PART II

TRADITIONS AND MYTHS

INTRODUCTORY—INDIAN STORIES

The Indians, when trying to speak English, often use very short

sentences with easy words, just as foreigners do. They will repeat a

statement in different ways, so that their listeners will be sure to

understand; this makes the stories they tell sound very queer

sometimes.

The Indians do not like to have any one laugh at them. It is not an

easy matter to get them to tell their legends about trees, rocks, or

living creatures. They once believed that everything had its manitou,

or spirit, which took care of it, but by their contact with the white

people they have lost much of their fear of these manitous, and also

much of their faith in their power.

The paleface must show himself a very good friend indeed before he is

allowed to hear the stories told to native guests or to the children.

The white friend may be a hunter, and then his Indian guide will tell

in his own way stories connected with objects seen by them in the

forest, on the plain, or on the mountain.

Henry R. Schoolcraft, an American geologist, was much among the red

men, from eastern New York to the source of the Mississippi, which he

discovered. He married the granddaughter of a chief. He was allowed to

hear the ancient legends, and published them in prose form in 1830.

Henry W. Longfellow read them with so much interest that he told them

again in his beautiful poem of Hiawatha, weaving into the story the

bride Minnehaha of whom the Indians have no legend.

The Ojibways, or Chippewas, tell stories of a hero called by them

Menabozho. He is called the Foolish or Sly One; he is always playing

tricks, for which he is usually punished. Many of these Chippewa

stories which they are telling of him even now are woven into the poem

of Hiawatha, as the poet thought that Iroquois name more musical than

Menabozho, and, like many others, supposed the Iroquois and the

Chippewas to be the same people.

As they have no written language, their legends may change a little;

the same story may be told in different ways, and the words they use

may have various forms.

I. IAGOO, THE GREAT STORY-TELLER

(Algonquin)

The white man laughs much. The Indian is wise. He can see a joke, but

he does not laugh as much as the white man. The papoose and the squaw

may laugh. The brave must not let his face show what he feels. It is

not wise.

The white man has stories to tell his children, and his children laugh.

The Indian tells the stories of Iagoo to his children. The teepee is

shut, for it is winter, and you cannot hear the papoose laugh.

The white man when he tells a story which is not true says, “Once on a

time.” The Indian says, “My grandfather told me.” The papooses know

when the story is true. An Indian teaches his children to tell the

truth; his children are wise; they speak the truth to their tribe.

Lame Buffalo could tell good stories. His children were happy, and they

laughed often in their father’s teepee. There was a fire of sticks in

the middle of the teepee, but the smoke was not bad; it went out of the

teepee by the top of the poles.

Lame Buffalo sat with his wife White Deer and their children around the

fire in the teepee. The oldest boy asked for a story.

Lame Buffalo told this story of Iagoo:

“In the days of my grandfather, Iagoo used to come often to the lodges

of our tribe.

“Iagoo was tall. He was straight as a pine that stands alone on the

hilltop. He was always hungry. He would come to a lodge of our tribe,

my grandfather said, and would look at the duck the squaw was roasting.

He would tell her no squaw could make such a fire as she could. No one

could bake in the ashes as she could. When the duck was done, the squaw

would put it on a stone by Iagoo. She and her papooses had no duck.

They were hungry, but Iagoo did not go away hungry.

“The braves were always glad to see Iagoo, for his stories were never

the same. He saw things no other Indian ever saw. He knew more than any

other brave ever knew; he said so himself. He never went into battle,

for he had much to keep him away; yet he wore eagle feathers in his

scalp lock. He told great stories of battles, but no one ever saw him

when he was fighting. It is not wise to look around in battle.”

“Iagoo told my grandfather this story of the mosquitoes that lived on

the marsh. His tribe had their teepees by this marsh.

“Iagoo said that he heard one day a great roaring. It was like ten

bears, but he was the only brave who dared to go out to see what the

roaring was. He saw mosquitoes flying in the tamarack trees in the

swamp, but he could not tell the trees from the mosquitoes, they were

both so big.

“He killed three mosquitoes with his war club. He shot them first with

his arrows. Iagoo tore off the left wing of one, and he made a sail for

his birch-bark canoe from that wing.

“He called to his wife. His wife heard, for his voice and his war club

drove away the mosquitoes. His wife came out to see the battle, but

they were gone. She tore off the bill of one of the slain mosquitoes

and used it to dig with, and she used it twelve moons.”

“Ugh! It is good,” said the oldest boy.

“Another time Iagoo was on a trail. The trail was a creek with no

water. It went through the land of the river where the buffaloes feed

when it is wet.

“The trail was wide and full of sand. The dry grass was on the side of

it. Iagoo saw on the sand of the trail a new animal. It was far from

him, but it was large. He could see it. It was long as a wildcat, but

it had no hair like the wildcat. It had two horns like the buffalo. It

had many legs, and its eyes were like fire.

“Iagoo took his war club with his two hands. He walked like a brave in

battle. He ran on the trail to kill the strange beast. He raised his

war club to strike it, but it was nothing but a big ant dragging a

rabbit to its hole in the trail. Iagoo sat down in the sand and

laughed, while the ant pulled the rabbit into the ant-hole. The rabbit

was killed by the ant. Iagoo said so, and he knew it. The ant killed

the rabbit with its horns.”

“Ugh! ugh! ugh!” said the boys around the fire.

White Deer laughed, and her daughters laughed.

“Tell another,” said the boys.

“My grandfather said that Iagoo told of the willow trees. Iagoo went to

the willow trees to take some of the little creeping-cats from them.

They are the flowers that come when the snow has melted.

“The willow trees looked small to Iagoo. He broke off a branch and went

to get one on the other side of the tree. He made a heavy trail around

the tree to mark the bush. The sun was over his head when he began to

make the trail. He walked around that one willow bush, and the sun was

going down in the lake when he was done. It was a long trail. No one

but Iagoo ever saw such a willow bush.”

White Deer laughed. She had gathered many willows for weaving.

The oldest boy looked at his brothers. They were laughing too. He did

not laugh, but said “Ugh!” like a great chief.

Lame Buffalo looked at the fire. White Deer put on more sticks and blew

the fire with her breath; when it began to blaze Lame Buffalo went on

with more stories of Iagoo.

“My grandfather said that Iagoo went in the cold moon of winter to the

south. He went alone in his canoe. His tribe was in the far north, in

the fur country. Iagoo liked to fish. His wife could hunt for the fur

skins, for it is cold in the far north.

“Iagoo let his canoe drift like a leaf as he fished. It drifted near

the shore of the river, then Iagoo stepped out on the shore. It sank

under his feet. As the water came over where he stepped, he saw that he

had not stepped on land. He had stepped on a thick lily leaf.

“Iagoo jumped back into his canoe. He broke the stem of the lily leaf

with his fishing spear and put the great leaf in his canoe. It covered

him and the canoe. He dried the leaf and rolled it in a pack. He went

back to the far north when he had fished all he wanted to, and he gave

the leaf to his squaw. She was glad. It was like a wide buffalo skin;

she made dresses for herself and her daughters out of it. No other

squaws had such fine dresses.”

White Deer smiled, and the little girls laughed. They knew the

pond-lily leaves were small in the lakes; they could not be so wide in

a river.

“It is a story for squaws,” said the oldest boy.

“We will go to sleep,” said Lame Buffalo, his father.

The next night Lame Buffalo told this story of Iagoo for the boys:

“A white man gave Iagoo a gun, so my grandfather said. He could shoot

better than any white man.

“Iagoo went hunting. It was the time for ducks. He went in his canoe,

and he hid in the rice by the ducks. The ducks flew up and made the sun

dark. He lay on his back and shot straight into the flock of ducks. A

swan fell dead into his canoe. Its head was shot off; the ducks fell

around his canoe like hail in a hailstorm; the water was black with the

ducks he shot. He piled them up like a great teepee on the shore. He

shot them all with one gunshot.

“The shot from his gun fell back into the lake; it struck two loons and

killed them. The shot fell through the loons and killed a muskalonge;

this is the great fish that lives in the lakes. No one else ever fired

such a shot as did Iagoo. He told this to my grandfather.”

“It is good,” said the boys.

“Tell another,” said White Deer.

“Iagoo went hunting in the Hunting Moon. He killed a great deer and

threw it on his back. It was heavy, but he must have food in his

teepee.

“He sat down on a stump to rest. He was very still, and he saw the

great elks go by him on their trail to the far north. It was like a

great tribe going north. The trail they made was deep, and they did not

see nor smell Iagoo.

“The first elk had horns like a great tree. He was very big; Iagoo

wanted him; Iagoo ran swifter than all the elks; he came to the leader;

he shot the leader of the elks; he fell like a tree in the forest;

Iagoo lifted the elk to throw him over his shoulder; the elk horns

struck the deer horns. Iagoo knew then that he had carried a big deer

all day. Iagoo was not tired. He hung the deer in a tree and carried

the elk home. No other brave in his tribe had ever brought home an elk

with such horns. Iagoo said so to my grandfather.”

Lame Buffalo stopped.

There are more stories of Iagoo, the great story-teller, but Lame

Buffalo did not tell any more.

II. HOW CLAY DISHES WERE FIRST MADE

The Indians in the west tell this story:

A squaw left her two boys to care for her papoose while she worked. She

was hidden in the wickiup, or tent, and did not see what the boys were

doing until the papoose began to cry.

The squaw found them all down by the river. They could not stir, for

their feet were stuck fast in the wet clay of the river bank. She got

her three children back to the wickiup. They laughed at their

footprints in the clay, for they had left deep holes everywhere.

The band of Indians left their camp before the sun was over their

heads. The squaw, with her papoose and her boys, was soon far away from

the river bank; but during the hot summer, which was soon upon them,

the same band returned to the river they had left.

The two little Indian boys went down to the clay bank where they had

stuck fast. No rain had fallen since they had been there, and they

found their footprints in the clay. These had dried until the mud was

like stone.

The squaw came and looked at the holes. She took some clay in her hands

and wet it in the river, then she shaped it like the hollow stone she

used for cooking. She dried the clay in the sun, and it was soon hard.

An old chief saw the clay dishes and told the other squaws to make

them, but the clay dishes would not hold water and broke very easily.

A squaw put some ashes and fire in her dish one day. She wanted to save

the fire, for it was hard to get. The hot coals baked the dish, and it

would not break. It held water; then the Indians knew how to make their

clay dishes in the right way.

III. LEAPING ROCK IN THE PIPESTONE VALLEY

Near the Falls of Winniwissi is a great rock; it is as tall as two

braves. The water manitous have cut the sides of this rock; it is

smooth on the top; it is smooth on the sides; it is like a piece of ice

in the Big Sea Water.

It is small on the top. A brave, if he lay down on it and put out his

hands, would put his hands on nothing. It is small; it is a high rock.

When they gathered in the Pipestone Valley the chiefs stood by this

rock. It is in the Valley of Peace. The young braves stood by this

rock. The chiefs tried the young braves here, for this was Leaping

Rock. It stood above all the other rocks.

The chiefs called the young braves of their tribes. The young braves

came. The chiefs said: “Leap from this trail in the valley to the top

of Leaping Rock. Then you are brave; then you are strong.”

It was a leap as high as two braves are long. It was a leap like an

arrow shot into the sky; like an arrow which falls and breaks on the

rocks the young braves fell sometimes.

Sometimes the young brave was strong; he would stand on the slippery

rock like an eagle resting on the mountain. It was well. He was then a

great brave. The chief of his tribe gave him the feather of an eagle to

wear, for only a strong brave may wear a feather in his scalp lock.

A Dakota maiden had two lovers. She told them to go to Leaping Rock.

They went; one came back. The other the chiefs buried where he fell as

he slid from Leaping Rock. The maiden took the one who came back; but

she was missed one day, and they found her at the foot of Leaping Rock

with eagle feathers for the Pawnee’s grave.

“He was brave but no one mourns for him. He shall have two eagle

feathers,” she said.

“It is right,” said the Dakotas.

IV. THE FACE OF THE GREAT MANITOU IN THE ROCK

The great stone pipes of all tribes of Indians are made in the Valley

of Peace. The Valley of Peace has high walls of rock. This rock is soft

when it is first cut; it is red and white.

No Indian may harm any one in this valley. Enemies must not know war

here. Dakotas, Chippewas, Pawnees, tribes of the south and tribes of

the north buried their tomahawks when they met in the Valley of Peace.

This is true; the tribes gathered here to make their calumets. The

calumet is the pipe of peace.

The Falls of the Winniwissi are in the Pipestone Valley. The music of

the falling water is like the song of peace.

Near the Falls of Winniwissi is a high rock. When the braves come to

the Valley of Peace they see a great face in this rock. They see it

when far away on the long trail. It is the face of the Great Manitou.

It is the face of the Great Spirit.

All the tribes believe that the water spirits cut this face on the

rock. It is Wahkan. It is sacred.

The Dakotas believe that Toonkan, the oldest of all the gods, lives in

stone. Stone was made first. Toonkan lived first. He lives in every

rock. He loves best the great rocks. They are his home. The Indians

worship the face in the rock. It is Toonkan watching them. He will

bring them back alive from battle. He will help them in the fight with

the bear.

The Indians lift their pipes and let the smoke blow toward the Great

Stone Face. They sing songs to him; he helps the tribes.

There is another Great Spirit who lives in the sun. These two Great

Spirits know each other.

The Dakota prays to the sun. One of his prayers is this:

“Wahkan Ate! onshemada!” (“Sacred Spirit, Father! have mercy on me.”)

The Chippewas fear their manitous. They are careful not to offend them;

there are many little manitous; there are many manitous that try to do

harm. The good manitous are wiser than the bad manitous. The Indian

must not forget to pray to the Great Manitou. He must not forget the

little manitous.

V. HOW TWO SQUAWS SAVED THEIR BAND

(Kickapoo)

The Indian has a great pride in and love for his band and nation. There

is a story of two captive squaws who were promised life and freedom if

they would lead their captors to the place where the squaws’ own people

were hidden.

The squaws told their captors to bring many canoes; then, acting as

guides, leaped into the front canoe, calling on their captors to follow

them. The long line of boats swept quickly down the stream. Every one

was merry but the two squaws; their faces showed the sorrow in their

hearts.

The river grew narrower, and the current grew swifter. The warriors

called to the squaws to know if they were going the right way.

“This is the shortest way to our wigwams. Make ready your arrows. You

will see the smoke of our campfires. We will lead the band who will

kill our braves.”

The squaws stood up in their canoe. They threw their paddles far out

into the white water of the rapids. They gave the war whoop of their

people.

The warriors saw the canoe which held the two captive squaws stand

still. It was caught for one minute by a rock, then it leaped forward

like a great fish and was out of sight. There was no hope for any of

the canoes. Down, over the falls they went, one by one. The squaws had

led their captors by the shortest way, but it was the way of death to

each one.

The braves they were seeking were hidden in a cave at the foot of the

waterfall. The broken canoes, scattered garments, arrows, and bodies

told the story of their rescue by the brave squaws. Now the squaws of

their band sing in the great war dance and chant of the bravery of

women.

VI. THE ORIGIN OF THE CRANE TRIBE OF THE OJIBWAY OR CHIPPEWA INDIANS

(Tribe Story)

The Great Spirit sent two cranes from the world above the sky. They

came through an opening between the clouds and tried to find a place

upon the earth. The Great Spirit told them when they were suited with

some spot to fold their wings closely to their sides and wait; a change

would come over them.

The pair of cranes flew down to the earth and began to search for a

home. They went to the prairies and tasted the buffalo meat. It was

good, but there were many days when no buffalo was in sight. They

feared that the food would not last, and the two cranes flew to a great

forest.

In the forest they tasted of the flesh of the elk, the deer, and many

other animals. It was good meat, but it was hard work to hunt, and many

days there were neither elk nor deer in sight.

Then the two cranes flew to the Great Lakes. They tasted of many kinds

of fish. They came to the rapids in the outlet of the lake white men

call Lake Superior. Many fish were in this outlet; every day the fish

seemed more plentiful than the day before.

“We will find food here forever. We will make our home here,” said the

two cranes.

They flew away from fishing in the waters. The two cranes stood on a

little hill near the rapids and folded their wings closely to their

sides. The Great Spirit saw their faith, and they were changed into a

man and a woman. Among the Ojibways there is a tribe called the Cranes,

who believe they are the children of these two cranes sent by the Great

Spirit to the earth.

VII. STORY OF THE FIRST MAN AND WOMAN

(Chippewa)

The Great Manitou had his home in the Land of Peace. Before he became a

man and his face was cut in the stone, he was a great bird and his nest

was in the pipestone rocks.

He fed on the wild buffaloes that lived on the prairies. He could carry

two buffaloes in his claws; he always ate them near his nest; this is

why the rocks are red.

The tracks of the manitou bird can be seen near the Land of Peace. The

Indians know where to find these tracks and will show them to the white

man.

The Great Serpent is older than mankind. He was alive before the first

man was made. He found the nest of the manitou bird; there was one egg

in the nest. The manitou heard the egg move. He was miles away, but he

flew with a great rock in his claws and killed the serpent. The rock

broke open the egg, and out of it came a grown man, but the rock lay

upon his feet and he could not walk. He had to stand in one place, for

the manitou bird would not set him free until he knew many things.

The man learned how to hunt the buffalo, for he could see many miles.

He learned how to tan and use the buffalo skin; he learned the language

of birds; they would come when he would call their names; he learned

how to make and use the bow and arrow.

The manitou bird covered the man with a great buffalo skin, but his

head was not covered, for he had much black hair. The first man was

slow to learn and he stood many moons in his place in the pipestone

rocks; nothing came to hurt him.

When he had learned much, he woke one morning and found a woman

standing beside him. The manitou bird pulled away the stone from the

feet of the man. He shook his wings and the man and woman ran to the

prairie.

These two were the first of all people. They were Indians. All mankind

know they were the first to live on the earth.

VIII. GIANTS AND FAIRIES

The Indians in the forest have many stories of giants. The red men are

very proud of their own people, who can lift the greatest weight, run

the fastest races, or suffer the most pain without making a sound. You

see the Indian is not so very different in some ways from the white

man.

Kwasind, among the Chippewas, was a strong weedigo, or giant. He it was

that threw the rock into the Sault Ste. Marie. He could not be hurt

except in one place; that was in the back of his head. Kwasind was

foolish enough to tell this to one of the little water people. He told

a little nibanabas that if the little people of the forest, the

pukwudjinnies, could hit him with cones from the pine trees, he would

die. But he knew he was very tall, and the pukwudjinnies were no larger

than a little papoose.

The little people of the forest soon heard the secret. They left the

shores of the swift river and went to look for pine cones. They found

them and brought many back. They hid by the river until Kwasind came in

his great canoe asleep; the nibanabas had sung him to sleep. The little

people threw their cones into the canoe and hit Kwasind on the back of

his head. The wicked giant never hurt any one again.

There was another giant who lived near Narragansett Bay. His wife grew

angry with him and went across the bay to live alone. If a fisherman

drifted near her wigwam by the shore, she always turned him into a

great rock. A terrible storm came from the sea and washed away these

rocks and her wigwam; after that the fishermen were not afraid.

Adapted from Schoolcraft.

IX. WEENK THE SLEEP-BRINGER AND HIS WARRIORS

(Ojibway)

Weenk is the sandman of the Ojibway or Chippewa children. He comes

every night and brings so many tiny warriors with him that each eyelid

is conquered and closed till morning.

The Ojibway mother puts her papoose to sleep in a tiny hammock made of

bark, fastened with sinew thongs and lined with soft, dry moss. She

sings strange slumber songs to the wee one, and the older children

stand by her in the summer evenings and whisper little stories of Weenk

and his warriors.

“Weenk is a bee as big as a buffalo,” they say. “He has bees’ wings

instead of hair. The wings sing and sing. They buzz and buzz. He is

always sleepy. He brings sleep to children. The little one must go to

sleep; Weenk has come.

“Weenk is a good man. He brings many little manitous to help him, and

they go everywhere. There is one on the papoose’s eyelid now. They are

dancing in the little one’s hair. Buzz, buzz, buzz.”

“Here is a war club one of the little manitous has lost,” a sister will

say as she picks up a tiny hair.

“Here is a feather from a scalp lock,” says another, as she holds up a

fiber from some feather. So the fun goes on until finally the little

papoose is asleep.

“We will fight Weenk,” say the children, and then there is a battling

of empty hands in the air, while they sing “Buzz, buzz, buzz.”

“Wewahsta has lighted her lamp,” says the squaw mother as she sees the

evening star. Then the children know it is time for them to lie down to

sleep, and soon the wigwam is still.

The story of buzzing Weenk and his band is fresh every evening, for

they always tell new stories of what the little warriors can do.

Sometimes they come on the fireflies, and sometimes the mosquitoes and

busy gnats bring them. Indian children are much like their white

brothers and sisters and find sport in many things.

X. THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SENECAS

(Iroquois)

Two Indians from the Seneca Reservation went hunting; they went on a

long trail, but at last found a place where the deer come to eat the

salt that is in the sand; it is called a “salt lick.” The Indians

waited in the trees until many deer came; they shot at the deer, which

fell like wild ducks when the rice is ripe.

The Indians had to throw away much meat in order to save the skins for

leather. There was more meat than the wolves could eat, but the hunters

shot many deer every day, until no more came.

The hunters went on carrying great rolls of deerskin, which were very

heavy. They were hungry, but found nothing but acorns to eat. They

became very weak and said: “Our wigwams will see us no more. We shall

starve, and the deerskins will never be used.”

They sat by a great rock. One of the hunters hit the rock with a stick,

and a little man appeared.

The little one said: “You are starving because you killed and did not

eat. You fed the wolves; now the wolves will feed on you. We have

driven the deer to another forest, where they may live and be found by

other hunters. You were selfish. You wanted all the deerskins in the

forest. You were not wise.”

“What shall we do to get food?” said the hunters.

“You may have meat if you will give up all the deerskins. My people

have said it,” said the little one.

“We must have the skins, and we must have food. Ask your chief to let

us have the skins for our wigwams. We will be wise when we see the deer

again at the salt licks,” said the older hunter.

“I will go to my chief. Hit on this rock again when you want me,” said

the little one.

The Indians rapped on the rock again when the sun was setting. The

little one came and led the way to a great cave filled with food and

furs. They ate and slept. At midnight they were awakened by many of the

little people, who said that the hunters might take their packs of

skins and all the food they wished from the cave if they would never

again shoot the deer to feed the wolves. The hunters promised and soon

were in a strange, sound sleep. When they awoke they were near their

homes.

Adapted from Powell’s Report.

XI. THE HUNTER WHO COULD FLY

(Iroquois)

An Indian had been out hunting all day. His arrows had never come back;

they brought him nothing; he was tired and hungry; he had no more

arrows. Just then he came to a lake on which many wild geese were

swimming, and he wanted some meat. He would have it.

He saw some young saplings growing at the foot of a basswood tree. He

tore off long strips of bark from these and then dived into the lake

under the geese where he saw hundreds of their feet. He tied many of

their feet together, and then fastened them to his belt.

The geese began to scream, and the flock rose from the water. He had

tied six geese to his belt; they were strong, and the geese lifted the

hunter out of the water and flew with him to the flock.

He cut three geese loose; the other three broke the strings which tied

them. The Indian dropped down, down, into a tall hollow stump. He was

hungry, but he went to sleep.

After two days he heard squaws trying to cut down the stump; they ran

away when he called to them. The Indian men came and found him; they

got him out and gave him food.

The Indians gave him arrows, and he made himself a new bow; these he

took and went on a long hunt. He came to a place where there were many

deer, and he had much meat and many deerskins. The hunter remembered

how the geese had carried him in the air. He made wings of the

deerskins; he learned how to fly with the wings, for the birds taught

him.

The hunter was very far from his tribe. It was a long trail to his

village. He said to the birds that he would fly to his tribe, and he

did. When it was night he slept in the trees; when it was day the

hunter flew until he was hungry, then he stopped and found something to

eat.

He reached his village; his tribe saw him and thought a spirit had

come. They called a great council, and the hunter told his story; then

he burned his wings. No other Indian was ever seen to fly in the air.

XII. HOW THE BEAR LOST HIS TAIL

(Iroquois)

An old fox saw an Indian with a sled-load of fish. The fox wanted a

fish, but was afraid of the man. How could he get a fish without

letting the Indian know? At last he thought of a plan. He laid himself

down by the sled-road and made the Indian believe that he was dead.

The Indian wanted the fox’s skin, but did not have time to take it. He

threw the old fox on the sled with the fish and pulled the big load

towards his wigwam.

While the Indian was hard at work pulling, the old fox pushed off two

or three good fish and rolled off himself. In a minute he was out of

sight with the fish.

The fox met a wolf who asked him, “Where did you get the fish?”

The fox did not like the wolf, but told him the trick he had played on

the Indian.

“It is easy. Go and do it,” said the fox.

The stupid wolf ran away, and after seeing the Indian, lay down and

waited as the fox had told him. The Indian found him, but he was not to

be fooled twice by the same trick. He pounded the old wolf with the

stout stick he used for a cane. The wolf jumped up very sore and ran

away to find the fox. He did not find him.

A bear saw the fox eating the fish while the wolf was gone.

“Where did your fish come from?” asked the bear.

“Follow that road down to the river and you will find a fishing place.

Put that long bushy tail of yours into the water. Wait until the fish

bite it, then snatch them out.”

The bear ran down to the river and did just as the fox had told him,

but the fishing place froze over while the bear waited for the fish to

bite. The bear did not know this, for his back was turned to the water.

It was a very cold day, and the bear thought he would walk and get

warm. He tried to get up, and his tail broke off short in the ice.

The bear ran so fast that he found the fox, and he wanted to fight him.

“I have done nothing,” said the fox. “It is all because you are so

slow.”

The bear never had a long tail after that time. The fox never lost his

fine one.

Kaanerwah, Iroquois Chief.

XIII. THE BLUE HERON AND THE WOLF

(Algonquin)

A big blue heron was standing in a marsh near a river. Two weasels

wanted to cross the river. The weasels talked with each other.

“That is a beautiful bird,” said the mother weasel, “see how high he

carries his head.”

“He is as tall as a tree,” said the little weasel. “If I were as tall

as he, I would carry you across this little river.”

The big blue heron was pleased, for he liked to be called tall. He was

proud and could carry his head very high, but he stooped and spoke to

the two weasels.

“I cannot carry you over this little river, but I will help you. You

must follow me to the end of the old tree that lies almost across the

river; then I will lie down and stick my bill in the bank, and you walk

on my legs and body for a bridge.”

The weasels followed the blue heron, and when he lay down they ran

across over his body to the river bank. They were very light and quick.

They did not wet their feet.

An old wolf was watching them all. He wanted to cross the river, and

when the blue heron came back the wolf asked him to do the same thing

that he had done for the weasels.

“I have always wondered what use you were in the world. Now I see that

you and your family would make good bridges. Your long neck is very

thin, but it might hold if one were as quick as a weasel. Come, my

friend, help a poor wolf that is hungry and in trouble.”

The blue heron was too proud to be used as a bridge for every one. The

wolf saw that he had not asked in the right way, so he began again.

“You must be a very stout bird. Your feathers are very fine, but they

cover a stout body. My grandfather has said that two herons can carry a

load of fish, but you could carry such a load alone.”

The heron looked at the wolf and told him to get up on his back.

“I will carry you,” said the heron.

The wolf showed all his teeth in a grin as he got on the heron’s back.

The heron waded to the middle of the stream and said:

“I am only half as strong as two herons, so I can carry you only

halfway. You must wait here until you find another heron as foolish as

I am, to carry you the rest of the way.”

The heron flapped his wings and flew back to his place in the marsh.

The wolf could not wait to find another foolish heron, but went

straight to the bottom of the river.

XIV. THE LITTLE WOLF BROTHER

A wigwam stood alone by a great forest. There were five people in it

for a long time; these were the father, mother, one daughter, and two

sons. Before the winter was over only the children were left, for the

old warrior and his squaw had gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds. The

girl and the oldest boy promised faithfully to care for their little

brother, who was weak and suffered often from sickness.

For twelve moons the older boy hunted and fished and brought food to

the wigwam; then he told his sister that he must go with some braves he

had seen in the forest, and be a great warrior like his father.

“But you promised to stay until the little one was grown tall. You

promised our father and our mother.”

“It is a squaw’s work to care for the children; you can do it. I am

brave; I must fight,” said the oldest brother.

“You are not brave, and you have not a straight tongue. It is not well

to do as you are doing. When you go on the warpath you will lose your

arrows, and your scalp will hang to the belt of your enemy. Come back,”

said the sister.

The boy ran from his sister’s call into the grove of great trees. He

jumped on his pony and rode away to the band of warriors he had seen.

The sister and the little brother lived together in the wigwam until

the wild geese had come and gone three times from the lake in the

forest. They saw no one but the wild deer and the other animals. They

planted their corn and tried to be happy; but the girl grew very

lonely, and one day when she saw another wigwam across the lake she

felt like the young wolf they had tied to a tree near the wigwam.

“Come, let us go and see who is across the lake,” she said to the

little one.

“I cannot walk so far; you have not made me new moccasins. I am hungry;

give me more meat,” was his answer.

“You shall have much meat,” said the girl, but she was very angry. She

killed the pet wolf when the boy did not see, and made a great kettle

of soup from its flesh and the water in the lake. She put her own

moccasins and her new suit on the buffalo robe which was their bed, and

while the little brother was playing at hunting she ran away to the

wigwam they had seen.

“You are welcome,” said the old squaw who came out to meet her. “Where

are your people?”

“They are all dead,” said the girl.

The squaw gave her a good supper and said, “You may live with me.”

The little brother cried when he could not find his sister, and went to

look for his pet wolf. He called to it in the wolf language but got no

answer. The little one ate his soup, and putting on his sister’s

moccasins lay down on the buffalo robe and went to sleep. He hunted all

day after he awoke in the morning, but could not find his sister.

“I will ask the wolves,” he said, as he heard a pack growling in the

forest.

He called to them in the wolf language and asked if they had seen his

sister or his little pet wolf.

“We found a wolf’s head near your wigwam, and we smelled the tracks of

some one that went around the lake,” said the leader wolf.

“My brother has gone, my sister has gone, my little wolf has gone; I

shall starve and freeze,” said the boy.

“Come with us,” said the leader wolf; “come and be one of us.”

The boy ran after the pack, and as he ran he began to chant:

I am changing into a wolf.

The wolves are better than my brother;

The wolves are better than my sister.

I am changing into a wolf.

He ran very slowly; the wolves began to howl as if some strange

creature were near, and the boy saw his own brother in a tree over his

head. The older brother begged the wolves to go away. The little one

was now a wolf, and he called to the pack to follow him, for he had

found the track of a deer.

The brother knew his voice and said, “Let me die, for my brother that I

deserted has become a wolf.” He fell from the tree, but the wolves did

not eat him, for his little wolf brother told them who the man was.

“Let him live. He is not good enough for wolves to eat,” said the

leader; but to the brother who had done wrong life was worse than being

torn by wolves. The band of warriors deserted him in the forest, and he

never went on the warpath again.

Adapted from Schoolcraft.

XV. THE GOOD BEAR AND THE LOST BOY

(Iroquois)

A boy went out to hunt and crawled into a great hole where porcupines

lived. He wanted to get some of the young ones. The dirt fell into the

hole behind him and shut him in with the porcupines.

The boy cried himself to sleep, for he knew his father could not find

him. When he awoke he saw the mother porcupine as big as a squaw. She

gave him some food, but he could not eat. The food was bitter.

The porcupine squaw said, “I will call a council, for I do not know

what to feed you.”

The council was held in the woods close by. Wolves, bears, foxes, and

deer came. The mother sent her young porcupines to call these animals

to the council. The boy was glad he had not hurt any one in the

porcupine’s cave.

The mother porcupine stood in the council and said: “I have found this

creature in the house I have made for my little ones. He is hungry, but

he cannot eat what my children eat. Tell me what to give him so that he

may live.”

A great gray fox rose then and answered: “I live on geese and the birds

of the forest. He is the child of the red man. The red man has fire and

clay. He cooks his food; I do not.”

The council decided that the fox should not take the boy.

A wolf stood in the council: “I have many cubs in my den. They are

always hungry. I am always hungry. It is better for the boy never to

see the place where I sleep.”

And the council agreed that the wolf mother should not take the boy.

The deer did not stand. His head was covered with tall antlers. He sat

and looked with kind eyes at the man-child. He said: “I have hidden my

family in the thick bushes. They are safe while I am in this council.

We feed on wild grass and the tender leaves of the trees. We love one

another, but there are many who hunt us. The child could never run as

we run. Our eyes see much. We see, we hear, and we run. The child has

two feet; we have four. He could not follow us.”

The council said that the deer should not take the boy.

The bear rose on his hind legs and said: “I feed on nuts. My little

ones are warm and not hungry. I will take the boy.”

The council said that the bear was wise. The boy should go with him,

and all the other animals would help to gather the nuts for his

feeding. The council fire was put out, and each one went home. The boy

followed the bear to a hole in a great tree. The mother bear and the

cubs welcomed him, and the boy was happy.

He learned to talk as the bears talk and to walk like them. Nothing

hurt him, and he was never hungry. Some Indians saw the father bear one

day and chased him. Then they found the mother and her cubs, and all

were killed.

The boy hid in the hollow tree. The Indians found him and took him

away. He was very wild and did not love his people, for they had killed

the bears.

The Indian boy was kept in the wigwam. He learned the ways of his

people again, but never did he shoot or trap a bear.

XVI. LEGEND OF NIAGARA FALLS

(Seneca)

An old war chief came to the wigwam of Red Eagle. The old chief wanted

to marry the young daughter of Red Eagle. He brought many furs and much

food to pay for her. Red Eagle told his daughter that this old chief

was to be her husband.

White Cloud was the name of the girl. She shed many tears when the war

chief was gone. She was afraid to show her dislike before.

Red Eagle said: “He has brought his presents to us. We have taken them.

We cannot give them back. He is a great war chief, and we cannot offend

him.”

White Cloud knew that no one on earth could help her. She could not

live. Her wigwam was near the water. She jumped into her canoe, but she

did not know what she was doing, for she paddled far out into the

river. The rapids were near, and the dashing water carried her little

boat down the rapids to the falls of the great waters.

Hinun, the god of clouds and rain, lived under the great falls. His

wigwam was behind the falling waters. He saw the maiden in her canoe.

He rushed out from his hiding place and spread his great wings. He

caught the boat before it was dashed to pieces on the rocks, and

carried White Cloud to his cave behind the falling waters.

Here White Cloud lived many weeks. Hinun taught her many ways of

healing. He told her why so many of her village had sickened and had

gone from earth. There was an evil spirit under the ground on which her

people lived. If she would wait in his wigwam he would kill it.

Hinun came back from watching the harvest of corn, and told her that

the old war chief was dead. She could go back to her own wigwam, and he

carried her back on his wings to the shore. She remembered the

medicines he had taught her.

Red Eagle was glad to see his daughter again. Her mother was sick with

grief for her. White Cloud cured her by standing beside her bed. She

cured many with the new medicines.

White Cloud begged of the tribe to move to a better place for their

village. She told them all that Hinun had said. They moved the village

to another place, but the evil spirit followed them.

Hinun came and found the evil spirit. He struck it with lightning from

the clouds. The evil spirit was killed. It was like a great serpent, as

long as twenty arrow flights. It floated down the waters of Niagara.

Its body lodged between the rocks. It was so heavy it bent the rocks.

It bent them like a horseshoe, and they are that shape to this day.

When the evil spirit was gone from under their village there was no

more fever. Hinun helped White Cloud in many ways, and she told these

things to her people. Hinun does not live behind the falling waters in

these days, for when the Indians left he went away.

Adapted from “Iroquois Myths,” Powell’s Report.

XVII. HOW THE INDIANS CAME TO KNOW MEDICINE PLANTS

(Tuscarora)

Chief Mt. Pleasant, of the band that has the Bear totem, tells this

story:

Many winters ago a poor, sickly old man came to an Indian village. In

front of each wigwam was placed a skin on a pole to show what totem

belonged to the family. Over some wigwams hung a beaver skin; that was

the totem or sign of the tribe of Beaver Indians. Over other wigwams

hung deerskins; that was the totem of the Deer tribe.

The old man stopped at each wigwam and asked for food and a place to

sleep during that night. He looked so sick that the families who had

the Wolf, the Turtle, and the Heron totems all refused him a chance to

enter their wigwams.

He went the whole length of the village, and at last he saw a wigwam

with a bearskin hanging over it. A kind old squaw came out of this

wigwam and brought food to him, and spread out skins for his bed. The

old man felt very sick. He told her what plants to gather in the woods

to make him well.

The squaw gathered these plants and did as he told her with them; the

sores on his feet were healed and he was better very soon. She promised

not to forget the secret of the healing plants.

In a few days he was taken with a fever; again he told the old squaw

what plants and leaves to go out and gather for him. She did so, and it

was not long before he was well. She promised again not to forget what

she had learned.

Many times he fell sick; each time it was with a new sickness. Each

time he told the squaw what to find that would heal him. The squaw

learned more than all her nation knew of medicine.

One morning the old man told her that he had come to her village just

to teach the people the secrets which she now knew. No one had welcomed

him but the Bear band.

The old man said: “I am going away from this people now. I came to do

them good. No one but you would show kindness to the stranger. When you

see the sun again, you will find a young hemlock tree growing by the

door of your wigwam. It will grow taller than any tree that you or your

tribe have seen.

“This will show that the Bear tribe is the greatest. All the tribes

shall come to the Bear tribe for help in sickness. You will show them

the plants, roots, and leaves that can heal their sick people.”

When the old man was done talking he went out of sight. No one has ever

seen him since that morning. The Bears have become strong, and their

warriors are very brave. Their medicine men can do more than the

medicine men of other tribes.

Arranged from Powell’s Report.

XVIII. MONDAHMIN, WHO GAVE THE CORN

(Chippewa)

A manitou lived alone in the land. Wunaumon was his name. He was brave.

All the animals feared him. He was a great hunter and the son of

Menabozho.

Wunaumon walked all the day through a great woods. When he came out of

the woods he saw a great prairie; it was wide, like a lake of land.

Wunaumon saw trees on the further side of the prairie.

“I will see what is in that forest,” he said. His steps were long, and

he was soon almost across the prairie.

Wunaumon stopped like a deer that is startled. He was not afraid, but

he saw a strange sight. A stranger came out of the forest across the

prairie. He came to meet Wunaumon.

“Where are you going?” said the stranger. Then he lifted a pipe of

peace, and Wunaumon took it. They were friends now.

The stranger was short. He had a red feather in his scalp lock. His

coat was stiff and shiny. He did not wear deerskin. They sat down on

the prairie. They smoked the pipe of peace.

“I am very strong,” said Wunaumon. “How strong are you?”

“I am strong as a man,” said the stranger.

“My name is Wunaumon; what is yours?”

“We will wrestle. If you throw me, I will tell you my name. You will

win much from me if I fall. Let us try our strength.”

Wunaumon stood up on the prairie. He was very tall and strong.

“Come, Red Feather,” he said.

“That is not my name,” the stranger answered. “If I fall, you shall

know my name. You shall have a great gift. You must conquer me. The

gift is for all your people.”

It was morning when the two began to wrestle. They were both very

strong. One could not make the other fall. They had no more breath.

They stopped and began again. They did this many times. It was a great

battle.

The sun began to go down. Wunaumon thought that the sun was ashamed to

see his weakness. Wunaumon put his feet very hard on the ground. He

grew very fierce. His arms were strong like the legs of a bear. There

was a great noise. “Red Feather, I have made you fall,” said he; “what

is your name?”

“My name is Mondahmin. My body is my gift to you. Cover me with the

fine dust where we have wrestled. Come to this place often. You will

see me again. I will bring gifts out of this prairie to your people.”

Wunaumon covered Mondahmin. He went into the forest and waited one

moon. He came back to the place of wrestling. Two green feathers were

waving in the air above the little hill he had made. A voice like

singing came out of the green plumes.

“This is the corn, the gift of Mondahmin. Watch this plant and take the

seeds to the tribe that lives nearest you. Tell them to make a feast to

Mondahmin in the Moon of Fruits.”

Wunaumon took the corn in the month of fruits. He told the tribe to

keep the feast. The gift of Mondahmin was good. It saved the people

from hunger.

Schoolcraft.

XIX. THE MARRIAGE OF MONDAHMIN

(Pottawottomi)

The old chiefs tell the young men, and all who will listen, that two

great spirits rule the world. One is very good, but the other does only

wicked things. The Good Spirit made the world and filled it full of men

and women. The wicked spirit would not let one person thank the Good

Spirit for his gifts to them.

All tribes had much food, for there were many deer, elk, and buffalo,

and the rivers were full of fish. Water, light, and fire were given to

every one; but not one gave thanks for these things. They forgot the

Good Spirit and the bad spirit was glad. He showed them how to fight

and to make war.

The Good Spirit did not like to have men forget him. He lifted up the

whole world and dropped it into a great lake. All the people were

drowned excepting one young chief who had kindness in his heart. He

gave thanks for his life, and a sister was given to him, for the

wigwams were empty and he was alone. He called his sister White Earth.

The young chief dreamed that five strangers came to see his sister. The

Good Spirit whispered to his heart that she must not see nor speak to

one of them until the fifth one came to her wigwam. If she did not say

anything nor see them, they would give her greater gifts than she could

ask. She must not be afraid if they fell down with no more life in them

when she did not answer. But all the world would be happy if she smiled

and welcomed the fifth stranger.

They came the next day. The first one was tall and wore a green

blanket. White Earth did not look nor answer him when he spoke.

The stranger stood very still, and then his blanket changed into

leaves, and Usama the tobacco plant fell down to the ground.

The next visitor was very short and round. He could not walk fast. The

girl did not say one word when he asked her to look at him. She did not

see him, but her brother was watching, and he laughed when Wapako the

pumpkin rolled over and down the hill. The girl was very wise and knew

how to keep silent.

Eshkossim the melon and Kokees the bean came together and called to

White Earth the maiden to welcome them. She did not answer, and they

fell down the same as the two who had come before them.

Soon she heard a strong voice calling to her the fifth time. The girl

untied the strings that fastened her door, and looking up she saw a

very tall chief with feathers in his scalp lock. She loved his voice,

for it was like the wind in the pine trees. She said: “You are welcome,

Dahmin. I will take you to my brother. He will call you Mondahmin.”

The brother gave his sister White Earth to Mondahmin, for the Good

Spirit had sent him to her.

After the wedding feast a great wind came, and then much rain. In a few

days the ground was covered with the green leaves of growing plants.

Usama the tobacco had come with all of his tribe to give gifts to the

great chief Mondahmin the corn plant. Wapako the pumpkin, Eshkossim the

melon, and Kokees the bean, all brought many gifts to Mondahmin and his

wife. They promised to bring the same gifts each year as long as the

rains should come and the sun give his light and make them warm.

Mondahmin and his wife gave thanks to the Good Spirit. They taught

their children these things. The Indians call Mondahmin their

grandfather, and they do all the things he told them. The Indians do

not forget to give thanks for the corn, bean, pumpkin, and melon.

Schoolcraft.

XX. THE PRAIRIE DANDELION

(Algonquin)

In the Southland, flat upon the ground, lies the spirit of the south

wind. He is a very fat and very lazy old man. His eyes are always

toward the cool north, but he will not stir from his resting place.

When he sighs the air is filled with warm breezes. In the autumn his

breath is filled with the odor of apples and all manner of fruits. He

sends the golden Indian Summer to the Northland. Shawondasee is the

name of this spirit of the south wind.

One day, while looking toward the prairies of the north, he saw a

beautiful girl with yellow hair standing on the plains in the west.

Every morning for days he saw this maiden, and she seemed more lovely

each day.

But another morning when he opened his sleepy eyes and looked, the

yellow locks on the maiden’s head were changed to fleecy white.

“Ah! my brother, the strong north wind, has been more swift than I, as

he ever is. He has put his frost crown on the maiden’s head. I will

mourn for her.”

Shawondasee heaved a number of warm sighs, and as the pleasant south

breezes reached the maiden the air seemed filled with tiny feathers.

The maiden had vanished with her crown.

It was no Indian maiden. It was only the prairie dandelion, and the

crown that Shawondasee thought the north wind had given her was only

her crown of feathery seeds; but the lazy Shawondasee never knew the

secret, and mourned for his loss and envied his brother.

Schoolcraft.

XXI. THE SHADOW CANOE

A LEGEND OF MINNEHAHA FALLS

(Dakota)

In a wigwam by the Falls of Minnehaha lived an Indian brave with his

family. Ampata was his wife, and two happy children played in the

sunshine around his wigwam. The little family went in the winter with

their tribe farther south, and the smoke of their village fires could

be seen for many miles.

Here Ampata embroidered the moccasins with colored quills and grasses;

these moccasins were for her husband and her children. Here she made

the buckskin suit for her hunter. She sewed it with strings of sinew

saved from the deer whose skin she had carefully tanned.

They all went back to the north in the summer time, back to the fall of

waters in the Great Father of Waters and to the Falls of Minnehaha.

There was good fishing in these waters, and their wigwam stayed there

all the summer.

In the north she wove baskets of willows and baked dishes of clay. She

found the red clay and the yellow for her husband’s war paint; he was a

great warrior and wore two eagle feathers in his scalp lock.

The braves of her tribe had a great battle with the Ojibways. Her

husband was like two men; he helped drive the Ojibways back to their

own fishing grounds. There was a great feast after the battle; the

warriors sang and told how brave they had been. Her husband sang a long

song and made a great speech.

After this he told her that he was a great warrior now and must have

two wives; he was going to marry the chief’s daughter. Ampata mourned,

but he forgot her.

Ampata fled to her father’s tent and took her two children with her.

She went to the south with her father when winter came; in the spring

she came back to the Falls of Minnehaha with her tribe.

Her husband did not come for her, and she was alone with her children.

All the warriors went to hunt the buffalo on the prairie.

There had been much rain, and the river was wide and deep. Ampata put

her two children into a canoe, and taking the paddle got in herself and

pushed far out into the river. The women called to her to come back,

but she pushed away faster toward the falls. The canoe leaped over the

falls, and Ampata and her two children passed to the Happy Hunting

Ground of the other world.

Every spring the Indians say that on moonlit nights they can see the

shadow canoe of Ampata leaping over the falls. They say white elk and

white deer watch it from the shore.

XXII. AN INDIAN TEMPERANCE SPEECH

Yannahar, the brave chief, stood up in his wigwam before his fellow

chiefs and spoke these words:

“Brothers, hear! and with the heart keep my words. My father,

Kimanchee, was a noble chief. He was light of foot; the wind only was

quicker. His strong arm was as a branch of the mountain oak. Joy was

with him when he came from hunting. His arrow never came back without

meat. The eye of my father never grew dim; his strength grew with the

days.

“Kimanchee came to the council fires. He and his brother chiefs smoked

the pipe of peace. Then the warpath was overgrown with grass. Peace

came like the Father of Waters; joy like the leaping waters on the

mountain. These were the blessings of Kimanchee and his brothers. They

drank at the spring in the forest and grew strong.

“But where is Kimanchee, Swift-foot-of-the-prairie? The Fire Spirit

came like the clouds of the north. Fire and death were on his wings.

The shadows of darkness were before him, and the clouds and coldness of

the night fell upon his track.

“The red man fell before the Fire Spirit like the leaves of the forest

before the fierce wind. Kimanchee’s eyes grew dim, his arm fell. His

swift foot turned from the hunting trail. His arrow came back to him no

more. His step was like the buffalo that has been shot.

“He slept with his dog in the sun; when he stood up, his strength was

gone. Kimanchee fell. The joy that stood by the door of his wigwam

stands there no more.

“He fell like a tree in summer. He fell like a tree torn by lightning,

with its green leaves withered on its branches. The red man fell before

the fire-water like the green leaves of the forest before the storm

wind.

“This is the curse of the fire-water. Kimanchee,

Swift-foot-of-the-prairie, is no more. The Fire Spirit has taken my

father. His heart is drowned in the fire-water.”

XXIII. THE GIRL WHO BECAME A PINE TREE

(Ojibway)

On the shores of Gitchee Gumee, the Big Sea Water, were many forests.

Manitouwah was a sacred grove of great trees by the water. Many

pukwudjinnies, or little people, lived among these trees.

Near by was an Indian village of many teepees; in one teepee lived

Leelinaw with her father and mother. She loved the great trees. She

came very often to sit in their dark shadows and hear their leaves

whisper to the blue water.

One day a famous old war chief came to her father’s teepee with gifts.

Leelinaw ran to the grove, for she did not love the old war chief. Her

father took his gifts, and she was to be the old war chief’s bride. Her

heart was very heavy.

The stranger went away for a time. Leelinaw came back and said: “His

voice and his people are strange to me. Leelinaw will go with him, for

her father commands her to do it; but first let your child have one

more day in the grove by the Big Sea Water.” The mother knew her

child’s heart, and the father said it should be as Leelinaw had asked.

She ran back to the grove and leaning against a tall tree told to it

her sorrow. A voice came to her heart from the rustling leaves. She

understood the tree’s language.

It said: “Lean on me, Leelinaw; I am strong. I will help you. Stay here

in the pleasant forest by the Big Sea Water. All the trees will miss

you, but I love you best of all. Stay with us forever.”

The gentle voice of the leaves comforted Leelinaw. She went back to the

teepee. In the morning she dressed herself in the robe of white

deerskin which her mother had made. She took some wild rice in her hand

and went away.

She did not come back at sunset; then her parents believed that the war

chief had carried away his bride; but the next day he came asking for

Leelinaw or his gifts.

The parents called the men of the village together and searched through

the forest. The father gave back his gifts to the war chief, for

Leelinaw could not be found.

Three moons had gone when two Indians in their birch-bark canoe saw

Leelinaw sitting by the Big Sea Water watching them. Beside her stood a

tall brave with green feathers in his hair. The two Indians in the boat

called to the two on the shore. Leelinaw waved her hand to them. Then

they could see her no more, but two tall pines stood in the place where

she and the brave had been resting. No trees had been there before.

Then the two Indians went to the village and told the father and mother

of Leelinaw. “The little people have done this thing,” said the

parents. “Let us take gifts to the two pine trees.”

They did so, and the pine leaves sang sweet songs to them, but the

parents thought it was only the summer wind.

XXIV. THE WHITE STONE CANOE

(Chippewa)

An Indian girl died on her wedding day. She was married to a young

chief of the Chippewas.

The chief was brave, but his heart was not strong enough to bear this

loss. There was no more peace for him from that hour. He went often to

her burial wigwam, the wigwam of the dead. He forgot war and hunting.

He pushed aside his war club and his hunting arrows.

He had heard his people say that there was a path that led to the Happy

Land of Souls. He told his people he was going to find this path and

seek this Happy Land. He made ready his bow and his arrows. He set out

on his journey, and his dog followed him. He did not know which way to

go at first. He only knew that he must go toward the south.

For a while he could see no change in the face of the country. Hills,

valleys, forests, and rivers had the same look as in his own land.

There was snow when he started. He could see it now piled thick on the

trees and the bushes.

At last there was no more snow. The trees were covered with buds;

everything seemed bright and cheerful. He knew that he had come to the

land of spring. The air was warm; there were no dark snow clouds in the

sky. A field of blue was over his head, and a field of green was at his

feet. He saw flowers around him; he knew he was far from the land of

snow and ice.

Birds sang in the trees; all signs showed him that he was on the right

trail, for he had heard his tribe tell of these things.

He went on. At last the trail he was following was lost. He saw ahead

of him a new path covered with flowers; this showed that he was near

the end of his journey. The path led him through a grove, then up a

long hilly ridge, at the top of which he came to a wigwam or lodge.

At the door of this lodge stood an old chief with hair like the snow on

the mountain. His eyes shone like the fire in a cave, for his eyebrows

were thick and white. He held a staff in his hands, and a long robe of

skins was thrown over his shoulders.

The young Chippewa began to tell his story. The old chief stopped him.

“I have expected you,” he said, “and have just come to my door to

welcome you. The one you seek rested in my lodge. The sun has set but

three times since she left. Come in; when your feet have found rest I

will show you where to find her.”

The Chippewa sat down in the lodge and rested. “I am ready,” he said

very soon, and the old chief led the Chippewa to the door. There they

stood and looked at the great prairies below.

“That is the Land of Souls,” said the white-haired chief; “my lodge is

the gateway. Only your soul can go into that land. Leave your body

here; leave here your bundle, your bow and arrows, and your dog. You

will find them all safe here when you come back.”

The Chippewa obeyed. The dog guarded his master’s burdens, while the

freed traveler leaped forward as if flying. He had no guide.

Everything kept its natural color and shape, except that all things

were more bright, more beautiful than ever before. There were animals

near him, but even the little rabbit showed no fear.

One strange thing he noticed from the first. His going was not stopped

by trees nor rocks, for nothing hindered him. He could go through

whatever was in his path. They were only the souls or shadows of trees.

He was only a shadow himself in a land of shadows.

Soon he reached a large lake; he saw a green island in the center of

it. The white-haired chief had told him when he left the lodge that he

would find this lake, and on its shore he would meet his lost bride.

He saw no one, but a beautiful canoe of shining white stone was tied to

a rock at his feet, and a shining paddle lay in it. He stepped into the

canoe and lifting the paddle turned round. He saw his bride in another

stone canoe at his side.

The two canoes left the shore like two white swans. Great waves came on

the lake. The white stone canoes rode on the top of the waves.

The Great Manitou was good. The Chippewa and his bride reached the

Happy Island of Rest. Here they sat and talked of their happiness. They

forgot that they had ever suffered; all things made them happy.

The Great Manitou talked to the Chippewa chief in a soft wind.

“Go back,” said the voice, “go back to the land of the Chippewas and

teach them. The white-haired chief at the lodge at the gate will tell

you many things. You have many winters to see before you can stay here

forever. Your bride will wait for you on the Island of Rest.”

The soft wind grew still. The young chief awoke. His dog was by his

side. Great peace was in the young chief’s heart,—but his journey was

only a dream.

He came back to his life and his work. He taught his people many

things. He was very brave. Before he died he told his people his dream,

and his tribe gave him a great name, for he had done much good to his

people.

Schoolcraft.

XXV. THE GREAT BEAR IN THE SKY

(Iroquois)

It seems strange that the Iroquois should have named our Big Dipper

with the other name by which we also know it. They called it the Great

Bear, and pointed it out to the white man in early days.

The Iroquois have this story about the Great Bear in the sky:

Seven braves were chasing a bear, which ran from the woods to a

mountain. This mountain was the home of a stone giant; all but three

hunters were destroyed by the falling stones which he threw.

The three hunters with the bear were lifted up into the sky by the

spirits of the four winds.

The bear can be seen in the sky. He is followed by the first hunter,

who has his bow in his hand. The second hunter comes next with a

kettle. The third hunter is far behind them all, and he is gathering

sticks.

The first hunter shoots at the bear in the Moon of Falling Leaves. The

red maple leaves and the leaves of the oak show the hurt the bear has

received. After this moon the bear hides for a time, but he comes back

after a while as brave as ever.

The hunter with the bow never kills him; the hunter with the kettle

never cooks his flesh; the hunter gathering sticks never builds the

fire.

XXVI. THE NORTH STAR

(Ojibway)

Three Ojibway hunters had been out hunting for meat many days; it was

in a new place. The woods were very thick, but there were no deer in

them. The hunters had nothing to eat; they had no water, for there was

none; they were lost in the thick forest.

The hunters sat down and smoked the pipe of peace. They offered the

smoke to the manitous who might live in the woods. They asked the

manitous to help them. The day sun was gone and there was no night sun.

The chief covered his head with his blanket and chanted:

“Our wigwams will see us no more. We will stay here forever. We can go

no further.”

A little pukwudjinnie came out of a hollow tree when the chief had

chanted his story. The Little One was like a little papoose, but he was

very old and knew very much.

He said: “I will help the hunters. I will show you the trail.”

He pulled the thick bushes apart, and the hunters followed. He found

the trail and soon came upon a herd of deer feeding in the bush. The

hunters shot two deer and ate much meat; they were stronger after they

had eaten the meat. The Little One did not eat; he was not hungry.

There was no rain, and the hunters had no water; they lost their

strength and could not walk on the trail. The pukwudjinnie left them;

then the hunters put their blankets over their heads and sat down. They

said no words. They could not smoke the pipe of peace, for their

strength was all gone.

The Little One came back with a deerskin full of drink for them; he

poured it into their mouths; it was not water; it was like no drink

they ever had before. They became very strong and wanted nothing more

to eat or to drink for more than one moon.

He led them on a long trail, to the land of his Little People; he took

them to his own chief. The chief was like a little papoose, but he knew

all the trails in the forest. He knew all the trails in the sky.

The little chief showed the Ojibway chief the star in the north, the

star that never moves. The little chief showed them how to watch this

star and not lose their trail. He found their lost trail for them and

sent them home.

The three hunters came back to their own wigwams. They talked in the

council and showed their people the star that never moves.

Other nations and tribes know this star now, but the Ojibways believe

that their people were the first to know where to find it in the Great

Blue Wigwam, and that the Little People were told of its worth when

their home was on the Evening Star.

XXVII. THE STAR THAT NEVER MOVES

(Algonquin)

In one tribe of the Algonquin Indians the story is told that the North

Star is the eye of Keneu, which is their name for eagle. It was also

the name of a warrior of their tribe.

He had won his name by his great feats of bravery; his eyes never grew

dim with sickness nor pain; he had never shown fear. When he was taken

prisoner by his enemies in war, he had, unarmed, run the gauntlet; he

had escaped when all the strong men of his enemies had stood in two

lines striking at him as he ran between the lines.

Keneu had run into the wild forest, which he had never crossed before.

He made himself a war club of metikomeesh. Its seeds are set in wood

cups. The black bear, or Mukwa, feeds on the nuts when they fall. The

war club was strong and heavy.

Keneu crossed the wild forest; he found his own village. He sought out

the wigwam of the girl with whom he had played when they were children.

When Keneu stood at the doorway of her father’s lodge, her father met

him and gave him food. Keneu told his story and all believed him, and

he asked for the maiden; he had thought of her welcome when he should

come to his home.

“Memainggwah the butterfly,—where is she?” asked Keneu.

“She walked the Pathway of the Spirits alone one moon before Keneu

came,” said her father; and the mother wailed a mourning cry from the

place where she sat.

“Keneu the war eagle will find Memainggwah. His wings are stronger than

the wings of the butterfly. Keneu will go back into the wild forest.”

The warrior, who had so bravely fought his way through bands of men and

hidden ways of thick trees, gave the war cry like an eagle, then

bounded back into the wilderness. No one saw him again as Keneu the

warrior.

The father of Memainggwah, when crossing a marsh one night, was

followed by a dancing light as large as half the moon when it is

overhead in the sky. The dancing light seemed to call out to him. He

heard it say: “I am Keneu. The Great Spirit has said that I shall find

Memainggwah, but not for many moons. Come to this place and seek for

me.”

The father of the maiden went again to the soft marsh land. This time

tiny lights flitted all about him. Singing, humming, whirling, they

seemed to fill the air. Wawwawtaissa, little fire-birds, the Indians

call them.

One of the little living fires came and lit upon his arrows. It sang:

“Watch for me. I shall go to Memainggwah soon. The eye of Keneu the war

eagle will shine through the blue of the Great Lodge. You will see

Keneu near Mukwa in the sky.”

When three moons had gone the father saw a new light in the sky. It was

where Keneu had said. He took his great peace pipe and offered smoke to

the new star. The star never changed its place. It shone like the eye

of a war eagle.

There it has been through hundreds of moons. It is the eye of Keneu. He

is happy, for he has found Memainggwah. She waited for him halfway on

the Bridge of Souls, made by the stars which are a white pathway to the

Happy Hunting Grounds.

White men call this star near Mukwa the Great Bear, the North Star. It

never stirs from its place in the north. This star helps lost men to

find their way back to the trail. An Indian in his canoe at night can

watch this star and know which way to go.

Keneu knew what it was to seek the lost. While the North Star shines

there is hope for those who wander in the forest or on the wide lakes.

XXVIII. TRAPPING IN THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS

(Wyandot)

A little papoose was found alone in the woods by a squaw. A blind bear

had killed the child’s father, and a huge rabbit had carried off his

mother.

The little papoose was taken to the home of his mother’s sister. She

named him Tchakobeech. He never grew larger than a papoose, but he was

as wise as an old chief. After many moons he made snares or traps and

caught the blind bear and the big rabbit, but he never saw his mother

again.

Tchakobeech said: “I will go to the Happy Hunting Grounds and find my

father and my mother. I will climb to the sky and break it open.”

Tchakobeech left the wigwam one morning and climbed to the top of the

tallest pine tree on the highest hill that he could find. No one saw

him. Each time he was near the top of the pine he blew his breath on

the tree, and it grew twice as tall as it was at first. He did this

many times, and at last he touched the blue sky. He put his head

through this blue wigwam and stepped from the tree into the Happy

Hunting Grounds.

Tchakobeech liked this new country very much, but he could not see any

people. He was lonesome, so he went back down the tree to the ground.

He had left a sister in his aunt’s wigwam. She was always ready to run

races and to play with him. He told his sister of the beautiful place

behind the sky, and she was ready to go back with him.

The tree did not fall, and Tchakobeech made his sister climb up first,

for then he could help her if her foot slipped. He had made little

wigwams on the big branches when he came down, and they slept in these

when the dark came.

They had four sleeps before the sky was reached. Tchakobeech made

another hole in the sky, and after his sister had gone through it he

broke off the top of the tree and went through it himself. Nobody could

follow them, for now the tree was too short.

The two were very happy together and played all day in the green

fields. Tchakobeech made two wigwams and picked many flowers for their

resting places. He set his traps to see if he could catch any animals.

His sister told him there was nothing to catch in such a beautiful

country.

Tchakobeech heard a noise in the middle of the night and went to his

traps to see what was the matter. They were all on fire, but did not

seem to burn. He called to his sister to come and help him.

The little trapper said: “Sister, tell me what I shall do. I have

caught a great fire in my traps.”

The girl trembled like a leaf on a tree. She said: “I know what is the

matter. You have caught the sun. Let him go. He could not see in the

dark, and his feet are caught. He cannot get away.”

The little papoose man could see that she told the truth. He was so

small that the sun burned his hands and made him blind when he tried to

let it out. Tchakobeech said: “I have made trouble for all the tribes

on the ground. I am not wise any more.”

Just then a little mouse jumped out of a stump. It had been with its

brothers to eat the moon. The papoose caught the mouse and breathed on

it until it grew as big as a bear. Its teeth were very long. He drove

it up to the traps, and it bit the leather strings.

The sun jumped out of the snares and went away.

He had been gone a whole day. All the tribes remember when the sun did

not shine, and there was no morning between two sleeps. It was many

moons ago. Tchakobeech did not put his snares in that place two times.

The sun found another place to sleep and was never caught again.

Schoolcraft.

XXIX. THE OLD MAN IN THE SKY

(Iroquois)

The people of the Six Nations, or Iroquois, point out to their children

a cluster of stars which they call the Old Man. White men do not always

know where it is. They tell this story of his reaching the sky, or the

Great Blue Wigwam.

An old chief was tired of life and of his people. He took his bundle

and walking-stick and went to the top of the highest bluff. There he

sang his death chant. His people followed, but waited at the foot of

the bluff. While they were watching they saw him slowly rise in the

air; his voice sounded fainter and fainter; the spirits of the four

winds raised him to the Great Star Lodge. He was given a place among

the stars.

His stooping form, his staff, and bundle are pointed out to Indian

children as they watch the stars at night.

XXX. WHERE THE MORNING STAR CAME FROM

(Chippewa)

A manitou lived with his family near the Big Sea Water. There were two

children in this family of the good manitou. The children of good

manitous help the Indians. They do much good, like their fathers and

their mothers.

This brother and sister were told that their work would soon begin.

They were to be separated. The sister was called to go to the Place of

Breaking Light. The brother knew his work was to be a watcher among the

rocks and hills. He was to be a Little One of the Woods.

The day of parting came. The sister sat with the brother and watched

the sun go down in the Big Sea Water. She put her hand into her

brother’s hand.

The sister said: “Watch for me, my brother; watch for me in the

morning. Turn your face to the Place of the Breaking Light when you

waken from your sleep in the morning; watch for your sister. It is our

father who said I must go.

“Watch where the Great Blue Lodge is painted with the paints we now see

across the Big Sea Water. I shall be in the Great Blue Lodge in the

Place of Breaking Light. My dress will be painted with paints. I will

shine like a drop of the shining Big Sea Water. Your sister will see.

Your sister will watch for you. She will not forget you.”

The brother said: “I will sit on this rock in the morning. I will look

toward the Place of Breaking Light. I will watch for my sister that is

gone. I will see her. My father has said it.”

The Place of Breaking Light was very bright the next morning. The red

was never so red before. All the Place of Breaking Light was bright

like a burning forest. The sun was not there.

The brother saw a new star. It smiled on him like the face of his

sister; he knew her; his sister was the Morning Star in the Place of

Breaking Light.

“I have found my sister; she is not lost. She is in the Great Blue

Lodge; the spirits of the four winds have carried my sister. She is

well.”

The brother turned to go back to the wigwam of his father, the good

manitou. His feet would not carry him there. He sat down in a cave in

the rock. He saw himself in the water; he was one of the Little People.

He was glad, for he had now many brothers. They called to him in the

cave; he answered them; they were happy together.

The father and mother often saw their children. The Morning Star is

happy in her Star Lodge. The brother is happy among the trees and the

rocks.

XXXI. THE WOMAN IN THE MOON

(Algonquin)

An old medicine woman lived with one tribe of the Algonquins. She knew

all the plants that gave medicine; she could tell of things that would

happen to her tribe or her family many moons before the things came to

pass; but she did not know one thing. She did not know when this world

would come to an end. She was forever asking the Great Spirit to tell

her.

A manitou was sent to her to make her stop asking. She said she would

stop when her headband, which she was weaving, was done.

The manitou said she must hide herself from her people or he could not

answer her question. The question would be answered when the forehead

strap was finished. She hid herself in the moon. There she sits weaving

the headstrap.

Once a month she stirs a great kettle of boiled corn that stands before

her; while her two hands have hold of the stick, the cat which is

always near her unravels her headstrap. She begins over again when the

corn is stirred.

There you can see her every night when the moon is full. She has never

stopped asking, the manitou has never answered, and her weaving has

never been finished.

XXXII. THE SEVEN STARS OF PLEIADES

(Iroquois)

Seven little Iroquois boys were in the habit of carrying their dishes

of succotash to the top of a little hill near their wigwams. They would

sit on this little hill and eat their supper. When the succotash was

all gone, then the best singer would sing while the other six would

dance around the mound. Every night they would do this. No other boys

came with them.

One night they planned to have a feast of soup. Each boy was to bring a

piece of meat. They would cook it on the hill and then fill their clay

bowls with the soup.

Their parents would not give them the meat. The boys had eaten nothing

all day, but they took their empty bowls and had a mock feast. They

piled their dry bowls after this empty feast and danced around the

mound.

Their heads and their hearts were very light. They forgot their hunger.

They danced faster than ever before; their feet left the ground and

they were dancing in the air. The six boys were around their leader who

was singing.

Up, up, went the boys into the sky. Their parents saw them and called

to them to come back. They could not do it. Whirling, floating,

dancing, they took their places in the sky, where every one may see

them.

The leader stopped his singing and tried to return. As he was not

content in the Great Star Wigwam, his light is not so bright as that of

the six other stars.

XXXIII. THE CHIPMUNK’S BLACK STRIPES

(Iroquois)

The porcupine was chosen head chief of the animals because nothing

could hurt him. This was when animals had tribes and chiefs like the

Indians.

Soon after the porcupine was made head chief he called a great council.

When the animals were all seated in a ring around the council fire, he

asked them this question: “Shall we have night all the time or

daylight?”

Then the animals were divided. There was much talking. Some wanted it

to be night always. Some said it was best to have it always day. The

bear wanted it always dark. He had a big voice and kept chanting:

“Always night. Always night.”

Each animal said something. The little chipmunk had a loud voice and

kept singing: “Light will come. Light will come.” He has a loud voice

yet.

The council was held in the night. The animals could not decide what

was best, but the chipmunk kept saying: “Light will come. Light will

come”; and before any one knew it the sun began to rise.

The night animals, with the bear for a leader, were very angry. The

chipmunk saw the day was coming and began to run. The bear said it was

because he was afraid and ran after him.

The great bear was clumsy. The little chipmunk was quick, but the bear

nearly caught him as the chipmunk ran into a hole in a hollow tree. The

bear struck him, and the black stripes down the chipmunk’s back show

where the bear hit him.

The chipmunk and his tribe won, and night and day have come ever since

that council.

XXXIV. THE ECHO GOD AND THE NORTHERN LIGHTS

(Iroquois)

The Iroquois seem to have been the only nation to worship with feast

and dance the echo god of the hills. When at war with other Indian

nations or tribes, the chiefs and warriors of the Iroquois would go out

and call: “Gohweh! Gohweh!” meaning, “I am telling you!” as many times

as there were enemies slain.

They did this very boldly, for they never believed that strange nations

could hear or understand them or the echo’s answer. If any of their own

people were slain, the cry was, “Ohweh!” which meant, “Our own!”

When they were on the warpath and night overtook them, the scattered

ones were gathered in by using the call to the echo god.

While planning an attack upon some other band runners were sent out

ahead to call to the echo god and find out if it was his wish for them

to fight. If no answer came to repeated calls, the attack would be

given up for a time. Some form of worship, either feast or dance, would

then be held, and runners would after this be sent out again to ask

what the echo god meant by not answering. If by any means an answer

came to their wails and calls, then the attack would be made. If no

answer came, the band found some other tribe to destroy.

A dance was always given to the echo god after a victory, and with this

was given a great feast, but never until they had mourned for their

dead and decided what to do with their captives.

The Iroquois go on the warpath no more. They have no longer any need to

call upon their echo god for help. They no longer offer him the worship

of the feast and dance.

The Northern Lights were closely watched by the Iroquois. The color of

the lights meant a great deal to the Indian watchers.

If the Northern Lights were white, it was believed that the frost would

shortly follow; if yellow, sickness and much trouble to the nation was

feared; while if the lights were red, very red, war and bloodshed were

on their way to harm the innocent.

If the sky was mottled and it was springtime, that was the best sign

possible. There was dancing and singing, for a good corn season was

expected in return for the worship shown in the dance.

Adapted from Powell’s Report.

XXXV. LEGEND OF MACKINAW ISLAND

(Chippewa)

The spirit that rules the Woman’s Star sent her son Osseo to the earth

one day.

There is a little star that shines every evening near the Woman’s Star.

It is jealous of the Evening Star, and it sent poison-arrows of

starlight on the head of Osseo. When the poison light-arrow struck

Osseo he became like an Indian who had seen a hundred winters.

Nothing old or evil can live on the Woman’s Star. Osseo could not

return to his mother. He was brave. He made no mourning. He made many

friends among the Ojibways.

Oweenee was the daughter of a chief. She was like the red lily that

grows on the prairies. She had nine sisters. They were like a field of

lilies. Her sisters had each married a great warrior.

Oweenee loved the old and wrinkled Osseo. There was none to cook the

deer meat his trembling feet brought to his wigwam. She was very sorry

for Osseo. Her sisters mocked at her pity for him. Osseo heard them one

day. He took courage and asked her to help him bear his sorrows. She

became his wife, for she knew his heart was as kind as it was brave.

The chief of the Ojibways made a great feast. The sacred dance was to

be danced by all the young braves. Oweenee’s sisters mocked at her

again. This is what they said:

“See Oweenee. She is like the young vine that clings to the pine that

is black with burning. Osseo is like the pine that the lightning has

torn and burned. Oweenee would make him like a young pine. She is

blind.

“Osseo, go from us. Leave Oweenee. She is not for you.”

Osseo heard the sisters. His heart was very angry. His eyes looked like

the eyes of the wolverine. He looked at Oweenee and then into the sky.

He gave a strange war cry and shouted: “Sho-wain-ne-me-shing-nosa!”

This means, “Pity me, my father.”

“Poor old man! he is calling to his father. If he goes back, Oweenee

will be the wife of a warrior,” said the sisters.

Osseo crept into a hollow log to hide himself.

As quick as a bird can fly he came out of the farther end of the hollow

log, but he was no longer an old man. He was a young brave, finer than

any in the Ojibway nation.

He went to Oweenee. When he put his hand upon her she became old like

the oldest squaw. Her beauty went like the lily that withers in one

day. Her sisters had no words. They sat on the ground and covered their

heads with their blankets. They said, “We have no Oweenee.”

Osseo called her his Nenemoshee, his sweetheart. He fed her at the

feast. He danced the sacred dance. His eyes were always toward Oweenee.

The feast was held in a great lodge. Music came into the lodge while

they were all eating. Osseo understood the music. It was his mother

talking to him.

“Come back to me. There is a place ready for you. Your bowls of clay

shall be of copper. Your kettles of stone shall be wampum. Come.”

While they were eating the lodge was lifted into the sky. All the tribe

who were eating were changed into birds. Oweenee’s sisters became

crows. Their husbands became blue jays. Others were changed to quails

and wild geese. All but Osseo and Oweenee were birds.

Osseo looked at Oweenee as they sailed through the air in the shining

wigwam. She was still an old squaw. He prayed again to his father.

Oweenee became like the lily again just as the lodge rested on the

Evening Star. Here everything was peace. All things were happy, and

none did harm to another.

One day the son of Osseo was learning to use his bow and arrow. He shot

one of the singing birds and a drop of blood fell on the star. The bird

changed into a woman. The child fell from the star, and the woman and

all the birds followed it, down, down to the same island they had left.

The shining lodge of Osseo and Oweenee followed them and was fastened

on a high hill far out in the big lake.

The land was very small there, and as the birds became men and women

again, the place was very crowded. Each one became smaller and smaller

until they were the smallest people in the world. They became

pukwudjinnies.

Schoolcraft.

XXXVI. HOW THE WATER LILY CAME

(Ojibway)

In the old days all men were happy. The men and women were as happy as

little children. The wild animals came when they were called, and there

was much food. The winters were not cold; it was always like the

Strawberry Moon, for the days were warm and the nights were not cold.

There were many birds in the trees. The birds were all red, blue, or

yellow like the war paint warriors now use. The birds could all sing,

and there was much music. Each tribe of the red men did what was right,

and there was no war. No one knew how to fight for a long time.

The Indians sat every night outside their wigwams. They watched the

stars. They said the stars were the homes of those who had walked

across the starry Bridge of Souls. They saw a star leave the sky one

night. It came halfway to the earth and stopped. It seemed like a bird

of fire.

A young brave had a dream about the star, and he believed his dream. It

seemed as if the star came to him in his sleep and looked like a white

maiden. The maiden was very beautiful.

She said: “I have left my home in the sky. I saw the red people and

loved them. Ask your wise men what shape I may take that I may always

stay and be loved by their people.”

The young brave woke and told the council. The wise men said: “Let the

star choose for herself. She may live in the top of the pine tree or in

the heart of a flower. She may live wherever she finds rest. She is

welcome.”

The wise men filled their peace pipes and offered the smoke of their

pipes to the star.

The star came lower and made the village very light, then hid herself

in the white rose on the mountain. The star was lonely on the mountain.

She could see the people, but could not hear them talk. She left the

mountain rose and went to live in a flower upon the prairie. Great

herds of buffalo went by her. The flower and the star trembled at the

sound of their hoofs.

The wise men saw the star rise from the prairie. They feared it would

go back to the sky, but a soft breeze floated it over a lake. The star

saw her shadow and the shadows of her sky sisters in the water, and she

rested like a canoe upon the water. The next morning the lake was

covered with water lilies.

“The night stars have blossomed,” said the little children. The wise

men said, “The white star has come to live with us.”

The people went out in their canoes and chanted songs to the new

flower. They gave it this name, “Wahbegwannee.” It means “the white

flower.”

Copway’s History.

XXXVII. THE NORTH WIND’S DEFEAT

(Chippewa)

Shingebis the great loon-bird lived in a lodge alone. It was by a great

lake over which thick ice had come.

He had only four logs of wood for his fire for the whole winter. But

each log would burn a whole moon, and as but four moons were cold,

there was wood enough.

Shingebis cared for no one. He liked the cold. When the wind blew the

coldest he would go out to where the reeds grew through the ice, and

pulling them up, dive down into the holes for fish.

Kabibonokka, the cold north wind, felt ashamed that there lived

anything which did not fear him.

“Why, this is wonderful. Here lives one who cares no more for me than I

do for him. I will try once more to see if he will give up to me.”

Then came the wind from the north ten times colder than ever. Great

drifts of snow were heaped everywhere.

Still the fire burned in the lodge of Shingebis. Every day he went as

before and pulled up the rushes and reeds from the ice, and dived down

for the fish which were always there.

“I will go to his lodge and visit him,” said the north wind one day, as

he saw Shingebis dragging home a great fish.

He went that night to the lodge by the water.

Shingebis did not know he was coming. He did not care. He cooked the

great fish and ate his supper, then lay on his side before the burning

log and sang a mocking song about the north wind. It was this:

Ka neej, ka neej,

Bi in, bi in,

Bon in, bon in,

Ok ee, ok ee,

Ka weya, ka weya.

Shingebis may have known that the one he was singing about stood

outside his doorway, for he sang this song many times.

The north wind could endure it no longer. He would see the creature

that did not care for his hurting. He came in and sat down opposite the

loon-bird, the great Shingebis.

This did not frighten Shingebis. He simply rose and stirred the coals

of the fire about the log till they blazed and sent out a great heat.

“You are but my fellow creature,” kept singing the brave Shingebis, and

he sat down again in his place. Very soon the icy tears began to flow

down the cheeks of Kabibonokka. He said nothing aloud but whispered to

himself: “I cannot endure this; I must leave.”

As he slipped out of the doorway not saying a word, he flew as straight

as he could to the places where the reeds and rushes grew. He froze the

roots very tightly into the ice. “Shingebis shall have no more fish,”

said the ice-cold wind.

Yet Shingebis found fish all that cold winter. He was brave and laughed

at his trials.

At last the north wind gave up trying to conquer the great Shingebis.

“Some manitou is helping him. I can neither freeze him nor starve him.

I will let him alone.”

When the four logs were burned and the four cold moons had passed,

Shingebis still laughed and sang in his lodge by the water.

Schoolcraft.

XXXVIII. A RIP VAN WINKLE

(Siwash)

Many moons before the Siwashes used iron or gold or silver a strange

thing happened. It must be true, for it is told by the old men to the

boys to this day. White people do not always believe it.

There lived a great Siwash hunter in the land in the west near the

great river full of salmon, where it comes into the sea. His arrows

gave him much meat; his great canoe and his spear gave him much fish.

He had very many strings of shell money; the Siwash people call it

hiaqua.

No one ever loved hiaqua as much as this great hunter loved it. He had

many strings of it around his neck. He was rich; but when he waited in

the trees in the forest for the elk or the deer to come that he might

shoot them, he was always counting the shells on these strings.

He would say to himself: “I shall have more hiaqua than the great

chief. I shall have more than two chiefs.”

When the great forest was very still his tamanous would come to him. It

was like an elk, and it would talk with him. He waited at the foot of

the great white snow mountain for the elk to come.

The great mountain is called Mount Tacoma. This was the home of the

Great Tamanous, who puts only good thoughts into the hearts of all

people; when the hunter sat long in the tree and looked at the mountain

he was ashamed in his heart.

The Great Tamanous, who is the Good Great Spirit, seemed to ask him,

“Where did you get it, that last string of hiaqua?”

And he had to say: “I tore some of the shells from the faces of

helpless squaws; from their noses and from their lips. I paid them for

the shells with elk meat so dry that they cannot eat it. I know they

are starving, but they could see; they did not have to take the meat.

They could eat leaves and berries. I know there are no berries, but

they could go on the long trail and find some.”

“The squaws and children were very weak with hunger,” said the Great

Tamanous to his heart.

The hunter was much ashamed; in the tree by the mountain he would be

ashamed, but he never gave back the hiaqua. It was good and he wanted

more.

One day he went up the side of Mount Tacoma. His own tamanous came to

him while he waited; the white elk talked to the hunter’s spirit. The

tamanous said:

“You are not wise. You are like the mouth of a great fish. You have

great hunger, but it is all for hiaqua. Your shoulders are covered with

heavy strings of hiaqua. You have taken the shells from the nose and

lips of your own squaw. You sell her elk meat, and she is starving like

the other women. You will not feed her with the elk meat you will get

to-day. I will send her meat. I am sent by the Great Tamanous. Listen!

I will give you hiaqua enough to fill your heart.”

Then the tamanous, the spirit of the great elk from which his band was

descended, told the hunter a secret. The tamanous told him of a place

on the great white mountain where was much hidden hiaqua. If the hunter

would seek it and obey, he should have enough to satisfy him.

The hunter went back to his village. He told his squaw he was going on

a long hunt. He took many deerskins from his tent, and when it was very

dark he went away.

He made his camp that night at the foot of Mount Tacoma. He could not

sleep; he could not wait; he saw the sun rise from the top of the

mountain; he had no fear. His tamanous had said he would be with him.

The hunter stood on a great rock on the top of the mountain and looked

down; at his feet was a wide hole; he could not shoot his arrow across

it. The hole was white with snow, except that in the middle was a wide

black lake; across the lake he saw the three great rocks he had been

told to find.

The hunter walked on the crackling snow until he reached these three

rocks. He knew them, for they were the ones his tamanous had told him

to find.

The first rock was shaped like the head of a salmon; the second was

like the good camass root, which all Siwashes eat; the third rock was

the same as an elk. It was his tamanous: it would take care of him; he

was safe.

The hunter dropped his pack of deerskin on the ground before the elk.

He opened it and took out a great elk-horn pick, and began to dig in

the sand.

He struck one blow in the sand. Four otters rose out of the black lake

and came and sat at the north of him. He struck the second blow. Four

more otters came and sat at the south of him. He struck the third blow.

Four more great otters came and sat at the west.

The sun was bright in the east. It was watching him. No otters came and

sat at the east. These were all the guards for the place where the

Great Tamanous kept his hiaqua. They did not hurt the hunter, and he

did not see them, for he was thinking only of hiaqua.

When the sun was over his head he put down his pick. He ate a bit of

dried elk meat and took his pick again. He struck a rock; it broke very

quickly. He lifted up a piece of the rock and saw a great cave full of

shell money, full of hiaqua.

The hunter put in his hand and played with the shells. He lifted up

strings of it, for it was strung on elk sinews. He threw the strings

around his neck. He worked fast, for the sun was moving to the west,

and he knew he must go. He was strong, but he had a great load. The sun

was too fast for him.

He stood up and ran, but he did not throw one string over the elk head,

nor over the camass root, nor over the rock like a salmon. He turned

his back on the great otters. He did not offer them one string, not one

shell; he forgot his promise to the Great Tamanous. He did not obey.

He ran on with his great load of hiaqua. He reached the white snow on

the side of the great pit; then all the otters jumped into the black

lake and lashed it into white foam with their bodies and tails. A black

mist came over the mountain; the storm winds came. The Great Tamanous

was in the storm.

The winds blew the hunter from one side of the wide hole to the other

side. He had his hands on his money and did not lose one string. The

water helped the winds to throw him back to the great rock on the top

of the mountain. The hunter did not let the otters get one hiaqua.

He heard two voices in the thunder; one was the Great Tamanous. He

heard the tamanous of all the mountain scream to him in the wind; he

heard them laugh.

His body was like a leaf, as the winds blew him and tossed him from one

rock to another. They did not break a string; they did not take his

hiaqua. He did not give them one shell.

The night was two days long; he broke one string and threw it away to

the winds. They laughed. He threw another string to the thunder voices.

The thunder was heavier than before. He threw away every string of

hiaqua; then his body dropped on the ground on the side of the

mountain, and he went to sleep.

When his eyes came open he was hungry; he dug some camass root, and

made a pipe and smoked. His bones were not broken, but his joints made

a noise like a paddle on the edge of a canoe. His hair was like a

blanket on his back; it lay on the ground while he was smoking.

“The Great Tamanous has done this,” said the hunter. He looked at the

white mountain, and his heart was full of peace.

“I have no hiaqua. It is all given back to the Great Tamanous. I am

well. I have no hunger for it. I will go home.”

He found the trail overgrown with tall trees.

“Tamanous has done it,” he said.

The people in his village did not know him. He asked for his wife, and

they pointed to an old squaw, wrinkled and with her face bent to her

knees. She knew him and pointed to his hair.

“Tamanous,” he said.

“There is the little papoose,” she said. The papoose was a man with

white hair.

“He is your son and my son,” said the old squaw.

The hunter looked in the water. “I have slept for many moons,” he said.

He became a great medicine man, for he was wise. He taught the Siwash

nation many things. He taught them to keep their promises. He told them

not to forget the Great Tamanous whose home is on the white mountain.

XXXIX. LEGEND OF THE WAMPUM-BIRD AND THE BOY

(Iroquois)

An Indian was alone in the thick woods when he heard a strange sound,

and looking sharply through the branches and leaves saw a large bird.

It had no feathers. It was covered with wampum.

The warrior made no noise. He ran back to the village and told his

chief. He was believed, for no one dared to tell false things to the

chief.

A great council was called. The warriors were told that whoever should

bring the bird into the camp would win a great prize, and that prize

was the daughter of the head chief.

A hundred warriors took their bows and arrows and went softly to the

thick woods where the wampum-bird was resting. It had flown to the top

of the tallest tree. They knew it was a spirit bird that had lost its

way.

Many arrows hit the bird, and many strings of fine wampum fell to the

ground. Some picked these up and ran away, for they were rich now, and

did not care for the prize; but, when they reached the village, the

wampum turned to turkey feathers in their hands. They hid themselves in

their wigwams. They were ashamed of their greed.

The warriors who stayed and shot at the bird gave great war whoops, but

the bird did not fly away, nor was it frightened at any noise they

made.

A little Indian boy from another tribe was hunting in the woods. His

father had been killed in battle. His mother was hungry, and he had

gone out to get meat for her. He heard the war whoops of the warriors,

but he was not afraid. He came and watched them shoot at the bird.

“Let me shoot,” said the little boy. The warriors were very angry, but

the head chief said, “Let him shoot.”

The warriors waited, and the boy shot his arrow. The bird fell to the

ground close by the boy. He gave the splendid wampum-bird to the head

chief.

The boy was married to the head chief’s beautiful daughter the next

day. He was now a chief’s son, and his own mother was hungry no more.

His father had been slain by the head chief’s warriors. The boy chief

made a law that wampum should be the price of peace. When war was to be

declared the tomahawk should be painted on a belt of wampum; it should

be sent to the tribe they would fight against; when the war was over

the two tribes should exchange belts of wampum as promises of peace.

The head chief sent a wampum belt to the boy chief’s tribe; then they

had peace.

This is the story the tribes tell of how wampum came to be used for war

and for peace.

Adapted from “Iroquois Myths,” Powell’s Report.

XL. THE MAGIC MOCCASINS

(Chippewa)

An Indian hunter shot at a moose, but his arrow missed and took the

life of another hunter, the brother of Wahkandee the Lightning.

Mukwa, who had made the fatal shot, wore a pair of wonderful moccasins.

A manitou had prepared the leather in the moccasins for himself. The

manitou had whispered many secrets to the leather; but he gave it all

to the hunter’s wife because of his love for her husband.

Wahkandee, the avenger, came into the forest where Mukwa, the moose

hunter, was hiding. He saw the feathers in Mukwa’s hair and shot his

arrows to avenge his brother. He heard the dry bushes crackle and crept

to the place where Mukwa had been. There lay a pair of fine moccasins

and many dry moose bones.

“I will take the fine moccasins. Mukwa will want them. I will find

him.”

Wahkandee reached down to take the moccasins, but they slipped away

from his fingers. The moccasins fled across the lake, and Wahkandee

followed in his canoe. They crept through the thick brush in the forest

on the shores of the lake. Wahkandee followed like the swift feet of

Skika the wood duck.

The thorns tore his buckskin suit, but he never stopped in the chase.

The moccasins seemed to be always within the reach of his hands, but he

could never touch them. Wahkandee thought that the black cloud at the

edge of the earth would stop the race; when he reached the place of the

black cloud, it was gone. The moccasins were always before him.

A great mountain was in sight. Wahkandee followed the flying moccasins

over rocks, roots, and crumbling stones. When going down the further

side of the mountain he saw a beautiful white wigwam. All footprints

seemed to come away from it. None went toward it. The moccasins had

disappeared, and Wahkandee said, “I will rest.”

The white wigwam rested on the stump of a great pine tree. The wigwam

had two doors: one in front and one at the back. Two Indian girls sat

back to back in the middle of the white wigwam, each looking out of a

door.

“What is your name?” Wahkandee asked the girl who sat at the front

door.

“My name is ‘The-one-who-sees-all-things-to-come,’” said the girl.

“Have you seen the one who owns the flying moccasins?” asked Wahkandee.

“I look before. I cannot tell what has gone,” said the maiden.

Wahkandee walked to the other door and faced the other Indian girl.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“My name is ‘The-one-who-sees-all-things-that-have-gone.’”

“Can you see the hunter who slew my brother?” asked Wahkandee.

“I can only see moose bones lying on the ground. You are hungry. Take

the moose meat that hangs here on the trees and eat. Our father will

make you welcome. You can see his bow and arrows. He will come. You can

sleep by the bones of the moose.”

While Wahkandee slept the wigwam was lifted from its place and it

floated away. The stump stretched out its arms and became a great

manitou. The magic moccasins had changed into the maidens. They now

became moccasins again. One was turned toward the east, and one toward

the west.

The manitou touched the dry bones of the moose. The lost hunter stood

before him. He put on his moccasins. The manitou touched Wahkandee, and

he became like the dry bones of the moose. He never woke from his

sleep.

The manitou turned the hunter’s head toward his home in the north. The

magic moccasins carried him home. He went as the wild bee goes back to

its tree. The hunter told the story of his moccasins around the council

fire.

The women tried to learn from his wife the secret of their making. She

told them how she colored the quills for the patterns she made on the

leather. She told them how she sewed them with sinew. This the women

could see; but they could not see that her fingers had been warm with

love for her husband when she wove the quills into the leather and when

she sewed it with the sinew.

The women could not know the secrets the manitou had whispered to the

leather; nor did they know of the love the manitous have for those who

try to please them. This was why the hunter was saved when he did the

wrong that was not in his heart to do. All the squaws have tried to

make magic moccasins, but only Mukwa has ever worn them.

XLI. OPECHEE THE ROBIN REDBREAST

A great hunter among the Chippewas, or Ojibways, wanted his son to

secure a powerful spirit to protect him in war and all danger. To gain

the help of the strong manitou the boy must fast twelve days.

Many Indian boys can do this, but not all. Many try and fail.

The boy did as his father commanded, for when the time came he went

into the secret lodge in the deep forest and laid himself down alone on

the mat his mother had woven for him. He did not fear, but his strength

was weak. All night he lay there alone.

In the morning his father came and asked him if the strong spirit had

come to him in his dreams. The boy shook his head. No dreams had come

to him.

Each day for ten days the father came to the little lodge in the

wilderness and asked his son if the strong manitou had come to him.

“It is not for me to have such dreams, my father. I am not brave. The

strong manitou will not come to me. Let me give up my fast.”

“If you give up now, the manitou will never come. Hunger makes my son

weak, but his heart is strong. It is only a short time more to wait.

Then my son shall be the strongest of all.”

The Indian boy covered his face and lay still upon the mat. He would

obey his father. The morning of the eleventh day the boy saw his father

enter the wigwam. He slowly turned his face toward him and whispered:

“Let me break my fast; I have no dreams.”

“To-morrow I will bring you food. To-morrow you shall come to the lodge

of your father.”

The boy closed his eyes and said no more. He was very weak and faint.

The next morning the father went with the earliest morning light to the

little lodge in the forest. Peeping through the door he saw his son

sitting up. Beside his mat were brushes and paint. He was painting

himself red and brown.

“The manitou will free me, but it is not the spirit my father wanted,”

he heard the boy say.

The father rushed into the lodge, but as he touched his boy the lad

changed into a bird and flew out of the open doorway. Sitting on the

top of the lodge he sang these words:

“Do not mourn for me, my father, for I am happy. I did not want to be a

warrior. I wanted only to be free. I shall find food upon the fields

and the hills. I will comfort you.” Then he flew away.

Opechee lives near the homes of men. He loves to comfort them when they

are sad. He is happy when they are happy.

His songs are for the little children and for the fathers and mothers

who want their little ones to be brave. Opechee is not afraid in the

storm, and many have heard him singing just after the great

thunderbirds had called to each other and the water was coming fast

from the sky to find a place to hide in the ground. Opechee is brave,

but not strong.

Schoolcraft.

XLII. THE INDIAN WHO MARRIED THE MOON

(Chippewa)

One of the warriors in an Ojibway band had a boy who refused to fast as

all other boys and men had done.

“I like to eat; it is hard to be faint and hungry,” said the boy when

his father took him to the little wigwam in the forest.

“You shall eat after the manitou has talked to you,” said the father.

“I will not fast; let me have my bow and arrows and I will hunt for

you,” said the boy.

“If you will not go into the little wigwam, you shall not come back to

my fire. You may sleep where you can find a place, but never come back

to me until you have talked to a manitou,” said the warrior.

The boy ran into the forest and hid himself. He picked berries all day

and made a bed on the moss at night. The moon shone very bright, and he

thought there was a face in it, so he asked the moon to take care of

him while he slept.

The boy awoke, but it was not day. A girl stood by him dressed in

shining clothes, and her face was like the one he had seen in the moon.

“I shall have to go back to my sky teepee, but you must go with me.

Stand up quickly and take hold of my hand. Come, Cloud Catcher, come,

for the stars are going to hide,” and the boy felt himself rising and

moving through the air like a bird.

Cloud Catcher went through the clouds into the beautiful country behind

the sky, and soon they stopped in front of a great teepee which

belonged to a great chief with hair like fire. The chief was the moon

maiden’s brother.

“You are not wise,” said the great chief to the girl.

“I am alone; let me have him and I shall be happy,” said the moon

maiden.

The chief gave the boy a pipe and a bow and some arrows. “You may

stay,” said the sun chief.

Cloud Catcher and the girl played in the fields all day while the sun

was off on his journeys. He shot at the stars, and sometimes hit one so

hard that it let go and fell down through the sky. The moon maiden had

a great bow that she hung in the sky at night and played with in the

daytime. She could shoot farther than Cloud Catcher, but she never hurt

anything with her arrows.

One day the boy went to the great sun chief and said: “I used to eat

much when in my father’s wigwam. I am hungry for meat; will you give me

some?”

“You children of the ground are very strange in your ways,” said the

sun chief. “You have all the sky to make you happy, but now you are

crying for meat. It is not wise, but you shall have it, for you are one

of us, and whatever you ask must be given. Come with me.”

The sun chief took Cloud Catcher the next day, and they walked to a

place where the sky was open. They looked down on the ground, and the

chief shot one of his arrows. It struck a little child, who fell down

and was carried into her father’s wigwam.

“Send meat and the child shall be well,” said the sun chief. Meat was

put on the fire and burned, and as it burned it came up to Cloud

Catcher’s feet, and he ate it like a hungry man. The child walked out

of the wigwam, for it was now well, and Cloud Catcher had his meat.

After that feast he wanted to walk many times with the sun to the place

where the sky was broken, and every time he asked for meat.

One day he said: “I will go back to my own country; there my arrows

will bring my meat to me, and no one will need to be sick.”

The moon maiden said: “You are going back to sickness, to cold, and to

war, but you belong to me and must never take a wife from your people.

Come,” and again they moved through the air like birds. She took him

back to his bed of moss, and when he awoke this time he found his

father standing by him.

“I have seen a manitou; I am to be called Cloud Catcher,” said the boy,

as his father took his hand and led him into their wigwam. His mother

was glad to see him and very proud of his name.

“You are tall; you are strong and brave. There is no one in the tribe

like you. Where have you been?” asked the mother. The boy told only a

little, for it seemed like a foolish dream, and he was afraid no one

would believe him.

“I fasted many days, my father; then I ate strange food that came to

me. I am a man now. My mother is wise; she will not ask any more,” and

Cloud Catcher kept very quiet with his tongue.

He grew very lonely, and after a time he found a wife who cared for his

wigwam and cooked his food for four days, then she was gone; no one

ever saw her again. He married the second wife, but when she, too, left

him he remembered the moon maiden’s words, and went out in the

moonlight and lay on a bed of moss. When he awoke he was floating

through the air, and the sun chief called to him to stop at his teepee.

There he found the girl whose face he had watched so many nights in the

moon, and he never came back to earth.