Part 4

Often when the birds hold councils in the woods they talk quite sharply to the buzzard for his uncleanly habits. He never fails to retort that his ancestor acquired them while doing a great service for others, and he closes the discussion by reminding them that they have no special reason to be vain, as he had choice of all the bird coverings and took the one that pleased him best.

ORIGIN OF THE VIOLET

THERE was a brave Indian many moons before the white man came to the land of his fathers who was the pride of all the men of the east. Though he was young, yet among his people his word was law and his counsels were listened to by the older chiefs with much attention. Three times had he done his people service they could never forget. Once, the great heron, that had preyed upon the children of the tribe for a long time, had fallen pierced to the heart by the arrow from his bow. He had gone alone and unarmed many days' journey without food to the mountain where dwelt the witches, and brought from the medicine caves the roots that cured his people of the plague. The third great service was when he had led a band of warriors against their enemies over the mountains and returned victorious. But on this journey the young warrior had seen a maiden whom he loved, and he wanted her for his wigwam. The maiden dwelt among the tribe that had felt the weight of the young chief's blow, and the warfare between them prevented his buying her with the quills of the wampum bird, as he could have done had she been one of his own people. And yet, the young chief thought, unless he could light his wigwam with the brightness of the maiden's eyes, his heart would no longer be brave and he could not lead his young men to battle. For many moons he was in hiding in the woods near the village of his foes, patiently watching for the maiden whose eyes had softened his heart. He sang the praises of his loved one so often to the birds as he crouched near their nests in the branches of the trees that they took up his song and bore it with them in their flight over I the plains and valleys. So often did the bear, the fox and the beaver hear the praise of the maiden murmured by the young chief in his sleep that they thought the forests had brought forth a new flower of more radiant beauty than any they had seen.

At last the young chief's vigils and waiting were rewarded, for one day the maiden wandered into the forest. With the calls of the song-birds and by singing her praises he lured her far from her home, and then he seized and bore her away toward the hunting-grounds and village of his people. The maiden had been watched by the jealous eyes of a young brave who was her suitor, but he was cowardly, and when he saw her borne swiftly away on the shoulders of the dreaded chief, he dared not follow, but ran swiftly back to the village to give the alarm. The braves placed him in the hands of the women because he was a coward, and started quickly in pursuit of the girl and her captor. All night they followed them over the rugged mountains and through the dark forests. In the morning they overtook them and were filled with rage when they saw that the maiden was a willing captive, for she had given her heart to the strong young chief, knowing that he was brave and loved her. To signify her willingness to go with him she had plaited the braids of her hair about his neck, as was the customary way among them to indicate a marriage. Enraged at their foe for his daring and at the girl for deserting her people, the pursuing warriors killed them both on the spot and left their bodies where they fell--the great braids of the maiden's hair encircling her lover's neck.

From this spot sprang the violets; and the winds and birds carried the seeds of the little flowers over all the world, into all countries where men dare and maidens love, so that the Indians of all ages might know that the Great Spirit would always raise a monument to true love and bravery.

THE TURTLE CLAN

THEN the Great Spirit created the turtles he gave them a vast lake in and about which they could reside, and where they would never be molested by either animals or people. But the turtles were not satisfied with the shape of the lake, and found fault with the hard, gravelly bottom and clear water. So they set to work to bring all the mud they could find on the plains surrounding it, and spread the loads of loose soil over the bottom of the lake where they were accustomed to lie. So many of them carried on the work that the lake was finally filled with the mud, and became so shallow that during one particularly hot summer it was entirely dry. Then the turtles held council and decided that the only way left to them was to set out to find a place where there was good water. One, a particularly wise and intelligent old fellow, urged his brethren to decide first upon some fixed course to follow and then by all means to remain together. Said he: "If we do this we will not only know exactly where we are going, but we can help each other. There are a great many of us, and if any foe attacks us we can together repel the attack, for with our stone backs and sharp jaws we are well equipped for battle. Let me tell you, my brothers, that the world is full of dangers, and unless we are banded together and stand by each other, we will be scattered and lose our standing as a nation."

To this wise counsel the turtles apparently agreed, but each one wanted the honor of presenting the plan that was to be followed, and each also wanted the distinction of being chosen to lead his fellows. The wise old turtle made every effort at conciliation and proposed several plans, any one of which if accepted would have made the turtles a great and powerful nation, but they could come to no agreement. At last the commotion became so great that the voice of the wise turtle was drowned in the clamor, and he was powerless to counsel his fellows any further. Finally each turtle started off by himself, bound to follow his own inclinations, as the turtles have done ever since. At this foolish course the wise turtle became very angry. "Fools!" he cried, "I am ashamed to be counted as one of the turtle race, and although in memory of the forefathers whom I honor, I will always bear on my breast the form of a turtle, henceforth I will not be a turtle."

With a tremendous effort he threw the shell from his back and leaped forth, a fully armed and painted warrior. The turtles were terribly frightened and made off as fast as they could. From that day they have been wanderers.

The wise turtle became the progenitor of the turtle clan. He taught his children to deliberate carefully upon all matters of importance; to give attention and careful consideration to the counsels of their elders; and to work in unity in whatever they undertook.

THE HEALING WATERS

NEKUMONTA, the strongest and bravest chief of the Mohawks, wandered alone in silence through the primeval forest. The giant pines looked down upon him with frowns; the moss, dark and sodden on the maples with rain, gave only a gloomy greeting; the low beeches brushed against his anxious face, and as he passed beneath them chilling showers fell from their icy branches. Across his path the snarling panther crept in sullen anger; the frightened rabbit sped away to its nest under the prostrate log; his brother the bear turned aside and looked with sadness upon the troubled face of Nekumonta as he hurried forward in the fast gathering darkness. In all the forest no kindly sight came to comfort the strong and brave chief of the Mohawks, whose footsteps were heavy with fatigue and whose heart was burdened with sorrow.

Through the cheerless, awful moons of snows and frosts the plague had raged in the village of the Mohawks. Many days and nights had the death-song been chanted for men, and women, and children. Few were untouched by the terrible sickness, and the medicine men of the tribe had long since seen the last of hoarded stores of herbs which they used to put to flight the bad spirits. The strong and brave Nekumonta and the light of his wigwam, Shanewis, had watched the fires of life go out many times. They knew that the Happy Hunting-Grounds rang with the shouts and laughter of their brothers and sisters; they sent them messages by the echoing spirits and told them to watch for their coming; but they were saddened because their brothers and sisters had gone on the long journey. The home of the Mohawks was full of pleasure when the hunters and the women, the young men, the maidens and the children worked together in the fields of growing corn, or gathered at night around the lodge-fire and listened to the legends told by the aged.

At last the soft winds came, and their mellow songs drove the cold and darkness from the valley. With their first notes came hope--hope that when the awful winter had gone to his home in the north the plague would also take its flight from the village.

Then Nekumonta's heart died, for Shanewis, the light of his wigwam, was stricken, and from her couch of furs smiled sadly as she whispered: "Shanewis must fight with the bad spirits. She would not leave Nekumonta, the strong and brave one of the Mohawks, but her brothers and sisters call to her from their long home."

For a moment Nekumonta stood erect, while upon his face came the shadows of despair. As the weary hunter loses control of his canoe and sees below him the rapids that in terrible fury play with their victim ere they hurl it over the precipice of death; or, as the warrior who with rising hopes has long withstood his foes, would see their reinforcements come when his arm has lost its power, so upon Nekumonta came the realization of the struggle yet to come. But his brave heart failed not, and bending over the shivering form of his loved Shanewis, he said:

"Shanewis shall live. Let her fight the bad spirits, and tell her brothers and sisters who call to her that she cannot go to her long home for many moons. Nekumonta has said it. He will find the healing vines of the Great Spirit, and Shanewis shall live."

The robe that covered the entrance of the lodge was pushed aside, and the chief of the Mohawks hurried away into the forest.

In many places the snows were not melted. The roots were locked in their beds by the frost, and the medicine herbs had not yet awakened from their sleep. Running through the open fields, looking anxiously among the rocks, crawling under the fallen trees, hurrying with despair over the barren hills, swimming the swollen streams and rivers, darting along the shores of the half-frozen lakes, penetrating the gloom of the forbidding forests, stopping neither for rest nor for food, Nekumonta searched, repeating again and again, until the woods and fields were burdened with the words: "Shanewis shall live! Nekumonta will find the healing vines of the Great Spirit, and Shanewis shall live!"

Three suns had passed since he left his lodge, and still his weary quest was in vain. Wherever he looked only dead leaves and withered vines were to be found. When darkness came and he could no longer see, the anxious searcher had, on his hands and knees, crept onward all the night, hoping that his keen scent would discover what his sight had failed to disclose during the day. At the decline of the third sun, stumbling forward in the gathering darkness, Nekumonta fell exhausted to the earth and the Great Spirit touched his eyes with sleep.

Then the dream-god came and Nekumonta saw Shanewis lying sleepless on her couch of furs and heard her calling his name gently and with tenderness. He saw that the plague ran through her veins like the fires that swept the forest when the rustling leaves lay thick upon the ground. Then he saw her creep to the door of the lodge and push aside the robe that shut out the cold winds. Long and earnestly she looked into the darkness, calling him to hasten to her side. He reached forward to clasp her in his arms, and the vision faded. Now he was in his canoe, which the taunting spirits of the plague were pushing down the river, and they laughed and shouted in derision as he tried to catch the medicine plants that grew in great abundance along the shores. Again, he was with his loved Shanewis in the cornfields, filling the great baskets with roasting ears to be taken to the fires where danced and sang the red men in honor of the ripening harvest. Then the voices of the singers changed into low and murmuring sounds, which finally grew more distinct until Nekumonta heard the words:

"Strong and brave chief of the Mohawks, we are the healing waters of the Great Spirit. Take us from our prison and thy loved Shanewis shall live."

Starting from his slumbers like an arrow from the bow, Nekumonta cast off the dream-god and stood in the first light of the smiling face of the Great Spirit as he came from his wigwam to open the new day. Swiftly his glance darted from side to side, searching in vain every tree and bush, every rock and stone for evidence of the presence of some one who could have uttered the words that had come so distinctly that they must be more than the echo of a dream. The practiced eye and ear of the hunter could discover nothing unusual in the forest, though every faculty was awake, every nerve strung to its greatest tension. With sadness and loss of hope his attitude relaxed, and with heavy footsteps he turned toward the hills.

And yet he could not go away. Something sent him back to the little opening in the forest, and when he reached the spot where he had fallen in the darkness the night before he bent suddenly and placed his ear to the ground.

What caused Nekumonta to leap to his feet with a cry of triumph that rang over the hills like the shout of many warriors? What changed in an instant the hopeless, dejected being who bent to the earth, to a creature alert, with his hardened sinews standing out upon his body in eagerness to expend its stifled strength? Faintly, yet distinctly, he had again heard the murmuring voices:

"Strong and brave chief of the Mohawks, here are the healing waters of the Great Spirit. Take us from our prison and thy loved Shanewis shall live."

With a bound like that of the panther Nekumonta sprang to the hillside, and from the trunk of a hardy ash that had been felled by the lightning's bolt he tore the toughened branches, bearing them in triumph to the valley. Back he ran like the wind and from the yielding soil dug armfuls of sharp-edged stones, which he bore with hurrying steps to the place where a promise had been opened to him greater than the one of the Happy Hunting-Grounds. Not a moment did he pause, but the cry of "Shanewis! Shanewis! Shanewis!" was almost constantly on his lips.

The smiling face of the Great Spirit rose higher in the path it followed for the day, and looked down over the hill tops at the toiling Nekumonta. Forcing the toughened limbs of the ash tree deep into the ground he wrested from their beds the huge bowlders that impeded his progress and formed the prison of the healing waters. With the sharp-edged stones he cut the hard earth, and with torn and bleeding hands he hurled the rough soil from the excavation. Like a very god incarnate the dauntless spirit toiled--never resting, never tiring, never stopping except at long intervals, when he bent his ear to the earth. Each time he heard the voices, swelling louder and louder, and repeating over and over again the promise that lent him an energy that could have torn the earth asunder had it refused to yield its life-giving treasure for the light of his wigwam.

When the smiling face of the Great Spirit had reached the middle of its trail and turned once more to the door of his great lodge, the tireless Nekumonta leaped to the edge of the excavation with renewed shouts of joy and triumph, and the woods resounded with the laughter and songs proclaiming that the imprisoning barrier had been broken open. The sparkling, healing waters heard the welcome voices in the woods, and rising from their dark prison filled all the place the toiler had torn open in the earth, and then ran merrily down the valley in the sunlight.

Nekumonta bathed his bruised hands and burning face in the grateful waters and then hurried away in the forest. On and on he ran, with a step so light that the dead leaves scarcely felt its touch, and with a strength that laughed the wind to scorn. His path was straight through the forest to the clay banks where his people came in the moon of the falling leaves and made the vessels in which they cooked their corn and venison. Here his energy was born anew, and with a skill that was marvelous in its dexterity he fashioned a jar to contain the healing waters. From its hiding place he brought the fire stone, and the store of branches collected by the old men and children at the last moon of falling leaves furnished him a supply of fuel. When the smiling face of the Great Spirit entered the door of his wigwam in the west Nekumonta took from the dying embers the perfected result of his handiwork.

* * * * *

The warm winds, laden with hope and comfort, stole gently through the forest and sang with gladness of the death of winter. Life came once more to the swaying branches of the trees, and the first notes of the robins and blue birds thrilled the listening air with a sweetness for which it had long hungered. The second day of spring had dawned on the home of the Mohawks the village where the gaunt figure of the awful plague had reveled in a dance of death throughout the weary moons of winter.

Suddenly a triumphant shout filled the air. The hearts of weary watchers stood still with suspense, fearing that the evil witches had once more returned to taunt them of their helplessness. The plague-stricken woke from their fitful sleep and called piteously to the Manito. Once more the shout arose--louder, clearer, more triumphant--a pealing cry of victory from the strong and brave Nekumonta.

Bearing aloft in his arms the vessel containing the healing waters, Nekumonta burst from the deeper gray of the forest like a flood of sunshine and ran with steps as light as the warm winds themselves to the darkened lodge of his loved Shanewis. With the soft mosses he had caught from the banks of the streams he soothed her fevered form, and with draughts of the grateful healing waters she was lured to returning health.

Thus the loved Shanewis came back from the very borderland of the Happy Hunting-Grounds to her home with the Mohawks.

THE SACRIFICE OF ALIQUIPISO

TROUBLE came to a village of the Oneidas. From the north a band of red men who had listened to the bad spirits came upon the peaceful village, and, with murder and plunder in their hearts, spread destruction around them like the wild chase of the forest fires. The homes of the Oneidas were deserted and made desolate, and the women and children were hurried away to the rocks and hills for refuge and were guarded by the warriors. For many days and nights the attacking party vainly tried to find the trail of the people they had driven from their homes. The Great Spirit had passed his hands over the forest and the trail of the Oneidas was not discovered by the savage Mingoes.

But the Oneidas were almost without food, and over the tops of the trees and along the face of the almost inaccessible cliff came hunger and death to their hiding place. The warriors and sachems sat long at the council, but their eyes were heavy and they could find no path that would lead them from their trouble. To try to escape from their refuge would expose them to capture and slavery at the hands of their foes. To remain where they were meant starvation and death.

Then the little maiden, Aliquipiso, came to the warriors and sachems and told how the good spirits had come to her sleeping under the trees, and had shown her where from the side of the high bluff on which her people were hiding huge rocks could be rolled into the valley below in such a manner as to strike down the very trees there. The good spirits also told her to lead the foes of the Oneidas to the spot and bade her go upon the mission that she might deliver her people from their danger. The warriors and sachems listened to the unfolding of the plan with wonder, and when Aliquipiso had finished, the chief brought forth rich strings of white wampum and put them about her neck, saying that she was the princess of all the nation and beloved of the Great Spirit. When the night came the little maiden left her people quietly and without faltering, and disappeared in the darkness.

In the morning watchful scouts of the Mingoes found a little girl wandering as if lost in the forest. They hurried away with her to the dismantled village where she had been so happy with her fellows and at once commenced to torture her, hoping to extort the secret of the hiding place of her people. With a fortitude that won the admiration of her captors, Aliquipiso resisted the torture for a long time, but finally told the cruel tormentors that when the darkness came she would lead them to the hiding place of the Oneidas.

Night came again, and the exultant Mingoes started on the trail they believed would lead them to the camp of the Oneidas. Aliquipiso led the way, but she was in the grasp of strong warriors who were ready with poised weapons to take her life at the first evidence of a betrayal. Through many paths and windings, slowly and craftily, crept the Mingoes until they were near the overhanging precipice of granite. Then Aliquipiso signaled to the warriors to come close around her, as though she were about to roll back the huge mountain wall and disclose to them those whom they pursued. When they had crowded to her side she suddenly lifted her voice in a piercing cry of warning--a signal of death. She knew that above them the sleepless sentries of the starving Oneidas were holding great bowlders poised upon the brink of the precipice.

Her captors had scarcely time to strike her lifeless to the ground before the rocks rushed with terrible force down the side of the mountain, catching and crushing the entrapped warriors like worms under the foot of a mighty giant.

Aliquipiso, brave maiden of the Oneidas, was mourned by her people many suns. The Great Spirit changed her hair into woodbine, which the red men called "running hairs," and sent it over the earth as a protector to old trees. From her body sprang the honeysuckle, which was known to the Indians as "the blood of brave women."

WHY THE ANIMALS DO NOT TALK

IT was long ago, so long that the books of the white men cannot tell the time, that all the animals in the forest could talk with the red men. There was a time when the animals came to the great council-fires and lent to the Indians the knowledge they possessed of the woods and streams. The wise beaver taught the Indian women and children where to snare the pike and salmon, and how to build houses that would keep out the rain and frosts. The bear and the wolf led the braves out on the plains and through the forests and imparted to them their skill in following the trail. The dog, by patient example, gave to the red men the tact and power to watch for many suns without weariness. From the raccoon the red men learned to mount the trunks of the largest trees. The horse consorted with the Indians on the plains and showed them the secret of swift running. The panther taught them how to conceal themselves in the thicket, on the branches of an overhanging tree or behind the ledge of rocks, and to rush forth upon their enemies like the sudden burst of the whirlwind.