several others, each of which have incidents in common. A part of it
is very ancient. Firstly, the inveigling the ducks into the wigwam is
found in the Eskimo tale of Avurungnak (Rink, p. 177). The Eskimo is
told by a sorcerer to let the sea-birds into the tent, and not to
begin to kill them till the tent is full. He disobeys, and a part of
them escape. In Schoolcraft's Hiawatha Legends, Manobozho gets the
mysterious oil which ends the foregoing story from a fish. He fattens
all the animals in the world with it, and the amount which they consume
is the present measure of their fatness. When this ceremony is over, he
inveigles all the birds into his power by telling them to shut their
eyes. At last a small duck, the diver, suspecting something, opens one
eye, and gives the alarm.
The sorcerer's passing himself off for a woman and the trick of the
moose abortion occurs in three tales, but it is most completely given
in this. To this point the narrative follows the Micmac, Passamaquoddy,
and Chippewa versions. After the tale of the chief is at an end it is
entirely Passamaquoddy; but of the latter I have two versions, one from
Tomah Josephs and one from Mrs. W. Wallace Brown.
I can see no sense in the account of the bear's oil hardened by ice,
but that oil is an essential part of the duck story appears from the
Chippewa legend (Hiawatha L. p. 30). In the latter it is represented as
giving size to those who partake of it.
_The Mischief Maker. A Tradition of the Origin of the Mythology of
the Senecas. A Lox Legend._
(Seneca.)
An Indian mischief maker was once roving about. He saw that he was
approaching a village, and said, "How can I attract attention?"
Seeing two girls coming from the wigwams, he pulled up a wild plum-bush
and placed it upon his head, the roots clasping about his chin.
It will be strange to see a plum-tree on my head, bearing ripe fruit.
These girls will want trees also. So he thought. The tree shook as he
walked, and many plums fell to the ground.
The girls wondered greatly at the strange man with the tree. They
admired it, and said they, too, would like to be always supplied with
fruit in such a manner.
"I can manage that," he replied. So he pulled up a bush for each, and
planted them on their heads. The plums were delicious, and grew as fast
as they were plucked; and the girls stepped along proudly, for they had
something which certainly no girls ever had before.
The Mischief Maker went on to the village. On the way he reflected,
"There is no such thing in the world as a plum-tree growing on a man's
head. I will take this off." He did so, and, on entering the village,
gave a loud signal (a whoop). All the people listened, and the chiefs
sent messengers to inquire what news he brought.
He said, "I have seen a very strange sight. As I was coming hither I
saw two girls walking. Trees grew on their heads; the boughs were
covered with plums, and the roots, which came through their hair, were
fastened about their necks. They were beautiful, and seemed to be very
happy."
"We will go and see them!" cried the women.
They had not gone far before they saw one of the girls lying on the
ground, while the other pulled at the tree on her head. The roots gave
way and the tree came out, but all the hair came with it also. Then the
other lay down, and her friend in turn pulled the tree from her head.
They were very angry, and said, "If we meet with the man who played us
this trick we will punish him."
When the women who had gathered round them learned how the trees had
been fastened by magic upon the girls' heads, they returned to the
village, resolved to chastise the man who had played the trick. But
when they reached home he was gone.
Gone far and away to another town. Before reaching it he sat down, and
said, "Now I will show these people also what I can do." He went a
little distance into the woods, where he found a wigwam. A woman with a
bucket in her hand came from it. He saw that as she passed along she
reached high with one hand, and felt her way by a thong which ran from
tree to tree till it ended at a spring of cold water. She went on,
filled her bucket, and so returned. Then another woman after her did
the same.
"They must be blind," said the Mischief Maker. "I will have some fun
with them." And so it was. There lived in that wigwam five blind
sisters.
Then he untied the thong from the tree near the spring and fastened it
to another, where there was no water. Then a third blind woman came
with a bucket, and followed the line to the end, but found no water.
She returned to the wigwam, and said, "The spring is dried up."
"No, it isn't," replied one of the sisters, who was stirring pudding
over the fire. "You say that because you are too lazy to bring water;
you never work. Here, do you stir the pudding, and let me go for
water."
The Mischief Maker heard all this, and made haste to tie the end of the
thong where it belonged. The blind woman filled her bucket, and when
she returned said to her sister, "There, you lazy creature, I found the
water!"
By this time the Mischief Maker was in the house, and slipping quietly
up to the fire he dipped out some of the pudding and threw it, scalding
hot, into the face of the scolding woman, who cried in a rage,--
"You throw hot pudding at me, do you?"
"No, I did not throw any at you," replied the sister.
Then the Mischief Maker threw some into _her_ face. She screamed,
being very angry.
"You mean thing! You threw hot pudding at me, when I did you no harm."
"I didn't throw any!" said the other, in a rage.
"Yes, you _did_, you mean thing!"
"Stop! stop!" cried the others. Just then hot pudding flew in all their
faces; they had a terrible quarrel, and the Mischief Maker left them to
settle it among themselves as they could.
He entered the village near by, and gave the usual signal for news. The
runners came out and met him; the chiefs and all the people assembled,
lining the path on both sides for a long way. They asked, "What news do
you bring?"
He replied, "I come from at village where there is great distress. A
pestilence visited the people. The medicine man could not cure the
sick; till I came there was no remedy; the tribe was becoming very
small. But I told them the remedy, and now they are getting well. I
have come to tell you to prepare for the pestilence: it will soon be
here; it is flying like the wind, and there is only one remedy."
"What is it? what is it? what is it?" interrupted the people.
He answered, "Every man must embrace the woman who is next to him at
this very instant; kiss her, quick, immediately!"
They all did so on the spot, he with the rest.
As he was leaving them an elderly man came to him and whispered, "Are
you going to do this thing again at the next village? If you are I
should like to be on hand. I didn't get any girl myself here. The woman
I went for dodged me, and said she had rather have the pestilence, and
death too, than have me kiss her. Is the operation to be repeated?"
The Mischief Maker said that it certainly would be, about the middle of
the morrow forenoon.
"Then I will start now," said the middle-aged man, "for I am lame, and
it will take me all night to get there."
So he hurried on, and at daylight entered the village. He found a
wigwam, by which several beautiful Indian girls were pounding corn in a
great wooden mortar. He sat down by them. He could hardly take his eyes
from them, they were so charming, and they wondered at his strange
behavior.
He talked with them, and said, "My eyelids quiver, and by that I know
that some great and strange news will soon be brought to this tribe.
Hark!"--here he moved up towards the one whom he most admired,--"did
you not hear a signal?"
"No," they replied.
The middle-aged man became very uneasy. Suddenly the girls gave a cry,
and dropped their corn pestles. A voice was heard afar; the runners
leaped and flew, the chiefs and people went forth. With them went the
girls and the middle-aged man, who took great pains to keep very near
his chosen one, so as to lose no time in applying the remedy for the
pestilence when the Mischief Maker should give the signal. He was
determined that a life should not be lost if he could prevent it.
The Stranger went through his story as at the other village. The people
became very much excited. They cried, out to know the remedy, and the
old bachelor drew nearer to the pretty girl.
"The only remedy for the pestilence is for every woman _to knock down
the man who is nearest her_."
The women began to knock down, and the first to fall was the too
familiar old bachelor. So the Mischief Maker waited no longer than to
see the whole town in one general and bitter fight, tooth and nail,
tomahawk and scalper, and then ran at the top of his speed far away and
fleet, to find another village. Then the people, finding they had been
tricked, said, as people generally do on such occasions, "If we had
that fellow here, wouldn't we pay him up for this?"
The Mischief Maker was greatly pleased at his success. It was nearly
dark when he stopped, and said, "I will not enter the next village
to-night; I will camp here in the woods." So he had piled up logs for a
fire, and was just about to strike a light, when he saw a stranger
approaching. "Camp with me here over night," said the Mischief Maker,
"and we will go to the village in the morning."
So they ate and smoked their pipes, and told stories till it was very
late. But the stranger did not seem to tire; nay, he even proposed to
tell stories all night long. The Mischief Maker looked at him aslant.
"My friend," he said, "can you tell me of what wood my back-log is?"
"Hickory?" inquired the stranger.
"No, not hickory."
"Maple?"
"No, not maple."
"White oak?"
"No, not white oak."
"Black walnut?"
"No, not black walnut."
"Moosewood?"
"No, not moosewood."
"Ash?"
"No, not ash."
"Pine?"
"No, not pine."
"Cedar?"
"No, not cedar."
"Birch?"
The stranger began to yawn, but he kept on guessing. Then his head
nodded. By the time he had found out that it was slippery elm he was
sound asleep.
"This fellow deserves punishment," remarked the Mischief Maker. "He is
an enemy to mankind." Here he adroitly put some sticky clay on the
sleeper's eyes, and departed. When the stranger awoke he thought
himself still fast asleep in darkness, and then that he was blind.
"If ever I meet with that fellow again," he said, "I'll punish him!"
The Mischief Maker played so many pranks that all the tribes sent out
runners to catch him. He heard their whoops in every forest. He knew
that he was being hunted down. He hurried on, and once at night hid in
a cave under a rock. The runners did not quite overtake him, but they
saw that his tracks were fresh, and thought they might catch him in the
morning. In the morning he was up and far away long before they awoke.
The next night he hid again in a hollow log. In the middle of the
afternoon of the next day he heard the whoops of the pursuers very
near, and knew that they were gaining fast on him. He climbed a thickly
limbed tree, and hid in the top. Here the runners lost his track,
because he had broken the weeds and bushes down beyond the tree, as if
he had gone further on. They ran for a long distance. Then they
returned, and camped and built a fire under the tree.
The smoke crept up among the branches and curled above, and rose in a
straight column to the sky. The fugitive sailed away on the smoke,
going up and up,--past beautiful lakes and hunting-grounds stocked with
deer, large fields of corn and beans, tobacco and squashes; past great
companies of handsome Indians, whose wigwams were hung full of dried
venison and bear's meat. And so he went on and up to the wig-wam of the
Great Chief.
Here he rested. He remained for a hundred moons observing the customs
of the people and learning their language. One morning the Great Chief
told him that he must return to his own people. He disliked to do this,
for he was very happy in the new place. The Chief said, "These are the
happy hunting grounds. We have admitted you that you may know how and
what to teach your people, that they may get here. Go, and if you do
what I tell you, you may return to remain forever. You have not been
allowed to come here to remain, but only to observe. When you come
again, you shall join us in all things. You shall hunt and fish then,
and have whatever you wish. But return now, and teach what you have
learned here."
A cloud of smoke in the form of a great eagle came to him, and, seated
on its back, he was borne down to the top of the tree from which he had
risen. He opened his eyes. The sun was shining. His pursuers had gone
away. He descended and traveled on. His mind was filled with what he
had seen. He said, "I will no longer play tricks, but tell the people
about what I learned in the happy hunting-grounds."
After a long journey he drew near a village. He gave the common signal.
Runners came to meet him. The head chief and all the people came to
hear. He was asked, "What news do you bring us?"
He said, "I that was the Mischief Maker am the Peace Maker now. The
Great Spirit took me to the happy hunting-grounds, and I am sent back
to tell you how to get there." Then the Peace Maker described all he
had seen. The people built a great fire and danced around it, and
shouted as they had never done before. Then he said, "This is the
message I bring you."
So the people sat in a great circle round the fire and listened. He
spoke:--
"The Great Spirit is unseen, but he is about us. He will not forsake us.
He rules all things for us. He will take care of us. He told me that we
should return thanks to him, for he changes the seasons, and makes corn
and beans and squashes grow for us. He is displeased when we kill our
brothers. He hopes that we will not forget him. He will never die. His
name is _Ha-wen-ni-yu_,--the Ruler. He bids us keep away from his
wicked brother, whose name is _Ha-ne-go-ate-geh_, the Evil-Minded.
He is very bad. He brings pestilence and fevers, and lizards and poisonous
weeds. He destroys peace, and brings war. Ha-wen-ni-yu will care for us
if we trust in him. Obey his words, and Ha-ne-go-ate-geh will never
harm us.
The Great Spirit, has messengers, who aid him in his work. They watch
over the people. They take care of the mother and her new-born babe,
that they receive no harm; they watch over those whom the Evil-Minded
has troubled with disease. The Evil-Minded has messengers who do his
work. They scatter pestilence, and whisper in our ears, and tell us to
go against Ha-wen-ni-yu.
The Great Spirit has messengers. Heno has a pouch filled with
thunderbolts. Heno gathers the clouds and sends the rain. He is a
friend to the corn and beans and squashes. He also punishes witches and
evil persons. Pray to Heno when you plant, and thank him when you
gather your crop. Pray also to Ha-wen-ni-yu, who will send Heno to care
for you. Let Heno be called Grandfather.
Ga-oh is the Spirit of the Winds. He moves the winds, but he is chained
to a rock. The winds trouble him, and he tries very hard to get free.
When he struggles the winds are forced away from him, and they blow
upon the earth. Sometimes he suffers terrible pain, and then his
struggles are violent. This makes the winds wild, and they do damage on
the earth. Then he feels better and goes to sleep, and the winds become
quiet also.
There is a spirit for the corn, another for beans, another for squashes.
They are sisters, and are very kind to each other. They dwell together,
and live in the fields. They shall be known as _De-o-ha-ka_,--the
keepers of our life.
There are spirits in the water, in fire, in all the trees and berries,
in herbs and in tobacco, in the grass. They assist the Great Spirit.
Always return thanks to _Ho-noh-che-noh-keh_, the Guardian Spirits.
_Ha-ne-go-ate-geh_ has messengers. These are the spirits of disease,
of fever, of witches, weeds, and murder. But the Great Spirit will keep
them away from his children.
This is the message I bring from the happy hunting-grounds. Obey these
words, and the Great Spirit will give you a place there."
So Peace Maker taught the people. They threw tobacco on the fire,
according to his instructions, and on the column of its smoke he was
borne away to the happy hunting-grounds. And the people danced and sang
around the dying embers of the council fire.
This is probably an ancient legend with a modern moral. The idea of an
Indian Tyl Eulenspiegel going about the country making mischief recalls
a great part of the adventures of Hiawatha or Manobozho; in fact, it
could not fail to suggest itself to a believer in Shamanism, or pow-wow,
according to which evil spirits and men like them are continually
teasing mankind, out of sheer malice. The reform of the wicked man,
under the influence of the "Great Spirit," is of later days. I do not
believe that the idea of a Great Spirit, in the sense in which it is
generally used by Indians, or is attributed to them, was ever known
till learned from the whites. Nothing is more natural than that during
the two hundred years past intelligent Indians, who felt that there
were many evils in the old barbaric state, yet who were still under the
influence of its myths and poetry, should have made up legends like
this purporting to be revelations. There is one of the kind given in
the Hiawatha Legend, as "Eroneniera, an Indian visit to the Great
Spirit," which bears on its face every mark of modern manufacture for a
purpose. For these very reasons, however, the tale here given is of
great interest to the impartial historian. I am indebted for it to the
kindness of Colonel T. Wentworth Higginson. This is the only story in
my collection of which I cannot give the name and residence of the
original Indian narrator.
In the first part we have in the _Mischief Maker_ the same
character or principle who appears as Lox, the Wolverine, the Raccoon,
and Badger among the Wabanaki. The setting the blind women together by
the ears, and the dashing of hot pudding, soup, or water in their
faces, is another form of a Lox story, which occurs again in the
Kalevala. But the entire spirit of the tricks is that of Lox, as those
of Lox are like those of Loki. The Rev. D. Moncure Conway once said to
me, as Miss E. Robins has also said in an article in the Atlantic
Monthly, that it is only in the Norse mythology that the Evil One, or
devil, is represented as growing up from or inspired solely by reckless
wanton _mischief_,--the mischief of a bad boy or a monkey. But the
very same is as true of so much of a devil as there is in the Wabanaki
mythology. It is as a grotesque shadow of Loki, but still it is his.
The Germans say the devil is God's ape; the Indian Lox is the Norse
devil's.
_How Lox told a Lie._
(Passamaquoddy.)
Lox had a brother, who had married a red squaw. When she was touched
the red color rubbed off. The brother kept this wife in a box.
One day, returning, the brother saw that Lox had red fingers. "Aha!" he
cried, in a rage, "you have taken my wife out of the box." But Lox
denied it, so that his brother believed him.
The next time the husband returned, Lox's fingers were again red. And
again he was accused, and once more he denied it. But as he swore with
all his might that he was innocent, something, as if on the floor,
laughed, and said, "You lie. I was with you; I helped you."
Lox thought it was his right foot. So he cut off the toes, and then the
foot, but the accusation continued. Thinking it was the other foot, he
cut that off; yet as the testimony was continued, he found that it was
_Taloose_, even he himself, the bodily offender in person,
testifying against his lying soul. So in a rage he struck himself such
a blow with his war-club that he fell dead. I cannot give in full all
the adventures of Lox. I may, however, observe one thing of great
importance. Lox, in these tales, is the Evil Principle, that is, a
giant by birth. His two feet in this story are male and female; they
talk as if they were human. In the Edda, a giant's two feet beget
together a six-headed son (Vafthrudnismal):--
"Foot with foot begot
Of that wise Jotun,
A six-headed son."
This six-headed son reappears as a demon in the Passamaquoddy tale of
the Three Strong Men.
_Tuloose_, literally translated, is the phallus. The red squaw
refers to the Newfoundland Indians, covered with red ochre. They are
believed to be now extinct.
THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF MASTER RABBIT
WITH THE OTTER, THE WOODPECKER GIRLS, AND MOOIN THE BEAR
ALSO A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE FAMOUS CHASE, IN WHICH HE FOOLED LUSIFEE,
THE WILD CAT
_I. How Master Rabbit sought to rival Keeoony, the Otter_.
Of old times, _Mahtigwess_, the Rabbit, who is called in the
Micmac tongue _Ableegumooch_, lived with his grandmother, waiting
for better times; and truly he found it a hard matter in midwinter,
when ice was on the river and snow was on the plain, to provide even
for his small household. And running through the forest one day he
found a lonely wigwam, and he that dwelt therein was _Keeoony_,
the Otter. The lodge was on the bank of a river, and a smooth road of
ice slanted from the door down to the water. And the Otter made him
welcome, and directed his housekeeper to get ready to cook; saying
which, he took the hooks on which he was wont to string fish when he
had them, and went to fetch a mess for dinner. Placing himself on the
top of the slide, he coasted in and under the water, and then came out
with a great bunch of eels, which were soon cooked, and on which they
dined.
"By my life," thought Master Rabbit, "but that is an easy way of
getting a living! Truly these fishing-folk have fine fare, and cheap!
Cannot I, who am so clever, do as well as this mere Otter? Of course I
can. Why not?" Thereupon he grew so confident of himself as to invite
the Otter to dine with him--_adamadusk ketkewop_--on the third day
after that, and so went home.
"Come on!" he said to his grandmother the next morning; "let us remove
our wigwam down to the lake." So they removed; and he selected a site
such as the Otter had chosen for his home, and the weather being cold
he made a road of ice, or a coast, down from his door to the water, and
all was well. Then the guest came at the time set, and Rabbit, calling
his grandmother, bade her get ready to cook a dinner. "But what am I to
cook, grandson?" inquired the old dame.
"Truly I will see to that," said he, and made him a _nabogun_, or
stick to string eels. Then going to the ice path, he tried to slide
like one skilled in the art, but indeed with little luck, for be went
first to the right side, then to the left, and so hitched and jumped
till he came to the water, where he went in with a bob backwards. And
this bad beginning had no better ending, since of all swimmers and
divers the Rabbit is the very worst, and this one was no better than
his brothers. The water was cold, he lost his breath, he struggled, and
was well-nigh drowned.
"But what on earth ails the fellow?" said the Otter to the grandmother,
who was looking on in amazement.
"Well, he has seen somebody do something, and is trying to do likewise,"
replied the old lady.
"Ho! come out of that now," cried the Otter, "and hand me your
_nabogun_!" And the poor Rabbit, shivering with cold, and almost
frozen, came from the water and limped into the lodge. And there he
required much nursing from his grandmother, while the Otter, plunging
into the stream, soon returned with a load of fish. But, disgusted at
the Rabbit for attempting what he could not perform, he threw them down
as a gift, and went home without tasting the meal.
_II. How Mahtigwess, the Rabbit dined with the Woodpecker Girls, and
was again humbled by trying to rival them._