CHAPTER XIV
THE POTLATCH.
A potlatch among the tribes of the Northwest means a feast at which somewealthy Indian gives away to his own people or to a friendly tribe allthat he has. For this generosity he becomes a councilor or wise man, orjudge, an attendant on the chief in public affairs, and is held inespecial honor during the rest of his life.
To attain this honor of chief man or councilor, many an ambitious youngIndian labors for years to amass wampum, blankets, and canoes. The feastat which he exchanges these for political honors is very dramatic andpicturesque. It is usually held at the time of the full moon, and lastsfor several days and nights. One of the principal features is the_Tamanous_, or Spirit-dance, which takes place at night amid blazingtorches and deafening drums.
A chief rarely gives a Potlatch; he has no need of honors. But Umatilladesired to close his long and beneficent chieftainship with a gift-feast.He loved his people, and there seemed to him something noble in givingaway all his private possessions to them, and trusting the care of his oldage to their hearts. His chief men had done this, and had gained by it aninfluence which neither power nor riches can attain. This supremeinfluence over the hearts of his people he desired to possess. Thegift-feast was held to be the noblest service that an Indian could renderhis race.
At the great Potlatch he would not only give away his private goods, butwould take leave of the chieftainship which he had held for half acentury. It was his cherished desire to see Benjamin made chief. His hearthad gone into the young heart of the boy, and he longed to see The Lightof the Eagle's Plume, sitting in his place amid the councilors of thenation and so beginning a new history of the ancient people.
_At the Cascades of the Columbia_.]
The full moon of October is a night sun in the empires of the Columbia andthe Puget Sea. No nights in the world can be more clear, lustrous, andsplendid than those of the mellowing autumn in the valleys of Mount SaintHelens, Mount Hood, and the Columbia. The moon rises over the crystalpeaks and domes like a living glory, and mounts the deep sky amid the palestars like a royal torch-bearer of the sun. The Columbia is a rollingflood of silver, and the gigantic trees of the centuries become a ghostlyand shadowy splendor. There is a deep and reverent silence everywhere,save the cry of the water-fowl in the high air and the plash of theCascades. Even the Chinook winds cease to blow, and the pine-tops tomurmur.
It was such a night that the Potlatch began. On an open plateauoverlooking the Columbia the old chief had caused a large platform to bebuilt, and on this were piled all his canoes, his stores of blankets, hiswampum, and his regal ornaments and implements of war. Around the plateauwere high heaps of pine-boughs to be lighted during the Spirit-dance so asto roll a dark cloud of smoke under the bright light of the high moon, andcause a weird and dusky atmosphere.
The sun set; the shadows of night began to fall, but the plateau wassilent. Not a human form was to be seen anywhere, not even on the river.Stars came out like lamps set in celestial windows, and sprinkled theirrays on the crimson curtains of the evening.
The glaciers on Mount Hood began to kindle as with silver fires. The eastseemed like a lifting gate of light. The great moon was rising.
Hark! At the first ray of the moon there are heard low, mysterious soundseverywhere. The forests are full of them--calls, like the coyote's bark,or bird-calls, or secret signals. They are human voices. They answer eachother. There are thousands of voices calling and answering.
The full moon now hangs low over the forests, golden as the morning sun inthe mists of the calm sea. There is a piercing cry and a roll ofwar-drums, and suddenly the edges of the forest are full of leaping anddancing forms. The plateau is alive as with an army. Pipes play, shellsrattle, and drums roll, and the fantastic forms with grotesque motionspass and repass each other.
Up the Columbia comes a fleet of canoes like a cloud passing over thesilvery ripples. The river is all alive with human forms, and airy paddlesand the prows of tilting boats.
The plateau swarms. It is covered with waving blankets and dancing plumes.All is gayety and mirth.
There is another roll of drums, and then silence.
The circling blankets and plumes become motionless. The chief of theCascades is coming, and with him is Benjamin and his young bride, andGretchen.
The royal party mount the platform, and in honor of the event thetorch-dance begins. A single torch flashes upon the air; another islighted from it, another and another. A hundred are lighted--a thousand.They begin to dance and to whirl; the plateau is a dazzling scene ofcircling fire. Gretchen recalled the old _fetes_ amid the vineyards of theRhine in her childhood.
Hither and thither the circles move--round and round. There is poetry inthis fire-motion; and the great army of fire-dancers become excited underit, and prepared for the frenzy of the Spirit-dance that is to follow.
The torches go out. The moon turns the smoke into wannish clouds of whiteand yellow, which slowly rise, break, and disappear.
There is another roll of drums. Wild cries are heard in the forests. The"biters" are beginning their hunt.
Who are the biters? They are Indians in hides of bears and wolves, who runon their hands and feet, uttering terrible cries, and are followed bywomen, who, to make the scene more fearful, pretend to hold them back, andrestrain them from violence. The Spirit-dance is held to be a sacredfrenzy, and before it begins the biters are charged to hunt the woods forany who have not joined the army of dancers, and, if such are found, tobite them and tear their flesh with their teeth. They also guard the dancelike sentinels, and fly at one who attempts to leave it before it is done.
The frenzied shrieks of these human animals, and of the women who followthem, produce a wonderful nervous effect upon the listening multitudes.All feel that they are about to enter into the ecstatic spiritualcondition of departed souls, and are to be joined by the shades of thedead heroes and warriors of tradition and story.
Each dancer has a masque. It may be an owl's head with mother-of-pearleyes, or a wooden pelican's beak, or a wolf's head. It may be a woodenanimal's face, which can be pulled apart by a string, and reveal under itan effigy of a human face, the first masque changing into great ears. Themuseum at Ottawa, Canada, contains a great number of such masques, andsome missionaries in the Northwest make curious collections of them.
The whirling begins. Everywhere are whirling circles--round and round theygo. The sight of it all would make a spectator dizzy. Cries arise, eachmore and more fearful; the whole multitude are at last shrieking withdizzy heads and wildly beating pulses. The cries become deafening; analmost superhuman frenzy passes over all; they seem to be no longermortal--the armies of the dead are believed to be about them; they thinkthat they are reveling in the joys of the heroes' paradise. One by onethey drop down, until the whole assembly is exhausted.
At midnight the great fires are kindled, and throw their lights andshadows over the frenzied sleepers. Such was the _Tamanous_-dance, and soended the first night of the feast.
On the second night the old chief gave away his private possessions, andon the third the wedding ceremony was performed.
The wild and inhuman Death-dance, which the tribe demanded, was expectedto end the festival at the going down of the shadowy moon. Could it beprevented after the traditions of unknown centuries, and at a time whenthe historical pride of the warriors was awakened to celebrate thebarbarous deeds of their ancestors?
The wedding was simple. It consisted chiefly in gifts to the bride,Multoona. The girl was fantastically dressed, with ornaments of shells andfeathers, and she followed the young prince demurely. After the ceremonyof the bridal gifts came the Fire-fly dance, in which light-torchesgleamed out in vanishing spirals here and there, and over all the plain.Then followed the _Tamanous_ or Spirit dance, in which a peculiar kind offrenzy is excited, as has been described. The excitement was somewhat lessthan usual this night, on account of the great orgies which were expectedto follow.
The third and grea
t night of the Potlatch came. It was the night of thefull October moon. The sun had no sooner gone down in the crimsoncloud-seas among the mountains, than the moon, like another sun, broad andglorious, lifted its arch in the distant blue of the serene horizon.
The Indians gathered on the glimmering plain in the early shadows ofevening, besmeared with yellow ochre and war-paint. Every head was plumed.There was a savagery in their looks that had not been seen before.
The wild dancers began their motions. The Spirit or _Tamanous_ danceawakened a frenzy, and all were now impatient for the dance of the EvilSpirits to begin.
The moon hung low over the plateau and the river. The fires were kindled,and the smoke presently gave a clouded gold color to the air.
The biters were out, running hither and thither after their manner, andfilling the air with hideous cries.
All was expectation, when the old chief of the Cascades stepped upon theplatform, and said:
"Listen, my children--listen, O sons of the warriors of old. Twice fourtimes sixty seasons, according to the notch-sticks, have the wings of wildgeese cleaved the sky, and all these years I have lived in peace. My lastmoon has arisen--I have seen the smile of the Great Spirit, and I knowthat the last moon hangs over my head.
"Warriors, listen! You have always obeyed me. Obey me once more. Dance notthe dance of the Evil Spirits to-night. Let me die in peace. Let not bloodstain my last days. I want you to remember the days of Umatilla as thedays of corn and maize and the pipes of peace. I have given you all Ihave--my days are done. You will respect me."
There were mutterings everywhere, suppressed cries of rage, and sharpwords of chagrin and disappointment. The old chief saw the generaldissatisfaction, and felt it like a crushing weight upon his soul.
"I am going to light the pipe of peace," said he, "and smoke it now beforeyou. As many of you as love Umatilla, light the pipes of peace."
Not a light glimmered in the smoky air. There were words of hate andsuppressed cries everywhere. A circle was forming, it widened, and itseemed as though the dreaded dance was about to begin in spite of thecommand of the old chief.
Suddenly a form in white stood beside Umatilla. It was Gretchen. A whitearm was raised, and the martial strain of the "Wild Hunt of Lutzow"marched out like invisible horsemen, and caused every Indian to listen.Then there were a few sharp, discordant strains, and then the _Traumerei_lifted its spirit-wings of music on the air.
[Music: Tranmerei.
BY ROBERT SCHUMANN, SIMPLIFIED BY F. BRANDEIS.]
[Music]
[Music]
The murmurs ceased. The plain grew still. "Romance" followed, and then thehaunting strain of the _Traumerei_ rose again. It ceased. Lights began toglimmer here and there. Peace-pipes were being lighted.
"You have saved your people," said Umatilla. "Play it again."
Again and again the dream-music drifted out on the air. The plain was nowfilled with peace-pipes. When the last blended tones died away, the wholetribe were seated on the long plateau, and every old warrior was smoking apipe of peace.
Gretchen saw that her spirit, through the violin, had calmed the sea. Shewas sure now that she had rightly read her mission in life. Amid the sceneof glimmering peace-pipes, a heavenly presence seemed near her. She hadbroken the traditions of centuries by the sympathetic thrill of foursimple strings. She felt that Von Weber was there in spirit, and Schumann.She felt that her father's soul was near her; but, more than all, she feltthat she was doing the work of the Great Commission. She bowed her head onthe instrument, thought of poor, terrorized Mrs. Woods in her lonely home,and wept.
A seen and unseen world had come to her--real life. She saw her power;the gates of that mysterious kingdom, in which the reborn soul is a newcreation, had been opened to her. Her spirit seemed to rise as onnew-created wings, and the world to sink beneath her. She had spiritualsight, ears, and senses--a new consciousness of Divine happiness. Herpurpose became strong to live for the soul alone, and she sung, over andover again, amid the silence of the peace-pipes and the rising of thosepuffs of smoke in the silver illumination of the high moon--
"In the deserts let me labor, On the mountains let me tell."
The Log School-House on the Columbia Page 15
