In the Algonquin tribe, Masequah had grown to manhood through the many
winters and summers that his tribe lived in peace. He was a very tall,
strong and good-looking Indian brave. He was bravest of all in battle, a
good hunter, and a good husband to his wife, Senan, and their son, Pyan.
Masequah was very proud of his son. As the baby grew, his mother no
longer had to carry him upon her back. Soon Masequah was able to walk
hand in hand with Pyan through the forest.
As his son grew older, Masequah began to train him for manhood. One day
Masequah and Pyan stepped into a canoe and paddled across the wide lake
to look for berries and nuts. Pyan was now seven years of age, and his
training had begun in earnest. While they were on the other shore, a
great storm arose, and the wind brought huge angry waves to the lake.
Masequah feared that their light canoe would be broken by the waves. He
told Pyan that it would be much safer to stay where they were until
morning.
They found a small cove that would give them some shelter. Then they
started hunting for food, while the rain beat down on them. Pyan spotted
two rabbits, and his father shot both of them. Then they went back to
the cove, found dry wood, and built a fire to cook the rabbits. Masequah
and Pyan settled themselves as comfortably as they could for the long
night.
The winds began to blow even harder and the rain began to fall more
heavily. Pyan snuggled closer to his father’s side to keep warm. As the
warrior looked at his son, he saw fear in his son’s eyes. Masequah had
taught his son that Indians were never afraid, but suddenly he realized
that lessons were not enough. Even an Indian needed to understand the
thing he feared in order to drive fear away.
“Don’t be afraid, Pyan,” he said kindly. “The rain that falls around us
brings strength to food we have planted and to the trees in the forest.
At the worst, it can only wet us. We are too wise to battle the wind on
the lake. The bright bolts of lightning could not strike us here easily
in this cove, and the thunder is only a loud noise like a war drum.
There is nothing to fear.”
As Masequah watched his son’s face in the flickering light of the fire,
he knew that his words had been of little comfort. “I want to go home,”
said Pyan, “I want my mother and the warmth of my bed. I am afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid, Pyan,” Masequah said, “your father is with you.”
“Can you stop the lightning?” asked Pyan. “Can you stop the rain? That
will stop my fear. The wind that is blowing so strong frightens me.”
Masequah picked up his son and carried him to the shelter of a cave and
after placing his son in the cave he said, “Wait, I shall return. I must
get an answer to your questions.” Masequah walked to the edge of the
lake and, facing straight into the wind, shouted, “O great storm, tell
me what answers I should give my son! He is afraid and I have told him
not to be afraid. The wind, the lightning, and the rain frighten him and
he wants to return to his home. To try to paddle our light canoe across
the rough waters of the lake could mean death for my son and me. I am
not afraid to die, but my son is young and his whole life lies before
him. Tell me what I can do to stop his fear. He has asked me to stop the
rain and the wind. This I cannot do, but you, great storm, hear a
father’s plea and blow away from our land!”
Masequah shivered, for the storm seemed to be getting worse. He turned
from the lake and walked back to the cave. Taking his son’s hand, he
said, “Pyan, come, follow your father. We are going home.”
“But, father,” said Pyan, “the winds and the rain and the lightning have
not stopped. The water is rough and our canoe is light. We will be
drowned.”
Pyan held back as his father took his hand. His father spoke kindly and
firmly: “Come, Pyan, do not be afraid. Your father will protect you.”
As they reached the shore Pyan began to tremble and felt heartsick
because he was cowardly while his father was so brave. Pyan stepped into
the canoe and his father followed. Masequah pointed to the sky.
“Look, Pyan, the sky is beginning to brighten. Now the storm will halt
long enough for us to reach the safety of our village.”
There was a blinding flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. The
rain stopped suddenly, the winds died down, and the waves on the lake
became calm. Masequah pushed the canoe from the shore and paddled
swiftly across the lake.
When they reached home, Pyan told his mother excitedly how the storm had
stopped when his father ordered it to halt. Pyan’s mother turned slowly
to Masequah.
“My husband,” she said with wonder in her voice, “until just now as you
and Pyan arrived, the storm hasn’t paused once tonight.”
For many years until Masequah’s death, the members of his tribe looked
upon Masequah as a brave gifted with mysterious powers. They would tell
of a hunting party that had reached the lake at the same time that
Masequah and Pyan had started for home; the hunters had been whipped by
the raging storm while they stood on a hill top overlooking the lake;
suddenly they had seen the storm stop and the lake below them grow calm;
and then they had watched a small canoe, with a man and a boy in it,
glide swiftly across the peaceful waters. To them it was a miracle, but
Masequah knew better.
Masequah would always deny that he had any mysterious powers. Over and
over again, he would remind his friends that no storm covers all the
earth, and that every storm has its edges just as the lake does, or like
the shadow of a fleecy cloud on a sunny day.
No matter how often he told them that the edge of the storm had moved
away from the lake, most of his friends still insisted that it was a
miracle. Even Pyan, who believed that his father was wise and truthful,
sometimes wondered.
This story was told to the author by Barney Mason, a Canadian Scout,
who had learned it from living descendants of the Algonquin Tribe.