Chapter XXVI: Part 2: also consists of Seneca legends and myths, which are (21)

Early the next morning they heard sounds outside the lodge, and shortly afterward a woman and a beautiful younger woman, who were Wadiʻoniondies, entered the lodge. One of the women, addressing Okteondon, said, “I have come purposely to take you home with me.” “It is well. I consent,” answered the youth, who started at once to cross the lodge to accompany her and her companion. But Haieñtʻhwus stopped him with the remark: “You must not go yet. You have friends who are coming to escort you, and must wait for them.” Then “The Planter” hastened to prepare some food to eat, and for this purpose placed a large kettle of hominy over the fire. About the time that the hominy was ready three young men came into the lodge, who were invited by Haieñtʻhwus to eat. When Okteondon, the young men, and Haieñtʻhwus had eaten the boiled hominy, the old man began to pack some garments in a small bundle. When he had finished his parcel, he said to his nephew, “When any one of your friends is in need of things such as these you will find them in this parcel.”

Then Okteondon, after putting on his snowshoes, instructed his friends, saying: “You must follow me, and in doing so you must step in my tracks;” then he started. The three young men in stepping in his tracks found that it was like walking on solid ground, although the earth was covered deep with snow. Toward evening they came to a place where they saw smoke floating like clouds among the trees. When they drew near to an opening they saw a number of fires, around which were four young women. Thereupon Okteondon, addressing his companions, said: “We will stop here and kindle our fires near these women.” When their fires were burning briskly Okteondon, going up to the four young women, who had kettles of hominy boiling over their fires, overturned the kettles and scattered the fires with his feet. This greatly angered the women except the last, who was the youngest. After doing this Okteondon returned to his friends, and remarking that he was going out to hunt for fresh meat, started off into the forest. He had not gone far when he came to a tree on which he saw marks made by the claws of a bear. Walking up to the tree he exclaimed: “Thou who art in this tree, come forth.” In a moment a bear came forth, which he killed; after dressing it he brought the meat to the camp. Then he said, “I am going to fetch my uncle’s kettle,” and passing around a big tree standing near the camp, he returned with a large kettle. In this kettle they placed the meat to cook over their fire. When the meat was cooked they sat down and ate it. After they were through eating Okteondon said: “Let us now go to our wives. I wish you to follow my advice, too. Take none of this meat to your wives, for if you do we shall have bad luck. Some misfortune will befall us.” When they reached the camp of the young women they found that the latter had hominy cooked and were cooling it. They sat with their backs turned toward the men. The youngest sister, whom Okteondon claimed as his wife, asked him to come over and eat with her. The others said nothing. Okteondon ate, but the other men did not. That night they slept with the women. Hotʻhoh,[342] one of the three men who accompanied Okteondon, was naked. He had a hole slit through the skin of his hip, in which he carried his war club. He chose the eldest of the Wadiʻoniondies342a sisters, and Okteondon the youngest. The women kept their canoe near the four fires, and when they undressed they placed their outdoor garments in the canoe. The next morning the men returned to their fires. One of the men, however, had lost his leggings and his moccasins, for the woman with whom he had slept had robbed him of them. The sisters warmed up the cold hominy for their breakfast, and after eating it went aboard their canoes and sailed away through the air, leaving a trail343 therein.

In the camp of the men Okteondon opened his pouch and, taking therefrom a pair of leggings and a pair of moccasins, he gave them to the man who had been robbed of his own. When the men had prepared and eaten their breakfast, and had made the necessary provision for their journey, they started off, following the trail of the canoe of the women, which was plainly visible in the air. Toward evening they again saw smoke in the distance ahead. When yet some distance from it Okteondon said: “We will encamp here.” Again going over to the camp of the women, he walked through their fires and upset the kettles of hominy. Then returning to his own camp, he went out to hunt, in order to get meat for the supper of his friends. But he had to go a long distance before finding any game, for the woman who stole the foolish man’s leggings had stretched them out over the country, her very long arms describing an imaginary circle with them, at the same time telling the game animals included therein to go outside of this circle. So Okteondon had to do likewise before he could find a bear. Finally he killed one, the carcass of which he brought into camp. When he returned to camp he upbraided his three companions with the words: “You have been the cause of my being tired by your folly. You know that I forbade you taking anything to the women, even a small portion of meat. But you failed to obey my advice, and I have now experienced some of the effects.” Procuring a kettle in the same way as he had done before, Okteondon then proceeded to cook the bear’s flesh. When it was done he and his companions ate their evening meal. After they were through eating they went over to the camp of the women, where they found them sitting each with a bark dish of hot hominy on her knees, which she was cooling. They sat with their faces turned toward home and with their backs toward the camp of the men. The youngest of the sisters asked Okteondon to eat with her. Later, separating into pairs, they all went to bed together. As the night passed Okteondon grew angrier and angrier, and so he lay awake. At last, when he thought that all were asleep, he said, addressing a tall tree standing near the canoe which contained the clothes of the women: “I want you, Tree, to bend down to me.” Thereupon the tree bent down to him and Okteondon placed the canoe among its topmost branches. Then he said, “Now I want you to stand upright again,” and the Tree again resumed its erect position. He immediately added, “I desire you, Tree, to be covered with ice,” and it soon so happened. Okteondon did this because he was angered by the action of the women in driving the game away, thus causing him to go so far to hunt to find the bear he had killed, and in having stolen the leggings and moccasins of one of his companions.

Early the next morning Okteondon and his companions returned to their camp fires. When the women arose they could not find the canoe in which their outdoor garments were kept. So they had to run around from place to place naked, trying in vain to find them. At last they discovered the canoe in the top of the tree; whereupon the eldest of the sisters said, “I will try to get it down.” Moistening both her hands and feet with saliva, which she rubbed thoroughly into them, the nails on her fingers and toes presently grew long and powerful, resembling the claws of a bear. Then the woman began to climb the tree. She succeeded in getting halfway up the icy trunk when, losing her grip, she slid down, her powerful nails tearing the ice as she slipped, until she struck the ground in a sitting posture. She made several attempts to reach the canoe but each time failed. All the sisters talked together over the situation, finally deciding that no one but Okteondon had played them this mean trick. When they asked him about it, he replied, “I put your canoe on the tree top because you insulted me and so made me angry.” The women all promised that they would not do such things again if he would get the canoe for them. So, relenting, Okteondon asked the Tree to bend down a second time. As the top reached the ground, Okteondon took the canoe therefrom, which he gave back to the women. They were then able to dress themselves. After doing so, they took their food out of the canoe, and, having cooked and eaten their morning meal, they continued their journey homeward in the canoe. Shortly the four men followed them, keeping the trail all day.

Toward evening the men noticed before them smoke in the distance. When they drew near it they saw that it arose from the middle of a great lake covered with smooth ice. The four sisters were encamped in the middle of this lake, and Okteondon told his friends that he would make ready to camp on the ice, too. Gathering a handful of dry leaves and hemlock boughs, he said to his companions: “Be cautious and follow my steps. Be sure that each of you step exactly in my tracks.” When near the camp of the women Okteondon remarked, “We will camp here.” Laying down his handful of wood, it at once increased in size, becoming a great pile, whereupon he said, “I want a fire to be here”; and there was there immediately a fire. Then he scattered the handful of hemlock boughs on one side of the fire, saying, “In this place shall be our lodge and beds,” and straightway there was a lodge, and within were beds for every one present.

Now, the home of the sisters was on the shore of this lake, but they had camped in the middle of its waters in order to see how the four men would act and to ascertain what orenda they had.

Early in the night the women came to the camp of the men but did not sleep with them, returning to their own camp instead. In the morning the women went to their home on the shore of the lake. When they arrived there their mother asked them, “What husband has the most orenda?” They answered unanimously, “Okteondon.” When the men awoke in the morning they saw the shore of the lake lined with great crowds of people, who were expecting the return of the women with their husbands. When ready to start, Okteondon said to the three men, “We will now go to the women, but you must be very cautious and must not look up at the people.” Then the four men started from their camp on the ice for the shore. When they had gone but a short distance, three of them heard a voice singing, Gwăʼʹ wăʼonĕñioñʹdĭʼ, which means, “Lo! It is raining bones.” These words were heard a second time, sounding nearer; then suddenly the men heard a swift rushing sound, and a mass of dry bones swept rustling past them on the ice.[344] Okteondon steadied his remaining friends with the curt remark, “One of us has looked up.” At that moment all the people on the shore suddenly disappeared, with the exception of the old woman [Kahenchitahonk], a noted witch, the mother of the girls who were bringing home their husbands. She walked back and forth along the shore, singing: “Okteondon is my son-in-law. Okteondon is my son-in-law.” When Okteondon and his two remaining companions reached the shore, the old woman, after inviting the men to follow her, started for her home. Having arrived there, she said, “I am going to see whether my daughters have prepared something to eat; so you wait here until I return.” Now the lodge of the old woman was built of ice. So while she was away, Okteondon, taking a small bundle of sticks, said, “Let these burn!” Straightway the pile of sticks became large and took fire, burning so briskly as to give out great heat. Then Okteondon said to the two men: “The old woman will bring food for us to eat, but you two must not eat it. I alone will eat it, for it will not hurt me.” So saying, he made a hole through the ice into which he thrust a reed. In a short time the old woman returned, saying: “Son-in-law, I have brought you a small quantity of something to eat. It is the custom, you know, to eat only a little after a long journey.” Taking the bark bowl, Okteondon ate all the food, which ran through the reed into the ground. This food was hominy (snow) and bloodsuckers (clouds). In a short time the old woman returned with another bowl, saying: “I have brought more for you to eat. This is hominy cooked with maple sugar” (it was wild flint that floats on water). Now the lodge of the old woman was becoming full of holes from the heat of the fire, whereupon she exclaimed, “Whuʼ! My son-in-law has spoiled my lodge. Let us go to the lodge of my daughter.” Going thither, they found something good to eat (i.e., food which was not the product of the arts of sorcery).

In the night when all had retired the wife of Okteondon told him in confidence: “My mother will try to kill you (by testing your orenda). She does not care much about the other two men, for she knows just what powers of orenda they have, and that she can take their lives whenever she wishes to do so.” So toward evening of the next day the old woman, Kahenchitahonk, said: “Whuʼ! I think that it is going to be terribly cold tonight. I will get some large logs to make a fire to warm my back during the night.” So bringing great logs into the lodge from the woods, she made a hot fire. The wife of Okteondon said to her husband: “My mother will say tonight, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law must go to hunt to kill the Sʻhadahgeah, and that he must return to this lodge before the door-flap, which he swings shut behind him in going out, stops swinging, because if these things are not performed something direful will happen.’” There were then only two men besides Okteondon in the lodge, for the third companion of Okteondon, Hoisʻheqtoni,[345] had been turned into bones on the lake by the collapsing of the power of his orenda. In the middle of the night the old woman, Kahenchitahonk, began to groan horribly and to writhe and toss in her sleep. Finally she rolled out of her bed into the fire with such force that she scattered the firebrands and coals about the lodge. Quickly rising from his bed, Okteondon struck his mother-in-law on the head with the corn-pounder, to awaken her, calling out, “Well, mother-in-law, what are you doing, and what is your trouble?” Thereupon the old woman, sitting up, said: “Oh! I have just had a dream. I dreamed that you, my son-in-law, must kill Sʻhadahgeah346 tomorrow and bring his body in here, before the door-flap, which you will swing shut behind you in going out, stops swinging, because if these things are not performed something direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! Go to sleep now; we will attend to this matter in the morning,” answered Okteondon. So Kahenchitahonk lay down again and slept.

The next morning Okteondon was ready to perform his task. Taking hairs from his wife’s head, he tied them end to end, making a cord long enough for his purpose; then tying one end of this cord to the door-flap, he gave the other end of it to his wife, bidding her to pull the door-flap to and fro, so as to keep it swinging, until he came back from shooting Sʻhadahgeah. Okteondon then started out to hunt for his victim, but he had not gone far from the lodge before he saw Sʻhadahgeah perched on a cloud. He let fly one of his arrows, which kept its course until it struck the bird. When Sʻhadahgeah fell to the ground Okteondon picked it up and carried it back to the lodge.

Now when the old witch saw that the door-flap did not stop swinging, she was very angry. She pushed it to, but unknown to her the daughter kept it swinging to and fro. At this time Okteondon, striding in, threw the bird on the ground, saying, “There! you have him for your ‘eat-all’ feast (gaqsahon).” “Oh, son-in-law!” said the old woman; “you must give me one of the wings for a fan; my old one is now worn out.” “Oh no!” said Okteondon; “you can not have it,” and he threw the bird on the fire to remove its feathers. Then Hotʻhoh, Okteondon’s friend, placed a kettle of water over the fire. When the feathers were burned off Sʻhadahgeah, Okteondon, after cutting up its body, put all the pieces into the kettle. When it was cooked, he took out the flesh and skimmed off every drop of fat from the soup. “Now,” said the old woman, “you must invite all the men of distinction in the village.” “I will invite whom I please,” said Okteondon, “and do just as I like.” Going out of doors, he shouted, “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to an ‘eat-all’ (gaqsahon) feast.” Soon they began to come one after another. When all were present, Okteondon said: “I have invited you to a feast in which everything must be consumed. You must eat the meat, drink the soup, chew the bones and swallow them.” So they began to eat, and soon they had devoured everything, leaving not a drop of grease or fat, nor a bit of bone; then the Dagwanoenyents laughed, feeling good when they had finished their task. They boisterously exclaimed, “It made a fine meal; it was her late husband’s flesh.”

Kahenchitahonk, the great witch, notorious and cruel, was now ferociously angry. Seizing the wooden pestle, or corn-pounder, she struck the Dagwanoenyents with it, whereupon they fled at once from the lodge, some going out of the smoke-hole, some through the doorway, and others in their great haste making large rents in the walls of the lodge, through which they escaped. When she had driven them all out of the lodge, she said: “I think the coming night will be very cold; so I must fetch wood for the fire.” Bringing much wood, she then made a great fire, saying, “Now, I will be able to warm my back”; then she went to sleep with her back to the fire. The wife of Okteondon said to him: “My mother will dream again tonight and will exclaim, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law killed the White Beaver and brought it here before the door-flap, which he will fling back in going out, stopped swinging, and that if he does not return before the door-flap stops swinging, something direful will happen to us.’” Late in the night all over the lodge they heard the old woman groaning, and rolling and tossing about; finally she fell into the fire, scattering the coals around the lodge. Jumping up and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon struck the old woman on the head to awaken her, saying to her, “You must be dreaming about me, mother-in-law?” “Oh, yes! I am dreaming about you,” she muttered in reply. “You dream about no one else, I think,” said Okteondon. “Well,” she said, “I do dream about you, for I fear something may happen, but you are powerful through your orenda (magic power). I will tell you what the dream said to me; it said that my son-in-law must kill the White Beaver, and that if the door-flap which he flings back in going out stops swinging before he returns with the dead Beaver, something direful will happen.” “Oh, mother-in-law! go back to sleep; that is a small matter, nothing,” said Okteondon.

Early in the morning Okteondon fastened the string made from his wife’s hair to the door-flap, as he had done in the former ordeal, and bade his wife thereby keep it swinging to and fro while he was gone, as she had done before. Then he went out, flinging the door-flap back as he passed through. Then, running to a knoll on which stood a butternut tree, and taking a nut from it, he hurried to a neighboring lake, where he cast the nut into the water, shouting a challenge, “You who live in this lake come forth.” At once the water, rising, rushed toward him, following him until it reached the knoll, where it stopped. Okteondon saw the White Beaver looking out over the water, and, taking an arrow from his quiver and drawing his bow, shot the White Beaver, killing it. Seizing its body, he hurried home with it. When he reached the doorway he found the old woman trying to hold the flap to prevent it from swinging to and fro and uttering words charged with her orenda to accomplish her purpose. When Okteondon threw White Beaver into the lodge the old woman said: “Oh, son-in-law! you are to make me a pouch of the skin of White Beaver.” “Oh, no! I will do what I like with it,” he replied, casting it on the fire to singe off the hair. Putting a kettle over the fire, Hotʻhoh soon had water boiling. Then the body of White Beaver having been cut up, the pieces were placed in the kettle to cook. Thereupon Okteondon’s mother-in-law said to him: “Oh, son-in-law! I want you to invite all the men of importance of this place to the feast.” Okteondon answered: “Oh, no! I will invite only such persons as I choose.” When the flesh of White Beaver was cooked Okteondon removed the pieces from the kettle to cool; then he went out of the lodge, calling aloud: “I invite you, all Dagwanoenyents, to come to a feast of ‘eat-all’ (gaqsahon).” Soon they came crowding into the lodge, as they had at the first feast, and Okteondon said: “You must eat up everything to the very last bit. Here are the meat, the soup, and the bones; you must eat all and even lick the bowls.” So they began to eat; they ate the meat, drank the oily broth, and the crunching of bones could be heard as they devoured them. Lastly they licked the bark bowls. When they had finished their task they were satisfied and began to laugh: “Hi, hi, hi! That was good meat, the old woman’s brother.” The old woman was very angry and, taking up the corn-pounder, attacked them, driving them from the lodge.

After the feast was over, the wife of Okteondon told him that the next trial was one among all others the most severe and exacting. She said to him: “My mother will say tonight, ‘I dreamed that my son-in-law was killed and skinned, and that I made a pouch of his skin.’ I do hope you can survive this ordeal.” In reply Okteondon said, “When she kills and skins me and places my flesh in a bark bowl, you must set the bowl on the top of the lodge.” Toward evening Kahenchitahonk, the old witch, muttered, “The sky is clear, so we shall have a very cold night, and I must get logs to make a big fire.” At night she made a great fire in the lodge, and after all had retired she began to moan and toss in her sleep; finally she rolled into the fire, scattering the firebrands around the room. Quickly rising and seizing the corn-pounder, Okteondon struck her on the head, saying: “Oh, mother-in-law! What is the matter? What are you doing? What are you dreaming about?” She replied, “I dreamed that I killed you and made a pouch of your skin.” Okteondon replied, “Oh! go to sleep now; we will see to that in the morning.” So the next morning Okteondon said, “Now, mother-in-law, I am ready.” Thereupon the great witch laid on the ground a piece of bark sufficiently large for the purpose, telling Okteondon to lie down upon it. When he did so, she knocked him on the head with a club, killing him. Then she carefully flayed him,[347] removing the skin with the hands and feet attached to it. Afterward she placed all the flesh in a large bark bowl. As soon as the wife of Okteondon saw her put the last piece into the bowl, she placed the bowl on the top of the lodge. Then the old woman next cheerfully sewed up the skin in the form of a pouch, which she distended by blowing into it. This done, she hung it over the flames, poking the fire to make it blaze. As the pouch swayed to and fro over the fire, the old woman gleefully began to sing, “Oh! what a nice pouch have I; no one living has such a pouch.” Every time she poked the fire the pouch swayed more quickly to and fro, until at last it began to sing, “Oh! were the wind only out of me.” The old woman kept on stirring the fire while the pouch swayed to and fro faster and faster. “Oh, what a beautiful pouch have I,” said she; “it even sings.” After a while the pouch made a noise, and with a bhu! went flying up through the smoke-hole. As it flew out, the old woman cried, “Oh! I have lost my pouch; it has run away from me.” She hurried to the doorway, and in going out she met her son-in-law coming in alive and well.

It was now Okteondon’s turn. That night he had a dream, groaning and rolling around until his mother-in-law, arising, struck him on the head with the corn-pounder, saying: “Wake up! What is the matter? Are you dreaming?” “Oh! I had a dream,” said he. “Well, what was it?” said the old woman. “I dreamed,” he told her, “that I must hunt and kill the great Ganiagwaihe and give a feast. I will invite all the people in the village.” The next morning Okteondon killed the Ganiagwaihe, and having brought it into the lodge, singed it and cut it up while Hotʻhoh set a kettle of water over the fire. When the flesh of Ganiagwaihe was cooked, Okteondon said to his mother-in-law, “Go and invite all to come.” So going out, she invited all those personages whom she herself liked. While she was gone, Okteondon said to his wife and his two friends who had accompanied him from his uncle’s home, “You must get out of this lodge at once”; so they fled from it. Then all the newly invited guests entered—the old woman, her other two daughters, and the people of the place. Addressing them, Okteondon said: “Here is the flesh, the fat, and the bones. Eat all up clean; I leave all to you.” One of the chiefs said to the people, “We have now all eaten.” Passing out of the lodge, Okteondon ran around it, singing, “Let this lodge become stone and the ground under it stone, so that the greatest witch can not get out of it, and then let it become red-hot.” So while the people were inside the lodge eating and drinking and saying, “Hoho! this is a grand feast,” the building began to grow hotter and hotter, until finally it became red-hot. Some one on the inside exclaimed so loud that he was heard without, “Let us get out of here as fast as we can; something is wrong!” They tried to do so, but they could not get out. One leaped up to the spot where the smoke-hole had been, but those outside heard him knock his head against the solid stone roof and fall back. Soon another said, “I will go out through the ground.” After a while the sound of the voices and the screaming inside began to die away, and all was quiet. Then the lodge of stone burst, falling to pieces, and the heads of the people inside burst, one after another, and out of them sprang screech owls, horned owls, common owls, and gray and red foxes, which rushed away, out of sight. The people invited to the feast were all Oñʹgweʻ hĕñʹneks goñʹneks-kho.[348] The sisters sailing in the canoe deceived men all over the country, luring them to this village to be devoured by the inhabitants. All except the wife of Okteondon were thus burned up with the old woman.

When all was over, Okteondon and his wife and his two friends went to the shore of the lake, where they found a large heap of bones of men. These they gathered into some order near a large hickory tree, whereupon they pushed the tree over toward the bones, saying, “Rise, friends, or the tree will fall on you!” At this warning, and by the great orenda (magic power) of Okteondon, all the bones sprang up living men. “Now,” said Okteondon to them, “You have come to life, friends, and you can now go to your homes.” [349] At this they departed.

“We will go home, too,” said Okteondon to his wife and two friends; so they went to the lodge of his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus. When Okteondon left his home his uncle hung up in a corner of the lodge a wampum belt, with the remark, “The deeper you are in trouble, the nearer will this belt come to the ground, and if you die, it will touch the ground.” Of course it had been low and had even touched the ground; hence the old uncle had concluded that his nephew was dead and had mourned for him. But at this time the belt was again hanging high. While the nephew was absent many persons had come, pretending to be Okteondon, in order to deceive the old man; so now when the real nephew asked him to open the door-flap he would not believe his ears, but said, “Put your arm through the hole in the door.” Okteondon did so, whereupon the old man tied it, saying, “Now, I have you,” unfastening the door-flap so he could strike. But seeing Okteondon and his wife and his two friends, he exclaimed with delight, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment, until I clean up somewhat inside.” Saying this, he went inside and pushed away the ashes and dirt. (End.)

71. OKTEONDON AND HAIEÑTʻHWUS—II

(Another version of the first part of the legend)

Okteondon lived with his uncle, Haieñtʻhwus, in the forest. Beside his uncle’s lodge stood a large, tall elm tree. Okteondon, the nephew, always remained at the foot of this tree, and finally its roots grew over and around his body, thus binding it firmly to the ground.

Now Haieñtʻhwus, being very fond of his nephew, always brought him everything that he liked to eat and drink—roasted venison, boiled squashes, dried berries, broiled fish, and all kinds of shellfish. The first thing that Haieñtʻhwus did in the morning was to put corn into a wooden mortar for the purpose of making cornmeal for boiled cornbread; then with a wooden pestle he struck it a single blow, which crushed the corn to fine meal. The people far and near, it is said, heard this blow, and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.” The old man made bread with the meal which he boiled; when it was cooked he brought some of it to his nephew and also ate some himself. On certain days he went to the forest for firewood. It was a practice with him to burn logs into pieces of such length that he could bring them to his lodge. When the fires on one log were burning well he would light fires on other logs, and so would go from one to another, keeping them in order. When the pieces were burned off and ready, the old man would carry them or drag them home, and as he threw them down they made a deep, pleasant sound on the earth. Thereupon all the people of the region round about, even to the most distant places, heard the sound, and would say, “The uncle of Okteondon is well-to-do and strong.” On some other days Haieñtʻhwus would go out to gather beans and squashes or to dig wild potatoes.

One spring morning, in the planting season, Haieñtʻhwus went to his clearing in the woods with two baskets of seeds strapped to his belt. Before starting he left plenty of food with his nephew, saying, “I am going to put these seeds into the ground.” The old man was in the field engaged in making holes in the earth with a stick forked at one end and sharp at the other. Into these holes he dropped seeds, closing them with fine earth. All at once he heard a song accompanied with the words, “Oh, uncle! I am going to rise; I am going to rise.” He knew at once that what he had heard was his nephew’s song; so dropping his pointed stick for planting, and forgetting all about the seeds in his two baskets, he rushed home. As he ran the baskets struck the trees on both sides of the narrow trail, scattering the seeds so that all were lost on the trail. When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge he saw that his nephew was resting on one elbow and that the tree was inclined toward the earth, with its roots starting from the ground. “Well, nephew, what is the matter?” asked the old man. “I am getting thirsty, uncle,” said the youth. The old man gave him some water and pushed the tree back into its upright position; then looking into his baskets, he saw that they were empty. So Haieñtʻhwus spent the rest of the day on his knees, picking up what seeds he could find along both sides of the path.

On another day he went out to strip bark from the slippery-elm trees for the purpose of making cords. Before starting he gave Okteondon everything that he needed. After he had stripped off a large quantity of bark and was tying it into bundles, Haieñtʻhwus heard the song again, accompanied with the words, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am rising.” As soon as he heard these words, Haieñtʻhwus, slinging a bundle of the bark on his back, swiftly ran home. As he hurried along the bundle struck against the trees, first on one and then on the other side of the trail, causing pieces of bark to slip out every here and there, until there was nothing left of the burden on the old man’s back but the ends of the forehead strap. On reaching home Haieñtʻhwus asked, “What is the matter, nephew?” as he saw Okteondon resting on one elbow and the tree leaning over to one side. “Oh, I am thirsty, uncle,” replied Okteondon. The uncle brought him water, and then straightened up the tree, after which he returned to the woods. He picked up the pieces of bark on both sides of the path until he arrived at the place where he had stripped it from the trees. Just at that moment he again heard the song, “Oh, uncle! I am rising; I am rising.” At this, soliloquizing, “Poor boy, I wonder what he wants,” Haieñtʻhwus again ran homeward. When he was about halfway there, he heard the song a second time, and almost at the same moment came to his ears a tremendous crash of the falling tree, which was heard over the entire country, so that all the people said one to another, “Okteondon has now grown to manhood and has arisen.” When Haieñtʻhwus reached the lodge, the great elm tree had fallen and Okteondon was standing there, awaiting him.

72. UNCLE AND NEPHEW AND THE WHITE OTTERS

An uncle and his nephew lived alone far off in the woods. In former times there had been a great many of their people, but with the exception of these two all were dead.

One day the uncle said: “My nephew, you have grown to be a large lad, and now you must attend to hunting. You must take the bow and the quiver of arrows with which I used to hunt.” So saying, the old man took from the wall his bow, which was grimed with smoke, and cleaned it very carefully. Then he said: “We will now make a trial at shooting.” Having gone out of the lodge, the uncle by way of example first shot into a tree, and the nephew with another arrow made a good shot. Thereupon the uncle said, “That kind of shooting will do; you must now begin hunting.”

The next morning very early, when they were ready, the uncle said, “You must go out between sunrise and sunset, and you must always keep on the sun side; never go north.” The lad started to hunt, and had not been out long when he killed a deer, and soon afterward another, both of which he took home. The uncle thanked him, saying, “We can live now, for we have plenty of meat.” He hung the meat up in pieces, with bark strings, throughout the lodge.

The lad brought in game every day for some time. After a while he had to go a long way toward the south to find any game; his uncle always cautioned him against going northward.

Once after he came home and was sitting around the lodge, the uncle said: “When I was young I used to have an object with which to amuse myself. I will get it for you and when you are home you can play with it.” Then bringing out a flute, the uncle taught the boy to play it. As the uncle blew on it the flute said, “Tomorrow I shall kill a deer, a bear, etc.,” greatly pleasing the boy who also played on it. In the morning he started off hunting, and, indeed, he killed just such game as the flute said he would. That night after he had rested from hunting he played on his flute and again it said, “I shall kill an elk tomorrow,” a different kind of animal from that of the previous day. The next day the lad killed exactly what the flute said.

The morning after he went out he wondered why he must go so far toward the south; he made up his mind to go northward; so making a circuit, he was soon north of his lodge. Finding tracks of game animals, he followed them until he came to a broad opening. Here he ran after the elks, which he saw in a circle in the woods; at last he came out in the opening again, where he had started. All at once he heard a woman’s voice calling, “Here! Hold on!” but he ran on at full speed after the elk. Around again he went after these animals. When he got back to the same place a second time the woman’s voice called out, “Wait and rest!” Looking around, he saw the woman sitting on a fallen tree, whereupon he stopped. She said to him: “Sit down here and rest. I know you are tired; when you have rested you can run again after the elk.” He sat down near her, and pretty soon she took his head on her knees. He had very long hair—so long that he kept it tied up; whenever he let it down, it swept the ground. He tied one of his hairs to a root in the ground, but the woman did not see him do this. After a while he fell asleep, whereupon she put him into a basket; swinging this on her back she started off on a run. Rising soon into the air, she traveled very fast.

The hair which had been made fast to a root stretched till it would stretch no longer; then they could go no farther, for the hair pulled them back to the place from which they had started. The lad woke up, and the woman said to herself, “I think there is some witchcraft about you; we will try again.” Once more she began to search in his hair. At last he closed his eyes, and she asked, “Are you asleep?” “No,” he replied. She continued untying his hair, again inquiring, “Are you asleep?” He did not answer this time, for he was indeed asleep. Putting him into the basket and flinging it on her back, she ran off very fast, after a while rising in the air. When she had gone a long distance she came down by the bank of a river; rousing the lad, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes,” said he; “I have fished in this river.” “Well,” said she, “hold your head down, and let me look at it again.” She took his head on her knees, and after a while spoke to him, but he did not answer, for he was once more asleep. Putting him into the basket, she went up in the air, coming down at last on an island. Then, rousing the youth, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes; my uncle and I used to come here often,” he replied (he had never been there, but he wished to deceive her). Again she put him to sleep, afterward taking him up in the air in her basket. Finally, removing the basket from her back, she laid it on the edge of a ravine, which was so deep that the tops of the tallest trees which grew in it could just be seen below the brink. Then, upsetting the basket, down the lad went headlong into the depths, but he fell slowly, for he had orenda (magic power) and hence came to the ground unhurt. But he could find no way of escape. The sides of the ravine were like a wall and he was alone.

Meanwhile the boy’s uncle waited and waited, saying to himself: “It is late. Something has happened, for my nephew is not coming home tonight. I must find out what the trouble is.” On taking down the flute he found the mouthpiece bloody,[350] whereupon he said, “They have overmatched my poor nephew in orenda, and trouble has come to him.” As there was not much blood on the mouthpiece, he thought that perhaps the lad would free himself and come back in a few days.

Now the nephew lay down among the rocks in the deep, blind ravine and tried to sleep, but he could not. All at once he heard a great bird coming, and as it swept past it bit a mouthful of flesh out of his arm. Spitting on the arm he rubbed it and thus cured the bite. When the bird had been gone some time, he heard it coming again, and as it flew past in the opposite direction, it took a large bite out of his other arm. This he cured in the same manner as before. When daylight came he arose and on looking around he saw skeletons on every side. Two men were barely alive. The lad said to himself, “I suppose that I shall die here in this same way.”

That night the boy’s uncle saw on looking at the flute that the mouthpiece was bloodier than before. He then gave up his nephew as lost; sitting down at the hearth’s edge he cried and scattered ashes on his head in despair.

The second night the bird twice flew past the lad, each time taking a piece of flesh out of one of his arms. Thereupon the boy would spit on the arm, thus healing it as he did on the first evening. When the huge bird had gone he fell asleep and dreamed that he heard an old woman’s voice saying: “Grandson, I have come to help you. You think you are going to die, but you are not; I will save you. Just at sunrise in the morning you will vomit, and if you throw up anything that looks like a hemlock leaf you may know that you will be saved. Pick up the leaf and stick it in the ground. Then sing, and as you sing the leaf will become a tree. Sit on one of the limbs and keep on singing. The tree will grow until it reaches beyond the top of the bank. Then jump off and run away.” In the morning the boy vomited as the old woman of the dream had predicted, and he found the small hemlock leaf. Sticking this in the ground near the wall of the ravine he began to sing. The leaf soon grew into a tree, and as he sang the tree grew higher and higher. He did not get on the tree but remained below singing until the tree was higher than the brink above.

Gathering all the bones carefully into a pile and placing on the pile the two men who were almost dead, he went to a great hickory tree which stood near and pushing against it called out, “Rise, people, and run, or the tree shall fall on you.” Thereupon all the bones became living men and springing up they ran away from the tree. Two of the men had legs of different lengths by reason of the bones having become interchanged. The lad said: “Now, follow me, all of you, up this tree to the bank above. You must not look back, for if you do you will fall.” The last two were the men with unequal legs. The rearmost, after climbing a little way, looked back to see how far up they were; immediately he turned to bones, which fell rattling through the limbs of the hemlock tree to the ground. As the only remaining man with unequal legs got near the brink, he also looked down, whereupon he likewise fell rattling down through the branches to the ground a mere heap of bones.

When all were some distance away from the brink the young man said: “You stay here, and I will go and bring the woman who has done all this mischief to us. She has a mother, who is also a witch. We will punish both. I shall be back in a few days.” Starting off, he soon came to the lodge of the woman who had deceived him. Sitting down by her, he said, “I have come.” Soon her mother came out of another part of the lodge, saying, “Oh! my son-in-law has come.” Early the next night they heard the old woman groaning;[351] finally, crawling out of bed on her hands and knees, she rolled over on the floor. The lad struck her with a corn-pounder, saying, “Mother-in-law, wake up and tell us your dream.” Thereupon she stood up and said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must go and kill two white otters in the lake.” He replied: “Go back to sleep, Oh! mother-in-law. I will do that tomorrow.” The old woman went back to her couch. In the morning she said: “You must run and kill two white otters in the lake and return with them before the door stops swinging after you have slammed it. If you do not do this, something strange will happen; but if you get back, you shall live.” Unknown to her, he tied one of his long hairs to the door and kept pulling the hair. On reaching the bank of the lake, he called to the otters, which came out and ran to him; he threw one of two round stones which he had in his pouch, killing one of the otters. Then great waves of water began to rush after him, and the second otter came near to him on the top of the wave. Throwing the second stone, he killed the second otter. At this the wave went back. He had kept pulling the door-flap to and fro with his hair all the time. When he reached the lodge, he called out, “Here, mother-in-law! here are your two otters.” She said, “Where, where?” (The two white otters were her two wizard brothers.)

The uncle, who was alone, felt sure that his nephew was dead. Often as he sat in front of the fire in the evening, taking a handful of ashes in each hand, he held them over his head, letting the ashes drop on his face. At night he would hear someone coming, then a rap and a voice calling out, “Well, uncle, I have come.” Jumping up and brushing off the ashes he would go to the door, only to find a fox or an owl. In this way he was deceived a number of times, so he had resolved not to be deceived again.

The night after the death of the otters the old woman again dreamed, and her son-in-law hit her again with the corn-pounder. Waking up, she said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must kill the bird on the top of the great tree.” He answered, “Oh, mother-in-law! I will attend to that in the morning, so go to sleep now.” In the morning his mother-in-law said, “If you get back after the door, which you have slammed in going out, stops swinging, something strange will happen.” Again tying a hair to the door, he darted off. When near the tall tree he saw on the very top a black eagle. The first arrow he sent went almost to the tree, but was driven back by the magic power of the eagle. Then he shot a second arrow, which struck the eagle right in the heart, bringing it to the ground. Taking the eagle, he rushed back to the lodge, meanwhile keeping the door swinging with his hair. When he returned home, he called out, “Mother-in-law, here is the eagle.” She said, Whu, whu! astonished at what he had done (this eagle was the old woman’s third brother, which had always fed on the men thrown into the ravine).

Now the lad, having taken his wife outside, said, “I want this lodge to turn into flint, and let it become heated to a white heat.” [352] The old woman and her three daughters were inside at the time. The former cried out, “Have pity on me, son-in-law,” but he answered, “You had no pity for me, mother-in-law; so let them all within burn up.” Having gone back with his wife to the men near the ravine, he said: “I have brought back this woman. Now we shall be revenged. This is the woman who threw us off this bank to die in the ravine below.” Stripping off a wide piece of bark from a tree and tying the woman thereto with bark thongs, he placed it in a leaning position against a tree. Then all gathered fuel, which was piled around the woman, and a fire kindled by which the old woman’s daughter was burned to death.

The youth found two of his brothers among those whom he had rescued. It appeared that all the men were related, some as brothers, others as cousins. The young man went with his brothers to his uncle’s lodge. Before starting he had told all the other persons to go to their homes. When near the lodge of the old uncle they heard the aged man weeping. They listened for some time. When the old man stopped weeping he began to sing, “Ten summers I shall mourn for him.” In attempting to enter the lodge they found the door-flap fastened. The lad called out, “Oh, uncle! I have returned.” But the uncle, long annoyed by wizards in the form of animals, replied: “Be off! You have deceived me enough.” But the young man begged him to unfasten the door-flap, assuring him that he had brought his brothers. Again the uncle shouted: “Be off! You shall not get in here.” Finally, the old man relented, and making a hole in the skin door-flap, called out: “Thrust your arm in. I shall see if you are my nephew.” The nephew willingly complied with the uncle’s request, whereupon the uncle tied his arm with a bark thong. The youth finally cried out: “Oh, uncle! do not tie my arm so tight. You hurt me.” Opening the door-flap, the old man saw that it was really his nephew, and exclaimed, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment until I clean up a little.” Then, having brushed off the ashes, he welcomed his nephew and his party.

73. DEOYADASTATʻHE AND HADJOWISKI [353]

Hadjowiski lived with his family, consisting of his wife and seven children, in a large lodge in the forest. Only the youngest of the seven children had a name—Deoyadastatʻhe. He was so small that he never went outside the lodge, nor did he play within it. He remained under the bed at all times, where he played with his dog, which was a flea. The father of the family, Hadjowiski, was very poor, for although he went forth to hunt at sunrise, sometimes even before, he brought home but little meat.