but he said to Grasshopper, "Since I have taken you as my guest, I would
sooner die with you than open the door."
"Open it!" Manabozho again cried, in a louder voice than before.
The Manito kept silent. Manabozho, however, made no attempt to open it
by force. He waited a few moments.
"Very well," he said; "I give you till morning to live."
Grasshopper trembled, for he thought his last hour had come; but the
Manito bade him to be of good cheer.
When the night came on the clouds were thick and black, and as they were
torn open by the lightning, such discharges of thunder were never heard
as bellowed forth. The clouds advanced slowly and wrapped the earth
about with their vast shadows as in a huge cloak. All night long the
clouds gathered, and the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared, and
above all could be heard Manabozho muttering vengeance upon poor little
Grasshopper.
"You have led a very foolish kind of life, Grasshopper," said his friend
the Manito.
"I know it--I know it!" Grasshopper answered.
"You had great gifts of strength awarded to you," said the Manito.
"I am aware of it," replied Grasshopper.
"Instead of employing it for useful purposes, and for the good of your
fellow-creatures, you have done nothing since you became a man but raise
whirlwinds on the highways, leap over trees, break whatever you met in
pieces, and perform a thousand idle pranks."
Grasshopper, with great penitence, confessed that his friend the Manito
spoke but too truly; and at last his entertainer, with a still more
serious manner, said:
"Grasshopper, you still have your gift of strength. Dedicate it to the
good of mankind. Lay all of these wanton and vain-glorious notions out
of your head. In a word, be as good as you are strong."
"I will," answered Grasshopper. "My heart is changed; I see the error of
my ways."
Black and stormy as it had been all night, when morning came the sun was
shining, the air was soft and sweet as the summer down and the blown
rose; and afar off upon the side of a mountain sat Manabozho, his head
upon his knees, languid and cast down in spirit. His power was gone, for
now Grasshopper was in the right, and he could touch him no more.
With many thanks, Grasshopper left the good Manito, taking the nearest
way home to his own people.
As he passed on, he fell in with an old man who was wandering about the
country in search of some place which he could not find. As soon as he
learned his difficulty, Grasshopper, placing the old man upon his back,
hurried away, and in a short hour's dispatch of foot set him down among
his own kindred, of whom he had been in quest.
Loosing no time, Grasshopper next came to an open plain, where a small
number of men stood at bay, and on the very point of being borne down
by great odds, in a force of armed warriors, fierce of aspect and of
prodigious strength. When Grasshopper saw this unequal struggle, rushing
forward he seized a long bare pole, and, wielding it with his whole
force, he drove the fierce warriors back; and, laying about him on every
hand, he soon sent them a thousand ways in great haste, and in a very
sore plight.
Without tarrying to receive the thanks of those to whom he had brought
this timely relief, he made his utmost speed, and by the close of the
afternoon he had come in sight of his own village. What were his
surprise and horror, as he approached nearer, to discover the bears in
excellent case and flesh, seated at lazy leisure in the trees, looking
idly on while his brother Indians, for their pastime, were dancing a
fantastic and wearisome dance, in the course of which they were
frequently compelled to go upon all fours and bow their heads in
profound obeisance to their bear-masters in the trees.
As he drew nearer, his heart sunk within him to see how starved, and
hollow-eyed, and woe-begone they were; and his horror was at its height
when, as he entered his own lodge, he beheld his favorite and friend,
the Pipe-bearer, also on all fours, smoothing the floor with the palms
of his hands to make it a comfortable sitting-place for the bears on
their return from the dance.
It did not take Grasshopper a long time to resolve what he should do. He
immediately resumed power in the village, bestowed a sound cudgeling
upon the bears, and sent them off to live in the mountains, among their
own people, as bears should; restored to the people all their rights;
gave them plenty to eat and drink; exerting his great strength in
hunting, in rebuilding their lodges, keeping in check their enemies, and
doing all the good he could to every body.
Peace and plenty soon shone and showered upon the spot; and, never once
thinking of all his wild and wanton frolics, the people blessed
Grasshopper for all his kindness, and sincerely prayed that his name
might be held in honor for a thousand years to come, as no doubt it
will.
Little Pipe-bearer stood by Grasshopper in all his course, and admired
his ways as much now that he had taken to being orderly and useful, as
in the old times, when he was walking a mile a minute, and in mere
wantonness bringing home whole forests in his arms for fire-wood, in
midsummer.
It was a great old age to which Grasshopper lived, and when at last he
came to die, there was not a dry eye in all that part of the world where
he spent his latter days.
V.
THE TWO JEEBI.
There lived a hunter in the North, who had a wife and one child. His
lodge stood far off in the forest, several days' journey from any other.
He spent his days in hunting, and his evenings in relating to his wife
the incidents that had befallen him. As game was very abundant, he found
no difficulty in killing as much as they wanted. Just in all his acts,
he lived a peaceful and happy life.
One evening during the winter season, it chanced that he remained out
longer than usual, and his wife began to fear that some accident had
befallen him. It was already dark. She listened attentively, and at last
heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
Not doubting that it was her husband, she went to the door and beheld
two strange females. She bade them enter, and invited them to remain.
She observed that they were total strangers in the country. There was
something so peculiar in their looks, air and manner, that she was
disturbed by their presence. They would not come near to the fire. They
sat in a remote part of the lodge, shy and taciturn, and drew their
garments about them in such a manner as nearly to hide their faces. So
far as she could judge, they were pale, hollow-eyed, and long-visaged,
very thin and emaciated.
There was but little light in the lodge, as the fire was low, and its
fitful flashes, by disclosing their white faces and then dropping them
in sudden darkness, served rather to increase than to dispel her fears.
"Merciful Spirit!" cried a voice from the opposite part of the lodge;
"there are two corpses clothed with garments!"
The hunter's wife turned around, but seeing nobody save her little
child, staring across from under his blanket, she said to herself, "The
boy can not speak; the sounds were but the gusts of wind." She trembled,
and was ready to sink to the earth.
Her husband at this moment entered, and in some measure relieved her
alarm. He threw down the carcass of a large fat deer.
"Behold what a fine and fat animal!" cried the mysterious females; and
they immediately ran and pulled off pieces of the whitest fat, which
they greedily devoured.
The hunter and his wife looked on with astonishment, but remained
silent. They supposed that their guests might have been stricken with
famine.
The next day, however, the same unusual conduct was repeated. The
strange females again tore off the fat and devoured it with eagerness.
The third day, the hunter thought that he would anticipate their wants
by tying up a share of the hunt, and placing it apart for their express
use. They accepted it, but still appeared dissatisfied, and went to the
wife's portion and tore off more.
The hunter and his wife were surprised at such rude and unaccountable
conduct, but they remained silent, for they respected their guests, and
had observed that they had been attended with marked good luck during
the sojourn of these mysterious visitors in their lodge.
In other respects, the deportment of the females was strictly
unexceptionable. They were modest, distant, and silent. They never
uttered a word during the day. At night they would occupy themselves in
procuring wood, which they carried to the lodge, and then, restoring the
implements exactly where they had found them, resume their places
without speaking. They were never known to stay out until daylight. They
never laughed or jested.
The winter was nearly passed away, when, one evening, the hunter was
abroad later than usual. The moment he came in and laid down his day's
hunt, as was his custom, before his wife, the two females seized upon
the deer and began to tear off the fat in so unceremonious a way that
her anger was excited. She constrained herself, however, in a good
degree, but she could not conceal her feelings, though she said but
little.
The strange guests observed the state of her mind, and they became
uneasy, and withdrew further still into the remote gloom of the lodge.
The good hunter saw the eclipse that was darkening the quiet of his
lodge, and carefully inquired of its cause; but his wife denied having
used any words of complaining or reproach.
They retired to their couches, and the hunter tried to compose himself
to sleep, but could not, for the sighs and sobs of the two females were
incessant. He arose on his couch and addressed them as follows:
"Tell me," said he, "what is it that gives you pain of mind and causes
you to bemoan your presence here. Has my wife given you offense, or
trespassed upon the rights of hospitality?"
They replied in the negative. "We have been treated by you with kindness
and affection. It is not for any slight we have received that we weep.
Our mission is not to you only. We come from the other land to test
mankind, and to try the sincerity of the living. Often we have heard the
bereaved by death say that if the lost could be restored, they would
devote their lives to make them happy. We have been moved by the bitter
lamentations which have reached the place of the departed, and have
come to make proof of the sincerity of those who have lost friends. We
are your two dead sisters. Three moons were allotted us by the Master of
Life to make the trial. More than half the time had been successfully
passed, when the angry feelings of your wife indicated the irksomeness
you felt at our presence, and has made us resolve on our departure."
They continued to talk to the hunter and his wife, gave them
instructions as to a future life, and pronounced a blessing upon them.
"There is one point," they added, "of which we wish to speak. You have
thought our conduct very strange and rude in possessing ourselves of the
choicest parts of your hunt. _That_ was the point of trial selected to
put you to. It is the wife's peculiar privilege. You love your wife. For
another to usurp what belongs to her, we know to be the severest test of
her goodness of heart, and consequently of your temper and feelings. We
knew your manners and customs, but we came to prove you, not by
complying with but by violating them. Pardon us. We are the agents of
him who sent us. Peace to your dwelling. Farewell!"
When they ceased, total darkness filled the lodge. No object could be
seen. The inmates heard the lodge-door open and shut, but they never saw
more of the Two Spirits.
The hunter found the success which they had promised. He became
celebrated in the chase, and never wanted for any thing. He had many
children, all of whom grew up to manhood; and he who had lain in the
lodge, a little child, while the Jeebi dwelt there, led them in all good
deeds, and health, peace, and long life were the rewards of the hunter's
hospitality.
VI.
OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR.
There once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of
whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially
Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking.
She was a great admirer of romantic places, and spent much of her time
with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. Though the flower
were homely, if it was fragrant--though the wind were rough, if it was
healthful--and though the cloud were dark, if it embosomed the fruitful
rain, she knew how, in spite of appearances, to acknowledge the good
qualities concealed from the eye. She paid very little attention to the
many handsome young men who came to her father's lodge for the purpose
of seeing her.
Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after the other
they went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands; but Oweenee was
deaf to all proposals of the kind. At last she married an old man
called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to
have things like others. The only property he owned in the world was the
walking-staff which he carried in his hand. Though thus poor and homely,
Osseo was a devout and good man; faithful in all his duties, and
obedient in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and
laughed at Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and
said to them, "It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted
the wisest."
They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in
the day passed that they had not some disparaging reference to it. Among
themselves they spoke of Osseo of the walking-staff, in derision, as the
owner of the big woods, or the great timber-man.
"True," said Oweenee, "it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the
steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of
the north."
A time came when the sisters, and their husbands, and their parents were
all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they doubted
whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the
journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them, and set
out with a good heart.
As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young
and handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however,
smiled upon Osseo, and kept with him by the way the same as if he had
been the comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped
and gazed upward; but they could perceive nothing in the direction in
which he looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening star.
They heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of the
elder sisters caught the words, "Pity me, my father!"
"Poor old man," said she; "he is talking to his father. What a pity it
is that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have
a young husband."
Presently as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to
breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter
ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell
trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him, but his
good wife raised him up, and he sprang forward on the path, and with
steps light as the reindeer he led the party, no longer decrepid and
infirm, but a beautiful young man. On turning around to look for his
wife, behold she had become changed, at the same moment, into an aged
and feeble woman, bent almost double, and walking with the staff which
he had cast aside.
Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the
tenderest regard, bestowed on her every endearing attention, and
constantly addressed her by the term of ne-ne-moosh-a, or my sweetheart.
As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each
other's face, they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of
far-off stars, was in their eyes.
On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast,
they found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had
finished his harangue--in which he told them his feasting was in honor
of the Evening or Woman's Star--they began to partake of the portion
dealt out, according to age and character, to each one of the guests.
The food was very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who
looked at his wife, and then gazed upward, as if he was looking into the
substance of the sky. Sounds were soon heard, as if from far-off voices
in the air, and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly
distinguish some of the words.
"My son, my son," said the voice; "I have seen your afflictions, and
pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained
with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the
enemies of mankind, walk abroad, and lie in wait to ensnare the children
of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of
Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the
hunter's path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their
victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is
overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this
strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the
skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars,
and bring with you those you love.
"The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake
of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals,
and to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be
wood and earth. The one shall become silver, and the other pure gold.
They shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet.
Every female shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be
doomed to laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the
star-light, and become a shining bird of the air. She shall dance, and
not work. She shall sing, and not cry.
"My beams," continued the voice, "shine faintly on your lodge, but they
have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies, and decorate
it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no
longer on earth. Think strongly on my words, and look steadfastly at my
beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the
voice of the Spirit of the Stars that calls you away to happiness and
celestial rest."
The words were intelligible to Osseo, but his companions thought them
some far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon
the lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the
air. It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the
tops of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through
the topmost boughs, and behold! their wooden dishes were changed into
shells of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of
silver, and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of
insects.
A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and
friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays,
some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped
about, displaying their many-colored feathers, and singing songs of
cheerful note.
But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb, and exhibited all
the indications of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the
direction of the clouds, and uttered the peculiar cry which had given
him the victory at the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his
wife returned; her dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of
green silk, and her staff was changed into a silver feather.
The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through
the uppermost clouds, and they immediately after found themselves in the
Evening Star, the residence of Osseo's father.
"My son," said the old man, "hang that cage of birds which you have
brought along in your hand at the door, and I will inform you why you
and your wife have been sent for."
Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.
"Pity was shown to you," resumed the King of the Star, "on account of
the contempt of your wife's sister, who laughed at her ill fortune, and
ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom
you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, being the
small star you see on the left of mine, and he has always felt envious
of my family because we had greater power, and especially that we had
committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts
to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in
transforming yourself and your wife into decrepid old persons. You must
be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you, while you are
here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is
the bow and arrow he uses."
Osseo lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and in due time
his wife presented him with a son, who grew up rapidly, and in the very
likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning
every thing that was done in his grandfather's dominions, but he wished
also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a
favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and
arrows, and he then let the birds out of the cage that he might practice
in shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first
day he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his
amazement it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her
breast. It was one of his younger aunts.
The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless
planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself
sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until he
passed through the lower clouds, and he then suddenly dropped upon a
high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to
see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he
soon discovered the silver lodge, with his father and mother,
descending, with its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects'
gilded wings. It rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there
they fixed their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but
they were diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to
the King of the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant
evening during the summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of
the rocks. These rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be
covered, in moonlight evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little
men, and were called Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the
island is named from them to this day.
Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon
beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go
near those high cliffs at night, have even heard the voices of the happy
little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other
as ever, always lead the dance.
VII.
GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS.
There were six falcons living in a nest, five of whom were still too
young to fly, when it so happened that both the parent birds were shot
in one day. The young brood waited anxiously for their return; but night
came, and they were left without parents and without food.
Gray Eagle, the eldest, and the only one whose feathers had become stout
enough to enable him to leave the nest, took his place at the head of
the family, and assumed the duty of stifling their cries and providing
the little household with food, in which he was very successful. But,
after a short time had passed, by an unlucky mischance, while out on a
foraging excursion, he got one of his wings broken. This was the more to
be regretted, as the season had arrived when they were soon to go to a
southern country to pass the winter, and the children were only waiting
to become a little stronger and more expert on the wing to set out on
the journey.
Finding that their elder brother did not return, they resolved to go in
search of him. After beating up and down the country for the better part
of a whole day, they at last found him, sorely wounded and unable to
fly, lodged in the upper branches of a sycamore-tree.