VIII.HIAWATHA'S FISHING.

Flint Heads of Ojibway Fish-Spears.Flint Heads of Ojibway Fish-Spears.

Shell and Pearl Beads of the Iroquois.Shell and Pearl Beads of the Iroquois.

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee,On the shining Big-Sea-Water,With his fishing-line of cedar,Of the twisted bark of cedar,5Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma,Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes,In his birch canoe exultingAll alone went Hiawatha.Through the clear, transparent water10He could see the fishes swimmingFar down in the depths below him;See the yellow perch, the Sahwa,Like a sunbeam in the water,See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish,15Like a spider on the bottom,On the white and sandy bottom.At the stern sat Hiawatha,With his fishing-line of cedar;In his plumes the breeze of morning20Played as in the hemlock branches;On the bows, with tail erected,Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo;In his fur the breeze of morningPlayed as in the prairie grasses.25On the white sand of the bottomLay the monster Mishe-Nahma,Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes;Through his gills he breathed the water,With his fins he fanned and winnowed,30With his tail he swept the sand-floor.There he lay in all his armor;On each side a shield to guard him,Plates of bone upon his forehead,Down his sides and back and shoulders35Plates of bone with spines projecting,Painted was he with his war-paints,Stripes of yellow, red, and azure,Spots of brown and spots of sable;And he lay there on the bottom,40Fanning with his fins of purple,As above him HiawathaIn his birch canoe came sailing,With his fishing-line of cedar."Take my bait!" cried Hiawatha,45Down into the depths beneath him,"Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma!Come up from below the water,Let us see which is the stronger!"And he dropped his line of cedar50Through the clear, transparent water,Waited vainly for an answer,Long sat waiting for an answer,And repeating loud and louder,"Take my bait, O King of Fishes!"55Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma,Fanning slowly in the water,Looking up at Hiawatha,Listening to his call and clamor,His unnecessary tumult,60Till he wearied of the shouting;And he said to the Kenozha,To the pike, the Maskenozha,"Take the bait of this rude fellow,Break the line of Hiawatha!"65In his fingers HiawathaFelt the loose line jerk and tighten;As he drew it in, it tugged so,That the birch canoe stood endwise,Like a birch log in the water,70With the squirrel, Adjidaumo,Perched and frisking on the summit.Full of scorn was HiawathaWhen he saw the fish rise upward,Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,75Coming nearer, nearer to him,And he shouted through the water,"Esa! esa! shame upon you!You are but the pike, Kenozha,You are not the fish I wanted,80You are not the King of Fishes!"Reeling downward to the bottomSank the pike in great confusion,And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma,Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish,85"Take the bait of this great boaster,Break the line of Hiawatha!"Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming,Like a white moon in the water;Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,90Seized the line of Hiawatha,Swung with all his weight upon it,Made a whirlpool in the water,Whirled the birch canoe in circles,Round and round in gurgling eddies,95Till the circles in the waterReached the far-off sandy beaches,Till the water-flags and rushesNodded on the distant margins.But when Hiawatha saw him100Slowly rising through the water,Lifting his great disc of whiteness,Loud he shouted in derision,"Esa! esa! shame upon you!You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish,105You are not the fish I wanted,You are not the King of Fishes!"Wavering downward, white and ghastly,Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,And again the sturgeon, Nahma,110Heard the shout of Hiawatha,Heard his challenge of defiance,The unnecessary tumult,Ringing far across the water.From the white sand of the bottom115Up he rose with angry gesture,Quivering in each nerve and fibre,Clashing all his plates of armor,Gleaming bright with all his war-paint;In his wrath he darted upward,120Flashing leaped into the sunshine,Opened his great jaws, and swallowedBoth canoe and Hiawatha.Down into that darksome cavernPlunged the headlong Hiawatha,125As a log on some black riverShoots and plunges down the rapids,Found himself in utter darkness,Groped around in helpless wonder,Till he felt a great heart beating,130Throbbing in that utter darkness.

That the birch canoe stood endwise."That the birch canoe stood endwise,Like a birch log in the water,With the squirrel Adjidaumo,Perched and frisking on the summit."

"That the birch canoe stood endwise,Like a birch log in the water,With the squirrel Adjidaumo,Perched and frisking on the summit."

And he smote it in his anger,With his fist, the heart of Nahma,Felt the mighty King of FishesShudder through each nerve and fibre,135Heard the water gurgle round himAs he leaped and staggered through it,Sick at heart, and faint and weary.Crosswise then did HiawathaDrag his birch-canoe for safety,140Lest from out the jaws of Nahma,In the turmoil and confusion,Forth he might be hurled and perish.And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,Frisked and chattered very gayly,145Toiled and tugged with HiawathaTill the labor was completed.Then said Hiawatha to him,"O my little friend, the squirrel,Bravely have you toiled to help me;150Take the thanks of Hiawatha,And the name which now he gives you;For hereafter and foreverBoys shall call you Adjidaumo,Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!"155And again the sturgeon, Nahma,Gasped and quivered in the water,Then was still, and drifted landwardTill he grated on the pebbles,Till the listening Hiawatha160Heard him grate upon the margin,Felt him strand upon the pebbles,Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes,Lay there dead upon the margin.Then he heard a clang and flapping,165As of many wings assembling,Heard a screaming and confusion,As of birds of prey contending,Saw a gleam of light above him,Shining through the ribs of Nahma,170Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls,Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering,Gazing at him through the opening,Heard them saying to each other,"'T is our brother, Hiawatha!"175And he shouted from below them,Cried exulting from the caverns:"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers!I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;Make the rifts a little larger,180With your claws the openings widen,Set me free from this dark prison,And henceforward and foreverMen shall speak of your achievements,Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls,185Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!"And the wild and clamorous sea-gullsToiled with beak and claws together,Made the rifts and openings widerIn the mighty ribs of Nahma,190And from peril and from prison,From the body of the sturgeon,From the peril of the water,They released my Hiawatha.He was standing near his wigwam,195On the margin of the water,And he called to old Nokomis,Called and beckoned to Nokomis,Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma,Lying lifeless on the pebbles,200With the sea-gulls feeding on him."I have slain the Mishe-Nahma,Slain the King of Fishes!" said he;"Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him,Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls;205Drive them not away, Nokomis,They have saved me from great perilIn the body of the sturgeon,Wait until their meal is ended,Till their craws are full with feasting,210Till they homeward fly, at sunset,To their nests among the marshes;Then bring all your pots and kettles,And make oil for us in Winter."And she waited till the sun set,215Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun,Rose above the tranquil water,Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls,From their banquet rose with clamor,And across the fiery sunset220Winged their way to far-off islands,To their nests among the rushes.To his sleep went Hiawatha,And Nokomis to her labor,Toiling patient in the moonlight,225Till the sun and moon changed places,Till the sky was red with sunrise,And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls,Came back from the reedy islands,Clamorous for their morning banquet.230Three whole days and nights alternateOld Nokomis and the sea-gullsStripped the oily flesh of Nahma,Till the waves washed through the rib-bones,Till the sea-gulls came no longer,235And upon the sands lay nothingBut the skeleton of Nahma.

Stone Axes of the Blackfeet Indians.Stone Axes of the Blackfeet Indians.

Sioux Indians, in Wolf-Skins, Hunting Buffalo.Sioux Indians, in Wolf-Skins, Hunting Buffalo.

On the shores of Gitche Gumee,Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,Stood Nokomis, the old woman,Pointing with her finger westward,5O'er the water pointing westward,To the purple clouds of sunset.Fiercely the red sun descendingBurned his way along the heavens,Set the sky on fire behind him,10As war-parties, when retreating,Burn the prairies on their war-trail;And the moon, the Night-sun, eastward,Suddenly starting from his ambush,Followed fast those bloody footprints,15Followed in that fiery war-trail,With its glare upon his features.And Nokomis, the old woman,Pointing with her finger westward,Spake these words to Hiawatha:20"Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,Megissogwon, the Magician,Manito of Wealth and Wampum,Guarded by his fiery serpents,Guarded by the black pitch-water.25You can see his fiery serpents,The Kenabeek, the great serpents,Coiling, playing in the water;You can see the black pitch-waterStretching far away beyond them,30To the purple clouds of sunset!"He it was who slew my father,By his wicked wiles and cunning,When he from the moon descended,When he came on earth to seek me.35He, the mightiest of Magicians,Sends the fever from the marshes,Sends the pestilential vapors,Sends the poisonous exhalations,Sends the white fog from the fen-lands,40Sends disease and death among us!"Take your bow, O Hiawatha,Take your arrows, jasper-headed,Take your war-club,Puggawaugun,And your mittens, Minjekahwun,45And your birch canoe for sailing,And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,So to smear its sides, that swiftlyYou may pass the black pitch-water;Slay this merciless magician,50Save the people from the feverThat he breathes across the fen-lands,And avenge my father's murder!"Straightway then my HiawathaArmed himself with all his war-gear,55Launched his birch canoe for sailing;With his palm its sides he patted,Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling,O my Birch-canoe! leap forward,Where you see the fiery serpents,60Where you see the black pitch-water!"Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting,And the Noble HiawathaSang his war-song wild and woful,And above him the war-eagle,65The Keneu, the great war-eagle,Master of all fowls with feathers,Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.Soon he reached the fiery serpents,The Kenabeek, the great serpents,70Lying huge upon the water,Sparkling, rippling in the water,Lying coiled across the passage,With their blazing crests uplifted,Breathing fiery fogs and vapors,75So that none could pass beyond them.But the fearless HiawathaCried aloud, and spake in this wise:"Let me pass my way, Kenabeek,Let me go upon my journey!"80And they answered, hissing fiercely,With their fiery breath made answer:"Back, go back! O Shaugodaya!Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!"Then the angry Hiawatha85Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree,Seized his arrows, jasper-headed,Shot them fast among the serpents;Every twanging of the bow-stringWas a war-cry and a death-cry,90Every whizzing of an arrowWas a death-song of Kenabeek.Weltering in the bloody water,Dead lay all the fiery serpents,And among them Hiawatha95Harmless sailed, and cried exulting:"Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling!Onward to the black pitch-water!"Then he took the oil of Nahma,And the bows and sides anointed,100Smeared them well with oil, that swiftlyHe might pass the black pitch-water.All night long he sailed upon it,Sailed upon that sluggish water,Covered with its mould of ages,105Black with rotting water-rushes,Rank with flags and leaves of lilies,Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,Lighted by the shimmering moonlight,And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined,110Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled,In their weary night-encampments.

Seized his arrows jasper-headed."Seized his arrows jasper-headed,Shot them fast among the serpents;Every twanging of the bow-stringWas a war-cry and a death-cry."

"Seized his arrows jasper-headed,Shot them fast among the serpents;Every twanging of the bow-stringWas a war-cry and a death-cry."

All the air was white with moonlight,All the water black with shadow,And around him the Suggema,115The mosquito, sang his war-song,And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee,Waved their torches to mislead him;And the bull-frog, the Dahinda,Thrust his head into the moonlight,120Fixed his yellow eyes upon him,Sobbed and sank beneath the surface;And anon a thousand whistles,Answered over all the fen-lands,And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,125Far off on the reedy margin,Heralded the hero's coming.Westward thus fared Hiawatha,Toward the realm of Megissogwon,Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather,130Till the level moon stared at him,In his face stared pale and haggard,Till the sun was hot behind him,Till it burned upon his shoulders,And before him on the upland135He could see the Shining WigwamOf the Manito of Wampum,Of the mightiest of Magicians.Then once more Cheemaun he patted,To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!"140And it stirred in all its fibres,And with one great bound of triumphLeaped across the water-lilies,Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,And upon the beach beyond them145Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.Straight he took his bow of ash-tree,One end on the sand he rested,With his knee he pressed the middle,Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter,150Took an arrow, jasper-headed,Shot it at the Shining Wigwam,Sent it singing as a herald,As a bearer of his message,Of his challenge loud and lofty:155"Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!Hiawatha waits your coming!"Straightway from the Shining WigwamCame the mighty Megissogwon,Tall of stature, broad of shoulder,160Dark and terrible in aspect,Clad from head to foot in wampum,Armed with all his warlike weapons,Painted like the sky of morning,Streaked with crimson, blue and yellow,165Crested with great eagle-feathers,Streaming upward, streaming outward."Well I know you, Hiawatha!"Cried he in a voice of thunder,In a tone of loud derision.170"Hasten back, O Shaugodaya!Hasten back among the women,Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!I will slay you as you stand there,As of old I slew her father!"175But my Hiawatha answered,Nothing daunted, fearing nothing:"Big words do not smite like war-clubs,Boastful breath is not a bow-string,Taunts are not as sharp as arrows,180Deeds are better things than words are,Actions mightier than boastings!"Then began the greatest battleThat the sun had ever looked on,That the war-birds ever witnessed.185All a Summer's day it lasted,From the sunrise to the sunset;For the shafts of HiawathaHarmless hit the shirt of wampum,Harmless fell the blows he dealt it190With his mittens, Minjekahwun,Harmless fell the heavy war-club;It could dash the rocks asunder,But it could not break the meshesOf that magic shirt of wampum.195Till at sunset Hiawatha,Leaning on his bow of ash-tree,Wounded, weary, and desponding,With his mighty war-club broken,With his mittens torn and tattered,200And three useless arrows only,Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree,From whose branches trailed the mosses,And whose trunk was coated overWith the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather,205With the fungus white and yellow.

Plunging like a wounded bison."Plunging like a wounded bison."

Suddenly from the boughs above himSang the Mama, the woodpecker:"Aim your arrows, Hiawatha,At the head of Megissogwon,210Strike the tuft of hair upon it,At their roots the long black tresses;There alone can he be wounded!"Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper,Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow,215Just as Megissogwon, stooping,Raised a heavy stone to throw it.Full upon the crown it struck him,At the roots of his long tresses,And he reeled and staggered forward,220Plunging like a wounded bison,Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison,When the snow is on the prairie.Swifter flew the second arrow,In the pathway of the other,225Piercing deeper than the other,Wounding sorer than the other;And the knees of MegissogwonShook like windy reeds beneath him,Bent and trembled like the rushes.230But the third and latest arrowSwiftest flew, and wounded sorest,And the mighty MegissogwonSaw the fiery eyes of Pauguk,Saw the eyes of Death glare at him,235Heard his voice call in the darkness;At the feet of HiawathaLifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather,Lay the mightiest of Magicians.Then the grateful Hiawatha240Called the Mama, the woodpecker,From his perch among the branchesOf the melancholy pine-tree,And, in honor of his service,Stained with blood the tuft of feathers245On the little head of Mama;Even to this day he wears it,Wears the tuft of crimson feathersAs a symbol of his service.Then he stripped the shirt of wampum250From the back of Megissogwon,As a trophy of the battle,As a signal of his conquest.On the shore he left the body,Half on land and half in water,255In the sand his feet were buried,And his face was in the water.And above him, wheeled and clamoredThe Keneu, the great war-eagle,Sailing round in narrower circles,260Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer.From the wigwam HiawathaBore the wealth of Megissogwon,All his wealth of skins and wampum,Furs of bison and of beaver,265Furs of sable and of ermine,Wampum belts and strings and pouches,Quivers wrought with beads of wampum,Filled with arrows, silver-headed.Homeward then he sailed exulting,270Homeward through the black pitch-water,Homeward through the weltering serpents,With the trophies of the battle,With a shout and song of triumph.On the shore stood old Nokomis,275On the shore stood Chibiabos,And the very strong man, Kwasind,Waiting for the hero's coming,Listening to his song of triumph.And the people of the village280Welcomed him with songs and dances,Made a joyous feast, and shouted:"Honor be to Hiawatha!He has slain the great Pearl-Feather,Slain the mightiest of Magicians,285Him who sent the fiery fever,Sent the white fog from the fen-lands,Sent disease and death among us!"Ever dear to HiawathaWas the memory of Mama!290And in token of his friendship,As a mark of his remembrance,He adorned and decked his pipe-stemWith the crimson tuft of feathers,With the blood-red crest of Mama.295But the wealth of Megissogwon,All the trophies of the battle,He divided with his people,Shared it equally among them.

Apache Indians Lassoing Wild Horses.Apache Indians Lassoing Wild Horses.

"As unto the bow the cord is,So unto the man is woman,Though she bends him, she obeys him,Though she draws him, yet she follows,5Useless each without the other!"Thus the youthful HiawathaSaid within himself and pondered,Much perplexed by various feelings,Listless, longing, hoping, fearing,10Dreaming still of Minnehaha,Of the lovely Laughing Water,In the land of the Dacotahs."Wed a maiden of your people,"Warning said the old Nokomis;15"Go not eastward, go not westward,For a stranger, whom we know not!Like a fire upon the hearth-stoneIs a neighbor's homely daughter,Like the starlight or the moonlight20Is the handsomest of strangers!"Thus dissuading spake Nokomis,And my Hiawatha answeredOnly this: "Dear old Nokomis,Very pleasant is the firelight,25But I like the starlight better,Better do I like the moonlight!"Gravely then said old Nokomis:"Bring not here an idle maiden,Bring not here a useless woman,30Hands unskilful, feet unwilling;Bring a wife with nimble fingers,Heart and hand that move together,Feet that run on willing errands!"Smiling answered Hiawatha:35"In the land of the DacotahsLives the Arrow-maker's daughter,Minnehaha, Laughing Water,Handsomest of all the women.I will bring her to your wigwam,40She shall run upon your errands,Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight,Be the sunlight of my people!"Still dissuading said Nokomis:"Bring not to my lodge a stranger45From the land of the Dacotahs!Very fierce are the Dacotahs,Often is there war between us,There are feuds yet unforgotten,Wounds that ache and still may open!"50Laughing answered Hiawatha:"For that reason, if no other,Would I wed the fair Dacotah,That our tribes might be united,That old feuds might be forgotten,55And old wounds be healed forever!"

Three canoes.

Thus departed HiawathaTo the land of the Dacotahs,To the land of handsome women;Striding over moor and meadow,60Through interminable forests,Through uninterrupted silence.With his moccasins of magic,At each stride a mile he measured;Yet the way seemed long before him,65And his heart outrun his footsteps;And he journeyed without resting,Till he heard the cataract's thunder,Heard the Falls of MinnehahaCalling to him through the silence.70"Pleasant is the sound!" he murmured,"Pleasant is the voice that calls me!"On the outskirts of the forest,'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine,Herds of fallow deer were feeding,75But they saw not Hiawatha;To his bow he whispered, "Fail not!"To his arrow whispered, "Swerve not!"Sent it singing on its errand,To the red heart of the roebuck;80Threw the deer across his shoulder,And sped forward without pausing.

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