Summer. She dressed in green leaves, and her wigwam was decked with
leaves and flowers of many different sorts. Her grandmother, Sogalŭn,
Rain, lived far away, but when she visited her granddaughter, she always
warned her never to go near “Let-ogus-nūk,” the North, where her worst
enemy, “Bovin,” Winter, lived, saying: “If you do go, you will lose all
your beauty, your dress will fade, your hair will turn gray, and your
strength will leave you.”
But Niffon paid no heed to her grandmother’s warning. One fine morning
as she sat in her wigwam gazing northward, and saw no signs of
Bovin,--the sun was shining and she could see for a long distance,--a
beautiful region lay stretched before her, broad rivers, and lakes, and
high mountains,--something within her bade her go forth to see that
strange country; so she started on her long journey. She knew that her
grandmother could not see her, and though she seemed to hear her say:
“Do not go near your enemy; he will surely slay you,” she did not heed
it, but journeyed on and on. The mountains and lakes seemed far away;
but she did not lose heart. Looking back, she could see nothing of her
own lovely home. The bright sun overhead was the only thing not new and
strange to her. She felt a vague sadness and distress; and when once
more a voice murmured: “Do not go, my daughter,” she resolved to turn
back, but it was too late. Some unseen power now forced her towards the
north. Still the mountains and lakes were as far away as ever; her dress
was beginning to fade; her long hair had turned gray; her strength was
failing fast; the sun, too, had lost his power; and, as she neared her
journey’s end, she saw that the mountains were but heaps of snow, the
beautiful lakes but fields of ice.
Meantime her grandmother, seeing no smoke rise from Niffon’s wigwam,
grew alarmed and concluded to visit her. When she got there, she found
the wigwam empty, the green boughs on the floor withered and dry, and
the leaves faded. “Oh, my poor grandchild is in the clutches of Bovin,”
she cried, and summoned her bravest warriors, “Sūwessen,” the South
Wind, “Hy-chī,” the East Wind, and “Snoteseg-du,” the West Wind, and
bade them hasten northward and fight like devils to save Niffon.
These invisible warriors started on their journey, and as they did so,
Bovin felt that something was wrong, and ordered his braves,
“Letū-gessen,” North Wind, and “K-lkegessen,” Northeast Wind, to hurry
southwards and meet the foe.
Sweat began to pour from Bovin’s every limb, his nose grew thin, and his
feet shrivelled away. Another day and the giants met; large flakes of
snow mixed with raindrops flew in every direction; sharp gusts of
contrary winds were heard. The drops of sweat on Bovin’s brow grew
larger and larger. By this time, the hair on Niffon’s head was snow
white and her dress tattered and faded.
The roar of the wind grew ever louder and sharper; the snow and rain
fell faster and thicker; at last Bovin fell from his place and broke one
of his legs, and Niffon knew her enemy was conquered.
Bovin bade one of his warriors tell Niffon to depart; he will harm her
no more.
Then she turned again towards her own country, her beauty all gone, an
old old woman.
Many hours pass; by degrees, as she travels her strength returns, she
moves faster, and, as the air grows warmer and softer, she feels happier
and begins to look young again; her hair returns to its natural color,
her dress is green once more. She sees the lakes and rivers shining; but
it will still be many days before she reaches her wigwam, and she must
meet her grandmother before she sees her dear home.
At last the air was warm, the clouds grew dark, the rain began to fall,
and the wind blew fiercely; amidst the darkest clouds she saw a large
wigwam; she entered and found her grandmother reclining on a bed of
skins, so changed that she hardly knew her.
The old woman looked up and said: “My child, you have nearly caused my
death. I have lost all my power through your disobedience. I can never
help you in your future wars. My great fight with Bovin has taken all my
strength; go and never depend upon me more.”
THE BUILDING OF THE BOATS[8]
When the water was first made, all the birds and the fowl came together
to decide who should make their canoes for them, so that they might
venture out upon the water.
The Owl proposed that the Loon should do the work; but the Black Duck
said: “Loon cannot make canoes; his legs are set too far behind. Let the
Owl make them.”
Then the Loon said: “The Owl cannot make canoes; his eyes are too big.
He can’t work in the day-time for the sun would put out his eyes.”
Then the Duck laughed and made fun of the Owl. This made the Owl angry,
and he said to Black Duck: “You ought to be ashamed of your laugh; it
sounds like the laugh of ‘Kettāgŭs,’[9] quack, quack, quack.”
Then all the fowls laughed aloud at the Duck. The Owl said: “Let ‘Sīps’
[the Wood Duck] build our boats.”
“How can he build canoes,” cried all the rest, “with his small neck?”
“He is too weak,” said the Loon.
The birds were quite discouraged; but they liked the looks of the water
very much. At last “Kosq’,” the Crane, spoke: “My friends, we cannot
stay here much longer. I am very hungry already. Let us draw lots, and
whoever draws the lot with a canoe marked on it shall be the builder of
boats.”
All were satisfied with this suggestion, and the Raven was appointed to
prepare the lots; but the Owl objected, saying: “He is a thief; I know
he is.”
“Well,” said the Night Hawk, “let us get Flying Squirrel to make them.”
“But Flying Squirrel is not here.”
“Well, let some one go for him.”
“Well, let us get Fox to go for him,” said the Loon.
“Oh! I can’t trust the Fox to go,” said the Owl; “for he would eat
Squirrel on the way. Just let me give you a word of advice. Let
Āfiguessis [Little Mouse] go for the Squirrel.”
“Yes,” said K’chīplāgan, Eagle, the great chief, “we must do as he
proposes. Come, Āfiguessis, you must go for the Flying Squirrel.”
When they saw the Squirrel coming, all cried: “Room! Make room for him!”
Then the Squirrel stood up before the chief and asked: “What can I do
for you, my friends?”
Eagle told him that they wanted him to make a picture of a canoe on
birch bark with his teeth; to make many more pieces all alike; then to
put them in his “miknakq,”[10] and let each bird take one. “Whoever gets
the piece with the canoe on it, shall make our canoes.”
The Squirrel went at once and stripped the bark from a birch-tree,
prepared the lots, and put them in his pouch.
“Who takes the first?” asked the Owl.
“Let ‘Mid-dessen’ [Black Duck] take the first,” said the chief.
Mid-dessen stepped forward, and came back with a piece of bark in his
bill. So each one went in his turn, and the lot fell to the Partridge.
Now the Partridge is always low-spirited and hardly ever speaks a word;
and this set all the other birds in an uproar, and they all sang songs,
each after his own fashion, and they decided to have a great feast.
“Get the horn,” said the chief. When it was brought, he gave it to Sīps,
the “mū-ta-quessit,” or dance-singer; then the big dance began, and it
lasted for many days.
When the feast was over, the chief said: “Now, Partridge, you must make
the canoes, sound and good, and all alike. Cheat no one, but do your
work well.”
The first one made had a very flat bottom; this he gave to the Loon, who
liked it much. The next, flat bottomed too, was for Black Duck; then one
for Wābèkèloch, the Wild Goose. This was not so flat.
Another was for Crane. It was very round. The Crane did not like his
boat, and said to Eagle: “This canoe does not suit me. I would rather
wade than sit in a canoe.”
The Partridge made canoes for all the birds, some large, some small, to
suit their various size and weight. At last his work was done. “Now,”
said he to himself, “I must make myself a better canoe than any of the
rest.” So he made it long and sharp, with round bottom, thinking it
would swim very fast.
When it was finished, he put it in the water; but, alas, it would not
float; it upset in spite of all that he could do. He saw all his
neighbors sailing over the water, and he fled to the woods determined to
build himself a canoe.
He has been drumming away at it ever since, but it is not finished yet.
THE MERMAN
In a large wigwam, at the bottom of the sea, lived “Hāpōdāmquen,” the
merman. He had two sons and three daughters. The elder son
“Psess’mbemetwigit,” Flying Star, was very brilliant and held a lofty
position; while the younger “Hess,” the Clam, was the laziest and
slowest of the family.
The daughters were named “T’sāk,” Lobster, “Hānāguess,” Flounder, and
“Wābè-hākeq’,” White Seal.
Every morning the old man gave orders to his children as to where they
should go, and what they should do, warning them against his two mighty
enemies, “Lampeguen,” another species of Merman, and Water Witch.
One day as they were about to go hunting, Flying Star told his brother
of a fearful dream that he had had the night before. He dreamed that he
and his brother were in a large stone canoe, moving swiftly towards the
steep running water (falls), when the canoe turned over, and they both
went to the bottom of this great “Cobscūk,” cataract. They were
surrounded by singular beings, whose chief took a “wūs-āp-gūk”
(rawhide), and tied their arms and legs together, then carried them to a
strange village, where his warriors held council as to what should be
done with the sons of Hāpōdāmquen. It was decided to kill them at once,
as the best means to destroy the foe, for without Flying Star,
Hāpōdāmquen must surely starve. They decided that the older son should
be slain by “M’dāsmūs” (a mythical dog, very large and fierce), and the
younger by a war club. Just as they loosed M’dāsmūs, Flying Star awoke.
Upon hearing this dream, Hess at once repeated it to his father.
Old Hāpōdāmquen knew at once that “Āglōfemma,” the chief of the
“Lampegwinosis,” was about to attack him. He told his children to watch
well, and stand their ground as long as a breath of life remained. To
each he gave careful directions: Flying Star was to take up his position
in the clouds, and thence watch the sea; if he saw any strange
commotion, or heard any strange noise, he was to fly from the clouds to
the sea, and kill everything that rose to the surface.
Hess, the Clam, was to post himself in the mud at the bottom of the sea,
and was told that Hāpōdāmquen would leave his pipe in the north side of
the wigwam. If the contents of the pipe were undisturbed, his children
might know that he still lived; but if the “nespe-quomkil,” willow
tobacco, were gone, and the pipe was partly filled with blood, they
might know that he was dead.
“Go, Hess,” the old man commanded, “bury yourself in the mud, five
lengths of your body, and listen well. You will surely hear when the
battle begins. Do not try to escape, or you will perish.”
T’sāk, the Lobster, was to take up her station half-way between the
surface and the bottom, and was cautioned not to rise to the surface at
any time.
Hānāguess, the Flounder, was ordered to come to the surface, where she
was to watch and follow the little bubbles; for when her father left his
wigwam, the bubbles would rise to the top of the water.
Wābè-hākeq’, the White Seal, was the bravest and brightest of the
Hāpōdāmquen family; she was to accompany her father to the land of the
Lampegwinosis.
The old man knew that only the chief and a handful of men would be in
the village; the fiercest warriors would be lying in ambush for his two
sons at the falls, where Flying Star and Clam always went to spear eel.
If Hess had failed to tell his father of Flying Star’s fateful dream,
even now they would both be suffering torture at the hands of the foe.
As it was, the old man and his brave daughter would attack the village
by night, while the enemy slept and dreamed of battle and war.
Hāpōdāmquen always wore his hair very long, streaming behind him three
times the length of his body. As they neared the village, he felt
something heavy clinging to his hair,--it was tiny beings, as small as
the smallest insect, the poohegans, or guardian spirits, of the chief of
the Lampegwinosis, little witches who tried by their combined weight to
lessen the old man’s speed, so that they might gain time to warn their
master of the enemy’s approach.
The Lampegwinosis were taken entirely by surprise; the strongest men
were away, only the old and weak were at home. The great army of
Hāpōdāmquen, composed of all the lobsters, seals, flounders, and clams,
was at hand, and the battle began. It was a fearful fight, lasting for
two days and nights. The Lampegwinosis chief tried to escape to the
surface; but the waves rose mountain high, and he was always driven back
by the watchful Flounder.
Flying Star slew all those warriors who reached the surface; while White
Seal attacked the tiny witches, putting forth all her magic power before
she succeeded in subduing them. Then she went to her father’s aid. He
was almost exhausted; but she directed her sister, the Lobster, to bite
the hostile chief in his tenderest part, and hang to him until the White
Seal could put an end to him. T’sāk held on, and White Seal killed the
foe with one blow of her battle-axe. This ended the conflict.
Hess remained in the mud, where, from time to time, he heard his father
encouraging his men. When all was still once more, he crawled out and
went to his father’s wigwam. He was so glad to find the pipe
undisturbed, that he sang a song of peace.
Hāpōdāmquen ordered his warriors to return to their homes until he
should again summon them; and he went back to his wigwam, where he found
his lazy son, Clam, still singing.
All the bubbles and foam had vanished from the sea. Flying Star and
Flounder, coming home, found their father happy, though badly hurt, for
he had lost all his beautiful hair in the fight.
As the Lampegwinosis braves wended their disconsolate way back from the
falls, they saw their old Chief-with-feathers-on-his-head borne off by
an animal resembling an otter, whom they recognized as Hākeq’, the brave
daughter of Hāpōdāmquen. They moaned for their chief; but Hāpōdāmquen
still lives to destroy little children who disobey their mother by going
near the water.
STORY OF STURGEON
“This story,” said old Louisa, “is from ’way, ’way back, ever so long
ago;” and indeed it seemed to me that it was so old that only fragments
of it remained; but I give it as best I can.
Many, many years ago there were three tribes of Indians living not far
apart: the Crows, Kā-kā-gūs, the Sturgeons “Hā-bāh-so,” and the Minks,
“Mūs-bes-so.” These tribes were all at war, one with the other, and the
Minks, being very crafty and cunning, as well as brave, at last
conquered the other tribes, and drove them forth in opposite directions.
Now the followers of Kā-kā-gūs found their way to a dry and desert
region where they died of hunger and thirst; the tribe of Hā-bāh-so
found plenty of food, but were overtaken by a pestilence which destroyed
all but the old chief and his grandson. Meantime, the Minks found that
the game had been expelled with the enemy, and they suffered greatly
from hunger.
Old Sturgeon, as I said, had enough and more than enough to eat. He and
his grandson built an “āgonal,” a storehouse of the old style, which
they filled to overflowing with smoked fish and dried meat.
Mink, hearing of this, sent a messenger to investigate. He was well
received, and fed with the best. The Mink himself determined to pay the
old man a visit, knowing that enemy though he was, he would be kindly
treated while a guest, according to Indian etiquette. He asked Sturgeon
where he got all his supplies, and was told that they came from the far
north. Then he said, “Are you alone here?” “Yes,” said Hā-bāh-so,
“except my grandson;” pointing to a huge Sturgeon who lay flopping by
the fire.
Next day when Mūs-bes-so left, he was loaded with as much meat as he
could carry. When he got home, he told his story, and suggested to his
five daughters that one of them should marry Sturgeon’s grandson, who
would keep them in plenty for the rest of their lives. So the girls set
out to visit the enemy in turn, and each returned saying, “I would not
think of marrying that monster. If ever I marry, I shall choose a man,
and not a fish, for a husband.” So it went until it came to the
youngest girl. She entered Sturgeon’s wigwam and, without a word, made
herself at home, began to arrange the bed and cook the food. When night
fell, and she did not return, her father rejoiced, for he knew she had
married young Sturgeon.
She, meantime, had waked at night to find a handsome youth beside her,
who, with the first rays of daylight, again became a fish. They were
very happy together and knew no care. Every morning she found a supply
of the choicest game or fish at the door, and in due time she became the
mother of a lovely boy.
Her husband proposed to visit her family to exhibit this new treasure,
to which she gladly acceded. He told her that there was but one
difficulty; namely, that she would have to carry him as well as the
baby. She made no objection, and they set forth. When they were almost
in sight of the Mink village, the young man was turned to a big
Sturgeon, which his wife shouldered, taking the baby in her arms.
The old Minks were delighted to see her; but the sisters laughed and
sneered at Sturgeon, and despised their sister for being willing to
accept such a husband. They were very glad, nevertheless, to accept the
supplies of food which he provided every day; and their contempt was
turned to envy when they awaked one night and saw him in his human form.
They then began to plot how they might kill their sister and take her
place; but Sturgeon, learning their plans, comforted his distressed
wife, promising to punish her wicked sisters, whom he did indeed turn
into turtles, in which condition they led a moist and disagreeable life.
After this, he felt that it was time for him to go; so he furnished his
father-in-law with enough provisions to last a year, and set forth on
his return journey with his wife and son.
Before they had gone far, they saw in the distance Kosq’, the Heron,
coming towards them. Now Kosq’ had been a suitor of Mistress Mink before
she married Sturgeon, and the latter knew him to be bent on vengeance.
He told his wife that she must help him, for Kosq’ had great power, and
it would not be easy to overcome him. Together they built a circular
wigwam, in which they shut themselves, Kosq’ prowling about outside,
each determined not to stir from the spot until the other yielded to
starvation.
Mistress Mink dug in the earth at one side of the wigwam, the bed being
on the other side, and the fire-place in the middle. She dug until a
stream of water flowed forth which not only gave them drink, but which
contained various insects and small creatures which satisfied their
hunger.
Kosq’ outside dug with his long bill and found little or nothing, this
inner stream attracting all upon which he otherwise might have fed. So
he flew thither and thither, weaker and weaker, and ever and again he
cried to Hā-bāh-so: “Will you give up, now?” “No, no,” was the reply; “I
am strong and well.”
Finally, poor Kosq’, determined not to yield, died of sheer hunger, and
Hā-bāh-so, with his brave wife and child, came from the wigwam, went
back to their old grandfather, and in time built up a village.
GRANDFATHER KIAWĀKQ’
As I was sitting with old Louisa I showed her an African amulet which I
was wearing, made of pure jade, inscribed with cabalistic characters to
ward off the evil eye. Thinking to make it clear to her Indian
understanding, I told her that it was to keep off m’tēūlin, sorcerers,
and kiawākq’ (legendary giants with hearts of ice, and possessed of
cannibalistic tastes). She looked very grave, and told me that I did
well to wear it, for there were a great many kiawākq’ in the region of
York Harbor where we were; it was a famous place for them, although they
usually chose a colder place, somewhere far away, where it was winter
almost all the year. This subject once started, she went on to tell me
of an adventure of her father.
Years ago when he was first married, and had but one child, a boy about
two years old, it was his habit to go with his family, in a canoe, in
the late autumn, and camp out far up north in Canada, in search of furs
and skins for purposes of trade. He would build a large comfortable
wigwam in some convenient place, and stay all winter. One year, while
hunting, he came across a deep footprint in the snow, three or four
times as large as that of any man. He knew it was the track of a
kiawākq’, and in terror retraced his steps, and thenceforth carefully
avoided going in that direction. In spite of this precaution, however,
the creature scented him out; for while he was away from the lodge, a
huge monster entered, stooping low to enter, and making himself much
smaller than his natural size, as such creatures have the power to do.
The poor woman, alone there with her child, knew him for what he was,
and knew that her only hope of escape lay in hiding her fear, so she
addressed him as her father, and offered him a seat, telling the little
boy to go and speak to his grandfather. She cooked food for kiawākq’,
warmed him, and paid him every attention. When her husband returned, she
said to him that her father had come to visit them, and he, too,
welcomed the monster, who remained with them all winter, going out to
hunt, and bringing back moose, bear, and other big game, which the man
dressed for him. He seldom spoke; but she often saw him look greedily at
the baby, and sometimes he would put one of the boy’s fingers in his
mouth, as if he could not resist the temptation to bite off the dainty
morsel; but he always let the little fellow go unharmed at last. It was
no use for the family to think of escape, as he could so easily have
overtaken them; and, if angered, they knew that he would destroy them.
Towards spring he told them that the time had come for them to go. He
said that his little finger told him that another and mightier
kiawākq’[11] was on his way to fight with him. “You have been good to
me,” he said, “and I wish to save you. If my enemy conquers me, he will
destroy you; so you must go now, before he sees you. If I live, I will
come to your village.”
So the man with his wife and child got into the canoe and paddled away.
After a while they heard the other kiawākq’ coming afar off, for he tore
up great trees as he came and flung them about like straws, and uttered
terrible roars. Then they heard the noise of the awful fight; but fear
lent speed to their canoe, and they at last lost all sound of the
dreadful kiawākq’.
They never saw their big friend again, and therefore felt sure that he
had perished; but they never dared to go back to that camping ground
again.
“So you see,” said Louisa, “that the kiawākq’ really saved the life of
my family.”[12]
OLD GOVERNOR JOHN
All summer I had not succeeded in coaxing a single story out of Louisa;
but last week she said, “You come Sunday, I tell you a story.” This
seemed to be because I told her I was going away. Sunday, when I took my
seat in the tent, she said, looking very hard at me, “This is a _true_
story; it is about _her_ great, great grandfather,”[13] pointing to her
daughter Susan, “Old Governor John Neptune. He was a witch.” I had often
heard from other Indians tales of old Governor Neptune’s magic powers.
“He was such a witch that all the other witches (m’tēūlin) were jealous
of him, and they tried to beat him. He fell sick, and he could not lift
his head; so he said to his oldest daughter (he had three daughters),
‘Give me some of your hair.’ She did so, and he bound his arrowheads and
spear with it, and strung his bow with the long, strong black hair.
Pretty soon the earth began to heave and rock under him. His daughter
told him of it, and he took his spear and stuck it into the ground just
where it was beginning to break. He thrust it in so deep that his arm
went into the earth up to the elbow, and when he drew it out the iron
was bloody. ‘Now I feel better,’ he said; and he sat up, took his bow
and shot an arrow straight into the air. Then he told his old lady to
make ready and come with him, but not to be afraid. They went to Great
Lake; he told her again not to be scared, took off all his clothes, and
slipped into the lake in the shape of a great eel. Presently the water
was troubled and muddy, and a huge snake appeared. The two fought long
and hard; but at last the old lady saw her husband standing before her
again, smeared with slime from head to foot. He ordered her to pour
fresh water on him, and wash him clean, for now he had conquered all his
enemies. From that day forth they had great good luck in everything.
This was in his youth, before he became governor of the Indians of
Maine.