
the terrace below, we walk half a mile and then begin the ascent of a
steep stone stairway, carefully constructed, that leads us directly to
Shipauluvi. This is a small town, occupying almost the whole of the
dizzy site, with its few houses built around its rectangular plaza.

Here I was once present at a witchcraft trial. It was a complicated
affair, in which the dead and living, Navahoes and Hopis, were
intertwined. A Hopi woman accused a Navaho of having bewitched her
husband, thus causing his death, and of stealing from him a blanket
and some sheep. The evidence showed that the Navaho had met the Hopi,
and that soon afterwards he was taken sick and died, whereupon the
sheep and blanket were found in the possession of the Navaho. There was
little doubt of its being a case of theft, and the Navaho was ordered
to return sheep and blanket, but he was exonerated from the charge of
witchcraft.

Living in Shipauluvi is one of those singular anomalies so often found
in the pueblos, an albino woman. There are a dozen or so living in the
other villages. With Hopi face, but white hair and skin, pink eyes, and
general bleached-out appearance, they never fail to excite the greatest
surprise in the mind of the stranger, and to those who see them often
there is still a lingering wonder as to the cause of so singular a
variation of physical appearance. At Mashonganavi there are two men
albinos, one of them one of the Snake priests. It is claimed by the
Indians that these albinos are of as pure Hopi blood as those who are
normal in color, and the fact is incontrovertible that they are born of
pure-blooded parents on both sides.

Returning now to the terrace below, common to both Mashonganavi
and Shipauluvi, the trail is descended to Shungopavi. A deep canyon
separates the mesa upon which this village is built from the one
upon which the two former are located. Near the foot of the trail
the government has established a schoolhouse, and close by are the
springs and pools of water. It is a sandy ride or walk, and on a hot
day--"a-tu-u-u"--wearisome and exhausting. For half a dollar or so one
may hire a burro and his owner as guide, and it is much easier to go
burro-back over the yielding sand than to walk. There are straggling
peach trees on the way, and a trail, rocky and steep, to ascend ere we
see Shungopavi.

The wagons may be driven to the village (as mine were), but it is a
long way around. The road to Oraibi across the mesa is taken, and when
about half-way across a crude road is followed which runs out upon the
"finger tip" where Shungopavi stands. Here the governor in 1901 was
Lo-ma-win-i, and he and I became very good friends. Knowing my interest
in the Snake Dance, he sent for the chief priests of the Snake and
Antelope Clans (Kai-wan-i-wi-ya-ŭ-má and Lo-ma-ho-in-i-wa), and from
them I received a cordial invitation to be present and participate in
the secret ceremonials of the kiva at their next celebration. I have
been privileged to be present, but was never invited before.

The governor is an expert silversmith, the necklace he wears being
a specimen of his own art. It is wonderful how, with their crude
materials and tools, such excellent work can be produced. Mexican
dollars are melted in a tiny home-made crucible, rude moulds are carved
out of sand--or other stone into which the melted metal is poured, and
then hand manipulation, hammering, and brazing complete the work.
Their silver articles of adornment are finger rings, bracelets, and
necklaces.

Oraibi is the most western and conservative of the Hopi villages.
It is by far the largest, having perhaps a third of the whole
population. It is divided into two factions, the so-called hostiles
and friendlies, the former being the conservative element, determined
not to forsake "the ways of the old," the ways of their ancestors;
and the latter being generally willing to obey orders ostensibly
issued by "Wasintonia"--as they call the mysterious Indian Department.
These divisions are a source of great sorrow to the former leaders of
the village. In the introduction to "The Oraibi Soyal Ceremony" by
Professor George A. Dorsey, of the Field Columbian Museum, and Rev.
H. R. Voth, his assistant, and formerly a Mennonite missionary at
Oraibi, this dissension is spoken of as follows: "During the year 1891
representatives of the Indian Department made strenuous efforts to
secure pupils for the government school located at Keam's Canyon, about
forty miles from Oraibi. This effort on the part of the government
was bitterly resented by a certain faction of the people of Oraibi,
who seceded from Lolúlomai, the village chief, and soon after began
to recognize Lomahungyoma as leader. The feeling on the part of this
faction against the party under Lolúlomai was further intensified by
the friendly attitude the Liberals took toward other undertakings of
the government, such as allotment of land in severalty, the building of
dwelling-houses at the foot of the mesa, the gratuitous distribution
of American clothing, agricultural implements, etc. The division thus
created manifested itself not only in the everyday life of the people,
but also in their religious ceremonies. Inasmuch as the altars and
their accessories are the chief elements in these ceremonies, they soon
became the special object of controversy, each party contending for
their possession; and so it came about that the altars remained to that
faction to which the chief priests and those who had them in charge
belonged, the members of the opposing faction, as a rule, withdrawing
from further participation in the celebration of the ceremony."

The dance plaza is on the western side of the village, and there the
dances and other outdoor ceremonies take place.

One of my earliest visits to Oraibi was made in the congenial company
of Major Constant Williams, who was then the United States Indian
Agent, at Fort Defiance, for the Navahoes and Hopis. We had driven
across the Navaho Reservation from Fort Defiance to Keam's Canyon,
and then visited the mesas in succession. We drove to the summit of
the Oraibi mesa in his buckboard, a new conveyance which he had had
made to order at Durango, Colo. The road was the same one up which the
soldiers had helped the horses drag the Gatling gun at the time of
the arrest of the so-called "hostiles," who were sent to Alcatraz for
their refusal to forsake their Oraibi ways and follow the "Washington
way." It was a steep, ugly road, rough, rocky, and dangerous. The
Major's horses, however, were strong, intelligent, and willing, so
we made the ascent with comparative ease. The return, however, was
different. There were so many things of interest at Oraibi that I found
it hard to tear myself away, and the "shades of night were falling
fast"--far too fast for the Major's peace of mind--ere I returned to
the buckboard. By the time we had traversed the summit of the mesa
to the head of the "trail" part of the descent, it was dark enough
to make the cold tremors perambulate up and down one's spine. But
I had every confidence in the Major's driving, his horses, and his
knowledge of that fearfully precipitous and dangerous road. Slowly we
descended, the brake scraping and often entirely holding the wheels.
We could see and feel the dark abysses, first on one side and then on
the other, or feel the overshadowing of the mighty rock walls which
towered above us. I was congratulating myself that we had passed all
the dangerous places, and in a few moments should be on the drifted
sand, which, though steep, was perfectly safe, when we came to the
last "drop off." This can best be imagined by calling it what it was,
a steep, rocky stairway, of two or three steps, with a precipice on
one side, and a towering wall on the other. Hugging the wall, the
upper step extended like a shelf for eight or ten feet, and the nigh
horse, disliking to make the abrupt descent of the step, clung close to
the wall and walked along the shelf. The off horse dropped down. The
result can be imagined. One horse's feet were up at about the level
of the other's back. The wheels followed their respective horses. The
nigh wheels stayed on the shelf, the off wheels came down the step.
The Major and I decided, very suddenly, to leave the buckboard. We
were rudely toppled out, down the precipice on the left,--I at the
bottom of the heap. Down came camera cases, tripods, boxes of plates,
and all the packages of odds and ends I had bought from the Indians,
bouncing about our ears. Like a flash the two horses took fright and
started off, dragging that overturned buckboard after them. They did
not swirl around to the left down the sandy road, but to the right upon
a terrace of the rocky mesa, and we saw the sparks fly as the ironwork
of the wagon struck and restruck the rocks. The noise and roar and
clatter were terrific. Great rocks were started to rolling, and the
echoes were enough to awaken the dead. Suddenly there was a louder
crash than ever, and then all was silent. We felt our hearts thumping
against our ribs, and the only sounds we could hear were their fierce
beatings and our own hard breathing. Fortunately, we had landed on a
narrow shelf some seven feet down, covered deep with sand, so neither
of us was seriously hurt except in our feelings; but imagine the dismay
that swept aside all thoughts of thankfulness for our narrow escape
when that crash and dread silence came. No doubt horses and buckboard
were precipitated over one of the cliffs and had all gone to "eternal
smash." My conscience made me feel especially culpable, for had I not
detained the Major we should have left the mesa long before it was so
dark. I had caused the disaster! It was nothing that I had been "spilt
out," that doubtless my cameras were smashed, and the plates I had
exposed with so much care and in spite of the opposition of the Hopis
were in tiny pieces--for I had clearly heard that peculiar "smash" that
spoke of broken glass as I myself landed on the top of my head. Think
of that span of fine horses, and the Major's new buckboard! The thought
about completed the work of mental and physical paralysis the shock of
falling had begun. I was suddenly awakened, not by the Major's voice,
for neither of us had yet spoken a word,--and indeed, I didn't know
but that he was dead,--but by the scratching of a match. Then he was
alive! That was cause for thankfulness. Setting fire to a dried cactus,
the Major, after thoroughly picking himself up and shaking himself
together, proceeded to gather up the photographic débris. Silently I
aided him. Still silently we piled it all together, as much under the
shelter of the rocks as possible, and then, still without a word, we
climbed back upon the road and started to walk to the house of Mr.
Voth, the missionary, where we were stopping. For half a mile or more
we trudged on wearily through the deep and yielding sand. Still never
a word. We both breathed heavily, for the sand was dreadfully soft. I
was wondering what I could say. My conscience so overpowered me that I
dared not speak. I was humbling myself, inwardly, into the very dust
for having been the unconscious and innocent, yet nevertheless actual
cause of this disaster. I simply couldn't break the silence. To offer
to pay for the horses and buckboard was easy (though that would be a
serious matter to my slender purse) compared with appeasing the sturdy
Major for the shock to his mental and physical system. Then, too, how
he must feel! At the very thought the cold sweat started on my brow and
I could feel it trickling down my chest and back.

[Illustration: AN ORAIBI BASKET WEAVER.]

[Illustration: AN ADMIRING HOPI MOTHER.]

Suddenly the Major stopped, and in the darkness I could dimly see him
take out his large white handkerchief, mop his brow and head, and then,
with explosive force, but in a voice charged with deepest and sincerest
feeling he broke the painful silence: "Thank God, the sun isn't
shining."

Brave-hearted, generous Major Williams! Not a word of reproach, no
suggestion of blame. What a relief to my burdened soul. I was almost
hysterical in my ready response. Yes, we could be thankful that our
lives and limbs were spared. We were both unhurt. New horses and
buckboard could be purchased, but life and health preserved called for
thankfulness to the Divine Protector.

Thus we congratulated ourselves as we slowly plodded along through
the sand. Arrived at Mr. Voth's, we soon retired,--he in the bedroom
prepared for him by kindly Mrs. Voth, I in my blankets outside. The
calm face of the sky soon soothed my disquieted feelings and nerves,
and in a short time I fell asleep. Not a thought disturbed me until
just as the faintest peepings of dawn began to show on the eastern
ridges, when, awakening, I heard a noise as of a horse shaking his
harness close by. Like a flash I jumped up, and, in my night-robe
though I was, rushed to the entrance to the corral. There, unharmed
and uninjured, with harness upon them complete, the lines dangling
down behind, the neck yoke holding them together, as if they were just
brought from the stable ready to be hitched to the wagon, were the two
horses which I had vividly pictured to myself as dashed to pieces upon
the cruel rocks at the foot of one of the mesa precipices.

I could scarcely refrain from shouting my joy. Hastily I dressed, and
while dressing thought: "The horses are here; I'll go and hunt for
the wagon." So noiselessly I hitched them to Mr. Voth's buckboard and
drove off. When I came to the scene of the disaster, I found I could
drive upon the rocky terrace. There was no difficulty in following the
course of the runaways. Here was part of the seat, farther on some of
the ironwork, and still farther the dashboard. At last I reached the
overturned and dismantled vehicle. It was in a sorry state. Two of the
wheels were completely dished, the seat and dashboard were "scraped"
off, one whiffletree was broken, and the whole thing looked as if it
had been rudely treated in a tornado. I turned it over, tied the wheels
so that they would hold, and then, fastening it behind Mr. Voth's
buckboard, slowly drove back to the house.

When the Major awoke he was as much surprised and pleased as I was
to find the horses safe and sound and the buckboard in a repairable
condition. With a little manœuvring we got the vehicle as far as
Keam's Canyon, where old Jack Tobin, the blacksmith, fixed it up so
that it could be driven back to Fort Defiance, and thither, with care
and caution, the Major drove me. A few weeks later, under the healing
powers of the agency blacksmith, the buckboard renewed its youth,--new
wheels, new seat, new dashboard, and an all covering new coat of paint
wiped out the memories of our trip down from the Oraibi mesa, except
those we carried in the depths of our own consciousness.




CHAPTER V

A FEW HOPI CUSTOMS


To know any people thoroughly requires many years of studied
observation. The work of such men as A. M. Stephen, Dr. Fewkes, Rev.
H. R. Voth, and Dr. George A. Dorsey reveals the vast field the Hopis
offer to students. To the published results of these indefatigable
workers the student is referred for fuller knowledge. There are certain
things of interest, however, that the casual observer cannot fail to
note.

The costume of the men is undoubtedly a modification of the dress
of the white man. Trousers are worn, generally of white muslin, and
from the knee down on the outer side they are split open at the seam.
Soleless stockings, home-spun, dyed and knit, are worn, fastened with
garters, similar in style and design, though smaller, to the sashes
worn by the women. The feet are covered with rawhide moccasins. The
shirt is generally of colored calico, though on special occasions
the "dudes" of the people appear in black or violet velvet shirts
or tunics, which certainly give them a handsome appearance. The
never-failing banda, wound around the forehead, completes the costume,
though accessories in the shape of silver and wampum necklaces, finger
rings, etc., are often worn.

The costume of the women is both picturesque and adapted to their
life and customs. It is neat, appropriate, and modest. The effort our
government feels called upon to make to lead them to change it for
calico "wrappers," in accordance with a principle adopted which regards
as "bad" and "a hindrance to civilization" anything native, is to my
mind vicious and senseless. The Indians are not to be civilized by
making them wear white people's costumes, nor by any such nonsense.
There are those who condemn their basket weaving, because, forsooth, it
is not a Christian art. True civilizing processes come from within, and
desire for change must precede the outward manifestation if permanent
results are desired.

To return to the costume. It consists mainly of a home-woven robe,
dyed in indigo. When made, it looks more like an Indian blanket than
a dress, but when the woman throws it over her right shoulder, sews
the two sides together, leaving an opening for the right arm, and then
wraps one of the highly colored and finely woven sashes around her
waist, the beholder sees a dress at once healthful and picturesque. As
a rule, it comes down a little below the knee, and the left shoulder
is uncovered. Of late years many of the women and girls have learned
to wear a calico slip under the picturesque native dress, so that both
arms and shoulders are covered.

Most of the time the legs and feet are naked, but when a woman wishes
to be fully attired, she wraps buckskins, cut obliquely in half,
around her legs, adroitly fastening the wrappings just above the knee
with thongs cut from buckskin, and then encases her feet in shapely
moccasins. There is no compression of her solid feet, no distortion
with senseless high heels. She is too self-poised, mentally, to care
anything about Parisian fashions. Health, neatness, comfort, are the
desiderata sought and obtained in her dress. The question is sometimes
asked, however, if the heavy leg swathings of buckskin are not a mere
fashion of Hopi dress. Undoubtedly there is a following of custom here
as well as elsewhere, and, as I have before remarked, one of the keys
to the Hopi character is his conservatism. But the buckskin leggings
have a decided reason for their existence. In a desert country where
cacti, cholla, many varieties of prickly shrubs, sharp rocks, and
dangerous reptiles abound, it is necessary that the women whose work
calls them into these dangers should so dress as to be prepared to
overcome them. Many a man wearing the ordinary trousers of civilization
and finding himself off the beaten paths of these desert regions has
longed for just such protection as the Hopi women give themselves. The
cow-boys who ride pell-mell through the brush wear leather trousers,
and their stirrups are covered with tough and thick leather to protect
their shoes from being pierced by the searching needles of the cactus,
cholla, and buck-brush.

The adornments that a Hopi maiden of fashion affects are silver rings
and bracelets made by native silversmiths, and necklaces of coral,
glass, amber, or more generally of the shell wampum found all over the
continent. The finer necklets of wampum are highly prized, and when
very old and ornamented with pieces of turquoise, can not be purchased
for large sums. Occasionally ear pendants are worn. These are made of
wood, half an inch broad and an inch long, inlaid on one side with
pieces of bright shell, turquoise, etc.

When a girl reaches the marriageable age, she is required by the
customs of her people to fix up her hair in two large whorls, one on
each side of her head. This gives her a most striking appearance.
The whorl represents the squash blossom, which is the Hopi emblem
of purity and maidenhood. Girls mature very early, the young maidens
herewith represented being not more than from twelve to fifteen years
of age.

[Illustration: SHUPELA, FATHER OF KOPELI, LATE SNAKE PRIEST AT WALPI.]

[Illustration: A HOPI GIRL, ORAIBI.]

When a woman marries she must no longer wear the nash-mi (whorls). A
new symbolism must be introduced. The hair is done up in two pendant
rolls, in imitation of the ripened fruit of the long squash, which is
the Hopi emblem of fruitfulness.

In my book on "Indian Basketry" I have described in detail the basketry
of the Hopis. There are two distinct varieties made at the four
villages of the middle and western mesas. Those made on the middle mesa
are of yucca fibre (mo-hu) coiled around a core of grass or broom-corn
(sü-ü). Those of Oraibi are of willow and approximate as nearly to
the crude willow work of civilization as any basketry made by the
aborigines. In both cases the splints are dyed, commonly nowadays with
the startling aniline dyes, and with marvellous fertility of invention
the weavers make a thousand and one geometrical designs, in imitation
of natural objects, katchinas, etc. These are mainly plaques, but
the yucca fibre weavers make a treasure or trinket basket, somewhat
barrel-shaped, oftentimes with a lid, that is both pretty and useful.
The name for all the yucca variety is pü-ü-ta. The Oraibi willow
plaques are called yung-ya-pa, while a bowl-shaped basket is sa-kah-ta,
and the bowls made of coiled willow splints bought from the Havasupai
are sü-kü-wü-ta.

The Hopi weavers when at work invariably keep a blanket full of moist
sand near them in which the splints are buried. This keeps them
flexible, and the moist sand is better than water.

A reddish-brown native dye is made from Ohaishi (_Thelesperma
gracile_), with which the splints are colored.

Unfortunately, the introduction of aniline dyes has almost killed
the industry of making native dyes, but there are some few
conservatives--God bless them!--who adhere to the ancient colors and
methods of preparing them.

It cannot be said that the Hopis are devoid of musical taste, for in
the early morning especially, as the youths and men take their ponies
or flocks of goats and sheep out to pasture, they sing with sweet and
far-reaching voices many picturesque melodies.

Of the weird singing at their religious ceremonials I have spoken in
the chapter devoted to that purpose.

To most civilized ears Hopi instrumental music, however, is as much a
racket and din as is Chinese music. The lelentu, or flute, however,
produces weird, soft, melancholy music. Their rattles are of three
kinds, the gourd rattle (ai-i-ya), the rattle used by the Antelope
priests, and the leg rattle of turtle shell and sheep's trotters
(yöng-ush-o-na). The drum and hand tombe are crude affairs, the former
made by hollowing out a tree trunk and stretching over each end wet
rawhide, the lashings also being of strips of wet rawhide (with
the hair on), which, when dry, tightens so as to give the required
resonance. The hand tombe is as near like a home-made tambourine as can
be. It has no jingles, however. Another instrument is the strangest
conception imaginable. It consists of a large gourd shell, from the top
of which a square hole has been cut. Across this is placed a notched
stick, one end of which is held in the performer's left hand. In the
other hand is a sheep's thigh-bone, which is worked back and forth
over the notched stick, and the resultant noise is the desired music.
This instrument is the zhe-gun´-pi.

They do not seem to have many games, so many of their religious
ceremonials affording them the diversion other peoples seek in athletic
sports. Their racing is purely religious, as I have elsewhere shown,
and they get much fun out of some of their semi-religious exercises.

A game that they are very fond of, and that requires considerable
skill to play, is wē-la. The game consists in several players, each
armed with a feathered dart, or ma-te´-va, rushing after a small hoop
made of corn husks or broom-corn well bound together--the wē-la,
and throwing their darts so that they stick into it The hoop is about
a foot in diameter and two inches thick, the ma-te´-va nearly a foot
long. Each player's dart has a different color of feathers, so that
each can tell when he scores. To see a dozen swarthy and almost nude
youths darting along in the dance plaza, or streets, or down in the
valley on the sand, laughing, shouting, gesticulating, every now and
then stopping for a moment, jabbering over the score, then eagerly
following the motion of the thrower of the wē-la so as to be ready
to strike the ma-te´-va into it, and then, suddenly letting them fly,
is a picturesque and lively sight.

The Hopi is quite a traveller. Though fond of home, I have met members
of the tribe in varied quarters of the Painted Desert Region. They
get a birch bark from the Verdi Valley with which they make the dye
for their moccasins. A yellowish brown color, called _pavissa_, is
obtained from a point near the junction of the Little Colorado and
Marble Canyon. Here they obtain salt, and at the bottom of the salt
springs, where the waters bubble up in pools, this _pavissa_ settles.
Bahos, or prayer sticks, are always deposited at the time of obtaining
this ochre, as it is to be used in the painting of the face of the
bahos used in most sacred ceremonies. The so-called Moki trail is
evidence of the long association between the Hopis and the Havasupais
in Havasu (Cataract) Canyon, and I have often met them there trading
blankets, horses, etc., for buckskin and the finely woven wicker
bowl-baskets--kü-üs--of the Havasupais, which are much prized by the
Hopis.

Occasionally he reaches as far northeast as Lee's Ferry and even
crosses into southern Utah, and at Zuni to the southeast he is ever
a welcome visitor. The Apaches in the White Mountains tell that on
occasions the Hopis will visit them, and when visiting the Yumas in
1902 they informed me that long ago the Snake Dancing Mokis were their
friends, and sometimes came to see them.

Dr. Walter Hough has written a most interesting paper on "Environmental
Interrelations in Arizona," in which are many items about the Hopis. He
says they brought from their priscan home corn, beans, melons, squash,
cotton, and some garden plants, and that they have since acquired
peaches, apricots, and wheat, and among other plants which they
infrequently cultivate may be named onions, chili, sunflowers, sorghum,
tomatoes, potatoes, grapes, pumpkins, garlic, coxcomb, coriander,
saffron, tobacco, and nectarines. They are great beggars for seeds and
will try any kind that may be given to them.

Owing to their dependence upon wild grasses for food when their corn
crops used to fail,--that is, in the days before a paternal government
helped them out at such times,--every Hopi child was a trained botanist
from his earliest years; not trained from our standpoint, but from
theirs. We should say much of his knowledge was unscientific, and it
goes far beyond the use of grasses and plants as food. Dr. Hough in
his paper gives a number of examples of the uses to which the various
seeds, etc., are put. The botanist as well as the ethnologist will find
this a most comprehensive and useful list. For food forty-seven seeds,
berries, stems, leaves, or roots are eaten. The seeds of a species of
sporobolus are ground with corn to make a kind of cake, which the Hopis
greatly enjoy. The leaves of a number are cooked and eaten as greens.

A large amount of folk-lore connected with plants has been collected
by Drs. Fewkes and Hough. From the latter's extensive list I quote.
For headache the leaves of the _Astragalus mollissimus_ are bruised
and rubbed on the temples; tea is made from the root of the _Gaura
parviflora_ for snake bite; women boil the _Townsendia arizonica_
into a tea and drink it to induce pregnancy; a plant called by the
Hopi _wütakpala_ is rubbed on the breast or legs for pain; _Verbesina
enceloides_ is used on boils or for skin diseases; _Croton texlusis_ is
taken as an emetic; _Allionia linearis_ is boiled to make an infusion
for wounds; the mistletoe that grows on the juniper (_Phoradendron
juniperinum_) makes a beverage which both Hopi and Navaho say is like
coffee, and a species that grows on the cottonwood, called _lo mapi_,
is used as medicine; the leaves of _Gilia longiflora_ are boiled
and drank for stomach ache; the leaves of the _Gilia multiflora_
(which is collected forty miles south of Walpi at an elevation of six
thousand feet), when bruised and rubbed on ant bites is said to be a
specific; _Oreocarya suffruticosa_ is pounded up and used for pains in
the body; _Carduus rothrockii_ is boiled and drank as tea for colds
which give rise to a prickling sensation in the throat; the leaves
of _Coleosanthus wrightii_ are bruised and rubbed on the temples for
headache, as also is the _Artemisia canadensis_; and so on throughout a
list as long again as this.

In connection with this list Dr. Hough calls attention to the workings
of the Hopi mind in a manner which justifies an extensive quotation:--

 "The word 'medicine' as applied by the Hopi and other tribes is very
 comprehensive, including charms to influence gods, men, and animals,
 or to cure a stomach ache. As stated, from experiments with the plants
 some have been discovered which are uniform in action and which
 would have place in a standard pharmacopœia. Thus there are heating
 plasters, powders for dressing wounds, emetics, diuretics, purges,
 sudorific infusions, etc. Other plants are of doubtful value, and in
 their use other animistic ideas may enter, though some of them, such
 as those infused for colds, headache, rheumatism, fever, etc., may
 have therapeutic properties. The obligation of the civilized to the
 uncivilized for healing plants is very great. Another class is clearly
 out of the domain of empirical medicine. Tea made from the thistle is
 a remedy for prickling pains in the larynx, milkweed will induce a
 flow of milk, and there are other examples of inferential medicine.
 Perhaps another class is shown by the employment of the plant named
 for the bat, in order to induce sleep in the daytime.

 "It may be interesting to look into the workings of the Indian mind as
 shown by his explanation of the uses of certain of these plants.

 "A beautiful scarlet gilia (_Gilia aggregata_ Spreng) grows on the
 talus of the giant mesa on which ancient Awatobi stood. This is the
 only locality where the plant has been collected in this region,
 but it grows in profusion on the White Mountains, one hundred and
 twenty-five miles southeast.

 "The herdsman of our party was asked the name and use of the plant. He
 replied: 'It is the _pala katchi_, or red male flower, and it is very
 good for catching antelope. Before going out to kill antelope, hunters
 rub up the flowers and leaves of the plant and mix them with the meal
 which they offer during their prayer to the gods of the chase.'

 "'Why is that?' was asked.

 "'Because,' he replied, 'the antelope is very fond of this plant and
 eats it greedily when he can find it.' (Animistic idea.)

 "Another creeping plant (_Solanum triflorum_ Nutt.), which bears
 numerous green fruit about the size of a cherry, filled with small
 seeds, is called _cavayo ngahu_, or watermelon medicine. The plant may
 be likened to a miniature watermelon vine. It was explained that if
 one took the fruit and planted it in the same hill with the watermelon
 seeds, would there be many watermelons,--that is, the watermelon would
 be influenced to become as prolific as the small plant.

 "Every one is familiar with the clematis bearing fluffy bunches of
 seeds having long, hair-like appendages. An Indian lecturing on a
 collected specimen of the clematis said: 'This is very good to make
 the hair grow. You make a tea of it and rub it on the head, and pretty
 quick your hair will hang down to your hips,' indicating by a gesture
 the extraordinary length. For the same reason the fallugia is a good
 hair tonic."

The Hopi uses a weapon for catching rabbits which, for want of a
better name, white men call a boomerang. It possesses none of the
strange properties of the Australian weapon, yet in the hands of a
skilled Hopi it is wonderfully effective. I have seen fifty Oraibis on
horseback, and numbers of men and boys on foot, each armed with one
of these weapons, on their rabbit drive. They determine on a certain
area and then beat it thoroughly for rabbits, and woe be to the unhappy
cottontail or even lightning-legged jack-rabbit if a Hopi throws his
boomerang. Like the wind it speeds true to its aim and seldom fails to
kill or seriously wound.

Though most of the men have guns and many of the youths revolvers, the
bow and arrow as a weapon is not entirely discarded. All the young
boys, even little tots that can scarcely walk, use the bow and arrow
with dexterity. A small hard melon or pumpkin is thrown into the air
and a child will sometimes put two or even three arrows into it before
it reaches the ground. Old men who are too poor to own modern weapons
are often seen sitting like the proverbial and oft-pictured fox,
stealthily watching for a ground squirrel, prairie-dog, or rat to come
out of his hole, when the speedy and certain arrow is let fly to his
undoing.

Except for a little wild meat of this kind, secured seldom, or a sheep,
which is too valuable for its wool to kill on any except very special
and rare occasions, the Hopis are practically vegetarians. They are
not above taking what the gods send them, however, in the shape of a
dead horse. A few years ago Mr. D. M. Riordan, formerly of Flagstaff,
conducted a party of friends over a large section of the region
presented in these pages, and when near Oraibi a beautiful mare of one
of the teams suddenly bloated and speedily died. In less than an hour
after they were told they might take the flesh; the Hopis had skinned
it, cut up the carcass, and removed every shred of it. I afterwards saw
the flesh cut into strips, hung outside the houses of the fortunate
possessors to dry, and I doubt not that horse meat made many a happy
meal for them during the months that followed.

[Illustration: HOPI CHILDREN, AT ORAIBI, WAITING FOR A SCRAMBLE OF
CANDY.]

When a Hopi feels rich he may buy a sheep or a goat from a Navaho, or
even kill a burro in order to vary his dietary.

Corn is his staple food. It is cooked in a variety of ways, but the
three principal methods are piki, pikami, and pū-vū-lū. Piki
is a thin, wafer-like bread, cooked as I have before described.

On one occasion, at Oraibi, an old friend, Na-wi-so-ma, was making piki
for the Snake Dancers. When I took my friends to see her, they all ate
of the bread and asked her all manner of questions about it.

Na-wi-so-ma was very kind and obliging. One of my party wished to
make moving photographs of the operation of making piki, so she
cheerfully moved her tōō-ma (cooking stone) outside. She insisted
upon placing it, however, so that her back was to the blazing sun,
which rendered it impossible to make the photographs. It was in vain
that I explained to her why she must face the sun, and, at last, in
desperation, I seized the heavy tōō-ma and carried it where I
desired it to be. In my haste in putting it down--rather, dropping
it--it snapped in two, and I had to repair the damage to her stone and
feelings with a piece of silver ere we could proceed.

Pikami is made as follows: A certain amount of corn-meal is mixed with
a small amount of sugar, and coloring matter made from squash flowers.
This mixture is then placed in an earthenware vessel, or olla, and a
cover tightly sealed on the vessel with mud. It is now ready to go
into the oven. The pikami oven is generally out of doors. Sometimes
it is a mere hole in the ground, without a covering, but the better
style is where the hole is located in the angle of two walls and
partially covered. A broken olla is made to serve as a chimney. To
prepare the oven, sticks of wood are placed inside it and set on fire.
When these are reduced to flaming coals and the oven is red hot, the
coals are withdrawn, and the olla containing the corn-meal mixture is
lowered into the hole. This is then covered with a stone slab, sealed
with mud, and allowed to remain closed for several hours. When the
oven is unsealed and the olla withdrawn, the corn-meal is thoroughly
cooked--now pikami--and the dish is both nutritious and delicious.

Pū-vū-lū is a corn-meal preparation that corresponds somewhat
to the New England doughnut. On one occasion, just before the Snake
Dance at Mashonganavi, I found Ma-sa-wi-ni-ma, Kuchyeampsi's mother,
busy preparing the dish. When I induced her to come into the sunshine
to be photographed, stirring the meal, just eight other kodak and
camera fiends insisted upon "shooting" her at the same time. She was
very complacent about it, especially when I collected ten cents a head
for her, and handed her ninety cents for her five minutes' pose.

Her method was as follows: Into a cha-ka-ta (bowl) she placed corn-meal
and a little coloring matter. Then adding sugar and water, she stirred
it with a stick, as shown in the photograph. It was made to a thick
dough. In the meantime a pan of water, into which mutton fat had been
placed, was on the fire, and when it was hot enough small balls of the
corn-meal dough were dropped into the water and fat and allowed to
remain until cooked. The result is a not unpleasant food, of which the
Hopis are very fond.

One of the common dishes, when a sheep has been killed, is the
neü-euck´-que-vi, a stew composed of corn, mutton, and chili.

So far the Hopis have not been a success as traders. It is a slow
and long journey from aboriginal life to civilization. One of the
young men who had been to school, a bright youth of some twenty-three
years,--Kuy-an-im´-ti-wa,--was fired with a desire to trade with his
people on his own account. Permission was given him by the agent to
start a store. A small building was speedily erected at the foot of
the Mashonganavi mesa and a stock of goods purchased. For a while
things went well. Then Kuyanimtiwa had to go away on business, and an
elderly uncle (I think it was) took charge of the store in his absence.
When the embryo trader returned he found his shelves nearly empty,
and a lot of trash accumulated under his counter, which the old man
had taken "in trade." The credits of many Hopis had been extended and
enlarged without proper consulting of Bradstreet's or Dun's, and blank
ruin stared poor Kuyanimtiwa in the face. I purchased about eighty
dollars' worth of baskets and "truck" from him, for which, however,
I was compelled to give him my check. For long weeks, indeed months,
the check did not come in, until I feared the poor fellow had lost it.
When I inquired I found it was in the hands of the agent, being held as
security until some disposal was made of a suit between the old man and
Kuyanimtiwa. It ultimately reached the bank, so I assume the trouble
was ended, but it will be some time, if what he said has lasting force,
before the young Hopi will open store again with an untrained assistant.

In an earlier chapter I have shown that the women build and own the
houses. In return the men knit the stockings and weave the women's
dresses and sashes. With looms very similar to those described in the
chapter on "Navaho Blanketry," they make the dresses we have seen
the women wearing. In the days before the Spaniards introduced sheep
the Hopis grew cotton quite extensively, dyed it with the simple but
beautiful and permanent dyes, and wove it into garments. The blue of
the dresses was originally obtained--and is yet by some--from the seeds
of the sunflower.

In several cases I have found blind men engaged in knitting stockings.
With needles of wood, long and slender, their fingers busily moved as
those of the old housewives used to do in my boyhood's days. One was
an old man, Tu-ki-i´-ma. He was "si-bo´-si" (blind), and expressed his
thankfulness for the occupation. Another poor old man, stone blind, was
winding yarn into a ball. He was squatted upon the ground, with the
yarn around his feet and knees. It was a pathetic sight to see the old
and forlorn creature anxious to make himself useful, even though blind
and aged.

There are a score of other interesting matters I should enjoy referring
to did space permit, but these must be left for some future time.

That they are picturesque and interesting, and in some of their
ceremonies fascinating, there is no question. They are religious (in
their way), domestic, honest, faithful, industrious, and chaste. But
there is no denying that many of them are dirty,--really, indescribably
filthy. One of my old drivers, Franklin French, used to say with a
turn up of his nose: "I'd rather associate with a good skunk who was
up in the skunk business than get to leeward of a Moki town." Their
sanitary accommodations are _nil_, and their habits accord with their
accommodations. Were it not for the fierce rays of the sun and the
strong winds that purify their elevated mesa-tops, the accumulated
evils would soon render habitation impossible. Water being so scarce,
they are not habitually cleanly in person, as are some of the other
peoples. Hence the contempt with which many of the Navahoes regard them.

Of course there are exceptions, where both houses and individuals are
as neat and clean as can be. Among Hopis as well as among whites, it is
not possible to generalize too widely.




CHAPTER VI

THE RELIGIOUS LIFE OF THE HOPI


The Hopi is essentially religious. As a ritualist he has no superior on
the face of the earth. From the ceremonial standpoint the Hopi people
are the most religious nation known. From four to sixteen days of
every month are employed by one society or another in the performance
of secret religious rites, or in public ceremonies, which, for want
of a better name, the whites call dances. So complex, indeed, is the
Hopi's religious life that we have no complete calendar as yet of _all_
the ceremonies that he feels called upon to observe. Every act of his
life from the cradle to the grave has a religious side. Fear and the
need for propitiation are the motive powers of his religious life, and
these, combined with his stanch conservatism, render him a wonderfully
fertile subject for study as to the workings of the child mind of the
human race.

With such a complex and vast religious system this chapter can attempt
no more than merely to outline or suggest the thoughts upon which his
religion is based, and then, in brief, describe two or three of the
most important of his religious ceremonials.

I can do better than attempt a difficult matter, and one that requires
years of study, viz., to account for the religious concepts of the
Indian. I can urge the reader to obtain Major J. W. Powell's "Lessons
of Folk-lore," which appeared in the _American Anthropologist_ for
January-March, 1900. In it he has written a most fascinating account of
the thought movements of the Amerind; and Dr. J. Walter Fewkes, in his
"Interpretation of Katchina Worship," has given a clearer idea of Hopi
religious belief than has ever before been penned.

[Illustration: GROUP OF HOPI MAIDENS AT SHUNGOPAVI.]

The Hopis themselves are not aware of the why and wherefore of all they
do. For centuries they have followed "the ways of the old," until they
are ultra conservatives, especially in matters pertaining to religion.

I have already referred to and described the kivas or underground
ceremonial chambers, where many of their rites are performed.

Six objects closely connected with their worship should be thoroughly
understood, as such knowledge will simplify a thousand and one things
that will otherwise appear mysterious to one who visits the Hopis for
the first time. These objects are the _baho_ (prayer stick or plume),
the _puhtabi_ (road marker), the _tiponi_, the _natchi_, the _shrine_,
and the _katchina_.

The baho is inseparably connected with all religious ceremonies and
prayers. Without it prayers would be inefficacious. Generally, before
every ceremony is performed, a certain time is given to the making of
bahos. One form of baho is made of two sticks, painted green with black
points, one male and the other female, tied together with a string made
of native cotton, and cut to a prescribed length. A small corn husk,
shaped like a funnel and holding a little prayer meal and honey, is
attached to the sticks at their place of union. Tied to this husk is a
short, four-stranded cotton string, on the end of which are two small
feathers. A turkey wing-feather and a sprig of two certain herbs are
tied so as to protrude above the butt ends of the sticks, and the baho
is complete.

Other bahos are made of flat pieces of board, anywhere from a foot to
three feet in length, and two inches or more wide, to which feathers
and herbs are attached. On the face of these figures of katchinas,
animals, reptiles, and natural objects, such as rain-clouds, descending
rain, corn, etc., are painted, every object having a distinct and
symbolic meaning. In other cases the bahos are carved into the zigzag
shape of the lightning. The Soyal bahos are many and various. Some
are long, thin sticks, with cotton strings and feathers attached near
the ends; others are thicker, with many feathers tied to the centre;
some are bent or crook-shaped, while still others are long willow
switches to which eagle, hawk, turkey, flicker, and other feathers
are tied. They are made with great care and solemnity and prayed over
and "consecrated" before being used. They are "prayer bearers," the
feathers symbolizing the birds who used to fly to and from the World of
the Powers with their messages to mankind and the answers thereto.

The puhtabi (or road marker) is a long piece of native cotton string,
to which a feather or feathers are attached, and it is placed on the
trails to mark the beginning of the road (hence its name) to the
shrines which are to be visited during the ceremonies.

The tiponi is to the Hopi what the cross is to the devout Catholic.
No altar is complete without it. Altars are often set up with a
substitute for a tiponi, but all recognize its insufficiency. Tiponis
vary, that of the Antelope Society being a bunch of long feathers
(see the photograph in the chapter on the "Snake Dance"), while
that of the Soyal ceremony is of a quartz crystal inserted into a
cylindrical-shaped vessel of cottonwood root.

In the Lelentu and Lalakonti ceremonies part of the rites consist in
an unwrapping of the tiponis. In both of them either kernels of corn
or other seeds formed essential parts. Dr. Fewkes says: "From chiefs
of other societies it has been learned that their tiponis likewise
contained corn, either in grains or on the ear. Although from this
information one is not justified in concluding that all tiponis contain
corn, it is probably true with one or two exceptions. The tiponi is
called the "mother," and an ear of corn given to a novice has the same
name. There is nothing more precious to an agricultural people than
seed, and we may well imagine that during the early Hopi migrations the
danger of losing it may have led to every precaution for its safety.
Thus it may have happened that it was wrapped in the tiponi and given
to the chief to guard with all care as a most precious heritage. In
this manner it became a mere symbol, and as such it persists to-day."

Whenever ceremonies are about to take place in the kivas the chief
priest puts in place on the ladder-poles or near the hatchway of
each participating kiva a sign of the fact, called the natchi. This
I have later described on the Snake and Antelope kivas. At the Soyal
ceremony on the Kwan (Agave) kiva, the natchi consisted of a bent
stick, to which were fastened six feathers, representing the Hopi six
world-quarters. For the north, a yellow feather of the flycatcher or
warbler; for the west, a blue feather of the bluebird; for the south, a
red feather of the parrot; for the east, a black-and-white feather of
the magpie; for the northeast (above), a black feather of the hepatic
tanager; and for the southwest (below), a feather from an unknown
source and called _toposhkwa_, representing different colors.

The natchis of two of the kivas in the New Fire ceremony held in Walpi
in 1898 were sticks, about a foot long, to the ends of which bundles
of hawk feathers were attached. At another kiva it was an agave stalk,
at one end of which were attached several crane feathers and a circlet
of corn husks. A natchi used later by another society consisted of
a cap-shaped object of basketry, to which were attached two small
whitened gourds in imitation of horns.

That the natchi is more than a sign of warning to outsiders to keep
away from the secret rites of the kiva is evidenced by the variety of
materials used; and, indeed, the things themselves are now known to be
symbols, to some of which Mr. Voth has learned the key. For instance,
on the natchi of the Snake and Antelope Societies, the skins of the
_piwani_--which is supposed to be the weasel--are attached. The Hopis
say of the animal to whom the skin belongs that when chased into a
hole, he works his way through the ground so quickly that he escapes
and "gets out" at some other place. Now see the ceremonial significance
of the use of this weasel's skin on the Snake natchi. They are supposed
to affect the clouds and compel them to "come out," so that rain will
come quickly.

Near all the villages, or on the terraces below, a number of shrines
may be found where certain of the "Powers" are worshipped. In the
account of the Snake Dance I speak of the shrine of the Spider Woman,
and show the photograph made when I followed Tubangointiwa (the
Antelope chief), and watched him deposit bahos and offer prayers to
her. The number of shrines is large. I have seen many, but there is not
space here to describe them. It is an interesting occupation, during
the ceremonies, to follow the priests, after they have deposited the
puhtabi and begun to sprinkle the sacred meal, to the shrines. If the
observer can then have explained to him the deity to whom the shrine is
dedicated, and his or her place in the Hopi pantheon, his knowledge of
Hopi worship will be considerably increased.

Of katchinas much might be written. They are ancient ancestral
representatives of certain Hopi clans who, as spirits of the dead, are
endowed with powers to aid the living members of the clan in material
ways. The clans, therefore, pray to them that these material blessings
may be given. "It is an almost universal idea of primitive man," says
Fewkes, "that prayers should be addressed to personations of the beings
worshipped. In the carrying out of this conception men personate the
katchinas, wearing masks and dressing in the costumes characteristic
of these beings. These personations represent to the Hopi mind their
idea of the appearance of these katchinas or clan ancients. The spirit
beings represented in these personations appear at certain times in
the pueblo, dancing before spectators, receiving prayer for needed
blessings, as rain and good crops."

The katchinas are supposed to come to the earth from the underworld in
February and remain until July, when they say farewell. Hence there
are two specific times which dramatically celebrate the arrival and
departure of the katchinas. The former of these times is called by
the Hopi _Powamû_, and the latter _Niman_. At these festivals, or
merry dances, certain members of the participating clans wear masks
representing the katchinas, hence katchina masks are often to be found
in Hopi houses when one is privileged to see the treasures stored away.
In order to instruct the children in the many katchinas of the Hopi
pantheon, _tihûs_, or dolls, are made in imitation of the ancestral
supernal beings, and these quaint and curious toys are eagerly sought
after by those interested in Indian life and thought. Dr. Fewkes has in
his private collection over two hundred and fifty different katchina
tihûs, and in the Field Columbian Museum there is an even larger
collection.

Of the altars, screens, fetishes, cloud-blowers, ceremonial pipes,
bull-roarers, etc., I have not space here to write. Suffice it to
say they have a large place in the Hopi's ritual and all should be
carefully studied.

When I first began to visit the Hopis my camps were generally at the
foot of the trail, as near to water as possible. Every morning at a
very early hour I was awakened by a loud ringing of cowbells, and at
first I thought it must be that the Hopis had a herd of cows and they
were driving them out to pasture. They were evidently going at a good
speed, for the bells clanged and clattered and jangled as if being
fiercely shaken. But when I looked for the cows they were never to
be seen. Then, too, as on succeeding mornings I listened I found the
animals must be driven very hastily, for the sound moved with great
rapidity towards, past, away from me.

One morning I determined to get up and watch as soon as I heard the
noise approaching. It was just as the earliest premonitions of dawn
were being given that I was awakened, and, hurriedly jumping up, stood
on my blankets and watched. Soon one, two, four, and more figures
darted by in the dim light, each carrying a jangling cowbell, and to
my amazement I found they were not cows, but Hopi young men, naked
except for a strap or girdle around the loins, from which hung the
bell, resting upon the haunch. They were out for their morning run, and
it was not merely a physical exercise, but had a distinct religious
meaning to them. As I have elsewhere written:--

"The Hopi has lived for many centuries among the harsh conditions of
the desert land. Everything is wrested from nature. Nothing is given
freely, as in such a land as southern California for instance. Water
is scarce and has to be caught in the valley and carried with heavy
labor to the mesa summit. The soil is sandy and not very productive
unless every particle of seed corn is watered by irrigation. Firewood
is far away and must be cut and brought to their mesa homes with labor.
Wild grass seeds must be sought where grass abounds, perhaps scores of
miles away, and carried home. Pinion nuts can only be gathered in the
pinion forests afar off, and to gain mescal the pits must be dug and
the fibres cooked deep down in the mysterious recesses of the Grand
Canyon. The deer and antelope are swift, and can only be caught for
food by those who are stout of limb, powerful of lung, and crafty of
mind. Hence in the very necessities of their lives they have found the
use for physical development. And this imperative physical need soon
graduated into a spiritual one. And the steps or processes of reasoning
by which the chief motive is transferred from the physical to the
spiritual are readily traceable. Of course, they are a 'chosen people.'
'Those Above' have given especial favors to them. They must be a credit
to those Powers who have thus favored them. This implies a steady
cultivation of their muscular powers. Not to be strong is to be a bad
Hopi, and to be a bad Hopi is to court the disfavor of the gods. Hence
the shamans or priests urge the religious necessity of being swift and
strong."

[Illustration: HOPI WOMAN WEAVING BASKET, HER HUSBAND KNITTING
STOCKINGS.]

[Illustration: HOPI WOMAN PREPARING CORN MEAL FOR MAKING DOUGHNUTS.]

Nor is this all. In days gone by they were surrounded by predatory
foes. Physical endurance was an essential condition of national
preservation. Without it they would long ago have been starved or
hunted out of existence. The gods called upon them to preserve
their national life, to live by cultivation of endurance, hence the
imposition of physical tasks as a religious exercise.

And these morning runs of the young men were of ten, twenty, and even
more miles, taken without any other food than a few grains of parched
corn.

It is no uncommon thing for an Oraibi or Mashonganavi to run from his
home to Moenkopi, a distance of forty miles, over the hot blazing sands
of a real American Sahara, there hoe his corn-field, and return to his
home, within twenty-four hours. The accompanying photograph of an old
man who had made this eighty-mile run was made the morning after his
return, and he showed not the slightest trace of fatigue.

For a dollar I have several times engaged a young man to take a message
from Oraibi to Keam's Canyon, a distance of seventy-two miles, and he
has run on foot the whole distance, delivered his message, and brought
me an answer within thirty-six hours.

One Oraibi, Ku-wa-wen-ti-wa, ran from Oraibi to Moenkopi, thence to
Walpi, and back to Oraibi, a distance of over ninety miles, in one day.

When I was a lad I got the impression somehow that Indians made fire
by rubbing two sticks together. Once or twice I tried it. I got two
sticks, perfectly dry, and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. But the more I
rubbed, the cooler the sticks seemed to get. I got hot, but that had no
effect on the sticks.

Later in life, when I began to make my journeys of exploration in the
wilds of Nevada, California, Arizona, and New Mexico, and I sometimes
needed a fire, and didn't have a single match left, I tried it again;
this time not as an experiment, but as a serious proposition. My
rubbing of the two sticks, however, never availed me a particle. I
might as well have saved my strength for sawing wood. Yet the Indians
do get fire by the rubbing of two sticks together, and the occasion
of their doing it is one of the greatest and most wonderful of the
religious ceremonies of the Hopis. Dr. Fewkes has written for the
scientific world a full account of it, and from that account I condense
the following.

Few white men have ever seen the ceremony, and did they do so and tell
the whole of what they saw they would not be believed.

Four societies of priests conduct the elaborate rite at Walpi. It is
not held at Sichumavi or Hano, but is conducted at Oraibi and the three
villages of the middle mesa. "The public dances are conducted mainly by
two of the societies, whose actions are of a phallic nature. These two
act as chorus in the kiva when the fire is made, but the sacred flame
is kindled by the latter two societies.... For several days before the
ceremony began, large quantities of wood were piled near the kiva
hatches, and after the rites began, this fuel was carried down into the
rooms and continually fed to the flames of the new fire by an old man,
who never left his task. The flames of the new fire were regarded with
reverence; no one was allowed to light a cigarette from it or otherwise
profane it."

On the first day the chiefs assembled for their ceremonial smoke, and
the next day at early dawn one of them went to the narrow portion of
the mesa between Walpi and Sichumavi and laid on the trail one of the
puhtabi, or long strings, elsewhere described, sprinkling a little
meal and casting a pinch toward the place of sunrise. At the same time
he said a prayer: "Our Sun, send us rain." Just as the sun appeared
he "cried" the announcement, of which Dr. Fewkes gives the free
translation:--

    "All people awake, open your eyes, arise!
    Become _Talahoya_ (Child of Light), vigorous, active, sprightly.
    Hasten, Clouds, from the four world quarters.
    Come, Snow, in plenty, that water may be abundant when summer
       comes.
    Come, Ice, and cover the fields, that after planting they may yield
       abundantly.
    Let all hearts be glad.
    The Wüwūtchimtû will assemble in four days.
    They will encircle the villages, dancing and singing their lays.
    Let the women be ready to pour water upon them,
    That moisture may come in abundance and all shall rejoice."

Four days later, with elaborate preparation and carefully observed
ritual the new fire was made. About a hundred participants were
present. When all were ready the fire-board was held in position by two
kneeling men, while two others manipulated the fire drill. The singing
chief then gave the signal and two societies started a song, each with
different words and yet in unison, accompanied by clanging of bells and
rattling of tortoise shells and deer hoofs. The holes of the fire-board
and stones were sprinkled with corn pollen. The spindle or fire drill
was held vertically between the palms, and in rotating it the top was
pressed downward. Smoke was produced in twenty seconds and a spark of
fire in about a minute. The spark smudged cedar-bark, which was put
in place to catch it, and then the driller blew it into a flame. This
flame was then carried to a pile of greasewood placed in the fireplace,
and as the wood blazed to the ceiling the song ceased. Prayer was
then offered by one of the chief priests of one of the societies and
ceremonial offerings sprinkled into the fire. This priest was followed
by one from each of the other societies and by individual worshippers.

They then, in procession, paid a ceremonial visit to the shrine of the
Goddess of Germs, which is among the rocks at the southwestern point of
the mesa. It is made of flat stones set on edge, opened above and on
one side, and consists of a fetish of petrified wood.

Then followed a complex series of ceremonies that merely to outline
would require several pages. Some of them are public dances, others
dramatic representations in a crude fashion of what the legends of the
Hopis say are certain events which transpired in the underworld, and a
most important one is the disposal of the sacred embers of the new fire.

There are few ceremonies in the world that equal in solemnity and
interest, and that are more charming, than those performed by the
parents and other relatives when a Hopi baby comes into the world.
There are religion, affection, sentiment, and poetry embraced in what
we--the superior people--would undoubtedly term the superstitious rites
of these simple-hearted people. One reason for the fervor of this rite
is the genuine welcome every Hopi mother and father accord to their
baby when it is born. It is "good form" among them to be proud of the
birth of their children. No married woman is happy unless she has a
"quiver full" of children, and one of her constant prayers before her
marriage is that she may be thus blessed.

So when the child comes there is great rejoicing. It is immediately
rubbed all over with ashes to keep the hair from growing on the body;
or that, at least, is the reason the Hopi mother gives for allowing her
little one to be scrubbed all over with the ashes.

Then it is wrapped up in a cotton blanket of the mother's own weaving,
for Hopi women, and men also, are great experts in growing, spinning,
and weaving cotton. Now it is ready for the cradle. This is either a
piece of board or a flat piece of woven wicker-work about two and a
half feet long and a foot wide. There is also fixed at the upper end
two or three twigs arranged in a kind of bow, so that a piece of cloth
thrown over them forms an awning to protect the face of the child from
the sun. When this bow is not in use it can be slipped over to the
back of the cradle. Strapped in this queer cradle, the baby is either
stretched out upon the ground to go to sleep, covered over with a
blanket, or reared up against the wall. But if your eyes were keen you
would see by its side a beautiful white ear of corn. And if you saw it
and knew the Hopi mother's ways and her thoughts, you would find that
the reason for putting the corn there was this: she believes that the
corn represents one of her most powerful gods on the earth, and that if
this god is made to feel kindly towards the new-born child he will send
it good health and strength and skill in hunting and everything else
that she desires for her loved baby. So, you see, it is mother love,
combined with a singular superstition, that makes the Hopi mother place
the ear of corn by the side of her sleeping child.

When the baby is twenty days old it is--shall I say?--baptized. You
can hardly call it this, but, anyhow, it answers the same thing as
baptism does with us. About sunset the child's godmother arrives. She
is generally the grandmother or aunt on the father's side. Just as the
first streaks of light begin to come in the early morning the ceremony
begins. After washing the mother's head and legs and feet, the baby's
turn comes. The house is full of relatives and friends to watch and
bring good fortune to the little one. A bowl of suds is made by beating
the soapweed until the water is covered with beautiful lather. Then
the godmother takes an ear of corn, dips it into the suds, and touches
the baby's head with it. This she does four times. Then she washes the
baby's head very carefully and thoroughly in the suds. But the washing
would be of no good unless all the baby's female relatives on the
father's side were to dip their ears of corn into the suds and touch
its head with them four times, just as the godmother did. Now the baby
is washed all over, and then--strange to say--the godmother fills her
mouth full of warm water, and, balancing the baby on one hand, she
squirts the water from her mouth all over the little one. To dry it,
she holds it before the fire, and when it is quite dry she rubs it
with white corn-meal, wraps it in a blanket, and passes it over to the
mother, who is seated near to the fire. Just before her are two baskets
full of corn-meal, one coarsely and one finely ground. Taking an old
blanket, the godmother spreads it over the mother's lap, the baby is
placed on it, then she takes a little of the fine meal and rubs it on
the face, arms, and neck of the mother, and also upon the face of the
child. Then with the ear of corn in her hand, and slowly and regularly
moving it up and down, she prays first over the mother, then over the
baby. I have heard several of these prayers. Here is one of them:
"Ho-ko-na (butterfly), I ask for you that you live to be old, that you
may never be sick, that you may have good corn and all good things. And
now I name you Ho-ko-na" (or whatever the name is to be).

Then every woman and girl of the father's relatives does just the same
and prays the same kind of prayer; but singular to us is the fact that
each one gives the child any name she prefers. As each one finishes her
prayer, she gives her ear of corn and some sacred meal she has brought
with her to the mother, who invariably responds with the Hopi "Thank
you!"--"Es-kwa-li."

Nobody knows at the time which name the baby will have, as he or she
grows up. That is left to chance to determine--generally the preference
of the mother.

Now the baby is put in its cradle, with some of the ears of corn
presented to the mother placed under the lacing on the breast of the
little one, and it is ready to be dedicated to the sun. After sweeping
the floor, the godmother sprinkles a line of meal about two inches wide
from the cradle to the door, and the mother does the same thing.

[Illustration: HOPI "BOOMERANGS."

_In the collection of George Wharton James._]

[Illustration: HOPI CEREMONIAL DRUMS.

_In the collection of George Wharton James._]

Out of doors the father is anxiously watching for the first direct
light of the sun, and the moment it appears above the horizon he gives
the signal. Immediately the godmother picks up the cradle, so that the
baby's head is towards the door, and near to the floor, carries it over
the line of sacred meal, the mother following. Each has a handful of
meal. At the door they stand side by side. The godmother removes the
blanket from the baby's face, holds the sacred meal to her mouth, says
a short prayer, and then sprinkles the meal towards the sun, and then
the mother does the same; and, after ceremonially feeding the baby, all
joining in the feast, the ceremony is at an end.

Another most beautiful ceremony of the Hopis is that which alternates
with the Snake Dance, viz., the Lelentu, or Flute Dance. I have had
the pleasure of witnessing it several times, and last year (1901) was
one of five white persons present. To me this meant walking a weary
thirteen miles over the hot sands of the Painted Desert, carrying a
camera weighing about fifty pounds on my back. But the beauty and charm
of the ceremony and the satisfaction of obtaining the photographs of it
more than repaid me for the hot and exhausting walk.

After the secret kiva ceremonies (rites in the underground chambers of
the fraternity of the Flute) the first public rites of the day took
place at a spring near the home of Lolúlomai, the chief of the Oraibi
pueblo, and about five miles west of the town. Here is one of the
pitiful springs upon which the people depend for their meagre supply
of water. Just before noon men, women, and girls might have been seen
wending their way from the village on the mesa height, down the steep
trails, over the sandy way trodden for centuries by their forefathers,
towards the location of the spring.

Every face was as serious and wore as grave and earnest an expression
as that of a novice about to be confirmed in her holiest vows. Arrived
at the spring, an eminence just above it to the southwest was the
chosen site for the preliminaries. Here an hour or more was spent in
prayers, sprinkling of meal before and upon the altar, and the painting
of the symbols of the clan upon the participants.

Other priests during the whole time were on their knees or in other
postures of reverence, praying, singing, or chanting, and sprinkling
the sacred meal on or before the altar. A large number of bahos, or
prayer sticks and plumes, were used.

At this time the chief priest left the hillside and solemnly marched
down to the spring. It is circular in shape, and with a rude wall built
around it. At the opening in the circle three small gourd vessels
were placed, two of which held sacred water from some far-away spring,
and the other was full of honey. A singular thing occurred about the
filling of this honey jar. A nest of bees had located in the wall of
the spring, and the chief priest, taking it for granted that this was a
good sign, had the nest dug out and the honey extracted from the comb,
for his sacred purposes. After he had prayed for a while the priests
and women from above marched down, all except the flute players. As
they stood around the spring they sang and prayed, while the chief
priest stepped into the water, bowing his face down over it, and waving
his tiponi in and through it. Soon it was a filthy, muddy mess, instead
of a water spring, and when it seemed mixed up enough he began to dip
his face deep into it, while the men and women around continued their
singing and worship.

Then he came forth, and now began a most beautiful processional march
around the spring, in time to the weird playing of the priests above.
After three times circling around, the group stood, facing the west,
and at certain signals sprinkled large handfuls of sacred meal in the
direction of the water. This was followed by a most profuse scattering
of bahos in the same manner. Literally hundreds of them were thus
thrown, and I gathered (after the celebrants were gone) scores of them
for my collection. The bahos used on this occasion were mere downy
feathers to which cotton strings were attached. The effect as the
meal and the feathers were thrown was remarkably beautiful, and the
scene was most impressive; none the less so for its strangeness and
peculiarity.

These concluded the ceremonies at this spring. In the meantime the
chief priest had gone to his house over the hill, and from there had
started out a group of young men who were to race to the spring near
the mesa--four miles away. It was a scorching hot day--as I had found
out in my own walk--and yet these young men bounded over the sandy
trail like hunted deer. It was a glorious sight to witness them. Ten
or a dozen athletic youths, clad scantily, their bronzed figures in
perfect proportion, revealing their strength and power, their long
black hair waving out behind them, darting off like strings from a bow
across the desert.

Slowly we followed them, and when we arrived at the other spring found
they had long ago passed it, and the victor had received his reward.

Similar ceremonies were gone through at the near-by spring as at the
one farther away, and when they were completed the whole party formed
in procession, and as solemnly as if it were a funeral march proceeded
up the steep trail to the village and there repeated some of the
ceremonies already described.

The purport of all this it is comparatively easy to understand. The
Snake Dance is a prayer for rain, which, according to the Hopi's
ideas, is stored in vast reservoirs in the heavens. He also believes
that there are vast water supplies under the earth, and so, every
other year, he petitions the powers that govern and control these
subterranean reservoirs to loosen the waters and let them flow forth
into the springs.

In one of the dances of the Navaho they symbolize the water from
above and the water from below by linking the first fingers together.
This gives us the Greek fret, and when this symbol is copied in their
basketry, we see this classic design, purely the result of imitation,
and having as clear a meaning to the Indian mind as the cross has to
the Christian.

Reluctantly I am compelled to omit a brief account of the Basket Dance,
which, however, I have partially described in my book on "Indian
Basketry."

The Hopis have very clear and distinct conceptions of a spirit life
beyond the grave. It is not the "happy hunting-ground," though, to
which the general ideas of the whites consign them. Theirs is a world
of spirits, with some advantages over the world of human beings, but
where life is very similar to what it was on earth. There is neither
punishment awarded for wrong done on earth, nor reward for good living.
It is simply a continuation of previous existences. When a child is
born the spirit is supposed to come from the underworld through an
opening in the earth's crust called _Shi-pá-pu_, and when the grown man
dies his spirit returns thither. His body is buried in a cleft of the
rocks on the mesa side, a mile or so away from the village. The body is
wrapped up and placed in the rocky grave, and then covered with loose
rocks. Food and drink are placed on the grave, so that when the spirit
ascends from the body and begins its long journey to _Shi-pá-pu_ and
thence to the underworld, it may have food wherewith to gain strength.
The curious visitor will also notice the baho which is thrust between
the rocks until it touches the body. Another baho touching this upright
one is placed on the grave pointing toward the southwest. These bahos
are especially prepared by the shaman, or "medicine man," and are for
the purpose of guiding the spirit as it leaves the body. If no baho
were there, the spirit might grope in darkness, trying to force its way
down; but, being directed by the prayers of the shaman, the disembodied
spirit immediately realizes the guiding power of the baho, and,
following it, reaches the companion baho pointing to the southwest,
the direction it must travel to reach the entrance to the underworld.
This entrance to the underworld was long thought to be in the San
Francisco Mountains near Flagstaff. But Dr. Fewkes explains this to be
an error. The _Shi-pá-pu_ is, to the Hopi, the "sun-house or place of
sunset at the winter solstice. As seen from Walpi, the entrance to the
sun-house is indicated by a notch on the horizon situated between the
San Francisco range and the Eldon mesa," hence the conception that the
entrance to the underworld was in that exact location.

[Illustration: A HOPI BELLE AT SHUNGOPAVI.]

[Illustration: BLIND HOPI BOY, KNITTING STOCKINGS.]




CHAPTER VII

THE HOPI SNAKE DANCE


While perhaps no more important than others of the many ceremonies
of the Hopis, the Snake Dance is by far the widest known and most
exciting and thrilling to the spectator. There have been many accounts
of it written, yet no less an authority than Dr. Jesse Walter Fewkes
of the Smithsonian Institution asserts that the major portion of them
are not worth the paper they are written on. Inaccurate in outline,
faulty in detail, they utterly fail, in the most part, to grasp the
deep importance of the ceremony to the religious Hopis. It is commonly
described as a wild, chaotic, yelling, shouting, pagan dance, instead
of the solemn dignified rite it is. From various articles of my own
written at different times I mainly extract the following account and
explanations.

This dance alternates in each village with the Lelentu, or Flute
ceremony, so that, if the visitor goes on successive years to the same
village, he will see one year the Snake Dance and on the following
year the Lelentu. But if he alternates his visits to the different
villages he may see the Snake Dance every year, and, as the ceremonies
are not all held simultaneously, he may witness the open-air portion
of the ceremony, which is the Snake Dance proper, three times on the
even years and twice on the odd years. For instance, in the year 1905
it will occur at Walpi and Mashonganavi; and in 1906 at Oraibi,
Shipauluvi, and Shungopavi.

[Illustration: THE BEGINNING OF THE HOPI SNAKE DANCE, ORAIBI, 1902.]

The Hopis are keen observers of all celestial and terrestrial
phenomena, and, as soon as the month of August draws near, the Snake
and Antelope fraternities meet in joint session to determine, by the
meteorological signs with which they are familiar, the date upon which
the ceremonies shall begin.

This decided, the public crier is called upon to make the announcement
to the whole people. Standing on the house-top, in a peculiarly
monotonous and yet jerky shout he announces the time when the elders
have decided the rites shall commence. Sometimes, as at Walpi, this
announcement is made sixteen days before the active ceremonies begin,
the latter, in all the villages, lasting nine days and terminating in
the popularly known open-air dance, after which four days of feasting
and frolic are indulged in, thus making, in all, twenty days devoted to
the observance.

For all practical purposes, however, nine days cover all the ceremonies
connected with it.

At Walpi, on the first of the nine days, the first ceremony consists
of the "setting up" of the Antelope altar. This is an interesting
spectacle to witness, as at Walpi the altar is more elaborate and
complex than in any other village. It consists, for the greater part,
of a mosaic made of different colored sands, in the use of which some
of the Hopis are very dexterous. These sands are sprinkled on the
floor. First a border is made of several parallel rows or lines of
different colors. Within this border clouds are represented, below
which four zigzag lines are made. These lines figure the lightning,
which is the symbol of the Antelope fraternity. Two of these zigzags
are male, and two female, for all things, even inanimate, have sex
among this strange people. In the place of honor, on the edge of
the altar, is placed the "tiponi," or palladium of the fraternity.
This consists of a bunch of feathers, fastened at the bottom with
cotton strings to a round piece of cottonwood. Corn stalks, placed
in earthenware jars, are also to be seen, and then the whole of the
remaining three sides of the altar are surrounded by crooks, to
which feathers are attached, and bahos, or prayer sticks. It was
with trepidation I dared to take my camera into the mystic depths of
the Antelope kiva. I had guessed at focus for the altar, and when I
placed the camera against the wall, pointed toward the sacred place,
the Antelope priests bid me remove it immediately. I begged to have
it remain so long as I stayed, but was compelled to promise I would
not place my head under the black cloth and look at the altar. This I
readily promised, but at the first opportunity when no one was between
the lens and the altar, I quietly removed the cap from the lens,
marched away and sat down with one of the priests, while the dim light
performed its wonderful work on the sensitive plate. A fine photograph
was the result.

The ceremonies of the Antelope kiva for the succeeding days consist of
the making of bahos, or prayer sticks, ceremonial smoking, praying, and
singing. But the profound ritualistic importance attached to every act
can scarcely be estimated by those who have not personally seen the
ceremonies. The prayer sticks are prayed over and consecrated at every
step in their manufacture, and the altar is prayed over and blessed
each day. Every object used is consecrated with elaborate ritual,
and the great smoke is made by each one solemnly participating in the
smoking of _ómowûh_ (the sacred pipe). The smoke from this pipe soon
fills the chamber with its pleasant fragrance (the tobacco used being
a weed native to the Hopi region), and it is supposed to ascend to the
heavens and thus provoke the descent of the rain.

The songs are sung to the accompaniment of rattling by the priests, and
each day the whole of the sixteen songs are rendered.

During the singing of one day one of the priests strikes the floor
with a blunt instrument, and Wiki, the chief priest, explained this
as the sending of a mystic message to a member of the Snake-Antelope
fraternity at far-away Acoma, telling him that the ceremonies were now
in progress and asking him to come. Strange to say, eight days later,
certain Acomas did come, thus giving color to the assertion of the Hopi
fraternities that the Snake Dance once used to be performed on the
glorious penyol height of Acoma, as was briefly stated by Espejo.

It is in the Snake kiva that the snake charm liquid is made. In the
centre of a special altar a basket made by a Havasupai Indian is
placed. In this are dropped some shells, charms, and a few pieces of
crushed nuts and sticks. Then one of the priests, with considerable
ritual, pours into the basket from north, west, south, east, up and
down (the six cardinal points of the Hopi), liquid from a gourd vessel.
By this time all the priests are squatted around the basket, chewing
something that one of the older priests had given them. This chewed
substance is then placed in the liquid of the basket. Water from gourds
on the roof is also put in.

Then all is ready for the preparation of the charm. Each priest
holds in his hand the snake whip (a stick to which eagle feathers
are attached), while the ceremonial pipe-lighter, after lighting the
sacred pipe, hands it to the chief priest, addressing him in terms of
relationship. Smoking it in silence, the chief puffs the smoke into the
liquid and hands it to his neighbor, who does the like and passes it
on. All thus participate in solemn silence.

Then the chief priest picks up his rattle and begins a prayer which is
as fervent as one could desire. Shaking the rattle, all the priests
commence to sing a weird song in rapid time, while one of them holds
upright in the middle of the basket a black stick, on the top of which
is tied a feather. Moving their snake whips to and fro, they sing four
songs, when one of the chiefs picks up all the objects on the altar and
places them in the basket.

In a moment the kiva rings with the fierce yells of the Hopi war-cry,
while the priest vigorously stirs the mixture in the basket. And the
rapid song is sung while the priest stirs and kneads the contents of
the basket with his hands. Sacred meal is cast into the mixture, while
the song sinks to low tones, and gradually dies away altogether, though
the quiet shaking of the rattles and gentle tremor of the snake whips
continue for a short time.

Then there is a most painful silence. The hush is intense, the
stillness perfect. It is broken by the prayer of the chief priest, who
sprinkles more sacred meal into the mixture. Others do the same. The
liquid is again stirred, and then sprinkled to all the cardinal points,
and the same is done in the air outside, above the kiva.

Then the stirring priest takes some white earth, and mixing it with the
charm liquid, makes white paint which he rubs upon the breast, back,
cheeks, forearms, and legs of the chief priest. All the other priests
are then likewise painted.

[Illustration: THE CHIEF ANTELOPE PRIEST DEPOSITING PAHOS AT THE SHRINE
OF THE SPIDER WOMAN.]

[Illustration:

COPYRIGHT 1896 F. H. MAUDE

THROWING THE SNAKES INTO THE CIRCLE OF SACRED MEAL.]

Now there is nothing whatever in this liquid that can either charm a
snake or preserve an Indian from the deadly nature of its bite. Even
the Hopis know that all its virtue is communicated in the ceremonies I
have so imperfectly and inadequately described. I make this explanation
lest my reader assume that there is some subtle poison used in this
mixture, which, if given to the snakes, stupefies them and renders them
unable to do injury.

The singing of the sixteen songs referred to is a most solemn affair.
Snake and Antelope priests meet in the kiva of the latter. The chief
priests take their places at the head of the altar, and the others
line up on either side, the Snake priests to the left, the Antelope
to the right. Kneeling on one knee, the two rows of men, with naked
bodies, solemn faces, bowed heads, no voice speaking above a whisper,
demand respect for their earnestness and evident sincerity. To one
unacquainted with their language and the meaning of the songs, the
weird spectacle of all these nude priests, kneeling and solemnly
chanting in a sonorous humming manner, their voices occasionally rising
in a grand crescendo, speedily to diminish in a thrilling pianissimo,
produces a seriousness wonderfully akin to the spirit of worship.

According to the legendary lore of the Snake clan the Zunis, Hopis,
Paiutis, Havasupais, and white men all made their ascent from the lower
world to the earth's surface through a portion of Pis-is-bai-ya (the
Grand Canyon of the Colorado River) near where the Little Colorado
empties into the main river. As the various families emerged, some
went north and some south. Those that went north were driven back by
fierce cold which they encountered, and built houses for themselves at
a place called To-ko-ná-bi. But, unfortunately, this was a desert place
where but little rain fell, and their corn could not grow. In their
pathetic language the Hopis say, "The clouds were small and the corn
weak." The chief of the village had two sons and two daughters. The
oldest of these sons, Tiyo, resolved to commit himself to the waters of
the Colorado River, for they, he was convinced, would convey him to the
underworld, where he could learn from the gods how always to be assured
of their favor.

(This idea of the Colorado River flowing to the underworld is
interesting as illustrative of Hopi reasoning. They said, and still
say, this water flows from the upperworld in the far-away mountains, it
flows on and on and never returns, therefore it must go to the inner
recesses of the underworld.)

Tiyo made for himself a kind of coffin boat from the hewed-out trunk
of a cottonwood tree. Into this he sealed himself and was committed to
the care of the raging river. His rude boat dashed down the rapids,
over the falls, into the secret bowels of the earth (for the Indians
still believe the river disappears under the mountainous rocks), and
finally came to a stop. Tiyo looked out of his peepholes and saw the
Spider Woman, who invited him to leave his boat and enter her house.
The Spider Woman is a personage of great power in Hopi mythology.
She it is who weaves the clouds in the heavens, and makes the rain
possible. Tiyo accepted the invitation, entered her house, and received
from her a powder which gave him the power to become invisible at
will. Following the instructions of the Spider Woman, he descended
the hatch-like entrance to Shi-pá-pu, and soon came to the chamber
of the Snake-Antelope people. Here the chief received him with great
cordiality, and said:--

    "I cause the rain clouds to come and go,
    And I make the ripening winds to blow;
    I direct the going and coming of all the mountain animals.
    Before you return to the earth you will desire of me many things,
    Freely ask of me and you shall abundantly receive."

For a while he wandered about in the underworld, learning this and
that, here and yonder, and at last returned to the Snake-Antelope and
Snake kivas. Here he learned all the necessary ceremonies for making
the rain clouds come and go, the ripening winds to blow, and to order
the coming and going of the animals. With words of affection the chief
bestowed upon him various things from both the kivas, such as material
of which the snake kilt was to be made, with instructions as to its
weaving and decoration, sands to make the altars, etc. Then he brought
to Tiyo two maidens, both of whom knew the snake-bite charm liquid,
and instructed him that one was to be his wife and the other the wife
of his brother, to whom he must convey her in safety. Then, finally,
he gave to him the "tiponi," the sacred standard, and told him, "This
is your mother. She must ever be protected and revered. In all your
prayers and worship let her be at the head of your altar or your words
will not reach Those Above."

Tiyo now started on his return journey. When he reached the home of
the Spider Woman, she bade him and the maidens rest while she wove a
pannier-like basket, deep and narrow, with room to hold all three of
them. When the basket was finished she saw them comfortably seated,
told them not to leave the basket, and immediately disappeared through
the hatch into the lower world. Tiyo and the maidens waited, until
slowly a filament gently descended from the clouds, attached itself to
the basket, and then carefully and safely drew Tiyo and the maidens to
the upperworld. Tiyo gave the younger maiden to his brother, and then
announced that in sixteen days he would celebrate the marriage feast.
Then he and his betrothed retired to the Snake-Antelope kiva, while his
brother and the other maiden retired to the Snake kiva. On the fifth
day after the announcement the Snake people from the underworld came to
the upperworld, went to the kivas, and ate corn pollen for food. Then
they left the kivas and disappeared. But Tiyo and the maidens knew that
they had only changed their appearance, for they were in the valley in
the form of snakes and other reptiles. So he commanded his people to
go into the valleys and capture them, bring them to the kivas and wash
them and then dance with them. Four days were spent in catching them
from the four world quarters; then, with solemn ceremony, they were
washed, and, while the prayers were offered, the snakes listened to
them, so that when, at the close of the dance, where they danced with
their human brothers, they were taken back to the valley and released,
they were able to return to the underworld and carry to the gods there
the petitions that their human brothers had uttered upon the earth.

This, in the main, is the snake legend. The catching of the snakes
foreshadowed in the snake legend is faithfully carried out each year
by the Snake men. After earnest prayer, each man is provided with a
hoe, a snake whip, consisting of feathers tied to two sticks, a sack
of sacred meal (corn-meal especially prayed and smoked over by the
chief priest), and a small buckskin bag, and on the fourth day after
the setting up of the Antelope altar they go out to the north for the
purpose of catching the snakes. Familiarity from childhood with the
haunts of the snakes, which are never molested, enables them to go
almost directly to places where they may be found. As soon as a reptile
is seen, prayers are offered, sacred meal sprinkled upon him, the snake
whip gently stroked upon him, and then he is seized and placed in the
bag. In the evening the priests return and deposit their snakes in a
large earthenware olla provided for the occasion. I should have noted
that before they go out their altar is erected. This varies in the
different villages, the most complete and perfect altar being at Walpi.
At Oraibi the altar consists of the two wooden images--the little war
gods--named Pü-ü-kon-hoy-a and Pal-un-hoy-a; and in 1898 I succeeded,
with considerable difficulty, in getting into the Snake kiva and making
a fairly good photograph of these gods.

[Illustration: LINE-UP OF SNAKE AND ANTELOPE PRIESTS, ANTELOPE
DANCE, ORAIBI, 1902.]

The catching of the snakes occupies four days, one day for each of the
four world quarters.

At near sunset of the eighth day a public dance of the Antelope priests
takes place in the plaza, similar in many respects to the Snake Dance,
except that corn stalks are carried by the priests instead of snakes.

On the morning of the ninth day the race of the young men occurs.
This is an exciting scene. Long before sunrise the Hopis, and as
many visitors as have climbed the mesa heights, huddle together or
sleepily sit watching a point far off in the desert. It is from that
region--one of the springs--the racers are to come. Soon they are
seen in the far-away distance as tiny specks, moving over the tawny
sand, and scarcely distinguishable. One morning I stayed below at the
spring on the western side of the mesa to watch them. The whole line of
the mesa-top ruled an irregular but clearly defined line against the
morning sky. The air was clear and pure, sweet and cool. From the Gap
to the end of the mesa upon which Walpi stands crowds of spectators
were silhouetted against the sky. The background, seen from my low
angle of vision, was a pure blue; above, the sky was mottled with white
clouds. On every projecting point which afforded a view the spectators
stood, tiny figures taken from a child's Noah's Ark, chunky bodies,
with a crowning ball of wood for head. But even at that distance and
against the coming sunlight the brilliant colors of the dresses of the
Indians, men and women, were revealed. Every note in the gorgeous gamut
of color was played in fantastic and unrestrained melody. At Walpi the
spectators crowded the house-tops, which there overlook the very edge
of the mesa. The point was crowded. The morning light was just touching
the cliffs of the west when the sound of the coming bells was heard.
Jingle, jingle, jingle, they came, growing in sound at every step.
There was movement among the spectators, each one craning his neck
to see the strenuous efforts of the runners. Jingle, jingle, jingle,
louder and louder, showing that the strides of these runners are great;
they are making rapid bites at the distance that intervenes between
them and the goal. Now they can be individually discerned. Their
reddish-brown bodies, long black hair streaming behind, sunflowers
crowning some, heaving chests, tremendous strides, swinging gait, make
a fascinating picture. Now they crowd each other on the sandy trail. A
spurt is being made, and one of the rear men passes to the front and
becomes the leader. From the mesa heights the shouts and cheers denote
that his success has been observed. Others crowd along. The spectators
become excited and cheer on their favorites. Now the foot of the
steep portion of the trail is reached. Surely this precipitous ascent
will abate their ardor and slacken their speed. The steps are high,
and it is a rise of several hundred feet to the mesa-top. The very
difficulties seem to spur them on to greater effort. With bounds like
those of deer or chamois, up they fly, two steps at a time. The pace
and ascent are killing, but they are trained to it, having spent their
lives running over these hot sands and climbing these trails. To them a
"rush" up the mesa heights is a part of their religious training. The
priests are now ready to receive them at the head of the trail. The
first to arrive is the winner, and he is sprinkled with the sacred meal
and water, and then he hurries on to the Antelope kiva, where the chief
priest gives him bahos, sacred meal, and an amulet of great power.
The other racers in the meantime have reached the summit, and I could
see their running figures on the narrow neck of rock which connects
Sichumavi with Walpi. They are going to deposit prayer offerings at an
appointed shrine. On their arrival the race is done.

On the arrival of the racers at the head of the trail at Mashonganavi,
in 1901, I secured a photograph showing one of the priests shooting out
a singular appliance which represents the lightning.

But on the lower platform of the mesa another exciting scene is
transpiring. A group of young maidens, with their mothers and sisters,
await the coming of young men and boys, each of whom carries a corn
stalk, a melon, or a sunflower. As soon as the youths arrive the
maidens dart after them, and for a few minutes a good-natured but
exciting and excitable scuffle goes on, in which the girls endeavor to
seize from the boys the stalks, etc., they carry.

On the noon of the ninth day the ceremony of washing the snakes takes
place in the Snake kiva.

It must not be forgotten that only the members of the fraternity
engaged in the ceremonies are permitted to enter the kivas when the
rites are being performed. Indeed, no other Hopi can be prevailed upon
to approach anywhere near these kivas whilst the symbol which denotes
that the ceremonies are being conducted is displayed.

Indeed, he believes that his profaning foot will immediately produce
the most awful effects upon his body. At one kiva he will swell up and
"burst"; at another, a great horn will grow out from his forehead and
he will die in horrible agonies. The first time I was permitted to see
this ceremony at Walpi was while Kopeli was alive. Kopeli was a Hopi
of great power and ability in a variety of ways, who had a broad way
of looking at things, and was very friendly with the white men who
came in the proper spirit to study the life of his people. I had been
allowed to see all the earlier of the secret kiva ceremonies, but when
the day arrived on which the snakes were to be washed in the kiva,
Kopeli was especially concerned on my behalf. He said: "So far 'Those
Above' have not found any fault, and you have not been harmed in the
kiva; but to-day we wash the snakes. You will surely be in danger if
you gaze upon the 'elder brothers.'" Placing my arm around his lithe
body, I gave Kopeli an unexpected dig in the stomach. Then I said,
quite solemnly: "Kopeli, your stomach is a Hopi one; you swell up and
bust easy. But feel of me"--and, taking his thumb, I gave myself a
"dig" with it _upon a solid pocketbook_ which I carried in my vest
pocket. "Do you feel that?" I asked. "Yes," he replied. "And you sabe
white man's steam-engine, Kopeli, down on the railroad?" "Yes! I sabe."
"Well," said I, "that steam-engine is made of boiler-iron, and _I am
all same boiler-iron inside_. I no bust!"

[Illustration: THE SNAKE DANCE AT ORAIBI, 1902.]

With a merry twinkle in his eye, that showed he appreciated the joke,
he said, "Mabbe so! You no bust; you stay!" And I stayed.

This washing ceremony is a purely ceremonial observance. The priests
have ceremonially washed themselves, but their snake brothers are
unable to do this, hence they must have it done for them.

In the underground kiva, hewn out of the solid rock--a place some
sixteen feet square--squat or sit the thirty-four or five priests.
I was allowed to take my place right among them and to join in the
singing. When all was ready the chief priest reverently uttered prayer,
followed by another priest, who, after prayer, started the singing.
Three or four of the older priests were seated around a large bowl full
of water brought from some sacred spring many, many miles away. This
water was blessed by smoking and breathing upon it and presenting it
successively to the powers of the six world points, north, west, south,
east, up and down.

At a given signal two men thrust their hands into the snake-containing
ollas, and drew therefrom one or two writhing, wriggling reptiles.
These they handed to the priests of the sacred water. All this time
the singing, accompanied by the shaking of the rattles, continued. As
the snakes were dipped again and again into the water, the force of
the singing increased until it was a tornado of sound. Suddenly the
priests who were washing the snakes withdrew them from the water and
threw them over the heads of the sitting priests upon the sand of the
sacred altar at the other end of the room. Simultaneously with the
throwing half of the singing priests ceased their song and burst out
into a blood-curdling yell, "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" which is the Hopi
war-cry.

Then, in a moment, all was quiet, more snakes were brought and washed,
the singing and rattling beginning at a pianissimo and gradually
increasing to a quadruple forte, when again the snakes were thrown upon
the altar, with the shrieking voices yelling "Ow! Ow!" in a piercing
falsetto, as before. The effect was simply horrifying. The dimly
lighted kiva, the solemn, monotonous hum of the priests, the splashing
of the wriggling reptiles in the water, the serious and earnest
countenances of the participants, the throwing of the snakes, and the
wild shrieks fairly raised one's hair, made the heart stand still,
stopped the action of the brain, sent cold chills down one's spinal
column, and made goose-flesh of the whole of the surface of one's body.

And this continued until fifty, one hundred, and even as many as one
hundred and fifty snakes were thus washed and thrown upon the altar.
It was the duty of two men to keep the snakes upon the altar, but on a
small area less than four feet square it can well be imagined the task
was no easy or enviable one. Indeed, many of the snakes escaped and
crawled over our feet and legs.

As soon as all the snakes were washed, all the priests retired except
those whose duty it was to guard the snakes. Then it was that I dared
to risk taking off the cap from my lens, pointing it at the almost
quiescent mass of snakes, and trust to good luck for the result. On
another page is the fruition of my faith, in the first photograph ever
made of the snakes of a Hopi kiva after the ceremony of washing.

And now the sunset hour draws near. This is to witness the close of the
nine days' ceremony. It is to be public, for the Snake Dance itself
is looked upon by all the people. Long before the hour the house-tops
are lined with Hopis, Navahoes, Paiutis, cow-boys, miners, Mormons,
preachers, scientists, and military men from Fort Wingate and other
Western posts. Here is a distinguished German savant, and there a
representative of the leading scientific society of France. Yonder is
Dr. Jesse Walter Fewkes, the eminent specialist of the United States
Bureau of Ethnology and the foremost authority of the world on the
Snake Dance, while elbowing him and pumping him on every occasion is
the inquisitive representative of one of America's leading journals.

See yonder group of interesting maidens. Some of them are "copper
Cleopatras" indeed, and would be accounted good-looking anywhere. Here
is a group of laughing, frolicking youngsters of both sexes, half of
them stark naked, and, except for the dirt which freely allies itself
to them, perfect little "fried cupids," as they have not inaptly been
described. Now, working his way through the crowd comes a United States
Congressman, and yonder is the president of a railroad.

Suddenly a murmur of approval goes up on every hand. The chief priest
of the Antelopes has come out of the kiva, and he is immediately
followed by all the others; and, as soon as the line is formed, with
reverent mien and stately step, they march to the dance plaza. Here
has been erected a cottonwood bower called the "kisi," in the base of
which ollas have been placed containing the snakes. In front of this
kisi is a hole covered by a plank. This hole represents the entrance to
the underworld, and now the chief priest advances toward it, sprinkles
a pinch of sacred meal over it, then vigorously stamps upon it, and
marches on. The whole line do likewise. Four times the priests circle
before the kisi, moving always from right to left, and stamping upon
the meal-sprinkled board as they come to it. This is to awaken the
attention of the gods of the underworld to the fact that the dance is
about to begin.

Now the Antelope priests line up either alongside or in front of the
kisi--there being slight and unimportant variations in this and other
regards at the different villages--all the while keeping up a solemn
and monotonous humming song or prayer, while they await the coming of
the Snake priests.

At length, with stately stride and rapid movement, the Snake men come,
led by their chief. They go through the same ceremonies of sprinkling,
stamping, and circling that the Antelope priests did, and then line up,
facing the kisi.

The two lines now for several minutes sing, rattle, sway their bodies
to and fro and back and forth in a most impressive and interesting
manner, until, at a given signal, the Snake priests break up their
line and divide into groups of three. The first group advances to
the kisi. The first man of the group kneels down and receives from
the warrior priest, who has entered the kisi, a writhing, wriggling,
and, perhaps, dangerous reptile. Without a moment's hesitation the
priest breathes upon it, puts it between his teeth, rises, and upon
his companion's placing one arm around his shoulders, the two begin to
amble and prance along, followed by the third member of their group,
around the prescribed circuit. With a peculiar swaying of body, a
rapid and jerky lifting high of one leg, then quickly dropping it
and raising the other, the "carrier" and his "hugger" proceed about
three-fourths of the circuit, when the carrier drops the snake from
his mouth, and passes on to take his place to again visit the kisi,
obtain another snake, and repeat the performance. But now comes in
the duty of the "gatherer," the third man of the group. As soon as
the snake falls to the ground, it naturally desires to escape. With a
pinch of sacred meal in his fingers and his snake whip in his hand, the
gatherer rapidly advances, scatters the meal over the snake, stoops,
and like a flash has him in his hands. Sometimes, however, a vicious
rattlesnake, resenting the rough treatment, coils ready to strike. Now
watch the dexterous handling by a Hopi of a venomous creature aroused
to anger. With a "dab" of meal, the snake whip is brought into play,
and the tickling feathers gently touch the angry reptile. As soon as he
feels them, he uncoils and seeks to escape. Now is the time! Quicker
than the eye can follow, the expert "gatherer" seizes the escaping
creature, and that excitement is ended, only to allow the visitor to
witness a similar scene going on elsewhere with other participants.
In the meantime all the snake carriers have received their snakes and
are perambulating around as did the first one, so that, until all
the snakes are brought into use, it is an endless chain, composed of
"carrier," snake, "hugger," and "gatherer." Now and again a snake
glides away toward the group of spectators, and there is a frantic dash
to get away. But the gatherers never fail to stop and capture their
particular reptile. As the dance continues, the gatherers have more
than their hands full, so, to ease themselves, they hand over their
excited and wriggling victims to the Antelope priests, who, during the
whole of this part of the ceremony, remain in line, solemnly chanting.

[Illustration: THE SNAKES IN THE KIVA AT MASHONGANAVI, AFTER THE
CEREMONY OF WASHING.]

At last all the snakes have been brought from the kisi. The chief
priest steps forth, describes a circle of sacred meal upon the ground,
and, at a given signal, all the priests, Snake and Antelope alike,
rush up to it, and throw the snakes they have in hands or mouths into
the circle, at the same time spitting upon them. The whole of the Hopi
spectators, also, no matter where they may be, reverently spit toward
this circle where now one may see through the surrounding group of
priests the writhing, wriggling, hissing, rattling mass of revolting
reptiles. Never before on earth, except here, was such a hideous sight
witnessed. But one's horror is kept in abeyance for a while as is heard
the prayer of the chief priest and we see him sprinkle the mass with
sacred meal, while the asperger does the same thing from the sacred
water bowl.

Then another signal is given! Curious spectator, carried away by your
interest, beware! Look out! In a moment, the Snake priests dart down,
"grab" at the pile of intertwined snakes, get all they can in each
hand, and then, regardless of your dread, thrust the snakes into the
faces of all who stand in their way, and like pursued deer dart down
the steep and precipitous trails into the appointed places of the
valley beneath. Here let us watch them from the edge of the mesa.
Reverently depositing them, they kneel and pray over them and then
return to the mesa as hastily as they descended, divesting themselves
of their dance paraphernalia as they return.

Now occurs one of the strangest portions of the whole ceremony.
The Antelope priests have already returned, with due decorum, to
their kiva. One by one the Snake men arrive at theirs, sweating and
breathless from their run up the steep trails. When all have returned,
they step to the top of their kiva, or, as at Walpi, to the western
edge of the mesa, and there drink a large quantity of an emetic that
has been especially prepared for the purpose. Then, O ye gods! gaze
on if ye dare! The whole of them may be seen bending over, solemnly
and in most dignified manner, puking forth the horrible decoction they
have just poured down. This is a ceremony of internal purification
corresponding to the ceremonial washing of themselves and the snakes
before described. This astounding spectacle ends as the priests
disappear into their kiva, where they restore their stomachs to a more
normal condition by feasting on the piki, pikami, and other delicacies
the women now bring to them in great quantities. Then for two days
frolic and feasting are indulged in, and the Snake Dance in that
village at least is now over, to be repeated two years hence.

What is the significance, the real meaning of the Snake Dance? It is
not, as is generally supposed, an act of snake worship. Here I can do
no more than give the barest suggestion as to what modern science has
concluded. It is mainly a prayer for rain in which acts of sun worship
are introduced. The propitiation of the Spider Woman at her shrine
by the offerings of prayers and bahos by the chief Antelope priest
demonstrates a desire for rain. She is asked to weave the clouds, for
without them no rain can descend. The lightning symbol of the Antelope
priests; the shaking of their rattles, which sounds like the falling
rain; the use of the whizzer to produce the sounds of the coming
storm,--these and other similar things show the intimate association of
the dance with rain and its making.

Allied to rain are the fructifying processes of the earth; and as
corn is their chief article of food, and its germination, growth, and
maturity depend upon the rainfall, the use of corn-meal and prayers for
the growth of corn have come to have an important place in the ceremony.

The use of the snakes is for a double purpose. In celebrating this
ceremony it is the desire of the Snake clan to reproduce the original
conditions of its performance as near as possible, in order to gain
all the efficacy they desire for their petitions. In the original
performance the prayers of the Snake Mother were the potent ones. Hence
the snakes must now be introduced to make potent prayers.

The other idea is that the snakes act as intermediaries to convey to
the Snake Mother in the underworld the prayers for rain and corn growth
that her children on the earth have uttered.

In considering the ceremony of the public dance certain questions
naturally arise. Are the Hopis ever bitten by the venomous snakes,
and, if so, what are the consequences? And what is the secret of their
power in handling these dangerous reptiles with such startling freedom?

[Illustration: AFTER TAKING THE EMETIC. HOPI SNAKE DANCE AT WALPI.]

There are times when the priests are bitten, but, as was suggested
in the snake legend, they have a snake venom charm liquid. This is
prepared by the chief woman of the Snake clan, and she and the Snake
priest alone are supposed to know the secret of its composition. It may
be that ere long this secret will be given to the world by a gentleman
who is largely in the confidence of the Hopis, but, as yet, it is
practically unknown. That it is an antidote there can be no question. I
have seen men seriously bitten by rattlesnakes, and in each case, after
the use of the antidote, the wounded priests suffered but slightly.

As to the "why" of the handling of the snakes. The "fact" it is easy
to state; but when one enters the realm of theory to explain the "why"
of the fact, he places himself as a target for others to shoot at. My
theory, however, is that a fear within yourself arouses a corresponding
fear within the reptile. As soon as he feels fear he prepares to use
the weapons of offence and defence with which nature has provided him.

If, on the other hand, you feel no fear, and, in touching the creature,
_do not hurt him so as to arouse his fear_, he may be handled with
impunity.

Be this as it may, the fact remains--for I have examined the snakes
before, during, and after the ceremony--that dangerous and untampered
with rattlesnakes are used by the Hopis in this, their prayer to "Those
Above" for rain.




CHAPTER VIII

THE NAVAHO AND HIS HISTORY


Misunderstood, maligned, abused, despised, the Navaho has never stood
high in the estimation of those whites who did not know him. Yet he is
industrious, moral, honest, trustworthy, fairly truthful, religious,
and good to his wife and children. Not a weak list of virtues, even
though one has to detract from it by accusing him of ingratitude.
There are noble exceptions, of course, to this charge, but from what I
know and have seen, I am inclined to believe that many, if not most,
Navahoes have no sense of moral responsibility for favors and benefits
received.

Though, perhaps, not as interesting to study as the Hopis, there is
still a wonderful field open for the student who is willing to go
and live with the Navaho, learn his language, gain his confidence,
participate in all his ceremonies, and enter into his social and
domestic life.

No one has done this as much as Dr. Washington Matthews, whose "Navaho
Legends" is a revelation to those people who have hitherto held the
general ideas (propagated, too, by a scientific observer) so prevalent
about this long-suffering people.

That the Navaho was reserved with the white man in the early days
of American occupancy there can be no doubt, and the difficulty
experienced in penetrating that reserve is well exemplified by
reference to the letter of Dr. Joseph Letherman, who lived for three
years among the tribe at Fort Defiance. Aided by Major Kendrick, who
had long commanded at this post, he wrote a letter which appears in the
Smithsonian Report for 1855. In this he says, among many good things:
"Nothing can be learned of the origin of these people from themselves.
At one time they say they came out of the ground; and at another, that
they know nothing whatever of their origin; the latter, no doubt, being
the truth." Again: "Of their religion little or nothing is known, as,
indeed, all inquiries tend to show that they have none; and even have
not, we are informed, any word to express the idea of a Supreme Being.
We have not been able to learn that any observances of a religious
character exist among them; and the general impression of those who
have the means of knowing them is, that, in this respect, they are
steeped in the deepest degradation." Once more: "They have frequent
gatherings for dancing." And a little further on: "Their singing is but
a succession of grunts, and is anything but agreeable."

One has but to read what Dr. Matthews has written and gathered from
the Navahoes to see how misleading and erroneous the conclusions of
Dr. Letherman were. To quote: "He [Dr. Matthews] had not been many
weeks in New Mexico when he discovered that the dances to which the
doctor refers were religious ceremonials, and later he found that these
ceremonials might vie in allegory, symbolism, and intricacy of ritual
with the ceremonies of any people, ancient or modern. He found, ere
long, that these heathens, pronounced godless and legendless, possessed
lengthy myths and traditions--so numerous that one can never hope to
collect them all, a pantheon as well stocked with gods and heroes as
that of the ancient Greeks, and prayers which, for length and vain
repetition, might put a Pharisee to blush."

Wonderful songs also were found, full of poetic imagery, and suitable
for every conceivable occasion, songs that have been handed down for
generations. Of the sacred songs Dr. Matthews makes the astounding
statement that, "sometimes, pertaining to a single rite, there are two
hundred songs or more which may not be sung at other rites." Further:
"The songs must be known to the priest of the rite and his assistants
in a most exact manner, for an error made in singing a song may be
fatal to the efficacy of a ceremony. In no case is an important mistake
tolerated, and in some cases the error of a single syllable works an
irreparable injury."

Popular conceptions of the Navaho are very crude and inaccurate. They
are largely the result of two "floods of information" which deluged the
country at two epochs in their history, and neither of them had much
truth in the flood. The first of these epochs was at the discovery of
the important cliff dwellings located on their reservation,--those of
the Tsegi Canyon (the so-called Canyon de Chelly), Monument Canyon,
Chaco Canyon, etc. Writers who visited the region wrote the most wild
and outrageously conceived nonsense about this people and the dwellings
they were supposed to look upon with superstitious veneration. Then
later, a lot of unscrupulous whites, fired with similar zeal to that
which led the old conquistadors across the deserts of northern Mexico
and through the inhospitable wilds of Arizona and New Mexico,--the
zeal for gold or silver,--which was doubtless fed by the fact that
the Navahoes did possess thousands of dollars' worth of silver
ornaments, started out to prospect the interior recesses of the Navaho
reservation. Knowing by painful experience what this meant,--for
their "white brothers" had stolen their springs and arable land from
them on the Moenkopi, on the Little Colorado, at Willow Spring, and a
score of other places,--the warlike and courageous Navahoes resented
the presence of these men. They begged them to retire, and when the
white men refused, fought and whipped them. This naturally excited
the cupidity of the silver hunters more than ever. "Why should the
blanked Indians fight if not to protect their silver mines?"--this was
the kind of question asked, and the natural and legitimate resentment
of the Navahoes was described all over the country as "another Indian
uprising," and led to the second "flood of knowledge," which the
newspapers always have forthcoming when public interest and curiosity
are aroused.

[Illustration: NAVAHO SILVER NECKLACE AND BELT.

_In the collection of George Wharton James._]

[Illustration: HOPI PRAYER STICKS OR PAHOS.

_In the collection of George Wharton James._]

Hence the truth often comes as a wet blanket to the preconceived
notions of those who have drank deep from these earlier streams of
information!

Science and legend both agree in giving to the Navaho a mixed origin.
His is not a pure-blooded race. Their myths or legends refer to many
assimilations of other people, strangers from the North, South, East,
West, and everywhere, all of whom were welcomed and made an integral
part of the nation. Hence there is no such thing as a distinctly Navaho
type, or, as Hrdlicka puts it, "they show considerable difference in
color and measurement, and cannot be considered a radically homogeneous
people, but their mixture is not recent." This latter statement is
doubtless true, as they would probably become more clannish as their
nation grew in numbers and power.

Dr. Matthews gives the stories of the origin of several of the gentes.
One story which he does not relate was told to me at Tohatchi, and
serves to illustrate how a migration from the Northwest is transformed
into a supernatural occurrence. Though told to me of the Navahoes as a
whole, there can be no doubt that it applies only to a single gens. The
story was in regard to Winged Rock, commonly called by the whites "Ship
Rock," and about which I had been seeking information.

This rock is situated in the Navaho reservation, about one hundred
miles northwest of Tohatchi, and some fifteen or twenty miles from
Carrizo Mountain. It is difficult of access, and my informant assured
me that even though an army of white men should reach its base they
could never scale its steep sides and reach its top. All the Navaho
tribe reverence it sincerely and all watch and guard it jealously. He
would indeed be a brave white man who would dare the anger of these
warlike and brave natives if they forbade his approach and would
attempt to scale this sacred Winged Rock.

This was the legend: "Many, many years ago, when this country was young
and the sun cast only small shadows, my people came across the narrow
sea far away near the setting sun in the north and landed on the shores
of this country. The people where they landed were exceedingly angry
at them, and whenever they could they fell upon them and slew them. My
people did not want to go to war, but this inhospitable reception made
them angry, so they put themselves in war array and fell upon their
foes. But there were few only of my people, and their enemies were so
many that it was not long before they were in sad straits. Indeed, they
would soon have been entirely destroyed had not help come. In their
distress they called on Those Above, and soon a messenger from the sky
came to my people and said: 'See you yonder stone mountain? Flee to it.
It will be your salvation. Climb up its steep, strong, rugged sides
and it will carry you toward the land of the South sea, nearer to the
rising sun, and there your home shall be.'

"My people were only too glad to obey the message. They hastened
towards the mountain. Some who were weak were enabled to fly towards it
like birds, and they clung to its steep sides and clambered to its top.

"Then when they were all safe on its huge bulk, the monster rock was
taken by Those Above, and it arose and floated across the rivers and
plains and mountains and lakes and canyons. Several days and nights it
floated, and my people gazed with wonder upon the strange and wonderful
countries through which they travelled. Sometimes they thought they
would like to stay in this place or in that, but the wisdom of Those
Above said No! and the rock floated on. Oh! it was a glorious sail.
Never before or since has any people been so blessed and favored by the
People of the Shadows Above.

"Finally the Winged Rock crossed the great deep canyon of the Colorado
River, and my people were afraid of its vast depths. Then the rock
gently settled down to the earth, where it is now found, and our home
was reached. It did not seem to be a very beautiful land, but it was
given to us by Those Above, and my people soon became content. We were
shown the springs and the watercourses, and we found the mountains
covered with trees, and the rivers and creeks. So that when any one
speaks of our leaving our country we are afraid and we cry: 'No, why
should we leave this land given to us, and which we love? Yonder is the
rock on which we came, and never until that rock floats away with us
shall we leave the land that we love so well!'

"As soon as we were settled here, Those Above gave us some great
shamans, and one of them told us that we must always do right, for the
sun, when it rises, would watch our every action all throughout the
day, and when he went away at night it was to tell Those Above all our
evil actions, for which we should be punished."

While the Apaches and Navahoes are of the same stock, there have
always been marked differences between them so long as they have been
under the observation of the white men. When the Spaniards entered
the country, the Navahoes were more distinctly an agricultural people
than the Apaches. They had large patches of land under cultivation,
kept their crops and lived in houses underground. Cultivated lands
necessitated settled residences, and after the Spaniards introduced
sheep, it was not long before the Navahoes were extensive sheep
raisers. It would not be any wiser or more profitable to enter into an
inquiry as to the methods by which these flocks were acquired than it
would be to ascertain the history of many of the landed possessions
of European nobilities. With the Navaho, possession was the only law
he cared anything for. "To have and to hold" was his motto; and once
"having," he held pretty securely. Hence the sheep possessions of the
neighboring pueblo Indians were held by exceedingly precarious tenure.

[Illustration: AN AGED NAVAHO, LOOKING OVER THE PAINTED DESERT.]

[Illustration: AN OLD HOPI AT ORAIBI.]

And here we have, I believe, one of the additional sources of enmity
between the Navaho and the Spaniard. As their wards, the Spanish were
in duty bound to care for and protect the Pueblos. Thus Navaho and
Spaniard were ever at war, and when the Mexican came in the Spaniard's
stead the battle still continued on the same lines and with the same
ferocity.

It was on the 22d of January in 1849 that Lieut. J. H. Simpson,
afterwards General, started on that interesting trip of his through the
Navaho country, which has forever connected his name with these nomads.
He was not in command of the expedition, its head being Col. John M.
Washington, who was military and civil governor of New Mexico at the
time. The object of the expedition was to coerce the Navahoes into a
compliance with a treaty which they had made with the United States,
two years previously, and to extend the provisions of the treaty.

When they reached the Chaco Canyon trouble ripened between the soldiers
and the Navahoes, and the latter were fired upon, with the result that
seven were killed, including Narbona, their great warrior and chief.

This was but one of many such attacks upon the whites. Then as now,
only far more so, the Navahoes resented the intrusion of white people
in their territory; and having gained fire-arms, they used them to
deadly purpose upon those who slighted their will.

There is no doubt that the Navahoes were a source of great terror
to the Mexicans who first settled in and near their territory. Even
after the United States became their guardians at the acquisition of
New Mexico in 1847, they were very hostile, murders, robberies, and
depredations of every kind being quite common. In 1855, Dr. Letherman
reported that "the nation, as a nation, is fully imbued with the idea
that it is all powerful, which, no doubt, has arisen from the fact of
its having been for years a terror and a dread to the inhabitants of
New Mexico." But that these depredations were not perpetrated upon the
whites alone is evident from the fact that one of the richest men of
the Navahoes himself applied to Major Kendrick, then the commanding
officer of Fort Defiance, N. Mex., to protect his cattle, as he could
not otherwise prevent his own people from stealing them.

The insolence from years of this kind of free life needed forceful
check, but it was not until 1862 that the unbearable conduct of the
Navahoes brought upon themselves this long-needed chastisement.

According to governmental reports, the Indians of New Mexico (among
whom were the Navahoes and Mescalero Apaches) caused losses between
1860 and 1863 to the people of that territory of "not less than 500,000
sheep, and 5,000 horses, mules, and cattle. Over 200 lives have been
also sacrificed of citizens, soldiers, and shepherds." It was also
stated in 1863 "that the military establishment of this territory
[New Mexico, which then included Arizona], since its acquisition, has
cost not less than $3,000,000 annually, independent of land-warrant
bounties." And while this was for a conquered country, the whole
expenditure was for the chastisement of hostile Indians, every tribe of
which in turn came in for its share of the fighting.

It was openly advocated about this time that the policy of
extermination was the only one that could be followed, and this must
be brought about either by actual warfare, or by driving the hostiles
into the mountains and there starving them to death.

Brig.-Gen. J. H. Carleton, who was in control of the department of New
Mexico, determined upon a thorough and complete change in our treatment
of this haughty and proud people. They had made six treaties at
different times with officers of our Government and had violated them
before they could be ratified at Washington. He strongly counselled
drastic measures in a letter which is historically of sufficient
interest to justify a large quotation from it:--

 "At the Bosque Redondo there is arable land enough for all the Indians
 of this family [the Navahoes and Apaches have descended from the same
 stock and speak the same language], and I would respectfully recommend
 that now the war be vigorously prosecuted against the Navahoes; that
 the only peace that can ever be made with them must rest on the basis
 that they move on to these lands, and, like the Pueblos, become
 an agricultural people, and cease to be nomads. This should be a
 _sine qua non_; as soon as the snows of winter admonish them of the
 sufferings to which their families will be exposed, I have great hopes
 of getting most of the tribe. The knowledge of the perfidy of these
 Navahoes, gained after two centuries of experience, is such as to lead
 us to put no faith in their promises. They have no government to make
 treaties; they are a patriarchal people. One set of families may make
 promises, but the other set will not heed them. They understand the
 direct application of force as a law; if its application be removed,
 that moment they become lawless. This has been tried over and over
 again, and at great expense. The purpose now is, never to relax the
 application of force with a people that can no more be trusted than
 the wolves that run through the mountains. To collect them together,
 little by little, on to a reservation, away from the haunts and hills
 and hiding-places of their country; there be kind to them; there teach
 their children how to read and write; teach them the arts of peace,
 teach them the truths of Christianity. Soon they will acquire new
 habits, new ideas, and new modes of life; and the old Indians will
 die off, and carry with them all latent longings for murdering and
 robbing. The young ones will take their places without these longings,
 and thus, little by little, they will become a happy and contented
 people; and Navaho wars will be remembered only as something that
 belong entirely to the past. Even until they can raise enough to be
 self-sustaining, _you can feed them cheaper than fight them_....

 "I know these ideas are practical and humane--are just to the
 suffering people, as well as to the aggressive, perfidious, butchering
 Navahoes. If I can have one more _full_ regiment of cavalry, and
 authority to raise one independent company in each county of the
 Territory, they can soon be carried to a final result."

In 1863 General Carleton's suggestions in the main were approved by the
Indian Department and he proceeded to carry out his plan.

Col. Kit Carson, the noted scout, with an adequate force was sent
out to humble and punish the Navahoes. It was wise that such a just,
humane, and wise Indian fighter was sent to do this work. His knowledge
of their characters stood him in good purpose, and in a very short
time over seven thousand prisoners were taken. Later this number was
increased, until they amounted to about ten or eleven thousand.

At the same time the Apaches were being cornered, and a number of them
were removed to Fort Stanton, on the Peeos River, far enough down into
the open country to prevent easy escape to the mountains. Part of
this settlement was the Bosque Redondo, and General Carleton's plan
contemplated the settlement of both Apaches and Navahoes here.

[Illustration: HOPI CEREMONIAL HEAD-DRESSES.

_In the collection of George Wharton James._]

[Illustration: HOPI BAHOS AND DANCE RATTLES.

_In the collection of George Wharton James._]

Compelled by a superior force, the now humbled Navahoes were herded
together like sheep and in 1863 were removed to the chosen place.
It was soon found, however, that this was an inhospitable region,
altogether unfitted to be the home of so large a population. The water
was alkaline, and the soil not of a nature suitable to the raising of
corn. There was practically no fuel, and the Navahoes had to dig up
mesquite roots and carry them on their backs twelve miles for this
purpose. In two or three years more than one-fourth of their number
died and the remainder grew more and more dissatisfied with the
location.

In 1867, however, Manuelito and Barboncita, two of the war chiefs, came
into the reservation, both of them having surrendered to the commandant
at Fort Wingate. The former had refused to come into the reservation in
1863, and the latter ran away from it, with his band of warriors, in
1864. These two bands added 780 more of men, women, and children to the
population, which, in June, 1867, was reported to be 7,300.

This whole Bosque Redondo was a disgraceful business, on a line with so
much of the wretched and abominable treatment the Indians have received
at our hands. Think of placing ten thousand Indians upon a reservation
where there was no water but black, brackish stuff not fit for cattle,
no fuel, and no soil for cultivation of the chief article of their
diet. Deprived of food, water, and fuel, what would white men be? No
wonder the Navahoes rebelled and were kept in order only by brute force.

At length those in authority saw the iniquity of the proceeding and the
order was given to return them to their reservation. This was done,
but with a loss by death, mainly through preventable causes, of over
three thousand souls.

Since this time they have been industrious and progressive. The Bosque
lesson, though severe, was needed, and it proved salutary. One can
travel with perfect safety unarmed across the Navaho reservation, as I
have done several times; and a lady friend, unarmed, and unaccompanied
by any other escort than a Navaho, has travelled hundreds of miles in
perfect safety among the Navahoes in all parts of their reservation.[3]

[3] Since writing the above, however, a sad event has transpired which
leads me to modify my statement. A young lady missionary, riding alone,
was criminally assaulted by a Navaho, and almost brought to death's
door. When I heard of it Navahoes were hunting for the culprit. It is
to be hoped he will be found and severely punished.

In September, 1870, a number of dissatisfied Utes visited the Navahoes
at the so-called "Navaho Church," which can be seen on the right on the
line of the Santa Fé Railway, going to California. All the principal
chiefs of the tribe were present and the causes of dissatisfaction
against the whites were fully discussed. The powwow was an important
one, and lasted several days, but the chief purpose of the Utes--to
incite the Navahoes to warfare against the whites--was not successful.
The crafty Utes, with stirring eloquence, said they had heard the white
men saying they were going to take possession of the whole country,
and that when they did they would kill off all the chief men of the
Navahoes. "See how they have stolen in upon your territory and taken
the springs and land that you have had all the time up till now! They
have taken the water and land at Wingate and at Defiance, and soon
they will take all you have, and you and your children will perish
because you have no water, no grass for your horses and sheep, and no
corn for food. Join in with us and drive these hated people away. Get
all the guns and ammunition you can, and prepare many new bows and
arrows. Let us sing the war songs together, and go on the war-path
and hunt down and kill the whites as the Pueblos hunt down and kill
rabbits. Then we will be friends. You will have your country to
yourselves, and Those Above will make of you a great nation. We shall
have our country and we shall become great. Now we are dwindling down;
we are melting away as the snows on the hillside. United against the
whites we shall both become stronger, and grow like the well-watered
corn."

The Navahoes refused to give answer until they had consulted among
themselves, and then one of their chiefs reported their decision as
follows: "We have heard what our Ute brothers have said. If our white
brothers want to kill us they can do so. They have had plenty of
chances and we are yet alive. All of our people who have been slain
have been those who have gone on the war-path against them in the past.
We do not wish to die, so we will not go on the war-path. We will stay
at home. We have food. The whites treat us well. If our Ute brothers
must fight we will not interfere, but we ourselves do not wish to
fight."

The result was that the Ute bands returned to their homes without any
specific act of warfare at that time.




CHAPTER IX

THE NAVAHO AT HOME


The Navaho reservation, embracing nearly four million acres, or eleven
thousand square miles, was established by treaty with the Navahoes of
June 1, 1868, and has been modified or enlarged by subsequent executive
orders of October 29, 1878, January 6, 1880, May 17, 1884, April 24,
1886, November 19, 1892, and January 6, 1900. The major portion is
in Arizona, but about six hundred and fifty square miles are in New
Mexico. Its average elevation is about six thousand feet, though near
the Colorado River it is often but four thousand. The highest peak
is about in the centre of the present reservation, in the Tunicha
Mountains, and is upwards of nine thousand five hundred feet high.

The Tunicha range is covered with glorious and majestic pines, and
all along its flanks are wide plateaus through which gloomy and
massive canyons convey the storm waters from the heights above into
the plains below. Its close proximity to the Grand Canyon suggests
what its general appearance might be. Drained deep down by the canyons
and gorges tributary to this great vampire canyon, it is seamed and
scarred by the dashing down of many waters. Its rocks are cut up into
a thousand fantastic forms and shapes, which look over sterile valleys
full of sand. These valleys are numberless, and one of them, the
I-chi-ni-li,--commonly called the Chin-lee,--stretches from the south
to beyond the San Juan River on the north, to the west of the Tunicha
range.

The ancient boundaries of the land, long prior to the advent of the
Spaniard, were four majestic mountains, which now approximately
determine the reserve. On the east is Pelado Peak; on the south, Mt.
San Mateo (commonly called Mt. Taylor); on the west, the San Francisco
range; and on the north, the San Juan Mountains. Each of these is over
eleven thousand feet in height. Hence it will be seen that there is a
vast range of altitude, yet it is questionable whether anywhere else
in the world so large a population inhabits so barren and inhospitable
a country. On the lower levels it is mainly desert, with scant pasture
here and there; on the higher mesas or plateaus there are many
junipers, pinions, and red cedars.

It is a difficult matter to determine the population of the Navahoes.
While they were in captivity the official count was seven thousand
three hundred, but desertions were frequent, and at one time about
seven hundred of the renegades came in and surrendered, and it is well
known that many never were captured or surrendered.

In 1869 the government distributed thirty thousand sheep and two
thousand goats to them, and a count was ordered. This was a most
favorable time to make it, as besides the sheep and goats, two years'
annuities were given out, and rations distributed every four days. The
total summed up some nine thousand.

In 1890 the official census reported 17,204, but Cosmos Mendeleff,
writing in 1895-96, says the tribe numbers only "over 12,000 souls."
It scarcely seems possible, if the count in 1869 was anything near
accurate that the population could have increased to 17,204 in 1890.
Still it must be remembered that, though not prolific, the Navaho is
a good breeder. He is healthy, vigorous, robust, and strong, and his
wife (or wives, for he is a polygamist) equally so. Living an out-door
life, inured to hardships, generally possessed of plenty to eat, of
coarse, rough, hearty, but nutritious food, engaged in occupations and
indulging in sports that cultivate their athletic powers, free from the
consumptive and scrofulous tendencies of most reservation Indians, they
are well fitted to be the progenitors of healthy children.

Though polygamists, they are moral and chaste. In their legends they
have always regarded marital unfaithfulness as a prolific source of
sorrow and punishment. In their Origin Legend this sin led to their
banishment from the first world, and again from the second, and also
from the third, the wronged chief execrating them as follows: "For such
crimes I suppose you were chased from the world below; you shall drink
no more of our water, you shall breathe no more of our air. Begone!"

In this legend Washington Matthews tells of Góntso, or Big Knee, a
chief who had twelve wives, four from each of three different gens or
families. Though he was a bountiful provider, his wives were unfaithful
to him. He complained to the chiefs of their families and to their
relations and begged them to remonstrate with the wicked women, but
remonstrances and rebukes seemed to be in vain. At last they said to
Big Knee, "Do with them as you will, we shall not interfere." The
next time he detected the unfaithfulness of his wives he mutilated
one, another he cut the ears from, a third cut off her breasts, and
all these three died. A fourth he cut off her nose, and she lived. He
thereupon determined that henceforth he would cut off the nose of any
unfaithful wife, for that would be a visible mark of her shame and yet
would not kill her. She would be compelled to live, and all men and
women would know of her wickedness. But even this horrible punishment
did not have the deterrent effect he expected. It was not long before
another and then another was detected and punished, until, before long,
his whole family of wives was noseless. Instead of rebuking themselves
and their sins as the cause of their mutilation these women would
gather together to rail against their husband, and their relations,
whom they claimed should have protected them. Big Knee was compelled to
sleep alone in a well-protected hut, and the women grew more determined
than ever to work him an injury.

[Illustration: KAPATA, ANTELOPE PRIEST, AT WALPI.]

[Illustration: A MASHONGANAVI HOPI, GOING TO HOE HIS CORN.]

About this time the people got up a big ceremony for the benefit of
Big Knee. It lasted nine days, and on the night of the last day the
mutilated women, who had kept themselves secluded in a hut, came
forth, and with knives in their hands, proceeded to sing and dance as
was expected of them. Around the fire they circled, singing "Peshla
ashila"--"It was the knife that did it to me"--and peering among the
spectators for their husband. He was safe, however, for he was hidden
in the circle of branches that made the dance corral. As they concluded
the dance they ran from the corral, cursing all who were present with
fearful maledictions: "May the waters drown ye! May the winters freeze
ye! May the fires burn ye! May the lightnings strike ye!" and other
equally malicious curses. Then they departed and went into the far
north, where they now dwell, and, according to the Navahoes, whenever
these noseless women turn their faces to the south we have cold winds
and storms and lightning.

From this legend it is observed that the husband's power over the
wife was somewhat limited. Góntso dare not punish his wives without
the consent of their relations. This freedom of the woman is observed
to this day, she regarding herself in most things as the equal, and
sometimes the superior, of her husband.

From all I can learn, marital unchastity is uncommon, though where the
tribe is in close contact with the towns along the railway there are
generally to be found men who will sell their wives and daughters,
and mothers who will sell their girls to debased white men. Among the
respectable members of the tribe, if a man discovers that his wife, or
one of them, is unfaithful, he may take it upon himself to chastise
her, but such is the independent position of the woman that he must be
very wise and judicious or she will speedily leave him.

Divorce is not common, but is allowable for cause, the parties chiefly
concerned generally settling all the details. Occasionally, however,
a transaction occurs that in civilized society would occasion quite a
buzz of busy tongues. One such happened but a few years ago. Mr. George
H. Pepper of the American Museum of Natural History tells the story.
The facts were within his own knowledge. One of the husbands had a wife
who positively refused to wash and brush his hair. He would coax and
persuade, urge and command, threaten and bluster, but all to no effect.
The dusky creature was neither to be led nor driven. If he wanted his
hair washed and combed he must do it himself.

While the disappointed husband was cogitating over his miserable
marital experiences, a friend from a distance, with his wife, came to
visit him. As the men got to talking and finally exchanging confidences
about their wives, the one told the other of the unwifely conduct of
his spouse. The visitor condoled with his host and told what a good
wife he had, how very obedient she was, and the like, until he had
quite exalted her, and the host determined to take a better look than
he had hitherto given at such a paragon of a wife. Whether this was a
scheme of the visitor or not it was scarcely possible to tell, but,
anyhow, it worked out as well as if it had been carefully planned;
for as the host studied the visitor's wife he fell head over ears
in love with her, and, strange to say, a corresponding affinity was
discovered to exist between the two others. Accordingly, a day or two
later the visitor suggested to the host that as he (the host) wanted
a wife to wash and comb his hair, while he (the visitor) was content
with a wife that would do neither, what was to hinder their "swapping"
their life partners and thus making a satisfactory end to his domestic
difficulties? With joy the disappointed husband accepted the offer,--a
little "boot" was required to make the exchange satisfactorily, and
then the result was communicated to the women. Neither of them was
consulted in the slightest, but without any hesitancy they fell in
with the agreement. The visitor rode off satisfied, accompanied by his
new wife, while the wife who came as a visitor inaugurated her new
relationship by shyly coming into her new husband's hogan with an olla
of water, the necessary soap-root, and the whisk with which to wash and
comb her liege's hair. And now, for three years, the two couples are
known to have lived together in "amity and concord."

A few years ago it would perhaps have been safe to designate the
Navahoes as the most wealthy Indians of the United States. Many of them
were worth hundreds of dollars. They understood and practised the art
of irrigation; they grew large crops of corn, squash, melons, beans,
chili, and onions. Some had large and thriving bands of horses, which
they traded with the Havasupais, Wallapais, Hopis, Paiutis, and other
neighboring people. I have often met a band of six or eight Navaho
traders with horses and blankets in the canyon of the Havasu, and they
took away the well-dressed buckskins in exchange, for which these
canyon people are noted. From the Paiutis, they obtained baskets and
their _tusjehs_, or wicker-work, pinion gum-covered water-bottles.

As for sheep and goats, there are few places in the United States where
so many were to be found as on the Navaho reservation. Every family
had its flock, as every woman was a blanket weaver; and one of the
prettiest sights in the whole Painted Desert Region was to come upon
a flock of these gentle, domestic creatures quietly pasturing, led or
driven by the owner herself, or one of her children.

But the last few years have made a great difference in their
prosperity. Rains have been rare, water scarce, and pasture scant,
and as a result their flocks are reduced to woeful proportions. Their
nomadic habits render the improvement of their locations impossible,
and their superstition in regard to the burning of a hogan in which any
one has died compels frequent migrations.

There is no doubt but that for the past three hundred years of historic
time the Navahoes have been thieves, robbers, and murderers. The Hopis
contend that all the sheep they had before the general distribution,
earlier referred to, were stolen from them. This is probably true, but
it is equally probable that had the Navahoes not stolen them the Utes
would; and while this seems poor comfort, after facts showed that it
was an exceedingly good thing that Navahoes rather than Utes became
their possessors. For, once in their possession, the Navahoes became
careful breeders (for aborigines) of sheep, and when marauding bands of
Utes came into the country the warlike Navahoes drove them away, thus
defending the sheep so that the Hopis could obtain the nucleus of a new
flock later on.

In the next chapter I present, a fairly full and accurate account of
the art of blanket-weaving, for which the Navahoes are now so noted.

As a rule the physical development of the Navahoes is sturdy and
robust, as will be seen from the accompanying photographs. They average
well, and with slight range on either side from a fair and normal
development. There are few excessively strong, and equally few very
weak people among them. The same may be said of their fatness and
leanness, both extremes being rare.

The men, as is common with all Indians, pluck out the hair on both lips
and chin, though, occasionally, one will find a man who has allowed his
moustache to grow. The hair on the head is seldom cut, and with both
sexes is allowed to grow long. The men tie it in a knot behind, and
wrap a high-colored "banda" around the forehead, thus confining the
hair and adding considerably to their own picturesqueness.

Being a prosperous people, they are generally contented looking, and
wear that air of complacent self-satisfaction that is a sure sign of
prosperity. It seems clearly to say: "We are a good people, a specially
favored because specially deserving people, hence look upon us and
understand our prosperity." There are no beggars among the better
class of the Navahoes, and men as well as women are hard workers. As
a nation they are decidedly producers. Mr. Cotton has large gangs of
them working at grading, etc., on the Santa Fé Railway, and they can
be found helping white men in as many and as various occupations as
the Chinese in California. The industry of the women is proverbial,
for seldom will one be found idle, her greatest seeming pleasure being
to have her hands constantly occupied. What with carding the wool,
washing, dyeing, and spinning it, preparing the dyes (after collecting
them) for coloring it, and then weaving the blankets for which they
are famous, going out into the mountains to collect the wild seeds and
roots of which they are fond, caring for the corn, tending the sheep
and goats, preparing the daily food, and many other duties that they
impose upon themselves, none can say they are not models of industry.
Men, women, and children alike are fearless riders. The wealth of many
a man is determined by his possessions of horses and sheep, and from
earliest years the boys are required to attend to the bands of horses.
In their semi-nomad life the women ride about with the men, and thus
become skilled riders. They sit astride, mounting and dismounting as
easily as the men, and riding wherever occasion demands.

The saddles are made by the men, and are a modification of the
big-horned Mexican variety. The tree is cut out with infinite patience
and care, and is then covered with rawhide or bought leather, and
adorned with rows of brass-headed nails. The girth, or cinch, is home
woven, of wool, cotton, or horsehair, the former being preferred.

[Illustration: THE ANTELOPE PRIESTS LEAVING THEIR KIVA FOR THE SNAKE
DANCE.]

[Illustration: THE WIDOW, DAUGHTERS, AND GRANDCHILDREN OF THE NAVAHO
CHIEF, MANUELITO.]

That the Navahoes are or were expert engineers, and could construct
difficult trails, is evidenced by their trails into Chaca Canyon from
the mesa above. Simpson thus describes what he saw in 1849: "A mile
further, observing several Navahoes high above us, on the brink of the
north wall, shouting and gesticulating as if they were very glad to
see us, what was our astonishment when they commenced tripping down
the almost sheer wall before them, as nimbly and dexterously as minuet
dancers! Indeed, the force of gravity, and their descent upon a steep
inclined plane, made such a kind of performance absolutely necessary to
insure their equilibrium."

They are a remarkably intelligent people, and their faces are, as a
rule, pliant and expressive. There is none of the proverbial stolidness
to be found among any except very few of the older men of the Navahoes.
If you are unwelcome you will know it,--surly looks and words will ask
your mission and bid you begone. On the other hand, if you are welcome,
glad smiles will light up the faces of your friends, and you will hear
sweet words uttered by melodious and tuneful voices. It is seldom that
your courteous advances will be repelled, though they are very ready to
resent unwelcome intrusions. I have often sat for hours in the hogans
of entire strangers, and the conversation of men and women was general
and punctuated with laughter and smiles, showing that they know how to
make and appreciate jokes.

The Navahoes play a game common in the Southwest, which they call
nanzosh. It is a simple game, yet they seem to get endless fun and
amusement from it, often gambling large sums upon their favorite
players, for, while it looks and is simple, it is not easy to play
so as to win. It requires great skill and accurate throwing. The
implements are two long poles and a small hoop. The poles are generally
of alder and in two pieces, a fathom long, and a long, many-tailed
string called the turkey-claw is fastened to the end of each. Two
players only are needed. One throws the hoop. Both follow, and when
they think the hoop is about to fall, they throw their respective poles
so that the hoop, in its fall, will rest upon those portions of their
poles that give the highest counts.

Catlin describes a similar game played by the Mandans, though their
pole is a single piece of wood, as is that of the Mohaves and Yumas,
both of whom have the same game.

The taboo is in existence in all its force among the Navahoes. The
most singular of these is that which forbids a man ever to look upon
the face of his mother-in-law. Among civilized people it is a standard
subject for rude jesting, this relationship of the mother-in-law,
but with the Navahoes, the white man's jest is a subject of great
earnestness. Each believes that serious consequences will follow if
they see each other; hence, as it is the custom for a man to live with
his wife's people, constant dodging is required, and the cries of
warning, given by one or another of the family to son or mother-in-law,
are often heard. I was once photographing the family of Manuelito, the
last great war-chief of the Navahoes. The widow of the chief, her two
daughters, their husbands and children, made up the group. But there
was no getting of them together. I would photograph the mother with her
daughters and grandchildren, but as soon as I called for the daughters'
husbands, the mother "slid" out of sight, and when I wished for her
return, the men disappeared.

Then, too, a Navaho will never touch fish, much less eat it. According
to one of the shamans, the reason for this is, that some of their
ancestors were once turned into fish in the San Juan River, and, were
they to eat fish, they might thus become cannibals, and eat descendants
of their own ancestors. As neither Matthews nor Stephen refers to this
cause of the taboo, I merely give it for what it may be worth. The
former tells of a white woman, who, in a spirit of mischief, threw a
pan of water in which fish had been soaked over a young Navaho. He
changed his clothes and bathed himself carefully, in order that no
taint of the tabooed fish might remain upon him. I have had a great
deal of fun by innocently offering candy in the form of fish to
Navahoes. As they are fond of candy, it was a strong proof of the power
of the taboo that they invariably refused to touch it.

Superstition naturally forms a large part of the Navaho's thought. He
believes in charms, amulets, fetishes, witchcraft, taboos, magic, and
all the wondrous things he can conceive. His name for a personal fetish
is _Bizha_, "his treasure, something he especially values; hence his
charm, his amulet, his personal fetish, his magic weapon, something
that one carries to mysteriously protect himself."

The talisman or amulet for the gambler is a piece of fine turquoise,
because Noholipi, a gambling god, who appears in their Origin Legend,
was made successful always with a large piece of this precious stone.

There are quite a number of medicine-men, or shamans, among the
Navahoes, some good, others bad. It has been my privilege to know
several who are men of dignity and character.

Dr. Matthews, in writing of them, thus strongly expresses himself:
"There are, among the Navahoes, charlatans and cheats who treat
disease; men who pretend to suck disease out of the patient, and then
draw from their own mouths pebbles, pieces of charcoal, or bodies
of insects, claiming that these are the disease which they have
extracted. But the priests of the great rites are not to be classed
with such. All of these with whom the writer is acquainted are above
such trickery. They perform their ceremonies in the firm conviction
that they are invoking divine aid, and their calling lends dignity to
their character." Of Hatali Natloi, the smiling chanter, he says: "He
would be considered a man of high character in any community. He is
dignified, courteous, kind, honest, truthful, and self-respecting."

This is the universal testimony of all who know this class of men with
reasonable intimacy. Though the white man may believe the performances
of a shaman ridiculous or superstitious, that need not interfere with
his respect and esteem.

To understand this subject aright, one must clearly apprehend the
Indian meaning of the terms "medicine," and "medicine-men." Oftentimes
the latter are called priests, sometimes thaumaturgists, oftener
shamans, and, of course, by all unknowing white men are unhesitatingly
denounced as frauds and humbugs. Now to the Indian all things that
work injury to him are bad medicine. If you write his name (or any
scrawl he cannot understand) on a piece of paper and look at it
solemnly and then at him, at the same time shaking your head, you can
persuade him into the belief that it is "bad medicine." Owen Wister
recently wrote in one of the popular magazines an interesting story,
the whole plot of which was based upon his knowledge of this fact.

With the Navaho it is "bad medicine" to touch an achindee hogan (or
house). When a person dies within a house, the rafters are tumbled over
the body, and the whole set on fire. After that it would be exceeding
"bad medicine" for a Navaho to go near the spot, or touch a piece of
wood belonging to that hogan; for the spirit (the achindee) is supposed
to remain in the locality, and he resents any undue intrusion into his
domain. Before I was aware of the custom and feeling, I camped near
an abandoned and partially burned hogan. When I sent my Navaho man to
it for wood for a fire, he went half a mile away into the mountain
and stayed there. I was unable to understand his feeling, but later I
learned that except under the pangs of direst hunger, he would never
have touched a morsel of food prepared over a fire in which wood from
the achindee hogan had been used.

Medicine-men are often used as instruments for the working of private
revenge. Cowards are to be found among Indians as among white men.
Among white men these despicable wretches attack their foes through
the columns of newspapers or in the pages of magazines, while among
the former they call in the services of a medicine-man. This hired
charlatan then either directly or by proxy works upon the fears
of the man he is hired to injure. Sometimes he actually poisons or
otherwise harms him under pretence of protecting him. But the Indian
is dreadfully superstitious, and to work upon his mind is easy, and he
soon imagines himself to be sick.

For the cure of disease the better class of Navaho shamans have a
system of chanting, praying, dancing, bathing, sweating, etc., that Dr.
Matthews has fully described in the United States Bureau of Ethnology
reports. The complexity of these ceremonies cannot be comprehended or
conceived by those whose knowledge of the Indian is superficial and
casual.

If, however, a shaman makes himself unpopular, or fails to cure in
several successive cases, or earns the enmity of a treacherous shaman
foe, he is liable to be accused of witchcraft, and if a sufficient
number of the people can be made to believe the charge he is speedily
done away with. One of the shamans made famous by Dr. Matthews was
recently killed on account of his harsh and tyrannical manner. He was
accused of witchcraft and shot. Hence it will be seen that the Navaho
is not yet perfect--any more than his white brother. No, indeed!

There are other points in which he is similar to his brother of the
white skin. Some years ago I journeyed in a wagon with an old Arizona
pioneer, Franklin French, from Winslow, on the line of the Santa Fé,
through the Hopi country, the Mormon town of Tuba City, past the Navaho
settlements of Willow Springs, Echo Reef, etc., to Lee's Ferry of the
Colorado River.

Beyond Willow Springs we camped one night, and I went to a Navaho hogan
to purchase corn and vegetables for ourselves, and feed for the horses.
Everything was six prices too high, but the Navahoes knew I was in
need of their articles and raised the prices accordingly. It is not
only the white man that understands the principle of "cornering the
market." We compromised, however, and, after a hearty supper and a chat
around the camp-fire, I rolled myself up in my blankets ready to sleep
until called for breakfast in the morning.

But what a babel of confusing and distressing sounds it was that
awakened me! Surely we must be beset by a band of marauding Navahoes,
bent on murdering us! No; it was only a wordy fight between my driver
and three Navaho women, who had come to demand compensation for
depredations committed in their corn-field by our horses. Hobbled,
and turned loose, they had discovered somehow, during the night, that
on Echo Reef were corn and other good fodder to be had in the place
of the scant feed offered below; so, following their noses, they had
wandered into corn-fields and melon-patches to their own delectation,
but the manifest injury of the crops. What was to be done about it?
French was advising that the Navahoes imitate the example of the Hopis
and cut off a portion of the ear of each offending animal, but the
women angrily laughed him to scorn and vociferously demanded _cinquo
pesos_ for the damage. These were not forthcoming, but I urged the
squaws on, telling them to insist that the hoary-headed old miser pay
them their just demands, and informing them, in purest English, of the
opinions French had expressed regarding them, as a people, the night
before. The aborigines didn't quite know what to make out of my fluent
verbosity, and French at last impatiently turned to me and told me
there'd be a "pretty general monkey and parrot time started here pretty
quick, if I didn't let up, and that'll be follered by a pretty tall
foot-race between us two, in which you'll be 'way off in the lead."
So we compromised with our dusky visitors by inviting them to eat up
the remnants of our breakfast, and then carry away a little coffee and
sugar. The only thing I am now afraid of is that, at the next visit
I make them, they will privately and stealthily, under the cover of
night, lead our steeds into the forbidden fields, and encourage them in
their thefts, in order that they may enjoy another "compromise."

Primitive peoples at an early date felt the desire for personal
adornment. With the Navaho this found expression in painting the body
with various colored ochres or clays, in fashioning garments out of the
skins of animals, in wearing head-dresses and other fantastic ornaments
made from feathers, and in necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and wristlets
made of small flint arrowpoints, or of the dried seeds of juniper,
pinion, and other plants, or of bones. Later they secured beads of
shell, turquoise, and coral by barter.

But nearly all this primitive decoration received a rude shock of
displacement when the Mexican colonist came upon the scene, with his
iron, copper, and silver adornments glittering in the sunlight. From
coveting, the Navaho took to possessing by fair means or foul. He would
barter his skins or other native possessions for the precious metals,
using brass and copper for the making of ornaments, and iron for
tipping his arrows. Silver, however, has never lost its charm for him.
The Mexican vaquero, trapped out in the glittering metal, has ever been
his ideal of personal adornment, and he retains it to this day. Silver
is the only coin they care to accept, though the better educated now
know the superior value of gold.

There are some clever, skilful silversmiths among them--peshlikais, as
they call themselves. In crucibles of their own manufacture they melt
the precious metal, using a crude and primitive blast furnace, with
charcoal as fuel, and the molten silver is then poured into moulds
which they have shaped out of sandstone or other rock. They understand
the art of uniting two pieces of metal together, for many of their
ornaments are hollow and globular, originally made in two parts and
then joined. Scarcely a man or woman of any standing in the tribe does
not possess a home-manufactured necklace of silver beads or articles
of some design,--a finger ring or two, one or more bracelets, and
sometimes a pair of ear pendants. Above all they covet the belt with
large silver disks. Each of these disks is made of two or more silver
dollars, melted and run into a flat mould. This thick sheet is then
hammered out to the required size and shape, which is either oval or
circular, and chased with small tools. The border is generally filleted
and the edges scalloped. When finished each disk has a value of twice
its original cost in coin silver. Sometimes a belt will contain eight
or nine disks and a buckle, which cannot be bought for less than
thirty-six to forty dollars. This, too, is actual cost price. If the
Navaho doesn't care to part with it, an extra five or ten dollars, or
even more, is required to induce him to let it go.

In addition to these objects of personal adornment, many of the more
wealthy have silver bridles. The bridle itself is made of leather or
woven horsehair, and then the silver strips and bars, artistically
chased and decorated, are placed and fastened on the headstall. Silver
buttons of pretty and tasty design are commonly used on gaiters and
moccasins. These are made from beaten coins, twenty-five and fifty-cent
pieces, and the obverse side is often found in its original state as
stamped in the United States or Mexican mint.

The bracelets are of various designs, sometimes simple round circlets;
other times the silver is triangular, but the most common shape is a
flat band, on the outer side of which chasings and gravings are made.
These bracelets are made so that they can be slipped sideways over the
wrist. These and all the other articles mentioned are worn equally by
women and men.

The finger rings are often adorned with a rude setting of turquoise
or garnet. The former is found in various parts of New Mexico, and on
their reservation they dig garnets, spinel rubies, jacinths, peridots,
opals, smoky topaz, and crystal spar in large quantities. From the
Petrified Forest they obtain jasper, carnelian, chalcedony, agate, and
amethyst. All these objects are rudely polished and shaped, and used on
rings, ear pendants, or necklaces.

It has been stated that the Navaho is exceedingly superstitious about
making or allowing to be made any representation of a snake, and
that on one occasion a silversmith who offended by beginning to make
a bracelet of rattlesnake design was cruelly beaten, his workshop
demolished, and the hated emblem destroyed. This may be true, but I
have ridden all over the Navaho reservation wearing both a rattlesnake
ring and bracelet, and have had several made for me, on different parts
of the reservation, by different peshlikais. I am now wearing a ring of
rattlesnake design made by a Navaho silversmith and given to me with
this thought as explained to me by the donor: "The snake watches and
guards for us our springs and water-courses. Water is the most precious
thing we possess in the desert. I make for you this ring in the form of
a snake, that the power that guards our most precious thing may always
guard you."

[Illustration: WIFE OF LEVE LEVE, WALLAPAI CHIEF.]

[Illustration: THE MARCH OF THE ANTELOPE PRIESTS, ORAIBI, 1902.]

I wore this ring when unfortunately I was bitten by a rattlesnake at
Phœnix, in February, 1902; but as I speedily recovered, I am satisfied
that my Navaho friend will insist that it was the ring and its
virtues that kept me from sudden death, and that hastened my complete
recovery.[4]

[4] Since writing this I visited the Hopi Snake Dance at Oraibi, in
September, 1902. One of the Navahoes I met there informed me that he
had come as the messenger of my peshlikai friend at Tohatchi, and he
asked, "When _klish_ (the rattlesnake) bit you did you wear the klish
ring?" I answered, "Yes." "Then," said he, "that was the reason you
recovered. Had you not worn it you would speedily have died." Of course
I believed him.

A most interesting settlement of Navahoes is that of To-hatch-i, or
Little Water, some forty miles northwest of Gallup, New Mexico. Here
I was invited by Mrs. E. H. De Vore, the teacher of the government
school. The drive is over an interesting country, part of which is
covered by junipers and cedars, and where the road winds around
strangely and fantastically sculptured rocks as it reaches the great
Navaho plateau.

The major portion of the Navahoes were kind and hospitable and greeted
me cordially. The day after my arrival I was talking with Hosteen
Da-ä-zhy about the other Indian tribes I had visited, when suddenly
the thought came to me which I immediately expressed: "When I go to my
friends the Hopis and Acomas and Zunis they always know I am weary
and tired with my long journey across the sandy desert, and they have
their women prepare a bowl of "tal-a-wush" and cool and refresh me by
shampooing my head." Talawush is the Navaho for the root of the amole
(soap-root), which, macerated and then beaten up and down in a bowl of
water, produces a delicious lather, which, for a shampoo, has no equal.

In a moment, as though grieved by his thoughtlessness and want of
hospitality, Da-ä-zhy called to his oldest daughter, and bade her
prepare some talawush to give me a shampoo. The woman muttered some
protest,--"it was enough to wash her own husband's head without having
to wash mine,"--but her father sternly rebuked her for her want of
courtesy to the stranger. In a short time the preparations were all
made. I sent to Mrs. De Vore and borrowed a couple of towels, and then
in the shade outside knelt down with my head over a large bowl full
of the refreshing suds. Very gently at first, and afterwards more
vigorously, the good woman lathered my head--and oh, how cooling and
soothing it was!--while her sister and the interpreter stood by and
laughed. Then Hosteen himself came and laughed at the droll remarks of
his daughter. This general laughter called others, and by and by Mrs.
De Vore and her sister could not resist the temptation to come and see
what all the fun was about. Just as they sat down, close by, my gentle
manipulator was saying: "Navaho men have hair only on the top of their
heads, but you have hair also on the bottom [my beard]. Shall I also
put talawush on the bottom hair as well as the top?" Laughingly I bade
her put it everywhere she liked, and just as my mouth was at its widest
she brought up a handful of suds and filled it full. Of course I half
choked, and this only made the laugh greater than ever, for, with the
greatest coolness and sly nonchalance she exclaimed: "It is a good
thing that you got a mouthful. White men need to have their mouths
washed out pretty often!"

And what a delightful sensation the whole operation gave one! It was
refreshing beyond description, and, for days after, my hair was as
silky and soft as that of a child.




CHAPTER X

THE NAVAHO AS A BLANKET WEAVER[5]


When the Spaniard came into Arizona and New Mexico three hundred
and fifty years ago, he found the art of weaving in a well-advanced
stage among the domestic and sedentary Pueblo Indians, and the wild
and nomad Navahoes. The cotton of these blankets was grown by these
Arizona Indians from time immemorial, and they also used the tough
fibres of the yucca, and agave leaves, and the hairs of various wild
animals, either separately or with cotton. Their processes of weaving
were exactly the same then as they are to-day, there being but slight
differences between the methods followed before the advent of the
whites and after. Hence, in a study of Indian blanketry, as it is made
even to-day, we are approximating nearly to the pure aboriginal methods
of pre-Columbian times.

[5] This chapter is composed mainly from an article of mine entitled
"Indian Blanketry," which appeared in _Outing_ of March, 1902.

Archæologists and ethnologists generally presume that the art of
weaving on the loom was learned by the Navahoes from their Pueblo
neighbors. All the facts in the case seem to bear out this supposition.
Yet, as is well known, the Navahoes are a part of the great Athabascan
family, which has scattered, by separate migrations, from Alaska into
California, Arizona, and New Mexico. Many of the Alaskans are good
weavers, and according to Navaho traditions, their ancestors, when
they came into the country, wore blankets that were made of cedar bark
and of yucca fibre. Even in the Alaska (Thlinket) blankets, made to-day
of the wool of the white mountain-goat, cedar bark is twisted in with
the wool of the warp. Why, then, should not the Navaho woman have
brought the art of weaving, possibly in a very primitive condition,
from her original Alaskan home? That her art, however, has been
improved by contact with the pueblo Hopi, and other Indians, there can
be no question, and, if she had a crude loom, it was speedily replaced
by the one so long used by the Pueblo. Where the Pueblo weaver gained
her loom we do not know, whether from the tribes of the South, or by
her own invention. But in all practical ways the primitive loom was as
complete and perfect at the Spanish conquest as it is to-day.

Any loom, to be complete, must possess certain qualifications. As
Professor Mason has well said: "In any style of mechanical weaving,
however simple or complex, even in darning, the following operations
are performed: First, raising and lowering alternately different sets
of warp filaments to form the 'sheds'; second, throwing the shuttle,
or performing some operation that amounts to the same thing; third,
after inserting the weft thread, driving it home, and adjusting it by
means of the batten,--be it the needle, the finger, the shuttle, or a
separate device."

The frame is made of four cottonwood or cedar poles cut from the trees
that line the nearest stream or grow in the mountain forests. Two of
these are forked for uprights, and the cross beams are lashed to them
above and below. Sometimes the lower beam is dispensed with, and
wooden pegs driven into the earth are used instead. The frame ready,
the warp is arranged on beams, which are lashed to the top and bottom
of the frame by means of a rawhide or horsehair riata (our Western
word "lariat" is merely a corruption of _la riata_). Thus the warp
is made tight and is ready for the nimble fingers of the weaver. Her
shuttles are pieces of smooth, round stick upon the ends of which she
has wound her yarn, or even the small balls of yarn are made to serve
this purpose. By her side is a rude wooden comb with which she strikes
a few stitches into place, but when she wishes to wedge the yarn of a
complete row--from side to side--of weaving, she uses for the purpose a
flat, broad stick, one edge of which is sharpened almost to knife-like
keenness. This is the "batten." With the design in her brain her busy
and skilful fingers produce the pattern as she desires it, there being
no sketch from which she may copy. In weaving a blanket of intricate
pattern and many colors the weaver finds it easier to open the few warp
threads needed with her fingers and then thrust between them the small
balls of yarn, rather than bother with a shuttle, no matter how simple.

But before blankets can be made the wool must be cut from the backs
of the sheep, cleaned, carded, spun, and dyed. It is one of the
interesting sights of the Southwest region to see a flock of sheep
and goats running together, watched over, perhaps, by a lad of ten or
a dozen years, or by a woman who is ultimately to weave the fleeces
they carry into substantial blankets. After the fleece has been
removed from the sheep the Navaho woman proceeds to wash it. Then
it is combed with hand cards--small flat implements in which wire
teeth are placed--purchased from the traders. (These and the shears
are the only modern implements used.) The dyeing is sometimes done
before spinning, generally, however, after. The spindle used is of the
simplest character--merely a slender stick thrust through a circular
disk of wood. In spite of the fact that the Navahoes have seen the
spinning-wheel in use by the Mexicans and the Mormons, who, at Tuba
City, live practically as their neighbors, they have never cared either
to make or steal them. Their conservatism preserves the ancient, slow
and laborious method. Holding the spindle in the right hand, the point
of the short end below the balancing disk resting on the ground, and
the long end on her knee, the spinner attaches the end of her staple
close to the disk, and then gives the spindle a rapid twirl. As it
revolves she holds the yarn out so that it twists. As it tightens
sufficiently she allows it to wrap on to the spindle, and repeats the
operation until the spindle is full. The spinning is done loosely or
tightly according to the fineness of weave required in the blanket.
There are practically four grades of blankets made from native wool,
and it must be prepared suitably for each grade. The coarsest is, of
course, the easiest spun. This is to make the common blankets. These
seldom have any other color than the native gray, white, brown, and
black, though occasionally streaks of red or some other color will
be introduced. The yarn for these is coarse and fuzzy, and nearly a
quarter of an inch in diameter. The next grade is the extra common. The
yarn for this must be a little finer, say twenty-five per cent. finer,
and is generally in a variety of colors. The third grade is the half
fancy, and this is closer woven yarn, and the colors are a prominent
feature of the completed blankets. These half-fancy blankets are those
generally offered for sale as the "genuine" Navaho material, etc., and,
were the dyes used of native origin, this designation would be correct.
Unfortunately, in by far the greater number of them, aniline dyes are
used, and this, by the wise purchaser, is regarded as a misfortune.
The next grade is the native wool fancy. These are comparatively rare
blankets, as the yarn must be woven very tightly, and the weaving also
done with great care. The highest grade that one will ordinary come in
contact with is the Germantown. This style of blanket is made entirely
of purchased Germantown yarn, which has almost superseded the native
wool fancy, as, to the ordinary purchaser, a Germantown yarn blanket
looks so much better than one made from its Navaho counterpart. The
yarn is of brighter colors--necessarily so, owing to the wonderful
chromatic gamut offered by the aniline dyes; it is spun more evenly
(not necessarily more strongly, and, indeed, as a matter of fact, is
far less strong), and (to the Indian) is much less trouble to procure.
Then, too, when woven, owing to its good looks, it sells for more than
the native wool fancy, upon which so much more work has had to be put.
Hence Madam Navaho, being no fool, prefers to make what the people ask
for, and "Germantowns" are turned out _ad libitum_.

But, to the knowing, there is still a higher grade of blanket. This
is not, as one expert (_sic_) would have it, an attempted copying of
ancient blankets, but a continuation of an art which he declares to
be lost. There are several old weavers who preserve in themselves all
the old and good of the best days of blanket weaving. They use native
dyes, native wool,--with bayeta when they can get it,--and they spin
their wool to a tension that makes it as durable as fine steel. They
weave with care, and after the old fashions, following the ancient
shapes and designs, and produce blankets that are as good as any that
were ever made in the palmiest days of the art. Such blankets take
long in weaving, and are both rare and expensive. I have just had one
of these fine blankets made (January, 1903), and in every sense of the
word it is equal to any old blanket I ever saw.

The common blankets and the extra common are sold by the pound, the
price, of course, varying, and of late years steadily increasing.
Half-fancy blankets are generally sold by the piece, and vary in price
according to the harmony of the colors, the fineness of the weave, and
the striking characteristics of the design. This is also true of native
wool fancy, the price being determined by the Indian according to her
notions of the length of the purchaser's purse. On the other hand,
Germantown yarn having a fixed purchasable price, the blankets made
from it are to be bought by the pound.

These remarks, necessarily, refer to the original purchases from the
Indian. There are no general rules of purchase price followed by
traders, dealers, or retail salesmen.

In the original colors, as I have already shown, there are white,
brown, gray, and black, the last rather a grayish-black, or, better
still, as Matthews describes it, rusty. He also says: "They still
employ to a great extent their native dyes of yellow, reddish, and
black. There is good evidence that they formerly had a blue dye;
but indigo, originally introduced, I think, by the Mexicans, has
susperseded this. If they, in former days, had a native blue and a
native yellow, they must also, of course, have had a green, and they
now make green of their native yellow and indigo, the latter being the
only imported dye-stuff I have ever seen in use among them.... The
brilliant red figures in their finer blankets were, a few years ago,
made entirely of bayeta, and this material is still (1881) largely
used. Bayeta is a bright scarlet cloth with a long nap, much finer in
appearance than the scarlet strouding which forms such an important
article in the Indian trade of the North."

This bayeta or baize was unravelled, and the Indian often retwisted the
warp to make it firmer than originally, and then rewove it into his
incomparable blankets.

From information mainly gained by Mr. G. H. Pepper, of the American
Museum of Natural History, during his three years' sojourn with the
Navahoes as head of the Hyde Exploring Expedition, I present the
following accounts of their native dyes. From the earliest days the
Navahoes have been expert dyers, their colors being black, brick-red,
russet, blue, yellow, and a greenish-yellow akin to the shade known
as old gold. To make the black dye three ingredients are used; viz.,
yellow ochre, pinion gum, and the leaves and twigs of the aromatic
sumac (_Rhus aromatica_). The ochre is pulverized and roasted until it
becomes a light brown, when it is removed from the fire and mixed with
an equal amount of pinion gum. This mixture is then placed on the fire,
and as the roasting continues it first becomes mushy, then drier and
darker, until nothing but a fine black powder is left. In the meantime
the sumac leaves and twigs are being boiled, five or six hours being
required to fully extract the juices. When both are somewhat cooled
they are mixed, and almost immediately a rich bluish-black fluid is
formed.

For yellow dye the tops of a flowering weed (_Bigelovia graveolens_)
are boiled for several hours until the liquid assumes a deep yellow
color. As soon as the dyer deems the extraction of the color juices
nearly complete, she takes some native alum (_almogen_) and heats it
over the fire, and, when it becomes pasty, gradually adds it to the
boiling decoction, which slowly becomes of the required yellow color.

The brick-red dye is extracted from the bark and roots of the sumac,
and ground black alder bark, with the ashes of the juniper as a
mordant. She now immerses the wool and allows it to remain in the dye
from half an hour to an hour.

Whence come the designs incorporated by these simple weavers into their
blankets, sashes, and dresses? In this, as in basketry and pottery,
the answer is found in nature. Indeed, many of their textile designs
suggest a derivation from basketry ornamentation (which originally came
from nature), "as the angular, curveless figures of interlaying plaits
predominate, and the principal subjects are the same--conventional
devices representing clouds, stars, lightning, the rainbow, and
emblems of the deities. But these simple forms are produced in endless
combination and often in brilliant, kaleidoscopic grouping, presenting
broad effects of scarlet and black, of green, yellow, and blue upon
scarlet, and wide ranges of color skilfully blended upon a ground of
white. The centre of the fabric is frequently occupied with tessellated
or lozenge patterns of multi-colored sides, or divided into panels of
contrasting colors in which different designs appear; some display
symmetric zigzags, converging and spreading throughout their length; in
others, bands of high color are defined by zones of neutral tints, or
parted by thin, bright lines into a checkered mosaic, and in many only
the most subdued shades appear. Fine effects are obtained by using a
soft, gray wool in its natural state, to form the body of the fabric in
solid color, upon which figures in orange and scarlet are introduced;
also in those woven in narrow stripes of black and deep blue, having
the borders relieved in bright tinted meanders along the sides and
ends, or with a central colored figure in the dark body, with the
design repeated in a diagonal panel at each corner.

"The greatest charm, however, of these primitive fabrics, is the
unrestrained freedom shown by the weaver in her treatment of primitive
conventions. To the checkered emblem of the rainbow she adds sweeping
rays of color, typifying sunbeams; below the many-angled cloud group,
she inserts random pencil lines of rain; or she softens the rigid
meander, signifying lightning, with graceful interlacing, and shaded
tints. Not confining herself alone to these traditional devices, she
invents her own methods to introduce curious, realistic figures of
common objects,--her grass brush, wooden weaving fork, a stalk of corn,
a bow, an arrow, or a plume of feathers from a dancer's mask. Thus,
although the same characteristic styles of weaving and decoration
are general, yet none of the larger designs are ever reproduced with
mechanical exactness; each fabric carries some distinct variation, some
suggestion of the occasion of its making, woven into form as the fancy
arose."

I have thus quoted from an unpublished manuscript of one of the
greatest Navaho authorities of the United States--Mr. A. M. Stephen--in
order to confirm my own oft-repeated and sometimes challenged
statements that the Navaho weaver finds in nature her designs, and that
in most of her better blankets there is woven "some suggestion of the
occasion of its making."

This imitative faculty is, _par excellence_, the controlling force in
aboriginal decoration so far as I know the Amerind of the Southwest.

With many of the younger women, submission to the imitative faculty in
weaving is becoming an injury instead of a blessing. Instead of looking
to nature for their models, or finding pleasure in the religious
symbolism of the older weavers, they have sunk into a lazy, apathetic
disregard, and they slavishly and carelessly imitate the work of their
elders. This is growingly true, I am sorry to say, with both basket
makers and blanket weavers. On my recent trips I have come in contact
with many fair specimens, both in basketry and blanketry, and when I
have asked for an explanation of the design the reply has been: "Me no
sabe! I make 'em all same old basket, or all same old Navaho blanket."
Here is perversion of the true imitative faculty which sought its pure
and original inspiration from nature.

It will not be out of place here to correct a few general
misapprehensions in regard to the older and more valuable Navaho
blankets. These erroneous ideas are partly the result of the
misstatements of an individual who sought thereby to enhance the value
of his own collection.

It is true that good bayeta blankets are comparatively rare, but they
are far more common than he would have his readers believe. The word
"bayeta" is nothing but the simple Spanish for the English baize, and
is spelled bayeta, and not "balleta" or "vayeta." It is a bright red
baize with a long nap, made especially in England for Spanish trade
(not Turkish, as this "expert" claims), and by the Spanish and Mexicans
sold to the Indians. Up to as late as 1893 bayeta blankets were being
made plentifully. Since then comparatively few have been made. The
bayeta was a regular article of commerce, and could be purchased at any
good wholesale house in New York. It was generally sold by the rod,
and not by the pound. The duty now is so high that its importation is
practically prohibited, it being, I believe, about sixty per cent. And
yet I am personally acquainted with several weavers who will imitate
perfectly, in bayeta, any blanket ever woven, and that the native dyes
for other colors will be used. We are told that an Indian woman will
not take the time to weave blankets such as were made in the olden
time. I have several that took nine, twelve, and thirteen months to
make, and if the pay is good enough any weaver will work on a blanket
a year, or even two years, if necessary. The length of time makes no
difference, as several traders in Indian blankets can vouch. Indeed,
it would be quite possible to obtain the perfect reproduction of any
blanket in existence, which would be satisfactory to any board of
genuine experts, the only differences between the new and the ancient
blankets being those inseparable from newness and age.

While bayeta blankets are not common by any means, they aggregate many
scores in the mass, and are to be found in many collections, both East
and West. It is a difficult matter to even suggest in a photograph or
an engraving any idea of the beauty and charm of one of these old
Navaho blankets.

[Illustration: AN AGED NAVAHO AND HER HOGAN.]

[Illustration: NAVAHO FAMILY AND HOGAN IN THE PAINTED DESERT.]

It will be observed that I have written as if the major portion of
the weaving of Navaho blankets was done by the women. Dr. Matthews,
however, writing in or before 1881, says that "there are ... a few men
who practise the textile art, and among them are to be found the best
artisans of the tribe." Of these men but one or two are now alive, if
any, and I have seen one only who still does the weaving.

In late years a few Navaho weavers have invented a method of weaving
a blanket both sides of which are different. The Salish stock of
Indians make baskets the designs of which on the inside are different
from those on the outside, but this is done by a simple process of
imbrication, easy to understand, which affords no key to a solution of
the double-faced Navaho blanket. I have purchased two or three such
blankets, but as yet have not found a weaver who would show me the
process of weaving. Dr. Matthews thinks this new invention cannot date
farther back than 1893, as prior to that time Mr. Thomas V. Keam, the
oldest trader with the Navahoes, had never seen one. Yet one collector
declares he had one as far back as fifteen years ago.

In addition to the products of the vertical loom the Navaho and also
the Pueblo women weave a variety of smaller articles of wear, all of
which are remarkable for their strength and durability as well as for
their striking designs.




CHAPTER XI

THE WALLAPAIS


It is hard to conceive of a people, numbering nearly a thousand souls,
lodged within the borders of the United States, of whom nothing has
been written. The only references to the Wallapais are to be found in
the casual remarks of travellers or soldiers, and later, the agent's
reports to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs. Perhaps the earliest
reference to them is in Padre Garcés' Diary, where, in describing the
Mohaves, he says the Wallapais (spelling the name Jaguallapais) are
their enemies on the east. Then, on leaving the Mohaves and journeying
east, he himself reaches the tribe in the neighborhood of where the
town of Kingman now stands. Six miles northwest of Kingman are located
Beale's Springs, which pour forth the best supply of water in the whole
region; hence it was natural that the Wallapais should have established
their homes near it. In the Wallapai Origin Legend the story of their
dispersion to this region is told. The Wallapai Mountains are close by,
a few miles to the southeast, and from the pines of these mountains
they get their name; "Wal-la," tall pine; "pai," people,--the people of
the tall pine.[6]

[6] There are several other fair springs in the vicinity, chiefly
Johnson's to the north of Kingman, and Gentile Springs, below the pass
through which the Santa Fé railway enters Sacramento Valley.

Garcés says the people received him hospitably and "conducted
themselves with me as comported with the affection that I had shown
toward them." Their dress was antelope skins and "some shirts of Moki,"
doubtless the cotton woven shirts of these primitive weavers.

Lieutenant Ives, in his interesting report of his early explorations
in this region, describes the Wallapais in Peach Springs and Diamond
Canyons, another of their favored locations, and Captain Bourke in his
"On the Border with Crook" makes passing mention of them.

On January 4, 1883, President Arthur decreed the following as their
reservation:--

 "It is hereby ordered that the following-described tract of country
 situated in the Territory of Arizona be, and the same is hereby, set
 aside and reserved for the use and occupancy of the Hualapai Indians,
 namely: Beginning at a point on the Colorado River five miles eastward
 of Tinnakah Spring; thence south twenty miles to crest of high mesa;
 thence south forty degrees east twenty-five miles to a point of Music
 Mountains; thence east fifteen miles; thence north fifty degrees east
 thirty-five miles; thence north thirty miles to the Colorado River;
 thence along said river to the place of beginning; the southern
 boundary being at least two miles south of Peach Spring, and the
 eastern boundary at least two miles east of Pine Spring. All bearings
 and distances being approximate.

 "CHESTER A. ARTHUR."

Owing to the abundant supply of water at Beale's Springs the settlement
there naturally became a stopping-place for all travel across that
portion of Arizona. It was the favorite camping-place of the wagons
travelling between Fort Mohave and Fort Whipple, near Phœnix.
Johnson's and Gentile Springs also being in line, and the pass just
below Kingman leading into the Sacramento Valley being the most natural
outlet for a railway, the building of the Atlantic and Pacific, by
which name the section of the great Santa Fé transcontinental system
which extends from Albuquerque, New Mexico, to Barstow, California, was
originally known--found the Wallapais and at once put them in contact
with the outside world and our civilization. Unfortunately the actual
builders of a railway and their followers do not always represent the
best elements of our civilization, and the meeting in this case was
decidedly against the best interests of the Wallapais. Close proximity,
also, to a border mining town, such as Kingman, has not tended to the
elevation of the morals or ideals of the Wallapais, and in a short time
many of those who resided near the railways became known for their
degradation. The men yielded to the white men's vices and soon inducted
their women into the same courses, so that for a long period of years
the name Wallapai seemed to be almost synonymous with drunkenness,
gambling, wild orgies, and the utmost degradation. In those days it was
no uncommon sight to see as many as twenty men, women, and children
lying around drunk in either Kingman or Hackberry, and I have personal
knowledge of several cases where fathers took their daughters and sold
them to white men, into a bondage infinitely worse and more degrading
than slavery.

Of late years this condition has been largely improved. When the
government schools were established and a field matron sent to work
with the Wallapais, new elements of our civilization were introduced to
these unfortunates, and nobly they have responded. With few exceptions
they are now industrious, sober, honest, and reliable.

The Wallapais are of Yuman stock. In appearance they more nearly
resemble the Mohaves found at Parker, on the reservation, than any
other of the peoples in the immediate region. They have the same stout,
sturdy, fleshy build, heavy faces, and general habits, though in many
respects they are a different people. They regard the Havasupais as
their cousins, and the speech of the two peoples is very similar.
Indeed any person who can speak the one can easily be understood by one
who speaks the other.

According to their traditions, it was one of the mythical heroes of the
Wallapais--Pach-i-tha-a-wi--who made the Grand Canyon. There had been a
big flood and the earth was covered with water. No one could stir but
Pach-i-tha-a-wi, and he went forth carrying a big knife he had prepared
of flint, and a large, heavy wooden club. He struck the knife deep
into the water-covered ground and then smote it deeper and deeper with
his club. He moved it back and forth as he struck it further into the
earth, until the canyon was formed through which all the water rushed
out into the Sea of the Sunset. Then, as the sun shone, the ground
became hard and solid as we find it to-day.

In physical appearance the Wallapais are a far coarser and heavier
type than the Navahoes. They are medium in height, small-boned, and
fat. Their features are heavy and coarse. The nose is flat between the
eyes and broad at the base, and the nostrils large, denoting good lung
power and capacity. The septum is very large and heavy. The cheek-bones
generally are high and prominent, and the chin well rounded, rather
than square, like that of most of the Navahoes. Their shoulders are
broad, with head set close in. Seldom is a long-necked man or woman
seen. The upper lips are full and the under ones thick, with a slight
droop at the corners. The eyes are large and limpid, brown or black,
and capable of great seriousness or merry sparklings. The foreheads
are narrow, rounding off on each side. The heads are round without any
great fulness of the back regions. Most of them have good teeth, white
and strong, though the use of white men's coffee, baking powder, and
other demoralizing foods and drinks, have begun to work appreciable
injury to them.

The women generally wear their hair banged over the forehead, so that
the eyebrows are almost covered, and the rest of the hair is cut off
level with the shoulders, so that a well-combed head of hair falls
heavily around the whole head, covering the major part of the cheeks
and sides of the chin. I once made an interesting discovery in regard
to this almost complete covering up of the face with the hair. I wished
to make a photograph of a woman I had long known and been friendly
with. As her eyes and face were scarcely distinguishable, I took the
liberty of putting back the hair from her cheeks. She arose in anger,
and for three years refused to speak or meet me. I had given to her the
most serious insult a man could offer to a Wallapai woman. The hair is
coarse, thick, and black, though after a shampoo with amole root it
is silky and glossy. The men tie the "banda" around the forehead and
seldom wear a hat except when in the towns of the white men.

As a rule both men and women have sweet and soft voices, though a few
are harsh and forbidding.

The tattoo is common. The work is done with pins, and charcoal is
rubbed in as the punctures are made. This gives a bluish-black
appearance which is permanent. They also paint their faces in red,
yellow, and black. The chief purpose of both tattooing and painting is
to enhance their beauty, though there are times when the tattooing has
a distinct significance.

[Illustration: NAVAHO WOMAN ON HORSEBACK.]

[Illustration: THE WINNER OF THE "GALLO" RACE AT TOHATCHI.]

In school the boys and girls are slow but sure in their learning. They
read, write, spell, and figure with accuracy and speed, and compare
favorably with white children in the rapidity of their progress. Most
of the schoolgirls are heavily built and coarse,--indeed, all but two
children, the daughters of Bi-cha (commonly called Beecher), who are
slim and slight.

In another chapter I have explained the charge that Wallapai parents
were unkind, even cruel to their children. That charge can no
longer be maintained. They are kindness itself, as a rule, and from
babyhood up the children receive all the care of which the parents
deem them needful. Some of their babes are as chubby and pretty and
sweet-tempered as any I have ever seen, and much fun have I had in
photographing those who were especially attractive to me. One mother
enjoyed my appreciation of her offspring and was most good-natured in
yielding to my desire to often photograph her. The little one would
coo and laugh and kick her little feet and legs in merriment, or go
to sleep in my or her mother's arms, or even when standing up in her
wicker cradle. When I hung her up upon the wall she soberly looked at
me, but made no demonstration of fear. Her mother, however, looked to
see what I was doing. I bade her gaze upon her child, and the merry
laugh she gave would have been an astonishment to those who regard the
Indian as dull, stolid, expressionless.

Indeed one of the most laughing merry sprites it has ever been my good
fortune to know is a Wallapai maiden of some eighteen years. Seldom is
she seen any other way than smiling or cheerily laughing. She is a
perfect witch for mischief and practical jokes, and is never so happy
as when she can perpetrate one upon a white man whom she can trust.
In that word "trust" lies the whole key to the demeanor of an Indian,
either man, woman, or child, towards a white person. If you are trusted
the whole inner life is left open as a clear page; if not, the book is
closed, locked, sealed, and the key thrown away.

I had long wished to photograph the Wallapais, but they had always
objected. When I arrived at Kingman I sent Pu-chil-ow-a, the
interpreter and policeman, to call a powwow. I sent an express
invitation to the chiefs, Serum, Leve-leve, Sus-quat-i-mi, and
Qua-su-la. Serum was away at Mineral Park with a band of Wallapais
whose services he farms out to the mine owners, Leve-leve was sick and
not expected to live, but Sus-quat-i-mi and Quasula would come.

We were permitted to use the schoolhouse, and just about sunset I was
busily engaged when there came a loud rap at the door. I hastened to
open it, and there stood a dignified, well-built, slightly bearded,
neatly dressed man, who smiled and bowed with dignity and courtesy. He
wore a cap, and at first sight looked more like a retired sea-captain
than anything, so I responded to his bow with the question as to what
did I owe the honor of his visit.

"Why, you sent for me!" he replied.

"I sent for you? When?"

Then he heartily laughed and exclaimed: "You no sapogi me? I'm
Sus-quat-i-mi, Wallapai Charley."

To say I was surprised was to put it mildly.

Later on Quasula, Big Water (Ha-jiv-a-ha), Eagle Feather
(Sa-ka-lo-ka), Acorn Flour (Ā-tī-na), Coyote Eating Fish-gut
(Ka-ha-cha-va), and other leading men came, and we had quite an
interesting meeting. I stated to them my object in coming: "There are
many of your white brothers who live between the Great Waters of the
Sunrise and Sunset who wish to know more of their red-faced brothers
of the Painted Desert. I have come for years among you to find out
and to tell them. When I speak of Quasula they ask me to tell what he
looks like, and I tell them as well as I can, but if I could show them
a sun-picture they would know so much better than my words make clear.
So I wish you no longer to be as children and babes. I have made the
sun-pictures of Navahoes, Hopis, Havasupais, Apaches, Pimas, Acomas,
Paiutis, and others; why should I not make yours?"

When they presented their superstitions, I reasoned against them, and
finally Quasula settled the whole matter in my favor by rising and
saying with great dignity: "We have heard our brother with the white
face and black beard. He speaks in one way,--not in two ways at once.
His words breathe truth. We need not fear the sun-picture. I will go
to him to-morrow and he shall make as many sun-pictures of me and
my family as he desires. I want him to be able to tell to our white
brothers who live by the Sunrise Sea all he has learned of us. We are a
poor, ignorant people, we are few and do not know much. The white men
are many and they know as much as they are many. Let them send more
people to teach us and our children and we will gladly welcome them.
Some of our people have been bad. Bad white men have made them worse.
We want the bad men to be kept away, but we will welcome good white
men, and our children shall learn from them and be wise."

Then Sus-quat-i-mi arose, and in heavy and somewhat pompous speech
said: "Many years ago our white brother made my sun-picture at Peach
Springs. He has eaten tunas, mescal, pinion nuts, and corn at my hawa.
We have slept side by side under the same stars, and the same wind has
played with his beard and my hair. I know him. He knows me. His words
are straight. When he made my sun-picture he said it would do me no
harm, and here I am, after several snows, and I am as well as ever. He
shall make more sun-pictures of me to-morrow, and I will sing for him
and dance the war-dance of my people."

Big Water and the others followed and my aim was accomplished. Next
morning we set forth,--Puchilowa, my friend and photographer, Mr. C.
C. Pierce, of Los Angeles, and myself,--laden down with four cameras
and an abundance of plates and films. We succeeded in getting many
photographs, some of which are here reproduced. But at one camp, an old
woman, the grandmother, doubtless, of two children left in her care,
refused to be pictured. She covered herself up and bade the children
hide their faces, but their curiosity overcame their fears and they
were "caught."

Poor old Leve-leve and his wife were found, both of them nearly blind,
in their miserable hawa, a mile or so from Kingman. I had some useful
medicament for their eyes, and although it hurt dreadfully, they both
patiently bore the pain while I gave their eyes treatment. By the side
of the old man was his gourd rattle, which the shaman had left to
help him drive away sickness, and for hours the old man sat quietly
singing and rattling, endeavoring to get rid of the evil powers that
were cursing him. While I made a picture of him in the dark hut, his
wife went into an inner room and soon returned clad in an elaborately
fringed apron of buckskin. This was her ceremonial costume, made by
Leve-leve for her as the mother of the tribe, when she led the annual
dance of thanksgiving for the corn and melon harvest.

Sus-quat-i-mi was as good as his word, and I not only secured some
excellent photographs of him, but he sang for me into the graphophone
some of his ceremonial songs.

The Wallapais' war-song is a stirring and exciting one, and it conveys
us back to the days when their primitive weapons were in use. After
an incitation to anger against the foe it bids the warriors "get
rocks and tie them up in buckskins; make of them fierce and deadly
battle-hammers, with which smite and kill your foes. Take the horns
of the buck and sharpen them, and with them seek the hearts of your
enemies with blows skilful and strong."

Puchilowa sang for me the Wallapai song on the death of their chiefs.
It is a weird, mournful melody, which, however, I have not yet had
time and opportunity to transcribe from the graphophone. It says: "Our
chief, our father, our friend, is dead. His voice is silent, his tread
is silent. Come together, ye his friends, and cry about with sorrow.
Burn up his body that his spirit may go to the world of spirits. Burn
up his house that his spirit may not long to stay around. Burn up all
his possessions that they may be with him in the spirit world. Then
let no one to whom he belonged stay near the place where he died. Move
away, that his spirit may feel nothing to keep him to the earth."

Hence it will be seen that the Wallapai is naturally a believer in
cremation. Indeed he still practises the burning of his dead, except
where white influences are brought to bear. These influences are not
altogether a perfect good. There is no harm in burning the dead, but,
unfortunately, the general Indian belief is that the goods of the
deceased, his horses, his guns, his clothes,--indeed, all his personal
possessions, and the gifts of his friends,--should also be burned to
accompany him to the spirit world. If this destruction of valuable
property could be arrested without interfering with the corporeal
cremation, it would be a good thing.

The thanksgiving song for harvest, though purely Indian, is a much more
cheerful melody. Puchilowa gave me the words, as well as sang the song
in the graphophone, but he was unable to tell what the words meant.
"The old Indians gave me this song long time ago. I sing it all 'a time
at harvest. I no sapogi (understand) what it means."

    "Ho si a ya ma,
    In ya a sonk a kīt a,
    In ya va va vam
    Ho si a ya ma
    In ya ha sak a kīt a,"

etc., _ad infinitum_.

There are three native policemen, engaged by the Indian department,
among the Wallapais,--Puchilowa, (Jim Fielding), at Truxton;
Su-jin´-i-mi (Indian Jack), at Kingman; and Wa-wa-ti´-chi-mi, at
Chloride. Each receives ten dollars per month for his services. It was
the former who acted as interpreter during my last visit.

I had just finished making the photographs of Quasula and one or two
others, when an old woman and her husband came in from the desert. As
he sat waiting for me to photograph him, he took some prickly pears
from his bundle and began to eat them. I had often seen tourists from
the East fill their fingers with the almost invisible and countless
spines of the prickly pear, so I asked At-e-e how he gathered them.
Picking up a stick, he sharpened one end, thrust it into his fruit,
and, as if it were still on the tree, chopped it off with his knife.
Now, still holding it on the stick, he peeled it and then handed it
to me to eat. It is a slightly sweet and acid fruit, dainty enough in
flavor, but so crowded with annoying small seeds as not to pay for the
trouble of separating them.

Elsewhere I have described the method of making fire with the drill.
While talking with Atee, to whom I had given some tobacco which he
twisted into a cigarette, he suddenly asked me for a match. I said I
would give him a boxful if he would make a fire without a match. In
a minute he set to work. He borrowed the walking cane of Puchilowa,
which had just the right kind of end to it, and then, getting a piece
of softer, half-rotten but very dry wood, he bored a small hole in it.
Now, taking the stick, he placed the end of it into the hole, and then,
rubbing the stick between his hands, he made it revolve so rapidly that
in a minute or less a slight smoke could be seen in the hole where the
end of the stick was revolving. Stopping for just a moment, he got some
dry punk and put it into the hole and around the end of the stick and
began to twirl it again, at the same time gently blowing on the punk.
In less time than it takes me to write it he had got a spark. This he
blew gently until it became two, or three and more, and then with a
few pieces of shredded cedar bark he picked up the sparks, blew them
more and more until the bark was ignited, and in five minutes he had a
good camp-fire.

Mescal is one of the chief native foods of both Wallapais and
Havasupais. They call it vi-yal. It is made in winter, when the plant
is fullest of moisture. It is a species of cactus that is treated as
follows: A sharp stick is thrust into the plant to see if it is soft
and moist enough. Then the outer leaves are cut off until the white,
pulpy, and fibrous masses inside are exposed. This is the part used. It
is cooked in large pits, ten or more feet in diameter. A hole is dug in
the ground, or better still, in a mass of rocky débris. Plenty of wood
is laid in the hole, and this covered over with small pieces of rock
upon which the material to be cooked is placed four or five feet high.
This, in turn, is also covered with small stones, grass, and dirt to
keep in the heat. The wood is then fired and allowed to burn for two or
more days. Then the dirt and grass are taken off, and if the mass has
cooked brown it is removed, piled upon flat rocks, and then pounded by
the women into big flat sheets, three or four feet wide and twice as
long. Exposure in the sun rapidly dries it, when it is folded up into
two or three feet lengths, taken home, and stored for winter use.

Sometimes the mescal is pounded and eaten raw, and again it is pounded,
soaked in plenty of water, partially fermented, and the liquor used as
a drink.

The fruit of the tuna (a-te-e) is sometimes pounded and rolled into a
large mass, dried, and put away for future use. Thus prepared it will
keep for a long time, very often being brought out a year after, when
the new crop is nearly ripe.

Other natural vegetable foods of the Wallapais are a black grass seed
(a-gua-va), white grass seed (i-eh-la), the acorn and the pinion nut
(o-co-o).

The shamans and others sometimes take the jimson-weed
(smal-a-ga-to´-a), pound it up, soak it, and drink the decoction. It
is a frightful drink, producing results worse than whiskey. For a time
the debauchee sees visions and dreams dreams, then he becomes crazy
and frantic, and then, exhausted, tosses in a quieter delirium until
restored to his senses, to be nervously racked for days afterwards.
The Havasupais are so bitter against its use that their children are
brought up to regard it as one of the most dangerous and evil of plants.

Until Miss Calfee, of the Indian Association, was sent to work among
the Wallapais, they had so entirely neglected the art of basket weaving
as to let it almost entirely die out amongst them. By her endeavors,
however, it has been resuscitated, and now there are quite a number
of fairly good Wallapai baskets made. The inordinate love of bright
colors manifested by the average white tourist--note I say tourist,
and not Indian--is so completely perverting the taste of the Wallapais
as to render it almost impossible to buy a basket which contains only
the primitive colors. These are mainly the white of the willow and the
black of the martynia. A straw-color, a yellow, and a red are also
native with them, the dyes being vegetable and mineral secured from
plants, roots, and rocks close at hand. Some of the younger girls
have set themselves to learn the art, and one of them is already most
successful. She is a bright and cheerful maiden, and the basket she
holds in her lap is of her own manufacture. The design is worked out
in martynia. It represents the plateaus and valleys of her home, and
the inverted pyramid is the tornado or cyclone. It is her prayer to
Those Above to keep the cyclone in the centre of the plateaus so that
no injury may be done to her parents' corn-fields, melon-patches, and
peach-trees which are in the canyon depths.

The Wallapais have had the same trouble about the white man seizing the
best land on their reservation that most other tribes have been subject
to. When the reserve was set apart by executive order a man named
Spencer was living on land included therein, and he claimed two of the
finest of the springs, one, that of Mattaweditita, being their most
sacred of places. He was soon murdered, whether by Indians or whites I
am unable to say, and no one occupied these springs until a man named
W. F. Grounds, regardless of the executive order, took possession of,
and claimed, Mattaweditita to the exclusion of the Wallapais. This he
sold to a man named J. W. Munn. Later he and Munn had quarrels about
it and both claimed it. Then the Indian Agent interfered, and, finding
that the Indians had always claimed it as their own, that it was on
their reserve, and that they actually wished to continue to cultivate
it, he ordered both men to leave. Grounds had about seventy-five
head of cattle and Munn had a garden. The latter vacated quietly,
but Grounds brought back his cattle after they were removed. In the
meantime the Indians had planted their gardens, and when the cattle
came in their crops were speedily demolished. Again the cattle were
removed and again brought back. About this time some one generously
gave to the Indians, or left where they could be picked up, some
melons or cucumbers or both, of which fourteen of the Wallapais living
in Mattaweditita Canyon partook. Of the fourteen, thirteen sickened
and died. Of course there was no way of fastening this dastardly and
cowardly crime upon any one, but whites as well as Indians are pretty
generally agreed as to who was its perpetrator.

The few remaining Indians were now given wire to fence in the canyon,
but the old animals of Grounds' herds pushed the wires down in their
eagerness to get to and eat the Indians' wheat. The trails were now
fenced, and this proved an effectual bar. Later this exemplary white
man turned a band of saddle horses into an Indian's garden on the
reservation for pasturage. This brought upon him an order of exclusion
from the reservation and a command to entirely remove his stock within
a year. Whether this has been done or not I am unable to say, although
the Department at Washington confirmed the order and required that it
be done.

During all this squabbling it can well be imagined how the crops of the
Indian suffers; but what must be his conception of white men, their
government, and their justice?




CHAPTER XII

THE ADVENT OF THE WALLAPAIS


In the days of the long ago, when the world was young, there emerged
from Shi-pá-pu two gods, who had come from the underworld, named
To-cho-pa and Ho-ko-ma-ta. When these brothers first stood upon the
surface of the earth, they found it impossible to move around, as the
sky was pressed down close to the ground. They decided that, as they
wished to remain upon the earth, they must push the sky up into place.
Accordingly, they pushed it up as high as they could with their hands,
and then got long sticks and raised it still higher, after which they
cut down trees and pushed it up higher still, and then, climbing the
mountains, they forced it up to its present position, where it is out
of reach of all human kind, and incapable of doing them any injury.

While they were busy with their labors, another mythical hero appeared
on the scene, on the north side of the Grand Canyon, not far from the
canyon that is now known as Eldorado Canyon. Those were the "days of
the old," when the animals had speech even as men, and in many things
were wiser than men. The Coyote travelled much and knew many things,
and he became the companion of this early-day man, and taught him of
his wisdom. This gave the early man his name, Ka-that-a-ka-na-ve, which
means "Told or Taught by the Coyote."

[Illustration: A WALLAPAI, MAKING A MEAL ON THE FRUIT OF THE TUNA, OR
PRICKLY PEAR.]

[Illustration: WALLAPAI MAIDEN AND PRAYER BASKET.]

For long they lived together, until the man began to grow lonesome.
He no longer listened to the speech of the Coyote, and that made the
animal sad. He wondered what could be done to bring comfort to his
human friend, and at length suggested that he consult Those Above.
Kathat-a-kanave was lonesome because there were none others of his kind
to talk to. He longed for human beings, so, accepting the advice of the
Coyote, he retired to where he could speak freely to Those Above of
his longings and desires. He was listened to with attention, and there
told that nothing was easier than that other men, with women, should
be sent upon the earth. "Build a stone hawa--stone house--not far from
Eldorado Canyon, and then go down to where the waters flow and cut from
the banks a number of canes or sticks. Cut many, and of six kinds.
Long thick sticks and long thin sticks; medium-sized thick sticks and
medium-sized thin sticks; short thick sticks and short thin sticks. Lay
these out carefully and evenly in the stone hawa, and when the darkest
hour of the night comes, the Powers of the Above will change them into
human beings. But, beware, lest any sound is made. No voice must speak,
or the power will cease to work."

Gladly Kathat-a-kanave returned to the stone house, and with a hearty
good-will he cut many canes or sticks. He carried them to the house,
and laid them out as he had been directed, all the time accompanied
by the Coyote, who rejoiced to see his friend so cheerful and happy.
Kathat-a-kanave told Coyote what was to occur, and Coyote rejoiced
in the wonderful event that was about to take place. When all was
ready Kathat-a-kanave was so wearied with his arduous labors that he
retired to lie down and sleep, and bade Coyote watch and be especially
mindful that no sound of any kind whatever issued from his lips.
Coyote solemnly pledged himself to observe the commands,--he would
not cease from watching, and not a sound should be uttered. Feeling
secure in these promises, Kathat-a-kanave stretched out and was soon
sound asleep. Carefully Coyote watched. Darker grew the night. No
sound except the far-away twho! twho! of the owl disturbed the perfect
stillness. Suddenly the sticks began to move. In the pitch blackness
of the house interior, Coyote could not see the actual change, the
sudden appearing of feet and legs and hands and arms and head, and the
uprising of the sticks into perfect men and women, but in a few moments
he had to stand aside, as a torrent of men, women, and children poured
out of the doorway. Without a word, but thrilled even to the tip of
his tail with delight, he examined men, women, youths, maidens, boys,
girls, and found them all beautifully formed and physically perfect.
Still they came through the door. Several times he found himself about
to shout for joy, but managed to restrain his feelings. More came, and
as they looked around them on the wonderful world to which they had
come from nothingness, and expressed their astonishment (for they were
able to speak from the first moment), Coyote became wild with joy and
could resist the inward pressure no longer. He began to talk to the
new people, and to laugh and dance and shout and bark and yelp, in the
sheer exuberance of his delight. How happy he was!

Then there came an ominous stillness. The movements from inside the
house ceased; no more humans appeared at the doorway. Almost frozen
with terror, Coyote realized what he had done. The charm had ceased.
Those Above were angry at his disobedience to their commands.

When Kathat-a-kanave awoke he was delighted to see the noble human
beings Those Above had sent to him, but when he entered the hawa his
delight was changed to anger. There were hundreds more sticks to
which no life had been given. Infuriated, he turned upon Coyote and
reproached him with bitter words for failing to observe his injunction,
and then, with fierce anger, he kicked him and bade him begone! His
tail between his legs, his head bowed, and with slinking demeanor,
Coyote disappeared, and that is the reason all coyotes are now so
cowardly, and never appear in the presence of mankind without skulking
and fear.

As soon as they had become a little used to being on the earth,
Kathat-a-kanave called his people together and informed them that
he must lead them to their future home. They came down Eldorado
Canyon, and then crossed Hackataia (the Grand Canyon) and reached
a small but picturesque canyon on the Wallapai reservation, called
Mat-ta-wed-it-i-ta. This is their "Garden of Eden." Here a spring of
water supplies nearly a hundred miners' inches of water, and there are
about a hundred acres of good farming land, lying in such a position
that it can well be irrigated from this spring. On the other side
of the canyon is a cave about a hundred feet wide at its mouth, and
perched fully half a thousand feet above the valley.

Now Kathat-a-kanave disappears in some variants of the story, and
Hokomata and Tochopa take his place at Mattaweditita. The latter is
ever the hero. He gave the people seeds of corn, pumpkins, melons,
beans, etc., and showed them how to plant and irrigate them. In the
meantime they had been taught how to live on grass seeds, the fruit
of the tuna (prickly pear), and mescal, and how to slay the deer,
antelope, turkey, jack-rabbit, cottontail, and squirrel.

When the crops came Tochopa counselled them not to eat any of
the product except such as could be eaten without destroying the
seeds,--the melons and pumpkins,--so that when planting time came they
had an abundance. When the next harvest was ripe the crops were large,
and after picking out the best for seeds, some were stored away in the
cave as a reserve and the remainder eaten. As the years went on they
increased in numbers and strength. Tochopa was ever their good friend
and guide. He taught them how to dance and smoke and rattle when they
became sick; he gave them _toholwa_--the sweat-house--to cure them
of all evil; he taught the women how to make pottery, baskets, and
blankets woven from the dressed skins of rabbits. The men he taught
how to dress buckskin, and hunt and trap all kinds of animals good for
food. Thus they came almost to worship him and be ever singing his
praises. This made Hokomata angry. He went away and sulked for days at
a time. In his solitude he evidently thought out a plan for wreaking
his jealous fury upon Tochopa and those who were so fond of him. There
was one family, the head of which was inclined to be quarrelsome, and
Hokomata went and made special friends with him. He taught the children
how to make pellets of clay, and put them on the end of sticks and then
shoot them. Soon he showed them how to make a dart, then a bow and
arrow, and later how to take the horn of a deer, put it in the fire
until it was softened so that it could be moulded to a sharp point.
This made a dangerous dagger. Finally he wrapped buckskin around a
heavy stone, and put a handle to it, thus making a war-club; took a
rock and made a battle-hammer of it; and still another, the edge of
which he sharpened so that a battle-axe was provided. In the meantime
he had been stealthily instilling into the hearts of his friends the
feelings of hatred and jealousy that possessed him. He taught the
children to shoot the mud pellets at the children of other families.
He supplied the youths with slings, and bows and arrows, and soon
stones and arrows were shot at unoffending workers. Protestations and
quarrels ensued, the fathers and mothers of the hurt children being
angry. Hokomata urged his friends to defend their children, and they
took their clubs, battle-hammers and axes, and fell upon those who
complained. Thus discord and hatred reigned, and soon the two sides
were involved in petty war. Tochopa saw Hokomata's movements with
horror and dread. He could not understand why he should do these
terrible things. Yet when the people came to him with their complaints
he felt he must sympathize with them. The trouble grew the greater
the population became, until at last it was unbearable. Then Tochopa
determined on stern measures. Stealthily he laid his plan before the
heads of the families. Each was to leave the canyon, under the pretext
of going hunting, gathering pinion nuts, grass seeds, or mescal, and go
in different directions. Then at a certain time they were all to gather
at a given spot, and there provide themselves with weapons. Everything
was done as he had planned, the quarrellers--the Wha-jes--remaining
behind with Hokomata. Then, one night, the whole band, well armed,
returned stealthily to the canyon and fell upon the quarrellers. Many
were slain outright, and all the remainder driven from the home they
had cursed. Not one was allowed to remain. Thus the Wha-jes became
a separate people. White men to-day call them Apaches, but they are
really the Wha-jes, the descendants of the quarrelsome people the
Wallapais drove out of Mattaweditita Canyon.

Hokomata was furious. He was conquered, but led his people to settle
not far away, and many times they returned to the canyon and endeavored
to kill all they could. Thus warfare became common. The spear was
invented,--a long stick with a sharpened point of flint. Sometimes
the Wha-jes would come in large numbers, when many of the men were
away hunting. Then all the attacked would flee to the cave before
mentioned--which they still call Kathat-a-kanave's Nyu-wa (Cave
House)--where they built an outer wall of fortification, and farther
back still another. Several times the outer wall was stormed and taken,
but never could the Wha-jes penetrate to the inner part of the cave, so
to this day it is termed Wa-ha-vo,--the place that is impregnable.

After many generations had passed, Hokomata saw it was no use keeping
his people near the canyon; they could never capture it, and they had
lost all desire to become again part of the original people, so he led
them away to the southeast, beyond the San Francisco Mountains, down
into what is now southern Arizona and New Mexico. Here they settled
down somewhat and became the Apache race, though they are still
Wha-jes--quarrellers.

Left to themselves, the families in Mattaweditita increased rapidly,
until soon there were too many to live in comfort. So Tochopa took
most of them to Milkweed Canyon, and then he divided the separate
families and allotted to each his own territory. To the Mohaves he
gave the western region by the great river; the Paiutis he sent to the
water springs and pockets of southern Nevada and Utah; the Navahoes
went east and found the great desert region, where game was plentiful;
and the Hopis, who were always afraid and timid, built houses like
Kathat-a-kanave's fortress on the summit of high mountains or mesas.
The Havasupais started to go with the Hopis, and they camped together
one night in the depths of the canyon where the blue water flows to
Hackataia--the Colorado. The following morning when they started to
resume their journey a child began to cry. This was an omen that
bade them remain, so that family stayed and became known as the
Haha-vasu-pai, the people of the Blue Water. Most of the remaining
families went into the Mountains of the Tall Pine, south of Kingman,
and thus became known as the pai (people) of the walla (tall pines).
Here they found plenty of food of all kinds and abundance of game. As
they increased in numbers they spread out, some going to Milkweed,
others to Diamond and Peach Springs Canyons, and wherever they could
find food and water.

Thus was the human race begun and the Wallapais established in their
home.

When I asked where the white race came from, old Leve-leve scratched
his head for a moment and then declared that they were made from the
left-over sticks in Kathat-a-kanave's house.

But the Apaches, under Hokomata, would not leave the various peoples at
peace. They warred upon them all the time. And that is why the Wallapai
parents of a later day became accused of cruelty to their children.
Scattered about, a few here and a few there, they were fit subjects
for Apache attacks. A code of smoke signals, for warning, was adopted,
but it was not always possible to prevent surprises. Sometimes the
father of a family would go hunting and it would not be possible for
the mother and children to go along. If she were attacked under such
conditions, what could she do? If she tried to escape, hampered with
her little ones, they would all be caught and she would have to submit
to her captors and stand by and see them ruthlessly murdered. So she
preferred to kill them herself, which she often did by strangling or
suffocation. Then she might hope to reach the mountains and hide until
the cover of night gave her an opportunity to escape. This explanation
has actually been given to me as a statement of fact by some of the
older women of the tribe.

Sometimes when the Apaches would attempt a raid they would be
checkmated, the tables turned, and they themselves captured. Then there
were great rejoicings. A feast was invariably held, at which the scalps
were exposed on a pole around which the dances were conducted in the
light of immense fires.

Of late years both Apaches and Wallapais have been taught to bury their
enmity. Acting upon the suggestion of former agent Ewing, the Wallapai
chiefs sent a messenger of peace and invitation to the Apache chiefs,
asking them to come and visit the Wallapais during watermelon and green
corn time, and be friends as the Great Father at Washington desires.
Yet the Apaches, though the invitation has been several times repeated,
have never come. They remember "the days of the years gone by,"--the
days of murder, rapine, scalpings, and stealings of women. And they
are afraid that poison, treachery, sudden death, torture perhaps, lurk
behind the seeming friendliness. Revenge is sweet to an Indian, and the
Apache cannot conceive that so great a conversion has taken place in
the Wallapai heart as to lead him to forego his just revenge.

[Illustration: SUSQUATAMI, WALLAPAI WAR CHIEF.]

[Illustration: TUASULA, WALLAPAI CHIEF.]

When first known to the white man they were found inhabiting the region
they now occupy, including the Wallapai (sometimes spelled Hualapai),
Yavapai, and Sacramento Valleys. Their chief mountain ranges were the
Cerbab, Wallapai, Aquarius, and northern portion of Chemehuevi ranges.
They roamed as far south as Bill Williams' Fork of the Colorado, and
its branch, the Santa Maria. They then numbered about the same as they
do now, between six and seven hundred.

In Coues' translation of Garcés' Diary Prof. F. W. Hodge gives other
forms of spelling the name of the Wallapais, as follows: "Hah-wál-coes,
Haulapais, Ha-wol-la Pai, Ho-allo-pi, Hualpais, Hualapais, Hualipais,
Hualopais, Hualpáitch, Hualpas, Hualpias, Huallapais, Hulapais,
Hwalapai, Jagullapai (after Garcés), Jaguyapay, Jaqualapai,
Jaguallapai, Tiquillapai, Wallapais, Wil-ha-py-ah."

These and the various names given to the Wallapais show the
difficulties explorers encounter in endeavoring correctly to spell the
names they hear. It should never be forgotten that the Amerinds of the
Southwest speak with quite as great a latitude in pronunciation as is
found in the wonderfully varied dialects of the English language. To
make all these different pronunciations conform to a standard American
method is one part of the grand work of the Geographical Board, a much
abused but highly necessary public body.




CHAPTER XIII

THE PEOPLE OF THE BLUE WATER AND THEIR HOME


Of no people of the Southwest, perhaps, has so much utter nonsense been
written as of this interesting People of the Blue Water, the _pai_
(people) of the _vasu_ (blue) _haha_ (water)--the Havasupais. As far as
we know, Padre Garcés was the first white man to visit them in their
Cataract Canyon home, and he speaks of his visit in his interesting
Diary translated and annotated by the lamented Elliott Coues shortly
before his death.

Captain Sitgreaves, Lieutenant Ives, Captain Palfrey, Major J. W.
Powell, Lieut. F. H. Cushing, and others in turn visited them, but very
little was either known or written about them when, over a dozen years
ago, I was conducted to their marvellously picturesque home by Mr. W.
W. Bass, the well-known guide of the Grand Canyon.

The journey on that occasion was a remarkable one for me, as, though
I was fairly well versed in the trails of the Grand Canyon (having
then descended four of them), I had never seen such a trail as was the
Topocobya Trail down which we descended late in the evening. Leaving
our wagon, after sixteen miles' drive through the Kohonino Forest
from Bass Camp, we packed food, blankets, and cameras on horses and
burros, and, after two miles of travel in what in Western parlance is
called a "draw," the real head of the trail was reached. We walked in
the closing dusk of day to the edge of the precipice and looked off
to where our guide told us we must shortly be travelling. Far below,
almost a thousand feet, without the sign of a trail, it seemed as if
he must be hoaxing us. Soon, however, as we followed him, we found
ourselves on a rocky shelf, and then began the most stupendous series
of zigzags I had ever been on. Back and forth we wended, our trail a
mere scratch on the rocky slope, here descending rugged steps, where a
misstep meant sure and awful death. Higher and higher the walls rose
around us; darker and darker grew the night; more weird and awesome the
wind and weather carved figures sculptured on the sides and summits
of the walls, and still down we went. At last we reached a vast
cavernous-like place where Topocobya Spring is located. A small flow of
water comes from the solid rock, and there we watered our horses and
filled up our canteens prior to advancing on our seemingly never-ending
descent. At last we reached the level, and there, lighting a fire, made
camp and rested before penetrating farther into the deep and mystic
recesses of the Havasupais. Early in the morning we began the farther
descent. Mile after mile we traversed, first riding on the dry bed
of the winter stream, then entering the narrower walls formed by the
erosion of centuries through first one stratum of rock, then another.
Now we were riding on a narrow shelf, on one side of which was a high
wall, and on the other a deep, narrow ravine, in the bottom of which
the erosive forces have cut a number of holes,--small troughs or bath
tubs in the sandstone, where during the rainy season pools of delicious
water may be found. In a short time we were riding up or down literal
stairways cut in the rock, or rounding "Cape Horns," where we held our
breath at the dreadful consequences that would ensue were horse or man
to slip. Entering Rattlesnake Canyon our whole course was on a shelving
slope of rock, over which even experienced horses tread gingerly. At
last we came to the bed of the main canyon, and then for five or six
miles we journeyed on, in the sand or the gravelly wash, for the stream
that flows through this narrow canyon in storm times has no other law
than its own wilful force. To-day we ride in one place, to-morrow's
storm changes everything. After numberless twinings and twistings,
all of which, however, gave a persistent northwesterly direction to
our travelling, we came in sight of a score or so of large and fine
cottonwood trees, whose height far surpassed the smaller mesquite,
cottonwood, and other trees that line much of the canyon's bed. These
large trees told us our journey was practically at an end, for here
begins the outpouring of the numberless springs that make the stream
we can already hear rushing in its pebbly bed lower down. Without any
premonition they spring out in large and small volume at the foot of
some of these trees, and the Havasu--the Blue Water--is made. Every few
yards adds to the water's volume, for more springs empty their flow
into it. The first and only real buildings are the schoolhouse and the
homes of the farmer and teachers, and then, at once, begin the small
farms of the Havasupais.

Stand on the slope here, where a mass of talus rises from the trail
side, so that we can survey the whole of the picturesque scene. Note
its setting! Towering walls of regularly laminated red sandstone,
though the layers are of differing thicknesses, wind in and out, as
if following the meandering course of the stream, and over this the
perfect blue of the Arizona sky. These make the most marvellously
picturesque dwelling-place of America. Even Acoma's mesa heights and
Walpi's precipice-surrounded walls are not more picturesque, and when
you add the charm of the verdure nourished by the sweet waters of the
Havasu, the picture is complete in its unique attractiveness.

Not even in the Green Emerald Isle, or the county of Devonshire, or
the vineyards of France, is richer verdure to be found than fills up
the open space between these great walls. Willows reveal the winding
path of the Havasu, and everywhere else are the fields of the Indians.
Patches of corn, watermelons, squash, canteloupes, beans, sunflowers,
chili, onions, and alfalfa, with here and there peach, mesquite, and
cottonwood trees, abound. As a rule these patches are protected and
set off one from another by hedges of wattled willows or fences of
rudely placed cottonwood poles. Through the fields trails meander in
every direction, and they are also "cut up" by irrigating ditches. Some
of the better irrigated fields are divided into small sections--like
the squares of a checker-board--in order that the water may be more
systematically distributed.

The peaceful _hawas_ of the Havasupais nestle here and there among
these verdant growths. Themselves covered with willows, it is often
hard to distinguish them from the trees, were it not that at our
approach small groups of men, women, and children, some clad in
flaming red, others in all the colors of the rainbow, and some in even
less than Mark Twain's descriptive smile, stand forth and reveal the
dwelling-places. Now and again the curling line of bluish smoke of the
camp-fire reveals the hawa, and we gladly avail ourselves of one or the
other of these marks of identification to make ourselves more familiar
with the real home of the Havasupais. After investigation we find there
are several distinct types of houses, all simple and primitive, and yet
each different from the other.

Chickapanagie's summer home is a type of the simplest character. Two
upright poles with forks at the top, standing about six feet high, are
placed in line with each other fifteen feet apart. A cross-beam is
placed on these uprights. Then a row of poles, about eight to nine feet
in length, is sloped against the cross-beam. These are covered with
willows, and there is the completed hawa.

What queer dwelling-places men have, and ever have had, and possibly
ever will have. At the Paris Exposition of 1889 one whole street was
devoted to a history of inhabited dwellings. At one end were the
earliest "homes" of the paleolithic age, caves and huts, followed
by the Lake Dwellings and the wickiups, tepees, or tents of the
present-day Indian, the latter being the same primitive structures the
aborigines have ever used. The other end of the street was devoted to
the domestic architecture of our own day, and there, in a few hours,
one could study almost every known form of home structure. But who
could ever reproduce some of the homes these Havasupais live in? Wicker
huts in the open, and caves in the faces of solid sandstone walls two
thousand feet and more in height, these in turn surmounted by domes and
obelisks and towers and cupolas that no modern architect dare attempt
to rival.

These massive walls absorb the heat of the sun in summer time and thus
keep the canyon intensely hot both night and day. The large flow of
water and the dense growth of willows and other verdure keep the soil
constantly moist, so there is a humidity in the atmosphere which, in
hot weather, makes it very oppressive.

This moisture renders the canyon cold in winter, although the
thermometer never ranges very low. Snow falls but seldom, and then
disappears almost as soon as it lights. In 1898 there was snow that
stayed on the ground for several hours, but this was one of the
severest winters they have had for many years.

A hundred yards or so below where the springs commence to flow Wallapai
Canyon enters from the left. It is similar in appearance to, though
narrower than, Havasu (Cataract) Canyon, the walls being of red
sandstone, the strata of which are as regular as if laid by masons. A
few hundred yards beyond the junction of the two canyons a remarkable
piece of Indian engineering is in evidence, showing how the Indians
ascend from a lower to an upper platform. There is a drop here in
the stratum of some twenty-five or thirty feet, and to overcome this
obstacle the Havasupais built a cage with logs which they filled with
stones, and then from this stretched rude logs up and across, to which
other logs were fastened, thus making a fairly substantial bridge from
the lower to the upper stratum over which their horses as well as
themselves could safely pass. The trail from this point ascends through
tortuous canyons a distance of seven miles to the territory occupied by
the Wallapais.

Just below the entrance to Wallapai Canyon a vast mass of talus has
fallen, and two hundred yards farther down, the Cataract Canyon trail
goes over a portion of this talus to avoid the creek, which has here
crossed from the other side of the canyon and has become a rapidly
flowing stream some two feet or more in depth. Attached to this talus
is a large mass of solid concrete made of pebbles, rocks, and sand that
have been washed down in the creek and made cohesive by the lime from
the water. Here the canyon narrows again and the stupendous walls seem
very near to the willow-fringed stream and the small fields. A few
hundred feet farther it opens out again, and as one rides on the trail
he gets exquisite views of the gray stone walls superposed on the red
sandstones to the northwest. These gray and creamy sandstones, with
their numerous and delicate tints and shades, afford most delightful
contrasts to the glaring and monotonous red of the walls beneath.
From this point we gain our first view of the so-called Havasupai
stone gods, named by them "Hue-gli-i-wa," the story of which is told
elsewhere.

These rocky pillars with their supporting walls seem as if they were
once a part of a great wall that entirely spanned the canyon, the
towers being sentinel outlooks to guard from attack both above and
below. The portion of the wall to the right, as one descends the
canyon, has been washed away, but the tower-crowned mass to the left
still preserves a broad sweep into the very heart of the canyon as if
it would bar all further progress. Following the sweep of this curve
and passing the wall immediately underneath the outermost of the two
towers, we view from the trail which ascends a mass of talus at this
point another widened-out part of the canyon, which seems entirely
covered with willows, here and there overshadowed by a few straggling
cottonwoods. This is where the ceremonial dances of the Havasupais
take place.

On the summit of the wall on the other side of the canyon from the
Hue-gli-i-wa are two stone objects, one named Hue-a-pa-a, and the one
farther down the canyon, Hue-pu-keh-i. These are great objects of
reverence, for they represent the ancestors of the Havasupai race.
Hue-a-pa-a--the man--has a child upon his back and two more by his
side, and he is calling to his wife--Hue-pu-keh-i--to hurry along, as
the baby is hungry and needs his dinner. The full breasts of the stone
woman show that she is a nursing mother.

Slightly below these stone figures, and on the right-hand side of the
canyon, is the old fort, where in the days of fighting the Havasupais
were wont to retire when attacked. The fort is impregnable on three
sides, being precipitous, and on the fourth is accessible only up a
narrow trail, which is guarded by piles of rocks which are ready to be
tumbled, even by a woman, upon the heads of foes who attempt to ascend.
The fortifications and stones for defence still remain, but it is many
years since they were used for their original purposes.

One's mind becomes very active as he looks upon this tribe of Indians
and thinks of their traditions, history, and life. So far, their almost
entirely isolated condition has been their preservation, although, sad
to say, much of their earlier contact with our civilization was not of
the best character.

Even in this land of our boasted Christianity it is true that the
strong prey upon the weak. The domination of physical force is giving
way to the domination of mental force, but which is the greater evil?
Why should the man born with a mental advantage over his fellows
exercise that advantage any more than the man born with a physical
advantage? We have not quite ceased to worship the Sullivans,
the Corbetts, and the Fitzsimmonses, and, where we have, we have
transferred our worship to the intellectually strong, many of whom are
no more worthy our homage than the prize fighters. So now it is the
intellectually strong who prey upon the intellectually weak, and, as in
the physical conflict, it is inevitable that the weak "go to the wall."
In simple cunning the Havasupai Indian may be our superior, but in deep
craft he is "out of the field." His bow and arrow tipped with obsidian
or flint pitted against our repeating rifle; his rolling of heavy rocks
opposed to our Gatling guns; his mule and burro against our iron horse;
and his pine torch against our electric light,--all demonstrate him to
be in his intellectual minority, or at an intellectual disadvantage. He
makes a fine figure in our romances, but I sadly fear that the knell of
his doom has sounded, and that a few generations hence he will be no
more.

[Illustration: HAVASUPAI FORTRESS AND HUE-GLI-I-WA, OR ROCK FIGURES.]

Wallapai and Havasu Canyons, far more than the Grand Canyon, meet
the popular idea as to what a canyon is. Their walls are narrow and
precipitous, and one staying in their depths must be content with a
late sunrise and an early sunset. Just above the rude bridge before
described are several natural reservoirs of water. Here the canyon is
not more than from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty feet
wide. This close proximity of the walls, which fairly overshadow one,
compels one to feel his insignificance far more than when he stands in
the wider and more comprehensive vastness of the Grand Canyon.

From leading Havasupais I learn that many years ago the various tribes
of this region were at war one with another, until finally a treaty
of peace was entered into and boundaries defined. The Paiutis were
to remain in Nevada and Utah and not cross the Colorado River, the
Wallapais had their region to the west of Havasu Canyon, the Mohaves,
Hopis, Pimas, Apaches, Navahoes, Chimehuevis, and the rest their
prescribed limits, over which they were not to go without permission
from the chiefs into whose territory they wished to pass. And,
generally speaking, this treaty has been observed.

Of the exquisitely beautiful waterfalls that give the commonly accepted
name to Havasu Canyon, viz., Cataract Canyon, I have not space here to
treat. I have already somewhat fully described them in my book on the
Grand Canyon.




CHAPTER XIV

THE HAVASUPAIS AND THEIR LEGENDS


In almost every case one finds a variety of differing legends related
by the Indians of any tribe upon the same subject. As the Wallapais
and Havasupais are cousins, one would naturally expect their legends
to have some things in common. How much this is so will be seen by a
comparison of the following story with that of the Wallapai Origin
Legend.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The two gods of the universe," said O-dig-i-ni-ni´-a, the relator of
the mythic law of the Havasupais, "are Tochopa and Hokomata. Tochopa
he heap good. Hokomata heap han-a-to-op´-o-gi--heap bad all same white
man's devil. Him Hokomata make big row with Tochopa, and he say he
drown the world.

"Tochopa was full of sadness at the news. He had one daughter whom he
devotedly loved, and from her he had hoped would descend the whole
human race for whom the world had been made. If Hokomata persisted in
his wicked determination she must be saved at all hazard. So, working
day and night, he speedily prepared the trunk of a pinion tree by
hollowing it out from one end. In this hollow tree he placed food and
other necessaries, and also made a lookout window. Then he brought
his daughter, and telling her she must go into this tree and there be
sealed up, he took a sad farewell of her, closed up the end of the
tree, and then sat down to await the destruction of the world. It was
not long before the floods began to descend. Not rain, but cataracts,
rivers, deluges came, making more noise than a thousand Hack-a-tai-as
(Colorado River) and covering all the earth with water. The pinion
log floated, and in safety lay Pu-keh-eh, while the waters surged
higher and higher and covered the tops of Hue-han-a-patch-a (the San
Franciscos), Hue-ga-wōōl-a (Williams Mountain), and all the other
mountains of the world.

"But the waters of heaven could not always be pouring down, and soon
after they ceased, the flood upon the earth found a way to rush
into the sea. And as it dashed down it cut through the rocks of the
plateaus and made the deep Chic-a-mi-mi (canyon) of the Colorado River
(Hack-a-tai-a). Soon all the water was gone.

"Then Pu-keh-eh found her log no longer floating, and she peeped out
of the window Tochopa had placed in her boat, and, though it was misty
and almost dark, she could see in the dim distance the great mountains
of the San Francisco range. And near by was the canyon of the Little
Colorado, and to the north was Hack-a-tai-a, and to the west was the
canyon of the Havasu.

"The flood had lasted so long that she had grown to be a woman, and,
seeing the water gone, she came out and began to make pottery and
baskets as her father long ago had taught her. But she was a woman. And
what is a woman without a child in her arms or nursing at her breasts?
How she longed to be a mother! But where was a father for her child?
Alas! there was no man in the whole universe!

[Illustration: CHICKAPANAGIE'S WIFE, A HAVASUPAI, PARCHING CORN IN
BASKET.]

[Illustration: A WALLAPAI WOMAN POUNDING ACORNS.]

"Day after day longings for maternity filled her heart, until,
one morning,--glorious happy morning for Pu-keh-eh and the Havasu
race,--the darkness began to disappear, and in the far-away east
soft and new brightness appeared. It was the triumphant Sun coming
to conquer the long night and bring light into the world. Nearer and
nearer he came, and at last, as he peeped over the far-away mesa
summits, Pu-keh-eh arose and thanked Tochopa, for here, at last, was a
father for her child. She conceived, and in the fulness of time bore a
son, whom she delighted in and called In-ya´-a--the son of the Sun.

"But as the days rolled on she again felt the longings for maternity.
By this time she had wandered far to the west and had entered the
beautiful canyon of the Havasu, where deep down between the rocks
were several grand and glorious waterfalls, and one of these,
Wa-ha-hath-peek-ha-ha, she determined should be the father of her
second child.

"When it was born it was a girl, and to this day all the girls of the
Havasupai are 'daughters of the water.'

"As these two children grew up they married, and thus became the
progenitors of the human race. First the Havasupais were born, then the
Apaches, then the Wallapais, then the Hopis, then the Paiutis, then the
Navahoes.

"And Tochopa told them all where they should live. The Havasupais and
the Apaches were to dwell in Havasu Canyon, the former on one side of
the Havasu (blue water), and the latter on the other side, and occupy
the territory as far east as the Little Colorado and south to the San
Francisco Mountains. The Wallapais were to roam in the country west of
Havasu Canyon, and the Hopis and Navahoes east of the Little Colorado,
and the Paiutis north of the big Colorado.

"And there in Havasu Canyon, above their dancing-place, he carved on
the summit of the walls figures of Pu-keh-eh and A-pa-a to remind them
from whom they were descended. Here for a long time Havasupais and
Apaches lived together in peace, but one day an Apache man saw a most
beautiful Havasu woman, and he fell in love with her, and he went to
his home and prayed and longed and ate his heart out for this woman who
was the wife of another. He called upon Hokomata, the bad god, to help
him, and Hokomata, always glad to foment trouble, told him to pay no
attention to the restrictions placed upon him by Tochopa, but to cross
the Havasu, kill the woman's husband, and steal her for his own wife.

"The Apache heeded this evil counsel and did so.

"When the Havasupais discovered the wrong that had been done them,
and the great disgrace this Apache had brought upon the tribe, they
counselled together, and determined to drive out the Apaches from their
canyon home. No longer should they be brothers. They bade the Apaches
be gone, and when they refused, fell upon them and drove them out. Up
the rocks near Hue-gli-i-wa the Apaches climbed, and to this day the
marks of their footsteps may be seen. They were driven far away to the
south and commanded never to come north of the San Francisco Mountains.
Hence, though originally they were brothers, there has ever since been
war between the people of the Havasu and the Apaches.

"Then, to remind them of the sure punishment that comes to evil-doers,
Tochopa carved the great stone figures of the Apache man and the
Havasupai squaw so that they could be seen from above and below,
and there to this day the Hue-gli-i-wa remain, as a warning against
unlawful love and its dire consequences."

Here is another story told by a shaman of the Havasupais of the origin
of the race. It is interesting and instructive to note the points of
similarity and difference.

"In the days of long ago a man and a woman (Hokomata and Pukeheh
Panowa) lived here on the earth. By and by a son was born to them, whom
they named Tochopa. As he grew up to manhood Pukeheh Panowa fell in
love with him and wished to marry him, but he instinctively shrank from
such incestuous intercourse. The woman grew angry as he repelled her,
and she made a number of frogs which brought large volumes of water.
Soon all the country began to be flooded with water, and Hokomata found
out what was the matter. He then took Tochopa and a girl and placed
them in the trunk of a pinion tree, sealed it up, and sent them afloat
on the waters. He stored the tree with corn, peaches, pumpkins, and
other food, so they would not be hungry, and for many long days the
tree floated hither and thither on the face of the waters. Soon the
waters began to subside, and the tree grounded near to where the Little
Colorado now is. When Tochopa found the tree was no longer floating he
knocked on the side, and Hokomata heard him and came and let him out.
As he stepped on the ground he saw Huehanapatcha (the San Francisco
Mountains), Huegadawiza (Red Butte), Huegawōōla (Williams Mountain),
and he said: 'I know these mountains. This is not far from my country.'
And the water ran down the Hack-a-tha-eh-la (the salty stream, or
the Little Colorado) and made Hack-a-tai-a (the Grand Canyon of the
Colorado). Here he and his wife lived until she gave birth to the son
and daughter as before related."

The way the Wallapai became a separate people is thus related by the
Havasupais:

"A long time ago the animals were all the same as Indians, and the
Indians as the animals. The Coyote he lived here in Havasu Canyon. One
time he go away for a long time and he catch 'em a good squaw, and by
and bye he have a little boy.

"The little boy grew up to be a man, and he went up on top (out of
the canyon, upon the higher plateaus), and there he found two squaw.
It heap cold on top, and he get two squaw to keep him warm when he go
to sleep. Then he came back to Havasu, and when his papa (the Coyote)
saw his two squaws he said: 'I take this one. One squaw enough for
you.' But the boy was angry and said one squaw was not enough. 'When I
lie down to sleep I heap cold. Squaw she heap warm. Two squaw keep me
warm.' The Coyote told his son not to talk; he must be content with one
squaw and go to sleep. And the squaw was proud that the Coyote had made
her his wife, and she began to taunt the boy, and when he replied she
asked the Coyote to tell his boy not to talk. And the Coyote was mad
and spoke angrily to his boy.

"When he awoke in the morning his son was gone. And ten sleeps passed
by and still he did not come back, so the Coyote tracked him up
Wallapai Canyon, and went a long, long way. He reached the hilltop and
still he did not find his son. At last, a long, long way off he saw
him, and he changed him into a mountain sheep. Then a lot more mountain
sheep came and ran with the Coyote's son, and the Coyote could not tell
which of the band was his boy. He looked and looked, but it was all in
vain. He tried to change his boy back again, so that he would no longer
be a mountain sheep, but, as he could not tell which was his boy, his
efforts were in vain, and he had to go back to Havasu alone.

"For a long time the boy remained as a mountain sheep, until the horns
had grown large upon his head. Then he changed himself back to a man,
and he found his squaw there, waiting for him, and that is why, to this
day, the Wallapai is to the Havasupai the A-mu-u or mountain sheep."

       *       *       *       *       *

The origin of the Hopis is thus related by the Havasupais:

"Long time ago two men were born near Mooney Falls. They were twins,
yet one was big man, and the other a little big. They came up into this
part of the canyon (where the Havasupais now live). It was no good in
those days. There was no water and it was 'heap hot.' The little big
man he say: 'I no like 'em stay here. Let us go hunt 'em good place
to live where we catch plenty water, plenty corn.' So they left the
canyon and climbed out where the Hopi trail now is. Here they stayed
in the forest some time, hunting and making buckskin. After they had
got a large bundle of buckskins dressed, they put them on their backs
and began to walk on to seek the country of lots of water, where plenty
of corn would grow. But it was hot weather and the load was heavy, and
they soon grew so very tired that the smaller brother began to cry.
As they walked on he cried more and more, until when they came to the
hilltop looking down to the Little Colorado River, he said: 'I cannot
go any farther. I am going to lie down here and go to sleep.' So they
both went to sleep, and when they woke up the big brother said: 'Where
you go? You no walk long way. You heap tired.'

"And the little brother answered: 'I no like go farther. I go back
Havasu. I catch 'em water there.'

"'All right!' replied the big brother, 'I no like Havasu. I go hunt
water and plant corn and watermelons and sunflowers. You go back to
Havasu.'

"And he gave him a little bit of corn, and that explains why the
Havasupais can grow only a small amount of corn in their canyon, though
it is exceedingly sweet and delicious.

"But the big brother went on and found the places now occupied by the
Hopi, and he settled there. And as he had taken lots of corn with him
and he planted it, that explains" (to the Havasupai mind) "why the Hopi
has so much corn.

"And the smaller brother found water when he got back to Havasu, and
he planted his corn, and cared for it, and went and hunted and caught
the deer and made buckskin. Then he found a squaw who made baskets, and
helped him make mescal, and they stopped there all the time.

"The Hopi brother learned to make blankets, but no buckskin, so when he
wants buckskin he has to come to his smaller brother in Havasu Canyon."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the early days the Havasupais were undoubtedly cliff-dwellers,
for in a score or more places in their canyons are houses in the
cliffs--some of them inaccessible--which their traditions say were once
occupied by certain families, the names of which are still remembered.
All throughout the Grand Canyon region, too, from the Little Colorado
River to Havasu Canyon, their cliff-dwellings, and smaller cliff
"corn-houses" and mescal pits, are to be found. Indeed, the Havasupais
built all the trails that are now being claimed as the work of white
men into the heart of the Grand Canyon. The Tanner-French trail, the
Red Canyon trail, the old Hance trail, the Grand View, Bright Angel,
and Mystic Spring trails, are all old Indian trails. Not only are the
cliff-dwellings and mescal pits proof of this, but the Havasupais can
tell the families to whom they originally belonged and to whom the
rights in them have descended. These rights they rigidly adhere to. It
is the white man who knows no law as far as the Indian is concerned,
and little by little the aborigine has lost springs, water-pockets, and
trails, and is regarded and treated as an unwelcome visitor.

[Illustration: HAVASUPAI MOTHER AND CHILD.]

[Illustration: A FAMILY GROUP OF HAVASUPAIS.]

By this it must not be inferred that the Indians built the trails as
white men build. In the main their trails were rude paths such as the
mountain sheep might make, but in every case they had one of these rude
pathways down into the canyon somewhere near to where the modern trails
are now located. At the Bright Angel this path was changed when white
engineers took hold of it, and at Mystic Spring Mr. Bass had built an
entirely new trail, down a different slope, long before he discovered
the Indian trail. Both unite near two great natural rock-cisterns, and
then deviate below, the Indian trail zigzagging to the left, while Mr.
Bass engineered a new trail of easy grade on the talus to the right.

Some of the Havasupais are returning to the cliff-dwelling style of
homes. My friend Wa-lu-tha-ma is forsaking his wood and brush "hawas,"
and constructing a house under the cliffs, where, as he quaintly puts
it, he can "keep dry when much rain comes."

It seems to me a reasonable supposition that it was from the frequency
of the occurrence of these corn-houses in the walls of Havasu
(Cataract) Canyon, with the occasional appearance of a few of the
larger houses used as dwellings by the Havasupais, that the absurd and
romantic yarns had their origin that fifteen, or less, years ago, were
current in Arizona and elsewhere about this interesting people. The
cowboys, miners, prospectors, and others, who accidentally stumbled
upon the upper entrance to the Havasu Canyon, and wandered down its
meandering course for ten or forty miles, even to the village of
the simple Havasupais, returned to civilization and propagated and
circulated stories that out-Munchausened Munchausen. They said these
people were cliff-dwellers, living at the present day in the walls of
the canyon; they were of powerful physical presence, and possessed
great endurance. Their fields and gardens were wonderful, and their
peach orchards surpassed those of most civilized cultivation, and they
held in slavery a lesser people, dwarfs or pigmies, doubtless, who
were cliff-dwellers like themselves, and whom they compelled by great
cruelty to perform the most arduous labors.

Others, having heard these stories, but whose spirit of adventure
took them no farther than the "rim" of the canyon, claimed to have
looked into the village and side canyons, and there seen the truth of
these stories demonstrated. They had seen the pigmies and the gigantic
Havasupais, had heard the harsh yells of the latter at the former, and
had seen the frantic endeavors of the little people to obey the stern
behests of their masters.

All these yarns are explained by the fact that the distance of view
dimmed the vision; the pigmies were boys driving the burros or horses,
yelling and shouting as Havasupai boys delight to do, the voices
magnified fifty-fold by the echoing walls of the canyon, while the
parents moved around attending to their own business, or looked on and
occasionally helped by a shout of encouragement or suggestion.




CHAPTER XV

THE SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE HAVASUPAIS


From the cradle to the grave the life of a Havasupai is practically an
out-of-door life. Their hawas--even the best of them--are partially
exposed and open, and in the summer hawas there is no pretence at what
among civilized peoples is essential privacy.

The games of the Havasupai children seem very few. I have seen only
three. Of the first importance is shinny, or, as they call it,
_tha-se-vi'-ga_. The goals are _go-ji-ga'_, the ball, _ta-ma-na'-da_,
and the playing stick _ta-so-vig'-a_. The boys enter into this with the
zest one would expect of such a time-honored game, yet, such is their
general indifference to prolonged effort, they do not play it very
often.

An easier game, but generally left to the girls, is,
_hui-ta-qui'-chi-ka to-ho'-bi-ga_, which I have fully described in my
book on the Grand Canyon.

The third game is stolen bodily from the Navahoes, except the name,
which with the Havasupais is _Tōd-wi-ga_. It is the Nan-zosh, and is
elsewhere fully described in these pages.

Such a paucity of games is indicative of low mental power, lack of
imagination and invention, and results in, or perhaps _from_ a slow,
heavy mental temperament. There is no comparison between the children
of the same ages of the Havasupais and the Navahoes or Hopis. And yet,
when they enter school, some of the Havasupais learn with a rapidity
equal to that of these other children.

It seems strange to find a people whose children have no equivalent for
dolls; nothing specifically to care for. They are capricious in their
treatment of their domestic animals, cats and dogs, sometimes petting
them to excess, and then lifting the yelping or squalling creatures
by the legs, twisting these members over their backs, or otherwise
torturing them.

The boys and the girls, as well as the men and women, are expert horse
riders. Every family has its horses, and the children ride from their
earliest years. Even as I write I catch glimpses now and then of a
red-shawled girl on horseback and hear the hard strike of the horse's
hoofs as he dashes along at break-neck speed along the trail near the
hawa of my host. All ride astride, and are as fearless in ascending and
descending the steep trails that give access and egress to their canyon
home as the wildest and most expert of the Rough Riders.

One of their great sports and gala times is when visiting
Indians--Navahoes, Hopis, or Wallapais--come with fleet horses and
races are arranged for. While they have no "Derby Day," they have
days on which half the personal property of the village is pledged
on the success of certain horses. They are inveterate gamblers; and
blankets, buckskins, saddles, bridles, Navaho jewelry, horses, burros,
and everything "gambleable" are risked on the outcome. And what an
exciting scene an Indian horserace is, and how picturesque! There is
not so much difference after all in human nature, when one penetrates
below the surface. The reserved Englishman, the excitable Italian,
the vivacious Frenchman, and the so-called stupid and stolid native
aboriginal American exhibit exactly the same traits of character under
the excitement of a horserace. But in Havasu Canyon the conditions are
quite different from Ascot, Doncaster, or Newmarket. Here are bucks
dressed in the breech-clout and excitement, and women gesticulating
and waving their si-dram´-as (our large flaming red or other "loud"
colored bandannas, fastened over the shoulders and across the breast).
Some suppress their excitement, others jabber like monkeys, and as the
horses come to the starting-point there is just as much talking and din
as after the start is made. One distinct feature is that many horses
are raced without riders. They seem to understand, and when the signal
to "let go" is given they dart off at full speed, just as if riders
were on their backs urging them forward. Compared with our finely bred,
beautifully chiselled horses, such as one sees, or used to see, in
Lucky Baldwin's or the late Senator Stanford's stables, what ragged,
scrawny, wretched creatures these are; and yet when they run how they
surprise you, how those ugly limbs seem to limber up, and those sleepy
eyes gain fire!

Gambling at these races is carried to an extraordinary extent. Men,
women, and children alike gamble all they possess, or even hope to
possess. This gambling spirit has grown wonderfully in the past few
years, for, during the Kohot Navaho's lifetime he constantly used his
powerful influence to discourage it.

Gambling, unfortunately, is not confined merely to horse-racing. All
the afternoon, as I have sat at my work, a group of eight women, some
young, some middle-aged, and one old, have gambled without cessation
for five solid hours. Two young mothers had their babies--surely not
more than two to three months old--and the youngest of the women was
one of these mothers, and she could not have been more than eighteen
years of age. Girls gamble at _Hui-ta-qui-chi-ka_ for safety-pins,
and boys for knives and the like, so that now it is a vice which has
affected every individual of the tribe.

The Havasupai children are expert ball tossers. With three or four
small melons they rival the conjurers and jugglers of our vaudeville
shows in feats of dexterity, keeping three or more balls in the air at
the same time.

Boys and girls alike run around in the fiercest rain, their feet and
legs wet and the few clothes they have on absolutely soaked. The idea
of changing them has never seemed to enter their primitive minds, and
without care, without a fire, unless he chooses to build one, the
youngster gets along as best he may. It is a case of the weaker going
to the wall, for here only the strong can survive.

There is very little attempt on the part of their parents to control
them. They are generally allowed to do as they choose. I have often
seen a little girl take a cigarette from between her father's lips,
give it a few puffs, and return it, he all the while either indifferent
to or unconscious of the act.

The close proximity of Havasu Creek and its large ponds or reservoirs,
made by the irrigation dams, naturally suggests that they are swimmers.
Observation confirms this. From earliest childhood they are expert
swimmers, boys and girls alike learning the art often before they can
walk. I have seen mere babies placed in the creek and ditches by their
parents and older brothers, and one can scarcely say they are taught
to paddle, for it seems to come instinctively. There is not a child in
the village who cannot swim and dive expertly, and there is no greater
fun than to expend a dozen nickels by throwing them into one of the
reservoirs and having the children dive for them. Sometimes they can
be induced to bring the coins up in their teeth, even picking them in
that manner from the sandy bed of the reservoir. They are as expert
swimmers as the children of the South Seas. No Kanaka going out to meet
an incoming steamer could ride the billows more daringly than the boys
and girls of the Havasu swim in the rapid currents of their little
stream. I have been with them to-day for a couple of hours. The boys
dived into deep water and rose and fell like loons. I amused myself
by throwing a stone into ten or more feet of water, and four or five
of the boys would dive for it and get it almost as quickly as I could
throw it. It was no sooner in than it was out again. One of the little
girls, a sister of one of the boys, stood watching the sport. She
became so interested that, suddenly, without removing her calico dress,
she jumped into the deep place and enjoyed the fun with the rest.

Then, a Havasupai man, riding a burro, brought the animal down into
the stream where it was shallow and had a gravelly bed. For an hour he
and the boys amused themselves by swimming back and forth through the
deep pool, and every now and again one or another would jump on the
creature's back and, hanging on, overbalance him, or make him turn a
somersault. The burro bore it all good-naturedly and seemed to object
very little to the fun: the only time he showed decided inappreciation
was when the Indians got him down into deep water and forced his head
under for too long a time.

A little later on a horse was brought, who entered into the sport as
if he were used to it. He swam back and forth and took to the water as
willingly as a child takes candy. The boys hung on to his mane, got on
his back, his neck, or hung on to his tail, and, to all seeming, it was
all the same to him.

Though they are so fond of the water, the Havasupais cannot be called
in some respects a cleanly people. Far from it. Though they take the
sweat bath almost as a religious rite[7] and their skin is thus kept
clean, there is another kind of cleanliness in which they are very
remiss. It would be unreasonable to expect that people living in the
exposed wicker huts of the Havasupais could approach anywhere near the
ordinary white man's standard of cleanliness. But certainly they might
have a higher standard than they do. Lice swarm in the heads of the
children and most of the women. On the other hand, all the younger men
are particular to be cleanly in this regard, and dress their hair with
skill and neatness. Bed-bugs abound in Havasu Canyon as in no other
place on earth. They swarm everywhere, and are absolutely found in
clusters in the sand, under the old bark of decayed trees, and in every
conceivable and inconceivable lodging-place. The warm sand and the
seductive moisture that obtains during the major part of the year must
be especially conducive to their breeding, for they are ubiquitous.
Yet, strange to say, I have never known of an instance where a bed-bug
has been brought out of the canyon by a visitor. Though I have been
with the Havasupais scores of times I never detected one of these
vermin either in my clothing or bedding. The breed seems to be peculiar
to the warm, moist air of the canyon and to be unable to live away from
it, for which we give hearty thanks.

[7] See "In and Around the Grand Canyon."

Now and again scorpions may be found, and, after a rain, I have seen
a score of hundred-legged worms (perfectly harmless) rolled up on the
trail between the village and Bridal Veil Falls.

Rattlesnakes are not common anywhere in those portions of the canyon
much visited by the Havasupais, but now and then one may be found on
the trails or basking in the sun on the rocks near by. Elsewhere in
this canyon and its many greater or lesser tributaries they are common,
and the Indians can find any quantity if they are sent for them. In all
my years of wandering to and fro, though, I have not seen a half-dozen
rattlesnakes in Havasu Canyon.

Other pests are mosquitoes, gnats, and a small black fly which, in
certain seasons, persistently lodges in the eye, causing considerable
annoyance, and sometimes distress and pain. There are not many
mosquitoes, though at times they are troublesome enough to satisfy one
for their scarcity.

Many of the women are expert basket makers, and in my book on Indian
Basketry I have fully explained their methods of work and the charming
nature of their designs. The Havasu Canyon is a basket maker's
paradise, for the stream is lined for miles with willows suitable for
this work.

The process of making strands or splints of the willows is a very
simple and primitive one. Here as I sit writing (Sept. 14, 1901),
Chickapanagie's squaw has a lot of willow shoots before her. Taking
hold of one end of the splint in her teeth, she pulls away the cuticle
with her fingers. These alone are her tools, and it is astonishing the
rapidity and regularity with which the process is accomplished.

As soon as a girl can frame her fingers to the work of basket making
she is required to begin. It is very interesting to watch the small
children in their endeavors to make the rougher baskets, and then, as
they grow in skill, try the finer work. Pul-a-gas´-a-a is not more than
eight years of age, and yet a basket--kü-ü--she brought to me was one
of her own make, and it now occupies a place in my collection. The work
is irregular and crude, but shows skill, and if the child has patience
to stick to it, in time she will become one of the most accomplished
basket makers of the tribe.

As soon as possible after attaining puberty the Havasupai girls marry,
generally between the ages of thirteen and fourteen. The parents
themselves urge these early marriages. Whether they fear the loss of
virtue in their daughters from evil white men, or the degenerate young
men of their own tribe, I do not know, but several parents have told
me that the sooner their girls marry, after they are marriageable, the
better pleased they are.

Marriage is generally arranged by purchase. When a young man sets
his affections upon any particular girl, he contrives to show his
preference for her, and, as soon as he finds that his attentions are
agreeable, he visits his fair one's father or nearest male relative,
and without parley begins to bargain for her as he would for a horse
or any other commodity. The standard price for a wife is ten to twenty
dollars, and where a trade cannot be made with a pony or blanket, the
money itself is offered. The bargaining completed, there are no further
preliminaries or ceremony, except that, three weeks or so before the
wedding, the bridegroom takes up his residence in the hawa of the
bride's parents. He is treated as one of the family, and at night
rolls himself up in his blanket and sleeps alongside his prospective
kinsfolk on the floor of the domicile. At the end of three weeks, if
the contracting young folks are satisfied that their dispositions are
harmonious, and if the marriage settlement is satisfactory, the wedding
takes place. The groom takes his bride, the old folk take the medium
of purchase, and the company laughs and banters the young husband and
wife. The man takes the woman to his hawa, and the announcement of
their marriage is made by the fact that they are living together and
have assumed marital relationship.

Sometimes an obdurate father or mother will refuse to sell a daughter,
and thus expresses disapprobation of the suggested match. Occasionally,
as among more civilized people, the young couple mournfully, but
dutifully, acquiesce in the decision of the older people, but, more
often--even, also, as white young people do--they rebel, and take the
decision into their own hands by eloping and living together. This ends
the matter. The ethics of the tribe are such that cohabitation once
entered upon, the parents have no authority to declare the marriage
void. And, as a further penalty for his obdurate obstinacy, the father
loses the ten dollars or its equivalent he might have had by being
kind and complaisant to the desires of the young couple.

The Havasupais are polygamists, and believe in having as many wives as
they can buy and support. At the time of his death Kohot Navaho had
three wives living with him, and I personally know of two others that
he had discarded on account of old age. When Hotouta, his oldest son,
was living, his mother was a thrust-out member of Navaho's household.
She was almost blind and decrepit, and Navaho with a wave of his hand
and ten words had dismissed her from his bed and board. Hotouta had a
tender heart and used to speak very bitterly about the injustice of
this custom which allowed an old and helpless wife thus mercilessly to
be discarded.

Shortly before Navaho's death his oldest wife evidently "ruled the
roost," and it certainly must have been by other means than her
physical beauty. And yet she was vain of her good looks, for, when I
made her husband's photograph, she became my strong ally in persuading
him to sit before the camera, on condition that I would make a
"sun-picture" of her own beautiful physiognomy and enchanting _tout
ensemble_. When I made the photograph, she secured her petticoats
between her legs in such a manner as to make them appear like rude
trousers, and when I commented upon the unfeminine appearance and asked
her to spread out her skirts in orthodox style, she boxed my ears with
a manner at once decisive, haughty, and jocular, and bade me proceed as
she was or not at all. The second wife was a meek kind of a creature,
who seemed to be entirely under the dominion of wife number one; but
the youngest wife, a buxom woman of twenty-three or four summers,
evidently knew how to hold her own, for she once or twice refused to
obey wife number one, though she readily obeyed the same request when
given by Navaho personally. This woman is now married to my old host,
Waluthama.

Marriage with a white man is unknown among the Havasupais, and unlawful
cohabitation with one is punishable by death.

The question of marrying is becoming a more serious one with the
Havasupais each year. While occasionally a man will marry a Wallapai
squaw, there is a strong sentiment against marriage outside of the
tribe. Yet the number of the tribe is so small, and intermarriage has
so long been carried on between them, that it is no uncommon thing for
a young man or woman to be debarred from choice in marriage. At the
present time Gōō-fwho's son can marry but one girl in the whole
tribe without violating their own laws of consanguinity, about which no
people are more particular.

The present Head Chief--Kohot--of the tribe is Man-a-ka-cha, a heavily
built man, who is popular with the younger element. But he suffers much
in comparison with the former Kohot, Navaho, who died in 1898.

Kohot Navaho's was a strong face, marked and furrowed with bearing the
cares of his little nation. A firm chin, powerful nose, gentle mouth,
courageous forehead, eyes which were once fiery as well as piercing,
but of late years had little of their primitive fire,--these gave a
key to his character, in which firmness, courage, bravery, and gentle
tenderness were commingled. His whole demeanor was of dignity and
pride. No European sovereign in the days of despotic power could have
worn the "air" of a monarch more regally than Navaho. But it was real
with him. His kingship was within himself as well as in the affection
of his people.

[Illustration: WALUTHANCA'S DAUGHTER, WITH ESUWA, GOING FOR WATER.]

[Illustration: LANOMAN'S WIFE. A HAVASUPAI.]

As might be expected with their powerful physical development, the men
are great wrestlers, and often may be seen indulging in friendly, but
none the less hard and exhausting bouts, where Havasupai methods of
cross-buttocking and other "throws" are tested to the utmost. One of
the former teachers was an expert wrestler,--learned doubtless among
the Sioux, with whom he used to live as a United States teacher,--and
one secret of the influence he had over the Havasupais was his ability
to "down" them in a wrestling match. Time and again he had given their
best men great "falls," and the more he threw, the more they respected
and obeyed him.

As runners and trailers they almost equal the Mohaves, Apaches, and
Hopis, though, on the desert, their endurance is not so great as that
of these two desert tribes. As canyon climbers, however, they surpass
either of them. The climbing muscles, by life-long and constant
practice, are remarkably developed, and they run up and down the long,
wearisome, steep trails of canyons in a manner to excite the envy of
a college athlete, and the astonishment of one who has, but a short
time before, laboriously and tediously essayed a brief trip in which
ascending or descending a steep trail was an essential feature.

As riders they are skilful and full of endurance, but they are neither
as graceful nor as daring as the Navahoes.

Men and women both dress the buckskins for which the Havasupai is so
famous. Amole root is macerated and beaten up and down in a bowl of
water until a good lather and suds are produced. Then the operator
takes a mouthful of the liquid and squirts it over the skin, which he
manipulates and softens, rubs, scrubs, and pulls with his fingers and
feet, moistening it again and again as occasion requires. Wild catskins
are treated in the same way.

From this excellent buckskin the men make moccasins for themselves and
their women. The first time I saw Kohot Navaho he was sitting naked,
upon a blanket outside his hawa, his three wives near by, they cutting
and preparing peaches for drying, he busily engaged making a pair of
moccasins. The sole is of two or three thicknesses of heavy rawhide, to
which the uppers of buckskin are deftly sewn, with strings of catgut or
deer intestines, the holes being made by a bone awl.

Every summer trading-parties of both Hopis and Navahoes come down to
the village, bringing blankets, ponies, pottery, and the like, for
exchange. In 1898 there were three separate bands of Navahoes and two
of Hopis. Trading is a serious process. Laws of barter or sale are
first made, before the traders open their packs, and all the people are
expected to abide by these loosely promulgated laws without question.
Then the hawa of the Havasupai host is turned into a store. Poles are
suspended in every possible direction on which to show off the blankets
to best advantage. A crowd of chattering men and women stand outside,
or, now and again, come inside, during the whole day, and at night-time
the men who have done business come in, squat on the ground, and spend
the hours in smoking, tale-telling, and gossip.

There is difficulty in the Havasupai mind at trading for more than one
thing at a time. If you wish to buy six articles from the same Indian,
you cannot pay a lump sum for the six. Each one must be traded and paid
for separately.

In most things there is no fixed standard of price. Fictitious values
are placed upon articles of no value whatever, but to which the Indian
mind has attached singular virtue and importance. On the other hand
baskets, which require days to manufacture, taking no account of the
time and arduous labor expended in gathering the materials, dyes, etc.,
for that purpose, are sold at varying prices, but nearly always far too
low to begin to compensate them for the efforts expended.

Yet they are keen traders in their way. "What can I get out of him?"
is the normal attitude of mind, and the price is made to correspond to
what the seller imagines is the ability of your pocket.

In dealing with them, I adopted the plan years ago, as a fixed rule,
from which I seldom deviate, to state a figure I will give for things
offered to me, and that sum, no more, no less, is what I will pay. They
soon learn this, and, though at times it seems to be a disadvantage, it
gains the confidence of the Indian and he will the more readily trade
with me.

I once excited the hearty laughter and some scorn of the Havasupais
by buying a lot of old baskets, blankets, etc., that they had long
deemed of no value. I was seeking their older styles of work and
urged them to bring me "any old trash" they had discarded. The usual
crowd assembled around my camp, and, as each specimen of dilapidation
was half-shamefacedly revealed a shout of laughter arose, directed
partially at the would-be seller for her temerity in supposing that
such rubbish could ever find a purchaser, and partially at myself for
being so foolish as to want to carry it away. But I obtained some fine
specimens, though much worn, of the workmanship I desired, so could
afford to be very complaisant at the derision I aroused.

The Havasupai is one of the most jolly, frolicsome, and light-hearted
of mortals. With his stomach full he has no cares, and he goes into fun
with a zest and energy that are pleasing. He is fond beyond measure of
practical jokes,--when he is not the victim,--and cares very little who
suffers so long as he can obtain fun. Consequently if one meets with a
misfortune, especially a laughable one, he need expect little, if any,
sympathy in Havasu Canyon.

They are a singular mixture of frankness and cunning, of honor
and deception, of truth and frankness, of reliability and
untrustworthiness. They will as deliberately and coolly lie to a white
man about anything and everything--if it suits their purpose--as they
will tell the truth. Ask a man his name--an insult, by the way--and he
will lie to you, even though you are a good friend; as, for instance,
when, after being the guest of "Supai Charley" for several days, I
quietly and without seeming intent asked him his name, which I knew
to be Wa-lu-tha-ma, that I might send him some gifts I had promised.
For a few moments he hesitated, and then said "Qu-ar-ri"--a Wallapai
name that has no relation to the Havasus whatever. Sinyela was full of
deception, and yet, when a friend told him he might catch one of his
horses and ride it so far, and we reached that point and I suggested to
him that he take the pony forward and leave it at the designated spot
on his return, he would not listen to it for a moment.

They are petty thieves, but years of experience have taught me that
they could not be persuaded to engage in larceny on a grander scale.
One of my first experiences in this line was to have some little
thing taken from my camp many years ago (I forget now what it was).
Immediately I sent for Hotouta, and told him the article must be
returned. In a few hours the boy thief (now a hang-dog looking buck)
came and brought back the article.

On my last visit, coffee and candy were taken from my sacks at
Wa-lu-tha-ma´s hawa, and three necklaces which I had taken as presents
for some of the children. I spoke angrily to my host of his negligence
to protect my goods when they were in his care, and, as for the
necklaces, said if they were not returned by morning I should complain
to the agent, and have the thief discovered and punished. Long before
sunrise in the morning the necklaces were returned.

There is a good deal of craft about some of them. For a long time
Captain Jim and a few others had wished to have a road or trail made
around Hue-gli-i-wa that would make it less dangerous, and add much
to the comfort of the people, who lived both above and below this
spot, when they wished to visit each other. For years nothing was
done. But when, this year, he took the matter up again, he did it in a
round-about way that won success. He urged that an invitation be sent
to the leading horsemen of the Wallapais to bring their best horses and
come and run races with them. The Wallapais accepted the invitation.
Now was Captain Jim's opportunity for the display of his finesse. He
casually suggested to some of the most ardent racers that the way to
beat the Wallapais was to make a race-track just the same as the white
men did, and, when it was completed, train their horses to run on it
until they were so familiar with it that, when the Wallapais came, they
would be able to take all the advantages this additional knowledge
would give. The suggestion worked like a charm. It was Tom Sawyer's
woodpile over again. The young men waited on the Kohot, Manakacha, and
asked permission to cut a road a mile long through the middle portion
of the canyon. The only place where this could be done was just where
Captain Jim desired the road. He was appointed to see that the work
was properly done, and the first few days of my visit were enlivened
by the echoing roars of the powder explosions that were set off. When
I went down to the lower part of the village it was over the new and
completed road, a full mile in length, and well cut out and graded.
Such a consummation was devoutly to be wished, and while races are not
an unmixed good, one could tolerate them the easier for the Havasupais
if they would always be the means of accomplishing such desirable ends.

The Havasupais are far from being dull and stupid, as casual observers
suppose. They can see the point of things as quickly as some of their
white neighbors. For instance; I have elsewhere, in my Grand Canyon
book, told how Silver, Hotouta's fine horse, was given to Mr. Bass.
This horse has always been an object of envy to some of the young men
of the tribe. Mr. Bass also bought from Sinyela a red mule of some of
my exciting experiences. Having once had possession of this mule was in
itself an overpowering temptation to those Indians, who, in the days
of Sinyela's ownership, had been permitted to ride it. Consequently
Mr. Bass was often annoyed by finding, on his return from an absence
of a few days, that Silver and the mule, one or both, had been taken
from the pasture and ridden by the Indians. When he completed his
trail across the river and finally established the ferry that bears
his name--the only ferry, by the way, across the Grand Canyon, and the
only one on the Colorado River between Lee's Ferry and the one below
the mouth of the canyons--he decided to swim Silver and the mule across
the river and keep them for use on the north side. When this was done
Chickapanagie was present. With a twinkle in his eye he said: "Bass
heap sopogie (understand). Havasupai no ride 'em Silvern, and Red Mule
no more."

There is wide diversity in the attitude different members of the tribe
hold towards the whites. Some are friendly, others openly hostile
and ugly, while others merely receive strangers on sufferance as a
necessary evil, useful for the purchase of baskets and such other
things as they may have to dispose of.

Manakacha was elected to his kohot-ship because the majority of the men
were in favor of keeping out the whites from Havasu Canyon, and he was
ever averse to the white man.

Those, however, who are friendly, are good and true friends, as those
who knew Hotouta, Spotty, and others who are gone can testify.

Spotty was a genial, kindly soul, with whom I had various dealings.
He was intelligent and reliable in his intercourse with me, though a
medicine-man and ready to dispense charms, incantations, and native
medicines on the slightest pecuniary provocation. On one of my early
trips to Havasu I negligently overlooked taking a sufficient supply
of extra films. What an idea! To start on such a trip and forget one's
camera rolls. There were about thirty exposures left on my film and I
was sure I should need two hundred and fifty. Indeed, long before I had
reached the Havasupai village all the roll was exhausted, and no more
pictures could be taken.

I was disgusted with my own want of forethought, and generally
disgruntled, when lo! on sight of Spotty the idea occurred as if by
inspiration: "Why not send Spotty for it?" No sooner suggested mentally
than I broached the subject. The round trip was a good fifty-five to
sixty miles, and much of the road up Havasu Canyon, and I must have the
roll within twenty-four hours. Spotty's eye was on the main chance, and
he at once expressed his willingness to go provided there was "enough
in it." "How much you give me?" he inquired. I considered for a while,
and then with a Pecksniffian air of benignant charity offered him "two
dollar!" "Al lite, I go! Maybe so I go quick you catch 'em two dollars
and a half?" he asked. I studied over it awhile before committing
myself, and then queried "When you start, Spotty?" Looking up towards
hue-a-pa-a (the man image) on the upper rim of the near canyon wall,
he pointed. "I go when you see 'em _ha-ma-si-gu-va´-te_ (the evening
star)."

"When you come back?"

"I come back next day all same time you see 'em _ha-la'-ha_ (the moon).
Maybe so I come back sooner you see 'em, you give me two dollar half?"

A twenty-four hours' ride on horseback--nearly sixty miles--through
a solitary country where his only company would be coyotes, mountain
lions, and other wild animals, and a large portion of it ridden
in the dark night, for two dollars, with a bonus of fifty cents if
the trip was made within twenty-four hours--it was not extravagant
pay, so I cheerfully acceded to his request for the bonus. But now
came the difficulty of fully explaining to Spotty what I wanted, and
where he could find it. The tent at Bass Camp was divided into five
compartments,--two small rooms with canvas walls on either side of a
long room which ran through the centre of the tent, its entire width.
Making a plan of the tent on the ground, so, and giving him the compass
points, I showed that my "all same white man's basket made of leather,"
viz., my valise, was in the northeast corner of the southwest room. The
film was in the valise, but I also needed my ruby lamp, so I deemed it
best for him to bring valise and lamp, which latter was separate. Off
he went cheerfully and merrily, and two hours before the moon rose he
was back at the camp with valise and lamp safe and secure. He received
his bonus and we were both happy.

[Illustration]

Like all other Indians, they used to have an abnormal dread of the
camera.

One of my Havasupai friends, U-math-ka, thus stated his reasons for
refusing to be photographed. With graphic gesture of horror and dread
he said: "If you make my picture I die pretty soon. I look at the Sun.
He get heap hot. I no breathe. I lie down. I die!" When I assured him
no possible injury could result, he yielded to my urgent entreaties
so far as to consent to allow me to make his sun-picture, on the sole
condition, however, that I did not ask him to look at the camera, or
to cease talking (he was relating some Havasupai myths at the time).
His condition was what I desired, for it enabled me to secure the
accompanying natural and life-like photograph.

In speech the Havasupai tongue is not very musical or agreeable. The
voices of men and women are soft and sweet, as a rule, and either when
singing their rude aboriginal songs or those that they have been taught
at school, they show a natural appreciation of tone that is not usual
or common. In a sentence the last syllable of the last word is often
a third higher than the rest of the word. This gives a singularly
emphatic effect.

The voices of the men are not unpleasant, though generally they are
thrown too high--head tones--to be agreeable; and as conversation
increases they often allow their voices to rise to an almost querulous
note. There is a good deal of the chant about it of a half-musical
nature.

The women's voices are usually sweet and musical, but the language
itself does not lend itself to the display of vocal sweetness. It is
not a "liquid" language. It is full of crooks and twists, gutturals
and harsh labials, and seems to be ground out in angles with a
machine-like regularity. In some cases, the women, having imitated
the querulous tone of some of the men, have developed a harshness
that is disagreeable. The rapidity with which they learn new words
is remarkable. Lanoman, one of the present policemen, asked me the
English of a number of words, and all during the day I heard him
repeating them over to himself, and seldom would he need correction.

The dress commonly worn by the women consists of a short skirt and
waist, made of colored calico, and a _si-dram'-a_, which may be
described as a rude shawl, two corners of which are tied obliquely
across the chest. When at work this is often slung over one side of
the body so that one arm is free. Among the Havasupais the si-dram-a
that is most desired and sought after is one made of four large bandana
handkerchiefs, with red as the choice of colors.

The men, when I first visited them, seldom wore anything more than the
breech-clout except in cold weather, but as school influences began to
permeate the village, blue overalls and the cast-off trousers and other
clothing of the white man were donned, until now it is a rare sight
to see a man clothed in any other than the ordinary fashion, though
the influence of the outside Indians is seen in the Spanish "cut" of
all home-made garments. Moccasins are the common foot-gear, though
occasionally a man or woman may be found wearing "civilized" shoes.

Fish, pork, chicken, all kinds of birds and eggs, are tabooed as food
by the Havasupais, but they eat rats, deer, antelope, rabbit, prairie
dog, and mountain sheep. They are especially fond of beef, and horse
and mule meat, no matter how the animals come to their death, are
esteemed luxuries. They will even eat lizards and lice.

The prickly pear and the fruit of the amole, or hosh-kon, are much
favored when ripe. The latter is roasted in the coals until the
outside is completely blackened. A hole is made in this carbonized
surface to let out the steam, and, when cold, the fruit is eaten as
a great delicacy. I have often eaten and enjoyed it, though it has a
sickish-sweet vegetable taste that at first is somewhat unpleasant. The
pinion nut, sunflower and squash seeds are also regarded as delicacies.
Practice has made the Havasupais dexterous in eating these husk-covered
seeds. The novice finds it a wearisome task to hull them, but the
expert throws a handful of seeds into his mouth, cracks the shells,
and by skilful manipulation eats the nuts on one side of his mouth and
expels the shells on the other. When I can do this I shall make a meal
on pinion nuts, as they are of exquisitely sweet and delicious flavor.

Sunflower seeds, squash seeds, and a variety of wild grass seeds
and corn are parched by the women by placing them in saucer-shaped
baskets--or kü-üs´--with hot ashes, and then tossing them up and down
and to and fro until sufficiently cooked. The seeds are then scooped
out with the fingers, and ground on a slab of basaltic rock, by rubbing
one stone over the other. On the occasion of one of my visits, when I
was the guest of Chickapanagie, I made the accompanying photograph of
his wife as she thus parched corn in a basket. It was the placing of
a covering of clay inside the kü-ü, to prevent its burning, that led
Frank Cushing to the belief that here was the explanation of the origin
of pottery.[8]

[8] See chapter "Basketry the Mother of Pottery," in "Indian Basketry,"
by George Wharton James.

Green squash is cooked after being hacked into pieces in an apparently
reckless but most effective manner. With the squash in one hand,
the woman takes a large butcher knife in the other and strikes
indifferently at the squash, turning it around and at different angles
the while. In a few moments chips, as it were, begin to fall into
the cooking pot, and after the exterior is cut and hacked in every
direction the cook begins to slice it into the pot. When well cooked,
it is eaten without any other improvement than a little salt.

Corn and beans are plentiful with them, and both are as delicious and
tender as any I have ever tasted elsewhere.

Mescal is one of their chief foods. It is made by them exactly as the
Wallapais make it. That fibrous portion of the plant that cannot be
treated in this manner is boiled, and the drink therefrom, when fresh,
is a sickish-sweet liquid, that, however, might soon become agreeable.
This liquid is of a dark brown color, and when boiled for a long time
becomes a species of thin molasses.

The Havasupais know no process of fermentation so far as I have been
able to learn, and the elders of the people long objected to the coming
of the white man because one of the bad things he brought to the Indian
was whiskey and other intoxicants.

Quail and ducks abound in various parts of the Havasu Canyon region.
Even to this day many of the latter are shot, for sale to the white
man, with the arrow instead of the gun. The Havasupais claim that the
arrow is far less liable to scare away the flock than is the loud
report of a gun, so they keep up their practice with the antiquated bow
and arrow, and some of them show wonderful skill in their use. I have
often placed a ten-cent piece in a notched stick and enjoyed watching
the young men as they fired their arrows at it at a distance of fifty
paces. Their skill was such that on one occasion I lost a dollar thus
within half an hour.

At one time in February I found the canyon alive with quail, the
whirring of whose wings met us on every hand as we rode along from hawa
to hawa.

I am told there is no fish in Havasu Creek above Mooney Falls, but
from the base of this fall on to the river both large and small fish
are abundant. I rather doubt this, as on the occasion of my attempt to
reach Beaver Falls down the course of the creek from Mooney Falls I saw
no fish, nor signs of any.

One of the Havasupais tells me that mountain sheep may be seen on the
northern rim of the Grand Canyon in small bands. When the snow is deep
upon the Buckskin Mountains and the Kaibab Plateau they descend to
the more temperate regions of the canyon where grass may be found in
plenty, and then the Paiuti and Paieed Indians kill them, drying the
flesh for later use. This they do regardless of a territorial law,
which forbids even an Indian killing mountain sheep at any time. The
Indian regards his as a prior right, existing long before there was any
territorial legislature, and he acts accordingly.

Mountain lions, wildcats, lynxes, coyotes, badgers, deer, and antelope,
with an occasional mountain sheep and bear, are the larger quarry of
the Havasupai hunters. The deer and antelope they find in the open
grassy glades of the forests on the canyon rim and reaching towards
the desert. The other game is generally found in the recesses of the
canyons or on the slopes of the far-away mountains of Hue-han-a-patch-a
(the San Franciscos), Hue-ga-wool-a (Williams Mountain), or
Hue-ga-da-wi-za (Red Butte).

Some of the skins are dressed with the hair on and are used for
clothing, as sleeping mats, or are sold to the travellers at the trains
or traded at the stores on the railway. But many of the better skins
are carefully tanned and dressed and converted into buckskins, as
before stated.

This, indeed, is one of their staple articles of trade, good buckskins
fetching as high as five dollars and even ten dollars cash. I have
several times seen a blanket for which I had offered eight dollars or
ten dollars readily exchanged for a simple buckskin, and it is not an
unusual occurrence to note a trade where a fair Navaho pony is given
for a large and well-dressed skin.

The outside Indians that the Havasupais are familiar with are the
friendly Wallapais, whom they call their cousins, the Hopis and the
Navahoes. They have often had wars with the hated Mohaves, Apaches, and
Paiutis. The Chemhuevis, Pimas, and Maricopas are their distant, little
known, but accepted friends. Far-away Zuni is Si-u, and still farther
Acoma is Ac-o-ca-va, and though intercourse with the people of these
villages is rare, it has always been friendly.

For the grazing and watering of their horses and other stock each head
of a family has a certain region allotted to him, over the boundaries
of which he may not allow his stock to wander, except when removing
them or by special permission. Manakacha, the head Kohot, takes the
range formerly owned or controlled by Captain Navaho, the late Kohot,
viz., the region of Black Tanks. Rock Jones (the chief medicine-man)
has Topocobya Canyon and the plateau above as far as the other side
of the Grand Canyon towards the Mystic Spring Trail, where begins the
territory of Vesna, Captain Burro, and Chickapanagie. This includes
the south banks of the Grand Canyon towards the Little Colorado River
and including the Mystic Spring, the Bright Angel, the Grand View,
Hance's old and the Red Canyon Trails, in the neighborhood of which,
for centuries, the Havasupais have been descending. Indeed, it was
the Havasupais who made the "Indian Gardens" that are so charming a
feature of the Bright Angel Trail. Sinyela has the upper part of Havasu
Canyon reaching to Bass's camp at the Caves, named by the Havasupais
Wai-a-mel. Uta and Waluthama have the lower portion of Havasu Canyon,
around to the head of Beaver Canyon and all the territory on the south
side as far as Hack-a-tai-a--the Colorado River.

Thus there are no disputes arising over the wrongful pasturage of
stock, as each Indian regards himself as bound by the strictest ties
of honor not to deviate from these established and long-observed
boundaries.

As I have before stated, the Havasupais at one time owned the whole
of the Kohonino Forest region and also the trails into Hack-a-tai-a
(the Grand Canyon). From time immemorial they have hunted from Havasu
(Cataract) Canyon to the Little Colorado, and, of course, have had
access to the water pockets, or rock tanks, in which rain water
accumulates all along this dry and springless region. In talking
with one of the Indians recently he asked me if the Great Father
at Washington could do nothing for him and his people so that they
might still continue to use the water pockets of their ancestral
hunting-ground. He said, "You sabe Ha-ha-poo-ha (Rain Tank) and
Ha-wai-i-tha-qual-ga (Rowe's Well) and Ha-ga-tha-wa-di-a (the water
hole near Hance's Camp) and Ha-ha-i-ga-sa-jul-ga (Red Horse Tank),
Havasupai use these water holes when him go hunt deer and antelope.
Now white man him come and say, 'D-- you, you get away. I've got no
water for any blanked Indian.' We no catch 'em water, we no go hunt,
and we no go hunt we no catch 'em deer and antelope and jack rabbit,
and by-em-by our squaws and boys and gels go heap hungry. Maybe so you
see 'em Great Father at Washington and you tell him, and ask him what
Havasupai do."




CHAPTER XVI

THE HAVASUPAIS' RELIGIOUS DANCES AND BELIEFS


The Havasupais do not occupy a high place in the scale of religious
life. They are very different from the Hopis and Navahoes. They have
few ceremonies, few prayers, and few ideas connected with the world of
spirits. If evil comes upon them they seek to propitiate the power that
caused it. They dance and pray. But there is no system, no recurrence
of elaborate ceremonials year after year. Indeed, the only regular
dance that I have personally seen is that of the annual harvest, and
that is occasionally omitted. The Sick Dance, as its name implies, is
for the purpose of healing the sick.

On the second night of my first visit to the Havasupais my companions
and I were invited by Hotouta to accompany him to one of these harvest
thanksgiving dances. It was a wild and fantastic scene. Gathered
together in a circular enclosure, the fence made of willow poles bound
together with withes of the same tree, were between one hundred and
two hundred Indians of both sexes in any and all manner of dress and
undress. Three or four bonfires added to the weirdness by throwing
peculiar lights and shadows upon the countenances of those present. At
times there was a silence which became almost solemn in its intensity,
and then talking and chattering broke out again, as if the sound of
their own voices helped, in some measure, to relieve the painfulness
of the solemnity of this not-very-welcome religious ceremonial. I was
actually gazing upon the preparations in progress for the sacred peach
dance. One by one the notables of the tribe were pointed out to me.
There stood Kohot Navaho in proud solitariness, eyeing the preparations
with a moodiness which became his serious and taciturn nature. Not a
thing of importance passed his eye. His keen powers of observation
took in the frivolity of certain young Havasupai belles as well as the
actions of the Chemehuevi Indian who was to be director of the music
of this religious festival. By his side stood his second son, who, in
gentle and mellifluous speech was talking to those with whom he came in
contact. Hotouta, the second chief, was by my side, acting as guide,
chaperon, and instructor in the mysteries. Here was his daughter, a
fine buxom lass of sixteen summers, with merry, laughing eyes, saucy
lips, thick black hair, cut with the usual deep fringe on her forehead,
and a voice that would have been the fortune of an American girl who
desired a place on the operatic stage. Yonder stood Ha-a-pat-cha, a
fine athletic fellow with muscles of steel and a chest like that of an
ox, whose only costume was the gee-string. He marched to and fro as if
consciously proud of his fine figure, came up at a call from Hotouta
and seemed to be highly pleased with his introduction to us, although
there was an air of condescension in his handshake which suggested that
I was the honored person. Perhaps I was! _Quien sabe?_

Near by stood Mr. Bass and a special commissioner sent by the United
States Indian Department to report on the condition of the Havasupais,
and seek to gain their consent to send their children to the Indian
school at Fort Mohave.

I was too tired that night to stay long. So after an hour's
watching I returned to Hotouta's hawa, stretched myself out on the
sand--_outside_--in my blankets, and was soothed to sleep by the
monotonous chant of the dancers.

Next day, in a burst of frolicsomeness I exclaimed to my friend, who
was commonly called Tom by the whites:

"Hotouta, why you no let me dance, all same Havasupai?"

It never entered my comprehension that Tom would regard the remark with
serious attention, hence my astonishment can better be imagined than
described when thoughtfully he turned to me and said:

"Maybe so! Me no know! Maybe so Havasupai no like 'em you dance. Maybe
so they all same like 'em! I see pretty soon."

"Pretty soon" he came back with a cheery "All right! Navaho say you
dance. Havasupai like 'em you!"

Here was a fine predicament! I had never danced a step in my life.
In the few ball-rooms I had visited I had been a "wall flower." But
in this case I had provoked the invitation myself, so, after a brief
mental struggle, as gracefully as possible I accepted the consequences
of my own rash speech.

When the hour arrived I placed myself under the hands of Hotouta,
Yunosi his squaw, and their daughter, in order that I might be properly
and appropriately apparelled for the occasion. The first salutation
somewhat daunted me. Tom said, "You catch 'em white shirt!" The only
white shirt I had was a night robe which had done service to such an
extent that I had placed it in my saddlebags when we left civilized
regions for the purpose of wrapping up specimens of rock to take home.
Its "whiteness" may have been somewhat of a memory. But I brought it
forth, and waited anxiously for Hotouta's approval. He was delighted,
and I felt reassured.

When it was donned, and a pair of blue overalls, I was ready to receive
the painted lines of sub-chieftainship on my face, and the eagle plume
in my hair.

Then, in solemn dignity, we started down, Indian file, for the dance
ground. At least Hotouta and I were dignified, while behind us Mr.
Bass and the special Indian Commissioner were making frantic endeavors
to hold in their laughter at the rude and brutal (!) jokes they were
making at my expense. We had not proceeded far before Hotouta stopped
me and with solemn face said: "You dance, you no laugh. Havasupai no
like 'em you laugh!" I promised to be "as sober as a judge," and not
laugh, and again we proceeded, to be stopped once more by Hotouta, who
explained with perfect seriousness: "Maybe so you dance heap harnegi.
Havasu squaw, she like 'em you. You catch 'em one squaw. Then you dance
more and maybe so you catch 'em two squaw. She come, all same" (and
here Hotouta illustrated how the squaw might come and separate me from
my male companion to right or left, and take my hand in the fashion
afterwards described). "She take your hand, all same. You no nip. She
no like 'em you nip." I promised not to "nip," and with satisfaction
Hotouta now led the way to the dance ground.

After a formal introduction to all the chiefs and their approval given
to my being accepted as Hotouta's brother and a fellow chief with him
in the tribe of the Havasupais, the dance began. This is how it was
conducted.

The "evangelist" sang over a strain of a new song. A dozen or so of the
leaders took it up, and as soon as they were fairly familiar with it,
the others joined in. Then the women took a hand, literally as well as
figuratively, for they came in and separated the men, interlocking the
fingers, midway between the first and second knuckle joints, standing
shoulder to shoulder, and enlarging the group until a complete circle
was formed. Then, with a side shuffling motion, moving one foot to the
left and following it rapidly but rhythmically with the other, the
while lustily and seriously singing the song they had just learned, the
dance continued,--a dull, monotonous, sleep-producing ceremony, until
the onlooker was awakened by manifestations he little expected to see
at an Indian thanksgiving dance. Very often it occurs that women of the
tribe are affected with a somewhat similar excitement to that which
seizes the negro when he has "the power." With a shriek, the woman
hysterically leaps within the circle made by the dancers, and howls
and shouts and dances and jumps, and then, perhaps, throws herself in
a heavy stupor upon the ground. Some will run to the centre post, and,
hanging on with one or both hands, will swing rapidly around until they
fall exhausted to the ground. When the male members tire of seeing
these excitable females upon the ground, they unostentatiously step up
to the prostrate figures, seize their long thick hair, swing it over
the shoulder, and thus proceed to drag the now exhausted women to the
fires, where friends of their own sex attend them until they "come to."

And what did all this ceremony mean?--for to the Havasupais it was a
ceremony, performed with as much dignity as we perform our religious
services in church or cathedral. While I was dancing Hotouta was giving
an explanation to Mr. Bass. Each year this dance is performed as an act
of highest devotion to gain the approbation of "Those Above." The Peach
Dance is the "harvest thanksgiving" dance--when thanks are made for the
gifts of the past and prayers are offered for the needs of the future.

The leader of the singing was a Chemehuevi Indian,--a tribe located
west of the Wallapais and living mainly on the California side of the
Colorado River.

He was a regular "evangelist" amongst the Indians,--a native Moody, and
gifted enough, musically, to perform the part of Sankey or Excell. His
harangue on this occasion was an unusually fervent oration, especially
cutting to Hotouta, for he was one of the chief objects of the
"evangelist's" vituperation and abuse. In fact had Hotouta been a white
man he would have gone away saying the preacher was "horribly personal
and disgracefully abusive" to the leading members of his congregation.
He explained that the reason the tribe had lost so many of its members
last year by the dread "grippe" was because of their levity. They had
laughed too much, gone hunting and visiting white men's camps when
they ought to have been dancing. They were allowing the white man
to laugh them out of the traditions of their forefathers. Then he
especially denounced all friendliness to the whites, and singled out
Hotouta, Chickapanagie, Spotted Tail, and one or two others who had
been the leaders in thus countenancing the whites, and administered
to them severe rebukes. After this, referring to the offer of the
whites to give them farming implements, food, etc., if they would send
their children to the Indians' school at Mohave, he urged his hearers
to listen to no such proposals. He said in effect: "Don't send your
children to the school of the white man. If you do they will grow up
with the heart of the white man, and the place of the Havasupai will
know them no more. Your tribe will be broken up, and then the white
man will come and take possession of your canyon home where the stream
ever flows and sings to the waving of willows by their side. He will
rob you of your corn-fields and of your peach orchards. No longer will
the place where the bodies of your ancestors were burned be sacred to
you; your hunting-grounds are now all occupied by him, the deer and the
antelope have nearly disappeared before his rifle, and he is hungry
to possess the few things you still have left. This offer is a secret
plot against you. He thinks if he cannot drive you out he will seduce
you out, and this school is the offer he makes to you, so that he can
get your children into his hands. There he will teach them to make fun
of you; to despise your method of living; your houses, your food, your
dress, your customs, your dances will all be ridiculed by him, and
so you will lose the favor of 'Those Above,' and you yourselves will
soon die and your name and tribe be forgotten." In other words, he
endeavored to make it perfectly clear to the assembled Havasupais that
the school proposition was a white man's scheme--a dodge--to get their
children away so that eventually they--the whites--might claim the
Havasu Canyon for themselves.

Thus he exhorted time after time, and, after each sermon, sang out,
line for line, a new song that he desired them to learn. At first
he alone sang, then Navaho and a few of the older ones took up the
strain, and soon all joined in. Then the dance began, and continued
with unabated zeal and fervor until the "missioner" gave the signal for
rest. Then, after another harangue, another song was learned, another
dance performed, and so on, _ad libitum_.

The state of mental exaltation or frenzy, not unlike those peculiar
manifestations of the negroes at revival meetings, the Shakers, "having
the power" etc., is not uncommon among the Havasupais. At the Thapala
Dance I have seen three women almost simultaneously suddenly dart
from different parts of the dance circle, and hysterically shrieking,
yelling, and singing, foaming at the mouth, tearing their hair, falling
down with violence, and with appalling disregard to the injury to their
own bodies dash against each other, or on the great central tree trunk,
which stands like a flagpole in the centre of their dance corral,
yield to this uncontrollable frenzy, and remain under its influence
for an hour or more. During the whole time of their ecstasy, the dance
continued uninterruptedly, except when one of the frenzied women dashed
towards the dancers as if to escape the circle. Then the man nearest
by rudely took her by the arms, body, or shoulders and thrust her,
shrieking, back into the centre of the circle.

Yunosi gained her present name because of her occult powers and
frenzied visions. After Hotouta's death she would occasionally wake
up and cry out that she saw the spirit of her husband, "Tom, heap
big Supai chief." And, strange to say, in these exalted moments she
invariably spoke in the crude English her husband had taught her and
of which she was very proud. Pointing into vacant space, with glaring
eyes and excited voice, she would declare that she saw "Big chief Tom.
He come back to see me. O Tom! Tom! I see you." Then turning to her
friends and others around, she would shriekingly ask, "You no see? You
no see?" And thus she gained her name, Yunosi.

Thinking that perhaps the Havasupais used some herb, drug, or
intoxicant, similar to opium, hasheesh, or the stramonium (jimson-weed)
which the Navahoes use to produce similar frenzies and visions, I
took some of this, which they call smal-a-ga-to-a, and asked several
if they ever used it. In every case the answer was a sharp "No!
Han-a-to-op-o-gi," and one Havasu informed me it was "very bad. All
same white man's whiskey." Indeed, such has been the excellent teaching
they have received from their ancients, and the tenacity with which
they, as a people, have adhered to it, it may be safely affirmed that
the Havasupais use no noxious drug, or fermented or intoxicating
liquor, and that they do not know any processes by which they can be
made.

The ways of the Havasupai medicine-men are similar to those of fakirs
in all lands and ages. I have seen Rock Jones, after examining a
patient, jump up and excitedly exclaim: "I can see into your head
and all through your brains; down your throat and into your stomach,
through your kidneys, bladder, and intestines, and you are sick, very
sick, very heap sick. But I am a good medicine-man. I can cure you
sure, I can cure you quick. But you must promise to give me five
dollars. Don't forget I must have five dollars."

[Illustration: ROCK JONES, LEADING MEDICINE MAN OF HAVASUPAIS.]

[Illustration: SINYELA, WITH ESUWA, GOING FOR WATER.]

In one case with which I was familiar, the medicine-man declared that
the heart of one sick man had gone away to the topmost peak of one of
the canyon walls. It would cost several dollars to charm it back, but
he could do it. Yielding to the pleadings of the man without the heart,
he began to exercise his charms and incantations, and the next day he
came in and declared he had seen it return during the early morning
hours, and his patient would recover. His prognostication was correct;
the man was soon well and strong, and paid his six-dollar fee for
having his heart returned to him, with due gratitude and thankfulness.

Another man who had been on the trail of some runaway horses had become
overheated and was attacked severely with cholera morbus. He was
brought into the village nearly dead, his pains increased by a terrible
soreness in his back, caused by severe vomitings. The medicine-man
gave him a large dose of red pepper, and, after sucking the flesh of
his stomach, bowels, and back, rubbed the body of the sick man with
red pepper, and then began his incantations. Soon he declared that a
Wallapai doctor who hated the Havasupais had left a long white rope
on the trail over which the sick man passed, and that it was this
charmed rope which had entered his body and caused the sickness. On
the promise of a fee of several dollars, he expressed confidence that
the rope could be successfully taken from the invalid, and that its
removal would be followed by immediate recovery. After a little time
had elapsed, the crafty charlatan produced a long white rope, which he
said his skill had extracted. Needless to add, the patient recovered,
and to this day extols the wonderful skill and power of his physician.

Of late years a large number of Havasupais have been carried off with
a bilious fever, with marked malarial symptoms. The usual indifference
in the earlier stages of the disease gives way later on to frantic
sweatings and appeals to the medicine-man, who comes and sings and
seeks by his incantations to remove the evil something within the
patient that causes the disease. If the sick person is daring enough to
apply to the agency teacher for medicine, he knows that he no longer
need expect any help from the medicine-man, whose curses will follow
him to the world of doom. As in the world of civilization there is
jealousy, sharp and keen, between the schools of medicine, so do the
Havasupai medicine-men resent any innovations upon their time-honored
customs.

Here, as elsewhere, one man's skill and reputation is oftentimes
maintained by pulling down that of another. Dr. Tommy used to be a
fairly successful medicine-man, but once, during a fearful epidemic
of grippe, several children died under his ministrations. It was soon
noticed that those parents whose children had been treated by another
medicine-man were active in spreading the report that "they believed
Dr. Tommy had killed the children by giving them coyote medicine." And
this "tommy-rot" killed him as a medicine-man, for, though he was never
brought to any trial on account of this charge, he was shunned and
ostracized, and in very rare cases is ever called upon to exercise his
medical powers.

There are now three medicine-men in the tribe, the chief of whom
is Rock Jones, whose Havasupai names are suggestive. They are:
Pa-a-hu-ya´ and In-ya-ja-al´-o, the former signifying "black," the
other "the rising sun." At-nahl, whose name means a "sack," is the
second in importance, and the youngest is Ma-tō-mā´, commonly
known as Bob. I have just asked Lanoman which is the best medicine-man
of the three, and his reply when I asked "Who makes the sick people
well the quickest?" was: "All same. All no good. All make people dead
pretty quick!"

Death is supposed to be, in every case, the departure of the spirit
from the body, and when the sick person is approaching death the
friends and relatives, led by the medicine-man, will often sit around
the invalid and sing their petitions to the departing spirit in the
hope that it may be led to repent and return to the body. If the
patient recovers, the medicine-man takes the credit (and what pay he
can get) for the return of the spirit, and goes about in high feather,
recounting to all he meets the new instance of his wonderful and occult
power.

One of the greatest insults that can be offered to the friends of a
dead Havasupai is to refer to him. The reason given to me for this is
that whenever a thought is sent after a dead person it either prevents
his spirit continuing the journey to Shi-pa-pu, or leads him to desire
to return to earth, neither of which are good for a Havasupai.

One of the school teachers informed me that she once, in reconvening
the school after a holiday, read out the name of a child that had
recently died. The moment the name was pronounced several of both
boys and girls burst out, some into a wild wailing and others into
fierce and angry denunciations of the wicked white woman who had thus
arrested the spirit of the deceased on its journey to the underworld.

The last night of our first visit the Havasupais had a Sick Dance. When
one of their number is very sick or about to die, the medicine-man
summons the principal men and women of the camp to dance around him, in
the hope of driving away the disease. It so happened that during our
visit one of the young bucks was very sick, and a dance was ordered
for Saturday evening. It was quite a distance away from our camp, and
Vesna, whose guest we were that night, informed us that we would not be
welcomed. The welcome would have been overlooked but for our need of
rest, and as it was a mile or two away, it was decided not to attend,
although we could hear the incantations at intervals during the night.
The dance, however, was similar to such dances elsewhere. The sick man
was placed in the open air and a circle formed around him, while a
slow and solemn dance was engaged in by those in the circle, and all
participated in the chanting of an incantation. This was kept up during
the entire night, the voices of the singers at times pitched to a very
high key. As soon as one in the circle grew tired, he dropped out and
another took his place, but the dance and chant never ceased. If a sick
man survives the noise and din and wakefulness of this until morning,
it is probable that his vitality will carry him through, and he will
recover.

If death is thought to be certainly near, the best clothes of the
wardrobe are brought out and placed upon the dying person. A woman's
best dress is not too good for her to die in, and a man's finest
garments, even to the broadcloth cast-off "Prince Albert" received
through the kindness of some white friend in the East, is deemed the
only appropriate gear in which to meet the dread summons to Shi-pa-pu.
When life is extinct the dressed-up body is wrapped in the best
blanket the hawa affords, and is then ready for the period of wailing
and mourning. Relatives and friends of the deceased come and sit in
the hawa, and as the spirit moves them they raise their voices in
lamentation, or, singing the bravery, the daring, the good deeds of
the deceased, ask for him a safe journey to the dread secret places
of the underworld. Nothing can be more doleful than to hear these
sad lamentations in the dead of the night. All is still, except the
never-silent stream which steadily keeps up its murmur as it flows over
the stones. Otherwise the very Angel of Silence seems to be brooding
over the scene, for the babble of the creek merely accentuates the
nearly perfect stillness. Suddenly a loud, long, minor wail rises from
the hawa in the midst of the willows, and one feels that he can see the
sound ascend to the heights of these enclosing walls, striking here and
there, and then rebounding to opposing walls, until the canyon is full
of voices, wailing one against the other and making a spirit chorus of
infinite sadness and distress. The imagination unconsciously suggests
that these echoing wails are the sympathizing spirit voices of men and
women--former inhabitants of this canyon of the willows--who have come
to weep with those who weep for their dead loved ones.

There is no fixed period for this wailing, but as soon as it is
satisfactorily concluded the body is tenderly thrown across the
best horse owned by the deceased, if a man,--or ridden by her, if
a woman,--and, accompanied by other animals conveying some of his
or her most desirable treasures, is taken to the burial or burning
ground. Prior to the advent of the white man the Havasupais practised
cremation, and between Bridal Veil and Mooney Falls, and also on the
rim of the Grand Canyon, at a place since named Crematory Point, the
remains of scores of burned bodies of men and women and also of horses
were recently to be seen. For it was deemed of the greatest importance
to give the spirit of the deceased the spirit of his dead horse, upon
which he might ride to the dark abode of the underworld. Before it was
burned, the horse must be strangled, and this was done by tightly tying
a strip of wet buckskin around his neck, and, as it dried, it rapidly
contracted and thus strangled the doomed animal. Then both human being
and animal were burned.

But even this was not considered a sufficient offering to the powers of
the dead. Returning to the village, a peach tree in the orchard of the
dead man was cut down that it might also be "dead" and thus accompany
its owner to the spirit world and give him its refreshing fruit
there. On the death of a chieftain or great warrior, several peach
trees--thapala--are cut down.

Of late years, however, these customs of cremation, strangling of
horses, burning of treasures, and cutting down of peach trees have
not been as universal as formerly. Hotouta, the oldest son of Kohot
Navaho, the last of the old chiefs, had great influence with his
people, and Mr. Bass succeeded in convincing him of the extravagant
folly of thus wasting on the dead, to whom the sacrifices were of no
benefit, that which could be of so much use to the living. Consequently
his influence materially helped to change the custom from cremation to
ground interment. Later, after Hotouta's death, when several families
had gone back to the old habit of cremation, others exercised their
influence with the Havasupais to lead them to abandon the old custom.
These endeavors were all effective to a large extent, and, when Captain
Navaho, the last great Kohot the Havasupais will ever have, died in
1898, he was buried instead of being cremated. Late in 1897, however,
the son of Sinyela died, and though in many things Sinyela is one of
the most progressive of the Havasupais, he and his brother took the
boy's body across a horse, tied an axe to the corpse, and started up
the canyon towards Topocobya. When they returned the axe had been used,
the horse was strangled, and burned bones of human and equine bodies in
a side gorge attest the hold the old superstitions and customs still
have upon the Havasupai mind.

And again in the summer of 1899--May or June--when the daughter of
the present Kohot and wife of Lanoman (another son of Sinyela) died,
Lanoman felt that nothing short of the old and time-honored method of
cremation would be suitable for the daughter of the new chief and the
wife of so smart and bright an Indian as himself. For Lanoman knew more
English, perhaps, than any other Havasupai, and was afflicted with the
not uncommon complaint of great self-esteem and conceit. Accordingly,
the body was clothed in the finest blankets of the wardrobe, and many
precious things were taken with it to the Havasu Canyon below Mooney
Falls. Tenderly the body was lowered down the already nearly useless
ladder, and after suitable wailing, the funeral pyre was built, the
body placed thereupon, more wood heaped around and over the body,
and then the whole fired. When the body was destroyed, the mourners
returned, kicking down the upper portion of the ladder as they did so,
that no other Havasupai should be burned there, and also that no white
foot should again desecrate the sacred precincts of the lower Havasu
Canyon. Then, that the favorite horse of the woman thus honored after
her death should follow her to the underworld, it was taken to the
edge of the plateau above, from which the descent to Bridal Veil and
the upper portion of Mooney Falls is made, the wet strip of buckskin
tied around its neck, and, as the cord dried and tightened, and the
poor animal began to reel and totter in its death struggles, it was
given a push, tumbled over the edge, and--instead of descending to the
lower canyon at the foot of the Falls where the burned body was--fell
on the shelves of limestone accretions which terrace the canyon at the
side of the Falls, bounded from one terrace to another, and then, to
the infinite disgust of the mourners, lodged there. And there it still
remains--or what is left of it, for, as I passed by in July, 1899,
though I could not see the animal, the frightful odor of the carrion
ascended to the very heavens.




BIBLIOGRAPHY


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Report Bureau of American Ethnology, 1898. Pages 520 to 744.)

Snake Ceremonials at Walpi. (Vol. XIV. of Journal of American Ethnology
and Archæology. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, 1894. In this volume
is a carefully prepared bibliography on the Snake Dance (see pages 124
to 126) which is too lengthy to be reproduced here and to which the
student is referred.)

GARCÉS, FRANCISCO.

Diary and Itinerary, translated by Elliott Coues. (See Coues.)

HOUGH, WALTER.

Environmental Interrelations in Arizona. (In American Anthropologist
for May, 1898. Pages 133 to 155.)

JAMES, GEORGE WHARTON.

In and Around the Grand Canyon. Little, Brown, & Co., Boston, Mass.,
1900.

Indian Basketry. Henry Malkan, New York, 1901.

The Havasupai Indians and their Cataract Canyon Home. (In Good Health,
Battle Creek, Mich., August, 1899. Pages 446 to 456.)

The Industries of the Navahoes and Mokis. (In Good Health, June, 1899.
Pages 315 to 322.)

The Pueblo Indians and their Prayer Spring. (In Good Health, July,
1899. Pages 379 to 384.)

The Snake Dance of the Mokis. (Two articles in Scientific American, New
York, June 24, 1899, and September 9, 1899.)

Scenes of Spanish Occupancy in our Southwest. (In American Monthly
Review of Reviews, July, 1899. Pages 51 to 59.)

Discovery of Cliff Dwellings in the Southwest. (In Scientific American,
New York, January 20, 1900.)

What I Saw at the Snake Dance. (In Wide World Magazine, London,
January, 1900. Pages 264 to 274.)

Harvest Festivals of Some of our Southwestern Aborigines. (In Good
Health, October, 1899. Pages 583 to 589.)

Moki Fashions and Customs. (In Good Health, November, 1899. Pages 641
to 647).

Types of Female Beauty among the Indians of the Southwest. (In Overland
Monthly, San Francisco, Cal., March, 1900. Pages 195 to 209).

Some Indian Women. (In New York Tribune Supplement, April 8, 1900.)

The Fire Dance of the Navahoes. (In Wide World Magazine, London,
September, 1900. Pages 516 to 523.)

The Hopi Basket Dance. (In New York Tribune Supplement.)

Indian Madonnas. (In New York Tribune Supplement, December 23, 1900.)

Indian Pottery. (In House Beautiful, Chicago, April, 1901. Pages 235 to
243.)

Down the Topocobya Trail. (In Wide World Magazine, London, April, 1901.
Pages 75 to 80.)

Indian Basketry. (In Outing, New York, May, 1901. Pages 177 to 186.)

The Storming of Awatobi. (In the Chautauquan, Cleveland, O., August,
1901. Pages 497 to 501.)

The Art of Indian Basketry. (In the Southern Workman, Hampton, Va.,
August, 1901. Pages 439 to 448.)

Indian Basketry in House Decoration. (In the Chautauquan, Cleveland,
O., September, 1901. Pages 619 to 624.)

Moki and Navaho Indian Sports. (In Outing, New York, October, 1901.
Pages 10 to 15.)

Indian Pottery. (In Outing, New York, November, 1901. Pages 154 to 161.)

The Hopi Indians of Arizona. (In Southern Workman, Hampton, Va.,
December, 1901. Pages 677 to 683.)

The Collecting of Indian Baskets. (In the Literary Collector, New York,
January, 1902. Pages 103 to 109.)

Some Indian Dishes. (In American Kitchen Magazine, Boston, Mass.,
January, 1902. Pages 129 to 133 and frontispiece.)

The Indians and their Baskets. (In Four Track News, New York, February,
1902. Pages 77 to 79.)

Indian Blanketry. (In Outing, New York, March, 1902. Pages 684 to 693.)

LUMMIS, CHARLES F.

Across the Continent. (Scribner's.)

A New Mexico David, and Other Stories. (Scribner's.)

The Land of Poco Tiempo.

The Man that Married the Moon.

All the volumes of "Land of Sunshine," now "Out West," of which he is
Editor, published in Los Angeles, Cal.

MATTHEWS, WASHINGTON.

Navaho Legends. (The American Folk-Lore Society. In this volume
Professor F. W. Hodge has a full bibliography on the Navahoes.)

MINDELEFF, COSMOS.

Navaho Houses. (In Seventeenth Annual Report Bureau of American
Ethnology, 1898. Pages 475 to 517.)

PEPPER, GEORGE H.

The Navaho Indians. An Ethnological Study. (In Southern Workman,
Hampton, Va., November, 1900. 7 pages.)

The Making of a Navaho Blanket. (In Everybody's Magazine, New York,
January, 1902. Pages 33 to 43.)

POWELL, J. W.

The Lessons of Folk-Lore. (In American Anthropologist, N. S., Vol. II,
No. 1, 1900. Pages 1 to 36.)

VOTH, H. R., AND DORSEY, GEORGE A.

The Oraibi Soyal Ceremony. (See Dorsey.)




_AN IMPORTANT NEW BOOK DESCRIBING THE MOST STUPENDOUS SCENE ON THE
AMERICAN CONTINENT_

_In and Around the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River in Arizona_

By GEORGE WHARTON JAMES

Illustrated with twenty-three full-page plates and seventy-seven
pictures in the text · 8vo · Cloth · Price, $2.50

[Illustration: CROSSING THE COLORADO TO THE SHINUMO.]

The volume, crowded with pictures of the marvels and beauties of the
Canyon, is of absorbing interest. Dramatic narratives of hairbreadth
escapes and thrilling adventures, stories of Indians, their legends and
customs, and Mr. James's own perilous experiences, give a wonderful
personal interest in these pages of graphic description of the most
stupendous natural wonder on the American Continent.--_Philadelphia
Public Ledger._

A veritable storehouse of wonders.--_Boston Advertiser._

There is a ring of actuality about this book.--_Outing_, New York.

The Grand Canyon has never before received such an exposition either
with pen or camera.--_Literary World._

He has told his story in so fascinating a manner that one feels almost
within sight and sound of the great canyon.--_San Francisco Bulletin._

The most thorough description of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado and
its surroundings to be found anywhere.--_Chicago Tribune._

He has not been content to describe the wonders in his own words, but
from historical records, from the notes of explorers and discoverers,
and from the accounts of Indian natives, white hunters, miners, and
guides, he has quoted freely wherever he could find matter of interest
and value.--_Argonaut_, San Francisco.

An illustrated work of which too much can scarcely be said in praise.
The Grand Canyon is one of the world's wonders, and this volume is
the most thorough and satisfying presentation of its many rugged
attractions thus far offered.--_San Francisco Chronicle._

There is probably no man in the country who is better qualified for
the writing of such a book than Professor James.... Too much cannot be
said in praise of his work.--_Arizona Daily Journal-Miner_, Prescott,
Arizona.

Will be the standard with reference to the main features--historic,
scenic, and scientific--of the Great Canyon of the Colorado.... Legend
and tradition are drawn upon for the dramatic effect and local color,
so that in many respects the book possesses a charm peculiarly its
own.... One of the typical books of the great West.--_Brooklyn Standard
Union._




  CONTENTS


  CHAPTER

  I. THE COLORADO RIVER AND ITS CANYONS.

  II. EXPLORATIONS FROM THE TIME OF THE SPANIARDS (1540)
  TO MAJOR J. W. POWELL (1869).

  III. EXPLORATIONS BY MAJOR J. W. POWELL (1869-72).

  IV. LATER EXPLORATIONS.

  V. FLAGSTAFF, THE SAN FRANCISCO MOUNTAINS, THE CLIFF AND
  CAVE DWELLINGS, AND THE DEAD VOLCANOES.

  VI. FROM THE SANTA FÉ RAILWAY TO THE CANYON BY STAGE.

  VII. TO THE CANYON BY RAILWAY, AND A FEW PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS
  TO THE TOURIST.

  VIII. FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

  IX. WHAT DOES ONE SEE?

  X. ON THE RIM.

  XI. THE GRAND VIEW TRAIL.

  XII. THE BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL.

  XIII. TWO DAYS' HUNT FOR A BOAT IN A SIDE GORGE NEAR
  THE BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL.

  XIV. THE MYSTIC SPRING TRAIL.

  XV. THREE DAYS OF EXPLORING IN TRAIL CANYON WITH THE
  WRONG COMPANION.

  XVI. MR. W. W. BASS AND HIS CANYON EXPERIENCES.

  XVII. THE SHINUMO AND ITS ANCIENT INHABITANTS.

  XVIII. PEACE SPRINGS TRAIL.

  XIX. LEE'S FERRY AND THE JOURNEY THITHER.

  XX. JOHN D. LEE AND THE MOUNTAIN MEADOW MASSACRE.

  XXI. UP AND DOWN GLEN AND MARBLE CANYONS.

  XXII. THE OLD HOPI TRAIL.

  XXIII. THE TANNER-FRENCH TRAIL.

  XXIV. THE RED CANYON AND OLD TRAILS.

  XXV. GRAND CANYON FOREST RESERVE.

  XXVI. THE TOPOCOBYA TRAIL AND HAVASU (CATARACT) CANYON.

  XXVII. THE HAVASUPAI INDIANS AND THEIR CANYON HOME.

  XXVIII. HAVASU (CATARACT) CANYON AND ITS WATERFALLS AND
  LIMESTONE CAVES.

  XXIX. AN ADVENTURE IN BEAVER CANYON.

  XXX. THE GEOLOGY OF THE GRAND CANYON.

  XXXI. BOTANY OF THE GRAND CANYON.

  XXXII. RELIGIOUS AND OTHER IMPRESSIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON.

  XXXIII. PHOTOGRAPHING THE GRAND CANYON.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE GRAND CANYON REGION.



LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers

254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's
original spelling, punctuation, hyphenation and use of accents have
been left intact.

Inconsistencies in the author's use of periods (full stops) with
illustrations have been resolved. The list of illustrations has been
modified so that illustrations appear in the correct sequence.