Genealogy Trails
Hopi Indians

On a windswept mesa high above the baked Arizona desert, Hopi Indians gathered last week to appease their gods. Below them were two lesser mesas where parched yellow cornstalks rustled in the dry breeze. Above them, a cloudless sky. Across the dusty desert road and up the steep ascent to the topmost mesa went scores of automobiles packed with curious white men & women. Their interest in the famed Hopi Snake Dance was whetted by the sound of muffled drum beats as they neared the grey mud-&-stone village of Hotevilla. But the Hopi, who had heard those drum beats all night, paid little heed to visitors. Their minds behind weirdly painted faces were intent on a thing savage, religious and remote. Their eyes were upon the parched earth to which they must bring rain. Ceremony— Throughout the dry Arizona summer Hopi medicine men keep one eye on the ground, the other on the sky. In August when the corn and melon vines begin to wither, the Hopi whisper that "the little ones" are angry. Then one day the medicine men set a date for the rain-bringing ritual. On the door of the main kiva (underground chamber) a priest posts a nacti (two eagle feathers tied to a stick) and for nine days thereafter the kiva is a hallowed place which none may enter but themselves. Across the broad mesa go "gatherers" in search of snakes. Scores of serpents are caught, imprisoned in the kiva. The priests dip them into jars of a sacred liquid, allow them to dry, then put them into dry jars to await the ceremony. All night long before the appointed day the drums beat slowly, mournfully while the Hopi fast. In the morning the drumbeats quicken. Finally appear twelve priests, their bodies painted, their faces stained grotesquely. Heads down, they dance toward the door of the kiva, then back, then forward again until they halt before the door guarded by eight old, ash-smeared priests. There is a moment of silence and suspense. Then slowly the door is raised. Through it comes a painted Hopi holding a writhing rattlesnake in his teeth. The snake is held by the middle, head and tail dangling free. (Veteran carriers look down upon those who hold their snakes by the neck.) Behind the "carrier" is a second Hopi, called a "hugger," his arms about the shoulders of the carrier, one hand holding a feather wand which he brushes across the snake's face to occupy its attention. Behind this pair is a third Hopi, the "gatherer." If a snake wriggles free he must catch it before it escapes—or bites a spectator—and return it to the carrier.

Other carriers emerge from the kiva with rattlesnakes held in their teeth. Other huggers and gatherers follow them until the small village square is alive with men & snakes. Three times around a circle they dance, while the drums beat louder & louder. If more snakes are below in the kiva the carriers drop their snakes into the arms of the grey priests and go back for more. Women run out into the square, sprinkle corn meal on the ground in a circle with radial lines extending in the six directions of Indian astronomy. They shrink back. The carriers fling their snakes into the circle. The snakes writhe one upon another, sometimes try to slip away. Suddenly several Hopi rush into the circle, fill their arms with snakes and run off, out of the village, over the plateau to fling the snakes far from them. Slowly they return to the village, while the snakes go away to bring them rain. White spectators return to their civilization, a little awed, a little impressed, a little skeptical about the first drop of the rain which almost invariably follows. After last week's dance, rain came to the Hopi the same afternoon.

Legend says that once a youth of the Snake Clan, one Tiyo, forbidden to marry a clanswoman he loved, went away to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado and plunged into the rushing water. He was swept into the underground realm of the immortal Snake people. He fell in love with one of their women, but when he embraced her, she and all the underground Snake people turned into real snakes. This did not dismay valiant Tiyo; so the snakes became people again and Tiyo took his bride back to his tribe on the mesa. But all of their offspring were snakes. The Hopi drove the snake children into the desert. They returned to the underworld. The underworldlings, angered, persuaded the gods to withhold rain from the Hopi. Year after year corn withered on its stalk. Finally the Hopi sent out scouts to gather all the snakes they could find. They washed the snakes, made them the centre of a religious ritual and sent them away. The grateful snakes told their fellows, who asked the gods to send rain to the Hopi, which the gods did. Ever since the Hopi have honored snakes to appease gods who might remember their intolerance. Why rain follows the Snake Dance and why the Hopi are not fatally bitten by the snakes are questions many a white man has tried to answer. To the first question they suggest that old Hopi medicine men are expert meteorologists after their fashion. They wait until rain is due, schedule the dance for that day. (The dance is seldom held the same day in successive years.) But the medicine men must be able to forecast rain at least nine days in advance. To the second question answers vary. Some say that the rattlesnake is a coward and will not strike anyone who handles it confidently—an explanation doubted by many snake experts. Some say that the Hopi are bitten, that a few die, but that the Indians have a potent secret antidote for snakebite. Others suggest that the snakes are goaded to strike at bits of cloth during their imprisonment in the kiva, so that their venom is all discharged by the day of the dance. Still others point out that the rattlesnake is no traveler, that the Hopi gather the same snakes year after year and these snakes are really friends of the Hopi.

Time Magazine, Monday, Sep. 05, 1932
Contributed by Kim T.
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