When wizards were not few
There happened near our town
A war of which I’ll tell.
One day a wizard wise
Sought counsel from the gods,
And entered in the hut
They knew as _petegwîgun_--
A round-house made of bark,
With opening above;
No door nor window there
Save only at the top
Through which the wizard climbed,
And, lying there in trance,
Saw all the foemen’s wiles.
Then, singing magic songs,
Forth from that hut he came
And ordered all the tribe
To rise and meet the foe,
The cruel Mohawk foe,
Encamped not far away.
So all the Indian braves
Embarked in their canoes,
Went down one stream, then up
Another, paddling soft,
Avoiding any sound.
At last they saw a smoke
Arising far away.
Then spake the wizard thus:
“Do ye all wait me here
And I will go and spy
The numbers of the foe,
Taking with me but one;
Another Indian brave
Who hath the magic gift.”
These wizards then withdrew
Into a thicket’s shade,
Whence suddenly emerged
In beaver’s guise the one,
In muskrat form his friend.
When they drew very near
The island where the foe,
The cruel Iroquois,
Were feasting on a moose,
The beaver and the rat
Dived deep beneath the stream,
Causing that sudden plash
Which even to this day
Makes many a hunter jump.
Among the Iroquois
Another wizard sat
And when he heard the plash
Quoth he: “The foe is there,
The fierce Abenakis.”
Then, grasping in his hand,
The legbone of a moose,
He flung it straight and far
To where the muskrat swam
And struck him on the head.
The beaver seized his friend
And drew him ’neath the stream
And held him till he drowned,
In order that his pains
And struggle for his life
Should not alarm the foe.
The Iroquois then rose
And danced around the fire
Thinking in hideous glee
Of how when morrow came
They’d torture all their foes.
[Illustration:
The beaver seized his friend
And drew him ’neath the stream.]
They then lay down to sleep.
At once the beaver swam
To shore to their canoes
And gnawed with his sharp teeth
Great holes in the birch bark
Of which these craft were made.
The wizard beaver then
Swam back to his own folk
To whom he said: “Arise,
Come, quickly hunt them out.”
The fierce Abenakis
Came stealthily and still
And landed on the isle
Where lay the Iroquois.
Then, whooping with the cry
Of war which chills the soul,
The fierce Abenakis
Awoke the Iroquois
Who, paralyzed with fright,
Rushed straight to their canoes
Which sank in mid-stream all--
The work of wizard teeth.
Then the Abenakis
Swooped down with horrid cries
And then slew all their foes
Save only two. I’ll tell
What ’twas they did to them.
Of all their slaughtered foes
They first cut off the heads
And stuck them up on stakes
All over that fair isle.
Then to their prisoners
Whom they had saved alive,
They gave a little thought.
So first they bound them fast
Then pried with cruel sticks
Their mouths till open wide;
Cut off their lower lips,
Showing the grinning teeth,
Then severing half their ears
And half their noses too,
They said to them in scorn:
“_Kdihleba nda mina
Ni nojimigahakw_:”
“We warn you now, my friends,
Do not attempt again
To come against us here.”
This was the way they marked
The prisoners in old days.
Then they gave them food
Enough to give them life
Upon the journey home,
In order that these maimed
And harshly usèd foes
Should tell the Iroquois
In northern forest far
That the Abenakis
Were mightier than they.
That island to this day
Is called the Place of Skulls,
Wdupsek in our tongue. P.
FOOTNOTES:
[54] Long ago there were many wizards in our town.
IX
THE WIZARD’S HUNTING
[_Abenaki_]
_Noñwat mʾzi mʾdaulinowak nadialoldowak._[55]
In ancient days when wizard power was great
There were two mighty men who knew these arts
And understood full well unholy skill.
Once on a time it chanced that these great twain
Did quarrel for a certain hunting ground.
The one had set up deadfalls in the paths
Where run the timid deer, all ignorant
Of man, and man’s desire to slaughter them.
The other wizard straightway came along
And, ruthless, snapped these deadfalls every one,
To irritate his fellow wizard’s heart.
Twice did the mischief-maker do this deed,
Till, finally, the injured man bethought
Him that he must consult the secret powers
How he should catch and punish well the foe.
So crawling into _petegwîgun′s_ shade--
This was the magic round-house where the gods
Give wisdom unto man--he lay in trance
Until he saw a cruel wolverine,
Which he at once knew well to be the foe.
Then, leaping from the house of magic arts,
He followed fast the trail of Wolverine
Who was the evil-hearted enemy.
This mischief-making wizard straightway knew
That he was being followed, so he changed
Himself into a hooting, snowy owl
That wakes the echoes of the forest night.
Thus he escaped and forthwith went again
And full of glee the other’s deadfalls broke.
At last the injured wizard in despair
Went to consult his uncle in the glade
Where hang the alders drooping by the stream.
“O Uncle, aid me in my direst need
And find for me this rascal foe,” he cried,
“Who changes into every living thing,
And thus escapes my burning righteous wrath.”
His uncle was a wizard full of power,
So he at once departed for a time
And then, returning, said: “I’ve found thy foe,
He lives within thy shanty in the woods,
He’s taken his abode within the cracks
Where thou hast sewn the bark upon thy roof.”
“How then shall I be able to outwit
A foe so wily and so full of skill?”
The nephew asked. The uncle told him all.
And then the injured wizard went his way
Unto his barken shanty in the woods.
When he was sitting by the fire that night
An evil bat of monstrous size flew forth
From underneath the shanty’s sloping roof.
Straightway the wizard seized and held the bat
So close unto the glowing fiery coals
That all his filthy, vermin-reeking hair
Was clean consumed--then let him fly away,
Feeling that vengeance had been wreaked full well.
No more thereafter was there mischief wrought
And all his hunting met with fortune fair.
Then later in the year the wizard came
Home to the village laden down with spoils
And trophies of the chase, and there he saw
A man he knew with skin all scarred and burned.
Quoth this one to the wizard: “O my friend
I have been duly punished for my sin.
Do thou now heal me quickly and forgive
That I have caused thee trouble in the chase.”
The wizard then took pity on his foe
And healed his burns and made him whole again. P.
FOOTNOTES:
[55] Long ago all the wizards used to hunt.
X
SIX SHORT TALES OF WITCHCRAFT
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Kʾchi Joe Benoit mʾdeaulin
Kʾchi kʾnokwchil pohégunul._[56]
Old Joe Benoit, a friend of mine,
Was full of all unholy skill and power.
He quarrelled with a man who like himself,
Was wizard and a guileful, crafty foe.
A giant turtle’s form Joe Benoit took;
The other changed himself into a snake;
The twain then met and fought in combat dire
Within the waters of a little lake
Which since that time has ever borne the name
Of Neʿseyik, which means “the muddy lake,”
Because their strife had stirred up all the soil
And weeds, and roiled the waters of that pool.
Joe Benoit slew his foe, the giant snake.
* * * * *
Old Lacote was a wizard made a trap,
A deadfall trap for bear off in the woods.
When he had set the trap all fast and firm,
He crawled within to test the prop-stick stout.
But by the magic arts of wizard foe
Through old Sabatis’ guile who owed him hate,
The prop-stick fell and let the great bear-trap
Drop full upon old Lacote’s head and back.
His son was there and dragged the old man forth.
But Lacote knew to whom he owed ill-luck.
* * * * *
When I was fifteen years I saw a man
Who had become a demon of the wood,
A Miʿkumwess with power to change his size
And art to sink into the rocky soil
Up to his ankle-joints or knees as though ’twere sand.
I saw myself the tracks where he had sunk
Into a soil all full of rocks and roots.
* * * * *
My father was a wizard and had power
To call unto his partner miles away.
I’ve often heard him singing in the night
All low and weird, and when the morning dawned,
He’d tell me what his partner’s luck had been.
I never knew his magic skill to fail.
* * * * *
My brother told me, many years ago,
Some wizards had a quarrel, and they slew
One of their number, took his corpse away
And ate it on the isle of Grand Manan,
Sitting upon a ledge above the sea.
* * * * *
Two men were hunting on an inland lake
When suddenly they heard a fearful whoop
As of a man in agony, who ran
Adown the lake along the farther shore.
They went out in their barque and there they saw
Him come right up to where their shanty lay.
Returning to the shore they begged him then:
“Pray stay and eat,” but he, with accents wild,
Cried: “Nay, I may not stop in this warm place.
I must away, away unto the North,
Where ice and snow shall cool my bounding blood.”
This man was a Kiwaʿkw, a demon ghoul,
Ice-giant--of that race which loves to prey
Upon the tender flesh of man and babe. P.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[56] Old Joe Benoit the wizard changed himself to a great turtle.
XI
A DELAWARE YOUTH AND HIS UNCLE
[_Delaware_]
_Weekwaum lawee kohpee
Weekena withkeelno wauk wʾsheetha._[57]
Afar in the midst of the forest
Dwelt a youth and his uncle,
His uncle of many summers.
Once on a time the old man
Was sick unto death with an illness
Whose cause was unknown to himself
And his nephew, his fond loving nephew.
So, thinking the light of his being
Was soon to go out, the old uncle
Called to his bedside the young man
To hear his last words of affection.
The loving nephew grievèd,
Grieved in the depths of his heart,
Then thought to himself: “My dear uncle,
At least shall not die on bare earth.
I’ll make for him now a great basket
And line it with soft, downy feathers.
So shall he die in all comfort.”
He worked all the night at the basket
And then, when the morrow dawned,
Presented his work to his uncle
Who wept tears of gladness and said:
“Dear nephew--how great is thy kindness!”
The old man then lay in the basket
And to him came a vision of dread;
He stretched forth his hand to his nephew,
A gesture to draw his attention,
And then told the youth of his vision.
Quoth: “Some one is coming at midnight
From whom thou shalt shrink with great trembling,
But fear not, take courage, my nephew,
Although he shall come to our wigwam
At midnight when all things are sleeping.”
That night, long after their supper,
The youth sat him down by the fire,
On the further side of the fire,[58]
And waited to see what was coming.
Then all of a sudden a creature
Too awful to tell of was with him,
A wizard of hideous presence
Who dropped through the smoke-hole a-shrieking:
“Give up to me, youth, thine old uncle
I wish to devour his lean flesh.”
The youth gave not way to his terror
But leapt to his feet and said boldly:
“Foul being, mine uncle remains here
And ne’er shall be eaten by thee.”
Howled the wizard, the cannibal wizard:
“When I come here once more have him ready,
Rash lad, or thou dearly shalt rue it.”
Thought the youth in his heart: “He is awful.
It must be that my uncle shall leave me.
I will journey afar toward the sunset
If perchance I may find there some people
Who shall aid me in this my dire need.”
Then the young man took leave of his uncle
And said to him: “Fear not, beloved,
I go to seek aid for thy sickness,
Soon I’ll return to thy side.”
After journeying days through the forest
He passed a small curious wigwam
From which came a lad who addressed him:
“Hail, stranger, how fareth thine uncle?”
The youth was amazed beyond measure
That one who appeared but an infant
Should know all about his affairs,
But he passed on in silence and wonder.
Soon after he came to a wigwam
Near which stood a great, kindly wizard,
Who saw from the face of the traveller
That he was in fear for his uncle.
Then when he heard how the nephew
Had met with the terrible being,
He said: “This in truth is Muttóntoe,
Muttóntoe, the spirit of evil,
Who yearns for the flesh of thy kinsman.
But fear not, my lad, I will aid thee,
I’ll tell thee the way to o’ercome him.”
When the nephew had heard all the wisdom
And learned how to conquer Muttóntoe,
He went back at once to his uncle.
Then after they’d eaten that evening,
He swept up the dirt from the wigwam
And placed in his own bed the uncle.
Then _he_ lay himself in the basket,
Where he felt himself filled full of magic
And power to conquer Muttóntoe.
At the dead hour of midnight
Once more in the midst of the wigwam
The monster dropped down through the smoke-hole.
“Awake, lad,” quoth he, “I’m Muttóntoe.
Bring forth thine old uncle, I want him.”
Then out from the basket the nephew
Stept boldly, all covered with feathers.
A terrible sight to Muttóntoe,
Who leapt with a shriek through the smoke-hole
And never returned to that wigwam,
Where the youth and his uncle, still living,
Dwell happily in the dark forest. P.
FOOTNOTES:
[57] In a wigwam in the forest dwelt a youth and his uncle.
[58] The fire is in the middle of the wigwam.
XII
THE DANCE OF OLD AGE
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Piʾche uskichinwi utenesizek._[59]
All in the early time
In an inland village
Many Indians lived,
Of two of them I’ll tell:
One was a handsome man,
Young, brave, a great hunter;
The other, a beautiful girl.
What might be her name?--
Malikakusquess?
Or Kaliwahdasi?
I do not remember
Which of the two it was.
But she was very proud,
Fierce as she was fair,
And through and through revengeful.
And, what was worst of all,
She was an awful witch,
Seven witches in one,
Like seven devils united
But this she hid from all;
Only the Wʾnagʾmeswuk,
The singular silent spirits,
Who are ever flitting around us,
Knew of this terrible secret.
She wanted the youth to wed her,
But he at that time was busy,
Very busy in getting ready
To go on his autumn hunt,
Which would last far into the winter;
And he had no time for wooing,
As he very plainly told her.
Truly he must have spoken
Very plainly indeed;
For her heart shrunk up in anger
Until ’twas hard as a flint
With sharply cutting edges,
And thus she cut in reply:
“You may go afar to the North,
You may go if you like on your hunt
But you never will return
The same as when you departed;
Remember me when the change
Comes over you in the forest.”
He gave no heed to her words,
He cared not for her, nor feared her,
So he went away with his brother,
And for many days together
They hunted in the North,
Hunted the deer and moose;
The girl was all forgotten.
But one day when deep in the woods,
And very far in the North,
In the mid winter gloom,
The youth went raging mad,
For the witch had struck him sore,
Though far and far away,
Struck him with sorcery.
The elder brother with him
Was a brave among the braves,
A fierce and terrible man
Who had no dream of fear:
And as he could do naught else
He did the most desperate deed
Which the wildest of the warriors
Among the Wabanaki
Has ever dared to do;
For he went down to the river
At midnight and alone,
And sang the terrible song
Which calls the Wîwilmekw,
The Demon of the Worm,
Even to devils a terror.
_Nil nʾwikwima Wîwilmekw
Nil nʾwikwima chipinaʿkwsit
Nit besq weshʾmʾwit
Nil npechikinapin nekmomeswelas_
“I call on the Wîwilmekw,
I call on the Terrible One,
On the One with the Horns,
I dare him to appear!”
It came in all its horrors,
Its eyes were like deep red fire,
Its horns rose sharp and high.
It asked him, what he would have?
He answered that his brother
Had lost himself in madness,
And he fain would cure the youth.
“I will give you what you want,”
Answered the Wîwilmekw,
“If you are not afraid.”
“I have no fear at all,”
The Indian replied,
“Of anything that lives.”
“Hast thou no fear of me?”
The Demon Worm inquired.
“No more of thee than I
Have of the Michihant,
Who is the Devil of all.”
“If you dare take me by
My horns,” the fiend replied,
“And scrape them with your knife,
And lay the scrapings by,
Then you may have your wish.”
In truth this Indian was
As savage, wild and brave,
As was the Devil himself;
He had great need indeed
To be all that he was;
For the Wîwilmekw,
Most terrible to see,
Grew fiercer than before,
Yet the man drew out his knife
And boldly scraped away,
Until the Demon said:
“Now hold! You have enough.”
“And now go seek your camp,
Put half the scrapings then
Into a cup half full
Of water from the spring,
And bid your brother drink!”
“And with the other half?”
The Indian inquired.
“Keep that till you return,
Then give it to the girl
Who made the trouble--she
Needs medicine as well.”
So the man returned to camp
And made his brother well.
And when the hunt was o’er
They turned them to their home.
There they arrived at night;
A great festivity
Was stirring all the town,
Torches were everywhere,
And everywhere the scent
Of _mskîkwul wʾli-mhaskil_,
Which is the perfumed grass
Burning intensely sweet.
The dance was going on,
So, many were athirst.
And this the hunter knew,
The younger of the pair;
So he had made a drink
Cool, and with honey sweet,
Fragrant with pleasant herbs--
A dainty drink indeed--
But, mingled with it all,
There lurked a subtle life,
The powder from the horn
Of the Wîwilmekw.
So thirsty was the witch
As she from dancing came,
So warm that, when the youth
Held out to her the cup,
She seized and drank it dry
All without giving heed
As to what hand had held
The cool, refreshing draught;
Then turning to the one
Who was her partner, she
Went on into the dance,
And then a wondrous thing
Was seen by all therein:
For lo! at every turn
The maiden older grew,
One year for every round;
Beginning as a girl
In all her freshest youth
She at the lodge’s end,
Seemed fifty years of age,
And still, as she danced on,
Added unto her age,
Till just as she returned
Unto the very place
Whence she had come, she fell
All dead upon the floor,
A little dried-up thing,
A wrinkled, wizened squaw,
A thing of the last old age
Or of a hundred years.
[Illustration:
She seized and drank it dry
All without giving heed
As to what hand had held
The cool, refreshing draught.]
There is another Passamaquoddy version of this poem which is hardly
less striking in its ending. The brother, having obtained the
scrapings of the horn, merely touches with them a large green beech
tree which becomes dead in an instant and then falls to the ground,
actually rotten as if it were a century old. And, when the same
powder is given to the witch,
She grew older in an instant,
She became very old indeed:
A pale color rippled
All over her face. She fell,
Looking a hundred years,
Dead upon the floor.
Shrivelled and dried as she fell,
Then dropped to powder--“She
Will trouble you no more.”
Then said the conjurer;
“Her dance is over now.” L.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[59] Long ago in an Indian village.
XIII
A TALE OF THE RIVER-ELVES
[_Abenaki_]
_Noñwat Manoñuamasak
Udainoñ kwaʿliwi kd-odana-na._[60]
Long ago some River-elves were living near our town.
These Elves would always work at night along the river shore,
And fashion little wheels of clay and leave them on the bank.
When these small cakes of clay were fresh some Indians there were
Who learned to eat them and to take great pleasure in their taste.
In ancient times--this is the tale which oft was told to me--
An Indian and squaw were out afar in bark canoe
When in the current’s swirling waves they right before them saw
A wee canoe in which there sat two children, as they thought.
Now these were hideous River-elves, and when they had beheld
The Indians, they called to them: “O ye of fairer face
And better looks go back,” and then tipped over their canoe,
Which, as it rolled, the Indians perceived to be of stone,
And nevermore thereafter did they see the River-elves,
Who when the loud-voiced Whites had settled all the country-side,
Withdrew far up the rushing stream where no canoe may pass
Save only stone ones. Nor again did ever Indian find
Those wheels of clay which he of old so dearly loved to eat.[61]
P.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[60] Long ago the River-elves were around our town.
[61] This song clearly indicates “earth-eating” among the Indians. It
still exists among negroes in the United States.
PART THIRD
=Lyrics and Miscellany=
LYRICS AND MISCELLANY
I
THE SONG OF LAPPILATWAN, THE SINGER IN THE DUSK
_Piʿche Lappilatwan mechimiu-olamto
Wʾtagwsiu-ut msiu sipsis._[62]
Lappilatwan, fair tree-fungus,
From days of old,
The ever good-natured,
Of all the birds cousin.
Dwelt on the birch-tree;
All the birds of the forest,
Even the little insects,
Even the little worms,
Crawled up the great birch
To see their good friend.
Thus always at sunset
They heard him singing:
_Lappilatwan
Wappilatwan
Wechkutonébit_,
“Fair tree-fungus,
Fair tree-fungus,
Sits with mouth open,”
The signal song
Unto all wood birds,
Worms and insects,
To go to sleep;
So that all the birds,
Little worms, little insects,
When they heard
_Lappilatwan
Wappilatwan_
Knew he was silent
For all the night
There where he hung
In the cold birch tree,
Cold, rough and damp,
All night, all day!
All through the year.
But when the day dawns
His song rings again;
_Lappilatwan
Wechkutonébit_,
“Fair tree-fungus
Fair tree-fungus
Sits with mouth open.”
Then every bird
Every small insect,
All creeping things
Who heard his song,
Knew there was coming
A beautiful day:
“Let us arise!
The daylight is breaking!”
They rose at his call.
One bright fresh morning,
Lively Sexkâtû
The flying squirrel
Climbed the great birch-tree,
And there he found
Lappilatwan
From a branch hanging,
And he thus spoke;
“Tell me how long
Have you dwelt here?”
“I have lived in this tree
Since your great grandfather
_Kʾchî Kʾmûsums_
Was born on that cedar
From which you came
Early this morning.”
“But tell me truly,
Lappilatwan,
How long will you
Dwell in this birch-tree?”
“While the birch-tree
Sends forth its leaves,
While its trunk stands,
I will dwell in its branches.”
Sexkâtû the squirrel
Wanted that birch-tree
For his own home:
He would be nesting
In that same place.
Thus he then answered:
“You have been here
Long--and far _too_ long.
It is time for you
To yield to another:
Let me come here!”
Lappilatwan
Answered him quietly:
“_Noses_, ‘my grandchild:’
I cannot go hence.
If I should do so
Birds and the insects
Could not hear me call.
Could not hear my songs
From another tree;
You, who are so clever,
Far quicker than I am.
You can make your home
All over the forest.”
“You must go!” said Sexkâtû,
Then he gnawed at the branch;
There was the nest
Of the Hamw[´ĕ]sŭk,
Of the stinging wasps,
Who came swarming out
From their little wigwam;
More than a hundred,
Flew at Sexkâtû
Clung to his back
Madly they stung him,
Till stunned with their stinging
Saucy Sexkâtû
Fell to the ground.
Well nigh a-dyin,
With stings and with bruises.
Ere long the news spread,
Soon all the squirrels
Said: “_Sexkâtûwuk
Kʾputwusin_,”
“Let us take council.”
Red squirrels, gray squirrels,
Striped squirrels, flying ones,
Came running together,
Then they cried out:
“Lappilatwan
Must leave his tree,
And if it may be,
Be put to death!”
All in a band
They went to the birch-tree,
Then they observed that
In one way only
Could they approach
Lappilatwan.
Straight up the trunk
Not many together.
[Illustration]
The news spread afar,
Soon there came flying
The wasps and the hornets,
The bees and the black flies,
The angry mosquitoes:
Even the midges,
The little Chessúyek
Came to the rescue
Of Lappilatwan.
The chief of the squirrels
Gave out the order:
“Let the battle begin!”
The squirrels rushed onward
They rushed to the birch-tree:
Yet only a few
At once together
Could climb up the trunk:
Musesaaqua, the horse-fly,
Was brave in that battle.
Mosquitoes and midges
Like gallant warriors
Rushed on the squirrels,
With their sharp spears.
Ere the first squirrel
Was half-way up the birch-tree,
He and his followers
Fell to the ground
Wounded and dying.
Lappilatwan
High up on the birch-tree
Saw the battle rage,
But was ever silent,
Silent till sunset;
Then his loud song
Rang through the forest:
“_Lappilatwan
Wechkûtonébit_.”
“Fair tree-fungus
Sits with mouth open.”
Soon as they heard it
All of the warriors,
Squirrels and insects
Valiant mosquitoes,
Humble hornets,
Bold bumble-bees,
Wild whizzing wasps,
Gallant merry midges
Went to their wigwams.
Lappilatwan
Had faith in his warriors:
Truly he trusted
That they could defend him.
When in the morning
They heard the signal,
The song of awaking,
Ring from the birch-tree,
The mighty armies
Again assembled;
The chiefs held council;
Thus spoke Sexkâtû
While all were silent:
“Listen, oh squirrels!
Last night in dreaming
This was revealed to me:
If in the battle
One of your warriors
Can touch for an instant
Lappilatwan
Ever so lightly,
Before he sings us
The summons to sleep,
Then we shall conquer;
Failing to touch him
Ere we hear ringing
‘_Lappilatwan
Wappilatwan_’
We are defeated.
Now you have heard me,
On to the birch-tree!”
The angry flies
Sharpen their spears;
Dip them in poison;
Loud was their buzz!
As they went to battle,
Terrible slaughter
Followed their onrush;
Desperate squirrels
Heedless of death
Clung to the birch-tree
Wingèd warriors
By many thousands
Swarmed on the foe;
Many a horse-fly
Beheld no more
His wife and children;
Many a hornet
Sat no more
By the fire of his wigwam;
The dying bumble-bee
Chanted his death song.