OTHER LEGENDS OF THE CONFLAGRATION.
THE first of these, and the most remarkable of all, is the legend of
one of the Central American nations, preserved not by tradition
alone, but committed to writing at some time in the remote past.
In the "Codex Chimalpopoca," one of the sacred books of the Toltecs,
the author, speaking of the destruction which took place by fire,
says:
"The third sun" (or era) "is called _Quia-Tonatiuh_, sun of rain,
because there fell a _rain of fire; all which existed burned; and
there fell a rain of gravel_."
"They also narrate that while the sandstone, which we now see
_scattered about_, and the _tetzontli_ (_amygdaloide poreuse_--trap
or basaltic rocks), '_boiled with great tumult_, there also rose the
rocks of vermilion color.'"
That is to say, the basaltic and red trap-rocks burst through the
great cracks made, at that time, in the surface of the disturbed
earth.
"Now, this was in the year _Ce Tecpatl_, One _Flint_, it was the day
_Nahui-Quiahuit_l, Fourth Rain. Now, in this day, in which men were
lost and destroyed _in a rain of fire_, they _were transformed into
goslings_; the _sun itself was on fire_, and everything, together
with the houses, was consumed."[1]
[1. "The North Americans of Antiquity," p. 499.]
{p. 167}
Here we have the whole story told in little: "Fire fell from heaven,"
the comet; "the sun itself was on fire"; the comet reached to, or
appeared to reach to, the sun; or its head had fallen into the sun;
or the terrible object may have been mistaken for the sun on fire.
"_There was a rain of gravel_"--the Drift fell from the comet. There
is also some allusion to the sandstones scattered about; and we have
another reference to the great breaks in the earth's crust, caused
either by the shock of contact with the comet, or the electrical
disturbances of the time; and we are told that the trap-rocks, and
rocks of vermilion color, boiled up to the surface with great tumult.
Mankind was destroyed, except such as fled into the seas and lakes,
and there plunged into the water, and lived like "goslings."
Can any one suppose that this primitive people invented all this? And
if they did, how comes it that their invention agreed so exactly with
the traditions of all the rest of mankind; and with the revelations
of science as to the relations between the trap rocks and the gravel,
as to time at least?
We turn now to the legends of a different race, in a different stage
of cultivation--the barbarian Indians of California and Nevada. It is
a curious and wonderful story:
"The natives in the vicinity of Lake Tahoe ascribe its origin to a
great natural convulsion. There was a time, they say, when their
tribe possessed the whole earth, and were strong numerous, and rich;
but a day came in which a people rose up stronger than they, and
defeated and enslaved them. Afterward the Great Spirit sent an
immense wave across the continent from the sea, and this wave
ingulfed both the oppressors and the oppressed, all but a very small
remnant. Then the task-masters made the remaining people raise up a
great temple, so that
{p. 168}
they, of the ruling caste, should have a refuge in case of another
flood, and on the top of this temple the masters worshiped a column
of perpetual fire."
It would be natural to suppose that this was the great deluge to
which all the legends of mankind refer, and which I have supposed,
elsewhere, to refer to the destruction of "Atlantis"; but it must be
remembered that both east and west of the Atlantic the traditions of
mankind refer to several deluges--to a series of
catastrophes--occurring at times far apart. It may be that the legend
of the Tower of Babel refers to an event far anterior in time even to
the deluge of Noah or Deucalion; or it may be, as often happens, that
the chronology of this legend has been inverted.
The Tahoe legend continues:
"Half a moon had not elapsed, however, before the earth was again
troubled, this time with strong convulsions and thunderings, upon
which the masters took refuge in their great tower, closing the
people out. The poor slaves fled to the Humboldt River, and, getting
into canoes, paddled for life _from the awful sight behind them_; for
the land was tossing like a troubled sea, and casting up fire, smoke,
and ashes. _The flames went up to the very heavens, and melted many
stars_, SO THAT THEY RAINED DOWN IN MOLTEN METAL UPON THE EARTH,
forming the ore" [gold?] "that white men seek. The Sierra was mounded
up from the bosom of the earth; while the place where the great fort
stood sank, leaving only the dome on the top exposed above the waters
of Lake Tahoe. The inmates of the temple-tower clung to this dome to
save themselves from drowning; but the Great Spirit walked upon the
waters in his wrath, and took the oppressors one by one, _like
pebbles_, and threw them far into the recesses of a great cavern on
the east side of the lake, called to this day the Spirit Lodge, where
the waters shut them in. There must they remain till the last great
volcanic burning, which is to overturn the
{p. 169}
whole earth, is to again set them free. In the depths of
cavern-prison they may still be heard, wailing and their cave,
moaning, when the snows melt and the waters swell in the lake."[1]
Here we have the usual mingling of fact and myth. The legend
describes accurately, no doubt, the awful appearance of the tossing
earth and the falling fire and _débris_; the people flying to rivers
and taking shelter in the caves) and some of them closed up in the
caves for ever.
The legend, as is usual, accommodates itself to the geography and
topography of the country in which the narrators live.
In the Aztec creation-myths, as preserved by the Fray Andres de
Olmos, and taken down by him from the lips of those who narrated the
Aztec traditions to him, we have an account of the destruction of
mankind by the sun, which reads as follows:
The sun had risen indeed, and _with the glory of the cruel fire about
him_, that not even the eyes of the gods could endure; but he moved
not. There he lay on the horizon; and when the deities sent Tlotli,
their messenger, to him, with orders that he should go on upon his
way, his ominous answer was that he would never leave that place
_till he had destroyed and put an end to them all_. Then a great fear
fell upon some, while others were moved only to anger; and among the
others was one Citli, who immediately strung his bow and advanced
against the glittering enemy. By quickly lowering his head the sun
avoided the first arrow shot at him; but the second and third had
attained his body in quick succession, when, filled with fury, he
seized the last and launched it back upon his assailant. And the
brave Citli laid shaft to string never more, for the arrow of the sun
pierced his forehead. Then all was dismay in the assembly of the
gods, and _despair filled their hearts_, for they saw that
[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 89.]
170 THE LEGENDS.
they could not prevail against the shining one; and they agreed to
die, and to cut themselves open through the breast. . Xololt was
appointed minister, and he killed his companions one by one, and last
of all he slew himself also. . . . Immediately after the death of the
gods, the sun began his motion in the heavens; and a man called
Tecuzistecatl, or Tezcociztecatl, who, when Nanahuatzin leaped into
the fire, had retired into a cave, now emerged from his concealment
as the moon. Others say that instead of going into a cave, this
Tecuzistecatl had leaped into the fire after Nanahuatzin, but that
the heat of the fire being somewhat abated he had come out less
brilliant than the sun. Still another variation is that the sun and
moon came out equally bright, but this not seeming good to the gods,
one of them took a rabbit by the heels and slung it into the face of
the moon, dimming its luster with a blotch whose mark may be seen to
this day."[1]
Here we have the same Titanic battle between the gods, the godlike
men of old--"the old ones"--and the Comet, which appears in the Norse
legends, when Odin, Thor, Prey, Tyr, and Heimdal boldly march out to
encounter the Comet and fall dead, like Citli, before the weapons or
the poisonous breath of the monster. In the same way we see in Hesiod
the great Jove, rising high on Olympus and smiting Typhaon with his
lightnings. And we shall see this idea of a conflict between the gods
and the great demon occurring all through the legends. And it may be
that the three arrows of this American story represent the three
comets spoken of in Hesiod, and the Fenris-wolf, Midgard-serpent, and
Surt or Garm of the Goths: the first arrow did not strike the sun;
the second and the third "attained its body," and then the enraged
sun launched the last arrow back at Citli, at the earth; and
thereupon despair filled the people, and they prepared to die.
[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 62.]
{p. 171}
The Avesta, the sacred book of the ancient Persians, written in the
Zend dialect, tells the same story. I have already given one version
of it:
Ahura Mazda is the good god, the kind creator of life and growth; he
sent the sun, the fertilizing rain. He created for the ancestors of
the Persians a beautiful land, a paradise, a warm and fertile
country. But Ahriman, the genius of evil, created Azhidahaka, "_the
biting snake of winter_." "He had triple jaws, three heads, six eyes,
the strength of a thousand beings." He brings ruin and winter on the
fair land. Then comes a mighty hero, Thraetaona, who kills the snake
and rescues the land.[1]
In the Persian legends we have Feridun, the hero of the Shah-Nameh.
There is a serpent-king called Zohak, who has committed dreadful
crimes, assisted by a demon called Iblis. As his reward, Iblis asked
permission to kiss the king's shoulder, which was granted. Then from
the shoulder sprang two dreadful serpents. Iblis told him that these
must be fed every day with the brains of two children. So the human
race was gradually being exterminated. Then Feridun, beautiful and
strong, rose up and killed the serpent-king Zohak, and delivered his
country. Zohak is the same as Azhidahaka in the Avesta--"the biting
snake of winter."[2] He is Python; he is Typhaon; he is the
Fenris-wolf; he is the Midgard-serpent.
The Persian fire-worship is based on the primeval recognition of the
value of light and fire, growing out of this Age of Darkness and
winter.
In the legends of the Hindoos we read of the fight between Rama, the
sun-god (_Ra_ was the Egyptian god of the sun), and Ravana, a giant
who, accompanied by the
[1. Poor, "Sanskrit Literature," p. 144.
2. Ibid., p. 158.]
{p. 172}
Rakshasas, or demons, made terrible times in the ancient land where
the ancestors of the Hindoos dwelt at that period. He carries away
the wife of Rama, Sita; her name signifies "a furrow," and seems to
refer to agriculture, and an agricultural race inhabiting the
furrowed earth. He bears her struggling through the air. Rama and his
allies pursue him. The monkey-god, Hanuman, helps Rama; a bridge of
stone, sixty miles long, is built across the deep ocean to the Island
of Lanka, where the great battle is fought: "_The stones which crop
out through Southern India are said to have been dropped by the
monkey builders!_" The army crosses on the bridge, as the forces of
Muspelheim, in the Norse legends, marched over the bridge "Bifrost."
The battle is a terrible one. Ravana has ten heads, and as fast as
Rama cuts off one another grows in its place. Finally, Rama, like
Apollo, fires the terrible arrow of Brahma, the creator, and the
monster falls dead.
"Gods and demons are watching the contest from the sky, and flowers
fall down in showers on the victorious hero."
The body of Ravana is _consumed by fire_. Sita, the furrowed earth,
goes through _the ordeal of fire_, and comes out of it purified and
redeemed from all taint of the monster Ravana; and Rama, the sun, and
Sita, the earth, are separated _for fourteen years_; Sita _is hid in
the dark jungle_, and then they are married again, and live happily
together ever after.
Here we have the battle in the air between the sun and the demon: the
earth is taken possession of by the demon; the demon is finally
consumed by fire, and perishes; the earth goes through an ordeal of
fire, a conflagration; and for fourteen years the earth and sun do
not see each other; the earth is hid in a dark jungle; but
{p. 173}
eventually the sun returns, and the loving couple are again married,
and live happily for ever after.
The Phoibos Apollo of the Greek legends was, Byron tells us--
The lord of the unerring bow,
The god of life and poetry and light,
The sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow
All radiant from his triumph in the fight.
The shaft had just been shot, the arrow bright
With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might,
And majesty flash their full lightnings by,
Developing in that one glance the deity."
This fight, so magnificently described, was the sun-god's battle with
Python, the destroyer, the serpent, the dragon, the Comet. What was
Python doing? He was "stealing the springs and fountains." That is to
say, the great heat was drying up the water-courses of the earth.
"The arrow bright with an immortal's vengeance," was the shaft with
which Apollo broke the fiend to pieces and tumbled him down to the
earth, and saved the springs and the clouds and the perishing ocean.
When we turn to America, the legends tell us of the same great battle
between good and evil, between light and darkness.
Manibozho, or the Great Hare Nana, is, in the Algonquin legends, the
White One, the light, the sun. "His foe was the glittering prince of
serpents"-the Comet.[1]
Among the Iroquois, according to the Jesuit missionary, Father
Brebeuf, who resided among the Hurons in 1626, there was a legend of
two brothers, Ioskeba and Tawiscara, which mean, in the Oneida
dialect, the _White One_, the light, the sun, and the _Dark One_, the
night.
[1. Brinton's "Myths," p. 182.]
{p. 174}
They were twins, born of a virgin mother, who died in giving them
life. Their grandmother was the moon (the _water_ deity), called
_At-aeusic_, a word which signifies "she bathes herself," derived
from the word for _water_.
"The brothers quarreled, and finally came to blows, the former using
the horns of a stag, the latter the wild rose. He of the weaker
weapon was very naturally discomfited and sorely wounded. Fleeing for
life, the blood gushed from him at every step, and as it fell _turned
into flint-stones_. The victor returned to his grandmother in the
_far east_, and established his lodge on _the borders of the great
ocean_, whence the sun comes. In time he became _the father of
mankind_, and special guardian of the Iroquois. The earth was at
first arid and sterile, but he destroyed the gigantic frog which had
swallowed all the waters, and guided the torrents into smooth streams
and lakes. The woods he stocked with game; and, having learned from
the great tortoise who supports the world how to make fire, taught
his children, the Indians, this indispensable art. . . . Sometimes
they spoke of him as the sun, but this is only figuratively."[1]
Here we have the light and darkness, the sun and the night, battling
with each other; the sun fights with a younger brother, another
luminary, the comet; the comet is broken up; it flies for life, the
red blood (the red clay) streaming from it, and _flint-stones_
appearing on the earth wherever the blood (the clay) falls. The
victorious sun re-establishes himself in the east. And then the myth
of the sun merges into the legends concerning a great people, who
were the fathers of mankind who dwelt "in the east," on the borders
of the great eastern ocean, the Atlantic. "The earth was at first
arid and sterile," covered with _débris_ and stones; but the
returning sun, the White One, destroys the gigantic frog, emblem of
cold and water, the great snows and ice-deposits; this
[1. Brinton's "Myths of the New World," p. 184.]
{p. 175}
frog had "swallowed all the waters," that is to say, the falling
rains had been congealed in these great snow-banks and glaciers; the
sun melts them, and kills the frog; the waters pour forth in deluging
floods; Manibozho "guides the torrents into smooth streams and
lakes"; the woods return, and become once more full of animal life.
Then the myth again mixes up the sun and the sun-land in the east.
From this sun-land, represented as "a tortoise," always the emblem of
an island, the Iroquois derive the knowledge of "how to make fire."
This coming of the monster, his attack upon and conquest of the sun,
his apparent swallowing of that orb, are all found represented on
both sides of the Atlantic, on the walls of temples and in great
earth-mounds, in the image of a gigantic serpent holding a globe in
its mouth.
This long-trailing object in the skies was probably the origin of
that primeval serpent-worship found all over the world. And hence the
association of the serpent in so many religions with the evil-one. In
itself, the serpent should no more represent moral wrong than the
lizard, the crocodile, or the frog; but the hereditary abhorrence
with which he is regarded by mankind extends to no other created
thing. He is the image of the great destroyer, the wronger, the enemy.
Let us turn to another legend.
An ancient authority[1] gives the following legend of the Tupi
Indians of Brazil:
"Monau, without beginning or end, author of all that is, seeing the
ingratitude of men, and their contempt for him who had made them thus
joyous, withdrew from them, and sent upon them _tata_, the divine
_fire, which burned all that was on the surface of the earth_. He
[1. "Une Fête Brésilienne célébré à Rouen en 1550," par M. Ferdinand
Denis, p. 82.]
{p. 176}
swept about the fire in such a way that _in places he raised
mountains, and in others dug valleys_. Of all men one alone, Irin
Magé, was saved, whom Monau carried into the heaven. He, seeing all
things destroyed, spoke thus to Monau: 'Wilt thou also destroy the
heavens and their garniture? Alas! henceforth where will be our home?
Why should I live, since there is none other of my kind? Then Monau
was so filled with pity that he _poured a deluging rain on the earth,
which quenched the fire_, and flowed on all sides, forming the ocean,
which we call the _parana_, the great waters."[1]
The prayer of Irin Magé, when he calls on God to save the garniture
of the heavens, reminds one vividly of the prayer of the Earth in
Ovid.
It might be inferred that heaven meant in the Tupi legend the
heavenly land, not the skies; this is rendered the more probable
because we find Irin asking where should he dwell if heaven is
destroyed. This could scarcely allude to a spiritual heaven.
And here I would note a singular coincidence: The fire that fell from
heaven was the divine _tata_. In Egypt the Dame of deity was "ta-ta,"
or "pta-pta," which signified father. This became in the Hebrew
"ya-ya," from which we derive the root of Jah, Jehovah. And this word
is found in many languages in Europe and America, and even in our
own, as, "da-da," "daddy," father. The Tupi "_tata_" was fire from
the supreme father.
Who can doubt the oneness of the human race, when millions of threads
of tradition and language thus cross each other through it in all
directions, like the web of a mighty fabric?
We cross from one continent to another, from the torrid part of South
America to the frozen regions of North America, and the same legend
meets us.
[1. Brinton's "Myths of the New World," p. 227.]
{p. 177}
The Tacullies of British Columbia believe that the earth was formed
by a musk-rat, who, diving into the universal sea, brought up the
land in his mouth and spit it out, until he had formed "quite an
island, and, by degrees, the whole earth":
"In some unexplained way, this earth became afterward peopled in
every part, and it remained, _until a fierce fire, of several days'
duration, swept over it, destroying all life_, with two exceptions;
one man and one woman _hid themselves in a deep cave in the heart of
a mountain_, and from these two has the world since been
repeopled."[1]
Brief as is this narrative, it preserves the natural sequence of
events: First, the world is made; then it becomes peopled in every
part; then a fierce fire sweeps over it for several days, consuming
all life, except two persons, who save themselves by hiding in a deep
cave; and from these the world is repeopled. How wonderfully does all
this resemble the Scandinavian story!
It has oftentimes been urged, by the skeptical, when legends of
Noah's flood were found among rude races, that they had been derived
from Christian missionaries. But these myths can not be accounted for
in this way; for the missionaries did not teach that the world was
once destroyed by fire, and that a remnant of mankind escaped by
taking refuge in a cave; although, as we shall see, such a legend
really appears in several places hidden in the leaves of the Bible
itself.
We leave the remote north and pass down the Pacific coast until we
encounter the Ute Indians of California and Utah. This is their
legend:
"The Ute philosopher declares the sun to be a living personage, and
explains his passage across the heavens along an appointed way by
giving an account of a fierce
[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 98]
{p. 178}
personal conflict between Ta-vi, the sun-god, and Ta-wats, one of the
supreme gods of his mythology.
"In that, long ago, the time to which all mythology refers, the sun
roamed the earth at will. _When he came too near with his fierce heat
the people were scorched, and when he hid away in his cave for a long
time, too idle to come forth, the night was long and the earth cold_.
Once upon a time Ta-wats, the hare-god, was sitting with his family
by the camp-fire in the solemn woods, anxiously waiting for the
return of Ta-vi, the wayward sun-god. Wearied with long watching, the
hare-god fell asleep, and the sun-god came so near that he scorched
the naked shoulder of Ta-wats. Foreseeing the vengeance which would
be thus provoked, he fled back to his cave beneath the earth. Ta-wats
awoke in great anger, and speedily determined to go and fight the
sun-god. After a long journey of many adventures the hare-god came to
the brink of the earth, and there watched long and patiently, till at
last the sun-god coming out he shot an arrow at his face, but the
fierce heat consumed the arrow ere it had finished its intended
course; then another arrow was sped, but that also was consumed; and
another, and still another, till only one remained in his quiver, but
this was the magical arrow that had never failed its mark. Ta-wats,
holding it in his hand, lifted the barb to his eye and baptized it in
a divine tear; then the arrow was sped and _struck the sun-god full
in the face, and the sun was shivered into a thousand fragments,
which fell to the earth, causing a general conflagration_. Then
Ta-wats, the hare-god, fled before the destruction he had wrought,
and as he fled the burning earth consumed his feet, consumed his
legs, consumed his body, consumed his bands and his arms--all were
consumed but the head alone, which bowled across valleys and over
mountains, fleeing destruction from the burning earth, until at last,
swollen with heat, the eyes of the god burst and the tears _gushed
forth in a flood which spread over the earth and extinguished the
fire_. The sun-god was now conquered, and he appeared before a
council of the gods to await sentence. In that long council were
established the days and the nights, the seasons and the years, with
the length
{p. 179}
thereof, and the sun was condemned to travel across the firmament by
the same trail day after day till the end of time."[1]
Here we have the succession of arrows, or comets, found in the legend
of the Aztecs, and here as before it is the last arrow that destroys
the sun. And here, again, we have the conflagration, the fragments of
something falling on the earth, the long absence of the sun, the
great rains and the cold.
Let us shift the scene again.
In Peru--that ancient land of mysterious civilization, that brother
of Egypt and Babylon, looking out through the twilight of time upon
the silent waters of the Pacific, waiting in its isolation for the
world once more to come to it-in this strange land we find the
following legend:
"_Ere sun and moon was made_, Viracocha, the White One, rose from the
bosom of Lake Titicaca, and presided over the erection of those
wondrous cities whose ruins still dot its islands and western shores,
and whose history is totally lost in the night of time."[2]
He constructed the sun and moon and created the inhabitants of the
earth. These latter attacked him with murderous intent (the comet
assailed the sun?); but "scorning such unequal contest he manifested
his power by hurling the lightning on the hill-sides and _consuming
the forests_," whereupon the creatures he had created humbled
themselves before him. One of Viracocha names was _At-achuchu_. He
civilized the Peruvians, taught them arts and agriculture and
religion; they called him "The teacher of all things." _He came from
the east_ and disappeared in the Western Ocean. Four civilizers
followed him who _emerged from the cave_
[1. "Popular Science Monthly," October, 1879, p, 799.
2. Brinton's; "Myths of the New World," p. 192.]
{p. 180}
Pacarin Tampu, the House of Birth.[1] These four brothers were also
called Viracochas, _white men_.
Here we have the White One coming from the east, hurling his
lightning upon the earth and causing a conflagration; and afterward
civilized men emerged from a cave. They were white men; and it is to
these cave-born men that Peru owed its first civilization.
Here is another and a more amplified version of the Peruvian legend:
The Peruvians believed in a god called At-achuchu, already referred
to, the creator of heaven and earth, and the maker of all things.
From him came the first man, Guamansuri.
This first mortal is mixed up with events that seem to refer to the
Age of Fire.
He descended to the earth, and "there seduced the sister of certain
Guachemines, rayless ones, or Darklings"; that is to say, certain
Powers of Darkness, "who then possessed it. For this crime they
destroyed him." That is to say, the Powers of Darkness destroyed the
light. But not for ever.
"Their sister proved pregnant, and died in her labor, giving birth to
two eggs," the sun and moon. "From these emerged the two brothers,
Apocatequil and Piguerao."
Then followed the same great battle, to which we have so many
references in the legends, and which always ends, as in the case of
Cain and Abel, in one brother slaughtering the other. In this case,
Apocatequil "was the more powerful. By touching the corpse of his
mother (the sun?) he brought her to life, he drove off and slew the
Guachemines (the Powers of Darkness), and, directed by
[1. Brinton's "Myths of the New World," p. 193.]
{p. 181}
_At-achuchu_, released the race of Indians from the soil by turning
it up with a golden spade."
That is to say, he dug them out from the cave in which they were
buried.
"For this reason they adored him as their maker. He it was, they
thought, who produced the thunder and the lightning by _hurling
stones with his sling;_ and the thunder-bolts that fall, said they,
are his children. Few villages were willing to be without one or more
of these. They were in appearance _small, round, smooth stones_, but
had the admirable properties of securing fertility to the fields,
protecting from lightning," etc.[1]
I shift the scene again; or, rather, group together the legends of
three different localities. I quote:
"The Takahlis" (the Tacullies already referred to) "of the North
Pacific coast, the Yurucares of the Bolivian Cordilleras, and the
Mbocobi of Paraguay, each and all attribute the destruction of the
world to a _general conflagration_, which swept over the earth,
consuming everything living _except a few who took refuge in a deep
cave_."[2]
The Botocudos of Brazil believed that the world was once destroyed by
the moon falling upon it.
Let us shift the scene again northward:
There was once, according to the Ojibway legends, a boy; the sun
burned and spoiled his bird-skin coat; and he swore that he would
have vengeance. He persuaded his sister to make him a noose of her
own hair. He fixed it just where the sun would strike the land as it
rose above the earth's disk; and, sure enough, he caught the sun, and
held it fast, so that it did not rise.
"The animals who ruled the earth were immediately put into _great
commotion. They had no light._ They called a council to debate upon
the matter, and to appoint
[1. Brinton's "Myths of the New World," p. 165.
2. Ibid., p. 217.]
{p. 182}
some one to go and cut the cord, for this was a very hazardous
enterprise, as the rays of the sun would _burn up whoever came so
near_. At last the dormouse undertook it, for at this time the
dormouse was the largest animal in the world" (the mastodon?); "when
it stood up it looked like a mountain. When it got to the place where
the sun was snared, its back began to _smoke and burn with the
intensity of the heat_, and the top of its carcass was reduced to
_enormous heaps of ashes_. It succeeded, however, in cutting the cord
with its teeth and freeing the sun, but it was _reduced to very small
size_, and has remained so ever since."
This seems to be a reminiscence of the destruction of the great
mammalia.[1] The "enormous heaps of ashes" may represent the vast
deposits of clay-dust.
Among the Wyandots a story was told, in the seventeenth century, of a
boy whose father was killed and eaten by a bear, and his mother by
the Great Hare. He was small, but of prodigious strength. He climbed
a tree, like Jack of the Bean-Stalk, until he reached heaven.
"He set his snares for game, but when he got up at night to look at
them he found _everything on fire_. His sister told him he had caught
the sun unawares, and when the boy, Chakabech, went to see, so it
was. But he dared not go near enough to let him out. But by chance he
found a little mouse, and blew upon her until she grew so big" (again
the mastodon) "that she could set the sun free, and he went on his
way. But while he was held in the snare, _day failed down here on
earth_."
It was the age of darkness[2]
The Dog-Rib Indians, far in the northwest of America, near the
Esquimaux, have a similar story: Chakabech becomes Chapewee. He too
climbs a tree, but it is in pursuit
[1. Tylor's "Early History of Mankind," p. 848.
2. Le Jeune (1637), in "Rélations des Jesuits dans la Nouvelle
France," vol. i, p. 54.]
{p. 183}
of a squirrel, until he reaches heaven. He set a snare made of his
sister's hair and caught the sun. "_The sky was instantly darkened_.
Chapewee's family said to him, 'You must have done something wrong
when you were aloft, _for we no longer enjoy the light of day_.' 'I
have,' replied he, 'but it was unintentionally.' Chapewee sent a
number of animals to cut the snare, but the intense _heat reduced
them all to ashes_." At last the ground-mole working in the earth cut
the snare but lost its sight, "and its nose and teeth have ever since
been brown as if burnt."[1]
The natives of Siberia represented the mastodon as a great mole
burrowing in the earth and casting up ridges of earth--the sight of
the sun killed him.
These sun-catching legends date back to a time when the races of the
earth had not yet separated. Hence we find the same story, in almost
the same words, in Polynesia and America.
Maui is the Polynesian god of the ancient days. He concluded, as did
Ta-wats, that the days were too short. He wanted the sun to slow-up,
but it would not. So he proceeded to catch it in a noose like the
Ojibway boy and the Wyandot youth. The manufacture of the noose, we
are told, led to the discovery of the art of rope-making. He took his
brothers with him; he armed himself, like Samson, with a jaw-bone,
but instead of the jaw-bone of an ass, he, with much better taste,
selected the jawbone of his mistress. She may have been a lady of
fine conversational powers. They traveled far, like Ta-wats, even to
the very edge of the place where the sun rises. There he set his
noose. The sun came and put his head and fore-paws into it; then the
brothers pulled the ropes
[1. Richardson's "Narrative of Franklin's Second Expedition," p. 291.]
{p. 184}
tight and Maui gave him a great whipping with the jawbone; he
screamed and roared; they held him there for a long time, (the Age of
Darkness,) and at last they let him go; and weak from his wounds,
(obscured by clouds,) he crawls slowly along his path. Here the jaw
of the wolf Fenris, which reached from earth to heaven, in the
Scandinavian legends, becomes a veritable jaw-bone which beats and
ruins the sun.
It is a curious fact that the sun in this Polynesian legend is _Ra_,
precisely the same as the name of the god of the sun in Egypt, while
in Hindostan the sun-god is Ra-ma.
In another Polynesian legend we read of a character who was satisfied
with nothing, "even pudding would not content him," and this
unconscionable fellow worried his family out of all heart with his
new ways and ideas. He represents a progressive, inventive race. He
was building a great house, but the days were too short; so, like
Maui, he determined to catch the sun in nets and ropes; but the sun
went on. At last he succeeded; he caught him. The good man then had
time to finish his house, but the sun cried and cried "until the
island of Savai was nearly drowned."[1]
And these myths of the sun being tied by a cord are, strange to say,
found even in Europe. The legends tell us:
"In North Germany the townsmen of Bösum sit up in their church-tower
and hold the sun by a cable all day long; taking care of it at night,
and letting it up again in the morning. In 'Reynard the Fox,' the day
is bound with a rope, and its bonds only allow it to come slowly on.
The Peruvian Inca said the sun is like a tied beast, who goes ever
round and round, in the same track."[2]
That is to say, they recognized that he is not a god, but the servant
of God.
[1. Tyler's "Early Mankind," p. 347.
2. Ibid., p. 352.]
{p. 185}
Verily the bands that knit the races of the earth together are
wonderful indeed, and they radiate, as I shall try to show, from one
spot of the earth's surface, alike to Polynesia, Europe, and America.
Let us change the scene again to the neighborhood of the Aztecs:
We are told of two youths, the ancestors of the Miztec chiefs, who
separated, each going his own way to conquer lands for himself:
"The braver of the two, coming to the vicinity of Tilantongo, armed
with buckler and bow, was _much vexed and oppressed by the ardent
rays of the sun_, which he took to be the lord of that district,
striving to prevent his entrance therein. Then the young man strung
his bow, and advanced his buckler before him, and drew shafts from
his quiver. He shot these against the great light even till the going
down of the same; then he took possession of all that land, seeing
that he had _grievously wounded the sun_ and forced him to hide
behind the mountains. Upon this story is founded the lordship of all
the caciques of Mizteca, and upon their descent from this mighty
archer, their ancestor. Even to this day, the chiefs of the Miztecs
blazon as their arms a plumed chief with bow and arrows and shield,
and the sun in front of him setting behind gray clouds."[1]
Are these two young men, one of whom attacks and injures the sun, the
two wolves of the Gothic legends, the two comets, who devoured the
sun and moon? And did the Miztec barbarians, in their vanity, claim
descent from these monstrous creatures of the sky? Why not, when the
historical heroes of antiquity traced their pedigree back to the
gods; and the rulers of Peru, Egypt, and China pretended to be the
lineal offspring of the sun? And there are not wanting those, even in
Europe, who
[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 73.]
{p. 186}
yet believe that the blood-royal differs in some of its constituents
from the blood of the common people
"What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? "
In the Aztec legends there were four ages, or suns, as they were
termed. The first terminated, according to Gama, in a destruction of
the people of the world by hunger; the second ended in a destruction
by winds; in the third, _the human race was swept away by fire_, and
the fourth destruction was by water. And in the Hindoo legends we
find the same series of great cycles, or ages: one of the Shastas
teaches that the human race has been destroyed four times--first by
water, secondly by winds, thirdly the earth swallowed them, and
_lastly fire consumed them_.[1]
I come now to a most extraordinary record:
In the prayer of the Aztecs to the great god Tezcatlipoca, "the
supreme, invisible god," a prayer offered up in time of pestilence,
we have the most remarkable references to the destruction of the
people by stones and fire. It would almost seem as if this great
prayer, noble and sublime in its language, was first poured out in
the very midst of the Age of Fire, wrung from the human heart by the
most appalling calamity that ever overtook the race; and that it was
transmitted from age to age, as the hymns of the Vedas and the
prayers of the Hebrews have been preserved, for thousands of years,
down to our own times, when it was carefully transcribed by a
missionary priest. It is as follows:
"O mighty Lord, under whose wing we find defense and shelter, thou
art invisible and impalpable, even as night and the air. How can I,
that am so mean and worthless, dare to appear before thy majesty?
Stuttering
[1. Brinton's "Myths of the New World," p. 232.]
{p. 187}
and with rude lips I speak, ungainly is the manner of my speech as
one leaping among furrows, as one advancing unevenly; for all this I
fear to raise thine anger, and to provoke instead of appeasing thee;
nevertheless, thou wilt do unto me as may please thee. O Lord, _thou
hast held it good to forsake us in these days_, according to the
counsel that thou hast as well in heaven as in hades,--alas for us,
in that thine _anger and indignation has descended upon us in these
days_; alas in that the many and grievous afflictions of thy wrath
have overgone, and swallowed us up, _coming down even as stones,
spears, and arrows upon the wretches that inhabit the earth!_--this
is the sore pestilence with which we are afflicted and _almost
destroyed_. O valiant and all-powerful Lord, the common people are
almost _made an end of and destroyed;_ a great destruction the ruin
and pestilence already make in this nation; and, what is most pitiful
of all, the little children, that are innocent and understand
nothing, only to play with _pebbles and to heap up little mounds of
earth, they too die, broken and dashed to pieces as against stones
and a wall_--a thing very pitiful and grievous to be seen, for there
remain of them not even those in the cradles, nor those that could
not walk or speak. Ah, Lord, how _all things become confounded!_ of
young and old and of men and women there _remains neither branch nor
root;_ thy nation, and thy people, and thy wealth, _are leveled down
and destroyed_.
"O our Lord, protector of all, most valiant and most kind, _what is
this?_
"Thine anger and thine indignation, does it glory or delight in
_hurling the stone, and arrow, and spear? The FIRE of the pestilence,
made exceeding hot, is upon thy nation_, as a fire in a hut, _burning
and smoking, leaving nothing upright or sound_. The grinders of thy
teeth," (the falling stones), "are employed, and thy bitter whips
upon the miserable of thy people, who have become lean, and of little
substance, even as a hollow green cane.
Yea, _what doest thou now_, O Lord, most strong, compassionate,
invisible, and impalpable, whose will all things obey, upon whose
disposal depends the rule of the world, to whom all are
subject,--what in thy divine breast
{p. 188}
hast thou decreed? Peradventure, hast thou altogether forsaken thy
nation and thy people? Hast thou verily determined that it _utterly
perish_, and that there be no more memory of it in the world, _that
the peopled place become a wooded hill, and_ A WILDERNESS OF STONES?
Peradventure, wilt thou permit that the temples, and the places of
prayer, and the altars, built for thy service, _be razed_ and
destroyed, and no memory of them left?
"Is it, indeed, possible that thy wrath and punishment and vexed
indignation are altogether implacable, and will go on to the end to
our destruction? Is it already fixed in thy divine counsel that there
is to be no mercy nor pity for us, _until the arrows of thy fury are
spent to our utter perdition and destruction?_ Is it possible that
this lash and chastisement is not given for our correction and
amendment, but only for _our total destruction and obliteration;_
that THE SUN SHALL NEVER MORE SHINE UPON US, _but that we must remain
in_ PERPETUAL DARKNESS and silence; that never more wilt thou look
upon us with eyes of mercy, neither little nor much?
"Wilt thou after this fashion destroy the wretched sick that can not
find rest, nor turn from side to side, whose mouth and teeth _are
filled with earth and scurf?_ It is a sore thing to tell how we are
all in darkness, having none understanding nor sense to watch for or
aid one another. We are all as drunken, and without understanding:
without hope of any aid, _already the little children perish of
hunger_, for there is none to give them food, nor drink, nor
consolation, nor caress; none to give the breast to them that suck,
_for their fathers and mothers have died and left them orphans_,
suffering for the sins of their fathers."
What a graphic picture is all this of the remnant of a civilized
religious race hiding in some deep cavern, in darkness, their friends
slaughtered by the million by the falling stones, coming like arrows
and spears, and the pestilence of poisonous gases; their
food-supplies scanty; they themselves horrified, awe-struck,
despairing, fearing that they would never again see the light; that
this dreadful day was the end of the human race
{p. 189}
and of the world itself! And one of them, perhaps a priest, certainly
a great man, wrought up to eloquence, through the darkness and the
terror, puts up this pitiful and pathetic cry to the supreme God for
mercy, for protection, for deliverance from the awful visitation.
How wonderful to think that the priesthood of the Aztecs have through
ages preserved to us, down to this day, this cavern-hymn--one of the
most ancient of the utterances of the heart of man extant on the
earth--and have preserved it long after the real meaning of its words
was lost to them!
The prayer continues
"O our Lord, all-powerful, full of mercy, our refuge, though indeed
thine anger and indignation, thine arrows and stones, have sorely
hurt this poor people, let it be as a father or a mother that rebukes
children, pulling their ears, pinching their arms, whipping them with
nettles, pouring chill water upon them, all being done that they may
amend their puerility and childishness. Thy chastisement and
indignation have lorded and prevailed over these thy servants, over
this poor people, even as rain falling upon the trees and the green
canes, being touched of the wind, drops also upon those that are
below.
"O most compassionate Lord, thou knowest that the common folk are as
children, that being whipped they cry and sob and repent of what they
have done. Peradventure, already these poor people by reason of their
chastisement weep, sigh, blame, and murmur against themselves; in thy
presence they blame and bear witness against their bad deeds, and
punish themselves therefor. Our Lord, most compassionate, pitiful,
noble, and precious, let a time be given the people to repent; let
the past chastisement suffice; let it end here, to begin again if the
reform endure not. Pardon and overlook the sins of the people; cause
thine anger and thy resentment to cease; repress it again within thy
breast _that it destroy no further_; let it rest there; let it cease,
for of a surety _none can avoid death nor escape to anyplace_."
{p. 190}
"We owe tribute to death; and all that live in the world are vassals
thereof; this tribute shall every man pay with his life. None shall
avoid from following death, for it is thy messenger what hour soever
it may be sent, hungering and thirsting always to devour all that are
in the world and so powerful that none shall escape; then, indeed,
shall every man be judged according to his deeds. O most pitiful
Lord, at least take pity and have mercy upon the children that are in
the cradles, upon those that can not walk Have mercy also, O Lord,
upon the poor and very miserable, who have nothing to eat, nor to
cover themselves withal, nor a place to sleep, who do not know what
thing a happy day is, whose days pass altogether in pain, affliction,
and sadness. Than this, were it not better, O Lord, if thou shouldst
forget to have mercy upon the soldiers and upon the men of war whom
thou wilt have need of some time? Behold, it is better to die in war
and go to serve food and drink in the house of the Sun, than to die
in this pestilence and descend to hades. O most strong Lord,
protector of all, lord of the earth, governor of the world and
universal master, let the sport and satisfaction thou hast already
taken in this past punishment suffice; _make an end of this smoke and
fog_ of thy resentment; _quench also the burning and destroying fire
of thine anger;_ let _serenity come and clearness;_ let the small
birds of thy people begin to sing and" (to) "_approach the sun; give
them_ QUIET WEATHER; so that they may cause their voices to reach thy
highness, and thou mayest know them."[1]
Now it may be doubted by some whether this most extraordinary
supplication could have come down from the Glacial Age; but it must
be remembered that it may have been many times repeated in the deep
cavern before the terror fled from the souls of the desolate fragment
of the race; and, once established as a religious prayer, associated
with such dreadful events, who would dare to change a word of it?
[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 200.]
{p. 191}
Who would dare, among ourselves, to alter a syllable of the "Lord's
Prayer"? Even though Christianity should endure for ten thousand
years upon the face of the earth; even though the art of writing were
lost, and civilization itself had perished, it would pass unchanged
from mouth to mouth and from generation to generation, crystallized
into imperishable diamonds of thought, by the conservative power of
the religious instinct.
There can be no doubt of the authenticity of this and the other
ancient prayers to Tezcatlipoca, which I shall quote hereafter. I
repeat what H. H. Bancroft says, in a foot-note, in his great work:
"Father Bernardino de Sahagun, a Spanish Franciscan, was _one of the
first preachers sent to Mexico_, where he was much employed in the
instruction of the native youth, working for the most part in the
province of Tezcuco. While there, in the city of Tepeopulco, in the
latter part of the sixteenth century, he began the work, best known
to us as the 'Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España,' from
which the above prayers have been taken. It would be hard to imagine
a work of such a character constructed after a better fashion of
working than his. Gathering the principal natives of the town in
which he carried on his labors, he induced them to appoint him a
number of persons, the most learned and experienced in the things of
which he proposed to write. These learned Mexicans being collected,
Father Sahagun was accustomed to get them to paint down in their
native fashion the various legends, details of history and mythology,
and so on, that he wanted; at the foot of the said. pictures these
learned Mexicans wrote out the explanations of the same in the
Mexican tongue; and this explanation the Father Sahagun translated
into Spanish. That translation purports to be what we now read as the
'Historia General.'"[1]
[1. "The Native Races of the Pacific States," vol. iii, p. 231.]
{p. 192}
Sahagun was a good and holy man, who was doubtless inspired of God,
in the face of much opposition and many doubts, to perpetuate, for
the benefit of the race, these wonderful testimonials of man's
existence, condition, opinions, and feelings in the last great
cataclysm which shook the whole world and nearly destroyed it.
Religions may perish; the name of the Deity may change with race and
time and tongue; but He can never despise such noble, exalted,
eloquent appeals from the hearts of millions of men, repeated through
thousands of generations, as these Aztec prayers have been. Whether
addressed to Tezcatlipoca, Zeus, Jove, Jehovah, or God, they pass
alike direct from the heart of the creature to the heart of the
Creator; they are of the threads that tie together matter and spirit.
In conclusion, let me recapitulate
1. The original surface-rocks, underneath the Drift, are, we have
seen, decomposed and changed, for varying depths of from one to one
hundred feet, by fire; they are metamorphosed, and their metallic
constituents vaporized out of them by heat.
2. Only tremendous heat could have lifted the water of the seas into
clouds, and formed the age of snow and floods evidenced by the
secondary Drift.
3. The traditions of the following races tell us that the earth was
once swept by a great conflagration:
_a_. The ancient Britons, as narrated in the mythology of the Druids.
_b_. The ancient Greeks, as told by Hesiod.
_c_. The ancient Scandinavians, as appears in the _Elder Edda_ and
_Younger Edda_.
_d_. The ancient Romans, as narrated by Ovid.
_e_. The ancient Toltecs of Central America, as told in their sacred
books.
{p. 193}
_f_. The ancient Aztecs of Mexico, as transcribed by Fray de Olmos.
_g_. The ancient Persians, as recorded in the Zend-Avesta.
_h_. The ancient Hindoos, as told in their sacred books.
_i_. The Tahoe Indians of California, as appears by their living
traditions.
Also by the legends of--
_j_. The Tupi Indians of Brazil.
_k_. The Tacullies of British America.
_1_. The Ute Indians of California and Utah.
_m_. The Peruvians.
_n_. The Yurucares of the Bolivian Cordilleras.
_o_. The Mbocobi of Paraguay.
_p_. The Botocudos of Brazil.
_q_. The Ojibway Indians of the United States.
_r_. The Wyandot Indians of the United States.
_s_. Lastly, the Dog-rib Indians of British Columbia.
We must concede that these legends of a world-embracing conflagration
represent a race-remembrance of a great fact, or that they are a
colossal falsehood--an invention of man.
If the latter, then that invention and falsehood must have been
concocted at a time when the ancestors of the Greeks, Romans,
Hindoos, Persians, Goths, Toltecs, Aztecs, Peruvians, and the Indians
of Brazil, the United States, the west coast of South America, and
the northwestern extremity of North America, and the Polynesians,
(who have kindred traditions,) all dwelt together, as one people,
alike in language and alike in color of their hair, eyes, and skin.
At that time, therefore, all the widely separated regions, now
inhabited by these races, must have been without human inhabitants;
the race must have been a mere handful, and dwelling in one spot.
{p. 194}
What vast lapses of time must have been required before mankind
slowly overflowed to these remote regions of the earth, and changed
into these various races speaking such diverse tongues!
And if we take the ground that this universal tradition of a
world-conflagration was an invention, a falsehood, then we must
conclude that this handful of men, before they dispersed, in the very
infancy of the world, shared in the propagation of a prodigious lie,
and religiously perpetuated it for tens of thousands of years.
And then the question arises, How did they hit upon a lie that
accords so completely with the revelations of science? They possessed
no great public works, in that infant age, which would penetrate
through hundreds of feet of _débris_, and lay bare the decomposed
rocks beneath; therefore they did not make a theory to suit an
observed fact.
And how did mankind come to be reduced to a handful? If men grew, in
the first instance, out of bestial forms, mindless and speechless,
they would have propagated and covered the world as did the bear and
the wolf. But after they had passed this stage, and had so far
developed as to be human in speech and brain, some cause reduced them
again to a handful. What was it? Something, say these legends, some
fiery object, some blazing beast or serpent, which appeared in the
heavens, which filled the world with conflagrations, and which
destroyed the human race, except a remnant, who saved themselves in
caverns or in the water; and from this seed, this handful, mankind
again replenished the earth, and spread gradually to all the
continents and the islands of the sea.
{p. 195}