The Arrow-Maker: A Drama in Three Acts

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

The greatest difficulty to be met in the writing of an Indian play is the extensive misinformation about Indians. Any real aboriginal of my acquaintance resembles his prototype in the public mind about as much as he does the high-nosed, wooden sign of a tobacco store, the fact being that, among the fifty-eight linguistic groups of American aboriginals, customs, traits, and beliefs differ as greatly as among Slavs and Sicilians. Their very speech appears not to be derived from any common stock. All that they really have of likeness is an average condition of primitiveness: they have traveled just so far toward an understanding of the world they live in, and no farther. It is this general limitation of knowledge which makes, in spite of the multiplication of tribal customs, a common attitude of mind which alone affords a basis of interpretation.

But before attempting to realize the working of Indian psychology, you must first rid yourself of the notion that there is any real difference between the tribes of men except the explanations. What determines man's behavior in the presence of fever, thunder, and the separations of death, is the nature of his guess at the causes of these things. The issues of life do not vary so much with the conditions of civilization as is popularly supposed.

Chiefest among the misconceptions of primitive life, which make difficult any dramatic presentation of it, is the notion that all human contacts are accompanied by the degree of emotional stress that obtains only in the most complex social organizations. We are always hearing, from the people farthest removed from them, of “great primitive passions,” when in fact what distinguishes the passions of the tribesmen from our own is their greater liability to the pacific influences of nature, and their greater freedom from the stimulus of imagination. What among us makes for the immensity of emotion, is the great weight of accumulated emotional tradition stored up in literature and art, almost entirely wanting in the camps of the aboriginals. There the two greatest themes of modern drama, love and ambition, are modified, the one by the more or less communal nature of tribal labor, the other by the plain fact that in the simple, open-air life of the Indian the physical stress of sex is actually much less than in conditions called civilized.

When the critics are heard talking of “drama of great primitive passions,” what they mean is great barbaric passions, passions far enough along in the process of socialization to be subject to the interactions of wealth, caste, and established religion, and still free from the obligation of politeness. But the life of the American Indian provides no such conditions, and, moreover, in the factor which makes conspicuously for the degree of complication called Plot, is notably wanting, – I mean in the factor of Privacy. Where all the functions of living are carried on in the presence of the community, or at the best behind the thin-walled, leafy huts, human relations become simplified to a degree difficult for our complexer habit to comprehend. The only really great passions – great, I mean, in the sense of being dramatically possible – are communal, and find their expression in the dance which is the normal vehicle of emotional stress.

In The Arrow-Maker the author, without dwelling too much on tribal peculiarities, has attempted the explication of this primitive attitude toward a human type common to all conditions of society. The particular mould in which the story is cast takes shape from the manner of aboriginal life in the Southwest, anywhere between the Klamath River and the Painted Desert; but it has been written in vain if the situation has not also worked itself out in terms of your own environment.

The Chisera is simply the Genius, one of those singular and powerful characters whom we are still, with all our learning, unable to account for without falling back on the primitive conception of gift as arising from direct communication with the gods. That she becomes a Medicine Woman is due to the circumstance of being born into a time which fails to discriminate very clearly as to just which of the inexplicable things lie within the control of her particular gift. That she accepts the interpretation of her preëminence which common opinion provides for her, does not alter the fact that she is no more or less than just the gifted woman, too much occupied with the use of her gift to look well after herself, and more or less at the mercy of the tribe. What chiefly influences their attitude toward her is worthy of note, being no less than the universal, unreasoned conviction that great gift belongs, not to the possessor of it, but to society at large. The whole question then becomes one of how the tribe shall work the Chisera to their best advantage.

How they did this, with what damage and success is to be read, but if to be read profitably, with its application in mind to the present social awakening to the waste, the enormous and stupid waste, of the gifts of women. To one fresh from the consideration of the roots of life as they lie close to the surface of primitive society, this obsession of the recent centuries, that the community can only be served by a gift for architecture, for administration, for healing, when it occurs in the person of a male, is only a trifle less ridiculous than that other social stupidity, namely, that a gift of mothering must not be exercised except in the event of a particular man being able, under certain restrictions, to afford the opportunity. There is perhaps no social movement going on at present so deep-rooted and dramatic as this struggle of Femininity to recapture its right to serve, and still to serve with whatever powers and possessions it finds itself endowed. But a dramatic presentation of it is hardly possible outside of primitive conditions where no tradition intervenes to prevent society from accepting the logic of events.

Whatever more there may be in The Arrow-Maker, besides its Indian color, should lie in the discovery by the Chisera, to which the author subscribes, that it is also in conjunction with her normal relation for loving and bearing that the possessor of gifts finds the greatest increment of power. To such of these as have not discovered it for themselves, The Arrow-Maker is hopefully recommended.

NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The Arrow-Maker was first published as produced at The New Theatre, New York, in the spring of 1911. In that edition certain concessions were made to what was thought to be the demand for a drama of Indian life which should present the Indian more nearly as he is popularly conceived.

After four years the success of the published play as an authentic note on aboriginal life as well as a drama suitable for production in schools and colleges, seems to warrant its publication in the original form. As it now stands, the book not only conforms to the author's original conception of the drama, but to the conditions of the life it presents.

With the addition of notes and glossary it is hoped the present edition will meet every demand that can be made on an honest attempt to render in dramatic form a neglected phase of American life.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA

In the order of their appearance

ACT FIRST

Scene. —The hut of the Chisera, in the foot-hills of the Sierras. It stands at the mouth of a steep, dark cañon, opening toward the valley of Sagharawite. At the back rise high and barren cliffs where eagles nest; at the foot of the cliffs runs a stream, hidden by willow and buckthorn and toyon. The wickiup is built in the usual Paiute fashion, of long willows set about a circular pit, bent over to form a dome, thatched with reeds and grass. About the hut lie baskets and blankets, a stone metate, other household articles, all of the best quality; in front is a clear space overflowing with knee-deep many-colored bloom of the California spring. A little bank that runs from the wickiup to the toyon bushes is covered with white forget-me-nots. The hearth-fire between two stones is quite out, but the deerskin that screens the opening of the hut is caught up at one side, a sign that the owner is not far from home, or expects to return soon.

At first glance the scene appears devoid of life, but suddenly the call of a jay bird is heard faintly and far up the trail that leads to the right among the rocks. It is repeated nearer at hand, perfectly imitated but with a nuance that advises of human origin, and two or three half-naked Indians are seen to be making their way toward the bottom of the cañon, their movements so cunningly harmonized with the lines of the landscape as to render them nearly invisible. Choco and Pamaquash with two others come together at the end of the bank farthest from the Chisera's hut.

Who called?

It came from farther up.

Yavi, I think.

He must have seen something.

By the Bear, if the Castacs have crossed our boundaries, there are some of them shall not recross it!

Hush – the Chisera – she will hear you!

She is not in the hut. She went out toward the hills early this morning, and has not yet returned. Besides, if the Castacs have crossed, we cannot keep it from the women much longer.

(Who has moved up to a better post of observation.) There is some one on the trail.

(The jay's call is heard and answered softly by Pamaquash.)

Yavi. But Tavwots is not with him. (Yavi comes dropping from the cliffs.) What have you seen?

Smoke rising – by Deer Leap. Two long puffs and a short one.

(The news is received with sharp, excited murmurs.)

More than a score – and with all our youths we cannot count so many.

And this business of war leader still unsettled – The Council must sit at once. Go, one of you, and tell Chief Rain Wind that Tavwots has signaled from Deer Leap that more than a score of Castacs are out against us.

And tell the women to prepare a gift hastily for the Chisera. Who knows how soon we shall have need of her medicine.

(One of the Indians departs on this errand.)

Never so much need of it as when we have neglected our own part of the affair! Even before the Castacs began to fill up our springs and drive our deer, we knew that the Chief is too old for war; and now that the enemy has crossed our borders we are still leaderless.

So we should not be if we had followed the tribal use and given the leadership to years and experience. It is you young men who have unsettled judgment, with the to-do you have made about the Arrow-Maker.

I have nothing against years and experience, but when one has the gods as plainly on his side as Simwa —

Never have I seen a man so increase in power and fortune —

Huh – huh! I too have watched the growth of this Simwa. Also I have seen a gourd swelling with the rains, and I have not laid it to the gods in either case. But the Council must sit upon it. We must bring it to the Council.

(Hotly.) Why should you credit the gods with Simwa's good fortune since he himself does not so claim it? For my part, I think with the Arrow-Maker, that it is better for a man to thrive by his own wits, rather than by the making of medicine or the wisdom of the elders.

(From above.) Tst – st, Tavwots!

(Tavwots comes down the cañon panting with speed. He drops exhausted on the bank, and Yavi gives him water between his palms from the creek.)

Have they crossed?

Between Deer Leap and Standing Rock – more than a score, though I think some of them were boys – but they had no women.

They mean fighting, then!

Well, they can have it.

But they should not be let fatten on our deer before they come to it. Winnemucca, whom I left at Deer Leap, will bring us word where they camp to-night. In the mean time there is much to do. (Rising.)

Much. No doubt Simwa will have something to suggest.

The Arrow-Maker is not yet war leader, my friend. I go to the Chief and the Council. (He goes.)

And yet, I think the Chief favors Simwa, else why should he prefer to put the election to lot rather than keep to the custom of the fathers?

(Going.) There might be reasons to that, not touching the merits of the Arrow-Maker.

Tavwots has met the women!

(Sounds of the grief of the women in the direction of the camp.)

They are coming to the Chisera. We should not have let them find us here; they will neglect their business with her to beset us with questions.

(To them enter three women of the campody of Sagharawite, carrying perfect-patterned, bowl-shaped baskets, with gifts of food for the Chisera. Seegooche, the Chiefs wife, is old and full of dignity. Tiawa is old and sharp, but Wacoba is a comfortable, comely matron, who wears a blanket modestly yet to conceal charms not past their prime. Seegooche and Tiawa wear basket caps, but Wacoba has a bandeau of bright beads about her hair. They show signs of agitation, instantly subdued at sight of the men.)

Is this true what Tavwots has told us, that the Castacs are upon us?

No nearer than Pahrump. Not so near by the time we have done with them. What gifts have you?

The best the camp affords. Think you we would stint when the smoke of the Castacs goes up within our borders?

Where is she?

Abroad in the hills gathering roots and herbs for to-night's medicine. Wait for her. – We must go look to our fighting gear.

(He goes out in the direction of the campody.)

(To Wacoba.) My bow case, is it finished?

And the bow inside it. See that you come not back to me nor to your young son until the bowstring is frayed asunder.

If you do your work with the Chisera as well as we with Castac, you shall not need to question our bowstrings. (Going.)

Leave us to deal – though if she cannot help us in this matter, I do not know where we shall turn.

Never have I asked help of her, and been disappointed.

(Gathering flowers.) Aye, but that was mere women's matters, weevil in the pine nuts, a love-charm or a colicky child. This is war!

(Still peering about.) As if that were not a woman's affair also!

You may well say that! It was in our last quarrel with Castac I lost the only man-child I ever had, dead before he was born. When the women showed me his face, it was all puckered with the bitterness of that defeat. You may well say a woman's matter!

That was the year my husband was first made Chief, and we covered defeat with victory, as we shall again. It was Tinnemaha, the father of the Chisera, went before the gods for us, I remember.

Well for us that he taught her his strong medicine. Not a fighting man from Tecuya to Tehachappi but trusts in her.

(Goes to the creek and dips up water to drink in her basket cap.)

(Tentatively.) It is believed by some that she makes medicine for Simwa, the Arrow-Maker, and that is why his arrows are so well feathered and fly so swiftly to the mark.

Simwa! Why, he scoffs at charms and speaks lightly even of the gods.

(Giving the others to drink from her cap.) Aye; Simwa puts not faith in anybody but Simwa.

And with good reason, for he is the most skillful of the tribesmen. He has made all the arrows for the fighting men. Do you think they will make him war leader?

(Ornamenting the basket she has brought with a wreath of flowers, which she plucks.) Padahoon will never agree to it.

But if Simwa is the better man?

The Sparrow Hawk is older, and has the greater experience.

Prutt! If age and experience were all, my husband would not ask that a new leader be chosen. Young men are keenest-eyed and quickest afoot.

(She moves up the trail looking for signs of the Chisera.)

(Going over to Wacoba, aside from Seegooche.) So the Chief favors Simwa? I would not have thought it.

(Significantly.) Seegooche's daughter is not married, and the Arrow-Maker has many blankets.

Ugh, huh! So the scent lies up that trail? Well, why not?

Why not? The Chief's daughter and the war leader? A good match.

(Going across to the hut.) Aye, a good match!.. Do you know, I have never been in the Chisera's house. It is said she has a great store of baskets and many beads. Let us look.

No, no; do not go near it.

(Alarmed.) Kima! Tiawa, she may be watching you.

(By the hut, but not daring to enter it.) What harm to visit a neighbor's house when the door is open. Besides, she makes no bad medicine.

We know that she does not, but not that she could not if she would.

(Returning reluctantly.) Why should we hold the Chisera so apart from the campody? Why should she not have a husband and children as other women? How can she go before the gods for us until she knows what we are thinking in our hearts?

(Jumping up.) I have seen something stirring in the alder bushes. I think the Chisera comes!

Do not be seen too near the hut. Come away, Tiawa.

Have you the presents ready? (The women take up their baskets hastily.) Hide your basket, Seegooche. It is not well to let all your gifts appear on the first showing, for if she is not persuaded at first, we shall have something of more worth.

(The Chisera comes out of the trail by the almond bushes, young and tall and comely, but of dignified, almost forbidding, carriage. She is dressed chiefly in skins; her hair is very long, braided with beads. She carries a small burden basket on her back, supported by a band about her forehead. She removes this, and drops it at the hut, coming forward.)

Friends, what have we to do with one another? Seegooche, has your meal fermented? Or has your baby the colic again, Wacoba?

We have a gift for you, Chisera.

(The women draw near timidly, each, as she speaks, placing her basket at the Chisera's feet, and retire.)

(Looking at the gifts, without touching them.) The venison is fat and tender; Seegooche, there is no one grinds meal so smoothly as you. The honey is indeed acceptable.

(After a pause, during which the medicine woman looks keenly at them.)

We do not come for ourselves, Chisera, but from the tribeswomen.

From every one who has a husband or son able to join battle.

(Eagerly.) Is there battle?

Even as we came, there was word that the Castacs are camped at Pahrump, and before night our men must meet them.

And you ask me – ?

(Approaching appealingly and sinking to the ground in the stress of anxiety.) A charm, Chisera!

(Approaching with Wacoba.) A most potent medicine, O friend of the gods!

That our men may have strength and discretion. That their hearts may not turn to water and their knees quake under them —

(Urgently.) May the bows of Castac be broken, and their arrows turned aside —

For the lords of our bodies and the sons of our bodies, a blessing, Chisera!

That our hearths may be kept alight and our children know their fathers —

When the noise of battle is joined and the buzzards come, may they feed on our foes, Chisera —

O friend of the gods, befriend us!

(The women cast dust on their hair and rock to and fro while the Chisera speaks, lifting up their arms in an agony of entreating.)

Am I not also a tribeswoman? Would not I do so much for my people? But your gifts and your prayers will be acceptable to the gods, for of myself I can do nothing. (She stoops to the gifts, but hesitates.) Who is this that comes?

(The young girls steal up noiselessly through the bushes, led by the Chief's daughter. Bright Water is lovely and young; her hair, flowing loosely over her shoulders and breast, is mingled with strings of beads and bright berries. Her dress of fringed buckskin is heavily beaded, her arms are weighted with armlets of silver and carved beads of turquoise; about her neck hangs a disk of glittering shell. She walks proudly, a little in advance of the others, who bunch up timidly like quail on the trail, behind her. The women, catching sight of the girls, spring up, frightened, and stand half protectingly between them and the Chisera.)

It is the Chief's daughter.

What do you here? You have neither sons nor husbands that you should ask spells and charms.

How, then, shall we have husbands or sons, if the battle goes against us?

Well answered, Chief's daughter.

(Surprised.) You know me?

I have heard that the loveliest maiden of Sagharawite is called Bright Water, daughter of Rain Wind, Chief of the Paiutes.

(Going over to Bright Water.) You should have stayed in the wickiup, my daughter; you are too young to go seeking magic medicine.

The more need because we are young, mother. If the loss of battle come to you, at least you have had the love of a man and the lips of children at the breast. But we, if the battle goes against us, what have we?

Ay, truly, Seegooche, there are no joys so hard to do without as those we have not had.

Therefore, we ask a charm, Chisera, for our sweethearts; and, in the mean time, may this remind you —

(She drops a bracelet in the Chisera's basket.)

(Going forward.) The scarlet beads from me, Chisera. I am to be married in the time of tasseling corn.

The shells from me, Chisera. Good medicine!

Strong Bow is my lover, Chisera. Bring him safe home again.

(The girls retire after dropping their gifts in the Chisera's basket.)

(A little stiffly.) You have no need of gifts. Am I not young, even as you? Should you pray for your lover any more or less for the sake of a few beads?

(Anxiously.) Be not angry, Chisera. They would repay you for the dancing and the singing.

(The Chisera gathers up the gifts that the older women have brought and goes into the hut. The girls take up their gifts, puzzled.)

I am afraid you have vexed her with your foolish quest.

Has the Chisera a lover also, that she speak so?

It is not possible and we not know of it, for since her father's death if any sought her hand in marriage, he must come to my husband in the matter of dowry.

No fear that any will come while she is still the Chisera.

She is the wisest of us all.

Wisdom is good as a guest, but it wears out its welcome when it sits by the hearth-stone.

She has great power with the gods.

So much so that if she had a husband, he dare not beat her lest she run and tattle to them.

She is our Chisera, and there is not another like her between Tehachappi and Tecuya. If she were wearied with stooping and sweating, if she were anxious with bearing and rearing, how could she go before the gods for us?

Aye, that is the talk in the wickiups, that we must hold her apart from us to give her room for her great offices, but I have always said – but I am old and nobody minds me – I have always said that if she had loved as we love and had borne as we have borne, she would be the more fitted to entreat the gods that we may not lose.