A Squaw Fight.
The coming of our people to Utah in 1847 brought us into contact with
the powerful intermountain tribe of Utes. Up till then, these Indians
had had but little association with the white man; consequently in
their social life, they were following exclusively the customs and
traditions of their savage ancestors. Many of their practices were
horrifying. The law of "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth"
was born and bred in them; hence, if a white man killed an Indian, the
tribe took revenge by killing the first white man who chanced to fall
into their hands, though he might have been perfectly innocent, having
never harmed them. They also took great delight in torturing helpless
victims.
At our coming, the notorious Chief Walker was at the zenith of his
power. Not only was he a scourge to the Spaniards in California, but
he remained also a terror to the weaker bands of Indians inhabiting
the intermountain country, from whom he exacted a yearly tribute of
children, to sell into slavery to the Spaniards. It was Governor
Brigham Young's prohibiting of this child-slave traffic in the
territory that led to the Walker war.
Next in brutality to child-slavery was what we termed "squaw fights."
They came about in this way: If a brave saw a maiden that he desired,
he would go to her father, who, according to their laws, had a right to
sell her, and bargain for her, usually paying from one to five ponies
for her. If it happened that the girl had a lover, and he would put
up as much purchase money as had the first applicant, then the lovers
would settle it by a fist fight.
Sometimes conditions would be such that every warrior in the tribe
would be allowed, nay, would be honor-bound--to take part in the melee,
and aid his tribesman to win his wife. It would then be a national war,
and would be conducted on long-established rules and ceremonies which
the Indians hold in deep reverence.
In 1861, at the frontier town of Santa Clara, in southern Utah,
I witnessed one of these tribal fights. A young, slender,
delicate-looking girl, evidently the belle of Tutsegovett's band, was
purchased by a brave of Coal Creek John's band; but a brave of the
Santa Clara tribe was the girl's accepted lover.
The aspirants were men of influence in their respective bands, though
they were unequal in physical ability. The man from Cedar, whom I will
call Ankawakeets, was a large, muscular, well-matured man of commanding
personality--a warrior tried and proven, while Panimeto, the Clara
man, was only a stripling; a youth of fine features and an eagle eye,
bespeaking pride and ambition, but fifty pounds lighter in weight than
Ankawakeets.
By the rules of the contest, this physical difference made it
impossible for the lovers to settle it by single combat; hence, it was
arranged by tribal agreement, that twenty warriors on each side should
participate in the struggle. The ground selected was a flat just west
of the old Clara fort. A square was marked off, the creek being chosen
for the south line; a line drawn in the sand marked the east, west, and
north boundaries.
East of the east line was Ankawakeets' goal, which, if he could
reach with the girl, she was his; contra, west of the west line was
Panimeto's goal, claiming the same concessions. On opposite sides of a
line running north and south through the center of this square where
the braves, lined up, stripped to the skin save for the indispensable
gee-string.
At the tap of the Indian drum, with bowed heads, and arms wildly
beating the air, the two files rushed like angry bullocks upon each
other. The air-hitting was fierce and rapid for a few minutes, until a
second tap of the drum, when the warriors clinched, and the mass became
a seething, whirling, cyclone of dark figures, cheered on by the squaw,
and by an occasional war-whoop from some interested, on-looking warrior.
To vanquish an opponent you had to throw him and hold him flat on his
back for the supposed time it would take to scalp an actual enemy. At
the end of an hour's exciting struggle, a few warriors on each side
had been vanquished; but the forces remaining were equal in number, so
neither party had gained any advantage.
They now changed the procedure. The father led the maiden to the
central line. She looked terrified; and well she might, for the ordeal
through which she was to pass was a fearful one; one of brutal pain
that would test her powers of endurance to the uttermost. The champions
ran to the girl, and seizing her by the wrists undertook to force her
to their respective goals. Soon it became a "tug-of-war" with fifteen
strapping warriors on each side. The flesh of the trembling maiden
quivered under the strain of thirty brutal demons struggling and
yelling to accomplish their aims.
Gyrating from one side of the field to the other they came, in one of
their wild swirls, to the banks of the creek and fell into the water
pell-mell up to their necks. The girl, evidently in a swoon, was
entirely submerged, only her mass of glossy tresses floating on the
surface of the water.
Andrew Gibbons, one of the Indian missionaries, flung himself on the
bank; and seizing the girl's hair, he raised her head above the water.
Instantly every brave broke his hold, and scrambled on to the bank; and
Ankawakeets angrily demanded that Gibbons should fight him for having
interfered.
To my surprise, Gibbons accepted the challenge, flung aside his hat,
and stepped into the ring. Tutse gave the signal, and Ankawakeets
sprang to the fray, only to measure his length backward on the sand.
Three times in succession his stalwart body kissed the earth. Then,
moving with more caution, the Indian dodged a blow, and succeeded in
grappling with Gibbons, but again the white man's skill was superior
to the savage's strength. Ankawakeets was flung to the ground and held
until the imagined scalping was performed. Then Gibbons stepped back
and folded his arms. His vanquished opponent arose, and with a majestic
air, that a white man could not imitate, he stepped to the maiden,
spoke a few low words that seemed to have a magical effect, and taking
the unresisting hand, led her to the victor and presented her as a
bridal trophy for the white man's valor and skill.
Gibbons, with a face glowing with satisfaction at the happy turn of
the combat, accepted the maiden, and leading her to Panimeto, gave
her to him--a mistake wherein the white man's sympathy for the weak
overruled his judgment. The presentation was followed by a war-whoop
from Ankawakeets, and his braves. Rushing to their camps they returned
with guns in hand, and forming a circle around the girl, ordered her to
march.
This fight gave me a deeper insight into the nobility and sterling
character of our Indian missionary boys. What fearless men they were,
ready for any emergency!
At this crisis it looked as if Ankawakeets would triumph by armed
force; yet the whites felt that his cause was not just; but an
unsuspected champion, a veritable lion, stood in the path. This time
it was Thales Haskell, another Indian missionary, of whom it was said,
"His cheeks never paled, and his voice never trembled." He sprang in
front of Ankawakeets and said,
"I called you a chief, but I see you are a boy, and a coward at that.
Put up your gun, and be a man."
Then Tutsegavit's voice was heard, commanding the father to lead the
girl to the center of the field, and told the warriors that they
might go on with the fight until the sun should hide its face behind
the mountain. If neither party won by that time, the girl should be
released from' the father's vows.
Each band of warriors withdrew by themselves for a few minutes'
consultation; then, with firmness depicted on every countenance, they
took their places, the champions grasping again the wrists of the
trembling young squaw. A look of despair deepened the pallor of her
face, as if the terror of death was resting upon her; and a death-like
silence reigned as both sides waited the signal to begin the encounter.
At this critical moment, the girl's young brother, who had stood aloof
with folded arms and clouded brow during all the struggle, bounded to
his sister's side and, drawing his knife from its sheath, he buried it
in her bosom. She fell lifeless into her father's arms. The brother,
holding the bloody knife on high, said:
"I loved my sister too well to see her suffer more. You call me a boy;
but if there is a brave who thinks I have done wrong, let him take the
knife and plunge it to my heart; so will I join my sister and lead her
to the red man's happy hunting ground. I am not afraid to die."
Every warrior bowed his head, and turning, walked in silence to his
camp.
On the morrow, our people aided in giving fitting burial to the lovely
Indian girl, whose life had been sacrificed to the demands of a brutal
custom. I will only add that shortly after this tragedy, Jacob Hamblin,
the man whom the prophet Brigham Young ordained to be the "first,
apostle to the Lamanites," gathered the Indians in a council and talked
to them until they promised to give up the squaw fights. It was a step
which marked an epoch in the life of the Indians; and incidentally
it serves to illustrate the influence for good that this wonderful
peace-maker held over our fallen brethren, the Lamanites.