to another tree, on which he suspended his bundle as before, and went in
search of game. Success again rewarded his efforts, and he returned
bringing a deer, but found, as before, that a lodge had sprung up in the
place where he had suspended his bundle. He looked in, and saw, as
before, a beautiful female sitting alone, with his bundle by her side.
She arose, and came out to bring in the deer, which he had deposited at
the door, and he immediately went into the lodge and sat by the fire, as
he felt fatigued with the day's labours. Wondering, at last, at the
delay of the woman, he arose, and peeping through the door of the lodge,
beheld her eating all the fat of the deer. He exclaimed, "I thought I
was blessed, but I find I am mistaken." Then addressing the woman, "Poor
Wabizhas,"[50] said he, "feast on the game that I have brought." He
again took up his bundle and departed, and, as usual, hung it up on the
branch of a tree, and wandered off in quest of game. In the evening he
returned with his customary good luck, bringing in a fine deer, and
again found a lodge occupying the place of his bundle. He gazed through
an aperture in the side of the lodge, and saw a beautiful woman sitting
alone, with a bundle by her side. As soon as he entered the lodge, she
arose with alacrity, brought in the carcass, cut it up, and hung up the
meat to dry. After this, she prepared a portion of it for the supper of
the weary hunter. The man thought to himself, "Now I am certainly
blessed." He continued his practice of hunting every day, and the woman,
on his return, always readily took care of the meat, and prepared his
meals for him. One thing, however, astonished him; he had never, as yet,
seen her eat anything, and kindly said to her, "Why do you not eat?" She
replied, "I have food of my own, which I eat."
On the fourth day he brought home with him a branch of uzadi[51] as a
cane, which he placed, with his game, at the door of the lodge. His
wife, as usual, went out to prepare and bring in the meat. While thus
engaged, he heard her laughing to herself, and saying, "This is very
acceptable." The man, in peeping out to see the cause of her joy, saw
her, with astonishment, eating the bark of the poplar cane in the same
manner that beavers gnaw. He then exclaimed, "Ho, ho! Ho, ho! this is
Amik;"[52] and ever afterward he was careful at evening to bring in a
bough of the poplar or the red willow, when she would exclaim, "Oh, this
is very acceptable; this is a change, for one gets tired eating white
fish always (meaning the poplar); but the carp (meaning the red willow)
is a pleasant change."
On the whole, Iena was much pleased with his wife for her neatness and
attention to the things in the lodge, and he lived a contented and happy
man. Being industrious, she made him beautiful bags from the bark of
trees, and dressed the skins of the animals he killed in the most
skilful manner. When spring opened, they found themselves blessed with
two children, one of them resembling the father and the other the
mother. One day the father made a bow and arrows for the child that
resembled him, who was a son, saying, "My son, you will use these arrows
to shoot at the little beavers when they begin to swim about the
rivers." The mother, as soon as she heard this, was highly displeased;
and taking her children, unknown to her husband, left the lodge in the
night. A small river ran near the lodge, which the woman approached with
her children. She built a dam across the stream, erected a lodge of
earth, and lived after the manner of the beavers.
When the hunter awoke, he found himself alone in his lodge, and his wife
and children absent. He immediately made diligent search after them, and
at last discovered their retreat on the river. He approached the place
of their habitation, and throwing himself prostrate on the top of the
lodge, exclaimed, "Shingisshenaun tshee neeboyaun."[53] The woman
allowed the children to go close to their father, but not to touch him;
for, as soon as they came very near, she would draw them away again, and
in this manner she continued to torment him a long time. The husband
laid in this situation until he was almost starved, when a young female
approached him, and thus accosted him: "Look here; why are you keeping
yourself in misery, and thus starving yourself? Eat this," reaching him
a little mokuk containing fresh raspberries which she had just gathered.
As soon as the beaveress, his former wife, beheld this, she began to
abuse the young woman, and said to her, "Why do you wish to show any
kindness to that _animal_ that has but two legs? you will soon repent
it." She also made sport of the young woman, saying, "Look at her; she
has a long nose, and she is just like a bear." The young woman, who was
all the time a bear in disguise, hearing herself thus reproached, broke
down the dam of the beaver, let the water run out, and nearly killed the
beaver herself. Then turning to the man, she thus addressed him: "Follow
me; I will be kind to you. Follow me closely. You must be courageous,
for there are three persons who are desirous of marrying me, and will
oppose you. Be careful of yourself. Follow me nimbly, and, just as we
approach the lodge, put your feet in the prints of mine, for I have
eight sisters who will do their utmost to divert your attention and make
you lose the way. Look neither to the right nor the left, but enter the
lodge just as I do, and take your seat where I do." As they proceeded
they came in sight of a large lodge, when he did as he had been
directed, stepping in her tracks. As they entered the lodge the eight
sisters clamorously addressed him. "Oh, Ogidahkumigo[54] has lost his
way," and each one invited him to take his seat with her, desiring to
draw him from their sister. The old people also addressed him as he
entered, and said, "Oh, make room for our son-in-law." The man, however,
took his seat by the side of his protectress, and was not farther
importuned.
As they sat in the lodge, a great rushing of waters, as of a swollen
river, came through the centre of it, which also brought in its course a
large stone, and left it before the man. When the water subsided, a
large white bear came in, and taking up the stone, bit it, and scratched
it with his paws, saying, "This is the manner in which I would handle
Ogidahkumigo if I was jealous." A yellow bear also entered the lodge and
did the same. A black bear followed and did the same. At length the man
took up his bow and arrows, and prepared to shoot at the stone, saying,
"This is the way I would treat ODANAMEKUMIGO[55] if I was jealous." He
then drew up his bow and drove his arrow into the stone. Seeing this,
the bears turned around, and with their eyes fixed on him, stepped
backward and left the lodge, which highly delighted the woman. She
exulted to think that her husband had conquered them.
Finally, one of the old folks made cry, and said, "Come, come! there
must be a gathering of provisions for the winter." So they all took
their cossoes, or bark dishes, and departed to gather acorns for the
winter. As they departed, the old man said to his daughter, "Tell
Ogidahkumigo to go to the place where your sisters have gone, and let
him select one of them, so that, through her aid, he may have some food
for himself during the winter; but be sure to caution him to be very
careful, when he is taking the skin from the animal, that he does not
cut the flesh." No sooner had the man heard this message, than he
selected one of his sisters-in-law; and when he was taking the skin from
her, for she was all the while an enchanted female bear, although
careful, he cut her a little upon one of her arms, when she jumped up,
assumed her natural form, and ran home. The man also went home, and
found her with her arm bound up, and quite unwell.
A second cry was then made by the master of the lodge: "Come, come! seek
for winter quarters;" and they all got ready to separate for the season.
By this time the man had two children, one resembling himself and the
other his wife. When the cry was made, the little boy who resembled his
father was in such a hurry in putting on his moccasins, that he
misplaced them, putting the moccasin of the right foot upon the left.
And this is the reason why the foot of the bear is turned in.
They proceeded to seek their winter quarters, the wife going before to
point the way. She always selected the _thickest_ part of the forest,
where the child resembling the father found it difficult to get along;
and he never failed to cry out and complain. Iena then went in the
advance, and sought the open plain, whereupon the child resembling the
mother would cry out and complain, because she disliked an _open_ path.
As they were encamping, the woman said to her husband, "Go and break
branches for the lodge for the night." He did so; but when she looked at
the _manner_ in which her husband broke the branches, she was very much
offended, for he broke them _upward_ instead of _downward_. "It is not
only very awkward," said she, "but we will be found out; for the
Ogidahkumigoes[56] will see where we have passed by the branches we have
broken." To avoid this, they agreed to change their route, and were
finally well established in their winter quarters. The wife had
sufficient food for her child, and would now and then give the dry
berries she had gathered in the summer to her husband.
One day, as spring drew on, she said to her husband, "I must boil you
some meat," meaning her own paws, which bears suck in the month of
April. She had all along told him, during the winter, that she meant to
resume her real shape of a female bear, and to give herself up to the
Ogidahkumigoes, to be killed by them, and that the time of their coming
was near at hand. It came to pass, soon afterward, that a hunter
discovered her retreat. She told her husband to move aside, "for," she
added, "I am now giving myself up." The hunter fired and killed her.
Iena then came out from his hiding-place, and went home with the hunter.
As they went, he instructed him what he must hereafter do when he killed
bears. "You must," said he, "never cut the flesh in taking off the skin,
nor hang up the feet with the flesh when drying it. But you must take
the head and feet, and decorate them handsomely, and place tobacco on
the head, for these animals are very fond of this article, and on the
_fourth day_ they come to life again."
FOOTNOTES:
[48] From Ienawdizzi, a wanderer.
[49] The night-hawk.
[50] A marten.
[51] The common poplar, or P. tremuloides.
[52] The beaver.
[53] Here I will lie until I die.
[54] This term means a man that lives on the surface of the earth, as
contradistinguished from beings living under ground.
[55] He who lives in the city under ground.
[56] People who live above ground.
SHEEM;[57]
OR,
THE FORSAKEN BOY.
FROM THE ODJIBWA.
A solitary lodge stood on the banks of a remote lake. It was near the
hour of sunset. Silence reigned within and without. Not a sound was
heard but the low breathing of the dying inmate and head of this poor
family. His wife and three children surrounded his bed. Two of the
latter were almost grown up; the other was a mere child. All their
simple skill in medicine had been exhausted to no effect. They moved
about the lodge in whispers, and were waiting the departure of the
spirit. As one of the last acts of kindness, the skin door of the lodge
had been thrown back to admit the fresh air. The poor man felt a
momentary return of strength, and, raising himself a little, addressed
his family.
"I leave you in a world of care, in which it has required all my
strength and skill to supply you food, and protect you from the storms
and cold of a severe climate. For you, my partner in life, I have less
sorrow in parting, because I am persuaded you will not remain long
behind me, and will therefore find the period of your sufferings
shortened. But you, my children! my poor and forsaken children, who have
just commenced the career of life, who will protect you from its evils?
Listen to my words! Unkindness, ingratitude, and every wickedness is in
the scene before you. It is for this cause that, years ago, I withdrew
from my kindred and my tribe, to spend my days in this lonely spot. I
have contented myself with the company of your mother and yourselves
during seasons of very frequent scarcity and want, while your kindred,
feasting in a scene where food is plenty, have caused the forests to
echo with the shouts of successful war. I gave up these things for the
enjoyment of peace. I wished to shield you from the bad examples you
would inevitably have followed. I have seen you, thus far, grow up in
innocence. If we have sometimes suffered bodily want, we have escaped
pain of mind.[58] We have been kept from scenes of rioting and
bloodshed.
"My career is now at its close. I will shut my eyes in peace, if you, my
children, will promise me to cherish each other. Let not your mother
suffer during the few days that are left to her; and I charge you, on no
account, to forsake your youngest brother. Of him I give you both my
dying charge to take a tender care." He sank exhausted on his pallet.
The family waited a moment, as if expecting to hear something farther;
but, when they came to his side, the spirit had taken its flight.
The mother and daughter gave vent to their feelings in lamentations. The
elder son witnessed the scene in silence. He soon exerted himself to
supply, with the bow and net, his father's place. Time, however, wore
away heavily. Five moons had filled and waned, and the sixth was near
its full, when the mother also died. In her last moments she pressed the
fulfilment of their promise to their father, which the children readily
renewed, because they were yet free from selfish motives.
The winter passed; and the spring, with its enlivening effects in a
northern hemisphere, cheered the drooping spirits of the bereft little
family. The girl, being the eldest, dictated to her brothers, and seemed
to feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was rather
sickly and delicate. The other boy soon showed symptoms of restlessness
and ambition, and addressed the sister as follows: "My sister, are we
always to live as if there were no other human beings in the world? Must
I deprive myself of the pleasure of associating with my own kind? I have
determined this question for myself. I shall seek the villages of men,
and you cannot prevent me."
The sister replied: "I do not say no, my brother, to what you desire. We
are not prohibited the society of our fellow-mortals; but we are told to
cherish each other, and to do nothing independent of each other. Neither
pleasure nor pain ought, therefore, to separate us, especially from our
younger brother, who, being but a child, and weakly withal, is entitled
to a double share of our affection. If we follow our separate
gratifications, it will surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound by
vows, both to our father and mother, to support." The young man received
this address in silence. He appeared daily to grow more restiff and
moody, and one day, taking his bow and arrows, left the lodge and never
returned.
Affection nerved the sister's arm. She was not so ignorant of the forest
arts as to let her brother want. For a long time she administered to his
necessities, and supplied a mother's cares. At length, however, she
began to be weary of solitude and of her charge. No one came to be a
witness of her assiduity, or to let fall a single word in her native
language. Years, which added to her strength and capability of directing
the affairs of the household, brought with them the irrepressible desire
of society, and made solitude irksome. At this point, selfishness gained
the ascendency of her heart; for, in meditating a change in her mode of
life, she lost sight of her younger brother, and left him to be provided
for by contingencies.
One day, after collecting all the provisions she had been able to save
for emergencies, after bringing a quantity of wood to the door, she said
to her little brother: "My brother, you must not stray from the lodge. I
am going to seek our elder brother. I shall be back soon." Then, taking
her bundle, she set off in search of habitations. She soon found them,
and was so much taken up with the pleasures and amusements of social
life, that the thought of her brother was almost entirely obliterated.
She accepted proposals of marriage; and, after that, thought still less
of her hapless and abandoned relative.
Meantime her elder brother had also married, and lived on the shores of
the same lake whose ample circuit contained the abandoned lodge of his
father and his forsaken brother. The latter was soon brought to the
pinching turn of his fate. As soon as he had eaten all the food left by
his sister, he was obliged to pick berries and dig up roots. These were
finally covered by the snow. Winter came on with all its rigours. He was
obliged to quit the lodge in search of other food. Sometimes he passed
the night in the clefts of old trees or caverns, and ate the refuse
meals of the wolves. The latter, at last, became his only resource; and
he became so fearless of these animals that he would sit close by them
while they devoured their prey. The wolves, on the other hand, became so
familiar with his face and form, that they were undisturbed by his
approach; and, appearing to sympathize with him in his outcast
condition, would always leave something for his repast. In this way he
lived till spring. As soon as the lake was free from ice, he followed
his new-found friends to the shore. It happened, the same day, that his
elder brother was fishing in his canoe, a considerable distance out in
the lake, when he thought he heard the cries of a child on the shore,
and wondered how any could exist on so bleak and barren a part of the
coast. He listened again attentively, and distinctly heard the cry
repeated. He made for shore as quick as possible, and, as he approached
land, discovered and recognised his little brother, and heard him
singing, in a plaintive voice,
Neesia--neesia,
Shyegwuh goosuh!
Ni my een gwun iewh!
Ni my een gwun iewh!
Heo hwooh.
Ke ge wai bin im
She gwuh dush
Ni my een gwun iewh!
Ni my een gwun iewh!
Heo hwooh.
Tyau, tyau! sunnagud,
Nin dininee wun aubun
She gwuh dush
Ni my een gwun iewh!
Heo hwooh.
Listen, brother--elder brother!
Now my fate is near its close;
Soon my state shall be another,
Soon shall cease my day of woes.
Left by friends I loved the dearest,
All who knew and loved me most;
Woes the darkest and severest,
Bide me on this barren coast.
Pity! ah, that manly feeling,
Fled from hearts where once it grew,
Now in wolfish forms revealing,
Glows more warmly than in you.
Stony hearts! that saw me languish.
Deaf to all a father said,
Deaf to all a mother's anguish,
All a brother's feelings fled.
Ah, ye wolves, in all your ranging,
I have found you kind and true;
More than man--and now I'm changing,
And will soon be one of you.
At the termination of his song, which was drawn out with a peculiar
cadence, he howled like a wolf. The elder brother was still more
astonished, when, getting nearer shore, he perceived his poor brother
partly transformed into that animal. He immediately leaped on shore, and
strove to catch him in his arms, soothingly saying, "My brother, my
brother, come to me." But the boy eluded his grasp, crying as he fled,
"Neesia, neesia," &c., and howling in the intervals.
The elder brother, conscience stricken, and feeling his brotherly
affection strongly return, with redoubled force exclaimed, in great
anguish, "My brother! my brother! my brother!"
But, the nearer he approached, the more rapidly the transformation went
on; the boy alternately singing and howling, and calling out the name,
first of his brother, and then of his sister, till the change was
completely accomplished, when he exclaimed, "I am a wolf!" and bounded
out of sight.
* * * * *
[The moral of this tale may be said to rebuke a species of cruelty,
which is not peculiar to the tribe from whose traditions it has been
obtained. The truth it indicates is impressed upon the minds of the
young, to warn them against the perpetration of similar
barbarities--barbarities which claim pity even from wild animals.
But while we know of no recorded instance of abandonment of _children of
either sex_ by any North American tribes, it is attested by travellers
that _the very aged and helplessly superannuated_, among some of the
more northerly tribes, have been thus left. This remark was made at an
early day, and has been repeated in modern times, as practised among
bands on the borders of the Arctic Ocean. Certainly no practice of this
kind has been found to prevail among the Odjibwas, Ottowas, and other
more well-known existing branches of the Algic stock.]
FOOTNOTES:
[57] Abbreviated from _Nee Sheema_, my younger brother or younger
sister.
[58] Wesugaindum, meaning pain or bitterness of mind, is a single
expression in the original. It is a trinary compound.
PAUP-PUK-KEEWISS.
FROM THE ALGIC.
A man of large stature, and great activity of mind and body, found
himself standing alone on a prairie. He thought to himself, "How came I
here? Are there no beings on this earth but myself? I must travel and
see. I must walk till I find the abodes of men." So soon as his mind was
made up, he set out, he knew not where, in search of habitations. No
obstacles could divert him from his purpose. Neither prairies, rivers,
woods, nor storms had the effect to daunt his courage or turn him back.
After travelling a long time he came to a wood, in which he saw decayed
stumps of trees, as if they had been cut in ancient times, but no other
traces of men. Pursuing his journey, he found more recent marks of the
same kind; and after this, he came to fresh traces of human beings;
first their footsteps, and then the wood they had cut, lying in heaps.
Continuing on, he emerged towards dusk from the forest, and beheld at a
distance a large village of high lodges, standing on rising ground. He
said to himself, "I will arrive there on a run." Off he started with
all his speed; on coming to the first large lodge, he jumped over it.
Those within saw something pass over the opening, and then heard a thump
on the ground.
"What is that?" they all said.
One came out to see, and invited him in. He found himself in company
with an old chief and several men, who were seated in the lodge. Meat
was set before him, after which the chief asked him where he was going
and what his name was. He answered, that he was in search of adventures,
and his name was Paup-Puk-Keewiss. A stare followed.
"Paup-Puk-Keewiss!"[59] said one to another, and a general titter went
round.
He was not easy in his new position; the village was too small to give
him full scope for his powers, and after a short stay he made up his
mind to go farther, taking with him a young man who had formed a strong
attachment for him, and might serve him as his mesh-in-au-wa.[60] They
set out together, and when his companion was fatigued with walking, he
would show him a few tricks, such as leaping over trees, and turning
round on one leg till he made the dust fly, by which he was mightily
pleased, although it sometimes happened that the character of these
tricks frightened him.
One day they came to a very large village, where they were well
received. After staying in it some time, they were informed of a number
of manitoes who lived at a distance, and who made it a practice to kill
all who came to their lodge. Attempts had been made to extirpate them,
but the war-parties who went out for this purpose were always
unsuccessful. Paup-Puk-Keewiss determined to visit them, although he was
advised not to do so. The chief warned him of the danger of the visit;
but, finding him resolved,
"Well," said he, "if you will go, being my guest, I will send twenty
warriors to serve you."
He thanked him for the offer. Twenty young men were ready at the
instant, and they went forward, and in due time descried the lodge of
the manitoes. He placed his friend and the warriors near enough to see
all that passed, while he went alone to the lodge. As he entered he saw
five horrid-looking manitoes in the act of eating. It was the father and
his four sons. They looked hideous; their eyes were swimming low in
their heads, as if half starved. They offered him something to eat,
which he refused.
"What have you come for?" said the old one.
"Nothing," Paup-Puk-Keewiss answered.
They all stared at him.
"Do you not wish to wrestle?" they all asked.
"Yes," he replied.
A hideous smile came over their faces.
"_You_ go," they said to the eldest brother.
They got ready, and were soon clinched in each other's arms for a deadly
throw. He knew their object--his death--his _flesh_ was all they wanted,
but he was prepared for them.
"Haw! haw!"[61] they cried, and soon the dust and dry leaves flew about
as if driven by a strong wind.
The manito was strong, but Paup-Puk-Keewiss soon found that he could
master him; and, giving him a trip, he threw him with a giant's force
head foremost on a stone, and he fell like a puffed thing.
The brothers stepped up in quick succession, but he put a number of
tricks in force, and soon the whole four lay bleeding on the ground. The
old manito got frightened and ran for his life. Paup-Puk-Keewiss pursued
him for sport; sometimes he was before him, sometimes flying over his
head. He would now give him a kick, then a push or a trip, till he was
almost exhausted. Meantime his friend and the warriors cried out, "Ha!
ha! a! ha! ha! a! Paup-Puk-Keewiss is driving him before him." The
manito only turned his head now and then to look back; at last,
Paup-Puk-Keewiss gave him a kick on his back, and broke his back bone;
down he fell, and the blood gushing out of his mouth prevented him from
saying a word. The warriors piled all the bodies together in the lodge,
and then took fire and burned them. They all looked with deep interest
at the quantity of human bones scattered around.
Paup-Puk-Keewiss then took three arrows, and, after having performed a
ceremony to the Great Spirit, he shot one into the air, crying, with a
loud voice,