great age, was wood from the breast downward, and that he appeared to be
fixed in the earth. As his eye dwelt upon this strange being, the
countenance by degrees faded away, and when he advanced to the spot
whence it had addressed him, it was gone.
He returned home; slept; in the midst of his slumbers, as from the
hollow of the air, heard the voice; wakened and found the promised
gifts. His grandfather, when his attention was called to his awakening,
was greatly surprised to find the youth with a white feather on his
forehead, and to see flocks of pigeons flying out of his lodge. He then
remembered the old tradition, and knowing that now the day when he
should lose control of his charge had begun, he bitterly bewailed the
hour.
Possessed of his three magic gifts, the young man departed the next
morning, to seek his enemies, and to demand revenge.
The six giants lived in a very high lodge in the middle of a wood. He
traveled on, in good heart, till he reached this lodge, where he found
that his coming had been made known by the little spirits who carry the
news. The giants hastened out, and gave a cry of joy as they saw him
drawing near. When he approached within hail, they began to make sport
of him, saying, "Here comes the little man with the white feather, who
is to achieve such wonderful wonders."
When, however, he had arrived among them, they spoke him fair, saying he
was a brave man and would do brave things. Their object was to encourage
him, so that he would be bold to engage in some fool-hardy trial of
strength.
Without paying much heed to their fine speeches, White Feather went
fearlessly into their lodge; and without waiting for invitation, he
challenged them to a foot-match. They agreed; and, as they said, by way
of being easy with him, they told him to begin the race with the
smallest of their number.
The point to which they were to run was a peeled tree toward the rising
sun, and then back to the starting-place, which was a war-club of iron.
Whoever won this stake, was empowered to use it in dispatching the
defeated champion. If White Feather should overcome the first giant, he
was to try the second, and so on, until they had all measured speed with
him. By a dexterous use of the vine, he gained the first race, struck
down his competitor, and cut off his head.
The next morning he ran with the second giant, whom he also outran,
killed and beheaded.
He went on in this way for the five mornings, always conquering by the
aid of his vine, and lopping off the heads of the vanquished giants.
The last of the giants who was yet to run with him acknowledged his
power, but prepared secretly to deceive him. By way of parley, he
proposed that White Feather should leave the heads with him, and that he
would give him a handsome start for odds. This White Feather declined,
as he preferred to keep the heads as trophies of his victory.
Before going to the giant's lodge, on the sixth morning, he met his old
counselor in the woods, standing rooted in the earth, as before. He told
White Feather that he was about to be deceived; that he had never known
any other sex but his own, but that as he went on his way to the lodge
he would meet the most beautiful woman in the world. He must pay no
attention to her, but as soon as he caught her eye he must wish himself
changed into an elk. The change would take place immediately, and he
must go to feeding and not look at her again.
White Feather thanked his kind adviser, and when he turned to take his
leave he was gone as before.
He proceeded toward the lodge, met the female as had been foretold to
him, and became an elk. She reproached him that he had cast aside the
form of a man that he might avoid her.
"I have traveled a great distance," she added, "to see you and to become
your wife; for I have heard of your great achievements, and admire you
very much."
Now this woman was the sixth giant, who had assumed this disguise to
entrap White Feather.
Without a suspicion of her real character, her reproaches and her beauty
affected him so deeply that he wished himself a man again, and he at
once resumed his natural shape. They sat down together, and he began to
caress and to make love to her.
Soothed by her smiles and her gracious manners, he ventured to lay his
head on her lap, and in a little while he fell into a deep slumber.
Even then, such was her fear of White Feather, she doubted whether his
sleep might not be feigned. To assure herself she pushed his head aside,
and seeing that he remained unconscious, she quickly assumed her own
form as the sixth giant, took the plume from the brow of White Feather
and placed it upon his own head, and with a sudden blow of his war-club
changed him into a dog, in which degraded form he followed his enemy to
the lodge.
While these things were passing, there were living in an Indian village
at some distance, two sisters, the daughters of a chief, who were
rivals, and they were at that very time fasting to acquire power, for
the purpose of enticing the wearer of the white feather to visit their
lodge. They each secretly hoped to engage his affections, and each had
built a lodge in the border of the village encampment.
The giant knowing this, and having become possessed of the magic plume,
went immediately to visit them. As he approached, the sisters, who were
on the look-out at their lodge-doors, espied and recognized the feather.
The eldest sister had prepared her lodge with great show, and all the
finery she could command, so as to attract the eye. The youngest
touched nothing in her lodge, but left it in its ordinary state.
The eldest went out to meet the giant, and invited him in. He accepted
her invitation, and made her his wife. The youngest sister invited the
enchanted dog into her lodge, prepared him a good supper and a neat bed,
and treated him with much attention.
The giant, supposing that whoever possessed the white feather possessed
also all its virtues, went out upon the prairie to hunt, hallooing aloud
to the game to come and be killed; but the great hubbub he kept up
scared them away, and he returned at night with nothing but himself; for
he had shouted so lustily all day long that he had been even obliged to
leave the mighty halloo, with which he had set out, behind.
The dog went out the same day hunting upon the banks of a river. He
stole quietly along to the spot, and stepping into the water he drew out
a stone, which instantly became a beaver.
The next day the giant followed the dog, and hiding behind a tree, he
watched the manner in which the dog hunted in the river when he drew out
a stone, which at once turned into a beaver.
"Ah, ha!" said the giant to himself, "I will catch some beaver for
myself."
And as soon as the dog had left the place, the giant went to the river,
and, imitating the dog, he drew out a stone, and was delighted to see
it, as soon as it touched the land, change into a fine fat beaver.
Tying it to his belt he hastened home, shouting a good deal, and
brandishing the white feather about, as if he were prepared now to show
them what he could do when he once tried. When he reached home he threw
it down, as is the custom, at the door of the lodge before he entered.
After being seated a short time, he gave a dry cough, and bade his wife
bring in his hunting girdle. She made dispatch to obey him, and
presently returned with the girdle, with nothing tied to it but a stone.
The next day, the dog finding that his method of catching beavers had
been discovered, went to a wood at some distance, and broke off a
charred limb from a burned tree, which instantly became a bear. The
giant, who appeared to have lost faith in his hulla-balooing, had again
watched him, did exactly as the dog had done, and carried a bear home;
but his wife, when she came to go out for it, found nothing but a black
stick tied to his belt.
And so it happened with every thing. Whatever the dog undertook,
prospered; whatever the giant attempted, failed. Every day the youngest
sister had reason to be more proud of the poor dog she had asked into
her lodge, and every day the eldest sister was made more aware, that
though she had married the white feather, the virtues of the magic
plume were not the personal property of the noisy giant.
At last the giant's wife determined that she would go to her father and
make known to him what a valuable husband she had, and how he furnished
her lodge with a great abundance of sticks and stones, which he would
pass upon her for bear and beaver. So, when her husband, whose brave
halloo had now died away to a feeble chirp, had started for the hunt,
she set out.
As soon as these two had gone away from the neighborhood, the dog made
signs to his mistress to sweat him after the manner of the Indians. He
had always been a good dog, and she was willing to oblige him. She
accordingly made a lodge just large enough for him to creep in. She then
put in heated stones, and poured water upon them, which raised a vapor
that filled the lodge and searched with its warmth to the very heart's
core of the enchanted dog.
When this had been kept up for the customary time, the enchanted dog was
completely sweated away, and in his stead, as might have been expected,
out came a very handsome young man, but, unhappily, without the power of
speech. In taking away the dog, it appears that the sweating-lodge had
also carried off the voice with it.
Meantime the elder sister had reached her father's, and, with much
circumstance and a very long face, had told him how that her sister was
supporting an idle dog, and entertaining him as her husband. In her
anxiety to make known her sister's affairs and the great scandal she was
bringing upon the family, the eldest forgot to say any thing of the
sticks and stones which her own husband brought home for bears and
beavers. The old man suspecting that there was magic about her house,
sent a deputation of young men and women to ask his youngest daughter to
come to him, and to bring her dog along with her. When the deputation
reached the lodge, they were surprised to find, in the place of the dog,
a fine young man; and on announcing their message, they all returned to
the old chief, who was no less surprised at the change.
He immediately assembled all the old and wise heads of the nation to
come and be witnesses to the exploits which it was reported that the
young man could perform. The sixth giant, although neither very old nor
very wise, thrust himself in among the relations of the old chief.
When they were all assembled and seated in a circle, the old chief took
his pipe and filled it, and passed it to the Indians around, to see if
any thing would happen when they smoked. They passed it on until it came
around to the Dog, who made a sign that it should be handed first to the
giant, which was done. And the giant puffed with all his might, and
shook the white feather upon his head, and swelled his chest; but
nothing came of it, except a great deal of smoke. The Dog then took it
himself. He made a sign to them to put the white feather upon his head.
This was no sooner done, than he recovered his speech, and, beginning to
draw upon the pipe at the same moment, behold, immense flocks of white
and blue pigeons rushed from the smoke.
From that moment the sixth giant was looked upon as an impostor, and as
soon as White Feather had, at the request of the company, faithfully
recounted his history, the old chief, who was one of the best-hearted
magicians that ever lived, ordered that the giant should be transformed
into a dog, and turned into the middle of the village, where the boys
should pelt him to death with clubs; which being done, the whole six
giants were at an end, and never troubled that neighborhood again,
forever after.
The chief then gave out a command, at the request of White Feather, that
all the young men should employ themselves four days in making arrows.
White Feather also asked for a buffalo robe. This he cut into thin
shreds, and in the night, when no one knew of it, he went and sowed them
about the prairie in every direction.
At the end of the four days, he invited them to gather together all of
their arrows, and to accompany him to a buffalo hunt. When they got out
upon the prairie, they found it covered with a great herd of buffaloes.
Of these they killed as many as they pleased, and, afterward, they had a
grand festival in honor of White Feather's triumph over the giants.
All this being pleasantly over, White Feather got his wife to ask her
father's permission to go with him on a visit to his grandfather. The
old chief replied to this application, that a woman must follow her
husband into whatever quarter of the world he may choose to go.
Bidding farewell to all his friends, White Feather placed the plume in
his frontlet, and taking his war-club in his hand, he led the way into
the forest, followed by his faithful wife.
XI.
SHEEM, THE FORSAKEN BOY.
On a certain afternoon the sun was falling in the West, and in the midst
of the ruddy silence a solitary lodge stood on the banks of a remote
lake. One sound only broke, in the least degree, the forest
stillness--the low breathing of the dying inmate, who was the head of a
poor family. His wife and children surrounded the buffalo robe on which
he lay. Of the children, two were almost grown up--a daughter and a son;
the other was a boy, and a mere child in years.
All the skill of the household in their simple medicines was exhausted,
and they stood looking on or moved about the lodge with whispered steps,
awaiting the departure of the spirit. As one of the last acts of
kindness, the skin door of the lodge had been thrown back to admit the
fresh air of the evening. The poor man felt a momentary return of
strength, and raising himself a little, he addressed his family.
"I leave you," he said, "in a world of care, in which it has required
all my strength and skill to supply you food, and to protect you from
the storms and cold of a harsh climate."
He cast his eyes upon his wife, and continued:
"For you, my partner in life, I have less sorrow, because I am persuaded
you will not remain long behind me; but you, my children! my poor and
forsaken children, who have just begun the career of life, who will
shelter you from calamity? Listen to my words. Unkindness, ingratitude,
and every wickedness, are in the scene before you. It was for this that
years ago I withdrew from my kindred and my tribe to spend my days in
this lonely spot. I have contented myself with the company of your
mother and yourselves, during seasons of very frequent scarcity and
want, while your kindred, feasting in plenty, have caused the forests to
echo with the shouts of successful war. I gave up these things for the
enjoyment of peace. I wished to hide you away from the bad examples
which would have spoiled your innocence. I have seen you, thus far, grow
up in purity of heart. If we have sometimes suffered bodily want, we
have escaped pain of mind. We have not been compelled to look on or to
take a part with the red hand in scenes of rioting and bloodshed. My
path now stops. I have arrived at the brink of the world. I will shut my
eyes in peace if you, my children, will promise me to cherish each
other. Let not your mother suffer during the few days that are left to
her; and I charge you, on no account, to forsake your younger brother.
Of him I give you both my dying command to have a tender care."
He spoke no more, and as the sun fell out of view the light had gone
from his face. The family stood still, as if they expected to hear
something further; but when they came to his side and called him by
name, his spirit did not answer. It was in another world.
The mother and daughter lamented aloud, but the elder son clothed
himself in silence, as though it had been a mantle, and took his course
as though nothing had occurred. He exerted himself to supply, with his
bow and net, the wants of the little household, but he never made
mention of his father.
Five moons had filled and waned, and the sixth was near its full, when
the mother also died. In her last moments she pressed the fulfillment of
their father's wish.
The winter passed, and the spring, sparkling in the clear northern air,
cheered the spirits of the lonely little people in the lodge.
The girl, being the eldest, directed her brothers, and she seemed to
feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was slight in
frame and of a delicate temper. The other boy soon began to break forth
with restless speeches, which showed that his spirit was not at ease.
One day he addressed his sister as follows:
"My sister, are we always to live as if there were no other human beings
in the world? Must I deprive myself of the pleasure of mingling with my
own kind? I have determined this question for myself. I shall seek the
villages of men, and you can not prevent me."
The sister replied:
"I do not say no, my brother, to what you desire; we are not forbidden
the society of our fellow-mortals, but we are told to cherish each
other, and to do nothing that shall not be agreeable to all our little
household. Neither pleasure nor pain ought, therefore, to separate us,
especially from our younger brother, who, being but a child, and weakly
withal, is entitled to a double share of our affection. If we follow our
separate fancies, it will surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound
by vows, both to our father and mother, to support."
The young man received this address in silence, and still took his
course as though nothing out of the ordinary way had occurred. After
awhile he seemed to recover his spirits; and as they lived in a large
country, where there were open fields, the two brothers, at his
invitation, often amused themselves in playing ball. One afternoon he
chose the ground near to a beautiful lake, and they played and laughed
with great spirit, and the ball was seldom allowed to touch the ground.
Now in this lake there happened to harbor a wicked old Manito, Mishosha
by name, who looked at the brothers as they played, and he was vastly
pleased with their nimbleness and beauty. He thought to himself, what
shall I do to get these lads to accompany me? One of them shall hit the
ball sideways, and it shall fall into my canoe.
It so happened, and it somehow seemed as if Owasso, the elder brother,
had purposely given it that direction. When Owasso saw the old man, he
professed to be greatly surprised, as was the other, Sheem by name, in
truth, for he had not noticed the old Manito before.
"Bring the ball to us," they both cried out. "Come to the shore."
"No," answered the old magician. He, however, came near enough for
either of them to wade out to him. "Come, come," he said. "Come and get
your ball."
They insisted that he should come ashore, but he sturdily declined to
oblige them.
"Very well," said Owasso, "I will go and get it." And he ran into the
water. "Hand it to me," he said, when he had approached near enough to
receive it.
"Ha!" answered the Manito, "reach over and get it yourself."
Owasso was about to grasp the ball, when the old magician suddenly
seized him and pushed him into the boat.
"My grandfather," said Owasso, "pray take my little brother also. Alone
I can not go with you; he will starve if I leave him."
Mishosha only laughed at him; then uttering the charmed words, "Chemaun
Poll!" and giving his canoe a slap, it glided through the water, without
further help, with the swiftness of an arrow.
In a short time they reached the magician's lodge, which stood upon the
further shore, a little distance back from the lake. The two daughters
of Mishosha were seated within. "My daughter," he said to his eldest, as
they entered the lodge, "I have brought you a husband."
The young woman smiled; for Owasso was a comely youth to look upon. The
magician told him to take his seat near her, and by this act the
marriage ceremony was completed, and Owasso and the magician's daughter
were man and wife, and in the course of time they had born to them a
son.
But no sooner was Owasso in the family than the old Manito wished him
out of the way, and he went about in his own wicked fashion to compass
it.
One day he asked his son-in-law to go out a-fishing with him. They
started without delay; for the magician had only to speak, and off went
the canoe. They reached a solitary bay in an island, a very dark,
lonely, and out-of-the-way place. The Manito advised Owasso to spear a
large sturgeon which came alongside, and with its great glassy eye
turned up, seemed to recognize the magician. Owasso rose in the boat to
dart his spear, and by speaking that moment to his canoe, Mishosha shot
forward and hurled his son-in-law headlong into the water; where,
leaving him to struggle for himself, he was soon out of sight.
Owasso, being himself gifted with limited magical powers, spoke to the
fish, and bade him swim toward the lodge, while he carried him along,
which he did at great speed. Once he directed the sturgeon to rise near
the surface of the water, so that he might, if possible, get a view of
the magician. The fish obeyed, and Owasso saw the wicked old Manito busy
in another direction, fishing, as unconcerned as though he had not just
lost a member of his family.
On went the fish, and on went Owasso, till they reached the shore, near
the magician's lodge, in advance of him. He then spoke kindly to the
sturgeon, and told him he should not be angry with him for having
speared him, as he was created to be meat for man. The sturgeon made no
reply, or if he did, it has not been reported; and Owasso, drawing him
on shore, went up and told his wife to dress and cook it immediately. By
the time it was prepared the magician had come in sight.
"Your grandfather has arrived," said the woman to her son; "go and see
what he brings, and eat this as you go"--handing a piece of the fish.
The boy went, and the magician no sooner saw him with the fish in his
hand, than he asked him, "What are you eating? and who brought it?"
He replied, "My father brought it."
The magician began to feel uneasy, for he found that he had been
outwitted; he, however, put on a grave face, and entering the lodge,
acted as if nothing unusual had happened.
Some days after this, Mishosha again requested his son-in-law to
accompany him; and Owasso, without hesitation, said "Yes!"
They went out, and, in a rapid passage, they arrived at a solitary
island, which was no more than a heap of high and craggy rocks.
The magician said to Owasso, "Go on shore, my son, and pick up all the
gulls' eggs you can find."
The rocks were strewn with eggs, and the air resounded with the cry of
the birds as they saw them gathered up by Owasso.
The old magician took the opportunity to speak to the gulls. "I have
long wished," he said, "to offer you something. I now give you this
young man for food."
He then uttered the charm to his canoe, and it shot out of sight,
leaving Owasso to make his peace the best way he could.
The gulls flew in immense numbers around him, and were ready to devour
him. Owasso did not lose his presence of mind, but he addressed them and
said:
"Gulls, you know you were not formed to eat human flesh, nor was man
made to be the prey of birds. Obey my words. Fly close together, a
sufficient number of you, and carry me on your backs to the magician's
lodge."
They listened attentively to what he said, and seeing nothing
unreasonable in his request, they obeyed him, and Owasso soon found
himself sailing through the air swiftly homeward.
Meanwhile, it appears that the old magician had fallen asleep and
allowed his canoe to come to a stand-still; for Owasso, in his flight
over the lake, saw him lying on his back in the boat, taking a nap,
which was quite natural, as the day was very soft and balmy.
As Owasso, with his convoy of birds, passed over, he let fall, directly
in the face of the old magician, a capful of gulls' eggs, which broke
and so besmeared his eyes that he could barely see. He jumped up and
exclaimed:
"It is always so with these thoughtless birds. They never consider where
they drop their eggs."
Owasso had flown on and reached the lodge in safety, and, excusing
himself for the liberty, he killed two or three of the gulls for the
sake of their feathers to ornament his son's head.
When the magician arrived, soon after, his grandson came out to meet
him, tossing his head about as the feathers danced and struggled with
the wind.
"Where did you get these?" asked the Manito, "and who brought them?"
"My father brought them," the boy replied.