for seals, who are greatly akin unto them, being almost as slippery;
and wotting well that no man hath the mitten till he is refused thirty
times and many more, he went about it in another wise. For this time he
gat many fir boughs, strewing them about as if blown by the wind, and
hiding himself behind them, again came up and made a sudden dart. Then
the maids, crying as before, "_Ne miha skedap_!" "I see a, man!"
went with a dive into the deep. But this time he caught, if not the
hair, at least the hair-string, of the fairest, which remained in his
hand. And, gazing on this, it came into his mind that he had got that
which was her charm, or life, and that she could not live without it,
[Footnote: The magic hair-string plays a part in many of these tales.
It belongs to the sorcery of all the world in all ages.] or her
cherished _sakultobee_ (M.). And taking it home, he tied it to the
place in the wigwam above that wherein he slept. Nor had he waited long
before she came, and, with little ado, remained with him as his wife.
Now Pulowech, being himself addicted to sorcery, knew that there were
divers knaves of the same stamp prowling about the woods, who would
make short work of a wife if they could find a plump young one in the
way,--they being robbers, ravishers, and cannibals withal. Therefore he
warned his bride to keep well within doors when he was away, and to
open to none, which she, poor soul, meant to obey with all her might.
But being alone at midnight, and hearing a call outside, even
"_Pantahdooe_!" M., "Open the door to me!" she wondered greatly who
it might be. And it was a very wicked wizard, a _boo-oin_, or
pow-wow; and he, being subtle and crafty, and knowing of her family,
so imitated the voices of her brothers and sisters; beseeching her to let
them in, that her very heart ached. "O sister, we have come from afar!"
they cried. "We missed you, and have followed you. Let us in!" And yet
again she heard a sad and very earnest voice, and it was that of her
old mother, crying, "_N'toos', n'toos', pantahdooe_!" M., "My
daughter! my daughter! open unto me!" and she verily wist that it must
be so. But when she heard the voice of her dear old father, shaking and
saying, "_Pantahdooe loke cyowchee_!" "Open the door, for I am very
cold!" she could resist no more, and, springing up, opened it to those
who were without. And then the evil sorcerers, springing on her like
mad wolves, dragged her away and devoured her. They did not leave two
of her little bones one with another. [Footnote: This Indian Little Red
Riding-Hood story is very effective. The wolfish sorcerers bursting in
at midnight are even more terrible, from a nursery melodramatic point,
than the old wolf in bed.]
Now when _Wejek_, the Tree Partridge, came in and found his
friend's wife gone, he was so angry that, without waiting, he set forth
to seek her. And this was not wisely done, since, falling among them,
he was himself slain. Then Pulowech, returning last of all, and finding
no one, sought by means of magic to know where friend and wife might
be. For taking a _woltes_, or a wooden dish, he filled it with
water, and charmed it with a spell, and placed it in the back part of
his wigwam, just opposite the door. So he laid him down to sleep, and
in the morning when he arose he looked upon the dish,--even the dish of
divination,--and lo! it was half full of blood. Then he knew that the
twain had been murdered.
Then gathering all his arms, he went forth for revenge, and passed many
days on the path, tracking the _boo-oin_; and having the eyesight
of sorcery, he one day beheld very far away, upon an exceeding high
cliff, the knee of a man sticking out of the stone, and knew that a
sorcerer had hidden himself in the solid rock, even as a child might
hide itself in a pile of feathers. Then throwing his tomahawk he cut
away the knee, and the _boo-oin_, his spell broken, remained hard
and fast forever in the ledge. And yet, anon, a little further on, he
saw a foot projecting from a wall, and this he likewise cut off, and
with that he had slain two.
And as he went further he found by the way a poor little squirrel, even
_Meeko_, who was crawling along, half dead, in sorry plight. And
taking her up he made her well, and placing her in his bosom, said,
"Rest there yet a while, _Meeko_, for thou must fight to-day, and
that fiercely. Yet fear not, for I will stand by thee, and when I tap
thy back, then shalt thou bring forth thy young!"
Then going ever on, he saw from the mountains far in a lake below a
flock of wild geese sporting merrily, even the _Senum-kwak'_. But
he wist right well that these also were of the _boo-oin_, whom he
sought, and placing a spell on his bow, and singing a charm over his
arrows that they should not miss, he slew the wild fowl one by one, and
tying their heads together, he carried them in a bunch upon his back.
And truly he deemed it a good bag of game for one day.
And yet further on he came to a wigwam, and entering it saw a man there
seated, whom he knew at once was of the enemy. For he who sat there
glared at him grimly; he did not say to him, "_'Kutakumoogwal!_" "Come
higher up!" as they do who are hospitable. But having cooked some meat,
and given it in a dish to Pulowech's hand, he snatched it back again,
and said he would sooner give it to his dog. And this he did more than
once, saying the same thing. But Pulowech kept quiet. Then the rude man
said, "Hast thou met with aught to-day, thou knave?" And the guest
replied, "Truly I saw a fellow's knee sticking out of a stone, and I
cut it off. And yet, anon, I saw a foot coming from a rock, and this I
also chopped. And further on there was a flock of wild geese, and them
I slew; there was not one left,--no, not one. And if you will look
without there you may see them all dead, and much good may it do you!"
Then the savage sorcerer burst forth in all his rage: "Come on, then,
our dogs must fight this out!" "Thou sayest well," replied Pulowech;
"truly I am fond of a good dog-fight, so bring out thy pup!" And that
which the man brought forth was terrible; for it was no dog, but a
hideous savage beast, known to Micmacs as the _Weisum_. [Footnote:
The _Amarok_ of the Eskimo.]
But that which Pulowech produced was quite as different from a dog as
was the _Weisum_; for it was only _Meeko_, a poor little
squirrel, and half dead at that, which he laid carefully before the
fire that it might revive. [Footnote: In another version of this story,
the savage stranger puts up a real dog against the squirrel; and in the
story of Glooskap, it is that great man who makes the squirrel great or
small.] But anon it began to revive, and grew until it was well-nigh as
great as the _Weisum_. And then there was indeed a battle as of
devils and witches; he who had been a hundred miles away might have
heard it.
But anon it seemed that the _Weisum_ was getting the better of
_Meeko_. Then Pulowech did but tap the squirrel on the back, when
lo! she brought forth two other squirrels, and these grew in an instant
to be as large as their mother, and the three were soon too many for
the beast. "Ho! call off your dogs!" cried the _boo-oin_; "you
have beaten. But spare mine, since, indeed, he does not belong to me,
but to my grandmother, who is very fond of him." [Footnote: This
trivial episode of begging a call-off seems to have deeply impressed
the Indians, who are generally sporting-men, since I find it in both
the Passamaquoddy and Micmac versions of the legend.]
Pulowech, who held to his own in all things like a wolverine, was the
last man alive to think of, and he encouraged the squirrels until they
had torn the _Weisum_ to rags.
Then he who had staked it, bitterly lamented, saying, "Alack, my poor
grandmother! Alas, how she will wail when she hears that her
_Weisum_ is dead! Woe the day that ever I did put him up! Alas, my
grandmother!" For all which the cruel Pulowech, the hard-hearted,
impenitent Partridge, did not care the hair of a dead musk-rat.
Now the host, who had thus suddenly grown so tender-hearted, said, "Let
us sail forth upon the river in a canoe." Then they were soon on the
stream, and rushing down a rapid like a dart. And anon they came to a
terribly high cliff, in which there was a narrow cavern into which the
river ran. And on it, thundering through this door of death, borne on a
boiling surge, the bark was forced furiously into darkness. And
Pulowech sat firmly in his seat, and steered the boat with steady,
certain hand; but just as he entered the horrible hole, glancing
around, he saw the sorcerer leap ashore. For the evil man, believing
that no one had ever come alive out of the cavern, had betrayed him
into it.
Yet ever cool and calm the mighty man went on, for danger now was
bringing out all the force of his magic; [Footnote: It is very
characteristic of the heroes of these Indian tales that they gradually
unfold or develop from small characteristics to very great ones. There
is a lesson in this, and it has been perfectly appreciated by poets and
similar sorcerers.] and soon the stream grew smoother, the rocks
disappeared from its bed, and then from afar there was a brightness,
and he was soon in the daylight and sunshine on a beautiful stream,
and by the banks thereof there grew the _wabeyu-beskwan_, or
water-lilies, and very pleasant it was to him to feel the wind again.
So using his paddle he saw a smoke rising from a cave in the rocks,
And landing and softly stepping up heard talking within.
Nor had he listened long ere he knew the voice of the man who had lured
him into the canoe, and he was telling his grandmother how, one after
the other, all the best _boo-oin_ of their band had been slain by
a mighty sorcerer. But when she heard from him how her beloved, or the
one who had inspired the _Weisum_, had been beaten, her wrath
burst forth in a storm, like the raving of devils, like a mad wind on
the waves. And she said, "If Pulowech were but before me, were he but
alive, I would roast him." The man, hearing this, cried, "Aye; but he
is _not_ alive, for I sent him afloat down into the dark cavern!"
And then Pulowech, stepping in before them, said, "And yet I am alive.
And do thou, woman, _bak sok bok sooc_!" (roast me to death). Then
she scowled horribly at him, but said naught; and he, sitting down,
looked at them.
This woman was of the Porcupines, who are never long without raising
their quills, and they are fond of heat. Now there was in the cave much
hemlock bark, and this she began to heap on the fire. Then it blazed,
it crackled and roared; but Pulowech sat still, and said naught,
neither did his eyes change. And he called unto himself all his might,
the might of his magic did he awaken, and the spirit came unto him very
terribly, so that all the _boo-oin_, with their vile black
witchcraft, were but as worms before him, the Great and Terrible One.
And when the fire had burned low he brought in by his will great store
of bark, so that the whole cave was filled, and closing the door he
lighted the fuel. Then the Porcupines, who were those who had slain his
wife and friend, howled for mercy, but he was deaf as a stone to their
cries. Then the roof and sides of the cavern cracked with the heat, the
red-hot stones fell in heavy blocks, the red flames rose in the
thickest smoke, but Pulowech sat and sang his song until the witch and
wizard were burned to cinders; yea, till their white bones crumbled to
ashes beneath his feet. And then he arose and went unto his home.
[Footnote: In this Micmac legend, which is plainly a poem, there is one
very striking and original element in the art with which the great
knowledge and power of Pulowech are kept out of sight until towards the
final unfolding. When he picks up the Squirrel it is with a full
comprehension that he will be confronted with the _Weisum_. From
the beginning to the end, he is master of the situation; all goes on
with him like the unfolding of Fate in a Greek tragedy, until the end,
when, stern and unpitying, he sits in the cavern of fire and sees his
enemies roasted alive before him.--From the Rand Manuscript.]
In this legend the hero passes the mysterious river which separates in
several Indian tales the ordinary world from that where the evil
giants, Jotuns, sorcerers, or witches live. It appears to correspond
exactly to "the stream called Ifing, which divides the earth between
the Jotuns and the Gods." (Edda, Vafthrudnismal, 16.) The attempt by
the Porcupine host to roast the guest alive and its failure bears
marked likeness to the scene in the Grimnismal, in which King Geirrod
vainly strives to roast his guest, Odin, and is himself slain.
"Fire, thou art hot,
and much too great;
flame, let us separate."
The grandeur of Odin and the behavior of the Indian are set forth in a
strikingly similar manner in both narratives. If any modern poet had
depicted this incident in so like a style, every critic would have
cried out plagiarism!
_The Story of a Partridge and his Wonderful Wigwam._
Once a man was traveling through the woods, and he heard afar off a
sound as of footsteps beating the ground. So he sought to find the
people that made it, and went on for a full week ere he came to them.
And it was a man and his wife dancing about a tree, in the top of which
was a Raccoon. They had, by their constant treading, worn a trench in
the ground; indeed, they were in it up to their waists. [Footnote: To
dance away the ground, or walk knee-deep in it, was characteristic of
wizards. So was the hearing of any sound at an apparently incredible
distance. To an Indian mind this tale is weird and wonderful from the
first words thereof.] Then, being asked why they did this strange
thing, they answered that, being hungry, they were trying to dance down
the tree to catch the Raccoon.
Then the man who had come said, "Truly there is a newer and better way
of felling trees, which has lately come into the land." As they wished
to know what this might be, he showed them how to cut it down, and did
so; making it a condition that if they got the game they might have the
meat and he should get the skin. So when the tree fell they caught the
animal, and the woman, having tanned the skin, gave it to the man, and
he went his way.
And being afar, in a path in the forest, he met another man, and was
greatly amazed at him because he was bearing on his head a house, or a
large birch wigwam of many rooms. He was frightened at first at such a
sight, but the man, putting down his house, shook hands with him, and
seemed to be a right honest good fellow. Then while they smoked and
talked, the Man of the House, seeing the skin of _Hespuns_, or
that of the Raccoon, in the other's belt, said, "Well, that is a fine
pelt! Where did you get it, brother?" And he, answering, told all the
story of the Dancing Man and Wife; whereupon he of the House became
mightily anxious to buy it, offering one thing after another for it,
and at last the House, which was accepted. And, examining it, the buyer
was amazed to find how many rooms it contained, and how full it was of
good furniture. "Truly," said he, "I can never carry this as you do!"
"Yes, you can," replied the _Pil-wee-mon-soo-in_ (P., one who
belongs somewhere else,--a stranger). "Do but try it!" So he essayed
and lifted it easily, for he found it as light as any _bassinode_
or basket.
So they parted and he went on carrying his cabin till night-fall, when
coming to a hard-wood ridge, near a good spring of water, he resolved
to settle there. [Footnote: A hard-wood ridge; that is, where there is
plenty of birch, ash, and such trees as are necessary for baskets,
dishes, canoes, and other Indian wants. Hence it is mentioned in many
tales as a desirable place to live.] And, searching, he found a room in
which there was a very fine bed, covered with a _white bear-skin_.
[Footnote: A sure indication of sorcery.] And as it was very soft, and
he was very weary, he slept well.
In the morning, when he awoke, what was his astonishment and delight to
see above him, hanging to the beams, all kinds of nice provisions,--
venison, hams, ducks, baskets of berries and of maple-sugar, with many
ears of Indian corn. And as he, in his joy, stretched out his arms and
made a jump towards all these dainties, behold the white bear-skin
melted and ran away, for it was the snow of winter; and his arms spread
forth into wings, and he flew up to the food, which was the early buds
of the birch, on which they hung. [Footnote: Birch-buds are the food of
the partridge. The unexpected ending of this tale signifies the sudden
return of spring. As told by an Indian, it is very effective. This tale
was told me by Tomah Josephs.] And he was a Partridge, who after the
manner of his kind had been wintering under a snow-drift, and now came
forth to greet the pleasant spring.
_How the Partridge built Good Canoes for all the Birds, and a Bad One
for Himself._
When a partridge beats upon a hollow log he makes a noise like an
Indian at work upon a canoe, and when an Indian taps at a canoe it
sounds afar off like the drumming of a partridge, even of
_Mitchihess_. And this comes because that _N'karnayoo_, of
ancient days, the Partridge, was the canoe builder for all the other
birds. Yes, for all at once.
And on a certain day they every one assembled, and each got into his bark,
and truly it was a brave sight to see. First of all _Kicheeplagon_,
the Eagle, entered his great shell and paddled off, using the ends of his
wings; and then came _Ko-ko-kas_, the Owl, doing the same; and,
_Kosqu'_, the Crane, _Wee-sow-wee-hessis_, the Bluebird,
_Tjidge-is-skwess_, the Snipe, and _Meg-sweit-tchip-sis_,
the Blackbird, all came sailing proudly after. Even the tiny
_A-la-Mussit_, the Humming-Bird, had a dear little boat, and for
him the good Partridge had made a pretty little paddle, only that
some thought it rather large, for it was almost an inch long. And
_Ishmegwess_, the Fish-Hawk, who lived on the wing, cried in
amazement, "_Akweden skouje_!" "A canoe is coming!" when he
beheld this beautiful squadron standing out to sea.
But when _Mitchihess_, the great builder, was asked why he had not
built a canoe for himself, he merely looked mysterious and drummed. And
being further questioned by the birds, he shook his head, and at last
hinted that when he built a canoe unto himself it would be indeed a
marvel; yea, a wonder such as even birds' eyes had never beheld,--an
entire novelty, and something to dream of. And this went on for many
days.
But in due time it was noised abroad that the wonderful canoe had at
last been really built, and would soon be shown. And at an appointed
time all the birds assembled on the banks to behold this new thing. Now
the Partridge had reasoned that if a boat having two ends could be
rowed in two ways, one which was all ends, all round, could be rowed in
every way. So he had made a canoe which was exactly like a nest, or
perfectly round. And this idea had greatly amazed the honest feathered
folk, who were astonished that so simple a thing had not occurred to
all of them.
But what was their wonder when Partridge, having entered his canoe and
proceeded to paddle, made no headway at all; for it simply turned round
and round, and ever and again the same way, let him work it as he
would. And after wearying himself and all in vain, he went ashore, and,
flying far inland, hid himself for very shame under the low bushes, on
the earth, where he yet remains. This is the reason why he never seeks
the sea or rivers, and has ever since remained an inland bird.
[Footnote: Having met Mr. Louis Mitchell, the Indian member of the
legislature in Maine, one day in Eastport, I asked him to occupy the
few minutes which would pass before I should take the steamboat for
Calais by telling me a story. He complied by narrating the foregoing.
It is very remarkable that the Indian story-tellers of ancient days
should have taken it into their heads to satirize an idea which has
been of late carried out completely by the Russian Admiral Popoff, in
his celebrated circular war steamer. The story and all the Indian words
in it are Passamaquoddy.]
_The Mournful Mystery of the Partridge-Witch; setting forth how a
Young Man died from Love._
Of the olden time. Two brothers went hunting in the autumn, and that as
far as the head waters of the Penobscot, where they remained all
winter. But in March their snow-shoes (_agahmook_, P.) gave out,
as did their moccasins, and they wished that a woman were there to mend
them.
When the younger brother returned first to the lodge, the next day,--
which he generally did, to get it ready for the elder,--he was
astonished to find that some one had been there before him, and that,
too, in the housekeeping. For garments had been mended, the place
cleaned and swept, a fire built, and the pot was boiling. He said
nothing of this to his brother; but returning the next day at the same
time, found that all had been attended to, as at first. And again he
said nothing; but in the morning, when he went forth to hunt, he did
but go a little way, and, returning, watched, from a hidden place, the
door. And there came a beautiful and graceful girl, well attired, who
entered the wigwam. And he, stepping softly, looking through a hole in
the hut, saw her very busy with his housekeeping.
Then he entered, and she seemed to be greatly alarmed and confused; but
he calmed her, and they soon became good friends, sporting together
very happily all day long like children, for indeed they were both
young.
When the sun's height was little and his shadows long, the girl said,
"I must go now. I hear your brother coming, and I fear him. But I will
return to-morrow. _Addio_!" So she went, and the elder brother knew
nothing of what had happened. The next day she came again, and once
more they played in sunshine and shadow until evening; but ere she went
he sought to persuade her to remain always. And she, as if in doubt,
answered, "Tell thy brother all, and it may be that I will stay and
serve ye both. For I can make the snow-shoes and moccasins which ye so
much need, and also canoes." Then she departed with the day, and the
elder, returning, heard from his brother all that had happened, and
said, "Truly I should be glad to have some one here to take care of the
wigwam and make snow-shoes." So she came in the morning, and hearing
from the younger that his brother had consented to her coming was very
glad, and went away, as in haste. But she returned about noon, drawing
a _toboggin_ (sled) piled up with garments and arms, for she was a
huntress. Indeed, she could do all things as few women could, whether
it were cooking, needle-work, or making all that men need. And the
winter passed very pleasantly, until the snow grew soft, and it was
time for them to return. Till she came they had little luck in hunting,
but since her coming all had gone well with them, and they now had a
wonderful quantity of furs.
Then they returned in a canoe, going down the river to their village.
But as they came near it the girl grew sad, for she had thrown out her
soul to their home, though they knew it not, by _meelahbi-give_.
[Footnote: Passamaquoddy: Clairvoyance, or state of vision.] And
suddenly she said, as they came to a point of land, "Here I must leave.
I can go no further. Say nothing of me to your parents, for your father
would have but little love for me." And the young men sought to
persuade her, but she only answered sorrowfully, "It cannot be." So
they came home with their furs, and the elder was so proud of their
luck and their strange adventure that he could not hold his peace, but
told all.
Then his father was very angry, and said, "All my life have I feared
this. Know that this woman was a devil of the woods, a witch of the
Mitche-hant, a sister of the _Oonahgamess_ [Footnote: P. Goblins
and ghosts.] and of the _Ke'tahks_." And he spoke so earnestly and
so long of this thing that they were afraid, and the elder, being
persuaded by the sire, went forth to slay her, and the younger followed
him afar. So they sought her by the stream, and found her bathing, and,
seeing them, she ran up a little hill. And, as she ran, the elder shot
an arrow at her. Then there was a strange flurry about her, a
fluttering of scattered feathers, and they saw her fly away as a
partridge. Returning, they told all this to their father, who said,
"You did well. I know all about these female devils who seek to destroy
men. Verily this was a she Mikumwess." [Footnote: P. The Mikumwess is a
Robin Goodfellow, who plays pranks on people, or treats them kindly,
according to his caprice.]