nearly all her withes were broken. In the distance the thunder began to
roll and soon again in loud claps. The dark clouds piled thicker and
came faster. The great serpent in his wild speed was lashing the black
waters into a foam that flew through the wind and covered the lake.
There was an ear-splitting crash. The Thunder Spirit was coming nearer.
The gleaming arrow he had thrown had riven a floating oak tree. The
young woman trembled beneath the dark cloud-banked sky and feared. The
rumble of thunder was deafening. He’´no^n was casting his javelins
faster. A great sheet of fire flashed from the heavens and lit up the
lake and the shore. The thunder crashed and cracked and rumbled. In the
awful fury of the tempest the great serpent cried in terror: “Oh use
your lashes! Oh spur me onward! My strength is failing! Scourge me! I
must save you and if I do, oh will you not burn tobacco upon the shore
twice each year for me? Oh lash me more!”
A blinding flash of fire shot from the rumbling clouds and buried itself
in the water at the side of the serpent.
“Jump now!” cried the creature, “He’´no^n has his range and I must
dive.”
Hope faded from the young wife’s heart. How much better would death have
been in the midst of the waters or by the lightning’s stroke than within
sight of the shore. With a cry of agonized despair she slid from the
head of her rescuer and sank into the turbulent waters. The horned
monster with a booming sound plunged beneath the lake and disappeared.
The light broke through the clouds and the storm began to retreat. The
young woman struggled with the swirling waters. Her esteem for her
would-be-deliverer sank to a bitter hatred for he had abandoned her to
perish. Her tired limbs could no longer battle with the lake. Her feet
sank but to her unspeakable surprise they fell firm on the sand. Wading
forward in the semi-darkness she came safely out on the shore. Walking
inland she sat down beneath a tree to recover from exhaustion and
fright.
The storm sped away growling that it had failed to slay Djodi´kwado‘ the
monster serpent.
The young wife arose, wet and bedraggled, but happy that she was safe
again. Now her heart was full of gratitude to her hard-pressed
deliverer.
Ahead of her, wandering aimlessly, with hanging head and melancholy
mien, was a man. His body was drenched with rain and his spirit with
heavy sorrow.
The woman neared him and called, “Husband, Oh husband, is it truly you?”
The man turned with a shout of joy and answered, “Wife, oh wife,
returned living, is it you?”
The drenched and storm-bruised couple joyfully turned homeward. The
three sisters were there. “Begone now and forever,” said the husband.
Then were the couple happy, and envy and jealousy found no place with
them. So here the story ends and so it is spoken.
28. BUSHY HEAD THE BEWITCHED WARRIOR RESCUES TWO LOST DAUGHTERS AND WINS
THEM AS WIVES.[36]
The daughters of a woman who was a clan matron and name-holder
disappeared. She grieved greatly, but her husband who was chief of
another clan said nothing. He was a bad man and was chief because he had
lied about his brother Donya´dassi.
Now Donya´dassi had once been a skillful hunter but his hunting charms
had been stolen, and so with his wife, Gawīsas, he lived away from the
village in a poor bark hut.
The mother of the lost daughters, whose children should some day be in
the sachemship line, offered large rewards for their recovery and
continually urged the young men to hunt for the girls, promising them as
wives to the successful finder. They were most beautiful young women and
there were many searchers, but when winter came, all returned without
news.
Now, it happened that Gawīsas, the poor woman, was boiling corn over the
fire in her lodge and thinking very intently about the lost daughters of
her sister-in-law. She thought that their father, jealous of them, might
have cast a spell over them and hidden them away. While thus thinking
she heard a strange sound outside, a sound so unusual that it alarmed
her. Her husband was absent on one of his not always profitable hunts.
Soon someone knocked at the door, but Gawīsas failing to respond, a
strange creature entered, looked into her face, and then advanced to the
fire. This being was Bushy Head, a dwarf with an enormous bushy head.
Upon its chin was a long white beard that dragged upon the floor. He
seemed to be all head. The snow and ice had so caught and frozen in its
beard that as he walked it dragged behind him like a log. Bushy Head
stood before the fire, reeled up his beard and thawed out the ice.
Gawīsas could not speak because she was so frightened, so she sat on her
bed. The monster looked at her and then ran his cane into the fire,
stirring up the ashes. The sparks flew upward and fell into the soup.
Again the being looked at Gawīsas but she only stared blankly back.
Grasping a ladle he filled it with ashes and threw them in the soup, and
turning, eyed the frightened woman again but she did not move or speak.
He kept looking at the woman until he had filled the kettle with ashes
and then departed. After his departure Gawīsas recovered in a measure
from her fright and dragging the kettle out of doors emptied and scoured
it. To her dismay the creature, whom she had named Sogogo, returned on
the next day and for six consecutive days, each time behaving as before
and Gawīsas remaining silent to all proceedings. At last on the seventh
day her husband, Donya´dassi, returned and she told him of all the
strange happenings.
“Well, what did you say to him?” he asked, and when she replied,
“Nothing,” he bade her speak the next time the Sogogo came. “He wants to
tell you something,” he said. “So ask him what he wishes.” Having given
this advice Donya´dassi departed on another hunting excursion, for he
had come home empty-handed. He was a chief also, but could not rule,
because his wife’s uncle was his enemy.
Sogogo returned soon afterward and peered into the face of Gawīsas who
could only summon up enough courage to say, “Ä-ä-ä-ä-ä.”
“Ä-ä-ä-ä-ä,” replied Sogogo, and filled up the kettle with ashes again.
The next day passed with the same results, but on the third day Gawīsas
tremblingly asked, “What do you wish, Sogogo?”
“At last,” he answered, you have spoken. “I can only speak as I am
spoken to, and hoped, since you would not greet me, you would chide me
when I spoiled your soup. Now let me tell you that I know where the
chief’s daughters are and have chosen you and your husband as the ones
to claim the reward. You are poor and plenty of wampum will make you
powerful. Now tell your husband, and if he is willing to aid me bid him
hang half the liver and half the lights of every animal he kills upon a
low branch of the nearest tree. For a sign that I am telling the truth,
let him chop down the big tree before your lodge and within it will be a
bear.”
Sogogo departed and when Donya´dassi came back from his hunt, successful
this time, he was told the news. He felled the tree as directed by his
wife, killed the bear and hung half the liver and half the lights on the
branches on the nearest tree.
The wife was cutting some choice pieces of bear meat to cook for the
afternoon meal when in walked Sogogo, and greeting Gawīsas and her
husband, sat down and began talking to the man. He explained his plan
for rescuing the lost daughters of the chief. Donya´dassi was to go to
the top of a certain mound and seat himself in a large basket which he
found there. This basket would rest on Sogogo’s head and would bear him
to the inside of the mound, where the chief’s daughters had been hidden.
Accordingly the next day Donya´dassi seated himself in the large basket
which he found on the mound and sank down under the earth.
Arrived there, Sogogo lifted the basket from his head and proceeded to
instruct Donya´dassi how he must rescue the daughters.
“Go to the first lodge on the right hand side of the trail,” he said.
“There you will see one of the girls. Tell her you are her rescuer. Bid
her sweep the floor as soon as she hears her captor approaching and
continue to sweep until you depart with her. Her captor, who wishes to
become her husband, has seven heads. You must kill the creature in order
to gain the girl. He will ask you to drink berry juice with him. Poison
will be in your cup but when he winks change the cups. Then he will want
to fight. When you fight him use this short crooked knife, and rushing
toward him thrust it between his seven heads and cut off the middle one.
Previously instruct the girl to sweep it in the fire so that the flames
will burn his eyebrows and lashes. That will destroy his power and all
seven heads will die. When you have done all this return to me with the
girl so you may know what to do next.”
Taking the sharp bent knife that Sogogo held toward him, Donya´dassi
thrust it in his pouch and ran down the trail until he saw a large bark
house at the right. Entering it he saluted the young woman whom he
recognized as the eldest of the chief’s stolen daughters. He instructed
her, as bidden, and had scarcely finished when the seven-headed man
entered and spying the stranger he cried, “Kwē! Come, let us drink a
little strawberry juice.” He placed two gourd cups on a bench and said,
“Now drink.” Just as he winked Donya´dassi transposed the cups and when
the monster lifted the berry juice to his lips and tasted it he
exclaimed, “Ho ho!” meaning, his power was lessened.
“Come, let us fight now,” he cried. “Here are the clubs; take your
choice. How does that fine new one suit you?”
“No, I’ll take that old one,” said Donya´dassi pointing to a half
decayed stick. “I’ll fight you left-handed,” he continued, “So ready!”
The daughter began to sweep and the men to fight. Rushing upon the
monster so close that no club could hit him he thrust his knife between
the heads and with a quick jerk of his arm cut off the middle one. The
girl swept it into the fire and when the eyelashes and brows had been
singed the swaying body and six howling heads crashed to the floor. The
girl dropped her broom and followed Donya´dassi as he ran out and down
the trail.
Sogogo was waiting for them and after listening to the story of the
successful fight said, “On the left hand side, the fourth lodge down, is
another lodge. Go there and rescue the other daughter. A seven-headed
monster is keeping her prisoner. Instruct the girl as the first. The
monster will enter and ask you to eat. When he winks change the spoons,
for there is poison in the wood. Then he will challenge you as the
first. Chop off his ear with your knife and when the daughter sweeps it
into the fire the creature will begin to die.”
Donya´dassi obeyed and events occurred exactly as Sogogo had predicted.
When in the fight Sogogo had cut off the left ear from the seven-headed
man and the ear had been swept into the fire, all seven heads began to
whine and the middle one said, “You have plotted to kill me! You have
been unfair! The woman has planned it. Oh you wicked woman, you have
been a traitor to me.”
“It is untrue,” shouted Donya´dassi. “Your own rule has been to fight
all who enter your door and now you are defeated. Before our fight you
boasted you would grind me in your mortar and commanded me to do the
same with you and feed your body to the birds.”
“Agē, agē, agē!” moaned the monster and died.
“Shall I smash his body?” said Donya´dassi, but the maiden did not know.
“Go, then,” said he, “and ask Sogogo.”
When she returned she told him to grind the body to a pulp in the corn
mortar and hasten back to Sogogo who awaited him. Donya´dassi pounded
the monster heads and flung the mass to the big crows that already had
clustered about the lodge.
Running up the trail, with the girl following him, Donya´dassi found
Sogogo waiting. The two girls and Donya´dassi seated themselves in the
basket, Sogogo lifted it upon his head and in a short time they emerged
from the top of the mound and breathed the outside air once again.
Sogogo led the three to his lodge far back in the forest where he told
all his history and then bade Donya´dassi run to the lodge of the great
chief and tell him to call a great council at which important news would
be revealed and presents given.
When the chief had listened to Donya´dassi he asked, “What news can you
bring and what presents can you give?”
“I have luck now,” was the answer.
The feast day came and people flocked from distant villages to hear the
news and receive the presents.
Donya´dassi arose and said, “I have come to tell our great chief that
his daughters have been found and are now safe and near here and shall
be restored on one condition, that he remove his spell from a certain
young man whom he has conjured.”
The chief was greatly angered that any condition should be given and
refused to grant it.
Meanwhile Donya´dassi was arranging long strings of wampum and piles of
skins in piles on the council house floor, one for each person present.
“These cannot be distributed until our chief grants my condition,” he
said.
The chief remained obdurate. The people were anxious for their feast and
gifts. The chief’s wife begged him to consent and regain his lost
children. So, fearing the anger of his people and fury of his wife, he
at last asked that the young man who rested under the spell be brought
to him. Sogogo entered. The chief looked ashamed and then frowned in
anger. “Come,” he said and led the way to a small dome-shaped lodge,
pushed Sogogo in and then entered himself. Heating some round stones he
threw a handful of magical herbs upon them. Then taking his rattle
chanted a song. The smoke from the herbs enveloped Sogogo and when the
song ended he had become a handsome young warrior. The chief and the
transformed Sogogo reëntered the council.
“Where are the daughters!” shouted the people.
Drawing out a red bark box from his pouch he opened it and out fell the
two girls. There was a great shout and the chief’s wife rushed forward
and embraced her children.
Donya´dassi distributed his presents.
Donya´dassi then advanced to the chief who gave him the reward, but so
small was it in comparison with Donya´dassi’s liberal gifts that it
seemed a mere trifle.
The chief soon lost his influence but Donya´dassi, who had grown rich
and successful, succeeded him in the hearts of the people but Sogogo,
the transformed, was happy with his two wives, the chief’s daughters. He
took both, that was all right in those days.
29. THE FLINT CHIP THROWER.
Long ago Tĕg´wandă’[37] married a beautiful maiden and went far away
with her to his hunting grounds.
Tĕg´wandă’ was famous as a successful hunter but his wife’s family had
“dry bones”,[38] so her elder sister and mother took council together
and said, “Come, let us go and live with Tĕg´wandă’ and we shall ever be
filled.” The prospect of a never failing supply of venison and bear was
tempting to those who had long subsisted on tubers and maize.
The wife of Tĕg´wandă’ was kind and never questioned his actions. He
never went long from the house, yet he ever had game in abundance and
skins piled high in his stores. This made her marvel, but she never made
inquiries. The lodge was divided in two compartments but the couple
lived only in one. The other was almost empty, but Tĕg´wandă’ often went
there. She would hear him singing alone in the room, then there would
come a crash like a splintering tree and soon afterward Tĕg´wandă’ would
bring in a new pelt and the carcass of some beast. This made her marvel
but she never questioned.
The young couple lived contentedly and never quarreled. No trouble or
sorrow came to mar their happiness until one day, unheralded, came two
women to the door of the lodge. These were the wife’s mother and sister.
When the unbidden guests had eaten their fill of good and mealy nut
pudding they began to seek the excuse for complaint. Then, oh the
railing, the endless rebukes, the sneers and sarcasm! At last the
matters turned from the lodge to the couple themselves.
“How does Tĕg´wandă’ obtain his meat? Surely he must be a wizard and
likely to eat all of us women when his charms fail. He is evil, he is
lazy! Let us drive him away.” These and other things the mother said to
her daughter. So it came to pass that the sister insisted she must go
with the husband wherever he went and learn something of his habits.
“If you must go,” said the wife, “obey him implicitly, else evil will
occur.”
The husband was downcast but would not yield to his fear of the woman.
Taking a basket of salt he sprinkled the white crystals upon a flat rock
and entered the closed room with the woman.
“Do not move or touch a thing,” he commanded. “Let no fear, let no
surprise cause you to stir!”
Then he commenced to sing. The woman looked about critically. In one
corner was a pile of quarry flakes, beside them a bench and in a heap
before it was a pile of keen edged flint chips. A sudden sound drew her
attention from the lodge. Tĕg´wandă’ ceased singing. Outside some
creature was snorting, “swe-i-i-i-sh, swe-i-i-i-sh!”
Picking up a handful of flint chips the man flung them with all his
strength against the wall nearest the flat rock. The woman was now
curious to find what was outside and pushed aside the curtain to get a
glimpse of the mysterious things. Instantly the entire door curtain was
torn from its fastenings and a monstrous elk rushed in and trampled upon
Tĕg´wandă’. Then tossing him upon its antlers, bounded out and fled
through the forest. The frightened woman ran after the elk, but fell
back dispairing. Moaning she crept back to the lodge and confessed to
the wife.
The wife burst into tears and then bitterly chided her sister for her
meddlesome ways. Throwing on her robes she hastened to rescue her
husband. Carefully she tracked the elk and after many days journey she
heard a low trembling song. She knew her husband was near, so cautiously
advancing she came to a spot where she could see a herd of elks feeding
in an open. A deer was grazing near by. Gently she whispered. “Come,
good brother, lend me your coat. You can do me good service thereby.”
“Certainly,” responded the deer with alacrity, and, walking
inconspicuously into the bushes, she removed her coat and threw it upon
the woman. In her new habiliments the wife bounded off into the midst of
the elks. In the middle and surrounded by the rest was a large reclining
elk whose antlers held the emaciated form of Tĕg´wandă’. In a feeble
whisper the husband sang.
Walking toward the elk she made a sudden dash and inserting her horns
beneath her husband’s body lifted him off and dashed away before the
astonished animals could remonstrate, and indeed, they were too
frightened to do so. Galloping breathlessly into the thicket she set
down her husband, removed the deer’s skin and gave it back with
expressions of gratitude. Then lifting her husband upon her shoulders,
she carried him homeward.
On her journey she pondered how she could restore him. He was exhausted
and covered with bruises and wounds, his body had wasted away to a
skeleton covered with skin and his mind was turned with his sufferings.
Sitting down upon a hollow log she pondered. A sudden inspiration came.
Quickly she pushed her husband into a hollow log and gave him a shove
with her foot that sent him sliding through. When he emerged from the
other end he was completely restored.
Together they tramped back home happy to be together once more. Entering
the lodge the husband cast out the inquisitive sister and quarrelsome
mother and sent them running down the trail.
“One woman is sufficient female company for any man,” he said. “More in
one house make great trouble.”
VII.
HORROR TALES OF CANNIBALS AND SORCERERS
[Illustration:
HADUI MASK OF THE FALSE FACE COMPANY.
]
30. THE DUEL OF THE DREAM TEST BETWEEN UNCLE AND NEPHEW.
There was a great long house built of poles and bark. This long house
was in a secluded place where men were not accustomed to come, but there
were sorcerers who knew its location, but shunned it, for there lived
Shogo^n‘´gwā‘s and his nephew Djoñiaik. The nephew was young when the
uncle assumed charge of him, and he had no real regard for the boy, for
he had slain by sorcery all his near relatives, and knew that he must
some day overcome the orenda (magic) that had accrued to the boy, or he
himself would be undone.
Djoñiaik was carefully reared, for the uncle wished to make him suffer
at the end and cry out his weakness, thereby more greatly enjoying the
triumph over him.
When the boy had grown to the age just before he became eligible for his
dream fast, the uncle said, “Now my nephew, the time has come when you
should hunt for yourself without me. Go into the forest and bring me
meat.”
Thereupon Djoñiaik took his small bow and after a time found a partridge
which he shot. Bringing it to the lodge of his uncle he presented it to
the elder man. “Oh now, my nephew,” said Shogo^ngwas, “what is the name
of this thing?”
“Oh my uncle,” replied the boy, “I have never known the name of this
kind of a thing.”
“Ho!” exclaimed the uncle, “How then do you expect to be able to eat
it?”
The boy then was given the task of cleaning the bird for soup, and when
it was ready the older man put it in a clay kettle and boiled it with a
gruel of corn meal. Then he lifted out the meat and placed it with the
fat gravy in a bark bowl which he laid aside for himself. Taking another
bowl he filled it with the thin soup from the middle of the kettle and
handed it over the fire to the boy. The boy reached from his seat,
stretching his arms and finally grasped the bowl, but as he did so the
uncle pulled on the bowl and the boy fell face forward into the fire,
scorching his chest and burning his hands. At this the uncle roared and
called him clumsy, asking moreover, “Where is your soup? You have tried
to put out the fire with it!”
With great gusto the uncle devoured the partridge, picking the bones
clean and casting them into the fire. Djoñiaik had nothing for his meal
and was very hungry. Wearily he wandered out into the thicket, coming at
length to an unfamiliar spot where there was a low mound, as if a mud
hut had fallen down and become overgrown. As he looked at the spot he
heard a sound, “Ketcuta, ketcuta!” Peering more closely in the
snow-covered moss he saw the face of a tcis´gä (skull) looking at his
with open mouth.
“I am your uncle,” said the skull. “Give me tobacco.”
Djoñiaik obeyed, and when the skull had smoked a pipeful, it coughed and
said, “I am your uncle, bewitched by my brother who has stolen you in
order to work vengeance on you for the power you inherit from your
relatives who have been killed by sorcery. You must remember the names
of the animals you kill and the next one you shall find will be a
raccoon. Remember its name and when your guardian asks you its name tell
him ‘raccoon’.”
In time the boy went hunting again and finding a raccoon shot it.
Greatly excited he began to repeat the name raccoon over and over.
“Raccoon, raccoon, raccoon, raccoon,” he shouted as he bore it to his
uncle’s lodge. But so rapidly was he running that he fell over the
door-sill and sprawled into the lodge.
“Oh now nephew, what have you this time?” inquired the uncle, but so
excited and chagrined was the boy that he totally forgot the name. “Wa!”
exclaimed the old man, “If you cannot speak the name of this thing you
shall not eat of it. Dress it for me and I will cook it as a soup.”
When the raccoon was cooked the old man skimmed off the fat and poured
out some thin soup for Djoñiaik, who by this time was very hungry. Uncle
and nephew sat on seats opposite each other with the lodge fire between.
Passing over the bowl of soup the uncle gave a quick jerk as the boy
grasped the rim and again pulled him into the fire.
“Oh nephew, I am sorry,” said he, laughing, “I am always in a hurry.”
But Djoñiaik was sadly burned about the face and made no reply. With
hungry eyes he watched his uncle stow away the uneaten portion of the
raccoon. He had not a mouthful.
That afternoon he again visited his skeletal uncle and related all that
had happened. He was thoroughly afraid now for his uncle was most ugly.
But the skull, when it had smoked, only advised him to remember the
names of the animals killed. “Today, I believe, you will shoot a turkey.
Remember the name and begin to use your power to retaliate,” said the
skull.
After watching quietly Djoñiaik saw a turkey,—a very large and fat
turkey, which he shot. Tying its feet together he held it to his back by
a burden strap and lugged it home, rushing into the lodge saying,
“Turkey, turkey, turkey, turkey.”
This time the uncle asked no questions, but with a frown watched his
nephew pluck the turkey and prepare it.