Part 3

“Now,” said Copcomus, “we must hold a council at once and decide what to do with the old witch, for she will try to destroy us yet.”

Some said, “We will burn her wigwam;” one said: “No, she would know of our coming and turn us into some evil thing!” Another said his idea was to persuade the great bird, Wūchowsen, Wind, to move his wings harder and faster, thus causing “Uptossem,” the Whirlwind, to destroy her; but Copcomus said: “I will see to-night what is best.” (Witches always see in their sleep how their enemies may be destroyed).

The old woman too saw in her sleep that Copcomus was plotting to kill her; so she sent her messenger, the Humming-bird, to bid Wūchowsen not to move his wings faster than usual.

Copcomus cried to his poohegan: “Go, creep into her wigwam and bite the old witch;” and he tied cedar bark about the snake’s rattle, that it might make no noise.

The snake went by night, glided in and bit the old woman’s big toe. The pain waked her, and her toe swelled rapidly. She sent the Humming-bird to seek Āl-wūs-ki-ni-gess, the Wood Spirit.

The bird flew to the cave in the mountain, and when Āl-wūs-ki-ni-gess asked: “How now, little bird?” the bird replied: “The Great Witch bids you come with your hatchet without delay.” So the Spirit lit his pipe and set forth. When he reached his journey’s end, he found the witch moaning with pain. “What is the matter, ‘Mookmee’ [Grandma]?” he asked.

Her only reply was: “Cut off my toe at once.”

He raised his axe, but K’chīquīnocktsh, the Turtle, Glūs-kābé’s uncle, who had been sent by Glūs-kābé to help Copcomus, jogged his elbow and the hatchet cut off her leg.

Next day Copcomus said to his men: “We must go and implore Glūs-kābé to conquer the witch. No one else can do it.” So they besought the mighty Master to help them. He laughed aloud, and said: “What! all these strong men with warclubs, spears, and bows, to slay one poor old woman! Why, my uncle could do the work single-handed.”

“She must die,” said Copcomus; “we will send your uncle, the Turtle, and let him do the work single-handed.”

So the Turtle set forth once more; but as he is a slow traveller, it took him two days to reach the witch’s home. “What is the matter, Grandma?” he asked. “Alas!” she cried, “Āl-wūs-ki-ni-gess has killed me!”

Turtle then drew his hunting-knife and finished her.

SUMMER

There lived near “Kīsus,” the Sun, a beautiful woman named “Niffon,” Summer. She dressed in green leaves, and her wigwam was decked with leaves and flowers of many different sorts. Her grandmother, Sogalŭn, Rain, lived far away, but when she visited her granddaughter, she always warned her never to go near “Let-ogus-nūk,” the North, where her worst enemy, “Bovin,” Winter, lived, saying: “If you do go, you will lose all your beauty, your dress will fade, your hair will turn gray, and your strength will leave you.”

But Niffon paid no heed to her grandmother’s warning. One fine morning as she sat in her wigwam gazing northward, and saw no signs of Bovin,--the sun was shining and she could see for a long distance,--a beautiful region lay stretched before her, broad rivers, and lakes, and high mountains,--something within her bade her go forth to see that strange country; so she started on her long journey. She knew that her grandmother could not see her, and though she seemed to hear her say: “Do not go near your enemy; he will surely slay you,” she did not heed it, but journeyed on and on. The mountains and lakes seemed far away; but she did not lose heart. Looking back, she could see nothing of her own lovely home. The bright sun overhead was the only thing not new and strange to her. She felt a vague sadness and distress; and when once more a voice murmured: “Do not go, my daughter,” she resolved to turn back, but it was too late. Some unseen power now forced her towards the north. Still the mountains and lakes were as far away as ever; her dress was beginning to fade; her long hair had turned gray; her strength was failing fast; the sun, too, had lost his power; and, as she neared her journey’s end, she saw that the mountains were but heaps of snow, the beautiful lakes but fields of ice.

Meantime her grandmother, seeing no smoke rise from Niffon’s wigwam, grew alarmed and concluded to visit her. When she got there, she found the wigwam empty, the green boughs on the floor withered and dry, and the leaves faded. “Oh, my poor grandchild is in the clutches of Bovin,” she cried, and summoned her bravest warriors, “Sūwessen,” the South Wind, “Hy-chī,” the East Wind, and “Snoteseg-du,” the West Wind, and bade them hasten northward and fight like devils to save Niffon.

These invisible warriors started on their journey, and as they did so, Bovin felt that something was wrong, and ordered his braves, “Letū-gessen,” North Wind, and “K-lkegessen,” Northeast Wind, to hurry southwards and meet the foe.

Sweat began to pour from Bovin’s every limb, his nose grew thin, and his feet shrivelled away. Another day and the giants met; large flakes of snow mixed with raindrops flew in every direction; sharp gusts of contrary winds were heard. The drops of sweat on Bovin’s brow grew larger and larger. By this time, the hair on Niffon’s head was snow white and her dress tattered and faded.

The roar of the wind grew ever louder and sharper; the snow and rain fell faster and thicker; at last Bovin fell from his place and broke one of his legs, and Niffon knew her enemy was conquered.

Bovin bade one of his warriors tell Niffon to depart; he will harm her no more.

Then she turned again towards her own country, her beauty all gone, an old old woman.

Many hours pass; by degrees, as she travels her strength returns, she moves faster, and, as the air grows warmer and softer, she feels happier and begins to look young again; her hair returns to its natural color, her dress is green once more. She sees the lakes and rivers shining; but it will still be many days before she reaches her wigwam, and she must meet her grandmother before she sees her dear home.

At last the air was warm, the clouds grew dark, the rain began to fall, and the wind blew fiercely; amidst the darkest clouds she saw a large wigwam; she entered and found her grandmother reclining on a bed of skins, so changed that she hardly knew her.

The old woman looked up and said: “My child, you have nearly caused my death. I have lost all my power through your disobedience. I can never help you in your future wars. My great fight with Bovin has taken all my strength; go and never depend upon me more.”

THE BUILDING OF THE BOATS[8]

When the water was first made, all the birds and the fowl came together to decide who should make their canoes for them, so that they might venture out upon the water.

The Owl proposed that the Loon should do the work; but the Black Duck said: “Loon cannot make canoes; his legs are set too far behind. Let the Owl make them.”

Then the Loon said: “The Owl cannot make canoes; his eyes are too big. He can’t work in the day-time for the sun would put out his eyes.”

Then the Duck laughed and made fun of the Owl. This made the Owl angry, and he said to Black Duck: “You ought to be ashamed of your laugh; it sounds like the laugh of ‘Kettāgŭs,’[9] quack, quack, quack.”

Then all the fowls laughed aloud at the Duck. The Owl said: “Let ‘Sīps’ [the Wood Duck] build our boats.”

“How can he build canoes,” cried all the rest, “with his small neck?”

“He is too weak,” said the Loon.

The birds were quite discouraged; but they liked the looks of the water very much. At last “Kosq’,” the Crane, spoke: “My friends, we cannot stay here much longer. I am very hungry already. Let us draw lots, and whoever draws the lot with a canoe marked on it shall be the builder of boats.”

All were satisfied with this suggestion, and the Raven was appointed to prepare the lots; but the Owl objected, saying: “He is a thief; I know he is.”

“Well,” said the Night Hawk, “let us get Flying Squirrel to make them.”

“But Flying Squirrel is not here.”

“Well, let some one go for him.”

“Well, let us get Fox to go for him,” said the Loon.

“Oh! I can’t trust the Fox to go,” said the Owl; “for he would eat Squirrel on the way. Just let me give you a word of advice. Let Āfiguessis [Little Mouse] go for the Squirrel.”

“Yes,” said K’chīplāgan, Eagle, the great chief, “we must do as he proposes. Come, Āfiguessis, you must go for the Flying Squirrel.”

When they saw the Squirrel coming, all cried: “Room! Make room for him!”

Then the Squirrel stood up before the chief and asked: “What can I do for you, my friends?”

Eagle told him that they wanted him to make a picture of a canoe on birch bark with his teeth; to make many more pieces all alike; then to put them in his “miknakq,”[10] and let each bird take one. “Whoever gets the piece with the canoe on it, shall make our canoes.”

The Squirrel went at once and stripped the bark from a birch-tree, prepared the lots, and put them in his pouch.

“Who takes the first?” asked the Owl.

“Let ‘Mid-dessen’ [Black Duck] take the first,” said the chief.

Mid-dessen stepped forward, and came back with a piece of bark in his bill. So each one went in his turn, and the lot fell to the Partridge.

Now the Partridge is always low-spirited and hardly ever speaks a word; and this set all the other birds in an uproar, and they all sang songs, each after his own fashion, and they decided to have a great feast.

“Get the horn,” said the chief. When it was brought, he gave it to Sīps, the “mū-ta-quessit,” or dance-singer; then the big dance began, and it lasted for many days.

When the feast was over, the chief said: “Now, Partridge, you must make the canoes, sound and good, and all alike. Cheat no one, but do your work well.”

The first one made had a very flat bottom; this he gave to the Loon, who liked it much. The next, flat bottomed too, was for Black Duck; then one for Wābèkèloch, the Wild Goose. This was not so flat.

Another was for Crane. It was very round. The Crane did not like his boat, and said to Eagle: “This canoe does not suit me. I would rather wade than sit in a canoe.”

The Partridge made canoes for all the birds, some large, some small, to suit their various size and weight. At last his work was done. “Now,” said he to himself, “I must make myself a better canoe than any of the rest.” So he made it long and sharp, with round bottom, thinking it would swim very fast.

When it was finished, he put it in the water; but, alas, it would not float; it upset in spite of all that he could do. He saw all his neighbors sailing over the water, and he fled to the woods determined to build himself a canoe.

He has been drumming away at it ever since, but it is not finished yet.

THE MERMAN

In a large wigwam, at the bottom of the sea, lived “Hāpōdāmquen,” the merman. He had two sons and three daughters. The elder son “Psess’mbemetwigit,” Flying Star, was very brilliant and held a lofty position; while the younger “Hess,” the Clam, was the laziest and slowest of the family.

The daughters were named “T’sāk,” Lobster, “Hānāguess,” Flounder, and “Wābè-hākeq’,” White Seal.

Every morning the old man gave orders to his children as to where they should go, and what they should do, warning them against his two mighty enemies, “Lampeguen,” another species of Merman, and Water Witch.

One day as they were about to go hunting, Flying Star told his brother of a fearful dream that he had had the night before. He dreamed that he and his brother were in a large stone canoe, moving swiftly towards the steep running water (falls), when the canoe turned over, and they both went to the bottom of this great “Cobscūk,” cataract. They were surrounded by singular beings, whose chief took a “wūs-āp-gūk” (rawhide), and tied their arms and legs together, then carried them to a strange village, where his warriors held council as to what should be done with the sons of Hāpōdāmquen. It was decided to kill them at once, as the best means to destroy the foe, for without Flying Star, Hāpōdāmquen must surely starve. They decided that the older son should be slain by “M’dāsmūs” (a mythical dog, very large and fierce), and the younger by a war club. Just as they loosed M’dāsmūs, Flying Star awoke.

Upon hearing this dream, Hess at once repeated it to his father.

Old Hāpōdāmquen knew at once that “Āglōfemma,” the chief of the “Lampegwinosis,” was about to attack him. He told his children to watch well, and stand their ground as long as a breath of life remained. To each he gave careful directions: Flying Star was to take up his position in the clouds, and thence watch the sea; if he saw any strange commotion, or heard any strange noise, he was to fly from the clouds to the sea, and kill everything that rose to the surface.

Hess, the Clam, was to post himself in the mud at the bottom of the sea, and was told that Hāpōdāmquen would leave his pipe in the north side of the wigwam. If the contents of the pipe were undisturbed, his children might know that he still lived; but if the “nespe-quomkil,” willow tobacco, were gone, and the pipe was partly filled with blood, they might know that he was dead.

“Go, Hess,” the old man commanded, “bury yourself in the mud, five lengths of your body, and listen well. You will surely hear when the battle begins. Do not try to escape, or you will perish.”

T’sāk, the Lobster, was to take up her station half-way between the surface and the bottom, and was cautioned not to rise to the surface at any time.

Hānāguess, the Flounder, was ordered to come to the surface, where she was to watch and follow the little bubbles; for when her father left his wigwam, the bubbles would rise to the top of the water.

Wābè-hākeq’, the White Seal, was the bravest and brightest of the Hāpōdāmquen family; she was to accompany her father to the land of the Lampegwinosis.

The old man knew that only the chief and a handful of men would be in the village; the fiercest warriors would be lying in ambush for his two sons at the falls, where Flying Star and Clam always went to spear eel. If Hess had failed to tell his father of Flying Star’s fateful dream, even now they would both be suffering torture at the hands of the foe. As it was, the old man and his brave daughter would attack the village by night, while the enemy slept and dreamed of battle and war.

Hāpōdāmquen always wore his hair very long, streaming behind him three times the length of his body. As they neared the village, he felt something heavy clinging to his hair,--it was tiny beings, as small as the smallest insect, the poohegans, or guardian spirits, of the chief of the Lampegwinosis, little witches who tried by their combined weight to lessen the old man’s speed, so that they might gain time to warn their master of the enemy’s approach.

The Lampegwinosis were taken entirely by surprise; the strongest men were away, only the old and weak were at home. The great army of Hāpōdāmquen, composed of all the lobsters, seals, flounders, and clams, was at hand, and the battle began. It was a fearful fight, lasting for two days and nights. The Lampegwinosis chief tried to escape to the surface; but the waves rose mountain high, and he was always driven back by the watchful Flounder.

Flying Star slew all those warriors who reached the surface; while White Seal attacked the tiny witches, putting forth all her magic power before she succeeded in subduing them. Then she went to her father’s aid. He was almost exhausted; but she directed her sister, the Lobster, to bite the hostile chief in his tenderest part, and hang to him until the White Seal could put an end to him. T’sāk held on, and White Seal killed the foe with one blow of her battle-axe. This ended the conflict.

Hess remained in the mud, where, from time to time, he heard his father encouraging his men. When all was still once more, he crawled out and went to his father’s wigwam. He was so glad to find the pipe undisturbed, that he sang a song of peace.

Hāpōdāmquen ordered his warriors to return to their homes until he should again summon them; and he went back to his wigwam, where he found his lazy son, Clam, still singing.

All the bubbles and foam had vanished from the sea. Flying Star and Flounder, coming home, found their father happy, though badly hurt, for he had lost all his beautiful hair in the fight.

As the Lampegwinosis braves wended their disconsolate way back from the falls, they saw their old Chief-with-feathers-on-his-head borne off by an animal resembling an otter, whom they recognized as Hākeq’, the brave daughter of Hāpōdāmquen. They moaned for their chief; but Hāpōdāmquen still lives to destroy little children who disobey their mother by going near the water.

STORY OF STURGEON

“This story,” said old Louisa, “is from ’way, ’way back, ever so long ago;” and indeed it seemed to me that it was so old that only fragments of it remained; but I give it as best I can.

Many, many years ago there were three tribes of Indians living not far apart: the Crows, Kā-kā-gūs, the Sturgeons “Hā-bāh-so,” and the Minks, “Mūs-bes-so.” These tribes were all at war, one with the other, and the Minks, being very crafty and cunning, as well as brave, at last conquered the other tribes, and drove them forth in opposite directions.

Now the followers of Kā-kā-gūs found their way to a dry and desert region where they died of hunger and thirst; the tribe of Hā-bāh-so found plenty of food, but were overtaken by a pestilence which destroyed all but the old chief and his grandson. Meantime, the Minks found that the game had been expelled with the enemy, and they suffered greatly from hunger.

Old Sturgeon, as I said, had enough and more than enough to eat. He and his grandson built an “āgonal,” a storehouse of the old style, which they filled to overflowing with smoked fish and dried meat.

Mink, hearing of this, sent a messenger to investigate. He was well received, and fed with the best. The Mink himself determined to pay the old man a visit, knowing that enemy though he was, he would be kindly treated while a guest, according to Indian etiquette. He asked Sturgeon where he got all his supplies, and was told that they came from the far north. Then he said, “Are you alone here?” “Yes,” said Hā-bāh-so, “except my grandson;” pointing to a huge Sturgeon who lay flopping by the fire.

Next day when Mūs-bes-so left, he was loaded with as much meat as he could carry. When he got home, he told his story, and suggested to his five daughters that one of them should marry Sturgeon’s grandson, who would keep them in plenty for the rest of their lives. So the girls set out to visit the enemy in turn, and each returned saying, “I would not think of marrying that monster. If ever I marry, I shall choose a man, and not a fish, for a husband.” So it went until it came to the youngest girl. She entered Sturgeon’s wigwam and, without a word, made herself at home, began to arrange the bed and cook the food. When night fell, and she did not return, her father rejoiced, for he knew she had married young Sturgeon.

She, meantime, had waked at night to find a handsome youth beside her, who, with the first rays of daylight, again became a fish. They were very happy together and knew no care. Every morning she found a supply of the choicest game or fish at the door, and in due time she became the mother of a lovely boy.

Her husband proposed to visit her family to exhibit this new treasure, to which she gladly acceded. He told her that there was but one difficulty; namely, that she would have to carry him as well as the baby. She made no objection, and they set forth. When they were almost in sight of the Mink village, the young man was turned to a big Sturgeon, which his wife shouldered, taking the baby in her arms.

The old Minks were delighted to see her; but the sisters laughed and sneered at Sturgeon, and despised their sister for being willing to accept such a husband. They were very glad, nevertheless, to accept the supplies of food which he provided every day; and their contempt was turned to envy when they awaked one night and saw him in his human form. They then began to plot how they might kill their sister and take her place; but Sturgeon, learning their plans, comforted his distressed wife, promising to punish her wicked sisters, whom he did indeed turn into turtles, in which condition they led a moist and disagreeable life.

After this, he felt that it was time for him to go; so he furnished his father-in-law with enough provisions to last a year, and set forth on his return journey with his wife and son.

Before they had gone far, they saw in the distance Kosq’, the Heron, coming towards them. Now Kosq’ had been a suitor of Mistress Mink before she married Sturgeon, and the latter knew him to be bent on vengeance. He told his wife that she must help him, for Kosq’ had great power, and it would not be easy to overcome him. Together they built a circular wigwam, in which they shut themselves, Kosq’ prowling about outside, each determined not to stir from the spot until the other yielded to starvation.

Mistress Mink dug in the earth at one side of the wigwam, the bed being on the other side, and the fire-place in the middle. She dug until a stream of water flowed forth which not only gave them drink, but which contained various insects and small creatures which satisfied their hunger.

Kosq’ outside dug with his long bill and found little or nothing, this inner stream attracting all upon which he otherwise might have fed. So he flew thither and thither, weaker and weaker, and ever and again he cried to Hā-bāh-so: “Will you give up, now?” “No, no,” was the reply; “I am strong and well.”

Finally, poor Kosq’, determined not to yield, died of sheer hunger, and Hā-bāh-so, with his brave wife and child, came from the wigwam, went back to their old grandfather, and in time built up a village.

GRANDFATHER KIAWĀKQ’

As I was sitting with old Louisa I showed her an African amulet which I was wearing, made of pure jade, inscribed with cabalistic characters to ward off the evil eye. Thinking to make it clear to her Indian understanding, I told her that it was to keep off m’tēūlin, sorcerers, and kiawākq’ (legendary giants with hearts of ice, and possessed of cannibalistic tastes). She looked very grave, and told me that I did well to wear it, for there were a great many kiawākq’ in the region of York Harbor where we were; it was a famous place for them, although they usually chose a colder place, somewhere far away, where it was winter almost all the year. This subject once started, she went on to tell me of an adventure of her father.