to initiate the telling of short folk-stories. If he make such a
beginning, he must complete the whole cycle before he ceases his recital
or his listeners relax their attention. The following tale was told by
an attendant Indian (not a priest), whose name is Waíhusiwa.
“_Son ah tehi!_” he exclaimed, which may be interpreted: “Let us abide
with the ancients tonight.”
The listeners reply: “_É-so_,” or “_Tea-tu_.” (“Certainly,” or “Be it
well.”)
In the times of our forefathers, under Thunder Mountain was a village
called K’iákime (“Home of the Eagles”). It is now in ruins; the roofs
are gone, the ladders have decayed, the hearths grown cold. But when it
was all still perfect, and, as it were, new, there lived in this village
a maiden, the daughter of the priest-chief. She was beautiful, but
possessed of this peculiarity of character: There was a sacred spring of
water at the foot of the terrace whereon stood the town. We now call it
the Pool of the Apaches; but then it was sacred to Kólowissi (the
Serpent of the Sea). Now, at this spring the girl displayed her
peculiarity, which was that of a passion for neatness and cleanliness of
person and clothing. She could not endure the slightest speck or
particle of dust or dirt upon her clothes or person, and so she spent
most of her time in washing all the things she used and in bathing
herself in the waters of this spring.
Now, these waters, being sacred to the Serpent of the Sea, should not
have been defiled in this way. As might have been expected, Kólowissi
became troubled and angry at the sacrilege committed in the sacred
waters by the maiden, and he said: “Why does this maiden defile the
sacred waters of my spring with the dirt of her apparel and the dun of
her person? I must see to this.” So he devised a plan by which to
prevent the sacrilege and to punish its author.
When the maiden came again to the spring, what should she behold but a
beautiful little child seated amidst the waters, splashing them, cooing
and smiling. It was the Sea Serpent, wearing the semblance of a
child,--for a god may assume any form at its pleasure, you know. There
sat the child, laughing and playing in the water. The girl looked around
in all directions--north, south, east, and west--but could see no one,
nor any traces of persons who might have brought hither the beautiful
little child. She said to herself: “I wonder whose child this may be! It
would seem to be that of some unkind and cruel mother, who has deserted
it and left it here to perish. And the poor little child does not yet
know that it is left all alone. Poor little thing! I will take it in my
arms and care for it.”
The maiden then talked softly to the young child, and took it in her
arms, and hastened with it up the hill to her house, and, climbing up
the ladder, carried the child in her arms into the room where she slept.
Her peculiarity of character, her dislike of all dirt or dust, led her
to dwell apart from the rest of her family, in a room by herself above
all of the other apartments.
She was so pleased with the child that when she had got him into her
room she sat down on the floor and played with him, laughing at his
pranks and smiling into his face; and he answered her in baby fashion
with cooings and smiles of his own, so that her heart became very happy
and loving. So it happened that thus was she engaged for a long while
and utterly unmindful of the lapse of time.
Meanwhile, the younger sisters had prepared the meal, and were awaiting
the return of the elder sister.
“Where, I wonder, can she be?” one of them asked.
“She is probably down at the spring,” said the old father; “she is
bathing and washing her clothes, as usual, of course! Run down and call
her.”
But the younger sister, on going, could find no trace of her at the
spring. So she climbed the ladder to the private room of this elder
sister, and there found her, as has been told, playing with the little
child. She hastened back to inform her father of what she had seen. But
the old man sat silent and thoughtful. He knew that the waters of the
spring were sacred. When the rest of the family were excited, and ran to
behold the pretty prodigy, he cried out, therefore: “Come back! come
back! Why do you make fools of yourselves? Do you suppose any mother
would leave her own child in the waters of this or any other spring?
There is something more of meaning than seems in all this.”
When they again went and called the maiden to come down to the meal
spread for her, she could not be induced to leave the child.
“See! it is as you might expect,” said the father. “A woman will not
leave a child on any inducement; how much less her own.”
The child at length grew sleepy. The maiden placed it on a bed, and,
growing sleepy herself, at length lay by its side and fell asleep. Her
sleep was genuine, but the sleep of the child was feigned. The child
became elongated by degrees, as it were, fulfilling some horrible dream,
and soon appeared as an enormous Serpent that coiled itself round and
round the room until it was full of scaly, gleaming circles. Then,
placing its head near the head of the maiden, the great Serpent
surrounded her with its coils, taking finally its own tail in its mouth.
The night passed, and in the morning when the breakfast was prepared,
and yet the maiden did not descend, and the younger sisters became
impatient at the delay, the old man said: “Now that she has the child to
play with, she will care little for aught else. That is enough to occupy
the entire attention of any woman.”
But the little sister ran up to the room and called. Receiving no
answer, she tried to open the door; she could not move it, because the
Serpent’s coils filled the room and pressed against it. She pushed the
door with all her might, but it could not be moved. She again and again
called her sister’s name, but no response came. Beginning now to be
frightened, she ran to the sky-hole over the room in which she had left
the others and cried out for help. They hastily joined her,--all save
the old father,--and together were able to press the door sufficiently
to get a glimpse of the great scales and folds of the Serpent. Then the
women all ran screaming to the old father. The old man, priest and sage
as he was, quieted them with these words: “I expected as much as this
from the first report which you gave me. It was impossible, as I then
said, that a woman should be so foolish as to leave her child playing
even near the waters of the spring. But it is not impossible, it seems,
that one should be so foolish as to take into her arms a child found as
this one was.”
Thereupon he walked out of the house, deliberately and thoughtful, angry
in his mind against his eldest daughter. Ascending to her room, he
pushed against the door and called to the Serpent of the Sea: “Oh,
Kólowissi! It is I, who speak to thee, O Serpent of the Sea; I, thy
priest. Let, I pray thee, let my child come to me again, and I will make
atonement for her errors. Release her, though she has been so foolish,
for she is thine, absolutely thine. But let her return once more to us
that we may make atonement to thee more amply.” So prayed the priest to
the Serpent of the Sea.
When he had done this the great Serpent loosened his coils, and as he
did so the whole building shook violently, and all the villagers became
aware of the event, and trembled with fear.
The maiden at once awoke and cried piteously to her father for help.
“Come and release me, oh, my father! Come and release me!” she cried.
As the coils loosened she found herself able to rise. No sooner had she
done this than the great Serpent bent the folds of his large coils
nearest the doorway upward so that they formed an arch. Under this,
filled with terror, the girl passed. She was almost stunned with the
dread din of the monster’s scales rasping past one another with a noise
like the sound of flints trodden under the feet of a rapid runner, and
once away from the writhing mass of coils, the poor maiden ran like a
frightened deer out of the doorway, down the ladder and into the room
below, casting herself on the breast of her mother.
But the priest still remained praying to the Serpent; and he ended his
prayer as he had begun it, saying: “It shall be even as I have said; she
shall be thine!”
He then went away and called the two warrior priest-chiefs of the town,
and these called together all the other priests in sacred council. Then
they performed the solemn ceremonies of the sacred rites--preparing
plumes, prayer-wands, and offerings of treasure.
After four days of labor, these things they arranged and consecrated to
the Serpent of the Sea. On that morning the old priest called his
daughter and told her she must make ready to take these sacrifices and
yield them up, even with herself,--most precious of them all,--to the
great Serpent of the Sea; that she must yield up also all thoughts of
her people and home forever, and go hence to the house of the great
Serpent of the Sea, even in the Waters of the World. “For it seems,”
said he, “to have been your desire to do thus, as manifested by your
actions. You used even the sacred water for profane purposes; now this
that I have told you is inevitable. Come; the time when you must prepare
yourself to depart is near at hand.”
She went forth from the home of her childhood with sad cries, clinging
to the neck of her mother and shivering with terror. In the plaza,
amidst the lamentations of all the people, they dressed her in her
sacred cotton robes of ceremonial, embroidered elaborately, and adorned
her with earrings, bracelets, beads,--many beautiful, precious things.
They painted her cheeks with red spots as if for a dance; they made a
road of sacred meal toward the Door of the Serpent of the Sea--a distant
spring in our land known to this day as the Doorway to the Serpent of
the Sea--four steps toward this spring did they mark in sacred terraces
on the ground at the western way of the plaza. And when they had
finished the sacred road, the old priest, who never shed one tear,
although all the villagers wept sore,--for the maiden was very
beautiful,--instructed his daughter to go forth on the terraced road,
and, standing there, call the Serpent to come to her.
Then the door opened, and the Serpent descended from the high room where
he was coiled, and, without using ladders, let his head and breast down
to the ground in great undulations. He placed his head on the shoulder
of the maiden, and the word was given--the word: “It is time”--and the
maiden slowly started toward the west, cowering beneath her burden; but
whenever she staggered with fear and weariness and was like to wander
from the way, the Serpent gently pushed her onward and straightened her
course.
Thus they went toward the river trail and in it, on and over the
Mountain of the Red Paint; yet still the Serpent was not all uncoiled
from the maiden’s room in the house, but continued to crawl forth until
they were past the mountain--when the last of his length came forth.
Here he began to draw himself together again and to assume a new shape.
So that ere long his serpent form contracted, until, lifting his head
from the maiden’s shoulder, he stood up, in form a beautiful youth in
sacred gala attire! He placed the scales of his serpent form, now small,
under his flowing mantle, and called out to the maiden in a hoarse,
hissing voice: “Let us speak one to the other. Are you tired, girl?” Yet
she never moved her head, but plodded on with her eyes cast down.
“Are you weary, poor maiden?”--then he said in a gentler voice, as he
arose erect and fell a little behind her, and wrapped his scales more
closely in his blanket--and he was now such a splendid and brave hero,
so magnificently dressed! And he repeated, in a still softer voice: “Are
you still weary, poor maiden?”
At first she dared not look around, though the voice, so changed,
sounded so far behind her and thrilled her wonderfully with its
kindness. Yet she still felt the weight on her shoulder, the weight of
that dreaded Serpent’s head; for you know after one has carried a heavy
burden on his shoulder or back, if it be removed he does not at once
know that it is taken away; it seems still to oppress and pain him. So
it was with her; but at length she turned around a little and saw a
young man--a brave and handsome young man.
“May I walk by your side?” said he, catching her eye. “Why do you not
speak with me?”
“I am filled with fear and sadness and shame,” said she.
“Why?” asked he. “What do you fear?”
“Because I came with a fearful creature forth from my home, and he
rested his head upon my shoulder, and even now I feel his presence
there,” said she, lifting her hand to the place where his head had
rested, even still fearing that it might be there.
“But I came all the way with you,” said he, “and I saw no such creature
as you describe.”
Upon this she stopped and turned back and looked again at him, and said:
“You came all the way? I wonder where this fearful being has gone!”
He smiled, and replied: “I know where he has gone.”
“Ah, youth and friend, will he now leave me in peace,” said she, “and
let me return to the home of my people?”
“No,” replied he, “because he thinks very much of you.”
“Why not? Where is he?”
“He is here,” said the youth, smiling, and laying his hand on his own
heart. “I am he.”
“You are he?” cried the maiden. Then she looked at him again, and would
not believe him.
“Yea, my maiden, I am he!” said he. And he drew forth from under his
flowing mantle the shrivelled serpent scales, and showed them as proofs
of his word. It was wonderful and beautiful to the maiden to see that he
was thus, a gentle being; and she looked at him long.
Then he said: “Yes, I am he. I love you, my maiden! Will you not haply
come forth and dwell with me? Yes, you will go with me, and dwell with
me, and I will dwell with you, and I will love you. I dwell not now, but
ever, in all the Waters of the World, and in each particular water. In
all and each you will dwell with me forever, and we will love each
other.”
Behold! As they journeyed on, the maiden quite forgot that she had been
sad; she forgot her old home, and followed and descended with him into
the Doorway of the Serpent of the Sea and dwelt with him ever after.
* * * * *
It was thus in the days of the ancients. Therefore the ancients, no less
than ourselves, avoided using springs, except for the drinking of their
water; for to this day we hold the flowing springs the most precious
things on earth, and therefore use them not for any profane purposes
whatsoever.
Thus shortens my story.
THE MAIDEN OF THE YELLOW ROCKS
In the days of the ancients, when our ancestors lived in the Village of
the Yellow Rocks,[5] also in the Salt City,[6] also in the Village of
the Winds,[7] and also in the Village of the White Flowering Herbs, and
also in the Village of Odd Waters, where they come forth, when in fact
all these broken-down villages were inhabited by our ancients, there
lived in the Village of the Yellow Rocks a very beautiful maiden, the
daughter of the high priest.
[5] Situated about seven miles east of Zuñi.
[6] Mátsaki, now a ruin about three miles east of Zuñi.
[7] Pínawa, an ancient ruin about a mile and a half west of
Zuñi.
Although a woman, she was wonderfully endowed by birth with the magic
knowledge of the hunt and with the knowledge of all the animals who
contribute to the sustenance of man,--game animals. And, although a
woman, she was also somewhat bad in her disposition, and selfish, in
that, possessing this knowledge above all other men and women, she
concluded she would have all these animals--the deer, antelope,
rabbits--to herself. So, through her wonderful knowledge of their habits
and language, she communicated with them and charmed them, and on the
top of the mountain--where you will see to this day the ancient figures
of the deer cut in the rock--she built a huge corral, and gathered one
after another all the deer and antelope and other wild animals of that
great country. And the hunters of these villages hunted in vain; they
trailed the deer and the antelope, but they lost their trails and always
came home with nothing save the weapons they took with them. But this
maiden, whenever she wished for deer, would go to her corral and kill
whatever animal she wanted; so she and her family always had plenty of
meat, while others were without it; always had plenty of buckskins with
which to make moccasins and apparel, while others were every day wearing
out their old supply and never able to replenish it.
Now, this girl was surpassingly beautiful, and was looked upon by many a
young man as the flower of his heart and the one on whom he would
ultimately concentrate his thoughts for life. Amongst these young men,
the first to manifest his feelings was a youth from the Village of the
Winds.
One day he said to his old people: “I am going courting.” And they
observed that he made up a bundle of various precious things for women’s
dress and ornamentation--necklaces, snow-white buckskin moccasins and
leggings, and embroidered skirts and mantles--and, taking his bundle on
his shoulders, he started off for the Village of the Yellow Rocks.
When he reached the village he knew the home of the maiden by the beauty
of the house. Among other houses it was alone of its kind. Attached to
the ladder was the cross-piece carved as it is in these days, but
depending from it was a fringe of black hair (not scalp-locks) with
which they still ornament certain houses when they have sacred
ceremonies; and among this fringe were hung hollow stalactites from a
sacred cave on the Colorado Chiquito, which sounded, when the wind blew
them together, like little bells. This fringe was full of them, so that
when a stranger came to this important chief-priest’s house he no sooner
touched the ladder-rung at the foot than the bells tinkled, and they
knew some one was coming.
As he placed his foot on the lowermost rung of the ladder, _chi-la-li_
sang the bells at the top.
Said the people within: “Some one is coming.”
Step after step he went up, and still the bells made music at the top,
and as he stepped over on the roof, _thud_, _thud_, his footsteps
sounded as he walked along; and when he reached the door, those within
said: “Thou comest?” And he replied: “I come. Draw me in”; by which
expression he meant that he had brought with him a present to the
family. Whenever a man has a bundle to hand down, it is the place of the
woman to take it; and that is called “drawing a man in,” though she only
takes his bundle and he follows. In this case he said “Draw me in,” and
the maiden came to the top of the ladder and took the bundle and dropped
it on the floor. They knew by the appearance of the bundle what the
object of the visit was.
The old man was sitting by the fireplace,--it was night-time,--and as
the stranger entered, said, “Thou hast come?”
The young man answered: “Yes.”
Said the old man: “It is not customary for a stranger to visit the
house of a stranger without saying something of what may be in his
thoughts.”
“It is quite true,” said the youth; “I come thinking of this maiden,
your daughter. It has occurred to me that I might happily and without
fear rest my thoughts and hopes on her; therefore I come.”
The daughter brought forth food for the young man and bade him eat. He
reached forth his hand and partook of the food. She sat down and took a
mouthful or two, whereby they knew she was favorably disposed. She was
favorably disposed to all appearance, but not in reality. When he had
finished eating, she said: “As you like, my father. You are my father.”
She answered to her own thoughts: “Yes, you have often reproached me for
not treating with more gentleness those who come courting me.”
Finally said the father: “I give ye my blessing and sacred speech, my
children. I will adopt thee as my child.”[8]
[8] This, it may be explained, is all that the marriage ceremony
consists of.
“My children,” said the father, after a while, when he had smoked a
little, “the stranger, now a son, has come a long distance and must be
weary.”
So the maiden led him to an upper chamber, and said: “Rest here; you are
not yet my husband. I would try you in the morning. Get up early, when
the deer are most plentiful, and go forth and slay me a fine one, and
then indeed shall we rest our hopes and thoughts on each other for
life.”
“It is well,” said the youth; and he retired to sleep, and in the
morning arose early. The maiden gave into his hands the food for the
day; he caught up his bows and arrows and went forth into the forests
and mountains, seeking for the deer. He found a superb track and
followed it until it suddenly disappeared, and though he worked hard and
followed it over and over again, he could find nothing. While the young
man was out hunting and following the tracks for nothing, the young girl
went out, so as to be quite sure that none of her deer should get out;
and what did she do? She went into the river and followed it against the
current, through the water beyond the village and where the marked rocks
stand, up the cañon to the place where her deer were gathered. They were
all there, peaceful and contented. But there were no tracks of the girl;
no one could follow where she went.
The young man hunted and hunted, and at night-time, all tired out and
hungry, took his way back to the home of the maiden. She was there.
“Ha!” said she, “what good fortune today?”
And the young man with his face dragged down and his eyes not bright,
answered: “I found no game today.”
“Well,” said the girl, “it is too bad; but under the circumstances we
cannot rest our thoughts and hopes on each other for life.”
“No, I suppose not,” said the young man.
“Here is your bundle,” said the girl. She raised it very carefully and
handed it to him. He took it over his shoulder, and after all his weary
work went on his way home.
The very next day a young man named Hálona, when he heard of this,
said: “Ha! ha! What a fool he was! He didn’t take her enough presents;
he didn’t please her. I am said to be a very pleasant fellow” (he was a
very conceited young man); “I will take her a bundle that will make
things all right.”
So he put into a bundle everything that a woman could reasonably
want,--for he was a wealthy young man, and his bundle was very
heavy,--put on his best dress, and with fine paint on his face started
for the home of the maiden. Finally, his foot touched the lowermost rung
of the ladder; the stalactites went jingling above as he mounted, and
_thud_ went his bundle as he dropped it on the roof.
“Somebody has come,” said the people below. “Listen to that!”
The maiden shrugged her shoulders and said: “Thou comest?”
“Yes,” answered the young man; “draw me in.”
So she reached up and pulled the huge bundle down into the room, placing
it on the floor, and the young man followed it down.
Said the old man, who was sitting by the fire, for it was night: “Thou
comest. Not thinking of nothing doth one stranger come to the house of
another. What may be thy thoughts?”
The young man looked at the maiden and said to himself: “What a
magnificent creature she is! She will be my wife, no fear that she will
not.” Then said he aloud: “I came, thinking of your daughter. I would
rest my hopes and thoughts on her.”
“It is well,” said the old man. “It is the custom of our people and of
all people, that they may possess dignity, that they may be the heads of
households; therefore, young men and maidens marry and establish
themselves in certain houses. I have no objection. What dost thou think,
my daughter?”
“I have no objection,” said the daughter.
“Ah, what did I tell you?” said the youth to himself, and ate with a
great deal of satisfaction the meal placed before him.
The father laid out the corn-husks and tobacco, and they had a smoke;
then he said to his daughter: “The stranger who is now my son has come a
long way, and should not be kept sitting up so long.”
As the daughter led him to another room, he thought: “What a gentle
creature she is! How softly she steps up the ladder.”
When the door was reached, she said: “Here we will say good-night.”
“What is the matter?” he asked.
Said she: “I would like to know of my husband this much, that he is a
good hunter; that I may have plenty of food all my days, and plenty of
buckskins for my clothing. Therefore I must ask that in the morning you
go forth and hunt the deer, or bring home an antelope for me.”
The young man quickly recovered himself, and said: “It is well,” and lay
himself down to rest.