In Indian Tents

STORY OF STURGEON

“This story,” said old Louisa, “is from ’way, ’way back, ever so long ago;” and indeed it seemed to me that it was so old that only fragments of it remained; but I give it as best I can.

Many, many years ago there were three tribes of Indians living not far apart: the Crows, Kā-kā-gūs, the Sturgeons “Hā-bāh-so,” and the Minks, “Mūs-bes-so.” These tribes were all at war, one with the other, and the Minks, being very crafty and cunning, as well as brave, at last conquered the other tribes, and drove them forth in opposite directions.

Now the followers of Kā-kā-gūs found their way to a dry and desert region where they died of hunger and thirst; the tribe of Hā-bāh-so found plenty of food, but were overtaken by a pestilence which destroyed all but the old chief and his grandson. Meantime, the Minks found that the game had been expelled with the enemy, and they suffered greatly from hunger.

Old Sturgeon, as I said, had enough and more than enough to eat. He and his grandson built an “āgonal,” a storehouse of the old style, which they filled to overflowing with smoked fish and dried meat.

Mink, hearing of this, sent a messenger to investigate. He was well received, and fed with the best. The Mink himself determined to pay the old man a visit, knowing that enemy though he was, he would be kindly treated while a guest, according to Indian etiquette. He asked Sturgeon where he got all his supplies, and was told that they came from the far north. Then he said, “Are you alone here?” “Yes,” said Hā-bāh-so, “except my grandson;” pointing to a huge Sturgeon who lay flopping by the fire.

Next day when Mūs-bes-so left, he was loaded with as much meat as he could carry. When he got home, he told his story, and suggested to his five daughters that one of them should marry Sturgeon’s grandson, who would keep them in plenty for the rest of their lives. So the girls set out to visit the enemy in turn, and each returned saying, “I would not think of marrying that monster. If ever I marry, I shall choose a man, and not a fish, for a husband.” So it went until it came to the youngest girl. She entered Sturgeon’s wigwam and, without a word, made herself at home, began to arrange the bed and cook the food. When night fell, and she did not return, her father rejoiced, for he knew she had married young Sturgeon.

She, meantime, had waked at night to find a handsome youth beside her, who, with the first rays of daylight, again became a fish. They were very happy together and knew no care. Every morning she found a supply of the choicest game or fish at the door, and in due time she became the mother of a lovely boy.

Her husband proposed to visit her family to exhibit this new treasure, to which she gladly acceded. He told her that there was but one difficulty; namely, that she would have to carry him as well as the baby. She made no objection, and they set forth. When they were almost in sight of the Mink village, the young man was turned to a big Sturgeon, which his wife shouldered, taking the baby in her arms.

The old Minks were delighted to see her; but the sisters laughed and sneered at Sturgeon, and despised their sister for being willing to accept such a husband. They were very glad, nevertheless, to accept the supplies of food which he provided every day; and their contempt was turned to envy when they awaked one night and saw him in his human form. They then began to plot how they might kill their sister and take her place; but Sturgeon, learning their plans, comforted his distressed wife, promising to punish her wicked sisters, whom he did indeed turn into turtles, in which condition they led a moist and disagreeable life.

After this, he felt that it was time for him to go; so he furnished his father-in-law with enough provisions to last a year, and set forth on his return journey with his wife and son.

Before they had gone far, they saw in the distance Kosq’, the Heron, coming towards them. Now Kosq’ had been a suitor of Mistress Mink before she married Sturgeon, and the latter knew him to be bent on vengeance. He told his wife that she must help him, for Kosq’ had great power, and it would not be easy to overcome him. Together they built a circular wigwam, in which they shut themselves, Kosq’ prowling about outside, each determined not to stir from the spot until the other yielded to starvation.

Mistress Mink dug in the earth at one side of the wigwam, the bed being on the other side, and the fire-place in the middle. She dug until a stream of water flowed forth which not only gave them drink, but which contained various insects and small creatures which satisfied their hunger.

Kosq’ outside dug with his long bill and found little or nothing, this inner stream attracting all upon which he otherwise might have fed. So he flew thither and thither, weaker and weaker, and ever and again he cried to Hā-bāh-so: “Will you give up, now?” “No, no,” was the reply; “I am strong and well.”

Finally, poor Kosq’, determined not to yield, died of sheer hunger, and Hā-bāh-so, with his brave wife and child, came from the wigwam, went back to their old grandfather, and in time built up a village.

GRANDFATHER KIAWĀKQ’

As I was sitting with old Louisa I showed her an African amulet which I was wearing, made of pure jade, inscribed with cabalistic characters to ward off the evil eye. Thinking to make it clear to her Indian understanding, I told her that it was to keep off m’tēūlin, sorcerers, and kiawākq’ (legendary giants with hearts of ice, and possessed of cannibalistic tastes). She looked very grave, and told me that I did well to wear it, for there were a great many kiawākq’ in the region of York Harbor where we were; it was a famous place for them, although they usually chose a colder place, somewhere far away, where it was winter almost all the year. This subject once started, she went on to tell me of an adventure of her father.

Years ago when he was first married, and had but one child, a boy about two years old, it was his habit to go with his family, in a canoe, in the late autumn, and camp out far up north in Canada, in search of furs and skins for purposes of trade. He would build a large comfortable wigwam in some convenient place, and stay all winter. One year, while hunting, he came across a deep footprint in the snow, three or four times as large as that of any man. He knew it was the track of a kiawākq’, and in terror retraced his steps, and thenceforth carefully avoided going in that direction. In spite of this precaution, however, the creature scented him out; for while he was away from the lodge, a huge monster entered, stooping low to enter, and making himself much smaller than his natural size, as such creatures have the power to do. The poor woman, alone there with her child, knew him for what he was, and knew that her only hope of escape lay in hiding her fear, so she addressed him as her father, and offered him a seat, telling the little boy to go and speak to his grandfather. She cooked food for kiawākq’, warmed him, and paid him every attention. When her husband returned, she said to him that her father had come to visit them, and he, too, welcomed the monster, who remained with them all winter, going out to hunt, and bringing back moose, bear, and other big game, which the man dressed for him. He seldom spoke; but she often saw him look greedily at the baby, and sometimes he would put one of the boy’s fingers in his mouth, as if he could not resist the temptation to bite off the dainty morsel; but he always let the little fellow go unharmed at last. It was no use for the family to think of escape, as he could so easily have overtaken them; and, if angered, they knew that he would destroy them.

Towards spring he told them that the time had come for them to go. He said that his little finger told him that another and mightier kiawākq’¹¹ was on his way to fight with him. “You have been good to me,” he said, “and I wish to save you. If my enemy conquers me, he will destroy you; so you must go now, before he sees you. If I live, I will come to your village.”

So the man with his wife and child got into the canoe and paddled away. After a while they heard the other kiawākq’ coming afar off, for he tore up great trees as he came and flung them about like straws, and uttered terrible roars. Then they heard the noise of the awful fight; but fear lent speed to their canoe, and they at last lost all sound of the dreadful kiawākq’.

They never saw their big friend again, and therefore felt sure that he had perished; but they never dared to go back to that camping ground again.

“So you see,” said Louisa, “that the kiawākq’ really saved the life of my family.”¹²

OLD GOVERNOR JOHN

All summer I had not succeeded in coaxing a single story out of Louisa; but last week she said, “You come Sunday, I tell you a story.” This seemed to be because I told her I was going away. Sunday, when I took my seat in the tent, she said, looking very hard at me, “This is a true story; it is about her great, great grandfather,”¹³ pointing to her daughter Susan, “Old Governor John Neptune. He was a witch.” I had often heard from other Indians tales of old Governor Neptune’s magic powers. “He was such a witch that all the other witches (m’tēūlin) were jealous of him, and they tried to beat him. He fell sick, and he could not lift his head; so he said to his oldest daughter (he had three daughters), ‘Give me some of your hair.’ She did so, and he bound his arrowheads and spear with it, and strung his bow with the long, strong black hair. Pretty soon the earth began to heave and rock under him. His daughter told him of it, and he took his spear and stuck it into the ground just where it was beginning to break. He thrust it in so deep that his arm went into the earth up to the elbow, and when he drew it out the iron was bloody. ‘Now I feel better,’ he said; and he sat up, took his bow and shot an arrow straight into the air. Then he told his old lady to make ready and come with him, but not to be afraid. They went to Great Lake; he told her again not to be scared, took off all his clothes, and slipped into the lake in the shape of a great eel. Presently the water was troubled and muddy, and a huge snake appeared. The two fought long and hard; but at last the old lady saw her husband standing before her again, smeared with slime from head to foot. He ordered her to pour fresh water on him, and wash him clean, for now he had conquered all his enemies. From that day forth they had great good luck in everything. This was in his youth, before he became governor of the Indians of Maine.

“One time in midwinter his wife had a terrible longing for green corn, and she told him. He went to the fireplace, rolled up some strips of bark, laid them in the ashes, and began to sing a low song. After a while he told her to go and get her corn, and there lay the ears all nicely roasted. He used to make quarters, too. He would cut little round bits of paper, put them to his mouth, breathe on them, then lay them down and cover them with his hand. By and by he would lift his hand with a silver quarter in it.” I remarked that he ought to have been a rich man; but Louisa said, “Oh, he didn’t make many, just a few now and then. When he was out hunting in the woods with a party and the tobacco gave out, they would see him fussing round after they went to bed, and then he would hand out a big cake of tobacco.”

Louisa said several times, as if she thought me incredulous, “This is a true story; the old lady told me about the corn herself, and she was the mother of my brother Joe Nicola’s wife. She was a witch, too.”

I asked Louisa when and how the Indians learned to make baskets and she said they always knew. When Glūs-kābé went away, he told the ash-tree and the birch that they must provide for his children; and so they always had, by furnishing the stuff for baskets and canoes.

K’CHĪ GESS’N, THE NORTHWEST WIND

When he was a baby he was stolen by “Pūkjinsquess,”¹⁴ and taken to a far-off lonely country inhabited by invisible people. His first recollection was of lying under the “k’chīquelsowe mūsikūk,” or frog-bushes.¹⁵

He rose, and, seeing a path, followed it until he reached a wigwam. When he lifted the door, he saw no one, but heard a voice say: “Come in, ‘nītāp.’ ”¹⁶

He went in, and the voice said: “If you will be friends with me, I will be friends with you, and help you in the future.”

He looked about him, but saw nothing but a little stone pipe. He picked it up, and put it in his bosom, saying: “This must be the one who spoke to me.”

Then he went out and followed the path still farther. He heard the cry of a baby, so he hid behind a tree. The sound came nearer. Soon he saw a hideous old woman with a baby on her back, which she was beating. This roused his temper, and he shot her with his bow and arrow. She proved to be Pūkjinsquess, and the baby was his brother, whom she had stolen from his father, the great East Wind.

He put the baby in his bosom, and kept on his way. The baby said to him: “There is a camp ahead of us, but you must not go in, for the people are bad.”

To this he paid no heed; and when he came to a large, well-built wigwam, he was eager to see who the bad folks were. He found a crack, and looking through it, he saw a good looking man, with cheeks as red as blood, who said: “Come in, friend.”

They talked and smoked for some time; then the strange man, whose name was Sūwessen, the Southwest Wind, said: “Let us wash ourselves and paint our cheeks.” They did so, and then kept on talking; but every few moments the good-looking man would start up and say: “Let us wash ourselves.”¹⁷

In the evening two beautiful girls (daughters of Southwest Wind) came in and began to make merry with them; but this tired the Northwest Wind, and he fell asleep. As soon as he was sound asleep, Sūwessen took a long pole and tossed him like a ball,¹⁸ saying: “Go where you came from.”

At this, the Wind woke and found himself at the same point from which he had started as a baby. Angry and discouraged, he felt in his bosom to see if the stone pipe and his brother were safe; and finding them there, he threw them on a big rock, and killed both in his rage. Then he resumed his journey, but took a different course. He now travelled towards the east, where his father lived.

As he crossed a hill, he saw a lake shining in the valley below. He turned towards it; but before he reached it, he came to a much travelled path, which led him to a wigwam, on entering which he saw a very old woman. She cried: “Oh, my grandchild, you are in a very dangerous place. I pity you, for few leave here alive. You had better be off. Across the lake lives your grandfather. If you can swim, you may escape; but be sure, when you near the beach, to go backward and fill your tracks with sand.”

He did as she directed; but as he approached the water, he heard a loud, strange sound, which came nearer and nearer. It was the great M’dāsmūs, the mystic dog, barking at him.

He plunged into the water, thus causing M’dāsmūs to lose the trail and give up the chase.

Northwest Wind went back to his grandmother; but she avoided him, saying: “You are very wicked; only a few days ago, I heard news in the air, that you had killed your brother, also your friend, the Little Stone Pipe.”

Once more he plunged into the lake, and this time reached the farther shore in safety. There he found his grandfather, “M’Sārtū,” the Eastern Star. (The Indians believe this to be the slowest and clumsiest of all the stars.)

The great M’Sārtū welcomed him: “My dear grandson, I see that you still live; but you are very wicked. I hear in the air that you have killed your brother, also your friend, the Little Stone Pipe. I also hear that you have lost your Bird ‘Wābīt’ and your Rabbit. But, my child, you are in a most perilous place. The great Beaver destroys anything and everything that comes this way. If you need help, cry aloud to me. Perhaps I can aid you.”

As soon as night came on, the water began to rise rapidly, compelling Northwest Wind to climb into a tree. The Beaver soon found him out, and gnawed the tree with his sharp teeth. Northwest Wind thought his end was near, and called aloud: “Grandpa, come!”

M’Sārtū answered: “I’m getting up.”

“Come, Grandpa!”

“I am up now.”

“Oh, Grandpa, do come!”

“I am putting on my coat.”

“Hurry, Grandpa!”

“I put my hands in the sleeves.”

By this time the tree was almost gnawed through, and the water was rising higher and higher.

He called again: “Come, Grandpa, come!”

“I have just got my coat on.”

“Make haste, Grandpa!”

“I will put on my hat.”

“Hurry, Grandpa!”

“I have my hat on.”

“Make haste, Beaver has almost reached me!”

“I am going to my door.”

“Faster, Grandpa!”

“Wait till I get my cane.”

“Be quick, Grandpa!”

“I am raising my door.”

At this, daylight began to break, the water went down slowly, and the Beaver departed.

The Wind’s Grandfather had saved him.

He hastened to the old man, who told him that close by there was a large settlement, whose chief was the Great “Culloo.”¹⁹

“It is he that stole your Rabbit and your Bird Wābīt.”

Northwest Wind now turned his footsteps toward the west. He soon heard a chopping, and came where there were many men felling trees. He asked how far it was to their village, and they replied: “From sunrise till noon,” meaning half a day’s journey.

Then he met men with feathers on their heads, and he asked these where their village was, where they were going, and what they were doing.

One of them said: “We are hunting game for our great chief, Culloo.”

While he was talking with one of the men the rest went on, and Northwest Wind said: “You had better turn back with me, for I am going to visit your chief, Culloo.”

“How shall I disguise myself so that he may not know me?”

“I will do that for you,” said the Wind. He took him by the hair, and pulled out all the feathers.

“Now we can visit the chief.”

When they reached the village and were going into “Māli Moninkwesswōl,” Mistress Molly Woodchuck’s hole, she shrieked aloud. By this the chief knew that she was visited by strangers, so he sent servants to learn who was there. They returned and said, “Two very handsome youths.”

At this, every young woman in the village went at once to see them, the chief’s daughters with the rest; and these latter fell in love with the strangers and married them.

Northwest Wind said to his new friend: “When we go with our wives to their father’s wigwam, they will put a Rabbit under your pillow, and under mine, a Bird; then I will turn myself into a Raven. Do you seize the Rabbit, I will take the Bird. Throw your arms about my neck, and hold fast to me.”

They did as he planned, and he flew out through the smoke-hole, crying: “ K’chī Jagawk.”

When he reached his grandfather, he found his wife there before him; for she had turned herself to Litŭswāgan, or Thought, the swiftest of all travellers.

The Eastern Star told Northwest Wind where he might find his father; then he took out his tobacco to fill his pipe.

“Oh, Grandpa, give me some of that.”

“No, my dear, I have had this ever since I was young, and I have but a small bit left.”

“Well, Grandpa, tell me where I may go to find it.”

“You cannot get it,” said M’Sārtū. “Away off on that high point where no trees grow, there is a smooth rock. On that rock you will see my footprints. Thence you will see a man looking about him all the time. He guards the spot so faithfully that none may pluck a leaf.”

Northwest Wind at once set out in search of the tobacco. He found his grandfather’s tracks on the rock, and, gazing eastward, he saw a man looking in every direction. This was a powerful Witch, who had never been conquered.

Every time the Witch turned his back, the Wind crept a little nearer, until he was within a few feet of his enemy. When the Witch turned and found the Wind close behind him, he asked, in a voice so terrible that it cracked the rocks, what he wanted there.

“I want a piece of tobacco,” said the Wind.

The Witch gave him a pinch of dust.

“I don’t want that,” said the Wind. “Give me better.”

At this the Witch seized him, and tried to throw him over the cliff where there were piles of bones of his victims. As he threw him off, the Wind again became a Raven, sailed about in the air, until he got the tobacco leaves, then hastened back to his grandfather.

The Eastern Star was so pleased that he called his old friend the Great Grasshopper to come and share with him. “N’jāls,” the Grasshopper, had no pipe but he chewed tobacco.²⁰

The Northwest Wind then set out to visit his father, the great East Wind, but found that he had been dead so long that the ground had sunk four feet, and the wigwam was all decayed. He called in a loud voice, summoning the Hearts of All the Trees to help him build a wigwam fit for a mighty chief.

Instantly, thousands of tiny beings appeared, and in a short time a wigwam was built, made from the stripped trees, all shining. A tall pole was fastened to the top, with a large nest for his Bird and a basket at the bottom of the pole. Every time the Bird sang, the beautiful “Wābap”²¹ dropped from his beak into the basket.

The great East Wind came to life again, and the Northwest Wind’s son was nearly a year old. It was hard to get firewood to keep the old man and the child warm, for the snow was very deep and fell nearly every day; so the Northwest Wind said to his father: “I am going to stop this; I cannot stand it any longer. I will fight the great North Wind.”

He bade his wife prepare a year’s supply of snowshoes and moccasins; when they were ready, he moved with his warriors, the Hearts of All the Trees, against the North Wind, whose army was made up of the Tops of the Trees.

Snow fell throughout the battle, for K’taiūk (Cold), was the ally of the North Wind, and the carnage was fearful.

At last the East Wind told his daughter-in-law to make moccasins and snowshoes for the child, and he gave the little one a partridge feather, a part of the tail. In an instant, the child received his magic power from his grandfather. The snow about the camp melted away, and the boy followed his father. As he shovelled the snow with his feather, it melted. The little boy is the South Wind.

When he reached his father, the father was buried in snow, which melted at the child’s approach. Thus the North Wind was conquered, and agreed, if they would spare his life, to make his visits less frequent and shorter. Now the North Wind only comes in winter.