house containing a single room, built without regard to the future
additions which may later form a house cluster. The plan of such a
house would be familiar to any Hopi child, since it is merely a
rectangular box. When the location has been determined, word is passed
around among the kinsfolk and the collection of stones, beams, etc.,
is begun. Cottonwood trees for many miles around are laid under
contribution. Some beams may be supplied from trees growing nearby
along the washes and in the cornfields, and some may require journeys
of eighty or a hundred miles, representing immense labor. Beams are
precious, and in this dry climate they last indefinitely, so that one
may not be surprised to find timber in the present houses from Awatobi
or older ruins, or from Spanish mission times. It is also probable
that often when pueblos were abandoned, they were revisited later and
the timbers torn out and brought to the new location, thus the ruins
might appear more ancient than they really are. With the advent of the
burro, the horse, and the iron axe, timbering became easier than in
the stone age, but it was still no sinecure.
Stones are gathered from the sides of the mesa not far away, those not
larger than a moderate burden being selected. The sand-rock of the
mesa is soft and with a hammer-stone convenient masses may be broken
off. At present there is a quarry on the Walpi mesa; the blocks gotten
out by means of axes are more regular than those in the old houses,
which show little or no traces of working. Between the layers of rock
are beds of clay which require only moistening with water to become
ready for the mason.
The architect has paced off the ground and determined the dimensions
of the house, giving the arm measurement of the timbers to the logging
party who, with the rest, have got the materials ready. The next step
is to find the house-chief and secure from him four eagle-feather
prayer-plumes. These are deposited under the four corner stones with
appropriate ceremony of breath-prayers for the welfare of the house
and its occupants. The plumes are dedicated to the god of the
underworld, the sun, and other deities concerned with house-life. The
builder then determines where the door shall be and places an offering
of food on either side of it; he then walks around the site from left
to right, sprinkling a mixture of _piki_ crumbs and other food with
tobacco along the line of the walls, singing to the sun his
_kitdauwi_, "house song"; _Si-si, a-hai, si-si, a-hai_, the meaning of
which has long been forgotten.
The walls are laid in irregular courses, mortar being sparingly used.
The addition of plastering to the outside and inside of the house
awaits some future time, though sometimes work on the outside coat is
put off to an ever vanishing _mañana_. When the house walls, seven or
eight feet in height and of irregular thickness from seventeen to
twenty-two inches are completed, the women begin on the roof. The
beams are laid across the side walls at intervals of two feet; above
these and parallel with the side walls are laid poles; across these is
placed a layer of rods or willow brush, and above this is piled grass
or small twigs. A layer of mud comes next, and when this is dry, earth
is placed on it and tramped down until hard. The roof, which is
complicated and ingenious, is nearly level, but provision is made for
carrying off the water by means of spouts.
When the roof is finished the women put a thick coating of mud on the
floor and plaster the walls. At Zuñi floors are nearly always made of
slabs of stone, but in Hopi mud is the rule. The process of plastering
a floor is interesting to an onlooker. Clay dug from under the cliffs,
crushed and softened in water and tempered with sand is smeared on the
floor with the hand, a little area at a time. The floor may be dry and
occasionally the mud gets too hard; a dash of water corrects this.
When the mud dries to the proper stage, it is rubbed with a smooth
stone having a flat face, giving the completed floor a fine finish
like pottery. As an extra finish to the room a dado is painted around
the wall, in a wash of red ocher by means of a rabbit skin used as a
brush. Formerly a small space on the wall was left unplastered; it was
believed that a _kachina_ came and finished it, and although the space
remained bare it was considered covered with invisible mud.
Before the house can be occupied the builder prepares four feathers
for its dedication. He ties the _nakwakwoci_ or breath feathers to a
willow twig, the end of which is inserted over one of the central
roof-beams. The builder also appeases Masauah, the God of Death, by an
offering in which the house is "fed" by putting fragments of food
among the rafters or in a niche in the door lintels, beseeching the
god not to hasten the departure of any of the family to the
underworld. At the feast of Soyaluna in December, the feathers,
forming the "soul" of the house, are renewed, and at this season when
the sun returns northward, the village house-chief visits the houses
which have been built within the year and performs a ceremony over
them.
A hole is left in one corner of the roof, under which the women build
the mud fireplace, with its knob andirons and the column of pots with
the bottoms knocked out which form the chimney. Over the fireplace, a
chimney hood, usually supported on posts, is constructed of
basket-work, plastered over with mud. A row of mealing stones slanted
in sunken stone boxes in the floor must not be forgotten, and no one
in Hopiland could set up housekeeping without a smooth stone slab to
bake _piki_ upon. Some of the houses have a low bench along one or two
sides of the room which forms convenient seats. The windows are small,
being often mere chinks, through which the curious spy without being
seen. Stones are usually at hand, by means of which, and mud, windows
and doors may be closed when the family go off on a rather protracted
stay.
This one-room house is the nucleus of the village. When the daughters
marry and require space for themselves, another house is built in
front of and adjoining the first one, and a second story may be added
to the original house. Thus the cluster grows, and around the spaces
reserved for streets and plazas other clusters grow until they touch
one another and rise three or four stories, the inner rooms being dark
from the addition to the later houses and these become storage
places.
While the old houses were entered from the trapdoors in the roof, the
new houses have doors at the ground level and often windows glazed in
the most approved style. Frequently in the march of progress doors are
cut into the old houses, and the streets begin to assume the
appearance of a Mexican town; but the old nucleus buried under the
successive buildings rarely shows and may be traced with difficulty.
In winter the people withdraw from the exposed and retire to the old
enclosed rooms, huddling together to keep warm, enlivening the
confinement with many a song, legend, and story.
So much for the woman builders of Tusayan, to whom all honor.[1]
[1] One who desires to pursue this subject in more detail should
consult Mindeleff's paper on Pueblo Architecture in the 8th
Annual Report Bureau American Ethnology, 1886-1887.
V
AMUSEMENTS
The enviable title of "Song-Makers" has been earned by the
music-loving Indians of Tusayan, and their fame as singers has gone
out among all the tribes of the "Land of Little Rain." Many a less
inventive Indian has come a long, wearisome journey to learn songs
from the Hopi, bringing also his fee, since songs that give the singer
magic power over the gods and forces of nature are not to be had for
the asking, besides to their learning a man must give the full
devotion of his being and sit humbly at the feet of his instructors.
The land where the Hopi live may seem to furnish slight incentive to
song, especially when one's ideas of the desert are of its dreariness
and desolation; but when one sets foot in the sacred precincts of the
mysterious desert a new revelation comes to him and he sees with these
Indians that the wastes which unfold from the high mesas are full of
beauty of form and brilliancy of color. Sunrise and sunset bring
wonderful tints into the landscape,--the distant blue mountains, the
violet cloud shadows, the tawny, whirling sand columns, the far-off
thunder-storm, the vibration of the midday air, and the sparkling
night sky must inspire the most prosaic mind. There comes to one in
these surroundings a feeling of freedom, together with a sense of the
vastness, transparency, and mystery of the desert which stir the
emotions and makes the close pent life of crowded cities left behind
seem but an unsubstantial dream. Here the Hopi have been always free;
the isolated life on the narrow mesas brings about a close
companionship and a true home-life besides. The air of the desert
makes a man healthy and hungry, thus cheerfulness cannot but follow,
expressed in songs that are from the soul.
It must be confessed that the impression of Indian music one draws
from various sources is that it consists of whoops, yells, and odd,
guttural noises, but this is far from describing Hopi music. Between
the light and airy _Kachina_ songs and the stirring though somewhat
gruesome chants of the Snake ceremony, there is a variety of
compositions to many of which the most enlightened music lovers would
listen with pleasure.
The Flute music is especially pleasing. In the summer of 1896, the
writer had the good fortune to witness the Flute ceremony at the Hopi
pueblo of Walpi. In the course of the ritual, which is an invocation
for rain, a series of songs are repeated each day for several days. To
one hearing Indian music for the first time the sensation was quite
novel. The chorus of priests, rattle in hand, sang in unison before
the Flute altar, in a narrow, low, windowless room that greatly
augmented the volume of sound. The time was set by the speaker-chief,
who uniformly shook his rattle eight beats in five seconds for all the
songs and for each day's songs with the accuracy of a metronome. There
were three beats in each measure. The pitch was low, the range
limited, and the deep, vibrant voices seemed to portray the winds,
thunder, rain, the rushing water and the elemental forces of nature.
The notation is chromatic, not possible to be expressed on any
instrument save the violin, or the five-hole transverse flutes which
later accompanied the singing. These flutes were played in unison on
the octave above the voices, and their shrill, harsh notes marred the
singing. In general effect the music is minor, but frequently major
motives of great beauty spring out of dead-level monotonous minors.
Sometimes a major motive is followed by a minor counterpart of the
same. There is much slurring, and an occasional reduplication comes in
with great effect. A number of songs are monotonous, with once in a
while a vigorous movement. The closing song is spirited and may truly
be called beautiful. It consists of several legato verses, each
closing with a turn, a rapid vibration of the rattle, and a solemn
refrain. In structure and melody it resembles a Christian hymn. The
music reminds one of the Gregorian chants, and to the listener some
of the motives seemed quite equal to those upon which Handel built his
great oratorios.
It is a pity that the many beautiful songs of Tusayan cannot be
written down and preserved but this will no doubt soon be
accomplished. Perhaps some genius like Liszt who gave the world the
spirit of Hungarian folk-music will arise to ravish our ears with
these musical expressions passed down from aboriginal American sweet
singers.
While the music which most attracts our attention in Hopiland is that
of the various ceremonies, there is still a cycle of songs, many in
number, of love, war, or for amusement; those sung by mothers to their
infants, or shrilled by the women grinding corn. The men sing at their
work, the children at their play in this land of the Song Makers.
If songs are numerous beyond computation among the Hopi there are also
more games conducing to their amusement than one finds among many
other tribes. One may surmise that these games have been brought in by
the clans that came from all points of the compass to make up the
Hopi, and who must have touched elbows with other tribes of different
lineage during the wanderings. All games seem to have been borrowed,
and no one may, in the light of present knowledge, say when, where,
and by whom any one of the typical games was invented, any more than
the father of a proverb or a joke may have the parentage ascribed to
him.
But the Hopi are not disturbed by such philosophical considerations
and adhere to the traditional and time-honored games they know without
desire for innovation. With them athletic games are most popular, are
pursued with whole-souled abandon, and are accompanied with a world of
noise and rough play; but the races and games connected with the
religious ceremonies are carried on with due decorum. Stout shinny
sticks of oak brought from the north show that the Hopi know the
widespread sport that warms the blood of many an American boy, but,
alas! there is no ice for its full enjoyment. Among other athletic
sports one may reckon throwing darts, shooting with bow and arrow at a
mark, or hurling the boomerang-like club, which is an ancient weapon,
or even impromptu trials of skill in throwing stones or in bouts of
friendly wrestling. The most amusing struggle game is the _Nuitiwa_,
played by both sexes after the close of the Snake ceremony. Men and
boys provide themselves with some piece of pottery or other object of
value and run through the village crying "Wa ha ha! Wa ha ha!" pursued
by the fleet-footed women who chase them and struggle for the prize
with much laughter and shortness of breath. The men take the
precaution to remove their shirts, if they value them, before they
begin, for that garment is not worth a moment's purchase when the
girls reach for the prize held at arm-length above the head.
Many of the sacred games are of an athletic character. Of these may
be mentioned the numerous races, including the kicking race in which
stones are carried on top of one foot, and the sacred game of ball.
One might include in the list the bow-women of the _Mamzrauti_
ceremony and basket throwers of the _Lalakonti_ ceremony, since it can
be seen that games are closely connected with primitive religious
beliefs and may all have originated as a form of divination, or some
other early attempts of man either to influence the beings or to spy
into the future. It may be that some games are remnants of
long-forgotten ceremonies, once of great import to early worshippers.
Of sedentary games there are a number. One like "fox and geese,"
called _totolospi_, is the _patoli_ of the Mexicans, which is said to
be in turn the _pachise_ of the Hindus, and the rectangular plan of
this game may sometimes be found on the rocks near the villages. There
is "cup and ball," a guessing game in which four cups cut from wood
and a stone about the size of a marble form the paraphernalia; and
there is a game in which reed dice with markings are thrown. A set of
these dice was found in an ancient ruin near Winslow, Arizona, and
they are represented on an ancient bowl from Sikyatki, a ruin near
Walpi.
With all these games the Hopi are not gamblers and appear to have the
same aversion to it as they have to fire-water, differing in this
respect from the Navaho, Zuñi, and many other tribes of Indians. Most
of their games, like those of the ancient Greeks, are full of the
exhilaration of life, the glow of physical training, the doing of
something to win the favor of the gods.
In this account the children must not be left out. Imitating the
customs of their seniors, they not only carry out the great games but
also enter with abandon the childish sports of chasing, tag, ring
around a rosy, ball, and other juveniles. Tops and popguns are not
unknown, and if a boy has a pebble shooter made of an agave stalk with
a spring of elastic wood he can go as far in mischief as ever Hopi
children do, but he never fires away peas or beans, for they are too
precious.
It may be well to recount here the endurance of the Hopi in their
great national accomplishment--that of making long runs at record
speed.
One morning about seven o'clock at Winslow, Arizona, a message was
brought to the hotel that an Indian wished to see the leader of an
exploring party. On stepping out on the street the Indian was found
sitting on the curbstone, mouth agape with wonder at the trains moving
about on the Santa Fé Pacific Railroad.
He delivered a note from a white man at Oraibi and it was ascertained
that he had started from that place at four on the previous afternoon,
and arrived at Winslow some time about the middle of the night. When
it is known that the distance is sixty-five miles and the Indian ran
over a country with which he was not familiar, the feat seems
remarkable. It is presumed that he ran until it became dark and then
waited till the moon rose, finishing the journey by moonlight.
On his back he carried a canteen of water wrapped in a blanket. He
took only a sandwich, explaining that if he ate he could not run, and
receiving the answer to the note, resumed his journey to Oraibi.
Afterward it was learned that the runner reached Oraibi with the
answer that afternoon, having been promised a bonus if he made the
trip in one day. The distance run cannot be less than 130 miles, a
pretty long course to get over in the time, and this Indian is not the
best runner in Oraibi. There is one man who takes a morning practice
of thirty miles or so in order to get in trim for the dawn races in
some of the ceremonies, and it is said that he won in such a race some
years ago, distancing all competitors.
Nothing in the whole realm of animal motion can be imagined more
graceful than the movements of one of these runners as he passes by in
the desert, his polished sinewy muscles playing with the utmost
precision--nothing but flight can be compared with it. The Indians say
that moccasins are the best foot-wear for travel over sandy country,
as the foot, so clad, presses the loose sand into a firm, rounded
bunch, giving a fulcrum for the forward spring, but the naked feet
scatters the sand, and this, on experiment, was found to be true.
While excavating at Winslow one day some of the workmen looked up
toward the north and cried out, _Hopi tu, Hopi tu_, "The Hopi are
coming." It was some time before our eyes could pick them out, but
soon three men could be seen running, driving a little burro in front
at the top of its speed. These were Walpi men journeying to a creek
some miles beyond Winslow to get sacred water for one of their
ceremonies. Similar journeys are made to San Francisco Mountains for
pine boughs and to the Cataract of the Colorado to trade with the
Havasupai. The Spanish conquerors were struck with the ability of the
Hopi runners, and they record that the Indians could easily run in one
day across the desert to the Grand Canyon, a distance which the
Spaniards required three days' march to accomplish.
Often a crowd of Hopi young men will go out afoot to hunt rabbits, and
woe to the bunny that comes in reach! He is soon run down and
dispatched with their curved boomerangs.
Though baseball, football, and many other athletic games of
civilization have no place among the Hopi sports, of foot racing they
are as passionately fond as even the ancient Greeks. Almost every one
of the many ceremonies has its foot race in which the whole pueblo
takes the greatest interest, for all the Hopi honor the swift runners.
This brings to mind the story of how Sikyabotoma lost his hair.
Sikyabotoma, who bears the school name of John, is the finest
specimen of physical manhood at the East Mesa. John is not unaware of
this gift of nature, as he poses on all occasions out of sheer pride.
One cannot observe that John got anything out of his American
schooling; he seemingly does not speak a word of English, and he is
beyond all reason taciturn for a Hopi. It may be that John is a
backslider, having forgotten or thrown over his early education and
relapsed to his present state under the influence of Hopi paganism.
As runner for the Walpi Flute Society, his duty is to carry the
offerings to the various shrines and springs, skirting on the first
day the entire circuit of the cultivated fields of the pueblo, and
coming nearer and nearer each day till he tolls the gods to the very
doors of Walpi. It is no small task to include all the fields in the
blessings asked by the Flute priests, since the circuit must exceed
twenty miles. Each day Sikyabotoma, wearing an embroidered kilt around
his loins, his long, glossy hair hanging free, stands before the Flute
priests, a brave sight to behold. They fasten a small pouch of sacred
meal at his side and anoint him with honey on the tip of the tongue,
the forehead, breast, arms, and legs, perhaps to make him swift as the
bee. Then he receives the prayer-sticks, and away he goes down the
mesa as though he had leaped down the five hundred feet, his long,
black hair streaming. He stops at a spring, then at a shrine, and in
a very short time can scarcely be distinguished running far out by the
arroyo bounding the fields. John in this role is a sight not soon to
be forgotten.
This brings us to the story of John's Waterloo. At sunrise on the last
day of the _Wawash_ ceremony there are foot races in honor of the
gods, and a curious condition of these races is that the loser
forfeits his hair. Now the Hopi are like the Chinese in having an
aversion to losing this adornment. A bald Hopi is a great rarity, and
the generality of the men have long, beautiful locks, black as a
raven's wing, washed with soaproot and made wavy by being tied tightly
in a knot at the back of the head. Sikyabotoma entered the _Wawash_
race with confidence, but when the runners came back on the tortuous
trail up the rocks Sikyabotoma was second. A pair of sheep shears in
the hands of his adversary soon made havoc with his locks. At the time
this sketch was written John's hair had grown again to a respectable
length.
In making his toilet as Flute Messenger, to which the writer was a
witness, John found it necessary to have his bang trimmed. This
service was performed by an old fellow who picked up from the floor a
dubious looking brush made of stiff grass stems, moistened it with his
tongue occasionally as he brushed John's hair, and finally with a pair
of rickety scissors cut the bang to regulation shape.
Sikyabotoma, in spite of the drawbacks pointed out, is one of the
lions of Walpi by birth; he also belongs to the first families.
Divested of civilized garb, and as a winged Mercury flying with
messages to the good beings, he is an object to be gazed on with
admiration, disposing one to be lenient with his besetting vanity.
VI
BIRTH, MARRIAGE, AND DEATH
A blanket hangs over the usually opened door and a feeble wail issuing
from within the dusky house betokens that a baby has come into the
world, and awaits only a name before he becomes a member of the Hopi
commonwealth. The ceremony by which the baby is to be dedicated to the
sun and given a name that will bind him indissolubly to the religious
system of his people is interesting from the light it casts on the
customs of the Hopi and the parallels it offers to the natal rites of
other peoples.
On the mud-plastered wall of the house, the mother has made, day by
day, certain scratches which mark the infant's age, or perhaps reckons
the time on her fingers till nineteen days have passed. The morning of
the twentieth day brings the ceremony.
Meanwhile the little one has been made to know some of the trials of
life. On the first day of his entrance into this arena, his head has
been washed in soaproot suds and his diminutive body rubbed with
ashes, the latter, it is alleged, to kill the hair, and his mother
must also undergo the ceremonial head washing, which must be repeated
on the fifth, tenth, and fifteenth days with the amole root, which is
the only soap known to the Hopi. Besides, the mother must never be
touched by the direct rays of the sun during the first five days,
which explains the blanket often hung before the doorway; nor may she
put on her moccasins, for fear of ill luck.