unfamiliar song held out a little bark bowl of pudding, inviting her to
accept it. The child looked up and held out her hands to take it when
her brother rushed out and forbade her.
“The woman is a witch,” he whispered to his sister. “If you eat her food
it will charm you away!”
The old creature heard this exposure of her true self and fled vowing to
return the next day. True to her promise, she came again and held out a
delicious looking pudding on the top of which was a singing
mocking-bird. The boy ran out from the lodge and stoned the old woman
away and in anger she pointed her fingers toward him and screamed, “It
does not matter for I will come again!”
The next day she returned and again was driven away by stones. She then
departed with the same threatening words. But on one day she exclaimed,
“Oh why do you not accept my beautiful gift! Do so now for I am hungry
and wish to eat you. Oh, Oh—!”
The boy was frightened by her frank avowal but determined to be rid of
the old witch and so drove her away once more.
“Tomorrow I will enter the lodge and eat her before your very eyes. Now
remember my promise!” She screamed as she trampled back through the
trees.
The boy was aroused and resolved to use every power to save his sister
and himself, so that night he carved two dolls from chunks of rotten
wood and placed them upright against the walls. Taking his sister he
uttered certain magic words and made her very small. He placed her
within a horn arrow-tip and then shot the arrow through the smoke hole.
Leaping magically after the shaft, he followed and picking up the arrow
followed the trail in the darkness.
The next morning the witch came again this time taking the form of a
nīa’´gwahē. She tore down the hill and pawed before the lodge door.
“I have come, Oh I have come!” she said. “You cannot escape me now for I
am nīa’´gwahē!”
“Oh please stay away, we are afraid,” wailed two tremulous voices
inside. “Spare us for we are young. Oh choose some older ones!”
“Oh no!” snorted the witch, “I have been hungering too long for you
two,” and bursting into the lodge prepared to seize the baby girl. She
then was disappointed when she saw no trace of the children.
“I am nīa’´gwahē!” she screamed, “no one can escape me!”
“Dogĕs! Is that very true?” asked small voices on opposite sides of the
lodge.
The witch-beast looked about, and then seeing the wooden dolls trampled
down the entire lodge. Then, running in an ever increasing circle she
found the boy’s tracks and following them with furious speed she
screamed, “I am nīa’´gwahē, no one can escape me!”
A short distance behind him the boy heard her voice and unable to
withstand her speed he planned to outwit her by changing his form. He
took the guise of an old man. He kicked off his moccasins and bade them
run on and make tracks to the end of the earth or until a hole appeared
in the soles. Standing with his arrow fixed he gazed upward at an old
robin’s nest that stuck upon a dead branch.
The witch-beast came crashing through the bushes.
“Kwē!” she screamed.
“Cii!” whispered the boy, “do you not see I am watching for game? Agē! I
have been waiting three years for the bird to perch back on its nest and
now you have warned it away with your yells. Oh now you must stay and
help me kill it for I am very hungry.”
“Oh nonsense!” exclaimed the beast. “I am hungry too. Tell me now old
man, did you see a boy running by here?”
“Cii!” whispered the boy, “you will frighten my bird. Go away. See those
tracks? Follow them and leave me to my bird!”
The nīa’´gwahē struck the trail and followed the tracks of the moccasins
through the forests and swamps and when many days had been spent she
came to a log and on it were two moccasins with holes in the soles and
no tracks beyond or around save those she had followed.
“Agī!” screamed the beast, overwhelmed with chagrin. “He has deceived
me. Now I know he was the old man who gazed at the old nest and sent me
away! Oh he shall not escape me for I am nīa’´gwahē!”
In the meantime the boy had been running as fast as his legs and his
magic would bear him but after a time he heard a far away call. “I am
nīa’´gwahē, he cannot escape!”
“Oh uncle,” said the boy as he caught sight of an old spider, “help me
to escape, a nīa’´gwahē is pursuing me to eat my sister and me.”
“I am your friend,” said the old spider as he unrolled a net and spread
it over the ground in all directions. Away sped the boy and soon the
witch-beast came bounding into sight. Seeing her victim’s tracks, she
rushed squarely into the net and became badly entangled. Very furiously
she wrestled with the snare endeavoring to become disentangled and when
at last she did the boy was far away.
In an evil temper at the delay the witch-beast snorted wildly as she ran
to the north, in which direction the boy had gone.
“I am nīa’´gwahē, you cannot escape me,” she screeched as she ran and
the fleeing boy hearing her boast ran faster than ever, until he saw a
boy with a basket of pigeon feathers, he stopped.
“Save me!” he cried, “give me your basket!” and snatching it from the
owner he scattered the feathers to the winds crying, “Be pigeons and
stop witches!”
Instantly the feathers were transformed into myriads of pigeons who
flying in clouds, sent down a kind of rain that covered the ground for
miles around with a slime so deep and slippery that no creature could
wade through it.
Nīa’´gwahē rushed into the slime and sinking into the depths wallowed
and struggled until almost exhausted. Finally she was able to get back
to its border and ran madly onward. “I am nīa’´gwahē, no one can escape
me!” she called, for it was her magic to say these words.
The boy heard her voice and holding fast to the precious arrow, in which
his sister was hidden, he hurried toward a false face man whom he saw
dancing about a tree.
“Oh grandfather!” he cried, “save me. Nīa’´gwahē is after me!”
The false face held out his hand for tobacco and the boy gave him some.
Then he pointed his hand toward a large cliff from which smoke issued.
The boy darted forward, and after him, close pursuing, was the witch.
The false face halted the creature and demanded tobacco, but the witch
being in the form of a nīa’´gwahē could not give it unless she became
her human self. This she knew meant delay, but the false face was
insistent and then she was forced to shake off the beast form and give
the tribute. It is woe to those who deny the false faces, and she knew
it. Then she resumed her beast shape and galloped onward.
The boy ran toward a rock and when he saw a small hole he entered and
then crawled into a spacious cavern. A woman within was boiling bear’s
oil.
“Save me!” cried the boy as the nīa’´gwahē snorted at the entrance and
forced in its head.
The beast struggled. It was trapped. The woman lifted her pot of boiling
oil and threw it upon the face of the witch-beast. A man forced out its
carcass with a club and shot arrows into a black spot on its feet.
“I am your mother,” said the woman.
“I am your father,” said the man, “we were rescued from death by the
false faces.”
“And I am your daughter,” said a voice as the boy uncapped his arrow,
“and my brother has saved me!”
58. NIA’´GWAHE THE MAMMOTH BEAR.[52]
In the olden times in the valley of the Dociowĕh lived a newly married
couple. Their lodge was far back by the big rocks and when danger
threatened they hid in the caves.
After a time there came to the young wife two baby boys. When the twins
were five weeks old the mother died. The father was at first dumb with
grief for his heart was very heavy. Then looking up toward the heavens
he sang,
“I see a hemlock tree. It has but two branches. The tree is twisted in
the hurricane and is broken midway. The two remaining branches on the
stub are thrashing in the gale. The tree is I. My wife is broken from me
and my children are in the storm! Let me burn tobacco, the wind will
cease; let me burn tobacco and my sorrow heals. It gives me thought!”
The dead mother had not lain long on her bed of spruce boughs when the
hungry babes began to cry. A sudden thought came to the father. He cut
down two strings of deer meat and flung them into the mortar. Grasping
the pestle he pounded the meat into a powder and soaking it in hot water
fed the liquid to his children. For several months they were nourished
with this and they grew lusty and fat. When the corn was ripe, “in the
milk,” the father scraped the kernels from the cob and pounded them in
his mortar, mixed the paste with water, skimmed off the gruel and cooked
with venison broth, and thus made a new food upon which the children
thrived. When they were a year old they ate the same food that their
father did and grew tall and strong.
The years went by and they grew vigorous and lithe and became expert
runners often keeping pace with the swiftest of the tribe. At the age of
fifteen one of them ran a race with a deer and falling exhausted died.
And the father sorrowed again and became melancholy. After the death of
his brother the other seemed to double in strength of body and mind. His
name was Hahyennoweh meaning the Swift Runner. In this son the father
took great pride for it was his sole remaining “branch.” Thus he
instructed him in every art known to the hunter and warrior.
Hahyennoweh was a skilled bowman but as he developed greater speed in
running he came to believe the bow and arrow coward’s weapons.
“A fight to death and face to face is the only fitting way,” he said.
With this idea in his mind and a sharp flint in his belt, he broke his
bows and snapped his arrows. Then when he wished to slay an animal he
would pursue it and when it fell exhausted he would wait until it
recovered its breath and strength, slit its throat and carry it home.
Bear, deer, elk, moose and buffalo all fell victims of his speed.
Like every brave and skillful man he loved to boast of his power, and no
one ever made a statement of their skill lest he exclaimed, “Ho, that is
nothing! I am braver than that for I am the most skillful of all the
tribe!”
The father began to worry about this fault of his son’s, for it was a
serious one. His entire conversation was self praise, which while
excusable when indulged in occasionally, was unpardonable when continued
forever. Wishing to warn him the father spoke to the boastful young
warrior. “Son, I am your father, hear me!” he said. “You must not brag
or boast yourself hereafter!”
But the son merely laughed and replied, “Father, I do not. I speak
truth!”
“But, my son,” the father entreated, “the animals will hear you,—will
hear your boasting and out of revenge will slay you.”
“No, I think not, father,” he replied, “for no animal can outrun me, not
a beast in all this forest.”
“Son!” the father spoke gravely, “think wisely and hold your tongue. The
winds will steal your words for mischief and the magically endowed
animals will know it. Then, my son,—then I shall lose you!”
“Father,” replied the son, “I shall ever boast if speaking truth is
boasting!”
The father continued his warnings but Hahyennoweh only laughed and
bounded back into the forest.
One evening Hahyennoweh came home after an exciting race and began again
to boast his prowess. Sadly the father looked at him, and said
sorrowfully, “Son, again I bid you to cease your boasting. Evil will
befall you for I feel it.” But the son was asleep.
A knock sounded at the door and the father pushed aside the bear skin
curtain saying, “Dahdjoh!” “Gahdjih!” said a voice and the father went
out. A stranger stepped from a shadow.
“I have come,” said he, “to tell you that the animals have heard your
son’s voice. They have heard his audacious voice and his unseemly
boasting. They have felt his knife and died. They have chosen me and I
have come to him. I have come to tell him he must race me. I am the
chosen one to race him from the sunrise to the sunset. We race the way
the sun goes. If I win, then I shall kill him. If I lose then he shall
slay me. Tell him he must meet me at the windfall.”
Awaking, the son heard the voices outside and when the father pushed
aside the curtain to re-enter he began to question him. The father’s
brow was wrinkled, his cheek had a gray color. He had sorrow in his
voice.
He spoke “My son, you are all I have and you have loudly boasted about
running swiftly. Did you not hear my advising words of caution? Did you
not hear my entreaties? Nia’´gwahē has been here and spoken to me. You
have heard our talk together. You will be hurt by him. Hahyennoweh! My
only son I believe that you will perish!”
Hahyennoweh smiled, and then laughed at his father saying, “Nia’´gwahē
is an old and foolish creature. So it is only he who makes this
challenge! Chisnah! He should know that I am the champion of runners.
Father, tell me more particularly about him, I would like to know how to
feel afraid, but what you have said does not make me afraid.”
Turning, the father answered, “Nia’´gwahē is a mighty conjurer. He can
change his form to suit him any time he wishes. He has never once been
beaten in a race. Now you had better go to sleep and let me think about
it and when I am done I shall awaken you.” So the son drew his blanket
over his head and went back to his dreaming.
Seizing the pestle, the father pounded parched corn and maple sugar
together and moistening the meal molded it into a cake and put it into a
rawhide bag. After awhile he awakened his son for he had been thinking
as he had worked.
“Son, awake!” he said. “I have been thinking and now I will advise you.
The small humming bird is the swiftest of all the feathers and
Nia’´gwahē has never had a race with him. In your cap I am going to put
two feathers from the humming bird’s breast; they are a race charm.”
The father did not want to sleep that night but sat and threw pinches of
oyankkwaoweh, the sacred tobacco, on a small fire to calm his fears and
give him power with medicine spirits.
Before the sunrise the son awoke and going down the trail to the creek
took his morning plunge and returned to eat his venison. Finishing his
meal, he shook his father’s hand and said, “Oneh, now I am going.” His
limbs felt strong and elastic for he had rubbed them well with plenty of
oil. As he ran he thought he would like to test his jumping power,—just
for luck,—and nearing the windfall, judged its breadth seven times his
length. Increasing his speed he gave a great leap and cleared it. “Ho!”
said he, “I am ready for any race in the world and ready for Nia’´gwahē,
the beast-conjurer. My legs move of their own accord and my feathers
give me power. Now where is this old thing that gives me a challenge?”
Just as he spoke there was a loud snort, and looking up he saw the
monster.
The sun was about to go under the rim of the sky, over Onondasdaht, the
big hill. Hahyennoweh spoke, “Shall we race now? I am ready, it is
sunrise!” But Nia’´gwahē did not answer. He simply blew wind through his
nose and started running.
The monster’s path was toward a swamp and Hahyennoweh followed after.
The great beast ran very fast through clumps of bushes, just as easily
as the son ran over grass. Saplings, stumps and trees fell before the
big animal. For about five miles the son labored through the muck and
tangles, and then seeing that these obstacles were too much for his
style of running, concluded that it would not be wise to follow much
longer through the swamp-land. He, therefore, decided to return to the
starting point and take his route over the high ridge that curved for
miles around the big swamp. Toward noon, when he had circled it, and had
run miles beyond, he saw Nia’´gwahē far in the distance. Increasing his
speed he soon reached the animal with the exclamation, “Ho-hoh, I am up
to you!” But the mammoth bear only replied, “Ungh wooh!” The son saw
that the Nia’´gwahē was very tired and as he ran beside him he said.
“Kway Nia’´gwahē! Adekoni, it is time for eating!” But the beast with
heavy breathing kept on running. Hahyennoweh, the Swift Runner, paused
in the race, and sitting down on a stone, took a swallow of water and
slowly chewed a handful of parched corn and sugar. He rested for a while
after his meal and then after a swim in the brook, near by, he started
on his race again.
When the sun was midway from the high heavens to its setting, the son
caught up to the beast again. “Ho-hoh, I am up to you, old opossum!” he
said, but the huge animal was too tired even to grunt. A stream of water
poured from his body leaving in his tracks a muddy streak and his big
sides bulged within and without.
Again Hahyennoweh sat down and rested, for besides the giving of rest it
made greater excitement. Taking up the race again the son ran over the
path made by the monster. On and on he sped but Nia’´gwahē was nowhere
within range. The path that he had made was a line that ran beyond the
eye’s reach. He increased his speed but even then Nia’´gwahē was not to
be discovered. Then he began to get frightened and wondered if the
monster called into play his magic powers. It seemed so for though Swift
Runner ran his swiftest the beast seemed to run still swifter. But he
did not despair but kept on his journey, hopeful that his charms would
be strong. After awhile, far in the distance, was a small speck that
grew larger as Hahyennoweh ran toward it. That made him run faster and
after some time he overtook the magic monster. It was nearly dark when
Hahyennoweh caught up to the beast and it was none too soon for the race
was almost over. He was very tired but as courageous and boastful as
ever, so Hahyennoweh said, “Ho hoh, I’m up to you again! You are no
runner! Who said you could run, you have been flattered. You are an ugly
old woman to be flattered. You run just like a lame old woman. You have
forgotten how to run. No you never knew how to run at all. Just let me
show you how to run. I’ll never let you catch me as I have you. Oh you
are very slow like a three-legged turtle. Now see me run!”
The young warrior ran ahead with very great speed over the plain until
he saw the sun hang low and red over the hills. Then looking back, he
saw a small speck. Two thoughts came into his mind. The first that he
should go back and kill the beast, as the sun sank below the hills, and
the second that perhaps the monster was shaming and would speed ahead
should he retrace his steps. But in a moment he laughed at this second
thought and was not afraid. Running back he saw that the Nia’´gwahē had
fallen, unable longer to stand the strain of the contest. His panting
was so great that he blew up leaves and sticks high in the air and bent
the saplings about him.
The sun disappeared and the evening star shone bright in the sky. It was
twilight and Hahyennoweh stood looking at the fallen big meat before
him. He grasped the small blow gun from his back and fixed a small
sharpened arrow. He aimed for a dark spot on the left front foot of the
animal. He shot and the heaving sides no longer took in wind. The beast
died where he fell.
It was getting dark and the Swift Runner was tired by his race, so he
lay down beneath a high tree and went to sleep.
THE RETURN.
When he awoke the next morning he found himself wondering what could be
on the road through the swamp,—the route chosen by the Nia’´gwahē.
“Surely it must be some mischief,” he thought, “or he would not have
been so maddened when I ran on the ridge. I think the monster grew so
slow was because he was mad. I must explore the swamp and find the
evil.”
The huge beast in his mad race had beaten a good path through the swamp,
which the son proceeded to follow. After a journey of ten miles he made
a discovery. The footprints of a hostile people, the marks of the
enemy’s moccasins, were fresh in the path. Hahyennoweh advanced with
caution and as it grew dark he saw ahead of him two fires. Hidden in the
underbrush were temporary shelters erected by a hostile war party. Home
was but five miles distant and the son crept noiselessly past the
encampment and sped toward his father’s lodge. In the moonlight he saw a
deer with very large legs. He looked still closer. The deer had men’s
legs and wore leather leggings! The truth flashed upon his mind. Two of
the enemy were reconnoitering and were planning an attack before the
sunrise!
Entering the lodge he greeted his father and gave him the beast’s tusk,
the big tooth that sticks out. The father received it without a comment
and continued his smoking. Then very loudly the son exclaimed, “I’ve
seen a deer. I am going to outrun him. I am going now to race him!” Then
in a lower tone he added, “I will return soon, father, and tell you of
my adventure, but wait.”
Grasping a stone axe he ran out in search of the strange deer. At length
he espied it back of the lodge, peering in at his father. Creeping up
with stealth the son struck the strange animal a crushing blow between
the shoulders, the hatchet sank deep and the forequarters of the deer
dropped to the earth without a sound. Quickly snatching the skin he
wrapped it around the hind quarters and led them struggling into the
lodge.
“Well father here is the deer of which I told you! Let us skin him and
see what is inside! Unwrapping the skin he revealed the captive, who,
nearly smothered, was too feeble to further resist. Hahyennoweh flung
him into a corner and began to ply him with questions. “How many of you
are there in the swamp? Why came you to kill my people? Where is your
party hidden? What chief sent you? Who is your leader? Are any other
tribesmen with you?” These and other questions he asked him. Bidding the
captive lead the way Hahyennoweh advanced toward the enemy’s camp and
reached it about midnight. He lashed the captive to a tree and stopped
his mouth. The sleeping warriors were not aware of danger and never
moved as they slept. Lifting high his hatchet Hahyennoweh struck the
sleepers. Forty-two times he struck and each time killed an enemy and
the captive bound against the tree saw it all. “Ha’´dĕgaiiwio‘!” he
exclaimed as the last sleeper was struck and then turning to the
terrified man bound to the tree he said “Iīs newa, now you!” He lifted
his tomahawk but paused as he was about to strike then lifting it again
let it fall with a blow the shook the tree. But it had not touched the
man, the blow was not aimed at him, but instead it cut the thongs and
set the captive free. “Now go with all your speed and tell your tribe
not to send war parties against us again for we have strong medicine and
cannot be harmed.” The captive thought so.
That night as the son sat at the fire in the lodge with his father
stretching the scalps on hoops he told the story of his great race but
not in a boastful way. His great deeds had made it necessary for him to
boast no longer, for if he should men would laugh and say, “Hoh, you did
better than that once!” So never after did he boast but took a good
woman who had asked him to marry her.
In after years he told the story of the race again, that the tribe might
not forget it, but his grandchildren were unbelieving. “Show us the spot
and the bones and then we will glory in our grandfather,” they said
laughing. So, undaunted, the old man whose name was changed to
Nia’´gwahēgowa, (Mighty Magical Bear), in recognition of his great race,
took his grandchildren on the journey and showed them the place where
the beast had fallen. They dug into the soft soil and found the huge
bones and the jaw where he had broken out the tusk.
The Indian story teller adds: “White man find bones right where the
Nia’´gwahē fell long after, to this day. Put them in big musees, so
story real true I guess!”
59. THE BOY AND THE NIA’´GWAHE.
The Five Nations had waged a war with the Snake People who lived in
caves (the Cherokee). The Five Nations became exhausted. Both began to
see that the cause was not worth such a loss of life, and so a treaty of
peace was made. Each party promised to send warriors, women and families
to settle with the other, and thus, by mutual adoptions and
inter-marriage weave a bond of friendship.
The day arrived for the mutual emigrations, and patiently the Five
Nations awaited the coming of their visitors, but none came, nor could
news be obtained of their own party. A messenger was dispatched but he
never returned. More were sent but, likewise, they never came back to
report. At last the chiefs called a council to devise means to get to
the land of their former enemies and learn how the party and the
messengers had fared. A new messenger was chosen from the bravest of the
warriors and a short distance behind a watcher followed. For two days
all was well, but on the third the watcher looking ahead on the trail
saw the messenger crawling laboriously along. Running toward him he
found him wounded, stripped of all clothing and bleeding from tusk
wounds and heavy bruises.