whence he came, nor who were his parents, and he wandered about from
place to place, in search of something. At last he became wearied and
fell asleep. He dreamed that he heard a voice saying, "Nosis," that is,
my grandchild. When he awoke, he actually heard the word repeated, and
looking around, he saw a tiny little animal hardly big enough to be
seen on the plain. While doubting whether the voice could come from
such a diminutive source, the little animal said to him, "My grandson,
you will call me Bosh-kwa-dosh. Why are you so desolate? Listen to me,
and you shall find friends and be happy. You must take me up and bind
me to your body, and never put me aside, and success in life shall
attend you." He obeyed the voice, sewing up the little animal in the
folds of a string, or narrow belt, which he tied around his body, at
his navel. He then set out in search of some one like himself, or other
object. He walked a long time in the woods without seeing man or
animal. He seemed all alone in the world. At length he came to a place
where a stump was cut, and on going over a hill he descried a large
town in a plain. A wide road led through the middle of it; but what
seemed strange was, that on one side there were no inhabitants in the
lodges, while the other side was thickly inhabited. He walked boldly
into the town.
The inhabitants came out and said: "Why here is the being we have heard
so much of--here is Anish-in-á-ba. See his eyes, and his teeth in a
half circle--see the Wyaukenawbedaid! See his bowels, how they are
formed;"--for it seems they could look through him. The king's son, the
Mudjékewis, was particularly kind to him, and calling him
brother-in-law, commanded that he should be taken to his father's lodge
and received with attention. The king gave him one of his daughters.
These people (who are supposed to be human, but whose rank in the scale
of being is left equivocal) passed much of their time in play and
sports and trials of various, kinds. When some time had passed, and he
become refreshed and rested, he was invited to join in these sports.
The first test which they put him to, was the trial of frost. At some
distance was a large body of frozen water, and the trial consisted in
lying down naked on the ice, and seeing who could endure the longest.
He went out with two young men, who began, by pulling off their
garments, and lying down on their faces. He did likewise, only keeping
on the narrow magic belt with the tiny little animal sewed in it; for
he felt that in this alone was to be his reliance and preservation. His
competitors laughed and tittered during the early part of the night,
and amused themselves by thoughts of his fate. Once they called out to
him, but he made no reply. He felt a manifest warmth given out by his
belt. About midnight, finding they were still, he called out to them,
in return, "What!" said he, "are you benumbed already? I am but just
beginning to feel a little cold." All was silence. He, however, kept
his position till early day break, when he got up and went to them.
They were both quite dead, and frozen so hard, that the flesh had
bursted out under their finger nails, and their teeth stood out. As he
looked more closely, what was his surprise to find them both
transformed into buffalo cows. He tied them together, and carried them
towards the village. As he came in sight, those who had wished his
death were disappointed, but the Mudjékewis, who was really his friend,
rejoiced. "See!" said he, "but one person approaches--it is my
brother-in-law." He then threw down the carcasses in triumph, but it
was found that by their death he had restored two inhabitants to the
before empty lodges, and he afterwards perceived that every one of
these beings, whom he killed, had the like effect, so that the
depopulated part of the village soon became filled with people.
The next test they put him to, was the trial of speed. He was
challenged to the race ground, and began his career with one whom he
thought to be a man; but everything was enchanted here, for he soon
discovered that his competitor was a large black bear. The animal
outran him, tore up the ground, and sported before him, and put out its
large claws as if to frighten him. He thought of his little guardian
spirit in the belt, and wishing to have the swiftness of the Kakake,
_i.e._ sparrowhawk, he found himself rising from the ground, and with
the speed of this bird he outwent his rival, and won the race, while
the bear came up exhausted and lolling out his tongue. His friend the
Mudjékewis stood ready, with his war-club, at the goal, and the moment
the bear came up, dispatched him. He then turned to the assembly, who
had wished his friend and brother's death, and after reproaching them,
he lifted up his club and began to slay them on every side. They fell
in heaps on all sides; but it was plain to be seen, the moment they
fell, that they were not men, but animals--foxes, wolves, tigers,
lynxes, and other kinds, lay thick around the Mudjékewis.
Still the villagers were not satisfied. They thought the trial of frost
had not been fairly accomplished, and wished it repeated. He agreed to
repeat it, but being fatigued with the race, he undid his guardian
belt, and laying it under his head, fell asleep. When he awoke, he felt
refreshed, and feeling strong in his own strength, he went forward to
renew the trial on the ice, but quite forgot the belt, nor did it at
all occur to him when he awoke, or when he lay down to repeat the
trial. About midnight his limbs became stiff, the blood soon ceased to
circulate, and he was found in the morning a stiff corpse. The victors
took him up and carried him to the village, where the loudest tumult of
victorious joy was made, and they cut his body into a thousand pieces,
that each one might eat a piece.
The Mudjékewis bemoaned his fate, but his wife was inconsolable. She
lay in a state of partial distraction, in the lodge. As she lay here,
she thought she heard some one groaning. It was repeated through the
night, and in the morning she carefully scanned the place, and running
her fingers through the grass, she discovered the secret belt, on the
spot where her husband had last reposed. "Aubishin!" cried the
belt--that is, untie me, or unloose me. Looking carefully, she found
the small seam which inclosed the tiny little animal. It cried out the
more earnestly, "Aubishin!" and when she had carefully ripped the
seams, she beheld, to her surprise, a minute, naked little beast,
smaller than the smallest new-born mouse, without any vestige of hair,
except at the tip of its tail; it could crawl a few inches, but reposed
from fatigue. It then went forward again. At each movement it would
_pupowee_, that is to say, shake itself like a dog, and at each shake
it became larger. This it continued until it acquired the strength and
size of a middle sized dog, when it ran off.
The mysterious dog ran to the lodges, about the village, looking for
the bones of his friend, which he carried to a secret place, and as
fast as he found them arranged all in their natural order. At length he
had formed all the skeleton complete, except the heel bone of one foot.
It so happened that two sisters were out of camp, according to custom,
at the time the body was cut up, and this heel was sent out to them.
The dog hunted every lodge, and being satisfied that it was not to be
found in the camp, he sought it outside of it, and found the lodge of
the two sisters. The younger sister was pleased to see him, and admired
and patted the pretty dog, but the elder sat mumbling the very
heel-bone he was seeking, and was surly and sour, and repelled the dog,
although he looked most wistfully up in her face, while she sucked the
bone from one side of her mouth to the other. At last she held it in
such a manner that it made her cheek stick out, when the dog, by a
quick spring, seized the cheek, and tore cheek and bone away and fled.
He now completed the skeleton, and placing himself before it, uttered a
hollow, low, long-drawn-out howl, when the bones came compactly
together. He then modulated his howl, when the bones knit together and
became tense. The third howl brought sinews upon them, and the fourth,
flesh. He then turned his head upwards, looking into the sky, and gave
a howl, which caused every one in the village to startle, and the
ground itself to tremble, at which the breath entered into his body,
and he first breathed and then arose. "Hy kow!" I have overslept
myself, he exclaimed; "I will be too late for the trial." "Trial!" said
Bosh-kwa-dosh, "I told you never to let me be separate from your body,
you have neglected this. You were defeated, and your frozen body cut
into a thousand pieces, and scattered over the village; but my skill
has restored you. Now I will declare myself to you, and show who and
what I am!"
He then began to Pupowee, or shake himself, and at every shake, he grew.
His body became heavy and massy, his legs thick and long, with big
clumsy ends, or feet. He still shook himself, and rose and swelled. A
long snout grew from his head, and two great shining teeth out of his
mouth. His skin remained as it was, naked, and only a tuft of hair grew
on his tail. He rose up as high as the trees. He was enormous. "I should
fill the earth," said he, "were I to exert my utmost power, and all
there is on the earth would not satisfy me to eat. Neither could it
fatten me or do me good. I should want more. The Great Spirit created me
to show his power when there were nothing but animals on the earth. But
were all animals as large as myself, there would not be grass enough for
food. But the earth was made for man, and not for beasts. I give some of
those great gifts which I possess. All the animals shall be your food,
and you are no longer to flee before them, and be their sport and food."
So saying, he walked off with heavy steps and with fierce looks, at
which all the little animals trembled.
THE SUN-CATCHER,
OR
BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN.
A MYTH OF THE ORIGIN OF THE DORMOUSE.
FROM THE ODJIBWA.
At the time when the animals reigned in the earth, they had killed all
but a girl, and her little brother, and these two were living in fear
and seclusion. The boy was a perfect pigmy, and never grew beyond the
stature of a small infant, but the girl increased with her years, so
that the labor of providing food and lodging devolved wholly on her.
She went out daily to get wood for their lodge-fire, and took her
little brother along that no accident might happen to him; for he was
too little to leave alone. A big bird might have flown away with him.
She made him a bow and arrows, and said to him one day, "I will leave
you behind where I have been chopping--you must hide yourself, and you
will soon see the Gitshee-gitshee-gaun-ia-see-ug, or snow birds, come
and pick the worms out of the wood, where I have been chopping" (for it
was in the winter). "Shoot one of them and bring it home." He obeyed
her, and tried his best to kill one, but came home unsuccessful. She
told him he must not despair, but try again the next day. She
accordingly left him at the place she got wood, and returned. Towards
nightfall, she heard his little footsteps on the snow, and he came in
exultingly, and threw down one of the birds which he had killed. "My
sister," said he, "I wish you to skin it and stretch the skin, and when
I have killed more, I will have a coat made out of them." "But what
shall we do with the body?" said she, for as yet men had not begun to
eat animal food, but lived on vegetables alone. "Cut it in two," he
answered, "and season our pottage with one half of it at a time." She
did so. The boy, who was of a very small stature, continued his
efforts, and succeeded in killing ten birds, out of the skins of which
his sister made him a little coat.
"Sister," said he one day, "are we all alone in the world? Is there
nobody else living?" She told him that those they feared and who had
destroyed their relatives lived in a certain quarter, and that he must
by no means go in that direction. This only served to inflame his
curiosity and raise his ambition, and he soon after took his bow and
arrows and went in that direction. After walking a long time and
meeting nothing, he became tired, and lay down on a knoll, where the
sun had melted the snow. He fell fast asleep; and while sleeping, the
sun beat so hot upon him, that it singed and drew up his bird-skin
coat, so that when he awoke and stretched himself, he felt bound in it,
as it were. He looked down and saw the damage done to his coat. He flew
into a passion, and upbraided the sun, and vowed vengeance against it.
"Do not think you are too high," said he, "I shall revenge myself."
On coming home, he related his disaster to his sister, and lamented
bitterly the spoiling of his coat. He would not eat. He lay down as one
that fasts, and, did not stir, or move his position for ten days,
though she tried all she could to arouse him. At the end of ten days,
he turned over, and then lay ten days on the other side. When he got
up, he told his sister to make him a snare, for he meant to catch the
sun. She said she had nothing; but finally recollected a little piece
of dried deer's sinew, that her father had left, which she soon made
into a string suitable for a noose. But the moment she showed it to
him, he told her it would not do, and bid her get something else. She
said she had nothing--nothing at all. At last she thought of her hair,
and pulling some of it out of her head, made a string. But he instantly
said it would not answer, and bid her, pettishly, and with authority,
make him a noose. She told him there was nothing to make it of, and
went out of the lodge. She said to herself, when she had got without
the lodge, and while she was all alone, "neow obewy indapin." From my
body, some sinews will I take. This she did, and twisting them into a
tiny cord, she handed it to her brother. The moment he saw this curious
braid, he was delighted. "This will do," he said, and immediately put
it to his mouth and began pulling it through his lips; and as fast as
he drew it changed it into a red metal cord, which he wound around his
body and shoulders, till he had a large quantity. He then prepared
himself, and set out a little after midnight, that he might catch the
sun before it rose. He fixed his snare on a spot just where the sun
would strike the land, as it rose above the earth's disk; and sure
enough, he caught the sun, so that it was held fast in the cord, and
did not rise.
The animals who ruled the earth were immediately put into a great
commotion. They had no light. They called a council to debate upon the
matter, and to appoint some one to go and cut the cord--for this was a
very hazardous enterprise, as the rays of the sun would burn whoever
came so near to them. At last the dormouse undertook it--for at this
time the dormouse was the largest animal in the world. When it stood up
it looked like a mountain. When it got to the place where the sun was
snared, its back began to smoke and burn with the intensity of the
heat, and the top of its carcass was reduced to enormous heaps of
ashes. It succeeded, however, in cutting the cord with its teeth, and
freeing the sun, but it was reduced to a very small size, and has
remained so ever since. Men call it the Kug-e-been-gwa-kwa--the blind
woman.
WA-WA-BE-ZO-WIN,
OR
THE SWING ON THE PICTURED ROCKS OF LAKE SUPERIOR.
A TRADITION OF THE ODJIBWAS.
There was an old hag of a woman living with her daughter-in-law, and
son, and a little orphan boy, whom she was bringing up. When her
son-in-law came home from hunting, it was his custom to bring his wife
the moose's lip, the kidney of the bear, or some other choice bits of
different animals. These she would cook crisp, so as to make a sound
with her teeth in eating them. This kind attention of the hunter to his
wife at last excited the envy of the old woman. She wished to have the
same luxuries, and in order to get them she finally resolved to make
way with her son's wife. One day, she asked her to leave her infant son
to the care of the orphan boy, and come out and swing with her. She
took her to the shore of a lake, where there was a high range of rocks
overhanging the water. Upon the top of this rock, she erected a swing.
She then undressed, and fastened a piece of leather around her body,
and commenced swinging, going over the precipice at every swing. She
continued it but a short time, when she told her daughter to do the
same. The daughter obeyed. She undressed, and tying the leather string
as she was directed, began swinging. When the swing had got in full
motion and well a-going, so that it went clear beyond the precipice at
every sweep, the old woman slyly cut the cords and let her daughter
drop into the lake. She then put on her daughter's clothing, and thus
disguised went home in the dusk of the evening and counterfeited her
appearance and duties. She found the child crying, and gave it the
breast, but it would not draw. The orphan boy asked her where its
mother was. She answered, "She is still swinging." He said, "I shall go
and look for her." "No!" said she, "you must not--what should you go
for?" When the husband came in, in the evening, he gave the coveted
morsel to his supposed wife. He missed his mother-in-law, but said
nothing. She eagerly ate the dainty, and tried to keep the child still.
The husband looked rather astonished to see his wife studiously
averting her face, and asked her why the child cried so. She said, she
did not know--that it would not draw.
In the mean time, the orphan boy went to the lake shores, and found no
one. He mentioned his suspicions, and while the old woman was out
getting wood, he told him all he had heard or seen. The man then
painted his face black, and placed his spear upside down in the earth,
and requested the Great Spirit to send lightning, thunder, and rain, in
the hope that the body of his wife might arise from the water. He then
began to fast, and told the boy to take the child and play on the lake
shore.
We must now go back to the swing. After the wife had plunged into the
lake, she found herself taken hold of by a water-tiger, whose tail
twisted itself round her body, and drew her to the bottom. There she
found a fine lodge, and all things ready for her reception, and she
became the wife of the water-tiger. Whilst the children were playing
along the shore, and the boy was casting pebbles into the lake, he saw
a gull coming from its centre, and flying towards the shore, and when
on shore, the bird immediately assumed the human shape. When he looked
again, he recognized the lost mother. She had a leather belt around her
loins, and another belt of white metal, which was, in reality, the tail
of the water-tiger, her husband. She suckled the babe, and said to the
boy--"Come here with him, whenever he cries, and I will nurse him."
The boy carried the child home, and told these things to the father.
When the child again cried, the father went also with the boy to the
lake shore, and hid himself in a clump of trees. Soon the appearance of
a gull was seen, with a long shining belt, or chain, and as soon as it
came to the shore, it assumed the mother's shape, and she began to
suckle the child. The husband had brought along his spear, and seeing
the shining chain, he boldly struck it and broke the links apart. He
then took his wife and child home, with the orphan boy. When they
entered the lodge, the old woman looked up, but it was a look of
despair; she instantly dropped her head. A rustling was heard in the
lodge, and the next moment she leaped up and flew out of the lodge, and
was never heard of more.
MUKAKEE MINDEMOEA,
OR
THE TOAD-WOMAN.
AN ODJIBWA LEGEND.
Great good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone
in the woods, with nobody near her but her little dog, for, to her
surprise, she found fresh meat every morning at her door. She felt very
anxious to know who it was that supplied her, and watching one morning,
very early, she saw a handsome young man deposit the meat. After his
being seen by her, he became her husband, and she had a son by him. One
day, not long after this, the man did not return at evening, as usual,
from hunting. She waited till late at night, but all in vain. Next day
she swung her baby to sleep in its tikenágun, or cradle, and then said
to her dog: "Take care of your brother whilst I am gone, and when he
cries, halloo for me." The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and
all its bandages and decorations were of the same costly material.
After a short time, the woman heard the cry of her faithful dog, and
running home as fast as she could, she found her child gone and the dog
too. But on looking round, she saw pieces of the wampum of her child's
cradle bit off by the dog, who strove to retain the child and prevent
his being carried off by an old woman called Mukakee Mindemoea, or the
Toad-Woman. The mother followed at full speed, and occasionally came to
lodges inhabited by old women, who told her at what time the thief had
passed; they also gave her shoes, that she might follow on. There were
a number of these old women, who seemed as if they were all
prophetesses. Each of them would say to her, that when she arrived in
pursuit of her stolen child at the next lodge, she must set the toes of
the moccasins they had loaned her pointing homewards, and they would
return of themselves. She would get others from her entertainers
further on, who would also give her directions how to proceed to
recover her son. She thus followed in the pursuit, from valley to
valley, and stream to stream, for months and years; when she came, at
length, to the lodge of the last of the friendly old Nocoes, or
grandmothers, as they were called, who gave her final instructions how
to proceed. She told her she was near the place where her son was, and
directed her to build a lodge of shin-goob, or cedar boughs, near the
old Toad-Woman's lodge, and to make a little bark dish and squeeze her
milk into it. "Then," she said, "your first child (meaning the dog)
will come and find you out." She did accordingly, and in a short time
she heard her son, now grown, going out to hunt, with his dog, calling
out to him, "Monedo Pewaubik (that is, Steel or Spirit Iron), Twee!
Twee!" She then set ready the dish and filled it with her milk. The dog
soon scented it and came into the lodge; she placed it before him.
"See, my child," said she, addressing him, "the food you used to have
from me, your mother." The dog went and told his young master that he
had found his _real_ mother; and informed him that the old woman, whom
he _called_ his mother, was not his mother, that she had stolen him
when an infant in his cradle, and that he had himself followed her in
hopes of getting him back. The young man and his dog then went on their
hunting excursion, and brought back a great quantity of meat of all
kinds. He said to his pretended mother, as he laid it down, "Send some
to the stranger that has arrived lately." The old hag answered, "No!
why should I send to her--the Sheegowish."[85] He insisted; and she at
last consented to take something, throwing it in at the door, with the
remark, "My son gives you, or feeds you this." But it was of such on
offensive nature that she threw it immediately out after her.
After this the young man paid the stranger a visit, at her lodge of
cedar boughs, and partook of her dish of milk. She then told him she
was his real mother, and that he had been stolen away from her by the
detestable Toad-Woman, who was a witch. He was not quite convinced. She
said to him, "Feign yourself sick, when you go home, and when the
Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you want to see your cradle;
for your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother, the dog, bit
a piece off to try and detain you, which I picked up, as I followed in
your track. They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and
beautiful." She then showed him the pieces. He went home and did as his
real mother bid him. "Mother," said he, "why am I so different in my
looks from the rest of your children?" "Oh," said she, "it was a very
bright clear blue sky when you were born; that is the reason." When the
Toad-Woman saw he was ill, she asked what she could do for him. He said
nothing would do him good, but the sight of his cradle. She ran
immediately and got a cedar cradle; but he said "That is not my
cradle." She went and got one of her own children's cradles (for she
had four), but he turned his head and said, "That is not mine." She
then produced the real cradle, and he saw it was the same, in
substance, with the pieces the other had shown him; and he was
convinced, for he could even see the marks of the dog's teeth upon it.