Part 8

The place where they were to play Was the sandy stony plain Which lies on the bend of the river. And so the game began. Kulóskap discovered That the ball with which they played Was a hideous human skull, A living thing which snapped at His heels. Had the Master been As other men, the monster Would have bitten a foot away. Then he laughed aloud, and said: “So this is your style of foot-ball! Well and good! But let us all play With our own balls.” He stepped Up to a tree by the river, And broke off a hole or knot And it turned to a living skull, But one which was ten times greater, And ten times more terrible Than that which the sorcerers used. And the three brothers ran Before it as it chased them As rabbits are chased by a lynx; They were entirely beaten. Then Kulóskap stamped in the sand, And the waters rose and came rushing Fearfully from the mountains Adown the river bed; The whole land rang with their roar. Then the Master sang the song, The magic song which changes All creatures to other forms, Which changed the Three and their father Into the Chinames, A fish which is long and broad As a man, and they all went headlong Down in the flood to the ocean Where they must dwell forever And are caught unto this day.

These three magicians wore Each one a collar of wampum Of purple beads and white, Wherefore the Chinames Has exactly round its neck Or below its head, the same, Distinctly marked and clear; They were mighty men in their day And great Mteolinwuk, But were tried before they went And that most bitterly.

Yes indeed, Nsîwes, my brother, This story is really true, For Kulóskap was very great In his day--and a day will come When I myself shall go to him. L.

FOOTNOTES:

[37] This is an old story about Kulóskap.

IV

HOW THE MASTER SHOWED HIMSELF A GREAT SMOKER

[_Passamaquoddy_]

_Piʿche Kulóskap kʾchî skitap._[38]

Kulóskap the Great, Lord of Beasts and Men, Was ever a boon companion And a right valiant smoker. In all the world was no man Who loved a well-filled pipe Of good and fragrant tobacco So heartily as he did.

Now in that happy time, The sun shone warmer and brighter, The summers were far longer In the land of the Wabanaki Than they truly are to-day. And the Indians raised _tomáwe_, That is to say, tobacco, Far better than the best Which ever is seen to-day. And they found a mighty solace In burning the gold-brown leaves.

There came one day to the Master A great and evil magician Who sought to take his life, As the Master at once perceived; For he read the thoughts of men As though they were strings of wampum-- Seeing deep into every heart.

Now this evil magician thought, By first amazing the Master Through some wonderful trick, to weaken The will which gave him strength; As they say a fish is frightened When he sees that his foe swims faster, And is too much alarmed to fight.

So the sorcerer sat to smoke With a pipe whose bowl was bigger Than the head of any man, With a stem full ten feet long; But ever that of Kulóskap Grew to the size of a pumpkin, And then like the ten-foot boulder Which lies on the beach at Rye; And the smoke which rose from his puffing Was like that of a forest fire.

Then the sorcerer filled his pipe Afresh with strong tobacco, Such as would kill if they breathed it A porcupine or a toad. And at one pull he burned it Leaving no spark behind; And at one whiff he sent it Out in one great round ball; Then sat and looked at the Master. And then the Lord Kulóskap, Whose pipe was many times greater, Also sent his tobacco Out in a puff as round-- Out in a mighty ball As hard as any flint, And, blowing it on the ground Which was of granite rock, Split it asunder, so That a valley yawned between them. Then they both sat in silence Until the Master said: “Do that--and then take my life.” But the wizard could do no more, And returned in shame and anger To the evil ones who had sent him. L.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] Long ago Kulóskap was a great man.

V

KULÓSKAP AND THE WITCH

[_Passamaquoddy and Micmac_]

_Nequt Kulóskap meiaoet Pechian kʾtakʾmikomnok. Nit kʾmʾtkinansnok Neke bʾsʾnboek kʾchî Kiwaʿkwik._[39]

When Kulóskap the Master Came into this world of ours, Or the Land of the Wabanaki, It was full of giants and monsters, Sorcerers, dwarfs and demons, Mighty beasts and men, Fiends and the Indian devils, And, worst of all, the witches, And worst among them Pûjinskwes, A word which means “The Pitcher.”

She could be fair when she would, Fair as a rosy sky With stars still beaming in it In very early dawn; Or terrible as a storm, When it howls among the mountains, And lightens in the midnight.

Now while the Master was young, And had not gained the power Which he won in riper age, Pûjinskwes sought his love. But he knew that she was evil, So he fled away from her wooing, And the wild-cat witch pursued him. It was a dreadful flight, Since to make their steps the longer Both took the giant form, Took it by magic power.

It was an awful storm, A terrible storm in winter When the wind is chasing the clouds; It was like a frightful tempest In summer when the lightning Chases after the thunder. Deep lay the snow on the earth; Therefore they both wore snow-shoes; But, when they came to the shore, Kulóskap leaped from the mainland Over the sea between To the island of Grand Manan; And so he escaped from the sorceress; For the shoes which the Master wore Were round and out of the common; While those of the witch were long, Long it is said and pointed, And the marks of the two are still To be seen deep pressed in the rocks By the shore to this very day.

But for days and years thereafter Pûjinskwes sought to slay him, And she had terrible power, The might of the Evil Witches Which came from the early time.

Now ’tis the greater part Of the Indian art of magic To know what our foes are planning, Planning and plotting against us, And all their tricks and devices Which they scheme in the darkened paths, The darkened paths of Evil. In knowing this, Kulóskap Was the greatest and the first, And, knowing new arts of magic, Went far beyond them all. For before his time all sorcerers Went every one his way Unheeding the ways of others, Even in wickedness. But Kulóskap first of all Threw out his soul unto others To find what others knew.

When the Lord was on the warpath Seeking the sorcerer Winpe Who had carried away his household, He came to Ogomkeok Where he found a great birch wigwam, And, in the wigwam seated Bending over a fire, A strange old woman--a horror Of all old hags and ugliest-- Trembling in every limb, As if death stood at her elbow, Dirty, ragged and loathsome, He never had seen the like.

Then looking up at the Master With bleared and pitiful stare, She begged him to bring some fire-wood Which he did indeed, while knowing Who it was who was so disguised, For he knew it was Pûjinskwes And he laughed at her in his heart.

Then she said to him, “O stranger, As thou art a man of mercy, Pray free me from the _waagûkw_ From the monstrous terrible vermin Which madden me by their bites!” Now all the _waagûkw_ were devils, The spirits of every poison, Which she thought had such a power As must even kill the Master.

But he foreseeing this Had taken as he came Cranberries from a swamp, And bidding her bend over, He took the imps from her hair, And every one as he took it Turned into a porcupine, Or else a terrible toad. When she asked him, “Have you found one?” And, “I have,” replied the Master; Then, “Crush it,” was her answer, So then he crushed a berry, And Pûjinskwes, hearing the sound, Thought to herself: “The poison Which is now upon his fingers Will soon be in his heart, And death will follow after.”

But Kulóskap put the devils One by one as he found them Under a wooden platter Which was lying close beside him. And as he did this he chanted A song which put her to sleep, A song of wonderful power. So she slept until the morrow And when she awoke, the Master Was far away, and her devils, Porcupines, toads and all, Were swarming over the floor, For they had upset the platter. Then she was filled with fury To think he despised her so That he had not even cared To kill her while a-sleeping. Then she burst forth in madness, Wild as the Indian devil Forth in her own true figure As beautiful as sin, Wild as the wolverine; And gathering up her imps, And summoning all her power Of magic by fiercer will, Went forth to meet the Master.

Onward he went to the North Till he came to a pass in the hills. It was a great ravine Wherein two monstrous beasts Waylaid all travellers And tore them limb from limb. Straight at his dogs they flew; He did but touch the dogs, And speak a word of power, When up they grew to size Stupendous, so they seized The beasts e’en as the wolf Seizes a rabbit. Then The fight was at an end. These dogs had been so trained That when called off they fought More fiercely than before, And when told not to bite They ever bit the more.

Soon he came to the top Of a high hill, and looking Afar o’er all the land Beheld, away in the distance, A wigwam, and knew in his heart That an enemy dwelt therein; And coming to it he found An old woman with two fair daughters. But he knew at a glance that the mother Was a witch among the witches, And the one who sought his life.

The girls came to him greeting With fond and pleasing glances, Asking if he was hungry, And offering him a dainty: The entrails of a bear Which, when turned and smoked and seasoned, Are deemed by all delicious. They are a common gift Of Indian girls to their lovers, For, when cast around the neck As a necklace, it means “I love you.” But these had been enchanted, Poisoned by magic spells; Had the Master taken them then He would have lost his power.

Little they knew of the magic, The new and wonderful magic Of reading the thoughts of men, Which the Lord had brought into the land, Unknown to the witches of yore; So as they came wooing round him With smiles and wanton glances, He smiled, as if all he wanted Of them, was to be won! So he took the gift which they offered, But, instead of putting it on, Cried out to his dogs, “_Cuss! cuss!_” Which in Micmac means “Stop, stop!” But which they had been trained to believe Was, “Hie at them!” They flew at the witches When both flashed up like fire In the terrible form of devils, As flaming female fiends. Then came an awful tumult Such as never before was seen In the land of the Wabanâki; All the earth and rocks around Were rent in the dreadful tumult And all the while the Master Cried merrily to his dogs: “Stop, stop! These are my sisters, Let them alone! Be quiet!” But the more he bade them be peaceful The more they attacked the witches And drove them at last away.

Then the Master entered the wigwam Where Pûjinskwes sat waiting, Waiting for him as dead, Waiting for him as food. So he said to her while smiling, “Grandmother, are you hungry? Do you love the links of a bear? Then here are some.” He threw them Around her neck and she died, Died and became a devil. Yet the sorcerers when devils Ever rise to life again; Ever rise to work men mischief, For evil can never die.

Then the Master kept on his way Till he met the giant Winpe-- The evil sorcerer Winpe Whom he slew in terrible battle. This is the song of the Micmacs, Of the Master’s earlier deeds.

FOOTNOTES:

[39] When Kulóskap the Lord came into our land the country was full of great giants.

VI

KULÓSKAP AND THE WITCH CALLED “THE PITCHER”

[_Passamaquoddy_]

_Uskijinwi otenesis._[40]

There was an Indian village Wherein dwelt many people, Who were all of the Pogumʾk Or of the Black Cat totem; And wisest and bravest among them Was Kulóskap the chief; And when he went forth a-hunting With the _tumʾhîgʾn_ (tomahawk), The knife and bow and arrow, He slew the moose and the bear; So he gave meat to the poor, So he fed all the tribe, Yet, though he was chief of the Black Cats, He was by his mother a Bear.

Pûjinskwes the witch and devil Was also one of the Black Cats; She was woman or man as she listed, But in those days she lived as a man; And, because she hated the chieftain, She thought how she might kill him, And take his place in the tribe. One day when all the people Were packing to travel away To another place for summer, Pûjinskwes asked the chief To go with him (or _her_, As you may choose to take it), Adown to the water side To seek for the eggs of the gull. Then both in a canoe Went far away, and still farther, Till they came to a lonely island. And while Kulóskap was seeking For eggs along the seaside She stole away in silence, Away in the _agwedʾn_ That is, in the birch-canoe. And as she paddled away She sang in the Indian tongue: “_Nikedha pogumʾk mʾneʿnuk Petesinel sagʾmawiw!_”[41] “I have left the Black Cat on an island, I shall be the chieftain now.”

So she returned to the village; Next day they all departed, There was not one of them left, Save the one who was worth them all. Then at night they camped, and expected The chief who w’ould come to them, And then the evil Pitcher Ruled them as Sagamore.

Now for thirty days Kulóskap Who had well-nigh lost his power Of magic, as all magicians Are often all exhausted, Remembered that his friend The Fox was mteolin, With all the strength of sorcery. And still the mighty Master Could sing the wonderful song Which is heard to any distance, Away over forests and mountains, Over the rolling rivers. So he sang and the Fox soon heard it, And he travelled by night and day Until he came to the ocean, And swam to the lonely isle.

“Now swim with me to the mainland,” Said the Fox unto the Master. “Brother, I cannot do it For all my power is gone.” “Hold to my tail” said the Fox, “Be of good faith, my brother, We soon shall gain the shore.”

“But remember,” said the Fox, “While we are in the water Thou must keep thine eyes fast shut. All depends upon that, On that alone and thy faith.”

So all went well for a time, But anon the chief grew weary, And opening one eye a little It seemed to him that truly They were not ten feet from the shore, And being of little faith He thought--for he spoke not aloud: “We shall never get to land:” But the Fox who read his thought, Replied, “Do not believe it, I _will_ that we reach the shore.”

But the journey lasted long, For what seemed unto the Master To be ten feet, was really Ten miles--and the wind was high, And the waves were wild and beat them, For the witch had raised a storm; And it was late in the evening Before they reached the land.

“And now my elder brother,” Said the Fox, “you may go your way.” He went and came to the camp Where he had left his people.

There all was silent and sad, The ashes were cold on the hearths, In the deserted homes, In the lonely, silent wigwams; So he followed the tracks of the Indians, And in a day came near them. The first whom he overtook Was his mother bearing his brother; Nʾmokswes, that is the Sable, Or as others say the Marten. She bore him on her back, The child’s back lay against her, So that, while she looked forward, He could only look behind. As Kulóskap peered from a thicket, Smiling to see the boy, The Sable cried: “Oh, my brother Is coming to us at last!” And she turned her head, yet saw nothing, For the Master hid his head Quickly behind a tree. But the infant cried again: “Indeed and truly, mother, I saw my brother there!” And this time glancing quickly She caught a sight of the Master, And they all laughed for joy.

Then the mother threw Nʾmokswes Like a stick down into the leaves, But the Master bade him rise And run to the camp with speed. “And when you are there,” he said, “Build up a mighty fire, A fire of hemlock bark, And take the Pitcher’s babe, Whom she so dearly loves, And has given to you to tend, And throw it into the fire; Then run to me for your life, For verily thou wilt be In direst need to do it.”

And as he had commanded It was done. When the fire was hot Nʾmokswes threw the imp, The child of an evil mother, Into the roaring flames, And it was burned to death. Then the sorceress who was maddened, As you may well believe, With rage, pursued the Sable, Even as a starving wolf Chases a rabbit in winter: Nʾmokswes in great fear Cried, “Oh my elder brother!” And the sorceress yelled: “Call out! Call loudly as you can! For to save your life you must run As far as the distant island Where I left him long ago.” But at the word the Master Stepped forward, and as he faced her Said: “He need not run so far.”

Then, seeing him, fear came o’er her, But laughing aloud to hide it, She said: “I only chased him In sport, for I truly love him.” But the Master answered grimly, “I know thee and thy love, And also all thy tricks, Thou who art truly a devil.” Then feeling that his power Of magic was returning, He used his mighty will, And the will awoke to might, And before his breath the sorceress Was driven backward lightly, Like a leaf before the wind Till her back was against a tree; Then he said to her, “Remain Ever attached to the bark,” And so indeed she remained, Though not as the Master meant.

Then the Master and his brother Together went to the camp; Great was the joy when he came.

The Pitcher had a hatchet, And so with much ado She cut herself (or himself), In time away from the tree. The Black Cats heard her chopping, Pounding and chopping all night; And wondered what it might be. She came to them in the morning, But a fragment from the tree Ever adhered to her back: So they laughed at her in scorn, And sang together these words:

“He who made the chief Stay on a distant island, Is now stuck by the chief Fast with his back to a tree.”

It is said she turned to a toad Which bears to this day on its back A hump, or the piece of wood Which was carried away from the tree. Though another legend has it That, as during all her life She had tormented men With her insatiate longing, She was changed to a mosquito Which preys on them in the night, The blood-thirsty stinging Tʾsiso Ever a-stinging and singing: “Give me thy life and blood.” It is said it was at Fresh-Water, After she left Bar Harbor, That she changed into the insect Which ever will bear her name.

Pûjinskwes had many children Whose fathers were giants and monsters, Sorcerers and demons, But, as they all were hideous, She stole from the Indian women Their fairest babes, and pretended That they were all her own. Among these was a comely youth, And as he grew older he wondered That most of his brothers and sisters Were dark and like the devils While he, and a few, were fair. So one day he asked Pûjinskwes Why it was? She answered laughing: “The dark were born in the darkness, But thou, my son, by day.”

FOOTNOTES:

[40] There was an Indian village.

[41] This couplet indicates the metre into which most of the original can be resolved.

VII

HOW KULÓSKAP SAILED THROUGH THE CAVERN OF DARKNESS

[_Micmac_]

_Nʾkani bʾmaoinnoak itmok niktuk iloiknuk wesisek Kulóskap honichan uch negum Naga honosokoan nihit Piliomeskasik ktakʾmigw._[42]

It is told in old traditions, And even in them with a difference, According to the nations In which these songs are sung, That “in these olden times,” Kulóskap’s seven neighbors, That is, seven beasts of the forest, Stole his family from him And that he long pursued them Even to Néwfoundlánd.

When he came there it was night, And, finding Marten alone, He took him into the forest, Bidding him seek for game, Putting his belt on the boy; Which gave him such magic power That he killed both moose and bear, And brought all gayly home.

Now it came to pass in the morning, That old Dame Kâkâgûch, The meddling and spying Crow, Observed that meat was drying In the smoke of the Master’s wigwam. This news she spread abroad, Adding that trouble was coming, For the Master must have returned.

Then a great fear came upon them, They sat every man in his wigwam, Waiting for death in silence For they knew the Master had come. But when he had slain Winpe And saw them sitting in silence, Frightened like so many rabbits Before a hungry wild-cat, He laughed aloud and forgave them; For he was noble and generous, And cared for no small foe. And as they were very hungry, For he had come in a time When all of them were starving. He fed them all with venison; So sorrow left the wigwams. But as they had left him of old, He left them in turn and departed. Ere they had known his power, They had left him alone to die; Now that they knew his power, They feared they should die without him. But he left them to go their path And turned his steps toward others. Then, having made a canoe, The Master and his mother, Dame Bear, and Marten, his brother, Went forth on a mighty river Which was in its beginning Both broad and beautiful. So they sailed away down the stream Till they came to mighty cliffs Which ever grew higher and closer, Till they met in an arch overhead, But the river ran on beneath them, And ever far underground, Deep into earth and deeper, Till it dashed into roaring rapids Among rocks and wild ravines; Then under cataracts, So horrible that death Seemed to come and go as they darted With every plunge and motion Headlong in their canoe.