Part 18

The light broke through the clouds and the storm began to retreat. The young woman struggled with the swirling waters. Her esteem for her would-be-deliverer sank to a bitter hatred for he had abandoned her to perish. Her tired limbs could no longer battle with the lake. Her feet sank but to her unspeakable surprise they fell firm on the sand. Wading forward in the semi-darkness she came safely out on the shore. Walking inland she sat down beneath a tree to recover from exhaustion and fright.

The storm sped away growling that it had failed to slay Djodi´kwado‘ the monster serpent.

The young wife arose, wet and bedraggled, but happy that she was safe again. Now her heart was full of gratitude to her hard-pressed deliverer.

Ahead of her, wandering aimlessly, with hanging head and melancholy mien, was a man. His body was drenched with rain and his spirit with heavy sorrow.

The woman neared him and called, “Husband, Oh husband, is it truly you?”

The man turned with a shout of joy and answered, “Wife, oh wife, returned living, is it you?”

The drenched and storm-bruised couple joyfully turned homeward. The three sisters were there. “Begone now and forever,” said the husband.

Then were the couple happy, and envy and jealousy found no place with them. So here the story ends and so it is spoken.

28. BUSHY HEAD THE BEWITCHED WARRIOR RESCUES TWO LOST DAUGHTERS AND WINS THEM AS WIVES.[36]

The daughters of a woman who was a clan matron and name-holder disappeared. She grieved greatly, but her husband who was chief of another clan said nothing. He was a bad man and was chief because he had lied about his brother Donya´dassi.

Now Donya´dassi had once been a skillful hunter but his hunting charms had been stolen, and so with his wife, Gawīsas, he lived away from the village in a poor bark hut.

The mother of the lost daughters, whose children should some day be in the sachemship line, offered large rewards for their recovery and continually urged the young men to hunt for the girls, promising them as wives to the successful finder. They were most beautiful young women and there were many searchers, but when winter came, all returned without news.

Now, it happened that Gawīsas, the poor woman, was boiling corn over the fire in her lodge and thinking very intently about the lost daughters of her sister-in-law. She thought that their father, jealous of them, might have cast a spell over them and hidden them away. While thus thinking she heard a strange sound outside, a sound so unusual that it alarmed her. Her husband was absent on one of his not always profitable hunts. Soon someone knocked at the door, but Gawīsas failing to respond, a strange creature entered, looked into her face, and then advanced to the fire. This being was Bushy Head, a dwarf with an enormous bushy head. Upon its chin was a long white beard that dragged upon the floor. He seemed to be all head. The snow and ice had so caught and frozen in its beard that as he walked it dragged behind him like a log. Bushy Head stood before the fire, reeled up his beard and thawed out the ice. Gawīsas could not speak because she was so frightened, so she sat on her bed. The monster looked at her and then ran his cane into the fire, stirring up the ashes. The sparks flew upward and fell into the soup. Again the being looked at Gawīsas but she only stared blankly back. Grasping a ladle he filled it with ashes and threw them in the soup, and turning, eyed the frightened woman again but she did not move or speak. He kept looking at the woman until he had filled the kettle with ashes and then departed. After his departure Gawīsas recovered in a measure from her fright and dragging the kettle out of doors emptied and scoured it. To her dismay the creature, whom she had named Sogogo, returned on the next day and for six consecutive days, each time behaving as before and Gawīsas remaining silent to all proceedings. At last on the seventh day her husband, Donya´dassi, returned and she told him of all the strange happenings.

“Well, what did you say to him?” he asked, and when she replied, “Nothing,” he bade her speak the next time the Sogogo came. “He wants to tell you something,” he said. “So ask him what he wishes.” Having given this advice Donya´dassi departed on another hunting excursion, for he had come home empty-handed. He was a chief also, but could not rule, because his wife’s uncle was his enemy.

Sogogo returned soon afterward and peered into the face of Gawīsas who could only summon up enough courage to say, “Ä-ä-ä-ä-ä.”

“Ä-ä-ä-ä-ä,” replied Sogogo, and filled up the kettle with ashes again.

The next day passed with the same results, but on the third day Gawīsas tremblingly asked, “What do you wish, Sogogo?”

“At last,” he answered, you have spoken. “I can only speak as I am spoken to, and hoped, since you would not greet me, you would chide me when I spoiled your soup. Now let me tell you that I know where the chief’s daughters are and have chosen you and your husband as the ones to claim the reward. You are poor and plenty of wampum will make you powerful. Now tell your husband, and if he is willing to aid me bid him hang half the liver and half the lights of every animal he kills upon a low branch of the nearest tree. For a sign that I am telling the truth, let him chop down the big tree before your lodge and within it will be a bear.”

Sogogo departed and when Donya´dassi came back from his hunt, successful this time, he was told the news. He felled the tree as directed by his wife, killed the bear and hung half the liver and half the lights on the branches on the nearest tree.

The wife was cutting some choice pieces of bear meat to cook for the afternoon meal when in walked Sogogo, and greeting Gawīsas and her husband, sat down and began talking to the man. He explained his plan for rescuing the lost daughters of the chief. Donya´dassi was to go to the top of a certain mound and seat himself in a large basket which he found there. This basket would rest on Sogogo’s head and would bear him to the inside of the mound, where the chief’s daughters had been hidden.

Accordingly the next day Donya´dassi seated himself in the large basket which he found on the mound and sank down under the earth.

Arrived there, Sogogo lifted the basket from his head and proceeded to instruct Donya´dassi how he must rescue the daughters.

“Go to the first lodge on the right hand side of the trail,” he said. “There you will see one of the girls. Tell her you are her rescuer. Bid her sweep the floor as soon as she hears her captor approaching and continue to sweep until you depart with her. Her captor, who wishes to become her husband, has seven heads. You must kill the creature in order to gain the girl. He will ask you to drink berry juice with him. Poison will be in your cup but when he winks change the cups. Then he will want to fight. When you fight him use this short crooked knife, and rushing toward him thrust it between his seven heads and cut off the middle one. Previously instruct the girl to sweep it in the fire so that the flames will burn his eyebrows and lashes. That will destroy his power and all seven heads will die. When you have done all this return to me with the girl so you may know what to do next.”

Taking the sharp bent knife that Sogogo held toward him, Donya´dassi thrust it in his pouch and ran down the trail until he saw a large bark house at the right. Entering it he saluted the young woman whom he recognized as the eldest of the chief’s stolen daughters. He instructed her, as bidden, and had scarcely finished when the seven-headed man entered and spying the stranger he cried, “Kwē! Come, let us drink a little strawberry juice.” He placed two gourd cups on a bench and said, “Now drink.” Just as he winked Donya´dassi transposed the cups and when the monster lifted the berry juice to his lips and tasted it he exclaimed, “Ho ho!” meaning, his power was lessened.

“Come, let us fight now,” he cried. “Here are the clubs; take your choice. How does that fine new one suit you?”

“No, I’ll take that old one,” said Donya´dassi pointing to a half decayed stick. “I’ll fight you left-handed,” he continued, “So ready!”

The daughter began to sweep and the men to fight. Rushing upon the monster so close that no club could hit him he thrust his knife between the heads and with a quick jerk of his arm cut off the middle one. The girl swept it into the fire and when the eyelashes and brows had been singed the swaying body and six howling heads crashed to the floor. The girl dropped her broom and followed Donya´dassi as he ran out and down the trail.

Sogogo was waiting for them and after listening to the story of the successful fight said, “On the left hand side, the fourth lodge down, is another lodge. Go there and rescue the other daughter. A seven-headed monster is keeping her prisoner. Instruct the girl as the first. The monster will enter and ask you to eat. When he winks change the spoons, for there is poison in the wood. Then he will challenge you as the first. Chop off his ear with your knife and when the daughter sweeps it into the fire the creature will begin to die.”

Donya´dassi obeyed and events occurred exactly as Sogogo had predicted. When in the fight Sogogo had cut off the left ear from the seven-headed man and the ear had been swept into the fire, all seven heads began to whine and the middle one said, “You have plotted to kill me! You have been unfair! The woman has planned it. Oh you wicked woman, you have been a traitor to me.”

“It is untrue,” shouted Donya´dassi. “Your own rule has been to fight all who enter your door and now you are defeated. Before our fight you boasted you would grind me in your mortar and commanded me to do the same with you and feed your body to the birds.”

“Agē, agē, agē!” moaned the monster and died.

“Shall I smash his body?” said Donya´dassi, but the maiden did not know. “Go, then,” said he, “and ask Sogogo.”

When she returned she told him to grind the body to a pulp in the corn mortar and hasten back to Sogogo who awaited him. Donya´dassi pounded the monster heads and flung the mass to the big crows that already had clustered about the lodge.

Running up the trail, with the girl following him, Donya´dassi found Sogogo waiting. The two girls and Donya´dassi seated themselves in the basket, Sogogo lifted it upon his head and in a short time they emerged from the top of the mound and breathed the outside air once again.

Sogogo led the three to his lodge far back in the forest where he told all his history and then bade Donya´dassi run to the lodge of the great chief and tell him to call a great council at which important news would be revealed and presents given.

When the chief had listened to Donya´dassi he asked, “What news can you bring and what presents can you give?”

“I have luck now,” was the answer.

The feast day came and people flocked from distant villages to hear the news and receive the presents.

Donya´dassi arose and said, “I have come to tell our great chief that his daughters have been found and are now safe and near here and shall be restored on one condition, that he remove his spell from a certain young man whom he has conjured.”

The chief was greatly angered that any condition should be given and refused to grant it.

Meanwhile Donya´dassi was arranging long strings of wampum and piles of skins in piles on the council house floor, one for each person present.

“These cannot be distributed until our chief grants my condition,” he said.

The chief remained obdurate. The people were anxious for their feast and gifts. The chief’s wife begged him to consent and regain his lost children. So, fearing the anger of his people and fury of his wife, he at last asked that the young man who rested under the spell be brought to him. Sogogo entered. The chief looked ashamed and then frowned in anger. “Come,” he said and led the way to a small dome-shaped lodge, pushed Sogogo in and then entered himself. Heating some round stones he threw a handful of magical herbs upon them. Then taking his rattle chanted a song. The smoke from the herbs enveloped Sogogo and when the song ended he had become a handsome young warrior. The chief and the transformed Sogogo reëntered the council.

“Where are the daughters!” shouted the people.

Drawing out a red bark box from his pouch he opened it and out fell the two girls. There was a great shout and the chief’s wife rushed forward and embraced her children.

Donya´dassi distributed his presents.

Donya´dassi then advanced to the chief who gave him the reward, but so small was it in comparison with Donya´dassi’s liberal gifts that it seemed a mere trifle.

The chief soon lost his influence but Donya´dassi, who had grown rich and successful, succeeded him in the hearts of the people but Sogogo, the transformed, was happy with his two wives, the chief’s daughters. He took both, that was all right in those days.

29. THE FLINT CHIP THROWER.

Long ago Tĕg´wandă’[37] married a beautiful maiden and went far away with her to his hunting grounds.

Tĕg´wandă’ was famous as a successful hunter but his wife’s family had “dry bones”,[38] so her elder sister and mother took council together and said, “Come, let us go and live with Tĕg´wandă’ and we shall ever be filled.” The prospect of a never failing supply of venison and bear was tempting to those who had long subsisted on tubers and maize.

The wife of Tĕg´wandă’ was kind and never questioned his actions. He never went long from the house, yet he ever had game in abundance and skins piled high in his stores. This made her marvel, but she never made inquiries. The lodge was divided in two compartments but the couple lived only in one. The other was almost empty, but Tĕg´wandă’ often went there. She would hear him singing alone in the room, then there would come a crash like a splintering tree and soon afterward Tĕg´wandă’ would bring in a new pelt and the carcass of some beast. This made her marvel but she never questioned.

The young couple lived contentedly and never quarreled. No trouble or sorrow came to mar their happiness until one day, unheralded, came two women to the door of the lodge. These were the wife’s mother and sister. When the unbidden guests had eaten their fill of good and mealy nut pudding they began to seek the excuse for complaint. Then, oh the railing, the endless rebukes, the sneers and sarcasm! At last the matters turned from the lodge to the couple themselves.

“How does Tĕg´wandă’ obtain his meat? Surely he must be a wizard and likely to eat all of us women when his charms fail. He is evil, he is lazy! Let us drive him away.” These and other things the mother said to her daughter. So it came to pass that the sister insisted she must go with the husband wherever he went and learn something of his habits.

“If you must go,” said the wife, “obey him implicitly, else evil will occur.”

The husband was downcast but would not yield to his fear of the woman. Taking a basket of salt he sprinkled the white crystals upon a flat rock and entered the closed room with the woman.

“Do not move or touch a thing,” he commanded. “Let no fear, let no surprise cause you to stir!”

Then he commenced to sing. The woman looked about critically. In one corner was a pile of quarry flakes, beside them a bench and in a heap before it was a pile of keen edged flint chips. A sudden sound drew her attention from the lodge. Tĕg´wandă’ ceased singing. Outside some creature was snorting, “swe-i-i-i-sh, swe-i-i-i-sh!”

Picking up a handful of flint chips the man flung them with all his strength against the wall nearest the flat rock. The woman was now curious to find what was outside and pushed aside the curtain to get a glimpse of the mysterious things. Instantly the entire door curtain was torn from its fastenings and a monstrous elk rushed in and trampled upon Tĕg´wandă’. Then tossing him upon its antlers, bounded out and fled through the forest. The frightened woman ran after the elk, but fell back dispairing. Moaning she crept back to the lodge and confessed to the wife.

The wife burst into tears and then bitterly chided her sister for her meddlesome ways. Throwing on her robes she hastened to rescue her husband. Carefully she tracked the elk and after many days journey she heard a low trembling song. She knew her husband was near, so cautiously advancing she came to a spot where she could see a herd of elks feeding in an open. A deer was grazing near by. Gently she whispered. “Come, good brother, lend me your coat. You can do me good service thereby.” “Certainly,” responded the deer with alacrity, and, walking inconspicuously into the bushes, she removed her coat and threw it upon the woman. In her new habiliments the wife bounded off into the midst of the elks. In the middle and surrounded by the rest was a large reclining elk whose antlers held the emaciated form of Tĕg´wandă’. In a feeble whisper the husband sang.

Walking toward the elk she made a sudden dash and inserting her horns beneath her husband’s body lifted him off and dashed away before the astonished animals could remonstrate, and indeed, they were too frightened to do so. Galloping breathlessly into the thicket she set down her husband, removed the deer’s skin and gave it back with expressions of gratitude. Then lifting her husband upon her shoulders, she carried him homeward.

On her journey she pondered how she could restore him. He was exhausted and covered with bruises and wounds, his body had wasted away to a skeleton covered with skin and his mind was turned with his sufferings. Sitting down upon a hollow log she pondered. A sudden inspiration came. Quickly she pushed her husband into a hollow log and gave him a shove with her foot that sent him sliding through. When he emerged from the other end he was completely restored.

Together they tramped back home happy to be together once more. Entering the lodge the husband cast out the inquisitive sister and quarrelsome mother and sent them running down the trail.

“One woman is sufficient female company for any man,” he said. “More in one house make great trouble.”

VII. HORROR TALES OF CANNIBALS AND SORCERERS

30. THE DUEL OF THE DREAM TEST BETWEEN UNCLE AND NEPHEW.

There was a great long house built of poles and bark. This long house was in a secluded place where men were not accustomed to come, but there were sorcerers who knew its location, but shunned it, for there lived Shogo^n‘´gwā‘s and his nephew Djoñiaik. The nephew was young when the uncle assumed charge of him, and he had no real regard for the boy, for he had slain by sorcery all his near relatives, and knew that he must some day overcome the orenda (magic) that had accrued to the boy, or he himself would be undone.

Djoñiaik was carefully reared, for the uncle wished to make him suffer at the end and cry out his weakness, thereby more greatly enjoying the triumph over him.

When the boy had grown to the age just before he became eligible for his dream fast, the uncle said, “Now my nephew, the time has come when you should hunt for yourself without me. Go into the forest and bring me meat.”

Thereupon Djoñiaik took his small bow and after a time found a partridge which he shot. Bringing it to the lodge of his uncle he presented it to the elder man. “Oh now, my nephew,” said Shogo^ngwas, “what is the name of this thing?”

“Oh my uncle,” replied the boy, “I have never known the name of this kind of a thing.”

“Ho!” exclaimed the uncle, “How then do you expect to be able to eat it?”

The boy then was given the task of cleaning the bird for soup, and when it was ready the older man put it in a clay kettle and boiled it with a gruel of corn meal. Then he lifted out the meat and placed it with the fat gravy in a bark bowl which he laid aside for himself. Taking another bowl he filled it with the thin soup from the middle of the kettle and handed it over the fire to the boy. The boy reached from his seat, stretching his arms and finally grasped the bowl, but as he did so the uncle pulled on the bowl and the boy fell face forward into the fire, scorching his chest and burning his hands. At this the uncle roared and called him clumsy, asking moreover, “Where is your soup? You have tried to put out the fire with it!”

With great gusto the uncle devoured the partridge, picking the bones clean and casting them into the fire. Djoñiaik had nothing for his meal and was very hungry. Wearily he wandered out into the thicket, coming at length to an unfamiliar spot where there was a low mound, as if a mud hut had fallen down and become overgrown. As he looked at the spot he heard a sound, “Ketcuta, ketcuta!” Peering more closely in the snow-covered moss he saw the face of a tcis´gä (skull) looking at his with open mouth.

“I am your uncle,” said the skull. “Give me tobacco.”

Djoñiaik obeyed, and when the skull had smoked a pipeful, it coughed and said, “I am your uncle, bewitched by my brother who has stolen you in order to work vengeance on you for the power you inherit from your relatives who have been killed by sorcery. You must remember the names of the animals you kill and the next one you shall find will be a raccoon. Remember its name and when your guardian asks you its name tell him ‘raccoon’.”

In time the boy went hunting again and finding a raccoon shot it. Greatly excited he began to repeat the name raccoon over and over. “Raccoon, raccoon, raccoon, raccoon,” he shouted as he bore it to his uncle’s lodge. But so rapidly was he running that he fell over the door-sill and sprawled into the lodge.

“Oh now nephew, what have you this time?” inquired the uncle, but so excited and chagrined was the boy that he totally forgot the name. “Wa!” exclaimed the old man, “If you cannot speak the name of this thing you shall not eat of it. Dress it for me and I will cook it as a soup.”

When the raccoon was cooked the old man skimmed off the fat and poured out some thin soup for Djoñiaik, who by this time was very hungry. Uncle and nephew sat on seats opposite each other with the lodge fire between. Passing over the bowl of soup the uncle gave a quick jerk as the boy grasped the rim and again pulled him into the fire.

“Oh nephew, I am sorry,” said he, laughing, “I am always in a hurry.” But Djoñiaik was sadly burned about the face and made no reply. With hungry eyes he watched his uncle stow away the uneaten portion of the raccoon. He had not a mouthful.

That afternoon he again visited his skeletal uncle and related all that had happened. He was thoroughly afraid now for his uncle was most ugly. But the skull, when it had smoked, only advised him to remember the names of the animals killed. “Today, I believe, you will shoot a turkey. Remember the name and begin to use your power to retaliate,” said the skull.

After watching quietly Djoñiaik saw a turkey,—a very large and fat turkey, which he shot. Tying its feet together he held it to his back by a burden strap and lugged it home, rushing into the lodge saying, “Turkey, turkey, turkey, turkey.”

This time the uncle asked no questions, but with a frown watched his nephew pluck the turkey and prepare it.

“This time I shall prepare a roast of meat,” said the boy. “I shall not make soup as my uncle does.” So he cooked the turkey in a pot and when done he divided the meat in two portions, putting each in a bark bowl. “Now come eat, Uncle,” said the boy handing the bowl over the fire to his uncle.

As the old man’s hand grasped the bowl, Djoñiaik gave it a quick pull, overbalancing his uncle and pulling him into the fire.