As time went on our hero developed into one of the most admired braves of
his community. No one was more successful in battle, and it became
almost a proverb that when Why-Why went on the war-path there was certain
to be meat enough and to spare, even for the women. Why-Why, though a
Radical, was so far from perfect that he invariably complied with the
usages of his time when they seemed rational and useful. If a little
tattooing on the arm would have saved men from a horrible disease, he
would have had all the tribe tattooed. He was no bigot. He kept his
word, and paid his debts, for no one was ever very "advanced" all at
once. It was only when the ceremonious or superstitious ideas of his age
and race appeared to him senseless and mischievous that he rebelled, or
at least hinted his doubts and misgivings. This course of conduct made
him feared and hated both by the medicine-men, or clerical wizards, and
by the old women of the tribe. They naturally tried to take their
revenge upon him in the usual way.
A charge of heresy, of course, could not well be made, for in the infancy
of our race there were neither Courts of Arches nor General Assemblies.
But it was always possible to accuse Why-Why of malevolent witchcraft.
The medicine-men had not long to wait for an opportunity. An old woman
died, as old women will, and every one was asking "Who sent the evil
spirit that destroyed poor old Dada?" In Why-Why's time no other
explanation of natural death by disease or age was entertained. The old
woman's grave was dug, and all the wizards intently watched for the first
worm or insect that should crawl out of the mould. The head-wizard soon
detected a beetle, making, as he alleged, in the direction where Why-Why
stood observing the proceedings. The wizard at once denounced our hero
as the cause of the old woman's death. To have blenched for a moment
would have been ruin. But Why-Why merely lifted his hand, and in a
moment a spear flew from it which pinned his denouncer ignominiously to a
pine-tree. The funeral of the old woman was promptly converted into a
free fight, in which there was more noise than bloodshed. After this
event the medicine-men left Why-Why to his own courses, and waited for a
chance of turning public opinion against the sceptic.
The conduct of Why-Why was certainly calculated to outrage all
conservative feeling. When on the war-path or in the excitement of the
chase he had even been known to address a tribesman by his name, as "Old
Cow," or "Flying Cloud," or what not, instead of adopting the orthodox
nomenclature of the classificatory system, and saying, "Third cousin by
the mother's side, thrice removed, will you lend me an arrow?" or
whatever it might be. On "tabu-days," once a week, when the rest of the
people in the cave were all silent, sedentary, and miserable (from some
superstitious feeling which we can no longer understand), Why-Why would
walk about whistling, or would chip his flints or set his nets. He ought
to have been punished with death, but no one cared to interfere with him.
Instead of dancing at the great "corroborees," or religious ballets of
his people, he would "sit out" with a girl whose sad, romantic history
became fatally interwoven with his own. In vain the medicine-men assured
him that Pund-jel, the great spirit, was angry. Why-Why was indifferent
to the thunder which was believed to be the voice of Pund-jel. His
behaviour at the funeral of a celebrated brave actually caused what we
would call a reformation in burial ceremonies.
It was usual to lay the corpses of the famous dead in a cave, where
certain of the tribesmen were sent to watch for forty days and nights the
decaying body. This ghastly task was made more severe by the difficulty
of obtaining food. Everything that the watchers were allowed to eat was
cooked outside the cave with complicated ceremonies. If any part of the
ritual was omitted, if a drop or a morsel were spilled, the whole rite
had to be done over again from the beginning. This was not all. The
chief medicine-man took a small portion of the meat in a long spoon, and
entered the sepulchral cavern. In the dim light he approached one of the
watchers of the dead, danced before him, uttered a mysterious formula of
words, and made a shot at the hungry man's mouth with a long spoon. If
the shot was straight, if the spoon did not touch the lips or nose or
mouth, the watcher made ready to receive a fresh spoonful. But if the
attempt failed, if the spoon did not go straight to the mark, the
mourners were obliged to wait till all the cooking ceremonies were
performed afresh, when the feeding began again.
Now, Why-why was a mourner whom the chief medicine-man was anxious to
"spite," as children say, and at the end of three days' watching our hero
had not received a morsel of food. The spoon had invariably chanced to
miss him. On the fourth night Why-Why entertained his fellow-watchers
with a harangue on the imbecility of the whole proceeding. He walked out
of the cave, kicked the chief medicine-man into a ravine, seized the pot
full of meat, brought it back with him, and made a hearty meal. The
other mourners, half dead with fear, expected to see the corpse they were
"waking" arise, "girn," and take some horrible revenge. Nothing of the
sort occurred, and the burials of the cave dwellers gradually came to be
managed in a less irksome way.