"Like the wings of a snow white sea swallowWriting mating signs on the blue sky of HeavenFlashed his quick hands of entreaty,In the little love sign talk he taught her."
Foremost among these I rode on my fastest pony,But to my Mother I made a secret signTo remain in waiting by her campfireAnd yet the swifter sign of the quick return.Because I was first in the fish dryingThe berry picking of earth and mountain,The gathering of seeds of all kindsAnd the work of the women,The other maidens went where I sent them.Then swiftly I made a wide circleAnd slipped back to the lodge of my Mother,And leaving my pony in the tented forestI crept to the door of my Father,Unseen by any of the watchers.There I lay in hidingWhile my Mother worked silently.She rolled a bundle of my finest robes,My moccasins, my best bow and full quiver,Big strips of smoked venison,Dried fish and bear and deer meat,Nuts and tallow cake and dried berries,And the last little sweet meal cakeThat her hands would ever make me.When Old Man Moon made soft talkIn his canoe among the clouds,From the back of the lodge of my Father I creptAfter I had stood long and again longBefore my Mother, racked in fierce anguish,And made her many signs of the great crossing,For we knew that never again should I see her.We made long straight talk between usThat when the others returned from the searchI should be missing, as was Coüy-oüy,So that a new search would be made for my body.Then should she cry the death wailThrough the length of all our village for me;And make high prayer to the Great SpiritFor my safe crossing to the Happy Lands.Thus her lodge and wigwamsAnd my Father and brothersWould be saved from all suspicion of treachery,And to the mourning of the Great ChiefWho visited our campfires in confidence,Would be added the wailing of our tribe for Yiada.I rode my Father's swiftest remaining pony,I turned my face between the sun's risingAnd the hot suns of the South.I slipped through the forest and on, and on,Each moon on, and again on,Fast and far as the pony could run, I journeyedIn the direction where my Mother had told meLay the encampment of her people, the Mandanas.When the tired pony could travel no fartherI let him feed and rest and drink;And then again I rode, moon after moon,Until he grew lean as deep snow gray wolf.When I had eaten the last crumb of meal cake,And there was nothing left in my bundle,But tough strings of deer meat,I came one sun-rising to signs of the Mandanas.Then, O Medicine Man,I slipped from the pony and bathed carefully,I oiled my body, braided my hair with ornamentsAnd I put on a snow white robeWhose bleaching had been taught my MotherBy Coüy-oüy as a secret art.I stripped the beads and the obsidianFrom my heaviest necklace for ceremonialsAnd wore only the sky water blueOf the precious blue shell.When I looked into the shining waterAbove the white sands of the lake bed,I saw in my face great beauty like high magic,Wrought by the fear painter, the hunger moon,The far stealthy journey, the anxious heart—Beauty even greater than the beauty of Coüy-oüy.And so, O Medicine Man,At fire lighting I rode into the village.The spies and the couriers raced before me,Crying the wonder of my coming,The fierce, snarling dogs yapped after me,The frightened children ran from me,Angered squaws with harsh voicesCried threatening, forbidding words at me.When I came to the door of the Council HouseAt the head of the long village of fatness,I slipped from my pony, and leading him after meI walked to the feet of the Great ChiefSitting in solemn state on his throne;I gave him the deeps of my troubled spirit.My eyes slowly unfolded to his eyesThe tale of the robbed heart,Of the tortured sleep, of the lone moon trail,Of a fugitive from the arrows of an enemy.With Mandan speech and by the sign languageI told him that I was of his blood,Of his tribe through my Mother;Seeking refuge with her people,And I told him, O Medicine Man,These things of woe, I now tell you.Beside him came the Great Chiefs and wise men,Around him the warriors, the spies and hunters;While back of the chiefs, dim in the firelight,Again and again I felt the eye of a mighty hunter,A young Brave, with the broad shouldersThe round face of compassion,And the softer eye of the MandanasOf the lands where peace homed securely.Little of my story had I told the Chieftain,As straight and fearless I faced him,Before I knew in my heart that over his headI was speaking to the stirred heart of his son.I was asking of him rest and meat, and tribe rights,Even as Coüy-oüy had asked meal and waterOf Mountain Lion, instead of our women,For the broken fire bird that rested on her breast.As I asked I knew the answer in his heart;For I was tall and I was seasoned,And I was tortured beyond bearing,And I was beautiful with a living spirit beautyFar above that of the Mandan women around me.When they learned that my MotherWas of their tribe in her youth,That I had fled as the hunted for cave rights,They held counsel, and they set me a tall wigwam;They gave me the rich food of a welcome guest,And they led me to my wrinkled, gray grandfather.The great council of Chiefs and Medicine Men,The wise men and all of the young BravesMade Mandan sign talk to hold me securely,As if born of their tribe and village,Even if Mountain Lion suspected treacheryAnd rode in war paint against them for vengeance.Then was my body lazy with rich comfortBut my spirit was gray ashesBurned out by the flames of the fire birdNesting in the heart of my breast.I was all over sick for my Mother,For my brothers and my Father, who loved me,For the clear sky, the heavy clouds,And the taunting water of the restless sea,For the fat grass, the flower valleysAnd the tall mountains, with head-bands of snow,For the night fires of village and Council Lodge,And the little honey cakes of my Mother;While I dared not even rememberThe face of Mountain Lion's agony,As I tortured him in derision,And he turned from me in hot anger.As the sign was in the deep eyes of Star Face,Son of the Great Chief, the night of my coming,So it was in the suns that followed.Well I knew that in the dayWhen he saw candle lighting in my eyesHis willing feet would dance before meThe hated Love Dance of the Mandanas.He was a broad Brave, a fierce Brave, a warrior.He would sit at the council in the seat of his fatherWhen he had made his last journeyTo the far Spirit Lands of final peace.His earth-lodge would be warmWith the skins of beaver, mink and otter;While the white dress of a great PrincessFrom the bleached and softened doeskin,Beaded with the sign of the Chief's mate,Would cover my sick heart with the robe of pride.So hard I worked, O Medicine Man,From the lifting to the setting of every sun,So long I danced at night in the Assembly Lodge,That when I walked to my wigwamSleep came swift and deep upon me.Sometimes I lay visionless,My body worn to stone heaviness;Sometimes the flaming bird burned my breastTo gray ashes, like dead campfires,And the white lilies overflowed my unwilling handsUntil I fought to keep from choking among them,Even as Coüy-oüy was smotheredBy the little yielding wave hidden sands.When I had worked that seasonUntil the troubling mating moonSailed like a polished pearl canoe in the Spring sky,When the hurrying blood of the treesRan fast in the red and yellow osiers,When the birches, givers of large gifts,Put out their little talking leaves of gold,When strange birds made love chase in the forestAnd the fish leaped high from the shallow waterAs the yellow spawn they planted and quickened,There came a night of quivering moon magicWhen, after all the others had assembled,Star Face entered the Council Lodge,His head lifted to face the star country,And the great wealth of his richesRode flauntingly from head-band to moccasins.He had scoured his skin to fatling softness,He had oiled his body to birch bark smoothness,His braided hair was filled with eagle feathers,With quill feathers of white swanAnd wing pinions of wild turkey.He was robed in the soft gray skins of the otter;On his feet were beaded moccasins of deerskin;In his hand was a broad fan of the wing feathersOf the proud and contented white swan,Round his neck lay heavy shining ornamentsMade from the teeth and the cutting clawsOf many black and brown bear,Of fierce mountain lion and wildcat,And the big teeth of the elk and moose,Carved copper and cunningly pierced bone beads,From obsidian and little singing shells.The dance of the maidens was beginningWhen he entered in high pride.He came through the long LodgeAnd stood with compelling eye before me,And before his Father on the throne,And his Mother, his brothers and sisters,The whole council of Chiefs and wise menAnd all the assembled people of his tribe.Slowly he began the Mating DanceOf the Mandana who would prevail,While his eyes like coals from the campfireSeared my body to action—The eyes of black bear when he is facing the hunter,The fierce eyes of the starving pantherWhen the hunger moon is shining,The scouting eyes of the eagle of high spaces,Seeking a mate in the far country of the stars.When he had danced the dance of allurementTo the last stamped out measure,Straightway I walked to the feetOf his powerful Father, on his throne,And in the speech of the Mandanas I said to him:"Great Chief, thou hast seen the danceOf thy mighty son, Star Face.If I dance the ancient Mating DanceOf the unconquered MandanasThis night before thee, for Star Face,Even as he has danced before thee, for me,Great and powerful Chief, am I of thy people?"The Great Chief looked into my eyes and said:"Thou art of mine, even as Star Face is my son;With our last arrow, with our last battle axe,With the stoutest blood of our heartsWill our Braves defend thee forever."The next sun, the young womenSet me a tall prideful wigwam apart.They bathed and oiled my heart sick body;They beaded and feathered fine robesFor the mating ceremonials of a rich Brave.In another tent all of the young menWere busy preparing Star Face for our union.Down the long wide trailOf the swarming, bee like villageThe painted criers on swift horsesWere announcing the marriage of Yiada,Daughter of the far and friendly Canawacs,And Star Face, the son of the Head ChiefOf the boastful Mandanas—the proud ones!So, with the full Mandan ceremonial,I gave my tortured body to Star Face.There was no heart left in me, O Medicine Man,And that Star Face might not miss it,When he looked in my eyes in tenderness,I gave to him such willing and sure serviceAs no other Chief of the Mandanas had ever known.Soft were the skins that bedded his wigwams,Warm his earth-lodge against the sting of winter,Sweet was the crisp squaw breadThat bubbled in his fat kettles,Gold was the mountain of tallowStacked in his storehouse for winter,High heaped were the nuts of tree and bushGathered and husked against the Ice Chief,Rich were the berries dried with sunshine,Boiled back to tenderness, honey sweetened.And, Medicine Man,No other Brave served his mate as Star Face.High and boastful was his prideWhen I gave him a straight little chieftain,And great to pain was my joyWhen I oiled the little fatling:For the fire ever burning in my heartHad not scorched his small body,The fulness of my hands had set no mark upon him.He was a young chieftain of spirit magicWho in suns before his coming to my lodge,Had ridden on the backs of milk white fawnsOver the floating thistle seed trailThat we saw nightly in the country of the stars,Who had played with baby beaversIn their village at the creek's mouth,Who had hunted canyon ways,Stout heart with bear and panther,Who had sailed over tall mountains with the eagle,Who had hung in the eye of the sunWith the silver winged falcon,Who had fished angry waters with the crafty mink,Who had raced among the white birchesWith the soft eyed does of Spring,And slept deep with his tall blue heron brothersIn their rough nests among the wailing cedars.Every sun I watched him,Every moon my fear-filled hand was on him.Ever his gay cradle was light in my eyeIts tinkling shells sweet music in my ears.When he could walk with strengthI led him to the meadows, to the forest,And I taught him—thou knowest,O Medicine Man, thou knowest well,How carefully I taught himOur every custom and tradition;And how Star Face trained him with the bow,To fish the rough waters, to ride the wild ponies,And how he taught him all the laws and customsFor young Braves who would be warriors.Thou knowest how all of the tribe shoutedWhen first he sat his pony alone,And rode it through the village at its racing speed.And then, O Medicine Man, thou knowest the dayWhen first he strayed far from meWith the little curious feet of childhood,And now, now, I hear the wild shrieks of terrorWhen the snake that has death in its mouthStruck its pitiless fangs into his tender flesh.When his little blanket wrapped body,Looking so long and straight, and lonely,Was carried to the far, haunted death villageAll the forest echoed wild cries of mourningFrom a thousand wigwams of desolationAnd earth-lodges that loved him.My stiff lips made no sound,My robbed hands lay death's captive,For my eyes saw again the nut thicket,And the thing the sky flower sheltered,My ears again heard the soft buzzing menace.Well I knew that Coüy-oüyHad escaped the watchful Great Spirit,That she had come back to earthTo strike me through the death snake,That hers were the fangs of poisonBuried deep in my little fatling.Thou knowest, Medicine Man,How another little chief came to me,And how again, with all the wild magicAll the wisdom of our tribe,All the strength in our powerAnd the cunning of our hearts of love,The great Star Face, and I, his strong mate,Strove over the life of our son.Thou knowest how he shoutedWhen to us there came a little sister.And then the black day, that dread dayThou knowest well as any,When tall and straight he entered the forest aloneTo strive for the first vision from the Great Spirit.Without food and without sleepI knelt silent in my lonely wigwam;With one hand ever easing my burning breastWith the other I fought backThe slowly rising tide of the white flowers,The luring spirit flowers of destructionThat home on the still lake waters.I needed not the chilling death cryThat came to my ears three suns later:I knew surely that my little chieftainWould not come back to me from the forest.He still breathed when the huntersBrought before me his stout bodyRipped deep by the cruel knives of the killer.The black death, man's height and buffalo heavy,Lay dead in the far uptorn pitying forestWhere they had battled for their lives.It had been the greatest fightThat youth had ever waged in our tribe.All night the anxious Medicine MenMade their strongest Medicine for him;But the green sickness was eating his slender body.In the morning, O Medicine Man,Coüy-oüy again danced her triumph dance,Again scored victory over me,When our unavailing death wailBeat against the copper face of heavenFor my little chieftain, my brave little warrior.Because of her pointing finger no cry would I utter.Silently in my tortured wigwamI writhed in the flame of the fire birdAnd choked with the rising sick sweetnessOf the hated water flower of the pasture lands.But ever I held in a tight graspThe clutching hand of little fat face,And my ears ached with her shrill wailFor the long journey of her brother;For she had ridden his racing ponyBefore him on the saddle on far trails,And gathered gay flowers in the valleysOn the coloured faces of high hills,And brought me the little juicy birdsFrom the snares of cunning set in the valleys,And chased the war painted wingsWhere the hunting ponies pastured.Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,Darest say I had not killing torture?When the burning of the fire bird was past bearing,When the stifling cloud of the white flowersSickened my body to leanness,I arose and began skin dressing and fish dryingAnd seed grinding and weaving blankets.All of the squaws and the young womenPointed taunting mischievous fingersWhen, silent, I passed among them.They said: "She is possessed of a devil;Evil spirits drive her with secret arrows,It is with strength stolen from the SpiritsThat she works every sun at the fish drying,The meat curing, the seed gatheringAnd the making of tents not needed.But ever, when far grown I carried little Dove Eye,Little cooing bird, on my aching shoulders,Ever I pressed her against my burning heart:I would not trust her to the stoutest cradle.Tightly I held her that from my fear strong handsShe might not be pushed out by the white flowers.When her stumbling little feet of uncertaintyCarried her to the willing knees of Star Face,Like the first dawn of Spring long awaitedCame the light to his hungry eyes,Like the soft talking brook waterCame the sweet words in his throat;Like the wings of a snow white sea swallowWriting mating signs on the blue sky of heavenFlashed his quick hands of entreaty,In the little love sign talk he taught her.Many suns he sat grinding small beads of boneEvery little rare white shell he found,And polishing squirrel and otter teethFor the necklace she wore so proudly.Never did I leave my hands free of herUnless the hands of Star Face were upon her.When he made signs of soft pale-facesI made signs of the passing of spirits,So he saw that my hands ever upon herWere only that I might hold her backFrom the land of the great Unseen;For only these three, Medicine Man,Only these three little people,The Great Spirit sent to my lodge,From the far land of cradle filling.Always when we came near still or running waterI held her with the hug of black bear.Before she might chase the little fishes,Even in the shallow inshore water of the bays,Or hunt the clinging mussel for food,Or bathe with the small people,I went before her every stepAnd always my feet were feeling, searching,For any sign of the sands of treachery.In my heart I said: "They shall not have her,The ravenous Monster mouths,They shall not have her, the pitiless death sands!"Thou knowest, Medicine Man,The season of the great pow-wowWhen I was needed at the fires roasting deer meat,When I was needed to set the forest of wigwamsFor seven tribes, seeking our welcome,When I was needed to make swift preparation,To use all the store of my knowledge,For the coming of a cloud of peoplesFrom far countries to our village,To teach us of their experienceAnd to learn of our wisdom from us,Thou knowest that day, Medicine Man—The greatest day of the life of our nation.I held little Dove Eye tightThen set her on the pony of Star Face before himThat she might ride to meet the friendly people.Thou knowest how she danced to him,And beat her little hands in triumph,How she snatched at the sunbeamsAnd fluttered her fingers to me,Like the flying painted wingsHoney gathering over the valley pastures;How she made me the sign of birds far flying,When she rode away at the head of our Braves,On the proud pony of Star Face.Thou knowest how again and again, harshly,I made the sign of full cradling arms,Of tight holding, of unsleeping spying,To Star Face as he left me.All day the fire bird burned my heartAll day I heard his prison song;I stopped work at the smoking baking stones,To push back the hated water flowersLike fulling wool from the wild sheep's back.Ever I pleadingly prayed the Great SpiritTo have her in his safe keeping.And thou knowest how the mighty ChiefsRode with bowed, sorrowing heads before me.Thou knowest how Star Face, my man,Stood stricken and mourning at our doorway,His empty hands turned down in sign of torture.Thou knowest the tale the old wise man madeOf how her glad voice chanted with the birdsAnd her little hands clamoured and begged,When they passed the white flowered still pool,The magic ornament of the valley breast,Where first she saw the flowers of dawn growing.Thou knowest how she whimpered,How she reached pleading hungry hands,How she fought to be put down to pick them.On his pony, Star-Face left her with the Braves,While he made the welcome sign talk to the visitors,While he spoke the brothers' friendly greeting,While he smoked the contented peace pipeThat warmed the hearts of our visitors.Thou knowest how she turned his war ponyAnd flew back over the trail, wind driven.Thou knowest how the frightened huntersRode at racing speed to catch her,And how they saw only one little handNot yet swallowed by the sand mouthsThe living sign of coming mourning,Tightly clutching the white flower of destructionWith its lying heart of the gold of happiness.And thou knowest how three of our young BravesWent down in the fierce sand mouths,Fighting with full man strength to save her,Until the mighty Chief, her grandfather, cried:"It is enough. The Great Spirit has spoken.He has taken her back to the land of short shadows.We cannot have her. I have said it!"Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,Is there no magic in the toluache lily?Is there no medicine in thy heaped storehouse,Fat with all the harvest of field and forest,That will quench the flaming fire bird,That will ease its coal hot scorching?Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,Is there no magic granted by the Great SpiritThat will take from my tortured handsThis curse of snowy sweetness?Call Coüy-oüy and ask if she has finished.Tell her she has taken my all, my last little fatling,Ask her, O Medicine Man, ask her in mercyTo send you High Magic from the Spirits,That will empty my hands of the white flower,That will ease from my sickened heartThe gnawing flame of the Fire Bird.
The names of the tribes used in "The Fire Bird" are fictitious. The country described begins in the land of the Salish tribes of Alaska, runs south to the lowest extent of British Columbia, and east to the vicinity north of North Dakota. All tribes and country described are Alaskan or Canadian.
The names of the tribes used in "The Fire Bird" are fictitious. The country described begins in the land of the Salish tribes of Alaska, runs south to the lowest extent of British Columbia, and east to the vicinity north of North Dakota. All tribes and country described are Alaskan or Canadian.
THE END
The following changes have been made in the text:
Page 2: comma addedPages 16, 66: closing quote missing - no alterationPage 26: printer typo - name spelling correctedPage 34: printer typo - kille changed to killer
Page 2: comma addedPages 16, 66: closing quote missing - no alterationPage 26: printer typo - name spelling correctedPage 34: printer typo - kille changed to killer