Part 15

“It is now getting late,” observed Two Feathers. “Now bring me a good deer-skin, well tanned. I will give all of you good presents.” Drooping Flower brought a skin and placed it before him. He began, then, to make a noise like “_tsŭt, tsŭt, tsŭt_.” Opening his mouth wide he blew out a great stream of wampum beads. Immediately there was a scramble for the beads and nearly everybody grabbed a handful.

As Two Feathers left the house he saw the jealous, blazing eyes of his uncle, Woodchuck Leggings. The old man had never dreamed that his nephew had powers like these. He then began to spread mischief by saying that Two Feathers was an evil sorcerer and that he would soon become Oñgwe Iās and eat up everybody.

Now Drooping Flower’s mother was a witch and hated anybody with power. So she called Woodchuck Leggings and talked to him. He told her how to proceed to overcome Two Feathers.

That night Two Feathers and Woodchuck Leggings slept on one side of the witch’s lodge. Midnight came and the old woman began to have a bad dream. She began to throw fire upon Two Feathers but the chipping-birds chirped so loudly they awakened him, and he saw the old woman on her knees at the fire grunting, as if in a dream, “ĕ^n‘´, ĕ^n‘´, ĕ^n‘´!” Leaping up he hit her with a corn pounder, exclaiming, “What is it, my aunt?” Pretending to awaken she answered, “It is now finished. I have had a dream and must be satisfied. Oh I must have the antlers of two large buck elk that live in a cold lake. I must have them by morning or direful things will happen.”

Two Feathers immediately set out to satisfy the old woman’s dream demand. Now no one had ever seen these elk, which were known by their splashing only, and all persons who went into the lake were devoured by the horned serpent. Two Feathers jumped into the water saying, “I know that I can do this thing.” Long he swam into the darkness, for there was no starlight or moon. After a time he heard splashing and a noise like heavy breathing. Taking his arrow from an oiled skin bag he spoke to it and then shot. There was a great flash of light in the sky and the mysterious lake elk were revealed. The arrow had pierced both of them. Mounting one of the elks he ordered them to swim ashore. “What do you want?” they asked when they stood upon the homeward beach. “I want your horns,” he answered. “Oh that is all right, nephew,” they said and shed their antlers. “I am sorry I had to kill you, but the woman desired it in satisfaction of a dream.” The elks spoke again, “The woman has deceived you.” Then they disappeared.

The gift of the great antlers only increased the old woman’s anger and the next night she dreamed that she must have the pelts of the wampum-coated deer. They had no hair but curled shells on their skins. If they saw anyone they would trample them to death. So then, Two Feathers set forth to catch the wampum deer. He made a sweat house by the lick where the deer came in the night. He threw tobacco all around it and then waited. Soon two does came and Two Feathers shot his magic arrow, killing both. Then he lighted his pipe and began to sing. Instantly a great drove of bucks came rushing to the sweat lodge but they could not touch it, so powerful was the magic of Two Feathers. After a while he heard them stamping away and he arose and went out and skinned the deer.

The beautiful pelts covered with shells only made the old woman more angry, as Two Feathers presented them at daybreak. She screeched and scolded and called him an evil sorcerer. But the next night she again asked satisfaction of a dream.

On this occasion she demanded that Two Feathers go to a hot lake and bring back two white beavers, reputed to be of great magical potency. “Oh that is very easy, my aunt,” answered Two Feathers, “I will bring them at daylight.” Setting forth he reached the lake and taking out his arrow spoke to it. “Speed on and find the game that I desire,” he commanded.

The arrow sped forth and soon it struck a beaver which came swimming toward him, bringing another with it on a wave. This he struck with a small white stone and both were dead. Taking them to the old woman’s lodge he threw them at her feet. “You may have the meat,” he said, “but I will keep the skins.” This made the old woman angry for the beavers were her brothers. So then again she dreamed and commanded him to satisfy her by dangerous tasks, but his magic power always won. At length, dispairing of causing him harm in this manner, the mother announced that her right mind had returned. She resolved upon a new plan, and became very kind to Two Feathers. When Two Feathers found that the mother was no longer the oracle of the spirits he started home where he might provide for his own father and mother.

The Do´ciowe^n‘ people listened with great sorrow to Two Feathers’ story of the distressed tribesmen of Ganun dasēy and rejoiced when he told them how his luck had delivered them. But he was restless and could not bear separation from Drooping Flower, thus he announced that he was going again to the Valley of the Pleasant River to get a wife.

Woodchuck Leggings had seen Drooping Flower and he wanted her, and hearing that his nephew was to visit her, resolved to accompany him, kill him on the journey, put on his clothing, gain the magic articles, and then steal Drooping Flower. The mother of the girl had given Woodchuck Leggings a death charm and he made up his mind to use it upon his nephew. Moreover the woman asked him to do so.

“May I go with you?” he asked Two Feathers, when he saw his nephew ready.

“No, Uncle,” was the reply.

“But I am going nevertheless!”

“Then not with me,—never!” was Two Feathers’ answer.

Two Feathers set out the next morning and when he had traveled three days he met Woodchuck Leggings, who had a day’s start on the journey. He saw him sitting on a stump with his back toward the trail.

“Niawĕ’´skäno’!” shouted Two Feathers.

“Dogĕ‘s!” was the startled reply.

“How came you here, Uncle?”

“I am on my journey.”

“Then if it is your journey you must not expect to go with me, for I will not allow it.” Two Feathers ran on ahead leaving his uncle still sitting on the stump. When night came he set up camp and kindled a fire for cooking a supper. As he lay down for sleeping he heard the night birds scream and listening he heard the crackling of sticks. Lifting his bow, he prepared for the enemy, whatever it might be. In the dim light of the dying camp fire, he saw the shadow of a ragged old man, limping along the trail. It was Woodchuck Leggings.

“Niawĕ’´skäno’´, Uncle!” said Two Feathers in greeting.

“Doge‘s! Agī! dodŭs‘ha ä‘kwa!” “(Truly, O give me to eat)!” gasped the hungry uncle.

Two Feathers spoke to his arrows, shot into the tree tops and a large turkey fell to the ground at the feet of the uncle, who was too frightened to move.

“Pull the arrow out and cook the bird,” commanded the nephew. But his uncle was too frightened, for the arrow was magic. (Beyond this, it was not right to touch the arrows of another hunter when they were sticking in dead game.) Woodchuck Leggings was too exhausted to prepare his own meal and fell to the earth from weakness. So the faithful and unsuspicious nephew roasted the bird and shaking the dozing man exclaimed, “Sĕdekonĭ (Come eat)!”

So he devoured the bird and ate his fill of parched corn and maple sugar. He begged that his nephew should not turn him away in the darkness, for he was afraid of the flying heads. He pleaded for a little space on one side of the fire by his nephew’s side. Two Feathers did not relish the idea but pitied the old coward, and gave him a place in which to sleep.

The crafty old scoundrel watched his opportunity. When Two Feathers was fast asleep, he made his way, stealthily to the other side of the fire and drew from his shirt a long sharp point of hickory bark. It was the death charm. Two Feathers was lying on his side. Kneeling at his back he lifted the bark high above his head and brought it down with all his strength, plunging it into the back of his victim just between the shoulders. Removing his own dirty garments, Woodchuck Leggings replaced them with the beautiful white clothes of Two Feathers. He felt for the magic pipe and pouch and found both safe, but he had forgotten the magic arrow in his haste.

In the morning he continued his journey and at sunset came to the village. A scout noted his arrival and cried, “Here comes Two Feathers!” As false Two Feathers passed by the fires between the lodges, the people noticed with wonder that the beautiful white deer skin clothing had become soiled and torn. The tobacco pouch had caught in a bush and half the quill work had been ripped off.

He entered Drooping Flower’s lodge. “Come, we can get married now,” he said.

Drooping Flower did not need to look at him a second time. “You are not real Two Feathers,” she exclaimed. “Where is Two Feathers?”

“I am he!”

“Sonohweh! You are a liar!”

“We shall see,” answered the pretender.

The next day he called a council and when all had taken their seats he strode through the door with great pomp and took his position on the singer’s bench. Grasping a rattle he began to sing, but his voice was cracked. He stopped suddenly, as he caught the gaze of the men. “I have a cold, brothers,” he apologized. “But now I will smoke, and the sweetness of my tobacco will please you; but where shall I get my fire,—Ho, ho! Fly little birds!” But his commands were in vain and he was compelled to get his own light. “My birds are bashful,” he explained. He lighted his pipe and began to blow the smoke into the air. The foul fumes filled the lodge and nearly stifled the people. Women held their breaths or breathed through their shawls; the men coughed and the babies cried. “My tobacco is damp tonight,” he said, “but you shall see my pouch dance for me,—dance pouch, dance!” The pouch clung to his side limper than ever. In spite of his commands and threats it would not move a finger’s breadth. “My pouch,” he explained, “is bashful and now as I am tired, if Drooping Flower will bring me a skin I will speak out wampum.” Drooping Flower refused to obey and whispered, “He is a liar!” Drooping Flower’s older sister, Wīäso^n’, took pity on the unsuccessful conjurer, and hoping to win a man, took down a skin from the wall behind her and placed it on the singer’s bench.

“Now since all my things are bashful, I will pay you for the trouble in coming here, see—I blow out wampum when I breathe!” Sure enough, from his mouth flew a quantity of small white cylinders. The people bent over to pick up the valued wampum beads, but were again disappointed, for instead of wampum were clusters of loathly worms. With a shamed face Wīäso^n’ returned the skin to the peg and the council was dismissed by the head sachem.

False Two Feathers felt that he must do something to redeem himself, so going to the woods the next morning he shot all his arrows and called for game, but failing to get any, in desperation clubbed two woodchucks to death and brought them back. No one would touch them.

The people looked at him as one who had lost power by displeasing his own charms and paid more attention to him. No one would now associate with him save Wīäso^n’ who asked him to marry her, and he did.

Two Feathers awoke after several days unconsciousness and found a great herd of forest animals about him.

“Our brother, you have been sick,” said the wolf, the spokesman. “You were stabbed by Woodchuck Leggings as you were sleeping. But as you were kind, so we are not ungrateful and our blood has kept you nourished while you slept. The animal spirits are crafty and know their friends and foes. You are about to undergo misfortune but do not faint,—keep up courage and listen to what we tell you.”

Two Feathers was weak and dizzy, and it took him a long time to reach the Valley village. Painfully he crept along the sunken trail until he reached a corn field where he heard women singing as they cut the blighted corn stalks. He called, and Drooping Flower hearing his voice, found him wounded and exhausted. She stooped down and he whispered something in her ear. The crowd of women was now about him. “Where is Woodchuck Leggings?” he inquired. “You are Woodchuck Leggings; don’t you know yourself?” cried all women. Two Feathers said no more.

For nearly a year Two Feathers lived in an old bark house which hardly sheltered him from the snow or kept away the springtime rain. He looked like, and was, a sickly old man. Every one knew him by his cough and pitied him.

In those days there was a great white eagle, a magic bird. The people of the village had erected two high poles with cross-pieces, upon which the eagle was wont to alight as it passed over the settlement.

The mother of Drooping Flower worried because her daughter would not take a husband and asked her why she would not marry. To such inquiries the girl replied, “I shall never marry until the white eagle shall be shot. The man who sends an arrow through him shall be my husband!” These words pleased the mother and she told everybody about it and gave it out in council.

A day for the tournament was set and when it came a hundred young men from the entire nation gathered on the council grounds, eagerly awaiting the signal. The great white eagle, with whistling wings, flew from pole to pole, pausing now and then to give a scream. The signal was given, and a hundred arrows struck its feathers, broke, and fell to the earth below. Through all the day the contesting warriors shot their arrows upon the magic eagle, but he shook them off like snow flakes and mocked their efforts by his screaming.

Two Feathers, dressed in the tattered skins of Woodchuck Leggings, watched the flight of arrows from his doorway. The young men laughed at him and asked him if he were going to try his skill, but to no one would he reply. At length when no one was watching, the ugly, lame, coughing old man made his way to a corner of the council grounds. He had no bow, but in his hand he carried an arrow. Drooping Flower’s mother saw him, and recognized who he was, but kept her secret. She looked him in the eyes and contemptuously exclaimed “Chisna!” While she was still looking this despised old man made a pantomime motion as if grasping a bow, pulled his arrow and let fly. He hobbled back to his lodge, coughing violently.

There was a great shout followed by an excited hum of voices. “It was my arrow—no mine—liars, it was my arrow—wrong, I know my arrow by the painted shaft—mine—mine—no mine—my arrow, I know it by the red quill!” The din grew louder and wilder. Blows were exchanged and some struck with clubs. The older men rushed out and surrounded the excited throng and said they would shoot them with their arrows and commanded the riot to cease. When quiet had been restored the old sachem cried out, “That man killed the bird who can draw the arrow out!”

Man after man tried very hard but all failed. False Two Feathers made his boast and kneeling, prepared to pull it. He faltered;—his eyes filled with water. It was the same arrow that had killed the turkey for his supper on the night when he had plunged the death charm into Two Feathers! He arose and went to his house. “The eagle is shot,” said he to his wife. “No one can draw the arrow out.”

There was a great discussion and every one was asked for his opinion, but no one had any idea who the marksman was, save the mother of Drooping Flower, and Woodchuck Leggings. Then a stranger who had not hitherto ventured to speak, stepped upon a stump and shouted, “You have not asked the old man with a cough!” The people laughed at the stranger’s suggestion and watched him curiously as he ran to the abode of Two Feathers. The stranger grasped Two Feathers by the hand, by both hands, and whispered in his ear. The stranger was the wolf whom he had befriended in the lonely cabin.

Two Feathers limped to the slain bird and all the people shouted “Hōa‘ho’´! Old-Bones-with-a-cough is going to try, yo-a-hoh!”

“Old Bones-with-a-cough” touched the arrow, it clung to his finger and followed his hand into the air. All the people shouted “Whoei‘!”

The sachem took his stand and proclaimed Drooping Flower the wife of the old man with a cough, and the mother frowned as she was compelled to say, “Nio’!”

“A medicine man quick!” shouted Two Feathers. “Give me him whom you call fallen Two Feathers!”

Woodchuck Leggings hurried forward, ever ready to be where there was a chance of being looked at.

“Build a sweat lodge of fat bear skins, bring large lumps of fat and them heat fire-stones and bring them in,” directed Two Feathers.

Woodchuck Leggings built a little dome-shaped lodge by sticking the ends of flexible poles into the ground and bending them over, and after a hunter had skinned a fat bear, he covered the lodge frame with the skin, hair-side out. When the hot stones were brought in they heated the interior to such a degree that the fat on the skins melted and ran down in streams. After Two Feathers’ body was drenched with the oil, he asked that his “doctor” rub him until it had been well absorbed by the skin. He then requested the famous “medicine man” to pack a lump of fat between his shoulders, cover it with a small skin and place a hot stone over it. A cold one was selected. “Hotter, Uncle!” said Two Feathers, for the first time calling him by this name. The second stone was only slightly warmer, “Hotter yet, Uncle!” Another stone was placed on the skin but Two Feathers still shouted, “Hotter yet, Uncle.” The next stone was dull red and Woodchuck Leggings slapped it on with a thud. “Doge^n’s wi’ o!” shouted Two Feathers and putting his hands to the back of his neck he threw off the poultice. He grasped the bark which had worked partly out. He gave it a hard pull. Woodchuck Leggings grew suspicious and began to tremble with fear. With a loud cry Two Feathers pulled the bark point from his neck and before the cringing man before him had time to utter a sound, Two Feathers struck him a heavy blow over the neck. The death charm sank into the flesh, passed between the bones in his back and Woodchuck Leggings lay dead.

“The sick one has recovered!” shouted Two Feathers. “Every one go away while I dress.” The wondering throng which had sat chanting about the lodge during the ceremony, went to their lodges, curious to know what had happened, for the voice which they had heard commanding them was one which in itself compelled obedience and awe, and seemed to come from neither of the men whom they had seen enter the lodge.

Two Feathers washed his body in ashes, put on his old suit which Woodchuck Leggings had ruined, but which was restored as it touched his body, and ran out into the council grounds. The people looked at him in astonishment. Who could it be? The handsome man seemed like someone whom they had known before, and yet no one ventured to say who it was.

“I shall call a council for tonight; I bring news!” shouted Two Feathers.

Two Feathers took the speaker’s seat and addressed the people. “Brothers! I am Two Feathers, the same who once delivered you from the famine, by the power of my charms, I delivered you from the two grim sisters that breathed into your faces and almost stopped your breath. So soon have you forgotten me, but remember, I am not blaming you, for I know the reason, and you are not to be blamed.”

“Brothers! I was stricken in the forest by the treachery of Woodchuck Leggings, who thought that by taking my life he could take my power, but he was mistaken, for he has taken neither. For a long time I have suffered, alone, neglected and despised by all the people, but now that I have recovered, he who designed my misfortune himself has met it. I have killed him with his own charm.”

The gestures of Two Feathers, his face and his voice thrilled the people and with one accord they shouted, “Nio’´!”

“Now friends and brothers, let us rejoice in my restored life and power. See, I smoke! Fly birds, fly and bring me a light.” The birds flew from his hat with chirps of joy. They fluttered up and down and flew through the council house from end to end. They went into the fire, pulled out a brand and placed it in his pipe. They brushed against his face again and again singing. Two Feathers caught them in his hands and placed them back on his feather cap. He spoke to his pouch, “Dance, pouch, dance,—be my spotted fawn.” The pouch leaped from his side and danced better than it had before. It danced in a circle around him as he stood on the floor, it jumped over his head, rolled and tumbled, rubbed against his legs, leaped and gave every sign of life. “Enough!” exclaimed Two Feathers, and reluctantly it ran back to his belt, nothing but a limp skin pouch. “Now brothers, bring a skin.” Someone brought him the pelt which Woodchuck Leggings had used. “What, spoiled by worms? See, I smoke.” A puff of smoke purified the skin. “See, I breathe. Now look.” Wampum dropped from the frost of his breath and piled up in a heap on the skin.

The sachems and head men now began to speak. Never did a man receive a better welcome. The people were glad, the women sang a welcome song and then all rushed to put friendly hands on him,—all but two. These slunk from the room, one with eyes brimming with angry tears and the other with a face drawn into a horrible frown. This one ground her teeth in rage, she ran her claw fingers down her cheeks until the blood flowed in streams. She tore her hair, and with shrieks ran into the darkness.

The council was over and there was a commotion in the lodge of Drooping Flower. The mother lay on her couch screeching as she tore her clothing into shreds, chewed the flesh from her fingers and bit them off at the joints. Then she suddenly sprang up and shook her hands before her face. The sinews dangled over the white bones and blood spurted from the meat. Suddenly the lodge became darkened,—a rush of air was felt and a yelp was heard, like that of a dog pierced with an arrow. When a torch was lighted the mother had gone. She could not be found though the people searched in forest and in open. Only tracks of a big dog could be seen leading from the lodge. They were traced to a pond which had neither inlet nor outlet, and there they stopped. It was found out she had been a witch.

GENERAL NOTES.—The story of Two Feathers and his jealous uncle, Woodchuck Leggings is one of the favorite tales of the Seneca. It is related in several forms but always has the same general plot. The version here given was secured during the summer of 1903 during my stay on the Silverheels’ farm, and was related by George D. Jimerson, comments being made by Fred Kennedy, a half-blood, and Peter Snyder. As auditors who nodded their approval we had Gahweh Seneca and Fred Pierce.

As here recorded this bit of Seneca fiction is an example of a folk tale taken down in note form and rewritten in the language of the transcriber. It is not an exact translation by any means. It does give, however, all the essential ideas conveyed by the narrators. The plot is followed exactly in all the peculiar turns and in some cases we have used the same expressions of the story tellers who gave the tale.

The plot is a love theme in which a hero is thwarted by a jealous uncle. Magic plays its usual part but magic is employed by the hero to bring about his own recovery in due time. The heroine’s mother turns out to be in league with the villain, and after the villain’s exposure the hero is compelled to perform certain tasks thought to be impossible. He succeeds and the evil woman stands revealed an odious witch.