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THE
INDIAN FAIRY BOOK.
FROM THE ORIGINAL LEGENDS.
BY
CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
With Illustrations by John McLenan.
ENGRAVED BY A. V. S. ANTHONY.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY ALLEN BROTHERS.
1869.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, BY CORNELIUS
MATHEWS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern
District of New-York.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CELESTIAL SISTERS. Page 11.]
PREFACE.
The following stories have been, time out of mind, in their original
form, recited around the lodge-fires and under the trees, by the Indian
story-tellers, for the entertainment of the red children of the West.
They were originally interpreted from the old tales and legends by the
late Henry R. Schoolcraft, and are now re-interpreted and developed by
the Editor, so as to enable them, as far as worthy, to take a place with
the popular versions of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, Cinderella,
Little Red Riding Hood, and other world-renowned tales of Europe and the
East, to which, in their original conception, they bear a resemblance in
romantic interest and quaint extravagance of fancy. The Editor hopes
that these beautiful and sprightly legends of the West, if not marred in
the handling, will repay, in part at least, the glorious debt which we
have incurred to the Eastern World for her magical gifts of the same
kind.
October, 1868.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I.--THE CELESTIAL SISTERS 7
II.--THE BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN 16
III.--STRONG DESIRE AND THE RED SORCERER 22
IV.--THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF GRASSHOPPER 34
V.--THE TWO JEEBI 68
VI.--OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR 74
VII.--GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS 83
VIII.--THE TOAD-WOMAN 90
IX.--THE ORIGIN OF THE ROBIN 98
X.--WHITE FEATHER AND THE SIX GIANTS 102
XI.--SHEEM, THE FORSAKEN BOY 115
XII.--THE MAGIC BUNDLE 135
XIII.--THE RED SWAN 138
XIV.--THE MAN WITH HIS LEG TIED UP 170
XV.--THE LITTLE SPIRIT OR BOY-MAN 179
XVI.--THE ENCHANTED MOCCASINS 190
XVII.--HE OF THE LITTLE SHELL 207
XVIII.--MANABOZHO, THE MISCHIEF-MAKER 215
XIX.--LEELINAU, THE LOST DAUGHTER 252
XX.--THE WINTER SPIRIT AND HIS VISITOR 261
XXI.--THE FIRE-PLUME 264
XXII.--WEENDIGOES AND THE BONE-DWARF 288
XXIII.--THE BIRD LOVER 299
XXIV.--BOKWEWA THE HUMPBACK 315
XXV.--THE CRANE THAT CROSSED THE RIVER 324
XXVI.--WUNZH, THE FATHER OF INDIAN CORN 330
ILLUSTRATIONS.
FRONTISPIECE.--THE CELESTIAL SISTERS 11
THE BEAR SERVANTS 59
THE MAN WITH HIS LEG TIED UP 176
THE MORNING STAR AND HER BROTHER 212
I.
THE CELESTIAL SISTERS.
Waupee, or the White Hawk, lived in a remote part of the forest, where
animals abounded. Every day he returned from the chase with a large
spoil, for he was one of the most skillful and lucky hunters of his
tribe. His form was like the cedar; the fire of youth beamed from his
eye; there was no forest too gloomy for him to penetrate, and no track
made by bird or beast of any kind which he could not readily follow.
One day he had gone beyond any point which he had ever before visited.
He traveled through an open wood, which enabled him to see a great
distance. At length he beheld a light breaking through the foliage of
the distant trees, which made him sure that he was on the borders of a
prairie. It was a wide plain, covered with long blue grass, and enameled
with flowers of a thousand lovely tints.
After walking for some time without a path, musing upon the open
country, and enjoying the fragrant breeze, he suddenly came to a ring
worn among the grass and the flowers, as if it had been made by
footsteps moving lightly round and round. But it was strange--so strange
as to cause the White Hawk to pause and gaze long and fixedly upon the
ground--there was no path which led to this flowery circle. There was
not even a crushed leaf nor a broken twig, nor the least trace of a
footstep, approaching or retiring, to be found. He thought he would hide
himself and lie in wait to discover, if he could, what this strange
circle meant.
Presently he heard the faint sounds of music in the air. He looked up in
the direction they came from, and as the magic notes died away he saw a
small object, like a little summer cloud that approaches the earth,
floating down from above. At first it was very small, and seemed as if
it could have been blown away by the first breeze that came along; but
it rapidly grew as he gazed upon it, and the music every moment came
clearer and more sweetly to his ear. As it neared the earth it appeared
as a basket, and it was filled with twelve sisters, of the most lovely
forms and enchanting beauty.
As soon as the basket touched the ground they leaped out, and began
straightway to dance, in the most joyous manner, around the magic ring,
striking, as they did so, a shining ball, which uttered the most
ravishing melodies, and kept time as they danced.
The White Hawk, from his concealment, entranced, gazed upon their
graceful forms and movements. He admired them all, but he was most
pleased with the youngest. He longed to be at her side, to embrace her,
to call her his own; and unable to remain longer a silent admirer, he
rushed out and endeavored to seize this twelfth beauty who so enchanted
him. But the sisters, with the quickness of birds, the moment they
descried the form of a man, leaped back into the basket, and were drawn
up into the sky.
Lamenting his ill-luck, Waupee gazed longingly upon the fairy basket as
it ascended and bore the lovely sisters from his view. "They are gone,"
he said, "and I shall see them no more."
He returned to his solitary lodge, but he found no relief to his mind.
He walked abroad, but to look at the sky, which had withdrawn from his
sight the only being he had ever loved, was painful to him now.
The next day, selecting the same hour, the White Hawk went back to the
prairie, and took his station near the ring; in order to deceive the
sisters, he assumed the form of an opossum, and sat among the grass as
if he were there engaged in chewing the cud. He had not waited long when
he saw the cloudy basket descend, and heard the same sweet music
falling as before. He crept slowly toward the ring; but the instant the
sisters caught sight of him they were startled, and sprang into their
car. It rose a short distance when one of the elder sisters spoke:
"Perhaps," she said, "it is come to show us how the game is played by
mortals."
"Oh no," the youngest replied; "quick, let us ascend."
And all joining in a chant, they rose out of sight.
Waupee, casting off his disguise, walked sorrowfully back to his
lodge--but ah, the night seemed very long to lonely White Hawk! His
whole soul was filled with the thought of the beautiful sister.
Betimes, the next day, he returned to the haunted spot, hoping and
fearing, and sighing as though his very soul would leave his body in its
anguish. He reflected upon the plan he should follow to secure success.
He had already failed twice; to fail a third time would be fatal. Near
by he found an old stump, much covered with moss, and just then in use
as the residence of a number of mice, who had stopped there on a
pilgrimage to some relatives on the other side of the prairie. The White
Hawk was so pleased with their tidy little forms that he thought he,
too, would be a mouse, especially as they were by no means formidable
to look at, and would not be at all likely to create alarm.
He accordingly, having first brought the stump and set it near the ring,
without further notice became a mouse, and peeped and sported about, and
kept his sharp little eyes busy with the others; but he did not forget
to keep one eye up toward the sky, and one ear wide open in the same
direction.
It was not long before the sisters, at their customary hour, came down
and resumed their sport.
"But see," cried the younger sister, "that stump was not there before."
She ran off, frightened, toward the basket. Her sisters only smiled, and
gathering round the old tree-stump, they struck it, in jest, when out
ran the mice, and among them Waupee. They killed them all but one, which
was pursued by the younger sister. Just as she had raised a silver stick
which she held in her hand to put an end to it, too, the form of the
White Hawk arose, and he clasped his prize in his arms. The other eleven
sprang to their basket, and were drawn up to the skies.
Waupee exerted all his skill to please his bride and win her affections.
He wiped the tears from her eyes; he related his adventures in the
chase; he dwelt upon the charms of life on the earth. He was constant in
his attentions, keeping fondly by her side, and picking out the way for
her to walk as he led her gently toward his lodge. He felt his heart
glow with joy as he entered it, and from that moment he was one of the
happiest of men.
Winter and summer passed rapidly away, and as the spring drew near with
its balmy gales and its many-colored flowers, their happiness was
increased by the presence of a beautiful boy in their lodge. What more
of earthly blessing was there for them to enjoy?
Waupee's wife was a daughter of one of the stars; and as the scenes of
earth began to pall upon her sight, she sighed to revisit her father.
But she was obliged to hide these feelings from her husband. She
remembered the charm that would carry her up, and while White Hawk was
engaged in the chase, she took occasion to construct a wicker basket,
which she kept concealed. In the mean time, she collected such rarities
from the earth as she thought would please her father, as well as the
most dainty kinds of food.
One day when Waupee was absent, and all was in readiness, she went out
to the charmed ring, taking with her her little son. As they entered the
car she commenced her magical song, and the basket rose. The song was
sad, and of a lowly and mournful cadence, and as it was wafted far away
by the wind, it caught her husband's ear. It was a voice which he well
knew, and he instantly ran to the prairie Though he made breathless
speed, he could not reach the ring before his wife and child had
ascended beyond his reach. He lifted up his voice in loud appeals, but
they were unavailing. The basket still went up. He watched it till it
became a small speck, and finally it vanished in the sky. He then bent
his head down to the ground, and was miserable.
Through a long winter and a long summer Waupee bewailed his loss, but he
found no relief. The beautiful spirit had come and gone, and he should
see it no more!
He mourned his wife's loss sorely, but his son's still more; for the boy
had both the mother's beauty and the father's strength.
In the mean time his wife had reached her home in the stars, and in the
blissful employments of her father's house she had almost forgotten that
she had left a husband upon the earth. But her son, as he grew up,
resembled more and more his father, and every day he was restless and
anxious to visit the scene of his birth. His grandfather said to his
daughter, one day:
"Go, my child, and take your son down to his father, and ask him to come
up and live with us. But tell him to bring along a specimen of each kind
of bird and animal he kills in the chase."
She accordingly took the boy and descended. The White Hawk, who was
ever near the enchanted spot, heard her voice as she came down the sky.
His heart beat with impatience as he saw her form and that of his son,
and they were soon clasped in his arms.
He heard the message of the Star, and he began to hunt with the greatest
activity, that he might collect the present with all dispatch. He spent
whole nights, as well as days, in searching for every curious and
beautiful animal and bird. He only preserved a foot, a wing, or a tail
of each.
When all was ready, Waupee visited once more each favorite spot--the
hill-top whence he had been used to see the rising sun; the stream where
he had sported as a boy; the old lodge, now looking sad and solemn,
which he was to sit in no more; and last of all, coming to the magic
circle, he gazed widely around him with tearful eyes, and, taking his
wife and child by the hand, they entered the car and were drawn up--into
a country far beyond the flight of birds, or the power of mortal eye to
pierce.
Great joy was manifested upon their arrival at the starry plains. The
Star Chief invited all his people to a feast; and when they had
assembled, he proclaimed aloud that each one might continue as he was,
an inhabitant of his own dominions, or select of the earthly gifts such
as he liked best. A very strange confusion immediately arose; not one
but sprang forward. Some chose a foot, some a wing, some a tail, and
some a claw. Those who selected tails or claws were changed into
animals, and ran off; the others assumed the form of birds, and flew
away. Waupee chose a white hawk's feather. His wife and son followed his
example, and each one became a white hawk. He spread his wings, and,
followed by his wife and son, descended with the other birds to the
earth, where he is still to be found, with the brightness of the starry
plains in his eye, and the freedom of the heavenly breezes in his
wings.
II.
THE BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN.
At the time when the animals reigned in the earth, they had killed all
the people but a girl and her little brother, and these two were living
in fear, in an out-of-the-way place. The boy was a perfect little pigmy,
and never grew beyond the size of a mere infant; but the girl increased
with her years, so that the task of providing food and shelter fell
wholly upon her. She went out daily to get wood for the lodge-fire, and
she took her little brother with her that no mishap might befall him;
for he was too little to leave alone. A big bird, of a mischievous
disposition, might have flown away with him. She made him a bow and
arrows, and said to him one day, "My little brother, I will leave you
behind where I have been gathering the wood; you must hide yourself, and
you will soon see the snow-birds come and pick the worms out of the logs
which I have piled up. Shoot one of them and bring it home."
He obeyed her, and tried his best to kill one, but he came home
unsuccessful. His sister told him that he must not despair, but try
again the next day.
She accordingly left him at the gathering-place of the wood, and
returned to the lodge. Toward night-fall she heard his little footsteps
crackling through the snow, and he hurried in and threw down, with an
air of triumph, 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 they had always up
to that time lived upon greens and berries.
"Cut it in two," he answered, "and season our pottage with one half of
it at a time."
It was their first dish of game, and they relished it greatly.
The boy kept on in his efforts, and in the course of time he killed ten
birds--out of the skins of which his sister made him a little coat:
being very small, he had a very pretty coat, and a bird skin to spare.
"Sister," said he, one day, as he paraded up and down before the lodge,
enjoying his new coat, and fancifying himself the greatest little fellow
in the world--as he was, for there was no other beside him--"My sister,
are we really alone in the world, or are we playing at it? Is there
nobody else living? And, tell me, was all this great broad earth and
this huge big sky made for a little boy and girl like you and me?"
She told him, by no means; there were many folks very unlike a harmless
girl and boy, such as they were, who lived in a certain other quarter of
the earth, who had killed off all of their kinsfolk; and that if he
would live blameless and not endanger his life, he must never go where
they were. This only served to inflame the boy's curiosity; and he soon
after took his bow and arrows and went in that direction. After walking
a long time and meeting no one, he became tired, and stretched himself
upon a high green knoll where the day's warmth had melted off the snow.
It was a charming place to lie upon, and he fell asleep; and, while
sleeping, the sun beat so hot upon him that it not only singed his
bird-skin coat, but it so shrivelled and shrunk and tightened it upon
the little boy's body, as to wake him up.
When he felt how the sun had seared and the mischief its fiery beams had
played with the coat he was so proud of, he flew into a great passion,
and berated the sun in a terrible way for a little boy no higher than a
man's knee, and he vowed fearful things against it.
"Do not think you are too high," said he; "I shall revenge myself. Oh,
sun! I will have you for a plaything yet."
On coming home he gave an account of his misfortune to his sister, and
bitterly bewailed the spoiling of his new coat. He would not eat--not so
much as a single berry. He lay down as one that fasts; nor did he move
nor change his manner of lying for ten full days, though his sister
strove to prevail on him to rise. At the end of ten days he turned over,
and then he lay full ten days on the other side.
When he got up he was very pale, but very resolute too. He bade his
sister make a snare, for, he informed her, that he meant to catch the
sun. She said she had nothing; but after awhile she brought forward a
deer's sinew which the father had left, and which she soon made into a
string suitable for a noose. The moment she showed it to him he was
quite wroth, and told her that would not do, and directed her to find
something else. She said she had nothing--nothing at all. At last she
thought of the bird-skin that was left over when the coat was made; and
this she wrought into a string. With this the little boy was more vexed
than before. "The sun has had enough of my bird-skins," he said; "find
something else." She went out of the lodge saying to herself, "Was there
ever so obstinate a boy?" She did not dare to answer this time that she
had nothing. Luckily she thought of her own beautiful hair, and pulling
some of it from among her locks, she quickly braided it into a cord,
and, returning, she handed it to her brother. The moment his eye fell
upon this jet black braid he was delighted. "This will do," he said; and
he immediately began to run it back and forth through his hands as
swiftly as he could; and as he drew it forth, he tried its strength. He
said again, "this will do;" and winding it in a glossy coil about his
shoulders, he set out a little after midnight. His object was to catch
the sun before he rose. He fixed his snare firmly on a spot just where
the sun must strike the land as it rose above the earth; 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 great
commotion. They had no light; and they ran to and fro, calling out to
each other, and inquiring what had happened. They summoned a council to
debate upon the matter, and an old dormouse, suspecting where the
trouble lay, proposed that some one should be appointed to go and cut
the cord. This was a bold thing to undertake, as the rays of the sun
could not fail to burn whoever should venture so near to them.
At last the venerable dormouse himself undertook it, for the very good
reason that no one else would. At this time the dormouse was the largest
animal in the world. When he stood up he looked like a mountain. It
made haste to the place where the sun lay ensnared, and as it came
nearer and nearer, its back began to smoke and burn with the heat, and
the whole top of his huge bulk was turned in a very short time to
enormous heaps of ashes. It succeeded, however, in cutting the cord with
its teeth and freeing the sun, which rolled up again, as round and
beautiful as ever, into the wide blue sky. But the dormouse--or blind
woman as it is called--was shrunk away to a very small size; and that is
the reason why it is now one of the tiniest creatures upon the earth.
The little boy returned home when he discovered that the sun had escaped
his snare, and devoted himself entirely to hunting. "If the beautiful
hair of my sister would not hold the sun fast, nothing in the world
could," he said. "He was not born, a little fellow like himself, to look
after the sun. It required one greater and wiser than he was to regulate
that." And he went out and shot ten more snow-birds; for in this
business he was very expert; and he had a new bird-skin coat made, which
was prettier than the one he had worn before.
III.
STRONG DESIRE, AND THE RED SORCERER.
There was a man called Odshedoph, or the Child of Strong Desires, who
had a wife and one son. He had withdrawn his family from the village,
where they had spent the winter, to the neighborhood of a distant
forest, where game abounded. This wood was a day's travel from his
winter home, and under its ample shadow the wife fixed the lodge, while
the husband went out to hunt. Early in the evening he returned with a
deer, and, being weary and athirst, he asked his son, whom he called
Strong Desire, to go to the river for some water. The son replied that
it was dark, and he was afraid. His father still urged him, saying that
his mother, as well as himself, was tired, and the distance to the water
very short. But no persuasion could overcome the young man's reluctance.
He refused to go.
"Ah, my son," said the father, at last, "if you are afraid to go to the
river, you will never kill the Red Head."
The stripling was deeply vexed by this observation; it seemed to touch
him to the very quick. He mused in silence. He refused to eat, and made
no reply when spoken to. He sat by the lodge door all the night through,
looking up at the stars, and sighing like one sorely distressed.
The next day he asked his mother to dress the skin of the deer, and to
make it into moccasins for him, while he busied himself in preparing a
bow and arrows.
As soon as these were in readiness, he left the lodge one morning, at
sunrise, without saying a word to his father or mother. As he passed
along, he fired one of his arrows into the air, which fell westward. He
took that course, and coming to the spot where the arrow had fallen, he
was rejoiced to find it piercing the heart of a deer. He refreshed
himself with a meal of the venison, and the next morning he fired
another arrow. Following its course, after traveling all day he found
that he had transfixed another deer. In this manner he fired four
arrows, and every evening he discovered that he had killed a deer.
By a strange oversight, he left the arrows sticking in the carcasses,
and passed on without withdrawing them. Having in this way no arrow for
the fifth day, he was in great distress at night for the want of food.
At last he threw himself upon the earth in despair, concluding that he
might as well perish there as go further. But he had not lain long
before he heard a hollow rumbling noise, in the ground beneath him, like
that of an earthquake moving slowly along.
He sprang up, and discovered at a distance the figure of a human being,
walking with a stick. He looked attentively, and saw that the figure was
walking in a wide beaten path in a prairie, leading from a dusky lodge
to a lake, whose waters were black and turbid.
To his surprise, this lodge, which had not been in view when he cast
himself upon the ground, was now near at hand. He approached a little
nearer, and concealed himself; and in a moment he discovered that the
figure was no other than that of the terrible witch, the little old
woman who makes war. Her path to the lake was perfectly smooth and
solid, and the noise Strong Desire had heard was caused by the striking
of her walking staff upon the ground. The top of this staff was
decorated with a string of the toes and bills of birds of every kind,
who, at every stroke of the stick, fluttered and sung their various
notes in concert.
She entered her lodge and laid off her mantle, which was entirely
composed of the scalps of women. Before folding it, she shook it
several times, and at every shake the scalps uttered loud shouts of
laughter, in which the old hag joined. The boy, who lingered at the
door, was greatly alarmed, but he uttered no cry.
After laying by the cloak, she came directly to him. Looking at him
steadily, she informed him that she had known him from the time he had
left his father's lodge, and had watched his movements. She told him not
to fear or despair, for she would be his protector and friend. She
invited him into her lodge, and gave him a supper. During the repast,
she questioned him as to his motives for visiting her. He related his
history, stated the manner in which he had been disgraced, and the
difficulties he labored under.
"Now tell me truly," said the little old woman who makes war, "you were
afraid to go to the water in the dark."
"I was," Strong Desire answered, promptly.
As he replied, the hag waved her staff. The birds set up a clamorous
cry, and the mantle shook violently as all the scalps burst into a
hideous shout of laughter.
"And are you afraid now," she asked again.
"I am," again answered Strong Desire, without hesitation.
"But you are not afraid to speak the truth," rejoined the little old
woman. "You will be a brave man yet."
She cheered him with the assurance of her friendship, and began at once
to exercise her power upon him. His hair being very short, she took a
great leaden comb, and after drawing it through his locks several times,
they became of a handsome length like those of a beautiful young woman.
She then proceeded to dress him as a female, furnishing him with the
necessary garments, and tinting his face with colors of the most
charming dye. She gave him, too, a bowl of shining metal. She directed
him to put in his girdle a blade of scented sword-grass, and to proceed
the next morning to the banks of the lake, which was no other than that
over which the Red Head reigned. Now Hah-Undo-Tah, or the Red Head, was
a most powerful sorcerer, living upon an island in the centre of his
realm of water, and he was the terror of all the country. She informed
him that there would be many Indians upon the island, who, as soon as
they saw him use the shining bowl to drink with, would come and solicit
him to be their wife, and to take him over to the island. These offers
he was to refuse, and to say that he had come a great distance to be the
wife of the Red Head, and that if the chief could not seek her for
himself, she would return to her village. She said, that as soon as the
Red Head heard of this he would come for her in his own canoe, in which
she must embark.
"On reaching the shore," added the little old woman, "you must consent
to be his wife; and in the evening you are to induce him to take a walk
out of the village, and when you have reached a lonesome spot, use the
first opportunity to cut off his head with the blade of grass."
She also gave Strong Desire general advice how he was to conduct himself
to sustain his assumed character of a woman. His fear would scarcely
permit him to consent to engage in an adventure attended with so much
danger; but the recollection of his father's looks and reproaches of the
want of courage, decided him.
Early in the morning he left the lodge of the little old woman who makes
war, which was clouded in a heavy brackish fog, so thick and heavy to
breathe, that he with difficulty made his way forth. When he turned to
look back for it, it was gone.
He took the hard beaten path to the banks of the lake, and made for the
water at a point directly opposite the Red Head's lodge.
Where he now stood it was beautiful day. The heavens were clear, and the
sun shone out as brightly to Strong Desire as on the first morning when
he had put forth his little head from the door of his father's lodge. He
had not been long there, sauntering along the beach, when he displayed
the glittering bowl by dipping water from the lake. Very soon a number
of canoes came off from the island. The men admired his dress, and were
charmed with his beauty, and almost with one voice they all made
proposals of marriage. These, Strong Desire promptly declined.
When this was reported to Red Head, he ordered his royal bark to be
launched by his chosen men of the oar, and crossed over to see this
wonderful girl. As they approached the shore, Strong Desire saw that the
ribs of the sorcerer's canoe were formed of living rattlesnakes, whose
heads pointed outward to guard him from his enemies. Being invited, he
had no sooner stepped into the canoe, than they began to hiss and rattle
furiously, which put him in a great fright; but the magician spoke to
them, when they became pacified and quiet. Shortly after they were at
the landing upon the island. The marriage took place immediately; and
the bride made presents of various valuables which had been furnished
her by the old witch who inhabited the cloudy lodge.
As they were sitting in the lodge, surrounded by the friends and
relatives, the mother of the Red Head regarded the face of her new
daughter-in-law for a long time with fixed attention. From this scrutiny
she was convinced that this singular and hasty marriage boded no good to
her son. She drew him aside, and disclosed to him her suspicions. This
can be no female, said she; she has the figure and manners, the
countenance, and more especially the eyes, are beyond a doubt those of a
man. Her husband rejected her suspicions, and rebuked her severely for
entertaining such notions of her own daughter-in-law. She still urged
her doubts, which so vexed the husband that he broke his pipe-stem in
her face, and called her an owl.
This act astonished the company, who sought an explanation; and it was
no sooner given, than the mock bride, rising with an air of offended
dignity, informed the Red Head that after receiving so gross an affront
from his relatives she could not think of remaining with him as his
wife, but should forthwith return to her own friends.
With a toss of the head, like that of an angry female, Strong Desire
left the lodge, followed by Red Head, and walked away until he came to
the beach of the island, near the spot where they had first landed. Red
Head entreated him to remain, urging every motive, and making all sorts
of magnificent promises--none of which seemed to make the least
impression. Strong Desire, Red Head thought, was very hard-hearted.
During these appeals they had seated themselves upon the ground, and Red
Head, in great affliction, reclined his head upon his fancied wife's
lap. Strong Desire now changed his manner, was very kind and soothing,
and suggested in the most winning accent that if Red Head would sleep
soundly for awhile he might possibly dream himself out of all his
troubles. Red Head, delighted at so happy a prospect, said that he would
fall asleep immediately.
"You have killed a good many men in your time, Red Head," said Strong
Desire, by way of suggesting an agreeable train of ideas to the
sorcerer.
"Hundreds," answered Red Head; "and what is better, now that I am fairly
settled in life by this happy marriage, I shall be able to give my whole
attention to massacre."
"And you will kill hundreds more," interposed Strong Desire, in the most
insinuating manner imaginable.
"Just so, my dear," Red Head replied, with a great leer; "thousands.
There will be no end to my delicious murders. I love dearly to kill
people. I would like to kill you if you were not my wife."
"There, there," said Strong Desire, with the coaxing air of a little
coquette, "go to sleep; that's a good Red Head."
No other subject of conversation occurring to the chief, now that he had
exhausted the delightful topic of wholesale murder, he straightway fell
into a deep sleep.
The chance so anxiously sought for had come; and Strong Desire, with a
smiling eye, drawing his blade of grass with lightning swiftness once
across the neck of the Red Head, severed the huge and wicked head from
the body.
In a moment, stripping off his woman's dress, underneath which he had
all along worn his male attire, Strong Desire seized the bleeding
trophy, plunged into the lake, and swam safely over to the main shore.
He had scarcely reached it, when, looking back, he saw amid the darkness
the torches of persons come out in search of the new married couple. He
listened until they had found the headless body, and he heard their
piercing shrieks of rage and sorrow as he took his way to the lodge of
his kind adviser.
The little old woman who makes war was in an excellent humor, and she
received Strong Desire with rejoicing. She admired his prudence, and
assured him his bravery should never be questioned again. Lifting up the
head, which she gazed upon with vast delight, she said he need only have
brought the scalp. Cutting off a lock of the hair for herself, she told
him he might now return with the head, which would be evidence of an
achievement that would cause his own people to respect him.
"In your way home," added the little old woman, "you will meet with but
one difficulty. Maunkahkeesh, the Spirit of the Earth, requires an
offering or sacrifice from all of her sons who perform extraordinary
deeds. As you walk along in a prairie there will be an earthquake; the
earth will open and divide the prairie in the middle. Take this
partridge and throw it into the opening, and instantly spring over it."
With many thanks to the little old witch, who had so faithfully
befriended him, Strong Desire took leave of her, and having, by the
course pointed out, safely passed the earthquake, he arrived near his
own village. He secretly hid his precious trophy.
On entering the village, he found that his parents had returned from the
place of their spring encampment by the wood-side, and that they were in
heavy sorrowing for their son, whom they supposed to be lost. One and
another of the young men had presented themselves to the disconsolate
parents, and said, "Look up, I am your son;" but when they looked up,
they beheld not the familiar face of Strong Desire.
Having been often deceived in this manner, when their own son in truth
presented himself they sat with their heads down, and with their eyes
nearly blinded with weeping. It was some time before they could be
prevailed upon to bestow a glance upon him. It was still longer before
they could recognize him as their son who had refused to draw water from
the river, at night, for fear, for his countenance was no longer that
of a timid stripling; it was that of a man who has seen and done great
things, and who has the heart to do greater still.
When he recounted his adventures they believed him mad. The young men
laughed at him--him, Strong Desire--who feared to walk to the river at
night-time.
He left the lodge, and ere their laughter had ceased, returned with his
trophy. He held aloft the head of the Red Sorcerer, with the great
ghastly leer which lighted it up before his last sleep, at prospect of a
thousand future murders, fresh upon it. It was easily recognized, and
the young men who had scoffed at Strong Desire shrunk into the corners
out of sight. Strong Desire had conquered the terrible Red Head! All
doubts of the truth of his adventures were dispelled.
He was greeted with joy, and placed among the first warriors of the
nation. He finally became a chief, and his family were ever after
respected and esteemed.
IV.
THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF GRASSHOPPER.
A man, of small stature, found himself standing alone on a prairie. He
thought to himself, "How came I here? Are there no beings on this earth
but myself? I must travel and see. I must walk till I find the abodes of
men."
So soon as his mind was made up, he set out, he knew not whither, in
search of habitations. He was a resolute little fellow, and no
difficulties could turn him from his purpose: neither prairies, rivers,
woods nor storms, had the effect to daunt his courage or turn him back.
After traveling a long time, he came to a wood, in which he saw decayed
stumps of trees, as if they had been cut in ancient times, but no other
trace of men. Pursuing his journey, he found more recent marks of the
same kind; after this, he came upon fresh traces of human beings; first
their footsteps, and then the wood they had felled, lying in heaps.
Pushing on, he emerged toward dusk from the forest, and beheld at a
distance a large village of high lodges standing on rising ground.
"I am tired of this dog-trot," he said to himself. "I will arrive there
on a run."
He started off with all his speed. On coming to the first lodge, without
any especial exertion, he jumped over it, and found himself standing by
the door on the other side. Those within saw something pass over the
opening in the roof; they thought from the shadow it cast that it must
have been some huge bird--and then they heard a thump upon the ground.
"What is that?" they all said and several ran out to see.
They invited him in, and he found himself in company with an old chief
and several men who were seated in the lodge. Meat was set before him;
after which the old chief asked him whither he was going, and what was
his name. He answered that he was in search of adventures, and that his
name was "Grasshopper."
They all opened their eyes upon the stranger with a broad stare.
"Grasshopper!" whispered one to another; and a general titter went
round.
They invited him to stay with them, which he was inclined to do; for it
was a pleasant village, but so small as to constantly embarrass
Grasshopper. He was in perpetual trouble; whenever he shook hands with
a stranger, to whom he might be introduced, such was the abundance of
his strength, without meaning it, he wrung his arm off at the shoulder.
Once or twice, in mere sport, he cuffed the boys, about the lodge, by
the side of the head, and they flew out of sight as though they had been
shot from a bow; nor could they ever be found again, though they were
searched for in all the country round, far and wide. If Grasshopper
proposed to himself a short stroll in the morning, he was at once miles
out of town. When he entered a lodge, if he happened for a moment to
forget himself, he walked straight through the leathern, or wooden, or
earthen walls, as if he had been merely passing through a bush. At his
meals he broke in pieces all the dishes, set them down as lightly as he
would; and putting a leg out of bed when he rose, it was a common thing
for him to push off the top of the lodge.
He wanted more elbow-room; and after a short stay, in which, by the
accidentally letting go of his strength, he had nearly laid waste the
whole place, and filled it with demolished lodges and broken pottery,
and one-armed men, he made up his mind to go further, taking with him a
young man who had formed a strong attachment for him, and who might
serve him as his pipe-bearer; for Grasshopper was a huge smoker, and
vast clouds followed him wherever he went; so that people could say,
"Grasshopper is coming!" by the mighty smoke he raised.
They set out together, and when his companion was fatigued with walking,
Grasshopper would put him forward on his journey a mile or two by giving
him a cast in the air, and lighting him in a soft place among the trees,
or in a cool spot in a water-pond, among the sedges and water-lilies. At
other times he would lighten the way by showing off a few tricks, such
as leaping over trees, and turning round on one leg till he made the
dust fly; at which the pipe-bearer was mightily pleased, although it
sometimes happened that the character of these gambols frightened him.
For Grasshopper would, without the least hint of such an intention, jump
into the air far ahead, and it would cost the little pipe-bearer half a
day's hard travel to come up with him; and then the dust Grasshopper
raised was often so thick and heavy as to completely bury the poor
little pipe-bearer, and compel Grasshopper to dig diligently and with
might and main to get him out alive.
One day they came to a very large village, where they were well
received. After staying in it some time (in the course of which
Grasshopper, in a fit of abstraction, walked straight through the sides
of three lodges without stopping to look for the door), they were
informed of a number of wicked spirits, who lived at a distance, and who
made it a practice to kill all who came to their lodge. Attempts had
been made to destroy them, but they had always proved more than a match
for such as had come out against them.
Grasshopper determined to pay them a visit, although he was strongly
advised not to do so. The chief of the village warned him of the great
danger he would incur, but finding Grasshopper resolved, he said:
"Well, if you will go, being my guest, I will send twenty warriors to
serve you."
Grasshopper thanked him for the offer, although he suggested that he
thought he could get along without them, at which the little pipe-bearer
grinned, for his master had never shown in that village what he could
do, and the chief thought that Grasshopper, being little himself, would
be likely to need twenty warriors, at the least, to encounter the wicked
spirits with any chance of success. Twenty young men made their
appearance. They set forward, and after about a day's journey they
descried the lodge of the Manitoes.
Grasshopper placed his friend, the pipe-bearer, and the warriors, near
enough to see all that passed, while he went alone to the lodge.
As he entered, Grasshopper saw five horrid-looking Manitoes in the act
of eating. It was the father and his four sons. They were really
hideous to look upon. Their eyes were swimming low in their heads, and
they glared about as if they were half starved. They offered Grasshopper
something to eat, which he politely refused, for he had a strong
suspicion that it was the thigh-bone of a man.
"What have you come for?" said the old one.
"Nothing," answered Grasshopper; "where is your uncle?"
They all stared at him, and answered:
"We ate him, yesterday. What do you want?"
"Nothing," said Grasshopper; "where is your grandfather?"
They all answered, with another broad stare:
"We ate him a week ago. Do you not wish to wrestle?"
"Yes," replied Grasshopper, "I don't mind if I do take a turn; but you
must be easy with me, for you see I am very little."
Pipe-bearer, who stood near enough to overhear the conversation, grinned
from ear to ear when he caught this remark. The Manitoes answered:
"Oh yes, we will be easy with you."
And as they said this they looked at each other, and rolled their eyes
about in a dreadful manner. A hideous smile came over their faces as
they whispered among themselves:
"It's a pity he's so thin. You go," they said to the eldest brother.
The two got ready--the Manito and Grasshopper--and they were soon
clinched in each other's arms for a deadly throw. Grasshopper knew their
object--his death; they wanted a taste of his delicate little body, and
he was determined they should have it, perhaps in a different sense from
that they intended.
"Haw! haw!" they cried, and soon the dust and dry leaves flew about as
if driven by a strong wind. The Manito was strong, but Grasshopper
thought he could master him; and all at once giving him a sly trip, as
the wicked spirit was trying to finish his breakfast with a piece out of
his shoulder, he sent the Manito head-foremost against a stone; and,
calling aloud to the three others, he bade them come and take the body
away.
The brothers now stepped forth in quick succession, but Grasshopper
having got his blood up, and limbered himself by exercise, soon
dispatched the three--sending one this way, another that, and the third
straight up into the air, so high that he never came down again.
It was time for the old Manito to be frightened, and dreadfully
frightened he got, and ran for his life, which was the very worst thing
he could have done; for Grasshopper, of all his gifts of strength, was
most noted for his speed of foot. The old Manito set off, and for mere
sport's sake, Grasshopper pursued him. Sometimes he was before the
wicked old spirit, sometimes he was flying over his head, and then he
would keep along at a steady trot just at his heels, till he had blown
all the breath out of the old knave's body.
Meantime his friend, the pipe-bearer, and the twenty young warriors,
cried out:
"Ha, ha, ah! ha, ha, ah! Grasshopper is driving him before him!"
The Manito only turned his head now and then to look back. At length,
when he was tired of the sport, to be rid of him, Grasshopper, with a
gentle application of his foot, sent the wicked old Manito whirling away
through the air, in which he made a great number of the most curious
turn-overs in the world, till he came to alight, when it so happened
that he fell astride of an old bull-buffalo, grazing in a distant
pasture, who straightway set off with him at a long gallop, and the old
Manito has not been heard of to this day.
The warriors and the pipe-bearer and Grasshopper set to work and burned
down the lodge of the wicked spirits, and then when they came to look
about, they saw that the ground was strewn on all sides with human bones
bleaching in the sun; these were the unhappy victims of the Manitoes.
Grasshopper then took three arrows from his girdle, and after having
performed a ceremony to the Great Spirit, he shot one into the air,
crying, "You are lying down; rise up, or you will be hit!"
The bones all moved to one place. He shot the second arrow, repeating
the same words, when each bone drew toward its fellow-bone; the third
arrow brought forth to life the whole multitude of people who had been
killed by the Manitoes. Grasshopper conducted the crowd to the chief of
the village, who had proved his friend, and gave them into his hands.
The chief was there with his counselors, to whom he spoke apart.
"Who is more worthy," said the chief to Grasshopper, "to rule than you.
_You_ alone can defend them."
Grasshopper thanked him, and told him that he was in search of more
adventures. "I have done some things," said little Grasshopper, rather
boastfully, "and I think I can do some more."
The chief still urged him, but he was eager to go, and naming
pipe-bearer to tarry and take his place, he set out again on his
travels, promising that he would some time or other come back and see
them.
"Ho! ho! ho!" they all cried. "Come back again and see us!" He renewed
his promise that he would; and then set out alone.
After traveling some time he came to a great lake, and on looking about
he discovered a very large otter on an island. He thought to himself,
"His skin will make me a fine pouch." And he immediately drew up at
long shots, and drove an arrow into his side. He waded into the lake,
and with some difficulty dragged him ashore, and up a hill overlooking
the lake.
As soon as Grasshopper got the otter into the sunshine where it was
warm, he skinned him, and threw the carcass some distance off, thinking
the war-eagle would come, and that he should have a chance to secure his
feathers as ornaments for the head; for Grasshopper began to be proud,
and was disposed to display himself.
He soon heard a rushing noise as of a loud wind, but could see nothing.
Presently a large eagle dropped, as if from the air, upon the otter's
carcass. Grasshopper drew his bow, and the arrow passed through under
both of his wings. The bird made a convulsive flight upward, with such
force that the cumbrous body was borne up several feet from the ground;
but with its claws deeply fixed, the heavy otter brought the eagle back
to the earth. Grasshopper possessed himself of a handful of the prime
feathers, crowned his head with the trophy, and set off in high spirits
on the look out for something new.
After walking awhile, he came to a body of water which flooded the trees
on its banks--it was a lake made by beavers. Taking his station on the
raised dam where the stream escaped, he watched to see whether any of
the beavers would show themselves. A head presently peeped out of the
water to see who it was that disturbed them.
"My friend," said Grasshopper, in his most persuasive manner, "could you
not oblige me by turning me into a beaver like yourself. Nothing would
please me so much as to make your acquaintance, I can assure you;" for
Grasshopper was curious to know how these watery creatures lived, and
what kind of notions they had.
"I do not know," replied the beaver, who was rather short-nosed and
surly. "I will go and ask the others. Meanwhile stay where you are, if
you please."
"To be sure," answered Grasshopper, stealing down the bank several paces
as soon as the beaver's back was turned.
Presently there was a great splashing of the water, and all the beavers
showed their heads, and looked warily to where he stood, to see if he
was armed; but he had knowingly left his bow and arrows in a hollow tree
at a short distance.
After a long conversation, which they conducted in a whisper so that
Grasshopper could not catch a word, strain his ears as he would, they
all advanced in a body toward the spot where he stood; the chief
approaching the nearest, and lifting his head highest out of the water.