MYTHS AND FOLK-LORE OF THE TIMISKAMING ALGONQUIN.
INTRODUCTION.
A few fairly typical Algonquin myths relating the exploits of
Wiske·djak were taken down in the summer of 1913 from Benjamin
Mackenzie of the Timiskaming band. He had learned them when a young man
from Algonquins near Dumoine lake [1] at the head of Dumoine river.
These versions are also current at Timiskaming, as I found by testing a
few incidents with other informants, who, however, knew only of
fragments. These myths also are not considered entirely complete.
The trickster-transformer Wiske·djak “meat bird” is the personified
Canada Jay or “Whisky Jack” (Perisoreus sp.). He is not in the least
altruistic, though he seems to have in mind some provision for the
Indians, as appears more particularly in story number 4. For the most
part his transformations are semi-accidental. It seems hardly worth
while at the present time to comment in detail on the transformer
concept here, as it is my intention to pursue investigations further in
this general area, in which the transformer appears under various
titles. At Timagami, for instance, he is called Nenebuc or wi·ske·′; at
Mattagami, he is We·′micuze·‵hwa or Nenebuc. The name Wiske·djak and
its variants seem to be more or less characteristic of the Algonquin
bands, in which respect they resemble the Cree. [2] A secondary hero
personage here is Ci′ŋgəbis, the Horned Grebe (Colymbus auritus).
It is important to note, in dealing with myths in this area, that the
scenes of the trickster-transformer’s adventures always lay in well
known localities within the territory of the band among which the story
is told. These vary considerably, so that the stories have to be
gathered independently from each band before any thorough comparison
can be attempted. In these myths the scene of action commences with
Dumoine lake, Ki·we·′goma “Turn-back lake.” The other geographical
references are as follows. The beaver’s cabin in the first story is a
high round-topped mountain near the lake. Then came Coulonge river and
Pembroke lakes. The Calumet chutes are below Allumette island in Ottawa
river; they are called Apwa′ganiba‵utək “Pipe rapids,” because the
stone at that place is suitable for making pipes and was there sought
by the Indians for this purpose. The big river referred to is Ottawa
river, Ki′tcisi·′bi “big river,” down which Wiske·djak’s course seems
to have been. Other general qualities of the transformer attributed to
him by the Indians were given by the informant and appear at the end of
the cycle.
WISKE·DJAK CYCLE.
(1) Wiske·djak Pursues the Beaver.
Wiske·djak was travelling about looking for adventures. He never
succeeded in anything he tried to do. He never did well and was always
hungry. In his travels he came to Ki·we·′goma “Turn-back lake” (Dumoine
lake). Now he even had no canoe, but he was a great swimmer. When he
came to Ki·we·′goma, he found it even too big to swim, so he started to
walk around it. He wanted to hunt beaver. On one side of the lake, he
came to a round, high mountain that looked like a beaver-lodge. In
front of it he found deep water, just as there is in front of a beaver
lodge. And a little way off shore was a little island with many
grasses; just as the beaver provides a winter supply of greens for
himself near his lodge, so this island he supposed to be the beaver’s
winter supply and the mountain his lodge. Wiske·djak wanted to get this
great beaver, but did not know how to get at him. Then he thought of
draining the lake, so he went way around to the lower end and broke
away the dam so that the water would run off. Soon the water began to
go, and Wiske·djak lingered about, waiting for it to get low enough to
get at the beaver. Pretty soon he took a nap. When he woke up, it was
rather late and he hurried back to the mountain only to find that the
beaver had gone. Now he thought the beaver might have escaped over the
dam with the water, so he started back, and sure enough he saw the
beaver going over the dam. “Now,” said he, “I lost my beaver.” He
followed hard after him and had lots of trouble to keep up.
He followed him past Coulonge river and Pembroke lakes. But when the
beaver reached Calumet chutes, he was afraid to go through and took to
the portage. Then Wiske·djak saw him and chased him harder over the
portage. When he got to the lower end, he lost sight of the beaver and
started back up river (Ottawa river). When he got to the upper end of
the portage, he saw fresh tracks. “Well,” said he, “there has been
somebody here. I wonder if I could trace him. We might have something
to eat.” Then he followed the track to the lower end of the portage
where he had already been, but nobody was there. So he went back to the
upper end of the portage and there saw more fresh tracks leading to the
lower end. These he followed to where he had been twice before, but saw
no beaver. He then discovered that they were his own tracks he had been
following and gave it up. The tracks back and forth can be seen plainly
to-day imprinted in the stone of Calumet portage, which the Indians
call Wiske·djak tracks. After this he started off on another trip.
(2) Wiske·djak Kills the Bear and Gets his Head Fastened in the Skull.
Wiske·djak was always in trouble. One time he was going along the shore
of a big lake carrying a big pail. He felt very hungry and was looking
for something to eat. Pretty soon he saw a lot of clumps of high-bush
cranberries and commenced to eat from one little clump to another. Then
he remembered his pail. Said he, “If I could pick my pail full, I would
have a good supply to last me a long while.” So he began filling his
pail, and as he went on he got into some big clumps. Suddenly he saw a
big Bear sitting down among some bushes, every little while rubbing his
eyes and picking out his paws as though something was hurting his eyes.
Wiske·djak watched him a while and thought how nice it would be to kill
him. What a big supply of food he would have then to fill his pail
with! So he went up to the bear and said, “Hello, Bear! What’s the
matter with you?” The Bear answered, “Oh! my eyes are so sore, and I
can’t see where to go. I just wish somebody would help me.” “Well, come
along with me. I will help you. I know where to get some fine medicine
that will fix you up all right.” “Very well,” said the bear.
Wiske·djak led him off to a big bunch of cranberries. There he gathered
a lot of berries and crushed them in his hands. Then he told the Bear
to open his eyes so that he could put the medicine on. “It may hurt you
when I put this medicine in, but it will cure you, so don’t mind it.”
Then Wiske·djak began to rub the cranberry juice into the Bear’s eyes.
The Bear began to roar and tear around with the pain, making a great
time. “But never mind,” said Wiske·djak. “It may hurt, but it will cure
you.” In the meantime he hunted around and got two big stones, and
while the Bear was blinded with the pain, began pounding him on the
head with the stones. He had a hard fight all over the berry-patch, but
finally succeeded and killed the Bear. Then Wiske·djak went back to
where he had left his pail and got his knife. He skinned the bear and
cut him up. He put some of the pieces into his pail to make a bouillon.
Then he got sticks and made a fire for the cooking. Next he got some
birch bark peeled off and cleaned a big space near the fire, spreading
the birch bark to put the meat on. He stuck the pieces of meat on sharp
sticks. When they were well roasted, he spread them on the bark to cool
off before eating them. He left the bear’s head for the last, then he
began to eat lots of the bear’s fat and the meat. He had a great big
pile of it. He sat down to enjoy his meal.
Now, just as he was ready to begin, the wind began to blow a little,
and at the same time from above came a little cry, “Whun!” He looked
around, because it bothered him, but could not see anything, so he
started to eat again. Then the same little cry sounded again, “Whun!”
and he stopped to look around, but couldn’t see anything. The third
time he started to eat, the same cry sounded, and then he got up and
hunted for the cause, for it bothered him and was spoiling his good
time. When he looked up, he saw a tree that had been blown down,
resting in the crotch of another tree over him that rubbed when the
wind blew and made this noise. Said Wiske·djak, “You had better stop
that noise until I get through eating. I don’t like it at all.” “Oh!”
said the tree, “I have to do it. I can’t stop it.” Whenever Wiske·djak
started to eat again, the wind blew a little. Then Wiske·djak climbed
the tree and put his hands in between the tree and the crotch to stop
the rubbing, and when the wind blew a little the space spread and
closed again. It pinned his hands in the crotch and held him fast. “Let
me go! Let me go!” he begged of the tree. “I must get down to my meat.”
But the only answer he got was, “No,” and there he stayed.
Pretty soon when he looked down, he saw a Squirrel come and take some
of his meat. He shouted for him to go away without any success. Next
came the Marten, then the Fisher, then some Wildcats, then Ravens, and
in fact all kinds of animals came and began to eat up his supply of
meat. He tried to drive them away, but couldn’t. The more he shouted at
them, the more they danced and sang and ran off mocking him. They
carried away all his pieces of meat to their dens, but didn’t touch the
pail of grease. By the time all the meat was gone, a little breeze
arose and the tree let him go. When he got down, all was cleared away.
There were not even bones enough for bouillon. There was only the
grease in the pail. “Well,” said he, “I’ll have grease anyway.”
The Bear’s bladder was hanging in some willow trees where he had thrown
it when he had cut him up. And he went over and filled the bladder with
the grease, so that he could cool it. He tied the neck of the bladder
so that it would hold the grease. “Now,” said he to himself, “even if
they have taken all my meat and bones, I’ll have the grease. I’ll just
tie it by a string to a stick and let it float in the river until it is
cool, and then I’ll make a good meal of that anyway.” So he tied the
bladder of grease to a stick and let it swing in the current of the
river to cool it. A Muskrat came along. “Kwe, Muskrat! Where are you
going?” said Wiske·djak. “Oh! anywhere,” answered the Muskrat. “Well,
then, come work for me,” said Wiske·djak. “Come, tie this bladder on
your tail and swim further out in the deep water where it is cold and
cool it for me. Don’t swim too fast and go easy or you might break the
bladder and spill my grease.” “All right,” said the Muskrat, “I will do
it for you and you will tell me how fast to go.” Then Wiske·djak tied
it to his tail and the Muskrat started off with it. He made a plan
meanwhile. The Muskrat swam way out. “Hold on,” said Wiske·djak,
“you’re going too fast.” But the Muskrat swam farther and when he got
far enough, he snapped the string with his tail, broke the bladder, and
dove out of sight. The grease spread all over the water. Wiske·djak
cried and ran out into the water and tried to scoop up the grease in
his hands to save some of it, but it all escaped him.
When he had lost his grease, he thought of his bouillon, and went back
to his pail, but when he got there, he found that the Wolverine had
come and eaten it all up. Then he searched about to see if he could
even find a small bone. There was not a thing left. After a while he
saw a string of little ants going back and forth from under a log. “I
wonder what they are doing,” thought he. “Maybe they have something
hidden under there.” He followed them and looked under the log, and
there were the ants eating away on the Bear’s skull, devouring the
brains. “If I could get in there myself, I could get some of those
brains,” said he. He tried different ways to reach in, but could not
get at it. “If I could only put my head in that hole, I could eat some.
I wish my head was as small as a snake’s head, then I could get it in.”
Then his head began to get small like a snake’s head and he poked it
inside the skull and began eating a great snack. He licked the skull
clean and said, “Well, I had a meal. Now, if I could only get up and
out, I would be all right.” But when he tried to get his head clear of
the skull, he could not, because his head had turned back to its
original size and was fast inside the skull. He couldn’t see where he
was going.
Then he sat down on a log, thinking what to do next. “If I knock my
head against a rock, I might break my own head.” Then he thought of the
Indians and started off in search of a camp to get help. He was blinded
by the skull and could not see where he was going. Soon he banged
against a tree. “What’s your name?” he asked of the tree. “Maple,” was
the answer. “Well, I’m in high ground. I won’t find any people camping
way up here.” Soon he banged against another tree. “What’s your name?”
he asked. “Beech,” was the answer. “I’m still in high ground,” said he;
“I must strike lower ground.” Soon he banged against another tree and
asked its name. It answered, “White-pine.” “Still in high ground,” said
he, “but getting lower.” The next tree he bumped against proved to be a
red pine. “Still in high ground. No Indian camp here.” At last he
banged against a balsam and then a spruce. “I am getting on low ground
now,” said he. Pretty soon he got into ragged bush and struck a
rough-bark tree. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Cedar,” said the tree.
“Aha! Now I’m in low ground and may strike a camp at last.” He went on
and soon got into very tight bush and struck an alder. “Aha! Now, I am
close to a lake. I will soon find a camp.” Next he got tangled up in
knee-high twigs. He asked them what their name was and they told him
willows. He said, “Am I near a lake?” “Yes,” they answered. “Can you
see people?” “Yes, up at yonder point there is a camp,” they answered.
“Is it far?” he asked. “No, not far,” said they. So he went on and got
into something still lower. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Grass,” was
the answer. Now he walked on and got into water, deeper and deeper. “If
the people would only see me, I would be all right,” said he. Next he
started to swim. He splashed about and made a noise to attract the
people if any were about. Suddenly he remembered about the skull on his
head and said, “If the people see me, they might think that I’m a bear
and try to kill me.” So he swam on.
Sure enough the Indians saw him. They recognized Wiske·djak by his
antics and thought he was trying to play some trick on them, so they
laughed about it and quietly paddled up close to him. They pretended
they thought he was a bear and made out as though they were going to
kill him. Wiske·djak swam as hard as he could for his life. “Hand me my
axe,” said one of the Indians, “till I kill him.” “Stand aside till I
shoot him with my arrow,” said another. “Hurry up, paddle hard or we’ll
lose him,” said a third. They all kept shouting and making a great
pretence to get after him, all the time laughing at Wiske·djak and
splashing with their paddles as though trying to keep up with him.
Wiske·djak all the time struggled ahead in great fear, expecting any
moment to be killed. At last he got across the lake on the other shore
and his feet struck bottom. He landed on a flat rock with the Indians
behind him. Suddenly he slipped and fell on his head. The bear skull
cracked and fell off and left his head free. Then he saw the Indians.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” cried he. “I’m Wiske·djak.” Then he took to
the bush and escaped.
(3) Wiske·djak Invites the Ducks to a Dance.
Wiske·djak was always hungry. One time, in the autumn of the year, he
noticed the flocks of ducks flying south and how fat they were. Then he
made up his mind to try and get some for a good supply against the
winter. He decided to make a big dance among the birds in the autumn
and to invite all the ducks and geese to come, so that he could kill
them. Then he set to work and built a big wigwam and cleaned a nice
place around the outside. He built a little fire in the middle of the
wigwam and fixed a nice space all around it for the dance to take
place. Then he made his door of birch bark, so that the centre stick,
which keeps the bark spread, extended over the ends of the bark and
kept it from opening inwards. Now, everything was about ready, so he
went to see a Duck and said to him, “Soon, now, you will be going away
south to be gone all winter and not to come back until next spring. It
will be a long time before I will see you again, so I want to get up a
dance for you all. You go and invite all your friends—the Ducks, the
Geese and the others who go south.” “All right,” said the Duck.
So he got ready and went back to his wigwam to wait for the company. To
help invite the birds, he sat down in front of it and got his drum and
rattle and began singing a song of invitation.
As the ducks came flying by overhead, they heard his song and came down
to join the party. He sang his song and told them, “You are going away
to be gone until next spring, and I won’t see you for a long time, so I
want to get up a dance for you all, before you go.” A lot of them came
down and he gathered a crowd outside. Then he said, “Now, let us go
inside and have our good time,” and he opened the door and they all
went in. Then he fixed the small fire in the middle so that it would
just give enough light to see a little. “Now,” said he, “you must obey
the rule of this dance and do whatever you are told when you hear the
order.” He sat down on one side of the fire near the door and they all
began dancing around. They got well mixed up before long—the geese,
ducks, loons, and all kinds of birds, and Ciŋgəbis [3] was there too.
When he got them warmed up to the dance, they all got mixed up and soon
Wiske·djak said, “Now, you must all close your eyes and not open them
until I give the word.” Then they obeyed and kept on dancing with their
eyes closed. Then, while their eyes were closed, Wiske·djak got up and
began wringing the neck of one after another. The noise of the dancing
prevented them from hearing what he was doing.
Pretty soon, Ciŋgəbis began to suspect that Wiske·djak was moving
around, so he danced over into a dark corner where Wiske·djak could not
see him and opened one of his eyes a little to peep out. There he saw
Wiske·djak going among the dancers, wringing their necks, and he called
out, “Wiske·djak is killing you! Fly!” Then they opened their eyes and
saw what was happening and took wing and flew away. But little Ciŋgəbis
was way up in the corner. When the birds rushed for the door, Ciŋgəbis
got there last. Wiske·djak jumped at him and gave him a kick behind
that knocked him out of shape. Then he kicked him out of the door and
cried, “Now go, you little rascal.” Ciŋgəbis flew off. Ever since then
he has been out of shape. His feet are so far back that he cannot walk
on land. Wiske·djak did not eat the ducks he had killed after all. He
was a curious lad, that Wiske·djak. (I wasn’t with him any longer. I
left him there.) [4]
(4) Wiske·djak Anum Suum Urit and Originates Rock-weed and Red Willow
from the Scabs.
Now Wiske·djak went on after he had kicked Ciŋgəbis. He saw the flocks
of birds rising in the sky and flying overhead for the south to where
it is warmer. When he lost sight of them, he went back into his wigwam
and looked over what birds he had killed. He wondered how he could cook
them best, so they would taste good. Then he made up his mind to build
a big fire outside his wigwam. When he got the fire well started, he
got a stick and sharpened its point; then with this he loosened up the
ground all around and under the fire. When the fire burned down, it
left the sand red hot round about, and the holes too. Then, where the
holes were, he stuck the fowl head-first with their feathers all on
just as he had killed them, leaving their feet sticking out above the
ground. Then he put on more fire to roast them well in the hot sand. He
stayed up part of the night tending his fire, until he grew drowsy.
“Now,” said he, “I’ll take a little sleep while my birds are cooking in
the sand.” But he grew uneasy lest somebody might come while he was
sleeping and steal his birds. Now Wiske·djak had the power to make
anything answer him when he spoke to it, no matter what it might be. So
he decided to lie down in a clear space facing the lake where people
would come in a canoe if any were around. He lay down ano suo lacui
adverso, resting on his knees and elbows. “Now,” declared he, “I’m
going to have a little sleep. You watch and tell me when you see any
Indians, if they should come in a canoe. Wake me up if you see
anybody.” So he went to sleep. After a while anus ejus clamavit, saying
that an Indian was coming. Wiske·djak jumped up and looked around
everywhere, but could not see anybody. So he lay down again and ano suo
idem dixit ut antea. But just as he was going to sleep, anus iterum
clamavit, saying that a canoe was approaching from around the point.
Wiske·djak jumped up again and looked all around, but he could not see
any canoe. He then grew angry and anum suum vehementes objurgavit and
warned it not to tell any more lies, as he wanted to go to sleep. Then
he lay down and fell asleep again.
Now this time there were some Indians coming around the point in a
canoe and they saw the smoke from Wiske·djak’s fire on the shore of the
lake. Seeing something strange-looking near the fire—they could not
well make out what—they paddled near. As they drifted quietly in shore,
looking sharp to see what curious creature it might be, they came quite
close. One of the Indians said, “Look out, it might be Wiske·djak up to
some more of his mischief.” So one of the men went ashore and said,
“I’ll go see who it is and what he is doing.” Then he went up the shore
to where Wiske·djak was crouching asleep and looked at him. He then
found out who it was, Wiske·djak, and saw the fire burning, but
couldn’t see anything cooking. But at last he examined the fire-place
and saw the fowls’ legs sticking out of the sand around the fire. He
stepped closer to the fire and saw that they were the legs of all kinds
of ducks and geese. Then he went down to the water and told the rest of
the men what he had found. Said they, “We will all go up and take
Wiske·djak’s ducks and geese out of the sand and play a trick on him.”
So they got out of the canoe and took their paddles. They dug up all
the fowl with the paddles and twisted the legs off them. The legs they
stuck back in the sand just as Wiske·djak had placed them. They then
took the ducks and geese and started off as fast as possible before
Wiske·djak should wake up and see them.
Pretty soon Wiske·djak did wake up, as he had slept enough. He got up
and looked about. Nobody was around and things looked quiet. “I guess
my food is pretty well cooked by this time,” said he. Then he pulled up
one of the duck legs from the sand, and ate the meat on the shank. He
went all around pulling the fowls’ legs out of the sand and eating
them. “They are very well done to pull off so easily. Oh, they must be
nice and tender!” thought he. The only thing he noticed was that the
legs came very freely from the sand. “They must be very well cooked to
come out of the sand so freely.” He took a digging stick and commenced
to dig them out. He commenced shovelling away the sand where one of his
ducks was, but found the hole empty, and he dug all around in the sand
but found they were all taken away. He could not find one bird. At last
he got tired of searching and then ano suo dixit, “So I thought I left
you to watch for me while I was asleep!” Et anus [5]respondit, “When I
was watching for you and woke you up, you were not satisfied. You gave
me a scolding. So when the Indians did come, I thought I would leave
you to do your own watching.”
Then Wiske·djak grew angry and planned anum suum castigare. He got wood
and made another big fire. He got it burning well until there were a
lot of red coals. “Now,” ano suo dixit, “I’ll give you a little
punishment for letting my ducks and geese go to the Indians.” He went
over to the fire and straddled his legs over the fire-place, sitting
over the red coals. Anum suum paulum urere incepit ut eum castigaret,
but he stood the pain the fire gave him. Soon his flesh commenced
sizzling, making a sputtering noise “Tsii!” as it roasted nicely. He
heard it squealing. “You can squeal all you like till you get enough of
a scorching,” ano suo dixit Wiske·djak. When he thought it was burnt
enough, he got up and started walking off. He started off to look for
something else to do, ano suo maxime dolente.
He wandered across swamps and mountains and around lakes, suffering
with his burns. All at once he came upon a little flock of partridges
newly hatched, and their mother was away. “Kwe!” said Wiske·djak, “What
are you doing here?” “Nothing,” said the little Partridges, “just
staying here.” “Where is your mother?” asked Wiske·djak. “Away
hunting,” replied they. “What’s your name?” he asked of one. Each
little Partridge told him its name until he came to the last, the
youngest one. “What’s your name?” he demanded. “Kuckuŋge·′sįs, suddenly
frightened!” answered the little Partridge. “Oh you!” said Wiske·djak,
“what can you frighten?” Then he took a lump of soft mud and threw it
over all the young Partridges, so that he almost covered them with the
dirty mud. “What can you frighten now?” said he. Then he left and
walked along until he came to a high mountain. He was getting very sore
from his burns and anus [6]maxime doluit. When he climbed to the top
of the mountain he found a nice breeze blowing across it. He found a
high rock swept by the cooling breeze. “Now,” thought he to himself,
“if I can find a nice place on the highest of these rocks I can rest
myself and let the cool breeze cool my burns.” So he searched around
the mountain until he came to a place clear of trees where there was a
great chasm below, hundreds of feet deep, with a nice cool breeze
coming over. Here he lay down right on the edge where most of the
breeze was. He found the wind very good. He got relief from his
suffering burns. His pains had been so bad and he had walked so far
that he was very tired and sleepy. Soon he was fast asleep on the brink
of the cliff.
By this time the old Partridge had got home to his young and found them
all covered with black mud. The old Partridge said to his young, “What
has happened to you? Where did you go? Anywhere?” “No,” they answered,
“nowhere.” “Well, what did this?” he asked. “Well, Wiske·djak came
along to-day after you went away. He commenced asking us questions and
we answered him as well as we could. He asked us our names and we all
told him. But one, our youngest brother, was the last to be asked, and
when he told his name Wiske·djak got angry and said, ‘What could you
frighten?’ Then he got mud and threw it over us and left us in this
mess.” So the old Partridge was angry. He cleaned the young ones up,
washed and dried them, and gave them their food which he had brought
back for them. Then he asked them which way Wiske·djak went and they
showed him the direction. Then the old Partridge took the trail the
little ones showed him and followed Wiske·djak across the swamps, over
the mountains, and around the lakes. He tracked him to the big high
mountains. He kept on until he reached the high rock of the cliff, and
there he saw Wiske·djak lying on the edge of the rock sleeping soundly.
The old Partridge went alongside of him on the upper side of the rock,
above him. He spread his wings and went right up close to Wiske·djak’s
ears, and shouted, screeched, and clapped his wings. Wiske·djak woke up
with a start and jumped up. He saw something above him making a
terrible noise and took such a fright that he fell over the edge of the
rock. “Now,” said the old Partridge, “you will know better what
Kuckuŋge·′sįs is now.”
So poor Wiske·djak tumbled down the cliff, banging and sliding on his
hind-quarters, and scraped all the scabs off his burns. When he fell to
the bottom of the rocky cliff, he lay stunned for some time, but after
a while he arose. He started to crawl away on his hands and knees. Soon
he saw a lake at the bottom of the cliff. His sores pained him very
badly. Thought he to himself, “There’s a nice lake; now I’ll go down
there and cool myself in the water.” He started crawling toward the
shore. Before he came to the edge of the water there were a lot of low
willows he had to crawl through. As he went over them, he looked back
where he had come and saw all his blood from the sores stuck on to the
willow twigs. Then said he, “Now you young willows will be called ‘red
willows’ from this time on. And when the Indians get short of tobacco
they will cut you and scrape the bark off you and dry you and use you
to smoke for their tobacco.” He looked up higher toward the rocks where
he fell down. There he saw his scabs sticking to the rocks where he had
stuck, some large, some small. Said he to the rocks, “You will hold on
to these scabs. Don’t ever let go. And when the Indians are hard put to
it for something to eat, you will give them some of my scabs and tell
them to wash them in cold water and boil them with rabbit meat or any
kind of meat or fish. It will furnish them with fine soup, those small
ones. And now the biggest scabs—you can tell them that if they have any
kind of oil they can oil them a little and roast them before the fire
and that it will give them good nourishment when they are hard put to
it for something to eat.” So from that time the Indians have used red
willow bark to smoke and the “rock weed” to eat when they have needed
them. [7] By this time anus Wiske·djaki magnopere doluit and he thought
he would go into the water for a while and cool his burns.
So I had some travelling to do and I left him there, and I don’t know
where he went.
(5) Wiske·djak Disguises himself as a Lynx.
One time in winter Wiske·djak was going along and fell upon an Indian’s
trail. He followed the tracks of the snowshoes and soon came to a place
where the Indian had set his rabbit snares. Wiske·djak saw the rabbits
in the snares. He followed on and finally came to where a Lynx was
caught in a snare. He thought it was a very curious looking creature.
The Lynx’s eyes were bulging out from being choked in the snare, and
his teeth showed. Now Wiske·djak admired the Lynx’s bulging eyes.
“Don’t you think your eyes are very pretty?” he asked the Lynx. “No,
not very,” answered the Lynx, because every thing living or dead had to
reply when Wiske·djak asked it a question. Wiske·djak was very eager to
get pretty eyes like the Lynx’s, so he made a fire and roasted the poor
Lynx to get its skin off. Then Wiske·djak took out his own eyes and
pulled the Lynx’s skin on over his own head, so that the bulging eyes
of the Lynx fitted into his own eye sockets.
Then Wiske·djak went on his travels, very well pleased with his looks.
But he found out that with the Lynx’s eyes he could only see well at
night. So after a while he became dissatisfied with the new eyes, but
he had thrown his own away, so he had to make the best of it. He could
only travel at night on account of his new eyes. So he had to make his
living on rabbits, stealing them from the Indians’ snares. They were
all he could get. One day, as he was going along, he stopped and looked
at his tracks. Then he discovered that his paws were big and broad and
so spread out when he walked that they resembled snowshoes. They were
so broad that he could walk over the snow without snowshoes. So he went
on.
One day he decided to watch the Indians, so he sat down on a log near a
hunter’s path and waited for someone to come along. He waited all night
and part of the day. Finally some Indians came along the path to visit
their rabbit snares. As they passed they found the rabbits stolen from
all their snares, but they did not mind it very much. Some time after,
one of the Indians’ little children came along the trail and saw
Wiske·djak with his big face and bulging eyes sitting on the stump. The
child ran back to camp and told his parents that he saw a big wildcat
with bulging eyes staring at him from a stump. Then the father of the
child took his “arrow-head club,” [8] and went to where the child said
he saw the wildcat. Then he started clubbing Wiske·djak to kill him.
The fight was getting pretty bad, when Wiske·djak cried out, “Hold on,
hold on! it isn’t a lynx, it is Wiske·djak that you are pounding to
death!” And Wiske·djak tore off the lynx skin, and pitched it away.
Then he took to the bush. That’s the last I saw of him.
(6) Wiske·djak’s Love Affair.
Wiske·djak never got married to a woman. But he pretended to get
married. One time he dressed himself like a woman, with skirts, and
tried to deceive a young man, so that he thought Wiske·djak was his
wife. Wiske·djak pretended to be jealous of the man when he went away.
The other people knew that it was Wiske·djak all the time and laughed
to themselves and made fun of the pair. The young man lived with
Wiske·djak for some time, thinking it was his wife. But the other
people made fun of the young man so much that at last he left
Wiske·djak. Several times he got young men to live with him as their
wife, but at last they all left him and he went away by himself. He was
a queer fellow, that Wiske·djak. He never got married because he would
not be bothered with a woman, as he had to be travelling all the time.
(7) Ciŋgəbis.
Ciŋgəbis was a remarkable fellow, a wonderful diver who could stay
underneath the water all day if he wanted to. He was married and lived
with his wife’s people. One time he had some kind of a dispute with
them and they would not give in to him. So he said he would go away. As
it was winter time, there was a water hole in the ice on the lake, and
he went down and slid into the water and disappeared. His relatives
spent all day hunting for him along the shores, thinking he might come
up along the edge, but he did not. Then they went home and gave him up.
In a few months, when his wife’s brothers were out on the lake in their
canoe, they spied a little duck swimming a long way off, and paddled up
to him. This was Ciŋgəbis. When they got near, they recognized him and
asked him, “Are you not Ciŋgəbis?” “Yes,” said he. “We thought you were
drowned. Are you coming back again?” “No,” said he, and fluttered his
wings and sank out of sight, leaving only his bill above the water,
which they could not see. This time he stayed under all day, and when
night came, he left the country. His wife’s people thought he was
either dead or gone.
Then Ciŋgəbis travelled to another village, where he heard there was a
beautiful girl. When he saw her all dressed up in fine clothes, new and
beaded, he wanted to marry her, and asked her parents for her. “Who are
you?” they asked him. “I am Ciŋgəbis,” said he. “Why, we heard you were
drowned,” said they. “It is not true. Here I am. I am Ciŋgəbis and
alive.” “You cannot be Ciŋgəbis, because there is only one Ciŋgəbis,
and we heard he was drowned. But if you are, you cannot marry the girl,
because you have another wife.” Now Ciŋgəbis wanted the girl and stayed
in the camp. He would not leave. So that night they put one of the
girl’s brothers to sleep alongside of him, so that he could not
secretly get to the wigwam where the girls slept. During the night he
talked with the brother and told him that he would show them how he
could stay under water if they would give him the girl. The next
morning the young man told his parents about it and they talked it
over. They thought it might be good for their boys to know how to stay
under water, and at last gave their consent. So they gave Ciŋgəbis the
girl, and the next day went out on the lake to see him dive. The whole
family got in the canoe and they paddled out to the middle of the lake.
“Now,” said he, “let me out here.” Then he slid into the water and with
his body stiff sank slowly until he was out of sight. Then he struck
out under water and reached the shore where he hid under some rushes,
just leaving his bill above the water. His nostrils were at the end of
his bill, so he could breathe with only a bit above water. They waited
for him half the day and, though the water was calm, could not see him,
so they gave him up and went home. That night he came back, to their
surprise.
They planned to go out again the next day and see him dive again. The
next day they went out and Ciŋgəbis dove again and swam among some
reeds. He got under one lying flat, and pushed it just a little above
the water so that his nostrils were out of water, yet covered by the
stem of the rush. There he stayed a couple of hours out of sight. When
they were about to leave again, Ciŋgəbis shouted, “He! Here I am. Can
you see me?” They looked all around but could not see him. Then he came
up in sight and went back to the canoe. He explained how his nostrils
were out at the end of his bill and how he got under the reeds and hid
there. Then he explained how in the winter time he could dive through
an air hole in the ice and swim to where the rushes grew up through the
ice, pull down one of the stalks, and put his bill in the opening and
get all the air he wanted. Said he, “I can stay there a week or a
month, if I want, only I get hungry. Then I dive to the bottom and eat
some little mussels and things on the bottom and come up to the hole
again. In that way I can get along under the ice all winter if I like.”
That is how he did.
Now, before long, his first wife’s family heard that Ciŋgəbis was alive
and living with another woman. They got angry and began to conjure to
bring sickness upon his new wife and her family. When his new wife and
her people heard of this, they were angry at Ciŋgəbis and wanted him to
go away. But he would not consent. At last he made an offer, because
his mother-in-law wanted her daughter to leave him. He told them that
he would give up his new wife and her family if they would succeed in
getting her away from him unknown to him. When they heard this, they
began planning. For a whole year they thought of different plans. At
last the old mother-in-law said she had a plan, and told everyone in
the family to help her get up a big dance and invite all the people to
come. Ciŋgəbis was very jealous of his wife and had his camp apart from
the others, lest some man might take a fancy to his wife and take her
away. His jealousy was known everywhere and he never let her out of
sight. Knowing this, the old mother-in-law made her plan. She sent a
special invitation to Ciŋgəbis and his wife and told her sons to try to
get him to come. Now Ciŋgəbis suspected some trick and told his wife
not to go to the dance. “If I have to go, you must stay here at home
and not move away from the wigwam.”
When the night of the dance came, they got everything ready—the drum
and rattles, and everybody was coming from every camp. They prepared a
kind of drink out of boiled bark and herbs with tobacco juice in it,
that would make people dizzy when they drank it. Ciŋgəbis did not want
to go to the dance at first, but everybody coaxed him until he started.
But he told his wife to stay at home and not leave for anything. Now
this was just what the old woman depended on, because she knew how
jealous Ciŋgəbis was. When the dance began, everybody began drinking
some of the strong herb liquor and it went to their heads and made them
feel good, and dizzy. The old woman told her sons to keep Ciŋgəbis well
supplied with the drink and not to let him leave until late. She then
waited until the dancing was well started and everybody was warmed up
to it. Then she quietly slipped away when she saw that Ciŋgəbis was
dancing hard and feeling good with the drink. He had almost forgotten
about his wife and what might happen. The old woman went off into the
woods to where there was a dead spruce stump that was full of ants. She
cut off the stump and got a piece about the length of a person. The
ants are asleep in the cold of night and will not rouse when disturbed.
The stump she took with her to Ciŋgəbis’ wigwam and quietly called to
her daughter inside. “Come, daughter, I have come to take you home away
from Ciŋgəbis,” she whispered. “You get up out of bed and leave
everything as it is.” “All right,” said the girl, and she packed up a
few of her things and came out. Then the old woman took the stump full
of ants in and put it beneath the rabbitskin blanket, covered it up
just like the girl’s figure sleeping there, and the two then fled to
the mother’s camp.
Ciŋgəbis stayed late at the dance. He drank a great deal of the liquor
and got pretty dizzy before he thought about going home. At last he
left the dance and started for his wigwam. He entered quietly. “Are you
asleep?” he asked of his wife. There was no answer. “Aha! that’s good,”
said he. “I’ll let her sleep and then there will be no danger of her
being carried away tonight, as I am very sleepy with my weariness and
cannot keep awake to watch her tonight. That’s good; she is sound
asleep.” And he felt her blanket and found what he thought was her
figure beneath the rabbitskin. Then he lay down quietly beside her, so
as not to awaken her, and pretty soon was fast asleep.
Before long some of the ants got warmed up by his body and began
crawling over him. “Oh! what’s that crawling over me! Do you know what
it is that is creeping over us?” he asked his wife, and gave the stump
another poke with his elbow. No answer. “Well, you are asleep yet. But
that’s good. There won’t be any danger of your walking about the camp
attracting the other men while I am asleep. But oh! how those things
bite. I wonder what they are!” Then he dozed off again and was awakened
again by the ants stinging him. He managed to bear it all night, and in
the morning woke up suddenly, all bitten up. He jumped up, threw off
the rabbitskin blanket, and instead of his wife there lay the old
rotten spruce stump swarming with ants.
(8) Remarks About Wiske·djak.
TIMISKAMING ALGONQUIN TEXT.
wiske·djak wi·′egiskenda‵go zi′gobαn igi·′bi·
Wiske·djak was always doing mischief, it is said, in his lifetime
wi·′gipəmaʻtαzi·matc anicəna′bi mɔ·′jak ano′tcke·‵gon
living among the Indians, always everything
ogi·′jini‵gwuna‵dji·an wi·′djini‵cəna′binʻ i′yanotc mɔ·′jαk
doing what he could teasing his countrymen Indians. Everywhere always
ki·′bəba‵ma·‵dəzitc e′ji· ani′cənabe·ka‵nik ki·bəba′ndə
going about during his life wherever there were Indians. Going about
mi·′gucka‵djiatc wi·′djənicəna‵bi owi·′etenda‵go zi′gobαn
teasing his countrymen. He was funny, it is said,
sa′wi·na‵nawe i·yeja′nawe ega
at the same time to have him about for all that. He had
u·jo′dji·ma‵nəs·ik mɔ·′jαk ki·gmita′zəga·‵mɛ·tc kenowekwa·′s·e
no canoe; always he walked about the land a great distance,
ki·′bəba aye′ja ke′gatʻ enigu′kʻkami·gaʻgⁱ
going here and about there. Almost travelled over the whole world
ak·i′ŋg ki·no′ndaga‵newe ki·ʻbəba mi·gu′cka‵dzitc
on earth. We heard tell of him going about doing mischief.
kaye′gaʻk·i‵nəge‵gon ogi·′gəcki‵t·on tci·a′nəmit·aʻgʷət·o‵tc
He had everything so that it would answer him when he spoke to it;
miʻti′g·onʻ nibi·′ awe′ʻsi·zα‵nʻ ano′tc awi·′αnʻ awe′gwe‵nəc·əʻnʻ
trees, water, animals, and all other small creatures
ogi·′nəkwe‵ʻtaʻgonʻ i·gαno′nac mi·′sαmini‵k teba′dji·mα‵k
would reply to him when he spoke. That is as much as can be told
wiske·djak.
of Wiske·djak.
FREE TRANSLATION.
Wiske·djak was always doing mischief in his lifetime among the Indians,
so it is said. He was always doing everything he could to plague his
countrymen, the Indians. He spent his life going about everywhere where
there were Indians, to tease them and play mischief among them. Because
he was so funny, it was thought good to have him going about in spite
of his mischief. He had no canoe, so he always walked about, going
great distances here and there and everywhere, until he had travelled
almost all over the world, where he was heard of doing his mischievous
pranks. He had the power to make everything in creation answer him when
he spoke to it; trees, water, animals, and all the other little
creatures would reply to him when he spoke. That is all that can be
said of Wiske·djak.
(9) Further Comment on Wiske·djak.
Wiske·djak, “meat bird,” was a great mischief maker. He was always a
roamer, always hungry. He used to visit from one family of Indians to
another, but he never liked to stay long with one, so soon he would
move away and go near other people. He was always looking for trouble
and got it too, but in spite of all he was never killed. Indeed, nobody
ever wanted to kill him, even though he was causing so much mischief,
because the people liked to have him around. So he never came to an
end. All of Wiske·djak’s pranks were done at different times long ago,
not all one after another at one time, as it might seem. He is still
living somewhere, but he is very quiet now, as we don’t hear of him
doing anything new nowadays.
TIMISKAMING FOLK-LORE.
(1)
Wi′ndigo: a man-eating creature who roams through woods devouring
luckless victims. He is believed to have commenced as a hunter who
became lost in the bush, and lost all his provisions and clothing. Then
he preyed upon anything he could find, like an animal.
(2)
Pa·′gukʻ: a creature of bones, a skeleton, that clatters through the
forest, making a great rattling and squeaking noise. When this is
heard, it is understood as an omen that some friend will be lost.
Pa·′gukʻ is accounted for by the story of a hunter who got starved out
in the bush. Before he died he wished that his life and the strength of
his flesh might be transferred to his bones. He got his wish, and his
strength went into his bones when his flesh fell away. Whenever he
wished, he could fly through the air as though on wings.
(3)
The constellation Ursa Major (Great Bear or Dipper) is called wədji·′g
“fisher” or “black cat” (Mustela pennanti). The four main stars of the
group form the body of the animal; the stars trailing behind (the
handle of the dipper) represent the fisher’s tail, the bend showing the
bent tail of the animal. The story accounts for the presence of the
fisher in the sky, relating how the various animals tried to reach the
north star, but eventually froze to death. The fisher is still trying
to reach it and he is the nearest, but he only keeps going round and
round it (representing the revolution of the constellation about the
North Star) without being able to get there.
(4)
The Northern Lights are called wa′t·e “illumination” (reduplicated
wawa′t·e is “lightning” from thunder). They are caused by the waves
splashing against the rocky shores of the northern seas (James bay),
which produce a sort of reflected glow. The seething noise which is
sometimes heard when the aurora is visible is attributed to the
grinding of the rocks and gravel along the shore of the sea driven by
the action of water and wind in the north.
The Indians here think that within two days after the aurora is seen
they will get a heavy wind storm. They also state that wild geese
require a day and a night to reach Lake Timiskaming from James bay when
they migrate, thus showing the speed of the wind by comparison.
(5)
The Rainbow is called wədα′dgwanəbi·sanʻ “forms from the water,” since
the phenomenon is believed to be caused by the mist from breakers on
some great body of water, just as a rainbow will appear above the spray
along the seashore or hanging in the mist above some waterfalls.
(6)
The Milky Way is bine′s·imi·k·αnʻ “bird’s path,” because it is by the
Milky Way that the fowl and birds follow their northward or southward
course in their migrations. It guides them southward in the autumn and
back again in the spring. Less frequently the Milky Way is called
dji·ba′imi·k·αnʻ “spirit path” over which the spirits of the dead are
thought to journey.
(7)
To see a white animal is a sign of bad luck to a hunter. “Once a man
went hunting. After he had been travelling all day and taken a few
animals, he saw a bear that was half black and half white. Then he said
to himself, ‘I must not hunt any more this trip. If I do, some harm
will come to my family.’ So he went home.”—“If a hunter sees an albino
animal he must stop hunting or evil will befall him or some member of
his family.”
(8)
To find a dwarfed animal is an omen of misfortune. “Once two men were
out on a long hunting trip. Soon after they had begun trapping, they
found a dwarfed beaver in one of the traps. It was not small because it
was young, but they could see it was an old one, but much undersized.
When the older of the two men saw this, he said, ‘We must go home at
once and give up hunting because something is wrong at home.’ Although
they had been gone only a short time, they turned back, and when they
got home, they found that one of his sons was dead and that the family
was waiting to bury him.”
(9)
To foretell what kind of animals will be killed the next day by men
just before going hunting, a partridge breast bone is burnt or scorched
before the fire. The shape of the scorched portion suggests, by a vague
resemblance, the form of some animal.
(10)
The tips of the wings of birds that are killed for food are preserved
about the camp for good luck, or, as they say, “to ask for more luck.”
Some hunters also preserve the skulls of all the game they kill. “If
they throw these parts of the animals away, they won’t be able to find
what creatures they may look for afterward.”
(11)
If blue bottle flies are killed it will bring rain.
(12)
If, in winter, rabbit’s hair is thrown into the smoke of a fire, as it
rises in the heat toward the sky, it will cause snow the next day.
Children are scolded when they do these things at the wrong time.
(13)
In the body of a fish are various bones which the Indians liken to
different utensils and tools in the hunter’s outfit. There is a gun,
spear, bow and arrow, knife, paddle, sled, snowshoe, awl, etc. This is
merely a saying.
(14)
Another idea is that a “left-handed person is clever, because he fools
people by the way he does things.”
(15) Bear Feast.
The following description of the ceremony attending the eating of a
bear is based on the accounts of three participants.
When a bear has been killed, the families in the neighbourhood assemble
at a camp conveniently near. The hunter who has killed the bear becomes
the host of the occasion, which is called mα′gwαce·‵ “feast.” Slabs of
birch bark are spread upon a clear space of ground to serve as a sort
of table. The carcass is then butchered, the head being cut off,
including the first vertebra, the long piece of breast fat is also cut
off with the head, so that the two remain together. The head with this
mass of breast fat is then put into a separate cooking vessel. Then the
birch bark slabs, often 12 feet long, forming the cover of some wigwam,
are covered with the cut up portions of the meat. Birch bark dishes are
placed for each participant on the bark, with extra dishes for the
gravy. The grease from the cooking vessels is then collected and put
into a separate vessel to cool, so that it will be thick enough to
drink. When the meat has been boiled properly, all the guests are
seated at their places around the bark spread. Often they have a dance
around it at this time. Before they begin to eat, the chief goes around
to each guest and with a big wooden spoon, holding about a cupful and a
half, gives each a spoonful of grease. Then they begin to eat.
When the feast is about half through, the chief gets up and decorates
the bear’s head with bright coloured ribbons about six inches long
attached to little cedar sticks about four inches long, with their ends
split to hold the ribbons. These ribbon streamers are stuck into the
fat and about the head. Then the head itself is impaled on a stick and,
carrying this in his hand, the chief dances twice around the company,
singing a tune to a burden of syllables. After this performance the
chief plants the stick with the head upon it in the middle of the
spread before all the guests, where it is left. Then they finish
eating.
After the feast the oldest and most venerable man in the camp is
presented with the head and the attached breast fat, which he may
either take home or distribute over again to the company. After the
feast is over the chief must go around and consume what grease is left.
This is to demonstrate his capacity as a man and hearty eater. After
all is over, the lower jaw bone is tied to the skull in its proper
position and black stripes are painted on the skull. This is then put
on the stub end of a branch of a tree facing from some prominent point
toward the river or lake, near the water’s edge. Here it can be seen by
passers by as a reminder of the place and occasion of the bear feast.
The Indians themselves can give little comment on the meaning or reason
of this ceremony, except that it is done from respect to the bear and
satisfaction in securing a bountiful supply of meat. It belongs to the
variously expressed series of bear rites widespread among the northern
tribes.
(16) Legend of Iroquois Falls.
Once long ago a war party of Iroquois came north into this country to
fight the Indians at Abitibi. On the way they captured an old woman and
took her with them to guide them. When they were on Abitibi river they
drew near the big falls there without knowing it. The old woman was
made to stay in the first canoe. When she knew they were nearing the
falls she slowed up so that the flotilla of canoes became bunched. The
approach to the falls is very much concealed. All of a sudden they
found themselves upon the brink of the falls, and before they could
help themselves they all went over. The old woman was lost with the
rest in saving her people from being massacred by the Iroquois. [9]