In Indian Tents

BIG BELLY

There was once an old hunter called “Mawquejess,” who always carried a kettle to cook his “michwāgan,” food. When he killed an animal, he would build a wigwam on the spot, and stay there until the meat was all eaten. He always made it into soup, and called it, “M’Kessābūm,” my soup. He had eaten soup until his stomach was distended to a monstrous size. From this he took his name of Mawquejess, Big Belly.

One day he saw a wigwam, and went to the door to see who lived in it. He found a boy, who made friends with him and invited him in; but the door was too small for his big stomach, and the boy was forced to remove the side of the wigwam to accommodate it.

They were very happy together and Mawquejess did nothing but care for the camp, while the boy did the hunting. At last Mawquejess told the boy to go to a certain place and kill a white bear.

His intention was, if he could get a white bear-skin, to marry a chief’s daughter. The chief had offered her to any one who would kill a white bear and bring him the skin.²²

The boy tried to kill the bear for Mawquejess, but failed; and Mawquejess began to be discouraged; then he thought: “I will go myself.”

He found he was too big to get into the canoe. His legs dangled in the water so that he could not paddle, and he had to give it up. When the boy landed him, he made up his mind that the first time he could catch Mawquejess asleep, his friend should be cut open and the soup allowed to escape. So he sharpened his stone axe and quickly cut his friend open; a large stream of soup flowed out. Mawquejess awoke, crying: “M’Kessābūmisā!” (Alas, my soup!) He went on crying and mourning until the boy said: “You had better stop crying and try to kill the white bear.”

Next day they started; he got into the canoe quite easily, and they killed the white bear the first time of trying.

“Now,” said Mawquejess, “we will go to the village, to the playground of the boys. When they come to play, I will try to kill the chief’s son [Sāgmasis].”

When they got there, the boys came to play as usual. Mawquejess, who was hiding behind a bush, struck the young chief and killed him at the first blow.

The rest fled. Then he skinned the young chief, and put on the skin himself, thus appearing like a war chief. He called his little friend to follow with the bear-skin. Together they went to the great chief’s wigwam, where the bear-skin was accepted, and, according to ancient custom, a big dance was given to celebrate the marriage. It lasted for many nights.

“Pūkjinsquess,” the chief’s wife, mistrusted her new son-in-law from the first, and called the attention of others to him. About this time the skin which he had put on began to decay; and soon he stood revealed, no young chief, but Mawquejess himself.

They began to kick and beat him. Mawquejess called aloud to his little friend to help him; but his little friend could not help him, for he was running for his life, crying: “Let me always belong to the woods.”

Thus he was changed to a Partridge, and flew away; and his pursuers were forced to give up the chase.

Poor Mawquejess too cried out: “Let me be a crow;” and he was. He also flew away, saying: “Ca, ca, ca!” (I fly away); and so both escaped.

CHĪBALOCH, THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR

This being has no body, but head, legs, heart, and wings. He has power in his shriek, “wāsquīlāmitt,” to slay any who hear him. His claws are so huge and so strong that he can carry off a whole village at once. He is sometimes seen in the crotch of a tree, and often flies away with an Indian in his clutch. Some have become blind until sunset after seeing him.

In his fights with witches and kiawākq’, he always comes off victorious.

He never eats or drinks, but lives in a wigwam in mid-air. Once Wūchowsen, the great Wind Bird, went to visit him, saying: “I have always heard of you, but never had time to visit you; I have always been too busy.”

“Well,” said Chībaloch, “I am glad to see you, and like you very well. You are the first and only visitor I have ever had. I have but one fault to find with you. You move your wings a little too fast for me. Sometimes my wigwam is almost blown to pieces. I have to fly off for fear it will fall, and I shall be killed.”

“Well,” said Wūchowsen, “the only thing for you to do, is to move away. You are rather too near me. You are the nearest neighbor that I have. If I should stop flapping my wings, my people would all die.”

“I cannot move,” said Chībaloch; “that is the one thing that I cannot do. If you move your wings faster than I like, I will destroy you and all your people.”

“Ha, ha!” said Wūchowsen, “Glūs-kābé will defend me and mine.”

“There you are mistaken; for Glūs-kābé dare not fight me, and he does not like your wings any too well himself. He often says that he cannot go out in his canoe to kill wild fowl, because your wings go so fast. Did not Glūs-kābé visit you once and throw you down?”

“Yes, he did; but he soon came back and set me up again,” said the Wind Spirit.

STORY OF TEAM, THE MOOSE

There was once a young Indian, a very successful hunter. He always went off alone in the Fall, and came back in Spring loaded with fish and game. But once when he was off hunting, he began to feel lonely; and he said, “I wish I had a partner.” When he went back to his wigwam that night, the fire was burning, supper cooked, and everything ready for him, though he saw no one. When he had eaten, he fell asleep, being very tired, and on waking next morning found all in order and breakfast prepared. This went on for some days. The seventh night, on his return, he saw a woman in the wigwam. She did not speak, but made all comfortable, and when the work was done made her bed at one side opposite his. This lasted all Winter; she seldom or never spoke; but when Spring came, and it was time for him to return to his village, she said, “Remember me, always think of me, and do not marry another woman.” When he got home loaded with skins and meat, his father had chosen a wife for him; but he would have nothing to say to her. Next Fall he went back into the woods, and as he approached his wigwam, he saw smoke coming out of it, and when he entered, there sat the silent woman with a little boy at her side. She told him to shake hands with his father. Unlike most children, he was born large and strong enough to hunt with his father, and be of much help to him, so that they got a double quantity of game, and in the Spring the man went back to the village so rich that the Chief wanted him for a son-in-law; but still he remembered his partner’s words, “Do not forget me. Always think of me,” and held firm. On his return to the woods he found a second son. Thus he succeeded in getting more game than ever, and, alas, on going home to his village, he forgot his woodland mate, and, yielding to the solicitations of the Chief, married his daughter. In the Fall he took his wife, his father-in-law, and his own father to the woods with him, where this time they found not only the two boys but a little girl. The new wife gazed angrily at the mother and children saying, “You should have told me you had another wife.” “I have not,” answered the man. At these words the mother of the children rose up, saying, “I will leave my children with you; but you must treat them well. Be kind to them, give them plenty to eat and to wear, for you have abundance of everything. Never abuse them,” and she vanished.

The boys and men went hunting every day, and the little girl was left with her stepmother, who beat her and made a drudge of her. She bore it patiently as long as she could, but at last complained to her brothers, who promised to help her. Next day the stepmother took hot ashes from the fire and burnt her in several places, so that she cried aloud. Her father came in and remonstrated, all in vain. Then he consulted the old grandfather, who expressed regret, but advised him to wait patiently, that the woman might become better in time. So the brothers and sister resolved to run away; the boys slipped out first, and waited for the girl. When she, too, escaped, they fled; but any one who looked from the hut would only have seen three young moose bounding over the snow. When the father came home, he asked for the children; his wife said they had just stepped out; but when he went to look for them, he saw the moose tracks, and knew what had happened. He at once took his snowshoes and tomahawk, and started in pursuit of them. He travelled three days and three nights, always following the tracks. Every night, he saw where they had nibbled the bark from the trees and where they had rested in the snow. On the fourth day he came to a clearing where four moose were feeding, and he knew the children had found their mother. He struck his axe into a tree and hung his snowshoes on it, then went to her and pleaded to be allowed to go with them; so she turned him into a moose, and they journeyed away together. Meantime, his old father at home missed his son and his grandchildren, and went to look for them. He travelled three days and three nights, as his son had done, following the foot-prints and the tracks until, towards the fourth night, he saw the tomahawk in the tree, with the snowshoes hanging on it, recognized them as his son’s, saw that now there were the marks of five moose in the snow instead of three, and knew that he had come too late. He took down the axe and snowshoes, and went sadly home to tell the story.

These were the parents of all the moose that we see now. In old times the Indians used to turn into animals in this way.

THE SNAKE AND THE PORCUPINE

There were once two men who lived a long way apart: one was poor and had nothing but his hunting-grounds; the other was rich, but he wanted the poor man’s land. The poor man’s poohegan, or attendant spirit, was a snake; the rich man’s poohegan was a porcupine.

The Porcupine went to visit the Snake; but at first the Snake refused to let him in, saying: “I will stick my arrow into you.”

The Porcupine said: “Then I will stab you with my sword.”

The Snake said: “My arrow has only one barb; but it is a good one.” And he ran out his tongue to show the barb.

The Porcupine said: “My tail is full of swords; but I will guard them very carefully if you will let me come in, for my home is far away.”

The Snake said: “I am here with my children, and am very poor. It is not for the rich to come to the poor for help; but rather for the poor man to visit the rich. If one of my children were to go to your house, you would kill him. Then why do you come here?”

However, the Porcupine promised so fairly that the Snake at last let him in. All went well at first; but in the morning the Porcupine began to quarrel, killed the whole Snake family, and took possession of their land.²³

WHY THE RABBIT’S NOSE IS SPLIT

In old times the Red Headed Woodpecker once went to visit the Rabbit. He saw the Rabbit was very poor, and had nothing to eat, so he thought he would help him out. He took a green withe, tied it round his waist, and said: “Now I will catch some eels.”

He went to the side of a rotten tree, and pick, pick; Rabbit saw him pull out eel after eel,²⁴ and string them on a stick. When the stick was full, he brought them to camp and cooked them. When they were cooked, he and Rabbit ate supper, and felt happy. Then the Woodpecker took his leave, inviting Rabbit to return the visit soon.

In about three weeks Rabbit thought it was time he should accept this invitation, so he went to see Woodpecker. When he got there he said: “My turn now to get supper;” for he thought he could catch eels just as Woodpecker did.

He tied a withe about him, went to a tree, and pick, pick, pick, harder, then so hard that his nose was flattened and his lip split; but he caught no eels.

Old man Turtle was visiting Woodpecker at this same time. He took pity on Rabbit, tied the withe round his own body, and dived down into the lake, coming up with a back-load of eels.

Rabbit thought: “Well, I can do that. Turtle is a very good old fellow, I guess I will ask him to come over to see me.” So he said: “Come to see me where I live.”

Old man Turtle went to see Rabbit; but he is such a slow traveller, that when Rabbit saw him coming, he thought, “I shall have plenty of time to get the eels ready,” so he tied the withe round him, and jumped into the water, but every time he jumped, he bounced right back. He could not dive at all.

Turtle saw him, went to the lake. Rabbit said: “I have tried and tried; but I can’t get eels. I guess there are none here.”

The Turtle knew what the trouble was; but he only said: “Let me have the withe;” and in no time he brought up a back-load. They went home and cooked them; and Rabbit liked Turtle so well that they were good friends forever after.²⁵

STORY OF THE SQUIRREL

When great Glūskap, lord of men and beasts, had brought order out of the chaos in which the world was at the beginning, he called together the animals and assigned to each the position he should hold in the future. To some he gave the water, to others the land, and to others wings to fly through the air. Over each tribe he appointed a leader called K’chī, the Great One. These could command help or power from others called their poohegans.

In some animals Glūskap found a fierceness, which, when combined with size and strength, would make them dangerous for Indians to encounter. To this class belonged Mīko, the Squirrel, – at that time as large as a wolf.

Therefore Glūskap stroked him on the back until he became the size that he now is.

This humbled the proud Mīko, who had been so vain of his appearance, and so boastful of his strength, that he would scratch down the trees which happened to be in his way.

But, as a compensation, Glūskap told him that he could now climb higher and travel faster than before, besides which he could at times have wings to suit the situation.

Mīko was comforted, and concluded to travel and become acquainted with the world of Nature.

“K’chī Megūsawess,” the Martin, taught him the language of other animals, to enable him to keep out of danger, and Mūinsq’, Mistress Bear, Glūskap’s adopted grandmother, gave him the Law, with much good advice; for all Bears are wise, and she was wisest of them all. She said: —

“You must never speak in praise of yourself, but pay attention to all that is said to you.

“Always control your temper; and, when enraged, say, chim, chim, chim,²⁶ over and over, as fast as you can, until your anger is over.

“The Law is: ‘Mind your own business.’

“Do this and you will be wise and wealthy.”

Mīko then started out on his travels, but had not gone far when he remembered a bird named “Laffy Latwin,”²⁷ whose home in a tall birch-tree was his especial envy.

He said to himself: “Now is my chance to try the wings of ‘Set-cāto,’ the Flying Squirrel,” and at once he half climbed, half flew, up the tree, where he found Laffy Latwin still at home.

Laffy Latwin was always good-natured; and all the little birds as well as insects visited his abode. The little worms too would crawl up the birch-tree to see their friend. He sang the vesper song every night, as a signal to them all to go to sleep. When he sings:

 
“Woffy²⁸ Latwin, Laffy Latwin, wickīūtūwit,”
 

he shuts his eyes for the night; and all the little birds are silent until his voice is again heard in the morning, when all awake, for they know that another day has dawned.

When Mīko, who now styled himself Set-cāto, reached the home of Laffy Latwin, he said: —

“How long have you lived in this tree?”

“Ever since your great grandfather, ‘K’chī Mūsos,’ was born in that hollow cedar-tree which you just left,” replied Laffy Latwin.

“How long do you mean to stay here?”

“As long as this tree lasts. When this one is gone, I will move to another,” replied Laffy Latwin.

But Mīko, or Set-cāto, as we must now call him, had never before been so high above the ground; and though the home of Laffy Latwin was cold and damp, he was greatly pleased with the situation, and wished to build a house for himself in the very same hole, so he said:

“My friend, you have lived here long enough. You had better move out, and let me move in.”

Laffy Latwin was troubled, yet he answered in his usual good-natured way: —

“M’Quensis [my grandchild], I cannot go. If I were to move away, all my friends would miss me. They could not hear my song as well from any other tree. Besides, you are young, and are nimbler than I; you can build your house almost anywhere.”

This opposition only made Set-cāto more desirous of carrying out his purpose. The old spirit of dominion was aroused within him, and though his great strength was gone, his teeth were unchanged. He at once began to gnaw off the limb on which Laffy Latwin’s house stood.

On a neighboring tree lived a tribe of “Ām-wessok,” or Hornets, all warriors, male and female alike. They were always in training; and their glittering armor, with its yellow stripes, shone in the sunlight like tiny sparks, as they flew among the leaves.

They had been watching the movements of Set-cāto all the morning, and when they saw that he meant mischief, the whole tribe, as one man, darted from their tree, alighting on his back, and stinging him until he fell to the ground almost dead.

The news soon spread throughout the Squirrel tribe; the flying, the gray, the striped, and the red squirrels hastened to his rescue. They held a council, and resolved that Laffy Latwin must be removed, even if they had to kill him.

They all marched to the foot of the birch-tree, but found that the only way to reach him was from the trunk of the tree. Meantime the Hornets had summoned their friends, the Black Flies, the Midges, and Mosquitoes.

When the chief of the Squirrels gave orders for the battle to begin, his followers made a rush for the tree, but only a few could go up at once; and the Bees, Flies, and Midges would strike them with sharp spears, forcing the Squirrels to retreat before they were half-way up.

Thus the battle went on until sunset. Up to this time, Laffy Latwin had been absolutely silent; he knew his situation, and saw all that was going on; but he had faith that his little warriors would defend him, so he sang his evening song as usual: —

 
“Woffy Latwin, Laffy Latwin, wickīūtūwit.”
 

Instantly both armies obeyed the call, and went to their respective wigwams to rest for the night.

Next day, the leaders decided to fight again. The Squirrel chief said to his men: “We must be more cautious and less fierce. If we can only touch Laffy Latwin before he sings ‘Woffy Latwin,’ we shall win; but if we fail to reach him before then, we may as well yield.”

Both armies fought more desperately than ever. The Flies had to sharpen their spears, and many were killed on both sides; yet the battle went on all that day.

The Squirrels found it impossible to reach the home of Laffy Latwin, and when the evening song: —

 
“Woffy Latwin, Laffy Latwin, wicklootoowit,”
 

was again heard, they agreed to retire and leave him forever in peace.

Mīko now had time for reflection; and remembered that he had already broken the Law, as given him by Mūinsq’, the old Law Maker. This was a bad beginning for getting wealthy and wise.

When his wounds were healed, he once more set out on his travels, hoping to gain from the experiences he had had as Set-cāto.

He met many of his tribe, hard at work, and content with their changed condition; but he could not rest until he reached the Witch Mountain, the home of Mawquejess, the Great Eater, of whom Mūinsq’ had told him. On reaching it, he noticed a number of narrow paths, trodden by many feet; yet seeing no one, and night coming on, he crawled into a hollow cedar which stood near a large rock, and soon fell asleep.

He was awakened by a loud purring; and he knew that “Alnūset,” the Black Cat, must be camping close by. At first Mīko was frightened; but his fear soon turned to wonder what could bring Alnūset, so near to the home of his greatest enemy; for though Chī-gau-gawk, the Great Crow, steals the game from Black Cat’s “ketīgnul,” or wooden dead-fall trap, yet Mawquejess is worse, for he watches until the wigwam is empty, then enters and eats all he can find, for his appetite is never satisfied.

Mīko’s curiosity was aroused; and, the morning being cloudy, and his lodgings very comfortable, he decided to stay where he was and watch the course of events.

Soon he saw that Alnūset had a friend with him, “Mātigwess,” the Rabbit, a hunter of the same metal; and he heard Black Cat say:

“This will be a good day for hunting. Stormy days are best for such work.”

Mātigwess replied: “I will set the trap. You can go up the mountain and hunt for big game.”

Mīko thought to himself: “I can see them from here, no matter where they go. It is growing too cold to venture out.” He watched their movements, and saw that they must be very hungry, and game scarce.

At last Alnūset came across a big Bear, at which he aimed; but the Frost had got into his bow, it snapped and broke as he bent it.

The Bear was too big for him to attack with his tomahawk, so he returned discouraged to the Big Rock.

This Rock resembled a human face, and the moss which grew on the top looked like long hair, so Mīko was not surprised to hear Alnūset address it as: “Mūs mī,” my grandfather.

“Mūs mī, if you have any pity for your grandchildren, sing one of your magic songs to call the animals together.”

At this the stony old man began to sing, and Birds, Moose, Deer, and Bear, as well as friend Mātigwess, came hurrying to hear the song.

Now Mātigwess is unlike Alnūset in that he carries two bows and three sets of arrows; and he at once began his deadly work, killing Moose, Deer, and Bear on every hand, Alnūset dragging them to his camp as quickly as he could.

The hungry and mischievous Mawquejess was watching him, and when Alnūset went for a fresh load, he would rush in and eat until he was over-full.

Mīko, from his hole in the tree, saw this thief at work; but he dared say nothing, and there were so many dead animals piled together that he thought the two hunters would never miss what Mawquejess ate.

But Mawquejess could not be content to let well enough alone. He went up to the Rock in his turn, and, imitating the voice of Alnūset, said: —

“Mūs mī, if you feel a spark of pity for your children, you will sing a song and call your animals together.”

So the old man again broke into song, and all the animals that lay dead, slain by Mātigwess, came to life and stood around the Rock, now listening to his weird song. When the song ceased, each went his way once more.

When Alnūset and Mātigwess reached the wigwam, they found all their game gone, and saw nothing but tracks and prints of large moccasins. By this they knew that this was one of the tricks of Mawquejess.

They were disgusted and depressed; but they cooked and ate what bones and bits were left from the previous day. Night coming on, they did not hear the songs of the goblins as usual, nothing but the howl of wolves following the bloody tracks.

Next morning Mātigwess, who was the more powerful in magic of the two, said to Alnūset: “I had a dream last night, and our Grandfather of the Mountain²⁹ told me that Mawquejess had tricked him into singing, and also said: ‘Mawquejess will visit your camp to-day while you are away!’ ”

“Very well,” said Alnūset, “then he will not go away. We will fight, and kill him if we can.”

“No, do you go down the river and look to the trap,” said Mātigwess. “If there should be any danger, you will hear from me.”

So Alnūset set out at once; and Mātigwess cut down a hollow tree, the very one in which Mīko lay, and placed it on the fire for a backlog. He then put out the fire, so that there should be no smoke from the wigwam, and it might seem deserted. He also set a snare for Mawquejess, by bending down two large tree forks and fastening them in place with a twisted birch withe.