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WIGWAM EVENINGS
Sioux Folk Tales Retold
by
CHARLES A. EASTMAN (_Ohiyesa_) and ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN
Illustrated by Edwin Willard Deming
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1928
Copyright, 1909,
by Little, Brown, and Company
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
[Illustration: THE STRANGER WATCHES THE LAUGH-MAKER AND THE BEARS.
FRONTISPIECE. _See page 189_]
_BOOKS BY CHARLES A. EASTMAN_
INDIAN BOYHOOD
FROM THE DEEP WOODS TO CIVILIZATION
OLD INDIAN DAYS
INDIAN SCOUT TALKS
INDIAN HEROES AND GREAT CHIEFTAINS
_In Collaboration with ELAINE G. EASTMAN_
WIGWAM EVENINGS
NOTE
_The authors wish to acknowledge the courtesy of The Ladies' Home
Journal, Good Housekeeping, and The Woman's Home Companion, in giving
permission to include in this volume several stories which first
appeared in their pages._
PREFACE
These scattered leaves from the unwritten school-book of the wilderness
have been gathered together for the children of to-day; both as a slight
contribution to the treasures of aboriginal folk-lore, and with the
special purpose of adapting them to the demands of the American school
and fireside. That is to say, we have chosen from a mass of material the
shorter and simpler stories and parts of stories, and have not always
insisted upon a literal rendering, but taken such occasional liberties
with the originals as seemed necessary to fit them to the exigencies of
an unlike tongue and to the sympathies of an alien race.
Nevertheless, we hope and think that we have been able to preserve in
the main the true spirit and feeling of these old tales--tales that have
been handed down by oral tradition alone through many generations of
simple and story-loving people. The "Creation myths" and others rich in
meaning have been treated very simply, as their symbolism is too
complicated for very young readers; and much of the characteristic
detail of the rambling native story-teller has been omitted. A story
that to our thinking is most effectively told in a brief ten minutes is
by him made to fill a long evening by dint of minute and realistic
description of every stage of a journey, each camp made, every feature
of a ceremony performed, and so on indefinitely. True, the attention of
his unlettered listeners never flags; but our sophisticated youngsters
would soon weary, we fear, of any such repetition.
There are stories here of different types, each of which has its
prototype or parallel in the nursery tales of other nations. The animal
fables of the philosophic red man are almost as terse and satisfying as
those of Aesop, of whom they put us strongly in mind. A little further
on we meet with brave and fortunate heroes, and beautiful princesses,
and wicked old witches, and magical transformations, and all the other
dear, familiar material of fairy lore, combined with a touch that is
unfamiliar and fascinating.
The "Little Boy Man," the Adam of the Sioux, has a singular interest for
us in that he is a sort of grown-up child, or a "Peter Pan" who never
really grows up, and whose Eve-less Eden is a world where all the
animals are his friends and killing for any purpose is unknown. Surely
the red man's secret ideal must have been not war, but peace! The
elements, indeed, are shown to be at war, as in the battle between Heat
and Frost, or that of the mighty Thunder and the monstrous Deep; but let
it be noted here that these conflicts are far more poetic and less
bloody than those of Jack the Giant-killer and other redoubtable heroes
of the Anglo-Saxon nursery.
The animal loves are strange--perhaps even repellent; yet our children
have read of a prince who falls in love with a White Cat; in the story
of "The Runaways" we come upon the old, old ruse of magic barriers
interposed between pursuer and pursued; and Andersen's charming fantasy
of "The Woodcutter's Child" who disobeyed her Guardian Angel has
scarcely a more delicate pathos than the "Ghost Wife."
There are, to be sure, certain characters in this forest wonder-world
that are purely and unmistakably Indian; yet after all Unk-to-mee, the
sly one, whose adventures are endless, may be set beside quaint "Brer
Fox" of Negro folk-lore, and Chan-o-te-dah is obviously an Indian
brownie or gnome, while monstrous E-ya and wicked Double-Face
re-incarnate the cannibal giants of our nursery days. Real children
everywhere have lively imaginations that feed upon such robust marvels
as these; and in many of us elders, I hope, enough of the child is left
to find pleasure in a literature so vital, so human in its appeal, and
one that, old as it is, has for the most part never until now put on the
self-consciousness of type.
The stories are more particularly intended to be read beside an open
fire to children of five years old and upward, or in the school-room by
the nine, ten, eleven-year-olds in the corresponding grades.
E. G. E.
CONTENTS
EVENINGS PAGE
FIRST THE BUFFALO AND THE FIELD-MOUSE 1
SECOND THE FROGS AND THE CRANE 15
THIRD THE EAGLE AND THE BEAVER 25
FOURTH THE WAR PARTY 31
FIFTH THE FALCON AND THE DUCK 39
SIXTH THE RACCOON AND THE BEE-TREE 49
SEVENTH THE BADGER AND THE BEAR 61
EIGHTH THE GOOD-LUCK TOKEN 71
NINTH UNKTOMEE AND HIS BUNDLE OF SONGS 79
TENTH UNKTOMEE AND THE ELK 89
ELEVENTH THE FESTIVAL OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE 99
TWELFTH EYA THE DEVOURER 107
THIRTEENTH THE WARS OF WA-KEE-YAN AND UNK-TAY-HEE 115
FOURTEENTH THE LITTLE BOY MAN 123
FIFTEENTH THE RETURN OF THE LITTLE BOY MAN 131
SIXTEENTH THE FIRST BATTLE 139
SEVENTEENTH THE BELOVED OF THE SUN 147
EIGHTEENTH WOOD-CHOPPER AND BERRY-PICKER 155
NINETEENTH THE SON-IN-LAW 165
TWENTIETH THE COMRADES 175
TWENTY-FIRST THE LAUGH-MAKER 185
TWENTY-SECOND THE RUNAWAYS 193
TWENTY-THIRD THE GIRL WHO MARRIED THE STAR 203
TWENTY-FOURTH NORTH WIND AND STAR BOY 211
TWENTY-FIFTH THE TEN VIRGINS 221
TWENTY-SIXTH THE MAGIC ARROWS 231
TWENTY-SEVENTH THE GHOST-WIFE 243
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE STRANGER WATCHES THE LAUGH-MAKER AND THE BEARS _Frontispiece_
SMOKY DAY TELLING TALES OF OLD DAYS AROUND HIS FIRE 5
JUST THEN A FOX CREPT UP BEHIND THE CRANE 23
THE FALCON CHASES THE OLD DRAKE 43
"COME DOWN, FRIENDS!" CALLED THE RACCOON 54
SO THEY RAN AND THEY RAN OUT OF THE WOODS ON TO THE
SHINING WHITE BEACH 57
"I WOULD NOT TROUBLE YOU," SAID HE, "BUT MY LITTLE
FOLKS ARE STARVING" 67
"OH, THAT IS ONLY A BUNDLE OF OLD SONGS," REPLIED
UNKTOMEE 83
TANAGELA AND HER LITTLE BROTHER 91
WITH HIS LONG SPEAR HE STABBED EACH OF THE MONSTERS 129
HE CAME TO A LITTLE HUT WHERE LIVED AN OLD BEAR 162
"DO NOT SHOOT A WHITE DEER WHEN YOU SEE HIM COMING
TOWARD YOU" 171
THEY STOOD THUS WITH THEIR BEAKS TOUCHING OVER THE STREAM 200
STAR BOY ATTACKED BY HINHAN, THE OWL 215
SHE TOOK UP HANDSFUL OF ASHES TO THROW INTO THEIR FACES 227
HE OFFERED UP THE BODY AS A SACRIFICE 235
AT THE TOUCH OF HIS MAGIC ARROW, IT FELL AT HIS FEET 240
HE WAS ONCE SEEN WITH SEVERAL DEER ABOUT HIM, PETTING
AND HANDLING THEM 247
FIRST EVENING
THE BUFFALO AND THE FIELD-MOUSE
WIGWAM EVENINGS
FIRST EVENING
The cold December moon is just showing above the tree-tops, pointing a
white finger here and there at the clustered teepees of the Sioux, while
opposite their winter camp on the lake shore a lonely, wooded island is
spread like a black buffalo robe between the white, snow-covered ice and
the dull gray sky.
All by itself at the further end of the village stands the teepee of
Smoky Day, the old story-teller, the school-master of the woods. The
paths that lead to this low brown wigwam are well beaten; deep, narrow
trails, like sheep paths, in the hard-frozen snow.
To-night a generous fire of logs gives both warmth and light inside the
teepee, and the old man is calmly filling his long, red pipe for the
smoke of meditation, when the voices and foot-steps of several children
are distinctly heard through the stillness of the winter night.
The door-flap is raised, and the nine-year-old Tanagela, the
Humming-bird, slips in first, with her roguish black eyes and her shy
smile.
"Grandmother, we have come to hear a story," she murmurs. "I have
brought you a sun-dried buffalo-tongue, grandmother!"
[Illustration: SMOKY DAY TELLING TALES OF OLD DAYS AROUND HIS FIRE.
_Page 5_]
One by one the little people of the village follow her, and all seat
themselves on the ground about the central fire until the circle is well
filled. Then the old man lays down his pipe, clears his throat once or
twice and begins in a serious voice:
"These old stories for which you ask teach us the way of life, my
grandchildren. The Great-Grandfather of all made us all; therefore we
are brothers.
"In many of the stories the people have a common language, which now the
Great Mystery has taken away from us, and has put a barrier between us
and them, so that we can no longer converse together and understand the
speech of the animal people.
"Observe, further, that silence is greater than speech. This is why we
honor the animals, who are more silent than man, and we reverence the
trees and rocks, where the Great Mystery lives undisturbed, in a peace
that is never broken.
"Let no one ask a question until the story is finished."
THE BUFFALO AND THE FIELD-MOUSE
Once upon a time, when the Field-Mouse was out gathering wild beans for
the winter, his neighbor, the Buffalo, came down to graze in the meadow.
This the little Mouse did not like, for he knew that the other would mow
down all the long grass with his prickly tongue, and there would be no
place in which to hide. He made up his mind to offer battle like a man.
"Ho, Friend Buffalo, I challenge you to a fight!" he exclaimed in a
small, squeaking voice.
The Buffalo paid no attention, no doubt thinking it only a joke. The
Mouse angrily repeated the challenge, and still his enemy went on
quietly grazing. Then the little Mouse laughed with contempt as he
offered his defiance. The Buffalo at last looked at him and replied
carelessly:
"You had better keep still, little one, or I shall come over there and
step on you, and there will be nothing left!"
"You can't do it!" replied the Mouse.
"I tell you to keep still," insisted the Buffalo, who was getting angry.
"If you speak to me again, I shall certainly come and put an end to
you!"
"I dare you to do it!" said the Mouse, provoking him.
Thereupon the other rushed upon him. He trampled the grass clumsily and
tore up the earth with his front hoofs. When he had ended, he looked for
the Mouse, but he could not see him anywhere.
"I told you I would step on you, and there would be nothing left!" he
muttered.
Just then he felt a scratching inside his right ear. He shook his head
as hard as he could, and twitched his ears back and forth. The gnawing
went deeper and deeper until he was half wild with the pain. He pawed
with his hoofs and tore up the sod with his horns. Bellowing madly, he
ran as fast as he could, first straight forward and then in circles, but
at last he stopped and stood trembling. Then the Mouse jumped out of his
ear, and said:
"Will you own now that I am master?"
"No!" bellowed the Buffalo, and again he started toward the Mouse, as if
to trample him under his feet. The little fellow was nowhere to be seen,
but in a minute the Buffalo felt him in the other ear. Once more he
became wild with pain, and ran here and there over the prairie, at times
leaping high in the air. At last he fell to the ground and lay quite
still. The Mouse came out of his ear, and stood proudly upon his dead
body.
"Eho!" said he, "I have killed the greatest of all beasts. This will
show to all that I am master!"
Standing upon the body of the dead Buffalo, he called loudly for a knife
with which to dress his game.
In another part of the meadow, Red Fox, very hungry, was hunting mice
for his breakfast. He saw one and jumped upon him with all four feet,
but the little Mouse got away, and he was dreadfully disappointed.
All at once he thought he heard a distant call: "Bring a knife! Bring a
knife!"
When the second call came, Red Fox started in the direction of the
sound. At the first knoll he stopped and listened, but hearing nothing
more, he was about to go back. Just then he heard the call plainly, but
in a very thin voice, "Bring a knife!" Red Fox immediately set out
again and ran as fast as he could.
By and by he came upon the huge body of the Buffalo lying upon the
ground. The little Mouse still stood upon the body.
"I want you to dress this Buffalo for me and I will give you some of the
meat," commanded the Mouse.
"Thank you, my friend, I shall be glad to do this for you," he replied,
politely.
The Fox dressed the Buffalo, while the Mouse sat upon a mound near by,
looking on and giving his orders. "You must cut the meat into small
pieces," he said to the Fox. When the Fox had finished his work, the
Mouse paid him with a small piece of liver. He swallowed it quickly and
smacked his lips.
"Please, may I have another piece?" he asked quite humbly.
"Why, I gave you a very large piece! How greedy you are!" exclaimed the
Mouse. "You may have some of the blood clots," he sneered. So the poor
Fox took the blood clots and even licked off the grass. He was really
very hungry.
"Please may I take home a piece of the meat?" he begged. "I have six
little folks at home, and there is nothing for them to eat."
"You can take the four feet of the Buffalo. That ought to be enough for
all of you!"
"Hi, hi! Thank you, thank you!" said the Fox. "But, Mouse, I have a wife
also, and we have had bad luck in hunting. We are almost starved. Can't
you spare me a little more?"
"Why," declared the Mouse, "I have already overpaid you for the little
work you have done. However, you can take the head, too!"
Thereupon the Fox jumped upon the Mouse, who gave one faint squeak and
disappeared.
_If you are proud and selfish you will lose all in the end._
SECOND EVENING
THE FROGS AND THE CRANE
SECOND EVENING
Again the story-hour is come, and the good old wife of the legend-teller
has made her poor home as warm and pleasant as may be, in expectation of
their guests. She is proud of her husband's honorable position as the
village teacher, and makes all the children welcome, as they arrive,
with her shrill-voiced, cheerful greeting:
"Han, han; sit down, sit down; that is right, that is very right, my
grandchild!"
To-night the Humming-bird has come leading by the hand her small
brother, who stumbles along in his fringed, leathern leggings and
handsomely beaded moccasins, his chubby, solemn face finished off with
two long, black braids tied with strips of otter-skin. As he is inclined
to be restless and to talk out of season, she keeps him close beside
her.
"It is cold to-night!" he pipes up suddenly when all is quiet. "Why do
we not listen to these stories in the warm summer-time, elder sister?"
"Hush, my little brother!" Tanagela reproves him with a frightened look.
"Have you never heard that if the old stories are told in summer, the
snakes will creep into our beds?" she whispers fearfully.
"That is true, my granddaughter," assents the old man. "Yet we may tell
a legend of summer days to comfort the heart of the small brother!"
THE FROGS AND THE CRANE
In the heart of the woods there lay a cool, green pond. The shores of
the pond were set with ranks of tall bulrushes that waved crisply in
the wind, and in the shallow bays there were fleets of broad water lily
leaves. Among the rushes and reeds and in the quiet water there dwelt a
large tribe of Frogs.
On every warm night of spring, the voices of the Frogs arose in a
cheerful chorus. Some voices were low and deep--these were the oldest
and wisest of the Frogs; at least, they were old enough to have learned
wisdom. Some were high and shrill, and these were the voices of the
little Frogs who did not like to be reminded of the days when they had
tails and no legs.
"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!" croaked a very large
bullfrog, sitting in the shade of a water lily leaf.
"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!" replied a hoarse voice from
the opposite bank.
"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!" boasted a third old Frog
from the furthest shore of the pond.
Now a long-legged white Crane was standing near by, well hidden by the
coarse grass that grew at the water's edge. He was very hungry that
evening, and when he heard the deep voice of the first Bullfrog he
stepped briskly up to him and made a quick pass under the broad leaf
with his long, cruel bill. The old Frog gave a frightened croak, and
kicked violently in his efforts to get away, while over the quiet pond,
splash! splash! went the startled little Frogs into deep water.
The Crane almost had him, when something cold and slimy wound itself
about one of his legs. He drew back for a second, and the Frog got
safely away! But the Crane did not lose his dinner after all, for about
his leg was curled a large black water snake, and that made a fair
meal.
Now he rested awhile on one leg, and listened. The first Frog was
silent, but from the opposite bank the second Frog croaked boastfully:
"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!"
The Crane began to be hungry again. He went round the pond without
making any noise, and pounced upon the second Frog, who was sitting up
in plain sight, swelling his chest with pride, for he really thought now
that he was the sole chief of the pond.
The Crane's head and most of his long neck disappeared under the water,
and all over the pond the little Frogs went splash! splash! into the
deepest holes to be out of the way.
Just as he had the Frog by one hind leg, the Crane saw something that
made him let go, flap his broad wings and fly awkwardly away to the
furthest shore. It was a mink, with his slender brown body and wicked
eyes, and he had crept very close to the Crane, hoping to seize him at
his meal! So the second Frog got away too; but he was so dreadfully
frightened that he never spoke again.
After a long time the Crane got over his fright and he became very
hungry once more. The pond had been still so long that many of the Frogs
were singing their pleasant chorus, and above them all there boomed the
deep voice of the third and last Bullfrog, saying:
"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!"
The Crane stood not far from the boaster, and he determined to silence
him once for all. The next time he began to speak, he had barely said
"Kerrump!" when the Crane had him by the leg. He croaked and struggled
in vain, and in another moment he would have gone down the Crane's long
throat.
[Illustration]
But just then a Fox crept up behind the Crane and seized _him_! The
Crane let go the Frog and was carried off screaming into the woods for
the Fox's supper. So the third Frog got away; but he was badly lamed by
the Crane's strong bill, and he never dared to open his mouth again.
_It is not a wise thing to boast too loudly._
THIRD EVENING
THE EAGLE AND THE BEAVER
THIRD EVENING
"No, elder sister, it is not for a hunter and a brave to fetch wood for
the lodge fire! That is woman's task, and it is not right that you
should ask it of me."
"But see, my younger brother, you are only a small boy and can neither
hunt nor fight; surely, therefore, it is well for you to help our mother
at home!"
The two children, Wasula and Chatanna, as they draw near the old
story-teller's wigwam, are carrying on a dispute that has arisen between
them earlier in the evening, when dry sticks were to be gathered for
cooking the supper, and Chatanna, aged seven, refused to help his
sister on the ground that it is not a warrior's duty to provide wood.
Both appeal to their teacher to settle the question.
"Hun, hun, hay!" good-naturedly exclaims the old man. "Truly, there is
much to be said on both sides; but perhaps you can agree more easily
after you have heard my story."
THE EAGLE AND THE BEAVER
Out of the quiet blue sky there shot like an arrow the great War-eagle.
Beside the clear brown stream an old Beaver-woman was busily chopping
wood. Yet she was not too busy to catch the whir of descending wings,
and the Eagle reached too late the spot where she had vanished in the
midst of the shining pool.
He perched sullenly upon a dead tree near by and kept his eyes steadily
upon the smooth sheet of water above the dam.
After a time the water was gently stirred and a sleek, brown head
cautiously appeared above it.
"What right have you," reproached the Beaver-woman, "to disturb thus the
mother of a peaceful and hard-working people?"
"Ugh, I am hungry," the Eagle replied shortly.
"Then why not do as we do--let other folks alone and work for a living?"
"That is all very well for you," the Eagle retorted, "but not everybody
can cut down trees with his teeth, or live upon bark and weeds in a
mud-plastered wigwam. I am a warrior, not an old woman!"
"It is true that some people are born trouble-makers," returned the
Beaver, quietly. "Yet I see no good reason why you, as well as we,
should not be content with plain fare and willing to toil for what you
want. My work, moreover, is of use to others besides myself and family,
for with my dam-building I deepen the stream for the use of all the
dwellers therein, while you are a terror to all living creatures that
are weaker than yourself. You would do well to profit by my example."
So saying, she dove down again to the bottom of the pool.
The Eagle waited patiently for a long time, but he saw nothing more of
her; and so, in spite of his contempt for the harmless industry of an
old Beaver-woman, it was he, not she, who was obliged to go hungry that
morning.
_Pride alone will not fill the stomach._
FOURTH EVENING
THE WAR-PARTY
FOURTH EVENING
There is no greater rudeness than to interrupt a story-teller, even by
the slightest movement. All Sioux children are drilled in this rule of
behavior, as in many others, from their earliest babyhood, and old Smoky
Day has seldom to complain of any lack of attention. Even Teona and
Waola, active boys of eleven and twelve, and already daring hunters,
would be ashamed to draw upon themselves by word or motion the reproving
looks of their mates. A disturbance so serious as to deserve the notice
of the old teacher himself would disgrace them all!
"Although we shall hear again of the animal people," he begins
pleasantly but with due gravity, "and even of some who are not animals
at all, we must remember that each of these warriors of whom I shall
tell you really represents a man, and the special weakness of each
should remind us to inquire of our own weakness. In this life, it is
often the slow one who wins in the end; and this we shall now see!"
THE WAR-PARTY
One day the Turtle made ready to go upon the war-path. His comrades who
wished to go with him were Live Coals, Ashes, the Bulrush, the
Grasshopper, the Dragonfly and the Pickerel. All seven warriors went on
in good spirits to the first camp, where a strong wind arose in the
early morning and blew the Ashes away.
"Iho!" exclaimed the others, "this one was no warrior!"
The six kept on their way, and the second day they came to a river.
There Live Coals perished at the crossing. "S-s-s," he said, and was
gone!
"Ah!" declared the five, "it is easy to see that he could not fight!"
On the further side of the river they looked back, and saw that the
Bulrush had stayed behind. He stood still and waved his hand to the
others, who grumbled among themselves, saying:
"He was no true brave, that one!"
The four who were left went on till they came to a swampy place, and
there the Grasshopper stuck fast. In his struggles to get out of the bog
he pulled both legs off, and so there were only three to go upon the
war-path!
The Dragonfly mourned for his friend. He cried bitterly, and finally
blew his nose so hard that his slender neck broke in two.
"Ah!" declared the other two, "we are better off without those feeble
ones!"
The Pickerel and the Turtle, being left alone, advanced bravely into the
country of the enemy. At the head of the lake they were met and quickly
surrounded. The Pickerel escaped by swimming, but the Turtle, that slow
one, was caught!
They took him to the village, and there the head men held a council to
decide what should be done with him.
"We will build a fire and roast him alive in the midst of it," one
proposed.
"Hi-i-i!" the Turtle shrilled his war-cry. "That is the brave death I
would choose! I shall trample the fire, and scatter live coals among the
people!"
"No," declared another, "we will boil water and throw him into the pot!"
"Hi-i-i!" again cried the Turtle. "I shall dance in the boiling pot,
and clouds of steam will arise to blind the eyes of the people!"
The counsellors looked doubtfully at one another, and at last one said:
"Why not carry him out to the middle of the lake and drown him?"
Then the Turtle drew in his head and became silent.
"Alas!" he groaned, "that is the only death I fear!"
So the people took him in a canoe, and rowed out to the middle of the
lake. There they dropped him in, and he sank like a stone!
But the next minute he came up to the top of the water and again uttered
his war-cry.
"Hi-i-i!" he cried. "Now I am at home!" And he dived and swam wherever
he would.
This story teaches us that _patience and quick wit are better than
speed_.
FIFTH EVENING
THE FALCON AND THE DUCK
FIFTH EVENING
The boaster is a well-known character in every Indian village; and it is
quite plain from the number of stories warning us against self-praise,
that the wise men of the tribe have not been slow to discover and point
out this weakness of their people.
The stories told by Smoky Day are seldom without a moral, and we may be
sure that the children are not sent to him only to be entertained, but
also to learn and profit by the stored-up wisdom of the past. Moreover,
they are expected afterward to repeat the tales in the family circle,
and there is much rivalry among the little folks as to who shall tell
them best. Teona has a good memory and ready wit, and his versions are
commonly received with approval, but it happens that little Tanagela,
his cousin, has just won a triumph by her sprightly way of telling the
fourth evening's tale of the seven warriors. The little maid listens
to-night with burning cheeks and shining eyes, eager to repeat her
success with the pretty story of
THE FALCON AND THE DUCK
The wintry winds had already begun to whistle and the waves to rise when
the Drake and his mate gathered their half-grown brood together on the
shores of their far northern lake.
"Wife," said he, "it is now time to take the children southward, to the
Warm Countries which they have never yet seen!"
Very early the next morning they set out on their long journey, forming
a great V against the sky in their flight. The mother led her flock and
the father brought up the rear, keeping a sharp lookout for stragglers.
[Illustration]
All day they flew high in the keen air, over wide prairies and great
forests of northern pine, until toward evening they saw below them a
chain of lakes, glittering like a string of dark-blue stones. Swinging
round in a half circle, they dropped lower and lower, ready to alight
and rest upon the smooth surface of the nearest lake.
Suddenly their leader heard a whizz sound like that of a bullet as it
cuts the air, and she quickly gave the warning: "Honk! honk! Danger,
danger!" All descended in dizzy spirals, but as the great Falcon swooped
toward them with upraised wing, the ducklings scattered wildly hither
and thither. The old Drake came last, and it was he who was struck!
"Honk, honk!" cried all the Ducks in terror, and for a minute the air
was full of soft downy feathers like flakes of snow. But the force of
the blow was lost upon the well-cushioned body of the Drake, he soon got
over his fright and went on his way southward with his family, while the
Falcon dropped heavily to the water's edge with a broken wing.
There he stayed and hunted mice as best he could from day to day,
sleeping at night in a hollow log to be out of the way of the Fox and
the Weasel. All the wit he had was not too much whereby to keep himself
alive through the long, hard winter.
Toward spring, however, the Falcon's wing had healed and he could fly a
little, though feebly. The sun rose higher and higher in the blue
heavens, and the Ducks began to return to their cool northern home.
Every day a flock or two flew over the lake; but the Falcon dared not
charge upon the flocks, much as he wished to do so. He was weak with
hunger, and afraid to trust to the strength of the broken wing.
One fine day a chattering flock of Mallards alighted quite near him,
cooling their glossy breasts upon the gentle rippling wave.
"Here, children," boasted an old Drake, "is the very spot where your
father was charged upon last autumn by a cruel Falcon! I can tell you
that it took all my skill and quickness in dodging to save my life. Best
of all, our fierce enemy dropped to the ground with a broken wing!
Doubtless he is long since dead of starvation, or else a Fox or a Mink
has made a meal of the wicked creature!"
By these words the Falcon knew his old enemy, and his courage returned.
"Nevertheless, I am still here!" he exclaimed, and darted like a flash
upon the unsuspecting old Drake, who was resting and telling of his
exploit and narrow escape with the greatest pride and satisfaction.
"Honk! honk!" screamed all the Ducks, and they scattered and whirled
upward like the dead leaves in autumn; but the Falcon with sure aim
selected the old Drake and gave swift chase. Round and round in dizzy
spirals they swung together, till with a quick spurt the Falcon struck
the shining, outstretched neck of the other, and snapped it with one
powerful blow of his reunited wing.
_Do not exult too soon; nor is it wise to tell of your brave deeds
within the hearing of your enemy._
SIXTH EVENING
THE RACCOON AND THE BEE-TREE
SIXTH EVENING
"Ho, Chatanna," says the old story-teller, pleasantly, "I see that you
have brought Mato, the Bear, with you to-night! I hope he will be good
and not disturb the other scholars."
"Grandfather," says Chatanna, earnestly, "he will be good. He obeys me,
and is never troublesome like some pets. He will lie quietly here by me
and listen to the story!"
All the children range themselves around the brightly burning fire, the
little boys sitting cross-legged, and the girls sideways, like demure
little women.
Although they do not know it yet, there is a special treat in store for
them all this evening. The story is one in which feasting plays a part,
and whenever good things to eat come into a story, it is a pleasant
custom of the Sioux to offer some delicacy.
The good old wife of the teacher has prepared a kettle full of her
choicest wild rice, dark in color but of a flavor to be remembered, and
a generous dish of boiled rice sprinkled with maple-sugar is passed to
each child, (and doubtless shared with Mato by his loving friend,) at
the close of the story about
THE RACCOON AND THE BEE-TREE
The Raccoon had been asleep all day in the snug hollow of a tree. The
dusk was coming on when he awoke, stretched himself once or twice, and
jumping down from the top of the tall, dead stump in which he made his
home, set out to look for his supper.
In the midst of the woods there was a lake, and all along the lake shore
there rang out the alarm cries of the water people as the Raccoon came
nearer and nearer.
First the Swan gave a scream of warning. The Crane repeated the cry, and
from the very middle of the lake the Loon, swimming low, took it up and
echoed it back over the still water.
The Raccoon sped merrily on, and finding no unwary bird that he could
seize he picked up a few mussel-shells from the beach, cracked them
neatly and ate the sweet meat.
A little further on, as he was leaping hither and thither through the
long, tangled meadow grass, he landed with all four feet on a family of
Skunks--father, mother and twelve little ones, who were curled up sound
asleep in a soft bed of broken dry grass.
"Huh!" exclaimed the father Skunk. "What do you mean by this, eh?" And
he stood looking at him defiantly.
[Illustration]
"Oh, excuse me, excuse me," begged the Raccoon. "I am very sorry. I did
not mean to do it! I was just running along and I did not see you at
all."
"Better be careful where you step next time," grumbled the Skunk, and
the Raccoon was glad to hurry on.
Running up a tall tree he came upon two red Squirrels in one nest, but
before he could get his paws upon one of them they were scolding angrily
from the topmost bough.
"Come down, friends!" called the Raccoon. "What are you doing up there?
Why, I wouldn't harm you for anything!"
"Ugh, you can't fool us," chattered the Squirrels, and the Raccoon went
on.
Deep in the woods, at last, he found a great hollow tree which attracted
him by a peculiar sweet smell. He sniffed and sniffed, and went round
and round till he saw something trickling down a narrow crevice. He
tasted it and it was deliciously sweet.
He ran up the tree and down again, and at last found an opening into
which he could thrust his paw. He brought it out covered with honey!
Now the Raccoon was happy. He ate and scooped, and scooped and ate the
golden, trickling honey with both forepaws till his pretty, pointed face
was daubed all over.
Suddenly he tried to get a paw into his ear. Something hurt him terribly
just then, and the next minute his sensitive nose was frightfully stung.
He rubbed his face with both sticky paws. The sharp stings came thicker
and faster, and he wildly clawed the air. At last he forgot to hold on
to the branch any longer, and with a screech he tumbled to the ground.
There he rolled and rolled on the dead leaves till he was covered with
leaves from head to foot, for they stuck to his fine, sticky fur, and
most of all they covered his eyes and his striped face. Mad with fright
and pain he dashed through the forest calling to some one of his own
kind to come to his aid.
[Illustration: SO THEY RAN AND THEY RAN OUT OF THE WOODS ON TO THE
SHINING WHITE BEACH.]
The moon was now bright, and many of the woods people were abroad. A
second Raccoon heard the call and went to meet it. But when he saw a
frightful object plastered with dry leaves racing madly toward him he
turned and ran for his life, for he did not know what this thing might
be.
The Raccoon who had been stealing the honey ran after him as fast as he
could, hoping to overtake and beg the other to help him get rid of his
leaves.
So they ran and they ran out of the woods on to the shining white beach
around the lake. Here a Fox met them, but after one look at the queer
object which was chasing the frightened Raccoon he too turned and ran at
his best speed.
Presently a young Bear came loping out of the wood and sat up on his
haunches to see them go by. But when he got a good look at the Raccoon
who was plastered with dead leaves, he scrambled up a tree to be out of
the way.
By this time the poor Raccoon was so frantic that he scarcely knew what
he was doing. He ran up the tree after the Bear and got hold of his
tail.
"Woo, woo!" snarled the Bear, and the Raccoon let go. He was tired out
and dreadfully ashamed. He did now what he ought to have done at the
very first--he jumped into the lake and washed off most of the leaves.
Then he got back to his hollow tree and curled himself up and licked and
licked his soft fur till he had licked himself clean, and then he went
to sleep.
_The midnight hunter steals at his own risk._
SEVENTH EVENING
THE BADGER AND THE BEAR
SEVENTH EVENING
The night is cold and clear, with a full moon overhead, and soon after
supper Tanagela appears in her snug doeskin gown and warm robe of the
same, tanned with the hair on, drawing her little brother in a great
turtle-shell over the crusty snow.
Old Smoky Day laughs heartily at the sight, standing just outside his
teepee door to watch for the coming of the children. Nor is this all,
for in the wake of this pair comes another dragging a rude sled made of
a buffalo's ribs, well covered with soft furs, while still another has
borrowed his mother's large raw-hide for the occasion. After their
frolicsome ride through the brightly lighted village, they are all in a
happy mood, ready to listen to the interesting story of
THE BADGER AND THE BEAR
The Badger lived in a little house under the hill and it was warm and
snug. Here, too, lived mother Badger and the little Badgers, and they
were fat and merry, for the gray old Badger was a famous hunter. Folks
said he must have a magic art in making arrows, since he never failed to
bring in meat enough and to spare!
One day, father Badger stayed at home to make new arrows. His wife was
busy slicing and drying the meat left over from the hunt of the day
before, while the little ones played at hide-and-go-seek about the
lodge.
All at once, a big, clumsy shape darkened the low doorway. The children
hid their faces in fear, but father Badger got up and welcomed the
stranger kindly. He was a large black Bear. His shaggy skin hung
loosely, and his little red eyes turned hungrily on the strips of good
meat hung up to dry.
"Ho! Be seated, friend!" said the old Badger. He lighted and passed the
long pipe, while his wife at once broiled a thick slice of savory
venison over the coals and offered it to their guest in a wooden basin.
The Bear ate like a starving man, and soon after he had eaten he
shuffled away.
Next day the Bear came again, and on the day after, and for many days.
At each visit he was invited to eat, according to the custom, and
feasted well by the Badger, skilful hunter and generous host.
After many days the Bear came one morning looking fat and sleek, and he
had brought with him his whole family. Growling savagely, he rudely
turned the Badger family out of their comfortable lodge, well stored
with good food and soft robes. Even the magic arrows of father Badger
were left behind. Crying bitterly, the homeless Badgers went off into
the woods to seek another place of shelter. That night they slept cold
under a great rock, and the children went supperless to bed, for the
Badger could not hunt without his arrows.
All the next day and for several days after he wandered through the
forest looking for game, but found none. One night, the children were so
hungry and cried so hard, that the poor old father at last said:
"Well, then, I must beg for you!"
So he crept back to his old home, where the Bear family now lived and
grew fat. Standing in the doorway, he begged quite humbly for a small
piece of meat.
"I would not trouble you," said he, "but my little folks are starving!"
[Illustration]
However, the Bear got up and turned him angrily out-of-doors, while the
ill-natured little Bears chuckled and laughed to see how thin and hungry
he looked!
All laughed but one, and that one was the smallest and ugliest of the
cubs, who had always been teased and abused by the others. He was sorry
for the poor Badger, and when no one was looking he slyly stole a piece
of his mother's meat and threw it into their hut, and then ran home
again.
This happened several times, and now the family of Badgers were only
kept from starving by the gifts of the kind-hearted little Bear.
At last came the Avenger, who sprang from a drop of innocent blood. He
is very tall, strong and beautiful, and is feared by all wrong-doers.
The Bear saw him coming and began to tremble. He at once called to the
Badger, who was not far off, and invited him to come and eat.
But the Avenger came first! Then the Bear called upon his wife and
children to follow him, and took to his heels. He ran as fast as he
could, looking over his shoulder from time to time, for he was really
terribly frightened. He never came back any more, and the Badger family
returned and joyfully possessed their old home.
_There is no meanness like ingratitude._
EIGHTH EVENING
THE GOOD-LUCK TOKEN
EIGHTH EVENING
"Ah, Teona, I saw you out to-day with your new bow and arrows! I hope
you have not been hasty to display your skill with the new weapons to
the injury of any harmless creature," says old Smoky Day, gravely, as
the boy hunter arrives quite out of breath.
"You have been told," he adds, "that the animals long ago agreed to
sacrifice their lives for ours, when we are in need of food or of skins
for garments, but that we are forbidden to kill for sport alone."
"Why, grandfather," the boy admits, "I followed a gray squirrel from
tree to tree, and shot at him more than once, but he always dodged the
arrow in time!"
"And were you then hungry? did you have any use for the little fellow if
you had killed him?" the old man persists. "There was once a squirrel
who made a treaty of peace with a little boy like you. I will tell you
his story to-night."
THE GOOD-LUCK TOKEN
There was once an old couple who lived quite alone with their little
grandson in the midst of a great wood.
They were wretchedly poor, for the old man was now growing too weak to
hunt, and often came home at night empty-handed. The old woman dug roots
and gathered berries for food; but alas! her eyesight was no longer
good, and there were sometimes whole days when there was nothing in the
lodge to eat.
One day the boy became very hungry, and he said to his grandfather:
"Grandfather, only make me a bow and some arrows, and I will hunt for us
all!"
The first time he went out into the forest with his bow and arrows he
met with a Chickadee, who said to him:
"Shoot me! I am willing to give my life to satisfy your hunger."
The boy shot and took home the tiny bird, and when he threw it down
before his grandmother it was no longer a Chickadee, but a fine, fat
Partridge, and the poor old folks were overcome with joy.
"Ah, ah, my grandson!" they cried. "You are indeed a hunter!"
The next day, when he went out to hunt, the boy walked a long way
without seeing any game. At last he thought he heard somebody laughing
in the depths of the forest.
The laughter sounded nearer and nearer as he walked on. By and by he was
sure he heard some person talking to himself, and in the end he could
actually make out the words, although he saw no one.
"Ha, ha," chirrupped the gay voice, "I am surely the luckiest creature
alive! I leap and flit all day long from bough to bough. I am quick as a
flash, so that I can easily escape my enemies. In my free and happy life
there is but one thing I fear, and that is a boy's blunt-headed arrow!"
When the boy heard this, he advanced boldly, and his quick eyes made out
a snug wigwam in the hollow of a great tree. He peeped in, and saw that
the house was warm and well stored with nuts of all kinds. Its little
owner sat flirting his bushy tail in the corner, upon a bed of dry
leaves; but as soon as he spied the boy, he ran past him with a scream
of fright and scampered off among the thick woods.
The boy followed as fast as he could, and after a long chase he tired
out and overtook the Squirrel, who sat coughing and grunting upon the
bough of a tree just above his head.
"Boy," he exclaimed, "only spare my life, and you shall have a charm
that will make you a successful hunter as long as you live!"
The boy agreed, and the Squirrel took him back to his own wigwam, where
he filled the little fellow's bag with nuts from his pile.
"These," said he, "are all lucky nuts, and if you put one of them in
your pouch when you go out to hunt, you will surely kill a Bear!"
This the boy did, and to the great joy of the poor old folks he became a
famous hunter, so that from that time on they never wanted meat in
their lodge.
Do not harm your weaker brothers, for even a little Squirrel may be the
bearer of good fortune!
NINTH EVENING
UNKTOMEE AND HIS BUNDLE OF SONGS
NINTH EVENING
"Now, my grandchildren," says Smoky Day, "I shall tell you of one who is
well known in the wonder-world of our people. He is a great traveller,
seems to know everybody, and is always good-natured, but he is also a
shameless boaster and plays many tricks upon those he meets on the road.
No one is so wise and cunning as Unktomee, the Spider; and yet he likes
to appear as simple and innocent as a child!
"His adventures are many. Sometimes he gets the better of the animal
people, and again they may succeed in outwitting him, so that he is well
laughed at for his trouble! We may all learn from these stories of
Unktomee and his sly tricks how to be on our guard against those
deceitful ones who come to us in the guise of friends."
UNKTOMEE AND HIS BUNDLE OF SONGS
It was a bright, sunshiny day, and the flocks of Ducks flying northward
had all stopped to rest beside a little lake, and were splashing and
paddling about in the cool water. They were happy and very noisy, but
suddenly they ceased their cries and calls and became quite silent, for
a queer figure was seen coming toward them along the curve of the beach.
It was the figure of a strange little old man, bent nearly double under
a huge load of something that looked like dry grass.
"Quack, quack!" said one of the boldest of the Ducks, as the old man
drew near with his burden. "What have you there?"
"Oh, that is only a bundle of old songs," replied Unktomee with a smile;
for it was that sly one, that maker of mischief!
[Illustration]
Thereupon the Ducks took courage, and quacked and fluttered all about
him, crying:
"Sing us an old song, Unktomee!"
Willingly Unktomee threw down his load upon the lake shore, and with the
utmost good nature began to build a little teepee of sticks, thatching
it with the dry grass. In a few minutes it was done, and he kindly
invited the ducks to enter.
With rustling wings and shining feathers they crowded into the little
teepee until it could hold no more.
Unktomee was there, too. He stayed by the door, and began to sing:
"Ishtogmus wachee po!
Tuwa etowan kin
Ishtah ne sha kta!
(Dance with your eyes shut!
Whoever looks shall have red eyes!)"
Every one of the foolish Ducks shut his eyes tight, and Unktomee, as he
sang, quietly seized one after another by the neck as they danced in a
ring around the teepee, wrung their necks quickly and cast them behind
them. Not one had a chance to squawk, so cleverly was the work done,
and there would soon have been none to listen to the old songs!
But after a little a small Duck slyly opened his eyes, and saw Unktomee
wringing the necks of his friends.
"Fly! Fly!" he exclaimed in terror. "He is killing us all!"
So all the Ducks that were left alive rose up with a mighty rush of
wings and a loud clamor of voices. The grass teepee fell to pieces, and
the lucky ones flew away; but lying on the ground beside Unktomee were
enough fat Ducks for a fine feast!
And the little Duck that peeped forever after had red eyes!
* * * * *
The children liked this story very much, but it was shorter than usual.
"Tell us about the feast!" they cried. "Tell us about the feast of
Unktomee!" So old Smoky Day began again:
Now Unktomee wished to make a feast. The first thing he did was to stand
and cry aloud:
"Chagah aoo po-o-o! (Somebody bring me a kettle!)"
He called and called for a long time. At last somebody appeared with the
kettle. It was the Fox, who was carrying it in his mouth. Unktomee
thanked him carelessly, and after waiting awhile, the Fox went sadly
away again.
Then Unktomee dressed the Ducks whose necks he had wrung, built a fire,
fetched water and put them on to boil. But he was tired as well as
hungry, and while his dinner was cooking, he thought he might as well
take a nap. So he lay down in the warm sand near by, first telling his
Face to be on the watch and to twitch if any one came, so as to awaken
him.
While Unktomee slept, the Fox returned with a friend. Unktomee's Face
did not twitch as it had been told to do, for the Foxes stroked it very
gently, and told it to be quiet. Having done this, they quietly ate
every bit of the rich meat, and put the bones back into the pot.
When at last Unktomee yawned and awoke, he was very hungry indeed. He
looked to see whether his dinner was ready, and found nothing in the
kettle except bones!
"Ah! the Ducks have boiled too long," he said to himself. "The meat will
all be in the bottom of the pot."
When he discovered that the bones had been picked clean, he was very
angry, and scolded his Face severely for not awakening him in time.
_He who deceives others may himself be caught some day._
TENTH EVENING
UNKTOMEE AND THE ELK
[Illustration: TANAGELA AND HER LITTLE BROTHER.]
TENTH EVENING
"Tell us another story of Unktomee, grandfather!" cry several of the
children, as soon as they are inside the old story-teller's wigwam on
the tenth evening.