Arizona Sketches
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Joseph A. Munk >> Arizona Sketches
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The snakes used in the dance are all wild, and captured out on
the open plain. Four days prior to the dance the snake men,
dressed in scanty attire and equipped with their snake-capturing
paraphernalia, march out in squads and scour the surrounding
country in search of snakes. One day each is spent in searching
the ground towards the four points of the compass, in the order
of north, west, south and east, returning at the close of each
day with their catch to the Kiva, where the snakes are kept and
prepared for the dance. The snakes caught are of several
varieties, but much the largest number are rattlesnakes.
Respect is shown for serpents of every variety and none are ever
intentionally harmed, but the rattlesnake is considered the most
sacred and is proportionately esteemed. Its forked tongue
represents lightning, its rattle thunder and its spots
rain-clouds. The number of snakes they find is surprising, as
they catch from one to two hundred during the four days' hunt on
ground that might be carefully searched by white men for months
without finding a single reptile.
The snake men are very expert in catching and handling serpents,
and are seldom bitten. If one is bitten it is nothing serious,
as they have a secret medicine which they use that is both
prophylactic and curative, and makes them immune to the poison so
that no harm ever results from a bite. The medicine is taken
internally and also applied locally. Efforts have been made to
discover its composition but without success. If a snake is
located which shows fight by the act of coiling it is tickled
with a snake-whip made of eagle's feathers, which soon soothes
its anger and causes it to uncoil and try to run away. It is
then quickly and safely caught up and dropped from the hand into
a bag carried for that purpose.
Visitors who attend the dance are under no restrictions, but are
free to come and go as they please, either sightseeing or in
search of curios. If the visitor has a supply of candy, matches
and smoking-tobacco to give away he finds frequent opportunities
to bestow his gifts. The children ask for "canty," the women
want "matchi," and the men are pleased with a "smoke."
On the morning of the dance both the men and women give their
hair an extra washing by using a mixture of water and crushed
soap-root. The white fibers of the soap-root get mixed with the
hair, which gives it a tinge of iron gray. The children also get
a bath which, because of the great scarcity of water, is not of
daily occurrence.
To the Moquis the snake dance is a serious and solemn affair, but
to the visitors it is apt to be an occasion for fun and frolic.
Owing to a misunderstanding of its true meaning, and because of
misconduct in the past on similar occasions, notice is posted on
the Kiva asking visitors to abstain from loud laughing and
talking. In other words it is a polite request made by the rude
red man of his polished (?) white brother to please behave
himself.
The dance begins late in the afternoon and lasts less than one
hour, but while it is in progress the action is intense. The
snakes are carried in a bag or jar from the Kiva to the Kisa,
built of cotton-wood boughs on one side of the plaza, where the
snakes are banded out to the dancers. After much marching and
countermarching about the plaza, chanting weird songs and shaking
rattles, the column of snake priests, dressed in a fantastic garb
of paint, fur and feathers, halts in front of the Kisa and breaks
up into groups of three.
The carrier takes a snake from the Kisa puts it in his mouth, and
carries it there while dancing. Some of the more ambitious young
men will carry two or more of the smaller snakes at the same
time. The hugger throws his left arm over the shoulder of the
carrier and with his right hand fans the snake with his feather
whip. The gatherer follows after and picks up the snakes as they
fall to the ground.
After the snakes have all been danced they are thrown into a heap
and sprinkled with sacred corn meal by the young women. The
scattering of the meal is accompanied by a shower of spittle from
the spectators, who are stationed on, convenient roofs and
ladders viewing the ceremony. Fleet runners now catch up the
snakes in handfuls and dash off in an exciting race over the mesa
and down rocky trails to the plains below where the snakes are
returned unharmed to their native haunts.
While the men are away disposing of the reptiles the women carry
out large ollas, or jars, filled with a black liquid, which is
the snake medicine that is used in the final act of purification
by washing. When the men return to the mesa they remove their
regalias and proceed to drink of the snake medicine which acts as
an emetic. With the remainder of the concoction, and assisted by
the women, they wash their bodies free from paint. After the men
are all washed and puked they re-enter the Kiva, where the long
fast is broken by a feast and the formal ceremonies of the snake
dance are ended.
The snake dance is annually witnessed by many visitors who gather
from different sections of the country and even foreign lands.
As there are no hotels to entertain guests every visitor must
provide his own outfit for conveyance, eating and sleeping. Even
water is scarce. Local springs barely furnish enough water to
supply the native population; and when the number of people to be
supplied is increased from one to two hundred by the visitors who
attend the dance, the water question becomes a serious problem.
On the lower portion of the road which leads up from the spring
to the gap at Walpi on the first mesa, the trail is over drifted
sand which makes difficult walking. To remedy this defect in the
trail, a path has been made of flat stones laid in the sand,
which shows that the Moquis are quick to recognize and utilize an
advantage that contributes to their convenience and comfort.
The Santa Fe Pacific is the nearest railroad, which runs about
one hundred miles south of the Moqui villages. The tourist can
secure transportation at reasonable rates of local liverymen
either from Holbrook, Winslow, Canon Diablo or Flagstaff. The
trip makes an enjoyable outing that is full of interest and
instruction from start to finish.
Some years ago the government, through its agents, began to
civilize and Christianize these Indians and established a school
at Keam's Canon, nine miles east of the first mesa, for that
purpose. When the school was opened the requisition for a
specified number of children from each pueblo was not filled
until secured by force. As free citizens of the United States,
being such by the treaty made with Mexico in 1848 and, indeed,
already so under a system of self-government superior to our own
and established long before Columbus discovered America, they
naturally resented any interference in their affairs but, being
in the minority and overpowered, had to submit.
When the object of the school was explained to them, they
consented to receive secular instructions but objected to any
religious teaching. They asked to have schools opened in the
pueblos on the plan of our public schools where the children
could attend during the day and return home at night, and their
home life be not broken up, but their prayer was denied.
The reservation school was opened for the purpose of instructing
the Moqui children in civilization, but the results obtained have
not been entirely satisfactory. The methods employed for
enforcing discipline have been unnecessarily severe and have
given dissatisfaction. As recently as the year 1903 the children
of this inoffensive and harmless people were forcibly taken from
their homes and put into the schools. The time selected for
doing the dastardly deed was during the night in midwinter when
the weather was cold and the ground covered with snow. Under the
orders of the superintendent the reservation police made the raid
without warning or warrant of any kind. While the people slept,
the police entered their houses, dragged the little children from
their comfortable beds and drove them naked out into the snow and
cold, where they were rounded up and herded like cattle.
The indignity and outrage of this and other similar acts have
embittered the Moquis until they have lost what little respect
they ever had for Christianity and civilization. The policy of
the government is to make them do whatever they do not want to
do, to break up the family and scatter its members. The
treatment has created two factions among the Moquis known as the
"hostiles" who are only hostile in opposing oppression and any
change in their religious faith and customs; and the "friendlies"
who are willing to obey the boss placed over them and comply with
his demands.
Religion is the dearest treasure of mankind, and when assailed
always finds ready defenders. Possessed by this innate feeling
of right and rankling with the injustice of the past, is it
surprising that they should spurn any proffered help? They
remember what they have suffered in the past and do not care to
repeat the experiment. To this day the Moquis hold the mission
epoch in contempt and nothing could induce them to accept
voluntarily any proposition that savored ought of the old regime.
Every vestige of that period has been obliterated from the
pueblos that nothing tangible should remain to remind them of
their undeserved humiliation.
They are a highly religious people worshiping after their own
creed, and are sincere and conscientious in their devotions.
Almost everything they do has some religious significance and
every day its religious observance. Their religion satisfies
them and harms no one, then why not leave them in peace? We
believe that we can benefit them, which is doubtless true, but
might they not also teach us some useful lessons? It would
sometimes be more to our credit if we were less anxious to teach
others, and more willing to learn ourselves.
Next to their religion they love their homes most. The rocks
upon which they live, are they not dear from associations? Is it
not the land of their birth and the home of their fathers during
many generations? They cling with stubborn tenacity to their
barren mesas and nothing thus far has succeeded in driving them
away; neither war, pestilence nor famine. Repeated attempts have
been made to induce them to leave, but without success.
Tom Polaki, the principal man of Tewa, was the first man to
respond to the call to come down. He left the mesa several years
ago, and went to the plain below to live. Having captured the
bell wether it was presumed that the balance of the flock would
soon follow, but the contrary proved to be true. At the foot of
the bluff near a spring on the road that leads up to the gap Tom
built a modern house and tried to imitate the white man. But the
change did not suit him, and after living in his modern house for
a number of years, he finally sold it and returned to his old
home on the mesa. A few others at different times have tried the
same experiment with no better success. The man would stay for a
short time in the house provided for him, but never made it a
permanent home for his family.
That the Moquis are changing is best illustrated by reference to
one of their marriage customs. It is the custom when a youth
contemplates matrimony to make a marriage blanket. He grows the
cotton, spins the yarn and weaves the cloth, which requires a
year or more of time to finish. Since the children have gone to
school it is not deemed necessary for a young man to go to so
much trouble and expense as to make a marriage blanket, but
instead, he borrows one from a friend in the village, and after
the ceremony is over returns it to the owner. Even now it is not
easy to find such a blanket, and very soon they will be priceless
as no more such garments will be made.
The only reasonable explanation why any people should select a
location like that of the Moquis is on the hypothesis of choice.
There is much of the animal in human nature that is influenced by
instinct, and man, like the brute, often unconsciously selects
what is most congenial to his nature. Thus instinct teaches the
eagle to nest on the highest crag and the mountain sheep to
browse in pastures which only the hardiest hunter dare approach.
For no better reason, apparently, do the Moquis occupy their
barren mesas; they simply prefer to live there above any other
place.
Safety has been urged as a motive for their conduct but it alone
is not a sufficient reason for solving the problem. Their
position is safe enough from attack but in the event of a siege
their safety would only be temporary. With their scant water
supply at a distance and unprotected they could not hold out long
in a siege, but would soon be compelled either to fight, fly or
famish.
Again, if safety was their only reason for staying, they could
have left long ago and had nothing to fear, as they have been for
many years at peace with their ancient enemy the predatory
Navajo. But rather than go they have chosen to remain in their
old home where they have always lived, and will continue to live
so long as they are left free to choose.
The modern iconoclast in his unreasonable devotion to realism
has, perhaps, stripped them of much old time romance, but even
with all of that gone, enough of fact remains to make them a
remarkable people. Instead of seeking to change them this last
bit of harmless aboriginal life should be spared and preserved,
if possible, in all of its native purity and simplicity.
CHAPTER XIV
A FINE CLIMATE
The climate of Arizona as described in the local vernacular is
"sure fine." The combination of elements which make the climate
is unusual and cannot be duplicated elsewhere upon the American
continent. The air is remarkably pure and dry. Siccity, indeed,
is its distinguishing feature. That the climate is due to
geographical and meteorological conditions cannot be doubted, but
the effects are unexplainable by any ordinary rules.
The region involved not only embraces Arizona, but also includes
portions of California and Mexico and is commonly known as the
Colorado Desert. Yuma, at the junction of the Gila and Colorado
rivers, is approximately its geographical center. The general
aspect of the country is low and flat and in the Salton sink the
dry land dips several hundred feet below the level of the ocean.
Only by extreme siccity is such land possible when more water
rises in evaporation than falls by precipitation. There are but
few such places in the world, the deepest one being the Dead Sea,
which is about thirteen hundred feet lower than the ocean.
The Colorado Basin is the dry bed of an ancient sea whose shore
line is yet visible in many places upon the sides of the
mountains which surround it. Its floor is composed of clay with
deposits of sand and salt. Strong winds sometimes sweep over it
that shift and pile up the sand in great dunes. The entire
region is utterly bare and desolate, yet by the use of water
diverted from the Colorado river it is being reclaimed to
agriculture.
The rainfall is very scant the average annual precipitation at
Yuma being less than three inches. The climate is not dry from
any lack of surface water, as it has the Gila and Colorado
rivers, the Gulf of California and the broad Pacific Ocean to
draw from. But the singular fact remains that the country is
extremely dry and that it does not rain as in other lands.
Neither is the rainfall deficient from any lack of evaporation.
Upon the contrary the evaporation is excessive and according to
the estimate of Major Powell amounts fully to one hundred inches
of water per annum. If the vapors arising from this enormous
evaporation should all be condensed into clouds and converted
into rain it would create a rainy season that would last
throughout the year.
The humidity caused by an abundant rainfall in any low, hot
country is usually enough to unfit it for human habitation. The
combined effect of heat and moisture upon a fertile soil causes
an excess of both growing and decaying vegetation that fills the
atmosphere with noxious vapors and disease producing germs. The
sultry air is so oppressive that it is more than physical
endurance can bear. The particles of vapor which float in the
atmosphere absorb and hold the heat until it becomes like a
steaming hot blanket that is death to unacclimated life. All of
this is changed where siccity prevails. The rapid evaporation
quickly dispels the vapors and the dry heat desiccates the
disease creating germs and makes them innocuous.
The effect of heat upon the body is measured by the difference in
the actual and sensible temperatures, as recorded by the dry and
wet bulb thermometers. When both stand nearly together as they
are apt to do in a humid atmosphere, the heat becomes
insufferable. In the dry climate of Arizona such a condition
cannot occur. The difference in the two instruments is always
great, often as much as forty degrees. For this reason, a
temperature of 118 degrees F. at Yuma is less oppressive than 98
degrees F. is in New York. A low relative humidity gives comfort
and freedom from sunstroke even when the thermometer registers
the shade temperature in three figures.
A dry, warm climate is a stimulant to the cutaneous function.
The skin is an important excreting organ that is furnished with a
large number of sweat glands which are for the dual purpose of
furnishing moisture for cooling the body by evaporation and the
elimination of worn out and waste material from the organism. As
an organ it is not easily injured by over work, but readily lends
its function in an emergency in any effort to relieve other tired
or diseased organs of the body. By vicarious action the skin is
capable of performing much extra labor without injury to itself
and can be harnessed temporarily for the relief of some vital
part which has become crippled until its function can be
restored.
A diseased kidney depends particularly upon the skin for succor
more than any other organ. When the kidneys from any cause fail
to act the skin comes to their rescue and throws off impurities
which nature intended should go by the renal route. For this
reason diabetes and albuminuria, the most stubborn of all kidney
diseases, are usually benefited by a dry, warm climate. The
benefit derived is due to an increase of the insensible
transpiration rather than to profuse perspiration. The air of
Arizona is so dry and evaporation so rapid that an increase in
perspiration is scarcely noticeable except when it is confined by
impervious clothing. The disagreeable feeling of wet clothes
which accompanies profuse perspiration in a damp climate is
changed to an agreeable sensation of coolness in a dry one.
The atmosphere of Arizona is not only dry but also very
electrical, so much so, indeed, that at times it becomes almost
painful. Whenever the experiment is tried, sparks can be
produced by friction or the handling of metal, hair or wool. It
affects animals as well as man, and literally causes "the hair to
stand on end." The writer has on various occasions seen a string
of horses standing close together at a watering-trough, drinking,
so full of electricity that their manes and tails were spread out
and floated in the air, and the long hairs drawn by magnetic
attraction from one animal to the other all down the line in a
spontaneous effort to complete a circuit. There are times when
the free electricity in the air is so abundant that every object
becomes charged with the fluid, and it cannot escape fast enough
or find "a way out" by any adequate conductor. The effects of
such an excess of electricity is decidedly unpleasant on the
nerves, and causes annoying irritability and nervousness.
The hot sun sometimes blisters the skin and burns the complexion
to a rich, nut-brown color, but the air always feels soft and
balmy, and usually blows only in gentle zephyrs. The air has a
pungent fragrance which is peculiar to the desert, that is the
mingled product of a variety of resinous plants. The weather is
uniformly pleasant, and the elements are rarely violently
disturbed.
In the older settled sections of our country, whenever there is
any sudden or extreme change in the weather of either heat or
cold, wet or dry, it is always followed by an increase of
sickness and death. The aged and invalid, who are sensitive and
weak, suffer mostly, as they feel every change in the weather.
There is, perhaps, no place on earth that can boast of a perfect
climate, but the country that can show the fewest and mildest
extremes approaches nearest to the ideal. The southwest is
exceptionally favored in its climatic conditions, and is
beneficial to the majority of chronic invalids.
Atmospheric pressure is greatest near the earth's surface, and
exerts a controlling influence over the vital functions.
Atmospheric pressure is to the body what the governor is to
the steam engine, or the pendulum to the clock. It regulates
vital action, insures safety and lessens the wear and tear of
machinery. Under its soothing influence the number of
respirations per minute are diminished, the heart beats decreased
in frequency, and the tired brain and nerves rested. It is often
better than medicine, and will sometimes give relief when all
other means fail.
Arizona has a diversity of altitudes, and therefore furnishes a
variety of climates. The elevations range from about sea level
at Yuma to nearly thirteen thousand feet upon the San Francisco
mountains. By making suitable changes in altitude to fit the
season it is possible to enjoy perpetual spring.
Because Arizona is far south geographically it is only natural to
suppose that it is all very hot, which is a mistake. In the low
valleys of southern Arizona the summers are hot, but it is a dry
heat which is not oppressive, and the winters are delightfully
pleasant. In northern Arizona the winters are cold and the
summers cool. There is no finer summer climate in the world than
is found on the high plateaus and pine-topped mountains of
northern Arizona. Prescott, Williams and Flagstaff have a
charming summer climate, while at Yuma, Phoenix and Tucson the
winter weather is simply perfect.
A mountain residence is not desirable for thin, nervous people or
such as are afflicted with any organic disease. A high altitude
is too stimulating for this class of patients and tends to
increase nervousness and aggravates organic disease. Such
persons should seek a coast climate and a low altitude, which is
sedative, rather than risk the high and dry interior. Any coast
climate is better than the mountains for nervous people, but the
Pacific Coast is preferable to any other because of its freedom
from electrical storms and every other form of disagreeable
meteorological disturbance that tries the nerves. The
nervousness that is produced by a high altitude does not, as a
rule, develop suddenly, but grows gradually upon the patient.
Those of a sensitive nature feel it most and women more than men.
After making a change from a low to a high altitude sleep may be
sound for a time, but it soon becomes fitful and unrefreshing.
It has been discovered that altitude increases the amount of
hemoglobulin and thus enriches the blood and is particularly
beneficial to pale, thin people. It also sharpens the appetite
and promotes digestion and assimilation.
Persons suffering from rheumatism, neuralgia, advanced pulmonary
consumption, organic heart disease and all disorders of the brain
and nerves should avoid a high altitude. Patients that are
afflicted with any of the above-mentioned diseases are more
comfortable in a low altitude and should choose between the coast
of California and the low, dry lands of the lower Gila and
Colorado rivers, according to the season of the year and the
quality of climate desired.
The diseases which are especially benefited by the climate of
Arizona are consumption, bronchitis, catarrh and hay fever.
Anyone going in search of health who has improved by the change
should remain where the improvement took place lest by returning
home and being again subjected to the former climatic conditions
which caused the disease the improvement be lost and the old
disease re-established with increased severity.
Most sick people who are in need of a change live in a humid
atmosphere where the winters are extremely cold and the summers
uncomfortably hot, and to be benefited by a change must seek a
climate in which the opposite conditions prevail. The climate of
the southwest furnishes just what such invalids require. The
sick who need cold or damp weather, if there be any such, can be
accommodated almost anywhere, but those who want a warm, dry
climate must go where it can be found. Not every invalid who
goes in search of health finds a cure, as many who start on such
a journey are already past help when they leave home. When a
case is hopeless the patient should not undertake such a trip,
but remain quietly at home and die in peace among friends.
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