Chapter II: How Kulóskap Granted Gifts and Favors to Many Indians

[_Micmac and Passamaquoddy_]

Long ere Kulóskap the Master
Had left the land and his people,
And before he had ceased to wander
In the ways of man, he called
The loons his faithful servants,
And bade them make it known
That for many years to come
He would still remain on earth,
And that whoever would seek him
Might have one wish full granted,
Whatever that wish might be.

Although the journey was long
And the trials were terrible
Which all must endure who would find
The Lord of Men and Beasts,
There were many who ventured on
The wonderful pilgrimage.
Now you may hear what happened
To several of these seekers,
Even as I heard the tales
From a Passamaquoddy _Sénap_.

When all the land had heard
That the Master would grant a wish
To any who would seek him,
Three Indians resolved
That they would try this thing.
One was a Milicete
Who came from near St. John,
And the other two were Penobscots
From Oldtown, that is in Maine.
And they went upon the journey
And found that the path was long,
And the way was very hard;
Their sufferings were great,
It was well nigh seven years
Before they saw the Lord.
But while it was yet three months
Ere they came unto his dwelling,
They heard the bark of his dogs,
And, as day by day they drew nearer
The sound grew louder and louder,
Till after many trials
Led by the bay of the hounds
They found the mighty one,
The Lord of Men and Beasts,
And he made them very welcome
And entertained them all.

Then in due time he asked them
What was it they desired.
And then the first replied--An
honest simple man
Who was of but little account
Among the Indian people
Because he hunted badly--
He prayed that he might excel
In killing or catching game;
Then the Master gave him a flute,
Or the magic pipe which pleases
The ear of everyone,
And has the power to bring
By wonderful fascination
All animals to that piper
Who plays it in their haunts.
He thanked the Lord and left.

Now the second of the three,
A reckless amorous youth
Yet who never could succeed
In winning women’s love,
When asked what he would have
Said: “I would win my way
To many maidens’ hearts!”
And being questioned, “How many?”
Replied, “I would know no limit.
Let there be only enough,
And more than enough beside.”
Thereat the Master frowned,
But, smiling anew, he gave him
A bag which was tightly tied,
And said to him, “Do not open
Till you shall have reached your home.”
So he thanked the Lord and left.

Now the third who had come with these
Was a gay and handsome youth,
Yet very foolish withal
Since he cared for nothing whatever
Save to make the Indians laugh,
And to cut a figure with jests
At every gathering.
He, being asked what he sought,
Replied that he fain would have
The power to make a sound
Which when uttered would startle all,
And make them laugh indeed
As they never had laughed before.
This was a wondrous cry
Which the sorcerers of yore
Uttered to gladden hearts,
But now that the art is lost.
That is indeed the cause
That our times are so sorrowful,
Since that magic, merry cry
Is heard no more in the land.

And unto him likewise
The Master was truly kind
Sending Marten into the woods
To seek for a certain root
Which, when eaten by any one,
Conferred the mystic power
Of making the wondrous sound.
But when it was bestowed
He was warned not to touch
The root till he reached his home.

It had taken them seven years
To reach the Master’s lodge,
But seven days were enough
To tread the path to their huts--
That is, for him who got there,
For indeed there was only one,
And that was the hunter, who
With his marvellous pipe in his pocket,
And never a care in his heart,
Trudged on well satisfied
To think that all his life
He never should want a joint
Of venison in his cabin
Or a bear-skin to lie upon,
As indeed he never did.

Now the one who so loved women
And never had won a wife,
Was wild with wistfulness
And great anxiety.
Therefore he could not wait,
And he had not gone very far
Into the woods, ere he
Sat down and opened the bag.
There was a whirr as of wings
And they came flying forth
By hundreds round his head
Like beautiful white doves
Swarming all about--
Wonderful lovely girls
With large black burning eyes,
And torrents of flowing hair.
Wild with passion the witches
Threw their fair arms around him
And kissed him as he responded
To their ardent, fond embraces.
But ever more and more
They came, more glowing with love,
Till he bade them give way for a space,
Till he bade them let him be;
But they only pressed the more.
So, panting, crying for breath,
And smothered in love, he died,
And those who came that way
Found him a silent corpse,
But what became of the witches
Kulóskap only can tell!

Now the third went merrily on,
Tramping along through the woods,
When it flashed upon his mind
In an instant, that Kulóskap
Had bestowed on him a gift;
And, without the slightest heed
To what the Master had said
Of waiting till he got home,
He took out the magic root
And ate it, then and there;
When all at once he found
He could utter the magic cry
Which startles all who hear it,
Inspiring them to joy
And making them laugh aloud;
Then, as it rang afar
O’er many a forest dale
Waking the ringing echo
Of the far-distant hill,
Until it was answered by
A solemn snowy owl,
He felt that he had won
A wondrous power indeed;
So he walked gayly on
O’er many a hill and dale,
Whistling or trumpeting
As happy as a bird.

But he ere long began
To weary of himself,
When, seeing in a glade
A deer, he bent his bow;
When, just as he would shoot,
The wild unearthly sound
Broke out, despite himself,
Even like a demon warble,
The deer took flight and fled;
And the young man cursed aloud!

And when he reached the town
Half dead with hunger, he
Indeed was little worth
To make the others laugh,
Though for a time he did,
Which somewhat cheered his heart,
But, as the days went on,
They wearied of the sound,
And, when they saw him come,
Turned off another way;
Which vexed him to the heart,
So that one day he went
Alone into the woods
And there he slew himself.

The dark and evil demon,
The sprite of the night-air,
Pʾmûla named by some,
From whom the gift had come,
Swooped down from clouds on high,
And bore his soul away
To the dwelling place of darkness
And men heard of him no more.

Now ’tis a thing well known
To all the Indians
Who keep the holy faith
Of the good olden time,
That there are wondrous dwellers
Deep in the silent woods,
Such as the elves and fairies
Who are called by different names;
In Micmac Wigŭladŭmūchŭk
But by the Passamaquoddy
Wʾnâgʾméswuk. They
Can work strange deeds and sing
Such songs of magic power
As charm the wildest beasts
And tame the wolf and bear
And soothe the wolverine.
From them and them alone
Are brought the magic pipes,
Or flutes, which sometimes pass
To sorcerers or great braves.
When these are played upon
Women who hear the tone
Are all bewitched with love,
And the moose and caribou
Follow the winning sound,
Yes, even to their death;
And when the forest elves
Are pleased with anyone
They make of him an elf
E’en like unto themselves.

Back in the olden time
There was an Indian town
In which dwelt two young men,
Kekwâjû the Badger,
And the other Kâktugwââsis,
The Little Thunder. They
Chanced to hear that Kulóskap
Would give to anyone
Whatever he desired:

And so they went their way
On the long pilgrimage
For many years, until
They reached the wondrous isle
Where the great Master dwelt,
Where first they met Dame Bear,
Then Marten, and at last
The mighty Lord himself
Who welcomed them with grace.

Then all sat down to a meal,
But all that was placed before them
Was one small dish of meat,
A very tiny morsel.
Then the elder of the pilgrims,
A reckless jolly fellow,
Thinking it was a joke
And that he was mocked for sport,
Cut off nearly all the meat,
And ate it. Then what was left
Grew at once to its former size;
So it went on, and all
Ate all that they desired,
And found the food of the best,
And when the meal was over
The dish was as full as before.

Now of these two, the Badger
Had set his heart on becoming
A wigʾladʾmûch or fairy,
Which would give him magic power
While the other wished to win
A very beautiful girl,
The daughter of a chief,
A most powerful Sagamore,
Who set such cruel tasks
To all who came to woo her
That all who had made the trial
Thus far had come to their deaths.

Then the Master took the Badger
Who sought initiation
Into the occult art,
And by a wondrous trick
Covered him all with filth
And put him to utter shame
Then led him down to the river
Where he washed him clean, and gave him
A beautiful change of clothing.
And, combing his hair, placed on it
A fillet of wondrous virtue;
For when he had bound it on
He became a wigʾladʾmûch
A fairy and enchanter,
No longer a common mortal,
But one of the elfin world.[18]

And as he wished to excel
In magic song and music,
The Master gave him a flute,
Which would charm all living beings;
And, singing, he bade him join
In the air, and as he did so,
He found he knew all the art;
And from that day, thereafter,
He had a wondrous voice.

Now to seek the beautiful girl
It was needful that the lover
Should sail far over the sea;
And during this adventure
The Būʾūin or magician
Was charged to take all care
Of Kâktugwââs, the Thunder;
And therefore he begged the Master
To lend him his canoe,
To which Kulóskap answered,
“I will gladly lend it to thee
If thou’lt honestly return it
When thou needest it no more.
For I tell thee in very truth
I never yet did intrust it
To any mortal man
But what in the end I had to
Go after it myself.”

Then the Badger solemnly swore
That, as he was an honest Indian,
He would, when the need was over,
Indeed return the canoe.
For never in all his life
Had he stolen any _Kwédŭn_
(Canoe) nor borrowed anything
Without returning it promptly.

But when they came to the bay
There was no canoe to be seen,
But not very far away,
There arose a little island
Of granite which was covered
With pine-trees, tall and waving.
“See--that is my canoe!”
The Master said to them smiling,
And when he took them on it
They found that it was indeed
A great and large canoe
With lofty masts, and sails--
So the two went forth rejoicing.

Then they sailed on and came
To a large and beautiful island
Where they carefully hid the canoe.
Ere long they came to a village
That of the Sagamore,
The father of the girl
For whom many had lost their lives.
And, having come to his wigwam,
They entered and were welcomed
And placed on the seat of honor,
And sat at the evening meal.
Now ’tis of old the custom
When an Indian seeks a wife,
Be it from her father or friends,
He makes small ado about it,
And only utters two words
Which mean in the Micmac language:
“I am tired of living alone.”

And the Sagamore hearing this,
Consented that Little Thunder
Should marry her whom he sought,
But on several conditions--
The first that he should slay
And bring to him the head
Of a certain horrible monster,
Like to a wingless dragon,
The dreadful and horned Chipíchkâm.
So this was agreed upon,
Then the strangers went to their cabin
And all the world to sleep.

All save the wise Būʾūin
Who soon arose from his bed,
And went alone and afar,
Till he came to the den of the monster
In a gaping gulf in the ground.
Over the hole he laid
A mighty log, and began
The magic dance round the den;
Then the serpent or great Chipíchkâm,
Hearing the call, came forth,
Putting out his head from the hole,
And weaving it about
After the manner of snakes.
While he was doing this,
He rested his head for an instant
On the over-arching log,
When, with a blow of his hatchet
The Indian severed the neck;
Then, taking the head by one
Of its shining yellow horns,
He bore it to his friend
Who gave it in the morning
Unto the chief, who said:
“This time I fear indeed,
That I must lose my child,
Yet thou hast more to do.”

More indeed, for the chief
Said, “Look at yonder hill,
I fain would see my son
Coast down it on a sled.”
Now the hill was indeed a mountain.
Its sides were very steep,
Ragged with rocks and holes
And terrible with trees
And rough with snow and ice.

Then they brought out two toboggans,
One for the strangers. This
The Badger should direct;
While on the other sat
Two great and powerful men,
And these were Būʾūinuk
Or sorcerers who were skilled
In sledding, and they hoped
To see the others soon
Fall out upon the ground,
And then to run over them.

And at the word they went
Flying at fearful speed
Adown the mountain side,
And ever faster still
As if to headlong death.
Soon he who sought the girl
Went whirling from his sled,
And the two sorcerers howled
In triumph an hurrah!
For they knew not that this was done
By their enemy that he
Might get them before his sledge.
Then he put forth his arm,
And seizing the younger man
Turned for a pace aside,
And then again shot on.
Then the sorcerers stopped,
Thinking that those before
Were checked and at an end;
When lo! their enemy
In his sled shot over their heads,
And over a mighty wall
Of ice, as a bird might fly
High above all in the air;
Then, touching the ground once more,
Ran with tremendous speed,
First down into the vale,
Then up, and ever up
Upon the opposite hill
Where the village stood, till it struck
The wigwam of the chief,
Ripping it all in two.
Again the Sagamore said:
“This time I fear indeed
That I must lose my child:
Yet thou hast more to do!”

Yes, and far more to do:
For then the Sagamore said:
“I have a runner here,
A man so fleet of foot
That never in his life
Has he been overcome,
And thou must strive with him
And gain the victory
Ere thou canst win thy wife.”
So then the race was set,
And Thunder should compete,
But at the time his friend
Lent him the magic pipe
Which gave him wondrous power
Over all dark sorcery
Such as Būʾūinuk use
And witches dark and vile.

Now when the pair had met
The youth said: “Who art thou?”
And the sorcerer replied:
“I am the Wegaduskʾ;”
Which means the Northern Lights,
“But tell me who art thou?”
“I am Wosogwoesk,
Chain-lightning is my name,”
The Thunder answering said.
And, as the race was run
All in the early morn,
Then in an instant both
No longer were in sight.
They were far, far away
Beyond the distant hills;
Then, waiting, all sat still,
Till long before the noon
Chain-lightning came again;
He showed no weariness,
Nor was he out of breath,
Yet had gone through the world.
Then all sat still again
Till evening, when they saw
The Northern Light return
Completely, sadly tired;
He quivered and he shook
As beaten by fatigue,
Yet for all that the Light
Had not been through the world,
For, coming to the south,
The heat had sent him home.
Again the Sagamore said,
“This time I fear again
That I must lose my child,
Yet thou hast more to do.”

The Sagamore had a man
Whom none could overcome
In swimming of all kinds,
Or diving in the sea;
With him the youth must strive.
And when they met, the Badger
Asked him, “What is thy name?”
And he replied, “I am
Ukchigʾmûech (Sea Duck),
But tell me who art thou?”
He answerèd “The Kwîmû,”
That is, “the Loon,” and then
They dived from a high rock
Deep down into the sea.
Ere long the Sea Duck rose
Again to get his breath,
But long the Indians
Waited and watched until
They saw the Loon again.
An hour passed, and then
Another hour, before
He rose from the deep sea.
But when at last he came,
The Sagamore sadly said,
“This is the end of all
Our weary work, for now,
I have truly lost my child!”

Yet it was not the end
Of all the curious deeds
Which they beheld, before
The strangers took their leave.
For, when the wedding came
In the evening of that day,
There was a general dance,
A wild festivity,
At which the wizard bold
Astonished every one;
For as he danced around
On the hard beaten floor,
They saw his feet sink in
Deeper at every step,
And ever deeper still
As the strange dance went on,
Still ploughing up the ground
In ridges rough and high,
Forming a trench, until
His head and nothing more
Could from without be seen.
That ended all the dance,
Since no one after him
Save wizards or a witch
Could dance on such a floor.

The bridegroom and the bride,
With them the wizard bold,
Then entered the canoe
And sailed away toward home;
Yet they had more to meet,
And trials to endure,
Though of no dangerous kind;
’Tis said they were but jests
Played by the Master’s skill.
For they had not gone far,
When right before their path
They saw an awful storm
Coming to meet them. He
Who had the elfin power
Knew that it had been raised
By sorcery, because
The tempests which are due
To hidden magic power
Are ever worst of all.
So without fear he rose
And sang the sorcerer’s song,
And, filling lungs and cheeks
With air, he blew against
The rising hurricane,
Wind against wind until
He blew the wind away,
Then all the mighty flood
Was smooth as smooth could be:

So they sailed ever on
Over a sunlit sea,
And yet it was not long
Ere the elf-gifted one
Saw rising ’mid the waves
A dark and curious form,
That of a monstrous beast
Fast-coming as a foe,
And then they knew it was
The Giant Beaver, called
Kwâbît, in fearful rage;
But when the mighty one
Saw this, he sailed direct
Even at the monster’s jaws,
And, coming to him, said:
“Lo, I am the great foe
Of all thy race and called
The Beaver-Hunter; I,
Am he who butchers them;
Full many a one ere now
Has perished by my hand.”[19]
Kwâbît had placed himself
Under the water, with
His tail upraised above
The level of the waves,
That he might sink the barque
With one tremendous blow,
As is the Beaver’s way;
But he of magic power
With well directed stroke
Of the _tumîhîgʾn_, or
His tomahawk, then cut
The body from the tail,
Leaving the Beaver dead;
Then blithely sailed away.

Yet had they not gone far
When coming round a point
They saw another beast,
Also of giant size,
Waiting to be their death;
Abúkchelû the Skunk,
A thing which many dread
More than a raging wolf;
And he, too, had his tail
Uplifted in the air;
But, ere the brute could make
His hideous attack,
The wary gifted one
Caught up his hunting spear,
And, hurling it with haste,
So pierced Abúkchelû,
That father of the skunks,
That down he fell and died.
Thrice did he kick in pain
Before he passed away.
So then the gifted one,
Stepping upon the shore,
Took up a long dead pine
Which lay upon the shore,
And, as he stuck its point
Into Abúkchelû,
Lifted him high in air,
And, fastening the tree
Firmly into the ground,
Left him, and said with scorn,
Even as he turned away;
“Just show your tail now, there!”

And ever they sailed on
Over the silver sea,
O’er blue and dancing waves,
Till home they came with joy,
And at the landing place
They saw the Master stand;
And his first words were, “Well!
I see, my friends, that you
Have brought me my canoe
All safely back again.”
And they replied, “We have.”
And gayly he inquired
“Has all gone well with you?”
And when he thus had said,
He laughed and let them know
’Twas he in all their trials
And triumphs who had worked
And brought it all to pass.

Then to the gifted one
He said, “Now go in peace
Thy way with these thy friends;
Lead ever happy lives
There in the elfin world
Deep in the forest-shades,
Far in the silent land
Of flowers and mystery.
But of this thing be sure,
If any care should come
Unto you, think of me
And I will give you aid.”

They rose and went their way.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] All of this corresponds accurately to the ancient Greek and Roman initiation to the Mysteries, in which the hair-string or fillet played a prominent part. L.

[19] This is oddly like the declaration of the Beaver Killer in The Hunting of the Snark, in fact, it is almost identical with it. But the Rand MS. in which it occurs was written many years before the latter work appeared.