This report is more rational than the other in so far as it represents the multitudinous houses of stone or adobe as being reared by a "race" rather than by a "boy"! But, of course, the "son" could not have been the "founder" of his mother or of her ancestors. It is further apparent that the infant could not have been either the builder or inventor of the house or stronghold in which he was born.
Of course it is an impossibility to get at the exact truth in relation to the mysterious birth. The unwedded lady's own account ought to constitute a sufficient explanation, and would—but for the unfortunate historic fact that no mother has ever been known to tell her children the truth about their production. Even Christian mothers lie precisely like Pagans in this respect, and are just as thorough-going humbugs as Hannah in the temple, when questioned for details. They will tell a poor helpless, green, inquiring child, for instance, that they found him in a cabbage, when the actual truth is that they got him from a stork. We therefore unanimously dismiss their worse than useless testimony as that of a shameless pack of preposterous deluderers.
It is probable that the Pimo princess may have been secretly wedded or united to some man whom she really loved and preferred to all others. Yet an open avowal of such preference might have caused his death or might have turned the love of rival suitors into hate and brought about the ruin of the already sufficiently perplexed and troubled nation.
But would not the birth of the infant have revealed all?
Certainly, but in the present instance the Queen seems to have contented herself with the announcement that she had got her child from Heaven. Her friends, including doubtless the priests, at once spread abroad the story that the infant—the Child of the Sun—was of celestial origin. This tale may not have completely satisfied the numerous rival claimants for the lady's hand. But how disprove it? And why assail or shake the authority of the beautiful young queen? Why not draw closer together, bury their mutual animosities or rivalries and face the murderous hordes thronging the passes of the Rocky Mountains and slopes of the Mississippi Valley? Why not grasp at the hope—embodied in the suckling born on the hilltop—that Heaven had furnished a leader, a reincarnated divinity of the wandering nation, who would guide the despairing people onward to new fields of national glory and prosperity.
It may of course be said that such predictions were never realized, but it is certain that they were cherished. Even the Mokis, Tunis and Pimos still regard Mo-ti as immortal and await his return. He is "the demigod of their earliest traditions, watching over them from Heaven and waiting to come again to bring to them victory and a period of millenial glory and happiness" (n. 86.) And, of course, those who actually followed the leader Mu must have felt strongly the ties of affection and veneration. And who were the people who got across to Mongolia with accounts of our Grand Canyon, Gulf and Continental Tree—crowned with its wreath of multiplied suns?
[Doubtless the notion that our Mu-te (or Te-Mu) was of divine origin, had a surprising, stimulating effect. Curiously enough, Asiatic writers notice a Te-mu (Te-mu-dzin or Temugin) who arose in Tartary in the early part of the 12th century, and therefore might be regarded as the contemporary of our Mu born at Pimo about the year 1100. Some say this Tartarean conqueror was called Timour or Temur-chi, and his origin is wrapt in mystery. One account treats him as a demigod, but other statements assume that a divinity was his remote ancestor. He is said to belong to the race that broke out of Irkena Kon (or the mountain valley), situated in some out of the way and dangerous region. Personally this Mu came from a distant land. Some historians whose time is valuable readily find Irkena Kon in the vicinity of the Caspian Sea, but others declare that it must be situated in the direction of the Arctic Ocean!
[In his old age, in or about the year 1153, this supposed demigod had a child born to him. The name of Temudzin or Temugin was bestowed upon the infant. When thirteen years old his father—the demigod—died, and the extensive empire which the parent had established fell into political pieces. Gibbon, in his "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," chap. LXIV, says that the young prince Temugin could only claim authority over about 12,000 families. We should never overlook this fact when contemplating his career. Every incident in his history is known. His name has resounded through the world. He rose to be a mighty conqueror. He became Jenghiz Khan—King of Kings—grandsire of Kublai Khan, ancestor of Tamerlane and the Great Moguls, and of no end of Persian or Moslem Sultans or Kings.
[The immediate followers of Jenghiz Khan always declared that success awaited him because he was the son of a God. Petis de la Croix denounces such a claim as a piece of "insolence," yet it might better be regarded as a form of delusion. But notice the victorious lengths to which this delusion carried believers. And the notion promulgated at Pimo, in the midst of crowding calamities,—that the royal infant was a Son of Heaven,—might have been intended to console and stimulate a despairing nation. And the spiritual stimulus appears to have transported its believers to such lengths that aboriginal Americans seem to have lost track of the demigod, and know not from what point he may return.
[The father of Temugin was the founder of the Yuen dynasty, or at all events an ancestral king. He is generally called Yisukai or Pysukai Behadur, but such is a mere title, signifying "9th hero," and not a proper name at all. Some lucid commentators will positively tell us that it was not the father of Jenghiz Khan, but his 9th father or ancestor, who was the God. But with such hair-splitting we need not concern ourselves. Enough to note the uplifting, psychological effect or result of faith or belief in divine aid or protection. No wonder David exclaims: "Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me."