[Illustration]
While the Old World is better able than the New to satisfy the
craving of the mind for art and history, no portion of our globe can
equal the North American continent in certain forms of natural
scenery which reach the acme of sublimity. Niagara, the Yosemite, the
Yellowstone National Park, and the Grand Cañon of the Colorado in
Arizona are the four great natural wonders of America. Niagara is
Nature in the majesty of liquid motion, where, as the outlet of vast
inland seas, a mighty river leaps in wild delirium into a gorge two
hundred feet below, and boils and seethes tumultuously till its
heart is set at rest and its fever cooled by the embrace of Lake
Ontario. The Yosemite is Nature pictured, in a frame of granite
precipices, as reclining on a carpet woven with a million flowers,
above which rise huge trees three centuries old, which, nevertheless,
to the spectator, gazing from the towering cliffs, appear like waving
ferns. The Yellowstone Park is the arena of an amphitheatre in which
fire and water, the two great forces which have made our planet what
it is, still languidly contend where formerly they struggled
desperately for supremacy. But the Grand Cañon of Arizona is Nature
wounded unto death, and lying stiff and ghastly with a gash, two
hundred miles in length and a mile in depth, in her bared breast,
from which is flowing fast a stream of life-blood called the
Colorado.
[Illustration: A PETRIFIED FOREST, ARIZONA.]
[Illustration: PACK-MULES OF THE DESERT.]
[Illustration: EVIDENCES OF EROSION.]
[Illustration: THE NAVAJO CHURCH.]
[Illustration: FANTASTIC FORMS.]
The section of country through which one travels to behold this
last-named marvel is full of mystery and fascination. It is a land
where rivers frequently run underground or cut their way through
gorges of such depth that the bewildered tourist, peering over their
precipitous cliffs, can hardly gain a glimpse of the streams flowing
half a mile below; a land of colored landscapes such as elsewhere
would be deemed impossible, with "painted deserts," red and yellow
rocks, petrified forests, brown grass and purple grazing grounds; a
land where from a sea of tawny sand, flecked here and there with
bleached bones, like whitecaps on the ocean, one gazes upon mountains
glistening with snow; and where at times the intervals are so brief
between aridity and flood, that one might choose, like Alaric, a
river-bed for his sepulchre, yet see a host like that of Pharaoh
drowned in it before the dawn. In almost every other portion of the
world Nature reveals her finished work; but here she partially
discloses the secrets of her skill, and shows to us her modes of
earth-building. Thus, the entire country is dotted with _mesas_, or
table-lands of sandstone, furrowed and fashioned in a tremendous
process of erosion, caused by the draining through this area of a
prehistoric ocean, whose rushing, whirling, and receding waters
molded the mountains, carved the cañons, and etched innumerable
grotesque figures and fantastic forms. A feeling of solemnity steals
over us, as we reflect upon the lapse of geologic time which such a
record covers, unnumbered ages before man's advent on this planet;
and these deep cañons and eroded valleys, whose present streams are
only miniature representatives of those which formerly wrought havoc
here, teach lessons of patience to the restless mortals who behold
them; while some of the singular formations on the cliffs present
perplexing problems which Nature, as it were in mocking humor, bids
us solve.
[Illustration: A SPECIMEN OF NATURE'S HANDIWORK.]
Was Nature ever really sportive? In the old days, when she produced
her uncouth monsters of the deep, was she in manner, as in age, a
child? Did she then play with her continents, and smile to see them
struggle up from the sea only to sink again? Was it caprice that made
her wrap her vast dominions in the icy bands of glaciers, or pour
upon them lava torrents, and frequently convulse them with a mighty
earthquake? If so, New Mexico and Arizona must have been her favorite
playgrounds. At many points her rock formations look like whimsical
imitations of man's handicraft, or specimens of the colossal
vegetation of an earlier age. Some are gigantic, while others bear a
ludicrous resemblance to misshapen dwarfs, suggesting, as they stand
like pygmies round their mightier brethren, a group of mediaeval
jesters in a court of kings. In the faint dusk of evening, as one
flits by them in the moving train, their weird, uncanny forms appear
to writhe in pain, and he is tempted to regard them as the material
shapes of tortured souls.
[Illustration: A MESA.]
The _mesas_ of New Mexico and Arizona are, usually, regular in
outline, sometimes resembling in the distance cloud-banks on the edge
of the horizon, but oftener suggesting mighty fortresses, or ramparts
to resist invasion, like the wall of China. These are not only
beautiful in form and color, but from the fact that they recall the
works of man, we gaze at them with wonder, and find in them a
fascinating interest. They prove that Nature needs some human
association to appeal strongly to us, and how man's history of smiles
and tears gives pathos, mystery, and romance to scenes which
otherwise would be merely coldly beautiful or terribly sublime. It is
for this reason, doubtless, that we are always endeavoring to
personify Nature. We think of solitary trees as lonely, of
storm-tossed waves as angry, and of a group of mountains as members
of one family. Thus some of the Arizona mountains are called
brothers. No doubt their birth was attended by the same throes of
Mother Earth, and they possess certain family resemblances in their
level summits, huge square shoulders, and the deep furrows in their
rugged cheeks; while all of them evince the same disdain for
decoration, scorning alike the soft rich robes of verdure and the
rough storm-coats of the pines.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF MESAS.]
[Illustration: ON THE OLD SANTA FÉ TRAIL.]
The idea of companionship in Nature is not wholly fanciful. Is not
the fundamental law of the universe the attraction which one mass of
matter has for another? Even the awful distances in interstellar
space form no exception to this rule; for telescopic scrutiny reveals
the fact that planets, suns, and systems move in harmony, on paths
which indicate that they are all associated in the stupendous drama
of the skies. The human interest connected with the mountains and the
_mesas_ of New Mexico and Arizona is not very great. No mediaeval
mystery haunts these castles sculptured by the hand of Nature. No
famous romancer has lighted on their cliffs the torch of his poetic
fancy. No poet has yet peopled them with creatures of his
imagination. We can, unfortunately, conjure up from their majestic
background no more romantic picture than that of some Pueblo Indian
wooing his dusky bride. Yet they are not without some reminiscences
of heroism; for valiant men, a half century ago, following the
westward moving star of empire, braved almost inconceivable hardships
in their shadow, when, after four thousand years, American pioneers
repeated the old, old story, begun upon the plains of Shinar, as the
"Sons of the East" went westward in their quest of fortune. How few
of us think of those unrecorded heroes now, as we cross this region
in luxurious cars! To most of us the dead, whose bones once whitened
many of these lonely plains, are nothing more than the last winter's
snowdrifts melted by the sun; yet how effectively the Saxon has
succeeded in his conquest of the continent we have continual evidence
as we glide swiftly, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, through
glowing grain fields, prosperous cities, and states that rival
empires in size. Where formerly the Spanish conquerors, in their
fruitless search for the reputed Seven Cities glittering with gold,
endured privations and exhibited bravery which have hardly been
surpassed in the entire history of the world; and where, too, as if
it were but yesterday, the American Argonauts toiled painfully for
months through tribes of hostile Indians, across desert wastes and
over cloud-encompassed mountains, we find ourselves the inmates of a
rolling palace, propelled by one of Nature's tireless forces, and
feel at times in our swift flight as if we were the occupants of a
cushioned cannon-ball of glass. Even the crossing of one of the many
viaducts along our route is a reminder of how science has been
summoned to assist the invader in his audacious enterprise of
girdling a continent with steel.
[Illustration: AN ARIZONA CLOUD-EFFECT.]
[Illustration: OLD HOME OF KIT CARSON, TAOS, N.M.]
[Illustration: GRAVE OF KIT CARSON, TAOS, N.M.]
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE OF CAÑON DIABLO.]
The art of bridge-building in some form or other is one of the
earliest necessities of civilization. Even the apes in equatorial
regions will link themselves together, and swing their living line
across a stream to trees on the opposite bank, thus forming a
connected path of bodies along which other monkeys pass in safety.
Bridges of ropes or reeds are, also, made by the most primitive of
men; while viaducts of stone rose gradually in perfection, from the
rude blocks heaped up by savages to the magnificent structures
fashioned by the Romans. But with the introduction of iron and steel
into their composition, bridges are now constructed quickly, with
consummate skill, and in a multitude of different forms assist in
making possible the safe and rapid transit of our great Republic.
[Illustration: HOMES OF CLIFF DWELLERS.]
[Illustration: SKULLS OF CLIFF DWELLERS.]
In addition to all the wonderful natural features of Arizona and New
Mexico, the insight into ancient and modern Indian life which they
afford is of extraordinary interest, particularly as aboriginal
civilization, evidently, reached a higher level here than was
attained by any of the tribes which roamed throughout the regions now
known as the Middle and Eastern States. The natives of the arid
regions of the great Southwest, though subdivided into numerous
tribes, are usually known under the general title of Pueblos. The
name itself, bestowed upon them by the Spaniards, is significant;
since _pueblo_ is the Spanish word for village, and this would seem
to prove that the race thus designated three hundred and fifty years
ago was not nomadic, but had been settled here for many years.
[Illustration: LAGUNA.]
[Illustration: CLIFF PALACES.]
Antiquity and mystery impart a charm to these Pueblo Indians. They
are foundlings of history. We see their immemorial settlements, and
know that, centuries before Columbus landed on San Salvador, a number
of advantageously situated places in the western portion of this
continent served as the homes of powerful tribes, whose towns and
villages formed the scenes of warfare and barbaric splendor. But of
the men who built those villages we know comparatively nothing. Their
origin is almost as trackless as the sand which hides so many of
their relics in a tawny sepulchre. We may be certain, however, that
the remnants who survive are the representatives of myriads who once
made most of the American valleys palpitant with life, but over whom
oblivion has swept like a huge tidal wave, leaving the scattered
fragments of their history like peaks rising from a submerged world.
[Illustration: A TWO-STORY CLIFF PALACE.]
The best conclusions of scientists in regard to the geological
periods of our planet consider that the Glacial Epoch began about two
hundred and forty thousand, and ended about eighty thousand, years
ago. Traces of the existence of men in North America during that
glacial period have been found in abundance, and make it probable
that a human population existed, toward the close of that era, all
the way from the Atlantic Coast to the Upper Mississippi Valley.
Where these men of the Ice Age originally came from is a matter of
conjecture; but it seems probable that they migrated hither from the
Old World, since it is certain that during the various elevations and
depressions of the two continents, it was possible, several times,
for men to go from Europe or from Asia into America without crossing
any ocean, either by the northwestern corner of Alaska, which has
been repeatedly joined to Siberia through the elevation of the
shallow Bering Sea, or by the great Atlantic ridge which more than
once has risen above the ocean between Great Britain and Greenland.
Yet, though the first inhabitants of America, in all probability,
came thus from the Old World at a very distant period of antiquity,
it is believed by the best students of the subject that, until within
the last few centuries, there had been no intercourse between America
and either Europe or Asia, for at least twenty thousand years. Hence
the Aborigines of this continent developed in the course of ages
peculiarities which distinguish them from other races, and justify
their being regarded as, practically, native to the soil.
[Illustration: AN EARLY PLACE OF SHELTER.]
The Indians of New Mexico and Arizona were, probably, fugitives from
more fertile lands, whence they had been expelled by the ancestors of
the bloodthirsty and cruel Apaches. The country to which they came,
and where they made a final stand against their predatory foes, was
well adapted to defense. For hundreds of square miles the land is
cleft with chasms, and dotted with peculiar, isolated table-lands
hundreds of feet in height, with almost perfectly level surfaces and
precipitous sides. The origin and formation of these _mesas_, due to
erosion through unnumbered centuries, by water draining from an
inland sea, has been already referred to, and it can be readily seen
that they originally formed ideal residences for the peace-loving
Pueblos, who either made their homes as Cliff Dwellers in the
crevices of cañon walls, or took advantage of these lofty rocks,
already shaped and fortified by Nature, and built on them their
dwellings. These in themselves were no mean strongholds. Their thick
walls, made of rock fragments cemented with adobe, constituted a
natural fortress, against which weapons such as savages used before
they acquired fire-arms could do little harm; and even these houses
the Indians constructed like the cliffs themselves, lofty and
perpendicular, tier above tier, and, save for ladders, almost as
inaccessible as eagles' nests. Again, since these _pueblos_ stood on
table-lands, the approach to which could be easily defended, they
were almost impregnable; while their isolation and elevation, in the
treeless regions of New Mexico, enabled watchmen to discover the
approach of an enemy at a considerable distance and to give warning
for the women, children, and cattle roaming on the plain to be
brought to a place of safety. The instinct of self-preservation and
even the methods of defense are, after all, almost identical in every
age and clime; and the motive which led the Indians to the summits of
these _mesas_ was, no doubt, the same that prompted the Athenians to
make a citadel of their Acropolis, and mediaeval knights to build
their castles on the isolated crags of Italy, or on the mountain
peaks along the Rhine.
[Illustration: "CREVICES OF CAÑON WALLS."]
[Illustration: THE SUMMIT OF A MESA.]
[Illustration: THE MESA ENCANTADA.]
As times became more peaceful, the Pueblos located their villages
upon the plains, and one of these, called Laguna, is now a station
of the Santa Fé railway. But a mere glance at this, in passing, was
far too brief and unsatisfactory for our purpose, aside from the fact
that its proximity to the railroad had, naturally, robbed the
settlement of much of its distinctive character. We therefore
resolved to leave our train, and go directly into the interior, to
visit a most interesting and typical _pueblo,_ known as Ácoma.
Arriving at the station nearest to it, early in the morning, we found
a wagon and four horses waiting to receive us, and quickly started
for our destination over a natural road across the almost level
prairie. At the expiration of about two hours we saw before us, at a
distance of three miles, a _mesa_ of such perfect symmetry and
brilliant pinkish color, that it called forth a unanimous expression
of enthusiasm. Although the form of this "noblest single rock in
America" changes as one beholds it from different points of view, the
shape which it presented, as we approached it, was circular; and
this, together with its uniform height and perpendicular walls,
reminded me of the tomb of Cæcilia Metella on the Appian Way,
magnified into majesty, as in a mirage. It was with added interest,
therefore, that we learned that this was the Enchanted Mesa, about
which there had been recently considerable scientific controversy.
Enchanting, if not enchanted, it certainly appeared that morning,
and, as we drew nearer, its imposing mass continued to suggest old
Roman architecture, from Hadrian's Mausoleum by the Tiber to the huge
circle of the Colosseum.
[Illustration: HOUSES AT LAGUNA.]
[Illustration: THE MESA FROM THE EAST.]
The Indian name of this remarkable cliff is _Katzímo_, and the title
_Haunted Mesa_ would be a more appropriate translation of the Spanish
name, _Mesa Encantada_, than _Enchanted;_ for the people of Ácoma
believe its summit to be haunted by the spirits of their ancestors. A
sinister tradition exists among them that one day, many centuries
ago, when all the men of the village were at work upon the plain, a
mass of rock, detached by the slow action of the elements, or else
precipitated by an earthquake shock, fell into the narrow cleft by
which alone an ascent or descent of the _mesa_ was made, and
rendered it impassable. The women and children, left thus on the
summit of a cliff four hundred and thirty feet in height, and cut off
from communication with their relatives and friends, who were unable
to rejoin and rescue them, are said to have slowly perished by
starvation, and their bones, pulverized in the course of centuries,
are believed to have been, finally, blown or washed away. To test the
truth of this tradition, at least so far as traces of a previous
inhabitancy of the _mesa_ could confirm it, Mr. Frederick W. Hodge,
in 1895, made an attempt to reach the summit; but, though he climbed
to within sixty feet of the top, he could on that occasion go no
higher. He found, however, along the sides of the cliffs enormous
masses of _débris_, washed down by the streams of water which, after
a tempest, drain off from the summit in a thousand little cataracts.
Not only did Mr. Hodge discover in this rubbish several fragments of
Indian pottery, but he, also, observed certain holes in the cliff
which seemed to him to have been cut there specially for hands and
feet. These he believed to be traces of an ancient trail. Stimulated
by the announcement of this discovery, Professor William Libbey, of
Princeton College, in July, 1896, made the ascent of the Enchanted
Mesa by means of a life line fired over the mound from a Lyle gun.
Stout ropes having then been drawn over the cliffs and made secure,
the adventurous aëronaut was actually hauled up to the summit in a
boatswain's chair, as sailors are sometimes pulled ashore from a
sinking ship. On his descent, however, he declared that he had found
nothing to indicate that the crest had ever been inhabited, or even
previously visited. Nothing daunted by this statement, a few weeks
later Mr. Hodge again attempted the ascent in which he had failed the
year before. This time he was successful, and scaled the cliff by
means of an extension ladder and several hundred feet of rope. But
very different were the conclusions reached by him as to the probable
authenticity of the tradition; for after having been on the _mesa_
only a short time, he found a piece of ancient pottery, and, during a
search of twenty hours, not only were several more fragments of
earthenware discovered, but also two stone ax-heads, an arrow-point
of flint, and part of a shell bracelet. Moreover, a little monument
of stone, arranged with evident design, was found on the edge of the
cliff. Mr. Hodge and his party concluded, therefore, that beyond a
doubt the Mesa Encantada had once been inhabited, and that the legend
of the destruction of its last occupants may be true.
[Illustration: LOOKING THROUGH A CREVICE OF THE ENCHANTED MESA.]
[Illustration: THE LYLE GUN AND ROPES.]
[Illustration: MAN IN BOATSWAIN'S CHAIR.]
[Illustration: THE HODGE PARTY.]
[Illustration: INDIAN RELICS.]
The discovery of pieces of pottery here does not of itself prove
great advancement in the race that made them; for, curiously enough,
the manufacture of rude pottery is one of the first steps taken by
man from a savage to a semi-civilized state. The various races of
mankind have usually reached this art soon after their discovery of
fire. In fact, such an invention is almost inevitable. Thus, an early
method of cooking food has always been to put it into a basket
smeared with clay, which is supported over a fire. The clay served
the double purpose of preventing liquids from escaping and protecting
the basket from the flame. Now, even the dullest savage could not
have failed to notice, after a time, that the clay became hardened by
the fire, and in that state was sufficient for his purpose without
the basket. Simple as it seems, the discovery of this fact marks an
important epoch in the progress of every primitive race, and some
authorities on ethnology distinguish the two great divisions of
Savagery and Barbarism by placing in the lower grade those who have
not arrived at the knowledge of making pottery.
[Illustration: THE TOP OF THE MESA ENCANTADA.]
[Illustration: THE APPROACH TO ÁCOMA.]
Soon after passing this haunted rock, and driving further over the
_mesa_-dotted plain, we came in sight of the weird city of the sky
called Ácoma. It occupies the summit of a table-land, the ascent to
which is now a winding defile, flanked by frowning cliffs. Even this
path, though readily ascended on horseback, is too precipitous and
sandy for a wagon. Accordingly, as none of our party that day enjoyed
the privilege of being an equestrian, we left our vehicle at the foot
of the _mesa,_ and completed the journey on foot. Some adventurous
spirits, however, chose a short cut up the precipice along a natural
fissure in the rocks, which, having been transformed with loose
stones into a kind of ladder, was formerly, before these peaceful
times, the only means of access to the summit. A steeper scramble
would be hard to find. I must confess, however, that before taking
either of these routes, we halted to enjoy a lunch for which the
drive had given us the keenest appetite, and which we ate _al fresco_
in the shadow of a cliff, surrounded by a dozen curious natives.
Then, the imperious demands of hunger satisfied, we climbed three
hundred and fifty feet above the surrounding plain, and stood in what
is, with perhaps the exception of Zuñi, the oldest inhabited town in
North America. Before us, on what seemed to be an island of the air,
was a perfect specimen of the aboriginal civilization found here by
the Spanish conqueror, Coronado, and his eager gold-seekers, in 1540.
For now, as then, the members of the tribe reside together in one
immense community building. It is rather droll to find among these
natives of the desert the idea of the modern apartment house; but, in
this place, as in all the settlements of the Pueblo Indians, communal
dwellings were in existence long before the discovery of America, and
the _mesa_ of Ácoma was inhabited as it now is, when the Pilgrims
landed upon Plymouth Rock.
[Illustration: RAIN WATER BASIN, ÁCOMA.]
[Illustration: THE COURTYARD OF ÁCOMA.]
An Indian _pueblo_ is really a honeycomb of adobe cells, built up in
terraces. The outer walls, being the most exposed, are the highest,
and from them toward the centre of the village, projecting stories
descend in such a way that the balcony of one series of rooms forms a
roof for the next below it. Finally, in the heart of the _pueblo_ is
an open area where horses are corralled. When the space on the summit
of the _mesa_ is sufficient, these apartment dwellings may be
increased indefinitely by adding cells to the original mass, till it
is six or seven stories high, and may contain one hundred, five
hundred, or even a thousand persons, according to the size of the
tribe. Formerly there were no doorways in the lowest stories; but in
these peaceful days they are now introduced occasionally by Indian
architects. Where they do not exist, the only means of entering the
ground-floor rooms is by climbing a ladder from the courtyard to the
first terrace, and thence descending by another ladder through a hole
in the roof. The upper stories, being safer from attack, are more
liberally supplied with doors and windows, the latter being
sometimes glazed with plates of mica. At present, panes of glass are
also used, though they were pointed out to us as special luxuries. At
night, and in times of danger, the ladders in these _pueblos_ used
always to be drawn up after the last climbers had used them; since
these industrious and sedentary Indians were ever liable to raids
from their nomadic enemies, who coveted their stores of food and the
few treasures they had gradually accumulated. This precaution on the
part of the Pueblos again reminds us that human nature, in its
primitive devices for self-protection, is everywhere very much the
same. Thus, there is no connection between the Swiss Lake Dwellers
and the Indians of New Mexico; yet as the latter, on retiring to
their houses, draw up their ladders after them, so the old occupants
of the villages built on piles in the Swiss lakes pulled after them
at night the bridges which connected them with the land.
[Illustration: HOUSE OF A PUEBLO CHIEF.]
[Illustration: A GROUP OF PUEBLO INDIANS.]
[Illustration: A PUEBLO TOWN.]
One can well imagine that the people of Ácoma do not spend many of
their waking hours in their apartments. In this warm climate, with
its superb air and almost rainless sky, every one lives as much as
possible out of doors, and a true child of the sun always prefers the
canopy of heaven to any other covering, and would rather eat on his
doorstep and sleep on his flat roof, than to dine at a sumptuous
table or recline on a comfortable bed. Nature seems to be peculiarly
kind and indulgent to the people of warm climates. They need not only
less clothing but less food, and it is only when we travel in the
tropics that we realize on how little sustenance man can exist. A few
dates, a cup of coffee, and a bit of bread appear to satisfy the
appetites of most Aridians, whether they are Indians or Arabs. In
the North, food, clothing, and fire are necessities of life; but to
the people of the South the sun suffices for a furnace, fruits give
sufficient nourishment, and clothing is a chance acquaintance. Yet
life is full of compensation. Where Nature is too indulgent, her
favorites grow shiftless; and the greatest amount of indoor luxury
and comfort is always found where Nature seems so hostile that man is
forced to fight with her for life.
[Illustration: CHARACTERISTIC PUEBLO HOUSES.]
[Illustration: IN THE PUEBLO.]
Most of the cells which we examined in the many-chambered honeycomb
of Ácoma had very little furniture except a primitive table and a few
stools, made out of blocks of wood or trunks of trees. Across one
corner of each room was, usually, stretched a cord on which the
articles of the family wardrobe had been thrown promiscuously. The
ornaments visible were usually bows and arrows, rifles, Navajo
blankets, and leather pouches, hung on wooden pegs. Of beds I could
find none; for Indians sleep by preference on blankets, skins, or
coarse-wool mattresses spread every night upon the floor. When we
consider that the forty millions of Japan, even in their
comparatively high degree of civilization, still sleep in much the
same way, we realize how unnecessary bedsteads are to the majority
of the human race. In a few rooms I discovered wooden statuettes of
saints, one or two crucifixes, and some cheap prints, which were
evidently regarded with great veneration. The floors, which were not
of wood, but of smooth adobe nearly as hard as asphalt, were in every
instance remarkably clean.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF A PUEBLO APARTMENT.]
It is an interesting fact, in the domestic economy of the Indian life
led in these aërial villages, that the woman is always the complete
owner of her apartment and its contents; for it is the women of the
tribe who build the dwellings. Accordingly, the position of a Pueblo
woman is extraordinary; and should her husband ill-treat her, she has
the right and power to evict him, and to send him back to his
original home. On the other hand, the man is sole possessor of the
live stock of the family and of the property in the field; but when
the crops are housed, the wife is at once invested with an equal
share in their ownership. Pueblo children, too, always trace their
descent through the mother and take her clan name instead of the
father's. I noticed that at Ácoma the children seemed to be obedient
to their parents and respectful to age, as I have invariably found
them to be in all partially civilized countries of the world; for,
paradoxical as it may seem, it is only in highly civilized
communities, where individualism is cultivated at the expense of
strict discipline and parental control, that children become
indifferent to their fathers and mothers, and insolent to their
superiors in age and wisdom.
[Illustration: PUEBLO WATER-CARRIERS.]
We lingered for some time upon this citadel of Ácoma, profoundly
interested in the life and customs of a people that asks no aid of
the United States, but is, to-day, as self-supporting as it has
always been. The number of Pueblo Indians was never very large. It is
probable that there were in all about thirty thousand of them at the
time of the Spanish conquest, in 1540, and there are now about
one-third that number scattered through more than twenty settlements.
In an arid land where the greatest need is water, it is not strange
that the dwellers on these rocky eyries should be called in the
Indian dialect "Drinkers of the dew," for it would seem as if the dew
must be their only beverage. But there are springs upon the
neighboring plains whose precious liquid is brought up the steep
trail daily on the heads of women, in three or five gallon jars, the
carrying of which gives to the poise of the head and neck a native
grace and elegance, as characteristic of Pueblo women as of the girls
of Capri. Moreover, on the summit of the _mesa_ there are, usually,
hollows in the rock, partly natural, partly artificial, which serve
as reservoirs to retain rain water and keep it fresh and cool.
[Illustration: AN ESTUFA.]
Besides the communal apartment-house, every _pueblo_ contains two
characteristic edifices. One is as ancient as the tribe itself and
thoroughly aboriginal, the other is comparatively modern and bears
the imprint of the Spaniard; they are the _estufa_ and the Roman
Catholic church. The _estufa_ has always played a prominent part in
the history of these Indians. It is a semi-subterranean council hall,
where matters of public business are discussed by the chiefs. The
government of the Pueblos is practically the same as when the Spanish
found them. Each village seems to be completely independent of its
neighbors, and no member of one tribe is allowed to sell real estate
to members of another, or to marry into another clan without
permission from his own. Each settlement is governed by a council,
the members of which, including its chief, are chosen annually.
Heredity counts for nothing among them, and official positions are
conferred only by popular vote. Even their war-chieftains are elected
and are under the control of the council. All matters of public
importance are discussed by this body in the _estufa_, the walls of
which are usually whitewashed; but a more dismal place can hardly be
imagined, not only from the dubious light which there prevails, but
from the fact that it contains no furniture whatever, and no
decoration. Sometimes a village will have several _estufas_, each
being reserved for a separate clan of the tribe. In any case, whether
many or few, they are used exclusively by men, women never being
allowed to enter them except to bring food to their male relatives.
As we approached the Ácoma _estufa_, it presented the appearance of a
monstrous bean pot, from the opening of which a ladder rose to a
height of twenty feet. This proved to be the only means of descending
into an enclosure, to which we were politely but firmly denied
admission. Peering into the aperture, however, and noting the warm,
close air which came from it, I understood why the Spanish word
_estufa_, or oven, was applied to these underground cells by their
European discoverers; for neither light nor ventilation is obtainable
except through the one opening, and in summer the temperature of the
shallow cavern must be warm indeed.
[Illustration: ESTUFA AND SURROUNDINGS.]
[Illustration: MEXICAN OVENS.]
[Illustration: THE OLD CHURCH AT ÁCOMA.]
The only other notable structure in Ácoma is the Roman Catholic
church, the walls of which are sixty feet in height and ten feet
thick. One can realize the enormous amount of labor involved in its
construction, when he reflects that every stone and every piece of
timber used in building it had to be brought hither on the backs of
Indians, over the plains, from a considerable distance, and up the
desperately difficult and narrow trail. Even the graveyard, which
occupies a space in front of the church, about two hundred feet
square, is said to have required a labor of forty years, since the
cemetery had to be enclosed with stone walls, forty feet deep at one
edge and filled with earth brought in small basket-loads up the steep
ascent from the plain below. The church itself is regarded by the
Indians with the utmost reverence, although it must be said that
their religion is still almost as much Pagan as Christian. Thus,
while they respect the priests who come to minister to them, they
also have a lurking reverence for the medicine man, who is known as
the _cacique_. He is really the religious head of the community, a
kind of augur and prophet, who consults the gods and communicates to
the people the answers he claims to have received. This dignitary is
exempt from all work of a manual kind, such as farming, digging
irrigation-ditches, and even hunting, and receives compensation for
his services in the form of a tract of land which the community
cultivates for him with more care than is bestowed on any other
portion of their territory, while his crops are the first harvested
in the autumn. He also derives an income in the form of grain,
buckskin, shells, or turquoises, from those who beg him to fast for
them, and to intercede with the gods in case of sickness. On the
other hand, the _cacique_ must lodge and feed all the strangers who
come to the village, as long as they stay, and he is, also, the
surgeon and the nurse of the community.
[Illustration: THE ALTAR.]
[Illustration: DANCE IN THE PUEBLO.]
While, therefore, the Pueblos go to church and repeat prayers in
accordance with Christian teaching, they also use the prayer-sticks
of their ancestors, and still place great reliance on their dances,
most of which are of a strictly religious character, and are not only
dedicated to the sun, moon, rainbow, deer, elk, and sheep, but are
usually performed for the specific purpose of obtaining rain.
Formerly, too, when their lives were far less peaceful than they are
to-day, the Pueblos indulged in war and scalp dances; but these are
now falling into disuse. The most remarkable exhibition of dancing,
still in vogue, is the repulsive Snake Dance of the Moquis of
Arizona, which takes place every year alternately in four villages
between the 10th and the 30th of August according to the phase of the
moon. The origin of this extraordinary custom is not intelligible now
even to the Indians themselves, but the object in performing it is to
obtain rain, and the dance, itself, is the culmination of a religious
ceremonial which continues for nine days and nights. During that time
only those who have been initiated into the Sacred Fraternities of
the tribe may enter the _estufa_, on the floor of which weird
pictures have been made with colored sand.
[Illustration: PUEBLO GIRLS.]
[Illustration: THREE SNAKE PRIESTS.]
In the tribe of Moquis there are two fraternities known as the
Antelopes and the Snakes, Each has from twenty to thirty members,
some of whom are boys who serve as acolytes. When the open air
ceremony of the Snake Dance begins, the members of these brotherhoods
appear scantily clothed, with their faces painted red and white, and
with tortoise-shell rattles tied to their legs. The Antelope
fraternity first enters the square, preceded by a venerable priest
carrying two bags filled with snakes. These serpents, which have been
previously washed and covered with sacred meal, are deposited by the
priest in a small leaf-embowered enclosure called the _kisi_. Around
this the Antelopes now march, stamping with the right foot violently,
to notify the spirits of their ancestors (presumably in the lower
world) that the ceremony has begun. After making the circuit of the
enclosure four times, they halt, and stand in line with their backs
turned toward it. Then the Snake fraternity appears, headed by its
priest, and performs the same ceremony. Then they too form a line,
facing the Antelopes, and all of them, for about five minutes, wave
their wands and chant some unintelligible words. Suddenly one
Antelope and one Snake man rush to the _kisi_, and the priest who is
presiding over the serpents presents them with a snake. The Snake man
immediately places the wriggling reptile in his mouth, and holds it
by the centre of its body between his teeth, as he marches around the
little plaza, taking high steps. Meantime the, Antelope man
accompanies him, stroking the snake continually with a wand tipped
with feathers. Then all the members of the two fraternities follow in
couples and do the same thing. Finally, each Snake man carries at
least two snakes in his mouth and several in his hands; and even
little boys, five years old, dressed like the adults, also hold
snakes in their hands, fearlessly. Once in a while a snake is
purposely dropped, and a man whose special duty it is to prevent its
escape rushes after it and catches it up.
[Illustration: THE SNAKE DANCE.]
All the time that this hideous ceremony is going on, a weird chant is
sung by the men and women of the tribe; and, at last, the chief
priest draws on the ground a mystic circle with a line of sacred
meal, and into this the men unload their snakes until the whole space
becomes a writhing mass of serpents. Suddenly the members rush into
this throng of squirming reptiles, most of which are rattlesnakes,
and each, grabbing up a handful of them, runs at full speed down the
_mesa_ and sets them at liberty, to act as messengers to carry to the
gods their prayers for rain. This ends the ceremony for the snakes,
but not for the men; for after they have liberated the reptiles, the
members of the brotherhoods return and bathe themselves in a kind of
green decoction, called Frog-water. Then they drink a powerful
emetic, and having lined up on the edge of the _mesa_, vomit in
unison! This is to purge them from the evil effects of snake-handling;
and lest it should not be sufficiently effectual, the dose is
repeated. Then they sit down, and eat bread, given them by the women
as a kind of communion or religious rite.
[Illustration: AFTER THE EMETIC.]
[Illustration: CHIEF SNAKE PRIEST.]
The seventy or eighty snakes used in this dance are treated from
first to last with the utmost kindness and respect, especially the
rattlesnakes, a dozen of which will frequently be squirming on the
ground at once. It is noticeable that the Indians never pick up a
rattlesnake when coiled, but always wait until it straightens itself
out under the feather stroking, for it is claimed that the
rattlesnake cannot strike uncoiled. At all events, when one is at its
full length, the Indians not only catch it up fearlessly, but carry
it with impunity in their mouths and hands. As might be supposed,
however, the Moquis are said to possess an antidote against the
poison of a rattlesnake, which, if a man is bitten, is given to him
at once; and it is said that none of them ever dies from the effects
of a snake-bite.
[Illustration: WHERE THE SNAKES ARE KEPT.]
The religious element in all these ceremonies should not be lost
sight of, for the life of the Pueblo Indians is permeated with
religion, or superstition, to the minutest details. Thus, it is an
interesting fact that vicarious atonement has been a custom among
them from time immemorial, and their _cacique_ is compelled to fast
and do penance in many ways for the sins of his people. In some of
the villages, also, certain men and women are chosen to expiate the
wrongdoings of the tribe; and for more than a century there has been
in New Mexico an order of Penitents, who torture themselves by
beating their bodies with sharp cactus thorns, by carrying heavy
crosses for great distances, and even by actual crucifixion. The
severest of these cruel rites have, finally, been suppressed by the
Roman Catholic church, but it encountered great difficulty in so
doing, and the last crucifixion took place in 1891.
[Illustration: RELICS OF CLIFF DWELLERS.]
[Illustration: SUMMIT OF A MOQUI MESA.]
Such, then, are the Pueblos of New Mexico and Arizona; a race uniting
aboriginal Pagan rites with Christian ceremonies: cherishing at the
same time their idols and their churches; using to-day their rifles,
and to-morrow their bows and arrows; pounding occasionally with a
hammer, but preferably with a stone; and handling American money for
certain purchases, while trading beads, shells, and turquoises for
others. Sometimes we wonder that they have not made more progress
during the centuries in which they have been associated with
Europeans; but it is hard to realize the difficulties which they have
encountered in trying to comprehend our civilization, and in grasping
its improvements. Even the adoption of the antique Spanish plow, the
clumsy two-wheeled cart, the heavy ax and the rude saw, which are
still found among them, caused them to pass at one stride from the
Stone to the Iron Age, which, but for the intervention of the
Spaniards, they would not naturally have reached without centuries of
patient plodding. Moreover, before the arrival of the Europeans, the
Aborigines of America had never seen horses, cows, sheep, or dogs,
and the turkey was the only domestic animal known to them. Hence, in
ancient American society there was no such thing as a pastoral stage
of development; and the absence of domestic animals from the western
hemisphere is a very important reason why the progress of mankind in
this part of the world was not more rapid. Still it is a remarkable
fact that the most ancient race, of which we have any actual
knowledge on this continent, is, also, the most peaceful,
self-supporting, and industrious, subsisting principally on the sale
of their curiously decorated pottery, and the products of their arid
soil. We saw here a young man who had been educated in the Government
School at Carlisle; but, like most of his race, after returning to
his village he had reverted to the ways of his ancestors,
disqualified by his birth and instincts of heredity from doing
anything else successfully.
[Illustration: MOQUI CART AND PLOW.]
[Illustration: MOQUI CHILDREN.]
It was late on the night succeeding our visit to Ácoma that we
arrived at Flagstaff, and our entire party was asleep. Suddenly we
were aroused by a prolonged shout and the discharge of half a dozen
revolvers. Five minutes later there came a general fusillade of
pistol shots, and near and distant cries were heard, in which our
half-awakened faculties could distinguish only the words: "Hurry up!"
"Call the crowd!" "Down the alley!" Then a gruff voice yelled just
beneath my window: "Let her go," and instantly our locomotive gave a
whistle so piercing and continuous that all the occupants of our car
sprang from their couches, and met in a demoralized group of
multicolored pajamas in the corridor. What was it? Had the train been
held up? Were we attacked? No; both the whistle and the pistol shots
were merely Flagstaff's mode of giving an alarm of fire. We hastily
dressed and stepped out upon the platform. A block of buildings just
opposite the station was on fire, and was evidently doomed; yet
Flagstaff's citizens, whose forms, relieved against the lurid glow,
looked like Comanche Indians in a war dance, fought the flames with
stubborn fury. The sight of a successful conflagration always thrills
me, partly with horror, partly with delight. Three hundred feet away,
two buildings formed an ever-increasing pyramid of golden light. We
could distinguish the thin streams of water thrown by two puny
engines; but, in comparison with the great tongues of fire which they
strove to conquer, they appeared like silver straws. Nothing could
check the mad carousal of the sparks and flames, which danced,
leaped, whirled, reversed, and intertwined, like demons waltzing with
a company of witches on Walpurgis Night. A few adventurous men
climbed to the roofs of the adjoining structures, and thence poured
buckets of water on the angry holocaust; but, for all the good they
thus accomplished, they might as well have spat upon the surging,
writhing fire, which flashed up in their faces like exploding bombs,
whenever portions of the buildings fell. Meantime huge clouds of
dense smoke, scintillant with sparks, rolled heavenward from this
miniature Vesuvius; the neighboring windows, as they caught the
light, sparkled like monster jewels; two telegraph poles caught fire,
and cut their slender forms and outstretched arms against the jet
black sky, like gibbets made of gold. How fire and water serve us,
when subdued as slaves; but, oh, how terribly they scourge us, if
ever for a moment they can gain the mastery! Too interested to
exchange a word, we watched the struggle and awaited the result. The
fury of the fire seemed like the wild attack of Indians, inflamed
with frenzy and fanaticism, sure to exhaust itself at last, but for
the moment riotously triumphant. Gradually, however, through want of
material on which to feed itself, the fiery demon drooped its shining
crest, brandished its arms with lessening vigor, and seemed to writhe
convulsively, as thrust after thrust from the silver spears of its
assailants reached a vital spot. Finally, after hurling one last
shower of firebrands, it sank back into darkness, and its hereditary
enemy rushed in to drown each lingering spark of its reduced
vitality.
[Illustration: FLAGSTAFF STATION.]
[Illustration: PACKING WOOD.]
[Illustration: A MEXICAN HOME.]
[Illustration: OUR CAR AT FLAGSTAFF.]
[Illustration: THE HEAVENS FROM THE OBSERVATORY, FLAGSTAFF.]
[Illustration: TWILIGHT.]
Upon a hill near Flagstaff stands an astronomical observatory from
which distinguished students of the midnight skies search for the
secrets of the moon and stars. Few better sites on earth could have
been chosen for this purpose, since Arizona's atmosphere is so
transparent that the extent of celestial scenery here disclosed is
extraordinary. We visited the structure at the solemn hour that marks
the hush between two days, when the last sound of one has died away,
and before the first stir of the other thrills the morning air. Then,
gazing through the lenses of its noble telescope, we welcomed the
swift waves of light pulsating toward us from the shoreless ocean we
call space. There is a mysterious beauty about the radiance of a star
that far surpasses that of the moon. The latter glitters only with
reflected light; but a star (that is to say a distant sun), when seen
through a telescope, frequently scintillates with different colors
like a diamond, and quivers like a thing of life. Moreover, the moon,
forever waxing, waning, or presenting almost stupidly its great flat
face, is continually changing; but the fixed star is always there. It
fills the thoughtful soul with awe to look upon the starry heavens
through such an instrument as that at Flagstaff. Space for the moment
seems annihilated. We are apparently transported, as observers, from
our tiny planet to the confines of our solar system, and, gazing
thence still farther toward infinity, we watch with bated breath the
birth, the progress, and the death of worlds. To one of the most
distant objects in the depths of space, known as the Ring Nebula, the
author addressed the following lines: