_ CHAPTER XXI. 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! _