The Navaho Reservation. To see the Navaho in the Hopi House making
silverware, or watch his wife weaving blankets, is one thing. To see him on
his native heath in the heart of the Painted Desert--is another. With the
conveniences of travel now made possible by the excellent equipments of the
El Tovar transportation department, any visitor who is not afraid of a
strenuous trip may now visit these people with the minimum of discomfort.
Indeed, the Navahos and Hopis may be seen together, on the one excursion
described in an earlier chapter. The Navahos are the warlike nomads of the
desert. They occupy an extensive reservation in northern Arizona and New
Mexico, that adjoins the Hopi reservation on the north and east. They now
number some twenty thousand souls, and are slowly on the increase. They are
proud, independent, and desirous of being left alone by the United States
Government.
Punishment for Depredations. In the early days, before they had learned the
power of the new people who had flocked into the land, they committed many
depredations upon Americans, and when remonstrated with were insolent and
defiant. So an expedition was sent against them, and large numbers--the
major portion of the tribe were arrested and moved near Fort Bayard--the
Bosque Redondo--in New Mexico, on the Pecos River. Here the conditions were
so adverse that many scores of them died, and when, finally, they were
allowed to return, it was an humbled people that wended its way back to the
high mesa lands they had for so many centuries called their own.
Navaho Customs. Linguistically, the Navaho is akin to the Apache and the
Tinneh of Alaska; indeed, he calls himself Tinne. In winter he lives in a
rude shelter of logs and mud called a hogan. In summer this is changed for
a simple brush stack, which affords shade from the sun, and yet allows free
course of the cooling air. He is a polygamist, and lives with his one or
more wives, as he can afford. His chief industries are cattle, horse and
sheep-raising. The latter supply his wife (or wives) with the wool needed
for blanket-weaving, which is her chief industry.
Navaho Superstition. The Navaho is superstitious about several things: If
any one dies in the hogan it is henceforth "tabu." The body is burned and
the building with it, and whatever fragments of poles, etc., withstand the
fire are regarded with distrust.
Dislikes and Fears. Another tabu of the Navaho is his fear of seeing his
mother-in-law. Whenever she comes in sight, he disappears. Technically he
never sees her, and I have often had great fun in trying to bring them
together. Fish is another object placed under the Navaho ban. He will
neither eat, see, nor smell fish, if he can help it.
Essentially Religious. He is an essentially religious being, and has a
large number of ritualistic ceremonies. He has many dances for various
purposes, the most exciting of which is locally known as the HoshKon. It is
a healing ceremony. Dr. Matthews calls it the Mountain Chant. It requires
many days for its complete performance, and one of its final ceremonies
consists of a wild fire dance which is thrilling in the extreme.
Superior Horsemanship. But perhaps it is in his every-day horsemanship that
the Navaho shows himself the superior man. Oftentimes he introduces feats
of skill on a horse into his ceremonies. A few years ago at Tuba City, I
saw a large band of Navahos unite with the Hopis in their dances and
ceremonies of harvest thanksgiving. The Hopi director of the dances was
Mootchka, whose costume was as astoundingly frightful as he could possibly
make it. His naked body was smeared over with whitewash, some of which
adhered and some of which did not. On his head was a mass of rudely woven
black wool, crowned with the duplex pads of some wild flower. Around the
waist was a similar black wool mat, fastened on with a Navaho belt of
silver disks. When all was ready the dancers began. The trader's store-yard
was the plaza, and the roofs of all the buildings on the three sides of the
square were covered with Navaho spectators. Hour after hour they continued.
Some of the dancers were decorated, others were in ordinary costume, but
all danced and sang with fervor.
Dancing. The chief instrument was a large drum, made by hollowing out a
section of a tree trunk, and covering the ends with rawhide, which were
tightly laced on with strips of the same material. The dull monotonous
thump of the drum kept time, while dancers sang and rattled. Their songs
are invocations to "Those Above" to continue their good gifts, and at the
same time accept thanks for all that had been given. One dance was
particularly beautiful. It was supposed to represent the movements of the
planets in and out of the fixed stars. Two little girls, brightly and
beautifully dressed, waving feather plumes in their hands, threaded their
way in and out of the lines of the dancers, themselves moving with an easy
graceful swing.
Origin of Dances. To seek to penetrate the origin of these dances is to
find ourselves in the darkness of antiquity. Almost all Indian peoples have
the firmly fixed notion that the gods can be propitiated only by these
exhausting dances. Consequently they are not performed by a few
professional dancers, or even by certain families; all the people must
dance. The smallest child, as soon as he is able to understand, must take
his place with the elders, and the women and girls enter into the dances
with the same religious fervor and zeal that is displayed by the men. And
there is none of that sex enjoyment injected into their sacred dances, as
there is in the white man's pleasure dances. The Indian men dance together,
and the Indian women together, or, where both sexes participate, men are in
one row and women in another. So that Indian dances are not pleasure
dances. Neither are they competitive. There is none of the negro cake-walk
idea connected with them, nor the Italian peasant's carnival, where rivals
dance to gain the applause of the village.
Gifts Thrown to Spectators. During these dances at Tuba, gifts of corn,
squash, melons, flour, cloth of native texture, and loaves of unleavened
bread were brought and given with accompanying prayers to Mootchka, the
leader. Then, at certain times, these were thrown among the spectators and
eagerly caught, for not only were the articles themselves to be desired,
but there accompanied them the prayers of the original donors, which, in
some subtle manner, were supposed to bring good fortune to the final
recipients.
The "Rooster" Race. The next day the Navahos had their turn. The two
leading chiefs selected a suitable site, and, taking a rooster, buried it
up to the neck in sand. The running course was soon cleared, and excited
Indians on horseback lined up on either side for half a mile. Horseflesh of
all kinds known to the Indians (from fleet, wiry steeds that had won many a
prize, to broken-down cayuses fit only for the boneyard) was to be seen.
The riders were decked in all the gorgeousness they could afford. Silk
bands were around jet black masses of hair; calico of rainbow colors was
made into garments, here and there overshadowed by a beautifully woven and
exquisitely patterned native blanket. Around the waist of many of the men
were leathern belts, to which were attached large silver disks worked by
native silversmiths; and rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings of
similar work abounded.
Beginning of the Fun. The competitors were soon gathered together at one
end of the course. The chiefs stated the conditions upon which the prizes
must be won, and a signal was given. Like a shot, a rider darted out from the
mass toward the tiny head of the buried rooster, stooping over from the
saddle as he neared the bird, with fingers
of the right hand extended, the left hand holding the bridle and clutching
the horse's mane. With a sweep, sudden as it was delicate, he tried to
catch the rooster's head between his extended fingers. He failed, but
dashed on, for another horse and rider were at his heels, and another and
another; the string seemed endless. Now and again one would touch the bird,
or would actually catch the head, but the body was too securely buried to
be pulled out easily. Cheers would ascend as the riders showed approximate
success. Sometimes a horse would shy, and the white visitor looked for
nothing less than a broken neck for his rider. But, laughing and shouting,
the athletic and careless Indian would swing himself into the saddle, and
in a few rough jerks teach the unruly animal to recognize a master. Of
course, long before this, the rooster was dead, for at the first strong
clutch his neck was broken, so that there was no unnecessary torture. The
stream of riders flowed on, and at last one lucky fellow gave the right
kind of a pull, and out came the rooster, to be swung around his head with
a fierce yell of triumph.
Pursuit of the Victor. Now the real sport begins. With a shout that only
Indian lungs can produce, every rider darts after the possessor of the
rooster, and for an hour, more or less, it is a question of hard riding,
dodging, evading, whirling to and fro. Over the sand-hills they go, pursued
and pursuers, yelling and shouting like demons. The victor's horse seems to
know all about the sport. He watches and dodges and doubles, like a hunted
hare. Now a stalwart ruffian has caught the rooster carrier, and hangs on
like grim death, while he is beaten over head and breast and shoulders with
the rooster as a weapon. Others join in. Surely someone will get hurt!
Watch the horses. They nip and pinch each other, and squeal with pain and
anger. Ah, the winner still keeps his prize! Again he is caught, and this
time it seems as if he must succumb. But his horse helps him out and, by
clinging desperately to the horn of the saddle and his horse's mane, he
wrests himself away from his pursuer, aided by the shying of the pursuing
horse, which is kicked and bitten by his own animal. But where is the
pursuer? His horse is dashing riderless away. Is he trampled to death in
that swirling, sandy conflict? No, he is hanging on to the man with the
rooster, belabored the while with the now bloody and dilapidated bird.
Regardless of this he still clings, although the horse is bounding along at
great speed, and a hundred or more are following, all yelling and
encouraging him not to let go. With a superb effort, he swings himself onto
the horse behind the saddle, and with a second sudden move grabs the
rooster and wrests half of it out of the original victor's hands. Seeing a
chance to escape he drops upon the sand, picks himself up unhurt, and is
soon seated upon a new horse. Now he becomes the pursued, and two bands,
instead of one, of howling, raving, shouting demons, occupy the attention.
Finish of Contest. And thus the struggle goes on, good-naturedly, yet with
a fierceness of energy that is exhausting in its wild excitement;
exhausting to the onlooker, as well as the participant. When the unlucky
bird is all dismembered, and the racers smeared from head to heels with
blood, and it seems impossible to divide the pieces any smaller, then, and
not till then, the conflict ceases.
Two Thousand Horsemen. But for superb riding watch nearly two thousand of
these sons of the desert as they train their young men and boys in daring
control of their horses. The greatest chief of the Navahos is a good friend
of mine, and it was by his kind invitation that I was privileged to see
this never-to-be-forgotten sight. He commanded the "regiment"--shall I call
it?--riding alongside at times, and again standing where he could signal
his demands and note the result.
An Exhibition of Riding. Let us stand with him. These riders are about to
dash past. Just before they reach us, a signal is given, and every rider,
in an instant, disappears over the side of his mount, while the horses
continue running under perfect control. Simultaneously, every Indian
reappears upon his saddle, sits about as long as one might count three, and
then slides over to our side of his horse, fully in our sight, holding on
by stirrup and mane, but completely hidden from one who might be looking
from the other side.
Wonderful Agility. The chief was delighted, in his dignified quiet way, as
I burst into warm encomiums, and told me I should soon see "some more"
riding. Again the horsemen dashed past. This time I watched for their
disappearance and saw where and how they went, but I was scarcely prepared
to see many of them peeping at me from under the bellies of their animals.
This was done several times; then Pacoda gave me another treat. The riders
came toward us. At a sign, every man sprang from his horse to the ground,
to our left, gave three or four wild jumps, sprang completely over the
saddle to the other side of his horse, where he gave more jumps, and then,
with a yell of joyful triumph, landed into his saddle, the horse,
meanwhile, keeping up his speed.
An Impressive Spectacle. But to see the whole party ride furiously away
from us, nothing but black hair, sturdy backs, horses' tails and
hindquarters with galloping feet presented, and then, in the twinkle of an
eye it almost seemed, to have the same party dashing towards you, was a
feat in horsemanship which impressed me most profoundly.
Horsemen almost from Birth. It is not to be wondered at that the Navaho is
an expert horseman. He is as nearly born on horseback, literally, as he can
be, for on several occasions I have ridden with Navaho friends, among whom
was an expectant mother, have stopped half an hour for the birth, and then,
with the new-born babe strapped on the mother's back, have resumed the
trip, completing, perhaps, forty or fifty miles in a day. Children born
under such conditions could not fail to be skilful horsemen.