Part 1 — LEGENDS (continued 2)

Now free, Otʻhegwenhda hurried along the northern trail again until he came to a second one leading toward the northeast. Once more taking out the fetish, he asked, “Which way shall I go?” “North,” was the answer. So he went on. Soon he saw a trail going toward the northwest, but he kept straight on his own trail to the end. At first he saw nothing there, but after a long search he found an opening near a birch tree which stood at the end of the trail. On entering, he came to a room in which an old man sat smoking. “What can that old man be doing,” thought he. Presently the old man straightened up, saying: “I am weak this morning. It seems to me somebody is around here. I thought the man who guarded the opening said the Hongak family were all dead.” Raising his head, the old man looked, and as he looked, his eyes seemed to stand out from his head. At length he saw the boy, to whom he said: “My nephew, I am glad you have come to visit me. I am going to try whether I can find what luck (or orenda) you have. So saying, he shook a rattle made of Dagwanoenyent, saying sáwa. “No,” said Otʻhegwenhda, “I will try your orenda or magic power.” “Oh, no! I will try first,” said the old man, whose name was Dewaqsentʻhwûs (Flea). Thereupon they disputed until they came to blows. Throwing down the rattle, the old man struck the boy with one hand. Immediately the old man’s arm fell off; he struck with the other hand, whereupon the other arm fell off. Then he kicked at the youth with one leg, and that broke off; he kicked with the other leg, which likewise dropped off. The old man was now merely head and body. The arms and the legs tried to get back into their places, but Otʻhegwenhda rushed around to push them away, and shot an arrow through the old man. Immediately the arrow, taking root, became a small tree. Though fastened to the earth, the old man tried to bite Otʻhegwenhda, but the moment he did so, his head flew off. The boy pounded the body to bits. Jumping and dancing around, he said, “Oh! my uncle is all in pieces.” In the old man’s lodge he found a second room, in which were the last three of his brothers, who were as weak and wretched as were the others. These he cured in like manner and sent home. Their mother drove them out of the lodge, whence they went and sat down on the rocks with their father and six brothers.

All went home. When they were gone, Otʻhegwenhda went back to the old woman, whom he asked, “Why did you shut up these people?” “I did not shut them up,” she replied. “Well, they were in your lodge,” he continued. “Yes, but my husband, who is a man-eater, did it,” she responded. “Does he live here? What is his name?” he asked. “He lives on another trail,” she replied; “his name is Dewaqsentʻhwûs (the Weeper, or Flea).” The boy, laughing, asked, “Was that old man your husband? Oh! I killed him some time ago.” “Are you sure?” “Yes,” he said. “Well, then I am glad. I never liked him. Your people are safe now, for you killed the man who always hunted them.” The boy said, “I will let you live this time, but I will kill you if you ever chase my people.”

Then the youth went to his own lodge, where he found his father and his nine brothers, sitting on a great flat stone. “Oh!” said the youth, “why do you not go inside where my mother is?” Hagowanen answered, “Your mother drove us out.” Otʻhegwenhda, going into the lodge, asked: “Mother, what have you done? Are you not glad that I brought my father and brothers back?” “Did you find and bring them home?” asked his mother. “Yes, I did,” he replied. Then the woman was sorry. She invited them in, and they came into the lodge and all were happy. After he had been home a while Otʻhegwenhda said to his family: “I must visit my friends, the Djoqgweani in Dionondadenion. It is not far from here,” he said. They had to let him go and do what he liked, for he possessed the most potent orenda.

When Otʻhegwenhda went into the chief’s lodge, Honigoneowanen said: “I am very glad and thank you. I will now give you my daughter, and when you are old enough, you shall marry her.” Otʻhegwenhda took the chief’s daughter to Hetgen Tgastende and they lived there.

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One day while Haieñtʻhwus was in the neighboring field planting corn, he heard his nephew singing in a loud voice: “Now, I am rising. Now, I am rising.” Dropping his planting-stick and shouting, “No, my nephew, you are not ready yet; you are in too great a hurry,” Haieñtʻhwus ran home, where he found that Okteondon had raised his head by partially uprooting and overturning the sheltering tree. Haieñtʻhwus therefore pushed him back into his place, admonishing him, “I will tell you when it is time for you to arise.”

The next day Haieñtʻhwus again went out to plant corn. He had hardly reached the field when he heard once more his nephew begin to sing and to strive to arise. Haieñtʻhwus at once started for the lodge, running with so much haste that he lost on the way all his seed corn from his seeding basket. When he reached home he found the tree half uprooted and leaning far over to one side. So he pushed his nephew back into his place, but he was unable to reset the tree as firmly or as nearly upright as it was before.

On the third day Haieñtʻhwus again went out to finish his corn planting, but the moment that he began to drop the grains of corn he heard still again the singing of his nephew. So Haieñtʻhwus without delay rushed back to the lodge, but while running he heard an awful crash and crackling of limbs, from which he knew that the tree had fallen. When he reached the lodge he found Okteondon sitting on the ground. Haieñtʻhwus did not return to the field to complete his corn planting, but remained in his home to look after his nephew and to make the necessary preparations for the coming marriage of the young man.

Early the next morning they heard sounds outside the lodge, and shortly afterward a woman and a beautiful younger woman, who were Wadiʻoniondies, entered the lodge. One of the women, addressing Okteondon, said, “I have come purposely to take you home with me.” “It is well. I consent,” answered the youth, who started at once to cross the lodge to accompany her and her companion. But Haieñtʻhwus stopped him with the remark: “You must not go yet. You have friends who are coming to escort you, and must wait for them.” Then “The Planter” hastened to prepare some food to eat, and for this purpose placed a large kettle of hominy over the fire. About the time that the hominy was ready three young men came into the lodge, who were invited by Haieñtʻhwus to eat. When Okteondon, the young men, and Haieñtʻhwus had eaten the boiled hominy, the old man began to pack some garments in a small bundle. When he had finished his parcel, he said to his nephew, “When any one of your friends is in need of things such as these you will find them in this parcel.”

In the camp of the men Okteondon opened his pouch and, taking therefrom a pair of leggings and a pair of moccasins, he gave them to the man who had been robbed of his own. When the men had prepared and eaten their breakfast, and had made the necessary provision for their journey, they started off, following the trail of the canoe of the women, which was plainly visible in the air. Toward evening they again saw smoke in the distance ahead. When yet some distance from it Okteondon said: “We will encamp here.” Again going over to the camp of the women, he walked through their fires and upset the kettles of hominy. Then returning to his own camp, he went out to hunt, in order to get meat for the supper of his friends. But he had to go a long distance before finding any game, for the woman who stole the foolish man’s leggings had stretched them out over the country, her very long arms describing an imaginary circle with them, at the same time telling the game animals included therein to go outside of this circle. So Okteondon had to do likewise before he could find a bear. Finally he killed one, the carcass of which he brought into camp. When he returned to camp he upbraided his three companions with the words: “You have been the cause of my being tired by your folly. You know that I forbade you taking anything to the women, even a small portion of meat. But you failed to obey my advice, and I have now experienced some of the effects.” Procuring a kettle in the same way as he had done before, Okteondon then proceeded to cook the bear’s flesh. When it was done he and his companions ate their evening meal. After they were through eating they went over to the camp of the women, where they found them sitting each with a bark dish of hot hominy on her knees, which she was cooling. They sat with their faces turned toward home and with their backs toward the camp of the men. The youngest of the sisters asked Okteondon to eat with her. Later, separating into pairs, they all went to bed together. As the night passed Okteondon grew angrier and angrier, and so he lay awake. At last, when he thought that all were asleep, he said, addressing a tall tree standing near the canoe which contained the clothes of the women: “I want you, Tree, to bend down to me.” Thereupon the tree bent down to him and Okteondon placed the canoe among its topmost branches. Then he said, “Now I want you to stand upright again,” and the Tree again resumed its erect position. He immediately added, “I desire you, Tree, to be covered with ice,” and it soon so happened. Okteondon did this because he was angered by the action of the women in driving the game away, thus causing him to go so far to hunt to find the bear he had killed, and in having stolen the leggings and moccasins of one of his companions.

Early the next morning Okteondon and his companions returned to their camp fires. When the women arose they could not find the canoe in which their outdoor garments were kept. So they had to run around from place to place naked, trying in vain to find them. At last they discovered the canoe in the top of the tree; whereupon the eldest of the sisters said, “I will try to get it down.” Moistening both her hands and feet with saliva, which she rubbed thoroughly into them, the nails on her fingers and toes presently grew long and powerful, resembling the claws of a bear. Then the woman began to climb the tree. She succeeded in getting halfway up the icy trunk when, losing her grip, she slid down, her powerful nails tearing the ice as she slipped, until she struck the ground in a sitting posture. She made several attempts to reach the canoe but each time failed. All the sisters talked together over the situation, finally deciding that no one but Okteondon had played them this mean trick. When they asked him about it, he replied, “I put your canoe on the tree top because you insulted me and so made me angry.” The women all promised that they would not do such things again if he would get the canoe for them. So, relenting, Okteondon asked the Tree to bend down a second time. As the top reached the ground, Okteondon took the canoe therefrom, which he gave back to the women. They were then able to dress themselves. After doing so, they took their food out of the canoe, and, having cooked and eaten their morning meal, they continued their journey homeward in the canoe. Shortly the four men followed them, keeping the trail all day.

Toward evening the men noticed before them smoke in the distance. When they drew near it they saw that it arose from the middle of a great lake covered with smooth ice. The four sisters were encamped in the middle of this lake, and Okteondon told his friends that he would make ready to camp on the ice, too. Gathering a handful of dry leaves and hemlock boughs, he said to his companions: “Be cautious and follow my steps. Be sure that each of you step exactly in my tracks.” When near the camp of the women Okteondon remarked, “We will camp here.” Laying down his handful of wood, it at once increased in size, becoming a great pile, whereupon he said, “I want a fire to be here”; and there was there immediately a fire. Then he scattered the handful of hemlock boughs on one side of the fire, saying, “In this place shall be our lodge and beds,” and straightway there was a lodge, and within were beds for every one present.

Now, the home of the sisters was on the shore of this lake, but they had camped in the middle of its waters in order to see how the four men would act and to ascertain what orenda they had.

The next morning Okteondon was ready to perform his task. Taking hairs from his wife’s head, he tied them end to end, making a cord long enough for his purpose; then tying one end of this cord to the door-flap, he gave the other end of it to his wife, bidding her to pull the door-flap to and fro, so as to keep it swinging, until he came back from shooting Sʻhadahgeah. Okteondon then started out to hunt for his victim, but he had not gone far from the lodge before he saw Sʻhadahgeah perched on a cloud. He let fly one of his arrows, which kept its course until it struck the bird. When Sʻhadahgeah fell to the ground Okteondon picked it up and carried it back to the lodge.

Now when the old witch saw that the door-flap did not stop swinging, she was very angry. She pushed it to, but unknown to her the daughter kept it swinging to and fro. At this time Okteondon, striding in, threw the bird on the ground, saying, “There! you have him for your ‘eat-all’ feast (gaqsahon).” “Oh, son-in-law!” said the old woman; “you must give me one of the wings for a fan; my old one is now worn out.” “Oh no!” said Okteondon; “you can not have it,” and he threw the bird on the fire to remove its feathers. Then Hotʻhoh, Okteondon’s friend, placed a kettle of water over the fire. When the feathers were burned off Sʻhadahgeah, Okteondon, after cutting up its body, put all the pieces into the kettle. When it was cooked, he took out the flesh and skimmed off every drop of fat from the soup. “Now,” said the old woman, “you must invite all the men of distinction in the village.” “I will invite whom I please,” said Okteondon, “and do just as I like.” Going out of doors, he shouted, “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to an ‘eat-all’ (gaqsahon) feast.” Soon they began to come one after another. When all were present, Okteondon said: “I have invited you to a feast in which everything must be consumed. You must eat the meat, drink the soup, chew the bones and swallow them.” So they began to eat, and soon they had devoured everything, leaving not a drop of grease or fat, nor a bit of bone; then the Dagwanoenyents laughed, feeling good when they had finished their task. They boisterously exclaimed, “It made a fine meal; it was her late husband’s flesh.”

Kahenchitahonk, the great witch, notorious and cruel, was now ferociously angry. Seizing the wooden pestle, or corn-pounder, she struck the Dagwanoenyents with it, whereupon they fled at once from the lodge, some going out of the smoke-hole, some through the doorway, and others in their great haste making large rents in the walls of the lodge, through which they escaped. When she had driven them all out of the lodge, she said: “I think the coming night will be very cold; so I must fetch wood for the fire.” Bringing much wood, she then made a great fire, saying, “Now, I will be able to warm my back”; then she went to sleep with her back to the fire. The wife of Okteondon said to him: “My mother will dream again tonight and will exclaim, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law killed the White Beaver and brought it here before the door-flap, which he will fling back in going out, stopped swinging, and that if he does not return before the door-flap stops swinging, something direful will happen to us.’ ” Late in the night all over the lodge they heard the old woman groaning, and rolling and tossing about; finally she fell into the fire, scattering the coals around the lodge. Jumping up and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon struck the old woman on the head to awaken her, saying to her, “You must be dreaming about me, mother-in-law?” “Oh, yes! I am dreaming about you,” she muttered in reply. “You dream about no one else, I think,” said Okteondon. “Well,” she said, “I do dream about you, for I fear something may happen, but you are powerful through your orenda (magic power). I will tell you what the dream said to me; it said that my son-in-law must kill the White Beaver, and that if the door-flap which he flings back in going out stops swinging before he returns with the dead Beaver, something direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! go back to sleep; that is a small matter, nothing,” said Okteondon.

Early in the morning Okteondon fastened the string made from his wife’s hair to the door-flap, as he had done in the former ordeal, and bade his wife thereby keep it swinging to and fro while he was gone, as she had done before. Then he went out, flinging the door-flap back as he passed through. Then, running to a knoll on which stood a butternut tree, and taking a nut from it, he hurried to a neighboring lake, where he cast the nut into the water, shouting a challenge, “You who live in this lake come forth.” At once the water, rising, rushed toward him, following him until it reached the knoll, where it stopped. Okteondon saw the White Beaver looking out over the water, and, taking an arrow from his quiver and drawing his bow, shot the White Beaver, killing it. Seizing its body, he hurried home with it. When he reached the doorway he found the old woman trying to hold the flap to prevent it from swinging to and fro and uttering words charged with her orenda to accomplish her purpose. When Okteondon threw White Beaver into the lodge the old woman said: “Oh, son-in-law! you are to make me a pouch of the skin of White Beaver.” “Oh, no! I will do what I like with it,” he replied, casting it on the fire to singe off the hair. Putting a kettle over the fire, Hotʻhoh soon had water boiling. Then the body of White Beaver having been cut up, the pieces were placed in the kettle to cook. Thereupon Okteondon’s mother-in-law said to him: “Oh, son-in-law! I want you to invite all the men of importance of this place to the feast.” Okteondon answered: “Oh, no! I will invite only such persons as I choose.” When the flesh of White Beaver was cooked Okteondon removed the pieces from the kettle to cool; then he went out of the lodge, calling aloud: “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to come to a feast of ‘eat-all’ (gaqsahon).” Soon they came crowding into the lodge, as they had at the first feast, and Okteondon said: “You must eat up everything to the very last bit. Here are the meat, the soup, and the bones; you must eat all and even lick the bowls.” So they began to eat; they ate the meat, drank the oily broth, and the crunching of bones could be heard as they devoured them. Lastly they licked the bark bowls. When they had finished their task they were satisfied and began to laugh: “Hi, hi, hi! That was good meat, the old woman’s brother.” The old woman was very angry and, taking up the corn-pounder, attacked them, driving them from the lodge.

“We will go home, too,” said Okteondon to his wife and two friends; so they went to the lodge of his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus. When Okteondon left his home his uncle hung up in a corner of the lodge a wampum belt, with the remark, “The deeper you are in trouble, the nearer will this belt come to the ground, and if you die, it will touch the ground.” Of course it had been low and had even touched the ground; hence the old uncle had concluded that his nephew was dead and had mourned for him. But at this time the belt was again hanging high. While the nephew was absent many persons had come, pretending to be Okteondon, in order to deceive the old man; so now when the real nephew asked him to open the door-flap he would not believe his ears, but said, “Put your arm through the hole in the door.” Okteondon did so, whereupon the old man tied it, saying, “Now, I have you,” unfastening the door-flap so he could strike. But seeing Okteondon and his wife and his two friends, he exclaimed with delight, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment, until I clean up somewhat inside.” Saying this, he went inside and pushed away the ashes and dirt. (End.)

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71. Okteondon and Haieñtʻhwus—II

(Another version of the first part of the legend)

Okteondon lived with his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus, in the forest. Beside his uncle’s lodge stood a large, tall elm tree. Okteondon, the nephew, always remained at the foot of this tree, and finally its roots grew over and around his body, thus binding it firmly to the ground.

Now Haieñtʻhwus, being very fond of his nephew, always brought him everything that he liked to eat and drink—roasted venison, boiled squashes, dried berries, broiled fish, and all kinds of shellfish. The first thing that Haieñtʻhwus did in the morning was to put corn into a wooden mortar for the purpose of making cornmeal for boiled cornbread; then with a wooden pestle he struck it a single blow, which crushed the corn to fine meal. The people far and near, it is said, heard this blow, and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.” The old man made bread with the meal which he boiled; when it was cooked he brought some of it to his nephew and also ate some himself. On certain days he went to the forest for firewood. It was a practice with him to burn logs into pieces of such length that he could bring them to his lodge. When the fires on one log were burning well he would light fires on other logs, and so would go from one to another, keeping them in order. When the pieces were burned off and ready, the old man would carry them or drag them home, and as he threw them down they made a deep, pleasant sound on the earth. Thereupon all the people of the region round about, even to the most distant places, heard the sound, and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.” On some other days Haieñtʻhwus would go out to gather beans and squashes or to dig wild potatoes.

One spring morning, in the planting season, Haieñtʻhwus went to his clearing in the woods with two baskets of seeds strapped to his belt. Before starting he left plenty of food with his nephew, saying, “I am going to put these seeds into the ground.” The old man was in the field engaged in making holes in the earth with a stick forked at one end and sharp at the other. Into these holes he dropped seeds, closing them with fine earth. All at once he heard a song accompanied with the words, “Oh, uncle! I am going to rise; I am going to rise.” He knew at once that what he had heard was his nephew’s song; so dropping his pointed stick for planting, and forgetting all about the seeds in his two baskets, he rushed home. As he ran the baskets struck the trees on both sides of the narrow trail, scattering the seeds so that all were lost on the trail. When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge he saw that his nephew was resting on one elbow and that the tree was inclined toward the earth, with its roots starting from the ground. “Well, nephew, what is the matter?” asked the old man. “I am getting thirsty, uncle,” said the youth. The old man gave him some water and pushed the tree back into its upright position; then looking into his baskets, he saw that they were empty. So Haieñtʻhwus spent the rest of the day on his knees, picking up what seeds he could find along both sides of the path.

On another day he went out to strip bark from the slippery-elm trees for the purpose of making cords. Before starting he gave Okteondon everything that he needed. After he had stripped off a large quantity of bark and was tying it into bundles, Haieñtʻhwus heard the song again, accompanied with the words, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am rising.” As soon as he heard these words, Haieñtʻhwus, slinging a bundle of the bark on his back, swiftly ran home. As he hurried along the bundle struck against the trees, first on one and then on the other side of the trail, causing pieces of bark to slip out every here and there, until there was nothing left of the burden on the old man’s back but the ends of the forehead strap. On reaching home Haieñtʻhwus asked, “What is the matter, nephew?” as he saw Okteondon resting on one elbow and the tree leaning over to one side. “Oh, I am thirsty, uncle,” replied Okteondon. The uncle brought him water, and then straightened up the tree, after which he returned to the woods. He picked up the pieces of bark on both sides of the path until he arrived at the place where he had stripped it from the trees. Just at that moment he again heard the song, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am rising.” At this, soliloquizing, “Poor boy, I wonder what he wants,” Haieñtʻhwus again ran homeward. When he was about halfway there, he heard the song a second time, and almost at the same moment came to his ears a tremendous crash of the falling tree, which was heard over the entire country, so that all the people said one to another, “Okteondon has now grown to manhood and has arisen.” When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge, the great elm tree had fallen and Okteondon was standing there, awaiting him.

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72. Uncle and Nephew and the White Otters

An uncle and his nephew lived alone far off in the woods. In former times there had been a great many of their people, but with the exception of these two all were dead.

One day the uncle said: “My nephew, you have grown to be a large lad, and now you must attend to hunting. You must take the bow and the quiver of arrows with which I used to hunt.” So saying, the old man took from the wall his bow, which was grimed with smoke, and cleaned it very carefully. Then he said: “We will now make a trial at shooting.” Having gone out of the lodge, the uncle by way of example first shot into a tree, and the nephew with another arrow made a good shot. Thereupon the uncle said, “That kind of shooting will do; you must now begin hunting.”

The next morning very early, when they were ready, the uncle said, “You must go out between sunrise and sunset, and you must always keep on the sun side; never go north.” The lad started to hunt, and had not been out long when he killed a deer, and soon afterward another, both of which he took home. The uncle thanked him, saying, “We can live now, for we have plenty of meat.” He hung the meat up in pieces, with bark strings, throughout the lodge.

The lad brought in game every day for some time. After a while he had to go a long way toward the south to find any game; his uncle always cautioned him against going northward.

Once after he came home and was sitting around the lodge, the uncle said: “When I was young I used to have an object with which to amuse myself. I will get it for you and when you are home you can play with it.” Then bringing out a flute, the uncle taught the boy to play it. As the uncle blew on it the flute said, “Tomorrow I shall kill a deer, a bear, etc.,” greatly pleasing the boy who also played on it. In the morning he started off hunting, and, indeed, he killed just such game as the flute said he would. That night after he had rested from hunting he played on his flute and again it said, “I shall kill an elk tomorrow,” a different kind of animal from that of the previous day. The next day the lad killed exactly what the flute said.

The morning after he went out he wondered why he must go so far toward the south; he made up his mind to go northward; so making a circuit, he was soon north of his lodge. Finding tracks of game animals, he followed them until he came to a broad opening. Here he ran after the elks, which he saw in a circle in the woods; at last he came out in the opening again, where he had started. All at once he heard a woman’s voice calling, “Here! Hold on!” but he ran on at full speed after the elk. Around again he went after these animals. When he got back to the same place a second time the woman’s voice called out, “Wait and rest!” Looking around, he saw the woman sitting on a fallen tree, whereupon he stopped. She said to him: “Sit down here and rest. I know you are tired; when you have rested you can run again after the elk.” He sat down near her, and pretty soon she took his head on her knees. He had very long hair—so long that he kept it tied up; whenever he let it down, it swept the ground. He tied one of his hairs to a root in the ground, but the woman did not see him do this. After a while he fell asleep, whereupon she put him into a basket; swinging this on her back she started off on a run. Rising soon into the air, she traveled very fast.

The hair which had been made fast to a root stretched till it would stretch no longer; then they could go no farther, for the hair pulled them back to the place from which they had started. The lad woke up, and the woman said to herself, “I think there is some witchcraft about you; we will try again.” Once more she began to search in his hair. At last he closed his eyes, and she asked, “Are you asleep?” “No,” he replied. She continued untying his hair, again inquiring, “Are you asleep?” He did not answer this time, for he was indeed asleep. Putting him into the basket and flinging it on her back, she ran off very fast, after a while rising in the air. When she had gone a long distance she came down by the bank of a river; rousing the lad, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes,” said he; “I have fished in this river.” “Well,” said she, “hold your head down, and let me look at it again.” She took his head on her knees, and after a while spoke to him, but he did not answer, for he was once more asleep. Putting him into the basket, she went up in the air, coming down at last on an island. Then, rousing the youth, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes; my uncle and I used to come here often,” he replied (he had never been there, but he wished to deceive her). Again she put him to sleep, afterward taking him up in the air in her basket. Finally, removing the basket from her back, she laid it on the edge of a ravine, which was so deep that the tops of the tallest trees which grew in it could just be seen below the brink. Then, upsetting the basket, down the lad went headlong into the depths, but he fell slowly, for he had orenda (magic power) and hence came to the ground unhurt. But he could find no way of escape. The sides of the ravine were like a wall and he was alone.

Now the nephew lay down among the rocks in the deep, blind ravine and tried to sleep, but he could not. All at once he heard a great bird coming, and as it swept past it bit a mouthful of flesh out of his arm. Spitting on the arm he rubbed it and thus cured the bite. When the bird had been gone some time, he heard it coming again, and as it flew past in the opposite direction, it took a large bite out of his other arm. This he cured in the same manner as before. When daylight came he arose and on looking around he saw skeletons on every side. Two men were barely alive. The lad said to himself, “I suppose that I shall die here in this same way.”

That night the boy’s uncle saw on looking at the flute that the mouthpiece was bloodier than before. He then gave up his nephew as lost; sitting down at the hearth’s edge he cried and scattered ashes on his head in despair.

The second night the bird twice flew past the lad, each time taking a piece of flesh out of one of his arms. Thereupon the boy would spit on the arm, thus healing it as he did on the first evening. When the huge bird had gone he fell asleep and dreamed that he heard an old woman’s voice saying: “Grandson, I have come to help you. You think you are going to die, but you are not; I will save you. Just at sunrise in the morning you will vomit, and if you throw up anything that looks like a hemlock leaf you may know that you will be saved. Pick up the leaf and stick it in the ground. Then sing, and as you sing the leaf will become a tree. Sit on one of the limbs and keep on singing. The tree will grow until it reaches beyond the top of the bank. Then jump off and run away.” In the morning the boy vomited as the old woman of the dream had predicted, and he found the small hemlock leaf. Sticking this in the ground near the wall of the ravine he began to sing. The leaf soon grew into a tree, and as he sang the tree grew higher and higher. He did not get on the tree but remained below singing until the tree was higher than the brink above.

Gathering all the bones carefully into a pile and placing on the pile the two men who were almost dead, he went to a great hickory tree which stood near and pushing against it called out, “Rise, people, and run, or the tree shall fall on you.” Thereupon all the bones became living men and springing up they ran away from the tree. Two of the men had legs of different lengths by reason of the bones having become interchanged. The lad said: “Now, follow me, all of you, up this tree to the bank above. You must not look back, for if you do you will fall.” The last two were the men with unequal legs. The rearmost, after climbing a little way, looked back to see how far up they were; immediately he turned to bones, which fell rattling through the limbs of the hemlock tree to the ground. As the only remaining man with unequal legs got near the brink, he also looked down, whereupon he likewise fell rattling down through the branches to the ground a mere heap of bones.

The uncle, who was alone, felt sure that his nephew was dead. Often as he sat in front of the fire in the evening, taking a handful of ashes in each hand, he held them over his head, letting the ashes drop on his face. At night he would hear someone coming, then a rap and a voice calling out, “Well, uncle, I have come.” Jumping up and brushing off the ashes he would go to the door, only to find a fox or an owl. In this way he was deceived a number of times, so he had resolved not to be deceived again.

The night after the death of the otters the old woman again dreamed, and her son-in-law hit her again with the corn-pounder. Waking up, she said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must kill the bird on the top of the great tree.” He answered, “Oh, mother-in-law! I will attend to that in the morning, so go to sleep now.” In the morning his mother-in-law said, “If you get back after the door, which you have slammed in going out, stops swinging, something strange will happen.” Again tying a hair to the door, he darted off. When near the tall tree he saw on the very top a black eagle. The first arrow he sent went almost to the tree, but was driven back by the magic power of the eagle. Then he shot a second arrow, which struck the eagle right in the heart, bringing it to the ground. Taking the eagle, he rushed back to the lodge, meanwhile keeping the door swinging with his hair. When he returned home, he called out, “Mother-in-law, here is the eagle.” She said, Whu, whu! astonished at what he had done (this eagle was the old woman’s third brother, which had always fed on the men thrown into the ravine).

The youth found two of his brothers among those whom he had rescued. It appeared that all the men were related, some as brothers, others as cousins. The young man went with his brothers to his uncle’s lodge. Before starting he had told all the other persons to go to their homes. When near the lodge of the old uncle they heard the aged man weeping. They listened for some time. When the old man stopped weeping he began to sing, “Ten summers I shall mourn for him.” In attempting to enter the lodge they found the door-flap fastened. The lad called out, “Oh, uncle! I have returned.” But the uncle, long annoyed by wizards in the form of animals, replied: “Be off! You have deceived me enough.” But the young man begged him to unfasten the door-flap, assuring him that he had brought his brothers. Again the uncle shouted: “Be off! You shall not get in here.” Finally, the old man relented, and making a hole in the skin door-flap, called out: “Thrust your arm in. I shall see if you are my nephew.” The nephew willingly complied with the uncle’s request, whereupon the uncle tied his arm with a bark thong. The youth finally cried out: “Oh, uncle! do not tie my arm so tight. You hurt me.” Opening the door-flap, the old man saw that it was really his nephew, and exclaimed, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment until I clean up a little.” Then, having brushed off the ashes, he welcomed his nephew and his party.

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Hadjowiski lived with his family, consisting of his wife and seven children, in a large lodge in the forest. Only the youngest of the seven children had a name—Deoyadastatʻhe. He was so small that he never went outside the lodge, nor did he play within it. He remained under the bed at all times, where he played with his dog, which was a flea. The father of the family, Hadjowiski, was very poor, for although he went forth to hunt at sunrise, sometimes even before, he brought home but little meat.

One morning his wife, who was chagrined by the failure of her husband to provide a sufficiency of food for herself and little ones, said to him: “Can you not bring home more meat than you do? We are very, very hungry.” Hadjowiski, dissembling, replied, “No; I can not kill more game, for I have not efficient orenda (magic power).” But the suspecting wife persisted in her questioning: “Well, your back always looks as if you had killed plenty of game. What do you do with it after you have killed it?” To this the husband answered: “Nothing. I never have good luck.” The wife did not believe him, however, so she retorted, “I think that you are doing something wrong with what you kill.”

That day Hadjowiski did not bring any game home, but his back bore traces of fresh blood. In further chiding him his wife said: “There is fresh blood on your back, so you must have killed some game today.” But he replied: “No; I killed nothing. That blood came from my getting hurt by a hemlock tree falling on me.” But she did not believe him at all.

The next morning he was on the trail long before sunrise. His wife, now thoroughly aroused, stealthily followed him. Just at midday she saw him kill with a small stone a large bear. Taking the bear on his back, he started off, trailed by his wife. He soon reached a lodge, which he entered, wholly unaware that his wife was following him. Creeping up to the lodge, she listened outside to what was being said within, and overheard the voice of a woman, saying, “The next time you come you must stay here, and you must not go back home again.” Hadjowiski replied, “It is well; I shall do so.” Thereupon he came out of the lodge, in which he left all the meat he had killed that day, and started for home.

Then Deoyadastatʻhe told his mother that they must leave that place. So calling his dog, they started for the lodge of old Yeqsinye. In passing through the village a blue lizard attacked Deoyadastatʻhe and his little party, but the young man tore it to pieces. As the pieces fell to the ground the dog carried them away so that they would not fly back into place again before they became cool. Then the young man said, “You thought that you were going to kill me, but I have destroyed you.” When Deoyadastatʻhe arrived with his mother at the lodge of old woman Yeqsinye, he said to her, “I have killed all the people of the wicked village, so you shall now live in peace.” For this the old woman thanked him.

Then Deoyadastatʻhe and his mother and dog continued their journey until they arrived at their own lodge. There they found the six brothers of Deoyadastatʻhe, who had returned during his absence.

[The relator of the story evidently did not know the entire legend, for nothing is said as to where and as to why they had been so long away, nor how they came back.—Editor.]

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74. A Genesis Tradition

[A modern version; a fragment]

Before this earth came into existence there were human beings who dwelt in the center of the sky above. In the middle of the village in the sky stood a tree which was covered with white blossoms.

So a number of men began digging and cutting around the roots of the tree. Suddenly, when the last root was cut, the tree sank into the ground, disappearing from sight. Thereupon the chief of the people there said, “I have never given any heed to this dream, because I knew that something strange would happen to the people if I did.” Then he ordered that the woman who had had these dreams should be cast into the hole left by the tree. The order was carried out. The pit seemed to have no bottom. Nothing could be seen in it, for all was darkness within. The woman continued falling through the hole for a long time; at last she saw that below her it began to grow light. When finally she had passed through the hole she emerged into bright light in our sky. Looking down, she saw beneath her a great expanse of water, on which floated loons, ducks, and various kinds of water folk, but no land.

Of these the loon was the first to see the dark object falling from above, at which he exclaimed, “I believe that a human being is falling down from above, and I think that it is best for us that all join together and give aid to her, for if we do not she will sink when she strikes the water.” So all the water folk were notified to help save the woman. They all came together—Loon, Fishhawk, Beaver, Water Serpent, Turtle, and all who dwell in the water. Then Loon said to Fishhawk, “Go with your warriors and meet the woman in the air; receive her on your backs, and thus hold her in the air until we shall be ready for you to bring her down here.” Instantly this request was performed. While the others watched they saw the woman fall on the backs of the fishhawks, and they were delighted to see that the fishhawks were able to hold her in the air. Then the Loon said, “What are we going to do with her?” to which the Turtle replied, “I will take care of the woman.” But Loon answered, “You can not take care of her, for you are too fond of eating flesh.” Next the Water Serpent said, “I will volunteer to help this woman and to take care of her; she can come and sit between my horns, and so I shall carry her wherever I go.” Loon rejoined, “You can not take care of her, for you are endowed with too much evil orenda (magic power), which would kill her.” The Turtle spoke a second time, saying, “I think I can care for her, if you can find some earth to place upon my carapace.” This suggestion satisfying Loon and the other leaders, Loon replied, “You may take care of her if we can obtain the earth.” There were there many kinds of water folk, all of which were sent into the water in an attempt to obtain some earth. They dived down, but, one after another, they soon floated up to the surface dead. Hell-diver at last brought up a small quantity of earth. The Loon being the chief, when Hell-diver came up with the earth he sent all of that kind of water folk after more earth. Then Beaver mounted on Turtle’s back, and as the Duck people brought up the earth he used his tail like a trowel, fastening the earth on the carapace of the Turtle.

The earth at once began to grow, spreading out large. Chief Loon soon decided that it had acquired a sufficient extent for their purpose, so he called to the Fishhawk and his men to bring down the woman. This they did, placing her on the newly made earth on the carapace of the Turtle. In the meantime Beaver and the Duck people kept at work making the earth larger. As it grew in size, a still greater number of Beaver and Duck people were set to work around the edges of it. The Turtle floated with ease. Then on the earth bushes began to grow, little red bushes like water reeds. The woman walked around the edges of the earth to see how the workers were succeeding in their labors and to encourage them. She was pregnant, and in a short time after this descent a girl baby was born to her. The child grew rapidly to womanhood. She was very active, and soon took her mother’s place, walking around the island inspecting its growth. It was now very large, and she would be away all day on her tour of the island.

One day it chanced as she was walking along that she met a very fine-looking young man. Promptly falling in love, they decided to live together as husband and wife. It is said that by this union Day and Night came into the world. Her mother was not consulted. It was the custom of the young woman to go out in the morning to look for the young man at their trysting place, and in the evening to start for home. One evening when they had parted she resolved to look back to have a view of him. On turning around, she saw a large turtle walking along where she knew her husband had just been, hence she reached the conclusion that a turtle was deceiving her; then she went home. The next day she remained at home and, indeed, did not go out any more after that time. Her mother saw from her appearance that she was pregnant. Being questioned about her condition, she told her mother the whole story of her marriage, concluding with the statement that the last time they had met she had turned to look at him as they parted, whereupon she saw only a great turtle walking where she expected to see her husband.

The time for her confinement having arrived, the prospective mother heard a conversation being carried on within her body. One speaker said: “Let us go out now,” but the other replied: “You go first, and I will follow you.” Then she heard one say, “Let us go out by the way of the armpit, for I see a little light there,” but the other answered, “No; we should kill our mother in doing so.” Finally, one came into the world in the natural way, but she heard the one who was left say, “I am going out through the armpit, for I can go quicker in that way.” This statement he repeated a number of times, and at last he tried to issue through the armpit with his head. Twice he failed, but the third time he succeeded, although his mother died immediately. He possessed a peculiar head, in the form of a rough flint. The grandmother had to draw this child out of his mother’s body, for he could not get out unaided. Both children lived.

Before the twins were born, while they were conversing in her body, the woman told her mother that she was going to die and that she should be buried and covered well with earth. She said further that a stalk would sprout out of the ground over her which would produce white corn; that a second stalk would grow which would produce red corn; that one of these stalks would grow from each of her breasts; and that each stalk would bear an ear of corn, which the grandmother must pluck, giving one to each of the children. A short time after her burial the two stalks appeared above the ground, just as she had foretold.

The boys grew up strong and healthy, but the younger was an awkward, ugly, disagreeable fellow; he was ill-tempered, often striking his brother in anger.

One day while the elder brother was away, the younger one became lonely, so he decided to make something. Seating himself on the ground, from a portion of earth he formed an object which was in shape like a grasshopper. After he had finished it, he set it down, saying, “Can you not jump?” Then he blew on it until at last the grasshopper did jump. As the grasshopper flew away, the youth decided to try to make a creature that would fly higher. So he made a bird of red clay, which is the cherry bird. After he had finished it he set it up, telling it to fly. Obeying him, the bird flew up in the air, alighting on a bough. This was the first land bird. Thus the youth made one after another all the birds of the air. Then he resolved to make a creature that would run on the ground. So forming a deer out of earth, he brought it to life. Thereupon, saying to it, “Now you shall run swiftly and go everywhere around the world,” he caused the deer to live by blowing upon it. In this manner he made all the various kinds of wild animals, and also formed a human being out of the earth.

The elder brother had a chosen place where he sat while making these things. When he formed the human being, his brother chanced to find him. Then the younger brother, deciding that he, too, would form a human being, went off by himself. Having formed a human being as best he could, he brought his creation to life, but it did not look like the human being his brother had formed; it was a strange looking creature. When he saw that it was not a human being, but an ugly-looking object, he said: “My brother has made a human being over there; you may eat the human being made by my brother.”

The elder brother, suspecting the younger, went near him and found him making animals of various kinds, and he also heard him instructing them to eat human beings. So, going back to his own place, the elder brother caught the cherry bird, and pulling out the hind leg of a grasshopper, he gave it to the bird, saying, “Go and scare my brother.” As the bird held the leg it became in form like that of a human being and bloody. Flying near the younger brother, the bird perched on a near-by bough and began to cry out, “Gowe! Gowe!” When the younger brother saw what the bird carried and heard what it cried, he left his work and fled home to his grandmother, to whom he said: “A bird came and perched just where I was at work. I believe my brother made it to frighten me, for I was afraid that it would pull my leg out, so I fled from there.” When the elder brother returned the grandmother said, “You should not frighten your brother.”

The elder brother, looking down from the sky, saw that all the animals which his brother had made were trying to eat up the human beings and the animals which he had made. So he placed all these monsters of his brother’s creation down in the ground and ordered them to stay there so long as the earth remained. Having done this, he returned to his home in the sky.

When the younger brother learned that his animals had been placed underground by his brother, he was very angry, and exclaimed, “I shall try again to make a human being.” So he worked a portion of clay to make it pliable and responsive, going at times to take a look at the human being which his brother had made. But when his own human being was finished and he had brought him to life, he was indeed a horrid-looking creature. The younger brother told him to whoop, but he could only say, “Ho, ho!” This creature was Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, who was told by the younger brother to go and eat up all the things that his elder brother had made. Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa started off to do this.

The elder brother in the sky, seeing what was going on, came down to earth to place Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa under the ground. But the latter spoke first, saying: “I desire to live on the earth. I will be your servant and will help you. I will go around in the woods and rocky places. The ashes of the fires shall be my medicine for human beings. Should anyone be taken ill, I will scatter ashes over the patient, who shall be made well at once.” The elder brother could not put Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa underground, for he had spoken first, so he had to allow him to remain on the surface of the earth.

Now, the younger brother, going to his grandmother, said: “I have tried my best to make a human being, but have failed. I shall now cause people to be evil-minded. I shall go away and shall have a home, too. And all the evil people who die shall come to me and I shall torment them because I could not make a human being.”

If one who is good shall die, he shall go to the elder brother, in his home in the sky.

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75. The Two Brothers and the Mice Fetishes

In times past there lived two brothers in a lodge which was built in a secluded place in the forest.

Most of the time the elder brother was lying down in order to mature some design which he was developing in his mind. From time to time he would say to his brother: “Now, my younger brother, be very careful of everything, and be on your guard against the evil that others may try to do us. Whenever some person comes here to see us, remember what I am now telling you. And do not forget that under my bed, in a secret place, are a human skull and some other sacred things, which it is not proper for you to show any other person.”

Some time afterward two young women came to the lodge of the two brothers to look around in order to learn what the two young men had. After showing them many things, the younger brother said, “I must tell you that there are some things which are sacred, and which, therefore, I cannot show you.” But after a while, as the two women appeared to be so kind and agreeable, and so much pleased with what they had seen, and as they shyly pleaded to be shown the things which the younger brother said he was not at liberty to show, at last yielding, he brought out the human skull. Snatching it out of the young man’s hands, one of the young women flew away quickly, while the other followed her at once. Thereupon the elder brother said, “Now, you must chase these women with the corn-pounder and see whether or not you can overtake them.” So he ran after them with the corn-pounder, and soon overtaking them, pounded them to death; then he carried the skull back to his elder brother. The latter asked him, “Have you recovered the skull?” The younger brother replied, “Yes, and I have also killed the women.”

Not long afterward, two other young women came to the lodge to see what the brothers had that was curious. The younger brother showed them various common articles, but the women said that these were not the articles they wanted to see. Finally he showed them the human skull, at which one of the women, snatching the skull away from the young man, flew out of the smoke-hole, the other woman following her at once. When the younger brother cried out at what they had done, the elder brother told him to bring his bow and quiver of arrows. The younger instantly obeyed, whereupon the elder brother shot an arrow up through the smoke-hole.

Some time after the woman had taken the skull away, the elder brother told the younger that he was going to the place to which the women had carried it. While on the way there the elder brother asked himself the question, “How shall I disguise myself?” He finally concluded to transform himself into an aged man; so, making the necessary change, he became a wretched-looking old man. On his journey he reached at last a place where there was a large assembly of people, some of whom came to him, saying, “We will aid you”; but he replied, “I do not want to mingle with the crowd, for I am too old to do so; but I shall lie down a little way from the assembly.” While lying there he discovered what he wanted—information concerning the woman who had carried off the skull. He learned that she was there, and that she was ill and suffering great agony. On inquiring casually what was the trouble with the woman, he ascertained from another woman that she had been shot with an arrow, which was still in her body, and that no one had been found who could draw it out. She was in terrible distress from it. Every one in the assemblage was asked to attempt to draw out the arrow, but no one was able to do it. Finally, the pretended old man was asked to make a trial of his power and reluctantly consented to make the attempt; but he only feigned to be averse to performing this act. So, bearing him to the place where the woman lay in a lodge, they brought her on a piece of skin and laid her near him. Thereupon the old man, seizing the arrow with his teeth, drew it out little by little. At this, some who stood by, exclaiming that it was almost out, seized the arrow to extract it the more quickly, but it shot back into the woman’s body as soon as they had touched it. With one accord they exclaimed, “We are sorry for what we have done.” Seizing it with his teeth, the old man again drew the arrow slowly forth. Each time that he stopped to rest he cautioned the people with the words: “Do not touch it. Keep your hands off of it.” Then he would say, “I will try again.” After a while he got the arrow out. Then he said, “This is my arrow.” The woman arose from the skin and was well.

The old man was taken back to the spot where he had lain in the first place, although the people asked him to enter some lodge. He told them, however, that he preferred to remain outside in the place which he had first chosen. They brought him food and drink. Now, the woman who was cured went to her own lodge.

Then the old man asked the people to make him a present of corn, bean, and squash seed, which he desired to plant the next spring. So they brought to him the seed carefully wrapped in a skin. But he did not leave the place where he first lay down. After a while he opened the bundle and, calling the mice, said: “Little creatures, here is enough for you to eat. I desire to have you dig a tunnel underground to that woman’s lodge, so that you may go under her bed and get a skull which is there. Seize it and bring it through the tunnel to me.” Shortly an army of mice came to eat the corn, beans, and squash seed. When they had finished eating they began to tunnel, and they did not cease their work until they had made a hole through the ground to the lodge. There they found the skull, which they drew out slowly. Then the old man stealthily crept to the place where they had left the skull, and, taking it, after dismissing the mice with thanks, he started homeward. He had told the mice to eat all they desired, and so they did eat what they could in the lodge. As soon as the pretended old man was out of sight of the lodge, he again became a young man. Turning toward the village, he spoke a curse upon it, saying, “Let fire break out and destroy all that belongs to that wicked woman, the lodges, and the people.” Instantly the whole was in flames and was soon entirely consumed.

Then the young man resumed his journey toward home. When he arrived there he said: “Now, my brother, after much trouble I have recovered this skull; so do not permit any person to see it again. I have destroyed with fire the entire village and substance of that wicked woman. Hereafter we may live in peace and contentment. So heed my words.”

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76. The Orphan

In times past, in a certain village of the Seneca there was an orphan boy, about sixteen years of age, who went around among the people, going from lodge to lodge to live on the charity of owners, and living wherever people were willing to keep him. Sometimes he slept by a brush fire on the ground and ate whatever was given to him.

When the youth was about twenty years old he was still as much a boy as ever. A chief who was very rich lived in the same village. He had a daughter and two or three sons. One day the boy stopped near the chief’s lodge, where they were burning brush. One of the chief’s sons came out and said to him, “Oh, my friend! how long have you been here?” “Not long,” said the orphan boy. “Well, do you not feel poor and lonely sitting as you do?” was the next question. “No; I feel just as rich as you do,” replied the orphan. “Do you sometimes think that you would like to have a wife?” asked the young man. “Yes; I sometimes think that I should like to have one if I could get one,” answered the orphan. “Well, what would you think of my sister for a wife? Many men have tried to marry her, but she has refused all.” “Oh!” said the orphan boy, looking up, “I should as soon have her as anyone else; she is handsome and rich.” “I will go and ask her,” said the young man, thinking that he would have fun with his sister. Entering the lodge, he said to her: “There is a young man out here who says he would like to marry you. Will you have him?” “Why, yes! I would rather marry him than anyone else,” she replied. “Shall I tell him so?” her brother persisted. “Yes,” she answered. Thereupon he told the orphan boy, who said, “I shall be glad to marry your sister and live with her.” The brother in fun repeated this to his sister, who said, “I will go myself and ask him.” She asked the orphan, “What did my brother tell you about me?” He told her everything. She then said: “I will live with you as your wife. Come tomorrow night at this time and I will take you for my husband.” The next morning she hunted up leggings and moccasins for the orphan boy. As was the custom with youths, he had never worn moccasins in summer. The young woman made ready everything for him. In the evening she went to the meeting place, where she found him. She brought water with which he washed himself; he then put on the garments and she tied up his hair. This time she told him to come to her home and to go straight to her bed, without talking with any of the men, because one of her brothers was always playing tricks. He did as he was told. The waggish brother looked at him and laughed, and calling him by name, said, “Come and sleep with me.”

In the fall the sons of the chief were ready to go on a deer hunt, and the young married woman thought that she, too, would like to go, inasmuch as she had a youthful husband, who, perhaps, would become a good hunter. The husband said, “Yes; I will go and try,” for he had never hunted. When they had traveled some distance, they camped and began hunting. The husband, having found a place where there were wild grape vines, made a swing. There he swung all day, never hunting, as the others did. At night he would go home without game, but he did not tell what he had seen in the woods. The brothers killed many deer. One day one said to the other: “Our brother-in-law gets no game.” The other replied: “Perhaps he does not hunt.” So they agreed to watch. On following him, they found him swinging, and they noticed that the ground was worn smooth around the swing. Thereupon they said: “We will not live with this man and feed him. We will leave him and camp a day’s journey away.” So they started, leaving the man and woman only one piece of venison.

The boy never ate much, so his wife had most of the meat. When all was eaten she began to fear starvation. One day while the boy was swinging he saw a great horned owl alight in a tree near by. Having shot it, he put the body under the swing, where he could look at it as he swung. His wife was getting very hungry, and when he went home that night she said, “If I have nothing to eat tomorrow, perhaps I shall be unable to get up; you ought to kill something.” “Well, maybe tomorrow I shall kill something,” replied the orphan.

The next day he went as usual to the swing. While swinging he heard a sound like the crying of a woman. He was frightened and stopped swinging. Soon he saw a female panther coming toward him with three cubs. As they approached he heard a great noise in the north, the direction from which the panthers had come, and a Dagwanoenyent appeared, tearing down all the trees in his path. He stopped on a tree near the swing. “There! you know what harm you have done,” said the Dagwanoenyent. (The old panther and cubs had been in Dagwanoenyent’s lodge on the rocks and had run away.) “Why are you so angry at the panthers?” asked the young man; “what have they done to you?” “They have torn up my best feather cap,” replied Dagwanoenyent. “What makes you think so much of your cap? It must be very fine,” said the orphan. “Yes; it was fine,” replied Dagwanoenyent. “Of what kind of skin was it made?” was the next question. “It was made of the skin of a horned owl,” said the Dagwanoenyent. “What would you think if I gave you another one?” queried the orphan. “How can you get one?” asked Dagwanoenyent. Going to the foot of the tree, the young man tossed up the owl which he had killed. The wind had stopped blowing as soon as Dagwanoenyent lighted on the tree. The old mother panther stood at hand, listening to what Dagwanoenyent and the young man said to each other. As he tossed up the owl, Dagwanoenyent caught it and said, “I thank you; this is better than the old one;” so saying he flew away. The panther thanked the young man, saying: “I am very glad you had this owl. You have saved my life and the lives of my children; now I will try to help you. Go to that knoll yonder, and just behind it you will see a couple of buck deer fighting. You must try to kill both. The one you shoot first will not run; they will fight until they die.” Running over to the knoll, the orphan found the two bucks and killed both. Taking a large piece of the venison, he went home to his wife, for she was almost starved to death. “I have brought you meat,” said the husband. “I have killed two buck deer today.” Jumping up, she threw the venison on the fire to broil, and hardly waited for it to cook before she began to eat it. The young man and his wife dragged the two deer home, and having skinned and dressed them, had plenty of venison. The young woman also dried the meat and tanned the skins. The panther told the orphan that now he must hunt, and that he must never swing, because he would kill much game.

When they had a great deal of meat the young man said: “I should go to see your brothers now. Probably they have a large quantity of meat, for they are good hunters.” He started on his journey, which took an entire day. Having killed a deer on the way, he carried along the venison. He found the lodge of his brothers-in-law, which looked very desolate. Peeping in, he saw all the brothers, who appeared weak and miserable; so he walked in, saying, “How are you, my brothers-in-law?” One said, “There is our brother-in-law.” They answered, “We are nearly starved; we have found nothing to kill.” “Well,” was the response, “we have plenty at our place. Come and live with us. I have meat here on my back. Eat and then go with me.” Thereupon he gave them the venison, which they ate almost raw. The food made them strong, so they started with him for his home.

The young man got home very quickly and told his wife, “Your brothers are badly off; they are worse off than you were.” During the night the brothers arrived. They were satisfied, and afterward lived with their sister and brother-in-law. Soon all went back to the village, loaded with skins and venison. Now the man and his wife were rich. They lived in the Genesee Valley.

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One day a boy was wandering about hunting in the woods. While he was looking around for birds he noticed on the limb of a tree a large, many-colored worm. He thought it very beautiful and he watched it for some time. The next day he went to the woods again, thinking all the time of the worm and wondering whether it still would be there.

When he came to the tree he saw the worm on the branch, but in another place. The boy had a string of birds which he had killed that morning. Tearing off a small bit of the flesh of one and fastening it to a stick, he tried to feed the worm. It ate a little and the boy was greatly amused. The following day the boy again found the worm and fed it. The worm always remained near the place where he had first discovered it. Each day the worm ate a little more and larger portions. After a while the boy gave it a whole bird at a time; then soon two birds, feathers and all. The worm had now become very large, too heavy for the limb of the tree on which it had been staying, so it fell to the ground. It never looked for food, but seemed to wait for the boy to bring it.

One day the youth was out with a number of boys hunting. When they started for home he said, “I shall give all my birds to the worm.” Thereupon the other boys questioned him about the creature and wanted to see it, so he led them to the worm, and they had great sport seeing it eat. At every turn it seemed to change color and grow more beautiful. The boys were delighted to throw birds at the worm that they might see it snatch and eat them. Finally they said, “Let us go hunting tomorrow and bring it all the birds we can find.” This they did.

For a long time the boys brought the worm birds, then rabbits, all of which it ate. The worm grew very rapidly, became very long and thick—a huge monster. The boys never told their parents or relations about the worm, for they were afraid of losing their sport. They would go early every morning to see the worm. The creature swallowed everything that came within its reach.

One day while the boys were throwing the worm food they began to wrestle, and in the excitement the youngest boy was thrown near the creature. In an instant the boy was swallowed. At this the rest of the boys were terribly frightened. When the child was missed the parents looked for him everywhere; they went among the boys to see whether he had not spent the night with one of them. But they could not get the slightest clue to the whereabouts of the boy. The other boys said that they had seen him the day before; that was all they pretended to know.

After this the boys pushed two or three others of their number near the worm, which devoured them, too. It had become very large and ferocious, and ruled the boys by a spell. One day they found that the worm had killed and eaten a deer. Thereupon they were seized with great fear, for the creature had grown so immense, and they ran away without having their usual sport.

Now the village was built on a large mound-like hill, sloping on all sides. The morning after the boys had failed to feed the worm the people were alarmed to find the village surrounded by a terrible monster. They were afraid to go near it, although they knew that they must die if they remained shut up in the village. At last the greater number, having found on one side what seemed to them to be an opening, all rushed in. It was the mouth of the worm and all were swallowed. Then the boys told those who remained that it was this worm that had eaten the missing children.

When they saw that all who had tried thus to escape were devoured they were terrified, and counseled together to save themselves. Only a few were left. These decided to appeal to their grandfather, Hinon. So, burning tobacco, they called on their grandfather, Hinon, the Thunder god, imploring him to save them from this awful worm. As soon as the tobacco was burning, they heard him approaching in a great black storm cloud with terrific noise. With his lightning he struck the worm, tearing it to pieces. These pieces rolled down the hillside into the valley below, which became a lake.

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78. The Chipmunk and the Bear

The Bear thought herself a very powerful creature in the exercise of orenda (magic power), and hence was always trying to exhibit this power before other animals.

One day she got into a hot dispute with a Chipmunk. Finally the Chipmunk said: “Why do you boast so much? You have no remarkable orenda.” At this sally the Bear, becoming very angry, asserted that she had so great magic power that she could, if she wished, prevent the sun from rising in the morning. The Chipmunk retorted, “No, you have not; you can not do that.” “Wait and see,” replied the Bear. The Chipmunk, not to be fooled, declared he would wait, saying, “We shall have the sun at the usual time.” When the sun rose, as usual, the Chipmunk, laughing, made sport of the Bear and her boasting. Finally, the Bear got so terribly angry that she turned on the Chipmunk, who made his escape by flight, for fortunately his burrow was near; but as he reached it, the Bear was so close upon him that she stretched out her paw to clutch him, and the Chipmunk just slipped from under it into the hole. The next day the Chipmunk appeared with three marks on his back—marks of the Bear’s claws, which the Chipmunk carries to this day.

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79. The Great White Beaver and the Lake of the Enchanted Water

Once in old times there lived a grandfather and his grandson in a lodge in a forest far from any village. All the other people of their tribe had been carried away through sorcery practiced by their enemies. The grandfather therefore carefully guarded from witches and wizards his grandson, who was the only hope and comfort of his declining years.

One day the little grandson, almost breathless, ran into the lodge exclaiming: “Oh, grandfather! I have heard something which is very wonderful, crying out, Kidjiʹde.” “Oh!” answered the grandfather, “that is the bird which is called Chickadee; it is the first kind of game that a young hunter kills.” Taking his cue from this reply, the lad, seizing his bow and arrows, went out and after many fruitless attempts killed the chickadee and brought its body into the lodge to his grandfather. Thereupon the grandfather set up in the ground in front of the fire two small forked sticks and laid across another stick in the two forks. Having dressed the chickadee, he hung it on the cross stick to broil, singing and dancing with great joy, saying, “Now my grandson will become a great hunter.”

A few days later the lad ran into the lodge, exclaiming, “Oh! grandfather, I have seen a very strange thing, which was walking on two legs; it had red skin on its head, a black coat, and made a great deal of noise.” The grandfather told the lad what this new thing was, saying: “Oh! that is Ohsoon. It makes the best kind of soup, and it is the third kind of game that a young hunter kills.”

Running off into the forest, the lad soon saw a flock of the Ohsoon and ran after them until he had caught one. He thought that the soup of which his grandfather spoke must be in its legs. But after examining them thoroughly and finding no soup, he exclaimed, “My grandfather must have tried to deceive me”; with that remark he let the bird go free. Then he ran back to his grandfather, complaining that he had caught one of the Ohsoon and, after carefully examining its legs, had found no soup in them, and that therefore he had let the bird go free. His grandfather pityingly said, “Oh! you foolish boy. The soup is not in its legs but in the body. You must kill, dress, and cook Ohsoon, and then you will have very fine soup.” With this information the lad again went out into the forest, and, having caught another of the Ohsoon, brought it home. The old man was highly delighted with the success of his grandson, so he himself killed, dressed, and cooked Ohsoon. Again he sang and danced, frequently saying, “Now, my grandson will be a great hunter.” When the bird was cooked, they ate their fill and were both satisfied.

The next time the youth went to hunt he brought back a fine bear. His grandfather was now very happy, for they had an abundance of meat. Assuring the youth that he had arrived at the age of manhood, as indicated by the change in his voice, he said to him: “My grandson, I am much pleased with you. You may go when hunting in every direction except toward the east. You must not go toward the east, for there dwell very wicked women, who have killed through sorcery all our people. So give heed to what I tell you.”

The next time that the young man started off to hunt he directed his course southward. But as he traveled on he kept thinking of those wicked women in the east, who had destroyed all his kindred. Finally, he decided to change his course from the southward to eastward, and he kept on for some time in the latter direction. At last he came to a tree which was covered all over with what appeared to be the scratches and nail marks of raccoons, whereupon he said to himself, “There must be a large number of raccoons in this tree.” So he removed his outer garments and laid aside his bow and arrows; then taking a stout club, he climbed the tree until he came to a hole very near the top. Peering into this opening, he saw many raccoons down in the hollow trunk. By thrusting his club down among them, he killed a number. Drawing them up, he threw them on the ground at the foot of the tree. Finally he chanced to look down—there at the very foot of the tree he saw a beautiful young woman sitting on a log. As soon as she caught his eye she exclaimed, “Come down here. I wish to talk with you, so do not delay.” The young man paid no attention to her at first, but kept on killing the raccoons and casting them down to the ground. She hailed him again, urging him to come down to talk with her. To avoid her, he crept around the tree, and there he changed himself into a red-headed woodpecker. Next he climbed up higher into the tree, pecking at the bark as he went for a short time. Then he shot his arrow off toward home; it whizzed through the air making a sound like a woodpecker. The young woman, who thought that he was the arrow, flew after him with all her might. But the young man, assuming again his own form, slipped down the tree, and after putting on his garments and gathering up the raccoons and his bow and arrows, he started for home.

His grandfather was greatly delighted to see so great a number of raccoons, but when he learned where the young man had got them he became very angry and chided him severely, saying, “You must not go there again, for if you do great harm and evil will befall us.”

The next day the young man started off from home, going directly southward. But when he was out of sight of the lodge he suddenly turned, going directly eastward. On the course he passed the tree where he had killed so many raccoons, and finally came to a second tree, which was also full of raccoons. Stopping there, he killed a large number, and while throwing them to the ground from the tree, he again saw the woman who had accosted him at the other tree. She urged him to come down, and did not fail to use very enticing terms. As he recalled his grandfather’s words, the young man well knew that he should not go down to her, but a feeling came into his heart which urgently prompted him to comply with her request. So reluctantly descending halfway, there he stopped. But the woman kept urging him to come down. Finally, having reached the ground, he sat on the end of the log, near the middle of which the woman was sitting. She asked him, “Why do you sit so far away? Young people customarily sit near each other when they talk together.” At this the young man drew a little nearer to her. But she still urged him to come close to her, so finally he took his seat right at her side. Now she began to tell him stories of wonders and magic power, talking to him until at last, becoming wearied, the young man fell asleep. Then the young woman, placing him in a bag which she threw over her shoulder, hurried away through the air. At the end of a long journey she alighted on the ground, and taking the young man from the bag, she aroused him and asked, “Do you know this place?” Looking around, he replied, “Yes; my grandfather and I have fished here.” The young woman replied, “I do not believe what you say. Point out something you remember.” The young man (willing that she should see these things) said, “Oh! there are the poles we set up, and there is an old kettle in which we cooked.” He had bewitched her eyes, so after seeing these objects she believed what he had said.

Again the woman told him stories until she had put him to sleep; then putting him into her bag she carried him far away, finally alighting on the ground. Taking him out of the bag and causing him to open his eyes, she set him on a narrow cliff under a mountain, where he had room only sufficient for him to lie down—a place not wider than a small deerskin.

Looking upward, he saw the mountain extending far above him, and looking downward, he saw that the earth was many hundreds of feet below. Nearer to him were other mountain peaks, narrow and pointed, on which were lying the bodies of men—some alive, some half dead, others half eaten, and still others reduced to mere skeletons. The sight of these things caused the young man many bitter reflections. He repeatedly said: “Oh! now I see that my grandfather was entirely right in the advice he gave me. There are indeed very wicked women who dwell in the east.” His feelings of chagrin were only heightened by what he learned from what one of the living men told. Calling to the man lying on the nearest cliff, he asked him how he happened to be there. The man in broken accents replied: “A woman deceived me and brought me here. Other women brought those other men to the spots where you see them lying. Their flesh is being eaten from their bones, yet they do not die. You and I shall be eaten when they get ready to come to us.” He ceased speaking, and the young man then thought long on some means of escape from such a lingering, horrid death at the hands of such wicked women and their agents. At last he remembered that in years past he had had a dream in which he had seen a Great Spider, which approached him, saying: “My friend, I will keep and protect you when you shall be in trouble. So call on me when you shall be in fear of death.” He therefore cried to this Great Spider for aid, saying: “Oh, Great Spider! help me now. I am in great trouble.” Hardly had his words died away before an enormous spider, which was as large as a man, came to him and at once began weaving webs and to form a rope. When it had finished the rope the Great Spider suspended it from the mountain above the man. The rope was quite strong enough to support the man, and thereby he climbed up to the top of the mountain above him. There he saw a large level country. Then by the aid of the Great Spider, lowering the rope to the men below on the cliffs who were still alive, he drew them up one after another. Having thanked the Great Spider for its aid, he dismissed it. The men thus rescued went to their homes.

Then the young man set out for the home of the woman who had so cleverly deceived him. After a long journey he found her living with her mother in an old lodge standing quite alone. Addressing the young woman, the daughter of the old sorceress, the young man declared his purpose in coming by saying: “I have come here to marry you. When I first saw you I was greatly pleased with you; and I now love you. Will you be my wife?” Replying, the young woman said, “Oh! I hardly know what to tell you, for I have a very disagreeable mother, and I am much afraid you will not be able to live in the same lodge with her. It was in obedience to her command that I carried you to the narrow cliff on the mountain peak. I am willing to make the trial if you wish it.” The young man accepted her even under these adverse circumstances, and so they became husband and wife.

One night some time after this the old woman, the mother-in-law of the young man, who slept at the back end of the lodge, pretending to be in an agony of pain, rolled around on the ground. Her daughter, knowing what the trouble was, said to her husband, “Strike my mother on the head with the pestle for pounding corn.” In doing this he said to her, “Oh! mother-in-law, what is the matter?” Seeming to have been awakened by the blow of the pestle the old woman said: “I have dreamed, and my Dream Being declared that it is necessary in order to avoid some unknown calamity that my son-in-law kill the Great White Beaver that lives in the Lake of the Enchanted Waters, and that with its flesh he must prepare a feast for the Dagwanoenyent.” The son-in-law replied: “It is all right, Oh! mother-in-law. I will attend to this to-morrow morning. So go to bed, and let it not worry you.”

The next morning the young husband set out for the Lake of the Enchanted Waters. Having arrived there he soon found the Great White Beaver. With but a single arrow he shot and killed it. But as soon as he lifted its body out of the lake the enchanted waters pursued him with great fury. These waters were reputed to be so full of evil enchantment that the flesh of any living thing coming in contact with them immediately fell from the bones. Knowing this, the young husband ran for his life, bearing the body of the Great White Beaver. At last, reaching the lodge in safety he triumphantly threw the carcass of the Great White Beaver down on the ground, and at that instant the waters of the lake quickly receded. The old woman was now in a great rage at the turn of affairs. At times she cried out, “Oh! he is a terrible man. I thought that surely his bones would now be in that lake. Oh, my poor son! Oh, my poor son!” It seems that the Great White Beaver was no other than her son, who was a great sorcerer, and who assumed this formidable shape to deceive other shamans and sorcerers and to lure them to certain destruction. But evidently his orenda had been overcome by that of the young brother-in-law, his sister’s husband.

The next night the old woman again rolled and tossed on her bed, finally falling into the fire, crying out, Agi! Agi! The wife of the young man had told him that this time her mother would dream that he and his mother-in-law must go into the sweat-lodge—the man first, and the old woman after him. So when the old woman rolled into the fire, the young wife said, “Now, strike her with the pestle for pounding corn.” At this he struck her a blow with the pestle while she was rolling about among the ashes and fire, and groaning as if in great agony. The old woman, pretending to awake, said, “Oh! I have dreamed that my son-in-law entered the sweat-lodge—he first, and then I.” Making light of her dream, the young man said, “Oh! go to bed, mother-in-law. I will attend to this matter in the morning.” Early the following morning the sweat-lodge was heated hotter than it had ever been before. When the son-in-law entered, the old woman sang and danced around it, saying, “Let there be heat enough in there to smother him.” In a couple of hours she cautiously pushed aside the door flap of the sweat-lodge, remarking, “He must be dead by this time.” But she was deeply chagrined to find that he sat inside very comfortably, and that he had not even perspired. It was now the old woman’s turn to enter the sweat-lodge. As she did so, the son-in-law began to sing and to dance around it. He sang, “Let this lodge become flint; let it be red hot at first; and then let it be at white heat.” As it grew hotter and hotter the old woman begged for mercy, but none was shown her, and thus she was burned to death.