THE HUNTING DANCE.
But the Hunting Dance! What memories of centuries past are kept alive by this brown-skinned race, as they observe the ancient feast of an aboriginal people.
With an invitation from the old chieftain, Tallahassee, who is patriarch of the tribe, to attend the Hunting Dance or Harvest Feast, the temptation was too great to resist. This festival occurs only in cycles—once every four years—and the character of its observance is known to but few, if any, white people. The Indian camps are so inaccessible that it takes nerve and muscle to reach them; but knowing that the entire band of Indians would be on hand in gala spirits and gorgeous attire, and knowing, too, that it was an opportunity that might come but once in a lifetime, the question of “to go or not to go,” was soon settled, and preparations for the irksome journey were under way.
By train ride of one hundred and sixty miles we reached a little Florida hamlet, where a teamster with a creaking wagon and a pair of lean, cadaverous-looking horses were secured. Then followed a drive of thirty miles through ponds, swamps, prairie flats, slush and water; with sand-flies whirring and buzzing in our ears as they seemed to offer their orchestral escort through the dismal funeral Allapata flats. The journey was nearing its end. The sun, shining with a July fierceness, glinted the wigwams of the Seminoles. Tired and hungry we approachedthe village. Here the signs of the festival were everywhere apparent. With the inborn courtesy, that is ever present with these untutored Seminoles in the presence of a friend, they met us with royal grace. A wigwam was placed at our disposal,our baggage was unloaded, and in a quiet and unobtrusive manner a fine saddle of venison was presented.
The Indians were bubbling over with excitement, for it was a time of rejoicing—a carnival, when men, women and children all joined in the merriment.
As our visit always means presents for the Indians, expectant faces from the little toddling children, as well as from the older members of the camp, reminded us that it was time to distribute tobacco, pipes, red handkerchiefs, trinkets for the women, candy and nuts for the little ones.
Happiness pervaded the Everglade village. The older Indians, with the exception of the old chief, played like children, keeping the joyous revelry up from hour to hour.
The afternoon of our arrival was devoted to a ball game. An aboriginal ball game! Certainly played by a code of rules more than one hundred and fifty years old, where no curved balls nor Yale coaching had entered, but where swelled and echoed the glad free trump of joy as the game went on with scientific strokes and measured tread, with now and then a “rush” as the ball missed its target and bounded out of its circle. Both men and women participated in the game, the women being as adeptas the men. The game is unique, and might be practised with much pleasure by our American boys.
Within a circle whose circumference is about thirty feet is erected a pole, which serves as a goal. The players take sides, or in country school parlance, “choose up.” The object of the game is to strike the pole with the ball, which is knocked with a racket or stick, which is made of hickory, with a netted pocket made of deer thongs.
The ball is tossed up and caught in the netted pocket, and then hurled at the pole. The opposing side endeavor to prevent the ball from touching the post. Sometimes the ball strikes the ground away beyond the line of play, and then a scamper for it is a moment of great excitement. Men, women and children make a rush for the ball, the victor having the next play. A scorekeeper stands by the pole, keeping a record of the play.
As the twilight falls the players end the game and the feast begins. The edibles are distributed into three parts, the men taking their portion and going to a selected spot, the women likewise to a point designated for them, and the children to a third location. This peculiar arrangement is not indulged in at any other time, but has some ancient significance and is followed at this festival.
When the feast is over, which consisted of the fruits of the chase and the best products of the little palmetto-fenced gardens, the band assembled for the grand hunting dance. Campfires burned all around the dancing square, and as the dusky forms emergedfrom the shadows of the great live oaks, clad as they were in most fantastic attire, the scene was most picturesque.
Women, men and children gathered at the council lodge. Yards and yards of brightly-colored ribbons floated from the head, neck and shoulders of the women, with beads of various hues and many pounds in quantity around their necks, while beaten silver ornaments fastened on their waists added to the decoration. The men, likewise, were in brilliant coats and enormous turbans, with leggins gracefully adorned with the fringe of the doe skin, with moccasins fresh and new. Nor had the children been neglected, for, with swirling ribbons and bright red dresses that reached to their slim ankles, they came bubbling with joy and laughter, ready to take their places in the dance circle.
Now the dancers are ready. In the centre of the square the fire, the Sacred Fire, flashes and flickers. At each corner of the square stands a pole. The leader, who on this occasion is Chief Bill Stewart, waits at the door of the lodge. He starts a weird melody, and the band locks hands, marking time as they make up the chant. The chief leads off the entire band in the procession, making as picturesque a figure as was ever witnessed in a New York cotillion.
With the reader’s permission to digress—pertinent at this point is the ironical comment of an editorial writer in one of the great dailies, when he says, “Fancy Lo in a stove pipe hat.” We haveseen him and he makes a good-looking native American. As he approached, the splendid form of Billy Doctor was recognized in stove pipe hat, full evening broadcloth suit, with white cravat, low cut waistcoat, and satin lined “spike tail” coat. The entire outfit was possibly the gift of some Palm Beach tourist. To Billy’s credit, he only wore the costume for fantastic effect.
If the reader will follow the lines of the accompanying diagram, tracing from left, he will see that the long line of dancers, as they pass around the poles, appears to be coming and going, sometimes three and four abreast, but all in such symmetrical motion that the dance is very beautiful, coupled withthe grace and modesty of innocence, with an accompaniment of singing strangely sweet.
SACRED * FIRE COUNCIL HOUSE THE HUNTING DANCE.
The various dances of these people show how close they live to nature. As they move to the rhythmical cadence of the owl song, we hear “Waugh-ho-ooo-whoo whoo,” of the great horned owl; then the penewa, or wild turkey dance, with its notes of the gobbling bird; and so on with many others.
A feature of the dance, and one that might be commended, is that those who dance must work or hunt. Each morning of the festival every member of the camp, down to the wee child, must hunt, leaving the camp by daybreak and hunting till twelve o’clock noon. The men hunt large game; the boys go for rabbits, birds and squirrels; while the women hunt the hogs and dig potatoes, and the very small children “hunt” water, and bring in sticks of wood. To their white friends, they said, “Dance to-night?” This was intended for an invitation, and was an honor rarely accorded; but with the stern, unwritten law before them, they explained, “White friends must hunt, hunt, hunt. All same Indian. No hunt, no dance.”
Another picturesque game is the dancing around the festal pole. In this dance, the women enter from one side, and the men from another. Around the ankles of the women are strapped clusters of shells of the highland terrapin, partly filled with pebbles; these shells are concealed by the long dress skirt, and as they dance, singing the long-cadenced song of their fathers, they make melodious music. A remarkablefeature in the perfection of the dance is that as the women move off not a sound is heard, that bunch of shells is as silent as the tomb; and yet it would be practically impossible for one to move the shells by hand without causing them to rattle.
There is so much that is elevating and purifying in the conduct of these people that it would be hard to describe the scenes, the love and good humor that flash between the moments of the times spent in the council at the feasts and the dances.