MRS. EASTMAN'S STORY CONTINUED.
I had now been five years among the Indians, and during that time my
life was chiefly trials and hardships. Rest, a word unknown in my
vocabulary. It would appear that I owed allegiance to no particular
individual, but on the contrary, I was called upon to perform the most
arduous tasks by man, woman, and child.
My labors in the field having come to a conclusion, I was inducted into
the mysteries of curing and dressing skins of various animals, making
moccasins and gathering berries for the winter stock.
During a period of three months rain had not fallen, and this fact gave
rise to a peculiar ceremony, which I will briefly relate. The crops were
suffering severely from the drought, and it was decided in council that
the "rain makers" should invoke the clouds, and by a series of
conjugations cause the heavens to open their floodgates. The women had
become clamorous and implored the medicine-men to intercede for rain,
that their corn patches, which were now turning pale and yellow, might
not be withered and they be deprived of the customary annual festivity
and the joyful occasion of the "roasting ears" and the "green corn
dance."
The plaints of the women were entertained, but these wise (?) men
discreetly recommended caution and deliberation, lest by undue haste the
Great Spirit might become incensed and defeat their endeavors. This
stratagem was very pellucid, because the longer they delayed the
formalities, of course the greater would be the chance of success; but
the importunities of the women became daily more persistent, and the
council was at length convened. The medicine-men assembled in all the
bravery of their grotesque trappings, and the fires being lighted, a
large quantity of wild sage and other aromatic herbs was thrown upon the
flames, that their savory odors might ascend as a peace-offering to the
Great Spirit.
Some twelve or fifteen young warriors volunteered to try their medicine
and see if the clouds could not be made to yield their vapor by the
charm of their eloquence. It was a dreadful alternative, as, failing to
produce any result, they suffered everlasting disgrace at the hands of
the entire tribe. The preliminaries having been arranged, the candidates
were drawn by lot and a day assigned to each one to lift his voice on
high and persuade the rain to descend. The celebrant took up his
position on the top of the council lodge, while below the worthy doctors
continued to burn their incense, and with song, prayers, and
incantations, commanded the clouds to obey them.
Wah-kee (the shield), ascended the wigwam at sunrise and made elaborate
preparations to frighten the clouds into obeying him. After indulging in
war-whoops, brandishing his lance, shield and tomahawk, and going
through various other absurd performances, he subsided and betook
himself to counting his mystery beads. The whole village had assembled,
and were howling lustily for his success. Not a cloud appeared--the day
was calm and hot; and when the sun declined behind the mountains, he
descended from his exalted position, and withdrew with a crestfallen
air.
He returned to his lodge a sadder if not a wiser man, disgraced and with
no prospect of ever attaining to the dignity of a medicine man.
The next morning the performance was repeated, Om-pah (the Elk), saying
that his importunities would certainly be heard. He was quite nude, and
his body besmeared with yellow clay. A beautiful shield was displayed on
his left arm, and his right hand grasped a long lance. The skin of a
raven adorned his head. Shield and lance were flourished, but in vain.
Not a cloud obscured the brightness of the noon-day sun. The squaws were
crying, and the corn was withering at its roots.
War-rah-pa (the beaver), was the next, but he, like the others, spent
his time in vain; and Wak-a-dah-me took the stand the next morning. He
was much more gaily attired than any of his predecessors. In addition to
a shield ornamented with "red chains of lightning," he carried in his
left hand a bow and single arrow. The concourse was as great as on any
previous day. Striking an attitude, he tossed up a feather to ascertain
the course of the wind, then turning to the mob below, began a lengthy
harangue, something after the following manner:
"Apaches! Children of the Sun!--You behold me here a sacrifice. I shall
this day relieve you of your distress and bring joy to your lodges, or I
shall live among the dogs and old women for the remainder of my days. My
friends, you saw which way my feather flew. I shall hold my shield in
that direction, and the lightning will draw a great cloud, and this
arrow, which is feathered with the quill of the white swan will make a
hole in it.
"Warriors! this opening in the lodge at my feet shows me the
medicine-men. They are seated in a circle and are crying to the Great
Spirit above who commands the sun and clouds. Three days they have sat
there. Have they done aught to relieve your distress? Om-pah tried and
failed, because on his head was the raven. It flies _above_ the storm.
War-rah-pa is the beaver, and he lives _under_ the _water_. How could he
succeed? My friends, I see you are in great distress, and nothing has
yet been done. This shield belonged to my father, the Mad Bull. It was
taken from a black cloud, which will come over us to-day. I am the son
of my father, and will surely bring you relief. I have done."
Thus flourished Wakadahme, alternately addressing the clouds and the
people.
It so chanced that as he was speaking, a small cloud appeared on the
horizon, and as it approached grew larger, until the heavens were
overcast. Then drawing his bow to its utmost tension, he let fly the
arrow, which sped up into the gathering blackness, and was lost to view.
Presently the sky was illumined with a vivid flash, and peal upon peal
of thunder followed in rapid succession. The crowd dispersed, running to
their lodges in the greatest confusion; but the great warrior who had
brought about this happy state of things remained at his post, strutting
around the apex of the lodge in all the might and majesty of his new
made glory. Even rain could not drive him away from the scene of his
triumph. There he stood, the moist cynosure of all eyes.
After this all was joy and gladness. Wakadahme was loaded down with
honors, and every chief in the tribe was anxious to have him select one
of his daughters for a wife. He accommodated six of them, but prudential
reasons interposed between him and the seventh. From this time forth he
was an honored and puissant warrior, chief, and mystery man.
Numerous amusements were indulged in by the tribe, and all had for their
end and aim some gambling operation. The youths had an exhibition of
arrow shooting which they called the "game of the arrow."
Those most distinguished in this exercise assembled on the prairie a
little distance from the village, and each one having paid his "entrance
fee," such as a shield, robe, pipe, or other article, would step forward
to the mark, and, selecting ten arrows, proceed to shoot them in the air
in rapid succession. The one who could get the greatest number up before
the _first_ fell to the ground claimed the "pool" and went away in the
best of spirits, displaying his gains as he journeyed through the
village.
The older braves passed their time in horse racing. This species of
sport varies but little among the Indians from that which obtains among
civilized communities. A track is mapped out upon the level prairie, and
a couple of lances, from which pennants are streaming, are planted
firmly in the ground at a point which denotes the goal. The riders start
from the upper end of the course, and plying the whip with all their
vigor, come thundering down the course with the speed of the wind. A
judge is appointed whose decision is irrevocable, and grouped around him
are the spectators intent on making their bets and watching the progress
of this tournament of speed.
Occasionally sham fights are inaugurated, when brave meets brave in all
the fierceness of battle array to go through the motions of Indian
warfare, circling around the foe, or bunching together, come down on the
enemy with startling suddenness, discharging a cloud of arrows, then,
wheeling short around, retrace their steps and prepare to receive the
shock of their enemy's advance.
One day a messenger brought the news that buffaloes had made their
appearance on the plain, and a numerous party was at once formed to go
in their pursuit. After having been gone about two days they returned
laden with the fruits of victory, and throwing the meat down in one
pile, issued their orders to have it cured at once.
This arduous task was delegated to the women, and in a very short time
poles were planted in every direction. The meat was dressed and then cut
in long strips of about a quarter of an inch in thickness, and, being
hung over the lines, was left to dry in the sunshine. When it is cured
the buffalo meat becomes _tasajo_, and in this state may be preserved
for a great length of time. It is cured without salt; in fact, the
Indians rarely if ever use this condiment, which is so essential to the
civilized white. This seems to be accounted for by the fact that they
use very little vegetable food. Hence, during my captivity, I became
quite reconciled to the absence of salt, and for months after my return
to the whites did not feel any desire to use it. So strong is the force
of habit.
It had been announced that during the annual religious ceremonies soon
to commence, we would have the pleasure of entertaining a band of "club"
Apaches, who would participate in the festivities, and preparations of
the most elaborate character were made for their reception and
entertainment.
Of all my experience in the character of a captive, these were, perhaps,
the most shocking. Never shall I forget the terrible ordeal of that
bloody week, when human gore ran like water, and it seemed a miracle
that such a band of fiends were not swept off the face of the earth!