In Indian Tents

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

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

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

The Witch gave him a pinch of dust.

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

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

The Eastern Star was so pleased that he called his old friend the Great Grasshopper to come and share with him. “N’jāls,” the Grasshopper, had no pipe but he chewed tobacco.[20 - When Passamaquoddy Indians catch a grasshopper, they hold him in the palm of the hand and say, “Give me a chew of tobacco.” The liquid that the insect spits looks like tobacco juice.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BIG BELLY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHĪBALOCH, THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STORY OF TEAM, THE MOOSE

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

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

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

THE SNAKE AND THE PORCUPINE

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

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

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

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

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

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