possibility of receiving a blow from the pestle or being smashed with a
mortar made his feet nimble as never before. Finally when he had been
hit and his doom seemed sealed he said to himself, “If I belong to the
family of witches, I must be a witch as well,” and bounding into the air
he jumped down the giantess’ mouth, slid down her throat, wrenched her
heart from its fastenings and when she had fallen dead, he crawled out
again, grabbed the pestle from the baby’s hands, cried “Da, da, da, da,
da, da!” and killed the infant with a blow.
Without the least sign of excitement he said, “Now grandmother, hurry
with my lunch. It will soon be dark and my friend and I wish to go
early.”
“What friend?” asked the grandmother. “Why Da-ga-ga-we-so-da-de
(Standing cob is coming),” replied Corn Grinder, “but you can’t see him.
We have been companions since we were babies. Hurry, grandmother.”
Mutely the old woman obeyed and soon had a basket of food prepared for
the journey.
Corn Grinder started on and entered the north woods where he must meet
his friend Cob.
For a day they tramped through unknown forests, crossed mirey swamps and
struggled through windfalls and at night lay down beneath a sheltering
rock. The next day passed as the first, but the third presented
increased obstacles. Wild beasts growled all around them. Toward noon,
as Corn Grinder was munching a slice of corn bread, a monstrous dog
rushed toward them. Ever prepared to ward off danger, Corn Grinder threw
down his slice and spat out the morsel he was masticating. The dog bent
his head to eat and the two boys ran out of sight, but not into safety,
as they had imagined, for before them was a gigantic wild cat with wide
open mouth. Without pausing in his flight Corn Grinder flung a chunk of
meat into its jaws and ran faster than before. Exhausted, he sat down a
moment to rest but as he did so a big bear rushed at him with a growl.
Corn Grinder jumped form his seat, flung a dish of honey into its eyes
and summing up all energy hurried on once more. Cob ran at his side and
kept encouraging him to keep a stout heart.
At length they reached a clearing near the base of a mountain. Some one
high in the air seemed singing a song over and over. They halted a
moment and then pushed aside the underbrush, pausing again to listen to
the song, which seemed growing louder. They were startled when they
caught the words.
“Some strange thing is heralding our approach,” said Corn Grinder, and
pushing aside the bushes he came out into the open.
A great multitude of people were assembled about a tall pine, shooting
at something in the topmost branches of a tall pine. The two boys came
nearer and noticed that whenever an arrow struck the tree near the
creature in the branches, drops of water would run from its eyes and
striking the ground become wampum. Corn Grinder was about to pull his
bow when Cob struck his arm and said, “Stop! That is your father up
there. Hurry on and let us get the medicine. If you do not soon his
tears will cease to flow and they will kill him.”
The two boys ran panting through the crowd. Cob was invisible and Corn
Grinder might as well have been for no one noticed him. They labored up
a mountain, crossed great rocks and chasms and at sunset, in a deep rift
in the mountain side, at the foot of a cataract found a wonderful plant.
“Grab it!” whispered Cob. “It is the medicine!”
Corn Grinder snatched at the plant, which flew from the ground and
eluding his grasp soared upward but wary Cob with a high leap caught it
by the roots before it was entirely beyond his grasp.
Cob instructed Corn Grinder to chew the roots of the plant and then rub
his saliva over his body, his clothing, his bow and his arrows. This he
did and felt new vigor thrilling every fiber. The journey down the
mountain seemed easy and his feet were lighter than ever before.
Toward nightfall they reached the great pine again and saw people busy
as before, shooting at the creature in the tree, but the tears were
fewer and the wampum less.
“Hurry,” cried Cob. “Unless you shoot him before the next man’s arrow
strikes he will truly be dead.”
Grinder spat on his arrows, rubbed the roots in his hair and then shot.
The arrow struck the creature and it instantly vanished. Simultaneously,
both Corn Grinder and Cob were pulled from their feet by some unseen
force and sped through the air like the wind. High into the sky they
went and when the moon began to shine they dropped down to earth again
at the doorway of a new lodge, which they entered.
A woman was chanting a song to a baby. Corn Grinder looked closely and
saw that it was the same woman and baby that he had killed but each had
now become smaller. He looked back and saw the giant he had shot. He,
too, had become smaller.
“I am your brother,” said the baby.
“I am your father,” said the man.
“I am your mother,” said the woman, “come, let us eat!”
GENERAL NOTES.—The story of Corn Grinder is another tale of an
enchanted family. Corn Grinder is cared for by his grandparents who
wish to shield him from his parents who are evilly magic people. He
is told that he may venture from his grandmother’s lodge but to the
south at no greater distance than the sound of the corn pounder,
though in other directions he might go as far as he liked. The time
comes when Corn Grinder resolves to disobey and travel south, where
he discovers a lodge of giants and a gigantic infant. By craft he
disturbs the giants, annoying them without being discovered, finally
shooting the male giant. Rushing home he tells his grandmother who
reveals to him that the giant is his father, and orders him to make
haste to procure medicine roots to effect a restoration. When the
giantess and infant pursue him to the lodge he escapes them and
jumping down the giantess’ throat tears out her heart, soon
afterward killing the infant.
He then reveals that he has an “unseen friend” who will aid him in
his search for the medicine roots. After overcoming great dangers
they obtain the roots and fly through the air to a new lodge where
Corn Grinder discovers his parents restored to normal form. The
injection of the beast in the tree wailing and transforming its
tears into wampum brings into the story a common theme, that of a
being excreting wampum. The songs and magical words used in this
tale are not Seneca.
12. HE-GOES-TO-LISTEN.[22]
In the old days when the Senecas were strong on the Genesee there lived
near a large hill that rose from a river, a boy and his uncle.
When the boy was born he was named Hatondas, meaning _He goes to
listen_. This name was bestowed because just before his birth his mother
had dreamed that when he should arrive at a marriageable age two singing
women would come from afar to be his wives. The mother also dreamed that
she would die. In order to prepare him for his marriage she therefore
sewed three bags that were _witched_. She filled one with great
quantities of wampum, the second with beautiful clothing but the third
was left empty. Though the bags were scarcely the size of a man’s hand
they could hold things hundreds of times their own size.
When Hatondas was yet young his mother as her dream had foretold became
mysteriously sick and shortly died, leaving her baby son to the care of
his grandfather. The uncle knew the prediction of the mother’s vision
concerning the coming of the women for the child, and, being a widower
of many years and unable to secure a wife by fair means, resolved to
disfigure the boy and claim the women destined for him. And so it was
that when the boy reached the age of fourteen the old man each morning
and evening would send him up the hill to listen.
“Listen nephew,” he commanded, “go up the hill, stop in the pines near
the trail and listen. When you hear a strange sound hurry back and tell
me. Be sure you sound it exactly.”
The boy would thereupon run as fast as possible to the hill top and
secrete himself in the pine woods. The old man had used every artifice
to make the boy cowardly and so when he heard an owl hooting in the
darkness of the wood he trembled and ran in wild terror down the hill
and rushed into the lodge.
“O O O—uncle, I’ve, I’ve—I’ve heard—”
“Now wait a bit my son, wait ’till I smoke.” And when the old man had
finished his pipe he asked, “Well, what did you hear?”
“Noise like this,—O-O-O-Owah! o-o-o-owah!”
“Ugh, that’s nothing,” said the old man. “You are no good.” So saying he
thrust a ladle into the fire and drew it out full of embers and bidding
the boy stand fast threw them on his legs. Maddened by the pain the boy
rushed from the lodge with cries of agony.
The next day Hatondas was again sent on the same errand and again
terrified by a strange sound ran back to the old man and reported.
“Stop, stop!” the old fellow yelled. “Let me smoke first!” And when the
last curl of blue vapor had been drawn from the old stone pipe he spoke,
“Now tell me!”
“It was gak-gaw-gak-gaw-gak-gaw! O grandfather!”
“Chisnah! That was nothing,” the old man replied, and again threw hot
ashes on the boy.
Day after day the same procedure continued and after a year the boy,
once handsome and lithe, was scarred and crippled. The grandfather now
devised new schemes. When he had sent He-goes-to-listen up the hill he
stretched a deer tendon across the door way, and returning, the boy
tripped and fell, severely bruising his face. The old schemer laughed
and said, “Good joke, good joke, I’ll never do it again.” But each day
as he sent the boy up the hill he would break his promise and the youth
would be frightfully cut by the fall over the thong. However, after a
while in spite of the old man’s promises the youth became wary in his
pell-mell rush into the lodge and would step over the cord.
One autumn in the seventeenth year of He-goes-to-listen he returned from
the hill in unusual haste and in great excitement. “O grandfather!” he
exclaimed, and before the old man had time to smoke he cried out, “I
heard noise, singing, like this: (SONG).
“Well, that all?” said the grandfather in a voice that revealed his
suppressed excitement, “Well, I will thrash you hard for that.”
Thereupon Hatondas received a most brutal beating and was thrown into
the roaring fire. The next day the boy was bidden listen to every word
in the song he should hear and report immediately.
The old man rubbed his face with oil and painted it with streaks of
vermillion. He tied sinews to his flabby cheeks and pulling the wrinkles
back, tied the strings behind his neck and let down his long black hair
to hide the ruse. His sole idea in abusing and disfiguring the boy was
to make him such a horrible sight that the mysterious women would refuse
to marry him. He wanted them himself, and thus on the night after the
singing, decked himself in his best, hoping to gain their favor.
Hatondas had set out early in the morning but entranced by the singing
did not return. On came the voices until he saw the singers themselves
and saw them pass down the hill and enter the lodge.
The old man decked in his feathers and paint arose to meet them.
“Welcome, welcome, my women,” he said. “Come in, the house is yours.”
But the women only said, “Where is Hatondas?”
“Oh I am he!” ejaculated the old reprobate.
But the women again asked, “Where is Hatondas?”
“Oh he? He is lying around somewhere with the dogs in the garbage,—but
never mind him,—come sit by me.”
The women did not obey but sat on the low bench that belonged to
Hatondas, and the would-be-youthful old man with all his smooth cheeks
and decorations could not get them to converse with him.
“Come, come, better stay with me,—marry me,” he pleaded. “I am
handsome,—Hatondas is crippled and ugly. Say ‘yes,’ you will marry me.
Of course, say so.”
“Where is Hatondas?” was the resolute question.
The old man shuffled up and touched one of the women in a pleading way
and she promptly knocked him down.
Hatondas returned. He had suddenly become bold. All his former fear of
his grandfather had flown, likewise his fear of sounds and moving
things. Courageously he entered the door and saluted the women. Seating
himself on his grandfather’s bench he spent the entire afternoon
chatting with them. As evening came on the women cooked his supper,
leaving the old man to fare the best he could.
Night came and the time for sleeping. Hatondas threw himself upon his
husk mats and rolled up in his skins. The two women lay on either side.
The old man frowned fiercely and the strings slipping from their
fastenings let fall his skinny jowls, now more wrinkled than before.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed. “I say, two women don’t want one husband!” But as
the women did not stir the frustrated old fellow lay down with a
disgusted groan.
That night as he slept his heart changed and the next morning he awoke
without any ill feeling toward Hatondas.
“Now, my boy,” he said after breakfast, “you must go away from here.
Long time ago your mother left three bags for your journey. One bag is
empty,—I will fill it.”
Bringing out a bag the size of a man’s hand he filled it with a basket
of parched corn mixed with maple sugar, put in a bow and a bundle of
arrows and last of all a buckskin suit and then charged Hatondas not to
speak to a living creature other than his wives while on his journey,
and warned him that if he should it would cause the loss of a bag.
Hatondas with his wives set out on the trail that led to the far
country. Reaching the top of the hill that he had so often climbed one
of the women said, “Oh here is a hollow log. There is an animal in it!
You are ugly, Hatondas,—crawl in and see if you can scare it out.” The
husband obeyed and wriggled through the log. He felt strange and when
his head emerged from the other end of the log he felt like a different
person. Looking in the next spring he saw that his face was smooth and
handsome. He lifted his legging and saw a limb clean and unscarred. More
than this, he noticed that instead of his filthy clothes he was clad in
a new suit of white skin.
His delight was so great that he immediately forgot all warnings and
talked without fear to two strangers whom he met, while his wives strode
on ahead. Having satisfied their curiosity the strangers started on.
Hatondas ran with great strides and after some time overtook his wives
who immediately asked, “Where is your magic bag?” Alas, it was gone with
all the wampum that it contained. This meant that when Hatondas should
enter the strange country, it should be without honor and that he should
be as a common man.
For several years Hatondas dwelt in the land of his wives and so well
did he fight in battle and so brave was he in all things that by deeds
he gained great fame. However, he tired of the strange land and longed
to return and visit his own old home. After preparation he set out on
the return journey, each of his wives bearing a large bundle of presents
for the old uncle.
After a weary journey and after many days he reached the old lodge by
the hill but found it tied fast.
“Kway!” he cried.
“Kway!” came the answer in a cracked voice. “Who are you?”
“Hatondas and my two wives.”
“Well, how do I know that?” asked the same cracked voice.
“Let me in and see.”
“Don’t you dare come in! If you try I’ll shoot you through the
door-hole.”
“Well, I am going to go in so tell me how.”
“Well put your hands through the peek-hole and I will tie them to the
post. I will come out and see and if it is real Hatondas you may come
in.”
Hatondas did as bidden and some one inside tied his hands around the
post. Then a decrepit old man came out with a hatchet.
“Aha! You were deceiving me just as I thought. You are not my nephew!
Aha! I will kill you. So!”
“I am your nephew but my face is changed. Look and see if you don’t
recognize my women.”
“No, I don’t know any of them. You must be killed now.” (Uncle sings
death chant.)
“Hold on, old uncle, can’t we come to a bargain?” asked Hatondas.
“Ugh!” exclaimed the old fellow. “Bargain? Yes, guess so. Let me see.
Yes, give me one of the women.”
“Truly, truly, if she will take you.”
In haste the grandfather cut the thongs that bound Hatondas and bade the
entire party enter the lodge. When all were seated he said, slyly,
“Well, I guess I like this one best.”
“What do you mean, uncle?”
“I mean I like this one for cutting you loose.”
“Ha! ha! ha! ha!” laughed Hatondas. “She won’t have you!”
Then the uncle laughed too and said it was all just for fun and that he
knew them all the time.
As Hatondas looked about him he saw that the elm bark house had grown
old and moss covered and in one place a tree had commenced to grow, but
before another moon had come all things were as new again, but the old
man grew older.
13. HATONDAS, THE LISTENER, FINDS A WIFE.[23]
Hatondas was a poor orphan boy who lived with his uncle, an old man who
was very wrinkled. They lived in a lodge far removed from any
settlement, so that the boy grew up not knowing how other people acted.
The old uncle became more and more abusive and threw hot coals on
Hatondas seeking to mutilate him. The boy never lifted his hand to
strike his uncle but received his wounds without murmuring.
After a time the uncle said, “Now is the time when you must go up the
hill and listen to all kinds of sounds. When you hear one that you never
heard before, return to me.”
Soon Hatondas returned and imitated the notes of a chickadee. “No, no,
that is not anything different!” exclaimed the old man, and straightway
fell to abusing the boy.
Day by day Hatondas listened, hearing an owl, a hawk, a woodpecker, a
deer and a bear. With each report his uncle threw coals of fire down his
shirt or beat him on the face with a paddle.
One morning he heard a song, and listening, heard his own name called
out.
Listening with strained ears he caught the words, “Hatondas, Hatondas, I
am coming to marry you now. You hear this song so make ready.”
Quickly Hatondas ran to his uncle and reported what he had heard. The
uncle now became greatly enraged and threw all manner of filth at
Hatondas, then fell to beating his face with brands from the fire. When
he had finished scolding the boy, the uncle washed his own face and put
on his best clothing. Then he greased his hair and tied his cheeks back
with a string, tying the string behind his head under his braid, to give
the appearance of smooth cheeks.
Hatondas could not sleep that night for his bed was infested with vermin
his uncle had put into it, and it was foul with refuse that his uncle
customarily threw there to make Hatondas an unsavory person.
Morning came, and all kinds of birds began to sing. Hatondas listened as
before, and at sunrise he arose and went up the hill where he was
accustomed to wait listening for the sounds which his uncle ordered him
to report.
Again he heard the sound of distant singing, and it was a woman’s voice.
Now Hatondas began to feel very sad, for his appearance bothered him. He
was dirty beyond all measure and his hair was encrusted with dried
refuse. So he felt very lonely and without friends.
Soon again he heard the song and saw a woman a long ways off. She seemed
calling his name, so he listened more intently. Then he saw a
fine-looking young woman running toward him. As she neared him he saw
that she had a basket of marriage bread. She looked at him in great pity
and asked him to lead her to his lodge.
When they entered the lodge the young woman greeted the uncle, and said,
“I have been sent by my mother to find a man here.”
“Oh I am the man you are looking for,” said the uncle, at the same time
ordering Hatondas to leave the lodge. “I am so sorry my nephew is
filthy,” said the uncle, in his most gracious language. “He is very
dirty and utterly no good.”
“He is the man I have come to marry,” said the young woman.
Then the young woman took out a pot of oil and heated it, and calling
Hatondas to her cleaned his head, lifting off a great mass of filthy
crusts. At this the uncle was furious, and demanded that the young woman
leave the boy alone. She continued her work until she had cleansed him
when she said, “Oh, he will make a good husband when I clean him!”
“You must marry me,” cried out the uncle. “I have been waiting for you
many years. See, my side of the lodge is very clean, and you could never
sleep where Hatondas is accustomed to lie.” But the young woman repulsed
him and went out into the woods with Hatondas, whereupon the old man
burst into great rage, breaking his cheek-strings and making himself
look hideous. “Oh, I knew it would come,” he screeched, “but I did not
think so soon.”
When the young woman had found a hollow log she required Hatondas to
crawl into it and then through to the other end. When he emerged he was
clean and healed of his scars.
That night they were married, but at midnight a queer sound awoke
Hatondas. He rose up and listened. Then the young wife awoke.
“He is upon us!” she cried, and leaping up, she called upon Hatondas to
flee with her. Jumping upon the fireplace she scattered the glowing
embers about the room and in a moment the lodge was in flames.
Together the two ran to the top of the hill to the rear of the lodge.
The young wife drew from her garment a small bundle and dropped it upon
the ground. Taking the whip she struck the bundle a smart blow. A tiny
growl issued from the skin wrappings and grew louder as she continued to
ply her switch. Presently a dog burst from the bundle and stood wagging
his tail at her feet. She continued to lash it and with each stroke the
dog grew larger and finally so large that both she and Hatondas were
able to mount its back and sent it dashing onward at great speed.
After some time they arrived on the shores of a vast expanse of water.
The wife patted the dog back into its bundle and dropped it in her pouch
and with her husband leaped into a large canoe that lay moored to the
shore. Untying the line, each grasped a paddle and swept the canoe out
into the lake. They had gone but a short distance when a loud snort
caused them to look back and there on the shore was a gigantic bear in
the act of casting a long fish line, and even as they looked it fell,
wrapping around the stern of the canoe. The craft stopped in its course
with a sudden jerk and then began to speed backward to the shore.
“Quick, Hatondas,” exclaimed his wife, “empty your pipe on the line,”
and Hatondas obeyed with surprising alacrity. The line snapped and with
a sweep of the paddle this wife sent the canoe back into its track.
Foiled in his attempt to capture the pair the enraged monster pawed up
the sand and pebbles. Swelling to an enormous size he thrust his mouth
into the water and gulped it down in such immense quantities that the
lake changed its current and flowed toward the mouth of the monster.
Death seemed certain to the young couple for the canoe was drawn with
great rapidity toward the beast, but ever resourceful, the young woman
steadied herself, aimed and threw a round white stone directly at the
creature’s belly. It struck him with great force causing him to jerk up
his head with a roar of pain and then belch the waters back into the
lake. In the swiftly outflowing stream, spurred on by the paddles, the
canoe shot back to its former course.
The great bear was furious with disappointment and roared, “You cannot
escape me, soon I will catch you. I am Nia-gwa-he!” and then began to
blow his icy breath upon the water. Ice commenced to form and when he
judged it sufficiently thick he galloped out over the surface of the
lake. “You cannot escape me!” he bellowed, “I am Nia-gwa-he!”
The canoe stood fast in the ice and doom seemed certain to its inmates.
“Don’t be downcast, Hatondas,” said the wife, “only trust me.”
The wife knelt in the bottom of the canoe where she had a little fire
burning and a pot of water.[24] She was apparently resigned to the fate
from which there seemed no escape. Then when the bear was almost upon
them she stood upright and flung a kettle of steaming water at his feet.
The beast stopped with a sudden jerk as the clay pot broke into
fragments and the water splashed upon the ice. This momentary halt was
fatal, for the water softened the ice and the monster sank beneath the
waters and disappeared. The ice vanished and the canoe sped on once
again.
Late in the day the canoe grated against the base of a high cliff that
rose perpendicularly from the water. The wife called up to the top. A
woman leaned over the edge far above and seeing the couple below dropped
down two pairs of claw mittens. These Hatondas and his wife fastened to
their hands, and, with their aid, made their way slowly and cautiously
to the summit.
The wife’s sister greeted the bridal pair, and lead the way to a
spacious lodge where a savory supper awaited them.
The wife told the story of her adventure expressing great joy at her
escape from the monster bear.
After the evening meal the time for sleeping came and together the happy
couple lay down upon a new bed of spruce boughs and wrapped themselves
in soft newly-tanned skins.