Aboriginal America Part 11

In ancient times there was a man named s.h.i.+ngebiss. He lived in a lodge which he had built for himself on the margin of the water.

When the winter came it was very cold. s.h.i.+ngebiss had four logs of wood, and as the winter was to be four months long, he had just one log for each month, and he was consequently obliged to keep very little fire, so as to burn his logs very slowly, in order to make them last until the spring.

He had nothing for food but the fish which he could catch in the stream. But the stream was frozen over so hard that it was impossible to break through the ice. He, however, looked about and found openings or weak places where the flags and rushes grew, and through these openings he caught his fish. When the fish were caught he dragged them home across the ice, strung together upon a string.

At last old Boreas saw him and said to himself, "This man is as contented and happy in this cold season as if it were June. He seems to despise me. I'll go and pay him a visit, and see what I can do to make him feel my power." The name in the original is the Indian name for the north wind.

So old Boreas blew upon him and made him very cold on the side that was turned away from the fire. So s.h.i.+ngebiss turned first one side and then the other to the fire, but still went on singing his song.

Then old Boreas went out upon the stream and froze up all the openings which the flags and rushes had made.

"Now," said he to himself, when he had done this, "he can get no fishes, and will starve."

But s.h.i.+ngebiss did not despair. He continued his search upon the ice till he found new openings, and by patience and perseverance he broke open those that Boreas had closed up, and so caught more fishes; and when he had caught them he dragged them home to his lodge, over the ice, as happy as ever.

"He must be helped by the Great Spirit," said old Boreas. "I can neither freeze him nor starve him. I will let him alone."

There is a love story, which shows that the instincts and sentiments of woman were the same in those rude states of society as among the most highly civilized nations on the globe. It is as follows:

The Story of Ampata

Ampata was the wife of a brave young warrior. She had two children. She lived for a time with her husband and children in great happiness. Sometimes their home was on the prairie, sometimes they built their wigwam in the forest near the banks of a stream. Ampata used to paddle her canoe up and down the rivers in search of bulrushes for mats, or bark for her wigwam, or fuel for her fire. In summer they lived in open ground, but in the winter they chose a more sheltered position on the margin of a wood, where it opened toward the sun. Thus their lives flowed on a very smoothly and happily.

Ampata's husband gradually increased in influence in his tribe, until finally he came to be a chief. This filled Ampata's heart with pride and she loved her husband more than ever.

But the increased rank and importance to which her husband attained, as Ampata soon discovered, interfered very much with the domestic peace and quietness which they had before enjoyed. He now became a public man. His wigwam was always filled with visitors, and as his consequence in the nation increased, his ambition, instead of being satisfied, became excited more and more. At length, in order to widen and extend his influence, he conceived the idea of taking a second wife, the daughter of a noted chieftain who lived near.

When Ampata heard this she was greatly alarmed. She remonstrated with her husband, but he would not listen to her. It would give him greater influence in the tribe to marry another wife, he said, and marry her he would.

When Ampata heard this she was greatly alarmed. She remonstrated with her husband, but he would not listen to her. It would give him greater influence in the tribe to marry another wife, he said, and marry her he would.

Ampata immediately resolved that she would not stay in the lodge to be thus humiliated by her husband. Accordingly, before he brought his new wife home, she fled, taking her two children with her, and returned to her father's lodge almost broken-hearted.

She remained with her father and with his connections during the winter, but her grief and despondency were not at all relieved by the lapse of time. In the spring, when her farther's party were coming down the Mississippi with the furs which they had taken during the winter, she came with them. She had her two children with her in her canoe. When at length the boats began to draw near the falls of St. Anthony, and turned aside at the commencement of the rapids to go to the land, She did not turn with them, but pressed on into the middle of the stream.

The whirl and turmoil of the water became now so violent that the boat was borne onward with great speed, and the paddle was no longer of any avail. So Ampata rose from her seat, and holding the paddle extended in her arms made her farewell lament in the following terms: "It was him only that I loved, and I loved him with all my heart. It was for him that I prepared the fresh-killed game, and swept with boughs the hearth before my wigwam fire. It was for him that I dressed and sewed the skin of the deer, and embroidered the moca.s.sins that adorned his feet.

"How I waited in my lodge the live-long day for his return from the chase, and how my heart was filled with joy when I heard his footsteps coming!

"My heart was bound up in him. He was all the world to me. But he has left me for another, and life is now a burden which I cannot bear. Even my children add to my grief. I see in their faces him image, and they bring him continually to my mind.

"I have prayed to the Great Spirit to take back the life that he gave, as I do not desire it any longer, and I am now on the current by means of which he is going to fulfill my prayer. I see the white foam of the water--it is my shroud. I hear the roaring of the fall--it is my funeral song. Farewell."

It was too late for her friends to arrest her course. They saw the canoe enter the foam; they saw it poise itself for a moment on the brink of the cataract, and then it disappeared in the awful abyss below.

The story concludes by saying that sometimes now, the benighted traveler, standing at midnight on the sh.o.r.es of the river, sees by the light of the moonbeams, in the opening of the mist and spray, the form of Ampata's canoe just ready to take the fearful plunge. It appears there for a moment on the brink, and then the mist closing over it shuts it out from view.

This story of the poor, disappointed, and forsaken wife may have been true, precisely as it is here related. The next is of a very different character, being an old tradition of a very decidedly marvelous type. it explains how it happens that the dormouse is so small.

Trap Set for Catching the Sun

In former times, when the animals that lived on the earth were more powerful than men, they killed and devoured all but two persons--a girl and her little brother. These two made their escape, and, flying far away into the forests, they lived there in a secret place, in great fear.

The girl was the oldest of the two, the boy being so small that he was utterly helpless. A big bird might have flown away with him, The girl took all the care of providing food for both, but when she went into the woods to get food or fuel she always took her little brother with her, for he was too small to be left alone.

At last she made him a bow and arrow of a size adapted to his strength, and when she went next into the woods she said to him: "When I have done chopping in the woods and am ready to go home, I will leave you behind a little while with your bow and arrow, to shoot little snow birds that come to pick up the worms that drop out of the wood that I have been chopping."

So she left him in the woods and went home. He staid and did his best to kill the snow birds, but he did not succeed.

When he came home he looked disappointed and discouraged, but his sister told him that he must not despair.

"You must try again to-morrow," said she. The next day she left him in the woods again, and toward nightfall she heard his little footsteps on the snow, outside the lodge, as he was coming home. When he came in he threw down a snow bird that he had killed, and seemed very much pleased.

His sister cut the bird in two and used it, half one day and half the next, to season the broth or porridge which she made for supper.

After a time the boy killed ten birds, and their skins, sewed together by his sister, made him a little coat.

He was very much pleased with his coat, but one day having lain down in the sun and gone to sleep in a place where the snow had been melted away and the ground was dry, the sun singed his coat and made it shrink, so that when he woke up it was too tight for him.

He was very angry with the sun for this, and he declared he would set a snare for him and catch him, to prevent his doing such mischief any more. he asked his sister to make him a cord.

After several trials she succeeded in making a cord that he though would do, and so he set out one night a little after midnight and went through the woods to a place where the sun rose. He made a slip noose in one end of his cord, and then set it slyly in the trees, in the place where the sun was to come up.

He succeeded very well in his design. The sun, in coming up through the trees, got caught in the noose, and his beams became so entangled in it that he could not rise.

The animals in the forests were all very much frightened when they found that it continued dark that day. They ran to and fro and made great inquiry, and at last they found out what the difficulty was. The sun had been caught in a snare.

At first they did not know what to do. They soon concluded, however, that the only remedy was for them to send some gnawing animals to gnaw off the noose. But none dared to go for fear of being burnt to death by the sun.

At last, however, the animal now called a dormouse, which was then the largest gnawing animal existing, was persuaded to go. He was selected because, being large, he would be better able, they thought, to endure the heat. So he went and gnawed off the noose and set the sun free; but he was so dreadfully burnt in the operation that, when he returned, from being the largest it was found that he had become the smallest animal of all. There was very little left of him.

And that is the reason why the dormouse is now so small.

This story suggests another legend in which the incident of the sun being caught in a trap occurs in a somewhat different form. The story is one which a French Catholic missionary learned from an Indian tribe upon the banks of the St. Lawrence, more than two hundred years ago. In respect to the state of intellectual development to which it is adapted, it stands very nearly on a level with the English nursery tale of Jack and the Beanstalk, which, indeed, in some respects, it closely resembles.

Hunting in Heaven

There was once a man and woman traveling together in the woods, when suddenly they were set upon by wild beasts. The man was seized and devoured by a bear. The woman was also in the same manner eater up by another monstrous animal. But their little child, who was just then born, the wild beasts left untouched.

A woman pa.s.sing by a short time afterward saw a child lying alone in the woods, and was very much astonished at the sight. She wondered where its parents could be, but on looking all around and seeing nothing of them, she took the child and carried it home to her lodge.

The boy lived, but he did not grow. He increased marvelously in strength, it is true, but not in size; so that, although he remained to all appearance a child, he became strong enough to root up great trees, and to perform other marvelous exploits. His name was an Indian word sounding as much as possible like Jackabeck.

The first thing that he undertook was to seek out and attack the monstrous beasts which had devoured his father and mother. He found them and killed them both, and he identified them as the real devourers of his parents by finding his father's beard in the stomach of one, and his mother's hair in that of the other.

In addition to his great strength he was possessed of a certain mysterious power, through which whatever he blew upon was changed by some sort of magic, just as he wished.

After a while he felt a desire to go to heaven to see what there was there. So he began to climb a tall tree, and when he got to the top of it he blew upon it, and that made it shoot out and grow up higher. He climbed up to the top again and then blew as before, and so on continually. He thus mounted higher and higher, until at last he ascended into heaven.

He found here a delightful country, with green fields and pretty trees and flowers, and ever thing charming. After walking all about the place he returned to the tree and began to descend it, intending to tell the story of what he had seen to his sister--for it seems he now had a sister--and bring her up with him to heaven, in order that they might live there for ever.

As he came down the tree he stopped occasionally by the way to build wigwams in the branches, as places of rest for himself and sister in ascending.

When he had reached the ground and had related to his sister what he had seen, she was at first very unwilling to go with him, being afraid to attempt to climb such a tall tree. But she was at last persuaded to make the attempt, and they set out together.

This sister and a little nephew whom she concluded to take with her in the ascent, and they all three began to climb the tree. The sister and her little nephew went first, and Jackabeck came on after them, in order to catch them if they should chance to fall.

Thus they went on up the tree, and whenever they were tired of climbing they stopped to rest at the wigwams which Jackabeck had made among the branches in coming down.

After they had arrived at the top, in order to prevent any other persons from coming up after them, Jackabeck reached down and broke off the stem of the trees as low as he could.

After admiring the beauties of the country for a time with his sister, and congratulating each other on their safe and happy arrival in it, Jackabeck went off into the woods to set traps, as he had been accustomed to do on the earth below, in hopes to catch some animals.

Very early the next morning he went to visit his traps to see what he had caught. As he drew near one of them he saw in it a great glowing ball of fire. It was so bright and so hot that Jackabeck did not dare to go near it. So he ran back to his sister to inform her of this prodigy.

"Sister," said he, "there is a big fire in one of my traps, so fierce and hot that I do not dare to go near it."

"Ah! Jackabeck," said his sister, "you must have caught the sun. He was wandering about undoubtedly in the night, and has fallen into one of your traps. Go and let him out as quick as you can."

So Jackabeck went back, but he found the sun so hot and dazzling that he could not get near enough to let him out of the trap. He was greatly at a loss what to do, but presently on looking around him he found a little mouse, and he blew upon him and made him so large and strong that he could go the the trap and open it in some way so as to let the sun go free.

The story that follows, it is supposed, may have been intended to present to the Indian belles the example of a species of mistake which is often exemplified in tales written for young ladies in civilized life, namely, that of acting in a spirit of proud and disdainful coquetry toward an honest lover, and so, as the proverb expressed it, going further and faring worse. It is as follow:

The Story of Moowis

There lived a certain village an Indian girl who was distinguished for her grace and beauty, and was the admiration of all the young hunter and warriors of the tribe. Indeed, she was quite a belle.

Among her admirers there was a very worthy and much respected young man, who went to visit her one day, with the intention of asking her hand. I will call him Ma-mon, that being a portion of his name. The belle, instead of received kindly Ma-mon's well intended attempts to please her, and giving him a respectful and proper answer, turned away from him in disdain, and dismissed him with a peculiar gesture, which, according to the Indian customs, was expressive of the utmost contempt. The young man went away very deeply wounded.

He was indeed so sensitive, and his mind was so much disturbed by this insult, that he could not recover from the effects of it. He was the more deeply and permanently affected by it from the fact that the insult was put upon him in the presence of others, so that the affair was noised abroad throughout the village, and became the common talk of the young men of the tribe.

At last the sense of shame and vexation so preyed upon him that he lost his health and strength, and almost his reason. He would lie upon his mat in his lodge all day long, silent, dejected, and with his eyes fixed on vacancy. He would take little or no food. No efforts could rouse him from this condition. He felt abashed and dishonored even in the presence of his relatives and best friends, and no persuasions could induce him to rise.

At length the time arrived when the family to which he belonged were to take down the lodge , in order to remove to another station; but still he could not get up. So they took down the lodge from over his head, and left him there lying on his couch in the open air.

It was early in the spring of the year, and the ground was covered with snow, but the snow was hard, as is usual at that season, so that they party could travel upon it, their feet making a crackling noise as they walked along over the frozen surface. The young man remained on his couch until the last sound of the departing footsteps died upon his ear, and then he arose.

The ground that the encampment had occupied was covered with remnants and fragments of all kinds, which had been left there by the families which had occupied it. There were bits of soiled cloth, worn and tattered garments, draggled feathers, and old abandoned ornaments of all sorts, some lying on the frozen ground, and some trampled into the snow.

At the sight of all this finery Ma-mon conceived a plan of revenge.

"She thinks more of the dress than the man," said he to himself, " and I will make her a husband that will please her.'

So he began to collect the old garments together, and after putting them in proper form he filled them with earth and snow, which he pressed firmly in, and thus finally produced the figure of a man. This figure he decorated with old beads, feathers, and other things which he found upon the ground, and which, by some sort of magic, he redeemed from their damaged condition and restored to their pristine beauty. The man, too, when he was finished, was endowed with the power of life, and motion, though his body and limbs still consisted of nothing but frozen mud and snow.

Ma-mon put a bow and a quiver of arrows in the image's hand, and then ordered it to follow him. He gave it the name of moowis.

Ma-mon now went on with moowis to the new encampment of the tribe. When they arrives there Moowis attracted great attention. So well formed a man and one dressed so very elegantly had seldom been seen. No one was more pleased with him than the belle. She fell in love with him at first sight, and invited him to her mother's lodge, where he was received with much honor.

Among other marks of attention they a.s.signed the stranger a place very near the fire. But Moowis was afraid to take this place for fear that he might be melted by the warmth, and so, notwithstanding the urgency of their invitations, he insisted on remaining near the door.

This only increased the bell's admiration for him, as she considered it a proof of his great hardihood and power of endurance; and these are qualities which, next to courage, the Indian damsels most highly prize in their lovers.

But we must not make the story too long. The belle accepted Moowis as her lover, and they were married. Very soon after the ceremony was performed Moowis said that he must go away for a time, for there was a journey that he must take. His bride said that she would go with him. He attempted to discourage her, but she was not willing to be left.

So he set out upon his journey, his bride, according to the Indian custom in the case of man and wife, following him at a little distance. He went on at a very rapid rate. She tried very hard to keep up with him, but she found it extremely difficult to do so. She called to him incessantly to wait for her, but he paid no heed to her cries.

Soon, too, the sun came up and Moowis began to melt away. The feathers and beads and other ornaments began, one after another, to drop off from him to the ground, and, as they fell, they returned to their original soiled and tattered condition. Still the bride pressed on, following her flying husband over rocks and windfalls, and through all sorts of rough and marshy ground. She called incessantly to him and looked for him everywhere, but there was nothing to be seen along the path where he had gone but rags, bones, old worn-our skins, broken beads, soiled feathers, and remnants of torn and tattered garments. The bride wandered on past all these things, calling continually to her husband and crying that she was lost, until at length she became perfectly bewildered and wholly uncertain which way to go. She however continued to wander about in her despair, and is wandering still, singing all the time a mournful song, in which she calls continually to Moowis, saying that she is lost, and begging him to come and save her.