The Mohaves--Their Sports--An Expedition of Hostility against
the Cochopas--Its Design--Tradition concerning it--The
Preparation--Their Custom of Sacrificing a Prisoner on the Death
in War of One of their own Number--The Anxiety of Olive--They
depart--Their Return--The Fruit of the Expedition--The Five Cochopa
Captives--Nowereha--Her Attempt to Escape--Her Recapture and
Horrid Death--The Physicians--Evil Spirits--The Mohave Mode of
Doctoring--The Yumas--“Francisco,” the Yuma Indian--Hopes of Escape.
“In the spring of 1854, the project of some exciting hostile expedition
against a distant tribe was agitated among the Mohaves. It was some
time before any but the ‘Council’ knew of the definite purpose of
the expedition. But when their plans had been laid, and all their
intentions circulated among the tribe, it proved to be one of war upon
the Cochopas, a large tribe seven hundred miles away. The Cochopas were
a tribe with whom the Mohaves had never been at peace. According to
tradition, this hostility had been kept actively flaming through all
past generations. And the Mohaves were relying with equal certainty
upon the truth of traditional prophecy that they were ultimately to
subject the Cochopas to their sway, or obliterate them. The Mohaves
had as yet been successful in every engagement. They were confident
of success, and this was all the glory their ambition was capable of
grasping. As for any intrinsic merit in the matter of the contest, none
was known to exist. About sixty warriors made preparations for a long
time to undertake the expedition.
“Bows and arrows and war-clubs were prepared in abundance, also
stone-knives. The war-club was made of a very solid wood that grew upon
the mountain. It was of a tree that they called ‘Cooachee,’ very hard
and heavy, and lost but very little of its weight in the seasoning
process.
“Great preparations were also made by the squaws, though with much
reluctance, as most of them were opposed to the expedition, as they had
been also in the past to kindred ones. Those of them who had husbands
and brothers enlisted in the expedition, tried every expedient in
their power to dissuade them from it. They accused them of folly and a
mere lust of war, and prayed them not thus to expose their own lives
and the lives of their dependent ones. It was reported that since
the last attack upon them, the Cochopees had strengthened themselves
with numerous and powerful allies, by uniting several surrounding
tribes with themselves for purposes of war. This was pleaded by these
interested women against the present purpose, as they feared that this
distant tribe would be now able to avenge past injury, besides beating
the Mohaves in this projected engagement. But go they would, and on the
day of their departure there was a convocation of nearly the whole
tribe, and it was a time of wild, savage excitement and deep mourning.
“I soon learned, though by mere accident, that so far as life was
concerned, I had an interest in this expedition equal to that of the
most exposed among the warriors. It had been an unvarying custom among
them that if any of their number should be slain in battle, the lives
of prisoners or captives must be sacrificed therefor, up to the number
of the slain, (if that number should be among them,) and that in the
most torturing manner. This was not done to appease their gods, for
they had none, but was a gift to the spirits of the other spheres.
Their only theory about a Supreme Being is that there is a chief of all
the Indians who reigns in splendor and pomp, and that his reign is one
of wisdom and equity, and would last forever. They believed that at the
gate of their elysium a porter was in constant attendance, who received
all good, brave Indians, and welcomed them to immense hunting-grounds
and all manner of sensual pleasures; that if one sought admittance
there without a bow and hunting implements, he was to subsist as best
he could, for no provision was to be made for him after leaving his
tribe. Many were the questions they asked me after they had ascertained
what I believed concerning the nature of the heaven of which I spoke,
and the employments there. But generally they would wind up the
conversation with ridicule and mockings. When they saw me weep or in
trouble they would sometimes say: ‘Why don’t you look up and call your
great God out of the sky, and have him take you up there.’ But under
all this I could plainly see that their questions were not wholly
insincere. They frequently marveled, and occasionally one would say:
‘You whites are a singular people; I should like to know what you will
be when a great many moons have gone by?’ Sometimes they would say as
did the Apaches, that we must be fools for believing that heaven was
above the sky; that if it were so the people would drop down. One of
the squaws said tauntingly to me: ‘When you go to your heaven you had
better take a strong piece of bark and tie yourself up, or you will be
coming down among us again.’ After the soldiers had departed they told
me plainly that my life must pay for the first one that might be slain
during this contest.
“I had but a little before learned that we were not much further from
the white settlements than when among the Apaches, and had been fondly
hoping that as parties of the tribe occasionally made excursions to the
settlements, I might yet make my situation known and obtain relief. But
now I was shut up to the alternatives of either making an immediate
effort to escape, which would be sure to cost my life if detected,
or to wait in dreadful suspense the bare probability of none of these
soldiers being slain, as the only chance for myself if I remained.
“The report of the strengthening of the Cochopas since their last
expedition gave me reason to fear the worst. Thus for a long time,
and just after having reached a bright place (if such there can be in
such a situation) in my captivity, I was thrown into the gloomiest
apprehensions for my life. I could not calculate upon life; I did not.
“For five months not a night did I close my eyes for a troubled sleep,
or wake in the morning but last and first were the thoughts of the
slender thread upon which my life was hung. The faint prospect in which
I had been indulging, that their plans of increasing traffic with the
Mexicans and whites might open the doors for my return, was now nearly
blasted.
“I had been out one fine day in August several miles gathering roots
for the chief’s family, and returning a little before sunset, as I came
in sight of the village I saw an Indian at some distance beyond the
town descending a hill to the river from the other side. He was so far
away that it was impossible for me to tell whether he was a Yuma or a
Mohave. These two tribes were on friendly terms, and frequent ‘criers’
or news-carriers passed between them. I thought at once of the absent
warriors, and of my vital interest in the success or failure of their
causeless, barbarous crusade. I soon saw that he was a Mohave, and
tremblingly believed that I could mark him as one of the army.
“With trembling and fear I watch his hastened though evidently wearied
pace. He went down into the river and as he rose again upon the bank
I recognized him. ‘He is wearied,’ I said, ‘and jogs heavily along as
though he had become nearly exhausted from long travel. Why can he be
coming in alone?’ Questions of this character played across my mind,
and were asked aloud by me ere I was aware, each like a pointed javelin
lashing and tormenting my fears. ‘Have the rest all perished?’ again I
exclaimed; ‘at any rate the decisive hour has come with me.’
“I stopped; my approach to the village had not been observed. I
resolved to wait and seek to cover one desperate effort to escape
under the first shades of night. I threw myself flat upon the ground;
I looked in every direction; mountain chains were strung around me on
every side like bulwarks of adamant, and if trails led through them I
knew them not. I partly raised myself up. I saw that Indian turn into a
hut upon the outskirts of the town. In a few moments the ‘criers’ were
out and bounding to the river and to the foot hills. Each on his way
started others, and soon the news was flying as on telegraphic wires.
‘_But what news?_’ I could but exclaim. I started up and resolved to
hasten to our hut and wait in silence the full returns.
“I could imagine that I saw my doom written in the countenance of every
Mohave I met. But each one maintained a surly reserve or turned upon
me a sarcastic smile. A crowd was gathering fast, but not one word was
let fall for my ear. In total, awful silence I looked, I watched, I
guessed, but dared not speak. It seemed that every one was reading and
playing with my agitation. Soon the assemblage was convened, a fire was
lighted, and ‘Ohitia’ rose up to speak; I listened, and my heart seemed
to leap to my mouth as he proceeded to state, in substance, thus:
‘Mohaves have triumphed; five prisoners taken; all on their way; none
of our men killed; they will be in to-morrow!’
“Again one of the blackest clouds that darkened the sky of my Mohave
captivity broke, and the sunshine of gladness and gratitude was upon
my heart. Tears of gratitude ran freely down my face. I buried my face
in my hands and silently thanked God. I sought a place alone, where
I might give full vent to my feelings of thanksgiving to my heavenly
Father. I saw his goodness, in whose hands are the reins of the wildest
battle storm, and thanked him that this expedition, so freighted with
anxiety, had issued so mercifully to me.
“The next day four more came in with the captives, and in a few days
all were returned, without even a scar to tell of the danger they had
passed. The next day after the coming of the last party, a meeting of
the whole tribe was called, and one of the most enthusiastic rejoicing
seasons I ever witnessed among them it was. It lasted, indeed, for
several days. They danced, sung, shouted, and played their corn-stalk
flutes until for very weariness they were compelled to refrain. It
was their custom never to eat salted meat for the next moon after the
coming of a captive among them. Hence our salt fish were for several
days left to an undisturbed repose.
“Among the captives they had stolen from the unoffending Cochopas, and
brought in with them, was a handsome, fair complexioned young woman, of
about twenty-five years of age. She was as beautiful an Indian woman
as I have ever seen; tall, graceful, and ladylike in her appearance.
She had a fairer, lighter skin than the Mohaves or the other Cochopa
captives. But I saw upon her countenance and in her eyes the traces of
an awful grief. The rest of the captives appeared well and indifferent
about themselves.
“This woman called herself ‘Nowereha.’ Her language was as foreign to
the Mohaves as the American, except to the few soldiers that had been
among them. The other captives were girls from twelve to sixteen years
old; and while they seemed to wear a ‘don’t care’ appearance, this
Nowereha was perfectly bowed down with grief. I observed she tasted
but little food. She kept up a constant moaning and wailing, except
when checked by the threats of her boastful captors. I became very
much interested in her, and sought to learn the circumstances under
which she had been torn from her home. Of her grief I thought I knew
something. She tried to converse with me.
“With much difficulty I learned of her what had happened since the
going of the Mohave warriors among her tribe, and this fully explained
her extreme melancholy. Their town was attacked in the night by the
Mohave warriors, and after a short engagement the Cochopas were put
to flight; the Mohaves hotly pursued them. Nowereha had a child about
two months old; but after running a short distance her husband came up
with her, grasped the child, and run on before. This was an act showing
a humaneness that a Mohave warrior did not possess, for he would have
compelled his wife to carry the child, he kicking her along before him.
She was overtaken and captured.
“For one week Nowereha wandered about the village by day, a perfect
image of desperation and despair. At times she seemed insane: she slept
but little at night. The thieving, cruel Mohaves who had taken her, and
were making merry over her griefs, knew full well the cause of it all.
They knew that without provocation they had robbed her of her child,
and her child of its mother. They knew the attraction drawing her back
to her tribe, and they watched her closely. But no interest or concern
did they manifest save to mock and torment her.
“Early one morning it was noised through the village that Nowereha was
missing. I had observed her the day before, when the chief’s daughter
gave her some corn, to take part of the same, after grinding the rest,
to make a cake and hide it in her dress. When these captives were
brought in, they were assigned different places through the valley
at which to stop. Search was made to see if she had not sought the
abiding-place of some of her fellow-captives. This caused some delay,
which I was glad to see, though I dared not express my true feelings.
“When it was ascertained that she had probably undertaken to return,
every path and every space dividing the immediate trails was searched,
to find if possible some trace to guide a band of pursuers. A large
number were stationed in different parts of the valley, and the most
vigilant watch was kept during the night, while others started in quest
of her upon the way they supposed she had taken to go back. When I saw
a day and night pass in these fruitless attempts, I began to hope for
the safety of the fugitive. I had seen enough of her to know that she
was resolved and of unconquerable determination. Some conjectured that
she had been betrayed away; others that she had drowned herself, and
others that she had taken to the river and swam away. They finally
concluded that she had killed herself, and gave up the search, vowing
that if she had fled they would yet have her and be avenged.
“Just before night, several days after this, a Yuma Indian came
suddenly into camp, driving this Cochopa captive. She was the most
distressed-looking being imaginable when she returned. Her hair
disheveled, her few old clothes torn, (they were woolen clothes,) her
eyes swollen, and every feature of her noble countenance distorted.
“‘Criers’ were kept constantly on the way between the Mohaves and
Yumas, bearing news from tribe to tribe. These messengers were their
news-carriers and sentinels. Frequently two criers were employed,
(sometimes more,) one from each tribe. These would have their
meeting-stations. At these stations these criers would meet with
promptness, and by word of mouth each would deposit his store of news
with his fellow-expressman, and then each would return to his own
tribe with the news. When the news was important, or was of a warning
character, as in time of war, they would not wait for the fleet foot of
the ‘runner,’ but had their signal fires well understood, which would
telegraph the news hundreds of miles in a few hours. One of these Yuma
criers, about four days after the disappearance of Nowereha, was coming
to his station on the road connecting these two tribes, when he spied
a woman under a shelf of the rock on the opposite side of the river.
He immediately plunged into the stream and went to her. He knew the
tribe to which she belonged, and that the Mohaves had been making war
upon them. He immediately started back with her to the Mohave village.
It was a law to which they punctually lived, to return all fleeing
fugitives or captives of a friendly tribe.
“It seemed that she had concealed that portion of the corn meal she did
not bake, with a view of undertaking to escape.
“When she went out that night she plunged immediately into the river
to prevent them from tracking her. She swam several miles that night,
and then hid herself in a willow wood; thinking that they would be in
close pursuit, she resolved to remain there until they should give up
hunting for her. Here she remained nearly two days, and her pursuers
were very near her several times. She then started, and swam where the
river was not too rapid and shallow, when she would out and bound over
the rocks. In this way, traveling only in the night, she had gone near
one hundred and thirty miles. She was, as she supposed, safely hid in a
cave, waiting the return of night, when the Yuma found her.
“On her return another noisy meeting was called, and they spent the
night in one of their _victory_ dances. They would dance around her,
shout in her ears, spit in her face, and show their threats of a
murderous design, assuring her that they would soon have her where she
would give them no more trouble by running away.
“The next morning a post was firmly placed in the ground, and about
eight feet from the ground a cross-beam was attached. They then drove
large, rough wooden spikes through the palms of poor Nowereha’s hands,
and by these they lifted her to the cross and drove the spikes into the
soft wood of the beam, extending her hands as far as they could. They
then, with pieces of bark stuck with thorns, tied her head firmly back
to the upright post, drove spikes through her ankles, and for a time
left her in this condition.
“They soon returned, and placing me with their Cochopa captives near
the sufferer, bid us keep our eyes upon her until she died. This they
did, as they afterward said, to exhibit to me what I might expect if
they should catch me attempting to escape. They then commenced running
round Nowereha in regular circles, hallooing, stamping, and taunting
like so many demons, in the most wild and frenzied manner. After a
little while several of them supplied themselves with bows and arrows,
and at every circlet would hurl one of these poisoned instruments of
death into her quivering flesh. Occasionally she would cry aloud, and
in the most pitiful manner. This awakened from that mocking, heartless
crowd the most deafening yells.
[Illustration: HORRID DEATH OF THE INDIAN CAPTIVE.]
“She hung in this dreadful condition for over two hours ere I was
certain she was dead, all the while bleeding and sighing, her body
mangled in the most shocking manner. When she would cry aloud they
would stuff rags in her mouth, and thus silence her. When they were
quite sure she was dead, and that they could no longer inflict pain
upon her, they took her body to a funeral pile and burned it.
“I had before this thought, since I had come to know of the vicinity
of the whites, that I would get some knowledge of the way to their
abodes by means of the occasional visits the Mohaves made to them, and
make my escape. But this scene discouraged me, however, and each day I
found myself, not without hope it is true, but settling down into such
contentment as I could with my lot. For the next eighteen months during
which I was witness to their conduct, these Mohaves took more care and
exercised more forethought in the matter of their food. They did not
suffer, and seemed to determine not to suffer the return of a season
like 1852.
“I saw but little reason to expect anything else than the spending of
my years among them, and I had no anxiety that they should be many.
I saw around me none but savages, and (dreadful as was the thought)
among whom I must spend my days. There were some with whom I had
become intimately acquainted, and from whom I had received humane and
friendly treatment, exhibiting real kindness. I thought it best now
to conciliate the best wishes of all, and by every possible means to
avoid all occasions of awakening their displeasure, or enkindling their
unrepentant, uncontrollable temper and passions.
“There were some few for whom I began to feel a degree of attachment.
Every spot in that valley that had any attraction, or offered a retreat
to the sorrowing soul, had become familiar, and upon much of its
adjacent scenery I delighted to gaze. Every day had its monotony of
toil, and thus I plodded on.
“To escape seemed impossible, and to make an unsuccessful attempt would
be worse than death. Friends or kindred to look after or care for me,
I had none, as I then supposed. I thought it best to receive my daily
allotment with submission, and not darken it with a borrowed trouble;
to merit and covet the good-will of my captors, whether I received it
or not. At times the past, with all its checkered scenes, would roll up
before me, but all of it that was most deeply engraven upon my mind was
that which I would be soonest to forget if I could. Time seemed to take
a more rapid flight; I hardly could wake up to the reality of so long
a captivity among savages, and really imagined myself happy for short
periods.
“I considered my age, my sex, my exposure, and was again in trouble,
though to the honor of these savages let it be said, they never offered
the least unchaste abuse to me.
“During the summer of 1855 I was eye-witness to another illustration
of their superstition, and of its implacability when appealed to. The
Mohaves had but a simple system or theory of medicine. They divide
disease into spiritual and physical, or at least they used terms that
conveyed such an impression as this to my mind. The latter they treated
mainly to an application of their medical leaf, generally sweating
the patient by wrapping him in blankets and placing him over the
steam from these leaves warmed in water. For the treatment of their
spiritual or more malignant diseases they have physicians. All diseases
were ranked under the latter class that had baffled the virtue of the
medical leaf, and that were considered dangerous.
“In the summer of 1855 a sickness prevailed to a considerable extent,
very much resembling in its workings the more malignant fevers. Several
died. Members of the families of two of the sub-chiefs were sick,
and their physicians were called. These ‘M.D.s’ were above the need
of pills, and plasters, and powders, and performed their cures by
manipulations, and all manner of contortions of their own bodies, which
were performed with loud weeping and wailing of the most extravagant
kind over the sick. They professed to be in league and intimacy with
the spirits of the departed, and from whose superior knowledge and
position they were guided in all their curative processes. Two of these
were called to the sick bedside of the children of these chiefs. They
wailed and wrung their hands, and twisted themselves into all manner of
shapes over them for some time, but it was in vain, the patients died.
They had lost several patients lately, and already their medical repute
was low in the market. Threats had already followed them from house to
house, as their failures were known. After the death of these children
of rank, vengeance was sworn upon them, as they were accused of having
bargained themselves to the evil spirits for purpose of injury to the
tribe. They knew of their danger and hid themselves on the other side
of the river. For several days search was made, but in vain. They had
relatives and friends who kept constant guard over them. But such was
the feeling created by the complainings of those who had lost children
and friends by their alleged conspiracy with devils, that the tribe
demanded their lives, and the chief gave orders for their arrest. But
their friends managed in a sly way to conceal them for some time,
though they did not dare to let their managery be known to the rest of
the tribe. They were found, arrested, and burned alive.
“The Mohaves believe that when their friends die they depart to a
certain high hill in the western section of their territory. That they
there pursue their avocation free from the ills and pains of their
present life, if they had been good and brave. But they held that all
cowardly Indians (and bravery was _the_ good with them) were tormented
with hardships and failures, sickness and defeats. This hill or hades,
they never dared visit. It was thronged with thousands who were ready
to wreak vengeance upon the mortal who dared intrude upon this sacred
ground.
“Up to the middle of February, 1856, nothing occurred connected with
my allotment that would be of interest to the reader. One day as I was
grinding musquite near the door of our dwelling, a lad came running up
to me in haste, and said that Francisco, a Yuma crier, was on his way
to the Mohaves, and that he was coming to try and get me away to the
whites. The report created a momentary strange sensation, but I thought
it probably was a rumor gotten up by these idlers (as they were wont
to do) merely to deceive and excite me to their own gratification. In
a few moments, however, the report was circulating on good authority,
and as a reality. One of the sub-chiefs came in said that a Yuma
Indian, named Francisco, was now on his way with positive orders for my
immediate release and safe return to the fort.
“I knew that there were white persons at Fort Yuma, but did not know my
distance from the place. I knew, too, that intercourse of some kind was
constantly kept up with the Yumas and the tribes extending that way,
and thought that they had perhaps gained traces of my situation by this
means. But as yet I had nothing definite upon which to place confidence.
“I saw in a few hours that full credit was given to the report by the
Mohaves, for a sudden commotion was created, and it was enkindling
excitement throughout the settlement. The report spread over the valley
with astonishing speed, by means of their criers, and a crowd was
gathering, and the chiefs and principal men were summoned to a council
by their head ‘Aespaniola,’ with whom I stayed. Aespaniola was a tall,
strongly built man, active and generally happy. He seemed to possess
a mildness of disposition and to maintain a gravity and seriousness
in deportment that was rare among them. He ruled a council (noisy as
they sometimes were) with an ease and authority such as but few Indians
can command, if the Mohaves be a fair example. This council presented
the appearance of an aimless convening of wild maniacs, more than that
of _men_, met to deliberate. I looked upon the scene as a silent but
narrowly watched spectator, but was not permitted to be in the crowd or
to hear what was said.
“I knew the declared object of the gathering, and was the subject of
most anxious thoughts as to its issue and results. I thought I saw upon
the part of some of them, a designed working of themselves into a mad
phrenzy, as if preparatory to some brutal deed. I queried whether yet
the report was not false; and also as to the persons who had sent the
reported message, and by whom it might be conveyed. I tried to detect
the prevailing feeling among the most influential of the council, but
could not. Sometimes I doubted whether all this excitement could have
been gotten up on the mere question of my return to the whites.
“For some time past they had manifested but little watchfulness, care,
or concern about me. But still, though I was debarred from the council,
I had heard enough to know that it was only about me and the reported
demand for my liberty.
“In the midst of the uproar and confusion the approach of Francisco
was announced. The debate suddenly ceased, and it was a matter of much
interest to me to be able to mark, as I did, the various manifestations
by which different ones received him.
“Some were sullen, and would hardly treat him with any cordiality;
others were indifferent, and with a shake of the head would say,
‘Degee, degee, ontoa, ontoa,’ (I don’t care for the captive;) others
were angry, and advised that he be kept out of the council and driven
back at once; others were dignified and serious.
“I saw Francisco enter the council, and I was at once seized by two
Indians and bade be off to another part of the village. I found myself
shut up alone, unattended, unprotected. A message as from a land of
light had suddenly broken in upon my dark situation, and over it, and
also over my destiny; the most intense excitement was prevailing, more
vehement, if possible, than any before, and I denied the privilege of a
plea or a word to turn the scale in favor of my rights, my yearnings,
my hopes, or my prayers.
“I did pray God then to rule that council. My life was again hung up
as upon a single hair. The most of my dread for the present was, that
these savages of untamed passions would become excited against my
release, and enraged that the place of my abode had been found out. I
feared and trembled for my fate, and could not sleep. For three days
and most of three nights this noisy council continued; at times the
disputants became angry (as Francisco afterward told me) as rival
opinions and resolutions fired their breasts. As yet I knew not by what
means my locality had become known, or who had sent the demand; nor did
I know as yet that anything more than a word of mouth message had been
sent.”