Part 1
INDIAN NATURE MYTHS
BY JULIA DARROW COWLES
With Illustrations by Dorothy Dulin
A. FLANAGAN COMPANY CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY A. FLANAGAN COMPANY
INDIAN NATURE MYTHS
Books by
Julia Darrow Cowles
THE ROBINSON CRUSOE READER STORIES TO TELL GOING TO SCHOOL IN ANIMAL LAND THE QUEER LITTLE TAILOR INDIAN NATURE MYTHS
Published by
A. Flanagan Company
PREFACE
The stories of this book have been chosen for the purpose of showing how the early Red Men accounted for the phenomena of nature--the presence of the birds, the moaning of the wind, the whispering of the leaves. The nature myths of the North American Indian are full of poetry, and occasionally of a rich humor. In retelling the stories for children the author has sought to retain the original spirit of the tales, and through them to give to the reader a better understanding of the inner life and thought of the primitive Red Man at his best. The tales have been gathered from many sources, and are representative of many tribes.
It is well known that the same tale in varying form is told among many different tribes, just as the folk tales have been carried in early times from one nation to another and are variously accredited. It is not always possible to determine the original source.
Before reading or telling the Indian Nature Myths to the children, it is best to explain that just as they love to wonder and imagine about the new and strange sights and sounds of the world, so the early races of men, the children of time, loved to wonder and imagine. And so these stories of nature grew out of their imaginings; and some of the stories are so beautiful, and some of them are so odd, that men have repeated them from one generation to another, ever since,--for even when they no longer believed them to be true, they loved them.
CONTENTS
PAGES How the Seasons Came to Be (Ojibwa) 11
Birth of the Arbutus (Ojibwa) 18
The Maiden with Golden Hair (Chippewa) 24
Origin of the Violet (Iroquois) 29
The Beginning of Birds (Blackfeet) 33
Why the Wind Wails (Algonquin) 37
Story of the Humming Bird (Shoshonee) 43
The Gift of Indian Corn (Chippewa) 48
The Stars That Dance (Iroquois) 56
The Pukwudjee and the Morning Star (Ojibwa) 60
The White Hawk (Shawnee) 65
How Mosquitoes Came to Be (Iroquois) 74
How Birds and Fairies Came to Be (Algonquin) 78
Why the Aspen Leaves Are Never Still (Blackfeet) 83
Why the Baby Says “Goo” (Algonquin) 88
Why the Squirrel Coughs (Algonquin) 93
Why the Frogs Croak (Algonquin) 95
The Rock of the Measuring Worm; El Capitán, in the Yosemite (California Tribes) 99
How the Flying Squirrel Got His Wings (Iroquois) 103
Why Brother Bear Wears a Stumpy Tail (Ojibwa) 111
The Thunder People (Passamaquoddy) 118
Keepers of the Winds (Algonquin) 123
ILLUSTRATIONS
“The Thunder Maiden Fastened His Purple Wings to His Shoulders and Bade Him Good-Bye” _Frontispiece_
PAGES “Omeme Said, ‘I Will Not Shoot You, Tell Me Your Secret’” 13
“‘The Arbutus!’ Cried the Children” 21
“Day After Day ... She Stood and Waited for His Coming” 27
“There Arose a Great Flock of Winged Birds” 35
“The Wind Tried to Catch Her in His Embrace” 41
“He Grappled with the Youth and They Wrestled Together” 51
“‘I Am a Pukwudjee--A Little Man of the Mountains,’ He Said” 63
“Waupee Heard the Strains of the Magic Song” 71
“With a Terrible Cry, the Great Mosquito Flew Down with His Enormous Wings Outstretched” 75
“The Older Sister Looked on with Scorn” 85
“Wasis Sent Forth Such Piercing Yells and Shrieks, that the Warrior Stopped in Amazement” 91
“He Was Fat and Ugly, and His Back Was Covered with Green Slime from the Pool” 97
“Little Jo-nis-gy-ont Had His Own Ideas” 105
“North Wind Saw Him Sitting There with His Eyes Closed and His Tail Hanging Down in the Water” 115
“Wabun Wooed Her with His Soft Breezes ... and the Songs of Birds” 125
INDIAN NATURE MYTHS
HOW THE SEASONS CAME TO BE
(Ojibwa)
THERE was once a little Indian boy who wanted above everything else to become a mighty hunter.
His father, whose name was Ojeeg, the Fisher, was the mightiest hunter of his tribe, and Omeme wanted to be like his father.
Often he went out into the forest with the little bow and arrows which his father had made for him, to hunt the small creatures of the woods. But it was too cold for him to stay long; for in those days there were no seasons, only cold and snow day after day, moon following moon.
So little Omeme often came back to the lodge with fingers stiff and numb. As he shivered and held his fingers over the fire of the lodge, he cried, “There is nothing for Omeme to shoot. The birds fly up to the sun for warmth. The little creatures hide in the forest: they hide far down beneath the snow blanket. It is cold. Omeme can get no game.”
One day Omeme met a squirrel in the forest, and the squirrel said, “Do not shoot me, Omeme. I will tell you a great secret.”
Then Omeme said, “I will not shoot you. Tell me your secret.”
And the squirrel said, “Away up in the Sky Land it is always warm. There is no frost, no snow. If we could have some of the warmth of the Sky Land, we should not always be cold. There would be good hunting for Omeme. There would be plenty for us all to eat.”
“But the Sky Land is far away,” said Omeme.
“Yes,” replied the squirrel, “but Ojeeg is mighty. Could he not go to the Sky Land and bring away some of its warmth?”
“My father is mighty,” answered Omeme. “I will ask him.”
He ran home, for he had grown cold while listening to the squirrel’s secret.
Ojeeg was in the lodge.
“Oh, my father,” exclaimed Omeme, “all we little creatures are so cold! The squirrel tells me there is warmth in the Sky Land. Could you not go there and bring some of its warmth to the earth?”
Ojeeg was silent for a long, long time. He loved Omeme dearly. He was sorry that Omeme was cold. But the journey to the Sky Land was long. It was full of dangers.
At length Ojeeg said, “The earth _is_ cold. I will hold a council with my neighbors.”
So Ojeeg, the Fisher, called together his neighbors, the Otter, the Beaver, the Badger, the Lynx, and the Wolverine. Long and earnestly they considered the matter, and at length they decided to undertake the journey to the Sky Land.
Upon a given day they started. It was a great adventure, and Ojeeg felt sure that he would never return to his lodge, and never again would he see the little Omeme.
For a long, long distance they traveled and at last, tired and spent with hunger, they reached the top of a very high mountain. So high it was that the sky seemed almost to rest upon it.
There they found meat and a fire, as though some traveler had left them. So they rested and were refreshed.
Then Ojeeg said to the Otter, “Now we will try to gain entrance to the Sky Land. It is just above us. Jump, and see if you cannot break through, and we will follow.”
The Otter tried, but he could not jump high enough, and he fell, and slid all the way down to the foot of the mountain. So he gave up and returned to his home.
Then Ojeeg said to the Beaver, “Jump, and see if you cannot do better than the Otter.” The Beaver jumped; but neither could he jump high enough, and he too fell, and slid all the way down to the bottom of the mountain. So the Beaver gave up, and returned to his home.
Then Ojeeg said to the Badger, “Jump. Let us see if you cannot do better than the Otter and the Beaver.”
The Badger jumped; but neither could he jump high enough, and back he slid to the bottom of the mountain. So the Badger gave up, and returned to his home.
Then Ojeeg said to the Lynx, “Surely you are stronger than the Otter, and the Beaver, and the Badger, and you can jump farther. Try, and see if you cannot break through into the Sky Land, and we will follow.”
The Lynx jumped; but neither could he break through the Sky, though he made a deep scratch upon it with one of his sharp claws; and back he slid to the bottom of the mountain. So the Lynx gave up, and returned to his home.
Then said Ojeeg to the Wolverine, “You are stronger and more agile than the others. Jump, and see if you cannot break through, and I will follow you. Do your best. You must not fail me.”
The Wolverine prepared for a mighty jump. He sprang upward, and touched the Sky just where the Lynx’s claw had scratched it. He broke it, and sprang through the opening.
After him sprang Ojeeg, and now they two were in the Sky Land.
It was a beautiful country. There was no snow. The winds blew softly; the air was balmy; and all about them were flowers, and grass, and singing birds.
Ojeeg stamped hard with his foot, and a great hole was made where he stamped. Down through the hole rushed the singing birds, and the warm air of the Sky Land.
Down went Spring, and after Spring went Summer, and after Summer went Autumn. But just as Autumn disappeared, Ojeeg heard a great noise and shouting, for the people of the Sky Land were coming. He knew that they would punish him for his daring.
The Wolverine slipped through the hole and followed Autumn; but before Ojeeg could follow, the Sky people came, and the hole was closed.
Ojeeg ran, but the arrows of the Sky people were swift, and overtook him.
So Ojeeg gave up his life, but he had sent warmth to all the creatures of the earth, and since that time his people have had the four seasons, instead of one unbroken season of bitter cold and snow.
The little Omeme was proud of the mighty deed of his father. He was cold no more: and he grew up to be a mighty hunter, as his father the great Ojeeg had been before him.
And when the Indians look up at the stars and see the constellation of the fish, they say, “That is Ojeeg, the Fisher, who gave the summer to his people.”
BIRTH OF THE ARBUTUS
(Ojibwa)
LONG years ago, when only the red men lived among the hills and valleys of the land, an old, old man sat shivering over the low fire of his tepee. The old man was Peboan. He was chief of the winter spirits.
The outside world was covered with snow. The branches of the trees bent low with its weight. The sides of the tepee were heavy with snow. All the tracks of the bear and the rabbit were hidden.
The old man shivered, and bent over his fire. He was clothed in furs, and furs covered the floor of the tepee. But they could not keep out the chill winds, for the fire was low. There was no more wood to replenish it. Snow covered all the fallen branches, and the chief was old and feeble.
Peboan had been a mighty hunter. He had killed the moose and the bear. The skins of many deer were about him. But now his hair was white as the icy fringes of the frozen brook.
He blew upon the coals of his fire and they glowed, bright as the eyes of a startled deer in the forest. But the glow faded. The old man shivered.
There was no food in the tepee. The bear and the rabbit were hidden in the forest. Their tracks were covered with snow. Peboan could not hunt them.
Then, upon his knees, he cried to the Great Spirit for help. He cried for help, that Peboan, chief of the winter spirits, might not suffer want and cold.
As he sank once more upon his furs, he felt a warmth in the tepee. He looked up.
In the doorway stood a youth, whose red cheeks and sparkling eyes told of health and strength. A wreath of sweet grass was bound about his curling locks, and in his hands he held a cluster of flowers. Light and quick was his step as he entered the lodge of Peboan.
He smiled upon Peboan, and the old man felt a warmth enveloping him.
“Enter, my son,” he said, “and welcome. I have no refreshment to offer. But come to my fire, and tell me who you are.”
Then the youth said, “The Great Spirit has sent me to Peboan. I am Seegwun, the Spring. But tell me of yourself, Peboan.”
Then Peboan cried, “I am the great winter spirit. When I come to the Earth, all the Earth’s children tremble. I breathe upon them, and they cry out. The trees drop their leaves. The birds fly away. The forest children creep into their holes.”
“Ah,” cried the youth, “when I come to the Earth, the Earth’s children laugh and clap their hands. I breathe upon them and they dance with joy. The trees put forth their leaves. The birds come back. The forest children awake.”
Peboan continued, “When I come to the Earth, I shake my locks and snow falls from the clouds. The streams grow hard and still. The wind sings dirges through the naked trees.”
“When I come to the Earth,” laughed Seegwun, “I shake my ringlets and warm showers fall from the clouds. The grass awakes. The flowers bloom. Soft breezes blow. The streams are glad, and sing as they dance along.
“Peboan,” said the youth, “the Great Spirit has sent me to the Earth, and you must go.”
Seegwun smiled, and the tepee grew warm. Peboan became silent. His head drooped lower and lower.
The sun shone forth, and the snow melted beneath its rays.
Then Spring waved his hands over the sleeping Peboan, and he sank upon the ground. Smaller and smaller he grew. His clothing seemed turned to furry leaves, and covered the floor of the tepee.
The youth smiled, for Peboan was gone.
Softly he lifted the furry leaves, and beneath each cluster he placed blossoms of white and pink. He breathed upon them with his fragrant breath, and they became sweet. Their spicy odor filled all the tepee.
Then the youth laughed gladly, and went his way.
The sun shone, and the children of the little Indian village ran from their homes, and danced and sang in its warmth. A bird was caroling in the tree top, and they stopped to listen. The stream shook off its icy covering and went singing down its course. The children followed it.
They came to the spot where the tepee of Peboan had stood. And lo! all the ground was covered with fragrant flowers.
“The arbutus!” cried the children. “The arbutus!”
They picked the beautiful, fragrant blossoms, and joyously carried them home. And when the old people of the village saw them, they knew that the Spirit of the Spring had returned to fill the earth with joy and gladness.
THE MAIDEN WITH GOLDEN HAIR
(Chippewa)
LEELINAU stood in the door of the lodge, holding in her hand a bunch of dandelions which had gone to seed. She blew upon them softly, and the white-winged seeds went floating into the air.
“Shawondasee’s breath was mightier than thine,” said a voice behind her. She turned to see her grandmother smiling upon her as she worked upon a deer-skin moccasin.
Leelinau sat down. “Tell me of Shawondasee,” she said coaxingly. So the grandmother told her the story of the South Wind and the Dandelion:
Shawondasee lived far away in the South Land where it was always warm and bright. His father, Kabeyun, the father of the winds, had given him this part of the earth in which to dwell. The soft, warm winds of the South were given him.
But Shawondasee was not strong, and quick, and eager, like his brothers who governed the North Wind, and the West Wind. He was fat, and lazy, and sluggish. He liked to take life easily, and moved slowly, when he moved at all.
Sometimes, because he was so fat and heavy, he sighed deeply, and then his warm breath would travel far across the land to the North, and the people would cry, “What a balmy day! How soft and warm the air is!”
One day, as Shawondasee looked far away toward the North, he saw upon the prairie a beautiful maiden. Her body was tall and slender. She wore a gown of green, and her hair was a wonderful yellow, like burnished gold.
Shawondasee looked long upon her, for never had he seen a maiden like her before. The Indian maidens had hair of deepest black, like the glossy feathers of the crow, and their skins were dark.
“She is fair and beautiful,” sighed Shawondasee. “I should woo her, if she were not so far away.”
He stirred a little, and sighed, and the air grew warm, and a soft breeze blew. The beautiful maiden on the prairie swayed in the breeze, and her green robe fluttered.
“She is very beautiful,” cried Shawondasee. “I will send her a kiss.” So with his softest breath he sent a kiss to the maiden of the yellow hair, and again she bowed and swayed.
Still Shawondasee did not leave his home in the South Land to visit the maiden. He sent soft breezes to blow upon her, and the breezes carried sighs and kisses to her; but Shawondasee himself remained at home. Day after day he wished that he might win the maiden with the golden hair. Day after day he looked toward the North where she stood and waited for his coming.
Then one morning there was a change. As Shawondasee looked out upon the prairie he saw that the beautiful golden hair of the maiden he loved had turned to snowy white. For once he was startled. “What have I done?” he cried. “I have put off going to her, and now I have lost her. Her golden beauty has changed to a beauty which is not of this earth. It is now too late!”
Shawondasee heaved a mighty sigh as he spoke--a sigh that stirred all the winds of the South Land--and behold! the air was filled with the silvery white locks of the Dandelion maiden.
Far and wide they floated, and wherever one fell, there a new flower sprang up, and it was called the Dandelion.
The old grandmother had finished her story and her moccasin at the same time.
“And so Shawondasee never married the Dandelion maiden?” questioned Leelinau.
“No,” answered the grandmother. “He was far too fat and lazy to win a maiden of spirit. But then,” she added, “it was no great loss to either. No Indian of good sense would wed a maiden with yellow hair.”
ORIGIN OF THE VIOLET
(Iroquois)
THREE wonderful deeds had the Indian youth performed: three deeds for which the older men of the tribe gave him honor.
First of all he had gone forth with his bow and arrow and, taking true aim with a strong and steady hand, had pierced the heart of the great heron flying overhead: the great heron that was the enemy of his people. Often had the bird caught the children of the tribe and carried them away to devour them. And now the young brave, who was little more than a lad, had slain the great heron.
On the second occasion he had gone forth alone, and sought out the cave of the witches. And from the cave he had brought away the roots which alone would cure his people of the great sickness which we call the plague. The journey was long and difficult, and food was scarce, but only the witches knew the secret of the roots.
When the young brave returned with the medicine and the people were made well, the old men of the tribe gave him honor, and the women of the tribe blessed him.
On the third occasion the young warrior led a band of his fellows in combat with a tribe of their enemies, and overthrew them. Those who were not killed fled in confusion. And again he was honored by all his tribe.
But now the young warrior’s mind was troubled, and favor and honor no longer satisfied his heart. Among the tribe of the enemy that he had conquered, he had seen a maiden who had won his love.
Unknown to her, and hidden, he had watched as she moved about the wigwam of her father. He had followed the fleeing enemy, and had come silently to the outskirts of their village, and there he discovered the maiden who alone had stirred his heart.
“I must have her for my very own! She shall be the light of my wigwam!” he cried.
So he stayed in the forest near the village of the enemy, and there he sang all the songs that the Indian lover sings, and always they were in praise of the graceful maiden whom he loved.
So sweet and tender were the words, and so rich the music, that the birds of the forest learned to sing them after him. And so often were they repeated that even the roving animals knew the words, and wondered of whom the strange warrior sang.
One day the Indian maiden, enticed by the freshness of the woods and the caroling of the birds, wandered away to the forest alone. Unknown to her, a young Indian of her own tribe, who long had loved her, followed at a distance.
When she reached the forest she listened happily to the singing birds, and she thought she heard, too, a strong, clear voice that was different from the voice of the birds.
Farther into the woods she went, when suddenly a young brave sprang toward her, clasped her in his arms, and ran swiftly away, bearing her with him.
The maiden, looking into his face, saw that it was strong, and fearless, and loving; and with his voice he reassured her, promising that he would do her no harm. And the maiden’s heart went out to him, as his had done to her.
The unseen lover of her own tribe saw what had happened and, recognizing the young brave who had stolen the maiden from him as the one who had defeated his people, was afraid. He ran back to the village to tell the men, and to get help for the pursuit.
“And you came back!” cried the men of the village in a voice of scorn. “You did not save the maiden you claim to love! Stay here at home with the women while we ride forth and overtake them!”
So the men mounted their ponies and rode away; and toward evening they came in sight of the brave young warrior, and the maiden of their tribe.
But as they drew nearer they saw that the maiden had braided the long tresses of her hair and had bound them about the neck of the young warrior who bore her in his arms. And this was the sign to them that she loved him, and wished to go with him and become his wife.
Then the Indians of her own tribe were doubly angry, and drawing their bows they shot both the young warrior and the maiden through the heart, and returned to their own village.
And where the two fell, there sprang from the earth a new flower, the purple violet, which speaks of courage and of love.
THE BEGINNING OF BIRDS
(Blackfeet)
IN very early times, the Red Children believe, there were no birds. And this is the way they account for their beginning:
All summer the trees had been full of leaves, shaking, whispering, dancing, as the winds blew upon them. “I wish I might fly,” said one little leaf. “I would go sailing straight up into the heavens. But the tree holds me tightly; I cannot get away.”
“If the tree should let you go, you would only fall to the ground and die,” said a bigger leaf. “It is better to be content as you are.”
So the leaves fluttered and danced and whispered one to another, day after day.