the lodge puts the young people in a state of suppressed excitement.
Even the older people are pleasantly disposed toward him, and one matron
draws forth a bench which she sets before the central fire. Several
cornhusk mats are then placed around on the floor and the company draws
into a circle, at least such a circle as the building will permit.
The story teller wears a long white flannel toga, or overshirt bound
with blue ribbon. It is embroidered richly with colored moose hair. His
gustoweh or cap is of soft doeskin quilled in herringbone patterns, and
the feathers that droop from the crest spindle are the white down
feathers of the heron. The spinning feather at the tip is from the tail
of a young eagle and from its tip rises a little tassel of red moose
hair held on by a bit of fish glue. He has two bags, one containing his
pipe and tobacco, and the other filled with mysterious lumps. Just what
these are everyone waits patiently to see, for they are the trophies
that “remind” him of his stories,—bear teeth, shells, bark dolls,
strings of wampum, bunches of feathers, bits of bark with hieroglyphs
upon them, and the claws of animals.
He takes his seat and after smoking a pipeful of sacred tobacco throws
some of this fragrant herb upon the fire, at the same time saying a
ritualistic prayer to the unseen powers, about whom he is soon to
discourse. Finally he exclaims, “Hauh, oneh djadaondyus,” and all the
people respond, “Hauh oneh!” He plunges his hand into his mystery bag
and draws forth a bear’s tusk. “Hoh!” he says. “The bear! This is a tale
of nyagwai‘´. Do you all now listen!” And then comes the story of the
orphaned boy who lived with his wicked uncle and how he was rescued from
burial in a fox hole and cared for by a mother bear. Another trinket
comes forth, and again another, as a new tale unfolds. When the night
has grown old, and the youngsters show signs of weariness by falling
asleep, the story teller closes his bag, carefully ties it and then
starts to smoke again.
The listeners have been thrilled by his dramatic recitation, they have
been moved to uproarious laughter or made to shudder with awe. They have
been profoundly stirred and their eyes glisten with pleasurable
excitement. Everyone files past the story teller with a small gift,—a
brooch, a carved nut, a small bag of tobacco or a strand of sinew for
thread. No gift is large and most gifts are pinches of native tobacco.
The story teller then finds a comfortable bed.
The children climb into their lofts by aid of notched ladders, the old
people repair to their compartments, pull down the robe curtains, and
soon all but a watcher or two are asleep, dreaming of the folk-beasts
and the heroes of the story teller’s tales. The more imaginative
continue the adventures that have been told, and journey into dreamland
to meet the myth-beings and learn of the mysteries that only slumberland
can reveal.
Such is the setting of the story teller and the atmosphere in which the
legends of the Seneca were told, in the days of early Buffalo. These
old-time tales can scarcely be appreciated unless one knows and _feels_
the circumstances under which they were related. Then, too, we may dream
as the Seneca dreamed and know why he loved the story teller.
In the morning we are awakened by the noise of the corn pounders.
“Ka-doom, ka-doom, ka-doom!” they sound as the pestle strikes the corn
in the mortar and crushes it into hominy or meal, as the case may be.
Children then begin to tumble out of bed and run about the lodge, but
most of them are sent back to their warm robes until the morning meal
has been prepared.
As we open our eyes we see little light, for we are within one of the
bed compartments, over the front of which hang long buffalo robe
curtains, shutting out the light and securing us from the sight of
others. The head and the foot of our sleeping quarters likewise are
partitioned off by screens of bark, strengthened by upright poles. At
our feet are little cupboards where we have stored our clothing and
valuables. Over our heads hang uncertain bundles, attached to the
parallel poles that form the platform above us. These contain the
treasures and personal possessions of our host, whose bed we occupy. As
we dress and emerge from our compartment, we feel the cool air of the
great hallway and smell the smoke of the lodge fires. We look at the
underside of the bed and find it walled up by bark over a layer of
parallel poles. Beneath this bed are the greater treasures of our host,
treasures that no one may touch or see save himself. He reaches them by
lifting up the floor of the bed, a floor made of slats laced together.
No person, not the owner of the compartment, would ever dare pry beneath
that bed. It is a crime as black as calumny and worse than murder, for
it is a violation of fundamental laws. As the women come from their
compartments, and throw back their curtains upon the platform above, we
catch a glimpse of “bed rooms” neatly kept and hung with furs and pelts.
Some are embroidered and some are painted with signs and symbols. We
note also their neat bundles and quilled bark boxes at the foot of the
bed or over their heads. We long to pry into these secrets and to
discover just what is in this mysterious boudoir, but modesty forbids
anything more than a fleeting glance. Each compartment is its occupant’s
“castle” and must not be violated by so much as a curious look.
As we make ready for a bit of corn bread and a large bowl of soup, the
liquor in which the bread has been boiled, we note the ascending smoke
from the fireplaces on the earthen floor. The drafts are regulated by
opening one door-flap or the other. The great ridgepole and the rafters
of the lodge are black with soot. The roof is pitched, and the gable is
made by a pole placed above and resting upon the plate-poles, across the
front and rear of the building. These support the inner ridge pole upon
which rest the tops of the roof supports or rafters. These are stiffened
by inner poles that run parallel with the ridge pole and rest upon the
end gable rafters. All are tied in place with ropes of bark or fastened
with pegs, some of them spikes of deer antler. On either side of the
door are the major roof supports which being securely driven in the
ground rise to the gable rafter, giving a stronger support than could
possibly be given by a central post. The building is absolutely rigid.
The triple plaiting with bark, most of it elm, placed the long way of
the grain, instead of up and down, makes the building wind-proof and
comfortable enough to people inured to the weather.
We note with a great deal of interest the long rows of corn placed along
the roof poles that rest just above the edge of the upper platforms.
These braids of corn form curtains that screen off the upper platforms
except in places where there are small openings into which the lodge
matrons may thrust their possessions. It is there that they keep their
bowls of bark and wood, also stores of dried food. We are told that
there are barrels of bark up there filled with dried and smoked meats of
various kinds, also stores of vegetable foods and herbs.
The shed of the house interests us greatly. It is an entry way attached
to the lodge and has a slightly sloping roof. It is large and roomy and
here on one side is piled a great quantity of wood and on the other are
boxes and barrels of shelled corn.
We are impressed by the neatness of everything and by the compact manner
in which food and clothing is stowed away. Of course, in a modern sense,
the things we see are not clean, by any means, for dust and soot cover
everything not within arm’s reach. The place reeks of smoke, but we have
grown so accustomed to this that we scarcely notice it, save when the
wind changes direction and the smoke fills our eyes.
Around the fires are mats woven of corn husk, over a warp of twisted elm
bark fiber. Upon these we sit as we are given wooden bowls which are
filled with soup. The big ladle which we see used to dispense our
portion holds a bowlful. It is carved from curly maple and has a dove
carved on the upper part of the handle. Our smaller spoons are carved in
a similar manner but they hold only a white man’s half cupful. There is
nothing formal or full about this breakfast and we note the frugality of
the people. The second meal will be the hearty one.
As we sit on the mat before the fire we note how conservative some of
the older people are. One or two have bowls or pots of baked clay, rare
relics of the earlier day before the white man’s brass kettles made the
fragile clay pot an obsolete thing. We note that one pot has a serrated
rim which flares out, while the other has a tall collar decorated with
parallel lines arranged in triangular plats. Very gently do these old
folk handle their clay pots which they call “gadjĕ^n”. Several of the
old men take from their pouches ancient clay pipes, relics of the days
when they lived beyond the Genesee. These are molded with bowls in the
shape of raccoons and have copper eyes. The stems are rather short, not
more than eight inches, and the pipe is not held in the mouth
continually but lifted to the lips to allow an inhalation, and then
taken down. These relics we learn are sacred things and are to be buried
with the old men when they die.
Breakfast is over and there is little for the men to do. Their autumnal
hunt has filled the larder with game. There is plenty of corn, and the
younger men supply the fresh meat and fish needed. Winter is a time when
everyone clings to the hearth fire, save upon ceremonial occasion, or
for the usual winter sports. But even these become tiresome, and the
minds of the people crave stimulation. Even the gambling games do not
supply the right sort of awakening. The minds of the people are hungry
and demand a feeding even upon husks. They demand that their
imaginations be kindled and that from sordid life they be lifted to the
fairylands of pure imagination. The story teller who can lift the
individual out of self and transport him to the land of magic, where he
may picture himself a super-man performing mighty feats, is in great
demand. Absurdity counts for nothing; what though the myth or legend is
impossible,—this does not matter. It gives the hungry mind and yearning
soul wings upon which it may fly away from a real earth to the land of
“I-wish-I-could.” In a world where reliable facts are few and where
critical investigation is impossible, the imagination must be fed. The
story teller of the lodge supplies that food. He is the storehouse of
all knowledge, the repository of ancestral lore. To the untutored mind
of the aborigine he supplies what is almost as necessary as food itself,
for while man is a combination of body and mind, mind must have its
sustenance no less than body; it must have its sweets and its stimulants
no less than the physical nature. And so the story teller weaves the
spell, with all his rhetoric and oratory,—and hungry minds gather round
to feast....
Time goes by and the world has changed. There is a different order of
things. The power of the Seneca has gone, and the pale invader has taken
over all the land, save tiny areas in out-of-the-way places. Still the
Seneca has not relinquished his hold entirely; in various bands he still
lives in tribal estate. But how different is the Seneca today! His life
is that of the surrounding white man, in an economic sense. Little
remains to distinguish him as of another cultural order, but there is
still enough to mark him as aboriginal. He still preserves his rites and
ceremonies, and on the reservations at Cattaraugus, Allegany and
Tonawanda he still tells the folk-tales that his ancestors loved, and
_these remain unaltered to this very day_.
IV.
WHEN THE WORLD WAS NEW
[Illustration:
DELOS BIG KITTLE—SAINOWA.
A leading chief of the Wolf Clan of the Cattaraugus Seneca. Chief
Kittle was a man of great influence and numbered many devoted
friends among the citizens of Buffalo and vicinity. He died in the
Buffalo City Hospital, Dec. 30, 1923.
_Photo by E. C. Winnegar._
]
1. HOW THE WORLD BEGAN.
Beyond the dome we call the sky there is another world. There in the
most ancient of times was a fair country where lived the great chief of
the up-above-world and his people, the celestial beings. This chief had
a wife who was very aged in body, having survived many seasons.
In that upper world there were many things of which men of today know
nothing. This world floated like a great cloud and journeyed where the
great chief wished it to go. The crust of that world was not thick, but
none of these men beings knew what was under the crust.
In the center of that world there grew a great tree which bore flowers
and fruits and all the people lived from the fruits of the tree and were
satisfied. Now, moreover, the tree bore a great blossom at its top, and
it was luminous and lighted the world above, and wonderful perfume
filled the air which the people breathed. The rarest perfume of all was
that which resembled the smoke of sacred tobacco and this was the
incense greatly loved by the great chief. It grew from the leaves that
sprouted from the roots of the tree.
The roots of the tree were white and ran in four directions. Far through
the earth they ran, giving firm support to the tree. Around this tree
the people gathered daily, for here the Great Chief had his lodge where
he dwelt. Now, in a dream he was given a desire to take as his wife a
certain maiden who was very fair to look upon.[9] So, he took her as his
wife for when he had embraced her he found her most pleasing. When he
had eaten the marriage bread he took her to his lodge, and to his
surprise found that she was with child. This caused him great anger and
he felt himself deceived, but the woman loved the child, which had been
conceived by the potent breath of her lover when he had embraced her. He
was greatly distressed, for this fair Awĕ^n‘hā´i‘ was of the noblest
family. It is she who is customarily called Iagĕ^n’´tci‘.
He, the Ancient One, fell into a troubled sleep and a dream commanded
him to have the celestial tree uprooted as a punishment to his wife, and
as a relief of his troubled spirit. So on the morrow he announced to his
wife that he had a dream and could not be satisfied until it had been
divined. Thereupon she “discovered his word,” and it was that the tree
should be uprooted.
“Truly you have spoken,” said Ancient One, “and now my mind shall be
satisfied.” And the woman, his wife, saw that there was trouble ahead
for the sky world, but she too found pleasure in the uprooting of the
tree, wishing to know what was beneath it. Yet did she know that to
uproot the tree meant disaster for her, through the anger of Ancient One
against her.
It so happened that the chief called all his people together and they
endeavored to uproot the tree, it being deep-rooted and firm. Then did
the chief grow even more angry for Iagĕ^n’´tci had cried out that
calamity threatened and nobody would avert it. Then did the chief,
himself embrace the tree and with a mighty effort uprooted it, throwing
it far away. His effort was tremendous, and in uprooting the tree he
shook down fruits and leaves. Thereafter he went into his lodge and
entered into the apartment where his wife, Iagĕ^n’´tci, lay moaning that
she too must be satisfied by a look into the hole. So the chief led her
to the hole made by uprooting the tree.
He caused her to seat herself on the edge of the hole and peer downward.
Again his anger returned against her, for she said nothing to indicate
that she had been satisfied. Long she sat looking into the hole until
the chief in rage drew her blanket over her head and pushed her with his
foot, seeking to thrust her into the hole, and be rid of her. As he did
this she grasped the earth at her side and gathered in her fingers all
manner of seeds that had fallen from the shaken tree. In her right hand
she held the leaves of the plant that smelled like burning tobacco, for
it grew from a root that had been broken off. Again the chief pushed the
woman, whose curiosity had caused the destruction of the greatest
blessing of the up-above-world. It was a mighty push, and despite her
hold upon the plant and upon the ground, she fell into the hole.
Now, this hole had penetrated the crust of the upper world and when
Iagĕ^n’´tci fell she went far down out of sight and the chief could not
see her in the depths of the darkness below. As she fell she beheld a
beast that emitted fire from its head whom she called Gaăs‘ioñdie´t‘hă’,
(Gahashondietoh). It is said that as she passed by him he took out a
small pot, a corn mortar, a pestle, a marrow bone and an ear of corn and
presented them to her, saying, “Because thou has thus done, thou shalt
eat by these things, for there is nothing below, and all who eat shall
see me once and it will be the last.”
Now it is difficult to know how this Fire Beast can be seen for he is of
the color of the wind and is of the color of anything that surrounds it,
though some say he is pure white.
Hovering over the troubled waters below were other creatures, some like
and some unlike those that were created afterward. It is said by the old
people that in those times lived the spirit of Gä´ha‘ and of
S‘hagodiiowe^n‘´gōwā, of Hĭ’´no^n’ and of Deiodasondaiko, (The Wind, the
Defending Face, the Thunder and the Heavy Night.) There were also what
seemed to be ducks upon the water and these also saw the descending
figure.
The creature-beings knew that a new body was coming to them and that
here below there was no abiding place for her. They took council
together and sought to devise a way to provide for her.
It was agreed that the duck-creatures should receive her on their
interknit wings and lower her gently to the surface below. The great
turtle from the under-world was to arise and make his broad back a
resting-place. It was as has been agreed and the woman came down upon
the floating island.
Then did the creatures seek to make a world for the woman and one by one
they dove to the bottom of the water seeking to find earth to plant upon
the turtle’s back. A duck dived but went so far that it breathed the
water and came up dead. A pickerel went down and came back dead. Many
creatures sought to find the bottom of the water but could not. At last
the creature called Muskrat made the attempt and only succeeded in
touching the bottom with his nose but this was sufficient for he was
enabled to smear it upon the shell and the earth immediately grew, and
as the earth-substance increased so did the size of the turtle.
After a time the woman, who lay prone, aroused herself and released what
was in her hands, dropping many seeds into the folds of her garment.
Likewise she spread out the earth from the heaven world which she had
grasped and thus caused the seeds to spring into germination as they
dropped from her dress.
The root of the tree which she had grasped she sunk into the soil where
she had fallen and this too began to grow until it formed a tree with
all manner of fruits and flowers and bore a luminous orb at its top by
which the new world became illuminated.
Now in due season the Sky Woman[10] lay beneath the tree and to her a
daughter was born. She was then happy for she had a companion. Rapidly
the girl child grew until very soon she could run about. It was then the
custom of Ancient One to say: “My daughter, run about the island and
return telling me what you have seen.”
Day by day the girl ran around the island and each time it became
larger, making her trips longer and longer. She observed that the earth
was carpeted with grass and that shrubs and trees were springing up
everywhere. This she reported to her mother, who sat beneath the
centrally situated great tree.
In one part of the island there was a tree on which grew a long vine and
upon this vine the girl was accustomed to swing for amusement and her
body moved to and fro giving her great delight. Then did her mother say,
“My daughter, you laugh as if being embraced by a lover. Have you seen a
man?”
“I have seen no one but you, my mother,” answered the girl, “but when I
swing I know someone is close to me and I feel my body embraced as if
with strong arms. I feel thrilled and I tingle, which causes me to
laugh.”
Then did the Sky Woman look sad, and she said, “My daughter, I know not
now what will befall us. You are married to Gä´ha‘, and he will be the
father of your children. There will be two boys.”
In due season the voices of two boys were heard speaking, eiă’da´goñ‘,
and the words of one were kind and he gave no trouble, but the words of
the other were harsh and he desired to kill his mother. His skin was
covered with warts and boils and he was inclined to cause great pain.
When the two boys were born, Elder One made his mother happy but when
Warty One was born he pierced her through the arm pit and stood upon her
dead body. So did the mother perish, and because of this the Sky Woman
wept.
The boys required little care but instantly became able to care for
themselves. After the mother’s body had been arranged for burial, the
Sky Woman saw the Elder One whom she called Good Mind, approach, and he
said, “Grandmother. I wish to help you prepare the grave.” So he helped
his grandmother who continually wept, and deposited the body of his
mother in a grave. Thereupon did the grandmother speak to her daughter:
“Oh, my daughter,” she said. “You have departed and made the first path
to the world from which I came bringing your life. When you reach that
homeland make ready to receive many beings from this place below, for I
think the path will be trodden by many.”
Good Mind watched at the grave of his mother and watered the earth above
it until the grass grew. He continued to watch until he saw strange buds
coming out of the ground.
Where the feet were the earth sprouted with a plant that became the
stringed-potato (onĕñno^n’´dă’o^n´wĕ‘), where her fingers lay sprang the
beans, where her abdomen lay sprang the squash, where her breasts lay
sprang the corn plant, and from the spot above her forehead sprang the
tobacco plant.
Now the warty one was named Evil Mind, and he neglected his mother’s
grave and spent his time tearing up the land and seeking to do evil.
When the grandmother saw the plants springing from the grave of her
daughter and cared for by Good Mind she was thankful and said, “By these
things we shall hereafter live, and they shall be cooked in pots with
fire, and the corn shall be your milk and sustain you. You shall make
the corn grow in hills like breasts, for from the corn shall flow our
living.”
Then the Grandmother, the Sky Woman, took Good Mind about the island and
instructed him how to produce plants and trees. So he spoke to the earth
and said, “Let a willow here come forth,” and it came. In a like manner
he made the oak, the chestnut, the beech, the hemlock, the spruce, the
pine, the maple, the button-ball, the tulip, the elm and many other
trees that should become useful.
With a jealous stomach the Evil Mind followed behind and sought to
destroy the good things but could not, so he spoke to the earth and
said: “Briars come forth,” and they came forth. Likewise he created
poisonous plants and thorns upon bushes.
Upon a certain occasion Good Mind made inquiries of his Grandmother,
asking where his father dwelt. Then did the Sky Woman say: “You shall
now seek your father. He lives to the uttermost east and you shall go to
the far eastern end of the island and go over the water until you behold
a mountain rising from the sea. You shall walk up the mountain and there
you will find your father seated upon the top.”