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THE STORY OF HIAWATHA
[Illustration: "FROM THE FULL MOON FELL NOKOMIS"--_Page 123_]
THE STORY OF HIAWATHA
ADAPTED FROM LONGFELLOW
_BY_ WINSTON STOKES
WITH THE ORIGINAL POEM
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by_ M . L . KIRK
NEW YORK
FREDERICK . A . STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1910, By
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
_September, 1910_
PREFACE
In this land of change it is important that we may learn a little of the
childlike people who preceded us; who hunted, fished and worshipped long
ago where we now make our homes and lead our lives. No other legends
have so strange a charm, or such appealing local interest, as legends of
the wildwood, and nowhere are these so well expressed as in Longfellow's
poem of Hiawatha.
To furnish a simple medium through which both younger and older people
of today may be brought closer, by Longfellow, to the mystery of the
forest, this prose rendering of "Hiawatha" has been written. It follows
closely the narrative of the poem, and in many places Longfellow's own
words have been introduced into its pages, for the purpose of this
volume is to awaken interest and pleasure in the poem itself.
CONTENTS
THE STORY OF HIAWATHA
PAGE
PREFACE vii
CHAPTER
I. THE PEACE-PIPE 1
II. THE FOUR WINDS 3
III. HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 11
IV. HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS 15
V. HIAWATHA'S FASTING 19
VI. HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS 23
VII. HIAWATHA'S SAILING 27
VIII. HIAWATHA'S FISHING 30
IX. HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER 34
X. HIAWATHA'S WOOING 38
XI. HIAWATHA'S WEDDING FEAST 43
XII. THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR 47
XIII. BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS 53
XIV. PICTURE WRITING 57
XV. HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION 60
XVI. PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 65
XVII. THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 70
XVIII. THE DEATH OF KWASIND 76
XIX. THE GHOSTS 80
XX. THE FAMINE 84
XXI. THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT 88
XXII. HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE 92
CONTENTS
THE SONG OF HIAWATHA
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 99
CANTO
I. THE PEACE-PIPE 105
II. THE FOUR WINDS 111
III. HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 123
IV. HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS 133
V. HIAWATHA'S FASTING 144
VI. HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS 156
VII. HIAWATHA'S SAILING 163
VIII. HIAWATHA'S FISHING 168
IX. HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER 178
X. HIAWATHA'S WOOING 189
XI. HIAWATHA'S WEDDING FEAST 200
XII. THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR 210
XIII. BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS 225
XIV. PICTURE WRITING 234
XV. HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION 241
XVI. PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 250
XVII. THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 260
XVIII. THE DEATH OF KWASIND 274
XIX. THE GHOSTS 279
XX. THE FAMINE 288
XXI. THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT 295
XXII. HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE 304
ILLUSTRATIONS
"OF ALL BEASTS HE LEARNED THE LANGUAGE" _Cover_
"FROM THE FULL MOON FELL NOKOMIS" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"DEAD HE LAY THERE IN THE SUNSET" 22
"PLEASANT WAS THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD" 42
"SEVEN LONG DAYS AND NIGHTS HE SAT THERE" 86
"GIVE ME OF YOUR ROOTS, O TAMARACK" 164
"TAKE MY BAIT, O KING OF FISHES" 170
HE BEGAN HIS MYSTIC DANCES 204
"HELD BY UNSEEN HANDS BUT SINKING" 222
"AND EACH FIGURE HAD A MEANING" 236
"HURLED THE PINE CONES DOWN UPON HIM" 278
"WESTWARD, WESTWARD HIAWATHA
SAILED INTO THE FIERY SUNSET" 310
THE STORY OF HIAWATHA
I
THE PEACE-PIPE
LONG ago, when our cities were pleasant woodlands and the white man was
far beyond the seas, the great Manito, God of all the Indians, descended
to the earth. From the red crags of the Great Red Pipestone Quarry he
gazed upon the country that he ruled, and a silver river gushed from his
footprints and turned to gold as it met the morning sun. The Great
Manito stooped to gather some of the red stone of the quarry, and molded
it with giant fingers into a mighty pipe-bowl; he plucked a reed from
the river bank for a pipe-stem, filled the pipe with the bark of the
willow, breathed upon the forest until the great boughs chafed together
into flame, and there alone upon the mountains he smoked the pipe of
peace. The smoke rose high and slowly in the air. Far above the tops of
the tallest pine-trees it rose in a thin blue line, so that all the
nations might see and hasten at the summons of the Great Manito; and the
smoke as it rose grew thicker and purer and whiter, rolling and
unfolding in the air until it glistened like a great white fleecy cloud
that touched the top of heaven. The Indians saw it from the Valley of
Wyoming, and from Tuscaloosa and the far-off Rocky Mountains, and their
prophets said: "Come and obey the summons of the Great Manito, who calls
the tribes of men to council!"
Over the prairies, down the rivers, through the forests, from north and
south and east and west, the red men hastened to approach the
smoke-cloud. There were Delawares and Dacotahs and Choctaws and
Comanches and Pawnees and Blackfeet and Shoshonies,--all the tribes of
Indians in the world, and one and all they gathered at the Pipestone
Quarry, where the Great Manito stood and waited for them. And the Great
Manito saw that they glared at one another angrily, and he stretched his
right hand over them and said:
"My children, I have given you a happy land, where you may fish and
hunt. I have filled the rivers with the trout and sturgeon. There are
wild fowl in the lakes and marshes; there are bears in the forest and
bison on the prairie. Now listen to my warning, for I am weary of your
endless quarrels: I will send a Prophet to you, who shall guide you and
teach you and share your sufferings. Obey him, and all will be well with
you. Disobey him, and you shall be scattered like the autumn leaves.
Wash the war-paint and the bloodstains from your bodies; mould the red
stone of the quarry into peace-pipes, and smoke with me the pipe of
peace and brotherhood that shall last forever."
The tones of his deep voice died away, and the Indians broke their
weapons and bathed in the sparkling river. They took the red stone of
the quarry and made peace-pipes and gathered in a circle; and while they
smoked the Great Manito grew taller and mightier and lighter until he
drifted on the smoke high above the clouds into the heavens.
II
THE FOUR WINDS
IN the far-off kingdom of Wabasso, the country of the North-wind, where
the fierce blasts howl among the gorges and the mountains are like flint
the year round, Mishe Mokwa, the huge bear, had his cave. Years had
passed since the great Manito had spoken to the tribes of men, and his
words of warning were forgotten by the Indians; the smoke of his
peace-pipe had been blown away by the four winds, and the red men
smeared their bodies with new war-paint, as they had done in days of
old. But, brave as they were, none of them dared to hunt the monster
bear, who was the terror of the nations of the earth. He would rise from
his winter sleep and bring the fear of death into the villages, and he
would come like a great shadow in the night to kill and to destroy. Year
by year the great bear became bolder, and year by year the number of his
victims had increased until the mighty Mudjekeewis, bravest of all the
early Indians, grew into manhood.
Although Mudjekeewis was so strong that all his enemies were afraid of
him, he did not love the war-path, for he alone remembered the warning
of the great Manito; and as he wished to be a hero, and yet to do no
harm to his fellow men, he decided to hunt and kill the great bear of
the mountains, and to take the magic belt of shining shells called
wampum that the great bear wore about his neck. Mudjekeewis told this to
the Indians, and one and all they shouted: "Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"
For a weapon he took a huge war-club, made of rock and the trunk of a
tough young pine, and all alone he went into the Northland to the home
of Mishe Mokwa. Many days he hunted, for the great bear knew of his
coming, and the monster's savage heart felt fear for the first time; but
at last, after a long search, Mudjekeewis heard a sound like far-off
thunder, that rose and fell and rose again until the echoes all around
were rumbling, and he knew the sound to be the heavy breathing of the
giant bear, who slept. Softly Mudjekeewis stole upon him.
The great bear was sprawled upon the mountain, so huge that his
fore-quarters rose above the tallest boulders, and on his rough and
wrinkled hide the belt of wampum shone like a string of jewels. Still he
slept; and Mudjekeewis, almost frightened by the long red talons and the
mighty arms and fore-paws of the monster, drew the shining wampum softly
over the closed eyes and over the grim muzzle of the bear, whose heavy
breathing was hot upon his hands.
Then Mudjekeewis gripped his club and swung it high above his head,
shouting his war-cry in a terrible voice, and he struck the great bear
on the forehead a blow that would have split the rocks on which the
monster slept. The great bear rose and staggered forward, but his senses
reeled and his legs trembled beneath him. Stunned, he sat upon his
haunches, and from his mighty chest and throat came a little whimpering
cry like the crying of a woman. Mudjekeewis laughed at the great bear,
and raising his war-club once again, he broke the great bear's skull as
ice is broken in winter. He put on the belt of wampum and returned to
his own people, who were proud of him and cried out with one voice that
the West-wind should be given him to rule. Thenceforth he was known as
Kabeyun, father of the winds and ruler of the air.
Kabeyun had three sons, to whom he gave the three remaining winds of
heaven. To Wabun he gave the steady East-wind, fresh and damp with the
air of the ocean; to the lazy Shawondasee he gave the scented breezes
of the south, and to the cruel Kabibonokka he gave the icy gusts and
storm-blasts of the Northland.
Wabun, the young and beautiful, ruled the morning, and would fly from
hill to hill and plain to plain awakening the world. When he came with
the dew of early dawn upon his shoulders the wild fowl would splash amid
the marshes and the lakes and rivers wrinkle into life. The squirrels
would begin to chatter in the tree-tops, the moose would crash through
the thicket, and the smoke would rise from a thousand wigwams.
And yet, although the birds never sang so gayly as when Wabun was in the
air, and the flowers never smelled so sweet as when Wabun blew upon
their petals, he was not happy, for he lived alone in heaven. But one
morning, when he sprang from the cloud bank where he had lain through
the night, and when he was passing over a yet unawakened village, Wabun
saw a maiden picking rushes from the brink of a river, and as he passed
above her she looked up with eyes as blue as two blue lakes. Every
morning she waited for him by the river bank, and Wabun loved the
beautiful maiden. So he came down to earth and he wooed her, wrapped her
in his robe of crimson till he changed her to a star and he bore her
high into the heavens. There they may be seen always together, Wabun and
the pure, bright star he loves--the Star of Morning.
But his brother, the fierce and cruel Kabibonokka, lived among the
eternal ice caves and the snowdrifts of the north. He would whisk away
the leaves in autumn and send the sleet through the naked forest; he
would drive the wild fowl swiftly to the south and rush through the
woods after them, roaring and rattling the branches. He would bind the
lakes and rivers in the keenest, hardest ice, and make them hum and sing
beneath him as he whirled along beneath the stars, and he would cause
great floes and icebergs to creak and groan and grind together in agony
of cold.
Once Kabibonokka was rushing southward after the departing wild fowl,
when he saw a figure on the frozen moorland. It was Shingebis, the
diver, who had stayed in the country of the North-wind long after his
tribe had gone away, and Shingebis was making ready to pass the winter
there in spite of Kabibonokka and his gusty anger. He was dragging
strings of fish to his winter lodge--enough to last him until spring
should set the rivers free and fill the air once more with wild fowl and
the waters with returning salmon.
What did Shingebis care for the anger of Kabibonokka? He had four great
logs to burn as firewood (one for each moon of the winter), and he
stretched himself before the blazing fire and ate and laughed and sang
as merrily as if the sun were warm and bright without his cheery
wigwam.
"Ho," cried Kabibonokka, "I will rush upon him! I will shake his lodge
to pieces! I will scatter his bright fire and drive him far to the
south!" And in the night Kabibonokka piled the snowdrifts high about the
lodge of Shingebis, and shook the lodge-pole and wailed around the
smoke-flue until the flames flared and the ashes were scattered on the
floor. But Shingebis cared not at all. He merely turned the log until it
burned more brightly, and laughed and sang as he had done before, only a
little louder: "O Kabibonokka, you are but my fellow-mortal!"
"I will freeze him with my bitter breath!" roared Kabibonokka; "I will
turn him to a block of ice," and he burst into the lodge of Shingebis.
But although Shingebis knew by the sudden coldness on his back that
Kabibonokka stood beside him, he did not even turn his head, but blew
upon the embers, struck the coals and made the sparks flicker up the
smoke-flue, while he laughed and sang over and over again: "O
Kabibonokka, you are but my fellow-mortal!"
Drops of sweat trickled down Kabibonokka's forehead, and his limbs grew
hot and moist and commenced to melt away. From his snow-sprinkled locks
the water dripped as from the melting icicles in spring, and the steam
rose from his shoulders. He rushed from the lodge and howled upon the
moorland; for he could not bear the heat and the merry laughter and the
singing of Shingebis, the diver.
"Come out and wrestle with me!" cried Kabibonokka. "Come and meet me
face to face upon the moorland!" And he stamped upon the ice and made it
thicker; breathed upon the snow and made it harder; raged upon the
frozen marshes against Shingebis, and the warm, merry fire that had
driven him away.
Then Shingebis, the diver, left his lodge and all the warmth and light
that was in it, and he wrestled all night long on the marshes with
Kabibonokka, until the North-wind's frozen grasp became more feeble and
his strength was gone. And Kabibonokka rose from the fight and fled from
Shingebis far away into the very heart of his frozen kingdom in the
north.
Shawondasee, the lazy one, ruler of the South-wind, had his kingdom in
the land of warmth and pleasure of the sunlit tropics. The smoke of his
pipe would fill the air with a dreamy haze that caused the grapes and
melons to swell into delicious ripeness. He breathed upon the fields
until they yielded rich tobacco; he dropped soft and starry blossoms on
the meadows and filled the shaded woods with the singing of a hundred
different birds.
How the wild rose and the shy arbutus and the lily, sweet and languid,
loved the idle Shawondasee! How the frost-weary and withered earth would
melt and mellow at his sunny touch! Happy Shawondasee! In all his life
he had a single sorrow--just one sleepy little sting of pain. He had
seen a maiden clad in purest green, with hair as yellow as the bright
breast of the oriole, and she stood and nodded at him from the prairie
toward the north. But Shawondasee, although he loved the bright-haired
maiden and longed for her until he filled the air with sighs of
tenderness, was so lazy and listless that he never sought to win her
love. Never did he rouse himself and tell her of his passion, but he
stayed far to the southward, and murmured half asleep among the
palm-trees as he dreamed of the bright maiden.
One morning, when he awoke and gazed as usual toward the north, he saw
that the beautiful golden hair of the maiden had become as white as
snow, and Shawondasee cried out in his sorrow: "Ah, my brother of the
North-wind, you have robbed me of my treasure! You have stolen the
bright-haired maiden, and have wooed her with your stories of the
Northland!" and Shawondasee wandered through the air, sighing with
passion until, lo and behold! the maiden disappeared.
Foolish Shawondasee! It was no maiden that you longed for. It was the
prairie dandelion, and you puffed her away forever with your useless
sighing.
III
HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD
NO doubt you will wonder what the stories of the Four Winds have to do
with Hiawatha, and why he has not been spoken of before; but soon you
will see that if you had not read these stories, you could not
understand how the life of Hiawatha was different from that of any other
Indian. And Hiawatha had been chosen by the great Manito to be the
leader of the red men, to share their troubles and to teach them; so of
course there were a great many things that took place before he was born
that have to be remembered when we think of him.
In the full moon, long ago, the beautiful Nokomis was swinging in a
swing of grape-vines and playing with her women, when one of them, who
had always wished to do her harm, cut the swing and let Nokomis fall to
earth. As she fell, she was so fair and bright that she seemed to be a
star flashing downward through the air, and the Indians all cried out:
"See, a star is dropping to the meadow!"
There on the meadow, among the blossoms and the grasses, a daughter was
born to Nokomis, and she called her daughter Wenonah. And her daughter,
who was born beneath the clear moon and the bright stars of heaven, grew
into a maiden sweeter than the lilies of the prairie, lovelier than the
moonlight and purer than the light of any star.
Wenonah was so beautiful that the West-wind, the mighty West-wind,
Mudjekeewis, came and whispered tenderly into her ear until she loved
him. But the West-wind did not love Wenonah long. He went away to his
kingdom on the mountains, and after he had gone Wenonah had a son whom
she named Hiawatha, the child of the West-wind. But Wenonah was so sad
because the West-wind had deserted her that she died soon after Hiawatha
was born, and the infant Hiawatha, without father or mother, was taken
to Nokomis' wigwam, which stood beside a broad and shining lake called
"The Big-Sea-Water."
There he lived and was nursed by his grandmother, Nokomis, who sang to
him and rocked him in his cradle. When he cried Nokomis would say to
him: "Hush, or the naked bear will get thee," and when he awoke in the
night she taught him all about the stars, and showed him the spirits
that we call the northern lights dance the Death-dance far in the north.
On the summer evenings, little Hiawatha would hear the pine-trees
whisper to one another and the water lapping in the lake, and he would
see the fire-flies twinkle in the twilight; and when he saw the moon and
all the dark spots on it he asked Nokomis what they were, and she told
him that a very angry warrior had once seized his grandmother and
thrown her up into the sky at midnight, "right up to the moon," said
Nokomis, "and that is her body that you see there."
When Hiawatha saw the rainbow, with the sun shining on it, he said:
"What is that, Nokomis?" and Nokomis answered, saying: "That is the
heaven of the flowers, where all the flowers that fade on the earth
blossom once again." And when Hiawatha heard the owls hooting through
the night he asked Nokomis: "What are those?" And Nokomis answered:
"Those are the owls and the owlets, talking to each other in their
native language."
Then Hiawatha learned the language of all the birds of the air, all
about their nests, how they learned to fly and where they went in
winter; and he learned so much that he could talk to them just as if he
were a bird himself. He learned the language of all the beasts of the
forest, and they told him all their secrets. The beavers showed him how
they built their houses, the squirrels took him to the places where they
hid their acorns, and the rabbits told him why they were so timid.
Hiawatha talked with all the animals that he met, and he called them
"Hiawatha's brothers."
Nokomis had a friend called Iagoo the Boaster, because he told so many
stories about great deeds that he had never done, and this Iagoo once
made a bow for Hiawatha, and said to him: "Take this bow, and go into
the forest hunting. Kill a fine roebuck and bring us back his horns."
So Hiawatha went into the forest all alone with his bow and arrows, and
because he knew the language of the wild things he could tell what all
the birds and animals were saying to him.
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" said the robins; and the squirrels
scrambled in fright up the trunks of the trees, coughing and chattering:
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" But for once Hiawatha did not care or even
hear what the birds and beasts were saying to him.
At last he saw the tracks of the red deer, and he followed them to the
river bank, where he hid among the bushes and waited until two antlers
rose above the thicket and a fine buck stepped out into the path and
snuffed the wind. Hiawatha's heart beat quickly and he rose to one knee
and aimed his arrow. "Twang!" went the bowstring, and the buck leaped
high into the air and fell down dead, with the arrow in his heart.
Hiawatha dragged the buck that he had killed back to the wigwam of
Nokomis, and Nokomis and Iagoo were much pleased. From the buck-skin
they made a fine cloak for Hiawatha; they hung up the antlers in the
wigwam, and invited everybody in the village to a feast of deer's flesh.
And the Indians all came and feasted, and called Hiawatha "Strong
Heart."
IV
HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS
THE years passed, and Hiawatha grew from a child into a strong and
active man. He was so wise that the old men knew far less than he, and
often asked him for advice, and he was such a fine hunter that he never
missed his aim. He was so swift of foot that he could shoot an arrow and
catch it in its flight or let it fall behind him; he was so strong that
he could shoot ten arrows up into the air, and the last of them would
leave his bow before the first had fallen to the ground. He had magic
mittens made of deer-skin, and when he wore them on his hands he could
break the rocks with them and grind the pieces into powder; he had magic
moccasins also--shoes made of deer-skin that he tied about his feet, and
when he put on these he could take a mile at every step.
Hiawatha thought a great deal about his father, Mudjekeewis, and often
plagued Nokomis with questions about him, until at last she told
Hiawatha how his mother had loved Mudjekeewis, who left her to die of
sorrow; and Hiawatha was so angry when he heard the story that his heart
felt like a coal of fire. He said to Nokomis: "I will talk with
Mudjekeewis, my father, and to find him I will go to the Land of the
Sunset, where he has his kingdom."
So Hiawatha dressed himself for travel and armed himself with bow and a
war-club, took his magic mittens and his magic moccasins, and set out
all alone to travel to the kingdom of the West-wind. And although
Nokomis called after him and begged him to turn back, he would not
listen to her, but went away into the forest.
For days and days he traveled. He passed the Mississippi River; he
crossed the prairies where the buffaloes were herding, and when he came
to the Rocky Mountains, where the panther and the grizzly bear have
their homes, he reached the Land of the Sunset, and the kingdom of the
West-wind. There he found his father, Mudjekeewis.
When Hiawatha saw his father he was as nearly afraid as he had ever been
in his life, for his father's cloudy hair tossed and waved in the air
and flashed like the star we call the comet, trailing long streams of
fire through the sky. But when Mudjekeewis saw what a strong and
handsome man his son had grown to be, he was proud and happy; for he
knew that Hiawatha had all of his own early strength and all the beauty
of the dead Wenonah.
"Welcome, my son," said Mudjekeewis, "to the kingdom of the West-wind. I
have waited for you many years, and have grown very lonely." And
Mudjekeewis and Hiawatha talked long together; but all the while
Hiawatha was thinking of his dead mother and the wrong that had been
done to her, and he became more and more angry.
He hid his anger, however, and listened to what Mudjekeewis told him,
and Mudjekeewis boasted of his own early bravery and of his body that
was so tough that nobody could do him any harm. "Can nothing hurt you?"
asked Hiawatha, and Mudjekeewis said: "Nothing but the black rock
yonder." Then he smiled at Hiawatha and said: "Is there anything that
can harm you, my son?" And Hiawatha, who did not wish Mudjekeewis to
know that nothing in the world could do him injury, told him that only
the bulrush had such power.
Then they talked about other things--of Hiawatha's brothers who ruled
the winds, Wabun and Shawondasee and Kabibonokka, and about the
beautiful Wenonah, Hiawatha's mother. And Hiawatha cried out then in
fury: "Father though you be, you killed Wenonah!" And he struck with his
magic mittens the black rock, broke it into pieces, and threw them at
Mudjekeewis; but Mudjekeewis blew them back with his breath, and
remembering what Hiawatha had said about the bulrushes he tore them up
from the mud, roots and all, and used them as a whip to lash his son.
Thus began the fearful fight between Hiawatha and his father,
Mudjekeewis. The eagle left his nest and circled in the air above them
as they fought; the bulrush bent and waved like a tall tree in a storm,
and great pieces of the black rock crashed upon the earth. Three days
the fight continued, and Mudjekeewis was driven back--back to the end
of the world, where the sun drops down into the empty places every
evening.
"Stop!" cried Mudjekeewis, "stop, Hiawatha! You cannot kill me. I have
put you to this trial to learn how brave you are. Now I will give you a
great prize. Go back to your home and people, and kill all the monsters,
and all the giants and the serpents, as I killed the great bear when I
was young. And at last when Death draws near you, and his awful eyes
glare on you from the darkness, I will give you a part of my kingdom and
you shall be ruler of the North-west wind."
Then the battle ended long ago among the mountains; and if you do not
believe this story, go there and see for yourself that the bulrush grows
by the ponds and rivers, and that the pieces of the black rock are
scattered all through the valleys, where they fell after Hiawatha had
thrown them at his father.
Hiawatha started homeward, with all the anger taken from his heart. Only
once upon his way he stopped and bought the heads of arrows from an old
Arrow-maker who lived in the land of the Indians called Dacotahs. The
old Arrow-maker had a daughter, whose laugh was as musical as the voice
of the waterfall by which she lived, and Hiawatha named her by the name
of the rushing waterfall--"Minnehaha"--Laughing Water. When he reached
his native village, all he told to Nokomis was of the battle with his
father. Of the arrows and the lovely maiden, Minnehaha, he did not say a
word.
V
HIAWATHA'S FASTING
THE time came when Hiawatha felt that he must show the tribes of Indians
that he would do them some great service, and he went alone into the
forest to fast and pray, and see if he could not learn how to help his
fellow-men and make them happy. In the forest he built a wigwam, where
nobody might disturb him, and he went without food for seven nights and
seven days. The first day, he walked in the forest; and when he saw the
hare leap into the thicket and the deer dart away at his approach he was
very sad, because he knew that if the animals of the forest should die,
or go and hide where the Indians could not hunt them, the Indians would
starve for want of food. "Must our lives depend on the hare and on the
red deer?" asked Hiawatha, and he prayed to the Great Manito to tell him
of some food that the Indians might always be able to find when they
were hungry.
The next day, Hiawatha walked by the bank of the river, and saw the wild
rice growing and the blueberries and the wild strawberries and the
grape-vine that filled the air with pleasant odors; and he knew that
when cold winter came, all this fruit would wither and the Indians would
have no more of it to eat. Again he prayed to the Great Manito to tell
him of some food that the Indians might enjoy in winter and summer, in
autumn and in spring.
The third day that Hiawatha fasted, he was too weak to walk about the
forest, and he sat by the shore of the lake and watched the yellow perch
darting about in the sunny water. Far out in the middle of the lake he
saw Nahma, the big sturgeon, leap into the air with a shower of spray
and fall back into the water with a crash; and every now and then the
pike would chase a school of minnows into the shallow water at the edges
of the lake and dart among them like an arrow. And Hiawatha thought of
how a hot summer might dry up the lakes and rivers and kill the fish, or
drive them into such deep water that nobody could catch them; and he
called out to the Great Manito, asking a third time for some food that
the Indians could store away and use when there was no game in the
forest, and no fruit on the river banks or in the fields, and no fish in
any of the lakes and rivers.
On the fourth day that Hiawatha fasted, he was so weak from hunger that
he could not even go out and sit beside the lake, but lay on his back
in his wigwam and watched the rising sun burn away the mist, and he
looked up into the blue sky, wondering if the Great Manito had heard his
prayers and would tell him of this food that he wished so much to find.
And just as the sun was sinking down behind the hills, Hiawatha saw a
young man with golden hair coming through the forest toward his wigwam,
and the young man wore a wonderful dress of the brightest green, with
silky yellow fringes and gay tassels that waved behind him in the wind.
The young man walked right into Hiawatha's wigwam and said: "Hiawatha,
my name is Mondamin, and I have been sent by the Great Manito to tell
you that he has heard your prayers and will give you the food that you
wish to find. But you must work hard and suffer a great deal before this
food is given you, and you must now come out of your wigwam and wrestle
with me in the forest."
Then Hiawatha rose from his bed of leaves and branches, but he was so
weak that it was all he could do to follow Mondamin from the wigwam. He
wrestled with Mondamin, and as soon as he touched him his strength began
to return. They wrestled for a long time and at last Mondamin said: "It
is enough. You have wrestled bravely, Hiawatha. To-morrow I will come
again and wrestle with you." He vanished, and Hiawatha could not tell
whether he had sunk into the ground or disappeared into the air.
[Illustration: "DEAD HE LAY THERE IN THE SUNSET"--_Page 153_]
On the next day, when the sun was setting, Mondamin came again to
wrestle with Hiawatha, and the day after that he came also and they
wrestled even longer than before. Then Mondamin smiled at Hiawatha and
said to him: "Three times, O Hiawatha, you have bravely wrestled with
me. To-morrow I shall wrestle with you once again, and you will overcome
me and throw me to the earth and I shall seem to be dead. Then, when I
am lying still and limp on the ground, do you take off my gay clothes
and bury me where we have wrestled. And you must make the ground above
the place where I am buried soft and light, and take good care that
weeds do not grow there and that ravens do not come there to disturb me,
until at last I rise again from the ground more beautiful than ever."
True to his word, Mondamin came at sunset of the next day, and he and
Hiawatha wrestled together for the last time. They wrestled after
evening had come upon them, until at last Hiawatha threw Mondamin to the
ground, who lay there as if dead.
Then Hiawatha took off all the gay green clothes that Mondamin wore, and
he buried Mondamin and made the ground soft and light above the grave,
just as he had been told to do. He kept the weeds from growing in the
ground, and kept the ravens from coming to the place, until at last he
saw a tiny little green leaf sticking up out of the grave. The little
leaf grew into a large plant, taller than Hiawatha himself, and the
plant had wonderful green leaves and silky yellow fringes and gay
tassels that waved behind it in the wind. "It is Mondamin!" cried out
Hiawatha, and he called Nokomis and Iagoo to see the wonderful plant
that was to be the food that he had prayed for to the Great Manito.
They waited until autumn had turned the leaves to yellow, and made the
tender kernels hard and shiny, and then they stripped the husks and
gathered the ears of the wonderful Indian corn. All the Indians for
miles around had a great feast and were happy, because they knew that
with a little care they would have corn to eat in winter and in summer,
in autumn and in spring.
VI
HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS
HIAWATHA had two good friends, whom he had chosen from all other Indians
to be with him always, and whom he loved more than any living men. They
were Chibiabos, the sweetest singer, and Kwasind, the strongest man in
the world; and they told to Hiawatha all their secrets as he told his
to them. Best of all Hiawatha loved the brave and beautiful Chibiabos,
who was such a wonderful musician that when he sang people flocked from
villages far and near to listen to him, and even the animals and birds
left their dens and nests to hear.
Chibiabos sang so sweetly that the brook would pause in its course and
murmur to him, asking him to teach its waves to sing his songs and to
flow as softly as his words flowed when he was singing. The envious
bluebird begged Chibiabos to teach it songs as wild and wonderful as his
own; the robin tried to learn his notes of gladness, and the lonely bird
of night, the whippoorwill, longed to sing as Chibiabos sang when he was
sad. He could imitate all the noises of the woodland, and make them
sound even sweeter than they really were, and by his singing he could
force the Indians to laugh or cry or dance, just as he chose.
The mighty Kwasind was also much beloved by Hiawatha, who believed that
next to wonderful songs and love and wisdom great strength was the
finest thing in the world and the closest to perfect goodness; and
never, in all the years that men have lived upon the earth, has there
been another man so strong as Kwasind.
When he was a boy, Kwasind did not fish or play with other children, but
seemed very dull and dreamy, and his father and mother thought that they
were bringing up a fool. "Lazy Kwasind!" his mother said to him, "you
never help me with my work. In the summer you roam through the fields
and forests, doing nothing; and now that it is winter you sit beside the
fire like an old woman, and leave me to break the ice for fishing and to
draw the nets alone. Go out and wring them now, where they are freezing
with the water that is in them; hang them up to dry in the sunshine, and
show that you are worth the food that you eat and the clothes you wear
on your back."
Without a word Kwasind rose from the ashes where he was sitting, left
the lodge and found the nets dripping and freezing fast. He wrung them
like a wisp of straw, but his fingers were so strong that he broke them
in a hundred different places, and his strength was so great that he
could not help breaking the nets any more than if they were tender
cobwebs.
"Lazy Kwasind!" his father said to him, "you never help me in my
hunting, as other young men help their fathers. You break every bow you
touch, and you snap every arrow that you draw. Yet you shall come with
me and bring home from the forest what I kill."
They went down to a deep and narrow valley by the side of a little
brook, where the tracks of bison and of deer showed plainly in the mud;
and at last they came to a place where the trunks of heavy trees were
piled like a stone wall across the valley.
"We must go back," said Kwasind's father; "we can never scale those
logs. They are packed so tightly that no woodchuck could get through
them, and not even a squirrel could climb over the top," and the old man
sat down to smoke and rest and wonder what they were going to do; but
before he had finished his pipe the way lay clear, for the strong
Kwasind had lifted the logs as if they were light lances, and had hurled
them crashing into the depths of the forest.
"Lazy Kwasind!" shouted the young men, as they ran their races and
played their games upon the meadows, "why do you stay idle while we
strive with one another? Leave the rock that you are leaning on and join
us. Come and wrestle with us, and see who can pitch the quoit the
farthest."
Kwasind did not say a word in answer to them, but rose and slowly turned
to the huge rock on which he had been leaning. He gripped it with both
hands, tore it from the ground and pitched it right into the swift
Pauwating River, where you can still see it in the summer months, as it
towers high above the current.
Once as Kwasind with his companions was sailing down the foaming rapids
of the Pauwating he saw a beaver in the water--Ahmeek, the King of
Beavers--who was struggling against the savage current. Without a word,
Kwasind leaped into the water and chased the beaver in and out among
the whirlpools. He followed the beaver among the islands, dove after him
to the bottom of the river and stayed under water so long that his
companions believed him dead and cried out: "Alas, we shall see Kwasind
no more! He is drowned in the whirlpool!" But Kwasind's head showed at
last above the water and he swam ashore, carrying the King of Beavers
dead upon his shoulders.
These were the sort of men that Hiawatha chose to be his friends.
VII
HIAWATHA'S SAILING
ONCE Hiawatha was sitting alone beside the swift and mighty river
Taquamenaw, and he longed for a canoe with which he might explore the
river from bank to bank, and learn to know all its rapids and its
shallows. And Hiawatha set about building himself a canoe such as he
needed, and he called upon the forest to give him aid:
"Give me your bark, O Birch Tree!" cried Hiawatha; "I will build me a
light canoe for sailing that shall float upon the river like a yellow
leaf in autumn. Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree, for the summer time
is coming." And the birch tree sighed and rustled in the breeze,
murmuring sadly: "Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
With his knife Hiawatha cut around the trunk of the birch-tree just
beneath the branches until the sap came oozing forth; and he also cut
the bark around the tree-trunk just above the roots. He slashed the bark
from top to bottom, raised it with wooden wedges and stripped it from
the trunk of the tree without a crack in all its golden surface.
"Give me your boughs, O Cedar!" cried Hiawatha. "Give me your strong and
pliant branches, to make my canoe firmer and tougher beneath me."
Through all the branches of the cedar there swept a noise as if somebody
were crying with horror, but the tree at last bent downward and
whispered: "Take my boughs, O Hiawatha."
He cut down the boughs of the cedar and made them into a framework with
the shape of two bows bent together, and he covered this framework with
the rich and yellow bark.
"Give me your roots, O Larch Tree!" cried Hiawatha, "to bind the ends of
my canoe together, that the water may not enter and the river may not
wet me!" The larch-tree shivered in the air and touched Hiawatha's
forehead with its tassels, sighing: "Take them, take them!" as he tore
the fibres from the earth. With the tough roots he sewed the ends of his
canoe together and bound the bark tightly to the framework, and his
canoe became light and graceful in shape. He took the balsam and pitch
of the fir-tree and smeared the seams so that no water might ooze in,
and he asked for the quills of Kagh, the hedgehog, to make a necklace
and two stars for his canoe.
Thus did Hiawatha build his birch canoe, and all the life and magic of
the forest was held in it; for it had all the lightness of the bark of
the birch-tree, all the toughness of the boughs of the cedar, and it
danced and floated on the river as lightly as a yellow leaf.
Hiawatha did not have any paddles for his canoe, and he needed none, for
he could guide it by merely wishing that it should turn to the right or
to the left. The canoe would move in whatever direction he chose, and
would glide over the water swiftly or slowly just as he desired. All
Hiawatha had to do was to sit still and think where he cared to have it
take him. Never was there such a wonderful craft before.
Then Hiawatha called to Kwasind, and asked for help in clearing away all
the sunken logs and all the rocks, and sandbars in the river-bed, and he
and Kwasind traveled down the whole length of the river. Kwasind swam
and dove like a beaver, tugging at sunken logs, scooping out the
sandbars with his hands, kicking the boulders out of the stream and
digging away all the snags and tangles. They went back and forth and up
and down the river, Kwasind working just as hard as he was able, and
Hiawatha showing him where he could find new logs and rocks, and
sandbars to remove, until together they made the channel safe and
regular all the way from where the river rose among the mountains in
little springs to where it emptied a wide and rolling sheet of water
into the bay of Taquamenaw.
VIII
HIAWATHA'S FISHING
IN his wonderful canoe, Hiawatha sailed over the shining Big-Sea-Water
to go fishing and to catch with his fishing-line made of cedar no other
than the very King of Fishes--Nahma, the big sturgeon. All alone
Hiawatha sailed over the lake, but on the bow of his canoe sat a
squirrel, frisking and chattering at the thought of all the wonderful
sport that he was going to see. Through the calm, clear water Hiawatha
saw the fishes swimming to and fro. First he saw the yellow perch that
shone like a sunbeam; then he saw the crawfish moving along the sandy
bottom of the lake, and at last he saw a great blue shape that swept the
sand floor with its mighty tail and waved its huge fins lazily backward
and forward, and Hiawatha knew that this monster was Nahma, the
Sturgeon, King of all the Fishes.
"Take my bait!" shouted Hiawatha, dropping his line of cedar into the
calm water. "Come up and take my bait, O Nahma, King of Fishes!" But the
great fish did not move, although Hiawatha shouted to him over and over
again. At last, however, Nahma began to grow tired of the endless
shouting, and he said to Maskenozha, the pike: "Take the bait of this
rude fellow, Hiawatha, and break his line."
Hiawatha felt the fishing-line tighten with a snap, and as he pulled it
in, Maskenozha, the pike, tugged so hard that the canoe stood almost on
end, with the squirrel perched on the top; but when Hiawatha saw what
fish it was that had taken his bait he was full of scorn and shouted:
"Shame upon you! You are not the King of Fishes; you are only the pike,
Maskenozha!" and the pike let go of Hiawatha's line and sank back to the
bottom, very much ashamed.
Then Nahma said to the sunfish, Ugudwash: "Take Hiawatha's bait, and
break his line! I am tired of his shouting and his boasting," and the
sunfish rose up through the water like a great white moon. It seized
Hiawatha's line and struggled so that the canoe made a whirlpool in the
water and rocked until the waves it made splashed upon the beaches at
the rim of the lake; but when Hiawatha saw the fish he was very angry
and shouted out again: "Oh shame upon you! You are the sunfish,
Ugudwash, and you come when I call for Nahma, King of Fishes!" and the
sunfish let go of Hiawatha's line and sank to the bottom, where he hid
among the lily stems.
Then Nahma, the great sturgeon, heard Hiawatha shouting at him once
again, and furious he rose with a swirl to the top of the water; leaped
in the air, scattering the spray on every side, and opening his huge
jaws he made a rush at the canoe and swallowed Hiawatha, canoe and all.
Into the dark cave of Nahma's giant maw, Hiawatha in his canoe plunged
headlong, as a log rushes down a roaring river in the springtime. At
first he was frightened, for it was so inky black that he could not see
his hand before his face; but at last he felt a great heart beating in
the darkness, and he clenched his fist and struck the giant heart with
all his strength. As he struck it, he felt Nahma tremble all over, and
he heard the water gurgle as the great fish rushed through it trying to
breathe, and Hiawatha struck the mighty heart yet another heavy blow.
Then he dragged his canoe crosswise, so that he might not be thrown from
the belly of the great fish and be drowned in the swirling water where
Nahma was fighting for life, and the little squirrel helped Hiawatha
drag his canoe into safety and tugged and pulled bravely at Hiawatha's
side. Hiawatha was grateful to the little squirrel, and told him that
for a reward the boys should always call him Adjidaumo, which means
"tail-in-the-air," and the little squirrel was much pleased.
At last everything became quiet, and Nahma, the great sturgeon, lay dead
and drifted on the surface of the water to the shore, where Hiawatha
heard him grate upon the pebbles. There was a great screaming and
flapping of wings outside, and finally a gleam of light shone to the
place where Hiawatha was sitting, and he could see the glittering eyes
of the sea-gulls, who had crawled into the open mouth of Nahma and were
peering down his gullet. Hiawatha called out to them: "O my Brothers,
the Sea-Gulls, I have killed the great King of Fishes, Nahma, the
sturgeon. Scratch and tear with your beaks and claws until the opening
becomes wider and you can set me free from this dark prison! Do this,
and men shall always call you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, the Noble
Scratchers."
The sea-gulls set to work with a will, and scratched and tore at Nahma's
ribs until there was an opening wide enough for Hiawatha and the
squirrel to step through and to drag the canoe out after them. Hiawatha
called Nokomis, pointed to the body of the sturgeon and said: "See,
Nokomis, I have killed Nahma, the King of Fishes, and the sea-gulls feed
upon him. You must not drive them away, for they saved me from great
danger; but when they fly back to their nests at sunset, do you bring
your pots and kettles and make from Nahma's flesh enough oil to last us
through the winter."
Nokomis waited until sunset, when the sea-gulls had flown back to their
homes in the marshes, and she set to work with all her pots and kettles
to make yellow oil from the flesh of Nahma. She worked all night long
until the sun rose again and the sea-gulls came back screeching and
screaming for their breakfast; and for three days and three nights the
sea-gulls and Nokomis took turns in stripping the greasy flesh of Nahma
from his ribs, until nothing was left. Then the sea-gulls flew away for
good and all, Nokomis poured her oil into great jars, and on the sand
was only the bare skeleton of Nahma, who had once been the biggest and
the strongest fish that ever swam.
IX
HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER
ONCE Nokomis was standing with Hiawatha beside her upon the shore of the
Big-Sea-Water, watching the sunset, and she pointed to the west, and
said to Hiawatha: "There is the dwelling of the Pearl-Feather, the great
wizard who is guarded by the fiery snakes that coil and play together in
the black pitch-water. You can see them now." And Hiawatha beheld the
fiery snakes twist and wriggle in the black water and coil and uncoil
themselves in play. Nokomis went on: "The great wizard killed my father,
who had come down from the moon to find me. He killed him by wicked
spells and by sly cunning, and now he sends the rank mist of marshes and
the deadly fog that brings sickness and death among our people. Take
your bow, Hiawatha," said Nokomis, "and your war-club and your magic
mittens. Take the oil of the sturgeon, Nahma, so that your canoe may
glide easily through the sticky black pitch-water, and go and kill this
great wizard. Save our people from the fever that he breathes at them
across the marshes, and punish him for my father's death."
Swiftly Hiawatha took his war-club and his arrows and his magic mittens,
launched his birch canoe upon the water and cried: "O Birch Canoe, leap
forward where you see the snakes that play in the black pitch-water.
Leap forward swiftly, O my Birch Canoe, while I sing my war-song," and
the canoe darted forward like a live thing until it reached the spot
where the fiery serpents were sporting in the water.
"Out of my way, O serpents!" cried Hiawatha, "out of my way and let me
go to fight with Pearl-Feather, the awful wizard!" But the serpents only
hissed and answered: "Go back, Coward; go back to old Nokomis,
Faint-heart!"
Then Hiawatha took his bow and sent his arrows singing among the
serpents, and at every shot one of them was killed, until they all lay
dead upon the water.
"Onward, my Birch Canoe!" cried Hiawatha; "onward to the home of the
great wizard!" and the canoe darted forward once again.