Part 14

“But, father,” said Pyan, “the winds and the rain and the lightning have not stopped. The water is rough and our canoe is light. We will be drowned.”

Pyan held back as his father took his hand. His father spoke kindly and firmly: “Come, Pyan, do not be afraid. Your father will protect you.”

As they reached the shore Pyan began to tremble and felt heartsick because he was cowardly while his father was so brave. Pyan stepped into the canoe and his father followed. Masequah pointed to the sky.

“Look, Pyan, the sky is beginning to brighten. Now the storm will halt long enough for us to reach the safety of our village.”

There was a blinding flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. The rain stopped suddenly, the winds died down, and the waves on the lake became calm. Masequah pushed the canoe from the shore and paddled swiftly across the lake.

When they reached home, Pyan told his mother excitedly how the storm had stopped when his father ordered it to halt. Pyan’s mother turned slowly to Masequah.

“My husband,” she said with wonder in her voice, “until just now as you and Pyan arrived, the storm hasn’t paused once tonight.”

For many years until Masequah’s death, the members of his tribe looked upon Masequah as a brave gifted with mysterious powers. They would tell of a hunting party that had reached the lake at the same time that Masequah and Pyan had started for home; the hunters had been whipped by the raging storm while they stood on a hill top overlooking the lake; suddenly they had seen the storm stop and the lake below them grow calm; and then they had watched a small canoe, with a man and a boy in it, glide swiftly across the peaceful waters. To them it was a miracle, but Masequah knew better.

Masequah would always deny that he had any mysterious powers. Over and over again, he would remind his friends that no storm covers all the earth, and that every storm has its edges just as the lake does, or like the shadow of a fleecy cloud on a sunny day.

No matter how often he told them that the edge of the storm had moved away from the lake, most of his friends still insisted that it was a miracle. Even Pyan, who believed that his father was wise and truthful, sometimes wondered.

This story was told to the author by Barney Mason, a Canadian Scout, who had learned it from living descendants of the Algonquin Tribe.

5. CHARACTER

SLEEPING BEAR MAKES A MISTAKE

The Montagnais village of the great Northern forest was large with many fine wigwams. The village had been built in a meadow near a great lake, and the smell of woodfires was always in the air, as the smoke curled skyward from each wigwam. It was a busy time of year for the Montagnais because winter would soon be upon them. Families were repairing their homes and making new clothing for the winter months.

It was on one of these busy days that Bald Eagle informed his family that he believed they should build a new wigwam. So the work was organized. First Bald Eagle selected a good place to build it. Then he scratched lines on the ground to show where the frame would be set. Having cut saplings and put them in place, bending the ends to make arches for the roof, he bound them together with withes made from a peeled basswood sapling about three fingers thick that bent very easily. The making of these withes had fallen to Sleeping Bear, Bald Eagle’s son. It is about this job that our story is concerned.

When Sleeping Bear was asked to make the withes, he was proud. This was the first time his father had ever asked him to do such an important job. Dashing off into the forest, he came upon a young basswood sapling about three fingers thick. Taking his knife from its beaded sheath, he proceeded to cut the sapling. The flint blade of his knife did a very neat job and he soon had the young sapling down and trimmed.

Then Sleeping Bear set to work to strip the bark from the sapling. When he had all the bark peeled away, he dashed home to show his father what good work he had done.

Bald Eagle smiled. “That is fine, my son, but now we must have the withes to tie the ends of the frame together.”

Sleeping Bear squatted upon the ground and began to cut thin strips from the basswood. He worked very carefully until he had cut a very, very thin strip from the sapling. Then he cut another and another, until he had a good supply. Picking them all up, he walked to where his father was working and proudly he said:

“Here, father, are the strips you can use for withes.”

Without looking up, Bald Eagle said, “That is fine, my son. How many have you cut for me?”

“I have cut about thirty,” said Sleeping Bear.

Bald Eagle looked up. Reaching toward his son’s outstretched hands, he grasped the basswood strips.

“These will make very fine fishing lines, my son, but they are much too thin for withes. You must make them thicker, so that they will hold the frame in the position we want.” Handing the strips back to Sleeping Bear, Bald Eagle smiled and continued to work upon the frame of the wigwam.

Sadly, Sleeping Bear turned and headed back into the forest to find more basswood saplings. As he walked along, he was not thinking about the basswood, but about how foolish he had felt when his father told him that the strips he had cut were too thin. He kicked at the pebbles and was very angry with himself. He did not realize that he had walked quite a distance from the village, until suddenly it got very dark.

Looking up, Sleeping Bear realized that he was close to the swamp area and that he must have come quite a distance. Slowly, he turned and started back along the trail looking to either side for basswood saplings. Finally, he saw two or three set back in the forest a short way. Leaving the trail, he reached the saplings and started to cut them down and trim them. He had out two when there was a low growl behind him. Turning, he saw a bear standing on his hind feet and testing the air for scent with his snout.

Sleeping Bear was suddenly very frightened. Crouching low to the ground, he began to edge his way toward the path again. Soon he reached the path. Then he began to run until he was safe in the camp once again. Dashing up to his father he stood a minute catching his breath, and then he blurted out the story of the bear.

Bald Eagle put his arm around his son’s shoulders and said:

“You see how much trouble can be brought on by one foolish mistake? If you had watched your father carefully, you would have known how to make a withe the right thickness. Because you were angry, you did not look for basswood saplings close to home, but wandered deep into the forest and almost became the dinner of brother bear. Rushing to escape the bear, you left your basswood saplings behind. So the task of making withes begins all over again. Be careful, my son, that when you do something, you do it right, or if you make a mistake, you do not waste time brooding over it. Better to accept it and go forth to do the job better.”

And so Sleeping Bear learned a great lesson that day.

THE LESSON OF THE ELM TREE

A small Cherokee lad by the name of White Eagle lived with his father and mother on the shores of a large lake in the Appalachian Mountains. He was a lad of about eleven years. His father, Great Eagle, was known in the tribe as one of the bravest of warriors. In this Cherokee tribe there was much talk of war with other tribes, and the tribe’s highest honors and respect always went to the bravest and most daring warrior.

Not many suns away lived another woodlands tribe, the Eries. This story concerns a young captive from this Erie tribe and White Eagle, the Cherokee boy.

Very rarely did any tribe go so far afield in its hunting, but this one winter food was very scarce for the Cherokees and they traveled quite a distance north in search of additional game. They moved into the hunting grounds of the Iroquois, quickly made their kills, and started for home. On their way, they came upon an Erie boy whom Great Eagle decided to bring home to his tepee as a brother to his son.

The Cherokee tribe lived in a sentry-patrolled, fortified village. When Little Frog, as the Erie lad was called, first saw the village, he was frightened. He realized that he was near the entire tribe of fearful Cherokees whose wars his father had often recounted to him. Great Eagle sensed the boy’s fear and laid his hand gently on his shoulder. Great Eagle took him to his home and introduced him to White Eagle. White Eagle was pleased to have a boy of his own age to play with in his own wigwam. That night there was much dancing and merry-making to celebrate the successful hunting raid into the Iroquois lands.

The following morning Great Eagle roused the boys to tell them that today they would go in search of small game to improve their shooting ability. Each boy was given a small amount of food, and they started off for the forest with Great Eagle. Little Frog began to look upon Great Eagle as his father and felt happy. His own father had been killed in an early tribal raid.

As they padded through the forest, they could hear the cry of wild birds and every now and then the snapping of a twig. Great Eagle signaled with his hand for the two youngsters to wait. Then he moved off to the side to investigate the noise; but once again he returned to the trail, indicating that the game they were after was not to be seen.

When the sun had risen high in the heavens, Great Eagle decided they would sit and rest and eat some food. As they were eating, Little Frog asked White Eagle, “Do you often travel with your father?” White Eagle replied, “Right now I am being trained by my father to become a great warrior.”

The Erie boy was very much impressed with this and thought of himself how wonderful it would be if he had a father. White Eagle then asked Little Frog, “Do you miss your village and your people?” “No,” Little Frog replied, “because in my village I was not wanted by anyone. My father had been killed in battle. My mother died of a great sickness and I was cast out of my father’s wigwam by a new brave. I was made to work for myself to get food and to live as best I could.” White Eagle realized then how lucky he was to have such a fine warrior father as Great Eagle.

After drinking some water to wash down the dried deer meat, Great Eagle arose and the boys stood up quickly, and they started forward. The brave signaled the boys to follow him more softly now. Little Eagle noticed that they were approaching a stream where beaver had built their dams and homes. As they approached the stream, Great Eagle pointed to the brush where the boys should wait while he looked about for the beaver. Not having seen any, Great Eagle returned to where the boys were hidden and told them they would start back to the village and search for wild turkeys and rabbits. White Eagle felt a slight disappointment at not having been able to try out his new arrows on the beaver, but he trusted the wisdom of his father. So he and Little Frog returned along the trail with Great Eagle.

When they had almost reached the edge of the forest, Great Eagle stopped and pointed into the brush at the side of the trail. There, crouching in hiding, was a small cotton-tail rabbit. Quickly, White Eagle raised his bow and let fly an arrow. The rabbit took one leap and fell dead. White Eagle was so excited that he danced up and down, shouting at the top of his lungs that he had made his kill. Great Eagle quieted his son and then looked slowly in Little Frog’s direction. Approaching the rabbit, Great Eagle noticed that two arrows had struck it. He knew that Little Frog must have shot his arrow at the same time as White Eagle. White Eagle and Little Frog began to argue about whose arrow had really killed the rabbit. Naturally, each claimed that his arrow had made the kill.

Great Eagle was at a loss as to just what to do. He was always fair in his decisions and did not want to favor one boy over the other, especially because it involved his son. So Great Eagle said, “Let us agree; say that each of your arrows shared in killing the rabbit, for I can see that you are both like stubborn elm trees—and you are both better with your bows than I had thought.”

With that, Great Eagle picked up the rabbit and put it in his pouch and the three of them started for home. Both boys seemed quite happy now that Great Eagle had made the decision. However, that night Little Frog leaned over in his bed and tapped White Eagle’s shoulder. “White Eagle,” he said, “what does your father mean when he says we are like the stubborn elm?” “Tomorrow morning,” said White Eagle, “I will show you what my father meant.” With that the boys went to sleep.

The following morning when they arose, Little Frog was impatient to learn why Great Eagle had called them stubborn like the elm, and he quickly reminded White Eagle of his promise of the night before. Hand in hand, they started for the great forest. As they went along, White Eagle kept breaking branches of the different trees along the way. Little Frog was imitating White Eagle as they walked until they came upon a small young elm tree. White Eagle did his best to break the elm tree, but all it did was bend. Then Little Frog tried to help him break the tree; but despite their weight and strength, it still only bent.

Just then they heard a voice behind them and Great Eagle stepped up and placed his hands on the shoulders of both boys.

“Now,” he said, “you have found the reason why I called you stubborn as the elm. Many, many of the trees of the forest can be broken and forced to the earth. But the elm tree will bend and not break unless the strength of several braves is put upon it. So it is with two proud young Indian boys who both believe they are right, putting their equal strength against each other in an argument. Neither gives way, just as the elm will not give away. If I attempted to add my strength on either side of the argument, the other might have bent to the earth like the elm if we all put our weight upon it. So remember this tree. As long as you believe honestly that you are right, you can be strong and straight like the elm tree; but once you leave the path of truth and wisdom you become weak and brittle, and your enemy can bow you to the ground in shame and defeat.”

This story was told to the author by James Ariga, a boy of part Cherokee blood, at the Ten Mile River Scout Reservation in the year 1947.

THE RACE

Winter had come to the many Indian villages in the northeastern woodlands, and with it, the snow, the wind, and the cold. The winter was so severe that even the strongest braves hesitated to wander far from their villages, knowing that death could overtake an adventurous brave if a sudden blizzard should catch him far from familiar ground.

This story is about two such adventurous young Oneida Indians that winter. Naltan and Ceysoda were outstanding young boys of their tribe. Time and time again before winter set in, they had taken part in the games and contests of the tribe, and one or the other had won each time. This had continued until the other young boys in the village decided that Naltan and Ceysoda were just too good for them, and that something must be done to prevent their running away with all the prizes.

So one fall day, when they were sure that Ceysoda and Naltan were not around, all the youngsters gathered to discuss a plan. On the following day, there were to be foot races in the village. The group plotted that at the start of the foot race, two of the faster young braves would trip Naltan and Ceysoda so that they would fall and thus be put out of the race. The boys who had tripped them would be scored out of the race, too, but at least they would have the satisfaction of knowing that someone besides Naltan and Ceysoda would win the foot race for a change.

Just at that moment they saw Naltan coming around one of the wigwams, and they all started walking away in different directions. Naltan walked up to one of the leaders of the group and asked:

“What have I missed, friend Beartooth? Ceysoda and I have been busy repairing and sharpening our hunting weapons. We did not know that there was to be a meeting of all the boys of the village.”

Beartooth was quick to recover from his surprise and then in a very calm voice said:

“Oh, Naltan, that was no meeting of all the boys. It was merely a few of us talking about the foot races tomorrow and the weather. It has been very cold, and soon winter will be here with her snow and winds and bitter cold. Tomorrow we are going to have the foot races. So we were talking about who we thought would be victorious.”

“Do you think there are any among you who can defeat Ceysoda and me in the foot race, Beartooth? If you do, you had better forget about it,” Naltan boasted. “Ceysoda and I will win the race tomorrow, as we always do.”

“We shall see,” said Beartooth with a note of warning in his voice. “We shall see.” Then he turned and walked away from Naltan toward his father’s wigwam.

Naltan shrugged his shoulders and, thinking no more about it, dashed off to find Ceysoda. He looked all around the camp and finally found him practicing with his bow and arrow a short distance from the village. Naltan told him what Beartooth had said. Ceysoda was silent for a few moments, thinking.

“Naltan, my friend,” he said, “I have a strange feeling that our brothers plot against us. I have no good reason for feeling this way, but I can’t help it. For some reason our friends have planned a way to make us lose the race. What it is and how I know I cannot tell you, but the feeling is upon me.”

“You are foolish, Ceysoda. The fact that we have won many contests and games from our friends surely wouldn’t give them a reason to plot any harm.”

“I do not say that they want to harm us; but in some way they will try to make sure we do not win the foot races tomorrow. Wait and see, Naltan.”

The two boys spoke no further and soon it was time to return to their wigwams for the evening meal. When Naltan and his father had finished eating, Naltan told his father that he would like to get his advice. So father and son sat down by the blazing coals of the fire in the middle of their wigwam.

“Father,” Naltan began, “today Ceysoda told me that our friends were planning some trick to make us lose in the foot race tomorrow. He also said that he did not know why he had this feeling, but he did have it. Surely, father, our friends would not try to harm us?”

“No, my son, I do not believe that your friends would want to harm you, but is there any reason that you would have to believe that what your friend Ceysoda tells you might be true?”

“No, father, there isn’t anything—yes, wait a minute! There might be. Late this afternoon when Ceysoda and I had finished working on our bows, I went down to Beartooth’s wigwam to borrow some thongs for my moccasins. Just as I reached the small clearing near Beartooth’s home, I saw almost all of our friends gathered together talking; but when they saw me they scattered, each one heading for his own home. When I questioned Beartooth about it, he said that they had been talking about the coming winter and the foot races tomorrow, and had just finished when I arrived.”

“Well, do not worry about it, my son. Whoever is strongest and fastest will win tomorrow. It will soon be time for bed. Go out and play for a little while, but when your mother calls, come to bed, for you will need your rest for the foot races.” With that Naltan’s father rose to leave.

“You know, father, my thoughts became so confused when I saw the crowd of boys that I forgot to ask Beartooth for the thongs. I will go down now before he goes to sleep so that I may work a little more on my bow tonight before I go to sleep.”

Naltan left his home and walked quickly to Beartooth’s home. As he neared Beartooth’s wigwam he heard voices. Beartooth was talking to one of the other young braves. “Yes, that’s right,” he was saying, “make sure that you are next to Naltan at the start of the race tomorrow. When the signal is given, pretend to trip so that you will fall against Naltan and tumble him to the ground. I will do the same to Ceysoda. Then we can be sure that someone else will win the race.”

Naltan decided that he did not need the extra thong that night, but hurried to see his friend, Ceysoda. Reaching the wigwam where he lived, he called until Ceysoda came to the entrance.

“What do you want, Naltan? It is late and I am tired. I was just about to go to bed.”

“Ceysoda, I have discovered what our friends plan for us tomorrow.” Naltan repeated what he had heard at Beartooth’s wigwam. When he had finished, he waited to see how Ceysoda would take the news. He did not have to wait long, for suddenly Ceysoda’s face took on an angry look. “Those crawling mud worms,” he cried. “Have they become so jealous because they cannot win at the games and contests that they have to use trickery against us? I knew that the feeling I had was a true one. Now we know exactly what they are going to do. But how can we prevent this from happening tomorrow, Naltan?”

“I have a plan,” said Naltan. “Tomorrow when we line up for the race we will ask that the others be given a slight lead over us because we have won so many races. We should be able to tell by what they say to that whether or not they would still try to carry out such a plan.”

“That is a very good idea, Naltan,” said Ceysoda, yawning. “Now I must say goodnight, for I am tired, and we have some hard running ahead of us tomorrow.”

The boys said goodnight. Ceysoda turned back into his wigwam and Naltan started to go home to his own bed. On the way, he wondered whether he should tell his father what had happened. He decided to handle this in his own way, without the help of any adults.

The following day was very crisp and cool. Off to the northwest clouds warned that a snowstorm might be building up. But everyone was too excited to take much notice of anything besides the preparations going on all around for the big foot race. Fathers and sons together made the final inspection of the boys’ clothing for the big race. The boys’ moccasins especially were looked over carefully for any weak spots where the leather might break. A torn moccasin could mean lost time and a lost race.

At last, the call went up through the village for all who were entering the race to gather at the starting line just outside the village on the border of a great meadow. The young boys gathered, joined by their proud fathers, each of whom hoped that his son would cross the finish line first and win the beautiful bone-handled hunting knife which the tribe’s medicine man had offered as the first prize.

When all the contestants had gathered at the starting line, the warrior in charge of the race began to give instructions. He called for the attention of all the runners. At that moment, Ceysoda and Naltan stepped forward and asked that they be allowed to start ten paces behind the others so that this could be a more even race. There were many shouts from the other boys that Ceysoda and Naltan were only boasting. They said that they wanted the two boys to start with them. If Ceysoda and Naltan won the race, all well and good! But if they had to start back and lost the race then someone would always complain that it was not an even race. The warrior in charge then made his decision.

“I believe,” he said, “that Naltan and Ceysoda are being very fair. So far they have won all foot races by a great margin. Now they offer to start late in order to give every one of you a better chance to win. I have no doubt that many of you have been practicing hard for this event, but these two have been practicing just as hard. So it would be a very unfair race unless I did give them a handicap to even up the chances for you all.”