The sound or strait, which divides Nope[A] from the main land and the
islands of Nashawn, was not, in the days of our fathers, so wide as it
is now. The small bays which now indent the northern shore of Nope,
and the slight promontories, which, at intervals of a mile or two, jut
out along its coast of a sun's journey, were then wanting; neither the
one nor the other obtruded on its round and exact outline. The strong
current of waters from the boundless bosom of the Great Lake, sweeping
down between this island and the opposite little islands of Nashawn
and its sisters, has made great encroachments upon the former,
widening to a journey of two hours what was once only the work of one
to perform. My brothers, who are with me from the lands of the
Pawkunnawkuts, know that my words are true. They know that the air has
also changed as much as the shape of the shores of Nope. In the times
of our grandfathers, the waves which roll between these islands were
always frozen over, from the hunting month to the month of the red
singing bird. During the cold months, the canoe of the Indian hunter
and fisherman was not permitted to traverse its dark and angry waters
in quest of finny spoil, or in chase of the wild fowl. Then, to
procure his food he took down his spear, and wandered far out on the
frozen water to catch the foolish duck, which had suffered itself to
be imbedded in the congealed clement; or, nearer to his cabin, he cut
holes in the ice, and, as the stupid and benumbed fish glided across
the opening, applied his unerring dart, and threw him to his delighted
woman.
[Footnote A: Martha's Vineyard, a little island upon the coast of New
England.]
But the face of Nope changed, and with it the winters grew milder and
milder. The hunting month was no longer the month of early snow, and
when the red singing bird came, he hopped on an opening bud, and
listened to the croaking of frogs. The alarm of the great sentinel[A]
was heard no longer in the hour of darkness in the depth of the woods.
There was too much sun for the hardy old warrior, and he followed his
great chief, the brown eagle, to the regions of the north. Meantime
the waters, no longer bound up with a chain by the Manitou of Cold,
scooped out bays and heaped up headlands, till they made the shores
of Nope crooked as the path of a bewildered white man, or the thread
of a story which has no truth.
[Footnote A: The owl. See the tradition, vol. 1. p. 61.]
Once upon a time, in the month of bleak winds, a Pawkunnawkut Indian,
who lived upon the main land, near the brook which was ploughed out by
the great trout[A], was caught with his dog upon one of the pieces of
floating ice, and carried in spite of his endeavours to Nope.
Hitherto, it had remained unknown, and, as our people supposed,
unapproachable. Several times they had attempted to visit it, but
their canoes had always been swept away, or pushed back by some
invisible hand, some friendly Manitou of the water, who feared danger
to them, or some angry spirit of the island, who, by these signs,
forbade their approach to his dominions. For many years, and ever
since the memory of our fathers, the Indians, supposing it the
residence of Hobbamock, the being who rules over evil men, sends
disease and death to the Indians, breeds storms in the air, and utters
the fearful sound in the black clouds, had carefully abstained from
attempting to visit it. Nor was it altogether a mere uncertain dread
of evil, which had operated on their minds to people it with living
and moving beings. They could see at times men of monstrous stature
moving rapidly over the island, and at all seasons in the calm
evening, or when the winds blew from it, could hear sounds of anger or
wailing, or of music and merriment, proceeding from its gloomy shades.
And some pretended to have seen distinctly the form of a tall man
wading into the water to grasp whales. The forced visit to its shores
of Tackanash, the Pawkunnawkut, made them see it was not the dream of
a sleeper who has eaten too much meat, but like that which men see
with their eyes when they are awake, and would talk only what the Good
Spirit may hear.
[Footnote A: A brook in Barnstable County, respecting which this
tradition is current among the Indians.]
When Tackanash and his dog arrived at Nope, he found the man whose
existence had been doubted by many of the Indians, and believed to
have been only seen by deceived eyes, heard by foolish ears, and
talked of by lying tongues, living in a deep cave near the end of the
island, nearest the setting sun. And this was the account which
Tackanash on his return gave the chiefs of the strange creature. He
was taller than the tallest tree upon Nope, and as large around him as
the spread of the tops of a vigorous pine, that has seen the years of
a full grown warrior. His skin was very black; but his beard, which he
had never plucked nor clipped, and the hair of his head, which had
never been shaved, were of the colour of the feathers of the grey
gull. His eyes were very white, and his teeth, which were only two in
number, were green as the ooze raked up by the winds from the bottom
of the sea. He was always good-natured and cheerful, save when he
could not get plenty of meat, or when he missed his usual supply of
the Indian weed, and the strong drink which made him see whales
chasing deer in the woods, and frogs digging _quawhogs_. His principal
food was the meat of whales, which he caught by wading after them into
the great sea, and tossing them out, as the Indian boys do black bugs
from a puddle. He would, however, eat porpoises, when no larger fish
were to be had, and even tortoises, and deer, and rabbits, rather than
be hungry. The bones of the whales, and the coals of the fire in which
he roasted them, are to be seen now at the place where he lived. I
have not yet told my brothers the name of this big man of Nope--it
was Moshup.
I hear the stranger ask, "Who was he?" I hear my brothers ask, "Was he
a spirit from the shades of departed men, or did he come from the
hills of the thunder? I answer, he was a Spirit, but whence he came,
when first he landed in our Indian country, I know not. It was a long
time ago, and the Island[A] was then very young, being just placed on
the back of the Great Tortoise which now supports it. As it was very
heavy the tortoise tried to roll it off, but the Great Spirit would
not let him, and whipped him till he lay still. Moshup told the
Pawkunnawkut that he once lived upon the main land. He said that much
people grew up around him, men who lived by hunting and fishing, while
their women planted the corn, and beans, and pumpkins. They had
_powwows_, he said, who dressed themselves in a strange dress,
muttered diabolical words, and frightened the Indians till they gave
them half their wampum. Our fathers knew by this, that they were their
ancestors, who were always led by the priests--the more fools they!
Once upon a time, Moshup said, a great bird whose wings were the
flight of an arrow wide, whose body was the length of ten Indian
strides, and whose head when he stretched up his neck peered over the
tall oak-woods, came to Moshup's neighbourhood. At first, he only
carried away deer and mooses; at last, many children were missing.
This continued for many moons. Nobody could catch him, nobody could
kill him. The Indians feared him, and dared not go near him; he in his
turn feared Moshup, and would seek the region of the clouds the moment
he saw him coming. When he caught children, he would immediately fly
to the island which lay towards the hot winds. Moshup, angry that he
could not catch him, and fearing that, if the creature hatched others
of equal appetite and ferocity, the race of Indians would become
extinct, one day waded into the water after him, and continued in
pursuit till he had crossed to the island which sent the hot winds,
and which is now called Nope. There, under a great tree, he found the
bones of all the children which the great bird had carried away. A
little further he found its nest, with seven hatched birds in it,
which, together with the mother, he succeeded after a hard battle in
killing. Extremely fatigued, he lay down to sleep, and dreamed that he
must not quit the island again. When he waked, he wished much to
smoke, but, on searching the island for tobacco, and finding none, he
filled his pipe with _poke_, which our people sometimes use in the
place of tobacco. Seated upon the high hills of Wabsquoy, he puffed
the smoke from his pipe over the surface of the Great Lake, which soon
grew dim and misty. This was the beginning of fog, which since, for
the long space between the Frog-month and the Hunting-month, has at
times obscured Nope and all the shores of the Indian people. This was
the story which Moshup told Tackanash and his dog. If it is not true,
I am not the liar."
[Footnote A: The Indians, as I have before remarked, believe the world
to be an island, and always speak of it as such.]
Moshup, at the time when Nope was visited by Tackanash, had a wife of
equal size with himself, and four sons, and a daughter, the former
tall, strong, and swift, very expert at catching fish, and nimble in
pursuit of deer, the latter beautiful, sweet-voiced, and bounding as
the fawn. She would sit in the first of the evening, when the dew
began to fall, and the shadows of men lengthened, and sing to her
father songs of the land of the shades of evil men, songs which told
of the crimes they had committed, and their repentance, and guilt, and
compunction, and shame, and death. Though Moshup appeared to care
little for any body, he nevertheless loved his little daughter, as he
called her, whose head peered over the tallest trees, and whose voice
was heard upon the main land. He shewed by many signs how much he
loved his daughter. He strung up the teeth of the shark as a necklace
for her, gathered the finest shells for her anklets, and always gave
her the fattest slice of whale's meat to her portion.
The story of Tackanash, who very soon returned to Waquoit, and his
description of the beauties of Nope, carried many of the Pawkunnawkuts
thither to live. It was indeed a pleasant place, pleasant to the
Indian, for it abounded with all the things he covets. Its ponds were
many, and stocked with fine fish and fat wild ducks; its woods were
filled with deer, and the fertile banks of its streams overrun with
wild vines, on which the grape thickly clustered, and where the walnut
and the hazel-nut profusely loaded both bush and tree. Soon, the
Pawkunnawkuts, at peace among themselves, and blessed by the Good
Spirit with every thing they needed, became very numerous. There was
not a pleasant spot on the island, from which did not arise the smoke
of a cabin fire; nor a quiet lake, in which, in the months of flowers
and fruits, you would not see Indian maidens laving their dusky limbs.
The wild duck found no rest in his sunny slumber on the banks of
Menemshe, the _pokeshawit_ could no longer hide in the sedge, on the
banks of his favourite Quampeche, and the deer, that went to quench
his thirst in the Monnemoy, found the unerring arrow of the Indian in
his heart.
But to Moshup the increase of the Indians seemed to give pain--none
knew why, since the only enjoyments he appeared to covet were still as
numerous as before. Whales were still plenty, _poke_ was still plenty,
and sleep and sunshine as easily enjoyed as ever. Though he never
harmed the Indians, he grew discontented and unhappy, cross and
peevish in his family, and sour and unneighbourly to all around him.
He would beat his wife, if she did but so much as eat a falling scrap
of the whale; toss his sons out of the cave, if, in the indulgence of
boyish glee, they made the least noise while he was taking his nap;
and box the ears of his little daughter, if she did but so much as
look at an Indian youth.
Once upon a time, he bade his children go and play ball upon the beach
that joins the hill[A] of White Paint to Nomensland, telling them that
he would look on and see the sport. When they had played awhile, he
made a mark with his great toe across the beach at each end, and so
deep that the water followed the mark, leaving them surrounded with
it, and in great danger of being drowned. When the tide at length
began to flow across the beach, covering with water the whole space
between the two high lands, the brothers took their little sister, and
held her up out of the water, while Moshup, seated on the high cliffs,
looked on. He told them to act as if they were going to kill whales,
which they did, and were all turned into the fish called _killers_, a
fish which has ever since been an enemy to whales, and is its greatest
terror; As the sister was always a gay girl, painting her cheeks of
many hues, and loving many-coloured ornaments, he commanded her to
become, and she became, the striped killer. He bade her brothers be
always very kind to her, and they have obeyed him.
[Footnote A: Gayhead, which has a chalk cliff.]
When Moshup's wife learned the transformation of her children, she
grieved very much for their loss. Night and day she did nothing hut
weep and call for them, till, at length, Moshup grew tired of her
noise, and, catching her up in his arms in a paroxysm of passion, he
threw her as far as he could towards the country of the Narragansetts.
She fell upon the point which juts far into the ocean, and over whose
rocks the evil Manitou of the deep throws the great waves. The Indians
call it Seconet. There, seated upon the rocks, she began to make all
who came that way contribute to her support. She grew to be so cross
and cruel, exacting so much from Indians, and making so much noise,
that the Great Spirit changed her into a huge rock; the entire shape
of which remained many years. But, when the Yengees came, some of them
broke off her arms, fearing she would use them to their injury, and
her head, lest she should plot mischief; but her body stands there now.
Moshup did not stay long on Nope after he had thrown away his wife,
but while he did remain he was very good to the Indians, sending them
many whales and other good things. He did very little save watch on
the edge of the sea the sport of the killers, and in particular that
which was striped, feeding it with certain pieces of fish, talking
kindly to it, and always calling it by the name his daughter bore.
Sometimes he would remain for many suns perched on the high cliff of
White Paint, looking eagerly towards the place where he had thrown his
old woman. At last, he went away, no one could say with certainty
whither. Some of the Indians supposed they could see him at times
walking on the high hills beyond the tides; others thought that he had
gone back to his master; the Evil Spirit.