Chapter XII: The Dance of Old Age

[_Passamaquoddy_]

_Piʾche uskichinwi utenesizek._[59]

All in the early time
In an inland village
Many Indians lived,
Of two of them I’ll tell:
One was a handsome man,
Young, brave, a great hunter;
The other, a beautiful girl.

What might be her name?--
Malikakusquess?
Or Kaliwahdasi?
I do not remember
Which of the two it was.
But she was very proud,
Fierce as she was fair,
And through and through revengeful.
And, what was worst of all,
She was an awful witch,
Seven witches in one,
Like seven devils united
But this she hid from all;
Only the Wʾnagʾmeswuk,
The singular silent spirits,
Who are ever flitting around us,
Knew of this terrible secret.

She wanted the youth to wed her,
But he at that time was busy,
Very busy in getting ready
To go on his autumn hunt,
Which would last far into the winter;
And he had no time for wooing,
As he very plainly told her.

Truly he must have spoken
Very plainly indeed;
For her heart shrunk up in anger
Until ’twas hard as a flint
With sharply cutting edges,
And thus she cut in reply:
“You may go afar to the North,
You may go if you like on your hunt
But you never will return
The same as when you departed;
Remember me when the change
Comes over you in the forest.”

He gave no heed to her words,
He cared not for her, nor feared her,
So he went away with his brother,
And for many days together
They hunted in the North,
Hunted the deer and moose;
The girl was all forgotten.

But one day when deep in the woods,
And very far in the North,
In the mid winter gloom,
The youth went raging mad,
For the witch had struck him sore,
Though far and far away,
Struck him with sorcery.

The elder brother with him
Was a brave among the braves,
A fierce and terrible man
Who had no dream of fear:
And as he could do naught else
He did the most desperate deed
Which the wildest of the warriors
Among the Wabanaki
Has ever dared to do;
For he went down to the river
At midnight and alone,
And sang the terrible song
Which calls the Wîwilmekw,
The Demon of the Worm,
Even to devils a terror.

_Nil nʾwikwima Wîwilmekw
Nil nʾwikwima chipinaʿkwsit
Nit besq weshʾmʾwit
Nil npechikinapin nekmomeswelas_

“I call on the Wîwilmekw,
I call on the Terrible One,
On the One with the Horns,
I dare him to appear!”

It came in all its horrors,
Its eyes were like deep red fire,
Its horns rose sharp and high.
It asked him, what he would have?
He answered that his brother
Had lost himself in madness,
And he fain would cure the youth.

“I will give you what you want,”
Answered the Wîwilmekw,
“If you are not afraid.”

“I have no fear at all,”
The Indian replied,
“Of anything that lives.”

“Hast thou no fear of me?”
The Demon Worm inquired.

“No more of thee than I
Have of the Michihant,
Who is the Devil of all.”

“If you dare take me by
My horns,” the fiend replied,
“And scrape them with your knife,
And lay the scrapings by,
Then you may have your wish.”

In truth this Indian was
As savage, wild and brave,
As was the Devil himself;
He had great need indeed
To be all that he was;
For the Wîwilmekw,
Most terrible to see,
Grew fiercer than before,
Yet the man drew out his knife
And boldly scraped away,
Until the Demon said:
“Now hold! You have enough.”

“And now go seek your camp,
Put half the scrapings then
Into a cup half full
Of water from the spring,
And bid your brother drink!”
“And with the other half?”
The Indian inquired.
“Keep that till you return,
Then give it to the girl
Who made the trouble--she
Needs medicine as well.”

So the man returned to camp
And made his brother well.
And when the hunt was o’er
They turned them to their home.

There they arrived at night;
A great festivity
Was stirring all the town,
Torches were everywhere,
And everywhere the scent
Of _mskîkwul wʾli-mhaskil_,
Which is the perfumed grass
Burning intensely sweet.

The dance was going on,
So, many were athirst.
And this the hunter knew,
The younger of the pair;
So he had made a drink
Cool, and with honey sweet,
Fragrant with pleasant herbs--
A dainty drink indeed--
But, mingled with it all,
There lurked a subtle life,
The powder from the horn
Of the Wîwilmekw.
So thirsty was the witch
As she from dancing came,
So warm that, when the youth
Held out to her the cup,
She seized and drank it dry
All without giving heed
As to what hand had held
The cool, refreshing draught;
Then turning to the one
Who was her partner, she
Went on into the dance,
And then a wondrous thing
Was seen by all therein:
For lo! at every turn
The maiden older grew,
One year for every round;
Beginning as a girl
In all her freshest youth
She at the lodge’s end,
Seemed fifty years of age,
And still, as she danced on,
Added unto her age,
Till just as she returned
Unto the very place
Whence she had come, she fell
All dead upon the floor,
A little dried-up thing,
A wrinkled, wizened squaw,
A thing of the last old age
Or of a hundred years.

There is another Passamaquoddy version of this poem which is hardly less striking in its ending. The brother, having obtained the scrapings of the horn, merely touches with them a large green beech tree which becomes dead in an instant and then falls to the ground, actually rotten as if it were a century old. And, when the same powder is given to the witch,

She grew older in an instant,
She became very old indeed:
A pale color rippled
All over her face. She fell,
Looking a hundred years,
Dead upon the floor.
Shrivelled and dried as she fell,
Then dropped to powder--“She
Will trouble you no more.”
Then said the conjurer;
“Her dance is over now.” L.

FOOTNOTES:

[59] Long ago in an Indian village.