cooking their food, they heard a mighty commotion as of something
coming with dreadful speed through the forest. And lo! it was the stone
in dire wrath, which, having rested a little while, came rushing
through the forest, crashing the mighty trees like grass, with a roar
like thunder, leaving a smooth road behind it in the roughest
wilderness. Up and after the sorcerers flew the stone, and the younger
slipped aside like a snake, but the elder had scarcely time to utter
his magic charm, "_Noo-goon ooskudeskuch_!" "Let my backbone
remain uninjured!" ere the awful rock rolled down upon him, crushing
his bones and mashing his flesh. Yet the spine was unhurt; it remained
sound as ever.
And the stone went on and ever on, till the sound of its roar died away
in the breeze and afar in the wilderness.
Then the younger brother turned to the Backbone and said, "_Cagooee
wejismook' tumun_?" (M.) "Why are you lying there?" And hearing this
charm the Bone called aloud, "_Ntenin ba ho_!" "My body, ho!" and
"_Nuloogoon ba ho_!" "My leg, ho!" and so with the rest of the
members as before, until he that was decomposed was now recomposed;
yes, and composed perfectly. And then he that was dead, but was now
alive, arose, and said as one awaking, "What have I been doing?" So his
brother told him all.
Then he was greatly angered, and when the Wolverine is angry it is not
a little. And he said in his wrath, "Shall I that am the devil of the
woods himself be slain by birds and stones, and not be revenged?" So
they went onwards through the woods till they found the Great Rock:
they followed in the path of the broken trees; even by the trees did
they track it. Which having found, they built a fire around it; with
great stones for hammers they broke it, and ever more and still
smaller, till it was all mere dust, for their souls were sore for
revenge.
When lo, a great wonder! For the Spirit of the Old Rock, even that
which was itself, turned all the dust to black flies, into the stinging
and evil things which drive men and beasts mad, so that its hatred and
spite might be carried out on all living creatures unto the end of
time.
And having had their ill-will of the Rock and seen it become Flies, the
two went through the forest, and so on till they came to a village of
good, honest folk; and knowing what manner of men they were, Lox
resolved to forthwith play them an evil trick, for in all life there
was nothing half so dear to him as to make mischief, the worse the
better.
And this time it came into his head that it would be a fine piece of
wit to go into the town as a gay girl and get married, and see what
would come of it, trusting to luck to fashion a sad fool out of
somebody. So having made himself into a delicate young beauty, richly
attired, he entered the place; and truly the town was soon agog over
the new guests. And the young chief of the tribe, wanting her, won her
without waste of time. Truly there lieth herein some mystery. I know
not what, only this I know: that there are in all towns certain folk
who, by means of magic or meddling, always find out everything about
everybody, and then tittle-tattle thereof. Now, albeit Lox had utterly
abjured all the sinfulness of manhood, and had made a new departure in
an utterly new direction, saying not a word thereof to any one, yet in
a brief measure of time, one here, another there, Jack in a corner and
Jane by the bush, began to whisper of a strange thing, and hint that
all was not as it should be, and, whatever the chief might think, that
in their minds matters were going wrong in his wigwam.
Now Lox, knowing all this thread as soon as it was spun, began to think
it high time to show his hand in the game. And what was the amazement
of all the town to hear, one fine evening, that the chief's wife would
soon be a mother. And when the time came Dame Lox informed her husband
that, according to the custom of her people, she must be left utterly
alone till he was a father and the babe born. And when in due time the
cry of a small child was heard in the lodge the women waiting ran in,
and received from the mother the little one, abundantly rolled in many
wrappers, which they took to the chief. But what was his amazement,
when having unrolled the package, he found under one skin after
another, tied up hard, yet another sewed up, and yet again, as the
inmost kernel of this nut, the little withered, wizened, dead, and
dried shrivelment of an unborn moose calf. Which pleased the chief so
much that, dashing Master Moose into the fire, he seized his tomahawk
and ran to his lodge to make his first morning call on the mother.
But Master Lox was now a man again, and expecting this call, and not
wishing to see visitors, had with his brother fled to the woods, and
that rapidly. And in the rush he came to a river, and, seeing a very
high waterfall, thought of a rare device whereby he might elude
pursuit. For he with his brother soon built a dam across the top with
trees and earth, so that but little water went below. And lying in a
cave, concealed with care, he imitated the _boo-oo-oo_ of a
falling stream with quaint and wondrous skill. And there he lay, and no
man wist thereof.
But verily the wicked one is caught in his own snare, and even so it
befell Master Lox. For as he hid, the water above, having gathered to a
great lake, burst the dam, so that it all came down upon him at once
and drowned him; nor was there any great weeping for him that ever I
heard of. So here he passes out of this story, and does not come into
it again. But whether he went for good and all out of this life is
doubtful, since I find him living again in so many rare, strange
histories that it has become a proverb that Lox never dies.
Now the tale returns to the two little Weasels, or Ermines, or
Water-Maids, poor souls, who had such a hard life! And it happened
that, fleeing from Master Lox, they came at evening to a deserted
village, and entered a wigwam to pass the night. But the elder, being
the wiser, and somewhat of a witch in the bud, mistrusted the place,
deeming it not so empty as it seemed. And beholding by the door, lying
on the ground, the Neckbone of a man or some other animal, she warned
her sister that she should in nowise offend it or treat it lightly, to
which the younger replied by giving it a kick which sent it flying, and
by otherwise treating it with scorn and disdain.
Then they laid them down to sleep; but before their slumber came they
heard a doleful, bitter voice chanting aloud and shouting, and it was
_Chamach keg wech_, or the Neckbone, bewailing the scorn that had
been put upon him, and reviling them with all manner of curses. Then
the elder said, "There, truly, I said it. I knew you would be our death
if you did not mind me:" it being in all cases an esteemed solace for
every woman and most men to say, "I told you so!" But the younger,
being well-nigh frightened to a corpse, in a soft whisper implored the
elder to let her hide herself in her roll of hair, [Footnote: That is,
the elder should retain the human form, and the younger become a
weasel.] which the Voice, mocking her, repeated; adding thereto all the
reviling and railing that Mitche-hant, the devil, himself ever yet
invented, and abusing her so for her past life, and exhorting her so
for all the sins, slips, and slaps therein (of which there were many),
that even the impenitent little Weasel repented and wept bitterly.
Howbeit no further harm came to them beyond this, so that the next
morning they went their way in peace; and I warrant you Master Neckbone
got no kicks that day from them, departing. [Footnote: This incident of
the Neckbone is very much like the common nursery tale of Teeny Tiny,
in which an old woman takes home a human bone and puts it in the
cupboard. It torments her all night by its cries.]
Then, coming to a river, they saw on the other side a handsome young
man holding a bow, and to him they called, making their usual offer to
become his wives, and all for no greater thing than to carry them over
the ferry. And this man's name was See-witch, [Footnote: A kind of
small sea-duck.] and to please them he did indeed pass them over in his
canoe; but as for taking them home, he said that he had housekeepers in
store, and as many as he needed just then, and that of a kind who kept
him very busy. So they went their way onwards.
And coming anon to the great sea, they beheld yet another canoe with
two men therein, and these were Kwe-moo, the Loon, and Mahgwis, the
Scapegrace. And embarking with them, Loon soon began to admire the
girls greatly. And saying many sweet things, he told them that he dwelt
in the Wigem territory, or in the land of the Owealkesk, [Footnote: A
very beautiful species of sea-duck.] of which he himself was one. But
the Mahgwis whispered to them aside that they should put little trust
in what he told them, for Loon was a great liar. Now when they came to
the land of the Owealkesk, they were amazed at the beauty of the
people, and saw that all in that land was lovely, nor did they
themselves seem less marvelously fair to the men therein. Indeed, the
poor little Weasels began to see the end of their sorrows, for, being
water-fairies, these sea-birds were nigh akin to them. And there was a
great feast, a great dance, and great games held in honor of their
arrival, and the two finest young Sea-Duck men, utterly unheeding the
old Loon, who believed indeed that they were his own wives, carried
them off, and nothing loath wedded them.
And it was in this wise. There was a canoe-race, and Kwee-moo, being
bitterly angry that he was held of so little account in the Sea-Duck
land, went forth with the rest, and, paddling far outside, upset his
canoe, and making as if he were drowning called to the Weasels to come
and save him. But the Sea-Ducks laughed, and said, "Let him alone.
Truly he will never drown. We know him." And the race ended they went
ashore in peace. [Footnote: Here the Micmac narrative ends. The rest is
as it was given to me by Noel Josephs, or _Chi gatch gok_, the
Raven, a Passamaquoddy. It would not be a complete Indian tale if a man
having received a slight or injury did not take a bloody revenge for
it.]
And that night they danced late, and the Weasels, being better pleased
with the two handsome Sea-Ducks than with Loon, forthwith divorced
themselves out of hand, and at once married them, going to where their
canoe lay, to pass the bridal night. Now Loon had not gone to the
dance, but sat at home nursing his vengeance till he was well-nigh mad.
And as the Weasels did not return, he went forth and sought them; and
this he did so carefully that at last he found all four by the sea,
sound asleep. Whereupon he, with his knife, slew the young men, and
being in great fear of their friends took his canoe and went down the
river to kill a deer. But not daring to return, and being mad for loss
of the Weasels, and fearing to fall into the hands of the enemy, he in
despair took his knife and killed himself.
Yet the Weasels, who had seen the deed done, did not betray him, for
there was at least so much truth left in them. And they lived with the
Sea-Ducks, and I doubt me not went on marrying and mischief-making
after their wont even unto the end of their days. And their kind are
not dead as yet in any land.
* * * * *
This is a fair specimen of many Indian legends. So much of it as is
Micmac was told to Mr. Rand by a highly intelligent Indian, named
Benjamin Brooks, who was certain that the story was of great antiquity.
As I at first heard it, it was limited to the adventure with the Stars,
but I was told that this formed only a part of an extremely long
narrative. It consists, in fact, of different parts of other tales
connected, and I doubt not that there is much more of it. It cannot
escape the reader versed in fairy-lore that the incident of the
water-maiden captured by her clothes is common to all European nations,
but that it is especially Norse; while the adventures of the Wolverine,
and indeed his whole character, are strangely suggestive of Loki, the
Spirit of mere Mischief, who becomes evil. The fact that both Loki and
Lox end their earthly career at a waterfall is very curious. The two
also become, in wizard fashion, women at will. But it is chiefly in the
extreme and wanton devilishness of their tricks that they are alike.
Many other resemblances will suggest themselves to those who know the
Eddas.
In the Passamaquoddy version of this tale, it is Seewitch, and not the
Loon, who plays the part of the jealous husband at the end. The career
of the Weasels _seems_ to set forth the adventures of a couple of
Indian Becky Sharps, very much in the spirit of an Indian Thackeray.
The immorality of these damsels, the sponging of Marten, the deviltry
of Lox, the servile follies and ferocious vindictiveness of the Loon,
all seem to impress the composer of the tale as so many bubbles rising
and falling on the sea of life, only remarkable for the sun-gleam of
humor which they reflect. Outside these tales I know of nothing which
so resembles the inner spirit of Aristophanes, Rabelais, and
Shakespeare. I do not say that the genius of these great masters is in
them, but their manner of seeing humor and wickedness combined. The
cause of this lies in the cultivated stoicism with which every Indian
trains himself to regard life. The inevitable result of such culture is
always in some way a kind of humor, either grim or gay.
A re-perusal of the Eddas has impressed me with the remarkable
resemblance of Lox, the Wolverine, to Loki. The story begins with the
incident of a bird maiden caught by a trick, and married. This is
distinctly Scandinavian. It is known in all lands, but the Norse made
the most of it. Then the two girls sit and choose the kind of stars
they will have. In the Eskimo (Rink, No. 8), two girls sitting on a
beach, talking in the same way, seeing eagles' and whales' bones by
them, declare that they would like to marry, the one an eagle, the
other a whale, and both get their wishes. In the Norse legends stars
are like human beings. Lox is pursued by a giant bird; Loki is chased
by Thiassi, the giant, in eagle plumage. Again, in the Edda a giant
eagle drags and trails Loki over woods and mountains, till he screams
for pity. The Wolverine's race with a stone giant also recalls this
race, the eagle being really one of the Jotuns, who were also all
mountains and rocks. The Wolverine wizard becomes a girl, merely to
make mischief. Loki took the form of a woman in Fensal, where he
schemed to kill Balder. This is certainly a strange coincidence; for as
in the Edda, Loki's becoming a woman led to all the subsequent tragedy
and to his own doom, so in the Indian tale the very same thing caused
the Wolverine to be chased to the high waterfall, where, owing to his
own tricks, he perished, just as Loki came to grief in Franangursfors,
the bright and glistening cataract. But the most remarkable point is
that the general immoral character of the Lox, [Footnote: The
coincidence of name amounts to nothing, as Lox is not, I believe, an
Indian word.] or Wolverine, is so much like that of Loki, consisting of
evil or mischief of the worst kind, always tempered by humor, which
provokes a laugh. Now to find a similar and very singular character
supported by several coincidences of incident is, if nothing more, at
least very remarkable.
Loki is fire, and Lox, when killed in another tale, is revived by heat.
He is carried off by the Culloo, or cloud, and let fall, typifying fire
or lightning coming from a cloud. Again, in another story he dies for
want of fire. And he twice dies by drowning; that is, the fire is
quenched by water.
In one of the Passamaquoddy versions of this tale, which is, though
less detailed, far superior in humor to the Micmac, the Loon is cheated
by his two nephews, the _Assoops_, a species of loon, who steal
the Weasels from him. He revenges himself, not by murdering, but by
merely frightening them. He fills a bladder with blood, puts it under
his shirt, and then stabs himself. They, thinking he is killed, lament,
when he grandly comes to life, and is regarded as a great magician.
_Of the Wolverine and the Wolves, or how Master Lox Froze to
Death._
(Passamaquoddy.)
Of old times it came to pass that Master Lox, the Wolverine, or Indian
Devil, he who was slain many times and as often rose from the dead, found
himself deeply down in luck; for he was crossing a wide and dismal heath
in winter-time, being but poorly provided in any way for travel. The wind
blew like knives; the snow fell; sleet, frost, hail, and rain seemed to
come all together in bad company, and still Lox was not happy, although
he had no blanket or fur coat beyond his own. Yet this evil-minded jolly
companion with every vice had one virtue, and that was that of all the
beasts of the forest or devils in _P'lamkik'_ he was the hardest
hearted, toughest, and most unconquerable, being ever the first to fight
and the last to give in, which even then he did not, never having done
it and never intending to; whence it happened that he was greatly admired
and made much of by all the blackguardly beasts of the backwoods,--wherein
they differed but little from many among men.
Now as of all rowdies and rascals the wolves are the worst, we may well
believe that it was with great joy Lox heard, as the darkness was
coming on, a long, sad howl, far away, betokening the coming of a pack
of these pleasant people; to which he raised his own voice in the wolf
tongue,--for he was learned in many languages,--and soon was surrounded
by some fifteen or sixteen lupine land loafers, who danced, rolling
over, barking and biting one another, all for very joy at meeting with
him. And the elder, he who was captain, or the sogmo, [Footnote:
_Sogmo_, sagamore, a chief; the word corrupted into sachem.] said,
"Peradventure thou wilt encamp with us this night, for it is ill for a
gentleman to be alone, where he might encounter vulgar fellows." And
Lox thanked him as if he were doing him a favor, and accepted the best
of their dried meat, and took the highest place by their fire, and
smoked the chief's choicest _tomawe_ out of his best pipe, and all
that with such vast condescension that the wolves grinned with delight.
And when they laid them down to sleep he that was the eldest, or the
sogmo, bade the younger cover their guest Lox over very carefully. Now
the tail of the wolf has broad-spreading, shaggy hair, and Lox, being
sleepy, really thought it was a fur blanket that they spread, and
though the night was cold enough to crack the rocks he threw the
covering off; twice he did this, and the chief who looked after him,
with all the rest, admired him greatly because he cared so little for
the cold or for their care.
And having eaten after they arose, when in the morning they would wend
away, the Wolf Chief said unto Lox, "Uncle, thou hast yet three days'
hard travel before thee in a land where there is neither home, house,
nor hearth, and it will be ill camping without a fire. Now I have a
most approved and excellent charm, or spell, by which I can give thee
three fires, but no more; yet will they suffice, one for each night,
until thou gettest to thy journey's end. And this is the manner thereof:
that thou shalt take unto thee dry wood, even such as men commonly burn,
and thou shalt put them together, even as boys build little wigwams for
sport, and then thou shalt jump over it. And truly, uncle, this is an
approved and excellent charm of ripe antiquity, kept as a solemn secret
among the wolves, and thou art the first not of our holy nation to whom
it hath been given." So they parted.
Now Lox trudged on, and as he went westwards kept thinking of this
great secret of the pious and peculiar people, and wondering if it were
even as the Wolf said, or only a deceit; for however kindly he was
treated by people, he always suspected that they mocked him to scorn,
or were preparing to do so; for as he ever did this thing himself to
every condition of mankind or beasts, he constantly awaited to have it
done to him. And being curious withal, and anxious to see some new
thing, he had not walked half an hour ere he said, "Tush! let me try
it. Yea, and I will!" So building up the sticks, he jumped over them,
and at once they caught fire and blazed up, and it came to pass even as
the Wolf had prophesied.
Now having solaced himself by the heat, Lox went on. And anon it grew
cold again, and he began to think how pleasant it was to be warm; and
being, like most evil people, wanting in a corner of wisdom, he at once
put the sticks together again and jumped over them, and as before there
rose a blaze, and he was happy. And this was the second fire, and he
had still three cold nights before him before he could reach his home.
And yet this Wolverine, who was so wise in all wickedness and witty in
evil-doing, had not walked into the afternoon before he began to think
of the third fire. "Truly," he said to himself, "who knows but the
weather may take a turn to a thaw, and give us a warm night? Hum! ha!
methinks by the look of the clouds the wind will soon be southwesterly.
Have I not heard my grandmother say that such a color, even the red,
meant something?--I forget what, but it might be a warm change. Luck be
on me, I will risk the odds." And, saying this, he set up the sticks
again; and this was the last fire, though it was not even the first
night.
And when he came after dark to the first camping place it grew cold in
earnest. Howbeit Lox, thinking that what was good for once must be good
forever, made him his little pile of sticks and jumped over them. It
was of no avail. Finally, when he had jumped twenty or thirty times
more, there arose a little smoke, and, having his heart cheered by
this, he kept on jumping. Now it is said that there can be no smoke
without fire, but this time it went not beyond smoke. Then Lox jumped
again, and this time the Indian Devil came up within him, and he swore
by it that he would jump till it blazed or burst. So he kept on, and
yet there came no comfort, not even a spark; and being at last aweary
he fell down in a swoon, and so froze to death. And so the Devil was
dead, and that was the last of him for that turn; but I think he got
over it, for he has been seen many a time since.
In two stories Lox (once as the _loup cervier_) is intimate with
the wolves. Loki was the father of the wolves. Loki is fire: here Lox
dies for want of fire. Since I wrote the foregoing, Mrs. W. Wallace
Brown has learned that Lox is definitely the king or chief of the
wolves, and that many Indians deny that he is really an animal at all,
though he assumes the forms of certain animals. He is a spirit, and the
Mischief Maker. It will be admitted that this brings the Lox much
nearer to Loki.
It is said that when Glooskap left the world, as he took away with him
the kings of all the animals, Lox went with him as king of the Wolves.
This is an identification of him with Malsum, the Wolf, himself.
_How Master Lox played a Trick on Mrs. Bear, who lost her eyesight
and had her eyes opened._
(Micmac.)
Don't live with mean people if you can help it. They will turn your
greatest sorrow to their own account if they can. Bad habit gets to be
devilish second nature. One dead herring is not much, but one by one
you may make such a heap of them as to stink out a whole village.
As it happened to old Mrs. Bear, who was easy as regarded people,
And thought well of everybody, and trusted all. So she took in for
A house-mate another old woman. Their wigwam was all by itself, and
the next neighbor was so far off that he was not their neighbor at
all, but that of some other folks.
One night the old women made up a fire, and lay down and went to sleep
Indian-fashion,--_witkusoodijik_,--heads and points, so that both
could lie with their back to the fire.
Now while they were sound asleep, Lox, the Wolverine, or Indian Devil,
came prowling round. Some people say it was Hespuns, the Raccoon; and
it is a fact that Master Coon can play a very close game of deviltry on
his own account. However, this time it must have been Lox, as you can
see by the tracks.
While they were both sound asleep Lox looked in. He found the old women
asleep, heads and points, and at once saw his way to a neat little bit
of mischief. So, going into the woods, he cut a fine long sapling-pole
of _ow-bo-goos_, and poked one end of it into the fire till it was
a burning coal. Then he touched the soles of Mrs. Bear; and she,
waking, cried out to the other, "Take care! you are burning me!" which
the other denied like a thunder-clap.