Chapter IV: Part 4

While he had been absent on his first expedition, his children had eaten up all the white food, and now, when he set out, he forgot to provide them with a fresh supply. For a long time they resisted the craving for food, but at last they could hold out no longer, and satisfied their hunger with the black fruit.

The old Chippeway soon returned, bringing with him the moon. He soon discovered that his children had transgressed his command, and had eaten the food of disease and death. He told them what was the consequence of their act--that in future the earth would produce bad fruits, that sickness would come amongst men, that pain would rack them, and their lives be lives of fatigue and danger.

Having brought the sun and moon to the earth, the old man Chippeway rested, and made no more expeditions. He lived an immense number of years, and saw all the troubles he declared would follow the eating of the black food. At last he became tired of life, and his sole desire was to be freed from it.

"Go," said he, to one of his sons, "to the river of the Bear Lake, and fetch me a man of the little wise people (the beavers). Let it be one with a brown ring round the end of the tail, and a white spot on the tip of the nose. Let him be just two seasons old upon the first day of the coming frog-moon, and see that his teeth be sharp."

The man did as he was directed. He went to the river of the Bear Lake, and brought a man of the little wise people. He had a brown ring round the end of his tail, and a white spot on the tip of his nose. He was just two seasons old upon the first day of the frog-moon, and his teeth were very sharp.

"Take the wise four-legged man," said the old Chippeway, "and pull from his jaws seven of his teeth."

The man did as he was directed, and brought the teeth to the old man. Then he bade him call all his people together, and when they were come the old man thus addressed them--

"I am old, and am tired of life, and wish to sleep the sleep of death. I will go hence. Take the seven teeth of the wise little four-legged man and drive them into my body."

They did so, and as the last tooth entered him the old man died.

MUKUMIK! MUKUMIK! MUKUMIK!

Pauppukkeewis was a harum-scarum fellow who played many queer tricks, but he took care, nevertheless, to supply his family and children with food. Sometimes, however, he was hard-pressed, and once he and his whole family were on the point of starving. Every resource seemed to have failed. The snow was so deep, and the storm continued so long, that he could not even find a partridge or a hare, and his usual supply of fish had failed him. His lodge stood in some woods not far away from the shores of the Gitchiguma, or great water, where the autumnal storms had piled up the ice into high pinnacles, resembling castles.

"I will go," said he to his family one morning, "to these castles, and solicit the pity of the spirits who inhabit them, for I know that they are the residence of some of the spirits of Rabiboonoka."

He did so, and his petition was not disregarded. The spirits told him to fill his mushkemoots or sacks with the ice and snow, and pass on towards his lodge, without looking back, until he came to a certain hill. He was then to drop his sacks, and leave them till morning, when he would find them full of fish.

The spirits cautioned him that he must by no means look back, although he should hear a great many voices crying out to him abusing him; for they told him such voices would be in reality only the wind playing through the branches of the trees.

Pauppukkeewis faithfully obeyed the directions given him, although he found it difficult to avoid looking round to see who was calling to him. When he visited the sacks in the morning, he found them filled with fish.

It happened that Manabozho visited him on the morning when he brought the fish home, and the visitor was invited to partake of the feast. While they were eating, Manabozho could not help asking where such an abundance of food had been procured at a time when most were in a state of starvation.

Pauppukkeewis frankly told him the secret, and and what precautions to take to ensure success. Manabozho determined to profit by the information, and, as soon as he could, set out to visit the icy castles. All things happened as Pauppukkeewis had told him. The spirits appeared to be kind, and told Manabozho to fill and carry. He accordingly filled his sacks with ice and snow, and then walked off quickly to the hill where he was to leave them. As he went, however, he heard voices calling out behind him.

"Thief! thief! He has stolen fish from Rabiboonoka," cried one.

"Mukumik! Mukumik! take it away, take it away," cried another.

Manabozho's ears were so assailed by all manner of insulting cries, that at last he got angry, and, quite forgetting the directions given him, he turned his head to see who it was that was abusing him. He saw no one, and proceeded on his way to the hill, to which he was accompanied by his invisible tormentors. He left his bags of ice and snow there, to be changed into fish, and came back the next morning. His disobedience had, however, dissolved the charm, and he found his bags still full of rubbish.

In consequence of this he is condemned every year, during the month of March, to run over the hills, with Pauppukkeewis following him, crying--

"Mukumik! Mukumik!"

THE SWING BY THE LAKE.

There was an old hag of a woman who lived with her daughter-in-law and her husband, with their son and a little orphan boy. When her son-in-law came home from hunting, it was his custom to bring his wife the moose's lip, the kidney of the bear, or some other choice bits of different animals. These the girl would cook crisp, so that the sound of their cracking could be heard when she ate them. This kind attention of the hunter to his wife aroused the envy of the old woman. She wished to have the same luxuries, and, in order to obtain them, she at last resolved to kill the young wife. One day she asked her to leave her infant son to the care of the orphan boy, and come out and swing with her. The wife consented, and the mother-in-law took her to the shore of a lake, where there was a high ridge of rocks overhanging the water. Upon the top of these rocks the old woman put up a swing, and, having fastened a piece of leather round her body, she commenced to swing herself, going over the precipice each time. She continued this for a short while, and then, stopping, told her daughter-in-law to take her place. She did so, and, having tied the leather round her, began to swing backwards and forwards. When she was well going, sweeping at each turn clear beyond the precipice, the old woman slyly cut the cords, and let her drop into the lake. She then put on some of the girl's clothing, entered the lodge in the dusk of the evening, and went about the work in which her daughter-in-law had been usually occupied at such a time. She found the child crying, and, since the mother was not there to give it the breast, it cried on. Then the orphan boy asked her where the mother was.

"She is still swinging," replied the old woman.

"I will go," said he, "and look for her."

"No," said the old woman, "you must not. What would you go for?"

In the evening, when the husband came in, he gave the coveted morsels to what he supposed was his wife. He missed the old woman, but asked nothing about her. Meanwhile the woman ate the morsels, and tried to quiet the child. The husband, seeing that she kept her face away from him, was astonished, and asked why the child cried so. His pretended wife answered that she did not know.

In the meantime the orphan boy went to the shores of the lake, where he found no one. Then he suspected the old woman, and, having returned to the lodge, told the hunter, while she was out getting wood, all he had heard and seen. The man, when he had heard the story, painted his face black, and placed his spear upside down in the earth, and requested the Great Spirit to send lightning, thunder, and rain, in the hope that the body of his wife might arise from the water. He then began to fast, and told the boy to take the child and play upon the lake shore.

Meanwhile this is what had happened to the wife. After she had plunged into the lake, she found herself in the hold of a water-tiger, who drew her to the bottom. There she found a lodge, and all things in it as if arranged for her reception, and she became the water-tiger's wife.

Whilst the orphan boy and the child were playing on the shore of the lake one day, the boy began to throw pebbles into the water, when suddenly a gull arose from the centre of the lake, and flew towards the land. When it had arrived there, it took human shape, and the boy recognised that it was the lost mother. She had a leather belt around her, and another belt of white metal. She suckled the baby, and, preparing to return to the water, said to the boy--

"Come here with the child whenever it cries, and I will nurse it."

The boy carried the child home, and told the father what had occurred. When the child cried again, the man went with the boy to the shore, and hid himself behind a clump of trees. Soon the gull made its appearance, with a long shining chain attached to it. The bird came to the shore, assumed the mother's shape, and began to suckle the child. The husband stood with his spear in his hand, wondering what he had best do to regain his wife. When he saw her preparing to return to the lake he rushed forward, struck the shining chain with his spear, and broke it. Then he took his wife and child home. As he entered the lodge the old woman looked up, and, when she saw the wife, she dropped her head in despair. A rustling was heard in the place; the next moment the old woman leaped up, flew out of the lodge, and was never heard of more.

THE FIRE PLUME.

Wassamo was living with his parents on the shores of a large bay on the east coast of Lake Michigan. It was at a period when nature spontaneously furnished everything that was wanted, when the Indians used skins for clothing, and flints for arrow heads. It was long before the time that the flag of the white man had first been seen in these lakes, or the sound of an iron axe had been heard. The skill of our people supplied them with weapons to kill game, with instruments to procure bark for their canoes, and they knew to dress and cook their victuals.

One day, when the season had commenced for fish to be plentiful near the shore of the lake, Wassamo's mother said to him--

"My son, I wish you would go to yonder point, and see if you cannot procure me some fish. You may ask your cousin to accompany you."

He did so. They set out, and, in the course of the afternoon, arrived at the fishing-ground. His cousin attended to the nets, for he was grown up to manhood, but Wassamo had not yet reached that age. They put their nets in the water, and encamped near them, using only a few pieces of birch-bark for a lodge to shelter them at night. They lit a fire, and, while they were conversing together, the moon arose. Not a breath of wind disturbed the smooth and bright surface of the lake. Not a cloud was seen. Wassamo looked out on the water towards their nets, and saw that almost all the floats had disappeared.

"Cousin," he said, "let us visit our nets. Perhaps we are fortunate."

They did so, and were rejoiced, as they drew them up, to see the meshes white here and there with fish. They landed in good spirits, and put away their canoe in safety from the winds.

"Wassamo," said his cousin, "you cook that we may eat."

Wassamo set about it immediately, and soon got his kettle on the flames, while his cousin was lying at his ease on the opposite side of the fire.

"Cousin," said Wassamo, "tell me stories, or sing me some love-songs."

The other obeyed, and sang his plaintive songs. He would frequently break off, and tell parts of stories, and would then sing again, as suited his feelings or fancy. While thus employed, he unconsciously fell asleep. Wassamo had scarcely noticed it in his care to watch the kettle, and, when the fish were done, he took the kettle off. He spoke to his cousin, but received no answer. He took the wooden ladle to skim off the oil, for the fish were very fat. He had a flambeau of twisted bark in one hand to give light; but, when he came to take out the fish, he did not know how to manage to hold the light, so he took off his garters, and tied them tight round his head, and then placed the lighted flambeau above his forehead, so that it was firmly held by the bandage, and threw its light brilliantly about him. Having both hands thus at liberty, he began to take out the fish. Suddenly he heard a laugh.

"Cousin," said he, "some one is near us. Awake, and let us look out."

His cousin, however, continued asleep. Again Wassamo heard the laughter, and, looking, he beheld two beautiful girls.

"Awake, awake," said he to his cousin. "Here are two young women;" but he received no answer, for his cousin was locked in his deepest slumbers.

Wassamo started up and advanced to the strange women. He was about to speak to them, when he fell senseless to the earth.

A short while after his cousin awoke. He looked around and called Wassamo, but could not find him.

"Netawis, Netawis (Cousin, cousin)!" he cried; but there was no answer. He searched the woods and all the shores around, but could not find him. He did not know what to do.

"Although," he reasoned, "his parents are my relations, and they know he and I were great friends, they will not believe me if I go home and say that he is lost. They will say that I killed him, and will require blood for blood."

However, he resolved to return home, and, arriving there, he told them what had occurred. Some said, "He has killed him treacherously," others said, "It is impossible. They were like brothers."

Search was made on every side, and when at length it became certain that Wassamo was not to be found, his parents demanded the life of Netawis.

Meanwhile, what had happened to Wassamo? When he recovered his senses, he found himself stretched on a bed in a spacious lodge.

"Stranger," said some one, "awake, and take something to eat."

Looking around him he saw many people, and an old spirit man, addressing him, said--

"My daughters saw you at the fishing-ground, and brought you here. I am the guardian spirit of Nagow Wudjoo (the sand mountains). We will make your visit here agreeable, and if you will remain I will give you one of my daughters in marriage."

The young man consented to the match, and remained for some time with the spirit of the sand-hills in his lodge at the bottom of the lake, for there was it situated. At last, however, approached the season of sleep, when the spirit and his relations lay down for their long rest.

"Son-in-law," said the old spirit, "you can now, in a few days, start with your wife to visit your relations. You can be absent one year, but after that you must return."

Wassamo promised to obey, and set out with his wife. When he was near his village, he left her in a thicket and advanced alone. As he did so, who should he meet but his cousin.

"Netawis, Netawis," cried his cousin, "you have come just in time to save me!"

Then he ran off to the lodge of Wassamo's parents.

"I have seen him," said he, "whom you accuse me of having killed. He will be here in a few minutes."

All the village was soon in a bustle, and Wassamo and his wife excited universal attention, and the people strove who should entertain them best. So the time passed happily till the season came that Wassamo and his wife should return to the spirits. Netawis accompanied them to the shores of the lake, and would have gone with them to their strange abode, but Wassamo sent him back. With him Wassamo took offerings from the Indians to his father-in-law.

The old spirit was delighted to see the two return, and he was also much pleased with the presents Wassamo brought. He told his son-in-law that he and his wife should go once more to visit his people.

"It is merely," said he, "to assure them of my friendship, and to bid them farewell for ever."

Some time afterwards Wassamo and his wife made this visit. Having delivered his message, he said--

"I must now bid you all farewell for ever."

His parents and friends raised their voices in loud lamentation, and they accompanied him and his wife to the sand-banks to see them take their departure.

The day was mild, the sky clear, not a cloud appeared, nor was there a breath of wind to disturb the bright surface of the water. The most perfect silence reigned throughout the company. They gazed intently upon Wassamo and his wife as they waded out into the water, waving their hands. They saw them go into deeper and deeper water. They saw the wave close over their heads. All at once they raised a loud and piercing wail. They looked again. A red flame, as if the sun had glanced on a billow, marked the spot for an instant; but the Feather-of-Flames and his wife had disappeared for ever.

THE JOURNEY TO THE ISLAND OF SOULS.

Once upon a time there lived in the nation of the Chippeways a most beautiful maiden, the flower of the wilderness, the delight and wonder of all who saw her. She was called the Rock-rose, and was beloved by a youthful hunter, whose advances gained her affection. No one was like the brave Outalissa in her eyes: his deeds were the greatest, his skill was the most wonderful. It was not permitted them, however, to become the inhabitants of one lodge. Death came to the flower of the Chippeways. In the morning of her days she died, and her body was laid in the dust with the customary rites of burial. All mourned for her, but Outalissa was a changed man. No more did he find delight in the chase or on the war-path. He grew sad, shunned the society of his brethren. He stood motionless as a tree in the hour of calm, as the wave that is frozen up by the breath of the cold wind.

Joy came no more to him. He told his discontent in the ears of his people, and spoke of his determination to seek his beloved maiden. She had but removed, he said, as the birds fly away at the approach of winter, and it required but due diligence on his part to find her. Having prepared himself, as a hunter makes ready for a long journey, he armed himself with his war-spear and bow and arrow, and set out to the Land of Souls.

Directed by the old tradition of his fathers, he travelled south to reach that region, leaving behind him the great star. As he moved onwards, he found a more pleasant region succeeding to that in which he had lived. Daily, hourly, he remarked the change. The ice grew thinner, the air warmer, the trees taller. Birds, such as he had never seen before, sang in the bushes, and fowl of many kinds were pluming themselves in the warm sun on the shores of the lake. The gay woodpecker was tapping the hollow beech, the swallow and the martin were skimming along the level of the green vales. He heard no more the cracking of branches beneath the weight of icicles and snow, he saw no more the spirits of departed men dancing wild dances on the skirts of the northern clouds, and the farther he travelled the milder grew the skies, the longer was the period of the sun's stay upon the earth, and the softer, though less brilliant, the light of the moon.

Noting these changes as he went with a joyful heart, for they were indications of his near approach to the land of joy and delight, he came at length to a cabin situated on the brow of a steep hill in the middle of a narrow road. At the door of this cabin stood a man of a most ancient and venerable appearance. He was bent nearly double with age. His locks were white as snow. His eyes were sunk very far into his head, and the flesh was wasted from his bones, till they were like trees from which the bark has been peeled. He was clothed in a robe of white goat's skin, and a long staff supported his tottering limbs whithersoever he walked.

The Chippeway began to tell him who he was, and why he had come thither, but the aged man stopped him, telling him he knew upon what errand he was bent.

"A short while before," said he, "there passed the soul of a tender and lovely maiden, well-known to the son of the Red Elk, on her way to the beautiful island. She was fatigued with her long journey, and rested a while in this cabin. She told me the story of your love, and was persuaded that you would attempt to follow her to the Lake of Spirits."

The old man, further, told Outalissa that if he made speed he might hope to overtake the maiden on the way. Before, however, he resumed his journey he must leave behind him his body, his spear, bow, and arrows, which the old man promised to keep for him should he return. The Chippeway left his body and arms behind him, and under the direction of the old man entered upon the road to the Blissful Island. He had travelled but a couple of bowshots when it met his view, even more beautiful than his fathers had painted it.

He stood upon the brow of a hill which sloped gently down to the water of a lake which stretched as far as eye could see. Upon its banks were groves of beautiful trees of all kinds, and many canoes were to be seen gliding over its water. Afar, in the centre of the lake, lay the beautiful island appointed for the residence of the good. He walked down to the shore and entered a canoe which stood ready for him, made of a shining white stone. Seizing the paddle, he pushed off from the shore and commenced to make his way to the island. As he did so, he came to a canoe like his own, in which he found her whom he was in pursuit of. She recognised him, and the two canoes glided side by side over the water. Then Outalissa knew that he was on the Water of Judgment, the great water over which every soul must pass to reach the beautiful island, or in which it must sink to meet the punishment of the wicked. The two lovers glided on in fear, for the water seemed at times ready to swallow them, and around them they could see many canoes, which held those whose lives had been wicked, going down. The Master of Life had, however, decreed that they should pass in safety, and they reached the shores of the beautiful island, on which they landed full of joy.

It is impossible to tell the delights with which they found it filled. Mild and soft winds, clear and sweet waters, cool and refreshing shades, perpetual verdure, inexhaustible fertility, met them on all sides. Gladly would the son of the Red Elk have remained for ever with his beloved in the happy island, but the words of the Master of Life came to him in the pauses of the breeze, saying--

"Go back to thy own land, hunter. Your time has not yet come. You have not yet performed the work I have for you to do, nor can you yet enjoy those pleasures which belong to them who have performed their allotted task on earth. Go back, then. In time thou shalt rejoin her, the love of whom has brought thee hither."

MACHINITOU, THE EVIL SPIRIT.

Chemanitou, being the Master of Life, at one time became the origin of a spirit that has ever since caused him and all others of his creation a great deal of disquiet. His birth was owing to an accident. It was in this wise:--

Metowac, or as the white people now call it, Long Island, was originally a vast plain, so level and free from any kind of growth that it looked like a portion of the great sea that had suddenly been made to move back and let the sand below appear, which was, in fact, the case.

Here it was that Chemanitou used to come and sit when he wished to bring any new creation to life. The place being spacious and solitary, the water upon every side, he had not only room enough, but was free from interruption.

It is well known that some of these early creations were of very great size, so that very few could live in the same place, and their strength made it difficult for even Chemanitou to control them, for when he has given them certain powers they have the use of the laws that govern those powers, till it is his will to take them back to himself. Accordingly it was the custom of Chemanitou, when he wished to try the effect of these creatures, to set them in motion upon the island of Metowac, and if they did not please him, he took the life away from them again. He would set up a mammoth, or other large animal, in the centre of the island, and build it up with great care, somewhat in the manner that a cabin or a canoe is made.

Even to this day may be found traces of what had been done here in former years, and the manner in which the earth sometimes sinks down shows that this island is nothing more than a great cake of earth, a sort of platter laid upon the sea for the convenience of Chemanitou, who used it as a table upon which he might work, never having designed it for anything else, the margin of the Chatiemac (the stately swan), or Hudson river, being better adapted to the purposes of habitation.

When the Master of Life wished to build up an elephant or mammoth, he placed four cakes of clay upon the ground, at proper distances, which were moulded into shape, and became the feet of the animal.

Now sometimes these were left unfinished, and to this day the green tussocks to be seen like little islands about the marshes show where these cakes of clay were placed.

As Chemanitou went on with his work, the Neebanawbaigs (or water-spirits), the Puck-wud-jinnies (little men who vanish), and, indeed, all the lesser manitoes, used to come and look on, and wonder what it would be, and how it would act.

When the animal was completed, and had dried a long time in the sun, Chemanitou opened a place in the side, and, entering in, remained there many days.

When he came forth the creature began to shiver and sway from side to side, in such a manner as shook the whole island for leagues. If its appearance pleased the Master of Life it was suffered to depart, and it was generally found that these animals plunged into the open sea upon the north side of the island, and disappeared in the great forests beyond.

Now at one time Chemanitou was a very long time building an animal of such great bulk that it looked like a mountain upon the centre of the island, and all the manitoes from all parts came to see what it was. The Puck-wud-jinnies especially made themselves very merry, capering behind its great ears, sitting within its mouth, each perched upon a tooth, and running in and out of the sockets of the eyes, thinking Chemanitou, who was finishing off other parts of the animal, would not see them.

But he can see right through everything he has made. He was glad to see the Puck-wud-jinnies so lively, and he bethought him of many new creations while he watched their motions.

When the Master of Life had completed this large animal, he was fearful to give it life, and so it was left upon the island, or work-table of Chemanitou, till its great weight caused it to break through, and, sinking partly down, it stuck fast, the head and tail holding it in such a manner as to prevent it slipping further down.

Chemanitou then lifted up a piece of the back, and found it made a very good cavity, into which the old creations which failed to please him might be thrown.

He sometimes amused himself by making creatures very small and active, with which he disported awhile, and finding them of very little use in the world, and not so attractive as the little vanishers, he would take out the life, taking it to himself, and then cast them into the cave made in the body of the unfinished animal.

In this way great quantities of very odd shapes were heaped together in this Roncomcomon, or Place of Fragments.

He was always careful before casting a thing he had created aside to take out the life.

One day the Master of Life took two pieces of clay and moulded them into two large feet, like those of a panther. He did not make four--there were two only.

He put his own feet into them, and found the tread very light and springy, so that he might go with great speed and yet make no noise.

Next he built up a pair of very tall legs, in the shape of his own, and made them walk about a while. He was pleased with the motion. Then followed a round body covered with large scales, like those of the alligator.

He now found the figure doubling forward, and he fastened a long black snake, that was gliding by, to the back part of the body, and wound the other end round a sapling which grew near, and this held the body upright, and made a very good tail.

The shoulders were broad and strong, like those of the buffalo, and covered with hair. The neck thick and short, and full at the back.

Thus far Chemanitou had worked with little thought, but when he came to the head he thought a long while.

He took a round ball of clay into his lap, and worked it over with great care. While he thought, he patted the ball of clay upon the top, which made it very broad and low, for Chemanitou was thinking of the panther feet and the buffalo neck. He remembered the Puck-wud-jinnies playing in the eye sockets of the great unfinished animal, and he bethought him to set the eyes out, like those of a lobster, so that the animal might see on every side.

He made the forehead broad and full, but low, for here was to be the wisdom of the forked tongue, like that of the serpent, which should be in its mouth. It should see all things and know all things. Here Chemanitou stopped, for he saw that he had never thought of such a creation before, one with two feet--a creature that should stand upright, and see upon every side.

The jaws were very strong, with ivory teeth and gills upon either side, which rose and fell whenever breath passed through them. The nose was like the beak of the vulture. A tuft of porcupine-quills made the scalp lock.

Chemanitou held the head out the length of his arm, and turned it first upon one side and then upon the other. He passed it rapidly through the air, and saw the gills rise and fall, the lobster eyes whirl round, and the vulture nose look keen.

Chemanitou became very sad, yet he put the head upon the shoulders. It was the first time he had made an upright figure. It seemed to be the first idea of a man.

It was now nearly right. The bats were flying through the air, and the roar of wild beasts began to be heard. A gusty wind swept in from the ocean and passed over the island of Metowac, casting the light sand to and fro. A wavy scud was skimming along the horizon, while higher up in the sky was a dark thick cloud, upon the verge of which the moon hung for a moment and was then shut in.

A panther came by and stayed a moment, with one foot raised and bent inward, while it looked up at the image and smelt the feet that were like its own.

A vulture swooped down with a great noise of its wings, and made a dash at the beak, but Chemanitou held it back.

Then came the porcupine, the lizard, and the snake, each drawn by its kind in the image.

Chemanitou veiled his face for many hours, and the gusty wind swept by, but he did not stir.

He saw that every beast of the earth seeks its kind, and that which is like draws its likeness to itself.

The Master of Life thought and thought. The idea grew into his mind that at some time he would create a creature who should be made, not after the things of the earth, but after himself.

The being should link this world to the spirit world, being made in the likeness of the Great Spirit, he should be drawn unto his likeness.

Many days and nights--whole seasons--passed while Chemanitou thought upon these things. He saw all things.

Then the Master of Life lifted up his head. The stars were looking down upon the image, and a bat had alighted upon the forehead, spreading its great wings upon each side. Chemanitou took the bat and held out its whole leathery wings (and ever since the bat, when he rests, lets his body hang down), so that he could try them over the head of the image. He then took the life of the bat away, and twisted off the body, by which means the whole thin part fell down over the head of the image and upon each side, making the ears, and a covering for the forehead like that of the hooded serpent.

Chemanitou did not cut off the face of the image below, but went on and made a chin and lips that were firm and round, that they might shut in the forked tongue and ivory teeth, and he knew that with the lips the image would smile when life should be given to it.

The image was now complete save for the arms, and Chemanitou saw that it was necessary it should have hands. He grew more grave.

He had never given hands to any creature. He made the arms and the hands very beautiful, after the manner of his own.

Chemanitou now took no pleasure in the work he had done. It was not good in his sight.

He wished he had not given it hands. Might it not, when trusted with life, create? Might it not thwart the plans of the Master of Life himself?

He looked long at the image. He saw what it would do when life should be given it. He knew all things.

He now put fire in the image, but fire is not life.

He put fire within and a red glow passed through and through it. The fire dried the clay of which the image was made, and gave the image an exceedingly fierce aspect. It shone through the scales upon the breast, through the gills, and the bat-winged ears. The lobster eyes were like a living coal.

Chemanitou opened the side of the image, but he did not enter. He had given it hands and a chin.

It could smile like the manitoes themselves.

He made it walk all about the island of Metowac, that he might see how it would act. This he did by means of his will.

He now put a little life into it, but he did not take out the fire. Chemanitou saw the aspect of the creature would be very terrible, and yet that it could smile in such a manner that it ceased to be ugly. He thought much upon these things. He felt that it would not be best to let such a creature live--a creature made up mostly from the beasts of the field, but with hands of power, a chin lifting the head upward, and lips holding all things within themselves.

While he thought upon these things he took the image in his hands and cast it into the cave. But Chemanitou forgot to take out the life.

The creature lay a long time in the cave and did not stir, for its fall was very great. It lay amongst the old creations that had been thrown in there without life.

Now when a long time had passed Chemanitou heard a great noise in the cave. He looked in and saw the image sitting there, and it was trying to put together the old broken things that had been cast in as of no value.

Chemanitou gathered together a vast heap of stones and sand, for large rocks are not to be had upon the island, and stopped the mouth of the cave. Many days passed and the noise within the cave grew louder. The earth shook, and hot smoke came from the ground. The manitoes crowded to Metowac to see what was the matter.

Chemanitou came also, for he remembered the image he had cast in there of which he had forgotten to take away the life.

Suddenly there was a great rising of the stones and sand, the sky grew black with wind and dust. Fire played about on the ground, and water gushed high into the air.

All the manitoes fled with fear, and the image came forth with a great noise and most terrible to behold. Its life had grown strong within it, for the fire had made it very fierce.

Everything fled before it and cried--

"Machinitou! machinitou," which means a god, but an evil god.

THE WOMAN OF STONE.

In one of the niches or recesses formed by a precipice in the cavern of Kickapoo Creek, which is a tributary of the Wisconsin, there is a gigantic mass of stone presenting the appearance of a human figure. It is so sheltered by the overhanging rocks and by the sides of the recess in which it stands as to assume a dark and gloomy character. Of the figure the following legend is related:--

Once upon a time there lived a woman who was called Shenanska, or the White Buffalo Robe. She was an inhabitant of the prairie, a dweller in the cabins which stand upon the verge of the hills. She was the pride of her people, not only for her beauty, which was very great, but for her goodness. The breath of the summer wind was not milder than the temper of Shenanska, the face of the sun was not fairer than her countenance.

At length the tribe was surprised in its encampment on the banks of the Kickapoo by a numerous band of the fierce Mengwe. Many of them fell fighting bravely, the greater part of the women and children were made prisoners, and the others fled to the wilds for safety. It was the fortune of Shenanska to escape from death or captivity. When the alarm of the war-whoop reached her ear as she was sleeping in her lodge with her husband, she had rushed forth with him and gone with the braves to meet their assailants. When she saw half of the men of her nation lying dead around, then she fled. She had been wounded in the battle, but she still succeeded in effecting her escape to the hills. Weakened by loss of blood, she had not strength enough left to hunt for a supply of food, and she was near perishing with hunger.

While she lay beneath the shade of a tree there came to her a being not of this world.

"Shenanska," said he, in a gentle voice, "thou art wounded and hungry, shall I heal thee and feed thee? Wilt thou return to the lands of thy tribe and live to be old, a widow and alone, or go now to the land of departed spirits and join the shade of thy husband? The choice is thine. If thou wilt live, crippled, and bowed down by wounds and disease, thou mayest. If it would please thee better to rejoin thy friends in the country beyond the Great River, say so."

Shenanska replied that she wished to die. The spirit took her, and placed her in one of the recesses of the cavern, overshadowed by hanging rocks. He then spoke some words in a low voice, and, breathing on her, she became stone. Determined that a woman so good and beautiful should not be forgotten by the world, he made her into a statue, to which he gave the power of killing suddenly any one who irreverently approached it. For a long time the statue relentlessly exercised this power. Many an unconscious Indian, venturing too near to it, fell dead without any perceptible wound. At length, tired of the havoc the statue made, the guardian spirit took away the power he had given to it. At this day the statue may be approached with safety, but the Indians hold it in fear, not intruding rashly upon it, and when in its presence treating it with great respect.

THE MAIDEN WHO LOVED A FISH.

There was once among the Marshpees, a small tribe who have their hunting-grounds on the shores of the Great Lake, near the Cape of Storms, a woman whose name was Awashanks. She was rather silly, and very idle. For days together she would sit doing nothing. Then she was so ugly and ill-shaped that not one of the youths of the village would have aught to say to her by way of courtship or marriage. She squinted very much; her face was long and thin, her nose excessively large and humped, her teeth crooked and projecting, her chin almost as sharp as the bill of a loon, and her ears as large as those of a deer. Altogether she was a very odd and strangely formed woman, and wherever she went she never failed to excite much laughter and derision among those who thought that ugliness and deformity were fit subjects for ridicule.

Though so very ugly, there was one faculty she possessed in a more remarkable degree than any woman of the tribe. It was that of singing. Nothing, unless such could be found in the land of spirits, could equal the sweetness of her voice or the beauty of her songs. Her favourite place of resort was a small hill, a little removed from the river of her people, and there, seated beneath the shady trees, she would while away the hours of summer with her charming songs. So beautiful and melodious were the things she uttered, that, by the time she had sung a single sentence, the branches above her head would be filled with the birds that came thither to listen, the thickets around her would be crowded with beasts, and the waters rolling beside her would be alive with fishes, all attracted by the sweet sounds. From the minnow to the porpoise, from the wren to the eagle, from the snail to the lobster, from the mouse to the mole,--all hastened to the spot to listen to the charming songs of the hideous Marshpee maiden.

Among the fishes which repaired every night to the vicinity of the Little Hillock, which was the chosen resting-place of the ugly songstress, was the great chief of the trouts, a tribe of fish inhabiting the river near by. The chief was of a far greater size than the people of his nation usually are, being as long as a man, and quite as thick.

Of all the creatures which came to listen to the singing of Awashanks none appeared to enjoy it so highly as the chief of the trouts. As his bulk prevented him from approaching so near as he wished, he, from time to time, in his eagerness to enjoy the music to the best advantage, ran his nose into the ground, and thus worked his way a considerable distance into the land. Nightly he continued his exertions to approach the source of the delightful sounds he heard, till at length he had ploughed out a wide and handsome channel, and so effected his passage from the river to the hill, a distance extending an arrow's-flight. Thither he repaired every night at the commencement of darkness, sure to meet the maiden who had become so necessary to his happiness. Soon he began to speak of the pleasure he enjoyed, and to fill the ears of Awashanks with fond protestations of his love and affection. Instead of singing to him, she soon began to listen to his voice. It was something so new and strange to her to hear the tones of love and courtship, a thing so unusual to be told she was beautiful, that it is not wonderful her head was turned by the new incident, and that she began to think the voice of her lover the sweetest she had ever heard. One thing marred their happiness. This was that the trout could not live upon land, nor the maiden in the water. This state of things gave them much sorrow.

They had met one evening at the usual place, and were discoursing together, lamenting that two who loved one another so should be doomed to always live apart, when a man appeared close to Awashanks. He asked the lovers why they seemed to be so sad.

The chief of the trouts told the stranger the cause of their sorrow.

"Be not grieved nor hopeless," said the stranger, when the chief had finished. "The impediments can be removed. I am the spirit who presides over fishes, and though I cannot make a man or woman of a fish, I can make them into fish. Under my power Awashanks shall become a beautiful trout."

With that he bade the girl follow him into the river. When they had waded in some little depth he took up some water in his hand and poured it on her head, muttering some words, of which none but himself knew the meaning. Immediately a change took place in her. Her body took the form of a fish, and in a few moments she was a complete trout. Having accomplished this transformation the spirit gave her to the chief of the trouts, and the pair glided off into the deep and quiet waters. She did not, however, forget the land of her birth. Every season, on the same night as that upon which her disappearance from her tribe had been wrought, there were to be seen two trouts of enormous size playing in the water off the shore. They continued these visits till the pale-faces came to the country, when, deeming themselves to be in danger from a people who paid no reverence to the spirits of the land, they bade it adieu for ever.

THE LONE LIGHTNING.

A little orphan boy, who had no one to care for him, once lived with his uncle, who treated him very badly, making him do hard work, and giving him very little to eat, so that the boy pined away and never grew much, but became, through hard usage, very thin and light. At last the uncle pretended to be ashamed of this treatment, and determined to make amends for it by fattening the boy up. He really wished, however, to kill him by overfeeding him. He told his wife to give the boy plenty of bear's meat, and let him have the fat, which is thought to be the best part. They were both very assiduous in cramming him, and one day nearly choked him to death by forcing the fat down his throat. The boy escaped, and fled from the lodge. He knew not where to go, and wandered about. When night came on he was afraid the wild beasts would eat him, so he climbed up into the forks of a high pine-tree, and there he fell asleep in the branches.

As he was asleep a person appeared to him from the high sky, and said--

"My poor lad, I pity you, and the bad usage you have received from your uncle has led me to visit you. Follow me, and step in my tracks."

Immediately his sleep left him, and he rose up and followed his guide, mounting up higher and higher in the air until he reached the lofty sky. Here twelve arrows were put into his hands, and he was told that there were a great many manitoes in the northern sky, against whom he must go to war and try to waylay and shoot them. Accordingly he went to that part of the sky, and, at long intervals, shot arrow after arrow until he had expended eleven in a vain attempt to kill the manitoes. At the flight of each arrow there was a long and solitary streak of lightning in the sky--then all was clear again, and not a cloud or spot could be seen. The twelfth arrow he held a long time in his hands, and looked around keenly on every side to spy the manitoes he was after, but these manitoes were very cunning, and could change their form in a moment. All they feared was the boy's arrows, for these were magic weapons, which had been given to him by a good spirit, and had power to kill if aimed aright. At length the boy drew up his last arrow, took aim, and let fly, as he thought, into the very heart of the chief of the manitoes. Before the arrow reached him, however, he changed himself into a rock, into which the head of the arrow sank deep and stuck fast.

"Now your gifts are all expended," cried the enraged manito, "and I will make an example of your audacity and pride of heart for lifting your bow against me."

So saying, he transformed the boy into the Nazhik-a-wä wä sun, or Lone Lightning, which may be observed in the northern sky to this day.

AGGO-DAH-GAUDA.

Aggo-dah-gauda had one leg hooped up to his thigh so that he was obliged to get along by hopping. He had a beautiful daughter, and his chief care was to secure her from being carried off by the king of the buffaloes. He was peculiar in his habits, and lived in a loghouse, and he advised his daughter to keep indoors, and never go out for fear she should be stolen away.

One sunshiny morning Aggo-dah-gauda prepared to go out fishing, but before he left the lodge he reminded his daughter of her strange lover.

"My daughter," said he, "I am going out to fish, and as the day will be a pleasant one, you must recollect that we have an enemy near who is constantly going about, and so you must not leave the lodge."

When he reached his fishing-place, he heard a voice singing--

"Man with the leg tied up,
Man with the leg tied up,
Broken hip--hip--
Hipped.

Man with the leg tied up,
Man with the leg tied up,
Broken leg--leg--
Legged."

He looked round but saw no one, so he suspected the words were sung by his enemies the buffaloes, and hastened home.

The girl's father had not been long absent from the lodge when she began to think to herself--