far away because they know that the demon can follow any track. But I
hope to make a track which he cannot follow. Now do you, as soon as it
shall be dark, bring her to this place." The young man did so, and the
Rabbit was there with a sled, and in his hand he had two squirrels.
These he smoothed down, and as he did so they grew to be as large as
the largest sled-dogs. Then all three went headlong, like the wind,
till they came to another village.
The Rabbit looked about till he found a certain wigwam, and then peered
through a crevice into it. "This is the place," he said. "Enter." They
did so; then the Rabbit ran away. They found in the cabin an old woman,
who was very kind, but who, on seeing them, burst into tears. "Ah, my
dear grandchildren," [Footnote: The terms grandchildren, grandmother,
etc., do not here signify actual relationship, but only friendship
between elderly and young people.] she cried, "your death is following
you rapidly, for the kewahqu' is on your track, and will soon be here.
But run down to the river, where you will find your grandfather
camping."
They went, and were joined by the Rabbit, who had spent the time in
making many divergent tracks in the ground. The kewahqu' came. The
tracks delayed him a long time, but at last he found the right one.
Meanwhile the young couple went on, and found an old man by the river.
He said, "Truly you are in great danger, for the kewahqu' is coming.
But I will help you." Saying this, he threw himself into the water,
where he floated with outstretched limbs, and said, "Now, my children,
get on me." The girl feared lest she should fall off, but being
reassured mounted, when he turned into a canoe, which carried them
safely across. But when they turned to look at him, lo! he was no
longer a canoe, but an old Duck. "Now, my dear children," he said,
"hasten to the top of yonder old mountain, high among the gray rocks.
There you will find your friend." They fled, to the old gray mountain.
The kewahqu' came raging and roaring in a fury, but however he pursued
they were at the foot of the precipice before him.
There stood the Rabbit. He was holding up a very long pole; no pine was
ever longer. "Climb this," he said. And, as they climbed, it
lengthened, till they left it for the hill, and then scrambled up the
rocks. Then the kewahqu' came yelling and howling horribly. Seeing the
fugitives far above, he swarmed up the pole. With him, too, it grew,
and grew rapidly, till it seemed to be half a mile high. Now the
kewahqu' was no such sorcerer that he could fly; neither had he wings;
he must remain on the pole; and when he came to the top the young man
pushed it afar. It fell, and the monster was killed by the fall
thereof.
They went with the squirrel-sledge; they flew through the woods on the
snow by the moonlight; they were very glad. And at last they came to
the girl's village, when the Rabbit said, "Now, friend, good-by. Yet
there is more trouble coming, and when it is with you I and mine will
aid you. So farewell." And when they were home again it all appeared
like a dream. Then the wedding feast was held, and all seemed well.
But the young men of the village hated the youth, and desired to kill
him, that they might take his wife. They persuaded him to go with them
fishing on the sea. Then they raised a cry, and said, "A whale is
chasing us! he is under the canoe!" and suddenly they knocked him
overboard, and paddled away like an arrow in flight.
The young man called for help. A Crow came, and said, "Swim or float as
long as you can. I will bring you aid." He floated a long time. The
Crow returned with a strong cord; the Crow made himself very large; he
threw one end of the cord to the youth; by the other he towed him to a
small island. "I can do no more," he said; "but there is another
friend." So as the youth sat there, starving and freezing, there came
to him a Fox. "Ha, friend," he said, "are you here?" "Yes," replied the
youth, "and dying of hunger." The Fox reflected an instant, and said,
"Truly I have no meat; and yet there is a way." So he picked from the
ground a blade of dry grass, and bade the youth eat it. He did so, and
found himself a moose (or a _horse_). Then he fed richly on the
young grass till he had enough, when the Fox gave him a second straw,
and he became a man again. "Friend," said the Fox, "there is an Indian
village on the main-land, where there is to be a great feast, a grand
dance. Would you like to be there?" "Indeed I would," replied the
youth. "Then wait till dark, and I will take you there," said the Fox.
And when night came he bade the youth close his eyes and enter the
river, and take hold of the end of his tail, while he should draw. So
in the tossing sea they went on for hours. _Thought_ the youth,
"We shall never get there." _Said_ the Fox, "Yes, we will, but
keep your eyes shut." So it went on for another hour, when the youth
_thought_ again, "We shall never reach land." _Said_ the Fox,
"Yes, we shall." However, after a time he opened his eyes, when they
were only ten feet from the shore, and this cost them more time and
trouble than all the previous swim ere they had the beach under foot.
It was his own village. The festival was for the marriage of his own
wife to one of the young men who had pushed him overboard. Great was
his magic power, great was his anger; he became strong as death. Then
he went to his own wigwam, and his wife, seeing him, cried aloud for
joy, and kissed him and wept all at once. He said, "Be glad, but the
hour of punishment for the men who made these tears is come." So he
went to the sagamore and told him all.
The old chief called for the young men. "Slay them all as you choose,"
he said to his son-in-law; "scalp them." But the youth refused. He
called to the Fox, and got the straws which gave the power to transform
men to beasts. He changed his enemies into bad animals,--one into a
porcupine, one into a hog,--and they were driven into the woods. Thus
it was that the first hog and the first porcupine came into the world.
This story, narrated by Tomah Josephs, is partly old Indian and partly
European, but whether the latter element was derived from a French
Canadian or a Norse source I cannot tell, since it is common to both.
The mention of the horse and the hog, or of cattle, does not prove that
a story is not pre-Columbian. The Norsemen had brought cattle of
various descriptions even to New England. It is to be very much
regretted that the first settlers in New England took no pains to
ascertain what the Indians knew of the white men who had preceded them.
But modern material may have easily been added to an old legend.
THE CHENOO LEGENDS.
_I. The Chenoo, or the Story of a Cannibal with an Icy Heart._
(Micmac and Passamaquoddy.)
Of the old time. An Indian, with his wife and their little boy, went
one autumn far away to hunt in the northwest. And having found a fit
place to pass the winter, they built a wigwam. The man brought home the
game, the woman dressed and dried the meat, the small boy played about
shooting birds with bow and arrow; in Indian-wise all went well.
One afternoon, when the man was away and the wife gathering wood, she
heard a rustling in the bushes, as though some beast were brushing
through them, and, looking up, she saw with horror something worse than
the worst she had feared. It was an awful face glaring at her,--a
something made of devil, man, and beast in their most dreadful, forms.
It was like a haggard old man, with wolfish eyes; he was stark naked;
his shoulders and lips were gnawed away, as if, when mad with hunger,
he had eaten his own flesh. He carried a bundle on big back. The woman
had heard of the terrible Chenoo, the being who comes from the far, icy
north, a creature who is a man grown to be both devil and cannibal, and
saw at once that this was one of them.
Truly she was in trouble; but dire need gives quick wit, as it was with
this woman, who, instead of showing fear, ran up and addressed him with
fair words, as "My dear father," pretending surprise and joy, and,
telling him how glad her heart was, asked where he had been so long.
The Chenoo was amazed beyond measure at such a greeting where he
expected yells and prayers, and in mute wonder let himself be led into
the wigwam.
She was a wise and good woman. She took him in; she said she was sorry
to see him so woe-begone; she pitied his sad state; she brought a suit
of her husband's clothes; she told him to dress himself and be cleaned.
He did as she bade. He sat by the side of the wigwam, and looked surly
and sad, but kept quiet. It was all a new thing to him.
She arose and went out. She kept gathering sticks. The Chenoo rose and
followed her. She was in great fear. "Now," she thought, "my death is
near; now he will kill and devour me."
The Chenoo came to her. He said, "Give me the axe!" She gave it, and he
began to cut down the trees. Man never saw such chopping! The great
pines fell right and left, like summer saplings; the boughs were hewed
and split as if by a tempest. She cried out, "_Noo, tabeagul
boohsoogul_!" "My father, there is enough!" [Footnote: The
tremendous pine chopper is a character in another Indian tale.] He laid
down the axe; he walked into the wigwam and sat down, always in grim
silence. The woman gathered her wood, and remained as silent on the
opposite side.
She heard her husband coming. She ran out and told him all. She asked
him to do as she was doing. He thought it well. He went in and spoke
kindly. He said, "_N'chilch_," "My father-in-law," and asked where
he had been so long. The Chenoo stared in amazement, but when he heard
the man talk of all that had happened for years his fierce face grew
gentler.
They had their meal; they offered him food, but he hardly touched it.
He lay down to sleep. The man and his wife kept awake in terror. When
the fire burned up, and it became warm, the Chenoo asked that a screen
should be placed before him. He was from the ice; he could not endure
heat.
For three days he stayed in the wigwam; for three days he was sullen
and grim; he hardly ate. Then he seemed to change. He spoke to the
woman; he asked her if she had any tallow. She told him they had much.
He filled a large kettle; there was a gallon of it. He put it on the
fire. When it was scalding hot he drank it all off at a draught.
He became sick; he grew pale. He cast up all the horrors and
abominations of earth, things appalling to every sense. When all was
over he seemed changed. [Footnote: The Chenoo is not only a cannibal,
but a ghoul. He preys on nameless horrors. In this case, "having
yielded to the power of kindness, he has made up his mind to partake of
the food and hospitality of his hosts,"" to change his life; but to
adapt his system to the new regimen, he must thoroughly clear it of the
old."--Rand manuscript. This is a very _naive_ and curious Indian
conception of moral reformation. It appears to be a very ancient Eskimo
tale, recast in modern time by some zealous recent Christian convert.]
He lay down and slept. When he awoke he asked for food, and ate much.
From that time he was kind and good. They feared him no more.
They lived on meat such as Indians prepare. [Footnote: That is, cured,
dried, smoked, and then packed and pressed in large blocks.] The Chenoo
was tired of it. One day he said, "_N'toos_" (my daughter), "have
you no _pela weoos_?" (fresh meat). She said, "No." When her husband
returned the Chenoo saw that there was black mud on his snow-shoes. He
asked him if there was a spring of water near. The friend said there was
one half a day's journey distant. "We must go there to-morrow," said the
Chenoo.
And they went together, very early. The Indian was fleet in such running.
But the old man, who seemed so wasted and worn, went on his snow-shoes
like the wind. They came to the spring. [Footnote: "The Micmacs have two
words for a spring of water: one for summer, _utkuboh_, which means
that the water is cool; the other for winter, _keesoobok_, indicating
that it is warm."--S.T. Rand.] It was large and beautiful; the snow was
all melted away around it; the border was flat and green. [Footnote: Not
uncommon round warm springs even in midwinter, and among ice and snow.]
[Illustration: THE CHENOO AND THE LIZARD.]
Then the Chenoo stripped himself, and danced around the spring his
magic dance; and soon the water began to foam, and anon to rise and
fall, as if some monster below were heaving in accord with the steps
and the song. The Chenoo danced faster and wilder; then the head of an
immense _Taktalok_, or lizard, rose above the surface. The old man
killed it with a blow of his hatchet. Dragging it out he began again to
dance. He brought out another, the female, not so large, but still
heavy as an elk. They were small spring lizards, but the Chenook had
conjured them; by his magic they were made into monsters.
He dressed the game; he cut it up. He took the heads and feet and tails
and all that he did not want, and cast them back into the spring. "They
will grow again into many lizards," he said. When the meat was trimmed
it looked like that of the bear. He bound it together with withes; he
took it on his shoulders; he ran like the wind; his load was nothing.
The Indian was a great runner; in all the land was not his like; but
now he lagged far behind. "Can you go no faster than that?" asked the
Chenoo. "The sun is setting; the red will be black anon. At this rate
it will be dark ere we get home. Get on my shoulders."
The Indian mounted on the load. The Chenoo bade him hold his head low,
so that he could not be knocked off by the branches. "Brace your feet,"
he said, "so as to be steady." Then the old man flew like the wind,--
_ne[original illegible] sokano'v'jal samastukteskugul chel wegwasumug
wegul_; the bushes whistled as they flew past them. They got home
before sunset.
The wife was afraid to touch such meat. [Footnote: "The Indians are
much less particular than white men as to food, but they avoid
_choojeeck_, or reptiles."--Rand manuscript.] But her husband was
persuaded to eat of it. It was like bear's meat. The Chenoo fed on it.
So they all lived as friends.
Then the spring was at hand. One day the Chenoo told them that
something terrible would soon come to pass. An enemy, a Chenoo, a woman
was coming like wind, yes--on the wind--from the north to kill him.
There could be no escape from the battle. She would be far more
furious, mad, and cruel than any male, even one of his own cruel race,
could be. He knew not how the battle would end; but the man and his
wife must be put in a place of safety. To keep from hearing the
terrible war-whoops of the Chenoo, which is death to mortals, their
ears must be closed. They must hide themselves in a cave.
Then he sent the woman for the bundle which he had brought with him,
and which had hung untouched on a branch of a tree since he had been
with them. And he said if she found aught in it offensive to her to
throw it away, but to certainly bring him a smaller bundle which was
within the other. So she went and opened it, and that which she found
therein was a pair of human legs and feet, the remains of some earlier
horrid meal. She threw them far away. The small bundle she brought to
him.
The Chenoo opened it and took from it a pair of horns,--horns of the
_chepitchcalm_, or dragon. One of them has two branches; the other
is straight and smooth. [Footnote: In the winter of 1882-1883, Tomah
Josephs killed a deer whose horns were precisely like those of the
chepitchcalm as regarded shape.] They were golden-bright. He gave the
straight horn to the Indian; he kept the other. He said that these were
magical weapons, and the only ones of any use in the coming fight. So
they waited for the foe.
And the third day came. The Chenoo was fierce and bold; he listened; he
had no fear. He heard the long and awful scream--like nothing of earth--of
the enemy, as she sped through the air far away in the icy north,
long ere the others could hear it. And the manner of it was this: that
if they without harm should live after hearing the first deadly yell of
the enemy they could take no harm, and if they did but hear the
answering shout of their friend all would be well with them. [Footnote:
In all this we clearly perceive the horrible scream of the
_angakok_, or Eskimo Shaman, trained through years and generations
to utter sounds which terrify even brave men.] But he said, "Should you
hear me call for help, then hasten with the horn, and you may save my
life."
They did as he bade: they stopped their ears; they hid in a deep hole
dug in the ground. All at once the cry of the foe burst on them like
screaming thunder; their ears rang with pain: they were well-nigh
killed, for all the care they had taken. But then they heard the
answering cry of their friend, and were no longer in danger from mere
noise.
The battle begun, the fight was fearful. The monsters, by their magic
with their rage, rose to the size of mountains. The tall pines were
torn up, the ground trembled as in an earthquake, rocks crashed upon
rocks, the conflict deepened and darkened; no tempest was ever so
terrible. Then the male Chenoo was heard crying: "_N'loosook!
choogooye! abog unumooe!_" "My son-in-law, come and help me!"
He ran to the fight. What he saw was terrible! The Chenoos, who upright
would have risen far above the clouds as giants of hideous form, were
struggling on the ground. The female seemed to be the conqueror. She
was holding her foe down, she knelt on him, she was doing all she could
to thrust her dragon's horn into his ear. And he, to avoid death, was
moving his head rapidly from side to side, while she, mocking his cries,
said, "You have no son-in-law to help you." _Neen nabujjeole_,
"I'll take your cursed life, [Footnote: It is generally said that there
can be no swearing in Indian, but Mr. Rand corrects this gross error.
"It is a mistake," he writes, "to suppose that the red man cannot swear
in his own tongue." It cannot, of course, be expected that simple savages
can swear like cultivated Christians, but they do the best they can. They
introduce the venom into their speech by inserting an extra syllable.
Thus _nabole_ or _nabol'_ means, "I will kill you," but
_nabujeol'_ is the equivalent of "I'll take your cursed life,"
though it has not that literal meaning. Having only one small syllable
to swear with, the Indians are, however, not so profuse and wasteful of
profanity as their more gifted and pious white brethren.] and, eat your
liver."
The Indian was so small by these giants that the stranger did not
notice him. "Now," said his friend, "thrust the horn into her ear!" He
did this with a well-directed blow; he struck hard; the point entered
her head. At the touch it sprouted quick as a flash of lightning, it
darted through the head, it came out of the other ear, it had become
like a long pole. It touched the ground, it struck downward, it took
deep and firm root.
The male Chenoo bade him raise the other end of the horn and place it
against a large tree. He did so. It coiled itself round the tree like a
snake, it grew rapidly; the enemy was held hard and fast. Then the two
began to dispatch her. It was long and weary work. Such a being, to be
killed at all, must be hewed into small pieces; flesh and bones must
all be utterly consumed by fire. Should the least fragment remain
unburnt, from it would spring a grown Chenoo, with all the force and
fire of the first. [Footnote: The idea is common to both Eskimo and
Indian that so long as a fragment of a body remains unburned, the
being, man or beast, may, by magic, be revived from it. It was probably
suggested by observing the great vitality and power of self-production
inherent in many lower forms of life, and may have given rise to the
belief in vampires.]
The fury of battle past, the Chenoos had become of their usual size.
The victor hewed the enemy to small pieces, to be revenged for the
insult and threat as to eating his liver. He, having roasted that part
of his captive, ate it before her; while she was yet alive he did this.
He told her she was served as she would have served him.
But the hardest task of all was to come. It was to burn or melt the
heart. It was of ice, and more than ice: as much colder as ice is
colder than fire, as much harder as ice is harder than water. When
placed in the fire it put out the flame, yet by long burning it melted
slowly, until they at last broke it to fragments with a hatchet, and
then melted these. So they returned to the camp.
Spring came. The snows of winter, as water, ran down the rivers to the
sea; the ice and snow which had encamped on the inland hills sought the
shore. So did the Indian and his wife; the Chenoo, with softened soul,
went with them. Now he was becoming a man like other men. Before going
they built a canoe for the old man: they did not cover it with birch bark;
they made it of moose-skin. [Footnote: "The Indians have several names
for a canoe: _Kwedun_ (M.); _A'kweden_ (P.); _N'tooal_
(M.), my canoe or my water-craft of any kind; _Mooseoolk_, a canoe
covered with moose-skin (M.); _Skogumoolk_ (M..), a new canoe;
_N'canoolk_ (M.), an old canoe."--Rand manuscript. To these may
be added the different patterns of canoes peculiar to different tribes,
as for instance the Mohawk, which is broad, with peculiar ends, etc.]
In it they placed a part of their venison and skins. The Chenoo took
his place in it; they took the lead, he followed.
And after winding on with the river, down rapids and under forest-boughs,
they came out into the sunshine, on a broad, beautiful lake. But
suddenly, when midway in the water, the Chenoo laid flat in the canoe,
as if to hide himself. And to explain this he said that be had just then
been discovered by another Chenoo, who was standing on the top of a
mountain, whose dim blue outline could just be seen stretching far away
to the north. "He has seen me," he said, "but he cannot see you. Nor can
he behold me now; but should he discover me again, his wrath will be
roused. Then he will attack me; I know not who might conquer. I prefer
peace."
So he lay hidden, and they took his canoe in tow. But when they had
crossed the lake and come to the river again, the Chenoo said that he
could not travel further by water. He would walk the woods, but sail
on streams no more. So they told him where they meant to camp that
night. He started over mountains and through woods and up rocks, a far,
round-about journey. And the man and his wife went down the river in a
spring freshet, headlong with the rapids. [Footnote: One should be
familiar with the almost impassable forests of Maine and Canada, even
as they are at the present day, to properly appreciate the Chenook's
journey. As for the speed of the canoe, I have myself gone down the
Kenawha River (Va.), in a dug-out, at the rate of one hundred miles
in a day.] But when they had paddled round the point where they meant
to pass the night, they saw smoke rising among the trees, and on landing
they found the Chenoo sleeping soundly by the fire which had been built
for them.
This he repeated for several days. But as they went south a great
change came over him. He was a being of the north. Ice and snow had no
effect on him, but he could not endure the soft airs of summer. He grew
weaker and weaker; when they had reached their village he had to be
carried like a little child. He had grown gentle. His fierce and
formidable face was now like that of a man. His wounds had healed; his
teeth no longer grinned wildly all the time. The people gathered round
him in wonder.