Legends of the Pike's Peak Region

Ernest Whitney

Legends of the Pike's Peak Region / The Sacred Myths of the Manitou

However uncouth they may be, the myths and legends of early nations, like the poetry of later, give the highest and truest exponents of their characters, and preserve with a singular fidelity the very essence of their daily lives, their fears and hopes, their assumptions and intuitions. It is proverbial that the songs of a people are stronger than their laws; and the myths and traditions embodying the sentiments upon which national character, national religion, are founded, are more powerful than the songs, which they inspire. A ballad of the people, a bit of folk lore, may teach us more than whole chapters of history; we can hardly understand history without such lights.

A century ago Scotland was to England what Bœotia was to cultured Athens, proverbially the land of the uninteresting, the kingdom of dullness and prose; yet every lake and stream, every glen and rock wore the halo of poetry, the glamour of romance; and when the Wizard of the North drew aside the veil of prejudice, the eyes of all England were opened as to visions, and the "land of the mountain and the flood" became as familiar and dear as the favored haunts of home. Scott had discovered a new world, new even to the dwellers in it. Gathering the tangled, distorted fragments of tradition floating about his native hills and dales, traditions full of romance, yet despised or belittled as trifles even by those from whom he learned them, he gave to the world such pleasures of entertainment as it had seldom known before. And he gave to his country fame, and the intellectual stimulus which led to its prosperity. Thenceforth Scotland was one of the beloved spots of the earth. Our historian, Prescott, states that after the publication of "'The Lady of the Lake' the post-horse duty rose to an extraordinary degree in Scotland from the eagerness of travelers to visit the localities of the poem." Another has said that indeed the race of tourists was called into existence by the pen of Scott.

What those neglected legends were to Scotland, Colorado's are to her. We scan the glories of her scenery, surpassing the marvels of the Alps, the beauties of the Rhine, and lament the absence of tradition to give them the charm of Old World scenes. The tourist notes this seeming sterility with a touch of prejudice. "But where are your traditions?" is the final, question; and the answer is, "We have none; our history is too recent." Yet the romantic Rhine cliffs, or even the land of sphinx and pyramid, did not rise above the ocean until its waves had beaten for ages at the base of Rocky Mountain peaks. This is the Old World, Europe and India are of the New. And if nature in fantastic play has made this the world's wonderland, much more has man through centuries written and rewritten its fading pages with the mysteries of immemorial myths, legends, and traditions. From Pike's Peak to Popocatepetl the land is a palimpsest, dotted with ruins of remotest antiquity, the relics of a people whose records are replete with poetry and strange romance. Their manuscripts enrich the archives of Mexico and Madrid, and yet we learn but little of them. They moulder in the missions of the suspicious Spanish priests, or among the mystic treasures of the Pueblos, and are decaying unread. When we come northward to the paths of later pioneers, to lands of less civilized races, where history lives by oral transmission only, hardly a legend but has lapsed into oblivion. Those only can live which are united to something concrete and enduring, or which are so vitally interwoven that the life of one tradition insures the life of another. The early hunters looked upon natives whom they met as savage aliens rather than possibly kindred beings, and cared more for their furs and gold dust than for any history of their peoples. But even yet much may be regained from a study of the records of Spanish priests, from the lips of living races, and from the thickly scattered ruins, many of which are even yet undiscovered, nearly all of which are practically uninvestigated. Indeed, much has been regained, and from the mass of material in the collections of Bancroft and others, and from results of original research, the present writer has sought to extract what is most interesting to the audience to whom this little book is offered.

The perhaps most remarkable cycle of myths north of Mexico, the Sacred Myths of the Manitou, might have perished, or lost their home and identity at least, in another decade, though the loss of such interesting relics of aboriginal thought would have seemed inexcusable. But what we yet retain is sufficient to appeal to the imagination most vividly, and its restoration in this late day seems almost to partake of the nature of strange revelation. We ask who were the people among whom such fables originated. The question as to the identity of the earliest inhabitants in the Pike's Peak region is a difficult one to answer, but the conclusion of the latest historian is that a race which had made considerable progress in civilization dwelt for centuries in Colorado. Then a more barbarous people encroached upon its territory, and it was crowded southward step by step, advancing in civilization as it was driven from barbarism, leaving picturesque ruins along its later path. It is the conjecture of many students that this people was none other than "that mystic race of Aztlan, who, ages before, had descended into the valley [of Mexico] like an inundation from the north; the race whose religion was founded upon credulity; the race full of chivalry, but horribly governed by a crafty priesthood."

The situation of Aztlan, the ancient home of the Aztecs, is the most puzzling question in Mexican history. At all events, it was almost certainly north of Mexico, but whether it linked the home of the Aztec and Toltec to California on the northwest, or to Colorado on the northeast, it seems impossible for the unprejudiced historian to decide. The latest and safest guide through the conflict of varying assertions, Mr. Justin Winsor, represents a consensus of the wisest and most conservative opinions. He is inclined to believe that undoubtedly two streams of immigration, one on each side of the Rocky Mountains, flowed together into Mexico. Toltec tradition tells of a long sojourn some twelve centuries ago in a land called Hue Hue Tlapallan, which means "Old Red Land," and a local historian has called attention to its hint of Colorado—

"Which fair Columbia, bending toward the West,Now wears a crimson rose upon her breast—"

land of "crimson-hued rocks and yellow plains," the "land of red earth." Certainly no place but the wonderful Grand Caverns of Manitou and the several caves of William's Canon has been found in the probable range of Aztec migration, which can be so well identified with the mysterious "Seven Caves" of Aztlan, so often mentioned in Mexican myths. It was the sacred birth-place of their great god Huitzil, and to it sacerdotal embassies were sent even as late as the year before the invasion of Cortez. The early explorer whose name the great mountain now bears, shows that a Via Sacra from Mexico northward to the peak was long kept open. "Indeed," Pike wrote of the mountain in 1806, "it was so remarkable as to be known by all the savage nations for hundreds of miles around, and to be spoken of with admiration by the Spaniards of New Mexico, and was the bound of their travels northwest." It is not unlikely that the knowledge of an open and traveled path, and the belief that it led to temples rich in gold and jewels, led the earlier Spaniards to their northern settlements and later excursions. The tribe of Montezuma was but one of a group of tribes each of which contributed its quota to the phenomenal civilization of the empire of Anahuac during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Even granting that neither Aztecs nor Toltecs rose in Colorado, it may still be confidently believed that at least one of the most important Nahuan nations learned its early lessons of barbaric culture under the tuition of Pike's Peak. And this tribe or nation during the slow migration, or soon after, was completely absorbed by the Aztec stream, if it was not the leader of it. What more probable? If it did not join this stream what was its fate?

Then in these "Sacred Myths of the Manitou," we perhaps see reflected some dim germs of that wonderful religion, which was at once the strength and weakness of the illustrious victims of Cortez.

Five, ten, or perhaps fifteen centuries ago the dwellers along the great mountain slope and adjacent plains had learned to look upon that region around the eastern base of Pike's Peak as one made sacred by a thousand powerful associations. The great peak seen forty leagues away, towering among and wedged between the stars, "pinnacled dim in the intense inane," was to them the symbol of a god, the abode of the All-Father, the wigwam of the Manitou. The wide ranges of alps on either side of it—the broad plains sublime in their infinity—even the mysteriously-born Father of Waters—none of these had the influence upon the superstitious and super-religious native which was exerted by that ever-watching warden of the west. Probably these early comers first saw the mountain after months of dreary wanderings over the desolate prairies. Awful in loneliness when seen afar, silent and motionless as death, they drew near and found it filled with life strange and ennobling, and with a kindly nature, ready to stoop and mingle with the human and make them rich with blessings. It was a mountain of mystery. To the dwellers on the monotonous eastern levels, its ever varying miracles of light and shadow were revelations of infinite spiritual power, and the sun-worshiper was ever drawn nearer to its presence where the mysterious manifestations could be better seen. If the hunter wandered out of its sight, it was at times perhaps with a feeling of relief, as at escaping from an almost burdensome oversight; yet he dared not stay long in the lands lying beyond its guardianship. It was a never forgotten element in life. If he slew the deer or buffalo, a quick word of gratitude was sent across the plains. If sometime a dark thought came to him, he glanced furtively at this reader of thoughts, and faltered. If in lone venturing, perils confronted him, he would lift up his eyes to the hills whence came his help, and go forward with new courage. If the tribes rallied for the war path, they sat in reverence and hope before this god of peaceful heavens, until tempest darkened and hid his face, and then like storm swept down to certain victory. But if this oracle gave no show of anger, rash was the chieftain who dare attack a foe save in absolute and immediate self-defense.

The story is told that a great and powerful nation from remote regions once invaded the lands of the children of the Manitou. Day after day the war band advanced toward this heart of the empire, and every day the threateningly severe mountain-god seemed more remote, more terrible, than before, until at last, overcome with superstitious dread, they turned back, believing it was impossible to harm his people or do battle in his awful presence.

Such were some of the thoughts which this mysterious mountain inspired in primitive minds. To them whatever of nature was strange, beautiful, sublime, or powerful, was worshipful. It was not unnatural that the mountain should become dominant in their religious system. Sun worshipers already, what sublimer, nobler idolatry could there be than theirs for this priest of the sun in the land of undimmed heavens! Even the pilgrim of to-day would fain uncover and bend the knee before its tonsured head. That colossal Face upon the mountain side was the first of all American idols.

Civilization made progress among the chosen people here, and there was much of nobility and thoughtfulness in individual characters. Their climate, the gift of the Manitou, made them a strong race physically, but they were, perhaps, chiefly feared and respected for their institutions and their distinguished religion. We have records full of detail of religious systems far more remarkable, or more completely developed, among the Nahuan nations. Torquemada estimates the number of temples in Anahuac to have been 80,000, and Clavigero places the number of priests in these temples at 1,000,000. Every year twenty to fifty-thousand human beings were sacrificed on their altars. The myths and fables of their religion fill huge volumes. But probably nowhere north of Old Mexico can be found traces of a theology anywhere nearly approaching in simplicity and grandeur this one which had its Ararat, its Eden, and its Salem in the Pike's Peak region. For here they looked as to the cradle and the Mecca of their race. The scant reflections which are given of this religion to-day, like the clouds of a fading sunset, can barely suggest the glory of that sunset, the wide-streaming radiance of the by-gone day.

The archæologist, tracing the religious history of the Greeks, finds in the early home of one of their tribes the ruins of a temple, and the torsos and other fragments of a group of statues. It is his first duty to preserve these exactly as they are found. It is a second obligation so to study the temple, and the arrangement of the sculptured fragments around and within it, that, if possible, he may understand and interpret the spiritual meaning of the whole, as an exponent of the religion. In this work he will take assistance from history and from myth, and he will be aided by comparison with other temples. If obvious portions of the original group are hopelessly missing, his special knowledge may warrant the restoration of an arm or head or possibly an entire figure. After the manner of the archæologist, we have delved among the ruins of a forsaken temple. We have studied the history, actual and mythical, of the race who revered its shrines. And with the best lights vouchsafed to us, we have tried to give, in a form agreeable to the general reader, our restoration of the myths of that ancient religion. If we have felt it necessary here and there to add a touch of completeness almost arbitrarily, we have been so guided by careful study of the myth makers and of cognate religions as to feel warranted in each case.

The breath and finer spirit of a purely human religion, if any religion is purely human, is not always well shown in those myths and fables which are its most conspicuous chronicles for later times. The fables may be full of the grotesque and the absurd, mere blind and awkward gropings after a system where all was vague and mystic at first. The first explanation of a crude theology will, it is likely, be accepted as the best. And in process of oral transmission through generations all the myths will suffer strange modifications without losing their main identity. Thus none of the earliest names of the deities in the myths before us have been preserved, and Manitou, the common name of the supreme deity of the later races, has been adopted from the legends of later tribes.

The origin of a cycle of myths like the one we are interested in was probably very much in this wise, if we may trust the teaching of analogy. A tribe, naturally of a roving disposition, driven from their river home by a series of devastating floods, strikes boldly out for new fortunes in the unknown prairies. Long, toilsome journeys bring them at last to the foot of the peak, where they make a new home, won by the genial climate, fertile soil, and varied topography. Gradually the tribe increases, its power spreads, and it controls all the region round about. It is called the Mountain Tribe. Its members are children of the Mountain. It is not long before these dwellers by the Wigwam of the Manitou are called children of the Manitou, and they believe in a god as their creator and the mountain as their birthplace. Later the story develops into the true mythological form, uniting their earlier and later religious ideas; and traditions common to all races of mankind, wherever found, are woven into it. So in its later shape we have the following:

At the beginning of all things the Lesser Spirits possessed the earth, and dwelt near the banks of the Great River. They had created a race of men to be their servants, but these men were far inferior to the present inhabitants of the earth, and made endless trouble for their creators. Therefore the Lesser Spirits resolved to destroy mankind and the earth itself; so they caused the Great River to rise until it burst its banks and overwhelmed everything. They themselves took each a large portion of the best of the earth, that they might create a new world, and a quantity of maize which had been their particular food, and returned to heaven. Arriving at the gate of heaven, which is at the end of the plains, where the sky and the mountains meet, they were told that they could not bring such burdens of earth into heaven. Accordingly they dropped them all then and there. These falling masses made a great heap on the top of the world which rose far above the waters, and this was the origin of Pike's Peak, which is thus shown to be directly under the gate of heaven. Formerly it was twice as high as it is now, but lost its summit as we shall see later on. The rock masses upon it and all about it, show plainly that they have been dropped from the sky. The extent and variety of mineral wealth in the region prove that the earth's choicest materials are deposited here. And still as the constellations move across the heavens and vanish above the mountain summits, we may see the spirits rise from the Great River, and pass to the gate of heaven. The falling stars are their falling burdens, or the dropping grains of maize.

As the Lesser Spirits held their flight to the gate of heaven from time to time grains of their maize fell to the earth. These germs being especially blest by their contact with the immortals, sprang up with wonderful vigor even under the waters of the flood, and soon reached the surface, where they quickly ripened. Now among the inhabitants of the earth left to destruction, was one man who by secretly feeding upon the food of the Spirits, the sacred maize, had become much stronger and superior in every way to his fellow beings. Such was his strength that he succeeded in sustaining himself and his wife above the waters for a very long time. Suddenly a maize stalk rose before him and blossomed into fruit. Breaking a joint from it, he soon fashioned this into a rude boat in which he took refuge with his wife. In commemoration of this the maize stalk was ever after hollowed on one side. Not knowing what direction to take on the pathless waters, he paddled toward the only other object visible upon the face of the deep. On approaching, this proved to be another maize stalk. Upon it were a pair of field mice which shared with him their supply of grain. Launching forth again he paddled toward another object visible in the distance, which proved to be another maize plant. It was held by a pair of gophers which were as generous as the field mice with their corn, and gave enough to sustain life until he reached the next maize plant. Thus unconsciously following the course of the Lesser Spirits, he passed in turn the maize plants of the prairie dog, the squirrel, the rabbit, and all the animals, and then came to the maize plants of the birds, until passing from one to another he came to the mountain. Having landed his boat upon it, the man died of exhaustion, and the woman died soon after, in the pains of maternity, giving birth to a boy and girl.

The Spirits, looking down from the gate of heaven, had watched the long voyage of hardship with deep interest, and their sympathies were aroused for the forsaken creatures on the bleak island peak. Thinking that there was after all something worth preserving here, they endowed the infants with gifts raising them above their ancestors in intelligence and power. And feeding upon the sacred maize which the Spirits had dropped on the top of the mountain, the children rapidly advanced to the age of maturity. One is minded of—

"There shall be a handful of corn in the earth upon the top of the mountains; the fruit thereof shall shake like Lebanon; and they of the city shall flourish like grass of the earth."

Then the Spirits loosed one of the monsters of heaven, the Lizard Dragon, Thirst. Seeing the great satisfaction offered him, the huge creature plunged directly to the watery world beneath. The waters entirely engulfed him, and for the first time his unquenchable passion knew something like gratification. He drank and drank and drank, and every day the sea grew lower and the mountain higher, until at last the dragon's body was uncovered. He pursued the waters, still drinking, until they had receded beyond sight. Then fearing he would dry up all the oceans and rivers beyond, the all-powerful Spirits called him back. Seeking to return to the gate of heaven, his wings were unable to carry his swollen body, and he fell back to the earth with such force that his neck was broken off completely, and he lay a huge crushed carcass on the land. Such was the origin of the Mountain of the Dragon, or Cheyenne Mountain as it is called to-day. From his opened neck there issued a torrent of blood and water which made the soil over which it flowed the most fertile in the world. And after all the blood had flowed from his veins, there still issued a stream of the purest water, and the sweetest for quenching the thirst ever known. This fable of the Lizard Dragon, Thirst, is strikingly characteristic of a land where thirst was one of the familiar terrors; and perhaps no creature of the region is a fitter embodiment of the conception than the lizard, which frequents the dryest places. There is probably an allusion to this legend in the quaint old Indian chant, which in translation would run as follows:

"On deer path or war pathI wish I were like the lizard,Never thirsting because his grandfatherOnce had all he wanted to drink.But my grandfather was always thirsty."

No one who looks upon Cheyenne from the heights to the east or northeast of the city of Colorado Springs can fail to recognize the bloated form of the petrified monster, even to the spurs upon its back.

The mountain on which the parents of the new race were left was so steep and inaccessible that they could contrive no way to escape from it. At last when their supply of maize was nearly gone, and the land below began to grow beautiful with new verdure, the Spirits told them to get into the boat and, after the manner of Quetzalcoatl, to slide down. The track made by the boat may even yet be seen on the eastern face of the mountain, and was a favorite resort of Quetzalcoatl, the sliding god; and the boat itself, the cradle of the race, was of course preserved. From the campus of the college it can best be seen, riding the ridges of the granite waves that flow tumultuously by that eminence west of Cheyenne known as St. Peter's Dome. It is shaped like the familiar birch-bark canoe, curving high at either end, and in it sit two worshipful figures, one plying the paddle. One of the most frequent embellishments in Aztec MSS. pictures such a canoe moving over a flood toward a lone mountain.

At the foot of the mountain they found the most beautiful climate in the world, for being directly under the portals of heaven it shared with the Spirits the overflowing effulgence of celestial light and atmosphere. But the subsiding waters had left about the foot of the mountain all manner of dead creatures, and these with the body of the dragon filled the air with pestilence. Then the parents of mankind prayed to the Spirits for help. And the Spirits heard their prayer. They turned the huge body of the dragon to stone, and they granted to the parents of mankind that this their home should never know the curse of disease, but that it should be held sacred as a place of healing for all the tribes. As a pledge of their promise they sent to them Waters of Life, so that the land was made sweet, the pestilence stayed, and all diseases healed. And such was the origin of the celebrated springs of Manitou, which retain all their miraculous virtues to this day.

For a long time the inhabitants of the earth dwelt in the ease and luxury of a golden age. But soon their numbers so increased that it was no longer easy to live without care, and the people were obliged to diffuse themselves over the region round about. Then came three of the Lesser Spirits, and dwelt among them. One taught them agriculture; from the second they learned how to make weapons and set traps, and hunt successfully; and the third instructed them in religion and government. Each of these Spirits built for himself a magnificent titanic temple and home. Although it is impossible to identify each temple with its particular deity, the three are well known by their modern names as The Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyrie, and Blair Athol. It was the mission of the third Spirit to lead them to the worship of the one and single All Father, the great Manitou, whose home was in the heaven of heavens, and whose manifestation was the sun. It is a familiar fact that the worship of the sun, as the most obvious type of regenerative life, was one of the very earliest and most widely spread germs of religion, not only among the primitive nations of America, but in the Old World as well. And the purist of to-day who sees nothing worshipful in these manifestations of the deity, may by his own misconceptions know less of some of the attributes of that deity than did his more reverent fellow in days of ignorant barbarism.