Part 18

No one knew how old Ah-wi-yah was--no one knew when she first came to the valley of Yosemite. There was none of all her people who could recall the time when she was not already very, very old and wrinkled. The most venerable sagamore of the tribe remembered that the old squaw was regarded as the only living relic of an age of by-gone majesty, when he was yet scarcely more than a small pappoose, boarded and strapped with thongs to his mother’s back. He recalled that it was she who smiled upon him, and patted his head approvingly on the glorious and never to be forgotten day when his little hands and feeble arms first drew a slender, feathered arrow to its barbed head, and from a child’s bow sent it hurtling on its deadly flight at a startled rabbit that traversed his path. He remembered too, that the venerable Ah-wi-yah, standing erect before her lodge with fiery, flashing eyes, led the wild, fierce shout of triumph when he, grown to the stature of a brave, came home from the warpath with his first scalp. And it was the old squaw who, with her own wrinkled hands, hung the still bleeding trophy on his lodge pole, and foretold that the ghastly, gory emblem of his valor would have many, many children.

Yes, Ah-wi-yah was very, very old--so old that she recalled the time when the fair Po-ho-ho waterfall was but a silvery, gleaming ribbon no larger than a stalk of maize--so old that she remembered the days when the Mission Fathers had not yet come to the Land of the Golden Sunset.

White as the snows of the Sierran winter was the hair of Ah-wi-yah, but her eye--so wondrous dark--was bright and piercing beneath her shaggy, wrinkled brow, and her voice was sweet and flute-like; clear as a wandering echo amid the towering, craggy hills of the smiling beautiful valley wherein her tribe had lived and died for unnumbered ages.

Ah-wi-yah was often the counsellor of the chieftains of the tribe for, squaw though she was, she alone knew the records of the more glorious and war-like past of her fast diminishing kindred. The old squaw lived not in the dull and spiritless present, though her aged tongue was wise and crafty. She lived in the glorious olden days, that wondrous, shadowy past that held for her such memories of long vanished greatness--and who knows what sweet and tender romance?

When I, a curious tourist, wished to study the wonderful traditions of the tribe, the warriors said: “Oh pale face, there is none left to tell thee of our glorious and deathless past but Ah-wi-yah, the Beautiful. In the vast storehouse of her unfailing memory there are many marvellous and beautiful legends. Go to her--the wise old squaw--she will tell them to thee, we doubt not gladly.”

And the white haired squaw with the flute-like voice told me many thrilling, beautiful legends of the days when her tribe was strong and mighty--the days when the Manitou never forgot his chosen people, the children of the lustrous Sun. Of all the legends that Ah-wi-yah told the wondering pale face, there was none so beautiful as the love of Tis-sa-ack and Tu-toch-a-nu-lah. This I will relate just as the wonderful story-teller, who has long since been gathered to her fathers, and whose fragile bones are now mouldering in a dark and gloomy canyon of the towering Sierras, told it me.

* * * * *

“The memory of man, O Pale Face, goeth not so far back into the distant past as the happy days when the children of the glorious Sun first built their blazing council fires in the beautiful, mountain locked valley of the Yosemite. In that unremembered time the baleful glitter of the white sails of the accursed, marauding pale face had not yet defiled the pure blue waters of the broad Pacific. The Sierras were illumined by the red glare of the watch-fires of a mighty, heroic race of redmen, and the waters laughed and sang in joyful cadence with the dancing of their light canoes.

“And in those joyous days the Manitou smiled upon his chosen people, for they were as yet pure, and uncontaminated by the conflicting creeds, multitudinous diseases, bad fire-water and worse morals of the wicked white man. The Indian was a fearless, noble warrior and a man, roaming the trackless woods and traversing the waters of his ancient ancestral home as free as the wild birds of his native hills.

“In that far distant time happiness hovered like a golden cloud over the lodges of the redman, for within all was peace, and comfort, and plenty. Neither cold nor hunger came like an evil spirit to bring woe to the redman’s bosom. The forests were alive with mighty game, and he was a poor and lowly hunter indeed, who could not show that acknowledged badge of fearless courage, a necklace made of the cruel claws of the fierce grizzly bear. The lakes and streams were teeming with glittering fish, in number like the falling leaves of the yellow autumn, many-hued and brilliant as the rainbow.

“For him who fain would seek for glory, there was many a gory scalp lock to be fairly and hazardously earned in fierce, relentless battle, while for the feeble, timid spirit who shrank from the hardships and dangers of war, the warm and fertile soil promised the husbandman rich rewards of nutritious maize.

“On the green-verdured slopes and in the broad, smiling valleys gleamed many a comfortable wigwam of poles and dried skins of wild beasts, wrought with the weird hieroglyphs of the tribe--strange, ancient characters and picture-writing, unintelligible even to the Indian of to-day. The smoke of a thousand lodges rose and mingled with the snowy vapor--the fleeces of the sky--mingled with the billowy flocks and herds of the Manitou.

“The valley of the sparkling Yosemite--that wonderful stream of liquid silver whose mystic source is in the clouds, far, far beyond any trail of man--was the earthly paradise of the redman of the mountains. To say that the great ineffable Beyond--the land of Manitou the Mighty--was fairer than the beauteous valley of the Yosemite, was the utmost limit of the Indian’s faith in heaven--those Happy Hunting Grounds to which death alone could transport him. Aye, it was the farthest limit of the redman’s imagination.

* * * * *

“Chief among the sachems of his tribe, was Tu-toch-a-nu-lah. Tall was he, like the towering redwood; strong were his limbs like those of a mighty oak; rugged were his broad shoulders as the frowning, beetling cliffs of the mountain locked home of his people. There was none so bold and so brave as he--the mightiest hunter and most daring warrior of all his tribe. Within his lodge there hung the scalps of countless enemies, and the claws of many a savage bear of the mountains. Brave? Had he not slain by a single blow with his keen hunting knife the terrible panther--alone and single-handed had he not slain him? And where was the lodge that was large enough to hold the wide, branching horns of the kingly elk he had brought panting to the earth with his deadly, slender-shafted arrows? Straight was his handsome form as the ashen spear-shaft, and elastic as the bow of hickory; swifter was his moccasined foot than the red deer’s; lighter his step than the mountain lion’s; bright was his piercing eye as the first beams of the rising sun; keen was his vision as that of the king of birds--the great war eagle. There was not among all the Sun’s brave children a chief so nobly grand as he.

“Far up on the side of a steep, wooded mountain was the home lodge of Tu-toch-a-nu-lah. Here, like an eagle in his cloud-kissed eyrie, he watched over the welfare of his people as became a wise and mighty sachem who loved them and was well beloved by them.

“Beloved by them? Aye, and passing well, for he was their loyal, ever-ready champion, their benefactor and protector, and they--being red, not white--were grateful.

“Ranging over the fertile upper plains, the mighty sachem herded droves on droves of the graceful red deer, that his people might choose the best and fattest for the feast. High up amid the rocks were his flocks of big-horned mountain sheep--the picturesque and shaggy cimarron. The savage bear he gave not peace, for he drove him forth from his rocky lair that the braves of the tribe might win laurels in the hunt.

“Sometimes, when the skies had been unkind and the Sun Father had scorched the delicate leaves and fragrant blossoms and shrivelled the tender stalks of the young maize for many days, the wise and thoughtful sachem brought forth the magic red pipe he had fashioned in the far off land of the fierce Dacotahs. As he silently sat and smoked the sweetly pungent killikinnic, the billowy clouds of sweet incense were gently wafted to the sapphire skies and kissed them, so tenderly and lovingly that they wept for very joy. And those blissful tears fell as a soothing, gentle rain upon the drooping maize, and trees and flowers, until they raised their fainting, almost dying heads in joy and gladness. Then the vast choirs of brilliant-hued singing birds awoke once more the musical echoes of the sighing forest, and sweetly sang the praises, of the mighty Tu-toch-a-nu-lah, bravest and most tender-hearted of his race--greatest of all the proud and haughty Yosemite.

“When the drought was over and the parched and thirsty soil was once more moist, the fragrant smoke billows of the magic pipe floated blithely, airily up to the fiercely glaring sun and brought down millions of warm, yet softened rays through the clear blue air that soon ripened the luxuriant crops into gold--gold that the joyful women should gather with singing and merry making in the harvest-time to be.

“When the mighty sachem was happy, and laughed, the Yosemite danced and sparkled in the sunlight as though rejoicing with him, its winding way rippling into pleasant, cheery smiles. When he sighed, the soughing wind wailed mournfully through the cone-laden boughs of the tall bread pines, or howled dismally down the dark and gloomy canyons like the spirit of some tortured brave. When he spake, his voice was sometimes like the soft, gentle cooing of the ring-dove, at others like the deep, sonorous voice of the cataract. But when he raging smote to death the giant grizzly, or fiercely tore the scalp lock from the skull of an enemy, his fearful war whoop rang out among the crags and gorges of the Sierras like the loud mutterings of the thunder, aye, like the awful rumbling and crashing of the earthquake.

“None there was in his tribe so learned as Tu-toch-a-nu-lah, for the smoke of his pipe oft brought him wonderful visions that the eye of none other ever saw. Through the blue, odorous haze of the burning killikinnic the Manitou had many a time spoken words of wisdom to his favorite child.

“And the noble sachem had travelled much. The soft tread of his moccasined feet had been felt by all the land from Oregon to the gulf, north and south, and from the Father of Waters to the blue Pacific, east and west. The broad prints of his snow shoes were upon the eternal snows of every land in the ice bound north. He had been in the far off Northland where, on a throne of glittering ice, robed in a mantle of ermine frost, sits the Queen of the Heavens. And he had seen crouching at her feet the great White Rabbit--with his own eyes had he seen it. There he had walked through the valley of peace and plenty, in the land where the year is but a night and a day. He had passed reverently among the graves of his ancestors, who lay there sleeping beneath the green mantle that the eternal snows could not chill. He had communed with that sleeping race of giant redmen and had heard them whisper of the day when time shall be no more, when the enemies of his race shall have passed and those mighty warriors shall arise to claim their long lost birthright.

“And Tu-toch-a-nu-lah knew the message of the north wind as it whistled among the mountains. To him spake the giant redwoods, as they battled with the gales of winter. And they spake of battles won in other days, for within those forest monarchs were imprisoned the souls of his forefathers, those red kings of aforetime. To him sang the robin in the springtime, and he heard and understood the twitter of the snowbird, in the days when Winter had laid his frosty fingers upon the verdant valley. For him the pines and cedars gave forth their balmy breath and fragrant balsam. He was Nature’s best beloved child and his mother was kind to the sachem.

“He it was who taught the boys of his tribe to catch the fish with hooks of bone in summer, and to kill them with the spear through the icy coverings of the streams in winter. ’Twas he who taught them how to make the bow and the barbed and feathered ashen shafts that should slay the grizzly and their foes among the redmen. And when the bows and shafts were done ’twas Tu-toch-a-nu-lah who led them into the sombre, fragrant woods and taught them to stalk and slay the deer. He was the children’s best friend and wisest counsellor.

“Yes, he was a brave and mighty warrior, and a wise one.

“Tender hearted and loving though he was, the great heart of Tu-toch-a-nu-lah had never been touched, be it ever so lightly, by love of woman. Strong and tireless in the chase, brave in battle, wiser than the wisest at the council fires of his people, kind and loving to all, the mighty warrior knew not yet the burning, all consuming glow of the most sacred fire that burns on human altars--he knew not the fire of passion. Of all the dark-eyed maidens and comely squaws of his tribe, there was none whose bright and longing eyes had ever aroused in his bosom the glorious and all-responsive thrill that might have bid her hope. Gaze upon him as yearningly and tenderly as she might, there was not one who could say that she was the woman whom fate had set apart for him.

“No, the handsome sachem had never known the love of woman--and yet the star of human destiny was ever hovering over his beloved head, and was soon to illumine with its fiery darts the utmost depth of the still, dark waters of romance that lay hidden within his soul.

* * * * *

“There had been a long and parching drought, and the delicate leaves and blossoms, and the tender heads of the young growing maize were drooping in weakness and sorrow, when from his lofty mountain lodge came forth Tu-toch-a-nu-lah. In his hand he held the magic calumet. Seating himself on a rocky height whence he could smile down upon his faithful people, he smoked, and blew the perfumed clouds toward heaven. It was early in the morning, and the red-glowing Sun Father was just rising from behind the mountains, his thirsty beams greedily drinking the lovely diamond-like dew-drops that tremblingly hung upon the verdure of the valley.

“At the further end of the valley was a mighty gray dome of time-worn granite, smooth and round as though made and polished by human hands. As the circling smoke rings rose from the sachem’s calumet, the gentle breeze bore them slowly to the southward, where they lingered in fantastic wreaths about the dome. The sun gilded with its brilliant beams the rocky summit and pierced the hovering clouds of perfumed pipe smoke as with golden arrows. The dome was surrounded as it were with a splendid halo, such as the chieftain had never before seen. As he gazed, the sky above the dome was illumined as by a gigantic, surpassingly beautiful rainbow.

“The smoke now faded away and there in a blaze of golden glory sat a maiden! Beautiful was she, beyond all the women Tu-toch-a-nu-lah had ever seen. She was not like the dusky, dark-eyed, raven-haired maidens of his tribe, for her skin was like the warm and radiant glow of the fiery setting sun on the calm still waters of the blue Pacific. Red were her cheeks like the roses of the valley. Her hair, like the ripened maize in autumn, fell over her white shoulders and about her lovely form as falls the sparkling spray of the beautiful cataract--the Bridal Veil, Po-ho-no--like golden water rippling over rocks of silver. Shining fair was her brow as though illumined by the pale, soft beauty of moonlight, and deep and dark was the liquid blue of her eyes, like the shaded pools of the verdant valley, far, far below. Small and shining was her foot, like a tuft of feathery snow twinkling through the boughs of the pines and firs in winter--like the spring of a fairy bow was its graceful arch. Over her dimpled, ivory shoulders fluttered two delicate wings of rose-like cloud. As his eyes fell upon her she called to him. Sweet and sad was her voice as the call of the night bird of the forest.

“The Sachem sprang to his feet and stood and gazed in speechless wonder. The precious red calumet fell unheeded to the ground, whence it bounded off the rocky ledge and went clattering down to a fragmentary fate on the cruel jagged rocks below.

“The beautiful maiden smiled upon him, and whispered softly as she held out her arms lovingly, entreatingly toward him. ‘I, thy Tis-sa-ack, am here. Oh, Tu-toch-a-nu-lah, come’--then gliding swiftly up the smooth and dangerous rocky dome, she vanished over its rounded top.

“As springs the startled deer from his leafy covert in the woods, so, with heart aflame, sprang Tu-toch-a-nu-lah in pursuit of the lovely maiden. Swift and sure of foot was he like the panther of the mountains, alert was he of ear like the wolf of the prairie, keen was his eye as that of the eagle, yet hopeless was his pursuit. The soft and beautiful down from her snowy wings was wafted back, veiling her from his enamored eyes and enveloping him in a feathery cloud denser than the mist of the morning. When the mountain breeze had borne the obscuring cloud away and he could once more see, the maiden had disappeared. There was naught upon the dome but a rosy haze that was fast dissolving before the merciless rays of the Sun Father. Far below him he saw the smoke of the cheerful camp fires of his people--the people who loved him and whom he loved. But he turned again and gazed longingly at the rocky dome.

“So fell the wise and mighty chieftain before the arrows of all conquering Love. He at last was as other men--touched by the divine fire.

* * * * *

“The ardent passion of new found love leaves room for no other sentiment, and his people soon found Th-toch-a-nu-lah sadly changed. He went no more upon the hunt or fierce foray; the savage bear no longer cowered and trembled at the dread sound of his footstep amid the mountains; his enemies blanched not, nor quaked with fear at the thunder of his voice. The sachem was no longer the wise counsellor and devoted ruler; he was like a new and strange being, and his neglected people marvelled much, and beheld the change with sorrow.

“Every morning was Tu-toch-a-nu-lah to be found eagerly wending his way to the rocky dome where he first saw the lovely Tis-sa-ack. He laid love offerings of wild flowers and the fruit of the bread pine upon the rocky dome, and awaited her coming with all the ardor of one upon whose heart love has but newly smiled. But only when he was far distant from the dome on which she sat enthroned would the beautiful maiden appear before his dazzled vision.

“Pursue her as quickly as he might, he caught her not. He heard but the faint and far-away sound of her footsteps, gentle as the falling of an autumn leaf, and the soft rustle of her wings as the unpitying wind blew their snowy, bewildering down into his longing eyes. He might devour with passionate glances her beautiful, shining form; he might in thought revel in her glory of golden hair; he might even look from afar into the limpid depths of her gentle blue eyes, yet was he never to clasp his loved one to his bosom. Struck dumb by her wondrous beauty, never did he speak before her, and never again did her sweet-toned voice fall like the tinkle of rippling brooks upon his enamored ear.

“And with the full blossoming of the flower of love in the heart of the sagamore came neglect of duty. His all absorbing passion swallowed up all regard for the welfare of his people--all remembrance of the beautiful valley for which he had ever so tenderly cared. The world was lost and found in Tis-sa-ack. So all consuming was his passion for her, so constant his thoughts of her, that the crops of Yosemite were neglected--aye, forgotten, and they, being without rain and deprived of his tender care, drooped their delicate heads mournfully and shrank away and died. The breezes whistled and sighed sadly through the juiceless blades of the wild corn that rustled in shrivelled dry response that had naught of life in it. The grass and leaves lost their freshness and turned autumnal brown--sure harbinger of death. The flowers lost their freshness and beauty and their petals fell to the dry earth, one by one, while the bee no longer stored sweet honey in the hollow trees.

“Dazzled were the eyes of Tu-toch-a-nu-lah by the shining wings, golden hair and ivory throat of the beautiful maiden, and he saw none of this. Love had blinded him to all save its object.

“But the fair Tis-sa-ack looked down upon the unhappy neglected valley with eyes of sorrow, as she stood in the early morning upon the mighty dome. As she gazed she wept with compassion, and kneeling down on the smooth, unfeeling rock she besought the Great Spirit to be merciful unto the beautiful valley of Yosemite and bring forth again the beautiful flowers and green trees and shrubs, the delicate grasses, nodding firs and waving maize.

“Then, with an awful crash as of thunder, beneath her feet the great dome was riven asunder, and the melting snows of the Nevada gushed through the wonderful gorge as if by magic! A lovely lake formed between the steep walls of living rock, and a gently murmuring river started therefrom on its meandering, life-giving course through the parched and thirsty valley.

“And then came a wonderful transformation. The valley was infused with new life. The flowers and trees, the withered grass and the yellowing maize raised their dying heads and smiled with joy as the stream of life crept silently through the parched soil at their shrunken roots. The breeze was laden with the perfumed thanks of the blossoms; the freshened blades of the wild corn rustled and shivered with pleasure as the moisture laden air softly caressed them. The mighty trees were thrilled with delight as the sap, with velvet footfall, ran up their trunks, bringing life and energy and renewed vigor. All was peace and happiness again, and the valley of the Yosemite was once more verdant and beautiful.

“But the mysterious maiden, for whom the valley had so sadly suffered--she who had so successfully appealed to the Manitou--was seen no more. As she flew swiftly as flies the swallow, away toward the western skies, there to fade from the sachem’s sight forever, myriads of delicate downy tufts were wafted from her lovely wings. They fell upon the margin of the new and beautiful lake, and where they fell may to-day be seen thousands on thousands of fragrant little white violets.

“And Tu-toch-a-nu-lah is still wandering sadly about the world seeking her whom he loved and lost. Ere he left his ancestral home, to return no more, that the noble race of Yosemite might never forget him he carved the outlines of his god-like head upon the haughty rock that bears his name. There it will forever stand, steadfastly gazing toward the dome whereon he found and lost Tis-sa-ack, the beloved--the first and last love of his noble heart.

“Sometimes, when the fragrant morning breeze sweeps gently round and round the rocky dome, the maidens of the Yosemite whisper one to another, saying:

“‘Hark! Tis-sa-ack the loved and lost one, is calling the brave Tu-toch-a-nu-lah.’”

A GREAT CITY’S SHAME