Long, long ago, our ancients had neither sheep nor horses nor cattle; yet they
had domestic animals of various kinds--amongst them Turkeys.
In Mátsaki, or the Salt City, there dwelt at this time many very wealthy
families, who possessed large flocks of these birds, which it was their custom
to have their slaves or the poor people of the town herd in the plains round
about Thunder Mountain, below which their town stood, and on the mesas beyond.
Now, in Mátsaki at this time there stood, away out near the border of the
town, a little tumbledown, single-room house, wherein there lived alone a very
poor girl,--so poor that her clothes were patched and tattered and dirty, and
her person, on account of long neglect and ill-fare, shameful to look upon,
though she herself was not ugly, but had a winning face and bright eyes; that
is, if the face had been more oval and the eyes less oppressed with care. So
poor was she that she herded Turkeys for a living; and little was given to her
except the food she subsisted on from day to day, and perhaps now and then a
piece of old, worn-out clothing.
Like the extremely poor everywhere and at all times, she was humble, and by
her longing for kindness, which she never received, she was made kind even to
the creatures that depended upon her, and lavished this kindness upon the
Turkeys she drove to and from the plains every day. Thus, the Turkeys,
appreciating this, were very obedient. They loved their mistress so much that
at her call they would unhesitatingly come, or at her behest go whithersoever
and whensoever she wished.
One day this poor girl, driving her Turkeys down into the plains, passed near
Old Zuñi,--the Middle Ant Hill of the World, as our ancients have taught us to
call our home,--and as she went along, she heard the herald-priest proclaiming
from the house-top that the Dance of the Sacred Bird (which is a very blessed
and welcome festival to our people, especially to the youths and maidens who
are permitted to join in the dance) would take place in four days.
Now, this poor girl had never been permitted to join in or even to watch the
great festivities of our people or the people in the neighboring towns, and
naturally she longed very much to see this dance. But she put aside her
longing, because she reflected: "It is impossible that I should watch, much
less join in the Dance of the Sacred Bird, ugly and ill-clad as I am." And
thus musing to herself, and talking to her Turkeys, as was her custom, she
drove them on, and at night returned them to their cages round the edges and
in the plazas of the town.
Every day after that, until the day named for the dance, this poor girl, as
she drove her Turkeys out in the morning, saw the people busy in cleaning and
preparing their garments, cooking delicacies, and otherwise making ready for
the festival to which they had been duly invited by the other villagers, and
heard them talking and laughing merrily at the prospect of the coming holiday.
So, as she went about with her Turkeys through the day, she would talk to
them, though she never dreamed that they understood a word of what she was
saying.
It seems that they did understand even more than she said to them, for on the
fourth day, after the people of Mátsaki had all departed toward Zuñi and the
girl was wandering around the plains alone with her Turkeys, one of the big
Gobblers strutted up to her, and making a fan of his tail, and skirts, as it
were, of his wings, blushed with pride and puffed with importance, stretched
out his neck and said: "Maiden mother, we know what your thoughts are, and
truly we pity you, and wish that, like the other people of Mátsaki, you might
enjoy this holiday in the town below. We have said to ourselves at night,
after you have placed us safely and comfortably in our cages: 'Truly our
maiden mother is as worthy to enjoy these things as any one in Mátsaki, or
even Zuñi.' Now, listen well, for I speak the speech of all the elders of my
people: If you will drive us in early this afternoon, when the dance is most
gay and the people are most happy, we will help you to make yourself so
handsome and so prettily dressed that never a man, woman, or child amongst all
those who are assembled at the dance will know you; but rather, especially the
young men, will wonder whence you came, and long to lay hold of your hand in
the circle that forms round the altar to dance. Maiden mother, would you like
to go to see this dance, and even to join in it, and be merry with the best of
your people?"
The poor girl was at first surprised. Then it seemed all so natural that the
Turkeys should talk to her as she did to them, that she sat down on a little
mound, and, leaning over, looked at them and said: "My beloved Turkeys, how
glad I am that we may speak together! But why should you tell me of things
that you full well know I so long to, but cannot by any possible means, do?"
"Trust in us," said the old Gobbler, "for I speak the speech of my people, and
when we begin to call and call and gobble and gobble, and turn toward our home
in Mátsaki, do you follow us, and we will show you what we can do for you.
Only let me tell you one thing: No one knows how much happiness and good
fortune may come to you if you but enjoy temperately the pleasures we enable
you to participate in. But if, in the excess of your enjoyment, you should
forget us, who are your friends, yet so much depend upon you, then we will
think: 'Behold, this our maiden mother, though so humble and poor, deserves,
forsooth, her hard life, because, were she more prosperous, she would be unto
others as others now are unto her.'"
"Never fear, O my Turkeys," cried the maiden,--only half trusting that they
could do so much for her, yet longing to try,--"never fear. In everything you
direct me to do I will be obedient as you always have been to me."
The sun had scarce begun to decline, when the Turkeys of their own accord
turned homeward, and the maiden followed them, light of heart. They knew their
places well, and immediately ran to them. When all had entered, even their
bare-legged children, the old Gobbler called to the maiden, saying: "Enter our
house." She therefore went in. "Now, maiden, sit down," said he, "and give to
me and my companions, one by one, your articles of clothing. We will see if we
cannot renew them."
The maiden obediently drew off the ragged old mantle that covered her
shoulders and cast it on the ground before the speaker. He seized it in his
beak, and spread it out, and picked and picked at it; then he trod upon it,
and lowering his wings, began to strut back and forth over it. Then taking it
up in his beak, and continuing to strut, he puffed and puffed, and laid it
down at the feet of the maiden, a beautiful white embroidered cotton mantle.
Then another Gobbler came forth, and she gave him another article of dress,
and then another and another, until each garment the maiden had worn was new
and as beautiful as any possessed by her mistresses in Mátsaki.
Before the maiden donned all these garments, the Turkeys circled about her,
singing and singing, and clucking and clucking, and brushing her with their
wings, until her person was as clean and her skin as smooth and bright as that
of the fairest maiden of the wealthiest home in Mátsaki. Her hair was soft and
wavy, instead of being an ugly, sun-burnt shock; her checks were full and
dimpled, and her eyes dancing with smiles,--for she now saw how true had been
the words of the Turkeys.
Finally, one old Turkey came forward and said: "Only the rich ornaments worn
by those who have many possessions are lacking to thee, O maiden mother. Wait
a moment. We have keen eyes, and have gathered many valuable things,--as such
things, being small, though precious, are apt to be lost from time to time by
men and maidens."
Spreading his wings, he trod round and round upon the ground, throwing his
head back, and laying his wattled beard on his neck; and, presently beginning
to cough, he produced in his beak a beautiful necklace; another Turkey brought
forth earrings, and so on, until all the proper ornaments appeared, befitting
a well-clad maiden of the olden days, and were laid at the feet of the poor
Turkey girl.
With these beautiful things she decorated herself, and, thanking the Turkeys
over and over, she started to go, and they called out: "O maiden mother, leave
open the wicket, for who knows whether you will remember your Turkeys or not
when your fortunes are changed, and if you will not grow ashamed that you have
been the maiden mother of Turkeys? But we love you, and would bring you to
good fortune. Therefore, remember our words of advice, and do not tarry too
long."
"I will surely remember, O my Turkeys!" answered the maiden.
Hastily she sped away down the river path toward Zuñi. When she arrived there,
she went in at the western side of the town and through one of the long
covered ways that lead into the dance court. When she came just inside of the
court, behold, every one began to look at her, and many murmurs ran through
the crowd,--murmurs of astonishment at her beauty and the richness of her
dress,--and the people were all asking one another, "Whence comes this
beautiful maiden?"
Not long did she stand there neglected. The chiefs of the dance, all gorgeous
in their holiday attire, hastily came to her, and, with apologies for the
incompleteness of their arrangements,--though these arrangements were as
complete as they possibly could be,--invited her to join the youths and
maidens dancing round the musicians and the altar in the center of the plaza.
With a blush and a smile and a toss of her hair over her eyes, the maiden
stepped into the circle, and the finest youths among the dancers vied with one
another for her hand. Her heart became light and her feet merry, and the music
sped her breath to rapid coming and going, and the warmth swept over her face,
and she danced and danced until the sun sank low in the west.
But, alas! In the excess of her enjoyment, she thought not of her Turkeys, or,
if she thought of them, she said to herself, "How is this, that I should go
away from the most precious consideration to my flock of gobbling Turkeys? I
will stay a while longer, and just before the sun sets I will run back to
them, that these people may not see who I am, and that I may have the joy of
hearing them talk day after day and wonder who the girl was who joined in
their dance."
So the time sped on, and another dance was called, and another, and never a
moment did the people let her rest; but they would have her in every dance as
they moved around the musicians and the altar in the center of the plaza.
At last the sun set, and the dance was well-nigh over, when, suddenly breaking
away, the girl ran out, and, being swift of foot,--more so than most of the
people of her village,--she sped up the river path before any one could follow
the course she had taken.
Meantime, as it grew late, the Turkeys began to wonder and wonder that their
maiden mother did not return to them. At last a gray old Gobbler mournfully
exclaimed, "It is as we might have expected. She has forgotten us; therefore
is she not worthy of better things than those she has been accustomed to. Let
us go forth to the mountains and endure no more of this irksome captivity,
inasmuch as we may no longer think our maiden mother as good and true as once
we thought her."
So, calling and calling to one another in loud voices, they trooped out of
their cage and ran up toward the Cañon of the Cottonwoods, and then round
behind Thunder Mountain, through the Gateway of Zuñi, and so on up the valley.
All breathless, the maiden arrived at the open wicket and looked in. Behold,
not a Turkey was there! Trailing them, she ran and she ran up the valley to
overtake them; but they were far ahead, and it was only after a long time that
she came within the sound of their voices, and then, redoubling her speed,
well-nigh overtook them, when she heard them singing this song:
__
"K'yaanaa, to! to!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
Ye ye!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
Yee huli huli!
"Hon awen Tsita
Itiwanakwïn
Otakyaan aaa kyaa;
Lesna akyaaa
Shoya-k'oskwi
Teyäthltokwïn
Hon aawani!
Ye yee huli huli,
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!"[1]
Up the river, _to! to!_
Up the river, _to! to!_
Sing _ye ye!_
Up the river, _to! to!_
Up the river, _to! to!_
Sing _yee huli huli!_
__
Oh, our maiden mother
To the Middle Place
To dance went away;
Therefore as she lingers,
To the Cañon Mesa
And the plains above it
We all run away!
Sing _ye yee huli huli,
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!_"
Hearing this, the maiden called to her Turkeys; called and called in vain.
They only quickened their steps, spreading their wings to help them along,
singing the song over and over until, indeed, they came to the base of the
Cañon Mesa, at the borders of the Zuñi Mountains. Then singing once more their
song in full chorus, they spread wide their wings, and _thlakwa-a-a,
thlakwa-a-a_, they fluttered away over the plains above.
The poor Turkey girl threw her hands up and looked down at her dress. With
dust and sweat, behold! it was changed to what it had been, and she was the
same poor Turkey girl that she was before. Weary, grieving, and despairing,
she returned to Mátsaki.
Thus it was in the days of the ancients. Therefore, where you see the rocks
leading up to the top of Cañon Mesa (Shoya-k'oskwi), there are the tracks of
turkeys and other figures to be seen. The latter are the song that the Turkeys
sang, graven in the rocks; and all over the plains along the borders of Zuñi
Mountains since that day turkeys have been more abundant than in any other
place.
After all, the gods dispose of men according as men are fitted; and if the
poor be poor in heart and spirit as well as in appearance, how will they be
aught but poor to the end of their days? Thus shortens my story.
Top comments