|ON a certain afternoon the sun was falling in the west, and in the
midst of the ruddy silence a solitary lodge stood on the banks of
a remote lake. One sound only broke in the least degree the forest
stillness--the low breathing of the dying inmate of the lodge, who was
the head of a poor family. His wife and children surrounded the buffalo
robe on which he lay. Of the children, two were almost grown up--a
daughter and a son; the other was a boy, and a mere child in years.
All the skill of the household in simple medicines was exhausted, and
they stood watching now, awaiting 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 of the evening. The poor man felt a
momentary return of strength, and raising himself a little, he addressed
his family:
"I leave you," he said, "in a world of care, in which it has required
all my strength and skill to supply you food, and to protect you from
the storms and cold of a harsh climate."
He cast his eyes upon his wife, and continued: "For you, my partner in
life, I have less sorrow, because I am persuaded you will not remain
long behind me; but you, my children! my poor and forsaken children, who
have just begun the career of life! Who will shelter you from calamity?
Listen to my words. Unkindness, ingratitude, and every wickedness are
in the outside world. It was for this that years ago I withdrew from
my kindred and my tribe to spend our 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 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 hide
you away from the bad examples which would have spoiled your innocence.
I have seen you, thus far, grow up in purity of heart. If we have
sometimes suffered bodily want, we have escaped pain of mind. We have
not been compelled to look on or to take a part with the red hand in
scenes of rioting and bloodshed. My path now stops. I have arrived
at the brink of the world. 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 younger brother. Of him I give you both my
dying command to have a tender care."
He spoke no more, and as the sun fell out of view the light had gone
from his face. The family stood still, as if they expected to hear
something further; but when they came to his side and called him by
name, his spirit did not answer. It was in another world.
The mother and daughter lamented aloud, but the elder son clothed
himself in a mantle of silence and took his course as though nothing had
occurred. He exerted himself to supply, with his bow and net, the wants
of the little household, but he never made mention of his father.
Five moons had filled and waned, and the sixth was near its full, when
the mother also died. In her last moments she begged them to fulfil
their father's wish.
The winter passed, and the spring, sparkling in the clear northern air,
cheered the spirits of the lonely little people in the lodge.
The girl, being the eldest, directed her brothers, and she seemed to
feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was slight of
frame and of a delicate temper. The other boy soon began to break forth
with restless speeches, which showed that his spirit was not at ease.
One day he addressed his 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 mingling with my
own kind? I have determined this question for myself. I shall seek the
villages of men, and you can not prevent me."
The sister replied:
"I do not say no, my brother, to what you desire; we are not forbidden
the society of our fellow mortals, but we are told to cherish each
other, and to do nothing that shall not be agreeable to all our little
household. 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 fancies, it will surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound
to support by vows both to our father and mother."
The young man received this address in silence, still took his course as
though nothing out of the ordinary way had occurred, and after a while
seemed to recover his spirits. Now as they lived in a large country,
where there were open fields, the two brothers often amused themselves
in playing ball. One afternoon Owasso, the elder brother, chose the
ground near to a beautiful lake, and they played and laughed with great
spirit, and the ball was seldom allowed to touch the ground.
In this lake there happened to harbor a wicked old Manito, Mishosha by
name. He looked at the brothers as they played and was vastly pleased
with their nimbleness and beauty. He thought to himself, "What shall I
do to get these lads to accompany me? I know--one of them shall hit the
ball sideways and it shall fall into my canoe."
It so happened, and it somehow seemed as if Owasso had purposely given
the ball that direction. But when he saw the old man, he professed to be
greatly surprised, as the other, Sheem by name, was in truth, for he had
not noticed the old Manito before.
"Bring the ball to us," they both cried ont. "Come to the shore."
"No," answered the old magician. He, however, came near enough for
either of them to wade out to him. "Come, come," he said. "Come and get
your ball."
They insisted that he should come ashore, but this he sturdily declined
to do.
"Very well," said Owasso, "I will go and get it." And he ran into the
water. "Hand it to me," he said, when he had approached near enough to
receive it.
"Ha!" answered the Manito, "reach over and get it yourself."
Owasso was about to grasp the ball, when the old magician suddenly
seized him and pushed him into the boat.
"My grandfather," said Owasso, "pray take my little brother also. Alone
I can not go with you; he will starve if I leave him."
Mishosha only laughed at him. He then uttered the charmed words,
"Chemaun Poll!" and gave his canoe a slap, whereupon it glided through
the water with the swiftness of an arrow without further help.
In a short time they reached the magician's lodge, which stood upon the
further shore a little distance back from the lake. The two daughters of
Mishosha were seated within.
"My daughter," the magician said to the eldest, as they entered the
lodge, "I have brought you a husband."
The young woman smiled; for Owasso was a comely youth to look upon.
The magician told him to take his seat near her, and by this act the
marriage ceremony was completed. Owasso and the magician's daughter were
now man and wife, and in the course of time a son was born to them.
But no sooner was Owasso in the family than the old Manito wished him
out of the way, and went about in his own wicked fashion to compass it.
One day he asked his son-in-law to go out a-fishing with him. They
started without delay; for the magician had only to speak, and oft went
the canoe. Soon they reached a solitary bay in an island, a very dark,
lonely, and out-of-the-way place. The Manito advised Owasso to spear
a large sturgeon that came alongside, which with its great glassy eye
turned up seemed to recognize the magician. Owasso rose in the boat to
dart his spear, and by speaking that moment to his canoe, Mishosha shot
forward in it and hurled his son-in-law headlong into the water. Leaving
him to struggle for himself, the old magician was soon out of sight.
Meanwhile Owasso, being himself gifted with certain limited magical
powers, spoke to the fish and bade him swim toward the lodge, then
grabbing hold of the tail, he was carried along at great speed. Once he
directed the sturgeon to rise near the surface of the water, so that
he might, if possible, get a view of the magician. The fish obeyed, and
Owasso saw the wicked old Manito busy in another direction, fishing, as
unconcerned as though he had not just lost a member of his family.
On went the fish, and on went Owasso, till they reached the shore, near
the magician's lodge. He then spoke kindly to the sturgeon and told him
he should not be angry at having been speared, as he was created to be
meat for man. The sturgeon made no reply, or if he did, it has not been
reported; and Owasso, drawing the fish on shore, went up and told his
wife to dress and cook it immediately. By the time it was prepared the
magician had come in sight.
"Your grandfather has arrived," said the woman to her son; "go and see
what he brings, and eat this as you go"--handing him a piece of the
fish.
The boy went, and the magician no sooner saw him with the fish in his
hand, than he asked him, "What are you eating? Who brought it?"