Who never spared a soul,
Hearing that some one was talking,
Peeped slyly in, and seeing
A stranger so like their father
That they knew not which was which,
Said: “This is a great magician,
But he shall be tried ere he goes,
And that right bitterly.”
Then the giantess sister took
The tail of a whale, and cooked it,
And gave it to the stranger
That he might eat it, when
Just as it lay before him
On the platter, and on his knees,
The elder brother entered
And saying: “This is too good
For a beggar like you,” took it
Away to his own wigwam.
And then the Master said:
“That which was given to me
Is mine--so I take it again.”
And sitting still he _willed_
Or wished for it to return.
And lo! the dish came flying
Again into his lap!
And he ate from it, undisturbed.
Then the brothers said: “This truly
Is a very great magician,
But he shall be tried ere he goes,
And that right bitterly!”
When he had eaten, they brought
A mighty bone; the jaw
Of a whale, and the elder brother
With great ado, and using
Both arms and all his strength,
Bent it a little, and proudly
He held it to the Master
Who with the thumb and finger
Of his right hand alone,
Snapped it like a green twig,
And crumbled it to powder.
Then the brothers said again:
“This is truly a great magician,
But he shall be tried ere he goes,
And that right bitterly.”
[Illustration:
Then they brought an enormous pipe
Full of the strongest tobacco;]
Then they brought an enormous pipe
Full of the strongest tobacco;
No man, not even a sorcerer
Could have smoked such fearful stuff.
And as it was passed around
All of them smoked. The brothers
Blew the smoke through their nostrils
As if it were light as air.
But the Master filled it full
And, lighting it, burned all
The tobacco into ashes
At one puff, with a single pull!
Blowing all the smoke through his nose
Even as they had done.
Then they said and now in anger:
“This is truly a great magician;
But he shall be tried ere he goes”--
They never said it again!
Yet still they tried to smoke.
They shut the door of the wigwam
Hoping to smother him.
But he puffed and puffed away
As if he had been on the top
Of a mountain in a breeze,
Till one said: “This is idle,
Let us go and play at ball!”
The place where they were to play
Was the sandy stony plain
Which lies on the bend of the river.
And so the game began.
Kulóskap discovered
That the ball with which they played
Was a hideous human skull,
A living thing which snapped at
His heels. Had the Master been
As other men, the monster
Would have bitten a foot away.
Then he laughed aloud, and said:
“So this is your style of foot-ball!
Well and good! But let us all play
With our own balls.” He stepped
Up to a tree by the river,
And broke off a hole or knot
And it turned to a living skull,
But one which was ten times greater,
And ten times more terrible
Than that which the sorcerers used.
And the three brothers ran
Before it as it chased them
As rabbits are chased by a lynx;
They were entirely beaten.
Then Kulóskap stamped in the sand,
And the waters rose and came rushing
Fearfully from the mountains
Adown the river bed;
The whole land rang with their roar.
Then the Master sang the song,
The magic song which changes
All creatures to other forms,
Which changed the Three and their father
Into the Chinames,
A fish which is long and broad
As a man, and they all went headlong
Down in the flood to the ocean
Where they must dwell forever
And are caught unto this day.
These three magicians wore
Each one a collar of wampum
Of purple beads and white,
Wherefore the Chinames
Has exactly round its neck
Or below its head, the same,
Distinctly marked and clear;
They were mighty men in their day
And great Mteolinwuk,
But were tried before they went
And that most bitterly.
Yes indeed, Nsîwes, my brother,
This story is really true,
For Kulóskap was very great
In his day--and a day will come
When I myself shall go to him. L.
FOOTNOTES:
[37] This is an old story about Kulóskap.
IV
HOW THE MASTER SHOWED HIMSELF A GREAT SMOKER
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Piʿche Kulóskap kʾchî skitap._[38]
Kulóskap the Great,
Lord of Beasts and Men,
Was ever a boon companion
And a right valiant smoker.
In all the world was no man
Who loved a well-filled pipe
Of good and fragrant tobacco
So heartily as he did.
Now in that happy time,
The sun shone warmer and brighter,
The summers were far longer
In the land of the Wabanaki
Than they truly are to-day.
And the Indians raised _tomáwe_,
That is to say, tobacco,
Far better than the best
Which ever is seen to-day.
And they found a mighty solace
In burning the gold-brown leaves.
There came one day to the Master
A great and evil magician
Who sought to take his life,
As the Master at once perceived;
For he read the thoughts of men
As though they were strings of wampum--
Seeing deep into every heart.
Now this evil magician thought,
By first amazing the Master
Through some wonderful trick, to weaken
The will which gave him strength;
As they say a fish is frightened
When he sees that his foe swims faster,
And is too much alarmed to fight.
So the sorcerer sat to smoke
With a pipe whose bowl was bigger
Than the head of any man,
With a stem full ten feet long;
But ever that of Kulóskap
Grew to the size of a pumpkin,
And then like the ten-foot boulder
Which lies on the beach at Rye;
And the smoke which rose from his puffing
Was like that of a forest fire.
Then the sorcerer filled his pipe
Afresh with strong tobacco,
Such as would kill if they breathed it
A porcupine or a toad.
And at one pull he burned it
Leaving no spark behind;
And at one whiff he sent it
Out in one great round ball;
Then sat and looked at the Master.
And then the Lord Kulóskap,
Whose pipe was many times greater,
Also sent his tobacco
Out in a puff as round--
Out in a mighty ball
As hard as any flint,
And, blowing it on the ground
Which was of granite rock,
Split it asunder, so
That a valley yawned between them.
Then they both sat in silence
Until the Master said:
“Do that--and then take my life.”
But the wizard could do no more,
And returned in shame and anger
To the evil ones who had sent him. L.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[38] Long ago Kulóskap was a great man.
[Illustration]
V
KULÓSKAP AND THE WITCH
[_Passamaquoddy and Micmac_]
_Nequt Kulóskap meiaoet
Pechian kʾtakʾmikomnok. Nit kʾmʾtkinansnok
Neke bʾsʾnboek kʾchî Kiwaʿkwik._[39]
When Kulóskap the Master
Came into this world of ours,
Or the Land of the Wabanaki,
It was full of giants and monsters,
Sorcerers, dwarfs and demons,
Mighty beasts and men,
Fiends and the Indian devils,
And, worst of all, the witches,
And worst among them Pûjinskwes,
A word which means “The Pitcher.”
She could be fair when she would,
Fair as a rosy sky
With stars still beaming in it
In very early dawn;
Or terrible as a storm,
When it howls among the mountains,
And lightens in the midnight.
Now while the Master was young,
And had not gained the power
Which he won in riper age,
Pûjinskwes sought his love.
But he knew that she was evil,
So he fled away from her wooing,
And the wild-cat witch pursued him.
It was a dreadful flight,
Since to make their steps the longer
Both took the giant form,
Took it by magic power.
It was an awful storm,
A terrible storm in winter
When the wind is chasing the clouds;
It was like a frightful tempest
In summer when the lightning
Chases after the thunder.
Deep lay the snow on the earth;
Therefore they both wore snow-shoes;
But, when they came to the shore,
Kulóskap leaped from the mainland
Over the sea between
To the island of Grand Manan;
And so he escaped from the sorceress;
For the shoes which the Master wore
Were round and out of the common;
While those of the witch were long,
Long it is said and pointed,
And the marks of the two are still
To be seen deep pressed in the rocks
By the shore to this very day.
But for days and years thereafter
Pûjinskwes sought to slay him,
And she had terrible power,
The might of the Evil Witches
Which came from the early time.
Now ’tis the greater part
Of the Indian art of magic
To know what our foes are planning,
Planning and plotting against us,
And all their tricks and devices
Which they scheme in the darkened paths,
The darkened paths of Evil.
In knowing this, Kulóskap
Was the greatest and the first,
And, knowing new arts of magic,
Went far beyond them all.
For before his time all sorcerers
Went every one his way
Unheeding the ways of others,
Even in wickedness.
But Kulóskap first of all
Threw out his soul unto others
To find what others knew.
When the Lord was on the warpath
Seeking the sorcerer Winpe
Who had carried away his household,
He came to Ogomkeok
Where he found a great birch wigwam,
And, in the wigwam seated
Bending over a fire,
A strange old woman--a horror
Of all old hags and ugliest--
Trembling in every limb,
As if death stood at her elbow,
Dirty, ragged and loathsome,
He never had seen the like.
Then looking up at the Master
With bleared and pitiful stare,
She begged him to bring some fire-wood
Which he did indeed, while knowing
Who it was who was so disguised,
For he knew it was Pûjinskwes
And he laughed at her in his heart.
Then she said to him, “O stranger,
As thou art a man of mercy,
Pray free me from the _waagûkw_
From the monstrous terrible vermin
Which madden me by their bites!”
Now all the _waagûkw_ were devils,
The spirits of every poison,
Which she thought had such a power
As must even kill the Master.
But he foreseeing this
Had taken as he came
Cranberries from a swamp,
And bidding her bend over,
He took the imps from her hair,
And every one as he took it
Turned into a porcupine,
Or else a terrible toad.
When she asked him, “Have you found one?”
And, “I have,” replied the Master;
Then, “Crush it,” was her answer,
So then he crushed a berry,
And Pûjinskwes, hearing the sound,
Thought to herself: “The poison
Which is now upon his fingers
Will soon be in his heart,
And death will follow after.”
But Kulóskap put the devils
One by one as he found them
Under a wooden platter
Which was lying close beside him.
And as he did this he chanted
A song which put her to sleep,
A song of wonderful power.
So she slept until the morrow
And when she awoke, the Master
Was far away, and her devils,
Porcupines, toads and all,
Were swarming over the floor,
For they had upset the platter.
Then she was filled with fury
To think he despised her so
That he had not even cared
To kill her while a-sleeping.
Then she burst forth in madness,
Wild as the Indian devil
Forth in her own true figure
As beautiful as sin,
Wild as the wolverine;
And gathering up her imps,
And summoning all her power
Of magic by fiercer will,
Went forth to meet the Master.
Onward he went to the North
Till he came to a pass in the hills.
It was a great ravine
Wherein two monstrous beasts
Waylaid all travellers
And tore them limb from limb.
Straight at his dogs they flew;
He did but touch the dogs,
And speak a word of power,
When up they grew to size
Stupendous, so they seized
The beasts e’en as the wolf
Seizes a rabbit. Then
The fight was at an end.
These dogs had been so trained
That when called off they fought
More fiercely than before,
And when told not to bite
They ever bit the more.
Soon he came to the top
Of a high hill, and looking
Afar o’er all the land
Beheld, away in the distance,
A wigwam, and knew in his heart
That an enemy dwelt therein;
And coming to it he found
An old woman with two fair daughters.
But he knew at a glance that the mother
Was a witch among the witches,
And the one who sought his life.
The girls came to him greeting
With fond and pleasing glances,
Asking if he was hungry,
And offering him a dainty:
The entrails of a bear
Which, when turned and smoked and seasoned,
Are deemed by all delicious.
They are a common gift
Of Indian girls to their lovers,
For, when cast around the neck
As a necklace, it means “I love you.”
But these had been enchanted,
Poisoned by magic spells;
Had the Master taken them then
He would have lost his power.
Little they knew of the magic,
The new and wonderful magic
Of reading the thoughts of men,
Which the Lord had brought into the land,
Unknown to the witches of yore;
So as they came wooing round him
With smiles and wanton glances,
He smiled, as if all he wanted
Of them, was to be won!
So he took the gift which they offered,
But, instead of putting it on,
Cried out to his dogs, “_Cuss! cuss!_”
Which in Micmac means “Stop, stop!”
But which they had been trained to believe
Was, “Hie at them!” They flew at the witches
When both flashed up like fire
In the terrible form of devils,
As flaming female fiends.
Then came an awful tumult
Such as never before was seen
In the land of the Wabanâki;
All the earth and rocks around
Were rent in the dreadful tumult
And all the while the Master
Cried merrily to his dogs:
“Stop, stop! These are my sisters,
Let them alone! Be quiet!”
But the more he bade them be peaceful
The more they attacked the witches
And drove them at last away.
Then the Master entered the wigwam
Where Pûjinskwes sat waiting,
Waiting for him as dead,
Waiting for him as food.
So he said to her while smiling,
“Grandmother, are you hungry?
Do you love the links of a bear?
Then here are some.” He threw them
Around her neck and she died,
Died and became a devil.
Yet the sorcerers when devils
Ever rise to life again;
Ever rise to work men mischief,
For evil can never die.
Then the Master kept on his way
Till he met the giant Winpe--
The evil sorcerer Winpe
Whom he slew in terrible battle.
This is the song of the Micmacs,
Of the Master’s earlier deeds.
FOOTNOTES:
[39] When Kulóskap the Lord came into our land the country was full
of great giants.
VI
KULÓSKAP AND THE WITCH CALLED “THE PITCHER”
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Uskijinwi otenesis._[40]
There was an Indian village
Wherein dwelt many people,
Who were all of the Pogumʾk
Or of the Black Cat totem;
And wisest and bravest among them
Was Kulóskap the chief;
And when he went forth a-hunting
With the _tumʾhîgʾn_ (tomahawk),
The knife and bow and arrow,
He slew the moose and the bear;
So he gave meat to the poor,
So he fed all the tribe,
Yet, though he was chief of the Black Cats,
He was by his mother a Bear.
Pûjinskwes the witch and devil
Was also one of the Black Cats;
She was woman or man as she listed,
But in those days she lived as a man;
And, because she hated the chieftain,
She thought how she might kill him,
And take his place in the tribe.
One day when all the people
Were packing to travel away
To another place for summer,
Pûjinskwes asked the chief
To go with him (or _her_,
As you may choose to take it),
Adown to the water side
To seek for the eggs of the gull.
Then both in a canoe
Went far away, and still farther,
Till they came to a lonely island.
And while Kulóskap was seeking
For eggs along the seaside
She stole away in silence,
Away in the _agwedʾn_
That is, in the birch-canoe.
And as she paddled away
She sang in the Indian tongue:
“_Nikedha pogumʾk mʾneʿnuk
Petesinel sagʾmawiw!_”[41]
“I have left the Black Cat on an island,
I shall be the chieftain now.”
So she returned to the village;
Next day they all departed,
There was not one of them left,
Save the one who was worth them all.
Then at night they camped, and expected
The chief who w’ould come to them,
And then the evil Pitcher
Ruled them as Sagamore.
Now for thirty days Kulóskap
Who had well-nigh lost his power
Of magic, as all magicians
Are often all exhausted,
Remembered that his friend
The Fox was mteolin,
With all the strength of sorcery.
And still the mighty Master
Could sing the wonderful song
Which is heard to any distance,
Away over forests and mountains,
Over the rolling rivers.
So he sang and the Fox soon heard it,
And he travelled by night and day
Until he came to the ocean,
And swam to the lonely isle.
“Now swim with me to the mainland,”
Said the Fox unto the Master.
“Brother, I cannot do it
For all my power is gone.”
“Hold to my tail” said the Fox,
“Be of good faith, my brother,
We soon shall gain the shore.”
“But remember,” said the Fox,
“While we are in the water
Thou must keep thine eyes fast shut.
All depends upon that,
On that alone and thy faith.”
So all went well for a time,
But anon the chief grew weary,
And opening one eye a little
It seemed to him that truly
They were not ten feet from the shore,
And being of little faith
He thought--for he spoke not aloud:
“We shall never get to land:”
But the Fox who read his thought,
Replied, “Do not believe it,
I _will_ that we reach the shore.”
But the journey lasted long,
For what seemed unto the Master
To be ten feet, was really
Ten miles--and the wind was high,
And the waves were wild and beat them,
For the witch had raised a storm;
And it was late in the evening
Before they reached the land.
“And now my elder brother,”
Said the Fox, “you may go your way.”
He went and came to the camp
Where he had left his people.
There all was silent and sad,
The ashes were cold on the hearths,
In the deserted homes,
In the lonely, silent wigwams;
So he followed the tracks of the Indians,
And in a day came near them.
The first whom he overtook
Was his mother bearing his brother;
Nʾmokswes, that is the Sable,
Or as others say the Marten.
She bore him on her back,
The child’s back lay against her,
So that, while she looked forward,
He could only look behind.
As Kulóskap peered from a thicket,
Smiling to see the boy,
The Sable cried: “Oh, my brother
Is coming to us at last!”
And she turned her head, yet saw nothing,
For the Master hid his head
Quickly behind a tree.
But the infant cried again:
“Indeed and truly, mother,
I saw my brother there!”
And this time glancing quickly
She caught a sight of the Master,
And they all laughed for joy.
Then the mother threw Nʾmokswes
Like a stick down into the leaves,
But the Master bade him rise
And run to the camp with speed.
“And when you are there,” he said,
“Build up a mighty fire,
A fire of hemlock bark,
And take the Pitcher’s babe,
Whom she so dearly loves,
And has given to you to tend,
And throw it into the fire;
Then run to me for your life,
For verily thou wilt be
In direst need to do it.”
And as he had commanded
It was done. When the fire was hot
Nʾmokswes threw the imp,
The child of an evil mother,
Into the roaring flames,
And it was burned to death.
Then the sorceress who was maddened,
As you may well believe,
With rage, pursued the Sable,
Even as a starving wolf
Chases a rabbit in winter:
Nʾmokswes in great fear
Cried, “Oh my elder brother!”
And the sorceress yelled: “Call out!
Call loudly as you can!
For to save your life you must run
As far as the distant island
Where I left him long ago.”
But at the word the Master
Stepped forward, and as he faced her
Said: “He need not run so far.”
Then, seeing him, fear came o’er her,
But laughing aloud to hide it,
She said: “I only chased him
In sport, for I truly love him.”
But the Master answered grimly,
“I know thee and thy love,
And also all thy tricks,
Thou who art truly a devil.”
Then feeling that his power
Of magic was returning,
He used his mighty will,
And the will awoke to might,
And before his breath the sorceress
Was driven backward lightly,
Like a leaf before the wind
Till her back was against a tree;
Then he said to her, “Remain
Ever attached to the bark,”
And so indeed she remained,
Though not as the Master meant.
Then the Master and his brother
Together went to the camp;
Great was the joy when he came.
The Pitcher had a hatchet,
And so with much ado
She cut herself (or himself),
In time away from the tree.
The Black Cats heard her chopping,
Pounding and chopping all night;
And wondered what it might be.
She came to them in the morning,
But a fragment from the tree
Ever adhered to her back:
So they laughed at her in scorn,
And sang together these words:
“He who made the chief
Stay on a distant island,
Is now stuck by the chief
Fast with his back to a tree.”
It is said she turned to a toad
Which bears to this day on its back
A hump, or the piece of wood
Which was carried away from the tree.
Though another legend has it
That, as during all her life
She had tormented men
With her insatiate longing,
She was changed to a mosquito
Which preys on them in the night,
The blood-thirsty stinging Tʾsiso
Ever a-stinging and singing:
“Give me thy life and blood.”
It is said it was at Fresh-Water,
After she left Bar Harbor,
That she changed into the insect
Which ever will bear her name.
Pûjinskwes had many children
Whose fathers were giants and monsters,
Sorcerers and demons,
But, as they all were hideous,
She stole from the Indian women
Their fairest babes, and pretended
That they were all her own.
Among these was a comely youth,
And as he grew older he wondered
That most of his brothers and sisters
Were dark and like the devils
While he, and a few, were fair.
So one day he asked Pûjinskwes
Why it was? She answered laughing:
“The dark were born in the darkness,
But thou, my son, by day.”
FOOTNOTES:
[40] There was an Indian village.
[41] This couplet indicates the metre into which most of the original
can be resolved.
VII
HOW KULÓSKAP SAILED THROUGH THE CAVERN OF DARKNESS
[_Micmac_]
_Nʾkani bʾmaoinnoak itmok niktuk iloiknuk wesisek
Kulóskap honichan uch negum
Naga honosokoan nihit Piliomeskasik ktakʾmigw._[42]
It is told in old traditions,
And even in them with a difference,
According to the nations
In which these songs are sung,
That “in these olden times,”
Kulóskap’s seven neighbors,
That is, seven beasts of the forest,
Stole his family from him
And that he long pursued them
Even to Néwfoundlánd.
When he came there it was night,
And, finding Marten alone,
He took him into the forest,
Bidding him seek for game,
Putting his belt on the boy;
Which gave him such magic power
That he killed both moose and bear,
And brought all gayly home.
Now it came to pass in the morning,
That old Dame Kâkâgûch,
The meddling and spying Crow,
Observed that meat was drying
In the smoke of the Master’s wigwam.
This news she spread abroad,
Adding that trouble was coming,
For the Master must have returned.
Then a great fear came upon them,
They sat every man in his wigwam,
Waiting for death in silence
For they knew the Master had come.
But when he had slain Winpe
And saw them sitting in silence,
Frightened like so many rabbits
Before a hungry wild-cat,
He laughed aloud and forgave them;
For he was noble and generous,
And cared for no small foe.
And as they were very hungry,
For he had come in a time
When all of them were starving.
He fed them all with venison;
So sorrow left the wigwams.
But as they had left him of old,
He left them in turn and departed.
Ere they had known his power,
They had left him alone to die;
Now that they knew his power,
They feared they should die without him.
But he left them to go their path
And turned his steps toward others.
Then, having made a canoe,
The Master and his mother,
Dame Bear, and Marten, his brother,
Went forth on a mighty river
Which was in its beginning
Both broad and beautiful.
So they sailed away down the stream
Till they came to mighty cliffs
Which ever grew higher and closer,
Till they met in an arch overhead,
But the river ran on beneath them,
And ever far underground,
Deep into earth and deeper,
Till it dashed into roaring rapids
Among rocks and wild ravines;
Then under cataracts,
So horrible that death
Seemed to come and go as they darted
With every plunge and motion
Headlong in their canoe.
[Illustration:
But the Master with silent soul
Ever sang the songs of magic.]
Narrower grew the water,
More dreadful still the current,
And fear came over the mother
And then on the brother Marten,
Till of that fear they died.
But the Master with silent soul
Ever sang the songs of magic,
The awful incantations,
Till he had passed the darkness
And came again into sunlight,
The bright and beautiful day.
He found upon the bank
A lonely deserted wigwam,
Therein he carried the dead,
And, laying them down, he said:
“_Nemchaase!_” that is, “Arise!”
And behold they both arose,
And thought they had only slept.
Then the Master found by this trial
He had gained his greatest power. L.
FOOTNOTES:
[42] The old people say that seven beasts stole Kulóskap’s family
from him and that he followed them to Newfoundland.
VIII
HOW THE MASTER FOUND THE SUMMER
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Piche pamaosoinnoak wiwikitopʾnik
Mequatoekak ospassio._[43]
[Illustration]
In the long time ago,
When people ever lived
In the red morning light
Or ever the day of man had come;
Before the sun had risen
And ere the Eastern land
Was peopled as to-day,
Kulóskap, the great lord,
Went far into the North
Where all was snow and ice.