It was a fine summer evening; the sun was scarcely an hour high, its
departing rays shone through the leaves of the tall elms that skirted a
little green knoll, whereon stood a solitary Indian lodge. The deep,
deep silence that reigned around seemed to the dwellers in that lonely
hut like the long sleep of death which was now about to close the eyes
of the chief of this poor family; his low breathing was answered by the
sighs and sobs of his wife and three children: two of the children were
almost grown up, one was yet a mere child. These were the only human
beings near the dying man: the door of the lodge[27] was thrown aside
to admit the refreshing breeze of the lake on the banks of which it
stood, and when the cool air visited the brow of the poor man, he felt a
momentary return of strength. Raising himself a little, he thus
addressed his weeping family:--
"I leave ye--I leave ye! thou who hast been my partner in life, thou
wilt not stay long behind me, thou wilt soon join me in the pleasant
land of spirits; therefore thou hast not long to suffer in this world.
But O my children, my poor children, you have just commenced life, and
unkindness, and ingratitude, and all wickedness, is in the scene before
you. I have contented myself with the company of your mother and
yourselves for many years, and you will find that my motive for
separating myself from other men has been to preserve you from evil
example. But I die content, if you, my children, promise me to love each
other, and on no account to forsake your youngest brother. Of him I give
you both particular charge--love him and cherish him."
The father then became exhausted, and taking a hand of each of his elder
children, he continued--"My daughter, never forsake your little brother!
my son, never forsake your little brother!"--'Never! never!' they both
exclaimed:--"Never! never!" repeated the father, and expired.
The poor man died happy, because he thought that his commands would be
obeyed: the sun sank down behind the trees and left a golden sky, which
the family were wont to behold with pleasure; but now no one heeded it.
The lodge, so still an hour before, was now filled with loud cries and
lamentations.
Time wore heavily away. Five long moons had passed, and the sixth was
nearly full, when the mother also died. In her last moments, she pressed
upon her children the fulfilment of their promise to their departed
father. They readily renewed this promise, because they were as yet free
from any selfish motives to break it. The winter passed away and spring
came. The girl being the eldest, directed her brothers, and seemed to
feel a more tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was
sickly and delicate. The other boy soon showed signs of selfishness,
and thus addressed his sister:--
"My sister, are we always to live as if there were no other human beings
in the world? Must I be deprived of the pleasure of associating with
men? I go to seek the villages of my brothers and my tribe. I have
resolved, and you prevent me."
The girl replied, "My brother, I do not say no to what you desire. We
were not forbidden to associate with men, but we were commanded to
cherish and never forsake each other--if we separate to follow our own
selfish desires, will it not oblige us to forsake him, our brother, whom
we are both bound to support?"
The young man made no answer to this remonstrance, but taking up his bow
and arrows, he left the wigwam and returned no more.
Many moons had come and gone after the young man's departure, and still
the girl ministered kindly and constantly to the wants of her little
brother. At length, however, she too began to weary of solitude and her
charge. Years added to her strength and her power of providing for the
household wants, but also brought the desire of society, and made her
solitude more and more irksome. At last she became quite impatient; she
thought only of herself, and cruelly resolved to abandon her little
brother, as her elder brother had done before.
One day, after having collected all the provisions she had set apart for
emergencies, and brought a quantity of wood to the door, she said to her
little brother, "My brother, you must not stray far from the lodge. I am
going to seek our brother, I shall soon be back." Then taking her
bundle, she set off in search of the habitations of men. She soon found
them, and became so much occupied with the pleasures of her new life,
that all affection and remembrance of her brother were by degrees
effaced from her heart. At last she was married, and after _that_ she
never more thought of her poor helpless little brother, whom she had
abandoned in the woods.
In the mean time the eldest brother had also settled on the shores of
the same lake, near which reposed the bones of his parents, and the
abode of his forsaken brother.
Now, as soon as the little boy had eaten all the provisions left by his
sister, he was obliged to pick berries and dig up roots for food. Winter
came on, and the poor child was exposed to all its rigour; the snow
covered the earth; he was forced to quit the lodge in search of food,
and strayed about without shelter or home: sometimes he passed the night
in the clefts of old trees, and ate the fragments left by the wolves.
Soon he had no other resource; and in seeking for food he became so
fearless of these animals, that he would sit close to them while they
devoured their prey, and the fierce hungry wolves themselves seemed to
pity his condition, and would always leave something for him. Thus he
lived on the bounty of the wolves till the spring. As soon as the lake
was free from ice, he followed his new friends and companions to the
shore. Now it happened that his brother was fishing in his canoe, out
far on the lake, when he thought he heard a cry as of a child, and
wondered how any one could exist on the bleak shore. He listened again
more attentively, and heard the cry repeated, and he paddled towards the
shore as quickly as possible, and there he beheld and recognised his
little brother, whom he heard singing in a plaintive voice:--
"Neesya, neesya, shyegwich gushuh!
Ween, ne myeeguniwh!"
That is, "my brother, my brother, I am now turning into a wolf, I am
turning into a wolf." At the end of his song he howled like a wolf, and
his brother approaching, was dismayed to find him half a wolf and half a
human being. He however leaped to the shore, strove to catch him in his
arms, and said, soothingly, "My brother, my brother, come to me!" But
the boy eluded his grasp and fled, still singing as he fled, "I am
turning into a wolf! I am turning into a wolf!" and howling frightfully
at the end of his song.
His elder brother, conscious-struck, and feeling all his love return,
exclaimed in anguish, "My brother, O my brother, come to me!" but the
nearer he approached the child the more rapidly the transformation
proceeded. Still he sung, and howling called upon his brother and sister
alternately in his song, till the change was complete, and he fled
towards the wood a perfect wolf. At last he cried, "I am a wolf!" and
bounded out of sight.
The young man felt the bitterness of remorse all his days; and the
sister, when she heard the fate of her little brother whom she had
promised to protect and cherish, wept many tears, and never ceased to
mourn him till she died.
The next story seems intended to admonish parental ambition, and
inculcate filial obedience. The bird here called the robin is three
times as large as the English robin redbreast, but in its form and
habits very similar.
[Footnote 27: The skin or blanket suspended before the opening.]
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