Chapter XIX: Part 2: also consists of Seneca legends and myths, which are (14)

Again she followed the tracks of the young man. Just as he heard her approaching, a man stood before him who asked, “What is the trouble?” The young man replied, “A woman is pursuing me.” The stranger answered, “I will try to aid you.” Stooping down, he added: “Get on my back. I will throw you on a hillside. You must run along the hill until you are forced to descend.” The young man stepped on the back of the man Nosgwais,[120] who stretched his legs to an enormous length, throwing the young man off to a great distance on a side hill. The young woman came to the trail, where she found the ground soft and resilient. As she tried to advance it would fly up, throwing her backward. On looking around she found that she was standing on a toad’s back. She made great circles in search of the tracks of the young man. At last she reached the hill. When the young man reached the hill he ran along its top for a considerable time until he slipped and fell. Being unable to help himself, he slid down the hill with great rapidity, so fast that he did not realize anything until he struck a lodge, a voice within which said, “I think there must be something in our trap.”

A young woman came out and, seeing the young man, lifted him up and took him into the lodge. “What is the trouble?” asked an old woman. He replied: “A woman is following me. I have long been trying to escape from her.” “Keep out of sight and I will help you,” said the old woman. Then the old woman, filling a kettle with bear’s oil, set it over the fire. Soon it began to boil, whereupon she said, “Let this young man’s face be looking up from the bottom of this kettle.” At that moment they heard a noise outside of the lodge door, which opened. In came the young woman, who asked, “Where is the man I am following?” The old woman said, “He ran into the kettle.” Looking into the kettle and seeing the face of the man, she exclaimed, “I knew I should conquer you at last;” and plunged into the boiling oil in order to seize him. But the boiling oil killed her. Then the old woman called the young man, saying, “The woman who was pursuing you is dead.” The daughter said to her mother, “I will have this man for my husband.”

In the course of time twin boys were born to the young people. When they were large enough to run around, their father said to them, “You must now go after your uncle.” After traveling a very long distance they reached a lodge, in which they found a man. One of the boys said, “Uncle, we have come for you.” The old man, after making ready, accompanied them. When they arrived at the home of the boys, the younger brother greeted his elder brother with, “I am glad we are able to see each other again.” Then one of the boys said, “Grandmother, we want you to marry this man, our uncle.” She replied, “So it shall be.” So they were married and all lived happily together.

53. THE STORY OF BLOODY HAND

According to tradition several tribes of the Iroquois claim the honor of having produced a great man, whose name was Bloody Hand, and whose fame as a hunter was not less than his reputation as a bold and resolute war captain.

Now, Bloody Hand had great love for the birds of the air and the animals on the earth that eat flesh. He greatly respected them and paid them marked attention. When he had killed a deer while out hunting he would skin it and cut the meat into small pieces; then he would call Gaqga [121] to come to eat the flesh. When he killed another animal, he would dress it in like manner and call Nonhgwatgwa122 and his people to come to eat the flesh which he had given them. Sometimes he would carry home a portion of the game he had killed, but generally he gave it all to the various birds and animals whose chief food is flesh.

According to a Seneca legend a number of Seneca warriors went on a warlike expedition against a tribe which was hostile to them, and it so happened that Bloody Hand was one of this warlike band. In an encounter with the enemy he and a number of others were killed and their remains were left on the ground. The body of Bloody Hand lay in the forest stark naked; the enemy, having scalped him, had borne away the scalp as a great trophy.

The birds of the air, having seen Bloody Hand killed and mutilated, held a council at which they bemoaned the death of their human friend. Finally one of the assembly said: “Let us try to bring him back to life. But before we can begin to resuscitate his body we must recover his scalp, which hangs before the door of the chief of the enemy who killed him. Let us send for it.” The assembly after agreeing to what had been proposed with regard to the preparations necessary to bring their friend back to life, first sent the Black Hawk to secure the scalp. Having arrived at the place where hung the scalp, Black Hawk was able by means of his sharp and powerful bill to break easily the cords that held the scalp; thus securing it, he bore it in triumph to the council of the birds. Then one among them said, “Let us first try our medicine to see whether it has retained its virtue or not. We must try first to bring to life that dead tree which lies there on the ground.” Thereupon they proceeded to prepare their medicine. To make it, each representative placed in the pot a piece of his own flesh. (These representatives were, of course, birds of the elder time, not such as live now.[123]) In experimenting with their medicine they caused a stalk of corn to grow out of the ground without sowing seed. In this stalk there was blood. After noting the efficacy of the medicine they broke the stalk, and after obtaining blood from it, caused it to disappear. With this medicine is compounded the seed of the squash.

When the medicine was made they held a sanctifying council, in which part of the assembly sat on one side of the tree, and the other part on the opposite side. The wolves and the snakes attended, also other animals and birds of great orenda (magic power). The birds sang and the rattlesnakes rattled; all present made music, every one in his own way.

Above the clouds and mists of the sky dwells a bird who is the chief of all the birds. His name is Sʻhadahgeah. This assembly of bird and animal sorcerers chose the chief of the crows to notify him of all that was taking place. This is the reason, according to the tradition, the crow today sings the note “caw, caw.” The eagle is another chief who is under this great bird that dwells above the clouds and mists of the firmament.

When the leaders of this assembly saw that the trees and plants were coming to life and putting forth green leaves and waxen buds,[124] the presiding chief said to his associates: “This is enough. We have sung enough. Out medicine will now act, and we must select someone to put it into the man’s body.” For this purpose they chose the chickadee. This canny bird first drank the medicine; then going by way of the man’s mouth into his stomach, it emitted the medicine. While this was taking place the others were engaged in rubbing the body of the dead man with the medicine. When his body was well anointed they all sat down and began to sing. For two days and two nights they did not cease from singing, until they perceived that the body was becoming warm again. After his resuscitation125 the man reported that he felt suddenly as though he had just been aroused from a sound sleep; he heard the singing of the birds and the various sounds made by the beasts around him, and finally came to life again. Remaining silent, he merely listened to the singing of the songs of orenda that arose on all sides. He listened because he could understand the words that were used in these chants of the sorcerers. As soon as his body began to show signs of motion the birds and the beasts drew back a little, but continued to sing and chant.

When the chief of the assembly saw that the man had fully recovered his life, he said to him: “We bestow this medicine on you and your people. Your people shall have it for their healing. If it so happens that one of them is injured by a fall, by a blow, or by an arrow shot, he must have recourse to this medicine. You must make use of it at once. You must also from time to time strengthen and renew this medicine by giving a feast in its honor.[126] When you make use of it you must burn tobacco in our behalf and turn your thoughts toward us. As long as you shall have this medicine, you shall assemble at intervals at appointed feasts to strengthen it, and for this purpose you shall burn tobacco of the old kind. While doing this you shall say, among the other things: ‘Let all the birds and the beasts on the earth and above the earth share this fragrant smell of the tobacco.’ As long as people live and are born this ceremony must be maintained to fix the use of this medicine.” Thus, after the birds and beasts had brought the man to life, they taught him how to make use of the medicine and how to sing the songs that put it in action. Then they dismissed him, telling him to go to his home, where he must inform his people, through their appointed authorities, what he had learned for their benefit and welfare. Thereupon the man went to his home.

The men who had seen him scalped and killed had related the story to their people, who believed him dead. So, when they saw him return alive, they quickly gathered around him, asking, “How has it come to pass that you have returned alive?” Then the man gave them, in detail, an account of how he had been killed, and how the birds and the animals, in return for the kindness which he had shown them at all times, had concocted the medicine which had brought him back to life. Then, selecting a small number of wise men of great experience, he taught them how to use this medicine and confided its preservation to their custody. He strictly enjoined them not to make light of the songs which belonged to it; should they so far forget themselves as to do so, they would suffer great misfortune, for the songs possessed great orenda, which would become active against them. He told them, further, that no one should sing the songs unless he had some of this powerful medicine (which is called nigahnegahah, “small dose”). This medicine is still held in great repute among the Iroquois. (See Medical Note, p. 491.)

54. THE SEVEN STARS OF THE DIPPER

Long ago six men went out hunting many days’ journey from home. For a long time they found no game. One of their number said that he was sick (in fact he was very lazy), so they had to make a litter of two poles and a skin, by means of which four men carried him. Each man had his own load to bear besides. The sixth member of the party came behind, carrying the kettle.

At last, when they were getting very hungry, they came on the track of a bear, whereupon they dropped their sick companion and their burdens, each running on as fast as he could after the bear. At first the track was so old that they thought merely, “We shall overtake the bear at some future time anyway.” Later they said, “The track can not be more than three days old,” and as it grew fresher and fresher each day, they finally said, “Tomorrow, it seems, we shall overtake the bear.” Now, the man whom they had carried so long was not tired, and when they dropped him, knowing that he was to be left behind, he ran on after them. As he was fresher than they were, he soon passed them, and overtaking the bear, he killed it.

His companions never noticed in their hurry that they were going upward all the time. Many persons saw them in the air, always rising as they ran. When they overtook the bear they had reached the heavens, where they have remained to this day, and where they can be seen any starlit night near the Polar Star.

The man who carried the kettle is seen in the bend of the Great Dipper, the middle star of the handle, while the only small star near any other of the Dipper stars is the kettle. The bear may be seen as a star at the lower outside corner.

Every autumn when the first frost comes there may be seen on the leaves of the oak tree blood and drops of oil—not water, but oil—the oil and blood of the bear. On seeing this the Indians say, “The lazy man has killed the bear.”

55. THE STORY OF THE TWO BROTHERS

Two brothers living by themselves in the forest believed that they were the only persons in the world. They were greatly devoted to each other. The younger did the thinking and the planning for both, for whatever he said the elder brother did.

One day the younger brother exclaimed, “Go yonder and kill that turkey, for I want its feathers.” “I will,” answered the elder. So going to the point indicated, the elder killed the turkey and brought its carcass to his brother, asking, “What do you want to do with its feathers?” “I want to wear them, because it will be a pleasure to know that I have them on my head,” declared the younger brother, plucking two feathers from the body of the turkey, for he required no more for his purpose. Then he ordered his brother to fasten these in a socket attached to a chin band, so that they would turn with the wind when worn on the head. Having done this, the elder brother placed the socket so fastened on his brother’s head. This gave the younger brother a distinguished aspect.

Every night before retiring the younger brother would remove the chin band with the socket containing the two plumes and hang it on the side of the lodge. When daylight came the first thing he did was to fasten on his head the chin band with the socket with its latchet of buckskin thongs, exclaiming, “I take pleasure in these feathers, for I am going to have a festival in their honor.”

One day the younger brother went into the forest adjoining the lodge. His brother, watching from a distance, saw him go back to a fallen tree. In a short time the elder brother heard singing and the sound of dancing, whereupon he said, “I verily believe that my younger brother is crazy,” for he had never seen such things done before. When the younger brother returned to the lodge his brother asked him bluntly: “What were you doing? Were you not dancing behind the tree? Why do you go so far away from the lodge? You should have your dance right here in this lodge. Why should you go off alone?” “You do not know the tune I sing, and so I must sing alone,” was the answer. The elder brother replied, “I should learn the tune, too, so that I could take part in the singing of the song.” “No,” declared the younger brother, “I know the tune, and if you want to take part with me, you may dance.” The elder brother rejoined: “No; it is not right that I should dance while I have no feathers in my headgear.” Answering, the brother said: “You may change places with me if you wish. Then you shall hunt the smaller game. I kill birds, and it is from them that I learn the songs. The animals which you hunt and kill do not sing; but, perhaps, I could not kill the large game because I am so small, and it may be that you could not kill the birds because you are so large.” “Well,” replied the elder, “you may have it all to yourself, and I will merely watch you sing and dance.”

So the elder brother continued to hunt large game, and at times he would hear the singing and the dancing as he came near their home. When the younger brother would hear him approaching he would pretend to be doing something quite different from dancing and singing. This conduct caused the elder brother to wonder and to fear that something peculiar was about to happen to both of them. Often he would say to his brother: “Why did you stop hunting? You do not go to hunt any more.” The younger brother answered: “I listen to the singing of the birds and so learn their songs; this is why I do not shoot them.” “It is well,” rejoined the elder brother, who continued to hunt such game as he required. But one day his younger brother said to him, “My feathers are nearly worn out, and I want you to kill another turkey for me.” So the elder brother killed the largest turkey he could find, and then said to his brother, “Skin this turkey instead of plucking its feathers.” He did as requested, and the elder brother having made a pouch of the skin, asked his brother, “Do you like this robe?” “I like it very much, and I am thankful to you, brother,” was the answer. As the skin of the turkey began to dry, the younger brother, getting into the pouch, would walk around looking just like a turkey, and he seemed to enjoy greatly this new form of dress. When he walked into the lodge, he would come out of the skin, which he would hang up among his belongings. The elder one said to him: “Brother, you must not go far from the lodge; it will not be safe for you to do so.” “No,” said the younger brother, “I will stay at home and take care of our things.” Matters continued thus for some time.

One day the younger brother said: “You must stay at home, not going to hunt today. Instead, you must learn to sing my songs. What I do now shall be the practice of our people hereafter, if we ever have any people or kindred; hence you must learn these songs.” So he made a rule that people of his tribe should wear feathers as insignia. The elder meditated on this matter, wondering how the younger brother could have such prophetic thoughts. “Now,” said the youth to his brother, “I am going to sing, and you must listen and must learn what I sing.” So he sang a war song. His elder brother asked him, “What kind of a song is that?” The youth replied: “It is a war song.”

From the time that the youth had commenced to study the singing of the birds he had begun to grow wise and had become experienced in the ways of the world (i.e., of the world of daimons). He kept saying, “These are songs which the people shall sing, and they, too, shall wear feathers on their heads.” The people had never heard anyone else sing, but the youth had studied out the matter from hearing the birds sing. He declared to his brother the dangers connected with singing the songs, saying, “You must be very careful about singing this song; if you are not, it will bring you senseless to the ground.” Then he added: “I am singing praises, for I have learned to sing from the birds. I give thanks as I have heard them given in my hunting expeditions. I dance to my own songs because I hear the birds sing, and I see them dance. You and I must do the same, for it will rouse a feeling of joy in our hearts.” Thus, the youth was the wiser of the two brothers.

Once when they were out hunting the younger brother saw a large bird sitting over them on a large tree. When the bird began to sing the elder brother knew that his brother must have learned a song from this bird, for he recognized a song which had been taught to him. “You are wise,” said he to the youth, “and now I shall believe that a higher magic power directs the birds to teach us songs which possess powerful orenda (magic power).” Thereupon he began to sing a song of his own, which was different from that of his brother. “Do you think that I can dance to your song?” asked the youth. “I shall try, at any rate.” Instead of singing it, the elder said, “I will tell you the words of the song, namely: ‘I am glad to see the day dawn. I am thankful for the beautiful sunbeams.’” “I know what that song is,” said the youth; “it is different from mine, and it has not so much joy in it; whenever we are sad we will draw our words from it; we will sing it and gain courage and strength thereby.”

Then the youth said, “You would better go to your hunting, and I will go to mine.” As the elder brother was starting off, the youth leaped into his turkey-skin pouch, saying, “Brother, let me go with you.” “I go so far away,” he replied, “that it would tire you out, so I do not think you should go.” But as the youth insisted on going, finally the elder said, “I will let you go part of the way, but I can not let you go all the way, for that would be too much for you to undertake.” So they started, the youth dressed in the turkey-skin garb following his brother far into the forest, whereupon the elder said, “I think this is as far from home as you should go; now you would better return thither.” So the youth, prancing around like a turkey, went home. The elder brother had noticed that lately the youth never removed his turkey-skin robe, wearing it even at night. Not liking to have the little fellow wear this robe all the time, he asked him to take it off when retiring for the night. But the youth replied, “You made it for me, and I like to wear it constantly.” He always gave this same answer. As he dearly loved his younger brother, the elder did not order him to take it off.

The youth played just as turkeys play, and when he saw wild turkeys he would imitate the noises made by them; he was learning all the habits of the turkey, and no longer wore feathers on his head; his voice began to change and it did not sound to his brother as it formerly had. The elder brother wondered about and worried over this conduct of the youth. At last he commanded the younger one to remove his turkey-skin robe. He replied, “I can not take it off, so you will have to take it off of me.” On trying to do this, the elder brother found he could not remove the robe, which had grown to the little fellow’s body, so he let it alone.

The brothers always ate together when encamped in the same lodge. One day the brother with the turkey-skin robe declared, “I will now go with you, but you must be strictly on your guard, for something strange is about to happen.” The youth was very wise; his counsel and advice seemed superior to the opinions of any other man and beyond the comprehension of his elder brother. Once when the elder brother, returning, failed to find his brother at home he went to bed. But in the morning he heard his brother on the roof of the lodge making the noises which turkeys make at the break of day, whereupon he was convinced that the youth had really turned into a turkey. This conviction made him feel very strange. Soon he heard his brother jump to the ground and come into the lodge. On entering he exclaimed: “Brother! brother! a woman is coming. I think she desires to see you, but you must be exceedingly cautious, for something may happen to us. By all means you must not accompany her if she asks you to do so; but if you do go I shall follow you.” That day when the woman came she saw in front of the lodge what she took to be a turkey, and eyed it carefully. Thereupon the youth acted as much as possible like a turkey in order to deceive her the more completely. On entering the lodge the woman found the elder brother, whom she had come to take away, and said to him, “I have come purposely to have you accompany me home.” In replying, he said, “I shall ask my brother, to learn what he will think about this matter.” Going out, he consulted with his younger brother, who had in appearance become a turkey, saying, “That woman has come. What is to be done?” The answer came: “Have I not told you that she would come? She is a great sorceress whose purpose is to destroy us. You must tell her that you are not ready to go today, but that you and your brother will go tomorrow. I foresee that if we go something evil will happen to us if we are not very cautious.” Going into the lodge, the elder brother said to the woman, “We will start as soon as we can get ready.” She did not once suspect that what she had taken for a turkey was the other brother. The brother with the turkey-skin robe decided to remain in the lodge that night, lest something evil might befall his elder brother; so he placed himself on a convenient perch, the woman thinking he was a tame turkey. The next morning neither of the brothers thought of eating anything. The elder said, “I think that I shall have to accompany this woman,” to which the Turkey Brother replied: “It is very wrong of you to go. She is a great sorceress, and we can not overcome her orenda.”

The woman had come from the west, where the two brothers had never been. When the Turkey Brother saw the woman and his brother leave the lodge together, he followed them for some time, noting that they went westward. He said to himself, “I do not see why you agreed to go.” The Turkey Brother was now alone. Toward evening he felt very lonely, and he spent an anxious night. In the morning he mused with a heavy heart, saying, “My poor brother! The woman has taken him away; and if anything happens to him, I shall dream of it.” After the lapse of some time he said, “Well, I must go after my brother.” Traveling westward, the Turkey Brother came to an opening in the forest in which stood a lodge, whereupon he said, “This must be the place.” The old woman of the lodge said: “There is a turkey outside. Perhaps it has come to stay with us; it is very tame.” The elder brother now knew that his Turkey Brother had come after him, and going out of the lodge, he met him. The sorceress took a fancy to the Turkey Brother and did not think of killing him. Toward night one of the women sought to place the Turkey Brother by himself for the night, but he perched on an open gable end of a lodge in order to be able to see and hear what was taking place on the inside. After the two women had gone a short distance from the lodge, the Turkey Brother said: “Brother, how can you endure the abuse which these women heap upon you? They never give you a mouthful to eat, for they intend to kill you. I have come to tell you this, for I have discovered what they are going to do. I am going home now, but I will take you away from them.” So saying, he started eastward. As his captive brother watched him, he remarked, “It is fortunate that he can go where he likes.”

On the way homeward the Turkey Brother became so anxious about his brother that be grew enraged at the woman. When he reached home he thought of some scheme by which he might be able to cast off his turkey-skin robe, for he had definitely decided in his own mind that he had worn the disguise long enough. But how to get rid of it was the question, for it had grown to him. At last, however, he was able to free himself from the garment. Hanging it up, he put his plumed chin-band on his head. While eating his meal he kept thinking of his brother. Finally, he exclaimed, “Now is the time!” and being in his human form, he called on his tutelary, the Moose, for aid. The words of appeal had scarcely left his mouth before the Moose stood before him, awaiting his pleasure. He said to the Moose: “You must go westward to the place where live the old woman and her daughters, who hold my brother captive. This is the time of day that he goes out of the lodge. I want you to save him—you can do so by carrying him in this way (jumping on the Moose’s back)—and when you have him on your back, you must run with all your speed, being careful not to let my brother fall off. You must also take off your plumes (meaning his horns), put mine in their place; yours are too heavy for running swiftly.” Thereupon the Moose said, “Let us try it,” and after running with the little fellow on his back and completing a large circle, the Moose returned to the starting point. Then the Moose held down its head and the little fellow, taking off the horns, placed in their stead his own plumed chin-band, saying: “When you return I will put back your plumes. Now, my brother has come out of the lodge and is looking for a place in which to die, for he has determined not to die in the lodge of the old woman. So go!” With a bound the Moose was off in the direction of the lodge, and the little fellow remarked to himself, “The Moose will soon be back with my brother.” Before very long he heard a noise outside his lodge, and looking out, saw his brother hanging on the neck of the Moose, so weak that he could scarcely get him off. The little fellow pulled him by the feet until he dropped to the ground. Although he landed on his feet, he could not stand, but the younger brother managed to get him into the lodge. Coming out, he gave back to the Moose his horns, receiving in return his own plumes; thereupon he dismissed the Moose. Then he chided his brother, saying: “I told you not to go with that woman, but you would not listen to me. Now you have suffered a great punishment, but I am glad that you are back home. Your journey has caused me great trouble. We are now free from the woman and can now live happily together.”

56. SʻHODIEONSKON [127] (THE TRICKSTER)

Sʻhodieonskon went on a journey to distant places in visits of adventure. In the first place he came to he found a large number of lodges. Here he told the people that in his village everyone was ill of a certain disease; that the same disease would come to them, too; and that his people had discovered but one cure for it—all persons who were married slept with other men’s wives and other women’s husbands, and this saved them. Believing this, the people did as he had told them.

Then Sʻhodieonskon started off in another direction. When he came in sight of the second village he began to call out according to the custom of runners, Goʹweh! goʹweh! so the people knew that news of some kind was coming. As they gathered around him after his arrival, he told them that a plague was upon the place from which he had come, and that if they wished to prevent or cure this plague they must cut holes in the bark walls of their lodges and close these by putting their buttocks into them, and that all the families must do this. Going home, the people defecated into their lodges through these holes in the walls, whereupon Sʻhodieonskon mocked them for being fools, and thrust his walking-stick through the holes as he went, jeering at them, from lodge to lodge, before his departure.

In the next adventure he met a crowd of men; this time he wore long hair reaching to the ground. All looked at his hair, wondering how he got it. When they asked him, he said that he had climbed a tree and, after tying his hair to a limb, jumped off. In this way the hair became stretched as much as he wanted. Further, they could do likewise if they wished. After Sʻhodieonskon had gone his way one of the men, saying, “I am going to make my hair long,” climbed a tree and, having tied his hair to a limb, jumped down. His scalp was torn off, and, falling to the ground, he was killed. The other people, enraged, said, “That man is Sʻhodieonskon; we must overtake and kill him.” Running after him, they soon came in sight of a creek, in which they saw a man spearing fish. Every little while, raising his foot, he would pull off a fish, for he had sharpened his leg and was using it for a spear. They watched him take several fish from his leg. When they reached the bank he came up out of the water. They were astonished at the number of fish he had caught and asked him how he had taken so many. “You can all see,” he replied, “I have sharpened my leg and use it for a spear; when I get all the fish I want I spit on my leg, and it becomes as well as before.” Then he showed them how he did it. He put the fish he had speared on a string. Then the men wanted to spear fish, so they asked him, “Can not you sharpen our legs, so that we may spear fish?” After he had sharpened their legs, entering the water, they went to work, while he disappeared. Presently they began to feel sore and had caught nothing. So they all came up, and sitting on the bank, they spat on their legs and rubbed them, but this treatment was of no efficacy in healing their wounds. Meanwhile Sʻhodieonskon was far out of sight on his way to a new village.

When Sʻhodieonskon drew near to the third village he called out, Goʹweh! goʹweh! The people gathered around him, asking what had happened. He told them that in the place whence he had come the young men were killing all the old ones, who could be saved only if the women would give themselves to the young men; so the women did so, and nothing happened to the old men.

Sʻhodieonskon then hurried to another place. When he arrived there, all asked what the matter was in his place. “Another sickness,” he said, but he had the medicine to cure it. This medicine was bear’s oil, which he carried in a bark bowl (it was his urine). He sold it to the villagers to be drunk with their food. When warm it crackled like salt. Although they knew it was not oil, they drank it. As he left the village he said that he had never seen such stuff eaten before, and ridiculed them.

Continuing his journey, Sʻhodieonskon met a man, and they sat down by the trail. He offered the man a cake which corresponded to the oil he had just sold, but the man refused to eat it and went his way.

Sʻhodieonskon, not to be baffled, called up a couple of bears. When they came to him he said: “I want you to carry me. I will rest one foot on one of you and the other foot on the other. We will go in this direction, running around until we meet a man. I will tell this man that I will give you to him to mount, and when he places one foot on each of you his feet will become fastened to your backs, whereupon you must go in opposite directions, tearing him apart.” Having agreed to do this, they soon ran around ahead of the man, to whom Sʻhodieonskon said, “I have ridden these bears so long that I am tired of them; if you would like, I will give them to you.” They seemed so tame and were so fine-looking that the man gladly took them and jumped on their backs, whereupon his feet grew fast to them in a moment. After running together a little way the bears ran in different directions. The man, badly injured and half dead, finally became free from the bears. He said to himself, “Well, I have found Sʻhodieonskon.”

Sʻhodieonskon, having journeyed farther, met a party of young women. Stopping them, he said: “It is not best for you to continue on that road—it is dangerous, for when you meet a man dressed in hemlock boughs you must not be afraid, but must do everything he wants you to do, so as to keep on friendly terms with him.” Going on through the woods, the women soon saw something moving in front of them, which they noticed was covered with hemlock boughs. They were frightened, but after a while one of them, saying “I will not be afraid,” went straight up to him and talked with him some time behind a tree. Then she came back, telling the others to go, that there was nothing to be afraid of. So they went, one by one, and after all had been there he went away. One of the women whistled out his name and called him, but he had gone after fooling them all. Sʻhodieonskon and the man in the hemlock boughs were one.

Sʻhodieonskon went on again, soon coming to an opening where there was a number of bark lodges. Going into the lodges he said, “There is a man coming to destroy all the people, and to escape him they must cover all the smoke-holes, for he has a long spear which he thrusts into them to spear the people.” Then he invented a name for the man. All went to work covering the smoke-holes of their lodges. The chief of the village had two beautiful wives. Sʻhodieonskon coveted them and did not tell the chief the story of the man with the spear. When all the other lodges were covered and full of smoke, Sʻhodieonskon ran over the roofs, frightening everybody almost to death; not daring to go out, all remained half stifled in the smoke. At last Sʻhodieonskon, climbing the roof of the chief’s lodge, speared him to death and took his wives and all he had.

In due time the funeral of the chief was held, and all came to bury him. Sʻhodieonskon, appearing among the mourners, cried, saying: “I am sorry for the chief; he was a friend of mine, and now he is dead and gone. I am so sad. I do not wish to live. You must bury me with him.” So they put Sʻhodieonskon in the ground beside the chief. The next day some boys who were out at play heard a man calling for help, his voice seeming to come from the graveyard, whereupon they went to the spot. The voice seeming to come out of the grave, they ran and told the people. The people agreed to dig him up. When they had done so Sʻhodieonskon, standing on the ground, said: “There is a very important thing to be done. I came back because the chief had two wives; they mourn for their husband, and I feel sorry for them. I am sent back to marry the two widows.” After talking over the affair the people said it was a great thing that a man should be sent back from the other world to marry the widows of their chief, so they consented to the arrangement, and Sʻhodieonskon, having married them, settled down.

57. THE CANNIBAL UNCLE, HIS NEPHEW, AND THE NEPHEW’S INVISIBLE BROTHER

An uncle and his nephew dwelt together in a forest, subsisting by hunting. They lived in a lodge which had a partition through the middle and a door at each end. Neither one ever entered the part occupied by the other, all communication between them being held by means of conversation carried on through the partition. Each went in and out of his own part of the lodge whenever he liked, but never dared to cross the threshold of the other’s room.

After a time the nephew, a handsome young man, discovered his uncle’s true nature—he was a man-eater, an Ongwe Ias.

One day a woman came to the nephew’s room. The next morning at dawn the uncle exclaimed, “My nephew has two ways of breathing.” The young man, speaking to himself, said: “My uncle is mistaken. I am only talking to myself.” “Oh!” said the old man, “My nephew can not deceive me. There are two in his room, and I am glad that some wild game has come to visit him.”

The old man then said that he was going out to hunt. When the uncle had gone the young man said to his wife: “My uncle knows that you are here, and now you must heed my words, or he will kill and eat you. Three other women have been here before you. He killed and devoured them all, for they disregarded my warnings. Now, before I go, I will bring water and wood and everything else you want, so you will not need to go out. I will also get a vessel for your use. If you go out you are lost; my uncle will surely kill you. As soon as I leave the lodge, he will come back, for he knows you are here.” After he left the door, the young man turned back and again warned his wife not to disobey him.

The moment the husband was out of sight in the woods the uncle came to the door. Having the power of commanding things to be done which he did not see, the uncle said, “Let it be necessary for the woman to go out.” When he saw that she did not come out he said, “Let the water with which she is cooking boil away.” The water boiled away, but as she had plenty more she did not go out. Seeing this, the uncle became terribly angry, and said, “I will get her out in one way or another.” Now the old uncle was a man-eater, and the nephew had discovered that instead of hunting beasts and birds he hunted human beings, and that every man or woman he met, he killed, and having brought home the body on his shoulders, he cooked and ate the flesh. The nephew hunted game, for the uncle had always made him find his own food.

This day, as the young man was returning, he saw smoke rising from his end of the lodge, whereupon he thought, “All is well; my uncle has not been able to kill my wife.” When he entered he thanked her for her obedience. In the evening about dusk they heard the old man come in and knew that he had brought nothing. He called out: “What luck has my nephew had to-day?” “I have had good luck,” replied the nephew. The uncle said, “I found nothing.” Now he muttered to himself about his nephew, blaming him for hiding his uncle’s game in his part of the lodge, and saying that he would have his own. He heard the two breathing and could not be deceived. Determined to have something to eat, the old man pounded bones into small pieces and putting them into a large kettle which he filled with water, he made soup. The husband and wife on the other side of the partition did not talk.

The nephew decided to leave the place. As he had been thinking of doing so for some time, he had his plans well laid. Unobserved by his uncle he had walked in circles around the lodge, going farther and farther each day. When he had made paths three days’ journey in circuit he told his wife what he intended to do. That night the uncle said: “I am going to be absent two or three days. I can find no game in all this country about here.” “Well,” said the nephew, “hunters go where they can find something to kill and are often gone many days. I, too, am going farther. Game is getting scarce in our neighborhood.”

The young man, being possessed of orenda (magic power), had caused a lodge to be built in a place distant six days’ journey. He told his wife that he had an invisible brother in that lodge, to whom he would send her; that this brother was then under the lodge, and that no stranger had ever seen him. Hitherto this invisible brother had always accompanied him, but in the future would assist her. Taking an arrow from his quiver he removed the head. Then, after shaking his wife until she was only a couple of inches long, he put her into the arrow and replaced the point, saying, “In three days I will follow you.” Then sending the arrow toward the east, at the same instant he heard the calling of the Gwenhgwenhonh [128] (the feathers on the arrow were taken from this bird), and all the way the arrow sang with the voice of the Gwenhgwenhonh. He could see the trail of the arrow as it went through the air.

The nephew remained in his part of the lodge, waiting, and in three days the old man appeared without game. When he came in, talking with himself, he said: “What luck has my nephew had?” “Very good. I have plenty to eat,” answered the nephew. The old man continued: “I found nothing; this hunting ground is barren, and my eyes see no more game. But though I have no fresh food, I have plenty of bones here in this pile, which I shall break up and have a soup.” Then the young man heard his uncle breaking up the bones; there was a terrible racket and crushing. At last the young man said, “My uncle makes too much noise.” “My nephew would not find fault if he were in my place. I am trying to get something to eat,” came the retort, and the old man, paying no heed to what his nephew said, kept hard at work. The next morning at daybreak he said, “I am going to hunt, and I shall be away for three days.” “I am glad,” thought the nephew; he was very angry with his uncle and ready to fight.

Taking the trail he had made, the nephew followed it for three days before he made a straight line for his new lodge. Glancing up, he saw the arrow’s trail,[129] which looked like a rainbow in the sky. He took a long leap, and as he leaped he ran up in the air, far over the woods and on a level which still kept him in the air. As he was going along, he looked back to see whether he could discover his own trail. The trail of the arrow, which was in the form of a rainbow, seemed to roll up and dissolve in a mist as he passed along, ending in the dooryard, where he had told his wife the arrow would strike. Entering the lodge, there he found his wife.

One day the invisible brother saw an arrow come into the dooryard; striking the ground, it burst asunder and a woman came out. She went into the lodge, where she saw her bother-in-law, who said: “I knew you were coming. I am glad you obeyed your husband, for your obedience has enabled you to accomplish this great journey.” He continued: “You have never seen me before; no one but my brother has ever seen me, and he only two or three times. I know what will come to us from the wrath of our uncle; he will pursue us and if possible will destroy you.” The husband was six days making the journey to the lodge where his brother was, which was situated near a lake.

When uncle got home and was talking to his nephew in the other room he received no answer; at this he grew very angry. Making up his mind that his nephew was not at home, he went out to look for his trail in order to learn which way he had gone. Finally, on striking the trail, he found it was some time since he had left; the footprints looked about as old as his own made three days before. Going back to the lodge he muttered: “I will follow him tomorrow; the world is so small that he can not escape me. I will follow him everywhere.” Now, the invisible brother, though a great way off, heard the uncle talking to himself, heard his threats: “My daughter-in-law will never get out of my reach. I will go to the outskirts of the world very quickly. I do not see why he takes her away, thinking she can escape; he will never succeed, for I will have her flesh.” The invisible brother told his brother what the uncle said.

The next morning the uncle set out. After following the trail until night he determined to go home, trying again the next day. Looking up, he saw his lodge was near. He had been going round and round. At this he was angry, and said, “Tomorrow I will get on the trail again.” As soon as it was daylight he started. As he went on he found the trail was almost extinct, but he continued to follow it. He kept on until midday, when he found that he had not made much progress. He was near his lodge again. “Be it so,” he said; “let my nephew be possessed of the sorcery of all the animals, I will have his wife’s flesh for all that.” The uncle followed the trail three days more until at last he reached the end, whereupon he cried out exultingly, “My daughter-in-law’s flesh is mine.” Looking up in the air, he discovered his nephew’s trail. While the trail of the arrow was lost, the footprints of the nephew remained on the clouds.[130]

After the old man had traveled one day, the nephew said to his wife: “Now, we must go; our uncle is on our trail, and he is determined to have your life. Therefore be cautious. Do exactly as I bid you.” As the uncle followed on the ground the trail that he saw in the air, he muttered to himself. The invisible brother heard him. All started for the beach, the woman taking the lead, and the husband stepping in her footprints. As they looked across the lake they could see smoke. The husband said, “We will go yonder to that lodge and stop there for the night.” As they were going along the beach he halted, and, taking a clamshell from his bosom, threw it toward the other side of the lake. At once the banks came so close together that the woman could step over. After they had crossed, on looking back they could scarcely see the other shore. The nephew had crossed to a new lodge in order to delay his uncle, thinking that when the old man came to the water he would be long in crossing and would lose the trail. Telling his wife to say nothing, the young man left her, to hunt.