Adventures Among the Red Indians. Sidney Harry Wright
noise enough for two dozen. One “uneasy imp of darkness” was beating with his fist a drum made of deer-skin stretched over a short length of hollow tree-trunk; the other had a gourd, so dry that it resembled wood, which contained a double handful of pebbles and which he shook as a child shakes a rattle, only with more disastrous results to Christian ears.
The “square” was formed by four long huts or pavilions, in one of which sat an assembly of chiefs, cross-legged and smoking; and to these the Captain was introduced with a good deal of ceremony. In the middle of the quadrangle was an enormous fire of pitch-pine, and, between it and the hut where Hall was now seated, were over twenty young women, who sat—in accordance with local etiquette—with their backs turned to the chiefs and visitors. These were the dancers, and at a given signal they all rose, and went through some manœuvres far more tedious than interesting.
Perhaps the Englishman’s face showed that he was bored, for the oldest of the braves ordered the dancing to cease after a while, and remarking to the agent that he had something in store that would amuse the stranger, banged a copper vessel which did duty for a gong. Immediately thirty fine young men sprang up from various quarters of the court, and made a dash for a heap of sticks or clubs which lay close to 72 where the white men were sitting. Certainly these Indians were a contrast to the poor wretches encountered at the edge of the wood; every one of them looked as hard as iron and as agile as a puma. Uttering fearful shrieks, and swinging their clubs round their heads, they performed the wild sort of war-dance that Captain Hall had heard of and had despaired of seeing, and followed it up with a series of very ingenious and difficult somersaults, round and round the fire.
“That’s only the first part of the preparation for to-morrow,” said the agent. “Come along, we must go to the town hall for the second.”
They followed the chiefs to a very large circular hut beyond the far side of the square, which was lighted and heated by another pitch-pine fire; and they had no sooner sat down than the thirty athletes crowded into the building and at once stripped off ornaments and clothes. Supporting the roof were six stanchions, and to each of these one of the Indians betook himself and stood embracing it. Then six of the chiefs rose solemnly, and at once every voice was hushed. Each of these had provided himself with a short stick, at the end of which was a tiny rake—in some cases consisting of a row of garfish teeth, in others of a dozen or more iron needle-points, with their blunt ends stuck in a corn-cob. Every chief approached his man, and having drenched him from head to foot with water, commenced an operation calculated to set any civilised man’s teeth and nerves on edge.
Scroop-scroop, sounded the rakes, like razors being drawn over very bristly chins; and Captain Hall 73 realised that these young men had given themselves up to be scraped and scarified with the rows of teeth. All stood quite passive while both thighs, both calves, and both upper-arms were scored with cuts seven or eight inches in length, the pleasantness of which proceeding may be gauged by the fact that, in a few minutes, the victims were bathed in blood from heel to shoulder.
“But what’s it for?” whispered the Captain, fretted by the long silence and the whole uncanny exhibition, as batch after batch of athletes submitted themselves to the ordeal.
“They reckon it makes them more limber for to-morrow’s performance,” explained the agent. “They’re the ‘ball’ team, you know.”
Captain Hall had seen enough for one day, but early the next morning he rode further into the forest with his guide, towards the playing ground, some six miles away. This turned out to be another clearing—a space two hundred yards by twenty, at either end of which were two large green boughs stuck six feet apart in the earth, evidently meant to act as some sort of goals.
Here was the ground, right enough, and batches of spectators were continually adding themselves to those already in attendance. But where were the players, and what were they going to play?
“They go to meet the other team,” said the agent; “and they usually take their time over getting here, for there’ll be a score or two of private fights, that have been carried over from last year, to settle by the way.”
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When the white men had waited for more than two hours, they lost patience and rode further into the forest in search of the rival companies, guiding themselves more or less by the warlike howls that proceeded from the distance. And presently they came upon the bulk of the missing men, some walking in twos and threes, others stopping to adjust private grievances with the strangers or their own people (they did not seem particular), and a third contingent lying in the rank grass, singing war-songs, sleeping, smoking, or bedizening themselves. These latter, who had left the putting on of their bravery till the eleventh hour, were painting their eyelids (one black and the other yellow) and adorning their persons artistically with feathers and the tails of monkeys or wild cats. Clearly it would be idle to suggest their hurrying themselves; and the Captain and his conductor rode back to the field very much at their leisure.
Shortly after midday, however, both teams arrived, and having inspected the ground for a bare minute, made a sudden stampede, each side for its own goal.
“There’s one thing, they don’t waste any time about beginning, when they do get here,” said Hall relievedly, at which remark the agent only grinned.
In another moment an appalling chorus of yells arose from the neighbourhood of either goal, and both teams began to dance like madmen, waving over their heads the sticks with which they were going to play.
And now—imagine the Oxford and Cambridge crews, as a preliminary to the race, gathering one on either bank and bawling derisively at each other, 75 cursing like bargemen and screaming themselves hoarse in a struggle as to which side could make the more noise and utter the grosser invective or the more offensive personalities. This is what these unsophisticated savages were doing, and continued to do for a good twenty minutes, the one lot recalling to the other’s memory former defeats or instances of foul play, the other replying with both wholesale and individual charges of lying, theft, etc. Then, when the abuse began to grow monotonous, it dropped suddenly; and, at a sign from one of the chiefs, both parties advanced to the centre and laid down their sticks. These were bits of well-seasoned wood, two feet long and split at one end, the fork thus made being laced across with sinew or skin, so forming a small and very rough sort of tennis-racquet.
A deputation of braves advanced, examined the sticks severally, and carefully counted the men (thirty on each side), and, this being done to universal satisfaction, a chief harangued the teams for a quarter of an hour, bidding them “play the game.” Having finished his speech, he told them to pick up their sticks—each player had two—and go to their places; whereupon they distributed themselves much as we should do at football or hockey, each goal, however, being guarded by two men. When all were ready the committee of elders passed the ball from hand to hand, each inspecting it gravely to see that it satisfied the regulations. It was a soft, rough edition of an ordinary cricket-ball, being made of raw hide, neatly stitched, and stuffed with horse-hair.
By this time Hall had begun to understand why his 76 companion had smiled so subtly at his anticipation of a speedy commencement. They had tethered their horses some distance away, and had secured for themselves a point of vantage near the scorers. At last the old chief threw the ball in the air and beat a hasty retreat. As it fell it was caught deftly by one of the home team between his two bats, and, regardless of tripping, kicking, punching, and snatching on the part of the other side, he began bravely to force a way towards the opposite goal, backed up sturdily by his fellows, who were waiting for him to throw the ball to them as soon as he saw himself brought to a final stop by his adversaries. And thus the match proceeded, being—as may be seen—not at all unlike our Rugby game; and whenever a goal was scored by either team, the delirious shouting of the spectators might have added to the impression of a modern onlooker that he was witnessing a Crystal Palace cup tie.
But there were two respects in which their rules would have profited by a little overhauling. We consider an hour and a half ample time for a match to last; but, though Captain Hall watched the Indians’ game for five hours, it was not quite finished when he left. Twenty “was the game,”