In Indian Tents

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.

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.