warriors, of whom the principal ones were the Bear, Wolf, Wildcat and
Bison. The Swallow served as messenger to the birds, and the swift Trout
carried the news to the finny tribes, for all were to join in this
war.
With the gray dawn came the Wolf's long howl, the first war-whoop,
breaking the silence and peace of the world.
When the sun rose, dancing for an instant upon the sharp edge of the
sky, one after another all of the animals joined in the great war-cry,
with bellowings and screechings of the larger beasts, the barking of
Wolves, the hissing of Snakes, and the shrill cries of the feathered
ones, of whom the Crane and the Loon were loudest.
The Boy Man stood erect on the top of the wall, and saw the warriors
coming from all directions, as far as the eye could reach. On they came,
with a mighty thunder of hoofs and a trampling of many feet! Overhead
that great war-chief of the air, the Eagle, commanded his winged forces,
while from below the creepers and crawlers began to scale the lofty
defences of the Boy Man. There he stood alone, and fearlessly let fly
hundreds of sharp arrows, of which every one found its mark, until the
ground was choked with the fallen.
Presently there descended upon him great hosts of the smaller winged
people, who also had been provided with sharp and poisonous weapons.
Against these his Elder Brother had forgotten to warn him; but now he
was told in haste to strike two flints together and to catch the spark
that should come in the dry fallen leaves. Soon a great cloud of smoke
and flames arose toward heaven, not only driving off the little winged
warriors, but forcing the whole body of the enemy to retreat in
confusion, for they had never seen fire before, and to this day it is
feared by all and used by man only.
Thus the animals were convinced that Man is their master. When they sued
for peace, all agreed to give him of their flesh for food and their
skins for clothing, while he on his side promised never to kill any
wantonly. The Boy Man further agreed that they might keep their weapons
to use in their own defence. This was the first treaty made upon earth.
SEVENTEENTH EVENING
THE BELOVED OF THE SUN
SEVENTEENTH EVENING
"Grandfather, is not the night beautiful after the long storm?" whispers
Tanagela shyly. "The moon always seems to me like a beautiful woman, for
she often hides her round, shining face with a blanket of cloud, and
sometimes she even runs away from us altogether, as if she were tired or
displeased. But to-night she smiles and uncovers her face, so that all
the young men are out, each playing upon his flute near the home of the
loved one!"
The little maid does not often make so long a speech, and she too hides
her face as she comes to the end. But Grandfather smiles indulgently
upon his favorite, as he answers:
"And did you not know, then, that she is a woman, my granddaughter?
Truly it is time that I told you of these things!"
THE BELOVED OF THE SUN
There was once a man and his wife and two children who had gone away
from the rest of the tribe and were living by themselves. One day the
man went out hunting as usual, but evening came and he did not return.
The next day his wife went to look for him, and neither did she come
back to the lodge.
Thus it came about that the young brother and sister were left alone,
but they were not unhappy. The boy was a strong and well-grown lad, and
he brought home abundance of meat, while the girl cooked his food,
tanned the skins and made all of their moccasins and clothing.
They had been living thus for many moons, when very early one morning,
soon after her brother had left her for the hunt, the girl's eyes were
dazzled by a sudden flash of light, and at the same instant a tall and
beautiful young man entered the lodge. She thought at first that her
brother had come back, so great was the likeness; but he did not act
like him, for his manner was that of a suitor. He remained for some
time, but left before the brother returned.
Now the young man saw at once that his sister seemed to be troubled and
embarrassed about something. He questioned her, and she hung her head in
silence. Three times this happened, and on the third day she told him
all.
"To-morrow," said he, "I will set out as usual early in the morning, but
I shall not go far. If your visitor comes, keep him until I return."
Accordingly the next day the brother went a little way from home and hid
himself in a hollow tree from which he could watch their dwelling. Soon
after the girl's lover appeared, he returned to the lodge and at once
fell upon the stranger, for he was very angry.
For some time they wrestled together in silence, and neither was able to
gain the mastery over the other. Finally, however, the brother felt that
he was being overcome, and he cried out:
"Sister, help, help!"
The girl did not know what to do, but she seized her axe and was about
to strike one of the young men when he cried out:
"Take care, sister!"
Then she raised her axe against the other, but he too exclaimed: "Take
care, sister!"
She became more and more bewildered, for the two looked so much alike
that it was impossible to tell which one was really her brother.
At last, however, she made up her mind to strike at the stranger, but
like a flash of light he eluded her and spoke:
"My friend, do not try to resist me any longer! I came not to harm you
or this maiden, but to make her my wife! Know that I am the Sun, and she
shall be the Moon and rule over the night if she will come with me!"
"Upon this the maiden yielded and went with him," said Grandfather; "but
you see that she will not shine every night, for she was only a mortal
maiden and is soon wearied. You know we call the Sun our Grandfather and
the Moon Grandmother, and we also believe that the Stars are their
children. Some time I shall tell you how a Star, too, loved an earthly
maid."
EIGHTEENTH EVENING
WOOD-CHOPPER AND BERRY-PICKER
EIGHTEENTH EVENING
"A long time ago," says the old story-teller, "man was nearer the animal
people than he is to-day; they even spoke the same language and seemed
to understand one another perfectly. Sometimes he loved and married
among them, but his children were not so good and noble as the first
man. There was something of the animal in them.
"There are many stories of this sort, but some of them are long and hard
to understand. Perhaps you have heard of Tidoona and Tankadoona, the
Indoor One and the Outdoor One, in which the little boy is half-brother
to a Bear cub and they meet and play together in secret. To-night,
however, I will tell you another story."
WOOD-CHOPPER AND BERRY-PICKER
In the old days, when men and animals spoke one language, a young man
who had grown tired of living alone set out to look for a wife. He had
not travelled far when he came to a stream of clear water which had been
dammed to make a small, round pond. On the shore of the pond was a neat,
dome-shaped lodge, and just outside the lodge a pretty woman was busily
chopping wood.
The young man stood for some time watching her from behind a tree. Being
pleased with her looks and especially with her industry, he presently
showed himself, and the girl, whose name was Beaver-woman, received him
so kindly that in a short time they had decided to marry and go to
house-keeping.
When their little boy came, the proud father wished to take him back and
show him to his own people, but to this his wife would not consent.
"If you must return," said she, "very well; but we cannot go with you!"
So the young man, who had a great longing to see again the faces of his
kinsfolk, left them behind and journeyed to his father's village. He
made them a short visit, and then hastened back to his own home.
Alas, there was no home there! The lodge was destroyed, the dam broken,
the pond itself gone, the singing brook was only a thin trickle of
water, and his wife and son were nowhere to be found!
The unhappy young man lay upon the ground, mourning for his lost wife
and little boy, until a handsome young woman dressed all in black came
out of the woods. She supposed that he must be faint for want of food,
so she brought him sweet roots and berries. When he had eaten, she
kindly combed his hair and washed his face, and after he was refreshed,
she comforted him with loving words and caresses, so that he soon forgot
the Beaver-woman and took her to be his wife.
Together they went to look for a home. The young man chose a beautiful
open spot overlooking much country, but his wife, whose name was
Berry-Picker, laughed at him, saying:
"Our people never live in such an open place as that!"
She chose a sheltered spot at the foot of the hill, and there they began
to hollow out a comfortable dwelling under the upturned roots of an old
fallen tree.
When Berry-Picker, the Bear wife, sent her husband out to look for
bedding, he brought in much dry grass; but the Bear wife reproved him,
saying:
"Why, husband! you expose our home to the eyes of all!"
All about their lodge were bare spots where he had pulled the grass, so
they had to find a new place in which to live.
At last the pair were snug and warm for the winter, and as it was now
time to go to sleep, they did so, and slept until they were aroused by
the barking of a Dog and the footsteps of a hunter on the crisp snow.
The Bear wife struck the roof of her house, and a Partridge flew up out
of the snow with a great whirring of wings. The Dog followed the
Partridge and the hunter followed the Dog.
When the hunter came for the second time, she started a Rabbit, which
drew the Dog away, and he drew away the hunter.
But when he persisted, and came back for the third time, she left her
home and ran for her life, leaving her husband to follow as best he
could.
[Illustration]
He ran on and on, following his wife's tracks in the deep snow, until he
came to a little hut where lived an old Bear.
"Where are you going, my son?" inquired the old man.
"Oh," he replied, "I am only travelling for pleasure!"
"Do not try to deceive me," said the old Bear. "I know well whom you
seek! Berry-Picker passed this way only yesterday, on her way to rejoin
her people."
"And where do her people live?" asked the young husband.
"They live not far away, my son; but be on your guard; they are a
deceitful people and will give you much trouble!"
Thanking the old man, he hurried on, and soon came to the village of the
Bears. It was a large village, and the people seemed to have plenty to
eat and to be very merry, for they were singing and dancing. As the
stranger drew near, every young woman in the great camp came running to
meet him. They all looked alike, for every one was dressed in glossy
black and all were plump and handsome, and they all crowded about him
as if to embrace him, crying:
"Welcome home, my husband!"
Now the young man became very angry, for he knew that the Bears were
trying to deceive him, and that if he did not know his own wife, they
would take his life. He took no notice of any of the young women, but
turned his back on the village and went home to his own country.
This story is told for a warning to those who wish to marry among
strangers.
NINETEENTH EVENING
THE SON-IN-LAW
NINETEENTH EVENING
"Tell us, grandfather, who is Chanotedah?" bursts out Waola even before
the children are fairly seated. "Uncle told me to-day when I was hunting
to beware of the Little Man of the Woods, for if I should meet him I
might lose my way and never smell the camp fire again! But when I asked
where he was to be found, and how I should know him, he only laughed at
me and went on making arrows."
"This Chanotedah is indeed a mischievous fellow," explains the good old
man. "He is no larger than a three-year-old child, and is covered with
hair. His home is in a hollow tree, and his weapons are the brilliantly
colored feathers of gay birds. He delights in confusing the lone hunter
who is so unlucky as to come upon him in the depths of the forest. That
you may know why this little man has a grudge against our race, I will
tell you a story."
THE SON-IN-LAW
Once upon a time there was a young girl whose parents had been taken by
the enemy, and who lived alone with her elder brother in the forest,
without kinsfolk or neighbors. The young man was a clever hunter who
provided more than enough for their needs, and the sister kept his lodge
in order and his moccasins well mended, so that for a long time they
lived happily together without other company.
A day came, however, when the young man wished to go upon a journey and
to see something of the world. He therefore called upon the Little Man
of the Woods, Chanotedah, and begged him to look after his sister during
his absence. He then took his bow and quiver full of arrows, and set out
to discover strange countries.
The traveller met with no adventures until the third day, when he saw
several boys playing outside the entrance to their dwelling, which
appeared to be merely a cave in the side of a hill.
"Here comes our brother-in-law!" they cried, and all ran back into the
cave.
The young man was curious to know what this meant, and he went boldly
in. Opposite the door of the cave there sat a handsome young woman,
while her father and mother were seated upon either side of the fire.
The old man at once arose and greeted the stranger.
"Ho, my son-in-law!" he exclaimed; whereupon the old wife served him
with food and waited upon him hospitably.
It appeared, however, that the young woman was kindly disposed toward
this good-looking youth, for she soon contrived to warn him secretly of
her father's intentions toward him.
"When my father takes you hunting with him," she said, "you must take
care always to keep behind him. If he tells you to follow any animal, do
not do so, but shoot it from where you stand!"
Next day the old man invited his guest to hunt, and by and by they saw a
white Marten in the wood.
"Chase it, chase it, son-in-law!" exclaimed the old man, but the youth
stood still and killed the creature with an arrow from his quiver. Alas,
it was no marten, but one of the boys whom he had seen playing outside
the cave!
[Illustration: DO NOT SHOOT A WHITE DEER WHEN YOU SEE HIM COMING TOWARD
YOU]
The next day a white Magpie flew across the path, and the old man again
called on his guest to follow. He stopped and aimed an arrow instead,
which pierced the second boy to the heart.
"Do not shoot a white Deer when you see him coming toward you," begged
the girl of her lover on the third morning, for she wished to save her
youngest brother's life. The young man spared the Deer, and the last of
the boys came home unhurt; but he himself remembered her warning and
took care to keep behind, so that the old man had no chance to kill him.
"Ah, my son-in-law, you have beaten me! Take my daughter; she is now
your wife," he said to the young man, who thereupon took his wife home
to his own lodge, and his brother-in-law whose life he had spared he
took with them to be husband to his sister.
The Little Man of the Woods had guarded the girl safely, but meanwhile
he had fallen in love with her and desired to marry her. Being refused,
he went away angry and hid in a hollow tree, where he still lives, and
all who walk alone in the forest fear to meet him, for he wishes nothing
so much as to do a mischief to the descendants of the sister and
brother.
TWENTIETH EVENING
THE COMRADES
TWENTIETH EVENING
"There is another bad character of whom we have all heard, and some of
us have met him," begins the teacher. "His name tells you what he is. He
has two faces; one he shows at first when he wishes to be agreeable and
has some object to gain; but as soon as he is found out he turns the
ugly, scowling face upon you.
"Remember, children, you should not keep two faces--a pleasant one for
strangers and a cross face to show when you are at home! Try to imitate
the heroes of old, the great and good and helpful, such as the Stone
Boy, the Star Boy, the Avenger, he who wears the White Plume, and he who
shot the Red Eagle! If I should be spared to live another winter, I
will tell you of them all. To-night we will hear the pleasant story of
Mashtinna and his brother-friend."
THE COMRADES
Mashtinna, the Rabbit, was a handsome young man, and, moreover, of a
kind disposition. One day, when he was hunting, he heard a child crying
bitterly, and made all haste in the direction of the sound.
On the further side of the wood he found one tormenting a baby boy with
whips and pinches, laughing heartily meanwhile and humming a mother's
lullaby.
"What do you mean by abusing this innocent child?" demanded the Rabbit;
but the other showed a smiling face and replied pleasantly:
"You do not know what you are talking about! The child is fretful, and I
am merely trying to quiet him."
Mashtinna was not deceived, for he had guessed that this was
Double-Face, who delights in teasing the helpless ones.
"Give the boy to me!" he insisted; so that Double-Face became angry, and
showed the other side of his face, which was black and scowling.
"The boy is mine," he declared, "and if you say another word I shall
treat you as I have treated him!"
Upon this, Mashtinna fitted an arrow to the string, and shot the wicked
one through the heart.
He then took the child on his arm and followed the trail to a small and
poor teepee. There lived an old man and his wife, both of them blind and
nearly helpless, for all of their children and grandchildren, even to
the smallest and last, had been lured away by wicked Double-Face.
"Ho, grandfather, grandmother! I have brought you back the child!"
exclaimed the Rabbit, as he stood in the doorway.
But the poor, blind old people had so often been deceived by that
heartless Double-Face that they no longer believed anything; therefore
they both cried out:
"Ugh, you liar! we don't believe a word you say! Get away with you, do!"
Since they refused to take the child, and it was now almost night, the
kind-hearted young man wrapped the boy in his own blanket and lay down
with him to sleep. The next morning, when he awoke, he found to his
surprise that the child had grown up during the night and was now a
handsome young man, so much like him that they might have been twin
brothers.
"My friend, we are now comrades for life!" exclaimed the strange youth.
"We shall each go different ways in the world, doing all the good we
can; but if either is ever in need of help let him call upon the other
and he will come instantly to his aid!"
The other agreed, and they set out in opposite directions. Not long
after, the Rabbit heard a loud groaning and crying as of some person in
great pain. When he reached the spot, he found a man with his body
wedged tightly in the forks of a tree, which the wind swayed to and fro.
He could not by any means get away, and was in great misery.
"I will take your place, brother!" exclaimed the generous young man,
upon which the tree immediately parted, and the tree-bound was free.
Mashtinna took his place and the tree closed upon him like a vise and
pinched him severely.
The pain was worse than he had supposed, but he bore it as long as he
could without crying out. Sweat beaded his forehead and his veins
swelled to bursting; at last he could endure it no longer, and called
loudly upon his comrade to help him. At once the young man appeared and
struck the tree so that it parted and Mashtinna was free.
He kept on his journey until he spied a small wigwam quite by itself on
the edge of a wood. Lifting the door-flap, he saw no one but an old
blind man, who greeted him thankfully.
"Ho, my grandson! you see me, I am old and poor. All the day I see no
one. When I wish to drink, this raw-hide lariat leads me to the stream
near by. When I need dry sticks for my fire, I follow this other rope
and feel my way among the trees. I have food enough, for these bags are
packed with dried meat for my use. But alas, my grandson, I am all
alone here, and I am blind!"
"Take my eyes, grandfather!" at once exclaimed the kind-hearted young
man. "You shall go where you will, and I will remain here in your
place."
"Ho, ho, my grandson, you are very good!" replied the old man, and he
gladly took the eyes of the Rabbit and went out into the world. The
youth stayed behind, and as he was hungry, he ate of the dried meat in
the bags.
This made him very thirsty, so he took hold of the raw-hide rope and
followed it to the stream; but as he stooped to the brink, the rope
broke and Mashtinna fell in.
The water was cold and the bank slippery, but after a hard struggle he
got out again and made his way back to the teepee, dripping wet and very
miserable. Wishing to make a fire and dry his clothes, he seized the
other rope and went to the wood for sticks.
However, when he began to gather the sticks he lost the rope, and being
quite blind he did nothing but stumble over fallen logs, and bruise
himself against the trunks of trees, and scratch his face among the
briers and brambles, until at last he could bear it no longer, and cried
out to his comrade to come to his aid.
Instantly the youth appeared and gave him back his eyes, saying at the
same time:
"Friend, be not so rash in future! It is right to help those who are in
trouble, but one must also consider whether he himself is able to hold
out to the end."
TWENTY-FIRST EVENING
THE LAUGH-MAKER
TWENTY-FIRST EVENING
"You remember the young man who married among the Bear people," begins
Grandfather. "Now to us the Bear seems at times almost human; he can
stand and even walk erect; he will cry and groan very like a man when
hurt, and there are those who say that he laughs. In the old stories the
Bears are a powerful nation; and there is a young man, perhaps the same
one I told you of before, who is said to have been living among them at
one time with his wife, Woshpee, and their little son."
THE LAUGH-MAKER
The village of the Bears was a large one, and the people were well-fed
and prosperous. Upon certain days, a herald went the round of the
lodges, announcing in a loud voice that the time had come to "go
a-laughing." Not a Bear was left in the village at such times, for every
one went, old and young, sick and well, the active and the lame. Only
the stranger remained at home, although his wife, Woshpee, always went
with her kinsfolk, for somehow he did not feel inclined to "go
a-laughing;" and he kept with him his little son, who was half Bear and
half human.
One day, however, a curiosity seized him to know what this laughing
business might be. He took his boy and followed the Bears at a distance,
not choosing to be seen. Their trail led to the shore of the Great
Water, and when he had come as near as he could without exposing
himself, he climbed a tall pine from whose bushy top he could observe
all that took place.
The gathering of the Bears was on a deep bay that jutted inland. Its
rocky shores were quite black with them, and as soon as all had become
quiet, an old Bear advanced to the water's edge and called in a loud
voice:
"E-ha-we-cha-ye-la, e-ha-un-he-pee lo! (Laugh-maker, we are come to
laugh!)"
When he had called four times, a small object appeared in the midst of
the water and began to swim toward the shore. By and by the strange
creature sprawled and clambered out upon a solitary rock that stood
partly above the water.
The Laugh-maker was hairless and wrinkled like a new-born child; it had
the funniest feet, or hands, or flippers, with which it tried to walk,
but only tumbled and flopped about. In the water it was graceful enough,
but on dry land so ungainly and ridiculous that the vast concourse of
Bears was thrown into fits of hysterical laughter.
"Ha, ha, ha! Waugh, waugh!" they roared, lifting their ugly long muzzles
and opening their gaping jaws. Some of them could no longer hold on to
the boughs of the trees, or the rocks on which they had perched, and
came tumbling down on the heads of the crowd, adding much to the fun.
Every motion of the little "Laugh-maker" produced fresh roars of
immoderate laughter.
At last the Bears grew weak and helpless with laughing. Hundreds of them
sprawled out upon the sand, quite unable to rise. Then the old man again
advanced and cried out:
"E-ha-we-cha-ye-la, wan-na e-ha un-ta-pe ktay do! (Laugh-maker, we are
almost dead with laughing!)" Upon this the little creature swam back
into deep water and disappeared.
Now the stranger was not at all amused and in fact could see nothing to
laugh at. When all the Bears had got up and dispersed to their homes he
came down from the tree with his little son, and the child wished to
imitate his great-grandfather Bear. He went out alone on the sandy beach
and began to call in his piping voice:
"Laugh-maker, we are come to laugh!"
When he had called four times, the little creature again showed its
smooth black head above the water.