THE DANCE OF THE OLD DOGS.
Pethonista received his guests with all the refinements of Indian
courtesy, obliging them to eat when he fancied he noticed that what was
placed before them pleased their taste.
It is not always agreeable to a white man to be invited to an Indian
dinner; for, among the redskins, etiquette prescribes that you should
eat everything offered you without leaving a mouthful. Acting otherwise
would greatly offend the Anfitrión. Hence the position of small eaters
is very disagreeable at times: owing to the vast capacity of Indian
stomachs, they find themselves under the harsh necessity of undergoing
an attack of indigestion, or attract on themselves a quarrel which must
have serious consequences.
Fortunately nothing of this sort occurred on the present occasion, and
the repast terminated satisfactorily to all. When dinner was over,
Valentine rose, and bowing thrice to the company, said to the chief--
"I thank my brother, in the name of my comrades and myself, for his
gracious reception. In a thousand moons the recollection of it will not
be effaced from my mind. But warriors have something else to do than to
eat, when serious interests claim their attention. Will my brother
Pethonista hear the news I have to impart to him?"
"Has my brother a secret communication to make to me, or does his
message interest the whole tribe?"
"My message concerns all."
"Wah! my brother must be patient, then. Tomorrow--perhaps in a few
hours--Unicorn, our great sachem, will have returned, and my brother can
then speak with him."
"If Unicorn were here," Valentine said quickly, "two words would
suffice; but he is absent, and time presses. For a second time I ask my
brother to listen to me."
"Good; as my brother wishes it, in an instant all the chiefs shall be
assembled in the great audience lodge, above the vault in which burns
the fire of Montecuhzoma."
Valentine bowed in acquiescence.
We will say something here about the fire of Montecuhzoma, which is not
without interest to the reader.
This singular custom has been handed down from age to age, especially
among the Comanches. They state that, at the period of the conquest, and
a few days prior to his death, Montecuhzoma,[1] having a presentiment of
the fate that surely awaited him, lit a sacred fire and ordered their
ancestors to keep it up, never allowing it to expire until the day when
he returned to deliver his people from the Spanish yoke.
The guard of this sacred fire was confided to picked warriors; it was
placed in a vault, in a copper basin, on a species of small altar, where
it constantly smoulders under a dense layer of ashes.
Montecuhzoma announced at the same time that he would return with the
Sun, his father; hence, at the first hour of day, many Indians mount on
the roof of their callis, in the hope of seeing their well-beloved
sovereign reappear, accompanied by the day planet. These poor Indians,
who constantly maintain in their hearts the hope of their future
regeneration, are convinced that this event, will be accomplished,
unless the fire go out, through some reason impossible to foresee.
Scarce fifty years ago, the persons appointed to maintain the secret
fire were relieved every two days, thus passing eight-and-forty hours
without eating, drinking or sleeping. It frequently happened that these
poor wretches, asphyxiated by the carbonic gas in the narrow space where
they stopped, and weakened by the long fast, succumbed to their
religious devotion. Then, according to the Indians, the bodies were
thrown into the den of a monstrous serpent, which devoured them.
At the present day this strange belief is beginning to die out, although
the fire of Montecuhzoma may be found in nearly all the pueblos; but the
old custom is not kept up so vigorously, and the serpent is obliged to
obtain his food in a different fashion.
I knew at the Paso del Norte a rich hacendero of Indian origin, who,
though he would not confess it, and asserted a very advanced degree of
belief, preciously kept up the fire of Montecuhzoma, in a vault he made
for this express purpose, at a considerable expense.
The Comanches are divided into a number of small tribes, all placed
under the orders of a special chief. When this chief is old or infirm,
he surrenders the military command to the one of his sons most
distinguished by his bravery, only retaining the civil jurisdiction; on
the father's death, the son attains the complete sovereignty.
The chief summoned an old Indian who was leaning against the wall of the
lodge, and bade him assemble the council. In the Comanche villages the
old men incapable for active service, and whom their merits have not
raised to the rank of chief, perform the office of crier. They undertake
to announce the news to the population, transmit the orders of the
sachem, organise the ceremonies, and convene the council. They are all
men gifted with powerful voices; they mount on the roof of a calli, and
from this improvised pulpit perform those duties, with an extraordinary
quantity of shouts and gestures.
When the chiefs were assembled, Pethonista humbly led his guests to the
council lodge, called the great medicine lodge. It was a large cabin,
completely without furniture, in the midst of which an enormous fire
burned. Some twenty chiefs were assembled, and gravely crouched in a
circle; they maintained the most profound silence.
Ordinarily, no stranger is admitted to the council; but on this occasion
this was departed from, owing to Valentine's quality as an adopted son
of the tribe. The newcomers took their place. A chair of sculptured
nopal was placed in a corner for Doña Clara, who, by a privilege
unprecedented in Indian manners, and through her double quality of white
woman and stranger, was present at the council, which is never permitted
a squaw, except in the rare instance when she holds the rank of warrior.
So soon as each was comfortably settled, the pipe bearer entered the
circle, holding the calumet, which he presented ready-lighted to
Pethonista. The chief pointed it to the four cardinal points, and smoked
for a few seconds; then, holding the bowl in his hand, he offered the
stem to all present in turn, who imitated him. When all had smoked, the
chief returned the pipe to the bearer, who emptied it into the fire,
while pronouncing some mysterious words addressed to the Sun, that great
dispenser of all the good things of this world, and walked backward out
of the circle.
"Our ears are open, my brother; the great pale hunter can take the word.
We have removed the skin from our heart, and the words his bosom
breathes will be carefully received by us. We impatiently await the
communications which he has to make us," the chief said, bowing
courteously to Valentine.
"What I have to say will not take long," the hunter answered. "Are my
brothers still the faithful allies of the palefaces?"
"Why should we not be so?" the chief sharply interrupted him. "The great
pale hearts have been constantly good to us; they buy of our beaver
skins and buffalo robes, giving us in exchange gunpowder, bullets, and
scalping knives. When we are ill, our pale friends nurse us, and give us
all we need. When the winter is severe--when the buffaloes are gone,
and famine is felt in the villages--the whites come to our help. Why,
then, shall we no longer be their allies? The Comanches are not
ungrateful; they have a noble and generous heart; they never forget a
kindness. We shall be the friend of the whites so long as the sun lights
the universe."
"Thanks, chief," the hunter answered; "I am glad you have spoken in that
way, for the hour has come to prove your friendship to us."
"What does my brother mean?"
"The Apaches have dug up the hatchet against us: their war parties are
marching to surround our friend, Bloodson. I have come to ask my
brothers if they will help us to repulse and beat back our enemies."
There was a moment's silence, and the Indians seemed to be seriously
reflecting on the hunter's words. At length, Pethonista said, after
giving the members of the council a glance--
"The enemies of Bloodson and of my brother are our enemies," he said, in
a loud and firm voice. "My young men will go to the help of the
palefaces. The Comanches will not suffer their allies to be insulted. My
brother may rejoice at the success of his mission. Unicorn, I feel
convinced, would not have answered differently from me, had he been
present at the council. Tomorrow, at sunrise, all the warriors of my
tribe will set out to the assistance of Bloodson. I have spoken. Have I
said well, powerful chiefs?"
"Our father has spoken well," the chiefs replied, with a bow. "What he
desires shall be done."
"Wah!" Pethonista went on; "my sons will prepare to celebrate worthily
the arrival of our white friends in their village, and prove that we are
warriors without fear. The Old Dogs will dance in the medicine lodge."
Shouts of joy greeted these words. The Indians, who are supposed to be
so little civilised, have a number of associations, bearing a strong
likeness to Freemasonry. These associations are distinguished by their
songs, dances, and certain signs. Before becoming a member, the novice
has certain trials to undergo, and several degrees to pass through. The
Comanches have eleven associations for men and three for women, the
scalp dance not included.
We will allude here solely to the Band of the Old Dogs, an association
which only the most renowned warriors of the nation can join, and whose
dance is only performed when an expedition is about to take place, in
order to implore the protection of Natosh.
The strangers mounted on the roof of the medicine lodge with a multitude
of Indians, and when all had taken their places, the ceremony commenced.
Before the dancers appeared, the sound of their war whistles,--made of
human thigh bones, could be heard; and at length ninety "Old Dogs" came
up, attired in their handsomest dresses.
A portion were clothed in gowns or shirts of bighorn leather; others had
blouses of red cloth, and blue and scarlet uniforms the Americans had
given them, on their visits to the frontier forts. Some had the upper
part of the body naked, and their exploits painted in reddish brown on
their skin; others, and those the most renowned, wore a colossal cap of
raven plumes, to the ends of which small tufts of down were fastened.
This cap fell down to the loins, and in the centre of this shapeless
mass of feathers were the tail of a wild turkey and that of a royal
eagle.
Round their necks the principal Old Dogs wore a long strip of red cloth,
descending behind to their legs, and forming a knot in the middle of the
back. They had on the right side of the head a thick tuft of screech owl
feathers, the distinctive sign of the band. All had round their necks
the long _ihkochekas_, and on the left arm their fusil, bow, or club,
while in their right hand they held the chichikoui.
This is a stick adorned with blue and white glass beads, completely
covered with animals' hoofs, having at the upper end an eagle's feather,
and at the lower a piece of leather embroidered with beads and decorated
with scalps.
The warriors formed a wide circle, in the centre of which was the drum,
beaten by five badly dressed men. In addition to these, there were also
two others, who played a species of tambourine. When the dance began,
the Old Dogs let their robes fall behind them, some dancing in a
circle, with the body bent forward, and leaping in the air with both
feet at once.
The other Dogs danced without any order, their faces turned to the
circle, the majority collected in a dense mass, and bending their heads
and the upper part of the body simultaneously. During this period, the
war whistles, the drums, and chichikouis made a fearful row. This scene
offered a most original and interesting sight--these brown men, their
varied costumes, their yells, and the sounds of every description
produced by the delighted spectators, who clapped their hands with
grimaces and contortions impossible to describe, in the midst of the
Indian village, near a gloomy and mysterious virgin forest, a few paces
from the Rio Gila; in this desert where the hand of God is marked in
indelible characters--all this affected the mind, and plunged it into a
melancholy reverie.
The dance had lasted some time, and would have been probably prolonged,
when the fierce and terrible war cry of the Apaches re-echoed through
the air. Shots were heard, and Indian horsemen rushed like lightning on
the Comanches, brandishing their weapons, and uttering terrible yells.
Black Cat, at the head of more than five hundred warriors, had attacked
the Comanches.
There was a frightful disorder and confusion. The women and children ran
frantically in every direction, pursued by their ferocious enemies, who
pitilessly scalped and massacred them, while the warriors collected,
mostly badly armed, in order to attempt a desperate, but almost
impossible, resistance.
The hunters, stationed, as we have said, on the top of the hut whence
they had witnessed the dance, found themselves in a most critical
position. Fortunately for them, thanks to their old habit as wood
rangers, they had not forgotten their weapons.
Valentine understood the position at the first glance. He saw that,
unless a miracle occurred, they were all lost. Placing himself with his
comrades before the terrified maiden, to make her a rampart of his body,
he resolutely cocked his rifle, and said to his friends, in a firm
voice:--
"Lads, the question is not about conquering, but we must all prepare to
die here!"
"We will," Don Pablo said haughtily.
And with his clubbed rifle he killed an Apache who was trying to
escalade the hut.
[1] And not Montezuma, as ordinarily written. All Mexican names had, and
still have, a meaning. Montecuhzoma means the "severe Lord." It is also
sometimes written in old Mexican MSS. of the time of the conquest
Moctecuhzoma, but never Montezuma, which has no meaning.