they had witnessed, for they frequently saw this young man passing
through the woods, and he did not walk in the path, nor did he carry any
thing to eat. If he had any message to deliver at their lodge, why did
he not give it to their father? for they had observed that messages were
always addressed to men, and not to women.
When her sons spoke thus to her, the mother was greatly vexed.
"I will kill you," she said, "if you speak of it."
In fear they for a time held their peace, but still taking note that the
stranger came so often and by stealth to the lodge, they resolved at
last to speak with their father.
Accordingly one day, when they were out in the woods, learning to follow
the chase, they told him all that they had seen.
The face of the father grew dark. He was still for a while, and when at
length he looked up--
"It is done!" he said. "Do you, my children, tarry here until the hour
of the falling of the sun, then come to the lodge and you will find me."
The father left them at a slow pace, and they remained sporting away
their time till the hour for their return had come.
When they reached the lodge the mother was not there. They dared not to
ask their father whither she had gone, and from that day forth her name
was never spoken again in the lodge.
In course of time the two boys had grown to be men, and although the
mother was never more seen in the lodge, in charge of her household
tasks, nor on the path in the forest, nor by the river side, she still
lingered, ever and ever, near the lodge.
Changed, but the same, with ghastly looks and arms that were withered,
she appeared to her sons as they returned from the hunt, in the
twilight, in the close of the day.
At night she darkly unlatched the lodge-door and glided in, and bent
over them as they sought to sleep. Oftenest it was her bare brow, white,
and bony, and bodyless, that they saw floating in the air, and making a
mock of them in the wild paths of the forest, or in the midnight
darkness of the lodge.
She was a terror to all their lives, and she made every spot where they
had seen her, hideous to the living eye; so that after being long
buffeted and beset, they at last resolved, together with their father,
now stricken in years, to leave the country.
They began a journey toward the South. After traveling many days along
the shore of a great lake, they passed around a craggy bluff, and came
upon a scene where there was a rough fall of waters, and a river issuing
forth from the lake.
They had no sooner come in sight of this fall of water, than they heard
a rolling sound behind them, and looking back, they beheld the skull of
a woman rolling along the beach. It seemed to be pursuing them, and it
came on with great speed; when, behold, from out of the woods hard by,
appeared a headless body, which made for the beach with the utmost
dispatch.
The skull too advanced toward it, and when they looked again, lo! they
had united, and were making all haste to come up with the hunter and his
two sons. They now might well be in extreme fear, for they knew not how
to escape her.
At this moment, one of them looked out and saw a stately crane sitting
on a rock in the middle of the rapids. They called out to the bird,
"See, grandfather, we are persecuted. Come and take us across the falls
that we may escape her."
The crane so addressed was of extraordinary size, and had arrived at a
great old age, and, as might be expected, he sat, when first descried by
the two sons, in a state of profound thought, revolving his long
experience of life there in the midst of the most violent eddies.
When he heard himself appealed to, the crane stretched forth his neck
with great deliberation, and lifting himself slowly by his wings, he
flew across to their assistance.
"Be careful," said the old crane, "that you do not touch the crown of my
head. I am bald from age and long service, and very tender at that spot.
Should you be so unlucky as to lay a hand upon it, I shall not be able
to avoid throwing you both in the rapids."
They paid strict heed to his directions, and were soon safely landed on
the other shore of the river. He returned and carried the father in the
same way; and then took his place once more where he had been first seen
in the very midst of the eddies of the stream.
But the woman, who had by this time reached the shore, cried out, "Come,
my grandfather, and carry me over, for I have lost my children, and I am
sorely distressed."
The aged bird obeyed her summons, and flew to her side. He carefully
repeated the warning that she was not to touch the crown of his head;
and he was so anxious that she should take it to heart, that he went
over it a second and a third time, word by word. He begged her to bear
in mind that she should respect his old age, if there was any sense of
virtue left in her.
She promised to obey; but they were no sooner fairly embarked in the
stream, than she stealthily sought to disregard the warning she had
received. Instantly the crane cast her into the rapids, and shook his
wings as if to free himself of all acquaintance with her.
"There," said he, as she sunk in the stream, "you would ever do what was
forbidden. In life, as you sought those you should have avoided, so now
you shall be avoided by those who should seek you. Go, and be henceforth
Addum Kum Maig!"
The woman disappeared, was straightway carried by the rapid currents far
out into the waters, and in the wide wilderness of shoreless depths,
without companion or solace, was lost forever.
The family of the hunter, grateful for his generous help, adopted the
bird as their family emblem or mark, and under the guardianship of the
Crane that Crossed the River, they prospered, with days of plenty and
nights of peace.
XXVI.
WUNZH. THE FATHER OF INDIAN CORN.
In time past--we can not tell exactly how many, many years ago--a poor
Indian was living, with his wife and children, in a beautiful part of
the country. He was not only poor, but he had the misfortune to be
inexpert in procuring food for his family, and his children were all too
young to give him assistance.
Although of a lowly condition and straitened in his circumstances, he
was a man of kind and contented disposition. He was always thankful to
the Great Spirit for every thing he received. He even stood in the door
of his lodge to bless the birds that flew past in the summer evenings;
although, if he had been of a complaining temper, he might have repined
that they were not rather spread upon the table for his evening meal.
The same gracious and sweet disposition was inherited by his eldest son,
who had now arrived at the proper age to undertake the ceremony of the
fast, to learn what kind of a spirit would be his guide and guardian
through life.
Wunzh, for this was his name, had been an obedient boy from his
infancy--pensive, thoughtful, and gentle--so that he was beloved by the
whole family.
As soon as the first buds of spring appeared, and the delicious
fragrance of the young year began to sweeten the air, his father, with
the help of his younger brothers, built for Wunzh the customary little
lodge, at a retired spot at some distance from their own, where he would
not be disturbed during the solemn rite.
To prepare himself, Wunzh sought to clear his heart of every evil
thought, and to think of nothing that was not good, and beautiful, and
kindly.
That he might store his mind with pleasant ideas for his dreams, for the
first few days he amused himself by walking in the woods and over the
mountains, examining the early plants and flowers.
As he rambled far and wide, through the wild country, he felt a strong
desire to know how the plants and herbs and berries grew, without any
aid from man, and why it was that some kinds were good to eat, and that
others were possessed of medicinal or poisonous power.
After he had become too languid to walk about, and confined himself
strictly to the lodge, he recalled these thoughts, and turning them in
his mind, he wished he could dream of something that would prove a
benefit to his father and family, and to all others of his
fellow-creatures.
"True," thought Wunzh, "the Great Spirit made all things, and it is to
him that we owe our lives. Could he not make it easier for us to get our
food, than by hunting animals and taking fish? I must try to find this
out in my visions."
On the third day Wunzh became weak and faint, and kept his bed. Suddenly
he fancied, as he lay thus, that a bright light came in at the lodge
door, and ere he was aware, he saw a handsome young man, with a
complexion of the softest and purest white, coming down from the sky,
and advancing toward him.
The beautiful stranger was richly and gayly dressed, having on a great
many garments of green and yellow colors, but differing in their deeper
or lighter shades. He had a plume of waving feathers on his head, and
all his motions were graceful, and reminded Wunzh of the deep green of
the summer grass, and the clear amber of the summer sky, and the gentle
blowing of the summer wind. Beautiful as the stranger was, he paused on
a little mound of earth, just before the door of the lodge.
"I am sent to you, my friend," said this celestial visitor, in a voice
most soft and musical to listen to, "I am sent to you by that Great
Spirit who made all things in the sky, and on the earth. He has seen and
knows your motives in fasting. He sees that it is from a kind and
benevolent wish to do good to your people, and to procure a benefit for
them; that you do not seek for strength in war, or the praise of the men
of the bloody hand. I am sent to instruct you and to show you how you
can do your kindred good."
He then told the young man to arise, and to prepare to wrestle with him,
as it was only by this means that he could hope to succeed in his
wishes.
Wunzh knew how weak he was from fasting, but the voice of the stranger
was cheery, and put such a courage in his heart, that he promptly sprang
up, determined to die rather than fail. Brave Wunzh! if you ever
accomplish any thing, it will be through the power of the resolve that
spake within you at that moment.
He began the trial, and after a long-sustained struggle he was almost
overpowered, when the beautiful stranger said:
"My friend, it is enough for once, I will come again to try you;" and
smiling on him, he returned through the air in the same direction in
which he had come.
The next day, although he saw how sweetly the wild-flowers bloomed upon
the slopes, and the birds warbled from the woodland, he longed to see
the celestial visitor, and to hear his voice.
To his great joy he reappeared at the same hour, toward the going down
of the sun, and re-challenged Wunzh to a trial of strength.
The brave Wunzh felt that his strength of body was even less than on the
day before, but the courage of his mind seemed to grow. Observing this,
and how Wunzh put his whole heart in the struggle, the stranger again
spoke to him in the words he used before, adding:
"To-morrow will be your last trial. Be strong, my friend, for this is
the only way in which you can overcome me and obtain the boon you seek."
The light which shone after him as he left Wunzh was brighter than
before.
On the third day he came again and renewed the struggle. Very faint in
body was poor Wunzh, but he was stronger at heart than ever, and
determined to prevail now or perish. He put forth his utmost powers, and
after a contest more severe than either of the others, the stranger
ceased his efforts, and declared himself conquered.
For the first time he entered Wunzh's little fasting-lodge, and sitting
down beside the youth, he began to deliver his instructions to him and
to inform him in what manner he should proceed to take advantage of his
victory.
"You have won your desire of the Great Spirit," said the beautiful
stranger. "You have wrestled manfully. To-morrow will be the seventh day
of your fasting. Your father will give you food to strengthen you, and
as it is the last day of trial you will prevail. I know this, and now
tell you what you must do to benefit your family and your people.
To-morrow," he repeated, "I shall meet you and wrestle with you for the
last time. As soon as you have prevailed against me, you will strip off
my garments and throw me down, clean the earth of roots and weeds, make
it soft, and bury me in the spot. When you have done this, leave my body
in the earth, and do not disturb it, but come at times to visit the
place, to see whether I have come to life, and above all be careful to
never let the grass or weeds grow upon my grave. Once a month cover me
with fresh earth. If you follow these my instructions you will
accomplish your object of doing good to your fellow-creatures by
teaching them the knowledge I now teach you."
He then shook Wunzh by the hand and disappeared, but he was gone so soon
that Wunzh could not tell what direction he took.
In the morning, Wunzh's father came to his lodge with some slight
refreshments, saying:
"My son, you have fasted long enough. If the Great Spirit will favor
you, he will do it now. It is seven days since you have tasted food, and
you must not sacrifice your life. The Master of Life does not require
that."
"My father," replied Wunzh, "wait till the sun goes down. I have a
particular reason for extending my fast to that hour."
"Very well," said the old man, "I shall wait till the hour arrives, and
you shall be inclined to eat."
At his usual hour of appearing, the beautiful sky-visitor returned, and
the trial of strength was renewed. Although he had not availed himself
of his father's offer of food, Wunzh felt that new strength had been
given him. His heart was mighty within him to achieve some great
purpose. Courage was like the eagle that spreads his wings within the
tree-top for a great flight, within the bosom of the brave Wunzh.
He grasped his angel challenger with supernatural strength, threw him
down, and, mindful of his own instructions, tore from him his beautiful
garments and plume, and finding him dead, he immediately buried him on
the spot, using all the precautions he had been told of, and very
confident was Wunzh, all the time, that his friend would again come to
life.
Wunzh now returned to his father's lodge, where he was warmly welcomed,
for as it had been appointed to him during the days of his fasting to
walk apart with Heaven, he was not permitted to see any human face save
that of his father, the representative to the little household upon
earth of the Good Father who is in Heaven.
Wunzh partook sparingly of the meal that had been prepared for him, and
once more mingled in the cares and sports of the family. But he never
for a moment forgot the grave of his friend. He carefully visited it
throughout the spring, and weeded out the grass, and kept the ground in
a soft and pliant state; and sometimes, when the brave Wunzh thought of
his friend that was gone from his sight, he dropped a tear upon the
earth where he lay.
Watching and tending, and moistening the earth with his tears, it was
not long before Wunzh saw the tops of green plumes coming through the
ground; and the more faithful he was in obeying his instructions in
keeping the ground in order, and in cherishing the memory of his
departed friend, the faster they grew. He was, however, careful to
conceal the charge of the earth which he had from his father.
Days and weeks had passed in this way; the summer was drawing toward a
close, when one day, after a long absence in hunting, Wunzh invited his
father to follow him to the quiet and lonesome spot of his former fast.
The little fasting-lodge had been removed, and the weeds kept from
growing on the circle where it had stood; but in its place rose a tall
and graceful plant, surmounted with nodding plumes and stately leaves,
and golden clusters. There was in its aspect and bearing the deep green
of the summer grass, the clear amber of the summer sky, and the gentle
blowing of the summer wind.
"It is my friend!" shouted Wunzh, "it is the friend of all mankind. It
is Mondawmin: it is our Indian Corn! We need no longer rely on hunting
alone, for as long as this gift is cherished and taken care of, the
ground itself will give us a living."
He then pulled an ear.
"See, my father," said he, "this is what I fasted for. The Great Spirit
has listened to my voice, and sent us something new, and henceforth our
people will not alone depend upon the chase or upon the waters."
Wunzh then communicated to his father the instructions given to him by
the stranger. He told him that the broad husks must be torn away, as he
had pulled off the garments in his wrestling, and having done this, he
directed him how the ear must be held before the fire till the outer
skin became brown--as he complexion of his angel friend had been tinted
by the sun--while all the milk was retained in the grain.
The whole family, in high spirits, and deeply grateful to the Merciful
Master who gave it, assisted in a feast on the newly-grown ears of corn.
So came that mighty blessing into the world, and we owe all of those
beautiful fields of healthful grain to the dream of the brave boy Wunzh.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Indian Fairy Book, by Cornelius Mathews