Chapter XI: Part 2: also consists of Seneca legends and myths, which are (6)

Around the great rock on every hand the lad found heaps of human bones, which he carefully gathered together into a great pile. Placing Hadjoqda on the ground with his head toward the west and his feet toward the east, the youth went to a great hickory which was standing near and shouted, “Do you all rise and run or the tree will fall on you.” On the instant a great number of persons arose and ran in every direction. Hadjoqda received his body back and became at once as well as ever. But some had legs and arms which had belonged to others, and hence were deformed in these members.

“Now,” said the lad to Hadjoqda, “there is no other such strawberry patch in the world. We must all come here to live. This field shall belong to you, and I and all my people shall settle around here. I shall go after my grandmother and you must go after your friends.”

Among the people whom he had raised the youth found all his relations, and these persons accompanied him on his journey to bring his grandmother to that country. His grandmother was very glad to see all her relations again, as she had never expected this good fortune. Taking their garments and weapons which the grandmother had kept for them in the long room, all set out, with the aged grandmother, for the great strawberry patch of Deadoeñdjadases. With their friends and relations from far and near, all settled in villages around the great strawberry patch, they lived in great contentment thereafter. Among these people who were raised by the potent youth were the Okweson, Osoon, and the Goqgwaih [i.e., the Partridges, the Wild Turkeys, and the Quail]; the youth and his grandmother, and even Hadjoqda, belonged to the Osoon tribe.

22. HATʻHONDAS (THE LISTENER) [40]

Once upon a time an uncle and his nephew lived together in the forest. Being very needy, they gathered and cooked for food fungi which grow on trees. After they had lived some time in this way his uncle said one day to the boy, who had grown nearly to the age of puberty, “To-morrow you must go out yonder into the ravine to listen, and as soon as you hear something you must hurry back to tell me what it is.”

The nephew did as he was ordered. The next morning as soon as he heard the song of a bird he hurried home, rushing almost breathless into the lodge and crying, “Oh, uncle, I have heard something!” “Wait a while, nephew,” said the uncle. “Wait until I light my pipe and the smoke rises from it.” [41]

Soon the smoke arose from the pipe; then Hatʻhondas told what he had heard, imitating the call of a bird. “Oh, nephew! that is nothing. Go again to-morrow,” said the uncle. He went the next day, and heard a bird of some other kind. After rushing to the lodge as before, and after his uncle had lighted the pipe, he told his uncle what he had heard. Each day he heard a new bird and told his uncle what he had heard. After several such fruitless trips to the ravine he heard two women singing, “I am going [am on my way] to marry Dooehdanegen.” [42] The women were moving through the air coming toward his uncle’s lodge. Hatʻhondas rushed home almost breathless, crying, “Oh, uncle! I have heard it.” “Well, what is it?” asked the uncle, and straightway he lighted his pipe and the smoke arose from it. “I heard two women singing, ‘I am going to marry Dooehdanegen,’ and they are coming this way,” declared the nephew. “We must make ready to receive them,” said the uncle; “we must put the lodge in order.” He therefore smoothed the skins on his couch and put his nephew’s bed away from his own in the corner near the ashes, telling his nephew to lie there while the women were in the lodge, and to face the other way, and further to keep quiet and not to show his face. The old man then put on his best garments, with two feathers in his cap, and tried to be as nimble and bright as when a young man. He kept sending his nephew out to see how near the women were. When at last they reached the lodge the nephew ran in, crying, “Oh, uncle, they are here.” “Go to your bed; lie down, and do not stir,” said the uncle.

The women entered the lodge, bringing a basket of marriage bread.[43] The old man hurried around to make it pleasant for them, but could not interest them, for their minds were elsewhere. They kept looking toward the corner where Hatʻhondas was lying. When night came the old man spread out the skins of his couch and told them there was the place for them to lie down; but, going over to the corner where the ashes were piled, they lay down with Hatʻhondas. They smoothed his hair and fondled him, speaking pleasant words to and about him. The old man was very angry and slept none that night. The women left the lodge at daybreak. When Hatʻhondas awoke, he had become a man in full vigor, strong and fine looking.

The old uncle now called his nephew, saying: “You now have become a man. You must follow the women. The mother bears the most noted name in sorcery in her tribe. She is now seeking a husband for her daughter. Near her lodge grows a large hickory tree [44] on which sits an eagle as a target. Whoever can bring down that eagle will get the daughter. Men go there from every direction and place to shoot at it, but no one has yet hit it. You must shoot at it, too.”

The old man then brought out from his chest an outfit consisting of a cap of otter skin, a panther-skin coat, leggings of wildcat skin, moccasins of owl skin, and a tobacco pouch of fawn skin. The garments, which were beautiful and endowed with rare orenda (magic power), fitted the young man well. Then the uncle took the garments off his nephew; and the cap became a live otter, the robe, or mantle, a live panther, the leggings a pair of live wildcats, and the moccasins two live owls. Again he put the garments on his nephew, telling him to sit down. The latter did so and, opening the pouch, took out a pipe, which he filled with tobacco. Immediately two girl sprites and two trick pigeons leaped out of the pouch; the girls brought fire to light the pipe, and as soon as he put it to his mouth the two pigeons, which were perched on the stem, rustled their wings and cooed, being very happy.

“Now, my nephew,” said the old man, “spit.” He spat and the spittle fell to the ground in a shower of wampum beads. “That is enough,” said the uncle; “you shall always spit wampum from this pipe. Your outfit will always do what it has done to-day. Now you must start. Go directly east. About noon you will find a trail. Take that and keep on until you come to the great hickory tree. Here are a bow and arrows. The arrows will never miss the mark. On the road you must keep no man company. Sleep alone and hurry on your way.”

So the young nephew set out. In an hour he came to a trail. Finding it so soon, he thought it could not be the right one and ran back to inquire. “Oh! you are a swift runner,” said the uncle; “you found the right trail. Follow it.” Hatʻhondas started again. Again he found the trail, which bore toward the east. Near evening he saw a man who was making a fire by the wayside, and who inquired of Hatʻhondas, “Where are you going?” “Oh! where all are going—to shoot at the eagle on the hickory tree,” replied the young man. “Stay with me. It is too late to go farther,” said the stranger. “No! I must go on,” answered Hatʻhondas, hurrying away. At night he built a fire and slept by himself. The next day he went on without interruption until evening, when a man who was building a fire beside the trail urged him to stop, but he refused to do so. Again the man urged him but Hatʻhondas would go on.

The third evening he came on a man who insisted and coaxed so much that he remained with him overnight. Each occupied one side of the fire. After supper, Hatʻhondas took off his garments and soon fell asleep. The strange man attempted to steal the clothes, but the mantle, changing into a panther, would not let him come near. Then the man, bit by bit, fed meat to the panther until the animal was pacified, when he put the mantle on his own shoulders. So with the leggings and all the other things, until at last he got possession of the whole outfit of the young man, except the bow and arrows, which he forgot. When ready, he thrust a sharp dart of hickory bark down the backbone of Hatʻhondas, and at daylight hurried away to the company which had gathered at the great woman’s lodge to shoot at the eagle.

Hatʻhondas awoke in terrible pain; he was doubled up like an old man and began to cough badly. After much effort and great suffering, he succeeded in putting on the other man’s garments and in dragging himself some distance to a log, on which he sat, holding his bow and arrows, with his head bowed in sorrow.

After he had been sitting there a couple of hours, a poor, destitute-looking girl came to him, saying: “My mother lives not far from here. I will take you to her.” On going home with the girl he learned that her mother was his own sister and that she was therefore his niece. He told his sister about the visit of the two women, about setting out to shoot the eagle and being robbed on the road of everything but his bow and arrows, and, lastly, about becoming decrepit and aged-looking from the effects of the hickory bark thrust down his backbone. His sister and her daughter were very poor. They had no meat. As they were talking, a robin perched on the edge of the smoke-hole. Hatʻhondas drew his bow with great difficulty and shot an arrow which killed the bird. His sister cut it into small pieces and, bruising them, made some soup, which in a measure strengthened her brother. The next day a partridge came in like manner and he killed that, too; and then a turkey, so they had provision enough. Many days later his sister drew the bark from her brother’s back and he became well again.

As he sat by the door one day he heard a great shouting and tumult, and asked what it meant. They told him that it was the sounds made by those who had assembled to shoot the eagle, and pointed out the great hickory tree, the top of which could be seen above the forest, seemingly not more than 200 or 300 rods away.

The next day, on looking toward the tree, he could see that some arrows came very near the eagle, some not so near, and others far away from it. At last he said, “I must shoot an arrow at that eagle.” “Oh!” said the sister, “you can not hit it from here.” But he would have his own way, and going outside of the lodge with his bow and arrow, he said to his sister’s daughter: “Go out into the crowd. When I shoot the arrow and the bird falls to the ground run and bring it here with the arrow sticking in it, and let no one take it from you.” The girl went. Her uncle shot, and his arrow, flying through the air, struck the eagle. When she grasped the bird after it had fallen to the ground a man pushed her aside, and snatching the bird from her disappeared in the crowd. She cried out, but no one heeded her. Now, the crowd gathered at a mound, a short distance from the tree. On this mound the great witch woman was sitting with her friends to witness the shooting. The people stood in a circle. The stranger came up with the eagle and claimed her youngest daughter, who, insisting that he was not the right man, refused to marry him; but the old woman said her promise must be kept, and had the marriage proclaimed.

When, in the evening, the young wife would not remove her designated husband’s clothing, the old woman did so. On taking off the moccasins, and throwing them, tied together, over a crossbar near the couch, they became owls, so wretchedly weak that they were barely able to hold on to their perch; and so with the panther, the wildcats, and the otter; they seemed scarcely alive.

The young woman would not go near her designated husband, but, rolling herself up in a bearskin, slept apart. The next morning the mother-in-law, addressing her intended son-in-law, said: “What can you do for me [in thaumaturgy]?” He opened his pouch, from out of which came the girls, who were barely able to bring a coal of fire, and the pigeons, nearly lifeless. He smoked, and cast spittle on a deerskin which was spread before him, and spittle it remained. Again he tried, but with the same result. Then the mother-in-law, growing angry, went away in disgust and chagrin.

The evening after Hatʻhondas was robbed the sky was red, and his uncle at home knew that his nephew was in great trouble—that his life was in danger. He sat down by the fire, throwing ashes on his head, and wept, saying, “Oh! nephew, I shall mourn for you ten summers.” But now the sky was not so red, and the old man knew that his nephew had gained some relief.

The second night the young woman slept apart from her designated husband.

The next day Hatʻhondas’s niece, the poor woman’s daughter, said, “I will visit the great witch woman, for she is a friend of mine.” When the girl went to the lodge, the great woman was glad to see her. She heard all the news of the marriage and that the young woman would not go near her designated husband. On reaching home she told her mother all she had heard. The next day very early, while the strange man was still asleep, Hatʻhondas’s sister went into the great witch woman’s lodge and, taking the panther-skin coat with the rest of the garments and having thrust the piece of hickory bark into the back of the sleeping husband, hurried home.

Hatʻhondas now had his whole outfit. Putting on his garments and taking his bow and arrows he went to the lodge of the great witch woman. When the daughter saw him coming, she could scarcely retain herself for joy, crying out, “That is the man! That is the man!”

It was now almost noon, and the designated husband had not appeared. On looking for him they found him on the couch all doubled up, old and miserable, and coughing terribly.

As the arrow which was still sticking in the eagle was unlike his arrows but just like those which were in the quiver of Hatʻhondas, the people were convinced that the old man was a deceiver, so they threw him out without pity.

Hatʻhondas was now married to the young woman and her mother proclaimed to all the people, “My youngest daughter is now married.” In the evening, when the young wife pulled off her husband’s moccasins and threw them on the crossbeam, they became a pair of fine owls with great eyes, and hooted; as soon as the panther-skin coat touched the beam it became a large panther; the leggings became two wildcats; and the cap an otter.

The next evening the mother-in-law asked her son-in-law, “What can you do for me?” and spread a deerskin in front of him. As he opened his pouch the two girls jumped out of it, followed by the two pigeons. The girls, running nimbly to the fire, brought coals for lighting the pipe. The pigeons, perching on the pipe as he put it into his mouth, rustled their wings and cooed. As often as he spat the spittle fell on the skin in a shower of wampum beads.

The next day he went hunting and killed so many deer, bear, and elk that all the people had enough, and he sent a great supply to his sister.

After they had enjoyed life a while, he said, “Now, I must go to my uncle.” His sister prepared provisions for the journey. She would shake all the flesh of a deer until it became small as the end of her little finger, continuing this process until she had in a small pouch venison enough to fill a lodge. On the way when they wanted to eat venison all they had to do was to strike a very small portion, when the meat would resume its natural size. So they traveled till they came to the old uncle’s lodge.

While his nephew had been away, animals had tormented him by coming to his door while he was sitting near the fire mourning for his nephew. He would hear a voice at the door cry, “Quick, Uncle! I have returned,” but on opening the door-flap he would find merely a fox, rabbit, or some other creature.

Now, to make sure, he cut a hole in the skin door-flap saying, “Put your hand through the hole, if you are my nephew.” This being done, he tied a strong bark string around the wrist and fastened the other end to the pole at the fireplace; then, seizing the corn-pounder, he opened the door carefully, intending to strike the intruder. On discovering, however, that it was really his nephew, he rejoiced and cried out: “Oh! you have come at last with your wife. Wait, until I clean up a little.” Soon he let them in. The venison was increased in quantity again by striking it against the ground, and there was more than enough to fill the lodge, so they had to build a new lodge in which to store it.

They lived on together happily. This is the story of Hatʻhondas, “The Listener.”

23. THE STORY OF THE OHOHWA PEOPLE

In a quiet forest, in a lodge of their own, a husband and his wife of the Ohohwa people lived in much contention. It was their invariable habit to quarrel all night long. In the morning, however, all was pleasant again.

One night a visitor came to pay them a call. As soon as the man of the lodge saw the newcomer he went away from the lodge. Thereupon the would-be visitor remarked to the woman, “It is indeed strange that he should go out just as I came in, so I shall go, but will come again at another time.” With these words he left.

In a short time the husband returned, and being very jealous of his wife, seized the occasion of this visit of a strange man to scold and quarrel with her until, becoming enraged, he beat her and finally she fought in defense of herself. At last, becoming tired of fighting, the husband started off with the remark: “I am going to get another wife. I will not be troubled in this way any longer.” Weeping bitterly, she followed him until, touched by her plight, the husband grew sorry for what he was doing and returned with her to their lodge.

In the morning he told his wife that he had had a dream during the night. He said, “My dream spirit told me that I must kill a large bear and be back home before the dew is off the grass.” Ostensibly he started away to carry out this injunction, but when he got out of sight of the lodge he went to the lodge of another woman, who also was of the Ohohwa people, where he remained all day. Toward night he started for home. On his way he met a fine-looking woman. He addressed her, saying, “Where are you going, my cousin?” She replied, “Oh, I am only going home.” He asked, “Let me go home with you?” Answering coquettishly, “All right, if you can overtake me,” off she ran with great speed, with him in pursuit. This woman was of the Djohkwehyanih [45] people.

All night long they ran toward the north. About midday they came to a lodge, which the woman entered. The Ohohwa man followed, but on entering the lodge he did not see the woman, but only two old men. He asked them, “Have you seen a woman pass here?” The two men sat with their heads down and did not answer the question. But on the question being repeated by the intruder, one of the men, looking up, said, “It seems to me that I heard some sound,” and the other made the same remark. Then he who spoke first said, “Then get our canoe.” Going to another part of the lodge, the second man returned with a bark canoe and two basswood knives. “Now,” said the other old man, “seize the game that has come to our lodge.” The intruder drew back as the old man advanced, cautioning the old men, saying: “Be very careful, old men. You are Nosgwais people, as I know. I came only to ask for information.” But as the two old men advanced the intruder turned and fled. The old men chased him with great speed. After a while, turning and running back to the lodge, he seized a wooden mallet and the first man that appeared at the doorway he knocked on the head, and he did likewise to the second man. As the old men picked themselves up they said, “It seems that there is a great deal of fun in the game animal that has come to us.” On their making another attempt to enter their lodge the intruder again knocked them down. Thereupon one of the old men said: “Get up and do the best you can [magically]. Are we to be beaten in this way? It would indeed be a singular occurrence for us to be overmatched by the game animal that has come to us.” But in making a third attempt to enter the lodge the old men were still again knocked down. But the intruder said to himself, however, “I can not kill these people, and so I would better try to escape.” So, passing out of the doorway at the opposite side of the lodge, he saw the tracks of the woman going directly northward. He followed them all day. When night came he still saw her tracks leading in the same direction. He remarked to himself, “I will soon overtake her, I think.” But these tracks were not those of the woman. He had made a circuit and at daybreak he was near the starting point. He looked down and, seeing his own tracks, said: “Oh, another man is following her! I will kill him when I overtake them.” Soon he came to the lodge of the two old men from which he had started. Again he inquired of the old men about the woman, but they caught him and threw him into their canoe. Then they began to dispute as to which should kill and quarter him. At last they said, “Push the canoe back and leave it, for the game animal can not run away.” Indeed, the man could not release himself, as he seemed to be fastened to the canoe.

Toward night be heard a voice saying: “You think that you are going to die. You would be were it not for me.” The man in the canoe replied, “I do think so.” Then the invisible man said: “No; you shall not die. At the end of the canoe there is a string, to which hang the two hearts of the old men; and this is why you were not able to kill them by knocking them on the head when you were here before (he now knew for the first time that he was in the same lodge again). Wait until it is dusk; then try to move and you will work loose. Then get out of the canoe quietly, and I will give you light to see where the hearts are. Take them off the string and pound them up, and you will be free. You can then remain here all night. The canoe has great orenda (magic power), and these two old men use the canoe when they travel. If you wish, I will teach you the song that belongs to it.” The man in the canoe, being very weak, could hardly speak, but he replied, “Yes; I should like to learn the song.” Then the invisible man answered, “I will teach you the song,” and he began singing, “Tgâiiehe onĕⁿ o’waqdĕñdĭʼ neʼʹ akʻhoñwâⁿʼ.” When he finished singing “Correctly my canoe has started” the man in the canoe thanked him, saying that he had learned the song. After dusk he began to move, and as he moved he gained strength. Looking around, he saw a pale light in the end of the canoe. Having freed himself, he took the hearts from the cord, and as he crushed them he heard groans and wails of pain. Placing them under the canoe, he crushed them, and their cries ceased. Then the young man lay down and slept.

The next morning he awoke and said: “Now I have something in which I can travel. I shall now soon overtake the woman.” Setting the canoe outside of the lodge, he turned its bow toward the north, and, getting into it, he sang the song which he had learned to cause it to fly. The canoe started off so rapidly that only the wind could be heard as it flowed past his ears. All the time the canoe kept going higher and higher and swifter and swifter, and the youth grew more and more frightened; he began to fear that the canoe might bear him off to some evil place. Suddenly he heard a scrambling sound at the stern of the canoe, as if some one were trying to board it from the rear. Looking around, the youth saw a man getting aboard, who said: “It is wonderful how fast you are going. I was bound to get aboard, so I leaped. You are afraid this canoe will carry you away. I am the person who was with you last night. It is my fault that you are frightened, for I did not give you full instructions. The reason the canoe goes faster and faster and higher and higher is that you keep repeating the song. You should change the words of the song, and then you can guide it. I came to tell you this.” As he stopped speaking, he stepped off the stern of the canoe into the air and disappeared.

The youth now changed the words of the song, singing, “Tgāiiehe wa’tkĕⁿ’dioñʹdă’t ne’ʹ akʻhoñʹwãⁿʼ,” and at once the canoe began to descend, gradually coming to the ground. But the occupant of the canoe exclaimed, “Oh! this is not what I wanted. I desired to come down a little lower only, not to the ground.” So he sang again the first words of the song. At once the canoe shot upward like an arrow and, heading northward, flew faster than it did before. As it flew along the youth saw the woman’s tracks ahead. Higher and higher went the canoe, the wind whizzing past his ears in a frightful manner. The speed of the canoe troubled the youth, and finally he exclaimed, “Oh! I am getting too high again.” Then, recollecting that he must change the words of the song, he sang, “Tgāiiehe hehdageshon hohweson nakʻhoñʹwâⁿʼ.” The canoe descended, but its speed was so great that he was greatly disturbed and distressed. At last he said, “I have learned the music, and all I have to do is to sing, ‘My canoe must stop immediately.’”

[The story ends here thus abruptly.]

24. THE CHESTNUT TREE GUARDED BY THE SEVEN SISTERS

In a small lodge, deep in a dense forest, a man lived alone with his nephew. It was the custom of the uncle to cook every day the food required by his nephew, but he never ate with him. There came a time, however, when the little nephew asked his uncle to eat with him. The only reply was, “No; I have already eaten my food.” Then, urging his nephew to be quiet, he would remark, “I have cooked this food for you alone.”

As the little nephew grew older he began to wonder at this strange conduct of his uncle. Finally he asked him: “Oh, my uncle, I never see you eat! How is this?” But the uncle made him no reply. So the little nephew decided to try to catch his uncle eating by spying on him. One night after this, when the little nephew had eaten his supper, he said: “Oh, uncle, I am very tired and sleepy. I am now going to bed to get a good rest.” With this remark he lay down on his bed, and drawing over him the deerskin cover soon began to snore as if he were sound asleep.

The wily old uncle waited a while, and then assuming that his nephew was fast asleep, he decided to begin getting his own evening meal. Going to his bed and carefully searching among the skins with which it was covered, he drew forth a small kettle and a very small bundle. Then placing the kettle on the bench near the fire and opening the bundle, he took out of it some substance, a small quantity of which he scraped into the kettle. After putting water into the kettle he hung it over the fire. When the water began to boil the old man, taking a wand from its wrappings of skin, began to strike gently on the kettle while he sang the words, “Now, my kettle, I want you to grow in size.” Obedient to the words of the song, the kettle began to increase in size and its contents grew in bulk. Repeating the words and continuing to tap gently on the kettle, the old man watched it becoming larger and larger. He kept up the singing until he decided that the kettle would hold enough of the mush which he was making to satisfy his hunger; then he stopped singing and tapping on the kettle. Carefully replacing the rod, or wand, in its skin wrapping, he removed the kettle from the fire and sat down to eat. After finishing his supper he carefully washed his kettle; then he shook it until it decreased to the size it was when he took it from the hiding place under the bed, to which place he now returned the rod, the bundle, and the kettle.

The nephew, who was still feigning sleep, was watching his uncle through a hole in the bed covering. He decided to take breakfast with his uncle in the morning, and in order to do this he resolved to arise much earlier than usual. When he arose, however, the youth found that his uncle had finished breakfast and was preparing something for him to eat.

After the uncle had gone out to hunt the youth brought into the lodge a large quantity of bark to make a good fire. About midday he said to himself: “I am going to be very kind and good. My uncle will be tired when he returns, so I shall have his supper all ready for him. I think that I can prepare it just as he does.” For a long time he searched in his uncle’s bed for the bundle; at last he found it. On opening it he discovered that it contained a small fragment of a chestnut. Beside the bundle he found the kettle, which was very small. These were the only articles he found under his uncle’s bed. He wondered and wondered at what he had discovered, for he could not understand how it was that with this bit of chestnut and the tiny kettle his uncle could make enough mush to feed him. Finally he decided on his course of action, saying to himself: “Well, I must do this exactly as my uncle did. This chestnut must be enough for one more meal.”

Kindling a good fire, the youth carefully scraped all the chestnut into the kettle; and then he poured water into the kettle and set it over the fire. Then taking the wand from its skin wrapping, when the water began to boil he gently tapped on the kettle, saying, “I want you to grow, my kettle.” He was so much amused by the increase in size of the kettle that he kept on tapping it and repeating the magical words, until there was hardly room enough in the lodge for him, because the kettle and the mush which it contained had grown so large; so, climbing to the roof, he continued to tap the kettle until it touched the sides of the lodge. He was so busy that he did not see his uncle approaching. The latter from a distance saw him on the roof, and watched his actions. As he approached the lodge he heard the nephew say, “Oh, grow! my kettle. Oh, grow! my little kettle,” and then he knew that the youth had discovered everything. This made the uncle very sad and depressed. He called to his nephew: “What have you done now, my nephew?” The youth replied in delight: “Oh, I have so much pudding that we shall have a grand feast.” Then he told his uncle everything.

The uncle asked, “Did you use all the chestnut?” The youth replied, “Yes. There was only a small bit here.” Thereupon the poor uncle exclaimed: “By doing this you kill me. That is the only kind of food I can eat. I shall die of hunger now. That kind of chestnut does not grow everywhere, and only a person who has great orenda (magic power) can get it.” “Oh, pshaw!” replied the nephew; “I know where there are whole trees full of chestnuts of this kind. I can get a large bagful for you, my uncle. So do not worry.” The uncle, unconsoled, replied: “No, it is not possible for you to do so. This is a bad thing that you have done. This chestnut would have lasted me for years. Now I never can get another; I shall starve to death. I may as well tell you about it, for I must soon die.”

Then, shaking the kettle slightly to decrease its size so that he could get into the lodge, the uncle said: “There is but one tree in the world that bears such chestnuts. Seven sisters who are great sorcerers own that tree. Many men have lost their lives in trying to get these chestnuts.” The youth confidently replied, “I am sure that I can get you one.” The uncle answered: “No, you can not. You are yet only a small boy. You would lose your life. These seven women have a great eagle perched upon a very tall tree to watch it. Night and day he guards it. Not a living thing can come near the tree, for if even a man try his utmost the eagle would discover him and scream out a cry of distress. Thereupon the sisters would come forth and beat the intruder to death no matter who he might be. Men have often taken the forms of various birds and animals to try to deceive them, but so far they have all failed in their attempts. These seven sisters have beaten to death everything that has come near that chestnut tree.” But this kindly advice did not change the youth’s resolve to make the attempt to get some of these well-guarded chestnuts.

The next morning he said to his uncle, “You must tell me where the tree stands, for I am going to try to find it.” When the fond uncle saw that he could not repress his nephew’s desire to go, he replied: “Go toward the rising sun, and after you have passed through the forests intervening you will come to a large open space. In the middle of this great clearing you will see a very tall tree near which stands a lodge. On the top of this tree sits the eagle with his sharp eyes looking in all directions; and it is in this lodge that the seven sisters dwell.”

Taking a bag, the young nephew said: “Now, cheer up, uncle. I will bring you a whole bagful of chestnuts before you have finished eating the pudding in that kettle.” With this remark the youth started toward the sunrise. After traveling for some time he killed a deer, which he cut up, filling his bag with the venison.

Finally the nephew came to a place where he began to see through the forests to an opening, whereupon he resolved that he must put forth all his caution and craft. So, having the mole as his fetish, he called out “Now, my friend, I want you to come to me; come to me, you mole!” In a short time the leaves began to rustle at his feet, and a mother mole appeared and asked him, “What do you want of me?” The youth replied: “I have done a great mischief to my uncle by scraping away all his chestnut. Now I want you to help me get more for him. I shall enter your body and you will carry me underground to that tall tree yonder on which the eagle is sitting. When you are under the tree thrust out your nose a little so that I can see. I shall have to carry my bag with me. Do you think that you can bear me and it, too?” The mole answered, “Oh, yes! I can carry all.”

After reducing his size magically, the youth entered the body of the mole and then it made its way to the tree indicated. As the mole arrived directly under the tree, thrusting its nose out of the ground, it said, “The eagle is looking.” In a flash the youth, stepping out of the mole, scattered venison all over the ground under the tree. The eagle flew down and began to eat voraciously of the meat. In the meantime the youth stuffed his bag with the chestnuts, which he gathered in handfuls, and just as the eagle was finishing the last morsel, the mole was engaged in carrying the youth with his bag back to the forest. When the meat was all eaten the eagle uttered a loud scream, and out ran the seven sisters with their clubs. When they saw that the chestnuts were already stolen and that no one was in sight, they fell upon the eagle and beat it until they had nearly killed him.

Arriving in the forest, the youth said to the mole: “Now, I will hide my chestnuts here, and you must then take me back to the lodge of the seven sisters, so I can hear what they say, in order to learn whether they intend to follow us in an attempt to recover the chestnuts.” Having again entered the body of the mole, the youth told it to go under the ground until it came to the lodge. The mole obeyed him literally. When the mole reached the lodge, it thrust out its nose and mouth. The youth then stuck his ear out of its mouth and listened to what was being said in the lodge. He finally overheard one of the sisters say: “It must be a young man just grown. No one has succeeded since his uncle in stealing the chestnuts. Perhaps he has a nephew now who is as crafty as he used to be, and it may be that he, too, is going to live on chestnuts.” Another answered her, saying: “Well, they are stolen. We may as well let them go.” After hearing this last speech the youth asked the mole to bear him back to the forest at once. After reaching the forest the youth dismissed the mole with thanks for its aid, and then hurried home.

When the youth reached home he found his uncle sitting by the fire, singing his death song, “I must now die of hunger, for my nephew will never return to me.” Then the nephew rushed into the lodge, saying, “Oh, my uncle! I have brought you here a bag full of chestnuts.” The old man welcomed his nephew home and gave thanks to their guardian spirits for the latter’s success, and he was very, very happy. He is still making chestnut puddings. His nephew became a great hunter. He obtained whatever be desired, because he had the mole for his guardian spirit and aid.

[Note.—There are several versions of the foregoing story. In one version the tree is guarded by geese. The lad entered one of the geese, and as the seven sisters were bathing he slipped from the goose into the person of the youngest sister, and she thereby became pregnant. Being born of her, he became the master of the chestnuts.]

25. THE OTTER’S HEART AND THE CLAW FETISHES

Once in the fall of the year in time long past, a prominent chief with six or seven families went on a hunting expedition far away from their village. Having arrived at their usual hunting grounds, they did not find any game for many days. At last the chief, whose fetish, or charm, was a fawn skin, calling the members of the party to his kanosʻha (temporary lodge), asked each person to lay hold of his pouch fetish, and to declare while touching the pouch what he or she intended to kill on the following day.

The first one to touch the pouch was a man who said that he intended to kill a bear; the next said that he intended to kill a deer, and so on; and finally the chief’s wife declared that she intended to kill geese. But, as the pouch passed around, the chief’s daughter requested her husband not to touch it by any means; when it was nearing them on its round she grasped her husband’s arm to keep him the more effectually from putting his hand on the pouch. As he showed a disposition to touch it, she pushed him over on the ground, but he arose again while she still clung to him. In spite of her he finally placed his hand on the pouch, saying, “Tomorrow, I shall kill two otters before daylight.”

At midnight the chief’s son-in-law, arising, went to a place where the neighboring stream made a very pronounced loop, and there he watched for the otters. Soon he saw two approaching and killed both. He was very hungry, and as it was not yet daylight he took out the hearts of the otters, which he roasted and ate. By doing this he unwittingly destroyed the power of the orenda (magic potency) of the pouch for those who had touched it; so that day all the other persons returned to the lodge without any game. The chief’s wife, who had said that she would kill geese, also returned empty handed. When she saw the geese on the wing and clapped her hands, shouting: “Let them fall dead! Let them fall dead!” the geese kept on flying; in fact the charm, or orenda, of the pouch had been broken or spoiled by some one. After these things had been reported to the chief, he examined the two otters slain by his son-in-law. When he saw that their hearts had been removed, he became very angry with him. His daughter, the wife of the culprit, becoming frightened for the welfare of her husband, concealed a piece of dog’s flesh and a knife, at the same time telling her husband where he could find them in case of need.

The chief said to his retinue, “My son-in-law has nullified the orenda of the pouch by eating one of the taboos, which is the earnest of the compact with it; so I think we would better kill him.” But his daughter exclaimed, “If you kill him, you must first kill me.” As the chief was quite averse to killing his daughter, he said, “Then, instead of killing him we will leave him here naked and without provisions and we will go far away to avoid the consequences of his act.” So the chief and the people stripped the son-in-law of everything, even of his weapons, and then departed, taking his wife with them.

At midnight, when all alone, the son-in-law heard some person approaching on snowshoes, for this was in the winter season. In a short time a man came to the lodge and said to the young man, “You feel that you are doomed to die, do you not?” The young man answered, “Yes; I do think so.” Then the stranger said: “You shall not die. I have come here to assist you. Tomorrow morning follow my tracks to a hollow tree. There you shall find a bear. Kill it and you will have plenty of meat and you can make yourself a robe and footwear from its skin.” Then the stranger went away. The next morning the young man could find no tracks other than those of a rabbit. These he followed to a large hollow tree, in which indeed he found a bear, which he killed. Carrying it home, he skinned and dressed it. From its skin he made himself a robe and a pair of moccasins.

Again about midnight the young man heard some person approaching on snowshoes, for the snow was deep. Soon a man’s voice from outside his lodge said to him: “I sent you help last night. Tonight I have come to tell you that your wife will be here tomorrow about midday. She believes that you are dead from hunger and exposure and she has run away from her father’s camp to come to look for you. As soon as she has rested, send her on the following day for her father and his people. Instruct her to tell her father that you are alive and well. Let her say to him, ‘My husband has meat enough for all.’ They will be glad to come back to you, for they have no meat and are hungry. They have been punished enough for abandoning you.” Then the stranger departed.

The next day about noontide the wife came and she was welcomed by her husband. After resting that night the young man in the morning sent her for her father. The night she was absent the stranger again came to the lodge and said to the young man: “Your father-in-law will be very glad to know that you have meat sufficient for yourself and for his people, and he will be very willing to come to you. When he has arrived here he will exhibit his fetishes, and ostensibly to repay you he will give you your choice. Among them is one which you must select; this is wrapped in bearskin. It is the claw which I lost when your father-in-law caught me in a trap. You must not pay heed to your father-in-law’s statement that it is not of much account. He will insist that you take some other which he will represent as of much greater potency than this. But take my advice and choose this one.” Then the stranger departed.

The next morning toward midday the chief and all his people returned to the lodge of the chief’s son-in-law, who welcomed them and offered them what he had in the way of food.

In a few days the chief unfolded all his fetishes, informing his son-in-law that he could take his choice. On his reaching over and taking the one wrapped in bearskin, his father-in-law said, “Oh, son-in-law! that is of no account; here is a better one.” But the young man, remembering the advice of his midnight visitor, replied, “No; I will keep this one,” so he retained the one wrapped in bearskin.

Some time afterward the young man went into the forest to meet the strange man who had befriended him and to whom the claw, or finger, belonged. He had not gone far when he saw what appeared to be a lodge standing in the middle of a clearing. On going to this lodge he found a man in it who received from him the claw or finger. Thanking him for its return, the man said: “I shall always be your friend for this favor. You shall succeed in all that you may undertake.” As the young man turned to go home the strange man bade him farewell. Having proceeded a short distance toward home, the young man turned to take a look at the lodge, but to his surprise it had disappeared. What he had thought was an opening in the forest was now a large body of water.

Ever after this circumstance the chief’s son-in-law enjoyed good fortune in all that he undertook. He became a great hunter and a great warrior. When his tribe waged a war against a neighboring people he took many scalps and many prisoners. Whatever he desired he obtained easily in abundance. It was said by those who knew the circumstances that his good luck came from the friendship of the otter, whose finger, or claw, the young man had so generously returned to it.

26. THE SEVEN SISTERS WHO PRODUCED WAMPUM

In the long ago there lived seven sisters who were endowed through their orenda with great skill in sorcery. These sisters lived together in a lodge situated on a high mountain. From this advantageous situation they were able to see a long distance in every direction.

One of their chief occupations during berrying time was to gather large quantities of huckleberries for drying and storing. They would carry long baskets on their backs by means of the forehead strap and smaller ones in their hands, for collecting the berries from the plants and bushes. These berries they gathered in the neighboring patches which belonged to them and brought them home to dry in the sun.

Now, it so happened that these seven sisters were misanthropes, and they boasted that they hated men. Each one of them sincerely and frequently said, “I can not bear the odor of a man.” True to their animosity to men, they would not permit one to come near their domicile. They carried this aversion to the presence of men to the extent that they would have no relations whatever with married women, even turning up their noses at them, with the contemptuous remark, “Oh, they smell of men.” So they would not allow either men or women near their huckleberry patch.

Among the young men who heard of these peculiar sisters was one who determined to have a look at them. In order to see them he managed to conceal himself in their huckleberry patch about the time of their coming. When the sisters, therefore, came with their baskets into the berry patch the young man saw the youngest, with whom he immediately fell deeply in love, for she was very beautiful in face and attractive in figure. He then and there decided to approach stealthily the spot where she was picking berries by herself and to speak to her at all hazards. He did not get the opportunity until the next day.

On going again to the spot he had chosen as the best place to meet her, he concealed himself and awaited the coming of the seven sisters to their daily task of gathering berries. By good fortune the youngest sister came directly to the place near which the ardent gallant was concealed, and he lost little time in making his presence known by speaking to her in very low tones lest the other sisters should hear him. The sister addressed, turning around, saw him and at once fell in love with him, for he was a fine-looking young man. He said to her, “I greatly desire to speak to you, but I do not want your sisters to overhear me, for I am afraid of them.” So she stopped picking berries and listened to what he had to say to her. They conversed together for a long time. At last he remarked: “I must go lest your sisters discover me. I will meet you here tomorrow.”