John York’s Own Story.

When he was a young man the Mohawks were bad at that time. Nobody was allowed to go out alone anywheres. He wanted to hunt very badly so he and another young man went out one morning quite a long ways off the Reserve to hunt bear and duck. They got to Mud Lake (Carden Township) the next day about the middle of the afternoon. They shot about twenty-five duck that night. The next morning early they heard something across the narrows; they looked and saw a great, big, black bear. They got in their canoe and got near enough to shoot and kill the bear. While looking at the dead bear they heard another one coming down to drink, near where they were standing. They both shot and killed this one. They took the two bears in their canoe and started for home. After going down the lake a little way he looked up and saw three bears in a big oak tree. The two hunters got out of the canoe and went to the tree. He shot the big one but did not kill him outright, but had to shoot again. This left only one more shot ready for use, as they had one double and one single-barrel shot guns. The other two bears came down the tree. He shot one of these and killed it and the last bear had to come down when there was no shot ready for him. He (York) grabbed the bear by the legs till the other hunter got his gun loaded. The bear was a cub but fought like an old bear, tearing the clothes off the man. The hunters got the five bears and took them home. When they got home there was a big feast and everybody came and ate some bear meat, for their friends thought the hunters had been killed by the Mohawks.

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The first of these following tales was told to me some eight or ten years ago by Ben Simcoe, an elderly Indian from the Rama Reserve, Ontario County, near Lake Couchiching, and is probably a modern version of an older tale, as it introduces the negro and white man. The word “He” in the story stands for “God” or the “Creator.” I could not get definitely from the Simcoe who it did stand for. He seemingly did not know much about earlier Indian beliefs and conditions.

The remaining three stories were told to me this summer by Jonas George, Chippewa, of Rama Reserve, aged about sixty-four, professed Christian. His Indian name is Wash-a-ghe-zik, which means “A clear day.”

G. E. Laidlaw.

The sketch of the two little shiny men setting lightning at the tree, also the “Monster,” were drawn by Wash-a-ghe-zik.

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The Creation of Man.

Told by Ben Simcoe, Chippewa (Ojibwa), of Rama Reserve, Ontario County.

He (the Creator) took some clay and made a man. He baked it; it was not done enough. He threw it away; it was no good. This was the white man.

He took some more clay and made another man and baked it. This one was baked too much, and was burnt. It was no good. He threw this away. This was the negro.

He took another bit of clay and made a third man. He baked this and it came out all right. It was just right. This was the Indian, better than the white man or the negro.

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Thunderbolt.

This story was told to Wash-a-ghe-zik by his father, and was told to his father by his grandfather.

A young Indian, many years ago, went out to hunt early one morning, and coming on noon he got hungry and started back to camp. In passing a pine stub that had been struck by lightning he saw “something” sticking in the tree where the lightning hit. He pulled this “something” out and looked at it. It was about two fingers broad, and about one hand long. He put it back again in the tree exactly like he found it, and went on. When he came to camp he told his father about it, and his father and several other men, together with the young man, went back to examine it. Neither his father or the men with him could pull this “something” out, but the young man could; so he pulled it out, wrapped it up and took it to camp. This “something” would tell the young man some hours before a storm came up that the storm was coming, so that the Indians could make camp. The young man used to dream that he could split trees by pointing this “something” at them, but never tried it. He kept this for many years. He was about eighteen years old when he found it, and lived to be forty-seven. He died unmarried and his name was forgotten.

The “something” was shiny and quivering, and nobody knew what it was made out of. It was lost shortly before the man died. Wash-a-ghe-zik had no name for this “something,” and said the Indians could not make up a name for it.

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Nim-Mah-Kie.

Once, a long time ago, before the white man came to Canada, an Indian struck out through the bush to hunt. It came on a storm and he took a line for camp, which was by a little lake away up north. It came on worse, and the Indian crawled under a projecting pine tree. He saw the lightning strike several trees, and looking very closely at one tree that was struck he saw a little man (about two feet high) standing by one side of the tree, and looking again at the tree he saw another little man standing at the other side of the struck tree. Both these men were fine little fellows, all black and shining, and are called Nim-Mah-Kie (Thunder). They climbed up in the air like they were climbing ladders, and disappeared. After they went up more lightning came down. These little men set the lightning at the trees and make the thunder. Thunder and lightning keep the monsters down on the land and in the lakes.

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Monsters.

These monsters, which are about twelve feet long and about one and one-half to two feet thick, and which have long jaws full of teeth, and look like half fish and half snake, live in hills near lakes. They have underground passages from the hills to the water, and can sometimes be seen early in the morning. In small lakes and bays of larger lakes they move around with great swiftness, forcing the weeds and floating sticks, etc., up high on the shore, similar to swirling your hand around in a wash basin. Sometimes they do this with so much force that they leave the small lakes partially dry. One of these monsters lives in the hill just north of where the old Indian portage from Lake Simcoe enters West Bay, Balsam Lake (now Portage Road). Another lives in the hill at Atherley, Rama Reserve, Lake Couchiching, and another lives up north in a lake the name of which is now forgotten. Thunder and lightning kill these monsters.