Part 8
Still further in the study of mythologic philosophy we see that more and more supremacy falls into the hands of the few, until monotheism is established on the plan of the empire. Then all of the inferior deities whose characters are pure become ministering angels, and the inferior deities whose characters are evil become devils, and the differentiation of good and evil is perfected in the gulf between heaven and hell. In all this time from zoötheism to monotheism, ancientism becomes more ancient, and the times and dynasties are multiplied. Spiritism is more clearly defined, and spirits become eternal; mythologic tales are codified, and sacred books are written; divination for the result of amorous intrigue has become the prophecy of immortality, and thaumaturgics is formulated as the omnipresent, the omnipotent, the omniscient--the infinite.
Time has failed me to tell of the evolution of idolatry from fetichism, priestcraft from sorcery, and of their overthrow by the doctrines that were uttered by that voice on the Mount. Religion, that was fetichism and ecstasism and sorcery, is now the yearning for something better, something purer, and the means by which this highest state for humanity may be reached, the ideal worship of the highest monotheism, is “in spirit and in truth.” The steps are long from _Cĭn-aú-äv_, the ancient of wolves, by Zeus, the ancient of skies, to Jehovah, the “Ancient of Days.”
MYTHIC TALES.
In every Indian tribe there is a great body of story lore--tales purporting to be the sayings and doings, the history, of the gods. Every tribe has one or more persons skilled in the relation of these stories--preachers. The long winter evenings are set apart for this purpose. Then the men and women, the boys and girls, gather about the camp-fire to listen to the history of the ancients, to a chapter in the unwritten bible of savagery. Such a scene is of the deepest interest. A camp-fire of blazing pine or sage boughs illumines a group of dusky faces intent with expectation, and the old man begins his story, talking and acting; the elders receiving his words with reverence, while the younger persons are played upon by the actor until they shiver with fear or dance with delight. An Indian is a great actor. The conditions of Indian life train them in natural sign language. Among the two hundred and fifty or three hundred thousand Indians in the United States, there are scores of languages, so that often a language is spoken by only a few hundred or a few score of people; and as a means of communication between tribes speaking different languages, a sign language has grown up, so that an Indian is able to talk all over--with the features of his face, his hands and feet, the muscles of his body; and thus a skillful preacher talks and acts; and, inspired by a theme which treats of the gods, he sways his savage audience at will. And ever as he tells his story he points a moral--the mythology, theology, religion, history, and all human duties are taught. This preaching is one of the most important institutions of savagery. The whole body of myths current in a tribe is the sum total of their lore--their philosophy, their miraculous history, their authority for their governmental institutions, their social institutions, their habits and customs. It is their unwritten bible.
_THE CĬN-AÚ-ÄV BROTHERS DISCUSS MATTERS OF IMPORTANCE TO THE PEOPLE._
Once upon a time the _Cĭn-aú-äv_ brothers met to consult about the destiny of the _U-ĭn-ká-rĕts_. At this meeting the younger said: “Brother, how shall these people obtain their food? Let us devise some good plan for them. I was thinking about it all night, but could not see what would be best, and when the dawn came into the sky I went to a mountain and sat on its summit, and thought a long time; and now I can tell you a good plan by which they can live. Listen to your younger brother. Look at these pine trees; their nuts are sweet; and there is the _us_, very rich; and there is the apple of the cactus, full of juice; on the plain you see the sunflower, bearing many seeds--they will be good for the nation. Let them have all these things for their food, and when they have gathered a store they shall put them in the ground, or hide them in the rocks, and when they return they shall find abundance, and having taken of them as they may need, shall go on, and yet when they return a second time there shall still be plenty; and though they return many times, as long as they live the store shall never fail; and thus they will be supplied with abundance of food without toil.” “Not so,” said the elder brother, “for then will the people, idle and worthless, and having no labor to perform, engage in quarrels, and fighting will ensue, and they will destroy each other, and the people will be lost to the earth; they must work for all they receive.” Then the younger brother answered not, but went away sorrowing.
The next day he met the elder brother and accosted him thus: “Brother, your words were wise; let the _U-ĭn-ká-rĕts_ work for their food. But how shall they be furnished with honey-dew? I have thought all night about this, and when the dawn came into the sky I sat on the summit of the mountain and did think, and now I will tell you how to give them honey-dew: Let it fall like a great snow upon the rocks, and the women shall go early in the morning and gather all they may desire, and they shall be glad.” “No,” replied the elder brother, “it will not be good, my little brother, for them to have much and find it without toil; for they will deem it of no more value than dung, and what we give them for their pleasure will only be wasted. In the night it shall fall in small drops on the reeds, which they shall gather and beat with clubs, and then will it taste very sweet, and having but little they will prize it the more.” And the younger brother went away sorrowing, but returned the next day and said: “My brother, your words are wise; let the women gather the honey-dew with much toil, by beating the reeds with flails. Brother, when a man or a woman, or a boy or a girl, or a little one dies, where shall he go? I have thought all night about this, and when the dawn came into the sky I sat on the top of the mountain and did think. Let me tell you what to do: When a man dies, send him back when the morning returns, and then will all his friends rejoice.” “Not so,” said the elder; “the dead shall return no more.” The little brother answered him not, but, bending his head in sorrow, went away.
One day the younger _Cĭn-aú-äv_ was walking in the forest, and saw his brother’s son at play, and taking an arrow from his quiver slew the boy, and when he returned he did not mention what he had done. The father supposed that his boy was lost, and wandered around in the woods for many days, and at last found the dead child, and mourned his loss for a long time.
One day the younger _Cĭn-aú-äv_ said to the elder, “You made the law that the dead should never return. I am glad that you were the first to suffer.” Then the elder knew that the younger had killed his child, and he was very angry and sought to destroy him, and as his wrath increased the earth rocked, subterraneous groanings were heard, darkness came on, fierce storms raged, lightning flashed, thunder reverberated through the heavens, and the younger brother fled in great terror to his father, _Ta-vwots´_, for protection.
_ORIGIN OF THE ECHO._
_I´-o-wi_ (the turtle dove) was gathering seeds in the valley, and her little babe slept. Wearied with carrying it on her back, she laid it under the _tĭ-hó-pĭ_ (sage bush) in care of its sister, _O-hó-tcu_ (the summer yellow bird). Engaged in her labors, the mother wandered away to a distance, when a _tsó-a-vwĭts_ (a witch) came and said to the little girl, “Is that your brother?” and _O-hó-tcu_ answered, “This is my sister,” for she had heard that witches preferred to steal boys, and did not care for girls. Then the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ was angry and chided her, saying that it was very naughty for girls to lie; and she put on a strange and horrid appearance, so that _O-hó-tcu_ was stupefied with fright; then the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ ran away with the boy, carrying him to her home on a distant mountain. Then she laid him down on the ground, and, taking hold of his right foot, stretched the baby’s leg until it was as long as that of a man, and she did the same to the other leg; then his body was elongated; she stretched his arms, and, behold, the baby was as large as a man. And the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ married him and had a husband, which she had long desired; but, though he had the body of a man, he had the heart of a babe, and knew no better than to marry a witch.
Now, when _I´-o-wi_ returned and found not her babe under the _tĭ-hó-pĭ_, but learned from _O-hó-tcu_ that it had been stolen by a _tsó-a-vwĭts_, she was very angry, and punished her daughter very severely. Then she went in search of the babe for a long time, mourning as she went, and crying and still crying, refusing to be comforted, though all her friends joined her in the search, and promised to revenge her wrongs.
Chief among her friends was her brother, _Kwi´-na_ (the eagle), who traveled far and wide over all the land, until one day he heard a strange noise, and coming near he saw the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ and _U´-ja_ (the sage cock), her husband, but he did not know that this large man was indeed the little boy who had been stolen. Yet he returned and related to _I´-o-wi_ what he had seen, who said: “If that is indeed my boy, he will know my voice.” So the mother came near to where the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ and _U´-ja_ were living, and climbed into a cedar tree, and mourned and cried continually. _Kwi´-na_ placed himself near by on another tree to observe what effect the voice of the mother would have on _U´-ja_, the _tsó-a-vwĭts_’ husband. When he heard the cry of his mother, _U´-ja_ knew the voice, and said to the _tsó-a-vwĭts_, “I hear my mother, I hear my mother, I hear my mother,” but she laughed at him, and persuaded him to hide.
Now, the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ had taught _U´-ja_ to hunt, and a short time before he had killed a mountain sheep, which was lying in camp. The witch emptied the contents of the stomach, and with her husband took refuge within; for she said to herself, “Surely, _I´-o-wi_ will never look in the paunch of a mountain sheep for my husband.” In this retreat they were safe for a long time, so that they who were searching were sorely puzzled at the strange disappearance. At last _Kwi´-na_ said, “They are hid somewhere in the ground, maybe, or under the rocks; after a long time they will be very hungry and will search for food; I will put some in a tree so as to tempt them.” So he killed a rabbit and put it on the top of a tall pine, from which he trimmed the branches and peeled the bark, so that it would be very difficult to climb; and he said, “When these hungry people come out they will try to climb that tree for food, and it will take much time, and while the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ is thus engaged we will carry _U´-ja_ away.” So they watched some days, until the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ was very hungry, and her baby-hearted husband cried for food; and she came out from their hiding place and sought for something to eat. The odor of the meat placed on the tree came to her nostrils, and she saw where it was and tried to climb up, but fell back many times; and while so doing _Kwi´-na_, who had been sitting on a rock near by and had seen from where she came, ran to the paunch which had been their house, and taking the man carried him away and laid him down under the very same _tĭ-hó-pĭ_ from which he had been stolen; and behold! he was the same beautiful little babe that _I´-o-wi_ had lost.
And _Kwi´-na_ went off into the sky and brought back a storm, and caused the wind to blow, and the rain to beat upon the ground, so that his tracks were covered, and the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ could not follow him; but she saw lying upon the ground near by some eagle feathers, and knew well who it was that had deprived her of her husband, and she said to herself, “Well, I know _Kwi´-na_ is the brother of _I´-o-wi_; he is a great warrior and a terrible man; I will go to _To-go´-a_ (the rattlesnake), my grandfather, who will protect me and kill my enemies.”
_To-go´-a_ was enjoying his midday sleep on a rock, and as the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ came near her grandfather awoke and called out to her, “Go back, go back; you are not wanted here; go back!” But she came on begging his protection; and while they were still parleying they heard _Kwi´-na_ coming, and _To-go´-a_ said, “Hide, hide!” But she knew not where to hide, and he opened his mouth and the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ crawled into his stomach. This made _To-go´-a_ very sick and he entreated her to crawl out, but she refused, for she was in great fear. Then he tried to throw her up, but could not, and he was sick nigh unto death. At last, in his terrible retchings, he crawled out of his own skin, and left the _tsó-a-vwĭts_ in it, and she, imprisoned there, rolled about and hid in the rocks. When _Kwi´-na_ came near he shouted, “Where are you, old _tsó-a-vwĭts_? where are you, old _tsó-a-vwĭts_?” She repeated his words in mockery.
Ever since that day witches have lived in snake skins, and hide among the rocks, and take great delight in repeating the words of passers by.
The white man, who has lost the history of these ancient people, calls these mocking cries of witches domiciliated in snake skins “echoes,” but the Indians know the voices of the old hags.
This is the origin of the echo.
_THE SO´-KÛS WAI´-ÛN-ÄTS._
_Tûm-pwĭ-nai´-ro-gwĭ-nûmp_, he who had a stone shirt, killed _Sĭ-kor´_, (the crane,) and stole his wife, and seeing that she had a child, and thinking it would be an incumbrance to them on their travels, he ordered her to kill it. But the mother, loving the babe, hid it under her dress, and carried it away to its grandmother. And Stone Shirt carried his captured bride to his own land.
In a few years the child grew to be a fine lad, under the care of his grandmother, and was her companion wherever she went.
One day they were digging flag roots, on the margin of the river, and putting them in a heap on the bank. When they had been at work a little while, the boy perceived that the roots came up with greater ease than was customary, and he asked the old woman the cause of this, but she did not know; and, as they continued their work, still the reeds came up with less effort, at which their wonder increased, until the grandmother said, “Surely, some strange thing is about to transpire.” Then the boy went to the heap where they had been placing the roots, and found that some one had taken them away, and he ran back, exclaiming, “Grandmother, did you take the roots away?” And she answered, “No, my child; perhaps some ghost has taken them off; let us dig no more; come away.”
But the boy was not satisfied, as he greatly desired to know what all this meant; so he searched about for a time, and at length found a man sitting under a tree, whom he taunted with being a thief, and threw mud and stones at him, until he broke the stranger’s leg, who answered not the boy, nor resented the injuries he received, but remained silent and sorrowful; and, when his leg was broken, he tied it up in sticks, and bathed it in the river, and sat down again under the tree, and beckoned the boy to approach.
When the lad came near, the stranger told him he had something of great importance to reveal. “My son,” said he, “did that old woman ever tell you about your father and mother?” “No,” answered the boy; “I have never heard of them.” “My son, do you see these bones scattered on the ground? Whose bones are these?” “How should I know?” answered the boy. “It may be that some elk or deer has been killed here.” “No,” said the old man. “Perhaps they are the bones of a bear;” but the old man shook his head. So the boy mentioned many other animals, but the stranger still shook his head, and finally said, “These are the bones of your father; Stone Shirt killed him, and left him to rot here on the ground, like a wolf.” And the boy was filled with indignation against the slayer of his father. Then the stranger asked, “Is your mother in yonder lodge?” and the boy replied, “No.” “Does your mother live on the banks of this river?” and the boy answered, “I don’t know my mother; I have never seen her; she is dead.” “My son,” replied the stranger, “Stone Shirt, who killed your father, stole your mother, and took her away to the shore of a distant lake, and there she is his wife to-day.” And the boy wept bitterly, and while the tears filled his eyes so that he could not see, the stranger disappeared.
Then the boy was filled with wonder at what he had seen and heard, and malice grew in his heart against his father’s enemy. He returned to the old woman, and said, “Grandmother, why have you lied to me about my father and mother?” and she answered not, for she knew that a ghost had told all to the boy. And the boy fell upon the ground weeping and sobbing, until he fell into a deep sleep, when strange things were told him.
His slumber continued three days and three nights, and when he awoke he said to his grandmother, “I am going away to enlist all nations in my fight,” and straightway he departed.
(Here the boy’s travels are related with many circumstances concerning the way he was received by the people, all given in a series of conversations, very lengthy; so they will be omitted.)
Finally, he returned in advance of the people whom he had enlisted, bringing with him _Cĭn-au´-äv_, the wolf, and _To-go´-a_, the rattlesnake. When the three had eaten food, the boy said to the old woman: “Grandmother, cut me in two.” But she demurred, saying she did not wish to kill one whom she loved so dearly. “Cut me in two,” demanded the boy, and he gave her a stone ax which he had brought from a distant country, and with a manner of great authority he again commanded her to cut him in two. So she stood before him, and severed him in twain, and fled in terror. And lo! each part took the form of an entire man, and the one beautiful boy appeared as two, and they were so much alike no one could tell them apart.
When the people or natives whom the boy had enlisted came pouring into the camp, _Cĭn-au´-äv_ and _To-go´-a_ were engaged in telling them of the wonderful thing that had happened to the boy, and that now there were two; and they all held it to be an augury of a successful expedition to the land of Stone Shirt. And they started on their journey.
Now the boy had been told in the dream of his three days’ slumber of a magical cup, and he had brought it home with him from his journey among the nations, and the _So´-kûs Wai´-ûn-äts_ carried it between them, filled with water. _Cĭn-au´-äv_ walked on their right and _To-go´-a_ on their left, and the nations followed in the order in which they had been enlisted. There was a vast number of them, so that when they were stretched out in line it was one day’s journey from the front to the rear of the column.
When they had journeyed two days and were far out on the desert all the people thirsted, for they found no water, and they fell down upon the sand groaning, and murmuring that they had been deceived, and they cursed the One-Two.
But the _So´-kûs Wai´-ûn-äts_ had been told in the wonderful dream of the suffering which would be endured and that the water which they carried in the cup was only to be used in dire necessity, and the brothers said to each other: “Now the time has come for us to drink the water.” And when one had quaffed of the magical bowl, he found it still full, and he gave it to the other to drink, and still it was full; and the One-Two gave it to the people, and one after another did they all drink, and still the cup was full to the brim.
But _Cĭn-au´-äv_ was dead, and all the people mourned, for he was a great man. The brothers held the cup over him, and sprinkled him with water, when he arose and said: “Why do you disturb me? I did have a vision of mountain brooks and meadows, of cane where honey-dew was plenty.” They gave him the cup, and he drank also; but when he had finished there was none left. Refreshed and rejoicing they proceeded on their journey.
The next day, being without food, they were hungry, and all were about to perish; and again they murmured at the brothers, and cursed them. But the _So´-kûs Wai´-ûn-äts_ saw in the distance an antelope, standing on an eminence in the plain, in bold relief against the sky; and _Cĭn-au´-äv_ knew it was the wonderful antelope with many eyes, which Stone Shirt kept for his watchman; and he proposed to go and kill it, but _To-go´-a_ demurred, and said: “It were better that I should go, for he will see you and run away.” But the _So´-kûs Wai´-ûn-äts_ told Cĭn´-au´-äv to go; and he started in a direction away to the left of where the antelope was standing, that he might make a long detour about some hills, and come upon him from the other side. _To-go´-a_ went a little way from camp, and called to the brothers: “Do you see me?” and they answered they did not. “Hunt for me;” and while they were hunting for him, the rattlesnake said: “I can see you; you are doing” --so and so, telling them what they were doing; but they could not find him.