However, since their discovery their numbers have
greatly diminished and steadily continue to decrease, as if it
were also to be their fate to become extinct like the ancient
cliff dwellers.
The Moqui Pueblos are well protected by natural barriers upon all
sides except towards the south. Perched upon their high mesas
the people have been safe from every attack of an enemy, but
their fields and flocks in the valley below were defenseless.
The top of the several mesas can only be reached by ascending
steep and difficult trails which are hard to climb but easy to
defend. The paths on the mesas have been cut deep into the hard
rock, which were worn by the soft tread of moccasined feet during
centuries of travel, numbering, perhaps, several times the four
hundred years that are known to history.
The houses are built of stone and mortar, and rise in terraces
from one to five stories high, back from a street or court to a
sheer wall. Some of the remodeled and newly built houses have
modern doors and windows. The upper stories are reached from the
outside by ladders and stone stairways built into the walls. The
rooms are smoothly plastered and whitewashed and the houses are
kept tidy and clean, but the streets are dirty and unsanitary.
In these sky cities the Moquis live a retired life that is well
suited to their quiet dispositions, love of home life and
tireless industry. The men are kind, the women virtuous and the
children obedient. Indeed, the children are unusually well
behaved. They seldom quarrel or cry, and a spoiled child cannot
be found among them. The Moquis love peace, and never fight
among themselves. If a dispute occurs it is submitted to a peace
council of old men, whose decision is final and obeyed without a
murmur.
They are shy and suspicious of strangers, but if addressed by the
magic word lolomi, their reserve is instantly gone. It is the
open sesame to their hearts and homes, and after that the house
contains nothing too good to bestow upon the welcome guest. They
are true children of nature, and have not yet become corrupted by
the vices of white civilization. The worst thing they do is that
the men smoke tobacco.
Their industries are few, but afford sufficient income to provide
for their modest needs. They are primarily tillers of the soil,
and as agriculturists succeed under circumstances that would
wholly baffle and discourage an eastern farmer. Several years
ago a man was sent out from Washington to teach the Moquis
agriculture, but before a year had passed the teacher had to buy
corn from the Indians. They make baskets and pottery, weave
cloth and dress skins for their own use and to barter in trade
with their neighbors. They like silver and have skilled workmen
who make the white metal into beads and buttons and various
trinkets for personal adornment. They care nothing for gold, and
silver is their only money. Chalchihuitl is their favorite gem
and to own a turquoise stone is regarded as an omen of good
fortune to the happy possessor.
Just how the Spaniards got the notion that the Moquis loved gold
and possessed vast stores of that precious metal is not apparent
unless it be, as Bandelier suggests, that it originated in the
myth of the El Dorado, or Gilded Man.[9] The story started at
Lake Guatanita in Bogota, and traveled north to Quivera, but the
wealth that the Spaniards sought they never found. Their journey
led them over deserts that gave them but little food and only a
meager supply of water, and ended in disaster.
[9] The Gilded Man, by A. F. Bandelier, 1893.
The mesas are all rock and utterly barren, and their supplies are
all brought from a distance over difficult trails. The water is
carried in ollas by the women from springs at the foot of the
mesa; wood is packed on burros from distant forests; and corn,
melons and peaches are brought home by the men when they return
from their work in the fields. A less active and industrious
people, under similar circumstances, would soon starve to death,
but the Moquis are self-supporting and have never asked nor
received any help from Uncle Sam.
In the early morning the public crier proclaims in stentorian
tones from the housetop the program for the day, which sends
everyone to his daily task. They are inured to labor and do not
count work as a hardship. It is only by incessant toil that they
succeed at all in earning a living with the scanty resources at
their command, and the only surprise is that they succeed so
well. There is scarcely an hour during the day or night that men
and women are not either coming or going on some errand to
provision the home.
The men travel many miles every day going to and from their work
in the fields. If a man owns a burro he sometimes rides, but
usually prefers to walk. What the burro does not pack, the man
carries on his back. He often sings at his work, just as the
white man does in any farming community, and his song sounds
good.
The burro is the common carrier and, because of his sterling
qualities, is a prime favorite in all of the pueblos. If he has
any faults they are all condoned except one, that of theft. If
he is caught eating in a corn field he is punished as a thief by
having one of his ears cut off; and if the offense is repeated he
loses his other ear in the same manner.
The area of tillable land is limited and is found only in small
patches, which cause the farms to be widely scattered.
