never thought it worth while to teach him oratory[25] or rhetoric[26].
He had never attended a council or listened to a sachem’s speech and so
he never learned the use of words. When the old woman died the boy’s
grandfather came and took him home with him hoping to make him useful.
The boy was very obedient and obeyed every word commanded. His
grandfather began to have confidence in him and one day sent him out to
locate a bear tree. “Now when you discover the tree wade’´ode”, (_leave
your nails on it_),” said the grandfather.
Now the boy thought this strange advice but hastened to obey his old
protector. After some wandering he found a bear tree and then
remembering that he must leave his nails upon it tore off his finger
nails and stuck them in the bark of the tree. This caused him most
excruciating pain and he was hardly able to get home. However, he
thought that this was to make him brave and he was confident that his
grandfather knew best how to educate a warrior. He went to his
grandfather and proudly displayed his bleeding fingers. “See,
grandfather,” he said, “I have found a bear tree and have left my finger
nails upon it.”
The old man looked at the boy in wonder. “What have you done?” he asked.
“Left my nails upon the tree,” answered the boy.
“Oh, you poor ignoramus,” laughed the old warrior, “I did not mean that
you should tear out your nails by the roots and stick them in the bark.
I meant that you should put your eyes on the tree when you saw one. When
I said ‘put your nails on it’ I meant that you should remember the tree
so that you could take it at any time you wished. Go now and put your
eyes on the tree (ĕ^nse‘´ganeiondĕ^n’).”
“Oh, grandfather,” moaned the boy, “why did you not say what you meant!”
and ran out to put his eyes on the tree. He found the tree again, and
began pulling at his eyelids and eyes. Having no nails he could not get
a good hold and the operation was most painful. Finally he gouged out
one eye with a stick and hung it on the bear tree. Going back to his
grandfather’s lodge he greeted him.
“I have left one eye on the tree, grandfather,” he said. “I kept the
other so that I could find my way home.”
The old man looked at his grandson and was angry. “You are most
foolish!” he said. “When I say, ‘leave your eyes on a thing’ I mean that
you must be able to recognize it instantly when you see it again.”
“Oh, grandfather,” wailed the boy, “why do you never say what you mean?”
“I do,” said the grandfather, “but you do not easily understand my
meaning.”
Now when the boy was recovered from his bruises the old man asked that
the boy take him to the bear tree that they might kill a bear. Each had
a bow and quiver of arrows. When they reached the tree the old hunter
climbed up the trunk and lighted a torch and threw smoke wood down the
hollow to smoke out the bear. “Now, grandson,” he said, “shoot him
_here_ when he comes out,” and the old man patted his heart.
The bear came out on a run and as he did the boy lifted up his bow and
aimed at the old man’s heart. It was the place that he had been
instructed to shoot, so he thought.
The old man was exceedingly angry and yelled out, “You shoot the bear,
not me.” The boy shot the bear and the old man slid down the tree. “You
fool,” he yelled, “so you were going to shoot me!”
“You told me to shoot right _there_, grandfather,” pleaded the boy, “and
I wanted to obey for I thought you knew best.”
“No, I meant the bear,” retorted the old hunter. “Now we will cut him
up.” So they dressed the bear.
Now it is customary to call the pancreas, the oskwi´sont (tomahawk); the
diaphragm the o’kăā (skirt); the fat around the kidneys the face
(ogo^n’´sa’), and the ventral portion (oho´a), door. So the old man
said, “I have placed the door, the tomahawk, the false face and the
skirt aside. Go home and cook them for me and I will return. Split a
stick and put the tomahawk in it and put it in the fire. When it snaps
yell ‘Hai-ie’ and I will come.”
Now the grandfather busied himself cutting up the bear and cutting its
meat into strips and chunks. He also prepared its skin. Then he was
ready to go home. He glanced at the log where he had laid the organs and
found them still there. “I wonder what blunder the boy has made now,” he
mused and took them with him to the lodge. When he arrived there he
found that the stupid orphan had torn the door from its fastenings and
had split it into pieces. Moreover the boy was running around the lodge
yelling, “Hai-ie!” Inside the old man saw his best stone tomahawk in the
fire. It was red hot and when a draft of air struck it it would snap and
every time it did the boy would whoop, “Hai-ie!” In a cauldron a false
face, a breech skirt and the splinters of the door were boiling.
“It is too hot within!” explained the boy. “Hai-ie!” he paused to say as
the tomahawk snapped. “It’s too hot, so I am watching outside
and—hai-ie!”
The patience of the long suffering grandfather was exhausted and he said
some things that the boy thought himself much aggrieved for he said,
“Why did you not tell me what you meant?”
The grandfather took matters in his own hand and cooked the meal. The
time was at hand also when he must notify his charge that by right of
birth he was a chief and that on the morrow he must commence his duties
as a runner. The next day the old man with due solemnity told the boy
that he was a secondary chief. “We will have a great feast,” he said. “I
want you to run and notify all the tall trees (Gai´eso^ns), all the
rough places (Ain´djatgi), all the swamps (Gai^n´dago^n), and all the
high hills (Gai´nonde). When you return do not fail to ‘jounce your
uncle on your knee’ (esĕ^n´sĕnt’o’).”
Now the young chief thought this peculiar but he found tall trees in
plenty and invited them all to the feast, likewise he invited the
mountains and the swamps and returning gave his uncle a kick that
knocked him down. The uncle immediately did the same thing to the
impudent boy who ran rather lamely back to his grandfather. The old man
listened to the tale with impatience and then explained that the ‘tall
trees’ were the sachems, the ‘mountains’ the war chiefs, and the
‘swamps’ the common warriors. By ‘uncle’ he meant the relatives of the
family and by ‘jouncing with his knee’ simply to notify them. “Oh,”
gasped the boy, “why do you never say what you mean!” Of course he had
the work to do all over and the feast came in due season. When it was
over the boy said, “Grandfather, there is meat left and soup also.”
“Well,” said the grandfather, “give each one half a spoon.”[27]
The lad did not see what good that would do but he instantly obeyed,
going to the shed and chopping twenty wooden spoons in halves and then
giving each guest a piece.
“Here you,” some one objected, “What are these things for?”
The boy was about to say that he had but obeyed his grandfather when the
old man himself looked up and saw that the stock of finely carved spoons
had been destroyed by his stupid ward. “Shawĕn´noiwĭs!” roared the old
fellow. (Sha-wen-noi-wis means incurable fool.) “Why have you ruined my
good spoons?”
“I did just as you said,” was the meek answer. Then he answered, “There
is yet meat left, Haksot!”
“De sa di wa o gwut, tie it on your head and let it hang,” commanded the
grandfather, meaning that it should be distributed to the particular
friends of the family.
The boy took an elm bark rope and tied the juicy meat on his forehead.
“It is disagreeable, grandfather,” he complained, “for the juice and oil
drip into my eyes.”
The old man explained, and the boy feeling much abused answered, “Oh why
can you never say what you mean?”
The time came when the boy chief must marry. The grandfather told the
boy where a family of lovely girls lived. “Go shove your legs in the
door,” (Satci´nondăt—show your leg), said he, meaning that the boy
should go visiting.
The young chief stuck his legs under the door and sat there all night.
The next morning the old woman within gave him a blow with a corn
pounder and he ran limping to his advisor to discover the trouble. “Oh
you fool,” said the old man, “I meant that you should ‘shake the old
lady’s skirt’,” meaning that he should seek a daughter. When he did this
however he was kicked and pounded until he could hardly crawl. Now he
had a very difficult time courting for it is hard to describe in direct
words how to court and to marry, so when he followed his grandfather’s
words he found much trouble. Now when he married his wife made him
understand and he learned many new things. Now this is all that I can
tell.
GENERAL NOTES.—The Boy Who Could Not Understand is the only tale of
its kind secured by the writer among the Seneca. It is related as a
humorous commentary on the literal meanings of certain idioms of the
Seneca that are so well understood that they never cause confusion.
The author of this tale must have deliberately analyzed each term
and sought to give it a literal application. One might suppose that
a captive Algonkin invented it to explain his own plight in learning
the Seneca tongue.
This tale was related by Edward Cornplanter and it has been recorded
essentially in his own language, except where better grammar or a
better word straightens out the English. I am sure that Cornplanter
might have expanded his story considerably, but he hastened it to a
conclusion to give me the Seneca equivalents of some obscure bits of
slang frequently heard in English. His own literal translations of
American slang into Seneca made him wax merry, and he concluded by
saying, “So you see it don’t make any sense at all.”
18. THE BOY WHO LIVED WITH THE BEARS.
Hono‘ was an unloved stepson. His foster father never had a kind word
for him and begrudged the very food that little Hono‘ ate.
“You eat like a wolf,” the harsh man would snap. “It is a nuisance to
feed you.”
“Agē´,” sighed little Hono‘, “when I am a man and can hunt and fight I
will repay you. Then will you like me?” implored the boy, but his evil
guardian only growled.
At length the stepfather began to cast about how he might rid himself of
the child and after some meditation decided to feign friendliness and
lure Hono‘ away on a hunting excursion. So it happened that one day he
said pleasantly, “Come now Hono‘, it is time for you to learn to hunt.
How would you like to go on a journey with me?”
Hono‘ was delighted and promptly replied he would go.
The two traveled for some time through the bush lands and Hono‘ thinking
this strange said, “I always thought hunters went to the deep woods and
not in the bushes.”
“Don’t worry,” the stepfather replied, “I am an old hunter and know my
business. Come hurry along, I will show you a wonderful place.”
“Well where is my bow and my quiver of arrows?” asked Hono‘ anxiously.
“I ought to have one.”
“Oh after a while,” was the retort. “Now hurry along.”
“And when I am a great hunter will you be good to me always?” asked
Hono‘, dreaming of the success he hoped to achieve, but the only answer
was a grunt.
After a journey of several miles the stepfather stopped abruptly and
simulating surprise said excitedly, “See, look, look! There is a hole.
Hurry Hono‘, crawl in and catch the game. Oh you will be a big hunter
now!”
Little Hono‘ was happy that he could be of service and in imagination
saw glorious days ahead. Dropping upon his hands and knees he crawled
into the hole in the ground and ran down the tunnel until he could no
longer see, because of the darkness. Then, as he was about to return he
saw the round opening ahead suddenly grow dark and with it the entire
cavern. Guided by the walls he ran forward with speed born of terror and
crashed his head into the stone that obstructed the opening.
Outside the evil man laughed in savage glee as he thought how easily he
had shaken off the untaught Hono‘.
“He will never push that boulder away,” said he, as he strolled back to
his lodge.
The blow had stunned the boy but after some time he was awakened by the
sound of voices. Listening he discovered that on the earth outside a
council was in session and his name was being frequently used. He had
not long marvelled over the matter when he heard someone endeavoring to
remove the stone. Finally it rolled down the hill and a voice called
down the hole.
“Come out upon the earth if yet you are living,” it said.
Shyly the boy emerged from the hole and sat down upon the grass. About
him on every hand were animals.
“The boy is rescued,” said a porcupine, who seemed to be the spokesman.
“Who will care for him?”
Instantly there was a prolonged medley of cries. Each animal about him
was either barking, yelping, grunting or screeching. Everyone was
shouting “I’ll care for him!”
“Hold!” cried the porcupine. “Do not volunteer without reason. You must
be fit for the task. Let each tell his temper and his habits and most of
all what he eats, then the boy may choose his own guardian.”
Acting upon the suggestion each one extolled its own merits to the boy,
but all in turn were rejected until a bear woman said, “I am old and
rather surly, but I have a warm heart. I live happily in summer and
sleep much in winter. I eat honey, nuts and berries.”
“Oh you will do,” interrupted Hono‘, shouting as loudly as he could. “I
can stand that all right!”
To Hono‘ the strange part of the proceedings was that all the animals
seemed human creatures and yet like beasts. They all spoke in one
language and acted as friends although Hono‘ believed many mortal
enemies.
The council adjourned and Hono‘ followed his bear mother down a trail
that led to a thick wood.
On the way the bear spoke. “I wished you to become my grandson,” she
said, “because I have lost one and wish you to take his place and drive
away my sorrow.”
The two soon arrived at a great hollow stub and the bear taking the boy
by the neck like a cub drew him into the hollow. Hono‘ looked about and
found his quarters very comfortable. He was greatly pleased when the
grandmother introduced him to two young bears, her grandsons, and told
him they were his playmates.
When Hono‘ was hungry the grandmother bear gave him a honey-comb and
some dried berries. When he was thirsty she gave him her paw to suck.
Hono‘ found his playmates boisterous fellows and many a time he received
hard knocks but gave back as many as he received.
“Have care, Hono‘,” his grandmother warned him. “Wherever you get
scratched hair will grow. So take caution, for unless you do you will
look like a cub.”
Summer came and the berries ripened. The bear grandmother suggested that
it might be sport for the boys to go with her and gather the winter
store of berries. The boys were delighted and consented instantly. Then
the old bear said: “Now, Hono‘, we always have much trouble while
gathering berries. Bad animals and bad men and bad birds swarm to the
berry patches and seek to harm us. Now you are a warrior and I wish to
dress you in skins, to paint your face and to give you a bow and a
quiver of arrows. Run around the hill and shout and whoop as loud as you
can, and if enemies appear, shoot without mercy. This done we will have
a prosperous season.”
Hono‘ did as was asked and returning reported that he had shot many
birds but nothing else. The bears, therefore, went upon the hillside
fearlessly and gathered great baskets full of berries.
The summer season grew into autumn and nutting time came.
“This is a dangerous time,” said the old bear, “and I feel that evil
will befall us. Hunters swarm the woods now after autumn fruits, roots
and game.”
It was cautiously, indeed, that the bears gathered up the winter’s store
of nuts but for some time no human hunter was seen. One day, however,
the old bear exclaimed, “Ah, here he comes. Now Hono‘, I will show you
the classes of hunters you humans have. I do not fear this one for he is
a Do-sko-a-o, or brush-in-the-mouth-hunter. See, he is chewing a pine
twig. This gives us the scent and we can flee long before he reaches us,
for this ‘brush-mouth’ is too careless.”
The bears were hiding in a large hollow tree, and, true to the mother
bear’s prophecy, the hunter did not see them but plodded along trailing
his bow and chewing the pine. When he had passed by the bears scampered
back to the chestnut tree and climbing it shook down the delicious brown
nuts.
On the morrow, as Hono‘ and the bears were starting out, the old bear
exclaimed in a whisper, “A hunter is coming, but fear not, he is a blind
man. See, he is eating and holds his bowl so far over his eyes that he
cannot see anything before him. When he walks through the forest he
looks neither right nor left but walks unconcerned, yet strangely hopes
for game. Look again, for another hunter will shortly appear. He is
‘heavy stepper’ and warns before he comes. Still another hunter comes,”
continued the bear woman, “He is ‘swinging mouth’; keep away from his
chin and you are safe. Notice, he appears to be singing loudly, but in
reality he is only humming very low or even only thinking of his song.
Listen to me Hono‘, bears can hear singing if only thought and sung in
the mind.”
[Illustration:
THE BEAR DANCE
In this drawing, by Jesse Cornplanter, the ceremonial dance in honor
of the spirits of the bears is represented.
]
On their homeward journey the old bear putting her nose to the ground
said: “Alas, alas! We must hurry now and hide for real evil is coming.”
The bears hastened their steps and soon were safely concealed in their
tree. Then the wise old bear looking through her window in a frightened
tone said: “At last, a true hunter has come. He is of the class we call
four eyes. He has a dog with him and no sign escapes their eyes. See
even now he is approaching this tree. Ah, he is a great hunter and is
your own evil foster father. When he cuts down the tree let me run
first, and, last of all, Hono‘ you follow.”
Scarcely had she spoken when the hunter approached the tree and surveyed
it critically. Gathering some dry leaves and twigs he built a fire
around the dry old stub and as the flames ate in he cut out the coals,
leaving a fresh surface for the fire. In a few minutes it crashed and
fell. The old woman bear rushed out and began to run towards the west
but had only taken a few leaps when an arrow pierced her heart, but her
ghost-body ran on. The two cubs emerging met death in a similar way,
then Hono‘ crawling out cried, “Father, are you going to shoot me, too?”
“Agē´!” exclaimed the hunter in surprise. “How came you here,” and Hono‘
told his story.
The stepfather was greatly impressed, and taking the boy by the hand,
said, “I am sorry, my boy, I was ever unkind. I am sorry I killed your
friends. If you had only called me I should have hearkened and all would
have been well, but now Agē´! I shall always have bad luck!”
The hunter looked upon his stepson with great awe and invited him back
to his home, for he was afraid of the bear ghosts.
“And am I useful now?” asked the boy, “and will you like me?”
The hunter said, “truly.”
He never dared hunt again but Hono‘ did.
GENERAL NOTES.—In this legend an unloved stepson is lured to a hole
in the ground by his foster father and caused to enter it on the
pretense of looking for game. The hole is then closed by a boulder
and Hono‘ left a prisoner. Soon he hears animals talking about his
fate and in a few moments the boulder is rolled away and he emerges
to hear a lively discussion by the animals as to who can best care
for him. A bear mother finally secures him and takes him with her,
instructing him in the ways to avoid the human beings who hunt
bears. In the end the bear mother gives up her life to save Hono‘
and he escapes only to find that this foster father was the hunter.
The two become reconciled.
The ideas of the bear mother and of the bear wife of a human man are
common Seneca concepts.
This legend was related during the winter of 1904–1905 by Edward
Cornplanter. Later I secured versions from Mrs. Aurelia J. Miller
and David George. From the notes of all these versions this present
version has been compiled. I am aware that it is in my own words
rather than in the language of any one of my informants. I have
added nothing, however, and have carefully kept the story to its
original form.
19. THE SEVENTH SON.[28]
My grandfather used to tell it to go to sleep by.
There were seven brothers two years apart. Their grandparents took care
of them. They were all extra hunters. It seems the way my grandfather
told it, each one shot an animal and used its skin for a short skirt;
one had bear skin and the others different skins.
The grandparents knew of a family of beautiful daughters a good ways
east that would make good wives, but had bad habits. Oh my, they were
queer folks.
It seems each boy must go out when he was come to manhood and listen for
signs of women,—the women to marry. So when the oldest was a man the
grandfather said, “Now you must go away and listen, then come back.” All
right, so he went away and by and by he came back and said: “Oh
Grandfather!” “Now wait,” said the grandfather, “I must smoke first.” So
he filled up his pipe hard and took a coal and made big clouds,—smoke,
it was. Then by an’ by he said, “Now you tell me.” So the boy,—man
now,—said, “O-whoo-oo-o. Whoo-ho-wa-a!” “All right,” grandfather says,
“next morning you go off again. Go east and don’t stop. You keep right
on.” So he went on and didn’t come back.
By and by the second son said, “I am a man now. Now’s my time to go
off.” All right, so he went off and came back and heard a wren and he
said he had heard something. When the grandfather finished smoking he
said: “Now you follow that on and keep right east and don’t stop ‘tall.”
So he never came back.
So turns came to all and they went too, same way and heard crow, rabbit,
deer, cracking sticks, and they followed the sounds.
Then the seventh son came of age and he was a kind of a witch [_sic_]
and he dressed up in his best. Now I am going to describe his dress. He
had a short skirt to the middle, most to his knees, made of nice spotted
deer-skin,—yearling,—and he had nice moccasins and nothing else only a
ga-gē-da, (a breast sash). And so he was like a big witch.[29] He went
off and he didn’t turn round when he heard a noise but kept right on
going.
By and by he came to a path and saw one man’s tracks, by and by two,
three, four, by and by, good many,—regular path. Pretty soon so many
that the path, it was good deal dust in it, and he kept on. Then he
noticed other tracks and paths coming on,—the big road it is, now, from
every direction. Now way off in the distance he saw smoke rising. He
kept looking. He thought something was going to happen. He was all alone
on the big path in the dusty plain. Path gets wider the more he goes
along. By and by he thinks he’d better look nice so he stripped off some
bark and rolled it and spit on it to make a nice neck-string. My! it was
a nice one and shined where he spit on it. By and by he went along and
he saw a bush and a big thing on it—what hornets live in,—hanging down.
It was a very big thing, so he went up slow and took some moss and clay
in his fingers and made a plug and pasted up the door where hornets came
out. Then he picked it off and he was a big witch, and rolled the
big,—why, I guess it’s nest, you call it,—roll in his hands and got it
small like a little bottle and he spit on it. My, it shined! Then he
fastened the bottle to his neck on the bark. Oh it looked nice! Then he
shook up the bottle hard. Oh! Then he went along and he saw a milk-weed
stalk with pods popped open. So he pulled out the white threads and cut
the stalk and got his hands sticky—and rubbed it on his long hair. Then
he spit on it some more and stuck in the white stuff and worked a long
time and it looked nice. You couldn’t see his black hair. It looked all
white, like a dandelion. So he went along and he thought he would spit
on his hands and rub it on his body and he did and it got all colors and
they changed. Oh my! And he went on and he began to notice he was going
down hill and he went on and the hill got steeper. He saw smoke all the
time and now he saw it coming out of a big house and the road went right
into the door. And the hill got steeper and by and by very steep and
slippery. And he got there and said, “Yo hoh´! I am in for it now!” So
he looked sharp and saw a woman in the door and he was all right. Then
all of a sudden he looked around and oh my! his foot slipped and he fell
right down the hill and didn’t stop until he landed right in the middle
of the room. Now the old woman there said, “Yes, get the kettle ready.
We’ve been waiting long enough for that animal.”